Registration

Michael dipped his hand into the cookie jar, leaving a fair amount of money in it. To his surprise, there was a lot more cash saved up than he initially thought. However, he couldn't help but realize that sooner or later, they would notice the missing funds. But for now, he pushed that concern aside, deciding it was trouble for another time.

The sheer excitement of potentially becoming a supervillain overwhelmed Michael. What thrilled him even more was that the audition didn't have a fixed time; it could happen at any moment.

Without delay, he made his way to the venue, which happened to be located in one of the more upscale parts of the slums he resided in. The crime rate in this area was significantly lower compared to where he came from.

Wanting to make a good impression, Michael dressed his best. He meticulously styled his curly blonde hair to avoid appearing like a degenerate and wore a neatly pressed collared shirt. He looked as though he was headed for a crucial job interview.

With each step, Michael's excitement grew, and soon enough, he reached his destination. There it was, the place that he sought out the most.

The building that held the potential to change Michael's life turned out to be a bit of a letdown in terms of its exterior appearance, but to him, the real value lay within its walls.

Though the absence of any visible security struck him as odd, Michael chose not to let that raise any red flags. Instead, he eagerly stepped into the building, only to find people of various ages filling out their registration forms with great enthusiasm.

Approaching the counter, Michael was met with a woman whose appearance seemed to embody a profound sense of weariness. It was as if every ounce of joy had been drained from her, leaving behind an aura of melancholy.

Still, Michael remained hopeful that her mood wouldn't dampen his spirits. He mustered all the politeness he could and greeted her with a warm smile. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I hope you're having a wonderful day, I would like to pay for the registration form," he said courteously, expressing his intention to purchase the registration form. Yet, the woman's eyes remained lifeless, staring blankly at him without any noticeable response.

"Where do you think you are, child? Take the form from the table and fill it; the money isn't for the form but for that machine over there," the woman sternly stated, trying to be as polite as possible. She pointed towards what appeared to be a scanner, which participants would walk through after completing their registration.

"W-What is that?" Michael couldn't help but mutter to himself. The lady behind the desk seemed to have overheard him and took it upon herself to explain, considering it was part of her job.

"That is the outdated machine corporations use to determine abnormalities in one's DNA; you could call it a mutation detector. It emits two beeps if you're a regular human and a single beep if you have a mutation," she elaborated. Despite her seemingly gruff exterior, she was surprisingly knowledgeable and willing to share this valuable information, likely incentivized by the payment she received as an encouragement for people to go through with the registration.

"Woah! Why did they stop using it?" Michael asked, filled with awe as he admired the machine, but the lady behind the counter remained silent, engrossed in her work on the computer.

Not wanting to be a bother, Michael took the registration form and made his way to where the other participants were gathered.

Fortunately, he had taught himself to read and write independently, despite his English not being perfect.

"Hey…" A feminine voice called out, catching Michael's attention. He turned to find a girl around his age who seemed equally excited about being there.

Looking up, Michael acknowledged her presence, but his attention seemed to be more focused on her appearance, particularly her flawless skin. It was so clear and pristine, unlike any he had ever seen before.

"What are you…?" Michael blurted out involuntarily before quickly catching himself, though the words had already escaped his lips.

"I would like to believe I'm a girl…." She responded with a faint giggle, her menacing green eyes locking onto Michael's gaze. There was a peculiar gentleness about her laughter, as if it were untouched by the traumas that the universe was known for dishing out.

"H-Hi, I'm Michael. That wasn't what I meant. What's your name?" Michael took charge of the conversation, conversing with the opposite gender was never a problem for him.

He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't handsome either. He understood that appearances mattered little in the grand scheme of things, as his mother could have effortlessly passed for a model in another life, had she chosen a different path.

"Hi, Michael! I'm Elizabeth, but my friends call me Lizzy," the girl introduced herself, her hair so silky it seemed to have been woven by the gods themselves; its pristine white color added to its allure.

Her silky hair swayed with every movement as it cascaded down her back, reaching as far as her lower back.

"Then I will call you Elizabeth...." Michael said, his words eliciting a joyous laugh from Elizabeth.

"So why does Michael want to be a villain?" Elizabeth inquired, settling down beside him. Her poised demeanor suggested she had her life well put together.

"That is a secret," Michael replied with a smile, and Elizabeth seemed content with not delving further.

Even though Michael hadn't asked or shown any particular interest in Elizabeth's motivations for wanting to become a supervillain, she took it upon herself to explain.

"I want to become a villain to show my parents that their little girl is all grown up!" Elizabeth declared, exuding an upbeat attitude. Michael found himself neither surprised nor disappointed by her candid revelation.

She exuded an air of pomposity, making it evident why her features didn't match those Michael was accustomed to. He mustered a weak smile, hoping it would suffice to end the conversation so he could focus on the perplexing form before him. But most of what was written looked like gibberish, adding to his confusion.

"Wow, that is an interesting resolution!" Michael responded just in time, attempting to revive the conversation and, more importantly, get help from the girl with his form. Compared to her, everyone else present had faces that could even make a stone-cold killer fold.

They were writing on their form like it was some kind of death note, and Michael hoped the universe had brought this seemingly pompous brat to him solely to aid him in completing his own form.