Content Warning: Blood, gore, and death.
Iago is pronounced (E-ya-go). Like the parrot from Aladdin.
[A]
The Man Comes Around – Chapter 4: Hook, Line, and Sinker
…If you see me comin', better step aside
A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If the right one don't get you
Then the left one will…
"Well, that was anti-climactic." Said Kid Flash as he and Robin hopped down from the crate. They both walked over and met up with the rest of the team, who had seemed to pick up a new member. The monkey that they had pursued when they split up was now with them. "You guys might want to run the idea past B-man before you start recruiting monkeys."
Auqalad walked forward, looking around the now-empty cargo hold. "We stopped the guards that were pursuing it. It seems that the monkey has a bone to pick with the Old Blood, and it helped us defeat the remaining men before we got here." His eyes settled on the monkey as it now stood perched on top of one of the nearby crates, looking around for anything interesting before hopping down and joining the group. It moved over to Kid Flash and Robin carefully, inspecting the two before seeming to decide that they weren't interesting and hopped on top of the table, and started sniffing the beer bottles.
Artemis spoke up. "So, everyone saw them disappear right? What are we going to do about that?"
Robin walked over to where the men had disappeared. Pulling out a scanner from his utility belt, he checked the ground for any sign of a trap door or fake floor. He stood back up with a miffed expression. "I'm not finding any trapdoors or hidden entrances. It's solid metal under here."
Superboy grunted. "Well, it might have just been me, but did you guys hear one of them yell out something before they disappeared?" Over on the table, the monkey picked up one of the empty bottles and hopped down onto the floor. After sitting there for a second, it violently smashed the bottle against the ground and shrieked in glee as glass flew everywhere.
The heroes flinched as the sound of shattering glass hit their ears, all of them glancing over as the monkey hopped up and down in joy. Robin flicked a shard of glass off his shoulder and asked, "It might sound crazy, but I heard him yell 'Around the World!' Isn't that a Daft Punk song?"
Artemis rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone go with Daft Punk? I'll have you know 'Around the World' is also a Red Hot Chili Peppers song." The entire team turned and looked at her.
"…You know, from the album 'Californication'?" Said Artemis, now self-conscious with everyone's eyes on her.
Kid Flash's left eye twitched, asking, "You listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers?" Artemis made a nasty face as she responded with some heat in her voice, "Yep. And?"
With a shit-eating grin, Robin leaned in and stage-whispered to Artemis, but loud enough for everyone to hear, "It's KF's favorite band."
"Dude!" Kid Flash exclaimed, heat rising to his cheeks. Artemis let out a scoff-laugh, and Auqalad, Superboy, and Miss Martian all looked completely lost.
Trying to change the topic, Kid Flash said, "Well, maybe yelling Around the World! is some sort of Italian mafia 'YOLO'?"
Miss Martian blinked. "…Yo-lo? What does that mean?" She asked curiously.
Superboy interjected, "It's a shortening of 'you only live once,' used to rationalize any stupid or other irritational decision, like saying, 'I just ordered $40 worth of Chinese food. But YOLO, right?'" He said with a completely serious expression,
Robin leaned into Kid Flash and whispered, "Looks like along with everything else, Cadmus gave a copy of Urban Dictionary to Superboy." Kid Flash snickered.
"YOLO." Said Miss Martian, sounding out the word.
Auqalad cleared his throat, getting everyone back on track. "The rest of the team and I confirmed the existence of the narcotic cargo and finished off the rest of the Old Blood. Kid Flash and Robin, did you two find anything?"
Robin nodded. "On our way here, we knocked out some dudes who were still in the helm. But before that, they gave us the skinny on this shipment;" he said, counting off on his fingers, "what's on the ship, where everything is headed, where the mobsters were hidden, etcetera. We called the New York cops and gave them the location of the dock where the Old Blood plans on dropping this stuff off. I bet their friends are in for quite the surprise." He said with a smile.
Auqalad nodded. "Good job," he said, returning to where the mobsters had disappeared. "Now," he mused to himself, "Where did you go?"
If Guido Torsione was being honest with himself, he was quite happy where he currently was in life. Growing up homeless in the streets of Venice, the younger him would have never believed it if someone told him that he would one day be the personal bodyguard of the Italian mafia's boss. He would have laughed in that person's face and then tried to find a way to beat that person unconscious so any baubles in their possession would have been his. If two things kept him alive back then, it was his penchant for violence and his unfaltering loyalty to anyone who looked out for him. The only hand he never bit was the hand that fed him.
As it turned out, a penchant for violence and unfaltering loyalty were very sought-after traits in the business of organized crime. He soon found himself rising through the levels to the point where he found himself where he was now – the personal bodyguard of the Old Blood boss.
But despite the requirement of being always at the boss's side, always looking out for someone or something that was out to kill the boss, he found himself sitting alone on a couch in an empty hotel lobby, some faded magazine open in his hands. For one of the few times in his bodyguarding job, he had been told to go somewhere else.
