I thought I was in New York; turns out, I was in New York.
Kick-Ass.
It was a title I was intimately familiar with, being one of my favorite comic book runs. A world of superheroes without any superpowers. The closest thing that could even be categorized as such was a ten-year-old girl. I doubted even my Martial Arts purchase, combined with every other physical skill, could compare to her, though that remained to be seen.
For now, I had a problem that required immediate attention.
"Hey," I managed to stop a pedestrian on the street. "Can you call 911? There's a kid that appears to have been hit by a car, lying over there." I pointed toward the direction Dave lay, struggling to control my breathing. The fact that my leg was killing me didn't help.
The man glanced where I was pointing and immediately pulled out his phone. After a brief call that lasted less than ten seconds, all I could do was wait. About ten minutes later, the ambulance finally arrived.
During that time, I decided to check the quests that had appeared before me. The kid wasn't going to die—not yet, at least—so I found myself a quiet corner to slump into, all the while keeping watch.
[Milestone Quest: Replace Frank D'Amico and Take Over His Syndicate]
Reward: 300 Points
[Side Quest: Build an Alter-Ego and Wage a Four-Month War on Crime]
Reward: 200 Points
[Side Quest: Train Kick-Ass into a Proper Superhero]
Reward: 150 Points
[Side Quest: Help Dave Lizewski Win Over Katie Deauxma]
Reward: 100 Points
[Side Quest: Call for Help to Save Kick-Ass]
Reward: 50 Points (Completed)
As I sat there watching them roll Dave into the ambulance, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for the young hero who struggled, even half-conscious and dizzy. You had to applaud his tenacity, that even on the verge of death, he wanted to avoid embarrassment.
Sighing, I pondered my course of action. This being the Kick-Ass verse meant there were no secret supernatural threats to deal with, which meant I could fit in comfortably.
With Kick-Ass out of commission for six months, and a quest that required me to fight crime for four months straight, I'd have to stay here for at least eight or nine months, given the timeline I remembered only vaguely.
My obvious course of action was, of course... to find a job.
I spent the night huddled behind the crates in the very same alley where I had first dropped in. The reason behind my paranoia was simple: this city was riddled with criminals who wouldn't hesitate to stab someone without a second thought. And that went for the kids, much less to say for the adults.
Hunger and thirst were the immediate issues that needed solving, so first thing in the morning, I went to every food joint looking to hire. My clothes were relatively clean and, in terms of looks, I considered myself rather good-looking, so that helped.
The pay was decent, and I was offered a dusty old storage room for free thanks to the kind owner who took pity on me. Though I doubted she did it out of pure generosity, given her tendency to rub her shoulders against me and offer pleasant smiles, all the while her cleavage was on full display. She wasn't that old, likely in her forties, and since her looks were above average, I decided to let her have her way.
During my stay there, I finally decided to spend the 50 Points I'd earned on the Martial Arts skill. The idea was to have a card I could use to invest into Kick-Ass later on for much greater returns.
Having the Martial Arts skill, though, proved to be a handful. The discipline engraved into my bones, the nimbleness of my fingers and arms, combined with quick movements, all made me confident that even with my leg being the way it is, I could take on an ordinary person, maybe even a gangster, with ease. Perhaps two.
That said, I was still apprehensive about my heroic prospects, given what that would entail.
A month later, having secured enough savings to rent a cheap accommodation and order a simple pair of pants, a hoodie, and a face-mask, I was eager to commence my very first outing.
As the night drew near, the owner closed the shop and, as usual, began to strike up a conversation. Normally, our late-night talks would go on for hours before I'd pretend to get sleepy and make my way to my humble abode. This night, however, under the pretext of a headache, I retired to bed early.
The owner tried to offer help, even pulling me into a quick hug, burying my head between her ample bosom. I tried to distract myself, and my upcoming excursion provided just that. Though reluctant, she was reasonable enough to give me some space.
Late at night, standing beneath the dim lighting of the bulb, I pulled on the tight black pants, a hoodie that might've looked better on a more muscular frame, and a face-mask that covered everything below my eyes, leaving tiny holes near my mouth and nose.
Honestly, the outfit looked pretty tame compared to Kick-Ass's diving gear or Hit-Girl's costume, but I wasn't nearly done yet. Pulling on a thin pair of gloves and a utility belt, I managed to complement the outfit with an edgy flair. Just my type of thing—kidding.
Ugh... this is so cringe.
But what can I say? Kick-Ass was that fuse that lit the Chunnibyou in every teenager and adult geek's heart. I would like to say I wasn't excited, but you gotta admit, fighting in a pair of skintight pants is just about every comic-reading nerd's wet dream.
