Chapter 28 (Patreon)

Walmart, Downtown Brockton Bay

I stroked my chin thoughtfully, staring down at the small shopping list Cassie had sent me after I'd texted her that I was hitting up God’s gift to mankind - Walmart - for some tinkering supplies. As always, most of the things she wanted me to pick up made sense for a software tinker, but what the hell did shit like memory cartridges and micro USB drives have in common with…

‘Three king-sized boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch?’

I crinkled my nose. What a fucking sugar addict.

“Wait, Mads - there he is! Told you I saw a freaking supermodel. Step back before he sees us!”

The quiet din of hushed, whispering voices coming from the corner of the Electrical Appliances aisle immediately stole my attention away from my phone. I paused, thumb still resting against the screen, and focused on my hearing.

“Oh my God, who is that? He’s, like, so fucking fine!”

“I don’t know… he’s probably a super popular actor or something? I don’t really watch a lotta movies but I think I recognize him…”

“Ooh, get a pic and send it to the group chat so we can ask Emma if she knows who he is! Just please turn the freaking flash off.”

“Relax, Madison! It should be off already…-”

CLICK. FLASH.

"Fuck, Lauren!”

I was already turning towards the gossiping, starstruck teenagers even before the flash went off, my phone tucked safely back in my pocket.

My sunglasses protected me from the vast majority of the dazzling light, so other than a slight squint I was free to power straight through the discomfort and toss up both a roguish grin and a peace sign. The reward, of course, was the hilarious sight of both girls somehow managing to both turn ashen and red in embarrassment - cringe was always funny when you weren’t the source of it, after all.

Before they could make a hasty retreat, as most people did when their weirdness was straight-up exposed, I dropped the multi-pack of thumb drives into my overcrowded shopping cart, leaned down against the plastic handle, and began pushing my way over to them.

The teenage girl with the short hair tied back by blue hairpins was easy to identify once I accounted for the context of her mentioning an ‘Emma’ to her chubbier friend. There were probably many ‘Emmas’ in the city, sure, but how many Emmas were referenced by a cute, petite brunette conveniently named ‘Madison’?

Spoiler alert; probably not a lot.

For whatever reason, she was also clutching a body pillow nearly as long as she was tall.

Their eyes widened in horror as I approached them, like deer frozen in the headlights of a big ass car. The chubby girl was still holding her phone up towards me, apparently frozen with indecision and shock - I leaned over my cart and gently lowered the camera down to point toward the linoleum floor, and she nearly choked on her saliva.

“Takin’ pictures of strangers without their consent ain’t very polite, ladies. Some people’d call that straight-up creepy.”

My crooked grin widened in amusement, and it was at that moment that Madison’s mouth dropped open in very real, very naked recognition. I only had a brief moment to read the emotions on her face before she started yapping, and what I picked up on wasn’t very promising.

Madison is awestruck. Madison is excited. Madison is nervous. Madison is awestruck because she knows that you’re Avalon. Madison knows that you’re Avalon because she pleasured herself to zoomed-in screenshots of your face and body from PHO-

I squeezed Hidden Intuition’s lips closed. Too much fucking information.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God! I knew it! You’re- you’re- oh crap, can I even say it without, like, breaking the, um, unwritten rules?” The young girl’s high-pitched voice lowered into a conspiratorial hiss, and she and her friend shared a half-excited, half-frightened glance.

I rolled my eyes from behind my shades. At this point, I was better off just unmasking as Avalon and standing on business at a public and open level. It wasn’t like I necessarily gave a shit if people knew who I was, and it was apparently pretty obvious if you spent a longer time than average staring at my photos.

“Um… hi. I’m L-Lauren! C-c-can I get a p-”

“She wants to know if we,” Madison cut in bullishly with a dimpled, sugary sweet smile, “Can get a picture. Um, with you. Sir. If you don’t mind..”

…

“Pweaaaaase?”

And now she was hitting me with the puppy dog eyes, trembling bottom lip and fluttering eyelashes included.

Honestly, if I hadn’t been aware of just how shitty and toxic of a piece of human refuse she was, I probably would’ve been swayed to take a selfie with ‘em. Madison was objectively attractive in a ‘girl next door’ sorta way - the type of fast chick you’d bounce on your dick like a pogo if you were horny and there weren’t any actual bombshells around.

Unfortunately for her, the whole ‘disgustingly adorable but secretly bitchy’ two-faced shtick she had going on killed any and all appeal. I didn’t care much about Taylor Hebert - evident by the way that I haven’t even bothered stopping by Winslow to sweep her bony ass off her feet - but I actively disliked cowards and bullies.

Madison was both of those, and unlike Sophia Hess, she didn’t even have the audacity to back it up with some form of moxie.

At least that bitch shot Nazis with crossbows.

“If that’s not crossing your lil’ ‘unwritten rules’ line, then I don’t know what is,” I responded dryly. “Just wanted to warn you about taking sneaky shots of random dudes in Walmart. It’s prolly not illegal, this being a public place and everything, but you know how people can get…”

The difference between Madison's and Lauren’s reactions was like night and day.

Lauren’s already pale face turned virtually gray with shame, and she held up her smartphone like some sort of shield. I could read it in her eyes like text in a book; the girl was just another follower, weak-willed and subservient to a fault. “Oh god, I’m so fucking sorry. I knew it was weird, I just - I-I’ll delete the picture, mister!”

“Wait, no - Lauren, shut up! I told you to turn the freaking flash off you dumbass.” Madison scowled angrily, pushing past the larger girl to step closer to me. I raised a sharp curved eyebrow, lips drawing down into a stoic frown, and she stopped cold in her tracks.

