Supervillains weren’t like regular criminals. For one thing, there was more to earning the label than simply committing a crime with superpowers. Using telekinesis to steal a candy bar wouldn’t automatically condemn you to the Abyss.

To put it simply: if you had a warrant out for your arrest but were too dangerous for a regular law-enforcement officer to confront, you were a supervillain.

Once you were designated a supervillain, things changed drastically. Placing a bounty on your head that anyone with a hero licence could collect for capturing you was just the start. It meant you were destined for a specialised prison if captured. Any assets to your name (if it was known) were seized. Police would stand aside, leaving USHA and the heroes to attempt to arrest you if you were spotted in public. You became wanted, hunted.

And the superheroes had a hell of a lot of leeway in how they could handle you.

My dad always hated the way supervillains were dealt with. I was too young to really internalise much of his most common rant topic, but he was happy to monologue to anyone who’d listen, especially after Mom’s accident. There were common themes to his tirades though, appearing frequently enough to be a guiding light in my research years later.

The problem, as he saw it, came down to one fundamental truth to the US criminal justice system: it was about punishment of criminals, not reforming them for the betterment of society.

I wasn’t sure how much I agreed even today—though I held no doubt I’d develop equally strong opinions on the matter over the course of my own hero career—but Dad believed we, as a society, should endeavour to rehabilitate and reform supervillains wherever we could.

In his mind, there were very few people who didn’t deserve a second chance. Most villains didn’t act out of some moustache-twirling, puppy-kicking blend of pure evil, they had reasons for their actions. For example, it was common for someone from a low-income family to turn to crime to fill a monetary need in their life, and extenuating circumstances like an undeserved criminal record prevented them from using their powers for superhero work. Before they knew it, they were on the USHA supervillain database, and their life was ruined.

Valiant had got into a few controversies for letting villains go, to the point that he was apparently hearing sob stories and tales of woe after every encounter. It hurt his reputation, but he didn’t stop listening to them. Never stopped sympathising, even as he remained one of the most effective superheroes out there.

That was what I loved about Dad. He was always ready to hear what you had to say, no matter who you were, or how old you were.

I tried to keep all that in mind as I stormed across the room, the voices of angry scientists washing off my back. Rage was threatening to consume me. It felt like my nerves were on fire, burning my brain and tinting my vision white. I was trying to breathe deep, to calm myself, to think about this rationally.

Much as I admired and, in some things, sought to emulate the man, I wasn’t my dad. Two people with identical life experiences could end up with diametrically opposing views, and I had yet to have an encounter with one of the so-called sympathetic supervillains he’d loved to soapbox about.

I’d only met the murderous ones. Forgive me if that tainted my view of things, a bit.

This situation was a first for me, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle it even as I approached the boy. No matter how many hazy memories of Dad’s rants ran through my head, they were superseded by a much more recent recollection:

The pain this little fucker had inflicted on me for having the nerve, the gall, the sheer unmitigated audacity, to counter his attempts to sabotage me. No matter how pitiful he looked, this was a boy willing to inflict excruciating pain on another person his own age.

There was no justifying that.

But did that mean he should be punished? It felt like that was a question bigger than me, and I didn’t feel even close to finding an answer as time ran out.

At the very least, I managed to cool down enough that my first action upon reaching the saboteur’s station wasn’t to immediately punch him in the face as hard as I could. It was a close thing, though, my clenched fist straining at my side.

He’d abandoned his task the moment he saw me approaching, the scientists at his station standing around confused behind him. Anyone else in the room might have been on the receiving end of a stern lecture by now. Evidently, they were sympathetic to him.

I wondered how that would change.

The kid’s glare matched my own as I stopped in front of him. This close, it was even clearer how frail he was, his skin so pale it was almost translucent, veins and arteries easily visible beneath. He was so small and skinny it looked like the AC units might blow him over.

And yet he held his head high as he spoke first, his voice a thin rasp. “You have no proof of anything.”

“20/20 works at Aegis Academy as an instructor for the Investigation and Forensics class,” I replied through grit teeth. At the lack of comprehension in the boy’s eyes, I added: “She’s a postcognitive with the ability to see the past states of someone’s body, asshole.”

He smirked. “So she’ll be able to see how many times you jerked off this week. What’s that got to do with me?”

“They know what your power is. You think pro heroes won’t be able to put two and two together?”

“I’m not convinced superheroes can count that high.”

I narrowed my eyes. Every second that went by, it got harder and harder not to punch this shithead.

“That’s a weird thing to say for a guy who’s here trying out to become a superhero,” I said.

The kid wheezed a sound that almost sounded like laughter. He raised his arms to the side, shaking even from that little effort. “Do I look like I’m ever going to become a superhero?”

It felt like a dark cloud had settled over me. “You’re not even trying to eliminate competition to better your own chances,” I voiced the realisation as it dawned. “So, what? You’re just here to fuck with people to make yourself feel better the shitty hand you got dealt?”

“Exactly,” he said without hesitation.

I blinked, eyeing the scientists behind him. They’d all frozen.

“Jeremy,” one of them whispered, disappointment oozing from her voice. She looked betrayed.

Jeremy only grinned, his eyes blazing with challenge, as if daring me to make a scene of things.

