His hat not even brought low to conceal what he could of his face, Broken Verse paced around the abandoned factory, one of the many in Darwin's Landing, in which a bedraggled man sat bound to a chair. Despite the fact that he had the look of someone who was no stranger to sleeping rough, he appeared as though he had been yet unharmed. I will ask you this once before I begin. Who is dealing with Solomon after Burke cut him off? It was clear Verse had selected his target carefully, the man's expression told him that he knew the answer, but was keeping his mouth defiantly shut. The eccentrically dressed villain grew quickly annoyed by this, rushing towards the hostage with superhuman speed, pulling his head by his hair and bringing a scalpel towards his eye. He stopped inches away. His previously angered face dramatically changed to one of empathy.
Would it help if I were to tell you that I mean your leader no harm? He asked in a melodic voice. The petrified captive slowly nodded. This provoked a perplexing reaction from Broken Verse. Grabbing the captive by the collar, he tossed him face-first onto the floor while skipping around, crying in a maniacal voice: You pathetic little ferret! I can't believe you believed that! He laughed in a joyful manner, continuing his jester-like jig. Oddly indignant considering his position, the man yelled What!? Looking back shocked by the sudden noise, Broken Verse halted his mania and said seemingly genuinely, Oooh, sorry! before pulling the unkempt man upright again. Looking down at his hostage in a patronising way, he said: Yes, what is it? in his previous empathetic voice.
Why- the man paused maintaining his shocked indignation and spitting a tooth out onto the floor, which the villain frowned in a disgusted manner at - did you say that? Aren't you just fighting against yourself!? Broken Verse responded with the strangest reaction he had made so far: What!? Like your face!? Before blindly making two lightning-quick slashes with his scalpel, cutting open his hostage's neck. Walking straight away from the obviously dead civilian, he reprimanded himself, Damnit Versey-Verse! Get the information from him before you kill him! He barely paused for a moment, sharply angling his head in a different direction before continuing, But I suppose, keeping to a plan would have kind of defeated the point now wouldn't it? He sighed deeply. I s'pose it's time to do the one that doesn't involved any torture... He wandered out of the factory into the sunlight.
Bad Voodoo by @Beyond Reach. Arc ID #373659. Level 20-24. Mr. Bocor has fallen victim to a group of hooded vigilantes who have been plaguing Port Oakes, interfering with illegal operations and pacifying villain's powers. He demands that revenge is taken on these miscreants and his powers are returned! You look like just the villain for the job. Challenging.
I present the third chapter of No Mercy. If you view yourself as highly suggestable, I would not read on.
The midday sun streamed like an orange haze through the high windows of a warehouse on the northern end of Mercy Island. It shined brightly in the face and eyes of a number of well-armed, dim-looking mercenary-types standing around a small, weasly-looking dark-haired man who instructed them. The light made it difficult to make out anything but a vague vision of what was before them, and most of them seemed unwilling to move more than their heads slightly to get out of the passage of the sun's influence. Besides, they had a good enough idea of what was ahead of them, it wasn't a time when they had to see particularly clearly.
“Alright gentleman,” the man began in a strong Italian-American accent, “there is no cutting corners here. We're dealing with a real big-head extremist here-” seeing the confused looks on the face of his ignorant flunkies he paused and quickly explained. “I mean he's crazy! He's got no respect for the natural order of things!” He said partly angered at his flunkies' stupidity, but seemingly also at the individual he was talking about. “And that also means that he's a nasty, dangerous *******. Who also happens to think that he owns this island, so he might just randomly decide that seeing as we and the stuff we're trading with him are on his island, they belong to him. So keep your eyes to your sights. If one of his boys makes a wrong move, pull the trigger on the head man.”
“Oooh!” Someone interrupted with a sharp, criticising intake of breath from the shadows nearby. The mercenaries quickly stood to alert, finally moving to step out of the sunlight's interference. “You didn't quite catch what's going on here did you?” The voice seemed to echo from all around, so the mercenaries just blindly darted their guns around, waiting for any kind of movement. “Cover every direction! Don'-” he was interrupted by one of the mercenaries shooting a rat that scurried out of the shadows with his silencer-less assault rifle, provoking a howl of laughter, again from all around. “You are being rather silly.” They continued to watch the darkness attentively for their unseen foe.
“Imagine if I were to step from the darkness right now and shoot me, you would never know what you were walking into.”
