AN: 20K words. Not bad. Not great. It comes pretty late, I rewrote the whole approach to these guys at least twice before I landed on this angle. Don't know how well it came out in the end, let me know I guess. There's probably a continuity error or two that I've made thanks to the rewrites, but bear with me - I'll have a proper read through over the next day or two and fix anything I can find.
Cheers for the positive comments about last chapter. I was a little nervous about some of the stuff I had cooking there, so it's nice to see people liked it overall. I've got more of a concrete plan for the next two chapters, so I'm hoping that the release schedule should be a bit closer to normal compared to this chapter.
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I fall through the air. This hole was deep. Ridiculously deep. Not in a simple 'I can't see the bottom sense', but in the 'I jumped three minutes ago and everything still looks the same' kind of way. If it wasn't for the fact that the light above me was getting ever dimmer, and the area below me was turning ever darker and more ominously all-encompassing - I would have been convinced that I was actually falling in a loop of some kind. A quiet teleport directly upwards while I was still falling. That wasn't the case, sadly. If it was, I would have a solution for crossing across to Shadow Stalker's side without her being able to match my rotation to keep away from me.
Dark. Darker. Pitch-black. Spinning around mid-air reveals only the slightest pinprick of light above me. Closer to a distant star than a viable source of light at this point.
FAILURE
Ouch.
Must have hit the bottom. Or, maybe I'd just lost track of how close to the edge I had moved and grazed against the sides before I could correct my glide. At the speed I was falling, either was obviously fatal.
Better check that one off the list then. Not that I had any expectations of finding a simple, easy solution to the challenge down there - but I had been holding out hope that there would be... I don't know. Something. A real gamechanger, because as the game stood - I couldn't win. And as long as I couldn't win, these meetups with Sophia were pointless.
Well. I fall back into my motions as if nothing had happened. Not quite pointless. Even with my challenges greasing the wheels of our interactions, Sophia still needed a firm, guiding hand to help her understand her new place in the world. A hand like mine, for instance. I swat her ass idly, enjoying the satisfying jiggle in response and the immediate stiffening of the rest of her body. For a moment, I pause as she glares over her shoulder at me - my shaft halted between one thrust and the next. I raise an eyebrow. A dare for her to challenge me again.
Sophia looks away first. "Tch." Understandable. Doubling down on a loss was what had led up to this point in the first place. A bit too much confident bluster after her defeat before school this morning, only to result in yet another humiliating defeat after the end of school.
I couldn't lie. I was enjoying the situation. For every round that I had gone up against the challenge-version of Sophia and lost unceremoniously, this was my chance to get her back. It didn't matter if she didn't remember it. Sophia was Sophia. For the first few rounds, I would admit - I'd been a little worried at the possibility that she would still win her fair share of rounds. I'd only just started to edge her out in-challenge - but in the end, there wasn't a need to worry. Why? Mostly because Sophia wasn't open to the possibility of killing or maiming me anymore. That limited her options, but didn't really limit mine. Then there was the fact that my powers weren't even banned anymore, although I certainly got a nice kick out of her outraged look of humiliation every time I scraped out a win without touching them.
And then there was the final reason, although she would never, ever admit it - I was somewhat suspicious that perhaps Sophia wasn't really trying as hard to win as she could. She would violently oppose any attempt for me to label her as eager to lose and take her appropriate 'punishment', but I knew what she was capable of even when murder wasn't on the table. I knew that I should be losing these direct clashes at times, relying on tricks and my powers to eliminate any chance of losing. The fact that, more often than not, I was winning purely on my own merits... well. The most logical assumption was that she wanted to end up like this, utterly naked and being fucked against the wall of the abandoned building we use as our sparring location.
That was completely logical, of course. That was the kind of mental nudge that my challenges directed everyone towards, and even if it took me a massive number of attempts to get to this point - Sophia was only two challenges away from being just as maxed-out as Emma or Clara. But she didn't know that I knew that. As far as she was concerned, after a new experience, she was discovering a side of herself that she never even dreamed existed. She's losing, and slowly coming to realise that she doesn't hate it. She's slowly acclimating to a world view that didn't have herself as the top dog, but instead, me.
And that was fucking hot. The most self-assured, self-centred, unapproachable person I know - transforming into my personal bitch, right before my eyes. A slow transformation, sure. But not necessarily worse for that. Watching her willpower crumble and her values wash away in the face of her growing appetite for my dick was a treat well worth savouring.
"You know, I'm curious." I start conversationally, resuming my thrusts into her core. "Just how did this go when you were planning it out in your head? You just, throw yourself at me in the same way you did the last few times - and this time, I might not have seen it coming? I was expecting you to at least try to switch things up, pull out a dirty trick or two - some sneaky plan that would have me playing right into your hands... but, no." I pause. She was trying to ignore me. But that wouldn't work. Not when she was so easy to rile up. "Or, maybe this was your plan?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Her head snaps around. "You're so full of yourself."
"Actually, I think you're the one that's full of myself right now-" I relish the flat look of derision that is sent back at me in response, then arch an eyebrow as Glory Girl's shield flickers and dies as she attempts to stamp on my foot despite her awkward positioning. Tough crowd. I thought it was funny. But I can't just go letting her think that she can get away with that, no matter how petty or minor it was. My palm slams into her left asscheek again. Her back arches, her face re-forms its shocked expression of outrage, the barest hint of something is strangled in her throat... and, most notably, her inner walls clamp down around me like a vice as I hilt myself inside her again. "What's with the violence, Sophia? Didn't we have a deal? Double-or-nothing? Yet here you are, the sore loser, in more ways than one-" She's glaring at the wall now. She really hates wordplay. "-reneging on the outcome. Didn't you say that you were going to be a docile little sexkitten for me?"
"I absolutely did not." She hisses. "You just pulled that out of your a- out of the air." I stifle a grin as she catches herself. It didn't matter that she had noticed my next joke and swerved in time. She still thought of it, and that was just as satisfying in the end. It was getting to her.
"I may have taken some liberties with the wording, but I think the point got across." I admit. "The point stands. What do I consider this as? A moment of insubordination from someone in need of a bit of correction?" I lean in as she tries to ignore me. "Or, is this the start of a third challenge for the day? Triple-or-nothing?"
"No!" She's quick to reply this time.
"Tired of losing, I suppose." I probe.
"I've just got better things to do." Sophia denies.
"I'm sure. But if you're not starting another fight, does that mean you're going to settle down and behave? Nice and obediently?" I goad. Oh, she may well have been just about to do that - but she was too proud and too stubborn to do it after I'd said it like that. Even if she knew it was bait, she couldn't resist the urge to snap back at the implication that I had her tamed.
"The hell I will." She hisses, dissolving into shadow in an instant. I would probably have been knocked off balance if I hadn't been expecting it the moment the last taunt left my lips. I hop backwards before a furious kick cripples my manhood, my ash clone already forming into existence and moving to retaliate. I brush my hand against it as it launches into a sideways kick into the mass of shadow in front of us, setting it as my administrator and gifting it Vista's powerset at the same time.
Not that I particularly needed to. Of the two of us, she was the one that had the most to lose when it came to picking a fight while naked. Her armoured plates helped a lot in direct clashes, and she simply wasn't fast enough to evade forever. On top of that... "Realising that you can't exactly go running outside?" I call out drily as the shadowy mass sprints away from me, back towards the centre of the room.
"Where are my clothes you fucking asshole?" She reappears. Looking deliciously furious. And hot. Maybe I'd be annoyed at being interrupted mid-fuck with someone else, but with Sophia - there was a certain appeal to the chase. To seeing her fight back, and fail. To watch her try and be confident and intimidating, while she had never really been more vulnerable.
"I had my ash clone scatter them everywhere while we were fucking." I tell her blandly, tilting my head off to the side. She follows my gaze to see a thin slip of black fabric dangling off the edge of a forgotten chair. "I suppose you didn't notice. You did seem rather distracted, going by your moans."
"As if your needle dick does anything for me." She scoffs.
"I'm sure." I grin wildly. "But whatever the case, I figured it would be sensible to make it at least a little bit difficult for you to just run away. However much you might claim to resent getting fucked every time you lose, I imagine you would find the possibility of being caught streaking to be far worse."
"All that means is that I've got to beat you up first. Big deal." It's not that there's any particular note of uncertainty in her voice at that, but rather, a lack of the opposite. How many fights in a row had I won already? And she didn't even have the benefit of a lengthy history of wins like the challenge version of Sophia had. The tables had completely flipped. Before, I was the plucky challenger - well aware that I was going to lose but going for it anyway - and now, I was the challenged. Sure in victory, so long as I didn't make an obvious blunder.
Which was all to say, I knew bluster when I saw it. "Come on then." I beckon mockingly.
She edges forward slowly, expression only filling with more indignation as I make a great show of admiring what her steady movements do to her body. It really was a fantastic idea to have her stripped off before baiting her like this. Not only did it eliminate any possibility of losing her nerve and running, not only did it improve my chances in a direct melee fight - but I even got a free show with it! And, naturally, Sophia was all-too-focused on punishing me for the apparent lapse in attention.
But I wasn't the one she should have been worrying about.
The new version of my administrator power extended to my ash clone now. If I ended up with powers to control other things, the same would probably apply there too. But that wasn't important. The important thing was that it was a straight upgrade from any of the bugs I used to work with. It was faster at using powers, more flexible, more independent, in some rare cases it was even just outright better at using them than me - as was the case with Bug Control. Of course, the ash clone still couldn't take a real hit, but it reformed quickly enough - and as it did so, merely grazing my hand against the ash swelling together into its body was enough to gift a powerset once again.
And that meant that I didn't need to micromanage the clone as much. Didn't need to tap back into the power mid-fight to redirect it, or to dismiss it and resummon it before it stayed out for too long and therefore extended the downtime to dangerous levels. I could rely on it to follow a simple plan or strategy.
So while I'm admiring the trail of sweat inching down the curve of Sophia's chest - her gaze is on me. If she'd been looking at the clone, she might have seen the distortion in space as the air between them shrinks. But she doesn't. And before she even recognises the reason that she's bent in half as an ashen boot plants itself in her stomach - I'm there as well. Admiring the scenery is all well and good after all, but I can't let that get in the way of the hunt.
Sophia disperses the clone with a quick sideways punch into the outstretched leg, she still hasn't worked out the full weakness of that yet. But I'm already there, forcing her back into her shadow state as I use her own trick against her, a ghostly limb materialising out of nowhere mid-strike - and she's got much less experience reacting to that than me. She retreats rather than attempt a block. Unwittingly buying time for my ash clone to return. I pursue. Again. Again. She sweeps my legs, I drop the final charge of my shadow state into turning them to smoke - not even breaking my stride to do so.
God that was so fucking cool. I'd been waiting for a chance to do that ever since I got the upgraded power. Feels like I'm the terminator or something.
A complete waste of a charge from a combat perspective, but this wasn't like my challenges. The win wasn't all that mattered. It was how I won. A narrow victory, or something won by a trick - that gave her hope that things would turn around. It would inspire her to struggle harder. But if every attempt was strangled in its infancy, if every trick was foiled, every blow countered and overwhelmed - that would feed into the image I was trying to cultivate in her mind. Someone that she could never dream of beating. An unbeatable force. A force of nature, before which she could only choose to submit or be made to submit.
I don't run after her. I don't need to. My ash clone is about to recover. All three charges of my shadow state are recharging. And Sophia is just running. She's not stupid. She's self-aware enough to realise what she's doing. So she'll come running at me soon. She's predictable like that, and her only alternative was to utilise her weapons - which I'd taken the liberty of having my ash clone hide under the floorboards. Just in case.
