5224

by thejarl7166

4225

4. Crusader (RWBYWorm)

"Oh".

Heat blossomed in his chest, Flowing down his chest and back. An involuntary breath pushed through his mouth and nose as the unavoidable consequence of a pair of blades punching through a chest cavity.

Oh.

It was an epiphany. A final, too-late realization of the truths he'd buried since the witch came for his camp, since Blake cut the train cable, since his White Fang tried to oust him, since Hazel betrayed him, since he become a follower, not a leader.

Oh. It was all for nothing.

Oh. It was all his fault.

Oh. That he'd never cared about his people, his "Righteous Cause", or even Blake.

Oh. That He'd only cared for himself.

Oh. He'd done it all for himself.

Oh. He was NEVER a hero. Never a savior. Never a leader.

Oh. He was only a man.

And men are mortal.

There was a tug at his chest and back, another sharp sting, and then he was stumbling forward, feet tripping over each other. The heat spread across his body, down his legs, down to his toes, up through his back, and drove into his skull. He swayed, hands blindly grasping for something to steady himself, and met only air.

His legs shook.

Oh. He'd lost.

He never thought he could lose. That he could ever fail in his mission.

How could he? He was skilled, smart, fast, strong, loved and adored, respected and deferred to, young, fit, and most importantly, Right.

How could he ever lose, when it was destiny? Fate? His reason on Remnant, his reason for breathing, eating, and sleeping?

He knew he would win. He WAS winning. Atlas and the SDC feared him. His people loved him. Sienna respected him, and one day, however many years it would take, Atlas and the SDC, The Schnee's, and everyone who opposed him would burn. And then he would rule the ashes, with Blake by his side.

His vision blurred, the world shook for a moment, then swung sharply upward.

He dimly realized then that he was on his knees. A wet cough spilled out his lips.

When she left him he was plagued with doubt. His life fell into disarray. He'd known her since she was a child, had trained her, had loved her, had owned her, had made her who she was.

And then she left him. No words. no explanations, no warning,

He slaughtered the crew aboard in a mad frenzy until the screaming in his head had stopped, until he reached a semblance of calm.

He took a deep breath standing inside a now bloodstained passenger car and decided that she was nothing. Resolved to forget she ever existed, and moved on with his mission alone.

And then the red woman came back. Killed his men, shattered his pride, and made him a slave once again. After taking her "deal", he calmly informed his lieutenant to cancel all current deployments and to await further instructions, and walked deep into the forever fall to vent.

Amidst the fading trees and melting Grimm, Rose petals fresh red and charcoal black swayed around him while he fumed.

It was her fault. If she were here, he could have stopped this, with her help he could have fought back, could have killed them.

But he'd made her pay for it at Beacon. Maimed his replacement, and left her a permanent reminder of her cowardice for all to see.

Cinder had been humbled, and the CCT's outage made his operations against Atlas even smoother. Regardless of how he was roped into her operation, he had to admit the outcome had it's merits. The White Fang and Faunus were feared globally now, and recruitment had swelled to never before seen numbers.

He was a globally known figure now, and every Faunus knew his name. It was intoxicating. It was right. So when another man came, who claimed to serve Cinder's master, he gave him a chance and heard him out. Cinder's master was very pleased with him, and made another offer, this time as an equal, a partner.

How could he say no?

More prestige, more power, more men, more fear, with trusted benefactors and the Grimm on his side?

A true partnership of the like-minded. It was like a dream come true. With all they offered, Haven seemed a small price.

The White Fang were his now. He had his throne, now he just needed the world.

And then she came and destroyed it all. He lost everything. He blamed Hazel. He blamed the weakness of his men, He blamed Atlas, Ilia, Ironwood, Cinder's master, Mercury, Cinder's brat, the children, Raven, everyone he could point a finger to except himself, Because Adam Taurus could do no wrong. He was right, and they were wrong.

But it was him. It was only him. His decisions, his ego, his pride and his weakness that undid him.

Oh. He never had a chance at all.

He fell. The world spun in circles.

He heard the sound of crunching bone, numbness spread across his body, then he was under the water.

It filled his lungs, his wounds. his body, his soul.

He drifted for what seemed an eternity, swaying and flowing through a deep blue void that slowly turned red.

It was peaceful, in a way. The sun's shine through the water almost convinced him heaven was shining down on him.

But heaven was for heroes.

His eyes drifted shut, and darkness took him.

They re-opened to a night sky, a dingy alley, a duffle bag, and a full moon.

Last edited: Apr 6, 2023

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#7

Hell wasn't what he expected. Then again, he didn't expect much.

He never much expected to be there at all.

He often thought of where the people he killed went. To him, death alone wasn't enough for them. The Schnee's, The Atlesian's, the traitior's, the cowards, there had to be more.

Eternal fire and flames. A never-ending orgy of heat and suffering and pain, forever haunting and tormenting his foes. Or, it could have been then opposite, a frozen plain, a world trapped in winter, frostbite stealing fingers and toes for eternity in the perfect twist on Atlas itself.

Perhaps something karmic instead. A life as a slave for a Schnee, a life of destitution for the Atlesian, A life of fear and loathing for the average human, a parable for their lived lives, showing them what it was like on the other side.

Hell wasn't any of that.

Hell was dim street lamps highlighting poorly paved roads. It was towering skyscrapers and a calm sea. It was rows and rows of ramshackle houses, interspersed with shattered windows and gunshots in the night. It was a full moon guiding him from rooftop to rooftop to rooftop, from houses with half eroded rooftops to luxury apartments to chain restaurants.

It was men smoking outside bars, women of the night serving men in shaded alleyways, it was men with shaved heads mean-mugging shorter men with green and red bandanas.

It wasn't hell at all.

It was a city, alive.

For a brief, disoriented moment, hours ago when he first awoke, he almost thought he was back in the slums of Mantle, thirteen again, fighting for scraps with the rest of the slum-rats.

But this wasn't Mantle.

It was Brockton Bay, city of three-hundred and fifty thousand, inside the state of Massachusetts, which itself was a semi-autonomous state inside a United States of America.

He knew all this from the scroll he'd taken off a intoxicated human whom attempted to mug him.

He wouldn't mug anyone again with a snapped neck.

A naked man in an alley shouldn't have been too high a mark.

But he wasn't an ordinary man.

Plenty of people inside this city weren't either.

He finally stopped near the edges of the city, and caressed the only friend he'd ever had, strapped to his belt.

He was still reeling from the contents of the bag he woke near, but he knew what they said about horses and gifts.

He scanned the neighborhood, watching for witnesses and travelers, and saw only empty streets and unfinished houses.

A dead neighborhood, filled with only the homeless and the addicted.

It would do while he decided. He leapt down into a half completed apartment complex, the chilly air making him shudder before the red flash of his aura melted it away.

He walked down a rusted staircase to the most intact apartment, dropped his duffel, and sat.

This place wasn't hell, but it may as well have been.

His mind rebelled at everything he'd learned, screaming that it just wasn't possible.

That it was all a near death hallucination, a mirage, his dying brain expending it's last bit of energy to create a familiar, comforting fantasy to die to.

From what he'd read, he almost wished he was.

A hive of drugs, death, murder, mayhem, anarchy and slums were his new reality now.

His eyes drifted down to the pommel at his side.

It didn't have to be.

Blake and her human pet killed him once already, but it didn't stick. He could finish the job for them quite easily. It would at least give him peace. Peace was never his forte, but there was no mission here either.

He snorted to himself. His mission took him here anyway.

A soft click echoed, and he eyed his reflection in crimson steel.

No Schnee's. No Faunus. No Grimm. No Blake, no Mantle, no Atlas, NOTHING remained of home but himself.

Well, that and his clothes. It was a rather dull cliff note compared to the rest of today, but seeing his old uniform in the bag along with his gear was still something he thought was up there in terms of odd. It was a perfect fit, and he would have been lying to himself if he didn't miss the black and red.

Wilt sild free. His aura retreated beneath his skin, and he raised Wilt to his heart.

There wasn't anything for him here.

Except that isn't quite so true he heard a voice whisper to him.

The blade dipped.

To say otherwise would be a lie.

And he'd done enough lying to himself.

The city had heroes. Huntsmen and Huntresses themselves, fighting the good fight.

Another snort.

A joke. Too few to go around, too afraid to shake the status quo.

The thing it did have was villains. Monsters.

The Empire.

Wilt flared red before he corralled his temper.

He'd done his research with what little battery the phone had left. Worshippers of a dead empire tormenting their fellows for skin differences.

The pettiness astounded him. The gall, the hubris it made him sick.

It took a moment for color to bleed back into the world.

They were the symbol of every type of evil he'd ever fought against.

Another voice came, however, and reminded him that "fighting evil" was what undid him. Wilt drew back back up. The tip stretched the fabric.

It was time to make his choice. Either life was worth living, or it was not.

If it was, he would need a mission. Something to ground himself.

Eradication of crime was foolish and stupid, and outright impossible.

The PRT would see him made a slave again, a hound leashed and unleashed to keep the people in line.

The ABB would not accept him, and the connotations of Lung's takeover and philosophy were uncomfortable reminders of his own downfall.

It would be the Empire.

Every day and every breath would be in service of it's destruction, a daunting, yet not unfamiliar task.

The difference would be in execution,

He would do it right, this time.

No more bloodbaths for the sake of his pride, no more slow tortures for his satisfaction, no more innocents tossed aside.

It would be slow. It would be methodical, It would be a one-man guerilla war, planned at an operational level with all his might and experience,

He had a second chance.

This time, it wouldn't be for him.

Wilt slid home. He walked back to the duffel and reached in to grab the last remaining item.

The bone mask of a Grimm, red accents painted along the side.

It still fit perfectly, more his face than the one he saw in the mirror.

The humans of the city couldn't kill an Empire.

A Faunus would have to show them how it was done.

Last edited: May 1, 2022

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May 1, 2022

#37

If his time in the White Fang had taught him anything, it was that knowledge was power. Not intelligence, though he figured that irritating doctor would have disagreed.

He himself was proof enough. His parents were too poor and too busy to teach him to read, and by Mantle, too dead to boot.

Blake had to sit him down at seventeen and teach him. It was one of the most galling experiences of his life, and in Blake's younger days, his attempts to help with her schooling went poorly at best.

But knowledge wasn't just arithmetic.

It was knowing rules, and knowing people.

To read reactions and faces, body language, what streets to cross, what fights to pick, what man carried what weapon, knowing your own and your fellows habits.

Especially your enemies.

Their dress style, communication style, how they read and react to situations,

THIS was the knowledge that won wars.

This was what he was seeking tonight.

He'd stayed in that rundown apartment until first light, them kept at it until dusk stole the sun. Then he marched north to the Empires outskirts.

Each jump, dilapidated buildings and rubber burned roads shifted slowly to white picket houses and well trimmed sidewalks.

He'd stopped at the top of a billboard for some politician he didn't care to know, and confirmed another hypothesis.

Even here, people didn't look up.

And now his least favorite part.

The waiting.

Any stakeout could take five minutes, or ten hours, and he wasn't familiar enough with the city to find anywhere else. This location was a simple shot in the dark, simply due to the fact it was one of the few clean parts of the city. Clean houses stacked in neat rows, and the only miss-matched part was a dingy bar at the end of the street, his current target.

"I suppose intel is power fits better" he muttered.

And that's what he was here for.

He took the idea from Atlas, amusingly and aggravatingly enough.

Early into his tenure as the Mantle cells head, a Atlesian patrol stopped and searched one of his men.

Faunus were, to his dismay, not immune to sudden bouts of stupidity.

That was the only reason he could think of as to why they'd had critical intel spread through text.

Word spread, and soon dozens of phones were lined up, and since his men had no training in informational security, dozens were nabbed at a rally, stripping him of a third of his men in less than a week.

When he recounted that story to Blake, it was one of the few times he'd heard her swear.

Now, he was banking on them making his mistake.

The doors to the bar opened, and he focused his aura around his eyes, sharpening his vision. The headache wouldn't be fun later, but he struck gold.

Two men walked out, one shaven headed, the other with a stylized Eighty-Eight on his forearm.

He smiled. So kind of the empire to announce themselves for him. Atlas never had that kind of luck.

He made it across the street in two quick hops, trusting in the growing darkness to hide him.

He'd freely admit his outfit was rather "loud".

He followed them until for a while until they entered the poorer side of town. One had stopped to smoke a cigarette beneath a busted lamp post and the other stood next to him, chattering about some nonsense too quiet for his hearing, his night vison and the cigarette his only guides.

They never saw it coming. He ran forward, clearing thirty feet in a third as many steps and drove Blush directly into the smoking mans windpipe.

His head snapped back into the pole with the crunch of bone, and a single choked wheeze was all he uttered before he tumbled face-first to the ground.

His fellow hardly had time to blink before Adam's foot smashed his ribcage to powder.

He skid ten feet before stopping, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, a scream of agony silent in the night.

He strode forward and pilfered the mans pockets, stealing car keys, ID's, cash cards, phones and anything else he could use, while the gangers legs twitched and kicked and his eyes were wide and blinking rapidly, fixed on the hands tearing through his shirt and pants.

He pocketed everything he could and make to walk away, and the mans desperate wheezes reached a fever pitch.

He winced, watching the man choke and sputter as the splintered ribs started to mangle his lungs.

Two days ago, he would have watched the man bleed out smiling.

Two days ago, he was nearly starving to death and stark mad attempting to kill Blake.

Wilt speared through his brain, and he stilled.

He flicked the blood away, and strode over to the other man and repeated the cycle, this time sans mercy killing. The back of his head was bleeding, and his trachea was caved in.

He had two phones and hundreds of gang members.

He looked at the moon shining through the clouds, and figured he had the time.

Last edited: May 2, 2022

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#41

When daybreak came, he made it back to his apartment with a dozen new phones and a dozen new body's.

His grace period started now.

That many dead in such a short time would draw investigation, from Empire and the PRT, and would hasten once his operations against both surfaced.

He held no illusions that the PRT would let his plans slide. They would seek to stop him, imprison him, or at worst, if his full abilities became known, attempt to press-gang him.

He'd rather die than serve anyone again.

He'd pooled all the intel he'd collected, and his hunch was right. While the older members spoke in code, the younger ones openly discussed drug deals, dog and cage fights, warehouses filled with guns and drugs, the works.

He smiled to himself. To be a young and dumb believer again.

It was a shame they chose this as their crusade.

An impossible goal, an undead ideology almost impossible to connect to it's founders ideals except by insignia.

Once the bodies were found, and what was missing was noticed, security would step up. He would have to work with that he had, and peruse targeted sights for information.

With the help of the phones, addresses and a map of the city, he carved a rudimentary map of the Empires holdings into a wall, labeling known locations and targets of opportunity as he went.

For all intents and purposes, the Empire was an Empire.

It had a country, it had a monarch, it had trade and commerce, soldiers and borders, bannermen, a line of succession, and a clear plan for it's inhabitants.

Now how do you kill an Empire?

Most criminal organizations are organized in pillared hierarchy's, and the Empire was no different,

Kaiser himself was at the top, with everyone else lower and lower down depending on cape status.

He hummed in amusement. "Capes".

It was asinine, but it was his world now, for however long he would live here.

And thanks to PHO, their egos would be their undoing.

Obviously, people like Hookwolf and Oni Lee could have cared less about it, and most Empire members didn't post for ass-pats like most heroes and villains, and most capes in the city were smart enough to not form their own accounts, or avoid power details.

However, PRT generated accounts for the especially dangerous capes in town were useful. He highly doubted a man like Lung would use PHO, but he had a page, and you could tell it was a harried intern giving vague power details and a general warning to stay away.

Most Empire capes had these autogenerated accounts with warnings and details.

While using the internet for actionable intel was a suicidally bad idea, confirmed footage was useful for threat assessment.

The heroes of the city could all almost universally be handled, but the challenge would be fighting them to maim, not kill.

Armsmaster was his contender for most worrisome hero. He had no doubt about winning their first bout, but the mans nature of learning and devising countermeasures for each encounter raised his brow.

The first, fine. The second? third? fourth?

All left his inherently unpredictable nature as a tinker ways to find a way defeat him. He might have to maim him to prevent use of his tinkering, but with panacea, it likely wouldn't stick.

People like Glory Girl, Assault, Battery, Miss Militia and the like would be minor annoyances and distractions.

For the Empire, Night, Fog and Hookwolf. Everyone else would die easily enough.

Night's power was the subject of much debate, and footage was impossible to locate. Unknowns were the most dangerous.

He wasn't sure his Aura would save him from Fogs, well, Fog, and he couldn't well sweep it away.

Hookwolf was killable, but maneuverability and open space were a must.

Otherwise he'd be dead like that inside a killbox. Aura could only take so much at one time, and the man was a living, breathing chainsaw. His lieutenant would have been envious.

His fondness for the wolf motif was a weakness, but in a life or death struggle, he held no illusions that it wouldn't be tossed away.

Purity was the wildcard. With Prep, it wouldn't even be a fight, but if she came to him, he could have trouble. Absorbing her light would be easy enough, but its sheer destructive capability for the arena was not to be taken lightly.

In theory, she had left the Empire and was attempting to be a solo hero.

In practice?

She was Empire in all but name. Not a single member of the Empire had been harmed by her, but plenty of merchants and ABB.

How do you kill an Empire?

In a traditional land campaign, you starve them, blockade them, and raid them to destroy morale and combat effectiveness.

You killed it's lords and bannermen, the people capable of inspiring loyalty and raising arms.

Then you end the dynasty.

Killing Kaiser wouldn't be enough. Cut the head off the snake, and the body grows a new one.

But separate the body from the head?

That was how you kill an empire.

He would need supplies. Ammo, fabric and sewing materials, kits for maintaining Wilt and Blush.

He'd spent his youth perfecting the art of breaking and entering, and what he couldn't steal from stores, he could from the Empire.

Material for repairing his clothes and making new clothes would be more tricky, but there was a local independent he could possibly strike a deal with.

He divided this plan into three operational phases.

OPERATION: UPPERCUT would be the raiding and pillaging of empire-owned warehouses, supply hubs, manufacturing plants, bunkhouses and rallies.

OPERATION: STRIKING STAR would be the targeted assassinations of public Empire figures, capes and prominent lieutenants.

OPERATION: DAYBREAK would sweep clean the last embers of resistance and target Kaiser himself.

He took a deep breath, and ran his fingers across Wilt's pommel to ground himself.

It began tonight.

Last edited: Jul 29, 2022

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#49

Sabah felt watched.

She'd checked her back every few moments, waiting for someone to pop out.

But no one did.

She'd just finished animating a stuffed T-Rex for a short ad at a local toy store. The money was something, but she never seemed to make enough.

One-hundred dollars for a custom knit costume here, a local ad spot for five hundred there, it was good money to most people.

But she had classes to pay for, family to take care of, food to eat, and it all burned away so fast.

She made her way down the street, cutting through an alley to an old warehouse she'd co-opted.

Nobody else was using it, and it gave her a quiet, peaceful place away from everything.

She struggled with the knob for a moment, then spun her head back so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

Nothing.

Just paranoid.

She made her way inside, admiring the stuffed animal collection she'd amassed, bears with bead eyes and great giant lizards surrounding her.

She made her way to a stool she'd propped against an old table, and reached for her needle and thread.

"I'd like to propose a deal" A voice sounded off behind her, and her heart leapt through her throat.

She let out very unflattering squeal and whirled around to face the intruder, a dozen animals subtly twitching to life.

Her first thought was that the Empire had come for her.

A man stood before her, clad in red and black, scowl adoring his face. He was standing rigid, like he was uncomfortable, wound up tight like a spring.

He was tall as well, her head was hardly even near his collarbone.

He wore black dress shoes and matching pants, and had a belt with a sword of all things strapped to it. He had a cloth draped over the other side like a banner, depicting the stalks of roses adorned with thorns. He was wearing a black jacket with similar accents across his shoulder, ending in what almost looked like the white face of a tulip.

It was only half buttoned, and a blood red shirt covered his chest.

A deal with the Empire, when she'd already told them no?

Her face hardened, and she swallowed, trying to summon her nerve. Be firm, but be polite. She didn't want to make them an enemy. They thought she was one of them, but if they realized...

She coughed, and before he could open his mouth again she replied. "I'm sorry, but I'm not willing to work with the Empire A-"

It was the wrong thing to say,

The man's lips peeled back into a sneer, and she swore the red on his jacket flashed. He took a furious step forward, growling.

"I am not Empire" The words were practically snarled, and his hand reached for his blade.

She froze, unwilling to move, and a bear slowly crept up behind him.

His hand froze halfway, and while she couldn't see his eyes behind his mask, he seemed to actually look at her for the first time.

A deep, huffing breath escaped him. and his hand went back to his side, curled into a fist. His sneer shifted to a scowl, but fortunately it didn't seem to be directed towards her.

His mouth opened and closed for a second, and she could see his tongue poking his cheek, like he wasn't sure what to say, unused to talking to someone without authority.

He hand drifted to his sword, caressing it, but it seemed to be something he did to calm himself. His mouth opened again, and he spoke somewhat stilted, voice rough like gravel.

"I'm not with the Eighty-Eight, I'm an independent. I'm here to make a deal for myself, no-one else." He sounded like he was trying, and failing, to speak softly.

Her eyes scanned him again. If he wasn't Empire, he must have been a rogue like herself. A solo villain wouldn't need her, and there was zero way he was in the PRT.

The bear behind him stilled, and she allowed herself ever-so slightly relax.

"What kind of deal?" Calmness and confidence were what she was trying to project, but her accent was heightened from her frayed nerves.

The man seemed to almost deflate. He looked almost as uncomfortable as herself, but had more control.

"I need you to shop for me. Cloth, fabrics, clothes, food, sewing kits, and deliver those items to a precise location of my choosing. In exchange, I'll pay you two grand a week."

Two-thousand a week to shop?

"Why can't you do it yourself?" There was no way there wasn't a caveat. Was he a known criminal or murderer?

He smiled, and it was so sickly sweet and bitter she almost choked on it from where she was standing. He lifted a hand to brush through his auburn hair, and it was then she noticed the symbol on his gloves, and the Black and brown high-

Those weren't highlights. Those were horns.

Her doubts bled away instantly, replaced by a sympathy and a pang of remorse. He was a monster cape, and couldn't do it on his own.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just haven't see a monster cape before and oh you probably don't want to be called that I'm so-"

"Stop."

She stopped.

"Relax. I get it. Now you see why I can't do it on my own, yeah?"

She swallowed, nodded, "Yeah."

Her eyes drifted to his mask.

"Maybe I could make you a hat? from a distance you look normal, and I could get some m-"

He interrupted her with a deep chuckle, face drawn hard.

"As much as I appreciate the offer, I have a fairly..." He trailed off for a moment, then his hand tapped his horns again. "Recognizable face."

She winced again. She felt rather bad for him, and if he had that money...

"Forgive me for asking, but you do have that money, right?"

She had to be sure.

He simply reached into his pocket tossed two rolls of cash her way.

She caught them and pocketed them.

His stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Do we have a deal?"

Her eyes drifted back and forth between his hair, her pockets, and his hand.

She closed the distance and shook his hand.

"When would we start?"

"Now, if that works with you?"

She had the time. She nodded again, and he smiled at her.

It seemed more genuine, but there was something about it that made her shiver.

"Good. Here's what I'll need..."

Last edited: May 31, 2022

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May 1, 2022

#63

He vividly remembered the first time he broken into a building.

After he first escaped from Lagertod, he'd wandered the frozen tundra for what felt like years, though in hindsight it must have only been a few days.

Hiding from Grimm, freezing in caves, surviving off the frozen corpses of animals and what little plant life existed that far north.

By the time he'd wandered to Mantle, his skin was so thin you could nearly see his heart beat right through it, and the jumpsuit the foreman assigned him was little more than scraps of rag around his chest and thighs.

He'd never seen the big city before, and was terrified of everything. So many people, so much sound, so much violence.

The cataracts in his bad eye hadn't been removed yet, and parts of the brand still weeped blood if touched.

A half blind thirteen year old boy was easy pickings for the more experienced scavengers.

He learned to hide, picking off rats and begging in the street, but one day the hunger got so bad he made a plan to rob a local deli.

Said "Plan" to a thirteen year old was as simple as smashing a rock through the window and crawling through the shattered glass to reach the freezer.

He ate like a king that night.

As he eyed one of the Empires largest drug labs in the city, he figured he'd rely on more nuanced methods this time around.

It was an old property, a relic of the once famous Brockton Bay shipping industry.

Now it was a rotted wharf and sealed up warehouse. Boards had been haphazardly placed over the windows, and several sentry's smothered the only doors in and out of the building.

Fortunately, he didn't need them.

He snuck up behind of the more distracted grunts and lunged, wrapping his arms around his neck and twisting it ninety degrees. His fellow turned around at the snap, but before his brain could comprehend the noise, his head was rolling across the floor.

West entrance clear.

He had to make sure nobody called for help.

He leapt to the roof with an aura enhanced jump, and peered through the skylight.

The main area had been turned into a lounge of sorts. He saw bottles of booze scattered across the floor, and guns every at corner they could be laid against. They had a boombox going, but he couldn't make out the song. He counted maybe two dozen men.

They were in high spirits, and by the dazed look of some of them, that statement was more literal than metaphorical.

"Better than the Merchants" his ass.

He kept walking till he reached the other end of the building, and saw what they were all guarding.

Drugs weren't a big thing in Remnant, and organized crime there mostly focused on pleasures of the flesh.

Even he could tell this was a big find though. Mountains of white powder and bags full of what almost looked like glass shards filled the room, and there was only one man inside, asleep at a chair.

Jackpot.

A fun phrase this world taught him.

He kept walking, careful to avoid the glass towards the east entrance.

Only one man stood, and he didn't stay standing for very much longer once Wilt punched into the top of his skull.

He walked back to the prep room, stood on top of the skylight, and concentrated.

His Semblance forced itself to life, draining his aura, but lighting his boots and hair like a neon sign.

The glass under him silently wilted away until he landed on a table.

It crunched for a single second, before rose petals filled the room.

The man in the chair didn't stir, even as Adam opened his throat with a quick swipe.

He strode forward and kicked in the door.

Everything stopped.

Almost thirty heads turned in unison to the smiling man at the door, the sound of blood dripping to the floor and a TV playing an advertisement for Dino's Toy Shop, narrated by a suspiciously familiar accented voice the only sounds to break the haze.

One man reached for a gun, and it broke the spell.

But Adam was already in their midst, two wet splats signaling two men in two different pieces hitting the floor.

And by then it was already over.

Gunshots echoed, screams were cut short, swears were uttered, and blood and limbs were flying everywhere.

And at the center of it all was Adam Taurus, in his element.

But he was trying. He focused on the head and throat, arteries and organs. As lethal as he could, as fast as he could, as humane as he could.

Though He mused, watching as a phantom in his image slit a mans throat, there wasn't much humanity in slaughter.

Then again, calling these men human was an insult to humans. And he hated them enough already.

He swung and slashed and carved, bullets smashing flat against his aura, or being swatted aside with the edge of his sword.

Every swing, a shadow repeated the motion in a separate direction.

Eventually, there was only one. A single man left desperately tripping over the bodies to try and escape.

He hummed and resheathed Wilt, then took aim.

The mans ankle broke with a rather nice sounding crunch.

Well, man was stretching it.

The boy couldn't have been over sixteen.

He screamed and hit the floor, yowling in pain. The cries of pain turned to cries of tears as he watched Adam approach.

He was begging. Pleading. He could smell the urine in the air, see the boys eyes turn to waterfalls.

He shoved his boot into his throat to shut him up. He picked Wilt back up, and pressed the tip into the child's forehead.

He should just kill him.

The gunshots would bring the PRT soon, and he wasn't keen on tipping his hand yet. It would be easy and quick and downright merciful by his standards.

The thought that his so called standards were so loose that killing a child quickly was merciful was quite chilling.

And he was like this for years.

"If I let you go, will I see you again?"

A shake of the head.

He leaned back and lifted his leg, flourished Wilt, and watched the kids face as it slid home with a soft click.

"Well?"

He needed no further prompting, and took off in a hobbled run.

He sighed.

Well.

It was time.

He walked back in, and checked the place for any unused guns, and emptied them against Wilt's blade, feeling that familiar high seize him with each jolt of energy.

He stepped back out, and thumbed Wilt free half an inch.

He'd pour half his aura in as well, just to be sure.

The blood inside the warehouse seemed to flicker in the dim light, as if somebody was switching a light on and off.

His hair and clothes started to shimmer red.

The world seemingly started to desaturate, color dimming and dimming until dusk turned to darkest night.

A black hole devoured the world, and the red flared so bright it almost faded to white.

And then the color came rushing back as a crimson tidal wave smashed into the warehouse.

Last edited: May 1, 2022

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May 1, 2022

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Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 2, 2022

#66

A week had come and gone since he first arrived.

He'd smashed a few small Empire fronts, a few small drug dens, but nothing on the scale of his takedown at the warehouse.

The PRT, Empire and PHO were collectively losing their minds over it and the recent string of Empire killings.

Almost fifty dead bodies in a week. A dozen critically injured, thousands in drug money lost, hundreds of thousands in property damage, and severe manpower issues were afflicting the Empire, and he'd just gotten started.

No-one had any clue who was responsible. People blamed the ABB, a new villain team that had started operating outside ABB territory, A new mysterious vigilante sighted down in Boston, and some exceptionally paranoid started claiming the Slaughterhouse were in town.

The PRT had released a statement, stating that they were investigating the matter and were not going to release any information at this time.

Everyone knew that was code for "We don't know either."

The Empire was out for blood, mobilizing every cape they could to secure their territory, but it was confused and thinly spread, as they had no idea where the next attack would be, and the unpowered members were less than enthusiastic to help when they got word of their fellows attempts to take him down.

A knock at the doorway interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see the doll girl standing there, one hand on her hips, the other holding a bag of groceries.

He mentally berated himself. Not the doll girl, Parian. She was helping him on her own time, even if he was paying her. He ought to be thankful.

But it wasn't easy. He'd been used to ordering men and women around for years, used to unquestioning obedience and respect.

At the start of his career, he'd made sure to get to know every person under his command, one-on-one training, battle plan discussion, everything personalized. It made him a beloved commander, but not a good one. Every man lost felt like a personal blow, and his heart grew harder and harder over the years for each death.

By Beacon, he'd limited himself to ranks and initials, cold and impersonalized.

By Haven it was simple barked shouts of "You!"

He inclined his head, and she walked in, and froze halfway once she had a look at his "Bedroom."

It was a one room apartment, solidly built, but unpainted. The floor was only half covered in ceramic tiling, the rest bare and loosely filled with bricks by a previous occupant.

There was no furniture or decor, a kitchenette with no appliances the only thing one could say was complete about the room.

That probably wasn't what gathered her attention the most though.

He lazily turned his head, tracking her gaze towards the wonderful view of Brockton Bay through his balcony.

Well, it was supposed to be a balcony. One needed a sliding glass door, and railing to rest your feet on for it to be properly made.

He simply had a missing wall, a fantastic view, and a forty foot drop.

She turned to look at him, and her shoulders slumped, bag nearly slipping out of her hand before her fingers tightened on reflex.

He didn't look much better than the apartment. His hair was filled with sweat and grease, and was tangled and curled around his horns.

His jacket and shoes were covered with blood, tucked away in a corner, and everything else was stained in sweat.

He was pale as a sheet, and he couldn't hide the slight tremble in his right hand. The lack of sleep was getting to him.

He'd slept in worse, but the conditions weren't what ruined his sleep.

The nightmares did that for him.

The memories of the things he'd done, twisted and gnarled voices condemning him, Beacon burning, the bodies at Haven, that damn waterfall.

Out of seven days he'd been here, He'd slept maybe five hours.

His mask was on, but his shirt was what he was using as a blanket, exposing his chest and the myriad of scars that peppered his chest and arms.

Including a still whitening pair, one at his heart, the other just below it.

He had to bite down the reflexive rage that bubbled up when he saw the pity in her eyes.

"You live here?"

Her voice was high, laden with disbelief and sympathy.

He shrugged. "Lived in worse."

It might as well have been a palace compared to Lagertod's "Free Housing."

Oddly enough, that didn't seem to mollify her.

She took a step towards him, hand moving towards him before it stopped and limply fell down. She looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn't bring herself too.

"Why don't you go to the PRT? They could give you a place to stay, a job maybe, something better than this!"

He looked her over. "Same reason you don't I suppose."

She stilled, and he could hear the frown in her voice.

"Yeah. Fair enough."

She shook her head, as if waking herself up, then dropped the bags in a corner.

"I brought some food, I don't know wh-what you like, so I got a little bit of everything. I got some basic sewing supplies, some cloth, in red and black like you asked, and a rag and alcohol for your..sword."

He eyed the bags, and confirmed everything was there.

He stood and walked to his duffel, withdrawing her payment from his ill-gotten gains stolen from the Empire.

She stared at the money, then his "Window", and her head shook.

"I d-don't feel comfortable taking that much money for this."

He walked over to her, watching her shy away from him slightly. He pressed the money into her open palm.

When she made to refuse again, he interrupted her with a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, eyes darting from his hand to the exit behind her as he loomed over her.

"Take it."

She seemed to deliberate for a moment before nodding, and stepped back, turning to walk out. She stopped at the doorway, turning her head to look at the blood covering his jacket, eyes darting towards Wilt at his waist before she turned around again and kept walking.

He counted her steps until silence reigned.

The next day, she dropped off a bucket filled with water and some soaps while he slept.

Last edited: May 31, 2022

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May 2, 2022

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May 2, 2022

#69

Hookwolf's territory was different from the rest. While in the rest of the Empires territory the members attempted to hide their allegiance, at least when not among friendly company, Hookwolf's men wore their tattoos and scars with pride. Unlike most Empire members, all of Hookwolf's men had full heads of hair, and wolfs head tattoos in place of the swastika.

From what he'd read and heard, Hookwolf's contingent were the Empires main street fighters. The scrappers and muscle, saved and trained for the many back-and-forth gang wars between the Empire and ABB. It wasn't crewed by the racists, but the violent. The psychos, the murderers, the pit fighters, former army and navy members, and escaped convicts.

But he wasn't there for them tonight. He was here for Hookwolf's main source of cash.

The dog fights.

Hookwolf's main animal supplier were the local kill shelters. Instead of dogs being put down, Hookwolf bought them from the shelters and sent them to his pits, where he made his money back and then some, taking a large percent of every bet.

He had reconned the three largest suppliers, and noted that he'd face zero opposition from any sort of security.

He'd break into each, free the dogs, and tear the place down. Where the dogs ended up wasn't his problem, but he figured Hellhound would take them in if and when she found them.

He pat down his pockets, double checking the contents.

Where the Empire had gotten plastic explosives was a mystery to him, but he wouldn't mind putting them to good use.

He made his way towards the first shelter and tried the front door. The knob was locked, but he crushed it in his fist and simply kicked the door down.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark, and he could hear several dogs perk to life, claws scraping inside their kennels.

He stepped further inside, past the lobby and into the staff area.

It erupted with the excited and panicked shouts of what must have been over twenty dogs all lined up in crates, cages and kennels stacked atop each-other.

Time to get to work.

He started at bottom level, simply latching and unlatching cages, happy yips and terrified whines echoing around him.

The newly freed dogs attempted to jump him and lick him, but he gently pushed them aside until they got bored and wandered outside.

The higher levels were trickier, and the amount of time spent moving them to ground level along with all the noise was concerning.

For a brief moment, he was tempted to stop, plant the explosives and move on.

But when he looked at the animals latched in cages, he imagined a Faunus in each one, and he knew he couldn't leave them there.

By the time he was done, an hour had gone by.

Daylight would soon be coming. He hurriedly planted the explosives and ran outside, running for the next location as fast as he could. That many dogs roaming free in the street would draw attention.

The second shelter was much more organized, with all cages neatly rowed, but there were more dogs. A few tried to attack him, but his aura and hushed placations eventually calmed them.

By the time he was finished and stepped outside, first light had come, but it was still dark enough to hide him.

He considered running again, but as his eyes washed over the limping animals around him, his fists clenched,

He'd simply have to make the time.

He booked it four blocks as fast as he could, leaving a blurry afterimage in his wake. No time wasted, nothing held back.

He didn't bother opening the door, he simply ran through it, letting his momentum smash it to splinters, wood chips sliding off his body like rain.

He dug his heels in and slid eight feet before stopping, tearing a groove into the floor beneath him.

The dogs here were much more hurt, and every second he spent coaxing them free of their cages was another second the cops or the Empire showed up.

But he did it anyway.

When the last dog was clear, the sun was starting to freely shine. He had maybe ten minutes tops.

As he laid the last few bombs he had, he heard it.

It sounded like an active garbage disposal, metal shearing and whirring and clashing against itself.

He turned towards Hookwolf, who was reforming himself into a shape that at least somewhat resembled a person.

Fuck.

He hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until Hookwolf laughed.

It was almost good natured.

He let out one final chuckle and crossed his arms. "Alright, who the fuck are you?"

Adam's reply was a shrug and a bullet.

Last edited: May 21, 2022

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May 2, 2022

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Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 3, 2022

#93

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a real fight.

When the Empire came for him, it promised him three things.

Fighting, fucking, and fame.

To be fair to Max, he'd gotten two outta three.

But he was going mad without the action.

Fighting the Protectorate didn't count, they always held back, afraid to fight real, to fight dirty, to fight for blood.

He was a dog on a leash. The first time he met the protectorate, Assault and Battery would have been crippled for life if not for Panacea.

And that son of a bitch had the audacity to chew him out for doing the thing he was brought here to do, fight and kill. The other members of the Empire refused to spar with him, and he'd fought Mel and Lars so many times they knew all each-others tricks.

Lung had been his dream. Nigh unkillable, unbeatable, growing stronger and stronger every second he fought. It was the most fun he'd had in years, but the lazy bastard hardly ever left his hidey-hole nowadays, and every suggestion or plan he made lure him out was rebuffed.

Just about every suggestion of his was, now that he thought about it.

He'd begged Kaiser for something, anything other than scaring off a few chinks or merchants trying to sneak by his territory every once in a while.

He almost gotten on his hands and knees when he asked to destroy the merchants two weeks back, or if not the gang, at least that cockroach Skidmark.

But no, "We can't provoke the PRT right now Brad", or "The Merchants will self destruct any day now Brad", or "Once we consolidate our position we can hit the ABB" or a hand on his shoulder and soon Brad, soon but soon never came.

And then that new cape hit the warehouse.

A dozen bodies here and there could be excused, but near on thirty dead and dismembered and a whole fuckin dock turned to rubble?

That drew attention. Since then they'd been hit over and over, nothing as big and bold, but no less damaging.

Not quite in men or material, but rep.

And that was more valuable than any stack of cash. There was blood in the water, and everyone could smell it.

That new fuckin gang, the Undersiders had started smashing shit up, and the Merchants were openly provoking them in some districts.

More worrying was Lung. He'd gone quiet. Normally that was a good thing, but you'd hear him pop out here and there, rebuffing some PRT goons or burning down a few houses, but since the warehouse attack, the ABB had completely pulled back.

The Empire, and by extension, him, looked weak.

He asked Kaiser if he could look into it, but again, he was told no.

Kaiser was worried about him. They didn't know the new capes power yet, and he wanted to make sure that nobody would be lost.

As if they'd find out just sitting on their asses, waiting for him to come to them.

When he got the call about the dogs loose in the street, he knew had had to meet them.

They were a killer just like him, and he was hoping for a challenge.

At first he was disappointed. He was dressed like he was going clubbing, not out on a trip to lay fuckin C4 at a vet's office.

Then he shot him in the face.

Okay.

Guy had balls, he'd give them that.

He'd spat the bullet out, regrown his mangled jaw, and shoulder checked the fucker through the wall.

He thought that woulda been the end of it.

But when the Primadonna motherfucker righted himself midair, backflipped off a fucking handstand and threw some sort of shockwave at him that disintegrated half the street into flowers, he knew he had a fight on his hands.

He rolled past the wave, and the redhead glanced up at the sun like it had spat in his face before charging him.

Charging him

He couldn't smother the bark of laughter that spilled free.

He leapt to meet him halfway, jaw extended to rip and tear, and the new guy half unsheathed his sword and stopped him dead. His teeth crunched down atop the blade, trying to simply bite through it, but it glowed red, and then it was like trying to chew through a brick.

He slid the blade to the side, and his jaw felt funny, like it was going numb, then the cape ducked down and pressed his legs underneath his pointed ribs and kicked them back, sending him and all of his momentum down the street.

He crashed into a parked car, warping the frame into something almost unrecognizable.

He watched as half his face drifted away in the breeze.

A flash out the corner of his eye, and his body was moving on autopilot as a thin red line sheared the car and his hind legs in half.

He felt the metal start shuck out of his core, replacing what was lost, but he didn't wanna take anymore hits like that in the future.

He stood on his regrowing stumps, body bulking with layers of knives and saws settling on top of each-other like armor, and thrust his arms forward, lengthening fifteen feet and counting, a whirling blade at each end.

The horned man simply dodged left and swung his sword to the side, carving through the steel like butter.

Another pair lashed out as his face reformed itself, and yet more metal hit the ground.

As his face came back into shape, he chanced a glance to his left, and he noticed several faces peeking through windows, and a few people at the end of the street filming.

He'd always enjoyed a rapt audience.

His looked back towards the cape, and he was sheathing his sword deliberately slow, making eye contact through his mask with a smirk.

Fuckin primadonna.

He ran up towards a house and jumped towards the top, landing on the roof. Jagged spikes and spears grew out his back as he tore them free and tossed them like javelins. The first three were dodged by him pirouetting like a goddamn ballerina, and the fourth was caught and blocked with another red glow, this time spread past the blade and throughout his body.

Distance wouldn't work.

He'd have to get creative.

He tossed another spear to buy time and threw himself to the ground, but when his feet touched it, he melted.

At least it looked like he had. His body lost cohesion, all shape and form lost.

He practically swam across the ground, flowing like water, metal extending and retracting, stabbing into the ground and pulling himself forward.

He flooded the bastard.

As much metal as he could make, as fast as he could make it.

A pool of jagged steel snaked across the capes body, stabbing and spinning and crushing.

The cape was grunting in pain, but there was a resistance.

He could feel the skin and leather pressing down, but it was like there was a shield covering him.

He pressed tighter and tighter, and could feel the resistance slipping.

The cape yelled with exertion, and shadow stole the world.

The sun's shine was invisible as a glowing red blade split him in twain.

He collapsed and pulled himself away, feeling the numbness spreading across his body, and ejected all the effected parts of himself, and it hurt so good.

He formed a new body as the cape snarled and flared red like a stoplight.

This was what he lived for.

A real bout, no pansy ass containment foam and cuffs to be found.

Just two men trying to kill each-other.

And this new guy wanted to kill him, he could tell.

He hadn't been so happy since his time in New York.

The cape froze and swung his head left, teeth bared.

He copied the motion on reflex and didn't see anything.

He was about to lunge again when he heard it.

Sirens, and the rumble of a motorcycle.

He turned back to the cape, and he was holding a detonator.

"I'll kill you later."

And a flash blinded him.

When his vision came back, he was gone, and the shelter was a smoking ruin.

I'll kill you later

A smile.

"Looking forward to it."

Last edited: May 3, 2022

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May 7, 2022

#104

Detective Cole Perry stepped through the hazard tape into the scene. Several patrol cars were streaming in, and he counted four already parked and emptied.

A frown stretched across his face. The rain would keep most of the media vultures out, but this much police presence would probably draw some of the looser-brained PHO addicts about as compensation.

He fumbled through his pocket for a cigarette on instinct, then remembered his wife confiscated them all last weekend, telling him they were giving him wrinkles.

The frown stretched further. As if his job didn't do that enough. He was gonna need them if he had to talk to the media, or god forbid the PRT.

He looked around, watching the unfortunate beat cops hurriedly set up a cordon and finish the taping, the rain making more than a few stumble or slip.

They didn't have the budget for enough rain ponchos. It was absurd, but it was the life he lived now. Forty years on the force. Retirement was going to be a mandate soon.

He eyed the murder house. It was fairly nondescript, two stories, garage, basketball hoop out the front. The only thing that stuck out was the peeling and fading paint, along with the gang tags scattered across the front door, defaced with two long tears through the wood.

He saw Mike walk towards him, a smile on hand.

Important questions first.

"Hey Mike, you got any cigarettes?"

Mike cackled like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard and sped up. "No Cole, your wife told me about you quittin. I ain't feeding you."

He narrowed his eyes and made to respond when another of Mike's Hyena laughs sounded off louder than the rolling thunder.

"I'm just fuckin with you dude, here ya go." He handed one over and lit it for him, and Cole let the bitter nicotine sooth him.

Kids these days.

He centered his mind, and snuffed the cigarette out against his palm.

"What do we got?" He blew out one last ring of smoke and turned to Mike, and saw that all the merriment in his eyes had turned colder than ice.

"Neighbors heard a scream in the night. Didn't think much of it, it's BB, but when they got back from work the next evening, they noticed that nobody had left the building. They called us, and here we are."

"Hmm. B&E?"

"Yeah. Four bodies, one alive." Mike's face twisted up, then seemed to gather the courage and look him in the eye. "It's the ripper again, sir."

He wordlessly opened his palm, and ever obedient Mike passed him another cigarette.

"God damn it."

The Brockton Bay Ripper. At first, he was another rumor amidst the mill, another random psycho piling bodies in his city. Then the killings got wilder, and people figured out it was a cape after the warehouse incident. Then he was promoted from psycho killer to domestic terrorist when the footage finally surfaced of him duking it out with Hookwolf.

People were panicking, wondering where he would strike next, whether their kids and wives were safe.

Things started to relatively calm down once people realized the Empire were his sole targets, but that raised a number of questions as well.

What did he want? Why the Empire? What would he do after the Empire was gone? Why would a monster cape have such a hate-on for the Empire in particular?

People didn't know, and it scared them.

"Another group of dead gangbangers?"

Mike laughed again, but it was more hollow. "Not all of them were. I'll give you the grand tour."

They both stepped inside and Mike walked him across the living room and up the stairs, passing the lab techs poking around for fingerprints.

"Here's the first guy. He uh.. well you'll see." Mike opened the door just as the thunder flashed outside, illuminating the room a pale blue.

He got a good look and wished he hadn't.

There wasn't a person there.

Blood completely soaked the bed, fresh dried and cherry red.

That wasn't what grabbed his attention though.

The petals did.

He saw what happened to Hookwolf in the video. He couldn't imagine what that crazy sword would have done to a regular person.

Now he knew.

Hundreds of Black and Red petals layered on top of each-other and grouped together in the rough outline of a human being, like some fancy schmancy modern art piece.

They were covered in blood, and what he almost thought were leftover bits of skin and bone.

A single empty space in the middle with a bloodstained puncture in the bed told him the story.

"Poor bastard never even woke up."

Mike sighed, but it was a little shaky. "Won't catch me feeling too broken up about it. Woulda spat in my face on the street."

"You guys call the PRT yet?"

"PRT?"

"Yeah. It's a cape killing. Outta our purview now."

"Man that's such bullshit. I'll make the call."

Cole didn't disagree, but kept his mouth shut.

He remembered when the people had the power, instead of the capes. When cops could do their jobs in relative peace, when they didn't have to worry about their perps shooting laser out their hands, or government sponsored capes strongarming their investigations and burning through their budgets.

Now his beloved department was toothless, and the PRT was the main regulating force in the city.

And what a wonderful fuckin job they'd done of it.

His pa fought in World War Two. Thought the nazi's dead and gone when he'd gotten home from europe.

If he could see the world now.

He didn't entirely blame the PRT. Didn't hate them either.

But he sure as shit didn't like them. Just like him, they were toothless. But it wasn't because of funding.

They were simply outnumbered and outgunned.

The whole of the Empire outnumbered every hero in the city, and that wasn't even talking about Lung, who could pick any day of the week and burn down the entire city with nobody able to stop him. He'd taken on the entire PRT and Empire together in a crossfire several times and always came out scot-free.

They simply couldn't keep up.

In a roundabout way, he supposed the Ripper was what the city needed.

The killings were abhorrent, and he still wasn't sure what the man was getting out of it.

But every day he killed and maimed was egg on the Protectorates face, and the yolk grew bigger all the time.

It would galvanize them. Force them to action, to take responsibility. Maybe they'd bring in reinforcements, maybe it would force them to be more proactive in the future, but he didn't know what. All he did know was that in his heart of hearts, he knew that the PRT would be forced to change.

He flinched at the sound of footsteps behind him, and turned to see Mike walking forward, phone in hand.

"Who do we got?" Miss Militia or Velocity woulda been his picks. They normally left well enough alone.

"Armsmaster sir."

Cole suddenly was in dire need of another cigarette.

"Alright, fuck it. Skip the other bodies, I want to talk to the alive one before my crime scene gets pulled from my feet."

Mike lead him back down the stairs, and into a small bedroom.

He winced. A paramedic was checking over a kid who couldn't have been over twelve, who was morosely nodding and shaking his head at the medics questions.

The Paramedic then stood up and walked out.

"He's all yours. He's not hurt, but be careful, he's really shaken up."

Cole stepped forward and kneeled down to be eye level with the kid. He was shaking slightly, and wouldn't look him in the eye.

He gave him his best smile, and got to work.

"Heya kiddo. I'm Cole, Cole Perry. I'm a detective, just like the movies."

Silence.

"I know this must be really scary, but I need ask you about what you saw. It'll really help me out."

Silence.

He was never good with kids.

He opened his mouth again, but the kid cut him off.

"I was visiting my uncle. He just got out of jail. I asked my mom if I could go see him, but she said he was in the Empire and broke out and wouldn't let me. I called her a liar and we fought."

The kid shook a moment, and Cole rested his hand on his shoulder, which mollified him a little.

Armsmaster would eat this kid alive.

The kid calmed down and started talking again.

"After, I called him and asked him where he was and if I could go see him. He said yes, and told me to come here. I snuck out with a bag and came. He wasn't happy when he realized I had snuck out, but he calmed down and let me stay, but told me to not talk to his friends."

A sniffle.

"His friends looked really mean and scary, so I listened, and we spent the night having fun. We watched R-rated movies, played video games, and he told me all sorts of stories about prison when I asked about it."

The kids eyes went empty. "I got tired after a while and went to sleep. But then I heard a really loud scream and it woke me up. I hid under my bed and waited. I heard footsteps for a while, then it got quiet. I thought they must have left, but then they came back, really loud and really close."

Tears were starting to bubble up in the kids eyes.

"The door opened, and a horned man walked in."

"What did he look like?"

"H-he had a pretty jacket with flowers all over it, and a sword."

The kid finally broke and sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I thought he was gonna kill me but he didn't and he told me to come out and I was so scared I thought I was going to d-"

"Shhhh, breath, It's okay, your safe now."

He wrapped his arms around him, and the kid buried his face in his jacket, snot and tears smearing all over.

After a little bit, he calmed down and continued.

"I crawled from under the bed, and he flinched back like I shocked him. His hands were shaking, and I thought I made him mad and asked if he was gonna kill me. He said he wasn't, and asked how old I was. When I said twelve, he ran out of the room so fast the wind almost knocked me over. I heard stuff clattering to the ground, and it sounded like he was tearing the house down. After a little bit, he came back, and he was holding a bag of chips. He asked if they were the kind I liked, but I didn't like ruffles, so I told him no. He said a really bad word and came back with some baked chips instead. He told me to stay here and eat these. He said the cops would be coming soon, and to wait for them here. He told me to not leave unless I had to use the bathroom, and he said to make sure to cover my eyes when I stepped out. I don't know why he said that, but I listened. Ev-"

The rumble of a parking motorcycle interrupted him.

Cole sighed. "You were very brave tonight, okay? Thanks for telling me about this. You got any family we can call?"

"My mom."

"Good, we'll let her know your okay."

Both him and Mike stood up in unison, and walked outside to face the music.

Are you going to kill me?

His fists clenched and unclenched, squeezing and crushing an invisible throat.

Are you going to kill me?

Shadows bled across the apartment floor like ink, swelling and fading between shades of gray and the darkest of blacks, moonlight blinking in and out of reality.

Are you going to kill me?

The painted rose on his back and sheath pulsed with light in tune with his heartbeat, and that familiar heat flowed throughout his body, surging and coiling, demanding to be released back into the world.

Are you going to kill me?

His scar itched, and he felt the heat pour into his eye, dying popped and melted blood vessels an angry red. The heat then spread to the brand itself, and it glowed brighter than the iron that put it there.

He remembered ambushing the SDC's old CFO in a hotel down in Mantle. A charity event, something for the kids so the magnates of Atlas could pat themselves on their backs. When the gala was over, Yuma and himself broke into the second second rate hotel he was staying in to kill him.

It was before the SDC had contracted the Atlesian military for their machines as their primary security measures.

That changed rather quickly after the news coverage of the slaughter hit Atlas.

There was only supposed to be security and the man himself. Armed with small arms only, pistols and short rifles. Only the things you'd need to scare off some uppity protesters or rock tossers.

The mans wife stalled them for a moment.

But only for a moment.

When the shots finally stopped, they all lay dead on the floor.

All except the daughter, who hid inside the bathroom shower.

She would have made it out alive for the tabloids if not for Yuma hearing her whimpers after he double-tapped her father.

He made his way inside, and told her to come out.

A scrawny girl, hardly over nine, dress wrinkled and face dripping with snot and tears looked him in the face and asked him.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Wilt answered.

Even then, as broken as he was, he felt a twinge of something as Wilt pushed into the ball of her eye.

Then he saw the boy at the safehouse.

"Are you going to kill me?"

She came back in his nightmares, body rotted, face screwed into a rictus grin, blood flowing from an empty eye socket as she drowned him in the rivers of Argus.

Are you going to kill me?

It always ended the same way. He fought and thrashed under the water, screams swallowed by the salty tide.

The anger and fury at his impotence always swelled near the end, and he'd resolve that if he was going to drown, he'd take her with him.

But when he gripped her hair and pulled her under, it was his face he saw, twisted in a sneer before the water took him.

Then he'd wake up, screaming and coughing and choking.

Parian had caught him coming out of them several times.

She was afraid of him.

He didn't blame her, not truly, but every flinch and every measured glance felt like he was being stabbed on that cliff all over again.

The people of Brockton Bay and beyond were just as conflicted.

Many could understand his attacks, but few encouraged them. The cold, unfeeling calculus of the killings and bombings alienated many potential supporters. He was labeled insane, a terrorist, a monster, no better, if not worse than the Empire he was fighting. While he had his supporters, especially after his conduct with the child came out, they were loudly drowned out by the rightful criticism that intentions mean nothing, actions do, and that his actions were something that monsters like Gavel would have been doing.

He convinced himself he was trying to do better, but was he?

Or was he just falling back on his old routine, deluding himself once again that he was in the right, that it was okay because the Empire were in the wrong?

Here, he didn't have a safety net. He had no organized supporters, no White Fang, no safe houses, men under is command or secret cells to gleam intel through. He had no continents or cities to travel too, or partners of any kind.

The Empire wasn't the SDC or Atlas either, and he couldn't fight it like it was. It didn't have the global overreach and widespread evil and criminality of the SDC, nor the advanced tech and might of Atlas.

It was a gang. A well funded, and trained gang, but a gang nonetheless.

It had no political influence beyond local police and judges, no income besides small racketed shops and stores and illicit deals.

The only reason the PRT hadn't started a full city wide manhunt for him was because of the Empire's hasty mobilization and Lung's men going to ground.

If he made himself a true enemy of them, there was nowhere he could hide, and holding back against the entire might of the PRT would be suicidal.

He could kill them all. It would be so easy, easy as breathing in a world without aura, fights decided in seconds instead of minutes.

But if he did that he'd be no better than the wild animal Atlas had painted him as.

His heart twisted, and for a moment he felt Gambol Shroud rip it in twain again.

No better than the wild animal he was

All at once, like a rubberband snapping back, color graced the world again, and the moonlight danced across his face.

Two hours later, a man identifying himself as "Taurus" called the PRT tipline and informed them that he'd interrupted an Empire backed drug deal, and had four unconcious males ready for pickup.

The caller hung up before the operator could reply.

Last edited: May 9, 2022

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May 9, 2022

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May 10, 2022

#120

He hopped from his balcony and focused his aura into his legs, and landed hard on an abandoned storefront below him, turning a body shattering fall into a dull throb of pain in his ankles. The next safehouse was in his neighborhood.

He'd have to make sure they didn't come back. The Empire's unpowered members were deserting en masse, and besides Hookwolf, the lieutenants of the Empire were having serious men and material problems, and morale among even the most devout was starting to falter amidst the bodies.

Then his one-eighty last week scared them even further. Now he wasn't just a killer, but an unpredictable one, liable to kill you and arrest your buddy within the same breath, and it was impossible for the mook to tell which mood he was going to be in, further spreading fear.

The people and the PRT were just as confused, wondering how he went from an almost remorseless killer to a standard, if violent, vigilante à la Shadow Stalker, and many wildly speculated what got him killing at all in the first place.

He was nineteen when he killed his first man.

He was leading a small contingent of White Fang as bodyguards for Ghira and Sienna, as they were leading a supply convoy through Mistral. Ghira and Sienna were arguing the entire trip.

By then, that was all they ever did.

Sienna insisted that they go through Mistral's cities and villages. It would be slower, and they'd be hounded and slowed by the Mistrali police, but it would be safer. Ghira insisted that they cut through the unpaved roads and forests. The village they were delivering supplies to had been ravaged by Grimm, and every day they weren't there, more people would die.

He'd sided with Ghira out of principle of him being the man who took him in, and that he was Blake's father, but he knew deep down Sienna was right.

And she proved it when they were stopped.

Every shot felt like a punch to his chest, wondering when the next bullet would strike another Faunus, another friend, another brother.

When Ghira's aura shattered, he nearly screamed aloud. He would have gone out and put them all down with or without Sienna's approval.

When the last man charged the man who was nearly a second father to him, he reacted.

There was no rational thought or considered action, nor malice.

Just pure instinct and panic.

At first there was nothing. He just turned to chase the runners, teeth bared, ready to rend them limb from limb and-

The hand on his shoulder stopped him. Ghira spun him around and simply raised his voice. He'd never done well with loud noise, but shouting brought back the worst of memories, and Ghira knew that if he wanted to get his attention, that was how.

He remembered Ghira railing into him about how it wasn't necessary, and turned him towards the body.

That was when the bile bubbled up in his throat. He remembered Sienna pulling Ghira away into another argument, but he couldn't focus on it.

He was deaf and numb to the world, and all he could see was that the man was dead.

He was in two separate halves, and the edges were darkened and half smudged away, as if someone had taken an eraser to them.

The slaps on his back nearly forced the bile out.

He couldn't get it out of his head, and during his training session with Blake, she could tell.

He finally caved and told her, ready to be shunned.

Instead she hugged him, eyes filled with awe and tears, and told him that it was okay. She didn't like it, but he'd done his best to keep them alive, and that he'd saved her father, that he was a hero.

He didn't know it was a different emotion in her eyes then until later.

Sienna scouted him out after, and told him he'd done good work, and asked who taught him to use his sword.

He still relished the momentary flicker of surprise on her face when he told her he was self-taught.

He was her main sparring partner from then on.

Everything went mostly back to normal then, and for a while, he could put that man's corpse out of his mind.

Then two months later, Ghira stepped down.

He and Blake took turns in several screaming matches with her father. They called him every name, swear and adjective under the sun, begged and pleaded with him to take back the mantle.

Ghira weathered it all with a sad smile, and said his decision was final.

Sienna approached him not long after that as well. She introduced him to Yuma and Trifa, her primary covert operators, and gave him command of them both, and that he'd report to her only.

He'd protested at first, saying that he was a leader, a soldier, not an assassin. But she reminded him that assassins could do just as much good as soldiers, and in much more varied and important ways. But at the end of the day, it wasn't a request.

He swallowed his pride and did as he was told.

That was when the "Accidents" started.

And at first, they were. Poorly aimed shots, bystanders near explosions, false surrenders, and it all made him sick.

But the adoration in Blake's eyes, and Sienna's hand on his shoulder and Good job, Adam I'm proud of how far you've come made it all worth it.

On his twentieth birthday, she said she had gift for him.

A custom made mask and a promotion.

Major Taurus had stared at her, mouth agape at the fact that he'd just been given complete field command of the Vale division.

She didn't see the monster she'd made until it stabbed her in the back.

Blake had confessed to him not long after, and the world was right.

At the time, he thought their relationship was perfect, but looking back now, he could see the cracks from the start.

She was getting older every day, smarter and wiser, and started asking questions. She wasn't stupid. She'd noticed him becoming colder, quieter, more prone to anger. When he'd come back to camp with blood underneath his fingernails, or when he stopped dreading Sienna's missions and started volunteering for them.

But he'd always quiet her with a stolen kiss, or sweep her off her feet and dance with her, and she'd smile like all was forgotten.

But it wasn't forgotten, and he'd never realized until it was too late.

Then he got bolder and bolder, and she started seeing the newspapers.

He remembered her bawling once she got word of his attack on the CFO.

She said nobody, no Human or Faunus deserved what he did to them and his family, and called him a monster.

That was the first time he lost his temper with her.

He tore off his mask and pinned her to the wall, angrily cupping her chin with one hand and grabbing her by the face with the other. He'd pressed his fingers in her cheek hard enough to bruise and made her look.

It was a rule with them, that she never ask about his eye. She'd never seen it. He always covered it, whether it be with a mask, eyepatch or one of her ribbons.

Even seven years later, it still hadn't fully scared shut. Parts still blistered and burst from the irritation of covering it, and he'd chafed it on a bandage quite badly that day.

He looked her in the eye, and saw the blood flow down from a half torn scab in the reflection, and told her he hadn't killed a human, he'd killed a monster.

He wrenched his arms away and stormed out.

He never apologized, and she never brought it up again. It was the start of the end, and he just hadn't seen it yet.

His heart throbbed again, and he shook himself out of his reverie.

He had a job to do.

As he made to jump forward, he heard a cry of pain in the distance, almost unnoticeable amidst the darkness.

He jumped down and m-

He froze. A living shadow stood above him, smoke and ichor wisping about, mist and vapor flowing in the shape of a woman-

He blinked.

It was gone.

He shook his head and marched forward towards an alley.

His lip curled in disgust. Three shaven headed men were kicking and beating down a dark skinned man curled into a ball.

His eyes were bloodshot and wide, whimpers and gasps flowing out of a ruined and bloodied mouth.

"Nothing better to do except beat the homeless? How high and mighty."

The fear in their eyes as they spun around and saw him filled him with delight, even now.

He blurred forward, Blush striking the man in the center's sternum. He sailed ten feet in the air, slamming into the back of the alley with a crunch. He almost dismissively kicked the other in the chest, foot lazily extended mid-air as he folded down in pain like a bowling pin.

The last turned to run, but Wilt ejected outwards from Blush and smashed into the back of his head.

He'd live.

Probably.

He helped the homeless man up and sent him on his way. He made to walk out, but oddly enough, he heard a clatter behind him.

The man he kicked was standing, swaying on his feet, and he quickly flicked his eyes to the pocket knife on the ground that wasn't there before.

He took a shaky step forward, then collapsed, an oddly shaped crossbow bolt poking out his back.

A tranq.

A shadow glided from a nearby rooftop and materialized into shape, a black bodysuit and cloak shadowing a pale woman's face plastered in a scowl.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Heh. You missed one."

His hand drifted to Wilt and he resheathed it, fingers rolling and drumming over it's hilt.

He nodded his head, ready to spring at any time.

"Shadow Stalker."

Last edited: May 15, 2022

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May 11, 2022

#133

He was taut as a wire, fingers white-knuckled across his blade, while one of the deadliest capes in the city stared on.

He mostly skimmed info about the Wards, confident that the PRT wouldn't send them against him. But the one exception was Shadow Stalker.

She didn't fit in with the rest, in power, appearance, or attitude. She was for all intents and purposes an unknown, and he hated unknowns.

She'd started off as an independent, clashing with muggers and thieves, before her increasingly violent attacks brought down the PRT's hammer.

The official story was that after being approached by Armsmaster and Assault, she willingly agreed to join the Wards program after nearly killing a man when she interrupted a drug deal.

He knew by now that official story did not mean true story, just the one people in charge wanted to spread.

So he did his own digging, and what he found made him eminently cautious of meeting her. She'd started off simple and small, a few broken bones here, a broadhead there, maybe some small permanent damage, a missing finger or two.

But bodies found with no visible damage besides internal wounds in the heart or brain? People pinned to alleyways by their hands and feet?

The Brockton Bay Wards had a serial killer in their midst, and he naively hoped they didn't know it.

She was one of the few that could kill him. She could phase through people and walls, and take objects with her.

Who's to say she couldn't leave something behind as well?

He didn't know for sure, but those bodies had all been in areas she had frequented before being picked up.

He cleared his throat and spoke. "What brought you out to my side of town?"

He knew it was her patrol route, but he wanted her guard down and to provoke a response. He didn't have a read on her yet, and he needed one quick to decide.

She scoffed and stepped forward, casually kicking the tranquilized man in the ribs before none too gently ripping out the tranq and pocketing it.

"Your side of town? This is my route. Seen you coming and going a few times, figured I'd finally get some face time in, hunter to hunter."

He chose his next words carefully, feigning ignorance and adding a slight mocking lilt to his words.

"Forgive me for being skeptical a ward would want to have a friendly chat with a known murderer."

"You ain't no psycho killer, you're pretty much the only other person in this pisshole trying to clean things up around here, and my idiot teammates are too stupid to see it."

A touch of indignation would do. He carefully lifted one hand and gestured to the blood and teeth on the floor.

"And you spent so long watching me instead of helping because why exactly?"

"You looked like you had it handled."

She had the audacity to shrug while she said it.

He carefully twisted his hips, slightly tilting Blush upward with his offhand. If she took another step forward, he could decapitate her with a Moonslice and pulp her heart with a bullet before she could even see him move.

Three sentences and he had her pegged.

He was reminded of Mercury Black in all the worst ways.

Posture loose, back lowered and hunched, but legs tight, ready to pounce. An affected air of casualness, hiding a calculating, wary persona beneath.

He couldn't see her face behind the mask, but he could imagine it well enough.

The smallest of smirks, with narrowed eyes and an upturned nose.

A sociopath. High functioning would be his guess, considering she obviously had some sort of social life she had to maintain out of costume.

She eyed him, and then she sighed. "Relax, I ain't here to bring you in. Piggy'd have my guts for garters if she knew I was talking to you. I coulda called the whole PRT on you already if I really wanted to. Bosses have me sidelined in reserve because of you and the ABB. Not allowed to deviate from my route. When I saw you, I knew you were after something, and I wanted in. Been going crazy without any action. That's all."

He was tempted to kill her right here and now. Scatter the petals across the city. Perhaps dump them in the ocean. No one would know, and the city would be rid of one more killer. She would simply vanish. The PRT would suspect, but they couldn't know.

On the other hand, she was just as willing to get her hands dirty as he was. He couldn't do this alone forever, or he'd end up just like her when the heroes came knocking. Having a partner, or even just a single cape willing to collaborate from time to time would make his job easier.

And she was a Ward.

She was what? Fifteen? Sixteen? Old enough to know better, young enough to not give a damn. She was tall for her age, but she couldn't be past her second year in high school.

Perhaps he could at least stamp out some of her more sadistic tendencies, mold her into something sharper, better.

He snorted. He supposed they could learn together.

It would be stupid to think he could "fix" her.

But maybe he could stop another Major Taurus from entering the world.

She was close enough already.

He relaxed himself, and crossed his arms over his chest. Start slow, reel her in with some action, but keep it small, leaving her wanting more and more, slowly scaling up, offering judgment-free and rule-free outings as an incentive for her to continue seeking him out, and make himself out to be a kindred spirit willing to feed her addiction. From what he knew dealing with Mercury(And himself, he noted dismally) she would be antsy and easy to provoke when going long periods without acting out, whether verbally or physically. She'd most likely have issues with authority, so he would have to style himself as a more benevolent teacher/partner, as an equal, rather than a superior.

He felt somewhat sick even considering the idea of manipulating her like he did Blake, but at least this time he would be pulling someone away from the edge instead of trying to throw them past it.

