Captain Uni

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

---

Seven months ago...

It was a telltale sign that your life was boring as hell when walking around aimlessly was exciting.

But here Jack was, walking around the less savory parts of Korven with hands in his pockets, and he felt more alive than he ever had. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, maybe a bar or a strip club where he could drown his sorrows and drool over some girl, shoulder-to-shoulder with other losers like him. A beer was sounding pretty good right now, and so was drooling over some girl in a revealing outfit if he had to tell the truth.

He looked up at the flickering neon sign just ahead of him. The Ghost Light Lounge, beneath it a smaller sign in red reading 'bar'. Way too fancy name for what was probably just a rundown watering hole. But what the hell, he wanted a drink, and this place had them. He pushed open the doors and made his way inside.

As he did so, he was greeted by the sounds and sight of a bar fight. A few undesirables all ganging up on some poor guy wearing this ratty green trenchcoat. Jack shook his head, approaching the bar but still watching the proceedings over his shoulder. The guy in the trenchcoat was putting up a good fight, broke a chair over some guy's head, a bottle over another's, before long he had taken out a crowd of four or five guys all hellbent on beating the shit out of him.

The trenchcoat-clad man approached the bar, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and plucking one into his mouth. Quirking an eyebrow at Jack, who was still staring at him, he pushed the pack towards him. "Want one or something?" the man asked as he lit up his smoke.

Shaking his hand, Jack replied, "Uh, no, I don't smoke. I just want to get a drink." He turned towards the bartender. "Give me a beer. Whatever's cheapest." The bartender slid a bottle towards him and pushed forward a brand scanner. Wordlessly, Jack pulled down his sleeve and allowed the man to scan his tattoo.

"You look like you're aching for something, and you just don't know what," the other man observed as he grabbed at the nearest bottle and took a drink from it.

"I... I guess? I don't really know, I'm just here to get a drink."

"No, you're here to find out how to feel alive again." A total stranger, managing to nail the exact reason he left Eden and journeyed into Korven for the first time in over a decade. Smart cookie.

"... Yeah. That's exactly right."

"Good luck with that." Almost as surreally as he came, the stranger made his exit.

Jack took another drink from his beer, pondering the man's words.

Ten minutes later...

He wasn't sure exactly what he did to piss this guy off, but it must've been big, because now they were heading outside and taking their jackets off to fight. Jack had never been in a fight before in his life, and he wasn't exactly planning on starting now. So instead, he took the diplomatic approach.

"Hey, c'mon man, we don't have to do thi-" His words came to a halt as a fist barreled into his gut, knocking the breath out of him. The angry man swung again, hitting Jack square in the neck and knocking him to the side. Jack coughed, wheezing for a breath.

The other man grabbed him by his collar, hauling him up and throwing him into the wall of the bar. He began to charge.

For some reason, Jack stood there. He knew that if he didn't do something, that the man would ram right into him and he'd be walking home a bloodied, bruised mess. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing, that is, except fight back.

"No, you're here to find out how to feel alive again."

The stranger's words echoed in his mind. This. This was it. He felt alive. He wanted to keep the feeling, the adrenaline, flowing.

So when the man was just an arm's length away, Jack socked him in the ear, causing the man to double over. Then came a kick straight to knee, bringing the man into a kneeling position. Looking around, Jack spotted a glass bottle, and brought it down onto the man's bald head. It didn't break over his head like Jack was expecting, but the satisfying *CLUNK* as it knocked the man out felt good.

Jack stood there over the defeated behemoth, a few other men watching. He even recognized one guy from work.

The guy from work stepped forward. What was his name? Jerry? Phil? Whatever it was, he raised his hand and asked, "Can I be next?"

"... Alright man. Lose the tie."

Two nights ago...

(Recommended Listening)

Every Saturday night, he returned to that bar. For the first few weeks they were fighting in the parking lot. After a while the bartender got in on it, and let them use the basement of the Ghost Light Lounge. Eventually Jack decided on a set of rules, and tonight was the night he would finally give them out officially.

The Ghost Light Lounge looked like it always did; rundown, dirty, with that bright neon sign trying to make it seem like it's fancier than it actually is. As Jack approached the bar, he noticed a few of the members of his little fight club approaching it as well, already loosening their ties and taking off their rings. They entered the bar and took a look around, Jack giving a nod to the bartender.

"Alright everyone, closing time! Go home!" the bartender, Ozzie, barked at the patrons. It led to a few grumbles, but they all complied and exited the bar. Ozzie nodded to Jack, and the group entered the back room. Through there, Ozzie unlocked the cellar, and the club entered the basement.

The group lingered about, and Jack backed away from them. Normally, he just said who would be fighting who, but tonight was a special occasion.

"Gentlemen. Welcome to fight club..."

A few minutes later...

Blood was pouring into his mouth from a gash inside of his cheek. A tooth had just gotten knocked loose. Salty sweat dripped into his wounds, giving him a sharp kick of mingled pain and adrenaline.

Jack slapped aside Ozzie's punch, delivering a cross punch straight to the other man's face. There was a wet *CRA-CAK* as Jack's fist connected with Ozzie's nose, and it gave Jack just another kick of adrenaline, that feeling of bone breaking against bone. It felt good. Made him feel alive.

"Stop! Stop!" Ozzie tapped out. That was one of the new rules Jack implemented, rule #5 to be exact. So with those two words, the fight came to a grinding halt, and Jack offered Ozzie a hand up which the older man happily accepted.

"Good fight, man. See you next week?" Jack asked, shaking Ozzie's hand.

"Ha! Maybe next month." Ozzie's quip led to raucous laughter from the others. Who you were when you were fighting and who you were when you weren't were two extremely different people. In a fight, Jack and Ozzie were monsters, feeling only rage. Once the fight was through, they were best buddies again.

"Alright, Phil and Zeke, you're up."

Now.

He could feel the blood pooling up in his mouth, but he just powered through and drank it. The stitches he had gotten yesterday for the gash in his cheek had come loose, and he had to keep tonguing at it to stop the blood from dripping out of his mouth. What a Godawful time too, because he was in a business meeting, discussing some new software for the accountants.

"I showed this to my man the other day," one of the accountants... Who was it? Allen? Paul? Whatever his name was, he pointed at Jack and continued, "He liked it. Didn't you?"

