Akashic Records
patreon
Quirky Row Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2024-08-30 16:02:00 +0000 UTCChapter 16: A Heroic Meeting
(Saturday, September 25th, 2123)
“What the actual shit?!” Stampede, Stilwater’s Number Ten hero, growled loudly.
Simon glanced over at the person who’d spoken, a flicker of amusement darting across his features. Stampede had always been rather loud, but today he was in rare form, bellowing expletives at the Saints and the Brotherhood while the rest of the heroes in the meeting looked on.
Almost all of the city’s heroes had gathered early that Saturday morning to discuss the fallout of the latest crime spree the Saints had orchestrated. Most of them were still reeling and trying to recover from Road Rage Wednesday, as the brutal attempted dragging death of a Saint was being called online.
The act had been caught on camera by hundreds of onlookers, along with the subsequent car chase with none other than the infamous duo of Skunk and Johnny Gat getting involved. And then there had been the massive shootout between the Saints and the Brotherhood when the former tried to help rescue their friend from the latter.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of damage had been caused, from cars to buildings to roads, to say nothing of how over a dozen Brotherhood gangbangers had been killed.
The only silver lining was that nearly a hundred Brotherhood members, including the second-in-command, Matt Wolfe, and eight other high-profile lieutenants and villains, had been arrested.
“It hadn’t even been a week since their last bit of chaos, and now they’ve gone and robbed a fucking bank in broad daylight!” Stampede shouted, and heroes nodded along with him.
“Actually, from what we can tell, they didn’t rob the bank. Rather, they kidnapped somebody and took a briefcase full of money from their hostage,” Amber, Number Seven heroine of Stilwater, informed the group. She fiddled with something on her phone, and a second later the holographic screen in the center of the table turned on, revealing video taken from the bank’s security feed.
“That’s Jessica Shawn,” Simon said, recognizing the red-headed woman in the security footage.
“Maero’s slut?” a lesser hero in a boomerang themed costume asked incredulously. Simon didn’t know him. He wasn’t in the Top 15 of the city, so he didn’t recognize the man on sight.
“It seems this was a gang related incident after all,” Banana Loco mused thoughtfully. “What was she doing there?”
“From what we could piece together, she was trying to put the briefcase she had with her into a safety deposit box,” Amber revealed.
“Any idea what was in it?” Whisper, the Number Fourteen hero, asked.
“No, but the briefcase was a I-Island brand suitcase based on the few images we have of it,” Amber explained.
“And why do you have all this info?” Stampede demanded, looking at the amber themed heroine suspiciously.
“I reached the scene of the crime first, that means I got dibs on the case,” Amber retorted, glaring through her amber-colored visor at Stampede. “And that means I got all the details they could give me.”
“Hmph! Whatever!” Stampede grumbled. “I just hope Skunk does us all a favor a pop’s that bitch’s skull. Save me the trouble of doing so myself.”
“Whoa, now, Stampy,” Simon said, a warning tone coming to his voice. “She may be a villain, but we’re still heroes. We shouldn’t be saying that sort of thing out loud.”
‘Even if I agree completely,’ Simon thought quietly. He didn’t spend as much time in the city as he should, but he kept an eye on all the gangs, and knew their Inner Circles to some degree. Jessica Shawn might not have had a villain codename, but she still had a damningly high body count and was instrumental in the Brotherhood. Her loss would hit the red-themed racists hard.
Stampede’s animosity towards the Brotherhood’s third in command was also understandable. Heteromorph discrimination was a disgusting thing, and being only one of two Heteromorph heroes in Stilwater’s top ranks, meant that Stampede’s office and side-kicks had often been the target of Brotherhood related violence.
“Stuff it, you dude-bro wannabe,” Simon heard Taggit, the Number Four Hero, mutter under his breath. “Why don’t you go and get another spray on tan or something and leave hero business to those of us who actually know what they’re doing?”
Simon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. People just didn’t appreciate how much effort he put into his appearance. It took a lot of work to keep his bleach-blond hair windswept, and his suntan nice and even. Especially since his hero costume involved a skintight wetsuit, which meant his hair and tan were rarely seen. Sure, people constantly compared him to Kahuna, Hawaii’s Number One Hero, but Simon didn’t mind. It was flattering to be compared to the United State’s Number Sixteen. Or was it Fourteen, now? He couldn’t remember. The rankings could fluctuate rapidly in a short amount of time.
In the end, though, the point was looks were important for a hero, as much as he found it distasteful, so he made sure to keep his appearance sharp and fresh, no matter how tedious it was.
