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Modern times would be a bit easier to navigate, I think. Additionally, I think it would be easier in a social setting, if this took place in Modern times, in where Dracula has attempted to bring the Monsters into the limelight.

Location
💀 Mafioso Mansion - Underground Warehouse.
💀 Mafioso Mansion - Underground Tunnel.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @canaryrose
💀 @Danvers
💀 @Jumbus



Azhar’s slender tail limply hung down the length of his legs, its tip brushing against the cold floor beneath. An appendage that had previously moved in tune with the mutant’s excitement. Often described as having a life of its own, the boy’s tail was quite a perfect indicator of his emotional state, much to Zee’s embarrassment. Inhaling a deep breath, Azhar shifted his attention towards the vast interior of their surroundings. Blake had run through a door in the distance, alongside Joseph. Taking a step forward, the monstrous teen halted his stride. Was he going to help them, further? A once active bracelet lulling his powers to sleep was now broken, rendering Azhar unable to regulate the lethality of his abilities.

It would be a lie to claim that the bracelet’s absence didn’t afford comfort. Towards the end of its service, the trinket was choking Azhar, as if robbing him of air. A metaphor, of sorts, but one that adequately described the discomfort accompanying its embrace around his slim forearm.

With those black orbs fixed on a pathway previously burst open, Zee’s thoughts spiraled within his mind. He was in no shape to help anyone, least of all himself. The mutant could barely distinguish left from right, and found himself scarcely registering those circling him. Jamie, Brie, and this newly arrived individual, Doppel. "I just..," Azhar tried, "I need some air, I think..," he managed. The others were worried for him, clearly, and none of them knew what had transpired only moments prior. Despite its short duration, a massacre had taken place. An atrocity none would be able to identify. Echoing the lack of cadavers, each article of clothing was missing DNA. Every organic molecule had been erased, but for Azhar, he was standing in a mass grave.

Clenching his teeth, the boy turned his attention towards an exit that appeared far more attractive by the second. ’It’ll be alright’, Zee noted, a statement afforded by Jamie. Perhaps thanks to Joseph, it would be. Hopefully, he was doing well alongside Blake. However, the sounds of combat echoing from the mansion, a warcry seeping into the warehouse spoke of dangerous aggression. Uncomfortably, Azhar’s body stiffened, the mellow sway of his tail coming to a halt. If he used his powers again, he could lose himself to the sensation, a second time, and there was no telling if he’d be able to climb down from that high without one of Joseph’s runes. No, they would need to manage the situation without him. Azhar had read the file on this Mafia Family, a mandatory section of information that was distributed amongst HERO’s active employees. Vinnie Gugliano was, from what Azhar had gathered, a beast. Regeneration and physical capabilities, each one of a high tier. The others likely displayed difficulties when combating this specific power-set. Either way, they would need to pull through. They had to. At the moment, Zee was far more afraid of himself than any villain Castleburg had to offer. Where the young monster kept speaking of how he desired reliable companions on fields of battle, he most certainly didn’t live up to those requirements. Not now.

Shutting his eyes, the deathly creature expressed another sigh before starting towards the tunnel. Azhar never indulged in alcohol the way Joseph did, but taking a page from that man’s addictive habits did not appear all too ridiculous following transpired events. Making sure to avoid stepping on any of the scattered fabric spread across the now silent, empty warehouse, Zee slipped into the moonshine room where Blake had left an additional small group of cadavers. Again, Azhar clenched his sharp teeth. "We’re the fucking Heroes..?" he mumbled to himself as the boy continued into the darkness of an underground tunnel. Tears were still fighting against the mutant’s composure, eventually winning the bout with droplets repeating their ceaseless stride down Azhar’s cheeks. He needed to vacate the warehouse, and that ladder would make itself known, eventually.
I may be interested in this. Thinking about a WW1 experiment that’s still hanging around. A mutant, to tick that ’Misshapen castoffs of the most extreme fringes of science‘, box. Hopefully this gets more interest.
I am interested in this. I have actually created a species I would love to use. Sending you a PM.

