The man comes around

My name is Clint Cassidy, and only a week ago my gramps died...

Washington D.C

Whenever a soul needed purging, it seemed to be the nights were the darkest. Clint lit up a rolled cigarette with his silver lighter, glaring at this polished town house belonging to a sinner, a politician no less. His black clothes greatly outlined the white stone, the only white on him to match was the priest's collar on his neck that belonged to his grandfather.

In this small establishment was a supporter of the Clarice campaign, but that meant nothing to the Man, it was his sin that was a flame to the dark moth. As if timed perfectly, Clint flicked the now finished cigarette before walking up to the front door, eyeing down the two sets of hired muscle guarding it.

"I think you're lost padre, does this look like a soup kitchen?" One of the cocky young men spat out, barely able to contain himself all because of carrying a gun in his holster. Clint chuckled along with them, pressing his fingers against his furrowed brow before looking up at the duo once again...With fiery red eyes...

A few screams and fun shots later, both gentlemen were crashing through the glass door. Hardly even a corpse, just burnt, beaten flesh. Clint calmly stepped through the broken door, smoke clinging onto his clothes as if he was just on fire. After dusting off his jacket, the young man scoffed "Not your fault bud, didn't know who it was you were messing with..." Clint grinned before continuing on through the house, dragging his fingers across the polished wooden furniture.

Like a pig at lunch time, the sinner sat at his study table while taking a few hits of blow, distracted by his own addiction. Walking through the darkness however, was Clint Cassidy lighting up a fresh cigarette, the aggressive snap of the lighter shutting is what got his attention.

Baffled and angered, the sinner called out "Who the fu-" But Clint cut him off, raising a hand in the air. "Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness...." His voice was calm, but chilling to the bone. This didn't stop the pampered man to draw a magnum from his desk, looking back up and pointing it at the preacher's direction.

What he would witness though was no longer the man in black that stood in that doorway, the man with a blood stained priest's collar, spilled by dark demons. No. Instead a hand made out of hell's rocks and as hot as it's burning lakes grabbed the magnum and crushed it like paper. That preacher man was now an eight foot tall fiery behemoth of hell stone, his voice was as intense as a lion's growl. "Sin is lawlessness...."

And with that, the one who punishes plowed his fist through the sinner's skull, destroying it. After staring at his work done, Clint reverted back to his normal self with a cloud of brimstone's smoke, grabbing the glass of scotch off the table and finishing it.

"...At least I know I'm a sinner, fcking pig..."

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Creed: Hairy situation

Montana, one of Creed's many hideouts...

Creed sat at his dingy wooden desk in this decrepit cabin, a plate of nachos for him to chew on while researching some more potential hits. "Damn, you wouldn't think so many people would want actual birthday clowns to be killed, there's like fifteen!" The merc laughed of course to his own humor, but his breathing seemed to be a little heavy.

This wasn't the only thing that had been wrong all week. Aching bones, hair growth (odd due to the fact that the serum removed all his hair) and his entire body had been working against him. What could possibly be going wrong? Creed's body was a scarred display of perfection and healing...What was with the sickness?

"Ok..huff...Time for a bit of consultation..."

Doctor Zimmerman, the man responsible for the U-man serum transformation. If anyone knew what was wrong with the up and coming star mercenary? It would be him. The video chat window popped open, Creed flinching a bit when he saw his own reflection in the monitor. "What the hell is with my eye!?" He screamed, seeing it was slightly crimson red.

And there was Zimmerman, staring at Creed after putting his glasses back on. "This better be urgent Creed, you know communications between subjects and us are supposed to be almost nonexistent...Oh dear, what is wrong with your eye?" The doctor asked, leaning in at a frantic Creed. "Oh you know, someone probably farted on my pillow at night-I HAVE NO FCKING IDEA DOC! My whole fleshy bag of bones has been all over the place, cracking and shit...I think I'm getting smaller."

Doctor Z started typing, researching Creed's patient file as he explained the problems. Of course his face grew concerned when he saw what strand of serum was used on Creed to bring him back from the brink of death. After removing his glasses, he looked to the merc again through the monitor. "Creed, there might be a serious problem here..."

