For a fully coordinated mission with the whole team, it sure went bad very quickly.

Though that did tend to happen when you unknowingly walk your team straight into a supervillain’s den. It didn’t take long to realize that they were outmanned and outgunned, surrounded and deep inside enemy territory. Regrettably, but without much choice, Leader had given the order for the team to surrender. They had all been ordered to the floor and left kneeling in an arc facing an ominous door. They all hung their heads, trusted to cooperate based on silent threat alone.

Except Sidekick, apparently. Hero noted through lowered eyes that Sidekick was flanked by two henchmen, each with a vice-like grip on their shoulders. Their hands had been bound behind their back, despite the fact that they had done nothing to warrant it and none of the other members of the team had received the same precautions. Sidekick sat calmly without question, somehow still earning the wary looks of every guard stationed around the large room. The rest of the team went largely ignored as they exchanged questioning glances.

Hero themselves was wracking their brain to make sense of the situation, but the door heaved upon before they had a chance to form any sort of an explanation.

Supervillain was as strong and imposing as his name suggested. He was a pretentious-looking man—clean-shaven and crisply clothed—with an attitude to match. A gnarly jagged scar stood out across his face, often cited as his most defining physical feature. Hero would add that he also had a glare that could cut down cities, and right now it was directed at one specific member of their team.

To Hero, it didn’t make sense.

None of them were any direct match for Supervillain, least of all Sidekick. They weren’t healthy enough for the field; they were just tech support. Strictly in-office. Well, usually. There was no conceivable reason to keep them here, especially restrained as they were.

Leader, always looking out for the team’s well-fare even in the worst of positions, immediately tried to start bargaining for their most vulnerable member.

“We will continue cooperate. Under one condition.”

The Supervillain released a distracted hum.

“You release Sidekick.”

Leader clenched their jaw after presenting the demand.

“Is that so?”

Supervillain didn’t even turn his head towards Leader. To their credit, Sidekick didn’t turn away either, though Hero had no idea how they managed it. Hero could hardly manage that level of stoicism in the Supervillain’s presence.

Hero chimed in, reasoning, “Let them go. They’re harmless to you.”

Supervillain’s eyes narrowed inexplicably at that. Simultaneously, said member of the team scoffed.

“His face would beg to differ.”

Hero turned a surprised gaze to find their sidekick shooting a rueful look towards the aforementioned face. The thoughts behind the team’s eyes turned from shock to terror.

Sidekick never mouthed off. Sidekick hardly ever spoke at all.

Hero watched as fingers curled tighter over the shoulder of Sidekick’s shirt.

What the hell were they talking about?

Hero shifted their panicked gaze to Leader, only to find them running their eyes across the villain’s face. Hero followed suit, eyes widening as they did.

Was Sidekick implying…?

Supervillain paid their further pleas no mind. They addressed only the one group member when they spoke.

“And here I thought you would have used me as part of your resume.”

He watched them down the bridge of his nose, still standing a considerable distance away.

“Some of us have merits of our own, that don’t involve a list of who we’ve harmed.”

The room went quiet. The guards shifted uneasily all around. Neither person broke their gaze.

No way.

Hero’s head spun at the sight. No one was stupid enough to outright attack or even provoke the supervillain or his lackeys, especially not like this.

Or maybe, Hero thought as they glanced towards the stone-cold glare Sidekick was holding with their chin held high, nobody was ever brave enough.

"I told you. I told you." Hero muttered over and over to themselves. "I told you it wouldn't work."

Villain simply watched them from their cell, following their movements with a bored look. Both of them were captured and locked in Supervillain's dungeons, each in different cells. Which were facing eachother, so even if the villain wanted to ignore the hero's complaints and ramblings, they couldn't. Not with the other stomping left and right and mumbling to themselves.

"The plan would've worked," the villain grumbled through their teeth after a while, "if you did as you were told."

Hero jolted to a stop and slammed their hands againt the bars. "If I did as you said, countless of lives would have been los-!"

"Oh, please, not this again." The villain stood up and walked near the door of their own cell. "How can a hero like you not be prepared to make sacrifices-?"

"I am a hero BECAUSE I don't make sacrifices."