He leaned against the alley's wall and hiked a thumb behind him. "Empire safehouse just got put up four blocks down. Small scale, just grunts. You still want in?"

"Fuck yeah I do. Just gotta hit something. Fuckin pussies I deal with keep moaning about boys and girls and their nails and it makes me wanna kick their asses."

She stalled for a moment, then laughed a little. "I still won't have to deal with that from you right?"

He faked a laugh along with her and shook his head. "You won't, trust me. Let's get mobile. Wanna make this quick."

She nodded, and he hopped back to the rooftops and took off. She caught up a moment later, jumping and flowing through the air like gravity didn't exist.

The shadow's wisping and trailing behind her filled him with a sense of nostalgia.

She wouldn't become another Blake, another failure. He had to do better this time. Steer her right.

He stopped at the building next to it, a two-story home filled with rotted wood. He wrinkled his nose, smelling the mold hiding in the walls and under the roof.

She floated her way next to him, standing straight up, crossbow in hand.

"Equipment status?"

"Used my last tranq in the alley. All I got left are broadheads."

"You fine in CQC?"

Her shoulders shook with mirth. "Better than fine, trust me."

Time to play it up.

"I can hear them through the walls, but I can't tell how many there are. Your power is more useful than mine for situations like this. You up for scouting it out?"

She stilled slightly, and her voice had a touch of confusion mingled with satisfaction in it. "Kinda surprised you ain't ordering me to. I thought it mighta chafed you to work with somebody so much younger than you."

"You've been doing this longer than me." A lie, but a flattering one. "I wouldn't insult you by trying to pretend I'm your boss. God knows the PRT must do that enough. We both know what we're doing."

She swaggered forward and leaped off the roof, fading to shadow halfway.

He still had it.

Even if he wished he didn't.

The "Cool Friend" approach with hint of parental care would see this through. Her home life was undoubtedly unstable, and his gut told him she'd never had a proper father figure. He would bet all the money in the world trying to "Dad" her would get him stabbed, but an older man showing her the parahuman ropes, being patient, being understanding, giving her praise, and letting her do as she pleased would subconsciously make her see him that way.

She came back impressively quickly. "Two guys upstairs, three in the basement, four in the living room. Guys upstairs are asleep, and the men in the basement are higher than fuckin Skidmark. Got some sorta card game set up in the living room."

He tilted his head back slightly, feigning raised brows. She couldn't see through the mask, but she recognized the gesture. "Good work. I'll take the second story. Pick your poison however you like." With that, he ran past her and let the momentum carry him across to the house.

He repeated his trick from the warehouse and melted the roof away.

In this neighborhood, erosion could easily explain it away. He did pocket the roses though.

He cleared out the upstairs bedrooms in record time, a tap to the shoulder and a fist to the face dispatching both men inside them.

He walked halfway down the staircase and waited. While he'd picked up plenty of slang, games, and pop culture in his time here, he'd freely admit he was completely lost as to the game they were playing.

Before he could make his move, a ghost soared through the floor, fist extended upward, and she materialized halfway up, carrying all her momentum into a devastating uppercut into a skinheads jaw. He cleared three feet in the air before he landed.

Then it was pandemonium.

They barely had time to shout before he was on them, dislocating arms and cracking ribs. Three went down hard in less than eight seconds.

The fourth, however, had dived through the window and was booking it away from the home at impressive speed.

Before he could aim, Shadow Stalker beat him to it.

He saw her mistake before she even pulled the trigger, but it was too late.

A bolt sailed free, aimed too low, and it sunk below the Nazi's thigh.

Near the femur.

He stumbled and fell, and then the Nazi made his mistake.

He reached down and pulled it out, presumably thinking he could try and get back to running.

Arterial blood flying nigh on ten feet away disabused him of that plan.

"OHshitshitshitshit-" Shadow Stalker took off running, but he contented himself with walking. The man was already dead, his body just had to catch up.

He sighed. He was trying to avoid killing again.

By the time he walked over, the man was dead, and Shadow Stalker was panicking, muttering to herself about how she killed him and that the PRT was gonna crucify her.

He interrupted her.

"You didn't."

Before she could ask what he meant, Wilt flicked out and carved a line across his body.

The man's skin started to turn black and red, and his muscles twitched as if being tugged and cut.

As the man beneath them wilted away, he made sure to look her in the eye.

"He never existed."

She was staring at him now, and for a moment, he wondered what was going through her head.

"You're used to firing from elevated positions and close range, yes?"

She flinched, like she was lost in thought, then nodded.

"You aimed low. Past thirty feet, those bolts are going to start dropping fast. Aim high, and ignore the thigh and hip. Aim for the foot or kneecap, the arteries there are harder to hit and disable the leg much more effectively. You understand?"

She nodded her head resolutely. "Thanks. I'm already on probation. Didn't need that on my record."

"You can call this in for credit. I'd tell you I was never here, but I think we can trust ourselves to keep each-others secrets."

He turned around and started to walk away.

"If you need more action, this is where you'll find me."

Last edited: May 11, 2022

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May 12, 2022

#165

March was almost over, and with it her spring break. She'd been slaving over a project during her free time, but between the deliveries and her odd jobs, she hadn't had the time to finish. As soon as she sat down to work on the dress, her mind turned up a blank. She'd sat so long today she almost forgotten about Taurus, and quickly rushed to get his things.

Now she was making her way to his apartment, making sure to stick to the open roads. She didn't feel like scaring off any merchants today.

She didn't know what to make of him. Didn't even know his name until he announced it to the PRT. She felt a little bad she'd never even asked him in the first place.

He always looked like he was carrying the weight of the whole world on his back. He seemed to be in a state of permanent restlessness, always up and about, never stopping, sleeping only for the minimum amount of time.

Or, she reminded herself, It was because he couldn't really sleep at all.

She'd stop by in the mornings, refiling his fortunately well used "bath", and what few times she'd seen him asleep looked horrible.

She'd had nightmares before, everyone had, but these were night terrors. He'd surge up, coughing and choking, or flail about, fists striking air as a panicked scream tore out of his throat and turned it raw. Sometimes he never woke at all, and simply shook and shivered, names too quiet to decipher muttered from shaky lips.

She often wondered what kind of things that he'd seen(Or worse, happened to him) that could scare him so much.

Sometimes when he woke up, he looked as though he didn't know where he was, and when he saw her, he looked ready to lunge.

Sometimes he did.

But he'd always stop halfway through, freezing mid-stride, hands outstreched, either to hug or to strangle.

She couldn't tell which.

He'd apologize, almost demurely, then walk to the bathroom and sit out of sight until she was gone.

Sometimes he'd try and talk with her, but he was always stilted, and often paused after almost every word, like he was so unused to table talk he just didn't know what to say, how to relate. He'd give up quickly, and either clam up or keep to simple questions.

How was your day? What do you have for me this time? How's school? (She was in college, but she doubted he knew that. He probably thought she was in high school).

Sometimes she'd look back and laugh a little as just how out of sorts he'd sounded, but at the same time, she'd never felt so much pity for one person in her life.

Above all else, beyond the tension, the anger, the curtness, he seemed so unbearably lonely.

She caught him just staring off into space several times. Either at the wall, or the moon.

He always seemed so fascinated with the moon. She couldn't tell why.

He'd sit completely still, body tense and loose at the same time, and just stare.

She couldn't imagine what could be going through his head sometimes.

It was never happy, that she knew for sure.

It was so hard to square all that she'd seen of him with the carnage the news showed off.

Bodies half melted, buildings knocked down, blood and shell casings scattered about.

The flowers and petals constantly flowing about the city and ocean, carried by the wind and tide, became the new normal.

She couldn't bring herself to pity the Empire. They'd do the exact same type of things to her any day of the week if they knew who she was under the mask.

But every day people died, she'd wonder when he'd get bored of the Empire and move on to something else.

Someone else

She didn't know what kind of vendetta he'd had, but her ultimate fear was that he'd move onto the ABB, or the PRT, or even her.

And then the killing stopped.

Wholesale.

He seemed different after that.

He got even quieter, but some of his tension seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. He looked more stable. Started cleaning up more, asking for more and more different things than just food, drink, and soap.

Just yesterday she helped him set up an impromptu door with a shower pole and curtain.

He seemed to actually be settling in.

He started trying to talk with her more, and she'd actually had a polite conversation or two with him.

They were both awkward with it, but it was something.

It was nice.

The sun had set by the time she made her way up the stairs to his apartment, and she took a moment to scan the room.

It still didn't look livable, but at least now it looked lived in.

Two poles and a string as a laundry line, a wet jacket slowly dripping water.

Ugly mats littered the floor, acting as a makeshift carpet.

A pillow and blanket hidden by a corner, surrounded by pictures carved into the walls.

There were massive forests, what looked like a giant platform or city suspended in mid-air, thick jungles, wide deserts, unfamiliar faces and people, and some sort of insignia, a snarling beast marked by three deep gouges.

The one that caught her eye the most was the waterfall. It looked like he'd painted it there, instead of carving it in like the rest.

It was cut in half by a sheer cliff, lines of snow laden trees on each of it's sides, with an impossibly green and flourishing middle.

At the top, the water was clear and blue, but below the cliff, it shifted to a bloody red.

At the very bottom, the water turned to falling petals, reds and blacks packed together in the shape of what almost looked like someone falling.

They looked familiar.

She turned towards the gap in the wall, and saw him.

He was sitting by the edge, back turned, legs gently swaying mid-air with the breeze. His elbows were rested on his knees, and he was cupping his chin with his hands, head tilted upwards, marveling at the moon.

His mask was off, a foot or two away from his side.

A finger lightly tapped a beat across his face, his hair and gloves flashing in the dark. She could just barely make out some kind of marking or scar above his nose, but it was too dark to tell.

It was almost picturesque.

She stepped forward, and his finger stilling was the only indication he knew she was there.

"Sorry I was late, lost track of time trying to work on a project." She laid her bag down and looked down to make sure everything was there. "I brought more food, those brushes you asked for, a-"

"A project?"

She stilled for a moment, wondering if she could tell him, but figured she had much more damning info about him than he could ever learn about her.

"Yeah, I'm working on a dress for my fashion design class, but I'm used to custom orders, and I can't quite come up with the little details."

"Ah."

A simple ah of acknowledgement.

Silence reigned again.

For how long it lasted, she couldn't tell.

Eventually she turned to leave, but he interrupted her again. "Maybe.." he trailed off.

She turned back towards him, and he was fitting his mask back on his face. He seemed to gather himself again, then spoke.

"Maybe I could help you? I made all these clothes myself, including some spares I have tucked away."

His lips seemed to curl up, but she couldn't quite tell for sure in the dim. "Plus, I've seen some pretty crazy outfits and designs I've memorized over my life."

She'd never had many friends. She'd tried co-ed dorms, blind dates, but she never really connected with anyone.

He looked like he was trying, truly trying.

Maybe she could try too.

"Okay."

Last edited: Apr 6, 2023

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May 12, 2022

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MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 14, 2022

#175

By the time the car was halfway there, Brad had to bite his tongue to stop from screaming.

After his fight with the Ripper, He'd been in several screaming matches with Kaiser, insisting that he chase that fucker down again once he was recovered. He'd nearly died, had almost lost, and it had been a thrill unlike any yet. He was happy for the first time in so long, finally able to cut loose and be free, to be better, to learn. Some of the tricks he'd seen the Ripper pull had given him ideas, and the scattered and grainy video from street cams and mobile phones from his more recent attacks had been illuminating. He was ready to face him again.

Max said no.

He tried to pull rank, as the Empire's nominal second-in-command, but Kaiser pulled his. Kaiser forbade him and the rest of the Empire from seeking him out, insisting that the PRT would soon step in and deal with the problem, as a cape willing to kill and out-fight Hookwolf would be something they couldn't ignore.

Then the killing stopped, and the PRT simply set up two-man patrol teams in a few new neighborhoods and shrugged their shoulders.

And while the killing stopped, the raids hadn't.

Then he got called down to Medhall to discuss the current state of things.

Now here he was, sweltering inside some fuckin limo in a suit jacket that made his skin crawl.

Kaiser insisted on a dress code, and while he knew Max was old money and needed things to be all dolled up and pretty, he would bet cold hard cash it was also partially just to fuck with him.

Each trip for each member was spaced off by half an hour to avoid questions and suspicion, and he was the last one to arrive.

Real fuckin subtle Max.

At least the champagne was good.

The limo lurched to a stop, and he reluctantly put down the bottle and wiped his mouth, ignoring the driver's horrified stare at the empty champagne glass and the alcohol dripping from the bottle's lid and his sleeve.

He walked past the waiting room and through the offices and had a very hard time not smiling at the looks he was getting.

He made sure to dress up nicely for the meeting.

A stained and unbuttoned suit jacket over a wife-beater and ripped jeans on a 6'2 body with hair longer than most of the women's in the building, unwashed and clumped together with sweat and grease, and a belt that only half held up his pants, revealing the top of his boxers.

He made his way to the back of the building and flashed his wrist tattoo at the very disgusted elevator operator, who, with great hesitation, took him to Kaiser's office.

Everyone was already there and sitting down, looking very annoyed at the wait.

Twelve heads turned and froze in unison.

Kaiser's face spasmed violently for a moment, but he quickly settled back into his usual empty smile.

Justin looked like he swallowed a lemon, wheezing with muffled laughter.

Rune darted her eyes between him and Kaiser, and then fixed a stare on him like he was the second coming of Christ before James lightly slapped her shoulder, and attempted to control her face.

Poorly.

Mel and Lars just shook their heads.

"Ah, Bradley-"

His eye twitched.

"So good of you to finally join us, and in your Sunday best I see..."

For one brief, horrible moment, he was tempted to call him Maximilian, but he wasn't suicidal.

He instead contented himself with taking a window seat, making sure his hair would glisten in the sunlight.

Nessa and Jessica tried to set him on fire with their eyes, but he simply pretended they didn't exist.

And with that, it started.

Blah Blah Blah, losing men, losing money, Nip's here, Darkie's there, Blah Blah Blah.

He tuned it all out. It was nothing he didn't already know.

The manpower shortages hadn't hit him yet, but Alabaster and Victor had been bitching about it endlessly.

The dog fights and cage matches still were turning a profit, and he didn't spend much anyhow, but it was starting to drop off.

Everyone else had been reporting more serious problems.

Mass desertion, drug deals and drug labs going up in flames, and the cops and the merchants finally growing some brass balls and taking the fight to 'em.

Eventually, Max stopped talking about the bad news and started going over the good, and he felt his eyes start to drift shut.

He didn't give a flying fuck about Medhall, but plenty of the people here did.

Random numbers and sayings bounced across the room, and it all flew past his head. When Max started going over stocks, he saw Justin tap Rune on the arm and mime a gun to his head, and she giggled like the fuckin schoolgirl she was.

Sometimes he didn't know how to feel about her being here, but James insisted she learn the ropes.

She wasn't bad in a fight, but her voice really got on his fuckin nerves.

He was about to pass out when Max finally moved on to the reason he was here.

"As for Taurus, we now have a clear idea of how he's been hitting our enterprises. As I'm sure you are all aware, we let younger people join the Empire..."

He let the silence hang for a second before continuing. "Well, some of these younger people like to talk."

Groans and swears filled the room.

Alabaster spoke up, face buried in his hands. "What do we do about it? Make some new rules, kick some asses, maybe make up some kind of official code or cipher?"

Kaiser just shrugged. "Actually, I was going to encourage it."

Everyone stared.

"Let me explain. He's obviously not used to our fine city, and we don't exactly advertise what homes and businesses are affiliated with us, and he doesn't know how to search them out. So he steals and cracks phones and checks through texts and reminders for where we are and what we are doing. I say we let it continue, but control the flow of information. Give false orders, addresses that don't exist, locations of drug deals that will never happen, safehouses not occupied by the Empire but police or civilians, leave anonymous tips to the cops and PRT, and set traps with our most powerful members in these ambush points. We must make it impossible for him to trust his info and force them to attack us blind. That is when we will crush him."

Justin raised his hand.

"Not to say that isn't a good plan, but not all of us can be cut in half like Brad. How do you expect us to fight him?"

"Taurus is a skilled cape, but one inexperienced with the political aspects of cape-dom. When he realized that the PRT would knock him down like Shadow Stalker, he switched gears, but he's obviously not used to fighting non-lethally. We are."

Before he could open his mouth to disagree, a knock at the door interrupted him.

Kaiser's smile turned genuine. "Ah, Kayden! So glad you could make it."

What.

Justin did his best impression of a goldfish as Purity stepped inside.

Last edited: May 15, 2022

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May 14, 2022

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Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 15, 2022

#187

He crushed a phone in his hand, glass and plastic tumbling through his fist and hitting the pavement.

They must have thought him an idiot.

New patrols in small two-to-three man groups, random addresses and "I'll be there soon" sent to several contacts, and open discussion of new deals, gatherings, and initiations.

Like he hadn't dealt with this nonsense before.

Atlas's top information specialists had trouble baiting him.

And these fucking gangsters thought they could?

He was almost insulted that they hadn't yet realized what they were dealing with.

Now he just had to filter the intel from the set-ups.

If they were smart, it all would be false info, but he was willing to bet maybe a fifth was genuine.

All that was left was to pick the trap he wanted to spring and figure out the variables.

At best, there would be three to four capes, simple and easy. At worst, he could be facing the entire Empire.

If he had to face those odds, more would die. He wouldn't simply roll over and play nice, even if they thought he would.

The only thing that worried him was that Purity had simply disappeared. She'd either ditched town, or joined the Empire, but he figured if she came back, Kaiser would announce it with some sort of spectacle. It was something Jacques would have done, and he was Kaiser's best comparison point.

Any man who named himself "Emperor" had to have an ego.

Then again, one of the many traps that had been set could be her lying in wait to glass him along with half the block he was standing on.

He was confident he could take one, maybe two blasts from her at full tilt, but he sure as hell didn't want to test that theory out.

He'd always hated fighting airborne targets.

Then again, he usually had men with AT and AA to take care of that for him.

For a moment, he considered waiting for nightfall and bringing Shadow Stalker along, but it would be too much too fast.

She was a diamond in the rough, but one that needed polishing.

Quick to learn, but immensely held back by her stubbornness.

Anything that she thought was "Dumb" or a waste of her time was flat ignored, and as a result, while she was a fantastic operator and support unit, she was not capable of frontline combat.

At least not in PRT terms.

If she was able to fight lethally, few could match her.

Getting her to join the Guild was the best option.

What the PRT didn't understand was that she wasn't the kind of person who was capable of change. She simply is the way she is, and trying to integrate her with "Normal" people would simply be a recipe for disaster.

It would breed even more hostility and resentment for the PRT and authority than she already had, and would harm not just her well-being, but that of the Wards as well.

The simple fact she was on probation was such an indescribable blow to her ego that she would never be willing to stay in the PRT, and every attempt to get her closer to them would simply push her away further.

But not only would the Guild facilitate her need for violence and sadism, it would also allow her to either operate solo or in small teams of her choosing, the biggest hurdles to stabilizing her. She'd never be normal, but she would be out of the way of the people who were, and it would allow her to be as close to happy as she could get on her own terms while doing an objectively good thing.

His job was to prepare her for that, and what few runs he'd had with her so far had been illuminating.

For one, she spent an inordinate amount of time on her phone. especially while waiting.

He'd have to work on her situational awareness, as he'd snuck up on her every time since their first meeting.

Whenever she waited for him to show up, she texted an "Emma."

Whether she was a girlfriend, friend, or sister he didn't know, but they had Shadow Stalker's complete trust. Shadow Stalker had talked with her about their outings and at one point this 'Emma" had outright asked to join in. He was almost considering the idea. It had clearly been done before, and he could use every bit of leverage against Shadow Stalker he could get. Perhaps "Emma" could be a focal point for controlling her.

But that was neither here nor there.

Right now, he had a decision to make.

He used the other stolen phone's remarkably handy satellite imaging(Remnant never had that, this google maps was something special) to map out the addresses and their surroundings.

The supposed drug deal going on inside a house a five-minute run away was his pick for today. Not enough room inside, so the ambush would have to come from the outside, and the hiding spots there were few and far between.

Might as well make it quick.

He took off in a run, forgoing the rooftops and simply blitzing through the street, casually speeding past the busy cars and streetwalkers. The only thing people saw was a red and black smear briefly blinking past them.

He made it there in three minutes instead of five. Traffic was rather light at two on a Monday.

Single floor plus basement, on a rather nice side of town. It sure as hell wasn't host to a crystal meth deal.

Well, best be thorough.

The windows were curtained up, and the door was locked when he tried to open it.

He simply shoved his arm through the door, plowing through the wood and metal, and reached inside to unlock it.

It was dark and nondescript, the only thing of note being a few family photos.

Nothing here.

He turned back to walk back but stopped dead.

Quiet.

No traffic, no pedestrians, just an empty street.

They wouldn't.

He heard a single-engine rumble, maybe two blocks and closing.

"God damn it."

They did.

He didn't think the Empire would be in that much of a hurry to be rid of him, but he was wrong.

If he ran, they'd call in more and follow.

He was overdue for a meeting with the PRT anyway.

He walked outside, pulling Blush free from his belt, and sat down on the house's porch steps.

He planted Blush on the ground and rested his chin on top of it.

He turned to his right as the most tricked-out motorcycle he'd ever seen pulled up, and Armsmaster and Miss Militia stepped off, warily approaching.

He was tempted to make a joke, but he wasn't in the mood. Instead, he languidly stood, watching both freeze, a gun forming in Militia's hand.

His hand drifted to Wilt, but he didn't draw it.

They had one chance.

"Leave me be and walk away. I have no quarrel with the Protectorate."

Armsmaster's mouth parted as if in disbelief. "No quarrel? R-"

Miss Militia cut him off. "Regardless if we have a quarrel or not, it's our job to bring you in. You can't expect us to just let you walk away."

He huffed, and Wilt clicked an inch free. They both flinched, and he felt a smile creep across his face. "I can and I am. I'm too much for the both of you, and by the time your reinforcements get here, you'll be long dead and I'll be long gone. I'm still getting used to pulling my punches again, and I'd rather not kill the both of you. Back down."

"You're wanted for almost fifty homicides. There's zero chance any Protectorate member on the continent would ever let you go. If you turn yourself in, we might be able to keep you from the birdcage due to your actions being limited to the Empire-88, and the fact you stopped your killing streak in the first place."

"Hmm." He lightly tapped a beat on Wilt's hilt. "Counteroffer."

Armsmaster opened his mouth, but the sound of a gunshot drowned out his voice.

Wilt slammed right between Miss Militia's chest.

Before her shout of agony could even fully sound out, Adam was already in front of her, catching Wilt before it hit the ground and kicking her in the stomach.

She landed five feet away, but he didn't have time to check her condition before Armsmaster was on him.

He'd never fought someone using a Halberd before.

So far it was interesting.

He was obviously skilled, each swing, swipe, and cut well-aimed and had great speed.

But as he ducked under a swing that would have taken off his head and left a boot print in his opponent's armor as a reply, he figured out his weakness.

It was obvious he'd never fought someone who could swing a blade back.

His blocks and parries were textbook and slow, like he wasn't used to the movements.

Armsmaster recovered gracefully, he'd give him that. When he hit the ground, he rolled with the momentum and sprung back to his feet in record time. He pressed a hand to the dent in his armor as if in disbelief.

His head snapped back towards Adam as he sheathed his sword.

It was kind of fun to be back in a blade-to-blade fight again, even if he was stonewalling to keep it fair.

He-

A bullet smashed into the side of his throat, and he stumbled to the right.

Another crumpled off his side before he could unsheath Wilt.

Then something smashed into his cheek hard enough to make his ears ring.

A grappling hook lodged itself back into Armsmasters halberd.

Right.

Mechashift.

He turned what would have been an on-his-ass fall into a graceless spin, and when the third bullet came, a shadow intercepted it.

He glanced left, and saw Miss Militia on a fire escape, shakily taking aim with some model of sniper rifle. A growl rumbled from his throat before his temper reigned back in, and Armsmaster laughed. "So much for killing the both of us."

To talk in battle was sin, so he decided to let Wilt respond for him.

He let a bit more of his natural strength and speed in as he charged Armsmaster again, Blade whipping about fast enough that the only thing Miss Militia saw was it's afterimage.

Armsmaster barely kept up.

He stepped forward, slapping and shoving Armsmaster's desperate swings aside, each step forcing him to backpedal further down the street, jaw clenched in concentration. Bullets hit the ground around them, landing just short of where he was half a second ago, each shot further from Adam than the last as he moved faster and faster.

Armsmaster was doing his best, but every step backward was shakier than before, and it was only a matter of time.

He shifted Blush into it's rifle form with his free hand as a parried swing from Wilt carved a foot-deep trench in the sidewalk.

He waited for the right moment, and when it came, it was over.

A bullet dug into Armsmaster's plated foot, and he tripped, falling to the ground. He hastily swung his halberd, but Adam simply kicked the blade aside.

A doppelganger slid from his back and absorbed Miss Militia's desperate covering fire.

His foot was raised to knock the power-armored hero out when a 40MM grenade landed at his feet. The world turned upside down as his copy evaporated away, and a nearby parked car's alarm chirped as he tumbled across the ground.

When he got to his feet. Armsmaster was on his, Halberd shifting, shortening down, blades folding aside to leave his grappling hook extended as a spear.

Green energy danced across Militia's hands, shaping into what seemed to be an anti-material rifle

Enough.

He let Armsmaster come to him, feigning exhaustion, letting him get closer and closer to hitting him with each blow, bobbing and weaving through Miss Militia's covering fire that sent fist-sized chunks of concrete and grass flying through the air.

When he faked a stumble, and Armsmaster swung his spear up, trying to disarm him, he let it happen.

Gotcha.

As Wilt careened through the air. spinning in lazy circles, the blade lit up brighter than the sun.

Armsmaster and Miss Militia both paused from the change in vision as the world grayed out like an old silent film.

Adam roundhouse kicked Armsmaster to the ground and caught Wilt as soon as Miss Militia got her bearings and fired.

Two halves of a bullet bounced across the street as a red arc carved apart the fire escape. She fell to the ground, landing hard on her head as bits of disintegrating metal crushed her legs, pinning her down. She let out a low moan before going quiet.

Armsmaster made it to his knees before the barrel of a gun tickling his exposed chin stopped him.

He looked up, and Adam saw his feral grin in the reflection of his visor.

How he missed this.

"You did better than the Ace-Ops at least."

The last thing Armsmaster saw was Adam's forehead racing to meet him.

Last edited: May 15, 2022

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May 15, 2022

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MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 16, 2022

#233

Split this one into two parts. The next one will be up later tonight or tomorrow.

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She replayed the video, laughing out loud as Miss Militia folded up like a lawn chair and hit the ground.

Hitching up with Taurus was one of the best decisions she'd ever made, and the video the PRT showcased to the team proved it. While Vista was gasping in shock at the brutality and speed of the fight, she was more thankful than ever that her mask completely covered her face.

That way no-one could see her smile.

When she first saw that sword, she thought it was mostly for show like Armsmasters halberd. She didn't think he actually knew how to use it besides cutting up gangbangers, and she mentally kicked herself for doubting him.

He was everything she thought he was and more. Strong, smart, quick, but careful, methodical, always keeping in shape and in practice, making plans for his backup plans, and most of all, he saw the world as it was.

Violent, unrestrained, a world where the strong lorded over the weak, and put down those who stepped out of line.

The PRT was crippled, burdened by rules and regulations that always made sure the bad guys could escape and live to fight another day, an infinite cycle that would keep Brockton Bay in limbo forever.

Taurus made sure they stayed down, and that they hid down in their hidey-holes like they belonged. He didn't waste time moralizing, or weaken himself by playing fair. He came down on you hard and fast, and you'd either end up dead, or you'd never hurt anyone again.

People were afraid of him. Not of prison or the birdcage, but him.

She wanted that kind of power, and he was willing to share it.

Already she'd learned so much. She never thought much of training, always confident that her power could get her out of anything.

But Taurus showed her how much she'd been missing.

She remembered the first time he asked her to spar.

"Spar? You fuckin serious?"

There was no way she could ever hurt him in a straight-up fight, and even with her power, she didn't like her chances of killing him.

But he put his sword and sheath down, and some sort of energy shimmered across his body, small sparks flashing and fizzing in the air before vanishing. He tugged up his sleeve and pinched down hard enough that she felt a sympathetic twinge herself before he let go, leaving behind the start of a very nasty bruise.

He hadn't even flinched. Then he raised his arms in some sort of odd boxing stance and told her that now he was just as vulnerable as your average street thug.

She finally agreed then, and they both backed off ten paces.

She'd fought men twice her age before, even without her power, but she tried to play it safe since he was obviously more skilled than the average Merchant trying to shank you with a broken bottle.

Most Merchants weren't six-goddamned-four either, and she'd be lying if she said the height difference wasn't more than a little imposing in a fight. He had the reach on her easy.

She started it off with one simple half-step to the right, waiting for him to make the first move.

He rushed her as soon as her foot touched the ground, and she hit the floor with his hand on her neck. Her eyes had barely tracked him.

He got up and told her "Again."

So she tried again, and this time she charged him as fast as she could, fist raised.

He simply stepped to the side, caught her arm, and judo-flipped her to the ground.

"Again."

And on it went.

Every time she got close to landing a hit, he pulled some new move or trick out of his ass and had her pinned.

She'd tried grabs, pulls, kicks, tackles, anything and everything she could do to bring him down.

It was all countered with contemptuous ease.

By the end she was on the ground, panting in exhaustion. He simply rolled her over with the toe of his shoe and looked her over.

She'll never forget his advice.

"Power is worth nothing unless you have the skill to use it. If you need your power to fight, you do not deserve to have it."

She despised being so weak, so helpless, so utterly outmatched, but he proved he was different yet again.

He didn't mock her for being weak, but he didn't try and walk it back either, didn't give her a "friendly" hand to pull her back up.

He just nodded and said he could work with this. He didn't say "good fight" or "it was a good try", or any of that other condescending horseshit. He just let her get back up, gave her advice, tips, showed her how to copy his moves, and started it over with a simple word.

"Again."

He didn't give false platitudes, or pretend her fuck-ups and failures were anything but. When he gave praise, or a small smile and impressed nod, she had to earn it.

Those smiles and nods made her feel powerful, like she'd accomplished something. They felt better than any track meet or drug bust ever could.

And he trained her in more than just fighting.

When she gave him a vague description of her power when he asked about it, she didn't expect him to grill her almost incessantly about it's specifics.

How does it work? How long can you stay in your shadowed state? How much control of it do you have? Can you limit how much of yourself goes to shadow? Are there limits or restrictions to what you can and cannot take with you in your shadow state?

She answered them as best as she could, but he seemed more and more displeased with each answer.

Mainly because the answers mostly boiled down to "I don't know."

She had rushed herself through power testing, annoyed that she had to bother with it in the first place, since obviously she knew how her power worked. Under his barrage of questions, she wasn't so sure of herself now.

In reply, he described everything there was to know about his power. He absorbed energy, like Assault, but he could absorb all kinds, not just kinetic, and he could store it for long periods of time, depending on the amount taken in. Whenever he wanted to, he could send the energy back out, with it's original power amplified by four times, and it would stack. He could send it out in waves or arcs, form copies and mimics of his body, and focus it on his sword, allowing it to cut through almost anything.

Not only was the trust flattering, it proved a point. He knew everything there was to know about his power, and she didn't know her own.

She tried one of his examples, attempting to force her arm to shadow but without the rest of her body following suit. When it failed, she told him she couldn't.

He scoffed, and withdrew his sword. It flared for a moment, and a small red disc flew from it's edge as he swung it towards a chimney.

He said it took him six weeks while learning through his power to realize he could do that, that at the start he simply honed his blade's edge.

So over the next few days, she tried it again and again, and she felt something new every time she tried. It never worked, but she could stall it for longer and longer, and it motivated her to keep trying.

Normally he would watch her while she did it, and she noticed sometimes he seemed almost forlorn, a look of what could have been nostalgia on his face.

Occasionally his body would straighten up in what she called Drill Instructor mode when he lectured her, voice roughening, with his hands folded behind his back, pacing from side to side as he commented. She chuckled slightly.

In another life, without the horns, he could have been a great personal trainer.

She'd told Emma about it, and at first, she'd freaked out, but once she explained her time with him, she calmed down. If anything, she was excited.

She replayed the video again as she waited for him to show up.

He'd even given them the chance to walk away, but they hadn't taken it. It surprised her when she first saw it.

She wouldn't have given them an out.

She wished she could openly travel with him, but he was nearly on a birdcage order, and lethal force was authorized, though not encouraged.

Maybe she could...

No. Her family and the PRT would hunt her down just as hard as him. Maybe they'd even try and get him harder for "corrupting" a Ward.

She heard a quiet thud, and she tucked her phone back into her pocket as a grin stretched over her face.

She stood up and turned towards Taurus as he rose out of his crouch.

"What do we got today?"

He looked her over for a moment and replied. "More training today. Power and sparing."

Her shoulders slumped. She needed some stress relief from her teammate's endless bitching and debating about him.

"We aren't going out? I was really looking forward to it."

"We are, actually. Just not for any action. I'm going to teach you something important."

That piqued her interest, but she had a warning to give first.

"PRT's lookin into bringing reinforcements in from other cities thanks to you. Nothing's come up yet, since not many people wanna send their capes to the Brockton Bay meat grinder, but I thought you should know."

He just shook his head, a small bemused hum coming from his lips. "And how's Miss Militia doing?"

That video flashed in her mind again, and she took a moment to reign in her laughter. "Panacea fixed her body, her ribs and legs were basically powder, but her concussion's here to stay for the next few days. She's still puking her guts up in the infirmary."

He nodded, but before she could speak again he started unbuttoning his jacket.

Um.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready. You didn't think you were the only one who needs training and practice, did you?"

"What are you gonna be doing?"

He shrugged off his jacket, and tapped his sheath(It still surprised her it was also a gun).

"I'm going to be practicing my kata's. I could care less what you work on, so long as you work."

With that, he walked past her and unsheathed his sword, stepping into several stances and poses, blade whipping through the air.

She turned away, letting the sound of a blade whistling through the air center her, and she concentrated.

She felt her arm wisp away, particles and mist floating in the air like oil on water.

She felt an itch in her arm, and it slowly started spreading across her body.

It started as a small annoyance but got worse and worse every second she tried to hold it in, like holding your breath.

Then the pain started.

It was what always stopped her. She bit her tongue, willing herself to keep silent and shoving down the gasps of pain attempting to force themselves free.

It was no use. It grew worse and worse until she finally let it go, and relief surged through her body.

She shifted to shadow fully, then went back to normal.

She relaxed her clenched muscles and craned her neck to watch Taurus practice.

Her jaw nearly dropped.

She'd known he was fast. She'd known he was skilled. She'd known he could move and stretch in ways most athletes could never dream of.

But she didn't expect this.

He hacked and slashed, darting forward and back like a viper striking an invisible foe.

He alternated between slow swipes and swings to rapid slashes and kicks, going from languid, prancing poses to rapid action between blinks.

Between each breath and the next, he kept switching from moving slower than walking to faster than she could see, a vague red blur appearing from one end of the rooftop to the next, trails in the air from a whirling blade tracing his every step.

He whirled and spun, blocking and deflecting a blade that wasn't there, swatted away bullets that never came, and spun his sword in his hand like a fucking buzzsaw.

He was moving across the ground like he was skating on the air. Half the time he didn't even appear to take steps, he simply just appeared and disappeared between locations.

She could barely keep up.

His sheath had changed to it's firearm form now, and he was spinning it like a baton, alternating between strikes from his sword, using it as a shield, and blowing away phantoms with the soft clicks of a pulled trigger and empty gun.

Then it shifted back, and he started dual-wielding them, thrusting and chopping with wild abandon.

Then he sped up more.

She couldn't see his arms move, just the distortions displacing the air around him.

She knew he'd been holding back in his duel with Armsmaster, everyone did, but to this extent?

They could have both been dead on the floor in the time it took for their brains to even order their muscles to move.

He finally started slowing down, and he placed his sheath back on his belt.

He crouched down and worked through what seemed to be various defensive postures.

With his jacket off, she got a good look at his arms. Small scars littered them both, toned muscle rippling and stretching with each movement.

His hair was damp with sweat, thin strands of red flowing in the air with each movement of his head, with bits coiling and uncoiling around his horns. His shirt was pressed tight against his chest, revealing a toned stomach, like that of a swimmer's.

The tendons in his neck flexed as he stood up and sheathed his sword, and he swept his free hand through his hair, slicking back the loosened strands, turning to face her, mask smoothing away any potential expression.

If Emma had seen that, she'd be swooning.

She swallowed, tongue darting past her parted lips.

He frowned, and she realized she was staring like an idiot and loosened her posture.

"Not bad."

"Not good either, I'm a little rusty."

She couldn't smother her disbelieving cough as he glared at his sword distractedly.

She eyed the paint on the side of the sheath. He really had a thing for roses, huh?

He looked at her again, and she cursed the mask for completely hiding his expression. She could never tell what he was thinking.

She knew it covered something for more reasons than anonymity though. Something was up with his left eye.

She didn't know for sure, but he constantly favored his right side, whether he was swinging his sword or simply walking forward. Secondly, he was constantly adjusting and finicking with his mask, tilting it slightly or pressing it in. Sometimes he'd reach up and stop his hand halfway, like he was trying to rub something but realized he had a mask in his way. He mostly did that when distracted. What got her the most, was that whenever she talked to him from his left side, he turned his head fully towards her instead of inclining it to use his peripheral vision.

Her best guess was that it was damaged, or he had some sort of condition or cataracts.

He tilted his head at her and then reared back violently.

"Change my mind, we'll skip the contact sparring. There's a bar that has windows with a very good view at the edge of our neighborhood, I'll teach you about it there. Follow me."

He picked up his jacket and took off before she could reply.

Last edited: Jun 27, 2022

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May 16, 2022

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May 17, 2022

#332

Part two of Sophia's interlude.

As stated above, I'm going to attempt to trim down and streamline the interludes, limiting the amount I make. I only created them to get alternate looks into Adam's actions and develop his character from the points of view of the people he is close too and has an impact on. Sabah, for Adam's more remorseful, pensive, and quiet side. The angel on his shoulder, encouraging him to be a better person. Sophia, for Adam's manipulative and nostalgic side, the devil on his shoulder, enticing him back to the way he used to be, Brad for Adam's violent and sadistic side, his Id, and the BBPD via Cole Perry, to represent the consequences of his actions and the civilian perspective. So far I believe I've done a good job with that, but for those reasons above I won't be doing a PRT or PHO interlude. Not only are they overdone, but they wouldn't progress the story, and they often just end up being mindless filler and reaction shots of "OMG, look at what this OP character can do, isn't it coooooooooool?" when we just saw it happen ourselves. Canon is going to start in a few chapters, then things will kick off much harder, and Adam will take the majority screentime.

/

She took off behind him after a slightly stunned pause. Normally he wasn't so curt.

While she all but flew behind him, small jumps carrying her fifteen-plus feet in the air, gliding between roof to roof, he was still outspeeding her, running and jumping and rolling like a meth-ed out freerunner. He looked like he was in a hurry, but it was hardly past six, and most bars she knew about in Brockton Bay didn't close till nearly midnight.

The sketchier ones sometimes didn't close at all.

Eventually he stopped, and beckoned her over, half crouched half kneeling.

She floated down by his side, and she almost missed his slight flinch away from her.

Ah.

What, did her ogling him really make him that uncomfortable? She was surprised he could even tell she had been, but he couldn't have been like two or three years older than her tops anyway. No way somebody that young lookin was past his teens. Nothing for him to freak out over.

He turned away from her, and she followed suit, looking down towards the place below them. It was your average dive bar, people drunk off their asses stumbling in and out and getting into cars, shakily driving off into the night.

Wow.

Sometimes, she almost felt bad for the fuckin beat cops who had to try and clean all this shit up.

"What are we doing here anyway, people watching?"

She'd said it sarcastically, so when he nodded in assent she had to take a moment to gather herself.

"Why?"

"There's quite a bit you can learn about someone from it. I'll prove it with two examples."

He rested his head on a palm, head tilted to the side, and scanned the bar. People were chattering at small tables, dates going exceptionally and poorly between each one. For Brockton Bay, it was a rather nice place. Most people were at the bar though, and that was where the action was.

He nodded to himself, then looked back at her. "There's a woman inside cheating on her husband. Find her."

"Your kidding." In this whole bar, when she couldn't hear a word they were saying?

"I shit you not. I know you can, you're smart. If you weren't capable of doing it, or it wasn't important, we wouldn't be here, trust me."

She scanned the crowd, starting at the bar, but nobody there was married, that was for damn sure. They were all flushed faces and howling laughs, men and women flirting and getting up to walk out with each other.

Everyone at the tables were quieter, more passive, small smiles and bored frowns littered the people there, and at one table a guy had straight up called the waiter early and just up and walked out to the disbelief of the woman he was talking with.

No rings. She looked back at him, and he was already smiling. He spoke before her. "Not a ring in sight hmm?"

She shook her head, annoyed that he he already knew what she was about to say.

He extended a single finger towards a blonde woman, chattering with a younger man at a small table by the entrance of the bar.

"It was her. She's been married for years, possibly a decade, and she feels stifled and unhappy, so she asked out a younger man for companionship. She's horribly nervous but thrilled at the same time, and she's hoping he'll ask her to go to his place, since she's too shy to ask him even with the alcohol in her."

"Bullshit, no way you could know all that by a five second glance."

"I do. Look at her. Hey hey hey-"

He put a hand on her shoulder before she could walk away. "When I say look, I mean look. Observe, watch every move and pay close attention. You'll see it. I know you can."

She couldn't remember the last time someone had believed in her. Her team was always second guessing her, insulting her. She knew what they said about her behind her back, even if she never called them on it. The PRT didn't trust her either, always asking questions and confiscating her crossbows after patrols. She had to go out on her own with cheap shitty ones she'd had Emma buy online for her, and it chafed to no end.

But he seemed to genuinely believe in her, that he saw something in her worth building up.

She couldn't deny it felt nice. She looked back at the blonde, and she was laughing at some inane joke her paramour had told her.

And it all clicked. When she laughed, the lines in her face showed more, and there were plenty of them. Her right hand, which didn't have a ring, did have a pale white mark on her ring finger. Her face had a slight rosy tint from the alcohol and the slight blush forming on her cheeks. The man had to be twelve years younger than her at the very least, and the smile on his face was more than kind, it was inviting, almost predatory. There was a small shake in her left hand, but every time it came up she'd take a swig of her wine and it would fade. They were both away from prying eyes, hidden away from the door and the bar, like she knew she shouldn't be seen, like she felt guilty.

"I see it now."

The hand on her shoulder patted her once, then withdrew, and for a moment she had the urge to grab it and put it back.

She killed that thought as quickly as it came up.

"Good. For the second, one man in here is Eighty-Eight. If you point him out to me quick enough, We'll wait for him to come out, and you'll get your action today after all."

He knew just what to say.

She looked back inside. The blonde was getting to her feet, wobbling slightly, and both her and her paramour walked out arm-in-arm.

She eyed the bar, and spotted her target, a man in a dull grey shirt. "Him."

"Why?"

"He's drinking alone, and hasn't said a word to anyone. He's glared at a few other patrons, especially the darker skinned ones, and he's constantly tugging his sleeve down to cover his wrist when he drinks, like he's covering a tattoo, and his hairs just started growing in in, like his head used to be shaved."

"Well done. Body language is more reliable than spoken language and you better remember that for the future. It reveals emotions, weaknesses, plans, and movements. It is the second most important thing to know besides how to fight. Every man has a tell. No exceptions."

Her phone vibrated, and she almost swore aloud. She couldn't so much see as feel Taurus's raised eyebrow, and she mentally laughed at the image. He looked like a disappointed teacher who saw one of his students texting during class.

When she fished her phone from her pocket, she did swear.

"Goddamn PRT."

He nodded in agreement, and she snorted. "I gotta go, they're calling all of us back. Dunno why yet. Sorry."

He shrugged. "Go on ahead. I'll be here when you need me."

She turned to walk away, but couldn't resist one final comment.

"You favor your right side. That's your tell."

His shocked flinch and proud smile made all the PRT bullshit she was about to go through worth it.

She left too quickly to see his shoulders slump, and that false pride turn into self-loathing.

Last edited: May 17, 2022

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Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 18, 2022

#353

Leaving this small, quiet chapter as a tide-over, as I'm going to be busy for the next few days. I'll probably find time to reply to things sometimes, but I for sure won't have enough time to work on new chapters till probably saturday or sunday, monday at the latest.

/

/

Wilt softly scraped away the worn and chipped paint, carving a small groove in the wall behind it. It was delicate work, small cuts and slashes turning to laugh lines and eyes, to strands of hair and pieces of clothing.

It was a good thing he'd made a whetstone, he had a feeling he'd need it soon.

At first it had started as a way to pass the time, when the nightmares kept him awake and there was nothing else to do other than sit and rot while praying for sleep to take him. He'd idly carved a Beowolf into the floor, but as time passed, he quickly went from lazily scratching it in with his finger to delicately carving it out with Wilt.

He finally passed out after he finished, and from then on, when he couldn't sleep, he would draw until exhaustion took him.

He looked to the almost completely covered floor, where the only places that didn't have drawings were simply smothered by rugs, and let out a small chuckle.

Sleep still eluded him, but at least he'd been getting enough to not compromise his operational effectiveness.

But after so many drawings, and so much time, they'd gone from ways to simply kill time to long, drawn out, sprawling art pieces.

He'd been in this new world almost a month.

His clothes, his sword, and his mind were the only things left of Remnant, the only proof it'd ever even existed.

He didn't want to forget a single second.

So he went to work. He made Grimm, Atlas, The Forever Fall, Mantle and other important places.

He wanted to make sure he couldn't forget Remnant, but he also wanted to make sure he'd never forget what brought him here in the first place.

He turned his head, and Sienna's face stared back, her silent judgement echoing in his head.

He'd ruined decades of her work, her life, her legacy in the span of a few weeks, had sent the Faunus's reputation and rights back decades in less than two years.

In Remnant, everything he touched turned to ash, and every time he woke up here, he'd relive it all again.

It was only fair.

At first it was just controlled chaos, but in the past few days he had started carving them in a sort of order.

A kind of mural, chronicling his life.

He'd done the waterfall first, painting it his third week here.

Then there was Lagertod. It looked fairly innocuous, a small town with what seemed to be watchtowers on it's outskirts, perhaps to guard against bandits or Grimm.

Nobody but him would know they were there to keep things in.

They each were on opposite sides of the apartment, and half finished and half started illustrations plugged the gap.

But the one he was working on now was different. It was sequestered away from all the others, in it's own special area, by his bed.

He brushed away the last few paint chips and got to work in earnest.

It was his biggest mistake, his largest, most taunting regret, even if he wished it wasn't.

He'd never truly cared about his people.

When the White Fang first took him in, he made a vow that once he was powerful enough, had enough influence, and could scrape up enough men, he'd return to Lagertod, he'd free the Faunus there, and burn it down.

But he never returned.

He could have, but between Cinder, Blake, and his missions with Sienna, it had slipped his mind.

Even now, it was most likely still running, churning out new Adam Taurus's every day.

When he finished sculpting the eyes, he reached for the paint brush sitting in a can at his feet.

He dabbed small flecks of yellow and black, leaving parts of the wall untouched for the whites of the eyes.

When he finished, he grabbed another brush, and dipped it in black.

The hair was the hardest part. He had to get it just right.

It chaffed him that even now she affected him this way.

For a quick moment, he had the urge to tear the wall apart into something unrecognizable.

His hand went up to paint her hair instead, filling in the lines with long, wide strokes.

It shook, and he cursed to himself when he accidentally spattered paint on part of the floor.

He'd loved her with all his heart.

He'd loved her too much.

He didn't love her romantically, he'd loved her like she was his. An extension of himself, like Wilt or Blush.

He could have never even fathomed a world without her until she had made it a reality.

Like Wilt was was his first weapon, like his jacket was the first piece of clothing he'd made himself, she was his first girlfriend.

And like everything else he owned, it was his and no-one else's.

If he had just given her more breathing room, everything might have turned out differently.

But he'd seen how her faith had been falling to the wayside over the course of his tenure at the Vale division, and he'd gotten scared.

He did everything in his power to get her to stay. Threatened, bargained, seduced, pleaded, placated, but every move pushed her further away.

They had argued about the direction the White Fang was heading, but he never thought she would just abandon it like her parents.

The worst part was that if she had just asked him about leaving the White Fang, or Beacon, he might have heard her out. He wouldn't have let her go, but he would have listened.

He didn't know what he would have done or said, but maybe there would have been a chance for something.

But she hadn't said a word, even if she'd been thinking about it for days, possibly even weeks.

She just smiled and nodded like everything was normal. He hadn't noticed her getting quieter, or that her kisses and hugs grew more and more infrequent.

"Who is she?"

He stood up so fast the stool he was sitting on clattered to the floor, hand reaching for a sword that wasn't there.

Parian stood in the doorway, bags carefully tucked away by entrance.

She'd been there a while.

Her arms were crossed, and she was looking at him and the portrait with poorly hidden curiosity and sympathy. She could tell what it meant to him.

She glanced at his "bed" after a moment, like she was inviting him to sit down and talk about it.

"She's nobody."

He swallowed.

"Nobody."

It was a flat statement, almost emphatic.

Neither of them believed it.

Last edited: Jun 27, 2022

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May 20, 2022

#433

Shadow Stalker hit the ground with a gasp, panting for breath.

She turned, and a desperate roll helped her narrowly avoid his foot cracking a rib.

She barely managed to get to her feet and weaved past a jab, attempting to uppercut him while he overextended.

A quick spin on his heel, and his elbow knocked her to the floor once again.

He let her catch her breath, and fished a small water bottle out of a gym bag he'd stolen. "Here, drink, but keep it light. Otherwise you'll cramp."

She tilted her mask up, greedily gulping down the bottle until he snatched it out of her hands with a glower. "That just earned you another five minutes."

If anything, that just made her more excited.

Blake had always hated hand-to-hand training. Hell, even getting her to learn to swing a blade had been a challenge. She hated violence, and while he managed to get her to learn Gambol Shroud, he had simply given up trying to teach her to fight bare-fisted.

But Shadow Stalker loved it. It was her favorite thing to do with him besides actual outings and busts, Especially after a skinhead got a lucky hit in one time and nearly knocked her mask off.

He knew that she was a track girl, that she loved the adrenaline and fast pace of running, but he was surprised to see that extend to hand-to-hand training. She was an adrenaline junkie with a new source for her high.

She got to her feet and lunged forward with a textbook high kick, jumping and spinning mid-air for the added kinetic hell.

It was a perfect copy of a kick he'd knocked her down with plenty of times, he noted with a dim sense of pride.

He nearly felt bad for catching her mid-air bridal style. It would have almost looked tender if he hadn't pile-drived her to the ground shoulder-first a moment after.

She let out a rattling mix of a cough and howl of pain when she hit the floor, and he eased off.

"Never, ever, ever kick like that unless your target is off balance. Mid-air you're completely defenseless, and if anyone else had caught you like I did, your skull would be plastered all over this concrete."

She nodded, gasping for breath slightly, one hand soothing her shoulder. He might have to lighten it up, he didn't want to hurt her.

She must have been a mind reader, because he could hear her frown in her voice. "I ain't a pussy. I can take it. Just gimme a sec."

He wordlessly handed her the water bottle again, and this time he let her gulp it down until she crumpled it in her fist and tossed it over the side of the roof.

She tilted her mask back down and stood, legs shaking slightly.

A small smile crossed his face.

She had his stubbornness at least. That would serve her well in a fight just like it did him.

"Again."

He charged forward this time, fists at the ready.

He started simple with a right cross, but she leaned to the side, one hand latching onto his wrist and shoving the arm off balance, and her free hand balled up and slammed into his stomach three times before she backed off as his foot raced outwards.

She managed to cross her arms over her chest to stop it from knocking her over, but a stumble was enough for him to shoulder-check her to the floor.

"Good. On-"

"Anyone else, that would have worked, right?" She coughed again, and light laughter followed. She got herself up on her knees and looked at him almost pondering. "But your not just anyone else, are you?"

His smile turned to a full, beaming grin. "I'm not."

She stood once more(Blake would have folded by now, He was impressed) and fussed with her hood.

He grimaced at the ponytail peeking out from the side.

Well, might as well teach her this one early before someone else does.

"Again." She barely managed to get her arms up, but his height advantage let him bear down on her and slug her in the face. She spun with the blow, arms flailing.

Then he grabbed her hood and yanked.

She choked as it pressed down on her throat, and he grabbed her hair and pulled her head to the side.

Her cry of pain was silenced by his knee slamming into her chin.

She screamed, and her mask was partially crushed, small pieces of metal falling to the ground with the clatter of dropped silverware.

Blood was dripping down her throat.

Shit.

He misjudged his strength.

She didn't have aura. He had forgotten in the heat of the moment.

He'd done that maneuver to Blake and dozens of his trainees who thought that extra long hair and ponytails were fine battlefield apparel.

They changed that opinion rather quickly, though Blake was the exception.

Before he could get closer, she pulled her mask off and tossed it to the floor, spitting a thick wad of blood to the ground, sputtering as blood flowed free out of her mouth.

He froze as she looked him in the face, and she laughed when she saw his expression.

There were small cuts from the metal all across her chin and lower face, and her bottom lip had a perfect imprint of her teeth on it.

She had dark skin and brown eyes, and he could just barely catch an earring shining in the moonlight.

She looked at his outstreched hand, and her laughter died.

"Fuck, I didn't mean to hit you that hard, I-"

She spat another wad of blood, this time at him. "Don't apologize, it's not like you were trying to fuck me up."

She pondered that statement for a moment after, eyes rolling upwards for a moment before she reconsidered. "Well, you were, but not like that."

She eyed his mask for a moment, and she smiled. He could see the blood staining her teeth. "Well I showed you mine, you gonna show me yours?"

She laughed again at his flinch, but it quickly died when he saw a tooth pop half loose. "Ahh, motherfucker."

She grunted, and a small keen of pain sounded out before she got it under control. "Oh man, Armsmaster's gonna fuckin kill me. I wasn't supposed to be out today, and he's gonna ask questions."

"I'll clean you up."

Her head snapped back towards him.

"What?"

"I'll clean you up and patch what I can. You have spare masks, yes?"

She nodded.

"Alright, good." He walked towards her and picked up the shattered mask. The area that was supposed to cover her chin was completely gone, and small parts of the cheeks were dented inward.

"Where are we going?" She had a slight lisp from the blood in her mouth, and as she spat more of it out, that loose tooth came with it. A long suffering sigh erupted in the night, and he let her have it.

"My home."

She stilled, searching his face. "You'd trust me with that?"

"I saw your face. It's only fair."

"Normally I'd be pissed. But I'm the one who took it off, and I knew you were there."

Something flicked across her face for a moment, then disappeared. "I trust you. Just surprised you trust me."

"We both know how the world really works. We both know how ineffective the PRT is. We've both killed. Pack hunters exist for a reason. You aren't in the PRT by choice. I know you wouldn't sell me out."

He turned away before she could reply. "Follow me, let's do this quick before they call you back."

With that, he made his way to the apartment, with her hot on his heels.

If she hadn't been wearing that mask, her jaw would have been broken almost completely. Hell, it might have even killed her.

Even now, she was shaking with pain. He could see her wince and spasm with every shift from shadow to person, and her eyes were welled up with hard-fought tears.

She should be screaming at him, calling him names, running away, or calling the PRT.

Instead, she was following him to his apartment.

He had her.

Completely.

Something in his stomach lurched, and he nearly missed his next jump.

It had been so easy.

It shouldn't have been so easy.

He knew how she looked at him.

Another lurch, and he stumbled mid-step

Blake had the same way, he just hadn't seen it at the time.

It was what he wanted, wasn't it?

To control her, shape her, mold her into something better than she was?

Someone better than him?

Yet he felt nothing but sick.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't fond of her. She was smart, witty, and eager to learn.

But she was a child compared to him, to his experience, and his age.

A child he was teaching to fight, maim, and kill.

But she had already been doing that before you. All he could do was point her and aim her.

He stopped at the edge of his building, waiting for her to catch up.

She landed a few feet away, and the sole working street lamp on the block painted a rather poor picture.

There was a massive bruise forming under her chin, and between the blood, he could see small glints of light flashing before the river of blood drowned then. Some pieces of metal had stuck into her chin and cheek, and whenever her shoulder rolled, her breath hitched.

This wouldn't be easy.

They both walked inside the complex, and the sound of the dripping blood echoed loudly as they climbed the stairs.

She was silent, and when he looked back at her, her eyes were almost completely squinted from the agony.

She had his tolerance for pain as well.

He wondered how she acquired it.

For him, it was a matter of necessity.

You learned to control your reactions quickly when Indigo played his game with you.

Every wince got you another lash.

He dispelled those memories away with a shake of the head.

They would only make this worse.

When they made their way to the top, he opened his curtain and made his way inside, striding towards one of the many bags Parian left him.

She followed, but not for long.

She made it three feet inside before she stopped dead in her tracks.

Her breathing had slowed, and he heard her mumble a low "Wow" of amazement.

Had had to admit, the moonlight gave the place a rather striking figure.

She walked towards the mural of Argus, and his hands twitched before they resumed rifling through the bags.

He pulled away with some bottles in hand, but it was hard to read the labels with the mask in his way, especially with one eye. The moon wasn't much help either. He'd have to ask Parian for a nightlight of some kind.

Shadow Stalker looked between him and the mural before wincing, and he didn't think it was from pain.

"You made all this?"

He set the medicine down and reached for a water bottle. "Mhm." He'd need salt as well.

She whistled and looked around the room. "How do you even fuckin see?"

His hair, hands, and back bathed the room in crimson light, and she huffed.

Some of the murals lit up along with him.

She ran her hands across Sienna's face, and he almost walked down and slapped them away before he thought the better of it.

Even with the impromptu light, the slit's in his mask didn't make it easy to read.

He flicked his head to her bare face and sighed.

She stopped and turned towards him as he strode to his spare clothes pile.

A half-finished jacket sat at the top, and he grabbed it.

Her breathing stopped when his mask clattered to the floor.

He angled his back towards her, and she didn't dare try and peek.

He tore a strip from the jacket and tied it around the brand. It was a little awkward angling it to the side, but he made it work. It covered his eye, but part of the scar was visible above his nose.

Good enough.

He turned around and dragged his stool towards the bottle pile.

She tracked him the whole way before they locked eyes.

"Sit."

He walked away from it and reached for the water, and he desperately tried to pretend the red on her face was just from his light.

His heart throbbed, and he forced some bile down his throat.

He fished a small packet of salt from a box of pretzels and walked over to mix it in the water.

She swallowed and seemed to gather her voice. "How bad?"

"Nothing life-threatening, but all very ugly. The worst part is the tooth, and the metal still in your face. I assume you can keep Panacea quiet about the last part?"

"Easily. I'll swing by the hospital later tomorrow and try to find her there. Or just ambush her and get her to fix it whenever you fuck up another PRT stooge and she heads over to patch them up."

He shook the bottle a moment, letting the salt mix and dissolve. "Good. Drink."

She wrapped her lips over the lid, and he tilted it down before pulling away. Her face twisted up, and her nostrils flared, but she swished the water around fine enough. She'd probably dealt with mouth injuries before. He held the bottle up again, and she spat a pink glob back inside.

"Open." Normally he wouldn't be so curt, but he wanted this done with.

She opened her mouth, and he looked inside.

The blood in her mouth was glowing alongside everything else, and the bleeding from the missing tooth had almost stopped.

He tore another strip from the jacket and balled it up. She opened her mouth wider, and he placed it in the gap.

She bit down automatically, wincing.

"Swap that for a cotton ball as soon as possible. Most of the cuts on your face are superficial, but the metal won't be fun to deal with."

Her eyes followed his hand as he gripped onto a metal shaving that had sunk inside her cheek. Her breathing had sped up.

"On three. One, t-"

He yanked as hard as he could, and it slipped free.

Her mouth was still shut, but he heard the stifled scream just fine, and she was glaring daggers at him. "Preparing for the pain makes it worse. You told me you weren't a pussy, remember?"

At that, she glared even harder, but nodded after a moment.

After a few minutes, she was clear of metal, but there was still blood all over her face, and those cuts would be noticed.

"Let it all scab before you wash your face. Find a good story, maybe you fell off a bike and scuffed your face, I dunno. Hiding that isn't going to happen."

She nodded, and he walked away. "I'm sleeping in. Let me know when you've recovered."

He hesitated, and the words that followed tasted like ash.

"If you need a place away from everything, this is it."

Another nod, and her jaw clenched tighter against the fabric.

She walked towards his balcony and gave one final lingering look at his home, and her shattered mask tucked in his belt, before slipping into shadow and leaping off.

His stomach lurched again, and this time he didn't fight it.

He walked towards the edge and threw up.

Last edited: May 21, 2022

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May 21, 2022

#485

Wilt brought another face to life.

He couldn't sleep, but he could think.

Plan.

He slipped Shadow Stalker's mask free from his belt and laid it next to his bedroll.

The PRT hadn't brought anyone else in, but he knew she wasn't lying to him. Brockton Bay wasn't exactly the most welcoming of assignments.

But eventually, one day, more would come. And when he beat them, yet more. A zero-contact policy was the only way he could last long enough in the city to make his mark. But the PRT would do their best to force an engagement, and when he beat them soundly, they wouldn't stop bringing capes in until he was brought to heel.

And he would be. No matter your skill or your power, someday, your turn would come.

He learned that the hard way.

The only matter of debate was whether he would resist.

Once the Empire was gone, perhaps he might turn himself in, but whether that would be to jail, the birdcage, or the headsman he didn't know.

He couldn't think of anything else do to with himself.

Whore himself to the highest bidder like Faultline? He still had some pride left, and the life of a common mercenary didn't sound appealing.

Perhaps stomp out the merchants, and be his own beggar king? The same issue with the PRT, and he had no appetite for power anymore.

Maybe he would simply leave. Wander the world and see the sights. He doubted the PRT would follow him to England or Japan. Perhaps something there could grab him.

The Empire was reeling. The people of the city used to see them as an unstoppable juggernaut second only too Lung and the ABB.

But now they were scrambling, and plenty of its members had simply covered their tattoos and walked away. The Empire's economy and manpower base were in shambles.

But with the PRT's soon to be stepped up efforts, STRIKING STAR might have to come early.

The only thing about the Empire that was left untouched was its capes.

The Empire was still(Poorly) running its counterintelligence campaign. They were still haphazardly attempting to force him into a decisive battle, where either sheer power or sheer numbers would put him down.

They had set the table, and were waiting for him to sit down and eat.

Perhaps he should entertain them.

Some would die, no doubt about it, but he could cripple the rest enough the PRT would take over.

Shadow Stalker was shaping up nicely. Now he just had to distance her further away from the PRT, and suggest she join the Guild. Subtly, letting her come to the idea on her own. It was nice to have a partner again, for however such a short time, he just wished he didn't have to manipulate her so.

Maybe he didn't at all, and just defaulted back to what was familiar.

He turned his head to check the time, and winced at the sunlight, ducking and shielding his face with his arm.

How long had he been awake?

He looked back at the wall. It was progressing nicely.

For all she had done for him so far, she deserved a monument.

He knew she was a loose end.

The PRT could use her to find him, and she could be punished harshly for aiding him.

But, selfish as it was, he didn't want to let her go. It was nice to have something to look forward to, even if it was a simple five-minute chat in the morning or evening, or advice about a dress or costume.

It helped keep him grounded in the here and now.

It was nice, to have at least one person he could call a friend.

Perhaps he could start seeking her out during the day. It would keep him distracted, and besides the spare clothes, he hadn't much kept his sewing skills intact.

Maybe he could help her out more directly. Leave a different mark on the world besides just death.

He heard the subject of his consideration slowly make her way up the stairs.

The fine details were done. All that was left was to either paint it or leave it blank.

He'd let her decide.

The quick clangs of her feet striking the staircase were comforting, and he counted the steps until they stopped.

When she made her way inside, she dropped her bags.

When he followed her gaze, he saw his mask right where he left it.

Not on his face.

Oh.

Right.

He tugged the fabric further down. "Good morning."

She eyed him and didn't say a word.

She was staring blankly, head swiveling between his good eye, and the hint of red peeking out above his nose.

"Something on my face?"

That broke through her haze, and she let out a small laugh.

"What do you have for me?"

She stilled a little at the question, but since he didn't normally ask, he let her have it.

"Food, batteries, and a nightlight. I figured since it had been getting so dark lately you'd want one, so I bought one before you could ask, an-"

She stopped mid-sentence and stared at the doll mask he'd carved next to his bed, by Blake.

"Is.." He heard her swallow. "Is that me?"

"Yes."

She strode forward, and he shifted himself out her way. She stopped and stood in front of it, one hand running across it almost delicately.

"It's beautiful."

They both stared at it quietly, and the sun's shine left them at peace.

She let the quiet hang for a moment longer before turning back to him. "Thank you, Taurus."

"Adam."

It had slipped out almost automatically.

But he didn't take it back.

"Taurus is my last name. My name is Adam."

She froze up, and stared at him for what seemed to be an eternity.

Then her hand rose up, almost shakily, before she pulled off her own mask.

"Sabah."

He waved his hand towards the pails of paint scattered across the room. "Would you like to paint it?

She seemed to gather herself a moment, before nodding.

A small smile made its way across her face.

"Yes, I would like that."

Last edited: May 21, 2022

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May 22, 2022

#527

The car shuddered to a stop, and he opened the door and stepped out.

A crowd had formed, media vultures holding microphones and cameras over hastily erected police barricades, with the sheer wall of bodies nearly tipping them over if not for the two-man teams holding up each one.

Even some civilians had joined the fray, shouting and heckling, or standing on the sidelines and watching it all go down.

It was a fuckin feeding frenzy, and he just got dumped in the middle of it.

He fumbled with his lighter and stuffed two cigarettes in his mouth, lighting them both and almost immediately inhaling half of them down.

He looked towards the scene, where several officers stood on guard at the doorway.

Just his luck to be sent to the goddamn zoo. The captain knew how much he hated the media circus.

But he sent him anyway.

Prick.

He saw Mike step outside, and he marched towards him in a fury.

"Mike, what the fuck is this shit?"

"It's bad Cole, it-"

"No fuckin shit it's bad, I haven't seen crowds this big since Marquis, what the hell kind of crime scene is this?"

"Empire shakedown went bad. Real bad."

He spat out his burnt-out cigarettes and reached in his pocket to fish out more, grumbling. "How does an Empire shakedown lead to this shitshow?"

"Empire's been on the back foot since Th-Taurus, and people ain't been as scared. Old lady, badass, been here since Allfather, stopped paying her dues, and the Empire sent some boys to shake it up."

He lit his newest(But likely not his last) smoke and tried to center himself.

"Let's get inside, away from all the noise."

They both walked away, and the shouts of the crowd rose up louder than ever before fading out as soon as the door to the shop shut behind them.

The cigarette dropped from his parted lips.

"Woah."

Shattered display cases left glass all over the floor, and numerous antique statues and books were scattered all over the floors and shelves. The whole place looked like a hurricane had gone through it.

But the white sheets were what grabbed his attention.

All six of them.

"Christ on a cross. This all of them?"

Mike shook his head, nodding his head towards a staircase in the back. "We got three more up there, plus the VIC."

He stepped towards the nearest body, carefully tugging the sheet back.

He sighed. "Another dumb-ass kid dying for nothing. Any of-em vets?"

"The ones upstairs. These lot were just the rabble-rousers."

"Who called it in?" It had to have been a neighbor and customer.

"Vic's granddaughter. She's upstairs."

He winced, choking slightly. "What even happened? How did one lady pissing them off get us ten cadavers?"

"We found a holdout gun over by the register. She shot the ones here, but one of them made it out and escaped, so she went upstairs and barricaded herself in her bedroom. Empire comes back with the big guns before sieging her out for maybe half an hour. Eventually, they made it in and got her, but she took a few more with her."

"Well, where the hell were we?"

