Disclaimer: If you dislike gratuitous violence, discussion of racial issues, portrayals of severe mental illness, existentialism, and OC-centric fics, this isn't for you. Insert Witty I Don't Own the Property Spiel Here.

A New Mutant

Chapter 1: Eternal Return

Brown eyes stared up at the endless void dotted by distant stars. Countless dreams passed through them, but they waited. Fortune favored the bold, not the foolish. All great things began with signs in some form or another.

Night gave way to early day.

The eyes shut as their owner rose. "I could kill someone for a coffee right now." Kojo Reyes yawned and opened them towards the Bronx cityscape. Its decrepit state was a sorry sight to most, but it was home to him. "Huh." He blinked. "I have the strangest feeling I just might."

Shrugging it off, Kojo leapt to another rooftop and so on before dropping in front of a coffee shop he was familiar with.

"James, we meet again. I forgive you for continuing to use the products of my enemy, for now." He entered the modern yet still filthy establishment and went straight behind the counter.

The staff ignored his presence, as they always did. He protected the establishment, entirely from himself, and repaid him with access to all their inventory. Of course, they paid him 'rent' like nearly every business in the Bronx did: exceptions always set a bad precedent.

Kojo made his usual robusta species of coffee and sat down in his corner.

Seemingly perfect morning started off like this only to be ruined by someone he knew. Newcomers and their stares were a nuisance too. It almost made him wish he lacked anonymity, almost.

An hour and several refills passed with a tourist from the west coast being present for the last.

He slurped his coffee.

Things were fine.

Glass shattered and gunshots deafened ears.

Kojo hummed, an otherworldly growl in his mutant throat, before sipping more of his morning brew. The oddest feeling of déjà vu hung over him. It was as if this situation played out countless times before, and he knew it'd lead to something. What it was eluded him though it felt important.

One of the baristas screamed when a bullet embedded itself into the marble by their head.

He blinked, recalling his unwritten contract with the café. "Who the fuck even shoots up a small shop? The owners can't pay for the damages so he can't pay you, there's tons of shit for a target to take cover under, bystanders get in the way, and there's typically a gun behind the counter in ghettos like this." Kojo rose from his seat, downed his entire cup, threw it behind him, and walked out the entrance into the line of fire.

The shooter, a dismounted young biker, scowled as his submachine gun clicked.

"A CZ 25? Seriously?" Kojo shook his head and hopped from the shop door to the space in front of his would-be assassin. "Czech trash doesn't even tickle me." He glanced down at the fresh holes in his shirt. "But you ruined my clothes… Congratulations."

"Y-y-y-you!" He stepped back, bumping into his ride.

"The one and only." Kojo bared his teeth as he lifted the man up by his throat. "Give me a name, and I kill you quick!"

"D-don't you mean let me go?" The fool choked.

Kojo laughed. "Why would I do that? Do you have any idea how much more you're worth to me dead than you are alive?"

"But you won't know who hired me!"

"Silvio? Fisk? Woo-Jin?" He acquired many enemies throughout the years, though he killed nearly all then. "It really doesn't matter. Thinking of making an example out of you anyway: it's been a while."

The biker pulled back his arm and struck Kojo against the side of his head with the long magazine of his gun to no avail.

"Did you honestly think that'd work? I'm bulletproof, dumbass." He tightened his grip. "Also, super strong. I mean, look at me; you should be grateful I'm the last thing you're ever going to see."

His victim whimpered.

"Oh shut up."

A muffled scream built in the shooter's throat before his head burst off his body.

Kojo sighed and spread out his arms as the resulting geyser of blood splashed over him. "Fuck, I missed this."

The blaring of a police siren interrupted the lad's stupor.

"Great, fast cops." He raised an eyebrow at the stopping vehicle. Either it was there before hand or the two-man team rode with their alarms off. It was possible he was too absorbed by his morning murder to notice, but he didn't want to consider he'd be so oblivious. "Where the hell were you when I needed you?"

Immediately, the officers stepped out with weapons drawn and opened fire.

Kojo frowned as his clothing received more irreparable holes. "This is what I get for playing with my prey." He glanced at his blood drenched hand. "…Oh."

