The rooftop was cold, the wind biting through my hoodie as I lay webbed to the concrete.
Arms pinned. Legs tangled. Completely trapped.
A familiar situation.
I'd been in restraints before—back when I first woke up in this world, tied to a chair in a Maggia warehouse with some steroid-addled goon threatening to cut off my fingers.
Back then? I'd been helpless.
Now? Now I had options.
But I didn't take them. Not yet. Because standing above me, arms crossed, was Spider-Man.
And despite the ridiculous situation I was in, despite the fact that I could break out of these webs with some effort… I didn't want to fight him.
He wasn't the enemy.
Not yet, anyway.
"Alright," Spider-Man sighed, crouching down so we were at eye level. "Wanna tell me who you are before I start making up my own backstory for you?"
I stared at him.
"Because, right now," he continued, "I'm leaning towards 'escaped science experiment with a grudge,' but I'm open to suggestions."
I let out a slow breath. How was I going to play this?
I could spin a story. Give him some half-truth. I'd done that before.
Or…
I could even the playing field.
"We started this conversation on a informational imbalance, I knew your identity and yet you don't know mine, so lets fix that shall we ?" I said with playfulness in my voice.
I dismissed the Black Knife armor and let him see my face, Spidey seemed almost surprised to see me reveal it.
" My name's Arjun Roy, as to what am I ?"
I smirked slightly. "I could be a lot of things."
Spidey tilted his head. "Oh good, you're one of those guys. Lemme guess—'Who I am doesn't matter, only the mission does' kind of speech incoming?"
"Not quite," I replied. "But since you seem like a guy who likes options, let's play a game. Guess who I am."
Spidey let out a tired sigh. "Seriously?"
I ignored him.
"Option one: I'm a time traveler from a future where your identity is public knowledge."
Silence.
"Option two: I'm a mutant with precognition, and I just know things."
Still nothing.
"Option three: I'm an ex-SHIELD agent who stole a list of secret identities before going rogue."
His fingers twitched. He didn't like that one.
"Option four: I'm a government experiment, built specifically to track, analyze, and neutralize vigilantes like you."
I let that one hang in the air.
Then I chuckled. "Honestly? Could be any of the above."
Spider-Man didn't move.
I met his masked gaze.
"But none of that matters. What matters is Mutant Town."
Something about the way I said it made him pause.
He crossed his arms. "Alright. Let's say I play along. What about M-Town?"
I watched him carefully.
"You tell me," I said. "What do you know about it?"
He shifted slightly. "Enough to know it's a mess."
I stayed quiet, letting him talk.
"M-Town's been bad for years. Drugs, crime, corruption—same as every other rundown part of New York, but worse. And the cops? They don't care. Half of them are scared of mutants, the other half are just waiting for the place to implode."
His tone was frustrated.
"I hear about mutants going missing from there all the time. No one does anything. No one can do anything. And the drugs? They don't just boost powers—they change people. In ways that don't make sense."
I nodded slowly. "And you never patrolled there?"
Spidey hesitated.
"...I wanted to and sometimes I did," he admitted. "But I was stretched thin. When you spend your nights keeping the entire city from turning into hellhole, there's always too much to do, too many people to save and too many bad guys to take down in this city"
I clenched my jaw.
That was the problem.
M-Town didn't just need saving.
It needed someone who cared.
"Yeah," I muttered. "That's what I thought."
Spidey tilted his head slightly. "That why you called me? To give me the 'Hey, you ignored us' speech?"
I exhaled.
"No," I said. "I called you because someone is flooding M-Town with a drug that's killing people. And no one is stopping it."
" Just this afternoon, drugs laced with some unknown mutagen flooded the streets here, it caused many peoples mutation to go into overdrive, some grew tumourous growths all over their body and one guy even imploded"
Spider-Man stiffened.
I continued.
"The drug is called Kick. And it's not just making mutants stronger—it's making them unstable. Twisting them. Killing them and it's addictive as hell."
I could tell he was listening now.
"And the guy behind it?" I let the words settle.
"His name is Sublime."
Spidey's entire posture changed.
Yeah.
He knew that name.
"...You know that name?" I asked with some surprise.
