Beautiful Disasters

━ Old Trenton, Liberty City ━

The flames from a dumpster crackled.

The air stank of urine, blood, and gunpowder.

Abandoned buildings.

Crumbling brick walls graffiti-tagged with warnings that no one gave a damn about anymore.

Around the fire sat nine thugs — each one more grotesque than the last. Faces tattooed like prison art projects, scars crawling like vines, mismatched boots, torn leather jackets, and shirts soaked with dry blood. Their weapons were splayed across their laps — daggers, glocks, and modified pipe rifles — each one being scrubbed or repaired.

One of the younger thugs, missing three front teeth and with a crude skull tattoo over his eye, let out a nasty laugh.

"PFFHAHAHA! Oh fuck man, I still can't believe we pulled that off. That spoiled bitch was screamin' like we took her soul, not her wallet!"

He waved the blood-smeared bag in the air.

"Didn't think her noisy ass had this much green in her damn purse. Hah!"

Another thug started cackling like a rabid hyena.

"No lie, what I liked was stabbing the fuck out of her. Heh. Again… and again…"

He mimed the motion like it was a dance.

"Skk skk skk— You shoulda seen the blood flyin' like fireworks on New Year's, man!"

"Tch. More like my girl when she's on her period!"

"HAAAHH! AS IF A LIL BLOOD WOULD STOP YOU!"

The crew roared, open-mouthed, teeth yellow and missing, faces smeared with dirt and blood.

A third one slowly licked his dagger, from handle to tip.

"If more of these rich pricks keep wanderin' through Old Trenton like it's a shortcut, we'll be loaded by next month. Then we'll buy somethin' real nice… like rocket launchers. Take the fight straight to those Trenton Saints bastards."

He grinned like a man dreaming about slaughter.

Everyone hollered in agreement.

But the one seated in the middle — older, heavier, more still — just took a drag of his crushed cigarette and let the smoke curl around his scarred lips.

"Hmph… from street trash to rulers of Old Trenton…"

He grinned wide.

"Heh. Yeah… I like that sound."

Then—

KRRRSSSHHH!!

It happened in an instant.

A jet-black drill zipped across the air and ripped through the gang leader's chest from behind.

He froze.

"H-Huh…?"

He coughed slowly and painfully, blinking at the black drill embedded in his ribs.

It was made of pure shadow.

Blood spilled from his mouth in thick gurgles.

Then it spun maliciously.

FWHRRRRRRRRLSSSHHH!!!

The spinning drill liquefied his insides like a blender and turned his torso to red mush. Blood sprayed like a fountain to paint the rest of the thugs in warm, steaming red.

They didn't even scream.

Not yet.

They couldn't.

Then—fufufu~ ❤️

A dangerous, sexy giggle.

And then… she stepped into the firelight.

The Dark Lady of Old Trenton.

She walked with the kind of grace that made her seem like a beautiful goddess dipped in poison. Her gothic black dress hugged her sweet body in all the right ways, showing off her slim figure with just enough curves to tempt anyone staring.

Her long, messy black hair framed her face, partly covering one eye that glowed a striking violet.

Her beauty was unreal.

Big breasts, wide hips, smooth legs long enough to make any man swallow twice upon a glance.

And that nearly translucent skin of

She licked her lower lip slow, hungry, wet, then bit it with trembling pleasure.

"Mmm~ so glad we could all get together like this. Just seeing you all covered in blood makes my body vibrate like a perverted little dog in heat~"

She squeezed her thighs together and grabbed her burning crotch like she couldn't take it anymore.

The thugs were frozen. Shaking.

Her footsteps echoed.

Each one made her shadow morph until it bloomed behind her like a monstrous raven!

Its feathers boiled like living ink and its glowing red eyes bored into their souls.

"My my~ You've all been very naughty, boys."

She moaned softly.

"And naughty boys…"

She smiled wide as her tongue peeked out.

"… deserve permanent punishment~"

FWOOOOOSH!!!

Feathers exploded out like razors.

One thug's head detached.

Another screamed as his arms got shredded off mid-run.

A third was split clean down the middle, the two halves falling like meat.

