3. The Butcher, Mama Butcher
3. The Butcher, Mama Butcher
Mama Butcherer.
A name that anyone who has read even a single volume of the original comics couldn't possibly not know.
She was, in every sense of the word, the best hard-boiled dark hero in this worldview.
Her real name is Amanda Johnson.
A Black woman who was an elite operative in DevGru, a special forces unit that carried out overseas deployments and all sorts of secret operations.
After being discharged, she completely wiped her hands of her blood-soaked past and chose a life as an ordinary mother.
She scraped by working part-time at grocery store registers and restaurants, raising three children who were the apple of her eye, building up simple happiness day by day.
But daily life in The City didn't just leave the happiness of an ordinary citizen alone.
One night, a massive power struggle and shootout between gangs broke out, and as luck would have it, her house got caught in the crossfire of their stray bullets and arson.
In the ruins of her home, she held the cold, dead bodies of her three children and screamed all night long.
After that day, the ordinary and kind mother tore up the basement floor and reopened the old armory she had sealed away.
Afterward, she headed out to the streets and began to literally butcher the criminals.
In the original comics, the bloodbath she creates by storming a gang hideout alone with just a shotgun and a machete was notorious for being cruel and desperate, even among the adult-rated spin-off issues.
Because of her uniquely self-righteous and ruthless demeanor, she frequently clashes with mainstream heroes who pursue non-lethal methods, but she doesn't even blink.
Because she's the type to smash the jaws of heroes who get in her way with her gun butt and lecture them that criminals have no human rights.
Of course, her physical abilities are just those of a human trained to the limit.
She wasn't a superhuman who could fly, shoot beams from her eyes, or deflect bullets with her bare body.
So there were many stupid, third-rate villains and gang members who looked down on Mama Butcherer as just an ajumma who knew how to shoot a gun.
But the reason she was truly terrifying wasn't some superpower.
It was the psychotic level of obsession toward evil, belonging to a madwoman who had nothing left to lose.
It was her persistence; once she targeted prey, she would chase them to the ends of the earth—no, the bottom of hell (actually, she did die once in the original and became a hero of hell—though it was an issue treated as a dark history)—and end their lives no matter what.
"......"
I stood frozen in the posture of holding the laundry shop doorknob, facing the terrifying human weapon who had visited just before closing time.
In my arms was the envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills that Spark had just thrown at me and run away with.
Mama Butcherer's gaze swept over my face once, then immediately turned to the thick envelope in my arms.
On top of it, the sticky note Spark had kindly written, [I confiscated this from the gang's drug deal!], was fluttering.
"That, isn't that the drug money from the Cassandra Family bastards last night?"
"Huk......!"
My heart sank at the low, heavy voice.
Damn it, of all times, to get caught at this moment!
The moment I was misunderstood as someone who touched the Cassandra Family's drug money, my head was sure to explode like a watermelon from the shotgun hanging behind her back.
I couldn't find an excuse, my lips just flapping as I turned pale, but she suddenly chuckled and waved a rough hand.
"Don't be scared. That cheeky brat Spark boasted to me when I ran into her earlier today. That she was going to hand over the money she extorted from the gang to her regular laundry shop owner instead of suit money. She must really like your handiwork. She's a fearless little girl, really."
"Ah......"
Only then did I let out a long breath, barely managing to slump my stiff shoulders.
It seemed I had avoided the terrible fate of having my head blown off by a shotgun, at least.
I glanced at her, reading the room, and moved my steps stealthily to the inside of the counter.
After shoving the envelope deep into the drawer, another emotion I had been suppressing welled up along with the relief.
Actually, while I was scared to death facing her like this, it wasn't that I didn't hold a deep resentment toward the existence of Mama Butcherer personally.
'Actually, this ajumma is the main culprit who deals a fatal blow to my shop's revenue.'
The reason was simple: this lady killed quite a lot of my customers.
Because she went around poking into this neighborhood and that neighborhood, tearing, killing, and butchering mafia and gang members as she pleased, there were one or two gangs or mafia members who had dropped off laundry or clothes to be repaired at the shop and could never come back to pick them up.
The reason I had established a strict rule recently to unconditionally receive full prepayment for laundry and repair fees from gang members was all because of this ajumma.
Because there had already been three times where I had carefully dry-cleaned Italian custom-made suits stained with blood and perfectly mended the tears, only to hear the news the next morning that the owner had been found floating in the harbor, riddled with holes.
The emptiness of when clothes I had mended with craftsmanship were left abandoned in the corner of the laundry shop after losing their owner.
But my intelligence wasn't low enough to voice such complaints.
I tried to pull up the corners of my mouth and equipped a professional smile.