“Where are you!? Who are you!?” Seemingly ignoring his words, the sweating, weasly man nervously darted his eyes around, now with a handgun in his hand prepared to defend himself just in case the sixteen other assault rifles didn't work.
“And in killing me, you would effectively be killing yourself.” The voice concluded as if it had been interrupted in a soft, melodic voice.
“Fine, tell me what you know!” The voice made no immediate verbal response, merely a heavy, annoyed sigh. Followed by a series of events that occurred in the space of approximately ten seconds.
A shadow was seen to the right scaling a pile of two shipping containers on the right of the dark-haired man. As the group turned towards this and aimed their weapons the figure on top of the shipping containers tossed something towards the north-west wall, causing an explosion. As their attention was drawn to this the container on the top was pushed off and crashed to the ground with a huge thud, blowing a thick, obscuring cloud of dust into the air. By the time it cleared, a figure in beige and dark red suit with thick, blood red lines going down the sleeves had appeared and was standing behind the weasel with a gun pointed to the back of his head. The man had his hands raised and a look of fear on his face.
“Throw your weapons away, get down on your knees and put your hands behind your heads, thugs.” Broken Verse spoke with a very dissatisfied tone. They were uncertain for only a moment before their boss nervously nodded, and they did so. The villain took the scalpel out of his breast pocket and put the gun away – the mercenaries looked to react for a second, before the weasel desperately shook his head, well aware that this man could easily slice his throat with the scalpel before they raised their weapons. Forming a vice-grip on the man's right wrist - clearly rather painfully - he took his scalpel and with a precise – and angry from his expression – swipe he cut off the man's middle finger, provoking a delayed cry, the attack so fast it took him a moment to realise. Taking a box of matches within his jacket, he struck one, producing an abnormal white-hot glow, and brought it to the wound to cauterize it, provoking further screams. “I hate ignorance!” He said as he kicked the man forwards, returning the box of matches to his jacket and retrieving his pistol in the same moment. He remained silent, with a small smirk beginning to appear on his face, merely pointing his weapon at his captive.
“Wh-what do you want?” He said nervously after a moment of silence.
“What I want is irrelevant. Who you are, and what you want is another matter.”
“My name is Robert Verdano, and I work for The Family.” He said, the fear beginning to slowly drift away.
“I'm sorry?”
“You better be-”
“No, I mean, is that supposed to mean anything to me? You're acting as though that has some kind of worth, that I'm supposed to be afraid of you because you said those pathetic words. You didn't answer my question.”
“The Family are going to tear you to pieces when they find what you did to one of their own-”
Broken Verse took the safety off. “Wait, wait! I don't know you what you mean, what do I want?” The villain moved towards his captive in a flash and kicked him in the mouth, knocking him back down from his sitting position. “You ask me what I want and not know what it means yourself!? Do you want me to take another one of your fingers!?” The small man was quickly becoming absolutely terrified, tears were welling up in his eyes, his face had gone white and he was shivering uncontrollably; however his survival instinct kicked in, and he managed to get some words out through his debilitating stutter.
“Ahh-ahh- well- I suppose- I want mo-money? Se-security?” These words seemed to calm Broken Verse down a great deal.
“Why do you do what you do then? You can earn money and keep yourself safe by working a legitimate job. More than you earn murdering, beating and stealing. Why?” Despite the villain's softening tone, it did little to quell the fears of the small man, he continued to shake, worried by the questions and his captor losing his temper again.
“Ahh...I-I'm a Verdano, th-that's what we d-do.”
“Hand me your gun.” The weasel hesitated and Verse responded by kicking the Family man in the ribs rather casually, provoking coughing and spluttering. Despite his pain, choking for breath he handed over his weapon.
“Fear and Terror are two very different things. Fear is what you feel when you think what stands before you is going to end your life. You freeze, you sweat, you're paralysed. Terror is what you feel the moment before you think that you're going to die. It gives you vigour, instinct. But unfortunately you can't have one without the other. There are so many things in this world that can kill you before you feel terror – me for example – so eliminating both is the only logical option.” Ignoring the now worn and beaten dark-haired man – although he kept one of his guns pointing at him, he did not seem to be paying the slightest attention to him – he aimed the new gun he had acquired at a random thug.
“Tell me your name.”
“J-John Dell.” He replied quickly, and nervously.
“And what do you want, John Dell?”
“Security, comfort for my family.” He replied with a prepared answer, anticipating the question. Broken Verse took the safety off the second gun. “Is that the truth John?”
