Archive of Our Own ^beta

Branzy used to have brown eyes.

He knows he did, he has plenty of pictures of himself as a child. Big brown eyes, smiling with a gap in his teeth. Or one when he went to his first party as a teenager, absolutely hammered and not looking at the camera, but you can see the hazel shine of his gaze. His high school graduation photo. A video he took in college. A Christmas dinner.

He had brown eyes when his study hall blew up.

No one knew what was happening. One moment people were on the computers, sitting in corners doing group work, reading books at the desks. The next there was blinding light, pain and smoke.

Branzy could feel a pressure against his chest; the table he was previously sitting at now flung on top of him. His left arm was this vague ball of pain. All the nerves firing at once to tell him that he’s hurt, but his brain can’t latch onto it enough. There is something wet and sticky beneath him –his blood. And, a person next to him. Their head cracked and leaking onto the tile beside him.

When he looks up he can see lights busted and hanging from their wires. Parts of the ceiling collapsed. Bookshelves on fire. Students, most dead, some in similar states to him; those who had something to shelter them, block some of the blow. One of the walls –the one that was mostly windows– is completely shattered and gone, letting the snow and wind find its way into the building. Not that it’s getting any colder. The fire and constant pain in his body are keeping him warm enough.

If Branzy had known this was going to happen he would not have taken his engineering course. He’d currently much rather be at home, working that job at the car factory he had quit. Even if it made him horribly depressed. He can fix that. Therapists do exist. Or maybe he would’ve worked his way up to a management position, gotten out of the monotony of doing one single fix everyday of his life. Or hell, he’d have been fine with his typical job, he wouldn't have died if he had stayed there. He wouldn’t be in his current situation if he had just decided to stay home and work. But no, Branzy had to follow his dreams, or whatever.

It sucks that there’s a dead person next to him. She’s not dead. Oh great. Nice. Even better. Nothing like having someone spilling their brains out next to him who isn’t dead. That’s so much more comforting. Thanks, head.

She was the one with healing. She was, wasn’t she? A med student. Set up for a successful future –most healers are. Branzy never really cared about her power, doesn’t even know her name. But she was friends with some of his friends, and would study sometimes with them. She’d always bring M&M’s for everyone, or popcorn. She won’t be doing that now. She won’t be doing much of anything.

She’s still alive. His brain reminds him, but he didn’t forget . And he doesn't see how this is useful… to… him. Healer. She’s a healer .

Branzy pries his good arm out from under the table, swings it around till he comes in contact with the girl who is dying beside him. He ignores whatever he touches that is wet, he ignores it so much . He finds her arm, pulls it toward him, puts her hand on his chest. He can feel her pulse under his fingers. Slow, so slow. So small. Getting slower and smaller. She’s going to die, no matter what happens. But if she heals Branzy, she might save him.

But she’s unconscious. And if she were conscious she probably doesn’t have the energy to heal someone when she’s got her own problems to deal with. So how does he get her to use her powers?

Adrenaline. That’s the easiest answer. Adrenaline is a known link to people's powers. But Branzy isn’t exactly carrying something on him to do that. And an explosion should already have her adrenaline up plenty. What else ups people's powers? Gets them out of control?

Caffeine. Some medications. Other powers.

Wait– Branzy has an epipen on him –one of his friends asked him to carry one because god forbid they respect their peanut allergy. Branzy has an ability but.. But it doesn’t work on other people. His thoughts are solely his own. But it still counts as heightened energy, if he’s using it. It’s still in his blood. Maybe he can’t hook himself up to her, but it’s been shown that when some people's blood mix there’s the tiniest reaction –not enough to do anything, but maybe with help…

So clumsily, he reaches for where his backpack has remained somewhat intact under the table next to him. Ruffles through the pockets, finds the epipen, pulls it out, uncaps it. Slowly, with tears in his eyes he pulls his left arm out from under the table, mangled and bloodied hand coming to smear his blood onto the needle before coming to rest over the girl’s arm. In as swift a movement as Branzy can get he stabs the epipen through the girl's hand, and tries to fill his head with as many random sudden questions as possible.

What’s the deadliest snake? The taipan.

What did he eat this morning? A bagel.

What colour are this girl’s eyes? Blue.

