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Quirky Row Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2024-05-10 17:02:01 +0000 UTCChapter 4: Holy Trinity
(Tuesday, August 24th, 2123)
The next morning came bright and early for Johnny Gat and Aisha Brown’s home, bringing with it the chance of a fresh start for everything.
After sleeping on the couch, Playa was up and ready for the day. He went to the kitchen, smiling happily. He found Aisha already up, and she handed him a mug full of delicious dark brew.
He savored the coffee Aisha made for him as she bustled around the kitchen, getting breakfast ready.
“Morning, Phil. Sleep well?” Aisha asked, and Playa nodded.
“That couch is crazy soft,” he praised. “Couldn’t tell the difference between it and a bed.”
He then squinted at Aisha. “Though it took a while to actually fall asleep last night,” he said in a playful tone. “You need to remember to close the door to the bedroom next time you and Johnny have a guest over.”
She blushed bright red and looked away, which made Playa snicker at her embarrassment.
“You heard?”
“I think the whole neighborhood did,” Playa teased. She was saved from further embarrassment when Johnny walked into the kitchen.
“Yo, what’s up?” he asked jovially.
“Not much,” Playa replied. “Just suggesting some soundproofing for the next time you renovate this place.”
He blinked, then laughed, which made Aisha flush and punch him in the shoulder.
“Pancakes will be ready in ten minutes,” she informed the two.
After the best breakfast he’d had in five years, Playa was led out to Johnny’s car.
“We’re heading to the old mission,” he informed Playa as they drove through Stilwater’s early morning traffic.
“What about the church?” Playa asked.
“Bought by Ultor,” Johnny informed him. “It’s still standing, but it’s been cleaned up and redone into a ‘historic monument.’ Little more than a damn tourist trap these days.”
“Well, at least they didn’t bulldoze it to make room for their eyesore of a building,” Playa grumbled.
“The Philips Building is a piece of work alright,” Johnny said with a nod. “Anyways, the old mission is our destination.”
“I dunno, I mean sure, religious buildings and themes are our brand, but don’t you think it’s a bit overplayed? Also, kinda obvious?” Playa wondered.
“The mission is just the cover,” Johnny said with a wink. “See, years ago, there was a big earthquake, and it dropped part of the city below sea level. Rather than clear out the rubble, the city built over it. The mission was part of that.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember that,” Playa muttered. “I was a kid when the quake happened. Screwed over a lot of people, especially some small business owners. Wasn’t there gonna be something like a mall built in that place?”
“Yup! There’s an abandoned hotel below the mission, along with an abandoned gallery mall. Was gonna have boutiques, an eatery, shit like that. Now, it’s all up for grabs with the mission on top.”
“What’s the catch?” Playa asked suspiciously.
“We’ve gotta evict the current tenants.”
“I thought we owned the place?”
“We do. I bought the deed to the land – and everything under it – before everything went to shit as a backup bolt-hole. But while I was in prison, some squatters decided they owned the place now. And we’re gonna kick ‘em out,” Johnny said with a feral grin, one that Playa shared.
“Sounds like old times.”
“Yup! Anyways, I made some calls, and those who are left are gonna meet us there and help clear things out,” Johnny explained.
Playa cracked his knuckles menacingly.
A couple minutes later, Johnny pulled up to the old, rundown church, letters falling off the signboard and paint peeling everywhere. There were a few other cars in the lot, but the area looked, if not abandoned, then neglected and avoided.
“Seen better days,” Playa muttered as they walked inside.
“Damn straight,” Johnny agreed. “Now, they should be downstairs waiting for us.”
As they went in, there was a statue of Jesus in the back, and he blinked in shock. “Is that…?”
“The old statue from the old base? Damn straight it is! Hard work getting it out before Ultor claimed the place, but it was worth it,” Johnny replied with a proud smile, though it faded a bit as it was clear someone had vandalized the statue.
What was once a simple church decoration of Christ the Redeemer on the Cross had been turned into a monument for the fallen by the Third Street Saints. Dozens of names had been carved into it over the years. All who’d died wearing the purple of the Saints were immortalized on it. Playa and Johnny had both hand-carved a number of the names themselves, including one above Jesus’ heart. ‘Lin.’ Three simple letters that meant more to Playa than any others.
And yet as the duo looked at the statue, some punks had spray painted it with their own gang colors and signs; A green skull being the most prominent. It was a disgusting act of vandalism, and one that had Playa’s fists clenching tight.
