By ThePuzzler 15 Comments
Metro City is known as being one of Earth's most welcoming and diverse towns out there, and hopefully continues to uphold its reputation in the next few months. It has only been a little over a month since the terrorist attack on Gothic city has left many hopeful citizens permanently homeless, after multiple airstrikes decimated the hollow shell of what it once was.
While numerous corporations have already made claims to assist in rebuilding Gothic, over half of it's former population has chosen to settle elsewhere, including Metro City. Thousands of Gothic refugees cross into the city limits daily, causing a serious increase of the homeless on the streets. Refugee centers have been temporarily built in attempts to dampen such a sudden adjustment.
Crime has doubled in Hob's Bay alone. Already there has been various police reports with suspects identified by Gothic gang tattoos, ranging from petty mugging, to sexual assault and murder. "We were anticipating this sort of activity, doing our best to compensate." Police Captain Kyle Friesen confidently stated at last weeks press conference in front of the 52nd precinct in Hob's Bay. The board and council of Stryker's Island Penitentiary has yet to release a statement on their opinion in question to if their walls will hold enough prisoners.
Gothic City had always been infamous for it's major Metahuman population. As anticipated, Metahuman activity both civilian and criminal has been a more and more common sight with the refugees it brings. There has been no notable backlash from Metro citizens during with development. As Metro City itself has been dubbed both a home and haven for Metahumans. "I'd like to think we're proud of our Metahuman community" Said Dr. Lorraine Corde, Metahuman anthropologist of the John Hunter University. "I hope- Know, they will adjust to Metro City's lifestyle smoothly."
Only time will tell in these following months, as the characteristic shadows of Gothic merge with Metro's light of tomorrow.
I find myself surrounded by the impossible, which is rather usual when you think about it. People in masks and massive egos, which isn't entirely their fault. First meeting with a team member and I'm pepped up on a custom popper made by yours truly. The "shutter voices" as I call it start to happen in the elevator. I come to the realization that I won't be liked on this ensemble of heroes by the whispers of Nobody's brain. It's an odd amalgamation if blokes, to be honest. Once the poppers wore off and seeing the team on a hologram. Julius seemed like a genius, really. Merging and mashing two classes of heroes together like a twisted social experiment. For me? I don't care about the shadowy and hushed things going on behind the curtains. I'm joined to help the "downtrodden" as my promise obligates me to.
There is one glaring issue that scratches my eye however. The tower. Why do heroes feel the need to stand tall over normal people? As soon as I entered the place I felt sick to my asshole. That's what I hope to prove, on that front however. Just because heroes need a tall tall building looming over the common folk, doesn't mean they're better. Maybe one of them is a sick, twisted, drug addled, sadist like the rest of you lot... Only time will tell.
-Spiller B Lancer: The Puzzler.
Title / Code Name: Ace
Real Name: Jimmy Dalton
Base of Operations: Old's Town chop shop
Hair Color: Black
Weight: 174 lbs
Eye Color: Green
Super Power Origin: None
Place of Birth: Old's Town, Gothic City
Known Aliases: The Ace, Mr. Good Hair, Slick, Shooter, Jimmy Quick
Group Affiliation & Rank: Old Town Rumblers: Enforcer
Avatar Appearance: The Fonz.
Jimmy Dalton is the son of a bank robber father and a Mafia Capo Mother. Born in poverty after his father split town and Ma was outted as a rat for the mob, and forced into hiding. Unlike all the other kids in the Old's ghetto with an abusive father that turned them into abusive men themselves. Jimmy was fortunate enough to have a strict, slightly abusive and very skilled mother instead. Spending his entire childhood being trained to live and breath pistols and sharpshooting with them and becoming a tough son of a bitch on the side, it was easy pickings to found the Rumblers. He now serves as their unofficial leader, their Ace, helping the Rumblers survive the wastes of Gothic.
With the Masks in the explosive aftermath dealt with, dozens of guns clicked and cocked. pointing right at the people that held Ace at gunpoint. No fun on their faces in this standoff. No snarky comments or youthful rebel talk, just dead serious silence.
However, had about the cockiest smirk on his face. He even had the nerve to light up another cigarette in his mouth while they said their piece. He didn't care if he lived today or tomorrow, that's what granted him the drive to face any threat. "Well now...Looks like an impasse if I've ever seen one, eh boys?" Ace called out to the Rumblers surrounding them, merely adjusting their aim on the trio.
