"Normal speech."
'Thoughts.'
"Voice synthesizer."
Sounds from enhanced senses.
4/9 Afternoon
A man; fifty years, running, trying to catch the train. Heart racing, overweight, sweating heavily. Early signs of heart disease appearing.
A girl; seventeen, panting, heart rate accelerating. Rubber snapping, skin being pierced, drugs entering the blood stream. Likely to overdose.
I make a note in my head, reminding me to use a phone booth to call an ambulance. Focusing my senses on the area that girl is in, I mark the location.
Shearing metal, breaking glass, head hits the dashboard. Not wearing a seatbelt. Dead on impact.
My body involuntarily seizes up at the sound of a car crash that's miles away. My breath hitches in my throat, coming out as a choked whimper. The elderly man across from me on the train looks up in curiosity, before looking back down at his newspaper.
"Kids," he mutters derisively under his breath, yet I hear with perfect clarity.
"A vigilante? In Tokyo?" My attention is grabbed by the voice of a girl in the same car as me, standing a few feet away. I look over and recognize the uniform she's wearing as my own. A fellow classmate to my new school.
"Yeah, I heard it over the news. Apparently, someone has been going around attacking criminals, dressed up in a white outfit with a black spider symbol." The girls' friend answers. "They stopped a mugger just a few nights ago."
I remember that event. It was one of my slower evenings.
"Oh, that guy! Yeah, I've seen some videos of him, but only when he's swinging around at night."
"Some stations have even reported him helping people, like, not when they're in danger, but just generally. Bringing groceries up, stopping car accidents, that sort of stuff."
I remember those events as well. The mention of the accidents I've helped stop cause me to involuntarily shiver.
"Well, even so, that's good. With all that's been going on in the news, Tokyo could use some of its own superheroes."
"Maybe, but with that Stamford incident in America, you think that's such a good thing?" The friend asks, and my thoughts darken at the mention of that disaster.
"I told you, it's none of your damn business!" My attention is torn away by the shout of an irate man yelling in his phone a couple train cars down from mine. Two cars precisely, yet I hear him just fine, even over the conversation next to me.
"In other news, today a man was found murdered in his apartment in Shinjuku. While the cause of death has yet to be identified, the police have issued a warning to all citizens to stay alert and to not go out at night..." A news station playing on one of the large televisions the train passes drones on, and even as I get further from it, I still manage to hear it.
A man; on the ground, writhing in pain. Multiple blows coming down on him. "I told you to pay up two fucking days ago!" One of the assaulters' yell. Two kilometers away, and yet I hear it.
A boy; curled up in his room, crying. Parents are yelling in the next room. And I hear it.
"Tell him that he should start dealing with his own problems, because trust me when I say that he doesn't want me to clean up his messes for him." A phone conversation. Fifteen kilometers away, and I hear it.
A sharp smack across a woman's cheek. She drops to the floor, tears in her eyes. Her husband yells at her, blaming her for everything. Thirty-three kilometers away, and yet I hear it.
A woman; moaning, crying, wheezing. I hear it.
"I want a-" I hear it.
A woman; elderly, weak breaths. Heart will- I hear it.
A baby; crying. It's hungry. Mother is in the same room, despondent, depressed. Won't get up.
"Honestly, I'm getting-"
The train I'm on stops. Without needing to hear the announcement telling me that I've arrived at my destination, I grab my school bag and exit onto the platform. The blaring of various conversations, phones buzzing, and train horns sounding off is like some mad chorus, constantly accompanying me. The cotton shirt of the school uniform feels like asphalt as it brushes against my skin with every step. I shove my hands into my pockets in an attempt to make limit as much of my movement as possible, to try and lessen the suffocating atmosphere that's followed me my entire life. It doesn't work.
I walk outside the station, trading one cacophony for another.
