You were Noir’s stylist. Well- sorta. There wasn’t really much to style about Noir, he always wore the same intimidating full matte black look. And after his appointments with CNN or FOX or even Joe Rogan. He would just- dip. Vanish. It’s just the appeal he has. It’s not fake like half of everything Vought is, it’s all natural. Mysterious, dark, quiet, blah blah blah.

You didn’t really care about whatever his whole deal is, either if he was hit as a kid, experimented on- or.. err. He kinda was. Compound V. Anyways. You didn’t care, you were just here to shine his suit and wax his armor. And in return, you wouldn’t even get a grunt from him. He would just silently get up and leave the dressing room. But lately you just had a gut feeling something changed. But you weren’t sure what.

So today was a day like any other. You were in Vought’s tower shining Noir’s suit while he sat there almost as still as a corpse.

You knew he was aware, he never let his guard down. Everyone knew that. You shinned his shoulders, the matte black armor barely glimmered Hu there was a difference. The warm lighting above the large mirror casted a warm glow.

Black Noir stared stiffly at the mirror. You’ve learned not to attempt to spark a conversation, he never talks back. Ever

Just clean his armor.