"Don't you yell histerically at me." Villain exhaled impatiently, rubbing their temple with their fingers. "We both knew my plan was perfect. You were just too much of a coward to follow it." They turned their head away. "Seriously," they growled, more to themselves than the fuming hero, "what did I expect?"

"You can't just ask me- oh, forget it." Hero slumped in the corner of their cell. "Not like you'd understand."

They stayed like that for a moment, their uneven breaths filling up the silence.

"Fighting won't solve anything right now." Hero said after a while of calming themselves. "I suggest we wait for Mentee to come and rescue us. They're good at tracking people down and there's not much we can do anyw-"

They were cut by Villain's barking laughter. "Are you serious? That piece of twig?"

Hero's eye twitched. "They're our only hope right now."

"No, you were our only hope." The villain spat. "And you blew it." Then, they let out a scoff before laughing again. "Oh, gods. My fate rests in the hands of that fucking, useless orphan."

"Hey," Hero narrowed their eyes, pointing a shaky finger at their nemesis, "you watch what you say about them."

"Don't you point that fucking finger at me."

The Game Begins Anew

Read part one // Master-post // Continued from here

A soft white light illuminated the room, highlighting the plush carpets making them look like a soft bed of clouds when Morgan opened her eyes. A dull drum beat against her skull, as if her brain was breathing erratically, having a panic attack, and she moaned softly and closed her eyes again, cuddling into the warmth of her pillow.

Her pillow inflated softly and deflated lightly. Morgan frowned. She opened her eyes again and craned her neck back to look up at her pillow, which she realised was Flynn’s chest. A melancholic ache bloomed in her chest, like a bubble around her heart compressing, as she looked into his face. He slept so peacefully, his face devoid of stress or strain, his fire red hair loose around his forehead. His mouth lay open comically as he slept soundly and Morgan couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto her face.

Looking at him like this, her mind wondered why he would ever do this to her; to himself, why he would ruin what they had, ruin their trust. He was the closest person to her in her life, the man who cheered her up when she was down, who had her back during missions, who trained with her relentlessly at all hours because she couldn’t sleep. Her confidant who helped her piece together cold trails and chase the most obscure leads to stop Supervillain… all villains.

Now when she looked at him, all she could feel was heartbreak and betrayal. Why would he help her capture villains for the Agency? Was it just to get rid of the competition for his family? The thought turns her stomach. But she promised him… she promised him last night that she would stop fighting. She wanted things to go back to normal. Or as normal as they could be now, a new normal.

Her stomach yawned like a mouth and grumbled as if waking a slumbering giant. At once she felt both nauseous and starving, like she hasn’t eaten for weeks but if she ate anything now, she wasn’t certain she would keep it down.

Tired eyes drew to the heavy white clump of bandages around her hand and wrist. It looked like a hand dipped in white concrete a couple times. She tried to squeeze her fingers down, but the bandages were too thick, all she could manage was a flex of half of her fingers. Supervillain wrapped them tight and thick, which was probably for the best. A fucking doctor… at least she could rest easy knowing there wouldn’t be devastating consequences for his– first strike, as he said.

Fucking sadist. When she got out of here, she was going to enjoy locking him up and watching him rot.

Footsteps pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned her head to the archway that led into the hall. God this house was fucking gorgeous, she couldn’t help but bitterly realise. Crime really does pay.

A sleeve of red leather appeared first, and Morgan’s heart hitched in her chest as she settled her expression into a scowl. She turned her body in Flint’s arms so she would be facing the bastard when he appeared. Villain strut in with a burrito in one hand and his phone in the other. He barely looked up as he walked in until he felt her eyes on him and stopped on the steps down into the room.

His eyes find her hand immediately and widen slightly. “Hol–y shit,” he mutters, walking over to Morgan with confident steps and staring down at the thick bandages wrapped around Morgan’s hand. “Damn. You really pissed him off,” he says as he studies her hand, taking a giant bite of his burrito, his dark eyes flicking up to Morgan’s face and the bandages wrapped around her head. “What did he do to you?” he asks with a mouthful of food.

Morgan’s face would have screwed up in disgust if her stomach didn’t decide to growl extremely loudly in reply. Villain grinned at the sound and Morgan’s lips settled into a scowl. “None of your business.”