Location
💀 Mafioso Mansion - Underground Warehouse.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @Jumbus
💀 @Danvers



Joseph’s second rune had initiated its purpose, beyond Azhar’s knowledge. It was only when the boy’s bloodlust faded, and was replaced by nauseous melancholy that the pain in his hand trickled to the surface. Where droplets of black blood traced a path down the mutant’s pale appendage, Zee noted the wound’s shape slowly closing, yet again the courtesy of a man he had previously chastised. It was impossible to tell exactly how disastrous the outcome would have been if Azhar’s sanity remained fractured. Who would he have proceeded to hunt? Where would bloodlust and a desire for death have led him? The monster could not claim to be blissfully unaware of what had transpired. He remembered every second, every intoxicating moment of ever-growing power. The dark 'Hero' wanted to claim that someone else took control, that a different individual entirely wrapped their clawed hands around his throat and confiscated Azhar’s mind. That would, however, be a lie.

Throughout the boy’s life, Azhar had been told that he was a force of Death. He was the very opposite of Life, and a mockery of its visage. Something that could be dotted with a mere glance. Where Life radiated color, Azhar afforded onlookers little more than a monotone scale of grey, white, and black. Additionally, where a mother’s love had, however, maintained Azhar’s warm heart, he could not say the same for his father. A man he proved right, this day. A less than desirable gestalt in the young monster's life who had always waited for his son’s collapse, when the Devil truly took hold.

Trembling, it was a far-fetched feat for the deathly mutant to register his surroundings. Still in shock, the massive strike against his state of mind vibrated mercilessly against every thought. The creature's father echoed across ripples of time, a lapse from early years until recent, unwanted exchanges. Words of discouragement, warnings of what was to come if Azhar remained free.

Despite his ceaseless tears, voices were beginning to slowly caress Zee’s pointed ears, his attention stolen by an individual Azhar had yet to meet. A dark-skinned young man he could not place, nor identify. What was it that he had said? It was impossible to clarify. Though silence lingered between them, the boy was very much struggling to comprehend even the simplest of developments. A spoken word, an added presence, simplicity at its finest wrapping itself around complication and difficulty.

’You are safe now,’ Azhar managed to deduce, ’HERO reinforcements..,’ it continued. Slowly, the monster lifted his head, tears coating his cheeks, to fully meet the young man’s gaze with his own. Azhar was never unsafe. He didn’t require reinforcements, no. The situation was ironically reflective, but in another manner, entirely. No, Zee was never at risk. Everyone else was, however, and he was the unfortunate reason.

Attempting to speak through the sniffles, Azhar flinched as he saw a shoe heading towards the mysterious visitor. That voice, the string of words echoing across the warehouse only moments before footwear was being thrown, he could identify it. Brie. Mere seconds passed before she approached the broken mutant, her green eyes meeting his own. She called the stranger ‘Doppel’, a codename Azhar had heard in the past. However, he had never come across the Hero. "I..," Zee tried, raising a hand towards his face before wiping tears from silken pale skin. "The.., the others..," he continued, pointing a claw deeper into the warehouse. "They went that way..," he finished, completely ignoring questions aimed at him.

In truth, Zee did not know how to respond. ‘Stop crying’, and ‘Are you okay?’ Words he was unable to truly meet. How many had Azhar killed, only moments prior? Fifty people? More? One would have to count the many clothes scattered throughout, before settling on a number. Attempting to stand, Azhar still felt his heart pounding against the surface of his ribs. He dreaded the eventual count, rather lowering his gaze to the floor, before turning towards the Hero dubbed ‘Doppel’. Distance was being kept, which was a reaction Zee was all too familiar with. After what had come to pass, none could blame Doppel.

Raising his arms towards himself, the deathly boy attempted a pitiful embrace of his scrawny shape, those large, obsidian orbs shifting to Brie. "Are you..," once more, Azhar wiped his tears. "Are you okay..?" The situation was, despite everything, being handled. As Doppel had said, reinforcements were coming, and whoever else required aid in the mansion was most certainly getting it. As for Azhar, he required a moment to collect himself. A moment to brace his mind for the countless nightmares to come.

Location
💀 Mafioso Mansion - Underground Warehouse.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @Rabidporcupine



"Slipping..?" Azhar blinked, his thoughts circling within the confines of the boy’s mind, as if a swirl of distortion. He had not afforded Joseph an answer, but rather lowered his gaze towards the runes resting in his hand, the mutant’s head tilting as he proceeded to gaze upon them. "Am I.., slipping?" Zee continued, attempting to center himself, but to no avail. It had been as if Joseph spoke someone incapable of understanding the man’s words. Indeed, he would be correct in assuming the fact. Rather, Azhar raised his attention to guards who were charging in his direction, towards all of them in the Heroes’ many, scattered locations. Gunshots rang throughout the warehouse, deafening sounds forcing a frown to Azhar’s features, before it was soon replaced by frenzied glee. The runes between his claws were far from the boy’s mind, worlds away.

