"Mr. O'Brien will see you now, Ms. Vasquez."
I got up from my seat in the well-cleaned office...
I got up from my seat in the well-cleaned office...
I'm (Somewhat) Helping! [Worm/Multicross]
- Thread starter Eldritch-Orphan
- Start date
- Crossover
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
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Statistics (6 threadmarks, 4.8k words)
User Total Eldritch-Orphan 6
Prologue + Hero, Rogue, & Villain Rosters
- Location
- Lousiville, KY
"Mr. O'Brien will see you now, Ms. Vasquez."
I got up from my seat in the well-cleaned office, a description my ratty clothing was rushing to invalidate. Blinking away the slight exhaustion that had come over me during the wait, I opened to the door to O'Brien's office and stepped in.
The man who swiveled in his chair to face me was fairly generic - white, gray eyes, well-combed black hair and beard, and a just-ironed and spotless gray office shirt. I'd heard about Randall O'Brien from a newspaper I'd managed to nab the previous week - apparently, he specialized in helping people, either criminal, disabled, or just down on their luck, recover from their circumstances - some seemingly impossible to overcome - and live fulfilling lives. Sure, some of them just up and disappeared, but they were probably just in another city or something, and his fees were low in any case.
Either way, I needed his help badly. I'd been branded a criminal after I was caught one too many times dealing drugs to keep my tuition from vanishing mid-year while I was in college. Ever since then, no one's been willing to hire me, out of fear that I'd start a dealing gig in their workplace - a fear that would've been forgotten quickly if they bothered to accept that I'd given that business up. As it was, I was homeless, starving, and could do fuck all about it, thanks to the system being a sadistic bastard.
O'Brien could see my desperation - I knew he could - but he nonetheless gave me a pleasant smile, gesturing to the seat across from the desk. "Ah, Ms. Vasquez, was it? Have a seat."
Sitting down, I looked around the office - pretty snazzy for, someone who raked in his apparent salary - before turning back to him. "So, uh... where to start?"
Seeing that I was confused, O'Brien smiled again, bringing out a sheaf of papers and riffling through them for a second before looking back to me. "Well, Ms. Vasquez... let's start off with a simple question. Do you believe in second chances?"
I got up from my seat in the well-cleaned office, a description my ratty clothing was rushing to invalidate. Blinking away the slight exhaustion that had come over me during the wait, I opened to the door to O'Brien's office and stepped in.
The man who swiveled in his chair to face me was fairly generic - white, gray eyes, well-combed black hair and beard, and a just-ironed and spotless gray office shirt. I'd heard about Randall O'Brien from a newspaper I'd managed to nab the previous week - apparently, he specialized in helping people, either criminal, disabled, or just down on their luck, recover from their circumstances - some seemingly impossible to overcome - and live fulfilling lives. Sure, some of them just up and disappeared, but they were probably just in another city or something, and his fees were low in any case.
Either way, I needed his help badly. I'd been branded a criminal after I was caught one too many times dealing drugs to keep my tuition from vanishing mid-year while I was in college. Ever since then, no one's been willing to hire me, out of fear that I'd start a dealing gig in their workplace - a fear that would've been forgotten quickly if they bothered to accept that I'd given that business up. As it was, I was homeless, starving, and could do fuck all about it, thanks to the system being a sadistic bastard.
O'Brien could see my desperation - I knew he could - but he nonetheless gave me a pleasant smile, gesturing to the seat across from the desk. "Ah, Ms. Vasquez, was it? Have a seat."
Sitting down, I looked around the office - pretty snazzy for, someone who raked in his apparent salary - before turning back to him. "So, uh... where to start?"
Seeing that I was confused, O'Brien smiled again, bringing out a sheaf of papers and riffling through them for a second before looking back to me. "Well, Ms. Vasquez... let's start off with a simple question. Do you believe in second chances?"
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
Heroes
Art credit
Crossover: Pokémon
Civilian Name: Karen Vasquez
Ethnicity: Hispanic
Age: 23
Power Ratings: Striker 3, Blaster 5, Master 6
Background: Former denizen of Earth Yod. No living family. Ineligible for hire in Earth Yod due to multiple charges of drug possession with intent to sell. Homeless and broke prior to encounter with R.O.B.
Current Allies: Empathon
Current Enemies: Merchants
Art credit
Crossover: Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance
Civilian Name: Felix Houghton
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 21
Power Ratings: Mover 4, Blaster 2, Tinker 5
Background: Former denizen of Earth Yod. One sister. Applied for internship at Fanuc before getting caught in a major car pileup, leaving him paralyzed in all four limbs. Turned to R.O.B. as last resort.
Current Allies: Miasma
Current Enemies: Merchants, ABB
Rogues
Art credit
Crossover: Team Fortress 2
Known Civilian Names: Misha Nikolaev (Heavy), Ludwig Ziegler (Medic), Dell Conagher (Engineer)
Background: Former denizens of Earth Kaf. Mercenary group working under Redmond Mann prior to forced entry into Earth Bet by Joshua.
