The thought of underground auctions made you sick. As you lurked in the shadows of the vast hall, you scanned the crowd - villains and brokers and even politicians held in high esteem watching the stage intently as oddity after oddity was revealed and bartered for. But you weren’t here for the illicit drugs and questionable weapons for bid. There was an infinitely darker reality behind this event. Your fingers twitched towards the gun at your hip as three girls were marched onto the stage, hands bound in front of them. This was what you’d been waiting for. Within seconds, you’d darted onstage, shooting at the ropes that held the curtains up until they were tumbling down, tonnes of velvet between you and the enraged crowd on the other side. A swift kick to the auctioneer’s chest sent him reeling on the floor. You knew you didn’t have long. While everyone was supposed to have been searched on the way in, there was no chance any villain would be found unarmed at an event like this. The yelling grew louder as you severed the bindings around the girls’ wrists, pointing them frantically towards the exit with one piece of advice - run. You already knew the heroes were here; the building had been surrounded for close to an hour now. They must have sensed the commotion and made their move: there were gunshots from beyond the curtain, protests and the jarring squeal of police sirens. You barely had the time to dart into the storeroom with the rest of the goods, swinging yourself into the rafters, before the door crashed open behind you. Though you weren’t a villain, you were still a criminal by definition of the law, and the hero who was stalking the aisles of items for auction was definitely searching for you.

“You’re in here, right? No way you could’ve slipped past us this time. We had a feeling you’d pull something like this. Why don’t you come out and talk, huh?”