Chapter 115 - The Vigilante's Story
Chapter 115 – The Vigilante’s Story
In the end, the group decided to go with Cyanide's proposal. It was the simplest method. Dianna and Kirika went first, followed by Luna. And while the girls were cleaning themselves, Cyanide and Ragnar sat on the other side of the log: the former by will, and the latter by force. Either way, the girls' naked bodies weren't getting peeped on anytime soon, since Lust opted to be a makeshift security camera.
Neither Ragnar nor Cyanide seemed to be the type to care about that kind of stuff, though, anyway. Instead, the much preferred to just have a conversation of their own while they waited.
"So, Cyanide. What made you become an assassin?"
"… What an interesting thing to ask," Cyanide replied, dodging his inquiry.
But of course, Ragnar saw through this trick with ease, and gave an unamused snort.
"Just answer the damn question, assassin."
"Do I have to?"
"You wanna fight?"
"Right now? No, I can't say I do."
Ragnar gave a smirk, as if to say, 'well?', and Cyanide gave a sigh.
"I… became an assassin because I was trained to become one."
"… What?" Ragnar frowned as if the answer confused him—and for good reason, too. "You're telling me you just became whatever you were raised for?"
Cyanide gave a nod, and Ragnar laughed.
"Ha! You're more of a wimp than I thought. You disappoint me, Cyanide. Here I was, thinking you had some kind of reason to become an assassin, and the best one in the underground at that. But who knew you were just someone who went along with whatever others told you to do, like a little coward?"
Cyanide didn't respond to that. Not because he agreed with the other man's words, but because he simply didn't care. To him, starting an argument was like killing an innocent: completely and utterly pointless. Not good, not evil, just pointless.
"… Hey. Let me tell you something, Cyanide. A bit of my own past."
"Oh? I don't believe asking."
"Shut it. You told me some of yours, so it's only fair for me to tell you mine. I don't want to owe you anything more than I already do—so listen up, real close. I'll only tell this story once."
*****
– Many Years Ago, Earth –
Two steel toe-capped boots splashed against the rough, weathered roof of the apartment block, creating large ripples in the wet, rainstained concrete. A massive figure stood there, like a behemoth of stone. Legs like marble pillars, clad in dark combat trousers. Torso armored with thick Kevlar. Moonlight and raindrops alike glinted off a blood red mask, one that resembled some kind of malicious knight. A harbinger of destruction.
Any normal man would have been out of place on this night, over 90 feet up on a rooftop. But this was no normal man. His name was Ragnar Creed, and he had a job to do tonight.
Police intel had informed him that in the supposedly abandoned factory building a hundred meters away in this area of the downtown city 0f Detroit, there lay in disguise human trafficking headquarters.
As per his typical position, he'd been the first to raise his hand to lead the charge in. He and the police had a deal—the police let him handle criminals, and in return, he saved the police tons of time and energy.
Of course, Ragnar was still only one guy, and couldn't get around to every little criminal on the streets. Just the average robber or drunkard wouldn't even catch his eye, but of course, if he encountered one randomly on the street, he would be sure to step in.
Still, mainly, his focus was on the bigshots. Corrupt politicians, infamous serial killers, and entire mafia organizations. Ragnar Creed hunted down the big criminals—the criminals that the police could not deal with, either due to the lack of strength or the lack of authority.
This was a seemingly fair deal. Both Ragnar and the police benefited from this deal on the surface. The police were saved time and resources, while Ragnar got to do what he does best: take down criminals his own way.
But just like everything else in this world, this isn't always what it seemed.
Firstly, even though the police were saving time, money, and effort by having Ragnar take care of all the bigshot criminals, that came with a price: their reputation. To the public, Ragnar had achieved far more than the police ever have, and people have began calling the police force 'incompetent' or 'useless'. Of course, the people had yet to find out the man beneath the mask was Ragnar Creed. Most just knew him as the Titan of Shadows. 'Silly name,' he'd originally thought, but every hero has their identity.
Second, Ragnar himself was also not extremely happy with the current deal he had with the police. Yes, he could deal with evil his own way like this, and before the formation of the deal, he was being chased down like he was a criminal himself due to his… violent measures, but the current situation wasn't exactly ideal.
The deal with the police wasn't without its downsides. Ragnar was being held back—even though he was allowed to do things his way most of the time, and the police would turn a blind eye to it, sometimes, for extremely big targets, proper questioning and interrogation was needed. Unfortunately, Ragnar wasn't too big about that. He preferred more… bloody interrogation methods, something that the police force could now allow. Both sides were growing tired of the other, and it was uncertain how much longer this partnership would last.
Of course, Ragnar was ready for that day. But right now, he had a different target in mind.
He crouched down, before leaping gracefully for such a titanic figure, 6'6 of muscle. He landed nearby the factory, almost silently – his jump had been calculated perfectly. Supersoldier genetic engineering did wonders for one's physical abilities. He stalked over to the rusty iron doors that held the factory imprisoned, his back against the wall beside them.
He put his ear to the flaking metal, hearing sounds inside – crying, shuffling, shouting.
Slowly backing away, he knew: he was in the right place.