The Z-List: Old City, Young Justice

Happibaga Parking Lot

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UV3RC2sDwQs ]
Rain settles slick on the paved streets of downtown Kyoto, the last straggling droplets sputtering out of the clouds as they depart southwest, for Osaka. Heavy boots splash into puddles as they march down from the back of a squat delivery truck, pushing dollies loaded with sealed boxes. They move away, further down the side street where the drainage runs towards sewer grates. To the door on the back-facing wall of the bright red and orange building standing like a heathen monument in the center of beautiful Kyoto, a giant illuminated hamburger on a pole rotating above it even late into the hours of the night when it’s supposed to be closed.

Squatting on a bus stop bench under a seemingly shorted out streetlamp, Ken leans close enough to the mesh of the back wall that he can peer through the gaps.

To any other observer, a late-night delivery to the Happibaga, the local meatless burger joint. Ken isn’t fooled. There’s no mistaking one of the Night Parade’s delivery truck, not for a Fuma. Ken double checks the photograph from his hoodie pocket. Giichi Mikata. Former top hero, current wheelman for the Night Parade. Ken’s cousin in Osaka sent word that the wheelman was on his way Kyoto-bound.

So Happibaga is a front for one of the Night Parade branches. It’s not one Ken knew about before. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he taps it awake, the screen set to low brightness. A series of thumb movements updates his reconnaissance notes. After the delivery truck leaves, he’ll move in and find the goods. That should tell them what branch is operating here. Then, planning the mission to-

Commotion derails Ken’s train of thought, someone shouting. “I’m stuck on something!” He jerks back up and sticks his eye up to the mesh. The lead dolly-pushing goon got his wheels jammed up in a length of capture cloth that had been laid out across the street. The cloth strip becomes taut and yanks the dolly out from under the stack of boxes, sending them spilling across the ground.

Bright red lights begin to flash from the main street on the opposite side of the Happibaga, alongside loud wailing sirens. “It’s the cops!” one of the two dolly-wheeling goons shouts. “Cheese it!” Turning on their heels, they begin to run back towards the truck with their tails tucked between their legs.

Another set of heavy boots stomps down the ramp at the back of the truck, and then even heavier footsteps behind them. A third gangster, carrying a drum-fed riot shotgun- stolen police gear. And beside him, a hulking inhuman creature, covered in shaggy fur. The Yaju, mutant hired muscle, a thug and a cutthroat. “Stop right there!” the shotgun-toting gangster levels his weapon at the others, who freeze in their tracks. “Leave without collecting the product and you’re mulch.”

It's all the motivation they need, and there’s no room to argue. Skidding back over the wet pavement, they grab as many of the fallen boxes as they can carry, while the Yaju grabs the still-upright dolly and hauls it back into the truck. Everything goes on like that, the thugs taking back their goods while the sirens keep blaring, and… nothing happens.

“Bull. There ain’t no cops, they’d be out here by now,” the leader steps into the alley and levels his weapon. “Come on out, whoever you are! I’m calling your bluff! And shut those damn sirens off! Else I’ll be serving your carcass to the big guy here!” A loud growl from the barely-human, apelike face of the Yaju punctuates the threat.

From the rooftop of the konbini beside the Happibaga, a capture rope netting is tossed down. When it strikes the gangster below, its spring-loaded tethers snap shut around him. The weapon goes off, spraying a deafening fan of shot into the pavement before he can regain trigger control. “My leg! I shot my leg!”

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_4_dIezjeU ]
Silhouetted by the red police lights, the shape of a man appears at the other end of the side street, long hair hanging around his head from beneath the brim of a cap. “Leave your lieutenant and boxes behind and I’ll let you run!” A man’s voice shouts to the midnight smugglers through the noise of the sirens. “This racket will already be drawing more attention than you can afford!”

“To hell with that!” said lieutenant shrieks at his lackeys. “Get me in the truck and let’s go!”