"Fuck you! You piece of-"
I enter Shibuya Crossing. There're so many people around that, were I younger, I would have been overwhelmed by the rush of stimulus. Thankfully, I had time and patience on my side, so despite it looking like everyone was moving around in a blur, I can make out every piece of it. Stopping for a moment, I take a second to adjust to the new rush of information. The buildings -cold steel foundation, fragile, needs repair- towering over everyone, the smell of the streets -discarded drugs, filth accumulating, vomit, sweat, fluids- entrenching itself in my nose.
A car; engine stutters-
The warm air brushing past me, feeling like an ever present, inescapable weight.
A baby; crying. It's hungry.
And the people. All around me. All talking.
A child; crying. They're scared.
All screaming.
A city. Screaming.
I hear everything.
'The girl from earlier,' I remind myself. I manage to find a phone booth and call an ambulance. After waiting a few minutes, listening in on the area I sensed her, the ambulance arrives. The girl had long since passed out, but the paramedics quickly resuscitate her. They then take her to the hospital for observation.
I stop listening. I continue onwards to my destination. A bitter thought appears in my mind.
'It's not enough.' The idea silently echoes in my head, and just as silently leaves.
My eyes narrow, and I quicken my pace.
4/9 Early Evening
Yongen-jaya. The streets feel forgotten and abandoned, with plants growing through the various cracks in the sidewalks and roads. Multiple storefronts are closed and shuttered up. The few people I walk past mind their business, only giving me the faintest of nods as I walk past. I return them, going further into the unfamiliar neighborhood.
A medical clinic with an odd neon sign featuring a stuffed bear with needles. An out of commission movie theatre. A simple convenience store. Small, single room apartment buildings. The area has an atmosphere of a place that the world simply moves on around it, yet Yongen-jaya remains the same. Untouched, unknown.
My temporary 'home,' that I will be living in for a year.
Deeper in is my destination. A café called Leblanc. I smell the various beans and grinded down coffee far before I set foot in front of the store, and I use it to help guide my way to its doors. It is the place of work for the man who will act as my probation officer.
Sojiro Sakura. The name is unfamiliar to me. The reason he accepted me, I don't know. He's a stranger, yet he agreed to look after me.
I guess I'll find out why soon enough.
The café is now before me, and just like the rest of Yongen-jaya, it has the appearance of a place that's been left alone by the world. Swallowed up by the urban jungle of Tokyo.
'Sojiro Sakura.' I test the name in my mind, and it still feels just as foreign as before. He isn't family. He isn't a friend. I didn't question the decision when it was presented to me, and despite myself, I still don't question it now. This has all been arranged, so there would be no point in doing so.
Steeling myself, I grab the handle and pull the door open. The smell of coffee that I sensed further away from the store now hits my nostrils in full force. My nose scrunches up, but soon grows accustomed to the overwhelming aroma of fresh caffeine. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimmer lights of the café, a slight pressure being relieved as they do. After a few moments, I can clearly see the domestic indoors of the place, and an odd sense of calm passes over me.
I survey the line of booths on my left, and the shelves of jars holding coffee beans on the right. A bar with stools goes deeper into the place, with a kitchen tucked away in the corner. A television plays, various news stories being relayed.
A man sits on the second to last stool, a newspaper and pencil in hand. He wears a pink shirt under a black apron, his equally black hair receding into a fine widow's peak and a goatee to match. At the sound of my entering, he looks up at me from above his glasses, his face conveying nothing short of boredom.
We regard each other for a small moment, saying nothing. I look at him, trying to decide what I should say. After a while, the man lets out a tired sigh and sets down the newspaper he was holding and says, "I take it you're Kurokuya Kouzai?"
"... I am." I answer, my voice sounding quiet in the already quiet café. It was weak, raw, and for a moment, I didn't even recognize it as my own. The man seemed to hear it fine enough though.
