Chapter Text
It’s not that ‘supervillain’ had been that high on Tommy’s list of potential careers.
It wasn’t like he talked excitedly to his mom about wanting to become “just like Wither” when he was older. Nor did he walk out of his school’s orientation day with “terrifying the city” as a professional goal.
It’s just that, well, the orientation day in itself was a bit of a fraud, now wasn’t it? Dragging the teenagers through activities, meeting architects and psychologists and designers to ask any questions they might have. Try to figure out what they’d be good at, that would also make them happy-ish.
But everyone knew.
From the teachers to the nice volunteers, everyone knew. That, statistically, two to four of the school’s seniors would never get to work any of those jobs. That their own choices, their aspirations and abilities, didn’t matter.
They’d reach eighteen.
Their powers would develop.
And their lives would fall apart.
Career day ended with a nice little speech from one of Mayor Steve’s assistants. Impersonal and certainly repeated word for word in all secondary schools of the city, but nice, regardless. Tommy made sure to yawn as widely as possible.
“When I look at you, young people of Mectyse Academia, I see you for what you are. The future of this city. But what we all need to remember is that, not so long ago, this future seemed unreachable. Yes, I know, you all must be very tired of your parents retelling this same story. But, as you grow, you’ll start to understand its true importance.”
(He would prove to be right, as much as Tommy despised admitting it.)
“The Power Classification and Restriction Act marked a formidable turning point for our city. It put an end to the chaos and the villainy that used to riddle this part of the world and led the way to peace. It is to this peace, that you owe the privilege of studying, and, eventually, working, safely in this town. Let us not forget it. Let us remember what, and who, it is that keeps us all safe.”
The Power Classification and Restriction Act worked in two phases.
Phase one: Classification
“Mrs. Hertz!” Freddie yelled. “Tommy’s manifesting!”
“It’s alright, it’s alright,” the teacher assured, her saree swishing as she rushed between the tables. “Deep breaths, Mr. Neeth.”
Manifestation hurt like a bitch. When the school nurse ran in with the Power kit, Tommy was ready to cry in relief. The anesthesia might have actually made him shed a tear or two. In the chaos, he forgot to look at the small scanner the man pointed at him.
It was the silence that ticked him off.
His classmates’ excited chatter, suddenly down to dead silence. Tommy raised his head, just in time to catch the last one of five beeps.
POWER CLASS: FIVE OUT OF FIVE.
Phase two: Restriction
Freddie would have to finish the chemistry lab alone, that day. Because Tommy was leaving in a police car, destination: the superhero training complex.
Somewhere in generic-looking office buildings, three different college counselors would discard his application. Because Tommy Neeth, like one to three of his classmates, wouldn’t get to become a sound engineer or a comedian. He would be a hero.
Or he’d rot in the Vault for the rest of his days.
And, well, being a hero? That ship had sailed. So really, the only question left was: how long would his villain act last?
Because ‘supervillain’ might not have been on Tommy’s list of career options. But it sure beat being a fucking hero.
⋅ ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ⋅
“Fucking… heroes…”
You should be flattered, Tubbo’s imaginary voice said in Tommy’s mind. They don’t usually assign full-time heroes to villains of your level.
Tommy ducked under a low-hanging fire exit, jumped on a dumpster and over a wall, and scoffed, “What, flattered that they hate me more?” before catching himself and pushing the memory of Tubbo away.
Tommy was all kinds of traumatized, but having fake conversations with his dead friend was one step too far, even for him.
As his fingertips brushed the wall behind him, a map of vibrations formed in his head. He lost contact just as fast, but the mental image lingered. He could “feel” the streets behind him, the weight of the dumpster and the heat coming from the nearby apartments, but no footsteps where it-
A swish of displaced air on his left, and Tommy managed to leap away just enough to avoid the worst of the collision. He was still knocked to the side, palms stinging against the rough bricks of the wall where he caught himself. A new mental map formed from those bloody imprints, and this time he could feel, right behind him…
Tommy ducked to the side, just in time to avoid the potion. This time, instead of running, he whipped around.
Especially someone this terrifying, Tubbo added.
The Alchemist stood in the middle of the alley, wings spread, taller than Tommy even where they were slouching. Most heroes wore mouth-masks – to make it harder for them to communicate with anyone but those hooked on their coms, Tommy had heard – but not Tommy’s personal nightmare. Instead, a bright red visor slashed through their face, hiding their eyes, and Tommy had no hint other than a halt in their panting breaths before they lunged forward again.
Kicking the ground in a small shockwave, Tommy propelled himself upward. His claws gripped the bricks with ease, tail dressed for balance, but as he had learned painfully, his instincts to climb to safety would not help him here. Instead, he jumped over the asshole, risking a hit with one of his disks, and landing on a windowsill. The Alchemist whipped around, blade drawn in an arc – a second too late.
“FUCK OFF,” Tommy yelled.
The soundwave slammed the hero into the wall, wings crumpling behind him and elbow catching the edge of the dumpster with a hollow crack. Half a second later, broken glass from at least four windows rained on them. Tommy didn’t wait around to see the last of it fall: he booked it.
“Shit fuck fucking asshole,” he muttered shakily to himself, switching his disk to his right hand to wipe the sweat in his left. Tommy was a big, strong man, a feared supervillain even! But there was something about the Alchemist that terrified him.
Tommy weaved around the streets, his boots – the only part of his old hero costume he’d kept – silent against the asphalt as he absorbed all sound before it could escape. His current mission had taken him away from his usual playground, but his powers made it easy to get back on track.