It wasn't like he was throwing a fit about it – the order had come from the boss himself. He was in some sort of business meeting that was important – the details of the occasion were omitted, but Guido didn't particularly care. What didn't sit right with him was the fact that the boss's consigliere, or advisor, was allowed in on the meeting. The consigliere was the one who handled the boss's paperwork, not the one who made appearances with him!
Guido sighed loudly, the noise sounding loud in the dead quiet of the lobby. He was acting immature. There was no point in crying over spilled milk, and he'd rather not sit through a meeting with stuffy suits; he hated politics. And for all he cared, the consigliere could go shove all the paperwork he was supposed to do right up his ass.
Suddenly, the quiet air of the lobby seemed to break with the sound of crackling thunder as a blue sphere appeared out of thin air in the middle of the lobby. Growing quickly to the side of a car door, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, out falling two men.
Already on his feet, Guido was ready to kill the intruders with his stand, but relaxed slightly when he recognized the two fellow mafiosi. He didn't recall their names; he knew they were only drug runners and therefore weren't important to commit to memory, but he had seen them around and gatherings and such as they were the top in their field. But he also knew that they were supposed to be on a shipment to the U.S. right now – what were they doing here?
The two smugglers, an older and a younger man, sat in a pile in the middle of the lobby. Both of their chests heaving, the older one came to his senses first as he drank in his surroundings and zeroed in on Guido.
Guido stepped forward and, in his perfected calm-yet-I'm-about-to-kill-you voice, demanded in Italian, "This is a private location. The only reason you aren't dead is because you're Old Blood – now, why are you here?"
While the younger of the two were still out of it on the floor, the older one had stood up to face Guido. Confusion clear on his face, as if he wasn't sure how he had gotten here, he said back in Italian, "I-It was an accident. We were on the ship headed to New York. Everything was going to plan," he breathed. His brow furrowed in thought. "We were nearing the coast of New York, and then," the confusion was replaced by anger as he grit his teeth, "this coward brought us back here!" He turned to face the younger of the two and started kicking him viciously, Guido noticing for the first time a pistol in the older man's hand.
The man on the floor tried to sit up and block kicks with his hands at the same time, yelling back, "I saved your life, fool! We had been found out by superheroes, and The Destroyer was there!"
Guido paused as he was about to continue interrogating the smugglers. So the shipment had been a bust. But The Destroyer? He practically laughed – that was supposed to be a rumor. Even the boss had laughed in the face of the consigliere when he had brought it up, but was it possible that the rumor could have been true?
"Guido, explain what is going on here. The boss is being disturbed." A deep and soft voice echoed across from the lobby. Guido's stomach dropped as he slowly turned around and saw the boss's consigliere standing at the entrance to a hallway that went deeper into the hotel.
Part of the reason why he thought the consigliere should go shove it was because of how unfit the consigliere seemed for his job. He was the opposite of a desk jockey that was needed in a consigliere – he looked like one of those circus strongmen that would wrestle lions and lift dumbbells over his head with one arm – down to the stupid handlebar mustache right below his nose. But his eyes lacked the warmth and humor of one of those performers and instead displayed an analytical cold gaze that shone with disdain for the other gangsters, taking in the situation unfolding in the hotel lobby.
"Guido." The consigliere said again, impatience edging into his voice. Guido snapped back to reality and made a gesture back to the two smugglers who were looking at the consigliere with open fear. "These two were on the run to New York when they retreated here. Supposedly, the ship was attacked by superheroes, as well as The Destroyer." He reported, scowling internally. The only person he reported to was the boss, not one of his stooges.
The consigliere seemed to take time to process that information before nodding to himself, his face never portraying an ounce of emotion. "Mhm." He finally said, walking past Guido and getting closer to the two smugglers, radiating contempt for the smugglers who were so far beneath him. "Tell me, is this true?" He asked the one on the floor.
The man in question nodded vigorously. "Oh yes," he said, sounding frantic. "Our ship was attacked by The Destroyer himself! I saw it with my own eyes, and Iago ordered me to use Around the World to get us out of here." Presumably the older of the pair, Guido watched as Iago's eyes went wide as the blame went to him. Iago's mouth started to open in argument, but he shut up as the consigliere began to speak.
"I am sorry to hear that." Said the consigliere, surprising everyone in the room as his voice seemed to be filled with genuine remorse. But his voice hardened as he spoke again. "But the Old Blood has no room for cowards. Thirty-Two Thousand Pounds!" The consigliere yelled as the older smuggler's face twisted in horror.
Out came the consigliere's stand, and as much as Guido loathed the consigliere, he had to admit how impressive the stand was. Standing taller than the already tall strongman, his stand was a humanoid that vaguely resembled a miner, with jean overalls and pants and a lamp-mounted yellow construction hat. The most notable part, however, was that every part of the stand was bulging with raw bounds of muscle, especially the forearms and hands which were colored as if they had been dipped in liquid silver.
As Guido watched in shock, the stand surged forward and grabbed Iago by the face, its massive hands covering his face entirely. Iago was violently thrown across the room by Thirty-Two Thousand Pounds, crashing into the opposite lobby wall in a heap. He struggled to rise, but the stand rushed forward again, quickly plunging his other massive fist through Iago's stomach.
