World Forged by Powers New York IC

[Zombiedude101]

Pulling up into an alleyway adjacent to 'Club Afterlife', Cesar promptly dismounted his motorcycle before retrieving his Colt .45 from the storage compartment beneath the seat, examining the homemade silencer he'd attached to it after about half an hour of working on it. It wasn't much, but it would at least muffle the shots enough so that they probably wouldn't be heard from the outside, since the club had already been fitted with soundproof insulation back when it was open in order to save money on heating and avoid complaints from neighbours about the loud music. But Cesar wasn't looking to kill anyone, not unless he had to. He'd either deal with them via hand-to-hand or incapacitate them with a leg shot. He'd stuffed his jacket with a little additional padding to provide himself that little bit more protection, and his durability would hopefully handle the rest.

Whilst the main door of the club was boarded up, with the words 'CONDEMNED - CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE' spray painted in red, there was an entrance in a side alleyway which the club's staff used to get inside. Rather than go ahead immediately, he stopped to observe from a distance, waiting a good hour or so as he observed what went on. Every ten to fifteen minutes, a new figure would show up, and the kind of people he saw surprised him. Whilst a good few were obviously from poorer neighbourhoods and gangs, a relatively large number of them seemed to be wealthy, or at least well-off, with some still wearing their business suits which would otherwise make them appear respectable. They'd knock on the door a few times, to be answered by a burly figure who gave off a feeling that it wouldn't be wise to start a fight with him, and the figure would either usher them in or throw them out, depending on what the customer said to them.

Of course, there was another way in. Club Afterlife had never really been condemned, but the previous owner of the club had got into a large amount of debt with the local Crime Family, resulting in him being forced to hand over his assets or end up with an unfortunate fate. Shortly afterwards, the Family had a few of their 'connections' have the building officially declared as condemned, allowing them to use the 'abandoned' building as a disguise for their newest brothel. To keep up this disguise, they had a series of scaffolds put up around the building. However, they'd overlooked the fact that one of the ventilation ducts led straight out into a wall which the scaffolds provided easy access to, granting anyone with enough knowledge of the building's layout an easy way inside.

So, after climbing over the rusted fencing which normally prevented access to the scaffolds, Cesar made his way up until he'd reached where the duct led out, and after some prying, he was able to remove the grating which normally prevented access. Squeezing inside, he began to crawl through the shafts, awkwardly shifting about and releasing a few quiet curses in Spanish when his helmet sometimes banged against the metal frame in the tighter corners. Some sections of the shafts had gratings on them which allowed a view of the various rooms in the club itself, granting Cesar a rather unfortunate view of the disgusting acts taking place below him. Most of the prostitutes there were either drunk, high or too scared to say otherwise or resist the advances of their clients, and the stale air, combined with the stench of sweat, sickened him all the more. One incident caught his eye, as he spotted one of the prostitutes in an argument with one of the 'pimp's of the club. He felt pity for the girl, who was no more than nineteen, by the looks of things. Begging for the manager to let her quit her job, she was met only by a variety of foul curses, followed by the pimp grabbing her by her hair and dragging her towards a nearby chair, essentially spitting what followed at her.

"I'll fuckin' show yer' how to give the fucking customers a good time, you useless fuckin' bitch. Undress yer'self!"
"N-No.. please, I don't... I want to quit this.. please I'm beggin' you, I don't-"
"Don't fuckin' tell me what to do, if you won't do it, I guess I'll have to fuckin'-"

Cesar was unwilling to let it go on. He'd seen this happen before to friends and family, and he damn well wasn't going to let this fucker try this shit. Bashing in the grating, Cesar soon dropped down from the shaft, much to the 'pimp's surprise.

"The fuck?!"
"You fuckin' Maricon!"

Cesar quickly sent a right hook toward's the his jaw, causing him to stagger back, only to be met by yet another blow, this time to his stomach. Whilst he tried to fight back, his efforts were futile, and he was soon subdued by Cesar, who had by now managed to crack more than a few ribs, break his jaw and essentially leave him a bloody mess to the point of unconsciousness. It was almost enough to distract him from the girl, who by now had taken to hiding in the corner, cowering in fear. Approaching her, Cesar spoke.

"That piece of shit won't be walkin' round anytime soon. You'd best leave this place whilst you can."
"O.... Okay... thanks, I mean."
"And one more thing."
"Y-Yeah?"
"There's a payphone a few blocks to the right as you leave this shithole. Do me a favour and call the Police, tell la jura everything you can, and tell 'em that there's enough evidence to send more than a few pendejos away for a long time, and tell 'em to bring in the heavy artillery. Don't worry about these people, they won't get to you, I'll make sure of it."
"Alright.. I will."

