Leaning closer to her face, you whisper: "Hey Kate..."

"Yeah?" she whispers back.

"You should go get some sleep." ... The look on her face is priceless. "Seriously, go get some rest. I'll go grab the stuff from my previous place and be back before the sun comes up."

Giving her no time to respond, you exit your storeroom and turn into a shadow. Naturally ignoring the frustrated scream coming from inside, you eventually zip out of the warehouse as a shadow on the wall. It takes a few minutes of racing around to regain your bearings, but you eventually figure out where your previous lair is located in relation to your new one.

Wasting no time in hushing inside, you detransform and take your crate full of cash out of the entrance. Slightly annoyed that you have to lug it all the way back on foot rather than at the speed of nonexistent light, you nevertheless make your way back towards the warehouse.

Making the way back without interruption, you're greeted with silence. Looks like everyone's asleep after the night they had.

Suits you just fine, really. You just barely make it back to the safety of your subterranean storeroom before the baleful rays of the sun can come upon you, where you drop off your crate and look around for a bit.

While it is barren and empty, it's a large space just waiting to be filled, safe from the sun unless someone were to completely demolish the warehouse or something and secured by your new mooks and thrall whenever they're present and not currently sleeping off a night of action and shootouts.

You can work with this.


Settling into your new lair, you spend a few hours messing around with your powers, still trying to make sense of them every now and then. You quickly realize that you now have an active 'bond' with Kate, as best you can describe it. It doesn't really let you do anything as of yet, but with some experimentation, you figure out you can influence it somehow via concentrated meditation and reflecting on the feeling of it.

After a while, you decide to stop, having made no tangible progress, and return to the old standby of practicing with your shadow transformation powers. Speeding up and slowing down the process of transformation across different parts of your body and stopping it on command, not really accomplishing much yet, though you do get some practice on it.

By this time, the girls start to wake up, as you can tell from the sounds wafting through the warehouse. After a while, one of them comes by to invite you to come drink with the rest of the gang, one of them having gone out and purchased two six-packs of beer already. Seeing no reason not to mingle with what you hope to be a core of trusty minions in the future, you soon find yourself inside a side office secured from the abhorrent cancer-rays of the sun by a thick layer of cardboard, the windows having been broken likely before anyone present was even born, heh.

After the strange silence that befalls the room once everyone sees your face, everyone grabs a beer and gets to drinking and chatting. Actually taking the time to ask around, you find the three you didn't know that well yet were named Mariam, Kimberley, and Samantha. A quick question after the date lets you find out today is the 27th of February, 2011. Huh. You spent longer in your grave than you'd have liked. An uproar occurs when you mention you're pretty sure your power means you can't get drunk anymore, followed by everyone trying to get you drunk. Kate especially seems to consider your inability to get wasted a personal affront to her, so she's the most invested in keeping you on drowning in cheap beer.

Not that you mind, honestly. This kinda reminds you of a few college parties you'd been to. Good times.

After a few hours (and several runs to buy more beer by several girls), everyone seems... well, not wasted, but certainly on a nice buzz. Most of the beer had to be poured down your throat, after all. Eventually, the topic turns from the shooting of nazis in general to the shooting of the nazis yesterday night, over to how well 'the new piece of ass' distracted and ate them, finally settling on your teeth and how they're obviously cape bullshit, what with how you killed them with one bite each. A topic of special interest to Kate.

"But if they're cape teeth that kill with a bite, how can he make out then? Does he kill with a kiss or what?!" she questions.

"Well, only one way to find out!" jeers one of the others.

"Y'er right!" she shouts, suddenly jerking up from her previous seat and towards you. Bemused, you let her grab you by the collar and smash her face into yours, opening your lips to an impassioned deep kiss.

To jeering and catcalls, the two of you tongue-wrestle, hers trying to invade your mouth and lick along your teeth, even while you invade her mouth in return. Inevitably, she cuts her tongue on your sharp dentures, though she seems to actually like the sudden sharp pain, judging by her appreciative hum, and a little blood on your tongue only really gets you going.

Letting up on the kiss, she pants while looking in your eyes, even as you smile smugly at her in return.

"Come on.", she tells you, getting up from your lap and pulling you along with her, though you just grab her instead and sweep her into a princess carry. To renewed catcalls and jeering, you carry her out of the room and into the next old office space over, similarly secured against the sun, dropping her onto the nearest dusty table, smashing your face into hers and making out with each other once again even as the two of you fumble each other out of your clothes.

Yep. Really just like a college party when you get down to it.

Letting up on the kiss to get her top and bra off of her, she pants in appreciative delight once you similarly get your stupid suit off, trailing her fingers along your lightly muscled chest and letting her eyes roam all along your abs until they reach the bulge in your pants, you no longer bothering to restrain your hard-on.

Looking in your eyes, the both of you silently affirm what's going to happen next. Outright tearing your pants off, she slowly jerks your erection while you do much the same to her pants, her panties hanging discarded onto one of her shoes even as you step out of your pants.