In response, Jack opened his mouth, showing off his bloody teeth to the table. A few just stared in horror and surprise. Some shuddered and turned away. The poor office girl that was fresh out of college fainted at the sight. Jack just shook his head with a suppressed chuckle.

"Yeah. I liked it."

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

I disappeared for a while and feel bad about it, will try to get a post up sometime to remedy that.

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

And got a final character, a (supposedly) cybernetically enhanced Morvai Security Ranger that is totally not a JC Denton expy.

The Bionic Man

MORVAI SECURITY PERSONNEL
OPERATIVE #1225
BENJAMIN HAYES

IMAGE ON FILE

BASIC INFORMATION

BIRTHNAME:
Benjamin Josiah Hayes
ALIASES:
BJ, 'The Bionic Man', disparagingly referred to as 'the douche who always wears sunglasses' on several occasions
AGE:
Twenty-nine years old
GENDER:
Born as and identifies as male
SEXUAL ORIENTATION:
Asexual and aromantic
(SUBJECT HAD THIS TO SAY: "My current objectives do not require sexual interaction, romance, or any combination of the two. Therefore, they are of no interest to me.")
OCCUPATION:
Morvai Security Ranger
SANCTION:
Korven (Work Visa into Eden)
ETHNICITY:
Caucasian
STATE:
New York

CHARACTERISTICS

PHYSICAL DETAILS:
Subject is six foot, three and a half inches tall, with a weight of 193 pounds. Skin pigment is unnaturally pale, as though the subject does not get enough sunlight. Hair is a raven black, and cut short for practicality; subject prefers to slick it back with gel though a stray lock occasionally falls across his forehead. Subject has a penchant for wearing black longcoats and mirrored sunglasses when off-duty, and even wears a longcoat over his Nano-Kevlar during missions.
NOTABLE FEATURES:
Upon closer inspection, people will note the faint lines in pentagon shapes on the subject's jaw and the sides of his forehead, as well as the copper wiring running from the subject's temples to behind his ear. These are a result of his neurological implants. When his sunglasses are removed, it is also easy to note the subject's eye color is unnatural in its shade; a bright, neon blue. This is a result of his visual implants.
BRAND TATTOO PLACEMENT:
Right wrist.
ASSETS:
IN BANK ACCOUNT: [REDACTED]

Subject owns an apartment within Korven, on the corner of [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Subject shows no interest in decorating or furnishing apartment beyond bare essentials. Subject is the owner of a two year old male Pembroke Welsh Corgi named 'Jasper'. The subject owns no weapons for personal use.

Subject is a prototype in biomechanical implantation; a cyborg. The only notable abilities the subject has attained are enhanced senses and reflexes and a natural affinity for electronics. The only known side effect of the implants is the subject's almost complete lack of emotional response; the implants neutralized the nerves within his face, making it impossible for him to so much as smile or show any other emotional response. This does not, however, mean that the subject does not feel emotions.

PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS

GANG AFFILIATIONS:
N/A
(SUBJECT HAD THIS TO SAY: "The organized criminal units throughout the city are the very reason I joined Morvai Security.")
SEASON OF CHOICE:
None.
(SUBJECT HAD THIS TO SAY: "This endless fascination with seasons confuses me. The cycle of our world orbiting around the sun should not warrant this level of interest, unless it was getting dangerously close to destroying us... I have to make a choice? Alright. Spring.")
PERSONALITY TRAITS:
Subject is very professional in on-duty interactions, with cool and detached responses. This leads him to appear rather stoic and antisocial, though one should not be fooled: he has an altruistic streak a mile long. This does not change the fact that his demeanor is almost always very curt and no-nonsense, though he has been shown to have a snarky side when off-duty. His experiences, both growing up and working for Morvai Security, have led to a rather jaded outlook on life. Higher officials believe that subject presents only a 0.01% chance of rebelling, the lowest estimated threat level in Morvai Security's entire roster.
LIKES AND DISLIKES:
✔ Morvai Security
✔ Serving Morvai Security
✔ Protecting the innocent
✔ (Guilty pleasure) Anastasia Jarsdel's music
✔ Sunglasses

✘ Being unable to serve Morvai Security
✘ Being unable to protect the innocent
✘ Slandering Morvai Security
✘ Criminals and gangs
✘ Superstition
HOBBIES AND INTERESTS:
* Serving Morvai Security
* Spending time with Jasper
* Listening to music
* Browsing internet forums

BIOGRAPHY

PAST AS RELATED BY SUBJECT:
"My name is Benjamin Josiah Hayes, known as 'BJ' among friends. I was born twenty-nine years, two months, and six days ago at the time of this recording, to a working class couple living in Korven. I was their only child. As a child I grew to despise the crime rampant in the middle and low class districts of Morvai, and wished to find a way to put an end to it. My resolve was further strengthened by the death of my parents in a case of arson committed by the Kings when I was 15.

"I enlisted with Morvai Security at the age of 16. Put through rigorous training that tested my athleticism, wit, and willpower, I was taught the skills I needed to protect the common man. The top of my class, I was assigned to TacDiv and served with them for six years. At the age of twenty-two, I applied for the Rangers. The four months I spent training was like Hell on Earth, and I feel I was lucky to survive it.

"As a Ranger, I handled dangerous operations that resulted in the deaths of many of my comrades. But I never lost my nerve. Before long I found myself fashioned as a hero among the recruits, a shining beacon of what cadets should strive to be during their time in MorSec; a living legend. This caught the attention of Mr. Palmer, CEO of Morvai Security.

"The newly developed research and development lab was fashioning biomechanical implantations, devices implemented into a subject that provides them with almost superhuman abilities. One year, eight months, and twenty-one days ago, I was chosen as the first subject to be implanted. All I can recall of these experiments is an unpleasant sound to my right, and the image of a tree falling. When I woke up from the operation I found that..." The subject paused for a short moment. "The operation was a success. My senses and reflexes were fine-tuned. My affinity for hacking was increased tenfold. I was the first bionic man.

"Since then, I have served Morvai Security and the people of Morvai with these abilities, and plan to continue doing so for years to come. God bless Morvai and its people."
RELATIVES:
Kyle Hayes (Father) - Deceased (Died in house fire)
Sarah Hayes (Mother) - Deceased (Died in house fire)
RELATIONS:
Captain Abram Tanaka (Boss) - "A great man. He locked up the traitor Taylor and has ushered us in a new golden age for MorSec. I'm proud to be able to say I work for him."

