Chương 1: Start Reading

It was Saturday, June 1st, 2013. The latest newspaper told me that. It was 12: 01 PM, the big clock on the bank sign across the street told me that. The perps were here, the beat-up van that pulled up a minute late to their own rendezvous told me that. It took me two weeks to find out where they are. For the past five months they've been wreaking havoc, at first it was just random acts of violence like breaking windows in convenience stores and stealing bikes.

Then after the first month they started coordinated stealing from those convenience stores. By the second month people who've seen them around pointed out they were present at drug deals, bringing much harder shit like fentanyl. By the third month, they seem to have started making this part of town rot to its core. Come month five, on one of my patrols, I saw a kid from the same foster house as me limp on a street corner with blue lips.

I'd been making as many moves as I could, but I've only got two legs to take me places, so if I'm not already close it's a hike. My patrols had mostly been to get them stuck in one "bubble" in the South side of town, but that bubble's been getting worse and they were starting to leak out. I had to find out where they were organizing and hit hard.

At that point, I decided to stake out one of their popular spots and beat the answers out of one of their dopes when I figured out their routines and knew which one would be most likely to squeal. It was some abandoned house almost dead center of the little sphere of influence I've corralled them into, that they called "the place." Now it was just a matter of trudging over there in plainclothes so I wouldn't draw any attention. Fire escape on an adjacent building let me wait on the roof with my cover-ups.

It was time to get ready while these clowns got comfortable inside. I couldn't lean too far over without my head poking out, but I was able to see a few things, namely the best news that none seemed to be carrying anything big or potentially dangerous to be hit with. Bats, a sledgehammer, I saw something metal but I didn't really have a chance to look closely. Time to dress up. I was never a big fan of costumes, but hiding how you look was useful when you were waging a one-man war with the local gang element.

Big black puffy winter jacket with the hood up, a ski mask, and this obnoxiously warm black scarf goes around my neck all piled up to my mouth to keep my silhouette vague. It's uncomfortable as Hell but this is what works. I know it works. I took a deep breath as I collected my thoughts. I had to make an impression on these people if I wanted to end this. Not just throwing them around. Serious injuries. Things I could get in big legal trouble for.

I'm already doing shit unregistered but nothing I couldn't get a plea deal out of, one or two broken arms isn't life ruining. The things I do here and now are gonna be crossing a line. It's the only way to get this to stop. Another deep breath. I can do this. I have to do this. It's been a couple minutes now, so they've all piled inside. I still don't want to just drop right in front of the door. I amble over to the other side, facing another alley.

I take a step over the ledge, dropping off and slamming down on my feet into the concrete. It's fine, hard stuff just makes my legs buzz and ache, but no injuries. Blunt force is fine. By the third step I don't even remember what that buzzing feels like, but I'll probably be reminded next time I jump off something. I turn the corner from this alley into the one facing "the place." A man stood there, hat and sunglasses to keep the things someone could identify as something he could throw away. I made my approach.

He spotted me about ten steps away. He started saying something but by the time it became anything more than loose cursing, I had his collar in my right hand. My right shoulder bent towards the door as I just made my entire arm follow the motion, and the man's body came with, he felt light as driftwood. He slammed into the door upside down, legs in the air. Wasn't enough to open the door, had to change that.

Before his body could slump down I rushed up to it, and slammed my palm into his midsection to give the door an extra knock. The door snapped past its latch and swung open, the hoodlum making a close encounter with the floor as I followed into the house. Place hasn't seen the business end of a mop or broom in probably four, five years. It's all dirt, broken furniture, open places that are normally cluttered. People were sitting on couches and an overturned refrigerator.

Across the room I could spot the stairwell leading up to the next floor. Seemed to be three floors from the windows outside. I know how it goes in these situations. Important guy's on top floor. Get to him and whatever happens there will send a message. Easy enough. The only catch is having to get through everyone else. Six men were in the room. A few started reaching for weapons, baseball bats, a hockey stick with some shiny silver tape on it. Was that the metal thing? I had no way of knowing.

