A/N:

So… hello again.

It's been a little while, hasn't it? Sorry for that, things have been… hectic on my end. I haven't been completely dead, I've been working on rewriting The Darkness Inside in my free time (so far, one and a half chapters are done, the first of which has already been put up) and I've been doing some writing practice so that I can hopefully avoid some of the issues I had with the original version of this story.

On that note, welcome to the reboot of A Prime Time for Escalation! It's called DESTINATION: INSERT for now, mainly due to a lack of any better name at the moment. I took a good, hard look at the original, decided it almost wasn't terrible, and threw out most of my ideas. Despite the name, this story won't be a true Self-Insert, due to the main character not having any memories of his life before or the story itself. Instead, it's a Self-Insert only because I'm basing the character off of my own preferences and beliefs.

With all that said, though, let's get straight into the juicy bits… right after the disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER:

[OWNERSHIP?] [NEGATIVE]

{EARTH BET}

{APRIL 8, 2011}

{WINSLOW HIGH SCHOOL}

I heard Gladly – sorry, "Mr. G" – drone on with one ear, listening to music through the earbud in my other ear. The song was a one-hit-wonder imported from Earth Aleph, some electronic beat about party rocking or whatever. It didn't really matter, though. Honestly, the only thing that mattered to me was finding some kind of distraction to pour my attention into.

After all, I've always been the kind to ignore and put off any problems that I couldn't fix. And owing three months' worth of protection money to the Empire 88 was certainly a damn issue, especially when you're taking care of your little brother without any parental help. It hadn't been this bad at first; oh, sure, having to pay off a bunch of idiotic, tattooed skinheads every month or so was annoying as fuck, but at least I had help from my dad's life insurance.

Then, suddenly, said insurance stopped coming. Something about "not disclosing relevant personal information" when the policy was first purchased. Completely bullshit, but we had already been living from paycheck to paycheck so there was no way in hell I could've afforded a lawyer. Then I got fired from my job working for a local bookstore because apparently, I was "losing them customers" with my "terrible attitude". No shit I had a terrible attitude, my dad died a couple months ago and the only bit of financial help I was getting just got pulled.

Anyway, I had managed to convince the skinheads to delay the payment twice, playing the "fellow white man" card, but today was the day everything was due, no exceptions. Not like they did anything to deserve protection money, but you either paid or you wished you had. And I had nowhere near enough to pay them off, even after selling off my textbooks and some of my mother's remaining jewelry.

I sighed, turning off the music and resting my head on my desk. Maybe if I just fall asleep, everything will be alright when I wake up? If only, if only…

Footsteps walking by my desk caught my attention, and I tuned back to reality just in time to catch a girl pouring pencil shavings into the hair of another. I recognized the victim as the girl who got shoved into a locker earlier this year, Taylor, I think. Must've sucked, but at least she's mostly been spared the gang side of this school. Hell, I still remember the time I had to fight three ABB members at once in the locker room (one of the reasons I don't change in there anymore). They took exception to my noticeably white ass (or face, either one) and beat me into the dirt. Still missing a tooth from that one.

I was snapped out of my thoughts again when Gladly split us into groups to discuss something about parahumans or whatever. Honestly, parahumans were one of the biggest damn issues in this world. Bunch of lunatics in masks, lording their laser eyes or whatever over the rest of us. Yeah, pay the protection money or get a visit from the big rage dragon, or the blade wolf, or the Frankenstein tank monster thing. If one of them attacks, hunker down, pray, and hope the PRT isn't at a damn publicity meeting again. If they decide they don't like you very much, the police may or may not ever find your body.

And the damn game of cops and robbers they play is bullshit. Sure, it's hella nice if you're one of them, you get to go shoot plasma out of your ass at each other and go home when you're done, maybe spend a night in jail till your buddies break you out the next day. But if you're a normal, who cares if you get caught in the crossfire? Hell, even the police don't give a shit, if their 'insert name of victim here' letter they sent us after Dad got blown up by the Asian Serial Suicide Bomber while trying to protect an Asian woman from kidnapping is any indication.

