Summary: Two months post ToP. What started off as a prison riot turns into a game of cat and mouse, as the Pride Troopers find themselves stalked by an enemy who - according to all records - doesn't even exist, yet seems to know everything about them. Is this a lone wolf act or something even more sinister in store for our heroes?
A/N: My first DB fic ayyyy. Please be gentle with me you guys. I was somewhat shamelessly inspired by Arkham Knight and Captain America: The Winter Soldier. But I, of course, own nothing save for my OCs.
…
Kohlrabi considered himself to be the luckiest man alive in all the galaxy.
No, better. Maybe all of the universe. Or dare he say it, the multiverse itself. Why, you may ask? What luck he'd had one particular day, with a one in one million chance, just about proved his point. Two months back during that big galactic tournament - whatever that was about, he didn't pay attention to anything that didn't revolve specifically around him - the best of the best of those goody two shoes Pride Troopers were gone for that specific period of time. With those ten gone, his prison cell might as well have been left unguarded with the door wide open.
In under the span of a half an hour, he'd managed to break free and gotten halfway there to the homerun when the guards were alerted. And then that's when things got weird; everything got all bright and fuzzy, himself included, and in the blink of an eye there was nothingness.
Before he knew it - bam. Right back at that spot but with no guards to be seen.
Since then he'd been on the run, laying relatively low on the radar as best as he could. After all, he didn't have any plans to do something stupid and get himself thrown right back at his cell to serve those consecutive life sentences. He had a life to live, thank you very much. And a damn good one at that, so long as he just kept his mouth shut and head down. In time he figured he'd be forgotten about on that wanted list. After all, there were plenty of new faces showing up everyday trying to have their five seconds of spotlight thinking they were gonna get strike fear into civilians' hearts or even get a lucky recruitment into Owl's Turf.
Oh. A chill just ran down his spine thinking about that guy. Another fellow inmate serving multiple life sentences, that guy was nuts. And that was just about the nicest thing there was to say about him. An intergalactic ganglord with a notorious temper, known to easily fly off the handle over the simplest things and champion grudge holder, it was any wonder how he had functional leadership skills. Or more importantly, how someone like Kohlrabi himself could even be compared to that psychopath to end up serving in the same facility.
After all, he'd only killed his successful co-worker; and then went home pretending to be said co-worker before killing that guy's family. Everybody makes mistakes, don't they?
Granted, there was that second time as well where he did the same thing but to the cop who arrested him after breaking out of prison the first time.
Come to think of it, maybe he really did earn that title of Copycat Killer after all. But if you asked him about, he was only using essential gifts that his chameleon-like species had to help with the semi-perfect crimes. Thanks to his skills, he could pretend to be almost anyone. He could blend in a crowd and disappear temporarily when need be, something which he was beginning to consider doing as he turned down another alleyway path.
Normally, one might say that alleyways are death traps - the start of tragic superhero origin stories or some cheesy nonsense like that - but that's only if you're a doofus running around with your wallet out in the open. Kohlrabi considered himself a smart man, a streets-smart man at that. With his hooded attire and hands in his pockets, so long as he kept his head low and pace normal, none of the homeless freaks hanging by the dumpster fires would look twice at him.
Except he couldn't help but shake this aching suspicion that there was a pair of eyes glued on his back.
With his eyes capable of darting around in every direction, he subtly searched every possible corner and angle with nothing out of the ordinary spotted. Suddenly, Kohlrabi was started scare himself, as every shadow seemed to resemble a figure and every random noise was suspicious. He took slow, cautious steps at first before picking up his pace to a brisk dart with footsteps moving as lightly as possible.
C'mon, c'mon. He thought urgently to himself, beads of sweat beginning to form at his forehead. I'm so close to Metabala, I'm practically there! Don't tell me there's a copper onto me now.
There was the sudden sound of cans scattering to the floor. Kohlrabi, despite every previous urge fighting to do so beforehand, jumped and turned around suddenly. But there was nothing there nor any evidence something had ever been there to begin with. There was only that garbage disposal - which likely hadn't been emptied in years - and the pile of cans by it that had fallen over. Probably the act of the wind.