The monkey suddenly started urgently shrieking, as if it were in distress. The rest of the team turned around at the sudden noise. The monkey was making small hops from side to side, its eyes wild and swatting at the air as if it were being attacked by invisible hornets.
Miss Martian spoke, clearly worried. "Wait, what's happening to it?" Auqalad narrowed his eyes at the monkey as it was starting to freak out at something, responding, "I… do not know." Confusion was evident in his voice.
The monkey was becoming more and more agitated, its shrieks becoming more and more violent. Suddenly, it started glowing a bright white, as if something had turned it into a lightbulb.
"What the heck, dude?" Kid Flash breathed, clearly unnerved at the sudden escalation of the situation. All of the team members were equally if not more unnerved at the changing monkey. "Get back," said Auqalad, urgency clear in his voice "It might explode!"
"Explode?!" Said Miss Martian in a very high-pitched, hysterical voice. "I do not know." Auqalad bit out, clearly stressed. As the monkey continued to glow brighter and brighter, the team retreated a distance while Auqalad manifested a large water shield.
As the brightness seemed to reach an apex, the monkey didn't explode. Instead, its form began to slowly change. The monkey's glowing form elongated horizontally, and the shape slowly changed from a monkey into a humanoid form that was bent over. The humanoid slowly stood up and suddenly stopped glowing.
The humanoid that was previously the monkey appeared to be a human male in his early 20s with short, black hair. Appearing very similar to the monkey's fur pattern, he wore a white and black three-piece dress suit with white combat boots. His dress suit was white with what a two-pronged coat-tail that stopped at his ankles. His dress pants and undershirt were white as well, matched with a black vest and tie. Around his waist, he wore a utility belt that had a multitude of pockets, a sheathed knife, and even a holstered sidearm of some sort. His eyes were concealed with a white blindfold that was decorated with a large, black Christian cross, the crossbar of said decoration wrapping around the blindfold. The most unusual part of the costume, however, was that his coat's left breast pocket had an American flag handkerchief tucked neatly inside.
The team watched as the man seemed to shake out of a daze and saw the team, freezing in place like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. The silence between the suited figure and the team was deafening as the two stared at each other. The suited man finally broke the silence, letting out a very bewildered, "What the fuck."
Needless to say, the op that Creed had been sent on was going very strangely. When he had been first contacted by Ella via her no-snooping line, a drug shipment seemed like a simple enough task. And it was – at least to begin. Like most of the runs he had been sent on, the op often followed the usual pattern of, showing up, cracking some skulls, shooting some people (if necessary), calling the cops and/or Coast Guard, and high tail it out of there.
And sure, while it was unusual that the order had come from Belladonna herself rather than Ella picking it up on one of her computers, he didn't mind because it was just a different person pointing him in the direction of where to kick ass. And damn, did he look good while he did it! Creed wasn't sure, but he might be the first person to successfully fight crime in a suit and tie.
But while he was busy handing Old Blood gangsters their asses, he might have been a little overconfident. So overconfident that he forgot to sweep the ship for any stand users ready to throw hands. Because while some Old Blood muscle with a semi-auto was a walk in the park, any competent stand user could give Creed a run for his money.
Which is why, in the middle of smacking gangsters around, Creed found himself entering what could be described as a very bad acid trip. He was blowing a gangster's kneecaps out with The Eye of God while asking for information (God, he loved that gun) when his stomach flipped. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire, and then it wasn't. You know that feeling where you're starting to fall asleep, and then you start falling? Well, imagine that, but a hundred times scarier. Everything was so much bigger to him. He didn't feel right. No, scratch that. He felt feral. He was quicker, leaping onto the gangsters that were four times his height. Everything was hazy; his mind was running a mile a minute and at the same time, everything seemed out of reach, like every thought was on the tip of his tongue. A very small part of his mind was like, worst fever dream ever, 0/10.
And then, suddenly, he was on fire again, and then he wasn't. And as his stomach did cartwheels, he could finally think again, not just that again, but he was fully aware of himself. He was standing fully upright, and The Eye of God was no longer in his hand. But the weirdest part was that before him stood a group of teenagers in themed spandex and masks, standing in what looked like an impromptu defensive formation not twenty feet away from him. They all eyed him suspiciously, and the one in front, a tall, buff, dark-skinned teenager with a strikingly blond buzz cut was poised with a blue, see-through shield as if Creed was about to run at him with a sword or something.
Still out of it, something looked very familiar about them, but Creed just couldn't place it. Creed and the group continued to stare at each other until he finally broke the silence with a, "What the fuck," expressing his utter confusion at the situation at hand.
That seemed to break some of the teenager's tension as they all seemed to shift in place, maybe waiting for him for him to do something. One of the teenagers, a girl in a green costume armed with a bow and arrow, and said arrow pointed straight at him, spoke after a second. "…You were just a monkey." She said, as if she was in disbelief of it herself.
