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Quirky Row Chapter 20: Special Delivery
🕑 Added 2024-10-10 16:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 20: Special Delivery
(Monday, October 4th, 2123)
It was the early morning, and the work week was about to get started all across Stilwater.
At eight am on the dot, a figure appeared out front of the Philips Building, and after getting out of a heavily tricked-out crimson Atlasbreaker truck, marched into Ultor headquarters.
Jaime, the same receptionist from before, was sitting at her desk, already typing away on her computer and organizing her boss’s schedule when the muscled brute that was Maero reappeared from the elevator, and she let out a timid squeak. Fitting, considering she was a mouse Heteromorph.
“Um, Mr. Vogel? Mr. Maero is back,” she weakly informed her boss, pressing the intercom as quickly as she could.
“I see. Well, then, no need to keep him waiting. send him, if you please,” the smooth voice of Ultor’s Head of Special Projects replied.
Maero felt a tingle of something cold make its way down his spine, and the brutal leader of the Brotherhood frowned at Dane Vogel’s response. Maero’s instincts were telling him to be wary, and the man sounded too confident and sure of himself despite yet another visit from the tattooed gang leader.
But, he couldn’t back out now, so Maero squared his shoulders, straightened up, and strode confidently up to the double doors that led to the office, pushing them open with ease.
The interior was practically identical to the last time he’d seen it, though Maero noted that Dane had gotten a new desk. It was mahogany, polished to a mirror-like shine. Maero nodded slightly in approval. He knew quality when he saw it.
He then turned his attention to Dane Vogel, who was sitting behind his new piece of furniture with a smug look. Maero resisted the urge to walk over and rip it off.
“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Maero?” Vogel inquired.
“My boys were hit last night. And my best friend was killed,” Maero informed him.
“Between this and your girlfriend, I’d say you’re a magnet for tragedy, Mr. Maero,” Vogel replied. “But what does this have to do with me?”
“You think this is fucking funny?!” Maero snarled.
“No. But I do think it’s not my problem,” Vogel said. “Just because your ex-girlfriend’s mother is a member of Ultor’s executive board – a state of affairs that I plan to rectify in short order – does not give you any right to tell me what to do.”
“My problems are your problems! Or do you need some fresh air to understand that?” Maero threatened, stepping forward to slam his fists onto the shiny new desk, but froze when something sharp pricked the skin on the back of his neck.
“Don’t take another step, amigo,” an amused woman’s voice drawled out huskily from behind him, and Maero stiffened as he felt a blade press against him.
Concerned, Maero looked around as best he could without moving his neck, and what he saw made him nervous.
A man in a black tactical suit of body armor was standing in front of Dane Vogel’s desk, and Maero could have sworn there hadn’t been anybody there a moment earlier. Leaning against the wall near Maero was another man in identical body armor, but he wore a curious helmet that was shaped to resemble a dragon’s head with the jaws slightly open. The leader of the Brotherhood could smell a scent like that of burning kerosene clinging to the man.
Last but not least was a short, red-haired woman with fox ears and tail, also in black tactical armor, who was standing behind him, a Japanese katana in her hands. It was that blade that rested against his throat, and he could only see her through the reflection in the shiny new desk that Dane Vogel had used to replace his old one.
“Mr. Maero, I’d like to introduce you to Kagami Masako, the leader of the Masako, a well-respected and highly professional Japanese Private Security Company,” Vogel said with a sharp grin. “Oh, and his top lieutenants, Ryuto and Sakura.”
“Mercenaries,” Maero growled out.
“Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe,” the wealthy businessman said, waving a hand dismissively. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving? I’d hate to make a mess in my newly repaired and refurbished office.”
Maero growled, but nodded minutely, and he felt the blade leave his neck. He then turned around and stalked out.
“Oh! And before I forget! Mr. Maero, that little ‘shipment’ of yours? I’ve instructed it to be impounded once it reaches the city. I can’t exactly have a bunch of criminals running around with military grade weaponry, after all. Consider it the price for having me get your friends out of jail that one time.”