A million facts enter his brain, his heart beats marginally faster, his blood smears across her body. The epipen is still in her hand. Her pulse under his thumb speeds up. There’s a warmth where her palm lays against his chest, and he can feel cuts stop bleeding, his arm manages to solidify the pain to a burn, rather than just vague sensation. His legs feel strong enough to carry him. Her heart stops beating.

Branzy lets go of her, takes the epipen, shoves his bad arm under the table, and uses the leverage of his shoulder and hand planted against the floor to shove the table up off of him. With weak legs and weaker arms he grabs his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and crawls away from her.

What happens next… Branzy can’t say he’s proud of it. But her blood is smeared all over him, and her healing will still be somewhat active. So he drags himself to the next dying person, lifts their hand, stabs them with the epipen, gets a small bolt of lighting shot at him, feels the healing react. 

He crawls faster to the next person. Walks when he finds someone who has a fanny pack with five epipens in it. Collects people’s gore on his shirt, layers and layers of adrenaline-powered blood caked onto him. And when Branzy finds a place not touched by fire, he sits down, takes a new epipen, slathers its needle with the stain on his clothes, and stabs it into his leg.

When he wakes up in the hospital the doctors tell him that he died. But it wasn't because of any injury –no, in fact, the few scrapes, cuts and somewhat mangled arm all disappeared with a health potion. Rather, his heart stopped from an amount of adrenaline so incredibly grand that it was impossible. They told him they had to restart his heart. They told him he was lucky they found him when he did.

Branzy disagrees. He knows now there is no time limit.

He tested it first on rats. 

Well, truly, he first stole blood – a weird thing to steal. He felt a bit bad breaking into a blood bank when the power went out (something that he may or may not have caused). But it’s not like he was taking much blood. And it was all handily labelled for him as well. Type, power, notes on any specific things to not mix it with –those were the ones he grabbed.

And then he bought some plastic gloves, some syringes, some rats, did his best to kill them as humanly as possible, and put a mix of the most reactant bloods as well as a few other things (some very illegal drugs, some medication, it's not hard to find cryptic and shady postings on the  together before injecting it into the rat. The rat practically exploded. A weird pulsing purple under its skin. Blood spewing out of its orifices. Yet he saw it open its eyes, stand up as if in no pain, wander around for about five minutes, before it fell over dead again.

He lowered the dose for the next rat. It made it till he had to pack up and leave, the next morning he found it dead, and he assumed it died sometime that night. So a minimum of eight hours.

He brings in Rekrap for his last experiment.

“Branzy, why are you killing rats?” is all Rekrap asks, apparently sleep deprived and already stressed enough from classes– they've been switched online for the time being– to not put up too much of a fuss.

“I’m not, anyways, zap it” he used the eight hour dose for this one –discovered it was ten hours actually. The moment it died he called Rek over.

“Can you even resuscitate a rat?” Rek asks, rubbing his hands together, which is unnecessary, he can generate electricity just fine without it. 

“We’re finding out” Branzy says, and delicately takes the rat out of its cage, placing it on the table of this storage room he’s renting. “Go on, just one finger I think”

And Rekrap listens. Reaches out and pokes it when his index finger. Branzy can hear a small zap, and watches as the rat’s toes twitch. It full body-shudders, its ears perk up, tail whipping back and forth. And a moment later it opens its eyes. Branzy scoops it up and puts it back in its cage before it can think of running, and then fills its bowl with food with some treats mixed in.

He gets Rekrap to try on the other rats, and gets a similar response from both. However the first rat, the one that bled, comes back with that remaining purple pulse and a magenta eye. It doesn’t act any differently. Still squeaks and runs around like the other rats, and Branzy just assumes it's a side effect of the big dose he gave it.

He keeps the rats, names the purple one patches, and buys a taser which when tested proves to work just as well as Rekrap’s ability.

Slowly, Branzy moves to bigger and bigger things. He carries all the material he needs on him at all times. Saves a dog dying on the side of the road. Breaks into an animal hospital and does the pets that are in the worst condition. And when there’s a car accident on the side of a wooded forest, he tries it on the lady who drove herself into a tree to avoid the shadow that darted across the road and got her chest skewered.

He sticks around to help her out when she wakes up. Asks her if she’s okay, what’s her name, is she sure she’s okay? Does she want to call the hospital? Her name is Mid, she is okay, she still wants to call the hospital, and also her car insurance.