That wasn't a coincidence. I'd planned this out. Allowing us to simply settle into a rhythm of fight, then fuck - would have been viable. But it was important to set the right tone. After our interaction at the mall, she'd proven that she would bounce back to her usual self within minutes no matter what face she was making just a few moments prior. I needed to carve these defeats deeper into her psyche. It wasn't enough for her to simply remember the time she lost as an embarrassing moment - something that she could claim to have learned and grown from. I needed her to acknowledge it on a deeper level. And that meant going a bit further than would have been reasonable with our 'agreement'. And fortunately, with her as easy to set-off as ever - she'd provided me with the perfect excuse with ease.
My clone reforms next to me. I wave my hand through one of the streams of ash racing towards its torso as it fills out. Hello again, Vista-lite. At this point, Sophia's likely realised that she should have been attacking.
Too late for that. We both charge forward, her attempts at retreating foiled as Vista's power halves the gap between us between one blink and the next. I make an effort to block her attack on the clone this time. I need it alive, because it's the only thing I have that really fucks with her shadow state. Probably the ash - I guess it worked just like the pepper spray that Taylor's challenge had a while back.
I'd like to say that the ensuing fight was a struggle. That Sophia lived up to the challenge I'd squared off against time and time again in my mind. But the rules weren't the same. She wasn't that Sophia, and I wasn't that Greg anymore. I know every trick that she has and more that she's never even dared to use against a living person. It's a 2v1 fight. She doesn't have her armour, or her weapons. If this was nothing but a game, I would almost be sad about losing the thrill of danger. But, in real life... it was nice to win. Addicting, even.
She evades as much as she can, but even successfully dispersing my ash clone again isn't enough to take back the initiative. By the time the ash clone reappears, she still hasn't managed to get distance away from me - and from there, it takes all of seven seconds to knock her to the ground, and another three to convert that into a pin - with my ash clone looming nearby to make her regret any attempt at phasing out. "All of that fuss for nothing. And we're right back where we started." I hiss into her ear. She just pants back at me. She'd tired out quickly, which was understandable. This was the third time today that we'd gone through this song and dance, and I imagine it was much harder to try running from effectively two attackers with better Mover ratings than it was to be on my side of the fence.
But I wouldn't give her that excuse. And she wouldn't offer it up as one either.
"Tch." It's the closest she's likely to get to giving me an admission of defeat. She's more of an 'actions speak louder than words' kind of girl. And right now, she's stopped any attempt to struggle or break free from my grip - even after my ash clone steps back and away, then fades entirely so that I can start discretely recharging it.
I shift into a more comfortable sitting position, letting her upper body drape over my legs face-down as I lightly adjust her position with my hands. She moves into the desired position easily. Willingly. Barely needing more than a simple prod in the right direction to manipulate herself this way or that.
Obedient.
I don't say it this time, there's no need to bait her again. But... still. For all the fire, all the fury, just like she had at the mall - she folded once she was beaten. A dark flush racing down her cheeks and chest as my hand greedily traces along her body. Acceptance of my claim. Not that it was a surprise, I'd been lodged inside her not even a full five minutes ago - but the feeling of submission, coming from Sophia, of all people, didn't get old.
For a moment, I contemplate how much of this was my power and how much of this was just Sophia in general. If I'd been... not me, not someone that she already knew and had a negative opinion about - and not someone that had been rolling with disadvantage on every charisma check possible for the last year - could I have gotten to this point without my power greasing the wheels for me? If I'd been a complete stranger to her, beaten her in all the same ways - what would her reaction have been, without any prejudice against me or any interference from my power?
I would never know, I suppose. And even though a small part of me was annoyed at the fact that I would never really know what I might have been capable of in another world, it wasn't really anything worth worrying about. Any slight melancholy about potentially missing out on a completely natural, if fiery and unstable relationship was more than made up for the fact that I was forming a harem here and loving it. And however much I could wonder about whether Sophia would still have a secret defeat fetish or not - I was quite certain that she would genuinely have killed me or dumped me by now for my lack of fidelity and integrity if my power hadn't done anything to adjust her preferences on that front.
More important things to worry about right now anyway. Like the way her nude body was pressing down very nicely against my erection. Or the way her ass was now angled in just the perfect way for a smack or three to be delivered. I give my hand a test swing.
Solid connection. Good noise. Nice jiggle. Incredible switch from shock to outrage on her face. Gods, that really is an addicting look. The sight of her switching to her default expression of preparing to inflict violence, only for that reaction to come to nothing as she remembers that there's no way to fight out of this one. And without the possibility of violence, all she has left are a sharp tongue and a stubborn streak dedicated to asserting that she wasn't my woman yet.
"Fucking bastard." Sophia hisses, arching into me in all kinds of interesting ways.
I grin at her. "Do I really deserve that? I think it's perfectly reasonable. You tried to renege on our agreement just to try and get a cheap shot in. What do you even want from me in response to that? I just assumed you were doubling down again. Or did you want to get out of our arrangement? That's fine, I'm not going to force myself on you. You seemed quite adamant this morning though-"
"Don't even bring that up." She hisses. "You won the fight, so sure, you get to fuck me. Lucky you." She corrects. "That doesn't mean I'm just going to let you walk all over me. If you're going to keep talking shit, you'd better get used to it."
I hide a smile at the reaction. I hadn't even been intending to rile her up when I beat her this morning. I'd simply interrupted her put-upon complaints about the task ahead of her to inform her that I could let her off the hook, so long as she admitted my superiority in strength and showed all the appropriate respect and correct manners when asking for my gracious mercy.
That sounds a little more condescending now that I'm looking at it with hindsight. But I was being genuine at the time! 'Thank you' and 'Please' would be enough, coupled with an admission that I was just better. That hadn't seemed like much, but it was all I really needed. It wasn't all about the sex, I was confident that she'd be addicted to me in time anyway - getting her to internalise her position on the totem pole was the long-term aim here. But she'd firmly rejected my offer. Told me with a heated and righteous fury that she would never take an ounce of pity from me... and then settled between my legs to give me her most enthusiastic blowjob yet to prove that she could handle any penalty I could throw at her with ease.
She was still terrible, but the enthusiasm was there. And at the end, when she was wiping her mouth as the satisfied look slipped away - she'd seemed to realise that perhaps that she might not have given off the right impression about how unwilling and reluctant she really was. She'd barely been able to meet my eyes afterwards, and had practically raced out of our hidey-hole towards class in record time. It wasn't until lunch that she shoulder-checked me in the corridor to announce another challenge after school. It seemed she was intent on pretending that nothing unusual had happened back then, and all she had to do was win once and put everything back in order.
Except she'd lost. And now, again.
I grin at her. "Then you'd better get used to ending up like this afterwards." I tell her. She tenses as a trace a finger along the small of her back. "And I can't help but notice that you seem to be letting me do as I want now. What's up with that?" Another ringing slap emphasises my point. "I know you denied it before, but... tired of losing?" That's exactly it. But she can't admit that. She couldn't admit that. That would mean acknowledging that she never had a chance to win, and she'd rather lose ten times in a row than admit that I was just... stronger.
Which meant that her deflections, delusions and excuses all only got weaker and weaker with every loss. "We had a deal. I'm just getting it over with quicker." She growls out. "Don't start reading anything into it that isn't there. I'm not interested in you. Or this. Or indulging in this sick fetish of yours. You think I can't feel your erection like this? You're gross."
"I'm guilty." I drawl. "Of finding a fit, attractive young superheroine submitting to me like this appealing. I confess. It's true. The most deranged of fetishes, liking women. If this ever ends up on PHO, my career is over." I lower my hand. "You, on the other hand, seem even wetter than you were when I was fucking you just a few minutes ago. That would probably be more of a surprise to the people supporting you, considering your reputation."
"You're imagining it." She dismisses.
"You think?" I pull two slick fingers away, holding them into the air for inspection.
For a moment, I wonder if she'll attempt to claim ignorance or claim that she was already that aroused before I ever caught her. The momentary hesitation shows that I'm not the only one considering the possibility, but in the end - she seems to give up, adopting an annoyed expression. "Just hurry up and fuck me already. Neither of us came here to talk."
"I was trying to do that earlier. You started another fight." I remind her as she pivots around. Gently, I push her face down to the ground. Her ass sticking upwards without even prompting.
"I'm not apologising." She harrumphs as I shift around her.
"And I'm not complaining. You can start another one, if you like. We both know how that will end." We're both still naked, and she's still very, very wet from our earlier fun and the rough treatment she's just been getting. There's no barriers to getting right back to where we left off. I trace my fingers against her slit, and her thighs imperceptibly spread as she shivers under the feather-light touch. "The same as the last... what, how many fights in a row is it now? Five, six?"
Sophia's fists clench as I line up against her entrance again. That got to her. The loss streak. I knew the feeling. The simple knowledge that you tried your best, and didn't get any closer in the process. The feeling of hitting a wall, not having the right tools to get the angle needed for the win. Except, I had a power that would get me more tools. And Sophia? She didn't. That was a level of frustration that I couldn't relate to. But, it wasn't unique to her. How many Brutes had compared themselves to Alexandria? Blasters to Legend? Literally anyone to Eidolon? This was just... life. And she knew that. That there was a ladder, an order to these things. She just wasn't ready for me, specifically, to be above her yet. Once she got over that idea, she'd be no more bothered than these losses than she would if Scion came by to show her up in a contest of strength.
So helping to dig that fact into her psyche, it was an act of kindness from me - really!
I push inside. Sophia's body rocks as I press her into the floor. No moans this time. Probably because I mentioned it before, and now she was trying intently to pretend that she could barely feel a thing while clamping down around me with everything she has.
Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Shift my handholds to cup her ass for a moment in appreciation while I work into a rhythm. Perfect. "So if you do end up losing again... Four fights, five fights - I know I've got a bit of a sex-drive thing going on ever since I got my powers, but I'm still just a guy. I can't just keep going endlessly, it just doesn't work like that." I smile. "And since you were so adamant about me not letting you off the hook, we'll have to play catch-up outside of these little sessions of ours. Do you have any preferences? You could ask Emma for her favourite suggestions. I'm pretty sure we've tried every toilet cubicle, changing room, supply closet and abandoned classroom in the entire school at this point. I'm sure we could find a nice spot to even things out between one class and the next."
"I'm not letting any of this cross over into my school life. It's bad enough that Emma is humouring you. Don't even start to think that I'll even so much as look in your direction back in class." She denies fervently. I would look forward to seeing how long that mentality lasted. Not long, if I had to bet.
"That works for me too." I concede. "It's not like that's the only time we ever see each other. I'm sure we could find a nice quiet corner on patrol somewhere. When Arachne hasn't arrived yet, or isn't quite paying attention. Personally, I think getting fucked as Shadow Stalker in a back alley is a little riskier than Sophia Hess getting some action at school - but if you're into that, I certainly won't complain."
"That's-" Her complaint cuts short as the words catch in her throat, one particularly deep stroke causing a slight quiver in her voice as she slams back in time to meet my thrusts. "Th-that's not happening either." She tries again.
"Why not?" I probe, upping the pace again.
"I'm not an exhibitionist." She dismisses the idea.
"No? If that's the only problem, we could get a room. I've got plans to fuck Arachne later. You could slot right in, no problems at all." I continue to fuck her from behind. "Hell. I don't think it would take too much to get the two of you just like you were with Emma. That way, you wouldn't have anything to be embarrassed about at all."
"Hell no." That was her most enthusiastic refusal yet.
