Standing on the gravely shore, he listened to the waves churn restlessly on their sharp stony bed. The sky was agitated, wind blowing and tearing at the dark heavy clouds but failing to provoke them to rain. Far out over the dark harbor of Jump City his eyes affixed to a silhouette in the fading light of evening. On a small desolate island stood erect a mighty tower, tall, stark, defiant, and constructed in the shape of a capital "T", the Teen Titans home base. How arrogant! How insanely arrogant! They were spitting in the face of practical architecture just to feed they're ravenous egos a little more, where the entire city could see. Those high and mighty bastards! Those intolerable children! They had ruined his reputation, his pride, his life. His hands were tightening in balls of rage, but he forced his pale nimble fingers to relax. He took a deep breath. Patience, he must remember to have patience.
He was a tall thin man, dark-eyed and sharp tempered, and he had a backpack uncomfortably heavy over one shoulder. He glanced at the dim digital blue glow of his wristwatch. The bus would be pulling up to the stop in about fifteen minutes. Enough of his brooding on the beach, he needed to get home so the real work could begin. Heading up the path back to the road, the gravel crunched under his heavy boot with each step. His hood was pulled tightly over his head concealing most of his face. Choosing out a secluded seat on the bus, he pressed his face up against the glass and watched the dim streets roll by. With each mile the bus traveled the buildings outside became more decrepit and rundown. They were approaching the rough part of town where he lived.
The bus pulled up to the curb and stopped with a tired hiss, the flimsy doors swung open and he stepped off onto the sidewalk. The buses diesel engine rumbled down the street and faded into the distance, leaving behind only the pungent smell of its foul expulsions. The sun was setting. He hurried down the street at a fast and nervous pace. His gaze shifted from side to side uncomfortably. When he saw a police officer ahead he began to cross the street but stopped and visibly fought the urge. Instead, with heart hammering he made his way not-too-slow not-too-fast right by the officer receiving not so much as a glance of acknowledgement. Relief washed over him as he breathed deeply again. He came to an apartment building. It was now dark outside as he entered the somberly decaying interior. He made his way up to the third floor.
His small apartment came with a fireplace, which was a surprising luxury considering the price he was paying for this place. He had used it when he had first arrived to burn the bright orange jumpsuit that had been his prison uniform, thus destroying all evidence of his former life. He would have tossed it immediately after getting hold of civilian clothes but it had been the middle of winter when he had busted out of that hell hole, so he had elected to wear them underneath as an extra layer of warmth. That daring escape had been nearly six months ago, and since then he had been hiding among the masses. Indignantly he had assumed the role of a minimum wage peon, working his fingers to the bone for the meager scrapings that kept this roof over his head. Not much longer would he have to endure this, for the preparations he was making in the little spare room were nearly complete. He stood before the door where his beloved project was locked away. Pushing his reading glasses up his crooked nose he turned the knob and pushed it open.
The room was strewn and scattered with every light fixture known to man. Chandeliers suspended from the ceiling swung as he slammed the door behind him. Christmas lights climbing like strangle vines on the posts of floor lamps along one wall. A bright blinding mass of desk lamps were huddling on a table crouching in the corner, underneath which power strips like planters nourished an admirable collection of night lights. Fixtures of the wall-mounted variety sprang from every available gap like sprouts clamoring for the sun. He called this wonderful place the light cave. He lifted the backpack onto the desk with metal clank. How patiently, he thought rubbing his hands together gleefully, how carefully and diligently he had been working, preparing to take his revenge on those little twerps who had locked him away. He unzipped the backpack and emptied it out. Various tools and gizmos either stolen or purchased spilled forth. Oh yes, he thought with elation, those little twerps, the Teen Titans would pay dearly! For he was no ordinary criminal on the lamb from the law, he was a supervillain, the nefarious Dr. Light! A genius, and very possible the greatest mind of his time, all that remained was to prove it.