Funnily enough, she did so with a massive blush and a simpering, warbly smile.

“Holy shit you’re, like, so much freaking hotter in person,” the brunette breathed, tilting her head downwards but staring up at me with her wide blue eyes. It was an obvious attempt to look both seductive and ‘cute’, but all it really did was bring more attention to her above-average-sized forehead. “Please, I promise we won’t tell anyone! I just… I just really want a selfie of you. O-or, with you - whichever you have time for! I-It doesn’t even have to be an Avalon thing.” Madison whispered my cape alias like it was the world’s most important secret, and I snorted.

Although a bitch she absolutely was, the stubbornness was kinda cu-

Madison is starstruck. Madison is excited. Madison is excited to get a selfie of you. Madison is excited to get a selfie of you because she plans to pleasure herself to it. Madison has a body pillow for a perverse reason. Madison wants to pin-

My little smile turned wry.

Fuck that, but maybe I could use her hormonal-fueled obsession to alley-oop assist a certain four-eyed victim. What were the odds that Madison’s phone held damaging and incorrigible evidence of her bullying campaign against one Taylor Hebert?

“Fuck it then,” I snarked, forcing a bit of dark amusement into my face. The girls flinched at my ‘vulgarity’, Madison’s breath visually and audibly coming out in noticeable pants, and I inwardly cringed. “Lemme see your phone, Miss…”

“Laure-”

“Madison! Madison Clements! Oh my fricking god this is so fucking cool!”

She pressed forward, dropping her body pillow purchase and practically batista bombing her phone into my hands.

“M-Mads, that’s rude. I wanna get a pic too…”

“UGH, shut up Lauren! I came here with you because I was fucking bored, Soph and Emma are busy, and you make me look better in comparison. Not because we’re friends. You’re so fucking lame.”

“...”

Sniffle.

Yikes. Teenage drama.

As I scrolled through her phone, momentarily ignoring the camera application in favor of memorizing a plethora of email addresses, contact information, and social media account details that any hacker worth their salt could crack, I realized with actual, genuine pleasure…

‘The odds are really fuckin’ high. Dumb bitch.’

Who said I couldn’t be a nazi killer and a concerned, well-meaning civilian?

I left the sniffling Lauren and the beaming Madison with a skip in my step, right after dodging the petite girl’s ‘smooth’ attempt at a cheek kiss.

Madison is overjoyed. Madison is ecstatic. Madison believes she’s in love.

‘Euuugh…what a weird fucking broad.’

Still, that was my good deed for the day. With that little interaction out of the way, there was no way in Hell I’d run into anyone else in an average Walmart, right? Certainly no one who’d recognize me on sight like both Amy and Madison managed to do.

I about had it with the surprises for today.

__________________________________

Victor didn’t consider himself an ‘arrogant’ individual.

Well, that wasn’t true. He was a little arrogant, and self-aware enough to recognize it, but how could he not be when the world itself saw fit to crown him, perpetually and forevermore, in success and victory?

It was even in his cape name - Victor. A winner. William, the man before Victor, was no loser, but he much preferred being recognized as the former.

For the most part, his entire life was all one long, high-definition ‘win’ compilation, and even the ‘shitty’ parts ended up performing a 180-degree turn into fortune. A man blessed with features that could only be described as pure royalty, what with the well-defined jawline, the cleft, action star chin, the short and tidy blonde hair - dyed to an almost platinum sheen - and deep blue eyes that sparkled like the very ocean itself. If you added in the fact that he’d mastered countless skills over the past few years, drained and cultivated an endless amount of talent that took other men decades to master, then wasn’t he the picture perfect representation of white superiority?

Was he not what others of his race should strive to aim towards? A prime example of the inherent talent, intellect, and strength of the Aryan race?

‘Then why,’ he mentally griped, pushing the jam-packed shopping cart down the quiet, moderately chilly ‘frozen meats’ aisle. ‘Am I reduced to being a fucking pack mule? Get married, Victor - join the family, join the Empire even! And now we’ve got some lucky nigger Trump acting all uppity, making us look weak. Tch…’

The bare, slim, and sashaying hips - delightfully pale and creamy - pulled him from his inner grumbling, and for a brief second Victor was hypnotized by Vanessa’s calm, graceful gait. Young though she was, being a fresh seventeen in comparison to his more experienced and wise twenty one, his wife was certifiably pleasing and lovely in her own way. She was quiet when she needed to be quiet, loving when he needed her soft words, and an absolute tigress in the sheets - once he took care of that pesky virgin shyness.

Being the one toting the bulk of the groceries wasn’t so bad when he took in every other positive aspect of a married life. Vanessa, or Othala in more elite circles, was his to own, cherish, and protect. She was his proudest trophy, and though he could not find the same overbearing love he once held for his former beau, Vanessa also had his heart.

She turned then, a small, gentle smile on her face, and Victor felt his heart constrict in his chest. The things he would do to protect and safeguard her little moments of joy.

“I think this is everything we needed to grab as far as grocery shopping is concerned,” Vanessa said quietly, slowing down just enough to fall back and match pace beside him. “I was getting tired of ordering out, so I’m happy we could get some actual food.”

She was using her inside inside voice, he noticed - meaning that she was hedging around discussing something private and/or confidential. Victor lowered his voice to match, deep blue eyes regarding the cool expression on her face with veiled curiosity.

“A lot of meat,” he commented idly, tilting his head towards the assortment of expensive steaks, chicken, and packages of ground meat. “Are we planning a party or something? A celebration?”