“Yes.” He said instantly.
“It's important thing to remember here that if you are not completely honest with me, you will die.” He nodded, nervously. “So you have a family John? Surely they would be distraught if you were to be arrested or killed, leaving them without a husband, a father, and no man to provide for them?” He had not prepared for the question, he was sweating nervously.
“I-I had no choice. I'm not a smart guy, and I seem to fail at most things...except fighting. All I need for that is my fists, and my body. I just stand there, look scary, point and shoot a gun maybe.”
“I understand. It's tough out here. So how's your relationship with your family?” The man looked at Broken Verse scared and confused, before answering.
“It's good. My wife understands that it's something that I have to do, even if I don't like doing it. And my kids...well they're happy.” At his pause, Broken Verse obviously moved his finger closer to the trigger. “Err-err the oldest one just got into school, I managed to get enough money together. But, we've got another one-”
Death. Shocked and lifeless, the body of John Dell slumped to the floor. His wife shivered.
Broken Verse turned his focus back to the weasel. “You talk about 'what you do'. Sure, you're a Verdano. You've got sex, comforts, money. Everything you need to 'live'. That is what the followers call it. But you know, that despite those base pleasures, you feel an emptiness in your heart that you can't fill. You don't have love for anyone, and nobody loves you. And so you fill that hole with murder and crime. It creates a darkness in your heart overshadowing the emptiness, and it dulls it's pain. But look at the truth inside yourself. You could never live without love. Your life is meaningless. You should be dead instead of John Dell there. So why aren't you?”
Because the dirty truth is, your life is just as meaningless as his.
“The Insipid, Intolerable, Monotonous Cacophony! It consumes your mind, because you are choked by it from the day you take your first breath to the day you are buried in the mud. Those who hum along to it's tune insist on it persisting to string you along after your death until they dump you in the ground like the trash you are. It tells you what living is. But Living is refusing to dance to it's tune. Living is stepping out of the existence of man, and becoming something beyond. It is fighting against it, tearing it apart until the day you Die. Those who drift along to it's melody do not Die. They just can't hum anymore because they've run out of breath. And you should be proud that when you rush into it's arm you know true Death. Proud that you fought back, and Broke the Verse.”
P.S. I would appreciate some feedback, or at least recognition that you've read it XD I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but it would make me happy to see that someone had read it :P
Bad Voodoo by @Beyond Reach. Arc ID #373659. Level 20-24. Mr. Bocor has fallen victim to a group of hooded vigilantes who have been plaguing Port Oakes, interfering with illegal operations and pacifying villain's powers. He demands that revenge is taken on these miscreants and his powers are returned! You look like just the villain for the job. Challenging.
And the conclusion of No Mercy. I would appreciate even the three words 'I read it'. To know that you had done so :P
Explosion. Dust and rubble crackled through the new entrance to the warehouse that had been presented, and the plethora of different armed civilians within suddenly turned their eyes towards this...distraction. A sound like someone spitting cut through the air, only louder, and faster. It made a hole in the neck of one of the rebels on the warehouse floor, silencing him as it killed him. As he collapsed to his knees, the body of a young woman crashed headfirst into the floor from seventy feet up in the air, where a walkway going round the inside stood. Ropes were tossed over the side and more silenced shots were fired as mercenaries who didn't fire rappelled down them, hopelessly following the falling corpses of more sharpshooters.
The animalistic dissonance of gunfire erupted. Broken Verse slipped into the warehouse and casually walked unnoticed through the chaos as he had so many times done before. Solomon, the man in the olive green hood was even oblivious to him as he directed his troops masterfully against this sudden ambush, while doing what little he could himself with his two pistols. By the time he saw Verse approaching him, it was already too late. In a moment the villain had kicked out his leg and pushed to the floor - considerably non-lethally. With a swift, debilitating but not deadly stomp to the throat, he dragged him by his hood into a room at the back of the warehouse.
It was dark, small, empty. Dust choked the charcoal walls and thick cobwebs fortifying the corners made the room appear even smaller. A single window sat in the wall at the back of the room, small enough to fit a man through, but it wouldn't open. Very little light managed to get through the thick dust coating it. Solomon was now almost upright. Broken Verse grabbed him by the neck, pushed him into the wall at the back of the room and crashed his knee into the leader's ribs, stunning him again. Solomon. He said with a smile, stepping back about a foot. Let's see what you are reduced to when you take the mask of a general away.
