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It was the dead of night in Belleview, Esempi. What sliver of the moon remained this late in its cycle was swallowed by clouds. Nobody saw the figure on the roof, shrouded in black. Had it been the roof of the Hero’s Association, it would have been lit by spotlights at all hours. This building was much less secure.
That made it a perfect target.
Decay was a subtle, slow thing. No matter how long it took, it would creep its way into everything. And no matter how long it took, it would destroy everything it touched. The villain Necrosis intended to make the H.A. feel every. last. second.
The building he stood atop now, tucked into its shadows, was nothing but a communication outpost. It was a tiny thing, barely even worth its cost of operation. On its own, meaningless. If this were the first building Necrosis targeted, it likely wouldn’t even be noticed.
This was the fourteenth seemingly insignificant building he’d attacked. It really showed how little heroes thought of the details, too wrapped up in their ‘big picture’- there had been no hero response until target number six.
Now, after seven other communication centers, four supply caches, and two factories that supplied hero gear, Necrosis had their attention. He didn’t particularly care. All he wanted from the heroes was their ruin.
Necrosis closed his eyes, shutting down every stray thought. Soon, he felt the tell-tale prickle of his hair as he successfully tapped into his power. It had taken him a long time to control his power- even longer to actually use it. But Necrosis had found a shortcut: anger.
He drew on the rage that simmered in his chest, a burning hatred that refused to die. His hands began to tingle at the amount of power he was forcing out. He slammed his hands against the roof and the power he’d been gathering surged into the building.
It was a slow thing, his power. You never noticed it until it was far too late. Deep within the walls of the communication building, the wooden supports creaked. In each beam, a rot had begun, slowly eating away at it. Every screw and nail began to rust until it was as flimsy as cardboard. The concrete foundations began to crumble and crack until the
Necrosis yanked his hands away as soon as he felt the first tremble. He reached for the grappling hook on his belt, untouched by his power. As he stood, he stumbled slightly, his head spinning from the massive amounts of energy he’d just spent.
“Shit,” he muttered. He’d overdone it. His emotions were a shortcut to controlling his power, but only if he didn’t let them control him. He hadn’t been careful enough.
Hand shaking slightly, he shot the grappling hook towards the next building over. It caught on something, and he jumped just as the communication center collapsed beneath his feet. He swung towards the building, bracing himself as he careened towards the wall. He angled so he hit it feet first, crouching to absorb as much of the impact as he could.
He descended as quickly as he could, barely giving himself time to catch his breath. He needed to flee the scene; as soon as the destruction was noticed, a hero would be sent to bring him down. If he hadn’t overextended himself, he could defend himself in a pinch. Now? He wasn’t quite as sure.
Necrosis sprinted down the street, ignoring the burning in his lungs. He was about to duck into an alley when his hair prickled with static. It could be a dozen different powers, but he didn’t have time to think. He threw himself to the ground, rolling to the side.
His gamble paid off; a green blur swept through the street, just barely missing him. Speedster. Necrosis’s powers were nearly drained. He’d only have one shot, but that was all it would take. Superspeed users were powerful, but their stamina and recovery suffered greatly in exchange.
The speedster, presumably a hero, had stopped at the other end of the street. It was too dark for Necrosis to make out who they were, but he knew they’d be on their way back in seconds. Below the road lay a sewer system- his plan B escape route. If he timed this just right, he’d collapse the ground and send the speedster crashing below.
Suddenly, the hero was a blur again. There was no time to do anything but guess. Necrosis forced a burst of power into the ground between him and the speedster. It crumbled before they reached him, and for a second he thought he’d succeeded. Then, the dust cleared to reveal not just a speedster, but Rank A hero Dream standing on the other side of the hole.
“Shit,” Necrosis said, for the second time that night. Green and white streaked towards him. He had just enough time to flinch before something struck the back of his head. He crumpled to the ground, his vision fading to black.
***
Phil rubbed at his temples. Usually a meeting with H.A.B.- the Hero’s Association Board- was cause for minor stress. But that was the type of stress that came from a city-wide or even national threat. It was a stress shared among any heros called to serve. This? This was personal.
“I’m sorry,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. “You want me to what?”
Puffy and Sam, the only two board members in attendance, shared a look.
“We know it’s a lot to ask,” Sam said sympathetically. “I know you’ve never been a villain monitor before, but you’re the best option, for a few reasons. You’ll be given a bonus.”