"I'm Sojiro Sakura. Come with me." He gets up and jerks his head towards the stairs at the very back. I follow him, but before I do so, I notice a fine, course smell and odor at the top of the steps. The further I walk, the worse gets. Halfway up the steps, the smell gets worse, as if it's crawling around and scraping inside my throat and nose. At reaching the top of the stairs I can easily see why.
To say the room was messy would be... an accurate assessment. There is a thick layer of dust covering everything in the room, accompanied by small cobwebs. A mess of strewn about books, forgotten tools, bags, and boxes lay about on the floor and on tabletops, shelves, and a couch that likely hasn't been used in years. A bed sits in the far corner of the room, underneath a large window.
Dust everywhere, clawing at my eyes, coating my-
I steel myself and try my best not to take deep breaths. Or any sort of breath, for that matter. Simply standing here is causing my senses to protest every gulp of 'air,' and I feel the familiar signs of a headache and sore throat forming.
"This is where you'll be staying," Sojiro Sakura says from beside me, not taking notice of my discomfort. "Ground rules," I look at him as he continues on. "First, if you cause any trouble, I won't hesitate to kick you out." He actually sounds stern when he says this, a clear difference from his earlier indifference. "Second, I don't want to hear about your situation. I already got the gist of it. A man was forcing himself on a woman, and you stepped in. He got hurt, then sued you."
The callous way he talks about my circumstances causes me to actually bristle slightly in shock. I look at Sojiro Sakura in confusion, not understanding how he could talk about something like that so matter-of-factly. As if it was some uninteresting news article.
A small grin forms on his face when he notices my reaction, "That's life kid. Better get used to it."
My hands clench, nails digging into my skin. My eyes narrow in resentment. 'Better get used to it?' I play the sentence back, not being able to process how he could say it so easily. Sojiro Sakura looks at me, expecting some sort of reply. I give him none.
He lets out a frustrated breath and begins to lay out more ground rules, all of them along the lines of 'Don't bother the customers,' or 'Don't steal anything.' The man leaves, not even offering a handshake or a nod.
I stand still for a good few seconds, taking in my new environment. 'This place...' my thoughts begin, 'is not home.' My thoughts finish, as if that fact needed to be made clear to myself. 'I don't have a home. Not anymore.'
… Ignoring that thought, I set my bag down on the cleanest area I can find, take off my school jacket and roll up my sleeves, and begin to clean my 'room.'
4/9 Evening
Hours pass by, and by the time evening falls, I've managed to get the room tidied up to an... acceptable degree. There are still some areas with dust coating the ceiling and shelves, and I didn't have anything to take the various amounts of garbage downstairs and into a dumpster, so I had no choice but to organize it onto a pile for later. My 'room' was now, for the most part, livable for me at least.
I hear Sakura come up the stairs and look towards him just as he clears the last steps. He's now wearing a white jacket and matching fedora, apparently ready to close up. He looks around, his eyes widening in surprise. "Whoa. You managed to get a lot done." He actually sounds somewhat impressed, and gives the room an appreciative look.
I look around, surveying my work. "It wasn't much." True, I'd cleaned the floor, most of the tabletops, the shelves, and organized the mess of items to the point that the attic hardly seemed as if it was dirty to begin with, but there was still a lot that needed to be done. He looks at me, as if I'd said something strange, but his face quickly dropped back into his uncaring visage.
"We'll be heading over to Shujin Academy tomorrow. You'll be introduced to the principal and then we'll be out, got it?" I nod. "Just keep it simple." He turns to leave.
"Sir." I speak up, stopping him. Sakura stops and looks at me, slightly annoyed. My throat tightens. From what little time I've spent with Sojiro Sakura, he didn't strike me as the kind of man I would get along with. He was callous, and the way he spoke of the incident leading me into this situation did not sit well with me.
Even so, he still agreed to take me in. That had to count for something, and as such I needed to be polite. "... Thank you." I say after a moment. My voice still sounds strange to me. "For taking me in." I finish. Sojiro Sakura regards me, and then continues downstairs.
