Akashic Records
patreon
Quirky Row Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2024-07-10 17:00:04 +0000 UTCChapter 11: Reunion Tour
(Saturday, September 11th, 2123)
“Phew! Yesterday sure was a blast!” Playa chuckled, leaning back in his seat at his desk, feet kicked up. His Holy Trinity was with him, all enjoying themselves and basking in the relative success of the meet up with Maero. Sure, they didn’t get anything substantial, but they beat up a hero and didn’t die, which was a win in Playa’s book.
Right now, he felt like celebrating with his lieutenants, and Shaundi had brought a few tokes and passed them out, making everybody felt nice and mellow.
“Now that we are officially at war with the Brotherhood, I want to know what, or rather who, we’re up against,” Playa requested, looking Pierce in the eye as he let out a puff of smoke. “What can you tell me about the leadership?”
“Sure thing, boss,” Pierce said, standing up, a file in hand. Shaundi and Johnny gave their fellow lieutenant their attention, the mood turning serious.
“As you know, the Brotherhood is led by a man named Maero,” Pierce explained, pinning up a picture of the man in question. “His Quirk lets him manipulate ink, and he does so by animating his tattoos to be both weapon and armor. He goes by Ink Demon among the hero community. Not much is actually known about the guy. He came to Stilwater five years ago, when the Saints fell apart as the city tore itself apart in gang violence to fill the void left behind. That’s all I’ve been able to dig up on him.”
“We know this, tell us something new,” Johnny requested, kicking his feet back.
“Well, how about this?” Pierce said, pinning three more pictures to the board. “Here are Maero’s three lieutenants. Jesssica, Matt, and Donnie.”
He pointed to a redheaded woman with a vapid yet cruel expression, a guy in a mohawk whose photo showed him on a stage with a band, and finally a nervous looking man with a goatee in a red polo shirt who was standing in a mechanic’s garage. Aside from the latter, all had a large number of tattoos on their body.
“Donnie? Wait, isn’t that little puke from the Rollerz?” Johnny demanded, sitting up straight when he saw the man in question.
Playa also tensed up when he saw him, dark memories flashing through his head at the sight of him.
“Yes, Donnie Donnerelli. Owner of Donnie’s, the largest Brotherhood affiliated mechanic shop in Stilwater,” Pierce said with a nod. “Formerly best friends with Joseph Pierce, second-in-command of the Westside Rollerz, and top mechanic for them. When the Rollerz were dissolved, he went into hiding, until he was hired by Maero to fix up some cars from the demolition derby. One thing led to another, and Donnie became the top mechanic for another gang. He runs all the chop-shops in Stilwater through his connections with the Brotherhood.”
Pierce tapped the photo of the man. “His Quirk is called Grease, and it lets him generate a decent amount of a slippery, grease-like substance from anywhere on his body. He uses it in all the cars he fixes, and people swear it makes their stuff faster and smoother like nothing else.”
“I know about Donnie,” Playa said, his voice tinged with disgust. “Tell me about the others.”
Pierce shivered a bit at his boss’s tone, and Shaundi and Johnny both shared worried looks.
“Right! Anyway, this is, uh, Matt Wolfe. Lead singer of the mildly popular local band Feed Dogs, professional tattoo artist, and Maero’s right-hand man and best friend. The Brotherhood’s cut-rate version of Johnny Gat, if you will.” Pierce tapped the photo of the rocker with the blond mullet.
“The hell, Pierce? I’m way more handsome than that mook!” Johnny scoffed while Shaundi giggled a bit.
“Sure, sure, Johnny,” Pierce chuckled. “Anyways, Matt is Maero’s personal tattoo guy, the only person Maero trusts to do his ink-work. He also runs the more unsavory sides of the Brotherhood. Protection Rackets and gun running fall under his purview, as well as the pimping, the small amount of drugs not controlled by the Sons, and the rallies.”
“Rallies?” Playa asked, while everyone else’s expressions darkened.
“Anti-Mutant rallies,” Pierce said darkly. “He is responsible for the deaths of over a dozen people with Heteromorphic Quirks, and indirectly had his hand in dozens more lynchings and ‘race riots.’ If there is a business run by Heteromorphs? Matt organizes boycotts, protests, and the like to drive them out of Brotherhood territory and Stilwater as a whole. And if that doesn’t work? Breaking and entering, arson, and straight-up drive bys. He’s a thug. Almost as bad as the final person.”