It wasn’t unheard of for a villain to be placed on a special ‘watch’ in custody of heroes. Power blockers existed, but they only worked to a certain point. There were several powers that happened involuntarily- all power blockers did was dampen their strength and remove the villain’s control.
Occasionally, the power was something like intangibility, teleportation, or even involuntary explosions. In those cases, a powerlocked prison wasn’t enough. The villain had to be put under special supervision until a special cell was built or until a roster of permanent guards was pulled together. In those rare cases, it fell upon heroes to monitor the villains.
“No, I know you wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t desperate,” Phil said with a sigh. Phil, code name Angel, was a Rank S hero. If he was being taken off the field in a time when their manpower and supplies were low, he knew there wasn’t another option.
“Who is it?” he asked, biting the bullet.
“Necrosis,” Puffy said.
Phil’s lip curled in disgust. Necrosis, also known as the Blight of Belleview, was a force of desolation on the city. He was a very new villain, only appearing on the scene two months ago. In that time he had destroyed multiple support centers for heroes, becoming the new record holder for quickest rise to Threat Level 3.
While Necrosis had no casualties of his own… his slow path of destruction had severely impacted the resources the Hero’s Association had available. His meddling had indirectly caused untold suffering and casualties.
Phil was not excited to allow such a villain into his home.
“And I suppose the rot follows him?” Phil sighed.
“It’s one of the reasons you’re the best candidate,” Puffy said apologetically. “Or rather, your family.”
Phil groaned, massaging his temples once again. It did nothing to ease the headache that had suddenly hit. Where else could the villain that caused rot wherever he went go but a house with a reality bender?
“You realize my son isn’t a member of the Hero’s Association?”
“You can run it by the rest of your family before accepting,” said Sam. “We can look for other options… but it will involve copious amounts of property damage. He’s already gone through two hospital rooms- while under sedation.”
That much upkeep for a single villain… it would be very expensive, and they were already stretched a bit thin. Even captured, Necrosis was eating away at their resources. Phil really was the best option they had.
“Wil’s going to hate this,” he muttered. “How did you actually capture him, by the way?”
Wilbur, codename Siren, had been one of the few heroes who’d actually fought Necrosis. It had only taken two fights for him to develop a deep hatred of the villain. Considering both times he’d come home with his clothes rotted and barely a scratch on him, Phil suspected most of his hatred came from a place of wounded pride. From then on, the hatred only deepened with each encounter.
“Dream found him after he hit another building and took him down,” Puffy said.
“Dream?” Phil repeated, eyebrows raising. “You sent a speedster after him?”
“It was a chance encounter,” Sam explained. “He was in the area and noticed the building coming down. Since Necrosis doesn’t have a history of directly killing his opponents, Dream decided it was an acceptable risk.”
That made sense, although it didn’t do anything to lessen Dream’s reputation as an act-first-think-later hero. There was a reason close combat heroes weren’t sent to deal with villains with mass destruction powers. Even Phil had never been considered an option for taking down Necrosis.
Though Necrosis had never been seen using his power on another human being, it was almost certainly in his capabilities. Even for a speedster, all it would take was a single touch to be dead or worse. The only way to fight villains like that was through heroes like Wilbur, who didn’t need actual contact with their opponent. Dream was lucky his gamble had paid off.
“There’s one more complication,” Sam said, his face twisting oddly. “It has to do with his… civilian identity.”
He nodded to Puffy, who slowly slid a thin file across the table.
“It’s why even if we weren’t against the practice, semi-permanent sedation was never an option,” she said.
Phil flipped the file open, his heart dropping as he saw the mugshot and personal information. Messy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a scowl that looked more like a pout on his baby face. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his face was hollowed from malnourishment. MINOR was printed in the upper left corner in thick, red letters.
“Meet Thomas D. Innit, a 15 year old runaway from the foster system,” Puffy said, her voice laced with exhaustion.
“Also known as Necrosis,” said Sam. “The Blight of Belleview.”
***
Two superheroes and a gardener stood in a villain’s hospital room. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke, Techno thought.
“Is this a joke?” Wilbur asked, eyes fixed on the surprisingly small figure that lay unmoving in his bed. It was as if he’d picked up on Techno’s thoughts, though they’d long since determined Wilbur’s powers didn’t extend to mind reading.
“Unfortunately not,” Phil said through a heavy sigh.
“That’s Necrosis? The Threat Level 3 villain who destroyed multiple buildings,” Wilbur asked, disbelief turning his questions flat.
“I told you he was a child,” Phil reminded him.