Best thing a person could do in my opinion, besides killing the damn Endbringers, would be to put every damn villain's head on a pike and disband the PRT. Listening to my dad tell stories about his time in the police force made me realize that the damn PRT gets way too much money to sit on their damn asses and ignore the people they're supposed to protect. Hell, if Armsmaster made some power armor for the police forces, the villains would have a whole lot less fun than they are now.

The bell rang, shocking me out of my stupor. My groupmates were both gang members, Merchants judging by the overpowering smell of weed, and since I was busy with my internal monologue none of us had anything to turn in. Oh well. I was planning on dropping out soon anyway, so that I could have more time to work.

I just left the room, ignoring the group of girls standing outside the door and heading towards the cafeteria. The food was shit, but it was free, and saving even a few dollars was worth it in my opinion.

On my way there, however, one of the more open E88 members caught my attention. He had been leaning against the lockers, until he caught sight of me and stepped in front of me. "Well, well, well… if it ain't the faggot. The hell are you doing here, Kylie?"

"It's Kyle, shithead," I growled back, "And just because I don't stick my dick in every power outlet I see doesn't mean I'm gay, dumbass. What, do you and your 88 buddies suck each other off in the locker room? Hoping to make it an even 90? Fuck off, I don't have time for you right now."

"Oh, really?" he sneered, "I would've thought you'd be more polite to your betters. Especially since we both know how dangerous it is for your little bro out there. Wouldn't want him to get into an unfortunate accident, now would we?"

My blood froze in my veins. Oh, this wasn't the first time they'd threatened my little brother, but this was the first time I could tell that they meant it. "… What do you want, George?"

His sneer turned into a victorious smirk, "Oh, nothing much. Just that money you owe us, fuckwad. We let you off twice now, but no more. Three thousand dollars, in cash, by tonight. We'll get our money one way or the other, and I hear the Asians are taking their sex slaves a bit younger these days. What'll it be, Davidson? Clock's ticking…"

I just pushed past him, gripping my backpack strap harder to contain my rage. Stakes had just raised: I needed two and a half thousand more bucks, and I had nine hours until they showed up to collect. So, I made possibly the dumbest decision of my life so far.

I had tried calling both the police and the PRT before for help. Both of them had told me to fuck off, in no uncertain times. I had tried calling my dad's old contacts in the gangs, but of the two who were still alive only one of them had tried to help. They found his body the next morning.

And so, with no options left, I headed straight home, skipping class for the rest of the day. When I got home, I sat down at my desk and pulled out my computer. It was a fairly powerful piece of tech that I had assembled myself from scrap I found, and I had done some programming jobs using it to make some money on the side.

Now though? I was about to use it for something a bit less… legal. In fact, it was capital-I Illegal, to the point that I would be in jail for a long time if I got caught. But it was either that, or sell my little brother into slavery, and that wasn't gonna happen.

And so, with that little factoid hanging over my head, I hacked into several different bank accounts that I had the login info for (it's amazing what you can find sitting around on your bosses' desks, especially when you work several jobs over a short period of time), and transferred exactly $2,569 to my throwaway bank account, the one I used for paying the E88.

Before I could even start making my way to the bank to withdraw it, however, there was a knock at the door. Grabbing the pistol on my nightstand (illegally obtained, though that wasn't difficult in Brockton Bay), I made my way to the door, holding the gun behind my back.

Opening the door slightly with one hand, I peeked outside. "Who is it?"

"Kyle! Help me!"

Fuck. They got Brian.

A/N:

So, there's the first chapter! It's a bit short for my tastes, but it's just a prologue of things to come. As you can see, the MC has no knowledge of the story, and won't have any knowledge that he doesn't find out himself. Next chapter comes the trigger event, and I'll include the character sheet at the end of it. I tried my best to make a mostly balanced character that could still survive the craziness that is Worm, but there will be areas where he is more powerful than others. Not "let's kill a god by controlling all the parahumans and torturing him with his dead lover" levels of powerful, but powerful in terms of "Tinker: YES". Look forward to that I suppose.

Also, yes, I know that Party Rock wasn't released in April of 2011, but chalk it up to alternate timeline shenanigans or whatever because it isn't relevant in any way to the actual story.

Anyway, I'll see you all later with a new chapter. For now, this is AWDTB, signing off.