“How did you know?!” Maero demanded, spinning back to face Dane Vogel, who wore a smirk.
“Who do you take me for? I’m the man who built this company into what it is today, Maero. You are a common thug who just so happens to have a couple of rich and stupid friends. Of course I would know about your deal with the Thule Society, and have a method in place to prevent it from falling into your hands.”
Vogel then made a shooing motion with his left hand. “Now, run along. And spend what little time you have left regretting biting the hand that feeds you. And if you come back here again, I’ll have you shot on sight.”
Maero growled, and if looks could kill, Dane Vogel would be six feet under, trio of mercenaries or not. Fortunately for the business mogul, Maero’s Quirk was not laser eyes, and so the Brotherhood leader could only fume silently and stalk out, snarling like a beast under his breath.
“Make sure he makes it out of the building without doing anything stupid,” Vogel requested, and the dragon-helmed man nodded before walking out, trailing behind the gang leader.
“Now, before we were rudely interrupted, we were about to discuss your contract, correct?” Vogel inquired, and the man in front of the desk nodded.
“Indeed. And let me just say, the Masako are extremely eager to start working with you today, Mr. Vogel,” the man introduced as Kagami said politely, his English slightly colored by his Japanese accent.
“I think we’re going to get along swimmingly,” the Ultor executive said with an honest grin.
111 &&& 111
(Wednesday, October 20th, 2123)
Two weeks had gone by since the raid on the Brotherhood night club slash concert hall slash sex trafficking center, as well as the ambush at the airport, and the Third Street Saints had made major strides.
Learning that the Brotherhood was backed by the Thule Society was almost as important as killing Matt Wolfe, Maero’s second-in-command, had been. Brotherhood territory was almost all gone, reduced to a handful of streets and sites outside of the Docks, and a few businesses that were legit on the surface.
The noose was tightening around Maero’s neck. Yet the Brotherhood was quiet. Too quiet, dare he say. Maero should have been rampaging across the Barrio trying to get back all he’d lost, but instead, he’d been slapping down wannabe usurpers and reorganizing his remaining forces.
Playa could tell something was up, though. A cornered rat fought twice as hard, and the Brotherhood who hadn’t abandoned the sinking ship that was their gang were going to be the diehard zealots. They’d be dangerous when Maero decided to unleash them.
For now, though, all Playa could do was wait and see. The Brotherhood would act eventually, and then he would be able to smack them down and hopefully end them for good.
‘Man, I’m bored,’ Playa thought to himself, leaning back in his seat with a grumpy huff.
He was all alone in the office today. Pierce and Shaundi were out doing something, hopefully gang related. Meanwhile, Johnny was with Aisha for a whole day of romantic couples stuff, which meant that Playa would be staying in his room here at the mission for the night. No way in hell was he going to listen to his two best friends go at like frenzied animals again!
That meant Playa was bored out of his gourd, and he couldn’t focus on anything. Especially not the paperwork!
‘I’m the head of a gang, for crying out loud! Why is there so much paperwork?!’ Playa lamented. He was starting to think he knew the reason why Julius hadn’t bothered to return.
Distraction came in the form of his cellphone ringing, which he eagerly got out of his pocket to answer.
“Meet me at Adam’s Arcade. Pierce and I gotta talk to you about the Brotherhood,” Shaundi said as soon as he picked up.
“An arcade? Seriously?” Playa asked, frowning at the request.
“Come on, it’ll be fun! You’ve been too wound up and tense these last few days,” Shaundi whined.
“I’ve just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, is all,” Playa muttered.
“I know, and that ain’t healthy. Just live a little, boss!” his green-haired lieutenant urged, and Playa caved.
“Fine, fine! I’ll be there soon.”
“Great! Me and Pierce are at the Skeeball station!” Shaundi informed him before hanging up, leaving a bemused Playa to get up and leave his office for a reason other than coffee or a bathroom break.
Adam’s Arcade was a rather large place, to Playa’s surprise. Three-stories of gaming consoles, dancing machines, and other fun activities. It wasn’t just an arcade, either. It had laser tag as well. Plus an indoor mini-golf course, which was pretty cool.
