Some Kind of Hero

[AnyOtherName]

Closed for Scuttle Buttin'

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Some Kind of Hero
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Warning: the following thread contains graphic violence and non-consensual situations. Reader discretion is advised.​

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“Eliminate the target.”

“He has a hostage - I can’t get to him without going through her.”

“Targets, then.”

“…But…she’s…”

“A casualty. Do what needs to be done, Valentine.”

For a moment the hero acted as if she were capable of doing what was asked of her. She lifted her right hand, which had been equipped with a projectile weapon prior to the pursuit that led her here. Her aim was steady, hand unwavering as the red crosshairs focused on the other woman’s temple. The hostage, meanwhile, let loose a blood curdling scream as she grasped and pulled and clawed desperately at her assailant’s hold, writhing her body in an attempt to escape him. The villain was cowardly, but effectively, using the captive as a meat shield, huddling his head behind her shoulder and back as an arm wrapped around and held her at the throat. Unfortunately, repositioning wasn’t an option – nor was giving the man time to recharge his weaponry, really –

“For fuck’s sake!” the voice over Valentine’s headset exclaimed. “Do it! NOW!”

A high pitched noise escaped her throat. She was disgusted, both of her inability to perform her duty and in that her employer would demand that she kill an innocent. It wasn’t courageous, much less heroic, to murder civilia—

Before she could finish the thought the other woman’s screaming suddenly stopped. A blast from a pulse cannon struck the hostage in the side of the face, the radiated heat leaving her flesh to simmer in the wake of the destruction. A crater remained, carving out what had once been an eye socket and a greater portion of her forehead. As the woman slumped forward, an abundance of half-liquefied brain matter spilled out onto the pavement.

The villain allowed the body to drop, his expression terrified and confused. The heroes weren’t supposed to cause casualties! …He had never seen or heard of such an event. The man slowly raised his hands, open palms, a gesture of obvious surrender.

“Finish him,” a masculine voice spoke calmly from behind Valentine.

The hero held her weapon on a straight and lifted arm but she had ceased to aim several moments prior. Instead, her bright green eyes stared at the woman’s corpse. She was horrified, frozen, and…she was going to be sick.

“Damn it!” her companion cursed as he took several strides forward.

“I’m not resisting,” the male villain reminded Lord Hail – and/or the cameras that watched them.

Whichever it was, it didn’t make any difference. The hero continued to walk towards the could-be captive of the government, the mounted component of his left gauntlet steadily gaining brightness in a cosmic-like swirling of blue light. At point-blank range, Lord Hail loosed the pulse cannon’s charge into the other man’s chest.

The villain fell back and – much unlike his former hostage – cried out in terrible agony. The shot had burned through his armor, which had been little more than a spandex-like core suit beneath flamboyant and strange cloak styled costume, searing through his flesh and exposing a partial view of his ribcage. The blow would be fatal, eventually, if he was left long enough without treatment. His armor had been of a higher grade than the hero would have guessed: the shot should have done considerable internal damage, which did not appear to be the case…

And so Lord Hail wasn’t quite finished. He continued to approach, stopping once he was close enough to place a heavily armored boot on the villain’s open wound. It made the man scream all the more loudly. The hero leant down, resting his forearm on his bent knee as he intently studied the villain’s face. It was contorted in pain and blood was beginning to well in the back of his throat. Maybe there had been some internal damage, after all? Soon, the man gurgled and choked, his cries for the moment subsiding. “It’s really too bad,” Hail began speaking, as if he had only been awaiting a moment of quiet to do so. “If you hadn’t killed the girl… I wouldn’t be forced to do this, you know?” The hero straightened his posture and took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he aimed his pulse cannon at the villain’s face. Again, a swirling blue light began to glow, quickly intensifying.

The pinned man thrashed and attempted to speak, but instead gasped and caused himself to violently cough up blood.

“…But I think the world will be better off without you, anyway.” The finality of the statement was emphasized shortly thereafter by another discharge from the pulse cannon.

And then: silence. Lord Hail pivoted at the waist, so as to check on his partner’s condition. She was sitting in the middle of the street, her legs bent and on either side of her. Sobbing, a hand covering her mouth…

“Get it together,” he suggested sternly.

