Virtue All-Stars

[Xanatos]

((OOC: Check out the OOC thread here. For more information.))

Virtue All-Stars #1: Revolver II
Present Day
Outer District, Skyway City

Two weeks I'd been looking for this kid. I can run at 200 miles per hour and it took me two weeks to find some punk kid in Skyway City. Hardly seems right now does it? I should have handled this weeks ago. I don't like being slowed down. Wait a sec...why am I starting at the end of the story? Sorry, bad habit I guess. Comes with always thinking faster than most people. Let me try again; Listen in and let ol' Revolver II tell you a story. It's a short one. All mine are.

It's two weeks ago and I’m fighting Styx outside a convenience store in downtown King's Row. That's right. Styx. Not Charon, the infamous Bone-Breaker, the vigilante half the underworld is scared of and half the underworld doesn't believe in. No I'm talking about Styx. Charon's flip-flopping "is-he-a-good-guy-is-he-a-villain" sidekick. Kid didn't look more than twenty five years old and he was giving me a run for my money. I fired every bullet I had at the costumed cretin but not a single shot hit. I'm called Revolver II and I can't even land a shot with two damn revolvers. That ain't the point of the story though, the fight with Styx didn't matter. (I eventually fled the scene...like I said the details didn't matter.) What mattered was that in all the commotion I lost my hat. That hat was passed down to me by my papa, the very first Revolver. It's more than just a badass looking piece of headwear; it's a legacy.

And legacy is important to me.

It turned out one of Styx's rogues had been watching, incognito, while me and brain-dead-schizo-boy had our little dalliance. The rogue was some z-lister called Andrew Sachs, also known as "The Collector". His shtick was collecting discarded hero equipment, weapons, armour, and memorabilia, and using it against them. Apparently Mr. Collector had decided to take it upon himself to acquire my hat and add it to his collection. I have no idea what use he would have for an old cowboy hat. Maybe he was planning on opening a museum or something. I have no idea. Like I said the guy was small time, but he was young and in his early 20s. He should have been easier to find.

It took me two weeks but I eventually got his location from some obscure drunken mobster that I 'found' (honest officer) beaten half to death in a downtown bar. It's weird how quick people give out information once they can see their own bones. Guess it must remind them of death or something. Apparently The Collector was holed up in an old mansion somewhere in the outskirts of Skyway City. According to my 'source' the kid was filthy stinking rich and had inherited the mansion when both of his parents were killed by a local Skyway nut job. Rather than mourn his parents, or perhaps get dialled on their dime like a regular Joe, the kid decided to become a supervillain, or at least attempt to. And now here I was, perched on his doorstep, politely waiting for him to answer the door.

I heard shuffling on the other side of the door and as it creaked open slowly I readied one of my pistols. This was going to be easy. As the door opened fully I reacted without thinking - with blinding speed - placing a bullet in the chest of a surprised looking Butler. Ah hell. I'd forgotten rich people had servants. Without thinking I rushed forwards, hoping I could still maintain the element of surprise if I was quick on my feet. (And in case you didn't know, quick is kind of "my thing".) Sure enough I saw movement to my right - I pivoted and fired two shots - dropping two more man servants instantly. I had been in the foyer less than 5 seconds and I had already killed three people. It was safe to assume I had lost the element of surprise.

"Oh. My. God." I heard someone cry behind a closed door attached to the foyer. I reacted instantly, firing three shots towards the noise. The door opened slowly, and the body of yet another manservant crumpled to the floor, riddled with bullets.

I had just stopped to consider that perhaps shooting lots of people wasn't the best course of action when I saw him. Sachs. 'The Collector'. The last guy I'd shot had fallen forward and opened a door that concealed some sort of library-type area. Sachs was inside. Inspecting a series of books he'd no doubt stolen. He took one look at me through the open doorway and made a break for it in the opposite direction. I smiled as I watched him dash out of sight. He was going to try and run away from me. Me. I'm a goddamn speedster.