The scent of burnt flesh, the screams of those crushed beneath debris, and chaos unfolding, it was the scenario surrounding Azhar as his feet brought the small mutant further into the warehouse. A slow stride, one where every sensation soon found itself replaced by emerald damnation. He noted how Jamie, the other S ranked individual in their company, had made her way deeper into the large, underground building. Was he to turn, the boy would likely have seen Blake making himself scarce in an unhindered stride towards the mansion where his girlfriend and further allies found themselves.

Irrelevance happily replaced concern, however. Thoughts of the man he had arrived alongside, Joseph, faded in response to rising excitement, with Spectral Force now extending its reach from where Azhar was standing. The very air encircling him brimmed with Necrotic Energy, an outstretched hand conjuring forth a chaotic wind which proceeded to pass through an incoming threat.

If one was to maintain vigilance, the sight of an ever-growing horde was amassing in the warehouse. It was impossible for the young mutant to dot the source of their increased numbers, but as his black gaze laid witness to skin, meat, and bone shredded into naught but emerald particles following a gesture, Azhar’s sharp-toothed grin widened.

”M̴͓̆o̴͚̚ṟ̷͆ḙ̴͝.̴̘̍.̵͔̕.̴̮͂” Zee’s distorted voice howled, his clawed hands rising in response to further approaching enemies, or rather, victims. Gunshots continued to roar, bullets whisking past him where the mutant stood.

“I can’t see anything!” Came a scream, a response to the now massive swirl of Necrotic Force surrounding Azhar, as if a twister, a tornado engulfing him and his surroundings. Opening his mouth, the dark mutant exhaled a long breath, ecstatic bliss washing over him as bullets proceeded to fly past the creature now a the mercy of his own growing insanity.

"B̷̰̿ô̷̡w̴̢̔ ̵̹́t̴̯̋ó̷̙ ̸͕̓m̵͕̀e̸̦͝,̴͉̄ ̵̢͆ǐ̴̱n̵̘͝ṣ̸̅e̸̩͌c̴͓̓t̸͇̎s̵͉͂!̸͚̇" Azhar screamed, his phantasmal voice rising in volume, which in turn was echoed by the chaotic storm of Ghostly Power, following suit. The boy was unsure of how many goons had answered the call, but he most certainly had the ability to hear their screams. With another swipe of his hand, Zee willed a second wave into the storage building, swallowing several shapes in its hungry embrace. "E̷̞̓v̵͉̈́e̴͕̚r̶͉͂ÿ̷̭t̸̒ͅh̸͕́i̶̥̕ṅ̷̘g̶̮͛ ̴̬̿n̵͍̍e̶̺̕e̵͖̓d̴̡͐s̴̨̀ ̸̡̀ṯ̶͠o̷̟̾ ̴̥̈́d̴̺̎ȉ̴̥ë̵̳́.̷̱͠.̸̹̍.̵̤͐” Laughter emanated from the epicenter of chaos, the nexus of Azhar’s herculean storm which was engulfing the main warehouse, and in turn, an equally massive gathering of mobsters sent to end a threat beneath their mansion headquarters.

Throughout the growing emerald hurricane, Zee noticed the retreat of some who had not yet been swallowed by its wrath. A notion he found unacceptable in this current state of insanity. Again, he proceeded to laugh, a large blast of Necrotic Force swallowing the escaping goons with bodies erased beneath its weight. Extending his power’s range to the underground exit, one designed for truck-loaded deliveries, Azhar spared no expenses. As if a dance, the mutant moved his body. Each motion of those clawed hands, in their fluid gestures, conjured yet another wave which found itself whipping out from an ever-growing tornado of death, each one overtaking another gathering of goons now attempting to fall back.

Friend, or foe, it mattered little. The deathly mutant could only consider himself lucky that no allies were present within range of his frenzy. Indeed, Azhar had developed into little more than a blood-crazed beast. His demonic, echoing laughter proceeded to slip past the boy’s lips. It was no longer a mission aimed at rescuing allies, nor was it one designed to apprehend a high-standing mobster. Zee was indulging in a single sensation. Massacre.