Prowling the streets late at night, when the moon shies behind the clouds and the oppressive darkness threatens to choke the entire world, I found myself strangely free of all restraints. It was a feeling I had never truly appreciated, but standing there on the roof overlooking the neighborhood, taking in the silence and desolation, I felt like I was above the worldly problems.
Then I saw a group of thugs following a young woman, who walked briskly. It was clear she was trying to shake them off, but the men seemed to relish her futile attempts at escape. I frowned, glanced down at my leg, and sighed.
"Let's hope that skill proves useful," I said hopefully, then climbed down the stairs.
Down and out on the streets, I quickly spotted the group. I hid behind a wall, my dark clothes affording me a measure of stealth. I wasn't exactly eager to rush in and bash their heads; I needed sufficient reason to do so.
So, I decided to follow them.
For ten minutes, the thugs trailed her quietly, up until the fat one passed a remark.
"Yo, look at that ass going left and right, my head's all dizzy."
The skinny one chimed in. "Yeah, that one juicy fat ass."
"Makes you wanna take a bite, no?" The middle one added with a laugh.
"Eat her up?"
"Eat her out, yo!"
"Ha-ha-ha..."
As the trio burst into laughter, the woman, unnerved enough, decided to run. A quick glance and the thugs gave chase.
I was hot on their tail, though my leg started crying out mid-way. Cursing under my breath for my indecisiveness, I slowed my pace and watched them grow distant. I wondered if I had somehow failed on my very first excursion when, in the distance, the woman tripped and fell face-first.
It's wrong to feel joy at the misery of a victim, but you couldn't fault me, given what I was about to do next. I resumed my light jog, hurrying to catch up, all the while watching as the men surrounded her and dragged her into an alley.
New York.
I knew how wretched the criminal element could get in a city like this, but the New York of the Kick-Ass universe operated on another scale. Here you could get away with murder, and crimes much worse. You could build an entire mafia, and cops would prefer to clean your mess rather than confront you.
It was the reality of this place.
Getting away with rape...entirely possible.
Just as I finished the last stretch, a muffled cry rang in my ears. I rounded the corner and was met by the sight of the woman in ragged clothing, pushed to the ground, with the skinny guy covering her mouth and the fat guy straddling her body, working to open his jeans.
I stopped, my form casting a shadow over the group as they all turned to gaze at me.
"Fuck!" one of them muttered, exchanging a glance with the other two.
No words needed to be exchanged; the scene was evident, as were the follow-up actions.
The non-skinny, non-fat one pulled out a knife, adopting a threatening posture. I didn't doubt his resolve, insanity in this case, so I had no desire to hold back. Not to mention toward scum that would resort to raping.
Indeed, I chose to abandon the path of a hero, but that didn't mean I was any less human. If I held enough power to better something without backlash to me or my loved ones, I didn't mind. And right now, these looked as far from dangerous as Kick-Ass did to Mindy.
The fat and the middle one charged me from two sides, but I didn't panic. Having a Martial Arts skill isn't just about throwing creative punches and kicks—it's about learning the essence of fighting. That meant recognizing your opponent's level and spotting weaknesses in their defense.
I sidestepped the charge of the guy with the knife, grasped his wrist, and kicked his leg. His knee buckled, but even as he cried out, I mercilessly drove my fist straight into his nose, evoking a sickening crunch.
My fist ached, and a trickle of blood seeped from torn flesh. Glancing at the fat one, who had come to a halt, surprised by my momentum and the state of his friend, I maneuvered over and around the fallen guy and pounced on the fat one.
He tried to grab my arms, surprisingly strong for a tub of lard, but I headbutted him in the nose and drove my knee up his stinky eggs. As the blow connected, his eyes widened, mouth gaped, and he collapsed wheezing breathlessly, clutching his jewels.
I turned toward the last one who took a step back, releasing his hold on the woman. Darting a glance between his two friends, he turned and bolted. I raised a brow, glanced down at the fallen knife, and picked it up.
You'd be surprised by the number of disciplines Martial Arts can pack. There was even one that dealt with throwing weapons. It wasn't my main specialty, so I was plenty surprised when I threw the knife and it hit the mark.
The blade buried itself in his thigh, and the man went down with a cry. I walked over, saw him struggle to lift himself up, and soccer kicked him in the head. Down he went, after which I dragged him back.
The other two were still dizzy, so I decided to prolong their sleep and commenced a thorough beating.
During the whole event, the woman sat in the corner, watching. She was clever enough to recognize that I had saved her, so after I finished beating the trio, she offered her thanks before departing.
I looked down at the three, glanced around, and started rummaging through their pockets. Part of the reason I even bothered putting on a suit and fighting crime was what it might offer as a side dish. I was right to be disappointed when I recovered only a couple of nickels and a pack of cigarettes.
"Ah well, there's still four months left."
Thinking so, I departed from the scene with a painful limp and an aching fist.