" I only know about one sublime, he is scientist from Canada who published a few interesting papers on mutant genome and how it could be supressed using electromagnetic inhibitors, he went quiet on all scientific forums a few years ago."
I nodded. "He's not just some scientist. He's a sentient, parasitic bacteria that mind control and take over human bodies that's been manipulating and pushing anti-mutant agenda for years now and also he doesn't just sell Kick—he is Kick. Sublime can't control mutants due to the presence of X-gene so he is making kick so that he can take over them too"
"Kick is not some type of serum or medicine cooked up in labs, it's a bacterium that comes from sublime that somehow boosts mutant powers at the cost of making them vulnerable to his mind control, you see he is not doing this to earn money or power, he literally wants to eliminate the only people who can resist his mind control"
Spider-Man let out a slow breath.
"Well," he muttered, "that's one of the weirdest conversations I have had and I have had to talk to trapster"
"As bad as you are making it sound it could be a make-believe story or you have a very creative mind with a lot of time to kill without any proofs"
I knew he would be skeptical about all this, so I prepared beforehand.
"Look over there in the corner, there's a box, check it."
Spider-Man hesitated for only a moment before moving. He flipped off the ledge, landing on the rooftop below with an effortless grace that I could only dream of replicating. In a single smooth motion, he reached the small metal lockbox I had stashed behind a rusted air vent.
With a flick of his wrist, he web-yanked the lid open and started rifling through the contents.
His movements were quick, efficient—eyes scanning the documents at superhuman speed.
I had filled with the box police report which included the toxicology report about kick and the data I found in warehouse and few other things.
What am I looking at here?" he muttered, flipping through the papers.
"Police reports. Arrest records. Drug busts that got shut down before they could go anywhere. Data pulled from a local kick warehouse. Online chatter. My own research. A few other things."
Spider-Man didn't stop flipping through.
I watched as his posture shifted. His usual casual stance—slightly slouched, weight balanced on one foot—straightened.
Because now?
Now he was taking it seriously.
After a few more seconds, he finally spoke.
"…This looks legit enough," he admitted. "Still, I'd feel better if I had more time to go over it properly."
I nodded. "I figured. But time's the one thing we don't have. Every second we sit around, Kick keeps circulating, and we get closer to more people dying."
I then gave him a rundown of what I'd been doing—burning down warehouses, cutting off suppliers, shutting down major distributors like Kaufman and Frankie.
Spider-Man remained crouched, completely still, but I could tell his brain was working a mile a minute behind that mask.
"There are three more locations in the city where Kick is still being produced and distributed," I continued. "And the people running those places? Way worse than Kaufman or Frankie."
I clenched my fists.
"I can punch out as many dealers as I want, but that's not going to fix the problem."
Spider-Man let out a sharp exhale. "Glad you figured that out before you went full Moonknight"
I smirked slightly. "One of my friends told me I couldn't punch away the problems that plague M-Town—not alone, anyway."
"And you actually listened?"
I shrugged. "Yeah. Because he's right. That's why I contacted you."
Spider-Man tilted his head slightly. "I don't get it. Why me? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, but shouldn't you be asking, I don't know, someone with actual authority? Like the X-Men? Or the Avengers? Wouldn't they be a better option?"
I let out a small scoff. "The Avengers? Yeah, no. They can't help."
Spider-Man sighed, already knowing where I was going with this. "Because of the UNSC charter?"
"Exactly," I nodded. "They can't just step in wherever they want. Every major move has to be approved by the UN Security Council, and guess what?"
I gave him a humorless smirk.
"The UNSC has too many anti-mutant members. No way in hell they'd greenlight anything that actually fixes M-Town."
Spidey muttered something under his breath. "Right. And even if Cap or someone wanted to help, they'd get tied up in bureaucracy."
"Pretty much."
"Okay," he said, raising a hand. "Fine, I get why you can't go to the Avengers. But the X-Men?"
I exhaled sharply. I knew this was coming.
Spider-Man leaned forward slightly. "They're literally a mutant superhero team. If anyone should be handling this, it's them."
I looked him dead in the eye.
"They're too busy," I said simply.
Spidey didn't look surprised.
"Genosha?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. Ever since the coup, they've been tied up trying to stabilize the mess. They don't have the manpower to spare for M-Town."
