Quirky Row Chapter 45: Actions have Consequences

Chapter 45: Actions have Consequences

(Monday, February 17th, 2124)

That afternoon, three Ronin walked confidently into Stilwater Memorial Hospital, swaggering about like they owned the place. Two regular minions, and a single Ninja who had a Heteromorphic Quirk that gave him a weasel’s head. They were hardline Ronin supporters, not at all concerned by the storm of controversy swirling about on the Internet.

“Uh, can I help you?” a secretary at the hospital’s front desk asked, raising an eyebrow at the trio. None of them responded to her, simply walking off deeper into the building, causing the woman who groaned in frustration before pressing a button her desk.

“I was expecting this to happen,” Scapegoat commented as his pager beeped and he looked at the message on it. “But did they have to do this today? I have a lot of patients!”

There had been a traffic accident that’d resulted in a dozen injured people coming in. The heroic medic had handled the worst of them already, so nobody was in danger of dying, but it was still a problem for him to handle.

“Sir? What should we do?” a nurse asked him nervously.

“I’ll handle this, you keep an eye on things here,” Scapegoat ordered as he stalked off.

He walked hurriedly through the halls and rode an elevator down to the lobby. When the doors of the elevator opened, he came face to face with the three Ronin.

“Ronin goons, you think you can just waltz in here like you own the place?” Scapegoat demanded as he stepped out, eyes narrowed at them from behind his domino mask. “This hospital is under my control. It is neutral ground.”

“You don’t frighten us!” one of the Ronin declared, pointing a gun at the hero’s face.

“If you do this, I will excommunicate the Ronin,” Scapegoat warned. “You’ll lose all access to public medical aid. And even the underground doctors will turn you away. No ambulance will answer any call for help from a group associated with the Ronin. Any members of the Ronin – or their family – will also be denied.”

“What?” one of the other Ronin exclaimed in disbelief. “You can’t do that!”

“Why not?” Scapegoat asked. “If you’re going to break the rules, why can’t I?”

“You took a Hippo-platypus Oath!” he retorted.

“You mean the Hippocratic Oath?” the Number 3 Hero inquired. “Ah. About that. I never actually took any sort of oath like that. I’m not even a licensed doctor.”

That caused everyone – Ronin and hospital staff alike – to stare at him in disbelief.

“That’s… no way!” one of the nurses uttered in shock. “You’ve been practicing medicine this whole time without any medical training?!”

“Technically, I’m not practicing medicine, I’m using my Quirk to heal people, which is completely different and covered under the Hero’s License I hold,” Scapegoat replied with a shrug. “And I do have some training. Just not enough to be called a ‘doctor.’ Why do you think I don’t use that title on my business cards or anything?”

“Also, there’s another thing you seem to be forgetting,” Scapegoat added, unfolding his arms and sliding into a combat stance. “And it’s that I’m not just the Number 3 because I can heal. I’ve done my fair share of eliminating criminals as well. So… are we still going to rumble?”

“Just step aside,” the Ninja demanded. “All we want is Johnny Gat.”

“Did you not hear me?” Scapegoat replied. “Every patient here is under my protection. Even Mr. Gat. Back off, or prepare for a battle that you will lose.”

“Get outta the way!” the Ronin with the gun shouted, opening fire. The people in the lobby screamed and ducked down, yet it was the Ronin who’d shot at the hero who ended up being hurt, the thug staggering back, dropping the gun due to a bullet having lodged itself in the back of his hand.

“That was pathetic,” Scapegoat scoffed. “And it seems you’ve made your choice.”

He darted forward, punching the other non-Ninja in the stomach, who doubled over with a grunt, but drew back his fists which doubled in size and turning metallic. He punched Scapegoat back, sending the hero staggering backward.

“I just broke your ribs!” the Ronin sneered. “Just surrender! A pathetic little healer can’t stand up to me!”

Scapegoat gave him a look like he was stupid, and then ran a hand over the wall he was leaning against. This caused the injuries he’d just sustained to be transferred over to it. Cracks appeared all over the plaster, and the hero stood back up, completely unharmed again.

“Did you seriously come in here and think you could defeat me like that?” Scapegoat demanded incredulously. “My Quirk is called Transfer! Any damage you do to me, I can immediately return to you, or put it anywhere else I want!”

Rockfist growled at that, but charged in anyways, trying to punch Scapegoat again. Yet the moment his fist slammed into the hero’s head, it was Rockfist himself that was sent flying backwards as Scapegoat transferred all of the power and impact behind the Ronin’s blow right back into him.

