CHAPTER 5: THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN, PART 5
Poverty is the worst form of violence.
And this particular form of violence had been inflicted on the city of Hillwood, where it turned from one of the most prosperous, diverse cities in the United States into a no-man's land; gone was all form of government and society, leaving only pockets of people who congregated around arbitrary lines for survival.
Long since has economic warfare been inflicted on American cities by its own government, but Hillwood has been an exceptional case. In service of trying to combat a dangerous supervillain named the Freak, the city, resting on one of the San Juan islands of Washington state, the city was completely disowned by the government and cut off from the mainland in an attempt to isolate the problem.
It failed.
So, on December 31st, 2023, it was decided by then-president Milius Arcudi to order a nuclear strike on the city.
The entire city of Hillwood, once sent into chaos and mayhem from a nuclear bomb set off miles underground beneath it, had been finished off in a blast of atomic hellfire that wiped out all life from the city and destroyed all its infrastructure, wiping off the map what was once the greatest cities in the country.
Only a handful of lives had managed to escape, two of which were personally saved by intervention from Vlad Masters.
This is one of them, named Gerald Johannsen.
Once known as the best friend to the real man behind the Green Eye, Gerald was a nigh-inseparable friend from him. Spending most of their time together in Hillwood as youths enjoying their urban adventures throughout the city, very rarely could these two be found in such substantial disagreement or conflict.
Not to say that there were never any; no relationship, especially not a friendship, is guaranteed to be perfect. There were many instances where the two could indeed be found fighting, and perhaps to a point where they could not repair their relationship, but there would always be a time for reconciliation.
During the battle with the Freak, however, this did not seem to be the case.
Following a series of instances of broken trust, including his girlfriend becoming paralyzed from the waist down, and the death of an illegitimate niece that he did not know existed, on top of a recent alignment with a notorious crime boss to fight against the Freak, Gerald left Hillwood before its collapse, leaving the Green Eye to fight for its soul by himself.
Soon, he came to overlook these differences and mistakes to return to Hillwood, fighting alongside his best friend once more to save his city. As previously said, he was saved from certain death by a nuclear bomb by Vlad Masters, and his home town was destroyed.
The Green Eye would soon disappear from the world, but not before Gerald would attempt to make peace once more, only to fail, but not for his lack of trying.
Now, he lives in Seattle, alongside his parents and sister, where he and his fiancee, Phoebe Heyerdhal, have been welcomed in following the trauma and horrors they have suffered, where they can be part of a family and be at some semblance of peace after what they have been through.
And one of the first things they have done to put their lives back on track is to attend college, where they may better themselves and become educated to survive in the world. Choosing to start simple with a college that remained both accessible and make a decent starting point for a more advanced school, they two enrolled at the University of Washington, each taking general studies together.
At this moment, their particular classes have ended, and Gerald is currently engaging in a game of basketball. Stomping about the court with the ball firmly under his control, Gerald is, even to the untrained eye in sports, the MVP of the game, and he is the one single-handedly carrying the team to victory.
The crowd is ecstatic at the game being played, feeling the high energy of the game start to invigorate them. Many are excited for the college's home team to win, but none are more excited for the victory of the team from their prized player, and the one proudly supporting him, cheering for him to succeed...
...is the wheelchair-bound Phoebe Heyerdhal, shouting her fiancee's name in joy.
"Go, Gerald! You've got it! Make the score!" Phoebe shouted.
Jumping up to the basket with the ball in his hand, he landed a slam dunk, scoring yet another win for his team, and declaring his side the victors. The college team, the Washington Huskies, all celebrated with cheers and group hugs, mostly congregating themselves around Gerald.
Later, the game and initial celebration is concluded and followed with a much-needed shower and change of clothes for all players involved, where they could depart to meet with their family and loved ones, who all personally congratulated the players for their effort in winning the game.
Gerald is greeted by Phoebe, rolling up in her wheelchair, and immediately do the two share a kiss upon meeting.
"You did great, Gerald." Phoebe said.
"Well, I should hope so. You were doin' a whole lotta shoutin' over little old me, babe." Gerald joked.
The two shared a laugh at his comment, and, as the two laughed, Gerald moved behind Phoebe to push her wheelchair, but she instantly declined his gesture.
"Oh, no, no, Gerald, you don't have to push me, it's okay." Phoebe said.
"Why not? I'm already standin' here, and I'm going your way anyway. Might as well make myself useful." Gerald said.
"Please, Gerald. I can do it. It's okay."
Releasing his hands from the wheelchair, Gerald respectfully granted her request.
"Alright, have it your way, Pheebs." Gerald said.
The two then shared their walk down the halls of the university, sharing with each other the details of their day.
"So, you know my story already. I got through my regular classes, then won us a big game. How about you?" Gerald asked.
"Pretty good. I'm at the top of almost every class, still raking in great grades." Phoebe said.
"Looking forward to graduation?"
Phoebe hesitated before answering, knowing that her answer is one that she did not like, and she feared that Gerald would not like, either.
"I... I don't know. I know our plan was to get a bachelor's degree and move up from there to a better college, but... I still don't know what I want to do." Phoebe bemoaned.
"You too, huh?" Gerald asked.
Another somber silence was held between the two, with the foresight of both young people failing to see a successful future coming in their lives.
"Look, you don't got anything to worry about, Pheebs. You're a smart person, you can do anything you want. Me? I'm just a regular guy. Ain't nothin' special about me." Gerald said.
"Don't say that, Gerald. You're smart, too, and you've got a lot of heart. You can be anything you want, too." Phoebe said.
"Not like you. I mean, I was a C-student through and through back in middle and high school. You managed to skip a grade back when you were in fourth. The only reason I even got here with you is because of that dumb basketball scholarship. You got your scholarship for doing the hard book work, I got it for, what? Bouncing a ball around on a court?"
"It doesn't matter how you got here, Gerald. What matters is what you do now that you're here. You've been putting in the work, same as me. You can graduate and get your degree, you can make something of it."
"Like what? I got no skills. I got no passions. Most excitement I ever had was back in school with Arnold, or kickin' butt on the streets with him, that's mainly what I was good at."
Realizing he said aloud the name of his best friend, gone to the world without a trace, Gerald hung his head with a sigh in frustration.
"Goddamn, I miss him. He would've known what to do at a time like this, he was, like, the main voice of reason for everything. If only I hadn't- Because of your- I-" Gerald tried to say.
Stricken with grief and guilt, Gerald held his face with an angry groan, which Phoebe quickly silenced by grabbing his other hand and holding it to her chest.
"Gerald, don't talk like that. I miss Arnold, too, and I still don't blame him for what happened to me. Do I wish I could walk again? Of course. But I didn't let that stop me. I'm still alive, and I'm still going. You will make it, too. We're just a little unsure of where we're going from here. We've only been here a year now, we've got at least 3 more years to figure it out." Phoebe said.
Rubbing his hand against her face, she also gave it a kiss, attempting to cheer him up.
"After all, you just won a big game. This isn't supposed to be a time when you get all gloomy and upset. This is a time to be happy. Why don't we just try to enjoy the rest of the day, please?" Phoebe asked.
Temporarily stayed from his troubles by Phoebe's aid, Gerald's next sigh was a happier one, put out of his bad state of mind for the moment.
"You're right. Forget I said anything. Why don't we head home and get ourselves some dinner?" Gerald asked.
And the two shared a healthy, happy walk together, with Phoebe happily rolling herself next to Gerald as they departed for home.
Once arriving back home, to the current residency of the Johannsen family, Gerald separated from Phoebe to fulfill a small household duty.
"Go on inside, Pheebs. I gotta check the mail." Gerald said.
"Okay." Phoebe said.