Pierce tapped the picture of the redhead with more force than he’d done with any of the others. “Jessica Shawn, daughter of an Ultor board exec and an airline pilot and the main squeeze of Maero himself. Classic spoiled rich-bitch who basically had everything handed to her on a silver platter her entire life, but still had the gall to complain when she didn’t get exactly what she wanted. She’s a suspect in several mysterious deaths and disappearances among Heteromorph girls. Never went to court, though. Her parents always bribed the right people in the precinct to keep her out of jail and the victims’ families buried in paperwork.”
“Well, shit,” Shaundi uttered, peering at her picture.
“Indeed,” Pierce said grimly. “Jessica handles the Brotherhood’s money, as well as their PR and legal stuff. Her parents’ connections have allowed countless Brotherhood gangbangers to get out of jail scott-free for all sorts of crimes ranging from assault and battery to manslaughter. She’s a manipulator, too, so she’s skilled at getting other people in trouble for things she’s done and twisting minds and emotions.”
“And her Quirk?” Johnny asked.
“She can lengthen her finger and toe nails by about a foot,” Pierce said. “Can’t make ‘em harder or sharper or anything like that, but she’s rumored to use poisoned nail polish, so even a scratch can be painful, or even lethal.”
“In the right circumstances that could be quite dangerous,” Shaundi commented.
“It is. Like I said, Matt Wolfe may have more crimes on his rap sheet, but she actually has a much higher body count,” Pierce said darkly. “Four girls went missing at her high school during her Sophomore year, then another two as a Junior, and finally seven more in her Senior year, including three who were in the running against her as prom queen. And they were all Heteromorphs to some degree. Officially, these are all cold cases. Unofficially? Jessica Shawn’s fingerprints are all over it if you look close enough.”
“Jesus Christ, she murdered thirteen girls before graduating high school?” Playa uttered in disgust.
“Only five turned up dead. The rest were never found, but reading between the lines and looking deeper into their situations, they were sold to the Vice Kings, who trafficked them as sex slaves,” Pierce revealed.
“That fucking bitch,” Johnny hissed out, his hatred for the Vice Kings and their human trafficking bubbling up fresh as ever, even years after the gang been ground to dust.
“And that’s just her old body count,” Pierce stated. “Since then, there’s another ten Heteromorph girls she never went to court over, plus a further twenty-nine missing persons cases she is likely responsible for.”
“Well. She’s on my shit list,” Shaundi said darkly, Johnny nodding in silent agreement.
“What do we do first, then?” Playa asked. “Who do we go after?”
“As much as I’d like to… get rid of Matt and Jessica first, the first person we gotta deal with is Donnie,” Pierce admitted. “He’s simply too integral to the Brotherhood’s bottom line to be left alone.”
There were some grumbles at that, but after a bit Playa nods. “Fine. Do a background check, put him under surveillance, and let me know what you find out. In the meantime, I’ve got a few things to do tomorrow and the day after.”
“What’ve you got planned?” Shaundi asked, only to get an elbow to the ribs courtesy of Johnny. “Ow! The fuck, Gats?”
“Show some tact, woman!” Johnny hissed at her.
“It’s fine, Jonny,” Playa said with a sad smile and shake of the head. “Tomorrow is… Lin’s birthday. And after that… is the day she died.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” Shaundi gasped. “I-I didn’t-!”
“I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Shaundi,” Playa assured her. “Just… let me have those days to myself, please?”
“Of course, man. Whatever you need,” Johnny assured him, Pierce and Shaundi nodding their heads in agreement.
Playa smiled weakly at them in thanks, before putting down the blunt he’d been smoking. He just didn’t feel like it any more.
&&&&&
(September 13th, 2123)
“Hey, Lin,” Playa said slowly, looking down at the water of the river. “I’m back. It took me five years, but I’m finally back.”
In the Northwest corner of the Arena District, near a few old warehouses and a pool hall, Playa stared into the spot where he and Lin had been sentenced to die by Sharp and Price five long years ago. He could still feel the pain of being shot, after all these years. Not to mention the fear of drowning, or the way the darkness of the trunk seemed to swallowed everything, even sound.
