Iñigo was part of a gang called the Lucky Coyote—El Coyote Suerte. They had split off from the Mexican Cartel years ago and moved into Gotham to seek refuge. Supposedly, they'd also taken some of the cartel's prisoners with them during their breakout.
In time, once they've become secure in their sanctuary from the cartels, the Lucky Coyote formed up. They also inducted those former prisoners into their organization and built something for themselves. Now, the Lucky Coyote had carved out its own little piece of Gotham.
Their influence was a far cry beneath anything like the Penguin's or the now-disbanded Falcone crime family, but they still held more sway in the underworld than most gangs.
At least, that was the story that Lucian was given.
In the end, Iñigo had agreed to take him on after nearly an hour's worth of discussion. Lucian ended up being assigned to the protection division, which fell under Iñigo's leadership—his restaurants were instrumental in spreading his influence and sowing trust in Gotham's citizens, after all.
From there, Lucian had basically become an initiate. He would work during the day at the very restaurant he had 'applied' at, presenting as a regular employee until something called for action. The same held true for every other employee as they rotated their duties, so he would at least have examples to follow for his work.
As for his specific job, he was to be a delivery boy. He was given one of the franchise-owned motorcycles for his work, and if he worked with them for long enough or gained enough trust, it would become his—not just in word, but in legal writing as well.
With everything else settled, he was slated to start in two days. His schedule would begin at six in the morning, with a break from ten to eleven. It would then continue from eleven in the morning to three in the afternoon, at which point he would be paid his daily salary. That left him with a little bit of time to split between personal business and power naps before striking out at night to fight crime and empower himself. Though...
'Hahhh~ looks like I'll only be able to spar Maxie once... Shame, she seemed to fun to fight with. It's whatever, though.'
As part of his discussions with Iñigo, Lucian brought up his nightly activities as a vigilante. He was told that so long as he didn't turn his fists towards the Coyote, it would be fine. He was encouraged to continue as he had been doing, even. To that end, he was allowed to use the restaurant as something of a support venue. Mainly, he could cache his belongings there for safekeeping while he did his nightly work.
৹ ◎ ◉ ◎ ৹
"How many fucking times?!"
Nicks ducked his head as he ran, wincing. Waylon had never yelled at him like that before. "But—!"
Waylon snarled at him. Snarled. Whatever his condition had been doing to his body, it had even made his guttural vocalizations sound less human and more... beast-like. "Just keep running. When we finally get away, we're gonna have a good long talk about you always being so fucking reckless."
He just wanted to help. God, Nicks just wanted to help. But... "Okay..." All he could do in the end, was whimper even as he ran.
Behind them, the people that Nicks had stolen from were catching up. He didn't feel bad about stealing—not from small-time gangs like them. After all, whatever he had stolen, they had already stolen from someone else in the first place. They didn't deserve those things any more than he did.
"Waylon!" He stammered.
"What?!"
"You should go ahead..." Nicks slowed down, just enough to see Waylon pulling ahead a little. "... I'll just let them catch me. You could still run while they're busy."
Suddenly, a large hand brushed harshly against the nape of his neck. Only once he was 'floating' did he realize that Waylon had 'scruffed' him and picked him up by his too-loose hoodie.
"Let me go!" Nicks yelled. "I did this! I fucked up, this is my fault! You don't have to keep saving me—!"
He was silenced when he was slung over Waylon's shoulder. As they were running, the roughness of the movement was amplified, and the breath was stolen from his lungs.
"Shut up," Waylon demanded. "Shut the fuck up and let's just run."
Their argument cost them. As both Nicks and Waylon had been distracted, they no longer knew where they were in the labyrinthian back alleys. They realized their location a little too late, and they froze in stunned silence at the three solid walls that closed them in.
They had come up to a dead end. Cornered.
Someone cackled behind them. "Nowhere left to run!" One of the gangoons taunted. His words were followed by an assortment of jeering from his fellow gang members, both verbal and otherwise.
That was it. It was over. Much worse than any time before, well around a dozen people had come after them. It was all Nicks' fault. He should have never antagonized them, and he was wrong to think that he could keep giving them the slip forever. Just because he was small and crafty didn't mean—
Eyes wide, a realization dawned on him. One that he should have had long, long ago. All the connections he had missed, all the thoughts he had ignored just because he let himself get cocky. They all finally converged to give him the biggest system shock of his life.
