"That guy's way too much," grumbled a man with an odd haircut.
He was one of the many villains Colin had beaten to a pulp before tossing into prison.
Ever since Colin appeared, any villain with half a brain had learned to follow his one unspoken rule: you can hurt people, but you can't kill them.
Because once you cross that line, your odds of surviving plummet to zero.
That rule had been written in blood — countless villains' blood.
The man with the strange haircut had always followed it faithfully.
And yet, he still got his face smashed in by Colin.
He complained about it aloud, cursing Colin's unreasonable violence… but deep down, he was secretly relieved.
At least Colin hadn't killed him.
Times were hard — even being a villain wasn't easy anymore.
"Yeah, seriously too much," another inmate muttered, his speech slurred from missing teeth.
He had lost several in Colin's beating, though they were already growing back — one perk of his decent regenerative ability.
Before his arrest, he'd tried to rob a woman — a gorgeous one in a red dress.
At first, he'd wanted to do worse than robbery.
But then he'd remembered: Colin had personally executed several rapists when he first arrived in this world.
If he laid a hand on that woman, he'd be signing his own death warrant.
So he'd decided to rob her instead.
And yet, Colin still caught him — that day, looking furious, his expression black as thunder.
The man had thought it was over for him.
But Colin only beat him half to death instead of killing him.
Painful, yes — but he lived. And for that, he was oddly grateful.
He didn't resent Colin.
After all, if Colin really wanted him dead, no planet in the galaxy could hide him.
Looking around the cell, he couldn't help but whistle softly.
So many villains were packed into this prison now — even some of the most infamous ones in the world.
He muttered, words garbled from his missing teeth, "Even the biggest supervillains are just toys to him…"
The man with the weird haircut nodded.
"Yeah. To Colin, every villain here is no more than an ant. If he so much as lifted his foot and stepped down, he could crush us all in an instant."
He fell silent, lost in memory.
Once, he'd worked under a powerful boss — a man with terrifying superpowers, someone who ruled their entire region with fear.
To him back then, that boss was invincible.
Superman? Batman? They were nothing compared to him.
And yet that "invincible" boss had his head crushed — by Colin.
He still remembered that scene vividly. One moment his boss was boasting, the next… gone.
Dead. Just like that.
Colin hadn't killed him, though. He'd spared his life and thrown him in prison instead.
Later, he escaped with a group of other villains — but that peace didn't last long.
Colin, his expression grim, found them, beat them senseless, and tossed them back inside.
He figured he'd manage to escape again soon.
After all, there were plenty of powerful people here, and if they really wanted to break out, they could.
But none of them dared.
Because no one knew if the "god" outside the walls — Colin — was still in a bad mood.
If he was, any escapee would just get smashed again and dragged right back in.
So, they all waited.
Waited for the day Colin's mood improved.
Bruce Wayne couldn't help frowning as he read the reports.
Colin had filled the prisons to bursting — one massive sweep.
That was odd.
The so-called "Pay-to-Play Superman," who normally worked three days and took off five, was suddenly… motivated?
Did he perhaps give all his funds to the black-haired Superman and have him round up every villain?
Just then, Alfred entered the study, setting a tray of drinks neatly on the table. His movements were calm, elegant — the kind only a lifetime butler could master.
Bruce hesitated, then pulled out his phone and called Colin.
No answer.
He tried again.
Still nothing. His brow darkened.
He dialed one more time — and this time, Colin picked up.
"Mr. Wayne, you're really persistent," Colin's voice drawled lazily. "If I don't answer twice, it means I don't want to talk. So? What do you need?"
Bruce began with a polite apology, then went straight to the point — asking about the black-haired Superman and the reason behind the sudden mass arrests.
"Why else?" Colin replied. "He's in a bad mood."
The memory of that newborn girl flickered through his mind, and the bitterness in his chest returned.
That tiny life — an innocent baby — almost destroyed by her own mother.
How monstrous did someone have to be to do that?
Bruce frowned. "Bad mood? Because of what?"
"Who knows?" Colin said, sounding tired. "He's just in a bad mood. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of a massage. Don't bother me again."
And with that, the line went dead.
All Bruce had learned was that the black-haired Superman was in a bad mood.
But maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start piecing things together.
He began searching recent news about Colin, combing through reports — and soon found one that stood out.
An article describing how Colin had rescued a baby girl.
The details were sickening: the mother had tried to smash the infant to death.
Bruce froze, the pieces clicking into place.
So that's why he was angry.
He sat back in silence, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Colin was indeed enjoying a massage — courtesy of Monica.
She wore a maid outfit, thigh-high white stockings adorned with delicate lace patterns, her movements careful and practiced.
Monica had been staying with Colin lately.
She could tell something had been weighing on him, so she'd offered to help him relax — to ease his heavy mood.
After a long while, she finally stopped. Colin had fallen asleep.
Quietly, she withdrew her hands and tiptoed away to continue her duties.
About half an hour later, Colin opened his eyes.
He got dressed and left the room.
"Sir, I've prepared some food for you," Monica said softly as she appeared, holding a tray.
"Mm." Colin gave a brief nod.
She led him up to the rooftop terrace — his favorite place in the building.
The view stretched wide and open, bathed in warm light.
She set the dishes on the table, every motion gentle and precise, then gestured for him to sit.