Who did this to you?

1

You lost. You'd finally lost.

You couldn't honestly say you'd thought this would happen; that you thought this could happen- you were a hero! Fighting for the good and betterment of society and all those who lived in it! Stopping the villain from completing their devious plan! You were supposed to succeed in a roaring of applause and praise from the public as you finally defeated the evil!

Or at least you were supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, taking the villain out with you or stopping them just long enough that another hero could swoop in and save the day.

Having done something good, something important.

Not broken and bleeding alone in an alleyway nowhere near the actual battle.

To think one of their henchmen was able to best you.

Why was she even in the alleyway? Weren't your villain's henchman supposed to stay at their side? Or be a decoy or protect some part of the plan or something other than stand in a random alleyway you just happened to stumble into?

Of all the ways to go out, this had to be the worst. You would even accept a freak car crash to this.

If your sight wasn't already hazy, your vision would have blurred as hot tears welled in your eyes and you could do nothing to stop them as one arm was too weak to move and the other was as good as gone. To be honest you couldn't even be sure it was still attached to you. You weren't sure what that blast was exactly, only that it had rendered you immobile and that it hurt, more than anything you'd ever felt before.

And that was saying a lot.

At least you were able to turn your head- or more so flop it to the side, your eyes trailing down the now empty alleyway.

The henchman was long gone- she'd run the second she'd gotten the blast off on you with a loud "Oh fuck" and then you were alone, in a pile of your own guts.

At least there was no one around to see such an unsatisfying ending to a hero- sure someone would have to find you eventually, but with how that blast tore you apart, you had to look like you got in a tussle and they'd make up some fantastical story about you fighting valiantly against 40-50 henchmen or your villain themself, but unfortunately being overpowered and left to rot.

Then you heard it- footsteps, approaching quickly down the alleyway. Only one pair. You recognized those steps, but your brain couldn't seem to conjure up who.

They called your name- your civilian one. The name you hid behind every single day, pretending to be normal and sane and just like everyone else.

But hiding wasn't an option anymore.

With the gore spilling from your body, your hero and civilian forms were mixing and melding and you couldn't hold yourself together long enough to keep either in place, both sides of you bared in equal measure to the world, neither mask playing its part any longer.

They called your civilian name again, this time closer. So it was someone who knew your civilian side. They were in for a very rude surprise when they fully saw you- you were pretty sure no one had figured out your identity thus far--you had done your damn best to make sure of that--but you guess it didn't really matter any longer.

You were only aware they'd made it to you when you realized you couldn't hear their footsteps anymore- though all your senses were slowly failing you. You could barely feel the hard ground beneath you anymore, could barely taste the blood pooling in your mouth, could barely see the face looking down at you. It wasn't much longer till you wouldn't barely exist at all anymore.