When I was a kid, I had a very memorable experience.
It's... an experience that, although never bothers me, still exists at the back of my mind and can take over my memory any time it wants till this day.
I won't go as far as to say that it changed me or anything dramatic like that, but I guess I'm a liar if I say that it didn't, at least a little bit.
What's the so called event, one might ask?
Well, believe it or not, seeing your strict and normally taciturn father bawl his eyes out when they lower the coffin containing his mother's body was quite the sight of an eight year old.
My memory about the day was minimal and hazy at best. I can barely recall which of my relatives attended the funeral, I just remember that most of them were there present.
The crying part didn't really register to my young mind at the time, I vaguely remember just standing there with my mom holding my hand and crying while dad was on his knees crying his heart out.
I think I was more confused with my father crying than the fact that they're lowring grandma's body into the dirt.
The priest who presided over the whole thing also happened to be a distant uncle of mine, one I wasn't aware I even had. I can also vaguely remember him tearing up.
I don't know if it's just kids being kids, but seeing an adult cry was just wrong to me at that age. I'm sure I'm far from the only person who felt that way.
After all those stern scolding to stiffen up that upper lip and hearing that boys don't cry over and over again, I guess I was just confused to see the adults in my life breaking the very tenets they expect their kids to follow.
Meh. I'm older now, I know more and understand things better.
Still... it gets me wondering.
Those three thugs I killed back in Lucy's apartment, I wonder if their families or friends will have a funeral done for them when they notice they're missing?
Even if they're racist assholes, they're still human. They're people. A person with a life and other people who care about them.
Sure, they're not exactly good people, but no one sees themselves as the villain in their own stories... at least that's what the counselor in high school told me.
If not a funeral, then they'll at least have people cry for them. They'll have people who will probably feel sad for their passing, people who will remember them fondly despite them being terrible human beings.
I wonder, will the people you know do the same for you?
"...please... don't... kill me..."
His name is Clyde Winchester.
A fancy name for a neo-nazi, but that's just my opinion.
Not even an hour ago he was drinking booze, smoking pot, and gallivanting stories about how he showed a 'n-word' in their place. He sounded so proud of what he did, didn't even hold back when describing the way he made the poor person cry to the point of begging for life.
A life he did not spare.
He was going on and on about how he 'shot that n-word in the head', before throwing the body in a ditch somewhere downtown. I could tell he felt pretty smart, telling about how he did it in the night where no one was going investigate.
So, after hearing all that, it's just a little bit funny to me that he's doing the exact same thing his victim did.
Here he is, in front of my feet, all beaten to the point of black and blue, with multiple broken bones and a shattered tibia, begging for his life.
I'm guessing it's occuring just how ironic it's all to him now.
Crouching, I bring myself closer to the man begging for his life. I take my time, not worrying about any further interruptions as I had dealt with all of them.
"...you know why I'm doing this, Clyde?" I ask him.
"...wha..."
"It's because I'm after money." I tell him. "The money you use to buy guns for the Empire, to be more specific."
I can tell he's been rendered silence. Even through his bruised and swollen eyes, I can catch a glimpse of sordid realization occuring within his eyes.
"F-For money...?" He wheezes out through collapsed lungs, spittle of blood launches out of his lips. "Y-You... killed... my friends... for money...?"
If he isn't in mind-shattering pain, he would've shouted. I'm sure of it.
He's confused and rightfully so. Here is a stranger who just stepped into his building, took care of his men, and put him through the worst beating he's ever been through and ever will.
This stranger didn't say anything as he dispatched his fellow racists, what's more, this stranger also happened to be a Cape seeing as he was able to do everything without even lifting a finger.
He broke down the door into the building by throwing the two guards outside through it, shattering it into wood splinters.
Then he just walked on through the hallway, as if he didn't just do what he did. This person then, even as multiple armed men rushed to confront him with weapons drawn, simply moved as if he was just entering a relative's house for a visit.
And then, when they decided to open fire at him, the strangest thing happened.
The guns he and his friends were holding were suddenly crushed as if they had been put through a hydraulic press, injuring everyone in the process. Then people start falling like anvils dropped from the second floor.
Then, they were all floating, only to be thrown against every wall, ceiling, furniture with strength so great it either broke the bones inside their bodies or the thing it's being thrown at.
And all of this without lifting a single finger.
A Cape, Clyde and his friends must've realized, they're dealing with a Cape. They should call for backup.