Spider-Man clicked his tongue. "Right. Between the war in Genosha and the constant mutant rights battles, they've got their hands full."
"Exactly."
He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. "Still, though. If you did reach out, I'm sure they'd send someone. Why didn't you?"
I hesitated.
Not because I didn't know what to say.
But because I knew that saying it out loud would make it real.
"The X-Men… don't go far enough."
Spidey's head tilted. "How do you mean?"
I clenched my jaw.
"They fight battles, they defend mutants, they protect—but they never fix the system. They never actually change things."
I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck.
"They don't hit back when they need to. They don't crush the root of the problem. They stop the symptom, but never the disease. And people like Kaufman and Frankie?"
I looked up at Spider-Man.
"They're just symptoms. The disease is still out there."
Spidey was quiet, letting me finish.
"And I don't have time to do things halfway."
"But I barely made a dent," I admitted. "There are three more locations still producing and distributing it."
I held up three fingers.
"First, there's The Blue Orchid—a high-end nightclub in Manhattan. It's got the biggest flow of Kick going out to the rich and powerful."
Spidey made a small noise. "So, classic 'crime lord runs a shady club' deal. Got it. What's the second?"
"Golden Shine Laundromat. Looks like a regular dry-cleaning place in Hell's Kitchen, but it's actually a processing hub. They take in the raw materials, refine them, and ship them out across the city. There's probably a lab below the laundromat"
"And the third?"
I hesitated.
"That's the problem," I admitted. "There's one more factory—an actual production site. But I don't know where it is."
Spidey hummed, deep in thought. "If it's the main lab, it's probably off-grid. Hidden. Could be underground, offshore, maybe even somewhere outside the city."
"Yeah," I agreed. "But we can't just sit around waiting for it to pop up. The nightclub and laundromat? We need to hit them—hard. And at the same time."
Spidey tilted his head. "You're planning a coordinated strike?"
"Yeah," I said firmly. "I know they've beefed up security since my little stunt in M-Town. If I go in alone again, I'll probably walk straight into a death trap. That's why…"
I met his gaze through his mask.
"That's why I need to know—can you help me?"
I let the question hang in the air.
"And also…" I exhaled. "Is this even a good idea?"
Spidey didn't answer right away.
He just watched me.
And for a moment, I wondered if I had miscalculated.
Then he sighed.
"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles. "We do this. But we don't go in blind."
I smirked. "Didn't think you'd say yes that fast."
"Yeah, well…" Spidey shook his head. "I was already losing sleep over how bad M-Town was. Now you're telling me there's an actual evil bacteria overlord running a drug empire?"
He pointed at me.
"We're stopping this. But we're doing it right. No rushing in. We gather intel, we get backup, and we shut this whole thing down."
I nodded.
"Sounds like a plan."
"Also could you get these webs off me, they are starting to itch now"
The morning air was crisp, the streets still quiet as I made my way back to Marcus's place. The city wasn't awake yet, but I could feel it stirring beneath the surface—the way M-Town always did, waiting for the next disaster.
My boots barely made a sound as I approached the door.
If I was lucky, I could get inside, grab some food, and crash before anyone noticed I was gone.
I pushed the door open as quietly as I could—
"Where were you last night?"
I froze mid-step.
Marcus's voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant I was in deep shit.
I turned slowly, already trying to come up with something to say. Marcus was standing there, arms crossed, staring me down.
I forced a grin. "Oh, y'know. Midnight jog. Gotta keep the cardio up."
Marcus didn't blink.
I cleared my throat. "Really gets the blood pumping. Highly recommend it."
Still nothing.
"...I see you're not a fan of jogging," I muttered.
Marcus sighed and rubbed his temples. "So the news I heard from half the damn town this morning was wrong?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Which news? The one about the mayor being a Skrull or the one about pigeons being government spies? Because I can assure you, the pigeons are up to something."
Marcus's expression didn't change.
"News that a masked man in black armor walked into Kaufman's club, beat the ever-living crap out of his guards, then dragged Kaufman out and got him arrested. Then did the same thing to Frankie."
I made a thoughtful noise. "Huh. Sounds like someone had a busy night."