That didn’t seem to help. Valentine looked at him, fear apparent in her eyes. She remained silent.

The man removed his boot from the chest of the deceased, a dozen strides carrying him to Valentine’s side. He reached for and took a hold of her arm. A jerk of force hoisted her upwards. She collapsed just as soon as her team mate expected her to find her feet; his continued grip left her to dangle pathetically. Hail turned more fully towards her, took her other arm in his alternate hand. He lifted her again, shook her lightly when she wouldn’t take to standing on her own.

“Snap out of it!” He gave her several long moments to come around, to no avail. “Look. I know it’s hard: fucked up things happen sometimes. But. We do our jobs…for the greater good.” A pause, to which there was no response. “That psycho would have killed countless others if we hadn’t stopped him!” She wasn’t even looking at him anymore. “So what’s more important? The life of single fan? Or the safety of the city?”

She shook her head but made no attempt to verbally reply. A sudden and short lived breeze carried the smell of seared flesh and burned hair to her nostrils. She began to weep more dramatically as she allowed her head to hang forward.

“…The sponsors are going to love this footage,” Hail spoke drily. A short glance around revealed half a dozen C-bots in the immediate vicinity, all with lit recording indicators. Originally named ‘camera bots’, it hadn’t been long before the name of the devices was shortened – and in some cases skewed (to ’see’-bots). They were spherical in shape, with a series of sharp cut slats all around. They’d glow green if emitting propulsion energy, a dull white if recording…and in rare cases they flashed red (when malfunctioning). Each slot was independently wired, allowing for movement and filming to be performed as separate tasks from any of the exposed spaces. At the moment, only one was moving, panning sideways as it continued to focus on the heroes, while the others silently floated in place.

...Thankfully, the public wouldn't see this version of events. Editing was a hell of a thing.

==================​

It was nothing like Verona Edwards thought it would be. Staring at her costumed image in a full length mirror, vivid emerald eyes studying the exposed details of her body…

How did it come to this?

The woman had been a teenager when she was recruited by Legendary Inc. At the time, she had counted herself as lucky. That a globally successful corporation would take interest in a poor wretch like her, that they’d pay her way through a proper training facility and equip her to be the hero she was naturally inclined to be… It was a dream. Four years of study and fostering under the corporation’s care, their education program ending just as it had began: with a contract.

Verona forfeited a lot of rights in the name of serving the people. To be a hero was to be forever monitored and judged and weighed (literally)… by the public just as much as the sponsor, though only the latter retained legal means of punishing undesired behavior or weight gain or whatever else they could think to set fines upon. Still. It was a righteous and prodigious profession.

Not to mention: profitable! Verona couldn’t witness images or reflections of herself without being reminded that she was a complete corporate sellout. Legendary Inc. logos adored every piece of armor on her person. Her chest plate, which was really nothing more than a metal bra (crafted from only the best flexible alloy), was stamped in red on the upper edge of her left breast as well as along the horizontal back strap. The silver colored top held her endowment in such a way as to maximize the audience’s viewing pleasure, more or less appearing to be in the style of a balconette bra: the garment cupped and lifted her double D breasts, allowing the soft globes of flesh to appear as if in perpetual danger of pouring out of their confines. The straps that traveled over her shoulders were placed far to the side, near to her armpits, and were composed of strips of chainmail. Half a dozen additional straps were riveted into the breastplate, three on each side, though they appeared to be purely decorational, merely draping in varying lengths down the upper reaches of her arms. Intermittently, dazzling prismatic sparks could be seen, if light happened to catch any of the many embedded gemstones at a proper angle.

No doubt to match: a cascading chainmaille necklace with similar stonework fit loosely around her neck, the lower reaches of the layered jewelry nestling just above her cleavage. …Not that it was related at all to her armor… But it was pretty and she didn’t refuse when a Legendary Inc. CEO had offered her the gift.

Her gaze trailed lower, sweeping over the curve of her trim waist before tracing the flare of her hips. Her midsection was completely exposed. A considerable flaw in the armor, one would think, were it not for the advancements in barrier technology. Heroes needn’t be covered to be protected. (Though her male counterpart was afforded fully covering, dignified, and traditionally styled armor…) Smooth metal strips “protected” her flanks, running from her top to her similarly metallic shorts, possessively clinging to the bends of her flesh.