Still standing before her, sitting on the desk, you lift her by her muscled ass, pulling her against you and rejoining the kiss, both of you moaning into each others' mouth as you enter her pussy, a loud "YES!" being your reward as you start lifting and dropping her, her legs hugging your waist and helping you along. After a few minutes of this, she comes, tightening the grip on your dick with her pussy and around your body with both her arms and legs.

Stepping towards a wall, you pin her in place with your body, starting to thrust upwards into her, her screams of "Harder, you fuck!" giving you a hint as to what she wants. Keeping this up for another few minutes, you come deep into her while trailing her tattoo with your fingers, filling her womb and triggering another release of hers. Not that she seems willing to release you, judging from how she tightens up.

Shifting the location of your rough fucking over, from the wall to the desks to the floor and anywhere in between, you spend the next few hours alternatively rutting into her and her riding you into the ground. Both of you come several more times, though you never flag or get exhausted for even a second. Yep, you think to yourself, I truly have the best superpower.

At several points, you're fairly sure you see the other girls standing beyond the doorframe, grinning at the happenings inside and joking at each other or openly sticking their hands down their pants while watching. Not that you pay them any mind; you're preoccupied with fucking Kate. And that's what the two of you are doing; you're not having sex or making love or any such crap, you're thoroughly fucking each other, giving and taking pleasure as hard as you can at every turn.

Eventually, Kate can't keep going anymore, unable to keep up with your literally supernatural stamina. Collapsing atop of you with you sitting on a desk right now as she was riding your lap, she comes one last time and stills, labored breaths being the only thing keeping her moving for a moment. After a bit, she smiles, a messy, exhausted, and sweaty smile with your dick still buried to the hilt in her pussy, but so very charming nonetheless.

"Hooh... We'll have to do this again once I can walk without a limp after this."

"Mhm. This was fun. We should drink together again some other time.", you tell the three girls, triggering giggles and glances at Kate's room, where you brought her... and left an actual trail of your semen on the floor.

"Now, in completely unrelated news, do any of you know if we have a mop or some cleaning supplies, as well some way to access the internet?"

"Sure, boss, the cleaning stuff is over that way, in the janitor's closet,", Samantha points out to you. "As for the internet, do remember we were planning to use this place as our fallback hideout. We got everything prepared to live here if need be; I'll leave one of the laptops over by the hangout rooms."

Thanking her, you go to get a mop and clean up the mess the two of you made. A few minutes later, you get that laptop, but decide to enter your inner palace first, realizing you might as well see how the souls inside are doing.

Coming to yourself inside your throne room, you seat yourself and consider your inner... castle? Continent? Plane? Whatever it is, it's big enough none of the new souls have made contact with any other souls yet. Seems they're deposited randomly all over the place, the nazi leader, for example, is currently several miles underground and wondering why he isn't getting hungry.


Yes, just a simple ground rule to start out with.

"Inhabitants of the castle are not allowed to intentionally directly or indirectly harm each other.", you proclaim and know it to be true.

Satisfied with your work, you exit the castle and get back to what you were doing: Stalking your sister via the internet. What, as a big bro, you had to watch out for her in every way that matters, including this one.

Except for the part where, even as you log into her facecard profile, you quickly recognize she hasn't posted anything for a while. Huh.

So, she kept on posting for a while even after you and Rex died, though there was a constant downtick in the frequency of her posts. You somehow doubt it's because of the loss in traffic social media have been suffering for a while now; it's a very slow process and doesn't explain the speed at which her posts went down over time.

Something fucky is going on here.

A few quick searches and you're confronted by a truth you don't particularly like to look at: Sarah... has been reported as missing. Has been for a while now.

If your parents were in range, you'd throttle the life out of both of them at once. Really, you wouldn't have minded doing that for half your life, but now you have an acute motive and the strength to do it.

Okay, okay... after a quick panic attack, you decide you have to bide your time for now. Even with your, admittedly amazingly varied and powerful powers, you have no way to find her right now. Wherever she is, you can only hope she's doing fine until you find her.

She was always a smart girl; your best guess is she decided your parents were too disgusting and pathetic as people and ran away from home and changed her name or something...

Fuck, you're worried.

Hold out little Sarah! Big bro is coming to rescue you!

... or you would, if, again, you had any idea where the fuck she is.

You have no trail, no way to track her down. For now, the only thing you can do is grow your gang and influence over the city in the hopes of finding something, anything. Sarah didn't leave any obvious way to track her, she's most likely convinced you're dead (which you are, not that it matters) so she wouldn't try to get in contact with you...

This shit sucks.

Deciding to go on ahead and deal with that one Merchant dealer souls number 2 and 3 had told you about, you say as much to Kimberley, who just sends back an absentminded "Sure, you go have fun, boss," back at you.

With that taken care of, you turn into your own shadow and speed off towards the location you were described.

Arriving at the street corner you were described, you make sure to keep yourself safely hidden in the places the few functioning streetlamps around don't illuminate while taking a look around.

