Roleplay

@neraida i’m subbed :^)


—

It’s a thrill. A sick thrill. Cyrus almost smiles from the ground as he sees his handiwork.... well, work. The newest person? Well, the richest person in Yorkton, of course. It was only fitting. Damn mongrel had a multi million business, yet still couldn’t pay fair wages to his workers. People like him deserve to be like this. Cowering in fear. It was the only way to control the rich.

Fear.

His fat whimpers and screams could still be heard. Of course, he doesn’t want him to get hurt. Only wet his pants a little. It was also so the heroes could know it wasn’t him... but also be a bit unnerved by a civilian screaming in fear as they unwillingly attack. It was quite the planning, on his part.

However, now he is just a normal civilian running away. He made it look like his suit was lifting a whole car, when really he was just levitating it. A simple trick. The car suddenly flew, hitting a building close to him.

Except, the trajectory was off. Way off. The building came tumbling. Was it really this surprisingly feeble? A shard of glass cut his cheek, and then his hands when he fell. He saw it- a slab of debris crushing another. Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not at all. He saw similar debris coming for him, but narrowly avoid it. However, he was slow. Slow because of the multitasking going on. Surely he wouldn’t be able to keep this up.

(@ N e r a i d a. ok. i’m too lazy to edit typos out of the last post oops.)

Suddenly the air grew hit, and he coughed from the dry air. His temples burned with metaphorical fire, just like the one that flooded his vision. Except, when swearing was heard instead of the usual ‘are you okay? Get to safety!’ of the usual heroes, he couldn’t help but think badly of well... him. This is what the FVA sent? Are they idiots? Though, the thought was interrupted by a sudden, stabbing pain to his head. Ugh.

He didn’t know if he was going to be able to keep this up, right now. His health is deteriorating, and his virtue is becoming more difficult to use. It requires more concentration, more everything. He would stay home, if he could. He’s not that good, yet. He shook himself from those thoughts, though. The only important thing happening was right here, right now.

Suddenly, the suit turned as if to look at this new hero. Cyrus has read up on them at the facility. Sije... Possible a threat, though he wasn’t sure. So much of his form was blocked from view. Not like he was supposed to be viewing them, anyways... He didn’t even have the clearance to know this guy’s shoe size.

“Oh... thank-“ his own voice was cut off by himself. Feigning being oblivious to the incoming suit that was barreling toward Silje, obviously intent on taking out as many as possible.

“You think you can defeat me?” game the automated response from the suit, gurgling in static. The man behind the mirror was obviously crying, begging for the hero in front of him to save him. Cyrus realized that this may look a bit weird, but he sort of pretended to be frozen in fear. Maybe he could pass off as some crazy journalist later.

“All of you heroes are the same. Weak. dont you see I’m trying to make you better?” the suits head tilted in curiosity. Then, suddenly through a punch while flying at Silje. Then, Cyrus booked it. It took a lot of concentration to do those at the same time, so he went barreling to the ground, but surprisingly his hold on the suit didn’t falter. He quickly got up, however, and kept running. A safe distance, further away, but still close enough to keep a hold on the fight. His head was screaming at him, and he had to sit down in the alleyway of two delapitated buildings.

The fire hit the suit square in the face. The reflective mirror broke at the slightest touch, cracking like spiderwebs across the surface. As Cyrus made the suit jump back, a huge chunk of it fell off, revealing the crying and bloated face of the man beneath.

“Please!”

“Shut up,” the automated response kicked in to the mans whimpering, but overlapping with Silje’s speech.
“I am no man. Only a mask. I don’t have a tragic story. Only morals.”

Suddenly, the suit jerked unorthodoxly. Wait, that wasn’t suppose to happen... Cyrus rubbed his temples, head suddenly up in flames. He could tell his face was getting warm from the exertion, and sweat poured down his face. Now wasn’t the time to do this, virtue...

The suit sidestepped and flew towards Silje’s side, sending a roundhouse kick his way. The fat man inside let out a scream, obviously not used to stretching in such a way.

