Chapter 117: The Vigilante's Story III

Ragnar sighed deeply and stood still, assessing his options. He could either turn himself in like this like a coward, and then find some other way to escape during the ride to the station or later on, or… he could go for a more… 'violent' escape, right here, right now.

Naturally, he chose violence.

Suddenly grabbing the ringleader by the collar, Ragnar dove through a skylight, carrying his target with him as it screamed. The glass shattered, the sounds of gunfire filling the smoggy downtown air as Ragnar leaped and ran. He found his way into the underground areas, the black markets, the dingy caverns where crime was rife. But at least here, Ragnar had free rein. He headed to one of his safe houses - relatively well kept and made for an underground home, not too many missing floorboards or windows. He left the criminal gagged and bound as he struggled in the basement, then went to the local armory.

"I need some armor from your forge. Fast. High quality alloys, good metals. Red highlights, grey plating. And a really big fuckin' sword to match." grunted Ragnar.

"We're already fully booked. We don't have that kind of material anyway," retorted the armorer, a grizzled man of about 45 with musclebound and tattooed arms.

"You misunderstand me, Grayson. You bring me the materials and tools. I'll be making my own armor."

The man named Grayson was still dubious, but after Ragnar slammed down a massive stack of bills on the countertop, the deal was sealed. Within 72 hours, after long hard work, swearing, roaring, bellowing, hammering, molding, measuring and forging, the work was done. A set of armor that was bulletproof, explosion resistant and had very few weak spots. Was it too heavy for any normal man? Absolutely. Their spines would snap. But for Ragnar it was like wearing a winter jacket.

He returned to his house, and subjected the trafficker to the exact fate Ragnar had promised. The sounds of ribs snapping, pleading screams of horror and organs ripping from their correct positions was heard for two days before the dogs got their meal.

On this night, Ragnar made a vow. He would eradicate all crime that harmed other people. He would make the world a safe place for everyone to learn and grow. He would prevent the need for the creation of people like himself. He was fearless in this aim. He was sure, and he was driven. He dreaded nothing, and so dubbed his vigilante name as "Dreddnought". A monstrous behemoth that appeared silently, a blade honed to a molecular edge by lasers.

That was Ragnar. And this, was his creed.

*****

- Present Time -

"… And that's it," Ragnar said. "After that, I wandered around, doing my own thing. Settling crime in my own way. I'd caught wind of your ass a long time ago, and always wondered if you were as good as the rumors say. But after that time… heh. You know the one."

"… The millionaire?" Cyanide arched an eyebrow, and Ragnar gave a nod.

"That man… a friend of mine recommended me to him, as a bodyguard. He was searching for one at the time, since he somehow knew he was being targeted. I'd never been much of a mercenary type of guy, but this was a request from a friend, and I didn't want to let him down. Not to mention the money that man was willing to pay was pretty damn good."

"… I remember. It was quite a hassle, having to get past you. You're quite the careful person when serious, after all."

"But you still managed in the end," Ragnar spat angrily, clenching his fists as he recalled the moment. "There were guards everywhere—I stationed them at every entrance, every window, even every damn vent cover. There were also several on the roof. And despite the client's annoyed words, I forcibly remained in the same room as him so I could protect him at all costs if anyone came. It should've been perfect. But what I didn't expect, was…"

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"… The snipe."

"… Yeah."

"… For that mission in particular, I was working with someone else," Cyanide said after a short silence. "It's not usually my way of doing things, but that job was an exception."

"I kind of figured," Ragnar muttered, averting his gaze and not prying on the matter since he knew Cyanide wasn't going to elaborate anyway. "I'll never forget how you completely made a fool out of me that day. You know how pissed I was when I found out I was tricked, and that the person I was supposed to be protecting was killed before my eyes? I never thought your entire elaborate infiltration, murdering all those guards, was all but a simple distraction. I never thought your running away from our fight was nothing but an act. On that day, you had me in the palm of your hand the entire time, Cyanide."

But Cyanide's next words surprised him.

"It wasn't completely an act."

"… Oh?"

"You are quite capable at fighting. Although I was confident I was more skilled in combat, your supersoldier bioenhancements are an unstable factor to me. An unknown variable. Depending on the power they held, I could very well have lost the fight, and my life along with it. Ultimately, I had still wanted to finish off the target myself, since I didn't fully trust my partner for that job to be able to pull it off. But in the end, I decided retreating and sticking to the plan was the better option."

"… Ha. Save it," Ragnar scoffed, folding his arms. "Even with my supersoldier bioenhancements, you could probably find some way to turn the fight into a tie. And now, in this world, without those enhancements… I'm definitely not as strong as you. But that won't be for long, y'know. The anger from all those years ago… I remember it. And in this life of mine, I'll never forget."

On the contrary to his heavy, dark words, Cyanide's was lighthearted and utterly pragmatic.

"Hm. Indeed, you're not cut out to be a mercenary. Mercenaries are paid a portion of the money beforehand, so they aren't losing anything even if the target they're supposed to protect dies anyway."

"That's not the point here, damn assassin," Ragnar muttered. "That was the first time I've failed. The first time I've failed to stop a crime that happened before my very damn eyes. The first time I personally LET a murder happen. That millionaire—there was no reason to kill him, was there? I did a bit of digging. His records were all clean."

"… Correct," Cyanide said after some hesitation too short to notice. "I care not if there is a 'reason' to kill someone. The fact that he was the target of a job I took is 'reason' enough."

"… You disgust me, bastard."

"The feeling is mutual. Your so-called, self-righteous form of 'justice'… the contradictions lining your logic like insects on flowers… they sicken me to no end."

"Hmph. Agree to disagree, then," Ragnar said, and Cyanide gave a nod.

"Agree to disagree."

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