As he ignored Stampede’s ranting and Taggit’s angry murmuring, Simon spared a glance over at one of the other heroes who understood just how vital it was to look good in public. Silver Swan, aka Maya Brown, sister of the deceased singer Aisha, looked like she’d just walked off a catwalk from a fashion show.
The Number One heroine of the city of Stilwater and the state of California (and 20th ranked Hero of the United States overall) looked over the numerous individuals that had assembled today, despite it being early morning on a Saturday, with cool and calculating eyes.
Her silver costume, decorated with feather motifs, shimmered under the lights, and it showed off just enough of her cleavage and curves to titillate but not enough to be indecent. She was not wearing her winged jetpack, obviously, since she was indoors, and she’d taken off her swan-themed helmet, but even so, she radiated cool professionalism that was the envy of many heroes.
‘Now if only she wasn’t such a stick in the mud,’ Simon Reeve, aka Steel Sponge, Number Two Hero of Stilwater, Number Three of California, and ranked sixty-first in the entire USA, mused to himself.
Silver Swan’s looks and manners were perfect, but anyone who got to know what she was really like behind the mask knew she was far from how she acted around the public. She was vindictively petty and quick to anger.
Maya Brown was the sort of person who would smile politely at someone when they made a mistake, assure them it was all fine, and then have them fired or replaced as soon as their back was turned. The heroine had gone through over a dozen assistants and aides over the course of her career, yet she always came away looking squeaky clean because she was very careful to shift the blame for the dismissals onto her managers or sponsors. If you didn’t know where to look, it would always seem like she was innocent and had nothing to do with it.
She also had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Ultor Dome when it came to her sister. It was clear to anyone with a working brain that Silver Swan was immensely jealous of Aisha’s popularity. Even after the star’s death, she still ranked highly in many polls. Not to mention her albums still made bank. Compare that to the less than successful attempts of Silver Swan’s own albums and acting career? Yeah, there was a grudge towards the more famous older sibling simmering away in Stilwater’s Number One heroine.
“Hey, Steel! Are you listening to me?!”
“Hmm? No, I wasn’t, Stampy,” Simon said dismissively, returning his attention to the conversation going on. Stampede glowered, but Simon just grinned back at him.
“Please try to pay attention, Steel Sponge,” Amber groaned despondently. “I know it’s half-past nine in the morning and we’d all rather be somewhere else, but this is important.”
“Hey, I don’t blame him, I was starting to fall asleep as well with all that bullshit Stampede was spewing,” Banana Loco said. Simon had nothing but praise for a man willing to wear a skintight, banana yellow cat suit. He just wished it left more to the imagination. And that he wouldn’t wear it to these meetings.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU LITTLE-?!” the wrestling themed minotaur hero shouted, rising to his feet to glare at the Number Twelve hero. Everyone tensed, ready to act, but thankfully it did not come to that.
“Calm down,” Silver Swan order, and Stampede snapped his mouth shut and sat back down as a wave of soothing energy filled everyone’s minds, banishing the urge to fight that had previously suffused the room.
Silver Swan’s Quirk, Swan Song, once more showed how useful it was to be able to control people’s emotions, and Simon mentally applauded her for shutting down Stampede before he could get any more wound up.
“Now I know I’ve been in Los Angeles for the past few weeks, so I don’t have much room to say this, but I am very disappointed in how poorly things have gotten in my absence,” Silver Swan said, sweeping her gaze over the assembled heroes. “I would have thought we’d gotten a handle on the gangs ages ago!”
She glared at the other members of the Top Five as she said this.
“In my defense, I’ve been too busy healing to deal with the actual spike in crime,” Scapegoat, the Number Three Hero and one of the few medical heroes in the country, responded. He was a curious fellow, as much of his past was unknown to Simon. Beyond the fact that he’d been sent to Stilwater ten years ago and had been one of the few local heroes to not get the boot when Monorail’s corruption was uncovered, there wasn’t much on Scapegoat. There were certain elements that reeked of a government cover-up when the aquatic hero had looked into things. Witness Protection, perhaps? Or something else?
Either way, Simon liked Scapegoat and his no-nonsense attitude. Not to mention the man was truly dedicated to healing and protecting people from the fallout when other heroes and villains clashed. He was an African-American man, though there was a hint of Afro-Caribbean accent in his voice that Simon could never quite place. He had an afro, and wore a goat themed costume, complete with a pair of goat horns that emerged from his afro. He was great with kids and there was really only one rule with the Number Three hero: his patients were off-limits.