Down an alley, you spot what seems to be your target. An indistinct figure sitting on a dumpster, smoking a joint and seeming to wait for something.

Taking a look around, you also see what seems to be his spotter; another guy in an alley on the opposite side of the street. Looks like these guys have at least the minimum protection going on in case a druggie flips his shit and tries to rob his dealer or something.

... You also hear rhythmic slapping sounds coming out of the building next to the dealer.

Right now, you're standing on a roof above the dealer's alley, his spotter is on the other side of the street. What shall you do now?

Crawling along the walls, you search for a crack to slip through. Going through the bottom of the door, you find yourself in a rundown living room.

In a corner of the room, you see a woman being fucked by two guys at once. She certainly doesn't seem to be here willingly, judging by the crying and the gag made of what looks like her own panties.

Leaving these guys to their fun, for now, you slide right back out of the place and get back on the roof. From here, it's easy to maneuver yourself over to where the spotter is lurking. Transforming back, you observe the dealer for a moment. Sure that he's not paying attention to what's going on here, you position yourself.

Nailing the landing right atop his shoulders, he goes down with you atop him. He tries to struggle, but you must have broken something when you jumped onto him.

Sucks to be him.

Regardless, with him in an easy grip, you lunge for his neck and bite deep.

He tastes a little weird, but you chalk it up to the drugs and keep drinking.


Martin, or just Marty to his friends, was always a little weird. It wasn't his fault, honestly, his parents just liked to give him a little too much of the 'good stuff' as a baby, to keep him nice and quiet for the whole night.

That said, him being weird didn't make him stupid or anything. That said, it certainly didn't help him on the way to being a genius. So when a few friends in middle school offered him a joint, he saw no reason not to take a drag.

This pretty much defined him in life; he smoked stuff and he took stuff, but he was a pretty chill guy in general. He tried to help people wherever the opportunity arose and stuck to his friends in general.

When those friends joined that weird gang, he just shrugged and went along with it. All that he really needed to do was to stand guard over his buddy Charles from afar, to not frighten off his customers. Every now and then, someone would start trouble, but he just rushed to help and threatened them with the gun his buddies gave him until they left. He didn't like threatening them, but hey, his gun didn't have bullets or anything and they started it, after all.

In exchange for that, Marty could smoke and snort all the drugs he could ever want and it's not like they ever hurt anyone, right? So it was just fine. Simple, straightforward, just how he liked it.

Until one night, when he was standing watch, something unusual happened...


You're worried the dealer saw you for a sec, but it appears he was just shifting his positioning to be a little more comfortable. Phew.

Dragging the corpse a bit to the side so it's not immediately visible from the sidewalk, you determine your next move.

Turning into a shadow once again, you sneakily swoosh over to the other side of the street, keeping in the dark all the while. Once you're there, you circle around the dealer and materialize behind him, going to grab him from behind.

Grabbing him from behind, he lets out a surprised shout before you get a hand over his mouth and drag him backwards towards the back of the alley. He seems to be struggling, but the help he's expecting isn't coming and he can't escape from your supernaturally strong grip.

One more bit is all it takes and he goes down your gullet.


Charles was... never the brightest. Bad grades, bad attitude, the works. He was never going to amount to more in life than some thug that would eventually bleed out in some back alley.

That said, it's not that he didn't try to amount to more. He just didn't quite apply his enthusiasm in any proper direction. Turns out that beating up the other kids in school better didn't really equate to having any prospects after school, but at least he had fun and thoroughly enjoyed himself.

He took trophies, too, whatever he fancied when he beat them. From things as minor as a pencil to their lunch money, Charles took what he wanted... until he was thrown out of school.

Turns out the other kids' parents had an issue with his hobbies, after all.

So there he was, his parents having thrown him out a week earlier even, wandering the streets, alternatively beating homeless up to steal their food and being beaten up by other hobos or whoever felt like it in turn. After a few years of this lifestyle, having picked up drugs and a few diseases on the way, he was prime recruiting material for the Merchants.

And so it went; making fast friends with that idiot the others made stand guard for him, Charles had plenty of opportunities to take money from others in exchange for shitty drugs, and if he dragged a few female druggies to the back of the alley every now and then, where nobody would see? Well, nobody would care.

This went on for quite a while, making the group a nice regular payday and earning them enough drugs to get through every day they lived.

Until one day, something unusual happened and that idiot across the street never came...


Letting go of the corpse, you consider what to do next. You could either work on those guys inside the building or take the time to hide those corpses in the dumpster the dealer was sitting on, just in case someone comes by. Chances are they wouldn't care, but it would be just your luck for the one time someone comes through and actually cares about corpses in random alleyways to be now.

Coming over to the spotter, you grab his corpse, sling it over your shoulder, and carry it over to the other alley. Once there, you take a moment to search the bodies, finding an actually empty gun on the one (just... why?) as well as a key, likely to the door next to you and a combined 500 and a few drugs on the other one. No fucking surprise, he was a drug dealer. Oh, and another handgun on this one. Perhaps you should start up a collection?...