Broken Verse pulled off his hood and all the equipment on his belt, finishing with his face scarf. What was left was a boy, no older than seventeen, reeling from the beating he had just been given and with a terrified look on his face.
Who are you? He asked, still retaining some of the confidence of a leader.
I am known as Broken Verse, and I am someone who needs your help. He said in his usual genuine voice. Nothing but a look of confusion consumed Solomon's unblemished face. You have some unrivalled skills. A leader who given a mob of untrained rebels equipped with whatever they can scavenge can crush a patrol of highly-trained soldiers with the most advanced weaponry that money can buy is a prodigious creature. A leader who is so confident of his skills that he believes he can replicate that on a grand scale is invaluable. However... At that point he paused, looking down, long since having abandoned his intimidating stance directly in front of the boy. Putting a great deal of effort into this 'act' if it was such he looked up to Solomon with a well-known expression that says, 'I've got bad news'.
You know as well as I do that even when bolstering your numbers with the elite, metahumans etc. taking on the Arachnos presence here is a gamble. Sure, you could do a good job of taking Fort Darwin once you've got your hands on the EMPs that man was going to sell you. It's a small, not-well fortified base, it should be relatively easy. And we both know you've got most of Darwin's Landing, and it would be a good war for Mercy City. But, by the time you've cleared almost all of the island, cut your way through the city and it's Arachnos Tower, you could hope to have close to as many troops as you started with by recruiting more citizens as you go along. But you wouldn't be able to take Fort Cerberus with that. We're talking about Ghost Widow's Tower. She'd tear your army to shreds. By this time Solomon had gone completely white, realising the truth of what he was attempting.
And of course we're forgetting the fact that as soon as you take Fort Darwin Arachnos will fly in an elite army to make an example of you, exterminating every single one of you and probably burning Darwin's Landing to the ground. Broken Verse's voice returned to it's usual casual carelessness. All the second skin of a valiant general had been cut away, and the petrified boy slid down against the wall to the ground. Now, Mr. Solomon, are you really going to go back out there and lead your troops to certain death? Solomon sat there, silent for over two minutes, just staring into space. Broken Verse waited patiently in front of him with a smirk on his face. Finally, the boy turned his head up towards the villain who had shattered his veil.
What do you want from me? Verse made no attempt to hide his smile as he knelt down to Solomon's level.
A partnership. Give and take. I want to give you the opportunity to really destroy Arachnos, because let's face it- he grabbed him roughly by the centre of his shirt deep down inside your soul, you know the real reason you started this war wasn't to liberate the people of Mercy Island. It was to get revenge on Arachnos for killing your family. You can carry around the illusion that it's for any other reason, it doesn't bother me. After all, eventually Mercy will be 'liberated' if our partnership works out. Broken Verse rose to his feet, pulling Solomon up with him.
Now, come with me. He offered his hand.Come with me and save the lives of every rebel under your command. Come with me and one day, you will stand over the corpse of Lord Recluse, knowing that your family's memory has been avenged. Solomon took his hand.
Bad Voodoo by @Beyond Reach. Arc ID #373659. Level 20-24. Mr. Bocor has fallen victim to a group of hooded vigilantes who have been plaguing Port Oakes, interfering with illegal operations and pacifying villain's powers. He demands that revenge is taken on these miscreants and his powers are returned! You look like just the villain for the job. Challenging.
This is a short story introducing my new villain "The Broken Verse" who will swiftly join the Union universe, unfortunately first, he needs to make a name for himself. And what better place to do that, than on Mercy Island? I present to you the first chapter of No Mercy. Warning, it could be easily described as not PG-13. So if you are 13 or under, don't read on.
“This is a waste of time...waste of time...” A voice that rang as that of a human, and yet had a tone to it that you have never experienced from any other man echoed in the empty, burnt-out warehouse on Mercy Island. A group of figures sat around something that was once a wooden table but had borrowed many of the attributes of the building it rested in; it was decaying with mould, missing several vital parts and had been reduced to lifeless carbon. A lantern sat in the centre, a glass shield protecting anything surrounding it from ignition, but if the flame were to spill over onto the table, it was extremely doubtful it would catch alight, considering it's state. In fact, the lantern was rather useless altogether, as it only barely illuminated small aspects of the appearances of those who surrounded it, although they clearly appeared to know each other.
“Quiet Creed! You know as well as anyone that there was no other option than our meeting.” A gruff deep voice was released from a massive form fitting to it's power.