And, in a way, this spot was where he himself had died, alongside Lin. When he’d escaped, something in him broke. He’d become a monster, the Reaper of the Rollerz, and had near single-handedly butchered the entire gang. It had taken the efforts of everyone in the Saints to bring him back to his senses. And in a surprise twist, at least in Playa’s opinion, it had been Johnny Gat who’d saved him from descending deeper into madness.
Johnny had plenty of blood on his hands, even by that point in time. Maybe it was because of that, that he had seen what was happening to Playa, and sought to drag him out of the blood soaked abyss the young man had been trying to drown himself in.
Many wouldn’t know it based on how they acted around each other, but Playa and Johnny had hated each other at first. Always butting heads and arguing. Johnny disliked the fact that such a newcomer, even one with Julius’ personal stamp of approval, was being given so much trust and power in the Saints. As for Playa? He disliked how brutal Johnny was, and how unconcerned for bystanders the gun-maniac was when executing his missions.
Yet it was the death of Lin and Playa’s downward spiral that brought the two closer together. Lin had grown up with Johnny. They’d been childhood friends! Her death was just as crippling to him as it was to Playa. However, where Playa drenched himself in blood, Johnny had actually reeled in his chaotic and violent tendencies. He was still brutal, but he took a lot more care when choosing targets and running missions.
Both men were hurting, and it was Johnny who first saw this. For the sake of Lin and the man she’d loved, he rescued Playa, and the two of them had bonded over their mutual sorrows. Now, they were the best of friends, practically brothers given how close they were. But both regretted that it’d come to be through death and grief.
In the end, Playa did not regret how he handled the Westside Rollerz. He would do it again a hundred times if it meant there was a chance Lin would be brought back. But Lin’s death had marked him deeply, and he would never forget her. It would be impossible to do so.
Silently, unable to speak any further, Playa tossed a purple wreath into the water. It had been made with violets and lavenders, her favorite plants.
A rumble of an engine in the distance caused Playa to twitch, and he shot an annoyed glare at the person who was disturbing him, only for his expression to switch to surprise when he saw it was a red car, a Voxel, that was driving up the path. The hood ornament was a snarling wolf’s head.
Confused as to why a Brotherhood vehicle was this deep into Sons of Samedi territory, Playa retreated, hiding behind a dumpster near the warehouses.
When the Voxel pulled up, it took all of Playa’s willpower not to jump out and start screaming at the man who’d appeared. Donnie Donnerelli, the man Lin had dated when she’d been spying on the Westside Rollerz, and the same person who’d left her to her fate that night she and Playa had been shot, shoved in a trunk, and pushed into the water.
Playa watched carefully as Donnie took a wreath of his own out of the car, and tossed it into the water where Lin had died.
“Lin… I, um, I miss you…” Donnie mumbled out, barely audible to Playa at that distance. Hearing it however transmuted the sorrow in his heart into a roaring flame, and with a snarl of hate and disgust, he strode forward before the man could utter any more platitudes.
“That’s sweet, Donnie. I missed you too!” Playa hissed into Donnie’s ear while pressing a gun to his head. The mechanic stiffened in fear, eyes going wide as he glanced to the side and saw who exactly it was holding him at gunpoint.
“Oh, shit!”
“You haven’t seen me since your boss shot and stuffed Lin and I into the trunk of a car and best you can give me is ‘oh, shit?’” Playa scoffed.
“You… you should have died that night, not Lin!” Donnie spat out, growing a bit of spine for once.
“Funnily enough, I agree,” Playa uttered darkly. “Now walk to your car.”
“H-how’d you know I would be here?” Donnie stammered as he took a few nervous steps towards his ride.
“Honestly? Pure coincidence. I also came here to pay my respects, and we just so happened to cross paths,” Playa admitted.
“What do you want with me?” Donnie asked weakly.
“You’re going to do some pro-bono work for me,” Playa declared, an idea spring to life in his mind as they spoke.
“Pro-bono work?” Donnie uttered, confused, before hissing in pain as Playa smacked him upside the head with the butt of his handgun.
“Shut it, no more questions,” Playa declared, forcing Donnie into the passenger’s seat of his own Voxel while Playa got into the driver’s side. “Wait one while I make a call.”
