Simple Unicycle

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Gotta give a big shout to @DocTachyon for the badass banner he designed for Punisher.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

T H E P U N I S H E R
T H E P U N I S H E R

I S S U E # 2
I S S U E # 2

B E T T E R O F F A L O N E
B E T T E R O F F A L O N E

"Frank... You're sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure, Dave."

"No second thoughts? None at all?"

"If I had second thoughts, they died with Nicky Francesco."

"Right... Right. Okay. I think I know how to help."

Dave is still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sits down at his computer. I don't think he was too happy to be woken up by me showing up at his apartment at 1 AM. He was probably even less happy after I told him that I had just killed a man. But even still, he's my best friend, and he has my back.

I'm not too sure what he's doing with his computer, but he opens a program and I see a window open and hundreds of lines of code scroll by in the blink of an eye. After a few moments, he's on the landing page for the NYPD's internal database. The fact that he had something ready for this makes me quirk an eyebrow. "You just happen to have access to the station's database at home?"

Dave scratches the back of his head. "I, uh, like to do some research. About the guys we're trying to lock up."

I'll just leave it at that. Can't look a gift horse in the mouth. "Look up Billy Russo. I need everything we have on the guy."

Dave clicks through a few pages then types the name into a search bar. He pulls up Russo's file, a few pages worth of background and crimes he had committed. He's never been arrested, so in lieu of a mugshot all we have are stills of surveillance camera footage. Billy the Beaut was a name that struck fear in the criminal underworld. I'd seen some of the aftermaths of his murders in the flesh. He liked to mutilate his victims' faces, gashes and cuts akin to a jigsaw puzzle. Should have known he wasn't the one who killed my family; we were able to have an open casket funeral.

His story was simple: former marine, comes home after a few tours, finds new work with the mob. He's been at it for fifteen years, working his way up the ranks until he was a capo, one of Saint's top enforcers. Has soldiers under his command, but he likes the dirty work. He's a killing machine, cold, efficient. One of the worst killers out there. But I'll be worse. You have to be to go after these kinds of men.

"We don't have an address for him, but it seems like he spends most nights at a bar in Staten Island. The Stardust Lounge."

"I know. Francesco told me right before he died. That's where I'm heading tomorrow night."

"Place is owned the Saints. Walking in would be suicide, Frank."

"It might be. But they won't expect it."

"Just don't get killed."

"I won't." I walk towards the front door of Dave's apartment and open it. "Good night Dave."

"... Night, Frank."

---
^{T H E N E X T N I G H T . . .}

I get out of my car and glance up at the neon sign declaring "The Stardust Lounge" in swirling cursive letters. There's no bouncer out front, just a metal door plastered with a sign reading "NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION". Through the blackened windows I can see the silhouettes of the patrons: playing pool, sitting at tables, leaning against the bar. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell that this place is a den for mob activities, which means that everyone in there is probably packing heat. Going in through the front door would be suicide, like Dave said.

So I'll take the back.

I walk around to the back of the building and see a man in chef's whites smoking a cigarette by the back door, which is propped open by a red brick. I step up next to him and press my Glock to the side of his head. He freezes, the cigarette falling from his lips and onto the asphalt. "You work here?" I ask.

"Y-yeah."

"You got a family?"

"I-I got a baby girl at home."

"Then run. Go home to her and thank her every day for saving your life." I lower my gun. The man takes my advice and books it to his car. I watch him run, then open the back door and step into the kitchen.

The kitchen staff is so hard at work that I pass through without a glance in my direction. I step out of the kitchen and into the bar proper. The bar is nowhere close to capacity, only about ten men in the room: the bartender, three playing pool, two leaning against the bar, three sitting around a table, and one in a booth in the corner. The guy sitting on his own in the booth? Billy Russo. I'm gonna have to chat with him. Alone.

I step forward, pulling out my twin pistols as the jukebox switches tracks.

"I feel so low..."

I fire at one of the men at the bar. His brains splatter onto the guy next to him as he collapses into a heap on the floor. Next shot takes out one of the guys playing pool. It's only after the two shots have been fired that the rest of the men in the room notice me and start pulling out guns of their own. The bartender takes a bullet to the chest before he can pull out a double barrel.

A cacophony of gunfire erupts as I roll behind the bar, bullets whizzing past me. I stay ducked down behind the bar and blind fire over the counter, hearing a shout of pain and a thud as a body drops to the floor. I grab the shotgun the bartender was going for and spring upward onto the bar, unloading one of the barrels and blowing apart one of the mobsters' heads. I fire the second shot at another bastard who goes flying as the shot hits him in the guts.