“Are you next?” Scapegoat inquired, glancing at the Ninja who hadn’t moved and let his minions throw down without a word.

“I am,” he replied, drawing his weapons, a pair of hand-scythes. “My name is Kamaitachi, and you and Johnny Gat will die here today.”

“Bet,” Scapegoat replied. The two stared at each other before charging into battle, clashing against one another.

Every cut Scapegoat received was immediately transferred away. Most ended up scratching the floor, but a few were returned to Kamaitachi. Yet it was quickly apparent the Ronin lieutenant had a secondary Quirk in addition to his animal head, one that let him heal rapidly from any injury he received. The wounds let out a burst of steam before disappearing.

“Huh, it seems like Shogo did know what he was doing when he sent you here,” Scapegoat mused. “You can heal the small wounds I return to you. A battle of attrition.”

“It’s Raijin to you, hero,” the Ninja snarled, trying to cut his opponent’s throat.

“I call villains by their name when they’ve earned it. Shogo is a spoiled brat who parades around and acts like he’s somehow better than the rest of us, when he is very clearly nothing like that,” Scapegoat scoffed, transferring the cut he received across his neck to a potted blade, causing it to be sliced in half.

“Raijin is a true villain!” Kamaitachi declared. “He conquered Stilwater and not even the General or Maero dared to confront him!”

“He’s just a boy playing pretend,” Scapegoat laughed.

“Grr! Die!” the Ninja shouted furiously, sending a flurry of blows that tore up Scapegoat’s costume and littering his body with small injuries.

“Come on, is that all you’ve got?!” Scapegoat asked as he punched Kamaitachi in the arm, transferring his cuts onto the villain. Of course, as soon as the wounds appeared, they vanished, steaming a bit before healing.

“I will strike you down, Scapegoat!” Kamaitachi vowed, only for a kick from Scapegoat to shatter his ankle. This forced the Ninja to cry in pain and fall to a knee, but the leg squirmed and steamed, rapidly recovering.

“Huh, so you can also heal broken bones,” Scapegoat noted. “Slower, though.”

“You-!” Kamaitachi exclaimed. “You will not win!”

“This is going nowhere,” Scapegoat sighed with a shake of his head. “And more heroes should be coming here soon. Surrender or scamper back to your boss with your tail between your legs. I don’t care which.”

Kamaitachi glared at the hero before darting over to a nearby nurse. She let out a gasp of fear as he placed one of his scythes against her throat.

“Move aside and I’ll let her live,” the Ninja growled out.

“A hostage… how utterly foul and perverse,” Scapegoat said, eyes narrowing in disgust.

“I will complete my mission!” Kamaitachi declared.

“You can heal wounds, but how about this?” Scapegoat wondered after a tense standoff between the hero and villain, pulling out a syringe from a pouch on his waist. He then injected it into his arm, twitching a bit.

“What was… that…?” Kamaitachi demanded, only for a wave of tiredness to wash over him.

“After I’ve touched somebody at least once, I can transfer whatever I want to and from them as long they’re within a certain distance,” Scapegoat replied. “What do you think of my special tranquilizer? It’s designed to knock out scum like you… and you’re already out like a light.”

The villain had collapsed to the ground, snoring as the tranquilizers flowed through his veins thanks to Scapegoat’s Quirk.

“Are you alright, miss?” Scapegoat asked the nurse, who nodded weakly.

“Yes, thank you!”

“No problem!” Scapegoat gave her a comforting smile before pulling out a roll of capture tape. “Alright, let’s get these guys trussed up and ready for the police to take away.”

A few security guards helped, binding the three Ronin and confiscating their weapons. When the police finally arrived, Scapegoat passed the Ronin to them.

“Thanks for your prompt arrival, officers,” Scapegoat said gratefully. “Careful with these ones.”

“Got it,” the cop in charge of the arrest nodded. “Anyone get hurt beyond them?”

“No. I took care of them before that could happen,” Scapegoat assured him.

“Alright, then, have a good day,” the policeman said with a nod. They departed, and Scapegoat went back into the hospital.

“Call the construction company, have them get somebody in here by tomorrow to fix the damage,” Scapegoat requested. “And keep an eye out for any more tricks. I doubt that will be the last we see of the Ronin.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, and then the hero left, heading up to a different floor to meet with a patient.

“Everything alright down there?” Playa asked, looking up as the Number Three Hero walked into the private room. The leader of the Third Street Saints was sitting by Johnny’s bedside, keeping his second-in-command company.

