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[Worm x AST] GUN CONTROL

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A story of a young boy who made a terrible mistake with his friends.
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Prologue
  • Threadmarks
    • Birdsie

    Birdsie

    Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
    Location
    Poland
    Gun Control
    - o -    ​

    It started with a stupid joke, a throwaway sentence during lunch at the cafeteria - let's become superheroes and clean up the neighborhood, one ugly mug at a time.

    There were a few concerns about the entire idea; a couple of pointed remarks about how rookie capes don't have the most favorable turnover rate. It was irrational. It was a waste of time. It was dangerous. And they'd probably not accomplish much except make themselves into a laughingstock and incur a lot of hospital bills.

    Alas, for boys ages between fourteen and fifteen, such concerns were often minor footnotes at best. And most of them were eager and excited to try out the idea, gain fame, be cool. Only a rational few were actually, truly hesitant.

    Arguments of scathing emotion and doubtful logic were deployed to convince those not yet certain: it was common knowledge in online journals and daily discourse alike that a parahuman often developed powers from simple excellence, such as a marathon runner developing super-speed or an archer developing superhumanly keen eyesight and blaster powers. It'd only make sense that, going out as superheroes at night, they'd have far better odds of growing into the roles eventually. And if not, at least they'd help people feel safe, and work on themselves to become stronger - it was a win-win scenario. Maybe the logic was flawed, but when this was called out, the doubters were called cowards. And for boys so masculine - so insecure - that will not stand.

    A sad thing is that, ultimately, peer pressure will often win over logical self-preservation and common wisdom. And so, it was decided they'd give it a try. A group of seven new heroes would shine on the dark streets of Brockton Bay as nocturnal protectors.

    It was slow-going at first, and no wonder! No superpowers but an excess of stupidity, no meaningful contacts aside from one another, and precious few resources except for perhaps a deadly abundance of free time and utter boredom. A few jars of dollars that'd have probably been better saved up for college were instead spent on getting cloth, leather, sewing kits, and gadgets like disposable phones, slingshots, and in one case, a katana. A few conversations likely better spent socializing with their peers were instead used to figure out a team name and a solid theme.

    By the first week's end, most of it had been hashed out, most of the costumes crafted to a satisfactory standard, all of the equipment necessary acquired and prepared. Little had been done in the way of training or actual strategy, but who cares? They were going to be heroes. There was no reason to dawdle any further.

    In the second week, they started patrolling the neighborhood at night, and it was mostly uneventful. After all, if finding crime were so easy as walking down the street at night, surely there'd be much less crime as those responsible would be swiftly brought to justice by those like themselves.

    It was maybe the third or fourth week, more or less, when they received some kind of notice from the public. A few threads online, a remark at the end of the newspaper - a new team of unsanctioned vigilantes had been spotted walking around the Docks. Was it their intent to clean up the place? And what were their powers?

    Everyone in the group was stoked - it was exactly what they wanted; widespread fame, celebrity renown, and the precious, sweet nectar that is people paying attention. It was during the middle of the fifth week when they started getting increasingly bolder, patrolling more often and far more in the open, final doubts silenced as they became the self-proclaimed kings of the Docks. They didn't much care for the disbelief of the few men they encountered on the streets, and they even had a minor skirmish with a few ABB gangsters that ended up in both sides sporting bruises and open cuts at the end of the night and stumbling back home their separate ways. It was counted as a success anyway, because no one got badly hurt, they managed to hide it from their parents, and they'd stopped criminal activity.

    It was exactly the kind of thrills and fame they'd asked for. They didn't know that such treasures would eventually awaken a sleeping dragon.

    Fancy costumes mean absolutely nothing in the face of actual, burning fire.

    A cheap store-bought katana cannot easily pierce a dragon's scale.

    A diet of Bruce Lee movies won't help you not die to silver claws at the end of a superhuman fist.

    And just like that, six boys died to the blazing fires of Lung. And the seventh survived, maybe only by virtue of the Dragon of Kyushu slowly coming to realize none of his foes had been empowered, and there was no actual threat here to his operations, aside from a potential one to his reputation - his foes had turned out to be unutterably pathetic.

    To ensure no one made the same dumb mistake of challenging him on his turf ever again, he branded the last one to remind the people of Brockton Bay of this day.

    And then he left, half-roasted corpses strewn across the alleyway, with the last, crying victim being the only survivor.

    And on his face, there was a five-fingered burn scar, like a crooked star on the horizon, shooting ray bursts up, its center at the mouth; two lines of scar tissue moving up the left eye. Asymmetrical, ugly, almost causing the flesh to slough off, but not quite.