I throw the shotgun at a mafioso's head and pull out my pistols before diving off the bar, firing as I soar through the air. Two men go down before I hit the ground. I pull myself to my feet and stalk over to the guy who took the shotgun to the face. I dump a round into him, then turn to see Russo still sitting in his booth, silently sipping a beer and watching the events unfold.

"Gotta say, that was pretty impressive," he says, standing from the booth and walking towards me. As soon as my left hand goes up to fire he whips out a gun of his own and shoots the pistol out of my hand. "But I'm pretty impressive myself."

We both charge forward and fire, narrowly ducking away from each others' bullets. We're face to face now, throwing punches with our free hands and narrowly knocking the other's gun hand out of the way before we can fire. I duck down into a crouch and sweep his legs out from under him, sending him to the floor. He fires and hits me in the thigh, making me fall to the ground as I shout in pain.

We both roll onto our sides and fire at the other, the bullets seeming to graze each other; his knocks the gun out of my hand while mine hits him in the shoulder. He hisses in pain, clutching at his wound, while I get up onto my feet and kick the gun out of his hand. I pick him up by the lapels of his jacket and drag him over to the window, slamming him against it. The glass cracks slightly under the force.

"Well, looks like you got me right where you want me Officer Castle," he says, grinning. I take a hand off his jacket and sock him in the face. He grunts, but doesn't say anything else.

"So you recognize me. I was hoping you would."

"How could I forget you? You're the one that killed the boss' boy."

"And you sent one of your men to kill me and my family. Next time, you should do it yourself. Last guy was a sloppy shot."

"That or you're just a tough motherfucker." Before I can respond, he brings a knee up into my gut, making my grip on him loosen. He tries to grab at me but I regain control quickly, throwing another punch at his chin and snapping his head upwards. "AGH, FUCK!" I tighten my grip on his jacket and force him down to his knees. "Jesus... You gonna fuckin' shoot me or not?"

"No. I'm not." I think of what I could do to him, ways to inflict punishment for his crimes. Killing him would be too easy and it wouldn't mean anything. I need him alive. I need to send a message to the Saints.

I look at the crack in the window.

I turn Russo around and grab him by the hair, before slamming his face into the glass. Again. And again. And again. The window shatters, chips and shards embedding into Russo's face. I grab one of the shards and jam it into his cheek, dragging it down his face slowly. Russo screams and yells and curses and cries as I take that beautiful face and rearrange it into a jigsaw puzzle.

The screams go quiet and turn into a low, painful moaning as he goes slack in my grasp. I drop his limp body to the floor. He's still breathing but he probably isn't happy about it. I turn around and pick up my guns, sticking them into their holsters as I take in the scene of chaos I had just created. Bodies on the floor, pools of blood seeping out of them. There's nothing but eerie silence; the jukebox had taken a bullet in the fight.

I feel sick. I try to fight back the rising bile in my throat but I fail, falling to my hands and knees and vomiting. I wipe a string of saliva away from my mouth, shuddering as the adrenaline wears off and I take in what I've just done. I've killed people before. Told myself I didn't enjoy it. I try to tell myself that I don't enjoy this either, but I'd be lying.

I bring myself to my feet and walk out of the bar.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

As far as President, right now I'd stick with Biden and see what happens from there.

@Master Bruce

This is now canon in the One Universe

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

T H E Q U E S T I O N
T H E Q U E S T I O N

I S S U E # - 1
I S S U E # - 1

O V E R T U R E
O V E R T U R E

^{Fourteen months ago.
Charles Victor Szasz has sixty-three days to live.}

"Vic, I'm not telling you to scrap the whole article, I'm just telling you that you need to change the title. Maybe ease up a bit, cut some parts out. We can't go around slandering the mayor," Oscar says. He's been pleading with me to change the contents of my article for a few days now. At first it was just some contention over the title, but now he was finding issues with the contents of the article itself. It was annoying having to deal with him in the past but now? Now I'm at my damn limit with his shit.

Time to put an end to this.

"You hear about how I got fired from the Gazette, Oscar?" I ask, leaning back in my office chair and crossing my arms.

"Uh... What?"

"You wanna know how I got fired?"

"Um. Okay. How?"

I give him a small smile. "Because my editor didn't let me have total control of my article's contents and so I kicked his teeth down his throat and watched him choke on them." His eyes go wide at that. I turn away from him and look at my computer. "And then I kept beating on him until the cops got here and it took four of them to pry me off of him. Have I made my point, Oscar?"

"Y-yes..."

