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While traversing the dimly lit alleys of Brockton Bay, I found myself engaged in a regrettable altercation. With a vexed exhalation, I endeavored to cleanse my kukri from residual traces of blood. During a leisurely stroll through one of the city's less frequented passages, I encountered a group of intoxicated individuals who, in a misguided attempt, accosted me with the intent of soliciting funds.
Indeed, it appears that the individual who orchestrated my presence in this location may find ironic amusement in the current circumstances. However, amidst this encounter, I have come to appreciate the acquisition of newfound abilities. After meticulously cleansing my weapon, I carefully returned it to its sheath, discreetly concealing the cleaning cloth within the confines of my coat's pocket. The audacity of assuming that targeting a masked individual for the purpose of extortion would yield favorable results, particularly in this environment, is a rather perplexing notion.
Ah, I've got more important matters to attend to than pondering the rationale of those merchants. Now, what they so rudely disrupted was my search for a headquarters for myself and my forthcoming servants. Unfortunately, it seems it needs to be within the territory controlled by the merchants.
It appears that, based on the limited information I've gathered, the merchants rank as the weakest among the gangs in Brockton Bay. The ongoing stalemate significantly favors my ambitions for city dominance. If memory serves, Cauldron will abstain from interference should I succeed in seizing control—a part of their experiment. However, they seemingly overlooked the countless innocent lives that would inevitably be sacrificed in pursuit of this goal. Fortunately, I am unencumbered by such moral quandaries, but what of legend?
Indeed, the revelation of his colleagues' genuine objectives would undoubtedly stir profound interest. Legend, upon uncovering the true intentions of those around him, would likely be faced with a moral and ethical quandary of significant magnitude. The implications and ramifications of such a discovery could potentially alter his perception of the hero system, prompting a reassessment of his alliances and the larger framework within which he operates.
It seems I've stumbled upon the ideal site to establish my future organization. Admittedly, the building lacks grandeur; shattered and boarded windows, a kicked-in door, and the telltale signs of squatters dwelling within painted a rather grim picture. Yet, despite these drawbacks, the determining factor in my choice was it's strategic location.
Positioned at a pivotal nexus within the heart of the Merchant territory, this building, albeit modest and dilapidated with it's temporary problems, stood as an emblematic cornerstone of my strategic vision. It's immediate vicinity, nestled in close proximity to the numerous merchant warehouses meticulously scouted in advance, would serve me well. As I envisage the future, this decrepit edifice shall assume a role far beyond its present state—a linchpin in my grand design for dominion over this sector of the city. It's significance lies within the promise it holds: a command center poised to orchestrate rapid responses to any unrest or upheaval in the domain I aim to conquer.
The moment I stepped into the building, a man with bloodshot eyes lunged at me wielding a knife. Swiftly reacting, I drew my weapon and swiftly incapacitated him, severing his throat and evading the ensuing blood spray with a deft movement. The experience was undeniably repulsive.
With a sigh, I retrieved the cleaning rag once more. "What a regrettable outcome," I muttered, eyeing the lifeless body. "You had the potential to contribute positively to society. Yet, the very society that should have supported you, left you confined to these destitute circumstances. Truly, a lamentable waste."
Accepting the irrevocable nature of the situation, I rose to my feet and pressed deeper into the building. Time was of the essence; tasks awaited completion and my time was limited. If memory serves, the impending awakening of the Queen of Escalation loomed near.
Ensuring the absence of any unwelcome presence, I carefully surveyed the building. The upper floors held little significance; they would serve merely as a facade, lacking substantial profitability. My focus lay beneath, particularly the basement, which held potential utility after some necessary modifications and expansion.
The impending downfall of those who deviated from the noble principles of heroism will serve as a stark reminder of their misguided paths, leading them to wish they had never tread upon such errant ways. The genesis of their demise shall find its roots within this dilapidated structure, marking the inception of a narrative that could be construed as a tragicomic portrayal of their downfall, a tale ripe with irony and consequence.
It appears that the catalyzing force required to compel heroes toward genuine heroism often necessitates the presence of a formidable antagonist, serving as a unifying element if nothing else. Should they falter in rectifying this corrupt society, the responsibility may inevitably fall upon my shoulders to effect the necessary changes, shouldering the burden of reforming this ailing civilization.
Fortunately, I haven't been bereft of genuinely advantageous abilities in this realm. Should you inquire about my specific capabilities, I'm afraid that information remains a closely guarded secret.
Some time later
In quiet solitude, I occupied my new office, meticulously tending to the maintenance of my weapon. The process of securing servants and refining the semblance of order within the building demanded a considerable amount of time and effort. Surprisingly, the comfort derived from my mask exceeded initial expectations, serving as an unexpected blessing. The notion that a metal construct could offer such ease was indeed unforeseen.
Transitioning from maintaining the kukri, I turned my attention to the upkeep of my revolver, placing the blade aside on the desk. The surprising abundance of homeless individuals traversing the streets caught my attention, an experience foreign to me given my lack of prior visits to the United States in my former life. The coexistence of superpowered individuals only intensified the disquiet, adding an alarming element to this dynamic setting.
Indeed, providing a purpose for those individuals proves advantageous. However, I must admit a yearning for the famed English weather; a dense rainfall would have provided a convenient cover for disposing of the body. Nevertheless, such considerations are moot now that the task has been successfully executed.
"Enter," I beckoned, placing my firearm on the desk as a visitor knocked. The door swung open to reveal a sizable, robust figure clad in black attire, adorned with a striking juxtaposition of a featureless white mask and a black top hat. "What brings you here, John?" I inquired with a tone of curiosity.
"The preparations for the base are complete, boss," he relayed, a hint of uncertainty in his demeanor as he absently scratched his chin. His attempt at a salute carried a touch of clumsiness. Peering from behind my mask, a smile of satisfaction graced my lips. "Marvelous work, John. I suggest you and the team take some well-deserved rest." With a nod of acknowledgment, he exited the room, taking care to close the door with a deliberate yet quiet motion, veiling his departure in a shroud of silence.
It appears that all preparations have been meticulously arranged for my debut in Brockton Bay. Now, I await an opportune moment to make my entrance. Though there exists a faint hope of encountering a certain brooding healer, I harbor reserved expectations regarding the likelihood of such serendipity. The prospect of meeting Amy would inevitably intertwine with a potential encounter with her sister, a scenario I am keen to evade to safeguard the integrity of my ribs from any potential altercation. Therefore, the current approach dictates a prudent and cautious stance to maintain my physical well-being.
Now, the consideration of a suitable villainous moniker is imperative. The cautionary tales surrounding the PRT concocted names, exemplified by instances like "Hell Hound," serve as a testament to the importance of devising one's own identity. The weight and impact of a villainous title demand thoughtful deliberation to avoid any unintentional misrepresentation or mockery within the realm of capes.
The prospect of becoming a victim to their ineptitude in selecting suitable names is a concerning notion. The impact and potential repercussions of such poorly chosen identities within this domain is a fate best avoided.
Absolutely dreadful indeed. Encountering such circumstances is undoubtedly far from an ideal scenario.
Indeed, the selection of an apt name, both for myself and my cohorts, seems to have been a prudent choice. It's rather astonishing that such straightforward titles had not been claimed previously. However, human nature's inherent pride often overlooks simplicity, rendering these names inconspicuous and beneath their consideration.
Henceforth, I shall be recognized as the Doctor, leading the faction known as the Cure.
Simplicity often holds its own power. Who better than a Doctor to endeavor to cure the ails and corruption entrenched within the hero society? The inherent symbolism of the name speaks volumes and aligns perfectly with my intent to remedy the societal maladies.