Villain shrugged. “Alright grumpy. Well, you look like shit.” He tells her. His eyes skim to Flynn then underneath Morgan, his arms wrapped around her, limbs entwined as if only noticing that he was there too. “Oh. You two make up?”

Morgan didn’t reply. She didn’t know how to. She was tired. She didn’t want to explain the last few confusing hours to Villain of all fucking people. But… her stomach was whining longingly for some food, and she did promise that she would try to be civil, or be civil, or at the very least stop fighting last night, didn’t she?

“You hungry?”

“Not for poison,” she snaps.

“Oh please, I don’t need something as pathetic as poison to kill you. You’re half dead already. There’d be no fun in it for me.”

The certainty of Villain’s words struck her like a slap. Right. She was nothing here. They could all do whatever they wanted to her, in theory, and she just has to endure.

And it was like a bolt of lightning struck her, as she looked up at Villain.

No.

She doesn’t just have to endure. What was it her mother always said? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Morgan glances down at her bandaged hand and frowns. Vinegar wasn’t working. Resisting, being prickly wasn’t working. She wasn’t the type of person who keeps trying failed strategies over and over again, no. She learned to adapt in order to catch and understand Villains over the course of her career. And she was one of the best in her career, the only reason Supervillain and Villain eluded her for so long was because Flint always pushed her off their scent. Or at least tried to.

But she was here now, in their fucking home, and she wasn’t taking advantage at all. Villain stood in front of her now, offering food. Sure, he might make her skin crawl, but she could use this weakness, her injured hand, pretend she was beaten and cowering, submitting, changing, and get as much information out of the family before she eventually escapes or is rescued, or is… released but, she’d be damned if she just sat her anymore doing nothing except throwing tantrums.

 “You know what?” she asks, raising her gaze to Villain’s black eyes. “I am fucking starving.”

Villain raises a brow and smirks. “Well okay then,” he says and turns, pocketing his phone. Morgan sat up, gently moving Flynn’s hand off her hip as she sits up and stands. She follows Villain out of the living room, glancing down the hall to Supervillain’s war room as she passes it to get to the kitchen.

“Where do you train?” she asks Villain as they pass into the kitchen.

“Why?” Villain asks with a smirk. “Have you gotten bored of Flynn already?”

Morgan blinks at him and walks towards the fridge, opening the door and peering in without dignifying the question with an answer. “Please, make yourself at home,” he scoffs.

“Well, I’m allowed to roam freely,” Morgan replies blandly. “And I’m not allowed to leave, so I think I will act like it’s my home, thanks,” she finishes with a chirpy pitch, oozing sarcasm. She peeks out behind the door to look at Villain who took a seat at the marble island. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine.”

Morgan blinks at him. “I want to train. I assumed it was obvious from the question.” She winces, her brows furrowing as she holds Villain’s gaze, “sorry. Maybe I overestimated your intelligence.”

Villain barks a laugh. “Dad must have cut out your seriousness,” he says, a smile in his voice. Morgan shoots him a pointed look, and he nods out the kitchen window to the garden. “We have a shed out back where we train for the most part,” he answers. “Though, you’ll have a hard time convincing dad to let you.”

Morgan frowns at the shelves of the fridge, happy it hid her expression from Villain. Most of the food in the fridge made her want to throw up. She looked at the ham and thought of the texture and wanted to hurl, so she thought of cheese and a phantom taste clogged her throat. She sighed and settled on a tub of strawberry yogurt and took the milk from the fridge before elbowing it shut.

She set them on the counter in front of the kettle. She stared at her heavily bandaged hand and at the kettle and frowned. Her back straightened as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, cursing whatever cosmic being enjoyed humiliating her.

Then she turned and put on her most charming smile. “Hi, Villain. I really like coffee.”

He raised a brow at her. “Okay.”

She held her bandaged hand up. “It um, well, I won’t be able to pick up the kettle like this, and I also can’t use it with the tap.”

Villain stared at her for a beat before realisation and a slow, delighted smile spread across his pale face. “Huh. That is a shame.”

“Yes.”

“Seems like you’re in a pickle.”

“I am.”

“Sounds like,” he drawled, getting from his chair and walking over to her, “you need a hero to come to your rescue.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened but sucked it up and said, “I really do.”