“Who’s still alive from the old gang?” Playa asked darkly, looking at the names scribbled onto the statue. Those that were still visible underneath the graffiti and gang tags at least.
“Not as many as you’d like, or hope,” Johnny said solemnly. “Too many got smoked as the heroes and gangs pushed in on us. We tried, but… without you to inspire us, Dex to provide a cool head and brilliant tactical advice, Lin to keep up our vehicles and gear in tip-top shape, or Julius to lead us, we just couldn’t keep up. We faltered, we bled, and in the end… the Saints disbanded after I was arrested for failing to kill Troy. Some stayed. Most left.”
“That’s who we’re meeting with, then? The ones who stayed?” Playa asked.
“That’s right,” Johnny said with a nod. “This way.”
He led Playa down through some back rooms and into down some stairs into a basement where a dozen other people were waiting, all dressed in purple and sporting a Fleur d’Lys symbol.
“Johnny Motherfucking Gat! Good to see ya!” a muscular black man called out, clasping Johnny’s hand in greeting.
“I knew they couldn’t keep you locked up forever!” a white girl with green dreadlocks said proudly.
Happily enough, Playa recognized most of them from the old days, including a certain young Hispanic boy.
“Carlos, I’m surprised to see you here,” Playa said, greeting the boy who’d sprung him from prison.
“This is my brother’s legacy, no way in hell I was gonna pass up a chance to work with you when I heard the word,” Carlos said.
“Hey, Johnny, who’s this?” the black man asked, noticing Playa.
“No fucking way!” the dreadlocked girl gasped when she spotted him. “Is that… It’s the fucking Fog of War!”
That caused a commotion, as people turned to Playa and paid more attention to him. Soon, gasps and surprised shouts rang out, and they all crowded around him, babbling excitedly.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, fellas!” Johnny said, pushing a few of the touchier ones away from Playa. “Yeah, it’s him. Playa’s back from the dead and ready to lead us back to glory!”
“See? Told you,” Carlos said smugly to a couple of Saints, one of whom grunted and begrudgingly handed over a wad of dollar bills to the boy.
“I recognize some of you,” Playa said, looking over the group. He pointed at the girl with dreadlocks. “You were part of the drug dealer cells, making sure we only pushed the soft stuff and the hard drugs and their dealers got pushed out of Stilwater.”
His finger then went to the tall black man. “And you were one of the money guys. You balanced the books.”
“That’s right! Shaundi, at your service!” the green-haired young woman said, giving a salute, while her partner nodded, a wide smile on his face.
“And I’m Pierce. I’m honored you remembered me! We only met once!” he said, giddy with excitement.
“These two were my left and right hands after the mess with the Alderman and ran things as best they could when I got arrested,” Johnny said, patting the two on the back before turning his attention to them. “Now, what’s the situation with the bastards who’re squatting in my building?”
The pair shared a look, before Shaundi sighed and spoke up. “So, good news, and bad. Good news! The old squatters got run out a while back.”
“And the bad news?” Playa asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The Sons of Samedi moved in and turned the place into a drug den,” she said with distaste. “I think they’re cooking up Loa Dust down there.”
“Damn, didn’t want to mess with any of the Big Three so early,” Johnny grunted in annoyance.
“We were gonna clash sooner or later. Might as well have it be here,” Playa said with grim acceptance.
“Yeah, might as well,” he agreed. “Shaundi, any notable fellows or Quirks?”
“No lieutenants on site, but there are two who have decently powerful Quirks,” she reported. “One’s got some minor aerokinesis, and the other can do something with shadows. If he steps on your shadow you can’t move.”
“Hmm, tricky but doable,” Playa muttered. “What are your Quirks?”
“Mines useless for combat, you want Pierce for that,” Shaundi replied quickly. When Playa looked at him, he nodded slowly.
“I can make stuff that I touch nigh impervious to damage. At least for a little while. I call it Defender,” he explained. “I can only do it to one object at a time, though, and it doesn’t work on living things. And the higher the quality of the material the longer my Quirk can affect it. I can make a piece of paper or bit of cloth indestructible for a couple seconds, but stone or metal? Upwards of a minute.”
“Still, that sounds very useful as a defensive ability,” Playa said. “Alright, everyone, tell me what you got.”
Unfortunately for him, only Pierce’s Quirk had any real combat application. There was one Saint who could turn invisible as long as he held his breath, and another who had a mutation type Quirk that gave him a ferret’s head and the boosted senses that came with that, but not much else.
