Lag 6.4a (Unbeta-ed) (Patreon)

Lag 6.4

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Every generation has its counterculture, and while American pop culture has gone overboard with superhero worship, Post-Cape counterculture has gone… the other way.

It began with supervillain penetration of the drug gangs in the late 80s and then the appearance of supervillain and “minion” street gangs. Urban street-villains began adopting a distinctive “style” of costume: heavy boots, jeans, cargo, or leather pants, a leather jacket or even a long duster, and in many cases, a bright colored shirt with a symbol hand-painted on it — tattoos or face-paint optional.

Freakshow, a rapping “supervillain” Changer based in Jacksonville,Florida took gangsta rap and made it villain rap in the mid-90s, vaulting both the new music style and the clothing style into a sort of niche popularity, not so unknown as to be underground but ignored and even disdained by most if not all mainstream media. Still, it cannot be denied that the genre possesses popularity despite that, possibly for the better. Any form of overt mainstream acceptance or promotion would only hurt the image of villain rap as part of supervillain culture is a denial of the validity of popular media, superhero worship and heroic claims of righteousness. After all, Protectorate capes and other professional superheroes support and defend The System, which oppresses minorities with legal bruta-

Greg Veder pushed a loud sigh out of his mouth, the sound launched deep from within his chest with hours of frustration serving as powerful propulsion. He closed his eyes for a moment, a finger and thumb on his left hand kneading the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, why did I pick this book? I could have chosen any other smart-looking book but I went with this one.”

He raked the fingers of his right hand down his face, eyes gazing upwards at the dark night sky as he let out an annoyed groan to follow the sigh. The things I do for these numbers. Turning his gaze back to the book resting on his lap, he shook his head and frowned at the ordeal in front of him. “Okay, let’s do this again.”

-lity and systemized discrimination. You can’t be a hero and the oppressor.

On the other side, villain culture worships actualized power— displayed through law-breaking — and this often makes supervillains victimizers in their own communities. Villain culture is not defined by race, but it does have strong racial and class elements; urban street culture condemns “brothers” who become superheroes — traitors selling out their own. Fashion villains have their minions and their groupies, and there is a strong bleed-over between fashion villains and gang villains; Chicago’s two supervillain gangs, the Folk and the Ronin, are the epitome of fashion villains — they do extortion and drugs and prostitution and they make sure to do so with style.

Their minions have even been seen to wear their symbols as tattoos, but their flamboyant fashion-sense doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Villain culture is a refuge for both professional and thrill-villains, and for some cause-driven villains if it’s the right cause. Villain culture’s open display allows them to be completely public while making it very hard for traditional law enforcement to pin anything on them legally, with groupies ready to alibi for them and minions ready to assist them. For a villain to be “authentic,” he needs to be able to boast at least one successful tag, otherwise known as a villain vs. hero fight. Win or lose a fight, do a little prison time if you can’t get off on a technicality, and you’re in. Inside their circles, the most hardcore boast of their ‘cape-tags’, a common term for hero injuries, and in some cases, kills.

Much like criminal culture, villain culture worships power; by definition, a supervillain is strong enough to do what he wants and lawbreaking is a display of strength. Worrisome enough on its own, this becomes even more of a threat when one attracts a fanbase. Parahumans are often seen as larger-than-life whether physically or metaphorically, with said image correlating with the magnitude of their ability. If one was of a religious bent, they might glance at a Bible, particularly Genesis 6:4, which says “There were giants in the earth in those days”. Ignoring those that believe or attempt to further theories that parahumans are nothing more than a return of the mythological and religious figures of the past, the idea that the Nephilim of the Bible did encourage the normal people around them to worship them and submit to their base urges isn’t one to be brushed off, given how relevant such a topic is to our time (For more discussion on this, see Chapter 19 “Capes of the Ancient World?”).

Those who consider themselves “fans” of villain antics and rarely enough, their merchandising, are attracted to what they represent; total self-empowerment and a challenge to the system. This nearly always results in a cult of personality developing around the supervillain, with any well-known villain that is not overtly homicidal or unapproachably insane gaining some manner of popularity in a more fervent and fanatical manner than seen in regards to most heroes (See Chapter 9 regarding the specific issue of Social-Strand Mentalists, i.e. Masters & Thinkers).

“Yeah, no, I can’t. I literally can’t. I have lost the ability and will to can.” Greg swiped the book from his lap with one hand and began shaking it like a rag, the freshly-bought paperback somehow managing to rewrite the definition of boring. “It’s not even worth the stats. Holy fuck, is this thing long for no reason.”

The words left him as nothing more than a statement, because he was speaking absolute fact.

Long was the nicest way to describe the book in front of him, honestly, and that was only after he had gotten fifty pages in. The author, who was probably doing his very best and wasn’t that sad as hell, somehow managed to make one paragraph feel like an entire page with the way he wrote. Rambled on and on in his own way, the man had made each page seemingly loop back to the one before it, creating a convoluted mess of phrase and wording as he somehow managed to retread the same ground with slightly different terminology every 500 words.

He turned the book over in his hand, shaking his head as he spotted the unpicturesque face of a chubby bald man in a sweater vest attempting his best version of a relaxed smile in his author’s photo, only to come off looking sweaty and constipated at the same time. Dr. Jeremiah Goldstein, PhD… Greg snorted aloud as he read the name, the man’s picture too funny for him to look at for too long.

Imagine being boring and an asshole, the blond mused to himself, thinking back to how the literal egg-head of a professor himself had talked about his cape identity on national television. Not to mention bald too, he added as an afterthought, fingers coiled around a thick hank of his own hair. Greg didn’t hold a grudge, though, not in the slightest. After all, the guy probably had his reasons for calling a brave young superhero all those mean names. Must suck to suck, Jerry.