If anybody, hero or villain, caused a fuss in his hospital, he would kick their ass. Or, worse, deny them access to his Quirk, which was the most potent healing ability available on the West Coast. That threat was enough to get even the Big Three – both past and present – in Stilwater to never so much as go near Scapegoat or his clinics. Some people claimed that it was due to Ultor’s influence that the eastern section of the city was free from the constant gang fighting. In truth, it was as much to do with Scapegoat’s presence that made Simon’s former home of Saint’s Row the neutral ground it was today.
“And I’ve been tracking this nasty bunch of Mexican cartel smugglers down near San Diego since early August,” Simon responded when it was his turn to explain himself to the Number One heroine. “They’re slippery, and keep crossing the border back into Tijuana before I can catch any of their leaders, but I managed to snag one of their dealers in a recent sting, so hopefully I’ll have the location of one of their hideouts soon. Once that’s done, I can focus on Stilwater again.”
Being a hero wasn’t easy. Just because his main base was stationed in Stilwater didn’t mean he and other heroes, especially those in the upper ranks of the State and Federal lists, didn’t have other responsibilities. Top rank heroes and heroines often had to move around, going from place to place in order to chase high-profile villains or acquire leads for cases. Steel Sponge himself had offices up and down California, as well as in Florida, and alternated between them as needed, though he hadn’t been to his Miami branch in over a year due to his work here on the west coast.
And that didn’t even touch on the non-crimefighting side of the hero business that could require a lot of traveling. Just last week, he’d done a commercial in LA to sell a brand of hard seltzer. And a few months back in July, he’d been a judge at a surf competition in Long Beach. And he didn’t even know how to surf! He just looked like a surfer dude because it helped his image.
“And you, Split Ends?” Silver Swan asked the Number Five heroine. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been in the city since late August.”
“My hands are full with the damn Ronin. They’ve got, like, a dozen new lieutenants, some with really annoying Quirks,” the hair-themed heroine grumbled, her long black hair waving in agitation as she spoke. “Worse, every time I jail a few Ronin, regardless of their standing in the gang, they break out or are bailed out. The damn penal system is a fucking sieve in this city!”
“Noted,” Silver Swan said with a grumble.
“Hopefully this time we can keep the Brotherhood shits we caught locked up nice and tight,” Stampede grumbled.
“Hey, speaking of healing, Scapegoat, don’t you have one of the Saints in custody right now?” The Number Eight hero, Crabulon, muttered. He was a crustacean Heteromorph, with a bright red mechanical claw in place of his left hand. He’d lost the original one to the blade of the Ronin’s second-in-command a few years ago in the same battle that had cost the former Number Six hero, Blaze It, his life.
“He’s not in custody, he’s in a coma,” Scapegoat replied. “And until he’s healed up enough, he won’t be handed over to the police.”
“Surely it would be better to have him locked up in a prison hospital,” Crabulon urged.
“And look how well that worked for containing Skunk,” Steel Sponge said dryly. Banana Loco and Split Ends nodded in agreement.
“The answer remains the same. As long as someone is a patient in my hospital, I will guarantee their safety, be they villain or hero,” Scapegoat declared firmly, daring anyone to deny him as he looked around the table. “No one will touch the young man until he is healed.”
“No one is saying anything of the sort,” Silver Swan assured him. “Right now, I think we should discuss Taggit’s recent behavior instead.”
“Um, what about me?” Taggit asked, the Number Four hero looking around as all eyes were now on him. “I think I’ve been doing pretty well with the Sons of Samedi. I even took down one of their drug labs recently!”
“You’ve also gone and gotten humiliated twice at the hands of the Saints,” Reversa, the Number Eleven heroine, sneered.
“Not to mention the, uh, pretty racist comments you made towards the Asian community after Johnny Gat escaped from you at the courthouse,” Amber pointed out.
“Don’t forget the fuss that waitress caused when you slapped her ass,” Simon added.
“Your recent attitude sucks, is what we’re saying,” Banana Loco said bluntly.
“Hey, screw you guys!” Taggit shouted at his fellow heroes. “Amber’s screwed up twice against the Saints, too! And nobody’s bringing up the shit Stampede pulled when he confronted them, either!”
“Yeah, but Stampede was expecting to fight Maero and the Brotherhood at the caverns, not the Saints. Plus, all he did was break a few tourist knick-knacks damage wise,” Spincycle, the current Number Six hero pointed out, speaking up for the first time.
