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A superhero and a secret agent talk about how both of them are massive fuck-ups.
Commission for RockScientist over on Discord, many thanks for helping bring this piece of life.
Brock looked out upon New York City, prowling the skyline of bright skyscrapers that made up the world’s centre of commerce. He wasn’t fond of big cities and he especially wasn’t fond of the number of heroes and villains who decided to LARP within this one specifically.
He took a drag of his cigarette, feeling the coolness of nicotine start to worm its way into his weathered body. It was the body of a real patriot who had sacrificed his entire life to see a city like this remain free and American. It was a body honed through hard work and not gifted to him by radioactive animals or freak experiments.
What was it about the fake heroes that he really didn’t like?
He mulled it over, trying to place his finger upon it. Maybe it was the way they trivialized the game, made it colourful and consumable. Made the work that he actually did feel cheap and marketable so that companies could put it on the side of little lunch boxes and sell action figures of it.
They mocked the game when really the game was messy and if these so-called heroes spent even a moment in the OSI they’d be chewed up and spit out by Hunter for being the costumed wannabes that they really were. They were fakers, people who wanted the ticket tapered parade but didn’t want to put in the real work to get it.
It’s the same reason he hated working with the guild, it was all just Cowboys and Indians to them. To those freaks it was a game they played to stroke their fragile egos, a role they got to fool around in and put away when their nine-to-five was done and dusted.
It was just disrespectful.
Brock took another drag and could feel the heat of the cigarette against his fingers. So, he tossed the butt over the side of the building and let out a pair of acrid contrails through his nose.
“You know, you really shouldn’t litter,” a voice chided.
Brock perked up and looked to his side, seeing one of the city’s many costumed freaks sitting upon the building’s railings. It was the king of his disdain, a freak dressed in a solid brown spider costume that looked like it belonged at a furry kink party and not fighting crime on the frontpage of newspapers.
It was also the hero who was messing around with the kids. The hero who was making it difficult for him to protect them. This was the worst of the worst, the hero who actively interfered with his mission.
“Jared,” Brock greeted.
He smiled as he heard the kid huff.
“You do know that I am trying to keep a secret identity, right?” Jared asked
“Then you’re doing a pretty shit job at keeping it,” Brock grumbled. “Because it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”
It was true, he didn’t even need to use any OSI resources to find out who this guy was. All he needed was a little time cross-referencing crime statistics and pinpointing the various locations of them to figure him out. It turned out that the vast majority of Brown Widow’s crime fighting happened around a college campus and two restaurants that just so happened to both employ the same student from said college campus.
Plus, finding the costume in his room when he’d moved Dean in, certainly helped confirm that theory.
“How could I possibly have kept it any better?” Jared asked.
Brock smirked. “Ninety-five percent of your crime fighting takes place within three square miles of your college campus and two places of employment.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re lucky that you’re a small fry or else some oshie would’ve figured you out a long time ago.”
“What’s an oshie?” Jared asked.
Brock snorted and pushed away from the railing, making his way across the penthouse suite’s deck and towards the doors. “The fact that you don’t know tells me that you have no idea what you’re really doing.”
Jared laughed at that.
This made Brock pause. “I didn’t say anything funny, kid.”
“I mean, do you have any idea how many robberies, rapes, and murders I’ve stopped?” Jared asked, some heat creeping into the voice. “As far as I can tell all you do is protect a pompous asshole who can’t even cook an egg without endangering his life.”
Brock gritted his teeth together. “It’s all part of the mission, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Think about all the good you could be doing if you were doing what I was doing,” Jared growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Brock. “Think about how many lives you could make better being out there on the streets.”
“Kid, I’ve saved more lives in a week than you could in your lifetime,” Brock said. “That’s how it works in the OSI. We’re ten times more effective than you and we’re not showy about it. All you costumed jackasses do is parade around trying to show off how cool you are while missing the bigger picture.”
“And what’s the bigger picture?” Jared asked.
He also pushed away from the ledge and followed after Brock, the two of them heading towards the doors. Brock had no intention of letting him inside, however, so he turned and leaned against the glass windows, drawing out his pack of cigarettes again and popping another one between his lips. This felt like it was going to be a two cigarette kind of smoke break.
“Karlborg, are you familiar with the country?” Brock asked.
