Did a villain’s work ever really end?

No. Not really. He still shoplifted, scammed people, and occasionally had to dispose of a body if they decided to snoop around in his business, but that was mostly just to keep his need for excitement satisfied. Otherwise he was a normal, retired, middle class aging man.

Rejoining society as a normal person had been hard, with too many people knowing his identity or just being ‘good’. But after a few years of searching, he’d found a quaint, little town in the middle of nowhere that didn’t know him. Not being known was not something he was used to but it was peaceful.

Well, mostly peaceful. There were things that kept him up at night. Now that he had relaxation and few responsibilities it had given him time to reflect. After every death or life ruining thing he did, he had grown numb-er and numb-er until it hadn’t effected him. If it did, he pushed it away until it was forgotten.

Not any more. Now most nights were spent wandering around the quiet house, guilt gnawing holes through his body, aching for salvation. A need to redeem everything he did for the sake of himself (first and foremost because he was still a villain) and then them. The people he ruined. It was awful, the need to hurt himself was strong and persistent, to try to wash himself clean of the lives he destroyed but his selfishness had kept him alive.

Finally, finally that selfishness gave in.

Which is why he was currently stirring a broth full of Thallium.

Maybe, just maybe, he could be forgiven for one death by ending his own. That’s all he asked.