12The Drowned Man
In the endless void, a man awoke. In front of him lay an endless desert of black sand, its bleak vistas stretching on for eternities. How he knew this he did not know, just like how he didn't know that when he turned around he would be confronted by a guide.
But he was.
The Guide spoke, and he listened.
He spoke, and a choice was made. A resolution out of endings. A new start out mistakes.
A last chance before perdition.
Chapter One
A hand emerged from the surface of the chilled depths of Brockton Bay, followed swiftly by the rest of a dripping wet man, just under six feet tall, he was smiling, a toothless, lipped grin, that forced his eyes in such a way that rendered his eyes almost shut in an almost anime style. He also sported short cropped brown hair. The man wore a simple grey sweatshirt, jeans, and black boots.
As he walked himself the rest of the way out of the water, he fled his hands, rolling his wrists and flexing his hands, before he took a moment to admire the newly formed tattoo that could have looked as an ornate C, if looked at from the right angle.
A flex of the hands popped every joint in the man body. And then with a sigh, he moved towards the nearest direction in which life would be present.
Scene Break
Pat's Pizzeria was owned by Herb. Not by Pat.
Herb was Brockton native he had been living and working there for years, he had come to terms with seeing cape fights, being mugged or robbed for his hard earned money. He had a sawed of underneath the counter, and a 44 in a thigh holster. He also usually wore a stab vest underneath his apron and considered himself reasonably prepared for any eventuality. He was far enough removed from any gangs that he only had to deal with the occasional strung out merchant.
So when a smiling man that was soaking whet, dripping water onto his floor walked in and almost midnight just as he was beginning to lockup, he wasn't alarmed, he wasn't afraid, but he did begin to drift towards the sawed off. He put a customer friendly smile on his face and spoke.
"Hello, and welcome to Pat's pizzeria, the only pizzeria in Brockton open six days a week, 24 hours a day. How can I help you?"
The mans ever-present smile seemed to widen. It sent a prickle along the back of Herbs neck, that was punctuated by the still dripping water.
"Are you Pat?"
Herb sighed, he really needed to change that name, but at this point he was just under Fugly Bob's in name recognition so it was too much of a bother to actually change it.
"Nope. I'm Herb. What can I get ya? Other than a towel that is?"
The man looked down at the puddle he was leaving on the floor, that was steadily getting bigger as he continued to drip water at a steady pace.
"Oh, I forgot about that, my apologies, I'll make sure that I take it out with me when I leave."
Herb felt one hand wrap around the stock of his shotgun.
"Oh, and how you gonna do that?"
There was a slight rumble, jugs of water, soda, lemonade and slushy mix all began to rattle around. After an abrupt second it stopped, and the still smiling man sighed.
"How about this instead, I'll make a compromise with you, you take the money that I got from the idiots who tried to mug me a few hours ago, and then call the Protectorate, but keep me in pizza and lemonade until they get here, maybe answer me some question while we wait, fair?"
Herb paused.
"How much money are we talking about?"
The man tossed four wallets onto the counter, fairly bulging with cash.
"Whatever's in there."
Herb hmm and haa'd for a moment, even if they were all filled with nothing but ones, there had to be at least a few hundred dollars there on the counter, and considering he could see at least a few twenties in there already, well. Its not like he hadn't had parahumans in the shop before. He dialed the number for the PRT, told the nice PRT lady who answered what the situation was, grabbed a slice of pizza, and a jug of soda before sitting down.