But at that point, it's too late.
His friends are either dead or dying, no one is in any condition to do anything other than lay hopelessly on the floor.
All of that happened so fast it might as well be a blur. And it was all done by one person.
More than confused, it'll be more accurate to say that he's afraid.
Very, very afraid.
"...y-you're insane," the man at my feet gasps out, "t-they'll catch you, t-they'll know what you did..."
"And how will they ever do that? How will they know it's me?" I ask back to the dying man before me.
"...Cape... Empire has... powerful Capes," even in this state, he manages to sound smug. Is he really that confident about them or is he just being delusional? "T-They'll find you... and they'll catch you..."
Hm...
"Well that's not good at all." I sigh. "But that's easily fixed. Here."
I reach out my hand to him, pressing my pointer at his forehead.
I steel myself for what I'm about to do, if only because it's far, far worse than the act of killing those three men.
"Yield."
My mind expands, no longer bound by natural means.
But I quickly reign it, before it can spill out completely.
Instead, I direct all of that will and power to the dying man before me. Into his mind, specifically.
...ever since I call myself an Esper, I've wondered about the more... questionable part of my potential. By that I mean my mind-altering or mind-manipulating power.
Correction, being an Esper alone is already considered as mind-manipulating. But what I've been doing with the telekinesis, psychic barrier, psychic ping... that was all me manipulating my own mind in order to make those feats possible.
Now, it's time to do it the other way.
I intrude upon Clyde's psyche, not unlike a thief in the night. The already delirious man can do nothing as I invade through his consciousness.
I am not prepared for what I'm about to see.
I see light. I see night. I see shapes. I see people.
I see joy. I see sadness. I see pleasure. I see pain.
Everything that Clyde Winchester ever felt from the moment he achieved cognitive consciousness, I am currently witnessing.
Even up until now... beaten and bruised half to the point of death.
Yet, despite seeing all of this... I feel nothing for this man. Not a single thing.
I withdraw my finger from his forehead, seeing the blank and vacant look on his face.
"Clyde, you will not remember who attacked you tonight," I continue, not expecting a reply, "you will not tell anyone anything about what happened tonight, you will..."
I pause.
"...you will turn your life around, apologize to the people who you wronged and seek forgiveness."
Clyde's unresponsiveness remains, like I intended. Standing back to full height, I turn to make my way deeper into the building.
My feet carry me as if I had been here and spent a majority of my time here, just like Clyde. I reach a door, opening it leads downstairs to a basement.
Wordlessly, I descend the dimly lit staircase into the dark basement. I don't bother turning on the lights, relying instead of my extra sensory perception. One can say I 'see' better with it.
I walk unbothered even with the all the clutter around me. I know where I'm looking, I know what I'm looking for.
I reach the corner of the basement, stopping on my tracks. In front of me is a large wooden shelf filled with random objects and appropriately sized items, dusty and aged.
Without any movement on my part, I will for the shelf to move. It levitates just high enough to avoid friction, I direct it aside to expose the wall behind it.
Said wall just so happened to have a hole in it. As far as hiding spots go, this one isn't even that bad.
I crouch down and begin reaching into the wall. It doesn't take long until I find something. That something being two duffel bags filled with exactly five hundred thousand US dollars in Empire cash.
I pull the bags out from the hall in the wall, unzipping it to see its content. Obviously, I'm not going to count them here, so I'll settle for a little peak.
Satisfied knowing that there is in fact money inside the bags, I head back upstairs.
I'll be lying if I say I'm not nervous. Although I made sure to be quick and as quiet as possible, there's really no telling if these punks have people outside who were out on a milk run set to return any time soon.
I walk through the house's narrow hallway again, stepping over every bodies I encounter along the way. Once I reach the front door, I open it and take a step outside.
The cold night air greets me and I breathe in deep before exhaling. I'm not sensing anyone out on the streets nearby, but I'm not very keen on sticking around to find out who's out for a late night walk either.
I circle the house to the backyard, vaulting over the wooden fence into another person's property. Now, here, I actually have to sneak. That means staying away from the windows and stepping carefully.
Not long after, I'm back at the street.
That doesn't mean I'm in the clear, though.
I came here dressed in a black hoodie with a surgical mask on, in other words, I had to dress up as your stereotypical first-time Cape that all the forums are fond of making fun of.