One of them, an admittedly very burly individual and one of the first I've seen to stand both taller and wider than me, swaggered over like he could have walked through me. He opened his fat mouth, and there was alcohol on his breath that caught my attention. Drunk and stupid.

"Hey homeboy, this ain't the Assassin's Creed party, how about you get your goofy ass the fuck out of here?" He asked, planting a hand that could palm a basketball on approximately my shoulder, though he clearly was off a little, I could barely even feel it. I brought a hand up and rested it on his forearm. One of them, just barely getting up from the refrigerator he was sitting on, started speaking with trepidation in his voice.

"Hey, wait... oh shit I think that's-" Crunch. The large man screamed, apparently he wasn't used to his forearm being shoved into his bicep down to the wrist like that. He practically gargled from the intensity of the pain, probably was on the precipice of vomiting. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. I didn't really want vomit on my clothes, so I just pushed him away.

I could feel his sternum giving away beneath my palm like fresh snow as he reeled onto his back in his own crumple alongside the man I used to get the door open. The others stared at me. They seemed to be debating their options. I didn't think I'd seen any of them before. They must have had outside sources they brought in, maybe? Was it because of me? Had to be. Whatever their mental debate was, they came to the consensus that if one man couldn't stop me, maybe four dopes with sports equipment could.

Two rushed me at the same time, one swinging his bat into my head and the other bringing his hockey stick up between my legs. Things just don't really hurt me. I stood there while they vented out some more swings, but I didn't really have time to spend being showy. First was the baseball bat. I intercepted a swing, was reminded of that buzzing sensation as it struck my hand, feeling the sickly vibration go down to my elbow. Bent my fingers around it. The bat's end crumpled like a tin can.

With the new handhold, I easily pulled it out of his hand and whipped it out to my right, slamming the handle into the jaw of the hockey stick-wielding man. I looked back at the bat wielder, before limply throwing the entire thing at him. Seemed to hit him hard enough to force a wheeze as he stumbled onto the couch. I looked at the remainders. One more guy with a bat, one guy with a sledgehammer. Third was just watching like a deer in headlights. Bat and sledgehammer rushed me at the same time again.

Sledgehammer led, raising it up. As it came down, I sent a left fist towards him. I wasn't trying for it, but I ended up splitting through the haft of the hammer, which admittedly felt better than it should have. What felt better was feeling his teeth disconnect from the impact. He flew back from the blow, and the idiot with the baseball bat had only just begun swinging for my side.

My left hand was still out, so I just swept it out towards his head, backhanding him and letting him curl up with the first bat wielder. Final target was the man who didn't attack. Rail thin. Probably hasn't fought a day in his life, lucky him. I simply trudged over the bodies in my way and hoisted him up like a hollow mannequin.

"Who's running this shit?" The man stammered, face red with fear.

"S-second floor. Thir-" He made a sound like when you pull a ziptie closed.

"-Third door straight from staaaaairs" he finally wheezed out. I tossed him away like a used rag. I stomped up the stairs, old and wooden and disappointed that the last job they'll probably ever have is serving as a transit point for horrible violence. When I crested the stairs, the first step on the second floor creaked with a weak squeal like a woman begging me not to tell her what happened to her son. That noise must be why they stuck to second floor. If it's this bad, third must be unusable.

I made sure to keep my steps light from there, scrambling for dear life to not keep abusing the floor until it becomes second nature. By the fifteenth step I'd made it to that third door. I considered the explosive entrance, but I just yanked the door off of its hinges, it's an act that drew plenty of attention but gave room for conversation. Conversation's useful for sending a message. Two men. One older, leathery in complexion and demeanor. Other's younger, looked completely out of place.

Should be watching a polo game or something. The older one stood up from his seat.

"You're the motherfucker Crunch I've been hearing about. I'm trying to help this boy run a business and you keep interrupting it." All I could say is "How many lives do you think your business is interrupting?" He doesn't seem to care. Honestly wasn't a great line. I'm not here for soundbites.

