Stranger: I can't believe I let you talk me into this. Come on, man, I already have enough stories as it is.
SkyRig: Oh, don't be a baby. It's just one more story.
Stranger: Yeah, but that's how it always starts! "Oh, it's just one more story, it won't hurt!" But that thought keeps popping up, again and again, whenever someone gets a new idea! Only this time half of this is your fault!
SkyRig: Hey, I'm not the one who dropped into the rabbit hole that is JoJo.
Stranger: Just do the disclaimer, you douche.
SkyRig: Fine, fine. Neither of us owns JoJo nor Worm. Both series belong to Araki and wildbow respectively. Any relations to characters and events from real world history are purely coincidental.
Stranger: Now, on with the show!
July 20
th, 1939
The air was hot, not helped by the time of year. Summer was in full swing and the rainforests of Mexico were unforgiving. The sun bore down on them in all its angry glory.
Dario Brando, age fifty-two, wiped the sweat from his brow. His clothes were sticking to his skin, causing no small amount of discomfort. He had been here two weeks and they still made no progress. No matter how much they dug, no matter how far they went, all they found were sand, dust and empty chambers.
"I'm so tired," the man next to him said. His face was red. "How long have we been at this now?"
"Couple of hours," Dario answered. "My back is killing me."
The team arrived barely even a month ago, tasked with uncovering ruins and bringing back any artifacts and priceless treasures found within by the British Museum of Antiquity and Ancient History. The pay was good, and for every artifact found in good condition, they would get a sizable bonus. The only downside was that they could not damage the ruins too much.
Dario felt they made little progress, having broken into three chambers in the time they were here. Worst was that all the chambers they broke into were empty.
"How big do you suppose this place is?" the man asked. "Feels like we've barely scratched the surface."
Dario scoffed. "Hell if I know. I just want this fuckin' job to be done and over with. My granddaughter's waitin' for me to come home, and her birthday's around the corner."
"Oh, right. What's her name again? Maria? How old is she turning?"
"Oi, you lot!" Dario and the man winced when they heard the archeologist in charge of the exploration shout at them. "Hurry up and get moving! We're movin' on!"
Dario grunted as he pulled himself off the stone pillar he was sitting on earlier. He followed the archeologist and the rest of the excavation team. They set off once more, delving deeper into the ruins.
Pickaxes swung through the air repeatedly, smashing and breaking into walls and stone doors. Dario grunted each time he swung his pickaxe, muscles bulging and sweat pouring down his skin. He wanted this job to be finished so he could return home. He would rather be reclining on a chair, sitting in the living room with a book on his lab while watching his six-year-old granddaughter play with their dog.
He swung it down one final time. The cracks in the wall gave way and crumbled, leaving behind a sizable hole. "Finally," he muttered irritably and set his pickaxe down. Carefully, he stepped through the hole and into the chamber. Like all the others before it, it was empty and covered in a mix of vines and plant growth. Vines draped all across the walls and vegetation covered the floor. The only thing worthy of note was the mural on the wall at the far end of the chamber, depicting what looked like a man wearing a mask with a bow and arrow in his hands.
"Anything in there, Dario?!" someone called out from outside.
Dario spat on the floor. "Nothing, same as the rest of 'em! No gold, no coffin, no
nothin'!"
He stomped on the ground in anger, which proved to be a mistake. The ground gave way from underneath him, sending him falling into darkness. It was a short fall, but no less painful on his aging body. Landing flat on his back, Dario groaned and wheezed, struggling to get up.
"Bloody hell! Dario, are you alright?!"
"I—" he coughed. "I'm fine…" He pushed himself off the floor, stumbling back to his feet. He looked up at the ceiling, finding a newly made hole right where he once stood. The roof of the new chamber he was in was unusually high, compared to all the others. "What in the world…?" He furrowed his brow, noticing thick, stone-like tubes running all across the ceiling and the floor. The room was took dark to see properly, but Dario could faintly make out what looked like a pillar in the middle of the room. "Hey, someone get a light down here! I think I might've found us somethin'!"
