capeandcowllogs | Chaos is hangin' around

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Chaos is hangin' around

WHO: HOODED JUSTICE and YOU
WHERE: The City (in various places)
WHEN: Late on 07/11 and the week afterward
WARNINGS: Hooded Justice is a warning on his own; starting out with violence and will edit from there if needed
SUMMARY: HJ is on the streets, indefinitely
FORMAT: tl;dr to start, but tagger's choice!

The first night, the one night when he started to feel his age, he felt his feet force him to keep going. He had something to prove, maybe, or was it just that he didn't know what else to do. The thought of reaching the age he was at (an age he didn't think he'd see) made him tense, like everything in him pulsed, and he needed to keep going, and prove that it didn't matter. He'd lost time, back home, and he felt it distinctly now. The way the streets looked, this future with the dirt and grime, the laziness and entitlement, all of it equated to a distinct sense of helplessness. He'd been on the streets night after night, but there was no improvement.

He didn't expect it overnight, but he'd think, even in a city as large as this one, that word would spread. That they would know not to do these things. Get off the streets, make something of themselves. But people like that, the undisciplined, they continued to do it. Because this place let them slide. He'd seen faces that he knew he bloodied already once back out on the streets. Repeat offenders, which meant that there was only so much blame that could be landed onto the people who saw no punishment in the long run. He wasn't going to monitor every one of them.

Eventually, they simply had to pay, and then it would be society that bared the burden for failing them.

Hooded Justice moved through the first night, pushing himself deeper into the City, because he felt his age. Because he'd had years where he'd done nothing. Because he'd only gotten so far, and it hadn't done any good. He hadn't done enough, he could do more, so that's what he decided to give. Everything else be damned in the process.

[A]

Most of the week, he spent it finding both repeat offenders and new ones. The increase of bruised and bloodied bodies left for the police spoke well enough of his activities. He felt alive when he could feel the sweet, sick give of flesh beneath a fist, or how his head swam when someone gasped or cried in just the right way. Hooded Justice had no delusions, he knew there was something to be said for the fact that he enjoyed what he was doing. That he liked the feeling of blood drying on his gloves. He wore black and red for a reason, but as time moved on, later on down the week, flecks of blood were starting to show on the rope that adorned his waist and fists. Color that spoke of what he was doing, this entire time, or most of it. Ceaseless, he continued through a personal vendetta against the scum and laziness that seemed to infest every corner of society, especially here in this City.

He knew it was like this elsewhere, too, but out of sight, out of mind. Or rather, if he could do something here, and change opinions here, then maybe it would spread. The example shown, that more would follow.

Hooded Justice was no stranger to starting the motion, and then letting others follow his example. It happened before, he could make it happen again, couldn't he? He continued to take them. Dealers, pushers, producers, runners, crooks, vagrants, customers, each and every one given the same level of scrutiny and malice, either being slammed into walls, or their faces mutilated from solid punches, or bodies with broken bones and cracked ribs, some even coughing and puking blood, by the time the authorities picked them up.

Hooded Justice continued on his one-man war against the degenerates of the City. The rot that didn't seem to go away, no matter how much he cleaned.

[B]

Even men like Hooded Justice, hell-bent on a mission that was seemingly endless, needed to eat. The issue, of course, was that he hadn't left with the intention of not going home, and it's by the first day that he's had to look to his dog tags for assistance. He hasn't had to use them, yet. He didn't know how to use them, to get money. He'd read the supplemental material provided, but that didn't mean he understood how to use the dog tags. He'd hovered near a bank for a good hour or two, in broad daylight, watching patrons hit the machine outside more than they went inside. He looked more like the crook planning to rob the bank, rather than make a transaction.

Society continued to change, it seemed. Machines replaced human interaction. People didn't talk to each other anymore. Another flaw. He'd seen how some just walked down the road with white things in their ears, the way some looked down at small devices like they were staring at the road through the machines and into the ground. Somehow, they all managed to still dodge around anyone that would potentially run into them.