"Oh, you think you're funny, don't you?" He asked, continuing to talk before I could answer that I didn't really.

"I was just talking to him about how I was gonna work on finding you to teach you a lesson, but you came right here so I can start the class early." He held a hand up and whistled. Something shined as it came from behind him, piling up in his hand. Looked like mercury. Was that the metal that glinted? Had to be.

"Lotta weird bullshit still here forty years after the lil green men got kicked out by The Saint, like my boy Shivvy here. Little bastard's liquid metal and he likes me because I feed him the best shit I can get him." The thing, apparently named Shivvy, coiled around the man's fingers before extending into an absolutely garish blade.

"Time for you to lose that stupid outfit," he threatened, storming over to me with the blade raised. Raising his sword like that with his other arm down just meant his guard was wide open. Why bother with anything fancy? I just put my hand forward and shoved him, felt his ribs crack a lot more than that big man's. He practically spun as he crashed through the window.

The other man, who frankly shouldn't be here, was looking out the window and likely considered if the fall would be a better idea than dealing with me. It probably would've been, but I wasn't giving him that chance. By the time he started getting out of his seat, I was already across the room and yanking him by his hair. I think I pulled a bit of his scalp, blood was trickling out. I thought about some sort of warning or threat, but really I just needed answers. Clearly there was someone else supplying him.

"Who's helping you peddle this garbage?" I asked. The man squealed out "You ju-huh-st thuh-rew him out the fu-huh-cking windoooow! Lemme gooooo!" The sobs that broke up his words made him even more annoying to listen to.

"He's not alone. Who's helping you?" He screeched out an "I don't knoooow!" At this point, my patience is hair-thin. I wanted an express route downstairs, so I raised a foot, and I gave the poor woman the bad news about her son and she screamed the only scream an old wooden floor could make as it scattered and splintered below me, sending us both back to the first floor and the initial mess of brutalized men. The formerly-pampered man was wheezing, splinters scattered in his clothes.

I just dragged him over to the upturned refrigerator, swinging the door of it open and sitting him inside, legs on the rim.

"W-what are you doing?" He asked.

"Making you talk." I then slammed the refrigerator door down on his femurs, prompting a yowl of pain.

"That's for telling me you don't know. If you say it again, I'll do it two more times. Who's helping you?"

"I-I do-" he looked at the refrigerator as his hands tried to nurse his legs. I couldn't feel bone through a door, so I couldn't tell if they were broken.

"I don't have a name he just drops the stuff off and calls me on my phone I can just give you my phone please don't keep doing this-" I interrupted him: "Give me your phone." He looked at me like I had three heads. I looked at him like I was about to crush his two legs again. He dug through his pockets and handed me a cracked smart phone. I have no idea how these things work beyond prodding at them. I'll go to a tech store to see if I can get it opened later. I'll say it was my dead brother's or something.

What mattered more was leaving one last reminder to this piece of shit as I swung the fridge door on his legs one more time. He shrieked like a banshee, "You only s-said you'd do it if I said I didn't knooow!" I shrugged.

"All I said I'd do it twice if you said you don't know. I did it once because you sold drugs to kids." I brought a leg up, slamming it into his back and sending him forward and over the fridge door, where he slumped unconscious. I think. I could see his back raising and falling, so he was likely still alive. I trudged out of the abandoned house, leaving it bereft of any more people who cared about its interior at this point.

As I stepped out, I could see people crowding around the man with "Shivvy," which was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully it can find something better to eat. I had a phone full of leads, I had sent a strong message, I had a gun pointed at me- Why was there a gun pointed at me? I looked down the barrel, before looking past it and seeing a man who looked nearly three times my age in a suit holding up a badge in his other hand. On the badge's little gold print, it said "Super Commission." I looked at the man's face.

His thick mustache bounced as he spoke.

"Agent Tancred, Super Commission. You're under arrest, please put your hands behind your head. You can resist if you want, I'd love the exercise." God damn it.