A few minutes later, the excavation team entered the chamber, propelled by a line of rope. Lanterns were lit up to reveal the chamber in full. To the amazement of the team, they found that the room was
bizarre. Stone-like tubes encroached the entirety of the chamber, all leading and merging into a single pillar sitting in the middle. There were no entrances or exists, meaning there was no other way into the chamber except by digging into it.
Three things caught the attention of the excavation team. The first were the assortment of stone masks hanging from the walls of the room, each different and bearing an impression in the middle of the forehead. The second were the arrows stuck in the ground, surrounding the pillar. The last, and most important, was the humanoid figure within the stone.
Dario gasped when he saw it. It was no carving, he knew that much. It was too immaculate, too perfect. No, this was no stone portrait or mimicry of the human form. There was someone
inside the pillar. Frozen for hundreds of thousands of years.
"What is all this?" he asked breathlessly.
The archeologist next to him smirked. "History, Dario. Glorious history."
Deep within the Lacandon Jungle of Mexico lays an ancient temple, preserved by the annals of history and time and defended by the jungle's ferocious nature.
In the year 1939, a group of explorers, hired by the British Museum of Antiquity and Ancient History, were tasked with excavating artifacts and priceless treasures from these ancient ruins.
They did not find treasure, but something else. Something that would forever alter the course of history.
At the time, none could have imagined what this discovery meant. Not until the advent of the existence of parahumans…
Worm × JoJo's Bizarre Adventure:
ROLLING STONE
"Paint It Black" Arc
March 25th, 2011
Lieutenant David Cunningham looked at his wristwatch, watching the hands slowly tick away at time. His foot tapped impatiently as he glanced at the elevator. "Come on, come on…"
Ding
"Finally!"
The doors slid open. Stepping out of it was a man clad in blue-and-silver armor from head to toe. Most of his face was hidden behind a helm with a black visor, exposing only his mouth and thinly trimmed beard. Behind him was a woman wearing an army fatigue jacket over a green tank top and cargo jeans, a bandana bearing the American flag draped over her mouth.
"Sorry we're late," the woman with the bandanna apologized, stepping past her armored companion. "Apparently, Hookwolf and Cricket decided it was time for a rematch."
David grunted. He figured it was something along those lines, and at this point, he could not bring himself to care. Cape battles had become so ingrained in the city that the only real excitement was when the villains stayed in jail.
"So, what do you have?" the woman, Miss Militia, asked. "Any details you can give us about what happened?"
David nudged his head, becoming the two heroes to follow him. "Around 10 a.m. this morning, we got a call from the manager of the hotel saying that one of his guests was complaining about a disturbance," he explained as they walked down the hall. "The manager went to see what was going on and found the room locked. He knocked a couple of times to see if anyone was inside and heard some strange noises. Said it sounded like someone was in pain. He opened the door and found the vic strung up from the ceiling, beaten black and blue. Twenty minutes later, paramedics arrived and took him in. Guy's in a medical-induced coma and sporting more injuries than a wrestler."
Armsmaster hummed. "What do you know about the victim?"
"Married, forty something, has a twelve-year-old kid. He got fired from Medhall a while back, something about embezzling funds or something. There were some rumors going around he was abusing his wife or something. He was on vacation here with his family, but for some reason, he was the only one in the room."
The room in question, 307, was located at the end of the hall. David ushered them in. As was expected from the top floor where the penthouse was located, the room was luxurious and no doubt cost a lot of money to rent. Red velvet lined the walls, decorated with portraits of landscapes and abstract paintings. At the far back of the room was the veranda, separated by a glass entryway. It was incredibly spacious and had a second floor, accessible via a stairway on the right side. Below the stairway and second floor was the kitchen, which was teaming with investigators.
