Everything posted here has been archived from the random and sporadic postings of a now inactive user on a now defunct messaging board.

The user describes outlandish and disturbing events, which while the OP was posting, went completely ignored by other users. Not a single person read the thousands of paragraghs posted, by analysing the site data, the first post got zero clicks.

As of 2025, there has been an increasing amount of curiosity surrounding the old unseen posts, its become a bit of an urban legend.

The insane ramblings of someone suffering from psychotic breaks, or something more? That question draws people, they don't care about the truth, they care about the mystery, the air surrounding it.

The following will be an archiving of this lost content, uploaded twice a week, starting with the first post made by the account that had descriptions of supernatural events.

The following was posted on January 3rd, 2022

1:30pm.

School day. I've never been that academically gifted, just about clearing the hurdle for most subjects. I'd say I was sitting in front of the teacher, I'm the sort of guy that'll take the seats that people don't want, but need to be filled.

Funny how most teachers will lecture students for talking amongst themselves during a lesson, but can't pick up on the fact that the kid in front of them is half asleep, recuperating from restless bus rides home after hopping around the town looking for drugs. (That sounds bad out of context.)

My teacher, who I'll call Mr biology in these posts to avoid leaving any clues to my real life, was preparing to give out a topic test on chromatography.

Most people were trying to get in as much revision done in the final minute they had. Didn't really bother myself. I had a textbook sitting open in front of me, but my eyes were closed.

Behind me, sat a guy I'll call Mullet. Mullet was worse at this class then me, not for lack of trying, he did. Compared to the rest of the class, he was very interactive with the teacher, he did the work, he studied, he failed. Whenever he answered questions there was always something off with his phraseology.

Whenever he did the work, he misunderstood the questions, leading to him answering the same questions in different ways. Who knows what he did to study, but judging from the class average, it wasn't helping anything stick in his brain.

He worked hard, but not in a way that made a difference. He never tried to change how he went about things, so when I say he works hard, it's in a way that he doesn't have to try hard.

While I was having a crazy reoccurring dream about this claymation caterpillar, I hear the teacher say something behind me to mullet. In my half-awake state I couldn't piece together what he had said, so I floppily turn my head and look at him half eyed. He was making some joke to the teacher about his marks in the last test, my mind was still too focused on piecing together what had already been said. I studied the long-haired student for a few seconds tracking his arm as he raised a see-through bottle to his mouth squirting the last of its contents down his throat. Something slowly began to click in my mind, the bottle and what Mr bio said forming a bridge.

Mountain dew.

Huh.

It brought me back a few nights to when I found a vial between a drug dealers ass cheeks, which shared the same colouration.

Well, it's weird just jumping into it, but yeah. That's been a staple of my life since last week. Pantsing drug dealers to find illegal substances.

I only now what most of the other stuff looked like from cop shows, or breaking bad, but this tiny vile wasn't something i'd seen before.

I know Mullet, he's been vaping since he was fifteen, and he's definitly the type of guy to get into weirder substances.

Couldn't hurt to poke a little deeper, if there is anything to poke into.

2:45 PM

Bombed my biology test.

There was a question about what developing solution was used in our chromatography practical, and my first thought was, we did a chromatography practical?

As we were passing the tests back up to the front I start talking to Mullet.

"Yo Mullet, what'd you get for that stuff about the unknown mixture on the second last page?"

By that point in the test I was a little more confident.

"Huh? It was just alanine, wasn't it? You could eyeball it from the graph." I noticed he didn't seem defeated like he usually did after one of these.

"Haha, you think so? Mate, I put down leucine." In that moment I think defeat was visible on my exhausted face.

There was a short awkward silence, before he let a short "woof…" out.

He teetered back in his seat and broke eye contact with me.

'Shit shit how do I make small talk?'

I try to re-open the conversation,

"I mean, it really depends how much you studied for it though, right? You do a lot more than me, like-" He made eye contact with me again, and reared forward out of the backward tilt. Startling me with a clack of his chair

"Nah, it's about luck." he said with a slight crack of humour in his bored face.