With that, she quickly fled, stepping out of the door. To Cesar's fortune, a good amount of renovation had taken place since the change in management, thus most of the rooms had been soundproofed to avoid the customers having to listen to the occupants of neighbouring rooms going at it like rabbits. Thus, this little 'incident' had gone undetected. Making his way through the building yet again, Cesar encountered more 'guards', dispatching them via non-lethal methods. When he needed to be stealthy, he'd sneak up on them from behind and choke them into unconsciousness, otherwise he'd have to beat them into submission until they were out cold. Then came a door which was locked by a keypad, probably the VIP section or something. Taking out his Colt .45, he quickly found a guard who he was able to coerce into giving him the code after feeling the end of the weapon pushing against his temple.

"Alright... no need to be hasty now, it's '4921'."
"Gracias, Princess."

With that, he tightened his arm around the guard's throat, until he was out cold due to a lack of oxygen. So far so good, it seemed. Punching in the code to the door, Cesar made his way up the steps that followed, finding not a VIP lounge but rather an area being used for the storage of various drugs, no doubt being used to ply the girls into selling out their bodies to some pervert looking for a few minutes of physical pleasure. LSD, Coke, Heroin, Ecstacy, it was all here. It was enough evidence to put at least half the Family away if it was linked to them, which is why it was important to ensure that the police found out about this once he'd dealt with the manager upstairs in his office.

Dispatching a few more thugs tasked with guarding the area, albeit poorly, Cesar soon spotted his target just up ahead. A familar song was blaring out into the hallways outside, enough that Cesar was tempted to whistle along to the tune if it weren't for the fact that he might give himself away by doing so. Instead, he pressed himself the wall and moved further down, peering into the open doorway once he had the chance. To his surprise, there weren't any guards present, and the only man present, the manager, wasn't what he expected.

The manager was in fact, a thin, sallow man wearing a worn leather jacket, complete with a shirt and jeans coated in dirt, with slight blood spatters on the former. Held between his lips was a single cigarette, only recently lit, and on the counter he could see a variety of dollar bills which obviouslly added up to at least a few grand. In the corner of the room was a worn out couch, and spread out on it was a young girl of about sixteen who appeared to be in a catatonic state, probably induced by a drug overdose if the marks on her arm were anything to go by. Pinned up on the wall nearby were photos of the manager sexually abusing the girl, taking advantage of her in order to make his own, sick pornography. Enraged, Cesar quickly withdrew his .45 Colt once more, stepping into the room with the weapon aimed directly at the manager's head.

"Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees."
"Who the fuck-"
"Shut the fuck up! I said get on your motherfucking knees!"
"Shit... shit, shit.. alright."

With little other choice and having been caught by surprise, the manager quickly fell to the ground as Cesar rounded his desk, kneeling before the masked hispanic with a panicked tone in his voice.

"I-If the Vinci's sent you to kill me, just look at bigger picture. Maybe we can strike a-"
"Shut the hell up!"

Cesar quickly followed this up by delivering a swift boot to the manager's face.

"D-Do you know who I am? I'm Pete fuckin' Cle-"

Cesar followed it up with yet another blow, this time to Pete's stomach, before speaking.

"You... you fucking disgust me. Your kind, you're scum on the streets. Proffitting off others' misery and suffering, taking advantage of the helpless, like that girl over there."
"She wanted it-"
"How the fuck could she have wanted THAT? She's half-dead you pendejo, and yet you continue to abuse her, she's still a fuckin' kid. I should put one through your dick-"
"N-No! Anything... but that."
"Don't fuckin' tell me what to do. I should kill you right now-"
"Please... Please.... PLEASE! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really am, please, I don't want to die, I'm a good man-"
"Don't give me a sob story, puta. I said I /should/ kill you."
"But you won't?"
"No. I'm going to do something else, let you see it from the perspective of people like her."
"What?"

Grabbing Pete by the collar, Cesar quickly dragged him across the room, towards where the girl was sprawled out. Aside the couch were a variety of needles containing what he assumed to be heroin, though whether or not they had been used in the past was still in doubt. Whatever, he didn't give a shit about that. Instead, he pinned Pete down to the floor with one knee, keeping his .45 shoved straight between his eyes, whilst he used his free hand to grip onto one of the full syringes after rolling up Pete's sleeve.

