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Quirky Row Chapter 12
🕑 Added 2024-07-20 17:00:02 +0000 UTCChapter 12: Waste Not, Want Not
(Thursday, September 16th, 2123 AD)
“Fuck!” Johnny Gat snarled, kicking the wall angrily as he hung up his cellphone. His foot left a hole in the cheap drywall, causing Playa to sigh and silently add another addition to the list of things to fix around the old mission building.
‘Although I completely understand where he’s coming from,’ Playa thought, looking over at his other lieutenants. Pierce and Shaundi also looked extremely unhappy, and had a large amount of paperwork in front of them as well. They were in his office, which was turning more and more into the administrative nerve center of the Third Street Saints as days passed.
“Another one?” Pierce asked tiredly, not even looking up at where Johnny was ranting.
“Another fucking one,” Johnny confirmed. “This time, it was the drycleaners run by the Dunderwick’s.”
“No! Not the Wash Palace! That’s where I go to get all my good stuff washed!” Shaundi exclaimed, looking up from her own pile of work in shock and despair.
“That makes eighteen places hit in the last three days,” Playa grumbled, making note of it. “The Brotherhood are coming after us with a vengeance.”
“We should have waited before you went off on your joyride with Donnie the other day,” Pierce chided Playa. “Sure, you blew up a few trucks and hospitalized one of the Brotherhood’s top villains, but we gained nothing else from it.”
“I know, I know,” Playa muttered, looking down in shame. His emotions had gotten the better of him that day. Seeing Donnie paying his respects to Lin’s watery grave, like he wasn’t partly responsible for her death, had sparked something dark within him, and the Fog of War had overtaken him.
That day had been satisfying in the moment, but like Pierce had said, it’d earned them very little in the long term, and instead brought the hammer down from the Brotherhood. Over the last seventy-two hours many businesses which had begun paying the Saints protection had been attacked and over two dozen members of the Saints and people affiliated with them had been assaulted. No death, yet, but over a million dollars in damage had been accrued, along with many businesses no longer able to recover as the insurance companies were dragging their feet.
‘If we’d just waited, we could have orchestrated a more concerted bombing effort, disabling more than just a few vehicles. We could have wiped out the Brotherhood’s fleet of trucks and their maintenance sites. We could have crippled the chop shops and turned their weapon stocks into scrap. But I acted before we’d built up enough explosives or even had a plan ready, and we’re paying for it now in blood, money, and street cred,’ Playa thought to himself sullenly.
Their morale from the string of minor victories, and all the goodwill they’d built off of that, had tanked as the Brotherhood demonstrated why they were one of the Big Three.
“We have to act fast to recover from this disaster,” Shaundi claimed, looking up from her work. “There’s no way we can survive this otherwise.”
“I know,” Playa said grimly. “Ideas?”
“Well, I have a contact at the Nuclear Power Plant…” Johnny began, only to get a raised hand from Playa to cut him off.
“Yeah, no, let’s just stop there,” he said dryly. “We start messing with nuclear anything, and we’ll be labeled terrorists, not just villains, faster than you can say ‘fissile material,’ and that will bring in the Feds. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we can survive if they send in the Top 100 heroes to pulverize us.”
Having a terrorism charge leveled against a villain instantly earned them an ‘arrest on sight’ order from the government, regardless of if you were in costume, or not committing a crime at the time. It also granted some extreme privileges to those heroes listed in nation’s Top 100 list. They could perform search and seizure without needing a warrant, and invade private property no questions asked if they suspected a terrorist was on the premise.
It effectively limited the domestic terrorism in the U.S.A. after this law was signed into being, and was partly responsible for stabilizing the country following the chaos from the rise of Quirks. Sure, it trampled several Constitutional freedoms, but when it came to preventing acts of terror and destruction like the ones that had plagued the country during the Quirk Wars? People tended to say it was a fair trade.
Besides, as long as they didn’t mess around with nuclear materials, destroy national buildings or landmarks, or assassinate key members of the government, villains could basically run rampant and butcher scores of people and steal billions of dollars before even being labeled as a terrorist.