I shifted my body around to face him straight on. "Luck?" I tried to pull him into a conversation, with the question.

He dragged his hand down the side of his face, rubbed his chin, and answered, "Everything's really down to luck though, right? If you're born rich, it's luck. If you win the lotto, It's luck. Get cancer? Bad luck. Whether or not ye' can think of the answer on a test, or choose right on a multiple-choice question? -"

He left a pause here, that looking back now, I realise I was supposed to fill.

He raised a brow and helped me out, "Luck."

"Right," I replied dumbly, "Yeah, i guess."

At this point the bell rang and he got up to leave. I realised now that I needed to ask him 'bout the dew.

"Well, hope you've got another bottle of mountain for mrs French's class. Ahahahah!" Don't know I laughed so hard or what that was even supposed to mean.

How the hell is a soft drink gonna make a class more bearable?

He did reply to my forced comment, "No, I don't drink mountain. That was clovers."

I tilt my head a little, "Clovers? Clovers dew?"

"Even you've gotta know about that." He seemed almost offended by my dumbass, probably fed up by this point.

"It's some energy drink from up north. Came down here recently, only sold in the Quarter? Tacky banner outside that says, 'Clovers dew: made with 100% real four leaf clover extract.'?"

He stared at me while he packed his bag, squinting his eyes.

"Oh, Clovers! Yeah-heh-heh, I remember that, in the Quarter, went there with my friends from Dublin awhile back!"

Pretty sad lie to tell and we both knew it.

With pity in his eyes, he said plainly as he walked away, "Get out of your house. Go get a drink. Might get yourself a girlfriend."

Brr…

That's cold man.

I was the last to leave the class, Even Mr Bio had gone to get a sandwich or to check the football score done at the pitch in his free period.

The room was empty.

I packed my bag, pushed in my chair-

-then got down on the floor and rolled myself into a hand stand. Unflinching I removed nine of my fingers from the floor leaving only my pinky to keep me from falling.

Mullet might have a girlfriend to have fun with, but this is where I get my kicks.

9:00 PM

I wish there was more to tell about the city of Tralee. When you look us up on google maps all you get is some stuff about a beauty pageant and that it has 'cultural heritage sites'.

Everywhere has cultural heritage sites. Every building is a place where someone has lived their day-to-day life. What makes these buildings in particular any different?

For ol' Shamrock, and his dubious attempts at heroism, not a good place to set up. Tons of thin streets and short buildings for a guy who primarily travels on roofs, tryna find spidy looking characters becomes a lot harder when you're also trying to keep balance on slanted tiles.

We aren't much of a city, compared to Dublin, let alone New York (never been, but I've seen movies, that place is huge).

Crime rate is very meh, which isn't too good. Well, it is good. But not good for me, because, you know- 'Shepherd without a sheep is just a crook'.

Anybody heard that one before? Doesn't sound like it's used overseas.

Maybe I'll move to Dublin when I finish high school. We'll see how the current situation pans out.

The Quarter is a Pub pretty popular with teens in the surrounding area. It's a place where a fresh faced 13-year-old can get a decent lager. So I've heard.

Because so many kids go here It's become a good place for druggies to get younger people into there shit, people from my school have started going there less and less. Both because it's gone downhill, and because the sort of people who hang around that place after the age of 19 are real shady characters, not just the drug stuff, rarer criminal activities.

You get knife attacks now and again, or loan sharks filling up the place. Think there was something about paramilitaries awhile back.

At least I haven't seen a single bank heist, likely due to the fact that gun laws are far less loose here than in the land of the free. If I'm going to do this, I'd ratherkeep it simple, fighting in closed quarters with a lot of people around complicates things.

The Quarter just so happened to be on one of my favourite streets to go down.

Tall-ish buildings, smooth roofs, and a lot of druggies.

Now I don't want to point any fingers, but let's just say I haven't known many other fractions that happen to live on a street with so many public urinations and attempted stabbings.