...“Shorts”, maybe, was a bit generous, though: they might be cut in such a fashion, but they definitely more closely resembled panties. In any case…the flexible material clung to the definitions of her toned and shapely rear quite wonderously, the corporate logo appearing at the lower cusp of her right butt cheek. Perhaps more noticeable, though, would be the wide fabric panels that hung in front and back of her bottoms. The material didn’t quite cover the span of either of her legs, instead positioned much like a loincloth. Easily shifting with her movements, making glimpses seem all the more riveting, the white silk was embroidered with crimson edges (which was actually a finely printed repetition of Legendary Inc.). The hems of either panel reached three quarters the length of Valentine's thigh and two sets of chainmail strips draped from hip to hip, a pair layering in front as well as in back, connected to her so-called shorts and displayed over the silk.

Her right thigh hosted an ornate holster, with two silver bands wrapping possessively around her porcelain-like flesh. It, too, was branded: vertically down the main body of the accessory. Embellishments were mostly to be found in intricate carvings and a single set gemstone.

All that remained, then, were her gloved gauntlets and knee high boots. Well. And her stockings, which were white and reached as high as her holster. The logos on the final remaining pieces of metal were small, arranged over the back of her 6” heels and on the outsides of her forearms.

Now that she really looked at it: she was wearing lingerie. Metal lingerie with silk accents. And heeled knee high boots.

Pro.

The fact that the realization had taken her this long to come around to…

Verona had been in active hero service for five years. Maybe she had simply failed to notice the ridiculousness of her costume because – well, all female heroes dressed this way. Or maybe she had been drunk on the affection of the fans and less inclined to care. Valentine had always been popular, though she had never earned the title of top earner. Her fame mostly came from advertisement and campaign work, with her just recently being given a real chance to work in the field. She had made appearances, before…and everything went so damned smoothly, she was convinced she was meant to be on the streets, making a difference…

…And then they’d asked her to shoot an innocent. And when she failed to follow orders, she was reprimanded with a substantial fine and a suspension from the field.

Worst yet, her corporate liaison was convinced that Valentine’s most recent fuck up meant that she owed them something. The other woman tried to pressure the 25 year old hero into a modeling job that required her nudity, an offer that was found none-too-kindly by the model. Valentine had thrown a fit, had her contract threatened, and responded by claiming that she was too valuable for the corporation to lose. Her numbers were up, both for endorsements and her personal product line… Still, it had been a stupid move. At least she realized it now.

Now, as she stared at herself in the mirror, already well ashamed of what she saw.

You’re pretty much naked now, she reminded herself. This outfit leaves very little to the imagination. …So. Why are you fighting them like this? It won’t make them put you back in the field… Or earn you any respect.

Her gaze lifted to the reflection of her face. Wide, expressive eyes and full lips vied for the attention of anyone that looked upon her (if they glimpsed above the neckline, at all). A halo of golden strawberry blonde hair framed her visage, softly curling tresses cascading over her shoulders and down to the bend of her waist. Bangs, which were really too long for such a definition, were swept towards the left side of her face.

It's no secret that you're only famous for your looks.

==================​

“She needs to be taught a lesson,” Ms. Greene, Valentine’s corporate liaison, complained. “Bitch thinks she’s special.”

“Well. She is a genuine,” her companion remarked. The man, much like Ms. Greene, was dressed in a well tailored suit. Either could pass for forty, or in the range thereof.

The woman scoffed. “Genuine,” she spit the word back at him distastefully. “After five years? How the fuck does someone not figure it out in that span of time?”

“…She’s a glorified model and actor, Katherine.” The man chuckled and took a drink of the fine liquor that had been so kindly offered to him earlier in the meeting. “Her powers aren’t anything to get excited about. We can only use her in the field reliably if it’s staged: a recently proven point. Everything is sunshine and rainbows for celebrity heroes. You know that.”

“Are you trying to justify her ignorance?”

“I’m saying we might take more steps to shelter the pretty ones, yes.” He smirked.

Ms. Greene groaned and rolled her eyes.

“So you want her knocked down a peg?” the man asked.