Ping-p-ping-p-ping-p-ping-p-ping-p-ping-p-ping-p-ping-p-ping-p-

No sooner than the last chuckle had faded away did the ever-so-familiar noise make itself heard, screen after screen after screen after screen from his friendly system popping into semi-reality right in front of Greg’s field of vision, almost as if aware the teenager might ignore the helpful notifications otherwise.

Considering the first thing the blond did was close his eyes and let out another long sigh followed by a rattling groan that would have been right at home in a zombie movie, the possibly-sentient game wasn’t that far off.  Right on time. Points for punctuality, game. After taking another few seconds to drag one hand down his face, Greg Veder let out another sigh before finally opening his eyes to face what he had been expecting for the last few hours.

Your territory is under attack: Imperial Yards

Your territory is under attack: Firefly Hill

Your territory is under attack: Okinawa Heights

Huh.

The blond raised an eyebrow at those locations as he flicked each pop-up away with a lazy gesture, the neighborhoods actually not what he was expecting. Chinatown, Seoul Plaza, Little Tokyo, sure. Beachgate, East Hook, maybe. But these… His mouth pulled itself down into a slight frown. These are new attack spots. Empire spreading out?

Quest Gained

Big in Japan XVII: Territory Defense

You know what the deal is. Some fools are causing trouble in your ‘hood, wrecking your property and causing mayhem. You’re gonna have to fight some fires and save some souls. Get to it, boy scout.

Objectives

• Put out fires in Okinawa Heights 0/2 [ ]
• Put out fires in Firefly Hill 0/2 [ ]
• Put out fires in Imperial Yard 0/2 [ ]

Rewards: 1000 XP, Increased reputation with former ABB, + 1 Resistance: Heat II, + 1 Pyrokinesis (Adept), + 1 Perk Point, + 1 Stat Point

Quest Gained

Klash of Klans VIII

If the Empire’s grunts know how to do one thing right, it’s live down the ideal of the racist skinhead. With Lung, Bakuda and Oni Lee in the Cage, they seem to think that former ABB territory is their new stomping ground and the people living there are theirs to terrorize. Do as you usually do and teach them a lesson.

Objectives

• Defeat 3 Empire 88 in Okinawa Heights [ ]
• Defeat 6 Empire 88 in Firefly Hill [ ]

Rewards: 1000 XP, $1000, + 1 Perk Point, + 1 Stat Point

The quest screens hung in the air as Greg stared at them with half-lidded eyes, gaze not even bothering with the actual text as he locked on to the rewards and suppressed a groan. Wow, throw me a bone, would you?

Whether it was due to the fact that these quests were repeatable - and boy, did they fucking repeat - or the fact that the Game considered Greg way too strong to receive much of a reward for what were basically chores at this point, the XP he had been receiving for them over the last couple weeks had been a fraction of what he had come to expect. Honestly, it probably had something to do with the 5 Perk Points he had dropped for Battle Concentration, if he really thought about it. Either way, it was kind of annoying. Not that he didn’t wanna save lives or anything, but still… You could make it worth my while, you know that right?

His pleas for more went unanswered yet another night as a tinny beeping noise rang out from the pocket of Greg’s jeans, rather loud in the relative silence of the open air. Letting out yet another sigh, this one of exasperation, the young blond reached into his pocket and opened the burner phone he had bought for just this purpose.

Raising it to his ear, he rolled his eyes at the person on the other end rattled off respectful greetings in rushed Japanese only to gain more than a hint of fear in their tone as they began telling Greg what he already knew.

“...”

“わかった。”(I know, I know.) the teenager replied, albeit in somewhat stilted Japanese. “台地、俺が何と言ったのか？わかった。”(Daichi, what the hell did I just say? I know.)

“...”

Rolling his eyes at the confused words he got in reply, Greg spoke up again, his impatience audible in his tone this time. “「わかりました」と言った。俺は理由のために払います。だから、仕事をしてくれ！(I told you that I know. I pay you for a reason so just do your job and I'll handle my part.)”

“...”

He nodded along impatiently, eyes half-lidded as he did his very best not to simply hang up at the continued unnecessary talking. “ やれやれ,「あわてないで」と言ってくれたください。早く届くつもりです。そうして、問題はもうすぐ扱います。(Yeah, yeah, just tell everyone not to panic and that it’ll all be over in an hour, tops.)”

“...”

“忘れないでくれ。倉庫の前アジトまつをめいじてください。(Also, don't forget. Have them meet up by the safehouse by the other storage place.)”

“...”

“重火器を使わないで。(No guns.)”, he added, his tone firm this time. Definitely no guns. “ 誰か恐慌して、俺を撃つはだめだ。ビジネスがおわりのあと、早く来ます。 ボッスンアウット。(I don't need anyone getting nervous and shooting at me again. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done. Boss out.)”

Language: Japanese Lvl Up!

14→15

Greg let out another sigh and dropped his burner phone back into his pocket, the book in his other hand vanishing into blue light with barely a thought and a half-muttered ‘Inventory’. As the last screen dimmed into nothingness, the blond uncrossed his legs and sprang to his feet in a single movement, scattering a few pieces of long-abandoned construction materials away from him as he did so.

A cool breeze blew his hair back from where he stood up on a rooftop, peering down at the view that was Brockton Bay’s mostly-recovered Downtown. At least, what little he could see of it from the edge of the Downtown district. Night had already fallen hours before he had made his way over here just forty-five minutes ago, and the streets were as bustling with a liveliness that one wouldn’t expect from a city that had just survived a mass bombing half a month ago.