"Why not?" I press. "Too ashamed of what she might think, if she saw what one of her role models was really like behind closed doors?" Not sure role model was quite the right word here, but it would do. "Again, I think it would be no different than it was with Emma. I'd be fucking her just the same way. You could bond around your shared hobbies."
"We don't share-" She cuts herself off, arms shifting to brace against the floor as I press deeper again. "She'd just misunderstand. That's all. We're not the same. Just because we both happen to be doing the same thing-" She pauses. "-in that hypothetical scenario-" She stresses. "-doesn't mean that we're equals or are going to get along. We're still on different levels."
"Right. I would be fucking her because she knows what she likes, and enjoys every second of it. While I would be fucking you because you're weak." I say it so nonchalantly that she takes a few seconds to even process the words.
I keep fucking the momentarily frozen girl as she tries to refute that. "It's different." She finally insists. "She's not even bothering to fight. It's not like she would do any better than me, she's just allowing herself to be a doormat."
"If she's a doormat, why do you care about what she thinks?" The edges of my mouth quirk upwards, as I palm her ass again. "And I hardly think you can talk when it comes to just sitting back and letting me do whatever I want to you."
Her muscles flex and strain, inner walls clamping down as what little I can see of her face contorts into a silent expression, half-hidden by the rest of her body. The slight contractions, the uncharacteristic silence as she stifles any potential noises as best as she can, the slight slowing of her body slamming back to meet my pounding - if I hadn't been waiting for it, I might never have realised that she was having an orgasm at all.
Still trying to hide it. Still trying to pretend that I wasn't doing anything for her. There wasn't even a practical reason for it, just stubbornness and misplaced pride.
She breaks the pause a little while later, riding out the shudders of bliss as I continue my assault without pause. "This is just an agreement we made. It's not real." The justification is as weak as her voice.
"We can tell her that if you want. But I'm pretty sure you'll lose more respect in her eyes compared to just being horny." I smirk down at her. "But I think she might actually enjoy you humiliating yourself like that, so don't let me stop you."
"It's not happening anyway. Stop fantasising about it." She tells me shortly.
"Is that what you think?" I press. "Do you think I was making a suggestion? Testing how you might feel about the idea? No. I was just letting you know where my thoughts were going. Like, I'm going to cum any second now. And I'm trying to decide if I should just spray my load all across your book and leave you trying to clean up the mess, or if I should just paint you white on the inside like you've been wanting all afternoon." I lean forward. "But I wasn't asking for your input. It's up to me, Sophia. Where. When. How. The loser doesn't get to choose what happens to them. That's what you wanted, right?"
Her legs shake. Almost as if she might collapse without me holding her up. "O-only if you win. And that's-"
"-going to keep on happening." I hiss. Any teasing note falling out of my voice. "I'll be keeping count. And we'll keep doing this. Over and over. And you'll keep losing. And, sure, for now - I'll be satisfied with a scene like this. But at some point, we'll need a change of scenery. In school. Out of school. In costume. Out of costume. Next to Emma. Next to Arachne. Eventually, we'll do it all. Just remember-" I thrust forward for the final time. At last, unleashing my seed into her desperate, greedy quim. "-I'm the one that decides."
I don't get a response to that. Once I'm done depositing my load inside her, I pull out. And Sophia slumps to the floor as if in a daze.
"I'll see you tonight." I tell her. A newly-made ash clone steps up to me - still half-formed, but still fully capable of retrieving my discarded shirt. I take my time. I wasn't in a rush. I wasn't due to meet Taylor for hours, and I didn't need to be seen at home or anything. I'd probably just go and do a mini-patrol myself. Maybe see if the Dallons were around, or if Panacea had been sighted at the hospital... I didn't have an excuse to visit Parian, but maybe I could get a glance at her without my cape-guise being involved? She didn't exactly hide herself away.
"Hey. Wait." Sophia has pushed herself up into a seated position.
"Not coming? I'll see you tomorrow if you can't make the patrol." I hadn't told her the exact specifics yet. Nor did I intend to. My exact interest in what my lead on the Merchants, if it actually materialised, might amount to entirely depended on if I could find and challenge the Capes there. If it was just a bunch of junkies... I'd call it a night early. Move a few streets away and tell Taylor to break up the party from the bed of a hotel room. "Or, did you have a problem with something I just said?" I leave the challenge hanging at the end as my ash clone hands me my phone.
She slides one knee forward, then the other. "You can't say all of that and just think I'll let you walk away." Another fight? Or- no. That's not the look of someone looking for a fight. That flush on her face says that there's only one thing on her mind right now. "Double-or-nothing, that's what you said right? That you were counting? I'm not letting you out of here with that extra point." She pauses, remembering herself as she takes my cock in both her hands. "Just-just because it would be annoying if you got any ideas about how to cash it in."
Right. Two fights. Two prizes. I suppose the first occasion got interrupted, so she wasn't counting it. Honestly, I'd half-forgotten about it already. Good thing she reminded me.
Still. If she was offering... "Sure. Go ahead." I don't make an attempt to hide the phone in my hand as I start browsing before her tongue even makes contact with me. If I'd tried this earlier, she'd probably have tried teeth - but the cock-drunk look on her face and the dark flush on her cheeks told me that she was more than happy to ignore the unspoken disrespect if I didn't verbalise it.
And again, just another thing for her to get used to. Another few inches moved on the goalposts. If this was already normal enough for her to come to me in the heat of the moment, I'd have her sucking me off under a school desk before the week was out. A lot of that was just down to Sophia's personality. She wasn't the type to take it slow. Or get hung up on any ideas about propriety. Her only hangups were about power, personal respect and ego, and once those were sidestepped - she was already every bit the slut that her two friends were.
Now then... weren't there a fair few people on PHO complaining about me getting too close to Shadow Stalker? It was petty, but taking a moment to relax by baiting a flamewar with a few angry fanboys while their idol was sucking me off with my cum leaking out of her slit? That was just the level of poetry that my haters deserved, even if they didn't realise it. The fact that she was still pretty terrible at it, and that almost any of my other partners would be doing a better job in her place was the icing on the cake. A position that they would murder to be in... and it was below average for me. If anything, that last bit - the added spite - makes the experience all the better.
I'm drawn out of my musings by a new notification coming in. A tight smile breaks its way onto my face. Looks like my plans for tonight were going to work out after all.
PHO Mobile:
Logging out.
Logging in as: PartyGod123
You have received a private message from an unverified account. (block) (report as spam)
AnonUser232322: You still looking to get into the party?
AnonUser232322: Got an opportunity - for today only - to get you in. 2k in cash and I can get you inside no questions asked. No guarantees that you don't get kicked out after that, but that's up to you.
PartyGod123: A bit pricy.
AnonUser232322: Go shop around. It's a good deal. Only way you'll get in cheaper is if you changed your mind about joining up properly. Even a half-assed tattoo would be enough - I could slash the price if you do? Plenty of ways I can get an extra ticket for a current member if I put you into the system - but random guests aren't a thing, you're lucky a chance like this even came up at all.
PartyGod123: Can't do that. I want to sate my curiousity, have an experience - not seriously get involved with a gang or have my name attached to any of their records.
AnonUser232322: Well, hard to blame you for that given the impression the average merchant gives about security. The price stays firm then. 2k, I get you inside once with no questions asked. If you leave, they probably won't let you back in. Fair warning.
PartyGod123: Fine. How do we do this?
AnonUser232322 has shared a calendar appointment!
AnonUser232322: Be on time. Show up with the full amount, or don't bother coming at all.
--
Out of all of the teams and gangs that I had potential angles of attack to work with, it might seem to some like a surprise that I'd gone with the Merchants. I had an open invitation from Victor to 'talk' that I would be all too happy to accept once I was absolutely positive that I wouldn't get either ambushed and sent off in a box to a Nazi brainwashing camp in Germany or lured into some kind of constructed scenario designed to generate blackmail and out-of-context clips for the Empire to use against me. The odds of that were low... but the Empire, or rather, their parent organisation, had a reputation for what they got away with in Europe. And it wasn't like I could tell Taylor that I was going to have a friendly discussion with the Empire without awkward questions coming up - so it was certainly a solo affair.
And the PRT had an open offer of power testing that would doubtless give me a hit or three. A meeting with the Wards might be possible if I phrased it right. Spying on New Wave was an option, and I'd even considered the possibility of just... walking up to them and asking for 'advice' as a hero. The only thing that had stopped me was that it would be really obvious what I had done once my powers were eventually revealed, but it was an option. Even Lung - I'm sure if I just walked into his territory and attacked a few guys, I'd have him on my tail in no time. If I thought that I had anything that could beat him - I'd have done that already.
But the Merchants? They were weak. Both as a gang, and as individual Capes. If I completely fucked up and somehow made the gang enemies for life? No great loss. The ABB hating me with a passion was a concern, but the Merchants were a joke to the big players of the Bay. They lacked the reach and finances - and if it wasn't for their apparent new recruit, they might have stayed off of my radar for even longer. But three Capes right for the taking was a little too much to ignore. And ever since that one junkie we found on our patrol had spilled the beans about the parties Skidmark threw... I'd been following the trail on how to get inside it myself. Going from one junkie to the next, eventually led me here.
To this person.
I wave across the counter at the bartender. "Yo."
She peers at me. "Glasses? A scarf? James, if that's supposed to be a disguise, it's a pretty pathetic attempt at one. You don't look even a little different. If you pull out a fake nose and moustache I'm gonna deck you for your own sake."
"It's just cold, Sandra. And the glasses look good." I lie. Unbeknownst to her, this really was a disguise. But a double-layered one. I was playing a part here. A nervous college kid with more money than sense, trying not to get recognised. 'James' was covering up with a baseball cap, glasses and a scarf, but as long as I looked like a failed attempt to hide my identity as 'James' - peeople would be less inclined to look for the other aspects of my guise that hid the connection between 'Greg' and 'James'. Slicked-back hair, a whole new wardrobe, different posture, a series of bloodied, miniature cuts masquerading as a bad case of acne across his face - that would heal in just a dozen or so uses of my shadow state and a thorough face wash. Coupled with the general inclination to not square up to any cameras and keep my head down on CCTV, I was actually pretty confident in my disguise holding. It wasn't like Greg was world-famous or anything. Nobody had any reason to look closer.
Not that I was worried about the [Merchant Supplier] across from me. Already with three challenges completed out of four from my previous sleuthing. Probably good enough that I could have her over this counter if I wanted... but I wasn't that desperate. And it was probably better to leave her memory of me as 'mysterious cute guy' than anything deeper, because 'James' wasn't going to be a recurring character and I'd rather not have a string of needy ex-lovers trying to track him down.
Strictly business. Which meant actually paying money. But what was the point snatching cash out of wallets when raiding the various drug dealers of Brockton if I couldn't spend it? The last thing I wanted to do was actually start cashing in with my vigilante funds as Greg Veder. Knowing my luck, I'd get the IRS waiting at my door and asking how I got that much cash. Far better to keep it in the system. Get money as Void Cowboy? Spend it as Void Cowboy. Aside from paying Parian for her work, it just stacked up anyway. Maybe when I had some kind of idea on how to get value out of my Tinker power I could spend it on that, but other than that... I really had more money than I could reasonably spend. At least, until I worked out the best way to use my pseudo-Tinker powers from Leet.
That sense of financial safety wasn't strange. Or even due to any particular frugality on my part. For every three penniless hobos that got an assbeating on a patrol, there was a drug dealer or mugger with a fat stack of cash in their back pocket. And it was hardly like they could complain about my liberation of their ill-gotten goods. What were they going to do? Complain to the cops that they actually traded way more drugs or stole way more money than they had been able to prove before? It was legal anyway. I think. At least, I read something like that on a PHO thread about vigilantes a few years ago from a guy who sounded like he knew what he was talking about - so I'm taking that as my gospel truth until proven wrong.
