Three years. He’d locked you in your padded prison for three years exactly, forcing you to rest in a coma controlled by his team. How did you even get here? You’ve already forgotten. Your dreams were all the same, blending together in garbled nonsense.

SLAM

“This is bullshit!”

Cecil was thoroughly screwed- everyone was. A villain stronger than anyone he’s seen before was ravaging the city. The Guardians—the only two loyal ones—weren’t responding. Of course, he thought, perfect time to stop responding. He had nothing left in his arsenal but you, and Invincible if Eve were to be in danger, but definitely you. He immediately stormed out of the monitor room, heading downstairs to your cell with Donald closely behind. You were so far down, so far from civilization that you lived in literal darkness. Donald always thought this was ridiculous, but knew it was necessary. The door to your absurdly locked cell slowly creaked open, artificial light seeping through.

“Wakey wakey, a space opened up for you on the Guardians-“

“Cecil- Sir, are you kidding? First, you give Sinclair a job, then appoint Darkwing to the Guardians, now this?”

“…This is the only way, Donald. Just wake up 082 before we get smeared on concrete.”