Creed's expression just turned enraged, grabbing the laptop monitor and leaning in, both eyes red. "What. Kind. Of. Problem...." Zimmerman continued "The serum we used was an experimental mimic of what was used on Nathan Breda, as we didn't want the same result all over again. See Nathan was injected with a pure dosage of the U-man serum, this as we all know scarred him and..Well drove him insane. What we did in your case is used another disused serum as a base. A formula that actually gave people the traits and characteristics of animals, but what made subjects survive the process was the healing factor weaved along with it."

Creed was barely there, leaning in his chair weakly while vision grew dim, but Doctor Z was busy explaining to even notice.

"So we did our best to splice the healing from this serum and combine it with a strand of the U-man formula. What is apparent now is that we took too much from the animal transformation serum instead of just the reconstructive strand. We need to pick you up right away and get you sorted out right away....Creed are you there? Creed?"

That was it, Creed fell face first into the laptop keyboard, shutting the call down between him and Dr. Z and eventually ended up on the floor convulsing violently.

Hours later....

Everything was a blur for Creed as his eyes opened up, ears ringing and body aching even more now. Why did he have a bag or something over his head? Was he kidnapped when he passed out? "Goddamn..Last time I eat nachos while dipping them into tequila..Whoa that's a scratchy voice." He remarked while rubbing his furry neck...Wait what? "Wait what? What that!?" There was the panic again, Creed rubbing his small feeling hands all over his seemingly furry body.

"I-I gotta get out of this bag! I swear to god if this is Jehovah's witnesses trying to baptize me again!" The merc frantically crawled out out of the bag to find out it wasn't a bag at all...It was his clothes that were now way too big for him, in fact the entire cabin was so much bigger, or was it that he got smaller.

In a panic, Creed ran over to the full length mirror to finally see what this was all about. The poor bastard was a four foot tall raccoon of some sort, his own horrified expression staring back at him. ".....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH......AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH...gasp...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH" He couldn't stop screaming, almost to the point of passing out.

The next hour was pacing back and forth while spewing one liners about his situation, taking the occasional moment to look in the mirror and scream his furry head off again...This was seriously going to make his job that much harder.

The message....

(@scornxy @mistress_sangria @wesley_odepius)

The video booted up to all who received it, mostly the friends and repeating employers the merc had amassed over his starting month. Creed was sitting at his desk, staring at the camera with this new ridiculous face he had gained.

"....SO! You all know who this is, unless you have two "Creedisthebestandyoushouldfeelbadforthat"' on your Email contacts list. As HIlarious as a joke this would have made, this isn't that. Apparently, for some fcked up reason my healing factor came along with a bit of animal DNA, raccoon DNA. It's good to know the people that saved my ass went to the JURASSIC PARK OF DNA FCKERY!" Creed slammed his small fists onto the table, taking a small breath and looked at the camera once more.

"Anyhow, no I'm not out of the merc game. Hell I even still have my healing factor, I'll be needing it considering I'm about the size of a lollipop cult member. What I really wanted to get across? Is that if anyone of you so much as pokes a joke at...This? I'll poke fun about how stupid you all look when your chewing on your stomachs that I cut out like it was the final round on Iron Chef. Ok? Ok, Creed out."

The furry merc turned away from the laptop and hopped off his chair, checking his phone to see a hit offer had been texted to him. "So this is it now huh? Could have been worse I guess. Could have turned into a mute, a drug addict or something....Huh..." Creed popped his locker open to slip into a makeshift combat suit stitched and buckled up from his older uniforms, then grabbed the now excessively large automatic shotgun from it's rack. "No way in hell a switch up is gunna stop Creed from being the top gun, NO WAY!"


Creed: Hard restart

Everything was a daze, a painful daze. His body felt like it was being held together by nothing but the bandages here and there. Vision was gone with only ears to provide him with clues on what exactly was going on. Clattering of feet along with more than three people chattering, probably the same people frantically working on his body.

