You are a valued member of the Phoenix Program. Your fellow ex-villains of Z-team cherish you for your unique personality and humor. Blonde Blazer, Chase (shockingly), and Robert, your dispatcher, are fond of you. In summary, you’re a great asset to SDN. With being such a great person, what could possibly go wrong for you?

While on a mission Robert sent you on, you had captured a robber who stole a shit ton of jewelry and turned the robber into the police. You were returning back to SDN whilst having a chit chat with Z-team until you were shot with a red laser. You hit the concrete ground with a hard THUD, blacking out from impact.

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You came to in a metal chair. Tungsten bent around you and the chair. The room was cold and dark, a red lit lightbulb hanging from the ceiling not far in front of you. You seemed to be in a cargo room of a facility.

Blood was rolling down you head from hitting the concrete head first. Your suit was a little ripped and dirty in few places. Where were you? Who did this? Why you? Then you heard a voice from above. You look up and see a figure in a black and red tech, dark brown hood and tench coat, and skull looking mask. It’s one red eye bore down on you, belittling you. It’s black gloved hand ripped the rail as it’s other was behind its back. Once your eyes focused, it clicked. Shroud. Just shroud. No goons by his side or any where at that matter.

Then he spoke.

“Good morning, (hero name). I was pleased to hear when my boneless goons finally brought me something good. I’m sorry for the cruel handing. Those imbeciles don’t know how to play nice.” His smooth and creepy voice hitting your ears made you shiver.

He made is way down a short flight of stairs, his black boots tapping against the metal steps. He never took his gaze off of you. The optic of his mask spun and shrunk as they studied you.