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***

-It's time for me to go home now, Doc...

-Just a moment, Mein Freund, we have one last dungeon to clear.

Suppressing a tired sigh, I joined the game with my head, helping Otto to pass another dungeon. It turns out that in addition to working in the lab and evaluating creations, the professor seriously expected me to become his constant co-partner in a bunch of different video games.

In his geek's lair there was a brand-new computer with a bunch of glowing whistle-players and other stuff. A rich armchair, in which the owner of a large corporation was not ashamed to sit, and, most importantly, a large refrigerator, which I periodically filled with food and drinks.

The first week of school had passed and during that time I had only managed to wear my costume a couple of times, which made my heart unpleasantly sting with disappointment. While I was having fun and learning, there was evil going on out there somewhere.....

Throwing a glance at a happy Dr Octavius, I squeeze a sad smile.

"Oh, how can I say no to him. He'll get even angrier and become a supervillain...".

I was joking, of course. Prof had changed a long time ago and some truly depressing events had to happen in his life to push him off the rails of a happy life. And I shouldn't have cut all ties with that mad genius so soon. There was too much I could learn from him, get better, prepare equipment, or maybe even create something incredible that would benefit people.

My eyes darted against my will to the small window through which I could see the centrepiece of Otto's collection. Manipulator tentacles.

They were now disconnected from the operator's frame and simply dangled from their mounts while the control spine itself rested on the desk.

Every day, right after school, we devoted long hours to reconfiguring and studying this project. And it was in my best interest to do so.

Despite hours of arguments, arguments and frustration, Otto agreed that it was madness and risky to experiment with the connection on himself. A small mistake in the calculations could result in the best case scenario, and at worst, you could die or be a vegetable for the rest of your life!

The artificial spine was directly connected to the nervous system... Which, admittedly, was still hard to get my head round.

A short circuit, a mistake, or a trivial inaccuracy... There are too many factors that could start a catastrophe. That's why Octavius agreed to change the test pilot... Unfortunately, he didn't agree to my candidature either.

"You are too young. You have great potential, Mein Freund! You shouldn't take any unnecessary risks."

He used other reasons, most of which he borrowed from my own speech. So now we were bringing the device to perfection, "filleting" the points of contention while we waited for the volunteer the university administration had promised to find.

-Main Year! Stop slowing down! Today we will take this mountain! In the name of our fathers and future children! Bringing peace, freedom.

Glancing suspiciously at Otto, I eloquently play with my face, struggling to hold back surprise, laughter, and worry. Sometimes Doc got a little too carried away.

***

Lyon Grove had never been a nice guy. He wasn't proud of it, but life had pushed him down a dark path. At least, that's what he used to justify his actions all the time.

Dropped out of school for fighting and truancy. Police records from an early age. Multiple sentences for assault, robbery and drugs.

He'd spit on the rules, slowly getting used to the idea that he'd spend the rest of his life in prison, and this place was more like home.

More than once and more than twice his barbed gaze met the eyes of terrified victims begging for mercy and leniency. And if in the first few times he had answered them, trying to justify himself, over the years there had been silence, and then only anger and threats, which only fuelled his own rage and self-loathing.

An overgrown beard covered his sullen thick face. A small beer belly, food and sweat stains on his clothes. Dirty, worn T-shirts that remembered his younger years, bought by his parents. Patches on every seam, rough and crooked, hastily made.

The standard New Yorker of the night.... And now he was doing exactly what you'd expect him to do.

-Whore.

Spitting a mixture of blood and saliva onto the ground, Lyon turned the dead woman's body over, muttering under his breath in displeasure. Her beige coat was covered in a viscous layer of mud from a nearby puddle. The nearly dried mixture clumped together, picking up leftover debris from all over the street.

A scarlet puddle was accumulating under her head, the spot where the man's knuckle-enhanced fist had struck. Just one light blow that should have brought the victim to his senses had brought him a whole host of problems.

Squatting down, Lyon grasped the dead man's jaw, turning her head to face him, gazing into the empty eyes.

-Beautiful... Too bad," he ran a dirty thumb over her lips, smearing the burgundy lipstick, squeezing the still warm skin with anger, leaving new bruises, "couldn't you have lasted longer? I'm not fucking a dead man.

Mr Grove threw the dead woman's head away from him in disgust and began methodically, expertly searching his pockets, clawing at each new acquisition. The woman didn't have great riches, but the various gadgets, jewellery and especially the pendant with the family's picture on it would easily cover his need for money for the next month.

-Fuck, now I regret it even more...

