A Lewd Cultivator in Brockton Bay 68 (Patreon)

A Lewd Cultivator in Brockton Bay

Chapter 68

-VB-

I … did not get a hero’s welcome.

Oh yes, the Slaughterhouse Nine got gutted by a single person. This wasn’t something anyone accomplished in ever. People were ecstatic that the Slaughterhouse Nine got jumped and gutted like they did. On top of that, the ones that I killed were all highly dangerous targets that even the likes of the Triumvirate did not engage willy-nilly or ever.

The deaths of the Siberian, Burnscar, and Manneuqin gutted the Nine’s ability to threaten, and the picture evidence of their deaths and the lack of Siberian’s presence got the entire country up in arms to finally kill the no longer invincible murderhobo gang.

However, not all was good and sunshine.

The PRT and the Protectorate were incensed with me for stoking fire in the rural countryside where they had little to no presence. With the sudden influx of capes and unpowered vigilantes into the woods and hills, the PRT couldn’t track and control the situation. In fact, it got so bad by the time that I met my wives that there were at least five different forest fires, at least a dozen unrelated deaths, and more than a billion dollars in property damage not from the Nine but from the wannabe-”Nine Enders” rampaging across the countryside looking for the severely weakened Slaughterhouse Nine because it wasn’t just the heroes and independents rushing after the Nine to end them for all eternity but also villains who wanted to claim the title as

If that wasn’t all…

Amy and Vicky were fucking mad. Never mind the fact that I just brought home evidence for at least several tens of millions of dollars in bounty, they were upset at the fact that I chose to risk my life without even having the decent to warn them.

Yeah, umm, I deserved the hits, screams, and the lonely nights on the couch that followed. They also refused to speak with me for days on end, and I also got the diaper duty until they said otherwise.

There was a high chance that I would not be off the diaper duty, ever.

But about two weeks after my “run-in” with the Slaughterhouse Nine, the PRT was ready to hand me my bounty reward.

-VB-

I walked down the street toward PRT ENE’s headquarter in Downtown. Normally, I would be jumping across the entire way because I found the time spent walking a waste of my time, but Amy was the one who specifically forbid me - as punishment - from using my power where it was unnecessary.

So I walked.

And while walking, I saw more of the city than I ever did before. Sure, I didn’t cover as wide of an area with walking but I observed the people, the trends and flows, the gangs still present but active out of sight, and more. It allowed me to see the impact that I have had on the city and the changes that happened outside of my control.

The street … was clean.

People walked. They didn’t hurry to their next destination while being on the lookout for trouble. There were actual police. They also didn’t look like everyone and everything was getting in the way of their job. Or being corrupt (but then again, who could tell that from a glance, right?).

A song slipped out from my lips in a hum as I enjoyed the refreshing changes to the city.

… And it would have remained that way had someone not recognized me.

“Oh my God, you’re Rabbit!”

I nearly froze and turned around. I saw a teenage boy I was unfamiliar with, and he had a phone in his hand with the camera directed at me.

Shit.

“... Rabbit? That’s not my name, mate,” I told him.

He paused. “Wait, what?”

I just waved my hand to play it off coolly and just walked away.

“Wait, you are Rabbit, though! You’re the cape banging Glory Gi-!” the guy shouted as he chased after me, and I whirled on him. He skidded to a stop but he still got too close. Before he could backpedal, I grabbed his hand and phone.

“Are you talking about my wife?” I asked him with a smile.

He paled.

“A-Ah, no, I just… PHO’s been… saying that you fought the Nine…” he muttered progressively quietly.

“Yes. I did,” I replied. “Please don’t bother me.”

I let him go and he backed off slowly. He didn’t quite run away, no, but this was the norm for Brockton Bay. People got up in your face about being a cape. At least, it was even back when ethnic gangs and kidnapper-drug dealers were normal.

And now that I killed half of the Nine, I was a high-profile cape, too.

Was my life going to get, uh, busy from now on? Was I going to have to deal with paparazzi?

… Nah, I’ll give them the good old kick to the ass if they crossed any line.

I jauntily continued my walk to the PRT ENE headquarters, ignoring the few people who had their phones out and recording me.

-VB-

If my run-in with the phone guy in the street was bothersome, then my talk with the PRT was downright annoying.

Instead of getting a check or some other kind of payout, they told me to come and sit in one of their briefing rooms. There, they made me wait, and it wasn’t until I threatened to leave that Armsmaster came in. He did so, however, without most of his equipment, opting only to wear his helmet and what looked like a partial upper chest armor that covered his shoulders and arm.

“I’m sorry for the wait, Mr. Marris,” he said to me as he sat down. “I was not told that you arrived an hour ago.”

“... this was an attempt at a power play and you know it,” I told him bluntly.

He paused. “What do you mean?”

“Your guys brought me in here and then made me wait for a full hour. Then you walk in as if nothing happened. That’s a classical power play. I thought the PRT ENE and I were over this already, or is this going to become a problem again in the future?” I asked him with a raised eyebrow. “On top of that, instead of the nicer meeting rooms you have, you brought me to a briefing slash interrogation room. Who the fuck is in charge right now that this is the kind of bullshit you lot are pulling on me?”

He opened his mouth to speak when I heard - thanks to my bullshit physical enhancements in all aspects of my body, including my hearing - someone speaking to him through his helmet’s speaker.

“Aight, whoever is giving you orders has exactly ten seconds to talk to me directly before I decide to leave. Ten. Nine. Eight-”

“Mr. Marris, pleas-”

“Cutting that down to FOUR. Three. T-.”

The briefing room’s speaker crackled to life.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Alan Marris. My name is James Tagg, a direc-”

“Ah fuck, the idiot warhawk who doesn’t know what subtlety means is here?” I blurted out. A moment of silence followed my insult. And then I heard someone laughing. He wasn’t in the room with Armsmaster or me but that didn’t stop the laughter from reaching my ears. Then it was my turn to be confused. “Wait, where the fuck is Piggot?”

“She may have collapsed after hearing about your encounter with the Nine just outside the county border.”

“Ah.”

So this was my fault. Fuck.