The Initiative Reserves #5: Savage-Beast

Just to be nice... This is a story that happened in the past. It's been said and now nobody needs to be confused.



The Initiative Reserves #5
Savage
Beast

Anyone who was anybody knew where to find the unofficial King of Madripoor's Lowtown. Even those who weren't, had a decent idea. The problem was the King often wasn't there. Sometimes he was missing for years, decades. Tonight though, tonight he was home. Had been for a couple weeks now. He was sitting there, in his private booth at the unexpectedly high-class Princess Bar, cigar smoke clouding the air in front of him. He nursed a margarita because sometimes you just had to change what usually went into your body.

This was Patch, no other name, just the rather unoriginal moniker given to him for the simplistic eyepatch he wore. In days past, he could be found in a classy suit and tie, fitting for the silent owner of the bar. There was an image to be made for the clientele that even here, in the criminal underbelly, one need not dress the part. They could carry themselves with dignity and class. His leather jacket and crazy hair gave one pause only for a moment. And then they saw the eyepatch. Only one man would have the balls for that here, looking disheveled as he was, and it wasn't Nick Fury.

A man one might mistake to be a waiter approached the table, his white suit pristine and bowtie perfect. He slid into the booth without a word. They were surrounded by elegance and extravagance. People knew better than to ask where that money came from. Just stop by, enjoy the live music, and partake in the best food and drink in all of Madripoor. Sadly, few tourists knew unless they were brave enough to ask.

"Lookin' old, O'Donnell," Patch grunted after a puff of his cigar.

"And you look the same." A stately voice. One with an accent you couldn't quite place.

"Sorry about the suit. Not feelin' it tonight."

"Oh, I've known you long enough, Patch, to read your moods. You're looking for a fight." He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took one long drag off it. "Besides, it is your dress code. Break it if you want."

Patch laughed. When you got around as much as he did, it became second nature to be anyone except yourself. However, the mask would slip eventually. It always did. The feral animal that hid beneath the guise of a gentleman when he came home lusted for blood. Meant it was time for him to move on, to be someone else, to let Patch sleep for awhile.

He wished it could be different. He enjoyed Patch. This was the one place in the world he did his best to keep his cold-blooded nature in check. Had been ever since a lifetime ago in Japan or so it felt. Never could be sure. His memories, sometimes they were there as if he still lived them, and others they were hidden behind adamantium doors.

"Are you the second or third O'Donnell?"

"Still the first, boss."

"Huh." He put his cigar out.

"Your Queen has quite the fight going on tonight at the Pit. Could be just what you need."

"My Queen?"

"Your ex-wife."

"Ah."

It came back to him in bits and pieces sometimes. He remembered a woman with dark hair. Or was it green? She had been beautiful, deadly, tried to kill him more times than he could remember. In fairness, that didn't mean much. Their marriage brought balance to the criminal underbelly of Madripoor. Peace and truce where she ran it while he enforced those who broke their code. Then at some point there was the divorce it seemed.

She had literally stabbed him in the back and kicked him into Dagger Bay. That was a vivid image in his mind.

"Guess I better stop by and say hello to the missus."

Patch finished his drink, salt on his lips.



She was indeed beautiful and he hadn't imagined the green hair. At least, not entirely. She was a shapely brunette with jade streaks through her hair. The bodyguards, men three times his size, let him in without hassle. Here, at the Pit, she was a snake always ready to strike when at the right time. She stood at the balcony, overlooking her kingdom of cheering spectators, watching a lion fight a man within a giant cage. That wasn't the usual venue.

In any other country, a bloodsport like this would be illegal. In Madripoor, especially here in Lowtown, it was the national pastime. People came here to fight. People came to watch mutants and metas lay the beatdown and bet on the rare normal men to win against all odds. You could make a fortune in a night. You could also lose it.

"Patch, heard you were back in town." Oh, he remembered that sultry accent and how it made his blood boil with a pinch of lust mixed with rage.

"Ophelia. Good to see you."