Jared snorted. “Of course, I’m familiar with Karlborg, it’s in…” He paused and Brock took a little pleasure in seeing him look confused as he just idly waved his hand through the air, obviously failing with his mental geography.
“It’s in the Balkans,” Brock said, offering him a lifeline. “Until a little while ago it was run by a corrupt asshole pretending to be a communist. Did such a poor job of things that life expectancy dipped into the mid-twenties. Think about that, kid, you’d already be dead if you lived under his regime.”
“Hey I’m only…” Jared began.
“Jared, I’ve seen the wrinkles in your eyes,” Brock jabbed, working his jaw. “Don’t know why you like larping as a college kid but that ain’t my problem.” He cleared his throat, drawing back to his story. “Anyways, me and two other guys were sent into this country. Within a week, this dictator’s head was impaled on a pike and a new American-aligned regime was put in place. Life expectancy is now fifty, there’s a widespread inoculation campaign against polio taking place, and the OSI gets themselves a new naval base to help further secure our interests in that region.” He pointed the glowing tip of the cigarette at Jared. “That’s the big picture, Jared. That’s how I save lives. By getting shit done and not caring if people know about it.”
Jared unzipped the back of his costume, just a little, and drew it away from his face. As Brock looked into his eyes, he could sense the defeat lingering in them.
“I’m just not built for that kind of work,” Jared grumbled.
Brock shrugged. “Few people are.”
Jared was silent for a moment, taking the chance to lean against the glass as well. At the very least, he had the foresight to give Brock enough space not to feel claustrophobic. Brock got punchy when he felt claustrophobic.
“What would you do with my powers?” Jared asked.
Brock shrugged. “Not really the most practical set of them in the world but a little heightened strength could go a long way towards toppling a genocidal regime.” He pondered it for a moment. “I mean you have the ability to wipe out a gang and kill their leadership as if it were nothing at all.”
“I don’t kill,” Jared said.
Brock nearly appreciated the resolve in his voice, nearly. Though he could never appreciate such idiotic morality when it was actively harmful.
He instead shrugged. “And that’s why I don’t respect you. You want to really start saving people then you need to kill the bad guys for the greater good.”
“That’s a slippery slope,” Jared rebutted.
Brock shook his head. “How many times have you gone toe-to-toe with Kingpin?”
“Seven…” Jared answered, though seemed unsure of himself as he pondered it for a moment. “Eight… nine?”
“And do you ever wonder why you have to keep fighting him so often?” Brock asked.
Jared shrugged. “The court system works in mysterious ways but you need to…”
“He has the money to corrupt cops, judges, and jurors. There’s no amount of throwing him to the system that will ever get him locked away for good,” Brock said. “But if you kill him then his network would collapse and suddenly you have a bunch of weaker gangs that maybe the DA will actually do something about because they’re not able to line his pockets. Then bam, you’ve actually done something to clean up the streets.”
There was a silence between them as Brock flicked away his second cigarette. The buzz of nicotine felt nice though the catharsis of telling Jared off felt even nicer.
“Is that the big picture?” Jared asked.
Brock nodded. “That’s the big picture.”
“Does the big picture really make you just give up having any moral code?” Jared then asked, motioning towards Brock. “You know that sounds psychotic, right?”
Brock shrugged. “Morals are for the guys who decide where to point me and if you follow those guys far enough up the chain then you end up with the President of the United States. The guy that the people elect to be their moral compass. So really, I’m just…” He shook his head and motioned vaguely. “I’m just exercising the moral will of the people of this country if you really think about it.”
Jared sighed and looked away from Brock.
“Is there a reason you dislike me in particular?” he then asked. “Hard to think that this isn’t personal on some level.”
Brock smirked. “Besides for the fact that every time I run into you, I end up catching you in the middle of doing something weird?”
Jared glared at him but motioned for him to continue.
“You’re getting really close to Dean,” Brock said. “Kid has had a rough life and I’ve been doing whatever I can to try and steer him away from becoming his father. And in this last year, he’s really started to come out of his shell.”
Brock felt the pack of cigarettes against his fingers as he reached into his pocket. Though he denied himself, deciding that he wasn’t really in the mood for three cigarettes in one smoke break. Instead, he drew in the cold, damp, and disgusting New York City air. Even this high up it was hard to avoid.
“Do you not approve of our friendship or something?” Jared asked.