It was a light line, but Vanessa gobbled at the hook like she always did. Though she played at a veneer of composure and grace, she wore her emotions too plainly.

“Brad,” she nodded, a light brightening her face. “Some of the other girls and I thought we’d put together a barbecue or something once you guys… help him out. Keep up morale in the, uh, office. It was mainly my idea, I guess, but…”

Right. Brad, or the currently imprisoned and shackled ‘Hookwolf’ - a man that their little husband-wife family considered a ‘friend’, but someone who’d recently and quickly became a liability once he got absolutely demolished and embarrassed by a brand new hero. Not just any new hero, either, but some jigaboo bastard with multiple powers to his name. They’d all seen the footage, too, considering it had practically been blasted across PHO for the world to witness. Enhanced agility and strength, golden energy spears oddly reminiscent of Crusader’s, that massive cage that so effortlessly caged and girdled Hookwolf, the fucking lasers, and the metal-degrading Shaker effect that almost had Kaiser calling for his capture immediately.

He was overtuned. Too overtuned for a simple grab-bag. And, more importantly, he was an overtuned black Trump with a bone to pick against the Empire, like all of his ignorant and ill-informed ilk.

The rat bastard was lucky he managed to slip beneath the cracks in the days following the Mall battle. The Empire was too busy making preparations in anticipation of breaking Hookwolf out of containment, and Kaiser was focusing all of their resources and attention on the transport. The Birdcage was on the table once again, and losing one of their strongest capes would spell Hell for the Empire.

It was part of the reason why he was assigned to be on Krieg’s strike team tomorrow night. Kaiser got the itinerary for the transport caravan days ago, and had a full plan ready not long after.

Victor simply needed to be set up and ready with sniper rifle in hand.

He let a puff of air expel from his nostrils.

“Is that too much?” Vanessa hedged, a nervous lilt to her voice. “I just thought it would be a good idea, considering the atmosphere right now. It’s foreboding, like Brad’s already lost forever. He’s been in… trouble before.”

Probably because a black Trump with an unknown amount of firepower was setting his sights on the Empire. Something like that, which hadn’t happened in a long time by the way, would probably set tensions a little high.

Victor didn’t say this, though - sarcasm was for the imbeciles and the slow, not his wife.

“It’s not a bad idea, dear. We’ll make it a thing, see if we can get the boss to invite some of the uppercrust from the Family. Show off a bit of our success here on the East Coast.” Came his soft, smooth reply - always on time, always with just the right amount of inflection, because he could never do anything worse than the best.

The smile she sent his way was angelic.

“Thank you. I can’t wait to see what Tam-”

“‘Scuse me,” A deep, velvety, and distinctly niggerish voice suddenly spoke up right behind his ear.

It was only due to a couple decade’s worth of selective desensitization techniques, borrowed permanently from the hapless police officers, that kept Victor from yelping or jumping from surprise.

It didn’t, of course, stop his wife.

“Huh?!” Vanessa jumped like a ghost had just breathed against the back of her neck, her already pale face turning almost stark white in color.

“Woah - my bad! Didn’t mean to jump scare you two-“

Victor turned almost as fast as she’d reacted, letting go of the shopping cart in favor of keeping his hands free and accessible. He didn’t have any weapons on him - his knives and pistol was back in the car - but if things even came down to a fight, he doubted he would need anything like that for some stupid, nosy thug.

“It’s fine, you just snuck up on us. What do you-” Blue eyes blinked, meeting circular, reflective black lenses. “... Want?”

Victor’s jaw twitched. He wasn’t an envious man - never had been, never would be, because why be envious when he could simply take anything he didn’t have? Even still, the ugly feeling worming its way through his stomach couldn’t be anything but. ‘What the hell?’

Tall, dignified, princely - if Victor thought he looked like a prince, this nigger might as well be the fucking monkey king! His skin almost seemed to glow with melanated health, perfectly white teeth pulled back in a smile that looked too perfect, and… did he even have any pores or acne? His appearance wasn’t dipping into ‘uncanny’ valley, but he was almost definitely a cape of some kind. Either that, or he held himself to ridiculously ludicrous beauty standards that no normal human upheld.

Victor didn’t even like tattoos other than a very strict few symbols, chaotic messes that they were, but the compacted black swirls and floral patterns on his arms just seemed to… work.

Even Vanessa was staring with a slightly opened mouth, and that snapped Victor out of it. Immediately, aggression and contempt flooded his veins, pushing away any amazement that had snuck in. Majestic animals were still animals at the end of the day, and he’d never been one for common trips to the zoo.

The man tilted his head, having been studying Victor the same way Victor had been studying him, and the gleaming smile on his face took on a more amused edge.

For some reason, the sight reminded him of something. It just wasn’t clicking in his brain.

“Nothin’ much, homie. Saw you two buying up all the good meat, figured I’d come grab an invite to the cookout.” The nigger replied with a deep, masculine chuckle, looking at Vanessa and giving her a jaunty little half-wave. “Name’s Jamal, by the way. Nice to meet ya’ll.”

She hesitantly waved back, inching closer to Victor. The reaffirmation of their dynamic - him, the protector, and her the loyal wife - was gratifying, especially in the face of… whatever this was.

The smile he gave the stranger was a cold one, handsome and warm in all the right ways to fool an unsuspecting mark, but it lacked any true kindness. “Sorry pal, but we’re fresh out of invitations. Family and friends only, you understand? Homies don’t really make the cut, and I don’t want to stir the pot too much.”