OOC Stuff

Theme Songs:
Main Theme (Perturbator - Death Squad)

Alternate Theme (Perturbator - Neo Tokyo)

Joke Theme (Corey Hart - Sunglasses At Night)

Money in bank account: $21,903

NOTE: The implants... They don't actually work. BJ even knows they don't. But he keeps up the ruse that they do work so the higher ups don't have him terminated.

Justice League Unlimited vol. 2

An epic (sadly, non-canon) crossover between Heroes Reborn and Justice League Unlimited Volume 2. Brought to you by the minds of Simple Unicycle and @Sir Lurksalot, two players who participate in both RPs.

This is simply part one.

This Might Take A While, Better Grab A Snickers

Metropolis:

---

^{December 25th, 2020 - 0224 hrs | Justice League Headquarters - Metro Tower}

The teleporter released a bright flash, and once the light cleared the figures of two heroes emerged. The faceless detective known as The Question sluggishly walked out of the teleporter, endless gadgets and equipment hanging from a belt wrapped around his torso. He slumped down into the nearest chair, releasing a sigh as he removed the Santa hat from his head and his mask from his face. "... Duncan. Did I ever tell you that you know the weirdest fucking people?"

"Vic- I assure you there is no one more aware of that than me at this moment." Duncan concurred, stumbling out of the teleporter and holding his sleeve over his nose to stem the incessant flow of blood that freely poured from his nostrils after the psychic ass-kicking he'd just endured. Turning and abruptly flopping onto the floor, not even bothering with a chair as he put his back up against the teleporter's main control module and let out something between a groan and a growl as he held his aching head.

Of course the biggest badguy from his solo-days would choose to lay siege to London on the one night he and Q drew the short straws and had to be the only ones on-call on Christmas Eve.

Slumping his shoulders slightly at that thought (and subtley giving up on trying to get the pins and needles feeling out of his extremeties), the vertically-unimpressive superhuman cast a glance down to the blood-caked sleeve of his leather jacket and, more specifically, at his watch.

"Aw, fuck... I almost forgot." The Champion half-laughed, half-grimaced as he peeled off his domino mask "Merry Christmas, Man."

Upon hearing his friend wish him a Merry Christmas, the human enigma released a short chuckle, smiling forlornly. Christmas. It always brought back fond memories of his childhood, and his mother. He hadn't exactly had a Merry Christmas for the last two decades, not since...

He cut off that train of thought. It'd be best not to start crying in front of someone. He had a reputation to uphold.

Vic rubbed his temples, wincing slightly. "Merry Christmas. Think Jack Tar's gonna be getting coal in his stocking this year," he cracked.

But really... Don't have any family to celebrate it with, and Tot's not a big fan of celebrating holidays. Far as I'm concerned, it's just a normal day off."

"Remind me next time to tape one to the front of my boot before I shove it up his ass." The younger man laughed in response as he levered himself onto his feet with some effort, still leaning on the console for support and hissing slightly the whole way up.

Exhaling a little as he finally got himself onto his feet, Duncan gave his friend and co-worker of some three years, give or take, an appraising glance.

It wasn't often that Vic talked about stuff like this.

Shifting his head slowly to one side, and then to the other in thought, the man finally clicked his tongue as he spoke.

"Well, if you're up for it... I'm having Christmas at my place this year." Duncan offered with a small wave. "Got plenty o' space to crash at the lighthouse and ye'd have both me and my mom cooking dinner..."

Vic quirked an eyebrow at Duncan's proposition, mulling it over. You know, it would be nice to have somewhere to go for Christmas. Plus, Duncan was a damn fine chef. Add to that, and Vic had been on Monitor Duty with Duncan before... He knew how his mother cooked.

This wasn't an opportunity he could pass up.

"... Y'know what, what the hell? I don't have anything better to do." The masked vigilante stood up... Only to bite his tongue to hide a bark of pain. It'd been well over a year now, but the phantom pains in his knee alongside his recent injuries from Jack Tar and his Red Coats made him experience a whole new meaning of the word 'pain'.

Shaking his head, Vic gritted his teeth and pushed through. He'd gone through worse. Walking over to Duncan, he offered the younger a hand up. "Your mother knows about your, ah, 'line of work', right? Don't need her asking why you're so banged up."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that..." Duncan responded with a snort as Q helped him fully upright and he reached over punched in the necessary key on the console "Any illusion that I was just a mechanic ended the day I came home from The States for thanksgiving with my reptillian girlfriend."

Finally making his way over to the teleporter pad under his own power, his metagenes finally getting to work and causing the pins-and-needles feeling across his body to slowly ebb away, the Champion let a small smirk form across his features as he wiped his bloody nose one last time.

"We might haf'ta work on your French though. Grandma's still not that great at English." He chuckled slightly as he stretched a kink out of his neck "Buuut, in the meantime, we got most of a day to recuperate and a few bottles of rum to drink. We'll figure it out."

Giving Duncan a mock offended look, Vic said, "I'll have you know my French is perfect. Listen." He paused for a moment, then said with a chuckle, "Je ne suis pas arnaquer Rorschach, je le jure."

"Careful with that, ya don't want to piss off Alan Moore again, do ya?" Champ couldn't help but get in one last dig before the teleporter came to life.

Whatever further snappy comments Duncan had for his teammate died in his throat as, very abruptly, the power went out.

"...What."

This was immediately followed a loud sonic whine and an ear-splitting thrumming of growing intensity as the lights on the pad below the two began to pulse in an ominous fashion... which was around the time the younger man began to notice his hand fading in and out of existence like he went back in time and forgot to make sure his parents got together after screwing up how they met.

"What."

Vic watched in awe as Duncan's hand fluctuated between physical and transparent. He looked down at himself, noticing the same thing was happening to him. "... What the f-"

With a flash, they were gone.

December 25th, 2020; 12:49 AM
The Sky Above Gotham City; New Jersey, Earth

"-uck?" Vic finished. He felt an odd sensation, like he was falling.

Then he noticed that they weren't in the Tower anymore.

No, they were in the sky.