Eventually, however, he needed money. And that was how Hooded Justice ended up in front of an ATM, staring between his dog tags and the machine, like there was a mystery to be unveiled, that he hadn't quite figured out.

He felt exposed.

[C]

The problem was, that during the day, there wasn't much use for a vigilante. Sure, there was the occasional robbery, mugging, or violation, they could be found at any time of the day, and Hooded Justice would stop them if possible, but this was not the time for men like him. He was a man of darkness, who clung to the shadows, and remained there. He was a man who belonged in that environment, and coming out in to the daylight was not for him.

But that left him with long swaths of time that he wasn't doing anything. Before, he'd spend it sleeping, training with JR, or perhaps even taking a few hours to do nothing, he wasn't incapable of it, but that was for men with disposable time and disposable goals. Part of the rot that was settling in to him. Part of the rot that was festering, and making this City weak. It didn't matter that it had been alright before, back home, but things were getting worse and worse here. He needed to escalate it to get ahead of it. Age be damned.

But Hooded Justice was quickly figuring out that he was going to have an issue. He hadn't given the issue of money much thought, but once he saw his bank account (once he eventually got into it) and once he saw how swiftly an entire twenty dollars had gone, how soon he'd needed a refill, he thought better of how that money would last. But he didn't do anything yet, no, he wasn't going to get a job, (please) but he was eying the prospects, mulling them over in his head, and so during the day he moved around, walking the streets, and observing. He'd done too little of that so far. Too disgusted and frustrated by the world he found, but now wasn't the time for ignoring the glaring issue. Now was the time to look it in the eye, and stare it down. Now was the time to make sure he saw just how far they place had come, and figure out what he was either going to do about it, or do with himself.

And figure out how he was going to make this place work for him.

[D]
[ Wildcard!! Hit me with your best shot! ]

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[ Hector Peck is an editor for a newspaper -- the City newspaper, to be precise. In New Vesuvius, he's a UNV representative for some country Gil either can't remember the name or he's forgotten he never got the name of it in the first place. He supposes that little bit doesn't matter; what matters now are the names he's held onto since they returned from that dimension.

Peck isn't hard to find; his photo is available online and in the paper, of course -- so is his work of place. Gil started there earlier when Peck finally exited the office for the day. He tailed him to a pub, but there was no sign of any suspicious activity nor did he ever hear the words New Vesuvius or Vulcanus dropped in his conversation.

He seems to be an entirely different man in this world. Once he's left the bar and disappeared into a train cart, Gil isn't sure what to do next. He supposes he should call it a night.

At first, anyway. It's the familiar, but horrible sound of bones cracking and a muffled cry that alerts his attention to one of the darkened alleyways. He moves quietly and swiftly, drawing his revolver out just in case and as he turns the corner to see what's unfolding in that alleyway he nearly jumps out of his skin.

And a sharp gasp escapes him, making his presence more than visible to Hooded Justice. ]

You?

[ The bones, in fact, had been the sound of an arm snapping, and then subsequently, a few ribs, his fist sinking into skin, and then into the man's ribs.

He'd been a pusher, one he'd sent before, and from the look of his face, he remembered HJ. It had been one of the first that he'd brought in, when he'd arrived. He didn't forget faces like that, and he stared right back into his eyes, watching them start to slide back into the back of his head.

Until he heard a gasp that was alien in the alleyway, unusual, and not that of the man he held in a fist. Hunched over him, he turned slightly, looking out at the man at the apex of the alleyway.

Gilbert. With that damnable gun.

He was beginning to be an issue, in interrupting HJ. ]

You.

[ His eyes narrowed. ]

[ It's a horrid sight; a man of Hooded Justice's imposing size looming over someone who can barely even fight back at this point. As he surveys the scene, he realizes this man has been dealt more blows than necessary.

It's as if Hooded Justice was trying trying to kill him. ]

You'll kill him! That's enough.

