Simple Unicycle

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

So just as a bit of world building we're picking two candidates for the in-game election rather than delve into real world politics which are gross and don't matter here, they're going to be divided into Pro Mutant/Meta/Vigilante and Anti Mutant/Meta/Vigilante.

Players will get a say over who's elected once election time comes around but on top of this we're also going to take your actions/posts affect the world.

@Sep

Frank is NOT gonna make it easy for the pro vigilante candidate, I can tell you that much.

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 # 3
I S S U E # 3

T R I A G E
T R I A G E

"We come to you live from the crime scene at the Stardust Lounge in west Staten Island, where a brutal shooting has taken place that claimed the lives of nine men and left one in critical condition. Police are still on the hunt for the gunman who fled the scene shortly before first responders arri-" I turn off the TV. Too much background noise. Need to focus on the task at hand.

"You sure you don't want any help with this?" Dave asks. He sets a bottle of whiskey down on the coffee table next to the first aid kit. A few other implements lay scattered across the table, haphazardly thrown together for this impromptu operation. I grab for the bottle and take a deep swig before setting it back down.

"I got it, Dave. Thanks." I look down at my bare thigh and the bullet hole that had torn into it. Didn't hit the bone, thank God, but it didn't go clean through either. I'm gonna have to do this the hard way. I take a washcloth and stick in my mouth, biting down hard, then grab the tweezers off the coffee table. I take in a deep breath, before slowly inserting the tweezers into the wound.

My nerves light up like they're on fire, searing pain shooting up my entire body from the bullet wound. I bite down hard on the cloth and dig the tweezers deeper, deeper, until finally, I get a grip on the bullet. One quick tug and the tweezers pull out the wad of metal, covered in a shiny crimson coat of my own blood. I toss the tweezers back onto the coffee table and grab for the peroxide, splashing some onto the bullet hole.

It burns. And what I'm about to do is gonna make it even worse.

I grab the blowtorch and a metal butter knife off the coffee table, sparking the torch and sticking the blade into the flame. Slowly but surely, the blade begins to burn a bright red, and I kill the torch. I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath, then press the hot knife against my wound. My scream is muffled by the rag stuffed in my mouth. I feel tears pricking at my eyes, then rolling down my cheek. I fight through the pain, keep the blade pressed down onto the wound.

Inhale.

Count to ten.

Exhale.

I pull the knife away. The wound has sealed, the skin shriveled and almost seeming to glow a bright, burnt red. While a moment ago my thigh felt like it was on fire, the only pain left now is a dull and throbbing ache. The smell is almost nauseating, like burnt steak with a heavy helping of blood and iron. I keep breathing through my mouth to avoid the stench, trying to slow the beating of my racing heart.

"Fuck... That hurt just to watch," Dave says.

I wipe a cold sweat from my brow. "Imagine how it felt... Jesus..." I grab for the whiskey again and take another swig. It helps, if only a little.

"So... What's next?"

"Next? Next I go after their operations."

"... Their operations? Why?"

"I'm not gonna get to Saint without tearing his organization down."

"What? You can't be fucking serious, Frank. I thought this was about getting the guy who killed your family?"

"This isn't about revenge, Dave."

"Then what is it, Frank?"

"It's about making sure they get punished for their crimes."

"Fucking hell, what, you think you're John Wick now or some shit? This is the stupidest idea you've ever had and that's saying something."

"You know me, Dave. I've never been one to do the smart thing."

"No, I guess not. This is suicidal, Frank. You're trying to square up against one of the largest criminal organizations on the east coast. They'll kill you."

"Maybe they will. But I'll kill a whole lot more of them."

"You're... You're serious."

"Yeah. I am." I take another swig from the bottle of whiskey. "So. Are you going to help, or not?"

Dave looks at me like I've gone insane. After a moment, however, he just looks down at his lap. "... Shit." He looks back up at me. "Alright... Where do you wanna start?"

I smile.

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 # 4
I S S U E # 4

B A C K I N T O W N
B A C K I N T O W N

^{Previously...}

Tot's eyes widen in surprise as he takes my figure in, his mouth going agape.

"Charlie?"

I smile. "Tot. Can I come in?"