"Don't mention it. I'm heading home. Don't steal anything." He says back, still in that disinterested tone.
He exits my view, and I take the moment to sit down on the bed in the room, letting out a breath that I had been holding in for a long while. The cleaning process was painful due to the amount of dust and particulates in the air scratching at me, and I felt like I was still covered head to toe in a grimy layer in it. I wipe at a bit of sweat on my brow, and give the place a once over. Bits of moonlight glint into the attic, giving the dead room some semblance of life. Even so, it still looked like nothing more than a forgotten part of this building. An insignificant piece, not worth remembering.
I felt a strange sense of camaraderie at the thought.
'None of that matters now though,' I think to myself, my eyes narrowing in focus at one of the boxes that laid near the entrance of the attic. 'Belongings' was labeled across its surface. I got up and walked towards it, a purposeful stride in my steps.
"Yeah, he got here this afternoon. Trains must have been early." I stop for a moment, hearing Sakura talking on the phone with perfect clarity downstairs. I chastise myself for my eagerness. I should have waited for Sakura to leave, and-
"How was he?" At hearing the other voice on the phone, I freeze. My throat seizes, causing me to choke up. "When he got to the shop?" My chest tightens, my breath comes out in quick gasps.
"I don't know, seemed kind of... tired, I guess. Kid's hard to read." Sakura answers. I drop down behind the divider that covers the stairwell, as if to hide from something. I feel myself sweating, my eyes start to go blurry.
'Please,' I beg, 'just go.' I bring my hands up to cover my ears, thinking that it will stop me from hearing the conversation. I know it won't.
"Do you want to talk to him?" The innocent question Sakura asks causes me to stop breathing for several long seconds. A cold pause breaks out in the store, and it feels as if my heart has stopped. "He's just upstairs, I can go and-"
"No." The woman answers quickly, sounding choked up. "He needs to rest." I let out the breath I had been holding, and it comes out like a stuttering cry. The rest of the conversation goes by, and then Sakura leaves the store and locks up. I sit there for a few more moments, calming myself down from that episode. The voice of the woman echoes in my head, taunting me.
'Why?' My thoughts cry out. 'Why won't you just go?'
A few more minutes pass by with me sitting there, doing nothing. I lightly hit the back of my head against the divider, a dull thud ringing out, and eventually calm down enough to get back up and open the box. Sifting through the various clothes and small trinkets, I finally grab the bag that holds my ensemble. I move back to the bed, open the bag, and lay out its contents on the bed sheets. For a moment, I stand there and regard my costume with a critical eye.
It was a wholly white outfit, with only a few scant black accents. The mask, comprised of two pieces; a black mouth mask with a built-in synthesizer to warp my voice that wrapped around my neck, and the white mask which went over that and covered my face. Two sharp, white eyes glared out at me, characterized by black lines going out from the top of the eyes and similar lines going down form the inner part of both eyes, giving the appearance of fangs. Pure white pants and matching combat boots sit on the edge of the bed. A black undershirt with a pair of matching black gloves was complemented by a white overshirt, and on the front and back was my emblem.
A black spider stared up at me, its small, angular head complemented by two thin, angry eyes. Two legs came from the bottom, twisting to the side before coming downwards and then parting where the joints would be. Two sets of legs came from the sides of the face, one set going out and pointing downwards, extending past the bottom legs and stopping just before they met each other, and the other two going outwards and then up, the legs extending down the length of the arms until they met the black gloves forming a V down my arms with the matching set of legs on the back. Finally, the last legs went up from the top of the spider's head and extended out to the back along my collarbone, interlocking with a matching emblem on the other side of the shirt.
The final two items are the black utility belt that holds all my web cartridges, plus a variety of simple first aid items and various gadgets, and my web shooters. The black, rectangular cartridges form a solid circle around my wrist, and the firing mechanism fits snuggly into my palm.
