NOVEL FROG Mob 5.10b
Mob 5.10b
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8 Minutes Later
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“Seriously?” Greg Veder asked flatly.
Behind the mask, the expression on his face as he stared at what stood in front of him was as flat as his tone. A part of him tried to reconcile what he was looking at with the previous events of today and, to Greg’s chagrin, somehow seemed to make it fit.
“I’m gonna assume everyone in here is actually in the know about this whole thing. Am I right?”
No one moved or spoke, telling him everything he needed to know about that. The blond let the silver double doors close behind him, shoulders slumping even further as he realized he’d have to finish this mess now before going anywhere else. Two of their number already lay at his feet, groaning in pain from a simultaneous punch Greg had unleashed into their faces on instinct the second he walked through the door. Glancing back up, he let out a sigh, fists loosening as his arms fell down to his sides, Greg once more repeating the same word as he shook his head.
“Seriously.”
The group of men in all white stood in front of him, cleavers and steak knives in their grasps glinting in the fluorescent light of the kitchen as they held them ready. They had been ready to attack him the moment he entered the kitchen, if two of them launching a surprise attack from both sides implied anything at all.
Blue eyes narrowed as Greg focused his attention on the man in front, a bald man with a Fu Manchu of all things, as well as a face so scarred that it would be a chore to determine whether the man was twenty-five or forty-five. He was a big man, with an impressive build that would look more fitting anywhere else but a kitchen. [Observe.]
Leonard "Four Fingers" Wu Lvl 15
ABB Head Chef
HP: 320/320
A rather stupid man with no head for anything other than cooking and violence, Wu was in and out of prison for most of his life until he found his place working at Lung's favorite restaurant. He runs the kitchen crew, each one of them a member of the ABB. Has a habit of removing one finger from each hand of the people he beats up and leaves for dead.
Of course. Greg blinked slowly, not even surprised at the flavor text simply from looking at the man. Of fucking course. The sound of boiling water, simmering sauces and what had to be a steaming kettle sounded off, acting like unintended mood music to set what Greg couldn't help but feel like a ridiculous stage. None of them moved, each one likely waiting for the cape in front of them to make a move as the blond simply stood there with his arms folded.
Quest Gained!
ABB VI: Chop Socky Cooks
Details: Defeat the ABB-hired cooks
Success: +5000 XP, + 1 [Resistance: Heat], + Ability: [Cooking]
Failure: None
Fuck this. Fuck this completely.
Greg let out a sigh as he raised his head, giving each single one of the armed cooks and kitchen staff in front of him a glance before opening his mouth.
"Look… guys, before you do anything you'll seriously regret in about thirty…thirty?" The blond sighed again, shaking his head. "Yeah, that sounds about right… Before you do anything you'll regret in about thirty seconds, I'm gonna give each of you one chance. One chance to put down your various cooking implements and just tell me what I want to know."
Silence.
"I'm offering you a literal once in a lifetime deal." Greg unfurled his arms, opening his hands out in front of him as if offering each one of the grizzled gangster cooks a hug. "It's either this or spending the next few months in the hospital. Possibly, eating through a straw."
Silence.
"The burn unit even."
Silence.
"The morgue is also an option," he continued with a laugh that was not at all forced. "Honestly, today... I'm finding out that I'm really not that picky on the issue."
One of them twitched at the casual threat to his continued existence, the serrated knife in his hand visibly shaking. Several others seemed to be reconsidering this entire fight, likely taking note of the few groans of pain still audible from the main dining area. All of that ended the moment Four Fingers shot each one an intense glance, his fingers tensing around the incredibly sharp cleaver in his grip with each man he looked at.
Greg sighed at the renewed glare from all of them, realizing what this was going to be. "All right."
The blond spread his arms out again, blue eyes flickering with manic intensity as flames burst to life in his open palms. "Don't say I didn't warn you about the burn unit."
There was a blur of motion and the kitchen echoed with screams.
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Exactly 3 Minutes and 32 Seconds Later
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Quest "Chop Socky Cooks" Completed!
Gained 5000 XP
Gained 1 to [Resistance: Heat]
Gained Ability [Cooking]
Basic Pyrokinesis Lvl Up!
