Chapter Text
Alex, to the great disappointment of the general populace, hadn’t gotten bored of murder.
As far as anyone could tell, they were never going to get bored of murder. They were always finding new ways to do it; they had an insatiable appetite for violence and, as it turned out, bloodlust made a person very, very creative.
Evidence of this remarkable creativity was strewn across the grand hall which had, only a few minutes ago, hosted the 42nd Annual Chastisers Heroics Gala. The walls were pleasantly blood-spattered. There were charred corpses, which had once been distinguished heroes much beloved by their community, littering the ground. To Alex’s left, a misshapen pile of flesh and bone writhed, the final nerve spasms of a once-promising telepath (“promising.” That, Alex had recently learned, was bullshit – the newspapers had gushed about the man, enough that they’d been looking forward to fighting him, but they’d been sorely disappointed by his performance). On the stage where one Aluminum Chap had graciously accepted an award, the same hero now wheezed his last, having had that award shoved down his throat. He’d accepted that far less gracefully.
The last of the agonizing groans died off, leaving the hall in near-perfect silence broken only by the perfect, lovely sound of a violin. The music came from a ten-year-old violinist, hovering in the air above the carnage, her corpse playing with the exquisite skill that she had so utterly lacked in life.
Alex didn’t make a habit of killing kids, for the most part. It was low-hanging fruit, easy and predictable and so absolutely boring. But there was no one to blame but the parents for this one: heroes’ galas were the surest way to get any child/lover/emotionally-significant-non-hero killed – and for what? To give a mediocre musical performance to a bunch of assholes who were too busy peacocking and networking and gossiping to actually listen?
And that was the crux of Alex’s current problem: the heroes were idiots.
Worse yet, they were boring idiots. Alex spent their days facing down shitty heroes in shittier costumes, each one mostly indistinguishable from the last. They tested their strength against the same five or six types of superpower, and invariably came out triumphant. They listened to trite variations on the same tragic backstory, waiting for something interesting – and they were disappointed every time. Even grand self-sacrifices and eleventh-hour reveals had become tedious.
And then came the goddamn moralizing. Nearly every day, another pompous hero spouting impassioned lines about serial mass murder being wrong! As if this were new information! As if that wasn’t the entire fucking point!
The skylight shattered. A shape came plunging down, cape billowing out behind it. It knocked into the corpse (with enough force to send her flying into the wall, shattering the violin and not leaving her skull in much better shape) before landing in the center of the marble floor and promptly striking a pose.
As the hero looked around at the surrounding devastation, Alex took a chance to examine the hero. They didn’t recognize him, although his outfit (bright orange, with red and gold flame decal and that obnoxious cape, rippling in the many shades of a fire) gave them some idea as to his skillset. He was young – early twenties, if they had to guess. That explained the excruciating sincerity in his voice as he said, after a long pause, “these people had lives.”
“They usually do,” agreed Alex amiably.
The hero made met Alex’s gaze. His eyes were shining. “They had families. They had hopes. Dreams. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? They were human. They mattered.”
“Did they?” Alex asked. “I mean, clearly not enough for you to be on-time with this poorly-thought-out rescue mission of yours. Well, it’s not really a rescue mission at all, is it? A bit of advice, if I may – next time, get here before they’re all dead.”
“There won’t be a next time,” declared the hero, with far too much confidence for someone standing in the aftermath of a massacre of many other heroes who were far more powerful than he could ever dream of becoming.
“Well, not for them,” said Alex (who had yet to grasp that, for heroes, resurrection was less of a possibility and more of a probability), “but chances are that I kill someone else. Unless someone gets to me first. Tell me, are you going to give it a try?”
“I don’t want to have to kill you,” said the hero, and Alex again marveled at this wholly unearned confidence. They watched as he looked down, letting flames (shocking, really) dance across his hands, only to be extinguished. When his gaze returned, there was a newfound determination in his eyes. “You’re right. It’s too late for these people. But… I swear, it’s not too late for you.”
Alex heaved a sigh. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Look, I get it. You’ve done terrible things. I have, too!”