He had hoped that his nemesis (not arch-nemesis, Tommy was still young, he needed to leave himself options! Can’t go around calling your first real adversary your arch-nemesis) would stay by district four, searching in vain while Tommy did his thing in two, but someone must’ve reported his presence. Well, he shouldn’t have underestimated himself: the hero’s suits were designed to take a lot of damage, but after a hit like that, Alchemist would have to call the night off.
Tommy’s target was an unassuming office building. At this hour, most workers would have clocked out, which was good, since Tommy wasn’t looking for a fight; he needed that time to snoop around. This was a mission that required finesse.
And patience.
The break in was fun. The alarm system wasn’t activated yet, since a few workers were left burning the midnight oil. The echoing sound of their footsteps against the linoleum made them laughably easy to evade. But then, Tommy reached the archives, and the real task started.
There were so. Many. Books.
Opening the lights was obviously out of the question, and Tommy ended up balancing large books and his little tactical flashlight, squinting to decipher the weird blocky font all those books were printed in. On the one hand, he had to hand it to Foxglove, hacking into the city’s logs so much that they started to print out everything out of desperation was an epic move. On the other, this was such a hassle…
Tommy couldn’t be too mad, though. The fact that all records were printed and hidden in archives like this was essential to his plan. Which, speaking of…
It was with sore eyes and shaky fingers that he finally found exactly what he was here for. Quickly, Tommy snapped a few pictures with his phone, and waited until they uploaded to the cloud. With a short exhale, he put everything back where it came from and tiptoed out of the room.
The alarm had definitely been set now, and as much as Tommy usually liked going out with a bang, this was above all a stealth mission. And so, light on his feet, he headed to the only door he could conceivably force.
There was something sinister in the silence of the bland, brightly lit hallways, flanked by dark windows and doors. The ventilation’s dull vibrations accompanied him up the stairs, all the way to his exit.
Tommy broke the glass as quietly as possible, still wincing at the noise. Wincing at how cool he was, of course. Poggest villainous deeds in town! When no echoing footsteps or yelling answered him, he exhaled, adjusted his mask (the plastic one, not his natural one), and stepped out.
The cold autumn wind welcomed him as he stepped on the roof. Now, he could only hope no one would discover his breakout until after he carried his plan, but Tommy was feeling confident. What reason would they have to climb all the way to the roof exit? And even if they did, they might just attribute the broken window to a wild animal. Maybe a raccoon, that’d be ironic!
Shlink!
… Maybe a bit too confident.
Tommy reacted much, much too late. The glass shattered at his feet, spraying potion on his jeans, and he was moving before the effect hit. One step, a slower one, turn around and-
The slowness potion sunk its claws in Tommy’s muscles, and he had to grip the roof’s railing to keep from collapsing on the gravel. Tail bristled and raised in alarm, teeth bared, he could do nothing but watch the hero approach.
The Alchemist’s steps were unhurried, in a way that could’ve been from their previous injuries or simply them being a melodramatic bastard. What he could tell, was that he wouldn’t be getting off this roof, even if he miraculously regained the use of his legs.
On both sides of the Alchemist rose two enormous wings, like an omen of death taking all of Tommy’s line of sight. They were a pale brown, speckled with white and fawn, and they were the mark of a predator.
Did Tommy mention he hated that guy?
“Hey- hey wait, we can talk about this, right?” He slid a hand in his suit pocket. “C’mon man… Or woman, uh- or or, non-binary… person…”
The Alchemist tried to take another step, and Tommy’s hand whipped forward, backhandedly throwing an experimental grenade. As soon as the metal left his hand, he lifted it to protect his eyes. So it was above his palm that he caught the hero’s movement, one wing lurching forward.
The grenade and the hero’s projectile met halfway between them, too far from anyone to do any significant damage, expect for a whoosh of hot air and some potion-coated glass shards. The Alchemist’s wings folded again, but not before Tommy caught a look at the rest of the glass feathers nestled within them, shimmering potion sloshing inside. Waiting to be flung at unsuspecting villains.
… At least Tommy would die to a cool hero?
His hand gripped the edge of the roof, power scrambling for anything that might help him. He opened his mouth, but the slowness effect had caught up to him, and he could do nothing but whimper and squeak when he finally collapsed to the ground in front of his predator.
The Alchemist resumed their approach, the blood and broken glass on their suit glistening under the moonlight. More than the potions, the chase, the prey instincts, that was what got Tommy’s mind narrowing into thoughtless fight or flight.
They never gave up, not since that first encounter. No trap could stop them, no injuries kept them down. Any moment that Tommy wasn’t running, he could feel them getting closer.
Only a few more steps now.
“Please,” Tommy rasped. I don’t wanna die. I don’t want to… Not like…
The hero’s steps stuttered at his words, but Tommy didn’t have time to be surprised, because an arrow landed into flesh with a shtack.
In the Alchemist’s shoulder.
“Fuck,” they – he? – muttered under his breath. After a half second of hesitation, caught between finishing Tommy off and facing this new threat, he flung his wing, shooting another potion-feather at Tommy’s prone form and whipped around.
Only, the downed villain had just figured out that the slowness effect hadn’t quite reached his left hand. His fingers snapped, sending a tiny shockwave through the air, and the glass fractured before it could reach him.
The last of his strength failing him, Tommy slumped down even further against the wall, every limb feeling like lead, his tail uncomfortably squished under him. He almost wanted to close his eyes and let the frantic beats of his heart measure the time he had left. But fear kept them wide open. And he happened to be turned in just the right direction to witness the fight that’d decide his fate.