Irony was his worst enemy. It liked to taunt him. To curse him. To watch as he suffered.

Things weren't always that way. He used to have a loving family.

Well, somewhat loving.

It felt like his parents loved their business far more than their child. Though, it wasn't any ordinary business. Unfortunately, his parents decided to go into dealing weapons. Designing bombs and other deadly creations in a large factory.

He lived a comfortable life, never needing to worry about money or food, though that didn't make the guilt go away. How could his parents be so blind? Couldn't they see that they were a part of the problem? That they were the ones who fueled the destruction and death?

His teen years were mostly filled with rebellion. He didn't like the idea of taking over the family business. He didn't want to make bombs or weapons. He didn't want to sell to governments who would only use their technology to harm.

There wasn't much he could do other than argue. He hated everything his parents did. He hated the way they sold their humanity to whichever government paid more. How they were the ones to fuel the death and anguish of so many.

It was one of the days that his father was showing him around the factory when it happened. It wasn't anyone's fault, it was simply the risk his family took when deciding they would develop explosives and other weapons. Something went off, maybe a faulty bomb or gun of some kind, though it ended up triggering a chain reaction.

Everything went up in smoke, blasts of deafening explosions filled the air. It was only a split second before the building erupted, though when it happened, it felt like he was experiencing it in slow motion. People were screaming, it was a miracle that everyone hadn't died the moment those bombs detonated. Though, there were far more casualties than survivors.

He somehow made it out alive, though the memories of that day were fuzzy. He was in and out of the hospital, doctors and nurses checking in and running vitals, boring stuff really. Stuff he didn't remember all that well. Perhaps he hit his head during the knockback of the explosion.

When he finally came back to his senses after a few days in the hospital, he learned both his parents died in that accident. Not to mention so many others.

How ironic, a factory that made weapons of death was the thing that ended up killing nearly everyone there.

After that, he essentially left town. He paid off the lawsuits with his inheritance, and with the money he had remaining, he left for good. He never wanted to be a part of that place anyway, so it wasn't difficult to say goodbye.

Things ended up changing, though. Irony struck him again. It was hard to tell if he always had powers, or it had somehow come from the explosion. But now, the things he touched, they would detonate. However long he held them for, the explosion inside of whatever object he used would grow stronger.

Somehow he learned to manage it. He discovered that certain molecular structures of items can have weaker or stronger explosions. He learned how to essentially control the explosions.

Still, he was essentially a weapon. He could turn anything into a bomb with a simple touch. And while his parents used their skills to capitalize and hurt, he wanted to use his powers to help.

Despite the horrors of his powers and strength, he was going to help people.

—

The man sat in his dimly lit office, a whisky glass half filled as it sat on the desk. The helmet he wore hid his expression, though there was a faint red glow coming from behind his tinted visor. He wore a simple white dress shirt with black trousers, with his normal robotic suit placed in a glass casing off to the side.

He gestured towards the glass. "Would you like a drink?" The villain asked, tilting his head to the side as he spoke. Sitting across from him, the man scoffed as he swiped an arm across the table, knocking everything on the desk to the floor.

The glass shattered as it hit the floor, alcohol spilling into the carpet. The man in the helmet looked up from the pile of shattered glass, staring at the man sitting across from him. "That's rather rude." He narrowed his eyes, his voice dark and twisted behind the robotic filter.

"I'm here for my pay." He spat back, pulling a gun from a holster attached to his thigh. He pointed the barrel of the pistol at the forehead of the villain, his finger inching closer towards the trigger. "I did your dirty work. I'm here to collect what you owe me."

"Fine, fine." The villain pushed away the gun, holding his hands up in defeat. "I have everything we agreed upon in here."

He pulled a briefcase from under his desk, setting it on the table. The gunman stared at the villain for a few moments, his gaze suspicious, though he eventually reached over and opened the briefcase. It revealed a set of stacks of cash inside. The gunman smirked, picking up a stack and flipping through them.

"Well, well! Looks like your word is good. Not a lot of underground villains pay what they owe..."

"I can assure you it is, Marksman."

Marksman smirked as he shut the briefcase, leaning back in his chair while still holding his gun in one hand. "I gotta say, this pay is double what the government was offering me! Just for one measly guy, too!"

"Yes, well, I thought this pay could be seen as a way to build trust." The villain gestured towards the briefcase. "Your sniper skills are unmatched. You'd be a good asset."

The gunman raised an eyebrow. "What are you offering?" He asked, tucking his pistol back into its holster.

"I'd like you to work with me." Said the villain, "You're quite the sharpshooter, I could put those skills of yours to use."

"Getting a job offer from the guy I was sent to kill? This is bold." He laughed, scratching his beard.

"You've worked with the government for a while, have you not?"

"Yeah. Started as an assassin for pay, but they hired me. Kept me on a short leash ever since." Marksman put his feet up on the desk, scoffing as he spoke.

"They're afraid of your skills." His words were matter of fact. "Afraid that they wouldn't be able to handle you if you turned against them. I know what that's like."

"So you're saying I should turn against the guys paying me?"

"You already did." The villain pointed out, "You didn't kill me, you even took up my offer of a quick job."

"I was planning on putting a bullet through your skull after I was paid." Marksman smirked, "But I gotta say, you're pretty intriguing. What would I have to do if I took up this little job offer of yours?"

"You'd just be joining a team of mine. I'll reach out to you whenever you have an assignment. You'll receive tech and weapons and compensation for your work."

Marksman thought for a moment, then smiled. "Alright. I'm in."

"Wonderful." The villain rose from his chair, offering a hand to the sniper. "Then it's a deal."

