3rd Person POV
"Get back, you damn MUTIE!" The thug screamed as he aimed his pistol. "Or else I'll-"
"Or else you what?" Luke asked, stepping closer.
"Ahhhhh!"
The thug screamed as he unloaded his pistol.
Ten seconds later, the gun kept on clicking even though it was empty. Dozens of crushed bullets littered the ground, flattened against Luke's hardened skin.
"You done?" Luke asked.
"You damn mutie," The thug spat.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a mutant." Luke raised his fist.
In an instant, every bone in the thug's face shattered.
===
"Dammit." Luke scanned the area.
He'd been hunting these guys for over a month now, and somehow they keep slipping through his fingers. From what he'd gathered, they used marked vans, plumbers, delivery services, cable companies. Normal enough to vanish into traffic, nobody questions a van if it has a brand on its side.
Mornings were for drug handoffs and collections, nights were for transporting other kinds of product, like girls.
Addicts who couldn't pay, runaways, girls from Harlem or Hell's kitchen. Anyone they thought wouldn't be missed, or know the cops won't look for.
Because of their disguises, finding them was hell. He'd only tracked down one van so far, and it had escaped. He was fast, but chasing a vehicle down in broad daylight would draw too much attention. At the moment, attention is the last thing he needs.
There's been a lot of reports of The MRD in the area lately.
There's a good chance they're looking for him, he hadn't exactly been subtle. Even if he wasn't a mutant, a normal person can't just shrug off bullets or bend steel with their bare hands.
Oddly enough, the truth of what he was wasn't that far-fetched. Someone had experimented on his DNA, indestructible skin, superhuman strength. It wasn't unprecedented, Captain America, and the Hulk went through the same thing. If the rumors were true, the Hulk only existed because the military tried to recreate the super-soldier serum. If they found out about him, who knows what they'll do?
For now, staying under the radar was his best option. Which was getting harder lately, especially with the new rumors floating around.
One about a spider mutant, wall-crawling, webbing people up.
Another about a guy in a bandana, leaping across rooftops and cracking skulls with a pair of clubs.
Hopefully, it stopped there. New York didn't need any more vigilantes.
===
Leo's POV
"What do you think, Om Nom?" I held up my designs.
He glanced at the sketch, yawned, and promptly went back to sleep.
Figures.
It was finally time, time to deal with the Crimson Blade.
[Quest: Investigate the Crimson Blade]
[Reward: 100 XP & 1 Ultra Card]
I'd been putting it off, but I wanted that reward. It wasn't going to be easy, but I had everything I needed, well, for now at least.
"Gacha, Draw. Arkham Knight's Dual Pistols/Rifle, Arkham Knight's Armor, and Ghost's Combat Uniform." The items materialized in front of me.
Part of me wanted to draw everything, gauntlets, blades, bows, all of it, but that would be stupid. Showing up with high-end tech like that would scream problems, I had to limit myself. Which fucking sucked, but it beats ending up on SHIELD's watchlist.
I had a specific look in mind, hopefully, reality matched the image in my head.
I started with the Arkham Knight's body armor, stashing the helmet away. As tempting as the full suit was, the mask was way too advanced for now. The armor was already pushing it, it's at least four times more durable than any bullet proof vest on the market.
That's where Ghost's combat uniform came in, It took some effort, but I managed to fit it over the armor. Once I put Ghost's masks on, the outfit will be complete.
From the outside, I looked like an ex-military, some black-ops washout. That alone might draw attention from the FBI or the military, but SHIELD was my only real concern.
I picked up the dual pistols, inspecting them carefully. After a moment of fiddling, they locked together and shifted into sniper configuration.
Nice.
I slid them into my holsters, Ghost's uniform had no shortage of pockets. Unfortunately, none of his gadgets came with it.
That was a problem, my ammo was finite.
Looks like it's time to go shopping.
===
3rd Person POV
It was still early, 9 p.m.
An old white minivan sat in a narrow alley, beside it stood a man in his early twenties.
"So, whatcha want, kid?" Zack asked. "Something for one person, or a crowd?"
He popped the trunk, inside was a small arsenal. Pistols, a couple of submachine guns, an AK-47, and even a brick of C-4 he'd bought off a pissed-off veteran.
"Uh… I just need a pistol," The kid said. He looked fifteen, maybe sixteen.
Zack didn't bother asking his name. The less he knew, the better.
Judging by how nervous the kid was, he'd probably get caught before ever firing the thing. That happened more often than people thought, It didn't matter though.
Zack grabbed a Glock. "Three hundred bucks, and I'll throw in an extra mag."
"Three hundred's a lot," The kid muttered, pulling a paper bag from his hoodie.
"Retail's two hundred," Zack said flatly. "But that comes with paperwork, ID, and the small detail of you not being of legal age. Take it or leave it."
The kid rummaged through the bag, producing a wad of crumpled bills, he suddenly froze before he could hand me the money.
"Something wrong?" Zack asked.
The kid was staring at something behind him, he didn't get a chance to ask what before the kid bolted off.
"Shit." But he could recognize that look anywhere.
Zack reached for his pocket. "You have no idea who you're fucking with-" Someone grabbed his wrist.