Current Allies: N/A
Current Enemies: Brockton Bay
Villains
Art credit
Crossover: Pokémon
Civilian Name: Karen Vasquez
Ethnicity: Hispanic
Age: 23
Power Ratings: Striker 3, Blaster 5, Master 6
Background: Former denizen of Earth Yod. No living family. Ineligible for hire in Earth Yod due to multiple charges of drug possession with intent to sell. Homeless and broke prior to encounter with R.O.B.
Current Allies: Empathon
Current Enemies: Merchants
Art credit
Crossover: Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance
Civilian Name: Felix Houghton
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 21
Power Ratings: Mover 4, Blaster 2, Tinker 5
Background: Former denizen of Earth Yod. One sister. Applied for internship at Fanuc before getting caught in a major car pileup, leaving him paralyzed in all four limbs. Turned to R.O.B. as last resort.
Current Allies: Miasma
Current Enemies: Merchants, ABB
Rogues
Art credit
Crossover: Team Fortress 2
Known Civilian Names: Misha Nikolaev (Heavy), Ludwig Ziegler (Medic), Dell Conagher (Engineer)
Background: Former denizens of Earth Kaf. Mercenary group working under Redmond Mann prior to forced entry into Earth Bet by Joshua.
Current Allies: N/A
Current Enemies: Brockton Bay
Villains
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
AN: Starting a new fic. Hope it goes well.
Last edited:
1.1
- Location
- Lousiville, KY
When O'Brien asked me to close my eyes in his office, I didn't know what to expect when I opened them - but it certainly wasn't finding myself lying in an apartment I'd never been in, in a city I didn't recognize, in the body of some kind of lizard-woman. After a quick pinch to confirm that the man hadn't somehow drugged me or put me to sleep, I looked around the dingy bedroom I'd apparently been dropped off at. There wasn't much furniture to speak of - just a bed, an empty bookshelf, and a desk with an office chair in front and a laptop sitting on it. I... well, I didn't so much as walk as I did stagger, thanks to having to adjust to my new body, but either way I got to the chair and sat down, opening the laptop. It was already open to GMail, with a single email from... Randall. Well, let's see what you've got in store for me, eh? Opening the message, I found that the email had an unusually large text document attached.
From: randall.obrien@gmail.com
To: karen.vasquez@gmail.com
Cc: N/A
Subject: Welcome to Brockton Bay
Sorry for the jolt there - most of my clients complain about it, so I had you close your eyes to reduce the shock. I'm sure you want an explanation for your predicament, so I'll get that out of the way here.
To put it simply, I'm not actually a licensed consultant, or even an actual human. I'm a member of the immortal group known by mortals as Random Omnipotent Beings, or R.O.B.s for short. While normally our names are accurate - and used to play merry hell with you mortals - I'm somewhat unusual, in that my power is limited to by-case alteration and transportation. However, I've still been using it to clean up the messes of other immortals - as I am with you.
You are currently in the alternate universe Earth Bet. While mortal power is greater here, it is also more corrupt - the vast majority of powered mortals are wreaking havoc with their powers, either aware or unaware of it, and society is on the countdown to utter destruction by the hands of those who provide the powered mortals with their strength. Understandably, I can't let this situation abide. From today forward, I will be sending my clients to this universe on cleanup duty as payment for my services.
You'll find a basic sitrep in the attached document, both for the world at large and for your local city, Brockton Bay. Use it at your leisure. It's been pleasure doing business with you.
From: randall.obrien@gmail.com
To: karen.vasquez@gmail.com
Cc: N/A
Subject: Welcome to Brockton Bay
Sorry for the jolt there - most of my clients complain about it, so I had you close your eyes to reduce the shock. I'm sure you want an explanation for your predicament, so I'll get that out of the way here.
To put it simply, I'm not actually a licensed consultant, or even an actual human. I'm a member of the immortal group known by mortals as Random Omnipotent Beings, or R.O.B.s for short. While normally our names are accurate - and used to play merry hell with you mortals - I'm somewhat unusual, in that my power is limited to by-case alteration and transportation. However, I've still been using it to clean up the messes of other immortals - as I am with you.
You are currently in the alternate universe Earth Bet. While mortal power is greater here, it is also more corrupt - the vast majority of powered mortals are wreaking havoc with their powers, either aware or unaware of it, and society is on the countdown to utter destruction by the hands of those who provide the powered mortals with their strength. Understandably, I can't let this situation abide. From today forward, I will be sending my clients to this universe on cleanup duty as payment for my services.
You'll find a basic sitrep in the attached document, both for the world at large and for your local city, Brockton Bay. Use it at your leisure. It's been pleasure doing business with you.
Randall O'Brien
P.S. Don't worry about interception. This email will self-destruct once you're done reading.
...well. Not exactly what I was expecting, but I suppose I couldn't do much about it now. Well, besides going insane and crying in a corner for the rest of my life, but that wouldn't be an improvement at all. Going through the sitrep, my expectations for this world dipped lower and lower with every sentence - the planet was plagued by multiple supervillian teams and stupidly overpowered kaijus, the city itself was on the brink of collapse - both economical and physical - due to the absurd amount of gang activity, and other, smaller threats served to bump the size of the general shit latte to full-on Trenta. I could see why O'Brien wanted this place cleaned up, and fast.