That was just insulting. Yes, Alex, you have murdered innumerable people. You have wiped out species. You have drowned a man in a swimming pool filled with blood of his grandchildren (Alex had actually done that. Frankly, it wasn’t that surprising of a thing for them to do, but they brought it up at every opportunity purely due to the novelty of one man having enough grandchildren to fill an entire swimming pool. It made for a great anecdote at parties). But, hey, this idiot hero has said something mean, or maybe he’s even killed someone who absolutely deserved it! Basically equal levels of terribleness, here.
Alex looked at the hero, unamused. “You think I can be redeemed.”
The hero glowed with enthusiasm. “I know that you can be redeemed. We all have a choice. And you… Alex, you can choose to do the right thing. You can choose to be better.”
“Can I really?” Alex strolled forward, perfectly at ease, the hero tensing up further with every step. His enthusiasm dimmed visibly with their approach. Alex stopped only when they were a step away, close enough to see the tears gathering in his eyes. He was trembling. He was surrounded by bodies, many of which likely belonged to people he had once known. He was going to die, and he knew it. And there was some naive and cruelly hopeful part of him – the same part that had convinced him to become a hero – that was whispering to him, now, that he was different. That this was going to end differently for him, because he was special, because he was too young to die, because he had so much left to do.
The tears had begun to spill.
“Please,” he whispered, all pretense of conviction gone, “you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to be this person. You could be good.”
“You’re right,” Alex said, and they arranged their features into something kindly. They reached out – the hero flinched – but they kept their touch perfectly gentle, wiping away a tear.
They let the words linger long enough that hero started to wonder if they could possibly mean it. He blinked, confused, heartbreakingly optimistic. His rationality had fled, at this point, and in his terror he was clinging onto whatever hope he had. It was such a terrible design flaw, Alex thought, this willingness to keep on hoping even in the face of certain death.
“You’re right,” Alex repeated, their voice still soft. “I could.”
And they dug their index and middle fingers into the hero’s right eye socket, curling them upwards so as to grasp his skull from the inside.
The hero screamed, twisting and trying desperately to pull himself away. Fire curled around Alex’s arm, pleasantly warm, writhing with the same desperate movements as its master. Not bothering to put the flames out out, Alex brought the hero’s skull down, hard, against one of the tables, shattering a champagne glass with his forehead. They repeated the motion, slightly more precise, and managed to gouge out his other eye with the broken stem of the glass. They smiled, proud, while his screams intensified.
They repeated the bashing movement a few more times, feeling the skull crack, then they withdrew their fingers and let the man crumple to the floor. He was making awful, gasping, heaving noises, like he wasn’t sure if he should be trying to throw up or inhale as much air as possible. Given his situation, neither would be particularly helpful.
Alex appreciated the sounds for a moment. Growing bored, they reached down, snapped his neck, and let silence overtake the hall.
It was almost immediately interrupted by a retching sound, coming from the entrance.
Alex startled, searching for source, and for a moment they didn’t even register the person’s presence. To be fair, they had been looking for a superhero. One with a weak stomach, maybe, but still a superhero. The person in the entrance of the gala, gagging over a fallen banner, was… not that.
To say that they were the plainest person that Alex had seen in their entire life wouldn’t be wrong, per se, but it implied something exceptional about them, even if it was only exceptional averageness. There was a total absence of anything remarkable about them. They were so utterly nondescript that, had they not been the literal only other living creature in the entire area, Alex would never have noticed them. Even when they were the literal only other living creature, Alex had still struggled.
No longer retching, the person straightened up, noticed that Alex was staring at them, and muttered something (“fuck my life,” if Alex’s super hearing was to be believed). They guiltily met Alex’s bewildered gaze, smiling and waving with all the reluctance of someone greeting an old, hated coworker.
The person opened their mouth, seemed to consider closing it, then called out, “are you busy right now?”
Alex teleported directly behind their visitor, leaning down to their ear and whispering, “just finished up for the day.”
The person spun around, stepping back directly onto the already caved-in torso of some recently-retired hero. They were remarkably composed given the circumstances, which was to say, they looked terrified out of their mind.
“Okay,” they said after a long moment. “Great. Okay. I’d really hate to bother you.”
“I have all the time in the world for you,” reassured Alex. The person grimaced, clearly taking it as the threat it was intended to be.