"Nobody called it in until the granddaughter came in to visit, and you think some fresh-off-the-boat beat cop was gonna want anything to do with this?"

"No."

He bent his head low and stared at the body. The kid's eyes were blown wide like he was in shock, like he couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

The hole in his head was bigger than a quarter.

"No, I guess not."

What a goddamn waste. All of it.

"And it ain't just here. People all over town are pulling shit like this, and the media are starting to notice. The spectators out there are mad. At us, the Empire, and the PRT. People are starting to wonder if Taurus is so bad after all."

"Don't I know it."

He walked back and snubbed out his fallen cigarette with his shoe.

"Let's head upstairs, check out the VIC. Granddaughter still there?"

"Yeah. No statement yet. She hasn't said a word since she called us."

Cole didn't blame her. No matter what she said, the Empire would probably get away with it.

Still, he had to try.

They walked to the back and made it up the stairs. Shell casings littered the steps, and he had to watch his footing to not nudge them away.

He stopped mid-step near the top, and Mike slammed into his back and nearly fell down.

There was a bedroom door that was kicked wide, and three body's marked the path inside.

The rest of the beat cops were upstairs, covering the corpses, and a few were fruitlessly trying to coax the woman standing by the window to talk to them.

"Think you can make her talk?"

"No. Don't think I can."

With that, he made his way toward her.

/

Short chapter is short, but I'm pretty busy today, and the next few chapters are when shit really kicks off and gets much longer.

Last edited: May 22, 2022

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May 23, 2022

#553

"Something...knight themed?"

"It's...vague, I know, but it's what they asked for."

"Knight themed could mean lots of things, and if we want this to be something quality made and something they are happy with, we're gonna need more than that."

He crumpled the sketch paper in his hand and tossed it out his balcony, grabbing another piece and readying his pencil, tapping it against his chin.

"Did they mention their powers at all? Their appearance or environment?"

Sabah ceased her sketching and paused, eyes rolling up in thought. "No, not that I remember. They just contacted me online, and paid me to make them a costume. I don't normally get many details."

Annoying. Something knight themed..

His thoughts drifted to the boy, Arc(At least he thought that was his name).

If they could source and paint the steel, that could work.

His memory of the boy was hazy, but the gold-white of his armor stood out.

He'd need time, and perhaps a forge, which wouldn't exactly be easy to come by.

No, that wouldn't be practical.

Unless..

"I have an idea, but did they say anything about armor, or did they just want you to make something sewn?"

"Like I said, nothing specific. What's your idea?"

"Give me a moment and I'll show you."

She nodded, and went back towards her own drawings.

He drew a vague outline, slowly sketching and filling in a silhouette.

He'd followed the boy and his group for weeks.

Watching.

Waiting.

He'd listened in on dozens of their conversations and arguments, memorized their sleep-schedules and routines, all while waiting for the right moment where he could find Blake alone.

He knew the time had come at the radio tower. She would be alone and isolated, away from her friends and Yang.

Yang.

His hand stilled.

At first, he had no idea who she was. At Beacon, when Blake looked between him and her, ears flattening and eyes going wide, all he knew was that she mattered to Blake.

And that was good enough.

But by Argus, he knew better.

At first there was anger. That she had the gall to abandon him, run away, tail between her legs, and then replace him. Like all their years were worth nothing at all.

But the longer he thought about it, the more the anger faded, replaced by dawning comprehension.

In his sleep deprived, half-mad and half-starved mind, he had an epiphany.

He wasn't a one time thing.

He was the beginning of a cycle.

Blake had found a replacement, someone else she could use, lie to, and string along, and the girl was just as blind as he had been.

He originally was going to follow them to Atlas, but when he realized what was happening, he stepped up his timetable before she could sink her hooks any further in, and ruin the girl as she had him.

In his own, twisted, malformed way, he was almost trying to protect her.

"Adam?"

He flinched, pencil snapping in two in his clenched fist.

She frowned, and stepped over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he shuddered, leaning in.

"Just a bad memory. Don't worry about it."

"You've been staring at the wall for the past five minutes, I was getting worried."

Her eyes were shining, free of judgement or pity.

She didn't grill him, she just simply waited for him to make the first move.

"I'm fine. Just get me another pencil, will you?"

Her frown deepened, but she nodded her head and handed him her pencil, walking back to her corner of the room and fishing another one out of a bag.

He looked back towards his paper and went back to work.

The armor would have to be outsourced, likely at the customers discretion, but the rest could be done here.

Instead of a hoodie and jeans, perhaps a padded leather jacket and matching pants?

Layered and tightened enough to help to protect against stabs and cuts.

Woolen gloves, for protection against all kinds of weather

Greaves would be needed as well, for extra core protection. The armor wouldn't stop a bullet(Unless the tinker was good enough), but any kind of blade would glance off.

He could leave the mask to Sabah.

He stood up, and she put her paper down, and he handed her his design.

"They would have to outsource the armor, but the rest would be do-able, and we could cover the tinker's costs ourselves. What do you think?"

Her eyes widened, flicking between his paper and hers over and over before she handed it back to him.

"It's perfect, I'll start on it as soon as I head back."

She gave him a smile, all teeth, and made to walk out.

"Maybe we could do it together?"

She stopped, looking back at him, and her smile widened. "I'd love that. I'll go gather the materials, and we can get started."

He nodded, and she stepped out.

He walked back towards the balcony, sitting down and kicking his legs out past the edge, and surveyed the city.

The people had turned against the Empire.

Cops were arresting members in the street, businesses were refusing to pay protection money, and the PRT were actually starting to go on the offensive.

The Empire was dying, and it was lashing out at everyone and everything on its way out.

Maybe when it was gone, he could go into hiding.

Find a place where no-one knew his name or face, and settle down.

A quiet life hadn't suited him in Remnant, but maybe it could here.

But that was wishful thinking.

As long as the PRT wanted his head. And they wouldn't stop looking for him even if he went to ground.

Perhaps he could strike some sort of deal, but that was neither here nor there.

He turned his body, leaning against the wall, letting the breeze flow across his face.

The suns shine relaxed him, and he let his eyes drift shut.

Maybe peace was something to aspire too after all.

The chirping of insects woke him, and he nearly fell off the edge, scrambling to grab the wall before his weight could send him off the side.

The sun was halfway down, and the sky was a burning orange.

He turned his head.

Sabah hadn't returned.

He stood up and walked back in.

Everything was as he left it. It must have been a good few hours.

His head snapped towards his doorway, and he relaxed at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Why had she taken so long?

Ma-

He stilled, and focused his aura in his ears, sharpening his hearing.

There was a second pair of footsteps half a second behind.

Then a third.

Then a fourth.

By the fifth and sixth, he had run to his bedroll and grabbed Wilt and Blush.

He walked towards his doorway and tugged his curtain shut, and waited by the side of the door.

The closer they got, the more worried he was.

He could hear the rustling of guns on slings, and the stretching and clenching of leather gloves.

They all stopped when they reached his floor.

He could hear their muffled breathing. Balaclavas.

His hand drifted to Wilt. Not PRT, so they were free game as far as he was concerned, especially if they were going to barge into his home.

There was a grunt, then the sound of a punch or shove, and he heard a woman gasp.

Parian.

She walked forward towards his door, almost delicately, and knocked on the wall.

"I brought the stuff you wanted! It's really heavy, I'm not sure how much longer I can hold it."

His pointer finger clenched on Blush's trigger. "How many bags?"

"Five, they have lot's of stuff in them. Really stacked tight."

He frowned.

His finger left the trigger, and he thumbed his blade free.

"How long will they last me?"

Silence.

His heart hammered in his chest.

When he heard the clicking of a safety, he was about to step out and cut them all down before she hastily replied.

"They should be fine for a little while. Can I bring them in?"

His hand clenched around Wilt's hilt, squeezing down hard enough to hurt before he let go.

"Come on in."

Last edited: May 23, 2022

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May 24, 2022

#579

A barrel prodded her back, and she stepped inside the apartment.

As soon as she cleared the doorway, her arm was seized in a vice grip, and Adam yanked her behind him hard enough to nearly dislocate her arm, shoving her away in the direction of the bathroom as the five men stepped inside.

Darkness.

She was blind, hands and feet invisible in the emptiness.

Then a red light blinked to life, so bright her eyes stung, and when her vision cleared, Adam and the mercenaries were the only people left in the world.

The sun was gone, the insects and passing cars all swallowed by the void she now inhabited.

There was a ringing in her ears, an unidentifiable sound, like the crackle of electricity or a wailing alarm thrown together with an ever louder and louder scream.

She had no body, she simply existed in the moment.

The bloodshine of Adam's blade and body were her only guiding lights in a starless universe.

Then she heard the words.

"You blink, you die. Breath, you die. Move, you die, SPEAK, you die, do anything that I did not tell you to do myself, I kill you all, and there will not be any bodies to bury. Do you all understand?"

There was nothing, and a chuckle filled the air, mocking and cruel.

"Right. Nod if you understand."

She couldn't see any movement, but Adam apparently had, because like the press of a button, her world came back.

All at once, the lights and sounds overloading her senses before she adjusted.

Adam was still, one hand clenching his sword, the other his rifle.

His face was made of thunder, the most furious scowl she had ever seen in her life chiseled to his face, eye narrowed, teeth bared, and lips curled.

He looked between her and them for a moment, and his hands started shaking.

She knew the only reason he hadn't butchered them all was she told to not to.

That trust and care was as flattering as it was terrifying.

The men were stock still, the perfect representation of composure except for the trembling in their feet.

"You get one breath. Tell me what you want. Now."

The men inhaled deeply, the tremble growing as they did, before one man spoke up. "Our employer wanted us to get in contact with you so he could establish a dialogue. He informed us that the woman behind you comes and goes from here, and that this was your location of residence. We co-opted her to bring us here so we could fulfill our mission."

"And you-

Adam stopped mid-sentence, and then he smiled.

The man who had replied had taken a small breath.

Then he was dangling in the air, feet kicking out uselessly as Adam held him by the throat one handed.

His smile froze her blood.

Adam turned to the other mercenaries, who were desperately holding their breath as best they could.

She didn't realize she had been holding hers until the burning in her chest intensified enough that she fell to the floor panting and gasping for breath.

In Adam's eye she saw hell.

It was almost glazed over, like he was in his own world, lost in a memory.

"What were my words, Hmm?"

The choking man's eyes were starting to rollback.

"Do anything I didn't tell you to do, and there won't be a body to bury."

She could see the skin around the man's eyes turning blue.

"You all get one breath and the privilege of watching."

Her voice was hoarse and thin. "Adam."

The man dropped to the floor, heaving and panting, tears soaking his mask.

She knew he had killed. Killed many, and in some horrible ways, but she never knew he enjoyed it.

But when Adam turned to her, she saw horror and fear and terror and misery and sadness and longing and grief and anger and fury all at once before a tide washed it all away and replaced it with emptiness.

"Breath."

All at once, the men lurched forward and took deep, gasping breaths.

He looked down at her and sheathed his sword, extending a single hand to pull her up.

She hesitated for a moment before she took it, and anyone but her would have missed his minute flinch.

He pulled her up, and this time let her be as he faced the mercenaries again.

"Why didn't your employer come to me himself?"

The man who had been choked answered, voice a deep rasp. "We don't know exactly, but from our experience with him, he's a very cautious man. Doesn't like going out himself."

"How were we to speak then?"

The mercenary with a bag slung over his back spoke up, reaching to his back and setting it down. "Via call from the laptop inside this bag. May I retrieve it?"

"You may. Once it's set up, all of you will line up against the wall and hold your breath until I give a signal. When I do, you can take a single breath. Do we understand each other?"

There was a chorus of nods, and the man with the laptop retrieved it and placed it on Adams stool.

He fiddled with some keys, then stepped back and joined the men facing the wall.

When Adam unsheathed his sword and placed it against the wall, she took a death breath.

It turned to a choke when his sheath shifted to a rifle and pointed at the men on the wall.

She heard the static of a microphone before a tinny voice bounded across the room from the laptops speakers.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Ah, good. The wait was getting concerning. Are my men coming back home?"

"That depends on the outcome of this conversation."

The men huffed, and it sounded slightly distorted. "Fair enough. I believe I should introduce myself. My name is Coil, and I am a major player in the Brockton Bay underworld."

She didn't think he could have been very major, because she hadn't heard of a Coil in all of her time in the Bay.

Adam lifted a finger, and the men took a breath. "What do you want?"

"Straightforward of you. How refreshing. Simply put, I want you either dead, gone, out of my way, working for me, or not causing trouble."

Adam started pacing around the room, and she was reminded of a tiger eyeing children through the glass at a zoo.

"And you think you can kill me?"

"Not at all." And the voice sounded genuinely irritated at the fact. "But what I can do is make your life very difficult. I figured I would at least attempt to reign you in first though, as you've caused me an equal amount of trouble and prosperity both."

Adam rolled his eyes, smiling wide, but it didn't reach his eyes. The men at the wall were starting to choke, and Adam lifted his finger almost as an afterthought.

"And I assume this is the part where you either try and threaten or bludgeon me into submission, or convince me our goals align?"

"Of course they don't, I want the city, and I can't exactly take it if you tear it all down along with the PRT and Empire. And while you can rest assured I tried looking, there is nothing I could hope to even try threatening you with besides Parian, and I doubt that would end well for me. Instead, I'm going to dispense with the usual posturing and tell you what I want from this meeting."

Adam's smile had died, and a pensive frown had taken it's place.

"Go ahead then."

"I want to co-operate with you in the short term against the Empire Eighty-Eight, and depending on how much more attention and damage you cause, on a long term basis with the PRT and Brockton Bay."

"And why would I agree to this?"

"Protection against the PRT, For you and dear Parian, extra equipment and materials, and access to my funds, territory, and hired mercenaries. You strike me as an operator, but more than that, a military man, someone used to planning operations and leading men in battle. I can facilitate all of your needs with ease, and I would honestly enjoy co-operating with another big planner. I have a big thinker, but she's rather tiresome."

"All of that sounds wonderful for me." She heard the click of a safety, and Adam let the men at the wall take a breath before they fell over. "But what do you get out of it if I have apparently caused you so much trouble doing what I do."

"Well, I get either you dead and out of my way, The Empire dead and out of my way, or both. Either way, I win, and If we can curb your more bombastic modus operandi, I think you could possibly have a lasting place in my city."

Adam's gun lowered, and he looked almost considering. "I've been fucked before, several times. What reason do I have to take your word when your men put a gun to my best friend's head?"

Her heart fluttered a little at that, but it only lasted a moment before she looked at the gun in his hand, and she felt cold again.

"They did what now? They were meant to talk to her, not force her. You have my permission to kill them then if it pleases you. I have no use for men who cannot follow orders."

He turned back to her, and she pleaded with him as best she could, but no words came out of her mouth.

Something in him seemed to shift, and his gun flickered back to a sheath. "I won't kill them. You can do with them as you like."

"If that's your choice. As another piece of evidence for my genuine intentions, I'll give you some intel, free of charge. Over the past few days, my scouts have been reporting strange meetings between Hookwolf and Krieg. Every other day, Krieg and Hookwolf meet near the edge of his district, like clockwork. If this is a genuine meeting or a ploy to bring you to them I cannot say, but it's something noteworthy."

"And what would long term look like for me?"

"I would keep you in reserve as a wetwork operator and/or a spy, and use your expertise to help refine my own plans, while making sure to keep you away from the prying eyes of the PRT."

Adam walked back to his sword and sheathed it, before he glanced towards her. His finger lifted, then pointed towards the door, and the mercenaries started breathing again, before slowly shuffling out the door. "And S-Parian?"

"Hurting her would hurt you, which would get me killed rather quickly, and considering she has zero interest in the cape life, I have no interest in her. I needed her to get to you, that is all. She would have no part in this."

Adam went quieter than she'd ever seen before, eyes looking outwards past the city.

Minutes must have passed, the only sound in the room besides her breathing being the static from the computer's speakers.

At last, Adam turned back.

She was the only one to see his scowl.

"I accept your deal. In the short term, at least."

"I'm glad to hear that."

/

Had quite a lot of fun writing Coil, and describing the effects of Adam's semblance from the POV of someone who's trapped in it.

Last edited: Aug 10, 2022

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May 25, 2022

#622

Slightly pressed on time, so this one's being divided into thirds.

I never thought Hookwolf would end up being one of my favorite characters to write so far, but he is.

I guess it helps that he's literally just (White Trash)TM, All rights reserved.

/

Another Cinder.

Another Hazel.

Another liar.

This Coil thought he could be manipulated. Be used.

He figured him to be some wild dog one could tame with a treat and a pat on the head.

The half second pause when he mentioned Parian's treatment told him all he needed to know.

Cinder had lorded over him. Every call, every meeting, every conversation they had, she took the opportunity to gloat. To smile and flutter her eyes, silently taunting him, knowing he couldn't react.

Touching him was her favorite. She knew it incensed him, and so she'd run a finger up his arm, put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and lean in close, making sure her breath touched his skin when she talked.

All he could do was sit stock still and grind his teeth.

Petty power plays, all to show him how impotent he was. Childish, pointless, done only to satiate her ego.

She quickly learned that even as tied as his hands were, there was a limit to how much his pride could take.

At their second to last meeting, when they were discussing the White Fang's role in the attack, out of the blue she had asked him to look her in the eye when he spoke to her.

She had her usual smile in place, but there was something darker about it than usual.

He asked her, fruitlessly, about what she meant by that. His men had always watched their meetings in poorly hidden anger(And interest)and a small crowd had formed to watch.

She asked him to remove his mask.

He had unsheathed Wilt before a rational thought had even formed in his mind. At that moment, he was closer to simply damning his men and cutting her down than he ever had been since their first meeting.

But when that familiar glow entered her eyes, and the tips of her fingers brought an undying flame to life, he stopped.

Wilt slid back home, and he lifted a single, shaking hand, and removed his mask.

He couldn't place her reaction.

There was no mocking, nor sympathy. No anger, or glee. No sadness or happiness. Her face had twisted, and her mouth had shaped itself into a confused frown. Her eyes were utterly empty, devoid of anything even resembling Human or Faunus. The Grimm had more life in them.

She had tilted her head, as a dog might at a particularly strange sound.

She took a single step closer, honing her gaze on the scar like a laser. He had blinked on reflex, and she watched the melted skin and poorly healed muscle tug the eye slowly up, then back down again, much slower than his good eye. There was a resistance to the movement, and every time he moved his eyelid, it almost seemed like it was peeling back.

There was something unknowable, incomprehensible in her eyes. Neither of them could identify what it was. Perhaps a sort of connection, as close to a genuine emotion as she could bring herself to feeling.

It ended the moment her hand reached out to touch it, and he snapped.

He rammed his horns through her hand with a loud CRACK.

They had punched through the skin, muscle and bone, tearing free out the other side, dripping blood.

When he pulled his head back, he nearly split her hand apart.

She had slapped him with her other hand hard enough to split open his cheek, and both of their aura's came to life.

She looked at the slowly healing holes in her hand as if in disbelief, then back to his eye.

The fire had come back, but nobody was yet dead.

She simply stood, staring at him. She lifted her hand to her face, eyeing the newly healed and stretching skin, and told him she would contact him later.

Then she walked away.

After that, she was simply cold and methodical. The taunts were still there, but less invasive. He never understood why.

A creature like her couldn't feel remorse or sympathy.

Hazel had been different from the start. From their very first meeting to the last, he was calm, quiet, patient.

He answered every question, accounted for every variable, and even seemed pleased when he gave his thoughts and idea's for the attack on Haven.

He was everything Cinder was not.

But he was just as vindictive when it counted.

After Sienna, he changed.

The man in fact had at least one quality from Cinder.

They both were petty.

This Coil seemed a mix of the two.

Hazel's pragmatism, willingness to co-operate, and seemingly blunt honesty.

But honesty wasn't the right word.

He had Cinder's ability to twist words and meanings, her ability to lie on-the-fly, and willingness to sacrifice pawn's.

He let out a small chuckle. He had her insane and lofty goals as well.

And her tendency to talk.

He had mentioned a Thinker, someone he had in his employ that he either found irritating, or hard to work with.

Both things he could use. The issue would be finding them, and testing their loyalty.

He certainly didn't have any, at least for now.

But he'd play along.

Either Coil would be the exception to the rule, or he would die.

Only time would tell. No one else would command him again. He would have to be an equal, and whether Coil dealt in equals or not he couldn't say.

He eyed the man angrily pacing back and forth through the glass.

At least his intel was good.

Hookwolf was maskless, a tank top and sweatpants his only clothes, feet bare of socks or shoes.

His lips were moving, but he couldn't hear the words.

He was scowling, fists shaking and clenching.

Krieg was nowhere in sight.

Good enough.

Wilt angled to the side, and the glass shattered.

Hookwolf's slight left turn was the only thing that saved his head.

It didn't save his throat though.

Wilt carved completely through, windpipe and arteries severing, blood spraying wide.

The falling glass lodged itself in his arms and back, and he heard a gurgled sound that could have been a "What the fuck" before it was drowned away by the blood in his throat.

Blush barked, and two bullets lodged themselves in his chest, and a third punched halfway into his skull.

Then he was gone.

Metal exploded outwards like a hedgehog's spikes, and he rolled out of the way. Then it all collapsed to the ground, more liquid than anything else, and flowed across the floor towards him like living quicksand.

Fast too.

He leapt up to avoid it, and when he passed over it mid jump, spikes shot up and out to skewer him.

He twisted around mid-air, but they tracked him, and they curved and grew and bent to ensure at least one or two scraped across his cheek before he landed.

As soon as he did, Hookwolf was upright, and his arms grew long enough to punch up through the ceiling.

Then he reeled in, pulling himself forward feet first toward Adam, legs forming into solid clubs and lumps of steel, constantly skidding and grinding against each other with an ear splitting screech.

Wilt was up, but Hookwolf twisted his entire body mid swing and kicked him straight out of the building, plowing through the brick and sending him back out into the street.

He flipped mid-air and landed on his feet, Hookwolf closely following behind.

Hmm.

That was more creative than anything Hookwolf had been seen doing before.

Even now, he abandoned his signature Wolf form, and was standing upright in a bastardized mix of bear and man, knives and screwdrivers and files layering on top of one another like skin. And it was all constantly moving, like a seven foot walking buzzsaw.

Worse still, he'd been practicing too.

Hookwolf stood straight and touched a hand to his "throat", coughing. "Fuckin hell man, you couldn't have just knocked?"

"I wasn't in the mood. Just wanted you dead and dealt with."

"Well shit, least ya-"

There was a boom, and a nearby window shattered as Adam sped past him, Sword carving through steel.

Hookwolf's head shrunk into the center of his chest just in time to avoid losing it, but half of his upper body was gone, sloughing off and disintegrating in the night's breeze.

Wilt clicked, and Hookwolf shrank back at the sound, as if realizing how outmatched he was.

"Your serious, Ain'tcha? You ain't dickin around anymore?"

Wilt slid half free in response.

Hookwolf was still a moment, then spikes and thorns extended out over his entire body, and he could see steel plunging out of his feet into the street below, tunneling through the ground.

"Well fuck it, let's do it."

He seemed giddy and resigned all at once.

As one they lunged.

Last edited: May 25, 2022

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May 25, 2022

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May 25, 2022

#638

Okay, things have calmed down enough I can get part two out tonight, but I'm going to be busy for realzies tomorrow and possibly Friday.

/

His charge was interrupted by the wall of steel that plowed through the ground and rose up in front of his face. It started to collapse as soon as it came up, gravity tugging it down as Hookwolf detached it from his feet and leapt clear of the obstacle, in an admittedly decent attempt at a distraction. The ideal victim would have to take the time to dodge it or knock it away, and Hookwolf would be in prime position to attack his back.

He was not the ideal victim.

Instead, he simply held Wilt upward and let Hookwolf do the rest of the work for him. His chest and stomach slid alongside Wilt's tip and split wide, rot spreading across his body. The steel clattered noisily off of his aura, and the worst he came away with was a slight throb in his temple.

In the meantime, Hookwolf landed in a tumble, falling apart and re-growing just as quickly as Moonslice did it's work.

He almost had to respect him. He knew he was dead, but his head was held high.

He added a few bullets to the writhing pile of steel before sheathing his sword and concentrating.

The sound of a jackhammer tearing through concrete nearly deafened him before a red wave erased half of the street, dust, smoke, and petals blinding him and any nearby possible spectators.

He took a step back, humming a song Parian had gotten stuck in his head.

He tuned his aura and listened.

He was too stubborn to die so quickly.

His hypothesis was proven correct when a giant drill plowed through the ground he was standing on a half second ago.

A thin red line raced outwards, narrowly missing the living drill bit that quickly split down the middle, opening a gap the energy slid through harmlessly.

Another boom, another few shattered windows, and Wilt slid back into Blush just as the metal mass collapsed in on itself.

It wilted away until only a small pile of loose scrap remained.

It didn't stir.

One final gunshot rang out, chipping away another small piece of steel.

Wilt was sheathed again, and this time it stayed still.

Nothing.

As soon as he turned around the pile exploded into motion.

Figures.

An iron tornado spun across the street towards him, grinding the road to dust.

Then at its apex of speed, pieces started shooting out of it faster than a bullet.

Three steel chunks the size of bowling balls smashed into him before Wilt smacked the rest away.

Stubborn son of a bitch.

He ran, and the tornado gave chase, spitting bullets as fast as it could make them.

That saying about a cornered animal held true.

But it wouldn't be enough.

He took cover behind a parked car, and as the whirlwind advanced, Wilt swept out and carved open the cars gas tank.

Then he bent down and kicked out with both feet, crumpling in it's passenger door and sending it skidding thirty feet down the street.

Hookwolf didn't even pause, simply striding through it, tearing the vehicle apart.

Checkmate.

Wilt scraped across the ground, sending sparks flying.

The gasoline trail ignited, fire racing across the street until it reached the remains of the car.

The explosion was small by his standards, but no less effective.

Hookwolf shook apart, the fire heating him up and the scrap shearing him apart.

He collapsed in a pile, and this time, he stayed down, metal rising up and up, shaping back into the naked body of a shaking and gasping blonde man.

"It was a good effort."

Hookwolf's head rose up, coughing and sputtering, but a shaky smile spread across his cheeks. "Ya really think so?"

He rolled onto his hands and knees, metal spurs and brambles poking out of his shoulders.

Even now, he was still trying?

The skin around his arm seemingly sunk into his arm, and steel muscle rose up and took it's place.

A self deprecating chuckle, and Hookwolf looked back at him. "Being honest, I thought I did pretty fuckin shitty." His voice dissolved away into giggles at the end of his sentence, voice tinged with hysteria. The imminence of his death had finally sunk in.

"It wasn't the most challenging fight I've ever been in. But I'll give you most interesting."

Hookwolf tilted his head back, exposing his throat and rising onto his knees. "I'll take that at least."

His eye flicked to the side, and his face seemingly went through all five stages of grief in less than a single second before finally settling on anger. "You rat fucking cun-"

Then Adam was in the air.

His arms were flailing, reaching out to grab something to catch in vain as he landed hard, carving a canyon in the road five feet wide.

Hookwolf's screams and swears would have made a sailor on shore leave blush.

Krieg placed his outstreched behind his back, clasping both hands together, arms behind his back in a textbook parade rest.

"Guten Abend."

Hookwolf finally regained his wits and turned to Krieg, practically foaming at the mouth. "You kraut, scum-sucking squarehead pile of shit! He's mine!"

Krieg turned towards Hookwolf, and while he couldn't see his expresion behind the gas mask, he got the impresion of nobility staring at a begging peasant.

"Really? From where I was standing, you were about to lose your head. And while I wouldn't mind that, Kaiser is rather attached to it."

Hookwolf blue-screened, and Adam spoke up.

"How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough to make a few calls. In fact-"

Two 7.62 bullets left Blush at 2,800 feet a second.

Thirty feet from Krieg, they slowed to a thousand.

Fifteen feet, and it slowed down to a speed only slightly faster than a limp arrow.

By five, Krieg closed the distance, flicking one bullet frozen in time away, and pinching the other in between his finger.

The flicked bullet floated away as if in Zero G, spinning in place.

A cold feeling washed over him, and his chest grew tight. He stood up, but there was resistance, like he was moving through water.

Krieg crushed the bullet between his fingers, and his smile was patently obvious, even if he couldn't see it. "Temper temper, Taurus."

He'd made plans for killing Krieg. There were none that involved a melee.

That was why.

Hookwolf made it too his feet, and metal replaced his skin again, much slower this time.

He looked between him and Krieg, and for a moment he almost looked like he was about to attack Krieg before turning back to him and charging on all fours.

Wilt came up to swing, and then something pushed his arm to the side, and he stumbled.

Hookwolf was slowed as well, but it hardly mattered when he could simply brush against him and drain his aura that way.

For the first time he was on the back foot, dodging swipes and cuts and flying steel, but for every piece of Hookwolf that fell away, there were three glancing slashes or scratches that hit him.

He snarled under his breath as he rolled under another of Hookwolf's tackles, and Hookwolf's freshly grown tail shot out and slammed into his throat.

Something shoved him forward from behind, and an eight foot long arm smashed into his chest.

The air left his lungs, and the cold intensified, and then he was forced onto his knees.

He blinked in surprise when Hookwolf was brought down with him.

"T'fuck are you doing?"

Krieg didn't answer.

Then a white comet raced through the sky.

Oh-

Hookwolf was kind enough to finish his sentence for him as a white beam melted the street into glass and sent him tearing through the pavement.

The agony was something he hadn't felt in a long time, and the beams sheer heat brought back the memories of cooked flesh and a child's screams.

He was sent through a storefront and smashed through a cashier's counter before stopping.

Wilt came up on instinct just as a second blast came through.

The energy fueled him, the pain and lethargy fading amidst the growing adrenaline, and a high seized him just as the beam lanced upward, briefly heating his face before it brought the ceiling down on him.

The face of the building collapsed, and the light winked out.

The dust and smoke filled the air, covering half of the block in a deep smog.

The silence was deafening.

Krieg relaxed his arms, and Purity made to leave.

A red wave parted the cloud of smoke and a shrill scream sounded out.

Adam jumped through the ruble, landing in a crouch on the street.

Hookwolf's charred and half melted body twitched to life in disbelief.

"HOW IN THE F-"

A ring of energy burned a circle around his feet as the universe blacked out.

The tips of his hair were glowing white with power, black and red lightning dancing and flowing across his unsheathed blade.

It arced off the tip, striking into the street and nearby buildings, crimson petals forming new stars in the inky darkness.

Purity flew off in a blink as he threw his arm behind his head and swung.

Hookwolf's desperate dive was quick enough to save him.

Krieg wasn't fast enough.

/

Krieg's power always intrigued me, and seemed fairly cool and OP.

Shame he won't use it anymore.

Last edited: Jul 22, 2022

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May 27, 2022

#716

He focused what little energy he had left into crossing fishhooks over his arms, legs, and chest, connecting and linking them together like chainmail, for decency's sake and the bare minimum of protection.

Well.

Not like it would matter with Taurus anyway.

He couldn't bite down the somewhat manic laughter that erupted out, and he collapsed onto his knees, the pavement crumpling under his weight.

He felt a shiver knowing that Taurus most likely could hear it, but after a moment it simply made him laugh harder.

This was how he fucking died?

This?

He always wanted to go out in fire and flames, bringing his opponent right down with him. Something memorable, something no-one could ever forget him for.

But right here, right now?

Alone except for his executioner and the wind, crippled and broken, killed by someone he couldn't even fight?

Earlier he had accepted it, if only because he had gotten a few licks in, even against someone that powerful.

But now he knew he never had a chance at all.

Not only would he have died, he would have died without a purpose.

Just another body in Taurus's pile.

And who would even remember him? Even if they did, what for?

Dying slightly slower than everyone else?

Being a mild inconvenience to a man who could kill him without even trying?

It would all have been for nothing.

He heard a building shudder, and a loud crash made him jump.

He turned around back towards the street where Krieg had been standing and walked towards it.

He made it to the edge of the alley.

His feet froze up, halting in his tracks.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Brockton Bay had a new ravine.

Twenty feet wide and fifteen feet deep.

It stretched on and on and on, until it finally stopped at an intersection filled with several dozen panicked and confused cars.

The street and sidewalk was gone.

Parked cars, lamp posts, all ceased to exist.

Several buildings had windows or random chunks that had simply disappeared, like almighty god had taken an eraser to them.

The faces were completely bare of paint, and a few extra wide ones had no face at all, and furniture and desks and supplies fell out into the chasm below.

Thousands of petals flooded the air and covered the bottom of the canyon.

Busted pipes poured water and all kinds of shit and muck into the pit, and leftover melted concrete from Purity's blasts had started flowing and dripping inside like magma.

If you had told him Behemoth had gone for a morning stroll here, he could have believed it.

But it was just one man.

One man who wouldn't die.

Then he realized.

He wasn't a man at all.

He was a force of nature, like Leviathan or Behemoth.

Unstoppable.

With just one simple goal in mind.

Wiping out the Empire.

And Brad Meadows knew he would succeed.

He looked to his right, freezing in place.

The man himself was standing still, red sparks sputtering off his sword before he straightened out and sheathed it, free hand slicking back a few loose strands of auburn hair.

He was staring blankly at the street as if in thought.

Some buildings were still slowly peeling away, and an apartment complex lurched, dangerously close to collapsing.

Then Taurus turned and looked at him.

His hand tugged the blade partially free, and his hair lit up.

He spat at the ground in defiance. "Do your worst."

The glow intensified, spreading all across his clothes.

Then it winked out.

He tracked Taurus's gaze back towards the ravine.

Dirt and rock had finally shaken loose, and was piling on inside of it.

Taurus angrily slammed his sword back, then turned around and jumped away.

He watched him leap from roof to roof until he disappeared from sight.

He exhaled, leaning against the alleys wall and slumping down till he sat on his haunches.

Kaiser was dead.

Purity was dead.

Justin, Night, Fog, all of them were dead men walking.

The Empire itself was dead, had been since Taurus arrived.

They just didn't know it.

He did.

Taurus had maybe a month to live before the PRT finally called in the big guns.

But in that time, everyone would know his name. He would be feared, famed, someone Brockton Bay would never forget as long as the city stood standing.

When he went down, he would take an organization that had been around since the dawn of the cape age with him.

He would be immortalized.

And the Empire?

Nothing more than a footnote in his legacy.

If he stayed, he would die.

For a cause, sure, but just because your cause was doomed didn't make it righteous.

If anything, it made it all the more pathetic.

And it hadn't been his cause in the first place.

He couldn't stand most blacks or asians, but trying to kill 'em all was just plain stupid.

There were more of them than there were of him.

Always was, always would be. No point getting mad over it.

He hummed.

He had an idea.

It would take time. He'd need to plan it carefully, and see who he could convince to join in.

But it would be worth it.

He'd make sure that when the time came, his name would be right along Taurus's.

No matter what.

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May 28, 2022

#774

She leaned back in the swivel chair, uncomfortable squirming in her seat, trying in vain to get comfortable.

Leaning back nearly tipped it over, and Armsmaster's pointed cough made her scowl.

She gave up, and instead leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and burying her head in her hands. He stared at her, but held his tongue.

The waiting was the worst part.

She didn't know for sure why everyone had been called up, but she could guess.

Her lips twitched upward, but she managed to school her expression into something resembling bored neutrality before anyone else could notice. The whole PRT team was here, and all they were waiting on was the director and the rest of the Wards.

She ran her tongue across her newly restored tooth, eyes narrowing at the door. Nobody.

"What's this about?"

Velocity opened his mouth, but ironically, Armsmaster answered first, a blank frown across his face. He was the only one who'd kept his costume on.

"Once the director gets here, we'll explain everything."

His voice was flat and dry, and she could tell the waiting was bothering him just as much.

She made to ask again when the doors finally opened again, and her teammates walked inside.

Clockblocker(She fucking hated that name)made it inside first, sitting in the chair next to her.

She inched away on reflex.

He smiled, kicking his feet up on the table, mouth opening to make some inane joke before Miss Militia cleared her throat, and he rolled his eyes and sat down normally.

Everyone else could just sit down quietly, but him? Noooo, he had to go extra with it, didn't he?

She couldn't stand him, and the feeling was mutual on his end.

"Did you cut your hair? Gotta say, I miss th-"

When the door opened one final time and Piggy stepped in, he stopped dead, blanching a moment before steadying himself and shifting his posture to something more professional.

Piggot bumbled her way over to the end of the table, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

"I'm sure most of you know why I've called this meeting, but for those that don't, we're here to get a tactical assessment on Taurus, formulate a strategy, and set some ground rules."

She stared at the Wards, glowering. "First, I want to get this out of the way. We already forbade contact between you and Taurus, but after yesterday, I want to make it crystal clear. If you see him, turn around and run the other direction. Treat him like you would one of the nine. I don't care if he's helping old ladies down the street or napping on a park bench, if you make contact, haul ass the opposite way, and call everyone in."

She waited a moment to be sure we were fully cowed, before nodding Armsmaster's way. He stood up and walked to the back of the room where a computer and projector sat. He flipped down the lights, and turned both electronics on.

"While he prepares the footage, let's go over the basics." She sighed, deep and dour. She sounded irritated and exhausted in equal measure. "What do we know? When did he start, what can he do?"

Velocity leaned forward this time, tone cold and professional. "He started a month ago, shaking down and killing small Empire patrols and gatherings. Initially, we assumed a new stranger had come to town, a parahuman serial killer. Then the wharf incident happened, and we realized he was a vigilante. Our very own Gavel, in fact. Our first confirmed footage of him was during his first bout with Hookwolf. There, we got our first glimpse of his appearance and power."

He was cut off by the projector surging to life, and a video thumbnail appeared on the wall, showing Taurus rising from a crouch, dust and powdered brick sliding off his body. "Just from this, we can infer a lot about his durability. If you look closely, you can see the debris isn't actually touching his clothes. It's spaced off by a few millimeters."

Gallant spoke up, interrupting. "Like Glory Girl's shield?"

Kid Win cut him off.

"Or possibly Tinkertech. In the footage you shared with us from his fight with Armsmaster, you could see sparks for a few frames during some hits. I noticed it the most when Miss Militia used a grenade launcher on him."

She saw Armsmaster twitch out of the corner of her eye. She nearly laughed, but Gallant gave her an odd look, and she got her mirth under control as quick as she could.

"Speaking of Tinkertech, the sword and sheath. How do they work, and did he make them or get them from a third party?"

Armsmaster straightened, and she thought their might have been a tinge of jealousy in his eyes. "They are both exceptionally well made. The blades color is something to note, but it could simply be a power interaction. Besides the abnormal sharpness and color, it seems to be a normal chokutō. I'm more interested in the sheath. It can shift from rifle to sheath and back again in less than a second. It's 7.62 in caliber, and he uses it as a close defense weapon, which is a rather odd use for such a high power round. Then again, with his enhanced strength, recoil doesn't seem to be an issue, so it would make sense to use it in such a way, especially one handed. It's unknown if he made them both, but by how they are decorated, I'd lean towards them being his own manufacture. I cannot say for certain though."

He cleared his throat before continuing. "This footage clears most of our questions regarding his speed and the disintegration power. I'll let it speak for itself."

He hit play, and a storefront cam highlighted an empty road. There was no sound, and it almost seemed like a still image until a nearby buildings wall exploded.

Taurus came flying out, spinning through the air until he oriented himself and landed on his feet, hand on his sword.

Hookwolf came back behind him, and they seemed to talk a moment before Taurus simply disappeared, before re-appearing twenty feet behind Hookwolf, sheathing his blade in time with half of Hookwolf's body collapsing to the ground and wilting away.

Swears filled the room.

"It was my estimation that here in this footage, he was moving faster than velocity, but I don't have an exact measurement for his speed."

"And only one person here could even get close to that."

"Yes. But on the bright side, I believe I know how Taurus's energy projection and disintegration power works."

He fast-forwarded the video, speeding past the fight with Hookwolf, only briefly stopping at the moments where Taurus or his sword were glowing, and even then for only a second two at max. He stopped and let it play at the moment where Purity blasted Taurus, and if she said her jaw hadn't dropped along with everyone else's, she'd be lying.

He paused as soon as Taurus stood backup and held up his sword. It was half-unsheathed, One hand tugging the blade out, and the other holding the sheath as if bracing for an impact.

"My theory is that Taurus can't use his energy projection or sharpening without absorbing some sort of impact or blast beforehand. He must be able to hold onto it for sometime, and seems to need his sword to use it. We haven't seen any examples of him using his power without it."

"So that's his weakness?"

Armsmaster paused.

He hesitated for a long moment before nodding.

"And our reinforcements?"

Piggot scowled at that. It made the lines on her face and throat that much more visible. "New York's been stonewalling, but since Accord's been so quiet lately, I've been in talks with the Chicago branch, and they're considering leasing us Gauss and Brazier."

Dauntless scoffed. "Two capes?"

"It's the best we're going to get for now."

"And the plan for Taurus?"

The silence was telling.

"Same as it was before. Hit him hard, hit him fast, and always call in reinforcements. Try and disarm him. He'll still be dangerous, but we need to neuter him as best we can until we get more men."

"Everyone understand that?"

There was a chorus of nods across the room, and Piggot sighed.

"Okay. I'm assigning him a rating of Brute 7, Mover 6, Shaker 0, Tinker 0, Master 1, Thinker 0, Striker 5, and Blaster 8."

She rose from her chair, grunting with exertion.

"Dismissed."

/

One more Sophia either tomorrow or Monday, then we get one final calm chapter before canon begins.

Last edited: May 28, 2022

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May 30, 2022

#836

Hey y'all, I'm back with the milk. This was supposed to be another Sophia chapter, which originally was going to be the 2nd half of the last chapter, but I cut it in the interests of time. I may go back and change a few things so it could be put back in, but since I'm going to be much busier from now on, and daily chapters probably won't happen anymore(Or at least with any consistency), I figured I'd finally get canon started. After this chapter, as recompense for the extra wait times, I'm also going to try and double the average length of chapters, to help myself get used to writing much longer, to advance everything quicker, and not bloat the threadmark count.

/

She hummed to the tune of the radio as she worked. Not for the first time tonight, she turned over to Adam to watch his progress.

He'd ceased his knitting, tilting his head at the newest song echoing throughout the warehouse. She giggled. He did that at just about every song that played, like it was his first time hearing it. The beats and lyrics all seemed so bizarre and foreign to him, like he'd never actually just sat down and listened to the radio in his life.

For all she knew, he hadn't.

Not for the first time, she lamented the cruelty Case-53's went through. Not just the stares or jeers, but the agony of not knowing why you were the way you were, of not having any previous life to look back on.

She looked over at the pile of clothes at her feet. The client's costume, at least on their end, had been finished for all but the gloves. They'd bantered a bit about the color and style, but Taurus convinced her to let him handle it. They'd both split half the work, and now he was finishing up his end.

She pushed the stuffed bear she'd been stitching up to the side, eyeing Taurus as he went back to work, this time lightly tapping a beat with his feet to the tune of the music. He seemed to like things with guitar and drums the most, so she mostly let the local eighties station play for him.

His face was blank except for the slightly narrowed eye, while his hands slowly brought the gloves to life.

His back was arched slightly, legs tensed. He had a ragged cloth draped across his face like a bandage, smothering half of it from view. His jaw was set tight, like he was focused or irritated.

Another small round of laughter, this time loud enough to get a raised brow.

That only made it funnier.

"What?"

"I don't know, it's just.." She paused to gather her words and breath, lips trembling. "You just always look so determined. Knitting and sewing relax me, and you look like you're taking it more seriously than a cape attack. When was the last time you actually just sat down and relaxed?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "A time that wasn't you painting or drawing when you couldn't sleep?"

His mouth shut, and his eye rolled to the side like he was trying to remember. The pause stretched on and on and on and on, and her worry shot up in tune with her eyebrows for every second that passed. His fingers splayed out like he was counting days or weeks.

When it looked like he was actually trying to count out months of the year, she snapped.

She walked over to him and snatched the needles out of his hands. His jaw dropped, and she used the distraction to grab the gloves as well, and she turned around and tossed them towards her table.

"The hell was that for?"

He sounded more confused than irritated, singular eye squinting in disbelief at what she just did. She was almost as shocked at herself as him, but didn't back down.

"We are taking the rest of the night off and having a break."

"But I'm almost fin-"

"We are taking a break." She pointed her finger at him menacingly, but the effect was lost with the height difference.

Absurdly enough, he nodded, blinking one more time in humor and shock before relaxing in his chair. "Alright then."

She looked around, pulling a blanket from the floor that was holding a small doll collection in place. They scattered about when she yanked it from under their feet, but she'd pick it up later.

She walked towards the opposite end of the warehouse, laying it down at the far wall, directly under the skylight.

"We are going to sit down, curl up in this blanket, and relax with some nice American music and a wonderful view of the stars, understand?"

Adam worked his mouth soundlessly a moment before standing up and nodding.

She sat down against the wall, tucking the blanket across her body up to her chin.

Adam made his way to her side, shrugging off his jacket and sitting next to her.

She leaned against him, letting his body heat warm her up. She tried to pull the blanket to cover him as well, but he was too tall. Instead, he unwound the banner on his belt and draped it across his chest

They both tilted their heads up and watched the sky. The music shifted to something much quieter, smooth synth mellowing them out.

Adam sighed, deep and forlorn, and slumped down completely, body going limp.

She leaned against him slightly, then slumped as well.

For a long time, they simply sat together, letting the soft music and moonlight soothe them.

Eventually though, he seemed to get slightly restless, fingers twitching and curling, and he spoke up quietly.

"What made you get into fashion?"

She tilted her head, blearily eyeing him in her peripheral vision. "Hmm?"

He shook his head, eyeing all the stuffed animals and stray clothes. "Why do all this for a living?"

"Oh." She swallowed, looking him in the face.

There was an earnest gleam in his eye, like he truly wanted to know.

She nodded to herself slightly. She could trust him.

"My family came from Basra." She noticed the blink and quickly clarified. "It's the second-largest city in Iraq. Almost three million people live there."

She paused slightly, letting the quick rush of memories fly by. Adam seemed content to let her reminisce.

"Our family didn't make much money, but my father eventually managed to bring us to America on a work visa. Two years after that we got our green cards, and I started going to college."

She laughed slightly at the memory of her broken English when she introduced herself to her classmates.

"At first I went for the bigger subjects, Math and Engineering. My family wanted me to take the most complex courses, make the most money, and live the American dream. And for a while, I did too."

"But it didn't make you happy?"

She flinched at the interruption, but nodded. "I studied hard, and did well. My English was getting better, and my grades were high. But it wasn't something I enjoyed. There was a boy who would bother me, and I didn't make any friends, and mostly stuck to myself. Eventually, my grades started to suffer. After my father died, I realized I needed a change. I left my engineering class and tried to find something that would be enjoyable."

"How did you pick fashion?"

"Well, I came from Basra. Everyone there spoke the same language, wore the same clothes, and had the same appearance. But in America?"

She smiled, softly laughing. "Just getting off the plane and into the terminal, I was awestruck. So many colors, so many faces, so many new sounds and smells and just people. When my father drove us to our new home, I remember pressing my face to the car window and gasping at each new sign or person or car until he told me to stop. It was like I was a little girl again. It was all just so new."

She looked back upward at the shining stars, marveling at the brightness. "I remember going into a coffee shop. I was sitting at a table, and I was idly watching a commercial while waiting for my drink. Eventually, it ended, and some sort of fashion show was playing. A woman started walking onto a runway, and I was entranced. The outfit she was wearing was the ugliest, loudest, most gaudy dress I'd ever seen. But I couldn't look away. I watched her strut up and down, then walk back for the next person. I must have been there a half-hour, just sitting at the table open-mouthed until the episode ended. I looked at all the other patrons and their clothes, the shoes, the boots, the jackets, the dresses, and I realized right there and then that making those clothes was what I wanted to do."

Adam's lips curled up slightly, and he gently nudged her shoulder. "I'm glad you found your calling then."

She nodded, returning the smile. "Me too."

The next song came on, and the sound of a wailing guitar bounced across the room.

She noticed Adam's feet twitch in tune with the drums.

She eyed the banner at his chest. It was exceptionally well made, thorns and stalks sprawling and flowing all around. She looked towards the jacket on the floor, and took note of the perfectly sewn patterns on the back.

"You mind if I ask you something?"

"Go right ahead."

"Where did you learn to sew?"

Adam froze.

His feet stopped moving, his breath hitched, and his eye was blown clear wide, pupil dilating.

He didn't speak for what felt like forever, but just as she was about to apologize, he responded.

"My mother."

"Your mother?"

He swallowed, mouth opening and closing like he wasn't sure what to say.

She watched him with rapt attention, letting him take as long as he needed.

Eventually, he seemed to find the words, and his voice was flat. "I woke up here in 2001. I was cold, I was hungry, it was dark, and I didn't know my name, my age, or even what city or world I was in. The PRT didn't quite know what to do with people like me yet, so most of us lived out in the streets. I slummed it out for a short while, but eventually, the police got me, and I was sent off to foster care. Some doctors guessed I was around thirteen. They sent me to an orphanage, told me to pick a name, and wished me good luck. I never bothered picking a name out."

He reached up to scratch his makeshift eyepatch before speaking again, and she didn't miss his minute wince when his fingers had pressed down.

"Eventually a family found me who didn't mind the scar, and they took me to their home."

She eyed the cloth, voice wavering. "Scar?"

"Under this, I still have my eye, but it's..."

His visible eye spasmed. "Damaged."

He resumed talking before she could inquire further. "They took me to a small town, and I lived there with my first dad, first mom, and first sister."

"You have a sister?"

He smiled, and for a moment it looked like he had left the room, and was somewhere else entirely. "Eve. She was a few years younger than me, and she was the happiest, most excitable little girl you'd ever seen. Never slowed down for anyone."

"What was it like?"

Something dark flashed in his eyes, leaving just as quickly as it arrived. The smile on his face turned jagged and empty. "Quiet. Peaceful. We didn't have much, no one did really, but everyone in town knew each other, and when I was with my family, I was as happy as could be."

Then everything shifted, and his expression cleared. The smile came back, genuine again this time. "My mother was the one who named me, and she was a seamstress. She made clothes for the whole town, and I'd spend all day watching her work. Every day, like clockwork, once she finished her quota, she'd go out into the backyard and tend to her garden. She had roses and tulips and sunflowers, and every day I went out with her to help tend them. The roses were both of our favorites."

The thought made her smile, but something about his wording struck her. "Quota?"

Another flash, this time even faster, before he spoke again. "Every day, someone in town needed a new pair of pants or socks. No one else in town could do her job, so she had to work every day."

The explanation didn't sit right, but she was happy enough about him finally opening up that she let it slide. "She sounds like a wonderful person."

"She was." A pause. "They all were."

She winced at the past tense and closed her mouth.

The music changed to something calm again, and she let it take her away.

Right as her eyes were about to close, a knock sounded at the door.

They both lurched upward, a surprised gasp slipping free from her while Adam growled and ran for his weapon.

The knock sounded again, louder. Adam stalked forward towards the door, rifle in hand. He'd left the sword by his stool, and she eyed it, judging the distance.

Adam swung open the door and placed the barrel of the gun right at the forehead of a balaclava-clad mercenary.

The man's hands shot up in surrender, eyes wide. She blinked.

It was the same man Adam had choked out before.

"WAITWAITWAITWAIT!"

Adam's finger curled around the trigger, and the man panicked, reaching into his pocket and tossing a phone to the ground.

"That's all he wanted! For me to give you that!"

Adam's face twisted, and for a moment it looked like he was about to shoot him before he prodded the man's head with the barrel instead. "Run along and tell him the next time he sends an errand boy, they don't come back. He either comes to me, I come to him, or we call. Understand?"

The man nodded, and made a hasty retreat.

Adam lowered the gun and picked up the phone with a snarl.

As soon as he faced her, it rang.

He growled and answered, raising it to his ear. "What?"

Adam was quiet for a moment, then his face fell.

She could hear the caller hang up.

His lone eye was wider than she'd ever seen, and he seemed paler than normal.

He put the phone down and into his pocket, voice hollow.

"Armsmaster caught Lung; Hookwolf, Stormtiger, and Cricket have been missing for the past two days, and someone crashed a merchant block party with over forty dead. The Empire's about to go on the offensive, and the ABB's in a panic."

She paused to let the implications sink in.

"Oh."

/

Fun note I remembered while writing this, Adam's fucking 6'4, and Parians 5-5'1.

Just got a giggle out of me.

*Note About Adam's family, the adoption part is BS, but he did have a sister and all that jazz*

The quick staccato of gunfire lit up the night, pops and cracks signally the Empire's advance throughout the city.

The sky was dim, city lights and muzzle flash guiding the way towards the main areas of action. The Empire was pushing down on all fronts, desperate to regain its foothold on the city, throwing themselves out on a final hail mary to gain back what they'd lost fighting him. So far, it was working.

Just not well enough.

The ABB was fighting tooth and nail for every inch.

A much longer and louder burst of gunshots made him turn his head before it faded out.

There was resistance at every corner, and while he didn't expect the Asians to simply roll over and take it, the sheer ferocity surprised him. It had been only a day since Lung had been arrested, and the Empire hadn't wasted a second. Coil had ordered him to lay low after giving him the bad news, and despite some initial confusion and panic, The ABB had rallied, and the Empire's rapid advance had stalled.

It didn't make any sense. Lung had been the sole unifying force in the gang besides the fear of the Empire, but even that fear hadn't stopped the city's original Asian gangs from fighting each other just as much. The gang was made of so many different cultures, races, languages, and religions, and all that along with the many historical grievances and general disdain they all held for each other, it should have been impossible to make work. But Lung simply made it happen, killing anyone and everyone who resisted him and forcing everyone into an uneasy truce, and with him gone, there was nothing hanging over their heads to stop the entire gang from disintegrating overnight, leaving a massive civil war for control in its wake, with dozens of different splinter groups all fighting each other and vying for control of Lung's conquests.

And yet they stood firm. He'd read rumors that the ABB had a new cape who was keeping everyone in line, but the chances of one man or woman who didn't have Lung's sheer power corraling that many people into submission seemed impossible, at least without them being visible and out in the open.

The gunfire died down slightly, and he nearly relaxed for a moment before even more started popping off just a block and a half away.

Oni Lee couldn't be the one holding down the fort, so if not him, who?

Perhaps it was no one at all. Maybe they all simply had agreed to work together until the Empire had been checked, however long that took.

Whatever the case, he didn't expect it to last very long.

The ringing phone in his pocket made him scowl.

For a moment, he was briefly tempted to just toss it off to the ground twenty feet below, but pragmatism prevailed, and he answered it instead.

"What do you want now?"

"As I'm sure you are aware, The ABB's stalemating the Empire as best it can, but plenty of districts have fallen so far. Are you near any of these contested points now?"

He lifted the phone from his ear and let the gunfire and distant shouts answer for him with a derisive snort.

"Good. I have my own mercenaries working on the Empire, along with a team for my "Odd Jobs" as it were, but-"

"You want me to help clean this up."

If Coil was irritated with the interruption, he didn't show it. The man seemed fairly implacable.

One day he might put that to the test.

"Yes. If and when you can, I'd like you to intervene in these skirmishes. I want the ABB weak, but I don't want the Empire getting any stronger either. Kaiser's already called in every favor he has with the Gesellschaft, and plenty he doesn't have as well, but by now I'm willing to bet that being in their debt isn't his biggest concern."

"Gesellschaft? They're the European branch of the Empire, yes?"

"Flip that around, and you have the right of it. Their influence here is nearly non-existent besides the Empire itself, but they've been propping it up since the 90s. Men, material, money, whatever they need, whenever they need it. For a price, of course."

The shouting and shooting had reached a crescendo now. It was heating up fast, and the cops had to deal with it almost everywhere in the city, just about all at once. The PRT hadn't had much time to celebrate before they had to go back out and clean up the bed they shat.

"What can I expect then? More capes?"

"I have no doubt Kaiser's asked for plenty. Whether they would actually be sent down is another matter entirely. It depends on whether or not they've written him off by now. Krieg was their last liaison, and I can't imagine they would have been happy with the news of his death and Hookwolf's disappearance. It's possible though. I suppose we'll have to find out."

He didn't miss how Coil stretched the we. He must genuinely want him to think of this as a fair partnership.

So far, he wasn't impressed, but he'd give the man credit for trying. He was already better than Hazel or Cinder, but that wasn't exactly a high bar. If not for him threatening Sabah, he would have almost been impressed with how simply straightforward and professional Coil was.

"Speaking of Hookwolf, do you have any idea where he could have gone? A man like that isn't exactly subtle, he's bound to have shown up somewhere."

He could hear some sort of shuffling on the other end. It sounded like footsteps. An assistant?

"I had thought the same, but for all intents and purposes, he's simply dropped off the face of the earth. The last time anyone saw him, you both were fighting. The next day, Stormtiger and Cricket vanished from the Empire as well."

"They leave town?"

"I wouldn't doubt it, but I'm still not sure. I know someone in Boston whom I convinced to keep an eye out, but for all I know they could still be in the city. Right now I'm more worried about whoever butchered the Merchants."

"Think it was Hookwolf?"

"Well, the bodies fit, but not the MO. As you said, Hookwolf isn't subtle, and whoever did this was a ghost. No visual on-street cameras, and what few witnesses there were described a "shadow", and one moving quickly at that. The massacre was spread out house to house, and the last few bodies are still being rounded up. Someone would have seen Hookwolf, and while Cricket is feasible, I don't understand *why* she would do it."

"And the 9?"

There was a silence on the other end, and it lasted a moment too long to not worry him.

Shouted swears in various different languages accompanied by the high-speed whipcracks of machine-gun fire filled the void.

"No. No, if it was them, we'd know already."

He didn't comment on the slight hesitation in his voice.

"How hard do you want me on the Empire then? Would you rather I simply cut off their spearheads, or halt their advance entirely?"

"I'd prefer a more measured approach. The distraction the war gives me is useful. Operate as you see fit, so long as you don't draw too much attention, and damage the Empire's advance too harshly."

"Understood."

He ended the call before Coil could speak further.

He followed the sound of shots, straining his hearing to get a proper bearing in the chaos, and turned west to the nearest battle.

He didn't have to go far, and he made his way to a spray-painted billboard to get a birds-eye view.

Eight Empire members were pinned down between a row of parked cars, most ducking and rolling around in a vain attempt to avoid the bullets that plowed right through the cheap steel and aluminum of the car's doors, but a few had found safety hiding by the engine blocks.

The ABB was simply sitting pretty inside some sort of seafood place, which the Empire was likely there to rob and/or burn down. The ABB had done a half-decent job turning it into a blockhouse, with the main entrance being blocked off by rows of furniture, and all the windows were boarded up with a small bit of room to shoot. The only way in or out was a single window to the right of the entrance that was conspicuously left open. He could imagine the kind of traps they'd left behind. There was a nearby parked van with the doors thrown wide, and he counted maybe six individual muzzle flashes from the ABB's side.

He cracked his knuckles, sighing.

One Empire man slightly more clever than his fellows was crouch walking past the cars, narrowly avoiding the bullets raining down from above. It seemed like he was trying to find a blindspot.

They never saw it coming.

He leaped forward, foot extended out, and crashed into him, and he could feel the man's bones buckle under the force.

He put his other foot down and leaned forward, surfing the man's body as it skid along the concrete, his screams of pure agony drowned out by the gunfire. He kept going till the momentum dried up, then he used his ribcage as a springboard, closing the distance to the men behind the line, who turned and noticed him just as he landed in a roll, unsheathing Wilt and slicing the closest man's gun in half while sweeping his legs in a single smooth motion. He dived forward, past the man he dropped, going into a combat roll and flipping Wilt into a reverse grip.

He swept past two of the shocked men, and the ABB used that distraction to blow off their heads. He stopped just behind a shaven-headed man desperately trying to turn his rifle around and shoot him.

He thrust Wilt behind him, the blade shearing off the man's pointer finger as it slid through the gun's trigger guard, and he wrenched his elbow up, splitting the rifle in half and carving a line across his chest. By now, the rest had recognized him, and their fear paralyzed them long enough for the ABB to take advantage and cut most of them down. Still, two remained, and they both were taking aim. He turned and caught one-half of the fallen gun with a free hand as bullets started smashing flat against his aura. He twisted his entire body and threw it like a frisbee, and it crashed into a nazi's head, breaking apart in a shower of springs, scrap, and bullets.

The last man swore, panicking as he re-loaded his gun. The ABB wasn't wasting any more ammunition now.

The man had a good trigger finger at least. He managed to empty his fifteen-round magazine in about a third as many seconds.

Wilt twirled in his hands like a buzzsaw, and every single round was blocked, blade shining brighter and brighter with each bullet.

The gun clicked empty, and his boot lashed forward and kicked him to the floor. He didn't try and get up, even as his chest rose and fell.

For the first time, there was silence, the only noticeable shots being several blocks off.

Wilt clicked home just as the barricade at the door was taken down, and several ratty-looking men stepped out.

All still had their guns out, and they looked rather wary.

All except one, who was grinning like he was staring at new his best friend. He stepped forward past the corpses and spread his arms wide like he was waiting for an embrace. His hands were twitching like mad, and he had a junkies glint in his eyes.

His finger hadn't left the trigger of his pistol.

"Josetsu-ki! What are you doing here?"

"Josetsu-ki?"

The man laughed(Or cackled rather)and swept his foot out to kick a still cooling corpse, and spat to the ground, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. "Snowblower!" He kicked the body again for emphasis. "I swear the Japs come up with the best names. Ya didn't answer my question though..."

The merriment had left him now, and his eyes narrowed.

"I know you've been fuckin up the Gwelio pretty bad lately, but you've never helped us out before. Why now?"

"You never needed my help, you had Lung. Now you don't, and while I don't like any of you.."

He turned his head to the man feigning unconsciousness by the cars. It was the one whom he only knocked down.

He walked towards them and stomped his foot on their hand, twisting it and grinding the bones to powder amidst their screams. "I hate the Empire."

"Fantastic! We were gonna get back in Li's van and drive around wherever we needed, you wanna come with us? I always wanted to see you up close and personal."

He stepped back and lazily swept his foot to the side, putting the man out for real.

He eyed the panel van with disgust, but as the men waited for his response, he figured they could be useful for information on whoever the hell was keeping this whole thing running.

"Fine."

The lead man cheered, pumping his arms in the air.

"Those dumb fucks ain't gonna know what hit 'em! Man, my guys are gonna be so excited to meet you!"

"Wonderful."

The sarcasm was lost on them all as they lined upwards the vehicle, and after a moment's hesitation, he followed suit.

Last edited: May 8, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

Jun 1, 2022

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jun 6, 2022

#934

I apologize for the great delay. Between writing Guàiwù, life stuff, and my own laziness, this chapter was pretty much thrown on the backburner, but I've finished the last touches today. Not very happy with it, but figured I'd need to get it out there. May rewrite later.

/

The van rocked and rolled across the pothole-ridden street, swerving and turning erratically. He would have spoken up and questioned the wisdom of letting someone under the influence drive, but it wasn't like the crash would kill him anyway.

The other passengers didn't seem pleased either, but also kept quiet.

On one particularly egregious turn, he lost his balance and tumbled into the man sitting beside him, and he couldn't keep his annoyed growl down, and the men around him flinched.

The man he bumped into apologized in some foreign language and tried to shy away, but there was no room. The van was jury-rigged for delivering drugs, not people, and it showed. They were all shoulder to shoulder, constantly knocking into each other.

Apparently, the driver had heard him, because he rather hastily apologized.

"It's fine. Just keep it steady, will you?"

"Y-yeah, no problem."

He heard the man take a calming breath, and his driving improved quite rapidly.

The other men in the van fumbled with their guns as the car shuddered on, and he winced at how poorly maintained their weapons were.

Three of the men were holding what seemed to be relatively modern rifles, but he could tell they weren't comfortable with them, or really had any experience operating them. One man kept fidgeting with the charging handle, which seemed to be stuck. The gun itself seemed rather worn out, as if it had gone through several previous owners.

Apparently, none of them had ever cleaned it.

The rest were armed with various sorts of handguns, but he could tell these were not up to par. They looked old, almost antique, and on some, he could even make out what looked like rust.

He winced at the non-existent trigger discipline, and felt his eye twitch when he saw one man had holstered his gun in his waistband, directly over his nether region.

But what finally broke him was the man to his left performing an ammo check by looking down the barrel of his gun.

These people were the ones who'd held up against the Empire for so long?

He reached over and snatched it out of his hands with a glower, and everyone collectively inhaled. Some even readied for their weapons, and the man he stole the gun from looked scared and furious in equal measure.

He tapped the magazine release and caught the mag as it slipped out, waving in his hand like one might wave a new toy to a dog. "If you need to check your ammo, do that." He slid the magazine back in place, then reached up and inched back the slide, eying the glinting brass. "If you don't know whether or not you have a round chambered, pull back the slide just like this." He let go, and it slid back into place. He spun the gun in his hand for a moment before holding it out for him to take. "You understand?"

He nodded in a stupor and took it back.

Everyone was staring slack-jawed.

Well, since he had already started...

He snapped his fingers in the face of the waistband guy, drawing his attention. "Put that thing literally anywhere else, preferably by keeping it in your hands. You keep a gun in a belt or waistband, you're gonna shoot yourself at some point. Buy or steal a proper holster, and if you simply must put your gun in a waistband or belt, at least place it behind your back, so if the worst happens, you just won't be able to sit down for a while."

He turned his head to the man with the jam, holding out both hands. "Give that here."

The man hesitated a moment, then muttered something in what he thought was Chinese and held it out.

He took it and cradled it in his arms carefully, and he reached for the charging handle and yanked. It resisted him for a moment before he pulled it back, and a malformed casing flew out and hit the man to his right, and he let out an incomprehensible swear. "Strip this down and clean it. If you don't know how, find someone who does."

He handed it back and glanced at the rest.

"You lot with the pistols should toss them out as soon as you can. Find something newer, you get me?"

They all nodded, mouths slightly agape.

"Good."

He leaned back in his seat with a frown.

This should have been basic knowledge. Even the scummiest and dumbest two-bit gangsters and junkies should know not to stare down the barrel of a gun to check it.

He eyed them, and his frown stretched even further.

With his night vision and the headlights, he could see their faces perfectly clearly, but this was the first time he was actively paying attention to them.

The disparity in ages stuck out the most. Two looked barely into high school, one looked college age, and the rest he would peg in their late thirties and early forties. One maybe even retirement age.

What the hell were people that like that doing here?

Despite their solid aim during the shootout, he could tell why their gun sense was lacking.

This was probably the first time most of them had ever even seen a gun, let alone held one.

That restaurant's fortifications couldn't have been them then. They must have just been sent down to man them.

Were they conscripted? Threatened? Or did they simply join up to make sure the Empire didn't get too far into their communities?

He snapped to attention at the sound of gunshots nearby, and the driver spoke up, the amusement in his voice plain to behold, despite his thick accent doing its best to hide it.

"We're almost there, everyone get ready."

The driver glanced at him in the rear view mirror, and he could just barely make out his smile. "Man, they are gonna piss themselves when they see you!"

The shots grew loud enough to drown out his reply, the sheer amount of automatic fire deafening his sensitive ears before he pulled his aura up, red energy shimmering around him before it settled over his skin, and he lifted Blush from his belt, Wilt in tow. He felt a sense of what almost felt like nostalgia. He could make out fire and flames past the windshield, and the barest hints of muzzle flash. It looked like an actual war zone.

The others watched him as he stood, and it seemed to finally sink in that he was here, with them, about to fight on their side.

He could hear the bullets whizz past, and he leaned forward in front of the oldest "gangster" and body blocked the hail of gunfire that plowed through the side of the van, hissing in pain as he absorbed what energy he could. The van served hard one last time, then stopped just as suddenly. "Shitshitshit, get the fuck out!" The man closest to the doors kicked them open, and they all filled out, him last in line.

They emerged out the mouth of an alley right into a shitstorm.

The ABB, Empire, and Police were locked in a three-way shootout. The ABB was using the nearby restaurants as bunkers, opening fire from the inside with the occasional straggler in the street, and the Empire had broken into a line of apartments on the opposite side, forcing terrified civilians out into the open as they fired off from the balconies. They had more men, but most were pinned down behind the vehicles that brought them there.

