Kintsugi Plays Fallen Hero: Rebirth

Let's see what our team has come up with!



Naturally.

I'll split the difference by flipping a coin, which gives "mixed" a >50% chance of winning and guarantees at least one use of RNG no matter what.

The result is…​

> …mixed.

And since most people have a hard time pinpointing your ethnicity, you can go down the path of least resistance and let them assume whatever suits your purpose. A small telepathic nudge does the rest, enabling you to pass unnoticed.

We're halfway through chapter 1 and people are already confused about both our gender and our race. Probably a good sign!​

Sometimes you wish that you could tell people the truth about everything, but right now you just have to live with their assumptions. One day, you will—maybe even one day soon—but right now, you must be exactly what they picture you as: a nobody.

Splashing some cold water onto your face, you take a deep breath to try to chase away the headache that keeps sneaking up on you. You don't really do anything with your hair, so it stays its natural color…

　‣ …black.
　‣ …dark brown.
　‣ …light brown.
　‣ …auburn.
　‣ …red.
　‣ …blond.
　POLL

Your hair is…

　‣ …straight.
　‣ …wavy.
　‣ …curly.
　‣ …kinky.
　POLL

…and you keep it…

　‣ …shaved.
　‣ …short and neat.
　‣ …in cornrows.
　‣ …short and wild.
　‣ …in a sleek bob.
　‣ …shoulder length.
　‣ …in dreadlocks.
　POLL

Last questions! After this, our poor villain can finally look away from their reflection.

Note that cornrows and locs are only an option for kinky hair, so make your hair texture choices accordingly if you want those.​

 

maybe for the hairstyle, if RNG wins it can just be a random option from the ones that other people voted for?

 

That sounds good to me!

 

The votes are in, and they say both genetics and personal grooming are random! I'm taking @vuatson's suggestion to select a random hairstyle from the ones that received votes, and since we had one vote each for a non-random color and texture I'm going to give those options slightly increased weight in their die rolls. (If anyone isn't a fan of these approaches, let me know.)​

> …dark brown.

Your hair is dark brown and…

> …curly.

Your hair is dark brown and curly, and you keep it…

> …short and neat.

Your hair is dark brown and curly, and you keep it short and neat. Honestly, it is partly because that is just easy to take care of, and partly because it never stands out in a crowd. You've gone too long not wanting to be noticed to stop now.

To summarize, we are "an average mixed person in their thirties with brown eyes and short, neat curly dark brown hair."​

> Getting Back To Business

Now all you have to do is to collect the box. The question is, what would be the best way to go about it?

　‣ I will find a suitable puppet and have them collect it for me. That way, nobody will recognize me at the scene.
　‣ This is too important; I will go and collect it myself. It's been years since I was in the paper, and I wore a mask back then.

 

> I will find a suitable puppet. After an incident like that, I imagine they'll be more on alert than usual.

 

Showing up to your own crime scenes is for villains who can't body hop.​

> I will find a suitable puppet and have them collect it for me. That way, nobody will recognize me at the scene.

Leaning against the cold wall of the bathroom, you let go of your own body once more, swimming through the scurrying thoughts of the nearby guests. You sense the bored churn of thoughts belonging to the young bellhop you talked to earlier. A little bit of familiarity always makes possessing someone easier. On the other hand, familiarity might be dangerous in the long run. And there is also a departing businessman, fruitlessly waiting for a cab outside.

　‣ I pick the bellhop; he doesn't even know my real name.
　‣ I pick the businessman; better not to take any risks.

Choose your fighter! Bored teenager we spoke to once, or random businessman whose commute we ruined?​

 

Bellhop - it'll be less suspicious if he brings something up to our hotel room vs the businessman

 

> I pick the bellhop; he doesn't even know my real name.

The taste of vomit in your mouth fades to bubblegum pink, and you open your eyes. You realize then that he needs glasses, but is either too poor or too vain to get a pair. Not that it matters; he has legs and arms, which is all you have need of at the moment.

It feels odd walking down the street as a normal man when you had fought here as a silvery goddess just minutes ago. You know you are cutting it close, but you want to get there before the LDPD starts cordoning the area off, or some desperate bum raids the trashcan you are searching for.

The boy should be inside the hotel, but it is easy enough to have him sneak out to watch the show. Everybody else has, after all—now that the punching has stopped, the crowds are gathering. If you are fast, nobody will notice his absence.