"We're looking for the wife and kid as we speak," David continued. "We found no signs of forced entry. The door has an automatic lock so only someone with the master key or with the ID card could have gotten inside. The manager always keeps the master key on his person on all times so it doesn't get stolen, and the ID card was inside the room when he went to check on the victim. It's possible someone could have rappelled themselves down from the roof or climbed up the building with some kind of equipment, but so far, we've found jack."
Miss Militia looked around the room, noticing the camera in the upper corner. "I didn't realize the Watts Hotel had cameras in the guest rooms."
"They didn't, but half a year ago, there was an incident involving some psycho who lived in the hotel. Sick bastard posed as a taxi man, picking up anyone going to the hotel and killing them mid-transit. He chopped up their bodies and placed them in suitcases." David grimaced as he remembered the specifics, stomach churning uncomfortably. "When the guy was finally got and we raided his room, we found severed limbs stuffed in the fridge. Toes and fingers were neatly cut and put in containers."
Armsmaster's stoic expression faltered for a moment. "How many victims?"
"Thirty, including children. Fucker was executed not long ago." David sighed and shook his head. "Anyway, after that shit show, the owner of the place decided to install cameras in every room, said he didn't want another incident like that to happen ever again."
"I assume you've gone over the footage?" Miss Militia asked. "You wouldn't have called us here if you didn't think there was parahuman involvement."
David nodded. "Yeah, we did. The perp entered the room, but they didn't use the veranda or the front door." He shouted at one of the officers on the upper floor. "Hey, Lawson! You got that thingamajig?"
"It's called a hard drive, sir," the officer corrected. He was a little young looking, freckles splashed over his cheeks and hair tied into a lion's tail. "And I have it right here. I double-checked the footage just to be safe."
Lawson handed the USB stick over to Armsmaster. The tinker took it and tapped a button on his gauntlet, causing a panel to open and reveal a port. He slid the USB stick into the port. Seconds later, his visor lit up and his HUD began playing the footage. To his chagrin, the footage did not have any audio, but he could make do with by analyzing body language and lip movements even if his lip reading was not very good.
It started off normally, showing the man who Armsmaster assumed was the victim interacting with a woman and a child around twelve years of age. The boy resembled the woman a great deal, sharing her red hair and deep green eyes. There were subtle cues in the body movements; the man expressed dominance and superiority, subtly threatening a woman who was afraid for herself and her child.
Abusive undertones, reactions suggest common occurrence, Armsmaster thought.
The woman has a slight limp in her left leg, and her hand rubs her left elbow several times within the span of two minutes. Emotional and physical abuse, maybe?
The footage continued and showed the woman and her child preparing for bed. The man was sitting on the sofa with a drink in his hand. Just as the mother and child went upstairs, the lights went out.
Armsmaster immediately paused the video. "The lights went out at 2:32 A.M. Was there a power outage at that time in the hotel?"
Lawson flipped through the pages on his clipboard. "Give me a sec… Yeah, there was. It says here the power on the twelfth and eleventh floors went out for about twenty minutes, then came back on. The cameras run on a separate power grid, so they weren't affected by the outage."
"That must have been when the perp entered the room," Miss Militia surmised before frowning. "But why was the victim discovered seven and a half hours later?"
Armsmaster shrugged and resumed the footage. As to be expected in an unusual situation, there was panic. The man pointed a finger at the woman and child, ordering them to stay put. He was going to the entryway when he was suddenly pulled into the kitchen by what appeared to be black tendrils coming out from the wall.
He paused the footage again and turned to Miss Militia. "Parahuman activity. Black tendril-like appendages sprouted from the wall."
David suddenly spoke up. "Now that you bring that up, there was something up with the way the vic was strung up."
Miss Militia looked at the detective. "How do you mean?"
"He was hanging from what looked like threads or wire, but they were weird. They were black, and they felt wet. They were tough to cut through too! We kept a sample in a plastic bag, protocol as usual when handling evidence, but the stuff suddenly dissipated into nothing."
