Quirky Row Chapter 35: Green Storm (Patreon)

Chapter 35: Green Storm

(Thursday, November 25th, 2123)

“Sooo… apparently your Quirk lets you replicate Loa Dust, huh?” Shaundi said slowly. She, along with Playa and the rest of the Inner Circle, were gathered in a breakroom within the Mission. It was the day after the coordinate attack from the Sons of Samedi, and Playa had finally sobered up enough to have a proper meeting.

“Yeah, who knew I could produce smoke that gets people high,” Playa muttered as he transmuted some sweat on the back of his hand into thin white wisps of Loa Dust smoke. He watched it rise for a bit before shaking his head in bemusement. “Well, if nothing else, it gives me another non-lethal option to take people down with.”

“Suppose that explains why you were so high yesterday as well,” Shaundi hummed thoughtfully. “You kept on accidentally producing Loa Dust smoke and getting yourself high.”

“Yeah, not being immune to my own Quirk is a real hassle,” Playa groaned, leaning back on the couch.

“So… you doing okay?” Shaundi asked, carefully watching her boss.

“I’m fine. Has the mess finally been cleared up?” Playa inquired.

“The cars were sent to our chop shops for processing and the corpses tossed into the bay. Weapons were added to our own armories and everything else that we looted that doesn’t fall into either of the former three categories was given to the gang to keep,” Johnny replied.

“The cops and media have been bribed to look the other way for now,” Pierce happily added. “Law enforcement knows this is our main base. It’s sorta an open secret at this point. But they wont go after us, not with the amount of blackmail we’ve got on too many of the people in the police department. Our contacts in the media are framing this as an unprovoked attack by the Sons on the Saints and making it seem like they’re the bad guys here. Which isn’t all that hard, honestly. The Sons have done a lot of shit in the five years they’ve been in Stilwater, even for drug dealers.”

“Good. Now, it’s time to discuss our options. What do we do about this? And how do we retaliate?” Playa inquired sharply of his lieutenant.

Assaulting the Saints’ base at the Mission was one thing, but it was the assassination attempt on him that had really rattled the Saints. There was no denying it. Attacking somebody on the street while not in costume was something of a faux-pas in Quirked society. Hero or villain, it was something of an unspoken rule to not go after somebody ‘off-duty.’ Not everyone adhered to this, and of course criminals didn’t stop being criminals when they took off their masks, but there had to be limits and rules. Because if a hero or villain went too far and attacked somebody at their home, you suddenly ran the risk of a superpowered individual going on a rampage, retaliating against the perpetrator.

It created a cycle of violence that was hard to break, and people had seen this happen far too often back in the early days of Quirks, with city-spanning riots lasting for days caused by a hero trying to attack a villain in their own home which stirred up antipathy and violence, not to mention spawning vigilantes who targeted heroes and villains alike.

“We have to eliminate the Sons capacity to peddle their product,” Shaundi said firmly. “Even though their labs were raided, they’ve still got enough stock to litter the streets in Loa Dust.”

“Got good news on that front. We figured out how the Sons have been bringing in their drugs,” Pierce revealed. “Helicopters. A whole fleet of them!”

“The Sons are buying the ingredients for Loa Dust and their other products outside Stilwater, and then drop them off via helicopter at buildings owned by the General. They’re then taken to labs to be mixed up and then sold on the streets,” Shaundi nodded. “It’s wild. They’ve gotta be bribing somebody at the airport to get the clearances for all these flights. If we find out who that is, we can shut them down.”

“There can’t be that many Sons left after what we did to them yesterday, either,” Johnny commented. “The General is going to be desperate to keep the drugs flowing.”

“That’s good. Get somebody onto that helicopter thing. Find out whose letting them fly all over the place, then sic the heroes on them. We need to recover after what the Sons did to us, so let the goodie two-shoes deal with it for us,” Playa decided.

“What about our own stocks?” Mink wondered, and attention turned to pink-haired newbie of the Inner Circle. She shrank a bit, but quickly recovered. “If the Sons are desperate, they might go after our drugs.”

“She has a point,” Laura hummed. “And it’s not just the Sons we have to worry about. It’s their customers. The addicts.”

“You think the Sons would try and us druggies to steal from us?” Playa asked, before shaking his head. “What am I saying. Of course they would.”

“Right. We’ll have to keep an eye on that,” Shaundi said in agreement.

“Regarding the helicopters, I might have an idea on how we can remove them from the playing field,” Jean-Paul suggested.

“Go on,” Playa urged, motioning for him to continue.

“It’s a two-part plan. First, we have to find out where the Sons’ helicopters are. They aren’t in use all the time, so there has to be somewhere they go for refueling and repairs. Then, we have to deal with the people in the administration who’re giving air clearance for said helicopters to travel around Stilwater,” the Cajun lieutenant said.