5→7
Parry Lvl Up!
9→11
Resistance: Slashing Lvl Up!
16→17
Resistance: Heat Lvl Up!
46→47
Cooking Lv 1
Some people are just born to cook and talk.
People have been cooking since the discovery of fire. Who knows what you could create if you put your mind to it?
ABB III: Kung Fury
29/40 Lvl 10+ ABB defeated.
+ 400 XP
+ 650 XP
+ 1300 XP (Bonus)
+ 500 XP
+ 450 XP
+ 400 XP
+ 425 XP
+ $285
+ Four Fingers' Cleaver
+ Wok of a Thousand Dishes (Carbon Steel)
+ Tall Chef Hat (White)
+ Bloody Apron (White)
+ Chef Neckerchief (White)
Big Ken Nagaoka was a man who managed to thrive off his own self-hatred.
Born to Japanese parents on the island country a good ten years before capes had become more than mere fiction, he rarely had much patience for his own culture, preferring the seductive appeal of Western life. Even now, decades since his arrival in Brockton Bay, he could barely speak Japanese anymore, preferring to use English in almost every single situation.
He never cared much for Japanese cuisine even as a child, an attitude that only grew more entrenched as he grew up. His parents had attempted to instill him with a ‘traditional’ discipline — forcing him to eat what he didn’t like and blindly obey their every demand. It was no surprise that as soon as an opportunity presented itself, he left Japan behind and never looked back. When he came to America, he thus opened his own Chinese restaurant, almost as much an act of spite as much as it was an act of business. Even when Leviathan turned the island upside down, Ken barely considered it any of his business, so far divorced was he from anything Japanese at that point in his life.
His life as a restaurateur in the 80s and 90s was nothing but ostentatious suits, pretty girls and a great deal of other things that his parents would have cursed him for. A shame on the family name, and all that. Frankly, he would have cursed them right back.
But as it stood right now, Ken would do anything to be back in Japan, sitting patiently on a tatami mat in seiza as he listened to his parents lecturing him on how he was a failure as a first son.
"You know, Ken..."
At the very least, he wished he had followed his first instincts and called for back-up.
"When I broke down your door… I honestly didn't expect anyone to be in here," the sentence was accompanied by a sweeping gesture around his office. Located on the third floor of the restaurant, it was outfitted with a very large window behind his rich mahogany desk, allowing him to feel like one of those extremely wealthy businessmen he had only ever seen on TV and in the movies.
At least, not before Lung took a shine to him.
"But here you were, Big Kenny..."
Ken didn't bother correcting the cape, despite the involuntary flinch he made at the childish twist to his chosen name. His eyes darted over to their periphery, hoping to catch another glimpse of the young cape in almost all black, his curiosity warring with his fear for a moment. The cape must have been through a lot downstairs, Ken could tell that much. If not from the gunmen, then from the kitchen staff, at the very least. Of the would-be vigilantes that occasionally cropped up over the years and earned the ire of the ABB, quite a few had met their end at the hands of those cooks.
Handpicked by Lung himself, they were prison-hardened and vicious in ways that Ken would prefer never to have witnessed. The dishwashers by themselves were trained to some degree in martial arts, and every cook and chef were experienced killers. Four Fingers alone was enough to give him nightmares, the man having the worst habit of bleeding traitors and snitches in the kitchens with his special cleaver as well as removing the fingers of those men who made the mistake of failing Lung.
The cape's mask still had bits of pepper stuck to its surface and stray noodles clung to his chest as well, with Ken unable to not notice what was likely clothing damage caused by boiling vegetable oil. An entire sleeve hung loose where it had been obviously cut to ribbons by the kitchen knives and cleavers, drenched with blood, and yet the cape held the gun with casual ease. His boots were drenched in soy sauce, mustard seeds and scraps of half-cooked meat. There were too many bloody holes in his suit for the cape to have not been shot, even amidst the numerous slash marks and tears. On top of everything else, the scent of burnt leather was all too horrifyingly reminiscent of his occasional meeting with his own boss after an unpleasant scrap. And after all that, the cape looked fine. Like he hadn't been shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, burnt, blinded with pepper and spices, and carved up like a choice fillet of fish.
