The year is 1997, and a new craze has taken the world in a sweeping wave: a radioactive wave! Due to Dr. Gyro's failed experiment, the entire world is being turned into super powered people, or are getting cancer. Way to go, doctor! These newly endowned individuals are wasting no time, drawing the line between good and evil, duking it out for humanity's sake or control of the world. Thank goodness we have the good hearts like the Super Crew and The Victors fighting for our side. Way to go, boys!
No where felt the blast like ground zero for this mistake: Hapless City. The anarchy which ensued created a need for heroes, who answered the call and comendered the police force, while the promise of challenge attracted more villains who tired of trumping plain ol' coppers. Oh, you guys! Flash forward to...
The old, black and white television set drew little attention from the bars occupants. The grungy lowlifes had little care for the trip down memory lane that stuck them in there current predicament. It was eight years ago, and the effects of the Gyro Wave were still taking their course on humanity. Heroes, villains, and Empowereds of all kinds were still springing up around the globe, "Empowereds" being the court appointed name since all other better sounding names were copy righted or trademarked by major comic companies. This group of thugs were never fortunate to hear such a kind title, however, as they were just freaks to the public eye. They were the kind of people who had to go to Mad Man Mark's Tavern, the super villain haunt, so their deformed appearances would not frighten the normals.
"I think I'm done," a pile of rags sighed heavily. Wiping an oversized hand across his green, nearly bald head, he continued, "I think I'm gonna stop."
"What do you mean, Disaster?" the pointy hooded hulk roared in question after lowering his dirty mug. "Done with what? Stop what? This? You're gonna stop doing... this? Or... all of it?"
"All of it, Hemo-Rage," confessed the putrid man, leaning back in chair lazily. "I'm just tired of it all. The beatings, the losses, the hatred... I don't think I can be evil anymore."
"But... then what would you do?" the concerned giant inquired. "It's not like you can do much else. You know crime, it's all you've ever known."
"I could try changing," the defiled man suggested while staring up at the cobwebbed ceiling. "I always did want to be a good guy." His table broke out in laughter.
"Those pansies? Oh, yeah right," dismissed the muscle bound titan. "You wouldn't side with those wanna-bes to save your life! They're too squeaky clean and phony. You lack their charisma."
"Not to mention that you dissolve whatever flesh you touch," a typically quiet female added, "at least. That's not really seen as a 'nice' power like flight or energy beams."
"Yeah, that's true," accepted the mangled man. "Oh, and I'm really sorry about that, Crash." She offered a dismissive wave.
"No sweat, D," the helmet toting woman countered. "Besides, I got a better, robotic one now." Hemo-Rage curiously looked under the table after seeing both of her arms were of flesh. Still finding no signs of metal, he ended his curiosity there. "But, seriously, do you think you could actually just announce being good all of the sudden and get the corperate sponsors to donate you funds and costumes after all the suffering you've caused?"
"Please, I wouldn't sink to their level. I'm Necrohazard, the Disaster," he declared. "I would be a hero that our kind could look up to, the kind people should be seeing, not a total sell-out like Captain Super or... Captain Mega."
"Or Super Captain?" offered Hemo-Rage.
"Well, yeah, if you even consider that joke a hero," the Disaster grunted. "But, really, I think I'm gonna try this."
"Why on earth would you want to be good?" demanded the Crimson Crusher to know while panning his eyes about his surroundings. "I mean, if you were 'good', then you couldn't do things like, oh, this!" Having spotted out a new comer, the tapered fingers from his tiny hands latched onto the newbie's arm and began to wither it away while increasing Hemo-Rage's size and strength. He pulled it away before long, and the new comer crashed to the floor as the entire bar was swept in a fit of laughter, one which the new comer joined when he was able to lift himself off the floor. "C'mon! That's good stuff."
"Hemo is right," the Demolition Damsel piped in. "You don't want to be a hero. Take it from someone who had the chance to be one." She had received offers years ago since her appearance was not rendered hideous by her empowerment. "You sell your soul to be one, what with all the contracts and endorsments. Hell, the Heroine Recruitment Center pays for liphosuction and plastic surgery augmentations so that the ladies of the cape are 'up to par'."
"Know?" chuckled Hemo. "Sometimes it's the reason I do a crime."
"Well, they did that, at least," she corrected herself. "I think they got the picture after I wrecked that place twenty-three times."
"Of course you would complain," grumbled the hooded brute. "You don't like getting 'sized up' to the competition."
"Hey," snapped Crash, "no one ever said there can't be a feminist who isn't an ugly dog."
"Could have fooled me," Hemo-Rage slipped in before draining another mug brought out to him. A shaky voice cut through the typical bar noises as eyes turned to the doorway. A masked youth, clad in a homemade costume, was poking his head into the dangerous enviroment.
"Um, yeah, hi," he squeaked. "Is anyone here going to be committing a crime soon?"
"Yeah, I got one in mind," the bloody giant boomed as he rose from his chair, considering assult. "Catch you guys later."
The ring of the bank alarm filled the air as bandana wearing crooks darted out from the building. The leader held the other two back shortly after exiting as a figure stood in their path, waiting their arrival. A tattered, brown length of cloth tied about his neck and lower face, blowing fiercely in the wind. A bald, green head rose out from above it, sporting round, dark lenses over his eyes. A grey suit clung tightly to the form of his gaunt, sickly frame, revealing the twisted movement of each bone. His forearms were enormous with even larger fingers, all wrapped tightly in more ratty cloths. His legs were covered in a similar fashion. An eerie, green glow hung around each of his palms, which were risen as targets came into view.
"Oh, we're sorry, Necrohazard," the head thieve apologized with a proper and humble tone. "Were you going to rob this bank?"
"No, you fools," he sharply retorted, "that wasn't what I had in mind at all."
"Sweet deal! You want us to become your underling posse?" one spoke up from behind their current boss.
"What? No! I'm here to arrest you and stuff," the rotten man tried to explain.
"Buuut, you're evil," the third mentioned.
"Help, Necrohazard and his goons are trying to rob the bank!" a citizen reported loudly before fainting.
"No, that's not it at all!" the Disaster attempted to expound.
"I will be the one to determine that, fiendish fiend!" a bold voice cried out from high above as a caped hero soared down to meet him.
"Aw, crap. I should have stayed bad," moaned the defiled villain.