Content warning: This story contains non-explicit sexual content, sexual innuendos, mild violence, and mild to moderate use of profanity.

PROLOGUE. part one.

Sometimes Léon thought he deserved a slap in the face.

He knew there was a way out; he felt it. His hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound with such force he couldn’t feel his feet anymore, and the gag in his mouth was already a foul-tasting, wool-made extension of his tongue. To top things off, he was hung upside down. Had been... for quite some time.

But Léon Dickens, aka ‘Reality Warp,’ had been in worse situations. He had lived through a bomb explosion, four sinking ships, at least two barbarian invasions, and more bank robberies than he could count. The money he raked in, plus what he stole from those dirty-rich New-Continentians, was all there, invested in his state-of-the-art graphene-nanofiber uniform.

So, yeah—he should have known how to escape from a few ropes.

Still, one thing distracted him from his plans of freedom. His damned cell phone. Léon’s face burned, and the throbbing knot above his privates tightened with every passing moment, pulsating as his muscles tensed.

The man in front of Léon frowned. He sat on a plasmetallic chair, balancing on its two back legs and holding a plastipaper box of sashimi in one hand and a comic book in the other.

“Won’t you answer your phone?” he asked. His voice, powerful and clear, echoed inside the empty warehouse. From a distance came the horn of a cargo ship; closer, two cats fought for a slice of raw synthetic fish. “Ah. Right. Hands tied and all that.”

Léon glared at him. Cotton Candy, one of the strongest heroes in the Heroic League, was never one to blindly follow orders—or so Léon thought at the time—so it was a mystery why he was there, keeping an eye on him instead of being beside The Mayor.

Shit. What would Satina and the others do without him? Would they launch the mission anyway?

His thoughts were washed away again as his ringtone restarted. With it, the hum and the vibrations were back… fucking vibrations!

Goosebumps spread over his arms, and for the tenth time, he tried to free his hands, pulling and pushing. It was useless. He didn’t have the strength nor, maybe, the will to do it.

Well, in a pocketless uniform, where exactly should a supervillain keep their phone?

Yeah.

“I don’t understand why someone would wear trousers as tight as yours,” Cotton Candy said.

Léon glowered at his captor. Cotton was caressing his fluffy pink hair with the back of his hand. Against his black skin, the white-and-pink uniform seemed even more vibrant. He fished a slice of salmon from the plastipaper box, using equally pink chopsticks.

“I’d hate to hurt your feelings, but... I mean, it’s not only awkward, considering you hardly have anything to show.” He aimed his cutlery at Léon’s behind. “But it must also be terribly uncomfortable for you. To have everything, you know... packed like that.” He sighed and shrugged, slurping a bit of soda from his pink plastipaper cup.

“Mmmtghfoomfh,” Léon said.

“Well, it doesn’t change the fact that things can’t be unseen, Warp. But you’re a villain after all, right? That’s what villains do, I suppose. Traumatize people. And let me tell you, you’re doing a wonderful job.” He dropped his comic book on his lap and threw a pointed look at Léon. “Trauma is real.”

Léon rolled his eyes. "Mmontmmhtisop!"

“Of course, Warp. Tell you what, let me explain to you our twelve-step de-villainization program—”

An explosion broke his phrase in half and did the same with the wall on the opposite side of the room. Smoke and debris spilled inside as tongues of fire licked nearby columns. The sound of steps over loose rubble reached his ears as a group approached.

Cotton Candy furrowed his brow, readying his Cotton Cannon. “What the f—”

A roar echoed inside the warehouse. Eyes wide, Cotton staggered as a massive shadow clipped the light that pierced through the smoke. “Santa Madrecita,” he whispered.