Dylan woke up to a searing pain in his back. The wound throbbed, sending pulses of white-hot agony throughout his entire body. It was as if lightning was running down his spine, waning into buzzing static in his fingertips.
The sensation took his breath, and Dylan fought back panic as he tried to force his uncooperative lungs to draw in air. At first, they refused, rebelling against his body's commands, but eventually they submitted, allowing him to take a shaky gasp. This made the pain in his back even worse.
Dylan grit his teeth, breathing as deeply as he could without reigniting his injuries, and waited for the pain to subside. It lessened eventually, and he let out a little mental sigh of relief. He was going to be in for a rough time if this kept up.
He took a moment to feel around his body, to see if he could find any other obvious injuries to avoid aggravating. He felt a deep ache in his ribs, which hurt nearly as bad as his back when he focused on it. Other than that, though, everything else he felt was mostly bruising. It wasn’t good, but at least there didn’t seem to be permanent damage. Dylan felt he would have a hard time explaining a missing limb to his parents, for example.
It was the sound of trash rustling and footsteps that prompted Dylan to open his eyes. Immediately, he was blinded, the flood of light overwhelming him. He felt a migraine coming on, his battered head finally fed up with the abuse he had put it through. It was certainly letting him know of its displeasure. Dylan let out a groan, unhappy at the new source of discomfort that had just presented itself to him. If they kept popping up at this rate, then by the time he left the alley he would probably just be dead.
Dylan heard more footsteps, and someone muttering under their breath. He would normally be struggling to get up as fast as possible right now, but he figured that anybody who could hurt him with the armor on was probably not someone he was in any condition to fight right now. Plus, he just really didn’t feel like hurrying to do anything right now, no matter how urgent it might be.
His eyes eventually adapted to the brightness, allowing him to see something other than searing white. The alley slowly came into focus, bit by bit. It was partially lit, the sunlight spilling in over the buildings that made up its sides, casting bright sunlight over all but the deepest shadows.
The building across from him was made out of brick. It was still bright red at the very top, looking as if it might be new, but the rest of the wall was dirty, covered in dirt and grime, and tagged with once colorful graffiti, now long since faded. Any one who was artistic enough to graffiti for fun was long since driven away from this part of town. Now, the only fresh paint on the walls was in the gang signs.
Whoever was in the alley with him had started cursing, no longer bothering to keep their exclamations in whisper. The footsteps and rustling of trash got more frantic, as well. It sounded as if a pack of rats was scurrying around in the trash at his feet.
With a sigh, Dylan ponderously brought his eyes down to see what the source of the disturbance was. It revealed itself to be a thin man in grimy clothes. He was wearing a beanie and a faded sweatshirt that looked like it had seen better times.
The man was bent over, facing Dylan, and pulling at something under the trash that Dylan couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, the man seemed to be unsuccessful at excavating it from the trash, and he was getting angrier and angrier.
“Get out of there, piece of shit” the man growled as he pulled again, to no avail. Eventually, he concluded that something else must have been keeping his prize from moving, and hastily knocked off the trash bags that were covering it, allowing Dylan to get a good look at what the man was trying to salvage.
It revealed itself to be a metal boot, sticking out into the air. It was a little grimy, with bits of trash marring it’s surface. It looked oddly familiar to Dylan. It took him a moment to realize that the object he was looking at was his own boot.
The man reached down, tugging again at Dylan’s foot. He barely felt the man's efforts, his suit passively resisting being moved. Dylan realized he would have to put a stop to this, but dreaded actually putting in the effort to do so. He lay there for a while, until the man went from tugging on the boot to kicking it.
Even as messed up as he was, Dylan was fast approaching the limits of his tolerance. With a sigh, he took a deep breath, and started to press himself to his feet. It made everything hurt worse, and Dylan almost gave up, but he realized that he had to get up. He would need some sort of medical treatment.
He rose slowly enough that the grungy man didn’t even realize what was happening at first. He had returned to tugging at Dylan’s boot, muttering all the while.