“Yeah, just a couple of troublemakers who thought they could spit all over my generosity and kindness,” Scapegoat replied. “How about you, Mr. Gat? You feeling better?”

“My wife is dead, what do you think?” Johnny snapped.

“Well, if your body keeps healing at the current pace, you should be fully back on your feet within ten days or so. Though try not to do anything too strenuous or you’ll rip the stitches open and set your recovery back by weeks,” Scapegoat said, ignoring the retort from the healing man.

“That’s good,” Playa said in relief. “I was worried for nothing, it seems.”

“Medicine has gotten pretty advanced,” Scapegoat agreed. “Now, regarding the bill…”

“I will pay,” Johnny said curtly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I was going to say that it’s already been paid up. Courtesy of your friend here,” Scapegoat said, nodding towards Playa.

“You didn’t have to do that, Playa,” Johnny said weakly.

“No, I did,” the supervillain replied. “You’re my best friend, and I’m going to help you, no matter what you say.”

Playa then pulled out some files. “To that end… here.”

“You’ve already got the funeral arranged?” Johnny asked, surprised.

“Most of it was already in Aisha’s will,” Playa responded. “Same with her grave plot being picked out. I made sure everything with the insurance and coroner’s office went smoothly as well.”

“The twenty-ninth,” he murmured. “Leap Year Day…”

“Yeah. You’ll be on your feet by then,” Playa said.

“What about Shogo? What about the Ronin?” Johnny demanded.

“They’ll get what’s coming to them,” Playa vowed. “We’ll find them, and we’ll kill them. I swear it!”

“Please don’t discuss criminal activities in here,” Scapegoat pleaded with a pained look. “Or at the very least, do it when I’m not literally standing right next to you.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” Playa muttered.

“Just… just get outta here, before I’m forced to try and arrest you, or something,” Scapegoat sighed, running a hand over his face.

Playa nodded, chuckling weakly, before looking over at Johnny, who was staring at the documents in his hands.

The leader of the Third Street Saints walked out of the hospital room, leaving his best friend to his thoughts. He truly hoped he could recover soon, but while the physical injuries would heal, the mental ones would take a lot longer.

‘Maybe if I offer up some yellow dragons he’ll feel better,’ Playa thought darkly to himself while fishing his phone out of his pocket.

‘Find the Ronin,’ he sent via text to his Saints. ‘Find the Akujis. Everything else is secondary.’

One way or another, Shogo and his father would pay.

111 &&&&& 111

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Akuji,” Dane Vogel said politely, shaking hands with the father of his current business associate.

They were meeting for the first time in Shogo’s penthouse suite at the top of the It was a swanky place, and the leader of the Ronin had gone all in to make the interior resemble a traditional Japanese home.

Vogel wasn’t particularly fond of the flimsy paper doors or the tatami mat flooring, but he did admire the bonsai cherry tree in one corner and the exquisite decorations lining the room. Very tasteful, and not nearly as ostentatious or extravagant as one would expect from a supervillain. Although given the fact that the person he was meeting was a Yakuza Oyabun, perhaps that had something to do with the decor.

“[Why should I care about this meeting?]” Kazuo Akuji asked as the two men walked over to a table that had been prepared with a tea kettle and cups. His son trailed behind, watching and listening with a barely hidden sour expression.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Shogo was no longer in his father’s good graces, and if rumor was to be believed, Shogo had never been the favored son in the first place. Jyunichi, a bastard, had been the one Kazuo had hoped to take over, but due to his Quirklessness, the other members of the Yakuza family had blocked every attempt to replace Shogo with him.

Now, here was the old school criminal, coming into his city and trying to act like he owned Ultor, and not the other way around? Vogel didn’t like it, but he kept a calm and polite expression on his face as he sat down.

‘At least Mr. Akuji knows how to dress, unlike Shogo,’ Vogel thought to himself. The golden yellow tie was a bit tacky, but the suit was very nice.

“You should care because I represent a multi-billion-dollar corporation that works very closely with your son. Now, can we sit down and enjoy some tea before we start to discuss business?” Vogel requested, despite already sitting in the chair without being offered.

Kazuo nodded stiffly, and took a seat opposite the businessman. Shogo stayed standing and began to pour tea for the three of them.

“With the recent change in management, I figured it’d be a good idea to touch base on a few things. We at Ultor understand that working with the Ronin carries an element of risk, along with a chance for collateral damage. This is Stilwater, after all. However, trying to turn a hospital into a charnel house is bad for business, and something not even we can spin or handwave away,” Dane Vogel informed the father-son duo. “You need to keep your men under control.”