Below them, he recognized the Gotham Skyline. He didn't have time to note the peculiar absence of Wayne Tower, because he was too busy screaming in horror. In between his screams, he damned Ted Kord and his family for the rest of eternity for designing the shoddy teleporter.

Staring dumbstruck at the rapidly-approaching ground below him, the Champion had something a bit more simple on his mind than his screaming comrade.

'Aww, man... this is gonna suck.'

Head snapping up to look back at Q, the one person here who was not exactly prone to surviving high-speed encounters with the ground, Champ was momentarily relieved to see the grappling gun exposed to the world by all the gusting wind, still strapped to the older man's wrist.

'Momentarily' here meaning, he didn't really waste any more time to think things through before planting his boot in the Question's side and shoving him closer towards one of the buildings they were now skimming by on the way to their fateful encounter with the ground. Knowing the older hero didn't exactly have the luxury of waiting for his cable to fully unwind and grab onto something.

"- I'M GONNA HAUNT THAT BASTARD KORD UNTIL THE DAY HE DIES, AND THEN I'LL FUCKING FIST FIGHT HIM IN HELL!" the reporter continued to rant, only for Duncan to kick him towards one of the buildings. Snapping out of his terror-fuelled rage, he realized just what his ally was trying to get him to do.

Acting fast, he flipped the switch on his wrist, the cable from his grappling gun shooting out and the hook penetrating through the concrete. He flipped the switch again, quickly being pulled up and onto the roof of the ten story building. The speed would've broken his arm from the whiplash, if it weren't for the exoskeleton's microfiber weave tightening it to his body and protecting any of his bones from breaking.

Panting, he looked at the streets of Gotham, finally picking up on the odd differences. The names on the buildings were different. Wayne Tower was gone, instead replaced by a building with the name Kasimir on it. What else? ... Oh yeah, and there were herds of creatures from Greek mythology swarming the streets.

"... I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

Meanwhile, with more than a few muttered profanties and a thundering BANG!, The Champion slammed back-first into something... squishy... followed by the pavement. Eliciting a sizeable cloud of debris, both concrete and... mysteriously fleshy to launch into the air as he made his mark on Gotham in the most literal sense imaginable.

For a moment, the still-unmasked young hero could only lay there in his own crater as bits of all that he'd just launched into the air with his dynamic entry came back down to pelt him and everything around him with great vim and vigour. Before his mind finally snapped back to reality and registered the pain of dropping a few miles from the sky and slamming into the ground.

"Awww... fffuuuck... my... life..."

Now, Duncan MacAodhan was invulnerable. But that still sucked.

The smell wasn't helping, either...

"Aw, fer... the fuck did I land in?" the now gore-coated man asked out loud as he struggled to sit up, wiping the gunk off his face as he did so.

The massive, bovine horn that came screaming from the heavens and embedded itself scant centimetres from a particular part of his anatomy he held most-dear provided only more questions than answers.

"...What?"

He didn't much time to dwell on that, however, as another thundering crash rang out through the streets and a dumpster came hurtling out of an alleyway and across the street like a deranged goddamn pinball. Followed immediately by some kind of... massive... armoured car that came screaming out of there and hurtling straight towards him.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me..."

And it was about that moment that the Lion of Nova Scotia took an armoured bumper directly to the teeth.

---

Blackstar shouted in horror as the tank of a car rammed right into the man covered in minotaur guts, the Grimobile jolting upwards before coming to a complete stop. "Oh God, oh God, oh God... Mal... Uh, I think... I think I killed somebody." The sounds of Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls was playing through the vehicle's sound system, the upbeat tempo of the song contrasting sharply with David's inner turmoil.

Watchdog, who'd been busy scanning through the buildings surrounding them for any more hidden pests, head snapped right back towards his foster-brother after the massive 'BANG!' that jolted the entire Grimobile, glowing eyes visibly wide beneath his blacked-out visor.

"...Wait, what?" Mal asked in surprise as he looked into Dave's panicking face, a mixture of surprise and horror snaking it's way into his voice "Are... are you sure?"

The boy's eyes then slowly trailed away from David towards the front of the vehicle... or more specifically, the roughly head-sized dent in the armoured subframe.

"Like... really sure?"

"Mal, this thing is a fucking tank, I'm pretty sure I turned that guy into fucking hamburger meat!" David shouted, gripping at his head. "Oh fuck me with a porcupine, I killed a guy, and mom's gonna be so pissed, and I'm never gonna be able to live with myself..."

Now this put Mal in an odd spot, not only because he was fairly certain that a guy turning into hamburger meat wouldn't leave such a giant dent in the frame of their foster-mother's armoured car.

After all, he had killed before. Worn down over nearly a solid year of non-stop fighting by rage, fatigue, desperation and many other things he was too young and immature to really comprehend or think about, he had crossed that line and hadn't even given himself the time to think about it, he was so consumed with trying to stay alive and keep fighting.

Karen tried to tell him it wasn't his fault, that he didn't know any better.

But that was a lie, he knew damn well what he was doing.

But he had tried.

He tried so Goddamn hard...

Shaking that train of thought out of his head, the younger brother awkwardly reached over and placed a hand on his elder's shoulder, trying his best to sound reassuring.

"Look, Dave... I don't think the whole fucking Grimobile would've jumped like that if you hamburgered a guy, and I don't see any bits of people dangling of our bumper so..." Mal began with at least an attempt of a smile (which Dave wouldn't have seen anyway, with his helmet in the way) as he glanced to the rear of car to see what they actually hit... and then abruptly froze.

There was a guy there. And he was getting up.

"Uhh... correction. You did hit a guy." The eleven-year-old swallowed audibly as he spoke "And he looks pissed."

Slowly, Blackstar lowered the back window of the Grimobile and looked at the costumed man standing up, jaw dropping as he looked at the absolutely livid expression on the man's face. Almost in sync with his brother, he gulped audibly. "... Malcolm. If I die... Take care of mom and Ker for me."

To that, Mal could only nod numbly.

"Yeah... sure..."

---

Grunting, hissing and all around not a happy camper Champion managed to pick himself up into a sitting position for the second time that day, still sitting quite securely in his hole full of broken concrete and bits of cow-gore.