“C’mon motherfucker, get loose. I’m going to sell you, make a lotta cash, but you got to stop being so damn difficult. Piece of shi-”
It was then that the man noticed that the armored boot he was tugging on was attached to… a near 6 foot suit of mechanized armor, and an obviously super created set of armor to boot.
Dylan was nearly fully stood up at this point, and from his new vantage point, he got a better look at the ill-mannered guy. He was even skinnier than Dylan had first imagined, so thin that he looked almost ill, in fact. It was as if somebody had taken a bunch of broomsticks and assembled them into a roughly human shape, before putting clothes on it.
As for his face, it was weathered and misshapen. At first glance, Dylan would have placed the man in his 50’s, but upon closer inspection he realized that the face he was looking at was probably no older than 35. It was plagued with acne, and when the man opened his mouth in a wordless gasp, Dylan caught sight of several missing teeth. Overall, the man looked deeply unhealthy.
He watched as a slew of emotions ran across the man’s face. First, panic, and then fear. That lasted for a moment, but then the man shook his head slightly, and a calculating look came into his eye. He took a few steps back, studying Dylan’s armored form, scanning it up and down, as if looking for any weaknesses.
The man went to open his mouth, took another look at the armor, and then shut it again. Dylan just stood there, silently, until the man worked his courage up enough to speak.
“Aye, buddy. Looking worse for the wear, there. It’s not often you find someone wearing something like that-” he gestured towards Dylan “sleeping somewhere like here.”
The man stuck his hand in his pocket, taking a step closer.
“And that armor looks to be in pretty rough shape, hmm? Y’know, I’ve heard about a big scrap that went down a few days ago, ‘tween some supers. Saw some footage on the news, I did. One of them was wearing armor that looked just like that.”
The man seemed to be gaining confidence, a small grin creeping up onto his face, the corners of his mouth lifting, stretching his skin in a most unpleasant way. Dylan looked down at himself. His armor really was in rough shape. The chest plate was cracked and dented where Dynamis had punched it.
“I recken that super that was rockin the armor crawled off and died, and you, being an enterprising individual, came and took it from his corpse. Happens all the time, I’d imagine. I myself woulda done the same. But if you’re sleeping here, out in the open, with that, it probably means you don’t got too many options.”
The man took his hand out of his pocket. He was holding something, something small that gleamed when it caught the light.
“How about this, hmm? You give me the armor, right, and I won’t stab you. Hell, I’ll throw in some of the cash for you, how bout it? It’s a win win, yeah? You get money, I get money, you don’t get stabbed.”
Ahh. That shiny object in his hand was probably a knife. That would explain why he had pulled it out earlier. Dylan felt that the man must have been either truly delusional or desperate to try and rob him of the armor. Even if he was just a corpse robber, anybody wearing a super's armor was going to be dangerous to a man with a knife. Hell, even if the armor didn’t do anything super, he was still a dude covered in metal. Any adult in metal armor could probably punch down a thug with a knife.
Dylan eyed the man again. He appeared to be getting antsy, shifting from foot to foot, knife hand shaking. It was probably best to nip this in the bud. Usually, somebody like this would pose no threat to him at all. Normally, chances were he would be able to stab at Dylan for an hour and not find a gap in his armor. Right now, thought? Well, his armor was pretty messed up, and there was certainly a hole that could be stabbed through on his back. Dylan did not want to add stab wounds to his list of injuries.
He took a quick step forward, causing the man to jump a little. The knife flashed through the air, deflecting off of Dylan’s armor with pinging noise. Dylan’s hand caught the man’s wrist immediately afterwards. He tried to be careful with the pressure, unwilling to crush the man's bones into powder. Unfortunately, the quick movement caused his wounds to flare up, sending lances of pain radiating throughout his body.
Dylan tensed up, unable to move, letting out a hiss between his teeth. This sucked so much ass. The grungy man seemed to agree, letting out a surprisingly shrill screech. Dylan forced himself to release the man's wrist. The knife clattered to the ground; limp fingers unable to grasp it any longer.
The man dropped to his knees cradling his wrist. Dylan kicked the knife away with his foot. Best not to let this guy get any more ideas.