"Move and you're dead."
"But-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Pushing the metal of the needle into Pete's arm, into the vein, Cesar then proceeded to push the plunger, thus injecting Pete with the Heroin. Yet, this wasn't where it ended. No. Instead, he continued, using up another two doses until Pete was completely off his head, in a sense. This he hoped, would get the guy hooked on the stuff. Give him an addiction, much like the prostitutes he'd taken advantage of by offering them drugs in exchange for services. Then, he decided that in order to stop Pete from being able to commit a crime in order to fund his addiction, he'd cripple him. Pointing his Colt .45 towards the guy's left kneecap, he pulled the trigger once, prompting a loud scream of pain. He repeated this once more, with the other kneecap, before looking towards the girl, then the money on the counter. He figured that this money would best go towards charity, in this case, helping her out, once she'd been treated anyway. And it would leave Pete without any funds. So, grabbing an empty dufflebag stuffed behind the desk, Cesar quickly filled the bag up, before noticing that Pete had left his cellphone on the desk. Picking it up and dialling 911, he began to speak as the call was answered.

"This is the 911 Emergency number, which service do you wish to be patched through to?"
"Police, please.
"Doing so now. Please wait."

Another dial tone followed, before a woman in her late twenties answered.

"This is the New York City Police Department."
"Yes? Good. Someone made a call regarding the old Club Afterlife building earlier?"
"I'm sorry sir but we are not allowed to disclose-"
"You should know that there's a young girl in the manager's office who appears to have suffered from an overdose. She needs immediate medical attention, fast. I don't know how much she's been dosed with but it isn't good-"
"Alright sir, can I just take your name-"
"Sorry, I need to go. Just do it."
"Sir-"

Cesar quickly hung up, tossing the cellphone towards Pete, who by now was unconscious. Noticing that the nearby window had only been boarded up with rather flimsy materials, Cesar quickly broke through it after a few bashes from his elbow, leaning out onto to hear footsteps behind him. Turning around, he was a little too late to spot the guard, who fired at him a few times with a Glock 17 pistol. Exclaiming audibly with a "Mierde!", Cesar was knocked out through the window by the force of it. Fortunately for him, he had a rather soft landing, as he found himself atop a small pile of garbage bags. Groaning as he looked down to his abdomen, where the bullet had impacted, he noticed a tear in his leather jacket, though fortunately for him the padding had stopped it mostly whilst his rather durable phisiology did the rest. It hurt like hell though, and he'd have the bruising to prove it for the next few days.

"Too close for comfort, shit..."

Hearing sirens in the distance, Cesar took it as his cue to leave, jogging back to where he'd left his motorcycle, before starting up the engine and setting off, but not before inserting a pair headphones to listen to one of his favourite songs.

[CalPal]

Taking the sheet from Erika, Johnny looked it over to make sure that everything was properly filled out. After marking down a few things himself, he then went back behind the counter and filed the sheet away, while also going about looking for something else.

"Perfect, your $6,000 will be in your account real soon, once all this shit is processed and all that. So, uh, I don't want to just leave you stranded without a car or anything. So I'll grab you some spare change, enough to get you on a bus and go on to wherever it is you want to get going to. Unless you were dropped off, but then how'd you get your car here, right?"

[sinisnalp]

"Don't worry about it. I don't live too far away, and I enjoy a good walk. Helps keep you in shape." Erika said, telling the complete truth this time. "And thank you. Was it Johnny? Don't think you actually told me your name, and I don't want to just assume by the name of the shop." she asked, mostly just making small talk before she left in order to be polite. Overall, seems things went rather well.

[CalPal]

"Nah, it's all right honey. Johnny is my name; It's just the Goode Mechanic Shop - doesn't have my first name on it - but if you've managed to figure out where this store is in the first place, you'd have heard my name from someone giving you directions. All right" Johnny says as he ends it on a good note, "you take care out there, and if you have any other car issues or know people who do, you send them my way, all right? Trust me when I say I fix cars better than anyone else in New York, and that's being modest."

[sinisnalp]

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." Erika politely responded as she left the shop. That went well. She just needed to keep cautious for a day or two to make sure he didn't secretly hold any suspicions and wait to get the money. Couldn't had gone better even if she didn't have anything to hide. The money from this and the job should leave her well off for a while, giving her plenty of time to plan another job or to receive one from her client.

