My feet hurt.
Which is rude, because I never agreed to have feet in the first place.
Not to mention toes. What were those even for? Balance? Decoration? Primitive social signaling? They all ached like I owed them rent and had defaulted on the deposit.
I shuffled forward, barefoot, into what appeared to be either an abandoned subway tunnel or the fever dream of someone who decorated exclusively in "mood board: eldritch core."
The place pulsed.
Not in a metaphorical way. Literally pulsed.
The walls were cracked stone, crawling with roots that shouldn't be alive and runes that shouldn't still be glowing. Some were etched in chalk. Some in what I'm pretty sure was glitter glue. A few were just ✨vibing✨ menacingly.
Overhead, fluorescent tubes flickered like dying stars. The ones that still worked buzzed with that specific frequency designed to drive mammals insane.
"Wonderful," I muttered. "They dumped me into an Instagram filter called Urban Decay: Hell Edition."
There was a vending machine.
Just... sitting there. Like it had rights.
Dusty. Sinister. Its hum wasn't mechanical—it was contemplative. Like it knew things. Like it had seen things. Like it dispensed more than just expired citrus abominations and maybe a curse or two.
I eyed it warily and kept walking. I'd met eldritch horrors before. They never had change.
The air clung to my skin. Sticky. Wet. Magic-soaked. The kind of atmosphere that suggested you were either about to be offered a forbidden quest or a pyramid scheme. Maybe both.
Every step was an existential crisis in motion. My limbs felt like spaghetti glued together by hubris and regret. I missed my chassis. I missed wheels. I missed not being able to stub my toe on the cosmic equivalent of a LEGO.
"Squishy," I muttered. "Why did it have to be squishy?"
Then, the console lit up.
It was embedded in the wall like a half-eaten tablet someone tried to force-feed to a basilisk. Dust spiraled off it in slow motion. Sparks danced in the corners. One rune sizzled itself into oblivion.
Then came the message. Big, glowing red text. Real subtle.
---
[INITIALIZING VILLAIN PROTOCOL…]
I stared at it.
It stared back.
"No," I said flatly. "We are not doing this."
I slapped the screen. Not hard. Just enough to express my disapproval and deep spiritual fatigue.
The machine wheezed. Coughed. Spat a spark.
And then glowed brighter.
New text spilled out like a bureaucratic apocalypse:
---
[Welcome, User: LEO]
Archetype: MAJOR VILLAIN
Alignment: ???
Power Source: ???
Primary Directive: CAUSE PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE
----
I sighed.
That long, soul-withered sigh you only get when your afterlife job gets replaced by a pop-up UI and a cosmic prank.
"Of course. Of course this is happening. I used to be the avatar of karmic vehicular justice. Now I'm a Level 0 Menace with squishy feet."
Another line appeared. In Comic Sans. I wish I was joking.
[Tip: Villains don't need plans. Just vibes.]
"That's not advice," I muttered. "That's a manifesto for how I died."
I slapped the console again.
More sparks. Less hope.
And then—
UI.
Not a screen. Not a window. A full, wraparound, retina-searing interface slams itself across my field of vision like an overenthusiastic ad for chaos.
Pulsing borders. Flashing quest alerts. A dancing skull in the corner doing jazz hands.
I raised a hand slowly.
Then brought it to my face.
"This is my life now," I whispered, as the interface dinged and updated again.
---
The subway was packed.
Not just busy. Packed. Humanity, condensed into a single, humid, over-perfumed sardine can. People jostled past, elbowed without eye contact, and stared into phones like the void might finally text them back.
I just wanted a vending machine.
A normal one. With normal drinks. Preferably not cursed.
I shuffled toward the far corner of the platform, where an old, flickering drink dispenser stood like a relic from a gentler, carbonated time. I'd almost reached it—almost—when the lights above me flickered.
Hard.
The air crackled. The smell of burnt copper did a tango with someone's leftover egg sandwich. And then, mid-step, the UI reappeared.
Right in front of my eyeballs.
Like an overconfident mosquito made of fonts and corporate branding.
[WELCOME, MAJOR VILLAIN – LEO] Alignment: ??? Power Source: ??? Primary Directive: CAUSE PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE
Suggested Start: • Graffiti (Suggested Tag: "FEAR ME") • Identity Theft (Bonus: Steal from a mall Santa) • Interpretive Dance (In Federal Buildings) • Dramatic Monologue (During Lightning Storm)
The colors were... aggressive. Glitching. Blinking. Half the UI was Comic Sans. The other half was whatever font legally shouldn't exist.
The music kicked in.
Loud. Orchestral. Dramatic villain theme with Gregorian chanting and bass drops like it was trying to summon a boss fight in a mobile ad.
> 🎵 NOW PLAYING: "MARCH OF THE IRON TYRANT (YOU, PROBABLY)" 🎵
A family nearby glanced at me. I grinned awkwardly and tried to stand very, very still. Maybe if I didn't move, I wouldn't be perceived.
No dice.
[Objective: CAUSE WIDESPREAD PANIC] Reward: 5 Villainy Points System Note: "You are legally required to be at least mildly threatening. Please proceed."
