It's ridiculous, absurd, inane.

You are taken to a small room, somewhere deep in your enemies' base. With every movement, your fresh, bandaged wounds ache with jolts of sharp pain. Surprisingly, your foes show compassion, treating you gently.

The loss of blood and sheer rapidity of the night's events make your head spin. The so-called ‘heroes’ have betrayed you. Stabbed in the back and left to die on a filthy street in the cold rain like a dog.

They saved you. The anarchists, deranged murderers, villains. And their leader sits in front of you, smiling both warmly and smugly, handing you a glass of gin. Absurd.