My World My Justice Ch. 5 (Patreon)

Has my debut gotten the desired effect?

Well, I believe it has, since my face and name are plastered across today’s news headlines. There’s a buzz on social media, especially on the PHO forums. I plan to have an account there, but I’d probably waste my time shitposting. 

Old customs die hard after all.

From my perch atop a modestly tall building, I survey the city below. It’s not exactly a skyscraper, but high enough to give me a decent vantage point. This is one of the nicer parts of town—clean sidewalks, well-maintained storefronts, and a distinct lack of the grime that coats the seedier areas.

I fish out my company-issued phone and check the credit balance, which stares back at me: 7 credits. 

It’s a start, but nowhere near enough. I need at least 8 more to cushion my loan and avoid those bloodsucking interest rates. It’s really frustrating that I have so many targets, both high value and low value, but no easy way to capture them.

As I pocket the phone, a more troubling thought surfaces. I fought Bane yesterday. Sure, he was operating under a new alias, but there was no mistaking that venom-pumping behemoth. This encounter only adds to my growing suspicion: the merging of universes goes far beyond just My Hero Academia. I’m probably dealing with a multiverse mashup of epic proportions, and the implications are... unsettling, to say the least.

A chill runs down my spine as I consider the possibilities. What if the Joker is out there? Or what if he replaced Jack Slash?

And it’s not just the villains we need to worry about. What if organizations like HYDRA or H.I.V.E? Or have the Hand infiltrated global power structures? Could they be pulling the strings in China instead of—what was that group called again? Yabang? Banbang?

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself Googling for answers. Ah, The Yàngbǎn—that’s the name. The Chinese United Imperialhas the Yàngbǎn full support, but pretty sure they are the ones in control of China.

Latveria exists?

My fingers dance across the phone screen, tapping out another Google search. 

And the results pop up with nothing. Absolutely nothing. A wave of relief washes over me, followed quickly by a tinge of disappointment. Dr. Doom’s absence is probably for the best. Sure, his genius might have been a game-changer against the Endbringers and other cosmic horrors lurking in the shadows of this death-world. But that ego of his? Earth-Bet got enough megalomaniacs as it is.

I let out a sigh. Overcomplicating things won’t help at all. I’m no thinker or precog or whatever to be trying to play scheming games with the masterminds of this world. But at least I’m blank to their eyes, so it is a plus.

Focus. What matters now is cold, hard credits. I’ve got a ticking clock and a loan shark breathing down my neck. Time to see what missions are on the menu.

I change tabs on my phone and look in the missions tab.

The first one is bringing Taylor Herbert bullies to justice and she must feel grateful for it. That mission will give me a decent sum of credits.

But I don’t even know that girl and if I try anything against her bullies, then I would be seen as a psycho attacking a pair of schoolgirls and a Ward for no apparent reason.

So I need a lot more fame and renown so my words are held as truth.

Moving onto the next imposed mission, dealing with Gray Boy and rescuing his looped victims. That was certainly in my plans, dealing with Slaughterhouse 9 once and for all, the reason I took the loan in the first place, to protect myself from all their bullshit abilities. 

But their whereabouts are unknown.

Endbringer fights? Still months away. Which translates as not an option.

So in theory, that only left me with the Lung mission, but I need to get it at 100% completion, because the rewards are more than worth it for the extra effort, especially the free T7 dragon companion. And if I want that bonus reward, I need to fight Lung at his maximum recorded size or bigger, alone. I don’t fear the dragon of Brockton Bay, but other capes will inevitably join in an attempt to stop his rampage and potentially ruin my mission.

So I need time to set the stage.

However, all of this limited me quite a bit in what to do or how to proceed.

I stare at the screen, rubbing my chin in thought until my eyes notice the randomizer mission button which I tap, half-expecting nothing special to occur.

Mission Alert: Scrap the shit off your boot

Skidmark, that walking PSA against drug abuse, didn’t take well to that loss of face from days ago. Now he’s stirring up trouble in his territory, flexing those saggy drug riddled muscles the Merchants have. Seems the ‘good’ citizens of his chemical kingdom need a reminder of who’s boss.

Rewards

- 3 credits.

Not bad for taking out the trash. It’s no jackpot, but it’s a start.

But when I try to tap again, another window pops up on my screen. 

“We apologize, but you have used all your rolls. Please wait for the cooldown to finish.”