“Damn,” ‘Jamal’ clicked his tongue and placed his hands on his hips, his smile faltering the slightest bit. “I’m new to Brockton Bay. Was hopin’ to meet some new peeps around my age, maybe crack a couple cold ones and eat some good steak. It’s cool, though; I get it. Trust is hard to come by and shit, right?”

What an annoying fucker, but he was being open and honest - Victor had long since gotten familiar with most tell-tale signs of deceit, and Jamal wasn’t showing any of them. He was just that naive, and didn’t know the dangers of attempting to befriend a blonde-haired, white-skinned couple Downtown. Yet.

Victor was curious about what skills he possessed, because intuition wasn’t one of them.

He went to nudge Vanessa forward a tad since his hand was already resting protectively against her slim slip of a waist, but the woman was quick to catch on. The uncomfortable and hesitant smile was still marring her face, but she seemed… intrigued. It was in the furrow of her brow and the wrinkle in her forehead.

She was thinking. Hard.

Probably about the same things that he was, then. ‘What kind of fool is this?’

Victor took a step closer, behind Vanessa, and began feeling for the intoxicating nuggets of warmth and heat in the nigger’s body - the warmest ones were often the most developed, and he wanted to rob him of his best features, leave him bumbling and retarded.

“The city’s been pretty shaken up recently, and keeping to those you know you can trust is smart these days. How new to the city are you?” Vanessa’s curiosity was well-crafted, like a normal, mild-mannered citizen continuing a conversation. It almost fooled Victor.

“Got here like a couple months ago. My adorable girlfriend wanted to come to the Bay for university, so I said ‘fuck it, let’s go to one of the most gang-infested cities on the East Coast’! Dealin’ with that bullshit’s prolly easier than enduring my girl bein’ pissed at me, y’know?”

“… Heh, I guess so. A woman scorned is a scary person to share a room with. You’re a smart but stupid man, Jamal.” Her head tilted to the side, her arms coming down to wrap lightly around her own stomach, but Victor couldn’t even read into her shifting body language - he was too busy squashing down both surprise and paranoia.

His fucking powers weren’t working.

Jamal’s smile turned sheepish, and he scratched his chin. “Shit, don’t I know it. The city hasn’t been too bad so far. The Boardwalk’s nice, and  Fugly Bob’s a fucking national treasure. I prolly gained ten pounds just eatin’ their greasy ass curly fries. Extra salt, make ‘em crispy.”

The genuine giggle - a bubbling brook of fresh and joyful laughter - ripped Victor away from his concentrated consternation. He frowned, chest tightening uncomfortably at the sight of Vanessa covering her mouth and smiling at a fucking nigger. Not just any nigger at that, but one with some sort of power that made his skills and talents undrainable. He was a fucking cape.

Vanessa seemed to become aware of her own enjoyment at the same time as him, a disturbed sneer peeling back her lips as she stepped away and brought her arms up to cross over her chest.

“A-ahem. Right. Well, good luck with that-”

“We’re going.” Victor interrupted, turning on his heel to grab hold of their shopping cart. As an afterthought, he added over his shoulder, “Before the meat defrosts while we’re just loitering around. Be seeing you, ‘Jamal’.”

“... ‘Ight, peace out.”

Without another glance back, Victor briskly made his way towards the front of the supercenter.

He’d tried to keep up a veneer of genuinity, abstractly recognizing that the slightly taller man was possibly looking for friends - cape or not, he had been telling the truth as far as Victor could sense. That was fine; some niggers simply didn’t recognize their betters, and that was as much of a cultural issue as it was a lack of intelligence one, but certain plans were much too sensitive to risk contact with unknown parahumans.

Who knew what other colored capes Avalon was in contact with.

‘Right, Avalon. That’s who he reminded me of!’ Victor’s eye twitched, and he glanced behind him with narrowed eyes.

Other than normal shopping customers pushing carts to and fro, there was no ‘Jamal’. He gritted his teeth, paranoia picking at the edges of his thoughts.

“What’s wrong, William? Did something upset you?” Vanessa’s soft, concerned voice murmured from his right side, and Victor felt his frustration grow. That annoying knot of jealousy - an emotion he absolutely abhorred feeling - had already dissipated, but her acting like she hadn’t just been eye-fucking that… that…

Guy? It was a guy, right? A man. Vanessa wasn’t a god damned dyke.

“That… guy we were talking to before. He was a man, right? I’m not misremembering things.”

There was a moment of quiet, interrupted by the ambient clutter of inane talking from wandering civilians, and Victor guided them towards the back of the long line of people waiting to use the self-service checkout machine. Something in his head was pounding and pumping, feeling him with a sense of anxiety that melded and combined with his burgeoning paranoia. Something wasn’t right…

“Sweetheart,” Vanessa finally said, her soft hand sliding over his ashen knuckles. Victor hadn’t even realized that he’d been gripping the cart so tightly, and he relaxed his fist. “I think they were a guy? I’m not sure. I was kind of distracted, thinking about everything going on to be honest. Sorry.” She smiled, embarrassed at her forgetfulness, and Victor sighed.

Maybe he was overreacting? Now that he thought about it, hadn’t it just been a guy asking them about the amount of food in their cart? Just some random guy?

“It’s fine. Stress must be eating me up,” he exhaled, running a hand through his short blonde hair. “That isn’t me. Getting sloppy before work is the last thing I need right now. The last thing we need.”

“Everything’s going to be okay. Even if I’m not there, you’ll have Tams there to raise Hell.” Vanessa nudged him with her hip, her gentle smile widening. “No stressing about work outside of the office.”

