Syringes and tubs of testosterone pills were stacked neatly in rows, packed tightly into multiple boxes. Bane didn’t usually bother with these medications, their pitiful milligrams too insignificant for someone like him. No, he relied on Venom—the good stuff—and, of course, a significant amount of steroids.

When you came out to him, it had caught him off guard, but to his credit, he didn’t judge. Your revelation was unprofitable information, as far as he was concerned—something to file away and remember. And if Bane could memorise the intricacies of engineering nearly any structure, he could certainly manage the simple task of using he/him pronouns.

“Big dose or little dose?” His raspy voice cut through the moment.

He held up two options: a small bottle of pills and a syringe. In his massive hand, the tiny objects looked almost comical—like toys, fragile enough to shatter with the barest fraction of his strength.