“That truck won’t be going anywhere.” The man’s words prove true. Ken turns his attention to the vehicle, whose wheels are nearly totally deflated already, the victims of a razor strip that’s been rolled out into the street. “If you run now, you might get away before the police-”

Another unexpected shift in the situation interrupts the man’s speech, a bulky white shape tossed from the konbini rooftop. It slams onto the tops of a line of smart-compressor trash cans along the side of the street, then rolls off onto the ground. A man in a hazmat suit, crumpled on the ground in a heap. A long spear with a strange mechanical device at the end clanks down next to him. Above, numerous long black limbs creep over the edge off the roof and slowly pull the sheet-covered face of their owner into the reflected light of the streetlamps below. Bogey, the Night Parade’s creeping attack dog, looms above.

“Kill him! And smash those sirens!” the lieutenant orders, one of his goons already pulling a combat knife to help saw him free.

This is going downhill, fast. Taking a slow step backwards off the bus bench, Ken grabs his bow from beside him and looks for the best routes to escape without notice. If Bogey spots him, the creature will be after him like greased lightning. If there was any way to help he would, but these are two heavy-hitters, and he’s… just Ken.

Whoever these Z-listers are, they’re as good as dead meat already.

The moment before Ken disappears down an alley, there’s a crash behind him. He spins around to see the many-limbed mass of Bogey flailing for purpose and regaining its posture, after being tossed straight through the mesh bus stop, turning it into a hunk of shredded metal. Good thing I didn’t stick it out to spectate…

[1:48 hits]
Behind the scrabbling, scuttling heap is a huge woman in an undersized white t-shirt and a pair of short-shorts that nearly died trying to get over her beastly calves and thighs. Horns stick up from her dark hair, framing wide predatory eyes and sharp teeth spread into a grin that shines through the dark. “Roll over and show your belly, Human Centipede!” taking one step forward, she stomps her foot down, cracking the pavement. One finger juts out towards Bogey like a wrestler doing an exaggerated call-out. “Noriko Oki is here to put you on the ground!” Her appearance matches a vigilante that's been causing trouble recently, having brawls all over the city. They call her the Queen Carnivore.

Jangling golden jewelry hanging from Bogey’s many limbs is the only audible reply, before he gets his limbs under him and launches back towards the new arrival. Broad wings stretch out behind her, alongside a scorpion tail poised to strike, and she meets his charge with a shoulder check to the chin.

Past the grapple between the two bruisers, Ken spots the man from the other side of the alley trying to rush forward. The writing on the wall is clear, the lieutenant is already shrugging free of the net that ensnared him and reaching for his fallen weapon. Drawing an arrow from the quiver at his hip, Ken pivots. Years practicing kyudo-style at his clan’s compound dojo have made him skilled at analyzing angles on the fly. An arrow loosed sails clean across the street, over the parking lot, and into the side street. There the arrow punches through the lieutenant’s hand before it finds its weapon.

Was aiming for the gun, but hey, I’ll take it.

Unfortunately, a shotgun isn’t the only deadly weapon en route to strike the alleyway hero. Yaju’s lumbering footsteps turn into a gorilla-like lope. The cap-wearing crusader grabs the fallen dolly and tries to swing it into the killer beast’s face. Metal folds when it meets Yaju’s shaggy arm at speed, swatting the dolly into the back wall of the Happibaga and tearing the capture cloth still snagged in the wheels. The other arm, with less force on a pivoted swing, backhands the hero under the jaw. He sails into the air, head over heels, and belly flops under the flashing lights where he’d stepped out in the first place. Wind knocked out of him, he gasps and tries to get his arms under him to stand.

The back of the Yaju’s head is facing Ken, but he can imagine the aggressive ape-grin spread across its face as it approaches its prey. Drawing another arrow, Ken starts to take aim to help the fallen hero. But other problems put themselves in his sights: the gangsters have spotted him. “More? After him!”

Two goons are rushing Ken’s position, one with a combat knife and the other hefting an aluminum baseball bat coiled with barbed wire. One of them trips- the guy with the bludgeon. A white heap on the ground grabbed onto his leg. Ken adjusts his aim to focus on the other and fires. An arrow slices cleanly into the thug’s leg just above the ankle, sending him to the ground grasping at the wound.

Ken is forced to jump back as a ball of limbs rolls past him and slams into the wall of the bus terminal behind him. Deciding to get the hell away from that melee, he rushes across the street to join the brawl around the Happibaga.