Creed paused, still coming to his senses. Really? That explained why they were looking at him like he just started ranting at them in Spanish. "Well," he said, making a half-hearted joke, "that explains the craving for bananas."
One of them, a redhead dressed in a yellow suit, snorted to himself. However, the group was still uneasy. The dark-skinned teen, still behind that weird shield, kept his eyes narrowed at Creed as he demanded suspiciously, "Who are you?"
Creed cleared his throat. No big deal. Just his superhero name. "I," he said, spreading his hands, "am Apollyon." A name, he thought, sounded badass.
The group of teens seemed to all owlishly blink at him at once. One of them, a buff guy with shaggy black hair and a black t-shirt with some red emblem on it, said, "What?"
The bow and arrow girl's forehead scrunched in confusion. "Like Apollo?" She asked.
"No," said Creed, a little dryly. "Not Apollo, Apollyon." The dark-skinned teenager, suddenly seeming much more intrigued than suspicious of him, lowered his shield. "Well met, Apollyon. I am Auqalad. Behind me is Superboy, Robin, Kid Flash, Miss Martian, and Artemis." Each of the teenagers gave a wave when their name was said. That explained why they were dressed in costumes – because they were superheroes. Creed recognized Robin and Kid Flash – Auqalad seemed vaguely familiar, maybe he had seen him on the news recently? But the others seemed to be themed after some of the members of the Justice League, which was interesting, to say the least.
The now-named Auqalad seemed much less hostile now and approached as the other heroes followed behind him, forming somewhat of a half circle in front of Creed so they could all see him. Auqalad quirked an eyebrow in question as he asked, "I must ask you – are you Apollyon, as in the 'Angel of the Abyss'?"
Creed paused, thrown a bit at the inquiry. He answered, a little surprised at the recognition of his stage name. "…Yes. Looks like someone went to Sunday School."
Auqalad gave a small grin in return as he answered. "Somewhat, I suppose. The academy I attended taught lessons on surface-world religions. I must say, each dogma has its own fascinating doomsday story."
The kid in yellow – Kid Flash, Creed remembered - raised his hand, sounding a little annoyed as he asked, "Um, could someone clue me in?"
Auqalad turned to the smaller hero. "Apologies. In Judeo-Christian belief, Apollyon is the harbinger of the apocalypse, commanding an army of locusts as he lays waste to the earth. In some scriptures, he has been referred to as the 'Angel of the Abyss.'"
Artemis snorted, looking at the man in the three-piece dress suit who was currently grinning like a doofus. "I dunno, dude." She said to Creed, her voice dry and teasing. "You don't seem like a whole 'commander of locusts.'"
"Really? Artemis, right?" Creed asked. She nodded. "Could you by chance tell me where your army of immortal, virgin maidens with bows is?" Creed answered slyly, tilting his head to the side. Artemis blinked, then looked away, making a face.
"So," Miss Martian asked politely, "what brought you here?" Creed looked at her and shrugged, saying, "Well, I found out that the Italian mafia was shipping a butt-ton of drugs to the U.S. And, I decided to stop them. Easy as that."
Auqalad raised an eyebrow, somewhat suspiciously asking, "Do you know of the situation within the Italian mafia?"
Creed paused. "Um," he said, not sure how to answer. "They're shipping drugs to the U.S.? Like, I try my best to stay out of politics so I can spend more time punching bad guys."
Robin spoke up, looking at the blindfolded man. "Something recently has been happening where the Old Blood has been repeatedly attacked at critical points. By something caused by Passione. Or someone working for Passione." He said, his emphasis on someone clear as a bell. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"
Creed looked at all the heroes, who now were starting to eye him the same way they had earlier, suspicion creeping into their body language. He considered his options and then surprised everyone with what he said next.
Creed nodded. "Yep. That would be me."
The cargo hold was dead silent. The team was taken aback, to say the least, vocalized by Robins's sheer incredulous voice. "D- Did you just admit to involvement in organized crime? You know that's an arrestable offense, right? We could totally take you in right now!"
Creed gave an easy smile, as if they were old friends talking about fond memories, though none of the heroes missed his half-step away from them. He held up a hand to pause Robin. "Well, I know that it might be a crime on paper. But you all seem like reasonable people; how about you make your judgment call after hearing me out?" He said, dropping his hands into his pant pockets casually.
Auqalad crossed his arms, deep in thought. "Fine." He finally let out. "We will hear you out." But he telepathically said to the rest of the team But be ready. He might run at any second. The rest of the team discreetly shifted in response to Auqalad's message, each getting ready to pursue Creed if he ran.
But they were not discreet enough. Creed saw the way all their eyes flicked to Auqalad and then watched as they all barely tensed to face him, in a position that would guarantee them a head-on attack. This was going to be a very tricky situation, and he knew that as his heart rate rose, he would only have one shot to argue his way out of this. But he wasn't his high school's debate team MVP for nothing, right?
"I suppose," Creed said, musing to himself more than anything, "that we will have to start this story at the beginning. Not the very beginning, mind you, because Genisis 1:1 would be a little too early. This starts," he said, putting one of his hands on chest, "with me."