“Any other ideas?” Playa asked, looking around at his Holy Trinity. Nothing came up, and he sighed. “We’ll come back to that later, I suppose. For now, double patrols in our territory. And unless the Brotherhood start killing, I don’t want any of our people taking justice into their own hands like that. Understood?”
His lieutenants nodded.
“Good. It’s almost lunch time, and if I have to stay cooped up in here for much longer I’m gonna get moldy,” Playa announced, standing up. “I’m in the mood for tacos. Anyone want me to pick them up something?”
“Wait, you mean you’re leaving us here while you skiv off?” Shaundi gasped in faux-disbelief.
“Privileges of being the boss,” I snarked. “I get to leave while you do the work.”
That earned some laughs, lightening the mood.
“Oh, speaking of tacos, Carlos called me this morning, said he had some new info on the Brotherhood,” Pierce said. “Can you take care of that while you’re out?”
“First, wow, racist, I mention tacos and you bring up Carlos? Uncool, I thought we were beating up the racists,” Playa snorted, his tone ensuring everyone knew it was in good fun. “Second, sure, I can do that. Be back soon.”
He walked out, leaving his crew alone while he fetched lunch.
&&&&&
“Boss! What are you doing out here?” Carlos asked in surprise when he spotted Playa getting out of his stolen Baron. He’d been pacing back and forth in front of the fast food restaurant ‘Paco’s Tacos’ when Playa had rolled up.
“Grabbing lunch and getting info for Pierce. You said you had something,” Playa said.
“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Carlos said, motioning for him to follow. Playa cast a longing look back at the restaurant but followed after Carlos as he walked off.
“Why are you looking around like that?” Playa asked, raising an eyebrow at the antics.
“In case, ya know, we’re being followed.”
“Carlos, let me give you some advice,” Playa said, pating Carlos on his shoulder. “People who look like they have something to hide are the most suspicious compared to somebody who looks like he belongs. Keep acting like somebody is following you, and we will end up with a tail. This isn’t a spy movie.”
“Ah,” Carlos murmured, looking down, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“No probs. What do you have for me?”
“Not much,” Carlos admitted. “After that shit you pulled with Donnie, the Brotherhood is keeping a close eye on everything and everyone within their territory. However, I did manage to overhear a mook speaking to a lieutenant mention something about a shipment. And it sounded important, given the way the lieutenant shushed the loudmouth.”
“Interesting,” Playa mumbled. “A shipment, eh? Wonder what it could be?”
“No clue, but I’ll keep my head down and keep listening for anything,” Carlos said with a nod.
“Good. You’re shaping up to be a pretty decent lieutenant, you know that?” Playa said, slapping Carlos on the back.
“Really?” Carlos uttered, blinking in surprise. “Wait, I’m a lieutenant?! Since when?!”
“Um, since forever. You’re basically Pierce’s Number Two. That makes you a lieutenant,” Playa explained. “Did he not tell you that?”
“No, he fucking didn’t!” he grunted.
“Well, that’s something to discuss when we get back to base,” Playa said. “Help me grab lunch for the guys back at the mission.”
“Sure thing,” Carlos agreed with a nod.
As they returned to the taco shop, he saw some paint on the sidewalk. Some water had been splashed on it, and it was running off into the sewers. And as he observed it, a crazy idea popped into his head.
“Hmm, actually I might have an idea for how to get the Brotherhood off our backs for a bit,” Playa hummed.
“Really?”
Tacos first, though. I’ll have to discuss it with Pierce and the rest, first, though. No way I’m going to do something on my own without alerting everyone again.”
&&&&&
“I still have no idea how you can eat that,” Pierce said with a wince as he watched Playa cram a spicy taco loaded with habaneros and hot sauce into his maw.
“I need to feel that burn, baby,” Playa chuckled after chewing and swallowing. “Besides, I needed to eat a lot of spicy food when I was younger in order to generate enough sweat to use as my ‘artisan’ perfume. As a result, though, my tastebuds basically died.”
“Playa’s disgusting choices in food aside, I think his idea for getting back at the Brotherhood could work,” Johnny said as he munched on a burrito. “It’s daring, but it could work.”
“Yeah, it’s ambitious, but also risky,” Shaundi replied. “I mean, swapping Maero’s tattoo ink with acid? If it doesn’t kill him, it will drive him into a murderous fury. He’ll hit back even harder!”