Less than half a second later and I had the kid on his ass. A pistol-whip to the back of the head at mach-10 will do that to you. He groggily raised his head and looked up at me, only to find the barrel of a gun looking back. I love the way their eyes go cross-eyed when I do that. I remember telling my buddy Facelift about that being my fave part: having my victims on their knees with a gun pointed in their face. He said it was probably latent homosexuality or something. Said that I had repressed urges. Facelift can be a real prick sometimes.

"Wh...what do you want?" said Sachs, his voice shaking terribly as he refused to move his gaze from the pistol now inches away from his mouth. It felt good; fuck you Facelift.

"I want my hat back," I said as I help the kid to his feet, training my gun on his forehead instead, "And I want everything else you've stolen."

He doesn't even flinch. He just nods weakly and moves towards a doorway. The kid is acting defeated already - probably never had a gun pointed at him before. I follow him as he leads me through a maze of doorways and staircases until we finally arrive at two large steel doors. To the right of it is a complicated looking computer interface, probably a lock of some kind. Above the doorway hangs an expensive looking neon sign. It says 'The Collection'. I die a little inside.

"Open it." I bark at the kid. He scuttles over to the computer interface and starts punching numbers. Sure enough the metal doors slowly slide open to reveal an absolutely ginourmous underground storage facility. It's set up as some kind of strange museaum. Everything is in glass cases.

I gesture for the kid to go first and he does. Despite having a gun trained on the back of his head, I can see his mood lighten slightly as he enters the collection room. He glances around with wide eyes. I don't think he's just looking for my hat. He's probably trying to enjoy looking at his collection one last time. And, to his credit, it certainly is a collection worth looking at. Kid has it all. For now anyway. I'm not sure if i'm going to kill him yet. I might not need to. I don't like not knowing what i'm gonna do, it makes me feel awkward. I decide to break the silence.

"So...collector was it?" I ask, the kid nods, "What I don't get is why do you steal all this stuff..." I trail off momentarily as we pass a human sized suit of armour styled to look like a teddy bear "...when you're rich enough to just BUY anything you want?"

He doesn't answer. At first my muscles tense: Is he getting cocky? Is he gonna make a move on me? No. He's just found my hat, that's all. It's one of the few things not in a glass display case. It's on top of a junk-filled cardboard box. The box has "misc" written on the side of it. I'm not impressed. I'm even less impressed when he picks it up and drops it. His hands are shaking; poor kid. I wonder why, briefly, before noticing what he's scoped. He's spotted a large glass case full of different types of rifles. Don't do it kid. Stay where you are. Just pick up the damn hat.

He makes a break for the rifles. Once again attempting to outrun a speedster. I sigh and put a bullet into each of his shins. Some people never learn.

He screams as his legs give way under him, his fibula ("shin bone" to people like me) shatter on impact with the bullets, causing bone to tear out of his legs at funny angles. He cries out in pain; rolling around the floor clutching, and then unclutching, his wounds. The kid's definitely never been shot before. He's going crazy; ranting and raving, actually screaming like a girl. The wounds won't kill him. I look around the room as I wait for the kid to calm down. There sure are a lot of odd looking weapons here. I check the labels; Snow Enterprises, Longbow, Arachnos, Lake Enterprises. I even spot one of Slaphappy's bows in a glass cabinet not too far away from the 'misc' box. I stop and glare at the misc box before turning my attention back towards the mewling cripple before me.

"Tell me kid," I say with a sneer, feeling smug for the first time in weeks, "How come you stole all of this stuff and yet I'm the first person to get past your defences?"

He looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. He doesn't seem to want to answer, but eventually he does;

"Because no-one else cares about the stuff I stole..." said the kid, his watery eyes looking up at me incredulously, "I mean which big name hero really cares abo-"

I suddenly feel butterflies in my stomach. Angry butterflies. "The Collector" just called me insignificant. Or pathetic. Either way the kid just made me feel like I don’t know which of the two I am.

I grit my teeth. I aim my pistol. I pull the hammer back. And I blow that cocky little bastard's brains all over the floor of his makeshift museum.

Cocksucker.