Well... figured I should get to work soon. Once I figured out what all I could do, that is.
Well... figured I should get to work soon. Once I figured out what all I could do, that is.
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
Pheromones. I did pheromones.
I mean, sure, I could throw around poison, acid, and fire for days, but still... pheromones. The whole point of my appointment with O'Brien was to ditch my dealing rep, and now I constantly sweat drugs. Just... great. Randall might have been a nicer R.O.B. than most, from what he told me of them, but his humor certainly wasn't any less cruel. After a bit of testing, I found that I could reduce the pheromone release until it was barely detectable, but it never quite went away. I guess it'd help with the normal crooks of the city once I figured out how to keep from overdosing them, but against some of the inorganic and high-Brute capes, it would be useless. Still, I had the aforementioned poison, acid, and fire to fall back on, so... there was that, I guess.
Given who I was about to hit up, though, the irony in O'Brien's choice for my powerset was gonna be even more poignant.
As I crept through the window into the ratty apartment, I took a moment to pat myself on the back for nabbing a pair of nose plugs earlier, before actually sticking them in - I guess it was just because I was more sensitive to smells now, but God, the place fucking reeked. Not too surprising, given who lived there and all, but still, they could've at least sprayed a little freshener.
Ah, well - I'd do it for them after I went Robin Hood on their asses and wrecked their drug caches.
Speaking of, I quickly picked up on a scent through the plugs - the scent of ether and petrol. I crouched down, preparing to strike out at anything that made a move - incompetent as the Merchants seemingly were, there was no chance that they wouldn't set up at least a couple guards for their crackhouses. Sure enough, I found them crashing on a couch in the living room, both staring at the TV - one absolutely conked out on weed, the other sober enough to keep his grip on the pistol in his right hand. Said pistol managed to get a shot out in the second before I slapped it away, pulling him off the couch and slamming him into the cheap carpet before dragging him into the kitchen.
The guard sputtered as I let him hit the kitchen tiles ass-first, catching his breath and trying to turn his cringe of pain into what he probably thought was an intimidating grimace. "The... the fuck... you think you're doin', you... li'l bitch?" His attempt at looking scary, however, stopped the second he got a proper look at my body.
As his jaw dropped in shock, I drove my foot into his stomach, sneering down at him as he wheezed in pain. Once he was lucid enough to listen to me, I spoke. "...the drugs."
A bit of confusion got through his rictus of pain. "The... what drugs? The fuck do you think - "
Another kick, this one to the side. "I might not be human anymore, but I'm not a dumbass. Even without being able to smell everything in this pigsty, it's obviously a crackhouse. Now, I'll ask again, and I'd like you to answer me this time. Where. Is. The coke?"
The guard took almost half a minute to wheeze, making me wonder if I'd kicked him a bit too hard after all. "...cabinet," he muttered. "Left o' the microwave. Jus' take it an' go."
"Yeah, sure, whatever you say, bud," I replied, before kicking him in the face hard enough to fracture his jaw, the force sending him to sleep for the moment. Once he was down, I moved to the cabinet he mentioned, gently pulling the bag of crack out and moving it to the sink before turning the faucet on and pouring the powder into the basin. As it spiraled down the drain, I found the apartment's landline, dialing in the PRT emergency number O'Brien's file had mentioned and bringing the phone to my... well, where my ear would've been, I guess.
"PRT operator 456, what's your emergency?"
"Yeah, uh..." I turned back to look at the two unconscious guards. "There's a Merchant crackhouse on... 344 Crescent and Admiral, sixth floor. Just went through the place, took out the guards - one of 'em shot at me, I think - so they're both down, took care of the coke already."
Silence for a moment. "I... see. We'll redirect the call to BBPD - "
"Oh, no no no, wait!" I blurted out. "Yeah, these guys were normals, but I'm a... cape, I think is what you call 'em? Yeah."
Yet more silence. "...we'll send a response squad to your location. Would you mind staying there until they arrive?" I considered for a second - on the one hand, if I was on file with the PRT, I might be able to nab a spot in the Protectorate later on if I don't do anything too drastic, and that'd give me some more resources to work with once O'Brien's other clients came in.
Though, on the other hand... they'd probably give me too many restrictions to work with, as well. "Yeah, I would, actually," I said finally. "Sorry. See ya." The operator didn't get to finish her objection before I slammed the phone back in its holder.
Well, that was one crackhouse out. Now, I've just gotta trash the dozens of others, before taking out the capes proper. Then I'd get to take on the actual gangs.
...Joy.
I mean, sure, I could throw around poison, acid, and fire for days, but still... pheromones. The whole point of my appointment with O'Brien was to ditch my dealing rep, and now I constantly sweat drugs. Just... great. Randall might have been a nicer R.O.B. than most, from what he told me of them, but his humor certainly wasn't any less cruel. After a bit of testing, I found that I could reduce the pheromone release until it was barely detectable, but it never quite went away. I guess it'd help with the normal crooks of the city once I figured out how to keep from overdosing them, but against some of the inorganic and high-Brute capes, it would be useless. Still, I had the aforementioned poison, acid, and fire to fall back on, so... there was that, I guess.