Marcus wasn't amused.
"That wasn't you?" he asked, voice flat.
I held up my hands. "Now, Marcus, are you really saying that just because a mysterious, masked vigilante happened to take down two of M-Town's biggest drug lords, it must be—"
"AJ."
I shut up.
Marcus stepped closer. His voice wasn't angry. It wasn't even disappointed.
It was just... tired.
"Why do you keep doing this?"
I frowned. "Doing what?"
"This." He gestured vaguely. "Throwing yourself into fights. Risking your damn life."
I opened my mouth, but he wasn't done.
"You've been here what—a month? You don't have any real ties to this place. You don't owe anyone anything. So tell me…"
He met my eyes, his tone heavy.
"In the short time I have met you, I don't know much about you, I don't know where you are from, what was your background or what even is your power but I know that you are smart so why the hell are you putting your life on the line for a place that doesn't even wants to save itself?"
I could've cracked a joke. Could've dodged the question like I usually did.
But Marcus wasn't looking for bullshit.
And for once...
I didn't feel like giving him any.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
"You ever hear about the Morlock Massacre?"
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. A few hundred mutants living underground got wiped out by some hired killers. The survivors ended up moving to M-Town years ago."
I nodded. "Right. And do you know what happened after that?"
Marcus hesitated, then shook his head.
"Nothing," he muttered.
"Exactly." I took a step closer, my voice sharp. "Hundreds of mutants were slaughtered—and nothing happened. No outrage. No protests. No justice. Just another tragedy swept under the rug."
Marcus stayed quiet.
"You think it'd be any different if the thousands of people living here were wiped out tomorrow?" I gestured out the window, toward the city beyond. "You think anyone would care? You think the people responsible would be punished?"
Marcus clenched his jaw.
"The government doesn't give a damn. The cops don't give a damn. The big-name heroes are too busy saving the world to look down here."
I felt heat rising in my chest.
"Well, someone has to care."
I raised my hands, letting my fire and ice burst to life, the opposing forces crackling in the dim light.
"And that someone is me."
Marcus didn't flinch. He just watched, his face unreadable.
"You really think you can change things?" he asked quietly.
I met his gaze, my voice steady.
"I know I can."
Silence stretched between us.
Then Marcus let out a slow breath and shook his head. "You really are a dumbass."
I smirked. "Takes one to know one."
He sighed. "Shut up."
The wind bit at my exposed skin as I stood on the rooftop, staring through my binoculars at the building across the street. The city below hummed with distant traffic, but up here? It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made you feel alone in a city of millions.
It had been two days since I dragged Kaufman and Frankie out into the open and put them on display for the world to see. Two days since I knocked over two of M-Town's biggest dominoes.
And yet, nothing.
No retaliation. No big moves from the gangs. Just… silence.
The last month had mad silence uncomfortable for me.
I lowered the binoculars, adjusting the grip on my bag. Spider-Man was supposed to contact me soon. He said he needed time to run his own investigation, arrange some things before we moved forward.
I knew bringing him in was a gamble, but no matter how strong I got, heading into unknown territory alone was a one-way ticket to getting killed. I wasn't stupid. I had no one in town I could trust with this.
So I reached out.
Now I just had to hope he actually showed up.
But right now?
Right now, I had a job to do.
But sitting still wasn't my thing.
I had leads to chase. And tonight? I was chasing the biggest one yet.
Through my binoculars, I watched the side entrance of the building across from me.
The 14th Congressional District Office.
A woman in a navy-blue dress stepped out—his secretary. She walked toward a black sedan, which pulled away the moment she got inside.
That left only the security and my target inside.
I could handle that.
I put the binoculars back in my bag, took a deep breath, but before I moved my power flared up, it had been quiet for since before I met spidey but now it was burning to be used so I let the it flow and heard the familiar sound of dice rolling.
1-16 YUGIOH- Called by the grave – A spell card which when used in the YUGIOH card game banishes one card of choice from the opponent's graveyard while negating their effect, here if used by AJ it will destroy and banish any one undead of AJ's choice while negating the power or effect of other's. (High roll ensure's there are playset of 3 of these).