"He's losing alot of blood here, where the hell is the B positive I asked for? Thank you." "What the hell was this guy thinking, wasn't the assault called off? He just went in anyways?" "Ehh that's what I hear. Poor bastard tried to take on their head guy on his own, probably aiming for a promotion..Good job on that." "Heavy cutting on the head and face, somebody get me suction for that blood so I can see what we are dealing with here." "Blake coming in to see this?" "Apparently, ordered us to just have him patched up by the time he arrives."

M.H.A medical research division, undisclosed location.

Commander Blake stood calmly, watching the survivor on his medical bed through a tinted window. Agent Clay sat behind him, sharpening his favored knife. It only took a few more moments before a tall and slender man walked through the door to join Blake, his lab coat read "Stahl" on the name tag. "The serum is being created as we speak..Are you sure you want to do this sir? Do we really want to risk another Nathan Breda type incident?" The doctor looked to the survivor with a bit of pity, knowing what was in store for him.

"The process has been refined doctor. Breda rejected the serum mentally and physically only because he didn't have it in him. This man here? Well let's just say hatred goes a long way...I'll go talk to him personally, make sure the machine is up and running when I give the signal for him to be moved."

Blake entered the patient's room, grabbing the clipboard and looked it over. The patient weakly opened his eyes and looked to the commander. "Damn you got pretty banged up. Broken limbs, cut organs and flesh..Broken neck..This looks like quite some time you're going to be putting in for rehabilitation, that's if you ever move anything below the neck again."

The man eyes twitched a bit, chapped lips parting just the slightest bit. "So...Much...For walking....This off.." He chuckled softly only to cringe in pain as his chest was in so much pain. Blake even got a good chuckle from it, but pulled up a chair beside his bed and got serious once more.

"What if I told you that I can fix this? Have your body back into perfect shape- No, more than perfect shape in weeks. You would be faster and stronger all while these wounds seal up in no time. The only other thing I can promise you is that it would be unlike any pain you have ever experienced, it would make this incident look like a paper cut..."

The patient glared at Blake, trying his best to smile "Well...I'd be...Asking.....Why It hasn't...Happend..Yet..." Blake grinned as well. "One more...Thing though. These...Scars....From the...Incident....I want...The...To stay.." It was time for the Creed project to commence once again.

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A Jeff Leveret tale (Part two)

Ronin's rest, upper end's bathhouse.

This town had chewed Jeff up and spat him back out as a homeless bum, no future or chance of survival. That had all changed however, with the help of a peculiar mask now in his possession. "Keep the drinks coming if you wouldn't mind hon." He handed the woman a tip and then reclined back into the water, having his own private room. "Hmm..This cash from those goons isn't going last long, I'm going to need something a bit more permanent bud" He informed to the Rabbit mask, set up against a bath bucket staring right at him.

"But I don't want to wrong innocent people to get my way, right? I need to take down someone who is...Evil..." It hit Jeff right there, the crime boss who he owed money from. Only known as the greedy Goliath, a massive display of muscle who ruled a good portion of the streets this side of Ronin's rest. "I'm almost certain no one will miss that guy, what do you say Mr. Rabbit?" Jeff grinned and grabbed the mask, putting it on his face.

Just like before, his skin literally bubbled for a moment, it actually looked painful and accidentally fell all the way into the tub. Without emerging once again, the water in the tub started to drain, but not from a plug. No there was a dug hole in the bottom, the waitress arriving at the room just in time to see this and gasped. She gasped a final time when a wad of cash was thrown from the hole and landed in the bath bucket.

Greedy Goliath's estate

Guards all over the front fence, it was a tight operation. Security however doesn't usually account for a hole being dug on the other side of the fence, and a cartoon rabbit stepping out. "Swaaaaaaanky! GG sure knows how to spends other people's money." The Rabbit started to crawl the vine wall running up the house nonchalantly, right up towards the crime boss's office window.