I look upon the costume, something of a cold reverence coming over me as I do so. It's as if nothing else is happening in the world right now; no more screaming, no more cacophonous noise. Just me and this mission that I have chosen for myself.
'One year on probation, huh?' I think back to the night this whole debacle started. The street illuminated by the lights from a police car, the woman looking away in shame, and the glare of the man who started all of this.
"Damn brat, I'll sue!" His voice rings out in my head. My eyes glower from the memory. The humiliation I felt. The woman lying to the police. The so called 'trail' that took place. And finally, my false conviction.
A small part of me says to stop what I'm doing. That, with my new circumstances, if I get caught wearing a mask and beating people up, regardless if they're criminals, it will only cause more complications for me. For the people closest to-
'It doesn't matter,' I tell myself, steel determination running through my body. I quickly pull off the rest of my school uniform and put on my suit with a speed that surprises me. Before I put on my mask, I see myself in the window's reflection. Dull, almost empty blue eyes look back at me along with my long dark brown hair that goes just past my neck making a sort of portrait.
A group of people, screaming. Two teenage girls, three young boys. Being forced into containers. My reflection gives me a cold glare as I narrow my eyes. 'Nothing else matters.'
Bundling my hair and putting my mask on, my eyes' reflection replaced by sharp white daggers piercing me, I push the window open and dart out onto the neighboring building. The mechanisms in the mask's lenses quickly adjust to allow more light in, the automatic settings I have in place taking over. As soon as I get close to the building, I stop myself from crashing against it, my hands and feet clinging on the sides of the rough concrete with ease. I begin to crawl up the side fervently, eventually breaking into a run. Before I reach the top, I push off the building with a strong jump, quickly shooting out a strand of web on the side. With a sharp pull of my arm, I vault over the stone rail of the building and over its small roof.
I shoot out more strands of web onto opposing buildings and pull. Immediately I'm soaring through the air, the streets of Yongen-jaya illuminating me as I pass them by. I let out a breath, and for a moment, I feel like I'm not being suffocated by this city.
Steel doors slamming closed, people crying out. Shame I didn't have any time to savor it. Picking up the pace, I start propelling myself forward with greater urgency, shooting out web upon web, then launch myself into the air, hoping to conserve my 'ammunition,' as it were. With my senses, I'm able to plot out the quickest path towards my destination.
Eventually, I reach the source of the screaming. An unused area in the docks of Minato ward. Perching on top of a building, I focus my senses on the area.
Seven men; lightly armed. Altogether, sans one lookout. Not an issue. However, I can't risk the safety of the hostages. A boy, eight; cries out as he's being shoved into a container.
"Fucking brat. As if screaming's gonna help."
'Damn.' I clench my hands, crushing the bit of concrete I'm holding onto. Calming myself down, I take stock of the situation. The door hadn't been closed yet, so there was a risk to the victims' safety. Even so, after hearing that exchange, I decide that the time for waiting is over.
I take a deep breath, tensing my legs and arms as I get ready to jump from the building. Seven men, lightly armed. Stationary; one lookout. I fire into the air, leaving small imprints in the concrete of the roof. I let myself soar through the air and go into a slight dive, waiting until the last second to latch a web on one of the closest buildings in the docks. I let myself reach the end of my arc then push my legs outward, cutting through the air and beginning my fall into the area.
Finally, I land on a container, perching myself across its surface. The metal buckles and breaks under the force of the landing, and the shearing sound echoes across the dock. All of the criminals' present look up at me in surprise -three in center, two to the left and one right-, as do the victims. The sight of their scared faces breaks down whatever restraint I had left, and my eyes narrow at the closest target. I jump off the container and finally begin my attack.
