The streets of Brockton Bay are fraught with tension, as the pervasive influence of various gangs makes it difficult to move about without drawing unwanted attention. This is particularly challenging for younger individuals and those from diverse nationalities, as the gangs in Brockton Bay are deeply entrenched in racial motivations.
Their conflicting ideologies regarding the perceived superiority of certain groups often spark confrontations along their territorial boundaries and beyond. Moreover, individuals affiliated with these gangs, such as mercenaries, students, and even law enforcement officers, often struggle to coexist peacefully, resulting in instances of bullying, abuses of power, and the unfair dismissal of valuable assets based on their connections.
As Mary walks through the city streets, she can't help but notice the downtrodden individuals in tattered clothing, their attire stained with dirt and grime. She spots discarded needles, evidence of drug use, and she wonders if more should be done to address the increasing crime and the spread of dangerous drugs in the city.
Her contemplation is interrupted by the sound of silent sobbing, a deep, haunting cry that resonates with her. Despite the unsettling nature of the sound, Mary feels a tug at her heartstrings, igniting her desire to make a positive impact in her city, to combat crime and help those in need. This desire stems from her vision of a better future for her hometown, where crime and drugs no longer hold sway, and where she can be a hero to those around her.
So, she made the decision to turn around and retrace her steps back to where she came from in order to offer help. Despite the intimidating nature of the alleyways, she bravely ventured into the dark and unfamiliar paths, hoping to assist the person in distress.
This was a defining moment for her, a demonstration of her willingness to confront challenges and provide support in the face of uncertainty. So that is why...
In front of her lay a figure pressed against the weathered brick wall. Its pale, almost translucent hands were clasped over its bare, wincing face. The figure's emaciated arms and frail form were curled into a fetal position, as if seeking protection from the surrounding world. Its head rested softly against its knees, leaving Mary uncertain of its gender.
The soft cries, muffled with the sound of someone in pain, resonated through the narrow alley, unmistakably marking this man as the source of the distressing cries that Mary had heard.
Despite her best efforts to remain composed, Mary couldn't help but flinch in disgust, her brows furrowing and her lips pinching into a deep frown. She thought herself better than others, she thought herself immune to the deformed, or disabled. She saw herself as someone who was open-minded and progressive.
Despite feeling disgusted, she mustered the courage to approach the man, pushing through her own feelings of scorn. However, the increasing volume of the cries, now resembling desperate screams, overwhelmed her.
The man shuffled, arms moving to the sides of his face, like she was the one that was screaming, but still very much covering the majority of his face.
He stood up, legs pushing himself off the ground, back hunched, and legs spread apart like he was about to piss his pants.
In that moment, she realized that the man standing in front of her was not just thin, but severely malnourished. However, before she could dwell on these thoughts, he let out a blood-curdling scream, shouted, and then charged towards her.
The last thing she saw before she was CONSUMED was the horrifyingly large bloody maw on a white blank face, He had sunken eyes that resembled deep, empty wells, and blood. So much blood. Her blood.
Mary Howitzer's final thoughts echoed in her mind as she pondered over how she could have failed to recognize the true nature of the man she had sought to assist. Her disbelief at her own naivety and the stark realization of being deceived were the last sensations that she experienced before she was never seen again.
In the narrow alleys where she once sought to lend a helping hand, the echoes of sorrow reverberate. The deceptive undertone of these echoes draws in valiant souls, only to lead them towards their tragic fate.
...
Brad all ways thought of himself as someone who followed a certain set of values, that while disliked by others, were important. Important to himself, and important for reasons that, due to the nature of the importance, will not get into right now.
His hands gently shoved in his pockets, wolf mask hidden out of view, tucked between his shirt and jeans. He carried on. While it is unusual for him to be out of his cape persona, he felt it was time. Time to relax a bit and take a well-needed breather from the stresses of having to deal with that bumbling fool.
Having to deal with others that always seem to contradict your set of values was always challenging, but brad managed. He always, always does what he has to, to continue his preferred lifestyle, his way of life.
It's a dog-eat-dog world he would always say. Something, that while meaningless to people who do not fear for their lives, or who take to the blade and hunt. Its meaning was quite straightforward.
The world is cruel, and others will always try to put you down.
Something Brad agrees with and accepts. He accepts it because what else could you do? What else could you really do when beasts of unimaginable power attack and kill thousands twice a year, what else could you do but live how you want to live?
He says hunt, he says violence. Because while the weak die, the strong always live.
The strong fight, the strong survive in a cruel world. The strong do not perish, do not die. For they find a way to live.
So that is why he walks forward in life, that is why he follows kaiser, follows a creed he does not believe. It is because they are strong. They fight, and they do not flee.
The sound of a phone ringing breaks his contemplations. Carefully, he picks up his phone, something he does not usually do, especially when he is on his breaks. Breaks he barely gives himself. For it is something only the weak would need.
"Hello" he answered coldly, barely in the mood for chatter.