As Phoebe rolled away to enter the house, Gerald opened the mailbox to the house, taking out the letters and parcels that arrived for the family. Leisurely sifting through the arrivals, he noticed one letter from the University of Washington with his name on it, prompting him to open and read it right away.
He had no expectations on the contents of the letter, but, upon reading them, he was not at all pleased with what he saw.
Hello, Gerald Johannsen,
We at the University of Washington look out for our students and do our best to help them succeed, but it is unfortunate that we must inform you that your academic performance has not been sufficient to sustain your scholarship.
Social life and afterschool activities are just as important to college life, but class is the utmost important part of the University of Washington. If your GPA does not go up to 3.15 or higher, your scholarship may be lost and you will have to seek out other forms of funding for your education.
We offer private tutoring from fellow students and have a library accessible at all times to
The rest of the letter is not worth reading, already has the main point been made. Hanging his head low, Gerald let out a sighing groan, taking in a great deal of stress from the news. The letter's alternate offerings to help him around his issue are of no help, and he has already decided that anything he tries will fail.
And he feels like less of a man.
Dinnertime comes pleasantly for the family; their food for the evening is chicken with corn and collard greens, freshly cooked by Gerald's mother with some assistance from Timberly. All sit down for the hearty, homemade meal, the Johannsen family sitting together to enjoy dinner togther.
The table is mostly quiet, save for the sounds of food being chewed and swallowed, but some conversation was thrown out.
"So, how was everybody's day? Martin, would you like to start?" Gerald's mother asked.
"Oh, not a big day, really. Just the usual at the office. Our fax machine got jammed, so we had a bit of an adventure trying to get it to work again. I swear, I'll never understand how they thought 'PC LOAD LETTER' was a better thing to say than just 'out of paper'." Martin said.
"Mmm, computers these days. Timberly? How's high school?"
"Sucks. I got a big math test coming up, and I still don't know which boy I want to take to the movies. Brad and Tommy are cute, but Kevin just makes me laugh so much." Timberly said.
"Oh, yeah, the trouble with boys, I remember that. And how about our soon-to-be newlyweds and college graduates? You two must be having a lot going on together. And, Gerald, I heard you won yourself a big game today."
Caught up in his own troubles, Gerald was slow to reply, looking up from his food with his response coming after.
"Uh, yeah. Big game. It was fun." Gerald muttered.
"Sorry we couldn't make it today, you know how it is to make ends meet." Martin said.
"That's alright, I recorded the whole thing. You'll be able to see it later." Phoebe added.
"Wonderful, sounds like a good thing to watch after dinner. And how about you, Phoebe?" Gerald's mother asked.
"Good, my day was good. Just still not sure what I want to do when I graduate."
"Well, that's alright. You've got plenty of time to figure it out, both of you. And we're right here to make sure you'll take off alright." Martin said.
"I know. Thank you both, really. You've been so nice and considerate to us since we got out of Hillwood."
"You're our family, sweetie. It's not just about being nice; you're Gerald's fiancee, so you're a part of us."
Phoebe smiled at her response, taking another bite of her food.
"So, what about you, Gerald? Anything new at school?" Gerald's mother asked.
Gerald went silent again before his response, this time trying to think of what to say to his mother.
"Uh, yeah. Great. Just fine." Gerald said.
"That's good, that's good, honey." Gerald's mother said.
"Oh, I almost forgot, can you get the mail? I'm expecting a letter from some colleges I applied to." Timberly asked.
"I got it already. It's up on the counter." Gerald said.
Getting up from the table, Timberly walked to the counter in search of her expected mail, finding only bills and junk mail.
"Aw, nothing yet. I wonder what's taking so-" Timberly began to say.
Out of the corner of her eye, Timberly say a letter stuffed in Gerald's pocket, and it bore the University of Washington emblem on it, suspecting it to be the letter she was expecting. Discreetly stepping up next to Gerald, she quickly snatched the letter out of his pocket, running to the room in a childish manner to read it before Gerald could take it back.
"Hey! Tim, give that back!" Gerald shouted.
"No way! You hid this so I couldn't go to the same college as you, huh? Nice try, big bro, but you're not standing in between me and my future!" Timberly giggled.
"That ain't yours, give it back!"
"Timberly, give your brother back his letter. You know better than to take things that don't belong to you." Martin ordered.
Timberly began reading the letter in the hopes that it would be addressed to her, but found not only that it was truly addressed to Gerald, but her playful demeanor disspated upon reading the news on it. Gerald nonverbally gestured to Timberly not to read its news aloud...
"Oh, no, Gerald, you're losing your scholarship?" Timberly asked.
...but, arrogant as she is, she still has a heart for her brother, and she cares enough to share the concern aloud, prompting the rest of the family to look to him upon hearing the news. Failing to keep his own problem a secret, Gerald groaned in frustration and embarassment.
"Gerald, honey, is that true?" Gerald's mother asked.
After letting out a deep sigh, Gerald answered the question.
"Yeah. Apparently my grades aren't good enough." Gerald said.
Rolling herself over to Gerald, Phoebe grabbed his hand, offering her support to him.
"Gerald, it's okay. Don't worry. We can deal with this." Phoebe assured.
"How? Apparently, I can't keep my scholarship unless I get my grades up above 3.15." Gerald groaned.
"That's no problem. We can work together, I can tutor you, you'll do just fine. You can-"
"Pheebs, don't you get it? I'm screwed. I won't be able to make it."
"Gerald, please. We can work together on this. Please, sit back down. We'll talk about it." Gerald's mother said.
Gerald unhappily followed Phoebe back to the table, sitting down again to the discussion.
"Now, listen, you're going to be fine. All you have to do is study a little harder, that's all. And you got one of the smartest people we know to help you out with that, isn't that right? Phoebe'll help you blast right through it, and it won't be a problem." Gerald's mother said.
"That's right, Gerald. You got this." Phoebe added.
"And what if it doesn't? Then I gotta go get a bank loan I can't file for bankruptcy on." Gerald questioned.
"Then we'll give you some financial aid ourselves." Martin said.
"You guys? No, you're already tight enough on your budget with us just living here, I don't wanna be a bigger burden on you."
"You're not a burden, you're my son. I'm here to make sure you make it in life."
"Dad, you used to complain about the electric bill being too high. And now you wanna spend thousands of dollars you don't have on me? You're a guy that's always about business and money."
"This is a bigger deal than just a power bill. And if you wanna frame it from that perspective, then how about this: I'm a businessman who wants to make an investment in you, and I want my investment to be paying for your school to make you smarter. All you have to do is study hard to make my investment pay off."
"No, I don't wanna put that kind of pressure on either of us. Look, I don't even know what I wanna do, anyway. I can just drop out and get some simple job somewhere."
Gerald's suggestion immediately brought a negative reaction from the table, with everyone shooting down his idea.
"No, no, no, Gerald, you can't drop out. You already made it this far. You can't just stunt your life like that. And... it also won't be as meaningful going through college without you." Phoebe pleaded.
"I don't see much else choice, Pheebs. There's no way I can afford to pay for it. Unless..." Gerald trailed.
"Unless what?" Timberly asked.
"What about if I go in the Army, go on the G.I. Bill like dad did? I can just do some pencil-pushing like he did, and I'm out in 4 years. Being a veteran gives you better benefits too, right?"
"No, Gerald, son, that's not a guarantee. You could just as easily end up in combat. Wars going on in the middle east, you could just as easily be sent over for a worthless war like that. Do you really think you'd be able to make it in combat?" Martin asked.
Gerald was tempted to confess his past as a Hillwood Hero to make his point, but he looked to Phoebe, who silently urged him to keep it a secret.
"Yeah, I think maybe I could. You'd be surprised." Gerald said.
"And what if you couldn't? What if you get shipped back in a body bag? You think any of us want to see that? Or leave Phoebe on her own before you even marry her?" Gerald's mother asked.