"What the f-" My knee connecting to his chest stops him from completing that sentence. He drops to the ground, winded. I land on my feet and roll, then hop onto the one closed door of the container holding the hostages. Two center, two right, one left. I see the two other men in the center and to the right are still confused but the man on the left is getting ready for the upcoming fight. I interrupt his process by darting from the door and towards him, grab his shoulders, then vault over him. As I near the ground I easily lift him, then wrest him down into the asphalt shoulders first. The crackle of fracturing bones is heard only by me, but the man's cries are heard by everyone present. Men are regrouping; running towards me. Not giving him a chance to recuperate, I grab his leg and throw him into the man that was closest to me. The air leaves his lungs as his partner hits him, and they fall down into a jumbled mess. The three criminals still up reach me; one on the right, one on the left, and the final one coming up behind them.
The man on the right throws a wild haymaker, but before the punch has a chance to land, I twist myself out of his reach, shooting out a quick left jab over his strike and into his nose, crushing it. I follow up by thrashing my right elbow across his face -man behind me, about to land a hit- I quickly dodge and duck under the second criminal's punch, bringing my left elbow up his jaw. Both of them fall to the ground, stunned by the force of my blows. I slowly bring my guard down and glare at the last man standing in front of me. He had stopped, shocked at the brutal display of controlled violence and the ease at which I had brought down two hardened criminals. His face betrays how scared he is, despite his best attempts to hide it under a weak glare. From his right, the two men I hit with each other start to recover and eventually limp to his side, as well as the first man I had attacked. He clutches his chest, his breathing ragged-
Lookout charging behind me, about to tackle. I quickly backflip into the air, the lookout running underneath me. I shoot out two webs onto his shoulders and as I land, I harshly pull back. He slips, and his head hits the ground with a hard thunk, and he fades into unconsciousness. Three men center, two front one behind. Before the rest of the men have a chance to charge towards me, I leap towards the center, twisting in the air as I do so, then launch two kicks outwards. They connect with men in front, and with my momentum I reach the man behind them, put his head in between my legs, and as I fall, I twist downwards, bringing him with me. I roll and bring my hands in front of me, and as I look forward from the concrete, I lock eyes with the criminal I brought down. We look at each other for a brief moment, and I can see the confusion and fear in his eyes. I twist my body on one hand and bring my knee across his face, replacing confused eyes with glazed over ones. I sense one of the men I kicked getting up, so I propel myself upwards with my right hand for a quick moment, bringing my legs together and hit him in the face with my heels, sending him spinning onto the asphalt. I catch myself with my left hand and push myself towards him, landing on his back. I bring an elbow down onto his shoulder blade, hearing the bone snap in two, causing him to scream in agony. I web his free hand to the ground, leaving him to wail helplessly.
I slowly get up, not even bothering to put up a guard. I walk towards the last man standing, the one I attacked first. He is still slumped over, seemingly having trouble standing. Bones rubbing together, fractured. Ah. I broke some of his ribs. Could he take another hit and be fine?
"You motherfucker. You n' those cunts are fuckn' dead." Yes, he can. So, I bring my foot up and hit him in the chest once more, sending him flying into the side of a container. He slumps to the ground, unconscious. I take a moment to web him and his compatriots up, leaving enough so that the police wouldn't have to wait too long for it to dissolve when they got here.
Five people, huddled together. Hearts racing, terrified. I stop for a moment, collecting myself before I face the victims. I feel the dread move throughout my body as I hear the victims squirm in terror. I control myself, and finally turn towards the container and walk towards it, moving on autopilot, dowsing any apprehension I feel in cold precision.
The sight I see is one I've seen plenty of times before, but it doesn't dull the anguish I feel any less. The dirty clothes that barely cling to them, the malnourished bodies that look as if they can't even support their own weight.
The fear in their eyes, and the look that tells me that even though they've prayed otherwise, they know that they'll never be safe. That they'll never be free again.
I'm going to change that.