Brock nodded. “The kid is trying to get away from the super science bullshit that his father roped him into. And he’s doing his best to avoid all of that heroes and villains bullshit that kept following him through his childhood. Do you know how many villains tried to kidnap him before the age of ten?” He glanced at Jared. “Take a wild guess, I dare you.”
Jared waved his hands, searching for a number at random. “Thirty-six?”
Brock snorted. “Triple that.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jared whispered.
“And that’s why I don’t like you,” Brock said, pointing a finger at him. “Dean is doing his best to be a normal adult and the last thing he needs is a superhero, who has a second-rate set of powers and an inability to hide his secret identity, as a best friend. I want to see him move on from all of this stuff. And part of that is not letting him get to know people like you. Do you get me?”
Jared huffed but didn’t shake his head, clearly getting him. “Well, what do you want me to do about it because I can’t really change rooms and I’m sure as shit not leaving the crime fighting game behind.”
“Then fight crime better,” Brock suggested. “Make it harder for people to track you down. Like I said, even a half-decent oshie could do it at this point if they were interested in you.”
“Okay but what are oshies?” Jared asked.
“Civilians involved in opsec as a hobby,” Brock said. “Old guys with too much time on their hands, the internet at their fingertips, and a few too many spy thrillers knocking around inside of their brains. Seems innocent enough until they figure out that the United States is launching a spy satellite based off of the dumbest oversights possible. Also, pretty good at outing superheroes, it turns out.”
“Fine, I’ll…” Jared shook his head. “I’ll start fighting crime across the entire city, does that help?”
“Little bit,” Brock said. “Though make sure to ease into it or it’ll be obvious that someone’s figured you out.”
Jared didn’t respond, instead looking down at the floor. It seemed like he was about to say something but no comment came forth.
So, Brock shook his head and moved towards the penthouse’s doors.
“Wait, Brock!” Jared called.
Brock paused and looked towards him. “What’s up?”
“Thanks for the talk,” Jared said.
Brock nodded and let out an amused little snort. “Don’t thank me, it was cathartic.”
And with that he slipped back into the penthouse, closing the door behind himself.
Hey, y'all should join my Discord! It's multifandom and queer as fuck (Please be 18+ though).
Visit my website to see where else you can find my work, follow my socials, or support me on Patreon!
Commission for RockScientist over on Discord, many thanks for helping bring this piece of life.
Brock looked out upon New York City, prowling the skyline of bright skyscrapers that made up the world’s centre of commerce. He wasn’t fond of big cities and he especially wasn’t fond of the number of heroes and villains who decided to LARP within this one specifically.
He took a drag of his cigarette, feeling the coolness of nicotine start to worm its way into his weathered body. It was the body of a real patriot who had sacrificed his entire life to see a city like this remain free and American. It was a body honed through hard work and not gifted to him by radioactive animals or freak experiments.
What was it about the fake heroes that he really didn’t like?
He mulled it over, trying to place his finger upon it. Maybe it was the way they trivialized the game, made it colourful and consumable. Made the work that he actually did feel cheap and marketable so that companies could put it on the side of little lunch boxes and sell action figures of it.
They mocked the game when really the game was messy and if these so-called heroes spent even a moment in the OSI they’d be chewed up and spit out by Hunter for being the costumed wannabes that they really were. They were fakers, people who wanted the ticket tapered parade but didn’t want to put in the real work to get it.
It’s the same reason he hated working with the guild, it was all just Cowboys and Indians to them. To those freaks it was a game they played to stroke their fragile egos, a role they got to fool around in and put away when their nine-to-five was done and dusted.
It was just disrespectful.
Brock took another drag and could feel the heat of the cigarette against his fingers. So, he tossed the butt over the side of the building and let out a pair of acrid contrails through his nose.
“You know, you really shouldn’t litter,” a voice chided.
Brock perked up and looked to his side, seeing one of the city’s many costumed freaks sitting upon the building’s railings. It was the king of his disdain, a freak dressed in a solid brown spider costume that looked like it belonged at a furry kink party and not fighting crime on the frontpage of newspapers.
It was also the hero who was messing around with the kids. The hero who was making it difficult for him to protect them. This was the worst of the worst, the hero who actively interfered with his mission.
“Jared,” Brock greeted.
He smiled as he heard the kid huff.