Dylan looked down, studying the man. He had tears in the corner of his eyes. Dylan had tried to be gentle, but honestly, he didn’t really care if he’d hurt the man. People like this were usually scum, and he had just tried to stab Dylan.
“What’s your name?”
The man turned his gaze away from his wrist, instead choosing to look up at Dylan with an uncomprehending gaze. He didn’t seem to react to what was probably a surprisingly juvenile voice, but then again, he didn’t seem to be reacting to much else either.
Dylan waited for the man to speak, but as the seconds ticked past, he found himself growing more and more impatient. Eventually, just as his patience neared its limits, the man spoke.
“I’m Drew. T-that is, Andrew.”
It seemed that Dylan had frightened Andrew. To be honest, that was probably the smartest thing Andrew had felt all day. Maybe if he spent more time being scared and less time attacking obvious supers he wouldn’t wind up in predicaments like these.
“You mentioned something about selling my armor, Andrew. Why don’t you tell me where you would do that?”
Andrew seemed hesitant to fulfill the request, at least at first. When he saw one of Dylan’s armored fists slowly rise into the air, however, he mysteriously became eager to comply.
“Uhhhh, there’s an electronics repair shop a few streets back. They’re a legit business, but they’ve also got contacts with a local villain. You uhh, should be able to sell it there, no problem. Just please, don’t tell them that I was the one who told you. It’ll make my life hell if you do.”
Dylan turned and started to walk off, but Andrew didn’t seem to want to let him leave without getting his word.
“Man please, I’m fucking sorry, alright, but please don’t tell them I told you about em.”
Dylan kept on walking.
“That’s not up to you to decide.”
He peaked around the corners of the alley, making sure it was clear, before stepping out. Dylan wasn’t particularly worried about random people calling the police on him. It was technically a possibility, and were he anywhere else, it would probably warrant more consideration, but here, people tended to be more estranged from the law. This side of town, while certainly not exclusively criminals, tended to mistrust police as a rule.
That wasn’t to say that it was impossible for somebody to call the police on him. His armor was probably being shown on every local news station every 30 minutes, accompanied by a newscaster, who, in a serious voice, would talk about how he was extremely dangerous, and how, should you see him, you should call the police immediately while leaving the area. The threat of super villains had made people pretty good at evacuating in a hurry. There were always those too stubborn to leave, or those who wouldn’t realize that they should until it was too late, of course, but on average people were far more willing to clear their homes and places of business now than they were 50 years ago.
No, Dylan wasn’t particularly worried about civilians calling in on him. He was more concerned about walking in front of a police car looking exactly like the most wanted person in 50 miles. They didn’t come back here often, but not often didn’t mean never. They were certainly obligated to patrol here sometimes, and while calls for them were rare, they did happen.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Luckily enough, it seemed that the coast was clear. The street was mostly empty, with just a single person walking on it, head down, lost in their own little world. That was good. Dylan wasn’t looking for problems, at the moment. He seemed to have enough on his plate as it is.
He stepped out into the light and started walking in the direction Andrew had pointed him. Honestly, the more Dylan thought about it, the worse the instructions given to him seemed to be. They weren’t very specific, for one thing. He felt a sharp sense of irritation, but at this point it would be too much work to go back and ask for clarification. Besides, if Andrew knew what was good for him, he’d be long gone by now.
Dylan would just have to work with what he had. It took him longer than he would like to admit to find his destination. This entire part of the city was constructed haphazardly. Instead of a neat grid, it was a sprawl, with streets added in a seemingly willy-nilly fashion as the city grew. It had been a mess for years, but there wasn’t really any interest in rebuilding. Who would pay for it?
It was a self-sustaining cycle. This part of town was worn down, and under enforced. Because of this, crime moved in. This meant that businesses moved out. It also meant even less patrols, and even more degradation. What repair crew wanted to work where all the criminals were? The city only had so much money to spend on things like repairs, and since there was nobody here to pay for it, they were the only ones who would even consider doing something about it.
But why would they? Their limited budget was, at least in their opinion, best spent elsewhere. The places where the businesses were, and the criminals weren’t. Plus, it was convenient for the city, in a manner of speaking, to have all of the criminals grouped up in one easy to identify area, one far away from all of the ‘normal’ folk.
