Jump City Museum, 9:43 PM

His footsteps were swift and steady, not making a sound as he expertly tread across freshly waxed linoleum. The few museum security guards had been swiftly disabled thanks to a tiny tablet, containing a powder inducing sleep under high pressure complete with a compound erasing short-term memory. Aside from a painful headache, they'd forget the smiling blond and indeed the last twenty minutes. While the head of security tried putting up a fight, his movements showing the fighting skill of a man trained at the YMCA, a glance of his electric blue eyes compelled him to cheerfully disable the silent alarms before stepping into the thinning cloud of sleep gas. Admittedly, he could have done the same thing with his powers while directly outside the place to boot.

 

Of course, that was to be expected when dealing with Dorian Joseph Tremiere, more infamously known as the psychic dreamer and master criminal "Mad Eyes".

 

Casually strolling through the museum’s marbled halls, millennia of culture and history encased in glassteel, he whistled a jaunty tune as if he were a daytime visitor. Dealing with supergenius gorillas, billionaires dressed as bats and physical manifestations of malice and wrath was a blast and all. And getting to enact all of his brilliant (if he did say so himself) schemes, forever testing himself against the best this world had to offer was always barrels of laughs (even if just for himself at times). But sometimes, one just needed to go back to basics and recharge the batteries.

 

Admittedly, it was also an exercise to ensure his skills remained sharp. So many villains got too comfortable and lazy, relying on mooks, multifarious machinations and massive mechanical mechas rather than remain involved personally. Too many self-professed masterminds saw such things as grunt work fit only for minions and dumb muscle, and they'd forget how to handle themselves. (As much as he respected the Riddler and admired his brilliance, Dorian knew a stiff breeze could kick his ass.) They would rather obsess over their chosen nemesis like some bitter ex-girlfriend who just can't get over them. Losers. And some perverse souls only cared about death, linking the amount of carnage they unleash to being a villain. The true art eluded them. Any psycho can kill or maim; to pull off schemes with no bloodshed and leaving your enemies crying in humiliation and defeat was far sweeter.

 

Stepping into the large amphitheater, those hypnotic blue eyes lit up in childish glee. Encased in glass rumored to be as strong as titanium, resting on a satin pillow, was an emerald as large as a globe. Dull red with a burnished sheen, with an intense crimson aura that made it look red-hot, the perfectly spherical jewel drew one’s attention no matter where you looked. Those claims that it was forged from fire and could unlock a portal to the realm of Roiling Hellfire didn't seem so far-fetched now, he'd admit. Billionaires, sorcerers and jewel collectors the world over would cream themselves at the thought of possessing this greatest treasure of an ancient dynasty, the symbol of power from a nation ruled by ambition, energy and passion.

 

Sozin’s Eye.

 

The only thing separating said eye from Dorian's grasp was a deadly web of laser beams; so much as a brush against any one of rays of sickly green light would trigger the silent alarm. While he could have disabled this safety measure as well from a distance, he wanted to see if he still had it. Years of martial arts training, thievery and natural agility served him well as he navigated through the maze in some nearly painful positions. Sucking in his breath as one ray nearly brushed against his white suit jacket, mindful that a single miscalculation would have a mob of police swarming the place in minutes.

 

Or, as he anticipated with some mild delight, one warrior princess.