A/N: Hey there guys and gals, Archimedies here with the first chapter of a pretty random Homestuck story. I haven't written for a criminally long time, and so I thought I'd come with something not too taxing on the old creativity nodes. So I decided to start up a short story centered around the homestuck characters as super heroes. Cause why not. On another note, I need to know. Does anyone actually care about my RWBY/FNAF series? Cause if so, I'll continue it. If not, I'll forget it. But for now, enjoy this short story, beginning now. Go ahead and review if you give a shit.

Chapter 1: The Whirlwind.

Two men stood together by the entrance to a warehouse. One lit a cigarette with a sudden spark in the darkness. Silence fell again. Until the other spoke up.

"Fuck me, it's cold today. The hell's been up with the weather lately?"

"The fuck are you asking me for. I ain't no weather man"

"Fuck you J. The weather men ain't shit anyway"

"Yeah, twenty seven degrees my ass."

"Hmph. You fuckin said it. 'Ey, I'm gonna go check on the product. You good out here?"

"Yeah man. Hey, can I bum a cig?"

"Sure"

With that, he handed his comrade a cigarette, and walked inside, clanking the door shut behind himself. "J" patted himself down for a lighter, and lit his cig. And frowned as a sudden gust blew the ash off it, putting it out. He frowned and grunted, looking for his lighter. As he looked up from his pockets, he came face to face with a thin figure.

"That's bad for you. But then, so is this"

"J" opened his mouth to shout for help, but a pressurised blast of wind slammed into his chest and threw him against the warehouse as he heard his ribs snap. He slumped into a sitting position, and a battered sneaker slammed into the side of his head, laying him out flat.

His assailant looked down for a second, before grinning to himself, and giving a snort. John made his way into the warehouse, cracking his knuckles and rolling his head on his neck, readying himself. A quick trip through a corridor. And he was in the warehouse proper, where several men where gathered around a car, the trunk popped to reveal several bags packed with white powder.

"Good lord you guys. First cigarettes, and now cocaine? You are out of control"

There was a series of shoutings and shrieks from the gangsters before they all formed up and faced him, bearing several improvised weapons. Tire irons, baseball bats and knives.

"Oh come on. I'm just trying to give you a little bit of advice"

They spread out in a rough semi-circle, and all the mobsters looking to their leader.

"'Ey boss, what should we do?"

The boss flicked a butterfly knife open and closed, praying his men couldn't see the tremor in his legs as he faced off with the blue robed apparition.

"Uh, uh. Oh shit. Ah, ah fucking kill him?"

At the less then direct order they shifted on their feet.

"Yeah! Fucking kill him!"

They rushed him, and he cracked his neck.

The first man reached him, and he ducked the bat, bringing the air benath himself, and slamming a knee upwards, catching him in the stomach. He gave an explosive gasp, and collapsed, three more rushing to take on the newcomer.

John pressed his hands together, and snapped them outwards, throwing a flurry of dirt and gravel up at them, scouring their eyes and clogging their mouths. As they spluttered and coughed, he leapt forward, downing one of them with an air aided haymaker that cracked his jaw. The remaining two were thrown to the floor with a spinning kick that whipped the air across them like a blade, slamming them to the ground with the thud of skulls on concrete.

"And then then were two"

John strolled up to the car, smiling widely. The boss and his bodyguard stood for a second.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get him! That's what I pay you for!"

The bodyguard shook his head, hefted a length of pipe, and walked slowly to meet him.

"You don't look too enthusiastic?"

"Would you be?"

"Fair point"

The pipe came down, and he brought the air around his arms, dancing out the way with grace. Before slamming both hands foward, hitting him with a blast so strong he hurtled through the air and slammed into the car, denting it deeply.

The boss reached into his pocket, pulling out a small revolver, and John leapt into the air.

"What the fuck..."

The mobster opened fire, and John darted backwards and forwards, bullets hissing past him as the sound of gunshots filled the warehouse. A shot snaked past his ear, and the gun clicked empty. He turned to run for the car, and John darted downwards, slamming his feet into his back, sending him face first into the boot of the car, knocking him out cold. John dropped to the ground, and strode up the car, pulling his phone out of his pocket. One anonymous tip later, and the police where on their way, and John was flying over the skyline, basking in the wake of another successful bust.

He hadn't been doing this long.

But he could probably get used to it.