"Whatever. You got the cash?" Sandra taps the counter. I obediently toss a stuffed wallet onto it. No need to hide from any observers, the bar wasn't open yet - but that wasn't to say that it wasn't busy. A steady stream of people flow into the cellar and come out heaving crates and barrels of all descriptions. "Great." She counts rapidly. "You're in luck. Join the guys over there. Pick up anything from below with a red label, carry it up to the trucks. Simple job."
I tilt my head. "I wasn't looking for a summer job."
She tilts her head back. "And it isn't summer. You were the one begging for a way in to a proper party last time you were here. I'm supplying the festivities this time around, but I'm short on hands to do the grunt work. You just bought your way on to that privileged position." She raises a finger before I can speak. "And before you start complaining about your delicate fingernails or whatever, just think about it. We show up, we drop the goods off to kick the party off - we drive away. If anyone gets left behind, past the checkpoint where the guards start checking names and ID? Fuck 'em. Not my problem."
"And that works?" I express doubt at the simplicity of the plan.
"People try to sneak in all the time - hell, most of these guys will probably be right there next to you. If you do get caught, the guards won't shoot you or anything. They will kick your ass and probably rifle your pockets in the process, but you'd have to piss them off pretty badly for them to even look at you twice in a party this size. Being a guard has its perks, you see. You carry around a big-ass gun with all these free drug samples, booze and strippers around - it's pretty easy to get distracted from the job."
"I'm not the only one then? Do the others have to pay too?" I glance at the workers behind her.
"Of course not. We pay a living wage here. We're a respectable establishment, don't you know?" She grins toothily. "And if they want to do the same as you? Well, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves and I needed the hands. That's what a street education does for you. Bet they don't teach that at your fancy, swanky school."
"Fair." I voice sourly.
She swings around the counter, swatting at my ass on her way past me. "Chin up. Solid work like this builds muscle. You'll have chicks drooling over you in no time. And you still get everything you wanted out of this, right? Best get to work, or I might just have to leave you off of the unloading team."
I send a wooden look at the musclebound, roided-up workers heaving one thing after another into the truck. Two more trucks quietly filing in behind it. I was fairly strong these days. Not a body-builder, but a quiet, wiry level of fitness that wasn't obvious until the clothes came off.
But I wasn't really that kind of strong. I didn't have any plans to get as high as these guys were probably planning immediately after getting inside. Hell, I could be fighting for my life at the end of the day - and I would be damned if I was going to be doing that with sore muscles.
"Hey." I call after her before she can leave.
"Not interested? I'm keeping the cash anyway. No refunds." She warns me.
Something about her expression - that patient, teasing look. The knowing gaze. The self-satisfied quirk of her lips. Too smug.
She got me. I sigh. Maybe if I finished her challenge, but - no. Better to just accept being outmanoeuvred in an area that doesn't really matter to me. I hold up a second wallet, equally as stuffed as the first. "Do these guys have a supervisor?"
"What a coincidence." A shark-like grin meets my wry smile of resignation. Knew it. If I was more attached to the money, I'd be annoyed about being baited so easily. But this wasn't really my money. I would get over it. "The role just opened up."
I send her a flat look. "Lucky."
--
The interesting thing about entering the Merchant's party like this was seeing the whole thing form around me. When we first arrive, there's not much to indicate that anything is amiss. A few obvious figures acting as security, maybe a little more footfall in the area than you would expect and a few trucks with some half-unpacked fence panels and barbed wire. By the time we've unloaded the first truck into the designated warehouse - every entrance to this industrial estate has already been cordoned off, while multiple teams set to work unloading their own trucks. Tables. Benches. DJ equipment. An entire lighting suite. A sound system that has my teeth chattering before they adjust it properly. A dozen different teams each setting up their own thing, in a display of organisation that I really wouldn't have expected from the joke-gang of the Bay.
By the time we come back around for our second trip, it no longer looks like a construction site. It looks like a fort. A party fort, but still a fort. The streets outside are starting to thrum with pedestrian traffic, food litters the massive set of tables across the centre courtyard, each corner has a set of stripper poles - albeit, no girls to work them yet - and, most importantly...
I fucking missed Squealer arriving. I glare at the genuine monster truck poking out of the right-most warehouse at the edge of the compound. I'd noticed that the one on the left was being set-up as a smaller mirror of what was happening outside - I'd assumed that was a VIP area of sorts, going by the increased presence of guards around it. The fact that Squealer's parking spot was right next to it made that assumption all-too-likely.
Which meant that my job didn't end once the trucks were all done bringing in more drink and drugs. It wasn't enough to be here, I needed to be in there. That's where I would find the three Capes that led the gang. Not out here with the rabble.
The third and final truckload we bring in reveals that the party is in full swing. An atmosphere that wouldn't look out of place in a popular-if-seedy nightclub, a dense crowd of people milling around from one attraction to the next. Too many for them all to be Merchants, surely. Not card-carrying, gun-toting members at least. There had to be customers in the mix, or some kind of invite system that I hadn't stumbled upon over the course of my own investigations. The Merchants were supposed to be small-time.
Or, perhaps that was a misread on my part. A little too much reliance on PHO posters that probably had a bit of a bias. Weak capes, yes. A small amount of territory, yes. But maybe the clue was in the name. Merchants. They had money. Customers. They didn't really have territory, true - but that meant that they weren't limited by it either. There was no reason that they couldn't quietly expand their distribution networks into other gangs' territory. After all, even if the Empire worked with drugs and prostitution - the bulk of their efforts would always be about igniting racial tensions and maintaining their territory by force. If the local drug dealers didn't report to them, would they really mind that much?
That gave them numbers. Influence. But still, not exactly power that they could bring to bear at will. How many of the regular guests here would pick up a weapon and jump if Skidmark said so? Not many, if I had to bet. They were here for the free goodies, because hiding behind the Merchants was better than being on your own - Skidmark didn't have the ironclad authority that Lung or Kaiser had. A figurehead leader of a decentralised gang, but with the addition of another Cape - perhaps that would change if they were left alone.
I step into the nearest set of portable toilets - already completely disgusting despite the party only having started in truth less than an hour ago - as the last of the crates are unpacked and the bulk of the workers start to pile back into the trucks that took us here. I spy one guy ducking behind a set of crates, another sauntering off with confidence past a guard that simply gives him a quiet nod as they pass. A few different strategies to stick around, it would seem. But I'd be happy enough with this one. This storage area was close enough to the main party that I'd blend in with the guests the instant I could sneak into the crowd. It was only the fact that I was currently in a somewhat restricted area that I stood out at all. Just had to wait for the trucks to leave, any guards that were watching us to return to their posts - and then slip out the back.
The thrum of two, three, four trucks pulling out and away in unison - I didn't have to be able to see them to know that they were half-shunting their way out through a crowd that was slow and reluctant to move. How long should I wait? Five minutes? Ten? Longer? This was uncharted territory for me - because if I was caught, fighting back would probably be a terrible idea. Even simply escaping the area might be difficult unless I could find the time to get into my speed-state. My sole advantage was the fact that I was just... me. Not obviously a Cape. The moment I revealed that fact, the gloves would come off. As long as I was a customer or fellow Merchant? I could get away with a lot. It wasn't like the bar for good behaviour was set particularly high with all of those people partying just a few dozen metres away.
An elevated voice and a series of thuds nearby. "Come on, man. Why you gotta be a snitch? Just let me go, it's not like anyone really cares-" Another thud. A choked gasp and a groan of pain. Looks like one of my 'comrades' got caught. Sucks to be him.
More distant talking. Then, footsteps. And a nearby door slamming open - the vibrations reaching my current hiding spot. Checking the toilets. Obviously. It wasn't like it was the most inventive place to hide.
I snag one of the flies with Bug Control, then convert it into an administrator. Not to give it powers, but just to make it better at executing commands. Harass him. My unspoken order to the fly takes effect, and the administrator hangs in the air - furiously awaiting the moment that his victim opens the door.
Another door slam. Another. Two left. Slam. The door next to me. Slam. I shift into my shadow state and dive to the left as the door handle shifts, settling into the previous cubicle - making sure that my shadowy limbs are firmly rooted on the ground to ensure I didn't make any noise as I became solid once more. One footstep could foil my attempt at hiding, and even the slight shift as my weight settled might have attracted attention without my other distraction.
"Fucking-" The man swears as the fly dives at him. "-get away, you cocksucking-" It dives at his eyes repeatedly, ignoring its usual instinct to run when he attempts to swat it. I frown at my new hiding place. The door of this cubicle was wide open, if he walked back... I shift to the side again - making more distance between myself and the flailing Merchant. Barely ajar this time. Perfect.
I allow my administrator to stop on his arm, a meaty slap accompanies its disappearance from my senses a second later. "Got you, you fucking disgusting piece of shit. Hate this fucking shithole." A door slams again. "Fuck this."
I peer at him through a sliver of a crack in the door as he stomps away. Looks like he was just searching a specific area, rather than patrolling. Which hopefully, meant that he would be leaving soon.
I wait. Slowly, another pair of guards slip past my field of view to go through the main entrance. Then another. Then the one that had been searching for me. Then, nobody. I wait some more. Nothing.
I slide the door open, tense and ready to react if anyone raised their voice in alarm. Nothing. Using up two charges of my shadow state consecutively, I lunge towards a nearby pallet of crates close to the wall, away from the central light hanging over the room. Longer shadows and better visibility for me, along with just being closer to the wall.
I slide the door open, tense and ready to react if anyone raised their voice in alarm. Nothing. Using up two charges of my shadow state consecutively, I lunge towards a nearby pallet of crates close to the wall, away from the central light hanging over the room. Longer shadows and better visibility for me, along with just being closer to the wall in general. I wait patiently for all my shadow state charges to come back, then leapfrog again. Using the same method to mask any noise I might make. I reach the wall, and after waving an experimental hand through and finding no wires of note - I dive through to the other side.
Now just circle around the outside and-
"Hey! You can't be back there. Fuck off."
-have a guard confuse me as a lost party guest wandering too close to the goodie-warehouse and get hurried 'back' to the main event.
Couldn't have drawn it up better in my head. I'm a genius.
A genius that might be taking a needlessly-large risk doing all of this sneaking around just for the sake of a stab at the Merchants, but a genius nevertheless. This is what a thorough education in spy movies gets you.
I slink past a pair of guards lounging around with assault rifles to merge with the crowd. They don't even give me a second glance.
Now what? I turn my gaze towards the apparent VIP section. Squealer's truck had been moved deeper inside at some point, but the building next to it was very much alive with activity - and the concentration of security couldn't have made it any more obvious even if I hadn't already been suspicious.
I nudge the guy next to me. "Hey-"
"Fuck off faggot." He turns away, practically inhaling his powder of choice from the table in front of him.
The next three people that I try to talk with are practically insensate. The next pair seems fairly well put-together, relative to the rest of the field at least. "Hey, what's with that place over there?" I jerk my thumb in that direction at a break in their conversation.
"Invite-only. Give up on it." One tells me bluntly.
"Skidmark and his buddies chill there. Too good for the rest of us." The other belches. "Although, I've actually been in there once. It's overrated as hell. The goods are a little better, except if you throw up on the wrong guy they can make your life miserable - out here, we're all equal, with all the freedom in the world."
"Can't be that much better inside, can it?" I make a face. "I'm curious now. Is there really no way to get an invite?"