Given who I was about to hit up, though, the irony in O'Brien's choice for my powerset was gonna be even more poignant.
As I crept through the window into the ratty apartment, I took a moment to pat myself on the back for nabbing a pair of nose plugs earlier, before actually sticking them in - I guess it was just because I was more sensitive to smells now, but God, the place fucking reeked. Not too surprising, given who lived there and all, but still, they could've at least sprayed a little freshener.
Ah, well - I'd do it for them after I went Robin Hood on their asses and wrecked their drug caches.
Speaking of, I quickly picked up on a scent through the plugs - the scent of ether and petrol. I crouched down, preparing to strike out at anything that made a move - incompetent as the Merchants seemingly were, there was no chance that they wouldn't set up at least a couple guards for their crackhouses. Sure enough, I found them crashing on a couch in the living room, both staring at the TV - one absolutely conked out on weed, the other sober enough to keep his grip on the pistol in his right hand. Said pistol managed to get a shot out in the second before I slapped it away, pulling him off the couch and slamming him into the cheap carpet before dragging him into the kitchen.
The guard sputtered as I let him hit the kitchen tiles ass-first, catching his breath and trying to turn his cringe of pain into what he probably thought was an intimidating grimace. "The... the fuck... you think you're doin', you... li'l bitch?" His attempt at looking scary, however, stopped the second he got a proper look at my body.
As his jaw dropped in shock, I drove my foot into his stomach, sneering down at him as he wheezed in pain. Once he was lucid enough to listen to me, I spoke. "...the drugs."
A bit of confusion got through his rictus of pain. "The... what drugs? The fuck do you think - "
Another kick, this one to the side. "I might not be human anymore, but I'm not a dumbass. Even without being able to smell everything in this pigsty, it's obviously a crackhouse. Now, I'll ask again, and I'd like you to answer me this time. Where. Is. The coke?"
The guard took almost half a minute to wheeze, making me wonder if I'd kicked him a bit too hard after all. "...cabinet," he muttered. "Left o' the microwave. Jus' take it an' go."
"Yeah, sure, whatever you say, bud," I replied, before kicking him in the face hard enough to fracture his jaw, the force sending him to sleep for the moment. Once he was down, I moved to the cabinet he mentioned, gently pulling the bag of crack out and moving it to the sink before turning the faucet on and pouring the powder into the basin. As it spiraled down the drain, I found the apartment's landline, dialing in the PRT emergency number O'Brien's file had mentioned and bringing the phone to my... well, where my ear would've been, I guess.
"PRT operator 456, what's your emergency?"
"Yeah, uh..." I turned back to look at the two unconscious guards. "There's a Merchant crackhouse on... 344 Crescent and Admiral, sixth floor. Just went through the place, took out the guards - one of 'em shot at me, I think - so they're both down, took care of the coke already."
Silence for a moment. "I... see. We'll redirect the call to BBPD - "
"Oh, no no no, wait!" I blurted out. "Yeah, these guys were normals, but I'm a... cape, I think is what you call 'em? Yeah."
Yet more silence. "...we'll send a response squad to your location. Would you mind staying there until they arrive?" I considered for a second - on the one hand, if I was on file with the PRT, I might be able to nab a spot in the Protectorate later on if I don't do anything too drastic, and that'd give me some more resources to work with once O'Brien's other clients came in.
Though, on the other hand... they'd probably give me too many restrictions to work with, as well. "Yeah, I would, actually," I said finally. "Sorry. See ya." The operator didn't get to finish her objection before I slammed the phone back in its holder.
Well, that was one crackhouse out. Now, I've just gotta trash the dozens of others, before taking out the capes proper. Then I'd get to take on the actual gangs.
...Joy.
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
AN: Expect another post some time tomorrow. I'll put the official posting schedule on the prologue post once I've got it sorted out.
Last edited:
1.2
- Location
- Lousiville, KY
As it turns out, busting poorly-kept crackhouses gets boring after the first couple of times. Honestly, it seemed a bit too easy at times. Crawling out of a fifth floor window with an honest-to-God trashbag full of dollar bills, I used my new body's flexibility to dodge attention via traveling through the city's crumbling sewer system. Eventually, I reached what I figured was the nearest manhole to my apartment, moving to open it.
However, sounds from above made me pause - two men, men with the delirious slur of druggies, were struggling to keep a woman from escaping their grasp. I gently pushed one side of the cover open, until I had a good view of just what they were doing.
After I got a glance at the dirty syringe one of them was preparing to jab into her carotid, however, I didn't see much more than red. Bursting out of the manhole with a yell of anger, I slapped the Merchant with the syringe on the small of his back, the pain of my claws carving gashes into his back sending him screaming to the ground. The other, seeing that he was in deep shit, let the woman go as he reached for something in his pants - something I couldn't get to before he pointed it my way.