“Burke, he's got a point, I mean, what the **** is with this ***** little hovel!? For all we know a gang of Snakes could be sitting on the top of this building, listening in!” A soft yet commanding New York accent left the mouth of a dark-skinned, bald man in what appeared to be a police uniform.
“Look, Callum. We can't meet up in any of our usual haunts. We can't trust our own brothers anymore. I have as little idea as you do why people are so attracted to that kid. And as for the Snakes...I hope they are, so they can hear why they should be afraid, and why they should act. Regardless trust isn't something we can put in our allies anymore, not even the sadistic bastards you have on your force.”
“And so we turn to our enemies...” A dry, quiet voice that had a small yet evident note of eastern European but was mostly carried on a southern US accent drifted across the table like a cold breeze. It's holder was a pale-faced young man with light brown hair whose bone structure spoke of death and whose clothes spoke of little more than darkness.
A lighter ignited next to the gaunt young man, presenting a small flame at his side. It slowly expanded beyond it's regular bounds, illuminating another young man with a strong jaw and crew cut red hair. The tattoo of a dragon was clear along the top of his skull and down the back of his neck. He manipulated the ball of flame, seemingly bored. “I can tell you why people are so attracted to that kid. He gives them hope. And for people who either are living into the depths of poverty, oppressed by – let's face it – us, stepping into a program with a man who is known for horribly mutating and often killing his subjects or have just given up on life altogether – I'm looking at you Petrovic - a man who tells them that they can step out of their shell, rise up and make a difference is something that shines so brightly to them, they can barely comprehend it.”
“If I didn't know any better...” whispered the black-garbed young man identified as one of the Petrovic brothers, “I'd say that you sympathise with that idealist piece of trash. You surprised me with your eloquence there FAB, don't disappoint me now with the idea that you believe that this little boy has a hope of success. He'll be cut to piece by Arachnos bullets soon enough.”
“But it's not soon enough, that's why we're here.” Interjected Burke, his powerful voice bringing the group's attention quickly to him. “We can't wait for Arachnos to realise that Solomon is a real threat to their hold over Mercy, because once they intensify their forces here, we're all ruined. Creed will no longer be able to perform his experiments hidden from the eye of Recluse in the ruined streets of Darwin's Landing, I'll probably be executed for avoiding Arachnos taxation and administration, you two,” indicating the Hellion and Skulls leaders, “will have your presence here routed in weeks and it won't take long for Arachnos to get wise to the deals you've made with me and Creed, Lieutenant Callum.”
Suddenly the door burst open and what looked the form of a Snake was forced backwards through the door, followed by a man dressed in a beige and dark red 3-button suit, with thick dark red lines running down the sleeves. In a fraction of a second the previously unharmed Snake froze and dropped with some force, dead on the table. The especially keen-eyed observer would have seen the man procure a hunting knife from up his sleeve and in a paradoxically subtle movement, stab the Snake under the chin with some force, before returning the blade to it's hiding place. Burke and Callum leapt to their feet, both procuring and aiming a firearm at the new arrival, an assault rifle and a handgun respectively. FAB followed suit, standing to attention and splitting the flame in two, wielding one in either hand, ready to strike. Doctor Creed crawled under the table while Petrovic stayed seated, unfazed.
“Who the **** are you!?” Yelled Lieutenant Callum, first to speak.
“Please, this will just take a second...” muttered the man, procuring the hunting knife again and reaching forward towards the corpse of the Snake.
“You don't have a second before I blow your head of.” Declared the commanding voice of Burke. The strange visitor sighed, annoyed, before turning to Callum.
“I should probably tell you before I do this that you were right, there were Snakes on the roof. They're dead now.” Stated the man, maintaining his attitude of boredom with the situation. The Ripper responded with a look of anger and confusion on his face.
“Before you do what?” The stranger didn't respond in words.
He suddenly spit something the eye of the Lieutenant, which simply from the sound the others could tell was beginning to burn. Instinctively Callum shut his other eye and reached up to the injured one with his hand, releasing the tight two-hand grip he had on his weapon. Meanwhile, the strange man retrieved a handkerchief from the front pocket on his blazer, carefully and precisely dabbing at whatever remained of the substance around his mouth. Suddenly, he unleashed a flurry of slashing and stabbing attacks towards the Lieutenant, the speed at which they were executed making the details unclear to the casual observer, as seemed the norm with his attacks. What had occurred was that there was actually a scalpel concealed within the handkerchief he was using to sanitise his mouth, and he had repeatedly stabbed and slashed at the neck of the guard before he could react. A fountain of blood erupted from the Ripper's neck as the murderous stranger cleaned his bloody instrument.