“It’s a risk we have to take. We’re on the backfoot now, we can’t keep letting them dictate how this goes,” Playa replied. “We have to seize the initiative.”
“Mmm. Granted, I understand that, but… jeez, boss, I don’t like your plan for a distraction,” Shaundi muttered.
“You guys are going to be under the spotlight eventually,” Playa pointed out. “You’ll be scrutinized by the police, the heroes, and the public. They all know me, and Johnny. But you and Pierce are new names, and you have to get ‘em out there. Earn some street cred as villains.”
“I get that! It’s just…” she trailed off, and Playa motioned for the green-haired woman to speak.
“My Quirk sucks for combat!” Shaundi blurted out. “Pierce can do it just fine, he’s got his defensive Quirk that can stand up to bullets, but me? I have dreadlocks made of plants that let me smoke doobie-smacks and drink alcohol without ill effects.”
“Ah, that’s the issue,” Playa said with an understanding nod. “I won’t deny it, your Quirk isn’t really made for battle. But that’s okay. We can work with what we have.”
“Oh? And how exactly do you plan on finding a way for my Quirk to be useful?” Shaundi asked bitterly.
Playa felt sympathy for her situation. He’d been in her shoes before himself. It’d taken his friends in the Saints to help him figure things out with his own Quirk, after all. The boss of the Third Street Saints wouldn’t lie and say it’d be easy, but he would help her find confidence in herself.
‘This damned, hero-crazed society, looking down on anybody who doesn’t have a flashy or powerful Quirk!’ Playa scoffed. His gaze flickered towards his Right Hand Man, and he gestured with his head at Shaundi. The shades wearing man nodded back and took a file out of his pile of paperwork.
“Here you go,” Johnny Gat said as he passed it over to Shaundi.
“What the-?” she uttered, staring at the contents. “This is…”
“A list of ideas to best leverage your Quirk for combat,” Johnny said, finishing off his burrito. “I have plenty of experience with analyzing Quirks and figuring out creative ways to use them. And I’m pretty good at it, if I can say so myself. Probably because I don’t have a Quirk myself.”
“These… these could work,” Shaundi muttered to herself. “I mean, I do neutralize toxins and irritants faster than normal, and I’ve never been bothered by having smoke in my face…”
“I can provide any samples you might need so you can test our theories,” Playa told Shaundi as she mumbled to herself while staring at the file Johnny had made for her. “And don’t forget to ask for help if you need it.”
“This… I can’t even… I can’t believe this!” Shaundi looked up at her friends. “You’d go this far for me?”
“We’d go this far for any of our homies,” Johnny said with a nod.
“Plus, as your boss, it’s my job to take care of you guys,” Playa grinned. “And if that means finding ways to make you better in combat against heroes? You bet your ass I’ll do it.”
“Now that the drama’s over, let’s plan some shit and make the Brotherhood regret their life choices!” Pierce said excitedly.
“Yeah… Yeah!” Shaundi cheered, her enthusiasm overflowing. “Let’s do it!”
With the atmosphere now turned lively, the Third Street Saints immediately got to work on figuring out their attack strategy, and Playa had a feeling that when all was said and done, this was going to change the tides of war, one way or another.
&&&&&
(September 19th, 2123)
Two days of hard work and preparation later, the plot was ready to be set in motion. It was an ambitious plan that would see the Saints fighting the Brotherhood, and then the police when they inevitably showed up. The point was two-fold. On the face of it, the idea was to show off the Holy Trinity of the Third Street Saints, to show that the purple-themed gang had more than just the supervillain Skunk in their corner.
But that was merely the surface level. The real goal was to grab some territory and prevent the Brotherhood from fighting back for a few days.
“This is gonna be difficult,” Shaundi said nervously, fidgeting a bit as she and Playa waited in the mission’s office for the rest of the gang to get ready. In the various bases and hideouts across Stilwater, the Third Street Saints were mobilizing and preparing to strike at the Brotherhood.
“Just keep calm, Shaundi. You can do this, I know you can,” Playa assured her. “You know the plan, and you have Pierce and Johnny there with you. You three will be alright.”