I went deaf for a second as his pistol let out a shot, but it didn't stop me from smashing his head into a nearby wall, my grimace of fury and pain opening to let a stream of pinkish gas wash over the stunned Merchant. He struggled to move, to aim at me again, but the exhaustion brought on by both the wall-smash and my pheromones overtook him within seconds.
I only noticed the bleeding hole in my shoulder and the shocked crowd around me after the last goon fell to the floor. Knowing that it wouldn't be long before some idiot dialed the PRT, I took the logical course of action - I went down the sewers and got the fuck out of dodge.
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
By the time the pizza guy rang, I'd pulled the lump of metal out of my surprisingly-shallow wound and wrapped my shoulder up with shreds from a T-shirt the last tenant had left in the closet. Shoving a few bills under the door, I waited until the hallway was empty before opening the door and bringing the box in.
As I ate, I opened my computer to look up the most vulnerable of the Merchant lieutenants - after today, they were sure to go after me, and I needed to chop off every rung on their command ladder before it escalated. Soon enough, I had a target - a guy called Mush. Apparently, his power was to increase his durability and strength by surrounding himself in a giant armor-like construct.
A construct made of trash. Even by Merchant standards that was lame - at least that Squealer bitch could jury-rig a car to full Mad Max mode.
But I digress. Once I had a good understanding of his power's weaknesses - not that finding out was especially hard - I resolved to get his location from the next Merchant grunts I raided. I knew that the other Merchants would be wary once I had Mush's takedown under my belt, but I wanted to do real damage sooner than later, if only to make sure I got to the other gangs before it was too late.
With that done, I closed the computer, flopped onto the bed, and let my impending unconsciousness distract me from the pain in my arm.
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
AN: Next post is coming out later today.
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1.3 - Salazzle vs. Garbodor
- Location
- Lousiville, KY
As it turned out, the bullet hole in my shoulder sealed up enough to be a non-issue while I'd rested. Given the beating I was taking at the moment, it was a small mercy.
Going down another alleyway, I barely dodged a massive fist of trash that splashed against the wall beside me, splattering it with rotten fruit. Once the alley got wide enough, I took a running start before jumping onto one of the walls, scrambling onto the rooftops before Mush had a chance to pulverize me with a dumpster's worth of trash. Once I was on the building's roof, I took a moment to prepare a blast of acid before the garbage giant's hand grabbed at the roof's edge - a hand I didn't hesitate in partially melting before skittering back and getting ready for the bastard to get up. Sure enough, a mountain of garbage leapt into the night air and onto the rooftop, the acid attack having thinned it out slightly. Mush sidestepped the first blast that I sent his way, moving in to crush me with his trash form - before a well-placed puff of flame set a piece of cardboard near the body's center alike, forcing the Merchant cape to shift away and rearrange his body, giving me a chance to leap to his side, blasting pinkish gas through the rubble and sending Mush to the floor, where he desperately tried to ignore the full-body pain my pheromones were forcing onto him.
It didn't take as long as I thought it would for him to completely shake it off, as evident by my failing to dodge a punch that sent me rocketing into a rooftop three buildings down. As I groaned from the impact and pushed myself up, I saw a shadow overhead and rushed to move out of the way before the cape crashed into the building feet-first. The sheer impact, coupled with the weight of his trash form, made the rooftop collapse, the Merchant flailing in surprise as he fell into the - thankfully empty - top floor. Taking the opportunity his panic gave me, I leapt in after him and sprayed fire down at the Merchant, this time too powerful for him to shrug off by shifting his form. For a second, his scream of pain left my "ears" ringing, and it distracted me enough for his wildly-shifting arm to send me back-first into a wall. Luckily, I managed to recover before Mush, and dove into his trash form as he flailed around.
Yeah, the thought made me gag, too.
While punching the filthy little goblin was definitely entertaining for a bit, it only took around a minute for my arms to finally ache, not to mention the damage to the rest of my body from the shifting rubble. By then, though, it'd be a miracle if he wasn't unconscious, the debris that made up his outer body having fallen to the floor. Picking him up, I looked him over and saw that... yeah, this gremlin was definitely gonna need to head to E.R. before the PRT locked him up, and not just for the beating I'd given him. What flesh wasn't bruised was unhealthily pale, and his limbs were too thin to match his stomach. All in all, his appearance very much leaned towards the "grotesque" end of the scale.
...funny. It was a lot easier to look at him than it usually would have been at midnight.
I turned around and looked up to find the searchlight of a helicopter shining down on me - a helicopter with "PRT" painted on the side. "...well, shit."
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♦ Topic: New Cape Wrecks Mush
In: Boards ► Main ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay
Acedia (Original Poster) (Verified PRT Agent)
Posted On Nov 28th 2010:
So, I've been cleared by the higher-ups to release a bit of footage from the fight preceding Mush's arrest. You'll find the video [HERE]. From what we can tell, the cape that jumped him is the same one caught assaulting a pair of Merchant dealers yesterday - some kind of Case 53 would be my guess. From the footage we managed to take, they're definitely getting a Blaster 4, maybe 5 rating, and that gas they spewed into Mush might have a Master effect as well. We're gonna be on the lookout for them, so as always report anything you come across ASAP.