“That’s Brockton for you, I guess. Tough as nails,” the blond muttered aloud to himself. “Still doesn’t stop idiots from trying to tear it apart, though.”

With a slight upward tilt to the flat expression he wore, Greg walked over to the edge of the rooftop, only coming to a stop as he raised one leg to rest a sneakered foot halfway on an overturned carton resting on the ledge itself. Both eyes flicked from side to side as he looked out into the distance in the direction that was the waterfront, eyes flickering a bright gold each time he chose to blink.

Several long seconds later, he spoke again. “...Inventory.”

Even before the last syllable left his lips, a bright blue glow surrounded his body, rendering his form indistinct to any possible viewers. A literal second later, it faded away, the teenager’s bare face and casual clothes replaced by a jet-black domino mask, a dark button-up motorcycle jacket with sleeves folded back and sewn up to his forearms, a large belt of the same color hanging from his hips and similarly colored, thickly-armored motorcycle pants. A long scarlet scarf was wrapped around the bottom half of his face and neck, long ragged ends fluttering in the wind, and motorcycle gloves of the same color covered his once-bare hands.

Another flash of blue surrounded his right hand a moment later, Greg raising that same hand up in the air as the light faded, exposing the form of the jagged, chipped nodachi that now rested on his shoulder. Sliding his arm back till the sword lay flush with his back, he let it go and allowed the blade to simply stay attached where it was.

The blond took a few more steps forward, kicking the carton off to the side as he stood on the very edge of the roof, looking down at the busy street below. "Wait…" Greg tilted his head to the side for a moment, a look of sudden realization on his face. "Almost forgot…"

His free hand swiped in front of his face in a flash of blue light as quick as the others, a solid black skull faceplate appeared over his domino mask. "Hardkour gotta strike fear into the heart of evil, right?"

With that, he let a smile spread across his face, arms stretched out at his sides as wind blew his hair back, the sounds of Brockton Bay's nightlife hitting his ears as he simply took it in.

With a deep breath and an open grin just beneath his skull mask, he slowly leaned forward.

And just like that…

He fell.

The sudden downward drop was slowed moments later as a pair of surprisingly adhesive soles met the sides of the building, his fall becoming a downwards facing run for a few thrilling seconds. Immediately afterwards, Hardkour leapt off the side of the building in a burst and blur of motion, launching himself like a missile towards the nearest building.

Clearing the roof of a five-story brownstone with ease, the costumed blond met the side of another building and ran along its side at inhuman speeds in perfect and complete ignorance of the concept of gravity. Jumping again and again, he bounded from building side to building, relatively weak flares of his Reinforcement sending him ever further and faster with every single leap.

Traveling like this had become commonplace to him, the movement style distinct from the glowing, near-flight leaps that a certain White Knight had shown off during the day. Bouncing from rooftop to rooftop and running along building sides like a ninja were less likely to get him spotted but they also helped separate his identities as well. The news had been looking for him for weeks now, almost as eagerly as they chased after sightings of his more knight-like persona, but when it came to avoiding them, he had learned how to move unseen and discreetly…

Hardkour jumped yet again, his arc sending him right towards a flagpole jutting out from the side of a building. Both arms reached out and his face exploded into a grin as he made contact, body moving with his momentum as he spun and spun and spun, his entire figure almost a blur. With a burst of manic laughter, the blond let go and let himself fly high up into the air again, whooping like a madman as he did so.

Acrobatics Lvl Up!

45→46

“WHOOOOOHOOOO!!!”

… Somewhat discreetly, at least.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

“Klash of Klans VIII” Completed!

“Big in Japan XVII: Territory Defense” Completed!

+ 1 Resistance: Heat II

+ 1 Pyrokinesis (Adept)

+ 2 Perk Points

+ 2 Stat Points

+7000 XP

Resistance: Heat II Lvl 3 → Lvl 4

Pyrokinesis (Adept) Lvl 5 → Lvl 6

Territory “Imperial Yard” Secured!

Territory “Okinawa” Heights Secured!

Territory “Firefly Hill” Secured!

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Finally done, he thought to himself as he leapt into the air from a rooftop several blocks away from four now-unconscious Empire thugs. It had been as easy as usual, as simple as something like that gets, at least. But then again, fighting the guys causing trouble was never the hard part anyway.

Nah, it was all about finding them.

It may not sound like much, but a whole neighborhood was a lot of ground to cover, especially when you were only looking for less than half a dozen people. Moving just a bit too fast when it came to looking for his targets meant people could end up in the hospital. Hell, the morgue even.

Well… the wrong people.

Smirking at his own little joke as his sneakered feet met the edge of a rooftop, Hardkour kicked up enough speed to turn his limbs into a blur and raced to the other edge in the blink of an eye. While the rooftop may not have been designed for highway speeds, it didn’t much matter as he was already in the air again with a powerful leap, the wind rushing around him with blistering speed as his scarf flared out behind him like a cape.

Loud night tonight though. Almost never this heavy with the idiots. The thought was enough to make him pause as he alighted on a brick wall, his back and the soles of his feet staying firmly in place as he simply sat on the wall. Seriously, though, ten guys in one night? Half a dozen fires? Talk about wei-

“Pleasesomebodyh-!” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“HELP!!!”

The hell? His head snapped to the side and, already moving without a single complicated thought in his head, Hardkour pushed off the brick wall behind and bounded through the air towards the call for help.