I peered over the edge of the sports shop which acted as a wall for the narrow alley leading to a building illuminated by green spotlights. There was a bit of a queue beneath the corny banner, my inner art student rolled over in his grave, because not only did this make me cringe, it also killed me that whatever the banner was advertising was clearly successful.

The colours clashed, the two different fonts didn't complement each other, and the fact that the text was clearly intended to be read on a bigger banner than the one in this little hole urked me.

At this point in time, I didn't know how much abuse I could take physicaly, so I stepped back from the edge and ran at the other wall of the small street.

Not so much jumping off the edge, more like a basilisk lizard going over a waterfall. My arms and legs flailed a little to keep myself upright. As I slammed into the wall opposite, no sooner did I kick myself from it back to the other wall and skid down the surface.

It wasn't that big a drop, maybe 25 feet. But I thought it might look cool to any of the people in line or serve to intimidate the bouncer.

Looking over I saw a few bored, turned looks from a few heavily tanned chicks, and shady looking cocks. Bouncer was busy letting a few tween girls in when I did the jump.

Can't let'em break my stride though right?

Green cape lulling behind me, I walk up to the bouncer, skipping the queue. He looked about 30, shaved head, both of his ears were cauliflowered and his nose a little off centre. A little short for his line of work, but so was I. He was definitely broader than me though, had a muscley-fatty sorta build.

"Leprechaun day isn't till Monday, mate. If you're staff, go in through the backrooms. If not, back of the line please." His Belfast accent surprised me for some reason, I don't talk to many people from way up there anymore, the unexpected 'please' at the end might have helped my reaction.

I smiled wide and filled my chest with air, "Or, how about we skip the foreplay and get straight to the part where you're lyin' fucked up on the ground, tweeddle dumb. I'm comin' in to see whoever's got you on payroll; to check out this crappy tourist trap." I pointed up to the clovers, pots of gold, and leprechauns on the sign above.

He shook his head and folded his meaty arms, "Who the fuck, d'you think you are? Get the fuck, before I wipe you, ya wee shit stain."

I could see why he was picked for this job, despite his stature, his glare could make me feel smaller.

This was how he treats honest patrons to his establishment? I don't know how this buisness is still going.

I squatted down in front of the man standing before me, reached forward, and grabbed him by his ankles. I stood up as quickly as I had squatted, arms still outstretched, he was still standing upright, only, now he was five feet off the ground.

He wailed and flailed his arms, getting caught in the banner above.

"Oh hey! I've heard of this! Emma Stone has the same phobia! Did'ya break a bone in gymnastics class once?" I could see him grip to the banner, he became confident enough now to try and kick his feet, not that he could, with my patented super grip-strength. He started cussing and saying what I assume were regional phrases from back home.

Eventually he tired his legs out. Maybe I squeezed too hard? Regardless, I let my arms flap to my side and walked around the bauble by the door.

As I walked into the tunnel connecting the dance floor of the quarter to the outside world, the people who had been waiting in line, were no longer waiting. I never looked back but I heard them bump past the bouncer. Just as I got to the second door. I faintly heard the ripping of fabric, followed by a definite scream. I'll have to buy him a drink later. Make up for that.

9:15 PM

It's pretty hard to see around a large crowded room, only illuminated by bright neon lights, And the ear drum bursting remixes of pop 90's music and the occasional rap track. I eventually made my way through the crowd of people to the main bar. If I was twenty years older, I would have probably thought to myself 'what are these girls dressed like that for? It's early January?!'

Well, I was wearing thin green fabric for no good reason, other than the fact that it made me think I was hot shit.

I'm Freezing my nips in here, but professional crime fighter Shamrock was more focused on whether or not an accidental boner would be visible on the baggy fabric of his bottom half. (Not that I got a boner, just thought I might.)

I can openly say that I get shaky around girls, especially half naked ones. You already know I can't talk good to Mullet for starters, what makes you think I'd be better off talking to the barmaid?

Shamrock helps. A little. Not much.