I smile a little wider at that. I click the little blue submit button in the email box. "Good. Just sent you the final draft, took all of your notes into account. The ones I cared about anyway. Go put it through, I want it up on the site first thing tomorrow morning." I turn back to Oscar, smiling. He looks like he's about to shit himself.

"... S-sure thing, Vic." Oscar walks away, shivering slightly. I turn my attention back to my computer screen. "Mayor Fermin: Incompetent, Ignorant, or Insidious?" is the title of my latest work. I'm sure it'll keep Myra and the rest of Wesley's PR team busy for a few weeks. Someone needs to light a fire under Fermin's ass. The man's been in his position for a few months now and not a damn thing has changed for the better; crime rates at an all time high, no solution to the homeless epidemic, public infrastructure in shambles, and that's discounting the fact that he's in bed with the mob...

Okay, not a fact, not yet at least. Maxwell Bine getting released early from his six year stint in prison so soon after Fermin came into office? Not a coincidence in the slightest, I'm sure of it. I'm going to find proof and my new friend, the Faceless Inquisitor, is going to help me.

... The name is a work in progress.

---

^{Charles Victor Szasz has sixty-two days to live.}

When I wake up the next day, my phone has a few hundred notifications. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and grin as I read them. Looks like the Hub City Gazette is trending right now, at least in Illinois. People are going nuts over this article, taking sides for and against Mayor Fermin. Couple of death threats here and there but that's to be expected on Twitter.

I've almost finished reading all the discourse when I get a text.

Myra 💜

We need to talk.

k. about what

I think you know what about, Vic.
hubcitygazette.com

oh that. dont worry about it lol

Do you really think I'm going to ignore you slandering my brother?

yeah

You are such a child. Meet me at Ceilo's Cafe in Hupert Square at noon. We are going to talk about this.

see you there babe

I get up and out of bed and practically skip my way into the shower. Things were finally looking up for me. Getting the recognition I deserve, Fermin under public scrutiny for the first time since he came into office. It was like a dream come true. And the look on Myra's face when she finally realizes her brother is the biggest piece of shit to ever take public office in Hub City? That's gonna make my day.

When I got to Ceilo's, Myra had a window table all to herself, waiting for me. I took a moment to admire her figure. Once we got this all sorted out, we were gonna just head back to my place and have a nice night to ourselves. Our arguments always went that way.

I take a few more steps forward. Her smile shifts to a scowl when she sees me. "Myra," I say, sliding into the chair across from her. I smirk at her glare. "Not really digging the vibes here. Feels like I need a beanie and an oiled up beard to be able to fit in. Maybe they'll settle for me starting up a tech com-"

"Don't. I'm not in the mood for your smartass shit, Vic." She pulls out her phone and unlocks it, before sliding it across the table to me. I pick it up; lo and behold, the Hub City Gazette's front page with article, my claim to fame, right at the top. My smirk widened into a grin as I looked over my work. "What the fuck is this?"

"My own Kentucky Derby. Something that will lay the groundwork for all pieces of political journalism to come," I say, sliding the phone back and leaning back in my chair.

She doesn't seem amused. "What it is is you dragging my brother's name through the mud like he's just some, some-"

"Some crooked politician, just like all the other no good bastards in City Hall. Just because he's your brother doesn't mean he's a good man."

"Don't you dare say that about him. My brother has done more for this city in the two months he's been mayor than you ever have, or ever will!"

"Right, right, really doing a great job at pocketing city funds, taking bribes, getting his mobster friends out of jail while he lets men like Hugo Wernher rot behi-"

"Oh, Wernher, again? That man murdered a cop, Vic!"

"Because that cop would've shot him and his wife if he didn't!"

"It's a miracle he didn't get the death sentence. You know I was the one who lobbied for that, right? Everyone wanted him sent back to Indiana so he could be put on death row there but because you were so insistent on it I pulled some strings to make sure the case remained in Illinois, and I-" she pauses, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose as she groans in frustration. "... Vic. I love you, but I can't... I can't stay with a man who hates my brother the way you do."

So this is it. She can't look past whatever brainwashing her brother has instilled in her.

Fine. Myra has chosen her side.

The wrong side.

"... Then don't," I say as I stand. I turn away from her and walk away, stopping at the front door of the cafe. In the reflection of the windowpane, I see her shocked expression, battling between surprise, anger, and sorrow at my response. Finally, she settles on a disgusted scowl, turning away. I walk out of the cafe without looking back.

That night I go out and beat up some street punks. It doesn't make me feel better.

---

^{Charles Victor Szasz has fifty-nine days to live.}

I'm sitting at my desk writing a piece on Council Chairman Floyd's ties to the Chicago Outfit when I feel a presence behind my shoulder. I look behind me and see the Gazette's editor-in-chief Elizabeth McCoy looming over me. The look on her face tells me that something's wrong. "Vic, can I see you in my office?"