Moving like a maniac, he was there in literal moments, knees bending with the sudden impact as he touched down feet-first just outside an alley. The blond threw out his arms, clicked his heels together and bowed, eyes never leaving the figures in front of him as he wore a fake smile no one even saw. “And he aces the dismount!” They all remained frozen in place at his sudden appearance, the street silent as a grave. Even then,  he didn’t need the power to read thoughts to know the word on everyone’s minds. Cape.

Besides the trembling woman on her knees, the frightened children in her arms and the Chinese man clutching his clearly bleeding nose and battered face alongside them, there were four of them directly in front of him and two a bit further away; a chubby bottle blond in nothing more than a white t-shirt and dark jeans standing shoulder to shoulder with a pimply-faced dude wearing a ratty windbreaker, a tired-looking man in black motorcycle leathers from head to toe with a long scar edging up the right side of his face and stopping right under his eye standing front and center, and a bit behind him to the left, a rail-thin guy in a wife beater, this one looking far too twitchy to not be on any drugs.

Right behind the four of them stood a very tall and overly-muscled skinhead in literally nothing else but denim shorts and a pair of white sneakers. Standing bald head and shoulders above the rest, he proudly sported a black lightning-shaped tattoo on the right side of his well-defined chest as he leaned up against the trunk of the car parked halfway on the curb. Trying his best to look tough was a much smaller man with an unfortunate haircut standing right beside him, small even by a teenager’s standards and wearing what looked like a bulletproof vest.

All of them were young, none of them probably anymore than nine or ten years older than him, and like he expected, every one of them was armed with a handgun, the bottom of the weapon visible sticking out each of their waistbands. Oh, boy.

The funny thing about the Empire, more than any other gang within the city, was the simple fact that they were all about their image. Their most publicly seen capes; Kaiser, The Wonder Twins, Purity, were all shiny, bright, well-spoken and… well, you could assume good looking but with capes and masks, no one could really say that for sure.

Regardless, the Empire capes most of the public could name by heart were as clean-cut as a Nazi super-gang could expect to be. Even the less talkative ones like Krieg, Stormtiger, Crusader and even Hookwolf managed to be surprisingly well-behaved… again, for Neo-Nazis. at least. More than that, all of them were reined in compared to every other villain in Brockton Bay.

Still, no matter how good the capes looked, it did not help when a large chunk of their non-powered members couldn’t seem to go two days without kicking in the teeth of anyone with a skin tone darker than a brown paper bag.

If they weren’t beating people up, they were shattering windows, breaking down doors, stealing whatever wasn’t nailed down and setting the place on fire… and sometimes, not even the middle two. A lot of them seemed to have taken it to heart that his territory was theirs to run wild in at night, or in the early early morning… or every single time Greg felt like he could take a moment to himself. With the fact that Brockton PD didn’t even seem to register calls from the formerly-ABB held neighborhoods anymore, he knew for a fact that people could die if he didn’t make his way down there in time.

Pretty much like what was going on right now.

Quest Gained!

American History X-Factor

Empire street soldiers beating up on a harmless family deep in ABB territory with not a cop for miles? Sounds like a job for… well, you. This shouldn’t be too hard.

Like at all.

Hop to it, hero.

Objectives

• Protect the Lin family [ ]
• Defeat the Empire Street Soldiers [ ]

Rewards: 1000 XP, $1000, + 1 Perk Point, + 1 Stat Point

Bonus Objective:

• Avoid any deaths, ‘accidental’ or otherwise.
• ???
• ???

Couldn’t make this one easy for me, huh? he thought to himself as he slowly rose from his bow. Yeah, sure, put a whole family right in the splash zone. That’s fair. He let out a huff of air as he finally stood up straight and angled his head at the gangsters. “Hey, guys, I know I’m late but… you started without me?”

Not a single Empire flunky spoke, all of them simply sharing increasing looks of worry at each other and the cape in black-and-red didn’t miss a single one. The one in motorcycle leathers did his very best to keep his expression still even as his hand twitched towards the visible gun at his waist. Despite the anger in his glare, it wasn’t hard for Greg to notice the wariness on the man’s face much like the other three, all of them obviously recognizing the distinctive red of his long-ass scarf. Two weeks of this mayhem had gotten him something of a reputation with the Empire, he was sure of it.

“You want something… c-cape?” The scarred man spat the last word out like a slur, answering back in a voice that would put some baritones to shame. Despite that, he couldn’t keep his voice from wavering. For a fleeting moment, Greg found himself wondering just how many of the man’s friends he had personally put in the hospital but the thought quickly passed as his attention turned to what was actually important.

“First, the name’s Hardkour -  k, o, u, r, make you sure get that right when your boss hears about this - but also, good question,” the self-titled Hardkour answered back with a smile that went unseen from behind his scarf. “Gimme a sec to think about it.” He raised a hand up to his chin for a few seconds, pretending to actually think about it before going, “Ah! I remember now. What I want is for you to let these good people go.”

“Wh-”

Hardkour took a single step forward, a single finger up to the place his mouth would be under his scarf and Scarface shut up immediately.

The man took a quick step back, hand twitching closer to his gun as he visibly fought the urge to draw it, as if the sweat trailing down his brow wasn’t evidence enough. Chubby outright flinched at the sudden movement, Zit-Face doing the same while the twitchy one actually scurried back like a rat, almost stumbling into the car parked behind him in his attempt to put some distance between him and the dark-clad cape. Muscles leaned his head over and simply grinned at the action. Unlike the rest, his expression flickered from wary to eager. Great, this is gonna actually be a fight.

“Mr. Lin, I’m gonna need you to escort your family away from here, please.”