Down the alley, the Yaju is winding up his fist, preparing to pump the fallen hero’s head against the asphalt. Ken’s heart races. He reaches down for his quiver, draws an arrow. The fist comes down like a hammer. Too fast. Too slow.

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYZIUtDAFIw ]
A muscled hand grabs Yaju’s arm, dragging his aim off course and using the momentum of his punch to launch him sprawling head over heels onto the ground.

Dook dook dook. Throwing back his head, the muscular, shirtless man responsible for the intervention guzzles a three liter, thick glass bottle of crystal clear vodka. Tugging the neck of the empty container away from his lips, Kampai releases a thunderous belch- in the same motion as he slams the bottle into Yaju’s face mid-kip-up. Thick, shattered fragments scatter loudly around them. Kampai follows through into a swipe across Yaju’s chest with the jagged, glass-sharp tips of his new improvised weapon. It forces the beast-man to leap back for space and regain his composure, while Kampai helps the alley-trapper to his feet.

“Leave this one to me, little man.” Raising his head, Kampai slams a fist into his bare chest, squaring up against the Yaju. “Banzai!” Like a wild animal, the Yaju lunges for Kampai’s throat. And like a drunken master, Kampai weaves and swerves away with liquid speed, bottle flashing out. His opponent is all power and speed, no strategy, no wisdom. Blow after blow strikes true. The weapon cracks more with each impact, leaving heavy chunks in leaking wounds.

Nearer to Ken, the hero he now realizes to be Vaccine is on his feet, and so is his opponent. The sickly man is slammed into the dumpster by the larger, stronger gangster. His spine is bent backwards, but Ken can audibly hear the creaking, grinding bones refusing to give way. Grabbing Vaccine’s spear from the ground, Ken jabs it into the back of the thug, eliciting a shriek from the piercing pain. A swift turn of a crank on the side of the gadget weapon injects fast-acting tranquilizers into the thug’s system. Ken tugs the weapon free, and Vaccine starts to overpower their foe- now weakened by the incoming unconsciousness. Wrestled to the ground, the thug is slapped in a pair of cuffs. One down.

Taking Vaccine by the shoulder, Ken helps him to his feet and thrusts the spear back into his hands. “Here. Glad you’re still okay.”

“Thh- hh, look out…!” spinning around as the man wheezes out his warning, Ken is able to block a jab from the limping knife-wielder just in time. A panicked kick to the wounded leg sends the man back to the ground, where he throws up a hand. Brilliant light flashes straight into Ken’s face, blinding him. A sweeping leg takes his out from under him, and the wet pavement meets is back in a breath-stealing impact.

Auroras dance in front of Ken’s eyes as his poor cones try to adjust. Faint shapes jostle for supremacy above him, Vaccine- protected by his tinted visor- wrestling the second thug to the ground amidst several more flashes that light up the night. Ken gives the thug a boot to the jaw, which lends Vaccine enough leverage to roll the crook onto his stomach and cuff him, too. Two down.

“I don’t take too kindly to anyone who damages my truck,” the shape of someone getting out of the driver’s seat of the vehicle starts to come into focus again in Ken’s blinking vision. Pulling a shotgun out from behind him, Giichi Mikata pumps it and takes aim. The weapon is leveled at Vaccine’s chest, as he steps in front of Ken, who’s still only managed to get back up to his knees.

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAK24FQ7DrA ]
A sealed box comes flying into the line of fire. A booming gunshot goes off. Thick foam packing sprays like fluffy white gore into the street, alongside a powdered cloud of cocaine bricks torn to shreds by the high-speed pellets. Like sandbags packed in front of a fortified position, they absorbed the blast.

With a flying jump out of the alley, the cap-sporting hero kicks off the ramp, grabbing the side of the truck. He swings into a double-footed flying kick straight towards Mikata’s face. The impact is blocked by Mikata’s shotgun, but that causes the weapon to slam him in the face and then fall from his grip.

The trapper falls to the ground and spins to his feet like a breakdancer, sporting a giant welt across the side of his face where Yaju struck him, and probably a dislocated jaw. Behind him, a swirling darkness takes shape into a vaguely humanoid figure, barely visible where it glistens in the high moonlight. Dark hands grip the hero’s shoulders and swing him away from their master, a judo throw that piledrives the victim into the asphalt.