"I can marry her before I go."
"So you can get yourself killed and leave her a widow? Before she even has a life with you as her husband?"
None of Gerald's points made their impact as he desired, leaving him desperate and upset at the conversation, and depleting what little appetite he was already holding. Discontent with the status of the argument, and losing it terribly, Gerald no longer engaged in it, but instead walked to the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Phoebe asked.
"Out. I don't know where, I just need to clear my head." Gerald said.
"Gerald..." Martin began to say.
"I'll be back later tonight. Just give me some time."
Stepping out of the house, Gerald excused himself for a walk, leaving his troubles behind to find peace in solitude. What he leaves behind is a worried family and a fiancee even more worried, fearing for his safety more than anyone else in the house, and silently wishing the best for him.
Gerald's mother stood up and held Phoebe by the hand and shoulder, keeping her from crying over the altercation.
"It's alright, sweetie. Just give him a little time, we'll get through this together." Gerald's mother said.
[Soundtrack Cue: Sly & The Family Stone - If You Want Me To Stay]
Seattle was once known as the grunge capital of the world during the 1990s, hosting bands like Soundgarden and Pearl Jam, with Nirvana a town over, producing a subculture of carefree teenagers who lived each day in the pursuit of pleasure away from the angst of life, chasing after a state of pseudo-childhood to escape adulthood.
The setting is not too far off from Gerald's own hometown of Hillwood, where he experienced a genuine childhood free from troubles in a big, bumbling city that offered many avenues of fun for a boy his age. It is close enough of a fascimilie to suffice as a subsitute, and gives him a setting to sort out his thoughts...
...or, perhaps like the teenagers of grunge years past, escape them. He has leaned perhaps far too heavily on another to help him solve his problems, and that dependency has left him stunted in trying to solve issues for himself, forced to rely on learning lessons of life in a heuristic manner rather than a didactic one.
Unfortunately, more often than not, it has led to him coming to the wrong outcome to learn a lesson the hard way.
His begins when he approaches a bar called Allen and Albert's, a bar on the streets coming into his view. Deciding that a drink would sufficiently settle his own troubles and numb the troubles away, he stepped inside the bar, exiting the moderately warm outside to a cool, air-conditioned inside.
Seating himself by the bar, an old, bald, black bartender with a prosthetic leg stepped up to him to take his order with a deep voice.
"What'll it be, son?" The bartender asked.
"Whatever's cheap. I'm on a budget." Gerald said.
The bartender responded to the request by pouring a glass of whiskey, which Gerald took a large sip of.
"College boy?" The bartender asked.
"Yeah. Well, not for long, maybe, I don't know." Gerald said.
"Troubles?"
"Yeah."
"Money or a woman?"
"Money. Losing my scholarship, my girlfr- my fiancee's mad at me because I might have to drop out. So I guess a bit of both."
"Well, you don't wanna go droppin' out of no college, boy. You don't wanna end up some old nigga like me workin' 9 to 5 with no retirement benefits. You gotta make yourself smart. Especially when you got yourself a beautiful wife comin' soon."
"I was thinking about the Army to pay it off. Dad was a Vietnam vet."
"And leave your honey behind? Surefire way to get a divorce, lose half your shit. And that's not counting what you leave behind on the battlefield. How you think I lost this here leg?"
Gerald looked to the bartender's prosthetic limb with a cringe, fearing the possibility of that same injury befalling him.
"Your parents no help? They ain't willin' to help, or willin' but not able?" The bartender asked.
"Willing, but not able. I don't wanna be a strain on their budget." Gerald said.
"You're as good a son as they are parents."
"Thanks."
"But you shouldn't be willing to throw in the towel so fast. You could find new ways to make yourself some money."
"Yeah? How?"
The bartender eyeballed the room to watch for prying eyes, ensuring his next words would not be heard by anyone else.
"Maybe I know a guy who can give you some help. You wanna make a lot of money real fast?" The bartender asked.
Gerald looked up with a cautious eye, keeping it intrigued enough to hear the bartender out.
"How much and how fast? And how?" Gerald asked.
"Well, you finish up your whiskey, and I'll show you all the 'hows'." The bartender said.
Taking his glass and holding it up, Gerald downed the entire glass, showing his willingness to hear the bartender's offer. Nudging his head back to urge Gerald to follow, he stood up from his stool and followed the bartender, being led away from the bar and towards the bathroom.
[Soundtrack Cue End]
Stepping into the bathroom and finding no one else in it, Gerald's willingness to cooperate began to dwindle.
"This ain't anything sexual, is it?" Gerald asked.
"You ain't my type, boy. I'm into pretty young Asian girls." The bartender said.
"That makes two of us. My fiancee's half-Japanese."
"Heh-heh-heh-heh... I like you already."
The two walked to a stall that read 'OUT OF ORDER', opening it to find a toilet that was coated in several streaks of brown that appeared to be fecal matter.
"Ugh... Jesus." Gerald groaned.
"It's paint. We used to use melted chocolate, but it kept attracting ants." The bartender said.
The bartender flushed the camoflauged toilet, opening the wall behind it to a secret room, and stepping into it. Though made aware of the toilet's true state, Gerald nonetheless kept a safe distance from it, tiptoeing past it in order to reach the secret room behind it.
Upon stepping past the toilet, Gerald followed the bartender into a hidden room where a shady-looking, young black man was sitting at a table, playing a game of chess with himself while perusing blueprints of a bank. Were it not for the presence of the bartender, the man at the table would be acting hostile to the unknown factor Gerald, but his presence raised the man's eyebrows nonetheless.
"Yo, who the hell is this?" The man asked.
"A kid looking to make a little money fast. I figured you could use him." The bartender said.
"You seen him before?"
"Just stepped in a few minutes ago."
"You figure a little too much for a guy you just met. How do we know he's on the level, or, worse, if he's a cop or not?"
"Secrets of bein' a bartender, kid. You can just tell people."
"Listen. I don't know what kinda thing you got going here, but I'm willing to bet it's not exactly legal. Normally, I'd be a little hestiant to get tied up in something like this, but I don't really have much of a choice right now. I only got one caveat: I won't kill or hurt anybody. Other than that, I'm down. If I do, you tell me now, I'll walk away, and we can forget this whole thing." Gerald said.
"And how do we know you won't just snitch on us if we let you go?" The man asked.
"I got a family and a girlfriend who want me to stay straight. I go to the cops, I have some explaining to do to them as well, and they aren't gonna like the fact that I did them wrong."
"But you're doing it anyway."
"Again, cause I don't have a choice."
The man thought over Gerald's argument for a brief moment, soon nodding in agreement.
"Alright. Come on and have a seat. Consider this your job interview." The man said.
Following the order of the man, Gerald sat at the table, sitting across from him.
"To answer your main concern: No, you don't kill anyone or hurt anyone beyond repair. That's not what we're about." The man said.
"You about names, or is this on a 'no-names' basis?" Gerald asked.
"Not real names."
"So what do I call you?"
"King David."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a wise one, that's why."
"I thought Solomon was supposed to be the wise king."
"Solomon also chose to worship other gods despite personally being given wisdom by the one god, and thought the best way to settle a dispute between two mamas who wanted a baby was to cut it in half. King David was the one who toppled Goliath; the underdog taking on the big man, and winning. When you can't beat an enemy by pure strength, you have to rely on tactics. On wisdom."
"What exactly's the job?"
"Simple. We rob a bank."
"Easier said than done. They do make banks hard to break into for a reason, you know."
"Not if you have superpowers."
"You have superpowers?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what's yours? Super-smarts, I'm guessing. But then again, why would you be a low-class criminal and not the wealthy industralist type?"
