You’re not sure what to think when they tell you just who the heroes just brought into the station, much less that they want you, of all people, to interview him. You’ve been working as a reporter for the Makuhero Tribune for maybe five months, tops, and your specialty is the sports section. You interview athletes, not criminals, for chrissakes! Speedy Gonzales is one thing. Christian Henderson is another thing entirely.

Of course, the paper is going to make you refer to him exclusively as Core Hunter. The editors love the supervillain motif so much more than the fallen hero, so they’re obviously going to milk it for more than it would ever be worth. With a sigh, you grab you pen and paper, your tape recorder, your camera, and your tripod, bundle it all into your car, and drive down to the detention center.

You’re sitting in the interview room for a good ten minutes before they bring him in. They have to use the larger door to fit him inside, with the shoulder spikes and all. They persuade him none to gently to sit down in the reinforced chair, then immediately cuff him to it. Seeming slightly satisfied in his restraints, the half dozen heroes take up positions around the room and clutch their weapons with clear nervousness.

The first thing that strikes you about him is his sheer bulk. Core Hunter is an impressive specimen of physical power, as his massive form easily conveys. The next thing to strike you, however, is the weapons, or lack thereof. His plasma gun is locked away somewhere, and his core remover is bound and locked up like an illegally parked car. Even as you watch, it whirrs and struggles faintly with its bindings. Even his distinctive visor is missing, leaving his visage exposed to the world.

After all that, you look him over again. His armor is engraved with unusual circular designs everywhere, excluding his face. You have to pause for a second, because holy cow, he’s actually kind of good looking underneath the mask. He catches you staring and grins, every trace of calculated cruelty clear on his sinister smile.

“Let me guess,” He drawls, the grin never leaving his mouth, even if his eyes remain focused and hard. “You were going to ask about the mask. Or maybe the engravings. Or, were you going to be original and ask why I did it. Why I became a criminal. It’s not like anyone has asked that before.” His voice cuts through you, razor sharp. You stumble over your words, prompting a short, hollow laugh from him.

“Do I have you scared, little one? You’re not worth my time. You, the guards, none of them. All I want is your cores.” He leans back in his chair, perfectly relaxed despite the cuffs.

“The engravings are based off an old human ‘language,’ the language of the Time Lords in one of their science fiction shows. Time's been an interest of me since I was small." He coughs, quietly, then continues on. "I’ve taken the liberty of adding your name, as well as everyone else’s in the room, already. The mask lets me spot structural weaknesses, amongst other things, like the water damage in the room above us where they’re keeping my weapons. As for why I did it, wouldn’t you?”

As you try to find the words, he smirks wider. “Don’t bother answering. It won’t matter soon.” He rises to his feet, the cuffs and shackles falling to bits as they try to impede him. As the heroes raise their weapons, the ceiling collapses with a series of explosions, pinning them under rubble and weapons. Your camera and other equipment is destroyed, but you find yourself unscathed. You sit there, paralyzed, as Core Hunter picks up his mask and gun from where they lay amongst the ruined tiles and supports, then he turns to face you one last time.

“Sorry, friend. No witnesses.” His gun slides up and levels with your face. There’s the magnetic thwinp of the firing mechanism, and then blackness.