“Makes sense. How do you plan on doing all of this?” Johnny inquired.

“Track the helicopters as they come in. They don’t seem to operate on any sort of schedule so it’ll be hit and miss, but if we do so, we can follow them back to base, so to speak. Then, we put pressure on the air control operators who are in on this scheme. Revealing their deeds should work well enough,” Jean-Paul said, explaining his plan.

“I can ask my hubby if knows where the Sons might be stashing the helicopters. He might also know who the pilots are. Pilots know other pilots, after all,” Laura offered.

“Not a bad plan. Needs a bit more fleshing out… but I like it. Jean-Paul, Laura, get on that bit with the Sons’ helicopters. Shaundi, Pierce, see what you can dig up regarding the air traffic operators. Johnny, Carlos, and Mink, you three will in charge of keeping an eye on our territory and kicking in the teeth of any Sons who show their faces around us. If they dare go after our dealers or businesses again? Retaliate with everything you can bring to bear. Burn down their shops, and kill their gangbangers. Teach them what it means to oppose the Third Street Saints!” Playa instructed, and everyone made noises of acknowledgement.

It was time to tear down the Sons of Samedi!

111 &&&&& 111

(Friday, December 3rd, 2123)

A week later, and the Sons had been awfully quiet following their failed decapitation strike. Aside from a few homeless drug addicts attacking the Saints’ dealers and warehouses, which had been spurred on by the Sons, there was nothing. Even the attacks on the dealers had weaned off.

Word on the street was Mr. Sunshine, the General’s right-hand man, had been stirring up trouble, trying to get the dregs of society to act as cats’ paws. The Saints weren’t falling for it, though, and had driven back every single attempt so far.

Tracking the helicopter deliveries wasn’t easy, either. They moved fast, and never used the same building more than once. Plus, the Sons had wised up and weren’t using aircraft plastered with their colors and tags. It made it easier for their drop offs to be discreet.

Digging up dirt on the people allowing the helicopters free reign in Stilwater ended up being a lot easier. Turns out the Sons of Samedi had been quite clever, and gotten several people who worked at the airport addicted to some of their harder drugs. This had then allowed the Sons to leverage their control over these unfortunate souls and squeeze in their helicopter deliveries on the sly. But as much as this helped, it wasn’t enough.

Yet good news finally came in as the month rolled around and December arrived. The last month of the year was quite cold, but no snow had come in, and didn’t seem to be likely. Yet this cold had finally managed to force the Sons to switch some their helicopter delivery routines, and one of them had been tracked back to a hangar within the airport that was supposed to be empty.

“You’re absolutely sure this is where the Sons are hiding their ‘copters?” Playa asked, looking at the photos some Saints had taken of a run-down hangar.

“Yes, we are,” Jean-Paul confirmed. “We’ve done plenty of scouting and can confirm at least five helicopters are stashed in there. Not all at the same time, though.”

“Taking just one or two out won’t work, the Sons will just find a new place to hide them,” Playa pointed out.

“In that case, I’ve got some good news,” Shaundi said. “It’s supposed to do some hailing over the weekend. And helicopters won’t be flying in that sorta weather. So guess what? All of the helicopters will be grounded and we can take ‘em out in one fell swoop!”

“That’s sneaky. I like it,” Playa smirked.

“So, that’s the plan?” Johnny wondered.

“Go big or go home,” Playa nodded. “I’ll lead the attack on the airport when the hailstorm comes. Pierce, make sure you broadcast all of the air traffic controllers’ dirty laundry. Put it on every forum and send it to every media outlet. I want Stilwater to know their crimes, and that the upcoming disruption to local air travel is their fault.”

111 & & & & & 111

(Sunday, December 5th, 2123)

The hailstorm Shaundi had informed the Saints off arrived an hour before midnight on Saturday. The night was black as ink, and the wind was causing chunks of ice to fly this way and that all over the place. It was so bad in some places that flights in and out of Stilwater and the rest of the western seaboard had been grounded since midafternoon.

“I heard that the storm is due to a villain fight up in Seattle,” one of the Saints whispered as Skunk’s crew got into position around the airport, huddling for warmth underneath an overhang.

“What? Why?” somebody asked.

“Apparently, Snowman is fighting Hurri-Kate somewhere up there,” the first guy replied. “And their fight is sending ice and wind all over the place.”

“Isn’t Snowman Alaska’s Top Hero? What’s he doing over in Seattle?” a gang member wondered.

“Dunno, but there’s video footage of it online. Check it out, it’s wild!”

Skunk listened to the conversation with half an ear, focused instead on a certain hangar across from his position. It was slightly rundown, but was still in working order. It also had a few known Sons of Samedi guarding it. Not openly, of course. But even disguised, some members stood out.

