Zone C -- Megacity One

[Enel]

As a correction to Bats’s last post, Enel has never been in a DA before.

This time we enter the safehouse, I take a decidedly less loud entrance. But I still let out a long breath of exertion as soon as we cross that threshold. What a hike.

Someone else is here. I can see them with my mantra. I turn the corner of the functional kitchen area, only to see two men, close together. I say men; the first of them is what can only be described as a clown-thing – long, orange horns stick out of the mop of messy black hair that clings to his pallid head. He’s leaned over another figure – this one is who gave them away. I can hear his wheezes from across the room. Sounds like a punctured lung or something.

I step into plain sight. “Daaamn. He gonna live?”

The clown spins round. “Who’s askin’?” His voice is a rasping drawl.

“God Enel’s askin’. Show some respect, cur, and answer my question.”

“Strazio ain’t gonna die of no fuckin’ wounds like this,” says the clown, but somewhere in his voice I hear something that tells me he’s trying to convince himself of that. “He’s seen way worse.”

I take a casual stride closer to the pair. Then I let out a hiss of mock-pain. Dude on the floor’s all kinds of fucked up, and missing a hand besides. There’s not a square inch of his body that’s not abrased or outright missing skin. This is definitely an opportunity to profit from, and as tired as I am, I can’t let it slip away. I push. “Doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it through the night to me.”

“Fuck you, long-ass earlobes-lookin’ motherfucker.”

“No seriously,” I continue, feigning genuine concern. “You want to let him suffer, die a slow death? You could. But if I were you, I’d put him out of his misery. Quick pillow would do it. He’d barely even feel it.”

“Fuck off,” spits the clown, and I can see the bloodshot in his eyes this time.

I have to work hard to keep the smile off my face. Batman is behind me, keeping silent. Good boy. “I know it’s hard,” I say, voice low and grave. “If you want … I can do it for you.”

He bares his teeth, and I lean backwards. Them’s some nasty gnashers. Shit, man. Heard of dental surgery? “Take one step closer,” he snarls, “And I’ll rip your head off, motherfucker.”

I hold my palms up. “Hey, this is the safehouse, remember? No fights. But hey, if you wanna go, I’ll be more than obliged to step outside.”

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere, Eminem. Drop it.”

I suck air through my teeth. “Of course, of course. You’re on the brink of death, I’d be scared too.”

“Ain’t nobody scared of your punk ass, shirtless ass, broke-looking motherfucker. What, cain’t you afford a shirt? Or does it chafe your nipples?”

Bitch. “Who needs to wear a shirt, when you’re a God?”

“Go suck a chode, fuckin’, meddlin’ ass, evil eyes bitch.”

The dead man finally croaks out something. “Shut the fuck up, assholes. I’m trying to sleep.”

Oh, shit. He does have some life left in him.

“Alright.” I spread my palms. “Shoot, I was just trying to get my hands on your items. Can’t blame me. God’s gonna try, right?” I grin sheepishly, though it does little to improve the expression upon my clown friend’s face. So I turn and begin to walk away.

Then I stop in my tracks, slowly and theatrically pivoting to face the clown, who looks like he’s about to bust a gasket. “Buuuut …”

I take my pack off my shoulders. As the clown watches, I reach into it, and begin to draw out items. One by one, I lay them across the counter. I let him see them all. Yeah, take a good look, buddy. That’s probably the most wealth you’ve ever seen in your life. How’s it feel to get a look at how the other side live?

“You think you’ve got what it takes,” I say. “You stand to gain a lot from beating me. That’s if you think you still have a chance in this competition. I say, go down fighting. Or give up and let me take your items. What else are you gonna do? Sit in this safehouse until the end? Nah, that’s not your style, is it?” I nod towards the downed man. “That’s not his style.”

The clown rasps at me. “You gonna use that egg against us?”

I spread my palms. “Not if you fight me voluntarily, two on two. You guys versus me and my Bat-friend there.” I jerk my head towards the Bat-man. “No items, no bullshit. I’ve been raring for a fight, and though I doubt a dead man and his clown compadre can satisfy me, it’d be better than waiting around here for another fucking item drop. As you can see, I’ve visited my fair share already, and none save an old guy with a spear have tried to stop me.”

Clown-boy shows his teeth. Is that a grin? “You think we’re pushovers?”

I shrug. “I don’t think much of you at all.”

The white-faced freak licks his lips. “Homeboy here just ripped out a dude’s heart.”

I raise my eyebrows. “No shit?”

“No shit. Beating and everything.”

I snatch up my tablet and do a search. I quickly find what I’m looking for. ‘Strazio Rockwell rips out Shinmen Takezo’s heart in DA O12.’ I watch.

God damn.

“I changed my mind. I want to fight you guys.” I look over at Gamzee; his eyes are on his comrade. “Well,” I say, gathering up my items and putting them in my bag. “You wanna go, you know where I am. If you’re going to die, you might as well do it by the hands of this competition’s winner. I’ll give you that privilege.”

Gamzee just glares at me, then goes back to his friend.

I sigh, then turn to Batman. “How about fixing us all up some grub, Bats?”

He glares at me. “Why me?”

I spread my palms. “‘Cause I just did all our work for us, and those guys are half dead.” I say, pointing over at the two over on the floor. “Jeez, Batman, show a little bit of consideration.”

I snatch up a banana from the cupboard and then go sit on the couch. The things I do for my followers.