[ Justice knew the limits of a man, and when to stop, in some situations, and when he could keep going. He knew, because he'd been doing this for fifteen years, more than fifteen, really. Even still the thought that had once soothed him now felt like too long, with the ever present thought that rode on the tail of that.

He didn't drop his quarry, but he did let his grip slack just slightly, the shirt he was holding onto slipped slightly, before he caught it. ]

Are you trying to tell me what to do?

[ His voice edged on dangerous, and he looked right at the young man. Hooded Justice didn't suffer much, and especially not orders from someone like Gilbert. Everything about him, when he began to straighten from his hunched position spoke on that. Chest out, shoulders back, straight as a rod. Everything about him set to intimidate. Remind him who he was speaking to. ]

[ His gun is lowered, but not as a show of faith in the man; he keeps it by his side and his finger away from the trigger so Hooded Justice doesn't feel threatened enough to do something drastic.

Everything about this costumed man sets him on edge. His attitude, the way he speaks to others, what he's done to Nelson.

I love him.

He hear Nelson's desperate voice in the back of his head.

He's in love with this... person. Gil can't even call him a man. He acts nothing like one. ]

You've done enough. There's no need to hurt him anymore. [ The intimidation is working, but Gil's different these past few weeks. Perhaps it's spending more time with Bobbi and Fury that makes his confidence rise in the face of potential danger.

He's stood up to this man before. He can do it again. ]

Enough?

[ He hissed it out, like it was almost a curse. It practically was, in HJ's opinion. He was frustrated, and angry that not only did he seem to see fit to order him, but he also saw fit to dictate when someone had enough. That there wasn't a need.

This boy, and he was that, a stupid boy, in HJ's opinion; he had interrupted him not once, but twice. He was growing to dislike him quite a bit. He didn't drop the man. ]

This is the second time he's been caught. Incremental punishment for repeat offenses.

[ Like it was obvious. Even in low, curt tones, there was a trace that said Gil was an idiot for questioning him. ]

[ He finally dares to step forward, bristling once again at the hooded vigilante. He's supposed to be some kind of hero, but he's nothing like the ones Gil's encountered. The Sentry, Spider-Woman, Spider-man, even Hawkeye -- they were all good people.

He doesn't know what Nelson sees in him and it frustrates him because so far, there seems to be nothing. He sees some strange man who enjoys violence, going as far as taking it out on the man who loves him (he's still jarred by that fact). ]

He's barely even conscious anymore! You don't have to do anything anymore!

[ He looked down at the body, but the man still stirred, his eyes moved, beyond the quickly bruising skin, his fingers twitched, and the signs of life were still there. Barely, perhaps, but he was still conscious, which meant he could still feel pain. It meant there was still punishment to be dealt.

His jaw clenched, in his hood, his fingers clenched around his shoulder. He didn't understand, but still he wan't intimidated enough to stand down. He looked at him, frustrated. Inhaling, and holding it, the feeling that HJ was there just seemed to fill the alleyway.

HJ was an intense man, and he, thankfully, knew it. ]

Do I not? Do you know what you're defending right now? [ Not who, what. ] The lowest there is of the degenerates rotting the City itself.

[ There it is again: the knotted anxiety that often took its place in his stomach and made him uneasy in situations where he may be in over his head. He knows this isn't the wisest move he's made, but now that he's stumbled upon this scene, how can he walk away from it?

He looks over the criminal. Even the slightest whiff of blood makes Gil screw up his face in disgust. He swallows hard and turns to face Hooded Justice once more. ]

I'm not defending him. [ He had killed men back home. He can still remember his first kill and how he couldn't get the smell or sight of blood out of his memory. How he vomited on the floor while his body quaked in horror after the adrenaline had passed. Sometimes, some people had to be taken out. An ugly truth he isn't fond of facing. ]

... But he's not a threat to anyone anymore. Shouldn't you call the authorities? This is borderline torture!

