Roll 'Em Hard
"Well, if that's what you want, I'll ask straight up and clean. What's your relation to the monster hunters?"
"...Who?"
The moment I heard "monster hunters," my face went rigid.
'Ah... shit.'
Hold up—scratch that. Not my face. My clone's dick went rigid.
Right now, my clone (Mark Three) is balls-deep in Lamia, the succubus's little sister.
Sex is a drug! Can't fucking stop!
Anyway, I snapped my focus back to my main body.
"Who? Monster hunters? You mean those guys holed up outside the city?"
"That's right."
"But why the hell are you asking if I've got any ties to them? Obviously jack shit."
"...Really no connection at all? Never even met?"
"Duh. I've never set foot outside the city— what kind of ties could there be?"
"Hmm..."
Valencia eyed me closely, trying to gauge if I meant it. But with my mask on, good fucking luck.
"Ahem!"
He finally clocked it and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Then whose orders were you following when you saved me last time?"
"Orders? Me taking orders?"
What's with this old man? Why drag a busy guy (fucking his brains out) here for pointless bullshit?
Who the fuck dares order me around!
Heaven and earth, I reign supreme. The one and only player in this world, the ultimate villain, the strongest superpowered badass—no one commands me!
"That's a funny story. Me taking orders... Now I'm curious. Who the balls has the guts to order me? Spill it. Who?"
"....."
Valencia scowled.
"What're you on about? You told me yourself."
"Huh? What'd I say?"
"You said you used a precious potion on orders to save me."
"...Oh."
Thinking back, yeah, I did say that.
Back then, cute little Rachel in her Cutie Armor ordered me to save Valencia. So I burned a rare superpower generator and level-up ticket to pull it off.
Who dared boss me? Oh, it was our Rachel!
'But Rachel gets a pass. 'Cause she's cute as hell.'
She's like my daughter—she can boss me anytime.
"Ah, right, yeah. I said that. True, I was under orders when I saved you."
"Yes, you told me. So whose orders?"
"But I can't say."
"What?"
"Well... privacy and all. Plus, if I name-drop, you lot'll go harassing them. Nah, not telling."
"Hmm..."
Valencia crossed his arms, grumbling.
What? So what? I said I'd answer everything except what I can't—and Rachel's off-limits. Zero info on her.
After pondering, Valencia spoke up again.
"So the one who ordered you isn't tied to the monster hunters?"
"Man, I told you I've never even met any monster hunters."
"Mm... alright. I'll take your word."
"Hey, believe it or not, I don't do lies. Not my style to say this to the Hero Association president, but just trust me."
'Hmm...'
It's my words, but even I wouldn't buy it. If some random hero came up like "Trust me!" I'd slap the retard and call it a day.
But since I said it, Valencia has to believe it. 'Cause it's me!
'Don't you dare doubt it. Or elder respect turns to elder beatdown.'
They dragged me here prying, then don't buy my answer? Unforgivable.
They wasted my time—ain't light shit.
"Anyway, that it?"
"Yes. Oh, and thanks—belated, but you saved my ass twice."
"Heh. No biggie."
I flashed an OK sign at the grateful Valencia.
"Just pad this out nice and fat."
"....."
"Alright, dig in? Been yakking without touching the sashimi."
"Haha... eat up."
"Yeah. Gonna stuff myself. Oh, order more. This tuna's killer."
"...Already gone? All that?"
"...Dude just swallowed sashimi like shots. No chewing."
Valencia and Memory Hunter gawked at me like I'd grown a second head.
What? First time seeing sashimi chugged?
*****
Steel Armor demolished ten man-portions of tuna sashimi and 33 bottles of cheongju like a storm, then bounced from the sushi joint cool as ice. Not forgetting to pack a to-go portion on Valencia's tab.
"Feels like a hurricane blew through..."
"Yeah. Hurricane in every sense."
The two stared dumbfounded at the ten empty plates that once brimmed with sashimi.
Internet mukbangs were trending, but Steel Armor would smash first place in a heartbeat.
"Hey, bro."
"Yeah?"
"Spill already. Steel Armor saving you twice? Monster hunters? Lay it out straight."
"Well..."
Valencia repeated to Memory Hunter what he'd told Gumiho.