"HOLY SHIT THAT'S HER!"

One thug screamed as he ran.

"The Da—The Dark Lady of Old Trenton!!"

"I-, I thought she was just a damn urban legend—!"

"It's the 21st century, bro!! Every urban legend's probably fucking real!!"

Gunshots rang out—bang! bang! bang!

But the bullets vanished into her dress like they fell into an endless void.

She didn't even blink.

She just bit her lip again and moaned.

"Good. I love it when you run~ ❤️"

SKRAAAAW!!

The raven's beak cracked open.

The screech was soul-tearing.

It swallowed them whole, one by one, until the only thing left in the alley was silence… and blood.

She turned around, humming sweetly, as her bloodied boots squelched softly beneath her.

Her fingers brushed her lips as she sighed.

"Tch. Should've ripped out their infected penises before killing them… now I've missed my chance to add to the collection. Oh well~ ❤️"

━ ━ ━ ━

━ Dukes, Liberty City ━

Sunlight filtered into a small apartment with cracked windows and peeling walls.

Anna paced back and forth across the living room, biting her thumbnail, eyes full of worry.

"I should call the cops already…"

She mumbled insanely.

"He never disappears like this. Not without calling."

She threw herself on the shabby sofa.

"Ugh—! And Dorothy said he left early?! Something about a surprise? What the hell's going on?"

CREEEAAK.

The door finally opened.

Oliver stepped in.

And he looked like a wreck.

His shirt was untucked, his collar stained.

Hair messy.

His eyes… hollow. Dead. Like he hadn't just stayed out all night—like he'd come back from hell.

"O-, Okay, what the hell, Oliver?!"

Anna jumped up.

"Where were you?! You didn't call, you didn't text—"

She paused. Her nose crinkled.

"Ugh! Are you serious right now?! You reek of alcohol!"

He brushed past her.

Didn't say a word.

Just went into the bedroom, pulled out a blazer and a tie, and stepped out again.

Anna stomped.

"Hey! Don't ignore me! You—you look like you got hit by a truck, Ollie, what the hell happened last night?!"

She reached for his shoulder.

He slapped her hand off like it was nothing and focused on knotting his tie.

『I'm not even sure I can call myself a man anymore… I feel like a failure. I should be ashamed of myself. I can't even confront my girlfriend about seeing another guy. It's not like I pay the rent anymore, or cover any of the bills. At this point, she's more of the man in the relationship than I am. I need to get out of here—fast. I need to start winning at life. No matter what it takes.』

He looked like a defeated man wearing a skin that didn't fit anymore.

Just as he swung on the blazer, he tossed a pair of concert tickets on the coffee table.

BAM!

The door slammed behind him.

Anna stood there, stunned.

Breathing hard.

"Wh… What's wrong with him…?"

She gasped.

"Another bad day at work…? Is that it…?"

She slowly walked over and picked up the tickets.

"These are… the Purple Dragons? I love them…"

Her voice was small. She stared at the closed door.

"I don't even know what's going on anymore…"

･･･

Oliver's tie flapped like a battle flag as he rode his old bicycle through the city streets.

Car horns blared. People cursed.

But all he heard was the buzzing in his head.

『If that stuck-up, classist bitch — Penelope Vandenberg of all people — has her eye on our agency, we're screwed. She could ruin everything in a heartbeat. We need new heroes. Stronger ones. Better ones. What the hell am I even doing right now…?』

He gritted his teeth.

『I'm so screwed. Things can't possibly get any—』

HOOONK—!!

A car shot forward out of nowhere.

Oliver panicked. Tried to swerve.

Too late.

"SHIT—!"

CRASH!

His bike slammed into the side of the car and he flew.

"UOOHH—!!"

He rolled on the pavement, coughing and groaning as he held his ribs.

"Aghh… sucks… everything sucks…"

The car that hit him screeched to a stop.

It was a latest-model, jet-black Cadillac CTS—luxurious, sleek, and reeking of money. The type of car that usually zoomed past people like Oliver without so much as a second glance.

But not this time.

