@grimmwald said:
Gothic City [CVnU: Living Location]
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She hadnt been able to watch or even listen. The brutality of the crash had been hard enough to digest on its own. She never had been able to handle the thought of death. But she had made sure the feed had anomalously live streamed on a series of dark-web sites.
Musa could use it as an invaluable study guide. Meticulously he was determined to thumb through the newest catalog of Gothic's latest confederacy of capes and cowls. Appearances, tendencies, movements and tactics. And the Den of Thieves were the perfect tool to suss out the shadow dwelling heroes, hell bent on halting the city's downward spiral.
The live stream would serve little purpose to the web outside of increasing the fabricated digital identity of the Rogue Nation's criminal incubator's reputation. And a digital reputation was everything, when anonymity and timely results were the expectation.
But it would also serve in fashioning a mythological like narrative for the Sonar Street Shinobi, Grimmwald. He had brought a brutality to the underworld few in the states had ever witnessed. An inadvertent though acceptable side effect of the closed circuit stream. But even so, the King of Kings had seen the human condition at its most barbaric, its most sadistic. And he wasnt afraid. Though many would be....many, should, be.
Before perishing one the Thieves, in a sad and pissed stained effort to save his life, revealed the true location and purpose of the Coda 4. Whom were only minutes away from downloading the files and sitting fire to the precinct.
Dog perched on the upper levels of one of the cathedrals that dotted Gothic City. It sometimes seemed strange that there were so many houses of worship in what most considered a godless city, but others said that it was the worst places that needed salvation the most. Those kinds of debates always gave Dog a laugh; he'd been around long enough that there were places so nasty that redemption caught the first train out of town.
This was definitely one of those places, and it was why he was here. Not only did it feel like the kind of hellhole he could call home, it was critical to his hunt. If the endgame wasn't going to be here, then what eventually led him to it was, he was sure of it. It was just a matter of flushing it out...
Dog grunted as Sarah's boot connected with his jaw, staggering backwards a couple of steps. Not a bad kick at all; if he had a normal skeletal structure, he'd have been down for the count. He gave her a nod as he rubbed at his jaw.
With that, he surged forward, becoming a missile of dense muscle and bone that was preceded by a flurry of claw swipes.
The Gothic Halfway House for Wayward Metahumans:
As the GCPD wheeled the unsettling large man across the grounds of the halfway house, Elsa Beremud watched dispassionately from one of the massive building's upper windows. "And to what do we own the honor of this one's presence?"
"He's served out his jail sentence," answered her smartly dressed executive assistance, as he skimmed the new arrival's information on his tablet, "but the judge felt that he needed some...additional rehabilitation before he could be released into the public. Let's see here...enhanced strength and durability, and...hmm...cannibalistic tendencies."
"Cannibalistic tendencies?" Elsa raised a speculative eyebrow as she glanced from the scene below to her assistant.
"Erm, yes. Evidently they couldn't prove that he'd actually murdered the fellow he was found snacking on, hence he was only convicted of abuse of a corpse."
"Mm." Her cold gaze returned the cage that was now approaching the loading dock. The more "volatile" occupants tended to not be brought in through the main entrance. "Have him sent to sublevel 3, and get the lab crew prepped. This one's 'rehabilitation' is going to be much more extensive than planned."
It went the same way, every time. Even in her strongest form, she couldn't hurt him, not really, not in any way that mattered. He slapped her attacks aside as contemptuously as if she was a toddler throwing a tantrum. Fast as she was, she couldn't get away. Her feet could not carry her more than a hundred yards before he was on top of her, his heavy frame crushing her to the ground and driving the air from her lungs. He gripped her by the back of her neck and dragged her to the nearest gutter, where he shoved her face into the filthy water that flowed down Gothic's streets every time it rained, as though there was too much corruption for water to ever flow cleanly, there. She thrashed and flailed to no avail, finally being forced to open her mouth. As the disgusting water rushed in to drown her, she awoke screaming or howling, depending on her form.
Adrenaline spiking into her brain, she almost reflexively rolled onto all four and ran. The direction did matter; she just needed to get away. If if he wasn't her, her howl might have been others; others might come. She had to run until her limbs gave out and she collapsed in a heap. If she exhausted herself enough, sometimes the dream wouldn't come a second time.
Sometimes.
Two or Three Years Ago...
Connor saw it on the news, the destruction of Gothic City and covered up by the US President to be the act of a terrorist instead of for what it truly was. Connor and his mother were given the sad news that a father, and an ex-husband, had died in the blast. But that was another lie to cover up the truth and Connor did not yet know it.
It was shortly after that, Connor's mother had a mental breakdown and she was submitted to a mental institution for treatment. Rather than being submitted to child services or live with other family that never existed, Connor fled Metro City and took up residence in the ruins of Gothic City. Why Connor did that is anyone's guess. Perhaps he couldn't let go of his father's memory. It could be any number of reasons. Eventually, the place was rebuilt by the rich and powerful. And when that happened, the crime came back. And that is when Connor began fighting as the Reaver.