"You tell your boss
Father Cassidy was an old blind man, a blind mutant to be exact. Even with the power to heal the ailments of others, he was still a humble man, holding Christ above himself and upheld the word of god. This well respected holy man was praying at his bedside, praying to his lord to unite the humans and mutants in a peace they could all enjoy.
There was of course forces and beings that didn't fall under human or mutant. Ones that didn't care about religion, good or evil and a balance. The shadow's Imps were such creatures. With the sun long set, and the moon up high these creatures crawled out of the shadow's outside of the church. "They have religion here? Who the hell cares about that god stuff when they can do all sorts of cute tricks!?" One of the Imps laughed while they all bickered and chuckled.
Hobbs however, was standing at the front as usual with his clever eyes surveying the scene. Of course, the brilliant leader creased his mouth to reveal a fanged grin, scratching his scaly chin. "You know what I love about churches boys? They are really crazy about candles..Weak light. Don't think we'll be needing to worry about meltin' anytime soon! COME ON!" Hobbs pointed forwards while scurrying onward himself, the dark blue horde climbing, crawling and slipping into the church like maggots on a wound....
Meanwhile, father Cassidy begun his nightly prayer, his old humble voice was as light as a pin drop. "Lord, I ask you tonight what I hope for every night. That you can show the people we are not so different from your original image..."
An Imp leaped onto one of the priests, his claws digging deep through the back of his throat.
"...That the bloodshed can cease, and we can start to rebuild what we have already lost..."
Hobbs grabbed at a stranger's ankles who sat at one of the many benches, dragging him under with a brief scream and a splash of blood across the stone floor right after. "Sorry, church's closed!"
"...For Xenon to keep his wisdom and strength, but use it for peace and prosperity..."
A priest in the concessionary booth heard the other door open, a few laughs here and there but were hushed by another scratchy voice, he was unable to see who it was on the other side from the dark. "Yes my child?" The priest asked, his brow creased at the unsettling noises. Finally though, one of the Imps spoke from the other side. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. See I killed this priest because I really REALLY wanted his collar...No wait, that hasn't happened yet. Let's change that guys!" Three sets of Imp arms came breaking through the weak wooden mesh, pulling the horrified holy man through violently.
All the candles had been blown out through this church, all but the table candle in Father Cassidy's secluded bedroom. Cassidy finishing his prayer "...May your light shine on this city in it's darkest times Lord. Amen." Little did the humble Father know, that around twenty five Imps were in his room behind him, having blown out the candle minutes before the finished prayer, their hands pushed together in a mocking prayer. Hobbs was wearing the collar of one of the fallen priests while the others, of course not fitting his scrawny small neck. "AMEN! HAHAHAHAAAAHAHAA!" Every single Imp said almost in sync before erupting in horrid laughter, the Father turning around in a fright just as Hobbs leaped onto him first, plunging his clawed fingers right through the poor soul's eyes.
While the other Imps ravaged Cassidy like lions to a zebra, Hobbs held the blind eyes up to his own and looked around. "I dunno guys..I think I got ripped off on these eyes, I mean I can't see a thing! BAHAHAHAAAA! HEY! Save me some of his heart you bastards..."
What the authorities would find the very next morning would not be a single Imp in sight. Instead they would find the massacre that was left in their wake, and what was left of the late Father Cassidy strong up on the cross at the main alter. The words "GUILT TRIP" scratched onto his head...
"You can run allllll you want pal! We're gonna get you soon enough!" A crackled voice shouted from the dark of the streets. Local cocaine slinger Bruce Lachance ran for his life, already bleeding from a few claw cuts on his chest. Stick to the light, is all he had to keep in mind.
"Yeah Brucie! Why don't you just step ova' here and let us patch up that wound, scout's honor and all that crap." Another voice, this time followed with an eruption of impish laughter. Bruce wasn't going to have anymore of it though, pulling out his 9MM and firing into the shadows. It only made the voices mockingly fret and giggle.
"Oh shit boys! HE'S GOT A GUN! Aww shit it looks like we're duped now, if only we were more careful!" Just in the corner of Bruce's eye, he could see another one of those small clawed hands reaching out to the street lamp, black flesh smoking while plunging those nails into the bulb to shut it off. "OW OW OW! Ok NOW my hand's all fcked up." "Shoulda been more careful doofus! Ya know light burns us up like a goth at the beach." "How's about I kick ya right in the dick, give you somethin' to worry about!"