Dylan could understand why they did it, but it seemed to him like sweeping the problem under the rug instead of solving it. With super villains in the area, it was probably going to be impossible to completely remove the crime, but the city could certainly do more to diminish it. He had certainly overheard his parents saying as much. And for what it was worth, he agreed.
But regardless of what anybody thought should be done, the area was mostly left to rot. A lot of the decay was visible. The potholes were larger and more frequent here. The biggest one Dylan saw was large enough that he was concerned that a car might fall into it. The rest tended to be a lot smaller, but it still looked like a nightmare around here.
The buildings, too, would often sport signs of decay. Old bloodstains left in alleys that nobody had bothered to clean up. Graffiti for gangs often accompanied it. Many buildings had broken or boarded up windows. Several were abandoned entirely. When passing by one of the few businesses that remained (usually locally owned), it wasn’t too uncommon to see one or two people standing out front.
Sometimes it was groups of shady men, with tattered jackets and tattoos. Unlike a lot of other cities, many of the gangs here were fairly racially diverse. There weren’t really enough of any specific population to have it otherwise.
It was also common that the people standing out front were acting as guards. Many of them looked as tough as the gangbangers, if not tougher. Dylan particularly remembered one man, a big Asian guy with a baseball bat. His face was scarred, and he was glancing around the street, checking out everyone who passed by. He gave Dylan a polite nod when he spotted him. Dylan, unsure of what to do, simply nodded back and continued on his way.
However, not everybody he spotted was like this. There was somebody who looked pretty young, probably only about 20. The young man had a bookish look about him, with big glasses and an unflattering haircut. It almost looked as if it were somebody's nephew, helping out over the summer before they went back to college.
Overall, it seemed like almost everybody here had adapted to their circumstances. It was rare to see anybody walking alone. Those that were were usually men, on the larger side. Often, they looked like they knew how to fight. It wasn’t without danger for them, either, as Dylan got to witness 6 smaller guys gang up on one of the solo striders. They danced around him, avoiding his blows, striking him from behind when he was off balance.
Dylan frowned at the situation. His frown deepened when he found himself just feet away, his legs carrying him closer to the conflict. He didn’t remember deciding to do that. He wasn’t feeling very heroic right now, for a variety of reasons. Nobody else seemed to think he was a hero, either, despite his best efforts. It seemed wiser to just give up on it.
But regardless of what anybody else thought,the fact was that Dylan was rapidly approaching a fight, and his presence there would shape it. It was one of the assaulters that was farthest from Dylan who first noticed him. He backed up, calling out to his buddies about the new variable that had just entered the situation.
The man they were assaulting was already curled up on the ground, covering his head and trying to weather the beating. One of the men got one last vicious kick in before calling everybody else off, turning around to face Dylan. Their leader, then, or at least somebody with some degree of control over the group.
Dylan walked closer, until he was right up in the man's face. He started back at Dylan, seemingly fearless. Hopefully he would wizen up and walk away, taking his cronies with him. He had already given the guy lying on the ground a pretty severe beating.
The man then chose that moment to open his mouth, shattering Dylan’s illusions of a peaceful encounter.
“Hey fucker, I don’t know what your problem is, but-”
His speech was interrupted when Dylan’s open palm struck him across the face, knocking him onto the ground and into unconsciousness immediately. Dylan didn’t have the patience to deal with him kindly at the moment, so the man would have to count himself lucky that he survived the encounter.
As for his friends, upon seeing their leader getting taken down, they wisely decided that they had somewhere else to be. Urgently. They ran off, leaving their leader lying on the ground. Nobody even bothered to look back. The unconscious man probably wasn’t a very good leader, then. That, or he was corralling cowards.
Dylan suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He glanced at the victim of the assault, still curled up on the ground. Helping him would be too much trouble. He would have to figure it out on his own. Plus, there was probably a reason that he was attacked like that.