“Or two.”

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Her leg was pulled up at an odd, unnatural-looking angle, a shapely calf and thigh stuck out almost perpendicular from her body. Above that, her arms were throw out away from her body almost haphazardly, giving her something of a spread eagle appearance. The chestplate with the red stamp on the left breast had lost a bit of paint, the Legendary Inc logo looking a little worse for the wear. He paid little attention to her as she twisted and turned, his eyes instead focused on the large screen that dominated one wall.

"As you can tell," the man standing in the darkness just to the right of the screen said as the image looped back to the beginning of the encounter, "We can't show something like this to the public without cleaning it up first. But this is clearly a problem we're going to have often with her if this keeps up, so we'd appreciate it if you could... solve it for us.

"Not kill her, of course," he said with a half smile and a glance at the woman standing on the other side of the screen from him, "Just teach her a lesson. And in return, we're obviously prepared to compensate you handsomely, as you can see by the contract in front of you," he said, with a wave of his hand in the direction of the table, before finishing with, "And obviously, your exposure will be greatly increased by this, as well."

The action figure of the hero in question, a busty glorified model whose inaction continued to replay on a loop in front of him, was tossed absently on the table, and he sat forward to skim through the contract once more.

"Obviously," the woman interjected, stepping forward so she was more in the light, "You won't be working for Legendary directly. We can't have you wearing our logo, taking down one of our heroes. You'll be officially operating under the banner of Malevolent Ltd. I'm sure you've heard of them."

"Mm," came the reply, his eyes lifting from the contract to look up at the pair at the other end of the long glass table. "I assume I'll be given all the necessary equipment to deal with her?"

"Yes, of course," the male of the two replied, pulling a pen free from inside his pocket as he moved down the length of the table. "We want you to put on a show for us. Humiliate her. She'll rise from the ashes eventually, but first you have to create those ashes for us."

The pen was uncapped and placed atop the contract, and the man leaned close, his voice lowering when he added, "She's a prissy little bitch, too. Get those tits on display for us, and I'll throw a bonus in for you. Got me?"

A short nod was given, and the pen was lifted off the table. Flipping to the back page of the contract, the tip of the pen was touched to the white of the paper, and his signature was spread out swiftly:

Mordred Farson

----​

The day was clear and bright. Weren't they always? People walked their dogs in the park; nearby, a collection of sidewalk tables outside a cafe were full, the customers all discussing the latest exploits of Lord Hail. The opinions of his companion were mixed, though most of the positive reviews seemed to be based more in the skin she displayed than any skill she showed. All, though, were willing to give her another chance. Sex would always sell.

The steady calm of the day ended in an eruption of glass and plasma.

The explosion came from across the street, the cafe's patrons pelted with shards of glass designed to act like a storm of razors sailing through the air. Screams punctuated the oddly artificial sound of rain that was produced when glass met solid objects. Blood was next to meet the pavement outside the cafe, death by a thousand paper cuts, bodies in various states of distress hitting the ground next.

He emerged almost entirely unseen from the hole created by the explosion, blue smoke swirling around him. In the midst of the chaos the street had dissolved into, Mordred was the picture of calm observation. He was tall, just over six and a half feet at full height, and thin, his sharp features giving him an almost bird-like appearance. His eyes were dark, the iris and pupils nearly blending into each other, further strengthening his avian appearance.

The only part of him that was exposed was his face, the rest covered in a thin, form-fitting blue material, overlaid with what appeared to be thin veins filled with a glowing green liquid from head to toe. In the center of his chest was an angular red hourglass shape, two triangles meeting at their points. Around his waist a belt of a black, reflective polymer was fastened, small compartments spread out evenly around it holding various gadgets and small weapons. In the center of the back of the belt, a small battery rested, supplying power he had yet to display.

On both shoulders and down his back the length of his spine, black and silver metallic letters spelled out Malevolent Ltd, the colors changing depending on the viewing angle.

"Oh Valentine, my Valentine!" he called out as the sounds of sudden chaos began to settle and the cameras settled in their various vantage points, both on the street and high above. He turned slowly until he found the nearest camera, and he spread his arms as he bent at the waist, bowing slowly to his audience.