"Of course, Liz. Just let me finish up what I was-"

"Now."

... Guess she hasn't had her coffee yet. "... Alright." I save the document and get up from my chair, following Elizabeth into her office. A few of my coworkers stare at us as we walk by, whispering among themselves. Always a good sign.

When we get into her office, she walks around her desk and sits down in her chair. "Have a seat, Vic."

I take a seat.

"... Do you have any idea the shitstorm you've conjured with that piece on Fermin?"

"Yeah, hopefully soon we'll see him step down and-"

"Step down? I asked you to write me a piece on Fermin's fundraiser gala for homeless prevention and you give me a hit piece? What the fuck were you thinking, Sage?"

"I was thinking that it would highlight Fermin's shortcomings as may-"

"The man has been in office for two Goddamn months. You throw around conspiracy theories about how he sprung Max Bine from prison and pockets city funds like you expect a fucking mob with pitchforks and torches to march down to city hall and have him executed."

"I was just trying to get people talking-"

"Oh, you got people talking. You got lawyers breathing down my neck trying to shut this entire journal down. The mayor is going to sue if we don't take down the article and kick you out the door."

"And you told them you'd take their asses to court, right?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Pack up your shit, Vic. You're fired."

---

^{Charles Victor Szasz has fifty-one days to live.}

I've been sitting outside Samuel Starr's office with three other candidates for about thirty minutes. There were eight of us half an hour ago, but every single person that's come out of his office has done so with a sour face and quick feet. One guy left the office crying. I'd heard rumors about Starr being a hard ass and it looked like they were true.

Mr. Starr opens the door to his office, letting out a young man whose face was contorted into a scowl. "Sage! You're next," Starr says. I stand up and walk into the office, with Samuel closing the door behind us and taking a seat at his desk.

He looks at me for a minute and then says, "So you're the guy who wrote that article about the mayor?"

Great. Looks like I was about to miss out on another job. "... Yes. That was me."

His face morphs into a grin. "Can you write even more articles like that for me?"

I blink in surprise. Then I match his grin with one of my own. "That I can do, Mr. Starr."

"Call me Sam, Vic. I look forward to seeing more of you." With those words he stands and sticks his hand forward, which I shake firmly. He walks to the door of his office and opens it. "Position is filled. The rest of you can go home." He turns to me. "Show up on Monday at 9 AM sharp in your best suit."

I give him a salute as I walk out of the office with a grin. "Yes sir."

---

^{Charles Victor Szasz has twenty-five hours and forty-seven minutes to live.}

I grip the lapels of my jacket tightly as I flatten myself against the dingy shack's walls, trying to listen past the sound of thunder in the distance. From inside, I hear a ball game playing on a TV with blown out speakers cranked to max volume. "Read 'em and weep," a man says and I hear three distinct groans of annoyance. Four men inside playing cards.

I move over to the front door of the shack and run a gloved finger over the splintered wood. All it'll take is one good kick and it'll shatter. I feel a ball of anxiousness build in the pit of my stomach as I back up and ready my leg to kick the door down. I might die here. But that's part of the fun, isn't it?

*CRA-ACK!*

The door breaks apart into chunks of wood and splinters. I march forward and point at the four men who've jumped up from their chairs and look at me in shock. "You've got something I want. And you'd better give it to me."

One of the guys, a man with red hair and a shit-eating grin, moves closer to me. "Fellas, you think he wants it? I don't think he really, truly wants i-" I slam a fist into his face and send him stumbling back into the old box TV they had set up. He slumps to the ground and the TV falls off the nightstand and onto his head, the glass shattering.

The other three jump into action, bum rushing me. One grapples with me and tries to force me to the floor but I slip out of his grasp and knee him in the crotch. I throw a punch that catches him in the ear and he backs away to clutch his head in pain. I grab him by the collar and send a few more punches into his face until he goes limp. I feel a pair of arms wrap around my neck before I can react and I find myself held in a chokehold. The thug squeezes tightly, yelling at his buddy: "Get this mask off him!"

The only other guy still standing steps in front of me and starts grabbing at my faceless visage. When it becomes clear he can't take off my mask he steps back in horror. "Holy shit, that's his fuckin' face!"

I raise a leg and kick the man in the chest, sending me and the guy with his arms wrapped around me neck to the floor. His grip on me loosens and I flip around to face him on the floor, slamming both fists down on his face over and over again.

A pair of hands grab me and pull me away from the man on the floor. I shake them off and twist around to face the last man standing, throwing a wild punch at him. I can feel his jawbone shattering against my knuckles and he's sent to the floor.