"Do you still have the bag? There is a chance there may be some residue left inside."
"Yeah, sure. Hey, Lawson, go grab Harley for me, would ya?"
Armsmaster ignored them and went back to the footage. The man was screaming, confused and angered and struggled against his bonds. Once again to the hero's chagrin, the cameras placed throughout the room did not have every angle covered. A black clad individual who he assumed to be the parahuman stepped into frame, back turned and wearing a black heavy trench coat with a hood, leather pants and boots.
The victim went flying into a rage, screaming profanities and demanding to be released based on what Armsmaster could gather. The parahuman made no movements. It seemed as if they were simply staring at him before they turned to find the woman and child, having come to investigate what was going on and staring in shock and horror.
From there, things turned
interesting. The angle from the camera in the kitchen showed the woman going through a mix of emotions. First there was fear and apprehension as she looked at the parahuman and at her husband. Minutes later, there was hesitancy and uncertainty. Another minute and the woman took her child back upstairs. The parahuman turned their attention back to the man whose anger skyrocketed.
They're allowing them to leave, Armsmaster guessed based on what he could make out from the man's lip movement.
The husband is not happy. Threatens to hunt them down and kill them when he escapes. That suggests the husband was the target of the attack.
The mother and child came back into frame, the former carrying a suitcase of luggage and holding her child's hand, flying out of the room and out the door. With the woman and child gone, the man was left to the parahuman's mercy.
What happened next was unclear, but it was yet more evidence of the parahuman's capabilities. The man began spitting blood, crying out in pain as he was suddenly assaulted by some invisible figure, battering his body at a rapid pace. For ten seconds the unseen wailing continued until the man's body went limp. His face was unrecognizable, nose bent at an angle, cheeks puffed, eyebrow swollen and lip busted. Based on the blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth, there was possible internal bleeding.
The tendrils shifted in shape, crawling up the ceiling and turning into strings that held the beaten man up. Having accomplished their work, the parahuman turned around to leave, revealing a white featureless mask under the hood.
When the parahuman left the frame, presumably having left the room the same way they came in, Armsmaster shut down the footage and removed the USB stick from his gauntlet. As he did so, Miss Militia returned. "What did you find out from the footage?"
"The husband was the target of the attack," he told her. "They allowed the wife and child to leave. Evidence suggests the rumors of him abusing his wife are true. The woman was scared out of her mind. Her face was clearly shown in the footage, so we should be able to track her down easily with facial recognition. On a more minor note, I believe we should investigate the husband's relationship. Based on what I saw, there may be truth to the rumors of his abuse."
Miss Militia nodded. "In that case, I'll handle the husband. I'll talk with Brandish and see if she would be willing to have Panacea come by and wake him up."
With everything said and done, patrol ended quickly. As usual, Armsmaster returned to Protectorate HQ with minimal fanfare, occasionally greeting PRT troopers and Protectorate suits as he made his way back to his lab. It would take some time for Dragon to find the wife and child, and Miss Militia was in the middle of talks with Carol Dallon. This left him time to work on the current project sitting in his workshop. If all went well, he could get it approved for field-testing.
He entered the hallway where his lab was located and stopped a moment to greet the recent addition to the Brockton Bay Wards. "Grace."
"A-Armsmaster, sir!" The white-clad Ward snapped into a salute.
Katherine Oldershaw, AKA Grace, was a member of the Chicago Wards. She joined only a year ago, but within that time, she became a valued member. She was here in Brockton Bay alongside a fellow Chicago Ward, Wanton, as part of a training program for the two to gain more combat experience. From a tactical standpoint, it made sense. Brockton Bay's skewed ratio of normal-to-parahuman conflicts was way above acceptable parameters, with cape fights occurring on an almost daily basis.