So Branzy stays with her, through both phone calls, through the police and an ambulance coming, through them quickly telling her that she’s fine, through a tow-truck coming to get her car. And then he offers to bring her home. “My apartment isn’t too far away”

She tells him her house is a two hour drive away. She agrees to come to his house. They have a lovely night. And when she wakes up, she isn’t dead. So Branzy gives her his number, says they should chat more, and lets her go on her way when one of her friends comes to pick her up.

That’s when Branzy finally tries it on himself. He, unfortunately, tells Rekrap. Because he won’t be able to restart his own heart when he’s dead. Rek is overall very against the plan, but he knows that if he weren’t there Branzy would just figure out a way to do it without him. 

And so, Rekrap is anxiously sat next to Branzy when he takes out a syringe and injects it into one of his arteries. The rush of energy is like nothing Branzy has felt before, better than any high, better than any rollercoaster, better than that day in the study hall. His heart jackhammers in his body, his mind races, his fingers tremble with the power that has entered him. And he grins when he bites into a cyanide pill.

The issue with this whole ‘avoiding death’ thing is that it requires resources he can't really reasonably get by himself. At least, not without stealing. And so now Branzy needs money . Because you can access anything with a bit (or a whole freaking lot) of money.

And well… he won't claim he's a paragon of morality. But in this case he wasn't even trying to learn anything! He was just grocery shopping! It's not his fault. One moment he was looking at frozen fruit, and somebody was next to him, also looking at the fruit, and then suddenly he knew that they were a superhero.

He can't be blamed for knowing that.

And he certainly can't be blamed for selling the information to lesser-known cube-themed villain Six.

If his pockets happen to be a bit fuller, and if he happens to start building a rapport among the underground as a solid informant then it's entirely unrelated.

It starts as a warehouse. Used for storage, and not a hard, or even very expensive thing to buy. He converts the basement into a miny-lab, and the upstairs is his workshop. And where clients come to meet him.

He calls himself Carnival. Just for the sake of not having his name be public. And he thinks it's fun. Carnivals are fun . He thinks that one day when he's old and a billionaire he'll open one up, design all the rides himself, travel with a team of joyous fellows.

He… he's not overtly extravagant. He runs a bit of a walk-in type clinic, it's helpful. No need to book an appointment or be all panicked. No need to even stop working. He can keep going at his little machinations and if someone walks in, then hey! It's break time!

So typically, he just wears a mask over his face. A simple, white masquerade type deal, made of fabric. It doesn't obstruct his vision, and it keeps the hair out of his eyes, even if it is at times unbearably hot. Other than that, it's just his typical outfit for when he's doing more mechanical things.

When he does have appointments –usually requested by clients who have more status– then he does dress up a bit. Gets all fun with it. Still, it's not too much. Just a typical black suit, a purple undershirt and mildly striped vest. Maybe he combs his hair. But Branzy wouldn't call it extravagant.

“You should be more active,” Six tells him.

Six, is who convinced him to get the warehouse. Is who started whispering the name Carnival to others. Need something figured out? Secret identity? Black mail? Friday's plans? Carnival is the one to ask.

Because Branzy needs money if he wants to be immortal, and espionage –if it can be called that– is more profitable than student loans. Not that he's dropped out of college, he wants his degree. But at least now he can pay for it.

“What, like a business card?” Branzy asks, arms deep in the engine of a car. He's scrapping it for parts. Trying to make some machines for the lab– his little elixirs of life wear down his equipment quickly, and he constantly needs to upgrade his things.

“Like an outing"   Six elaborates, standing to the side with his patched green cloak and weird box that he wears over his head.

“Oh no, that's too big, too much. I'm just little ol’ Carnival. Doing public works. Nothing like that ” this is just for money. He's not going to be a villain . He wouldn't know where to start. Besides, this is just for cash.

“ Right. Until you get arrested” Six drawls, leaning against the wall. He must be awfully hot under all that garb, even if it's only just spring.

“I am more likely to get arrested if I go about blowing up buildings. No, no. I'm okay right here. This is just for money” he wipes at a smudge on his face, only ends up smearing more oil on himself.

“Until you sell somebody the wrong info. And then not only are you a rat, but you're an unaffiliated , unknown rat” Branzy’s sure he's rolling his eyes under the square.