Mechanical clicks fell on deaf ears and the mutant's.

"Did you get that out of your system?!"

One officer reloaded while the other went back inside the car.

Images of a riot shield wall encircling his bored, sitting form flashed through Kojo's mind.

He hopped on to a neighboring rooftop and took off to his warehouse base, zig-zagging on the way from paranoia. As soon as he reached his destination, he cupped his chin. "What the hell was that? I'd never let myself get surrounded by the police: it'd blow my cover." His odd hum purred in his throat. "How did that guy know I'd be there though? Fuck, this is what I get for being impatient."

An ache grew in his skull.

"-s what - - -?"

He lifted his hand to his forehead. "Shrapnel? Bullet fragment?" Massaging the area, he clucked his tongue. A bullet reached his brain through his eye once. It healed, though he spent an hour digging through his head for pieces of it. No one could look at him the same for the rest of the day.

The annoyance faded.

Kojo shrugged. More pressing matters were at hand: someone made an attempt on his life, albeit a terrible one. They had to pay. Everyone did. He may have tolerated that when he rose to power, but it would not do now when his position demanded and relied on respect. Almost three years ago, he showed everyone else in the underworld a taste of what he could do. It was time they were reminded.

He was exactly where he needed to be.

"Today's the day." A grin spread across the mutant's face. "Today is the day…" He hopped down by the electric gate before inputting its code. "Seven-Nine-Three, hang a nigger by a tree."

The wide sheet of metal creaked open, revealing the main floor with a roundtable at the center and coolers by the walls. A young black man sat by table with a slumbering latino.

Kojo began walking over. "You're awake."

"And you're on the ground among us," Marcus, his right hand, said. He glanced at his bullet-hole ridden and bloodied clothes. "Who tried to kill you with the one thing everyone in the Bronx should know doesn't work?"

"Dead man: hired dead man who might've been given my location by someone."

He scoffed. "It's not like you make an effort to keep it on the down-low when you go out."

"True. Still, doesn't hurt to be careful." Kojo frowned. "What if we have a traitor?"

"You're being paranoid again."

"Dan always said nothing catches you by surprise if you expect them."

"If someone here betrayed you, they would've told that dumbass to use a grenade."

Kojo nodded and pursed his lips. "Too late to interrogate. I guess whoever hired didn't know, which rules out the big names." He shrugged. "Nothing to worry about, but I can't just let something like that slide."

"…Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "If you make one move, they'll move."

He took a deep breath. "Everyone wake up!" His unrestrained voice vibrated throughout the entire building. "It's time for a meeting!"

"Hola, patrón," the still face-down latino greeted.

"Good morning, Jesús." Kojo laughed. "Better hope you're not too hungover for today."

He lifted his head off the table before straightening in his seat.

Nodding in approval, he walked to and sat in the seat beside Marcus.

The rest of his nearly hundred man crew came down from the second floor. His two other roundtable members took the remaining chairs while his grunts sat on the ground around them. One could say the table represented unity. Five seats for five separate generalizations of the human phenotypes: white, black, brown, yellow, and mutant together. He doubled as a representation of mixed races, though he didn't care much for it or his mixed blood.

Everyone was bound by his power and his will.

"As some of you can see by the fancy new holes in my shirt, someone tried to kill me and made a fucking awful attempt at it." Kojo, scowling, folded his hands together. "I am not pleased. The last time someone took a hit on me, I let every piece of shit from the other boroughs understand I'm not some small-time bitch you can play with. I should have killed Fisk then, but I didn't think I was ready…That we were ready." He grinned at the stern faces around him. "We've got money for anything we could need, the element of surprise moving forward, and clear enemies who let us know they exist. It's time… And I'm open to suggestions going forward."

"Silvio," Marcus said, "he's going to be the first to know, so he'll be the first to act if your first move is on anyone else. With no son to take his place, the Silvermane family will die with him. The capos will fight against each other, which gives us a chance to take over. Course, Kingpin will move as soon as he hears word, but we still have room to act without the old man. If the capos don't fight, they'll go over to Hammerhead, and he'll wage a war against the fatass. The Yaks will try to take turf, but that's when we'll move in on them. When we're done, we move on the weaker side, likely that literal blockhead's, before taking out whose left."