Another reason why the two were sent to Brockton Bay was due to a villain from Chicago being sighted in Brockton Bay. It only took them two weeks to apprehend them, but it seemed that the Director of the Chicago Protectorate branch believed Grace and Wanton could use the work experience, hence the training program.
Director Piggot was certainly not complaining. The extra help was more than welcome, and in his opinion, having more heroes in the city improved morale on both sides. In spite of the short time they have been in Brockton Bay, they already made fast friends with their fellow Wards here in Brockton Bay. Grace in particular seemed to have found camaraderie with Vista, which was beneficial for the latter. It also helped that Grace treated Vista in a way the younger girl craved. Wanton, on the other hand, was seemingly content with lounging in the background, though Assault mentioned he found the robed Ward conversing with Kid Win and Clockblocker on occasion.
"At ease," Armsmaster told the girl. "Have you finished your patrol?"
"Yes, there wasn't much trouble on our end," Grace replied before frowning. "That said… I have to ask, but has Shadow Stalker always been so...?"
"Difficult?" He felt the corner of his lips tug upward. This was hardly the first time someone complained about the girl. "Shadow Stalker does have trouble working with others. I trust she did not act too badly?"
She shook her head. "No, but she certainly wasn't one for conversation. She also has the worst potty mouth I've ever heard."
"You'll find that plenty of people tend to swear like a sailor here," Armsmaster shrugged. "For what it is worth, Shadow Stalker
is competent, if a little overzealous. It may be difficult at first, but once you get to know her, you find ways of dealing with her."
"With all due respect, sir, I don't think we'll ever get along."
I'm all too aware of that, Armsmaster thought to himself.
Shadow Stalker's behavior certainly did not endear her to the older capes within the PRT, much less the Wards. Director Piggot herself did not care much for her, considering her a potential risk. Her recruitment was sung like some kind of gold-star redemption story, though in truth it was anything but. Although she complied with her orders, she never did so without making some sort of complaint. Her relationship with the other Wards was rough, for lack of a better word.
"Be that as it may, she is still a member of the team," he reminded Grace. "The best you can do is to grin and bear with it. That said, if she
does do anything that may cause some concern, be sure to report it to myself or Miss Militia."
"Of course, sir!"
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
He bid the Chicago Ward farewell and entered his lab. The door slid shut behind him while the room lit up, revealing his workshop in its entirety. Countless pieces of machinery, failed projects and gadgets awaiting approval scattered about in organized piles. Resting on top of a raised table was his halberd,disassembled with its insides exposed.
Armsmaster removed his helmet, but kept his armor on. While he was technically off the clock so to speak, there was a chance he would have to deploy back out into the field. It was more efficient to keep his armor on in case of such an event.
He grabbed his tools and immediately went to work, though not before he punched in some keys on his command console.
I see a red door
And I want it painted black
No colors anymore
I want them to turn black
"God dammit, Ethan…"
Every now and then, Assault got it into his head that Armsmaster should 'loosen up' once in a while. With such thoughts in mind, the red-clad villain-turned-hero occasionally snuck into his lab and played around with his computer. On the one hand, Armsmaster did appreciate listening to music once in a while as he worked. Studies showed that listening to music did have a psychological boost in morale and helped the individual focus. On the other hand, some of Assault's choices left much to be desired.
Before the tinker could remove the damn song from his console, one of the monitors nearby lit up. "I never knew you were a Rolling Stones fan," Dragon commented with a cheery smile.
"I'm not," he grumbled irritably. "I'm more of a Dylans' fan. Ethan's taste in music is awful."
"I wouldn't go that far," Dragon said. "Everyone has different likes and dislikes. The Rolling Stones are one of the few bands from the 1960s that are still incredibly popular."
He really did have to ask why she knew such trivial facts one of these days. Armsmaster stopped the song and went to work. Soon, sounds of sparks and cutting filled the workshop. As he worked, he and Dragon began to converse.
