JohnnyZ
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[Life is Good] Chapter 67
🕑 Added 2025-04-08 08:59:51 +0000 UTC"Standing all alone agaaain... Standing again, mama, again! And outside, Sataaan... is eating sixth-grader Vova!"
Yeah. I sing like shitâespecially in this bodyâbut Iâm bored.
Up top, it was still evening about an hour ago. No real urge to crawl out into the light yet; a xenomorph-tyranid hybrid roaming Hellâs Kitchen is bound to cause a bit of a scene. Not that Iâm super worriedânobodyâs gonna recognize me, and slipping back into the sewers is as easy as flipping off a pigeon. But still, working at night is so much more convenient.
First thing on the to-do list: I need to find out what kind of buzz is surrounding my name. Sensei said the whole base-op was supposed to stay under wraps, but you always gotta account for the olâ âoh shitâ scenario. I need to know if anything about my little meltdown at the military complex leaked online. If it did, Iâm screwed. Good-boy Tobiâs gonna need to vanish into the underground and kiss his normal life goodbye.
If notâif everythingâs quietâthen step two is grabbing a disguise. A hoodie, maybe a raincoat with a nice deep hood. Iâve got about two hundred bucks stashed in my belt pouches, along with Valera in his holster. Iâve already spotted a couple of 24/7 bodega-style shops in the Kitchen. You know the typeâtiny, but they sell everything from bread to condoms. Raincoats? Guaranteed. Maybe even something to cover the olâ demon-dong, which, even in this form, is feeling way too exposed.
Thought about doing things the easy wayâsteal what I needâbut nope. Hard pass. I canât afford to let myself slip right now. Iâm still not mentally stable, and the temptation of easy sin could pull me off-track. The less I indulge the demon part, the easier it is to keep it leashed.
Plus, thereâs a difference between âscary monster who robs peopleâ and âscary monster who buys his shit like a responsible adult.â The latterâs still sus, but heyâmaybe they wonât shoot me on sight.
Next step: reach out to Sensei. See if she can calm everyone down. Maybe even set up a meeting. Knowing her, she wonât piss me offâeven in my current, twitchy-as-fuck mental state.
As for going back to the School? Yeah, no. Sure, Charline or Beast could probably help me, but what if I lost control? What if I hurt them? Or worseâhurt the kids? A demon walking around a school full of children is a terrible idea. If I snapped in there? Total bloodbath. And theyâd have every right to put me down.
I wanna live. I donât wanna hurt anyone I care about. So until Iâve got a leash on this shit, Iâm staying the hell away. The sewers are perfect for that. Iâll blow off steam on rats and gatorsâif this place has any.
As for Ghost Rider? Nope. Not calling her either. Sheâs not a mutant, weâve got no personal bond beyond distant infernal kinship, and to be honest, Iâm scared of her. Iâm not gonna risk showing up in this shape, all jittery and potentially explosive. Blaze made one thing very clearâlooks are one thing, but actions matter more.
When I do see her, Iâll have to be honest. Tell her what happened at the base, straight-up. If sheâs anything like in the comics, sheâs not squeamish about exterminating evil bastards, so hopefully she wonât judge me too hard. But hiding it? Nah. Thatâs just opening the door for someone else to âaccidentallyâ leak it with the worst possible spin.
Actually, thinking about all this has been another anchor to my humanity. This is Marvel. There are too many godlike beings here for me to get comfy as some Venom-style monster sociopath. Sooner or later, some heroâs gonna punt me into orbit. And out there? No air, no food, no water. Even with all my powers, Iâd just die.
Iâm not some energy entity. Sure, there are villains out there, but unlike the hero crowd, theyâre not gonna risk saving some scary demon dude with poor impulse control.
âAll right, whatâs up there, anyway?â I mutter, scaling the ladder and nudging the manhole cover.
Yes. Itâs dark now. Goodbye, sewer stank. Hello, fresh air. Nobody in sight. I slip out, close the cover, and melt into the deepest shadow nearby.
âTime to stealth the fuck out of this mission,â I whisper, stifling the urge to click-laugh. There's always a chance Iâll run into Daredevil or some other patrolling hero, but Iâm confident in my hundred-and-first karate move.
I feel a little spark of motivationâmy usual anger even has a playful edge to it. No sign of a rage spiral. Nice.
Moving in quick bursts, I slink through the alleys, sticking to the shadows. Using my power, I ping for signs of life and electronics. I need a way into the internet.