“Like you're so well known” he scoffs. “Besides, I'm careful. There's a rule list for a reason”

Branzy has prohibited himself from directly giving out personal information. He can give hints to finding out someone's identity, but he cannot give out a first and last name. He gets plausible deniability this way.

“You'll see” Six says ominously, and Branzy just ignores him.

Okay, so. Maybe he should've taken what Six said a bit more into consideration.

But in his defense he really thought he'd at least get some kind of notice first. Maybe the cops coming to tell him to knock it off. Or a death threat in the mail at least. But no, started off nice and strong. Bullet in his hip.

He kind of wants to congratulate the person who shot him. You did it! Got through to stubborn Branzy Craft better than anyone has before! Not even Rekrap can make a point this well. He should've tried shooting him ages ago. Maybe then Branzy wouldn't have spent three all-nighters in a row.

He might be delirious. He's probably delirious. There's a lot of blood. And a bullet in his hip. Hurts real bad, that. Worse than when he sprained his ankle during little-league soccer. And that hurt. So this is saying a lot. He assumes. Maybe. The gun wound really hurts. And he kind of, really goddamn wishes that he could sit down and cry about it, but unfortunately he's being chased . So he has to do his crying while he runs. Or, well… hobbles down the street.

He's not exactly looking where he's going. More just going. And he's fumbling for his phone with his hands. The screen is hard to see, a mix of the tears in his eyes, the delirium and the blood he's smudging across it ( his blood. Oh god, when did his hands get so bloody?), but somehow he manages to press call on Six’s number. It rings once, twice, three times. No pickup. 

Today is really not turning up Branzy Craft.

He picks the next name he can think of. And it's an unfortunate pick, but he doesn't know who else will help him.

“Yes?” Rekrap's voice says idly. Thank every god and higher being and concept of heaven and hell. Realistically, he knows that Rek has never not picked up a phone call from Branzy. Realistically, Branzy has been shot and is currently running for his life, so forgive him for being a bit dramatic.

He tries to say something, something very nice and eloquent like “ Are you busy?” or, “I'm in a bit of a pickle right now, any chance for a rescue?" , but all that comes out of his mouth is a sob. Which is as effective a way of getting Rek’s attention as any. 

“Branzy? Branzy ? Are you okay? What's going on, where are you?” He says, and Branzy really appreciates how panicked he sounds. Validates Branzy’s own fear and terror.

“ I got shot!” he sobs into his phone, still going as fast as he can, tears streaming down his face. “Rek, I got shot , and I'm being chased , and it's been a really bad day –”

“Call the cops! I'll call the cops!” he cuts in.

“They'll arrest me” Branzy wails. He doesn't want to go to jail. He doesn't want to die .

“They'll– nevermind, later. Where are you?” thank you thank you thank you god that Rek isn't questioning the jail thing. Later, like he said. Because there will be later. And later Branzy will never lie or keep a secret from Rekrap again if lives through this.

“I, um– the– the…” where is he? He can't see anything. Just walls and tears and so much blood . “I was going grocery shopping,” he remembers. Before it all happened. Before a deafening sound filled the street before pain filled him. “I ran”

“Okay, okay. I'm on my way, try to head to my apartment, find somewhere public” Rek says, Branzy can hear him moving on the other side of the road.

“Okay” he can do that. Find the main road, get out of this alley. That's okay. He can do that. “Please don't hang up” he begs.

“I'm not going to hang up” Rek assures him. "I'm right here. I texted our friends, they're coming too and they'll be looking for you”

“Like… the, um. Skip? And Jay?” He asks, voice faltering. He feels a bit faint, but he keeps moving. He can hear cars, get to the cars.

“Yup. And Fail. The whole group chat. Just hang on. Keep talking to me” he sounds… well he doesn't sound calm. Rekrap never sounds calm, but he's keeping it together and Branzy is glad at least someone is thinking straight. 

“It hurts” Branzy says, because Rek told him to keep talking but he doesn't have many conversation starters right now. “Can't walk very well”

“We'll get you some help. Skip called an ambulance, they're on their way and then you'll get some healing potions. Remember those? Remember the ones we made?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tasted…. Bad. We– ow. Ow . Ow , this hurts – uh, got sick?”

“We did get sick” Rek says, like he's praising a toddler. But Branzy can't bring himself to care right now. “But these ones will be fine”

“Gotta– gotta get the bullet out” Branzy mumbles, there are spots in his vision. Footsteps behind him. The sound of cars ahead. His hip burns. He focuses on Rekrap's voice in his ear. Focuses on gripping his phone.