"Good afternoon, everyone!" he said, straightening up before he continued," I am Mordred Farson. Like you, I saw Valentine and Lord Hail save the day... who could escape it, really? They looked like the perfect team, didn't they? Covering each other's backs, vanquishing their terrible foe."

He paused and held up a gloved finger, a thin smile finding life on his face.

"But I think it was far more Lord Hail than Valentine. Don't we all, really? Of course. So let's conduct a little experiment, shall we?"

He half-turned, so the camera could see the carnage of the cafe behind him, his other hand extended to gesture towards the collection of citizens trying to recover from the explosion and assault of glass shrapnel that followed.

"For every minute that she does not show, I will kill one of these people. From this moment forward, their blood is on her hands. How long do you think it takes her to cram those balloon tits into her armor, anyway? I'm positively buzzing with the anticipation of finding out!"

Turning fully away from the camera, the Malevolence Ltd. logo in the center of the shot now as he walked away, he crossed until he reached the first of the cafe's wounded customers. Pulling the woman up by her hair, a fresh scream rose above the din, the woman's legs flailing to ease the pressure as she was dragged into the middle of the street. A sharp stomp to her ankle shattered the bone just as she found her footing, and another cry echoed off the face of the buildings around them.

Throwing the woman down to the street in front of him, he reached into one of the small compartments on his belt and withdrew a silver cylinder that fit in his palm, the black button on top concealed by his fingers.

"Tick tock, bitch," he called out, punctuating it with a kick to the woman's ribs.

 

[AnyOtherName]

“We didn’t have to kill her,” Valentine lamented. “Or him.”

“His death was essential,” Hail responded smoothly. “As for the woman? Her loss could have been avoided.” His steely blue eyes shifted to his companion. It had been hours since the event and the two were seated in a back room of HQ. They had just recently been left alone, forced to endure a painstaking amount of bureaucratic procedure and a talking to about the incident upon their arrival. Hail hesitated to chastise Valentine any further but her imploring look left him no choice but to continue. “You should have rushed him. Ripped her away from his grip and just…taken care of the situation. If you give the sponsor the option to dictate your every action...well.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

Understandably, Valentine got defensive. “If I had rushed him, he would’ve hurt her.”

“Maybe. Though I didn’t see that he had an active weapon…pretty sure he was on cooldowns.”

His companion furled her brow.

“You have to approach an anti differently,” Hail continued, speaking of the villain. “Sure, if you could’ve used your powers: your telekinetic ability would’ve allowed you to circumvent the woman, no problem. But. That option nullified…you have to physically overwhelm. As unappealing as going through a hostage may be, in anti cases it’s common and necessary. Better to try to remove the civilian quickly and risk them harm than guarantee it through hesitation.”

==================​

“So what’s he like?”

Valentine looked a little lost at the question.

“Lord Hail,” the make-up artist elaborated. The woman turned towards the vanity, placing an eye shadow brush and palette on the counter, equipping herself instead with a mascara wand.

“Oh, of course.” It was always about Lord Hail, wasn’t it? He was the top earner of Legendary Inc., a hero who tirelessly existed in the field, saving the day…not to mention that he was the most talented of any known telekinetic mutant. A most common ability, to be certain: but one Hail wielded like no other. Whereas most, such as Valentine, had the capacity to control a single non-organic object at a time, Lord Hail’s focus extended into the hundreds. He’s a condescending prick, the hero wanted to reply. But. They worked for the same corporation. It was a huge violation to speak of a team mate in an ill manner: almost as grave as attacking the sponsor directly, in the case of their golden boy. “He’s great!” she lied with a practiced smile. “Even nicer in person than you’d imagine.”

“I knew it!” the other cried excitedly. She seemed to balance out her elation as she focused on the strokes of the mascara wand over Valentine’s lashes. After several moments, though, she couldn’t resist further prodding. “So. You and Hail…?”

“No,” Valentine responded promptly.

“Well, I mean, I know you two have never publicly…been involved. But. You can’t tell me you’ve never…”

“Never. Not even once.”

“…That’s surprising,” the woman spoke in a tone of hardly convinced.

“Why?” Valentine asked challengingly. Thankfully the mascara wand wasn’t near her at present, as she couldn’t help but markedly narrow her eyes.