Ren cleared her throat and bowed her head. "Reyes-sama." She was the only other person aside from Marcus allowed to call him by a name, mostly because he enjoyed Japanese honorifics. "The Yakuza should be your first target: they are your weakest enemy, they border your territory, our first encounter crippled their numbers, and their leadership is no doubt lacking since you disposed of Ji-Hoon. By the time any of your rivals discover your movements, we will surely control Northern Queens, and you may stop there if you like without worry of grievous retaliation."

Kojo turned to the silent Jesús.

"Wilson Fisk, patrón. He borders your territory and has the most to offer. The Maggia and Yakuza can survive without heads. Kingpin controls with his money, not respect or authority. His men will eat each other like pigs when he's gone. Half of New York will burn and be for the taking. Hammerhead will fight Silvermane to stop him from expanding, and the Yakuza will fight Hammerhead, leaving it to us."

Alex, a naked blond, raised her hand.

Ignoring her existence, Kojo looked to a random goon.

She began bouncing in her seat.

"Fine! Go ahead!"

She grinned. "Let's get payback on the Bratva. Once we've wiped out their little docks, we can take their military gear. Fuck paying for that shit. Not like they were going to sell at a decent price to us anyway."

Kojo didn't dignify that suggestion with any response.

The Solntsevskaya Bratva were neutral towards the rest of New York for the longest time before a change in management resulted in a hit squad of their elite being set after him. His head price was a fortune, so he understood. Unfortunately, they didn't take his annihilation of them or their men managing the docks lightly. Now they both didn't care for one another.

His lips thinned.

Military-grade equipment was an advantage they could use though. Burying the hatchet would require a great deal of restraint, something he lacked. Self-control less so, but it cancelled out. In the end, he'd do what he could for power.

Marcus lifted his brow.

"…Best to play things safe; we're going to fuck over the Yaks." He looked at his lieutenants wearing clothes. "I want you three to take some of our boys, figure out what's happening with them, and come back with ideas how to handle them, preferably before the day is over. Kill only if necessary and leave no witnesses."

They nodded and rose from their seats to sift through the surrounding crowd.

Alex purred.

Kojo narrowed his eyes.

He debated killing her ever since they first met: she butchered one of his men in Whitestone, so he tracked her down and gave her a choice between life servitude or life servitude to a crowd of his men until death. The former was her pick though it wasn't that different from the latter thanks to her habits. At the very least, she was effective with knives and got off her cocaine addiction at his 'request.'

She mimicked him, even adopting his straightened back and shoulder positions.

A titter died in his throat.

And she occasionally managed to draw a laugh despite her terrible need to annoy him with her presence.

The rest of his lieutenants left with four fellow hoodlums divided among them, signaling everyone else it was safe to go out for breakfast.

"So, are you just going to stare at me until they come back, boss, or are we going to do something more… interesting?" Alex asked.

"Put on some clothes. For fuck's sake, I'm not trying to see that shit."

"But you're still looking right at my boobs."

Kojo glanced down at hers and scoffed. "Oh please, they're barely medium sized. You've seen one pair, and you've seen them all." He looked up. "You're average at best."

"Boss, no one wants to tell you this, but you're a bad liar." She went on top of the table and crawled over. "Come on… be honest."

He put his hand to her forehead and nudged forward, flipping her on her back.

"Ow!"

Shaking his head, Kojo stood before hopping over the table to the ladders and jumping up to the second floor.

A sea of futons and pillows covered nearly the entire story. Composing the opposite end was a makeshift gear area with duffel bags labeled by sticker. There were several mirrors for people to examine themselves, though they were mostly used by the vain.

One more hop placed him right by his minotaur head stickered bag. He zipped it open and took out a fresh pair of clothes. Sometimes he thought of not wearing a shirt in general but doing so would make him feel like a douchebag. The common man was sufficiently shamed by his clothed form anyway. He ripped his ruined attire off him, stuffed them in the trash bag for useless clothes, and slipped into a new pair of red shirt plus black slacks. Smirking, he looked to the nearest mirror.