“ You're running with a bullet – okay. Okay , it's fine, you'll be fine ” he says through gritted teeth, and Branzy thinks it's to comfort himself more than Branzy.

And he wouldn't exactly call it running. At this point he's barely even walking. Which means he can hear the approaching footsteps with precise detail, which leads to him yelping in fear, and restarting his hobble-walk, and then deciding to screw his eyes shut, grip his phone, block out Rek, and sprint down the road.

He thinks he might be screaming, but he can't tell over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the pain that radiates through his body. He just keeps running, and running and running. Until there is a loud blaring noise, an impact, and he's falling.

He drops his phone, his arms cushions his harsh fall on the pavement. There are noises all around him, voices, cars, car horns. There's a car in front of him. Hm. Actually it's very close to him. Did he get hit by a car?

Hands, on his shoulders, and he tries to twist, fight, something . He just knows they've caught up to him, and this close up they won't miss .

But all that happens is he's forced to the ground, and his head is held still, and when he focuses past the noise, the pain, he sees Rekrap, hovering over him. Blocking the sun out like an angel. A very, very worried angel.

“It's going to be okay, help is coming” he repeats it like a mantra. And Branzy is so tired and hurt and half his blood is out of his body and he finds he doesn't really care if helps on the way. As long as Rek is here, he knows he's safe. So he gives up squinting up past the brightness and black spots in his vision, and lets sleep take him.

Six, it turns out, doesn't kill people. Even if Branzy bats his eyelashes and says pretty please with a cherry on top. Even if he offers him information. Even if he offers him money . Six doesn't kill people.

And Rekrap won't either. In fact, he so won't that he refuses to even leave Branzy’s bedside.

“It's the drugs” he says, when Branzy asks for the umpteenth time if he'd pretty please shoot a guy for him, since he's currently trapped in hospital hell.

“It's not ” Branzy grumbles angrily, flicking through his phone, searching for someone he could hire to do a hit for him.

“You should be more concerned that someone tried to kill you, ” Rekrap stresses.

“I am. I feel real bad about it” which is why he's going to kill the guy. Maybe he could hire Archmage. He laughs at the thought. The guy is way too pricey and political, he'd never take a job from some nobody like Branzy.

“I'm serious," Rek says, in his serious tone.

“Me too” Branzy says, still looking at possible options. Rekrap just reaches over and takes his phone. Rude. “ Hey ”

“Branzy, why did someone try to kill you?” oh no. He knew he said he'd come clean, but he's really regretting it now. Screw that. Let's go back to dying, at least Rekrap wasn't interrogating him.

“Remember the rat?” Branzy asks, all out in one breath.

“ Yes . I remember you too”

“Mhm. So I… it may not be a finalized emergency only thing” he blurts out, and Rek just sighs. “And it may be really expensive. And I may be doing odd jobs as an informant for whoever wants me. And maybe, maybe I didn't consider the consequences”

“Oh, Branzy ” Rek buries his face in his hands, and when he looks up he just sighs, looking more exhausted than ever.

“Look on the bright side, I paid off my student debt” Branzy says with an award winning smile. 

Rek just puts his head back down.

The person he hires is called Vitality , and he has the unique ability to completely melt his body, and whatever touches it, into a blue gelatinous mass that burns to the touch, if he so wills it. And so, maybe Branzy could've background checked harder, but come on ! He's not turning down the scientific anomalous slime man. Besides, he seems down on his luck, no great villainous plans and clearly short on money.

And maybe some would call this extortion of the lower class, but it's not like Branzy isn't paying Vitality. He is! In fact, he's even letting him sleep in his warehouse. In exchange he just has to turn some stuff into goop and maybe also kill a guy for Branzy. It's not that big of a deal! Besides, he failed anyway!

“It's not my fault the guy disappeared " Vitality pouts, eating one of Branzy’s sandwiches. “Besides, he left a business card” And he hands over a plastic slip, which Branzy takes, carefully avoiding the dripping blue sludge of his fingers. 

It's a simple thing, a black and white style card, with a phone number on it, the lettering above reading Concordat: Assassin for Hire . Branzy doesn't know whether this is a brag, an excuse, or some form of cruel irony. “Fine! I guess this works" Branzy huffs. He figures he can lure the guy into a trap.