Vaccine charges through the cloud of narcotic powder, his suit rendering its danger null. The sickly hero tries to bring his spear around to ward off the black ghost with the haft, but the spectral foe is barely moved. “Skyward…” a rasp of concern finally gives name to the combatant Ken hadn’t recognized yet.

Finally on his feet, Ken looks down the alley while the two heroes struggle against Mikata’s spirit. They’re not going to last long, but Kampai is still in a slug-fest with Yaju on the other side of Happibaga. At some point, Skyward took down the lieutenant for good, the man tied up in capture cloth like a mummy on the floor of the side street.

Wasting no time, Ken keeps dashing past the alley mouth and around the other side of the delivery truck. He emerges behind Mikata, just in time to kick the fallen shotgun away from him. “Not happening.”

The wheelman draws a machete instead, from a sheath along his leg. “Old fashioned way, then.”

Weaving backwards, evading swipes with the speed of a practiced knife fighter, Ken draws his foe away from the others’ struggle to get away from the growing black mass. That’s when he sees a large red shape hurtling towards him and ducks to the ground. The manticore woman’s dense, spikey, muscular mass slams into Mikata from the side and bowls him over.

Springing to her feet, eyes wide like a cornered animal, the Queen Carnivore swipes a claw at Ken’s throat. He squeaks and yanks back just in time, resuming his knife fight training as he tries to avoid being mauled. “What,” he jukes to the side, “are,” another dodge, “you doing?!”

“I’m taking you crooks down!” she growls back at him, the response giving him a brief respite from her assault.

“But I’m on your side!”

The Carnivore blinks, her hair-thin feline pupils widening just a smidge as she reconsiders him. “Oh. You look like a crook. Sorry!” as suddenly as she came after him she turns away- and then receives a large black tree trunk of a fist to the face, throwing her aside.

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3nQSfyYmoHo ]
The black ghost has turned from the two-bit heroes, now as tall as the Happibaga itself, with long lanky limbs that swirl like the limbs of a midnight-black tornado touching down to earth. Scuttling limbs scramble into the parking lot from the street, Bogey’s creeping crawl bringing it to its ally’s side as it rears up. One long, reaching arm helps Mikata back to his feet, machete still in hand. The monster is peppered with tiny stingers, cracked skin swollen into welts around them, and a deep claw-rake traces down his side.

Queen Carnivore stands up, wiping a trail of blood from the side of her mouth where the ghost’s fist hit her, puncturing her lip with her own teeth in the process. “I’m gonna get you twice as hard for that, you oversized string of licorice!” In spite of the bravado in her voice, she doesn’t jump straight back in, adjusting her stance and flicking her eyes between the array of three opponents. A bloody lip isn’t her only injury. Bruises from punches and grabs line her arms and legs, alongside deep scratches from Bogey’s sharp, untrimmed nails. Ken backs away, standing at her heel, reaching for an arrow and realizing he’d dropped his bow when that thug flashbanged him.

A furry heap flies out of the alley, Yaju landing unconscious, bleeding all over the asphalt. Kampai steps out into the parking lot, popping his shoulder back into place and cracking his neck. “Shoulda brought a bigger damn bottle. Who’s next?” his pacing footsteps bring him around the rear of the delivery truck, flanking the villains from the opposite side. Vaccine is sagging beside him, stamina clearly flagging from the extended encounter, any injuries obscured by his hazmat suit. On Kampai’s other side, Skyward has a bloody nose- possibly broken- and one arm clenched against his side, gripping somewhere on his torso he took a nasty hit.

The lull in the fighting hangs around them, an eye at the center of a storm, waiting for the moment the next wall of wind hits and it all goes to hell again. Waiting for the first person to make their next move. Nobody on either side fully certain what the others are capable of.

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6q6pDC6Mas ]
Like the firing pistol kicking off a gran prix, the sound of more sirens kicks off the fight- real ones, coming their way. Queen Carnivore is the first to charge, and the black ghost raises a towering foot, spreading into a broad surface to slam her into the ground. Spreading her wings and flapping them to brake, she pivots back and points her stinger at Mikata. Tiny needle-like thorns stand in peaks along her tail, angling towards him, then spray like a shotgun blast. A swirling black arm moves to intervene, but doesn’t catch them all, several stingers lodging themselves in Mikata’s leg through his slacks.