"Skidmark decides. You gotta earn it somehow. Advancing the cause. Landing a big haul. Fucking up the cops. Shitting on the Empire. Big donations. Finding a new Cape to recruit. If you have to ask, then it's safe to say you haven't impressed him enough for him to even look at you." He leers at me. "Except maybe as his little cockslut. Look at you. Fucking nerd. Not a real merchant. Not in a million years. Bet you can get in there the same way you got in here. I've heard Skidmark likes all types, so your dicksucking skills might have some real value."
I sneer at them and step away, ignoring the laughter as they return to their conversation. Waste of time. I'd have to... what, sneak in by the back somehow? If I could find somewhere discrete to clamber up onto the roof with Vista's power, I could try and find a quiet spot to phase through and get my challenges in that way? If this was a challenge, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Hell, I would already have done it. But this was real life. I didn't have a brute power. I didn't have a second chance. If someone took some pot shots at the suspicious guy on the roof, I was dead. As confident as I am in my skills, I can't finesse my way around a bullet.
...all of that, for nothing?
Fine. I'll message Taylor. Message Shadow Stalker. Meet up a little earlier. If I can't get any of the benefits of a subtle infiltration, then the party can rot. The Capes will come out to meet me, whether they want to or not-
"Hey, don't look so down, kid." I turn as a smiling man glides towards me out of the crowd. "I heard it all. You're looking to get in with the big cheese, right? I like that. I love that! I've been looking for people with big ambitions like you. What if I told you that I had an opportunity that you might be interested in? A friendly bit of competition, a bit of entertainment to keep the crowd excited - all winners get invited to celebrate in that elite little corner you were just talking about. Who knows, you might get a good word in with someone over there - a chance like that could change your life."
I turn, giving him my full attention. "Yeah? I'm listening. What do I need to do?" This sounded like the pitfights. I'd heard of them before, but only as isolated stories. It didn't take a miracle to realise that this guy was hunting for fresh meat. He looked at me and saw fodder that a more experienced fighter would demolish and humiliate with ease. Hype up some guy with a winning streak, cash in on the obvious bets and make the final matchups just that much more exciting.
"Just win a few friendly fistfights. We've got a tournament of sorts coming up real soon. We need a few plucky hotshots to make up the numbers, and it sounds like you need a chance to shine. Seems like a great deal for both of us, right?" He beams with a too-wide, too-eager smile. All sleaze, no substance. Did people really fall for this?
I think about the general quality and sobriety of the rest of the people out here. Yes. They probably did.
But that suited me. "Sure, I'm actually pretty handy in a fight." I grin at him, letting my confidence shine through on my expression. Let it be seen as bluster, if that's what he's looking for. "Sign me up."
A firm hand settles onto my shoulder, guiding me away from the knowing looks of the nearby crowd. This probably happened a lot. And they probably had a pretty good idea about how unfair the upcoming matchups were about to be.
Hah. I suppose they weren't even wrong in thinking that.
These guys had no idea what they were in for.
--
This was a great idea. Once they started constructing the arena, an elevated stage that was then surrounded by a meshlike cage of broken fence panels and pipes to keep the crowd out, I had to stop myself from fist-pumping the air. Why? Because of the placement. Right outside the building that Skidmark and his buddies were holed up in. It was pretty obvious that he'd be watching at some point, getting a few glances at him every round should be trivial every time I managed to get up onto the stage.
The crowd roars as one of my fellow contestants is bodily thrown off of the stage, crashing into the ground just short of the fenceline - perfectly lined up for the raucous crowd to pelt him with abuse, spittle and unwanted drinks. Ruthless. Those who had lost money on him, even more so.
"Next!" A nervous looking boy next to me is pushed forward as his opponent is revealed. Another lopsided matchup. The people on the opposite side of the ring were the expected winners. Regulars. The ones on our side were flanked by guards for a reason. Two people had already tried to back out, and it was safe to say that their request had been firmly denied. The only way out was a quick defeat on the stage, and none of the opponents seemed to be the sort to accept surrender.
I wince lightly as the guy is folded in half in a single hit, falling to the ground in a wheezing fit as his opponent hypes up the crowd. A crowd that turns from roars of approval to an outraged hiss as he attempts to crawl towards the edge of the stage. He's maybe a half-second away from safety before he's dragged back to the centre by his leg. This wasn't exactly a sanctioned, official boxing match. There wasn't any sort of ettiquette or mercy rule to stick to. Certainly nothing against hitting a defeated or grounded opponent. Solid kicks to the chest. A punch at the head. I wouldn't be surprised if people died from this sometimes.
But then, considering the sheer amount of drug use going in within this one-block radius - I'm sure just one more body would hardly make a difference. I can't imagine there aren't a fair few overdoses every week, and somehow I doubted that Skidmark was struggling to recruit from the rejected, down-on-their-luck masses of the Bay.
"You wanna get off the stage?" The man roars, lifting the broken man in his arms. "Then let me help you!" A slow, dramatic walk to the edge of the stage, only to stop just short and slam him into the ground one last time to the bloodlusted roars of the crowd. One final kick to roll him off of the stage and drop to the floor below, and the match is over. Someone walks over in an unhurried fashion, dragging the broken, crying figure away. Maybe he'd even get some medical treatment, or, perhaps, just a hearty cocktail of drugs to forget about the pain and his likely-broken ribs.
"The winner, Number Thirteen, strikes again! Will his rampage ever be stopped?" The announcer screams into the crowd. The same guy that recruited me. Bet he makes a killing off of this, if those betting odds next to his booth were real. It was pretty clear that people recognised the man even though they'd put some token efforts into anonymising each of us. Numbers instead of names, a flimsy domino mask that barely covered anything. A measure that I was pretty sure was just to generate an air of deniability if someone died or wanted revenge later.
"You're up, Number Seven." I'm shoved forward - and I'm all too eager to comply. I hurry up onto the stage, eyes already casting around from my elevated position. Skidmark. Skidmark. Skidmark?
Where the fuck is Skidmark? I had a pretty good view of what were obviously the best seats containing the most elite guests - but no sign of the dirty blue, sometimes purple, mask or cape were anywhere to be seen. Was he just not interested? Or was he with Squealer, who also didn't seem to be present?
I tear my face away from the crowd with a scowl. My opponent is busy pumping up the crowd, but sends me a little grin of his own.
Big. Probably uses steroids. Shouldn't be a problem. "Challenge." I whisper, not even bothering to read his challenge sheet. It didn't matter. Win or lose, I just wanted to see if I had the right approach.
I sidestep his attempt at grabbing me in a bear hug. He's too sturdy to be knocked down by a leg sweep, but he's not quick on his feet - and he doesn't expect the jabs under his guard either. I don't have the luxury of using most of my powerset if I get into a pinch, so it wouldn't do to underestimate him. Just because I was confident that I could handle a fighter like this - as I already have many times before - didn't mean that I wasn't fully aware that I would lose if he nailed a full-power punch on me, or managed to get me in a grapple of pure strength.
Dodge. Dip. Counter. Dodge. Counter. Strike the leg. Attack him while he's down.
SUCCESS
An easy challenge. I dismiss the notification, a feeling of calm washing over me as my opponent lunges towards me in an exact mirror of his opening move just a few seconds ago. Sidestep the charge. He was slow to turn before, so dash around - liver shot. The guard is wrong, his side is unprotected. Double-shot to the stomach. He reels, and I advance. A flurry of punches - head, shoulder, head again, then back down to his torso as he futilely brings his arms up to cover his head.
Again. Again. I kick at his knee, feeling something warp and break at my efforts - he starts to fall with an agonised roar as his distorted leg collapses, and I help him down with another flurry of attacks - a second hit smashing his head against the wooden arena and then a full-powered kick slamming into his unprotected nuts. I stop myself from a third strike on the downed fighter as the announcer frantically calls the match. Don't want to get a reputation after all.
Okay, I broke his leg. But still, other people had done worse. I was far from the only person to inflict that kind of injury today, and the guy was practically twice my size - I could be forgiven for taking the opening when it presented itself. Anyone could see that.
I inelegantly shunt my opponent off the stage. A shellshocked assistant is there to catch him. As if the preferential treatment couldn't get any more obvious.
The announcer doesn't let his obvious surprise stop him from calling out the win. "I- In a surprise upset, the winner - Number Seven! He dominates his opponent and claims first blood for the rookies, but has he just painted a target on his back? Find out next round! Get your bets in early, folks! But for the moment, next fighters - take your positions!"
I cast my gaze back towards the VIP section, desperately searching - but to no avail. I reluctantly hop off the stage. The assistants flinch away from me as I glare around at nothing in particular.
Fuck.
What was even the point if none of the Capes were watching? Would they show up for later rounds? Or did they just not care about any of this?
"Nice fight." I get a few pats on my shoulder as I return to my spot. "Kicked his ass." I ignore them. I could pretty reasonably expect everyone else on this side to lose, save for a fluke or two and those planted here to give the illusion of fairness. I just needed to focus on my own fights. When to win. And when to lose. It might not be a terrible idea to lose at some stage, rather than win the whole thing. A loss in the finals would draw far less attention, but if winning was a requirement to getting into the VIP area - then maybe I didn't have a choice. That man had never promised that I'd get in win-or-lose, so I had no assurances either way. I wouldn't put it past them to just shrug and say that was out of their hands.
If Skidmark had already left - or wouldn't be showing his face all evening - then that plan didn't have any advantages to it at all, and the best thing to do would be to leave early and attack with Taylor to draw them out.
The people next to me wince in unison as they watch the next fight unfold. Maybe they thought that they stood a chance after seeing me win? Well. I wasn't accepting any of the blame for their injuries - it was their fault for overestimating themselves, even if their judgement was a little clouded by the open bar on tap.
"The winner, in a clean knockout - Number Four! The next round begins now! Number Sixteen and Number Twenty - get over here! Last second bets opening now, check the upcoming brackets and get ready to cash in! Last chance to bet on the winner of the whole thing, just look at the money you could be making!" The crowd mills around the betting booths.
The second round fights, for the most part, are more even. The challengers waiting on my side of the arena have been almost wiped out already, and the few that remained get picked off one by one - their luck running out against the more experienced fighters.
"Number Seven and Number Three! Time to get rolling!" I push myself up. This time, the shove forward from the guard isn't so aggressive. Guess he isn't so keen to push people around when he knows that they can bite back.
I get up on stage again, looking around once more. No Skidmark. No Squealer. No Mush. Not that I know what Mush looks like, but PHO assures me that he exists.
Useless, piece of shit Merchants. I needed them to do one thing - sit around and do nothing - and they can't even do that right. I grit my teeth. I'll take it out on this guy. If they don't show up for the third round... I don't know what I'll do. But I'll do something. I'm not letting this be a wasted trip after all of this effort. If I have to personally turn every one of his guards into a bimbo slut eating out of my hand to get in that building, then that's just what I'll do. Maybe my power will hit the mental brakes on all those challenge attempts, but maybe I'll have better luck next time around.
A quick challenge tells me that my next opponent is the opposite of the first. A wiry, tricky fighter that also happened to be dosed up to the gills on... something. I don't know, I'm not an expert on drugs - but I didn't have to be to know that normal people didn't look like that.
He doesn't spend much time cheering with the crowd either. He just lunges at me, hand outstretched towards my face - fingers grasping as if to go straight for my eyes. I meet his charge with a solid kick at his lower body, then shift closer and attempt to combo off of it. No good. He shifts closer, I match his movement - he goes for the charge again. He definitely wants the grapple, this time - I meet him halfway. He gets a half-grip on my shirt and attempts to throw me to the ground over his leg as I seize his other hand, he doesn't think to separate or try and slip away until his fingers are snapped back at a near-perfect 180-degree angle. The crowd hisses at the sound as the man pulls away, shaking his hand with a mildly annoyed expression - as if he had just punched a wall, rather than losing motor function in that hand for the foreseeable future.