No you idiot! Kohlrabi shook his head feverently. Never say that! It's never the wind! You've just jinxed yourself!
With his back still turned in the opposite direction, this time he'd heard another rattling noise from behind. He turned once more, with his stance beginning to shake. Evasive actions, however unsightly they appeared, were beginning to look like the right option for him. If his suspicions proved true and he was being followed, he'd sure as hell like to see what his stalker would do after this next move.
Kohlrabi darted towards the nearest wall and began to climb it upwards with seamless effort, yet another skill his species was gifted with. And, it should be noted, one he became particularly talented with during his time spent in prison. After all, the best way to avoid a prison fight in the cafeteria was to head straight for the ceiling to watch the chaos from below.
He was nearly there at the top, one hand gripping the flat rooftop panel of the building, when he felt the crushing weight of something atop it. He let out a shriek in shock, his entire body spazzing out in a split second. The instantaneous pain flashed right through him from his arm and he promptly lost his grip, falling to his apparent doom below.
But such a fall like this, even from great proportions of this height, wouldn't be enough to kill the likes of Kohlrabi though. Granted, it'd hurt his spine like a bitch. But his skeletal framework was something like rubber, he was relatively flexible and durable in handling a hit like this. Sure enough, he landed right on his back on the dirtied, unforgiving pavement ground.
Laying there for a few moments or so, he opened his eyes to a dizzying field of vision. There was a shadowy object from the distance, right at the rooftop where he'd been moments before. It jumped down suddenly with such grace, like watching a little fly take off.
Except the landing was a rude awakening to his dazed bliss, because the weight of it was right beside him. Once more, there was the weight of that crushing boot. Except this time it was on his chest.
Kohlrabi shrieked in spasms, sputtering and gasping for air as the weight pressed further down. His slimy hands gripped at the ankle of this individual, noting that he could feel the cold surface of metal - armor, perhaps? - as opposed to a normal leg. Any attempts at wiggling to break free proved fruitless. Here he laid, caught and pinned helplessly to the floor. But by who?
He squinted his eyes as his vision gradually cleared. At first, he could only make out colors; red stuck out for sure, but it also became clear that he didn't just blend in with the night, he was indeed wearing black. Red and black. Now where had he seen that combination before? No way.
"Alright Spandex Squad - " Not even being pinned down roughly seemed to deter his arrogance. He coughed out the insult, his vision still reworking itself but still pretty damn sure he was dealing with the clutches of a trooper. "Gigs up. Ya don't gotta manhandle me like this!"
Silence. The weight pressing done on him was unrelenting, and by now he was pretty sure it was worsening. His chest felt constricted, every part of his body still aching from that graceless fall. What was with this silent treatment? Did he catch one of them on a bad night and this was the ol' good cop bad cop treatment but starting in reverse.
"Come on, this ain't f- funny! Just cuff me already and cart me off!" he coughed once more, fist lightly and uselessly hitting up against the calf. It was a pitiful act, doubtful that the individual even felt that. His legs curled upwards and he summoned whatever strength from within to continue being a squirming nuisance.
It was only then did his vision clear up properly, and Kohlrabi realized that the colors of this individual's suit were inverted from the normal Pride Trooper's; the majority was black and the centerpiece was red. It was also far more intricately designed like armor as opposed to spandex. There was no face staring down at him. Only a blank, black mask with a shining reflection and eyehole slits where golden light emerged. No emotion, no expression. Only a slight cock of the head as if inspecting Kohlrabi right down to his very soul.
"Y- Y- You…. you ain't a Pride Trooper!" he shivered, feeling himself shrink inwards ever so slightly. Shit shit shit. What was this supposed to be? An upgrade? Maybe it wasn't even a person, maybe it was one of those killer robots who hunt people down for sports like that movie he saw.
"Nope," the blank, affirmative reply. The voice was distorted from the mask, as though there was a cybernetic enhancement, but it was distinctly masculine. "Even better."