And it shows a Timer below, 71:59:40 

Figures. This randomizer isn’t just a convenient plot device—it’s got limits. One roll every three days. 

Doing a quick math, and assuming that all random missions award me 2 credits at the very least, then in two weeks I should have enough credits to cushion my loan. It’s not exactly a get-rich-quick scheme, but it is a slow and steady way to earn my partial freedom back.

“WARDS OF THE BAY!”

A loud but squeaky voice yanks my attention away from the phone.

“PREPARE TO BE FLUSHED BY THE MIGHTY TOILETNATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!”

I edge closer to the rooftop’s perimeter, squinting down at the commotion below. There, in all his absurd glory, stands a dude sporting a massive toilet paper helmet and garish yellow spandex.… I actually recognize this guy, he is from that old cartoon show, Kids Next Door if my memory serves me right.

Despite the company’s extensive defenses, I can already feel a headache coming along.

Let’s just accept it and move on.

Scanning the scene, I spot a small Wards team already on site: Gallant and Vista, probably looking every bit as bewildered as I feel. But it’s their third member that catches my eye; an oddly familiar Asian girl. She’s already directing civilians to a safer place, her giant tower shield and sleek black-and-red armor matching perfectly with her short, dark hair. Something about her nags at my memory, but I can’t quite place it.

My contemplation is cut short as the so-called villain springs into action. With a ridiculous, over-the-top roar that sounds more fitting for a B-movie monster than a cape, he attacks the Wards. Long strands of paper shoot from his wrists, fluttering through the air like demented streamers.

The young heroes dodge with practiced ease, readying themselves for a counterattack. It looks like they’ve got this under control. No need for me to intervene - I should just leave them to it and focus on my own mission.

“Watch out!”

The panicked yell snaps my attention back to the fight. And my jaw drops as I see Gallant completely encased in a massive cocoon of toilet paper, only his hands and head poking out comically. 

What?

Vista launches into a flying kick, but the villain blocks it effortlessly. In one fluid motion, he whips his paper roll towards the shield girl. Despite her attempt to block, she’s instantly trapped in a paper sphere, joining Gallant in his absurd predicament. Both Wards struggle furiously, but the deceptively fragile-looking paper holds firm.

I frown, reassessing the situation. This joke of a villain is moving with surprising competence and combat experience. He’s holding his own against Vista in close quarters when she should be using her space-warping powers to take him down from a distance. He blocks and dodges with unnerving precision, even landing a few near-misses that make the young hero nervous.

Thankfully, Vista seems to realize her dumb mistake. She leaps back, creating some much-needed distance, and slams both hands onto the asphalt. The entire street begins to undulate like a treadmill, the Toiletnator stumbling and flailing his arms to regain balance as the ground shifts beneath his feet.

But he recovers quickly, too quickly. A strand of paper shoots out, latching onto a nearby lamppost. He uses the momentum to swing through the air, arcing towards Vista with alarming speed.

“Vista, move!” her teammates scream, but it’s too late. With a wet ‘thwack’, a toilet plunger slams into her face. She claws at it desperately, stumbling and falling onto her back, legs kicking uselessly in the air.

Just like that, the Wards - some of Brockton Bay’s up-and-coming heroes - have been defeated by a walking punchline. And I can only resist the urge to facepalm. 

What the actual fuck is wrong with this world?

The Toiletnator’s victory dance is as ridiculous as his costume. He pumps his fists in the air, jumping and cackling with glee. “HAHAHAH! VICTORY IS MINE! NOW NOTHING CAN STOP ME FROM PROPERLY REPLACING ALL PAPER ROLLS IN PUBLIC RESTROOMS WITH PROPER FOUR-PLY ULTRA-SOFT ROLLS!”

I blink, trying to process what I just heard. Because is he serious about that? That’s his grand villainous scheme? Really?

Still giggling to himself, the Toiletnator skips away from the scene, humming an off-key tune that I can’t recognize.

My gaze drifts back to the aftermath. Vista writhes on the ground, still fighting with the plunger suctioned to her face. Her teammates aren’t faring much better, rolling around like oversized hamster balls in their paper prisons.

For a moment, I consider intervening to help Vista before she suffocates. But just as I’m about to move, she wrenches the plunger free, gasping for air. Coughing and spluttering, she staggers to her feet and rushes to aid her trapped comrades.