"How observant you are. It's not exactly super-smarts. I can... hear machines. I can understand how they work just by listening to them, and make them work for me by talking to them."
Gerald nodded his head, readily accepting the information he was given.
"Uh-huh." Gerald said.
"Not even a little bit skeptic? Most people laugh when I tell 'em that." King David said.
"I'm from Hillwood. I've seen some weird stuff."
"Oh, a Hillwood boy, huh? Well, I didn't realize I was in the presence of a veteran. Er, no offense, bartender."
"None taken. Had a friend there who never made it out, we all know how bad it was there." The bartender said.
"Well, I wanna prove it to you anyway."
King David pulled a combination lock out of his pocket and passed it to Gerald, sliding it across the table.
"Set a combination. Make it totally random. Go ahead." King David said.
Gerald set a combination on the lock, configuring the numbers to Phoebe's birthday, then slid it back to King David.
Picking up the lock, King David put his ear to it, carefully listening to the internal mechanisms as he turned the wheel. Turning the lock in a familiar manner, as if he already knew the combination, he opened the lock, displaying the released lock to Gerald to demonstrate.
"I could hear that one from a mile away. A bank vault takes me about 3 seconds or less. 20, 30 seconds tops to grab as much cash as we can, then we split before the cops can respond. Everyone gets a 5% cut, and I keep everything else. We pull in a few hundred thousands dollars, that's a few dozen thousand dollars in your pocket." King David said.
"What do I have to do?" Gerald asked.
"Not a whole lot. You're just a hench."
"A what?"
"A hench. A henchman. A goon. Some dumb muscle. You know those nameless, faceless bad guys you used to see on cartoons every saturday morning? The ones that just work for the main villain? That's you. Only you don't have to get in a fight with any superheroes."
"Why not? You're a supervillain, right? How come you don't have a main superhero to fight?"
"You mean like that attention whore Silver Sentinel, before he hired his own bad guys?"
"I mean the Hillwood Effect. You know, how superheroes and supervillains always attract each other? If you're a supervillain, how come I've never heard of you before?"
"I can do without the pseudo-intellectual bullshit. Back in my day, we just called it 'people being attention whores'. And that's when it hit me: The old-school superheroes and supervillains always stay in the same place. Spider-Man always stayed in New York. Batman always stayed in Gotham City. Superman always stayed in Metropolis. Their villains always came to them, and they always stayed in those cities together. You know the Vietnam War?"
"His daddy was a veteran, he knows." The bartender said.
"So you familiar with the concept of guerilla warfare?"
"My dad was a pencil-pusher, so, no." Gerald said.
"It was a tactic popular in the jungle. You hit the enemy hard, then you run away, let 'em sit back to lick their wounds, and you get away scot-free. Same idea here. Nobody ever had this simple idea: Just hit a town once, and then dip. Head off somewhere else, lay low, then hit another town when you need some cash. That's why you've never heard of me. Because I make sure that I don't get caught. But it ain't a job I can do by myself. That's where henches like you come in."
"Strength in numbers, is that it? Easier to have a bunch of guys rather than just do it alone?"
"Exactly. And all you gotta do is stand there and look scary. Just play a part, and you get a shitload of money. Then, from there out, you live however you like, live out the American Dream."
"And in your worldview, all you gotta do to get the American Dream is to commit crimes."
"America was built on crimes, my friend. What do you think happened to all the Native Americans? The pilgrims killed 'em off and took their land, and shoved 'em onto a few patches of Earth to be their new home. How about slavery, where niggas like us were taken from Africa and put to work until the Civil War came around. Or how about the War on Terror to jack the oil and get gas a few cents cheaper? When you want something, you take it. That's the American way. And we're about to steal a shitload of money. So, enough of the talking. You in or out?"
Though not perfect, Gerald's moral compass was strong enough to recognize that what he was doing was wrong, and a strong part of him was telling him not to accept the job. Stricken with his financial troubles, however, self-preservation instincts began to conflict over this dilemma, trying to decide which scenario would provide him with the best possible outcome in life.
He knows that one of the risks involved would be prison time, which in turn would put tremendous shame and disgrace on the rest of his family, and leave Phoebe without a husband. He also knows that his other options of funding his education will only bring more struggle on his family, and he is not confident enough in his own abilities to simply study hard and improve his grades.
So, he convinced himself to accept.
"Alright, I'm in." Gerald said.
"Wise decision, my nigga." King David said.
"Not a fan of that word. My name is-"
King David raised his hand before Gerald could finish, not willing to hear his real name.
"I said, 'no real names'. That goes for you and everyone else I hire. We don't want any snitches or anything that could lead back to one another." King David said.
"I've seen your faces. That ain't enough?" Gerald asked.
"Not as much as you'd think. A face can be forgotten, or be too similar to another, blend in with the crowd. Your new name with us is 'Mr. Pink'."
"...'Mr. Pink'?"
"Just be thankful you weren't 'Mr. Yellow' or 'Mr. Brown'. I don't have a 'Mr. Black' because everyone wants to be Mr. Black. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?"
Shoving aside the unimportant topic, Gerald nodded in preparation for the strategy.
"What's the plan?" Gerald asked.
A few days pass for Gerald, which he carried on through as if all was normal without even a hint of a sign that anything was wrong or different. Still does he shove off his family's attempts to help him with his financial situation, always shrugging it off by saying something along the lines of 'I've got it under control' or 'Don't worry about it', consequentially making them more worried about him.
They do not know what he intends to do in order to continue his education, nor would they approve if they did know, so he keeps it that way as best as he can.
Soon, the day comes where King David and his henchmen make their run for the bank. All are dressed in generic, unremarkable, and indistinct body suits and balaklavas, keeping the identities of everyone secret from the world, and each other. Even King David, despite being the leader, is dressed the same, identifiable only by his voice.
And his voice is put to good use as he explains the plan.
"Alright, I've been over this enough times with each of you. All you have to do is look tough and mean for about 60 seconds, and we get the hell out before the cops show up, and we all walk away with a shitload of money and never see each other again, forget this little episode ever happened." King David explained.
Taking out a bag of handguns, he passed out firearms to the henchmen.
"I have the only loaded gun, and I'm only using a few to shoot at the ceiling to get some attention. Yours are all empty. So if any of the psychos in the group had that idea in the back of your head to shoot somebody, it ain't gonna happen. Dead bodies attract more attention. We go in, and we come right back out; nothing to it." King David said.
Once he received his, Gerald grew nervous over the presence of the weapon and the feeling of it in his hand. He knows that he will not murder anyone with it, and that it had no means of actually harming anyone, but even the idea of having a gun in his hand is enough to set him off his relaxed state.
He has seen firsthand what one of these tools has done, and it is the reason that his fiancee cannot walk anymore.
"Everyone in the van, let's go." King David ordered.
Taking a back door out of the hidden room of the bar, the henchmen all climbed into the back of a van parked outside the building. Once his team of henchmen were inside, King David shut the doors to the back, running back up to the front and beginning his drive to the bank.
Still is Gerald nervous about the affair as a whole, breathing heavily in anxiety, catching the attention and sympathy of the henchman sitting next to you.
"You nervous?" The henchman asked.
"A-A little. I don't like guns." Gerald said.
"Don't worry, it isn't loaded. We just have to flash 'em around."
"My fiancee got shot in the back and can't walk anymore. Not being loaded doesn't help."
"Oh, man. I'm sorry about that."
"It's alright."
"I had a wife once. She died in childbirth, but she left me the sweetest little girl that god could give us."
"I thought we weren't supposed to talk about oursevles with each other?"
"You told me about your fiancee. Besides, talking's a good way to ease the tension. Not like we'll find each other again after this."
"Fair enough. So, you say you got a little girl?"