“That’s- I can’t say how happy I am to hear that.” The person’s face, contrary to everything coming out of their mouth, conveyed something between disgust and vaguely amused despair. “Well, okay, hi. I’m Morgan. Do you want to get coffee with me?”
Alex paused.
It wasn’t that they’d never been asked out. They were objectively gorgeous. It was an indisputable fact. But, understandably, mass murder turned a lot of people off. There were, of course, people who liked the mass murder, but those people usually didn’t get so freaked out over a little gore. They also usually looked a bit more enthusiastic, and a lot less like they’d rather be throwing themselves off a cliff.
After processing for a reasonable amount of time, Alex came up with, “what?”
“A date,” clarified Morgan.
“Right,” said Alex.
Morgan waited. Seeming to realize that they weren’t going to get any other response, they continued, “you. Me. Coffee. I mean, it doesn’t need to be coffee.” Then, considering, they said, “well, no, it does. I’m not going to force you to get coffee, of course – I physically have no way of doing that, and, like, why would I want to anyway – but if I, for some unfathomable reason, walk out of here alive, I am absolutely going to get coffee as soon as possible.”
Morgan knew that they were going to die, then. That clarified absolutely nothing. If they had been even ten percent more into it, Alex would have just assumed that they were into erotic murder, but Morgan’s general air of utter repulsion made that hard to believe.
Alex thought about it for a bit longer, gave up, and decided to just ask. “What the fuck is this?”
Morgan looked confused. “I’m asking you out.”
“You don’t seem particularly optimistic about it.”
“Well, no, you’re going to kill me.” Morgan seemed unmoved by this particular fact.
“You know, if you want to commit suicide, there are a lot of far less painful ways of going about it.”
“Yeah,” Morgan said, “I know.”
“So that’s what this is? A suicide attempt?”
“Not at all, actually.” Morgan smiled wryly. “Believe it or not, I don’t really want to die.”
“Then, what? You’re really just that hopelessly devoted to me?”
Morgan coughed out an incredulous laugh, met Alex’s (maybe a very slightly bit offended) gaze, and said, “sorry. But, uh, no. Yeah, no, absolutely not.” Then, face dreary and in a tone utterly devoid of enthusiasm, they said, “I’m trying to redeem you.” They sighed heavily. “With the power of love.”
Alex took another moment.
Morgan was a hero, then. But that didn’t make the slightest bit of sense, because heroes were – as a rule – attractive. They also usually, though not as a rule, had firmly-held convictions. Or, at least, they were usually very good at pretending to have firmly-held convictions. Morgan didn’t seem like they were willing to do the right thing, no matter the personal cost; they seemed like they were doing the right thing only under extreme duress.
Beyond Morgan’s total lack of heroic attributes, they didn’t actually seem to be trying very hard at the redemption thing. Redeeming villains with the power of love wasn’t unheard of, but heroes were usually a lot more subtle about it. Also, they were usually in love themselves, or at least willing to act like it. Declaring that you were trying redeem someone with the power of love while being, at absolute best, lackluster (and more accurately, openly hostile) about it?
It was a fascinating strategy. Very ineffective, of course, and more than a little insulting, but fascinating nonetheless.
“I can’t decide,” Alex mused aloud, “whether I’m more hurt by how little effort you’re putting into this, or by the fact that anyone even considered the idea that you-” they flicked their eyes over Morgan, who shivered slightly “-had any possible chance of seducing me.” Then, because they were an absolute angel, they added, “no offense.”
Morgan looked decidedly unimpressed. “In what world am I not going to be offended by that?” Then, in much the same tone with which one might explain “the cow says ‘moo’” to a toddler that just isn’t getting it, they continued, “and no one does believe I have any possible chance of seducing you, because ‘redeem the most notorious supervillain to ever exist by flirting with them’ is an idiotic fucking plan. No one thinks that this is going to work.” Apparently believing this to be a sufficient explanation (it was not), they pasted on a sickly sweet smile and said, “there, is your ego soothed now? Do you feel better about yourself? I wouldn’t want to give you self-esteem issues before you brutally murder me.”
“You very clearly don’t want to be here.”
“Wow, figure that one out all on your own?” Abruptly, Morgan seemed to remember who they were talking to, and grimaced. “Look, can we not do this? You’re going to kill me. I’m very sad about it. Can we leave it at that? I am so not in the mood for tragic-backstory-slash-exposition and I don’t think you are, either.”
