I'm supposed to be retired...

My fists clenched the paper as I stared at the frosted glass. It was so cold outside but my eyes burned as the tears ran down my face. My cheeks hurt so badly from the suppressed sobs. I don't cry. Villains don't get to cry. What we do is that we fucking bite our tongue and get shit done. No that life was behind him. Retirement was meant to be a time when one drank good booze on the back porch and all that old man shit. He should've been contemplating a garden and reading time magazines but no, he was subjected to this.

The paper had magazine articles cut apart on it. It was so amateur work. No one did this 90s horror routine bull crap. The words spelled together a broken demand and threat that he had no intention of answering.

Y0u r0bBED b4Nk5! n0w WE r0bBed YOU!

He didn't bother finish reading it. The bastards had taken his cat. The only thing that reminded him to be human and treat the world better than his baser instincts had told him. Who were these people and just what made them think this was a good idea. Oh they were so sadly mistaken. Oh he knew who they truly were but what they thought they were was far more interesting.

Slowly his lethargic body carried him across the room. To a group photo of him with his local golfing buddies. Oh how none of them had known he was one of the top villains of the twenty first century. How naïve they were that he was capable of killing Mack for cheating and trying to move that damn ball. How he had held the world hostage and gotten away with it. That the Supers themselves had breathed a sigh of relief when they got what was to be his final broadcast. It was a simple message.

I'm done. I am going to retire and you all are going to let me go. If you give chase, if you try to find me... Cities will burn till the cost of chasing me turns the world against you. You've been warned. Farewell and thanks for the memories.

The picture was taken off the wall and thrown to the side. Who cared about silly gold tournaments now what was Precious to him was taken. There was a keypad and he punched into it an 8 digit code. The date that he had retired officially, not the date he told the world he was going to. The wall opened and he stepped into a hidden elevator that took him two stories beneath the ground.

The layer had better days. It was covered in dust but had everything he loved and had wanted. Trophies from his greatest conquests. All of his old Equipment and costume. With growing conviction he put the old garb on. It was a little tight, clearly he had gained some weight in his retirement. It drew a dry chuckle. Oh how he was going to be a sight to see. Now that he had grown a salt and pepper beard that stood out from his mask. Oh the Kevlar brought back an energy to his old bones that had been long forgotten. The leather gloves boots made a thud as he walked that sounded like inevitability. Oh the world should have let this old dog die.

The Villain Reborn wiped the dust from the monitors and keyboard and pressed the power button. It fired to life, full of energy he too was feeling. Oh this was almost feeling good. The pain of his stolen love almost forgotten and now replaced with rage. This was going to be a bad day. A few clicks and his computer went to work. It was taking a bit to get to the desired sign in. Things had been updated. The Heroes were getting better or perhaps he was just using outdated tech. Who cared?

Finally he was looking out into a series of rooms. The Meeting Room of the Heroes league, The UN, North Korean dictator's personal gaming room, various news channels, the list would go on and on. They all looked confused and alarmed to suddenly have an older but familiar face filling their screens.

"Greetings Old Friends" His voice was surprisingly cordial.

"It's been such a long, long time. I hope the years have treated you well. As you can see they definitely took their toll on my youth. Not often though do you see a ghost right? I've been supposedly dead for how long? Ten, twenty years? I don't quite remember but that's unimportant. Sorry by the way Mr. Perfect, I'm afraid the cats out of the bag. Guess you don't get to claim to have killed the world's most dangerous super villain anymore. Not that I minded that you were claiming it... we had a deal after all." Oh his debonair flare was coming back. Evil speeches were so enjoyable and the more he spoke, the more the manic tones were coming back. However his voice didn't sound quite like his own, it was deeper with age.

"Speaking of deals... I thought we had one Heroes. It was simple... you let me retire. I go away. You get to claim to be the saviors the World needed and I go away. The devil that haunted the night gone at last. In return... I stopped hunting them. I wouldn't burn 10 major cities. I'm sure you've been haunting where I put those pesky little bombs. However much like you, I prepare. You've found all ten. Shame I hid thirty extra just to make sure."

Oh the panic was starting to show. They were scared. Good.

"So I'm sure you want know what brought me back. Your sidekicks. The Dove, Dark Hammer, the rest. Your stupid, idiotic, mistakes decided to come attack me. Thought it would be funny to see what would happen if they came and gave me what I had coming. At least that's the words they'll use. But I digress... In fifteen minutes the first city goes. The detonators have been activated. If I die, they go off. If I see a super enter the city where one is located, they go off. If I detect something moving at super human speeds... they go off. So Blur, no cheating. What I want to turn them off?"

Silence for dramatic effect.

"I want my damn cat back... and the imprisonment of all offenders for assaulting a poor old man in his home. Game on."

The timer appeared on everyone's monitor.

14: 32, 14:31

He had said that the bombs were already activated.

It had been a particularly boring day thus far I had to say. I was sipping coffee and eating the stereotypical donut from a local shop as a letter slipped across my desk. It was a beautiful vibrant red and just merry. It was quite a jolly envelope to say the least. Wonder filled my mind as to who on the force actually had bothered to give everyone Christmas Cards. Money said it was Gilson. After all the man had just had a baby a few short months ago.

Taking a letter opener from the 'World's Best Dad' coffee cup on the corner of my desk I set about the task of seeing what this most likely ugly baby looked like. Imagine my confusion and surprise when I did not see a photo of some baby on fluffy white stuff with it's butt to be seen. No it was a generic Christmas card with a fat Santa on the cover. I pulled it from the cheerful envelope and opened the card to see who had thought of me.

"On the first day of Christmas~"

I slammed the letter down in a mixture of shock and rage. It was supposed to be over and done with. The countless holiday nights spent in rooms decorated with tinsel and intestine. Holiday Greetings written on walls in the blood of victims. These things were supposed to be over and gone. The Christmas Killer was supposed to be no more.

So just who the hell had grown the nerve of copying me?