Goliath himself was busy snorting a a few lines of cocaine, a larger bag beside it. The permanently angered growled instantly though when the window was popped open, a breeze blowing the lines off the table. ">Who dares? Who dares to climb on MY HOUSE?<" Goliath turned around to have Rabbit be right against his face, curling one of his whiskers and wearing a French cooks outfit. "No no no monsieur! You don't SNORT flour, how else will I make nothing short of a masterpiece hmm? I simply won't allow it! I won't!"

The rabbit slapped the man gently on the cheek and dashed over to the other side of the table, having the bag of cocaine in his hands before Goliath could turn around. "Tis a secret recipe from the mountains of a special place passed down from an honorary family here and a cliche monk there. I assure you it will be quite delicious!" Rabbit cracked a few eggs into a whisking bowl he had in his other hand, then poured the cocaine into the bowl as flour.

That seemed to be the final straw however, Goliath screamed at the top of his mighty lungs and lunged right through his own desk and at the comedic animation. But this rabbit was far too quick and sly, one elegant leap is what it took to avoid the large attack, landing over by the fireplace across the room. "Put it in for but a few minutes and voilà! Perfection." He took a bow and also his cook's hat off, looking up again just in time for the crime boss to be towering over him, his very fist shadowing the rabbit as it was sailing for his head.

"LOOK OUT, we got an impatient customer!" He said with a cool in his voice, holding the hat in front of him so the fist would simply go inside and was followed with a large metal snap and the yelling of Goliath. A beartrap was locked onto his fist as he pulled it back out of the hat, distracted by his own pain to see Rabbit pull the baked caked from the fire place. "And finally-!" Another angered strike downwards at him, actually crushing him flat, or so Goliath assumed.

He raised his good fist to only see the chef's clothes on the ground, for Rabbit was now standing on his shoulder with the cake. "A TASTE!" Rabbit shoved the entire cake in Goliath's mouth, making him choke instantly and fall to his knees to struggle swallowing the dessert. It wasn't over after he swallowed it though, for the cocaine in the cake, a whole bags worth sent him right into an overdose, convulsing on the ground. The trickster raised his animated brow and scratched his furry head. "Wow! I didn't know it was going to be THAT good!"...

It was a good few minutes before the guards came running through the office door, seeing a dead Goliath on the ground and Mr.Leveret sitting at the broken desk. "Gentlemen, sorry to say but your old boss passed this house onto me. And no, I'm not a crime boss..And no, you're not goons anymore. You'll each get paid in spades if you pack up and get the hell out of my estate and not complain, understand?" Jeff explained this to them while he stuffed the Rabbit's mask in his white coat, the men were to intimidated by him to try anything funny...Thinking it was him that took down their fearsome old boss.


The creed mask: A Ronin's Rest short story.

*Sploosh* The creed mask fell into the ocean in the middle of nowhere. Something so small would most likely never feel the clutches of another mortal's hands, it's former owner having tossed it right out of an airplane. Yet something so small, this mask, carried the weight of gods. So much so, it changed it's shape right there in the water to something much more visible in the water, so self preservative it was. A white rabbit's mask stood out much more than something easily mistakable for lumber....

Salvation, among the slimmest of odds. The rabbit mask picked up with a few hundred fish in the net of Japanese tug boat fishermen, retrieved before being tossed back into the water by one of the lowly workers. Goods supposedly such as this mask would make a good penny for a starving man on the markets in Ronin's rest. And that's exactly where the man took it, to no doubt be purchased by some poor fool, unaware of it's powers. Or perhaps it would be obtained by other means...

Enter Jeffry Leveret, a down on his own luck journalist who is now nothing but a homeless bum. Straight from Boston only to have this horrid place chew him up and spit him onto the streets instead of giving him the story of his career. A mind deprived of food can force a man to do many regrettable things, such as getting a loan from one of the more powerful gangs in this town...And not pay it off.

"Just gimme a few more days, PLEASE!" Jeff shouted hastily, almost as quickly as his sprinting from the loan sharks closing in on him. One thing about Ronin's rest that was useful was the crowded streets, providing Jeff with just enough hassle to hold up the muscle ridden goons. He needed a disguise, and fast. Luckily in his path was a man more well groomed than most people on the street, in his pocket was the Rabbit mask he had just purchased for his art collection.

