It was a bad day for walking, evidently. Not to say that there were really any good days for walking, where Proxy was concerned, but there were certain days where he was much more confident about getting around with just his leg braces, and today was certainly not one of those days. He’d woken up to find everything below the hips throbbing dully with pain and immediately known it was going to be a rolling-around-in-the-wheelchair, popping-mouthfuls-of-pain-pills kind of day.
He supposed he had better check on the hostage, what was his name, the metal man. Tin can guy. Rasp had, of course, been peeking in regularly and giving status updates on the guy, but Proxy felt he should at least put in an appearance. It was polite. And he’d never really met any of the superheroes in person before, considering he never left the mansion.
This was one of those times he wished he owned some kind of mask, like the other villains did. Then again, since he hadn’t been seen in public in five or so years, Proxy doubted the metal man would recognize him anyway. That was kind of a relief. Wheeling into the room where his hostage had slept, he grinned a little at the sight of Tin Can tied up (apparently) right where Rasp had left him.
“Sorry. Not very fast with this thing.” Proxy gestured to the wheelchair. “Anyway, what was your name again?”