Jack Slash confidently strutted down the middle of the empty street, casually flicking his knife back and forth and slicing the occasional bird or rat he spotted in two. The entire Nine followed at his back. He scanned the surrounding rooftops, his impatience growing at the quiet that met him. They'd been wandering the city for what was almost a full day now, and they only had the opportunity to kill a few homeless people.

"The heroes are late," Shatterbird pointed out the obvious.

"Indeed," Jack replied, "And for a bunch of dreaded S-classes too. Shameful." He stopped swinging his knife," If I were the citizens of this shithole, I'd seriously reconsider where my tax dollars are going. If you ask me, the S-class threat in this country is the IRS. At least we're honest about wanting to fuck people over and destroy their lives."

"Where is everyone" Bonesaw pouted," I want to cut something."

Jack stroked his beard thoughtfully, "Evacuated I'd presume. Though the timeline doesn't lineup up given we just arrived here last night."

"That stinks" Bonesaw glumly replied.

"Anything, Cherish?"

"Nah not sensing anyo-" she started before being cut off by a sudden blast of gale-force wind that sent her falling on her ass.

Jack raised a hand to his face to block the worst of the wind as it ripped through his open dress shirt. It took him a few seconds to ascertain the cause of the wind through the cloud of dust and litter it kicked up. When he finally spotted the figure within it, his cape billowing violently in the wind, Jack smile's stretched from ear to ear. "Looks like our welcoming party has finally arrived. Better late than never I suppose."

The rest of the Nine tensed in hungry anticipation. Crawler dug his claws into the pavement, Shatterbird raised a multitude of glass shards around herself, a multitude of blades sprung from Mannequines long arms, and Burnscar ignited massive globs of fire in her hands.

The cloud of debris finally settled and revealed... a totally plain-looking bald man clad in a yellow jumpsuit and red gloves that looked like he bought them at a cheap Halloween store. Jack didn't recognize him. Which was odd because he always did his homework on the local flavor of capes they'd be dealing with. He figured it must be some nobody freelancer looking to make a name for himself by taking on the Nine. Jack must've filled several graveyards worth of these fools by now.

"There you guys are. Been wandering the whole city looking for you. You're the Slaughterhouse Five, right?" the cape spoke, staring at them blankly.

Jack snorted," Nine. Slaughterhouse Nine."

"Oh," the man pulled a note from his pocket," Well the site I looked at said Slaughterhouse Five."

"What site? Barnes and Noble? You're thinking of the Vonnegut book," Shatterbird replied, never one to let a chance to flex her intellect slip by.

"Vonniegut? Uhhh," the bald cape flipped his note around, even though there was obviously nothing written on the back," Maybe. I dunno. I'm not very good with the research stuff." He paused and began counting the Nine then quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "Are you guys stupid? Why do you call yourselves the Slaughterhouse Nine when there are eight of you? Or does the ugly one count as two?" he pointed to Crawler.

"Ugly?" Crawler growled and took a step toward the cape.

Jack raised a hand to halt the massive beast, who reluctantly did so.

"So let me get this straight," Jack said, irritation creeping into his tone," First you heroes make us wait, letting several dozen people die I might add, and then when one of you finally arrives, he doesn't even know who we are?"

The bald cape scratched his head," Oh you guys didn't know? The heroes are busy fighting a shrimp monster right now. I decided to let them have it. Wasn't going to be a challenge for me anyway."

"Shrimp...monster?" Jack asked incredulously. The idea that the Slaughterhouse Nine were being shown up by a shrimp monster bothered him more than he expected.

"Alright, you guys can surrender now so I can bring you in," the cape replied nonchalantly.

Jack let out a sharp bark of laughter. Several other members of the Nine followed suit with unhinged laughter of their own. Even Crawler gurgled out something that could vaguely be called a chuckle.

"Is that so?" Jack said.

"Obviously. How else am I supposed to rise in the hero rankings?"

"Good luck rising in the hero rankings with that outfit," Cherish cut in," It looks like you're wearing your grandmother's pajamas."

"Hey! This top of the line hero attire!" the man retorted, her remark clearly offending him. "Besides, you're all one to talk. None of you are even wearing costumes! You're all dressed like a bunch of hobos!" He caught sight of Siberian and quickly brought up a hand to shield her from his vision," What the hell?! She's not even wearing any clothes! She just painted herself like a zebra! How did you idiots ever get an S-class threat rating?"

"Well, I like to think our actions speak louder than our fashion sense. Which I wager is more than can be said for you," Jack answered.

The bald cape visibly slumped." Someone must be pulling a prank on me. And to think I'm missing out on a meat sale at the supermarket for this," he grumbled.

"Oh, a prank! I love pranks!" Bonesaw loudly declared out of the blue, as if she had only just now begun paying attention to the conversation. "Let me show you one of my favorite ones!"

Without warning, one of Bonesaw's creations, a tortured amalgamation of the capes Mouse Protector and Ravager named Murder Rat, that had been lurking in the shadows converged on the cape. It latched onto him and immediately began stabbing and tearing at his skin with its bladed hands and feet.

"Hey, cut it out. You'll damage my costume, and I know you bums can't afford to pay me back for it," the man said, completely unfazed by the assault. He grabbed the tortured amalgamation and slung it against the wall of a nearby building with such force it exploded into bits of gore and bone upon impact.