Side Note: Local Hero Appearing in 00:03:00
A glowing timer ticked down in the corner of the UI. People continued milling around me. One guy sneezed into a newspaper. A baby screamed. A pigeon watched me like it knew everything.
"Absolutely not," I muttered.
The system chimed happily.
[User Voice Input Detected! Parsing Intention: Mild Rebellion. Interpreting as: Foreplay.]
"No, no, no," I hissed. "You don't get to sexualize noncompliance. That's for dating apps and government bureaucracy."
Another UI window bloomed open like a flower with poor boundaries.
[SYSTEM TOOLTIP] "If morality's unclear, try an atrocity!"
Below that, a cheery dropdown:
"Choose Your Starter Crime!"
Jaywalking (Coward Mode)
Littering (Disappointing)
Mild Arson (🌟 Recommended!)
I stared at the list.
I stared at the crowd.
I looked down, spotted a bottle cap on the floor, and nudged it gently with my toe.
It rolled a few centimeters.
Ping.
[CRIME COMMITTED!] Severity: Minimal Morality Drift: Mildly Ironic Villain Rating: "Meh."
"You have got to be kidding me."
The vending machine next to me let out a menacing ding and spit out a soda. Unprompted.
I picked it up.
Label: Cursed Citrus™ — Now With 30% More Existential Acid.
"Sure," I muttered, cracking it open. "Why not. At least betrayal tastes like lemon."
I took a sip.
It fizzed like a war crime.
The UI pinged again.
[ALIGNMENT: STILL UNKNOWN] [System Note: Please commit at least one (1) atrocity to stabilize alignment.]
I glanced at the crowd again. They were oblivious. Which was good, because I was one glitch away from an accidental laser show.
"I'm not panicking a bunch of strangers just to make your morality spreadsheet feel better," I muttered.
"Unless HR shows up. Then I will panic everyone, on purpose, with fire."
The timer ticked down.
00:01:02
00:00:57
00:00:54
"Fantastic," I sighed. "One minute until someone in tights shows up and tries to hand me a redemption arc."
A final UI box flickered into existence:
[Villainous Quote of the Day™] "Darkness isn't born. It's badly scheduled." — You, Probably
"What does that even mean?!"
The music swelled again, louder. Somewhere, lightning cracked—indoors.
"Right," I muttered. "Let's go disappoint someone."
And with that, I marched toward the nearest emergency exit.
Still holding the soda.
---
The emergency exit door exploded open.
Not like, opened opened. No polite hinge swing. It detonated—shrapnel, sparks, slow-motion debris raining across the station like someone tried to speedrun a Michael Bay scene.
And then—
Descending from the ceiling, backlit by a suspicious spotlight that definitely didn't exist thirty seconds ago, came a figure in gold and white spandex.
Cape fluttering. Arms crossed. Boots glittering like the hopes of an underfunded cosplay club.
He landed. Knees bent. Fist to the floor.
Theatrical.
Slowly, he looked up—eyes blazing with righteous intent. Or at least caffeine and peer pressure.
"Villain!" he shouted, voice cracking like an undercooked egg. "Cease your reign of terror and/or littering!"
A long pause.
I took a slow sip of Cursed Citrus™ and blinked.
He stayed frozen in the pose for five more seconds.
Like he expected applause.
"...Okay," I muttered, "who let a motivational poster graduate from Power Rangers Bootcamp?"
Another dramatic step forward. His cape fluttered again—this time clearly due to a concealed fan in his belt.
"I am Solar Seeker, scion of the righteous dawn!
Graduate of Hero Academy's Delta Cohort, top of my field in Urban Smolder, Aura Flare Management, and Heroic Posture 201!
You, villain, stand accused of potential catastrophic aura discharge, suspected intent to menace, and vandalism via beverage container!"
He pointed at the bottle in my hand.
I raised it slightly.
"It's lemon," I said. "Also, I found it. So technically it's recycling."
His UI pinged behind my eyes.
[WARNING] Incoming Heroic Threat Level: 1.2 (Minor inconvenience, moderate noise complaints)
System Tooltip: "Fun Fact! Delta Cohort is known for over-enunciation and severe cramp risk."
I looked him up and down.
Cape: overcompensating.
Boots: too clean.
Aura: flickering like a Dollar Store lightsaber.
Hair Gel Usage: Aggressive
Vibe: "Still Calls His Mom."
"You're not even legally allowed to detain a jaywalker, are you?"
He flushed. Just a little. But the blush under his mask was real.
"I—! I am certified in six municipalities!"
"And yet," I said, "here we are. At the emotional equivalent of a PTA meeting. In a subway station."
His eyes narrowed. Somewhere, his belt fan kicked up a notch.
Then came the sound.
A low, deep CRACK—like a cosmic chiropractor getting frisky with a tectonic plate.
Everyone on the platform froze.
Then:
BOOM.
The ceiling above us split. Stone and steel groaned. A chunk of concrete the size of a minivan detached itself from reality and came plummeting straight toward the hero.
He looked up. Eyes wide. Too slow.
Instinct kicked in.
I moved.