"Oh, yeah. She's real sweet and smart, I just wish that her mommy could've met her. I, uh, didn't have the means to put food on the table, but I had enough money to steal myself a drink, and, next thing I know, I'm here. After this, all my girl's problems are over."
"That's good. That's good."
"What about you? What are you in it for?"
"Paying for my college. I wanna stay in school."
"Oh, that's a big one. I feel you there, I never made it. Guess that's part of why I'm here."
"Yeah. I'm, er, Mr. Pink."
"I'm called Mr. Purple. But, between you and me, my real name's Ralph."
The willingness to say his own name in violation of the rules of the heist surprise Gerald, but his breaking the rules makes him comfortable enough to do so himself.
"My real name's Gerald. What's your girl's name?" Gerald asked.
Ralph pulled a photograph out of his pocket and showed it to Gerald, showing it to be one of his daughter.
"Ruby Jr., named after her mother." Ralph said.
"She's beautiful." Gerald said.
"Yeah."
Ralph put the photograph back in his pocket, awkwardly staying silent after sharing his personal details.
"So, uh, I think we're almost at the heist, so, we might wanna go back to the codenames now. And, uh, be secret." Ralph said.
"You got it, Mr. Purple." Gerald said.
"But, uh, you know, maybe we could go for a burger after this. We can afford it after this, after all. You can meet my little girl."
"Yeah, sure. I'd like that."
The van came to a sudden stop, signalling that the henchmen had arrived at their destination, and further demonstrated by the back doors opening.
"Alright, ramblers, let's get ramblin'!" King David barked.
[Soundtrack Cue: Ice-T - You Played Yourself]
Rushing out of the van like soldiers on the beaches of Normandy, the henchmen followed King David in droves towards the bank, following his lead to the entrance and heading inside. As soon as they entered, King David fired his pistol up in the air, instantly getting the attention of the customers with a few screams to show it.
"Everybody be cool, this is a robbery! Just stay down and don't move, and you just might get out of this alive!" King David shouted.
Heading straight for the bank vault with a pair of henchmen following him, he directed the rest of the henches to stand in strategic locations to watch the customers and employees, assuring that none would attempt to stop the robbery in progress. Keeping their guns high as if they were loaded, every henchman kept their eyes on the customers without pause.
Kneeling to the keyhole to the bank vault, King David took out a lockpicking set and stethescope, immediately going to work on picking the lock.
"Alright, baby, talk to me, talk to me... What's your name, what's your sign?" King David muttered.
Within seconds, the door to the bank vault opened, giving King David and his accompanying henchmen access inside. The henchmen alongside him followed along with large, empty duffel bags, immediately going to the large stacks of dollar bills inside and filling their bags with them.
King David prizes himself as a strategist; he has made his formula as a means of staying to a specific script that would be in foolproof and infallable to any and all human error, utilizing his own superpower and minimal manpower to secure a quick and large payday without issue.
But even the most airtight of plans will always have an unforseeable and unexpected variable, an x-factor that no one could ever account for. One is the fact that one of the customers of the bank happens to be an off-duty cop, and he still carries a handgun on his persons, as well as the intent to use it.
Keeping as discreet as possible to reach his weapon, his action goes unnoticed by most of the customers, and, more importantly to him, the henchmen. It is not so fortunate for them that they cannot see the threat in time; oblivious to the danger, they carry on as though the plan goes on without flaw.
The casual attitude also extends to Ralph, who cordially spoke to Gerald regarding the supposedly easy heist.
"See, kid? Easy money, just like I told you." Ralph said.
"I don't know. Maybe. I still can't help but feel on edge." Gerald said.
"A believer in Murphy's Law, are we? Relax, kid. We'll be just fine. Nobody's getting hurt."
As if the universe was waiting for him to speak these words just to indulge in a great irony, the off-duty cop stood up and aimed his firearm at the nearest henchmen, firing two bullets straight through his chest, piercing his heart and killing him. The shots make the rest of the henchmen snap to alert, but their current awareness of the danger is of no help.
Without any means of firing back, holding merely empty weapons, the henchmen witlessly run for cover in an attempt to avoid the gunfire. Some are not so fortunate to avoid the flying bullets, with two more henchmen falling dead at the killshots landed in their chests.
King David ran out from the vault, inspecting the scene of gunfire playing out in the middle of the bank. Despite having the only loaded gun out of his group, he did not intervene, instead letting the scene play out as it was. Keeping to his strategic tendencies, he carefull waited for his opportune moment to strike.
Ralph, holding some kind of kindly, fatherly instinct to protect Gerald, rushed him towards a desk, using himself as a human shield.
"Go, Mr. Pink, go! Get under the desk! Get out of the-" Ralph began to shout.
[Soundtrack Cue End]
Gerald had managed to run behind the desk and reach cover, but Ralph was not so fortunate to find salvation. One bullet from the police officer's gun went through his head and between his eyeballs, splattering a mess of blood and brains on the wall in front of him to give him the sight of the contents inside his skull as the last sight he saw in life.
Hearing his pleas cut short with a gunshot, Gerald, hiding under the desk, feared the worst for the acquaintance he had made during his illegal excursion. As the sound of a body tumbling was next heard, and the sight of Ralph's glazed eyes staring emptily at him as the blood dripped from the bullet hole between them came into Gerald's own sight, seeing the dead body fall over the desk he was hiding under.
Horrified and disgusted by the undeserved death of Ralph, Gerald covered his mouth, preventing himself from screaming or vomiting.
Firing off all the shots in his gun, the officer ejected the magazine from his pistol, reaching for another on his holster to load it and continue fighting back against the bank robbers. Unwilling to let the officer take the chance to keep fighting, King David aimed his own handgun and fired at the officer, hitting him in the arms and chest, making him fall to the ground and drop his weapon.
While the officer was now no longer an imminent threat, King David took no chances to allow him any more chances to attack. Stepping up to the downed officer, he stepped on his arm, preventing him from reaching his gun again, and proceeded to empty the last of his own bullets into the officer's head.
The cruel act of violence is overkill against the officer, but it guarantees that he is no longer a threat, and this gives King David a sigh of relief.
The henchmen, assured that no such violence would occur on this job, are not only shaken over the unexpected presence of a cop and the deaths of their own comrades, but also with their leader's merciless excessive force against the police officer, seeing the gory aftermath of his rampage.
"Goddamn pig had to play the hero. Hurry up! We gotta go now!" King David shouted.
The henchmen run straight for the door as their leader does the same, taking with them large bags of money and leaving behind their fallen comrades. Gerald is not so quick to follow them; still stuck in his state of shock over the man he met mere moments ago, he cannot bring himself to focus on the job any longer, and does not acknowledge his leader urging him to depart.
"Mr. Pink, it's time to go! Mr. Pink! Mr. Pink! MR. PINK!" King David called.
Snapped ouf of his trance with the calls of the organizer of the robbery, Gerald left his trance to leave the building, following the surviving members to head back to the van. All piling in the back as they once did, the henchmen are shut inside as King David sits in front and drives off, taking the loot with them.
Sirens are heard getting louder and louder as the police approach, but they are far too late.
The robbers all returned to the back of the bar named Allen and Albert's later, where the money has been sorted and counted by King David himself. Tensions have been raised substantially both during and after the job has been done, but it has been dwindled to nigh-nothingness after the money has been seen.
"Alright, everyone, let's address the elephant in the room: Yes, this did not go the way it was supposed to go. Nobody could've guessed an off-duty cop could've been there, and nobody could've guessed that he'd start blasting. Those that died, weren't supposed to, but there's no crying over spilt milk. And, as a little back pay for the unforseen issue, and with less people to break with, I've upped your cuts to 10% each." King David said.
The henchmen all collectively cheered at the promise of more money, with the exception of Gerald, who still festered in negative emotions.
