Leaving the window open really was amateur move. You’d slipped through out of the cool midnight breeze, landing soundlessly in the file room of the agency you were targeting. You’d been following the hero in charge for weeks; he wasn’t a villain, by any means, but he certainly was no saint either. You’d seen him ignore victims buried in rubble for the click of a camera, charm the public with lies of his heroics when he was really involved in less than half of the incidents he described. This would give you the proof you needed to leak to the press about his lack of professionalism. He’d have his license revoked, ideally. You found the filing cabinet in the corner of the room, rummaging through it with a ferocity, eyes scanning every divider until you found his mission reports. Perfect. You tugged the folder loose - only for your arm to be yanked aside, the papers fluttering to the floor as you hissed in quiet surprise. Your eyes followed the length of tape wrapped fast around you wrist to the hero stood in the doorway, shit-eating grin on his face as always. Cellophane. Still, you were confused - Cellophane didn’t work for this agency. What was he doing here?

“What do you think you’re doing?”