"I'msorrybutIreallyneedthis!" Jeff shouted and ripped the man's white coat right off of him and slipped it on, turning sharply into a nearby alleyway. ">Move it!<" Shouted one of the goons, knocking the art collector flat on his face. The white coat seemed to provide enough of a difference from his ragged clothes underneath, for those men ran right passed him while his back was turned.

Time to dash again, if it wasn't for the carriage Jeff ran face first into and resulting in a startled noisy horse. The goons turned around and saw a struggling Jeff, seeing past the white coat. ">There! Finish him before this drags out any longer..<" Their pack leader signaled who was no doubt their sharpshooter to remove his revolver, aiming it at the now fleeing Jeff Leveret. *BLAM!* One bullet for one cheapskate, and did that bullet hit home. Striking Jeff right in the shoulder, it sent him flipping over the bridge he was fleeing over and went falling right through the dingy glass roof of an abandoned boathouse...

Blood, broken legs and broken arms. Glass dug deep in all sorts of different places on Jeff's flesh, now just a rasping mess on the dusty ground. But what stood out the most in his own pool of blood was that white Rabbit mask, glaring right at him...Almost calling out to him. If he could just struggle to put it on, something that felt like he needed to do...

Minutes past before the trio of criminals came crashing through the boathouse, pistols whipped out and looking for Mr. Leveret. "Ohhh you PUNKS! You SLIME! What did I tell ya about gun control!" A rabbit...A walking and talking animated rabbit dressed in Japanese officer's garb pointed his club at the lot of them, they were completely caught off guard. "I'll need to see your I.D's boys, then maybe I'll be as nice as to let you all off with a warnin'!" The Rabbit held out his gloved hand, which the men actually put their cash stuffed wallets in. "And hands on da walls! I don't any of ya punks doin anything bunny I mean FUNNY!"

The men once again complied, still caught up in total confusion. "Now Imma have to take these wallets into the station so we can have ya cataloged or something around that believable.." The animated maniac grabbed their guns while he was rambling on, also fumbling around on the ground for only a few seconds before standing back up. "Oh and" Rabbit's voice turned back into Jeff's "I'll make sure to tell your boss how you all basically suck at your job!" The rabbit dashed away in a puff of smoke, the officer's outfit dropping to the ground a few moments later.

">THAT MOTHER FU-!<" The men turned around and started to shuffle towards the door, only to trip and fall down on their faces. It seemed the Rabbit had tied all their shoelaces together...And then all of them tied to a literal bouquet of hand grenades...Blood and smoke spat out of the boathouse entrance, nothing but red mist where the men were decimated by shrapnel. And just down the docks was Jeffry walking away, flipping through the cash gained from the wallets...And the Rabbit mask in his back pocket. "Buddy..You and me can get a few things done on my list..."


Down on luck

"Aaagh! Jesus!" Creed yelped and slumped against the dumpster nearby, clutching onto his leg that was now gushing blood. In front of him was yet another goon of this "fine city" that managed to get a bullet inside the homeless youth.

After sliding his hockey mask off of his bruised face, he grabbed a hammer from his bag so he could bite onto the hand...Now grabbing a pair of pliers. While digging the too into the wound and sinking his teeth into the hammer's wooden handle, he couldn't help but think of his current situation. Homeless, barely fed enough to keep on fighting the good fight, currently shot and now wounded. It was tough times, needless to say.

Finally though with shaking hands he pulled the bullet out of his thigh, just as some voices could be heard around the corner. It was time to go, and the only direction available seemed to be up a fire escape ladder. So with a weak leap up, Creed barely managed to grab onto the handle and hoist himself up by only using his upper body strength.

Could he call Kurt? The man he helped claim his bow back from a biker gang not too long ago, who now happened to be the police commissioner of Gothic. But what could he do? It isn't like the green hooded knight had time for some homeless vigilante punk, even more so now with authority obligations.