A fire hydrant has broken, spraying the street with rain. A rainbow hovers as the sun peeks through the clouds.

At the center of the crowd, you see Marshal Steel talking to the police, an unconscious Lady Argent wrapped in Kevlar netting at his feet. She looks untouched, still picture-perfect, silver skin washed clean by the water. You wonder what she will remember once she woke up. What story will she tell him?

But that isn't really your concern anymore, is it?

Marshal Steel—or as you know him, Captain Wei Chen. He is looking much the same as when last you laid eyes on him, though seven years have passed. Perhaps he's made of the same material as his armor; there's no softness there, just sharp angles and stern lines. If Lady Argent is new, he most certainly is not.

You're not supposed to know his civilian identity, but then again, it is hard to hide things from a telepath.

You can see that Steel is talking to the LDPD, the familiar frown etched deeply on his face. Part of you wonders what he has to say; there's no reason why you shouldn't try to listen in, safely hidden in the puppet as you are.

But as you start slowing down, you can feel your puppet acting up, nervous at any kind of delay.

　‣ I tighten my grip on the kid's mind, squashing any worries.
　‣ I walk fast; I have no intention of costing the boy his job if I can help it.

Do we want to hear how the Marshal is handling this, or just grab the box and let our puppet get back to his life?​

 

> Walk fast

 

Your villainy will be great and terrible, not petty things like costing random employees their jobs

 

> I walk fast; I have no intention of costing the boy his job if I can help it.

You might have stopped playing for the good guys, but that doesn't mean you have lost every trace of a conscience.

It wasn't a bad kid you crawled into, just the normal sack of hormones and frustrations that any young man in a dead-end job would carry around. And at the back of his thoughts, you can sense the vague worry about getting fired for goofing off on the job again. You're not sure if it's something he's done before, or if it's just his boss being an asshole—and honestly, it's not really any of your business.

Besides, you have heard Steel's sermons before; he is most likely trying to keep the LDPD from getting involved.

The rivalry between the federal government-appointed Rangers and the city-appointed LDPD has been there since day one. You doubt that is going to help matters any.

You walk fast and don't look back, even though you really want to.

The alley is as deserted as you left it; everyone else had headed for the commotion down the road. Opening the trashcan, you rummage around a little before finding the box, marveling at its heaviness now that you don't have Lady Argent's enhanced strength.

It's an odd feeling, that your future can depend on something as small as this.

But then again, you always paid attention to the details. Otherwise, you wouldn't be alive today.

> The Worst Part Is Done

Once your unwitting host body has left what he collected inside your unlocked room, you quickly lead him back downstairs and abandon him where you found him.

He will remember nothing but a few blurred moments of his time, lost forever to daydreaming. You make sure to leave a final feeling of flushed arousal; you have found that people question a lot less if their minds are wrapped in sensuality. It truly does short their brains out, either with pleasure or guilt, and both are equally effective when it comes to distracting people from wondering what they have been up to. We fill in our own blanks in the crossword of life.

And that's where new mind control kinks come from. Isn't nature amazing?​

Slipping out this time is as hard on your body as ever: the vertigo floors you, but your gut is already empty when you lie collapsed on the bathroom floor. You shouldn't be doing this, not two jaunts in a row, but you didn't have much choice.

Finally, you can relax. Your mission is over, and the box is safe in your possession.

Gingerly, you strip off your clothes and stumble into the shower. It's not until the steam has painted every surface opaque that you step out, wrapping yourself in crisp hotel towels.

The mirrors show little but steam and mist, but you still look away, unwilling to meet your own reflection.

You should be elated that you finally have what you need. Soon, there will be no turning back. Not that there ever was.

Step one, complete.

　‣ This was easier than I thought it would be.
　‣ I can't believe I got away with this.
　‣ I still have a long way to go.
　‣ I will show them all what I am capable of.

 

> A long way to go

 

Wow, that was a fast decision.​

> I still have a long way to go.

This might be the first step of your plan, but you still have a long way to go. Celebrating is all fine and well, but alone, this little trinket won't change anything.

Let alone your future….

Still, this is all fine for a day's work.

Later, once you have recovered a little, you check out of the hotel. As a customary precaution, you telepathically paint a different picture of who rented this room for the staff. Perhaps you are overly paranoid, but greater people than you have been brought down by inattention to detail.