Erika returned to her apartment complex. It wasn't quite middle class, but it wasn't a run down hole either. The kind of place that wouldn't draw a lot of suspicion, given the nature of her work. Each room also had individual heating, so she could set it really high without bothering the rest of the floor she was on. While her strange overactive natural cooling was useful when she was using her pyrokinesis a lot, it was a pain in the ass any other time when it just made her really cold, and she wasn't looking forward to winter coming either. Overall, the room had a quaint amount of clutter, but wasn't sloppy. At a glance, it would just look like the room of a busy working girl. Luckily, she was really good at hiding the things she didn't want to be found, and could recently afford a few small pieces of furniture that had hidden compartments. Erika relaxed in a chair, thinking of new plans.

[Zombiedude101]

For those tuned into the Channel 4 Station on both TV and Radio, they were able to listen as a new transmission was broadcasted.

"This is Channel 4, bringing you breaking news."

For those watching the broadcast on TV, they'd see the screen switch to a live video of a female News Anchor stood in front of a seemingly derelict building with the sign reading out 'Club Afterlife' upon it. Around the scene are numerous patrol cars, S.W.A.T vans with both Officers and S.W.A.T Teams wandering about.

"Earlier today, this building was the scene of a major police investigation into what was believed to be an underground brothel being used to fund criminal interests. Club Afterlife, closed in 2007 after health and safety inspectors deemed the building to be unsafe for public access, was being used as a front by an as-of-yet unidentified criminal group with strong ties to drugs trafficking and prositution across the entire state. At least fifty arrests have been made and zero casualties have occurred as of yet, though a sixteen year old girl was found to have overdosed on narcotics and is currently in a critical state at the hospital. In addition to these arrests, a large haul of illegal narcotics and firearms is said to have been discovered by investigating officers, though when questioned about this the department declined to answer.

Our reports indicate that the investigation was sparked by an anonynous call from a payphone several blocks away from the building, whilst further reports indicate that a second phone call was made via a suspect's satphone. Whilst our reports are still unclear, police are looking for another suspect who may play a more important role in the following investigation. Suspect was last seen wearing a leather biking jacket with dark blue jeans, a black motorcycle helmet, and is said to speak with a Latino Accent. The suspect is believed to be armed and potentially dangerous, and the NYPD has asked witnesses not approach the suspect but instead to dial 911 as soon as possible. I'm Caroline Penrose, and this is Channel Four News."

With that, the broadcast ends, returning to whatever crap was on before.

[Megafire7]

Brad walked home, his grocery bags full of groceries he had gotten at a discount. He was pretty sure he'd been polite during the entire thing, although most of the actualy buying stuff was kind of a blur. He could remember what happened before that, though. He could remember that very well. It had been so amazing! He was so cool! (Brad was, for the sake of the story, leaving out the bit about his shaky legs and breaking voice.) And he had stopped a robbery! He couldn't wait to tell his parents. They were going to be so proud.

"So let me get this straight," his dad said, after Brad had finished his story. He looked notably less impressed than the rest of his family. "You ran in there and pissed off a guy with a knife, hoping that this new power of yours would save you?"
Brad thought about that. "Yeah, that sounds-"
"Are you crazy!?" his father bellowed, shocking Brad and his brothers and sisters. Anna looked like she was about to cry, before mom rushed over to calm her down. "Don't you know how dangerous that was?"
"I saved someone," Brad mumbled, shifting nervously under his father's gaze.
"And what if that robber hurt you? Where would that someone be then?"
"But he didn't," Brad said, a little louder this time. "I stopped him with my power."
"And if your power didn't work, Brad? You couldn't be sure-"
"Yes I could be sure!" Brad was yelling now, too. "I knew it would work! I've been practicing!"

"Brad," his father said in that stern tone of voice that made him snap his mouth shut pretty much immediately. "Tell me you understand that what you did was dangerous."
"Yes dad," he said meekly. "I understand."
"Well, that's something, at least. We'll talk about this later." With that, his father got up and left the room.

Brad was upset. He hadn't expected this. He thought his dad would have been proud of him, not angry at him. He just felt really stupid now and a little bit angry, although he didn't know at what yet. He was also pretty sure that he was about to cry. His mom noticed how he was feeling and came over to him. "You said you got a discount?" she asked.
Brad nodded sadly, already digging in his pockets for the change.
"Keep it," his mom said, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Really?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes, really," she told him. "A hero deserves a reward, don't you think?"
Brad nodded fiercely, a huge smile on his face.
"I'm very proud of you, and I'm sure your dad is, too. He just wants you to stay safe." She kissed his forehead. "So promise me you'll be careful, okay?"
"Yes, mom."