“But I look ridiculous!” Shaundi whined, glancing down at her new villain costume. Her outfit was a red spandex suit that clung to her curves tightly. Over it, she wore a red trench coat that had white polka dots on it. She wore black shoes made for kicking as well as a black belt around her waist from which hung several grenades and canisters full of gas.
To go along with her new villain costume and name, she wore a specially made flower-shaped mask over her face that left her mouth free. It had five thick, wide petals and was a bright red with white spots, and ended up looking like a very accurate depiction of the flower that was her namesake. There wasn’t much she could do about her hair, as it was rather distinctive, so they’d simply decided to go all out, and put a bunch of flowers into her vine-like dreadlocks. It looked like she had a giant bouquet growing out of her head, and it was very hard to actually see what her hair looked like underneath it all.
Dressed up in her villainess get-up, she was not Shaundi at the moment, but rather Rafflesia of the Holy Trinity, named and styled after the Corpse Flower of Sumatra and Borneo.
“Shaundi, you look fine,” Playa said, holding back the urge to sigh aloud. “Besides, dressing up in a colorful outfit is all part of the game. And it is a game, Shaundi. The public expects heroes and villains to dress up and play-fight in the streets, and that is what we will give them. Which works in our favor, because while you draw everyone’s attention, Carlos and I can pull off our part of the plan.”
Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “Just… can we go over the plan one more time?”
“Fine,” Playa said, humoring her. “So, you, Johnny, and Pierce are gonna head to the Sommerset Apartments in the Apartment District at nine am. This is one of the Brotherhood’s strongholds, where they consolidate most of their power in the region. It’s also been hit a lot by the Sons of Samedi. What you guys are going to do while there is take it over.”
“Right. Yeah. Attack a stronghold that has weathered a bunch of assaults from drugged up lunatics. Sounds reasonable,” Shaundi, now Rafflesia, snarked.
“I’ve taken that into account. According to Carlos and Pierce’s investigations, we’ve learned that the Brotherhood is actually pretty weak in the area. All that fighting has drained both sides’ manpower. They’ve just been strutting around and showing their colors as a smokescreen. It won’t be a cakewalk, but we will be able to claim the place, and by extension the whole District, if we focus everything we have on it,” Playa explained. “Right now, we need to claim a piece of the pie for ourselves and this is the best way to do it.”
“Alright,” Rafflesia mumbled. “That makes sense. But what about the Brotherhood? Won’t they come in and try to take it back? Or stop us from taking it in the first place?”
“No doubt, but that’s where Stage Two of the plan comes in,” Playa revealed. “Somebody will make an anonymous call to the Police an hour or two after the start of the raid, and they’ll come running towards the fighting. Now, the Brotherhood aren’t idiots. They see the police coming in large numbers, and they’ll cut the men they have at the apartment complex loose in the hopes that the Saints will be defeated by the cops and heroes.”
“And that somebody will be us, I assume?” Rafflesia guessed.
“That’s right. We trick them all. The men we initially send to Sommerset won’t be the full force. You’ll lead the initial assault alone. The rest of the gang, along with Pierce and Jonny, will only reveal themselves when the law enforcement arrives. We’ll be able to pin them down while also capturing the District for ourselves.”
“And how are we gonna keep the Brotherhood off our backs long enough to ensure this happens?” she pressed.
Playa rolled his eyes at her. “You already know this.”
“I know, but you have a great speaking voice. I like hearing you talk.”
The leader of the Saints blushed a bit at that, before clearing his throat. “Very well, then. Stage Three is what will keep Maero and the rest away from Sommerset for a while. Carlos and I will sneak into Brotherhood territory wearing stolen gang uniforms. We don’t know where the Brotherhood’s headquarters is yet, but we do know where Matt Wolfe, Maero’s right hand man, gets all his tattoo ink from. It’s a little shop near the docks called Rusty’s Needle. Matt Wolfe picks up the ink from there and takes it to the headquarters whenever he gives Maero a new tattoo.”
Playa leaned in, a smirk on his face. “Carlos and I are going to slip a little ‘surprise’ into the ink, which will hospitalize Maero long enough for the Brotherhood to be temporarily leaderless. During that time, they won’t be coordinated enough to take back the Apartment District, or any of the other territory we gain. By the time he’s back on his feet, we will be in a much better position, and more than able to defend against any retaliation.”