Three green cards manifested into my hand, it had a greenish zombie arm jutting out of the ground pointing at an old sorcerer, my power informed me that it banishes any 1 undead of my choice while negating the power of others in the area.
This could come in handy if I run into any vampires or undead of other kind in the future. I pocket the cards into one of many sleeves of my armor but the sensation of my power wanting to be used is still there so I let it flow again and I hear the sound of dice rolling.
5-4 Witcher – vial of Warrior Nekker Blood - Warrior nekker blood is an item that can be obtained from killing nekker warriors. Nekkers are goblin like monsters that live underground and like to ambush their targets, their blood has no known special property. Since the roll is less than 10, this vial will disappear after 4 hours.
A Vial of red blood appears in my hand and my power informs me that it belongs to some type of goblin like monster that likes to live underground in groups to ambush their prey. Since it has no special properties, I threw it away.
I again started moving towards my target building.
The rooftop beneath me vanished as I leapt forward, crossing the gap between buildings. My boots barely made a sound as I hit the next rooftop and kept going.
Roof-hopping was something that should've taken me weeks to learn, but with the way my body had adapted since coming to this world, it was second nature. Legs stronger. Movements faster.
A few jumps later, I landed on the roof of my target building.
The rooftop access door was standard. Metal, heavy-duty. Nothing fancy.
But the lock? Just a regular key-and-lock mechanism.
Easy.
I let my security mastery kick in, my mind immediately breaking down the lock's structure. I pulled out a small tension wrench and a rake pick from my bag. A few subtle movements later—
Click.
The lock turned.
No noise. No alarms. Perfect.
I pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.
The stairwell was dimly lit, lined with cameras at each landing. Normally, that would be a problem.
But I wasn't normal.
I stayed low, moving in the camera's blind spots as I made my way down. On the next floor, I heard footsteps.
A security guard.
I pressed myself into the shadows, watching as he walked by.
Pistol on his hip. Walkie clipped to his shoulder. Casual stride.
Not expecting trouble.
Good.
I let him pass, then continued down, my boots silent against the steps.
I stopped at the eighth floor.
The office I was looking for was of councilman Martin Everett.
A name that had come up way too often in my research. The guy was a slime—his record scrubbed clean of any dirt. No scandals, but if you digged deep enough you'd find shady money trails out the wazoo, it screamed corruption at first glance.
But that's what made it worse. This guy had been responsible the most for the current condition of m-town.
Soon I found his office.
One door, slightly ajar, its light spilling into the dim corridor.
Inside, sitting at a desk, was Everett.
POV Council Man Everett
The numbers on the screen blurred together as I rubbed my temples, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of my patience.
It had been a long, frustrating day.
I had just finished reviewing the latest reports on M-Town—or as I preferred to call it, the city's biggest mistake.
The recent warehouse fire was still a problem. The arrests at Daniel's Inferno and Frankie's Lounge had caused more headaches than I cared to admit. The criminal ecosystem I had carefully cultivated in that cesspool was now in disarray.
Not that I was too concerned.
Mutants were filthy creatures, incapable of sustaining anything. It didn't matter how much chaos this "black-masked vigilante" stirred up—within a few months, new gangs would fill the void.
They always did.
I leaned back in my chair, sighing. Decades of work had gone into ensuring that M-Town remained a lawless wasteland.
It served my interests perfectly.
I had been gutting the 7th Precinct's budget for years, making sure their response times were slow, their resources limited, their officers underpaid and uninterested.
The more crime flourished, the lower property values sank.
And when the time was right? I'd buy the whole damn district for pennies.
Then? Gentrification.
Once the right people bought in, M-Town would be sanitized—no more filthy mutants, no more degeneracy. Just high-end apartments, luxury businesses, and clean streets for people who actually deserved to live in this city.
That was the plan.
It had always been the plan.
I smirked, looking at my reflection in the office window.
"You're playing the long game, Martin."
The idea soothed me.
The mutants could fight, kill each other, burn their own homes down—I didn't care.
Let them destroy themselves.
I reached for my whiskey glass, but my fingers twitched with irritation as I remembered I had already emptied it.
A moment later, a thud echoed through the office.
I looked up, frowning.
It had come from outside.
I stood, adjusting my tie, and made my way to the door. Opening it, I scanned the room beyond.