    It was sometime in the aftermath that Alexander Reeves, after getting checked over by paramedics, was questioned by a PRT agent who mentioned that sometimes people develop abilities from trauma. It was its own form of pointed probe: an attempt to find out if maybe Alexander was a parahuman. A few questions of his own later, Alexander bitterly realized that he'd failed to get superpowers and probably never would, no matter what else happened to him ever, in his life. His dream of being a hero was a farce and it'd remain one. And that realization was its own form of death, a nail in the coffin that let him join his friends.

    The newspapers mentioned the incident, 'Supervillain Attack - Six Dead, One Injured,' a few times and went silent on the matter, more occupied with the upcoming summer golf events. All of the threads on the internet correlated the sudden absence of patrols with the events of the evening, and Alexander was harrassed for a time, both online and in real life once the news spread to that point. Somewhere in the nebulous background of events, the Protectorate attempted to catch Lung several times in the following weeks and failed numerous times, almost managing on a few occasions but ultimately falling a couple of steps short; and then it gave up, more pressed with the Empire riots.

    And in the bitter end, there was no comeuppance for the villain. There was no justice for the crimes. There was no vengeance for the killed.

    As if his tragedy had never happened, life continued its cruel march - much worse: with therapy, concerned parents and families, a bunch of people accusing him of getting his friends killed, a bunch of other people showing half-hearted sympathy for his experience as if they knew what the fuck they were talking about - but it continued as usual.

    It was obscene how fast the rest of the world seemed to shrug its shoulders and move on. As if that horrible event had been a mere check in its ledger of terrible happenings, the world seemed to accept what had been for him a life-changing ordeal as a mere point in the parahuman routine. So what if Lung burned a few teenagers? It was to be expected from someone as territorial, and it was expected of adolescents to be so stupid. It was a terrible event, one not to ever be repeated if possible, sure, but unusual? Hardly. It'd be laughable to insist otherwise.

    He lived and moved on as well, but not quite as steadily as the world around him. He kept dwelling on it every single night afterward, every night of every week, and often during the day, like a punctual episode of terror and guilt.

    At some point, Alexander felt like giving up as well. He sought desperate meaning - his friends dying for the better good - but he knew deep down they'd actually died for nothing. They'd died for a couple of minutes of internet fame and the gratification of fighting bad guys in a world that had superheroes. For attention.

    As he sat in his room the night before school resumed, he thought, What can I do? Avenge you? I'm fucking stupid, that's what got me in this mess in the first place.

    "And yet... I can see that's not the end of it for you," said the man, who now stood in the corner of Alex's room, arms folded. Who'd always been standing there, somehow, all this time, but never acting directly before Alexander thought those words. "I can see a desire for more in you."

    He was something from beyond this world. A man in a suit of articulated plate armor of darkest gray, concealing his features and his face under a dark visor. His shoulders were clad in a capelet of red, gleaming with subtle effervescence like a mist of glowing blood rendered into swaying cloth. At one hip, there was a sheathed blade with a blade so sharp it almost hurt to even peer at; at the other, an old pistol, battle-scarred, with hundreds of notches cut into its side with a knife.

    "Who-"

    "I am the Gunman," he said, raising a hand to stop the shocked and confused boy. "Already, this world has moved on from what grieves you - because this world is terrible. Are you in the wrong, for refusing to move on? No, you aren't. Never dare to think otherwise. If the world and your vision refuse to align, then it is the world that must change, not you. And so, this world is terrible. If you accept my offer, you will be far more terrible still."

    He wasn't sure how to answer. He'd stood, long before the Gunman could get halfway into his explanation, but hadn't moved outside his room. And now, the man was mentioning some kind of offer. In spite of his self-preservation instinct, a part of Alexander felt a glimmer of curiosity at those words.

    "Your... offer?"

    "I am the Gunman, and much like my patron's patron's patron, my offer is that of a simple transaction. Accept a portion of my burdens, and join our ranks, and I shall forge you into a weapon of terrible cunning and endless might. It is my provenance - my duty - to craft men into weapons. Do you wish for vengeance? Good. So do I, against those who wronged me in their own ways. If you accept, I will make you into one that can successfully wage war on anything that you find to be intolerably opposed to your judgment, and to take vengeance on those responsible for your suffering. Until you either accept or refuse, I will not answer more questions."

    And what could he say to that?

    "I..."

    ---

    [ ] Vengeance - Could there be any other option?