"Here you were… hiding under your desk." The cape scoffed, hand shifting ever so slightly forward and making Ken lean with it as the portly man let out a slight whimper. "Like a bitch."
The whimper that left his throat was utterly unintended but the man couldn't deny that it was a true marker of how he felt right now.
"I don't know a lot about this thing, if I'm gonna be honest," the cape continued further, gesturing with the gun in hand. "Not really." There was an almost glib tone to the way he spoke, almost as if none of this even mattered to him all that much. Ken couldn't deny the fact that it terrified him almost as much as the weapon in the cape's hand. "I mean, other than how to aim, shoot and reload, of course. Oh, and how could I forget?"
There was a click from the weapon that almost made Ken dive under his desk again, fear instincts nearly overriding common sense. "How to turn off the safety."
Big Ken couldn't manage to fight the trembles that stirred the gun pressed up to the side of his head, the cape in all black holding the weapon firm and steady as he continued to speak. The coldness of the weapon couldn't be understated, the sensation of it contributing to the ever-approaching specter of death that he could feel in the casual tone of the young parahuman in the room.
"I mean, I'm definitely better than you when it comes to actually shooting. I mean, come on. Two shots point blank and I didn't even move. You shot your own TV, Kenny. That's… that's just pathetic." There was a sound like a snort before the cape spoke again. "Frankly, I took the gun away more for your safety than mine."
Another whimper passed his lips.
"It's not like I even need a gun, if we're being honest. But it makes a statement, right?" There was that tone again. "It's very final… y'know as a symbol."
He was going to die soon, he was sure of it.
Right here in this chair.
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Intimidation Lvl Up!
5→6
Big Ken was going to die soon, Greg was sure of it.
Just from the way the man was shaking and the pallor of his face, the blond wouldn't really be surprised if the fat Japanese man didn't have a heart attack right in his comfy-looking chair.
Despite that, the teen didn't see it as any reason to stop.
"You know, I almost wondered why you didn't call the police when you heard all those gunshots," Greg continued, standing above the seated businessman with gun in hand. "Then I realized that just how many ABB happen to work for you. Not to mention those guys with the guns."
It was almost surprising how the man reacted to that sentence, stiffening up like a statue the way he did. If Greg hadn't seen it right in front of him, he would have doubted a normal human being could get anywhere near that pale.
Greg couldn't help the smile on his face as the restaurant owner seemed to crumble before his eyes, mouth open as he gasped silently like a fish out of water. "I even found where you keep the guns too. Didn't take that long either, honest. A minute… Two tops. I mean, not once I got that last cook to crack."
After a moment of tense silence, Big Ken finally spoke up for the first time since Greg had dragged him out from under his desk by his feet. "L-look, I only… o-own this place on p-p-paper. It's a-all over m-my head."
"Your point?"
"I-I only h-handle the m… the m-money."
"Still not getting what your point is, Kenny."
"J-jus..." The older man paused as the words trailed away, taking in another shuddered breath before opening his mouth again. "P-p… please d-don't… don't kill m-me…"
Greg's grip instinctively tightened around the Glock in his hand, the pitiful attempt at begging making him regret actually turning the safety back on. Here he was, trying to be a good guy by fighting the temptation in the first place...
"You're asking a lot from me, Kenny." Greg lifted the gun from the man's skull, eliciting a relieved sigh from Big Ken for a moment, before quickly lowering the gun to his chin. The look of returning terror only intensified as the blond used the weapon to prod Ken's face into looking over at him. "Asking a hell of a lot."
"O-okay..."
"See, your life isn't worth a thing to me so the million dollar question here is…" Greg began with a slow nod, eyes narrowing behind his mask with each word. "What's it worth to you?"
Intimidation Lvl Up!
6→7
+ 1 CHA
Yeah, Greg nodded to himself, he's nice and ready. Time for the closer.
"I-I-I…" Big Ken began shaking again, repeating the same syllable over and over like a broken toy. Greg prodded the portly man's face with the empty weapon again, stilling him into silence with just that.