Yeah, I considered doing a good olâ mug-and-surfâsteal a phone, make a call, browse the netâbut then decided to up the difficulty. Gotta keep the lawbreaking to light trespassing.
So I hunted for sleeping folks with a running computer or laptop. Preferably unlocked.
Third try was the charm. Nobody home, but the energy signature of a powered-up PC was there.
I climbed to the third floor, slipped in through a cracked window with a flick of my tail, popped the latchâeasy. The place? Belonged to someone cut from the same cloth as me: no password, desktop wide open. And guess what was actively downloading from torrents?
Yeah. âSuper-Hero and the Punishment of Villainesses.â Twelve episodes. Twelve.
Rule 34 in full swing, baby. The description had me wheezing:
âThe Goddess forgives. He⌠He punishes⌠anally.â
Focus, focus. No time for hentai. I hit a few forums and news sites.
First, surpriseâaccording to the date, itâs only been two days since the base incident. That threw me for a second. Then I remembered the Magik arcâshe spent ten years in Limbo, and it passed in a blink here. Multiverse time, baby. Honestly? Great.
And itâs even better I bumped into a mage. Without her, I donât even wanna guess how long Iâd have been stuck waiting for someone to save my scaly ass.
Okay, superhero news⌠Nothing.
Sure, there were a few scraps about hero dustups and, of course, dozens of dumbass threads about me. But all pure bullshit. The kind of crap that spawns like fungus online.
My eye twitched reading about my alleged romance with Iron Lady. Then there was a thread about me and Rhino, with a forbidden love angle between a young hero and an older villainessâŚ
Nope. All garbage.
Nothing realâs leaked. At least, nothing public.
I clear the browser historyâclunky as hell with these claws, but whatever. Minor inconvenience. Wipe everything clean, close the window behind me, and that's that.
âTechnically, the only crime Iâve committed is illegal entry. Max penaltyâfine and some community service. You know, if we donât count the armed assault on a military facility as part of a terrorist group.â I think with a healthy dose of irony, heading toward the nearest corner store. The streets are still busy, so I plan to wait till later tonight before I go shopping. Still not entirely sure how Iâm gonna pull it off, but Iâll figure it out.
I âpauseâ up on the roof of a building next to the shop run by that elderly Indian ladyâhelped her out once during a robbery back on patrol. The maze of ventilation pipes makes for a decent hiding spot, and I curl up in a cozy ball, setting the trollâs skull beside me like a favorite pillow (I decided to call her Yorichiha). I start watching the foot traffic, eavesdropping on random conversations.
A few hours pass without me even noticing. I get into this weird meditative state, idly swaying my tail blade like a bored housecat lounging on a radiator. About thirty minutes ago, I got a fresh life lesson.
Down in the alley beneath me, two women had started beating the absolute shit out of each other. I missed the start of the scuffle, distracted by my own thoughts, but the telltale sounds of a brawl brought my attention back.
One chick was clearly more athletic and had the upper hand, absolutely pounding her thinner opponent. For a second, I thought about interveningâflashes of Flash and Parker dynamics floating upâbut I held back. No weapons, one-on-one⌠I let it play out.
The beef ended with the sporty chick standing tall, and the loser slumped against a wall, clutching a bleeding nose.
âYou donât speak normal, do you?â the victor growled. âThis is your last warning, Alex! No more weed for Johnny! If you bring drugs into our house again, I swear Iâll break your arms. I donât care if weâre cousins!â
âB-but Beth, come on,â the defeated one whined. âItâs just weed, for fuckâs sake!â
âI donât give a shit,â the gym rat snapped. âWe want healthy kids, dumbass! Youâve already smoked away half your brain!â
Ah. Family drama. Now it makes sense. And honestly, Iâm siding with Beth the Gym Rat. If youâre trying to get pregnant or raise a family, yeah, maybe donât fill your system with garbage. Adults can destroy themselves all they want, but unborn kids? No choice in the matter. So in this trial, presided over by yours truly, violence is deemed justified. Beth: not guilty. Alex: legally bitch-slapped.
I let out a soft, amused click-chuckle, then returned to quietly watching the street.
Things stayed quiet until a duo rounded the corner near the shop. Damn. The old ladyâs luck sucks. Two women in balaclavas. Tense body language. Hands in pockets like theyâre packing heat.
Although⌠why am I annoyed? This is a perfect chance to earn more points with the shopkeeper.
I watch one of the would-be robbers flip the âOpenâ sign to âClosed,â but not lock the door before heading inside. Perfect.