Villain looked down at her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how him and Flynn were brothers. Flynn had a weight to him, a presence, but Villain floated like a ghost, or a cat, unseen but felt, the same chill to him as his shadows. His black hair and eyes stood out starkly from his paleness, along with his red leather jacket, all rich colours, deep, full; a contrast at odds with himself, grabbing your attention while the rest of him opted to sink behind your perception.

He leaned down, his hands going to the counter on either side of Morgan caging her in. She couldn’t help but arch her back over the counter, lowering herself, her face a picture of surprise and shock as she looked up at him, her fingers splaying for her daggers before she quickly closed them in panic.

“Flynn’s asleep,” he said softly, his eyes searching her face, drinking in her unfiltered expression with an unreadable expression. “So I guess I’ll have to do. Are you alright with a villain helping you?”

Morgan wanted to tell him to go to hell, to fuck off, that she didn’t want his fucking help and that it was all his fucking father’s fault that she needed his help in the first place, but… no words would come to her. Why were no words coming to her?! She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but a choked start of a sound.

She felt an angry blush climb her cheeks as her heart raced in her chest. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a cocky grin. Morgan flinched at the sound of the tap but didn’t move her eyes from Villain’s face. It wasn’t until the tab of the kettle clicked on that she regained control of her limbs. “All done,” he said with a wink before stepping back and walking back to the island before sitting in the same chair as if nothing happened.

She turned and glared at the kettle, now full of water and realised the bastard used his shadows. She whirled on him, eyes blazing, and he was already looking at her, a smile on his lips.

“You didn’t have to do that!”

Villain tilted his head at her. “You asked me to help with the kettle,” he said, feigning innocence.

“That’s not – you know what I mean!”

Villain tsked, shaking his head. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to ask for help, Morgan,” he said and then laughed. “A hero who can’t ask for help. How cliché.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she huffed and turned as he laughed again.  

The rest of the coffee making she could do by herself thankfully, one hand still operational. After a beat of silence she asked, “where do you keep the spoons?”

“In the cutlery drawer.”

“And where is the cutlery drawer?” she asked, impatience leaking through.

“Do you need help, Hero?” he asked in that faux kind voice, and she flipped him off without looking at him.

“Whatever. I’ll find it myself.”

Shadows curled around her wrist, and she froze as shivers danced around her skin. She followed the wispy darkness with her eyes to a drawer beside the sink. It opened, revealing the spoons and she mumbled a begrudging: “thanks.”

“No problem, Morgan.”

She could stab him. With a spoon. Gouge his eyes out, so they couldn’t give her that mocking stare. The thought calmed her rage, and she was able to be pragmatic again. She grabbed a spoon for the coffee and the yogurt. Making the coffee was awkward, but she did it herself and then brought the coffee and yogurt tub to the island, sitting as far from Villain as she could.

He lifted his inky eyes to her. They dropped to the strawberry yogurt, and he let out a low, “Oooh, you’re gonna be in trouble,” like a child.

“What?”

“That’s dad’s yogurt,” he said. “The last person who tried to eat it on him got –” Villain said and drew a line along his throat before closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

“Not spreading rumours, Villain?”

Morgan’s spine went rigid at the voice. The last time she saw him she was strapped to a table downstairs, no windows in sight. Her chest constricted as if there was no air, his voice repeating: “The first two strikes will be in your palms, Morgan. To remind you that even if you try to fight back, with your knives or your words or otherwise, you will fail.”

“Me? Spread rumours? Absolutely not,” Villain said distantly. He felt so far away, too far. There wasn’t anything between her and Supervillain, and she regretted very much not sitting facing the door to the kitchen. This doesn’t have to happen again, Morgan. We can be civil with each other.

Supervillain laughed and Morgan suppressed the flinch. Stop it, you’re not down there anymore. You’re fine. Get a grip. Get a fucking grip.

Her grip tightened on the spoon. She refused to look at Supervillain, or even acknowledge he was in the room. She just popped the lid off the yogurt and peeled back the foil tab before she sunk the spoon into Supervillain’s favourite yogurt. She wanted to devour it, to pour it on the ground in front of his fucking feet, she wanted to do something just to spite him, just to show him that she wasn’t going to just lie down and die.