A brief pause filled the air as the injured man took a moment to process that he heard his name, looking more shocked and frightened than he had been when Greg first landed, if such a thing was possible. “H-how did y-”

Repeating the gesture that quieted Scarface had the same effect on the trembling man, Greg didn’t say another word as he just stared at him from behind his mask. After a few seconds of silence, the family man simply nodded as he got to his feet and pulled his wife up alongside him. Mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the cape that saved his family, he began to move as quickly as he could manage, one of his children in his grip as his wife held the other. Greg simply nodded back and moved to stand in place of the family as they scurried away down the sidewalk.

“So,” Hardkour tilted his head as he spoke, slowly glancing at each one of them in turn. “Now that that’s out of the way… I’ll make you a deal. You go back to your boss and tell him that Lung’s territory is mine now. In exchange, I won’t jack up your insurance premiums.” Like I even know what that means.

The four of them nearest him shared another look and for a second, the cape felt that they might actually surrender for once.

Then Chubby went for his gun.

Hardkour was in motion the instant the handgun left the waistband, a thunderous ‘bang’ filling the air as he grabbed hold of the man’s wrist in a lightning-fast lunge and swung it and the weapon he held into the air. What might have been the sound of all the bones in his forearm cracking went unheard as Chubby screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

• 400 XP
• $100
• ACT 44 Handgun

Hurling the screaming fat man a good ten feet away like a bag of trash, Greg simply nodded in acknowledgement as the very back of his head buzzed with the gentle yet familiar warning of his Danger Sense. And the fun starts now.

Shots rang out as Hardkour leapt into the air, pulling off several unneeded flips and twirls as bullets from opposite directions raced right through the spot where he had stood a second ago. Landing in a cartwheel, Greg pushed off the ground with both hands and launched himself feet first at the nearest gunman.

• 400 XP
• $50
• SIG P226R Pistol

A double kick to the chest took Zit-Face out of commission and might have cracked a rib or three, but the ninja-themed teenager chose to assume the guy would be fine… at some point. Either way, he didn’t really have the time to check as he sprung back into action at the call of his Danger Sense, darting to the right to avoid a hole in the skull. Barely even blinking as he caught sight of the bullet zoom past his face for a fraction of a second, Hardkour sprung forward again.

From Greg’s perspective, he took his time moving toward the next shooter, barely moving at a fourth of his un-enhanced top speed as he zig-zagged to stay out of the actual path of fire. Despite that, he knew Hardkour must have seemed impossibly fast as a certain twitchy bastard fired like a maniac at the places he had been, screaming incoherent curse words all the while tears streamed down his face.

Twitchy’s gun clicked empty as Hardkour neared him, to his obvious panic. With only a split second of hesitation, the man whipped out a knife from his pocket and slashed at the cape as he came within reach.

His dodges were lazy, Hardkour barely having to lean and flop out of the way of the man’s pointless stabs and slashes as Twitchy did more damage to the air than him. After a few seconds of this became boring, he quickly repaid the man’s wasted effort and annoyingly loud gunfire with a jab to the solar plexus as light as he could manage. And there go his ribs, Greg thought with a wince. I really gotta get better at that.

• 350 XP
• $50

“Wai-!”

Scarface wasn’t able to finish whatever he possibly could have said as the cape appeared in front of him in the blink of an eye, the flat of his palm impacting the man’s chest. Before he could even so much as scream, the grown man slammed back into the now-cracked windshield of the car directly behind him, either unconscious or unable to move.

Wait… The teenager blinked as he realized that the man hadn’t even tried to fight him let alone went for his gun at all. As if to drive home the point, the pistol in Scarface’s waistband fell loose and clattered onto the asphalt, forcing a wince from the young cape. “... sorry?” Should I be apologizing? The guy is Nazi scum but I kinda feel like I should. Uhhh…

+ 500 XP

+ $250

+ Motorcycle Leathers (Outfit)

“My bad, dude.”

Holding back the urge to groan at his mistake and wondering if he should, Greg spun around as his Danger Sense buzzed again, the sensation almost like a whisper this time. He raised an eyebrow as he watched the retreating back of the shrimp that had hung back from the fight, the guy already half a block away. Huh. Okay, I guess.

Not bothered at one guy escaping, Greg shifted his gaze to the last guy left, raising an eyebrow as the man just now got down from his seat on the trunk of the car. They never learn, do they?

The bare-chested man stood about half a dozen meters away from Greg with an eager grin on his face, all six feet and seven inches of him. His hand inched toward the silver gun visible in the pocket of his jean shorts, the action eliciting nothing more than an eye roll from Greg. But I guess if they did, they wouldn’t still be Nazis, right?

From a standstill, the skull-masked blond rushed towards the skinhead at speeds more comparable to a car on the highway than a human being. Before the man had time to blink, he landed a single punch directly to the thug’s chest and, like Greg expected, his target went tumbling backwards head over heels.

-1

“...ow.”

The blond blinked in confusion as the word left his mouth before he realized it.

“What the...” He raised his still clenched fist up, the slight stinging sensation from his knuckles already gone as soon as he noticed it. Did that actually kinda-sorta hurt me? Enough to drop him down a couple points of health, it seemed. Certainly enough to be felt, that was certain.

“Hehehehe.”

The sound of a much deeper voice giggling pulled him out of his own thoughts and Greg glanced back at the hairless figure he had just punched hard enough to send sprawling a few good meters away as the man pulled himself to his feet. A slight glow surrounded him for a moment, the light color already fading to nothing as he got back up.

What the- A pair of blue eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, sudden realization coming over him as the costumed teenager let out a sigh. “... cape?”

Muscles nodded. “Yeah. Just a couple days ago.”

Greg met that answer with a nod, actually feeling somewhat excited after weeks and weeks of chore-like Empire clean-up. The fact that normal people went down in one hit now was honestly one of the most boring parts of all of it. At the very least, this might be fun. “First cape fight? I’m just guessing ‘cause I’ve never heard of you.”

