It is Sunday night, near Monday morning, around three, and you are Peccant Scofflaw. This is your office, overlooking your city, and it glows with the gleaming purple light of a cycle of life and death you keep perfectly in balance through sheer force of will (and a bit of genius and muscle never hurt, but that’s why there are three of you). This is your favorite view, the one that reminds you how in control of absolutely everything you are. You are not some sewer-running second rate criminal who must flee from cops on foot or get away in a van. You do not rob banks. You orchestrate. You smile and wink at the police and let them scream and tear their hair out at how you leave no evidence to make you guilty. Of anything.
And yet it is Sunday night and you are livid.
Only a few short days ago, Deadeye Detective injured you horribly, after a long dance around the issue of your best friend. And you are livid, practically sparking with anger that not only did your desires go completely unheeded, but you lost a fight and got the snot beat out of you. That rather puts you off.
And you want revenge. You want revenge so very, very badly. There is nothing that would please you more than to ring his neck, stick the dick with knives and riddle him with bullets. But your partner, your brother, wouldn’t be very happy with that, now would he?
There is a solution. You are smart. Clever, even. In some things. This being one of them. It’s not your style, not at all. But it will suit your purposes just fine.
It is Monday morning when the best laid plans of man fall into place, a lovely set of dominoes you’ve stacked and tipped and now all you need to do is wait. And watch.