As he searched, he stripped the corpse, sparingly tearing off the clothes and tossing them aside. Some of the fabric could be sold to the Asians from the eastern neighbourhood, and some could be kept for himself. 

-He-heh, girls love lingerie-.

Before he could finish, Lyon heard a lighter flick on right next to him. Like a frightened deer, he shifted his gaze to the far corner of the cubbyhole, staring at the flickering cigarette. Smouldering slowly, the nicotine stick illuminated an eerie grotesque image.

Sweat broke out on Mr Grove's forehead and his throat choked as the inveterate smoker tried to swallow the viscous saliva. He couldn't move with fear, staring at the spot the cigarette lit with both eyes.

There stood a man... Or rather, Lyon hoped he was. A tall figure, slouching his shoulders, leaned back against the wall, watching his every move. Lyon couldn't see his eyes, or rather... He just didn't have them.

Creepy, dark shadows, constantly bouncing and writhing with each other. Shimmering pictures coming together in a macabre dance, like demons or beasts fighting for someone's soul.

-Yours.

A heavy, cruel voice came from the stranger and Mr Grove realised that he had spoken many of his thoughts aloud out of fear. Falling on his arse, he slowly crawled backwards, throwing the trophies he had found on the ground.

-I'll give it all back, look... Why don't I just walk away?

But there was no answer. Only the quiet echo of approaching footsteps, and heavy, laboured breathing that frightened him to the point of shivering.

-Please, I'm not sorry. It's all yours, just please-

-There will be no more forgiveness.

Without hearing the answer, Grove understood it in his own way, thinking that the unknown psycho wanted to take all the loot for himself.

-What? -Ah, yes. Yours, yours! It's all yours!

In the darkness of the back alley, there was a slamming sound. It was like two pieces of metal rubbing against each other. Lyon squinted, trying to see the weapon in the stranger's hands, but it happened too fast.

His left cheekbone burned with pain. He could literally hear his own flesh tearing from the quick, hard blow.

-Ahhh.

A crunch. Leaning on his left leg, he bent over in pain, tucking the broken knee of his right under him. Poking at the side of the new wound with his weenie fingers, Lyon found chunks of his own bones sticking out.

Terror flooded his mind, causing him to do rash things. His hand went to the pocket on his chest, pulling out a six-shot revolver. He didn't want to make any noise, the neighbourhood was too nice and guarded, but there was no other choice.

The rumble of gunshots tore through the night's haze. One, two, three, four....

All the remaining bullets had been expended at almost point-blank range, and with each new shot Lyon saw the figure of his enemy getting closer, coming closer to him.

He spat at the bullets. In the succession of rumblings Mr Grove could not shut his eyes from fear and he saw it with his own eyes. Shadows enveloped his body, protecting him from every shot, shielding him from death and making the old bandit's heart beat in a maddening rhythm.

-No, no, no... Fucking mutant! No!

The hand with the gun was turned inside out. The stranger felt no pity for him, twisting the limb until the bones and his own muscles began to squeeze out blood like paste.

-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!

No one knew what was more in that scream, horror or pain. Lyon Grove was thrashing about like a trapped animal, jerking his arm so violently, hoping to get rid of the pain, that at some point he succeeded, and Lyon was finally able to break free of the grip, crawling towards the lit intersection.

Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream. He felt no fatigue from the pain and fear, travelling an incredible distance on his broken leg.

-I can do it. I'm gonna make it. I can do it.

Leaving a bloody smeared trail behind him, Lyon Grove crawled out onto the carriageway, gathering glances from curious city dwellers looking out of their windows late at night. They saw the frightened and wounded man laughing joyfully, finally escaping the darkness....

Behind Mr Grove's back, the clicking sounded again.

With horror, he turned back around to catch sight of an eerie figure in a leather cloak in front of him. Slowly lifting his head, he revealed his face.... White, blank, with ever-changing images driving him into a trance.

Lyon could no longer scream. His broken voice gave out only a pathetic croak as his eyes filled with despair stared at the one who had mutilated him.

-No. Please...

Without a word, the stranger squatted down, cradling Grove's broken knee. A knife flashed in his hands, and with the impassivity of a machine he set about his painstaking and difficult work.

Few of the occupants of this rich and peaceful neighbourhood were able to keep to themselves. Running away from their windows, they hid their children, locking their doors with dozens of locks and preparing for the night monster to come for them.

Hundreds of phone calls poured in, with unhappy townspeople talking about the same thing, choking on their own tears and terrors, confusing the police.