The grin on the man’s face grew at the question, looking almost manic as he began to slowly walk forwards. “Yeah, y-yeah, haven’t told nobody either.” With every step he took, the grin grew as his gaze flickered between his own hands and the cape standing away from him, seemingly gaining confidence from the fact Greg had yet to move. “I was actually hoping it would be Assault, y’know. But you’re good enough, I guess.”

Greg quirked an eyebrow. “Good enou-”

The blond ducked back reflexively as Muscles rushed forward at surprising speed, the man crossing almost half a dozen meters in a fraction of a second and already prepared to swing. With barely a moment’s thought, Greg retaliated immediately, barely holding back as he thrusted with his open palm right into the man’s torso.

The musclehead flew from the strike, landing back-first on the asphalt several feet away with a groan. Pain, and more than anything else, shock was clear on his face as he glanced back up at the teenager staring directly at him, eyes visible behind his skull mask flickering with a chilling blue light.

[Analyze.]

Markus "Muscles" Mills Lvl 40

Empire Brute

HP: 825/850

Status: Eager, Intoxicated

Traits:Critical Status/Kinetic Rebound Field 9%, Enhanced Speed/Strength I

Markus Mills has loved the fight for as long as he could remember. He was a rowdy kid in elementary, a trouble-maker in junior high and an outright hooligan by his sophomore year of high school. Not even caring about the Empire or their ideals, Markus only joined the Neo-Nazi gang to fight as often and as much as he can. Triggering after being manhandled in his first cape encounter, Muscles has never felt better.

“Was this really your best idea?” Greg replied, mocking tone in full force.

Rather than answer, Muscles jumped to his feet with a rough shake of his bald head, the glow around his body intensified enough for the young cape to catch it again. Just like that, the Neo-Nazi charged forward once more, to Greg’s slight surprise.

He’s… faster?

A bit faster, Greg confirmed, but not so much that he was able to dodge the full-force standing kick that slammed into his bare chest the instant he closed the distance. In fact, as the man literally went flying like a javelin even further back than the way he came, the teenager found himself doubting Muscles ever even saw the hit coming.

“I just wanna go home, big guy,” he called out to the Empire cape, hands cupped over his mouth. The blond’s smile began to lessen as Muscles bounced back to his feet seemingly no worse for wear, the pale white glow around him seeming to stick this time. “How about we end it here and call it your loss? I’ll only brag about it a widdle bit.”

Six feet and seven inches of grown man stared down the younger cape with that same shit-eating grin on his face, breaths coming in heavy pants that clearly came from anticipation as opposed to exhaustion. Once again, the mountain of a man rushed forward, moving even faster for the second time in a row.

Alright, you wanna play? The teenager smirked behind his scarf. “Let’s play.”

He burst forward with the raw natural speed as he had become accustomed to under his Hardkour persona, not a single hint of yellow light to be found anywhere. He closed the miniscule distance between them in a heartbeat and met the musclehead in the middle, their clash coming to a sudden halt. Greg shot a hand out to catch the large fist in his palm with nothing more than a slight grunt of effort on his part. As he stared back at the cape opposite him with mirth in his eyes, the blond took a moment to relish the confused look slowly wiping away the musclehead’s eager grin.

Only a moment, though.

With a yell, Muscles struck out with a heavy punch that would have broken the bones of any normal person, yet his smaller opponent caught it with his forearm with only a barely audible groan. Without hesitation, Greg retaliated before the Brute in front of him could blink, launching several blurred jabs into the skinhead’s face and midsection, the man’s white glow growing more distinct and solid with each single blow. Each strike stung his fists a little more, the field around the man growing denser with each impact and Greg could only confirm this as the numbers bleeding from his own health worryingly began to near the double digits.

He felt a growl rise in his throat, the urge to draw on Reinforcement and cut the fight short growing. With great effort, Greg pushed the thought away, not trying to send the man’s head flying off with an errant punch. Muscles took the moment of hesitation to charge again, glow intensifying for a moment as he managed to land a hard punch that caught the teenager on the bottom of his jaw.

- 75

“Fu-!” It was a punch like one he hadn’t felt in a while, Greg noted with a dazed blink. As his head snapped back from the strike, Greg bit back a curse and wrenched down the red scarf around his face, letting go of his Surface Adhesion to let it fall down fully around his neck. With a slight sound of amusement, the blond spat a mouthful of blood onto the street. Baring his stained teeth at Muscles in a grin, he gave the man a motion with one hand that anyone and everyone knew meant “bring it.”

Muscles’ eyes lit up with a fire and the man stormed forward in a bullrush that was surprising even to Greg, faster than what he had come to expect from him. Covering ground at a superhumanly fast pace, the skinhead threw another fast punch and the glow from his field brightened, solidifying around his fist in particular. With ease, Hardkour dodged the easy to read strike before he slammed a hard elbow into his opponent’s broad chest, knocking him back a step or two.

Not even bothering to hold back on his speed, the blond lashed out with a right cross to the center of the grown man’s torso before he could fully rise to his feet. The powered gangster was the one to stagger back this time, face red as strings of spit fell from his open mouth. Greg swung again and again, every blow a powerful hook to the jaw that sent both head and body in the opposite direction each time. For a moment, Hardkour paused his barrage and Muscles took a deep gasp of air, obviously attempting to catch his breath.

“Not happening, tough guy!”

With a lunge, Greg grabbed hold of the man’s shoulder and pulled him in close.

