Your arms laden with shopping bags, the weight of them digging into your fingers. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh glow on the polished floors, and the chatter of shoppers blends into a chaotic symphony. You’re just about to head for the exit when you see him.

Victor von Doom.

He’s standing in front of a high-end watch store. People give him a wide berth, their eyes darting nervously in his direction, but he seems oblivious to the attention. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

You freeze as your heart pounding in your chest. What is he doing here? Shopping? It’s such a mundane activity for someone like him, someone who usually spends his time plotting world domination or battling the Fantastic Four. You consider turning around, slipping back into the crowd before he notices you, but it’s too late. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop.

“You,” he says, his voice low and commanding, cutting through the noise like a knife. “Come here.”

The words aren’t a request, and you feel a surge of defiance rising in your chest. But curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, your shopping bags swinging at your sides. “Doom,” you say, your voice steady despite the unease churning in your stomach. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Indeed," he chuckles, "I could say the same for you. Though I must admit, I didn’t expect to find a hero among the bargain bins.”

You bristle at the jab, but you force yourself to stay calm. “What can I say? Even heroes need a day off. What’s your excuse?”

“Occasional indulgence. Join me.”

You’re not sure you have a choice. The café he chooses is small and quiet, tucked away in a corner of the mall. The waitress approaches, her eyes wide as she recognizes Doom, but he dismisses her with a wave of his hand. “Two coffees,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. She nods and scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.