"Are you a real villain?"
Robbie gesticulated wildly at his pinstripe lookalike, a mixture of perplexity and skepticism written on his face. The shortest of the three gave a sideways frown, the question as frothing and vicious as the green liquid turning to thick vapor in the glass beakers nearby. The three exchanged glances, unsure how to answer, until the tallest finally spoke up.
"Well, uh, technically, uh... nah." He said sheepishly, his hands acting as a scale to weigh the query in his mind before returning to the straps of his vest. Robbie scarcely allowed him to finish before speaking up again.
"Have you ever caught a good guy - like a, like a real superhero?" Robbie swept his hands through the air, smiling hopefully. Alright, so they weren't real villains. Perhaps they had still done rather villainous things?
"Nah." The response was flat and blunt. The three shook their heads in unified defeat. Robbie's face quickly soured.
"Have you ever tried a disguise?" He grasped the air in front of him like a loose thread he hoped would lead to redeeming qualities for the three slick-haired strangers, but again came the timid frowns and shaking heads.
"Nah... nah."
"Alright!" Declared Robbie, rubbing his hands together before raising a concluded finger. "I can see that I will have to teach you how to be villains!" Producing a saxophone he played a simple tune, puffing the air from one cheek to the other and swinging his jaw as his fingers tapped the notes. Reaching a crescendo, the three villains-in-training rose their hands and hollered.
"Hey!" They all cried at once, quickly breaking into ill-advised dance routines. Robbie, shaken, gazed inside the saxophone as if it had released some sort of noxious fume. He bit his bottom lip with buckteeth, confused. When he turned around, he found the three would-be evildoers had produced their own instruments. A large viola, a small drum set, and a trumpet. They plucked the strings and banged the drums and tooted the tunes, declaring 'we are number one' amidst their sudden harmony. Robbie too was roused into the raucous clamor, taking his saxophone again to his lips.
"Hey!" They cheered again, raising their fists to the heavens.

From the corner of her eye, Stephanie spotted a queer looking man in violet pinstripes lifting an 'under construction' sign, marked with a worker sleeping, propped up on his shovel. She gasped