"I'm the Viper here," she sidled over to make room for Patch to lean against the banister next to her. He took the moment to appreciate the curve of her backside before joining. "Just like you're Patch. Get it right or is it one of the many things you've forgotten with that addled brain of yours? "

A grumble was his answer. His shoulders instinctively clenched, memory of the blade that had been buried between them fresh even if he couldn't remember the specifics. Could have been entirely his fault. He doubted it but it could have been.

"Did we have a brat that I forgot about too?" Patch nodded toward the ring. The lion had transformed into a massive bear. Not all that remarkable in terms of abilities. Shapeshifting was common enough. Except now he noticed that the fur for both forms had been green.

"You wish," she scoffed in disgust. "You have more little monsters out there than you can possibly imagine but thankfully I never had the misfortune to give birth to one. No. That beast down there is a recent purchase of mine. Reigning champ all week. And still, people bet against him hoping to make it big."

The bear switched to a gorilla. Patch recognized its opponent as Paunch, a cook for one of the bay area restaurants. An incredibly durable meta with super strength providing he kept his sugar take high. The champ gave him trouble. Over the crowd, Patch heard the pop of a shoulder as a massive hand grabbed his arm, prepared to go all Wookiee on the man before changing his mind and swinging the fat man back and forth across the mat until he was flung into the cage, the bars very nearly giving way.

The gorilla beat its chest and reached for the legs. Now this was a fight. One he wanted in on.

"Call it." Patch jumped over the edge of the balcony, landing with a grunt. Back in the day, he would have broken his bones. Not now. Not ever again. "I'm next," he shouted over the roar of the crowd and beast.

The green beast convulsed as electricity pulsed through its body, stopping it in mid attack. He didn't see a collar. Must be some sort of implant. That's how Ophelia kept the creature under control. Made a certain amount of sense. Hard to fit a proper collar around something that could change form quicker than you could blink unless you really wanted to spend the money on it.

He pushed his way through the booing crowd who suddenly were taking notice of him. Murmurs of "Patch" made the rounds. They recognized him. Or at least recognized his name. Good to be king sometimes.

"Hey, you. Matches!" He hollered at who he assumed to be the arena's current cutman with a butcher's medkit in his lap. Way too pretty to be here. Skin too nice. No noticeable scars or broken bones. Not even a crooked nose. Just the match he was chewing on beneath a shitty mustache. "Get the fatass out of there and cleaned up. He fillets a good fish that I'm gonna want to celebrate my victory with."

"It's Malone."

"I don't give a fuck." He tossed the man his leather jacket and snapped open the chain that kept cage locked.

The crowd screamed his name as he kept the green gorilla's attention away from the six people it took to pull Paunch out. Every so often, Ophelia gave the beast a shock to keep him in place. Then he heard the clank of the cage door and the rattle of new chains.

"Ladies, gentleman, and all you unrepentant gamblers. The King of Madripoor is back for tonight only!" Ophelia's voice came over speakers surrounding them. "Here's hoping the Jade Giant will finally put an end to the hairy bastard."

Patch rolled his shoulders to loosen up. The gorilla charged him, knuckles dragging against the mat. At the last moment, he rolled out of the beast's way and clambered atop the animal's back. Two fingers stabbed five different pressure points with the strength of unbending bones. The floor shook as the monster collapsed. Patch backed away, wary.

There was the expected silence.

Then came the roar that hadn't been heard for sixty-five million years

Patch found himself staring up into the drooling jaws of a tyrannosaurus-rex. That was a lot of teeth. Better to turn him to mincemeat with if the creature even bothered to chew. Tension in his knuckles threatened to expose him for what he truly was. Who he truly was. He'd been swallowed before and that had not been a pleasant experience. Didn't particularly care to experience it again. So he ran. Not quick enough before a giant tail slapped him into the cage.

The dinosaur did not charge. It turned on him as he scrambled up the cage wall and when it got close enough, he flipped backwards onto the beast again. He locked his legs around the neck as best he could. Fists clasped together, he brought them down together repeatedly against the green-skinned skull. Seemed his bones were tougher than the king of the dinosaurs.

Sudden shift. He faceplanted into the mat below, feeling his nose break. He stayed there longer than needed to let it heal itself out of the sight of anyone

Howls from the crowd.