Drugs. Lots of them. This guy wouldn't go down as easily as the first. Something was fucked up about his pain tolerance.
I meet his next lunge head on again. Pain tolerance or not, he wasn't exactly Sophia. My next punch smashes into his jaw, then its my turn to trip him over my leg. Grounded. I pull him back by his dreadlocks, then slam his face down onto the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. He manages to slip away, rising to his feet and stumbling backwards-
-directly off of the stage. I blink. Anticlimactic. The man makes an attempt to clamber back onto the stage with a furious cry - but guards pull him away before he can pull himself up.
"Winner! Number Seven is getting a streak going! Could we be seeing the rise of a new champion?"
Thirty-two starting participants. Sixteen going into this round, eight into the next. Three more rounds for me. Three more rounds for Skidmark to show up.
...no. I couldn't just keep waiting and hoping. Time to make some of my own luck. I'd never actually been promised that winning this would get me in there, but being the star of the show and getting enough recommendations must count for something. Making some friends in the VIP section was probably the best way forward. Better to focus on the dozen-or-so people that seemed to have their own followers fawning over them than worry about any guards. If they 'randomly' gained an interest in me, that was far more likely to give me a way in than any other method.
And it would last into the future as well. If Skidmark couldn't be bothered to watch his gang do its business, then I could just start the long process of stealing his gang out from under him. I glance at the first of them.
Brandon Lex
Arms Smuggler 1/4
(ALRT) (GANG)
This guy, then the others. I only had so much time before I had to get shoved off the stage, but I could get off a fair few attempts before it started to look weird. "Challenge."
--
My opponent slumps to the floor.
"It's all over! Number Seven is through-"
"Challenge."
SUCCESS
"-to the semi-finals! This merciless little psycho has his eyes set on the top spot!" I pause in my challenges to frown at the announcer. What was that about? I was fighting the same way everyone else was. No need to call me names.
Now then, where was I...
Right. Next in line, arms wrapped around a pair of strippers and throwing out slurs aimed at my defeated opponent.
Adam Mustain
Kingpin 1/6
(PREP) (ZONE) (REAL)
"Challenge." Kingpin was a pretty hefty title to have on your first challenge. Some people tended to have challenges that 'evolved' over time with different labels, but the first one tended to be a good estimate of what someone was doing now. Picking up guys with titles like this could only be a good thing for my future influence over the gang and the Bay as a whole.
"Fuck you, shitheel!" My target whoops as I race towards him. Too many of these guys had guns, closing the gap was the best way to handle them - and the ZONE modifier ensured that I couldn't really flank. I blink as the ground below me erupts into a harsh blue light. I give an uncomprehending, open-mouthed look as the figure at the far end of the straight-corridor formed by the ZONE sends me a fuck-off gesture. "I run this bitch! Get fucked, dickless shitstain! Gargle my balls like your whore of a mother!"
And then Skidmark sends me flying backwards hard enough to send me into, and through, the wooden panelling behind me.
I pick myself up with a blank expression. "You cannot be serious." I groan to myself. "You were here the whole fucking time? You-" I cut myself off, almost too annoyed to even make words. "Where is your fucking-" I momentarily pause as he tries to throw a crate at me with his fields. Badly. He can't aim, and it just skids to a halt a few metres away from me and then splinters open. "-mask? What kind of leader are you?"
"Stop crying, pussy!" He hollers, whether that was in response to my question or just generic shittalk, I'm not sure. Both, maybe.
He's right though. This is what I wanted. It's a little frustrating, because it means that I've already missed out on multiple chances to challenge him and I didn't even realise it - the wasted rounds with a lot of downtime were gone now, and I could reasonably expect the last two rounds to resolve in rapid-fire fashion judging by the current pace.
But that's fine. I had him now. I could take all my gripes about him taking his shitty costume off and weaponise that annoyance against him now.
Or at least, I should. Now that I was thinking about it, this was a terrible position to be in. ZONE was the perfect modifier for his powerset, even if his powers were weak - the weaknesses weren't really on display here. I couldn't flank him. Couldn't use his fields against him because he was directing them all towards me. Couldn't overwhelm the fields or attack at range with any powers of my own because I was a completely physical fighter. I just had to power through, which is exactly the kind of thing that his power was good against. And was only going to continue to get better against. Already, the floor below me was humming with a blue light - a light pressure pushing me backwards as if I was trying to fight the wind. Not too bad yet, but it would only get stronger as he added more layers to it.
Right. He'd targeted the entire corridor in front of him with a weak version of his power, sacrificing power for range. Then there was the stronger, limited zone that he'd set down to repel me initially. Far superior in strength, but I could move around it - at least until he mirrored it elsewhere or widened it.
And then there were the 'firing' zones next to him. Along with his 'ammo'. He slides crates and boxes and bottles into those zones, and they rocket down in my direction at speed - I would guess that both the zones and the ammo were down to the PREP modifier. Which was... actually a little bit pathetic, honestly. He could have made a deathtrap or an impenetrable fortress, or have already had the entire road acting like a one-way hurricane of force from the moment I arrived - and instead, he made a really shit slingshot.
...if I had flight, I could just go around the entire thing. If I could teleport, he had literally nothing in place that could shoot or repel behind him. If I had literally anything... bah. No sense in complaining about it. Time to go. I shift into my shadow state-
-and fly backwards. I crack my neck as I drop back into the physical world, digging my feet in and pushing forward again. Right. Sophia's power kind of acts like a gas. Usually the way I use it means that I ignore any force acting on me, but that's only because most forces that act on me in that state are inconsequential compared to my own momentum. But Skidmark's fields weren't like that. In the same way that a strong wind could, in theory, blow Sophia in a given direction - turning into gas simply allowed Skidmark's fields to act on me without any resistance from my weight at all.
"Whoo! Get fucked, pasty white boy!"
...shit. Did that mean that my speed-state was out as well? Better to know now. I try it, and immediately hurtle backwards - only stopping at the ZONE wall as if held by an invisible force. I don't even have time to get out of the momentary paralysis before I hit the back of the ZONE - that's how much worse it is than Sophia's powerset. I'm used to hostile effects being super-effective against that form if I can't dodge them, and having my mass reduced by so much was already a bad matchup against this powerset. I hang against the ZONE wall uselessly as the paralysis wears off - only slumping back down to touch the floor once I've slipped out of the speed-state entirely.
Have I lost? Just like that? To Skidmark, of all people?
No. Surely not. But what options did I have? I hadn't gone into those states for no reason - I'd done it because I needed a gamechanger. Sure, I could fight through this basic field below me - even if it was slowly increasing in strength, it would take a while to become something I couldn't handle. No, the problem was that he could just stop strengthening this wide field and instead set up a stronger one right below me - just like he did the first time I charged him. A normal guy simply couldn't close to melee against Skidmark.
"I'm the strongest in the world!" A crate practically detonates on the debris next to me. Those things were coming at me fast now.
Could two? Maybe. I should have summoned the ash clone right from the start, but I'd just assumed it was an easy-kill then and it wasn't quite as fast in a sprint as me. It was usually better to summon it right on top of the target. But the ash clone could probably shrug off a simple repelling field without getting dispelled, and forcing him to try and knock away two dodging-and-weaving people at once might be just the edge I need to get into melee with the man.
Too late for that to make a difference now. Skidmark has been layering his power over this entire half of the ZONE ever since I got knocked back. And even if my ash clone could pack a punch, it just didn't have much weight to it. I summon it anyway, giving it a grim look as it attempts to surge forward - yet gets pushes back with every step it takes. Too late. It didn't have the mass that I did. And soon, even my mass wouldn't be enough to resist. Hell, Skidmark could have shrunk down the area he was affecting and already crossed that point if he put his mind to it, but that was always his problem - wasn't it?
...which only made it even more frustrating that I'd lost. Musing over the ash clone couldn't help me now, not before I got a fresh start from the next challenge. And as for the rest of my powers... I had nothing. Vista's couldn't handle enough space to get me in range. Clockblocker would help to keep me alive from his projectiles a little longer - and give me handholds if I was capable of moving forward - but in this, specific situation staying alive longer wouldn't help. I'd just die from the eventual pressure squishing me against the ZONE wall like a bug. Panacea. Othala. Victor. Echo. Taylor. Parian. Nothing. Not even a single one could help me out of this mess.
I relax, and stop fighting the force pushing me backwards. I didn't even have anything to test. All I could do was wait for either Skidmark to ramp up the pressure, or for him to finally learn how to aim his projectiles properly. Before long, there's no longer any hope of peeling myself off of the wall. Oddly relaxing, aside from the faint feeling of getting slowly crushed.
Skidmark misses twice more before a barrel tumbles end-over-end and smashes into my leg. Broken. Definitely. Another miss. Then a second hit into my upper torso leaves me splitting blood and cuts off all sensation from my lower body.
"That's right! That's right! That's why I stay on top! That's why I'm the king of these streets!" Skidmark continues to brag. "I'm fucking invincible! I'm never gonna stop winning! Get fu-" I don't get to hear the rest of his words. I don't even get to see the projectile evaporates my head into a pink mist, but I do get to observe my broken, headless body collapse as the challenge breaks down. Seeing the aftermath of my own death was always a little unpleasant, but this time... it was nothing to do with what happened and everything to do with who did it.
I mean... losing to Skidmark? That's just... urgh. At least nobody aside from me had any insight into what happened in my simulations. Otherwise, I don't know if I could live the shame down.
FAILURE
Before I return to the waking world, I jerk my eyes to the side. There was always a slight delay in the real world between challenge and when I could see again - and I didn't want Skidmark or anyone else wandering why I was staring at him in particular out of the crowd for no apparent reason. I flick back to his challenge sheet a moment later as my vision comes back. Five minute cooldown. Fine. Should be ready for the start of my semi-finals match, and then... perhaps I could drag my fight out long enough for a third attempt if I failed again? Then repeat the trick for the finals - that would surely be enough, at least for the first challenge. Maybe I'd run into a wall in a later challenge - but this first one seemed... doable. Just, not with a bad start. You couldn't get knocked back once. Every failure and setback compounded the difficulty by giving him more time to make and strengthen his fields.
I check the two girls on either side of them. They didn't fit the description of Squealer or Mush, but... no. That wasn't them. Three challenges a piece, just regular humans.
I exit the stage, letting the next fighters take my place. My mind was already on the next battle.
--
"-on't let his appearance fool you, this bloodthirsty maniac's soul bays out for violence and carnage! Make way, for Number Seven!"
The last fight had ended a little too quickly. Skidmark's timer wasn't up yet. Better to just focus on my opponent. I wasn't too worried. If I let myself get beaten by them at all after all my combat experience I'd never live it down. Even taking a hit at all would leave me a little red-faced the next time I squared off against Sophia. None of these fighters were as... 'complete' as her. They were slow, or sloppy, or just lacking in fundamentals. Things that had been beaten out of me in the dozens, hundreds of fistfights to the deaths that I'd been involved in up to this point.
And a few too many of those supposed 'fistfights' had ended in my painful death to the sudden appearance of a pistol or a knife that I knew trouble when I saw it. Something about the way his hands strayed close to his pockets when I threatened to lunge forward, or the easy confidence he had despite the obvious gap in skill - without any advantage in build like some of my other opponents had.