BewareOfDog: I'm guessing you've already heard the news on Mush. They're onto you. Come to the manhole at Florence and Southern. We've got business to discuss - urgent business.
BluePlumeria: How do you know that I was the one who took the bastard down? And how do I know that I can trust you, anyways?
BewareOfDog: Does the name "Randall O'Brien" ring a bell?
BluePlumeria: ...consider it done. Tomorrow night?
BewareOfDog: See you then. Try not to flip out at any druggies you pass on the way.
BluePlumeria: Wasn't planning on it.
BluePlumeria: ...you sure this PM isn't being watched?
BewareOfDog: I've already taken care of that. Tinker bullshit - that is all.
BluePlumeria: Roger.
Going down another alleyway, I barely dodged a massive fist of trash that splashed against the wall beside me, splattering it with rotten fruit. Once the alley got wide enough, I took a running start before jumping onto one of the walls, scrambling onto the rooftops before Mush had a chance to pulverize me with a dumpster's worth of trash. Once I was on the building's roof, I took a moment to prepare a blast of acid before the garbage giant's hand grabbed at the roof's edge - a hand I didn't hesitate in partially melting before skittering back and getting ready for the bastard to get up. Sure enough, a mountain of garbage leapt into the night air and onto the rooftop, the acid attack having thinned it out slightly. Mush sidestepped the first blast that I sent his way, moving in to crush me with his trash form - before a well-placed puff of flame set a piece of cardboard near the body's center alike, forcing the Merchant cape to shift away and rearrange his body, giving me a chance to leap to his side, blasting pinkish gas through the rubble and sending Mush to the floor, where he desperately tried to ignore the full-body pain my pheromones were forcing onto him.
It didn't take as long as I thought it would for him to completely shake it off, as evident by my failing to dodge a punch that sent me rocketing into a rooftop three buildings down. As I groaned from the impact and pushed myself up, I saw a shadow overhead and rushed to move out of the way before the cape crashed into the building feet-first. The sheer impact, coupled with the weight of his trash form, made the rooftop collapse, the Merchant flailing in surprise as he fell into the - thankfully empty - top floor. Taking the opportunity his panic gave me, I leapt in after him and sprayed fire down at the Merchant, this time too powerful for him to shrug off by shifting his form. For a second, his scream of pain left my "ears" ringing, and it distracted me enough for his wildly-shifting arm to send me back-first into a wall. Luckily, I managed to recover before Mush, and dove into his trash form as he flailed around.
Yeah, the thought made me gag, too.
While punching the filthy little goblin was definitely entertaining for a bit, it only took around a minute for my arms to finally ache, not to mention the damage to the rest of my body from the shifting rubble. By then, though, it'd be a miracle if he wasn't unconscious, the debris that made up his outer body having fallen to the floor. Picking him up, I looked him over and saw that... yeah, this gremlin was definitely gonna need to head to E.R. before the PRT locked him up, and not just for the beating I'd given him. What flesh wasn't bruised was unhealthily pale, and his limbs were too thin to match his stomach. All in all, his appearance very much leaned towards the "grotesque" end of the scale.
...funny. It was a lot easier to look at him than it usually would have been at midnight.
I turned around and looked up to find the searchlight of a helicopter shining down on me - a helicopter with "PRT" painted on the side. "...well, shit."
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
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♦ Topic: New Cape Wrecks Mush
In: Boards ► Main ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay
Acedia (Original Poster) (Verified PRT Agent)
Posted On Nov 28th 2010:
So, I've been cleared by the higher-ups to release a bit of footage from the fight preceding Mush's arrest. You'll find the video [HERE]. From what we can tell, the cape that jumped him is the same one caught assaulting a pair of Merchant dealers yesterday - some kind of Case 53 would be my guess. From the footage we managed to take, they're definitely getting a Blaster 4, maybe 5 rating, and that gas they spewed into Mush might have a Master effect as well. We're gonna be on the lookout for them, so as always report anything you come across ASAP.
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...well, looks like my plan to dodge the public eye was out at this point. Taking a bite from the reheated pizza from yesterday, I scrolled down the responses - either minor shock, a bit of outrage, or... well, I was going to make a point of avoiding SpecificProtagonist, for sure. That wasn't too important, though - now, I'd have to take extra precautions to avoid both the PRT and the other gangs' attention before I started taking them apart.
However, before I could think that part out, I saw a private message appear on the site's toolbar.
♦ Private message from BewareOfDog:
However, before I could think that part out, I saw a private message appear on the site's toolbar.
♦ Private message from BewareOfDog:
BewareOfDog: I'm guessing you've already heard the news on Mush. They're onto you. Come to the manhole at Florence and Southern. We've got business to discuss - urgent business.
BluePlumeria: How do you know that I was the one who took the bastard down? And how do I know that I can trust you, anyways?
BewareOfDog: Does the name "Randall O'Brien" ring a bell?