Adorable, panicked sounds erupted from inside, followed by the rapid click-clack-click of heels smacking the pavement in chaotic urgency. The driver's side flung open, and a pair of shapely legs stepped out, too fast, too nervous—like a bunny that realized it had just run over a squirrel.

Hearing the footsteps, Oliver's teeth clenched.

His fists gritted into the asphalt.

He was already preparing the best insult he could come up with. This better not be some rich brat texting while driving, or he was about to scream their ancestors out of their grave.

But then—

That voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry… I'M SO SORRY!!"

Like sugar melting in hot tea, her voice poured straight into his bloodstream.

He slowly peeled open his eyes. And there she was.

A beautiful lady. No—an extremely beautiful lady.

So beautiful it made his brain lag.

She had long, deep burgundy hair tied back in a ponytail.

Her body was something else entirely—her breasts were much fuller, rounder, and perkier than Anna's, and her hips curved out dramatically.

She wore a sleeveless, dark navy-blue blouse tucked neatly into a tight, high-waisted dark blue pencil skirt that hugged her beautiful body. She finished the look with sheer black pantyhose and a pair of black high heels.

She stood over him, bowing her head over and over again like a malfunctioning robot stuck on apology mode.

"I didn't see you! I was going through some files! I-, I didn't mean to! Are you okay?! Oh no, your knee's bleeding—ahhh, I'm such a terrible driver!"

She looked genuinely panicked, her soft brown eyes glistening with guilt.

The kind of eyes that could hug you without touching you.

A bright red lanyard with an ID badge bounced between her perfect breasts with every breath she took.

"Lana Slot…"

Oliver read her name aloud in a daze.

Even saying it made his heart do jumping jacks.

Lana gasped, leaned down—too close—and Oliver's eyes instinctively tried to peek between her thighs, but bam! she had already picked him up like a goddamn Amazon and set him upright with surprising strength.

"Here—your bicycle!"

She said, jogging back to retrieve it.

It was half-crushed and moaning in pain.

She returned a second later, huffing, handing him a bottle of water. Then, without saying anything, she took out a delicate white handkerchief and gently wiped the dirt and sweat off his face.

Tulips. Her scent smelled like tulips.

It didn't just smell like flowers; it smelled like home.

"I'm really, really sorry!"

She said breathlessly, stepping back on her heels.

"I'm super late for a meeting! I swear, I'll make it up to you some other time, okay?! Please take care of yourself! Make sure you drink a lot of water, kay──?!"

And with that—VROOOM!

She was gone.

Leaving nothing but dust, perfume, and a half-broken Oliver standing in the middle of the road.

"You… didn't… ask for my name…"

Oliver mumbled softly, still holding the bottle of water like it was sacred.

—

Ten minutes later.

Oliver finally made it to JusticeFindr, pedaling the barely functioning skeleton of his bicycle, one pedal grinding, the other spinning freely.

He was just about to park it when he heard it.

"AAAGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

A banshee's wail? A dying pig?

No—it was Mr. Dawson. Crying.

"What the—?!"

Oliver jumped off the bike in a panic, crash-parked it into the nearest alley like a dead horse, and sprinted across the street.

Mr. Dawson was crying with both hands in his hair.

"M-, Mr. Dawson—what's going on—?!"

But Oliver didn't need an answer.

He saw it.

The front of the building was ruined.

Glass shattered, door hanging sideways off its hinges like a kicked-in jaw.

Papers were flying in the wind, and inside—

"What the hell…?"

He rushed into the building and almost collapsed.

Their computers—smashed.

Their wirings—torn out.

Their air conditioner was lying on the floor like it had given up on life.

Monitors were cracked like spiderwebs.

Wires hung from the ceiling.

Even the office plants had been flipped over, as if whoever did this hated chlorophyll.

"Our systems…"

Oliver dropped to his knees.

"The reports, the footage, the client files…"

"GONE!"

Dawson sobbed.

"My sandwich in the fridge is gone too!"

"Sir, focus!"

Oliver yelled, grabbing his shoulders.

"Did we get robbed?! Is this corporate sabotage?!"

His breath quickened and his vision went dizzy.

"No, no, no, no… no, no… no, no, no…"