While the dozens of voices bickered, Bruce was still panicking at the fact that he was now standing in the light of the remaining street lamp here. Glowing eyes now at all sides, daring not to go into the light. The occasional small hand swept into the light to grab at his ankles, but failing while more dark flesh burned.
Finally though, this would all end when a bullet struck the bulb, and there was that moment of silence. Only Bruce's shaky breathes could be heard for a second before the now apparent imps rushed the human, leaping onto him and slashing his ankles open like a butchered pig. "FCKERS! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!? AAAAAAAAAGH!" Bruce screamed while flailing about on the ground, his arms and legs held by three imps each.
"Brucie Brucie Brucie, I ought to thank your bookie for the pistol...Well I mean if he wasn't all dead and such." The shooter's voice approached the downed Bruce, it was an imp just like the others. However this one was much more scarred and slightly bigger than the rest, at least four feet. "Word in the dark is you've been dropping dime bags on a red coated bastard, a miserable one at that..We like miserable and dangerous" The boss imp scratched his ass with the barrel of the weapon, then put it in Bruce's mouth while pulling back the hammer.
"They call me Hobbes, like the tiger or some shit. And me and my pals here need a new host, a new boss man. If we don't? We fade away. So some piece o' crap dealer ain't going to get in the way of our potential new boss. Hopefully this will sweeten the deal when we hit him with it..." Hobbes leaned in closer, biting just the very tip of Bruce's nose off with his razor teeth, making him squeal through that barrel.
"We know you've been talkin' bout taking him down, the big green archer for some big bad rep eh? Well sorry pal, looks like your plan got cut short..." Hobbes tossed the pistol away, grabbing Bruce by the shoulders and sinking his teeth right on his forehead, stripping the flesh off. As the human screamed, the imps laughed as started to rip him apart.
"DIBS ON HIS WALLET!" "This doucher can't even afford some decent shoes, I mean they taste like crap" "He tastes like cocaine and hooker sweat...I LOVE IT!" "Dime bags all around" "Ewwwwww! I got dealer under my nails. HAHAHAHAHAAAA!"
There Watson stood, the chair he sat for the best five years in his life, where he climbed this hospitals ranks with his powers. His slender pale thumb traced the old black suspenders hugging his white buttoned shirt, a tick he often performed while thinking. The doctor finally snapped it as soon as the elevator all the way down the hall popped open, almost hearing the ding before it had occurred.
Walking down the hall was the news team here to interview him, apparently his leaving was something of an event, he didn't really think so...Let the show go on, anyhow.
New people were always a burden for Watson to meet, his mutant eyes sending his brain all of their information..How they worked. Who had a twitch, who has a gland problem, a smoking problem and a small cluster of tumor's developing near the right primary bronchus in the lungs.
"Now Dr. Watson, you have been chief physician for three years at Mercy. Would you care to tell us what brought on such a sudden resignation of your job here?" The blond with the crooked smile held that mic in his face, making Watson lean back in very subtle annoyance.
"Well Diane, me mutation is not secret. I am a public mutant and support their cause, but with that being said..Things work a little differently when you have a bit of a gift or burden in your genes. For me, I consider my eyes a bit of both. Sure I can see "anything" as the government has labeled, they even tried to have me detained for my "possible intrusion of the globe's privacy"...With that being said, at least for this hospitals walls. I have seen more blood than alot of doctors with my experience in this field, see rooms of heartbreak and dread..Everyday...I did some good here, or so I feel. But I simply am overburdened by what these eyes have seen."
Watson got to his feet, walking over to the window and started dissolving buildings in his vision, seeing them to the molecular point. "So what do you plan to do with your time off then, doctor?" The interviewer inquired, Watson still looking at Avalon now, the only building left in it's average definition within his sight. "I intend on finding employment as a physician elsewhere, somewhere that needs it..."
Doctor Watson was only hoping Ms. Dain didn't already have a personal doctor on staff.
Conrad, the son of Kurt's future. His mother was destined to be Abigail, Kurt's former love interest. The son traveled from his own time to watch over his parents...Or so that was the original plan. Kurt and Abigail had gone their separate ways, whether this was Conrad's fault or not doesn't matter, that future has been erased...But yet Conrad lives.
He is a fragmented echo of that reality, the only remnant of it. This child that wasn't technically ever born.
This change resulted in Conrad losing his memory, and a change of mutation since his genealogy is basically changed, a different mutation.
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