Normally, they would have been absolutely correct. Alex hated the long, rambling speeches about how this one moment was the culminating event in a hero’s long and terrible life. Those speeches were pathetic and boring. But, bizarrely, they weren’t bored right now. They were, however, a bit indignant about all the assumptions this person was making.
“The thing is, Morgan, I’ve killed a lot of people today.”
“No, really?” Morgan glanced around the room pointedly.
Alex was going to enjoy killing them. Eventually.
“But I really haven’t had much in the way of quality conversation.”
“How terrible for you.”
“Oh, it’s awful! Something about being – what did you call me? The most notorious supervillain to ever exist? Well, it makes people a bit reluctant to open up. You know how it is.”
“I can’t say that I do.”
Alex smiled. Morgan, somehow, looked even more depressed. “I really appreciate your offer. So – sure, Morgan. I’d love to get coffee with you.”
“Oh,” Morgan said. “Fuck.”
“So what were you thinking? Cute little overpriced cafe? A diner somewhere? Or are you inviting me back to your place already? I mean, it’s a bit bold, but I’m not against it.”
If Alex had been interested in Morgan or this date for any reason beyond pure curiosity, the look that Morgan gave them in response might have been genuinely hurtful.
It was a gas station.
Morgan had walked next to a blood-soaked Alex for half an hour in the crowed streets of Capital City and, without the slightest hint of shame, strolled into a gas station.
They didn’t even hold the door for Alex. That would have been a slight improvement, but there was no possible act of common courtesy that could excuse taking your date to a fucking gas station. As it was, Morgan had taken their date to a fucking gas station and been rude about it.
“Just so you know,” Alex said, because they lived to be helpful, “you’re not making a very good impression on me.” Morgan, apparently unbothered by this, continued pouring themselves a cup of coffee. “This is one of the worst dates I’ve ever been on.”
“Yeah, well, you killed a guy in front of me.”
“What did you think was going to happen? That’s what I do.”
Morgan handed Alex a cup. They took a sip, already grimacing long before it reached their taste buds, and then-
“Well?”
“It’s not good.” It wasn’t. It was gas station coffee. It could not be good. It was, by definition, not good coffee.
But it wasn’t exactly bad.
“Liar.” Without waiting for a response, Morgan walked up to the counter to check out (thankfully paying for both of the coffees – they weren’t completely hopeless), leaving Alex standing in the middle of the store.
Morgan wasn’t terrified.
They were scared, of course. They flinched every time they brushed up against Alex. But that was the expected reaction from anyone in close proximity to a serial mass murderer. And, frankly, Alex felt that Morgan wasn’t being half as careful as the should be.
For example, if you were on a date with a notoriously violent and mercurial supervillain, it was good practice to try to appease them. To be polite. To make interesting conversation. Maybe even to flirt a bit, although Alex wasn’t sure if that would really help in Morgan’s particular case.
The bell rang as Morgan shoved open the door, calling over their shoulder, “if you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving without you.”
Alex teleported to Morgan’s side, causing the hero to jolt in alarm (it never got old) and spill scalding hot coffee across their hand. As Morgan displayed a truly encyclopedic knowledge of expletives, Alex grinned. “You really shouldn’t talk to me like that.”
“You’re right,” Morgan said, “I’m being rude. I mean, here I am, taking you to get coffee-”
“Gas station coffee.”
“Fantastic fucking coffee, when I should really be grovelling and promising you that I’ll do anything, anything at all, to make you happy.”
“The grovelling doesn’t work for most people, actually. But you can feel free to give it a shot.”
“I can’t imagine why I would ever dream of being rude to you, not when you’re such pleasant company.”
“What have I done?” At Morgan’s incredulous look, Alex amended, “what have I done to you?”
“You murdered someone in front of me.”
“I didn’t even know you were there!”
“Yeah, well, it was still pretty awful to see you brutally kill a guy who, by the way, I knew.”
Alex felt that perhaps “I knew the man who you murdered via ocular penetration and skull bashing” was not a statement that should be preceded by a “by the way.” For a moment, they expected Morgan to launch themselves at Alex, revealing this entire thing to be a poorly-thought-out distraction while they plotted their revenge after seeing Alex kill their friend.