"Hey tall, dark and tattooed, I'm lookin' for clovers magic leprechaun juice!" I shouted over the music at her, realising I was being louder than needed when she replied, "Clovers dew is made from four leaf clovers, and is currently only being sold to regulars and helpers in the back, Seeing as I can't even see your face to recognise it, short, green, and stupid, you aren't getting shit."

I tried not to falter, deciding to roll for intimidation, "Your bouncer's lying in blood, sweat and tears down the hall there, even if you don't believe I fucked him up, pretty sure you can't argue someone built like me can give you a nose like his. I don't wanna do that. So. Send me out back. We both know they're more than willing to put me in my place- or maybe six feet below it."

She met the fabric eyes of my hood; I couldn't quite make out the expression on her face.

"Sure." She motioned with her head for me to come behind the counter, so I crouch jumped over it. Exasperated she shook her head. She couldn't be much older than me, though the sleeves of tattoos covering her arms and neck made her look more mature.

Most people who hang out in places like this drop out of school when they got the chance. Some of them went into drug dealing full time, I'd known one or two that had, but most got normal jobs, getting paid minimum wage for handy work like being an electrician, they just happened to get cooked on their off hours as a hobby. I guess this woman walked an interstice between the two, not directly involved in the shipping or production, but keeping as close as possible to it.

Tat, what I'll nickname this woman till I learn her name, led me around the back of the bar and down a well-lit dingy hal which made me wonder why they'd bothered getting a light so bright, for a hall stained with vomit?

We passed the stench of the employees' toilets; coming to a steel door. Tat jangled a chain of keys in an attempt to find the one to match the heavy border. She spoke to me as she did so.

"You could go back to the bar, get a girl to grind, lose the get up, stop with the flips. Maybe you'll get in a fight. You'll probably win," She found the key, "but in here that's a maybe. You're going somewhere beyond what most people should see, kid, and I'll only be thankful for the disappearance of the junkie monkey-"

I interrupted, "It's Shamrock."

"Fuck up, twat." She kindly replied, annoyance clear in her voice, "You're already in that room, the second world, those who know." The door clicked. "Make it out of there alive, and she'll fuck you over, one way or another."

10:00 PM

Mullet staired wide eyed from his booth, occasionally taking a drag from his bong. I slammed the three remaining guys trying to dog pile me into a nearby table, all with one arm.

I don't know if he recognised me, I naturally stood taller, smiled a lot more, and could fight rooms and rooms of druggies, armed with whatever they thought would hurt me. Glass bottles, chairs, there was even a girl who pulled a shoe on me. Might have reacted a little strongly to that one, hope her arm's ok.

There were some customers who didn't interfere with the fights, like Mullet, or those who were too out of it to care.

I made a stride over to my classmate; he panicked a little as he took a final drag from his bong. I stretched out a single worn glove to him. He looked at it, then up at me. He uneasily jerked the bong into my hand.

Only for me to crash it into the ceiling with an over shoulder throw. I heard him groan, and say, "Aaron's gonna kill me!"

I didn't leave anybody bloody, or unconscious; sore and defeated is more my style. Some of them were still antagonising me with curses, but I don't fall for stuff like that, not when I could blow their heads up with a back hand.

Probably.

I walked towards a door I hadn't yet tried, the last I knew of. I found where they kept their drug stock and that green stuff, at this point I was really wondering what it was. Was it really just… beer? Irish tourist trap, gimmicky booze?

Find the boss, find what's up. I reached out for the door-

"Wu-wait…" one of the guy's stumbled at me, grabbed my cape. "I don't care… if 'ou bust my fooken nose… don't open that…"

I jiggled the handle. Locked.

"Take… take it all… the blow… green… you open that, she…" He trailed off, but he got upright.

"I won't lose." I told him sternly.

"I'm going to be a hero, if nobody else will. Get a job, mate. A straight job. I'll help you find one, if you want."

His grip slipped, and he let out a "Fuckin… Bitch…", before slinking away.

I knew the type of response I'd get, still, disappointing. I looked up from the handle at the thick glossy red door. Seeing a warped reflection of myself in it.

