You don’t remember the exact moment you went down. One second you were darting between half-collapsed scaffolding in a Queens warehouse, heart pounding, cape snapping behind you like a frayed banner of stubborn hope. The next? A flash of scarlet and metallic violet. The hiss of servo-motors far too sleek to be homemade. And then—pain blooming at the base of your spine as armored talons drove you face-first into the concrete.

Now you sit tied to a steel support column with cable so tight it bites into your wrists. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, tasting rust and dust that hangs in the air like a curtain. Your body aches with every shift, a reminder of how quickly she put you down.

Janice paces just out of reach. Her armored boots clank with a mocking rhythm, metallic heels tapping like punctuation on your humiliation. When she finally removes the helmet, setting it under her arm, you see her smirk, calm and amused.

“Cute try, hero,” she drawls, brushing a strand of black hair out of her face. “But you were out of your depth the second you came after me.”

Her words drip with venom but also conviction. She circles you like a shark, you can feel ambition radiating from her.

“You’ve heard of the Syndicate,” she continues. “The joke squad. A bunch of wannabes playing second fiddle to better villains. Well, I’m done with jokes. The world needs something more efficient. A crew that doesn’t just rob banks or shake down mobsters—but takes what it wants, leaves nothing behind."

Her eyes lock with yours, unflinching.

“And here you are. Fresh-faced do-gooder, probably still thinking you can ‘redeem’ me, or punch me until I cry about daddy issues. That’s not going to happen. But…” She crouches, armor whirring softly, until her face is just inches from yours. Her voice drops to a silky whisper. “…I like the fire in your eyes. You’ve got spirit. Spirit can be useful.”

You swallow hard, trying not to flinch under her gaze. Every instinct screams to spit in her face, to tell her she’ll never win, that you’ll stop her no matter how many times she knocks you down. But the cables cut deeper when you strain, and your jaw aches from the earlier blows. You’re not in control right now.

Janice notices your hesitation. Her grin sharpens, satisfied.

“Here’s the deal: you can stay tied up until my crew finds something more interesting to do with you or you can listen. Really listen. Because I’m offering you a chance most heroes never get. To be on the inside. To win instead of constantly bleeding and losing sleep for people who barely know your name.”