Trigger Warning: Implied coercion and drug abuse, dismembering and torture.
Two figures stood over a broken figure on the floor, one wearing what appeared to be military ballistics vest hidden beneath a trench coat, one arm missing a sleeve was instead covered what one could assume was barbed wire, his face covered with a red and black latex mask turned to the other. Sitting against a wall, wearing a burlap sack over his head, blood covering a tailored coat and a dress shirt. He sat there cleaning what appeared to be a crowbar, he seemed to be in a world of his own. "..This guy was a nasty piece of work. He was my old commanding officer back in the the southern-land wars against political insurgency.
A lot of people died horribly, but him? He'd do some real evil shit." He sat down next to his companion glaring at him, annoyed by the lack of interest. "You listening, Overkill?" His companion glanced at him. "Yeah gimme a second Marshal, I'm cleaning my baby." Marshal, whether it was his name or rank sighed and continued venting to his companion. "You know it was cathartic putting that fucker down, sure it was under the orders of command, but its good when you can get away with putting evil people down." Overkill glanced at Marshal and nodded. "You're right big bro." Marshal sighed annoyed once again. "Don't call me that." Marshal sighed and threw the man over his should "I'll see you back at the safehouse, grab some food, I'll see you there."
Overkill was bored of grocery duty, Marshal, whom he saw as an older brother, whether because of biological programming on part of the scientists that made him to work with him, or his own lack of familial bonds. He knew Marshal was a mess when it came to connections, he was practically given the rundown on the shit he was put through. Overkill however. was made to be an attack dog, an assistant whether in helping those caught in the crossfire or when it came to interrogating targets, he was made to do the work that most people couldn't stomach. After the death of Marshal's first partner Killinger, while he was investigating a cape who was almost as sick as the 'angel-killer' case previous to that. Marshal never shared many details with Overkill, and Overkill didn't try to pry too much into Marshal. Marshal's lack of emotion didn't exactly promote opening up either. They didn't hate each other, rather it was an awkward state of their new work and familial relationship.
Being raised from birth to near-adulthood to serve as a partner to someone you were genetically engineered to assist, now add the trauma of your peers being disgusted by you because you were created to serve as the assistant to a 'cape killer' the law enforcement that keep supers in their place, While they were cloned to act as 'junior' versions of the heroes that were advertised on toys, underwear, movies, etc. While they were destined for cushier jobs, his job was to remind capes that they could not escape the law. Overkill loved it, he even go a ballistics vest that said "fear and loathing" on the top of it, it put the brutal in 'police brutality'.
Walking back to the hotel room Overkill thought about his youth. As he walked past houses, he recalled the reason they were staying at the safe house, figure out what sort of info the target was trying to sell, or rather why he was trying to flee to this domed city. He kept his burlap sack over his head, trying to keep a low profile at until he got back to the safehouse. Of course, he didn't mind taking his time to get back. He knew he'd get a tongue lashing from Marshal, or be get another uneventful "we're heading back to." 'Los Fanturo' the ruined-state city they had come from. Deciding in taking the long route to the safe house, Overkill was subconsciously looking for a reason to fight, listening in on whatever was happening inside rooms and homes he passed by, he was what most would have seen as a masked neet wandering the streets with bags, in reality he was an beat-cop looking for something or someone to beat down on. Then he heard it, sobbing, deep mournful sobbing. Someone who lost something dear to them, something that you could only lose once in your life, hope.
His name was Arata Asaoka, he was a victim of fate, born to a father who took advantage of women and men who worked under him, and a half-brother who trafficked and got away with selling drugs and women. He was treated as a second-rate human by them. He had fell in love with a girl whom he promised to protect, to love and to be loyal to. He promised to never betray. They had gotten to her. Arata was staring at the screen, disgusted and broken by the sight of what he saw. The girl he wanted to spend his life with was.. He shook his head, his head slid to his hands, he felt the tears leaving his face, the anger becoming despair. His half-brother and father have always treated him poorly but.. to see what had happened to the girl he loved this was more than his heart could take..
'TINK' 'TINK' 'TINK'
It was him, he saw someone like him on the Neo-Tokyo news before, he looked like a hitman, a hired killer, someone who'd sell their soul for a few extra dollars. Seeing someone like him Infront of you meant only one thing; you were good as dead. couldn't identify who he was, his face was obscured by a burlap sack, he was wearing a big black vest that had three words in bold on the front. "FEAR AND LOATHING". This scared him, his world was broken and whoever sat Infront of him was a psychopath. However Arata decided to swallow his fear and stepped closer to the window. Was he here to put him out of his misery?
Overkill climbed through and stretched before walking over and looking at the screen of Arata's computer, and hunched over it to get a good look at the corrupting of Arata's once beloved, his only hope in a world of despair.
"So this is pretty fucked up." The figure said pulling his mask up enough to smoke a cig. "Hope you're not some cuck, and I came all this way for nothin'." Arata took a step step away from the killer, confused, and scared of the goal of this psycho's reason for approaching him his. Arata took a step back, dangerous looking men breaking into his room unannounced, or at all, was never good for health. His family, his brother and father two despicable people who did terrible things to others, women, men, they had showed him time after time. That no one can be trusted, not friends, nor mentors, not even family could be trusted.