She glared at the bandages. Took a breath. No.

No.

She had to play smart. Pretend she was beaten, keep a handle of her rage.

She raised her eyes to Supervillain who smiled warmly at her.

He could hide being a psychopath behind his smile, his kindness.

She would play better than him.

This was the man she spent the last two years hunting, intercepting, studying. The black and white tiles between them stretched like a chessboard between them as Morgan stared at him.

Game on.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile of her own.

He inclined his head at her. “Good morning,” he replied. “Sleep well?” and he went to the kettle. She didn’t miss how his eyes went to the yogurt in her hand before going back to her face, the pleasantness never dropping, not for a second.

“I did,” she replied. Civil. Pleasant. “Villain was telling me about the shed actually, before you came in.”

Villain raised an amused brow at her but didn’t say anything.

The tap turned on. Water gushed. It turned off.

“He did?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if I could go out and see it?”

She could have imagined it, but it seemed the kettle was turned on with a little irritation. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea with your hand, Morgan.”

“No, I know. I just want to see it.” Y’know, its flaws, weaknesses, see what weapons I could smuggle to murder you in your sleep. “I’m feeling a little couped up.”

Come on, she willed. You said I could have a life here, prove it, asshole.

Supervillain sighed. “I suppose if you just want to see it, that won’t be a problem,” he said eventually. “Besides, it’s not like you could run. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and some exercise and fresh air will be good for you. So, under supervision, and without permission to train, yes. You can see the training room.”

Morgan smirked at the little win.

“Thank you.”

*****

Orphanage roll-call: (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @xenlust @books-are-everything @micechomper @shywhumpauthor @aarika-merrill @0eggdealer @watermelonrandom @tippytappytyping @swift-perseides @gloriousqueen101 @isnortkoolaidpowderteehee @jumpywhumpywriter @bitter-space @lumpofsand

@xxgalgurlxx @silentpotat0 @ladygwennn @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

April is the cruelest month #5: Broken nose

<<Prev Next>>

Masterlist

CW: Broken nose, blood, self harm implied, nightmare reference, restraints, hostage situation

Hero’s fists twisted into the sheets, trying to slow her breaths as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest, so distracted and unsettled by the nightmare that she didn’t notice the sounds of someone approaching the room. In fact, it was only until they spoke that Hero really registered the other person. 

  “Are you alright?” Villain asked. 

  Hero almost jumped out of their skin, training kicking in and lashing out towards the criminal’s face instinctively. Apparently Villain wasn’t expecting their captive to fight back, and their head snapped away from Hero’s fist as it connected with their nose. 

  “Fuck!” As blood immediately started to flow from under their mask, their hand coming up to cup it, turning away from Hero. 

  “You always try to kill the first thing you see when you wake up?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day,” Hero murmured, clacking the silver spoon at the edge of the table, their eyes fixed still on the full plate before them. 

“Eat, Hero.” 

Their eyebrows furrowed in response, face twisting into a scowl. Hero lifted their head, looking to meet the others' eyes, thinking that, perhaps, they were just as unsure to face truthfully the other as they were. 

Villain was not. Brown eyes which shined yellow under the warm light of the room faced them, straight and unwavering. 

Hero averted theirs once again.

“You don’t care for what I have to say?” 

“Not particularly,” Villain answered, “but if it means a lot to you, go right ahead.” 

Hero swallowed 

“I’ll take your deal,” they answered,quickly, as fast as they could to disguise the trembling of their voice. “I’ll support your case, I’ll make sure it gets to Superhero, to the President and the Ministry of Security, I’ll get Sidekick back to you.” 

Swirling their wine on the cup, white to make good pair with the salmon, Villain nodded, solemnly and slowly, almost doubtfully, and yet the mere hint of a positive answer made Hero’s heart pound inside their chest. Not yet relief but the dread that came right before it. 

“Oh Hero,” Villain answered, the tone of pity melting with their words “but you’ve already done that, my sidekick’s being transported to me right now. A hostage exchange if you may.”

The chain on their ankle rattled as they threw themselves back on the chair, blood pumping inside their ears. 

“Are you letting me go? Am I going back with Superhero?!” 