Regardless, you stuff both of them into the dumpster and ready yourself to take on the druggies inside after taking the items you can't transform with to a corner under the dumpster.


Looking around a bit, you don't bother keeping to the dark, as these guys seem preoccupied enough to not notice you anyway. Entering what seems like a kitchen, judging by the sinks filled with old takeout boxes and the trashbags filling a corner, you summon the last soul you ate.

"Whuzzat?" he asks, obviously having no idea what's going on. Unwilling to bother explaining shit to him, you just start ordering him around.

"Shut up and help me eat your friends," you start, "by luring one of them over here and grabbing the other one in case he tries to run."

Still obviously confused, the guy immediately enters the living room regardless, asking one of the rapists inside to pull out and come help him for a sec.

"Charl, the fuck is going on and why are you in the kitchen?" asks the one on top, but still gets up and follows him. Right into your waiting arms.

As soon as he comes into the room, you grab onto him and slam him against the nearest wall. Similarly, you open your mouth and slam your teeth into his neck, starting to drain him even as he begins to struggle.

He never stood a chance.

As you do so, 'Charles' darts out of the doorway and starts beating the shit out of the other guy. Rather vigorously so, from the sounds of it.


Emerging into the living room, you're greeted with quite the spectacle. Your erstwhile minion apparently hits with normal strength, but on impact, a shockwave of sorts amplifies the hurt he's dealing out. Interesting... and also potentially bad right now, as your other meal is currently missing his arms, them having turned into paste a few seconds ago.

He seems to be in shock, so you think you'd best nom him before he goes and dies. It'd be such a waste, really.

Bidding your enslaved soul to help you, the two of you pull him out from under the woman whom he was raping, you waste no further time.

Bon Appetit.


Wyatt was always rather... manipulative. He noticed early on that people would believe him anything as long as he framed it in a way it could have happened.

Knowing this, he got other kids in trouble for things they didn't do and got off scot-free for things he did. Over time, he made an art of knowing what to say when and how to say things to get others to do what he wanted.

That's how he got Kason and Charles to stay out in the cold in shifts and Martin to keep watch over them even while he stayed in the warm confines of their place, fucking whatever piece of meat they had there at the time with whoever wasn't on shift at the time for however long they could get Marty to stay out there.

They made a game of it, and Wyatt was usually winning.

He had a good thing going, never really having to work aside from luring the next bitch to get fucked to death and having all the drugs he could ever ask for so long as the others did the actual work.

Until, that is, one night, when they suddenly stopped working...


With both of the Merchants in here dead, you now have time and free reign of the place. You could search it for possible loot, take care of the woman they were raping, or do just about anything else you want for the next while.

Taking out the panties serving as an improvised gag, you wait until she gets the inevitable croaking and crying out of the way for a minute before you start asking questions.

After a bit of coaxing, you get a rough idea of her story.

"I... I was an editor for the Brockton Beagle. Just a minor one, the guys in charge liked to have us compete over the articles, but it got me enough to pay rent and keep myself fed.

I took drugs occasionally, yeah. Never any of the hard stuff. I just blew my pay on a joint or two whenever I had some leftover at the end of a month.

This fucker-" she spits on the corpse of the guy you ate last- "said he'd get me my usual stuff. I'd seen him around when I came to buy before, so I thought he'd just be doing business, but instead him and the dealer outside dragged me in here and fucking-"

She chokes off at that point. Not that you care; you got a reasonably complete picture from what you got out of her so far.


Deciding you've heard enough, you consider how much it would take to make this place look like a parahuman crime scene.

Turning to your summoned minion, you order him to snap her neck.

She gets a shocked look on her face before said face is irrevocably scrunched up in soul number 7's hand as he grabs onto it and bends her skull over with a loud crunch.

That taken care of, you order him to go outside and grab the other corpses, including his. When he comes back, he seems somewhat shaken, though you have no idea why. Having him pile all the corpses around onto a pile, you order him to start smashing them until the bodies are no longer recognizable.

With him on that, what shall you do next?

Deciding to try and moonwalk your way around, you quickly shake your head and just go to ask your minion after where these guys kept their valuable stuff.

(QM note: Psyche!)

"The good shit is upstairs, boss," he tells you while still smashing his fists into the pile of corpses.


Taking the stairs up, you search the rooms. Looks like here is where they slept, you see a few beds and a pile of what looks like weed rolled into joints and a bit of cash. Apparently, you came shortly after the next part of the Merchant's drug network took the cash in exchange for the next batch of drugs.

Shrugging, you take what you can get and grab a plastic bag to transport the weed and the rest of your acquisitions of the day.

(Gained: 500, bag of weed)

Coming down, you see your trusty clobber-minion has made some good progress; while you can clearly see that these used to be humans from the limbs poking out of the pile, you can't really make out anything about them beyond that. They're more a pile of mush now.