The cops had the worst of it, two patrol cars on each end of the road in a vain attempt at a barricade. They returned fire whenever they could, but for the most part, they were hunkered down, presumably waiting for reinforcements, but whether that would be more SWAT or the PRT, he couldn't say.

He scanned the environment, scowling.

He turned to shout orders, but all the men around him were gone, headed for what cover they could find, or making a beeline for the ABB's main gathering.

Right. These weren't his White Fang, and he couldn't treat them like they were.

Most didn't speak English, let alone understand what Enfilade and defilade meant.

He could see all the ways to turn this around, the maneuvers, the tactics, but none of it would matter without the training.

If they would even listen to him in the first place.

A bullet smashed into the side of the alley wall, sending dust and chunks of brick to the ground, and he shook his head.

Cops first. They would be slaughtered if they stayed any longer.

He poked his head out the alley into the street, judging the distance. The crossfire would be annoying, but he could block enough that the damage would be negligible.

Several of the people who had been forcefully evicted evidently shared his idea, but several had been cut down by the hail of fire before they could get far.

One woman was laying beneath a car, eyes shut, and hands clasped over her chest in prayer as bullets shredded the car all around her.

She wouldn't last much longer at this rate.

Screw it.

He booked it from the alley and beelined towards her, Wilt flicking to and fro, slicing and reflecting in all directions, but even as fast as he was, a few rounds made it through.

He ducked his head and slid the last few feet to the car, leaving an imprint on the pavement as stopped. He went on all fours and placed a hand over her mouth just as she opened her eyes and saw him.

He shushed her before she could scream, nodding his head in the direction from where he came. "Lady, I know you're probably frightened like hell seeing me, but you got more reason to be scared of all of those bullets whizzing around your head."

As he spoke, a stray bullet grazed her shoulder and smashed into his arm, and he grabbed her and yanked her free of the car, crouching over her and shielding her with his body.

She moaned in pain and frantically stared at the blood flowing down her jacket. He lifted his hand free and tried to soften his voice. "Look at me, ignore that, just look at me." She turned her head towards him slowly, eyes wide with terror. She looked about as young as Shadow Stalker. "That's just a graze, the bullet didn't hit you. It's gonna sting like hell, but you'll be fine. Now we have to get up and run, do you understand?"

She whimpered, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in the direction of the ABB's fire.

"I worked something out with one of them, and if he's spread the word by now, and I am sure he has, they won't shoot me. I can you protect from the Empire just like this, okay?"

She slowly nodded, but her eyes were full of fear.

He frowned internally. Blake was the one who dealt with Faunus and Human civilians. He didn't know what to say.

"Uh.." He leaned down further, ducking his head just as a bullet that would have taken it off blitzed by.

He remembered that Blake always took her mask off to look people in the eye.

He hesitated a moment, but as he watched the blood bubble up out of her shoulder and dye the street red, he made his choice.

He put Blush back onto his belt and reached upward to tilt his mask off his nose, pushing it up and to the side so it still covered the brand, but let her see his eye.

"What's your name?"

The girl swallowed, choking on her words a moment before she spoke up. "Charlotte."

"Okay Charlotte, my name's Adam. I want you to look me in the eye, so you can tell I mean what I'm about to say next, okay?"

She moved her head slightly, and soft green met baby blue. "Charlotte, I promise that the ABB won't shoot you, and I promise I'll keep you safe."

That, at last, seemed to mollify her, and she slowly nodded, relaxing beneath him as best she could.

He reached down and awkwardly unsheathed Wilt with his left hand, and held out his right arm. "Link your arm around mine and huddle up to my right side."

She rose into a crouch and did as she was told, and she leaned into him, squeezing his arm tighter than a vice.

"When I say run, you get up and run. No matter how fast you go I can keep pace, so do not hold back. We're gonna make a break for that line of cop cars, and I'll hand you off to them and take care of the Empire. I'll count down for you, okay?"

She buried her head in his chest, and he felt her nod.

"Okay."

He tensed his legs in a runner's stance, rising slightly.

"3."

She somehow held him even tighter, breathing speeding up and up.

"2."

He held Wilt up to the side and let loose a few experimental swings.

"1."

He saw one Empire member firing from a balcony get shot, and he fell off and splattered forty feet below.

"Run."

Last edited: Jul 25, 2022

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Jun 6, 2022

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MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jun 13, 2022

#971

One thing I miss with RWBY was the interesting ways aura worked. Pyrrha talks about it letting you sense stuff, and Ren does that a few times with Grimm and Tyrian. Fox used it basically pretty much just to see, and him and Ren were also throwing shockwaves around and shit, plus Blake and Qrow tossed around little energy arcs for like two episodes, and then basically never used them again. I miss seeing stuff like that in the show. Now it's just people's health bar. Another weirdly untouched thing is the PRT itself, at least the regular troopers. They are apparently the default parahuman response force, but I can't really think of pretty much any story that really features them, and from what I've seen via the wiki and some quest stuff, they have some really nasty gear, and I could 110% believe they could reasonably fuck-up most D&C list villains, so it always seemed odd to me they never pop up. They'll cameo here a few times, and if I do a part two, much more there.

/

Aura was a multifaceted tool.

Everyone in Remnant understood it was the manifestation of your soul, your innermost being.

Layman's understood that aura was a shield, something that would save you from danger and harm, but were mostly ignorant as to its use for the attack.

Huntsmen and Huntresses in training used it as a weapon, increasing their speed and strength, but often at the expense of defense or martial skill, confident that its defensive and healing aspects would get them out of any real trouble.

But professionals understood it was both.

With enough training, aura could do nigh on anything you wished.

But most either didn't know or don't bother to learn.

Aura could protect you sure, make you faster or stronger, but most left it at that. Formal huntsmen academies encouraged its use against the Grimm, emphasizing speed and agility before anything more nuanced, as the Grimm moved much faster than people could, sometimes even with aura.

He never attended any academies however, and was left almost entirely on his own to learn and experiment.

Aura naturally buffs natural speed and strength, but what about Hearing? Eyesight? Energy? Was there a limit to what aura could improve?

He asked Ghira, then Sienna, these questions, and they simply shrugged their shoulders and told him to see for himself.

And so he did.

While the average Huntsman used his aura to give himself nigh impossible strength, he was sharpening his hearing to listen for a heartbeat four blocks away.

While the average Huntsman focussed his Aura to his legs and muscles to give himself speed greater than a Bullhead, he was layering aura across his eyes, letting him track and react to every movement as if were happening in slow-motion.

He learned to focus a layer of aura around his feet, letting him walk on without sound.

He learned to pulse it outward and sense other auras, allowing him to track Huntsmen with ease.

He could focus it on small cuts and wounds, healing himself in seconds instead of the several minutes auras natural healing took.

None of it came without cost, of course. Drawing aura from its natural spread-out form would leave the enhanced parts untouchable, but the rest of yourself weakened. In those conditions, aura could falter in its core role and fail to fully protect its owner from harm, and perhaps that may have been the reason aura manipulation was so seldom taught.

But as he hauled Charlotte to her feet and she broke out into a sprint, he put those long-learned lessons to use.

Time seemed to slow, his unseen pupils dilating. Colors grew brighter, more vibrant, and his eyes burned from the strain before more aura layered down and soothed the ache away.

The bullets careening through the air were ground almost to a halt, and he could see the trails behind them marking their trajectory in perfect clarity.

As a thin red layer of energy settled across his ears, he was almost deafened at the cacophony of noise that erupted before he adjusted.

He heard three dozen hearts start beating up almost in sync, three dozen lungs begin to expand and contract, and could hear the exact moment every man on the street fired a shot, that soft click giving them and their aim away even when he couldn't see them. He could hear Charlotte's heart race, each thump-thump coinciding each step forward or shot that whizzed by.

He focussed the remainder of his aura on his left arm, and it twitched and spasmed for a half-second before his body adjusted.

Wilt swept to the side the instant Charlottle cleared the car with him in tow.

His arm felt weightless, like there was no gravity or air resistance trying to slow him. It almost felt like it was disconnected from his body, and he was moving it with his mind.

No aura user could withstand the combined automatic fire of over twenty men, and that was the amount of Empire members in a prime position to open fire on him while he was exposed.

But he could damn well try.

They made it ten feet before the Empire and ABB both saw him and realized he was out in the open.

His aura flared once more, leaving a weak shimmer across his body and a bright crimson flash across his head, adrenaline and aura kicking him into overdrive. While the ABB let out several surprised and disbelieving shouts, they quickly rallied and reorganized once they noticed the Empire stop firing at them, and shift their aim to him.

The next volley was directed solely at him. Dozens, if not hundreds of bullets all heading directly around, him, at him, or at Charlotte.

No man on Remnant or Earth could have dodged that.

And he didn't.

Wilt returned every single bullet back to sender. He could see where each one would go, count the seconds it would take to arrive, and react accordingly.

Several men were struck by the ricochets, and the ABB used the opportunity to try and pick more off themselves, to a much lesser degree of success.

Another ten feet, another mass volley, this time much better grouped, and he poured more aura into his sword arm, simply focusing on blocking and swiping rather than deflecting with any real accuracy. The movement of his arm was out of sync with the rest of his body, and to the outside observer, his arm wasn't even visibly moving, bullets scattering about as if swept aside by an invisible force, the faint red flicker between each blink the only sign that Wilt was doing its job.

But as good as he was, skill alone wasn't enough against that onslaught.

He grunted in pain as several shots bounced and skid off his aura, and the pain was much worse than usual, red sparks flickering off and on around him as he felt several new bruises form beneath his skin. His aura was working, but only at the skin level, and every bullet felt like getting struck by a paintball or BB.

He wasn't watching his feet, head completely turned to the side, putting all his focus into defending himself, trusting in Charlotte to lead the way.

He lurched forward and cursed as she tripped, and he leaned over her just in time to stop her from being shredded by automatic fire, agony lancing up and down his back with each impact, and he gasped when a few bullets ripped right through his waning aura and grazed him, shearing through his pants and jacket before his aura recovered and settled back over the affected areas.

The cops had seen him now, and he saw one older man wave him down before firing up at the balconies, dropping two men. The ABB was shouting and screaming in too many tones and languages for him to tell if they were yelling at him, the cops, or Empire, but he could tell at least some of them were telling him to hurry up.

He yanked Charlotte up by the arm, pulling her to his side again and shoving her forward, yelling above the din of screams, shots, and crackling fires. "Hurry up, we're almost there, just a little more!"

She ran once more, and the ABB's suppressing fire was too much for most of the Empire to focus on him, and he saw several Asians get mowed down by return fire. Already there had to have been a dozen or more injured or killed on both sides.

He put his injuries out of his mind and focussed on pushing Charlotte the last few feet.

The patrol cars were just up ahead, and an older cop rushed out to meet him halfway, holstering his gun and reaching out to grab her. He shoved her forward and spun around, Wilt darting left and right, covering their retreat. He sheathed the red hot blade and ducked behind the patrol car just as the cop brought Charlotte down with him.

The other cop, the partner, spoke up, a dark-skinned younger man with a decidedly panicked look on his face. "Man, what the fuck are you doing here?"

The older cop pushed Charlotte's head down under the rearview mirror just in time to save her from the bullet that tore it apart. "Mike, shut up and leave him be. I don't give a damn what he's doing here." The man nodded in his direction, and he noticed how hastily he was dressed. The only way he would have known he was a cop was the badge on his lapel and the gun at his waist. "He saved this girl's life, and knowing him from what he's been up to lately, he's probably here for the same reason we are."

He sighed in relief as let his aura smooth back over, the pain fading as his aura leveled itself evenly around him, the extra enhancements fading away. "I came here to make sure the Empire is stopped here, to get that girl to safety, and to make sure you all get the hell out of here. This is FUBAR, neither you nor your guys at the end of the street can handle this. I can. Take the girl and go."

The younger, Mike, interjected. "We called in help, the PRT sh-"

The older man growled and cut him off. "The PRT's got a whole god damn army out here already Mike, armored vans and APCs, Real guns instead of that foam shit, and some of the meanest lookin armor I've ever seen, and it's still a shitshow out there. Right now, our situation ain't the exception, it's the rule. PRT ain't coming, at least for a while. We can't handle it, but maybe he can."

He stopped, tugging Charlotte closer to him. He was staring right into his mask. "You can handle all this, can't you?"

The cop was giving him a very deliberate look, and he had the feeling he was answering more than one question.

"I can."

The old man sighed in relief and nodded. "Okay, good. I'll radio in, tell the others to clear off. Anything you need from me before you head out?"

He turned back into the street. His distraction had bought the ABB the time to pick off the Empire's sharpshooters, and all that was left were the ones in the street hiding behind what few cars that hadn't exploded yet, and the small remainder in the apartments, either held up treating wounded or shooting out windows.

He shrugged.

"I could use your gun."

"Cole, y-"

The cop lifted his gun from his holster and pulled the trigger as fast as he could, barrel pointed at his head, and Wilt came up to absorb it all.

He counted seventeen clicks before the slide locked back and Charlotte stopped covering her ears.

He sheathed his sword with a slight scowl.

"Cole" had the audacity to roll his eyes. "Don't get pissy, I knew you'd get 'em."

Charlotte seemed to take offense. "He saved me, that was-"

The world greyed, the street lights winked out, the fires were extinguished, and a high-pitched keening wail drowned out all other noise as a glowing red blade plunged into the ground.

Reality bled away into darkness as jagged red cracks formed across the street, lightning snapping outward towards the sky, petals swirling.

The cracks and splits spread and spread like fractured glass as far as his eye could see.

Then they surged brighter than ever before, and the color came back just as plumes of red energy shot out from the cracks, directly under the Empire's feet.

The spikes flared maybe ten feet high before imploding, and half the street wilted into petals, drifting away in the night's chilly breeze.

Just about every parked car and man out in the open came with.

"Jesus Christ.."

"Well those potholes are gonna be a bitch to fix."

What few Empire men that had survived were howling and moaning in agony, sans limbs, feet, or fingers, skin mottled with a red and black rot that was spreading all across their body from the affected areas.

"It's over. I'd get out of here quick. Doubt the ABB would take kindly to all of you sticking around."

"Sounds good to me."

Charlotte made to open the patrol car's door and sit inside when she spotted the grazes, and she stepped forward with a hand outstretched. "Your bleeding.."

"I'm fine. Go."

She hesitated again, but nodded, and the cops ushered her into the backseat before driving off.

The ABB's victorious cheers were almost deafening, and most of them booked it inside to the occupied apartments, and he could hear several moans and groans cut short by gunshots.

He winced at the quiet whimpers of pain coming from the wounded in the street, and he could see the men afflicted by his semblance limply twitch and writhe as it killed them. One man was reaching a hand out towards him silently pleading, and he watched his fingers decay in real-time, blackening and rotting right before his eyes until the skin and muscle simply sloughed away and fell to the street, breaking apart into petals.

He jumped when a gunshot rang out and half the man's head exploded. The body went still, and the van driver walked towards him, another grin on his face. "They thought I was fulla shit! But you sure fuckin showed them, now didn't ya? That light show was the coolest friggin thing ever!"

The man paused a moment to watch its full effects in action, leaning down to pinch a blackened petal between his fingers. He chuckled under his breath, whispering. "Man, that woulda been so cool to watch on acid."

"Are we finished here?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. They ain't coming back here."

"Good."

"Ya know..." The ABB member paused and tilted his head, taking a good long look at Wilt, and he couldn't stop himself from reflexively placing a defensive hand across its grip. "You swing that thing pretty good for an American."

He snorted, a quick red flashing emitting from his hair and gloves. "I'm not an American at all."

"Fair enough."

They both sighed, and turned to watch the devastation slowly spread across the street. Not many people would be parking down here for a good long while.

For a moment they just stood, occasionally flinching at nearby gunshots and watching the fires slowly burn themselves out. The ABB had finished off every Empire man left, and were now shooing the nearby civilians out of the area, despite their pleas to be let back inside their homes.

His fists clenched.

As soon as he took a step forward, the man beside him turned back towards him. "You should join up."

What?

The man laughed, and he quickly realized he'd spoken his absolute disbelief aloud.

"I'm not joking. You've done a lot for us, even before Lung got nabbed, and he won't stay gone long."

"I get why you might think it, but I'm not Asian under this mask."

"Well, you swing an Asian sword, dress like a Yakuza, and have been fuckin the Empire for months. Plenty of people think you are, and it ain't like you ever gotta take that mask off and spoil it anyhow."

The man paused again, itching the back of his head rather relentlessly before continuing, and he noted a quick flash of fear and revulsion across his face before he smiled again. "Listen, Lung is..." Another pause, slightly longer this time. "Well, Lung's just Lung, and while that means a whole lotta shit, if there's one thing I can admire about him, it's that he's fair, and he's pragmatic. You stick around, keeping helping us out, he won't forget that. I heard rumors he's already had his eye on you for a while, and when he gets out, and you're still fighting by our side, he'd have no choice but to bring you in. You already got lotta fans here, including me, and you'd get your own crew and leadership position practically on the spot. He likes people who get shit done, and you ain't gotta worry about the horns or any other freaky shit with him. He won't care."

"And your current boss? Would they mind?"

He'd never seen someone clam up so fast and so roughly in his entire life. The druggie's teeth were grinding down atop his lip hard enough to puncture it, and a stream of blood was running across it. He scratched his neck again, and this time his fingers came back towards his waist red. He shook a moment before he steadied himself. "Bakuda's a big fan of your style. She wouldn't mind."

"Bakuda?"

"Yeah. She's..."

His eyes went glassy for a second before he finished his sentence. "She's running things with the Oni, but Lung'll ditch her once he gets back. You'll see."

It sounded like he was reassuring himself more than him, but he let it slide.

"Anyway, Lung'd be-"

A phone rang, and he reached into his pocket on autopilot before stopping once the Asian fished his phone from his jeans and raised it to his ear. "What, I'm really fucking-"

He heard a shrill female voice speak up, but between the phone's horrible audio quality and the incredibly thick accent, he couldn't understand a word.

The man blanched white enough to make Alabaster envious, and he silently nodded before the woman screamed at him and hung up.

He swallowed deep, before giving him another grin, this one obviously fake to any outside viewer. "Sorry, that was her. A big factory of ours is getting smashed up pretty bad, and she wants us to deal with it."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it." He frowned at the blood dripping from the man's fingertips. "You just get some rest."

He made to jump away, but the man grabbed at his arm, staring at him like a starved man would at a buffet line. "You never answered me about hitching up."

He pulled his arm away and shook his head, and the ABB member's face dropped, before another obviously false grin came back. "That's fine, just..."

He shook his head, making to walk away. "You ever change your mind, swing by the docks and ask for Bai."

He nodded, then leapt away.

He reached for his phone, briefly smiling at the image Sabah had texted him a few hours before, and dialed the second number listed.

He only got two jumps in before it was answered. "What?"

"Bakuda. What do you know?"

"Bakuda? A bomb tinker Lung recruited near the end of March. She was arrested for a terror threat beforehand, but I dismissed her as a threat."

"You dismissed a bomb tinker as a threat?"

"A bomb tinker recruited under duress by Lung, who's notorious for being heavy-handed. She's hardly past her twentieth birthday and is a textbook narcissist, someone who would hate taking orders. I assumed she skipped the ABB as soon as Lung was arrested, but since your calling, she hasn't?"

"On the contrary, she's running it."

He could hear the confusion and apprehension in Coil's voice. "She's a failed college student infamous at her school for being mocking and controlling of her peers and is rigorously anti-social. How on earth would she keep order?"

He stopped in place, listening to the echoing gunshots and watching the glowing fires before replying. "I can think of a few ideas, especially with explosives."

The "And I've used them" went unsaid, but not unheard.

"None of them are pretty."

/

I'm very sorry for the ridiculous delay, but between writing and re-writing the huge Kaiju fight in Monster, Binging death note, and real-life shit, I sat on this chapter for way too long. It had been finished for a while, but I just never took the time to release it. Monster's big slug fight will be next, then I'll be back on this fully.

Last edited: Jun 13, 2022

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MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jun 27, 2022

#1,083

Well shit, I guess we know which thing I'm doing first. I didn't expect it would be that much of a landslide, but, to be fair, we still have lots of time until this fic is done, so that may change(But from the looks of things I doubt it. If part two wins, it'll end either by the time Taylor gets outed, by echidna, or by Behemoth(Adam+Phir Se would be really fun), and we'll see if I stop everything there or go all the way. I do have working titles for a short, almost snippet-like part 3 for the time skip, and a finale covering GM. Not touching Ward with a ten-foot pole, as I have not read it yet besides the Lung fight in 9.11(Is Ward worth a full read? I've heard some rather oddly mixed opinions on it).

Anywho, that's enough about all that. Here's the next chapter.

/

The last man was running as fast as his legs could carry him, panting and huffing while clamping a hand over their left arm, squeezing tight enough to slow the flow of blood leaking out past his fingers.

A single shot rang out, and he stumbled.

Another, and he fell down face-first with a scream, writhing a moment, before letting out one final rattling exhale and stilling.

He didn't get back up.

The ABB member who fired the gun let it slide out of his grip as he bent over and threw up, gagging and sputtering as he spat out small chunks of what he could only assume was his dinner a few hours prior.

He took a few steps forward, crunching shell casings underfoot, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly before rubbing his back as the kid coughed out his last, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

The city was quiet for the first time that night, the gunshots, fires, and screams replaced by a steady silence, with only the occasional emergency siren as proof things were amiss.

The waves lapping at the dock, the shining moon, and the neon lights spread all around would almost have made it a beautiful night if one could look past the glinting brass, the dripping blood, the bodies everywhere, and the acrid scent of urine and feces spread all across the factory from the dead's voided bowels and bladders.

He sniffed disdainfully, taking a small step back.

And the livings.

He pat the poor bastard on the back one last time as he made to stand, and the kid grabbed the gun off the floor and straightened himself out. He turned around to look back at the factory.

What was left of it.

The doorway had been utterly destroyed by an out-of-control car smashing through the entrance, a trail of broken bodies and destroyed furniture marking its path until it stopped at the other side of the building, the hood crumpled against the brick wall.

The driver was slumped forward in his seat, a small trail of blood flowing from his nose, and a river of red pouring from the nickel-sized hole in his skull.

Tables and chairs had been upended as makeshift cover, sending beakers and glasses and all manner of unknowable substances to the floor. The few prep tabes that hadn't been tipped over had been peppered with gunfire, and dozens of packaged bundles of white powder had been destroyed or ruptured, dumping what must have been thousands of dollars worth of cocaine to the glass, needle, and blood coated floor.

The boy wasn't looking at any of that though.

He was dead to the world, staring blankly at the horizon, eyes welled with tears.

He'd made a few pit stops intervening in some low-scale gunfights while guessing his way to the factory. He figured the ABB would be able to hold their own long enough.

A single tear ran down the ganger's face, and he sniffled before wiping it away.

He'd guessed wrong, and now everyone this boy knew was dead.

He flinched when several new gunshots sounded out, hand twitching in Wilt's direction before more sirens drowned them out.

The Empire's advance was breathing its last.

He frowned. The boy hadn't reacted at all.

His shoulders slumped, and he let out a low sigh.

It was finally over.

It was a first for him here, to be tired after a night out.

The frown stretched further when he glanced at his arm, and the half-dried blood staining his sleeve.

Wounded too.

All of it would be gone tomorrow, but the mere fact the cuts and grazes were still there at all was concerning enough.

The sirens grew louder, and he could very faintly hear the engines. They were already close.

He turned his head and eyed the ABB member again.

He still hadn't moved.

"Hey."

The sirens loomed.

"Hey."

Nothing.

He took a step forward just as the kid turned around and placed his gun under his own chin.

"W-"

The kid pulled the trigger.

The bullet went right through the bottom of his chin, ripping right through the brainstem and exiting out the back of his skull.

He felt something hot and wet and sticky splash across his face just as the kid bonelessly slumped over and tumbled into the ocean.

He jumped back in shock, eyes wide.

"Fuck me!"

Blue and red lights started flashing out the corner of his eye, and he heard an engine groan and rumble. Most likely a van or APC.

"I...Wha..."

He choked on his words as the body slowly sank into the bay, a crimson halo forming across the water's surface.

He wiped his face, leaning back and grimacing at the pink and red coating his glove. There wasn't time for this.

He turned away and ran up the road, speeding past the parking lot and stopping at the center of an intersection, giving one last lingering look at the docks.

"Sorry I was late."

That's what he got for not asking directions. He was too impatient.

He scowled. Been too impatient.

He leapt up to a nearby rooftop, eyeing the armored van he heard speed down the street and swerve right, directly into the parking lot.

He shook his head and made his way home, counting the police cars and firetrucks between each jump.

The entire BBPD and fire department must have been mobilized. There were dozens and dozens of cars, some even seemingly from different towns and counties.

The mayor and commissioner must have been desperate.

But the closer to home he got, the thinner they were spread, and by the time he entered the Merchants turf, it was lawless.

The Merchants were everywhere, men of all races and creeds taking to the streets, looting, smoking, and tearing the place apart. There had to have been dozens.

For a moment, he was sorely tempted to take them all on, damn the odds, but he held himself back, content that the police and PRT would handle it.

He made his way past them, tensing aura to his legs and leaping clear across the street, dozens of feet cleared in single jumps.

By the time he made it home, the beginning of aura exhaustion was starting to take hold. It was far from empty, but the battering he'd taken alongside his short-term enhancements had stressed it.

He drudged up the stairs, stepping inside his room and yawning, yanking off his gloves and tossing them in his bucket, almost immediately dying the water a pinkish-red.

His shoes were next, and he blinked at blood stains on his left sock before a quick tug on his pantleg revealed a few half-healed grazes, one above his ankle, and the rest by his thigh, their presence revealed by the small drops of blood weeping down his leg.

He dropped his jacket to the floor and unhooked his belt, tossing it alongside Wilt and Blush towards the corner, before limping towards his bedroll and all but collapsing on top of it. He threw his mask off to the side and was about to bury himself under the covers when he heard footsteps slowly make their way after him.

They paused a moment, then resumed, much faster, practically sprinting up the steps, He heard a soft thud a moment after.

He glanced to the floor and eyed the small blood trail leading out the door in annoyance.

Sloppy.

Who would that be then? Sabah was supposed to be-

"Adam! Adam! Are you okay?"

Shit.

He scrambled out of his bedroll, stumbling on his heel, and he lunged for his mask, placing it against his face just as Parian surged through the doorway, tossing the curtain aside.

She froze once she stepped inside and saw him. She wasn't even in costume, a pair of sweatpants and a hastily thrown-on jacket were all she had on.

"Oh my god, you're actually hurt, please tell me your okay!"

He held out one placating hand while the other adjusted the mask across his face so the brand could breathe. "Sabah I'm fine. Relax."

Her eyebrows rose up to merge with your hairline as she blinked in disbelief. "You've been shot, your bleeding, how can you tell me that with a straight fa-"

His aura shimmered across his body, a red barrier blinking to life across his body before it concentrated on the cuts.

Sabah, froze, mouth agape, as the wounds began sealing themselves up.

"Woah..."

She walked forward, leaning down to match his half-crouch, and watched the process in fascination.

It was slower than it should have been, but the mere fact it was happening before their eyes belied its speed. The bleeding stopped almost instantly, and what blood was there hardened into scabs, the skin around the area losing its pallor. After a few long seconds of that, the bruises lost their color, and the dried blood flaked off as the skin returned to a healthy pinkish white.

"Wow."

"I told you I'd be fine. Won't be a mark or scar by tomorrow. They would have been gone by then anyway, I just didn't want to exhaust myself further."

His punctuating yawn made her smile and shake her head. "Well forgive me for worrying. All I saw was the blood, and then when I came in and saw you all hunched over, I assumed the worst.

"It's fine." He ceased his fiddling and frowned at her. "What are you even doing here? I explicitly told you to stay home with your family or at your dorm until the ABB situation was dealt with."

"I was with my family, but I wasn't going to let the Empire or ABB affect my life, even for a day. As soon as everything calmed down, I went out and snagged your grocery order and made my way here."

"And where is that at?"

"Uh.." She flicked a loose strand of hair out of her face, almost sheepishly. "At the bottom of the stairs? I dropped the bags once I saw the blood trail, and I accidentally kicked them down when I was running up here."

She stood up, smoothing her hair again. "I'll go get them real quick."

"Just leave'em, they ain't going anywhere. I'll snag them in the morning."

He hauled himself to his feet, walking back towards his ruined jacket, tearing off a fresh strip. He heard Sabah turn around politely as he set his mask on the floor and began wrapping his face. It was practically routine by now, and while he could tell she was curious, it was nice she didn't try and broach the topic. She simply ignored it, and he was thankful for that.

He made sure to avoid his horns as the fabric coiled around his hair and face, and he winced when part of it grazed his eye. "How'd your family even let you come here? What did you tell them?"

He saw her shrug in his periphery. "The truth. I waited until the fighting had died down, then asked if I could check on a friend quickly, that I was worried about them."

His hand stilled, and felt something wet drip down his cheek. He pressed a finger towards his face and bit his tongue to stop from swearing. His fingertip came away red. He'd been very lucky recently, but his eye and the skin around it was finally starting to dry out. This was the longest he'd gone from cleaning it since he was a child.

His aura came in again, and he continued wrapping even as he shook in pain. The mask was stifling, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed being able to meet people's eyes until recently. He'd definitely need to score something to finally take care of it though.

If Parian noticed he was wrapping a little faster and looser than normal, she didn't comment. "You told them you were headed for a friend? They ask any questions?"

"Plenty. They know the only other person I talk to besides them is my roommate, so when I started doing my deliveries for you, they started asking questions. Why I'd be out so late, or why I seemed so much more personable lately. Even my roommate was starting to wonder. My aunt wouldn't let me leave until I told her about who I was visiting."

He finished wrapping and tugged the fabric down. It was much looser than normal, but it'd do. "What do they know?"

"That I've been hanging out with a boy around my age. That his name is Adam, that he's super tall, that he loves art."

She paused a moment to admire the room before speaking again. "He isn't very social, but he's smart, really funny, even though it's usually not on purpose, and he loves fashion and sewing almost as much as me."

She stopped a moment, and when he turned around, she had an expression on her face he couldn't place.

"That I think he's a good person, even if he doesn't know it or believe it."

He flinched.

Hard.

Sabah crossed her arms, but didn't take it back.

She thought that now..

But if she knew...

God, if she knew...

He laughed, attempting to defuse the tension in his limbs. "I can't imagine she would have been happy to hear you've been sneaking out to see a boy in the twilight hours of the day."

She snorted. "My father would have been apoplectic, and my mother would have asked a thousand questions, but my aunt just shrugged."

She shrugged herself a moment later. "She knows she won't have to worry about boys with me anyway."

She glanced down again, turning faintly green at the blood spatter. "That's not going to be fun to clean out."

"Clean out?"

Sabah stared.

"It's just blood."

Sabah was silent for a moment before burying her head in her hands, laughing at the apparent absurdity of that statement. "Ohh mmmy goddd Adam, no. We are not just going to leave a bunch of bloodstains all over your apartment, okay?"

He didn't respond for a few seconds, and that apparently was a few too many for her. "Okay?"

"Fine, fine, alright."

She sighed scanning his room for a moment, before nodding to herself and shaking her head.

"You need a break."

What/"What?"

"You have not spent a single day in Brockton Bay without either fighting someone, or planning a fight with someone. You need a break. I don't mean taking a week off or anything, just a day." He opened his mouth, and she scowled. "The city has survived the Empire without you for thirty years."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. The movement looked rather familiar. She stared him dead in the eye.

"It can live without you for one extra day."

"Fine."

She blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

She smiled, big and wide. "Good. Tomorrow at three, I'll come by, and we'll hit downtown and make a day of it. There are plenty of restaurants and stores and movie theatres, So we should be able to find something you'll enjoy. Deal?"

She extended an arm forward, apparently to officiate said deal.

He rolled his eyes and shook her hand. "Deal."

"Great. I'll some contacts for your eye, and a hat for your horns. Make sure to dress up!"

His eyes rolled so far back they nearly back-flipped, and she lightly punched him in the arm.

"Sure."

/

Sorry about the extra day's wait. I have no legitimate reason for the delay except that I finally made a Nexus account and went a bit haywire modding Witcher III.

I hope y'all can forgive me.

Last edited: Jun 28, 2022

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Jun 27, 2022

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jul 6, 2022

#1,133

She delicately sidestepped a pile of shattered glass, grimacing at the muck around her feet. The sidewalk was littered with window fragments, blood, used needles, and stolen objects left behind by their captors. TVs, clothes, knives, food, guns, all tossed to the wayside.

The Merchants had torn the entire block apart. Everywhere she looked she saw burned-out cars, kicked-in doors, and fresh dried bloodstains.

Some hadn't even left, and she glared at the druggies sleeping in the street, makeshift tents and blankets made from stolen clothes blocking the way. No cars had come by all day, and for good reason.

She stepped in something wet and swore, lurching forward.

When she lifted up her shoe, the sole came back brown.

Her growl of frustration could have been heard from the end of the block.

The drugged-up zombies all around her didn't even react.

"Why did he have to pick such a shithole?"

The apartment was only a dozen feet away now, the telltale gap on the side marking Taurus's room.

She didn't like that name. It felt too...simple. Almost anti-climactic when you compared the name to the man.

Perhaps that could be by design. It gave away nothing about his appearance, power, or alignment(Though the horns made it understandable. Maybe she could help him brainstorm a more fitting title).

God knows the PRT could have anyway. It slightly surprised her they just ran with his given name, but, being fair to them, "Taurus" was much more inoffensive than "Bitch".

The thought of the PRT soured her already poor mood even further.

They were bringing in those capes from Chicago in few weeks, Gauss and Brazier. She didn't know much about them, except that the PRT apparently considered just the two of them enough to act as a stopgap. Gauss was supposedly a big mover, striker, and blaster, while Brazier was a complete unknown to her.

All she did know was that Brazier was supposed to hem Taurus in, and Gauss was supposed to knock him down.

The Wards were in much higher spirits now that Taurus's supposed "weakness" had been found out. Don't hit the sword, hit him, and do your damndest to disarm him. Without his sword, apparently, he couldn't throw out his weird fuckin energy blasts. Armsmaster hadn't been his usual stoic, cocky self lately, and she'd seen him practicing with his Halberd's a lot more recently. Getting his ass kicked like that musta stung.

But she didn't buy the sword theory.

She'd seen him toss out those little waves and discs a few times before, and he hadn't needed a boost either time. Her best guess was that he had some internal reservoir, something he could draw from to strike out, and that absorbing energy was just a quick and easy way to refill it. Whether he could send it out without a sword, she couldn't say, but considering he had those weird shadows(Clones?), she'd lean towards the answer being yes.

She stopped right at the entrance, scuffing her feet on the curb in disgust and stepping inside.

She froze up at the first step, blinking in confusion at the grocery bag that had been upended. Half of its contents were spilled out onto the steps, littering the floor in fabrics, needles, and what looked like a few loaves of dry bread.

She shook her head and resumed her trek, the staircase groaning and creaking in tune with each step. She noticed a few blood stains that looked almost new, but considering how she came up here in the first place, for all she knew it could have been hers.

She made it up to the doorway, hesitating a moment when she noticed Taurus wasn't there to meet her. She knew he could hear better than anyone else she'd met, and she hadn't exactly been subtle climbing the steps.

She gently rapped her knuckles on the doorway.

Silence.

She knocked harder, pounding it with a closed fist.

Nothing.

Was he gone? This early?

She stepped forward and swept the curtain aside with a shout.

"Hey, I'm comin I-"

She froze.

Taurus was laying on his cot, stock still, half his face smothered by blankets.

"Oh shit."

His head twitched at the noise, and her breath hitched.

He shook his head, mumbling incoherently.

The blankets coiled tighter around him, and he stilled once more.

He was fucking asleep.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a half-hysterical giggle.

"Jesus.."

She stepped forward, carefully tilting her head to watch for a reaction.

Taurus didn't react.

Just her luck.

She surveyed the room again, eyes widening.

It was much more furnished since she'd last come. There were a few desks, a nightlight, a fucking laptop, and more drawings and paintings than she'd seen at the fuckin Brockton Bay Art Center.

A HUGE robot, a rose garden, a woman with flames in her eyes and a smile on her lips, and some sort of fucked up creepy victorian doll were the most memorable things recently added to the walls.

But what really drew her eye was the ceiling.

Or rather the people and objects adorning it.

A shadow clad in the darkest of blacks, an indigo scarf wrapped around its neck.

A body split in twain, half wilted.

A massive mecha, shaped almost like a spider.

A bowler hat held aloft by a cane.

A yellow silhouette with the longest, blondest, and most impractical hairstyle she'd ever seen, a thin sheen of black added to the right arm.

A tiger-stripped woman, with two matching pairs of earrings for each set of ears. The face matched a painting he'd already finished. Odd.

A malformed arm, almost shaped like a claw, that had flames swirling around its pointed fingertips.

A shirtless man in a welding mask, modified and shaped like a wolf's slanted face, a pair of swastikas adorning his pecs.

A halberd wrapped in an American flag.

A gas mask with a stylized Eight-Eight printed over the glass.

They were all lined one after the other, almost sequentially.

And there was room for plenty more left.

She couldn't wait to find out who'd be next.

"No.."

She jumped in place, muffling herself once more as she spun around to face Taurus.

He was babbling incoherently, face ashen white.

She could vaguely make out him shaking under the sheets.

Not only was he asleep, but he was also having a god damn nightmare?

She made her way over to him, fading to shadow, each step feather-light. She stopped and sucked in a breath as her body came back, and kneeled down next to him.

Taurus shook his head, whispered pleas ignored by whatever phantom was haunting him.

Her hand reached out of its own accord, and she frowned.

She'd never had many nightmares, and whenever her little sister had a freakout, she just had her mother take care of it.

Her frown twisted into a full-on grimace.

It galled her a little, to have to admit she just flat out didn't know what to do here.

She remembered her mom would often whisper to her, or pet her hair, but that was for toddlers. It probably wouldn't work here.

Taurus fucking whimpered.

Eh, screw it.

She laid her hand on his shoulder, and almost immediately Taurus flinched so hard she almost thought he had woken up before the whispers and mumbles came back in full.

"Shhh..."

She rubbed up and down his shoulder, running her fingers down his covered arm.

"Shhhh..."

The mumbling slowed, and something wet dripped out of his eye and slid down his cheek.

Her hand moved up, coiling through his hair and tousling it.

"Shhh...I'm.."

Her hand stilled, tightening up into a fist and knotting his hair.

She didn't know what to say.

This was utterly unchartered territory for her.

She leaned forward, whispering as her hand scratched his scalp.

"Shhh...I'm here."

Taurus's lips stopped moving.

"I'm here."

She paused a moment, wiping down his cheek with her free hand.

"Here for you."

Taurus stilled, and she leaned back.

She felt a twinge of something in her chest. But by the time she had even noticed it was there, it was already fading.

She watched him fall back into a deep slumber impassively. She smoothed his hair back down, face blank, before standing back up.

Taurus was finally free of whatever had been bothering him, and she took a moment to better study his face.

It was so at odds with what he projected. He seemed so much older, wiser, with the mask on. His height, his skill, his power, and the little nuggets of wisdom and advice he'd give out, all pointed to an older, experienced, and veteran cape. The grizzled warrior type.

But when the mask was off...

It still shocked her a little, how young he was.

The permanent scowl and the small wrinkles forming under his good eye were both signs of stress aging him prematurely, but the rest of his face countered that.

The bright blue of his eye(eyes?), the softness of his cheeks, the smoothness of his skin, and the fact he had zero facial hair, not even stubble or strands.

How old was he? Nineteen? Twenty? Twenty-Five? He couldn't be any older than that surely.

What could possibly bother a man who'd killed dozens of people, almost apathetically, so much that it sticks with them even as they sleep?

A great heaving sigh echoed across the room.

Well, she sure as hell wasn't gonna wake him up after going through that effort.

Another sigh.

"Now what?"

There wasn't exactly much to do while she waited. It was only a little past seven in the morning, and knowing Taurus, this was probably him sleeping in. He could be back up anytime, and she didn't wanna wade through all the Merchants again.

She paced from one side of the room to the other, running her fingers across the paintings and carvings.

He had talent, she'd give him that. They were immaculately detailed, and each painting and drawing was a marked improvement over the last.

Maybe she could give it a try someday. Art had never really done anything for her, but seeing how dedicated Taurus was to it, giving it a shot couldn't hurt.

Hell, she'd seen a few paint cans around already. Surely he wouldn't mind, right?

She glanced around and saw some half-emptied yellow and black tubs by Taurus's cot.

She shrugged her shoulders and cracked her knuckles.

"Why the hell not?"

But as she bent down to grab the cans, something caught her eye.

A pommel and hilt, stuffed inside a matte black barrel and receiver that stretched on and on until a redwood stock, finished and lacquered, cut it off.

His sword and sheath.

She strode forward and kneeled again, admiring it.

She knew fuck-all about tinkering or engineering or whatever the hell made a sheath that double-functioned as a gun, but even she could tell it was well made.

The PRT had gotten into a minor slap fight with themselves over whether or not he'd made them it. Armsmaster blamed the Toyxbox, but she didn't buy that either.

She wasn't sure he'd built it, but he'd made it his own in a way no tinker could.

But why all the roses?

She understood having a motif, but it seemed a bit excessive, even to her.

Maybe-

"Well don't just stare at it."

Her heart leaped up and clogged her throat, turning a panicked swear into a strangled gasp.

She placed one hand over her racing heart as Taurus's smile was smothered by the slice of bread he was munching on.

"You ass, I thought you were asleep!"

The smile widened.

"I was. Not my fault you were too distracted to hear me get up."

Taurus shoved the rest of the slice in his mouth and bent down to rummage through the massive collections of grocery bags he'd collected.

She saw more fresh bread, soft drinks, yet more needles, fabrics, and threads, and skin care products?

"Where do you get all that stuff?"

Taurus ceased his rummaging. He turned his head towards her with a frown. "Where do I get what?"

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand across the room. "All of this? I know you sure as hell ain't the type to walk up to the local apple store and buy a fuckin laptop. I ain't dumb, and I ain't gonna tell. Just curious."

Taurus hummed and retrieved a water bottle, unscrewing the cap, before, much to her disbelief, chugging the entire thing, crumpling it in his fist and throwing it out past her head and down his balcony.

He rolled his shoulders and faced her again, tone grim. "Let's just say I know a guy, and we'll leave it at that."

He flicked his eyes towards his sword again.

"I was serious when I said don't just stare at it. Go ahead."

She tilted her head, uncomprehending.

Taurus smirked.

"I'm giving you permission. Go nuts."

Her feet dragged her back towards the sword almost on auto-pilot.

She squatted down, leaning forward and running her fingers across its body. Taurus closed in behind her as she marveled.

"Go on, pick it up. Just grab it by the-" She clamped one hand around the receiver, ahead of the trigger guard.

"There you go, you got it." She tried to stand up, but nearly tipped over when the sword slid out from her hand. Taurus put a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

"I should have warned you, I'm used to it, but it's a lot heavier than you'd expect it to be. Hold it tight, and keep your arm level when you stand up.

She did as he bayed, and he gave her an encouraging slap to the shoulder when she stood upright, sword in hand.

"How do you feel?"

She slid her pointer finger across the sheath before wrapping her right hand around the hilt of the sword.

Something electric ran down her spine.

"I feel powerful."

Taurus smiled again, but there was an edge to it, something almost dark.

"I know exactly what you mean."

/

Split into two, since I decided to expand this Sophia chapter on a whim, and it got outta hand real fast.

Last edited: Jul 9, 2022

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Jul 6, 2022

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Jul 7, 2022

#1,161

Ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time, we get to see what it's like to be on the other end of the patented Adam Taurus Temper Tantrum!(TM)

It isn't fun.

/

It felt right, holding Taurus's sword.

Like it belonged in her hands, like it was meant to be there 24/7.

Was this how he felt every time?

No wonder he carried it everywhere he went.

By the look on his face, he knew what she was feeling.

"I remember holding them for the first time too."

She turned her head to listen in, tapping her fingers on the hilt absentmindedly.

Taurus's free eye was rolled back, as if lost in a memory.

"I must have been.."

He trailed off, and she could see him counting off with his fingers

"Sixteen? Seventeen? I don't quite remember..."

He glanced down, back at the blade in her hands. Something flashed in his eyes, but she couldn't tell what. "I've had it so long it's practically a part of me. Since the day I made it, it hasn't left my side..until.."

He trailed off again, and his face slackened.

For the barest of moments, he looked lost.

"You made these?"

He twitched almost imperceptibly before nodding. "Yes, Yes I did. I thought the rose would have made it obvious."

"Well forgive me, but a tinker that makes guns and swords who also has an entire set of bullshit powers sounds pretty out there."

Taurus huffed and shook his head. "Well, tell Armsmaster he can keep his spot as top tinker. I'm not one. Wilt and Blush took me months to blueprint, let alone assemble. He could make them in a day."

She quirked a brow in amusement. "Wilt and Blush?"

Taurus scoffed, a hint of red warming his cheeks. "Like I said, I was either sixteen or seventeen. Besides, are you really gonna tell me Armsmaster hasn't named his equipment?"

"Yes."

Taurus's shoulders fell. "Oh."

She laughed and turned her head back down towards the sheath in her hand.

She inched her fingers back, pinky tapping the trigger, and Taurus cleared his throat.

"Don't pull that trigger unless you feel like jumping out there to catch Wilt when it lands. And it will go farther than you think it will, believe me on that."

For the briefest of moments, she was tempted to do it anyway, just to feel it happen.

Taurus's eye narrowed.

"Seriously. These aren't toys."

"I know that!"

"Then don't treat them like they are. Wilt is a sword, Blush is a gun. Treat them with respect, you understand me?"

She chanced another look at him. He seemed genuinely affronted.

"I understand."

He nodded his head, stepping back and to the side. "Good. Now, go ahead and unsheathe Wilt."

Her fingers tightened around the hilt, and she lightly tugged her hand forward.

It didn't budge.

She tried it again, and her fingers slid down across the grip fruitlessly. Taurus stepped a little closer, and she gripped it once more, tighter.

"Now-" Another tug. "You don't want to just yank it, you have it at an angle, a-" A pull this time. "Are you listening? If you-"

She yanked as hard as she could, and something clicked as Wilt sang free of its confinement, letting out an ear-piercing screech as it scraped the inside of the sheath. She took a stumbling step to the left in an attempt to control her accidental swing as Wilt arced towards Taurus's face.

A hasty hop backward saved him from having his mouth completely split open.

Instead, he managed to get away with only a small line carved into the surface of his cheek.

The wall wasn't so lucky.

Wilt slid right through it like there was nothing there at all, and it flew clear of her hand and tumbled across the floor with a clatter.

She followed Taurus's gaze toward the painting she'd marred.

It was a woman's face, the most detailed and almost..personal painting/carving he'd done. The hair and eyes seemingly had the most work put into them, because the golden amber of the eyes and the raven black of the hair were almost lifelike in the light. A pair of what looked like cat ears rested atop her head. It must have taken Taurus hours to make.

And now that all work was destroyed.

The face had been cleanly bisected, tearing a groove right through the hair, eyes, and nose.

Taurus's pupil shrunk down to a pinprick, and he let out a full-body shudder.

She could hear the leather in Taurus's gloves groan as he clenched his fists.

The blood pouring from his cheek was glowing.

Taurus closed his good eye and inhaled.

Deeply.

His right hand twitched, as if it was reaching for something, and he exhaled loudly, growling low in his throat.

Taurus slowly turned to face her, glaring balefully.

Something flashed red behind the cloth covering his left eye.

He wiped down his cheek, scowling at the red staining his glove.

"What..."

He leaned forward, eye narrowing.

"Was..."

His voice was dead, free of inflection.

He lunged forward, one hand shoving her into the nearest wall, with the other darting forward and yanking Blush from her hands.

She couldn't breathe, and he in leaned close, bearing down on her until their noses were practically touching.

"That?"

It was one thing, hearing about his anger.

Another to see its aftereffects, from the Empire's many dead.

But having it directed at her was horrifying.

The hand that had her pinned to the wall crept upward.

"Well?"

When she felt his fingertips touch her throat, she broke.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking an-"

His hand squeezed.

Not enough to choke, but enough to make her shut her mouth.

"Clearly."

Adam huffed, and she could see the physical effort it took for him to pull his hand away and let her breathe.

"It is obvious to anyone that you weren't thinking. What I want to know is why."

She opened her mouth, but he was already speaking again, almost shouting as he paced around the room, a flash of red sealing the cut on his cheek.

"I warned you not to treat it like a toy. You said you understood."

He froze mid-stride and did a 180 on his heel, facing her again and jabbing at her with a finger.

The smile on his face looked wrong.

Familiar.

She shuddered despite herself.

"You weren't...lying to me.."

He stepped closer, hair brightening and dimming like a stoplight.

"Were you?"

Sophia took a deep breath in.

He was furious.

She understood why, implicitly, but this level of anger?

She exhaled, attempting to straighten herself out.

She stepped in the shit, now she had to get it off her.

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake, I'll admit that, but I did'-

Taurus's fist ripped through the drywall above her head like it was paper mache, sending paint chips and dust all over her face.

Amidst her gasps and sputters, Taurus spoke up again.

"Don't pull that with me."

He twisted his hand around before violently tearing it free, ruining another carving.

He was on such a roll it looked like he hadn't even realized he'd done it.

"I'm not your mommy, or daddy, or whoever that "I'm sorry sir" act is for. Don't try it with me."

He blinked, tilting his head at her.

Then he leered.

"Save that shit for your principal."

She flinched.

He grinned.

"You were lying to me. Even if it wasn't on purpose, even if you meant it at the time, you were lying to me."

He stalked back towards her, posture tight, shoulders hunched like a wolf closing for a kill.

Then he was in her face again, whispering in her ear.

"Do you know why?"

She was frozen still. Her body wouldn't, couldn't, move.

She was paralyzed.

Steven's voice rang in her ears.

"Because you don't think."

Taurus leaned away, eye clouded by fury.

And something else.

Something...regretful?

Pondering?

"You don't think, you just do."

Taurus's glow winked out, and he sighed.

She felt herself slide down to the floor, legs giving out beneath their weight.

He was a giant to her, in this position.

He stared on, face void of emotion.

"I used to do the same thing."

His hand came up to rub the fabric covering his left eye.

"You wanna know how I got this?"

Her head snapped upward.

"I was only a few years younger than you. I was young and dumb. Just a kid."

He leaned forward, close enough that she could make out some sort of pattern beneath the cloth.

"I was doing a job, and was given instructions." Taurus's lips twitched upward, almost sardonically. "In my twelve-year-old brain's infinite wisdom, I decided to ignore those instructions. And I paid the price."

She swallowed, attempting to find her voice, but Taurus cut her off.

"And the older I became, the worse it got. I'd get tunnel vision, I went from not taking advice to flat out ignoring it, I stopped following the spirit of my orders, and only followed the letter. I took every single opportunity I could to do things my way, and if things couldn't get done the way I wanted them to be done, they often never got done at all."

Taurus glanced back at the painting she'd mangled. He bit his lip.

"Eventually, it reached a critical point. I surrounded myself with yes-men and sycophants, and I did away with everyone who disagreed with my methods, no matter who they were."

Taurus's hand dropped back to his waist.

"I used to do everything by whim, by assumption. You wanna know where that got me?"

She felt herself nod her head.

Taurus grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugged it upward, revealing two angry, cherry red scars, one directly over his heart, and one right below it.

"It got me both of these and a free ride down a river."

He put his shirt back down, smoothing it over with a sigh. Taurus leaned closer still, until they were once against almost nose to nose.

"Tell me, when you first put on that hockey mask and held that crossbow, did you stop to think about what you were doing? Did you make a plan? Ask for advice from someone you trusted? Or did you decide to start going out at night, beating, maiming, killing, on a whim?"

They both knew the answer.

"When the PRT booked you, did you try and follow their rules, adjust to the new regulations, try and make new friends? Or did you immediately start sneaking out to do your own patrols? Start sneaking broadhead bolts into your kit? Did you ever try and give them a chance? Or did you completely disregard their methods, simply because they weren't your methods?"

She did try, at first. But every day she spent with the PRT breathing down her neck just made her angrier and angrier, more and more spiteful.

"I made it a year, I think. A year and a few months, tops."

"Then you did better than I would have. But my point stands."

Taurus leaned away and stood up, walking back toward Wilt.

"Tell me something..." He picked Wilt back up, whipping it to the side to clean the blade of muck, and placed it back in its sheath. "When you came to me in that alley, what were you thinking? Did you have a plan in mind in case I was hostile? Did you have a plan in case you said something wrong and you pissed me off? Did you have a plan to even fight me in case I tried something? Or did you just assume I'd be friendly? That I was like you?"

The answer was written all over her face.

Taurus's sympathetic frown irked her and comforted her in equal measure. He clenched a fist and thumped his chest, right over his scars. "That's the kind of thinking that'll get you a pair of these."

He tucked Blush back into his belt, then crossed his arms. "Now, what went wrong here?"

She glanced back towards the ruined painting and gulped.

"I got..excited, I guess. I wasn't really listening to you, and I got frustrated attempting to get the damn sword out. I didn't really think about what would happen once I got it out."

"Good."

Taurus tracked her eyes and bit his lip.

"I shouldn't have.." He stalled, face glued to the floor.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. His tongue darted out and ran over his lips, and he shook his head. "I shouldn't have lost my temper with you. It was my fault for not stopping you anyway, it's just.."

Another quick glance and frustrated sigh. "The person in that painting meant a lot to me. In some very.."

Taurus swallowed and ran his sleeve across his face. "Complicated ways."

"Maybe I could help you fix it then? I..don't really have anywhere important to be, and I'm the one who fucked it up."

"You didn't." He flinched as he said it, like it came out automatically.

She raised a brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Taurus stared on silently, like he hadn't heard her. He walked towards the painting, tugging off a glove, and running a hand across the woman's cheek.

It looked almost intimate.

Then everything went dark, scarlet light blazing around Adam's fingers as he ran them up through her hair and down her face.

Thin red petals danced across the room, and the light came back so suddenly that she had to shut her eyes to stop it from blinding her.

When she opened them again, the painting was gone, and Taurus was still.

He tugged his glove back on without a word and made his way back towards her, extending a hand.

She hesitated a moment, then clasped it.

He pulled her up to her feet, then held out Blush once more.

"What? Are you-"

"You understand your mistake, right? What you did wrong?"

She glanced back down, towards the blade hidden away.

"I do."

Taurus nodded.

"Then let's try it again."

/

Okay, just one more part to this, from Adam's POV, then we get to the fun happy chapter.

Last edited: Feb 1, 2024

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Jul 7, 2022

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Jul 13, 2022

#1,185

Shadow Stalker gingerly reached towards Blush, carefully wrapping her fingers back around the receiver and gently tugging it from his hands. Her grip was a bit too tight, but he could appreciate the extra caution. He walked a semi-circle around her, moving back to her right side, in the path of her sword arm.

She got the message and put a hand on Wilt's hilt, but he tapped a finger on her shoulder to get her attention before she could try again.

"Now, make sure your grip is secure, and we'll start slow. Give it a good tug, but again, do not try and yank it out. That's how accidents happen. Last time, you felt a click when you pulled it out?" A nod. "Good. When you feel that click, let go, and we'll go from there."

Shadow Stalker glanced back down, and slowly pulled. For a moment nothing happened, but as he reached forward to help, he heard a soft click, and she ripped her hand away from the hilt like it'd just burned her.

He smothered his rapidly growing smile with a fist and shook his head. "Well don't be afraid of it. It's just a thing."

She scowled. "I'm not afraid of it."

"But you're afraid of screwing up with it."

With the way her shoulders tensed up, he knew he'd hit the mark. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "You made a mistake. You've learned from it. You can't be reckless with it, but you can't treat it like a bomb about to go off either. As I said, it's about respect. Treat it right, and it will treat you right."

He put his hand atop hers, squeezing slightly, before pulling her hand back, slowly sliding Wilt free. "Like this. Don't bend your wrist, otherwise the edge of the blade will scrape the inside of the sheath, and that'll damage them both." He pulled Wilt halfway free, then let go of her hand and stepped back a few paces. Shadow Stalker paused a moment, then pulled Wilt completely free under her own power.

Adam shrugged. "There you have it."

Shadow Stalker was quiet a moment.

Then she laughed.

Hard.

His brow creased in concern when it took a full ten seconds for said laughter to subside.

She turned towards him again, huffing and panting, with the occasional giggle slipping free between exhales.

The look on his face nearly sent her into another fit, and she took another few seconds to compose herself before speaking. "I'm sorry, I must have sounded like a fuckin crazy person right there, it's just.." She sighed, rolling her eyes and gesturing towards the spot where Blake's portrait used to reside. "It was just so goddamn simple. How on earth did I fuck that up?"

He hummed. That was an easy one.

"Like I mentioned earlier, you weren't thinking or listening. If you had been, it would have gone just as smoothly. But don't beat yourself up over it. You wouldn't believe how many accidents I've gotten into involving that sword. Most of them for the same reasons."

"Really? You?"

He laughed, tugging up his sleeve and tapping one of the many small scars decorating his left arm. "Wilt bit me right here when I was messing around trying to spin it in my hands. I didn't have anyone to teach me properly for a long time, so you can rest assured I have a fairly large rap sheet when it comes to screw-ups. I'm rather lucky I heal so well, otherwise I'd have quite a few more of these."

Shadow Stalker took a moment to look his arm up and down, marveling at the sheer variety of the markings. Small nicks and cuts from training, full-on slashes and punctures from the many him-or-me melee fights he'd gotten into in his younger days, old, almost faded gunshot wounds, but what drew her eye most of all were the small burns peppered across his arm, primarily near his wrist. Most were remnants of his days in the mines outside Lagertod, but a good few were also from simple loading accidents working with Blush.

Sabah had shown that same curiosity about the many, many, scars that littered across his body, but had never spoken up due to her seemingly unwavering respect for his privacy.

"How the hell'd you get all these?"

Shadow Stalker had no such respect.

He tugged his sleeve down and shrugged, offhandedly gesturing towards Wilt. "When you're self-taught like me, you learn from your screw-ups, not from instruction. I used to swing swords like Wilt around like they were bats. For a while, I just coasted along with my durability, trusting that I'd be able to simply brute-force my way through battle, without any real strategy or finesse. But as time passed, that became less and less effective, so I started relying on my natural quickness instead. I had no real sparring partners or instructors until I was around nineteen, after Si-someone noticed my skill for the first time. So before that, I'd simply find a quiet place and just..swing Wilt around. I had no clue what I was doing, proper footwork, positioning, none of that. What I did have was speed and agility, and so I built my own style, uniquely tailored to me, around that. Eventually, once I did a proper get a proper teacher, I learned the proper nuances of swordplay."

Shadow Stalker seemed completely enthralled by the story, eyes wide and glittering. By the looks of it, she had a whole new level of respect for him. "I did kinda wonder why you seemed so..unconventional. Armsmaster was wondering as well too. He'd been wracking his brain trying to figure out how you made such a bastardized mixture of Iaido and Kendo work."

"I don't know what those are, or what those words mean." But they did seem vaguely Mistralian sounding.

Shadow Stalker blinked. She opened her mouth and raised a finger in bewilderment, before dropping the finger along with her shoulders, shaking her head midway through the movement. "Self-Taught. Right."

"Exactly. Now, to sheath. It's a lot simpler. Grab Blush and tilt it upward, and flip Wilt around and line them both up." Shadow Stalker nodded and did as instructed, fumbling slightly when changing her grip on Wilt's hilt. "Good. Now just pull Blush forward and slide Wilt in, both at the same time."

She was a bit slow and unsteady, and he winced at the loud scrape when the tip of the blade sank inside, but when Wilt clicked into place, he slapped her on the back in congratulations. "Simple as that. I'm grabbing another drink. Repeat until I say stop, and I wanna see you do it faster each time, got it?"

Shadow Stalker grinned and gave him a thumbs-up as he walked back towards his dumping ground. He reached into the nearest bag and fished around, sighing at the lack of water. He grimaced and resigned himself to the mercy of one of the many soft drinks Sabah had brought him. He'd never tried them or even really been interested in them, and had just been stockpiling them to spare her feelings.

Well, might as well give them a shot.

He reached back inside and pulled a canned one free at random, turning his head and giving Shadow Stalker an approving nod. Every few moments her movements got quieter and quieter.

He raised the drink to his face and popped off the tab with a thumb, briefly giving the brand name a once over.

He shrugged and raised it to his lips.

Acid pooled around his tongue, and he choked, dropping the can to the floor as he bent over the floor and gagged, spitting the liquid out to the ground as he sputtered, spit and fizz running down his chin.

Shadow Stalker howled.

As her laughter petered out and his gagging died down, she sheathed Wilt one final time and spoke up.

"Not a soda guy, are you?"

He coughed one last time and wiped his mouth, sneering. "Shut up and keep practicing."

She giggled. "Sure thing."

He straightened out just as Wilt sang free once more, and he tracked the movement of the can across the floor.

It lay against the wall where Blake's portrait had sat. He drudged over, carefully staying out of Shadow Stalker's way as she repeated the movements he'd drilled her on. He could see it was already starting to become muscle memory.

He'd admit, if only to himself, that it felt good to teach again. To train someone, to hone them, to make them better than they were.

To make them what he wanted them to be.

A shudder wracked his body, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

But the line between his manipulation and genuine intention was beginning to blur. He was starting to legitimately enjoy her company, the sense of normalcy and routine she provided for him, like with Sabah.

He was almost starting to see her as another friend, a companion.

But when he picked up the can and glanced back at the empty space on his wall, he knew deep down what void he was trying to fill.

For a brief, selfish moment, he thought about keeping her around for himself, out of the way of the PRT, the Guild, or whatever family she had.

But he had a second chance, now. He wouldn't waste it.

His hand brushed over what few slivers of paint remained, one final flash of red wiping the slate clean.

He saw out the corner of his eye that Shadow Stalker wasn't moving, and that Wilt and Blush were on the floor. She was looking back and forth between him and the painting repeatedly, face twisted and tangled up in thought.

Then she let out a little "Ah" of acknowledgment.

He crumpled the can in his hand, soaking his glove, and threw it out into the street below.

"Who was she?"

"Someone important to me."

Shadow Stalker rolled her eyes. "No shit. I mean, who was she?"

He frowned. His left hand came up and swiped through empty air.

He looked back down towards where Wilt and Blush sat on the floor, and a self-deprecating chuckle slipped free without his consent.

Shadow Stalker, bless her heart, noticed, and picked Blush up, Wilt in tow, and tossed them back at him.

He caught them mid-air and tucked Blush back into his belt, running his hands along its length.

"That a sword or a stress ball?"

His glare, surprisingly, didn't cow her. She just crossed her arms and stood her ground.

He ran a hand through his hair, soaking it in liquid and exhaling harshly.

"The girl in that painting was my partner."

Shadow Stalker blinked. "What do you mean by partner? Like a-"

"Both. She was..." He squeezed Blush in his hand, ignoring her judgment. "She was both. We worked together, yes, but we were also.. involved. I was nineteen when it started, she was fifteen. We were together for about two years."

Shadow Stalker took a moment, visibly hesitating. She was clearly trying to pick her words, conscious of the landmine she'd stepped on. "You keep saying were and was. Is she..?"

"No. She's not dead, just..."

Gone? Missing?

The last he saw of her, he was doing his best to put her in the ground.

She had survived him, but what if someone else had gotten to her?

Where even was she? Her group was headed for Atlas, but it had been over a month since Argus. She could be in Mantle, Atlas, Vacuo, anywhere.

And he'd never be able to find out.

She could be alive, dead, with Yang, with someone else, she could be with her family, fighting Grimm, fighting Hazel, fighting for the new White Fang, anywhere.

She was just...

"Gone."

"Do you..know where?"

Adam shook his head.

"No."

He slumped back, leaning against the wall, turning his head to look outside at his brave new world.

"I just hope it's somewhere better than here."

Shadow Stalker nodded. "Not much worse than this place."

He hummed, shrugging slightly.

"Maybe."

Something vibrated, and he perked up, Wilt baring its teeth, but Shadow Stalker growled and jammed a hand in her pants pocket.

"God damn it, Emma..."

It was a whisper, muttered in the heat of the moment.

But he heard it, and he shoved Wilt back.

She pulled her phone free, scrolling rapidly. She was reading something, and she wasn't very pleased with whatever it said. She sighed, pinching her nose and tapping her foot.

She gave one last lingering look at him and the blank canvas, before jamming her phone back and place and throwing her hands in the air with a growl of frustration. "I gotta go. It's a school day, and my friends getting pissy I'm gone."

"You came here on a school day?"

She shrugged.

"Yeah?"

Adam boggled.

"Y-w-I..."

He huffed, kicking off the wall and placing his hands on his hips. "Education is a gift. I never got to go to school, and look at the shithole I live in. Get back there and learn."

"Alright, alright, fine."

She cracked her knuckles and stepped back towards his balcony.

And then she stopped dead.

"What was her name?"

He froze.

"What?"

Shadow Stalker turned back towards him, eyes soft. "I can tell she meant a lot to you. What was her name?"

"Blake."

He shoved down all the ugly feelings that reared back up at the utterance of her name.

"Blake Belladonna."

She glanced back at the wall.

"What are you gonna replace her with?"

"I don't know."

He swallowed.

Blake had moved on. Moved on, and found someone else.

In all likelihood, in all his time here, she likely hadn't thought of him once.

She had let him go.

"I think.."

He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

When he exhaled, a weight he hadn't known he'd even been carrying slipped away.

"I'll leave it blank."

He nodded to himself. "At least for now."

Shadow Stalker nodded minutely, muttering something under her breath too quiet for even him to catch without aura.

She turned away from him and made her way to the edge of his balcony

Then she tilted her head to the side, looking him right in the eye.

"Sophia Hess."

She kicked off the edge and phased to shadow before he could reply.

Last edited: Jul 13, 2022

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Jul 25, 2022

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Next week's schedule for work came in this morning, and it did not look good, so even though I said I didn't want to split this chapter up, I'm making myself a liar. The 2nd part will be the actual meat of the chapter, expect some length. Probably gonna be 3 parts tops, depending on how much development I want to do, Since Bakuda is a day away.

/

It took a moment, for what she said to sink in.

"Sophia Hess."

A name. Her name.

Why just blurt that out? Why-

"I can tell she meant a lot to you. What was her name?"

"Blake. Blake Belladonna."

"Sophia Hess."

It took another moment to understand what she meant.

"Oh."

His gloves were glowing. It took him a few blinks to realize the room was dyed in shades of greyscale.

His heart was racing, pounding in his chest hard enough to hurt. The wave of disgust that washed over him was visceral enough to make him gag.

"Oh shit."

He'd done it again.

He'd noticed the stares, the moments of quiet, the moments of awe.

He'd chosen to ignore them. He'd buried his head in the sand, and let those feelings sprout in her like a weed.

He had to put his foot down, before they poisoned her any further.

But when? How?

Coldly shutting her down could ruin all the work he'd put into her, but giving her hope would be infinitely crueler. She thought she had a chance.

And what reason had he given her to make her think she didn't?

He was young. He had obviously taken an interest in her. He'd trusted her, told her his secrets, and kept hers safe in return. He'd never set any real boundaries, he'd trained her, brought her to his home.

It was only natural someone as young as her would get the wrong idea.

From the outside looking it, it didn't quite look like the wrong idea at all.

That disgust soon turned to horror.

Turned to anger.

At himself, at her, at Blake, at everything and everyone all at once. It was an old feeling, his closest companion next to Wilt and Blush, a feeling he'd cultivated and fed during his time in the White Fang, during his time in Mantle, finally cracking free of the walls he'd built around it during his time in Brockton Bay.

It was that rage he felt whenever he looked in a mirror and saw the initials burned into his face, whenever he saw a snowflake fall from the sky, when he'd watched Blake disappear past the horizon at the Forever fall, when Cinder had come for him, when Indigo had adjusted his scarf, smiled, pointed to his mother, and said her.

He took a deep, deep breath in an attempt to calm the sudden trembling in his arms, to half, stall, or at least slow the inferno rising up from his chest.