But Morgan had found a bench in a little section of grass and bushes that could generously be called a park, and they seemed perfectly content to sit and wait for Alex’s response.
“You knew him?”
Morgan looked genuinely confused. “Yeah. I mean, he was a hero. Actually, he worked at the Fairness Association, so I saw him around pretty often, although my brother was always a lot closer to him than I was.”
“So you watched me kill your brother’s friend… and then you asked me on a date.”
“What else was I meant to do?”
“I- you know, stop me?”
Morgan laughed. “We both know how that would have gone.”
“Stop him, then. You let him walk to his death.”
“Alex, anyone who tries to fight you is walking to their death. If they haven’t figured that out by now, it’s their own fault. He was an idiot – a well-meaning idiot, but an idiot – and he was going to die anyway. You of all people can’t blame me for making the most of it.”
“For- I’m sorry, for doing what?”
“What, did you not – I mean, isn’t it obvious?” Morgan seemed to think that a lot of things were very obvious. It didn’t make Alex feel particularly good about themselves. “I know that you’re going to kill me. I figured that post-slaughter of an entire heroes’ gala and a really annoying asshole to boot, maybe you’d be a bit less violent about the whole thing. So, yeah, I waited until you’d done your mass murder of the day before asking you on a date.” Morgan sipped at their coffee contentedly.
“You let him die. For your own benefit.”
Morgan shrugged, apparently still failing to comprehend why this would be remotely surprising to Alex. “What else was I meant to do? Anyway, he was really annoying.”
“He really was,” agreed Alex, then- “wait, what?”
“I mean, no hard feelings.” Even Morgan seemed to realize how that sounded, so they added, “like, it was awful and disgusting, but you kill people all the time, and a lot of them are a lot better than that guy. Don’t get me wrong, murder is bad and you shouldn’t do it-”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“-but the death of generic pompous moron number 1,000 isn’t going to ruin my opinion of you any more than the deaths of generic pompous moron numbers 1 to 999.”
Alex took a sip of their coffee, forgetting to not enjoy it. Morgan looked ridiculously smug.
Alex was going to kill them. They were going to do unspeakable things to them. It was going to be immensely satisfying. But – Morgan really wasn’t all that unpleasant to talk to. They had the sort of pragmatism that would have made for a very good villain, the sort of self-awareness that surely made for a very poor hero. They were fascinating and, more importantly, they offered Alex something new. A momentary reprise from boredom.
When it got dull, when Alex lost interest – and Alex always lost interest, eventually – they would kill Morgan in some horrible and very public way, and then things would return to normal. Maybe Morgan even had some friends – hadn’t they mentioned a brother? - who would attempt to enact some awful vengeance on Alex. That was usually fun.
“Has your opinion of me really been ruined?”
“Oh, it absolutely has.”
Alex stared down at their cup, not meeting Morgan’s eyes. Keeping their voice quiet, they said – “do you think that you’d give me a chance to change your mind?”
The silence stretched out for such a length of time that Alex was forced to glance up. They kept their face lowered, looking up from under their fluttering eyelashes.
Morgan’s face was unimpressed. Their eyes – their eyes, Alex thought, betrayed far more dread than they ever had before.
“Does that actually work on people?” Morgan’s voice was admirably steady. “You really can’t act for shit, huh?”
“I’ll have you know-” Alex stopped, reconsidered, then tried (somewhat less optimistically) to return to their quiet, nervous voice. “I’m not lying. I- I understand if you aren’t willing to give me a chance – I know how people talk about me-”
“Fuck off.”
“Yeah, that’s fair.”
They sat in silence for a while. Morgan examined their coffee cup thoughtfully, as though they thought it held the answers to some existential question. Then, they glanced back at Alex, looking – not quite excited, but something close. Eager, almost.
“What was the plan, there?”
“What plan?” Alex’s voice was perfectly innocent.
“Right,” Morgan said dryly. “So – what, you go along with the redemption bit for a while? I fall for you, our relationship goes public, it’s a love story for the ages, you brutally murder me?”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Alex said, grinning. “But if I were… that does sound like me, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not terrible,” Morgan said. “You just chose the wrong victim.”