I exhale slowly, shaking my head. Well, technically, everyone’s safe, if not exactly sound. Time to get back to my actual mission before this day gets any weirder.

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-Rumi Usagiyama-

Rumi jumped high into the air and watched as the Merchants’ Killdozer crashed against a, hopefully, abandoned building instead.

“Stop jumping you fucking whore!” Squealer’s shrill voice blasted through the vehicle’s oversized speaker, the words distorted by rage and the screech of metal as the tinker struggled to free the Killdozer from the rubble.

Rumi gritted her teeth. She hadn’t planned on tangling with the Merchants today—her sights were set on giving the ABB a much-needed ass-kicking for their recent stunts. But she couldn’t turn a blind eye to this chaos. Besides, the ABB had drawn the attention of every cape in the city. Even the Empire was getting involved, though she made a mental note to deal with those supremacist bastards later.

For now, at least, the ABB situation was under control without her.

A massive dumpster suddenly hurtled through the air, forcing her to duck mid-descent. The makeshift projectile sailed overhead, crashing onto the street with a deafening clang and taking out a lamppost in a shower of sparks. Rumi whipped around to see Trainwreck, his mechanical body creaking as he dragged another giant dumpster into position.

“Back for more, huh?” Rumi smirked, genuinely surprised to see him again after the thrashing she’d given him last time. She’d been certain he’d think twice before crossing her path again. Clearly, the idiot was a glutton for punishment.

Trainwreck hurled the second dumpster with a pneumatic hiss of his arms. This time, instead of dodging, she coiled her muscles like springs and launched herself toward the flying mass of metal, twisting in mid-air to build momentum. Her leg connected with the dumpster, and she felt the satisfying crunch of impact vibrate through her body.

And the flying dumpster rocketed back towards the merchant cape. 

Her hearing picked up a faint “Oh fuck...” before the resounding crash of metal on metal. Trainwreck’s bulky form sailed through the air, slamming into a wall with enough force to crack the brickwork.

She landed in a crouch, a fierce grin spreading across her face. That masochist idiot might not be down for the count, but he’d certainly be feeling that in the morning. More importantly, it bought her some time to focus on Squealer's creation.

The vehicle’s engine roared to life, right on cue. Squealer had managed to wrench her monstrosity free from the rubble, the gears grinding as she slammed it into reverse with full intentions to flatten Rumi. Which she easily sidestepped out of the way.

Almost too easily, in fact. Most fights were a cakewalk for her–these wimps hardly knew what real combat was–but something felt off. A nagging thought wormed its way into her mind: Where was Skidmark?

That junkie was craftier than he let on, and Rumi’s face creased into a frown as she considered the possibilities. Was this sudden rampage just a smokescreen? A diversion while Skidmark orchestrated a jailbreak for Mush? It was their go-to rescue tactic, after all. 

But that was the PRT’s problem, not hers. She had her hands full right here.

The armored vehicle suddenly screeched into a sharp drift, coming to a halt right in front of her. Rumi tensed, expecting it to accelerate and try to impale her on those giant front spikes. Instead, a trapdoor on the roof burst open, and two unpowered merchants emerged, brandishing weapons that definitely weren’t legal in any state.

“Oh...” Her cocky grin faltered for a split second. This complicated things. She might be tough, but she wasn’t bulletproof.

And they don’t waste a second to pull the trigger.

The criminals didn’t waste a second, immediately opening fire. Her body reacted to the lethal threat instinctively. She darted away in long, zigzagging steps, making for any available cover. Her strategy worked, thanks in no small part to the fact that these were junkies too high to aim straight.

Only when she’d rounded a corner did Rumi let out a sigh of relief. But she knew she needed to deal with this fast. If she didn’t, it would make fighting Squealer’s creation much harder and more dangerous. Worse, an innocent bystander might catch a stray bullet.

Her red eyes darted around, rapidly assessing her surroundings. They landed on the windows of the nearby building, and an idea sparked in her mind. Without a second’s hesitation, she leaped. Propelling herself upward, using the windows as stepping stones. Each impact threatened to shatter the glass, but she was too quick, too light on her feet. In a matter of seconds, she’d ascended to the rooftop, out of sight, but still close to the fight.

“GET DOWN HERE YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

The building shook violently, nearly throwing her off balance. The Killdozer’s ramming attempts were growing more desperate, and more dangerous. She could hear the terrified screams of people inside.