"I ran a background check on the victim of the Watts Hotel case you're on. His name is Floyd Raymond, a long-time office worker with Medhal pharmaceuticals before he was fired for embezzlement. The strange thing about him was that he had an otherwise spotless record."
"People change over time. Maybe Raymond got greedy?"
"It's possible, but I doubt that. The wife's name is August Casey. Straight A student from when she was in high school, high scores all around in college, even took a history class about Aztec culture. She married Floyd in 99, around the same time she gave birth to her daughter, Audrey. From everything else I'm reading they seem like the picture-perfect couple."
Armsmaster tilted the halberd to its side, carefully angling the edge of the blade so it was propped up against the surface of the table. The halberd's shaft opened up, revealing the circuits, wires, and modulars inside.
"I take it there's a
but somewhere in there."
"Around a year ago, sometime after he was fired from his job, August was admitted to Brockton General Hospital after suffering a major head injury. Floyd claimed she fell down the stairs and hit her head on the way down, but looking at the x-rays, the shape and size of the indenture in her skull resembles something made by a golf club. Floyd has a Gold Membership card for the Wyman Gentleman's Golf Club."
Armsmaster hummed thoughtfully. "If he turned abusive right after he was discovered for his embezzlement, and he sent his wife to the hospital… Is it possible she was the one who reported the embezzlement?"
"That is what I believe," Dragon nodded. She was about to continue when she suddenly stopped. "Oh, that's the alert I prepped. I found August and Audrey. It seems they're in the Commercial District. Address is 7391 Cobbler Avenue."
"A roach motel," Armsmaster scoffed. He briefly moved away from the table and went back to his console, contacting Miss Militia. "Miss Militia, we've found the wife and daughter. They're in a roach motel in the Commercial District. Address is Cobbler Avenue, 7391."
"I know which one you're talking about," his colleague said. "I'll head over right away."
"Any word on the husband?"
"I was able to get in contact with Brandish. She agreed to have Panacea have a look at him. I told her to wait until you were finished on your end."
He smiled in appreciation for her foresight. "Thank you, I'm on my way now."
When Armsmaster arrived at Brockton General Hospital, he found it in a state of disarray. Patients on stretches carried to and from rooms, some in medical garbs and others in street clothes. The battle against Hookwolf and Cricket came to his mind, but he dismissed the possibility almost immediately. The battle involved next to no civilians, and any that were present were smart enough to stay the hell away. By the look of it, their injuries stemmed from accidents.
If it isn't cape violence, it's the city itself causing problems, he thought wearily. He walked over to the nurse's station while his eyes roamed the reception room. Even in a safe place such as this, he felt a need to keep vigilant.
"Excuse me," he said to the nurse behind the counter. "I'm looking for Floyd Raymond's room."
The nurse ("Maria" her nametag read) typed away at her computer without looking up. "One moment," she said. A few keystrokes later and she looked back up. "Room 201, second floor, east wing. Brandish and Panacea are waiting for you."
"Thank you," he said as he bowed his head.
After a few wrong turns and asking for directions, Armsmaster finally arrived at the victim's room. He made sure he had the right one by looking at the nameplate and the nametag before knocking. "It's Armsmaster."
"Come in," he heard a woman say from the other side.
Armsmaster opened the door and stepped inside. Floyd Raymond lay in his bed, bandages wrapped around his face and all across his chest, an oxygen mask strapped over his mouth. He found Panacea sitting at his bed side, reading a book while her mother loomed over like some kind of hawk.
"Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule," he began as he shook hands with the New Wave hero. "I apologize for any inconvenience."
Brandish shook her head. "It's fine. Miss Militia already informed me of the situation. This man was the target of a parahuman crime?"
"Yes, though we currently have no leads on the parahuman in question. So far, all we have is speculation, and the only thing we know for certain is that they can create shadow-like tendrils that evaporate after nine-to-ten hours. I will send you the relevant files later, if you want."