Screams bouncing across walls and traveling by air soon faded. A warehouse previously filled with mobsters stood empty, countless collections of clothes riddling the floor haphazardly across its massive interior. It was only when Azhar allowed his berserker storm to lessen that those black orbs witnessed the erasure, without obfuscation. "Ṁ̷͖ō̶ͅr̶̫̒è̴̜.̸̜̏.̴̫̑,̶̰̈́ ̷̭͝I̶͕̒ ̷̟́w̸̏ͅa̷͔̒n̴͎̆t̶͇̾ ̶͓̈́m̶͇̉ỏ̷͉r̷̰̆e̸͔̎!̴̱̈́" The boy, or Demon shouted, taloned claws digging into his palm with enough strength to draw blood.

One could compare it to a halt in time, the very fabric of reality stopping inside the mutant’s mind. He had pressed down on Joseph’s rune, the gift so utterly disregarded upon reception. A rune that sent a calming wave over the young Reaper’s senses, piecing together what had previously been shattered. A mirror rising to reveal what was glaring back. A mother’s voice beckoning.

Silence. Azhar stared ahead at the devastation he had caused, a scene taking the shape of absolute emptiness. No corpses, no remains, but rather clothes once draping themselves over actual human beings. "Wh-..," Zee tried, his body trembling with breathing growing ever-heavier. "No.., no, no..," he pleaded. Taking a single step forward was enough to push him to his knees. Green, spectral particles began to fully fade, leaving Azhar in the shape he had assumed long before chaos took charge.

Again, the boy desperately turned to scrutinize his surroundings, tears trickling down his pale cheeks. Easing those clenched fists, Azhar saw how Joseph’s runes fell to the floor beneath him, one of which had been activated. ’You aren’t yourself.’ The man’s words echoed across the recess of Azhar’s fractured thoughts. Unable to manage another utterance, the mutant screamed. A loud, terrified, and most certainly heartbroken expression where he sat, in the middle of abyssal emptiness.

Location
💀 Mafioso Underground - Warehouse.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @Rabidporcupine
💀 @Hitman
💀 @canaryrose
💀 @Scarifar



With Azhar’s gaze finding home upon Christina, the boy managed a small smile. She wasted no time in affording him a rundown of the situation, a quick and effective picture painted for what was to come. They were all soldiers in this war, irrelevant of age and experience. Indeed, Azhar had been trained throughout his life to harness the powers within. He had been taught how to conduct himself in combat, and how to best wield his abilities alongside others. Not everyone was afforded that privilege, as more than a few Heroes were plucked from the street. They had as much a reason to participate in this battle as anyone. A desire to protect not only those held close and dear, but everyone. "I’ll do my best," Zee commented, his smile a somewhat melancholy display.

Where excitement for battle had always been present, an unmoving desire resting within Azhar’s heart, it had been replaced by glee. A sensation that clawed at him mercilessly, an addiction which was making itself known, as if withdrawals were choking the boy. Shifting his attention towards a ladder leading into the darkness of an ever-stretching tunnel, Azhar exhaled a labored breath. Something was building inside of him, a warcry slowly working itself towards the surface. One would be safe in claiming that the demonic mutant had completely forgotten about Joseph, despite the man’s presence.

Without another word, Azhar proceeded onward. He slipped down the ladder, every motion bringing him closer towards the darkness beneath, his exposed skin responding with a dim glow. A Ghost in the shade, a Devil approaching through the blackness. Irony was not entirely discarded, however, as Azhar’s glow was more akin to that of an Angelic being, no matter how dimly he shone.

It did not take very long for an imminent battle to ensue, ahead. The sound of explosions rattled the tunnel, and with wide eyes, Azhar picked up his pace. Weightless steps brought him further through the damp darkness, movements soon accelerating into a jog, which in turn formed itself into a sprint at the sound of combat. "It’s begun..," Azhar clenched his teeth, the boy’s heart beating against his ribs like a jackhammer. He didn’t know who was behind him, if Joseph had decided to come along, or not. He didn’t care. Only one thing mattered. With every single step, the rising adrenaline took complete control. A reasonable question would, however, be in regards to what that addictive sensation truly was. Adrenaline, or a base, natural desire. Time and time again had Azhar been called a Devil, or Shaitan in Arabic. A slur he decided to own, one he claimed and wielded. Monster, Devil, Demon, Abomination, each one a term Azhar embraced wholeheartedly. However, with calm serenity replaced by something else entirely, statements of what Azhar had decided were endearing may have shifted, if only for the moment.