He got out his phone and dialed a number before putting it on speaker and leaving it in one of the cupholders.
“Yo, this is Pierce. Speak to me, baby!”
“Hey Pierce, it’s Playa. You know that plan we were working on for dealing with Donnie?” Playa asked, causing the man in question to gulp fearfully.
“Uh, yeah, I do. It’s going well. Why?” Pierce asked, sounding confused.
“I need you to get all the stuff you’ve gathered and bring it to me. We’re starting the operation early,” Playa informed him as he began driving away from the area.
“What? No, Playa, hang on, bad idea, we don’t have nearly enough materials to do anywhere near the damage we wanna do!” Pierce protested.
“Well, how much do we have?” Playa asked, annoyed.
“Uh, maybe enough for three… no, four trucks,” the member of the Saints inner circle replied.
“What? So little?”
“It’s not easy getting that many explosives on short notice, boss!” Pierce protested.
“Damn it, fine, that will have to do. Have Carlos bring it to… Copperton. Over by the self-storage sheds. And I want them ASAP! Oh, and have him get my costume as well!” Playa ordered, before hanging up.
“Now, you’re still working on cars?” Playa asked, turning his attention to his passenger.
“Uh, yeah,” Donnie replied, unsure of where this was going.
“Great! So, here’s the deal! You rig your buddies trucks to blow, and I won’t put a bullet in your brain! Sound good?”
“Wha?! I can’t do that! Maero will kill me!” he whimpered.
“If you don’t, I’ll kill you,” Playa declared darkly, and he looked into Donnie’s eyes. The mechanic flinched back, having seen the truth in the Saints’ eyes, and he nodded weakly.
“Good,” Playa said, and continued to drive towards Copperton. The name was a bit of a misnomer, as there had been no copper mine on the island. Instead, it was called that because of the old police precinct that’d been put there when Stilwater went from a moonshiner’s paradise to a naval military base. Cop Town. Copperton. The name had stuck and been officially registered with the city, even after the precinct closed and moved to a new location.
“Look, Playa, I know you’re pissed about Lin, and I am too, but I had nothing to do with killing her,” Donnie protested, speaking up after the silence grew too suffocating.
“No, I suppose you didn’t. But you certainly didn’t try and save her, either,” Playa spat out. “You just ran. Like a sniveling coward.”
That shut up Donnie for the rest of the ride, and when Playa pulled up to the spot he’d told Carlos to meet him, the boss of the Saints was pleased to find the young man already there.
“I got the call,” he said, walking over to where Playa had parked across from the storage unit complex. “What’re you doing in there? And… is that Donnie?!”
“Yeah. He and I are reminiscing over old times,” Playa said with a sharp laugh. “And he oh so generously volunteered to do some pro-bono work for us.”
Playa’s eyes narrowed. “Did you bring the stuff?”
“Sure did, boss! Four packets of C4, enough to turn any vehicle into a smoking wreck!” Carlos said cheerfully, passing a trash bag over to Playa, who quickly took out one of the blocks to check it.
“Hmm, timer, and remote detonator included. Nice,” Playa smirked, before turning to Donnie. “Here. Take this, and go install the bomb. That Alaskan looks like it’d work.”
He pointed across the street at the self-storage garage, where a red truck was idling, its Brotherhood owners nowhere to be seen.
Carlos grinned vicious and rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Oh, hell yeah! Anything else I can do?”
“Take some distance,” he urged the purple beanie wearing Saint. “But take some pics and vids, too. I also want you to warn Pierce things are about to get loud, so while I’m drawing aggro, he can send some Saints to do whatever he needs in the area.”
“Got it!” Carlos said happily, running off to do as he’d been requested. Playa turned back to Donnie, and motioned for him to get out.
“Hurry up. And don’t even think about running,” Playa warned. Donnie nodded fearfully and, with the block of C4 in hand, ran to the truck. Meanwhile, Playa hastily got into his costume, making sure the gas mask and gauntlets wouldn’t interfere while driving. He kept the cape off, though. It was a bit much for just a quick drive around town.
“I-I planted the bomb,” Donnie said, returning to the car. He flinched a bit when he saw Playa in his villain costume but still got back inside.
“Good. Now… three… two… one…!” Playa uttered, whipping out the detonator and pressing it. The bomb went off, flipping the Alaskan and turning it into a burning wreck, just as advertised.