Seeing the skeptical looks flicker across the faces of the heroes, he assured them, "Not in a selfish sense, mind you. I just want to make it clear how cool you guys are. The sheer amount of respect I have for you guys for dressing up and going out to fight some nutjob in a robot suit is immeasurable. It takes a lot of courage to be able to stand up for those around you; to go out of your way to help out the little guy. And I've always wanted to be someone who can do that. I've always wanted to do exactly what you do." Creed said with a wistful tone as he started to pace back and forth in front of them. "But of course, I'm also a realist. I know that because I don't have superpowers, I'm far more likely to become a cop or an EMT to do that."
Creed turned to face them, an impossibly wide smile on his face. "But then," he said, sheer awe in his tone as if he can't believe what he's saying himself "One day, I wake up, and I. Have. Superpowers! I can do what you guys do! The-"
"What superpowers do you have?" Auqalad interrupted, arms still crossed.
He paused again, a little annoyed at the interruption. He paused for a second as if thinking of an answer. "Teleportation, self-cloning, and close-range telekinesis." He finally said. Auqalad looked impressed, saying, "Quite the unique set of powers."
Creed stared at Auqalad. "Yeah. Lucky me." He said dryly. Miss Martian perked up. "You have telekinesis?" she asked, looking interested all of a sudden.
Creed looked at her hopeful expression, not sure what to make of it. "…Yes." He said, adding on, "though its range is very limited." Miss Martian deflated a little, though she still looked interested. Creed continued.
"Anyway, one day I wake up with dope powers. I can now do some superheroing. But," He said, pausing. "I-"
Robin frowned and interrupted, looking at Creed. "Having powers doesn't make you a superhero."
Creed balled his fists, and then slowly relaxed them, a little bite entering his voice. "I know, Robin. Can you let me tell my story?" He asked Robin, who responded with silence.
"To rephrase, I can now use my powers to do good things, thus becoming a superhero. But I now find myself a problem. I know absolutely nothing about crime fighting or superheoring. I could throw myself out on the street in hopes of blindly succeeding, but I could end up shot, or worse." Creed explained. "So, I end up hearing through the grapevine about the Italian mafia schism between the Old Blood and Passione. One of them sells drugs and wants to keep selling drugs. The other hates drugs and wants to crush drug dealers under their heels. I choose the side that is actively pursuing to stop an evil group from selling more drugs. I hit them up, -"
Superboy raised an eyebrow. "You hit up the Italian mafia." He repeated in a disbelieving voice.
Creed let out a little sigh looking like he was getting ready to pull out his hair. "I got in contact with them. They want the Old Blood gone. I want practical experience dealing with crime and superheroing. We made a deal – Passione tells me the 411 on any tracked Old Blood activity. I go over there, beat up the Old Blood. Passione gets their work done for them, and I get the firsthand experience of crime fighting before going public. There are now fewer drug dealers on the street and around the world."
Creed spread his hands. "And all the while, my only contact with Passione is extremely limited, amounting to about one to two phone calls every couple of weeks. Even though we're scratching each other's backs, I'm never directly involved with any of their activities. So, my record stays clean, bad guys go to jail, and everyone wins."
"So," he continued, "are people really bad because of the way the way they choose to do good? I mean, vigilantism is legally a crime, and yet here you stand helping the cops out and getting thanks from them and the public because they can't fight supervillains on their own. Practically speaking, I'm not a part of Passione in any way, shape, or form. If I'm barely interacting with Passione, and at the same time giving a huge contribution to shutting down a massive, international drug smuggling group. This method of sending me after the Old Blood has been really effective, and I might even get the honor of shutting down the Old Blood themselves. But," Creed concluded in a slightly wistful tone, "it would kinda suck if I was in jail for that." He looked at the team expectantly.
Auqalad stood there silently, seeming to turn it over in his mind a couple of times as he stared at Creed, before speaking up. "We won't arrest you."
Robin whirled around, looking at Auqalad in surprise. "What?!" He squawked, looking at Auqalad like he had just announced that he planned on castrating the Boy Wonder.
Kid Flash nudged Robin with his elbow, saying "You gotta admit, dude. That was a dope speech." Robin opened and closed his mouth several times before crossing his arms and pouting.
Auqalad nodded solemnly. "I agree with Kid. You made some fair points, and it wouldn't be wise on our part to turn away another set of helping hands in the crimefighting world." Said Auqalad to Creed. The two faced each other, and Auqalad stuck out his hand. After a second of consideration, Creed shook it firmly, giving a friendly grin, saying "Thanks for lending an ear." He stepped back as Auqalad rejoined his team.
Kid Flash gave a grin, saying, "Since you're a newbie, always feel free to ask us for advice on the whole superhero gig," he said, checking his nails with a smile on his face, "You know, since we've been doing this forever." Creed rubbed the back of his head with a matching grin, saying, "I'll be sure to do that. I gotta say, you guys are super cool, and it would be dope if we teamed up again sometime."