BluePlumeria: ...consider it done. Tomorrow night?
BewareOfDog: See you then. Try not to flip out at any druggies you pass on the way.
BluePlumeria: Wasn't planning on it.
BluePlumeria: ...you sure this PM isn't being watched?
BewareOfDog: I've already taken care of that. Tinker bullshit - that is all.
BluePlumeria: Roger.
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
AN: And so Miasma nets her first cape takedown, and the second client makes their debut. Stay tuned for tomorrow's post.
Not too sure about this post, to be honest, so criticism is welcome.
Not too sure about this post, to be honest, so criticism is welcome.
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Post Schedule
- Location
- Lousiville, KY
Alright, I've gotten my schedule in order, I think. Expect a post this Saturday and every weekend after that, barring other interruptions.
1.x - Empathon & Randall Interlude
- Location
- Lousiville, KY
Back in Normal Earth, I didn't have to worry much about gangs - my neighborhood was almost crime-free, and the police force had the budget to set up surveillance nearly everywhere. I would have balked at the thought of getting chased by even one normal gangster.
Now, I was facing off against a superpowered, cloning, teleporting, completely psychotic gangster, and the fear I wasn't feeling was starting to get to me.
My now-robotic body split and separated in time to dodge another precise stab from the cape - Oni Lee, apparently - only for said cape to dissolve into white ash a moment later. I only had a moment to realize what he'd done before the frag grenade behind me went off, scattering my body segments for a couple seconds - more than enough for Lee to close the distance and kick my armored head into a nearby dumpster.
God, was I happy my head was covered in metal and not attached to anything. A jolt like that would've hurt like a bitch otherwise. As I thanked O'Brien for said mercy, my body reassembled itself, the Lee that had kicked me dissolving as one of my legs went through it. Whirling around, I blocked another stab from the cape, driving a fist into his side and backing away as he stumbled from the magnetically-enhanced punch. While he was recovering, I noted that he still had knives he wasn't using tucked away in his belt - a pair of sais, apparently.
Yoink.
Oni Lee looked down in surprise, then growled at the theft of his backup knives before my head was knocked three feet away from my body by an elbow to the back of the head - a move that the cape regretted instantly, courtesy of my head rebounding into his funny bone. I took the opportunity to drive the sais into the lip of a building's roof, letting my body's magnetism pull me up - and directly into a finger-stomp that failed to loosen my grip on the weapons. Of course, it did make it harder to get on top of the building properly - I had to improvise by pulling myself towards the ventilation unit near the roof's center, taking my new sais with me.
...and a grenade, apparently. Shit.
My head came to a stop at Lee's feet, a dagger clutched in his right hand. Looking up at him through the sensors in the metal plate covering my face, I chuckled nervously. "...uh. Got me good, man, I... guess."
He didn't seem to appreciate the compliment, visibly contemplating whether to just drive that knife into my face and be done with it. Eventually, however, he spoke, his voice heavily accented. "...I've heard that you Westerners commonly request final words from your defeated opponents before you kill them. I'll entertain you, on this occasion."
I gulped under the faceplate, thinking for a moment on how to get myself out of this mess - before I felt my magnetic relay activate once more. "...erm. Mind the fist?" I could've sworn that his eyes went wide under his mask for a second, before -
BONK.
...I wasn't sure how many swear words Japanese had, but I figured he was about a quarter of the way through. Quickly reassembling myself, I sprinted away from the ABB cape clutching at his groin, shouting back a hastened "Sorry!" before falling off the edge of the rooftop. From there, I made my way through the city by flinging myself from one metallic object to the next - like some kind of albino, robotic Tarzan, if that analogy even worked at this point. I groaned as I saw the camera flashes from below, but there wasn't much I could do to stop them that wouldn't get me in deeper shit than I was sinking into already. Soon enough, I found the manhole I was looking for - it was in an alley, tucked between a totally-isn't-a-drug-den-front shitty hotel and a run-down pawn shop. I gently lifted the manhole and dropped into the sewer system... where I was met with the blue gaze of an oddly attractive lizard-woman.
Well, that part hadn't fucked up, at least.
My faceplate retracted enough to show my attempt at a friendly grin. "So... just got back from crotch-chopping a sociopathic, teleporting Asian supremacist. How've you been holding up?"
Miasma stared at me for a moment, before sighing and covering her eyes with a hand...claw...thing. "This is gonna be a trend, isn't it?"
My smile faltered for a moment in sympathy. "Oh, you have no idea."
Now, I was facing off against a superpowered, cloning, teleporting, completely psychotic gangster, and the fear I wasn't feeling was starting to get to me.
My now-robotic body split and separated in time to dodge another precise stab from the cape - Oni Lee, apparently - only for said cape to dissolve into white ash a moment later. I only had a moment to realize what he'd done before the frag grenade behind me went off, scattering my body segments for a couple seconds - more than enough for Lee to close the distance and kick my armored head into a nearby dumpster.