A short string of time passed before Zee finally saw the outline of people, in the distance. He was lucky to have been blessed with greater sight in darkness, a tradeoff for his hampered gaze beneath a sunlit sky. Unable to prevent the aura of Spectral Energy now blanketing him as if a reflexive maneuver, a sharp-toothed grin bridged itself across Azhar’s lips. Jamie, Rumi, and Blake were all present. Goons had been blasted through, and with a large warehouse stretching itself across the continued interior, Azhar laid eyes on Blake who was yielding to a defensive stance, avoiding bullets heading towards him with furious speed.

The deathly mutant was not a physical individual. The sprint he had performed would have tired him out, was it not for the peculiar emotion confiscating his every desire. Bloodlust. Extending a clawed hand, Azhar conjured forth a devastating wave of Necrotic Force which swallowed the mobsters attempting to riddle Blake with lead. Not a moment was spared to catch his breath, and he barely registered Rumi’s, nor Jamie’s presence.

If one was to listen, a massive slew of footsteps were aimed at the underground warehouse. Blake’s arrival had made sure of that. However, where Azhar previously shook his head in response to abandoning caution entirely, he now stood trembling with excitement. Phantasmal Force licked itself across his body endlessly, as if a second layer of clothing. Every single breath exhaled a gust of continuous Deathly Energy, those large, black eyes fixed on the direction confessing to an influx of incoming enemies. "Go..," Zee spoke, his ghostly voice embraced by heavy breathing, an otherwise mystical voice with Demonic tones elevating its latter presence. "Save your friends," he continued, clawed hands trembling in delight as the Necrotic Powers coating him began to swirl in a dance around Azhar, akin to a violent wind. "I’ll stay..," that shark-like grin widened, a long breath revealing another gust of Necrotic Energy leaving Zee’s mouth, as if desperately trying to infect the very air around him. The blue light emanating from his bracelet began to flicker before eventually, fading entirely.

Location
💀 Azhar's Car.
💀 Mafioso Tunnel.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @Rabidporcupine



Samson’s words had remained fixed in the young mutant’s mind. Everyone had their uses, despite every flaw. Indeed, perhaps Azhar had been too hard on the man at his side. A drunk he was, but a useful drunk. Joseph Moore was a man with a dark past, and that was an unfortunate truth none could free him of. Zee recalled what the dark Hero had been told on a distant helicopter ride across Mexico, and yet another tale spun over a campfire. Joseph struggled in a manner not too dissimilar to Azhar, himself. Indeed, they were both seeking to outrun a foe constantly hounding them in spirit, mind, and body alike.

"I am sorry," came a soft-spoken statement from the foreigner, his typical Arabic accent trickling through every word. "You are.., going through more shit than people will acknowledge," Azhar continued, his large black gaze maintained on the nightly street before them, his claws gently grasping the steering wheel. It was, at times, difficult to separate the silliness surrounding HERO’s crime fighters, from a more serious disposition. What had come to pass in regards to Joseph’s past, an event he desperately attempted to outpace, appeared almost brushed aside by the others. Yet again, Azhar’s thoughts found themselves returning to a specific conversation held between himself and the drunk.

"I was a bit too harsh on you, I think," the mutant spoke, stopping by a red light as his attention briefly shifted towards Joseph where he sat, in Azhar’s car. "That said..," the boy sighed, "I do not believe that you’ll find the escape you’re looking for at the end of a bottle." A silent pause laid itself across their conversation as if a blanket, strangling further speech until finally, Zee decided to utter himself once more. He had learned that American men rarely spoke of their issues, which was a similar setup to what he had grown used to, in Lebanon. Additionally, Joseph was often reduced to little more than comic relief, an individual others were quick to discredit.

"I am afraid, too," the Middle Easterner confessed, his clawed fingers tightly grasping the wheel. "It’s getting more difficult for me to control myself," he revealed, a recent conversation brushing over his thoughts. A conversation with Astral, the villain. Indeed, Azhar moved through the mind-games with what appeared to be professional grace, but was one to truly analyze the boy, mood swings would clearly make themselves known. "It feels kind of like.., something else takes over, sometimes." Azhar explained, exhaling a small breath. "Something that has no reservations, or insecurities. Something that just wants to..," he paused, the boy’s sharp teeth clenching. He knew what he wanted to say, but it was getting increasingly more difficult to express those words. Yes, indeed, it felt like Zee was harboring two sides of himself, two blatantly opposing forces within his own mind. A side which smirked in the face of adversity, gladly revealing those shark-like teeth in a display of supremacy, and another akin to a whimpering child.