An eagle clawed at his back. He twisted and grabbed it by the neck. Squeezed and didn't let go. Green feathers tried to turn to fur. Patch didn't relent his death grip.

He caught the scent of fear from the half-bird, half-something-else. That wasn't all that unexpected. Champions who suddenly found themselves on the receiving end of a beatdown often felt it. What left him confused was it went beyond the terror of survival, of fight or flight. It was the smell of a cub bereft of its mother. Scared, confused, it didn't know what was what. Only that it had to fight or the shocks came.

Patch released the neck. The green wolf was on him in an instant, jaws snapping shut over the arm he brought up to defend himself. Blood flowed down his arm, flowed down the mouth. Not much it could do except break skin and tear muscles.

"Shhh," his free hand reached around to pet the beast. "You don't have to fight anymore. I'll make sure of it." He scratched between the ears, aware how strange it must look as his other arm was gnawed at. "She won't hurt you anymore. You're under my protection."

Lupine eyes looked into his.

"I promise."

The wolf let go. The fur retreated into lighter green skin. Legs straightened to humanoid. This was the beast's true form, that of a child. Didn't look old enough to have even started school yet. Shaggy hair hid a face. Innocent eyes stared at Patch and as Patch stared back, he saw sideburns to mimic his own cover the toddler's cheeks.

The onlookers didn't know what to do, how to react.

The rattle of chains. The cage door opened. The man with the match sticking out of the corner of his mouth tossed Patch his jacket back. He wrapped it around the naked child before looking out of the Pit to the viper hissing at him from above. The two's history went back far enough that words were unnecessary. He'd be walking out of here with the boy.

No argument.



The second story of the Princess Bar was normally restricted to a very select few. Tonight, Patch decided to make an exception. A few of the hostesses had children or brothers either the boy's age or older. They had spare clothes. They knew better than him on how to handle a kid. Not exactly the usual situation lovely ladies would be invited up to the boss's personal quarters here in Lowtown. And now the boy found himself the center of a different sort of attention. He remained quiet the whole time, still radiating the smell of fear.

Patch examined the chip removed from the back of the brat's neck. The chip Ophelia had used to keep him under control. He recognized the design. It was almost too perfect a setup. He thought to interrogate her about it. His second thought was to let sleeping dogs lie. She wouldn't answer and he would quite possibly end up with another knife in his back again with her whip wrapped around his throat. It was a belated memory but one he remembered nonetheless. She strangled him before tossing him into the bay.

He just wished he could recall what exactly led to that altercation.

O'Donnell entered with a platter of hand tossed pizza. Patch smelled it before he even opened the door. So did the kid considering his reaction. Enhanced senses even in his base form – if this was his base form. That was telling. The kid pushed through the doting ladies who had finally decided the best set of clothes for him until he was eyelevel with the table O'Donnell set the food down on.

The kid received a nod from Patch before he began devouring it.

"Has he spoken yet?"

"Not a single peep."

"Not even a name?"

Patch shrugged. "The Beast Boy isn't good enough?"

"Maybe a century ago." O'Donnell went to light a cigarette only to receive a glare from every woman and Patch himself. He put the elaborate case back in his inside pocket. "A boy needs a name. That is, if you're deciding to raise him yourself."

Patch pondered over this. Things used to be simpler. Easier. He knew that for a fact. There didn't used to be plots hidden within plots shrouded in schemes. A feral child finds his was into Patch's ex-wife's custody conveniently during his stay here. He bore the very same signs of experimentation that Patch himself had discarded years back. All this made him feel like he was being manipulated. They were good at that.

The brat looked ridiculous with those sideburns. They made Patch smile as he tore into his fourth slice. Quite the voracious appetite. Whatever else, you couldn't trick his nose. The boy certainly was involved in some way but in such a way that wasn't readily apparent. However, the fear and confusion was enough truth for him… for now. Patch would look after him. Just like he had been long before any of those here – except maybe O'Donnell – were born.

"Logan. Logan's a good name."

"First or last?"

Patch grabbed himself a slice before the boy could finish the whole pizza on his own. "Does it matter?"