Her jaw clenched. She had to end this fast before these drug-addled maniacs brought the whole structure down, along with everyone inside.

The Killdozer’s engine roared as it reversed, preparing for another reckless assault.

This was her chance.

Without a second thought, she sprinted across the rooftop. As she neared the edge, she coiled her muscles and sprang into action, using her momentum to propel herself off the building.

“LUNA FALL!”

Her feet connected with the vehicle’s roof with devastating force, the impact reverberating through her entire body. Metal screamed and buckled beneath her, the roof caving in at impossible angles. Most importantly, the dangerous crew was now effectively sealed inside their own creation, unable to pop out and spray bullets everywhere.

“FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!” Squealer’s muffled voice shrieked from within the metal amalgamation. The engine revved furiously as the tinker slammed the accelerator. Rumi smirked and casually hopped off, allowing Squealer to floor it.

But instead of careening into another building as she had expected, the Killdozer made a sharp turn and sped off, quickly disappearing from view. Her triumphant grin faded into a frown. This sudden retreat didn’t sit right with her. It wasn’t like the Merchants to give up so easily, especially not Squealer when she was pissed off.

A problem for later, perhaps. Right now, she still had some unfinished business. Her ears twitched, picking up the faint sound of groaning metal and cursing. Trainwreck. That walking junkyard was crawling away, and the hero Mirko wasn’t about to let him slip away.

Suddenly, Rumi’s instincts screamed in danger. Without thinking, she leaped aside, feeling the searing heat of a white-hot flame rush past her. The spot where she’d been standing moments ago erupted into a blaze, the pavement bubbling and cracking under the intense heat.

Landing in a defensive stance, her head snapped towards the source of the fire. Her eyes widened at the sight of a man dressed in white and red sleeveless spandex, his long white hair receding but still flowing dramatically in the wake of his own flames.

The newcomer pulled out a bag with white powder and smashed it against his face, snorting really loud… Is he snorting cocaine?

However, the effect was instantaneous and concerning because brilliant white flames engulfed his entire body, dancing across his skin without seeming to harm him.

“May this fire burn everlasting!” the cape roared, his voice carrying an almost religious fervor.

Oh shit. That’s Snowflame. But why the hell was he here? 

He was supposed to be in South America, not here in Brockton Bay! And why was he helping the Merchants?

“Relish in white-hot ecstasy!” 

Rumi didn’t have time to think about his unexpected appearance. Snowflame began spewing white fire in all directions, showing a complete disregard for his surroundings. Buildings, cars, the very street itself–nothing was safe from his manic assault. No wonder Squealer and Trainwreck ran away from the scene.

Rumi leapt and dodged the flames, her experience carrying her just out of reach of the searing flames. But the bastard was faster than she’d anticipated. In a blink, he closed the distance between them, his foot connecting with her stomach in a vicious kick.

“HA, and you call that fast?!” he taunted as she sailed through the air.

She crashed against the pavement; the impact knocking the wind from her lungs. But her years of experience kicked in, and she rolled, scrambling to get back on her feet. But as she moved, a sharp pain lanced through her abdomen. Glancing down, she saw that part of her costume where the kick had landed was charred and smoking.

Rumi gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus through the pain. This wasn’t just some drugged-up merchant anymore. Snowflame was on a whole different level, and if she didn’t step up her game fast, this fight could turn very ugly, very quickly.

“Alright, you flaming bastard,” she growled, her eyes narrowing as she settled into a fighting stance. “Let’s see how you handle a real hero.”

Snowflame’s maniacal laughter echoed through the street as he advanced, leaving scorched footprints with every step. “A real hero? Challenge accepted!”

She didn’t wait for him to attack. She darted forward, zigzagging to avoid his white flames he flung her way. The heat was intense, singeing the fur on her ears, but she pushed through it.

As she closed in, Snowflame swung a fiery fist at her face. She barely ducked under it, feeling the heat rush over her head. In one fluid motion, she planted her hands on the ground and lashed out with both feet, aiming for his midsection.

Her double kick connected with a satisfying thud, and for a moment, triumph flashed in Rumi’s eyes. But it quickly turned to shock, as the bastard didn’t budge an inch, just looking down at her with a smug expression that made her blood boil.

“Is that all?” he taunted, grabbing her ankles before she could retreat.

Pain shot through her legs as the flames licked at her skin, forcing her to clench her teeth to keep from crying out. But even through the searing agony, her mind was working overtime. This was an opportunity, and she wasn’t about to waste it.