But his attempt was just that.

An attempt.

The sky turned black as his fist swung wide toward the nearest wall.

(X)

Sabah made her way down the street, careful to not make eye contact with any passers-by. The Merchants had cleared out for the most part by now, but what few people were around didn't exactly look friendly. She'd caught a few trying to follow her, but quickly reaching for her pocket and making eye contact send them packing every time.

It was a bluff, of course. She didn't carry a knife or gun or anything like that, but they fell for it all the same.

What worried her was that one of them, one day, might decide to try and take that chance anyway. She didn't have much of anything for muscle, though she tried to keep in shape. That, combined with the fact she was 5'2 in heels, meant that day could come sooner than she'd like.

Maybe she should start carrying pepper spray, or a pocket knife. She didn't know anything about guns, though she supposed it was possible Adam would teach her, if she asked nicely enough. The same could probably be said for knife fighting as well(Though she held zero illusions about the practicality of trying to teach her proper hand-to-hand combat).

At the very least, she could ask what items would be best(Though she wasn't exactly looking forward to his reaction if and when she told him she'd been waltzing through Merchant territory completely unarmed).

Mentally picturing the absolute disbelief and confusion on his face made her smile. Even with half his face covered, he still somehow managed to be so expressive.

Thinking about said covered half made her grimace, and she was suddenly very conscious of the things she'd brought with her.

The bag lazily swinging in tune with her steps was packed tight with a pair of green contacts, a hat, and a pair of fingerless gloves.

It also carried a basic makeup kit, a carefully bubble-wrapped vanity mirror, an eyepatch, and a frankly obscene amount of concealer.

She wasn't quite sure what he'd do with those last few items.

Adam had mentioned a scar, and that the eye itself was damaged, but beyond that, all she had was her imagination to fill the gaps.

From what she'd read, Case-53's had either had a tattoo or brand to identify them, besides the obviously inhuman traits. She hadn't seen any markings on his chest, back, or limbs, and he wasn't shy about his scars, or even about his body in general.

The only exception was his eye.

And she had a funny feeling it wasn't a tattoo he wrapped in cloth and gauze every day.

Her fists clenched.

She wasn't an angry person.

She wasn't a violent person.

But if she ever found the man or woman who branded her best friend's face, she'd wring their goddamn neck.

No matter what earth he was from, what he'd done, or whoever he was before, no one could ever deserve that.

She dispelled those negative thoughts with a shake of the head, and her smile came back in full force as she stepped inside Adam's building and clambered up the stairs.

When she walked through his doorway and opened her mouth to greet him, it disappeared almost instantly.

Every desk, every stool, and every bag was tipped over, spilling bottles, guns, food, and loose cash all over the floor.

One stool, in particular, was in seven or eight different pieces, as someone had picked it up and smashed it against the floor or wall.

The wall by his bed was utterly ravaged, with five or six holes punched through the drywall, each one wide enough to fit her head through.

The portrait that used to be there was missing as well, and she couldn't see a single speck of color or carved-in markings to tell her it had ever even been there at all. A few other paintings had been defaced too, but none anywhere near that extent.

What surprised her was that her portrait just to the side of the mangled wall was completely untouched from the carnage.

She took a single step forward, steeling herself. Adam had a temper, she'd known that, but knowing that implicitly was much different from seeing it in person.

It was another painful reminder that beneath his awkward smiles and aloof demeanor, he'd hurt people. Killed people.

For a brief moment, she remembered seeing the broken and maimed bodies the police and PRT had fished out of that destroyed warehouse on the news, the decay and rot that had settled over the cadavers that couldn't have been over an hour old, and the brief flash of revulsion that bubbled up at the memory made her sway on her feet.

She couldn't think about that right now.

A light sigh caught her attention, and she turned her head towards Adam's balcony, noting how the color shimmered in the air, the room lightening and darkening between blinks, as if someone was rapidly flipping a light switch.

A living silhouette, two-toned in black and red, was sat in the midst of the distortions.

She could see the red of his hair, of his back and banner, but the rest of him was completely smothered by swirling shadows.

"Adam?"

The color came back to him almost instantly as he flinched, one hand grabbing at the floor to stop himself from slipping. He whirled around, climbing to his feet and mumbling under his breath.

Something resembling panic filled his face as he looked between her and the mess on his floor, but after a moment he stilled completely, his usual mask of indifference locked in place.

"Is it time?"

She huffed. He wasn't even going to acknowledge it?

"What happened in here?"

Adam shrugged in a way that was too casual to be anything but calculated. "I lost my temper earlier. I'm good now." His eye honed in on the bag in her hand, and he waved a hand at it. "What do you have there?"

God, he wasn't even subtle about it. "If you don't want to talk about it, then fine, whatever. This is the stuff for our day out." One eye flicked towards the shattered drywall near his bedroll, and she heard Adam swear under his breath. "If you still want to go, that is."

"I do, I do. It'd be a good opportunity for me to.." The silence that followed his unfinished sentence lasted a moment too long to be anything but awkward before she answered for him. "Destress? Just forget about everything?"

"Yes, exactly." Adam nodded his head hard enough she practically felt the whiplash. "I did some, uh, thinking, as it were." He glanced back out behind his shoulder, eyeing the skyscrapers and lowering sun, before nodding to himself again. "I haven't taken a day for myself in years. Maybe ever. I don't know Brockton Bay very well besides the basic layout. I couldn't really think of anything fun for us to do, though." He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassment obvious. "I don't have very many hobbies. I was thinking we could take more than just a day off? Extend this to tomorrow as well?"

She could work with that. Whatever had prompted his...Outburst had obviously made him reconsider a few things. "How about we start with a walk downtown?"

Adam shrugged, apparently indifferent. "Sounds fine." His eye flicked back towards the bag, and she curled her fists inward on reflex.

Might as well bite the bullet.

She unceremoniously dropped it to the floor and fished out the mirror, makeup, and eyepatch.

The confusion on his face was obvious, but when she pulled the concealer free, something obviously had clinked, because the brief flash of red and half-step backward made it clear he knew what those were for. "Sabah, I-"

"I know you have a scar, and that it's over your eye, but I thought that maybe with all of this we would attract less attention. You could just wear an eyepatch instead of covering half of your face. The concealer works on burns too."

That obviously had been the exact wrong thing to say, because Adam's face twisted up with an emotion she couldn't recognize, lips curled and eye hard. "It's a burn scar, yes. The problem is that it never healed properly. Some parts are still too sensitive to touch, let alone slathering them in makeup, and I've already gone on too long without cleaning it out."

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that. Rather stupid of her, in hindsight. "I'm sorry, I figured it would have been healed by now, since your..How old are you, anyway?"

Adam's dour countenance lightened up slightly, the smallest of smirks on his lips. "I'm twenty-three. I'll be twenty-four next January, I think." He huffed to himself, smirk widening. "I would have thought the same as well, in your shoes. How old are you?"

The way he hesitated on the month gave her pause for a moment, but only a moment. "Twenty-one. Twenty-two by June."

Adam nodded at that, before giving the makeup another look. She saw something twitch by his brow, then he strode forward and picked everything up, swooping past her and walking towards the bathroom before she could think of anything to say.

Five minutes went by.

Then ten.

Then fifteen.

When she checked her phone and saw that half an hour had gone by, she was about to go in and check on him, but the sound of his boots clicking on the tile floor halted her.

When he stepped back into view, she rather openly boggled at the transformation.

For the very first time, she could make out the left side of his face.

His normally windswept hair was haphazardly brushed down. It was rather obviously done by hand, and a few strands and spikes rather stubbornly stood on, but it at least let her see his horns in full. It still weirded her out seeing someone with actual horns on their head, but they fit his aesthetic quite well.

His free eye was now a bright emerald green, but several flecks of blue doggedly made their way through, giving him an almost heterochromatic look.

His nose was fully uncovered as well, she could vaguely make out a slight red area, but beyond that it looked as normal as could be. The area around his left eye looked the same, this time with the discoloring that much more obvious, with some areas left alone completely, and in those spots, she could see the warped and melted flesh perfectly clearly, brown and red scarring scattered alongside half-open, dried out wounds. There was obviously some sort of pattern, but the makeup obscured most of it.

The eyepatch completely obscured his bad eye, and he had apparently not considered the area around healed enough to cover, so the scarring was mostly out in the open.

Even after however many years it had been, most of the burns were still a bright cherry red, and the fact some parts of his face hadn't healed at all made her sick to her stomach, in horror and sympathy alike.

If parts of his face still looked that raw, she couldn't even begin to imagine what his eye and eyelid looked like underneath the patch.

Adam cleared his throat, and she snapped to attention. "You have a hat for me, right?"

She nodded. "And gloves." She reached back inside the bag and tossed the gloves at Adam, who caught them and slipped them on without complaint.

But when she pulled the hat free, his face dropped.

"What?"

His lips were peeled back into a sneer, like the hat's mere presence offended him on a personal level.

"I am not wearing a bowler hat."

"It's a homburg, Adam. Not a bowler hat."

"Whatever."

/

Addressing something Alpha Zerg brought up, and something I'm pretty sure a lot of other people have been thinking about as well, I am still unsure about pairing Adam with Parian. I kinda doubt my ability to sell it, considering I'd play it 100% straight, as I try and do with everything else in this fic.

Now, what do I mean by that? Well, I'd have to make it work without both of them being flagrantly out of character. Some allowances are allowed(And have certainly been taken), but I want both of them to still feel like Parian and Adam.

So if I do it, you can all rest assured it won't be done by flagrantly changing their traits, and that it'd be done at a point either at the end of this, or at the beginning to the middle part of Defender(More than likely the latter).

It would take into account all of Adam's issues, including but not limited to...

1. His obsessiveness and fixations(Wilt and Blush being his safety blanket/Squeeze Ball, the paintings, and his relationship with Blake really speaks for itself considering he chased her across a continent).

2. His temper and penchant for violence as the first contact option.

3. The fact that he just got out of a relationship(From his point of view, anyway) and that it got him sent here.

4. As Crake mentioned, he'd also need to be at a place where he could actually be ready for another relationship, that he could think to himself "I trust this person", and that he would need to have a sit-down to even really convince himself that'd be an option.

5. His many enemies.

6. While he wouldn't have a problem with being a subordinate, as seen with Sienna, being in a submissive position as a partner, which is the only thing Parian trusts(According to memory, correct if wrong) would cause some friction, but depending on how he rationalizes it, he could also be willing to go for it.

As for Parian, well, for a while she would have no clue she even likes Adam, and she wouldn't be able to place her feelings for him for quite some time, and once she finally does recognize what she feels, it would spark a pretty violent debate with herself, since up until that point, she'd only been attracted to women. She'd have no idea what to do.

Neither of them would, really. Adam's only experience with being in a relationship was while he was in a never-ending spiral of life and death situations while running a branch for a terrorist organization, and Sabah hasn't been in one at all up to this point. Sabah would want to take it slowly, and Adam would push it forward as fast as possible, because hey, I could get killed/arrested at any moment, I might as well get as much out of this as I can.

(Hope you don't mind me stealing your indent/PoV switch Zaru)

Bonus: More screencaps of Adam's face(and that absolutely permafucked eye) as well as a clip or two of him in action for some nice fight choreography eye candy.

Spoiler

Last edited: Jul 25, 2022

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Jul 25, 2022

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Mar 19, 2023

#1,265

What the fuck?

/

With each step he took, more and more people looked toward him.

Most were subtle, quick glances, simply to take him in before quickly returning to their business. Some younger people stared on more casually, stopping in place for a moment or two before moving back on.

A few children loudly boggled and tried getting their parents to stare with them.

Those bothered him the most.

One little girl was pointing at him and tugging at her other sleeve. The woman turned towards him, making eye contact for a split second and pulling her daughter along in the opposite direction. Rather roughly, at that.

When the girl turned back toward him, he gave her a glare that had sent Atlesian Special Forces packing in the other direction.

He smiled unwittingly when the girl gasped and buried her face in her mother's sleeve.

That smile was quickly wiped away when he felt an elbow jab into his side.

It came back again at the sound of Sabah's surprised grunt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her rub her elbow with a free hand. The blow hadn't even come close to even making him flinch, let alone hurt, and he didn't even have his aura up.

Something that was beginning to gnaw at him more and more with time as they made their way down the street.

"What was that for?"

Sabah huffed. "You know why. That was awful!"

"I was just teaching her a lesson. It's not polite to stare. Better she learns that from me than some addict who'll snap at the wrong glance."

"She was just curious, Adam. Surely you did the same thing when you were younger, right?"

He shook his head. "No. I knew my place."

Sabah dragged her feet for a moment, obviously caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

His smile disappeared. How to explain this to her?

"I was something..new in town when my family adopted me." He inclined his head down to look her in the eye. "People don't always like new. Especially when you stand out like me, at the age I was. So I kept my head down."

"People in town didn't like you?"

He hummed. "Some. Most adults could have cared less, but there were a few who didn't like me, or like what I represented. But they didn't bother me much. It's the children that were the worst."

Sabah let out a hum of affirmation and reached up to ruffle his shoulder. "I understand. I went through something similar when my family moved here. I had a hard time making friends for a long time." She laughed as she said it, eyes downcast. "I guess I still do."

He reached down, stiffly, and repeated her sympathetic pat, choking on and swallowing down the words that bubbled up his throat, words that would ruin their tentative relationship, and made a noise of agreement.

It was not something similar. It wasn't anywhere near the same, how could it be?

What he had gone through, what his fellows had gone through, she couldn't even imagine. She didn't know.

But how could she? She was only human. Without the Faunus or Grimm to unite themselves against, they'd simply turned on themselves, like a snake trying to devour its own tail, arbitrarily creating lines and differences where there were none simply to have something to hate.

In Remnant, it was simple. he could even almost understand it. You were either a human, or you were an animal.

But here? On Earth? What was the difference? Where was the line? Darker colored skin? Squinted eyes? A differently shaped skull?

All meaningless.

But what else did he expect from Humanity?

Nothing at all. Sabah may be a credit to her race, but she was still human. She was the exception.

He eyed her, subtly. Eyed the smile on her face, the simple joy in her eyes that came with his presence.

If all the humans on Remnant were like her, if even a fourth of them were, there would have been no need for Major Taurus to have put on his mask in the first place. Ghira would have won.

She came to a stop, and he stopped with her. She was pointing at a non-descript-looking coffee shop down the road. He inclined his head. "This is what you wanted to drag me to beforehand?"

She put her hands on her hips. "When was the last time you had coffee?"

He raised a hand. Took a moment to think.

The hand came back down.

"Let's go."

(X)

The stares started up as soon as he made his way inside.

They intensified when Sabah streamed in behind him.

He chuckled. He'd admit they were an odd pair.

Him, 6'4, broad-shouldered and battle-scarred, juxtaposed with a woman who was so small she had to wear children's shoes.

He understood the confusion.

The barista made eye contact with him(More with his eye patch, but he could forgive that) and he gave her a small nod and motioned toward a free table with two fingers. When Sabah stepped out from behind him, the barista lit up.

"Sabah! Good to see you!" The woman darted out from behind the counter and beelined towards Sabah, bringing her in for a crushing hug that Sabah awkwardly tried to return. Over Sabah's shoulder, the woman gave him a suspicious once-over. "Who's this?"

Sabah gently pulled herself from the woman's arms and gestured to him. "Anna, this is that friend I was telling you about. Adam, meet Anna. Anna, meet Adam."

The hostile aura around 'Anna' disappeared, and she gave him an appreciative once-over.

He almost choked when he saw her tongue flick across her lips. "Good to meet you. Table for two?"

He nodded dumbly.

(X)

The TV droned on and on about some cape conflict in central Africa, but she wasn't paying much attention to it. She was more interested in the look on Adam's face.

He was nursing a cup of honeyed tea, but he kept looking between her and her roommate across the cafe.

Once or twice she met his gaze and gave him a wink, which would cause her to laugh and make Adam wrench his head away towards the cafe's windows.

After the cycle repeated itself for the 3rd time in a row, he turned towards her instead. "Your roommate is...unique."

She chuckled and sipped her coffee. The news anchor moved on to some sort of local report about the ABB, but she tuned that out too. "I know she can be quite a bit. Are you interested?"

The reply was as brutal as it was immediate. "Not in the slightest."

She quirked a brow. "No?"

Adam scowled into his cup. "No."

She leaned back hands raised in surrender. "Okay, okay. Why do you keep looking back then?"

Adam took a long sip. He worked his tongue a moment as if searching for the words. "I'm just confused."

"About?"

"Why she seems interested in me."

She almost choked on her next sip, and she quickly set her coffee down to laugh.

Adam scowled harder. "Why is that so funny?"

"I'm just surprised you don't know why. You've got some cool scars, an eyepatch, your huge, you're around her age, and you've got a voice like gravel, with the bad boy vibes to match. What's not to like?"

Adam hummed. "I guess." He was staring at his reflection in his cup. "I guess it's just been a while."

"Do you even know how many people are going crazy about you on PHO?"

Adam boggled. "What the fuck?!"

"They're the minority of the minority, but yeah, they exist."

"You're sure of this?"

"Adam, Jack Slash has unironic fangirls. I've read some of their posts. I've read some stuff from your fangirls too. They like your costume a lot."

Adam hummed. Then took a sip of his tea mechanically. She chuckled and gave him a moment to process that information.

"I've been thinking of changing that actually." She quirked a brow, but when it became clear he wasn't going to finish that sentence, she let it go.

After that, they fell into a companionable silence for a while, and she let the cafe's soothing music and wonderful coffee take her to nirvana.

(X)

It wasn't as good as Kali's tea, but it was close enough that he wanted more of it. He waved Anna down and pointedly looked away as she refilled his cup. "So. The mall."

Sabah nodded. "That's where we're headed next."

"Good. What do we do at the mall besides go to the arcade?"

Sabah chuckled. "Shop?"

"Mhm." He drifted off a moment to savor the honey's sweetness. "Shop where?"

"Anywhere and everywhere Adam. But there's a movie theatre too. So we could try that too?"

Hm..

"Sure. How crowded does it get there?"

"Very. But it'll be fine, no one will bother us, and everyone there will be off doing their own thing." Sabah gestured towards the door. "Are you in a hurry?"

He turned back towards Anna. She winked at him again.

Adam sipped his tea. "Yeah, I might be."

Sabah laughed. "Let's go then."

/

"If all the humans on Remnant were like her, if even a fourth of them were, there would have been no need for Major Taurus to put on his mask in the first place"

Ironically(or sadly) enough for Adam, there were that many people like that on Remnant. He just never bothered looking. In his fight against narrow-mindedness, he ended up blinder than most of the people he was purporting to be better than.

Also hi, holy shit it's been a while huh? I've missed a lot(See above), and I'm sorry for that. Quite literally almost the day after I posted that Purity snippet, my life went crazy, and I basically had zero free time between burnout, two surgeries, a managerial promotion, the subsequent smoking habit I developed after said promotion, extra classes I took to graduate early, and full-time hours, I've had zero time to write consistently.

But I have been when I could. So SO much, all in my head and in my computer. Almost the rest of this story, DONE, alongside the side stuff. All of Defender outlined and even parts preliminarily written. Monster's final chapter. Bark and bite basically being halfway finished in its entirety(Something like 60k words? I stopped at return to ostagar.)My first time writing in Taylor's POV in a one-shot about her becoming Kaiser's personal assistant. A one-shot about a romantic(romantic and platonic at the same time?) relationship between Adam and Cinder(That gets fucking dark. Be careful what you wish for, for you just might get it. Adam and Cinder both want revenge against team RWBY. It doesn't make them feel better). All will come with time. This chapter is only coming by itself because this is the first day in months where I'd actually have the time to haunt this thread other than to pop in for a few moments at a time. I'll be dumping a bunch of previews here so people know I've been busy and haven't just dipped.

All will come in time. I know It's been a while. I know it was kinda shitty of me just to go radio silent. But I'm keeping my word. This story isn't dead.

I'm back.

(Zaru, I finally have the my hero manga btw. Can't wait to read it.).

/

Defender

(X)

The beast yowled, its voice croaky and hoarse, almost human in its agony. Blood and saliva drooled down out of its broken mandible. It hauled itself back on all fours, and the force of the movement severed the last tendon holding its jaw in place. It dropped to the ground and dissolved into a black ichor that stained the concrete. Blood flowed freely out from its mouth, dying the monster's 'fur' red.

Red, red eyes rolled in their sockets and made eye contact with him.

Adam shuddered.

The beast lunged, and he could see nubs of flesh and bone sprouting out from its open mouth, trying to heal itself.

"I know it's not one-to-one, but you know how kids are. They get creative."

It let out a gurgled wail when Wilt stopped its charge dead on, the blade buried in its heart to the hilt.

One malformed paw moved to grab him, and he ripped Wilt down and to the side as hard as he could, ducking and rolling under its arm as it heaved forward and collapsed to the ground, its intestines spilling free to greet the open air.

He swallowed bile.

The Thing That Used To Be Brandish gurgled again.

Adam wanted to scream. Wilt's glow was blinding even through the blindfold wrapped around his eyes.

She rotated what was left of her head to look at him. To beg.

The world ran red.

Wilt returned to its sheath.

Brandish blew away in the wind.

He heard Victoria choke out her mother's name.

Jack's tinny sigh crackled out through the loudspeaker. "That was quick."

The furnace in his chest burned even brighter. His semblance raged, the blood all around him luminescent in the wake of his fury. He turned towards the loudspeaker attached to the fallen telephone pole, apoplectic. "You're fucking dead, do you hear me? You're going to die, SCREAMING!"

A chorus of howls in the distance. He turned his head eastward.

Somehow, Victoria got even paler. A wet slurry of blood, sweat, and salty tears was running down her chin and soaking into her dress. It was little more than ragged scraps of fabric at this point, blotted with streaks of green and yellow bile, and absolutely covered in gore.

"Let's see how the rest of New Wave gets along then, shall we?"

He looked back to Victoria. Her head was buried in her hands. She was swaying mid-air, shivering. "I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't-"

The howls sounded off again, closer.

Victoria sobbed.

/

Carnival

(X)

"Is everything alright, Taylor?"

The cup slid out from her hand, crashing to the ground.

The cheap porcelain shattered, spilling coffee all over the floor.

She stood stock still. Her arms were shaking. She wanted to scream, to cry, to fight and thrash and to break down and bury herself in Mr. Anders's chest and weep.

This was her last safe haven. She couldn't lose it. She rolled up her sleeves and made to pick up the shards of porcelain.

"Taylor." His voice was calm and gentle, but stern. Authoritative. It was a voice that commanded respect, that grabbed you, that made you turn your head and listen.

His face was hard, the easy smile on his face greatly at odds with the narrowed, hawk-eyed glare he levied at the soaked hardwood office floor. He turned towards her, and his mask fell.

He wore lots of those. He wore them by carefully curating his face and facial expressions, adding or removing subtle intonations in his voice, or even completely changing his body language and general demeanor. All swapped and shifted on a dime depending on who he was talking to. With Theo, the loving and doting father. With Kayden, the amiable yet bitter ex-husband.

At charities and gala's, a humble and bashful man who'd pulled himself up from his bootstraps. In meetings and in the office, a cold, stern, but polite businessman.

On the phone, something darker, a mix of all four yet sprinkled with something else.

But here, in this room with her, the mask fell away. He would swear, he would laugh, he would joke. He would smile, and it would be real.

She was the only person on earth he didn't have to fake anything for.

With her, and her alone, he could be himself.

And for her, it was the same way. He never judged. He always listened, and he never tried to decide things for her or give unsolicited 'advice' or tell her her problems didn't mean anything. She'd known him since summer camp for god's sake.

She could tell him things she couldn't tell her dad.

Here, she didn't have to be anyone.

"Taylor. What's wrong? You've been distracted all day. All week. Something is eating at you. Something big. Tell me."

The phone mask was on now. He wouldn't let it go, not now, after that.

The words spilled free almost on their own.

"ijonedagangandidonntknowwhattodo!"

Mr. Anders's took a moment to digest the incomprehensible word salad she'd just let loose.

She mentally prepared herself for several different reactions. For him to be confused, for him to be angry, for him to call the police or never speak to her again or just ask "What?" because even she could barely understand what the fuck she just said.

She could have never imagined that Mr. Anders would simply throw his head back and laugh.

/

Me and Mine

(X)

The door was already open.

She froze, and turned her head towards the garage. It was shut.

She took a hesitant step forward, wiping her eyes, cursing herself.

The tears on her face were long since dried, but that dull ache in her chest was still as fresh as it was since she'd seen the statue.

The girl dead, for nothing. Beacon, Vale, Roman, all dead, for nothing, for a destiny that wasn't even hers to begin with.

She made her way inside, silent as the grave, till she made it to the living room hallway

She saw the daughter first, halfway down the hall. She must have come home to see her family.

She grimaced at the hole in her throat.

And tried to run.

She leaned down to press a finger against her pulse. It was silent.

The body was still warm, and the blood was still wet.

Then she heard him grunt inside the living room down the hall. "You finally make it back?"

"Y-yes." The waver, the weakness in her voice almost brought the fury back.

The melancholy buried it again.

"You saw the statue." His voice was flat, but she knew there was a smile on his face.

"Yes."

Another grunt. Satisfied.

He enjoyed her misery. She couldn't begrudge him, not completely.

She'd savored his the same way.

"Good. The owners are dealt with. Is she here?"

"Yes. Both of them are, alongside Team JNPR and Ozma. Branwen's off in bar I suspect."

Another hum. Then silence.

She crossed the threshold and made her way inside the living room. A fireplace was slowly crackling, lighting up the dim room and illuminating the city outside.

The flames cast shadows on the young couple tied to the couch, their throats slit. They were long since dead.

Adam sat aside them, lazily sliding Wilt's across the father's jacket, ridding it of the daughter's blood.

The sheer callousness inherent to the motion made her laugh softly, almost involuntarily.

He narrowed his eyes. The ribbon that normally covered his face was nowhere to be found. "What?"

She laughed again, and made to sit next to him.

He rolled the bodies to the floor to make room with a dull thud, and she took the couple's spot.

"Do you really hate them that much?"

He quirked a brow, casting his eyes between her and the stiff corpses on the floor. "Them?"

She shook her head. "No. I meant humanity in general."

Adam went quiet. He cast his gaze towards her arm, then the fireplace.

Minutes passed by, in a silence only occasionally broken by the fire's spontaneous crackle as it devoured the firewood.

Eventually, Adam turned back towards her, voice a whisper. "I used to."

She leaned towards him. "But now?"

"Now?" He sighed. She saw the muscles around his bad eye twitch.

He tilted his head down to look her in the eye. "Now? I don't feel anything now."

Last edited: Mar 19, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

Mar 19, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Mar 25, 2023

#1,328

REDHEAD FIGHT! REDHEAD FIGHT!

I was trying to look up Monty's old footage for the Adam and Yang fight to help brush up on a chapter long upcoming(Honestly I might just give it its own place in the side-story slot, since its part of the backstory arc, but all it is a very, very, long and talkative fight scene that's several thousands of words of angry debating and attempted murder). Its working name is 'Couples Counseling'(I'm sure you can guess what it's about). So far, I consider it the only decent fight scene I've written so far besides Adam and Colin's rematch near the end. It's way longer than the show fight and incorporates all of old RWBY's old tricks, there's an actual philosophical and racial debate that happens in the middle, and this time around, Yang is not so stone-faced facing off against the internationally wanted terrorist four years and an over half a foot her senior that'd been haunting her dreams the past two years resurfacing just in time to almost kill your best friend again.

(Like, literally two or three episodes before just the merest glimpse of Adam in the snow nearly gave her a fucking heart attack, and you're telling me that she sees him again in real life, armed and willing to kill her, the most she gives him is a split-second widening of her eyes. Then she tries to threaten him halfway through the fight, and Adam rightfully just fucking laughs her off and throws it back in her face. That's literally the only line he has in the show post volume 3 ep9 besides "Moment of truth" that didn't make me roll my eyes).

But I'll save that for another day, in that "Why Adam" post you'll finally be seeing soon.

(TLDR, I think he's a bad character in a meh show, and that everyone who wanted him to be the Faunus Malcolm X must not have been watching the same show as me, because(Hot take incoming)...RWBY's plot and characters were literally never anywhere close to being strongly written or allegorical in my opinion, and anyone legitimately expecting a functional civil rights allegory out of RWBY of all shows must have been fucking high. The problem, though, is that I think RWBY would be so much more interesting if Adam was that kind of character, and the world was actually fleshed out and nuanced around issues like that. With the world as it is in RWBY, you could make a legitimately serious plot and intricate world that could have room for the magic Ozma plot and several throughline side-plots like a civil rights movement, so long as they were woven into the main narrative instead of being a jarringly isolated plot device like what we got. Which sounds more interesting to you? A jaded but passionate revolutionary torn between what he feels is right for his species and right for his conscience slowly buckling and breaking under the pressure of being a leader for his people whilst being forced to commit atrocities under a humans thumb, chafing and chafing at his apparent powerlessness in the face off Cinder's(Then Hazels) threats, terrified for his people after realizing that magic exists, and that the people using it are not on his side, that he escalates and escalates his behavior out of desperation until he is ostracized from the very organization he dedicated his life to and snaps?

Or a yandere hypocritical psychopathic grifter who literally doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone, that's an unthinking idiot literally incapable of planning ahead, who willingly whores himself out to humans for a leadership position in a red-shirt cannon fodder organization he gets to keep for all of like two weeks? I know who I'd rather watch).

But I digress.

Back to what I was saying, whilst looking for that animation, I fell down the RWBY fan animation rabbit hole after seeing that clip and felt I should share a few of them here, to better familiarize people here unfamiliar with seeing Adam in action, and for others already familiar, to make them long for the gold ole days of Monty's old style).

1, Adam and Raven

2, A wonderful alternate final confrontation between Adam and Blake

3, An almost perfect recreation of Monty's original Adam VS Yang at beacon(My absolute favorite of the bunch. Just needs to be smoothed out with better models and slightly less stilted animation, and you could have had me convinced Monty did it all himself).

And more sets of Animations about Adam fighting team JNPR I can't find a link for because they are solely hosted on Reddit. Just look up Adam vs JNPR and you'll see one of them pop up. The rest are on the animator's profile.

Anywho, here's the actual story. I apologize for the word salad.

/

He'd never offered a prayer to the brothers before. His family had been the farthest thing from religious, and one of the only happy memories he had of his father was the both of them sitting him by the radio and mock praying for Jacques Schnee after one of the man's latest PR health scares. But right now, as he was, utterly swamped by humans and noise and distractions, he was sorely tempted to ask them to deliver him free of this hell.

His aura was up, but it was doing nothing to temper the unease that had the hairs on the back of his neck bristling like a cat's fur.

Downtown had been one thing. As crowded as it was, there were plenty of buildings to jump over and a surplus of alleys to duck behind in case of a threat against him or Sabah.

But here? There was nowhere he could go if it all got too much.

A stranger's elbow bumped into his arm, and he could only barely hear the mumbled apology the offending party left him over the din of white noise around them as they shouldered their way through the crowd, half-hearted 'sorry's' and 'excuse me's doing little to mollify the annoyed mallgoers.

He felt Sabah slide up against him, looping her left arm through his right, and she gently tried tugging him to the side. He let himself be pulled to a sort of rest area, a collum of vending machines arrayed opposite a series of chairs and benches, and he made to sit down.

Sabah gestured back where they came from, slouching down Into a leather chair with a sigh of contentment. "I don't feel like wading through all that blindly today, so let's hash out a proper plan. We've already got a trip to the arcade and the theatre worked out, and I know a few clothing stores like to try, but is there anywhere specific you'd like to go or try and find? You can do just about anything here."

Adam shrugged. "I'll go wherever you want to take me."

Sabah frowned, and he could detect the barest hint of what almost sounded like irritation, of all things, bleed into her voice. "Adam, today is your day. Did you agree to this just to make me happy?"

"No."

"Then think of something you want to do or a place you want to go. It can be anything, and we have all the time in the world today to see it done." She heaved out a great sigh, further slouching into her chair, all but disappearing into its cushioning thanks to her small statue. "What's something you've always wanted to do, something that you could never find the time for? We can do it right here, right now."

He took a moment to chew on that.

Anything.

Anything at all.

He thought.

He thought some more.

And-

Nothing.

He couldn't think of anything. It was all so out of his norm, his comfort zone, that he didn't even know where to begin to start.

And it must have shown on his face, judging by the small twitch of Sabah's brow. He could see her tongue poke against her cheek, see her eyes narrow at the edges, brows creased in thought. "You can't think of anything."

With the way he'd grown up? He'd never imagined there could be a something in the first place. He'd never had a life goal, a bucket list, a plan of any kind, any sort of interests or hobbies outside of a vague interest in flowers and needlework born out of watching his mother, not things he'd done anything with until Ghira had taken him in and encouraged said interests till they had become talents.

Something in his stomach churned at the realization. What would he have done, without the White Fang in his life? If his mother hadn't tried taking him away?

He didn't know.

He grimaced internally, and he tasted something sour on his tongue. Without someone to guide him, without orders to follow, would he have done anything at all? Would he have ever blossomed into his own person without someone to guide him?

Something clicked.

Had he? Why had he even-

"Adam?"

He all but jumped out of his skin, blinking back into the present, freeing himself of his stupor with a sharp turn of his head. "I'm fine." It took a moment for him to recognize his own voice, to understand that he had spoken at all.

It wasn't true. It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't. And that was all there was to it.

He shook his head. "I'm trying, I really am. Just give me some time, okay? I'm not used to this. You decide." He didn't want to think about it anymore.

Sabah sighed again. "Fine. Look back over by the crowd. The first store you see is the one we'll go to first."

He nodded.

Turned his head. Saw a sign.

'Extreme Lifestyle'

He could see a large assortment of knives, bongs, sports gear, firearm paraphernalia, and firearm accessories through the store's window.

Sabah shrugged. "There you have it."

(X)

The clerk at the register smiled at Adam as he stepped inside, mouth opening as if to greet him, when he cast his eyes toward her. His jaw clenched shut, and his lips thinned for the briefest of moments before a(seemingly?) pleasant smile settled on his face. "You two seem an odd pair. What can I help you with?"

She saw Adam's eye narrow, and she quickly spoke up before him. "We're just looking around."

The clerk chuckled. "Window shoppers, huh? Take your time. If you got any questions, I'm right here."

She blinked at the cordiality in his voice. "You don't mind?"

The clerk shrugged. "Mosta the people who walk in here are dumbass kids tryna find something to make them look tough. I shoo 'em off as much I can. You two are a welcome enough diversion I could honestly give two shits wh'eder your buying something or not."

Adam spoke up. "You get a lot of gang members coming by here?"

The man laughed. "Most of them know better by now, but erry once in awhile, some dumbass cracker or chink'll come swaggering up in here looking for a something to make 'em look a man."

"Empire-88 and ABB?"

The clerk sniffed. "And Merchants, and street kids, and Mall Ninjas, and just about everyone and everything in between. I'll sell to anyone but gangbangers. Anyone dumb enough to join a gang is too dumb to be trusted with a knife."

Adam's lips curled, but whether in agreement or disgust, she couldn't tell. "That's a broad statement."

The clerk sniffed again. "And a true one. I would know."

"How?" The man turned toward her, and for a split second, she was about to apologize for interrupting until the man barked out a laugh. "How you think? I was born outta Georgia, and I did some stupid ass shit when I was your age. Got sent to prison a couple times."

The man reached down and tugged up his shirt.

When she saw the tattoo on his stomach, she took an instinctive step back. "Hitched up with the 'Aryan' Brotherhood there." The clerk huffed under his breath. "They sure wasn't to fuckin 'Aryan', I'll tell you that, but they had my back. I figured we had common ground. Didn't like the-" The clerk paused, glancing toward her and swallowing his words. "I didn't like some folk back then."

Adam took a step forward, one fist clenched, seemingly without his cognizance. "And?"

"And I realized pretty quick they were just as stupid and degenerate as the people they said they was better than. They made deals with the Mexicans and the Blacks and the Asians and pulled the same dumb shit in the showers. Realized that they was all talk, that we was all just as stupid as each other. Closed off 'em. Got out on good behavior and got the fuck outta Georgia."

"To Brockton Bay, of all places?"

"Empire wasn't as big back then. Figured they'd get knocked down and replaced like every other gang in history. Then Kaiser happened, and it swelled up like a pimple." The clerk grunted, then chuckled under his breath. "Now it feels like every other fuckin week I got some hooligan walking in 'ere tryna make common cause."

"What do you tell them?"

"To fuck off back on down to their mamas."

To her surprise, Adam snorted. "We'll take a look around, then."

"Like I said, take your time." The clerk let his shirt fall made to lean against the counter.

Adam led her around, and she followed close behind.

There were too many different kinds of knives and machetes to properly count, some plain and solid looking, others rather garishly decorated with phrases like 'Zombie-killer' or 'Straight-shooter' etched into their grips. Some were engraved in gold and silver, and some looked as though they'd been dumped in a bucket of paint and left to dry.

Adam seemed faintly amused as he made his way down the row of glass cases. Brows lifted in amusement and/or incredulity as his gaze bounced off from item to item.

Then he began muttering under his breath all the different things wrong with each weapon, apparently for her benefit.

"Serrations on the wrong side."

"Blade too short for the hilt."

"Blade too long for the hilt."

On and on, he critiqued and lampooned with an expert's eye, pacing faster and faster down the aisle in apparent excitement.

The clerk looked on in amusement when Adam froze mid-stride, eyes narrowed on a special case by the register.

A paper sign was posted underneath it.

'Special item: 900$'

Underneath, in brackets: 'This knife is banned by the Geneva Convention'.

She eyed it quizzically. The blade was spiraled.

She read the sign aloud, then turned to the clerk. "Is that true?"

The man chuckled. "I dunno, maybe. Don't think it's much of a knife. More like a fancy tent spike."

"Tent spike?"

Adam grunted, voiced laden with humor. "It's about all you could use it for. Can't slash with it, can't throw it, and trying to stab someone with a tip like that would be a gamble at best. Can't even try and hammer someone with the hilt."

She hummed. "Then why try and sell it?"

"That knife, young lady, ain't for sale. It's a test."

She echoed him, confused. "A test?"

Adam leaned forward. "Anyone willing to pay nine hundred dollars for a knife like that is an idiot. And the only reason you would buy a knife like that in the first place is if you wanna kill someone with it. And that loops right back around to them being stupid, because if they knew what they were doing, they'd realize it was a useless hunk of garbage and pick out something else."

The clerk nodded. "What he said. Any man who comes in here trying to buy that thing is a man I kick out and never see again."

Sabah hummed. "Clever."

He nodded. "Now that you've looked around, there anything you folks here can't live without?"

She and Adam shook their heads as one. "We've got a lot to do today. Sorry to bother you."

The clerk shook his head. "Y'all didn't bother me none. Enjoy your day."

"We will, thanks."

"Swing on by anytime."

She turned around to give the man a half-hearted, somewhat queasy nod.

With that, they made their way back out into the mall's foyer.

She took a moment to process the interaction.

"That was...interesting."

Adam concurred. "Where to now?"

"My roommate has been complaining about my taste in clothes. She recommended me a fancy clothes shop upstairs."

Adam shrugged. "Lead the way."

(X)

"Soooo..."

Sabah's words petered off into nothing, her voice muffled by the walls of the changing rooms. He heard her swear under her breath, could hear her fingers fumble with a stuck zipper.

Adam snorted.

The door swung open, and Sabah stepped outside, a dress folded over each arm, one red, one black. "They both fit, but I'm not too sure about the colors." She held them up to his face for inspection. "Red or black?"

His first instinct was to say both, but clamped that instinct down and took a moment to eye them critically.

His lips thinned. "Neither."

Sabah wilted. "Neither?"

He shook his head. The one in black had a bunch of frills and baroque patterns all over it. Not bad in its own right.

Just not...Sabah.

And the red?

It left far too little to the imagination.

When he told her as much, Sabah looked aghast for a moment before playfully punching his arm and walking back inside the changing room.

A nearby employee laughed, and he turned her way. She looked a year to two younger than him, her hair dyed a two-toned blonde and black that fell over one eye like a shower curtain. The other was drowning in enough eyeliner to make Roman Torchwick blush.

"Been a while since I've seen a girl bring her boyfriend with her. You-"

"We aren't together."

She blinked. "Oh. Huh."

He hummed. The girl gave him a subtle, almost bashful once over. "You-"

"No."

There was a small pause as the woman collected her thoughts. "Oh.."

She sighed, and then they were trapped inside an uncomfortable and oppressive silence that was only occasionally disturbed by the sounds of rustling cloth and zippers being zipped.

"Your friend has lotta clothes picked out, doesn't she?"

"Mhm."

The woman scuffed her feet.

There was another bout of awkward silence.

"Are...you looking for anything here today?"

He hummed with amusement, gesturing toward the rows and rows of bras, dresses, and skirts all lined up on racks and shelves throughout the room.

The girl rolled her eyes. "We have a men's section in the back, you know."

Adam paused. He turned back toward the dressing room for a moment, before turning back and nodding his head. The woman led him by the hand towards a small section tucked away in the back of the store.

"Here you are. Take a look."

Said men's 'section' amounted to two rows of coats and pants on hangers, and a single unisex shelf stuffed with belts and garters.

He humored her and took a look around pacing between the aisles. Nothing grabbed his eye, and he made to turn around.

He paused. At the far end of the left row was a gray and black double-breasted leather jacket.

Something in his chest tightened. There was a feeling, no, more of an urge, a compulsion, that took hold of him, that told him to take a closer look.

He was reminded of the duffle bag he'd been left with, when he'd first woken up. He didn't like thinking about it what that bag had meant, or why it had contained all his things.

He swallowed. Just deja vu.

But even as he'd said the words to himself, content to ignore it, his hands were already shrugging the jacket off its hanger. It was almost a one-one replica of his Mistralian leather jacket. The same two shades of grey and black, in the exact same spaces. The jammer difference was the collar, for it was bright red and swept out to the side like a suit jacket, rather than up and over his neckline like his old one.

All it needed was the zippers and his insignia.

He hummed. Just deja vu. He made to put it away.

Then his mouth opened, almost unbidden. "How much for this?"

The woman shrugged. "It's been there two months, and not one person has bought it, or even really looked at it. We were gonna throw it out in a week here anyway, so I'll give you it for about thirty bucks."

He nodded. "I'll take it". His mind was racing with ideas, about how he could modify and pad it and decorate it and make it his. He turned around to look outside the store's window and to the mall proper. "Is there a good men's store over here?"

"On the other side of the mall, yeah."

He reached into his pocket and hurriedly shoved a pair of twenties into her hand. "Keep the change."

He hurried out the door, all but sprinting through the double doors sealing the store off from the rabble.

"Hey, what about your friend?!"

"I won't be long!"

He needed to finish it.

He felt a twinge in his chest. He ignored it.

Just deja vu.

(X)

"I can't believe you made me wait fifteen minutes!"

He scratched the back of his neck, an apology wilting away off the tip of his tongue. "I thought you would have taken longer."

Sabah laughed. "I stepped out at the five-minute mark, Adam. I was trying to talk to you, to get your thoughts, but after five minutes without even hearing an 'Mmm' had me worried. I'm just glad that girl was there to fill me in before I had to start looking for you."

She elbowed him, hard enough to actually move him this time, and swept her arm out, gesturing widely towards him. "What are you wearing? Is that what you dipped out on me for?"

He nodded his head. "This is going to be my new..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Work uniform."

He didn't miss Sabah's quick twitch at the word work, but she recovered quickly. "Are you going to decorate it?"

He nodded his head.

Sabah stopped in front of him for a moment, to take it all in. He'd bought a simple black t-shirt, a lighter shade of black than the patches on his shoulders, and a matching pair of grey leather pants. He wore the same shoes as before and carried a bag in his left hand with a simple red-lined black drape and a trifecta of belts inside of it.

"It looks warmer, that's for sure, but I'm not sure how I feel about it. I guess I'll have to wait and see what you do with it.

He shrugged. "Summer's not going to last forever." Not that he'd be there for winter.

Sabah nodded at that. "Yeah." A small smile curved across her face after a moment, something flashing across her face "Yeah, I guess not."

"Where to now?"

"Well, I've got everything I wanted. Let's head down to the arcade."

That worked for him.

(X)

If the mall had been loud, this place was deafening. Children screaming all around, disco balls and party lights blazed brighter than the sun outside, the constantly shifting shades of black and purple and yellow had him wishing for his mask, with some of the flashing lights bright enough to shine through his eyepatch and irritate his eye.

Sabah had secluded herself over by the claw machines, content to try her luck at winning herself some candy and a few new stuffed animals, Whereas he'd settled by the cabinets and sampled the arcade's array of shooters and fighting games. It had been a real adjustment. Obviously, he was familiar with the concepts, but in Menagerie, only the richest of the rich had anything resembling a video game console. Blake had had some sort of enlarged scroll to play games on when they'd first met, but she'd outgrown it fairly quickly.

Adam could definitely see the appeal though.

Video games were fun.

He bent down over to slide another dollar coin into his current games slot when he heard Sabah erupt.

"Fuck!"

He swiveled around, hand drifting towards the sword he didn't have on him, and he desperately scanned the room for the source of Sabah's distress.

He saw her levy a kick at a claw machine hard enough to make it shake, which resulted in another bellowed swear and a low moan of pain as she hissed and rubbed her foot.

Adam chuckled.

He made his way toward her, a smile on his face. "What's wrong?"

Sabah was inconsolable. "This...this...ah.. this fucking piece of garbage scam motherfucking-"

He put his arms on her shoulders and forced her still. "Relax. Take a deep breath. Tell me the problem."

She did as he bayed, inhaling deeply through her nose. "I won at the other machines. Got some candy and little trinkets, but for the life of me, I just can't get that goddamn bear out of there."

He looked through the glass. There was a small assortment of stuffed animals inside, elephants, tigers, lions...

And, true to her word, a single rough-looking stuffed bear.

He quirked a brow. "Don't you have a million of those already?"

"Yeah, but I've already spent eleven dollars on this stupid thing. I definitely don't want all that money to be wasted."

His quirked brow rose up high enough to merge with his hairline. "Sabah, I've given you more money than anyone our age should even know what to do with."

"Yeah, money I can't spend, can't save, and can barely hide as is. My side business only brings so much and even that I can't just show off. It's not like I can just waltz up to the bank in full costume with a truckload of money and ask to open an account, now can I?"

That...was a fair point. "Let me try then."

"Are you sure?"

He was happy to help.

"How hard can it be?"

(X)

"Adam."

He tuned out her voice, his full attention laid bare on the claw as it slowly rose up and up, bear in hand.

"Adam."

The claw opened. The bear fell.

Adam inhaled. Slid in another coin.

The claw picked up the bear.

"Adam."

The claw opened. The bear fell.

Adam inhaled. Slid in another coin.

"Adam."

The claw rose up.

"Adam, it's not going to-"

The claw opened. The bear fell.

Adam inhaled.

His clenched fist plowed right through the glass. He shook the glass shards off his arm, lifted the bear free, and handed it to an absolutely dumbfounded Sabah.

"There."

Sabah boggled.

She looked at the bear, then back at him, then the bear again.

Her mouth opened.

"You guys know that thing is rigged, right?"

They both turned towards the speaker, a short, effeminate-looking boy with a lazy grin on his face and a slight, unidentifiable accent in his voice. Adam recognized him as the boy who'd bumped into him earlier.

"What?"

The boy's grin widened. "It's rigged?" The 'you idiot' silently tacked on at the end of his sentence was plain to hear. "Are you guys new here? Everyone knows that. Why'd you think there was no line?"

That...

That made sense.

He nodded. "Yeah. It's a straight-up scam."

Sabah grimaced. "So we just wasted twenty dollars for no reason?"

The boy chuckled. "Twenty dollars?"

Sabah blushed.

Adam scowled.

The boy laughed.

He opened his mouth, presumably to make some sort of witty remark, but the sound of a ringing phone closed it shut.

He reached into his pocket, fishing out an old-looking flip phone and raising it to his ear. "What do you want? I'm busy."

There was a small silence punctuated by the boy mocking a yapping mouth with his free hand. "You don't think I'm doing anything? Right now I'm being a good Samaritan-"

The laugh they heard over the end of the line was loud enough to crackle the phone's speaker. The boy shot them a wink. "That hurts, man. That really hurts. Why-"

Another pause. The boy's smile shifted. "Wait, shit, that was today?"

He let out perhaps the most melodramatic sigh Adam had ever heard in his life. "Can it wait-"

The boy pulled the phone away from his ear with a grimace as someone yelled over the other end. The boy mouthed 'Women' to him with a roll of his eyes. "Fine, yeah, I'll get going." Then he hung up, flipping the phone shut and lazily tossing it up and down in his head. "Well, I was going to show you guys around the joint properly, but duty calls. I gotta get outta here. You should leave too, this place gets really boring without me."

With that, the boy waltzed off without even a wave goodbye.

Sabah hesitated. "He was...colorful. Should we take his advice?"

An arcade employee groaning in annoyance as they spotted the broken glass on the floor made the decision easy.

He turned to her. "How about that movie?"

(X)

Thunder rumbled.

Rain slashed over the umbrella over their heads, loud and unrelenting. Sabah shivered, and he pulled her in closer.

The weather had taken a serious turn. It was only half past three, and the sky was already almost black, rolling with storm clouds dark enough to blot out the sun.

Sabah huddled up to him even further, like she was trying to get inside his jacket. Her dress was unsuited for the weather. He handed her the umbrella and shrugged off his jacket, sliding it over her shoulder.

Her shivers ceased. "Thanks."

Adam shrugged. "No problem."

She sighed, and they resumed walking. "How was your first day being normal?"

He huffed, slightly offended and highly amused. "It was okay."

"Okay?"

The tone of her question gave him pause. The look on Sabah's face was appraising. Judging.

He stopped. Chose his words carefully.

"It was nice, doing all this with you. Just nothing special."

Sabah hummed. Something in her eyes clouded, her eyes narrowing a touch.

Then she smiled. It looked off.

"That's alright. One step at a time, right?"

He hesitantly nodded. "Right."

Sabah nodded back and resumed walking, a touch faster.

The trip to dinner was silent.

Adam had a sinking feeling he'd chosen his words wrong.

/

God, Mercury and Alec would be best fucking friends, wouldn't they? Same with him and Roman.

Hmm...That gives me an idea.

/

Here is Adam's new outfit(Not mine, obviously. All credit should go to the author here). On a somewhat related note, I've considered commissioning art for this story, but I have zero ideas as to who I'd turn to, or how to go about it, but getting someone to draw 'Mall Ninja' Adam Taurus sounds hilarious to me. That knife mentioned is This. It's just as garbage as described. The Geneva convention thing is a weird marketing urban legend I see everywhere about it.

Woooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Just caught up with the rest of volume nine.

Ya know what, I'm just happy they finally just went out and did it(Though the circumstances in which it happened really irritated me. Why couldn't they have had that conversation themselves? Them literally being forced with a metaphorical gun to their head to finally talk their shit out really irked me. Like, dude, just sit down by a fire and have an honest conversation. Literally, everyone in the show just needs to pair up, sit down, have a beer, and fucking talk. That would solve almost every issue I have with the show and would have also probably stopped

Spoiler

It also hurts me a little bit that immediately after confirming it, they started crowing about it being planned all along, when if you know literally anything about Monty or the show's behind-the-scenes production, you'd know that statement to be ridiculous. It really bothers me when people bring him up to make a point or a statement about the show, whether or not it's a fan, a critic, or a producer doing it, because the man is fucking dead. He's been dead, for over eight years now, and to this day people keep using his coffin as a soapbox to make their points when the reality is that we'll never really know how his mind worked or what he wanted to do, or even how he was going to do it in the first place. I know I've been guilty of it in the past, but I always try and do my best to keep him out of my critiques of the show besides the obvious role he played in the animation.

I'd also like to apologize for the delay. I got a new job, met a sweet gal, and nearly broke my wrist after eating shit on a skateboard. It should be smooth sailing from now on.

Now, on the topic of characters having an honest conversation, here's Adam Adamantly refusing to open up and be fully honest in a conversation.

/

The door behind him slid shut with an ominous creak. Adam took a step forward, biting down a swear when his toe made contact with the base of the sink in front of him. The room was pitch dark, and even with his night vision, he had trouble parsing out the layout of the cramped restroom he'd walked into.

He reached to his left and fumbled with the wall, blindingly groping for a light switch. When the light came on, he instinctively reached a hand up to protect his eyes, the light blinding, and his hand impacted the lightbulb above him hard enough that Adam was worried he'd almost knocked it loose when the bulb began flickering ominously.

After a moment, the flickering stopped, and Adam sighed. The sink didn't have a mirror above it, so he turned to his right.

Adam stopped.

His reflection hit him with a force that almost felt physical.

His hair, finger-combed down to disguise himself and messed by his hat, had strands and bangs run down long enough to touch the shell of his ear. Lightly soaked by the rain, it had dried in a way that had knotted parts of it together in a way that looked virtually nothing like his style.

His horns, hidden by his hat.

His one free eye, a gleaming emerald, with only a few small flecks of blue shining bright enough to fight their way past the contact lens, and that in and of itself looked unique enough to differentiate himself from himself.

His face was unblemished by scar or by scowl, free of stress lines, the small wrinkles dotted under his eyes and the sides of his cheeks hidden by the makeup.

And, of course, his scar, hidden by the eyepatch on his face. His nose, of course, still bore parts of the mark his meager cosmetology skills couldn't hide, a few small cuts and raw skin bright and angry.

His usual attire was nowhere to be seen, and even his jacket and gloves were gone, having been left behind in the booth at the diner's entrance he'd shared with Sabah.

He looked years younger. For once, he actually looked his age.

He couldn't recognize himself.

Adam didn't feel like himself.

Adam Taurus had built himself into a machine. Had mentally and physically prepared himself to become a weapon, a beast, a monster, a force. A force of change, a force of destruction, a living symbol of freedom, of what his species could be without humanity's chains to hold them down.

Adam Taurus lead men into battle. Adam Taurus did not sit down in a crowded movie theatre for two hours to watch a film about robots boxing in an arena at a human's request.

Adam Taurus had personally hunted down his former partner in the midst of her burning home to tear out the knife she plunged into his chest with her betrayal and stick it into hers. Then he'd made it his mission to twist it in, deeper and deeper and deeper until it finally killed her or broke her.

Adam Taurus had just smashed open a claw machine inside a children's casino to retrieve a stuffed animal at a human's request. Because he hadn't wanted that human to suffer, to be upset.

Adam Taurus had personally inspired hundreds of men and women, all young, all angry, all desperate, to join the White Fang and get their own payback.

Adam Taurus was currently mentoring a girl to hopefully one day become his opposite.

Adam looked in the mirror, and he saw a stranger. A stranger who laughed, who smiled, who blustered and joked and went to the movies, who went out to eat and who loved to sew and knit and listen to rock music on his friend's radio, who loved to have a friend in the first place.

A small part of him liked that stranger in the mirror.

An even smaller part of him wondered what it would be like to be that stranger.

Adam shifted, and felt the contents of his left pocket rub against his leg. He remembered the pit stop he insisted they make along the way.

Reality set in.

He reached up towards his left eye and plucked out the contact, tossing it into the sink.

Then he took off his hat, lifted his eye patch to the side, emptied his pocket, inhaled, and went to work.

(X)

When it was over, he flipped the eyepatch back into place, wincing as it rubbed against his skin.

He looked at himself again, at the makeup he'd all but ruined, and reached upward to style his hair back.

When he opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the dining room, a few stubborn strands fell back down past his hat, dancing in the breeze the fan at the ceiling of the diner generated.

He reached upward-

Stopped.

He looked towards Sabah, who was on her phone, idly chewing on a fry from the meal they'd apparently been served whilst he was away.

He let his hair sway.

(X)

Adam swallowed the remains of his burger, grimacing at both the irony and the cold taste. Evidently, he'd taken longer than he'd thought.

He proffered a quiet apology as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Sabah hadn't responded. Her food was all but untouched, and she was still staring into her phone with a frown. It looked focussed.

"Sabah?"

She jumped in place slightly, tilting her phone to the side to look at him. One of her eyes glanced back toward the screen for a split second before she made full eye contact. "What's up?"

"What are you doing?"

Sabah shrugged. "Just looking some stuff up." She set her phone on the table facedown and reached for another cold fry.

Adam nodded.

Silence reigned.

There was a wall between them, he could see that now. It had been there since his passing comment about his time at the mall.

He'd chosen to be honest with her, unlike the half-truths he'd given her at his apartment and her warehouse.

He could see now that it had been a mistake.

He reached for the right words to say, the right lie or the right apology, but he could come up with nothing.

Sabah chewed on distractedly. Had what he said truly affected her that much?

Adam swallowed his pride.

"I'm-"

"How about we get some drinks?"

What.

Sabah laughed, reaching forward to slap him on the shoulder, her hand passing through that lingering wall between them as if had never existed at all. "You heard me! It's a right of passage! No day out like this is complete without a little bit of drinking."

Adam chuffed. "Spend a lot of days out like this drunk, do you?"

Sabah blushed. "Nnooo, but my roommate has been trying to drag me out to all these parties, and I keep saying no over and over." She looked up at him, suddenly quite serious. "I figure I'd be safer my first time drinking if it was just me and you."

The admission wracked him, but Sabah didn't let the feeling linger. "Besides, I'll bet I can out-drink you!"

Adam let his eyes draw downwards, taking her in.

All four feet and eleven inches of her.

"You're on."

(X)

Adam felt a buzz come along, a pleasant haze that dulled his senses and brought with it a sense of serenity and dull satisfaction. He hummed along with the music that played in the background and took another sip that drained his beer bottle dry. That was his third in fifteen minutes. Sabah was only a third into her first, and he could already see the shaking in her legs and the flush beginning to spread across her cheek.

He'd brought them to the same bar he'd mentored Shadow Stalker(Sophia, he reminded himself. Sophia Hess. He'd have to start addressing her by name soon. He much preferred it that way, rather than her ridiculous code name).

The bartender hadn't asked for any ID, and had been quite magnanimous and welcoming once Adam had slipped him a 100$ dollar bill to ensure no questions were asked.

He'd never gone drinking before.

Gods only know he'd been tempted. Sienna had offered, the Albain brothers had, Yuma & Trifa, and even his own men had tried to get him drunk once or twice to loosen him and get him to spill his guts, but he'd never wavered.

He sure had now though. And he was beginning to regret not taking their offers.

He leaned back, pressing his body up against the leather booth with a contented sigh, the slow guitar and low vocals in the background music to his ears.

"What's this song called?"

Sabah took a hesitant sip of her beer, and he could see her grimace at the taste. "White Rabbit, I think. I don't know the band."

He committed the name to memory and left himself a mental note to look the song and band up. When he opened his mouth again to call out to the bartender however, Sabah spoke up. "How about we play a game?"

He echoed her, and she clarified after another sip of her beer, which was infinitely more courageous and enthusiastic than her last. "A drinking game!"

Adam shrugged. Tonight would be a night of many firsts. "Sure."

Sabah nodded, and for a moment she seemed hesitant. But after another swig of liquid courage, she seemed to steel herself and rose up to talk to the barkeep.

Adam sank further into the leather. There was a weight, and certain heaviness that seemed to be dragging his body down, but he didn't fight it. There weren't very many people here, and the ones that were sitting calmly and drinking were the kind of people he could fight in his sleep, let alone slightly inebriated.

So he decided to float away with that heaviness instead of fighting it, and he let his eyes drift shut.

He was jolted into the conscious by the sound of glass impacting wood, and he let his gaze fall upon the source of the disturbance.

It was a wooden platter, loaded with shot glasses, five over five stacked against one another in two rows.

Adam very slowly quirked a brow.

Sabah enlightened him. "The games pretty simple. One of us asks a question. It can be about your favorite color or your deepest darkest secret, it doesn't matter."

Adam grimaced; Sabah grinned. "The trick is, if you don't answer the question, you have to take a shot."

"Who's the winner?"

"Whoever's the least drunk."

Adam's brow raised up further, further, and further until it all but merged with his hairline. He'd bet just one of whatever those were would knock her off her feet.

"You wanna go first?"

Adam shrugged. "What's your favorite color?"

Sabah chuckled. It sounded off even through his pleasant haze, but he ignored it. "Starting easy, huh? White. What's yours?"

As if it wasn't obvious. "Red."

Sabah hummed, tapping a beat on her chin. "What's your most embarrassing memory?"

Adam froze. He was tempted to reach for a shot glass as soon as the memory dredged itself up, one he'd almost forgotten.

After an argument with Blake about her countermanding his orders and speaking over him during a briefing, she'd refused to talk to him for hours. His only recourse had been to surprise her with their anniversary gift three weeks early. It was a signed copy of one of her dumb romance novels, 'Ninjas of Love'. Even that hadn't been enough.

So he'd dragged a chair into their tent, propped it up against their bed(Which she had been hiding in, cocooned in blankets), and proffered a dramatic reading of the book's contents.

Smut included.

He could hear dozens of his men outside their tent listening in as he narrated some of the most vulgar and depraved sex acts he'd ever seen put to paper until Blake had finally cracked and thrown a pillow at him to shut him up with a laugh. Then they'd made up, and soon after that, made love.

The men outside the tent had quickly dispersed once Adam's falsetto moans had been replaced by Blake's quite real ones.

"Adam?"

Adam realized he was smiling. He hid the smile by reaching over for a shot glass and dumping its contents down his throat.

Adam wheezed.

His entire face scrunched up, and Adam slammed a hand on the table.

Sabah laughed.

Adam swallowed, gathering his composure, and threw the question back at her.

Sabah's laughter subsided. She glanced to the side for a moment, eyes downcast. Then she smiled. It was a small thing.

"When I first came to America, in our old house, there was a raccoon that lived by the park nearby. I'd never seen one before, I thought it was cute." Sabah licked her lips. They looked dry. "But my father..." Her voice trailed off at the word. He could see her visibly compose herself, and the smile on her face turned a shade more nostalgic. "My father warned me that it was a wild animal. It wasn't a pet and it wouldn't ever be. He said not to feed it, and not to touch it."

"Did you listen?"

Sabah chuckled softly. "Not at all. I threw food at it from day one, until it grew comfortable enough with me to hop up onto our porch. I fed it day after day, week after week, and I thought I'd tamed it."

The smile upturned. It looked brittle.

"I named her Noor. I was young and dumb and thought we were friends. I'd spend hours sitting on my porch just watching her scurry around. Then, one day, she comes waltzing up on my porch with a bunch of baby raccoons trailing her."

Sabah swallowed. "Up till then, I'd taken my dad's advice. But by then, I figure that she trusts me, right? So I walk over to her, and try and pet her."

Adam didn't speak.

There was a pause as Sabah looked him in the face, eye to eye.

Adam turned away.

"She reared back and clawed me, right across the face. There was blood everywhere. My dad heard me yelling, and ran out with a gun. He sees me covered in blood and the raccoon running away. He put it together pretty quick."

Sabah laughed again, but this time there was life in it.

"All the neighbors come out to see the commotion. They don't see the raccoon, but they do see this giant, bald, angry Iraqi man waving a gun around, screaming at a teenage girl in Arabic, a teenage girl whos bleeding all over, and they assume the worst. The cops show up pretty quickly, and it took me half an hour to convince them it was a raccoon that did it, and not him."

Sabah sighed. She gazed longingly at the shot platter. "I miss him sometimes."

Adam felt he was woefully unqualified for this line of conversation. "Only sometimes?"

She nodded. "I know he's in a better place. I know he's watching over me." She snorted under her breath. "Judging me."

"Judging you?"

Sabah nodded again. "My father was very traditional. Very religious as well. He brought us to America, but he didn't want us to be Americans, if that makes sense. He argued with my aunt constantly. Everyone in our family started integrating, and it bothered him a lot. He tried not to show it, but we could tell. We didn't go to mosque as often as we should be, or we weren't praying enough, or I was going out dressed like a whore, he'd tell my aunt that she was going to go to hell for philandering, and he kept asking me and asking me why I hadn't found a boy yet."

Sabah paused for a moment, obviously shaken. "He felt like he was failing us. Money was getting tight with my tuition, and his practice wasn't making as much as it used to. The stress got to him, and then he had the heart attack."

Her left hand was splayed out onto the table. Adam laid his own atop it in a show of sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Sabah shook him off. "Don't be."

There was another bout of silence, but this time Adam decided to fill it. "What's your last name?" It struck him, that he hadn't asked her that already.

Sabah blinked at him dumbly before laughing softly. "I can't believe I haven't told you already! It's Zghir. My full name is Sabah Aabidah Zghir."

She reached out with a hand, and Adam leaned forward to shake it. "Adam Taurus. No middle name."

"You used your last name as a cape name?"

Adam shrugged. "I doubt anyone else but you is ever gonna learn it."

Sabah squeezed his hand in a mocking form of reproach. "Don't say stuff like that. One of these days you'll meet someone else you can trust."

Adam hummed, and didn't deign to argue the point any further.

Sabah retracted her hand and asked her next question. "Alright, next up; If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

Adam thought about that.

Adam reached for a shot, and dumped it back.

His face seized up for a moment before settling.

Sabah stared for a moment. Then whatever she'd been distracted by flew by and she nodded to herself. "Paris for me."

Adam didn't know anything about Paris except that it apparently had a giant tower, so he didn't bother commenting. "Does your family know about your powers?"

Sabah stopped. "I guess I walked into that saying nothing was off limits. They do."

"Did you tell them?"

Sabah chuckled. "Nope."

She seemed content to leave it at that. Her eyes darted down, toward her pocket. Towards her phone?

"What did you do before coming to Brockton Bay?"

Adam's mouth opened, then slammed shut just as quickly. The lies tumbled free on reflex, half thought out. "I did some small-time mercenary work. Bodyguard work, mostly. Lots of small-time criminals and civil servants wanted someone big and mean looking to watch their back and stand by them menacingly."

"You were a mercenary." Her voice was flat.

He nodded. Maintained eye contact, kept his voice level. "A small-time one. I moved all through the midwest, but I mostly stuck to where I grew up after I was adopted."

"Where was that? I can't remember."

His eyes narrowed a touch. That was because he'd never told her. "A small town in Iowa." He grasped for a name, cursing himself for his lack of research. A name came to mind. He snapped his fingers. "Mantle. Small enough town you'd have to dig around a paper map to find it."

Sabah nodded. Her eyes drifted toward the shot platter.

She lifted one up, pinched her nose, and downed it before he could say a word.

Sabah wretched, muttering a low curse under her breath.

"What was that for?"

She panted for breath a moment, and set the glass down. "Just trying to keep it even."

She coughed, once, then gathered herself. "Why go after the Empire 88?"

That was easy to answer, He could even be honest with his answer, at least for the most part. 'I wanted to do something good. I got tired of sitting around doing nothing with my abilities. I wanted to just do something for once. To try and right some wrongs the only way I know how."

Sabah nodded.

Then she gave him a look.

It was a deadpan, slightly narrow-eyed glare.

Despite the flush in her cheeks and the slight shake in her hands, she looked as serious as he'd ever seen.

"Who was the woman in the painting?"

Adam paused.

Adam reached for a shot.

A hand snaked across his wrist and clamped down tight enough he could feel his aura warp with the force, arresting his movement.

Sabah's mouth was open, her eyes squinted, a million words on her tongue, a million different thoughts racing through her head, a million different emotions visible on her face.

Then she laughed, and pulled her hand away with a slurred apology. "I'm sorry! I don't know why I did that!"

She snorted down another chuckle, and Adam could see that that shot had really gotten to her. "It's fine."

He glanced toward the door. "Are you ready to go?" He needed to get work on his new clothes, and she needed to sleep this off. This obviously had been a mistake.

Sabah nodded slowly. Her whole body lolled with the movement.

Adam exhaled and slid out of the booth. His stomach rolled.

It was then he remembered a comment Trifa had made to him about drinking. Something about liquor and beer and being sick.

Sabah's cheeks turned green as if on cue.

His stomach rumbled again.

Adam spent ten minutes with her in the bathroom before they even stepped out the door.

(X)

Adam swayed on his feet. The body nestled against him went limp, and Adam squeezed Sabah higher to his chest to keep her from falling down.