"Shi-" An elbow slammed into his face.
Zack staggered, staring up at his attacker.
The man wore a military-style uniform. A black ski mask covered his head, a skull mask layered over it, the lower jaw missing entirely.
"Who- who the hell are you?" Zack stammered.
The man drew back his fist.
"The name's Ghost."
Everything went black.
===
Leo / Ghost's POV
"Fuck… my head."
The man he knocked out began to wake up. According to his ID, his name was Zack Lambert.
"About time," I said. "Hope you enjoyed the nap."
I'm using my voice mimicry, I decided to copy Ghost's voice, accent included.
"Who the hell are you?" Zack questioned.
"Did I give you a concussion,? I already told you, I'm Ghost, oh." I pulled a combat knife from one of his bags.
"That's mine!" Zack shouted, struggling. "What the hell!"
Zip ties held him to a metal pipe, he wasn't going anywhere.
"Look, I'll make you a deal," He pleaded. "Keep me out of prison, and I'll tell you where the C-4 came from."
"Sorry." I clipped the knife to one of my pouches. "But I'm not a fed, I can't make deals like that."
I checked one of the SMGs. Decent condition.
"You're not?" Confusion twisted into anger. "Then who the hell are you!?"
Who was I? That's a good question. I've already decided to call this Persona, Ghost, but what kind of person do I want Ghost to be?
Marvel was full of people, with lines they are willing or will never cross. There are some who refuse to cross, aka No-kill heroes. Then there's the kind who will only kill if the situation demands it, Conditional killers, There's also men like the Punisher, who didn't draw lines, they erased them.
I like to think of myself as a conditional killer, the templates didn't exactly help. Dexter was literally a serial killer, and Laura and Marcus kill hundreds in their games depending on the player.
So I plan on locking petty criminals, but Monsters. They get buried, Green Goblin..Red Skull, Carnage, Sabretooth, no second chances.
It's like the Rorschach one said 'Men get arrested, dogs get put down.'
Unfortunately, that would make things complicated, most heroes wouldn't exactly trust me if I go around killing every person I deemed truly evil, most of them would probably try and stop me.
So I adapted, I plan on making Personas. Different masks, different aliases, each with their own set of rules. With their set of abilities, separate the attention.
"Hey! Are you even listening?" Zack snapped.
Now, it's time to sell Ghost. I wasn't going for a one to one copy of the character, I wanted to try something else.
"For a man tied up," I said, raising one of my pistols, "you're awfully confident."
Zack eyes widen in fear as he realized his position."Whoa, wait man, I was joking-"
I pressed the muzzle against his lips.
"Shhh." I shushed him "You wanted to know who I am?" I lowered the gun. "I'm someone who's been to war, been bathed in blood. I've killed hundreds, but in my defense, they tried to kill me first."
Zack went pale.
"I came home looking for peace," I continued, aiming at his temple. "Instead, I found my home rotting. With killers, dealers, and other filth." I aimed between the eyes. "So tell me, what are you?"
"I've never killed anyone!" He blurted. "I just sell guns! and I've only been doing it for like four months, that's it!"
"Where'd you get them?" I asked.
"My grandpa, he was an army vet. Found them in his attic after he died."
"And the C-4?"
"Bought it off a drunk vet!" He broke down, snot running down his face.
I sighed and holstered the pistol.
"Here's how this is going to go," I tapped his cheek. "You sell anything again, guns, a bat, a goddamned pocket knife." I yanked his hair back. "I'll put you in the fucking morgue."
"O-okay! I understand!" Zack squealed, a snot bubble forming on his face.
"Good." I released his hair.
I took the van keys, and tossed him his wallet. "I know where you live. Report the van stolen, and I will tell the cops about your grandpa's stash."
"W-what about me?" He whimpered. "There's dogs out here!"
"You're in an alley, not the woods," I said, starting the engine. "Worst case? You get pissed on."
===
"Let me go, you creep!"
A girl screamed as a large man dragged her down an alley.
"Shut up. Nobody's coming, so just—" I tapped his shoulder. "Huh?"
In an instant, I shoved my newly acquired knife through his throat.
The girl screamed as I yanked the knife out of the man's throat, the guy clawed uselessly at his neck before collapsing.
I looked at her, crouching down until I was eye level with her. "I just saved your life. So, do me a favor, Don't call the cops just yet, give me some time to get the rest."
She didn't respond, she just ran.
Behind me, one of the vans I tracked down stood idled. On its side was a fake plumbing logo, how nobody questioned a van out this late was beyond me.
"Hey!" A voice called from the driver's seat. "Hurry up! We gotta move before some busybody-" The driver reached for a beer in the cup holder.
I clamped his mouth shut and slashed his hand.
"Drinking and driving," I said calmly, I pressed the blade to his throat. "Didn't anybody tell you, that's illegal."
The man let out a muffled whimper, grabbing his cut hand in pain.
"Here's what's going to happen. You tell me where the rest of the girls are…" I leaned in. "…or you die like your friend." He nodded.
Good.
If everything went to plan, by tonight. The Crimson blade will vanish, and I'll be one step closer to being unstable.