I stop and take a breather, looking around. That's when I see her: a woman in a red suit, standing in the corner and eying me with a curious expression. "Don't wanna get involved, lady? Smart."

She gives me a crooked smile and I feel a shiver run down my spine as she speaks. "I despise violence."

"Heard these guys' boss left his laptop here with them. I'll be taking it."

"Over there." She lifts a finger and points at the laptop bag sitting on a dresser.

"Thanks." I walk over the bag and grab it, slinging it over my shoulder.

---

^{Charles Victor Szasz has ten minutes to live.}

I hop the fence and land on my feet, grunting from the impact that was softened by eight inches of snow. I tug at my scarf to tighten it as I march onward. Tonight's the night I finally get what I've been chasing for these past few months: proof that Mayor Fermin is in bed with the Gospel of Sinners. He and his associates were meeting with the head of the Sinners here, according to the info on the laptop I had stolen.

I see six figures up ahead standing around two cars parked right by the docks. There's no way to approach them without being seen, in fact I'm pretty sure the headlights shining directly on me means they can already see me. They don't start rushing for weapons immediately, even as I walk closer. Looks like they're just waiting for me.

The first thing I take in about them is the four men who look familiar. Pretty sure I've kicked their asses before... Actually, shit, I have. All four of them were the guys in the shack. The one with red hair, bandages wrapped around his head. A big guy with a drooping jaw that he rubs mindlessly as I approach. Two guys who look a little less worse for wear, save for their bruises and one's flattened nose.

I stand before them, readying my fists. "Ready for round two, fellas?"

They don't bother replying.

I notice the last two figures hanging back. An old man who looks kind of familiar, and a woman in red. The very same woman from last night.

I'll deal with them later.

I'm about to throw myself at the redhead when the old man speaks up. "Sister Shiva. Take care of him."

The woman in red steps forward. She has a small smile on her face.

"Back off. I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't you?"

She's on me in the blink of an eye, slamming a palm into my nose. I stumble back but she grabs me by the elbow and throws me over her shoulder and onto the ground. Her grip is still on my arm and she twists, an immense pain shooting throughout my entire body from my elbow. I feel her pull me up into a standing position, only for her to slam a foot right into my knee.

She throws me to the ground. Every nerve in my body is screaming out in pain.

"He is defeated. Shall I kill him?"

"No. Let the brothers have their turn."

A hand grips me by the hair and tugs before slamming my head into the concrete. I'm lying face down in the snow, a series of blows striking me all over the body. Every hit to the head feels like it's gonna make my brain seep out of the cracks in my skull. Every kick to the chest feels like my ribs are shattering. Every stomp flattens my organs.

"Does this amuse you?"

"Indeed. I am a fair man. I shall let them continue until every bone in his body is broken. Then I shall permit Brother Gun to shoot him in the head. Then we shall dump in the river. And then, if he arises singing Danny Boy, I shall give him anything he wants."

The last thing I hear is a gunshot.

---

^{Charles Victor Szasz is dead.}

I'm sinking.

Deeper into the icy depths.

Have I been down here for ten minutes or ten years?

Hard to tell.

There's a little fish swimming around in my skull.

Doing laps around my brain.

I try to open my eyes but it seems like they're already open.

I can't see anything.

There isn't any darkness but I can tell there's no light anywhere either.

Is this it?

Am I dead?

Silence is my answer.

I'm drifting on a cloud in the void.

Into the light?

Away from it?

I can't tell.

It's cold.

But then I feel warmth.

Hands.

Pulling me up and off the cloud.

Back to life?

^{Continued in "... Like A Butterfly"}

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

T H E P U N I S H E R
T H E P U N I S H E R

I S S U E # 1
I S S U E # 1

P L I E R S
P L I E R S

The first thing that Nicky Francesco sees when he opens his eyes is me sitting in a chair a few feet away from him.

"What the hell is this?" he asks.

"What do you think it is, Francesco?"

"A kidnappin'? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"No, I don't. Tell me what it is I've done."

"You've abducted a Goddamn made man! Whatever you do to me, the Saints are gonna pay you back ten fuckin' fold if I don't do it myself!"

"Can't be any worse than what they've already done to me." I stand from my chair and walk over to Francesco, circling him like a shark.

"You tryna scare me? I'll skin you alive, chi-" My fist slams into his nose.

"Who did the Saints send after Frank Castle and his family?"

"Jesus H. Christ- you broke my nose!"

"Did you hear me or are you just gonna keep crying?"

"Who the hell is Frank Castle?"