Miss Martian let out a cheer, shooting her hands in the air as Superboy facepalmed. Auqalad nodded and said, "If we're both pursuing the Old Blood, I'm sure you'll see us around."
Creed faced the costumed teenagers and gave a thumbs up, saying, "Sounds good. Catch you on the flip side." To the team's surprise, he fell forward, as stiff as a board. Out of instinct, Auqalad rushed forward trying to stop Creed's fall, but he was too late, and Creed collided roughly with the floor.
Or he would have if Creed hadn't vanished from thin air the microsecond he hit the floor. The rest of the team rushed up to a very confused Auqalad, all while Kid Flash groaned, "Not again!"
Iago coughed up blood, and then laid still, a gaping, bloody hole in its chest.
Guido stared at Iago's corpse in a rare moment of shock and horror. No bile rose through his throat, as gore was a common sight in his line of business. But he still did not believe what he saw – the speed and how quickly such a big stand moved was truly terrifying for any stand user to see, especially if that stand's user worked in close quarters with Guido.
Guido watched the younger man breathe an almost invisible sigh of relief. But his attention was soon back to the corpse of Iago, as it rose from the indent of the wall where it lay.
Guido did a double-take as the corpse stood up and turned to face the consigliere. Iago now had a massive hole in his chest with discolored entrails and organs hanging out. So massive that Guido could see through it to the other side of the lobby. But Guido also noticed that Iago's wide-open eyes now were only orbs of the same metallic color as Thirty-Two Thousand Pounds' fists.
The young man on the floor, however, was staring at Iago's corpse with clear, abject horror. The consigliere, ignoring the occurrence before him, simply spoke two words. "Kill him."
Like a robot, Iago's corpse walked over to where he had previously dropped the pistol, picked it up, and aimed it at the younger man. The younger man, realizing what was about to happen, started to cry out some desperate plea, but the corpse of Iago unceremoniously shot him twice in the head, killing the younger man instantly. As the body of the young man went limp, Iago's corpse turned back to the consigliere, waiting for further orders.
As if this were some routine he had done a thousand times, the consigliere simply said, "Server your cerebellum." Without question, the corpse of Iago pressed the gun to the back of its head and pulled the trigger, blowing its brains out in a bloody mess and collapsing like a sack of potatoes on the floor.
Guido was dead silent, not daring to move a muscle. After studying the corpse of Iago for what felt like hours, the consigliere mused out loud, "You know, I find it funny that no matter what happens to those manipulated by Thirty-Two Thousand Pounds, they only truly cease to exist when their cerebellum fails function. Why, I do not know." He said, as casually as if he were pondering tomorrow's weather.
"What the FUCK?!" Guido incredulously exclaimed to the consigliere. The consigliere turned to face Guido, a slightly bored expression on his face. "You are wondering why I did that?" He asked.
Guido, eyes wide, nodded as he stared at the consigliere.
"You see, Guido, I do not care that one of them ran away. That is not my business." Said the consigliere, contempt and boredom clear in his voice. "They would have been killed by their captains for such cowardice. The problem I have, however, is that before they would have been killed by their respective superiors, they would have told them what would have happened as they told you and me. They would have told them about The Destroyer. And then, the captains would have told their capos about The Destroyer. And before you know it, everyone in the Old Blood will be whispering about this man who is cutting through our ranks like a knife through warm butter. That would be terrible for the Old Blood."
The consigliere continued, his voice becoming more serious. "So, Guido. My problem is not the cowardice. It is the rumors. The rumors," said the consigliere, Thirty-Two Thousand Pounds manifesting by his side, "started by witnesses."
Guido heard the consigliere's implications loud and clear. His heart was starting to race. This was bad. Very bad.
"So you see, I hope you understand this is not personal." The consigliere blinked, and added with a hint of mirth, "However, I do dislike you as a person, so this will be very easy. Thirty-Two Th-"
"You cannot kill me." Guido interrupted, his mind racing. The consigliere blinked after a second of apparent surprise, his eyebrows raising. "Oh?" He asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Why not?"
Guido continued, his heart in his throat. "Your stand easily outclasses mine." He admitted, letting out a shaky laugh. "Sure, mine causes immeasurable pain for the victim and has the eventual possibility of death. But yours," he said, "has the capacity for quick and efficient death. Based on how quickly you tore through that mas's abdomen like tissue paper, it would take a stand with extreme strength to even rival yours."
The consigliere narrowed his eyes at Guido. "Flattery will not save you."
"But it's not about the stand." he insisted, now on a roll. "It's about the user. I was hired directly by the boss. He knows me like the back of his hand. He knows that I would follow him to hell and back. He knows that I wouldn't question an order from him without a second thought." Guido said, grinning a little despite himself. "So, I'm curious. What is your plan after this? You go back in there and tell the boss about how we all were talking nonsense about The Destroyer, or even some trumped-up story about a conspiracy against him? You justify my death with something besides what actually happened, and the boss will know you killed me and lied about it because I would never do something so stupid. And then, it's your head on the chopping block because you just lied to the boss and killed his personal bodyguard. You may be his right-hand man, but you're not immune from his wrath. And I have been with the boss long enough to know he loves to personally rain hellfire down on those who make trouble for him."