A golden-brown skinned herculean young man with black hair and curved back horns smirked back, dry droplets of blood still on his face.

Kojo blinked before he glanced down at his bloodstained fingers. Most of the blood either dried or dripped off during his time in the air. With a shrug, he flicked his tongue over the back of his hand like a cat licking its paw.

His mutation changed numerous things about him and his physiology he couldn't understand at all, not that he cared much.

He zipped up his bag, took a rag from the water stickered one, and back flipped over the sleeping area to the ladders. Gravity did the rest of the work when he stepped into the empty air. A few steps brought him to the nearest cooler.

Drinks, weapons, ammo, and personal items were the only things allowed to be stored in the warehouse. Electricity stopped being directed to their street years ago, so food would spoil without powered refrigerators. Calls of nature had to be answered outside in a local shop to prevent their locale from stinking. The diet of the gang was almost entirely from restaurants, who gave them free food in turn for paying less 'rent.' It wasn't much due to their obligations, but it was better than what most of them had before then.

A flick of his fingers sent the lid flying up several feet, giving him ample time to wet his hand towel with the iced water. He wiped his face clean with the absorbent fiber as the cooler top smacked against its bottom. Some part of him wanted to keep the dried blood on his hand for later, but his reason won out against his instinct: the horns and his overall demeanor outed him enough to the general public. He turned back to see Alex laying on hers atop the table still, hands balled by her chin.

"Meow!" She wiggled towards him until she fell off, thumping against the ground. "Ow."

He savored her suffering. "Clothes. Now. They might come back with a job for you, and an assassin isn't good if they stand out." Kojo walked over to her rising form. "Don't you want to please me?" he asked, patting her head.

Alex blushed. "Yeah."

"Good girl. No sex for you either until this is all over: none of us can get caught with our pants down."

"But boooooss."

"No. I'll probably be in a very good mood afterward." He grinned. "Maybe I'll give you a treat."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe." It was neither commitment nor denial: the ultimate lie.

Alex scampered to the ladders.

Kojo went back to his seat and groaned. Now he had to wait. The past two and a half years were nothing but waiting in of themselves. He dropped the hand towel on the roundtable. It took just hopping to the next street over in the beginning, which turned into going to the next neighborhood. Of course, he had to wait for his men's injuries to heal and take the time to cement his control, but there was always someone he could eviscerate in the meantime. He looked to the ceiling.

The sky called to him.

He stood up, walked outside, hopped to the roof, and fell on his back.

While life dwelled below, the heavens remained above. Centuries would pass, and it'd persist while everything else died. The stars that shined farther away would last even longer.

Kojo reached out. After a few seconds, he laughed. It was a foolish and meaningless endeavor. What he admired could never be attained.

The ache returned.

He brought his outstretched hand down to his forehead. "What the fuck is this?" Groaning, he shut his eyes. "Why does this feel so familiar?"

It lingered for several minutes before fading.

Kojo opened his eyes and sighed.

Answers to those questions would elude him for now, like countless other things.

Time became meaningless as he lost himself for the umpteenth time in the clouds. Eventually, his nose twitched at hints of familiar scents. He kip-upped and flipped back down to Earth. Most of his foot soldiers were back when he entered the warehouse.

Alex, clothed, pouted. "You left me alone!"

Kojo glanced at some of his sitting men before raising an eyebrow at her.

"They're grunts; I don't even consider them people."

"Hey," one of her fellow whites said.

"What? I represent you." She leaned back in her chair. "Got a problem, and we can knife each other over this seat. Just tell all the other guys who had a problem with me I said hi if you see them after I slit your throat and cut your balls off."

"There's no fighting over seats during wartime," Kojo said. He glanced at the man. "She would kill you though, grunt."

"…My name is Klein"

Kojo scoffed before taking his seat. "Your name is whatever I want it to be at any given time. Now quiet. Our boys will be here in…" Sniffing, he looked back at the entrance. "Four seconds."