Somehow, I doubted anyone would step in if I got myself stabbed. They'd point and laugh, maybe disqualify the guy - but expecting anything resembling fair-play would be a mistake. Still. I had to assume that the guy didn't want to get disqualified, so he would probably make an attempt to hide it. A short blade, with any stabs disguised as a punch? I couldn't even assume that it was a clean blade, so I couldn't even allow myself to take a minor hit for a major advantage in the fight - I doubted anyone would rush me to the hospital if I collapsed ten minutes later.
Well. If he was going to cheat... I had a few tricks of my own. I lunge forward, a massive overhead swing aimed at his face as he sways away.
Vista's power tended to look kind of obvious when used over distance. Limbs tended to distort as they travel through shrunken space, the air itself gains a shimmer as light passes through it in strange ways. The bigger the change, the more obvious it was. And, critically, the reverse was also true. This man knew his footwork, he knew my reach, his reach - and dodged accordingly. He would escape my fist by mere inches, and go for the counter immediately afterwards.
But if I somehow, impossibly, gained an extra inch or three of reach? A near-miss turns into a perfect hit, and the effect is over too quickly for anyone to even parse what they are looking at. The slight distortion in the air starting to unwind before I've even completed my follow-through.
Cheeky. And nobody noticed. I hop backwards as the knife comes out, a swipe at my eyes that discards any sense of pretending that he was playing fair. The crowd murmurs at the appearance of the weapon, the announcer hypes up the obvious cheating... and nobody steps in to stop the fight. Saw that coming.
I take a closer look at his weapon of choice. More of a shiv than anything else. Short. Stubby. Sharp. It wouldn't change my strategy - it wasn't a large enough weapon to truly give him a range advantage, and his chosen grip ensured that he only had a few viable angles of attack with it. He was definitely hoping to just get in a slugging match and shrug his shoulders when his bloodied opponent falls to the ground in a heap mid-fight. I've been stabbed enough to know that sometimes you don't even recognise it as anything other than a regular punch at first.
I'll just switch to kicking for the moment, wait for him to make a mistake. I could probably repeat my trick with Vista and go for a knockout, but if I didn't stall for another minute or so I'd be ushered off the stage before I could fight Skidmark again. He inches forward, I kick at his leading leg. He inches back. Perfect. A growing chorus of boos emerges from the crowd at our standstill, though most of them seem to be aimed at my opponent as the crowd identifies the weapon as the obvious reason why I was suddenly being so cautious. I spare an annoyed look at the still-significant portion of the crowd calling me a pussy for not jumping into his reach.
We dance back and forth for a while longer, all while I internally count to sixty. That should be enough, right? If I ended the fight now, I should be able to stick around long enough to get another shot at Skidmark. There was a temptation to continue to drag things out even past that, but not making a mistake around his blade for another five minutes wasn't as easy as I was currently making it look. Not to mention the possibility that the organisers - or even Skidmark himself - stepped in to force us into closer proximity that would favour my opponent. If he made a field below us to force us into each other... no. I would struggle to end the fight quickly enough to prevent myself from getting stabbed a half-dozen times. I'd have to pretend to trigger, or just outright run. I couldn't take that risk.
I slide forward, pushing and holding his knife-hand away before shoulder-charging him with the rest of my bodyweight. I attack his weapon-hand as he rains down blows on my unprotected back. Painful, but worth it. The fifth time that I slam his hand against the floor, the knife comes loose. I knock it away, then turn to my opponent. A complete amateur. He'd never stood a chance, but the fact that he didn't even attempt to get me into a grapple or submission hold indicated that he didn't belong in the semi-finals. My other opponents had been stronger. He'd probably cheated in most of his other rounds as well.
No need to waste time. I twist his arm until he screams, then yank it further in a deliberate motion. Repeat with the second arm. I couldn't really trust his pleas to surrender, he wouldn't be the first fighter to change his mind the moment the other guy let up - and he'd already established that he wasn't above a bit of trickery or outright cheating. With two broken arms? I'd like to see him try.
I don a satisfied smile as the man attempts to propel himself towards the edge of the arena with his legs. I help him, dragging him the rest of the way and flinging him off the stage and into the walls of the 'cage' surrounding us. Nobody manages to catch him this time, and he just lies there, limply groaning as the assistants come to drag him away.
This was... fun. Actually. I rarely got a chance to show off what I had learned in my challenges, and when acting as a hero I couldn't really be half as effective as I would like to be. But a more casual, disorganised fight like this? It really was too perfect for me. Nobody cared if I broke a few bones. Nobody cared if I went a little bit too far. The visceral satisfaction of returning the tiniest fraction of what had been done to me, onto other people? People who, honestly, kind of deserved it? Perfection. And none of it was tied to either of my real identities - and nobody was about to accuse me of being a combat Thinker either. I didn't have that kind of fighting style, or at least, I didn't if I hadn't fought you a dozen times already. I was just fast and strong, tricky and brutal. I didn't have that serene grace or impossible fighting style that you often saw from Capes that were gifted unnatural combat skill from their powers. I was just... scrappy.
"Don't go anywhere Number Seven - the semi-finals may be over, but we're heading straight into the final round! Everyone! Put your hands together for our two finalists! Number Seven and Number Twenty-Five!" I nod, staying in place as I look around the VIP section. Had Skidmark left-? No. There he was. Nose deep in a pile of... whatever that was.
"Challenge." This time, I don't hesitate. A full sprint forward, my ash clone materialising next to me mid-stride - the briefest touch all that was needed to grant it administrator status and transfer Vista's powerset to it. I could use it too, but the clone probably needed it more than me.
I tear out my pockets as I split away from my ash clone, taking the left side of the road. A thin slip of fabric would usually be useless, but if I did get knocked back, then I could completely halt my momentum by using Clockblocker's power to turn the fabric pinched against my palms into a handhold in the air. Glory Girl's forcefield could handle a hit or two from his barrage of projectiles, and partially shifting into my shadow state should handle the rest.
"Time to get lost, dicksucking shitbags!" Skidmark waves his arms around. A weak field across the entire area again. Not a problem, no worse than facing into the wind on a hike. Didn't even need to dig my heels in yet, it just slightly slows me down. I kill my momentum and backstep as the floor around me turns a darker blue, the field only getting the briefest moment to make its effect on me known before I escape backwards - sidestepping around it a moment later. That was the trick. Because even if he could do that again, my ash clone was advancing on the other side of the road. Skidmark turns his focus on to the clone instead. I take the opportunity to sprint along the far side of the ZONE, hoping to stay out of his immediate vision range.
No such luck. He turns back to me as my ash clone is rebuffed. Dodge a crate. Dodge a beer bottle. Sidestep another powerful field placed directly below me. He gets more accurate the closer I get, but his firing zones just aren't angled right to hit someone up at the far edges of the road. They're too strong, too targeted down the centre that he couldn't apply enough sideways force to hit me - at least, not without the help of another of his fields - which would completely cripple the weapon the moment I moved again. Sidestep. Sidestep. He slams down three fields in succession to force me back, the last one actually getting a solid connection on me - forcing my air-handholds out to stop myself tumbling head-over-heels backwards and setting myself up to get combo'd by another field.
And then my ash clone is on top of him. I'd noted it shrinking the size of some of the zones Skidmark had blocked it off with, but now that the twisted space had wound back to normal - the power was available again, and it was just about in range to dash past the weak, wide-ranging field that had been slowing it all this time. Dashing into the other, completely untouched half of the ZONE behind Skidmark.
And that completely fucked his strategy. Now he couldn't keep an eye on both of us. He couldn't even keep shooting at the ash clone because his launchers couldn't change direction. My clone avoids a direct attack, wary of being dispelled before I could close the gap - but it does its part playing a distraction while I navigate the maze of strong fields that Skidmark had tried to trap me with. Time-consuming, especially when Skidmark glanced back desperately to block me off again. But his fields were weakening as his attention was drawn away. Sight-based limits to his power? I couldn't tell the difference on the fields that were capable of sending me flying, but the persistent wind-like effect was almost gone at this point.
I'll give credit to Skidmark. He was good at keeping me away. He might have let my clone slip through thanks to not understanding it's ability to use Vista's powerset, but he hadn't missed a beat at stopping me from joining the melee. I'd obviously been his primary target from the beginning, and that hadn't changed even with my clone sneaking in for cheap shots from multiple angles whenever he turned his head.
But again, my clone had Vista's powerset. And as it's previous use fades back into normal space - it shrinks space again. Not to attack, but give me a pathway forward, a way to get far closer than he was expecting while his back was turned. The distraction is slightly too bold, as Skidmark manages to send the clone crashing into his stockpile of crates. It dispels, but it's done well enough.
Before Skidmark can turn, I'm on top of him - hands gouging into his eyes before he even realises I've closed the gap. The cloth mask does nothing to protect him, and I pull my bloodied hands away as he starts to scream and hurl abuse at me - clutching his eyes uselessly as the fields around us continue to weaken. I knock him down. Hit him again. And again. The Echo copies each hit. My ash clone was up for a long time, so the cooldown will be equally long - but I can do this alone. Blinded as he is, he's just as useless as Oni Lee was in the dark. His body goes limp as I rock his head against concrete, and the simulation fades after the third repeated hit.
SUCCESS
Reward: Kinetic Fields (1)
That's more like it. First try. Or, first try after realising who I was up against.
On to the next.
Skidmark
Kingpin 2/6
(PREP) (LUST)
His original name shimmers in my vision, his cape name shimmering in and out of sight to replace it.
PREP again. It was a good modifier for him. One of his biggest weaknesses was that his fields could be slow to set-up for his more powerful, complex attacks. I'd seen videos of him where he had chosen to surround himself on all sides and look pretty-much invincible until New Wave or Dauntless arrived to rain on his parade. LUST... well. It was hard to know how bad that modifier would be. It was hard to know how an optimal user of his powerset would fight when there was so little information on the limits of his power at all. The Merchants didn't exactly do PR campaigns advertising their power like the Empire did.
Whatever. I could guess. Railguns. PHO used to salivate over the idea, only to grow increasingly disappointed as he never really showed the ability to do that off. If not, then perhaps some actual projectiles other than shitty crates and bottles? Funneling attackers into a chokepoint and swarm them with grenades? A defensive position, perhaps. That's what I'd do. "Challenge."
I take stock of the arena right away. Open courtyard, yet - not thrust directly into combat like last time. I could plan my approach, to an extent.
Although, there certainly wasn't much I could do to explore. One landmark in particular stands out, something that looks like some kind of multi-storey bunker - alight in pulsating colours forming rings around the entire structure. I'm not immediately attacked as it comes into view, so I take a moment to step up to the outermost edges of the field - staying well away from the entrance where the field seems to stop. I reach a hand out to touch it, and damn-near break my fingers in the process as the force nearly tears them off. That's a no-go. I grab a pebble, attempting to aim up and over. It shatters a window behind me. No chance of gliding over the top of it then.
Skidmark pokes his head through the slits of his defensive structure at the noise. A moment later, a large black barrel emerges pointing directly at me. I back away, forcefield in place and ready to shift into my shadow state the moment it falls. I couldn't even charge him from this angle, so this was a terrible spot to be caught in. The 'entrance' seemed like a deliberate trap as well, but at least there was a way forward. No such luck with this field, even if Vista's power could reduce it's size - it was the potency that was the real problem. He would usually take a long time to make something that strong, let alone over such a wide area - but the PREP modifier had given him that time before I ever arrived.