Blinking, Tot opens the door wider and steps aside, muttering "Come in, come in..." I step through the doorway, patting the old man on the arm as I make my way through the foyer and into the living room. Nothing has changed in the room since I was last in Hub City; a large bookcase containing numerous novels, textbooks, and philosophical books is set up against the wall where someone else might put a TV. Two chairs sit a few feet across from each other, a recliner and an armchair, with a double shot glass of scotch and Rand's The Fountainhead sitting on an accent table beside the latter. I take a seat in the recliner while Tot takes up his chair.

I motion to the book. "Thought you hated Ayn Rand?"

Tot glances at the book then chuckles. "She always was more your speed, wasn't she? I suppose I was curious what you were always going on about."

I shake my head. "Not much of a fan anymore. Too... Self-absorbed. Ram Dass has become a favorite lately."

Tot nods with an impressed whistle. "Really? The hippie in the woods recommend him?"

I chuckle at that, nodding. "Yeah, he gave me a full itinerary of philosophical books to read through during my training. Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, you name it. The Zhuangzi was my favorite, I think, but Dass really..." I trail off, wanting to continue this pleasant conversation on what I had learned, but that wasn't what I was here for. "... I'd love to keep talking about this, Tot, but you and I both know that's not the most important thing to discuss right now."

The older man's smile slowly leaves his face, a grim expression taking its place. Tot nods, knocking down his double shot before speaking, "Yes. About Fermin?"

"About Fermin. What are things looking like since I left?"

Tot mulls it over, tilting his head from side to side as though weighing the thoughts in his mind. "The same as they always have been, Charlie. Only difference is you're back now."

I smile at that. "You keep my things like I asked?"

"Yes."

I stand up, the contented smile on my face betraying the fire burning in my eyes. "Lead the way."

Tot stands as well, pressing his back up against the bookcase. I join him and the two of us grunt as we begin to push the heavy hunk of oak aside, revealing the door hidden behind it. Tot pulls out a keyring, flips through until he finds the right one, then unlocks it and opens it, allowing me to enter first.

Our secret little haven also hasn't changed much, though there wasn't much to begin with. A simple chemical lab where Tot creates more pseudoderm and bonding gas for my use, though I note the workbench and assortment of tools that have been added opposite of the lab equipment. A trunk in the center of the room draws my eye, and I quickly step forward to open it.

Inside are my clothes, but on top of the neatly folded articles is a curious looking gun, the shape of a hair dryer with a three-pronged hook coming out of the barrel. I pull it out, eyeing Tot curiously. "Ah," he says, "I was working on that before you had to leave the city. Was supposed to be a surprise. With that, you'll be able to scale buildings much more easily, rather than relying on fire escapes as you so often have. You can give it a try later." I nod, pulling everything out of the trunk as I leave the room to shower and change.

The water on my skin almost feels like a baptism, cleansing me of the sweat and grime of the last few days, and with it my worries about returning to Hub City. I resolve myself to go with the flow, be the butterfly that Dragon called me. The man's worries matter not when against the carefree nature of the butterfly.

I start slipping my clothes on. I've lost some weight, so they're a bit bigger than usual, but even then the weight of the suit around me is a familiar comfort. The belt tightens up the pants. I never really needed it to keep my pants up before, but the buckle also housed a little secret: a compartment containing the canisters of bonding gas. I slide on the hat, then the trench coat. I dig around in the coat's pockets and find my leather gloves folded neatly in the inner coat pocket. I slip them on.

Only one thing left to complete the ensemble.

With the grappling gun tucked inside my coat, I step out of the bathroom, where Tot is waiting for me with a refill of bonding gas and my mask in hand. He passes it off to me and I quickly store the canisters before examining the mask, a small smile on my face as I do so. Two glass eye holes, able to see clearly around the layer of skin covering them up, and a thin filter for dust and toxins over my mouth. Pleased that the mask is the same as always, I pocket it and head to the door.

"Ready to go so soon, Charlie?" Tot asks.

I stop at the front door, glancing back at Tot from over my shoulder. "Need to remind some people that this city isn't theirs." I open the door. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, I take my leave.