Dylan walked on, leaving the situation behind him. It had worsened his mood considerably. It seemed that nobody respected him. Dynamis and Puncher both thought he was no good. The police seemingly felt the same way. Andrew had tried to stab him earlier. And that punk had mouthed off to him, immediately. Was there something that he was doing wrong? His father always seemed to command a measure of respect no matter where he went, whether the people there knew him or not. That just didn’t seem to be the case for Dylan.
If that trend continued, it was going to make it very hard for him to get what he needed from the shady electronics shop, if it even had what he was looking for. Specifically, he was looking for the person in charge of the operation, or at least someone with some authority. Once he found them, he would have to barter or threaten his way into finding somewhere to get medical attention. Being a super meant that he would heal better and faster than a normal person, but it still wasn’t a good idea to leave his wounds open. It was still possible for them to fester, get diseases, and the blood loss was making him dizzy.
Hopefully his plan worked. If he had to escalate to threats, then there was a decent chance that the other party would escalate to violence, especially if they were a super. With that in mind, Dylan sent out a mental command to his drone, urging it to his location.
It had sat in a dark alley, waiting for instructions. When it received the orders, it lifted off with a whir, sending rats scampering out from the pile of trash it was resting on. Dylan felt something grab his attention. Ohh. It seemed that somebody had tried to repossess the drone earlier. It had promptly dealt with that.
Now, knowing that some form of backup was on its way here, Dylan felt a lot safer. At least if shit hit the fan, then he would have some form of protection. He might not be able to fight, but it shouldn’t matter too much. It was his drone that had done all of the heavy lifting during the fight with Dynamis. It had even more offensive power than he did. Dylan felt a little bit of weight lift from his mind at the thought.
At least whatever criminal he was going to be meeting would probably have a location where he could get help. Going to a normal hospital after what they did was just asking to get identified and arrested. Wounds from fights were often very distinctive. That meant that they had to have somewhere to get patched up. It might be a corrupt clinic, sitting in squander in the bad side of town, or a doctor on their payroll, or even a member of their organization with some first aid skills and supplies. Whatever form it took, Dylan needed the help.
He was getting closer and closer to “a few streets back”. Not quickly, of course. No, the feelings of weakness and dizziness were getting increasingly prevalent in his mind. His walk, which was initially steady, if not quick, was turning more into a sort of stagger.
Eventually, he rounded the corner, and lo and behold, the electronics store. While it didn’t quite look new, it was certainly less rundown than the buildings that surrounded it. None of it’s windows were broken, and no graffiti marred it’s surface. Its large electric sign flickered weakly. It looked to be quite old, but all of the letters were lit up, at least some of the time. No guards stood outside, and no loiterers were present either.
Dylan pushed his way through the door slightly too hard, causing it to slam to a stop as its hinges reached the edge of their range of motion. An electric chiming sound rang out, notifying any employees present that somebody was here to visit their store.
There were a few laptops sitting out on counters. They looked to be unsecured. Additionally, there was nobody present at the counter to watch them. This store definitely had connections. Something like this would be a risky proposition even in the nicer parts of town, and this was definitely not a nice part of town. At least Dylan knew he was at the right location.
An employee walked out from the back a few seconds later. He wasn’t wearing much of a uniform, sporting a light blue vest over a plain white shirt. The man looked to be about 25 years old. He was fairly skinny, in an athletic way, and had dark hair. He had a bored expression on his face. It changed a little when he spotted Dylan, eyebrows rising up his head, but other than that, his reaction was fairly mild.
“Hey man, I can give you what’s in the register, but it’s not much. If you want me to open the safe, don’t bother. I can only deposit in it twice a day, and that’s at noon and midnight. Though, if you try and carry it out, I’m not going to stop you. Same goes with the laptops, I suppose. They’re insured, so if you try and take them you aren’t going to get any trouble from me.”
He frowned.
“My boss might not be happy, though.”
The words were delivered casually, but the emphasis that the man placed on the word boss made Dylan suspect that he had just been threatened. This boss must be somebody important, if his employees expected that mentioning him would make a super think twice about robbing them. While Dylan had no idea who this boss was, he suspected that most of the locals around here wouldn’t be as ignorant.
