Wolfy couldn’t be bothered to be a good villain.

He, like 2 percent of the world’s population, was born with a gene that caused him to gain some unique ability. Wolfy was one of the stronger (registered) superhumans, having developed telekinesis as a child. Through unwillingly rigorous training, he had mastered his ability to such an extent that he could crush a human heart inside their chest. Luckily, this required extreme concentration, and he was too lazy. 

If Wolfy ever truly put effort into being a villian, he would raise hell and tear the city apart. A child of Maria Valentine, he had committed many a crimes since before he’d gained the ability to walk. Despite Wolfy’s upbringing, he’d never been as merciless as the rest of his ‘family’. He’d cut ties with them when he was seventeen.

Thanks to the banks Wolfy had robbed in his pre-teens, he had a considerable fortune. His time and money were spent buying books and fabric. He wasn’t public about who he was, so The Agency typically didn’t bother him.

The Agency was an organization that employed and managed the goody two-shoes Heroes of the city. They regulated the registration of superhumans nationally, and worked to keep the villains separate from the normals. The Agency always went after the weakest link of a prominent villain family, which instigated many of their encounters with Wolfy.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He adored reading. It had been an escape from the reality of his childhood. Now, at a fresh faced 22, Wolfy had likely bought out any and all trashy romance novels the city had to offer.

It was around midnight, and Wolfy was waiting in line for a milkshake at a crappy diner. The cashier was telling him that they didn’t have the flavor he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Wolfy pouted, looking at the checkered floor. 

“I can check again.” He blushed, double-timing it back to the ratty kitchen.  

Wolfy knew that he was pretty, and he didn’t mind using it in his favour every once in a while. He’d spent his teen years as a model, in fact. His skin was a moonlight pale and his eyes were a mix between green and gold. His hair was raven black, stylishly messy. Wolfy wore black slacks and a simple black corset with golden stitching, showcasing the many freckles on his shoulders. He usually only wore his own design. 

“They didn't have banana, so I made it myself.” The cashier blushed once again. 

Internally, Wolfy cringed, but he smiled externally. This poor, gullible fool. He took the drink and exited the diner. He’d only made it a few steps when he heard a scream. He was standing in front of a tall building when something was thrown off the roof with an extreme amount of force. 

A young lady’s dead body landed at Wolfy’s feet.