[Zombiedude101]

Returning to his apartment after his little 'raid' on Club Afterlife, Cesar was none too pleased to spot the bruising on his ribs after removing his leather jacket and vest. Still, it could have been worse. If he'd had such a soft landing thanks to the presence of the garbage bags, or if his attacker had been using a more powerful firearm, or both, his injuries would have been much more severe. And painful, to boot. So, helping himself to a half-drunk bottle of Whiskey from the fridge, Cesar spent a good portion of the night watching over Carmine, who had managed to get to sleep, fortunately. Eventually he managed to get to sleep alone, having passed out at the kitchen table.

The next morning, he awoke to find that Carmine had already made himself something to eat, and was in the process of organising breakfast for Cesar, which somewhat amused him, but at the same time made him feel guilty. Dammit, he couldn't think about those two, not now. All that mattered was Carmine, nothing else. So, the two sat together as Cesar finished off his rice crispies, then just, well, sat. And talked, for quite a while. About an hour and a half, just about general stuff. Women, food, movies, video games, sex. Pretty much anything except family and 'heroes' was on the table for discussion, and it helped to pass the time. Eventually, Cesar left, roughly around four in the afternoon, to make his next move.

Then, after spending half an hour aimlessly cruising the general area on his Harley Softail, Cesar decided that his next target would be one Peter Sullivan, a Senior Officer who could easily be grouped amongst some of the most sleazy and corrupt of New York's Finest operating in the local area. Amongst other things, Sullivan was known for associating himself with all manner of criminal elements, from local street gangs to local 'branches' of city-wide crime families. If it brought money to the pot, Sullivan was likely to have his finger in the pie. If you had the money, or in the case of women, the 'assets', Sullivan would be more than willing to look the other way, and it had made him popular amongst a good amount of New York's Underground Community, and this had helped to keep him alive and evade any serious investigation from Internal Affairs. That, and his ruthlessness. No doubt, Sullivan had been responsible for making a few of his 'problem people' dissapear, or forcing them to yield to his demands in the case that he had leverage against them. Hence, few were willing to go up against him.

Despite this however, Cesar had other plans. Sullivan was another parasite who needed to be removed, and whilst he didn't want to admit it, the Mad Welder's policy of 'no mercy' could be applied in this situation, unless another method which would assure his being locked up for the last thirty years or so of his sleazy, misery inducing life. Perhaps, but for now, the base plan was to eliminate Sullivan unless something changed that. But first, he'd need a few 'tools' in order to break into Sullivan's house, which had a variety of locks, automated motion detector based alarms and security cameras which fed back to a monitor system somewhere in the house. Conveniently, Cesar spotted a building up ahead which potentially held what he needed, and so he pulled up, whistling quietly as he read the sign once more: 'Johnny Goode Auto'.

Stepping into the store, he removed his helmet and glanced around, scanning for the location of the owner. Whilst it might have been initially difficult to notice, the leather jacket that he wore appeared to have several tears on the lower left side, just below the heart. Whilst one couldn't be certain, it'd be possible to suspect that they were in fact caused by several gunshots to the material. "Ey', is anyone here? Maybe a clerk, or somethin'?"

[Megafire7]

There was a place, somewhere in one of the most boring neighbourhoods of New York, that stood out because it somehow managed to be even more boring than the neighbourhood itself. It was a computer store. A dark and dusty computer store that nobody close seemed to want to go to. People often found themselves complaining about how anyone could run such a bad business, but it seemed to have a few regular customers all the same. At this point, most people would note that if you were a regular customer at a computer store they obviously weren't selling you quality merchandise, which they considered to be the wittiest comment of the day.

Really though, the woman that ran the place was quite savvy. Janet Bridges knew exactly what kind of customers she served, and most of them were not exactly interested in computers. Aradia Volkov was one of them.
"Aradia!" the short and plump woman greeted her excitedly. She was the exact opposite of the sort of person people would expect to run a place like this, and she was very invested in her customers. "It's so nice to see you again."
"Likewise Janet," Aradia told her.
"So, are you here for a reason today or did you just want to see me?" she asked, smiling suggestively.
"Can it not be both?" Aradia replied.
She laughed sat down on her work desk. “It certainly can be,” she said happily. “I guess you’re here for the new scope?”

Aradia leaned against the desk opposite hers. “That is true. You have made me quite excited about having it.”
“It can’t be said I don’t know what gets you going,” Janet said, causing Aradia to raise an eyebrow. “You’re right on time, I got it in today. I made a few modifications to the software myself, and I think you’ll really like them.”
“Such as?”
“I made the user interface a little nicer to look at. Didn’t lose any functionality because of it, too.” Janet was a technopath, although her actual skill with computers exceeded her supernormal ability. “And I’m not even going to charge you for it, because that’s just how nice I am.”