The longer he talked, Memory Hunter's brows furrowed deeper.
"Holy shit... no way."
"Shocking, right? I thought so too. And Steel Armor's timing was way too perfect..."
"Bro, you're fucked now."
"Perfect timing... Huh? What?"
"Hardboiled hotshot down to has-been. Or desk job rusted you out?"
"...Shut that trap and you'd be a good little bro."
"Kekeke. Nah, better bad bro than good to you."
"Damn punk."
Shaking his head like he couldn't deal, Valencia got serious and asked Memory Hunter a favor.
"Keep tabs on Steel Armor for me."
"What? That freak? I'm swamped. And if you don't buy his bullshit, why drag him here?"
"Wanted to judge him face-to-face. Plus snag some intel."
"Intel? Like?"
"Voice tone, jaw and mouth shape when eating, massive build, baritone voice—guessing mid-20s to mid-30s. Gestures when thinking or talking, right-handed... Plenty."
"....."
Memory Hunter blanked, staring as Valencia rattled it off.
Class is eternal.
For the record, Memory Hunter catches perps with powers or gut. Crazy part: long years nabbing crooks and villains means gut alone nails the real deal 70%+.
But Valencia squeezing that much from sight and sound? News to him.
"So you could ID who's under that creepy skull mask quick?"
"With time, gear, and manpower? Easy. Anyway, better safe—tail him awhile. Favor?"
"Ugh, fine... What about my current gig?"
"Hand to another team. You just confirm perps."
"Wow... Straight-up shoving credit to others?"
"Pfft, quit whining. Since when you care about credit?"
"Shoulda skipped the sashimi and booze. Now I'm stuck."
"C'mon, let's roll. Or round two?"
"Round two? Home for bed. Tomorrow's grind starts."
"....."
Valencia smirked inwardly at the grumbling Memory Hunter rising.
Always bitches all day when assigned, but drops booze, locks in, delivers solid results.
Already yapping "grind"—he'd sniff if Steel Armor's trustworthy or trash soon.
"Oh. Team up with Gumiho awhile."
"Gumiho? Your secretary? Why?"
"Even if he swapped numbers casual, don't trust a villain blind. You'll get hurt."
"...Pass. Stick with frail bro. My tail game's years deep—Steel Armor spotting me? Worrywart."
"Stubborn ass. But call if you need backup. Got it?"
"Yeah yeah. Let's bounce."
"Sure."
Nearly six hours later, the pair escaped the sushi spot.
*****
"Total: $5,208, President."
"....."
"....."
They froze at the insane bill.
*****
Next day.
BAM!—
Memory Hunter kicked the door open.
Scanning the office, he shuffled in, chucked his bag, and flopped on the sofa.
"Man... this couch softer than my bed. Huge building too. You print money? No wonder powered punks go villain."
"...The fuck you doing here?"
Thud-thud-thud!—frantic baldies charging from outside.
"Boss!"
"You okay?!"
"Memory Hunter! You know where you—?!"
"Chill. Back to work, all."
They looked ready to ventilate his skull—I waved 'em down.
"But..."
"You ain't worried about me, right? Go."
"...Yes, boss. Call anytime."
"Yeah, scram."
I shooed—the baldies glared at his nape, then split.
I shut the footprint-marked door and sat opposite.
"Staring burned my neck."
"Knew you had pull, but solo storm the lair? Hold up— you didn't ice my boys climbing up?"
"Huh? Your boys? They just waved me through."
"What? Let you up easy?"
"Yeah. Said I was here for you."
"....."
I was speechless.
These damn bald fucks! No wonder they overdid it—not wanting my heat, they pre-empted!
Fuck... my minions, braindead baldies!
'All 'cause Jungbo's on vaca. If not...'
No mid-control, their dimwit showed.
Idiots let "visitor" up, realized Memory Hunter too late, panicked up.
Pre-groveled to dodge my wrath.
'Even as cannon fodder, that's brainless AF?'
But expected—orgs balloon fast don't stay clean.
'Pisses me more tho. Cannon fodder or not, they just sling dope?'
Only value: Jet Stream scrap. And I carried.
'Dead baldies. Rip their future hair too.'
Grind 'em till they shape up.