With a burst of strength, she twisted her body, using the villain’s grip as leverage. His eyes widened in surprise as he felt his feet leave the ground. 

“LUNA...”

She arched her body, pulling the villain over her in a perfect semicircle.

“TIJERAAAAAAAAAAA!“

The smug bastard slammed face-first into the ground with bone-crushing force. The impact created a small crater and kicked up a cloud of dust and debris. MIrko used the impromptu smokescreen to disengage, her instincts screaming at her to create some distance.

And it proved to be a well-timed decision. Barely a second after she got away, the crater erupted in a fiery white explosion that sent shockwaves through the street. Forcing her to use her arms to shield her face.

As the smoke began to clear, her ears twitched at the sound of footsteps. Her eyes narrowed as Snowflame emerged from the haze, looking completely unscathed. His grin was wider than ever, a manic gleam in his eyes.

“You are only fanning the fires of my high!” he declared, flames dancing around him with renewed intensity.

This guy was tougher than she’d anticipated, and her usual tactics weren’t cutting it. She needed a new approach, and fast.

Her eyes darted to a sizable chunk of debris near her feet. Without thinking it twice, she kicked it like a soccer ball, sending it hurtling towards Snowflame. It struck him squarely in the face, shattering on impact.

Yet the blow didn’t even faze him. Instead, he let out another annoying laugh. “You cannot hurt me, you freak!”

She frowned deeply, realizing just how bad this matchup was for her. Did he have immunity to pain? Or had all those drugs fried his nervous system?

Suddenly, her thoughts became scattered. She took an involuntary step back, her hand instinctively clutching her head as the world began to spin. A powerful sensation of vertigo washed over her, intensifying with each passing second.

“The hell…?”

“Sluggish? Tired?” Snowflame’s mocking tone cut through her disorientation. Before she could react, he closed the distance between them.

An unforgiving punch slammed into her stomach, lifting her off the ground. Pain exploded through her abdomen, only to be eclipsed a moment later by a burning fist connecting with her jaw. “Time to pick up some slack, you bitch!”

Oh, this fucker.

The pain cut through the fog in her mind, sharpening her senses. As Snowflame’s next punch came in, Rumi caught his wrist in a vice-like grip. Using his momentum against him, she delivered a kick straight to his chin with all the strength and anger she had been saving up. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?!”

The bastard, despite his claims about immunity to pain, tumbled backward, clutching his jaw. She seized the opening, rushing forward to grab his head with both hands. With a roar of effort, she smashed him against the street, practically burying his face in the asphalt.

But she wasn’t done. Rumi leaped high into the air, her silhouette momentarily blocking out the sun before she came crashing down.

“STAY!” 

Her feet slammed into Snowflame’s back with bone-crushing force.

“THE FUCK!”

And again.

“DOWN!”

Her last stomp created another small crater, with the stupid addict at its center.

Panting heavily, she stepped back, her eyes fixed on Snowflame’s motionless form, his flames extinguished.

Panting heavily, Rumi stepped back, her eyes fixed on the villain with a smirk. But her moment of triumph was short-lived. The headache returned with a vengeance; the world spinning around her in a nauseating blur. Her knees weakened, and an overwhelming drowsiness threatened to drag her into unconsciousness.

“What the fuck...” she muttered, her thoughts sluggish. What had that bastard done to her?

Thankfully, the searing pain from her burns acted as an anchor, helping her maintain some semblance of focus. And one particular thought cut through the fog in her mind: she needed to get out of here. Fast.

Through her hazy vision, she was able to spot Squealer’s creation rumbling into view. Acting on pure instinct, she slapped both hands against her head, the sharp sting momentarily clearing her senses before she leaped out of the vehicle’s path.

The moment she landed, she ran. No witty quips, no backward glances - just a desperate sprint to put as much distance between herself and the Merchants’ territory as possible.

Her legs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort. Eventually, her knees buckled, sending her crashing to the ground. But as the badass hero she was known for, she refused to give up. She began crawling, her arms trembling with exertion, growing heavier with each passing second.

As unconsciousness threatened to overtake her, with a snarl of determination, she sank her teeth into her own arm. The sharp pain and taste of blood jolted through her system, providing a much-needed surge of adrenaline.

