West
City: a gleaming beacon of hope for the
human/metahuman relations. In the sunlight, this magnificent city shines like a
crystal. What Hopling in the East has in sheer area size and population, West
City makes up for in wealth, elegance, and beauty. Hopling is a large city full
of humans trying to live their daily lives; West City is a kingdom full of
believers trying to create a bright future for all.
At
least, that’s what the billboards say.
And
in truth, although West City is much more glamorous than Hopling, it is not
without its flaws. It was built on the ashes of the old human Californian
cities that fell after the Illumination. While San Deigo, San Francisco, and
Los Angeles were eventually rebuilt, West City became the new capitol and
social center of not only California, but the entire west coast of America. The
city might not have as much petty crime as Hopling, but the lack of muggings
and thefts is made up by the large amount of villains, both human and
metahuman, roaming the city and surrounding areas. The city is a mine of
wealth, and any self-respecting crime lord wants a piece of the money pie. Most
of those without glamorous powers stick to the underground, but there are a few
who put on the masks of charity and publicity in order to fund their evil ways.
Da
Cook is one of those villains. Over six feet tall and built like a human tank,
Da Cook is a master of street fighting with enough muscle to back his threats
up. Despite not having any superpowers, Cook is not a person you want to mess
with. A celebrity chef by day, at night he roams the underworld, carrying a
great about of respect along with him. If someone, usually a young hot shot who
doesn’t know any better, steps out of line, Cook is perfectly willing to beat
the living shit out of him. Da Cook didn’t work his way up from the streets for
nothing.
A
violent tremor sent a crack through the middle of the vault’s steel door while
sending the people in the bank running. Quake pulled open the crack with his
mighty hands until he could fit inside. Once there, he wasted no time filling
the bags he brought with newly strapped money. Even as a person teleported into
the vault, Quake did not stop with his task.
“Hurry
up; the good guys are on their way already.”
“You
could shut the hell up and help, Port. There’s a ton here.”
Port
grabbed a bunch of bags and left in the blink of an eye while Quake continued
filling more. Suddenly, Quake heard a knock on the broken vault door. Without
looking at who was there, Quake spun around and slammed his hands into the
floor, creating a rippling tremor that blew the ruined door off its hinges.
However instead of flying backwards, the intruder stood his ground, bracing
himself against the attack. As he stood back up, Quake saw he was now up
against the newest, and arguably most reckless, superhero of West City:
Clawman.
“So
uh…you gonna share any of that?” Clawman pointed his blood red lobster claw at
the bags of money by Quake’s feet. Quake didn’t respond; instead he eyed Clawman
up, trying to figure out his odds. Quake wasn’t too smart, but he knew if he
could win a fight or not. Clawman was shorter, only by an inch or two, but had
skin as hard as steel. Not to mention his namesake: a giant lobster claw on his
right arm. Powerful, deadly, and impervious to damage, the claw is what made
Clawman a formidable superhero.
Quake
laughed, a tinge of nervousness in his voice, “Any way I can persuade you to my
side?”
“Nope,”
Clawman chuckled as he walked into the vault, cracking the knuckles on his left
hand.
Later
that day, Clawman was standing on the docks looking out to the ocean, watching
the waves. He got a good verbal thrashing by his GMA agents for trashing the
bank in his fight with Quake. Plus most of the money was stolen anyway by
Quake’s little teleporting friend. But he didn’t care; the day was saved and he
had a great time doing it. By Clawman’s standards, that was all that mattered.
He looked down at the envelope he held in his left hand. For a moment he
smiled, thinking how hard it was to get used to using his left hand for
everything after the accident. Inside the envelope was an invitation to be a
guest star on “Viva la Food!”, a cooking show hosted by the celebrity chef Da
Cook. Clawman had never heard of the show before, but he was going to go
anyway. At best, there was free food; at worst, he wasted an hour or so.
Clawman walked off in the direction of his pirate ship, content with how his
life was turning out now that he was a licensed superhero.
Slowly
the shouts and music registered in Clawman’s head. He tried opening his eyes,
but it took a few tries. He was positive he was drugged; it must have been the
drinks the attendants gave him when he arrived at the broadcasting station. He
remembered thinking how sketchy it was that a celebrity chef would broadcast
out of a pristine building in the middle of the worst part of West City. He
really should have looked into this better.
“Ladies
and Gentleman, the host of the show, Da Cook!!!!” The announcer blared his signature
line as Da Cook walked onto the set waving, pearly white teeth shining out of
his dark-skinned face. The crowd was giving him a standing ovation already; for
many of them this was the highlight of their life. Da Cook catered to the lower
class and the poor, never forgetting where he came from and who needed someone
to look up to the most.
“Hello
hello! How is everyone doing tonight? You’re all looking beautiful as always! I
am Da Cook! I have a very, very special guest with us tonight, who is contributing
an extremely rare, one-of-a-kind ingredient to make a dish so scrumptious, so
delectable, so out of this world fantastic that it will never be cooked or
eaten ever again!”
The
crowd burst into a frenzy of cheers and applause as Clawman was wheeled out,
strapped to a table and still being pumped full of drugs to keep him sedated.
He looked over the crowd with half-opened eyes, seeing the faces of the people
he never even knew existed. West City wasn’t supposed to have an underground or
a poor section. Yet here were dozens of people, just a small part of their
social class, who barely got by and who were ignored by the city. Clawman could
see it in their eyes and hear it in their calls; they hated him, because he
represented the law of West City, which has clearly turned a blind eye to their
problems long ago.
Da
Cook was explaining something about the claw, saying how it harbored the
secrets of superhuman abilities and how ingesting it would make him an
unstoppable king. He shouted something about leading his people to take over
West City, but the rest of his speech was drowned out by the fanatic screams of
his audience, which seemed to grow in numbers since the show began. Clawman
struggled to break free, but only managed to loosen the straps a bit before
Cook lifted up his automatic serrated buzz saw, declaring his tag-line “It’s
time to dig in!”
At
the sight of the whirling blades, Clawman struggled more, but Cook called over
some attendants to hold him steady, cracking a joke in the process. Clawman’s
mind didn’t comprehend anything Cook was saying anymore, and was focusing just
on getting free. Just before the blade touched down, Clawman wretched his left
arm free, pulling out the chemical tube in the process. He punched Cook’s face;
sending the chef backwards a few steps and making him drop the saw. Clawman
burst out of the straps and swung his claw around, knocking a few attendants to
the ground. The audience was screaming something, but Clawman still only heard
sound. As Da Cook got to his feet and shouted at him, Clawman dove through a
nearby window.
The
twenty story fall didn’t hurt Clawman enough to keep him from getting up and
running as fast as his drugged body could back to the docks, where he could
take the time to heal underwater. Da Cook stood in the broken window, frowning
and watching his prey escape.
“Go
ahead and run, Clawman,” he muttered to himself, “Next time, your claw is
mine.”
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