Chapter Text
People called him a siren; he lured people to death. He was the flower that led Persephone to the underworld. He was the rose on the vase in his dead mother's room. He was the dandelion who wouldn’t fulfill his brother's wish.
He was charming, his tongue, the weapon, his words, the bullets. He wondered how the barrel of the gun would feel on his head, his skin warming the cool metal.
It was easy to deceive, hard to be truthful. Pretty little lies wrapped in a pretty little bow, which made the pretty little gift, faux happiness being the theme of her party.
He considered himself to be introspective, or at least self-aware. Most people considered him to be pretentious, and those who didn’t were shot by his words; his aim was as sharp as the knife plunged into the heart of his father.
His barrier was made up of layers of paper, rocks thrown, but it never did any damage. No one thought to use scissors.
He was the villain with a sad, tragic backstory, “Boo Hoo, get over yourself,” He thought as his cereal was slowly getting soggier.
A weird flurry of emotions rushed through him when he saw his face in the newspaper.
Headline: The Siren Strikes Again! Hear what Angelic Fury has to say on the topic
Wilbur felt a giggle overtake his senses; he didn’t even do much yesterday! All he did was sit on a roof until ‘The Blade’ had come to meet him, and even then, nothing noteworthy happened.
“Siren,” The Blade acknowledged. Wilbur, alarmed, turned back before looking back into the buildings. The tall structures looked like a distorted version of the stars. Wilbur tried to relax, but he couldn’t help but squirm against The Blade's steely gaze.
“What do you want?” Wilbur, exasperated, The Blade smirked, “Just wanted to tell you that I’m supposed to arrest you.”
Wilbur did not leave his comfortable bed to be met by taunts, “Then do it.”
“Nah, it’s fun to mess with you.”
His eyes rolled, “Blade, shut up.” He made sure some of his power leaked into his voice, his tone sugary sweet. The Blade finally stopped talking.
“Thank you,” He snarked, a self-satisfied grin placed on his face. A few moments of quiet, a few moments of peace, before The Blade angrily tapped his shoulder.
Wilbur smiled and looked at him. He tried to signal that he wanted to speak, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” The Blade glared at the Siren before punching him right in the face.
“What the fuck, Dude!? Why the fuck did you punch me?” Once again, he pointed towards his throat, “Speak, you ugly piece of shit-”
“You cuss like a sailor, you should be a pirate,” He deadpanned. “My jaw hurt so much. What’s your issue?” Wilbur whined. He knew he should be taking The Blade seriously, but his face really hurt.
“You’re a weird kid.” Before he could comment on being called a kid (which he wasn’t), The Blade was nowhere to be seen.
Wilbur looked at the time, 6:02, realising he was late, he left his half-eaten, soggy breakfast on the table, rushing out his apartment door.
“Wilbur! Your shoes are untied,” his neighbour, Niki, called out as she got ready for her shift at a bakery. “I know, but thanks,” He yelled back. He didn’t know how he could survive without Niki. She was there for him when he was at his lowest point, and he was there for hers. He often wished that her bakery would become so popular that she would have to leave and no longer have to put up with him anymore.
He ran to HQ, well, Super-Hero HQ. He found it quite ironic that he worked there.
Panting, he finally reached the tower. The first thing he saw was the receptionist, Quackity. “Late again, Wilbur?” He said, a teasing smile adorning Quackity’s face. “You know it,” Wilbur finger gunned him as he walked towards the elevator.
He pressed the button and waited to be taken to the 17th floor.
As the elevator doors opened, he hurried to go into the meeting room.
“-I swear to god, if Chaos ever looks in my direction, I will kill her,” The hero, Imitator, said. (Kill him instead)
“-There should be days when villains just don’t exist,” another hero complained. (He wished he had never existed in the first place)
More overlapped chatter occurred until Angelic Fury started speaking, “Heroes! We have more pressing matters to discuss, such as the rise of Siren. Wilbur’s ears perked up at the mention of a pseudonym. Did they find out his identity? Maybe that’s why the meeting didn’t really start until he came in! Did they figure out where he lived? Did they-
A loud snort interrupted his thoughts. His eyes went to the hero, Red Moon (who had blonde hair like his brother, who had an accent like his brother, who was everything except his little brother), had made the sound, “Oh, Angelic Fury! Whatever shall we do?” His voice dripping with sarcasm, “-Siren is nothing but a small-scale nuisance.” Wilbur’s jaw clicked; he didn’t want to say something he might regret, “A thorn to our sides, so why the everloving fuck would we care about what he does?”
Wilbur hoped Angelic Fury listened to him.
A murmur of agreement spread across the room. Wilbur expected Angelic Fury to be angry, but instead it was a face of calm which spoke, “This nuisance is slowly becoming a threat, not only to us, but to the people”.
Finally! These self-righteous ‘heroes’ were taking note of how much of a threat he actually was.
“-So, to prevent Siren from becoming an actual problem, why don’t we recruit him?” Wilbur really wanted to vomit.
They wanted him to be a hero, they wanted to train him, they wanted him to go through- NO… no… that’s not going to happen.
That’s not going to happen.
He tried to calm himself down, his nails biting into his palm, the small stinging sensation grounding him.
His breathing quickened; the room was spinning. He got up, vaguely aware of the looks he was getting. He stumbled into the door and, while dragging his hand on the wall, he made his way to the bathroom.
He washed his face, taking a minute to breathe again. His mind reeled from all the information he got from the meeting.
They considered him a threat.
Perfect
They also want him to be a hero.
Not perfect.
He knows the limits heroes have, he knows the restricting laws, he knows the amount of torture they go through, and he has been through at least a bit of it.
His safest option is not to ‘siren’ for the next few weeks, but risks were how he lived, risks were how he had gotten this job, risks were how he escaped.
He made his way back to the meeting room. He tried to ignore the glances and sat on the chair, placed neatly in the corner of the room.
“Hey uh-” Angelic Fury said in a concerned voice, he looked down to read his name tag and looked back up, “Wilbur! Are you fine?”
Wilbur croaked a small, “I’m sorry.”
Angelic Fury asked, “Does your reaction have anything to do with the news announced in the room?”
Yes, but for the wrong reasons. “Yes,” he stated. “Would you care to share why?” Red Moon spoke up.
Wilbur felt himself nod, and Wilbur was nothing if not a liar. “Siren terrorized my district, for far too long, and to hear he might protect it…it scares me.” He made sure his voice sounded frightened but not too much, otherwise it might have sounded fake.
The sympathetic look on Angelic Fury’s face made his gut twist. He shook off the feeling and went back to his ‘damsel-in-distress’ facial expression.
“Ah-yes, I understand your concern, but it is the best course of action,” Angelic Fury said, his tone comparable to a person talking to a kicked puppy.
“B-but he might betray you! O-or hurt you!” Wilbur replied, playing into the whole ‘kicked puppy’ act. “I apologise, but there is nothing else to do.”
Wilbur was upset; he couldn’t do anything. He was helpless in a situation where he should’ve had the upper hand. “Thank you for hearing me out,” he made sure to let his voice tremble, just to make these ‘heroes’ feel even the tiniest ounce of guilt.
He sat quietly for the rest of the meeting, taking each word.