The purple Fleur D’Lys graffiti’d onto the side of the building informed everyone it was the Saint’s turf, and the street around the business looked clean.
It was rather empty, but given it wasn’t yet noon on a week day, most of its customers were absent. Playa had no doubts the arcade would be bustling as soon as more people arrived once school let out for the day.
He found Pierce and Shaundi easily enough, the pair shooting Skeeball like they’d said they would.
“Tell me you didn’t choose this place just because you wanted to play this game,” Playa asked them as he walked up.
“No, I picked this place so we could play this game,” Shaundi said, putting emphasis on the ‘we’ as she poked him in the chest with a finger. “This gang shit’s got you stressed out. You need to relax! Have some fun!”
“She’s right, boss,” Pierce agreed. “I mean, smoking pot is all well and good for a nice bit of relaxation, but sometimes you gotta do other shit.”
“Fuck, why not?” Playa said, surrendering to his lieutenants’ request, and grabbed a ball.
For a few minutes they enjoyed themselves, rolling, tossing, and trying to beat each other’s high scores. Shaundi, to no surprise, was winning.
However, Playa couldn’t help himself, and mind inevitably turned back to work.
“So, did you hit the Docks like I asked?” Playa eventually asked Pierce, causing him and Shaundi to both groan.
“No work, boss, just fun!” Pierce grumbled. “What part didn’t you understand about that?”
“But did you?” Playa pressed.
“Yeah, I did. A contact of mine said there was a tattooed fellow yelling at the dock admins office, trying to find out about a shipment being redirected, or rescheduled, or something,” Pierce said with a shrug. “Three guesses who the loudmouth was, and the first two don’t count.”
“So, his Thule Society contacts sent him weapons after all, despite losing their gold,” Playa mused.
“I think they did it because you wacked two of theirs at the airport the other night,” Shaundi pointed out. “I’d give my enemies the tools to bring down anybody that fucked with me while keeping my hands clean.”
“Makes sense,” Playa nodded. “Alright, any info on that?”
“Well, it seems Ultor isn’t happy with Maero or the Brotherhood right now,” Pierce said. “Apparently, the Thule Fools’ delivery was rerouted by Dane Vogel’s orders. No idea when or where it will arrive, though.”
“Trouble in paradise, huh?” Playa smirked. “Alright, that’s good to know. Keep it up, and let me know when you have anything.”
Pierce’s phone suddenly began ringing, and he quickly answered it. “Hello? Yeah? No shit, for real? Cool, thanks, I’ll let him know.”
Pierce hung up and turned to Playa. “Good news, boss! My guy at the Docks said that the Brotherhood just took off in a bunch of speedboats. Apparently, they’re after this ship, the Sturmkopf, which was spotted heading to an Ultor owned dock a few minutes ago.”
“Damn, that’s great timing,” Shaundi muttered. “What are we going to do?”
“We obviously can’t let Ultor or the Brotherhood get their grubby mitts on military grade hardware, so we’re gonna steal it from them,” Playa announced.
“And how will we get there? It’s a boat, not a warehouse,” Shaundi reminded him.
“There’s an Oppressor copter on the roof of the Mission. We’ll take that,” Playa said.
“Or we could grab a speedboat of our own. Got one stashed at Stoughton,” Pierce offered. “Dunno about you, but flying into a gunfight seems silly.”
“And boat is better?” Playa asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Why not take both?” Shaundi offered.
“Pincer attack, huh? Yeah, that could work,” Playa agreed after a moment to think it over. “Pierce, you take the boat and two to three guys. I’ll take the copter and a couple guys of my own and meet you there. Shaundi? Hold the fort back here.”
“Got it,” she nodded. “Should I call Johnny, let him know what’s up?”
“Just send him a text, no need to bother him when he’s having a nice day with Aisha,” Playa replied. She gave a mock salute before heading for the exit. Pierce and Playa followed behind her, and Shaundi hitched a ride with her boss back to the base.