"Hey! Don't break my toys! That's rude!" Bonesaw shouted.

"It smells like shit."

"It's called decomposition," Bonesaw growled, her former childish glee disappearing at the man's insulting her creation," You oughta know about a lot about that, Baldy."

The bald cape's mildly annoyed expression morphed into one of anger," My name is Saitama!"

"Whatever you say, chrome-dome."

There was another blast of wind and suddenly the cape was standing directly beside Bonesaw. He lifted the girl in the air by her arm and looked at Jack," What's wrong with this sassy brat?"

"What isn't wrong would be the better question," Jack smiled.

"Big mistake grabbing me like this, mister," Bonesaw giggled. The girl bit down on a capsule built into her third mandibular molar and a cloud of gas erupted from her mouth, spewing directly into Saitama's face.

The Nine eagerly awaited Saitama's gruesome death at the hands of Bonesaw's biological weaponry. Any second now the bald cape would be lying on his back and bleeding from every orifice, screaming and gurgling as the life leaked from his body.

Saitama's face scrunched up in apparent agony.

Jack's smile widened," Don't worry, Bonesaw will be able to bring you back. You can replace Murder Rat. Wouldn't you like that Bonesaw?"

"Oh yes! I have so many ideas! I can put some weapons in that shiny dome of his. Maybe make it produce light so strong that it blinds anyone that looks directly at it. Like the Sun!"

"Ahhhh..." Saitama said, his mouth growing wide.

Jack chuckled," That would be pretty amusing. Like that one Spongebob episode."

"Movie," Shatterbird said," It was The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie."

"Right, the one with King Neptune. Man, that one was funny. Shame the show went downfall after it aired."

"AHHHHHH," Saitama continued. His agony grew by the second.

"You really should've done your homework," Jack mocked, walking closer to Saitama," We're the fucking Slaughterhouse Nine. That's a name you remember. A name people whisper in the same breath as the Endbringer. Maybe if you paid it the proper heed and left the job of taking us on to real heroes, you'd go on living your happy, mediocre, bald at twenty-five life."

"Uh, Jack. I don't think he's-" Cherish began.

"Cherish!" Jack Slash snapped," Don't interrupt when I'm monolog-"

ACHOOOOOO

The air itself split apart as Saitama's sneeze blasted through the Nine.

The last thing to go through Jack's mind, other than the glob of snot moving at Mach 70, was how exactly he'd extract on this wretched town for daring to disrespect him with a Class C nobody hero in pajamas.

Saitama rubbed his nose with his free hand. When he regained his bearings, he behold the massive miles-long path of destruction his sneeze had caused. Buildings were flattened as far as his eyes could see. "Oops," he said," I really need to get my allergies checked on." He looked around in confusion when he didn't see any of the assorted murder hobos standing in front of him. "Hey, where you guys go?"

The blood smeared rubble in front of him didn't answer.

He glanced to his other arm, still held high, and found Bonesaw's arm still clutched in his hand. A bloody stump with sparks shooting out of him. He dropped the arm with a look of disgust. "Well, that was lame." He turned and began walking back to his apartment, shoulders slouched in defeat at another mediocre day of crime fighting.

Rubble shifted behind him.

He whipped around expectantly.

It was the naked striped lady. She threw aside a massive chunk of a wall as if it weighed nothing as she rose to her feet.

"Oh, you're still alive huh? I was expecting the big ugly monster thing honestly."

Siberian stared at him dumbfounded. "How...how did you," she murmured.

She glanced around slowly until she spotted the dismembered remains of Bonesaw. Her eyes grew wide in a mixture of fury and pain.

"Your little friend blew that weird shit into my nose. Guess she didn't know I have a sensitive immune system."

"Sensitive...immune...I'LL FUCKING TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!" she roared.

"Okay. But can you put on some clothes first? I don't want you touching me with your dirty hobo bits flopping all over the place."

Siberian lunged at him, crossing the distance between them in a millisecond. She swiped at his head, but he dodged with absolute ease.

"Seriously, stop trying to touch me. It's gross."

Siberian growled and slashed at him again and again. Each one the man dodged with the same bored expression plastered on his face.

"STOP RUNNING, YOU BALD BASTARD!"

Saitama's face set into SERIOUS mode for the first time since the confrontation started. "SO WHAT IF I'M BALD?" he reeled his hand back,"IN A WORLD FULL OF WEIRD ALIEN MONSTERS AND NAKED HOBOS PAINTED LIKE ZEBRAS, WHY DOES EVERYONE FIXATE ON THAAAAAT!"

He sent his serious punch directly into Siberian's face faster than she could react. She froze for a second, then flashed from existence like someone turning out a light. A few blocks away, a disheveled man's head exploded, painting the interior of his van in blood and brain matter.

Saitama's chest puffed up and down for several long seconds, rage still coursing through his veins. He glanced down at the glove that he'd punched the naked woman with and saw it was in tattered ruins. Smoke rose from his hand underneath. It was without a scratch. Just like always. He sighed in disappointment as his usual melancholy took hold.

"Damn. And I thought I was really in for a fight for a second there," he grumbled," Oh well, maybe there's a sale for gloves at Party City."

He turned and began his long walk home. Wondering when he'd ever face a true challenge.