“Great, cool. Does that mean I can still stay here?” Vitality asks, taking another bite. Although it's not really biting when he has no mouth and the sandwich dissolves when it comes into contact with his face. But who's Branzy to judge? After all, he cuts all the crust off his toast.

“Yes, you can still stay here. But you're doing manual labour for me!” He tries to act stern, but his heart softens as he watches Vitality pump his fist in victory.

“ You want to work for me ” Branzy says incredulously.

This was meant to be a carefully laid trap. A plot! Six is watching in case it goes wrong and Vitality is going to jump the guy.

“Yeah,” Concordat says simply. He's dressed like a detective, long brown coat, fedora tipped over his eyes, gun holstered at his waist (it sends a shiver up Branzy’s spine). Branzy assumes he has some sort of camouflage, considering there is no way the hat should conceal his entire face, and yet it does.

“You shot me” Branzy argues, gesturing at where he still has a limp.

“Now you know I'm good,” he says decisively. And Branzy can see the logic, but he can't see the why . Why does Concordat want to work for him? He's an informant, not a mercenary board.

“Right,” he says skeptically. “And why do you want to work for me?”

“Because you're smart. And when you get big, I want in on it” he sounds sure, and Branzy isn't happy about that.

“No. No , no, no. No ! I'm not a crime ring, I'm not a villain! I'm just a guy making money. Did Six put you up to this?” He seems like the type Six would spend time with. Shady, underground, unknown but helpful.

“And what are you using that money for?” Concordat retorts. “I've seen your weird little machine parts. What are you building?”

And Branzy’s mouth runs dry, and he glares at where Six is hidden, and he waves his hand to get Vitality to come out, and he goes back to the warehouse and forms a work contract with Concordat.

Rekrap stages a goddamn intervention. Unfortunately for him, he underestimates their friends’ stupidity and Branzy’s unkillable charm.

“I'm immortal” Branzy starts off his own intervention with a kick, and watches his friends reactions, ranging from intrigued to exasperated.

“ Oh ?” Sand inquires.

And Branzy shows him a shining vial of purple liquid and watches as they're all entranced.

“Did you kill me?” Mid asks one day, her voice is a bit haunted. A stuttered, strained thing.

It's been a week since the intervention. A week since Branzy personally demonstrated how he could avoid death. And Mid was there, and evidently, she's been thinking.

“Pardon?” He asks, because she's caught him a bit off guard 

“Answer the question: the day we met did you kill me and bring me back to life?” she's managed to paralyze him. Never did Branzy think he'd have to confront this. Never would this be a dilemma he was met with.

He just takes a breath. “Yes, yes. I did. I'm sorry. You… I didn't know you. I'm sorry” what excuse does he have? He did cause her car to swerve, just with the intent of testing his immortality serum.

“Can you show me?”

“What?”

“The… how you make it, your death vaccine. Can you show me?” and how is Branzy to deny her?

Branzy does not willingly cause his own debut. Rather, he slowly gains more rapport. He slowly adds onto and remodels the warehouse. And he slowly puts his team name out there.

They're just the Kids in the Corner. Unnoticeable, uninvolved. But if you need to know something, you go to them. You go to Carnival, with his purple and gold mask and kind inviting smile that knows everyone's secrets. They are informants. Money makers. Nothing less, nothing more.

That changes when they get robbed.

It's not like they took anything necessarily important, just some documents, some pieces here and there, a mixing machine. All things that Branzy knows how to replace. The big issue is the fact that they've seen the lab. And Six tells him he needs to instate himself as no-nonsense. There has to be repercussions when going against the Kids in the Corner.

So he kills someone. Kills his friend. It's okay, Skip agreed to it. And they've covered him up, given him a big red cloak and a matching face mask.

Branzy makes a spectacle of it. His voice isn't loud enough to carry, but Skip is basically a glorified megaphone. So it works out.

They gather themselves in the shopping district, set up on top of the mall. No one really pays attention to them. A few curious glances, some pictures taken. It's not like they're well known . No one is going to call the heroes when they haven't even done anything. Branzy intends to change that.