“HAHA! That’ll draw some attention!” Playa laughed. “Now, onwards to Chinatown!”
“Maero is gonna kill me for this…” Donnie mumbled, eyes wide in shock as he stared at his handiwork.
Playa just ignored the shell-shocked Brotherhood lieutenant and put pedal to the metal, sending Donnie’s Voxel shooting down the street towards their next destination.
&&&&&
“So, I gotta ask, is it racist or ironic that the Brotherhood, Stilwater’s own knock-off KKK group, controls the Chinatown district?” Playa asked curiously as they drove through Stilwater. “Because it seems like it’s both.”
“When Maero finds out you made me do this, you’re fucked,” Donnie spat out.
“I’m not afraid of some tattooed thug or his bigoted goons,” Playa shot back. “Compared to the Brute, the Ink Demon is just a cute little puppy whose bark is worse than his bite.”
“You’ll regret underestimating him,” Donnie retorted.
“Cute. Now, be a doll and plant some bombs on those Legions,” Playa demanded, screeching the Voxel to a halt outside an alleyway where two red Legion trucks waited.
Unfortunately, there were some Brotherhood goons sitting around and smoking. Donnie wouldn’t be able to approach without being spotted, so Playa got out along with the pressganged mechanic.
“While they’re distracted, plant the bombs,” Playa ordered as he strode towards the Brotherhood minions.
“Whoa, what the hell?” one of them uttered as he looked up, confused when he spotted Playa himself walking towards him. “OH SHIT! Guys, it’s him! It’s Skunk!”
The three other goons reacted to the warning by dropping cigarettes and taking out an assortment of weapons, from brass knuckles to tire irons. No fire arms, thankfully, and Playa moved in, delivering a haymaker to the first Brotherhood gangster. With his own brass knuckles reinforcing his fist, the person he punched went down like a sack of bricks.
He then dodged a tire iron that tried to strike him, and Playa retaliated by sending a burst of foul smells into his face when he got too close. As he reared back, Playa delivered a throat punch that stunned him, and followed up by sweeping his legs out from under him.
Another Brotherhood goon tried to hit Playa with a length of chain, but was immediately rebuffed as it clanged harmlessly against his left gauntlet. He then slammed his face to the
“I, uh, surrender?” the last Brotherhood said nervously, dropping his weapon and raising his hands in surrender.
“Yes, you do,” Playa said. He then wrapped a bandana around the Brotherhood goon’s eyes and tied him and his groaning friends up, using a handful of plastic zipties from a pocket on his costume. He then dragged them out of the alleyway for the police to deal with.
“You done yet?” he shouted back towards the trucks.
“Yeah, I am,” Donnie grumbled, jogging back to the Voxel. “Where next?”
“Barrio district,” Playa told him.
“That’s the heart of the Brotherhood territory besides the Docks!” Donnie exclaimed. “You’ll be swarmed the second you go inside!”
“While I’m touched that you’re so worried for me, it’s fine. I have a plan,” Playa chuckled. “Now get in.”
As they drove away, the two Legions exploded, causing the civilians nearby to scream and run around in terror. Luckily (on unluckily depending on how one felt about the red-clad racists) the four Brotherhood goons were far enough away from the blast to be completely unharmed.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, starting shit with the Brotherhood will get you kill,” Donnie muttered as Playa drove to the final location.
“Your constant pessimism is getting on my nerves,” Playa retorted, raising an eyebrow at the complaining mechanic. “Can’t believe Lin put up with you for so long, even if it was for her cover, if you’re normally this whiny.”
“Shut up!” Donnie snapped, glaring at the gasmask wearing villain. “You didn’t know her like I did!”
“So, all it takes to find your spine is to talk about Lin,” Playa noted.
“She was an angel! She didn’t deserve to live in a shithole like Stilwater!” Donnie, shaking his head furiously. “And she’d still be alive if you Saints hadn’t tricked her!”
“Tricked her? Donnie, you idiot, she was a lieutenant in the Saints, she answered directly to Julius himself, and was in charge of fucking over the Rollerz! She only fluttered her eyelashes at you because it was a job.”
“That’s a lie!” Donnie snarled, and something in him snapped. He lashed out, grabbing onto the steering wheel and trying to force the Voxel to crash.