“He’s got a point,” Whisper added, several other lesser heroes nodding in solidarity against the chump known as Taggit.
Simon would feel sorry for the Number Four hero, if he wasn’t such a loud-mouthed asshole. He was a lot like Stampede in that regard, but at least the wrestling themed minotaur hero didn’t spout off racist comments on social media. Or in public. Or private.
‘Not to mention I suspect Taggit has some connection to the Brotherhood,’ Simon mused to himself. ‘I’m fairly certain he’s been taking bribes from them, but I can’t prove anything else beyond that.’
He shook his head. ‘How he’s managed to maintain his position as Number Four all these years is beyond me.’
“I think we can all agree that while Taggit could stand to do better, the same can still be said about the rest of us,” Silver Swan stated, cutting off any arguments before they could brew. “The Saints are a threat we need to organize to deal with. Preferable before they become too strong to dislodge.”
“You honestly think they can reclaim their old power?” Crabulon asked incredulously.
“They are well on their way to doing so,” Silver Swan replied with a curt nod. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they manage to replace the Brotherhood as one of the Big Three in a few months the way things are going.”
Murmurs erupted at that throughout the conference room. It sounded unbelievable, but there was precedent for it. The Saints had obliterated three massive gangs five years ago in under a year and ruled Stilwater uncontested for a few short months.
“If it can happen once, it can happen again,” Simon said, and Silver Swan nodded her head in agreement at his words.
“Precisely.”
“True. At least nothing else major is likely to happen anytime soon,” Stampede grumbled. At that, Silver Swan gave him an annoyed look, Simon slapped his forehead in exasperation, and several other heroes outright glared at the wrestling themed minotaur.
“What? Why are you all looking at me like that?” the (literally) bull-headed hero demanded.
“You just tempted fate,” Banana Loco grunted.
“Oh, come on, you can’t-!” the Number Ten hero began, only to be cut off as a phone began ringing. Heads turned towards the Number One heroine as he pulled out the offending device from her pocket.
“Must be serious if they’re calling me on this phone,” Silver Swan muttered to herself as she answered it. “Hello?”
Her eyes then narrowed as whoever was on the other side yammered frantically into her ear. After a bit, she hung up and put her phone away with a sigh, before looking up.
“That was the mayor,” Silver Swan informed the heroes without preamble. “It appears that all of the Brotherhood members we’ve captured since Wednesday have been released by the chief of police by order of Ultor.”
Simon heaved a sigh as the room exploded into loud shouting and chaos. ‘Fucking hell, Phil! Somehow, I just know this is your fault!’
111 ^^^ &&& ^^^ 111
(September 25th, 2123)
(Earlier that day (Before the Hero Conference))
It was a lovely morning in Saint’s Row. The sun was shining through Dane Vogel’s office window, Jaime had prepared his coffee just the way he liked it, and best of all, today he was going to do his favorite duty; downsizing!
He didn’t need to do it for budget cut concerns. Ultor was making plenty of money and profit. No, the reason simply was Dane Vogel loved to fire people. Watching their expressions crumble as he laid them off was more intoxicating than any drug could possibly be.
‘Now, who can I fire this time?’ he wondered with dark amusement as he scanned several files on his computer, each one containing Ultor’s employee profiles.
‘And from which department? Can’t get rid of anyone in Gryphon’s department. He needs every nerd he can get for those damned Nomu,’ Dane Vogel thought to himself. ‘Hmm, what about Marketing? Or, better yet, Human Resources! If I recall, they were badgering me about some petty matter recently. This will remind them who is in charge around here!’
Before he could start looking through the documents to make a decision, the intercom on his desk buzzed.
“Mr. Vogel? There’s a Mr. Maero here to see you,” his secretary’s voice called out from the intercom.
“Jaime, I’m trying to downsize here,” Vogel grumbled, annoyed at the distraction.
“Um, Mr. Vogel, I don’t think I’m adequately conveying Mr. Maero’s size. Or his, uh, insistence.”
“Make him schedule an appointment or get security to throw him out. Just get him out of here!”
All of a sudden, the doors are blown open, torn from the hinges and coming crashing down, cracking the floor.
“Or send him in… wow, thanks, Jaime,” the head of Special Projects and Urban Development sighed, rubbing his forehead.
He then looked up at the intruder and raised an eyebrow. He could understand why his secretary had been so nervous. The man in front of him was built like a brick shithouse and towered over Vogel, to say nothing of his mousy assistant.