Red sparks flew around his palm, as if he was radiating with energy. Marksman just smiled and shook the villain's hand, his grin wide as a small jolt of electricity shot through his palm. It wasn't necessarily painful, more like a buzzing that filled his limbs for a brief moment.

"We've already designed a piece of tech for you." The villain pressed a button on his desk, one of the walls sliding open to reveal a long metal corridor that led deeper into the facility. "It should help with some of the tasks I have assigned for you."

"This is already much better than working with the government." Marksman remarked as he followed the villain down the hall, "Will I get to meet the team I'll be working with?"

"Oh yes." The villain nodded his head, placing a hand on a scanner to open a metal door at the end of the hallway. "They should all be waiting here."

Beyond the door was a meeting room, filled with people sitting and quietly chatting, some keeping to themselves. They all seemed to hush up when Marksman and the head villain walked in, turning their attention towards the two. "Heya boss." One man spoke, his snowy white hair falling into his face. His eyes looked pale and empty, as if something was lacking from within his soul.

"You gonna tell us what our big job is?" A blonde haired woman asked, leaning back in her chair as she studied the villain.

"Yes, yes. No need to worry." The villain gestured to one of the empty seats, waiting for Marksman to sit before he continued. He took a seat next to a man in a black outfit, yellow highlights running through the clothes. He also had a yellow jacket and boots, along with an oral-nasal mask to cover his mouth.

The man sitting next to Marksman stared at him for a couple of seconds, though the sniper shrugged it off as he turned his attention back towards the head villain.

"I believe you all know why you're here," He set a hand down on the table, a red glow coming from behind his helmet. "We're here to do a job. Although this will be different from most jobs you have been hired to do. I'll allow you the chance now to back out. If you try to do so afterwards at any point.."

His gloved hands dug into the table, red sparks flashing from his palm as electricity ran through the room. The villain cocked his head to the side. "All of you should be aware that your brain use electricity to communicate between cells. The electricity transmits information. Thoughts, behaviors, perception. I can assure you that it can all be reworked."

The lights flickered a bit as the villain straightened his posture. "As long as you do what I say, you'll get paid. If you try to run or tell or leave, I can assure you that I will find you, and I will make sure this plan is not compromised. No matter what it takes to do so. Am I clear?"

Murmurs and unenthusiastic nods filled the room. No one moved to leave, though, so it was likely they were all being paid quite well. Marksman knew that he was.

"Wonderful. Glad we could get that out of the way." The robotic filter covering his voice portrayed no emotion, yet his tone made his words seem threatening and foreboding. "Now how about I show you exactly what we're doing here."

He pressed a button on the metal table, a white glow emerging from the center. A projection opened up, an oscillogram being shown. "Everyone, this is another member of our team. The Clairvoyant."

"Hi everybody." The voice had a distinct accent, possibly southern. It didn't seem to be some kind of artificial intelligence, rather a man on another line of a call. The lines of the oscillogram moved as he spoke.

"And why isn't he here with us now?" A man spoke up from across the table, his voice dark and rough. He almost looked like a medieval knight, his armor shiny and black. "Seems a little suspicious that he isn't with the rest of us, don't you think?"

"I can assure you, Clairvoyant is deeper in the facility. He is here with us, though he prefers to keep to himself." The head villain explained, "He needs the solitude to study and focus. Otherwise the work he is doing could snap his sanity."

"Sounds interesting. Tell us more." Marksman smirked as he crossed his arms. Whatever this 'Clairvoyant' guy was doing, it must be big. Maybe the sniper could snag whatever work he was doing and sell it for a big profit...

The leader of the villains glanced towards the projection, as if waiting for permission. "Go ahead," the clairvoyant spoke. "If you don't tell them, they'll try to steal the book."

"We'd never steal." The girl in the blonde ponytail scoffed, though she had a bit of a scowl on her face, as if her plans to get rich had just been spoiled.

"The Clairvoyant has a special artifact in his possession," The villain spoke as he looked around the room. "An ancient book from the gods of Greece. It was given to oracles to guide their predictions and teach them. The book gives whoever reads it the ability to peer into hundreds of different realities, into the future."

"And you expect us not to try and steal that now?" The man with snowy white hair laughed, his mouth covered by a mask that kept his smug grin hidden.

"I can assure you that the book is a very dangerous artifact. Just holding it is enough to cause a break in the sanity of those who are weak minded. Reading it is enough to drive someone completely mad."

"Then how come he isn't crazy?" The knight in dark armor gestured to the audio projection.

"I've had the book for a long while," The Clairvoyant explained, "I have gone mad, so to speak. I don't have as much control or sanity as I once had. That's one of the reasons I've chosen to stay locked away."

"Hopefully that will be enough to stop any attempts at stealing the book. Though, The Clairvoyant will be able to see any attempts you might make. So even if you try, you won't be able to get your hands on it."

"And what if we do try?" The blonde woman raised her eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest.

"I believe my previous threats are enough to deter you." The villain leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed straight on the blonde. "Death would be a mercy to the suffering I have in store for any traitorous scum."

She let out a huff and lowered her head, but said nothing else. Marksman looked away, as if making eye contact with the blonde would be enough to kill him.

"We'll discuss more details tomorrow. I'm assuming you all would like some time to rest. There is a dormitory deeper into the facility if you would like to stay here. Otherwise you are free to leave." The villain turned to leave, heading down the same hall he had entered from. Once he stepped through, a metal barrier slid shut, blocking anyone from following.

"We didn't even get to learn his name," Marksman huffed. "Or what job we're doing."

"I promise, more will be explained tomorrow." Said The Clairvoyant, "But for now, y'all need rest. We have food in the mess halls and clean beds in the dorms."

With that, the call was cut, and the remaining villains were left to wonder what they had gotten themselves into.