FIlling up bags with the percentages of the loot, King David began tossing them to the henchmen, who left as soon as they received their pay, disappearing as they left the bar to never be seen again or see each other. Staying back from the rest of the henchmen, Gerald is the last to receive his payment, but, still holding his own hang-ups regarding the incident, he is not so quick to leave.
While inspecting his own money, King David looked up to see Gerald still present, attempting to dismiss him.
"Now get outta here. You got your money, time to go off to college like a good boy." King David said.
"You killed a cop." Gerald said.
"That cop killed 3 of my hires when I promised them they wouldn't get hurt. And that pissed me off pretty good, so, yeah, I killed him. He also shot at unarmed people; that, on paper, should get you some discipline, but these pigs will shoot unarmed brothers like us on the street and get away with it. I just did to him what most niggas in my place would be happy to do."
"He didn't know they were unarmed. That was the point you had them for, wasn't it?"
"They didn't shoot or even directly threaten him. The pig wanted to play the big white hero, shot and killed without a second thought, and he got what he deserved."
Sighing in discontent, Gerald moved on from the topic, getting to the second of his priorities before King David could return to his money.
"Mr. Purple had a daughter." Gerald said.
King David looked up to Gerald once again, this time with more attention.
"How do you know that?" King David asked.
"He told me in the van, before we went inside. Told me his real name and his daughter's name. He was her only parent." Gerald said.
"You both broke the rules. You're not supposed to let personal information leak. That leaves enough threads for the pigs to work with."
"Does it matter now that he's dead?"
"...I guess not. Let me guess, you want to give his little girl some money?"
"Yeah. He did the job so he could feed his daughter. The least we can do is help her out."
"No can do. I admire your altruism, but that's another lead we don't want to leave behind. With her daddy dead, that leaves her in the hands of the state. We try to give her a big bag of money, the cops are gonna know where it came from, and she won't be able to keep it, anyway. And that only leaves another trace back to me and the rest of the henches. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do."
"Fine, then, I'll just give her some of my own money."
"No. You don't wanna do that. You'd just be flagging down the pigs to arrest you. Then she still doesn't get any money. If you were smart, kid, you'd do what the rest of them did, and just lay low, and spend it slowly."
Without much choice in the matter, Gerald somberly stepped out of the back room, walking past the bartender as he departed.
"Hey, kid." The bartender called.
Gerald stopped at the bar, watching the bartender pour a pair of shotglasses full of whiskey, sliding one towards him as he raised his own.
"Sorry about your friend, kid. Shit happens." The bartender said.
"I didn't really know him." Gerald said.
"Didn't really know a lot of kids back in the Army, but that didn't make watchin' 'em get shot up any easier. Take it from me, this always helps through it."
Both downed their shots in memorial of Ralph, showing their respects for a stranger.
"Thanks for the drink." Gerald said.
Stepping out the door, Gerald left the bar without a second thought or final word, wishing merely to put the tragedy behind him as far away as possible.
It is late night when he get back to his parents' house, and late enough when everyone is fast asleep and unable to see what Gerald has brought back with him. Discreetly closing the front door, he shut it just as quietly, making his footsteps light and soft to ensure that he will not wake anyone up.
Making his way upstairs to his shared room with Phoebe, he opened the door, carefully looking inside with the bag behind his back, checking for his fiancee to ensure that she is not awake. Not only does he not find her awake, but he also sees no sign of her at all.
Not looking his gift horse in its mouth, he swiftly moved up to the closet, opening it to prepare to hide the bag of money inside, moving various items inside to do so.
Then, the light to the room came on, making him snap his head behind him to find Phoebe sitting in her wheelchair across the room by the light switch, looking directly at him in a judging manner. Hissing in anger with a pair of eyes closed in frustration, Gerald stood up, making no more attempts at stealth.
"Gerald. What are you doing?" Phoebe asked.
"I- I was... just looking for a jacket. It was kind of cold, and I didn't want to turn up the heat and make dad angry." Gerald lied.
"I can tell when you're lying to me, Gerald. You looked like you were doing something you shouldn't have been doing."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, Pheebs. I was just a little cold, honest."
"You've barely been around for the past few nights, out late at night at some bar, and you just snoop around in the closet for a jacket? And what's this bag?"
Phoebe snatched the bag of money from Gerald, zipping it open to inspect it, much to his despair.
"No, no, no, no, Pheebs-!" Gerald pleaded.
Gerald's attempts to keep Phoebe's eyes out from the contents of the bag came too late, as she soon held up a stack of hundred-dollar bills.
"Gerald... Where did you get all this money?" Phoebe asked.
"I... I, uh... I found it in a trash can! Would you believe the same crazy thing happened to the same guy twice?" Gerald lied.
"Gerald. I am not in the mood for jokes. I saw on the news about that big bank robbery, where 3 people and a cop got killed. Did you have something to do with that?"
Once again did Gerald try to fester up a lie to protect himself, but, after several struggles to come up with a line, sighed in defeat and confessed.
"Okay. You got me. Yes, I did." Gerald said.
Horrified and devastated by the admission Gerald made, Phoebe, following a period of silence, grabbed a nearby glass of water and tossed it towards Gerald, prompting him to duck under it as it shattered against the wall. Throwing the bag of money to the floor, Phoebe began crying, covering her face with her hands as she turned away.
Attempting to undo the damage he inflicted on her, Gerald ran back up to her to try to apologize.
"Look, Phoebe, I'm sorry, but I didn't have a choice. I mean, I was gonna lose the scholarship, and I didn't want to have to drop out. I wanted to go to college and graduate with you. This guy, he offered me a lot of money fast, and he told me nobody was supposed to get hurt. It was a whole accident, I-" Gerald tried to explain.
Continuing to cry over his wrongdoing, Phoebe pushed him away, not allowing him to touch her.
"Gerald, how could you?! We were both people who fought against those kinds of people for over a year! We were heroes! And now you want to start being what turned Hillwood to ruin?! Did you forget who you are?!" Phoebe shouted.
"Yes, god, yes, I did, I'm so sorry, Phoebe. I know I messed up. It's just not the same as it was, you know? Back when Arnold was here and I could go to him for-" Gerald tried to say.
"You're not passing the buck here, Gerald. You have your own agency, and you know what you did. You should know that robbing a bank is wrong! I mean, god, Gerald! What is wrong with you?!"
"I didn't know what to do, okay?! I messed up because I didn't want to take anybody's help!"
Phoebe responded with no more words, but instead a loud, full scream, showcasing her anger without the need for dialogue.
The scream not only put Gerald to silence, but it also prompted the rest of the family to rush for their room, coming to knock on the door. Pushing herself through her angered, unfocused state, Phoebe rolled up to the door, opening it to see the rest of the Johanssens peering in.
"Phoebe, is something wrong, dear?" Gerald's mother asked.
"You screamed pretty loud. Are you hurt?" Martin asked.
Phoebe looked to Gerald before answering, then faced them once again to respond.
"I'm fine. I, uh... I was sleeping, and had a bad nightmare. I'm just sitting up for a bit now." Phoebe lied.
"Okay. If there's anything you need, you just let us know." Martin said.
"Is Gerald in here with you?" Gerald's mother asked.
"Yes, here's here with me. We're talking." Phoebe said.
"Alright. We'll let you go back to bed, then. Goodnight, Phoebe. Goodnight, Gerald."
Phoebe closed the door, hiding the affair from the rest of the family, then rolled to the side of the room, ignoring Gerald as she rolled past him.
"Phoebe-" Gerald tried to say.
Going unheard by his fiancee, Gerald sat in shame and silence before running to the bag of money, furiously kicking it and grunting in anger, venting his own frustrations with himself onto the inaninmate object. Phoebe turned her head to watch him kick the bag, hiding her concern for him wtih an angry face.
