Scardon had enough!
He’s never had such a bad pastrami sandwich! How was Scardon, lord of the night supposed to rule the world without the right pastrami sandwich? He swished his cape in disgust. “This won’t do! My ominous mask looks like everyone else’s mask!,” he gasped. “Everyone wears capes now! How will I stand out?”
He thought about going outside to cough on people and the beatings he would receive as a result. He stroked his mustache and struggled with his French press. His hands were useless when he was anxious. With murderous dictators succeeding the way they were, it was hard to distinguish himself as a supervillain. Scardon therefore embraced the supervillain purely as an aesthetic and discarded the real life embodiment of the supervillain which was the murderous dictator.
People didn’t quite understand it when Scardon yelled, “I am the darkness!” at people. They thought he should learn to calm down, for the most part. He still practiced lurking in the shadows while holding his hands out like claws.
He considered the best type of poison gas– if he should use the colorful kind or something in a black or gray. “When it comes down to it, if I contribute to the art, it will all have been worth it”, he said, delivering his latest scowl, crouching and doing his best maniacal laugh.