I’d been using sympathetic villain in my mind because of the common use of the term, but really I’d been working under the assumption I was dealing with some malicious little shit who was determined to become a hero by any means necessary, so embittered by his circumstances that hurting other people didn’t even register to him as wrong.

I’d underestimated the level of spite I was dealing with. Vastly.

The realisation should’ve only made me more angry. By all rights, my fist should’ve made acquaintance with his face the moment it became clear that, for this kid, fucking people over was the end, not the means.

Instead, tension drained from my body. I unclenched my fists with no trouble, unfurrowed my brow without issue, and was able to loosen my posture as if I’d just learned there was no danger before me at all.

Honestly, this was just sad. Tragic in the way finding an abandoned dog that had turned vicious and hostile was.

Dad’s words came to me, unbidden:

What does anyone gain from slamming a villain behind bars and leaving ‘em there?

But the bitter truth was, I was a powerless kid without power. I had no effect on the justice system.

Maybe I could become some bigshot hero and campaign for change in a few decades, but right now I knew, deep in my bones, that Jeremy was going to be sent to a juvenile detention centre. Spend a few years there, maybe more if his tendency towards spite landed him in more trouble. He’d stew in his anger, they’d do little to nothing to change his views, and he’d come out the other end even worse than he was now. Maybe with some connections made inside. Those places were like recruitment centres for the cartels, syndicates, and villain teams.

I was looking at a future supervillain, and there was nothing I could do about it. The scientists had already heard my words, the cogs were already turning. I wouldn’t have let him get away with it even if I could, but I still felt regret all the same.

Regret for a life wasted, maybe.

I felt deflated as I spoke. “Did you get what you wanted out of all this, at least? Did it make you feel better?”

“Not at all,” Jeremy said, his smirk twisting into a sneer of disgust. “Maybe if I’d had a chance to make a few more of these delusional freaks fail out.”

“What’s delusional about wanting to become a hero?”

“There’s no such thing as heroes, you idiot.” He had to stop to take a breath. Just speaking seemed to tire him out. “Not in this room, not at this school, not in this entire fucking country.”

I wanted to correct him, but I knew that was the wrong thing to do. “Why do you think that?” I asked instead.

Fury burned in Jeremy’s eyes. “Oh, there’s people who run around in stupid costumes. Like old comic books. Catchy one-liners. Smiling for the camera. And there’s plenty of people here who’ll go on to do the same, I’m sure. But I won’t call anyone who upholds this society a hero. I refuse.”

“This society?” I prompted. One of the scientists was speaking into a phone now, while the other two eyed Jeremy. Before, they’d seemed ready to catch him if he fell. Now, they looked prepared to capture him if he attacked. In my peripheral vision, Maria and the other two who’d been escorting me around were also poised.

“This shithole country where a guy can get thrown to the Abyss for trying to pay for his kid’s medical expenses. The fact the medical expenses are even a fucking thing in the first place—for anyone, let alone a child! No hero would let that happen. Every cape is just a dog of the status quo. And no one in this room is any different.”

I hesitated before speaking, “And you think becoming a villain yourself will make anything better?”

His eyes flashed. I tensed, expecting pain, but none came.

“I’d rather be a villain than a government dog,” he said.

Explaining the complicated relationship between the superhero community and the US government felt like it would be counterproductive, so I suppressed the urge with all my willpower.

“You don’t want to try and improve things?” I asked. “Maybe if you reached a high enough position, you could negotiate with prosecutors.”

Jeremy groaned and looked to the heavens. “Was I so obvious that I got caught by a blind guy? Fucking look at me. Use those creepy eyes of yours. How would I ever have become a superhero?”

“Anyone can be a superhero,” I said firmly.

“Do you seriously believe that?”

“I have to.”

He eyed me strangely, like I was a particularly odd animal. After a moment, he wheezed a chuckle. “Even if you’re delusional enough to believe that, you know you can’t get a hero licence with a criminal record, right?”

I winced. “It’s… not completely impossible. You can come back from this. If someone like Marquise can get her record wiped and go on to become a great hero, anyone can.”

Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say.

“Marquise,” he spat the word like a cobra ejecting venom. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Marquise, the hypocrite. She’s the perfect example of what I’m talking about. A woman takes over a State, runs a syndicate that ruins hundreds of thousands of people’s lives, commits countless crimes, and yet she gets away with it all while petty thieves rot in prison.” His voice was growing louder with every word, more rushed. It looked like he barely had the breath in his lungs, but he was practically shouting as he continued. “All because she happened to be a big hero’s nemesis.”

“... you think she should have been punished instead?”

“Yes!”

“Even though she helped take down her own syndicate? And a dozen other major criminal organisations since? Think of all the good she’s done, how hard she’s worked to repent for her sins. You think she shouldn’t have been given the chance to do all of that?”

“Is there some kind of fucking formula based off how many good or bad things people have done? If so, why is my dad still in prison for robbing liquor stores, never once hurting anyone, even though he worked most of his life at a nursing home?”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Jeremy opened his mouth to speak, but something caught his attention and his jaw clicked shut. I followed his gaze, and sighed.

Speak of the devil.