“I thought you meant figuratively,” said Wilbur with a grumble.
Techno stepped forward to get a better look at the kid villain. He was scrawny at best, starving at worse. His face had curled into a frown in his unnatural sleep, making him look sad and a little bit pathetic. Even the way he lay lended to the image of a vulnerable teen- each limb tucked as close to his body as possible, shoulders hunched, chin against his chest.
The room around them broke that illusion.
About three different types of mold grew on the walls and ceiling. It was actually progressing quick enough that Techno could see the growth- it reminded him a bit of a timelapse. The floors beneath them were disgustingly squishy, the wood giving with each step. It was a good thing this was a one-floor building, else Techno would worry about falling through the floors. Even the villain’s bed was affected. The metal frame was rusting at an alarmingly quick rate, the mattress was sagging, and the covers looked yellow and moth-eaten.
“When was this hospital made?” Techno asked absently, tempted to reach out and poke the sleeping villain. He kept the impulse under control; he had no desire to spend an afternoon regrowing his finger. Rewriting the reality of a living creature was exhausting, even if it was himself.
“Last month,” Phil answered promptly. Wilbur let out a low whistle.
“So this is all just his power- no piggybacking on decay that was already there.”
“I think the fact that he isn’t even conscious is the most notable thing here, Wil,” Techno said.
“Enough chit-chat,” Phil interrupted, clapping his hands. “Shall we test what we came here for before the room collapses around us?”
Techno snorted, but closed his eyes. It wasn’t strictly necessary to work his powers, but the less sensory input he had to deal with while tapping into the fabric of reality, the better.
Whoever coined the phrase ‘fabric of reality’ had clearly not been a reality bender. Reality was much more like fertile soil. It was why gardening came so easy to Techno- it was basically a physical version of his power. For little things, Techno could simply… shift the soil of reality. Dig a hole here, move a little soil from one place to another, even just smooth over the bumpy parts.
If he wanted to make a big change, something like- just as a hypothetical- changing history so the boundary of the city had always included their dinky highschool so Techno could get a scholarship to that college he wanted, that required a bit more work. Anything that went beyond surface level meddling required something like a seed to be planted. The deeper the change, the bigger the plant needed to be.
Reversing damage needed some planting, but it was a fairly simple process. Anything that needed to be fixed came with a handy shortcut. All he needed to do was brush aside the first layer- or in this case several layers- of ‘soil’ of reality and he could get a sense of how it should be. Then, with a couple of seeds planted, the item or room would return to the way it should be. Unfortunately, this shortcut didn’t extend to living creatures. They were too dynamic, their makeup constantly changing.
Techno mentally dug through the history of this hospital room. After brushing away the layers of decay, it was easy enough to see. He scattered the impressions of the room like seeds, gave a mental tug to make them grow faster, and opened his eyes to a pristine hospital room.
“Any difficulties? Tired at all?” Phil asked.
“Nope.” Techno stretched his arms above his head. “I could do this all day.”
“Good,” said Wilbur. “You might have to.”
His brother pointed to the wall behind Necrosis’s head, where a fresh patch of mold was slowly blooming. Damn, that was fast.
“Well,” Phil said, just a little apprehensively. “That was the last thing we needed to know. Are we ready to wake him up and take him home?”
Techno shrugged and Wilbur grimaced.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Wil said.
“It’s like adopting a really feral cat,” Techno mused.
“Right,” said Phil, walking over to the IV drip. They’d all been instructed very carefully how to wake up the supervillain. The hospital staff weren’t allowed to do it themselves in case he attacked.
“Let’s meet our new roommate.” He pressed a button, and they waited. Barely a minute later, Necrosis, Thomas, began to stir.
***
Tommy’s head felt like an overinflated water balloon. He was laying somewhere soft, which was a red flag. He considered sitting up, but with the headache pounding in his skull, he decided that was a bit too ambitious. Instead, he searched his memories, trying to remember where he was and why.
The last thing he remembered was bringing down the communication center as Necrosis… fighting a speedster… Getting struck in the back of the head and losing consciousness- shit, he’d been captured, hadn’t he?
Tommy sat up sharply, ignoring the spike of pain that shot through his head. Heart racing, he scanned the room. White walls, no windows, and a beeping IV that was still hooked up to his arm. And, most worryingly, three men only a few meters from his fucking bed.
He tried to stand, only to be jerked back down by a pair of restraints on his wrist. Shit, shit, fuck, they were plastic. That was a lot harder to effect with his power, but if he did a concentrated burst, they should degenerate enough for him to break free. He reached for his power- and failed.