The suit took the hit. It was made to, of course. Though, Klark screamed bloody murder and Cyrus could feel in his temples the pressure of him trying to block his face with his arms. Heh, no hero would actually go for an exposed face. thats why his disposable suits make were brittle. He wanted to see the fear on their face. He lived for it.

“This city is built on the hard work of people. The hard work people like Klark don’t appreciate it. This is how we show them,” damnit, the suit latched onto the wrong keyword, “People like him are the reason I do this. They only follow fear. That’s how I rule.”

He. Is. Not. A. Coward. Cyrus grit his teeth at the words, and partially from pain from keeping this act up. Lately it’s been harder, but he knows that’s because his power is improving. Adapting. He doesn’t know why it does, perhaps practice makes perfect, but... No, he doesn’t want to think about it. All he has to do now is concentrate on the fight. Concentrate...

The suit punched again, but missed by practically a whole head. He could feel blood trickling down his lip, and he wiped it. Of course. Of course it came from his nose. Usually that was his queue to stop or else he would overexert himself. But it was too soon. Far too soon. He never got this tired before. Then, he suddenly got light headed. He could feel Klarks resistance, even more now than before. Sometthing is wrong, very wrong, yet he made sure to keep fighting. Though he would make sure not to use telekinesis unnecessarily now... It was all fists and kicks.

The hood flew off of Anarchy, cape swishing. They went for another kick, though slightly sloppily.

Cyrus could feel the impact of a knee to the suits abdomen, and it wrecked his connected. Almost... he barely held on, but as soon as Klark keeled over, he could feel the pressure. Klark dropped to the ground, and so did Cyrus. The mental connection snapped like a twig, just like the puppeteers consciousness. Cyrus got the ground, hard. His forehead was burning with a persistent and sudden fever that would keep him out of work for a few days. He was known to be sick, though. However, it would bear fruit. The sickness may be hell, but the telekinetic improvements would bring hell.

Meanwhile, James Klark proceeded to empty his insides all over the ground. Apparently being kicked hard enough in the stomach caused some... reactions. He was very obviously mad, but also embarrassed and scared. If he was shaking anymore, he might as well of been compared to an earthquake.

The hospital band on his wrist was beginning to irritate him. Unfortunately he needed to keep it on for a few days to satisfy the higher ups. A sudden fever was not an excuse when another one of Anarchy’s suits was caught. Though, when someone found his passed out in the rubble, that seemed to remedy the problem. Apparently being caught in a villains attack was enough to warrant a few days off. Now he’s back, though, and he would rather be anywhere else.

Cyrus adjusted his glasses. Fake,like a lot of things about him. Making fake discoveries about this new suit that he already knew. Oh look, it’s fire resistant this time. Oh wow, the soles of the boot are metal instead of plastic. He practically wanted to roll his eyes at the gawking scientists, but he stopped himself. This job was good. They could hear them theorizing, and knew what not to do. Expect the unexpected.

What he was not expecting, however, was a new man. Yeah, usually some heroes come in to see the suit they brought in, but usually not this soon. Too many new discoveries to be made. He tried to look away and hide his face, though when no one answered the other for a solid few seconds, he cursed he incompetence of his coworkers. Sighing internally, he turned to him. Hopefully he was just another civilian face in thousands. He didn’t exactly know who this guy was, of course.

“Yes, we have...” he started slowly, “Though not much has changed since the last one, admittedly. It seems Anarchy is trying to make it resistant to as many heroes in the city as possible.”

The other guys response almost made Cyrus grind his teeth. Who the hell was this guy? He certainly didn’t have the demeanor of anyone important.

“Anarchy is good...” he says as if this guy is the biggest idiot in the world, “Something must have been wrong. Either with the puppet or the puppeteer.”

Cyrus turns to look at the suit, as if almost pondering something. In reality, he knew exactly why. He suffered through a massive fever, like usual. However, he always comes out of it feeling great. Powerful. Lately though, he’s been rather weak. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. Physical strength is a worthy sacrifice for an even more powerful virtue.

