Villain Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

I sat in the back seat of a matte-black armored vehicle, hands cuffed.

Didn’t I just get released? The court ordered community service so why the hell am I riding in something that looks like a police transport?

I had a ton of questions, but the expressions on the staff who came to pick me up were so dead serious that I just got in the car without putting up a fight.

And it’s not because I’m scared of the Heroes Company agents.

Sure, they’ve chased me more times than I can count, and the last time I got caught, I walked away with three fractured ribs, a busted big toe, a shattered kneecap, and a mild concussion.

But I’m not scared. Not one bit. Those guys? They’re just lackeys in hero costumes. Ha… haha…

I looked around the bleak interior of the vehicle.

Door handles that don’t open from the inside. A solid partition between the front and back seats. Leather so stiff, my tailbone already ached.

Then two Heroes Company agents in crisp uniforms climbed into the front seats, separated from me by the divider.

Clack. The door shut, and the radio crackled to life.

The man in the passenger seat spoke into the comms.

“We’re moving.”

As soon as the car I was in started rolling, similar vehicles in front and behind followed suit. I felt like I was getting the full head-of-state motorcade treatment.

The armored vehicle rolled onto the bridge that linked Decon Prison Island to the city.

Outside the window, tightly woven steel cables stretched through the sky, and the sea gently shimmered below.

Was this really a release or a rebooking? The whole thing felt off, like I was missing something.

Now that I think about it, there was something weird about the court ruling.

Back then, I just accepted it without an appeal, caught up in the moment. But looking back on it now…

 

The courtroom during my trial was more like a marketplace.

The prosecutor read out my charges at full volume, reporters and spectators were noisy as hell, the judge kept banging the gavel trying to quiet everyone, my lawyer wiped sweat off his brow the entire time, and the jury swayed like reeds in the wind.

With a mountain of evidence stacked against me, I looked like I was done for. But surprisingly, the rulings started coming down in my favor.

Out of the 28 charges the prosecution brought, 10 were crimes I committed as a minor. They were all deferred.

Another 9 raised suspicions of coercion by my foster father, Demon Clenner. It was also deferred.

That left 9 charges acknowledged by the court.

Of those, 3 were related to the “A-Project,” and thanks to my whistleblowing, those were given leniency.

That brought it down to 6 charges.

All that remained was a decision by the citizen jury.

And then, out of nowhere, the judge stood up and launched into a speech.

He started preaching about the critical need to rehabilitate psychic criminals, especially in these times of manpower shortages.

Basically, it was all about how the government’s new “Villain Rehabilitation Project” would benefit society, and how crucial it was.

Excuse me? What kind of nonsense is that during a trial? Has the judge lost it? I, the designated rehab candidate, was dumbfounded.

And yet, miraculously, the citizen jury bought it. They were deeply moved by the idea.

That’s how I ended up with a sentence of 43,000 hours of community service.

…Am I supposed to be happy about this?

Let’s break that down: 43,000 hours equals 1,791 days. At least 10 hours a day, with no breaks, I’d be stuck working for nearly 12 years.

That’s not a sentence. It’s slavery! What kind of crap judgment  is this?

Where are the human rights groups when you need them? My villain rights are being shredded here!

Weren’t they the ones always saying even criminals deserve a shot at rehabilitation? That everyone has basic rights?

And this is how they treat a decent villain who blew the whistle and turned against her comrades? With this kind of punishment? Who the hell’s gonna snitch after this?

This sham of a ruling was killing the very idea of redemption before it had a chance.

Fuming, I stood up to flip the courtroom upside down, but my lawyer stopped me.

“Chi-chi, calm down. This might actually be a really favorable outcome for us.”

“Favorable?! They just slapped me with 43,000 hours of community service!”

“It’s your chance to live as a responsible, productive member of society just like you wanted. Let’s try to stay positive. Besides… I’ve come across some classified info.”

“…Like what?”

“The prosecution requested records from the Heroes Company. It’s CCTV footage of you loitering near the Dioren Building four years ago, just before the bombing. Heroes Company denied the request, but if they ever hand over that footage…”

Oh, hell. If the prosecution got proof linking me to the Dioren Building terror incident, my sentence would skyrocket.

Forget community service, I’d rot in prison for twenty years.

Suddenly, I was feeling a lot more level-headed. Come to think of it, community service did sound better than prison.

Especially a prison full of villains who’d love to kill me for betraying them.

And so, I accepted the sentence of 43,000 hours of community service with open arms, ready to transform from a notorious villain into a model citizen.

Thus began my first step in the government’s fully backed “Villain Rehabilitation Project.”

But, uh… Where exactly am I supposed to do this community service? And for who?

Was the real problem the fact that I was only now asking the important question?