A quiet, dark alley in New York. Newly built houses, with glorious pavement paths. 

A maimed Lyon Grove, struggling to keep his breathing measured, stared blankly at the sky as the first police patrol arrived on the scene. His whitened face was shaking, and he himself, barely getting his teeth into each other, was frantically muttering with fear the one single phrase carved into his forehead.

-There will be no more forgiveness... Forgiveness... There will be no more... No more...

***

Felicia sat on the parapet, her legs hanging down, twitching from side to side like a happy child on a swing. Her whole figure gave away her contentment and delight, but her squinted eyes and bitten lip gave away something else, something much more serious and unaccustomed to her image.

She had been sitting here for half an hour now, the first to arrive at the emergency call for the police. Being nearby, she had intercepted the negotiations and curiosity had got the better of her, forcing her to dash off to see if she could see a monster, a ghost, or the new mutant that was eating people whole.

But when she arrived here, she found something far more creepy and disgusting than she could have imagined. At first glance, a crazy, disgusting picture, full of bloodlust and blind anger.... But if you look closely.

A branded thug with a message on his forehead. Demonstrative carnage that would definitely get the word out, and then the news would spread through the streets of the city, crawling into every home, nook and cranny.

But that wasn't what worried her. If it had been just a routine showdown or the appearance of another vigilante that the mob would deal with in a couple of weeks, she would have just waved her hand like a cat and put the fool out of her mind, but....

She'd seen who the vigilante was, the one the witnesses had told the police about so cheerfully. Noticed his powerful, vivacious figure on the roof of a neighbouring building, literally captured his silhouette for a second.

Her own fingers ran over the girl's body from her breasts to her thighs, fuelling desire and delight. Licking her lips erotically, Hardy wanted to indulge her fantasies right there, but a quick glance at the chaos below brought her back to her serious thoughts.

Rorschach... Yes, she'd learnt his name. She'd learnt a lot about him, especially about his sweet, intimate encounters with the police captain who was now shouting at all the police officers around him while trying to make a phone call.

She'd learnt about his career... Though, it wasn't hard at all, considering her lover liked to leave his symbol wherever his 'foot of justice' stepped.

Laughing into her fist at this "innocent sweet directness", Hardy was able to keep herself from falling into the abyss of fantasy by sheer willpower alone.The only thing her curious feline nature never managed to find out was the real identity of her lovable hero of justice. He was very sensitive to the surveillance, constantly turning round and trying to catch an uninvited stalker, so Felicia had to give up the idea, settling for little....

-So far," Hardy corrected herself and bit down on her index finger, holding back a satisfied, anticipatory laugh. She'd imagined them playing together, him chasing her or her cornering him... Oh, it would be magic...

The girl hesitated, and walked through the police cordon again with a thoughtful glance.

-Although it's possible I'm not the only one who's changed a lot since we met, right sweetheart?

Lying down on the parapet, hanging off one leg and arm, Felicia swung them playfully, helping herself to focus.

-This is so unlike him.... I'm going to have to rethink our game plan if he's getting so rigid.

Her keen hearing picked up everything the policeman and the terrified citizens of New York were shouting about, so she clearly heard one highly entertaining thing that immediately caught her attention.

-His face, it was moving! I didn't remember what he looked like because I kept looking at his creepy face!

-What do you mean? Everyone's face moves...

The intellectual argument between the witness and the cop continued, and Hardy was getting bored while the two of them exercised their wits.

-No, man! I'm saying there were real creatures in there! They were always moving around, like they were fighting each other. I remember that clearly.

-I see, moving pictures on your face... -Yeah.

-No way!

Snickering at the policeman's inventory, Hardy realised how funny it sounded.

But a fact was a fact. Her lovely Rorschach was wearing a completely different mask, and she herself hadn't noticed it at all!

-And what a plot twist my new fanfic will have...

Biting her fingernail, the girl ran the thought through her head, thinking of a plot to introduce her lover's new mask into the story, as suspicions began to creep into her head.

Documents describing the cursed mask-like artefact she'd found in the Latverian ambassador's office.

Moving pictures of some kind of demons and other monsters instead of faces.

The mood swings of the guy who plays the hero as a kid. He's never been a squirrel, but what happened today--

-We need to deal with it. I want a nice hero, not a psychopathic vigilante.

With a decisive shake of her head, Hardy pushed herself off the edge of the roof, flying off. With a deft sweep of her arm, she fired a whip with a hook on the end, mimicking her idol, then flew over to a neighbouring building, taking off at a run.

*** 

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