'Merry Fucking Christmas my face...' He growled internally as he got to his feet, somewhat aided by anger the whole way up as he bore a hole into the back of the now-stopped vehicle, the implications of being run over by an armoured vehicle in what was clearly Gotham at night not at all lost on him. '...Swear to God, if that's Bruce in there after all this time, I'm gonna put my boot right up his-'

That train of thought abruptly derailed as the rear-window of the vehicle slowly slid open and, instead of the scowling, cowled grimace he was almost expecting he found... well, two masks he didn't recognise.

And upon closer inspection as he stepped forward, he was pretty damned sure they were being worn by kids.

A sigh escaped him at that as he pinched the bridge of his nose and knit his eyes shut.

He was really kinda hoping that was Batman in there.

So, swallowing his annoyance just a bit, Duncan forced something close to a grin on his face (that unintentionally came out even more terrifying than his previous expression, what with all the bits of minotaur and concrete dust caked to his mug), and closed the remaining distance between himself and the vehicle, leaning close to get his head near the window and attempting at least to sound calm and composed, he finally spoke.

"...Bit late for a joyride, innit boys?"

David looked at the beaten up man as he approached, his peeved expression morphing into a disturbing grin. Really, it was terrifying, and Dave was almost certain he and Malcolm were dead meat.

Then the man joked about it being too late for a joyride.

"Uh... We're protecting the city from, well..." he pointed at a harpy not too far away playing around in some guts. Wordlessly, he fired his grappling gun at the beast and swung it into a brick wall, knocking it out at the very least.

Then, a thud was heard as something, or rather someone, landed on the Grimobile. "Champ!" the Question, having reapplied his mask, said, sliding off the armored car and approaching his colleague. "Is this the Batmobile? If so, it's either the real Batman, the imposter, or..." he paused, taking in the two kids dressed in costumes he didn't recognize, "... Two kids going for a joyride in the Batmobile."

David quirked an eyebrow behind his mask at the faceless man. From what he looked like, it was that guy from Hub City that his mom told him about. Except, y'know, it actually looked like he didn't have a face and he was a lot taller than how mom described, maybe even taller than her. Add to that the weird things he was talking about, Batman, the Batmobile...

"... Who's Batman?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

An epic (sadly, non-canon) crossover between Heroes Reborn and Justice League Unlimited Volume 2. Brought to you by the minds of Simple Unicycle and @Sir Lurksalot, two players who participate in both RPs.

This is simply part one.

This Might Take A While, Better Grab A Snickers

Metropolis:

---

^{December 25th, 2020 - 0224 hrs | Justice League Headquarters - Metro Tower}

The teleporter released a bright flash, and once the light cleared the figures of two heroes emerged. The faceless detective known as The Question sluggishly walked out of the teleporter, endless gadgets and equipment hanging from a belt wrapped around his torso. He slumped down into the nearest chair, releasing a sigh as he removed the Santa hat from his head and his mask from his face. "... Duncan. Did I ever tell you that you know the weirdest fucking people?"

"Vic- I assure you there is no one more aware of that than me at this moment." Duncan concurred, stumbling out of the teleporter and holding his sleeve over his nose to stem the incessant flow of blood that freely poured from his nostrils after the psychic ass-kicking he'd just endured. Turning and abruptly flopping onto the floor, not even bothering with a chair as he put his back up against the teleporter's main control module and let out something between a groan and a growl as he held his aching head.

Of course the biggest badguy from his solo-days would choose to lay siege to London on the one night he and Q drew the short straws and had to be the only ones on-call on Christmas Eve.

Slumping his shoulders slightly at that thought (and subtley giving up on trying to get the pins and needles feeling out of his extremeties), the vertically-unimpressive superhuman cast a glance down to the blood-caked sleeve of his leather jacket and, more specifically, at his watch.

"Aw, fuck... I almost forgot." The Champion half-laughed, half-grimaced as he peeled off his domino mask "Merry Christmas, Man."

Upon hearing his friend wish him a Merry Christmas, the human enigma released a short chuckle, smiling forlornly. Christmas. It always brought back fond memories of his childhood, and his mother. He hadn't exactly had a Merry Christmas for the last two decades, not since...

He cut off that train of thought. It'd be best not to start crying in front of someone. He had a reputation to uphold.

Vic rubbed his temples, wincing slightly. "Merry Christmas. Think Jack Tar's gonna be getting coal in his stocking this year," he cracked.

But really... Don't have any family to celebrate it with, and Tot's not a big fan of celebrating holidays. Far as I'm concerned, it's just a normal day off."

"Remind me next time to tape one to the front of my boot before I shove it up his ass." The younger man laughed in response as he levered himself onto his feet with some effort, still leaning on the console for support and hissing slightly the whole way up.

Exhaling a little as he finally got himself onto his feet, Duncan gave his friend and co-worker of some three years, give or take, an appraising glance.

It wasn't often that Vic talked about stuff like this.

Shifting his head slowly to one side, and then to the other in thought, the man finally clicked his tongue as he spoke.

"Well, if you're up for it... I'm having Christmas at my place this year." Duncan offered with a small wave. "Got plenty o' space to crash at the lighthouse and ye'd have both me and my mom cooking dinner..."

Vic quirked an eyebrow at Duncan's proposition, mulling it over. You know, it would be nice to have somewhere to go for Christmas. Plus, Duncan was a damn fine chef. Add to that, and Vic had been on Monitor Duty with Duncan before... He knew how his mother cooked.

This wasn't an opportunity he could pass up.

"... Y'know what, what the hell? I don't have anything better to do." The masked vigilante stood up... Only to bite his tongue to hide a bark of pain. It'd been well over a year now, but the phantom pains in his knee alongside his recent injuries from Jack Tar and his Red Coats made him experience a whole new meaning of the word 'pain'.

Shaking his head, Vic gritted his teeth and pushed through. He'd gone through worse. Walking over to Duncan, he offered the younger a hand up. "Your mother knows about your, ah, 'line of work', right? Don't need her asking why you're so banged up."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that..." Duncan responded with a snort as Q helped him fully upright and he reached over punched in the necessary key on the console "Any illusion that I was just a mechanic ended the day I came home from The States for thanksgiving with my reptillian girlfriend."

Finally making his way over to the teleporter pad under his own power, his metagenes finally getting to work and causing the pins-and-needles feeling across his body to slowly ebb away, the Champion let a small smirk form across his features as he wiped his bloody nose one last time.