"That would be greatly appreciated in case we run into your mystery cape," Brandish nodded before looking at Floyd's comatose form. "Will this man be problematic? I understand that he is potentially engaging in abusive behavior against his wife."
"There's evidence to support those rumors, but for now, I'm curious as to why he was attacked. Is it possible for Panacea to wake him?"
The aforementioned healer, who up to this point was silent, finally spoke. "It shouldn't be too difficult," she said while bookmarking her page. She set the book down on the table next to her and stood up. "The medical stuff already told me what I'm looking for. A couple of bust ribs, partial caved-in skull, hairline fractures, and at least six different broken bones. I can purge the drugs in his system and heal him back up, but going by what I've been hearing about him so far, I don't think he will be in a good mood."
Armsmaster considered that point as well. From what little he saw of Floyd Raymond's character from the security footage, the man was terribly unpleasant. On the other hand, his tone would change if he was in the presence of two well-known heroes, one being a lawyer.
"I believe I shall manage," he said after a moment of thought. "If anything, I believe he will be in a mood to cooperate with Brandish around."
Carol nodded in agreement and looked at her daughter. "Do it."
Panacea gently removed the oxygen mask from Floyd's face before placing a hand on his arm. It was times like this the tinker wished he knew what was happening inside a person's body when Panacea began healing them. Panacea's power was one of the few in the world capable of healing on top of being incredibly potent. Even if the person she was healing was missing a limb, a portion of their brain, or even organs, she could heal them back to tip-top shape. She earned her name and then some.
It only took a few seconds before Floyd began stirring. His eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly and adjusting to the light before he took notice of Armsmaster and Brandish.
"W-what? What the fuck? What's—" He shook his head. "Where the hell am I?"
"You are currently in Brockton General Hospital," Brandish said evenly in spite of the impressive glare she directed at him. "You were in a medically induced coma until my daughter healed you. I believe we do not need an introduction?"
Floyd gulped, realizing whom he was dealing with. "W-what can I do for you?"
"At 10:06 a.m., you were discovered by the Watts Hotel manager, beaten and rendered unconscious." Armsmaster went straight to the point, recounting information he considered relevant. "Upon being treated, you were placed in a medically induced coma. Had Panacea not treated you, you would likely be spending several weeks, if not months, in the doctors' care. That is irrelevant, however. The reason I am here is to ask you about what led to you being assaulted."
Floyd turned flabberghasted. "I was—what? Why the hell was I found hours after that bitch beat the shit out of me?!"
At least his memory is intact, Armsmater noted idly before pausing. "Your attacker was female?"
"I think so," the man grunted. "I couldn't tell what they looked like behind the mask and coat, but I definitely heard a woman's voice." He turned his head to the side, scowling in anger and muttering under his breath. Armsmaster's helmet heard every word. The man was definitely not happy if his "colorful" vocabulary was any indication.
"We checked the security footage in your room," Armsmaster continued. "And when police searched it, they found no signs of forced entry. Do you know how your attacker managed to get inside your room?"
"Power bullshit, that's how. She just came crawling out of the shadows!"
The Protectorate hero leaned in. "Please elaborate."
"I was going inside the kitchen to see if I could call the manager and ask if there was a power outage. Second I get inside, these black tentacles suddenly sprout from out of the wall and dangle me in the air. Next thing I know, the freak comes walking out from the corner! I know for a fact she wasn't hiding there! It was like she just showed up out of nowhere!"
Breaker, possible mover as well, he thought.
Her power must be similar to Shadow Stalker's then. This would explain the blackout and how she entered and left the hotel room without being seen. She turned off the power on the upper floors and turned into a shadow to sneak inside the room, then left the same way she came in.
"Mr. Raymond," Brandish said. "Do you have any idea why you were attacked by this unknown parahuman?"
Floyd scoffed. "Hell if I know. The bitch didn't tell me a thing."
Armsmaster's HUD flashed red. "You're lying."
