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Description
"The pain in their hearts
is a plaintive start:
a sign my plan is nigh.
And surely the end justifies the means
when the good remains."

Dr. Horrible sulked in a deep corner of his new lab in the Evil League of Evil's headquarters, a dim, plainly lit room in which cockroaches weren't uncommon and toxic substances welcomed. The villain seemed to be uncomfortably hunched over a mess of wires and scrap metal resting on the white counter, a pair of tweezers in one gloved hand and a welding gun in the other. His eyes were shielded by dark-tinted goggles, his lips moving softly, singing the same song they had been since he was accepted by the League.

"No, no, don't give in;
this world will bow at my feet!
Hail me, worship me,
and I shall have revenge!"

Sparks flew, metal melted, glass flashed. He worked best when he knew he appeared cold and emotionless, for a villain must never show pain. He had always been like that, even as a child; ever since Justice Joe's defeat at the hands of Mister Maniacal when he was eight years old, his reverence toward the quiet genius grew, and the strength of his tactics against bullies also rose exponentially. It was around that age that he had begun wearing goggles, as much as a salute to Maniacal as they were a device to hide his soul.

"Nothing is simple as
cause and effect,
or so I have always seen.
Vengeance was never quite a picnic
even when I succeed."

Horrible remembered the heartbroken look on his mother's face when she had first seen his choice of clothing one morning. Unable to take action herself, she'd run out of the room to alert his father, a harsh, conforming man who gave his son everything he wanted – except when it meant putting his own image in jeopardy. He'd taken Horrible's lab coat and goggles, banning him from ever wearing them again. But the young Doctor had still managed to smuggle on his goggles every morning during the bus ride to school, an act that made him feel so much smarter than his father.

"No, no, don't give in;
you cannot survive defeat!
Hail me, worship me,
and things will be right again!"

Captain Hammer had always reminded him of his dad. Perhaps that was why he detested him so much, or why he had hesitated to shoot him at the homeless shelter all those months ago. Of course, it could just be that the guy was an absolute jerk, and it was his helplessness at the time that had rendered it difficult to pull the trigger. Either way, Hammer got what was coming to him. But the result wasn't quite what Dr. Horrible had expected at the time. He vaguely remembered the flash of pure confusion, the sound of screaming innocents, and the smell of a girl's coppery blood as she drifted from reality.

"Cold-hearted greed can
get the job done
as well as arrogant brawn:
So head up, Billy Buddy–"

His voice cracked here, a fault he just as soon realized his goggles could not hide.

"...your job may be muddy..."

Hands shaking, Dr. Horrible hastily placed his tools on the counter. It would make no sense to continue if it meant destroying his work thus far due to quivering fingers. Favoring comfort before countenance in the current circumstance, he removed his goggles and put his forehead in his hands.

"...but things will be right again."

It was the first time Billy cried in years.

Description
"The pain in their hearts
is a plaintive start:
a sign my plan is nigh.
And surely the end justifies the means
when the good remains."

Dr. Horrible sulked in a deep corner of his new lab in the Evil League of Evil's headquarters, a dim, plainly lit room in which cockroaches weren't uncommon and toxic substances welcomed. The villain seemed to be uncomfortably hunched over a mess of wires and scrap metal resting on the white counter, a pair of tweezers in one gloved hand and a welding gun in the other. His eyes were shielded by dark-tinted goggles, his lips moving softly, singing the same song they had been since he was accepted by the League.

"No, no, don't give in;
this world will bow at my feet!
Hail me, worship me,
and I shall have revenge!"

Sparks flew, metal melted, glass flashed. He worked best when he knew he appeared cold and emotionless, for a villain must never show pain. He had always been like that, even as a child; ever since Justice Joe's defeat at the hands of Mister Maniacal when he was eight years old, his reverence toward the quiet genius grew, and the strength of his tactics against bullies also rose exponentially. It was around that age that he had begun wearing goggles, as much as a salute to Maniacal as they were a device to hide his soul.

"Nothing is simple as
cause and effect,
or so I have always seen.
Vengeance was never quite a picnic
even when I succeed."

Horrible remembered the heartbroken look on his mother's face when she had first seen his choice of clothing one morning. Unable to take action herself, she'd run out of the room to alert his father, a harsh, conforming man who gave his son everything he wanted – except when it meant putting his own image in jeopardy. He'd taken Horrible's lab coat and goggles, banning him from ever wearing them again. But the young Doctor had still managed to smuggle on his goggles every morning during the bus ride to school, an act that made him feel so much smarter than his father.

"No, no, don't give in;
you cannot survive defeat!
Hail me, worship me,
and things will be right again!"

Captain Hammer had always reminded him of his dad. Perhaps that was why he detested him so much, or why he had hesitated to shoot him at the homeless shelter all those months ago. Of course, it could just be that the guy was an absolute jerk, and it was his helplessness at the time that had rendered it difficult to pull the trigger. Either way, Hammer got what was coming to him. But the result wasn't quite what Dr. Horrible had expected at the time. He vaguely remembered the flash of pure confusion, the sound of screaming innocents, and the smell of a girl's coppery blood as she drifted from reality.

"Cold-hearted greed can
get the job done
as well as arrogant brawn:
So head up, Billy Buddy–"

His voice cracked here, a fault he just as soon realized his goggles could not hide.

"...your job may be muddy..."

Hands shaking, Dr. Horrible hastily placed his tools on the counter. It would make no sense to continue if it meant destroying his work thus far due to quivering fingers. Favoring comfort before countenance in the current circumstance, he removed his goggles and put his forehead in his hands.

"...but things will be right again."

It was the first time Billy cried in years.