"We might haf'ta work on your French though. Grandma's still not that great at English." He chuckled slightly as he stretched a kink out of his neck "Buuut, in the meantime, we got most of a day to recuperate and a few bottles of rum to drink. We'll figure it out."

Giving Duncan a mock offended look, Vic said, "I'll have you know my French is perfect. Listen." He paused for a moment, then said with a chuckle, "Je ne suis pas arnaquer Rorschach, je le jure."

"Careful with that, ya don't want to piss off Alan Moore again, do ya?" Champ couldn't help but get in one last dig before the teleporter came to life.

Whatever further snappy comments Duncan had for his teammate died in his throat as, very abruptly, the power went out.

"...What."

This was immediately followed a loud sonic whine and an ear-splitting thrumming of growing intensity as the lights on the pad below the two began to pulse in an ominous fashion... which was around the time the younger man began to notice his hand fading in and out of existence like he went back in time and forgot to make sure his parents got together after screwing up how they met.

"What."

Vic watched in awe as Duncan's hand fluctuated between physical and transparent. He looked down at himself, noticing the same thing was happening to him. "... What the f-"

With a flash, they were gone.

December 25th, 2020; 12:49 AM
The Sky Above Gotham City; New Jersey, Earth

"-uck?" Vic finished. He felt an odd sensation, like he was falling.

Then he noticed that they weren't in the Tower anymore.

No, they were in the sky.

Below them, he recognized the Gotham Skyline. He didn't have time to note the peculiar absence of Wayne Tower, because he was too busy screaming in horror. In between his screams, he damned Ted Kord and his family for the rest of eternity for designing the shoddy teleporter.

Staring dumbstruck at the rapidly-approaching ground below him, the Champion had something a bit more simple on his mind than his screaming comrade.

'Aww, man... this is gonna suck.'

Head snapping up to look back at Q, the one person here who was not exactly prone to surviving high-speed encounters with the ground, Champ was momentarily relieved to see the grappling gun exposed to the world by all the gusting wind, still strapped to the older man's wrist.

'Momentarily' here meaning, he didn't really waste any more time to think things through before planting his boot in the Question's side and shoving him closer towards one of the buildings they were now skimming by on the way to their fateful encounter with the ground. Knowing the older hero didn't exactly have the luxury of waiting for his cable to fully unwind and grab onto something.

"- I'M GONNA HAUNT THAT BASTARD KORD UNTIL THE DAY HE DIES, AND THEN I'LL FUCKING FIST FIGHT HIM IN HELL!" the reporter continued to rant, only for Duncan to kick him towards one of the buildings. Snapping out of his terror-fuelled rage, he realized just what his ally was trying to get him to do.

Acting fast, he flipped the switch on his wrist, the cable from his grappling gun shooting out and the hook penetrating through the concrete. He flipped the switch again, quickly being pulled up and onto the roof of the ten story building. The speed would've broken his arm from the whiplash, if it weren't for the exoskeleton's microfiber weave tightening it to his body and protecting any of his bones from breaking.

Panting, he looked at the streets of Gotham, finally picking up on the odd differences. The names on the buildings were different. Wayne Tower was gone, instead replaced by a building with the name Kasimir on it. What else? ... Oh yeah, and there were herds of creatures from Greek mythology swarming the streets.

"... I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

Meanwhile, with more than a few muttered profanties and a thundering BANG!, The Champion slammed back-first into something... squishy... followed by the pavement. Eliciting a sizeable cloud of debris, both concrete and... mysteriously fleshy to launch into the air as he made his mark on Gotham in the most literal sense imaginable.

For a moment, the still-unmasked young hero could only lay there in his own crater as bits of all that he'd just launched into the air with his dynamic entry came back down to pelt him and everything around him with great vim and vigour. Before his mind finally snapped back to reality and registered the pain of dropping a few miles from the sky and slamming into the ground.

"Awww... fffuuuck... my... life..."

Now, Duncan MacAodhan was invulnerable. But that still sucked.

The smell wasn't helping, either...

"Aw, fer... the fuck did I land in?" the now gore-coated man asked out loud as he struggled to sit up, wiping the gunk off his face as he did so.

The massive, bovine horn that came screaming from the heavens and embedded itself scant centimetres from a particular part of his anatomy he held most-dear provided only more questions than answers.

"...What?"

He didn't much time to dwell on that, however, as another thundering crash rang out through the streets and a dumpster came hurtling out of an alleyway and across the street like a deranged goddamn pinball. Followed immediately by some kind of... massive... armoured car that came screaming out of there and hurtling straight towards him.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me..."

And it was about that moment that the Lion of Nova Scotia took an armoured bumper directly to the teeth.

---

Blackstar shouted in horror as the tank of a car rammed right into the man covered in minotaur guts, the Grimobile jolting upwards before coming to a complete stop. "Oh God, oh God, oh God... Mal... Uh, I think... I think I killed somebody." The sounds of Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls was playing through the vehicle's sound system, the upbeat tempo of the song contrasting sharply with David's inner turmoil.

Watchdog, who'd been busy scanning through the buildings surrounding them for any more hidden pests, head snapped right back towards his foster-brother after the massive 'BANG!' that jolted the entire Grimobile, glowing eyes visibly wide beneath his blacked-out visor.

"...Wait, what?" Mal asked in surprise as he looked into Dave's panicking face, a mixture of surprise and horror snaking it's way into his voice "Are... are you sure?"

The boy's eyes then slowly trailed away from David towards the front of the vehicle... or more specifically, the roughly head-sized dent in the armoured subframe.

"Like... really sure?"

"Mal, this thing is a fucking tank, I'm pretty sure I turned that guy into fucking hamburger meat!" David shouted, gripping at his head. "Oh fuck me with a porcupine, I killed a guy, and mom's gonna be so pissed, and I'm never gonna be able to live with myself..."

Now this put Mal in an odd spot, not only because he was fairly certain that a guy turning into hamburger meat wouldn't leave such a giant dent in the frame of their foster-mother's armoured car.

After all, he had killed before. Worn down over nearly a solid year of non-stop fighting by rage, fatigue, desperation and many other things he was too young and immature to really comprehend or think about, he had crossed that line and hadn't even given himself the time to think about it, he was so consumed with trying to stay alive and keep fighting.

Karen tried to tell him it wasn't his fault, that he didn't know any better.