God, was I happy my head was covered in metal and not attached to anything. A jolt like that would've hurt like a bitch otherwise. As I thanked O'Brien for said mercy, my body reassembled itself, the Lee that had kicked me dissolving as one of my legs went through it. Whirling around, I blocked another stab from the cape, driving a fist into his side and backing away as he stumbled from the magnetically-enhanced punch. While he was recovering, I noted that he still had knives he wasn't using tucked away in his belt - a pair of sais, apparently.
Yoink.
Oni Lee looked down in surprise, then growled at the theft of his backup knives before my head was knocked three feet away from my body by an elbow to the back of the head - a move that the cape regretted instantly, courtesy of my head rebounding into his funny bone. I took the opportunity to drive the sais into the lip of a building's roof, letting my body's magnetism pull me up - and directly into a finger-stomp that failed to loosen my grip on the weapons. Of course, it did make it harder to get on top of the building properly - I had to improvise by pulling myself towards the ventilation unit near the roof's center, taking my new sais with me.
...and a grenade, apparently. Shit.
My head came to a stop at Lee's feet, a dagger clutched in his right hand. Looking up at him through the sensors in the metal plate covering my face, I chuckled nervously. "...uh. Got me good, man, I... guess."
He didn't seem to appreciate the compliment, visibly contemplating whether to just drive that knife into my face and be done with it. Eventually, however, he spoke, his voice heavily accented. "...I've heard that you Westerners commonly request final words from your defeated opponents before you kill them. I'll entertain you, on this occasion."
I gulped under the faceplate, thinking for a moment on how to get myself out of this mess - before I felt my magnetic relay activate once more. "...erm. Mind the fist?" I could've sworn that his eyes went wide under his mask for a second, before -
BONK.
...I wasn't sure how many swear words Japanese had, but I figured he was about a quarter of the way through. Quickly reassembling myself, I sprinted away from the ABB cape clutching at his groin, shouting back a hastened "Sorry!" before falling off the edge of the rooftop. From there, I made my way through the city by flinging myself from one metallic object to the next - like some kind of albino, robotic Tarzan, if that analogy even worked at this point. I groaned as I saw the camera flashes from below, but there wasn't much I could do to stop them that wouldn't get me in deeper shit than I was sinking into already. Soon enough, I found the manhole I was looking for - it was in an alley, tucked between a totally-isn't-a-drug-den-front shitty hotel and a run-down pawn shop. I gently lifted the manhole and dropped into the sewer system... where I was met with the blue gaze of an oddly attractive lizard-woman.
Well, that part hadn't fucked up, at least.
My faceplate retracted enough to show my attempt at a friendly grin. "So... just got back from crotch-chopping a sociopathic, teleporting Asian supremacist. How've you been holding up?"
Miasma stared at me for a moment, before sighing and covering her eyes with a hand...claw...thing. "This is gonna be a trend, isn't it?"
My smile faltered for a moment in sympathy. "Oh, you have no idea."
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
In another world, Randall O'Brien plucked his desk phone from its holder, bringing it to his ear as he put his signature on yet another meaningless form. "This is the O'Brien Self-Management Center, how can I help you today?"
"Hey, Randy, you're actually there for once! Long time no see, how's it going?"
O'Brien suddenly grimaced as he recognized the voice on the other end. "Alright, what the hell do you want, Josh? I'm in the middle of filing - "
"Yeah, yeah, you've got all that office crap, I get it. Listen, though - I've noticed that, well... those clients you're sending to Earth Bet? They're just not up to snuff quite yet. Figured I'd, y'know, help you out a little."
Randall was silent for a second. "...you're serious about this."
"Why wouldn't I be? Look, I've got it sorted out and everything - I've got, like, nine guys ready for transport. Just give me the okay signal."
O'Brien sighed at that. "Fine, send them in, I guess." He was quiet for a second, before asking, "who the hell are they, anyways?"
"Nothing much, really. Just a mercenary group I picked up in Earth Kaf's New Mexico. Shouldn't be much trouble."
It only took two seconds for Randall to realize who he was talking about."...oh, God damn it, Josh."
"Hey, Randy, you're actually there for once! Long time no see, how's it going?"
O'Brien suddenly grimaced as he recognized the voice on the other end. "Alright, what the hell do you want, Josh? I'm in the middle of filing - "
"Yeah, yeah, you've got all that office crap, I get it. Listen, though - I've noticed that, well... those clients you're sending to Earth Bet? They're just not up to snuff quite yet. Figured I'd, y'know, help you out a little."
Randall was silent for a second. "...you're serious about this."
"Why wouldn't I be? Look, I've got it sorted out and everything - I've got, like, nine guys ready for transport. Just give me the okay signal."
O'Brien sighed at that. "Fine, send them in, I guess." He was quiet for a second, before asking, "who the hell are they, anyways?"
"Nothing much, really. Just a mercenary group I picked up in Earth Kaf's New Mexico. Shouldn't be much trouble."
It only took two seconds for Randall to realize who he was talking about."...oh, God damn it, Josh."
I'm (Somewhat) Helping!
AN: Been a while, yeah? Sorry about the wait - writer's block's been a bitch lately. The posting schedule should take effect after this, though, so stay tuned for that.
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