The woman ahead of them shifted up in line, and Victor lazily pushed the cart after her. “Fine,” he agreed with a smirk, Vanessa’s optimism chasing away the clouds. He shoved his hand into his pocket. “Let me just check my messages, make sure that there hasn’t been any changes…”

…

Something didn’t feel right.

Victor paused, and slowly took out his ‘phone’.

“Dear?” Vanessa asked cautiously, watching as his face began to rapidly pale.

His hand clenched around the small, portable black battery pack, the knuckles popping one by one like macadamia nuts.

“Vanessa,” Victor said quietly, coldly, his eyes darkening with anger. He did his utmost to keep himself composed and calm. “... Have you seen my phone?”

__________________________________

(5:55 PM) Avalon: Lmao just curved this weirdo fangirl. Got some spicy shit for you tho, will tell you tonight.

(5:56 PM) Iris: serves her right hehe. and sounds gud >/////< will i get something else tonight sir

(5:59 pm) Avalon: It’ll be the final nut before I become wanted for nazi manslaughter. Hell yes.

(5:59 PM) Iris: stop replying so fking late meanie

(5:59 PM) Iris: a-and good! im kinda already a crimminal sooo

(5:59 PM) Iris: bonnie and clyde?!

(5:59 PM) Iris: babe….?

(6:00 PM) Iris: (╬≖_≖)

(6:04 PM) Avalon: What can you do with Victor’s phone if I bring it back to you?

(6:04 PM) Iris: h-h-huuuuuuh?!?1 E88 Victor????

(6:04 PM) Iris: ALOT??? But arent u in walmart???

(6:04 PM) Iris: HELLO

(6:05 PM) Avalon: I’m going in.

(6:06 PM) Iris: literally going to kill you

(6:15PM) Avalon: Got it. Btw stuttering in text is wild lmao.

As I dipped out the emergency side exit of Walmart, once more cloaked in the hazy, smoky gray fogs of Ulgu, I slid my cell phone back into the pockets of my jeans. Not even a second later, it began to vibrate violently - clearly my spontaneous decision to pickpocket the skill vampire was a highly contested one. To be fair, it wasn’t as if I had been looking to interact with Victor and Othala right after the Madison situation, anyway. It was one of those things where opportunity glinted beneath the sunlight, hidden amongst the shit, and you took it before it could disappear forever.

I only recognized the couple due to Othala’s eyepatch, anyway. A teenage girl with short blonde hair and an eyepatch, walking super close to a buff, arrogant-looking blonde man with blue eyes? I had almost felt offended at myself that Hidden Intuition needed to pipe in in order to confirm my suspicions. They were the Empire’s second most powerful ‘power couple’, alright - the first arguably being Night and Fog.

Fortunately, things had gone as smoothly as possible. They hadn’t been outwardly racist and belligerent, but I knew that they were going to keep their nazi boners in their pants the second Victor looked at me and did that awkward ass white person smile where they fold their lips inwards. Instead of getting called a ‘nigger’ to my face, I was privy to him doing it in the safety of his own mind - condescension and clear disdain had been his only external weapons amongst a sea of Walmart shoppers that he couldn’t expose himself in front of.

Othala had been… interesting. There had been awkwardness and uncomfortableness, for sure, but apparently my new looks and Force of Spirit combined was enough to slightly melt the racial ice between me and the nazi chick. At the very least, her pretending to be tolerant of my negro-ness was easier to do with my charizzma. Things hadn’t been completely friendly, of course, but I’d made her giggle, and you know what they say about that:

If you can make a girl laugh and giggle, you can make those cheeks clap and jiggle!

Not that I was into Victor’s wife. Bit too ‘chicken-bone Joan’ for me.

The best thing about being a wizard was just what you could accomplish with a little bit of preparation and quick thinking. Arcane handled the potential ramifications of them remembering me after our little interaction, so I had simply coated myself in the Elemental Wind of Darkness throughout the conversation. On the spot, I utilized a combo of casting Cloak Activity to apply an illusion of me standing there, confused at their abrupt leaving, whilst, in reality, I walked right up to Victor’s face, flipped him off, used my Grimoire-graced sleight of hand skills to replace his phone with a battery pack I’d taken out of the plastic, and then return to the spot my illusion was standing in.

I had to do it all in a scant few seconds, too. I didn’t even know I had fucking skill like that.

Afterwards, I simply had to retrace my steps back to my cart, buy everything on the opposite side of the store since Victor was more than smart enough to realize his phone was missing pretty quickly, and leave before my luck ran the fuck out and I got in over my head.

And, to make matters even better, the Grimoire ended up giving me a pretty fucking sweet ability in the midst of all that.

Soar (Touhou Project: Parasol Paradise - 100 CP): In Gensokyo, the ability to levitate and fly are very common, and is crucial to Danmaku battles. With some practice, you can learn to travel just as fast around sharp bends and even backwards as you can dead ahead.

I didn’t know what the fuck a Gensokyo was, but who the hell refused the ability to straight up fly?

Weirdos, that’s who.

I familiarized myself with the sensation of levitating as I hovered a few inches off of the ground, idly pushing my shopping cart ahead of me with a weak, consistent flex of raw Aethyr. The day was quickly descending into evening time, so there were a fair amount of cars littering the Walmart parking lot, but thankfully my magic kept mundane attention away from me - both from Arcane and the Take no Heed spell I layered on top of myself mere minutes earlier. It wouldn’t stop those with extremely stubborn wills and high perceptive capabilities from pushing through the magical effect and approaching me, but the average Brocktonite definitely did not match that description.