"Detective. NYPD. Led a raid on the cocaine operation running out of those factories in the Bronx. Same raid that Bobby Saint was killed in."

"Heh, right, that fuckin' guy... Castle, I've heard the name. Why do you care?"

"I care because I am that fucking guy."

"I don't know who killed your family. I didn't even hear about your fuckin' family till I saw it on the news. I'm just a soldier, I don't run nothin'."

"Then I guess I should just kill you right now and move onto bigger fish."

He laughs. "Bigger fish? I'm the biggest fuckin' fish you'll ever fry, zipp-" I sock him in the eye. "SHIT!"

"We're gonna be up all night until you tell me everything you know."

I stop looming over Francesco and walk over to a table I had set up earlier. A few options lay before me: a crowbar, some pliers, and a knife. Some small part of me was screaming not to do this. That Frank Castle was a good man with a wife and kids, that he wouldn't do this to anyone.

But Frank Castle is dead. He died with his family. I buried him today.

I grab the pliers and stalk back over to Francesco.

"Open your mouth."

He looks down at the pliers in my hand. "Wha-" I grab his jaw as he speaks, sticking my fingers into his mouth and pulling down to keep it open. I take the pliers and clench onto a molar.

A scream echoes throughout the warehouse.

"FUCK!"

"Who do you work under?"

"Christ, man, you're a cop! You can't fuckin' do this!"

"Consider me off duty. Now who's your capo?"

"I can't tell you!"

"You want me to rip another tooth out?"

His eyes widen and he looks at me in terror. I'm reaching a hand out to grab him by the jaw when he shouts, "BILLY RUSSO!"

Billy "the Beaut" Russo. I'd heard the name over the course of the last few years investigating the Saints and it was always in hushed whispers. Stories about a hitman who could take on any job and come out on top. He had killed hundreds of people if the stories were true, like some archangel of death.

"Did Russo kill my family?"

"You think that your family was worth his fuckin' time!? You stupid fuckin' gooAGH!" I force his mouth open again and use the pliers to grip onto one of his canines. Then I tug. Another scream.

"We've got plenty more teeth to go, Francesco."

"Stop, please, God, just fuckin' stop..." Blood dribbles out of his mouth as he starts to mutter a prayer.

I start lightly slapping him on the cheek. "Don't check out on me yet. You've still got one more question to answer."

"The fuck I do! You don't kill me, the fuckin' Saints will... Just kill me already you sick bastard!"

"Where can I find Russo?"

"He... I can't..."

"You want me to keep plucking out your teeth? Use that knife over there to slit your eyes in half? Pry your kneecaps off with a crowbar? Or do you want to tell me so I can just put a bullet in you and we can be done?"

"... The Stardust. He likes to spend time at the Stardust Lounge in Staten Island when he ain't workin'..."

"Good job."

I drop the pliers and pull out my Glock, levelling the pistol at his head.

A shot rings out in the night.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

why do I want to want to watch this if it were a show?

@Sep

As someone who played the beta, it's a really cool game but the story elements are lacking. Maybe that'll change with the full release but right now it just feels like Overwatch with a Marvel skin.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@Simple Unicycle denied noice

As the time of our lord and saviour @Master Bruce approaches with the IC... Other than your own, what concepts/characters are you most excited to see realised?

I mean we got a bunch of really cool sheets here

@Sep

Really excited to see Doc's Heroes For Hire in action, everybody was kung fu fighting and shit. And of course, Andy's Hex Rider is gonna fucking kick ass.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

With the approval of our esteemed GM team, I've decided to rework my Question concept in order to continue telling a story I wanted to tell like three games ago. Here's the revised character sheet.

The Question

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E Q U E S T I O N

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^{"My face? Looked too far into a bowling ball returner."}

^{_{C H A R L E S V I C T O R S Z A S Z ♦ J O U R N A L I S T ♦ H U B C I T Y , I L L I N O I S}}

O R I G I N S:

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"What an asshole."

That was something a lot of people muttered under their breath after a close encounter with Vic Sage; "rough around the edges" was putting it lightly when it came to him. His whole life he's been fighting, maybe not for the right reasons in the eyes of many, but in his eyes he was always in the right. Fighting is what you have to do to survive in Hub City. The only good influences he had ever had were his mentor, former chemist Aristotle "Tot" Rodor, and his ex-girlfriend Myra Fermin, an up and coming politician. They tried their best to soften his sharp edges, but it seemed like nothing would ever dull Vic's aggressive persona.