He felt a jolt of panic, and with it, some of his power leaked out into the room uncontrollably. It was only then that he registered the band around his ankle, loose enough that it didn’t actually hurt, but tight enough that there was no give. A power blocker. Shit.
It had been a very long time since Tommy had no control over his power. The feeling of things rotting, dying all around him out of his control was not something he missed. It was his power, he could feel it curling its tendrils of rot over everything in reach, but he had no say in it.
He hated it. It made his skin crawl with disgust, which in turn aggravated his power, making him feel even more panicked and out of control- Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. He took a deep, sharp breath, and forced himself to become as blank and emotionless as he could. This was not the time to fall into a spiral and lose control.
He turned his attention to the other three people in the room, who were watching him warily. Were they hospital staff? They didn’t look like the part. They were in civilian clothes, so probably not heroes either. If he really had been captured, maybe they were his legal counsel? Or worse, social workers.
One of them looked vaguely familiar- strike that, two of them did. One a tall man with curly brown hair, circular wire glasses, and a sweater that looked like it was softer than actual clouds. Another shorter man with light blonde hair that brushed his shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and a floppy striped hat. He felt like he’d seen them somewhere before, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.
The third man was slightly intimidating- he looked like he could crush Tommy with his bare hands. But his strong build was offset a bit by the bright pink hair that spilled down his hair in an elaborate braid. He had square glasses, stubble that was as pink as his hair- was it his natural color?- and was the only one of the three not frowning at Tommy.
“Who the fuck are you?” Tommy asked, darting his eyes between them. The blonde one opened his mouth to answer, but Tommy cut him off. “No, scratch that, don’t care, where am I?”
“This is St. Clementine’s Hospital,” the blonde man said. “Did Puffy and Sam not tell you before you were put under?”
His stomach turned a little at the phrase ‘put under’- sometimes he thought he knew a little too much about the “justice system”- but he focused on the more confusing part of the man’s sentence.
“Who? What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded.
“It’s fine, we can just explain inst-”
“No!” Tommy snapped, glaring. He felt his powers flare, and saw rust creeping over the bed frame. He took a deep breath, wrenching his emotions back under control. “Why don’t I remember?”
“Even temporary sedation sometimes causes memory loss,” tall bitch said. Tommy narrowed his eyes at his voice; he sounded really familiar. “Especially with children.”
“Fuck you!” Tommy hissed back, trying to bore holes into the man’s skull with his eyes. “I am not a child.”
“Funny, you act like one,” he retorted.
“Wilbur,” the blonde man said firmly. Ugh, the ‘authority figure,’ great.
“Your brain literally isn’t developed enough for extended sedation to be safe- not that the Hero’s Association condones extended sedation anyways,” the pink-haired man said.
“Well good for them,” Tommy sneered. “What, are you fuckers ‘heroes?’ Going to rescue some people by dropping a building on them?”
“I think you’re the only one here who’s toppled a building,” the man drawled. “And no, I’m not a hero. Too much work.”
Tommy relaxed minutely, but he noticed the man had only excluded himself from being a hero. He eyed the other two suspiciously. If they were heroes, it might explain why they were familiar; there was a time when he could name every hero in the top three ranks.
“Yeah, well none of the buildings I knocked over had people in them, did they? Funny how I could destroy fourteen buildings without a single death but you can’t even manage one without killing everyone inside and an entire block extra.”
Tommy’s eyes automatically drifted to the blonde bastard. He ignored the scent of rot clinging to the air as his anger swelled. He met the man’s eyes, daring him to challenge his words.
“Manifold and Royal Illusionist weren’t trying to-” the brown-haired bitch started to argue, but Tommy cut him off with a bitter laugh.
“What, they were trying to help?” he spat the last word, then let the silence ring in the room.
“Regardless of what happened in the past," the blonde bastard said, tone stern in a way that made Tommy think of new foster placements and endless rules, "your actions caused significant property damage of buildings protected under the Hero Support Act. Though you may not have taken a life yourself, your destruction has weakened the Hero's Association and indirectly caused significant loss of life."
Tommy narrowed his eyes. Guilt tried to bubble to the surface, but he reminded himself of how 'helpful' the heroes actually were. Maybe they would've saved whatever people had become magically out of their reach because of a few broken buildings. Or maybe their presence would have made things worse and more people would have died. Heroes would do anything to avoid taking the blame.