Adam half lunged, half-collapsed against the doorframe. Sabah clumsily wrenched the doorknob open, and they stepped inside her warehouse.

Almost immediately, Sabah disentangled herself from him with a low moan and beelined lined towards a row of stuffed animals she immediately collapsed upon.

Adam laughed. The noise echoed through the empty room and made his temple throb.

He shrugged off his jacket, then shakily made his way towards his workstation.

He flipped on Sabah's radio, set the volume low, and went to work.

In his inebriated state, he never noticed Sabah get up, much less shakily than she had previously been moving.

He didn't see her walk out the door.

He didn't hear her take out her phone.

He didn't hear her dial a number.

He didn't see her look back at the door forlornly.

He didn't hear her hang up the phone just as the call was answered.

And when she finally came back inside to see him passed out in his chair, he never saw her finish his work and correct the mistakes his shaking hands had made.

Nor did he feel her touch when she gently plucked him free of his chair and laid him down over a blanket and a pillow.

Nor did he hear her final words before she fell asleep herself, nestled against his side.

"Please don't make me regret this."

/

That mirror scene was one of my favorite parts of this story. I don't know why.

This is the last chill chapter. It all goes down from here. The plot moves, and doesn't stop moving. We have the ABB arc, Brockton Bay's version of the Boston Games starts in the immediate aftermath(And a little bit during the ABB's rampage) the Empire Arc wraps up once Coil makes a drastically different decision than canon, Cole Perry gets Gangster, Adam confesses, and then Leviathan and our conclusion.

I appreciate all of you sticking with me. The end is nigh.

Last edited: Apr 22, 2023

215

MasterDuplicator

Apr 22, 2023

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Threadmarks Brad IV

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Apr 22, 2023

#1,397

I'm not much for sensitivity or trigger warnings, but this is Hookwolf. This chapter should(If there is anyone who may think this) assuage any doubts that I was trying to flanderize or glow up Hookwolf.

I am unsure about SB's rules regarding racial epithets, I've seen some stories here use the whole word, and some stories censor it. I went with censorship, but If I broke any rules, please do let me know. I was trying to think of a plausible reason as to why Hookwolf became so gung ho during his time in the 'Nine. The result of that thought process was the speech you'll be reading below.

Be forewarned: There are quite a few slurs at play here.

/

Brad kicked in the door with a whistle and a jaunt in his step.

Lars trailed behind with a grimace.

"One pit stop to n***ertown and you've got sunshine flying outta your ass, huh?

Hookwolf grinned.

Five minutes.

That was all the time it had taken to break the Merchants.

Four years in the 88, begging and pleading and fighting and being denied his purpose.

And five minutes on his own, on his terms, and the Merchants were destroyed.

Skidmark either dead or crippled, that coal-burning bitch Squealer gutted, Mush off the reservation, and a buncha dumb junkies dead.

All in five minutes of being back in town.

They'd done it in the night.

Cricket had her trial run at the start of the ABB fiasco. That had proven it could be done. That it could work.

She was in on the plan. Wholesale.

But Lars had some reservations about the latter part of the plan.

"I still don't know how to feel about all this."

Hookwolf flipped a switch. The floodlights kicked on.

He groaned.

"Did no one remember to feed the fucking dogs?"

Bodies littered the cages ahead of him. The dogs had starved and eaten their cagemates. Then the lack of water must have killed them.

That was gonna be real annoying to clean out.

Lars had a hand to his nose. He could feel the man's glare dig into his back. "You didn't tell anyone to, dumbass. You didn't tell anyone anything."

Brad shrugged. "It was spontaneous, I know, but-"

" 'Spontaneous'? You called me and Mel at three in the goddamn morning telling us to pack our shit and get the fuck out. You tell us to go to Boston. Then you hang up the fucking phone and don't even tell us where you are."

Brad shrugged. Lars sighed. Brad sauntered past the corpses into his 'office' and opened the mini-fridge atop his desk. The beers inside were warm. He didn't care.

He stepped back out into the entrance and tossed Lars a beer. He caught it with a free hand and slumped against the wall with a sigh.

Brad followed suit. He popped the tab, chugged it, crumpled it, and tossed the can to the side with a burp. "I'll ask again. Mel's in, so-"

"Mel's gonna do whatever the hell you tell her to do man. You know that. I'm the guy you gotta sell, and I'm the guy who's always tryna reel you in."

"So let me sell you then. What's the problem, huh? You drink the cool-aid already?"

Brad gave him his best party salute. Lars flipped him off. Brad kept going. "I can't believe it. Larson fucking Jurist, white fuckin savior. Come here to save all the Aryan babies and-"

"Jesus, cut it out. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth, fuckin over the people who took us in."

He nodded. "I can understand that. But let me give you a hypothetical: Say we stuck around. We walk back up to Papa Max, get on our knees, give him a little spit'n'shine, and go back to the way it was. What happens?"

As soon as Lars opened his mouth, Brad cut him off. "We die."

Lars scoffed. "You afraid?"

"No. But I wanna die on my terms, for my cause. Not for some bitter rich prick who don't give a fuck about us."

Lars narrowed his eyes and spat on the ground. Brad lamented the wasted beer. "That's a hell of a thing to say about the man who took us in after the shit we stirred up."

"And why the hell do you think he did that, bro? Think about it. Four years, and never once did he let us do our job, he never let us run loose. The arguments we had about the dog fights alone shoulda clued you in. I've dodged the Birdcage twice. I'm marked for death stateside everywhere I go. Think about it."

Lars turned away. Brad seized the moment. "The only reason you keep a man like that around if you ain't gonna let him work, is that you plan on selling him out to curry favor with the pigs when the heat is coming down on you. Remember Vista?"

Lars shrank inward. He took a long swig of his beer. "That poor fuckin kid."

"That dumb fuckin kid shouldn't have been anywhere near that shitshow. But she was. And for days after that, I had the PRT on my ass like a fly on shit. And I'll bet you all the money in the world Max was helping them along."

Lars opened his mouth again, but Brad was on a roll now. "How you feel about n***ers?"

Lars blinked. "What?"

"You like 'em?"

"Nah-"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why you not like 'em?"

Lars fumbled a moment before shrugging. "I can't fuckin stand the way they talk."

"Well no shit, that annoys me too, but I'm asking what have they done to you to annoy you so much?"

Lars took another sip of his beer. He seemed to be genuinely pondering the question.

"Exactly man. How about a Jew? What they do to piss you off?"

Lars spat. "You forget our bookie?"

Brad would take the hit there. But he could still spin this.

"Well shit, that's just how they are. It's what they're good at, no shame in that."

Lars nodded at him slowly, like he was humoring him.

He needed to reorient this. "Max says the whites are the best, right? We invented culture and all that hippie hoo-hah horseshit."

Another slow nod.

"I'll grant him that. I can get behind the Ayran ideal, ya know? Family, duty, honor, loyalty, strength, all that shit. I also have a thing for blondes, so it all works out."

"So you plan on upholding that ideal by fucking over the actual, legitimate, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Aryan ideal man?"

When he put it like that...

"Just bear with me here. If whites are so good, how come the chinks invented gunpowder?"

Brad cut off his reply before it could formulate. "The fuckin Sand people invented all that math shit. Blacks gave us those pyramids, that weird dick-shaped obelisk in Ethiopia, and peanut butter. The slavs wrote up a bunch of really fucked up and sad books, and the first real empire came outta Arabia."

"What's your point?"

"I'm asking the question: "How are they supposed to be inferior, when they not only outnumber us, but have been giving us a run for our money since forever? How can n***ers be inferior, when they gave us Shaka Zulu and Menelik II? They had their own empires and wars and nations and leaders while we were out toling for nothing, wiping our asses with leaves."

Lars cut him off. "What do you believe then?"

"I think that each of us has a tribe. A group. That white men and black men and yellow men and red men can all be capable of great things. It's just that whitey got in his head that they needed to 'raise them up' when they was just fine as they were. While we had guns and rockets and carriages, they had spears and shields. That's what they knew, that's what they were good at. But we came over and started acting all high and mighty and said 'no, you need to start acting like us'. And you know what happened when we built our roads and gave them our guns and our clothes and our cars?"

Lars sighed tiredly. "Enlighten me."

"They said 'fuck you' and went back to what they knew. Slavery, war, and conquest. I look at Africa as it is now, at what crazy bitches like Moord Nag have been doing, and I say good for them. They see the world for how it is. I think we're the backwards ones. We keep pretending we're all so above it all, but if we were, then the Empire and the PRT and the 'Nine wouldn't exist. We forgot who we were, and they never did. Max calls Lung a savage. I say Lung gets it, and that it's a damn shame they got him locked up. The chinks don't know what to do without someone to tell them it. It's just how they work. We all got our quirks. The problems all came up when we started mixing everyone together. I say keep the blacks with the blacks, the reds with the reds, the yellows with the yellows, and the whites with the whites. Eventually, nature'll sort itself back out, and the damage thats been done will undo itself. That's why I started the dog fights, you know? There was a time when the dog was man's best friend. We hunted together, fought together, and bled together. Now you've got all these rich fuckin white women breeding them into tiny purse accessories, who can't kill, can't fight, even if they wanted to try. So-"

"Brad, what the actual fuck are you talking about?"

Brad paused, out of breath.

"What the fuck does literally any of that have to do with anything?"

Brad sighed. "I'm saying it wasn't ideology that kept me in, Lars. It was respect. They took us in when no one else would, and promised us three things. You remember those three things?"

"Fighting, fucking, and fame."

"Yeah. Now let me ask you this: Since when did we need the Empire for any of that? We had all'a that on our own before. Max would have us die for him. Make no mistake, we would die trying to fight Taurus, and it wouldn't make a lick of difference. We would be forgotten."

Lars sighed. Brad knew he had him now.

"But if we do this, if we do this right, we'll stack up enough bodies that our names are gonna be right alongside his." Brad smiled. "It'll be just like the old days."

Lars was quiet.

"Are you afraid to die?"

Lars spat again, and this time he aimed the loogie right at his face. Brad felt the spittle drip off his chin as Lars glared at him. "I ain't afraid of nothing."

Brad stood up, made his way over to Lars, and extended a hand. "That a yes?"

Lars gave him a long, long look. Then he clasped his hand.

Brad hauled him to his feet. "Good."

Lars nodded. "What's the first step then?"

"I've got Mel sending some feelers out to Rune and Crusader. I wanna see if we can get them in. Justin's a true believer, but he cares about that kid. He knows Max's hold on the city is dying. If we look like the safe bet, if he thinks we can give her a place to stay, a place that's safe, he'll come along. I want you to make contact with our guys. Not Max's, ours. Let them in on the plan. We're making our own tribe."

"And after that?"

"Come morning, everyone's gonna know we're back in town, and that the Merchants are fucked. Max has Krieg's replacement and a few true believers from the fatherland arriving by boat tonight. We ambush that, alongside a coordinated lang grab from our loyal guys? That's gonna send a message."

"And the PRT?"

"They'll have their hands full. I made sure of that. I gave Alex a call."

Lars froze.

"The only thing keeping the Elite outta town was Max. If I know Alex, he's been frothing at the mouth for a shot at the Bay. I gave him a call and let him know it's open season."

Lars swallowed. "You call anyone else?"

"I told him to pass on the message to the Teeth."

Lars went pale.

Brad's grin stretched even wider.

For the first time in forever, he had a plan.

So naturally, the universe decided to fuck him over by setting the Bay on fire not seven hours later.

But Brad couldn't bring himself to be upset.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

/

Alex is my made up name for Bastard Son, one of the Members of the elite, whose cell is described as just a rung below the fucking nine.

Last edited: Apr 22, 2023

210

MasterDuplicator

Apr 22, 2023

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Threadmarks BBPD(Det. Cole Perry) III

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MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Apr 25, 2023

#1,431

Here we go.

/

Cole Perry woke up to sounds of what he considered to be Brockton Bay's natural ambiance.

Those sounds being a pair of gunshots, a scream, a car alarm, and squelching tires on pavement.

He sighed. His wife came to life with a low, pillow-muffled moan, and she lazily whipped a hand in the direction of their bedroom window, before said arm went limp and plopped back down onto their comforter.

Cole sighed again.

He snaked a hand underneath his pillow until his hand closed around the grip of his gun. He pulled it free, flipped the safety, and got to his feet.

He walked bare-ass naked towards his window, and by the time he'd pulled back his blinds and opened it, the car alarm had gone silent. He poked his head out and surveyed the area, the only remaining signs anything was amiss were the tire marks on the road and the broken glass and bloodstains by his neighbor's car.

When he realized whose car it was, a half-hysterical laugh escaped him, and he set the gun down by his nightstand.

His wife rose up, arms stretching out and pointed skyward as she yawned, her long blonde locks askew and bedraggled. The bags under her eyes matched his own, but on her, he thought them alluring. "What was it?"

He shrugged and scanned the floor for his underwear. It was nowhere to be found. He tried to remember where she'd tossed them. His mind drew a blank, as it did when he tried remembering anything else that could have happened last night. "Some idiots decided trying to steal Harper's car was a good idea."

Anna blinked. Laughed. Yawned again.

She bent over the side of their bed to retrieve her bra. "Is anyone dead?"

He shook his head. Scanned the floor with more intensity. Last night they'd gone out for drinks with Mike and Girlfriend #8. The entire night had been a blur of fluorescent lights, robotic music, and half-digested seafood.

His head throbbed. The last time he had partied like that had been the summer of '84. His graduation party.

God that made him feel old.

"I'll go check on him."

Anna gave him a long(And quite appreciative) once over. "Dressed like that?"

Cole looked down.

A pair of boxers struck him in the face.

(X)

He shut the door behind him dressed only in a pair of socks, sweatpants, and a half-buttoned dress shirt.

Harper was standing out front, gun in hand, waiting for him. The man had a shirt on, thank god. He didn't wanna have to see that godawful tattoo unless he had to.

Somehow he had a feeling it had to do with their current predicament.

Harper glared at him, eyes wary. His brows rose up slightly at his disheveled appearance, but he chose not to comment.

"You gonna arrest me?"

Cole's eyes trailed over the bloodstain in Harper's driveway. He sighed. This was not the way he wanted his morning to start. "Nope."

Harper eyed him for a second, then he visibly relaxed. "You gonna be here in case the cops show up?"

Cole rolled his eyes. "Do you honestly think anyone even bothered calling them?"

Harper thought about that for a second.

Then he shrugged, bid him good morning, and walked back inside his house.

Cole turned around, stopping to watch the blood slide down the slope of the driveway into the street.

By god, he hated this fucking city.

(X)

He cranked down his window and made a show of extending his fuck-you finger in the direction of the cyclist who'd cut him off.

"You're in a good mood this morning."

He glanced into his rearview and saw his wife's ever-so-omnipresent smile. "Can you blame me?"

She smiled wider, tossing back her hair. There wasn't a single grey strand to be found. He envied her for that. "You've been living here longer than I've been alive, and you still haven't gotten used to it?"

His lips thinned, and he fought the urge to defibrillate that long-dead argument back to life.

He chose to keep silent. Anna chuckled knowingly.

Cole made his final right turn and pulled into the parking lot.

Fugly Bob's awaited. The Breakfast of Champions.

His stomach rumbled. He gave it a silent apology for what he was about to put it through.

(X)

Anna moaned. Normally that sound would've had him perked right up.

Instead he found himself repulsed.

He reached for a napkin and wiped the grease from his wife's chin.

She gave him an appreciative nod as she swallowed the remains of her burger.

"Why the hell do you insist on making me take you to such a shithole whenever you want breakfast?"

Anna gave him a mock glare, her lips peeled back as she hummed in amusement. "You really are in a bad mood this morning."

He turned his head away, sipping his coffee with a scowl.

The mockery on her face was replaced by sympathy. "What's wrong? You've been testy these past few weeks. You can talk to me, you know that, don't you?"

He could. Whether or not she would listen was up for debate.

The door chimed. He turned his head around to look, and saw a pair of teenagers walk inside, one male, one female. Their arms were linked.

The Alexandria sticker on the girl's leather jacket made him grimace.

Anna caught his eye. She chuckled. "Not a fan of merchandising, huh?"

Cole sipped his coffee. "Not since Hero."

That wiped the smile from her face.

Cole used the opportunity to reminisce.

The freakout the PRT must have had when the news broke.

Hero had been the most popular(And advertisable) member of the quadrumvirate. He'd been on TV, guest starred on Talkshows, appeared in magazines, and Scuttlebutt had said there were talks of giving him his own toy line like Vikare.

And the Siberian had gutted him live on national television for millions to see, and suddenly the PRT had been much more selective about who it let appear on paper stickers.

He remembered that broadcast. The day of mourning that had followed. He'd been on duty that day. The streets had been silent.

Cole sipped his coffee. Weighed his wife's earnest desire to help against her naivete and youth.

She gave him her best puppy eyes. Cole broke.

"I'm thinking of quitting."

Anna froze. He saw the gears in her head grind to a halt in real-time.

"But you're retiring in a year, you said so yourself! What about your pension, what about-"

"Fuck the pension. Fuck retirement." He drained the rest of his coffee and slammed the cup back down on the table hard enough to make it rattle. "If I have to work under Pappalardo's fat ass for one more goddamn day, I'm gonna lose my shit."

"But you love being a cop!"

"Oh yeah? When was the last time you saw me smile before heading to work?"

Anna paused. He saw her chew on that statement for a little while. Then she got right back to it. "Is it because of the PRT?"

His lips thinned. "Not just them."

Anna sighed. "Every city has gangs, Cole."

"Yeah, but they didn't used to have superpowered ones, Anna." He sighed, fumbling with his words as he gathered his thoughts. He wondered how to explain this to someone who'd been born knowing nothing else, born into the reality he'd only been able to imagine whilst reading his father's comic books.

"What would you do if you If you had Alexandria's powers?"

Anna blinked.

"Would you fly around like Scion, plucking cats from trees and try your hand at punching out giant monsters? Or would you use them to hurt, to kill, to maim, to rob?"

"Obviously I'd-"

"The trick to this question is that the answer doesn't matter. The mere fact you have the option of choosing does."

Anna paused and leaned forward.

"There used to be a time when actions had consequences. Where men had to follow rules, a time when men breaking those rules were hunted down to the ends of the earth and brought to justice. But now, with these powers in the mix, it feels like everyone just collectively decided that those rules don't apply to them anymore. That they have a bad day, get some shiny superpowers, and think that putting on some spandex and a domino mask gives them leeway to do whatever the flying fuck they feel like. That some asshole wearing a costume while he rapes, pillages, and murders affords him protections no normal man would get, just because he might be useful later on. Shoot a man with a gun, and have your face plastered on every television in miles. Do it with a laser, and you get to go on your merry way so long as you're not out wearing a mask. It makes me sick, because when you have kids like Glory Girl flying around wrecking shit, who has to clean up after them? Who rebuilds the roads they destroy, the buildings they level? We do, and we're supposed to just suck it up and be thankful."

Cole panted, out of breath. He reached forward and wrapped his lips around the straw inside of Anna's drink, taking a long, deep swig of her coke.

"Just think about what I'm saying. My dad fought in Korea. He'd only just missed out on fighting the Japs. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, I look outside, and I wonder what he would make of the world right now, knowing that the city he grew up in had been taken over by honest to god Nazis and some wannabee Pan-Asian emperor. How he would have taken New York getting leveled by Behemoth or knowing that psycho fucks like Jack Slash have been wandering around as long as we've even had these powers. To this day, we still don't know anything about them, or even about the glowing man in the sky who probably fuckin gave them to us!"

He sighed. "I don't think he'd be able to deal with it."

Anna frowned. She set the rest of her food aside and frowned at him, face alight with sympathy. She set a hand on his shoulder. "Are you able to deal with it?"

The love in her voice nearly brought him to his knees. "Sometimes I'm not sure anymore."

Anna frowned. Then she cupped his chin in her hand. "Then you don't have to be. Quit."

Cole blinked.

"Quit. I mean it. We'll sell the house. Sell our things. We'll move, far, far away from here. Maybe somewhere north. Canada, maybe, it doesn't matter. We can do it tomorrow."

"I don't-"

"We have money. We both have been working since were kids. We'll retire, hide away in a cabin somewhere in the middle of nowhere and forget about the rest of the world. How does that sound to you?"

Cole smiled.

The doorbell chimed.

His world erupted into flame and color and light and sound and then went upside down and then it was sideways and-

And then it was nothing but blackness.

(X)

Awareness came to him slowly.

A weight was pushing on his chest. The world was dark.

Something wet was dripping down his cheeks, out from his eyes. He tried to blink it away. Nothing. The muscles refused to cooperate.

Cole smelled charred flesh, could hear flames crackle, eager to devour the wooden interior.

Above all he could hear the screams, all so loud, deafening.

The smoke irritated his nostrils.

Cole tried to move, but couldn't. Tried to speak, his mouth open wide.

He croaked. Coughed. Liquid flooded into his mouth and made him gag.

His head lolled to the side, and it dribbled out past his lips. It tasted like copper.

Someone called his name. They sounded so far away.

Sirens wailed. Just barely, in the distance, past the screaming and wailing, he could hear more explosions in the distance, They sounded like fireworks.

"-le"

The flames surged. Cole felt the heat wash over his face, felt a bright, searing pain brand itself into his cheek before fading away.

"COLE!"

He twitched. Anna.

"Ma'am, get back, this building isn't stable!"

The weight on his chest lessened. Cole sucked in a breath. His lungs burned.

No. No. No. Run away. Leave me here. Please.

The weight was gone. Cole heard something clatter off to the side.

He just barely heard his wife whimper out a quiet prayer.

"Ma-"

There was a crunch, the sound of snapping wood.

His wife went silent.

Cole felt something heavy slam into his chest.

Then silence. Then-

(X)

Nothing.

Nothing and everything, all at once. He could see, but he had no eyes. Hear with no ears. Feel with no hands.

He was flying.

No.

Floating. Floating free, in an infinite vista of darkness.

he was dead.

no

alive

dead

a ghost

a witness

there was something with him

broad

vast alive and hungry and it was redredredredredredredred

falling fallingfallingfalingcloserclosercloser

a fragment

a star

a god

a monster

he saw them

dancing

swirling

shattering

alivingmirror

reflections

infinite

he hated them

he didn't know why

one approached

it came closer

closer closer closer closer closer redredred red red red red

it was falling

it was redredredredredred

and-

(X)

And nothing.

Nothing but darkness.

Cole moaned.

His wife was silent.

/

You have no idea how tired I was of seeing [DESTINATION] [AGREEMENT]. I wanted to try my hand at describing an actual trigger event. I hope I did okay.

Last edited: Apr 26, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

Apr 25, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 15, 2023

#1,557

As I've mentioned prior, I have insomnia, and that's where ninety percent of my thinking gets done when it comes to stories, ideas, and just in general when it comes to my life.

Last night, instead of getting up off my ass and posting this chapter, my mind was trapped in this spiral of insanity when I randomly had the shower thought of 'What if the Slaughterhouse Nine live-streamed their shenanigans like a (Slightly) more fucked up IP2?"

Tired me thought this random idea was the funniest fucking thing on earth, and it kept spiraling and spiraling and spiraling until I was at my computer typing up some absolute fuckshit about the Nine and Jack Slash being elaborate character LARPers ala Jace Connors of Deagle Nation fame(Chat, Press 1 if I should burn down this orphanage). I was halfway through writing about Manton driving around in his(Now) souped-up Van screaming about Cauldron baby-rapers like Fedsmoker as the Siberian before I thought "Wait, what the fuck am I doing, this is dumb" and deleted it all and laid back down.

Now that I'm here, I wonder if that was a mistake.

Anyway, here's a Sociopath trying to objectively self-reflect and consider her prior actions in a healthy way. That sociopath then realizes that the only reason she's even alive right now is luck. They are understandably disturbed by this revelation.

Said sociopath also realizes that in order for someone to understand tough love, that someone needs to understand it's coming from a place of love in the first place.

I feel like the only way you could ever get someone like Sophia to even begin to consider whether or not they'd done some stupid things is to do what Adam did, which is give a clear example of why her(And most Sociopaths) 'Fuck it, why not' outlook on life can go very very bad for you. Then make them think over the shit they've done beforehand and ask them, 'now how could that have gone differently?'

Only this time, Sophia is asking herself that question.

It was really fun writing out her fucking alien brain. Especially the part below where she just assumes that Taylor will 'get it.'

/

The whistle blew, and she was off.

The wind in her hair, her blood rushing through her body, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sophia felt a wild grin spread across her face as she blew past her classmates, her feet kicking up stormy gusts of dirt and gravel as she ran across the track.

Some of her more pathetic track mates were already winded clearing the first fifty feet, the dolled-up bimbos with fake nails and fake eyelashes who thought they were hot shit, and the nerdy pathetic Hebert types who knew their place and didn't even bother trying.

She could go on like this for another fifty miles.

She was king here. Everyone knew it. Maybe not at home, her mom was still at least trying to pretend she gave a shit with her brand new 'ground rules', and she was the PRT's bitch, as much as it fucking burned her to admit.

But here? At Winslow? She ruled the roost. No one could touch her. Not teachers, not students, not anyone. The track team's big star, the one redeeming fucking thing about this school. The only thing that made it stand out as anything other than another failed inner city school.

Her. Her and no one else.

On this track, she could be herself. She didn't have to pretend for anyone. Not her mom, not the PRT, not for Emma, not for Taurus, nobody.

It was her in the breeze and her in her mind. She could close her eyes and run the gauntlet five or six or seven times without opening them once, that's how well she knew the path.

It was here she could finally take his advice.

"You don't think, you just do."

That truth hurt to admit more than any punch or slap she'd ever taken in her life. It wasn't something she wanted to admit to, because it would make her go back and question almost every decision she'd ever made in her life with those words ringing in her ears. She would have to second guess everything she'd ever done since getting her powers, since before then, and put a microscope up to it and ask the question.

What was I thinking?

A pit had opened up, deep in her heart. Every time she thought about it, the pit deepened, got wider. She felt the vaguest sense of nausea thinking about it even now.

Because she already knew the answer to that question. It came to her, crystal clear.

She hadn't been.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd sat down to think something through or planned out anything outside of the broadest of broad outlines.

What had she been thinking, when she'd gotten back into that car with Steven, the taste of cigarette, regret, and whisky still on her lips?

She hadn't been. She'd been confused, bewildered, and more than a little grossed out, but she'd gotten back in the car anyway. It hadn't taken her more than a minute to decide. If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that she had already made the decision before even stepping out. She was desperate, and lonely, and she hadn't wanted to lose the one person on Earth who acted like they knew she existed.

So she got back in the car.

What had she been thinking at fourteen years old, when she'd walked into that sporting goods store with Mr. Barnes's credit card tucked deep inside her pocket? When she'd walked out with a crossbow in her hands and a tangled, frustrated knot of directionless rage and anger in her heart?

When she'd killed her first man, some scumfuck drug dealer who'd been willing to give her a 'discount' out back in that alley off Cicero Avenue?

She'd watched him bleed, made it slow. She spent ten minutes in that alley, sat atop his chest, her thumbs buried deep in the hole in his throat that pocket knife had made. She pressed in, deeper and deeper and deeper until something had given way. Till she'd wrapped her fingers around his voice box and crushed it in her hands.

What had she been thinking, at the time?

She couldn't even remember. It was like there was some sort of hole in her head where those memories lie, her own thoughts and feelings scattered to the wind.

All she had left were the pictures, all as incomprehensible to her as she was to everyone else.

She'd spent three months cherry-picking victims like some pint-sized serial killer until the PRT had picked her up. For that whole three months, that idea that they might catch up to her, that they might have stopped her, hadn't entered her head once.

When they finally had, she'd signed on as soon as they'd mentioned juvie. She hadn't spared a thought as to what her time with them might entail.

Everything she'd done, she'd done on a whim. The idea had struck her, and she'd simply gone along with it in the moment.

Saving Emma had been a whim. Keeping her around yet another one. Buying that crossbow, going out, killing those people, approaching Taurus, revealing her identity to him, to Emma, even just fucking with Hebert. All on a whim, on a dime, just because she felt like it.

Sophia felt that pit grow wider. She slowed down almost unconsciously.

It...bothered her, looking back. Counting all the myriad ways it could have gone wrong.

The only reason she was where was right now was blind luck and fucking charity on the PRT's part.

That bothered her the most.

What if that dealer in the alley had seen the knife coming? Even with her power, she was far from invincible. All he would have needed was a Taser, and that would have been that. She'd been arrogant then. She hadn't even considered the possibility her power had a weakness in the first place.

Her mind raced, back to the past, to every hard-won fistfight or crossbow shot from twenty feet above, and she counted all the ways each little scuffle could have gone wrong.

One single spark, one missed shot, one blocked punch, one wrong step, and it could have been over.

She could have died any day.

She still could.

One stray bullet from some mook in a gunfight, a wrong step tangoing with Hookwolf, even just some fucking shitty driver going a little too fast over a crosswalk in downtown could do her in.

That night, with Taurus.

She saw him angle his hips, watched him subtly incline his head.

Saw his finger twitch towards Blush's trigger.

She'd known, unconsciously, that she needed to choose her words carefully, that she needed to calm him down.

But thinking back now, with his lesson from the bar in mind, she knew.

She'd been a whim away from death.

He hadn't been considering her words, he'd been thinking about killing her.

He could have, too. That bothered her the most. With his fucked up power, she was a quickdraw away from blowing away in the wind, her body twisted and melted away into fucking rose petals.

She wouldn't have even seen it coming. There wouldn't have been any sort of closure or transition.

Just a small twitch, then nothing, forever.

No one would find her. No one would know.

It would be like she'd never have existed at all.

Her, the sum of her parts, gone. Everything she'd done rendered meaningless.

What the fuck had she even done? What was she gonna do?

Terry was off up in fuckin Vermont for college. Her mom had gotten clean, and was preparing to get another job to help take care of her little sister.

All her teammates were going full hero once their time in the Wards was up. Emma wants to be a model Practically was one already, albeit not full-time. Her dad's a lawyer. She remembered Madison blathering on and on about her college plans.

Everyone knew where they were gonna be in five, six, ten, or even twenty years from now.

Everyone but her.

Was she gonna go to college? That would be a fuckin joke. What would she study? Where would she go?

What was she gonna do once her time in the PRT was up? Stay a hero? Please.

Was she gonna slog it out in some shitty downtown apartment and break her back working some 9-5 like the rest of the fuckin sheep in the city?

Or was she just gonna get right back to it, picking fights with people until someone stronger or smarter than her did her in?

She didn't know. Hadn't thought of it.

She needed to, but every time she tried imagining some sort of future or tried making some sort of life plan. her mind drew a blank.

The safe answer, she supposed, was that she just couldn't.

She felt a scowl marr her features.

The way she was now, she wasn't going to last. She needed to change.

She'd grown fat and lazy.

She'd forgotten that there was more to being a predator than strength.

Predators had to adapt. Grow, evolve.

She needed to slow it down, pull back, and ask herself, 'Is this a good idea?' 'Why or why not?'

She needed to reconsider everything. Fix what needed fixing, change what needed changing, and drop what needed dropping.

Her mind drifted towards Taurus.

Think it through.

She'd sought him out of an admittedly delusional sense of kinship. When he'd welcomed her on, she had assumed that that kinship was shared.

But the more she thought about Taurus, about him in abstract, the less sense that idea made.

The less sense he made.

The puzzle pieces were there, but she couldn't figure out how they fit together.

How could one man have so many different powers? She'd never heard of a grab-bag monster cape. How was he so strong? How in the hell was he so skilled?

What was up with all the paintings? At first, she'd just assumed they were abstracts, random shit his artistic mind felt like putting to paper, but it was so clear to her now since she'd mangled that portrait of that girl, Blake. It should have come to her when he'd added those little victory scrawls when he'd iced Krieg, but her mind hadn't been there.

If all those paintings were either people he'd met or places he'd been, then where the hell had he been with so many forests? How had he met all those cat people? What the fuck was even up with them anyway? What was up with those freaky bone monsters? With the dude falling down the waterfall? Was that him? It had to be.

Who, no, what. was he? Where was he from? What had he even been up to before coming here? Why was he here?

What was his plan?

Most of all, what did he want with her?

It wasn't sex, she'd nudged that angle. He wasn't trying to use her as a spy, he wasn't trying to butter up to her to get something, she knew that by now, so what did he want?

Her mind went back toward the girl. Blake.

Was he just lonely? Did he just want someone to talk to, to understand? Does he have some sort of pathological need he needed to fulfill by being in charge of someone, by teaching someone?

More importantly, what did she want from him?

That was the most important question of all.

She didn't have an answer for that one either.

They needed to talk. She'd been open with him. Stupidly so, if she were being honest.

She felt she was due a little more honesty in return. She couldn't blame him for not telling, simply because she hadn't been asking, but she sure as hell was gonna now.

She-

Something slammed into her back and stole her breath away. She tumbled down to the ground, ass over elbow. Muscle memory kicked into gear, and she rolled forward into the grass and spun around with a snarl.

Then she paused.

The something that had slammed into her was another classmate. She watched the girl get to her feet and turn around, and she winced when she saw the girl's face.

She was Asian. Korean, maybe. it was hard for her to tell. She looked fairly plain. A month ago, she would have even said normal.

But she knew what to look for now. The specks of blood, mucus, and dried powder that clung to the aperture of her nostrils. The small, almost imperceptible twitch in the hand the girl raised in her direction, presumably to help her up.

At the red in her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks.

The girl shuffled in place, clearly uncomfortable with her staring. Her mouth opened, and Sophia scoffed, slapping away her hand and rising to her feet on her own. "Fuck off, junkie."

The girl recoiled so hard that Sophia may well have slapped her in the face. She turned away just as the whistle blew again.

(X)

She meandered through the crowded lunchroom till she saw Emma, who was excitedly waving her arms about to guide her forward.

The tray in her hands felt heavy, almost impossibly so. She'd filled it to the brim, even though she wasn't even remotely hungry. She'd moved through the lunch line almost mechanically, Filling up space just to fill space, her mind a world away.

She tuned out all the screaming and laughing and yowling of all the dumbshits around her, and put what little focus she could muster up into scanning the floor and sidestepping any landmines left behind by the last lunch group.

She made her way to the table and sat down, and she gave Emma a tired smile.

"You okay, Sophia?"

She twiched. Turned left towards Emma's little pet tag-a-long, Madison Clements.

The concern in her eyes filled Sophia with a wave of anger she couldn't even begin to describe, and her mouth was moving before she could even reason out why she was so upset.

"Disappear, Clements. I don't wanna fuckin look at you."

The girl wilted. The hurt in her eyes felt good and shitty at the same time. Her face twisted up, but before she could speak, Sophia slammed a fist down hard enough to make the table shake. Her fist stung bad enough that for a split second, she wondered if she'd broken her hand. "You deaf and retarded? I said to disappear. Shoo, get the fuck outta my face."

The pathetic bitch didn't even say anything. She just stood up and staggered off, her eyes misty.

Sophia worked her mouth soundlessly.

That anger burned, still. If anything, she felt worse.

It was directionless. Purposeless, just like before. Just like always.

She scowled. Grabbed her fork and slammed it into the mush on her plate and began eating, just to have something to do, just so she didn't have to talk.

And Emma, blessed Emma, didn't say a word. She raised a concerned brow but kept her mouth shut. She leaned back, smile kind, eyes patient.

She ate and ate until her stomach rebelled, and she spat her last bite back onto her tray, unable to swallow. Emma didn't blink.

Sophia raised her head back up. "I'm sorry about that. Dunno what came over me."

Blessed Emma shrugged. "I didn't really like her anyway. She never shut up."

Sophia chuffed, the irony in that statement so thick that she about choked on it. "I guess. My mind's just other places."

Emma smiled wider. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Thinking about him again?" The stage whisper was rather obnoxious, but also so Emma that she couldn't bring herself to be annoyed by it. Emma had been shit-scared of the guy until she'd mentioned offhand that she'd met him. Then she'd 180'ed so hard Sophia began regretting ever mentioning his name. Taurus was all Emma talked about these days. Every day, she asked another batch of questions about him, questions that Sophia never had any real answers for.

She nodded, since that technically wasn't untrue.

Emma clapped her hands. Sophia sighed.

"Have you seen his face yet?"

She asked that one every time. But this time she could at least answer it properly, having seen him during the daylight, her view unobscured by the strange red glow of his power or the darkness of the night. "Yeah."

"How old is he?"

"No clue. Maybe twenty? Twenty-two? He looks pretty young, but older than he should at the same time, if that makes sense."

"What color are his eyes?"

"Eye."

Emma stilled.

"He keeps his left eye covered up all the time, even without his mask on. He'll wrap a line of fabric or cloth over it like a bandage, or angle it like a blindfold. He wraps it down tight enough it practically looks like a tourniquet most of the time. He's got a little band of scar tissue over his nose, and it's really red, so I'm betting his eye got burned out. Case-53's have that brand on them, so my bet is that they put it there."

Emma digested that info, visibly perturbed. "Over his eye? That's pretty messed up."

She nodded. Privately, she wondered if it was something other than an Omega symbol under that mask.

"You didn't answer me though. What color?"

She made a small 'ah' sound. "Blue. Wasn't what I was expecting, considering how red his hair was."

"What shade of blue."

"What?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Turnqoiuse, Teal, Azure, Sky Blue, Steel Blue-"

She scoffed. "How the fuck should I know?"

"Are they light blue, or or dark blue?"

Uh..."Light-ish?"

"Ish?"

She shrugged. "It depends on the light."

Emma hummed. "What's his voice like?"

"Gravely. Rough, but not smokers rough. You hear a voice like that, you think it belongs to some roided-out bodybuilder, but he's pretty slender. Toned, but slender."

"Toned?"

Sophia nodded. "Like me. He's not rippling with muscle, but he's got some. Like a swimmer's body."

She glanced to the side. "I got to hold his sword too. Fuckin thing was heavy. Especially with the sheath."

Emma leaned forward, whistling. "Is it really a gun too? I heard it's a gun too."

Sophia grinned. "Oh yeah. There's a little switch you can flip by the trigger. When you do, the back of the sheath retracts inward and angles itself out like the stock of a rifle, and the barrel then extends outward a little bit. I'm pretty sure most of it is hidden inside the back, but I ain't sure. But that ain't the cool part."

Emma raised a brow.

"When the swords in there fully, if you pull the trigger, instead of shooting out a bullet, it shoots out the goddamn sword."

"Seriously? That's ridiculous."

"Not if your fast enough to catch up with it like he is. I've seen him practice with it. I've seen him outpace it and catch it before it hits anything less than ten feet off. It comes out with enough force to bust up concrete for god's sake. I saw him break a dude's whole ribcage doing it. He's good enough at aiming it that whenever he hits something with it, it rebounds right off and back into his hand."

Emma tilted her head. "I saw photos of him on PHO. They were pretty grainy though. Does he really have a giant rose on his back?"

"And one painted on the side of his sheath. He named his stuff after roses too. Wilt for the sword, Blush for the sheath."

"Wilt & Blush?"

She huffed. "He thought it was a bit melodramatic too."

Emma nodded. "You sound like you're getting to know him quite a bit."

"Sorta."

"Cool." Then she went for the kill shot. "Is he the reason you're so upset?"

It was her turn to freeze this time. Emma pounced. "Did he say something? Do something?"

Sophia worked her tongue, searching for the words. "Sorta. I did something stupid, and he got real pissed off at me. But he gave me some advice too. It's been...bothering me, I guess."

"Bothering?"

"It's made me think about stuff."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Irritation made her lips twitch. "It means I've been thinking about stuff. You, me, the school, my life, even fuckin Hebert."

Emma went very, very still, voice deceptively calm. "Taylor? What about her?"

"I dunno. Just what we've been doing. Building her up."

Emma nodded slowly. "And?"

"I wonder if we've been doing it the right way."

Emma's lips peeled back into a snarl. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean..." She grasped for the words, her mind blank, the thoughts only half-formed. She thought of the way Taurus had been making her stronger. "I mean, what's the win condition?"

Emma raised a brow. Her fists were clenched.

"I mean, we've been trying to tough her up. Fuck with her. It was your idea, ya know? We bring her up to our level. See if she can take it. But I'm not sure if her brain works that way."

Emma opened her mouth, irate. Sophia quickly cut her off. "I ain't saying she's a lost cause. I just don't think she can learn the way we did. She doesn't get that we're trying to help her. All she sees is us fucking with her for no reason. You told me she's super delicate. You were right. She doesn't talk back, and she only tried fighting us once. She's spineless. I think we need to give her a spine in the first place before we can start stress testing it. I mean, she shut the fuck down after the locker. That shoulda been it for her, you know. Her moment. Fight or flight, win or lose, live or die. My time was with Steven, yours was with those ABB pricks. But she didn't even try."

Emma relaxed, ever so slightly. "She's been cutting class lately." Her voice was thoughtful. Wondering. "To get away from us completely?"

"I think so. And that little bit of rebellion there means it's working, at least a little bit. Goody two shoes Hebert playing Hooky? Never thought I'd seen the day. But it's been over a week. I think we just gotta change it up."

"How so?"

She hadn't thought that far ahead. Hadn't really considered it at all in the first place.

Think it through.

She'd spend too much time trying for Emma's sake to just give it up. "That's what we'll have to figure out. Our biggest problem is that she doesn't know that we're trying to help."

Emma nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders leveling off. "What do we do? Tell her? She won't get it."

"Maybe not. But we gotta try something, because so far it's not working. I figure at least explaining why you iced her out might be a good start. We get it all out in the open. You two were best friends. I think if we explain it out, really explain it, she'll understand. Maybe even appreciate it."

The lunch bell rang, drowning out Emma's reply.

(X)

They filed out into class single file. Everyone made their way to their seats, Emma, four chairs ahead of her. Hebert's seat, three down to her left.

It was empty, as per usual.

What was odd, though, was that the set next to it was too.

She wracked her brain, trying to remember who sat there. She drew a blank. She didn't really know many people here, since she usually just went by faces.

She gave it another half seconds contemplation before shrugging. The teacher began blathering on, and she leaned back and began to tune the world out.

Then the door slammed open. Everyone paused, and thirty-odd heads swiveled around at once.

Sophia furrowed her brow. It was that Asian girl again. Looking rather worse for wear too. Her cheeks were wet, half-dried trails drawing down from her eyes where the tears had ruined her makeup.

The girl slowly shuffled towards her seat in a way that made Sophia's hackles rise.

She looked like she was marching toward her grave, her eyes hollow, her movements mechanical. The girl sat down and buried her face in her hands

Everyone collectively shrugged, played it off as another 'Winslow Moment', and went back to their business, even the teacher.

Everyone except her.

Something didn't feel right. She couldn't explain it, parse out the feeling, or even really describe it. It felt like danger, like emptiness.

Just something low in her gut that whispered to her that something was wrong.

She glanced up at the clock.

It read 11:29.

She glanced at the Asian girl from the corner of her eye. She was laying her head down sideways, eyes laser focussed on the second hand as it traveled down from noon.

Fear pooled low in her gut. Unexplainable. Irrational.

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

The girl's eyes began to wet with fresh tears.

Tic

TIc

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

A phone began vibrating, loud enough to drown out the clock. The Asian girl shuddered.

It rang and rang and rang and rang and rang on and on and on for what felt like eons.

Then it went blissfully silent.

All she could hear was the clock.

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

She launched to her feet, chair tumbling towards the ground, mouth half open, her words dying a quick death on her lips.

Everyone froze.

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

Emma and the teacher both raised a brow in askance.

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

"Miss Hess? Is something wrong?"

Tic

Tic

Tic

Tic

Her gut told her to run.

Tic

Tic

She listened to it.

It saved her life.

/

Is it just me, or does it feel like everyone kinda forgets that Sophia has a family, and at least a semi-stable one at that? Everyone seems to write her as this crazed psychopath who's like IRL braindead and incapable of understanding that actions have consequences, utterly consumed by rage, and utterly obsessed with Taylor to the point of absurdity.

Writing her as a Confused Sociopath feels more right to me. It feels to me like everyone forgets that she's still sixteen, and that for every one bad thing Sophia's done, Taylor's probably done it herself at some point ten times over. We just see it from her eyes, and can see how she justifies it in her head. I wonder how one would see Worm, if someone like Brian or Lisa was the protagonist instead, and we saw everything from their point of view instead of Taylors.

I wonder how many more or how many less people would be cheering for her then.

/

I'm terrible at parsing out color differences, so for the longest time, I legitimately couldn't tell if Adam's eyes were light blue or dark blue. It made me feel really stupid.

'Aquamarine' blue was my pick.

Spoiler

Last edited: May 15, 2023

210

MasterDuplicator

May 15, 2023

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Threadmarks Acrimony

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

May 27, 2023

#1,601

Spoiler: POV: You're the Bai the ABB guy next chapter/

"Oh shit!"

Adam lurched upward, arms swaying, a hand towards Blush-

Nothing.

His head swam, his thoughts muddled by his sudden awakening.

An enemy, a threat?

He turned towards Sabah, recognizing the voice to be hers, his aura crackling to life-

She was on her phone, starting at the time in dismay.

Adam flopped back down on the blanket, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers, temple throbbing at shrillness of her voice.

He couldn't tell if that shrillness was real or simply a product of a hangover, but the panic in her voice was as real as could be.

"What is it?"

Sabah groaned. She was slumped on her knees by his workstation, and he took a moment to take in his finished outfit.

When had he done that? He couldn't remember. His recollection of the night before was distant, hazy, almost dreamlike.

The sunlight that poured forth from the skylight only intensified his weariness. His aura flared, draining slightly with the effort, oddly sluggish, as he blanketed the warehouse in darkness.

Even that took effort. How on earth did long-term drinkers function?

Sabah didn't even blink as her pallor drained away. giving him a small look he couldn't make out with her face shrouded before gesturing to the muted pale light of her phone, iridescent in the wake of his semblance. "It's 11:40."

"And?" Time meant little to him as he was now. His scar itched, and he rubbed against it softly through his eyepatch. It warmed his hands through the fabric. His semblance always irritated it.

He didn't miss the irony inherent to his power. Every time he gathered forth his wrath to lash out against those who would do him harm, he felt the letters sear themselves into his skin again.

Burning himself for every life he took.

"It means I'm late for class, Adam. I've already missed an entire period."

Sober Adam would have cared.

Sober Adam wasn't here right now.

"What of it? It was your idea to go out drinking, after all."

She sighed. "Yeah."

A low moan of dismay. His sensitive hearing made it come off as a ragged groan. "I've never missed a class. Ever. My mom's gonna be so mad at me."

"Not your teachers?"

Sabah's head tilted. "We live in Brockton Bay, Adam."

A fair point. "What will you do then?"

"Call her. Later, anyway. I need to wake up first." She turned her head to the bright source of light in the room, the gleaming rose on the back of his jacket. "Can you turn that off Please? It's hurting my eyes."

"The sun will hurt worse."

Sabah rolled her eyes. He only could barely make out the green glow in them. "That thing may well be as bright as the fucking sun, Adam, I don't wanna look at it. I'll get us some coffee to help us sober up."

Adam bristled. Had she just said fuck? "Can I at least keep everything greyed out? I'm a lot more sensitive to light than you are."

Sabah acquiesced with a nod of her head, and the color rushed back, in smaller and smaller increments until their visual spectrum was only mildly desaturated.

Sabah took a moment to marvel at the shift in lighting. "How hard is it for you to do that?"

Adam hummed. "It's involuntary when in combat. Sometimes I'll intentionally warp everything to briefly disorient someone, but for the most part, it just coincides with the amount of energy I release. Doing this takes some effort though. It drains me, but only slightly. It's a small enough sacrifice for my comfort or for the drop on an opponent."

Sabah nodded, then gestured to her phone. The white light was just a tad too bright, as was the red in his hair. "How many colors can you affect? This is brighter than it should be."

He took a moment to think about that. "I'm not too sure, in all honestly. I guess it just depends on how bright that color is naturally. Sometimes it'll get caught up in my power with the red. There was a girl I remember, from a while back. She had the blondest hair I'd ever seen, and she was as striking as me in the murk of my power activating."

Yang Xiao Long. He would never forget her charge through Beacon's cafeteria. He'd been stunned at the ferocity of her scream, at the blinding rage and fear in her voice. She'd been a marvel, a living, fiery comet, golden light weaving through golden flames, her fist cocked back. The sheer frenzy in her attack in defense of a Faunus, of Blake of all people, had given him pause for a moment.

Only a moment.

He'd watched her tumble to the ground, eyes as bright as the blade in his hand, sunlight wafting through her golden locks, and almost thought her beautiful.

It was a true tragedy that Blake had gotten to her and snuffed out that spark, that energy. He'd managed to bring it back, in their final encounter. He'd felt something akin to pride, as twisted as it had been, when she'd rejected his offer of clemency in exchange for Blake's life. For she was no coward, not like Blake.

She was fully prepared to die a warrior's death in the defense of a comrade.

He had been fully prepared to give her that aforementioned warrior's death.

But it was not to be.

Perhaps for the better. It would have been a shame to see her life snuffed out. He'd looked into her, even before Beacon, when he'd only known her as Blake's human partner from the photograph The Witch had shown him.

She had the same rage, the same passion for justice and for dealing just dues.

Perhaps it was no coincidence that Blake had fallen for her.

For what was she but him, idealized?

His head tilted back.

What was she up to now, he wondered, unburdened by the White Fang?

Fighting her shadow war against Cinder's ivory-skinned master? Against the Grimm? Against his violent, scattered fanatics whom had no doubt taken up his name for a martyr?

How much time had passed, in Remnant?

It had been perhaps two months in his time here in Brockton Bay. His counting had been hazy, mired in uncertainties. It could be less, could be more. He didn't know.

Where were they now? For all he knew, it could have been years on Remnant already.

Mayhaps hours instead. For all he knew, Blake was still perched up on that bridge, lamenting his wasted life even now.

His hand came to rest upon his chest. He fingered the scar above his heart, and felt his pulse jump.

A blade through the heart, a knife through the kidney.

His back, splintered upon the rock.

The ocean, salt and copper flooding his lungs.

The remainders of the waterfall, pounding down on his head like a drum, plunging his broken body beneath the waves.

Death, the end.

Or so he thought.

For here he was, unbroken, his body back to its prime, his old uniform in hand, missing blade by his side.

Alive.

But for what, and more importantly, how?

He never enjoyed thinking about it. Had put it out of his mind, for entertaining the impossible had driven many a man mad.

What was he here for?

Was it fate, a whim, chance?

He pondered the world as it was, and wondered where else he could have woken up instead.

Dreamlike, a fantasy, yet all too real. Some nights, as he stared at the whole moon, he found himself pinching his skin till it bruised purple, just to confirm to himself he was in fact here, alive and well.

He entertained this line of thought only a moment longer and dreamed up other worlds, of what could have been.

Perhaps up in the stars, in a distant galaxy or future. Somewhere new, unlike anything he'd seen. Or a vast, vast desert, filled with savages with curved swords under the command of a white-haired tyrant, to fight for the common man.

A door lock clicked, and he about leapt free of his skin.

When had she even left?

Sabah gave him a funny look, two cups of coffee in each hand. She set them down by his workstation before talking. "You had a moment. I didn't want to interrupt, so I just went out and for our stuff. Drink it quick, because I'm heading out to the rest of my classes soon."

He obeyed, standing up and stretching, grimacing as he popped several joints, before making his way over and picking up the coffee in hand.

He was in as much worry as her, draining half the cup in one go even as the health scalded his tongue. His aura would repair the damage, and he needed to wake up.

He glanced towards his new clothes, admiring them. His emblem had been painstakingly stitched into the back, alongside its accompanying white floral backsplash. The banner and the zippers he had finished himself, but the additions to the collar of his jacket had been done entirely at Sabah's discretion.

A small, almost fond smile graced his lips. He approved.

The collar on this jacket was different than the original leather jacket he'd modified for Mantle's cold. Where it buttoned together, a red line arced upward tying together both sides of the jacket before blossoming outward to form a popped collar, quite unlike the enclosed one he wore previous. On the right side of it lay his white floral crest, this time unaccompanied by vines. On the left lay a different floral pattern, the same dark black on his back and shoulders. The vines and thorns looked more sinister. but were smaller in number. It also exposed a lot more of his chest. Three pairs of belts he'd purchased lay atop the clothes, alongside a new shirt. It was half red, half black, each color awarded its own corresponding side of the shirt, slanted down in an arc from left shoulder to right hip.

He turned towards Sabah in askance, and she raised her coffee in a salute. He snorted. He rather enjoyed her hungover.

He set his coffee down, taking off his plain red tee and putting the new one on. He slipped on his new jacket, buttoning it in place and flaring the collar. Next came the belts, all three brown leather. The first slanted over his left with a slot for Wilt & Blush, and the other carried a small pouch to store spare magazines for Blush that he did not have. He frowned at that thought. Being limited to ten shots per engagement could become a problem.

Something he would need to rectify later.

He banded the last belt above his left knee and straightened out.

It felt good, but lack of comforting weight on his left side made it feel hollow. He wouldn't yet be whole until his mask and his weapons were in his possession again.

Sabah gave him a small once over before hiking a thumb toward the door. He nodded, and stepped behind her shadow as she walked toward the door and made her way outside.

Adam deactivated his semblance as he breathed in the fresh spring air.

Sabah turned back towards him and smiled.

Adam smiled back,

Then, in the distance, a pop.

Adam stilled.

The sound was almost a mile off, Nearly inaudible even to him.

Sabah's smile wavered at the sudden tension in his shoulders. "What?"

"I don't..." Another pop, more akin to a gunshot in the distance. Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary, but something was holding him back, telling him to stay still and pay attention, to listen.

Sabah's head swiveled around, towards downtown, a question on her lips.

It was drowned out in a cacophony of white noise and ruling thunder as the cityscape erupted into flame.

There was a half-second long pause where Adam was struck dumb at the encoaching shockwave and rolling fireball before his instincts kicked into gear.

His hands found Sabah's waist, clenching tight enough he felt bone begin to buckle beneath his fingers. A scream was halfway out of her mouth as he raised her up off the ground, but all that came out was a muffled wheeze as he spun around and dropped her face first onto the concrete. Her chin split open, and she made to rise.

Adam dropped his entire bulk around her, rolling her to the side and pushing her legs up before covering her with his body, aura strained to its maximum.

There was loud metallic groan, a whistle in the area, as a wall of fire and encroaching dust rolled across his back.

He felt more than heard the skyscraper six blocks off topple to the ground.

It was the loudest thing he'd ever heard.

It felt like the entire world had heaved and exploded all around him, his fingers digging furrows into the concrete as he fought to stay still.

Another shockwave, and a wall of dust and dirt and debris followed suit.

He felt hundreds of pieces of concrete bounce off his back and held his breath in as the dust threatened to choke him into lifelessness.

Sabah screamed the whole time, though he could not hear it.

Adam felt something hot and sticky trickle out of his ears, the world out of sync and off balance. He teetered atop Sabah, his balance destroyed, and he fought the sudden exhaustion in his limbs so as not to simply go limp and crush her.

A high-pitched whine drowned out everything else. Adam felt as though he was underwater, all sound distorted, muffled, and twisted into something foreign and unrecognizable.

Ten seconds passed. Then thirty. Then a minute. Then two, before the dust cloud receded and Adam trusted himself to take in a deep breath.

He panted, his aura working to slowly bring his eardrums back online. Another thirty seconds passed.

There was a moment of pure silence, a void of all sensation or noise, before the screams of three-hundred and fifty thousand people echoed all around him.

Adam turned his head to see billowing smoke clouds rolling out from every district in the city. Block upon block upon block, there wasn't a single neighborhood for miles unscathed.

Adam stood up sharply, hands ensnaring Sabah, and he pulled her into a protective embrace, her head buried in her chest.

She was wailing, tears streaming down her cheeks, intermingling with the blood that ran down from a cut above her brow and the bottom of her chin. She was sobbing, insensate, her eyes wild with fear and panic.

Her whole body shook violently, her arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing tight enough to hurt.

She was barely cognizant. He bet she couldn't even hear herself scream, not with all the blood running down from her ears. Every second was another explosion, and Adam pulled her tighter towards himself and prayed that their warehouse would not be next.

Another minute passed, the sounds of the world cut out by explosion after explosion.

Then silence.

Nothing,

It almost felt anticlimactic, the way it all seemed to stop at once.

There was fire, death chaos, misery, an all-encompassing terror that had frozen his blood in his veins and chilled his bones with frost.

Then a sudden, eerie stillness.

Even the screaming had stopped, the city collectively holding its breath.

Yet, nothing.

Then the white noise resumed, screaming and air raid sirens and crumbling buildings drowning out Sabah's muttered prayer.

He could not understand her words, the language foreign, but he just knew it was one nonetheless, for how reverently and dismally she spoke.

She was shaking, eyes squeezed shut, the words repeated ad nauseam.

"اللّهُـمَّ إِنا نَجْـعَلُكَ في نُحـورِهِـم، وَنَعـوذُ بِكَ مِنْ شُرورِهـمْ." She spoke.

"رَبِّ اغْفِرْ لِي وَلِأَخِي وَأَدْخِلْنَا فِي رَحْمَتِكَ ۖ وَأَنتَ أَرْحَمُ الرَّاحِمِينَ" She said.

Repeated over and over, a mantra, a lifeline.

Adam held her close and listed, his head atop hers, as her shaking died down.

Another minute and Sabah finally relaxed, for lack of a better word.

She made to step away, but Adam pulled her close again, cradling her. He was taught as a live wire, body tense.

They weren't safe here.

His hand drifted downward.

He swore. A lead weight made his stomach drop. Unarmed. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten.

His mind raced.

A plan formed. Hasty.

More of a set of steps.

Take Sabah, get home, get Wilt, then hunt.

For he already knew who was responsible.

Sabah looked up at him, grimacing. Her hands came up towards her ears, and came away soaked in blood that dripped down along her fingers. She was pale enough that Alabaster would have been envious.

Adam swatted her hands down before gesturing in the direction of his apartment.

Sabah shook her head, voice choked."My family-"

Adam placed a hand against her mouth, knowing she would not be able to hear his words. He mouthed them instead, slow and deliberate.

Your safety is the first priority. I'll take you home, patch you up. Then I'm going after the ABB.

He didn't give her time to reply before he was already taking flight towards a nreaby rooftop, leaping from building to building.

Sabah was silent the whole time.

(X)

His eyepatch drifted off into the wind as he placed his mask upon his face.

He gave Wilt a comforting squeeze, before inclining his head.

Sabah was sat upon a stool, the one with the missing leg. One hand ran across her chin, counting the clumsy stitches that ran across it.

It was far from his best work. He was a mediocre medic at best, unused to stitching things that had to breathe and writhe and wince whenever his thread ran through their flesh. The cut was almost bone-deep. It would scar, and with his less-than-stellar stitch work, quite badly at that. He was more concerned with her ears, however.

He'd already gone through five pairs before the bleeding had tapered off. She still could not hear, and it was obvious she was in agony. Without surgical intervention, she would have permanent tinitus as a best case scenario.

Adam had a feeling that wasn't what she was going to get. He knew that she was feeling the same way, judging by the color (Or lack thereof) of her skin.

And yet, aside from her labored breathing and the shaking in her hands, she was remarkably calm.

He was not.

Rage, pure, unfettered rage.

It consumed him, Gave him focus, a sudden sense of purpose, a clarity he had not felt since he had discarded his mask and gone after Blake.

It was so clear now. He had dithered. Wasted time. Wasted mercy. Had tried playing by their rules, at least a little. Had tried playing at something he wasn't.

Wasted effort. For people who did not deserve it. Did not need it.

No.

It ended, now, here, before it could truly begin.

No more rules, no regulations, nothing to hold him back.

Bakuda would die. Oni Lee would die. Lung would die, if he was a part of this.

Along with anyone else who got in his way.

He turned towards Sabah. His eyes honed in on the dried blood that had crusted up alongside her chin.

No more.

He looked back, outwards, towards the city that was now his. At the buckled, shattered Remains of the PRT's headquarters.

Towards the docks, where a certain ABB gangster resided.

Someone else might have said something witty as Adam plummeted off his balcony. Something profound or pertinent. They might have said something cliche or tart or made a promise to themselves or someone else.

Adam was silent.

Silent, up until he made his way down towards to docks, towards a defaced apartment building by the ocean.

Only when he had kicked in the front door and shrouded the city in a crimson eclipse did he verbalize his wrath.

/

Yes, I, for like ten seconds, thought about plunging Adam into Daenerys's service in Game of Thrones. They would have found him out in the desert as a mad hermit after Khal Drogo bit it, and would spend a few days resting in his cave-of-the-week. Adam would be quite insane by this point, but have a legendary reputation as a shadow warrior who goes around leveling cities and freeing slaves wherever he went.

After a long, tense few days, they convince him to go with them, with Dany dressing up her attempt at regaining her birthright as a revolution of sorts, to free Westeros's serfs from their tyrannical lords and ladies to serve as a benevolent dictator. Adam would hesitantly agree, with the promise of great power in her service and his own lands to govern as he sees fit. He is given his own house, with his rose sigil as his banner. He ends up her seamstress and advisor, and they have many, many conversations between the two of them about right and wrong and the greater good, and about whether or not ends can justify means.

The other one, a Mass Effect idea I almost started writing. Adam joins The Normandy Crew in ME2 after being freed by Shepard from the Batarians, as he'd basically been going on a one-man Genocide from colony to colony with some escaped slaves for about half a year before being caught.

Most of the story would be about Adam's interactions with the galaxy at large and his 'therapy' conversations with Femshep. He feels uncomfortable around her due to her uncanny resemblance to his dead mom. Her motherly demeanor freaks him out, and they clash quite a bit whenever she tries her usual style of talking with him. It would be a sorta inversion of the usual ME story where the new character and Femshep get along famously. Adam is very uncomfortable opening up to a human in any great detail, and Shepard really has to pull teeth to even get his last name out of him. The big climax of the story would have been Adam finally showing her his face before the suicide mission. Shepard would leverage his mommy/authority issues in her renegade moments to manipulate Adam, but would try and get him on the straight and narrow for the most part. It would be a tense push-pull, back-and-forth story that would be almost 100% character driven.

And yes, before you ask, Adam did develop a pseudo-crush on Yang. You'll see how and why when we get to the backstory part.

Last edited: May 27, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

May 27, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jun 1, 2023

#1,676

A while back in this thread, i remember me and a few others floating the idea of a theme for Adam. I thought about holding a competition. The winner gets...something?

I just remembered it today. I was all set to leave it all up to you.

Then Spotify gave me two songs that were literally perfect. They sure as hell weren't in the style I had envisioned, but the lyrics are almost perfect. They describe his character in the fic and his current arc(Which is more of a up and down line rather than real curve at this point perfectly.)

Adam's Journey

And His Struggle

I would still love to see your guy's ideas though. So far, Architect Ironturtle's rec has been my favorite.

Say hello to the old Adam. Here's here for a while. Maybe to stay.

/

The world burned, a chill falling upon the air as his Semblance devoured the Earth's very warmth for fuel. Red upon Red upon Black, the darkest of eclipses overshadowing the sun, the city buried underneath a crimson veil, its inhabitants only recognized by their silhouettes.

Adam stood at its epicenter.

His leg came up, and it crashed into the tagged and defaced apartment's rusted door.

It ceased to be the second his foot made contact, energy racing outwards from the pattern his sole burned into the steel. It parted away into flowers before the hinges had even fully snapped beneath the impact.

Those too, wilted away before the sound of its destruction could even ring out, as Adam was already halfway inside the foyer, Wilt half drawn, a scream tearing free of his throat.

"Dai! Get down here!"

A silhouette to his left stole his attention for a nanosecond, An ABB gangster. Armed, stumbling on his feet, a hand on the gun at his waistband, blinded by the sudden change in lighting.

Adam raised Wilt high above his head and cleaved the man in two with a roar.

Wilt's glow ensured it was unbothered by the bone that lay beneath the man's flesh as it carved clean through the man's body in an arc from shoulder to hip. By the time blade had exited his body, the man in his entirety had already rotted away, nary even a droplet of blood to leave behind, all boiled away and transmuted into the whirling, blackened rose petals that floated through the air unnaturally.

Adam heard a crash above his head, above the staircase in front of him, a feminine cry, and he was already up the stairs before his brain had fully comprehended the sound. There was a door in front of him, and distorted voices spoke up in a language he could not understand, their voices strained,

Adam walked through the door and yelled his ABB contacts name again.

Eight silhouettes turned in unison, swaying blindly in a circle in the middle of the apartment's living room. None had any distinguishing features in the darkness aside from a woman's dyed pink hair and a man's neon green shirt, all blindingly bright in his Semblances wake.

One silhouette reached downward,

Blush barked, and it fell back, dead before it hit the floor. He waved the gun around the room until one man stepped forward, a small line of glowing white powder below his nose, horrified panic turning his surprised yell into a squeal of delirious, drugged-out panic.

"Whatthefuckwhatdoyou-"

Adam was in front of him, a hand around his throat. He threw the man forward and he crashed into a table. Wood splinters rained down upon the ground as it split apart. Dai made to rise, and Adam kicked him in the ribs hard enough to lift him three feet in the air, which gave him enough airtime for Adam to grab him by the throat again.

All around him, the inhabitants screamed, in shrill dulcet tones that made his head pound and his blood boil.

Adam slammed Dai into the nearest wall hard enough for the room to shake, and he leaned close up until their noses were touching, Adam's breath coming out in harsh pants that blew across the man's face as he ground out his words. "Bakuda! Where is she? Why did she do this?"

The waste, the sheer waste, the senselessness. The murder of dozens, of hundreds, millions in property damage, an incalculable amount of livelihoods destroyed, how, and for what?

He remembered Haven, his thumb on a trigger, hundreds stood around to watch with their breaths bated. Blake's horrified eyes, the mania in his voice, his men's wide-eyed stares as he pushed the button down, damning them all.

So much death, for no justifiable end. For pride, pure and simple, damn the consequences.

Dai lolled in his grip, babbling and praying incoherently in white-knuckled terror, words slurring and mingling together in a mish-mash of different languages and accents.

The screaming reached a fever pitch. Adam lifted Blush up and shot the green-shirted man in the head if only the lessen the noise.

The man's head exploded in a shower of red and pink gore, and Adam watched as the remnants of the man's skull impacted the wall and stuck to it, blood and brain matter painting the wall in a pattern not dissimilar to the neon lighting that had weaved and coiled all throughout the mall's arcade.

He was too angry to think, to speak properly or to try coaxing Dai into speech, so he didn't bother trying. He flung the man to the ground with another roar and whipped Wilt free, lighting snapping outward, yipping and snarling and coiling across Wilt's length. Adam flung a wave of energy back outwards toward the table he had broke, and the wave of light that flowed forth plowed clean through the wall and raced out towards the sky before imploding in a violent burst that showed the ocean in sparks and petals.

The subsequent rush of adrenaline had his heart racing. Adam could hear his blood rushing through his ears. He turned towards the group of terrified men and women, many of which were turning to flee, and he snarled out a warning. Terror froze their feet. Black and red-rimmed lighting sparked off his blade and burned holes into the ceiling and floor, and he waved it in a warning. "SHUT UP!"

They did, out of shock and fright more than anything else. The woman at the center of the group was hyperventilating, doe-eyed and panicked.

His next words were delivered with a familiar, practiced calm.

"Line up against the wall."

The woman finally spoke coherently, in broken English and mispronounced vowels. slurred and twisted by grief and tears. "Please God, please don't-"

Adam growled, a warning shot from Blush drilling a hole in the floor beneath her feet. "Now!"

They all froze, then, one by one, slowly shuffled forward. He waved them toward the destroyed wall, and the shifting wind from the open air had them fighting to keep their balance in the darkness.

He turned back towards Dai, and planted Wilt into the floor.

Dai was too numb with horror to speak. Adam removed Blush's magazine, and he kneeled down into Dai's face and spoke for him, a cold fury poisoning his words with malice.

"Ten rounds, plus the one in the chamber. That leaves eight left over. Plenty enough for you and the rest of your friends. I'll even have two left over to plant in Bakuda when I find her." Adam waved in his hostage's direction casually, then loaded the magazine back into Blush. He stepped over Dai's limp body until he was crouched over his side, to lean down and whisper into his ear. "Every word I hear from your mouth that isn't a direct answer to my question, I kill someone here. I'll go one by one in a line, starting from the left, until I get the answer I want, or you're all dead. Do you understand?"