Nothing.
Except...
A coffee mug lay shattered on the floor.
I sighed. Damn rats. The whole building was probably crawling with them.
Shaking my head, I turned back into my office, closing the door behind me with a dull thud.
And then—
I froze.
There was someone else in the room.
A tall figure stood by the window, partially shrouded in shadow. His entire body was covered in dark armor, sleek and predatory. A hood draped over his head, and a black mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only piercing golden eyes visible.
Eyes that looked at me with undisguised menace.
I felt my blood turn to ice.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my body tensing. My mouth opened to shout for security—
He moved.
Before I could blink, the space between us vanished.
A gloved hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my cry. His grip was iron, his strength inhuman.
I struggled, thrashing, but he didn't even budge.
Then, he spoke.
His voice was low, calm, and full of promise.
"Shhh, Martin."
"We have a lot to talk about."
No. No, no, no.
This wasn't happening.
I kicked out wildly, my knee slamming against his shin. Nothing. I tried to claw at his arm, but his grip didn't loosen in the slightest.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"I know exactly what you've been doing, Councilman."
My eyes widened.
I froze.
He knew.
He knew.
My heart pounded against my ribs, panic clawing its way up my throat.
I had connections. Powerful allies. If I could just—
"You're thinking about calling for help."
His grip tightened.
"Let me make one thing clear, Martin."
He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No one is coming to save you."
Something inside me broke.
Fear gripped my chest like a vice, suffocating.
"You think you're untouchable."
I shook my head frantically.
"You're not."
My knees buckled.
I tried to speak—tried to beg—but he ripped his hand away only to drive his fist into my gut.
Pain exploded in my stomach, my breath vanishing in an instant.
I collapsed, wheezing, gasping, my body curling inward as I clutched at my abdomen.
Before I could recover, something slammed into the side of my head.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Cold.
That was the first thing I felt as consciousness clawed its way back into my skull. A bitter, biting wind scraped against my skin, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city—horns blaring, sirens wailing, the murmur of people who had no idea that a man's life hung in the balance above them.
My head pounded like a war drum.
I tried to move.
I couldn't.
Something held me in place, tight and unforgiving. My arms were bound, my legs immobile.
I blinked, vision swimming, as I slowly came back to myself.
The night sky stretched above me.
The cityscape sprawled below.
And then—
I realized where I was.
A rooftop.
And not just any rooftop—mine.
A sudden gust of wind whipped at my clothes, and that's when I felt it—the absence of solid ground beneath my feet.
I looked down.
The breath in my lungs vanished.
I was on a chair.
A cheap metal chair, positioned dangerously close to the building's edge.
One wrong move—one shift in weight—and I'd be taking a very, very long fall.
Panic seized me.
I struggled against my restraints—duct tape, tight around my chest and arms.
The chair creaked.
Tilted.
The world lurched.
A terrified, choked sound escaped me as I froze in place, my heart hammering like it wanted to burst out of my ribcage.
Then—
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
A voice.
Low. Calm. Amused.
I twisted my neck, craning to see behind me—
And there he was.
The man in black.
The monster in the mask.
Standing at the other end of the rooftop, watching me.
Even in the dim glow of the city lights, I could see those golden eyes, burning with something cold and unreadable.
He tilted his head slightly, the casual motion of a man completely in control.
"Say one more word without my permission…"
He moved toward me, stepping onto the ledge itself, balancing effortlessly over the yawning abyss below.
"...and you'll get a swan dive straight to hell."
To prove his point, he nudged the back of my chair—just slightly.
The chair rocked.
My stomach lurched.
I bit back a scream, going rigid, afraid that even the smallest motion would send me tumbling into the dark.
This isn't happening.
This isn't happening.
This isn't—
"You must be wondering…"
His voice cut through my panic like a blade.
"...who I am, what I want with you, why I'm doing this—yada, yada, yada."
I felt my throat go dry.
He sounded… playful.
But beneath the amusement, there was something else—something dangerous.
He took another step along the edge, completely unfazed by the drop below, his movements effortless—controlled.
A man with no fear of falling.
I swallowed, hard.
Then he spoke again, his tone shifting.