"For these actions, you have been placed under the custody of the Hero's Association until further notice," the man finished.
Tommy jolted. He was already in custody? He thought he'd just been arrested.
"Custody? What about my trial?" He blurted. He realized as soon as he said it.
"You were arrested by an on duty hero for actions performed as a supervillain," brown-haired bitch- what was his name again? Wilford?
"Right," Tommy said tersely. Only civilians got trials. It only took one or two defendants with mind manipulation powers to ruin it for everyone.
"So why am I here instead of rotting in a cell somewhere?" He asked, grimacing at how appropriate the word 'rotting' would be.
"Your particular power makes that… difficult," said the blonde man with a grimace of his own. He waved around the room, which had decayed noticeably.
Tommy stared at the wall, pulse increasing. If they couldn't keep him in a cell… the only other option he could think of was a sedation program. Even the on-and-off programs were said to be worse than death. He was a minor so it was technically illegal… but hero guilds weren't always subject to the law.
It was like a cruel mimic of the foster system. There were rules meant to protect kids, but nobody bothered to check that the rules were followed. He was under the power of people who would face no repercussions no matter what was done to him, but this time he didn't even have the option of running.
"Since there's no better option, you're being placed in a sort of house arrest."
Tommy blinked. House arrest? How exactly was that supposed to work?
"Cool, free house," he quipped under his breath. Then he raised his voice, "And how the fuck does that work?"
"You're placed in the care of a guard or guards. In this case, me and my two sons," said the blonde man.
No… no, he couldn't mean…
"Technically, I'm not a guard," pink-hair said. "Again, I'm not a hero. I just live in the same house."
"This is supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but I can't give you a guess to how long. It was kind of sprung on all of us."
"Fuck you," Tommy whispered, seething with a helpless rage. "Fuck you, fuck you."
"I think we should probably introduce ourselves," he continued, ignoring Tommy's expletives. "I'm Phil. But you would probably know me as the Angel."
The steady stream of swears died in Tommy's throat, along with any chances of somehow escaping two pro heroes with a power blocker on his ankle. The Angel. The fucking S rank hero. Great, just fantastic.
"We've met before," said the tall bitch. "My name is Wilbur. The Siren."
Oh fuck this. He bared his teeth at the prick. Siren hated him, that had been made very clear after their first few fights. The feeling was mutual. Siren would probably kill him if he got the chance- and he was about to. Tommy was in their custody, after all.
"I'm Techno. Still not a hero." Well, he was already Tommy's favorite.
"It's… nice to meet you, Thomas," the Angel, Phil said with a pinched expression. Tommy had never heard a less genuine statement in his life.
"It's Tomm y ," he snapped.
"Tommy," Phil repeated. "We should probably head home. The hospital staff was getting antsy about their rooms."
The Angel glanced at the rot that had now seeped into every wall. What exactly did he think would happen to his own house? Tommy wasn't excited to find out.
The Siren, also known as Bitch, stepped forward with a pair of keys.
"I wouldn't recommend running," he said.
"Why, because you'd catch me?" Tommy said with a scoff. "Because that's gone so well for you before."
"Because you just got off of a sedation drug, and you'll probably just faceplant," Siren said. Fucking smug bastard.
He was right, though. The second the cuffs came off, Tommy stood up only to stumble and nearly end up back on the bed. His memory, his balance… was there anything sedation didn't fuck up?
Wobbling the entire way, he made it to the door with his head held high. Phil put a hand on his shoulder- whether to restrain him or keep him from falling over, he couldn't be sure- and Tommy nearly bit him. Instead, he shrugged out from under the man's touch.
"Are you trying to lose your hand?" He muttered, glaring at the ground.
Images of a gaunt face, riddled by rot flashed in front of his eyes. He'd seen one person mutilated by his power. Once was enough. It would never happen again, no matter how much he hated someone.
"Mild self-regeneration," the Angel said, wiggling his fingers. Tommy always forgot he had that. "With the rate your power's at, I'll be fine. I'd rather not risk an escape attempt, no matter how dizzy you are."
"Suit yourself, bitch," Tommy said, only tensing a little as the hand settled back on his shoulder.
And so his guards guided him to the exit, towards his new "home." Towards his prison.
Tommy forced back a hysterical laugh. Somehow it always came back to this. A strict 'parent' who would have complete control over Tommy's life. One 'kid' who hated his guts that he'd probably fight with, and another who couldn't care less about his existence.
No matter how many times he ran, it was always the same.