Fantasy ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ dying to see you again | din • corvus corax

[tsumu]

joel king • 23 • villain



ability; super-res. joel does not get sick, nor is he affected by most market drugs. he utilizes custom-made stimulants to boost his strength, speed, and mind while in a fight. he wields guns as his main weapons, one of which shoots small vials of the stimulant he uses on himself, a substance deadly in its unfiltered, undiluted form to most people. too, he’s had a variety of metal implants installed in his body– some visible, some not. he’s not meant to count on them; they’re his plan z against heroes who catch him in a bad spot. they cannot become infected or be rejected by his body, so he takes advantage of that to try and get himself up to par with heroes with more impressive powers.

origin; joel hails from a lower class family; growing up, life was hard. he had only a very select few people he could put his trust in, none of which were blood relatives. it wasn’t long into adolescence before practically every good influence he had fled his life, and he was left to scramble to find a purpose to cling to. he found solace in his less than model peers; he was a party trick, a raucous hell-raiser in his youth, but it quickly turned to a life of black-market smuggling and villainy as he explored his abilities further and further, until he (allegedly) nearly killed himself.

his villain name is fiend, much to his distaste. it's a play on his moral alignment and his unsavory drug habit. he's not a particularly well known villain, preferring to keep his head down and get work done than be in the limelight like other villains.

​

 

[tsumu]

joel king ➳ 23 ➳ los angeles, california

green is such a beautiful color.

the instant that joel's eyes flit to the weighty glass vial in his hands, time seems to slow. it fits snugly in his hand, resting delicately between his fingers while he looks on with reverence. the middle of the vial is fragile glass, but joel knows how to handle it. the contents of the vial are an unnatural neon green color, solid all the way through with not a single impurity. this is joel's favorite part.

on one end of the vial, a long, clear cap conceals a lengthy needle. deftly, joel pops the cap off to reveal the needle in all its glory; it practically glints in the dim light. there's no time to waste.

he spins the vial, a stuck habit that developed out of the desire for a bit of flair, before plunging the needle straight into his skin. what used to be the most unfavorable part of using stims was now painless. with his thumb, he pressed the small, flat button on the other end of the vial that would release the drugs into his blood stream. that was definitely his favorite part.

the moment the vial finished expressing its contents-- a process that took less than two and a half seconds-- joel tossed the needle aside and stood frozen to the floor for a brief moment, taking a second to feel the stim flow through his veins. it was glorious.

the causamphetimine epidemic had been taking los angeles by storm. scientists (experienced drug chemists) were pushing out as much as they could, selling it to businessmen (druglords) who were distributing it by quick and efficient means (drug pushers) to valuable customers (tweakers) for recreational use (getting higher than heaven and whatever was beyond it). giant facilities disguised as proper business distribution centers were filled to the brim with the stuff; on the street it was affectionately known as 'caus' and it was in such high demand, its owners often required hired help to keep it safe.

that was where joel came in.

in exchange for a boatload of caus and a hefty sum, joel put his life on the line to thwart anyone who came sniffing around his boss' stash. he was a rat catcher.

and the place was crawling with rats.

joel couldn't let himself relish in the soft high that the caus gave him for very long. he had a job to do, and it was best to take care of the rats before they got spooked and dispersed.

there was a hero team infiltrating the warehouse. his boss-- or rather, contractor, as joel preferred-- had alerted him to suspicious activity that was going on around his warehouse, so he'd spent the day skulking around the imposing facility, walking the aisles and staking out doors. it'd amounted to nothing, until the clock struck 3 a.m. and a loading dock was forced open by what could only be described as superhuman force. the security had radioed him to warn him that these weren't just everyday people he'd be dealing with. it was no frustrated addict looking for his next fix, it was a team looking to topple his contractor's operation.

joel waited for the team near the entrance they had forced open. he'd spent some time debating whether or not to face them head on, but after being notified by security that there was only one, maybe two variants with the team, he resolved to give them a warm, quick welcome.

from a bird's eye spot on top of a towering shelf, joel made first contact. the variant was obvious-- a hulking man dressed in shiny material different from the rest of the people with him. he looked to be no more than a raw strength hero, but judging a book by its cover could very well be fatal in situations like these. playing it smart and keeping distance would be essential.

with him, joel had taken a few capsules of caus. not for himself, but for the welcoming party. it was so, so easy. unbeknownst to joel's presence, the team made their way further into the facility, sticking together as a group, brandishing their impressive guns to ward off attackers.

in an instant, pandemonium broke out within the team. the screams of men and women rang out in the warehouse, and joel watched with wide eyes as half of the group scrambled around like headless chickens, screeching about green droplets melting their flesh. the capsules of caus that joel had tossed from atop the shelves had exploded upon impact with the band of heroes, and undiluted caus was practically raw acid. nearly two-hundred recreational vials of caus could be made from an undiluted capsule like the one joel held in his hand.