I still had chores I needed to do - the pizza with extra pepperoni was calling my name, and I needed to drop Victor’s phone off to Cass so that she could scrape it for juicy Empire intel - but rushing would only make me sloppy. I’d bought a few things for myself to test my Infusions out on, one of which was a fairly expensive black leather satchel that I was hoping to turn into some kinda Bag of Holding, and if it actually worked then getting everything back and forth would be a lot less annoying.

I parked the crowded shopping cart near some dirty-looking SUV. A quick glance inside revealed an old woman with thin, graying hair knocked the fuck out in the passenger seat. If not for the fact that I could hear the AC running and see her chest moving up and down, I would’ve thought the old biddy was dead.

‘Least I don’t gotta break the window open to cool her off,’ I mentally snorted, hovering over to the front of the shopping cart and pulling the small leather satchel out of its plastic bag. It was… weird, walking without actually walking - because that was what hovering was once you got right down to it. Flying was probably the exact same thing - just willing your body to move, as if you were moving on your own two feet, and your magic simply made it do so. Considering my natural agility and balance, I already felt like a master… floater.

Something told me that high-speed flight would probably be a bit harder to pull off.

“Okay, let’s see…”

Holding the satchel with both hands, I narrowed my eyes at the mundane item and injected it with my magic. Filling the bag to the brim barely even skimmed the surface level of the roaring waterfall that was my mana core, and I quickly condensed the magic down into what I was starting to call the ‘essence’ of the item - the metaphorical ‘core’ of whatever I was attempting to Infuse. Depending on the craftsmanship of the item, the essence varied in quality and strength. The closest I got to visualizing it all was like the ‘rarity’ of loot in an RPG, and Hidden Intuition absolutely ran with that idea.

Above the bag, visual only to me due to Hidden Intuition, fancy, golden words formed.

Satchel of Holding (Uncommon)

Infusion: This uncommon magical satchel has been Infused with spatial-warping magic, allowing it to carry roughly 300 pounds by connecting its contents to an extradimensional space. Once carrying capacity is reached, this satchel will expel any additional items. The inside of this satchel is larger than the outside, extending four feet deep and two feet across.

I blinked, and the words faded away.

“... This is fuckin’ sick.”

It was ‘uncommon’, which basically meant that it was only slightly better than trash-tier, but any bag of holding was better than no bag of holding! I couldn’t keep the broad grin off of my face as I unbuttoned the satchel, flipped it open, and shoved my hand inside.

“Holy-”

My arm sunk in to the peak of the shoulder, surrounded by nothing but a cool, leathery void.

“Shit.”

I slowly withdrew my arm, eyeing my goosebump-marked skin with slightly widened eyes. Even after tossing around enough firepower to demolish entire squads of soldiers, fighting a metal wolf man taller than ten fucking feet, and transforming into an actual, honest-to-God quetzalcoatl, I still found myself amazed by even the simpler examples of magic. Mere weeks ago, I was spending hella gold in my monthly D&D sessions to get a normal Bag of Holding.

Now, in this world… I fucking made them. I was a motherfucking wizard!

BRRR-ING!

BRRR-ING!

Victor’s phone suddenly began ringing.

I froze, one hand on the satchel and the other moving to start shoveling my purchases inside. Dropping the bag, I slowly withdrew the nazi’s phone out of my pocket, glancing at the screen with narrowed eyes.

Vanessa is calling.

Othala still has her phone. Victor would ask her to call his phone in order to find it. Vanessa is Othala.

I tossed the phone inside the satchel. Unlike with normal bags, the sound of the ringing ceased immediately - the perks of shunting modern technology into an extradimensional storage closet. I was fairly certain that tracing the phone was similarly fucked to shit since it was no longer on Earth Bet.

‘Right,’ I frowned, moving over to the side of the cart to start dropping my other purchases into the satchel. ‘Time to get the fuck outta dodge. If they’re trackin’ each other’s GPS locations, then they know I’m here.’

Everything went into the satchel perfectly, even the big ass truck batteries I’d gotten from the automotive section of the Walmart. Within moments I was finished storing everything inside, and after securing the satchel’s strap over my right shoulder and letting the bag rest against my left hip, I turned to leave.

“I can see what you’re doing there, young man,”

Two blondes, the man tall and muscular and the woman short and skinny, were sprinting out of the front entrance of the Walmart. A car honked its horn loudly as the taller figure dashed in its way, completely ignoring the pedestrian lane, and the woman followed right after at a much more clipped pace. They were heading in my direction, but the old woman’s SUV shielded me from view.

Victor and Othala.

A mote of light in my soul blinked, a gilded mirror appearing in my hand, and I stared into the reflective glass.

Funnily enough, a shit-eating grin was tearing itself across my handsome visage.

A second later, I disappeared with a ‘pop’.

__________________________________

An hour later…

The Trainyard, Trainwreck’s Crib

KNOCK.

KNOCK.

“Yooo, who ordered the extra large pie with triple the pepperoni? Gotta get this shit when it’s hot and fresh.”

Idly, I declined the Grimoire’s offer of ‘magical war hawks’.

There was the sound of hushed voices and heavy footsteps before the metal roll up door slowly began raising. I stood there, hands in my pockets and a small, smug little smile on my face as Trainwreck straightened from where he’d bent low to open up the shipping container. He looked… not horrible. The bruises I’d given him didn’t look as ripe, but nothing could really fix the overall ugliness of his face.

He scanned me up and down, naked confusion clear in his beady, pig-like eyes.

“Where the fuck’s the pizza?”