Taking a deep breath, Ken focuses his attention on the gangster in the middle of the swirling shadows. Beneath his intentionally baggy clothes, Ken’s body ripples and expands, reaching the size of a full-grown man. Flowing out from the center of his chest, his skin darkens and deepens in hue, while his hair loses its color and turns white, shrinking to match the former hero’s. For once its color matches the target’s.

Clenching his fist, Ken tries reaching out to the new quirk inside of him. He’s never quite sure what they do, and feeling it out is an experiment, so he’s not eager to rely on one without knowing what it does first. But the situation is desperate, and a construct summoner must give him something useful, even if it’s an expendable body to put in the fight!

Dazzling lights pour from Ken’s chest and swirl out over his body, like waterfalls of winding ribbons. They glimmer with an iridescent rainbow of colors he recognizes from the mirror, the same as his eyes in his true form. The flare of their emergence makes him stand out like a neon sign in the night, and Ken feels Mikata’s eyes on him. A towering arm, now as thick as a car, swings down towards Ken.

Raising his arms in a desperate attempt to defend himself, Ken wills his new quirk to do something. Reaching out from his arms, spirals of light gather into a point and whirr into motion, spinning rapidly. When the dark substance impacts them, the momentum enables the point to punch through like a drill bit, momentarily severing the end of the shadowy appendage. Its flaky remains cascade around Ken, more black rain in the night, and the stub of the tower-arm begins slowly reforming itself. When Ken pulls his arms apart, the ribbons that formed the drill-spiral come apart with them, coiling around his limbs like armor and terminating in smaller drill-points past each fist.

Queen Carnivore is grappled onto one of the black ghost’s legs, trying with minimal success to drag it off its feet, while her tail fences with Mikata’s machete, jabbing at him each time he tries to move in and wind up for a swipe at her unguarded sides. Past them, Kampai is trapped in a losing boxing match with Bogey, too many arms coming at him for his slick moves to keep up with. Vaccine’s attempts to jab the creeping cretin with his tranq-spear are easily swatted away, and Skyward has disappeared from view. Ken wouldn’t blame him if he ran, he strongly considers it himself.

Instead, he moves forward. Each step closer, Ken has to punch up at the black ghost’s attempts to knock him aside. Mikata grits his teeth, and Queen Carnivore stumbles forward, losing her footing as the towering ghost’s black matter dissipates out of her grasp. It shrinks in size, taking advantage of the opening to deliver a heavy uppercut to her jaw. Ken leaps to parry a machete aimed at her exposed neck with one of his ribbons. A sudden smirk on Mikata’s face is Ken’s only warning that it was a feint.

A black mass, already in the process of growing again, strikes Ken in the side and sends him splaying out on the ground. Only a layer of firm ribbons forming a set of branching guards around his torso keeps him from a whole array of broken ribs. “Bogey, this is a wash,” the veteran wheelman states, calmly and coolly, wincing as he steps backwards on his swollen, sting-cushion leg.

Shoving Kampai away with a wall of hands, Bogey backpedals towards the black ghost. A shape framed dark against the halo of a streetlamp leaps from the roof of the truck, descending towards the villain with a tire iron in hand. Skyward lands on Bogey’s back and delivers a falling bludgeon to the creature’s head. Two hands immediately shove the out of his depth hero off, and he lands hard on his shoulder with a pained grunt. Vaccine drags him away from a trio of wiry black limbs that try to curbstomp him.

The black ghost scoops Mikata into a cradle of shadowy swirls, and Bogey climbs onto its leg as it takes long striding steps away from them, and away from the sirens. “Hey! Get back here, chicken boy!” the manticore flexes her wings to take off after him, but Ken reaches out and grabs her arm. Her head flicks back at him and, seeing Mikata’s face, she winds up.

“Wait, wait, it’s me!” Ken flinches away and holds up his arms, a radiant shield forming in front of him.