Guido spread his hands as if to challenge the consigliere, adrenaline and courage running through his veins. "So, what's it going to be, big man?"
The consigliere studied him for what felt like an eternity. He then nodded to himself, seeming to come to a decision.
As if nothing had happened between the two, the consigliere dissolved his stand and walked out of the lobby and back to where he had come from.
Guido stood in the now-bloody lobby, two oozing corpses in the center of the room. He then promptly collapsed on the couch, sinking into the cushions as much as possible to calm his racing heart.
LINE BREAK
Creed stepped out of one of the support columns that held up the massive warehouse. From where he stood, the place looked like a steampunk's wet dream. All the different areas were dedicated to some type of construction – he saw a lumber yard, a machinist's shop, a steelworker's forge, and so many more, all filled to the brim with fancy yet worn tools that betrayed a large amount of use in their short time being here. Every hero needed their base, and if Creed ever planned on being one, this was his.
Or, rather, it was technically his. On his way to the center of the warehouse that served as the bedroom, kitchen, living quarters, recreation area, and all-around central command for the warehouse, he spotted the real owner of all the hardware off to the side in one of the construction areas, wielding some two pieces of metal together that must have been apart of her newest project. As Creed got closer, the sparks stopped flying everywhere as Ella Conagher set down her torch, noticing him. Wearing her classic blue work jacket rolled up at the sleeves, she lifted her wielder's visor that had replaced her usual yellow hard hat and goggles and gave a greeting smile at her fellow mafiosi.
"Doctor." She said as they shook hands. "Doctor," Creed said back with an equal grin, responding with their running joke of a hello. Ella let out a pleasant sigh as she put down her wielding torch and took off her visor, letting down her long, caramel-colored hair.
"Anything interesting happen?" She asked, looking at Creed.
Creed answered with a shrug, "Nothing particularly important. Couldn't find any souvenirs for you, sorry." He let out a breath as he untied his blindfold. Taking it off, his form glowing white hot for a second before returning to normal, except now, he was in street clothes instead of his Apollyon getup.
As he tucked his blindfold in his back pocket, Ella watched him with mirth. "I'm so jealous of you, you know that?" She said, referring to his portable costume. Creed gave a shit-eating grin in return, saying "Sucks to suck, I guess." Ella walked past him and rolled her eyes. "Well, don't want to keep the boss waiting, right?" She said, walking toward the center of the warehouse.
Creed watched her for a second before following, a small smile on his face. While he stood a solid four inches taller than she did, she had him beat with the three-year age gap between the two. From what Creed had learned about Ella in his time working with Passione, she and not only age but experience to hold over him as she had been in Passione since she was nine, supposedly adopted by one of its capos. Of course, her tails were almost always as tall as he was, so the only thing he didn't take with a grain of salt was how good she was with tech. This warehouse wasn't her shop, it was her playground. She was almost always working on side projects as anything that their boss had asked her to do was done quickly and efficiently so she could have more time to tinker.
As the pair walked past a mini gym in the center of the warehouse, Creed took another look around the warehouse full of Ella's machinery. Big enough to rival an Ikea, it resided in upstate New York and had been acquired quickly as the owners wanted to get rid of their empty, run-down warehouse, and they got rid of it even quicker with the price Passione gave them. It was agreed that Apollyon's "base" should be in upstate New York – decently out of the way if someone came looking, but still close enough to respond to urban emergencies.
Because while the plan was for him to act as a superhero, the real goal was to target New York City. Leaked intel found by Passione's spies had found that the Old Blood had infiltrated and now controlled the majority of NYC's underground operations. This was where most of their forces were consolidated, and if Passione wanted to hit them hard, they had to hit them in New York. And Creed was the hammer.
Lost in thought, Creed had almost walked through the area that Ella called "The Helm", where all the logistical action in the warehouse happened. It was in the heart of the center of the warehouse. On one side, a massive grid of flat-screen TVs played news from all over the world, and on the other side was a massive desk space with dozens of computer monitors connected to different keyboards, all displaying different content.
Creed stood off to another side of "The Helm", in front of a weird-looking tripod that had a 360° projector and camera on top. This was a two-way hologram projector that Ella had made, allowing for convenient, visual contact that was much more effective than a phone call. Sitting on the nearby desk, Ella was watching him silently while drinking out of a water bottle, her trademark hard hat and goggles back on. Creed reached forward, hit a button on the camera, and then stepped back. The camera started to pulse a blue light as it waited for the signal of the other tripod to connect.
Establishing contact, the tripod's projector showed a hologram of a neat room, the walls lined with bookshelves, maps, and paintings of dramatic scenes. The only mess was on the desk in the center of the room, strewn with papers and folders around a coffee mug and laptop. Creed stood in the middle of the holographic office, spotting the three residents of the virtual meeting already facing the projector, and in turn, Creed.