With your business here concluded, you unsummon your minion and set out towards your lair, whistling a jaunty tune, your spoils for the evening packed into two plastic bags.

As you make your way through Brockton's streets, you find yourself accosted by a pair of young men who... ah, who are you kidding, these are more Merchants. Or at least a few druggies living in their territory robbing people there, same difference.

Oh, except... there's another one slowly coming up behind you. Along with what you think is someone up on the roofs... why the heck would anyone be up there? Unless they're a cape. Shit. Okay, how do you play this?

Deciding to be diplomatic, you try to talk sense into them and connect as fellow human beings.

Opening your mouth and letting them see just a hint of your teeth, you say "Now listen here you three little shits," to the look of absolute shock of these retards, "you better go fuck yourselves all the way back to where you come from and choke to death on each other's dicks, or if you're too fucking small for that, go kill yourselves in shame so I don't have to waste time ripping you apart from neck to groin, you absolute retards," you practically hiss the last part at them.

Well, you're fairly sure one of them just pissed himself, but as they both just instinctively took a step to the side to let you pass, you don't mind all that much.

Continuing on your way, you listen out for any more signs of your observer, but you don't pick up any sounds or anything, so you figure they must've gone on their way.

With no further interruptions, you eventually enter your lair once again, safely depositing your spoils and taking a moment to just bathe in how much money you've piled up in the corner.

"Hey girls, let's go recruit a few more people. We may as well get a few more shooters ready in case we get to shoot more nazis."

"I'm still fucking sore, you fucking fuck!," Kate's voice echoes out of her room.

"That was the idea of what we were doing, yeah," you counter. A perfectly reasoned response, in your humble opinion.

With an aggravated groan, Kate and the others get out of bed at wtf o'clock. In the interest of getting this over with quickly, Mariam gets her laptop and starts the process of getting in contact with old acquaintances while occasionally looking up bars and hangouts with a... questionable reputation.

It's great progress, considering you had absolutely no idea how to even start this when you suggested you recruit a few more mooks.

Apparently, having a cape on your side immediately gives you much more clout with most crooks and brawlers skulking around the city than not, as she quickly gets replies suggesting the group could meet with the individuals in question. Turns out that while their operation was really small time, they did know a lot of operators throughout the city, some working for or with the gangs, some strictly independent because they can't stand, quote, "rancid assholes stinking up the whole place".

After a short discussion, the group as a whole decides to limit their recruitment to a few people they had contact with before. Arranging the necessary meetings for later in the day, when reasonable people may be up and about, the girls return to bed to catch an hour or two of sleep before they have to follow up on those meetings.

You, meanwhile, return to the loving embrace of your bare storeroom, pondering how to spend your day.


It is now the morning of the 28th of February

Sitting down inside your lair again, you once more concentrate on messing with your connection to Kate, trying to shift it to see what happens, until you notice a qualitative change happen to the feeling you get when thinking about it.

Seems you did something. If you had to describe it, it would be like a pipe that used to be clogged up, except you've unclogged it a bit and now the water can flow much easier.

Afterward, you summon soul number 4, that one empire leader guy you ate back when you recruited Kate and her girls. Man, that feels like forever ago. Anyway, you tell him to teach you how to brawl, as you have recently come to the realization that you kinda suck at fighting, which is less than ideal given your recent life choices.

So you have him explain what he does when beating the snot out of people, getting demonstrations by either getting (softly) beaten up or doing the same to him. Spending a significant part of the day doing this (man, your infinite stamina keeps on getting better and better), by the time you decide to call it a day and stop, for now, you have the feeling you suck at fighting marginally less.

Hardly noticeable, but Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither are your foundations as a master of martial arts or your gang.

Speaking of your gang, over the day, the girls have led in the new recruits they picked up while you were training. 5 of six of them being women, of course. You're not particularly surprised, given that organized crime in this city isn't really open to women, except for the Merchants, who are literal scum in the form of people and so not an option if you aren't retarded, anyway. If anything, you're surprised there's even one guy among them, but seeing as he ogles at your exposed chest (as he's introduced to you while you're training) much the same the women did, you're pretty sure he might be gay. Not that you particularly care, but it would explain how he might have difficulties working with the gangs.

To finish off an eventful rest period, you once again start to concentrate, though this time you do so on the internal... palace, you'll just call it a palace, you have access to. It sure would be nice to see what's going on inside there without having to go yourself, would save you a bit of time whenever something interesting happens there.

Which, as it happens, is the case just when you finally figure out how to 'tune' your perception just right to see what's inside you, a strange shifting feeling, though much less intense than the last time this happened. Quickly using your newfound power, you direct your eyes towards where you can feel the change in a strange instance of proprioception.

... Apparently, that strange tree next to the lake of blood you saw last time has started beating. And here you thought you had a grasp on the sheer weirdness of this shit.

Still, night has fallen and it's your time to shine again.