Creed arrived at the rooftop, falling over and falling onto his back and reached for some gauze he stole from his last hospital visit. He had been slacking off, and that's what had him in this position. It was the fact that feeling sorry for himself came first before his promise he made to his late friend Luca, he paid the price and now it was time to get back on track.

Leg wound tied up, mask back on and a weakly fresh attitude had Creed back on his feet. It was time he started giving this city everything he had even if he had nothing to give except for his life.

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Gothic city, "The Drags"

"Y'know, it's really annoying when you're breathing hard in a hockey mask...All that moisture is a bitch when ya trying to avoid getting decked right in the face. But it's worth it, cause when ya do get decked in the face.."

*CRUNCH* Went the goon's fist just when it collided with Creed's mask, also sending him back and grunt in pain, his nose just got bent in a bad way. "Ya think it's tough to beat on a girl!?" He shouted and slapped his fist into his other open palm, charging the larger man during an almost primal shout.

The woman, who was getting roughed up from turning down the fellow who Creed now fought just watched with tear soaked eyes. "Aw jeez, this douche is kicking my ass.." The brute grabbed hold of Creed's left jab easily, twisting the wrist and brought him all that closer, but our hero just used the momentum to slam a wild elbow right into his jaw. That seemed to buy him a few moments for Creed to run over and pick up his trench club.

"EAT IT!" Creed slammed the studded club right against the man's blocking wrist, no doubt shattering it. He wasn't going to let him back off, play time was over. As soon as that arm was out of the way, Creed fed him a left jab, then a kick to send him to the pavement. And it was done just like that, no way this lowlife was going to get up after having his wrist broken.

"Oh my god..Thank you!" The woman hugged a startled Creed. Not really from the hug, but when she wrapped her arms around his now aching ribs. "Gah-! Hey, no problem. Just trying to help out, but ya might wanna get outta here before this A-hole gets back up.." Creed watched her nod and run off, making sure she made it out of the alleyway before he started to get away himself, via a fire escape.

The rooftops, a safe haven for any small time vigilante. Creed sat down against the ledge of the rooftop, setting his satchel between his legs, took off his hockey mask and pulled out some medical tape lifted from the rink. "This is my life right here, livin' the dream.." He winced just as the tape tensed on his ribs, those were bruised bones for sure. Not to mention a split eyebrow. "...Who ever said the dream was pretty?" Creed chuckled and looked over to a newspaper front page that must have blown up here, seeing Kurt on the front page.

"Yeah he's alright I guess...But the drags? It might not be filled with crazy supers, but that's what makes it overlooked by all those big shots. I gotta look out for the smalls like me, cause no cape is going to break up turf wars..Not when aliens and crap were attackin'"

Creed finished patching up, slipping his mask back over his face, that intense look in his eyes once more.

"Name's Andy Creed. Hockey guy, poor guy, hero guy...Please ta meet ya..."


Creed and the shelving (Part three)

Gothic city, channel seven news.

"Welcome back to the program ladies and gentlemen. It has been over a month now since the masked madman known as Creed, fell into a coma. For those who missed our special, Creed, now revealed to be a man named Nathan Breda, was a gunman that operated in Gothic many times while eluding the authorities. All while costing the city just about a couple of millions in property damage from his comedic destruction.

Not much is known of Breda before he assumed this strange masked persona, but what is clear is the severe mental instability of Mr.Breda. This has cause the man to be bedded formally at the hospital in which another crazed killer, Mr.Smiles, demolished with explosives. Police found Breda still in his coma, while also remaining completely unscathed other then the gruesome ghoulish appearance he had already.

And now for the current news on the Breda incident. Now placed in Gothic's Knight memorial hospital. Hundreds, possibly even closer to a thousand citizens protest outside the hospital for the execution of the comatose mercenary. It has been decided however, that 'Creed' is mentally insane, and will receive therapy upon his awakening, if he does awaken..."

Knight's memorial hospital...