But that was a lie, he knew damn well what he was doing.

But he had tried.

He tried so Goddamn hard...

Shaking that train of thought out of his head, the younger brother awkwardly reached over and placed a hand on his elder's shoulder, trying his best to sound reassuring.

"Look, Dave... I don't think the whole fucking Grimobile would've jumped like that if you hamburgered a guy, and I don't see any bits of people dangling of our bumper so..." Mal began with at least an attempt of a smile (which Dave wouldn't have seen anyway, with his helmet in the way) as he glanced to the rear of car to see what they actually hit... and then abruptly froze.

There was a guy there. And he was getting up.

"Uhh... correction. You did hit a guy." The eleven-year-old swallowed audibly as he spoke "And he looks pissed."

Slowly, Blackstar lowered the back window of the Grimobile and looked at the costumed man standing up, jaw dropping as he looked at the absolutely livid expression on the man's face. Almost in sync with his brother, he gulped audibly. "... Malcolm. If I die... Take care of mom and Ker for me."

To that, Mal could only nod numbly.

"Yeah... sure..."

---

Grunting, hissing and all around not a happy camper Champion managed to pick himself up into a sitting position for the second time that day, still sitting quite securely in his hole full of broken concrete and bits of cow-gore.

'Merry Fucking Christmas my face...' He growled internally as he got to his feet, somewhat aided by anger the whole way up as he bore a hole into the back of the now-stopped vehicle, the implications of being run over by an armoured vehicle in what was clearly Gotham at night not at all lost on him. '...Swear to God, if that's Bruce in there after all this time, I'm gonna put my boot right up his-'

That train of thought abruptly derailed as the rear-window of the vehicle slowly slid open and, instead of the scowling, cowled grimace he was almost expecting he found... well, two masks he didn't recognise.

And upon closer inspection as he stepped forward, he was pretty damned sure they were being worn by kids.

A sigh escaped him at that as he pinched the bridge of his nose and knit his eyes shut.

He was really kinda hoping that was Batman in there.

So, swallowing his annoyance just a bit, Duncan forced something close to a grin on his face (that unintentionally came out even more terrifying than his previous expression, what with all the bits of minotaur and concrete dust caked to his mug), and closed the remaining distance between himself and the vehicle, leaning close to get his head near the window and attempting at least to sound calm and composed, he finally spoke.

"...Bit late for a joyride, innit boys?"

David looked at the beaten up man as he approached, his peeved expression morphing into a disturbing grin. Really, it was terrifying, and Dave was almost certain he and Malcolm were dead meat.

Then the man joked about it being too late for a joyride.

"Uh... We're protecting the city from, well..." he pointed at a harpy not too far away playing around in some guts. Wordlessly, he fired his grappling gun at the beast and swung it into a brick wall, knocking it out at the very least.

Then, a thud was heard as something, or rather someone, landed on the Grimobile. "Champ!" the Question, having reapplied his mask, said, sliding off the armored car and approaching his colleague. "Is this the Batmobile? If so, it's either the real Batman, the imposter, or..." he paused, taking in the two kids dressed in costumes he didn't recognize, "... Two kids going for a joyride in the Batmobile."

David quirked an eyebrow behind his mask at the faceless man. From what he looked like, it was that guy from Hub City that his mom told him about. Except, y'know, it actually looked like he didn't have a face and he was a lot taller than how mom described, maybe even taller than her. Add to that the weird things he was talking about, Batman, the Batmobile...

"... Who's Batman?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

Hᴀʀᴠᴇsᴛ Mᴏᴏɴ: A Nᴇᴡ Yᴇᴀʀ

Ready when you are, Cap.

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

Got a new character.

Office Worker By Day, Underground Fighter By Night

Name:
Jackson Ellison
Nicknames/Alias:
Jack
Age:
31
Gender:
Male
Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual
Ethnicity:
Caucasian (Welsh Descent)
State:
Oregon

---

Appearance Details:
Jack is a very uninteresting man to look at most of the time. He stands at 5'10, weights in the low 160s, and wears a mask of perpetual indifference on his face. His hair is dark brown and cut short, his eyes are a dull blue, and his face clean shaven. Most often his attire consists of a typical suit and tie of an office worker, khakis and all.
Tattoos, Piercings, Scars, Other:
Burn scar on the back of his left hand, and (though not permanent) his face is almost always covered in bruises and his knuckles scratched.
Brand Tattoo Placement:
Right wrist.
Assets and Bank Account:
In Bank: $31,982

Jackson owns a nice penthouse in Eden, filled to the brim with pointless trinkets and fancy furniture like a little coffee table in the shape of a Yin-Yang. One room is set up with some exercise equipment, like an exercise bike, a weight set, and a punching bag. The kitchen is full of top line appliances and his dishes are those nice ones with the little bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by hard working people. Finally his bedroom contains a king sized bed, a flat screen television, and a door leading out to a balcony where one can see all of Morvai.

He owns no weapons.

---

Gang Affiliation:
N/A
Occupation:
Accountant for MorCo
Sanction:
Eden
Favorite Season:
Spring
Personality:
Contemplative - Polite - Determined | Insomniac - Self-Destructive - Misanthropic

Jack likes to play the part of the average everyman. Boring, too nice for his own good, and only speaking when spoken to. Really, he's just another face in the crowd, someone you shouldn't spend a moment's thought on. That's at the office, however; the carefully crafted facade he presents to everyone he barely knows.

On his own time either at home, in a bar, or in the ring, he's a completely different person. An angry young man who hates everyone who isn't him and has a foot in the grave. He's headstrong, and when he puts his mind to something then he does it. Too bad he hasn't been able to apply his willpower to establishing a sleep schedule.

---

Likes and Dislikes:
✔ His penthouse
✔ Television
✔ Fighting
✔ Feeling pain

✘ His boss
✘ Stuart from HR
✘ MorCo
✘ Establishment
Hobbies and Interests:

• Watching television
• Browsing the furniture catalog
• Getting his knuckles to bleed
• Staying up for days on end without sleep

Small Biography:
"I never really knew my dad. He ran off when I was six to go bang some other woman in another part of town. He did that every six years, starting a new family then leaving them to do it all over again. Guess he was establishing franchises. Mom was a barmaid in Korven, every night she came home with a bruise or two from her boss.