The three boys all look away, close their eyes, and huddle closer together, afraid that I'm one of the men who hurt them. One of the girls covers them with her body, also looking away, while the other puts her arms around them, and does her best approximation of a glare. Her attempt at looking brave. It was still one of the bravest things I've ever seen, even though I've already seen it more than I'd like to admit. Before I speak, I move my hand towards my throat and turn off my synthesizer. A part of me want to remove my mask, to help them feel less afraid, but I squash it. I couldn't make a risk like that in this moment.
"It's okay." I finally speak up. I make sure to sound clear and strong, but also sound empathic enough to not scare them further. "It's over. They won't hurt any of you again." I kneel down after I say this, and the rest start to look up at me. Their eyes start to reflect something else. "You need to get out of here. Stay in the light, flag down the first officer you see." I get up and make a motion with my arm to get them to hurry. The one that was holding them all still looked suspicious, but quickly made them get up. The other girl protested, but eventually conceded. As she got up and collected the other boys, she looked at me. Her eyes still showed nothing but how afraid she was. I look away to give her some peace of mind and walk towards one of the men to search his pockets. I find a phone and give it to the girl. An attempt to calm her down.
"Take this." I hold out the cell. She looks down, anxious. "Just in case." She looks back up, still afraid. She snatches it and quickly runs towards the rest of the group, heading out into the streets. I feel the tension in my body release all at once, and it causes me to stumble for a bit. I let out a shaky breath, holding my hands to my knees to keep myself upright. Even after doing this properly for around a year, seeing this inhumane act still managed to shake me to my core.
Hopefully the police would be able to get some information off of the phone. 'Make themselves useful for once.' I dismiss that thought as soon as I have it. Thinking like that wouldn't help anyone right now. I go to another one of the men and grab another phone and dial 110, turning my synthesizer back on.
"Hello, this is the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, what's the situation?" The voice of the responder answers in a robotic tone.
"There was a human trafficking situation developing near the docks of Minato prefecture, dock number thirteen. Send three police cruisers and an ambulance." The responder actually chortles at my bluntness, but I throw the phone away from the criminals, making sure to leave it on so the signal can be tracked.
A couple screaming out; they're being mugged. I stop a sigh from escaping my lips and force myself to calm down. I command the anxiety I feel to drain out of me and replace it with steel determination. I sprint out from the area, jump high into the air, and being to swing into the cool air of Tokyo.
'It's going to be another late night.'
Author's Note:
Hello everybody! This is something that has been rattling around in my brain for a long, long, long time. You see, due to the rise of superheroes in common media, I got an idea in my head to create my own little superhero universe. The thing I've done with it to make it unique is to set it in the year 1900, and have the main protagonist be a superman-like figure who was a black teenage girl. However, that's not important right now. What is important is that the main character if this fic is a character from that universe, who I'm inserting into a fusion of the Persona 5 setting and the Marvel Universe.
The reason for this is because of trouble I'm having formulating the character, and putting him in this kind of world with the characters of Persona 5 would give me the ability to help flesh out his personality. The reason for my troubles is that our protagonist here is a VERY complicated individual.
In order to understand this, here's the list of inspirations for the character:
-Batman (the questionable sanity/ prevalent psychological issues that the character deals with and the villains that reflect twisted aspects of his personality)
-Daredevil (the character's Catholicism, ethical and moral struggles, the internal debate with his faith and how it affects his actions, real world street level crime such as human trafficking, sexual assault, corruption, and quite frankly depressing social life)
-Spider-Man (struggling with his personal connections and commitments as well as his thrust upon himself responsibility to help others with his gifts)
-Akira Kurusu (being forced to confront the societal failings of the world and using his powers to try and affect change)
And that isn't even scratching the surface of the protagonist's absolute myriad of issues, which I will be writing about for your viewing pleasure in this little story!
Any feedback and criticism is welcome, and please, do enjoy yourselves.
Also, as a heads up, I write these in a separate document then copy and paste, so if you see any format errors, do highlight them so I can attend to them. Thank you.
Also, also, no Metaverse shenanigans.