“Risky, but rather ingenious,” Rafflesia hummed. “If it works, we’ll be able to keep control of the situation while the Brotherhood scrambles about in a panic.”
“Yup. Now, do you feel better?” Playa asked.
“Ready to wreck some havoc, sir!” Rafflesia said playfully, giving a mock salute.
“That’s good,” Playa said. A knock on the office door drew their attention, and Carlos poked his head in.
“It’s time, boss,” he said, before giving a nod at the other person in the room. “Looking good, Shaun- I mean, Rafflesia.”
“Thank you, Carlos,” she said, shooting him a grin which made the Hispanic Saint stammer a bit.
“Don’t tease him too hard,” Playa chuckled as he got up. “Anyways, gotta go. Be safe. And show Stilwater that there’s a new villainess in town!”
Rafflesia laughed, her usual upbeat attitude returning, and she rose to stand beside Playa. “I suppose it’s time for my debut, then,” she declared, and strode confidently out of the office.
When she was gone, Carlos soon poked his head back in. “Um, you ready, boss?”
“I am,” Playa said. “Do you have the disguises?”
“Yeah. Two Brotherhood outfits as requested,” Carlos nodded, holding up a trash bag. “Bandanas, tank tops, shades and jackets. And of course I got your ‘special tools’ in here as well. We should be able to pass as one of ‘em on the streets.”
“Excellent,” Playa said with a nod. “That makes things much easier for us. We’ll change once we’re at the waiting point.”
“Can’t believe we’re finally striking back at the Brotherhood,” Carlos said with a savage grin. “Thanks for taking me with you.”
“Just keep your head in the game, Carlos,” Playa warned. “Now let’s get out of here.”
The two slipped out of the building once the other Saints had left, and headed for Brotherhood territory. They didn’t take any vehicles, as those could be tracked, and it took a bit longer to get to where they were going on foot, but they soon made it to an alleyway on the edge of the Dock district. There, they switched out of their civilian garb and into the Brotherhood disguises.
“Remember what I said about acting like you belong,” Playa whispered to Carlos as the two of them slipped out of the alleyway dressed in red.
“Yeah, I got you,” Carlos replied, his voice slightly muffled by the red bandana he was wearing around his mouth like a facemask. He also had a red beanie on his head that had a black wolf head logo on it, and had red-tinted sunglasses and tank top to complete the look. He resembled a total poser and tool trying to look tough by flashing as much Brotherhood-branded clothes.
In contrast, Playa looked underdressed with only a red tank top and silver Brotherhood necklace to go with his red checkered bandana covering his head. Still, the disguises worked, as they were given a wide berth, occasionally giving nods and greetings to any other Brotherhood members that passed by.
They walked down the street for a while, completely undetected, before reaching their destination.
“Here we are, Rusty’s Needle,” Carlos said, gesturing to the tattoo parlor. The place was part of a chain throughout Stilwater. It had existed before the Brotherhood had moved in, but had quickly been taken over by the red-clad gang. This one, however, was important. It was where the ink for Maero’s own tattoo work was delivered, before Matt picked it up.
It was currently closed, and wouldn’t open up until the afternoon, but that was what Carlos had already reported.
The Hispanic lieutenant had also figured out the combination for getting through the keypad lock. The lock wasn’t the one for the front door, however, it was for the back, and that was where they headed, slipping around to the rear of the building before imputing the code.
Seconds later, there was a ping and a soft buzz as the backdoor unlocked, letting the two of them inside.
“Keep your eyes peeled, and find the delivery,” Playa muttered as they snuck through the empty tattoo shop. The walls were covered in shelving units, which were stuffed with boxes of various supplies.
“Where do we look first?” Carlos wondered in annoyance as he took it all in.
“Let’s see if there’s a list or something that details what’s kept in here,” Playa suggested, and they began to search.
“Hey, I think I found something!” Carlos said excitedly, holding up a clipboard with a bunch of receipts and delivery orders attached to it.
The Hispanic Saint had found the storage manifest in the back of the storage area atop some crates, and he quickly passed it over to his boss.