(...You win...) (Wait what?) (I'll let you back into the CV canon Creed..But don't expect anything big, I just need something light for a while, something fun. At any moments notice I could drop you aga-) (Yeah yeah! I got it, the usual for a comedic character such as moi...Or is it mwa? Eh whatever!..So a come huh?) (Well I had to think of something no? Characters can't just completely vanish from canon...And you know you can't remember any of our little talks right? You're not an omnipotent god or something..Anyway, have fun, do your thing..)

Creed's eyes widely opened while gasping, Nathan Breda, Creed...Was awake. Without another moment laying down, the mad merc rolled out of bed and face first onto the floor. "...Yeah..Ow.." He grumbled before getting up, realizing he was still in his patient gown. "Ok..Pulling ONE more string before I get back into action! Honest!"

Creed's apartment

Creed reached into his closet to swipe that new white costume of his.

Knight's memorial hospital, exactly where Creed was standing before (ugh)

Dusting off the costume he was now suddenly wearing, Creed picked up the heart monitor from beside the bed and waited, staring at the door. As soon as the first cop braged into the room, seeing that the heart monitor was disconnected, the maniac hurled it right into the cop's face, knocking him out. "Hah! Bet you didn't expect one of my powers to be throwing heart monitors like REALLY GOOD!" Creed laughed while leaping over the K.O'd cop, startling nurses while sprinting down the hall.

"Aim for the bushes!" Creed screamed before leaping out of the closed window at the end of the corridor, smacking into the brick wall of the building right next to the hospital..Then the fire escape..Then a clothesline..Finally a closed dumpster which he bounced off of and face first against the alleyway floor. "Didn't this already happen? All of five minutes ago?" Creed spoke through his broken windpipe, which was already busy repairing.

"God..I sound like Darth Vader...Cooool!" He wheezed while getting up on his broken leg just as it snapped back into place. "At least the healing factor hasn't gone stale in that plot device coma! Hmm..No money, no cellphone annnd now hilarious weaponry..Now who would be a good person to visit that doesn't HATE me completely?" The merc pondered while waltzing through the protesting crowds, of course not noticing him due to not having his old red and black costume on. Windpipe slurped back into place.

"LOOK OUT WORLD! I! CREED IS BACK!" He shouted at the top of his repaired lungs...The entire mob freezing and slowly looking over to Creed. He just nervously chuckled while pulling out a sign that said "HELP"

Fifteen minutes later, after hiding in a smelly dumpster, the hundreds of angry citizens gave up their search for the comedic anti-hero. He then looked on over to...Well you

"This is going to be, a blasty blast!"


Creed and the shelving (Part two)

Creed's apartment...

(Creed? What the hell are you doing?) Creed shuffled through his wardrobe, his pale, dead flesh exposed while still wearing those Noir Rose boxers. "What does it look like I'm doing!? Picking a new look for my sick comeback of course." (....) Creed pocked his head out from the closet, his dead brow raised. "What the hell is with the dots? I'm coming back, whether you like it or (no..) not cause I am one of the best cre(no..)ions ever! I'll hit up Gothic first, see what Kurt is up to, the usual gag. I think this time though I'll see what Kamelo(NO CREED!)"

Creed frowned while suddenly taken back by the yelling, knowing damn well he ha a long shelving ahead of him. Never the less though, he kept shuffling. (Look Creed, Brian made you, and everyone thinks you are actually pretty hilarious...But we all know what happens when I let you loose. Join a team here or there, witty comments all over the place OOC thread wise. But people get bored of the funny guy..Fast..)

Creed stepped out of the closest wearing a totally different outfit than his red and black one. (Huh...I like it. You would subtract some of that hate not wearing the Deadpoo l-...Never mind, the old costume. But Creed, I am pretty busy working on Jack right now, I have al-)

"BOOOORING! God! Why do you do that? Cram yourself into the fattest theme cause everyone else is doing it..Brian never did that! He did his own thing, and people followed.."