The three lieutenants entered with their chosen helping hands and made a beeline to their positions.

He looked at Marcus.

"Turns out Ji-Hoon's second-in-command, Itsuki Kenji, stepped up after you merc'd the old man and wrecked his son's shit," also a second-in-command said. "From what I heard, he's OG and actually good at leading: he drills the recruits, looks out for their families, keeps things on the down low, and equips them with midline equipment. It's not mil-spec, but it's better than what we have. If we're going to make a move fast, he needs to go."

A restrained hum murmured in Kojo's throat before he turned to Ren.

"The Yakuza have been on a recruitment drive these past two years. In fact, they have more numbers than we do, but their recruits lack actual combat experience. One decisive battle would break their will, though it would risk your foot soldiers." Ren folded her hands. "Most are also participating to spare their parents from paying into their protection racket. We can use these to our advantage if that is what you wish."

It was a plan with potential but relied on a bunch of baby-faced gangsters doing real gangland work.

"Jesús?"

"Patrón," he answered. "There are several places the Yakuza hang out. A great deal of them share apartment complexes, though safehouses exist. Firebombing would be easy and optimal. Recruitment spots are open areas easy to drive-by as well."

Kojo chuckled. His enemy's greatest strength was also their greatest weakness. Unfortunately, causing civil unrest on a massive scale to take over a relatively small part of New York was out of the question. Conquering the Bronx was synonymous of liberating the borough: racial tensions started a cycle of violence that lasted for decades until he came along to remind them they were all worthless filth. Queens lacked the same issue thanks to an established majority and stable melting pot culture of tolerance. He needed a new pool of talent to recruit. Things needed to be handled quietly too.

Speaking of.

"Itsuki… Kenji… Why the hell does that name sound familiar?" He shook his head. "Never mind, we're taking him out first. Is there anything else about him I should know?" He blinked. "I feel like there's something I should."

"Actually, there is: word on the street is that crazy motherfucker carries a sword the length of you around always," Marcus said. "Some story about it being possessed by a demon or some shit."

"Oni," Ren clarified.

"Yeah, that. Apparently he's a Buddhist and prays in the True Buddha Diamond Temple in Flushing on 148th street. He goes there several times a day with a small escort. Man's either sure of himself, confident in his men, or just stupid."

"Do you know at what times?" Kojo asked.

"Morning, noon, and night. They say it's kinda random."

"How'd you get this info?"

Marcus shrugged. "Pulled aside one of his boys, pretended I was interested in joining up, and asked him. They're green and naive when they're not resentful of it."

"And you wanted me to recruit more." He smirked.

"I didn't mean dumbass kids who don't know what life on the streets is like. We could've at least taken in some of the street rats; both of us were in the same position once."

"…Yeah, I remember." Kojo looked to the other two lieutenants he trusted. "Do you have any ideas where I can find him?"

"He visits recruitment grounds to examine and teach them personally," Ren answered.

Jesús nodded. "Kenji sleeps in the safehouses."

"Sounds like a lot of legwork, the kind that can alarm my enemies. I'll checkout the temple first and find him… from there." He stood up.

"Kojo?" Marcus called out. "Wait, you're going alone?"

"Been too long since I've handled business by myself. Not like I'm off to kill Kingpin or Silvio. I'll be back in an hour tops. Hold the fort for me."

"Right."

Kojo turned and frowned at the same time as Marcus but for a different reason. This felt all too surreal, like he'd done it before with several key changes. It just didn't sit well.

Still, there was a job to do.

He walked out of the warehouse, back flipped on to its roof, and took off eastward to Queens. It took him three minutes to reach the connecting bridge at a brisk pace and one to jump to and from the supports into the neighboring borough itself. Then his head began to ache. "What now?"

Two more minutes passed until his red and black blur flew above the same building as a red and blue one.

Blinking, he stopped on the roof. "Is this?" He turned around at the same time his fellow sky-traveler did.

"Wow, I thought I was the only super powered guy who traveled around New York overhead," the young hero said. "You know what they say about assuming things."