"There is a disturbance by the docks, I would like for you to check it out. The men I have sent have not returned and, for whatever reason, you are closer to the area than the others" the voice said, a voice he recognizes as kiazer.
Before he could refute, before he could tell him he was on a much-needed break. The line went dead. The other side not having the honor to hear swear words of various backgrounds, and, to his embarrassment, his scorn filled huffing.
Was he a dog? He thinks not. Gathering himself and collecting his anger, he thought about Kaizers orders.
And, while not that surprising in of itself. What was surprising was Kaizer ordering him to go check, specifically. For while he was by no means at the top of command, he was not just some lackey to be ordered around, like some submissive dog.
Sighing, he pulled up his shirt and unhooked the wolf mask that was resting between his jean's waistline.
There is no point arguing with Kaizer, for while he does not like being ordered around, it is just better to follow orders.
And there is no need to get into how Kaizer knew where he was. For every high enough ranking individual in the empire was monitored, not that scrutinizingly, but well enough to know of their rough locations.
Not that long after Kaizers promto check-in call, he arrived at the docks. Its rundown buildings and the suffocating smell from the toxic pollutants of the Ferry were not an appetizing site. Checking his watch, he arrived just in time.
The sun, its blinding inferno, now but a simple orange glow, just about to set. The shivering chill of the night was felt. Thier freezing winds pushed forth by the night sky. The moon, its radiance was plastered on the walls of the buildings, gently caressing Hookwolfs skin.
So, whoever was awake at this time, he could not be blamed for roughing them up a bit.
Extra eyes could always help when on a mission to look for a disturbance reported by your boss.
The signs of the disturbance were immediately identifiable. In the middle of the paved walkway, its width enough to hold a few cars side by side, a white thin humanoid man was seen. Hands covering its face, blood casually dripping from his body.
Bodies, their heads chopped off, surrounded the man. their grotesque faces, the picture of agony.
And while not that easily seen, there were specks of blood scattered across the white man's arms, his sharp pointy nails seeming to be covered in dirt, grim, and the blood of his fallen comrades.
He arrived at a bad time it seemed, as the man, holding one of his fallen comrades' heads just above his now opened maw, claws slowly un-digging themselves from the dead man's skin. Was about to CONSUME the head of his fallen comrade.
But just before he was about to finish dropping the man's head into his opened maw, the white man, turned around in a blink of an eye. His hollow white pale eyes were glued onto hookwolves form. Its once opened maw was now pinched into an unsightly frown, Something Hookwolf wished to erase from his mind.
The man then screamed, sounding like a mix between a cry and a sob.
Discarding the head, the white man charged, its speed almost impossible to foresee.
Transforming quickly, he tried to dodge out of the way, but before he could even move from his position, the white man was on him.
Grabbing his metalic chain that was only half formed, the white man pulled. Bringing Hookwolf surging forward. The man then let go of the chain and proceeded to smack him across the face.
Bringing him smacking into the ground, its concrete layers breaking from the force. His metal form denting, and cracking from the applied strength of the hit.
Getting up quickly, he transformed one of his arms into a claw. Spinning from his position so his legs were in the air, he then kicked the white man in the face, following the force to then swipe at the man with his hand-claw.
He felt the telltale sign of his claw slicing through flesh, cutting, and dicing.
Backing away so as to get some space, he viewed the man's form, expecting him to be injured, and bleeding.
But what awaited him was the mans untouched body, with no visible signs of damage, and the deafening screams growing louder.
The man letting out one final sob, rushed forward, his zigzagging movements easy to follow, but his speed difficult to track.
Following the man's lead, hookwolf also sped forward, fully transforming into his signature wolf form. chains of hooks following his path, swinging in the air freely as they were.
Jumping so as to get to the high ground, he pounced.
They crashed into one another, their forms practically melting from the force.
Hookwolf was torn apart, his metal parts littering the area. Returning to a fluid like state.
The white man's flesh was completely bruised, bits and pieces tearing themselves apart as they fell to the ground.
Torn off of their strands of ligaments holding them together.
The white man regenerated, its flesh fixing itself as it got itself upright.
Hookwolf, collected his metal parts back, their liquid Metalica bits returning to his body bringing his body mass up to expected levels, readorning his wolf form.
He can not begin telling you how much reforming himself is a pain. He practically has to give up function for the ability to restore himself, giving his opponent ample time to resume an attack. But, while it can be annoying at times, he cannot deny the abilities usefulness. Especially in moments like these, where somehow, he finds himself fighting an opponent where he has no clue of their limits.
Getting up, he prepares himself for battle once again.
But before he can take a fighting stance, the white man was on him. Its thin spindly arms, with its sharp bloody claws, mere meters from his face. Ducking back so as to dodge the impending strike, he felt the after winds of the strike. Forcing him to realize how close to death he just was.
His thoughts were interrupted however, by the pavement cracking from the force of the white man's stomping. Closer and closer the white man got, his steps slow and the sobs hollow.