Expressing his regret and anger over the object that caused his current situation, Gerald tumbled back to the floor, leaning back against the bed as he started to cry.
"I had to see someone die today." Gerald cried.
Phoebe then turned herself further around, paying closer attention to Gerald as he spoke.
"There- There was this guy sitting next to me in the van, he said his name was Ralph. Had this cute little daughter named Ruby Jr., did this thing because he couldn't make enough money to raise her. We weren't supposed to talk about each other, but he did it anyway. He seemed like a nice guy, real genuine. Just doing what he needed to do to feed his kid. The cop, when he started shooting, Ralph ran behind me and got me to safety, and- and the cop shot his brains out! They- They splattered all over the wall, and then I saw- I saw his eyes and his blood dripping out from the bullet hole, it was... Jesus, I haven't seen a dead body since Hillwood, it was awful... I can't get it out of my head... I thought I was behind all of it... The- The guy, his name was King David, he gave us guns, but they weren't loaded. He just wanted us to stand around and look tough, we weren't supposed to get hurt. But he did. What about the other two guys? What families did they have? What if I didn't make it? I could've died, too. It could've been me." Gerald cried.
Festering in a pool of self-hatred and regret, coming to full realization of what could have very well happened to himself after hours of suppression, Gerald's moment of rage and frustration at last warranted the arrival of Phoebe, who rolled her wheelchair over to him, sitting over him in silence.
Getting back up from the floor, Gerald took to the nearby desk, grabbing a piece of paper and beginning to write.
"What are you doing?" Phoebe asked.
"Writing a letter of confession. I'm taking this money back to the police station, and incriminating this asshole before he can do it again." Gerald said.
Phoebe immediately stopped him by taking away his paper, then grabbing his hands.
"No, no, Gerald. Don't do that. You'll go to jail." Phoebe pleaded.
"So what? It's what I deserve, don't I? You're the one who said I'm a criminal now, and I'm no good." Gerald said.
"No. I did not say that. I'm very disappointed in you for what you've done, but I do not want you to go to jail."
"I don't want this money sitting around here anymore."
"Neither do I. But no police."
"Fine. I'll just find Ralph's daughter and give it to her. She needs the money, and her dad was trying to get her some."
"What if the cops have their eye on her? They'll just take the money away, then still come for you."
"King David made that point, too, but she needs help."
"The state can take care of her. It's not worth the risk."
"Alright, then, I'll... give the money to charity. They'll do something good with it."
"Give them stolen money? Is that supposed to make what you did okay?"
"Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do with this garbage?! I don't want it anymore, I can't give it back, I can't give it to somebody who needs it, and I can't just give it to the cops. There's nothing I can do to-"
Having a thought cross his mind, Gerald stopped mid-sentence, allowing himself the mental concentration to fully flesh out the idea.
"Gerald?" Phoebe asked.
"Maybe I just give it back to King David... and then turn him in to the cops." Gerald thought aloud.
"He's a supervillain, Gerald. How are you going to handle him?"
Walking back to the closet, he reached up into a hidden corner, pulling out a large bag from it. Placing the back on the floor, he zipped it open and retrieved its contents, laying them out on the bed to view them in full. Setting out a costume and parts to a weapon known as a Sonic Fork, he gazed upon the attire of his guise during his days in the Hillwood Heroes:
G-Funk.
"Easy. Because I'm a superhero." Gerald said.
"That was a long time ago, Gerald. It's been half a year since you put that on and fought anyone." Phoebe said.
"You're the one who said I used to be one. Least I can do is put it back on, if just this once, and fix what I messed up."
"You already put yourself in danger once."
"For the wrong reasons. This time, I'm doing it for the right reasons."
Pulling Gerald down to her, Phoebe gave him a kiss, allowing him her blessing to continue.
"Be careful." Phoebe said.
It is long past closing time for Allen and Albert's, with the bartender closing up for the night and locking the doors, flipping the sign at the front door to read 'SORRY, WE'RE CLOSED' to ward away any more wary travelers from seeking out a drink this late at night.
Heading to the back room, he found King David completing the last of his packing, ensuring no trace of him would be left behind.
"You just about done, kid?" The bartender asked.
"Yes, sir. I'll be out of your way, and out of your life without a trace. You'll never know I was ever here. Thank you kindly for being a generous host." King David said.
King David tossed him a bag of money, paying him for the services rendered for using his bar as a front.
"There you go. Half when I got here, and half on my way out the door, just like we agreed." King David said.
"Sure. Just come on in and force me out of my life's work, make me ship off to 'Nowheresville', U.S.A., huh?" The bartender joked.
"What, you can't get another bar? They'll always be more drunks to water, you sure as hell ain't losing your customer base."
Throwing the duffel bag over his shoulder, the bartender followed King David out to the back, allowing him an exit to the bar.
"Can't help but feel a little sorry for that college boy. He really seemed shaken up over his friend." The bartender said.
"Mr. Pink? He'll get over it. A young man his age, he'll just spend a chunk of that cash in booze and beat it down over the rest of his life, he'll be fine." King David said.
"Unless he decides to rat."
"No chance. Cops and negros go together like oil and water."
"But what if he does?"
"He won't. He'll have to admit that he messed up and went out and robbed a bank, just like me. I know how to pick people."
Then, as soon as the back door to the bar had opened, with King David stepping out with his property, a black duffel bag was thrown by his feet, landing with a loud thud. The sound of the impact and presence of the bag made both parties stop in their tracks, and, recognizing the particular shape of the bag, began to suspect betrayal.
And the voice of one of his former henchemen confirmed it.
"King David." G-Funk called.
Stepping forward without fear, King David looked about for a sign of his former henchman, carrying a look in his eyes only seen in those with a killer instinct.
"You shouldn't have come back, Mr. Pink. You think you're the only one to turn on me like this?" King David asked.
"Nope. Just the first that's gonna stop you." G-Funk called.
"I must've heard plenty of college kids like you make the same damn claim. They sure didn't lack confidence, but they sure as hell didn't stop me. What makes you think you'll be any different?"
"Because you didn't just hire any college boy."
Stepping out from the shadows of the night and into the view of the light above the bar's back door, G-Funk revealed himself in full costume, marking his first official appearance as the former Hillwood Hero since his exodus from the aforementioned city, holding his Sonic Fork high.
Witnessing the revelation of the superhero before him, King David's eyes turned to panicked ones, fearing his first confrontation with a superhero.
"I told you I was a veteran of Hillwood." G-Funk said.
Reaching into his belongings, King David quickly pulled out a Mini-Uzi, opening fire on G-Funk. Dodging out of the path of gunfire as soon as the gun was seen, G-Funk disappeared into the shadows again, where he could not be located or shot. Reloading his weapon with another magazine, King David caught a flashlight that the bartender tossed him, taking the means to locate and strike his enemy.
"Get outta here. I got the cape." King David said.
The bartender complied without any verbal confirmation, merely taking the money he was given and running, making the most of his prosthetic leg.
As soon as he began running for his car, however, the sounds of sirens could be heard, and brought him to alert. Seeing the arrival of the police come with several squad cars driving down the street and towards the bar, the bartender immediately concluded that they were coming for him, and rushed himself into the car quicker.
Driving off in the opposite direction of the oncoming police cars, the bartender fled only to run into another squadron of cars coming down the street, barracading themselves in the road to prevent him from escaping. Seeing the police cars slide to barricade themselves just in front of him, unable to avoid the imminent collision, the bartender could do naught but brace himself for the impact.
The crash came with a loud crunching of metal from both vehicles, and put a stop to any feasable attempts to escape. One last vain attempt was made as the bartender stumbled out of his wrecked car, falling to the ground with many light injuries, getting up to keep running...