The first bullet ricochets off my shield before I can reach the row of buildings behind me. I shrink the space with Vista, prepare to shift into my shadow state as I leap towards my only cover-
-and watch as the entire building collapses in on itself under successive impacts. A pillar is vaporised right in front of me, the support for the upper floors failing in an instant - all while I'm desperately cycling through all of the charges of my shadow state to avoid my head matching the fate of the rest of the building.
Christ. That... wasn't what I was expecting. Sure, I knew he could do that in principle - but PHO and I both agreed that it should probably require some kind of loop, some kind of system where one field goes into the next while keeping momentum. If he could just turn a regular, souped-up gun into a rapid-fire cannonball machine then he would... well. Hm. To be fair - when would he even use that? Clearly this took forever to set-up, and the moment he goes to sleep or leaves the entire thing will start to collapse. And he's rarely ever in a fight anyway, usually only getting involved in the time it takes Squealer to get the escape vehicle ready. Maybe he really could do this the entire time.
I've got nowhere to run. No cover to hide behind. I'll give credit to Glory Girl's shield for being so effective I didn't even realise the potency behind the first shot that it blocked - but I would need about twenty of those cycling in and out to survive this barrage.
My torso disintegrates almost the very instant that my shadow state runs out. At least it was painless. And I guess Skidmark is better at aiming in this challenge too.
FAILURE
Maybe I should see if my version of his power could disable those fields next time. Otherwise... it looked like I was going to have to charge right down the middle of the obvious trap to make progress.
I flex as I re-enter the real world. Cooldown... eight minutes. Not bad, I've had to deal with worse for second challenges before. But it still all depended on my ability to stay within sight range of Skidmark for the rest of the evening.
"Fighters, ready!" I focus my attention back onto my opponent. I'd already challenged him while he was fighting last round. A straight-up boxer. Hits hard. Good footwork. Not so great once he gets knocked down. No tricks. Probably the most skilled fighter that I'd come across today - but still, a big fish in a small pond. If he was really good, he wouldn't even be in the orbit of this gang - let alone risking his health and life for pocket change and short-lived fame. "Begin!"
I don't want to drag this out for eight minutes in an attempt to try Skidmark again. Not against someone who could reasonably knock me out in one blow if I messed up. Just close in, take it to the ground - submission hold. He seems both surprised and unprepared when I dive to his legs and wrap around him, throwing myself into a spin and forcing him with me unless he wanted to break his leg stopping the motion. Down. Twist. He struggles, I twist harder - and he taps out. I pause for a moment. Fine. Whatever. I let him clamber towards the edge, sliding off without a hint of treachery in his actions.
The crowd boos him as he flees. Not really his fault. I'd tried to delay the other fights, but this was just a bad matchup for him.
"In record time, it's all over! Number Seven takes it all! Our new champion of the arena!" I wave at the crowd.
"Alright, alright." Skidmark clambers out of his seat and swaggers up to the stage, pulling himself up onto the stage with deceptive ease. Athletic, despite his appearance. "Listen up cocksuckers-"
"Get off the stage, faggot!" The crowd yells at him. "Knock him out Number Seven!"
"You fuckers, you think I'm just gonna take that-" Skidmark pauses, touching his face. "-oh." He turns back to his entourage. "Slut! Use your brain instead of those fat-fucking-tits, I haven't had my mask on this entire time! Fucking say something next time! Throw me that shit under the chair. Yeah! Hurry the fuck up!" The crowds jeers continue until the bag is thrown at him, at which point the sudden appearance of the crumpled mask and cape reveal his identity to everyone. "Knew I was forgetting something. Anyway. Congrats to Mister Three here or whatever. Listen-" He plants his hand on my shoulder heavily. "-you know what we're all celebrating right now? Mister Cham-pi-on?" His breath stinks of alcohol, and his choice to enunciate each symbol into my face was an obvious provocation.
And a trap. There was a wrong answer here. This wasn't about me. This was about him. His gang. If I said the wrong thing here, he could crush me in front of everyone - and without my powers, I wasn't going to be able to do a thing about it.
...well. I could attack him first. But that would go even worse, naturally.
"You found a new Cape, right?" I ask innocently. "Second biggest gang in the Bay! We're winning!" The crowd cheers at that.
Skidmark stares at me. "Yeah. Yeah that's exactly fucking right." He nods, looking around. "That's exactly-" He pauses for effect. "-the right goddamn answer. We've got a bona-fide fucking genius over here. It's exactly as he says. Three, count-em, three Capes - under one banner. And the chinks? One. On account of the teleporting cunt getting fucked by some absolute nobodies. Fuck the Empire. Nobody cares about them right now. What's important, is us - and our standing in our city. And let me tell you fuckers right now, it's only up from here! We're the strongest that we've ever been! It's only gonna get better!" The crowd cheers again. "Now then. Enough talk about our mysterious new member. Mush! Get out here!"
The crowd turns expectantly. I turn as well, unable to keep the eager glint out of my eyes.
Skidmark shifts as the silence extends. "Mush! Get out here you degenerate-" He cuts himself off. "Fine. You know, he's new to parties like this. Probably face-down in his own vomit after taking shots out of some whore's crack. I'll drag him out later, and you'll all see that we've got a real fucking powerhouse on our side from now on. Any gang wants to muscle in on our operations? We'll give them a bloody nose that they won't ever fucking forget. That's what it means to be part of the Merchants! Super-fucking-natural protection. Everyone knows it's all that matters. You can have as many Mister Two's as you like-" He slaps my shoulder again. "-but it doesn't mean a cock-gargling thing without us! The actual muscle!" He turns to me. "Right?"
"Sounds right to me." I nod with faux eagerness. "That's why you're the boss." A classic mook line.
"See, this guy's smart. Knows how to fall in line when needed. Some of you shitters could learn from him." He flexes his shoulders. "Right. Mister Six." Was he avoiding my real number on purpose, or was he just guessing numbers? "Our big-fucking-winner. Anything to say? Anything you want? Spit it out."
"Sure." I turn to him. "Mind if I head inside? I'm a little curious about the real party going on in there."
"Are you now?" He peers at me. "See, there's a problem with that. That's for the real hotshots. The big shakers and movers. The ones that make it all fucking happen. And the people I like. But, you see - you ain't other of those things. Beating up a bunch of nobodies - who even fucking cares? Not me."
I bite my tongue. Meh. Worth a try. "Never mind then. I guess I'm done here."
Skidmark scowls as a chorus of boos emerges from the crowd. "Nah, you fuckers might not like it - but I can't just go handing out invites to every winner of a bumfight among you chucklefucks." The boos don't abate. Skidmark makes a dramatic eye roll and hand gesture. "But, hey. If you just want to be inside, I ain't got room for a guest - but those fucking sluts following me around can't think for themselves. I could use a gofer. And a gofer that can slap a bitch when I tell them to. That's my only offer. Solve my headache at relying on these useless whores. I get a passable errand boy, you get to admire my shiny superpowered ass as I walk around. And see the party in the process. Whatever. But if you can't handle being my personal bitch for any little thing-"
"That sounds fine." I interrupt before he can change his mind. Almost too good to be true. Not just being inside, but having an excuse to follow Skidmark around - especially as he would almost certainly link up with Squealer and Mush at some point.
"Oh, I get it." He peers at me with a nasty grin. "You act tough, but you're a bit of a Cape groupie - eh? Hoping that if you hang around me enough, you'll get some of the magic yourself? Not the first to try. But maybe you'll have some luck. We might be celebrating four Capes real soon, who knows?"
I give a helpless shrug, giving off the impression that he'd nailed my reasoning head-on. That was an understandable assumption. There were no end to the theories about why Cape-hood often ran in families. Proximity was one of them, even if it wasn't really grounded in fact. Skidmark probably had fans too. Most Capes did. Apart from me, if I ignored those that my power had converted. That was only because of a relative lack of public appearances and advertising. I'd be drowning with fans at some point. Any moment now.
"Then follow me. And remember. I ask for water. You get me the fucking water. I tell you to deck someone, I want them crying on the floor for mercy. I tell you to pass the good stuff, I better fucking get it. I ask, and you get it done. You fuck up, you're not just out of here - you're out of the whole fucking party. That's what you wanted." He stares at me intently.
"That's fair." I agree again.
"With me then." He nods and turns as we slip off of the stage. He doesn't ask the crowd to move, the blue field parts the crowd in two for him. I follow in his tracks as the glow fades again. Behind us, the sound of barking fills the air. The arena wasn't being torn down, but it looked like there were some quick modifications going on. Guess they were doing dogfights now? I shouldn't be surprised. The evening was still young.
Speaking of the evening... I pull out my phone. Might be my last chance for a while, assuming that I would be watched pretty closely while I was shadowing Skidmark.
PHO Mobile:
New message from: ABugInBrockton
ABugInBrockton: Sure thing. See you then.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: Arachne - I know we were going to be meet early today, but I'm actually investigating the Merchants right now and I don't know if I'll make it.
ABugInBrockton: Okay, that's fine.
That was a fast response. Somehow, I doubted it was fine.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: I'm not saying let's cancel it - I was more thinking, let's flip the order of events. We group up with SS at the normal time. Raid this place. And, when we all split up to go home... you and I find a nice place to stay late.
ABugInBrockton: I'd like to do that... but I don't know if I could keep it from my Dad if we stayed too late.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: Do you need to hide it?
XxVoid_CowboyxX: Is he the type to worry if you told him that you were hanging out with a boy?
ABugInBrockton: I don't know.
ABugInBrockton: I'm a little nervous that he'd be angry at me.
ABugInBrockton: And maybe a little nervous that he wouldn't care at all.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: Do you have any other friends that he would be fine with you staying the night with?
ABugInBrockton: Of course!
Liar.
ABugInBrockton: It's just, you know. He might check with them.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: Well, why don't you try it? If he actually does check - you admit that you were hanging out with a boy and were too embarrassed about it to admit it. He used to be a teenager, I'm sure he gets it.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: And then that gives us all night together...
ABugInBrockton: ...I'll let him know.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: See you at eight then. I'll let you and SS know the exact location closer to the time.
ABugInBrockton: Are you really going to be safe? Let me know if you run into trouble.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: Oh, I'll be fine. Just doing a bit of sleuthing. It will all be worth it if we can hit the Merchants hard tonight.
XxVoid_CowboyxX: So leave it all to me until then.
"Hey!" Skidmark scowls at me. "Fuck are you doing, goggling at your phone for? This is the last chance a guy like you is ever going to have at seeing what it's like in the big leagues. Welcome to the Inner Circle." He makes a grandiose gesture at the lights and sounds surrounding us. "Whaddya think, huh?"
"It's amazing." I lie.
It wouldn't be very smart to tell him it looked just like the outside did, except gaudier and flashier. That wouldn't go down well. And after all I'd done to get to this point, I wasn't going to throw it away so easily. Squealer and Mush were here, somewhere - and the promise of waking up tomorrow with three extra powers was too powerful to resist.
"So." I smile. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Prissy little fuck like you wouldn't know a good drink if it socked you in the face." He dismisses me. "When I need something, I'll be damn sure you know about it. Until then, shut the fuck up."
I smile in pleasant agreement. No matter how foul-mouthed or irritable this guy might get, I'll make it impossible for him to want me gone. I can grin and bear it. I just have to picture that the guy in front of me was actually an equally foul-mouthed hot chick. An image that was surprisingly easy to conjure, funnily enough - and if I focused on that image hard enough, it almost made the passive torrent of abuse pleasant to listen to.
"The fuck are you making doe eyes at me for?" Skidmark grouches as we slink towards the back of the room. "Faggot."
I twitch. Maybe I was imagining a bit too hard, but that didn't change my mission.
Time to make myself absolutely indispensable.