‘Butcher Bill, Sneezer, and Needle Pete,’ Skunk thought to himself, going over what he knew about the villains under the General’s control. ‘Not exactly top tier lieutenants, but after the raid on their drug labs and the attack on the Mission, most of the really dangerous villains in the Sons of Samedi aren’t a problem anymore.’

‘Hmmm… now let’s see… Butcher Bill has a Quirk that lets him cut anything, but only if he has a weapon with a sharp edge to channel his Quirk through. Wields a machete, and is responsible for a lot of maimings over the years,’ Skunk mused. ‘Sneezer can create enormous vacuum suction with his oversized nose, and suck in objects, drawing them towards him. He can also sneeze with enough force to knock over a car and break bones. Fights by using pepper to make himself sneeze, but after a few uses, he gets stopped up. Can’t use his Quirk as easily if he has a runny nose or a cold, either.’

‘And then there’s Needle Pete,’ Skunk continued, eyeing the hangar. ‘Able to turn parts of his body into hypodermic needles. He can inject people with the contents of his body, meaning filling his targets with blood, spit, stomach acid, or air. Extremely sadistic and is known to inject himself with drugs and poison and then inject it into his victims.’

The three lieutenants were supported by twelve other Sons of Samedi, for a grand total of fifteen villains broken into three squads of five led by the lieutenants that were guarding the helicopters. Skunk had brought twice that number of Saints.

A little bit later around two in the morning, his cellphone buzzed briefly, and the leader of the Saints checked it quickly. On the screen, a text from Pierce greeted him, consisting of a finger pointing upwards next to a cloud.

“It’s done, the evidence for the crimes committed by the Sons and the airport administration has been uploaded to the internet,” he reported to his team. “Shiver, Ray, front and center, time to go to work.”

“Do I have to?” a Saint whined. He was covered head to toe in winter clothes. From an ugly Christmas sweater, two scarves, mittens, a wool cap and a winter coat along with fuzzy boots. It was an ensemble that was too much even for a hailstorm.

“Yes. Go,” Skunk ordered. “Sizzle, go with them.”

The three Saints he’d called out nodded and moved up towards the hangar. As they went, Shiver began to strip, taking off his clothes, exposing himself to the cold.

And that was all part of the plan. Shiver’s Quirk only activated when he himself was feeling cold. He would generate an aura of fear, and the colder he was, the worse it became, until he was able to create heart-stopping panic in everyone around him in a block-wide radius.

Obviously, this wasn’t safe in public, and would lead to friendly fire, causing people to label it a villainous Quirk. It also made it hard to go to work in the winter time. But that was why Ray was there. His Quirk let him focus other people’s Quirks into narrowed cones and rays rather than just having them erupt all over in an indiscriminate AoE.

With Ray’s hand on Shiver’s shoulder, even as the latter got colder as he stood in the hail, the aura of terror was not enveloping the Saints nearby, and instead was blasting the hangar instead.

Almost immediately, the Sons of Samedi began to panic, several of them running screaming from the building as their minds were overwhelmed by Shiver’s Quirk. One of them having a head that was nothing but a giant nose.

The Saints burst into action, charging forward and attacking the Sons. The ones who surrendered were spared. But some, in their flight, fought back, and were gunned down in response. Skunk wasn’t going to risk his men getting hurt, and had authorized lethal force.

Sneezer was one such fatality, although his death was due to suddenly sneezing from the cold wind, which sent him flying through the air before crashing down onto a fence, impaling himself on the spikes on top.

Meanwhile, the other two Sons of Samedi lieutenants managed to fight their way through. Butcher Bill and Needler were practically frothing at the mouth, and Skunk moved in to take care of them.

“Outta my way!” Bill screamed, swinging his machete at Skunk, the edge glowing red with the power of his Quirk. Skunk retaliated by shooting him in the face with his revolver, blowing his head clean off his shoulders.

Then, the leader of the Saints had to jink to the side as Needler came at him, fingers turned into deadly hypodermic needles. Skunk raised his trench coat, catching one of Needler’s hands as it thrust at him, and then twisted underneath him, getting in close.

“Surrender,” Skunk ordered, pressing the muzzle of his gun against Needler’s chin. Now that he was out of range of Shiver’s Quirk, the wild panic was fading from him, and the villain grunted before nodding.

“I surrender,” he growled.

“Great! Hold still,” Skunk said, and he unleashed a burst of highly concentrated ether from his gauntlet into Needler’s face, the drug quickly working to render the villain unconscious. He was then cuffed and dragged out of the hail to be left with the other surviving Sons, whom the police would pick up afterwards.