“Attention everybody!” Skip calls, voice ricocheting out from him, clearer than any speaker. “We have a demonstration. Don't worry, it's safe”

Now people are getting worried. Branzy can see security rushing people out of the mall. There's a group collecting below them, curious. He can see cameras being held up. Good . It means a video of this will start circulating.

Branzy steps forward and grabs Skip's arm. “You ready?” He whispers.

“Oh yeah. I've always wanted to get shot” he responds, equally as quiet. And he's probably joking, but there's a chance he's not. Branzy wouldn't put it past him.

Branzy just nods, steps to the side and gestures at Concordat. Who raises his arm, gun held in his hand, and pulls the trigger. A deafening bang rings out. He doesn't miss this time, the bullet goes clean through and Skip's body goes crumbling to the ground. A blossoming red spot appears around his midsection.

No one moves. It seems the whole world has been plunged under water.

Branzy just steps towards Skip, slips a syringe under his cloak, presses it into him. And a moment later Skip is gasping, pushing himself up on his palms, trembling a bit. It's the second wind. He'll get six hours before his heart stops and they'll need to resuscitate him.

Branzy just helps him to his feet.

And that's when all hell breaks out. People yelling, running, security guards who look like they are frankly out of their element. So all and all, he thinks it goes great.

Branzy loves contracts.

Beautiful things, contracts. Don't even get him started on NDAs. Wonderful, all of them. Wonderful, literal wording. Wonderful that he can get someone completely under his thumb with a piece of paper alone.

Cube and Jaron (as he's come to know Six and Concordat quite well, quite well indeed) are too clever, too independent to sign his contract.

But 4C who's been living at the base (warehouse isn't a proper term anymore) and needs a steady employment? Mid, who recently got evicted and can't afford a new apartment with her current wage? Well they sign it when they see Branzy provides good pay, as well as free housing and food. They just have to do what he says. Which they already do, out of some sense of service to him.

Their contract is different than others. For one, they could forgo them if they wanted. At any point in time they could quit and have it become invalid. They also aren't sworn to secrecy, he trusts them.

Others though? They fall for his tricks. 

His operation is getting bigger, and he needs lots of people to keep it running. Especially for all the illegal imports he's doing. He hires smugglers and pays off security customs and commandeers his own little trading port which funnels all those good, useful things that the pesky government wants gone to him.

And so, he has workers. Lots of them. And he offers the same benefits, steady pay, free housing, free food, whatever health benefits he can squeeze in. And in turn they keep their mouths firmly shut and maybe also sign off all their human rights. It's fine, it's efficient.

It's even better when he opens the casino.

They've been working hard, him and his team. And Branzy has learnt how to play the world into his pocket. And so, they turn the warehouse into a casino, the lab into a sprawling maze beneath it. The port he took has been half turned into housing units (that's where most of his employees work anyways, so it's handy having them there), the other half is a market for every item that's been banned from public, and even private use.

He makes money. He makes good money. He starts going out of his way to find people like him. People who aren't necessarily spies, but keep track of things. He posts them around the city. 

He starts hearing his name on the news. Carnival and his Casino. A villain who's all business. He still disagrees about the villain thing. He's not a villain, he's a man of the people. He gives. He gives housing and jobs to the homeless. He gives information to those who need it. He gives resources to people who maybe don't deserve them. He's benevolent .

And all the while he's still brewing the cure to death.

People seem to think that it's his power to revive the dead, and he won't correct them. But he's come to his own conclusions about what he's discovered.

Some a hundred years ago, during one of the technological revolutions that came about with a war, there was a tool used. Branzy has seen grainy photos of them. Weird little glass statues of angels. Totems, they were called. And they could resuscitate someone for a few hours, letting them continue to fight.

They were discontinued along with many other things when they were listed as a war crime. Because they were frankly, very unethical to produce, and also caused poisoning which seeped into the people around them, causing bizarre mutations in one's ability, eventually leading to death.

And Branzy thinks he's re-created them. Which probably classifies him as a war criminal. But he likes to think he's done better than his predecessors. Because he's not just bringing people back for a few hours, he's bringing them back to life. And there's been no poisoning or lasting side effects to using them. Well… mostly . But he's used them on himself so often he'd know if they were dangerous.

And so, Branzy used to have brown eyes. They were brown when he was a child, when he got drunk for the first time, and when his study hall got blown up. 

But looking in the mirror, at his tailored suit. At his office in the casino. At his purple eyes . He thinks the change was well worth it.