Seeing the Hellion preparing to unleash a blaze of flame, he quickly dashed towards the limp standing corpse of Callum, and as it fell, he used it as a shield to protect himself from the attack. The moment FAB relented the stranger emerged from beneath the corpse with almost inhuman speed and tossed the scalpel in a single fluid, subtle motion guiding it towards the jugular vein of the satanic thug. With the swiftly dying corpse of the Hellion still not collapsed onto the floor, the man casually turned to the remaining living members of the group and said, “now, where were we?”
“Ah yes! I remember, I was about to extract the poison from the venom gland on this creature's neck while it still was full of the creature's vitality. Unfortunately that time is passed, so I suppose I should introduce myself.” Burke stood by and observed this sight with a mixed expression. He didn't appear to be intending to open fire on this visitor – despite the fact that he had murdered two of his potential allies in a matter of seconds – but it was almost as if he was angry that the man assumed he wouldn't. Regardless, he allowed him to speak. Petrovic sat by, his expression had since advanced from utter indifference to mild amusement at the two deaths, while Doctor Creed poked his head above the table.
“You can come to know by the moniker The Broken Verse. I think I should explain my actions before we go any further, so there's no confusion. Lieutenant Callum is a member of the Rogue Isles Police Force, and thus he answers to Arachnos and Lord Recluse. Consequently, regardless of his actions, he would unquestionably sell you to Arachnos in exchange for a pardon for his dealings with you. I'm surprised you would make such an elementary mistake, Mr. Burke. So he had to go. As fpr the one who calls himself Fire and Brimstone, well, before I came here I thought that he would be too volatile a character to work with, and my suspicions were just confirmed, so I eliminated him as well.” Pausing, Verse wandered over to the corpse of the Hellion, ignoring the assault rifle that Burke still carried, on his feet, the sight still following the mysterious attacker. He retrieved his weapon, cleaned it once more and returned to the head of the table.
“I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here, and who I am. Well, I'm a man who wants to help you with your problem. You are here because Jacob Solomon has been forming a people's army to fight against the Arachnos presence here on Mercy Island, unfortunately ignorant of the fact that his actions will only increase this presence. I am offering to dispose of him for you.” In response to this, Petrovic angled his head upwards to look at Verse, but remained silent, a minor smirk fixed upon his face. Burke slowly lowered his weapon, not any less confused.
“And how do you intend to do that? He isn't exactly someone who fights on the front lines.” Burke asked, though not at all cynically, he was asking in a hopeful tone that this individual really did have what it takes to get rid of their menace.
“I thought I demonstrated that. All I'd need to do is meet him face-to-face. If my killing him results in his fanatical followers also killing me right there, well that's some poor fortune. Though I hope to arrange it so that does not occur.” He made it sound so easy, when they knew it would be far from the case. Regardless of that, the three of them just got the gut feeling that he was capable of pulling it off. Burke paused, with a pensive look across his face. After a moment he looked up at Verse.
“What do you want in return?” He was obviously expecting this, his answer sounded as though it had been prepared.
“Nothing, at least not right now. It's a simple agreement between friends. I scratch your back, and somewhere down the line you do the same for me.”
“I'll need nothing that I don't already have to perform the task either. Except, maybe...” He knelt down at the corpse of the Ripper, a thick congealed pool of blood expanding outwards from his neck. He carefully removed the handgun from where it lay beneath his hand and carefully cleaned it with the handkerchief. “I think I might need one of these, at least not to look to out of place.” Even Petrovic frowned at Verse's ignorance of his eccentric appearance. “I don't imagine I will take very long, but this will be the last time you see me before I come looking for my favour. Solomon and I will both disappear into the wind, and your problem will be solved.” The three of them still somewhat shocked by his entrance and actions, remained silent as he left the unstable building, and disappeared into the streets of Darwin's Landing.
Bad Voodoo by @Beyond Reach. Arc ID #373659. Level 20-24. Mr. Bocor has fallen victim to a group of hooded vigilantes who have been plaguing Port Oakes, interfering with illegal operations and pacifying villain's powers. He demands that revenge is taken on these miscreants and his powers are returned! You look like just the villain for the job. Challenging.