Work Text:
Dream looked down at the two teenagers tied up in front of him and smiled.
“Checkmate," he whispered.
Maniac glared at him, icy blue eyes trying and failing to pierce through Dream’s mask. Beside him, Toxin’s gaze was still trained on the concrete of the warehouse floor. He hadn’t spoken since Dream had taken his gas mask.
Dream laughed, and the sound echoed in the dim, cavernous space. It was comical, really. Two new villains terrorize his city for months on end, working under the Syndicate itself, and when he finally unmasks them, he’s met with the youthful faces of two teenage boys, a couple of brats who fooled themselves into thinking they could do something of significance.
“I have to say,” Dream said, “you two are significantly less intimidating now that I know you’re literal children.”
Maniac’s hands tightened into fists, and Dream smiled at the sight of his bruised wrists pushing harder against the power-blocking shackles. The kid put up a brave front.
“It’s really a shame your powers have been wasted on such failures,” Dream said, shaking his head. “I mean, toxin generation and such an… interesting form of emotion control could be incredibly useful to the Hero Corp.” He sighed. “You two could have had so much potential, and you chose to waste it.”
“Could you tell us what we’re fucking doing here,” Maniac spat, “or are you planning to bore us to death with your dramatic villain monologue?”
Dream gasped. “Villain? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you’re the one working for the Syndicate.”
“You may have the title of ‘hero’, Dream,” Maniac growled, “but you’re not fooling anyone.”
Dream shrugged. “Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”
“You killed an entire busload of innocent people!” Maniac shouted.
“Oh, I doubt anyone knows that was me.”
“You murdered them just so you could get your filthy fucking hands on two harmless vigilantes!”
Dream slowly tilted his head to the side. “Harmless?” he asked, voice deadly soft.
Maniac didn’t speak.
“Harmless,” Dream repeated. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced slowly around the two boys. “May I remind you about that building collapse two weeks ago? Or that fire in the coal plant? I seem to remember the Syndicate having something to do with those.”
“We did,” Maniac said, “but we also don’t take unnecessary costs, and we certainly don’t cover up our crimes by hiding behind the Hero Corp like fucking cowards.”
Dream stiffened. “It would serve you well to watch your tongue,” he advised.
Toxin’s finger twitched, and Maniac settled back in his chair to the creak of cheap metal.
Dream smiled. “Good boy.” He checked his com. “Ah, looks like my team will be here with the rest of the Syndicate shortly. I’ve prepared special entertainment for them, you know. I hope you’re as excited as I am.” He walked to a crate several yards away and took from it a small, silver case. The ice cold metal glinted in the low light. Dream crossed back to the boys, opened the case, and presented its contents with a flourish.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Personally, I think your friends will love it.”
Maniac eyed the needle and vial of thick, black liquid with poorly hidden apprehension. Toxin kept staring at his boots.
Dream shut the case with a click. “I was worried I wouldn’t have enough, but this stuff’s pretty potent,” he said. “So after your friends get to watch you two have a turn, they’ll also get to go. There’s… Let’s see.” Dream began counting off on his fingers. “Carrion, Nosos, and Bloodletter. That’s five total. We should have plenty for everyone!”
He waited for the echoes of his voice to fade from the room, leaving the space open for his audience to react. It took just a bit longer than he expected for something to happen.
“Hey, Dream,” Maniac said, brows furrowed thoughtfully. Toxin’s lip twitched. “How much longer until the rest of the Syndicate gets here?”
Dream resisted the urge to check his watch, suddenly reluctant to take his eyes off his charges. “They should arrive any minute. Why?”
Maniac nodded. “You know,” he said. “I think you may actually have some of that serum left over after this.”
Dream froze, putting all his focus into searching Maniac’s face, but the villain’s cool, frozen gaze revealed nothing.
“What do you mean by that?” Dream asked carefully.
At Maniac’s side, Toxin raised his head, and Dream had to suppress a shudder as his yellowed eyes bored straight through his mask.
The villain’s lips stretched into a wide smile. “I think you miscounted, Dream,” he said.
The darkness in Dream’s peripheral vision shifted, and he whirled around, instantly braced for anything that could come his way. Only empty space greeted him. To his side, a few purple particles glitched in the air.
“Checkmate,” Toxin whispered.
---
The Hero Corp found Dream’s body at sunrise the next day. It was propped up in one of two chairs staged at the center of an old warehouse, hands laced politely in its lap. Dream’s famous, shining white mask rested in the other chair. Its blank smile mirrored the one on the body’s face, except while it was made of kevlar, the corpse’s was fashioned from the spliced-together flesh of the hero Dream’s face.
The plastic surgeons tried their best, but it had to be a closed casket funeral.