"Today, Mr. Everett, I am your judge, jury, and possible executioner."
The words wrapped around my throat like a noose.
"And this rooftop, right here? This is my court."
I watched, helpless, as he paced leisurely along the thin edge of the building, his balance unnatural.
"You have wronged the very people you were meant to serve, Mr. Everett."
My pulse pounded.
"You have taken their belief in you as permission to defraud them."
I tried to form words, to say something—anything—but my tongue felt heavy, my brain frozen.
"You have feasted on their goodwill."
My chair rocked slightly again—not from me moving, but from the wind.
"And the people?" He stopped directly behind me now, and I could feel the weight of his presence looming over me.
"They are enraged, Mr. Everett."
A slow inhale.
A pause.
Then—
"And I…?"
His voice dropped, low and dark, the promise of misery woven into every syllable.
"I am their fury given form."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
God help me.
Because I knew—
No one else would.
The cold gnawed at my skin, but the ice in my veins was worse.
I had felt true terror in the past few minutes, the kind of fear that rewires a man's brain.
The kind that reminded me—I wasn't in control anymore.
I was at the mercy of the masked man.
And mercy didn't seem like something he was willing to offer.
"If you're wondering where your security guard is," he said, casually pacing along the edge of the rooftop, his balance effortless, "I sent him a text. Told him to head home early. That you'd be closing up for the night."
He chuckled, low and amused.
"By God, you should've seen him, Martin. He practically skipped on his way out. Guess he doesn't like working for you either."
My breath came in short, panicked gasps.
"Please—" My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard before trying again. "Please, this is all a misunderstanding! I— I haven't done anything wrong! Whatever you think I've done, I swear— I'm just a public servant!"
I rambled, words spilling out without thought, my heart hammering in my chest.
"You can't do this! This is illegal! I have rights! If you let me go now, I—"
I barely saw him move.
A sharp impact against my chest, and suddenly—
I was falling.
The world tilted—the city lights rushed up to meet me.
A scream tore out of my throat, but it never had the chance to leave.
A jerk—a sudden halt—and I was dangling over the edge, my chair teetering on its final balance, held by a single hand.
One single, gloved hand.
The masked man had caught me.
With one arm.
He hauled me back up effortlessly, setting my chair down as though I was nothing more than a piece of furniture.
I couldn't stop the tears that ran down my face. I was shaking uncontrollably, my whole body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"This," he said, his voice suddenly void of amusement, cold and sharp as a blade, "was your last warning."
I sat there, gasping, too terrified to speak.
Then—
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black phone.
"Now," he said, tapping on the screen, "let's go over your charges, Mr. Everett."
I shook my head weakly, but he ignored me, his golden eyes glinting in the dark.
"First and foremost—you are a member of multiple anti-mutant hate groups."
He scrolled through his phone.
"Friends of Humanity, Purity First, The Gray Dawn…" He looked up at me, mocking. "For a corrupt man, you sure are generous. Quite the philanthropist, with all those donations funding mutant lynch mobs and 'purity rallies.'"
I felt sick.
How did he know that?
How did he know any of this?
He continued reading.
"You have embezzled millions—millions—that were meant for the betterment of M-Town and the surrounding neighborhoods. Stolen from housing projects, community programs, even emergency services."
I felt my throat tighten.
"You've made sure the 7th Precinct's budget is cut to the bone, allowing crime to fester so property values could plummet, just so you could swoop in, buy it all up for pennies, and sell it off later for profit."
I didn't deny it.
I couldn't.
Because it was all true.
But he wasn't done.
"You've used your influence to block zoning approvals for hospitals, schools, infrastructure repairs—all so M-Town would remain a broken, festering pit."
I opened my mouth—
"Shut up."
I flinched.
"You aren't even faithful to your wife, it seems."
My stomach dropped.
His voice took on a mocking tone.
"Multiple affairs over the years. Plenty of hush money spent on NDAs. And, oh…" He tapped on the screen again, then gave me a look of pure disgust.
"What's this? Sexual assault? Money used to silence victims?"
I couldn't breathe.
The air around me felt thinner, like I was being buried alive.
"You are truly vile, Everett," he said, stepping closer, voice dripping with venom. "You're not even a man. You're a parasite, leeching off this city, off the people you were supposed to serve."