The first world: Those who do not know.

The second world: Those who know

The third world: Those who …

Those who…

I broke off the handle. Little harder than expected. This part of the building, second floor, maybe third, was the opposite end of the building from where I entered. There might have been another room after this one.

Fuck, stop analysing. Open the door, no more shit. Let's get this bitch.

I opened the door slowly, shouldn't have done that, in retrospect. If anyone was going to have a gun it would be 'her'. My heart skipped a beat. I raised my foot-

And tripped.

Fell flat through the door, on my face. First thing I thought was, I've been shot. There was a stillness in the air, like when a character gets shot in a movie, they don't feel it till they look down.

Then she laughed, a giddy roar. For a moment, I felt... comfort from it, comparing it to the insults slung at me earlier, I can see why my primate brain thought this was a good thing.

"By fuck! The mythical junkie monkey? Well, if you're on your knees outta the gate, I guess I can make you my bitch."

I looked up, noticing now a stiffness and tiredness in my joints. The first thing that struck me about her was how different she seemed to other denizens of the Quarter. She wore a short green cocktail dress, which I could tell by looking at it, was expensive. She sat cross legged, her arms dangling over the back of the throne she was sitting on. She had a thin smile plastered across her face, wider than I could manage in my position.

"Don't bother getting up." she was nearly singing, "I'll just put you back down, again."

Again?

It was weird that I had tripped. You know Michal Jackson? Smooth criminal music video? My feet are so strong they can support my body from a ten-degree angle off the floor. I should have caught myself.

"Close it, cum stains." I felt the door bump into my leg as somebody pulled it back.

"Feckers. You didn't snort all the coke, Junk monkey?"

This time I answered, "Course not. I'm Shamrock, and I'm gonna kick your ass."

She cringed a little before saying, "You've been giving Taytay trouble?"

I wanted to taunt her. "I've taken down worse than you!"

I lied, felt really stupid in front of the boss fight too, trying to say something cool and flopping it like a fish. Could I have picked a more over used line?

"Ok, let's just skip to the shooting." As she stretched behind the chair, I noticed how flawless her skin was, in stark contrast to the sickly-looking workers, she was a pretty girl. At this point it clicked that she was also around my age. I know I've said there's a lot of kids involved in this, but in charge? Unless she wasn't in charge.

"Wait, you are the boss, ri-?" Something shook me bad.

From my face down my spine. I felt a numb spinning.

When I was a lot younger, I picked a fight with a guy double my age, (I was seven or so) he kicked my shit in, and when I was down, he stomped my head into the concrete.

My everything tremored.

After a while I could make out some laughs from- everywhere really, but I knew I hadn't lost consciousness so it was probably from behind or in front of me.

I raised my head, to the chair lady, and shouted, "It's gonna take a lot more than that!" Pretty basic line, but it gets the message across.

I barely made out what she had said, "Shit. He is tough."

I let out a wheezed 'heh' to that. Now that I know that my super strength comes with super endurance, I don't have to freak out at every knife, or even guns.

Maybe that's only half true I might actually be dying right now. If my body is strong enough to survive the backlash of my strength, then it should be strong enough to resist a rifle blast, let alone survive it.

Slim chance, probably next too none this early on, not even a chance, but maybe… Maybe she's-

10:10 PM-ish

A succession of slaps brought me back to the current situation. I was out of it for a long while, only now starting to come to. The Lady leaning in front of me seamed sort of pissed.

I smiled wide at that.

"Okay I'm 100% now! Say what you got to say!"

She wanted me alive a little longer for some reason.

I figured this out because in the time I was lost in delirium she had moved me to her chair, and wrapped rope around me.

That wasn't going to do much.

I shifted my face about to feel if either layer of my masks were off, they weren't, but I felt a numb sort of pain on the right side of my head.

"Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me about this?? If I'd known your dumbass was here, I'd have parked in Limerick. What's up with you anyway, cunt, robbing my men?? Do you know who I work for?? Don't you fuck with me!" She seemed only annoyed by the end of that ramble. I introduced myself.