The make-up artist was obviously unprepared for such problems. The perk and downfall of working fulltime on a commercial set was that you got to meet a lot of different heroes. It was, therefore, difficult to know what to expect. At a loss, the woman gave an open handed gesture coupled with a shrug. After a couple of moments she added, “I…didn’t mean to offend. It’s just. You’re both really pretty, so naturally you look good together.”

Random jerk off make-up artists were the worst. …Valentine really needed to get out of this circuit of operations. But how was she supposed to get back into the field, after her most recent failing? Not taking orders was a pretty big offense…

As if designed to dispel the ultimately irrelevant tension the hero’s headset suddenly came to life. It had been set on the vanity counter upon arrival, the design being least of all accommodating to make-up rituals (of which this was the third of the day, being afternoon). The device hosted a single earmuff styled headphone with an attached visor. Standing and fetching the headset, the hero pressed the hearing piece to her left ear; it attached seemingly without any mechanical means. The blue tinted visor flickered with a silver light and the contact information of the person attempting to reach her. At the press of a side button a small optical screen appeared in front of the hero’s right eye, revealing the form Ms. Greene. “What?” Valentine asked with an annoyed tone.

“I don’t have time for your attitude,” the woman started curtly. “Here, watch this. Then you’ll understand.”

The viewing screen elongated to cover both of her eyes as the image shifted to something far more terrible than Ms. Greene. Valentine witnessed the carnage – followed by a rather dramatic reveal of the villain responsible. ”Oh Valentine, my Valentine!” he called as he emerged from a haze of swirling smoke. The hero studied him carefully, trying to place his identity, attempting to distract herself from the chill the crept down her spine. The man found a conveniently placed C-bot and bowed to it, making quite the show of his introduction. …And intentions. Valentine’s eyes slowly widened and her lips parted as his proposed experiment resulted in an ultimatum. “For every minute that she does not show, I will kill one of these people.” He continued to speak but Valentine heard only a repetition of that. She remained in shock as the camera caught him walking towards one of the wounded: a woman. He snatched her up by her hair and dragged her into the middle of street, the poor victim screaming and flailing helplessly all the while. And then – the sound of shattering bone and a freshly piercing howl from the woman. She was discarded to the pavement just as carelessly as she had been fetched from the sidewalk of the café. Valentine couldn’t be quite sure what it was Mordred equipped himself with in the following moment - but she wasn’t given much time to consider the issue. "Tick tock, bitch!" The villain delivered a sharp kick to the already fallen and suffering woman, whose sobbing finally overcame her screams of pain.

Holy fuck.

The make-up artist approached with a tube of lipstick. She took a delicate hold of Valentine’s chin and moved as if to apply a fresh layer of color. The hero briskly pushed her aside and took off at a run.

==================​

“Mordred Farson!” Valentine called out as she made her appearance on the scene. His name and a limited amount of information was presented from within her visor, with a scanning action attaching to his form as he turned to face her. As the grade of his armor and auto-recognition of visible devices were being identified and listed Valentine was hard pressed to keep up with the display; instead, her bright green eyes (which appeared more so of an aqua through her transparent visor) found distraction in the scene itself. Bodies, mostly unmoving, all bloodied - cut in varied severities - lay strewn about the outside of the café and the street before it. The woman could only hope that more were alive than so appeared (as it would be only natural to play dead with the villain gathering up survivors for executions)… It was impossible to miss the line of bodies that Mordred had been adding to by the minute. Even now, as the man’s attention shifted towards the hero, his grip was upon another unfortunate soul, whom he appeared to be intent to adding to the length of the line.

“I’m here!” She halted her approach from a respectable speaking distance, plasma gun in hand but un-aimed. Her focus crept over a larger of the shards of broken glass with the intention of using it as a projectile. It held in stasis, appearing to merely be littering the ground as before her influence, fully prepared to launch at any sudden or undesirable movement. “Let the hostage go,” Valentine continued. “Your quarrel is with me.”

Though she wasn’t quite sure why. The name Mordred Farson struck some distant chord but she couldn’t place how or from where it was familiar. Likely he was just trying to make a name for himself, some no one from which she needn’t feel threatened; he’d called her out because he, like many others, had assumed that she was weak.