The authorities are why he's out here once again.

[ He looks at Gil, still his voice comes low and sharp, but it's still that eerie level of calm. He hasn't lost his temper, yet, but it's simmering, just on the edge of boiling over. He's managed to keep it together, thus far.

The boy still has a gun, and HJ knows better than to chance a gun. The threat of death is still a sharp one, and it's something he can't ignore.

The burn that came with that knowledge hadn't faded, and he didn't know if it ever would. That feeling that the guillotine was around his neck, that at any moment, he'd be gone again. Death was hanging over his shoulders, watching his every move. Like it was walking in step with him, only one pace behind, waiting for him to trip up.

He was fighting impulse every step of the way. ]

This is the only way some will learn.

Edited 2013-07-12 07:43 (UTC)

[ He knows he's not much of a physical imposition to someone as bulky like Hooded Justice, especially since he's likely out here every night taking down people with his bare hands.

Maybe it was going to happen again. The police would take this man and he would somehow find his way out into the streets.

But intuition tells him not to trust Hooded Justice with this anymore.

He tries to push his way past the other man and toward the unconscious one, determined to check his pulse. ]

Aren't you supposed to be a hero? [ He doesn't look at him when he asks his question, his voice low but heavy with disappointment. ]

[ Pushing past HJ and to his quarry was difficult, and if anything, left him almost immobile in how stunned he was. His fist didn't leave his shirt, still clutching it and holding him up by the collar. He stared, almost unable to believe he'd just done that.

It lasted just long enough for Gil to probably get to feeling for a pulse, but only just. He whipped the body out of range immediately afterward, and dropped him to the ground, finally. He crumpled, but HJ turned his full attention to the interruption. ]

I'm a vigilante. Heroes don't always do what is necessary.

[ Implying that this was necessary. ]

Edited 2013-07-12 08:16 (UTC)

Hey! [ His arm reaches out, but he's unable to grab him in time. The sickening thud sets him further on the edge. ] Does Mr. Nelson even know about this?!

[ He finds it hard to believe Nelson would condone extreme measures like this.

He doesn't want to believe it. ]

[ The mention of Nelson makes him even further on edge. Does he know? There was a moment of fleeting curiosity, or thought for Nelson. He was sure, he knew that by now he was likely upset. If it bothered him, he didn't show it. He didn't have the time to be bothered by it, or think on it long.

There were things to do.

They were more important than anything else right now. ]

This isn't Nelson's business. [ He turned entirely on Gil now, ignoring the man collapsed in a limp pile for the annoyance that seemed to keep getting in his way. His arms slid from his cape, a show of force more than anything else. ]

And it is not yours.

[ Beneath his gloves his palms feel sweaty and sticky, clinging to his skin in an uncomfortable way. He realizes he's making himself a target for Hooded Justice's temperamental issues and that there's very little he can do to soothe it by now.

Out of the corner of his eyes he peeks at the unconscious man and debates calling an ambulance for him. If he's a criminal, they'll recognize his face and after patching him up he'll be sent to prison. He doubts after tonight he'll be prowling the streets doing whatever it is he does. ]

Sorry but I can't walk away from a situation like this.

[ Hooded Justice followed the small motion that he made, looking at the man. Didn't he understand? Didn't anyone? Capital punishment, the fear of pain, and the fear of repeated pain was a powerful motivator. How else were they going to learn? They hadn't learn from being locked away.

Fear was what kept them in line. Fear is the only thing people responded to. Gilbert obviously hadn't learned that yet. Most didn't, and that was why they weren't up to snuff. The machine brought too many of those types, and not enough who could lay the law down, and show society what they should and could become.

He rounded in front of the man, making sure all the boy could see was his bulk. HJ towered over him, looking down at him, head tipping back slightly. ]

You will, until you understand what it is I am doing. He doesn't deserve pity, but I am not planning on just killing him.