Overkill looked at him, tilted his head, then went to pat his head and laugh. "Oh ho ho! I don't mean any offense, dude, I am a cop after all!" Overkill posed in his bloodstained business attire, which appeared to be an old suit and dress shirt with then addition of the aforementioned vest. Arata was wide eyed, scared, but strangely grateful for the appearance of someone calling themselves a 'cop', a possible, even if momentary, salvation from the cruelty he had been subjected to prior to this supposed authority entering his home. "Wh-why are you here? A-are you here to.. arrest me? Did my father hire you?" Overkill scanned over the young man, as if expecting a joke.
"Arrest you? Why the fuck would I do that? No I'm here to dish out some nasty police brutality on the perp that made you cry!" He pointed his finger at Arata as if he was some type of henshin hero, his words filled with sense of.. dread.. he had only felt when he saw his father or brother, or when they would threaten him, this feeling of dread didn't feel like it was directed at him, but that he was looking into the eyes of a killer that would make the word 'brutality' look like it was being used much worse than the word intended.
However the offer of cruel justice made Arata smile, even if it were born from a moment of fear and a desire for revenge. Even after seeing the one you love be taken from you, drugged and.. other things.. and your brother and father abusing you and treating you like a second-rate human.. perhaps it was a sign of justice? He didn't fully trust Overkill, not to mention he had a wild, excited look in his eyes that made his skin crawl. While Arata was thinking of what he had said to him, Overkill put his head to Arata's door "Hmm, those men are downstairs aren't they? I saw a group of men enter this house. I am a bad ass cop after all, the name is Overkill, nice to 'meetcha! most people, specifically my big brother and my superiors calls me 'Cadet Overkill' or 'Officer Overkill' but I'm not really good at listening to authority!" Arata raised an eyebrow at the strangely friendly masked man, what kind of name was 'overkill'?
Sensing the hesitation from Arata, Overkill sighed and sat on his bed. "Look how about this, I don't like it when guys hurt innocent people, I don't like it when people take advantage of the weak, so how about I make things right for ya?" Overkill offered his hand and put a gentle hand on the shoulder of Arata. He had only been used to being treated as a second rate human, but this crazy person, a supposed 'cop' was offering to hurt the people who have wronged him and the girl he wanted to save, the person he promised to never betray, someone he promised he'd love no matter what. Arata didn't think much on what to say, he knew it wasn't like her to do what they showed that whatever they threatened her with.. He knew his half-brother and father were bad people, hurting innocent people who were subordinate to them, especially himself.. He knew something was wrong especially when he saw those needle scars and what she was wearing.. he looked straight into the eyes of the masked maniac and he spoke in a scared, soft and hopeful voice. "Please, save her, save us." Will he save him and her?
Overkill was never one for taking things seriously, he once broke into a whore house to steal money from a pimp for "more guns, and gun accessories." He was never a slave of desire, besides the police brutality he committed in the objective of justice. he always wanted to do what 'he' thought was right. Even if it ended with more gibs than a meat processing plant. Shaking his head, Overkill headed to the first floor, he heard a few gruffer voices talking, he didn't really care, he wouldn't admit it but he was a 'put this man on a t-shirt and let whatever happened happen', Walking down the stairs he did finger guns to a few security guards. Bad idea. his right hand was blown off. "Shit talk about trigger happy, I didn't even get to a punch line!" Overkill dove for cover, he never liked getting shot, it hurts, never fatal, but at least it's not getting blasted in the balls. He stole it from his big brother's stash, he was saving it for a cool escape, or some a badass way to intimidate some assholes, but sighing he knew he needed to use it for it's real use. Demolition of human scum. He threw the C4 he was saving. Its original intent to impress whatever person he liked here in the dome city of Neo-Japan, now being used for it's intended use instead of pageantry. 'KA-BOOOM'
Overkill's hand was healing, phantom pain went through his hand as if the skin was peeled off and covered in pins and needles, but he bared with the pain. He promised the young man he'd take out the bad guys. Overkill poked his head over the makeshift defense, and saw that one of the men had lost the use of his legs, the other being a fine red remnant on the wall. "Looking good, like what I did to the place?" The crippled man looked at Overkill in horror, he had blown off this man's hand and he was standing over him like it was an average day. "Not a fan of the interior decorating?" he stuck a finger into the body guard's large cut on his wrist.
"What the fuck!!? Get off me you psycho!! Ahhh help!! Help me!!" Overkill continue poking at the wrist of the body guard with his handy-dandy carving knife, he was splitting the Cartlidge of the wrist to take off the hand. "Ah there it is! don't worry this'll take a second." He took out a knife and finished the job of taking the man's hand, placing it over his regenerating skin and veins. "Fits like a charm thanks for the hand!" He took the gun from dying man's remaining hand made his way towards the basement, it sounded gross, just like his academy days, must be a nasty sight down there. He's seen worse. He was a bad man with man's second best friend, a nice handgun, probably high caliber considering what happened to his hand, but he liked powerful ammo, and badass guns. He made his way to the basement, this was gonna be fun.