I felt myself crumble.
My voice came out weak, pathetic—barely a whisper.
"Please…"
I tried to compose myself, to gather even an ounce of the dignity I had left.
"Please, I… I have a family… I— I made mistakes, but— I can fix it! I can make things right! Just— just let me go! We can make a deal! You want money? I'll pay you! You want power? I have friends! People in high places! You don't have to do this! Just— just let me go and we can pretend this never happened!*"
I was begging.
I didn't care.
I just wanted to live.
The masked man tilted his head.
Then, he crouched, leaning in close, his face mere inches from mine.
"See, that's the thing, Everett."
His voice was soft, almost thoughtful.
"You don't get to buy your way out of this one."
I shuddered.
Then he straightened, stepping back, arms crossed.
"Tonight, you have three options."
His voice grew heavier, final, each word like a nail in my coffin.
"One—I throw you off this building right now."
My heart stopped.
"The police will rule it a suicide. The city will forget your name in a month."
I tried to speak, to protest—
He ignored me.
"Two—I leak every piece of evidence I have on you, and you go to jail for the rest of your miserable life. No deals. No loopholes. Just cold, hard justice."
The blood drained from my face.
My mind raced, desperately searching for an out—some way to escape this nightmare.
And then—
"Three."
He leaned in slightly, voice like cold steel.
"You start doing what you were actually supposed to do."
I swallowed hard.
"You fix M-Town. You push every project you blocked. You funnel back every cent you stole. You reverse every policy that gutted this place. And you do it quietly, with a smile, like the public servant you pretended to be."
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.
It was humiliating.
It was unacceptable.
But—
It was my only way out.
The masked man stood tall, waiting.
"The ball's in your court, Everett."
He tilted his head slightly.
"So… what's it gonna be?"
AJ POV
I was heading back to Marcus's house after I was done with Everett.
The bastard would do as he was told—fear had a way of making even the most stubborn men compliant. And hopefully, this was just the start of something bigger in M-Town.
I wasn't naïve. One corrupt politician getting his leash yanked wouldn't suddenly fix things overnight. But it was a step, and if I kept taking steps like this… maybe, just maybe, I could turn this place into something better.
I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets.
I wouldn't have thrown him off the roof.
Not because he didn't deserve it.
Not because it wouldn't have made things easier.
But because I'm not a killer.
The moment you cross that line, it's almost impossible to come back. Everett was scum, but there were better ways to deal with scum than becoming a monster myself.
My thoughts were interrupted as my power pulsed inside me, that now-familiar sensation crawling up my spine like electricity. It had accepted my choice.
The charge built up, rolling like a storm behind my ribs. It wanted to be used.
I let the energy flow freely, that familiar sound of dice tumbling in my mind echoing through my very bones. I took a deep breath, bracing myself.
What now?
The answer hit me almost immediately.
16-10 Final Fantasy – Behemoth - Dubbed "King of the Beasts," this ferocious creature possesses power nigh unparalleled throughout the animal kingdom. Its name is said to have been derived from the Astral similarly revered for his peerless strength and feared for his overwhelming aura: the Bladekeeper, Bahamut. Due to the low roll it will have some of its power and size reduced.
A deafening BOOM rang out like a cannon blast as something massive crashed into the earth a few hundred feet away. The force of impact sent a rush of wind surging down the street, scattering loose trash and rattling windows.
Then, a roar split the night.
Deep. Primal. The sound of a predator.
I turned toward the source, my gut tightening.
It was huge.
Standing at a towering 30 feet in length and weighing at least 50 tons, the creature was a walking force of nature. Its thick, muscular body was coated in deep violet fur, rippling with raw strength under the dim city lights. Its claws were like black daggers, each one easily the length of my arm.
And its horns.
Massive, curved obsidian horns arched back over its head, sharp enough to pierce steel, crack stone, and impale anything dumb enough to stand in its way.
Its eyes—burning red with hunger—locked onto me.
Then, it charged.
The asphalt beneath its feet cracked as it launched forward, moving with terrifying speed for something that massive.
Shit.
I barely had time to react before it was on me.
"Fuck me sideways" was all I could say.