He didn't wait for a 'yes'. He simply stood up and pointed Blush at the first in line's head and squeezed the trigger halfway down. "Where is Bakuda? Why has she done this?"

Dai glanced upward, eyes pleading, They were bloodshot and rimmed with tears. "I-iiiii- I don't k-"

A gunshot, the smoke wafting from Blush's barrel invisible in the suffocating darkness.

The man at the head of the line gasped, clutching his chest with both hands, blood pooling beneath his fingers. He stumbled backward, blindly, and he tumbled out of the hole where the wall had been and fell into the ocean with a splash that felt louder than the gunshots that had preceded it.

A chorus of screams, suddenly cut short by the rifle swaying across the room until it leveled off on its target.

He turned towards Dai, finger on the trigger once more. "His death was on you. You could have stopped this, all of this, before it had even begun, if only you had answered me the first time."

Dai shooki. "No, no, no, no-"

"Yes. But you can still save them, if you give me the answer I want. I'll ask again you again."

He leaned down again, until his head obscured Dai's vision, and all Dai could see was the glowing lines that ran along his mask. "Where. Is. Bakuda. Why has she done this?"

Dai swallowed, a facsimile of compose on his obscured face, his breathing nearly level as his mind raced. Adam gave him a few seconds to think, and he spoke up. "Please, man, I'm telling you, hand to on my heart, on my mother's fucking corpse, I don't know. Please, I was straight with you when the Empire hit, I-"

Blush jumped in his hands. Dai's next words were inaudible as the gunshot rang out and bounced all along the walls. A headless body slumped down and fell halfway out of the building.

Adam stomped down on Dai's arm before he could say anything else. Bone crunched, and his radius snapped in half and broke free of his skin. Dai screamed, and Adam lifted Wilt to the man's throat. Adam hushed him quietly as he pressed the tip in hard enough to break the skin. Dai whimpered, biting his lip hard enough to bleed to muffle his screaming.

Then Adam moved Wilt's tip from his throat to the exposed bone. He nestled it up against the break, and Dai shuddered when it slipped past his skin.

When Adam clipped Blush back onto his belt and angled his body to the side, both hands on Wilt's hilt as he made to twist it to one side like a lever, Dai cracked.

"I DON'T KNOW I DON'T KNOW I'M NOT LYING PLEASE GOD PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING PLEASE FUCK FUCK FUCK, I DON'T KNOOOOOWWW!"

Adam twisted the blade slightly, raising his voice to match Dai's. "WHAT DO YOU KNOW?"

Dai sobbed. "Fucking nothing! None of us do! I haven't seen her once since Lung got booked! Not fucking once! Please, please believe me! She only communicates via phone call! She moves from building to building, house to house, workshop to workshop, every goddamn day! All over the city. None of us know anything, we didn't want any fucking part of this! I'm a fucking drug dealer, for chrissakes! The only reason I'm even still in this godforsaken city is 'cause that cunt put a bomb in my neck!"

Adam froze. The rage inside him curdled like milk. the effects of his Semblance wavered a moment before fading away entirely. "A bomb?"

Dai shook, heaving in air as his body shook with suppressed sobs. "S-s-s-She called me, a few days before Lung was arrested. Said she wanted to talk shop. I figured it was because I used to be tight with the Oni. I knew him back when we were with the Triads. I'm one of the only people he still remembers, so I figure she wants to hear it from me how to deal with him. H-he gets funky sometimes. Get's lost in his head, and you gotta remind him where he is and what he was supposed to do. I figure I'm supposed to show up, tell her a few stories so she knows how to ground him, but..."

Adam lifted Wilt out of his arm. Dai sucked in a breath, and Adam whipped the blood off the blade and sheathed it. Bile rose up in his throat. Regret and remorse threatened to cloud his judgment. He sucked in a breath to center himself and brought his wrath back to the forefront. "But what?"

"But I don't fuckin know. I remember walking through a doorway, a bright light, then just nothing. The next thing I know, I'm lying on a gurney, there's a loop of gauze wrapped around my neck, and the back of my neck is itching like hell. She was standing over me wiping down a pair of bloody tweezers on her jacket. Told me there was a bomb in the back of my neck. That trying to dig it out would make it go off. That she could detonate it any time, and that I was lucky to be alive."

Dai's eyes were glassy. He spat his next words. "She said I was her bitch, now and forever."

Adam leaned back, eyes wide beneath his mask. He hauled Dai up by the shoulder and turned him around. Dai didn't resist, his body limp.

There was a poorly healed incision on the back of his neck. Crudely cut, sewed shut even cruder. It was half open even now, leaking a yellow liquid, pus all over. Infected. The stitches inside were rotted and hooked into scabs, half ripped free from incessant scratching.

Adam turned towards the survivors by the wall.

Slaves. Suicide bombers as slaves.

"I was part of her first batch. The people she had to cut into and experiment on. She conscripted everyone else using us, a group of maybe fifteen to twenty guys. She had us go out and bring people to her. Made us watch. Later, she made us hold them down as she..."

His sentence faded off into a choked-down sob. "She got the method down by batch four. She started shoving them up people's noses. Can't get them out no matter how hard you try. But if you annoyed her, she'd put up 'em your ass, down your throat, up your dickhole..."

Dai grabbed him by the shoulder with his good arm. His eyes were wide and unseeing. High, and delirious with bloodloss. "She made me hold this girl down, made me watch as she put it up her..."

Dai trailed off. he shook his head violently, as if to make the memory disappear.

It lingered on in both of their minds.

Adam shook his arm off, body numb.

He walked back towards the wall almost in a daze, past the cringing survivors to the body that was halfway to the outside.

Adam stared at it. Watched the blood trickle down out of the stump of his neck and the remains of his jaw as it pooled across the ocean's surface.

He'd killed slaves.

Murdered them.

The woman muttered something he could not understand,

Dai responded in the same sing-song language. Chinese, maybe.

Adam nudged the body with his toe, and it slid out of the building and hit the ocean's surface. There was a splash, violent enough to spray Adam in the face and make him flinch backward.

Adam watched it sink beneath the waves.

He looked down towards his shaking hands and clenched them tight.

"I can't get to Bakuda?"

Dai shuffled forward, hissing in pain, agony lacing his voice. "Not without combing the whole fucking city. Every house, every bar, every train car, every abandoned warehouse and dockyard, top to bottom. You'd never be able to find her without her knowing you were sniffing about. She's crazy enough and paranoid enough that she's probably booby-trapped most of her old hide-outs with god only knows what too. And all that ain't even the clincher."

"No?"

"She's got a deadman's switch. It's the only reason I didn't take her out on day one. And if she's got enough ordinance to do this much damage now..."

He couldn't even begin to contemplate the damage everything she had made going off all at once would cause.

Adam narrowed his eyes. "How do you know she isn't lying?"

"Why would she lie?"

"Because It's the kind of lie you can't put to the test. A bluff you can't call, because if you do, and she wasn't bluffing after all..."

"Boom."

"Exactly."

Dai paused a moment before shrugging. The movement made him cringe in pain. "I dunno. I just know she's crazy enough to probably give it a shot."

Adam swallowed. Watched the ocean's gentle waves roll across the nearby dock's supports.

He licked his lips and tasted salt. Felt a phantom pain throb in his chest.

Five people dead. Five slaves dead. At his hand.

The anger came rushing back. It had never truly left. Adam didn't think it ever would.

He swallowed again. Placed a hand on Wilt's hilt.

He heard everyone in the room collectively inhale.

He gave Wilt a comforting squeeze. Inhaled deeply.

Then he did what he did best. He buried the rage deep, deep inside, and honed it. Turned it into focus.

All he could do now was redirect it.

He turned towards the woman. "Go out and bring me gauze, a needle, and thread."

He turned towards the male survivors and gestured towards the doorway. "You lot go with her."

They stood still. Terrified and confused, even now.

Adam stomped his foot. "Now!"

They jumped, as one, then as one, they ran out the door.

Dai gave him a questioning look.

Adam gestured to his mangled arm. "I'll need to improvise a cast as well."

Dai shook. In pain, in surprise, in shock, in fear, in gratitude.

"I'll be fixing your arm and getting that bomb out of your neck. Then I'll do them, if they come back. Do you have any painkillers?"

Dai nodded dumbly. Gestured towards another room, a kitchen.

Adam stepped inside, and blinked in surprise.

A mountain of white powder lay atop the kitchen counter.

He sighed. "That'll have to do."

Last edited: Jun 3, 2023

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Jun 1, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jun 3, 2023

#1,707

One interesting thing I don't often see acknowledged was how passively suicidal canon Adam was. Dedicating yourself to an Impossible cause or terror organization like the White Fang speaks to a certain kind of mindset to be sure, and I've seen quite a few people argue that Adam's final attack on Blake and Yang, after stalking them for so long and abandoning his mask, the mask being a literal symbol of why he fights and continues to live on, was him trying to go out in a sort of 'suicide by cop' routine, consciously or unconsciously(I lean toward unconsciously).

But at Haven, when his back was on the wall, when everything he had spent half of his life building was crashing down around him right before his eyes, he pushed the button to detonate Haven's explosives. He had zero idea Ilia had betrayed him. He was 100% willing to die and kill everyone around him, Blake, Yang, Hazel, Cinder, his troops, all of Atlas's ships, even himself, if it meant getting one over on his enemies, on his terms.

Just something that was in my head when I was editing this chapter.

/

"Hold still. This is delicate work, and the more you move, the longer this will take."

Dai inhaled deeply and held down his damaged limb with his free hand. It, alongside his wounded arm, was laden with tremors. "Mẹ kiếp nó đau."

Adam hummed in amusement. "What language was that?"

Dai turned his head and stared longingly at the other side of the countertop. "Vietnamese."

Adam followed his gaze, then scowled. He jabbed the next bit of thread in with more force than necessary, and Dai swore again in another mystical tongue and turned back towards him. "I'm not letting you have anymore. That's half the reason this has taken so long."

Fifteen minutes of impatient waiting and agonized fumbling as they had both waited for the group to return. Adam had managed to bridge the bone back together, but there wouldn't be anything to keep it in place for a good long while yet. Once Dai's compatriots had come back with the supplies he'd requested and had dumped Green shirt into the bay, he'd told them to wait in the living room for their turns.

As it was now, another forty-five minutes had gone by, and Adam was only halfway down Dai's arm after putting in twenty stitches.

"Distract me then, cause this hurts like a motherfucker. There's a reason doctors put you to sleep for this shit, you know."

"I'm not a doctor. But fair enough."

Adam paused his work and inclined his head to look the smaller man in the face, to properly take him in. His hair was as black as his old jacket, cut short with a pair of bangs that had a few staggered gray hairs strewn about from stress. His face was laden with small scratches and scabs, symptoms of a severe drug habit, and there was a long, jagged scar below his eye that ran across the bridge of his crooked nose. It had been broken several times over and left to heal on its own, judging by how warped it was. His eyes were a brilliant Jade, but the color was washed and muted, with the whites of his eyes flooded with burst blood vessels. He looked three or four times his actual age, though Adam suspected the man was only a few years older than himself.

Instead of commenting on all that, Adam chose a more tactful avenue of conversation. "How many languages do you know?"

"Seven." Dai flicked his eyes to the side, counting under his breath. "Yeah, seven. Tiếng Việt, Nihongo, Putonghua, Yue, Tagalog, Xiang, Bahasa Melayu."

"And those are?"

"Vietnamese, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Hunanese, and Malay. Tagalog is just one of many languages from the Philippines." Dai huffed under his breath. "Fuckin hate that place. Still can't understand half the Philipinos in my crew because they speak so many goddamn languages down there."

Adam's impressed whistle was shockingly genuine. "Seven languages?"

"It ain't as cool as you think. I was born in China, so I learned those dialects growing up. That's Mandarin, Cantonese, and Hunanese. I learned Japanese growing up from all the Kyushu survivors who flooded Bejing after Japan got sacked. I'm sorta-kinda fluent in Vietnamese, but I sound like a jackass with my accent while talking in it, or so I've at least been told, and the rest of my knowledge in Malay and Tagalog outside of swear words is just how to say 'Shoot that guy' and 'How much you want?'. I was working on Korean before..." Dai gestured toward the back of his neck.

Adam snorted. "You seem much too intelligent to be a drug dealer."

"I ain't."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"I don't believe that."

Dai rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for not trustin the word 'a some psycho spree killer."

"That is an interesting characterization. You sounded as though you admired me a few days back."

Dai gave him a hard look. "Yeah? That was before you kicked in my door in the middle of a party and shot four of my guys in the fucking face. You fuckin lunatic."

Adam stilled, fists clenched, and Dai hissed in pain as Adam pulled the thread taught. He counted to ten in his head before replying, voice clipped. "I'm sorry for that. I wasn't thinking straight. A friend of mine was hurt in the bombings. I didn't take it very well."

Dai started at him. Adam couldn't read his expression, his eyes hollow, his sudden smile empty. "You've got friends?"

"Yes." Adam hated the slight waver in his voice. He'd been alone in the White Fang but for Blake, and later Ilia for the short time their friendship had lasted, Sienna hundreds of miles away, and Adam surrounded by faceless strangers. "Two." Sabah was a friend, and Sophia looked up to him. Surely that counted.

Dai shook his head. That smile twitched, up, down, cracked, then disappeared. "We'll see."

Adam narrowed his eyes, a note of warning in his voice. "What do you mean by that?"

Dai shrugged with one arm, suddenly morose. "Bakuda."

"She'll get what's coming to her."

Dai shook his head. "I ain't worried about that, She signed her death warrant the moment that skyscraper came down. It's what's gonna happen in the meantime." Dai glanced backward at the edge of the kitchen counter, where Adam had messily swept the pile of cocaine to the side for room. Adam watched his nostrils flex, as if in anticipation. "Bakuda's got her hands on a lotta people. A lotta explosives."

Adam shook his head, "I won't let anything happen to them."

"Really?"

"Whatever it would take."

"Whatever?"

Adam flickered red. "Whatever."

Dai's gaze flicked down toward his broken arm. His smile was an ugly, brittle thing. "Let's hope they appreciate that, then."

Adam turned his gaze back toward the living room. At the blood staining its walls.

He swallowed. The words on the tip of his tongue, wilted away. His mind wandered toward Sabah, towards the expression on her face when she'd grabbed his wrist at the bar.

"She'll just have to live with it."

Just like him.

Dai didn't reply. Didn't speak again, for the rest of the surgery.

Neither did Adam.

(X)

Dai prodded the ducktape sling wrapped around his arm. "How's it going to heal?"

Adam jolted slightly at the break in their shared silence. "Poorly. My stitchwork is good, but not as good as a trained surgeon's. That duct tape won't hold up for long, and even if by some miracle it does, it'll allow for too much movement of the damaged bone. It'll need a plate and screws to hold it together properly. Having a crooked nose is one thing, but if that arm heals like your nose, you'll never have full function again unless you have someone break it again and realign it properly, with yet another three-six months of recovery time. As soon as I have that bomb out of your neck, you should go find a real doctor. It shouldn't be too hard, considering the magnitude of what just occurred. By tomorrow, I'm betting that there'll be a few dozen streets and locations cordoned off to be turned into improvised triage and aid stations."

"Speaking off, how the fuck are you gonna get that thing out? Bakuda said that if anyone tries lifting it outta there, they've got three good seconds to regret it before 'bang'."

"My power." The word Semblance was on the tip of its tongue, and he had to bite it down before continuing. He hated simplifying it so. Moonslice had a name. "I can take care of it in less than one. As soon as my fingers touch it, it'll be gone to nothing."

Dai went very, very still.

"Relax, I'll cut you open first. Make sure I can see it clearly, and try and do as little internal damage as possible. But it's gonna be messy either way."

Dai nodded his head. Adam could see sweat bead down his brow. Dai reached down into his pocket and lifted free a small switchblade. Adam reached forward and took it, bringing it up to his face. The blade shot upward with a click when he depressed the button on its side, and Adam made a disgusted noise when he gleamed at the dried blood, rust, and powder flecks that spanned its length.

Adam lifted the glove on his right hand free and put it inside his pocket, activating his semblance and running a finger across the blade, his touch featherlight, until the blade was clean and sterilized, if slightly more rusted. He could use his power on any weapon of his choosing, but his Semblance wreaked havoc on most objects, and after a few seconds of use, most were rendered unusable or outright fell apart. The only reason Wilt worked so well was that he had designed it around his Semblance, and there had been many days of trial and error as he'd worked through prototype after prototype to find the perfect dust-steel ratio to maintain integrity and lethality. He'd experimented with Blush, but whenever he had tried, by the time he had activated his Semblance and pulled the trigger, only flowers poured forth from the barrel, and Adam had to redo Blush's rifling almost every time. Dust-ladden rounds were more compatible, but still volatile, and keeping his concentration on the bullet so as to maintain his Semblance's effects was often too difficult to do when in a real fight.

He hummed under his breath as he examined the subtle red glow the switchblade emanated as he wrapped his Aura around it. He'd yet to try with bullets made here.

Something to experiment with when he had enough time.

"Yo, we doing this or what?"

Adam flinched, then nodded his head. "Turn around and kneel down. I'll make this as quick as I can."

Dai nodded, and did as bayed. Adam stepped forward until he loomed just above him, and he bent down and pressed the tip of the switchblade to Dai's neck.

Dai shuddered as the cold steel carved a line down across his neck, two inches long. He outright gasped when Adam pressed the knife in slowly, so slowly, until it pressed against something too hard to be muscle but too soft to be bone.

Dai took in a slow, careful breath. Adam hear his pulse race, heard his lungs contract and expand as he fought the urge to move, to panic, to scream. "That's it." His voice was tight.

Adam lifted the switchblade up and placed it back on the kitchen counter, opening the wound wider with two fingers. The blood obscured his view for the most part, but he could make out a hint of black nestled against the final layer of skin before muscle and empty space were all that lay below.

It was tiny. Maybe the size of the tip of his pinky. he couldn't say for sure.

Adam-

A phone vibrated.

They both froze.

He could the light of Dai's phone shine through his jeans. Dai looked down, and they both stared, transfixed, frozen in horror, when the phone stopped ringing after its caller hung up, seemingly impatient.

Adam whispered a quiet apology.

Before Dai could say anything, he plunged a pair of glowing fingers into the wound.

Dai screamed, for seconds that felt like an eternity before Adam ripped his fingers out and smeared the decaying blood and plastic upon the kitchen counter.

When it finally wilted away, the linoleum was cracked and scorched.

Dai heaved forward, sobbing, and Adam saw tears drip down from his face and fall upon the floor.

Adam put his hands on his shoulders and lifted him up. A strange, wheezing laughter rang out, and Dai stepped forward, shrugging off his hands. He reached back with his good arm and prodded the wound and the missing skin alongside the back of his neck.

Adam offered the only comfort he could. "At least the infection is gone."

Dai nodded his head. He was still facing away from him, staring at nothing in particular.

There was a long, long period of silence before Dai spoke up. "I was supposed to be in a hospital."

Adam took a moment to linger on the horror inherent to that statement. "A hospital."

Dai nodded. Blood flew across the room with the motion. "She gave me the address beforehand. I don't know if she did that for very many people. I think she blew up most of us where we stood, no confirmation call needed. But I couldn't..."

Dai trailed off and shuddered. "I couldn't do that. Some of us had some sort of desperate hope, some of us were just scared, and some of us were just too drugged out to care. But I knew what she was going to do, and I wanted no part in it. None of us did."

"Us?"

"Everyone here. We were all chosen. We knew what that meant, and I knew my day was today. We brought in a mountain of cocaine and a boombox, and we were gonna have the time of our lives. I was gonna toss my phone out in the bay, so none of us would know when it was gonna happen. We'd bring down that mountain of coke so all of us would OD, blast some music, have an orgy, dance, do whatever, and just...enjoy it all. Enjoy it all, and pray to every God there is that all our hearts would stop before the bomb went off."

Dai shrugged. "Then you came by, before we could even really start, and suddenly death wasn't so far away, in the back of our minds. It was in our faces and screaming at us."

"I'm sorry."

Dai shrugged. "It doesn't matter. If anything, it's good you came, because we might actually get to live now. That's probably why the others bothered coming back in the first place."

Dai turned back towards the living room. "Speaking of.."

"We'll do them now."

Dai shouted something in Japanese, and the woman walked inside out from the living room on shaky legs.

She glanced towards the blood running down Dai's neck, then turned to him.

Adam jolted backward with an 'oomph' as the girl slammed into him and wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing tightly as she proffered thank you after thank you in broken English.

Adam shuddered beneath her grip.

How broken she was, how twisted by fear and by terror and her desperation to live, that she thanked the man whom had not two hours ago been ready to doom her.

Adam gently pushed her forwards and asked the dreaded question.

The woman went still and turned towards Dai. He nodded.

She took a step back. Then she lifted off her shirt.

She wore no bra.

Adam could see why plain as day.

His fists clenched.

Bakuda would pay.

(X)

By the time he had finished with everyone there and made his way home, Sabah was gone and the sky was dark.

The city wasn't.

Fires raged all around. Fluorescent red lights and wailing sirens rang out for miles and miles. He saw police cars and firetrucks from places and cities he'd never even heard of. Even a few from New York. Helicopters with PRT and National Guard markings fluttered about, APCs and armored cars grinding through the streets, traffic gridlocked for miles as the city was cordoned off.

Martial Law. At least a facsimile of it, headed by the PRT.

Ruins were being demolished and survivors were being excavated continuously. Adam had a feeling it would go on for months.

His neighborhood was yet to be trawled over.

Adam had a feeling that wasn't going to last.

His time limit, so nebulously far away before, was very real now. Concrete.

They would find him. There would be nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. It could be in a week, a month, it could be tomorrow.

He looked around his apartment.

His home. Something he had found and claimed all on his own, something that was his, in the same vein as the clothes on his back and the sword on his hip.

Adam sucked in a deep breath, his nerves alight. He needed to finish the mission. Finish off the Empire and ABB.

After that...

It wouldn't matter.

Adam finished a phone free from his pocket and dialed a number.

Adam spoke up the second it was answered, voice grim.

"I'm going to need the home addresses, names, and faces of the rest of the Empire-88."

There was a long, dogged moment of silence before Coil replied, voice carefully neutral. "And you think I have access to this information?"

"Don't insult my intelligence and I won't insult yours. You found Parian. You found her getaway. It stands to reason you could find someone like Fenja, Crusader, Night, or Purity."

"And why would I pass this information on to you?"

"The stakes have never been higher for you. Whatever your plans for this city are, I'm sure they didn't take into account all this. While you have your people look for Bakuda, I can take care of all your known quantities with nothing back onto you. By the time they and the ABB are dead, I won't be long after. The gangs will be gone, and I'll be dead, so you won't have to worry about finding a place for me after all the chaos I've caused. You can rule uncontested. We both get what we want."

Another long pause.

"There are some things you need to know first. Hookwolf has betrayed the Empire."

Adam jolted.

"Kaiser was shipping over some reinforcements from Europe. I was going to send agents in to intercept and eliminate them before they could become an issue. The bombings were a surprise to be sure, but my people put a stop to them, at least temporarily, so I decided to go ahead with the plan. But when my men got there, Hookwolf had apparently been lying in wait already. He fought them alongside Stormtiger and Cricket. As a group, they managed to kill three of his new capes before being forced away by the remnants."

That certainly wasn't something he'd expected. Maybe Hookwolf could prove useful. "Anything else?"

"I called a meeting to establish a truce and an alliance against the ABB between all independents and villains left alive in the city. It occurs in seven days' time, at a small Bar & Grill named Somers Rock. That is your timeframe. After that, I expect you at the meeting and to uphold the following truce until the ABB is dealt with."

"I can play nice. For a short time at least."

"Good."

Adam heard a shuffling noise before Coil spoke up again.

"Jessica Annabelle Bierman, age twenty-nine. Alias; Fenja. Nessa Lynn Bierman, age twenty-nine. Alias; Menja. They live downtown, in a luxury condo a few dozen floors up a skyscraper. You'll know the building when you see it. Olivia Anne Kissinger, aged 19. Alias; Othala. 4235 Hazelwood Drive. Wife of Samson David Kissinger, aged twenty-two. Alias; Victor.

On and on it went, and Adam committed each and every name to memory.

But one stuck out the most. Brought with it a sense of familiarity.

"Maximillian Richard Anders, age thirty-five, CEO of the philanthropic and pharmaceutical enterprise Medhall. Alias; Kaiser."

Last edited: Jun 3, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jun 11, 2023

#1,743

Happy 100k words. We're about done. I expect to hit maybe 140k or 150k, depending on how much fat I want to trim off the chapters that take place in Remnant. I could post them as their own story and it would be decently long. I might do that on some other site actually. Covering 23 years of life(More like 8 in extra great detail) was challenging to do in only four chapters. I know I've more than likely mentioned it already, but they are long. They kinda have to be, considering I'm covering six seasons' worth of content plus several extra years. I'm rewriting the timeline for the history of Remnant and the White Fang a decent bit, since the time frame we are given really stretches my suspension of disbelief(Adam's short takes place 5 years before canon but Ilia has the same model? Is the whole White Fang only staffed by pedos?)

Joking aside, as mentioned prior, I wanted to give the White Fang and the Faunus a history and try and give a legitimate grounding for their existence since the show really doesn't give you one.

And honestly, as much shit as I've given CRWBY about it, I perfectly understand why there wasn't any. RWBY was the literal trope example of Style Over Substance.

You didn't watch RWBY because you wanted to see a Tolkein-esque great adventure or a Martin-esque political thriller shitshow, you watch it to see the girl wearing fucking Daisy Duke's fist-fight other girls with a pair of 8 gauge shotguns strapped to her wrists. That, alongside the shoestring budget, meant they literally couldn't have done anything like that in a visual format even if they wanted to. They didn't have the time or money to make full-length episodes with deep character moments and overarching subplots, so they just...didn't try.

And that was a good thing. They knew their limits and stuck to them. The cracks only started showing during Volume 4 when they decided they wanted to have their cake and eat it too, and that quirky schoolgirl action comedy suddenly had a world-ending threat driving all 8 of the main characters forward.

When you have 8 fucking main characters, and that shoe-string budget only upgraded to a fanny-pack man-purpose budget, and you still aren't feature-length 30 minutes long per episode, you simply do not have time to develop your characters reasonably. Jaune and Ruby are the ostensible main characters, but Jaune was really the only character to truly change and grow over time, minus Ruby's questionable trip through Wonderland. You could get away with stuff like this if RWBY was a novella, where you could actually dive inside a character's head and have them expouse their thoughts and explain the history of the world, but as it is, they simply couldn't. Even doing it in Volume Nine was a serious struggle for them since they all but emptied their purse to make it.

So knowing all that, I can't be upset about it. But the potential for so much is there. You could head-canon an entire 6 book series about RWBY's world and story if you tried hard enough.

But they didn't have the time or money.

So why they spent half of Volume One on fucking Jaune I will never know.

I think he's the best character in the show, but I don't like that he only became that way at the expense of everyone else. I think everyone saying he's a self-insert is being a bit too much, but to me, he feels more like the lead of the show than the girl who bears its name.

/

She feels like she's flying, vertigo making her sick to her stomach. There's a ringing in her ears that hasn't faded since the explosions began. There's blood on her face and in her mouth and in her hair and all over her clothes. Her heart is pounding hard enough that it should hurt, but all she can feel is a muted, rhythmic pulsing that sounds as washed out as everything else.

She can barely hear the woman in front of her. Can't remember her name or muster enough focus to hear her words. She feels like she's drifting in and out of reality.

"-Situation is-"

Sophia feels like she's dying. She felt her head loll back slightly, canting her already blurry vision into an angle that renders the world unrecognizable.

The shadow in front of her pauses its noises for only a moment before continuing again.

Sophia feels like she's somewhere else. In her own world. Trapped inside her head.

She smells the smoke. Feels her nostrils twitch at the memory of her best friend's flesh melting and bubbling up before her eyes.

God the sound Emma had made. She had time for one, small garbled scream before the explosion's aftereffects had taken root and liquified her vocal cords.

The blood.

The fucking blood. It was all that was left of her. Of everyone. Of that stupid Asian bitch and Clements and mom and-

"Option-"

The baby. The baby. The fucking baby.

She presses a finger against her pulse, counts the beats, if only to remind herself that she's alive and not trapped inside some sort of Hell or Purgatory.

She isn't.

This is real. She can smell it and hear it and feel it and taste it in her mouth. The dread, The numbness. That split second of panic that's somehow lasted the whole night.

She hasn't slept. Hasn't washed her hair or brushed her teeth or spat the blood out from her mouth. She'd wandered the streets in a daze. Hadn't known where she was going until she was standing amidst the ruins of her house and kneeling next to the glass monument made in her mother's image.

It had taken maybe an hour for Clockblocker to talk her into getting up. She didn't know for sure. Hadn't checked the time, hadn't understood time had truly passed at all until the sun was suddenly in her eyes and there was a mop of red hair in her face and a pair of arms around her shoulder.

Dennis had led her along like a dog until a woman in a suit had taken her away into her car.

She remembered being offered food. Sophia couldn't remember if she'd eaten or not.

She remembered walking up a set of stairs, but she couldn't remember the building she was in.

"Wage-" Static. "Housin-".

Her hands are shaking. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and something wet and warm begins running down her chin.

When had she bitten her tongue?

"Miss Hess?"

Her vision swims.

Suddenly the world is clear. She is back inside of it.

She blinks.

Once. Twice, three times. Hears the chiming of a clock on a wall counting down.

"Miss Hess?"

She looks up at the woman. Her case worker. The letters on the nametag are too blurry to be read.

"Miss Hess, have you been listening?"

Sophia wonders if this is what grief feels like.

"Miss Hess-"

She stands abruptly, mouth parted.

Seconds pass as her jaw hangs open, all her words dead on the tip of her tongue.

She wants to scream. To cry. To swear and yell and howl and ask why the fuck this had to happen to her-

All that comes out is a choked sigh.

She feels trapped. Hears the clock tick and tick and tick.

Time marching on.

"Sophia-"

She jolts. Makes for the door. The woman steps up out of her chair, indignant. "Miss-"

"I need to go."

The woman blinks.

Sophia doesn't give her time to respond before she's out the door and down the stairs and out into the broken and bloodied streets.

(X)

A hand comes upon her shoulder.

Red hair, blue eyes.

For one hysterical moment, she thinks Taurus has found her.

But its eyes plural, and the face in front of her is boyish, smattered in freckles.

She shifts uncomfortably under his grip.

He doesn't say anything.

His arm lifts free of her shoulder, and suddenly reflex has her hand darting out and finding his wrist. She grabs it and drags him back down to her level.

He's still silent. Sophia thinks he understands.

He sits down next to her, the both of them leaning against the walls of The Rig.

She closes her eyes and listens to the ocean waves lap at the structures supports, and for a moment, she can pretend he's someone else.

She listens to the seagull's cries and the soft breathing off to her left, and she sidles up closer to him.

It's almost peaceful.

So of course he has to fucking ruin it by talking.

"It's been a half hour."

She doesn't deign to respond.

She feels him sigh against her. "They wanted to start without you. I told them to wait, or I'd personally fuck each and every one of them up myself and cozy on up to the Undersiders for a new job."

She snorted reflexively. A little more life enters his voice at that. "They didn't appreciate that. But Vista and I made our feelings known."

"Vista?"

The rawness in her voice shocks even her. Clockblocker doesn't comment on it.

"We don't hate you, you know."

Something in her cracks.

She feels him pull her closer. "I've said some stupid stuff. Done a whole lot more. I know you don't like me. I know you don't have much reason to like me. If I'm being honest, I don't like you much either. But after what happened yesterday?"

He trails off. The small chuckle he lets out makes her shiver. "Feels kinda weird, being speechless for once. But I know there's nothing I can say to make this any better for you. I'm sure you don't want me spouting platitudes and writing 'get well soon' cards."

"Your right. I don't."

Another chuckle. "That's fair. But there's no way I'm letting you stay out here to deal with it alone."

"Why? It's not like we're friends."

He stills a moment. "True. But that doesn't mean I'm just gonna leave you here to suffer."

"I wouldn't do it for you."

The words do exactly what they were meant to do. Hurt.

But he doesn't pull away. He pulls her closer instead.

"I know."

(X)

The room is silent.

The meeting is inside Piggot's office. There aren't enough chairs for everyone to sit, so half the room is standing awkwardly in a semi-circle around her desk. Piggot is sat behind it, a half-empty bottle of Brandy, a small mountain of paperwork, and an empty glass within arms reach.

She looks like she's aged ten years in as many hours. Her face is covered in grease and sweat, and the stench of alcohol is pungent enough to nearly make her sick. Her hair is uncombed and trussed up in a messy bun, and she can barely fit her bulk inside her chair.

She took a moment to critically eye each and every one of them, with special attention given to her and the two new capes awkwardly shuffling by the entrance. The reinforcements she'd been begging for.

Piggot licked her lips, lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "The phone calls I've had to make."

The room is still.

"The Governor. The Chief Director. The National Guard. The Mayor. The Chief of Police."

No one says a word. Piggot's left hand reaches out towards the empty glass, only to freeze halfway. Then she changed course and grabbed the bottle of Brandy by the neck before taking a long swig.

"I'm sure you all understand the magnitude of this situation."

Nods across the room.

"Let me remind you anyway. We have almost three hundred confirmed dead and over six hundred injured. Considering we've only just managed to set up a cordon and establish a scant few camps for medical treatment and temporary housing, both of those numbers are going to skyrocket in the coming few days. The Massachusetts National Guard has been called in. The mayor and the chief of police have officially ceded power to the PRT for the time being. Brockton Bay is under de-facto martial law. Lung has escaped custody, our main office is a ruin, there is a mad bomber out forcefully conscripting people and turning them into fuel-air bombs, and there is a domestic terrorist capable of causing city-wide eclipses running wild. There are power outages all over the city and my department is under national scrutiny. The Butcher is reportedly on the move and scuttlebutt says Bastard Son can smell the blood in the water and is on his way south."

Piggot paused a moment to take them in again. An odd expression flickered across her face.

"I've been given an ultimatum."

She leaned forward despite herself, watching as Piggot took another swig. Seeing Piggot drink felt wrong. Didn't look real.

"In two weeks' time, I don't expect to have a job."

The whole room flinched. Armsmaster dared to cut in, eyes wide beneath his helmet. "Ma'am-"

"I have two weeks to clean up this mess. Obviously, that isn't going to be possible. With Taurus butchering by the dozen, A two-time Birdcage escapee slaughtering an entire gang, and a tinker tech bomber leveling half my city, the PRT no longer feels as though I can perform my duties effectively."

"But-"

"I know. I know."

Armsmaster swallowed his next words, and Battery cut in. "Who would succeed you?"

Piggot sighed. "Deputy Director Renick is going to be moved out to another city. They want to clean house. Several candidates have been floated so far, but my bet is on James Tagg."

The whole room flinched. Piggot chuckled darkly. "As for Deputy Director, my bet is on our local consultant, Thomas Calvert. That smug motherfucker has been eyeing my chair for years, and when Tagg comes, I have no doubt he'll be begging for a new job. Once the situation is contained, I imagine there's going to be a significant reorganization in our roster to boot."

She saw Armsmaster bristle. "Not if we can clean this up by then, Ma'am."

Piggot put a hand to her chin and leaned back with a sigh. "Do you all think you're up for it?"

A chorus of nods ran across the room. Noticeably still were the out-of-towners. Gauss and Braizer, she thought.

"Right now the ABB is our number one priority. Not the Empire. Not Hookwolf. Not even Taurus. Bakuda and Lung together and of one mind is something that takes precedence above all else. If I know Kaiser and Faultline well, they will be thinking the same."

Assault tilted his head. "Does that mean-"

"That we're going to be operating under truce? It's possible. I'm not saying to leave them be, but if they were willing to cooperate to get this situation under control, I won't say no. Chaos benefits no one."

"What about Taurus and Hookwolf?"

Piggot turned towards her, and Sophia instinctively shied away from her inquisitive glance. "Hookwolf can be reasoned with, for the most part, but without Kaiser holding his reins, I wouldn't trust him. As for Taurus..."

She trailed off, and Armsmaster answered for her. "He's a wildcard. We don't know what he wants, why he's doing the things he's been doing, his identity, if he even has one, or any real concrete details about his powers. All we have is speculation. We don't know the depths or limits of what he can do, and our prior idea about his powers has gone out the window as of last night. Our best thinkers are still confused as to how a grab-bag cape could have so many versatile and strong powers at once, let alone a Case-53 being a grab-bag in the first place. Our new working theory is that he isn't a Case-53 at all, but all efforts to turn up a history have left us wanting. It's as if he didn't exist until two months ago, and a fresh trigger simply could not do the things he does. As of right now, we're tentatively willing to cooperate with him if only to redirect his efforts onto a gang actively endangering the city itself. He's shown no outward hostility to the PRT and made significant efforts to avoid interaction and engagement with us. He beat Miss Milita and I quite soundly, but let us live. He is capable of reasoned thought and attempted to convince us to leave him be when we first met. He specifically mentioned that he has no quarrel with us. We can use that."

"And after?"

Armsmaster sucked in a breath. "That's another matter entirely. Since I assume he's part of our ultimatum?-"

Piggot nodded.

"Then that makes our situation even more complicated. As of now, we are outright forbidding engagement with him without a 6-1 advantage, and that is the bare minimum. Once the ABB is dealt with, we'll liaise with New Wave and Faultline's team to formulate a plan of action, and we'll leverage our remaining infantry assets to perform a complete sweep of the city until we have a confirmed sighting, then we will engage in full force. We won't lift martial law until both Taurus and Bakuda are dealt with. Director Piggot already has kill orders signed off on Lung, Taurus, and Bakuda, with bounties set at five hundred thousand, three hundred thousand, and eight hundred thousand respectively. It might bring even more extra attention to the city, but every rogue or independent willing to take Taurus on is another body in his way that isn't PRT."

Sophia whistled. That was almost Slaughterhouse 9 money right there.

"As for rules of engagement, lethal force is authorized, and Wards are still forbidden from making contact with him. Our plan of action is heavily reliant on New Wave for harassing and hemming him into a narrow area where his speed advantage is neutralized. We don't know how much punishment Taurus can take, but we believe a sustained bombardment from New Wave's lasers and our ground troops' firearms, alongside hit-and-run attacks from our speedsters, can bring him down. His unwillingness to kill members of the PRT should not be relied upon. We've never seen him in a desperate situation, and we have no idea how he would react were he to begin losing a fight. Disarming him is still our best bet. What makes him so dangerous is his use of lethal implements. If we can remove their sword and the rifle from the equation, we can play it like we would with any other Brute."

They were all listening intently, but she noticed the out-of-towners giving the speech particular attention. They were the ones called upon a few weeks ago to deal with him specifically, weren't they?

What the hell could they do, if the two of them alone were considered enough to deal with Taurus beforehand?

Piggot took another draw off the bottle. There was only a fourth left now. "That's all for now. Dismissed."

One by one, everyone begins trickling out the door back onto the Rig. In the off distance, she can hear a roaring engine, one of Dragon's ships coming to take everyone back to the city. Armsmaster is first out the door, closely followed by everyone else. Clockblocker and Browbeat both linger by the edge and stare at her for a moment before retreating back.

After a moment's hesitation, she follows behind, dragging her feet.

"Shadow Stalker."

She turns back around at the sound of Piggot's voice.

"We need to talk."

She feels herself drawn in a deep, controlled breath, fighting to keep her voice even. "What about, ma'am?"

They both know.

Piggot just gives her a look. Something twitches in her brow, they she's sighing despondently. "Pull up a chair."

Sophia does as she's bid, and she sets the chair down in front of Piggot's desk and takes a seat, suddenly antsy.

Piggot notices. She glances towards the Brandy, then slides it an inch forward in her direction.

Sophia stares.

Piggot gives a one-armed shrug, lazy, exhausted. "We both need it."

She takes the bottle in one hand before tipping her head back and bringing the bottle to her lips. It's sweet and fruity and bitter and sour all at once, and by the time she sets it down, the glass is empty and she's bent over the desk coughing and wheezing from the burn in her throat.

She feels Piggot awkwardly pat her back until the coughing subsides, and then there's a napkin dabbing at her lip to wipe away the dried blood and spit.

Immediately she can feel her body relaxing, the booze quick to do its work, a sudden warmth surging through her body.

Piggot doesn't waste a second. "I'm sorry about your family."

She feels herself shrug, her voice deceptively neutral. "Me too."

Piggot frowns, her eyes searching.

Whatever she's looking for, judging by the tightness of her jaw, she doesn't find it. "I spoke to your mother frequently. She liked to be kept updated on your patrol routes and activities. She seemed like a good woman."

Another shrug. "She was."

Piggot opened her mouth again, and her patience frayed. "Let's not play this game, ma'am."

"Game?"

She shrugs helplessly. "You know why I'm here. How I am."

"You don't care?"

Her fist slams atop the desk, the sudden sting of pain bleeding into the snarl that tore from her throat. "Of course I care."

Piggot is unperturbed. "Normally this kind of situation would destroy someone."

But not you, her eyes say, and she wilts down into her chair, her fury ebbed. "Not me."

Piggot gives her another long, long look. "Not you." She agrees.

She switches gears then, suddenly serious. "How did your meeting with your Case Worker go?"

She can barely remember it. She says as much, much to Piggot's consternation.

"I figured as much. In that case, I'll quickly go over with you your options. We have contingencies in place for Scenarios like this. Considering the unique nature of your situation due to your...legal status thanks to your plea deal, you really don't have any options until you turn eighteen. Once you do, your options become available to you, as limited as they are. As of now, We'll be giving you a raise to give you money for a future living instead of fun bucks, and give you free housing inside of either The Rig, or our local branch headquarters once it's repaired. You will be able to move between the two at your leisure with your personal effects. Once you do turn eighteen and your sentence is up, we can offer you free or subsidized housing in a program we bring our recruited Case-53s into. You will be able to request transfers, pick your own hours, and have access to all things full-time Cape's are granted."

She pauses, giving her another long, searching look. Sophia refuses to give her anything. "Now, that's all if you decide to stay with us. At eighteen, if you want out, we have several programs you can enroll in to get your GED and a scholarship to a college of your choice, and subsidized housing on our dime if you decide to stay local."

She obviously felt she wouldn't go down that route. Sophia didn't have it in her heart to disagree.

"What do you think I should do?" It would be her birthday in June. She had a year and a half to decide.

Piggot gave her another minute shrug, a hint of pity and a dash of scorn in her gaze. "It's your life. I can't decide for you, but if you want my honest opinion, taking someone like you on and putting them with other children is a mistake I'll be sure to never repeat again."

The bluntness shocks her. Piggot keeps talking. "I don't think you are a good hero, or even a particularly good Cape, but I was desperate to get my hands on anyone I could get to try and stem the tide. I figured we might be able to do something about your whims or at least redirect you and control you. But I feel as though all I've done is encourage you. I know you don't get along well with your teammates. I know you have sadistic tendencies. I know you've killed, contrary to what your co-workers think."

Something in her eyes hardens, and Sophia feels her blood chill. "I know you've been sneaking off from patrol on irregular days to do god only knows what. I know you have a secret stash of broadheads that's been coincidentally getting smaller and smaller every day."

Her mouth is dry. Piggot is as serious as Sophia has ever seen her.

She shook her head with a sigh. "I'm not an idiot, Miss Hess."

Abruptly, she stood, walking away from the desk and out towards the doorway. She walked towards the edge and put a hand on the doorframe, turning back to look at her.

"If I were you, I'd put that costume away, bury those crossbows, and spend some time thinking about my future in for the year and a half I have left in Juvie."

She left the room and walked down to somewhere unseen, her parting words echoing across the hall.

"Think about it."

/

Good guy Dennis.

Writing Piggot was fun. People always write her as this sociopath incompetent Amanda Waller-expy, but to me, she always felt just like an exhausted, troubled woman just trying to do her best in a shithole of a city that didn't want the best. Factoring the situation Brockton Bay is in, plus Cauldron wanting Brockton Bay to be their little petri dish as well, she was fucked no matter what.

Their strategy for dealing with Adam is also fairly sound, considering their limited capabilities and information. I envision Adam to be in the same archetype of fighter as Roman, IE; the ultimate one-on-one duelist. Roman was an immovable object parrying and deflecting attacks, still as a rock in a stream until he saw an opening, then he would ruthlessly exploit it. He fucking hammered Blake one-on-one, literally laughing as he casually fended off the girl trained by Adam personally, and his scuffle with Sun kinda speaks for itself.

Adam is the inverse. Attack attack attack is his motto. He never stops putting pressure on his opponents. He never lets them catch their breath or back off for a moment(Except when they need to deliver pertinent exposition). A guy who can do shit like this fighting a bunch of squishy normal humans is gonna go pretty bad for them.

His quickdraw style and semblance are perfectly paired together in a way that lets him completely and utterly dominate the pace and tone of a fight one-on-one. His semblance allows him to make short work of any attempts at taking control back away from him, and when you put that all together with his skill, you have a terrifying fighter who never lets his opponents breathe for a second.

But he has some weaknesses. His vision, for one. His aura can only help so much in that regard, and since he can only see shadows, movement, and a scant few colors in his bad eye, his depth perception is non-existent without serious draining help from his aura. Multiple opponents coming in from multiple directions and moving in and out of his blind spot could confuse him, especially when some of his opponents can fly at decently high speeds.

Another thing is his predictability. As good as Adam is, he's a one-trick pony. Him being a really good one doesn't negate that fact. As unpredictable as some of his movements in a fight can be, what with him literally fucking kicking and throwing his sword around(And in some deleted footage, literally disarming himself to feint out Yang. He reaches down to draw, Yang covers her face pre-emptively, and Adam literally just fucking throws Wilt & Blush up into the air, drawing her gaze up and distracting her so he can attack unarmed), he's a repetitive fighter. Swing, swing, sheath. It's a reflex for him. He exposes himself multiple times in the black trailer to possible counterattack while turning or sheathing his sword, he just has Blake to cover his openings. It's so ingrained into him to rely on Wilt to absorb and redirect blows that a clever enough fighter can bait him out into a hasty or fumbled block just like he does in that test footage against Yang. Multiple opponents attacking him at once can also render that energy absorption a non-factor, since he needs to actively concentrate much more heavily when trying to absorb energy with his body like Yang. Multiple attacks from multiple directions, and just like Behemoth, you can beat out the redirection.

His temper is also another thing to consider. Annoying or angering him in a fight wouldn't work very well or for very long, since Adam has heard every slur and every insult you can imagine, and all that anger mustered up during a fight he channels into focus.

You can't anger him into making a mistake. You have to upset him.

There are a few ways to do that. Be Blake. Be a Schnee. Or mess with his weapons.

Iajitsu is a very personal fighting style. After killing Sienna, Adam almost tenderly cleans off Wilt's blade with a rag, and the only time he truly loses his composure in the whole show is when Yang throws Wilt into the ocean. The look on his face is of utter horror before it sails over the edge, and he sprints after it yelling 'NO', and that unbalanced him enough that he panicked at the end of the fight trying to keep Blake disarmed, and that's what got him killed.

Take away Wilt or Blush, and you immediately have his attention on whoever has it. His tunnel vision will kick into overdrive, and he'll power through and ignore things he shouldn't ignore in an effort to get them back.

Get one of New Wave to disarm him, and have them play hot potato with Wilt while you rain fire on him from above and do hit-and-run attacks from the ground to keep him unbalanced and distracted, and you have his number. The only problem is that a desperate Adam is a dangerous Adam.

Last edited: Jun 11, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

Jun 11, 2023

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Oct 28, 2023

#1,797

It was a tough debate I had with myself, deciding whether or not to put the next Cole and Parian chapters before this, but I figured all of you would have wanted to hop right back into the action.

Also, isn't it fucked up that Victor and Othala have like, the healthiest relationship in Worm? I almost felt bad for ruining it.

This one is short and sweet, but it's the beginning of the end of this story.

/

Brockton Bay was under military occupation.

As he stood on high, stolen cloak billowing in the breeze, hearing hyper-sensitive, all he could hear for miles was the rumbling of engines and scattering of gunshots.

The first few hours were chaos, in the wake of his Semblance's eruption. Civil authority had almost instantaneously collapsed due to the sheer amount of destruction, and Brockton Bay's already bloated and overstretched Emergency Services were utterly overwhelmed by the amount of destruction and death.

Mass shootings, lootings and riots all followed almost immediately. As soon as the dots connected between the ABB and the bombings, what was left of the E88's rank and file sallied forth towards the remnants of Brockton Bay's Chinatown and started a pogrom.

It was the first riot crushed by the newly conscripted Massachusetts National Guard.

It wouldn't be the last.

Every Cape in the city was in hiding. No one dared leave their homes and hovels until the truce was in place and each gang could work together to finish off the ABB and whatever bit of normally left standing in the aftermath could be resumed.

The idea that the Army would simply stay, ABB or no, to finish off everyone else was one no one wanted to entertain. Everyone with a civilian identity had to play nice until the decision was made.

That suited him just fine.

That was the reason he found himself two blocks away from the home of Victor and Othala after a two-hour cat-and-mouse game between himself and the PRT.

His first engagement with their ground forces wasn't his best showing, considering he did nothing but run away from them and slap away a bullet here and there. But it was a sign of the times.

Time was short.

He'd garbed himself in the best disguise available to him at the time, that being a scarf and cloak he'd pilfered from one of the many homeless killed in the bombings. It would have rankled him, stealing from an innocent, were it not for the fact that they were already dead.

And judging by the pallor of the corpse's skin, he doubted they'd mind what he was about to do with it. He tugged the ragged hood above his head and thumbed Wilt free, running this thumb across the crimson steel.

Wilt gleamed in satisfaction, hungry for blood.

He'd never been one to anthropomorphize his weapons, that sort of degenerate behavior was best left to fresh recruits and veteran Huntsmen.

But even he couldn't shake the feeling that the blade's shine in the sun was just a tad too bright in the light, too alive.

Adam started at his bloodied reflection in the blade and suppressed a shiver.

It was time to get to work.

(X)

He smelled her before he saw her.

Before he even heard her, really.

There was only one person home, and judging by the waft of burning grease and bubbling batter, Adam figured it was Othala.

Adam watched her through the kitchen window, her back to its side, as he watched her work. She wore a robe and an apron, a solid white eyepatch covering her right eye. She was singing to herself in a language he couldn't understand, but even to his ears, it sounded rough and mispronounced.

That didn't stop her from singing so loud, however.

It was almost hypnotic, watching someone so young, so normal-looking act out part of their daily routine like a normal human being. Like they lived a normal life.

He wondered to himself if that was on purpose.

He grimaced to himself.

Olivia Anne Kissinger. Nineteen.

That young, already married, and already in a house of her own.

Judging by the smile on her face, and the lack of clothes beneath the robe whenever she turned, Adam was willing to bet it was a happy one.

A shame he had to ruin it.

He stepped away from the window and made his way into their backyard. The street was empty, everyone locked up inside their homes and unwilling to leave no matter the ruckus. This neighborhood was one of the only in the city that had come away unscathed, and everyone there wanted to keep it that way.

He had been seen for a fact. But no one here was willing to get in his way,

He walked up to their back door and quietly mangled the doorknob in his hands, crushing the locks and pushing the door open. He made his way inside and silently stepped forward towards the tiled kitchen.

Othala turned toward his way just as he made his way across the foyer.

Her jaw dropped.

Adam saw her arms go limp, the ceramic plates in her arms shattering on contact with the floor. The shards drew red lines all across the tops of her feet, but she didn't acknowledge them.

She merely stared at him, transfixed, one blue eye open wide and blinking rapidly.

Adam tilted his head and smirked, taking a mocking whiff of the air in the room. "Breakfast smells good."

Othala gaped, mouth sputtering. "Oh God-"

Wilt rasped free, and a twitch of a finger rendered blush a rifle. Wilt glowed as he rolled his wrist, blade flourishing. "Of a sort."

Adam glanced around. "Where's Victor?"

Something about that name shocked her back to reality. Her good eye hardened in defiance, and Adam saw her back straighten by a millimeter, her fists curl slightly in an obviously fake show of control. "I'm..." Her throat bobbed, her fear for her husband's life outweighing her fear for her own. "I'm not going to tell you that."

Adam gave her a moment to reconsider, making a show of dragging Wilt's glowing edge across the floor, a black and red replica of the blade cast in shadow trailing a few millimeters behind, giving off the impression of a false afterimage. "Are you sure?"

Othala's gaze dropped down towards the Wilting kitchen tiles, but she didn't waver.

Then he turned towards abandoned food. His lips twitched further. "Quite a large breakfast for one, hmm?"

Her eye twitched.

"When will he get here?"

Another twitch.

As if on cue, Adam heard a revving engine in the distance. One coming this way.

Othala paled.

Adam grinned, turning his head towards the dining table set at the edge of the kitchen. "Go on then. Make plates for three."

Othala didn't move.

Adam's grin disappeared. "Which would you rather him come home to? An extra guest at the table, or a cooling corpse on his floor?"

Othala did as she was bade, and Adam made his way over to the table, seating himself at its head. He placed Blush flat up on the table in front of him and leaned Wilt against its side.

He kicked his feet up on the edge and waited.

He saw Othala feverishly open a cupboard out of the corner of his eye and retrieve three new plates, just as Victor's car pulled up in the driveway.

A few seconds of tense silence passed as Othalla lay the freshly cooked bacon and pancakes on the plates. He heard the front door open, Victor stepping inside and freezing in place almost as quickly as he cast his gaze on the open back door.

Adam heard him swear under his breath. "O! Where are you?"

She turned towards him. Adam nodded his head.

"I'm in the kitchen!"

Victor stilled at the terror laden in her wavering voice. Adam heard the sound of an unlatching safety and the soft rustle of a gun being lifted from a holster.

"I wouldn't do that. Your kitchen is quite nice. I'd hate to make a mess in it."

Victor breathed deeply, yelling out from the doorway. "Alright then. What do you want me to do?"

His voice was calm. Too calm. Adam wondered how much stolen experience he was drawing upon to keep himself that rational. Adam yelled back.

"Drop the gun."

After a moment's hesitation, Victor did. "How...How did you find us?"

Adam shook his head. "That isn't the right question."

"Okay...What do you want?"

"For you to come and have a seat. Breakfast is ready."

Silence reigned. Then Adam heard a series of cautious footsteps make their way toward him.

Victor stepped inside the kitchen foyer and froze. His head swiveled between him, Othala, and Blush.

"There's nothing you can do." Adam's voice was flat. "Doesn't matter how good you are, I'm better, and the first to die will be her, not you, understand?"

Victor scowled at him, voice bitter. "That's the way it always is."

Adam hummed in acknowledgment. "Have a seat."

Victor inclined his head. "I can't do that."

Adam tilted his head.

Victor waved a hand. "You're in my seat."

Adam very delicately raised a brow, placing a finger on Blush's trigger.

"I built that chair myself. If there's a chair I'm going to die in, it's that one."

Despite himself, Adam laughed, if only at the sheer absurdity of the demand.

Adam stood up and moved one chair over, bringing Blush along with him. He left Wilt where it was. "Better?"

Victor said nothing, merely stalking forward with a surprising amount of poise and grace for a man walking on death row.

He sat down at the head of the table and gave him a defiant glare. "Whatever this is about, whatever bug is up your ass about me, about the Empire-88, I don't care. I've known I could die any day the moment I signed up. But you leave her out of it, do you understand?"

"Why would I do that?"

"She doesn't know any better."

Adam guffawed. "That's her excuse?"

"She was born into the Herren Clan. Instead of playing with barbies and going to school like a normal kid, she grew up in a cult saluting pictures of Adolf Hitler and being homeschooled by a bunch of crazy fucks. I wasn't even supposed to marry her, but her cousin and most of her family died at a demonstration and she was the only viable option left."

"Quite a way to talk about your wife."

"I married in for my race and my race alone. She wasn't the one I wanted, but I learned to love her despite that."

He turned towards Othala, who stood frozen in numb horror. "Come plate us, O. Then you can have a seat."

Victor's voice brought life back into her. She picked up two plates and set them down, one for her, one for Victor.

Victor nodded towards the last plate. "Him too."

Adam raised a brow.

After a moment's hesitation, she grabbed the final plate and slid it across the table towards him, before sitting down across from him.

No one touched their food.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Victor spoke again. "O, show him."

Adam saw Othala's good eye grow wet. "Sam, please don't do this."

"I'm doing this for for you. Show him."

Adam shifted his gaze to Othala just as the eyepatch fell to the floor.

The world gleamed red a moment, as he took in the empty eye socket boring into him.

"She was sixteen and hiding under a car. The Clan was dumb enough to hold a public rally. Lotta people showed up. Most of 'em weren't friendly. They dragged her out and stuck a shard of broken glass into her eye. I was there at the rally that day, and saw her. Couldn't get to her, couldn't fight any of them off. I was useless. She was scared. We both triggered. I brought her into the Empire. She's never hurt anyone directly-"

Adam snarled. "Directly. How many people have you hurt, have you killed, with her help?"

"Not as many as you."

Adam stood up with enough force to topple his chair. "I killed your people because they were scum, to make this place better-"

"Just like all the N***er's I've killed. I've killed twenty-three. Mangled a few too. Tortured a few of Lung's gooks to death for raping a white girl. Shot a few more in some scuffles. I'd give myself credit for thirty or forty bodies at most."

Victor narrowed his eyes. "You killed more people on the first day you showed up here than I have in my whole life, and you look barely a year or two older than me. You killed enough of us that the Chinks got cocky and blew up half the fucking city. How the hell are you gonna look me in the eye and tell me you were killing my people cause they were scum or to make the world a better place when you being here has done nothing but fuck it up!"

Adam went very, very still.

"I don't give a shit what you do to me. But leave her alone. She ain't part of whatever fucked up pathology got you started on this Crusade to begin with."

Adam worked his tongue, glancing at Othala's discarded eyepatch. At that pale blue eye, wide with fear.

"Get out."

It was barely a whisper.

Othala hesitated.

Victor nodded his head. "Go."

Very slowly, Othala stood up.

And walked out the door.

Adam waited until Victor's parked car drove away, Othala at the helm. Until neither one of them could hear anything but their breathing.

"Why are you doing this?"

Adam turned his head.

"What the hell did we do to you, to make you wanna get back at us this bad?"

Adam hesitated a moment.

Then he cast down his hood and placed a hand upon his mask, placing it on the table.

Victor took a long, hard glance at his eye. There wasn't any pity, or joy, or really any feeling at all in that look. Just cool, cold acknowledgment.

Then he sighed. "They shoulda used a knife instead of that hot iron."

Adam's trigger finger twitched. He raised Blush and pointed it at Victor's head.

"Killing me ain't gonna kill whoever did that. Fix it either."

Adam rolled his shoulders alongside his eyes, forcing a semblance of calm into the fury that threatened to make his voice explode. "Are those really going to be your last words?"

Victor raised a brow. "Do I get to pick 'em?"

Adam shrugged. "You just did."

Then he shot him.

/

Adam now has the train drip from 6X1.

Last edited: Oct 28, 2023

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Oct 28, 2023

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Threadmarks Bradley V/Coleson Maxwell Perry I/Sabah V

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Dec 30, 2023

#1,857

It lives. It Breathes. Its Heart Beats.

Sorry, I got sidetracked by this other incalcitrant asshole named Balon.

More to come. Menja and Fenja are gonna be tough cookies. New Wave less so.

Edit: Refresh the page, I'm stupid and posted this with the format all fucked up.

/

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Brad twitched. Motherfucker better not be dead too.

The dial tone buzzed in his ear.

Brad kicked his foot forward and dialed again.

A piece of bacon and the bug atop it crunched under his toe as he shifted his stance. He turned to Vic and gave him a little wink and a nod, knowing he'd had the same problems with Justin and his full schedule.

Vic smiled back at him in mute appeal, big and wide.

On the fourth fucking try, Justin answered him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, calling this number after what you did?"

Brad smirked, whistling innocently. "I'm your 'brother', ain't I?"

Justin hung up. Brad's grin fell away, and the man in the chair ahead of him shifted slightly, his mangled head thrown back in a great big guffaw.

Brad mouthed a swear at him and dialed again.

Two rings and an answer this time. "You ain't my brother. You ain't a man. You ain't even a N*gger. N*ggers are people. N*ggers are human. You're a fuckin dog, a great big feral one, snapping back at the hand that tried feeding its dumb ass. Why are you calling me?"

"I wanted you in."

He pulled the phone away from his ear in annoyance as the tinny laughter that came through burst his shitty chink flip-phone speakers and nearly rendered him deaf.

When it subsided and Brad put the phone back, Justin was already shouting mid-tirade, voice distorted. "-To some retarded bullshit fucking conspiracy to screw over the one man who was ever a decent person to you for...for..for I don't even fucking know what, and you want me to turn my back on my friends, my race, my family, for some inbred, hillbilly, backwood, mouth breathing, furry fucking pissant to go harass some fuckin nobody Krauts? Are you for real?!"

Brad laughed. "Well, not just you. I wanted Rune too. Maybe even Al."

A guffaw. "You'd have better luck calling Victor. He'd be the one smart enough to come up with something fancier than the 'fuck off' I'm boutta give ya."

Brad sighed. taking a reflexive inhale and wrinkling his nose at the scent of shit and fermenting rot. "As a matter of fact, I did call him. Twelve times."

"That desperate, huh?"

"He never picked up the phone, J."

There was a silence at the other end of the line. He heard something shift on Justin's end, and then he spoke up again, voice free of levity or wrath. "Twelve times?"

Brad nodded, the motion gone unseen. "Twelve times. Straight to voicemail. He never picked up."

He took a deep breath, eyeing the gorgeous corpse that sat ahead of him at eye level.

An ant wriggled its way out its destroyed left eye socket, a pinch of meat and nerve clutched in its mandibles.

Never did fix that ant problem, did you V?

"Brad?"

"So then I called O. She picked up the first ring."

"And?"

"And she was hysterical. Almost incomprehensible. I couldn't understand a word she got out besides swears at me and sobs of Vic's name."

Justin swore. "What happened?"

"What was gonna happen to me If I stayed. What already almost happened at that warehouse with Krieg and Kayden."

Brad spoke softly. "What's gonna happen to you and everyone else."

Brad let him connect the dots. There was another moment of quiet before Justin said another word, voice clipped. "Where are you right now?"

"At his place. I got here about half an hour ago."

"Is he still in the area?"

"No. He was in and out. Ransacked the place on the way though, trying to make it look like looters. Took some cash, knocked over a few dressers and cupboards, and made off with that fancy Kriegsmarine saber Vic bought for a few grand a little while back and his gun."

Brad shot a glance toward the kitchen window. "Right in broad-fuckin-daylight, too. I braced a few of the neighbors. They saw him walk up to the front door like he was gonna knock and ask for a cup of sugar, then saw him double back around behind the house. After a bit, one saw Vic drive up, park, and get out. Give it five or so minutes and there's a gunshot and a naked woman is running out the door who then hops in his car and swerves off.

"How long's he been dead?"

Brad grunted. "Half a day. Maybe a day, maybe more, I don't fuckin know. I ain't a doctor. I just know he smells like shit, the blood is dry, and the neighborhood ants are having a picnic."

Brad heard Justin shudder. "And no one called the cops?"

Brad pinched his nose. "As soon as they saw that mask and sword, they realized who it was, and more importantly; what he was there to do. My showing up all but confirmed it. I doubt most were doing anything but shrugging their shoulders or cheering him on. Not one of them was gonna distract the PRT from hunting for Bakuda on the account of a member of the 88. If it wasn't him, I bet a few of the fine neighbor folk around here might tried something on their own, if they knew who he was. You have no friends on this side of town anymore."

Or anywhere, really.

"Why.." Justin paused, put off. "Why tell me this?"

"Cause I want you in."

"In fucking what? You haven't really explained your master plan, or any sort of plan at all really?"

"You didn't let me." Brad retorted. "Come see me. I wanna explain it man on man and for you to look at the reason I'm doing it face-to-fucked-up-face."

Another great pause, then a deep sigh.

"I'll be there."

(X)

There was a great cry, a heaving sob, and Cole turned his head away from the head in front of him to face the woman being escorted away from the closest tent at gunpoint.

Her face was bloody and bruised, but the tears streaming down her face evidently weren't for her, judging by the cadaver that was being lifted out by a pair of soldiers. Armed men stood watch by the tents mouth, and it drew open, a beleaguered-looking young woman in scrubs poking her head out.

"Next!"

Like clockwork, the line ahead of the tent stepped forward in smooth unison, like some great puppeteer had dragged them all forward at once. Men clutching burned and bloated children, women bearing strange abrasions and swollen feet, and some people too grotesquely deformed and mutated by whatever strange explosions aftershock had struck them to decipher their sex.

The next in line stepped forward, tilting her head to the side for the woman and closest soldier to inspect.

Cole saw her tongue flex in anticipation.

He saw it because her left cheek was transmutated into a pane of clear, pristine glass that was dyed red at its edges as her body failed to displace it. Her gums were raw and bloody, and her mouth was filled with abscess's of infection as her body tried and failed to cope with the changes. The doctor gave one look and shook her head.

The soldiers at her side shifted their weapons in place in obvious warning.

The woman nodded her head, jaw clenching, and Cole saw that glass cut into her slightly with the motion.

She stepped away for the next in line.

He shuddered.

That could have been me.

"Next!"

Someone bumped into him from behind.

Cole jolted, stumbling forward a pace, then whirled around.

A pair of glowing eyes bored into him.

He stared-

-andstaredandstaredandstartedandstaredandstaredandstartedandstaredandstaredandstaredandthestarsweresobright-

Cole blinked, a warmth trickling down his nose.

The girl's eyes were shut.

"Next!"

Cole whirled around and stepped forward. Bad Luck, kiddo.

A man with hands covered in a sort of grey-green ooze stood in front of him, conversing with a very serious-looking woman sitting at a desk that had been carried out into the field. The entire park they were standing in had been converted into a sort of mix between FEMA camp and military outpost. Armed Soldiers and armed Doctors roamed about freely, tending to the injured and shooting down any and all troublemakers.

When martial law had been announced, many had tried testing the will of the newly arrived National Guardsmen.

The heaps of burning bodies sequestered away at the edge of the park showed their seriousness.

The sheer amount of dead and dying had overwhelmed the local morgues and hospitals, what few that even remained in operation, and the local authorities had extensively argued about what to do.

The Army shrugged its shoulders and decided to light them all on fire.

Cole bet it had something to do with the bombs. They had done strange things. No one wanted to find out if those things could linger on in their bodies, or if more surprises were waiting for them in those same bodies.

It was widely decried, and by more than just Brockton Bay at that.

Everyone in the country was talking about what had just happened. It was national news overnight.

The worst terror attack in the country's history was quite a hot topic, naturally.

The president was set to make a speech about it tomorrow, so said the rumors in camp.

There were lots of those floating around. People speculating about where the next bombs would strike, who would stop it all, if the local villains would band together to stop them, if they would take advantage, if the bombings would cause Taurus to switch gears or double down on the Empire in the chaos.

The only thing anyone did know for a fact was that it was gonna get worse before it was gonna get better.

"Next!"

Cole blinked out of his reverie and stepped forward, eyeballing the woman with the Parahuman Response Team badge on her lapel in mistrust.

She sighed, obviously bored. "Have you experienced, or believe yourself to have experienced, a trigger event and developed associated Parahuman abilities?"

Cole nodded his head.

"ID Please."

Cole fished his ID out of his pocket and handed it over.

The woman eyed it critically, not sparing him a glance. "Please repeat your date of birth for me."

"4\19\63."

The woman looked at the picture on his ID, then back at him, one brow raised.

"Whatever the hell happened to me, it winded back the clock."

The woman sighed again, turning the card over in her fingers.

Cole had a feeling this was going to take a while.

(X)

The world sounded underwater.

Shapes and sounds made no sense. There was no depth to anything, no rhythm to movement.

Sabah's temple throbbed.

Something pinched in her left ear, and there was a crash, like rolling thunder, that had her shaking in place before the world erupted into a cacophonous roar of noise and fire that had her clutching at her head.