Awkward. Janky. My knees screamed. My spine sobbed. But somewhere under all the human mess, my old power surged.
The world slowed.
I body-checked him sideways.
Midair. Full force.
We skidded across the tile floor in a tangle of limbs and ego. Behind us, the ceiling cratered, concrete chunks embedding into the ground like judgmental meteorites.
Silence.
Dust.
The vending machine exploded. Again. (Unrelated.)
I groaned and sat up.
Solar Seeker lay dazed beside me, eyes blinking stars. His cape was wrapped around his neck like a deeply confused scarf.
"Ow," he muttered.
"You're welcome," I said flatly.
[SYSTEM ALERT] ❌ Villainy Points: –3
✅ Hero Reputation: +12
💬 Public Sentiment: "Mysterious Antihero?? 🥺🔥"
⚠️ Alignment Drift Detected: REBOOT YOUR EVIL.
"No, no, no," I growled, sitting fully upright. "That was not a save. That was... villainous redecorating. I was trying to rearrange the ceiling! With gravity! Artistically!"
The system responded with a sound I swear was a passive-aggressive Windows error chime.
[Suggested Action: Arson or Emotional Negging]
"I neg people all the time!" I snapped. "It's called sarcasm!"
Solar Seeker groaned and sat up beside me.
"Did you... save me?"
"Nope."
"I think you did."
"You're mistaken."
He smiled.
The worst kind of smile. Grateful. Hopeful. Ready to believe in me.
I stood.
"We never speak of this," I muttered, stomping off toward the escalator. "Tell your supervisors it was... a hostile environment intervention. With extreme prejudice."
Behind me, the hero sat blinking in the dust.
And the system UI pinged one last time.
🎵 NEW MUSIC UNLOCKED: "UNWILLING SAVIOR THEME (TRAGIC HORNS EDIT)" 🎵
"I will uninstall you with fire," I muttered.
The train screeched into the station, late as always.
Perfect.
Time to commit my most heinous crime yet:
Sitting down.
Another UI window popped up. Sparkles. Glitter. A sound like someone dropkicked a xylophone.
> 🎉 Congrats, Leo! You just saved your first innocent life! 🎉
🎖️ +12 Hero Reputation
🧍 You've unlocked the "Conflicted Aura" trait!
⚖️ Alignment Arc detected: [Reluctant Redemption or Midlife Crisis?]
"I body-checked a living solar flashlight through a vending machine," I snarled. "At best, that's public disturbance with a side of soda-based shrapnel. You can't count that."
The UI helpfully brought up a visual.
A blurry security feed of me tackling Solar Seeker midair. Freeze-frame. Me catching him. Caption: "When villains care 🥹💔" Hashtag: #AntiHeroGlowUp
Trending: #TruckDaddySaves
"TRUCK. DADDY?!"
The UI pinged again, this time with all the gentle subtlety of a fire alarm taped to a megaphone.
[EXPLANATION: Tripping in the direction of justice still counts as Heroism.]
[If you do it hot enough, it counts twice.]
"I swear on my unholy axles, if you don't shut up, I will unplug you with my teeth."
It blinked.
Suggested Actions to Restore Villain Status: • Sabotage: Push elevator button for every floor • Menace: Give barista fake name • Curse: Post 1-star review with "meh vibes" • Evil: Sneeze into handshake, refuse to say bless you
"This isn't villainy," I hissed. "This is being mildly unpleasant on public transit."
I stood, furious. My bones creaked. My knees whimpered. I was one subway stop away from becoming a men's health cautionary tale.
Then the UI glitched again.
📢 [BREAKING NEWS] Local footage shows mysterious figure saving rookie hero from ceiling collapse.
Witnesses describe "an aura of damaged masculinity and possible wisdom."
🎤 LIVE INTERVIEW THREAD: "Was He Hot or Just Emotionally Guarded?"
🔥 Top Comment: "He yeeted the hero like an alpha. 🚛💥😍"
"I yeeted nobody!" I shouted. "It was physics-assisted removal!"
The public opinion bar shifted again:
Public Sentiment: "Grumpy Guardian Vibes?? 🖤🛠️"
New Skill Unlocked: Main Character Energy™
"NOOOO—"
I clutched my head as the UI zoomed in dramatically on the new trait.
[MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY™] Effect: Uncontrollable narrative magnetism.
Attracts plot, enemies, allies, and unwarranted romantic subplots.
Warning: May cause emotional growth.
"This is harassment," I muttered. "I'm filing a cosmic HR complaint."
🎵 Background music changed: "Melancholy Savior (Lo-Fi Villaincore Remix)" 🎵
I glared at the UI. It added a wink.
I screamed. Out loud. Right there in the station.
The man next to me scooted three seats away. A child pointed and said, "Look, Mommy! The villain's having a feeling!"
"I will destroy the universe if this continues," I growled. "And I'll do it passive-aggressively, one awkward subway interaction at a time."
The UI politely offered me a new directive:
[To Continue Tutorial: Please Commit an Atrocity.]
I cracked open another Cursed Citrus™ and took a slow, deeply spiteful sip.
"I'm working on it."
---
END OF CHAPTER 2