"I managed to get into Eden to go to college, decided to go with accounting. I got a job at MorCo, after a couple of years I was one of the top guys around there in the finance department. But being around so many people like Dicktator Joe... It made me sick. I hated them and everything they stood for, everything from the fact that they oppressed the lower class and got money from their hard work to their cornflower blue ties and their grande-lattes.

"But, like so many others, I became a victim of the high class nesting ground. I became addicted to flipping through furniture catalogues trying to find what dining set defined me as a person. If I saw something clever, like a coffee table in the shape of a Yin-Yang, I had to have it. I used to read Playboy. Now it was the MorCo Selection.

"My mom's death a year ago was what pulled me out of my rut. I had to do something to shake up this monotony. I ended up stalking the streets late at night when I couldn't sleep. I went to a bar in Korven. After a few bad words were exchanged between myself and a barfly, I found myself outside punching the shit out of him. Some people watched. After I thoroughly kicked his ass, one guy stepped forward and asked 'can I be next?'

"I started something. I don't even know what. A fight club, I guess. Every Saturday we meet at that bar and I give out the rules I decided on. Every Saturday I was finding out something. I still don't know what though."
Family Members:
Tyler Ellison - Father (No contact for years between the two, and that's for the better)
Marla Ellison - Mother (Deceased)
Relationships:
Joseph Morvai - Boss (Jack by day: "Yes sir, I'll have the list of profits filled and sent to your desk soon." Jack by night: "That fat, ugly bastard should burn in Hell.")
Theme Song:
Main Theme (Billy Joel - Prelude/Angry Young Man)
Alternate Theme (The Pixies - Where Is My Mind

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

Pico Boulevard.

Pico was essentially the red light district of this part of Korven, being about a half mile away from the bustling sub-district of New Osaka. A few vendors were lined up along the street, selling anything from kebabs to trinkets to knives. Girls strutted up and down the sidewalk, propositioning men and women alike to see if they wanted their services; some accepted, a few didn't have the money, and the rest just shook their heads in disgust and wandered on.

Cameron Campbell watched the bustling activity of the street, chuckling to himself for a moment before tossing his cigarette onto the asphalt. His sneakers extinguished the still burning cancer stick as he walked down the road, replaying the events of last night in his mind. He had gotten thoroughly plastered, and some suit business suit type had approached him and asked him to handle a job. Some business rival of his or something or other.

It had been years since he did any assassinations in the business world, though he always missed capping corrupt corporate fucks. Businessmen were never his type of people, greedy and lazy, extorting those in lower positions and reaping the profits afterwards. Morvai would be a lot better without them, especially Dicktator Joe, the fat bastard.

But enough thinking. It was time to act. The club was a block away, and the glowing green neon sign lit up the dark street. The booming bass of the music playing within the nightclub shook the sidewalks nearby, and a surly bouncer stood at the head of a long line to enter, arms crossed.

"Hm. Looks like I'll be taking the back," Cam muttered to himself wryly, before slipping into the back alley and entering the club through the supply room exit. He maneuvered his way past various boxes filled with booze, cigarettes, and less legal things, before opening the door and heading into the club proper.

TECHNOIR

(Recommended Listening)

This place reeks of broken dreams and alcoholism, not just from the patrons but from the bartenders, the girls dancing onstage, hell, even the guards. Cam felt he'd be doing a favor killing every last one of them. Freeing them from the torment of their lives. But that's not his job. His job is to take out some fat, greedy, selfish snob.

He looked at the photo one last time. Middle-aged, greying ginger hair in a combover, a staggeringly large gut. This guy'd be easy to spot. Cam scanned through the club, spotting the guy sitting with two women who were half his age on either side of him. Their faces said 'I love you'. Their eyes said 'get me out of here'. The man didn't catch onto their eyes.

Cam approached the table, watching the fat man grab at both women's crotches in sync. One gave him a slap. The other a sucker punch straight to the jaw. The women, disgusted, got up and left. He looked hurt almost, pathetic, like a puppy lost in the rain. His day was about to get a whole helluva lot worse.

Cam walked up to the man. The man looked up at him, sadness in his eyes.

"... Yeah? What is it?"

Wordlessly, Cam pulled out his pistol and fired off three rounds into the man's face. It didn't quite blow his head off. It made his head into ground beef.

No screams erupted. No patrons ran away. No one even cast a glance at the scene. They were all drunk as an Irishman or high as a kite, or, in some cases, both.

The guards, however, noticed.

Cam burst into a sprint, running back to the supply room. Two guards followed, guns at the ready but not risking a shot, no, not while he's zigzagging around patrons. Any collateral damage and they'd get their pay docked, and they didn't want that.

The door was turned into splinters by Cam's bulky frame, and the other didn't stand a chance against his running kick. Soon he was running through the alley, veins pumping battery acid and muscles screaming for rest. Shots went off behind him. One got him right in the shoulder. He kept running.

Eventually he lost them. It took ducking into more than a few sidealleys, and clambering onto more than one rooftop, but he did it. And now he didn't know where the hell he was.

"Not like I was planning on going home tonight anyway," Cam laughed, shaking his head. He hissed slightly in pain as he rolled his shoulders, bullet still in there. Damn. Wasn't a clean penetration. He'd need to get it out somehow.

"Well... At least it was good exercise."

☣ F A L L O U T : Genesis [High-Casual] ☣

Joe watched on as Frankie and Shepherd began to dig the grave, minding their surroundings and keeping an eye out for danger. After a while, there was the clunk of metal upon metal, and Joe craned his head towards the sound to see Shepherd examining a chest. He approached the grave, eyeing the chest and the label on it. "Vault 76 Trinkets. Hrm." The old man, Franz, was very enthusiastic about opening it, and as was the supermutant Frankie.

"Fellas, I ain't keen on dyin'. I may look like I'm dumb as a box of rocks but I know about Vault 76 and I know that it's no damn good. Whatever's in that chest, we should keep it locked up tight. And as for a gravemarker, I can fashion up a cross from some branches. That chest don't need to be opened." The mountain of a man was very adamant about keeping that damn thing shut, and why shouldn't he be? With his luck it was a bomb that'd go off as soon as the chest opened. They shouldn't risk it.

...

Wiped many years after the fact because I don't want past mistakes to haunt me.