“Looks like your intel was right on the money,” Playa praised Carlos as he looked over the clipboard. “A whole box of Behemoth Drop brand tattoo ink, consisting of several bottles of red, black, and white ink, was delivered to the shop. It’s addressed to Matt Wolfe, and it came in yesterday evening before the store closed. It’s slated to be picked up by Maero’s Right Hand later this afternoon.”
Playa looked down at the box in question thoughtfully once he located it. It was wrapped up tight with package tape, and if he wasn’t careful in how he opened the package, Matt would notice that it had been tampered with and become suspicious.
“Go keep watch,” Playa urged Carlos, who nodded and hurried to take point.
‘Let’s see… this ought to do it,’ Playa mused, and he slowly ran his finger over the tape as he turned his sweat into a brand-new chemical configuration, one he’d been practicing for this day.
His fingertip left a smear of a translucent substance behind that soaked into the tape, and quickly rendered the stickiness of it nonexistent. He then peeled the tape away without leaving a mark and opened the box, revealing its contents stacked neatly in rows.
Each of the bottles of ink was made of glass, and the lids had tamper proof seals so that if they were opened, Matt would know as soon as he checked the little containers.
To get around that problem, Playa reached into his pocket and took out his special tools. They were hidden inside the sunglasses case, disguises as glasses repair tools, but after taking the pieces out, it was clear they weren’t for repairs.
It was a needle, along with a syringe, and a few other little bits, and Playa carefully assembled them together to form a specially made injector.
Next, Playa transmuted his sweat into an acid, and carefully let it drip down into the syringe’s tube. He then unscrewed the lid, just high to lift it up a bit, but not enough so that the seal would break in the process.
Then, very carefully, he stabbed the needle into the edge of the seal and injected the contents of the bottle with acid. Playa repeated this several more times with each of the bottles in the package. He didn’t know when or where they’d be used, so he made sure to taint them all.
“Boss, hurry it up!” Carlos suddenly hissed out. “I see some guys approaching the front door… one of them is taking out a set of keys… I think they work here!”
“Damn it, I’m almost finished!” Playa shot back. “Go outside and stall them!”
Carlos nodded firmly and snuck out the back, before circling around to the front of the building to hold off the owners of the place.
“Okay, just got to wrap this back up,” he muttered as he hastily disassembled the injector and put it away.
He applied some of his own sweat – made extra sticky – to the tape so it could be stuck back onto the box to wrap it up, and when that was done, he arranged things so that nobody would notice anything wrong.
“Fingers crossed,” Playa murmured as he left. He quickly circled around to the front where he found Carlos harassing the
“…and I don’t care what you think! If I say we paid you this month’s fees, then we did so! Take it up with Zeke!” one of the tattoo artists who worked at Rusty’s Needle spat at Carlos.
“Well Zeke ain’t here, is he? And he didn’t say nothing about the protection money on this place having been paid yet!” Carlos shot back, doing a good impression of a Brotherhood goon pulling a shakedown.
“Listen here, you-!” the tattoo shop worker snarled and took a step forward, but was held back by his fellow co-work. He had clearly seen me coming, and didn’t want to mess with two Brotherhood goons at once.
“Easy there,” I said, coming up from behind Carlos and putting a hand on his shoulder. “If you say Zeke took the money, then maybe we go see if he’s telling the truth. But if he isn’t, well, I guess my friend and I will be paying you both a visit later.”
“Just get out of here!” the man spat out.
“And you better watch your mouth around us,” I said in a low, warning tone, before leading Carlos away.
When we were a few blocks away we let out sighs of relief.
“That was close!” Carlos muttered. “Can’t believe we almost got busted!”
“That was a bit to close for comfort,” Playa agreed. “What were they doing here, anyways? I thought the store didn’t open until two in the afternoon, and it’s barely one!”
“Must have wanted to get the store ready for customers a little bit early,” Carlos shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, though, so long as you did what needed to be done. You did, right?”
“I did indeed,” Playa smirked, before frowning down at himself. “Now let’s head back to the spot we hid our clothes and change out of these rags. I feel dirty.”
&&&&&
Late in the evening, and the city was still buzzing from the chaos earlier in the day. The Brotherhood had been thrown out of the Apartment District, and the police and several heroes, including several of Stilwater’s top rankers, had also been handed a humiliating defeat. And all by the efforts of the Third Street Saints.