“I’m not here to rob you. I’m here to see your boss.”
The man started, looking Dylan up and down, uncertainly.
“That’s not a good idea. He doesn’t want to be disturbed, right now. He’s been having a bad week.”
Honestly, Dylan didn’t really care. It probably wasn’t worth it for this “boss” to cause him any trouble no matter how bad their week had been.
“It’s not up for negotiation. Take me to him.”
The employee sighed and shrugged.
“Well, it’s your funeral, then.”
He reached into his pocket. Remembering the incident with the knife earlier, Dylan tensed, but the only thing that the man pulled out was a cellphone. He tapped on it a few times, and the phone started to ring. It was quickly picked up, and the man put it up against his ear.
“Hey, boss, there's somebody here to see you. Yeah, he seems important.”
He glanced at Dylan again.
“He’s dressed up in some sort of fancy power armor. Like the one on the news?”
The employee looked at Dylan, studying him more intently. Dylan just nodded.
“Yeah, boss, he’s the one on the news. Matches the description, and he nodded when I said it. Hmm? Yeah, I’ll bring him over.”
With that, the employee hung up, placing the phone back into his pocket.
“Alright, armor man. Armor kid? Whatever, the boss said he’ll see you. Follow me.”
He turned, and walked back into the back of the shop, into the same door that he had emerged from earlier. Dylan started after him. The man walked faster than was comfortable for Dylan, but even in his condition his armor let him move quite a bit faster than he normally would be able to.
The employee pushed open a door in the back of the shop that led into a back alley. Dylan followed him, wary of an ambush. It seemed unlikely, but that entire call could have just been a charade to make him let his guard down. It wasn’t like Dylan really had a choice, though. He had to follow.
Luckily enough, though, there was no ambush. The employee kept walking, not bothering to glance at Dylan to check if he was keeping up. Dylan did spot his drone, hovering over them, a barely visible spec in the sky, which did reassure him a bit.
As they kept walking, the buildings started to get nicer. They certainly weren’t opulent, but, like the electronics store, they mostly had intact windows, and there was far less graffiti on them. Some even looked a little newer than others, with automatic doors and bright fluorescent lighting.
Dylan figured he would have normally felt nervous, but he mostly felt weariness. The pain was still present and grating, and he just wanted it to be over with. Having to walk around, be on guard and paying attention, when the only thing that he wanted to do was sleep, was tiring him out. Plus, he felt the blood from his back soaking his pants. If he were an ordinary person, he would probably have to lay down right now to avoid falling over. As it was, he was only truly stable because of his armor.
Eventually, they made it to their destination. A nondescript office building, single story. Its windows were blacked out, making it nearly impossible to see what was going on inside. There was no signage out front, and about half of its meager parking space was full, mostly occupied by vans and pickups.
The employee pushed open the door, revealing a small room. It was only connected to one other door, one made entirely of metal. To the right was a glass window, with a small hole cut out of it. Behind it sat a man, with buttons lining the desk in front of him. Dylan stepped in, letting the door swing shut behind him.
The employee spoke to the guard.
“He’s here to see the boss, and yeah, the boss knows he’s coming.”
The guard lifted his hand to his earpiece, and muttered something that Dylan couldn’t make out. He waited a few seconds, likely for a reply, before speaking.
“Alright, you-” he pointed to the employee “can go. As for our guest, through the door, then go straight down the hall, through the door all the way at the end. The boss is waiting for you there.”
The employee walked back through the door that led outside, while the guard pressed a button on his desk. Dylan heard a click and walked towards the door that led deeper into the building. It opened with surprising ease.
Inside was nearly as plain as the outside. The walls were gray, with no decorations on them. There was a water cooler in the corner, but other than that the room was empty. Three hallways led from the space, each dotted with doors.
Dylan kept heading straight, as instructed, and ended up walking past what looked to be offices. He quickly made it to the end of the hall, and opened the door.
Stepping into the office, Dylan froze. A familiar face sat there, staring back at him. His adrenaline spiked, the pain in his back temporarily forgotten. Dylan had been led into a trap. Sitting across from him was Kasha. And he did not look happy.