"I don't have the time to waste on you using your last two brain cells to answer my questions." The slight smirk behind his mask grew, Greg unable to deny that Sparky's insults were as brutal as they were cutting even when he was the one using them. "Here's what I want you to do, big man."
Using the hand not currently holding a gun, Greg gestured towards the computer on Ken's desk and cleared his throat. "You're gonna give me what you have on the ABB."
Big Ken drew a shuddering breath, the man's chin trembling as he began to work his mouth again. "I… I d-don't," he attempted to speak up, sweat visible as it trailed down his forehead in fat, rain-like drops. "I d-don't have anything l-l-like th-" The gun under his chin shifted, words vanishing as Ken began to gasp again.
"Don't give me that, Ken. I know you have something. Their bases, where they keep their weapons, I want it all printed out." The blond paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side before adding, "Preferably in twelve point font."
"P-please. I… I h-have a f-family."
"And I'm sure they'll miss you." Greg found the humor disappearing from his tone as Big Ken continued to beg, his hand raising the weapon back to the man's temple.
Big Ken didn't take very long to decide after that.
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+ $485,675
With a sigh, Greg Veder landed on the golden-tiled rooftop, his reinforced jump providing just enough power to let him make the leap from ground level with ease. With over two hours left till sunset, it was clear to see that the city in general was pretty much still a mess, plumes of smoke still dotting the skyline across the Bay.
Despite that, Greg couldn't deny that he felt a good deal better about the situation now than he had several hours ago.. Really, he had the big man to thank for that.
While Big Ken had admitted — admittedly, under duress — that a good chunk of the documents he had in his possession were mostly just false leads, a lot of it consisting of nothing but listings of empty warehouses and abandoned office buildings to keep the police and PRT off their trail, he had been knowledgeable enough about the ABB to offer up some other prime information.
In fact, the restaurateur went so far as to personally write out some locations for Greg to go after, admitting that he knew of these because he had been there in person. If that wasn't enough, Big Ken was even willing to open his personal office safe to the young cape, trusting Greg with all the money that was to be laundered through his restaurant for the month.
Truly, the man was dedicated to bringing the ABB to justice. In the end, Greg almost felt bad about leaving him tied up in his office for police to find, office computer open to the most incriminating documents the man had to offer.
Almost.
With all this in mind, it was a much more relaxed Greg Veder that crouched in his usual pose on one of the four golden dragons that fit the place’s name. It had been at most two minutes since he called the police, but, while the blond still intended to wait and make sure the ABB were all arrested, he didn’t expect them to arrive anywhere within thirty minutes.
Letting out another sigh, Greg lowered the bottom of his balaclava and visibly relaxed as the brisk New England air met his skin, the scent of Chinese food carried by the breeze a pleasant addition. Or maybe that's just me, Greg thought to himself a moment later.
With the slightest roll of his eyes at the thought, the blond allowed himself a slight smile only for the expression to freeze on his face as he glanced back at the skyline, open hands shifting to fists at his side as he spotted a multitude of explosions tear through several buildings just a few blocks away. What the f- The colorful detonations and distortions in space surrounding what appeared to be normal flames dotting the entire block only confirmed what he knew of the Tinker explosives.
However, it raised another question.
An important question.
"Why would the ABB set off bombs in their… " He muttered the words to himself as he stared, almost transfixed in his confusion. "...in their own t-"
The words disappeared from his mind, Greg's train of thought derailing entirely as a railroad spike worth of pain drove itself directly into the base of his skull and a set of blue eyes widened in sudden alarm. His body tensed and Greg recoiled, the blond instinctively recoiling away from incoming danger as a backwards dive immediately became a flip towards the center of the roof.
The moment he landed upright, an overhead light seared itself into his vision like a microcosm of the sun itself, forcing him to shut his eyes. The instant he did, Greg Veder felt the world slow down, mouth open in a silent scream as something violently slammed into him with immense speed.
-258
The teen felt his chest buckle inwards, breath vanishing as his heart pounded frantically against his screaming ribcage. Blue eyes sprang open to face the light, Greg suddenly faced with the realization that the ground had vanished from beneath his feet. With that thought in mind, Greg Veder could only stare in shock as he fell to the unforgiving asphalt below.
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Spoiler: STATUS