“I respect the priorities,” I snorted, ducking down and teleporting beneath his ridiculously bulky arms.

I came out of the flash of magic with my hands already reaching into my satchel. The spatial magic worked in a very convenient fashion, I found out after bringing Cassie (and Pod) their loot. As long as I visualized what I wanted to take out as I reached in, much like the way that my outfit hammerspace worked, the satchel would simply place said item into my hands. Quick, easy, and the ease-of-access makes it possible to utilize during high stress scenarios.

Like taming a hungry jackal known as ‘Sherrel’.

The oil-stained mechanic had been in the middle of welding large, unwieldy-looking metal exhaust pipes on top of the F-150 when I made my entrance. As soon as she saw me, she did a double take, tossed the welding gun to the side, and pressed her hands against the edge of the truck as if she was getting ready to leap off the roof.

“Hah, look who finally decided to come crawlin’ back to the cool kids table! Catch-”

In a blur of movement, I had the hot, steaming box of Domino’s pizza out and extended like a landing pad.

“You jump off that truck, Sherr, and you can say goodbye to the pizza. I don’t think it’s gonna survive Death by Snu Snu.”

She froze, her eyebrows narrowing above her welding goggles. “... You got drinks, too? And a freakin’ phone?”

Still watching her, I dropped the pizza box - which continued to float under the power of my magic - and slowly retrieved a bottle of Dr. Pepper and her new phone, upgraded by Cassie, from my satchel. “Shit’s got hella data, too. 5G, baby.”

Sherrel clicked her tongue. “Damn! Alright, you win this time. And that’s fuckin’ bullshit, y’know. How the hell did you disappear for a couple hours and come back with Tinkertech?!” She jabbed a finger at the magical satchel on my hip, a blend of envy and curiosity drawing her lips down into a pout.

“I guess I’m just a different breed. You know how it is.” I said flippantly, a smirk forming on my lips.

“I actually don’t know, ya fuckin’ tight-lipped dickhead! That’s the problem. But, heh… thanks for the dinner.”

“Mhm.” Moving multiple things with pure Aethyr manipulation was difficult, but stressing my control with repeated use only improved my technique. I floated the phone and the condensation-covered bottle of caffeine up to Sherrel, even as I pulled a Sprite and a Coke out of my satchel for me and Trainwreck. The large box of pizza continued floating in mid-air, rotating lazily on an axis.

Trainwreck, having closed the door shut behind me, made a clumsy grab for the steaming box. I stopped him with a glare.

“Fuck’s yer’ problem?” he grumbled, an annoyed scowl forming on his cracked lips.

“You’re not touching shit ‘cause your hands prolly got actual shit on ‘em. Fingers off the food ‘till your hands are clean.” I glanced over to Sherrel, who was trying to stealthily lower herself down from the roof of the truck. She stiffened, hanging limply with her back facing towards us like a fucking sloth, and Trainwreck huffed out a gross sounding chuckle. “You too, Sherrel. I’m not tryna eat oil and rust-sprinkled pepperoni pizza. That’s fuckin’ gross.”

She dropped to her feet and turned to wave her hands impatiently. “Fine, do your golden shower bullshit and make us all fresh and pretty, boss! Mama needs her brain food.”

Trainwreck stared. Hard. “... Yer not pissin’ on me, kid.”

I rolled my eyes. “You ain’t cute enough for that kinda treatment, homie.”

I set our bottles of soda on the floor and touched both of them in turn, muttering the incantation for Cleansing Glow underneath my breath. In a warm, tingly glow of golden light, Hysh washed away all of the day’s dirt and grime, leaving my minion and new acquaintance looking like they’d just gotten out of a five-star spa treatment. Sherrel had already been fairly clean - oil and dirt had started to build up beneath her fingernails and on her cheeks, but it was all minor.

Trainwreck, however, was a completely different beast. He probably hadn’t showered in months, ever since he appeared in the Trainyard, so the effect the spell had on him was monumental. The grease in his hair disappeared, leaving the strands soft and healthy. His skin was scrubbed clean, dirt and oil magically disappearing, and the rust and gunk staining and corroding his armor simply flaked away. In only a couple moments, Trainwreck went from being a hideous, stinky, and grimy Case 53 hobo to merely a hideous Case 53 hobo.

He stared down at his gleaming silver gauntlets, a complicated mix of emotions clouding his face. “...”

Trainwreck is amazed. Trainwreck is happy. Trainwreck is confused. Trainwreck is thankful.

Sherrel, meanwhile, only made a pleased little grunt, shooting me a dazzling, white-toothed grin. “Thanks handsome!”

Without any hesitation or shame, she turned around and tackled the floating box of pizza to her chest. “And hellooo beautiful!”

The woman was practically salivating.

“I swear to God, if you eat all of the pizza…”

“What? You gonna punish me, big guy? That supposed to be an early birthday present?” She plopped her butt back on the tailgate of the F-150, her dump truck ass causing the vehicle to jump a little from the added weight. Noticing my gaze, Sherrel teasingly wiggled her hips.

My stare turned deadpanned, and I wrenched my eyes away from her milky white thighs. “Something like that. Doubt you’ll like the punishment though.”

Her grin turned shark-like. “Try me.”

“Ever worn a women’s chastity belt?”

That same shark-like grin promptly turned upside down. “... No?”

I smirked. “You will.”

She paused.

“... I’m gonna behave, boss.”

“Good minion.”