[ He didn't need to stop, or even convince him to leave, but maybe it was the weakness in him that did it, or the gun in his hand, and the fear of his heartbeat stopping again. Fear was a powerful motivator. If he could get the boy to understand that, and leave, then all the better. It made it easier for him. ]

[ Gil has to crane his neck slightly to look at the faceless man. His eyes burn with a quiet anger and indignation. He's somewhat nervous, of course, but he won't allow himself to be seized by fear -- not by this man. ]

You need to stop already. Mr. Nelson would never do this.

[ It was only a moment, only one, where he almost seemed to hesitate. He brought up Nelson, which was bad enough once. Twice, it was like an insult. Especially the insinuation that, not only would he follow Nelson's lead, but also that it mattered.

People knowing made him cagey. The Minutemen had realized, and understood, that it was best to not bring it out into the open.

He assumed that Gilbert understood what he'd seen. That he knew exactly what the nature of their relationship was. ] Of course he wouldn't.

[ And it was with that when he reached out, at first to just shove him, but a snap-quick decision changed it. The boy should leave, he didn't need him close. He'd have to change areas, just in case the boy told Nelson. He didn't need this right now. Thinking, considering were actions that would take too long.

He drove his fist at him, a sharp violent shot to his face, intending to silence him for long enough to get him out of there. ]

[ He had been ready to pull away from Hooded Justice, but he hadn't expected a direct hit to the face. Before he can blink or raise his arms, the solidness connects with his nose and there's a white flash, and then the rush of heat flowing into every corner of his face as the bone splinters upon impact. Blood pours from his nostrils. ]

A-Augh!

[ The world around him spins too fast for him to keep up with and he stumbles away with a hand pressed against his face. He feels the blood seep through his gloves and trickle down his collar. ]

[ Well, he backed off, which was really what HJ was aiming for. He crossed his arms over his chest, and watched him for a moment, impassive from beneath his hood, not a difficult look to achieve, considering how he was dressed.

He tossed a look behind his shoulder, at the criminal. He was effectively neutralized, as well.

Hooded Justice didn't think the boy would have much trouble. He didn't hit him that hard. He turned, striding down the alleyway, but stopped to look down at the man he'd taken care of. ]

If you're so concerned with this filth, feel free to take care of him.

[ If not, the cops would eventually come on the alleyway, after another anonymous tip. Those had increased lately as well. ]

[ The pain overwhelms him for a full minute. He tries not to push his hand against his nose too hard, afraid he'll worsen it. Instead he tries to ignore the throbbing in the middle of his face. His hand falls away so he can get a proper look at Hooded Justice.

That bastard. He grips the gun tightly in his hand, though he never once dares to raise it. It seems almost pointless now. ]

You... [ It's a low growl. Not menacing, but defiant in the face of all this.

He thinks he hates this man. His eyes haven't held such seething anger since the stadium incident.

But he's not going to test his luck tonight. His thoughts quickly trail to Nelson; somewhere, blissfully unaware of what's gone down tonight. He doesn't want to bring this to him. Not yet, anyway. ]

Forget it.

[ The blood keeps coming, but he turns away anyway to see if the man Hooded Justice beat up is still breathing at this point. ]

Edited 2013-07-16 04:48 (UTC)

[ He only turns slightly, looking over his shoulder, and the high collar of his cape at the boy for just a moment. Hooded Justice solved problems through violence. It was the way he knew, it was what was comfortable, and easy. Gilbert was more than lucky it was just his nose. ]

Perhaps this will be a lesson you won't forget. Don't stand between me and my work again.

[ Between him and anything, really. The boy was quickly edging closer toward a nuisance. He didn't deal with him further, because he hadn't seen fit to draw the weapon on him. Only that. It's what he told himself, either way, that he was going easy on him, because he was simply doing what he thought was right. He didn't know the consequences of his actions any more than the people on the streets did.

He didn't even run away, he walked down the alley, turning a corner without looking back again. ]

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Chaos is hangin' around

a mishmash of a & d

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