I ditch the hoodie and mask, stashing it inside the duffle bag. I am, however, wearing a baseball cap on my head because why not.
I continue walking until I reach a more crowded street, still I'm not in the clear yet.
Downtown, especially around the south-east part, can be quiet at night with minimal police presence. It's because everyone's so damned sure that they'll get mugged if they're out at night.
The police? Like they actually care...
It doesn't mean I'm not being careful. Currently, I'm actively using my psychic barrier to scan for my surroundings. As I expect, there are a lot more activity going on in every dark corners and alleyways, activities I ain't too keen on taking part in.
It's not until ten to fifteen more minutes of walking until I reach my destination.
A laundromat with a small parking space next to it.
A car is parked on said space, a grey sedan with barely legal tinted windows. Sighing, I walk up to the front passanger side of the car, not surprised to find it unlocked when I pull the handle.
"You're quick."
I blink.
"...is that a problem?" I ask the girl currently sitting in the driver's seat.
She frowns at me, confusing me even further. I see her rolling her eyes, stepping over the central console to occupy the front passanger seat I am planning to sit on.
"You drive."
"I don't have a license."
Something hit me in the chin. I catch it.
"Now you do." Lucy tells me, snapping the door shut.
I am left speechless, eyes blinking again. Looking at what's in my hand, I am greeted by the sight of a New Hampshire driver's license with my face on it.
How in the god damn...
The sound of car horn going off snap me off my thoughts.
I roll my eyes. Got it. Drive now, questions later. Sheesh.
Let's just hope it's not a manual...
"Well, it's not five mill but it's money alright."
I stop the lid of the glass just centimeters away from touching my lips, lowering the water-filled container while I cast raised eyebrow at the young girl who has her eyes glued to her computer scene with her back turned to me.
We returned just a few hours ago. We did the smart thing of driving around and not going straight back to our apartment building, just in case someone's tailing us.
After making sure we weren't being tailed, only then did we head back towards our 'headquarters'.
I proposed we both each keep one bag and catch a short nap before discussing anything further. I only suggested that for Lucy's benefit, seeing as she needed to rest while I didn't.
"Still nowhere close to how much we need..." is the barely audible comment my partner in crime lets slip out of her lips.
Yeah... about that...
"You know Lucy," I begin, drawing her attention away from her computer, "I'd be more than fine with half a million."
Maybe it's just me being me, but five hundred thousand bucks is a lot of money. It's probably not a lot of money when you're in a gang, but for someone like me? That's more than enough, I'm confident.
But... judging by the way she's looking at me, something's telling me it won't be enough for Lucy.
"You promised me you'll help," her words come out tense, like the beginning of a flight or fight response, "are you going to go back on your words?"
"Whoa, now, who's going back on whose words?" I say, raising both hands up. "Calm down, I was just saying I'd be fine with half a mill..."
Her glare lingers for a few minutes, before eventually receding. She then opts for silence, making things awkward and uncomfortable.
I relegate myself to my new favorite spot in this room. Which is in another person's apartment. And said person happens to be a girl way younger than me. Not good, I know.
But can you blame me? This bean bag chair is crazy comfortable. I should consider getting one...
"So... what's next?" I ask the girl who's busy typing away on the computer. "Where're we going to get the remaining four million?"
"I'm... getting to that..." a click resounds, audible across the room, "...there."
Wordlessly, I stand up and walk over to Lucy.
On the screen is a picture and a name, a pairing I'm slowly starting to get used to.
"This one's going to be a tough one, not gonna lie," I raise an eyebrow, detecting the genuine concern in her voice, "we're going to intercept a secret Empire transport."
"What're they transporting?"
"If we're lucky, money. If we're really lucky? Guns."
"Guns?" Lucy nods at me. "Why do we want to rob Empire guns?"
"Well, aside from the fact that they're always in high demand in Brockton and we can get people to buy them for marked up prices, it'll deprive more Empire thugs of guns at the street level."
Can't say I find the idea of that appealing... but, then again, this is Brockton Bay. People are going to find ways to carry heat.
Gun laws are much stricter now that Capes have entered the norm. The government's been making no less than great effort to crack down on firearms since even before I got here.
From what I've read, it's a losing battle for both citizens and law enforcements.
People have never needed a proper means of protection than ever before now that Capes are a thing.
There's even been shift of mindset over gun ownership as a whole. By that I mean people are starting to consider that maybe, maybe, it's a lot better to end up in a room in jail than a bodybag in a morgue.