Still, Playa shrugged at the end of the information session, and told them, “Well, that’s why God gave us guns.”
On cue, Johnny then brought out a bunch of weapons, mainly handguns and pistols, although some clubs and baseball bats made the rounds as well.
Playa felt tears prickle in his eyes when Johnny handed over a pair of weapons to him.
“How? I was certain they’d have been lost when I fell into the water,” he asked softly, fondly holding a pair of brass knuckles. They were intimidating looking, big and bulky and painted a dark purple, with a trio of the Saints’ Fleur d’Lys symbol stamped onto the knuckles.
“Paid a guy to swim to the bottom of the harbor and fish ‘em out of the wreckage. No biggie,” Johnny said, playing it off, but Shaundi and Pierce both smirked knowingly, and Playa knew it’d been a bigger deal that he was claiming.
“Thank you, Johnny,” Playa said gratefully, putting them on and feeling their weight like old friends he beat people up with.
And with that, they were armed and ready.
“Remember, try not to kill too many of them,” Playa whispered to the group as they snuck down deeper into the abandoned levels of the building. “Not because they’re good people, but because we don’t want the Sons to think they have to crush us in one fell swoop in retaliation.”
“Maim ‘em only. Got it,” Johnny said with a nod, and Playa rolled his eyes but nodded along.
At the top of the stairs that overlooked the gallery below, Playa took note of the gang members. Fourteen in total, wearing black and green and predominantly African-American with a spattering of Caucasians and Hispanics. They were also all armed. Most had bats and switchblades, but a few had guns tucked into their waistbands and some even carried machetes. They wandered about, a few burning barrels, aka hobo-campfires, lit up the underground den, and in one of the abandoned store fronts Playa could make out a bunch of chemistry equipment.
‘Nothing we can’t take out,’ Playa mused. ‘Time to begin.’
He placed a hand at the top of the stairs, and concentrated on his Quirk. He felt sweat gather on his palm, and then turn into a thicker, more viscous liquid. Then, he threw he hand out towards the fire filled barrels. The droplets on his hand flew through the air and landed in the burning barrels, and then exploded as the liquid ignited.
The noise startled the thugs, and they jerked in surprise, only to be gunned down by a barrage of bullets courtesy of the Saints. The purple clad gangster swarmed in, catching the Sons of Samedi off guard in a three-pronged attacked.
Pierce led one group, a sheet of aluminum siding held up like a shield, bullets bouncing off it without even scratching the surface. His Saints huddled behind him, using Pierce’s Quirk as a bulwark to fire out from. When they got closer, they ran out from cover and tackled several Sons, pinning them down in the drug lab.
Shaundi and Gats were with the second group of Saints. They were more ruthless, and focused on offense over Pierce’s defense. Gat killed a man with a headshot, and then blew out the kneecaps of another. Shaundi was also vicious, braining one Son with her bat, then making sure he stayed down with a bullet to the leg.
With Carlos and the rest of the Saints at his back in the third group, Playa charged down into the fray. He knocked one Son out with a punch to the back of the head, and Carlos took a swing at another, probably breaking some ribs in the process.
Smoke suddenly was blowing in Playa’s face, blocking his view, and he winced, stepping back with a cough. He glanced to the side and saw a Son with his hands raised, redirecting the air flow so the smoke from the nearby hobo-campfires were sent at him.
He tried to move forward, but found he was frozen in place, and glared out of the corner of his eye at another Son who had his foot on his shadow, having popped out of hiding from behind.
“End of the line, bitch!” the shadow-stepper sneered as he carefully walked over to Playa, a switchblade in one hand, but suddenly began to gag and choke as he got closer.
Playa smirked, even as his own eyes watered a bit from the foul odor he was emitting. Thankfully, the aerokinetic villain’s Quirk was blowing the scent away from Playa and towards the Son with the shadow-freezing Quirk, forcing him to take the full brunt of it.
Playa did not have the most powerful of Quirks, but it was versatile. He could alter the scent of his sweat. That was it. As a child and teen, he’d assumed it wasn’t fitting for hero work, as the only things he could do with it were make different kinds of smells.
Being teased and called ‘Skunk Kid’ hadn’t exactly helped his self esteem much, either. And so, Playa had wallowed in teenage angst, thinking he had a lame power. He did eventually figure out that girls loved a nice smelling guy in college, and managed to make a side-hustle selling perfume made from his own sweat. When your sweat could smell like anything, from chocolate to lavender, why not bottle it, label it as ‘Organic Artisan Perfume’ and sell it for fifty dollars a pop?