It came and went, as people said. Some days were better than others. However, one thing remained. Every single day, Azhar longed to release his powers, and above all, he wanted to discard that bracelet circling his forearm. That infernal trinket which constantly strangled him, and lulled a supernatural force into dormancy. A force that roared with a single desire. "We’re here," came an end to their conversation. They had reached the destination afforded them by Christina, and the hatch which allowed the Heroes access into an underground tunnel stood on display.

Placing a hand on the door, Azhar turned off his car and proceeded to step outside. It was time to attack this mansion Thomas had spoken of, and save their friends. Perhaps a dangerous prospect, but one Zee was gleefully looking forward to. A notion which terrified the whimpering boy within.

Location
⚫ Brookside.
⚫ Police Station.

Time
⚫ Evening.

Starring
🐻 @DClassified
🏺 @Rabidporcupine
💀 @Shard



Driving into Brookside was never a decision founded in peace of mind. Indeed, Azhar was more concerned about the wellbeing of his car than his own safety. It was quite a decent vehicle, he would admit, one given to him by the company he so tirelessly worked for. Slowly bobbing his head in tune to the music trickling into his pointed ears, Azhar, or Zee, or perhaps even Requiem considering the circumstances, enjoyed the tune from a pair of headphones mimicking the voice of Nina Simone. ’It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me.., Azhar parked his car, large black eyes landing on the police station. Police officers continued undisturbed on their routines, uniformed crime fighters moving in a path towards a constant war against chaos. Azhar often mulled over the thought, what police truly thought of his kind. Not mutants, no, but Heroes. Those who stood up against darkness with powers otherwise unfathomable. Were they an addition, or merely an obnoxious inconvenience.

’And I’m feeling good.., the song continued, Azhar’s hand falling to the door before allowing a path into the evening air. With a deep breath, Zee locked his car and started towards the entrance of this building dedicated to law and order. Occasionally raising a clawed hand as he waved towards a select few officers warranted a small, growing smile that bridged its way across the mutant’s lips. He had come across Brookside’s Finest in the past, and their efforts had not gone unnoticed. Where Heroes found themselves raised to impossible heights, officers were often forgotten. Azhar still recalled his deal with Monster Energy, where he was used in an advertisement. An endearing proposition and the thought called forth a string of laughter from the boy.

Following the directions dictated by officers along the way, the mutant finally found his Heroic friends where they were waiting for his arrival. However, subsequent to the mutant boy’s entrance, Zee felt his phone giving off a sound. Kim Possible, if anyone was able to deduce the strings of beeps. He had been sent a message.


“Hmm, maybe I was just imagining it.” Joseph said, slipping the rune back into his pocket. He’d been sure he’d felt the rune activate, although he was fairly drunk… Well, whatever the case, at least this meant that he wouldn’t have to worry about the cashier, and could focus on tagging along with Sam. Normally, he would be the last person to go out of his way to look for extra work, but it just so happened that he may or may not have accidentally broken a few of the eggs in the shopping bag when he’d dropped the gun in with them. He was lazy, but he wasn’t stupid. There was no way he’d be going back to the Hag with broken eggs. Therefore, he needed to find a good excuse for why he never made it back, and what better reason to give to the old ex hero than hero work?

Before he could speak to Sam and express his eagerness to get cracking (heh) however, he heard an unnervingly familiar ringtone, and turned to see a certain demonic child walk in to join them.

“Oh, hey Az.” He said, sending the kid a lazy wave. “Question, how do you know that ringtone? You darn young folk usually don’t have that kind of respect for anything before your time.”


Samson was patient while Joseph figured out whether his rune had activated or not. It was strange to him, these runes, as it was one of the only things that he encountered that he couldn’t sense. It only displayed that there were powers beyond perception out there, and not all of them were as harmless, or lazy, as Joseph was. All the more reason to get back to the mission. His purpose for being here was done, he had alerted the authorities. Now the hunt began.

As it appeared, Joseph wasn’t in need of his services so he was soon to start back out. When he turned his head though, Azhar was walking in. He had gotten here much quicker than he anticipated. A corner of his lip upturned, but not much more. Hearing the beeping that emanated from his phantasmic friend, his eyes narrowed some.

”You may want to address that or turn it off. We’re taking a more quiet approach this time around.” The hunter suggested, pulling his hood back over his head.


