It’s funny how differently the cops treat criminals and supervillains. It’s probably due to an unspoken rule, like how supers never get personal, even when they can. Either way, it is immensely unfair, but that’s just another way that supers are above commoners. They can act however they want, within limits, because they have the potential to decimate hundreds. I remember reading some old newspaper clippings, from before the Great War, saying how the way into the future will not follow the law of the jungle. How the way forward would be truly civilized. I guess it’s not their fault; after all, nobody could’ve guessed that superpowers would happen. That and magic, but that was all the Nazi’s fault. Superpowers, though? Only God knows why they popped up, and He ain’t the talkative type. Some Eldritch Ones might know, but most of their drivel drives people insane.
But that’s the end of my rambling history lesson because I’ve finally gotten to Koreatown! After about three hours of walking, it’s now three thirty in the morning, and I’m standing in front of a massive closed metal gate. The gate is mostly for appearance's sake, considering the open alleyway that is literally right next to it, but it’s enough to keep the commoners out.
As I walk through the pass, the scenery around me changes from that of a dreary, run-down complex of sprawling two-story apartments and becomes dreamy run-down apartments with fancy lights and Korean signs everywhere. The best part about this place, and the only reason I came here, lies half a mile down the main road. The Kim Amphitheater, famous for its lack of chairs, as well as being a hub of supervillainy, or just your average organized crime. I’m here for a mix of both, that being a hush communicator who can get me in contact with my dad’s most loyal assistant, June Way. Weird name, I know, but I’m pretty sure she chose the name by picking a random month and a type of street. You see, she used to be a big-shot counter-intelligence operative, who decided being a good guy didn’t pay well enough. Therefore, her name is definitely a fake one.
She taught me most of what I know about surviving in the supervillain world. I still remember my first trip to Koreatown, at the tender age of six. A mugger thought it would be safe to try and rob us. I wonder if that mugger ever got a replacement eye?
Well, no point reminiscing alone. I need to find a communicator, and the best ones are in the amphitheater. Then, I’ll talk with June, and we can find whoever drummed up the evidence needed for the RIPD to get their warrant. After all, it’s best to learn from others mistakes, and to get rid of potential problems before they can bite me.
I make my way down the avenue, walking despite my desire to sprint right to the building. On second thought, maybe I should’ve sprinted, if the man who suddenly stepped in front of me is an indicator of anything. Wearing a featureless black helmet and a red striped black suit, it’s quite obvious what he is. An assassin, specifically one working for Blood Debt. Besides their cheesy name, Blood Debt’s assassins also have the bad habit of trying to turn their targets into moments of enjoyment. So they do things like blatantly revealing themselves and taunting you.
“Tye Rochester, we’re here to kill you. Don’t bother running, it’ll just make this more fun. But hey, if you surrender, we’ll make your death quick.” His mask distorted the sound of his voice, causing his voice to be filled with hisses.
What’s with this cliché dialogue? What is he, an NPC? On second thought, he might be. There was that one time when Game Master opened a portal to a bunch of different video game realms.
“Hey, are you an NPC? I have a contact who could get you back to your world if you want. If you’re not, you should up your banter game. I mean ‘prepare to die’? Really? Next, you’ll tell me your name is Inigo Montoya. No wonder people say you assassins have no soul." I’m prevented from insulting him more by the appearance of two identical assassins appearing beside him, holding red daggers. Wow, really filling the mold there, aren’t they? I raise my bat in preparation, time to crack some heads! ...Maybe I should work on my banter game. That was terrible.
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“I’m not some goddamn fakey! We’re going to make you bleed, Rochester!”
With that promised roar, filled with static because of his crappy voice distorter, all three assassins leap toward me. At the same time, I step back and swing from right to left, hitting each one consecutively across the head with three crisp cracks.
Thrown off balance, they stumble a bit, with the one on the right holding his head. Learning their lesson, they spread out, and readjust their grips on their knives, probably preparing another charge. I take another step back, brandishing my bat. I can’t let them surround me, because if they do, I’m done for. I’ve fought off people like them before, but I’m not exactly the greatest baseball bat wielder.
Mid-step back, I find myself thumping against a hard object. How did I run into a wall, there’s an open street behind me? Turning around, I see that it’s not a wall, just a giant in a modified Blood Debt outfit. Well hell, this is gonna suck. If I remember correctly from June’s lessons, this guy is probably Vendetta, one of Blood Debt’s lieutenants. It’s said that he once tore a resistance-type super limb from limb, with his bare hands. He’s easily distinguishable by his large frame and the red dot in the middle of his otherwise featureless helmet.
This is not going to go well. Maybe I should start calling for help? Haha! Like that would do anything good. The best I could hope for is some of the Circling Vultures, who would pick apart whatever would be left of my corpse. They would either perform dark magic on those remains, or straight up eat them. The Vultures are creepy bastards, let me tell you. But I won't tell you right now, ‘cause I’m going to be pummeled into a Tye meat pie.
Fortunately, a figure bounces off of the top of Vendetta’s head, before skipping their way onto the helmets of the other three assassins.
Landing with a flourish in the middle of us, is a person dressed in a bafflingly large degree of colors. I’ll start with the bright red burst of color atop her head, commonly known as hair. This is followed by a neon green scarf covering the lower half of her face. Below that she has a bright pink hoodie, underneath which is a bright yellow shirt. Her short shorts, which are barely visible under her blinding jacket, are an unusually gregarious orange. Thankfully, the mysterious girl's shoes are a manageable purple, but they could still use some shading. She has pale skin and unusual light blue eyes, that clash violently with her red hair. If I were a gambling man, I’d say that her superhero name is probably related to her terrible fashion sense.
The garish girl turned towards me, and when she blinked I realized she also has glittery eyeshadow, colored a striking light purple. All this assured me of the fact that this girl is, most certainly, a caped super. A caped super is just a fancy, neutral term for a superhero or supervillain. They’re all capes because they used to wear capes back in the day.
“Hey there, I’m Clash. Would you like some help?” The now-named colorful cape asked enthusiastically.
“Me? No, not at all. I can totally take on four guys attacking me all at once, one of whom is gigantic and at least three times my strength. It’s my speciality.” Okay, maybe I layered the sarcasm on a bit too thick, but she’d have to be thick-skulled to not notice that I am in dire straits.
“You sure? I mean, these guys look pretty tough, and you only have a metal baseball bat. Do you even have powers?” The ditzy Clash asked, clearly confused despite my clear and obvious sarcasm. Let’s hope it’s just an act. Also, who just outright asks people if they have a power? That’s damn near taboo!
However, I don’t have a chance to respond, because Clash suddenly flits out of my vision, accompanied by the crack I recognize as one of the assassin's helmets being whacked. Suddenly, we’re standing back to back, and I’m facing Vendetta. He cracks his knuckles menacingly, before taking a step forward.
This royally sucks.