Chapter Text
Heroes have names. They always have names. After all, they need them for their heroic deeds to be brashly emblazoned on the front page of whatever newspapers happened to care. A superhero can never be satisfied just saving the day and moving on. They always have to be called something like The Justicar or the Guardians of Gibraltar or Billabong Boy or whatever silly-but-memorable name they like.
Villains, on the other hand, aren’t held to such a standard. Certainly, many are named, but they are given titles or names, in much the same way a biologist names a new species. The Fluffy-Backed Tit-Babbler certainly never chose its own name, and the same applies to most villains. After all, notoriety rarely leads to a successful scheme, so among villains, having a name associated with you usually means you’re too clumsy to keep your actions hidden. The only exceptions are those who are insane enough to spread their own name… and those who are strong enough that being known is unavoidable. To the strong, a name is a badge of honor, one they earned, not through error, but through undeniable success.
The simplest and also greatest example of this is the one known only as “S.” Their name derives from the old Likert Scale measure that is used to determine the general strength of a hero or villain. Invented in ages past, when heroes and villains first emerged, it had ranged from A to F for as long as it had stood. Everyone fell into those bounds. At least, everyone until S came along.
To put it simply, S broke the scale. No one was their equal; no entity, group, or collective could even compare to their casual might, so after a few massacres and civilization-level genocides, S was deemed untouchable. The title “S” is a show of respect, and one not given lightly.
To S, however, the title is practically a matter of course. To them, the frame of reference is simply different. Being S-tier, to them, is merely a single step above A-tier. The size of that step is irrelevant; it is but a single step, which means they are not far removed from the rest of the world at all. They decided that, since they are referred to by their tier, they would refer to others by their tiers as well. Some took this as condescension, but most knew that S was far too strong to let arrogance cloud their views. Being called by their tier meant their existence was recognized by S. And in the end, that’s what a name should be: a declaration of existence and a mark of defiance against ubiquity. From that perspective, maybe it’s the heroes who don’t have names after all, and the faceless villains who operate without titles but with utter determination and self-recognition who actually do have names.
S and D. Monikers so short, they can’t be abbreviated, and yet, they stand out more than any hero’s stupid little title.