joel was able to retain his anonymity until he tossed yet another capsule, exposing himself in the process. he'd splashed a few more of the heroes, but the variant had eyes on him. in an instant, joel's high ground was compromised by the variant bum rushing the foundation, slamming his fists into the metal and causing the whole thing to shake and wobble. joel heard things hitting the floor, and his face flushed red. his contractor would be livid if joel destroyed the product in an effort to protect the product.

with all the grace of a crazed monkey, joey made his way down the shelf, using the ledges like a far oversized ladder. sober, he'd be moving at half the speed he was currently at, and probably wouldn't have even dared to attempt such a maneuver. that was the beauty of caus.

he hit the ground with a thud, and metal in his legs vibrating on impact. he draw his guns from their holsters, and all of a sudden, he was face to face with the variant. he recalled seeing his face on tv; he'd been a con-hero before con-heroes were a thing. he worked with government teams during dangerous operations, and had a very high success rate.

he was thinking of something to say, but nothing came to mind. he couldn't bring himself to be cordial.

the variant cut to the chase, lurching forward in an attempt to grab joel by his neck. his hand closed into a tight, shaking fist mere inches in front of his throat, joel having jerked backward just in the nick of time.

what a rude fucker, he thought bitterly. some heroes liked flair and would talk before trying to flatten him, but not this guy.

joel swung his pistol at the hero's arm, knocking it away from his throat. he turned and ran, keeping low to the ground, his heartrate rising exponentially. he ran for a stretch, then whipped around to find that he'd doubled the distance of the hero. slow ass.

he fired one shot, two, three, in the hero's direction. one was a bullet, two was a vial of caus, and three was another bullet. the hero was better at dodging than he was running, and all joel managed to do was graze his arm. the hero pulled out the gun strapped to his back: an automatic weapon that gave joel pause; it was scary.

but how boring; a regular old gunfight.

joel dove behind a shelf as the variant started shooting. he follow joel's path, shooting pallets and boxes in the way of him. joel's eye twitched violently as he heard shattering glass-- stop it, you fucking lard, you're fucking everything up, he screamed in his head, and when the hero's fire ceased, he peeked the corner to retaliate. the hero was closer than he'd anticipated, but it wasn't a bad thing. joel managed to stick him with a caus-infused dart in the cheek and a bullet in the shoulder. the hero cried out, staggered, but managed to return fire. joel scrambled away, but in his mind he'd already won. once the dart made contact with skin, undiluted caus would enter the body, and as far as joel was concerned, that was game over.

gunfire rang out for a few seconds more, but then it stopped. he heard a heavy thud, and he rounded the corner to find the variant on the floor, eyes and mouth open wide. his eyes were twitching in their sockets, and he seemed to be choking on his tongue. that was a lucky shot, joel admitted to himself. the darts were powerful, but could easily be thwarted by armor or immediate extraction.

he had no time to stand over the variant and debate whether or not to spare his life; the few personnel left from the team were already on his ass.

he set off after them with a giddy feeling in his chest. their protector was gone; they were easy pickings! he sprinted down the aisle toward the feeble three men and women left, diving to the ground in a sports-eqsue fashion when they started firing their guns. he got back up in a somersault, and slammed the barrel of his weapon into one of the men's chin, his head snapping backward and blood spraying from his mouth where he'd bit his tongue. with a solid kick to the ankle, the man was on the ground, where joel could very easily shoot a dart into his neck.

he turned his attention to the other two, who seemed to be moving in slow motion. damn, it's really kickin' in now, he thought excitedly, and lunged toward his next target.

. . .

by the time joel limped through his front door, it was eight a.m. and he was exhausted.

after the ordeal, he'd had to explain the events to his contractor's lackey, who then had to contact his boss, who then insisted on coming down and dealing with the variant himself. joel had watched with a straight face as his boss, a large, imposing man with golden skin and a metal hand put a bullet through the variant's temple. at least he hadn't been aware of his own death, joel consoled himself. people killed themselves on caus all the time; this was hardly different.

he stumbled to his sofa, collapsing on the black leather in a heap. he'd had to work off the stim since the fight hadn't lasted very long, which amounted to him sprinting laps around the warehouse. now he was done. he wouldn't have to work for another few days, so he could recuperate.

lazily, he switched on the tv: a cartoon started playing, but he quickly changed the channel to the news to see if they'd picked up on the fight yet. they hadn't. there wasn't a peep about a variant going missing on a drug bust.

there was, however, a very enthusiastic story about the latest and greatest hero team saving civilians from a disaster.

tch. good guys get all the limelight.