Using this last burst of energy, she staggered to her feet and broke into a frantic run. She paid no heed to her surroundings, focused solely on finding somewhere - anywhere - safe.

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-Daniel, True Might-

Finding the place where the Merchant rampage was occurring wasn’t hard, just had to look for only the street that is burning, destroyed buildings, broken roads and a giant amalgamation of metal is currently driving donuts in the center of it all.

And my heroic landing spot.

“JUSTICE CRUSH!”

The street erupts as I slam into it, my impact sending shockwaves that catapult the four-wheeled abomination skyward. 

“COCK SUCKEEEEER!” 

Glancing up, I spot massive speakers welded to the frame. Yep, definitely Squealer’s work. I sprint to where her pimped-out car is about to crash-land and catch it like it doesn’t weigh tons but weighs the same like a cardboard box. The engine howls in protest, wheels spinning uselessly as I hold the whole thing above my head.

Now, I’m no tech whiz. Tinkertech might as well be magic to me. But even I know that if you break enough parts and cut some cables, any machine becomes a very expensive paperweight.

Balancing the hunk of metal on one hand, I start ripping into it with the other. Tubes snap, wires spark, and what I’m pretty sure is the frame crumples like tin foil. The frantic whine of the wheels dies almost instantly.

I drop the now-useless hunk of metal and, for good measure; I cock back my fist and drive it straight into the heart of the killdozer. The engine gives one last pitiful gurgle before falling silent.

Dusting off my hands, I step back to admire my handiwork. Arms crossed, I give myself an approving nod.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR, YOU BITCH?!” Squealer kicks open the front window, emerging from her broken creation like an angry ferret from a trash can. She’s brandishing a modified pistol that looks more like a sci-fi prop than a real gun. “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU FUCK YOU, YOU STEROID-RIDDLED CUNT!”

She starts blasting away, but the bullets just bounce off my body like spitballs.

But Squealer doesn’t seem to care. She keeps shooting until the clip’s empty, achieving absolutely nothing. Not even a scratch on my suit. I’ve got to hand it to the Company–they make some quality threads.

“Guns are not toys, misguided citizen!” I easily pluck the gun from her hands, much to her fury. “Now surrender to the righteous cause of justice!”

“Surrender this, you motherfucking punk-ass bitch cunt!” She flips me off with both hands, her dirty face twisted in a snarl.

I mentally roll my eyes at her childish but impressively vulgar attitude. Instead of dignifying that with a response, I yank a sturdy-looking tube from the wrecked vehicle. Then I scoop up Squealer by the straps of her grease-stained overalls. She flails like a cat being given a bath, kicking wildly and shrieking a stream of incoherent profanities.

She really lives up to that cape name–anyone else’s eardrums would implode after being subjected to this temper tantrum.

Ignoring her creative cursing, I carefully wrap the tube around her body and set her down. She wriggles and squirms, but the makeshift restraints hold firm.

“The fuck you looking at you faggots?! Do fucking something you total retards, Skiddy fucking own your ass you bitches, pussies!” she screams at the unpowered merchants still inside the vehicle.

But the thugs inside the disabled vehicle look at me and it seems that sobriety finally hits them as they all collectively drop their weapons and raise their hands in surrender.

“FUCKING NO BALLS LIMPDICKS FAGGOTS!”

I wish I had a gag to shut her up.

I scan the area, expecting to find more capes somewhere. This level of destruction seems a little overkill for just one drugged-up tinker because the scene screams of a cape fight, so maybe the others are still duking it out somewhere nearby.

However, my phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. I fish it out and check the notification.

MIssion complete!

You have been accredited with 3 credits.

Wait, seriously? It was just Squealer?

Well, that makes my job a whole lot easier. Still, I should round up the thugs. The civilians have probably already called the PRT, and they’ll be en route to clean up this mess.

“Another job completed by the mighty hammer of justice!” I thump my chest, feeling pretty pleased with myself.

“FUCK YOU AND THAT RABBIT WHORE!” Squealer’s shriek cuts through my small moment of glory.

Rabbit whore? Oh, she must mean Mirko. So the bunny hero was here before me, doing some necessary pest control. No wonder the place looks so wrecked.

I should probably check on her, just to be safe. This is the Worm universe after all. A world where “it could always get worse” isn’t just a saying, it’s a rule.

Before I head out, I yank another tube from the wreckage and use it to tie up all the unpowered thugs, securing them to Squealer’s busted ride. That should keep them put until the authorities arrive.