It stopped as soon as it came.

Her aunt squeezed her hand and the doctor fiddled with the device again.

He whispered something in her mother's ear as she approached. Sabah could not make out the words.

She saw her mother nod in reply and kneel back into prayer.

More static, static, like knives digging around in her brain, before another loud roar bounced around the room.

Then it subsided.

Sabah heard words. Could not understand them.

Her temple throbbed again.

Sabah blinked in confusion.

"هل تَسْتَطيعُ أنْ تَسْمَعَني الآنَ؟"

"نَعَمْ." She replied on instinct, before her mind had even caught up to and fully translated the words.

Sabah felt a pair of arms encircle her, her Mothers's relief palpable. "The Doctor said nothing could be done for your right ear, but I knew, I knew, and I prayed, and God delivered us, for your left shall heal."

A slow rolling fog made her head feel heavy and strange. Sabah searched for her tongue and spoke back. She repeated the words four times before they came out in English. "My right ear?"

"You were near enough to the initial explosion that your eardrums detonated themselves almost instantly. You have four stitches in the back of your head from where you must have fallen on it. A concussion, a mild one. Your right eardrum is destroyed utterly. Your left is perforated and burst, but shall heal in good time. You will need an aid for the rest of your life and may go deaf when you grow old, but you shall live. We are blessed. More than most."

Blessed, she thought.

Blessed.

"You must call your friend and bring him here. You told us he was the one who had protected you."

She had? When?

Her mother frowned.

Sabah blinked. Had she said that out loud or not?

"I would wish to meet him, to know he is safe from harm." The tone of her voice implied she was itching to play matchmaker.

"I don't.."

Her mother frowned further. "Don't what?"

She remembered the world black and red. The moon was high in the sky at high noon time. The blood that dripped from her ears burning bright enough and hot enough to scald her skin and leave strange trails of chafed flesh behind where they fell and dripped down.

The blood on the TV screen, on her phone on the forums, on his gloves and in the bucket, on the bodies at the warehouse, on the gun in his hands, waved about in a panic that morning.

The blood, the blood, the blood.

Blood in the sky, blood on his hands.

The last thing she remembered seeing on his face was that strange, detached fury. The blankness of his expression but the strange curl to his lips.

Not a smile, not a grimace, not a scowl.

It was the only expression she'd seen on him that looked wholly natural.

"Where is he? Is he safe?"

Sabah wondered who would be seeing it next.

(X)

The bell dinged.

He sighed. What bougie motherfucker is trying to get into a hotel after what just happened?

He dropped the luggage he was handling and turned around, talking back to the front desk, doing his best to mask his annoyance.

"How can I-"

He stopped.

Everyone in the hotel lobby was frozen stock still. Some in shock, some in fear, and some in rapture. A few braver souls had their phones out and were recording.

The source of the commotion was idly bent down over the help desk running a finger across its bronze bell in apparent disinterest. A pair of swords, one black, one gilded, sat at his hip. His outfit was covered by a grey-tattered shawl. His head, and the gleaming horns that were atop it, were free to be gawked at.

Taurus tilted his head to the side, and that pale bone mask he wore sent a shiver down his spine.

That idle finger ceased its movement. It marked its path in fast-spreading rust that began consuming the bell. "Lousy customer service. So far, I can't see how this place is worth five stars. I've killed men in far better places."

He shuddered. Taurus not-quite-smiled, teeth bared. "Don't worry, I'm not here for you. I need a room number that belongs to a pair of twins. I'm sure you know the ones."

He did.

He happily divulged that.

Taurus left him and made his way toward the elevator, leaving behind a pair of hundred-dollar bills and a rough pat on the shoulder.

Asher pocketed them both before dialing 9-1-1.

After a change of pants, of course.

First 'Big' fight scene. Split into two due to being on call for work despite the snow. The second part will be here later today for sure. Let me know what you think.

Oh, and also, Go play Trepang2. It's why you had to wait a week and change for this chapter(s).

/

Adam lounged around in the elevator almost leisurely, fingers rattling atop the hilt of his newly pilfered sword. The bronze and gold emblements and figures of men at sea had caught his eye, and he'd felt like tweaking Victor's nose just a little further by claiming it and his holdout pistol for his own, for both practical and petty reasons. Having more than one blade would be useful in case he was disarmed of Wilt, and due to Blush's lack of spare magazines, fifteen extra rounds of firepower would come in handy as a distraction, and with his mind flashing back to the day he met Dai, be a good way to give himself a little boost when his foes were unwilling.

The blade was razor sharp, its edge ground down to a fine enough point that Wilt had healthy competition when it came to individual sharpness, and whilst he doubted the blade would hold up at all for very long without his aura boosting it, it was a testament to Victor's (Stolen) skills that he'd turned such a ridiculous ceremonial weapon into such a fine instrument.

The elevator chimed, and Adam readied himself for action, then ground his teeth with a sigh when the elevator stopped four floors below his targets.

The doors opened to a rather beleaguered-looking man with bloodshot eyes who wore a ragged suit, a pair of foreign-looking women on each hip.

They gasped when they saw him, more in surprise than recognition, but the man only stared at him blankly, head darting between his mask, Wilt, his mask, then back again.

Adam smirked. "Going up?"

The man stared at him, content to choose his drug-addled words carefully. They locked 'eyes', and the man mumbled something to himself, rubbing his nose and sniffing. "We're good."

With that, turned away and gently pulled his 'lovers' aside, marching in the direction of the stairwell. One gave a final curious glance at him before the elevator doors shut.

Adam huffed to himself. Maybe I should have taken the stairs.

The elevator chimed once more and resumed its ascent, and Adam released his grip on Wilt. Though the idea of killing the Empire's two most powerful capes with a piece of Nazi memorabilia amused him, the blade wouldn't survive more than a few instances of his semblances activation before it lost its edge, and only a few dozen before the tang was ruined altogether.

Not worth it.

His ride dinged one final time, and Adam was greeted by the ugliest yellow-painted hallway he'd ever seen.

Grimacing in disgust, he stepped out into the hallway and tugged Wilt a half-inch free. Across the sides of the hallway there hung fake potted plants and nonsensical paintings.

The appetites of the rich had always confused him. He did his best to shrug it off and made his way down the left side, toward the place where his quarry lay.

He didn't have to walk very long before he made his way to room 919. Their own presidential suite to call home, free of charge.

Being an emperor's concubine had its benefits, he supposed.

He tuned his hearing, listening for any telltale signs of life.

He found two heartbeats, and he noted with a raise of a brow that one was beating a lot harder than the other.

He shrugged it off and let his aura surge into Wilts's blade, gritting his teeth as he strained to keep the world from bleeding away around him.

Half of his aura was ludicrous. Half of his aura was excess, overkill such that even the likes of Alexandria or Legend would be helpless against.

Half of his aura was the only way to be completely and utterly sure they would be dead in his mind. Whilst he had no doubt he could and would kill them in a fair fight, why fight that fight in the first place and take the risk?

His hand moved-

And there wasn't a warning.

Something slammed into his chest with a force that would have knocked Yang Xiao-Long on her ass.

He coughed, ears ringing, and something above him shattered atop his horns, and ceramic and soil tousled his hair and slid down his back.

His ribs creaked in protest, and he looked down in disbelief at the TV Remote that had him pinned to the edge of the wall, a TV remote ten feet too long and six feet too wide.

He pushed forward weakly, more out of reflex than any conscious thought, and was surprised when instead of moving aside, the remote pushed him further in, crushing him against the drywall hard enough for it to splinter and crack.

He grabbed on with both hands, intent on crushing it, when he felt the air leave his lungs in a whoosh as the remote veered sharply to the side, sending him crashing through the walls to the other side of the suite.

The force broke his grip on it, and Adam rolled through the kitchen island, drywall and dust and quartz rolling off his body, shattered tiling cutting into his limbs.

Adam felt adrenaline spike his heart rate for the first time in since Argus.

He rolled to the side, pre-empting another thrust of the remote, and hopped to his feet, palms out to intercept the next swing.

Intercept it he did, and Adam felt his arms nearly buckle with the force, skidding on his feet, heels dug into the ceramic.

He looked up for the first time to eye his attacker. Blonde hair, blue eyes, already eight or nine feet tall, head scraping the ceiling, arms half as thick as the weapon she wielded, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans that Adam knew were already thicker than the toughest of kevlar vests, hair cut an inch above her collarbone, the only identifier to denote the siblings. She was reaching for a prop spear on the floor with her free hand.

Menja.

This means it must have been Fenja who was desperately scrambling over the wreckage of the doorframe, trying to get away.

Retreating, not fighting me, pressing the advantage. Why?

He didn't have time to think about it. His fists clenched, fingers digging furrows down to the knuckle into the plastic before the remote splintered into a thousand pieces. Menja reared back, and Wilt rasped free, roaring to life with an ethereal scream as Adams's shadow grew and enveloped the room.

Adam burst forward with a thrust aimed right at her heart, aura roiling across the blade in crimson sparks that exploded like supernovas in the dark.

Adam felt the blade sink down, deep, before an otherwordly resistance stopped the blade cold, only a quarter of the way in.

Rubble and dust almost instantaneously crashed down atop his head, a great big metallic groan ringing in his ears, and he swore through the pain and made to rip Wilt away, only to realize it was stuck.

Stuck a quarter of the Way into Menja's waist, just above the bowels.

Adam frowned.

A fist the size of a watermelon came down and crashed into his jaw hard enough to loosen a few teeth, sending him and Wilt careening off to the side. Hot fire lanced up and down his face and set his nerves ablaze, and he heard a groan in a voice deeper than his own as blood poured out of the headless giant in front of him, her whole upper body spirited away up to the higher floors.

Adam grunted, half in anger, half in disbelief, as he realized Menja had grown twice as tall indoors, vision and destruction be damned.

He heard screams and crashes up above him, and saw Menja's body begin to bend downward to his level.

Adam worked his jaw, probing the loose teeth with his tongue. They both needed to take this somewhere else.

Shadow stole the world again, and he felt his aura protest as he flooded as much he could into his blade as he could, caution be damned.

It could have been a fourth, it could have been a third. He didn't know.

But it was enough to utterly annihilate the room they were in, along with half the rooms behind it, and send Menja careening off the side of the building into the street.

He took a moment to rub his jaw with a gloved hand, using his tongue to push his teeth back into place as his aura worked to fit them back into their sockets.

Adam heard an almighty boom, and heard several car alarms go off at once. Had the fall killed her?

When he relaxed the healing in his mouth to bring aura up to his ears, he sighed, and a little bit of blood dribbled out of his mouth. He could hear her feet grinding through the street. She must have fallen through it, and was dredging herself free, sewers and rock and piping be damned.

This was going to be annoying.

With a burst of speed, he ran through the path of destruction she'd left behind, hesitating a moment when he made his way to the hole she had left on the other side of the building, and he looked down to find her.

He didn't have to look hard. She was finding her balance on the ground, as her impact had buckled the street like an earthquake had run through it. Forty-odd feet tall, her clothes were all but destroyed, her shirt little more than tattered webbing that did little for her modesty, but it seemed they'd taken the brunt of the damage, for her skin was only superficially covered in bruises and small burns, with none of the necrosis Moonslice usually caused in place outside of a few red marks peppered here and there.

Adam sighed again.

Very annoying.

Then he jumped down to meet her.

/

Adam's first 'challenge', especially because everyone and their mother is gonna show up to the fight wondering what the fuck is going on with all the racket.

Last edited: Jan 13, 2024

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MasterDuplicator

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Threadmarks Highrise(II)

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jan 13, 2024

#1,882

The wind slashed through his hair and whipped his hood back, and he had to squint to stop the gale from hurting his eyes.

Menja was steadily turning around, evidently expecting some sort of interruption or counterattack. He angled his descent as best he could, but he was at his most vulnerable mid-air.

Something Menja capitalized on, when she reached out towards a nearby light pole that had been upended by her harsh landing.

Adam nearly groaned aloud. He twisted mid-air as best he could, but he knew wasting a few shots with Blush to dodge would only hurt him in the long run.

Sometimes, all you can do is take it.

Menja picked it up, and it seemed to shimmer ever so slightly, so slightly it almost seemed a trick of the sunlight, before it transformed between blinks to a size reminiscent of a smaller version of a Mistralian Redoak tree.

Adam burned bright in the skyline as he plunged toward her. An easy target.

Intentionally so.

Menjas swung it like a bat, and Adam soared through the air, for an instant glowing brighter than the sun.

The pain was indescribable. He felt half of his ribs dislodge in an instant, and that was with his semblance absorbing every scrap of kinetic energy it could.

His semblance activated without his say-so when he got to the ground, his soul desperate to protect his broken body, burning away all the energy he'd taken in to burn through the furrow he carved into the ground as he skid through the street, leaving a veritable fog of rose petals behind, concealing his position and softening the impact.

Adam groaned, the feeling in his limbs slowly returning, and it took him a moment to realize he was even on the ground, for his stomach still felt like it was floating through the air.

The ground shook, and he heard a pounding like a drum, a boom boom doom boom, and he looked up just in time to see an angry Menja sprinting towards him, the top half of the light pole clumsily crimped, the tip angled like a speartip.

Menja cleared a few hundred feet in a few steps and burst through the cloud of petals with a roar, thrusting that improvised spear down at him.

Adam poured every scrap of aura he could into his hands, unchaining his semblance entirely, and reached out to catch it.

It wasn't enough.

Adam remembered the pain of Xiao-Long's motorcycle slamming into him. With his adrenaline fading, his guard down, feeling 700 pounds of pure steel ram into you at eighty or more miles an hour hurt.

It had nothing on this.

A scream tore free of his throat without his allowance, his eyes clenched shut, his lungs emptied of all air, and he felt those dislodged ribs whistle as however many hundred thousand newtons of force buckled into him, cratering the ground and pushing forward, ever so slowly.

His aura flared, sparking and sputtering in protest as he groaned, and he felt a wracking numbness race down his arms as he desperately pushed and pushed with all his might at the speartip. Licks and lashes of energy raced over the speartip, chipping away at pole's paint and melting and Wilting the nearby asphalt away.

Menja grunted in surprise, and in more than a little exertion, and noticing his resistance, tried pushing just a little bit harder.

His hands slid upward, and he felt the spear drive him backward, grinding him down through the street and dragging him over rocks and rubble.

A howl of pain died in his throat without the air to propel it forward when he felt one of those dislodged ribs snap.

His eyes opened. His aura flared again, flickering in warning.

Adam shoved backward as hard as he possibly could, and he felt nothing but pure and utter relief when he felt his lungs suck in a desperate breath, the speartip a whole foot away from his chest. Menja grunted again, tried pushing further down.

Adam's white-knuckled grip stopped her.

Then he pushed the speartip to the side and let go, limply rolling to the side as he went.

The spear, suddenly unresisted, ripped clean through the ground, plowing through who knew how many dozens of feet before stopping.

Adam reared back, flooding every last ounce of aura to his limbs until every part of his body lay unprotected but them, and thrust an open palm at it.

He felt something in his palm crunch, but the pain was muted, his adrenaline out in full force.

The spear snapped in two at the point it was hit, and Menja made to pull it away and reposition it.

Adam rolled again, this time closer to the spear, and wrapped both legs around its side.

With a strength he didn't know he had, he ripped the spear clean from Menja's shocked hands and sent it careening off behind him.

He felt two muscles he couldn't remember the name of tear in both of his thighs, but all that mattered to him was that his foe was disarmed. He hopped to his feet, and he felt something in his hip pull.

He'd pushed himself too far, stressed his body too much.

Menja didn't push her advantage, seemingly too flabbergasted by what he'd just done to react, her eyes wide, her brows furround, mouth parted just a touch.

Adam normally would have pressed the advantage and used his foe's shock to act.

Adam could barely breathe right now.

So he'd use every second she gave him to try and heal, to strategize.

His body burned. There was a shake in both of his hands he did nothing to cover up.

But despite it all, he smiled, and took a step forward, making an intentional show of himself popping his neck.

Menja bristled.

Show no weakness. Act unaffected. If you appear unflappable, act invincible, your foes will begin to think you are.

Menja ground her teeth down at the sound of sirens, making to rush him.

He couldn't allow that yet.

"How did you know I was coming?" His voice came out raspier than he intended, but it served only to unnerve her more.

He saw her eyes narrow, her pupils dilate slightly. "You speak?"

Adam grinned through the aching pain of his grinding ribs, his aura slowly pushing them back into place. "Only to the dead."

He heard her heart skip a beat.

That was the only warning he received before her foot raced out to meet him.

He was already a black blur fifty feet behind her before her foot even hit the ground. It plowed straight through the crater he'd made, and she ripped it free and spun in a sort of roundhouse kick, clipping a building on the way as that foot came back at him.

He appeared behind her again, and just as Wilt slid back into its sheath, a neatly glowing line cut itself across her big toe.

His lungs burned. Menja hissed, whirling around to face him.

He'd put barely an inkling of his aura into the cut. It showed, considering he would only call the wound a papercut if he was feeling generous.

Blood slowly dribbled free, and he saw her fingers tentatively twitch toward the minuscule stab wound by her stomach, the one he could only make out by his semblance making the blood glow.

Heat up, too, judging by the discomfort on her face.

It still bled.

He let his aura recede out of the wounds, and the glow faded.

Still, they bled.

He eyed her in concentration, she at him, in caution.

It seems he had a giant to topple.

The feet. The legs. The fingers. Ignore the rest.

The weight of the gun in his belt comforted him. It was a miracle it had not been destroyed by the impacts. A force multiplier, even if a small one.

Less than half of his aura remained. He was vulnerable.

If he toppled her, it was over. They both knew it.

The sirens around him wailed, closer now.

Menja found her nerve again, eyes scanning left and right for objects she could use as weapons. Adam would deny her them every way he could.

She glared at him and spat, tongue the size of a small truck darting out to wet her lips. "It'll take more than a few papercuts to bring me down."

"If it's death by a thousand cuts you want, it's death by a thousand cuts you'll get."

Her response was a fist aimed at his face.

It missed all four of him, his shadows just a half step behind, and they raced between her legs, glowing blades whipping through her toes and ankles in a delayed sequence.

She stomped and stomped, flailed and flailed, but he was just too quick, and he left nicks and scratches all up and down her ankles.

For every new cut he made, his doppelgangers repeated the motion in an already existing wound, exacerbating them.

Hardly notable damage, and it was extremely delicate work besides. A single lapse in concentration, and all those clones would evaporate, his aura wasted.

But every cut bled.

Menjas frustration was palpable. Every time she tried reaching for a nearby car or pole to use as a weapon, Adam was there, destroying the item in question or slicing neat little lines into her fingertips and through her nails with both blades in hand to make her back off. Hardly incapacitating wounds, but they were the kind that stung. It was a delicate dance, one that favored neither side. It would come down to whoever had the most endurance.

As he slashed and swung and bobbed and weaved, sweat ran down his brow and his heart hammered in his chest, Adam wondered if he had enough to pull this off.

The sirens and roaring engines came closer, and with it, both a blessing and a curse followed.

The curse was a stream of bullets that whistled through the air that peppered Menja's skin and slammed into his back hard enough to bring him to his knees and break his concentration, his clones fading away, courtesy of the armored Humvee at the head of a column of National Guard and PRT transports.

The blessing was that the convoy included a PRT truck with a foam cannon atop it, and an APC with an automatic cannon of unknown caliber.

Time slowed, his aura flooded back into his limbs and eyes, and he whirled around to block and swat aside the bullets that whistled between Menja's legs.

The impact of the first bullet he blocked snapped back his wrist before he adjusted himself for the next impact. .50 caliber rounds.

His grin came back, despite the loss of aura. He absorbed as much energy as he greedily could before he was deafened by the APC's opening salvo.

A burst of automatic fire slammed into Menjas's chest, and she reared back with a yell of pain, grabbing onto a nearby building for support. Already he could see deep purple bruises begin forming where the explosive rounds had impacted. Twenty or thirty-millimeter munitions most likely. He chanced a glance behind him and saw more Humvees approaching, coming to box them both in.

Strangely though, the response seemed to mostly consist of National Guard.

Interesting.

Content to let all three factions slug it out so he could recover, Adam raced towards a nearby storefront and leapt through the window, diving down to hide behind a countertop.

His breath came out in harsh pants and wheezed coughs, his limbs and lungs on fire. When the adrenaline faded, he'd be feeling this for days. His broken hand had healed quickly, but he undid every bit of progress his aura tried making when it came to his ribs every time he boosted his speed. The pain would have driven any other man to madness.

Adam ignored it.

It was what he was good at.

Fighting through the pain.

He'd learned long ago, swinging a pick in the mines and taking bruises from the other street rats.

You fight or you die. There is no middle ground, and there can be no distractions in the meantime.

Screams and gunshots filled the air as he caught his breath, and one particularly loud impact made the building shake and caused him to duck for cover.

When no collapse occurred, he relaxed slightly, but the chaos outside seemed to intensify. After maybe a minute or two had gone by and two of his ribs had gone back to their proper place, Adam crept out from his cover and glanced out the shattered window.

The street was a warzone. Bloodied and broken bodies littered the shattered street, buildings had been knocked down and upended, some by Menja, some by missed shots, dozens of infantrymen were opening fire upon Menja, and he saw the bullets bounce off of her skin like pebbles. Smartly though, most of the grunts aimed at Menjas's wounds, and those bullets dug deep. The APC he'd seen at the start was turretless and in Menja's hands, and she was using it as a giant malformed shield.

Menja herself was covered in too many bleeding wounds to count, small holes and crisscrossing cuts covering her frame, and blood poured down and dyed the road red by the modest buckets worth.

Worst than that though, Menja was stuck.

A strange white foam had pinned her left leg and most of her upper chest in place to the side of an apartment complex, and despite her twisting and protestations, it had her completely pinned in. Her free leg and arms kicked out and whipped through the air wherever they could to strike at her attackers, but her right leg and most of her waist remained stubbornly locked in place.

The truck that had fired at her had paid a dear price however, for it was completely smashed flat.

Despite himself, Adam felt himself blanch slightly. If that foam could pin her in place, what would it do to him?

Adam shook his head, The truck was disabled. That didn't matter now.

He glanced further, surveying the situation. Dozens of grunts still remained, and he could hear more coming in the distance. He heard men cry out for the 'Forty-Mike-Mikes' and he raised a brow when several men pulled grenade launches free from most of the overturned Humves.

The explosions pounded at Menja, and the APC she held expanded until it was half as big as the building she was stuck to.

Adam hummed. They had her dialed in. They would kill on their own, eventually. It would just take time.

An isolated and overturned Humvee that had a man pinned beneath it caught his eye, and Adam clicked his tongue at the man's screams.

Perhaps he could buy some goodwill and help them kill her faster.

He jumped through the broken window and blitzed toward the humvee, digging his heels in to kill his momentum. He caught himself at the last second with a free hand, and it impacted it hard enough to make the Humvee shake.

The man pinned beneath it paled, and not from the blood loss. "Oh fuck." His nose was bleeding and his pupils were dilated. Adam glanced down at his knees, or the place they should have been, anyway. The Humvee had crushed his legs utterly. The bones were probably powder by now.

Adam pushed upward, leaving a handprint in the truck's armored plate, and pushed it free back onto its wheels with a crash. The grunt coughed.

Adam grunted. "Do you have PRT support incoming?"

The man stared at him in suspicion for a moment. "Why? You gonna go after them next?"

Adam raised a brow. "What have they told you about me?"

The man paused a moment, words coming out in harsh gasps. "Not much. You whoop ass like no other. Killed a lotta Nazi's. Not so bad in my book. But the brass don't know who you gonna kill next when they're all gone. Makes them nervous."

"When the Empire is gone, I'm gone."

"You mean that?"

Adam nodded his head.

The grunt stared at him a moment, then relented. "They said no one would be coming for a hot minute. New Waves is the only bunch close by, and they're busy with their own little problem."

"What problem?" Bakuda?

"The other twin. Fenja. They caught her out on patrol all geared up, headed this way. They're duking it out right now with our help."

Adam hummed. "Why don't we hurry this up then?"

The grunt shrugged as best he could. "I'm game."

Adam gestured to his hip. "Your sidearm."

The man only hesitated a moment before handing it over. Adam emptied the magazine atop Wilt, then reached down to fish out his holdout pistol and emptied that too.

Then he emptied half of Blush's magazine.

The adrenaline came back in full force now. The grunt's noseblood glimmered slightly.

Adam sucked in a deep breath, then something to his left caught his eye.

The discarded light pole.

He grabbed the grunt by his plate carrier and dragged him across the ground to lay him across the building. "Radio your fellows. Tell them to hold their fire"

Before the man could say anything, Adam had already trudged off toward the pole. It hadn't shrunk in size a bit, and half of it was still buried in the ground.

The free half would do.

He could barely lift it over his head, and when he wrapped his aura around it, it left the rest of his body dangerously vulnerable.

He gave it a few test swings, then trudged in the direction of Menja.

He didn't have to march very far before she was in swinging distance. The PRT troopers and guardsmen held their fire, in respect, in shock, in confusion, he didn't know.

Menja turned around just in time to see the pole slam into her cheek.

There was a loud crack, and Adam saw and felt her head whip to the side hard enough to nearly snap her neck. Her cheekbone caved in, and he saw more than a few teeth fly out of her mouth.

By the time her head came back around, Adam caught her temple with the backswing.

There was another loud crunch, and Adam felt her skull crack with the force of the blow.

Menja's head lolled, but when Adam pulled the pole back and made to thrust it through her face, she caught it, her grip weak.

Adam let her have it and let go, and when she thrust it back at him, he backflipped out of the way and let it sink into the ground. He ran forward this time, up and across the pole's length to the crowd's disbelief, and he jumped forward to kickflip off of her nose. While he didn't ram it into her brain like he'd been trying to, it did break with a satisfying crunch.

When Adam landed, Menja went limp, and the building she was stuck to collapsed under her weight until her back was supported by the frame and she was half sat, half collapsed against its side.

Adam put a hand on Wilt. To his disbelief, most of the Guardsmen cheered.

Their cries were silenced when Adam closed his eyes and a red ring burned around his feet.

Darkness shuttered the sun, and the moon's silver rays guided his blade as Wilt swung in an arc.

The world collapsed into Black and Red, and Adams's blade cut it twain.

Along with Menja's neck.

When the color came back and the storm of petals receded, Menja's headless body was half Wilted away, the rest of her remains charred and rotted, her severed heads eyes glassy and unfocused.

There was a whoosh of air to his right, and most of the guardsmen turned that way. After taking a moment to sheath Wilt and catch his breath, Adam turned to face it, feeling just the strangest dread.

A golden fist smashed into his face.

Adam sailed blindly through the air, and he ripped Wilt free and threw it hard enough it spun like a saw through the air. It sank hilt deep into the side of the building he was about to impact.

Adam crashed into its face, and dug his fingertips into its sides, slowing his descent, until his feet landed atop Wilts hilt. Balancing atop it, he ripped Blush free of his belt and had two rounds squeezed out to force Xiao-Long to dodge or disengage-

Except it wasn't Xiao-Long.

Adam blinked. His ears were ringing. He could taste blood and salt in his mouth and smelt Beacon's ashes in the air.

The waterfall's spray upon his cheek was ice cold.

Y-G-V-XYang-

Glory Girl stared at him, eyes wide, head titled just to the side. Her hair was cut unevenly, and there was a nasty cut that ran across her cheek.

Adam felt goosebumps crawl over his skin. He blinked and saw her wide blue violet eyes.

Those two bullets.

One through her hair, one across the cheek.

So much for the invincible girl.

He'd just about blown her head off.

His throat was dry. "Turn it off, Dallon."

The girl was staring at him strangely. Two fingers came up to touch the cut across her cheek. How quaint it must have been, to be reminded of your mortality.

Her arm was oddly metallic. His spine tingled.

He could see someone, Laserdream maybe, flying closer in the distance.

His next words came out as a warning roar.

"Turn. It. Off."

Dallon blinked again, and their gazes met.

Then just like that, the ringing in his ears subsided.

Last edited: Mar 1, 2024

188

MasterDuplicator

Jan 13, 2024

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MasterDuplicator

MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jan 25, 2024

#1,904

Or, Victoria Dallon isn't as stupid as people make her out to be.

Work again, another two-part. Second comes tomorrow.

/

Gunsmoke wafted through the air, twisting and coiling in the breeze, his trigger finger already halfway into squeezing out a third shot square between the center of Glory Girl's eyes.

A strangled breath hissed through his pinched lips. Adam relaxed his finger, but didn't take it off the trigger.

Dallon blinked at him stupidly, left eye quickly flicking astride to stare at the blood that was slowly streaming down her neck and cheek. Her head dipped slightly in acknowledgment of her predicament, and the tiara in her hair slipped downward a half inch, suddenly unsupported by half the hair it had been sitting atop of.

Adam shifted his feet, attempting to find a more comfortable balance atop Wilt's hilt, his legs contorted at an odd angle and his back bent slightly, giving him a hunch that rendered him a few inches shorter than the woman floating in front of him.

He saw the men on the ground raise their rifles again, the National Guardsmen noticeably more hesitant to do so, and a colored indistinct streak blurring through the sky fast enough to make his eyes hurt when he focussed on it that didn't exactly look very friendly. Laserdream or Shielder?

Adam clicked his tongue and tasted more copper. He disguised his shudder as a shrug when he took a mental inventory of his aura. Barely into the double digits. Not enough to take more than a few punches or a few bullets safely, and definitely not enough to stop a blast from Laserdream. Each energy-capable member of New Wave was able to down houses and small buildings by their lonesome, if given sufficient motivation.

I could die here, he realized with a start. The possibility had seemed so far away, so elusive in his time here with his capabilities, that the idea had hardly entered his mind at all.

His hands shook slightly. His own fear surprised him.

I'm not ready yet.

A single wrong move and it could be over. He had to find a way to salvage this before the fight came upon him.

Adam started at Dallon, almost equally as transfixed by her wound as she was.

By her blonde hair and blue eyes that could have appeared lilac in the right light, by the scuff of blood on her gloved knuckles. She and Xiao-Long looked so alike Adam half wondered if Yang's father had visited this world before him.

Dallon blinked again, shaking her head slightly, then a grin that appeared only tentatively forced stretched itself on her face as she gave Wilt an appreciative glance.

"Not gonna lie: That's pretty fuckin cool."

Despite himself, Adam huffed in amusement. Dallon must have noticed, because her smile shifted a touch, becoming more natural and showing a bit more teeth. She cocked a hand to her hip and gestured with lazily another. "I think I saw a guy do that in a cartoon once." She gave his horns a meaningful look. "Was just as bullshit then as it is now."

Adam saw a few PRT rifles snap up at him through the gap her canted arm created, saw a few men out of the corner of his eye begin creeping forward to encircle him across the building's face.

Adam shifted on his feet again until he was standing atop Wilt horizontally, then he pressed a foot into the building's side until he'd pushed down hard enough to create a foothold, tilting his body so that Dallon was his human shield again.

His finger tensed on the trigger again in warning.

Her smile didn't change, but he saw her eyebrows pinch down slightly in annoyance. She kicked her left foot backward through the air in a way that would have looked lazy and meaningless, were it not for the fact that the closing soldiers halted their advance.

He took a moment to mentally bump her up a rung or two on his threat assessment.

The girl's smarter than she looks.

But you can't hustle a hustler.

The blur accelerated further, approaching speeds that could have possibly equaled his own. Whilst he knew he could outspeed almost anyone in the world here in short bursts, that kind of sustained speed was something he wasn't capable of. "Friend of yours?" He inquired, not taking his eyes off Dallon.

Dallon shrugged. "Cousin. We split off from Fenja to see what the fuss over here was about."

"And how is she faring against the rest of your cohort?"

Dallon flicked one eye in the direction of Menja's headless corpse and he saw her cheeks color slightly. "She isn't doing so hot. We caught her with her pants literally down when she drove through a bunch of roadblocks trying to get to a safe house to retrieve her gear. We'll have her wrapped up in a bow any minute."

"Awful kind of you to volunteer this information to me."

Dallon shrugged again with a swagger that almost exceeded Xiao-Long's in the festival footage he'd watched. "I'm magnanimous like that. I want you to know just how fucked you are when the rest of my family gets here."

Which explained why she was so willing to indulge in this idle chat. She was attempting to stall him.

Adam's tongue probed his cheek. Four shots remaining in Blush. Two to kill Dallon, one to control his fall, one spare, Wilt at his feet, awkward to retrieve, two dozen or more grunts with grenade launchers and automatic rifles below him, possibly able to be wiped out with the remnants of his stored energy, unknown assailant approaching with destructive capabilities currently capable of rivaling his own.

Already not good odds. New Wave arriving in full with reduced said chances from low to below zero. "You sound rather arrogant."

"Confident. You're not looking so hot."

"I beg to differ."

Dallon scoffed. "The dry blood on your lips and the rips in your little DnD cloak say otherwise, pal. They're gonna fuck you up."

Adam gave her a polite nod. "You might be right about that. But the first one to die would be you. Then Manpower if one of your family brings him along, he's too slow. Shielder or Laserdream if not, and I know I'll get most if not all of the soldiers down there. Maybe even your mother too, before one of your cousins or a stray bullet gets me."

Glory Girl wasn't smiling anymore. Her eyes were cold, and she eyed the gun pointed at her head in scathing contempt. "You say all that like there's a 'but' being left out."

Adam reeled his hook back in. "But, that's if there has to be a fight at all."

"Oh, yeah, sure thing Mr. Terrorist Man, I'll happily let you go so you can't follow through on your threats to slaughter my family like the fucking lunatic your pretending you aren't acting like."

Adam smiled. "Insulting me doesn't seem like the wisest course of action after what I just explained."

Dallon reared her head back and spat.

Adam tilted his head to the side to avoid the spittle and very nearly blew her head off right then and there for the disrespect alone.

The fury in her gaze had a very presence in the air, because he felt a buzzing, slimy sensation, a wrongness, a prenatural fear, begin clawing free of his belly and traveling up towards his brain.

His hair standing straight on its ends, a hysteria in his voice that didn't belong, Adam laughed. "You remind me of someone I knew once. Someone I respected. You've got the same hair, the same face, and the same damn right hook."

Dallon glowered at him. "And?"

"And I maimed her in front of the love of her life as I helped burn her world down around her. I took off her arm at the elbow and left her girlfriend to rot in a burning school. You have no idea the things I'm capable of. The graveyards I've filled. Do you think I could be bluffing? You and Menja are childs play compared to half the men and women I've killed. You should turn around right now, ward off your cousin, and go back to helping your family with Fenja before I take your arm too."

Dallon was all but vibrating in place, utterly incandescent with rage.

Rage, and fear.

But still, she didn't back down. Her face smoothed out into a blank, empty mask. She turned her head around to look at the men below them both, at the streak in the distance that froze in place and began glowing red. Laserdream.

Wilt's blade, hidden from sight and buried into the brickwork, began to glow red.

She started at them in a pensive silence. Judging. Weighing their lives on a scale.

Adam tapped his foot and waited for her to make her choice.

Dallon sighed.

She turned back to face him, lips thinned. "I can't let you go."

Adam noted the emphasis on let.

Laserdreams glow became blinding.

"I understand."

Dallon lunged forward with a punch that was so painfully telegraphed anyone could have seen it coming.

Adam weaved to the side, balancing on one foot and letting Dallon's fist sail past him and get stuck elbow-deep into the brickwork.

She gave him an unreadable look before tearing her arm free and making to strike him again.

Adam stomped on Wilt's hilt, hard.

The blade ground down through the building in a straight line downwards and Adam surfed atop it as a crimson blast obliterated the top half of the building and sent Glory Girl careening off to the side, rubble raining down atop him and the soldiers at ground level.

Adam grimaced to himself as he felt the rocks plink and roll off his back, taking another sliver of his aura away.

A farce it may be, it was one that could still cost him his life.

All he could do was hope Dallon would get her cousin to play her part in it correctly.

Or more would have to die.

/

Edit just now

I'm going to kill you all and then myself. How the fuck did I not notice the typo in my story synopsis till today that I just fixed? HOW?! For two years? WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME! I am so embarrassed you can't even imagine oh my god. I saw a reddit comment recommending this fic and noticed that the copy-pasted synopsis had two 'News' in it. I thought it was their mistake.

It wasn't.

Last edited: Jan 31, 2024

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Jan 25, 2024

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MasterDuplicator

Big Fan of a Mad Cow

Jan 31, 2024

#1,929

If you want a good idea of how Adam's clones look and move so abstractly, practically half-melded into him, or just aren't as familiar with RWBY's actual fight choreography and wanna see how Adam actually fights in 3d instead of my pages, watch this beautiful little fan animation. It's probably the greatest RWBY fan animation I've ever seen now these days, and not even for Adam. It made Raven so fucking cool and the way Adam's motions are repeated in delayed sequence with his clones just looks fucking dope.

Everyone in this thread should honestly give it a view if only to support the creator.

/

Mid-air was the worst possible place to be in the middle of a fight.

At least if you couldn't fly.

Right now, Adam was starting to wish he could.

Time slowed to the most minute fraction of a second he could drag his battered body and exhausted aura through, the debris in the air nearly frozen in place.

Adam leaned forward and let himself fall forward ahead of Wilt, locking the sides of his heels against its hilt.

Time resumed its forward momentum as Adam corkscrewed mid-air and swung Wilt out with his feet, the blade's glow dim.

The energy he put into the Moonslice that followed wouldn't have been enough to carry it even ten feet forward, let alone the hundred-plus foot distance he was away from Laserdream.

But she had no way of knowing that.

Adam was counting on that.

He thrust his hands forward toward the ground and slowed his perception of time again, twisting his body in a vain attempt at dodging the bullets streaming through the air toward him. He felt one, two, three bullets impact him, one outright bypassing the aura near his thigh and grazing the skin, before he landed palm-first on the shattered street.

Adam pushed himself up off the ground from his awkward handstand and kicked his legs upward to throw Wilt up toward eye level. Adam caught it, flipped it into a reverse grip, and thrust it into the ground just as he landed back to solid earth and Laserdream dispelled her summoned forcefield with a wave of her hand, his feinted Moonslice imploding after having only a traveled distance roughly equal to his own height.

He took a millisecond to himself to applaud her reaction time before dumping all his summoned energy and a fraction of his aura into the ground.

The street buckled upward, ebony lightning tearing through the underground power lines and sewer systems and basements before crimson plumes of energy erupted out from the ground in indistinct bursts and spikes.

The ground shook and rumbled for a few seconds as he poured the energy into the ground before Adam and everyone on the street level lost their footing as a cavernous sinkhole appeared and swallowed everything within a fifty by fifty-foot wide area around him.

Wilt, anchored deeply into the concrete, was the only thing that kept him standing.

A flash out the corner of his eye, and he ducked under a punch from Glory Girl. She sailed over his head and Adam spun on his heels and made to grab at her cape before she could get away.

Then she did something that surprised him.

She stopped.

Mid-air, his hands just out of reach of the white cloth that swam gently in the breeze just ahead of him.

Without any of her momentum carrying her further forward.

Adam heard Dallon's voice echo in his head.

Bullshit.

Then that cape dragged over his face and blinded him for a half second before the heel of her boot crashed into the side of his jaw.

Spittle flew free as he reared back with a yell. He wrenched Wilt free from the ground and backflipped past her follow-up punch.

Wilt whooshed clean through the empty space her body once occupied, only succeding in carving through the bottom of her cape.

The severed parchment fell over his head, coiling around his horns and blinding him again. Adam ducked down again on instinct and felt something scorching hot blitz past the space his head had been only a second prior.

Adam ripped the white cloth free of his face with a snarl and balled it up into his fist, jumping forward and whirling around to make space before blindly throwing it in Dallon's direction as hard as he possibly could.

It hit a very bewildered-looking Victoria Dallon in the head and fanned out over her face and upper body. Her head snapped back, more out of reflex than pain.

Wilt shot out from Blush with a fiery roar, but before its pommel could occupy the same space, a crimson forcefield appeared and very nearly shattered in the same moment as Wilt rocketed into it hard enough to make it shake before spinning in a lazy circle mid-air as it rebounded off.

Adam caught it before it could fall and ran through that forcefield, breaking it apart and shoulder-checking a wide-eyed Glory Girl out of his way just as she disposed of her ruined cape, and he sprinted away full tilt in the opposite direction of the carnage.

Ten steps in, his shadow came to life, lurching upward to its feet from behind him and running to match his pace, its afterimage only a few inches separated from his skin, its burning footfalls melting the concrete below them.

Melting the concrete, and wilting enough of it enough away that he had a smokescreen of wilting petals to zig-zag through.

Flashes of crimson light and the sounds of booming explosions confirmed Laserdream and Glory Girl were giving chase, but when Adam funneled a fraction more of his aura into his semblance and darkened the world enough each petal bloomed like the burst of a firework at midnight, it disguised his body enough that most of their attacks were quite wide off.

Adam grimaced as one soared particularly close to him, the crimson splash of energy racing over the outermost edges of his aura and fraying another little sliver of it away.

Most being the keyword.

But it wasn't a race he could run forever. Laserdream was keeping it light, harrying him with short blasts and small globules of energy, not concentrated beams or the large splashes she was known for, splashes that could atomize a human being or knock down half of a building. If she escalated any further, forgoing any potential collateral damage, it would only take one good shot.

So Adam cut the hare chase short.

He dug his heels deep into the ground, slowing his momentum somewhat, letting his clone phase through his aura and reform just ahead of him. Adam dragged Wilts's tip into the ground, generating yet more darkness and glowing petals, and he let his clone outspeed him by a country mile.

The clone, indistinguishable from himself in the dark, kept charging forward faster and faster until it passed around a corner and he could only guide it by the vaguest of sensations and mental commands.

Adam didn't see the blast of light that blew it and the car it veered past to high hell, but he sure felt the shock of the lost aura drive the breath from his lungs.

What a waste.

He took a half-second to catch his breath then veered off toward the nearest building at his left, that being a sandwich shop with an already broken window and shattered that must have already been looted and destroyed prior.

Thanking the gods for his luck that this part of the city was now so depopulated, he hopped through the broken window and dove behind the low counter, using an opened cash register to hide his horns as he crouched down.

Adam sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled sharply through his nose.

He tried taking in another calm breath.

Then another.

And another.

And another after that, until he had to keep a glove over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his exhausted heaving. His aura glimmered across his body for a moment, impotently sparkling and flashing, before it receded into the depths of his soul,

He very nearly passed out then and there when the energy and power his aura had given him receded along with it.

Every nerve was alight. Every muscle sore. His lungs were empty, his throat hoarse, his jaw numb.

He slumped further against the countertop, eyelids drooping. This was going to put him out of action for tomorrow. Maybe even a few days.

Adam sat there for a length of time his mind was too far gone to keep track of. When he felt he could trust himself to stand again, he did so, and he had to drag his aura back out kicking and screaming.

Seven or eight percent likely, ten at the most, five at the lowest. A stiff breeze away from shattering.

Adam doubted he would be able to take the shock of it. Just keeping conscious from the shock of an aura breakage was a challenge for even veteran Huntsmen. Most Hunstmen-in-training passed out almost immediately, and he had even read some reported cases of younger people being disqualified from the academies because the stressors an aura break put upon their body shut down their hearts or put them into comas.

Wilt rasped free, and Adam half walked, half staggered towards the back wall, past the shop's backroom and cold storage, whereupon he sacrificed another percent of his aura to clumsily slash a diagonal line across its back wall. The paint and drywall wilted away with no issue, but his semblance stalled at the brickwork on the other side that led to the inside of an alleyway, and he had to physically tear the wall apart piece by piece so as not to damage his aura further by trying to break it down.

When he had finally finished doing so, he forced his way through the wreckage and took another moment to catch his breath.

Then he heard her laugh.

"Gotcha motherfucker!"

He turned right, hands outstretched.

The dumpster sailing at him at highway speeds had the imprint of a boot on its side, courtesy of the teenager floating mid-air at the other end of the alleyway.

Adam caught the dumpster and dug in his heels, trying to resist. It pushed him all the way along to the other side of the alleyway until his back hit something red and warm and rigid. A forcefield.

He nearly swore. His eyes were so wide behind his mask that he was willing to bet Dallon could make out his good one.

How did they know?

He cursed himself for even having to think about it. There wasn't a body, blood, or any of his equipment lying around after they had disposed of his clone. Of course they would have doubled back to search for him again.

Dallon shot forward like a bullet, one first outstretched. She probably expected him to try and dodge or get out of the way. She definitely wasn't pulling her punches anymore, without the GUardsmen and PRT troopers to worry about.

Adam was too tired for that.

So he let his aura slowly creep over the outer edges of the dumpster.

Glory girl hit it again, but instead of shattering, it 'merely' skid back again, pushing him back on his heels and through that forefield.

Adam skidded back into the open street and looked upwards and to his left, eyeing Laserdream, who was idly floating above him, one glowing hand outstretched.

Adam lifted the dumpster over his head with a grunt and threw it at her.

Laserdream let out a shocked scream and raised another forcefield in front of her.

The dumpster smashed into it and crumpled apart into too many odd pieces to count. The forcefield shattered, and the impact sent her careening into a second-story window. She smashed halfway through it before coming to a stop with her legs dangling out from the windowsill, unconscious or worse.

Glory Girl screamed.

Adam sighed.

Then there was a hand at his throat, squeezing, and Adam realized he was being ground down into the side of a building, lifted halfway off the ground, Dallon's furious snarl right up in his face, their noses practically touching.

When did that happen?

She cocked a fist back, ready to smash his head into a bloody pulp.

It froze just past her shoulder when she felt Blush tickle her chin through her 'aura.'

Dallon's breath came out in short, controlled puffs. Her eyes were wide and her pupils dilated. She was looking at him, through him, searching for something he knew he didn't have.

She swallowed, eyeing the gun. The grip on his throat slackened. "You wouldn't."

Adam let Wilt fall to the ground with a clatter. He reached out and ran a finger across the drying blood below her scalp as Dallon shuddered in helpless rage and disgust.

He spoke like he would have to a child. "I already did."

Dallon flinched. "What..are you?"

It was a multifaceted question. Adam didn't have any answers for her.

He tapped her cheek in a gesture that was more mocking than comforting, despite his intent. "Go get your cousin. Go home. You did the best you could with what you had. No one will ever begrudge you for that." His lips twisted in an unfamiliar way. "You were brave."

Dallon reared back, then took a step back, her hands brought down to her sides. She looked between him and her cousin a few times before she floated up toward her and gently pulled her free from the broken window frame, careful to avoid the shattered glass.

She turned around one final time, glancing down at the rose decal on Blush's receiver.

When she was satisfied he wasn't going to shoot her in the back, she flew off toward the rapidly setting sun.

(X)

It took him four hours to get back home. Sneaking past patrol after patrol of soldiers, armed convoy after armed convoy, and even groups of rioting civilians and refuge convoys headed towards the multitude of locked-down exits and camps around the city.

It took him less than half a minute to fall asleep once he'd carelessly tugged off his belts and left Wilt & Blush on the ground.

He slept for eleven hours.

It took him ten seconds upon waking up to realize he wasn't alone.

Another four to peel off the blankets covering him that he didn't remember owning or even seeing. One more to realize he wasn't wearing his mask, despite the fact he had no memory of taking it off.

Another two to recognize the dark-skinned girl covered in blood sitting Indian style across from him on the other side of his apartment, Wilt & Blush strewn over her lap.

When Adam leaned on his elbows and turned to face his doorway, he spent another five seconds staring uncomprehendingly at the five corpses strewn about his entryway.

His brain finally turned on when he recognized the Massachusetts National Guard patches on their shoulders.

Sophia spoke softly. "They were on a patrol. First to come by this neighborhood. They saw me come up here. I heard them too late. Covered you up with some stuff I brought, tried hiding your weapons. I tried bullshiting them that I was squatting here. They took one look at all your decorations and knew better."

She rolled one shoulder in a parody of a shrug. "One started creping towards where you were sleeping. I knew then I had to..."

She trailed off a moment, humming. "Do something, I guess." She shifted in place uncomfortably. "First guys in a uniform I've ever iced. Felt weird."

Adan rubbed his eyes with one hand, taking an extra moment to dig the crust out from the letters seared into his skin.

Sophia watched him impassively. "I don't know what I was expecting when I took that mask off you. I just know it wasn't that."

The rage that should have been boiling in his blood was strangely absent. He should have already stood up and torn off her head for violating his privacy like that, for bearing witness to his greatest humiliation.

But all he felt was tired.

Sophia mouthed out the letters, then shrugged at him. "You don't look so bad even with it bare, but I digress. I'm sure you wanna know why I came by."

Adam didn't trust himself at the moment to do anything other than nod.

"My mom's dead."

Adam flinched.

"Brothers too. Found my fuckin baby brother half-liquid. Eyeballs floating in this puddle of what looked like god damn melted wax or playdough. Had a chat with the PRT about my options."

"Your...options." He echoed.

Sophia nodded. "Yeah. I gave it a day to think. Then I wanted to talk to you about it. But now?"

Sophia lifted a long, languid finger, and pointed it directly at his brand.

"Now? Now, I think I wanna talk about that."

Last edited: Jan 31, 2024

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Feb 17, 2024 Awarded ×1

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I am currently in the process of getting artwork commissioned for this story. I'm very excited to share it with you. It'll be a short series of stills from my personal favorite points of the story, and perhaps a wallpaper shot as a 'cover' for this fic. The artist has also agreed to collaborate on works for my other ongoing fic, Salt & Rock.

The first piece will be a still of Adam in his new outfit during his fight with Menja, sans his mask for dramatic effect.

/

It was a sort of whimsy, the same kind of unthinking wanderlust that Taurus had cautioned her against, that had her lift that mask free of his face. She'd been curious since the first day that they met, what lay underneath that painted porcelain. She'd refrained from peeking out of a combination of fear, respect, and a strange sense of worry. Like putting a face to the name, to the man, to the monster, might take its power, its beauty, away.

But after offing five people who'd done nothing but be in the wrong place at the wrong time, after her family was destroyed, after Piggot made her stance clear, after her whole fucking world erupted into flames, she felt like he owed it to her. She'd lied for him for weeks, and now had killed for him, and she didn't even know his name.

He'd told her to think it through.

She had.

And he still made no sense. None, not a single part of him.

Not his powers, not his experience, not even his fucking game plan. How was he in a place to judge her for fucking up and not having the right sense of goddamn old man gumption and forthrightness to make the right choice at the right time at every fucking juncture, when it looked like he didn't even have a plan himself besides 'Stab these fuckin goons'.

Why does he get to sleep peacefully at night, all his secrets intact, when all mine are laid bare before him?

It was petty. Suicidal even.

But she'd done it anyway.

Quick. Like ripping off a band-aid.

All her illusions, of his youth, of his beauty, of his mystery, had wilted away like the petals he made the second she glanced up at the red and black burnt-crusted webbing of scar tissue that ran across his nose towards his right eye.

Up across his soft cheeks, his brown eyebrow, past the melted flesh where the skin had peeled away and bubbled up like grease in a pan before resettling across his face in a manner that resembled less human scar tissue and more melted candlewax, past the indents and weeping sores and scabs where traces of softened iron had melted into his skin, to read the three heinous letters seared into the mans fucking face, across his god damn eyelid, like he was chattel.

S. D. C.

Now that he lie awake, now that he could look her in the face with that blood-eye half crusted open, burst blood vessels and pale grey iris and white pupil bisecting that letter C and its gaze into some half-assed asian squint, she could understand her prior fears.

Taurus blinked at her, and she blinked with him, the branded eye lagging a few milliseconds behind, eyelid dragging, and she felt part of her awe, his luster and her lust, fade away.

Suddenly, he was human, just like everyone else.

Three letters were all it took for her to understand him.

For him to make sense.

She wanted to hate it. She wanted to find it beautiful.

But the truth was...

"That's ugly as fuck."

Taurus twitched. It surprised her how emotive he was, bare-faced. With the mask on, he seemed so robotic, so purposeful, so in control.

Now she could see the mask was just that. Not the man.

He was an open book, even more so than her. She could see every twitch of his cheek, a few scattered veins pulse in his forehead, his tongue push against the roof of his mouth, his lips peel back into a sort of confused snarl, and she saw that blood-eye narrow at her in a way that made her feel sick to her stomach.

She forced herself to shrug, fighting back the urge to shrink before him. "What? It's true."

Taurus's face smoothed into something approaching deadpan, but she could see through it.

Already trying to put on another mask.

"Why?" He ground out the words like they were being forced out of the barrel of a gun.

"I don't even know your name." She blurted. That realization burned her.

The mask cracked slightly. "Why?"

"Why the hell not!" The vehemence in her voice surprised them both. "I earned it. I deserved it, and I'm goddamn disappointed."

The blood-eye narrowed, its core molten. "Disappointed?"

"Not at the scar, dummy. At you. You think I'd be afraid of or be grossed out by some ugly burn?" She growled. "All those questions I never asked, all the opportunities to fuck you over I never took, the time with my friends and family I sacrificed to hang with out with you, and you don't even have the courtesy to give me your name. I was an idiot to seek you out, but you're a goddamn asshole for taking advantage. You told me to think about it. Life, combat shit, everything. Well, I've thought you over. You're a fucking conundrum. Nothing makes sense. Not your horns, not your memories, not your skills, not your goddamn face. And I want answers. I wanna know what all those Empire guys, all those people In Bakuda's bombings, what my family, died for."

He looked like he wanted to choke the life out of her. "Are you insinuating it is my fault Bakuda started her rampage?"

"The Empire was the only thing holding the ABB back from expanding besides the PRT. You fuckin neutered them, and I bet she realized what that meant. Ain't nobody to stand in their way. I've heard lots of shit in the grapevine. Some of her bombs wilted stuff away. Sound familiar?"

His one good eye went wide, like he'd remembered something, a few words, a face.

Then his face dropped. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Taurus chewed on whatever memory he'd dredged up for a moment before swallowing it down with a grimace. "You want answers? About..?"

"Everything. Anything. Whatever I ask about. And I want you to be honest with me. I've been nothing but honest with you. I've trusted you. I want.." She trailed off, and abruptly choked up for a second. "I want to know that you trust me too. That whatever we wanna call...this is mutual. That we both care."

Taurus glanced off to the side, looking away from her. The glow in his eye dimmed, and the color she hadn't realized was draining away returned to its full vibrancy.

He was quiet for a long, long time before he grunted. "Ask then. You are..right. You have earned my trust."

She didn't miss a beat. "The brand. Who gave you it?"

Taurus worked his jaw. "Roman Viola Gelé. He liked going by Indigo because of the color of his eyes and the scarf he always wore. It..differentiated him from the rest of his family, who took another name in a political marriage."

Sounds french. "Why'd he do it?"

Taurus was quiet another long, long moment, before he spoke again, idly rubbing a finger against that brand in thought. "The explanation needs context. He worked for a mining company his cousin had inherited. The Schnee Dust Company. His outlandish and erratic behavior had ostracized him from the rest of his family, so he was granted control of a rapidly drying up mine in Mantle's northern wastes and left to his own devices. There was a small town a few miles out from it on the only reasonably settable soil in the area. It was subsidized, constructed, and run by officials from the company since its inception, effectively rendering it a work camp. Workers were paid either Lien or given credit at the company store in the center of town. Given Lien wasn't taken at the store and your only other option for goods and services was ten miles of frozen waste away in Mantle, virtually everyone who lived there was a de-facto debt slave. Every household had to have their entire family working in order to pay off their debts and afford their rent. I started working in the mine when I was eight. Roman came by once every six months to inspect the mine, the town, check on the profit margins, then he would leave."

Taurus swallowed. "He took a special interest in me and my family, though I didn't find out why until the..." Taurus shifted his jaw. Then he shook his head. "I've rambled enough, that part doesn't matter. By the time I turned twelve, the mine was drying up, the town was dying out, and Indigo was getting colder and colder with each visit. He knew he wouldn't be getting another appointment if and when the mine failed, so he did all he could do to keep it afloat. He'd ranted about it to me a few times, and twelve-year-old me had gotten a brilliant idea. There was an abandoned and only half-dug shaft at the last level of the mine, deemed too unstable to be worked upon, and no one had gone deep enough into it to survey its contents. I went down there, after already filling my quota for the day to check it out."

Taurus's eyes were beginning to glaze over. "For my family. For Lagertod. Even for Indigo. I wanted to be the hero that would save the day. I took a pick and a lantern with me and started digging. I was down there for three hours until I found it. An intact vein of gravity dust. I mined around it until my hands blistered, my knuckles were bloody, and my arms went numb until all those beautiful purple crystals were illuminating the darkness around me. With them lighting my way better than the lantern could, I saw all the other dust deposits around me. I'd done it."

She didn't know what dust was, but the implication it could fuck with gravity certainly implied its value. "But then?"

"It collapsed. I'd barely made it back to the surface. People on the upper levels had heard the collapse. Questioned me. When I told them about the dust, everyone understood all at once that I had doomed them all. Indigo as well. I'd branded him with something hotter than the iron he put upon my face, I'd branded him a failure. That scarred him in its own way."

Adam shrugged, the movement conveying feigned casualness and acceptance. "So he'd branded me in return. He wanted me to never forget who I worked for, who sheltered me, fed me, housed me, and thought for me. He wanted to make sure an independent thought never entered my head again. So he put that Iron to my face and made everyone in town watch."

She started at him. It felt like something was being left out, something important, but there was so much she didn't understand already that she put it out of her mind. "And Mantle? Lagertod? The..SDC?"

Taurus nodded. "I wasn't lying to you, about being a Case-53, in the general sense. I just left out an important detail. I remembered the world I came from."

"Everything?"

Adam nodded. "There wasn't a transition, a vision, nothing. One second I was drowning in the ocean, passing off into blissful oblivion, and between blinks I had awoken to Brockton Bay, with my old gear and my broken body intact."

"Drowning? So all those little parables you told me, about the fight you lost, the way you learned to fight..?"

Adam nodded. "All true."

"And the fight you lost brought you here?"

"It was a close run thing. It was between me and Blake, my former partner, and her new one. We fought to a death I forced."

Sophia blanched. "Hard to believe anyone could beat you in a fight."

"Well, in a world where there are thousands of people who can move like me and fight like me, being a prodigy can only get you so far. I was perhaps one of the best still living, but by the time I'd cornered them both, I was starved, exhausted, and mentally unraveling. Were I of sound mind, I would have killed them both easily. But I wanted to drag it out. Play with them. That cost me."

"People like you?" She gave his horns a meaningful look. He made an 'Ah' sound. "I was a Faunus. A minority. A person with extra traits often found in animals."

She snorted. "That explains the cat ears."

His smile was not quite a smile. "Yes."

She took a moment to breathe. To think. I'm talking to a fucking alien. "What's your name?"

"I gave it already. Half of it, anyway. Taurus. Adam Taurus."

Man-Bull?

She snorted again. 'Adam' stared at her impassively.

The impassivity did not last. "Why fight the Empire?"

He scoffed. "Why wouldn't I? They're a disgusting blight on civilization. An up-jumped gang of hoodlums who worship at the feet of their mad god who died almost eighty years ago now, whom plunged this world into its most destructive conflict in history."

It made sense. Just like earlier, it also did not feel like the whole truth. That feeling of disappointment panged in her chest all the more. "Fair enough. So, what's your plan after the Empire's gone?"

Adam clamped his jaw shut. His eyes rolled back, perhaps in search of a lie.

"You don't have one, do you, you fuckin hypocrite?"

Adam was quiet.

"Were you just going to leave me? The city?"

Adam shook his head. "I-"

"Are you planning to die?"

He stopped.

"It's already fuckin familiar to you, isn't it? Death? The end? I bet it was cathartic, in a way. Maybe it even makes sense. You kill the bad guys and the heroes kill the worst guy. It's karmic. Even satisfies your ego."

Adam scowled, but she interrupted him. "Well, whatever it is, I think it's retarded. What about me? What about whoever the hell the mystery person is who gives you all your fancy stuff? You think about how you dying or leaving or whatever it is you were gonna do would affect us?"

His silence was telling. Sophia turned away from him, fists clenched. "You wanted me to live on without you? Well now, your all I've got. No way are you dyin' on my watch, you asshole. We're in it now, you and me. You wanted me to figure out my life? I'll make a counteroffer."

She turned back around and extended a hand. "How's about we chat like grownups, you, me, maybe even bring in the mystery man, and figure it all out."

She narrowed her eyes. "Together."

Adam stared at her, eyes wide, an unidentifiable emotion swirling around with the blood that free-floated in his shattered sclera. His good eye looked almost watery.

He stood up. Stepped forward.

Took her hand like a lifeline.

"Okay."

Last edited: Feb 17, 2024

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Apr 14, 2024

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Okay, just this one for tonight actually because tomorrow is in an hour and I need to be up early, but I'm serious about the commitment or thread ban. I am deranged, I am a lunatic, I am ready to get all this out there.

/

"And again, please." The words were punctuated by the sound of a scribbling pen. Cole heard it as if she were right next to him, the same way he heard the couple talking privately to themselves forty feet away in perfect clarity, the same way he could hear the girl he'd been blindsided by in line earlier mutter empty platitudes to herself as she adjusted the new pair of sunglasses that hid her eyes.

Cole lifted the weights again, five hundred pounds moving in his arms like fifty, feeling like a bodybuilder without the diet or physique.

Disbelief, despair, and doubt assailed him, even with the proof right before his lying eyes.

Five hundred pounds at fifty-two.

If he even was fifty-two anymore.

He didn't feel it.

Didn't look it anymore either.

The woman coughed vaguely politely. "Now bring them down." She repeated, for maybe the twentieth or thirtieth time.

He did as he was bid and brought the weights back down, one in each hand, and placed them on the impromptu racks at his sides. He stood up in his seat, barely sweating, and rolled his shoulders, noting with unease the pop that echoed outward.

The woman scribbled and scribbled and scribbled some more on that fucking clipboard, the microtears of the paper and the scraping of the ink on parchment so loud he had to put both palms on his ears.

After a few seconds of waiting, eyes clenched shut, he opened them again once he couldn't hear it anymore.

After watching the woman silently mouth and mime words at him like he was Special ED Fred for maybe half a minute, he realized with a start he couldn't hear anything.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes again and-

"-And if you are still struggling to hear or understand me, I can find an interpreter fluent in-"

"I can hear you just fine." He interrupted her.

The dead-eyed fuckin government lizard woman didn't even blink or change her tone at the brusqueness in his voice, still keeping to that same nasally and smiley faux-pleasantness that'd toiled in his head like a bell the last fifteen or twenty minutes he'd been with her following her damned instructions. She just clicked her pen again and went back to asking her questions. "When did the fluctuations in your hearing begin appearing?"

Cole grunted. "When I first started lifting those weights. I was so zoned in that I kinda just...tuned everything out. And once I realized that, I got a little scared, kinda tried...willing it back, and it surged back into focus so loud it sounded like you were grinding that pen on my eardrum instead of that paper."

She gave out her tenth 'mhm' in a row and nodded to herself. Cole tapped his fingers against his thighs anxiously as he waited, running his now uncalloused hands against the wedding ring that hardly fit him anymore. He had to adjust it to keep it from slipping off, and not for the first time.

When she was done, she gave him one final nod and tucked the pen back up in her ear, reaching inside her pocket to fish out one of those little tiny makeup hand mirrors he'd seen Anna carry around once or twice when they'd first started dating. She flipped it open and held it out to him. "Do you have your driver's license or some other form of ID with you? I want to compare and contrast the changes in your appearance you've described to me."

He fished out his ID clumsily, unused to being the one actually asked that question, and handed it over, glancing in that mirror.

He reared back on reflex, the words on the tip of his tongue. That's not me.

It was a stranger he saw staring wide-eyed at him, in shock, of fear or disgust, he didn't know. A young man, a lean man, a handsome man, a man he hadn't been for over half his life. A man with no scars on his face and no wrinkles under his eyes, no grey in his hair.

The man she should have married instead.

He traced a finger across his face, from cheek to cheek, eye to eye, feeling the smoothness and softness of his skin. He looked good. Felt good.

He stretched in place, rolling his shoulders again and kicking his legs out. No pain, no soreness, no delays.

The easy was unfamiliar to him. He'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to move so freely and unencumbered.

He chuckled to himself, more than a little bitterly. He felt like a movie star, hell, even looked the damn part, and it was ten years too late for it to matter.

God, if you were gonna make me a fuckin freak, why couldn't you have done it before the crazy goddamn Asian lady blew up half my fuckin town, before I could make a lick of difference?

A voice that-probably-wasn't-god responded back to him mockingly. And what difference would that have been? She was dead the moment that man or woman or whoever they were walked in the door. So was everyone else who didn't make it.

Maybe so, he replied back. But at least like this, I woulda heard them before they tripped the bell.

But that didn't matter now. All he'd done these past few years was wallow about the past and could-haves and should-have-beens.

He clenched his fits tight, and felt his muscles burn as he squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, no varicose veins to get in the way.

The woman finished jotting her malarky down and held out a silent open palm, expectant. He handed the mirror back, and she his ID.

"This can conclude your formal assessment. Normally the procedures and questions would be much longer, more intensive, and stringent, but due to the main PRT headquarters's...condition, that isn't possible at this time."

"So what does that mean for me?" He asked.

"It means that once this document is submitted, you will be legally recognized as a Parahuman by all state, federal, and civilian agencies."

"Yes, but what does that actually mean for me?" He repeated.

The lizard woman showed the first real sign she was capable of human emotion since he'd first met her with the sudden twitch of her lips he caught, her eyes crinkling in amusement. "Well, normally I'd have a pamphlet to give you for you to read over and ask me questions about, but those were all destroyed for the most part in the initial bombings, and the PRT hasn't exactly been in a hurry to bring us more, with them so busy asking for reinforcements and butting heads with the Army. If you want me to be honest?" She queried him, raising a brow, and he nodded his head. "It won't mean a god damn thing to you or anyone else for a long, long time. Just look around you. Our bureaucracy is totaled. People are here homeless and starving like we're in Hati, not Brockton Bay. It's not going to change much of anything for you unless you decide to try your luck moving out of the city or joining the PRT. I assume you won't be taking either of those risks?"

His resulting scoff was answer enough for her. The slight chuckle she let out unnerved him, though he'd never admit it aloud. "Then we're done here. You're free to go."

He nodded back to her, turning on his heel and staggering a few steps in the opposite direction before stopping, shuffling his feet, and displacing the grass.

Not for any real reason. He just couldn't think of anywhere to go.

Home wasn't home without Anna, and during his hospital stay it had probably been destroyed and burglarized anyway. It wasn't like most people were unaware a cop lived there anyway. It'd be a prime target for scumbags. He was on a permanent leave of absence due to his 'injuries', though they'd healed themselves in a time that yellow guy from the old vintage X-Man comics he remembered reading as a kid woulda been jealous of during his hospital stay, though he did not wanna find out if that was a fluke or not. Mike was off somewhere, alive or dead, he didn't know, and with the way things were, his status could change any second anyhow.

So he decided to keep it simple, and trundled off towards the least busy-looking hastily constructed bench he could find. There was only one other person on it, some young-looking and beaten down Hadji girl with a bad scrape on her chin and bloodied cotton balls stuffed in her ears. He sat off as far from her as he could so as not to disturb her, but she noticed him anyway, giving him a small smile and gentle wave, only a little forced, tinged with the slightest hint of melancholy.

"Sorry for disturbing you." He said, and he leaned back in surprise when she fuckin jolted upward like a startled rabbit, blinking at him rapidly in disbelief.

He scrambled back slightly in a panic. "What? What is it?"

The girl was seemingly lost for words a moment, before shrugging helplessly to herself with a light little laugh. "I heard you." She said.

"Yeah?" He replied.

The girl laughed again, a touch hysterically this time. "I heard you in my bad ear. The one with the eardrum that's gone."

"Oh." He said.

That was.

Something.

The girl laughed at the expression on his face, but he could hear the undercurrent of relief in her voice at simply being able to clearly hear again. "How is that possible? Are you a...?" She trailed off, idly adjusting the cotton as if would make more of a difference.

"Parahuman?"

She nodded.

"Un-fuckin-fortunately." He groused.

She laughed again.

The sound vibrated in him pleasantly.