“Your drug is not working.

”
The hero sighs and slumps against his chair. The restraint isn’t doing much to him, he could
have torn them apart any time he damn well pleases. But, seeing as the villain as gone this far to
prepare such an elaborate trap for him, he may as well sit back and enjoy it a little. It’s not like
there is anything else on his schedule today. If there is, he could always clear it to make time for
this rascal. Better he torments him than goes around causing minor inconveniences to others.
From across the room, the villain grips the empty vial and, after a moment of careful
consideration, drops it on a nearby table. He doesn’t want to clean up the shattered glass
afterwards. Besides, he could not let his sworn rival, his nemesis, the hero, sees him so enraged.
He has a reputation to keep, and this bastard right there isn’t going to ruin it.
So he searches the hero’s face. The drug truly has not affected him at all. But it should. He
has perfected this recipe years ago. Could it be the dosage? In that case, he just has to pump it
up a little.
With that in mind, he fills a syringe with another dose. He grabs the hero’s arm, trying not
to be envious of his muscles, and injects the drug again. The hero frowns as the needle goes in.
“What, afraid of needles?” The villain chides.
“Afraid of HIV, yeah.”
“What kind of animal do you take me for?” The villain sneers, and turning away to drop the
syringe into a trash bin.
The hero glances at the wolfish logo on the lair’s wall.
“A fox. Or a cat. You certainly act like one.”
The villain spins around, enraged:
“What does that mean?”
“Means you’re small, stupid, reckless, prone to get yourself into troubles, highly distractible,
and-”
“I thought you liked cats,” the villain says, and almost bites his tongue. The hero follows
millions of cat accounts on his civilian social media, the private one he only uses for himself. The
one with only one follower. That follower being, well, the villain.
The hero doesn’t know that’s him, though. Right? Right?
The hero shrugs, “I do.”
“Then why do you badmouth them?”
The hero scoffs, “Badmouth? What kind of word is that? Are you a child?”
“Shut it, dweeb.”
“Whatever, twig.”
The silence doesn’t last long.
“It’s still not working, by the way,” the hero says.
The villain strides across the room to the hero’s seat. His hands grip either side of the chair’s
back, forcing the hero to meet him eyes-to-eyes. He searches his face for a lie. There is none.
“You’re lying. It is.”
The hero grins, “It’s not.”
“I had my people check your medical record. You aren’t immune to any ingredient I used.”
“Then maybe you’re not as good of an alchemist as you fancy yourself.”
 “Hey! I poisoned your colleague just last week! He’s still in coma, you know.”
The hero’s grin just grows further. The villain sneers and shoves himself away from the chair.
“Point is, there is no way this drug is going to fail! You’re supposed to be seeing the thing
you desire the most! Fame, love, money, whatever! It should not fail!”
The hero shakes his head. The villain’s face just now, and the way his voice gets adorably
higher when he’s mad - he’s just so easy to tease. The hero can’t help but smile.
“Then how come I am seeing just you?”