As Sherrel solemnly opened the box of Domino’s Pizza and helped herself to a large, cheesy slize of triple pepperoni, I turned my attention back to the silent Trainwreck. The bottle of Coke flew upwards, right into my open palm, and I stepped forward to offer him the cold beverage. “You alright, man? If you’re worried ‘bout eating with those big ass cinderblocks you call hands, I can feed you like a baby bird-”

He snatched the bottle out of my hand. “Don’t need no help, kid. … But thanks. For cleanin’ my place, cleanin’... me, and gettin’ us grub. Ain’t used to people carin’ like that.”

Although his fist dwarfed the comparatively tiny glass bottle by multitudes, Trainwreck handled it with surprising gentleness. With one strong flick of his bulky index finger, the top half of the glass was broken clean off, careening across the room and shattering in the corner. Some of the brown liquid spilled out, dripping to the floor and falling through the cracks in his gauntlets, but Trainwreck didn’t seem to care. He brought the jagged edge of the broken bottle to his lips, dipped his head back, and downed it all.

I shrugged. “We kicked you outta your own place, Trainwreck,” I chuckled, gesturing towards my own bottle of Sprite. Jerkily, it shot up and towards me, where I caught it in my hand. “The least I could do is bring you some fucking pizza.”

I glanced up, and he was mean-mugging me. Not with any anger or ill-will, of course, but the man clearly didn’t know how to smile. I could practically see the cogs turning in his skull.

Trainwreck is thoughtful. Trainwreck is desperate. Trainwreck is hopeful.

“You and yer’ bi- … you and ‘Overdrive’. Yer’ doin’ some crazy shit, right?” Trainwreck turned his attention back down the the half-broken bottle in his gauntlets, glaring down at the glass like it was its own fault that it was broken. “Ain’t any other reason to be putin’ half the shit’s she’s puttin’ in that thing. Truck’s gon’ be a tank.”

For a second, I debated lying. Not everyone needed to know my plans, and the less people in the know the easier it would be to slide under the radar and make things happen. Surprise and spontaneity were my best traits right now.

But then, I glanced at him again, heard the whispered Trainwreck is lost in my ear, and came to a decision.

“Yeah,” I replied, smiling a small, crooked little smile when his head turned to watch me. “I got a small team, and we’re gonna destroy the Empire. Take Downtown.”

“Any money involved?” he grunted, trying not to look interested, and I shrugged.

“There’s always money involved when you’re toppling a country-wide criminal organization.”

“... That right?”

Trainwreck went silent, and I let him stew in his thoughts as I popped the cap of my Sprite. For a few minutes, the only sound in the shipping container were the quiet chomps of Sherrel tearing through pizza like the Tasmanian Devil, followed by the low hum of some deep-voiced country singer playing from truck’s bluetooth once she finally sussed out how to properly work her new smartphone.

It was on the man’s third verse that Trainwreck seemed to come to some mental decision. He gently placed the empty bottle of coke on the ground and fully turned towards me.

“... Yer’ wallet deep enough to get me runnin’ water? And a fuckin’ fridge?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

“An’ food that ain’t cooked rats or garbage bin shit?”

“Easy enough.”

Trainwreck grinned - or, rather, he sneered and I understood that it was meant to be a grin. “An’ some brewskis?”

“We’ll get you a twelve pack and a cat. You want a cat?”

Trainwreck’s acne-scarred cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, and his grin faltered. “The fuck would I want a cat for? No.”

Trainwreck is lonely. Trainwreck wants a cat.

I took another sip of my sprite in an attempt to hide my smile.

“‘Ight, we’ll put a pin on the cat adoption. Welcome to my magical shitshow, Minion #2. We’ve got a looot to catch you up on tonight.”

He shuffled uncomfortably, though the ‘minion’ classification didn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as it had Sherrel the first time I hit her with it. “Sounds ‘bout right. Maybe let’s talk after eatin’ though, yeah?”

“Heh, sure. Wait- fuckin' hell, Sherrel, I said leave some for us!”

“Wahh- I am! Boss, there’s four whole fuckin’ slices right there! Ain't my fault you two started your cute gay bondin' sequence!”

“... Uhhh, kid - yer gettin’ us more, right?”

“I-... bruh.”

We had to order more pizza…

But we got through it.

As Trainwreck and Sherrel finished up the truck, using the scrap collected by Trainwreck and the materials purchased by me, I filled my newest minion in on the overall plan for tomorrow’s mission. New information, collected by Cassie after technologically raping Victor’s phone, was compressed and added into Plan: Cull the Empire. We knew exactly who we would be dealing with, where they would be lying in wait, and what they planned on doing.

All that was left now was… to simply wait for the time to come.

Tomorrow, right before midnight.

That would be the start of the Empire’s Fall.

__________________________________

Perks Accepted:

Soar (Touhou Project: Parasol Paradise - 100 CP): In Gensokyo, the ability to levitate and fly are very common, and is crucial to Danmaku battles. With some practice, you can learn to travel just as fast around sharp bends and even backwards as you can dead ahead.

A/N:

Sorry for the wait! Was dealing with a lot of IRL stress, so it was hard to find the time and pocket to write.

Anyways, a lot happened in this chapter. We got a small interaction with Madison, we met Victor and Othala - or William and Vanessa - and Trainwreck gets recruited! I always figured that he’s just very lonely, so company and better living conditions would be enough to buy his loyalty. Dude literally lives in a shipping container. Any money is better than no money.

Next chapter will be the start of the mission. A lot of build up to this, and I hope to make it suitably dramatic and action-packed. Writing the next chapter might take a little longer than usual because of this, so forgive me if the Patreon lags behind a tiny bit as I do my best to write quality stuff for you guys.