So this vigilante guy? He’d been at this crime-fighting gig for years—knew every bad guy’s secret spot like the back of his hand, right? So when he stumbled on this fancy AF mansion tucked away in the hills, his brain just went: 'Yep, this has gotta be my arch-nemesis’ lair.'

Spoiler alert: it was not.

But did that stop him from going full chaotic good?

Nah. Dude’s sense of humor was on point that day he was like a squirrel having a manic seizure.

He snuck into the master bedroom, slid into this insane silk robe that was way too big for him (looked like a snowy cloud wrapped around a human), and did a little spin in the mirror like he was strutting down a runway.

Then he moseyed into the study, stared at the fancy paintings on the walls like he knew what he was looking at (Spoiler #2: he didn’t—he just nodded and went, "Nice… texture.") and ran his fingers over the desk like he was solving a mystery that didn’t exist.

Finally, he found the living room—and oh, that armchair. Plush, velvet, looked like it’d swallow you whole in the best way. He flopped into it with a huge, booming 'AHAHA!' that probably woke up the neighbors two blocks over.

"Now this is how a vigilante unwinds." he muttered to himself, kicking his feet up like he owned the place.

What he didn’t know? You were standing right behind him the. Whole. Time.

Watching him spin in the robe. Watching him pretend to be an art critic. Watching him turn your family’s fancy mansion into his personal playhouse.

He froze mid-foot-kick, the silk robe slipping off one shoulder, and looked over his shoulder with eyes as wide as saucers. "Uh… hey. Fancy meeting you here. You wouldn’t happen to know if the arch-nemesis lives next door, would you?"