Anarchy is feared because he is relatable. Everyone is closer to being homeless than being rich. A relatable villain is dangerous. He’s not only dangerous in immense power, but just for the fact that he is in peoples heads. Always. That’s the danger of a political villain. He was snapped out of these thoughts by this guy’s sudden question, though. Cyrus whipped his head back to him, furrowing his eyebrows.

“...Excuse you?” he asked incredulously. Seriously, what was with this guy-

And then, something clicked. That voice is familiar. That manner. Of course, how was he so stupid? A lot of hero’s came in to see their work. Why would Silje be any different? He almost broke out in cold sweat. Almost. This was by far the worst place to look nervous, so he made sure he didn’t.

“Ah, wait,” he breathed a sigh, looking as if he had just figured it out, “You’re Silje, aren’t you? We may have met a bit... unceremoniously on the battle field. Either way, welcome. We haven’t made many discoveries. This suit is remarkably similar to the last one.”

Cyrus’s face remained neutral at Lukas’s comments. Though, he was leaving soon. That was convenient. Perhaps too so, though, as the glance at his phone had Cyrus suspicious. Was something going on? Hopefully nothing too soon. He had someplace to be after this, after all. A very important place to be.

“Well, you better be off, then. Hero work doesn’t rest,” before he turned away he made sure to add another comment, though, “Don’t underestimate villains, Silje. It may come back to bite you. Remember that we are the ones studying them.”

—

Ah, the auction. Though the place where it was located wasn’t exactly his favorite. The bright, neon lights. People dancing in... ways that he didn’t really want to see. The nightclub life wasn’t really for him, but it was certainly a good front for criminal activities.

They were holding a masquerade-esque sort of night tonight. Perfect cover for all the villains wearing masks to hide their true faces. Just like him. The hood, tux, and the full face mask went well together- like he belonged here. When he flashed the VIP pass to the bouncer, the rest was easy. The elevator was right where he remembered it to be. He boarded with another person (presumably another villain), but neither of them said anything. No one ever talks to anyone at these sort of meetings. It’s too dangerous.

Soon he was down in the velvet, dimly lit room. Refreshments were out to welcome the guests, but only few indulged. Too many minds focused on one thing- the safe under the spotlight. The auction would start soon... everyone had to arrive, that is. If someone was absent, that deemed you a snitch. Villains don’t take to kindly to those.

Suddenly, the dim lights shut off and a big stage light turned on, casting the woman standing on the podium in shining light. Panther, not exactly a villain, but the absolute best saleswoman to their kind. A true criminal and crime boss at heart. She had a red cats mask on, and she leaned to the mic, smiling as everyone gathered to the seats laid out before the stage.

“Now good thing that everyone is here. We don’t want an incident like last year, now wouldn’t we?”

A few chuckles resounded around the room. Oh yes, Cyrus remembered what happened. A no show. That didn’t go well for anyone.

“How about we get to the main event, shall we?”

Everyone clapped, including Cyrus. Suddenly Panther stepped aside to show the safe, and a few people gasped in aw. Something from the government... almost impossible to get. Yet, somehow...

“Now to start the bid-“

“Ten thousand!” a man in the back yelled, and Panther tutted.

“That’s not nearly enough, hun. This is pure government property. It’s worth more than your life.”

“Two hundred thousand!” a woman in the back yelled. Panther seemed pleased. Obviously it wasn’t what she wanted, but she knew it would go up.

“Five!” someone upped the price.

“Do we have six hundred?” Panther asked after a few seconds went by after the bid, “Five hundred from Usurper. Anyone?”

“Six hundred,” Cyrus raised his hand.

“Six hundred from Anarchy,” he wasn’t surprised Panther knew him, even beneath the mask. Everyone knew everyone here.

“Eight!”

“Nine!”

“One million!”

“A whole million from Retribution!” Panther banged her hand on the podium, “Do I hear 1.1?”

Cyrus raised his hand again, which Panther called. Then another rose their hand. He balled his fist. He certainly wasn’t the richest here, but he had money. A lot. Stored for a moment like this.

When someone upped it do one point five, he almost choked as he rose his hand. All his savings, gone. It was worth it though, hopefully.