Only after nearly being gunned down by the Vice Kings then rescued by Julius King and Troy did Playa’s life change. Joining the Saints and making friends there was more fulfilling than anything else before that.
He met Jonny and Lin, and they helped him figure out how to push his Quirk to the next level. Playa had been going about it all wrong, in the end. What were scents, but the result of chemical reactions. He wasn’t just making his sweat smell different, he was literally secreting chemicals from his pores! Chemicals he could alter on the fly! It wasn’t just perfumes he could make, it was any sort of liquid chemical compound! Acids, adhesives, lube, oil, even nitroglycerin! All of that and more were possible.
And that was how Playa became known as ‘Skunk’ in the Third Street Saints, rising through the ranks to become a lieutenant and taking down the Vice Kings with Johnny. It was only after Lin’s death did Playa gain the much more sinister moniker ‘Fog of War.’
Now, Playa could fight with the best of them, becoming a force to be reckoned with thanks to his chemical warfare tactics. Something the Sons of Samedi were discovering for themselves.
As the Son of Samedi villain behind Playa retched in disgust as his nose and stomach rebelled from the smell Playa had made, he accidentally took his foot off of the Saint’s shadow, leaving him free to be walloped violently and knocked out with an uppercut to the face and a shoe to the balls.
The aerokinetic didn’t have time to worry for his friend, unfortunately, as he staggered back with a bloody hole opening up in his shoulder, and he went down with a cry of pain.
“That’s the last of ‘em, boss,” Johnny claimed, putting his foot down on the aerokinetic’s shoulder, causing him to whimper.
“Wonderful! Get ‘em out of my building,” Playa demanded. The Saints ‘escorted’ the Sons out, dumping them outside the doors of the mission and returning the building to the Saint’s control.
Meanwhile, Playa asked for Johnny, Pierce, and Shaundi to gather with him at the base of the hotel steps.
“So, we won. And with only a single casualty,” Playa said proudly. “Higgins’ arm will heal up in time, and for now, the place is ours again.”
“Hell yeah!” Shaundi said, pumping her fist. “We did it!”
She then frowned. “God, I hope the Sons didn’t find my weed stash down here. That would suck.”
“You’ll have time to look for it later. Right now, I want this place cleaned up and renovated. It might take time, but I want this place to be something better than the cesspool it is now,” Playa said.
“You gonna try and turn it into a hotel and-or shopping mall again?” Pierce asked curiously.
“Maybe. Could be useful to have some legit cash flow and a way to launder the stuff we get from our other endeavors,” Playa said thoughtfully. “But that’s for the future. Right now, we’ve got other things to do.”
“Like planning the Saints’ comeback?” Johnny asked, earning a nod.
“Totes. But there’s more. Johnny, Shaundi, Pierce, are you with me?”
All three nodded, and Playa grinned widely.
“You three are going to be my Holy Trinity,” Playa told them, folding his arms as he looked over the group. “My generals. My Inner Circle. My Monster Hunters. The Saints are back, baby, and the streets of Stilwater will be made safe once again!”
“Awesome! It’s gonna be like Jesus’ comeback! But with less sand and end of the world stuff,” Shaundi said with a grin.
“You can count on us, boss,” Pierce said, grinning just as widely.
“We’re with ya to the bitter end, Playa,” Johnny vowed.
“Now, to organize ourselves, and figure out how to plan my big return,” Playa said, pacing back and forth.
“What’s your idea?” Pierce asked excitedly.
“It’s almost the end of summer break, yeah? That means it’s nearly time for Stilwater U’s annual Back to School pep rally at the Culex Stadium. Assuming they’re still doing that,” Playa said.
“Of course! It’s a big event! Sons of Samedi make bank on it every year. Same with the End of School pep rally. And the football games. And whenever one of the frats throws a kegger,” Shaundi confirmed. “It’s also a neutral event. None of the Big Three will make a ruckus there because Ultor technically owns the place ever since they bought the University, and they pay for a big chunk of the festivities.”
“That’s where we’ll be, then, with half the city in attendance. And that’s where Stilwater will learn that the Fog of War has returned,” Playa said with a fist pump. “Now, we’re gonna need a few things, like a smoke machine, fireworks, and a guy who can hack the stadium’s screens…”