Vic's rise to vigilantism was sparked by Tot, whose former colleague Arby Twain was trying to illegally sell one of their inventions: pseudoderm, an artificial skin designed to be used as a bandage. It would've been a miracle, were it not for the fact that the gas used to bond pseudoderm to the skin was toxic when exposed to open wounds, negating the entire point of it. Rodor designed a mask for Vic using the pseudoderm and had Vic topple Twain's operation, with Vic leaving Twain and his cronies bound in pseudoderm in their warehouse before calling in an anonymous tip to the police.

A week later, he submitted what would be his final article for the Hub City Gazette, a piece slamming Mayor Wesley Fermin as incompetent and corrupt and accusing him of having ties to the Gospel of Sinners, Hub City's own crime syndicate. The next day, he and Myra broke up. Three days later, he was fired. Blacklisted from every major news network in the city, Vic was hired by Sam Starr of Starrstruck Media Inc. specifically because of the article. Vic continued his vigilante activities, though there were no major arrests, much as he tried to expose the politicians and public figures embroiled in the Sinners' activities. It was two months into his career that he finally caught his big break: a meeting between Mayor Fermin and the head of the Sinners at the dockside warehouses on Hupert River. He donned his mask, buttoned up his winter coat, and set off into the night in the hopes that he would finally take Fermin down for good.

Vic Sage didn't show up for work the next day.

Seven months passed with no sightings of the faceless freak stalking Hub City's streets.

Until tonight.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Aftermath

2:44 AM. The sky above is the color of a television tuned to a dead channel, grey clouds rolling in and thick drops of rain drenching the pavement. I hear the sound of footsteps behind me and turn away from the window to look at Tot, who sets two double shot glasses and a bottle of brandy down on the table between our chairs. He sits down in his chair and uncorks the bottle, pouring two shots.

"A drink," he says, lifting his glass. "To Twain and his cronies rotting in jail."

I lift mine as well. "To douchebags getting what they deserve." With that toast, we take our drinks and set the glasses back down on the table. I reach a hand into my coat pocket and pull out the rubbery mask that Tot had designed for me. "... Think I can keep this?" I ask.

"Of course. It'd serve as a nice memento."

A memento. That's all it'll be after tonight. Something to remind me that I did something important, and I'll never do that again. No. It won't just gather dust in a closet for the rest of my life. "Actually, Tot, I was thinking of using it some more."

"... What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Wear it and go out and beat up some bad guys. Like The Phantom or Green Hornet or something."

"... Are you sure that's wise? This wasn't the mob, Charlie, it was some scientists looking to make some quick money."

"Okay, so I don't start off going after the mob. I go after thieves and street gangs, start small."

"And take a bullet to the head for it?"

"At least I'd die doing something good."

"You'd die doing something stupid for the sake of your own ego."

I glare at Tot with a scoff. "And there it is. What, you think I helped you out because I wanted to feel cool?"

"Charlie, you helped me because you wanted to do something that mattered. And it did matter. But there are better ways to fight against injustice than throwing yourself right into a fight with it." Tot reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. "You'd just be getting yourself killed."

I shrug off his hand and stand from my chair. "Whatever you say, Tot. I'm going home."

He doesn't say a word as I walk out of the house and get into my car. The rain beats down upon the roof of the old Beetle, a rhythmic thumping that does nothing to soothe my frustration. I clench my eyes shut and take in a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I reach into my pocket to grab my keys when I feel the mask again, rubbing my thumb along its smooth surface.

Tonight won't be the last time.

S U P P O R T I N G C A S T:

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Aristotle Rodor - Vic's mentor and oldest friend.
Albert "Al" Kert - Vic's editor at Starrstruck.
Samuel "Sam" Starr - Founder, owner, and editor-in-chief of Starrstruck.
Myra Fermin - Vic's ex-girlfriend and sister of mayor Wesley Fermin.
Wesley Fermin - Mayor of Hub City and brother of Myra Fermin. Vic fucking hates this guy.
Richard Dragon - Vic's other mentor.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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"The Question" by Simple Unicycle

Issue #0: ... Like A Butterfly
Issue #1: Devotion
Issue #2: ... Like A Bee
Issue #3: Self Care

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

So, y'know how I said I wasn't going to post a second character application until inspiration struck me?

Well....

Inspiration struck me...

But first, a little mood music.....

Now let's ride

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

G H O S T R I D E R

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^{"Time fer you to bite the ground."}

^{_{Jonah Hex ♦ Bounty Hunter from Hell ♦ Chihuahuan Desert, USA / Mexico}}

O R I G I N S:

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There's a popular ghost story that makes the rounds in the stretches of desert between Fort Worth and Phoenix, as far north as Santa Fe and as far south as Durango. The story's about an old gunfighter by the name of Jonah, a man so ugly that the half of his face that was burned off by the Apaches was considered his 'pretty' side. A man so ornery that even cultists and child-killers called him a monster. A man that some folks say sold his soul to the Devil himself so his guns would never miss. The truth is, Jonah Hex's soul belonged to the Devil from the day he came into this world.