From the moment the Heroes Company guys showed up, I had a bad feeling that something was off.

“Where are we going, huh? You’re not planning to dump me in some sewer, are you?”

I pounded on the divider separating the seats, demanding an answer.

But these jerks just exchanged glances without saying a word.

That’s when the anxiety inside me exploded like a volcano. Were they trying to kill me? Use me for human experiments?

Did they really think that just because I’m a villain, they could get away with inhumane crap like that?

“You cowardly, rotten Heroes bastards! Say something, damn it!”

If it weren’t for this damn ability suppressor around my neck—this glorified dog collar—I’d rip the car door off and bolt. But with it on, all I could manage was a bit of backseat rampage.

I lay back and kicked at the window like I was trying to smash it to bits, and finally one of the agents snapped.

“Will you settle down already?!”

“Tell me where we’re going. I want my lawyer! Lawyer! Lawyer!!”

“Damn it.”

As I kept thrashing, the guy in the passenger seat wiped cold sweat from his brow and started fingering his gun.

“You’re headed to the Heroes Company HQ. If you don’t shut up now, we’ll sedate you.”

I froze like a statue. My mouth went dry. I couldn’t even speak.

It felt like I’d been smacked in the back of the head with a frying pan. Not even a normal frying pan. It’s one of those huge ones they use in Chinese restaurants.

Did he just say… Heroes Company headquarters?

That hellhole teeming with heroes?

I swallowed hard and forced my lips to move.

“Why… would I go there?”

“Why? To perform your community service, obviously. Don’t tell me you already forgot your sentence?”

“N-no, I didn’t forget. I just… Why there?”

“They’ll explain everything at HQ. But from now on, you’ll be working for Heroes Company. For exactly 43,000 hours. Your hours will be tracked down to the second, so don’t worry too much.”

Are they insane? I’m Chi-chi Clenner. A villain you guys have been dying to lock up for years!

And now you’re putting me in your damn headquarters? Do you even know what I might do there?

All I could do was flap my mouth like a goldfish, while the guy gave me a side-eye and raised an eyebrow.

“We’re not just gonna let a dangerous criminal like you roam free. Who knows what kind of trouble you’d cause? That’s why Heroes Company is going to supervise you directly. Closely, carefully, thoroughly. So don’t even think about trying anything.”

Damn it. My vision went dark.

Heroes Company. Anyone know what that place is.

It was founded by first-generation hero Berna McCartney, and grew rapidly with full government and corporate support. To this day, it’s a vicious power group dedicated to hunting down villains who threaten the elite class.

For reference, all this info is from the published novel Villains’ Private Lives: A Tearjerking Tragedy, so don’t try nitpicking.

Anyway, to villains, Heroes Company is scarier than hell itself.

And now I’m supposed to work there?

My palms were soaked in cold sweat, and I could feel the blood drain from my face.

Is this what George meant when he said I’d rather end up back in prison?

“Damn it…”

When I went quiet, pale as a sheet, the guys in the front seat started snickering.

“Look at that. She’s already behaving.”

“Well, she’s got the suppressor on. Without her psychic powers, she’s just a regular person.”

“Then she’s no big deal. I was stressing for nothing.”

“Still, be careful. She might look like that, but without the suppressor…”

Both of them glanced back at me at the same time. Their eyes flickered with caution… and a touch of curiosity.

“She’s the person who went toe-to-toe with S-Class Hero Den Frow.”

My shoulders flinched involuntarily at the sound of that name.

I really didn’t want to hear that name again. My grudge with Den Frow runs painfully deep.

Now that I’m working for Heroes Company, I’ll probably hear his name constantly. He is the rising star among heroes these days. Meanwhile, I’m… well.

Just thinking about my situation made my mood sink even lower. Like a patch of sickly grass, I slumped and rested my forehead against the car window.

Meanwhile, those two were having a good time chatting with each other, as if their earlier tension had vanished.

“Still, Den’s the one who finally caught her. He’s way stronger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Took him three years of chasing to finally get the job done.”

“Still counts. Caught is caught.”

“Damn right.”

Yeah, three years. I was hunted for three years by that guy. That’s why just hearing Den’s name makes my skin crawl.

“But what’s really surprising is Den volunteering to supervise her directly. I mean, after all those brutal fights?”

“If it were me, I’d be so sick of her I wouldn’t want to see her face ever again. He had her photo taped to the office wall and glared at it every single day for three years.”

“Oh, I remember that photo. He’d just stare at it for hours sometimes. Like, how badly did he want to catch her?”

“Honestly, the guy seemed unhinged. I was about to recommend therapy.”

“Yeah, I totally agree.”

Then I heard something completely insane and my face twisted in disbelief.

Den Frow… is going to supervise me personally?