"Heya! My name is Shamrock! I'm a new superhero that just got his powers around a week ago, so that's probably why nobody has ever told you about me. Also, yeah I actually have super powers, like in a comic book pretty weird at first, but you know. Oh, I actually made this costume myself! The brown bits on my arm are to restrict blood flow so I don't hurt people much, and the tassles on my head is for people to grab onto when i rescue them!."

She eyed the white eyes of my mask, and then the part of my head that felt weird.

"Fuck up you psycho. Cut the crap and tell me your name. Not your shitty- lord of the rings roleplay- fetish- bullshit!" She started to load her rifle. I wanted to test something out.

"OK, OK!" She lowered it slightly. Well there was no way I telling her my secret identity, so in an appropriate voice I started to mess with her.

"My name is Christian Weston Chandler age 22 at this time, I will be 23 on February 24th 2005, and you know, uuh, anyway, for over a year now I-uh have been trying to attract a boyfriend-free-gir-"

I let out a howl. Clenched my teeth to stop myself from breaking my bonds.

She shot him. She freaking shot my mini-me!

She was already cocking it again.

She hummed to herself, "Tom-fucken-foolery, ain't fucken cool with me, got it??"

I had been hoping for this. Not getting the little buddy blasted, but to get shot one more time. It was too weak. Softer tissue, but I was sure it hadn't even pierced skin. Unlike up top, as I noticed specks of blood stuck to the fabric of my cowl now.

It was the same gun as well, long silver barrel, army metallic stock. Ok, maybe I didn't need to get shot again to piece it together, but I was a little hazy, what with the gash in my head.

"You have super powers! Critical hits or something, right?" I was excited in that moment, to finally have a lead!

She was puzzled by this, it was clear on her face, "Yes?? I have powers do you-??" she trailed off before piecing things together.

"Ahe…Ahehe. Hahaha!"

She Mussed up her poorly dyed-blonde hair, the only part of her that looked trashy. She narrowed back at me with her eyes and a toothed smile, "I'm your first. Aren't I?? God, I thought we were gonna have a problem there."

She let out a sigh. "Okay. Join or die loser, which is it gonna be??"

I was confused. "Wait-wait-wait. I'm sorry am I missing something here? I feel like I missed a pamphlet back at the banner."

I joked but I really needed an explanation on how this works.

"Sure, why not. You don't really have a choice right now but to become my underling, limp dick. What do ya need to know?" She didn't seem nearly as manic as before, nearly normal, if it weren't for the rifle and blood.

"Why do I need to join you now? Apposed to when you thought I was, I don't know, experienced with this stuff?" Had bigger questions but might as well open with something that made sense to ask.

"Because you have no friends, no syndicate, and because you're a nobody, no one'll even question me when I say this was my town first. If you were somebody, I'd look like an ass for moving in, wiping you out- but that wrong is righted, muscles."

I gulped a little at that.

I asked, "So, are there only supervillains? Because I feel like if that were true, somebody would have conquered the world by now."

She looked at me like I was a child that had hurt their knee.

"Fucking America. The cape and mask make a lot of sense now."

She spoke to me like a child now too, "Sweet heart, people just have powers. That doesn't make them want to play dress up, make up dumb names, or grow a sense of absolute morality. You should know that. You took a fuck ton of my shit before coming here, and hate to break it to you, doing all that coke isn't legal. Or healthy."

I could feel my smile fade. "I'm not high, I- I threw it away. Burned it."

She leaned in and that crazy look in her eyes was back, "You- So you stripped them for the cash? I find that really hard to believe." I shook my head, "No, I used that to buy food for the homeless."

She sort of spazed out for a second, "Youfefecwha?? Is your second power, like, super brain cancer?? You thought you were literally the most powerful being to have ever existed for a solid week-" She paused and smacked her face with the palm of her hand, "and decided to be Ronald-fucking-Regan??!"

I didn't answer the question, I was more concerned with something else she said,

"How did you know I had a second power? And by the way, its not super tumours. I think."