Now, what shall you do next? You have the whole night ahead of you and the whole gang idea is coming together nicely. Kate apparently started working her magic, as a delivery of guns and miscellaneous ammunition is coming your way sometime tomorrow night, with a prospective buyer already on the ready.

The only issue is that getting that all set up on the fly took most of the gang's assets in terms of money, so the group will be blank for now. It wouldn't originally have even been a problem, but Kate wants to get the ball rolling with the new recruits, so to speak, and you agree with her.

"Actually, Kate, how much dosh would it take to get the new guys equipped and an armory started and shit?"

"I dunno boss, a few grand? Figure that'd be enough to get started at least," she answers.

"That's good, 'cause I have a few grand lying around." She goggles at you for a second, before you elaborate; "The gangs had a lot of cash lying around, and I've had some free time lately."

"Well shit boss, is it Christmas already? Not sure I'been a good girl to deserve such presents."

"No worries, I ate Santa and stole 'em. Now who wants to get some monies?", you grin back at her as you lead the way down to your lair. Partitioning out the money and actually getting the small denominations counted together, you hand her 3000 in cash, making her grin like, indeed, Christmas had come early.

"Actually, while I have you here, would you have any idea how to track down a teenage runaway? I've been looking for my kid sister since I, uh, stopped existing for a while after getting my powers, but she's been reported missing, apparently."

Blowing air out of her mouth, she responds: "That's gunna be a hard one, boss. There's a lotta teenage runaways around, for once, and if she's smart, she'll be keeping off the radar anyway. I'll see about having people look out at shelters and shit, but I wouldn't expect results, necessarily. Do you got a photo of her or something?"

"I've got one better, her facecard profile passwords."

"I know why I like ya, boss."

With that all taken care of, you decide to continue your little fun time stealing from the gangs. Now, which soul shall you summon and interrogate next?

Calling up the last meal you ate, you set about interrogating him. Luckily, he seems to have been the normative leader of their little group, so you called the right fucker.

Apparently, they got their drugs from a minor collection point he saw only once or twice; usually, they would send someone over to his place, he'd talked them into it so he would have to spend less effort on talking the others into making the walk.

This means that, while you have a good idea of where the next part of the Merchants' drug network is, it's just a minor stash that regularly gets refilled from elsewhere, and you don't know how their defenses are set up or how many enemies there are. Still, that's what recon is for; at least you DO have a location now.

Keeping the newly gained information in mind, for now, you breathe yourself into your throne room and seat yourself for a moment, figuring out the fastest route to the newest abomination against all that is good inside your soul.

Oh, and apparently a few more of your souls have found each other and begun wandering the place. Good on them.

Regardless, you make good speed and soon arrive at your target. Taking a closer look, it seems as though the tree is growing actual fruit. Only one seems to be ripe as of yet, so you pluck it and take a closer look.

With that, you mean to open it up and see how it looks like from inside.

The middle part seemed to be pulsating like a beating heart, though it stopped doing so slowly after you tore the fruit open.

Well now... what shall you do with this thing?


Swallowing down the rich flesh of the fruit, you can't help but compare the taste to that of fresh human blood and flesh.

It's not an unwelcome taste.

As you finish eating, you faintly feel... flashbacks, sensations, except you're fairly sure they aren't yours. Ideas for communicating with disparate soul-bodies within the larger self soul-body... okay, this is getting weird again. Still, it seems like this actually helped you... and here you were always telling Sarah and Rex that eating lots of veggies and fruit would make them grow up strong. Good times.

Coming to yourself again in your lair, still smiling, you ponder what to do next.

Poking the side that one nazi bashed you in way back, you realize it hasn't healed at all since then. You're worried for a moment, until you realize you're getting tired when thinking about healing, something that didn't happen even once ever since you woke up in your coffin.

Trusting your instinct, you lay back and have a short nap to see if you heal up.

Waking up a few hours later, you poke your side again, feeling perfectly regenerated side. Seems like you don't need to sleep, but you can regenerate by doing so. Neat, that.

Deciding to bring some muscle along, you enter the main living area of the converted warehouse and ask if anyone wants to come along to shoot up a druggie stash. Sharing looks, the girls present decide among themselves who wants to go (and telepathy doesn't exist, your ass) and you soon find yourself with two eager assistants darting off to grab some reserve ammo, just in case. Women.

Making your way across the city, a blink of gun the most it takes to ward off trouble here and there and with you occasionally scouting around in shadow form, the three of you quickly find the place. An alley nearby containing a dumpster makes for comfortable seating, you bid your backup for the night farewell for now and dart off into the darkness.

Circling the abandoned former apartment building, and damn if these parts of the Bay aren't a fucking post-apocalyptic wasteland, you enter through one of the many windows, their glass having been removed a long, long time ago.

Once inside, you see three apartments have lights on. How shall you do this?

Tentatively stretching your head through to the other side, you don't spy anyone looking in your direction. Slowly slipping the rest of your body through, you ponder whether you even have a penis in your current form, as you're just a shadow of a guy wearing a suit.