“Alright, folks, we got ourselves a job!” Playa shouted out as he descended the stairs into the underground shopping center. Saints looked up as he descended, and he grinned. “The Brotherhood is going after a cache of weapons out on the high seas. And I’d rather not let them get their hands on it! So we’re going after them to take it for ourselves!”
Excited, bloodthirsty cheers rang out, and Playa held up a hand quiet, which he soon got. “Rafflesia is in charge while Defender and I go to raid ‘em. But I need some helpers. Three to go by boat, another three to go with me by heli. Volunteers?”
Hands went up and people began to clamor, each for the honor of joining the assault. Playa swiftly picked out six Saints, two women and four men, and divided them into two groups of three.
“Splinter, your group is with Defender. Get down to Stoughton. The Docks and Warehouse storage area to be precise. And for you, Mink, you and your team are with me.”
The people he’d called out nodded eagerly and began to prepare. Splinter was a Heteromorph whose body was made entirely of wood. He could regenerate any damage, as well as entire limbs sustained if he managed to drink lots of water and get plenty of sunlight.
The second team’s leader, Mink, was a short woman with bubblegum pink hair whose Quirk let her grow soft, pink colored fur all over her body. Once it was grown it couldn’t be retracted however and needed to be shaved off. It was surprisingly shock-absorbent, too.
The reason he’d picked them was because they were strong leaders, rather than possessing impressive Quirks. Destructive powers would wreck the boat, and they didn’t want that. Both Splinter and Mink were smart, and they could handle guns. They were also well liked among the lower ranked Saints, and his lieutenants trusted them. So he saw no reason not to have them join.
‘Plus, they hate the Brotherhood,’ he thought, which was a nice bonus.
Playa got into his villain costume, turning into Skunk once more, and then headed up to the rooftop, where the Oppressor awaited them. One of the members of Mink’s team was a certified pilot, hence why’d he’d chosen him. The pilot had a fly’s head instead of a human one, which gave him incredible reactive vision.
“Lifting off,” Fly-Guy (yes, that was his villain name) announced as the rotors began to spin, and the four of them were strapped in and taking off moments later.
They soared over the streets of Stilwater, attracting a bit of attention due to how low they were flying, but once they were over the water, everything seemed to be fine.
“Brotherhood up ahead,” Fly-Guy announced a minute later, and Skunk nodded as he saw a boat swarming with red shirted goons. A few began to pop off at them as they spotted their approach, and Skunk grimaced.
“Hover over the deck for a bit if you can,” he requested. Fly-Guy buzzed an affirmation and began to circle the Sturmkopf, doing his best to stay out of the way of the gunfire coming from the Brotherhood. Luckily, they only seemed to have shotguns and handguns. No rifles or anything heavy that could take down the helicopter.
“Open the doors!” Skunk ordered, and Mink obliged, sliding the hatch open. Wind whipped and tore at them, but the supervillain didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, he dropped a bunch of chemical pellets down onto the deck of the ship, which exploded into colorful gases and foul odors that the helicopter riders could just barely smell.
Down below it was much worse for the Brotherhood. The smell was stronger, and the clouds of smog were full of blinding irritants like tear gas.
Mink and the other Saint pulled out guns, and alongside Skunk, began to fire down into the crowd of blinded Brotherhood members as Fly-Guy circled around a bit.
Once the cloud of chemicals was mostly gone from the deck of the ship, the Oppressor descended, touching down onto the deck and letting the Saints out to finish off the other gangsters still onboard.
“Damn it, ain’t you heard of the Geneva Convention?!” one of the Brotherhood goons wept, his eyes red and swollen from the irritants, before Skunk kicked him overboard.
“Swim back to Maero and tell him, ‘Thanks for the guns!’” Skunk sneered, before turning back to the fight. It was over pretty quickly. Skunk’s stink bombs had taken the fight out of most of them, and the guns in the Saints’ hands took care of the few villains who resisted.