“You do know that I am trying to keep a secret identity, right?” Jared asked
“Then you’re doing a pretty shit job at keeping it,” Brock grumbled. “Because it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”
It was true, he didn’t even need to use any OSI resources to find out who this guy was. All he needed was a little time cross-referencing crime statistics and pinpointing the various locations of them to figure him out. It turned out that the vast majority of Brown Widow’s crime fighting happened around a college campus and two restaurants that just so happened to both employ the same student from said college campus.
Plus, finding the costume in his room when he’d moved Dean in, certainly helped confirm that theory.
“How could I possibly have kept it any better?” Jared asked.
Brock smirked. “Ninety-five percent of your crime fighting takes place within three square miles of your college campus and two places of employment.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re lucky that you’re a small fry or else some oshie would’ve figured you out a long time ago.”
“What’s an oshie?” Jared asked.
Brock snorted and pushed away from the railing, making his way across the penthouse suite’s deck and towards the doors. “The fact that you don’t know tells me that you have no idea what you’re really doing.”
Jared laughed at that.
This made Brock pause. “I didn’t say anything funny, kid.”
“I mean, do you have any idea how many robberies, rapes, and murders I’ve stopped?” Jared asked, some heat creeping into the voice. “As far as I can tell all you do is protect a pompous asshole who can’t even cook an egg without endangering his life.”
Brock gritted his teeth together. “It’s all part of the mission, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Think about all the good you could be doing if you were doing what I was doing,” Jared growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Brock. “Think about how many lives you could make better being out there on the streets.”
“Kid, I’ve saved more lives in a week than you could in your lifetime,” Brock said. “That’s how it works in the OSI. We’re ten times more effective than you and we’re not showy about it. All you costumed jackasses do is parade around trying to show off how cool you are while missing the bigger picture.”
“And what’s the bigger picture?” Jared asked.
He also pushed away from the ledge and followed after Brock, the two of them heading towards the doors. Brock had no intention of letting him inside, however, so he turned and leaned against the glass windows, drawing out his pack of cigarettes again and popping another one between his lips. This felt like it was going to be a two cigarette kind of smoke break.
“Karlborg, are you familiar with the country?” Brock asked.
Jared snorted. “Of course, I’m familiar with Karlborg, it’s in…” He paused and Brock took a little pleasure in seeing him look confused as he just idly waved his hand through the air, obviously failing with his mental geography.
“It’s in the Balkans,” Brock said, offering him a lifeline. “Until a little while ago it was run by a corrupt asshole pretending to be a communist. Did such a poor job of things that life expectancy dipped into the mid-twenties. Think about that, kid, you’d already be dead if you lived under his regime.”
“Hey I’m only…” Jared began.
“Jared, I’ve seen the wrinkles in your eyes,” Brock jabbed, working his jaw. “Don’t know why you like larping as a college kid but that ain’t my problem.” He cleared his throat, drawing back to his story. “Anyways, me and two other guys were sent into this country. Within a week, this dictator’s head was impaled on a pike and a new American-aligned regime was put in place. Life expectancy is now fifty, there’s a widespread inoculation campaign against polio taking place, and the OSI gets themselves a new naval base to help further secure our interests in that region.” He pointed the glowing tip of the cigarette at Jared. “That’s the big picture, Jared. That’s how I save lives. By getting shit done and not caring if people know about it.”
Jared unzipped the back of his costume, just a little, and drew it away from his face. As Brock looked into his eyes, he could sense the defeat lingering in them.
“I’m just not built for that kind of work,” Jared grumbled.
Brock shrugged. “Few people are.”
Jared was silent for a moment, taking the chance to lean against the glass as well. At the very least, he had the foresight to give Brock enough space not to feel claustrophobic. Brock got punchy when he felt claustrophobic.
“What would you do with my powers?” Jared asked.
Brock shrugged. “Not really the most practical set of them in the world but a little heightened strength could go a long way towards toppling a genocidal regime.” He pondered it for a moment. “I mean you have the ability to wipe out a gang and kill their leadership as if it were nothing at all.”
“I don’t kill,” Jared said.
Brock nearly appreciated the resolve in his voice, nearly. Though he could never appreciate such idiotic morality when it was actively harmful.
He instead shrugged. “And that’s why I don’t respect you. You want to really start saving people then you need to kill the bad guys for the greater good.”
“That’s a slippery slope,” Jared rebutted.
Brock shook his head. “How many times have you gone toe-to-toe with Kingpin?”