Especially with the off-chance you're being accosted by a Cape, who'll definitely blow the proportions out of the water...
Meanwhile, on the law enforcement side of things, it's a whole different ball game.
The US government – at least when it comes to Capes – operates under the rule of de-escalation. There's a whole buzz about it online, but I can't be bothered to remember everything, so here's the gist:
Rather than letting people carry guns to protect themselves, they'd much rather people rely on law enforcements. This is all done under that de-escelation policy I mentioned.
The government believes that having a gun introduced into an already stressful situation like a, let's say, mugging will only serve to escalate the scale of conflict further, thus increasing the likelihood of harm for both parties involved.
As a result of this, it is now – sort of – illegal to carry a gun in most US states. Brockton's included in the list, but like I said, it doesn't stop people from packing heat anyway.
This is where it's a loss for law enforcement as people are just openly ignoring the rules you've been asked to enfoce. And it's not like you can do anything about it either.
What, you think people are going to hand over their gun when you ask for it just like that? Hell no. They'll either tell you to fuck off or shoot you right then and there.
What sucks even more for the police is that, in Brockton's case at least, it's going to be damn near impossible to NOT try arrest people for carrying... because people are carrying, more often than not.
"Let's say we get guns at the end of this hit," I begin, "where're we gonna store them? You know who's gonna buy those guns off us?"
"You leave that to me." Lucy immediately says, dissuading my apprehension a little bit. "I've got a place we can store them safely away from both Empire and the police. As for who's going to buy them off us... shouldn't be too hard to find a buyer in this city."
"...I know I shouldn't even have to say this, but, you do realize that it's a bad idea to sell them back to the people we stole them from, right?" I say wryly, shooting Lucy a dry look.
"Of course, who do you think I am? I'm not going to do that."
"Yeah, it's a dumb que-"
"I'm going to sell them to rival gangs."
...what?
But before I can comment on it, Lucy gives me a look that practically screams 'trust me on this, I got it'. Shrugging, I keep myself from talking, choosing instead to let the girl take the lead.
"The reason why we're doing it that way is because this job's going to double as a set up. If you take a look at the screen, you'll see the ugly mug of one Jimmy Botez."
Uwaah... she must have some real grudge against Jimmy.
"Jimmy's Clyde's friend. Where Clyde's the book-keeper, Jimmy's the gun-runner. He's responsible for coordinating and the transporting of goods to and from every small Empire stash houses."
"So why didn't I see ol' Jimmy last night?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah. I was expecting you to hit two birds with one stone with that, but I guess not everything can go smoothly." Damn, she actually sounds disappointed there. "The raid last night should already be making rounds among Empire's rank right about now, but it's fine, we can still go along with the plan if we move soon."
I nod along, not like I can offer much to the table other than my word and skill here. I trust Lucy with the planning and she trusts me to carry out those plans on the field and so far it's working well enough, so let's not change that.
Doesn't mean I can't give advice, though.
"Let's do it tomorrow, you need rest." I say, stretching my arms.
"If you need rest I understand," Lucy says, giving me a sideway glance, "I'm not the one who just raided an Empire safe house and took out a bunch of Empire thugs in less than an hour."
"No, no, you need rest." I let myself make a point by placing a hand on her shoulder, feeling her flinch the moment my hand make contact with it. "Please."
"...okay."
I let go of her shoulder, crossing my arm. Hm... I probably shouldn't have touched her so easily...
"What are you gonna do?" Just as I'm about to turn and leave, Lucy asks me a question that stops me from doing exactly that.
"I'm going to go... practice," I test the word in my mouth, "yeah, practice."
"Practice what?"
"Oh, you know," I make a gesture at myself, "stuff."
And by stuff I mean powers.
"Oh. Alright." She seems satisfied with my answer, probably isn't expecting me to explain everything to her anyway. Which is good... since I'm not too sure on what 'practice' really is either. "Take care, and try not get spotted."
"Heh. Will do."
Once I'm outside, I let myself breathe in that smoggy Brockton air. The sound of the city comes to life fully now that it's later in the morning, I get the feeling that the aftermath of my actions last night is slowly being felt by the resident of this city.
I'll check the news later, for now, let's head of to 'practice'.
Wait, before I forget...
"Oh, by the way, when the hell did you have time to make a driver's license for me?"
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