One long leap from the rooftop and I land silently right by the entrance. I crack the door open, slip in, and make my way inside low to the floor, hugging the tiles. I remember the storeâs layout, and under the soundtrack of âGive us the cash, bitch, or weâll blow your brains out!â I slither forward toward the action.
Two figures, backs to me. Each with a revolver in their right hand. Old-school detective piecesâ.38 Colt snubbies, if Iâm not mistaken.
Lovely.
In one smooth motion, I rise behind them, snatch both guns so the hammers can't drop, twist wrists just enough to disarm them gently, and whisper:
âGood evening.â
A sudden flash of an old dark and dirty joke about a polite donkey-rapist nearly makes me chuckle. My tail, meanwhile, coils around both womenâs waists and binds them together, neatly preventing any escape.
As they flail and try to process what the fuck just happened, I continue:
âDidnât you know? The Silver-Haired Lady frowns on chaos in her neighborhood.â
I catch the shopkeeper reaching for something under the counterâthen freezing. Her face relaxes just a little. Sheâs got someone with her tonightâa young girl, maybe her daughter or granddaughter. Sheâs staring at me with those eyes: full of wonder, spiked with fear. Honestly, par for the course in Marvelâs Hellâs Kitchen.
The robbers? Theyâre reacting⌠appropriately. Stunned. Terrified. Until the one on the right lets out a noise so gross, it instantly ruins the moment.
âUgh, fuck me,â I grimace. âStinkers. Piss off, and donât let me catch you back here.â
One gentle shove and theyâre stumbling out, practically tripping over themselves, leaving behind a trail of shame and body odor. I snort, annoyed, ease the hammers down on the guns, and set them on the closest shelf before turning back to the shopkeepers.
âOnce again, good evening. Sorry for the scare,â I nod politely, burying the irritation. This is a big moment. First friendly contact between a xeno-tyranid hybrid and local humans.
The older woman, after a brief hesitation, bows low and murmurs something in Hindi. The girl follows suit a second later, mimicking herâmother or grandmother, probably.
"Excuse me? Could you speak English, please?"
âI honestly thought Asura himself was coming to my store,â the shopkeeper exhales with visible relief, even managing a faint smile. âThank youâŚâ
âDimon,â I introduce myself with a little nod. âHappy to help. I was actually planning to do some shopping, and thenâwell, this mess happened.â
âIâm Malati,â she replies, smile gaining a bit of confidence.
âShopping?â the younger one raises a skeptical brow.
âShopping,â I confirm patiently, fishing a hundred-dollar bill out of my belt pouch and placing it on the counter. âI urgently need pants.â
Both women glance down⌠The younger one goes crimson, and the older one lets out an impressed little grunt and nods.
âJaya, grab a pair of army pants from the back,â Malati says over her shoulder, then adds to me, a touch apologetically, âWeâve only got military-style stuff, but in different sizes.â
âThatâs fine,â I shrug, watching Jaya head into the back. My earsâfiguratively speakingâstay alert. Just in case she tries to call the cops.
âSo you⌠work for the Silvermane?â Malati asks carefully.
âNo,â I click-chuckle. That eyebrow raise from her is priceless. âBut she does frown on chaos in her neighborhood, doesnât she?â
âShe does,â Malati smirks. âTechnically, I pay the Hell Bitchesâlocal girls from the Kitchen. But they work under her.â
âUh-huh. This kind of thing happen often?â
âAll the damn time,â she sighs. âThough itâs calmed down a bit. Used to be Kingpinâs turf. Her people loved to cause trouble. Those were dark days.â
âWanna tell me about it?â Not that I was dying to hear her life story, but it beats idly playing with my tail while Jaya rummages around. And for what itâs worthâsheâs actually rummaging, not secretly dialing 911.
âTheyâd waltz in whenever they wanted, grab whatever they liked, never paid a cent. The Bitches? Sure, they take a discount or run tabsâbut at least they pay. They donât smash up the place, and they more or less keep the neighborhood clean. They even chase off dealers with that real nasty shit. Even Daredevilâbless her blind assâdoesnât really tangle with them muchâŚâ
âOh come on, she made up for it!â Jaya suddenly bursts in, arms full of clothes.
âBut the trauma remains,â Malati grumbles, and now itâs officialâyep, sheâs the grandma. âEven the kidsâSpider-Girl, Salamander, and that new oneâthey were way more careful. But your Daredevil? She trashed half my damn store. Wouldâve been better off if I had been robbed!â She throws her arms up dramatically, lips pursed. âIâm an old, sick woman! Took me all night to clean up the mess! Here, Dimon, try these on. Oh, underwear? Good girl,â she nods approvingly at her granddaughter.