The thought just came upon you, and you have no idea why.

Regardless, you take a closer look around inside.

You see three people, looking somewhat obviously like druggies, milling around the place. One is lying on a bed in the corner of the living room, sleeping. One is in what looks like the bath, shooting himself up with something while sitting on the toilet, and the last one is in the kitchen. You can't tell whether he's eating something, making something to eat, or just spitting into the food to mark it as his. You're not sure he can, either.

These people are so disgusting. Seriously.

Hushing over into the next apartment and slowly oozing through under the doorframe, you see what looks like one of those typical Bay stories. An old vet, thrown out when the army got hit by budget cuts hard, back when capes became a thing, caught in a downwards spiral with depression and drugs, eventually falling into a bad crowd and joining up with the gangs.

Well, now he's gonna die, one way or the other.

You'd recognized what he was when you saw him polish his gun, thanks to your actual research into the topic as part of your college courses on parahumans. Turns out that the socioeconomic impact of capes hit just about everyone in some capacity, some just harder than others.

That said, you sure wouldn't want to encounter this guy in a dark alley. Desperation made anyone dangerous, and a desperate man with a gun just that much more so. The best thing about this situation is that you know where he is while he doesn't know you exist yet.

Sneaking around the room by keeping to the darker corners, you watch and wait for a short while as you observe your target. Once you're fairly sure you've got his pattern of idle movement down, you materialize in a spot behind him.

And lunge.

He immediately tries to throw you off, but your superior strength allows you to keep a secure hold on his arms, even as you press him down, open your mouth, and feed.

Delicious as always.


Jerry always... well, he always wanted to do a few things. Do mom and dad proud, be someone important, the usual stuff a boy wants, really. At the same time, he was perfectly clear that he would never be likely to be a scientist or an astronaut, his grades just weren't good enough for that. Average, really, and he was content with that.

So when he got out of school, he enlisted with the army and tried to do his part that way.

Bootcamp was hard and grueling, but he honestly expected that much. He did his best and got through on his own merits, which was honestly the best anyone could do. When the Vietnam war rolled around, he was shipped overseas, and, well, there he went.

He enlisted, he knew what to expect.

Until he volunteered.

Tunnel rats, they called themselves. Volunteers only. The poor fuckers that went and crawled into the tunnels the guerillas used, staying down there for months at a time. Their mission was to clear the tunnels, destroy them, gather intelligence within them, and kill or capture their occupants. To that end, they were designated as combat engineers, which was fair. While you needed a background in civil or mechanical engineering to be an officer, non-commissioned members generally don't.

That makes it sound simple and clear-cut, but it really, really wasn't. Down there, it was hell.

The tunnels were tight. Constraining. Standard equipment for the rats were the M1911 pistol or M1917 revolver, a bayonet, a flashlight, and explosives. The muzzle blast of the .45 caliber rounds left them deaf when fired in such close quarters, leading to a lot of them disliking using them, so a few used smaller calibers, but there were only so many of the .38 special revolvers and other smaller caliber weapons to go around.

The tunnels were poorly constructed and booby-trapped. Collapses. Hand grenades, mines, punji sticks. Living traps like venomous snakes. Filled with rats, scorpions, ants, spiders. The occasional bats, though those were more of a nuisance.

The tunnels were made with intruders in mind. U-bends that could be flooded quickly to drown the rat, poisonous gases, the works. Some put on gas masks before entering, but most didn't. They made breathing and seeing inside the tunnels even harder than it already was, and taking them with you and putting them on once necessary was impossible. The tunnels were just too tight.

Jerry did most certainly not like the tunnels. But he'd volunteered, and no matter how scared he was, he wanted to do his part. So he kept going down, and no matter how often he thought this was it for him, he kept coming up again.

Eventually, the war ended, but despite returning to the states, Jerry never quite escaped the tunnels. Like many vets, he eventually turned to narcotics just to take off the edge of his experiences. With a skillset not really suited for any job he could take on, the addiction settling in, and no official help to show him where to go from there coming, he quickly found himself on the streets.

He hated how no matter how much he wanted to do his part, to be someone his parents could be proud of, he was relegated to shuffling through dumpsters and begging just to survive. But he needed to eat, and he needed a hit of the good stuff every now and then to keep the tunnels out of his head, so he did just that, drifting from shelter to shelter, too afraid of his shame to stay anywhere for too long.

A few decades of living like this later, he eventually wound up in the poorer parts of Brockton Bay, having found what he was rather sure was the absolute rock bottom of human society. Here, he decided, he would make his last stand, and either find a place to be or die. So he shaved himself with his last good razor he'd saved for so long, made his placard, and waited.

A day later, an obvious druggie saw him sitting there. Staring at him for half an hour, he decided to come talk to the man sitting on the street and invite him somewhere warm.

Another day later, Jerry was warm, fed, high, and part of the Merchants.

He didn't like being part of a gang, but he liked starving on the streets even less, so he just kept to himself as he guarded the place he was responsible for and did his best to forget. Not only the tunnels, but also his dreams.