The city and internet were already up in arms over the actions of the Ronin, and it hadn’t even been half a day since the events of that morning at the hospital, and already everyone knew what had gone down!

That Scapegoat had managed to defeat the Ronin was a small mercy, as was the lack of concrete connection between the Ronin and Ultor. But the gang which had once dominated the northern half of Stilwater was in a bad position, and Scapegoat’s statement that all licensed medical practitioners in Stilwater were to turn away the Ronin had only compounded the damage that the Valentine’s Day Massacre had started.

“My English must not be as good as I thought it was, because it sounded like you were giving me an order,” Kazuo said softly, speaking in English for the first time, but there was a hint of something dark and dangerous in his eyes.

It reminded Vogel uncomfortably of Alderman Hughes and Monorail. They both had the same look whenever someone questioned them or tried to tell them what to do. Still, there was only one answer he could give.

“You’re quite astute, Mr. Akuji,” Dane Vogel replied simply. Golden sparks flickered across the older Japanese man’s body, and he slammed his teacup down onto the table.

“I am not a twenty something brat who is impressed by a power tie or intimidated by money, Mr. Vogel, so I suggest you stop trying to bully me,” Kazuo stated.

“Mr. Akuji, your son and I have negotiated a very reasonable contract, and we’ve been working together for five years with no issues…” Vogel began, but was cut off.

“My son’s an idiot, Mr. Vogel,” the Akuji patriarch scoffed. Shogo flinched at that, and for a moment Dane pitied the brat. His home life must have been crap.

‘At least my parents loved me,’ Vogel thought to himself.

“If you wish for the Ronin protection to continue, you had best be prepared to offer something more substantial than what is currently on the table,” Kazuo continued.

“That’s not going to happen,” Vogel replied.

Oh, he could definitely do a few things to give the Ronin a bit more funding and opportunities to reclaim what they’d lost, but the Board was already breathing down his neck due to his hiring of the Masako mercenary team for his protection.

Some old fools thought he meant to stage a coup. Foolish, of course. If he wanted to do that, he didn’t need armed goons. He already controlled Ultor. For months now he had been systematically firing anyone with too much loyalty to the upper echelons and leaving his own people in places of power and authority. With a single email he could have the Board removed. No bloodshed required.

Still, Vogel didn’t need anyone looking too deeply into what he was doing. Besides, the terms for the Ronin were more than fair. They’d been better than what any newbie gang could have expected, and the contract continued to be a fifth of the Ronin’s total income.

“Then our business is concluded,” Kazuo declared, standing up.

“Mr. Akuji, I cannot possibly stress how unwise this course of action is,” Vogel warned, rising from his seat as well.

“Be silent. You can show yourself out, now.”

Dane Vogel’s eyes narrowed at the dismissal. He glanced at Shogo, who meekly raised a hand towards the exit.

“Well, I suppose that’s that, then. Good luck, gentlemen,” Vogel said simply, adjusting his tie and cuffs before walking out. He did not storm out, or shout, or slam anything as he left. That was childish and petty behavior.

No, what he would do was much worse.

‘If the Ronin don’t wish to play ball, then I suppose I’ll just take mine home,’ he thought to himself, already sending out text messages and emails to a few people on his phone and PDA. All support for the Ronin was to be withdrawn with twenty-four hours.

The buildings under the gang’s protection would need to have somebody else watching them. In Stilwater, it didn’t matter how safe the streets were, you had to have some form of protection other than the heroes to rely on. The gangs had always been that extra layer of defense.

‘And I think I know just the group to approach,’ Vogel thought to himself with a smirk.

111 &&&&& 111

“Still no news?” Playa asked, frowning in frustration. It was late in the evening, and despite the Saints’ best efforts, no info about the whereabouts of the Ronin’s leadership had come up.

“It’s only been a day,” Pierce said, trying to calm his boss down.

“It’s been three days since Johnny and Aisha were attacked,” Playa retorted.

“And the Ronin have all gone to ground,” Shaundi pointed out. “They’re freaking out. Their social stock has crashed. Nobody trusts ‘em, anymore. They went from being the most respected of the Big Three to the pariahs of Stilwater in a single weekend. We can catch a couple minnows, but the big fish won’t come out to play. Not without bait of some kind.”

“Fishing metaphors aside, Shaundi is right,” Jean-Paul said. “The Ronin won’t dare show themselves until the heat dies down.”

“Well, we’ve got to flush ‘em out somehow,” Carlos grumbled.

“Hey, boss? Uh, you’ve got a guest,” a Saint said, poking his head into the office.