The man balked. "W-what?"
"My helmet is outfitted with a lie detector. Just now, when you said you have no idea why you were attacked, you lied. Why?"
"I—that's—" Floyd's face turned red. "Look, does it matter?! Isn't it your job to find this bitch and cart her ass off to jail or wherever it is you freaks belong?!"
Brandish's face turned stony. "Does this have anything to do with your wife?"
"What?"
"We know you've been abusing your wife," Armsmaster said. "We also suspect it was she who reported your embezzlement."
"Where the fuck do you—"
Armsmaster stepped forward. Floyd clammed up when he saw the armored hero standing over him. "Mr. Raymond," Armsmaster said coldly. "It would be in your best interest to explain why you were targeted by this unknown parahuman. If you have yet to realize, you are not in a very good position." He leaned down and looked Floyd in the eye. "Now, please… Start from the beginning. Before this gets
ugly."
Floyd gulped, earlier anger and bravado forgotten. Internally, Armsmaster smiled to himself. Possible PR backlash aside, intimidation really did go a long way. He was sure to catch hell from his boss if she learned about it, though. A problem for another time.
"Hnrgh… F-fine, fine. I'm not sure if it's actually the reason why the bitch attacked me, but a little while ago, a buddy of mine came to me with a business deal. Said he could score me a job that paid well. All I had to do was deliver stuff for him on occasion."
Brandish narrowed her eyes. "Narcotics?"
"I got no idea. When the shadow bitch showed up, all she said was, 'Stop what you're doing, or you can expect another visit from me'."
"Then you have no idea what sort of packages were asked to deliver?"
"Didn't ask. Thought it was better if I didn't know."
Armsmaster looked at Brandish. An unspoken conversation occurred between them and they nodded, the former taking his leave. He stopped just outside the door when he heard Brandish begin her own interrogation. He did not pity Floyd in the slightest, not when he was scum. He was no gang banger or villainous cape looking to dominate the city, but he was part of the rot infesting Brockton Bay.
It felt good dealing with problems that often went unnoticed, even if they didn't earn him as much prestige as he would busting criminals.
In the meantime, he had leads to pursue. If this unknown parahuman targeted Floyd for his deliveries, then the first place to start looking into them would be finding out what it was inside the packages Floyd delivered.
Armsmaster tapped the button on the side of his helm, opening up communications between him and his colleague. "Miss Militia, this is Armsmaster. I've spoken with Floyd Raymond."
"What did you find out?"
"First off, our mystery cape is female with powers similar to Shadow Stalker. For the moment, I'm classifying her as a mover/breaker. Floyd believes she attacked him for possible drug trafficking. After his termination from Medhall, a friend of his offered to hook him up with a new job in exchange for delivering parcels. Floyd has no idea what was inside the packages."
"Are you sure its drugs?"
"It is a possibility, but there's also a chance it could be something else. Did you find August Raymond and her daughter?"
"I did. She was the whistleblower."
"Did she have any idea why our mystery cape let her go?"
"Apparently, she told August that half of her husband's assets were transferred to her bank account. She was also given a plane ticket for Hawaii, which is scheduled to take off two hours from now. From the sounds of it, our mystery cape is a vigilante."
Armsmaster grimaced. "My favorite kind of cape… Perfect."
He could already tell this was going to be troublesome…
Stranger: …god that was painful.
SkyRig: What was? Writing this with me?
Stranger: No, looking after my roommie. Let me tell you, watching someone suffer from covid is painful for a lot of reasons, especially if its someone you know. She's getting better, thankfully.
SkyRig: Well, that's good at least. Anyway, before people start raising questions, Armsmaster isn't the protagonist.
Stranger: God, no. No offense to discount Iron Man, but he would make a boring protagonist. He's simply one of the POV characters we have in mind for the opening arc. The next chapter will focus on Taylor. By the way, you're turn, Sky.
SkyRig: Suh-weeeeet~