There was also the fact that his body looked like it was writhing with tendrils of darkness, and that the man who’d barged in had a pair of massive red tigers at his sides.
“You must be Mr. Maero,” Vogel said, even as he discreetly hit the panic button under his desk.
“I’ve heard about the connections Ultor has. Including some of the shadier ones,” Maero announced, his expression one of cold, barely suppressed fury. But Vogel noted that the anger was not directed at him. Interesting.
“You’re gonna get my boys outta jail and help me take down the Saints,” Maero continued.
Dane Vogel looked at him for a long while before dryly saying, “Your bargaining posture needs some work.”
“The Saints killed my girlfriend and got my best friend thrown in the slammer!” the gang leader growled.
“That is unfortunate, but Ultor is a business and there’s no profit in revenge,” Dane Vogel said before glancing at the pieces of his door. “Don’t worry about the door, though. That one’s on me.”
“Fine! You want money? In a few days there’s a shipment coming in…”
“Mr. Maero, nebulous shipment or not, I think I made myself quite clear…” Vogel began, only to be interrupted when Maero flipped his desk and grabbed his throat, hoisting him up as if he weighed nothing.
“Let’s try this again! You’re going to help me destroy the Saints.”
“And Ultor would love to be of service!” Dane Vogel choked out in a panic.
“Good,” Maero sneered, and he tossed Vogel to the ground. The ink-formed tigers snarled at the downed Ultor executive before following their master as he leaves the office.
For a few seconds, the businessman simply lay there, panting a bit in fear, but also humiliation. Both of which quickly give way to anger at the treatment he’d just received.
Still, he wasn’t going to act out. Not while Maero was still in the building. Or in the district itself.
He pulled out a cellphone from a pocket on his pants and dials in a number, waiting only a couple of seconds before it’s picked up.
“Stilwater Police Department,” a bored voice drawled.
“Get me Troy Bradshaw. Now,” Dane Vogel ordered.
“Who should I say is-”
“Just do it!” Vogel snapped.
“Um, chief? There’s a guy on the phone for you?” the receptionist said, transferring the call over.
A moment later, Troy’s tired voice was on the line. “What is it? And who is it?”
“Troy? It’s me, Dane Vogel.”
“Whaddya want Vogel?” the chief asked, his voice still tired, but now it held a hint of suspicion.
“It’s not what I want, it’s what I need,” he replied.
“Which is?”
“You are going to release all the Brotherhood you have locked up.”
There was dead silence on the line, before Troy finally responded. “And why the fuck would I do that?”
“I’m looking after my clients.”
“Your ‘clients’ are a bunch of criminals,” Troy shot back.
“Guilty before a trial? Nice. Is that the mindset you’re cultivating down there at the precinct?” Vogel asked snarkily.
“Spare me, alright? They’re not getting released, and that’s that,” Troy replied.
“This is where we’re going to have to disagree. These men are going free. The only question is if you’ll settle this quietly, or if you want a media circus to run rings around you.”
“I thought Ultor wanted order? Letting the thugs go will only make things worse!” Troy protested.
“Troy, in order to maintain the ecosystem, sometimes park rangers have to start a forest fire to clear away the bad brush. You should know that better than anybody,” Vogel said, tone dripping with malice. “I suspect I’ll hear from you soon with the good news.”
Vogel then hung up, and got off the ground. He glared at his desk, then waved his hand at the upturned piece of furniture. With a quick application of his Quirk, it flipped right-side up as if it’d never been tossed around earlier.
Then, he calmly pressed the button for the intercom. “Jaime? I’m going to need a new computer for my desk. Oh, and a new door for my office. Thank you.”
“Right away, sir!” his secretary stammered, and Vogel clicked the device off, before walking over to the window and peering out of his. He looked down at the city – his city! – and what he had built from the chaos and squalor of his old home.
No longer was Saint’s Row a wretched pile of shit with heaps of garbage on every corner. No more did bums shank each other in the middle of the street while hookers serviced clients at bus stops. It was finally cleansed. And it was all thanks to him and his ‘benefactor.’
Yet it was all in danger of disappearing thanks to a bunch of no-good cockroaches who refused to lie down and die!
Dane Vogel thought for a moment, going over the pros and cons of this next decision, before taking out his phone again, and dialing a new number.
“Hey. It’s me. Vogel. I’ll pay you double if you drop whatever you’re doing and get your asses to Stilwater, pronto.”
After a moment, a cruel smile graced the executive’s face, and he nodded. “Wonderful! I’ll see you soon, Masako.”