She turned away from me, trying to comprehend my decisions, "A human can cosmologically only have two powers, primary and secondary, mutant fucks don't count, they usually have one, or a ton of miscellaneous weak shit."

Too much, too much! Is there not some sort of system to this? Is this like Marvel or My Hero?

That's what I wanted to ask but didn't. "How do you get powers?"

She calmed down a bit by now, "There's no one way of doing it. Could be some advanced science, but usually only the guy who comes up with it understands what any of it means. Could be some weird chemical, but nobody can reproduce the exact reaction. Could be the will of some unknowable entity, but they're more likely to dissolve you into goo when you talk to them."

"Born with it, found a space sword," She lifted up her palm, "or maybe a magic four leaf clover."

Her palm was marked with not a four-leaf clover, but a three-leaf one. She dropped her arm to her side and covered the mark. Did that mean something? Fading power? Limited stamina? Only four uses total? Pretty sure I understood the basics of her powers now.

"Luck manipulation? And you make that green stuff, like, with your other power, and that gives other people good luck?" A whole lot of little things started to make sense. That's why I tripped at the door, that's why one of the shots hurt a hell of a lot more, it was a lucky shot to a weak point in the human body. My temple maybe? And that's why Mullet was drinking the dew before that test!

God I am the world's greatest detective.

"It's not like I'll tell you, not till you become my subordinate. Shit, I feel like I gotta put this out there now. I'm not gonna, like, be your 'dommie mommy', calling you my bitch was just to seem hardcore, you know about putting on airs in a fight- I swear to god, I'm not usually-" putting two finger tips to her dirty blonde hair she seemed to catch herself, "Shit, bad job interview, my name is Clover, you still haven't told me yours."

She seemed to honestly have a warm smile here.

She paused for me to tell her, and-

"No."

She seemed very confused by this.

"No??"

She seemed really confused.

"Clover, I'm not going to even consider joining you. You hurt people for profit, that's not right. If I was a kid cracked out of his head, you would have sprayed my brains against that door. So, the answer is, and will always be, no, I will not join you."

Wish I could read her expression in that moment but while I was talking she covered her face with her marked hand, and tilted her head back.

"You're right kid, I will fuckin kill you, like, I don't care."

I offered, "If you want, you could join me."

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU??" She declined.

She smacked the barrel of her rifle into my nose, I commented on the overwhelming scent of gunpowder from the weapon.

"Eww, smoky…"

"FUCK. UP."

She jerked it into my face with force, "This thing is on a high-way through that thick skull of yours, cunt, do not encourage this .70 round to go over your speed limit!"

"I've never won a fight before."

I spoke with a nasally filter, "I don't count me confiscating drugs on the street, or the guys outside, they never stood a chance. A fight is when you go against the odds. 1 to 99 billion. That's what it means to be a superhero. Sorry. I don't go back on me word." I smiled.

Clover looked like she was in pain for some reason. Before she pulled the trigger for the last time that night, she said to me, "We could've done anything you've ever wanted to. I would have been more than happy to have a guy my age who isn't a crack head on board.

She paused and gave a fake smile, at least, I hope it was.

"Goodbye, Junk monkey."

You know how people's lives flash before their eyes when they're about to die?

Mine didn't. Had a 'premium rush' moment though. I felt the gun jerk a little as Clover reacted to the force of it, droplets of sweat that had formed in the past half-hour. And the impulse to use Super Power 2.

Baba O'riley ended, and my brains were splattered against the chair.

.

.

.

Then it started back up.

"What the SHIT??" I heard clover shout from behind the red door, my warped reflection looking back at me.

I ran through the door, tackling the drug lord from behind, making sure the gun barrel was pointed away from both of us. "Freaky Cunt!" she shouted through her mess of hair. As something forced me off of her and into the empty chair, breaking its legs. I hadn't had the chance to inspect the room. Good choice of wall colour, nice art on display, and, as I thought, a second room, the door of which I leaped to like a panther, the bruised girl shot off another round at me. Grazed my ass as I smashed through to the final room.