Reaching a clawed hand into his pocket, Azhar managed a sharp-toothed grin as he looked towards the older gentleman. "Yusuf..," the boy began, still clearly unable to pronounce his ally’s name. However, at this point, it was difficult to deduce if Zee was deliberate in his tone, or if he truly could not comprehend the difference between English and Arabic in this instance. "I am three years younger than you," he stated, holding up three claws. "Three," he repeated.

Despite possessing merely twenty-two years of life, Joseph seemed entirely too eager to adopt a disheveled persona. Alcohol, misery, and constant regret. It was an aspect Joseph embodied, for reasons Azhar had been presented, in the past.

There was a slight tilt of the boy’s head, as his eyes fell to the screen of his Hello Kitty draped phone. A message from Thomas. They did not usually communicate, and while Zee had added his co-workers to his device, messages were generally only sent between them in times of peril. He tapped a stylus onto a chat bubble that revealed itself across the screen, the boy’s gaze widening once light was shed on such distressing content. "They’re in big trouble," the mutant commented. "Like, they might die, kinda’ trouble," he continued, a clawed hand gently scratching the back of his head. "Captured by the Mob, huh..?" The boy shifted his attention towards Samson and Joseph, "Sammy," Azhar began, "you take point on this. I’ll back you up." It was a common maneuver between the two. Samson was a hunter and a frontline combatant in a single package. He made the perfect leader, and the giant was certainly someone Azhar could put his faith in. "Yusuf, are you sober enough?" The mutant raised a brow, those black orbs lingering on the alcoholic. Samson and Azhar weren’t the impulsive Heroes their co-workers represented. They were less than eager to work outside of a professional approach.


“Three years is a long time.” Joseph said. “You can miss plenty of stuff in that time. Shows, birthdays, the realisation that your life is going nowhere...”

He paused, his eyes glazing over for a moment before he returned back to the moment.

“I was going somewhere with this, but I forgot where.”

Despite his current attitude, his eyes widened as well when Az informed them that the others were in danger. However, it was only a small change, and brief enough that it was probably unnoticeable.

“Huh. Well, sounds like a good enough excuse to me.” He said. He managed to work up enough false confidence to smirk when Azhar asked if he was sober enough to help. “Nope. But something tells me you’re gonna let me come along anyway...”


A decision had to be made. It was rather concerning that fellow team members were in danger. Considering the scope of the danger was life and death, for heroes of their power level, it was clear what route to take. The police were going to get people out of the area anyway, hopefully. Further, if the threat that has their companions continues on, how many more people will they hurt worse?

With his mind made up, he started walking. With Zee’s suggestion of taking point, Kanati was already trying to map out some kind of strategy in his mind. The mob was no ordinary gang. In fact, from what he had heard, their boss was reputable for killing heroes. Hopefully they wouldn’t be getting there too late. The fact that they didn’t take their cell phones yet was an indicator that they didn’t have them pinned just yet.

Half a mind made him want to call Christina, as she was standing in the director’s place in his absence. Instinct told Kanati that he didn’t need to worry about that. As they talked about Joseph’s eligibility to come along, due to his involvement with alcohol, Sam spoke up.

”Despite his impairments, we may still have use for his versatility. He managed to bring in one criminal today at least. I imagine, from the recency, he was drunk then too. So long as he performs his craft from a distance until fully prepared, he should be fine.” Kanati spoke quickly, simply to end that part of the conversation.

Once outside, he debated for a moment.

”I’m going to opt out of the car ride. I may be able to get to the mansion quicker by my own means. In which case, getting a view of the situation. I’ll meet you there.”


Rubbing his forehead, Azhar managed a sigh. "I’d prefer my teammates to be sober," the mutant stated. "If our leaders followed procedure, Yusuf would likely be on leave." Though the obvious flaws of HERO and its employees had brought several layers of frustration to the surface, Zee’s attention was quickly stolen by a new notification on his phone. This message was not sent by another Hero, but rather, it was an alert.

They had a location, now. A section that appeared to mark itself a notable distance from the Mafioso mansion, their actual target. "Christina notified me. We have an entrance, I think," Azhar informed, his black-eyed gaze turning towards Samson and Joseph before handing the giant their coordinates.

A short pause lingered while those demonic orbs found themselves fixed on the less sober. "I don’t decide what you do." Zee slipped that phone into the confines of his pocket. "Three years is a long time, right? Far be it for me to question my elders."