He'd already been caught. By all means, the first time, the man he'd tattled on in exchange for money had gotten him dead to rights. The only reason he got away was that strange man that saved him. That should have been his turning point. He should have listened to Waylon more since then, after he'd told that story.
The second time was with that old bald man. Again, that strange man from before had saved him as well as the bald man he'd roped into his mess. That should have been a stronger wake-up call for Nicks. He'd almost gotten someone else hurt at that point... he should have learned.
Sadly for Nicks, it looked like third time was the charm. Not for him, but the consequences that he'd inadvertently evaded time and time again until now.
He would've died alone the first time. The second, it was to be with some stranger—he wouldn't have minded as much, guilty as he still would have been. This time, though... this time, Waylon would have to pay the price with him for his arrogance.
He wouldn't go out without a fight, though. Gulping, he steeled himself. In that dead end was a pile of discarded carpentry material. Selecting a random two-by-two, he held it aloft and brandished it clumsily in shaking hands. He braced himself as much as he could at the onslaught of laughter and insults sent his way. Somehow, that hurt worse than if they'd just started beating him.
Then, there was Waylon. As he had stood before Nicks and the gangoons that cornered them, Nicks caught something in his only friend's eye. Respect, maybe? It was a hard look, yet there was warmth in it all the same.
'Ah, well... at least I won't die alone—'
"HUARGKK...!"
Nicks' thoughts were interrupted when one of the enemies, someone in the pack's rear, yowled in pain and fell into a heap on the ground.
"Yo!" A familiar voice called out from far behind the enemy group. "Some party y'all are havin' here... mind if I set off some fireworks?"
৹ ◎ ◉ ◎ ৹
'Eugh... that was so cheesy,' thought Lucian, cringing at his own words. But, as it was, he'd already verbally committed himself to one course of action.
Before him stood over a dozen men, all enemies. While he opposed them from one side, two others from a third party did the same on the opposite end. He still had poor dark vision, but he could at least tell that one of those two figures was armed, and the other was tall and broad. Much bigger than he was, and he himself was no slouch.
[ Observation. ]
[ Host is excited. Creator mandates encouragement. ]
[ Light 'em up, host! ]
'Thanks, Ms. P!'
He drew one of his own guns, looted from other criminals in the past. He quickly dashed away with [ Full Cowling ] active and let his fire loose, careful not to inadvertently shoot the people he was supposed to be helping.
His magazine had ten shots plus one already chambered. With [ Full Cowling ] indirectly enhancing his reaction speed, his gun fired as if it had a full-auto setting.
Four bullets struck the hostiles in the arms. Three more bullets hit their legs. The rest nailed others center-mass, but none were immediately fatal. Of course, there were overlaps among those shots—different bullets that hit the same person. In that opening volley alone, five men went down.
"Nine of y'all left. Let's get reckless."
As the gangoons recollected themselves and made to retaliate, Lucian threw his empty gun with all his strength and flexibility. It crushed in someone's nose on impact. There was no fear of ranged retaliation quite yet; his actions played out over the course of mere moments. Meanwhile, the large man he was helping took on two people by himself, leaving one more to his much shorter, more delicate associate.
The that one Lucian had hit with the gun fell over, clutching at his face while the rest charged. Those last four brandished their weapons. Two ran at him with knives and bats. The other two finally drew their own handguns once their situation fully registered.
They'd held off on bringing those out until Lucian got involved—clearly, they had much worse in mind for the ones they were chasing until he interfered.
"Gimme a hug, homeboy!" Lucian leapt into the personal space of the closer of the melee fighters—one with a bat—and clinched hard. He put enough pressure into the hold to dislocate one shoulder and crack a few ribs. Since that one was just a bit larger than him, the gunmen had no room to shoot.
That gave him enough time to draw another gun. He shot at the other melee fighter first, nailing him in one arm and one leg. While that one reeled in pain, he took out the gunmen, effectively disabling their entire team.
From there, he took his time knocking everyone out. Only he and the two people he'd saved were left standing by the time he was done. The taller one watched him with weary yellow eyes, sunken into his face under hairless brows. With sickly olive skin that gave off the appearance of animal carapace, there was only one person that could have been.
'Waylon Jones... though he isn't quite Killer Croc just yet.'
The other one...