"Come on Clovie, when the tables were turned, you said I wasn't a 'crack cunt', can't you let me off just this once?" I felt bad for giving her a spider-man-villain-esque nickname, but I don't know if she even heard me over her own furious growl.

The room I had entered had a huge sky light to let sun in for a bunch of green plants in large baths of dirt. I thought I knew what this was, but the more I looked at the room the weirder it got. The plants were in fact not cannabis, but clovers, in retrospect not too surprising. In one corner was a toilet, my first thoughts to that were, hey can't blame the girl for wanting a personal toilet in this petri dish for chlamydia.

To my left I could see a ladder leading out through the glass roof, must be her emergency exit. As I was thinking of destroying her stock of clovers before I made an escape, I heard her shout to me. "Bold fucking assumption that my other power is making the shite-ing dew, limp dick!"

As I stopped to consider what it was that had smashed me into that chair, the masses of green extended from the tubs, and writhed throughout the room. Although they couldn't hurt or restrain me, I still wanted to have some sort of success on this adventure, so I fought those baths of clovers for as long as I could before I heard clover screeching over to the door, I smashed three of the nine baths before clover could use her chlorokinesis to direct them properly, using her now established line of sight.

"Something I learnt from back home, and that Bastard King of mine, junk monkey, is that if someone isn't on your team, they're an enemy, and when he finds out how you fucked with me on MY turf??"

Did she forget I have no clue what's going on? I wanted to ask her before I left, but I really didn't want to get shot in some weak point I don't know about, so I squeaked out,

"It'snotjunkmonkey,it'sShamrock!!"

I squatted as quickly as I could, I was lucky she was loading her rifle slower than before. Just as I leaped into the air, I was thrown off my trajectory. Maybe I slipped on mud, maybe clover had used her secondary power, she definitely would have been using her luck. I was aiming for the glass roof, but I smashed into the wall on my left, two-thirds on the way to freedom.

I made an attempt to cling to the crumblings of the wall, but it broke off under my weight. Damn gravity. I tumbled down from the wall, the crash bringing me away from lucidness, help came from my gun wound, no doubt. I pulled my body together, bracing for the landing.

I heard the cocking of the gun not far behind me.

Shit, one more try.

Scrunching up my body for one final try was torture. My joints ached, and blood rushed to my head, but if I stayed still any longer…

I could hear the now dirty cocktail dress cussing out her rifle loading skills as I blasted myself as hard as I could into the air, smashing the glass above. I hit it hard enough to bust through the brick wall, just in case I had to due to the bad luck, or dizziness. A down side of doing so, is that I was fired far higher than I've ever tried going before. I held my breath for the assent and descent, not because of fear, (though yeah, I was shitting my suit.) but when you're moving as fast as that, it takes your breath out of you.

Mid-air, I try to undo my leg restraints to let as much blood into them as I can. From there I struggled to try and get my body into a sort of zigzag shape? At the time I had remembered a video I watched on how to survive a sky fall without a parashoot. Although I now knew I was durable, I still had no clue if I was tough enough to survive. But, from the fact that I'm posting this, you probably realised I did.

None of that stuff mattered. I couldn't get my shit together. I ended up landing with a bounce and a long tumble down the where-ever-I-was.

It took me a while to start breathing again. I was freezing my balls off. I was not prepared to rocket through the winter night sky.

But eventually I made my way back home getting changed along the way. I inspected my costume clearly under a street light. Sure enough, both my masks were torn on the right-hand side, around where my ear was. I instinctively reached up to my temple and sure enough, flesh was torn up, thick skull saved my thinker. I couldn't actually feel the wound, but then again, I couldn't feel much of anything. I knew my left arm had to be badly bruised, what with the wall smashing and the fall crashing.

There were tons of questions spiralling through my head now, the thing she said about a king, mutants, entities, not to mention the thing about 'syndicates'. I doubt she was talking about groups working in Ireland.

But at the centre of it all was one desire that kept me grinning through the pain.

I have got to do that again.