"You're either a jerk or an idiot begging for people to prove you wrong…"

"Yeah." He laughed. "Took the words out of my mouth…almost literally, figuratively speaking."

There were no words to describe his confusion and disappointment. "How's the super life, webhead?"

"Oh... Uh, alright! I think." Spider-boy rubbed the back of his head. "I stopped a few armed robberies, a few muggings, and helped an old lady cross the street but nothing really exciting."

He stared at the still mask of the so-called hero.

"You okay, man? Do I have something on my face? My mask?" He wiped it. "My facemask?"

"If you want some action, sling over to southern Brooklyn and start going after Maggia men under Hammerhead's family. Silvermane was a ruthless crime boss once, but he's a soft-hearted grandfather now." He wasn't lying. There were old stories about that man he was really impressed with. More importantly, he felt as though he was supposed to steer him towards Hammerhead.

Spider-man stiffened. "Well, um, isn't Silvie still...you know?" He fidgeted and paced. "And the Maggia with Hammy isn't really..." He sighed, straightened up, and held out his hands. "I'm going to be completely honest with you. I don't know what the Maggia is or who Silvermane and Hammerhead are. I don't even know who you are."

"I had a feeling." Kojo scoffed. "There are three major factions you need to be aware of: Kingpin's 'coalition,' the Maggia, and the Yakuza. Kingpin's the biggest because he fucked over the Mafia a long while back and bullied the smaller groups into joining him. He controls Staten Island, Manhattan, and Westernmost Brooklyn, but some people think he also has the Bronx organized as tributaries."

"That's over half the city!"

"Yeah, you don't get called the Kingpin for ruling a scrap of turf. Maggia's the runner up. They're split into a civil war over territory leftover from when the Irish held Queens. Silvermane controls the northern half of Brooklyn, Hammerhead the south, and both of them are fighting over the west side of Queens."

Spider-man cupped his chin. "Why haven't I come across one of their fights?"

"They aren't a bunch of petty thugs: they're professionals who know things go to shit when they go loud. Last and least are the Yakuza. They stole Queens when the Irish were being taken out by the Maggia. So far, they've kept things quiet, but tensions have to be relieved eventually."

"…You really know your stuff, but I've never heard of a minotaur man."

"- -'s Ast-!"

Kojo clutched his forehead.

"Seriously, are you alright?"

"Ever get that feeling you're being fucked with?" He groaned. "As if life itself has some sort of vendetta against your existence and whatever joy you get from it?"

"Not… really."

"Well, give it time. You haven't been a hero for that long, have you?"

"A few months. You seem like you've been at this for years."

He nodded. "Feels more like my entire life but yeah."

"Why are you here? If you don't mind me asking," Spider-man said.

"Family. I've got some here."

"Oh. Well, I'll leave you be then." He held his hand out to a towering building and brought his middle finger down on his palm, shooting a line of webbing from his wrist. "Later…Uh?"

"Asterio."

Spider-man took hold of his sprung web and swung off the rooftop. "See you around Asterio!"

Kojo watched him until he was out of sight.

There was no way for things to become stranger.

He shook his head and resumed course. It took him just two more minutes to arrive on the rooftop opposite the oddly placed temple, if it could be called such. Squinting, he made out two armed men at the entrance.

Itsuki was here, like he felt he'd be.

"Why do I have the feeling things are going to get worse? Like this is just the beginning of a never ending spiral into insanity?" He hopped to the temple roof, closed his eyes, and sniffed a hint of odd sulfur seeping through the walls. "…Fuck me." Stomping, he shattered the ceiling and landed by the entrance.

A shirtless middle-aged man sat in the dark at the other end of the temple, affixed to a glowing purple odachi reeking of sulfur.

"Om...Vajrapani...Hum...Om...Vajrapani...Hum...Om...Vajrapani...Hum...Om...Vajrapani...Hum...Om...Vajrapani...Hum..."

The ache returned as a fierce throb.

For the first time in a long time, things in Kojo's life were well and truly fucked.

You're probably just as confused as Kojo. Don't know why I'm writing this, honestly. Just seeing how far this gets. Follow and fave if you wish. Reviews are always welcome.