...only to be surrounded by a blockade of cops, all pointing their firearms at him.
Without any means of escaping, the bartender raised his hands and put them behind his head, receiving a pair of handcuss on them as he knelt down.
Running both from the police pursuing him and towards the man responsible for the arrival of the authorities, King David ran down a series of back alleyways, balancing a fine line between stealth and assault. He knows that any gunfire he makes will attract the police, but he also knows that he has a target to eliminate, and will not let him live under any circumstances.
Making a stop in one alleyway, he pointed his flashlight and Uzi up towards the fire escapes, checking for any possible location to find G-Funk.
"Looking for me?" G-Funk asked.
King David inadvertently did as G-Funk suggested, looking to the sound of his voice to find him standing in the alleyway. Not allowing him to fire his machine gun, G-Funk fired his own Sonic Fork towards King David, sending a non-lethal sound blast straight towards him.
Forced to dodge the shot by hiding behind a wall, King David watched as the soundwave hit a dumpster, sending it sliding back across the ground with the loud sound of metal screeching as it moved. Ducking out from his cover, King David aimed his Uzi once again to find G-Funk now gone.
Keeping his weapon aimed up and ready to fire, he kept to the wall in a play to make himself less of a target. Slowly moving up to the nearest corner, he positioned his gun to be ready to come right around the corner and fire, believing G-Funk to be standing in wait behind it.
"So what was that? 'Looking for me'? You got nothing better than that? Being a geniune superhero for over 2 years, and you don't have any witty catchprhases or comebacks? You aren't like those corporate faces that superheroes are now, you actually went out and fought people like me. You were the real deal. You slipping up from lack of practice, or just a overrated blowhard that was never much in the shadow of the big man?" King David asked.
Closer did King David reach the corner, his trigger finger getting itchier as he waited for the moment to open fire.
"And I'm guessing it was you who called the cops. You wanna turn me in? I know your face, asshole. Maybe I don't know your name, but the cops sure as hell can find it. And here's something else: You're not in Hillwood anymore. Seattle doesn't look too kindly on vigilantes. They're gonna lock your ass in the same cell as me." King David taunted.
Reaching the corner at last, King David positioned himself to pop out and fire.
"That's when I'm gonna kill you." King David threatened.
Running out from the corner, King David opened fire, expecting to hit G-Funk, but managed only to hit thin air. G-Funk was nowhere to be found.
Stepping behind King David, G-Funk placed his Sonic Fork against his back, prompting him to stay still.
"Guess again. I didn't spend 2 years with the Green Eye without learning a few things. That includes theatricality and deception. Now I got you right where I want you." G-Funk said.
"You're not gonna kill me." King David said.
"Oh, yeah? How do you know that?"
"Because not only are you a superhero, but you were a superhero with the Green Eye. The Green Eye would never let anyone die."
"Yeah. That's what the man used to believe."
Sensing himself in a danger he did not predict, King David turned around and swung his hand towards G-Funk's Sonic Fork, pushing it away from him and sending its next soundwave shot anywhere but near him. In trying to aim his Uzi at G-Funk, his firearm was blocked by G-Funk's Sonic Fork, making him fire his own shots at no particular target and waste ammunition.
Resorting to physical combat, King David kicked G-Funk in the knee, forcing him down, and then bashing him in the face with his Uzi, sending him falling to the ground with a nosebleed. Having his enemy at his mercy, King David aimed his Mini-Uzi at G-Funk's face, preparing to pull the trigger.
Then, he glanced at G-Funk's Sonic Fork, changing his mind on how to execute his enemy.
"No. That's too quick. In case I don't make it out of here, I wanna enjoy one real good kill before I go." King David said.
Holstering the Mini-Uzi in his pants, King David picked up the Sonic Fork, carefully inspecting it. Utilizing his powers of mechanical communication, he put his ear to the weapon, listening to it with the same interest of a lover receiving dirty talk over the phone with another lover, licking his lips in arousal.
"Ooh... Now, this is a dirty, dirty girl you got here. The way she talks, the way she sounds, I've never heard a girl like her. Bank vaults, cell phones, computers, they're all the same, but this is truly someone special. I think I'll like using this to kill more people. Maybe I'll even become the next G-Funk; I'll take that stupid costume of yours, make a few adjustments, and come back as a supervillain. Wouldn't that be a nice end to one of the Hillwood Heroes?" King David asked.
King David aimed the Sonic Fork at its owner, but G-Funk leaned up, raising a hand in request for mercy.
"Wait..." G-Funk moaned.
"Oh, what's this? Got some last words? Make it quick, I got cops to run from." King David said.
"You might be able to talk to machines... but you don't know my Sonic Fork."
Grabbing the end of his Sonic Fork, G-Funk pointed it to have its handle pointing at King David's torso, pressing the trigger to fire a soundwave blast.
The blast hit nothing but air, but this was not the important part of G-Funk's tactic. Having positioned his weapon to recoil against its owner, G-Funk sent the weapon blowing back into its current user, resulting in King David being forced back with a breathtaking blow to the gut.
Colliding with an adjacent wall, King David fell down in defeat. Picking himself up off the ground, G-Funk walked up to the downed King David, grabbing his weapon off the ground and retreiving it. Feeling it in his hands once again, he pointed the weapon at King David, who looked back at it with a bloodied smile.
"Go ahead, hero... You'll have to do it... Or else, I'm gonna tell everyone who you are." King David coughed.
"I'm not gonna kill you... but I don't have to save you." G-Funk said.
Without elaborating what his words meant, G-Funk moved out of the light of the alleyway's illumination to disappear into the shadows, out of King David's sight.
Tempted to call after G-Funk, a greater priority took place as a police car came into sight down the alleyway, with its headlights pointed directly towards King David and growing larger, telling him that the car was approaching. Picking himself off the ground, he slowly came to his feet again, standing tall before the police car.
"Freeze! Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head!" The police called.
Ignoring the calls of the police, King David reached for the Mini-Uzi still tucked in his pants, aiming it straight towards the cop car and opening fire.
Once moving slowly down the alleyway, the car began driving at full speed; ducking out of the way of the Uzi fire, the officer driving the vehicle pressed hit foot down on the gas, flooring the pedal while unable to look up and see what direction the car was driving in.
The car had mostly gone straight, swerving only just slightly, but, to the cornered King David, the car might as well have been a guided smart missile. Making a last stand with a machine gun in hand, King David no longer cared for escape or the world around him, only in going out with a blaze of glory.
And as the metal of the car collided with the concrete wall behind him, with his vital organs caught in the middle, he did.
Feeling the vast majority of his organs squashed and destroyed beyond repair, King David spat a large amount of blood on the police car, letting out the last breaths of life that still existed in him. The duffel bag full of money he had with him was also impacted as well, sending many bloody dollars to fall from the air.
It was only after a few seconds after the impact did the officer come out of the car, seeing the handiwork he unintentionally laid on the criminal.
King David is dead.
Watching the crash from a nearby rooftop, having climbed up to the top via its fire escape, G-Funk looked on with a mixture of emotions. He knows that his own secret identity is safe and the stolen money has been returned, but he also knows that some innocent lives have been lost, so can what he has done really be considered justice?
His hands are not free of the sin he has committed, and he has not forgiven himself for the wrong he has done. What he has done is but a small reparation for the mistake he has made, and it has been accomplished by means that the man who brought him into superherodom would not approve of.
At least, not the man he knew before. Does he still do the right thing? Does he know what the right thing even is anymore?
Gerald Johannsen is unsure of the answer to this question, and he has some assurance that things will get better with a mantra of positivity. He knows that he has a loving and supporting family, and a fiancee that he loves dearly who is willing to help him through anything, and has pushed him to do better, so perhaps things will get better.
But he is sure of one thing:
Life is not the same without the Green Eye.