A moment of silence was followed by a deep, hoarse laugh, rumbling across the room and shaking if ever so slightly the silverware and glasses. 

“Of course not sweet, sweet, dumb thing,” they answered “you’re staying right here with me, with us.” 

Hero’s heart felt like falling from a thousand floors. And a deep, unescapable sentiment of despair felt like a cold sweat inducing fever dream. 

“No!” Hero wailed,  “No, no, no. You said that if, that when you, when Sidekick came back to you you would let me go, you promised! I told you I would take the deal.” 

“You were too late, pet, you took too long, I want to keep you now.” 

_

Masterlist

The Beast (Part 3)

The henchmen dragged the hero out to the hall by their collar, snarling and snapping. They tried unsuccessfully to wrestle them onto a gurney, the hero's panic only matched by their raw fury. The villain watched on with a reverent fascination.

The hero glared with wild eyes as the villain calmly approached.

"Darling, you'd best behave." The villain reached to brush the hero's face. "I'd hate to muzzle such a gorgeous creature."

The hero growled in challenge.

"You want to be human again, don't you?"

An uncertain whine.

"Yes, that's right. I can help you if you stop fighting me."

This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake, the hero thought frantically. If the villain made them human, they would not let them go free.

Who else would help them, though? The Agency? Their understaffed, in-network hospital? They could be stuck like this the rest of their life. They had to trust that they would have a shot at escaping later.

The hero swallowed hard and laid back on the gurney.

"I thought so."

The henchmen exchanged glances and clamored to affix the straps. They pushed the gurney into a cold and sterile room. An exhaust fan whined in the corner. Surgical equipment laid out on a small table.

"Don't worry, darling, we're just running some tests today," the villain said, pulling out a small razor. They trimmed small patches of fur and grabbed a syringe.

The hero tried to pull away, but the straps were firm. They felt the telltale prick, and squeezed their eyes shut.

"Blood sample," the villain explained. They filled several vials.

The henchmen pulled up some kind of machine and stuck little wires all over the hero's arms and legs. The villain typed something into a laptop and the hero felt another prick.

"You'll tell me if you feel something, won't you, darling?"

A jolt shot through their arm. The hero yelped.

"Good. Very good."

Another prick. Jolt. The hero's eyes watered. This went on for a while.

"No discernible nerve damage," the villain said, very pleased. "Excellent response time."

They continued to poke and prod them for a while, looking at their teeth, shining a light in their eyes, feeling the pads of their palms.

"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

The villain began wheeling them towards a narrow tube-shaped device. The hero began to struggle again.

The hero had been in vents and crawl spaces and tight corridors before. They'd encountered walls that closed in on them, been trapped in a sinking car, and once had to be cut out of a drainage pipe by a rescue team.

All these experiences did not do favors to their anxiety response. They began struggling despite themselves, the straps digging into their flesh.

There was a high beeping noise beside them. Their heartbeat was being monitored. When did that happen.

The villain stopped the gurney. "Sh, shhh-sh, hush now, you're safe."

The hero struggled, because no they certainly were not, half the times they were trapped in dangerous situations was thanks to the villain--

Another prick.

"Rest now," The villain said, petting them gently.

The hero awoke back in their kennel. They had no idea how much time had passed. They felt a pain in the back of their head.

Stitches.

What had villain done while they were out?

Part 4

TW: restraints, cold environment, darkness, fluff/comfort towards the end.

Note: I neglected this part and forgot about it, whoops...

A cold presence seeped inside the green house. The criminal jolted awake from his sleep when a breeze creeps through his skin, sending shivers through his body. Unknowingly, Villain lifts his  hand into the air but finds out he couldn't see anything. Perhaps the fire was out for a while and must have slept overnight.

Villain gets up from his sofa and blindly navigates his dimmed home, he attempts to reignite the fireplace but finds that there's no wood left, it was already consumed by fire.

He paused for a moment, he did not anticipate for this to happen! The long silence is enough for the cold to settle in as the gravity of the situation is realized, he begins to shiver violently as the cold slowly dominates his green house.

Villain looks for another way to warm his place up, he couldn't see anything beside the light source coming from the window. He looks at every corner of the house, in hopes of finding a way to use it as a substitute to fuel the fireplace...