'Feh? What?' It was the same kid that Lucian had saved twice before now. To think that he'd run into him again... Before he could say anything about the situation though, Waylon had stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
A fair question. Lucian wasn't about to just give away his name, though. There was the fact that the kid knew his face, but he had nothing else even then. Though, as far as names were concerned, he had no alias to give, either...
"Just some dude that hunts bad guys for fun," he eventually answered. "Well, that, and profit. I'm actually aboutta loot these guys. Y'all want in?"
...
[ Combat EXP: 110. ]
[ Rescue EXP: 20. ]
[ Total EXP: 130. ]
[ ... ]
[ Congratulations! Your level has risen to 3. ]
[ Next level: 310. ]
[ One for All bonus: Power +1, Vitality +1, Agility +1 ]
[ Class Points: +1 ]
[ Free Attribute Points: +5 ]
– ৹ – ৹৹◎৹৹ – ৹ –
Host: Lucian Sant-Pearce
Matrix: One for All: Lost Flame
Level: 3
EXP: 90/400
Classes: Brawler [3]
———
Attributes:
Power: 16
Vitality: 16
Agility: 16
Intellect: 12
Mentality: 12
Spirit: 12
Luck: 0
– ৹ – ৹৹◎৹৹ – ৹ –
[ Brawler [3] has given you the Ability [Heavy Blow]. ]
[ The impact of your direct physical attacks has been improved. ]
[ Your physical recoil resistance has been improved. ]
...
The offer of sharing the spoils seemed to placate Waylon a little bit—at least for the time being. That put the kid at ease as well. Lucian multitasked in the silence of their victory, which was really more his than theirs.
Everyone knew, after all. Lucian knew most keenly. The kid was a lost cause, but Waylon would have survived. At least, his body would have. The aggression.
Lucian knew where that path would lead. He had just swept in and snatched Waylon up from the slopes of evil, but there was still more work to be done. He was already halfway down, after all—and Lucian would need to guide him all the way back up, if not drag him outright.
Lucian worked silently with them to restrain and loot their defeated foes. All the while, he handled his attribute-point distribution and system class assignment, disguising his satisfaction over it as enjoyment for the loot they were collecting.
Guns, knives, hard cash... Oh yeah. The night had just started, and it was already profitable. Though there wasn't much in the way of money, he felt comfortable sharing profits with Waylon and the kid. Now, though... he had to handle the elephant in the room. Or, rather, the crocodile in the alley.
'Waylon's perfect for my purposes. The fact that he hasn't 'turned' yet works even better. I need to get him on my side as one of my main guys, if not as my right-hand man.'
They had since left the alley where they'd fought the rabble. He was now eyeing both Waylon and the kid, the former doing the same right back to him. As for the latter, there was this trepidatious look on his face. He knew there really wasn't much holding him back, though—it was mostly nerves at that point.
"If you wanna say something, kid... just spit it out. Ain't no one finna bite you," Lucian said.
That got a wince out of Waylon. The kid himself though, his face lit up like Christmas came early. "I just wanted to say thank you," he eventually managed to stammer out. "For tonight and the other two times. And... I wanted to say I'm sorry."
Though none could see his face, Lucian quirked a brow at that anyway. "Sorry for what?"
"That I keep getting into trouble," the kid explained. He then tugged at Waylon's pants, who was currently shirtless—it had been torn during the fight. "I'm... I mean that for you too, Waylon. I promise I'll listen from now on."
—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—
Well... that was something, wasn't it? But hey, plot starts for real now. We're starting world conquest by picking up a veritable basilisk, for all that Waylon's medical condition is transforming him into something inhuman.
Just to note, as far as I remember when it comes to Waylon's backstory, he would've been in and out of juvie/jail/prison. Without Lucian's interference, even if both he and Nicks survived the night, Waylon would've likely been taken in again. Who knows what'd happen to the kid then. When Waylon gets out, he'd have become a changed man.
From there, it's easy to see him closing himself off, easily agreeing to anything that'd keep his mind off what he'd lost. If I recall correctly, he becomes a crocodile wrangler somewhere as part of a live show. His life would go further up shit's creek from there though, because of course it does, and that leads up to the events that formed Killer Croc.
Even if it's not 100% accurate to canon, I think the way I went about Waylon's character was pretty good. Just so happens that Lucian came in just in time to save one of his last connections to keep him on the better side of criminality.
...
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