So yeah. I got dressed. Well⌠sort of. Slipped on a pair of surprisingly decent boxer briefs, pulled the army pants up over my skinny ass, and added a shapeless, oversized T-shirt and a rain poncho.
They didnât charge me for the clothes. We settled on a good olâ barter dealâtwo revolvers from the robbery in exchange. âTheyâll go in my collection,â Malati chuckled, shooting a side-eye at her granddaughter before stashing the guns under the counter.
The atmosphere was warm, honestly. I felt pretty damn goodâsemi-dressed, semi-respectable, and having aced a social interaction. Malati was content the situation was resolved without bloodshed, and even the residual fear had mostly faded. As she put it: âAfter everything Iâve seen in Hellâs Kitchen, a strange-looking but polite gentleman with a tail who didnât hurt my family? Far from the weirdest thing in New York.â
I paid cash for the restâsnacks, two bottles of Coke, and a pack of salt. Just in case. The trauma of cooking without spices in that other dimension still haunted me.
I was checking out and wrapping up the warm fuzzies when I felt trouble approaching. A female presence, signature flaring hard, zeroed in on the shopâs front entrance.
I sighed. Shouldâve knocked those two out.
âWhatâs going on here?â a tense, battle-ready voice asked. Daredevil.
I was just about to answer when Malati exploded with righteous fury:
âYou again?! Youâre back to wreck my store? You promised you wouldnât show your face here again!â
The sheer volume of Malatiâs rage was a meal you could chew. Jaya looked mortified. The hero? Clearly thrown off her game. I sensed her confusion, guilt, and a touch of what-the-fuck-is-going-on.
âButââ
âBut what? What? Donât you see? The gentlemanâs shopping! âWhatâs going on here,ââ Malati mimicked her with a theatrical sneer. âItâs called commerce! I take money, I give goods! Got a problem with that?!â
âBut Baââ Jaya tried to cut in, voice small.
âDonât âBaâ me,â Malati snapped, then rounded again on Daredevil. âGet out of my shop before I call the police!â
Hands on hips, she glared at the hero. I swear, we both stared at her in stunned silence, identical dumbfounded expressions. The freaky alien monster gets treated like a valued customer, and sheâs the one being threatened with the cops?
Mattâbecause yeah, I know who she isâstood there a second longer, then turned and walked out without a word.
âUm⌠werenât you being a little harsh?â I ask, actually kinda feeling bad. âShe does help people, yâknow?â I catch a flicker of approval from Jaya and a pulse of surprise from Matt.
âSheâll live,â Malati huffs. âNot made of glass. You handled it clean: no one got hurt, and those two wonât be back. Neither will those other punks. For thatâthank you. But donât be offended, Dimon, I just want my family safe. I pay the Hell Bitches for protection, not a goddamn war zone. If those junkie idiots had been found by them, theyâd have made them apologize and repay what they owed. But a shootout, bullets flying over my head, over my granddaughterâsâI donât thank people for that! Thatâs not heroics. Thatâs bullshit!â
âFair enoughâŚâ And really, it was fair. Honestly kind of poeticâMalati spoke more fondly about a local gang than a costumed superhero, and served me, a literal demon-spawned nightmare beast, without batting an eye. Man⌠this world really is something else.
After saying my goodbyesâand getting a âcome againâ that honestly sounded pretty heartfeltâI head for the exit, lost in thought. Gotta find a payphone. Got some loose change, and I do remember Yurikoâs numberâŚ
I climb back up to the rooftop where Iâd made my little nest (canât forget Yorichihaâs skull), tail carrying the bag of snacks like a loyal grocery-caddy, and feel Daredevilâs energy signature approaching again. The woman launches up between two buildings like itâs nothing, landing lightly about five meters away from me.
Psssshhhhh, the Coke hisses as I twist the cap open. Wordlessly, I toss the second bottle her wayâshe catches it mid-air without missing a beat.
A few seconds of silence pass. I can feel her cocktail of emotions: confusion, curiosity, suspicion⌠and readiness to throw hands if needed. That last partâs exactly why I didnât boltâsure, sheâs ready, but I donât get that classic superhero urge to scream âpurge the xenos!â and start punching.
âHey. Iâm Dimon. You know where I can find a working payphone around here?â I ask casually, ripping open a bag of chips and dropping onto a nearby pipe like itâs my goddamn throne. My tail gently sets the grocery bag on the rooftop and coils into a lazy curve against the surface.
âI gotta make a call.â