“Who is it?” Playa asked, glancing at the doorway.

“You’ve gotta see it to believe it,” the messenger said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “But, uh… Johnny Gat’s here too.”

“Damn that man,” Playa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is he doing here?”

“Dunno,” the Saint replied with a shrug. “But the guy is at the cross.”

“Fine, let’s go see who it is,” Playa grunted. He made sure to strap his revolver’s holster onto his waist. He wasn’t going anywhere without it anymore. He and his lieutenants walked out of his office and went to where

“This is a hell of a place you’ve got here. I mean, I’m glad I got my tetanus shot, but beyond that, it’s… cozy,” the visitor to the Third Street Saints commented, looking around.

He stood at the top of the stairs beneath the wooden memorial cross that had been rescued from the old hideout and moved to this spot in the new one. Next to him was Johnny Gat, who was leaning against the wall.

“Dane Motherfucking Vogel,” Pierce swore, and Playa raised an eyebrow at the powerful businessman.

“How’d you get in?” he couldn’t help but wonder.

“That’d be me,” Johnny said, raising a hand as he limped down the stairs to join Playa and the rest.

“You’re supposed to be in the hospital!” Shaundi exclaimed in a scolding tone.

“Yeah, but I’m better,” Johnny lied. “Besides, he came to me with an offer. One I couldn’t refuse.”

“What was it?” Carlos wondered.

“The Ronin and I recently parted ways. A difference of opinion over how things are supposed to be run,” Vogel stated, and the Saints all tensed up at that admission.

Unconcerned, Vogel walked towards them, continuing to talk. “I know where the Akujis lay their heads. Where they sleep. Eat. Shit. And Fuck. How many of your lieutenants and informants can say the same?”

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” Mink demanded suspiciously.

“There’s an easy way to do that,” Vogel smirked as he walked over to a couch and plopped down onto it. “I’ll stay here. And if I’m wrong or it is a set-up, one of your guys can shoot me. Sound fair?”

“We could cut out the middleman and kill you here and now,” Carlos spat out. A few other Saints nodded angrily.

Ultor hadn’t endeared itself to the people of Saint’s Row when it had bought up all the properties in the east side of Stilwater and driven them out. Sure, the economy was better than it ever was for the city, but thousands of people had been forced into Shivington and the Docks, which had put them into the crosshairs of the Sons of Samedi and the Brotherhood. The poor had gone elsewhere, and nothing had changed.

“If you kill me, you’ll never know where they are until it’s too late,” Vogel said, a smirk gracing his lips. “Besides, with the Ronin taken care of, Ultor will need a new partner on the streets. Could be you.”

Playa frowned, and hesitated. Something about Dane Vogel rubbed him the wrong way, but he had a point.

‘The Ronin need to be stopped, and being able to take over their old territory will go much more smoothly with Ultor’s help,’ Playa thought to himself.

The north side was richer and by extension safer than the rest of the city. More hero patrols, faster police and EMT response times, better opportunities and pay… it would be hard to take it over like they had with the other gangs. Those areas had been, for the most part, poor and lacking in security. The Saints’ presence had been a net benefit and the people had welcomed them with open arms.

Not so much the case where the Ronin were. But if the Saints could obtain the north side, then the city would be theirs at long last.

“Damn it, fine,” Playa said, causing everyone to look at him. “I don’t like it, but right now, I’m willing to cut a deal with you, Vogel.”

He glanced at Johnny. That alright with you?”

“Not particularly, but my hate for the Ronin surpasses any feelings I hold for Ultor,” his best friend stated.

“Great!” Vogel said with a smile. “The Akujis are at the Tohoku Towers hotel downtown. The top five floors all belong to the Ronin. It’s where the lieutenants live, same as Shogo and, currently, Kazuo as well.”

“Hmm. Smart. Keep the lieutenants close, and Shogo can be protected by his minions who’ll fight even harder to protect their own living arrangements,” Jean-Paul commented.

“Yeah, nobody likes it when somebody starts shit in your neighborhood,” Pierce agreed. “Easy way to get jumped.”

“Round up a posse, we’re going hunting tonight. Carlos, you’re watching over our guest,” Playa declared, and the lieutenants scattered.

“I’m going with ya,” Johnny declared.

“Nothing I say will convince you otherwise, will it?” Playa asked.

“Nope,” Johnny retorted.

Playa nodded in understanding. “Then grab your gear. Let’s move it, people, we’re rolling out ASAP!”

It was to hit the Ronin back where it hurt!