What was even more galling was that Skunk himself never even showed up. His inner circle had, however, and they’d quickly shown the gangs and law enforcers they didn’t need their boss’s assistance to handle things.
It was a shrewd move. Skunk had demonstrated that his lieutenants were more than capable of doing things by themselves, they didn’t need him to hold their hands along the way. It also showed that the Saints were both strong, and united. They’d worked together to overcome the opposition, and emerged triumphant.
Inside the Brotherhood’s main base, these topics were discussed in whispers by the lower ranked members. Speculation ran wild about what the Saints would do next. And what the Brotherhood would do to counter them.
However, for two of the gang’s leadership, it wasn’t worth discussing. Matt was preparing to do some work on Maero. The Brotherhood’s leader had had to step in yesterday to protect a few of his men who’d been caught by a hero trying to threaten a shop owner for money.
The punk hadn’t been much, but defeating them had cost a few of his nicer tats, and now he needed some replacements.
“I’m thinking… a shark this time,” Maero mused as Matt prepared the tattoo gun. “Or maybe a lightning bolt. Side of my face.”
“What about some fangs?” Matt suggested. “Got some new ivory white ink.”
“Oh, nice, I like that idea,” he chuckled. “Alright, you convinced me.”
“Left or right side?”
“Left, for now,” Maero requested. Matt nodded and got up to grab the ink. As he did, Jessica burst into the base.
“Fucking Saints!” the redhead snarled. “FUCK!”
“Everything alright, babe?” Maero asked.
“Those purple bastards are trying to do a PR Blitz! They’ve recorded the aftermaths of the last three days, and are posting it all over the internet! Add in the beat-down our men received from the Saints by his so-called ‘Holy Trinity’ earlier today, along with the fact we lost one of our strongholds to them, and everyone is starting to shout for our arrests!”
Jessica scoffed angrily. “And that’s not all. There are some who are comparing Skunk’s new skank to me! Who the hell does that prissy flower-themed bitch think she is, dressing up in red like that?!”
“Hmm, that could be a problem,” Maero conceded, before being distracted by the return of his tattoo artist.
“Bro, you are gonna look like a bad motherfucker,” Matt assured the Ink Demon as he got ready to tattoo his friend.
“Good, because I was beginning to think I looked like an investment banker,” Maero chuckled.
“I’m glad you two are having such fun, ‘cause God forbid we do anything about the Saints,” Jessica snapped. “We got wrecked today, and not in a good way!”
“I’m gonna take care of them, babe.” Maero promised.
“Sure you are,” she huffed.
That caused his eyes to narrow. “You think I’m afraid?” he demanded, his voice a low growl, causing Jessica to step back from him apprehensively.
“You know she doesn’t, Maero. Now can you stay cool? I’m almost done,” Matt grunted. “And… there!”
He passed a mirror over to his boss and close friend so he could admire the work.
“Hmm, not bad,” Maero hummed, checking out the work that’d been done on his face. “I think you should stick to tattooin’ and drop the guitar.”
“Whatever, the Feed Dogs fucking rock,” Matt scoffed, putting his tools away.
“Heh,” Maero chuckled, before wincing.
He reached up to touch the left side of his face where the stinging sensation was coming from. “Matt, what the hell? Did you switch ink brands?”
“What? No, it’s Behemoth Drop Ink, like always. I know you like it, and it’s not as irritating as some of the other stuff,” Matt protested, turning back to Maero, only for his eyes to widen.
“Baby?” Jessica gasped as she saw what was happening to Maero’s face just as well as Matt could.
His flesh was turning red and raw, and before their eyes the ink started to bubble violently. Wisps of steam and smoke rose from Maero’s face and he began to scream in pain, writhing in his seat and clutching at his face.
“Acid?! What the fuck?!” Matt exclaimed as he dumped out the ink he had just used, watching in horror as it began to sizzle and burn on the bare concrete floor.
“Call a doctor!” Jessica screamed at him as she rushed to Maero’s side. Matt nodded and bolted for the door, shouting for somebody to fetch the Brotherhood’s sawbones.
All the while, Maero’s howls echoed hauntingly through the building.