“Fuck!” Playa shouted, slamming onto the brakes before Donnie could get them both killed. The car slewed to a halt outside a seedy looking nightclub called On Track in the outskirts of the Barrio district. There were a couple cars parked nearby, including a Brotherhood Compensator.
“Not where I wanted to be, but this will do,” Playa muttered, kicking Donnie in the chest and knocking him off the steering wheel and out of his seat. He tumbled out of the car, the passenger’s side door was torn off its hinges by the man’s weight, and he landed hard in the dirt.
“Consider this the end of the road, Donnie,” Playa declared, angrily stepping out of the car while tossing the C4 at him. “Fix that up to that Compensator over there, and we’ll be able to end this little reunion of ours.”
Snarling, Donnie, glared daggers at Playa, but didn’t resist, instead grabbing the block of explosives and went over to the truck to install it.
Folding his arms, Playa looked around the area, keeping an eye open to the surroundings. He didn’t want any Brotherhood goons or police to stop him or Donnie.
“It’s done,” Donnie said sullenly, walking back over to the villain.
“Good! And like I promised I’ll let you go free…” Playa began, taking the detonator from his pocket to turn the car into a pile of scrap, only for his danger sense – honed after many missions with the Saints – screamed at him and he took a few steps away. Just in time, too, as something flew out of On Track and slammed into the ground where he’d been standing.
From the cloud of dust that rose up, a tall and beefy man appeared. His hair was a red-dyed mohawk, and he wore a red tank top with black jeans. A silver pendant in the shape of the Brotherhood wolf head hung around his neck, and several wolves had been tattooed on his arms.
“Who the fuck are you?” Playa asked.
“Rebound,” the newcomer said. “Lieutenant of the Brotherhood. It’s an honor to be able to face the legendary Fog of War.”
“Gerald! Murder that bastard!” Donnie shouted at the Brotherhood goon. “He’s trying to kill me!”
“Nobody touches the boss’s mechanic,” the man said. He then settled into a boxing stance and sent a sharp jab at Playa’s throat. The masked villain blocked it, but a second strike came at him from his blindside and he had barely enough time to twist aside. It still grazed his left arm, knocking the detonator from his grasp.
A stomp from the villain in front of him crushed it, and Playa stared at it in frustration.
“Ah, shit,” Playa groaned as he looked down at the broken pieces of the detonator.
‘At least the bomb still on a timer,’ he mused, trying to see the silver lining. Unfortunately, that brief moment of distraction allowed Donnie to make a break for it, and he hurled himself into his Voxel.
Donnie hotwired his own car and immediately began to drive away, and Playa cursed to himself at the cowardly mechanic’s retreat, but was forced to get his head back into the game as he blocked another blow from the Brotherhood lieutenant in front of him.
‘I’ve got thirty seconds before the bomb goes off,’ Playa thought to himself as he sent a punch towards Gerald – or Rebound’s – face. The Brotherhood villain was skilled, however, and he managed to sway aside. Only for Playa’s gauntlet to slam into his face.
Rebound recoiled, and tensed his legs, and then leapt high into the air, far higher than should have been possible. He then came crashing down towards Playa, trying to stomp on his head with both feet.
It was a heavily telegraphed attack, however, letting Playa evade easily. Still, it sent dirt flying everywhere, making a convenient smokescreen Rebound could use to recover.
‘His Quirk must be something like ‘Bounce’ or something,’ Playa mused as Rebound burst from the second crater he’d made, swinging a fist at
It quickly devolved into a slugging match, with Playa being put on the backfoot. Rebound dominated the fight by bounding everywhere, punching and kicking while Playa couldn’t hit him with his own strikes. And the few times he did, Rebound just jumped away a second later, making the earlier hit pointless as he couldn’t follow it up.
‘No, it’s not just being able to jump high,’ Playa realized. ‘My hits aren’t doing as much as they should be doing. And whenever he does a huge leap, he was hit by me earlier.’
“Ah, I’ve figured out your Quirk,” Playa smirked. “You convert, or rather redirect, the kinetic force from my blows. That’s why you hit so hard and can jump so high!”
“Clever of you to figure it out,” Rebound sneered. “But that doesn’t help you much.”