Alex fluttered their eyelashes, again, grinning when Morgan rolled their eyes. “I wouldn’t have anyone else.”
“I’m not going to fall for you,” Morgan said, then – when Alex opened their mouth to protest – “I’m not. And, more importantly, I’m never going to believe that you’ve been miraculously redeemed.”
“Let’s say that I was scheming to murder you in some horrible way after convincing you to fall head over heels for me. In this absurd hypothetical-”
“Absolutely absurd,” Morgan agreed.
“I could just mind control you. Being evil and all.”
“Of course you could,” Morgan said, indulgently.
“I- do you not believe me?”
“No, I do believe you,” Morgan said. “Just-” they hesitated for a moment, “I mean, come on, that’s fucking pathetic.” At Alex’s look of offense, they continued, “oh, yes, how terrible. You mind control someone into falling in love with you, you put on a fun little show, you kill them. Like, it’s… it’s sad, I guess, because someone’s dead. But it’s not cruel. If someone actually falls in love with you – not mind control, but if they actually fall in love with you – and you convince them that, somehow, they’ve earned your love in return? Killing them wouldn’t be sad – it would be downright tragic. That’s cruelty. Mind control is… it’s easy, and it’s tame, and not a single person loses their faith in the possibility of true love.”
“And, let me get this straight, the goal here is to make people lose their faith in the possibility of true love.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, I’d be worried about the effects on the romance novel industry.”
“Right,” Morgan said.
“And, in any case, it’s pretty shitty advice on your part. I mean, you’ve already told me that you’re not going to fall in love with me, and I’ve already told you that I have absolutely no interest in doing this with anyone else.” No, wait, that had been part of the lie. Hadn’t it?
“I’ll do it with you,” Morgan said easily. “Unlike some people, I’m a fairly convincing liar. Trust me, everyone will believe I’ve fallen in love with you – if I play along.”
It dawned on Alex. It had taken a while, but they’d gotten there eventually. “You’re trying to make a deal. For what, your life?” How boring.
Morgan gaped. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I mean, we’ve established that you’re going to kill me – we’ve established that my role in all of this would be to make my eventual death as shocking and tragic as possible – if I don’t die, I’m useless.” They shook their head, lips pursed. “Anyway, look – I can’t make you do anything, and if I’m dead, I have no way of ensuring that you keep a promise. But if I play along, if I make everything easy and nice for you, then – if you can manage to muster up the slightest bit of good will – there are four people. Four people, that’s it, who maybe you could try not to immediately kill.”
Alex considered. “That’s not a terrible deal.” Who knew? If Morgan managed to not be a pain in the ass, maybe they’d even keep their word. It was unlikely, but stranger things had happened.
Morgan finished the last of their coffee and stood up. Alex followed suit. They offered Morgan their hand – it still had blood underneath the fingernails, and perhaps some lingering remnants of the young hero’s eyeball – and Morgan, grimacing all the while, took it. Someone – who hadn’t been wise enough to flee at the sight of Alex – looked on in unabashed wonder, then quickly turned away upon meeting Alex’s gaze.
“We should meet up again, figure everything out, before we talk to anyone.”
“Aw, are you asking me out again?”
“I had a really nice time today,” Morgan said, tone just missing the mark of casual. “I’d like to see you again, if you’d – if that would be okay.” Alex knew that they were charismatic, but they hadn’t expected Morgan to fall for them quite that easily. And after everything Morgan had said, too-
Morgan, catching Alex's expression, rolled their eyes. “At least one of us can act.”
Alex clutched their chest. “You are eviscerating my pride.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve eviscerated actual, living people in front of me. I think your pride can take it.”
Alex was going to enjoy killing Morgan.
They were going to make Morgan love them, first. It would be difficult – but they were collaborators, now. Partners. Slowly, they would convince poor, unlovable Morgan that they’d done the impossible, that they had captured the villain’s heart. And then, in a single, fatal gesture, they would rip all of that away, and watch Morgan realize – as they breathed their last – that they had been right, that no one was ever going to love them.
Morgan wouldn’t be convinced of Alex’s love, of course, not for a long time. But then, the wait would make that final betrayal all the more satisfying.
They smiled, thinking about it, and if something jolted in them when Morgan dryly returned that smile – it was only the excitement of a plan in motion.