She knew she could prove him – and everyone – wrong. She had the means for a victory: armor, higher grade than that of her opponent's; abundantly funded weaponry and gadgets...not to mention her power within a field of broken glass.

This guy was in way over his head.

Still. As Mordred Farson's dark eyes found her form Valentine felt a terrible sinking sensation.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

She arrived, and Mordred Farson was actually... a little disappointed. Beneath his suit he had managed to work up a bit of a sweat, his chest rising and falling with the rapid pace of his breathing. It turned out, dragging people out into the street to kill them was not easy work. No doubt, those at Malevolent Ltd would be a little upset at the body count he had managed to tally while waiting for her, but they were also already working to spin that in their favor. The poor fools.

His turn to face her was slow and deliberate, made a little more so by the woman who struggled in his grasp. The woman's clothing was ripped, rivulets of blood streaming down from her knees and elbows. Crouching down just behind her, he took hold of the woman's chin and hair and pointed her tear-streaked face towards the hero that had come to save her.

"Look at her there," he whispered in the woman's ear, though his eyes were fixed on the approaching form of Valentine, "She's here to save you. Aren't you relieved? Aren't you just so happy that she-"

Snap.

The twist of her head was quick and vicious, her body instantly going limp and falling to the concrete in front of him. His eyes went wide in mock surprise as he straightened back to his full height, the hand that had been holding her chin lifting to cover his open mouth.

"Oops," he said, the hand falling away, "I guess I slipped. Another one on your conscious, you tardy girl."

He stepped over the body of his latest victim, another death that Malevolence Ltd. would think they'd have to explain or edit, and closed a bit of the distance between them.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I called you out, specifically," he began, his body turning perpendicular to hers as he began to pace back and forth in front of her, not unlike a professor delivering a lecture. "While, true, it is a delight to see all that skin on display in person, I'm afraid that's not really the reason. And sure, killing a bunch of people and causing some real chaos was fun, but... eh."

He stopped and turned his head towards her, his hands lifting in something of a shrug.

"It's a way to pass the time more than anything else, you know?"

He began pacing again, the question a rhetorical one and not something he planned to wait for an answer to.

"No, see, the real reason I've called you here..."

He stopped, his eyes on the pavement in front of his feet, and then smiled to himself. He let the silence hang in the air for a moment, then turned towards the nearest C-bot, and his smile widened. Without looking at the hero who'd come to vanquish him, he crossed the distance to it and took hold of it by the lens. Pulling it back with him to just in front of the body of the woman he'd been holding upon Valentine's arrival, he turned so he faced the woman once more, with the C-bot just off to the side, the angle enough so his face was fully seen but his view of her wasn't obstructed.

"Apologies for the delay," he said at last, smiling humorlessly once again. "Sometimes their angles leave a little to be desired, right?

"Anyway!" he said more loudly, his back straightening a little, returning to where he'd left off, "Anyway, yes, as I was saying. The reason I've called you hear, dear, lovely Valentine..."

He paused again, his eyes flicking to the lens of the camera quickly, then back to her. His chin dropped slightly towards his chest, but his eyes remained firmly locked on her.

"Is to kidnap you, and rape you. And I'm going to record it, all of it, and put it out for the people. Legendary wants me to knock you down a few pegs. Malevolent wants to take that opportunity to make them look stronger than the really are. But you're going to be fucked worse than both of them."

His eyes left her then, returning once more to the C-bot hovering near him, the signal beaming from it and back to a panic room that was in something of a panic as they watched this spiral quickly out of their control.

"Come and get her from me, motherfuckers. But don't expect her to be a functioning cunt when you do."

Still staring into the camera, he pushed two separate buttons on his belt with his index and middle finger. The first sent out an enhanced EMP pulse from his suit, dropping all the C-bots uselessly to the ground, their transmission severed. The second began to draw power from the battery at his back and the green liquid that flowed through the veins of his suit, the field that continually emanated from him designed to jam her telekinetic abilities.

Bending quickly, he scooped up the dead C-bot he'd pulled over near him, the dull metal of it's hull reflecting the sunlight as he began to cross to where she'd stopped.

"Nap time, sweetie."