Born to a mother who died giving birth, raised by a drunken bastard with a black heart, sold to the Apaches for whiskey and used as a slave, then riding as a butchering marauder for the Confederates, Jonah's life was one that only knew suffering and sin, taking his share of hurt and learning how to deal some in return. It wasn't until his officers ordered him to burn a church filled with unarmed townsfolk that he'd felt any kind of shame or remorse for what he'd done, and Hex deserted in the wake of the massacre. He prayed for any kind of redemption, anything to clean the stains from his soul, and while Jonah got never his answer from on high, he got one from down below....

The stories say Jonah Hex made a deal with the Devil (or someone on the Devil's dime), to find souls in the world more wretched than his own and drag them down to Hell in order to pay off his debts and earn his salvation. They say he became the Ghost Rider, a spirit of vengeance, a bounty hunter of the damned, doomed forever to ride the length and breadth of the desert to burn away the wicked. And some folks say that for near on 160 years, a string of killings along the Rio Grande have all had a few interesting features in common: a smell of sulfur in the air, bullet holes without bullets, and tracks that look like horseshoes burned into the ground. Some say the wayward soul of Jonah Hex still rides across the West, carrying out his fool's errand, trying to kill his way to Heaven....

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Stiletta's Bar
Outskirts of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico

"Get the fuck outta here, ugly," the bartender scowled at the stranger in a long black coat and wide hat who stepped through the front door, drawing the eyes of some twenty or so men. "This here establishment's private property."

The air stank of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, and buzzy, blown-out speakers blared noise that some people called rock music. On a stage toward the back wall, a young lady wearing next to nothing listlessly gyrated, going through the opening acts of a degrading routine she had done a hundred times before.

Stiletta's was a dive bar of the worst kind, once a so-called gentleman's club where lonely and frustrated men could spend a few dollars to have some pretty young thing show some skin and make them forget about their problems for a while. When business began drying up, a crowd of even more unsavory souls had moved into town and claimed Stiletta's as their own.

They called themselves the Road Reapers, a gang of bikers who controlled the stretch of interstate between Albuquerque and El Paso. They were a small outfit compared to most clubs, but the Reapers were known for being especially vicious, using their connections with the southern cartels to run drugs, guns, and people across the border. They had a number of hangouts along their route, and Stiletta's had become a favorite.

"Just here fer a drink," the man said, looking up from under the brim of his wide-brimmed hat, giving the bartender a view of how truly hideous his face was, "An' fer a fella by the name a' Falcon Fleischer."

The two dozen bikers inside stared cold death at the stranger. A few even drew their guns on him. He looked back and forth, one good eye in a half-squint, the other lidless one staring wildly.

"Best not do anythin' stupid, boys," he warned them as he approached the bar, several of the bikers moving in behind him like predators circling their prey. "Ah ain't here fer any a' you...not yet, leastaways. Ah'm only here to see this Falcon fella."

"Right here, ugly," called out a man from the pool table in the far corner. The old man was powerfully built, his skin nut-brown and weathered from exposure to the sun and the open road, and covered in tattoos depicting salacious acts and blasphemous symbols. His long white beard was the only hair on his otherwise clean-shaven head, his eyes covered by a paid of mirrored sunglasses. Over his bare chest and back he wore a leather vest, on the shoulders of which he'd sewn in patches that looked like the talons of a bird of prey-- a falcon, the stranger reckoned. "Whatever it is you've got to say, you've got about ten seconds to say it 'fore my boys blow your fuckin' head off."

"Jess had one question fer ya 'fore you do that," he said, glancing to the dancer on the stage. As he turned, his long black duster shifted, showing the pistol on his hip. "That little thing up there...she even old enough to be dancin' like that?"

*BLAM!*

One of the Reapers had approached the stranger from behind, gun drawn, and fired point-blank. The bikers expected a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter, then they'd cut the man up and feed his remains to the dogs. Wouldn't have been the first person to walk into Stiletta's and not come out.

Instead, when the man's head cracked open, flames spewed out. The bar began to smell heavy with the stench of brimstone, as from the center of the blaze, the stranger's skull spoke.

"That's what I thought," the stranger said as his pistols came up.

The music swelled, and Stiletta's bar filled with screams.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Coming soon.

@AndyC

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Supermaxx>

Sorry everyone else this is my favourite.

@Sep

Biased