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Gender: Male

Age: 18
Country: United States

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August 27, 2016



10/11/2018 03:42 PM 


' [hero]in ! '
        “Possession” wasn’t nearly the proper term to describe this monstrosity. Muscles flickered and twitched in ways demons could only hope to achieve. Bones themselves cracked at the way the body whipped and lashed about in inhumane movement. Roy cringed at how the sound resonated within him like snapping, crisp celery.

“Overwatch — you’re seeing this, right?” He asked into his earpiece. 

        “Seeing,” she started. “Still working on believing. Oh,myGodIcan’tbelieveIquotedthatmovie. Roy, what the—what’s that in her hand?” As the girl lashed about, in her right hand was an oblong object that could’ve been mistaken for anything, but Roy’s goggles provided the definitive answer. Before the natural inclination to yell a proud “whaaaaaaaat?” could be had, Roy answered.

        “It’s a. . .a leg.” In one of her flailing, crippling grips was a bloody, spewing leg with a kneecap peaking out of the flapping skin’s peak. She was screaming incomprehensibly; even with the translation aid of his tech, he was without a trace of coherence.

         “So, some drugs display symptoms in their victims that give super strength.”

        “You’re saying she ripped it off!?? She’s strong enough to do that?”

        “Yes and no. It’s not real super strength, though. Pseudo-super strength. The drugs just shuts off the part of your brain that tells you ‘don’t do that’. The same part of your brain that tells you not to bite your finger the same way you would bite a carrot because you’d snap it. So, yeah, that’s a leg — ”


        Flinching a tad from the impact, Roy collected himself to finish his transmission.

        “And that was a shoe.”

        “Hey, are you serious?

        “Yup. Size 6 and all,” he quipped. Felicity was not amused.

        “Roy,” she jumped. “If this girl is strong enough to rip off limbs and has no mental filter, you have to get the Hell out of there!”

“In a minute,” he trailed off, head tilting to the side as he watched her flail about in place before setting her sights on him. “If she’s not in her right mind, leaving her here for cops to find her or, gods forbid, victims would only leave more people in danger.”

        “Fair enough, but, Roy, you’re not . . . there yet.” It was her nice way of saying he isn’t a big timer. A Leaguer. She meant it in a nice, subtle way but it stung Roy just the same.

        “Yeah?” He asked as he brought his bow down to his side, completely letting go on the grip he had in the bowstring. “Good.” He could positively hear her squirm in shock. “Tell me something, Felicity, why is that a bad thing? Where IS the League? Where are Earth’s great protectors?”


        “That’s what I thought.”

        “Roy,” she tried again. “I’m serious — this is DANGEROUS. Dangerous with a capital D for ‘get the hell out of Dodge’. You should retreat and wait for backup!”

        “I’ve waited for help once before; it never came.” There was gravel in his tone, one that gargled the very same stones he was once exiled to. Perhaps anger revealed certain unsettled matters; maybe he hadn’t moved on yet. However, he was wise enough to know the difference. “Sometimes, Felicity,” he stopped for a moment to asses his current situation. The girl that was once throwing a tantrum had finally set her sights on him and she was charging — FAST!

        In a quick, seamless transition, Roy somersaulted to launch himself into a front tuck. Mid-flip, he was able to effortlessly evade her onslaught. She charged like an angry bull with the temperament of a tornado. Her blind anger left her running still, despite what was in her way. It wasn’t until he landed into another somersault the he took aim and fired.

Like a perfectly spiraled bullet, the arrow sniped through the air and exploded upon impact. Rather than blazing shrapnel or cryogenic-death touch, a massive, sticky entrapment smothered her and stuck her to the wall courtesy of his invention of the Glue Bomb Arrow. [ L I N K ]

        “Sometimes you have to be your own help. Make sh*t happen yourself.” He finally finished his thought as he watched her, now stuck to the wall, lash out violently, but still. Safely.

        “Jesus, Roy,” she sighed as she slouched down in his office chair. “Well, at least that’s over. I’ll call the BPD to your locatio—”

        “—Not yet,” he interrupted. “I’m gonna talk to her first.”

        “No. ABSOLUTELY NOT. Roy, do NOT. She’s a dangerous meta human and could rip you apart without a second thought.”

        “So can Starfire, but that didn’t stop me either.”

        “Now isn’t the time for jokes, okay?”

        “I’m not joking.”


        “This isn’t a good environment for you, Roy. You need to get out of there.”

        “I’m fine, for the umpteenth time. And the term you’re looking for is ‘person’. Not junkie, crazy, or dangerous. ’Person’. Common misconception, I’m sure, but just because someone’s made a mistake doesn’t mean they should be condemned.”

        “Maybe not, but you’re not thinking clearly. You’re too close to the subject.”

        “Maybe I am,” he paused. A moment of reflection breathed through him as he look on to her ever-violent, stuck place. It struck a vein at how. . .familiar it was. “But I’m the best she’s got,” he admitted after a sigh. “And right now, that’s going to have to be good enough.”

        “—But, Roy—”

“—I’m going dark, Felicity.  Ten minutes.”

        “—Roy, wai—!”


        After two quick taps on the Roy Ban’s band [located on his temple] the live feed and reception to Felicity blipped out of picture, leaving only a bouncing, chibi version of himself in its place. It was a failsafe; should anyone invade his headquarters, they’d be met with a similar outcome. Theirs, however, would have a rather explosive difference. And, in spite of her best efforts, she would not break through his systems. [ It pays to have a teammate who is technology. Literally. ] She was completely outmatched, but not without her own assets. Unbeknownst to him, Felicity used her own phone to make an important call.

        “I’m sorry, Roy,” she said to herself, fingering hovering over the green “call” button. “But this is for your own good. . .”

        Dragging the limp, unconscious bodies across the floor, he piled 4 atop of one another. Once his “chair” was made, Roy sat silently and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Harper | ⤖


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