    *Become a Soldier, a single member of the Gunman's peerless, cosmos-spanning army.
    *Although the duties of a Soldier are many, so are their powers. Receive, as basic improvements: a broad cornucopia of peak-human attributes, preternatural skill in combat and usage of weaponry on par with a veteran of a major armed conflict, a minor ability to progress further in various ways, a superpower or magical item well-suited to your nature and temperament - one of your choosing.
    *You aren't expected to carry any Curse or its fragments, but you are expected to act in accordance with the Gunman's dictates and to favor the Accursed's cause. However, accepting the fragments of a Curse may sway the Gunman to empower you further.
    *Take vengeance on those who wronged you.

    [ ] Refuse - The Gunman nods stoically, and departs. Maybe to never return.
    *Don't get any superpowers or duties.
    *Keep on living, vengeance put away in favor of stolid rationality.
    *Conventional wisdom dictates this.
    *So does your inner weakness.
    *However, different rewards hide on the horizon of refusing the call...

    ~~~​
    All credit for A Simple Transaction goes to @Rihaku; all credit for the Parahumans series goes to Wildbow, and I offer both of them a salute for creating such vibrant and fascinating settings to play around with.
    And, naturally, this property has nothing to do with any of their intellectual properties or creations, I don't own any of this shit, etc, etc. (It's just eager fanfiction, you guys, don't sue me.)​
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [ ] Vengeance - Could there be any other option?

    *Become a Soldier, a single member of the Gunman's peerless, cosmos-spanning army.
    *Although the duties of a Soldier are many, so are their powers. Receive, as basic improvements: a broad cornucopia of peak-human attributes, preternatural skill in combat and usage of weaponry on par with a veteran of a major armed conflict, a minor ability to progress further in various ways, a superpower or magical item well-suited to your nature and temperament - one of your choosing.
    *You aren't expected to carry any Curse or its fragments, but you are expected to act in accordance with the Gunman's dictates and to favor the Accursed's cause. However, accepting the fragments of a Curse may sway the Gunman to empower you further.
    *Take vengeance on those who wronged you.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Guaranteed powers
    Vs
    [ ] Refuse - The Gunman nods stoically, and departs. Maybe to never return.
    *Don't get any superpowers or duties.
    *Keep on living, vengeance put away in favor of stolid rationality.
    *Conventional wisdom dictates this.
    *So does your inner weakness.
    *However, different rewards hide on the horizon of refusing the call...
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    The unknown.

    My vote edit:
    [X] Vengeance - Could there be any other option?

    *Become a Soldier, a single member of the Gunman's peerless, cosmos-spanning army.
    *Although the duties of a Soldier are many, so are their powers. Receive, as basic improvements: a broad cornucopia of peak-human attributes, preternatural skill in combat and usage of weaponry on par with a veteran of a major armed conflict, a minor ability to progress further in various ways, a superpower or magical item well-suited to your nature and temperament - one of your choosing.
    *You aren't expected to carry any Curse or its fragments, but you are expected to act in accordance with the Gunman's dictates and to favor the Accursed's cause. However, accepting the fragments of a Curse may sway the Gunman to empower you further.
    *Take vengeance on those who wronged you.
     
    Last edited:
    [X] Refuse
    I wanna mystery box.
    Anyway, absolutely lmao that you'd already done it before reminding me to funny that snowflake.
     
    Dunno, but may as well start with this.

    [X] Vengeance - Could there be any other option?

    *Become a Soldier, a single member of the Gunman's peerless, cosmos-spanning army.
    *Although the duties of a Soldier are many, so are their powers. Receive, as basic improvements: a broad cornucopia of peak-human attributes, preternatural skill in combat and usage of weaponry on par with a veteran of a major armed conflict, a minor ability to progress further in various ways, a superpower or magical item well-suited to your nature and temperament - one of your choosing.
    *You aren't expected to carry any Curse or its fragments, but you are expected to act in accordance with the Gunman's dictates and to favor the Accursed's cause. However, accepting the fragments of a Curse may sway the Gunman to empower you further.
    *Take vengeance on those who wronged you.
     
    [X] Refuse

    I was all for the cardless reward in Godcard. Now here I kinda feel like accepting the Gunman's offer is a cop out from the personal responsibility of our mc to accept that actions have consequences.
     
    [X] Vengeance
    In-character, alexander has no reason to expect to get anything from Refusing, and Vengeance, as a trade, will probably be reasonable. though if this were real life I'd ask to know what the dictates to follow would be in advance, for obvious reasons.
     
    [X] Vengeance

    same tbh
     
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