One of them leaned casually on one of the bookshelves, his arms crossed with his ever-present scowl worn on his face. This figure was dressed the strangest out of the four of them, wearing what looked like a robed black jester costume that revealed his chiseled chest. Risotto's silver hair poked out under his black fool's cap, his red and black eyes never leaving Creed. The second figure, a buff middle-aged man, was dressed much more casually. He stood in a parade rest stance next to the desk, wearing a black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans and a leather belt. His head was bald, and his face was marked with worn wrinkle lines of age and stress. His name was Salvatore.
Speaking of the devil, the most important figure in the room sat at the desk, leaning back in her chair as she watched Creed, her face in a business-like mask as she sat silently. With her jet-black hair, she wore a dress shirt, dress pants, suspenders, and yellow tie, and her signature baseball bat leaned against the table. Belladonna Re was the mafia boss of Passione – she had taken up the role when the old boss was killed. With the help of Salvatore and Risotto, who she had appointed to be her consigliere and right-hand man, respectively. She now juggled the politics and business of Passione while leading the war against the Old Blood.
Belladonna broke the silence, saying in Italian, "Hello, Creed. I trust you have a successful mission?"
Creed nodded back and responded in Italian, "Hello, Bella. I did. The ship was intercepted, and I called the Coast Guard to let them know that there was a ship chock-full of drugs and left them a score of unconscious Old Blood cronies as a gift. That's one more for us, and I was sure to graffiti Passione rules, Old Blood drools on the side of the ship to let them know where we stand." He said with a straight face.
Belladonna sat forward. "I know we're at war with them, but I think that you just took things too far with the Old Blood." She said, her humorous tone betraying her grave expression.
Behind him and off camera, Ella groaned out loud as the three holographic figures looked in the direction of the noise. "Oh, come on!" Ella exclaimed around an apple she was now eating. "You two should just kiss already."
Creed looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose. In the hologram, Salvatore did the same, while Risotto balled his fists and shifted his jaw in anger. Belladonna just sighed at the inappropriate comment and said tiredly, "Ella, please stop antagonizing Risotto."
Ella sighed and, in an inside-joke tone, said to Creed in English, "Jeez. Fun police, amirite?" Knowing full well that Belladonna, Salvatore, and Risotto all spoke English.
Ignoring her, Belladonna said to Creed, "Any new stands to report?" Creed nodded, saying, "Almost immediately after calling the Coast Guard, I got jumped by a stand that turned me into a monkey." Belladonna's and Salvatore's eyebrows rose in sync, "Wasn't very fun." Creed continued. "But hey, I was able to resolve the situation, to put it one way, and here I am."
Belladonna opened her mouth to speak, but Risotto interrupted, his voice dry. "Well, good for you." He said, fully facing Creed. "But do you have anything important to add?" Behind Risotto, Belladonna frowned slightly at him.
Creed pursed his lips. He was planning on getting to this at some point; he was more worried about their reactions rather than the fact that it had happened. "Yes," Creed said, speaking up, his tone suddenly serious. "While I was there, I ran into a group of superheroes."
The call was dead silent. Behind him, Ella started coughing as she choked on her apple in surprise.
"What?" Said Belladonna, leaning forward in her chair, suddenly sounding greatly concerned. "Was it the Justice League?"
Creed shook his head. "It wasn't the Justice League. It was their younger team – all of their sidekicks. According to them, they're aware of the situation between Passione and the Old Blood and were there to stop the incoming drug shipment to New York."
Risotto repeated, "According to them?" He asked as if he hadn't heard Creed right. "You talked to them? And you're still here, not rotting in some cell?"
Belladonna looked at Creed, her expression stern. "Risotto raises a point. Did you interact with the heroes?"
Creed nodded. "Yes." Belladonna opened her mouth, but Creed raised his hand to reassure her, "But as we planned, I gave them the story that I was a new hero, working with Passione to get experience. And they bought it, hook, line, and sinker."
Belladonna leaned back in her chair, her hands steepled as she stewed in thought. Eventually, she nodded. "Very well, Creed. This situation is going to be a judgment call on your part, but be careful. The last thing we need is Passione making an enemy out of the Justice League." She sighed out of her nose and then nodded to herself. "We'll keep you updated with any Old Blood intel Mack sends our way. Anything else to add?"
Creed looked back at Ella, who shook her head. "Nothing on our part. Until next time." Belladonna nodded, and Creed reached forward and ended the call on the tripod.
He turned back around to face Ella, who was looking at him like she couldn't decide what to do with him. She dryly asked, "Nothing interesting, huh?"
[A]
As an immediate disclaimer, this will not be the usual OC-joins-the-team fic.
To be honest, I feel bad about making y'all wait a bit for that last chapter. So as an apology, here's an 8.5k-word chapter in a little less than two weeks later. I hope I didn't spend too much time describing Creed's costume, by the way, because I am so happy with the design and am glad to be finally sharing it with you. And like I said, this is where things kick into gear.
As always, let me know what you think! A big part of my motivation to write is your comments on the story.
Onwards and Upwards,
CFS