Leaving Squealer to her endless insults, I moved toward where the main fight went down. That’s when I spot a dude in red and white spandex, fully buried in the ground. He’s out cold, and judging by the costume, he’s gotta be another Merchant cape, so I just leave him there.

I walk away from the hole and keep searching the place, kicking dirt on small fires to put them out. Suddenly, a loud ringing catches my attention. I follow the sound and find a small flip phone. Picking it up, I see the name “Oracle” on the caller ID.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I answer, hoping to get some information out of this Oracle.

“Mirko! Thank god you answered! Snowflame is… you are not Mirko, are you?”

Snowflame? So that must be the name of the unconscious cape. Although this Oracle is rather quick to tell me that I’m not Mirko. But also tells me that she must be her contact and an ally so I should introduce myself to build good relations.

“Of course not! I’m True Might, the embodiment of justice!”

“True Might? Okay, weird coincidence, but we can work with that.” She pauses. “If you found this phone, then Mirko’s in trouble. I need your help to find her.”

I frown at this information. Mirko in trouble? Figures, this universe is fucked, after all. Good thing I came to help; it shouldn’t be too late. Plus, I’ll score some goodwill with the cape community.

“A fellow hero is in trouble? Show me the way to justice!”

“She unknowingly went to fight Snowflame not only is he an extremely dangerous villain, but he has this powerful contact high aura. I fear she didn’t take account of that fact and probably passed out somewhere, and I pray that she wasn’t captured by the Merchants.”

Contact high? Good thing I have so many defenses against that stuff, or I might be in trouble just for getting close to that bastard.

“Fear not, as justice incarnate won’t let this injustice slide! I shall help my fellow hero from the diabolical hands of villains!” I reply.

“Sweet! I owe you big time, True Might. I’ll try to find more help.”

With that promise, the call ends.

I send the phone into my pocket space and stroke my chin, lost in thought. Finding Mirko is going to be a challenge. Tracking isn’t exactly part of my abilities, and I don’t know much besides following footprints.

Flight would make this search a breeze, but that’s not on my list of powers. Shame.

For a moment, I consider making massive leaps to cover more ground. But I quickly dismiss the idea, imagining the trail of unnecessary destruction I’d leave behind and that becoming ammunition the PRT would use against me.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, inspiration strikes. I lift my leg high and bring it down with earth-shattering force. The ground explodes beneath me, sending a massive cloud of dust and debris billowing into the air. Becoming the perfect cover.

I take a deep breath and tap into my dragon heritage. The transformation is partial, but that is more than enough. My head elongates, scales rippling across my skin, as my senses sharpen to preternatural levels. I inhale deeply, my nostrils flaring as they navigate all the smells of my surroundings.

There – the metallic tang of blood. Faint, but unmistakable, and I lock onto the scent.

Objective achieved, I quickly revert to my human form as the dust begins to settle. Without wasting a second, I sprint towards my target.

With a powerful leap, I soar onto the rooftop where the scent led me. I land as softly as I can, which is still probably enough to rattle windows from the building.

I make a quick run towards it and then jump on top of a building, as that is where the smell is coming from. Carefully landing on the rooftop, I find the rabbit heroine passed out on the roof. She’s used pieces of her own costume as makeshift bandages for the many bleeding wounds on her arms. And she has a lot of burn marks.

The burns on her ankles in particular don’t look well. She needs medical attention quickly.

Panacea flashes through my mind, but I realize I have no idea where to find her. I just know she goes to a hospital to do volunteer work, but I don’t know where that is. And no other cape with healing abilities comes to mind, either.

So that means I should take her to the hospital, but what hospital is actually safe in this damned city? What if it is attacked just to get her? An attack on a civilian hospital to get to Mirko isn’t out of the question in this messed-up world.

And I can’t help because I can’t capture anyone and don’t know how to perform emergency medical aid.

But a location surfaces in my mind, one where I can be sure she will be safe and treat her wounds, so I gently scoop her into my arms and leap high into the air.

Wow, her muscles feel like iron.

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AN: For a quick explanation for the fight being that difficult for our sexy bnuuy. Mirko is a T5 companion. 

Snowflame is a T6 character. He is a very old DC villain that, relatively recently, came back. He even briefly appeared in the Harley Quinn series. He literally gains his broken power and its scales from snorting lots of cocaine.