The drugs made that part much, much easier. Turns out shooting yourself up regularly was hell on your life expectancy, but great for continuing your life.

So Jerry went, scaring off a wild-eyed druggie with a gun every now and then, keeping warm, sated, and taking a hit whenever the memories became too much in between taking care of his gun. Some things just stay with you, no matter what. Until one night, an unseen visitor appeared...


Silently gliding into the last apartment, you find what seems like these guys' stash, where they store the drugs and money before redistributing the stuff.

Presiding over the living room is what looks like the leader of these guys, or at least the one that has to organize the distribution. You spend a moment thinking about how hard it must be to keep a bunch of junkies from just using up the whole stash all the time.

Guess that's why he lives here; so they can't just take the stuff while ignoring his orders.

Quickly finishing surveying the mix between office, drug den, and safehouse, you consider what to do with full knowledge of this place.

Repeating your earlier tactic (it ain't broken, don't fix it), you rematerialize behind him and go for the bite.

He doesn't even have time to really struggle before your jaws lock around his neck.


Brenden always wanted to be someone better than he was. This in itself wouldn't have been too big of an issue, but when you're born in the shit parts of the Bay, you don't really have prospects of any kind.

Not that he let that stop him. He manipulated and talked his way into the friendship of anyone he could get to listen for long enough. Even in hobo central, knowing lots of people really helped you out. That's how Brenden was one of the first to find out there was a new gang building out of the old lighthouse over at Archer's Bridge. Never one to let the opportunity slip through his fingers, he soon talked to the cape doing the whole thing and, well, there he was.

Leader of his own little Merchant cell.

Of course, he had to go through several dumbasses literally too stupid to not get shot by him when they demanded to get access to the stash, but, again, those got shot until all he had left were the halfway competent ones and that vet he personally got on board.

But finally, he had a decent crew regularly delivering cash and drugs to the small operations the Merchants were sponsoring without fucking it up. Now all he had to do was keep things on track and wait until Skids got him a higher command post.

At least, that's what he thought, until suddenly...


Letting the corpse drop, you consider what to do next. You could either go kill the rest of the Merchants (and risk upsetting the girls, they were promised violence) or go call in the girls and attack the suckers from behind when...

It's at this point when you realize something. You feel bloated. Like as if you overate, stuffed yourself, and now you're feeling sick.

Something is happening. You can feel it. You need to get to safety soon, you can feel this will take some time. For now, you don't think you can eat any more people. You might actually vomit.

Opening the doors leading to the outside, you go to meet your lovely assistants for the evening.

"Hey ladies, I got the place scouted out and eaten my fill. I'm actually feeling a bit overfull, I think there might've been something weird in that last one I ate," you say, miming someone holding their stomach.

The girls grin right back at you and, after a quick briefing, follow you into the building. Giving you a bit of time to turn into your shadow and infiltrate the last apartment again, you settle into a corner of the living room with a nice view of all enemies and wait until the girls bust in.

You don't have to wait long before you hear a resounding crash as the front door gets kicked in. Storming into the living room, the girls open fire on the one in the kitchen and the bath, scoring one hit right in the throat and one right to the balls. Yeah, the one in the bath isn't gonna have children, you think.

Meanwhile, you have the perfect opportunity to either finish off the one in the kitchen or shoot the sleeping one in the head before he can get up and try to defend himself.

Materializing to make use of this situation and the initial confusion, you step onto the sleeping Merchant. The one who just woke up, same difference. Especially as the first thing he sees upon waking up is your gun's barrel.

And the last thing. Bang, baby, bang.

Now, this leaves just two enemies, one of which is nearly dead and the other one's bleeding.

One of the girls shoots the Merchant bleeding in the bath right in the head. The other one misses the sucker in the kitchen, who storms at them in a suicidal rush- he must be really hopped up to be running with half his throat missing.

Rushing up to them, he slugs... Jade, you think it was? Across the jaw. In return, she levels her gun at him and shoots away, the other girl holding her fire for fear of hitting her comrade.


She misses, only for you to then smash your fist into his head from below, nearly ripping it off outright, but only breaking his spine to stand at a right angle.

You're, uh, you're pretty sure he's dead.

"You okay, Jade?" you ask, getting a frowning nod in response as she rubs her jaw. Seems like she's more pissed at getting hit at all than anything else.

"Alright. Can you girls loot the place by yourself? I really gotta get back to sleep this overfeeding off," you explain, and after a few brief assurances by the one currently feeling like she should speak, dart off towards the safety of your gang's warehouse.

Quickly swinging by Kate to mention you're doing a cape thing for a while, you retreat into your storeroom and... relax. Let it all out.

It is to your surprise when you actually start to vomit blood, quickly followed by bleeding out of all orifices. You're not scared, however. You just feel... warm. And content. As if nothing could go wrong now.

And so you dream, having spun your cocoon, protected by your trusty minions and the certainty of inevitability.