Executing a few gangbangers might have been cruel, but Skunk didn’t give a damn. Blood coated the deck of the ship, and it wasn’t all from the Brotherhood members. Most of it was from the murdered Ultor security forces that littered the area.
The remaining Brotherhood goons were quickly beaten senseless and rounded up, and plastic zipties attached to their wrists.
“What should we do with them?” Mink asked curiously, disgust in her voice as she looked at the butchered Ultor workers.
“Toss what’s left of the Brotherhood on board in a lifeboat and aim it back at Stilwater. If they’re lucky somebody will fish them out of the drink,” Skunk ordered.
“You piece of shit!” One of the Brotherhood members snarled. “Too cowardly to just kill us?!”
“No. I’m just better than you,” Skunk retorted. The villain roared in anger and spikes made from his own bone burst out of his body, before breaking out of the zipties binding him. He rushed at Skunk, but the crack of a shotgun rang out and the villain was sent flying backwards with a bloody crater in his chest.
“You’re late to the party, Defender!” Skunk called out to his lieutenant, glancing to the side where the shotgun blast had originated from.
He saw Defender, shotgun in one hand, climbing up the side of the boat, a wide grin on his face visible underneath his mask.
“You flew here! You cheated!” he shot back good-naturedly as he climbed aboard, his own men following up behind off the boat.
His expression however soon turned grim. “Bad news, though, boss. The Brotherhood are coming. One of ‘em managed to get a message back to Maero, and he wants to take back the cargo.”
“What are they throwing at us?” Skunk asked.
“Everything,” Defender replied.
“Everything?” Skunk repeated.
“Near as I can tell, every leader in the gang save Maero and Donnie is coming here. They’ve got at least a hundred guys with them. And they’re busting out helicopters of their own.”
“Christ, that’s nearly all that’s left of the Brotherhood!” Skunk uttered incredulously.
“I know. This is… well, if Maero can’t get control of the shipment, then his gang is done for. This is his Hail Mary. If he fails…”
“Then the Brotherhood will crumble,” Skunk finished. He turned to the Saints members who were milling around. “New plan! We’ve got some guys coming to try and take this shipment of weapons back from us!”
He slammed his fists together, the metal of his gauntlets making a satisfying thud. “But we won’t let them! We’re gonna take this for ourselves!”
“Is that so?” somebody asked in an amused drawl, and Skunk nodded, before pausing. That wasn’t one of his gang members’ voices. It was familiar, though.
Skunk glanced over towards the speaker, as did everyone else onboard, and he winced as he spotted a figure he really wished he hadn’t.
There on the deck, waving politely at him, was Stilwater’s Number Two Hero, Steel Sponge. He was dressed in a white diver’s wetsuit that was unzipped slightly on the front, showing off muscular, tanned pectorals and a shark tooth necklace. His blond hair was dripping wet and a puddle of salt water was forming beneath him.
“Where’d he come from?” Mink could help but mutter, and Playa wanted to know that as well.
“I used a Seaglider,” Sponge replied, and held up what looked like a motorized swimming board. “Was in the area patrolling, got a distress call from the boat, went to check it out, and what do I find? Saints, Brotherhood, and something about weapons? Well, as a hero, I just had to investigate.”
“I don’t want to fight you,” Skunk said slowly. “And there’s a bunch of Brotherhood coming this way.”
He then glanced around at the bloody mess on the deck. “Um, we didn’t kill the Ultor guys, either. That was them, not us.”
Sponge just raised an eyebrow at that, before shrugging. “Alright, fine. Truce. The boys in red are worse than you by a longshot, so I’ll agree to ignoring the lesser evil for now. However, I don’t want either gang getting any sort of weapons. So as soon as the fight is over, I take this ship in and impound it.”
Skunk frowned and the Saints behind him muttered in disapproval. Defender leaned in to whisper into his boss’s ear.
“I say we take the deal, boss. Doesn’t feel right to fight a hero. Not one with a squeaky-clean record like Sponge, here. And we’ll need all the help we can get.”
“Fine,” Skunk sighed, then louder, said, “You have a deal, Steel Sponge. You get the shipment, but only if you let us go free.”