“Huh? Who?” the manticore scratches at her wild, unkempt hair. “Oh, the glowy thing that was fighting him. What, he your evil twin or something?”

“It’s more like I’m his good twin?”

“Ain’t that the same thing?”

Ken looks over his shoulder, where several police cars with blaring lights are speeding towards them. He runs to pick up his bow. “Maybe hash out the details another time. Come with me, I know a place to lay low!” shouting over his shoulder as he dashes back to the ruined bus stop, Ken parkours over it, the swirling pearly light flowing back into his chest so he’s not such a glaring target to chase after. Queen Carnivore leaps next to him, but when Ken looks back, Kampai is leaning the two faint-looking heroes up against the side of the truck. “Come on! The cops will get them checked out!”

With a few mighty strides, the drunken vigilante joins them, hiccupping as he lands. Together, they disappear into the guts of the city, headed in a different direction from the towering black mass striding over buildings.

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Fuma Clan Safehouse

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QBTJx0UCKE ]
Along the way, Ken had shed the form of Giichi Mikata, though he quietly notes to himself that it’s a pretty kickass quirk. Shame he can’t just call it up whenever he needs it. Bringing his two hulking companions to a set of stairs behind one of the larger downtown laundromats, leading into a semi-hidden basement. Using his key to let them in, Ken waves at the guard standing just inside, a man in more traditional form-fitting ninja garb. If Ken wore stuff it’d just explode when he turned into someone bigger and leave him in the nude, thus the preference for baggy clothes that make him look like a wannabe gangster or, maybe more charitably, a graffiti artist. “We can lay low in here till morning.”

A sparsely furnished room waits inside, with a ratty couch and a coffee table with one leg supported by a stack of magazines. There are several bed rolls spread out along the walls at haphazard angles, and a minifridge in the corner. Queen Carnivore makes a beeline for it, grabbing the full stack of cheap bento boxes from inside. “Hell yes. I could eat a horse, but these scraps’ll have to tide me over,” she flops down on one of the floor mats, tearing the first box open. “Only really care for meat, any’a you want the leftovers?”

Kampai slumps into the couch. “Save me some noodles. Carbs will help with the hangover.” She shoots him a giant, fuzzy thumbs-up.

Dragging a box out from beside the fridge with his foot, Ken holds up a bottle of pills and shakes them. “Anybody need some painkillers?”

“Maybe a couple,” the manticore holds out her paw and accepts a double dose. Ken figures she has enough body mass she’ll need it. “Oo’re you amnywayff?” she asks through a mouthful of sweet and sour chicken balls. Kampai shakes his head when Ken offers him some pain meds. Right, alcohol and painkillers don’t mix well.

Shrugging, Ken grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and downs a pair of the pills himself. “I’m Imposter Syndrome. Just another guy fighting the good fight on his own terms, same as you,” taking a seat on the couch next to Kampai, Ken motions at the cheap cinnamon dessert roll in one of the bentos. Queen Carnivore tosses it over to him, and he bites into it. Tasty. The chemical aftertaste grows on you, too.

“'M Noriko Oki. Can call me whatever, I ain't a stiff,” the beastly woman barks between mouthfuls of protein. "Jusf," tumbling out words around crumbles of fried pork, she licks the debris back into her mouth and finishes, "Just don't call me the Queen Carnivore! Those dweebs on the news stuck me with that crap!"

“Kampai,” already half-asleep, the bulked out vigilante mumbles.

Swallowing down another gulp of food, the Carnivore stops to ask, “What’s with the little hideout and the guy by the door?”

“It’s,” glancing over at Shino, the man who keeps this safehouse guarded and stocked, Ken explains in the simplest terms, “We’re with a sort of vigilante agency organization. An alliance of watchdogs in the night!” Something lands in Ken’s lap, and he looks down. It’s a blocky, oversized model of flip phone.

“Sounds cool. Why don’tcha program your number in there?” the manticore shoves the empty boxes towards Kampai, who grabs a fistful of cold noodles and stuffs them sloppily into his mouth without lifting his head from the arm of the sofa. Ken opens the phone and finds the keypads are big too. Guess they’d need to be for big paws like hers’. One of those new mutant-friendly models being popularized by the Saurus Agency. “You ever need some muscle, you know who to call! Just have something a little more filling on hand. I could go for some fuckin’ fried chicken right now, yeah, whole twenty four bucket!”