Seeing this as his opportunity, hookwolf formed a chain on his forearm, swinging it so it can get momentum, he threw. Its trajectory precise, his aim clear.
But for how accurate he was, the white man jumped, bringing himself atop hookwolfs body, its arms wrapped around his head, legs resting on his sides.
He... he was riding him like a dog?
No...
NO
I will not allow this.
Transforming himself into his fluid like state, he made the white man fall to the ground. His fluid form flowing back a few steps to then transform back into his wolf form. Rushing forward, claws at the ready, he struck. His claws tearing and dismantling flesh, his hooks piercing skin, his punches, surely, causing pain.
But for all his strikes, for all his attempts to cut the white man to pieces. He would not die. His skin would regenerate, his escape attempts becoming more effective. Making it difficult for hookwolf to hold onto him effectively.
Just about as he was about to slice one of the white mans arms off, the white man struck. His head, once severely disfigured, now healed. Head butted hookwolf, its strength so strong that it knocked hookwolf meters away, causing him to hit a brick wall, breaking it in the processes. Proceeded to then roll a few more meters before finding his resting place on the wooden docks.
Getting himself up, or at least he tried to, for when he was just about to get to his feet, a foot stomped on his back, forcing him back to the ground. A scream so deafening, it blurred out the sky, the world.
Hands brought themselves to his head, their grip steady. Nails, their sharp points, digging themselves into his metal flesh. Pain followed, for the white man pulled. His metal head not strong enough to hold onto the rest of his body.
Quickly, he tried moving his core, but that was for not. As before he could even so much as will it to move. Legs their strength blinding, dug themselves into his body, filling his mind with pain.
Not that long after, his head was lobbed off, still holding his core.
Ever so slowly his head was lifted up, arms still dug into his metal skin.
And what he saw was a maw opened wide, seemingly to have no throat or end in sight. Blood still covered the white man's mouth, almost like it was stained into his skin.
He was dropped, almost unceremoniously, into the creatures maw.
He knew no more.
For he was CONSUMED
...
Pain...
PAIn...
Make IT StOP ..
It HuRtS..
ThE EyES ..
ThERE HoRRiFic StAres ..
TherE painfuL GaZes ..
TrAILInG My BoDy..
StoP It..
PlEaSe..
I LUNGE
TEAR
AnD CONSUME
I JUST WanT To Be AloNe
IsoLatED..
StoP StARing
Im sO.. HideoUs
StoP It
STOP...
PleASE
...
Alexandria, while not the most patient of the group before her. She even felt that the introductions were a bit of a waste. Everyone knows each other here, everyone has been introduced a million times before, and everyone knows what this meeting is about, surely. So why, then, is the director taking her sweat time to get it started?
Looking forward towards Emily's desk, she sees her with her finger casually tapping the hard wood of her, rather, newly polished desk. Mouth casually introducing the assorted heroes gathered in the room, and a projector behind her, displaying the activities of a rather elusive new 'cape.
And she thinks to herself, 'just get it over and done with.'
Her thoughts were then interrupted by the shuffling of chairs. Looking to her left, she sees Armsmaster picking up a Suitcase of some sort, casually unzipping its zipper, and taking out an iPad. Its features are clearly advanced, and its functions well managed.
Thinking nothing of it, she casually tried to take a peek at what was on the screen, but all she got in return was a sideways look from Armsmaster that clearly said, 'Mind your own business,' alongside a little harsh whisper, and a glare.
So, she gave up, and looked back towards the director, who was, not to Alexandria's surprise, glaring at the residents of the room.
Clearing her throat, getting everyone's attention, Emily spoke, her voice clear and words well pronounced.
"This matter is to be taken seriously, for those of you who live in the area. Brockton Bay, specifically. This new cape, who we have Temporarily named the Shy guy for his elusive nature along with reports of his rather predatory nature, is to be avoided.
So far, we have confirmed over a dozen kills that match his motto. head completely severed from the rest of the body, claw marks and bruises covering the individuals' arms and legs, and most importantly, the capes Shaker/Thinker effect."
Looking around the room, Alexandria sees that the director has captured everyone's full attention.
With the ending of her speech, hands were quickly raised, almost desperately awaiting to be picked.
Nodding her head towards someone in the back row, battery stands up.
"You know the capes classifications?" she asked.
Expecting the answer, Emily replied,
"Yes, it was not that difficult when you have footage of the cape manhandling Hookwolf, but due to the nature of 'shy guys power, we will not be able to show you the footage. But, still, it is important for you to know that information." Pausing for a second, Emily turned around, grabbed a remote laying nonchalantly at her desk, and pressed a button.
Not that long after, the projectors resting imaged changed, changing to a document filled with the cape's classification.
"So, with that said, here are the capes classification, based on the information that we were able to observe..."
Shaker/Thinker 6, Brute 7, mover 4, and breaker 2.