“I can agree to that,” the Number Two said easily. “Now, before the Brotherhood get here, I want to check out what sort of weapons are onboard.”
“Military stuff, far as we know,” Skunk informed the hero as he, Sponge, and Defender walked over to the door leading to the cargo hold.
Descending into the Sturmkopf’s depths, all three were taken aback and momentarily speechless as they stumbled into the armory.
“Holy shit,” Defender eventually whispered. “This is the sort of place to give Johnny wet dreams!”
And he wasn’t wrong, either. Rows upon rows of containers holding automatic rifles and rocket launchers and their ammunition lay before them, along with boxes of grenades, med-kits, and combat stimulants.
“You could conquer a city with this much hardware!” Skunk uttered in disbelief as he picked up a flashbang before gingerly putting it back down.
“What the hell is that?” Sponge wondered, aghast, and when Skunk looked over, he had that exact same question.
Set at the very back of the cargo hold was something that looked like a metallic coffin, although there was a glass panel on the front, and through it, one could tell that the interior was full of greenish goo. And floating in said goo was a monster. There was no other word for it! Pitch-black skin, three tails ending with blades, massive talons on its hands and feet, six bulging eyes, and an exposed brain that throbbed every so often.
“What in God’s name?” Skunk muttered.
“It’s… is it alive?” Defender asked warily.
“I think so,” Sponge said, snapping out of his horror-induced daze. He leaned in to inspect the coffin, frowning a bit. “This appears to be a life support unit of some kind. It reminds me of those stasis pods I-Island invented to put terminally ill patients into suspended animation until medical treatments are available for whatever ails them. But it’s different in a few ways. And the suspension fluid isn’t supposed to be green, either.”
“Is he a Heteromorph?” Skunk wondered. He’d never seen somebody like that before, although there were all kinds of strange body-morphing Quirks out there. He’d seen a guy with a TV for a head, once!
“I don’t know,” Sponge replied with a shrug.
“Well, whatever or whoever the Thule Society sent the Brotherhood, we should keep them in here for now, until we know more,” Defender suggested.
Steel Sponge’s head snapped over to him upon hearing that. “What?” he asked sharply.
“Oh, yeah, the Brotherhood is being funded by the Thule Society. We crashed a meeting between Maero and a few German supervillains the other week at the airport,” Skunk explained.
“I’d heard that the State Department, FBI, and CIA had gotten involved after some incident at Wardill, but I had no idea it was because of that,” the hero muttered. “Still, for a gang in my city to be consorting with foreign terrorists and supervillains… this just got big.”
“After we topple the Brotherhood, we’d be happy to send you any info we have regarding their deals with the Thule Society,” Skunk offered, to both Sponge and Defender’s surprise.
“Really?” Sponge asked suspiciously.
“Really. Won’t be much use to us afterwards, and if anything can help get some of the bastards stuck in jail for a long time, well, association with terrorists would do it,” Skunk chuckled darkly.
“I’ll take you up on that, then,” Steel Sponge, a vicious grin of his own on his face.
“Boss!” Mink’s voice shouted out to them from the entrance of the armory. “We’ve got red shirts on boats incoming!”
“Damn, that’s quick,” Skunk muttered, grabbing a rifle as he ran out. Defender and Sponge mimicked him, with the former grabbing a rocket launcher and the latter swiping some grenades.
They ran up to the deck where the six Saints members were standing, nervously watching the approaching Brotherhood speedboats. The enemy gangsters were hooting and hollering, some even fired wildly into the air, hoping to intimidate them, but Skunk just scoffed.
“Defender? Deal with them,” he ordered, and the African-American villain chuckled.
“With pleasure!” he declared, before stepping up and aiming his weapon at a boat. Seconds later, a rocket screamed through the air and exploded against the front of an oncoming vessel in a shower of water and flames, and the Brotherhood went from hooting and cheering to screaming and panicking.
“Let’s kick some ass!” Defender shouted, and the other Saints roared in agreement, their morale restored.
It was time to crush some Neo-Nazis!