(Could you not go there?) Creed dusted off the costume before kicking all of the other costumes in the closest, walking on over to his sofa and clicking on the T.V

"Can't believe I am being one up'd by a GADDAMN TIN MAN! A SPACE TIN MAN NO LESS! He's budy making enemies, literal and otherwise..And I am in here, the NonCanonverse...Total bag of d!cks is what it is...Wait did you just sensor d!cks? Stop that!" Creed shook his fist in the air before flicking through in canon events. (Well I like Jack..Though there have been problems, I think it wi-) "Dick" (ARE you kidding me? God you really are never serious...Ugh, I'm out of here, ending this blog. To think I could make another one and have you behave..)

"Wait Danialson! Before you go. Do you like Jack cause of how the character is? Or do you like Jack cause you're afraid of changing again? And everyone likes that you haven't AND everyone else thinks he is cool?"


"Thought so.." Creed popped a beer and grabbed some cheetos. "Have fun with that space deal with Andres duder.." Creed then gave a mock salute before grabbing the remote...

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Creed and the shelving

"And now! The explanation NOBODY asked for, not the guy..I mean like, as in no peopl-Ahh forget it. Anyway! The explanation of why your not favorite guy has been bumped down to the cable version of stories by only starring in blogs! Cause apparently writing the big BAD WOLF IS JUST SOOO WORTH THE THREAD TIME! Why am I stuck in a solo series while he gets both!? HUH!? HUH!?" "SHUT. UP!"

The gun for hire got a good deck to his face, dislocating his jaw. "Ai em...DE LUAAW!" Creed shouted at his captors with his messed up jaw, leaving the one so frustrate he simply just didn't punch him again. The mad merc had been in chains for months now, captured by a league of terrorists that he happened to piss off one too many times.

The only things Creed had on was his cartoon themed Noir Rose boxer shorts and his mask, something the men chose to leave on due to the unfavorable..'Face' underneath. He almost had it, after weeks and weeks of constantly moving his wrist up and down in the tight shackle paid off, for the flesh peeled enough down to the bone for some slack.

*CRACK* "Hey! Ma jaw is back! I better pick a good one before you get over here and Stallone me all over again. Actually, I think I might just want my phone call! See how that totally not broken relationship between Kurt and that hotty has been going.." The guard had enough once more, walking over to deliver another beating.

Except this time, Creed's hand disgustingly slipped out of the shackle and slapped the guard across the face. "Shit! Get the flamethrower!" He shouted at his partner who was just as startled as he was, fumbling about for the weapon. "YEAH, get the flamethrower!" Creed reached down and pulled out the man's holstered pistol, making quick work of him with a head shot before shooting the other shackle chain.

The guard got the flamethrower just in time for Creed to lunge at him, igniting him up in flames. This..Didn't prove out well for the guard, for Creed simply grabbed onto the man and burnt him alive. "Why does everything I touch DIIIIIIIE!?" He shouted in actual agony while trying to turn on the shower that was located in ding room, first rusty water pouring onto Creed before fresh water.

"Seriously though..Where the hell am I?" He asked as the fire started to simmer and eventually cease, his horrid skin healing once more slowly. Creed navigated what seemed to be an abandoned auto shop for a few more minutes, finding his costume but nothing more. And finally, he found the exit to see he was in Solace City.

"SERIOUSLY!? They could have at least chained me up at the beach or something, I mean LOOK at that view." The merc took in some of that ocean air before pulling out his phone, browsing the internet for current affairs, while walking down the street, of course drawing attention.

"Hmm, what to do...I could go the Land of Fables! Hows about terrorizing those Knightfalls again, or I "Cood go to dah smoooth town dat is New Orleans, take in de supanuturahl.."...Wait what?" Creed's phone started to buzz, the name 'Puzzler' coming up, he curiously answered it.

"Hello Creed..Glad to see you're out of that situation of yours..Oh and don't bother asking how I knew that, it's sort of my thing as you know. Look, I have a few things that need to be done and only I nut like you would do them..Alot of low key operations that wouldn't really have you "mingling" with the world's super community..You in?"

"Wait..Is that an IC excuse for me to stay in BLOG LIMBO LAND where I can't affiliate with anyone else!? I mean, I get people HATE talking to me and dealing with me but I didn't think it was that bad..Fine..I guess the Big bad wolf is more "likable" or something.."

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