Another pained wheeze left the fighter as a final hard blow in the form of a swift gut punch met his unprotected stomach, depriving him of even more air. Several hundred pounds of skinhead doubled over, the thug retching and hacking as he was hit with force equivalent to a battering ram. The blond’s grin returned for a single second only to fade just as quickly as he noticed the shield around his large opponent solidify again as he staggered around on unsteady legs, the off-white light visible around him like full-body armor as Muscles tried to catch his breath.

He’s not bleeding. Barely even a bruise. The thought came to Greg immediately as he took in his gasping opponent. He’s not hurt. Why isn’t he hurt?

[Analyze.]

Markus "Muscles" Mills Lvl 40

Empire Brute

HP: 725/850

Status: Eager, Intoxicated

Traits: Critical Status/Kinetic Rebound Field 45%, Enhanced Speed/Strength IV

How the f- Greg paused, shoulders visibly slumping as he realized something very important. He’s getting stronger, isn’t he? The teenager let out an audible sigh, actually feeling a little annoyed after getting actual confirmation of how little damage he was doing to a literal jumped-up mook.

Guess we’re doing this now. The irritated Hardkour charged the winded villain wannabe, slamming into the grown man with full force. Muscles slammed into the side of an abandoned car, someone having made off with the wheels sometime ago, and slid to the asphalt with his face having left a dent into the door. A moment later, he let out another grunt as over two hundred pounds of teenage boy slammed into his back.

“Hey, buddy,” Greg called out from on top of him, tone as mocking as ever. “I just want you to know that this hurts me way more than it’s gonna hurt you.”

In a single movement, Greg grabbed the man’s burly right arm as it flailed back, held it like a vise and-

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

-snapped it backwards like a twig.

“That was also a lie.”

Impressively, Muscles didn’t pass out from the pain. Then again, he was a cape. Instead, he screamed as loud as his lungs could manage and bucked upwards like a raging bull, the off-white shield around him fragmenting and shattering outwards the moment he did so.

“Jesus Ch-” The words died on his lips as Greg was hurled off almost immediately, thrown from the Empire cape’s back with force like an explosion.

-225

Recovering with a quick flip, Greg landed like a cat several meters away, a bit unsteady on his feet but not too worse for wear. “What the hell are your powers, man?” The blond shook his head quickly and, after blinking away the spots in his vision, glanced up to witness the other cape still howling on the street, head up against the car as he cradled his nigh-useless arm. “You know what, don’t answer that?”

As Hardkour took another step forward, his eyes flashed a bright blue again as he called upon his most-used skill.

[Analyze.]

Markus "Muscles" Mills Lvl 40

Empire Brute

HP: 575/850

Status: Eager, Intoxicated

Traits: Critical Status/Kinetic Rebound Field 0%, Enhanced Speed I/Strength I

Shield down? Nice.

“I’m sorry”, Greg spoke up again, a smile visible beneath the skull he wore. He took a single step closer to the grown man bawling on the ground in a position that was almost fetal. “Did it really hurt that much? I’ve had a couple broken limbs, y’know. You don’t see me-”

CRACK!

“-crying about it!”

Hardkour’s leg snapped out at the same moment as Muscles’ leg snapped in, the man’s tibia fracturing with a sickening sound and forcing another level of scream to erupt from the man’s mouth.

-2

There’s the rebound, he noted with a frown. Shield’s coming back. The skull-masked teenager squatted down next to the insensate gangster and grabbed the man’s thick neck with both hands. “Let’s make this quick, big guy. The faster you sleep, the faster I get what I want.” With a grunt, he slammed Muscles’ head forward into the side of the car directly in front of him with as much force as he could muster.

BANG!

Muscles screamed again, thrashing against Greg’s hold as his face met steel. “Oh, shut up, would you?”

BANG!

Another dent formed, a deep indentation that would have been almost a perfect mold of the gangster’s face if only steel was a good bit more pliable. Still, he thought with a grin, nothing wrong with trying, right?

Hardkour raised Muscles’ head up again ready to continue his attempts to beat the man into unconsciousness when he suddenly paused, aware of a familiar buzz at the back of his thoughts. The blond’s eyes widened and he jumped back and away, intent on avoiding whatever trick the cape under him was about to pull…

-50

Only to bite down on his tongue as something slammed into him from behind.

Hard.

Whatever it was sent him flying back in the complete opposite direction, tumbling head over heels in the most literal of ways. It was a literal second later that Greg met ground, or wall in this case, with a hard smack of leather against brick as his back met a building side. It barely hurt, relatively speaking, as he had been hit with far far far worse and barely even screamed, but the sheer power behind it was enough to knock the wind out of him.

Okay. Okay. Oh. Kay. No such thing as a simple night, I guess. With a quick inhale, the teenager allowed himself to glance up, hoping to catch sight of whatever it was that sent him flying.

After a moment, he blinked.

He blinked again.

The urge to rub his eyes like a cartoon character popped into his head, only ignored by the power of his common sense and the fact that he was wearing a mask made it pointless.

Either way, Greg seriously doubted rubbing his eyes for hours would manage to erase the fact that two Protectorate heroes stood not too far from where he was, before someone had so rudely knocked him out of the air.

Assault, in the dark visor and red-armored costume that only an idiot could mistake for Velocity’s, glanced from Muscles’ half-knocked out form to where he now rested, slumped up against the wall of a boarded up… convenience store?

Maybe. It was hard to read the sign from here.

Battery stood only a few paces in front of her partner, glowing blue circuit lines of her gray costume slowly growing brighter.

This is a thing now and I still don’t know who hit me… but I’m pretty sure I can make a really good guess, though. He thought with an outward sigh, eyes focusing on Battery. When is this mission gonna end so I can dip out of here?

