The Overlooked/Rain

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

The night sky was dark, muted; no stars shone through the heavy cloud cover that hung ominously over the city. Periodically, a basso rumble would sound from the heavens; though much softer than the explosions that had been wrecking the city for near a month now, it was no more welcome to the weary populace.

A lone figure in a grey trenchcoat drew no notice from the drivers, too wrapped up in getting home before the storm broke. An engine noise from above made the figure look up; he could see two Eagles and a Chaser flying patrol, watching for another bombing run, contrasting against the night clouds in their distinctive red-and-white

("Alright, squad 3, we're backing up the police HQ in the Row. Get the civs in and we hustle!"

"Wait!" he called out, slipping from his mother's protective grasp. "I can back you up." James fished into his jacket pocket, pulling out his Hero ID. "They call me The Overlooked."

The Longbow sergeant looked between the young man and the dumbfounded expression on the woman's face. Reaching a decision, he jerked his head back towards the other troops.

"Saddle up, kid.")

paint scheme. They, too, flew without noticing him on the ground, their eyes peeled for bigger prey.

The wind gave a great sigh, sending the tail of James' jacket flapping wildly. Instinctively, James closed his eyes against the air's assault

(the towers of Steel Canyon reflecting drones and infantry being carried aloft in a miniature tornado; the teenage girl with hot-pink streaks in her hair grinning wildly as she sent them into the lake)

and brought his hand up to shield his face. The gust died down, though he could still hear it traveling down the face of the building. He kept walking, ignoring the rumble of renewed thunder overhead.

Stepping out of the building's overhang into the rubble-strewn lot behind it, James had to dodge chunks of broken concrete and steel to get by. It was a fairly large lot, probably big enough

(a courtyard, with dozens and dozen of bodies, locked in struggle-

"Aw, hell, HEAVY!"

"Thomas, watch the right fla-" The horrible, truncated song of a Rikti sword, the dull thud of a head hitting the ground)

to hold a couple hundred people's party, as long as they were friendly. As he climbed over a particularly large bit of debris, the wind whipped up again, this time in concert with the thunder

("Minions of Xareth, heed my call, wreck destructioooAAAH!!" the climbing scream, cut off sharply as a Heavy's linked guns vaporize the top half of the floating woman)

rolling across the sky; the storm was nearly about to break. After all the chaos, the city's usual weather manipulation methods were either broken or in need of a break. James ignored it, and kept walking, away from the streets, away from the people. Just away.

"Aww, poor widdle hero, all alone where no one can hear him."

One voice broke through the fog in his mind, and James dimly realized he was surrounded by three Hellions, one carrying a baseball bat. They were right; in his blind wandering, James had stepped well off the beaten path, and was shielded from sight by the buildings. The Hellions decided he was easy pickings, and would make good payback for all the drubbings the city's heroes had given their gang.

Too bad they decided to pick on -him-.

One of them gave him a shove, and James stumbled backwards, his mind still trying to catch up to the present. He was shoving again, forward this time, and it briefly degenerated into a game of "catch-the-cape". Finally, one of the Hellions pushed James roughly into the wall, leaving him slightly stunned.

"Hey, this one's no fun, he's not even making a speech or nothin'!"

"Here, lemme see if I can knock one outta him," sniggered the one with the bat. Another dull rumble of thunder overhead added an ominous undertone to the threat.

They were going to hurt him. They were gonna beat the crap outta him and leave him where no one would find him and-

They wanted hurt? They wanted pain? He could do that.

The bat-wielding Hellion smirked as he wound up, stepping forward. Before he could swing, though, he froze in his tracks, then arched backward, screaming in pain and clutching at his head. The other two stared at him dumbly, until one of them figured out what was happening. He grabbed James by the shoulder, slamming him into the wall and shouted, "Aw, hell, he's one of them mind-rippers! Cap his ass, now!" The other Hellion reached into his belt, and dropped to the ground screaming before he could bring his pistol to bear. The last remaining punk reached back and slammed a fist into James' head - and seemed absolutely stunned when James returned the favor. James struck again, and again, breaking the larger man's grip on his shirt. Grabbing the Hellion by his own collar, James turned the tables, and it was now the Hellion with his back to the wall.

The thug tried to break out of James' grip, but was interrupted by another punch to the face. And then by another, and another, and another, and another. James kept punching at him, ignorant of the rain beginning to fall, of the fact that his victim had stopped resisting. James just kept punching, until the skin on his knuckles broke, until the man's face was nearly unrecognizable

(his little brother, wrapped in bandages, tubes coming out of everywhere, God only knows when he's gonna wake up again)

James stopped, finally coming back to his senses. He let go of the Hellion's collar, letting him collapse onto the ground with a meaty thud. Stepping back, he looked around at the bodies he had left in the cold alleyway (they're still alive right? they're not de-)

Thunder sounded again, a long, deep rumble rolling across the night sky. James looked upwards, as if he had never heard the sound before, and the drops of rain mixed with his tears, soaking his face. He didn't know how long he stood like that; time didn't seem to mean much in that dirty place. After a moment and an eternity, James looked down and began to head for the road.

A scraping sound drew his attention; looking down, he could see the Hellion's gun skidding to a stop from where James had accidently kicked it. Stooping down, he picked it up; it was much heaver than he had thought it would be. He had faced punks with these things dozens of times, occasionally even getting winged by them, but he never before felt the -weight- of the little weapons.

James tucked the pistol into his pants, under his jacket. Without a word, he walked into the night.