“Good job, Shiver,” Skunk praised, and the Saint weakly gave him a thumbs up in response. Meanwhile, Shiver’s girlfriend, Sizzle, had her hands on his back, the palms glowing with heat as she warmed him up, stopping the aura of fear.

“Were there any injuries?” Skunk asked as he looked over his team.

“Nope,” one Saint assured him. “A couple of guys got bonked pretty bad by the hail, but nothing some hot soup won’t fix.”

“Excellent,” Skunk grinned underneath his gas mask. “Now, somebody bring me The Box.”

Somebody went and fetched a tool box that had ‘Johnny’s’ written on it, nervously passing it over. Skunk took it, and then walked into the hangar with a couple of Saints.

“Ugh, how are those choppers still able to fly?” Flyguy grunted as Skunk’s side. The fly-headed Saint wasn’t wrong. The helicopters the Sons had were old and while functional, they were at least half a century old.

“Military surplus from the Third World War,” another Saint noted as he looked them over. “Russian make if I’m not mistaken. Those things couldn’t fly through a stiff breeze without needing a retuning.”

“Could we use them?” Skunk wondered.

“Safer not to,” Flyguy replied. “Our helicopters are much better than these. And the parts for these models aren’t easy to get, either.”

“Alright, you’re the experts,” Skunk shrugged. “See if there is anything else worth grabbing around here.”

While they did that, looting the hangar of tools, drugs, and other odds and ends, Skunk opened the tool box and brought out several bricks of C4 that were then put inside the helicopters.

Once they’d emptied out the place, the group retreated, and then Skunk pressed a detonator. The hangar and the helicopters went up in smoke as the explosives went off, ripping the whole thing apart and bathing the area in flames and shrapnel.

“Time to skedaddle,” Skunk suggested, and everyone scampered off back to the vans, hastily getting in before leaving the airport behind.

The police would eventually get to the scene of the crime, and arrest the Sons who’d been left. And everyone in Stilwater would know about the corruption in the airport by lunch. So it was a satisfied Playa who was relaxing on the couch in Johnny and Aisha’s living room that evening, belly full from a lovely meatloaf dinner.

“Don’t know how you do it,” Playa complimented Aisha. “But that was great.”

“Thanks. The secret is brown sugar and cayenne,” the music star replied.

“She spoils us,” Johnny chuckled.

“You know it, baby!” Aisha called back.

“By the way, heard there was a commotion by one of our warehouses today. Everything alright?” Playa asked Johnny.

“Oh, yeah, no biggie. Some more tweaked out shitheads tried to fuck with us and steal the Loa Dust we’d been stashing there, but they weren’t a problem. They went down real easy. Guess getting high all day makes ya weak or some shit. Who knew?”

Playa laughed at that, Johnny joining in as well. “So, how’d your thing go?” Johnny wondered a moment later as Aisha came and sat down next to him.

“Surprisingly well. We managed to air all of the airport administration’s dirty laundry, took out three more lieutenants, and wrecked a bunch of helicopters. With that, the Sons have nearly lost it all. No more drugs, no more drop-offs, and most of their lieutenants are dead.”

Playa leaned forward, a vicious grin on his face. “We take out the General and that Mr. Sunshine fella, and the Sons will cease to exist. All that’ll be left will be the Ronin.”

“‘Bout damn time!” Aisha said with a firm nod. “Been too long since those scumbags have gone around ruining Stilwater!”

“Damn straight,” Johnny said, pumping a fist into the air.

The rest of the night was spent drinking and watching bad movies. It was a ton of fun! They could worry about the Sons of Samedi tomorrow, after all.

111 &&&&& 111

In a dark parking lot in front of an old meat processing plant, a green limo drove up to the doors. A moment later, Mr. Sunshine emerged from the building, eyes firmly on his boss’ mobile base.

“My plan to attack the Saints’ warehouses failed,” Mr. Sunshine said apologetically as the General got out of his Hounfor. “And the helicopters were destroyed as well.”

“I am aware. You know the price you have to pay?” the leader of the Sons of Samedi asked calmly.

Mr. Sunshine said nothing, and simply bowed his head. Without another word, the General drew a combat knife and deftly sliced off his subordinate’s ear.

“This brings me no pleasure, old friend,” the General said as he handed the severed ear back to his lieutenant.

“I know,” Mr. Sunshine replied, uncaring of the trickle of red running down the side of his head and neck.

“And you know what you must do to regain my favor?” the General inquired, to which his right-hand man nodded.

“I do.”

“Then don’t fail me again,” the General warned. “Now go.”

He then got into his green luxury ride and drove off, leaving the supervillain behind to stew and plot the demise of the Saints.

111 &&& 111

Author's Note: Here's a bonus chapter to celebrate the month of February! Mostly because I just feel like it!