“Actually, it does,” Playa claimed. “See, I also noticed you can’t redirect all of the kinetic force. Which means your Quirk isn’t perfect. And that some damage still slips through.”
“So what?” Rebound demanded.
“So this,” Playa said, whipping out his handgun.
“Whoa, shit!” Rebound gasped, raising his arms in front of his chest. A shot rang out and a bullet slammed into the villain’s arms. It pierced through, but not as deeply as it should have, and Rebound used the absorbed energy to leap backwards towards his Compensator truck.
“BASTARD!” Rebound snarled. “Using a gun in an honest fist fight?! I’m gonna kill you!”
“Nope!” Playa said with a shake of his head. “It’s been thirty seconds.”
“Wuh?” Rebound uttered, a moment before his vehicle exploded violently.
No matter how much force his Quirk could absorb, a bomb going off right behind him wasn’t exactly something he could handle, and he was sent flying, fire, blood, and burning shrapnel going with him. Rebound was still alive, but just barely, it looked painful.
“Phew!” Playa sighed in relief, seeing he’d beaten his opponent. “Smell ya later, Rebound.”
He then walked off, whistling to himself as he pulled out a phone from his pocket while tucking away his gun. “Hey, Pierce? It’s me. Yeah, I’m done. Can you send somebody to pick me up? I’m in Barrio, near On Track. Yeah, that trashy nightclub with the terrible booze and worse music. Oh, and call an ambulance. No, not for me. I laid a beating down on some Brotherhood schmuck. Okay, thanks. Bye!”
&&&&&
At the Brotherhood headquarters near the docks of the Stoughton district, an annoyed Maero was grumbling to himself while Matt gave a new tattoo to replace the ink he’d used up to escape the cops in the caverns. Jessica was watching from the side, a fashion magazine in her hands.
“Can you believe it? After offering an olive branch for their transgressions, that bastard said ‘no!’”
“Babe, just let it go,” Jessica requested, looking up from her reading.
“Who the fuck do the Saints think they are, turning me down?” Maero continued to rumble.
“Sweetie, it’s not a big deal. Just kill ‘em,” she said casually, as if murder was nothing more than a way to get rid of nuisances.
Before she could say anything else, Donnie burst into the room, panting heavily.
“Hey, Donnie, where’ve you been-,” she began, but went silent when she saw the disheveled appearance and fear in his eyes.
“Maero, I’m so sorry,” Donnie uttered as he came to stop near his boss, catching his breath.
“What did you do, Donnie?” Maero asked, a note of concern entering his voice as he looked down at his lieutenant.
“It’s the Saints! They-!” he started to explain, but was cut off by a growl from Maero.
“What did you do, Donnie?” the leader of the Brotherhood demanded, his voice turning dark.
“It was Skunk! He made me rig up some of our boys trucks with bombs!”
“And you did it?” Maero inquired, his voice turning venomous.
“I didn’t have a choi-” Donnie protested, but a thick, meaty hand shot out and wrapped around his throat, choking him violently.
“You had a choice, Donnie, you chose your life over the rest of us,” Maero uttered furiously.
“I had a gun to my head! What else was I supposed to do, man?!” Donnie whimpered.
“Have a spine,” the Ink Demon retorted. That line sent various emotions through Donnie’s brain, and feral growl slipped out of him, even as he dangled from Maero’s grip. First Playa, and how his own boss?
He stared into Maero’s eyes, fury glowing within. Lack a spine, did he?! He’d show them!
After a moment, Maero grunted in approval of the emotions swirling within his mechanic’s gaze and dropped him to the floor.
“D-don’t worry, I didn’t say anything about the shipment,” Donnie babbled, catching his breath now he was free.
“Well, that makes it all better,” Maero scoffed.
“Bro, you should be pissed at the Saints and that asshole Skunk for starting shit, not Donnie,” Matt said, speaking up in defense of his fellow lieutenant.
“Besides, if you kill him, who’s gonna fix my car? Or yours?” Jessica pointed out with a nod in agreement from the side, and Maero huffed at that, murderous intent bleeding out of him.
“Tell the boys it’s time to start striking back, and hard,” Maero ordered. “Find whichever businesses have stopped paying protection to us, and tear ‘em down, brick by brick if you have to. It’s time to send a message to the Saints.”