In any case, as long as she had opened the door to my laundry shop and walked in, she was my customer.
"So, you heard the rumors from that friend, Spark."
I asked from across the counter with the serious gaze peculiar to a tailor making clothes.
"What kind of clothes, and how would you like them made?"
"It's fine if it has a moderate sense of intimidation, and I don't mind if it has some weight. I'll be wearing a tactical vest and magazine belt loaded with weapons over it anyway. Focus on defense rather than mobility."
She recited her requirements while stroking her chin with a rough hand.
"Instead, make the bulletproof performance very solid. Lately, the gang bastards have started mixing in armor-piercing rounds, so my ribs were aching with my existing bulletproof vest. It would be better if it's a material that doesn't soak up blood well. Can you do it?"
"Armor-piercing round protection... I'll have to weave and layer titanium alloy into special Kevlar fiber. How would you like the design?"
"Matte. Pitch black so it doesn't reflect light."
She approached a step closer with the heavy sound of military boots, and tapped her chest, inside her tactical vest.
"And in the center of the chest, embroider a large, dark red skull with one side of its head torn off. And cross a machete and a shotgun underneath it. So that the last thing those trash bastards see before they fall to hell is my symbol."
It was a chilling order that made my spine crawl.
I swallowed hard and nodded.
"Understood. First, I need to take exact measurements, so please take off your outer garment."
"Measurements?"
Mama Butcherer's scarred eyebrows twitched.
I nonchalantly took out a yellow tape measure from the drawer, walked around the counter, and approached her.
"You said you didn't care if it was heavy, but a fit that doesn't suit the body is bound to slow down reaction speed in actual combat. The more it's a battlefield where life and death are at stake, the more perfect fitting is life. Spread your arms."
At my words, she chuckled and dropped the shotgun she had slung over her shoulder and the thick tactical vest onto the floor.
Kwang, a heavy sound rang out, and dust rose.
Her body, left with only a black sleeveless t-shirt, came fully into my view.
I swallowed a gasp of air inwardly while holding the tape measure.
'Wow, crazy.......'
185cm tall. She was a massive giant who looked like she easily weighed over 100kg.
But there wasn't a single gram of flab on that huge frame.
It was literally a mass of compressed, steel-like muscle.
Countless knife marks and gunshot scars were engraved like medals over her huge forearms and lats.
I was extremely nervous, afraid that my fingertips might slip and offend her, so I carefully extended the tape measure to measure her broad shoulders and thick chest.
A thick smell of gunpowder, cheap coffee, and the faint, lingering scent of someone's blood that she hadn't managed to wipe off wafted from her body.
'Shoulders 58, chest circumference 120...... She puts most heavyweight fighters to shame.'
"Hmm. Your fingertips are very nimble. Not even shaking."
"......It's the basics of a tailor. All done."
After the size measurement was finished, I quickly retreated behind the counter.
I added, organizing the measurements and requirements in my head.
"Come by around this time tomorrow. I'll have it perfectly prepared."
"Good. I'll look forward to your skills. But was it supposed to be that fast?"
"Well, I'm a kind of superhuman, you see. Actually, making the clothes themselves takes 30 minutes, but the designing takes time. I'm a sort of artist, you know."
Mama Butcherer nodded as if satisfied, and slung the tactical vest and shotgun she had put on the floor back over her shoulder.
And just as she was about to open the laundry shop door and leave, she took out a fairly thick money envelope from her pocket and tossed it onto the counter.
"The payment for the clothes is in advance. And you don't need to give me change for the rest."
"Uh, you don't have to give me this much......"
"Just take it."
She glanced back at me over her shoulder and raised the corners of her mouth.
"The Cassandra Family boss won't be able to come pick up the Italian suit he left with you. I'm paying for those guys' laundry fees too."
"Yes......?"
Ttallang-
The laundry shop door closed with the sound of a bell, and her huge silhouette completely permeated into the deep darkness of the back alley.
Only the sound of the old refrigerator humming and silence remained in the shop.
I stared blankly at the heavy money envelope left alone on the counter.
'......Wait a minute.'
Last night, the words spoken by Tommy, the Cassandra Family member who had kicked open the door of this laundry shop and pointed a submachine gun at me, flashed through my mind.
[I can't take that with me right now because I'm fighting. If I tell the boss, he'll send someone tomorrow.]
"......."
He definitely said he would send someone today, but no one came.
Why the boss couldn't send anyone, why he would never be able to come pick up the high-end Italian suit.
I intuitively realized the meaning of the smile Mama Butcherer had left behind.
"Ah, crazy......"
A curse word slipped out of my mouth without me knowing.