The sunglasses go on as soon as you step outside. The sun is beating down hard enough to make the streets shimmer like a mirage. You are uncomfortably hot but choose to walk all the same: one less cabdriver who could point the finger in your direction. It's worth a little sweat, to be sure.

Your head is throbbing hard; the light hurts, even through the sunglasses, and the distant sirens don't help.

Just another afternoon in Los Diablos.

An empty apartment is the only thing that greets you as you return home and peel off your clothes. The air conditioner hums and strains but keeps the bedroom as frigid as you like. It's not much, really—perfect for someone who wants to avoid notice. The pile of laundry at the foot of the bed is begging for a trip to the laundromat, but you need to catch a few hours of sleep before tonight.

The bed catches you when you fall: wide enough for two, let alone your wasted frame. You surrender yourself to sleep.

> And into the Dreams

Tonight, they are almost gentle, sinking deeply in the warm amniotic fluid of childhood. Tubes and cradles and goldfish faces peer down at you, distorted by glass and fluid. But the dreams shift, forever treacherous. You moan in your sleep as you turn, twisting the blankets like a straitjacket. Trapped.

Trapped again.

"We need to move," a familiar voice says. It belongs to someone popping their head up for a peek over the wall you are hiding behind, and withdrawing it just as fast. "Hey! Get your head out of the clouds…"

　‣ …Chris?
　‣ No, that isn't it. What was my name again?

And your chosen surname is…

　‣ …Basri, right?
　‣ …Becerra, right?
　‣ …Becker, right?
　‣ …Brown, right?
　‣ …Bui, right?
　‣ …No, that wasn't it.

Oh right, people have names. What did we call ourselves, again?

We need a first name and surname! Preferably ones a normal human might plausibly have (this is our civilian name, not our future villain name) but hey, it's your call.

I'll accept anything the majority can agree (or agree to flip a coin) on — though I do recommend limiting yourself to a few syllables of pronounceable characters in a left-to-right writing system.* :P

Or if you'd all rather not, we could also take one of the game's suggestions.

* I assume no liability for any consequences of naming ourselves "ليكس لوثر" or "寿限無、寿限無、五劫の擦り切れ、海砂利水魚の、水行末・云来松・風来末、食う寝るところに住むところ、やぶらこうじのぶらこうじ、パイポ・パイポ・パイポのシューリンガン、シューリンガンのグーリンダイ、グーリンダイのポンポコピーのポンポコナーの、長久命の長助".​

 

Jann (or Jan, Jahne, Joan) Hind.

...you know, like John/Jane Doe

 

Ha, cute. (Would that be pronounced like yon, John, or French Jean?)

Everyone else — any other suggestions or preferences? I'm taking the like as a "no preference" unless otherwise specified, but I want to make sure everyone has a chance to have a say.

 

In my head I was pronouncing it more or less like Jan, with a bit of a softer J and longer N sound. Jean itself would work too. anything vaguely gender neutral is what I was going for

 

Naming characters is hard

 

Hmm
Josie Jacobs

If we're a superhero, why not something alliterative?

 

All right then! Let's put this to a vote:

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* POLL *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Vote for your favorite of the above options (and/or your last-minute new suggestion, which I hopefully know how to add)! If you want to suggest a variation on one of the above names (e.g., Shawn Hind or Josey Jacobs), I'm going to say vote for that one and mention it in the thread?

 

Okay, looks like the answer is:​

> No, that isn't it. What was my name, again?

In your dreams, your name sometimes shifts and changes, but you are fairly sure it is…

> Josie

Your name is Josie, right?

　‣ Yes.
　‣ Wait a moment, I misremembered.

> Yes.

And your chosen surname is…

　‣ …Basri, right?
　‣ …Becerra, right?
　‣ …Becker, right?
　‣ …Brown, right?
　‣ …Bui, right?
　‣ …No, that wasn't it.

> …No, that wasn't it.

> Jacobs

Your surname is Jacobs, right?

　‣ Yes.
　‣ Wait a moment, I misremembered.

> Yes.

"Get down, Josie!" You obey just in time. The plasma smells like gasoline and takes half the wall with it as it hits. "We need to move," the voice urges.

"Move? With him out there? Are you mad?" you ask, because you saw a blast like that hit Steel head on, melting through most of his armor.

Wait, you remember who this is: your friend, your partner. You know this…

　‣ …man.
　‣ …woman.

This is your old partner (and potential love interest)! You worked together back in your hero days.

…Erm, what was their gender again?

POLL​