For two or three years, Connor used what his father had taught him and fought crime. The city had taken his father and he would make sure he would see no more fathers taken from their sons. He swore that on his father's grave.
Connor lived off the streets, stealing only what he needed in order to survive. And if he stole money, it was only from the corrupted people of Gothic City. But he never took too much, only just enough to to live and maintain his equipment. He never accepted money out of charity, always refusing it. A hero's work was never done, but he didn't think of himself as a hero. Just a kid doing what had to be done and sometimes, sometimes that got a bit brutal.
The Present...
Since the Reaver's crime fighting career began, he has kept everyone at arms length. It didn't matter if it was a doctor patching him up or some kids his own age. Connor made it a point never to make any friends. His problem was, he didn't trust anybody. This city killed his father and he wouldn't rest until this city no longer needed him.
Tonight, Reaver sees the last man standing. The man with the shotgun is twitchy, accidentally shooting a boiler that had made too much noise. "WHAT ARE YOU?!" The man cries out in fear. "WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Reaver smirks as he hangs upside down from his grapnel, "Here." He whispers.
The thug jumps half out of his skin, almost screaming. But in a flash of motion, he's out like a light and that takes care of the last one. The bomb! Reaver is too late! The building explodes.
Reaver makes it just in time as he jumps out of a window and goes into a roll. He stands and watches as the fire burns what little is left of the building. Thank goodness he got everyone out, including that last thug he knocked out. No casualties.
But a heroes work is never done and it's still early this time of night.
With every word the stranger said, Jack could see more of himself in the kid. The whole devil make care attitude mixed with a lone wolf mentality, reminded him of his younger years. Because of this, after the impassioned speech he realized fancy words and moral lessons was not the way to go. With a slumping of his shoulder Jack took a relaxed stance and told it like it is. “Okay you’re right! It’s all utter Bullcrap. The truth is the people of Gothic would rather step ON you rather than step over you. Any one telling you other wise is selling something. Gothic City is home to the worst degenerates that take what they can by force.” He looks upwards, in hope, “..the problem is some people can’t or are unable to fight back, and those are the people we help.” He then tilts his head to his side as he scratches the back of his head, “...and you’re also right about the whole hero thing. The only thing a hero is in this city is a bigger target.” He sighs, “..I just want to help out those who can’t help themselves.”
Caught up in the moment, he slams his right fist into the wall. Using less than a fraction of his strength, he not only smashes through it causing small brick pieces to scatter everywhere, but sends a slender crack to crawl up the wall. Stepping back he looks down upon his muscular arms and reflects, “You know I’ve been on both sides of the law, and the only thing I learned that brings me comfort is, If you have the chance to help someone you should!” He then mumbles under his breath, “...just like someone helped me..” Getting back into the moment, he looks at the stranger with a stern and disappointed expression. “But that of course means nothing to you! After all you have proven quiteclearly, that you’resomeone not to betrusted.” Taking the moral high ground he continues, “So why don’t you go back to your, (his voice takes on a mocking tone)single apartment and I’ll go about my business.”
Suddenly the ear piece in Jack’s ear buzzes and his smarter half checks in, “G-Man you there?” Immediately Jack places a finger over his ear for better reception as he turns his back on the stranger for privacy. Speaking from the safety of his office his good friend, Dr. Suars chimes in, “We gottrouble G. There’s a liquor store in your area gettingrobbed as we speak. Looks like a perfectchance for you to get all six of your hands dirty.” With no time to waste, Jack signs off, then turns back to the stranger. “Well I can’t say it’s been fun, but I got work to do. There’s a building beingrobbed as wespeak and I’m gonna try to help.” Again he turns his back on the stranger, this time ready to leave him behind, this time ending the conversation cold and abruptly, “and yes, we are done here! …....GOODBYE!!”
Reaver turns around, a ninja star at the ready. But then he lowers it when he sees who it is. He has heard of whispers of Hawkshade operating all around the world, but mainly in Gothic City. He's never met the man until now, so what did this vigilante want? Time to find out.
With a reserved caution, he eyes the big man with suspicion. Living on the streets and trusting only himself has given Reaver a skewed outlook on life. "Not here, someplace more private."
Reaver points to a nearby rooftop that is up high, away from prying eyes, "Up there." Then he grabs his grapnel and shoots it, letting his tool drag him up far enough that Reaver uses his parkour to climb the rest of the way with speed and efficiency. Once on the roof, he waits for Hawkshade but the man is likely already here. So, he nods at the man, "What do you wish to talk about?"
Reaver is a spitting image of his father, but younger and with blue eyes instead of brown. But under those white lenses, one cannot tell what color his eyes are. But the way Reaver carries himself, the way he speaks, it's so much like Mysteryman. The boy takes a lot after his father.
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