---
^{O N E H O U R L A T E R . . .}

A heavy rain drizzles down, soaking the pavement and drenching anyone walking along the sidewalk. Three men in a warehouse are unloading a truck full of crates, grumbling all the while. "Fuckin' hell..." one of the men grunts, setting the last of the crates onto the ground. "Alright, that's that then."

They don't even know that I'm watching from the skylight above.

I visited one of my contacts, Roscoe, an old hobo with a penchant for hitting the sauce. Despite that, he was a reliable informant most of the time, gave me tips about the Sinners' activities around the city. He told me that he was sleeping in what he thought was an abandoned warehouse, only to be woken up by the voices of a couple of men discussing the truck they were going to receive tonight. A hundred thousand dollars worth of product. "-flood the Wedge and Lucifer's Corner with enough heroin to fill Hupert River," Roscoe recalled one saying.

I open the skylight slowly, setting my grappling hook onto the roof and rappelling myself down into the warehouse. I drop down behind a stack of crates and flatten myself up against it. The tension inside me is close to erupting, the knot in my belly tightening and my muscles tensing. In just a moment, I'll commit myself; I'll burst out from behind the crates and do violence or have violence done to me. That I may die is of no interest to me, because in this moment, I am alive.

I hear footsteps. One of the men heading my way. Perfect timing.

I spring out from around the corner and grab the man by his arm, twisting him around. The other hand grabs the back of his head and slams his face into the crate which cracks from the force. I pull him back and let him go before delivering a roundhouse kick into the side of his head that sends him to the floor. I snap my head back in the direction of the other men who are staring at me in slack-jawed horror.

"Holy shit, it's the no-face guy!"

I rush and leap forward with a kick into one, sending him flying back. I whip around and throw a punch at the other man, then grab him by the arm and toss him into one of the crates, destroying it and causing plastic packages full of heroin to spill out onto the floor. The one I kicked is back on his feet now, pulling out a pistol from his waistband. I whip out my grappling hook and fire it at the man, the hook hitting him in the face and causing him to drop his gun. Taking the opportunity, I dash ahead and deliver a palm to the man's chest, followed by a sweeping kick that sends him to the floor.

I look back over to his buddy to see that he's still splayed on top of the pile of heroin, barely conscious. The one on the floor is trying to get up, so I grab him by the shirt and pull him to his feet. "Let me ask you a question," I say. "What do the Sinners gain in starting a heroin epidemic in Hub City?"

"I-I don't know! They never tell me shit!"

"Don't know? Or don't want to tell me?"

"I would tell you! I promise!"

"Alright. Tell me someone who does know."

"The Reverend! He's the one who ordered the shipments from Chicago!"

The Reverend. I had heard the title before during my investigations into the Gospel of Sinners' activities. He was the head of the organization, and it seemed like everything went through him in the city's criminal underworld. Now I just had to find out who could lead me to him.

"The Reverend. How can I find him?"

"Jake Mulligan! He's a top dog, one of the Reverend's enforcers!"

"Where can I find Mulligan?"

"He lives on Lemire Avenue! The fuckin' apartments there!"

"That was quick. No loyalty to your cause?"

"Man, fuck a cause! I just wanted to get paid, not go up against some faceless fuckin' freak! If sellin' that asshole out means I don't get my shit kicked in then I'll fuckin' do it!"

"Typical two-bit thug. Don't care about anyone but yourself." I slam the man into the ground, his head bouncing on the concrete and knocking him out.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Sep>

We were close: I had considered applying for Wonder Woman, but I couldn't find a concept that caught my imagination. But then Hex Rider came to me, so I'm happy.

@AndyC

Wonder Woman would've been cool but I am so fucking happy with what we got instead.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Retired>

Talking about Nerds. Not trying to force anything but what team ups would you like to see in the game going forward?

@Sep

To give an actual answer, excited to see literally any of the three mutant players crossover.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Hound55>

Haha! You fool. Potatoes aren't native to Ireland.

On topic....

So how's everyone feeling about posts so far?

@Sep

I feel like we're getting off to a strong start. Standouts for me are Andy's Wolverine post and Hound's Spidey post. Oh, and obviously the great unveiling of the Condiment King.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Just you wait, for this insolence Thawne is going to be the Reverse Condiment King. He's going to make your meals dry and tasteless.

@Sep

... So he's British?

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