“Phone lines are too easy to tap, we don’t use them for stuff like that,” Ken hands the device back to her. “But I can see about getting you one of our pagers.”

“Sure, sure, whatever that is is fine,” finishing the last shred of meat from the bentos, Queen Carnivore stretches her arms and wings out. Ken tries very hard not to stare at her struggling top. “If we’re staying the night, I’m gonna pass out. Need to hibernate before I start chewin’ on one of you’s, hahaha!” With that, she flops onto her stomach and curls up like a giant cat, spreading her wings over herself in a natural blanket. Her scorpion tail sways from side to side. Snoring from Kampai’s side of the couch synchronizes with hers’, and Ken leans back into the sunken seat of the sofa. Whipping out his phone, he begins updating his notes.

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Happibaga Parking Lot

Officer Akie Hashimoto stands outside the open doors of the ambulance as Jonathan Tanaka (HN Skyward) is tended to by a team of paramedics. Juro Watanabe (HN Vaccine) is seated nearby, hooked up to a set of machines that analyze his vitals without opening his suit. Jotting down the last of her notes from Skyward’s report of events, it’s clear to Akie that he’s not telling the whole truth. She’d seen the towering shape of Giichi Mikata’s ghost leaving the scene, and there’s no way these two nobody Z-listers drove him off on their own. Chewing on the cap of her pen, the officer bites back from directly accusing the hero of covering for vigilantes on the scene. Or maybe hero students operating without a license- functionally the same, if more likely to be given a swat on the wrist. “Thank you for your statement, Tanaka-san. Please take care of yourself.”

Turning away from the ambulance crew, Officer Hashimoto goes over to the team of analysts taking samples of the powdered drug scattered all over the parking lot and feeding it through several support-tech machines. Drug dogs are sniffing the rest of the delivery boxes, and a team has broken in through the back door of the Happibaga to investigate on probable cause. It’s a shame, Akie likes the food here. Healthy, eco-friendly food is just too good to be true, apparently. “Any idea what we’re looking at?”

“Not cocaine,” forensic analyst Daiki Hayashi answers, reading from the feed on his machine’s screen. “That was our first suspicion. The substance is made out of plant matter, but it’s no known genus we recognize. The deeper chemical analysis will take a bit.”

“Greenfinger,” Officer Hashimoto posits.

“Looks like.”

Of course he would be behind a crooked plant-based meat restaurant. Jotting him down at the top of her suspect list, Akie looks at the squad cars where the three hirelings are locked up and ready to deliver to the station. There’s no question the two heroes put the cuffs on them, but maybe they’d been more forthcoming about who else was at the scene. Taking her notepad with her, she goes to confer with the officers who conducted the other interviews.

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The Greenhouse

[Soundtrack https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pS5soRsrKQ ]
Standing among the rows of his production line, hard at work under his watchful eye, Sebastian Needle feels a vibrating in the pocket of his trim mauve suit. Fumbling his giant hands into the gardening apron slung overtop, the Plant Whispering Gangster pulls out his phone. “Yes?”

“Delivery failed. Report further in person,” on the other end of the line, Giichi Mikata sounds out of breath. Greenfinger immediately grinds his teeth.

“How bad?”

“Likely to lose the place.”

Taking a series of deep breaths, Sebastian follows his therapist’s advice, calming his body. Avoid high blood pressure. Unclench his teeth before they crack and he needs another dentist visit. “You know who?”

“Some.”

A small consolation. Greenfinger would know which heads to roll for this. Hanging up on the driver, he leans over one of his lengthy flowerbeds. “Someone ruined so much of our hard work, my little lovelies,” he brushes the petals of one of the flowers with his finger. Many of his own personal breeds line the facility, rapid growth facilitating rapid evolution, like a Mendelian monastery garden set to fast forward. Among his most profitable new products was the Happibaga secret recipe, making his juicy plant-based burgers powerfully and subtly addictive.

Clenching a giant fist, the towering monolith of a man pushes away and marches to his office. Happibaga management is going to need lawyers- and good ones.