Azhar didn’t mind Joseph as an individual, but back home he would never have made it into MEDIC. He was in a state of intoxication more often than not. The man was unstable, and as such, incredibly unreliable.

If asked, the dark mutant couldn’t imagine jeopardizing his mission because bottles appeared tempting. Part of him wanted to leave HERO, if honesty found its way to his lips. It was an unorganized, unprofessional, and incredibly destructive attempt at a gathering of crime fighters, but that was irrelevant at this moment. Azhar, or Requiem, had a duty to uphold. His personal reservations would need to wait. Additionally, Samson was correct. Despite current circumstances, Joseph did have his uses, impaired as he may have been. "We’ll see you there, Sam. Let’s go, Yusuf." Azhar finished, before starting towards his car.


Location
💀 Azhar’s Apartment.
💀 Brookside.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @DClassified



Kanati, or Sam, was more than capable. Known as The Hunter, he lived up to the name, a wise and tactical young man who acted through calculated maneuvers. Truly a survivalist, Sam was an individual who others could look up to, a Hero with Herculean strength which flowed in harmony alongside the balance of a serene heart. One of the few Heroes Azhar felt some notable form of connection to, Samson embraced the persona of a gentle giant, which in itself was an ironic change from the more flamboyant young Arab. The two were opposites in many ways, indeed. A chiseled Adonis, compared to a scrawny, little creature. A handsome warrior with muscles, strength, and humility, where Azhar maintained an incredibly different disposition. A scorpion and a lion, without fault.

‘Oh, I just got back from Brookside,’ Zee typed, the stylus dancing across his screen. It was ironic how this mutant ranked S in terms of power and danger, outside his bracelet, could not even operate a phone without aid. Such was the strife of claws. ’I’ll be there in a moment. Just tell me where you are.’

With his bare, equally clawed feet clicking against the wooden floor beneath his bed, Azhar managed a stretch, which was soon followed by a quiet yawn. As had been established, this was this day off. However, boredom soon settled. There resided a charm in the freedom of simply adopting a lazy demeanor, but this day had been anything other than relaxing. There was a line which eventually found itself crossed, where leaning against a chair, or seeking shelter beneath warm blankets faded in both desire, and longing. It was when adrenaline and pursuit of excitement confiscated Azhar’s every thought.

Indeed, where a common stance on powers strung along fatigue after prolonged use, Azhar’s body was somewhat different. His powers were aching to flow free, and their release was an energizing sensation. Almost intoxicating. Though it might have come off as an oddity, the boy’s biology and his superpowers were one and the same. As if feeling a warm breeze against his skin every time he engulfed himself in that phantasmal, emerald force, Azhar constantly wanted more. Yes, it was one of the reasons why Hugo Powers afforded the young Hero targets of less repute. Those further southbound on the power scale. It was because continuous use of Zee’s abilities demanded gluttony. A desire to break free. Only fools claimed immunity to hunger, especially for power. It was an aspect Azhar was well aware of. He was the ‘Dark Side of The Force’, as an ironic comparison. It was true what Astral had stated, that the boy fought against his very nature, because his nature was to unleash himself.

Inhaling a deep breath, Zee’s black gaze fell to his bracelet, a dim blue light emanating from its circular shape. The boy had behaved well, and thus the trinket wasn’t permanently attached to his forearm. However, he had been warned in the past, where taking it off too liberally would result in consequences. The mutant has, nonetheless, admitted towards a rather critical fact. When he did take the trinket off, it was akin to shedding heavy shackles, as if he was able to breathe for the first time. A feeling one could easily find themselves drunk with, and a terrifying embrace it was, where the risk of reason being discarded in lieu of chaos was far too great.

Getting dressed was long overdue. Taking leave of his thoughts, Azhar slipped into a pair of socks, followed by his jeans and a tank-top. The process found its conclusion when Azhar slid a pair of synthetic, fingerless gloves over his hands. With the sun now set, he could finally stretch his wings beneath soothing evening air. One could easily note that Zee left his suit behind, where he much rather participated in Hero work without obfuscation. He wanted others to see him. He wanted to be known. It was, after all, his goal. A desire to reach a state of fame, not for glory, nor for money, but to express an ideal.

"See you later, sweetheart," Azhar’s Arabic accent trickled through his words, the boy’s lips gently brushing against Dracula’s forehead. A schedule had not been set, and there was no telling when the boy would return home. However, as Azhar stepped outside and entered his car, it was only a matter of time before he eventually reached Brookside.
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