That last line had a twinge of excitement to it. Like one of those fanatics who idolized the Troopers so much he decides to play dress-up. Well kid, Kohlrabi would have liked to say if this were any other situation besides a life threatening one. Tone down the edge and fear, start monologuing about how justice is coming for my ass, and you'll have me sold that you're one of 'em.
Instead, that hypothetical conversation never came to light.
With one hand alone, this imposing individual grabbed ahold of Kohlrabi's neck and lifted him up in the air until his legs were left dangling pathetically. Once, maybe twice he'd tried kicking at this individual to no effect. Now he clutched desperately onto the wrist and holding on to what little breath he had left.
"I'll spare you a speech about the heroics, if that's what you're worried about." The masked figure remarked, still with that hint of amusement in tone. There was another brief pause. The figure raise his free hand to the side of his head, hitting it lightly as if suddenly remembering. "Tsk tsk. How rude of me; no introduction. Just straight to the business."
Good to know that even this fella has a basic conception of manners. No one likes being strangled by a stranger after all, or so Kohlrabi still managed to create a sarcastic thought as he was being deprived of oxygen.
"So I'm new, but you could say I'm familiar with this town." With a nonchalant wave of his free hand, one would think based on his tone that this was a casual conversation. The way he even dragged some of his words sounded humorous with the technical distortion from his mask. But his grip was unrelenting, crushing the chameleon-like creature's windpipe with every passing second. "I'm also familiar with this broken system that monsters and freaks like you take advantage of; the Pride Troopers catch you, but you guys break free. Over and over it's a system that people suffer from. And the people are sick of it."
Kohlrabi's lungs were aching, starved for air. Strength had all but left him entirely from his depleted, exhausted body. The hold on the figure's wrists loosened, and then his arms dropped entirely. But he was still alive long enough to hear that last phrase.
"When people cry out in the night 'cause they're cornered from criminals like you, they won't need to wait on the Pride Troopers anymore. They bring temporary resolutions; I am a revolution. I am Nightcaller."
And with that, Nightcaller's grip tightened; the telltale, sickening crunch a confirmation that the condition of Kohlrabi's throat was all but decimated. Thus, ending the short-lived legacy of the Copycat Killer long before he could he make it third time's the charm on his victim record. Without even sparing the lifeless body a second glance, he tossed it in the direction of the nearby garbage bin where it crash landed up against. Right where it belongs.
There was, however, still some work to do.
. . .
The night was still young by the time he'd finished his latest display.
Now nothing more could be done. That is, until morning comes and his finest work would be inevitably discovered by someone. The question remained as to who. The odds were weighed against one another in an internal bet, though he had a feeling as to who would find it first.
His train of thought was interrupted by a beeping comm link. Glancing at the device on his wrist, he wordlessly turned it off mid-ring. There would be consequences to that little defiant act, but he was more than willing to pay for it later. He wasn't feeling particularly sociable to report just yet, now was a time to just take in the sight for it was.
From the rooftop where he was standing - in a different location far from where he'd been mere hours earlier - the main city of Netfiss was astonishingly beautiful; a lively and nocturnal place, bustling with activities and gleaming, glittering lights from the various towers. It was an opportunistic place for success. It was home to many, the Pride Troopers included.
By the time he was done with it, it'd be in ruins.
Petty criminals and even vile fiends such as Kohlrabi were merely the beginning. They were just opening statements, time-killers when the days building up to the main event were far too slow. They were, what he would describe was, tying up loose ends. Or maybe it could be thought of as doing everyone a favor wherein the justice system had failed to do so. After all, it was doubtful that anyone would miss someone like Kohlrabi.
No one would remember what happened to him or all the others soon enough anyways.
The mask depicted no emotions whatsoever, and the golden slits were unchanging. But the face underneath was more than capable of expressing determined rage underneath as his fists clenched. In his line of sight, in the very direction he stood was the pathway to the headquarters for the Pride Troopers.
I am coming for you all next.
. . .