“So, before like, you know, you hit me again,” Hardkour began slowly as he took his time rising to his feet, eyes firmly placed on both Assault and Battery as they stood there in combat-ready poses. Well, Battery more than Assault. The red-clad cape kinda just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest as his partner held her fists up, quite obviously raring to go. “Can I just ask…”

He trailed off, hands up in the air.

“What?” Assault responded, after a few awkward moments of silence.

Greg nodded in his direction. “Exactly. What. The hell… was that for? You just attacked me out of nowhere? What was that all about?”

Battery loosened her stance slightly as she shifted forward a few steps. "You're wanted by the PRT under suspicion of homicide."

"Couple dozen suspicions, actually," Assault chimed in, the man leaning back slightly as he tapped the heel of his foot against the street. "Been a real busy bee, huh, kid?"

The hell? Couple… couple dozen murders? Greg’s blue eyes widened behind his mask, legitimately confused as to what the two capes were even talking about. A second later, he told the pair as much. "Dude," He paused, glancing over at Battery in an attempt to be respectful towards the experienced heroine who thought he was a criminal, "dudette…"

Assault let out a slight cough at that, one Greg decided to ignore.

"...with all due respect, I have no frickin clue what you're talking about," he continued, both hands still in the air. "I'm a hero just like you." After a moment, he added on to that. "Well, I don't exactly work for 'The Man' y'know, but I'm a hero without a paycheck."

He paused and tilted, raising his raised hands even higher in the best approximation of a shrug he could manage. "Technically, that kinda makes me more of a hero, if you think about it?"

Assault raised a fist to his mouth, that same cough returning with a vengeance.

Battery shot the man a quick look, her mouth turned down into a vicious scowl, before fixing her gaze back on the cape opposite both her and her partner. "Are you the cape known as Hardkour?"

"...You've heard of me?"

Battery seemed to take that as a yes, judging by the way her jaw tightened and she barged forward with her questioning. "Are you also the same individual who engaged in combat with Oni Lee on Wednesday, April the Twentieth?"

"...To save Shielder and his hot sister, yeah, that's me."

Both Batter’s stance and expression tightened, the woman raising her fists again. “As I said before, you are wanted by the PRT under suspicion of murder of several members of the Azn Bad Boys.”

Hardkour blinked rapidly. Ohhhhh shit. I remember… that was me, yeah.

“First of all…” he let out a long breath of air to buy time as he rushed for what to say, “you actually didn’t say that before.”

The coughing fit behind Battery went unremarked on once again, despite Assault seemingly in the midst of hacking up a lung by the sound of it.

“Second…” he continued, “I have no idea how you could possibly think that was m-”

“A figure in black was spotted leaving several crime scenes,” Battery interjected, obviously intent on shutting him down. “You also have a sword on your back, the same as that individual.”

The teenager nodded along with her words, trying his best not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation he was currently. Wanted for murder… wow. I am so freaking boned right now. Keeping his face as still as he could manage, Greg spoke up again. “Hm. Hm. Hm. You make good points but, hear me out... I disagree with them.”

“In that case,” Assault chimed in, tilting his head to the right to mimic Greg. “We also have to bring you in for the assault of Shadow Stalker.”

Oh come on! Hardkour’s mouth dropped open in shock at those words. “Whoa, that was an accident, okay?” He shot back immediately, pointing one finger at the other male cape. “Hell, she attacked me first!”

Assault let out a long interested-sounding noise. “So, you’re confessing that it was you?” He tilted his head in the other direction, an amused tilt coming into his voice. “Personally, I just guessed but again, good to know.”

… okay, he’s good. Greg blinked, suddenly feeling very unsure of himself. He is very good. Note to self; don’t answer his questions.

“Although, if that wasn’t enough,” Assault spoke up again, gesturing with a thumb to the drooling form of Muscles the Neo-Nazi slumped against a dented car to his right. “We also got you on attempted murder and excessive use of force.”

"Attempted murder? On that guy?” Greg found himself scoffing, his mouth moving before the rest of him. “Don't be crazy. He's a Brute. He'll be fiiiiine…"

Muscles chose that moment to chime in with a noise that was somewhere between a groan, a scream and outright sobbing. Some might call it a death rattle but Greg was more optimistic than most, so he didn't.

"... with medical assistance. He'll be fine with medical assistance."

Assault pointedly glanced at the other Empire members lying in various positions up and down the small street, a few who were actually still groaning in pain, Greg now found himself noticing. After looking at each one in turn, the Protectorate hero glanced back at Hardkour, expression unreadable behind his visor.

"In my defense, I forgot those guys even existed until right this second."

For the first time, Assault finally gave in, his mouth twitching for a second or two before the red-clad cape let out an audible bark of laughter that he didn’t even bother pretending was a cough this time. That was for the best, honestly. Greg was kinda getting tired of pretending he didn’t notice.

“Puppy, I swear to god, I love this kid.”

+3000 XP

"American History X-Factor" Completed!

• Protect the Lin family [✔]
• Defeat the Empire Street Soldiers [✔]

Rewards:

+ 1 Perk Point

+ 1 Stat Point

+ 1000 XP

+ $1000

Bonus Objective:

• Avoid any deaths, ‘accidental’ or otherwise [✔]
• Defeat the Empire cape [✔]
• Encounter Assault & Battery [✔]

Bonus Rewards:

• 11000 XP
• 8 Stat Points
• 5 STR
• 10 VIT
• 4 Perk Points
• 5 to Mana Barrier

Level Up! You are now Level 33

You gained 2 Stat Points

Mana Barrier Lvl 1 → Lvl 6