“Seven…” Jared answered, though seemed unsure of himself as he pondered it for a moment. “Eight… nine?”
“And do you ever wonder why you have to keep fighting him so often?” Brock asked.
Jared shrugged. “The court system works in mysterious ways but you need to…”
“He has the money to corrupt cops, judges, and jurors. There’s no amount of throwing him to the system that will ever get him locked away for good,” Brock said. “But if you kill him then his network would collapse and suddenly you have a bunch of weaker gangs that maybe the DA will actually do something about because they’re not able to line his pockets. Then bam, you’ve actually done something to clean up the streets.”
There was a silence between them as Brock flicked away his second cigarette. The buzz of nicotine felt nice though the catharsis of telling Jared off felt even nicer.
“Is that the big picture?” Jared asked.
Brock nodded. “That’s the big picture.”
“Does the big picture really make you just give up having any moral code?” Jared then asked, motioning towards Brock. “You know that sounds psychotic, right?”
Brock shrugged. “Morals are for the guys who decide where to point me and if you follow those guys far enough up the chain then you end up with the President of the United States. The guy that the people elect to be their moral compass. So really, I’m just…” He shook his head and motioned vaguely. “I’m just exercising the moral will of the people of this country if you really think about it.”
Jared sighed and looked away from Brock.
“Is there a reason you dislike me in particular?” he then asked. “Hard to think that this isn’t personal on some level.”
Brock smirked. “Besides for the fact that every time I run into you, I end up catching you in the middle of doing something weird?”
Jared glared at him but motioned for him to continue.
“You’re getting really close to Dean,” Brock said. “Kid has had a rough life and I’ve been doing whatever I can to try and steer him away from becoming his father. And in this last year, he’s really started to come out of his shell.”
Brock felt the pack of cigarettes against his fingers as he reached into his pocket. Though he denied himself, deciding that he wasn’t really in the mood for three cigarettes in one smoke break. Instead, he drew in the cold, damp, and disgusting New York City air. Even this high up it was hard to avoid.
“Do you not approve of our friendship or something?” Jared asked.
Brock nodded. “The kid is trying to get away from the super science bullshit that his father roped him into. And he’s doing his best to avoid all of that heroes and villains bullshit that kept following him through his childhood. Do you know how many villains tried to kidnap him before the age of ten?” He glanced at Jared. “Take a wild guess, I dare you.”
Jared waved his hands, searching for a number at random. “Thirty-six?”
Brock snorted. “Triple that.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jared whispered.
“And that’s why I don’t like you,” Brock said, pointing a finger at him. “Dean is doing his best to be a normal adult and the last thing he needs is a superhero, who has a second-rate set of powers and an inability to hide his secret identity, as a best friend. I want to see him move on from all of this stuff. And part of that is not letting him get to know people like you. Do you get me?”
Jared huffed but didn’t shake his head, clearly getting him. “Well, what do you want me to do about it because I can’t really change rooms and I’m sure as shit not leaving the crime fighting game behind.”
“Then fight crime better,” Brock suggested. “Make it harder for people to track you down. Like I said, even a half-decent oshie could do it at this point if they were interested in you.”
“Okay but what are oshies?” Jared asked.
“Civilians involved in opsec as a hobby,” Brock said. “Old guys with too much time on their hands, the internet at their fingertips, and a few too many spy thrillers knocking around inside of their brains. Seems innocent enough until they figure out that the United States is launching a spy satellite based off of the dumbest oversights possible. Also, pretty good at outing superheroes, it turns out.”
“Fine, I’ll…” Jared shook his head. “I’ll start fighting crime across the entire city, does that help?”
“Little bit,” Brock said. “Though make sure to ease into it or it’ll be obvious that someone’s figured you out.”
Jared didn’t respond, instead looking down at the floor. It seemed like he was about to say something but no comment came forth.
So, Brock shook his head and moved towards the penthouse’s doors.
“Wait, Brock!” Jared called.
Brock paused and looked towards him. “What’s up?”
“Thanks for the talk,” Jared said.
Brock nodded and let out an amused little snort. “Don’t thank me, it was cathartic.”
And with that he slipped back into the penthouse, closing the door behind himself.
Hey, y'all should join my Discord! It's multifandom and queer as fuck (Please be 18+ though).
Visit my website to see where else you can find my work, follow my socials, or support me on Patreon!
Category Story / All
Species Human
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 42.5 kB
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