MISTER UN. 0W3N
schaden f r e u d e
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MISTER UN. 0W3N
schaden f r e u d e
“... after further discussions regarding the turn of events, the case is dismissed. All charges against the defendant has been dropped. Mister Go, please rise. It is a sad day to see when someone who has dedicated their life to serving the law fall hard. You have inspired many with your zero tolerance opinions on violent offenders. Today, however, you tried to charge the defendant using fabricated evidence and falsified testimony. In my thirty years of serving the judicial system, I have never seen such a lack of integrity and rational thought in trying to condemn the defendant in court. It is with great disappointment that I charge you, Masahiro Go, with conspiracy and forging false evidence. As of now, your license to practice law is revoked indefinitely. Bailiff, take the suspect into custody and read him his rights. This court is adjourned.”
The fall of one of Arkham City’s greatest prosecutor was felt everywhere. The man criminals feared; the hero of the wrong that herald a world of fairness; an honest lawyer in a dishonest city… was taken into police custody once his final court case was dismissed. Every single case he’s taken on in the ten years he’s served was questioned. Many of the men and women he put behind bars were released due to “questionable” proceedings and evidence. All the wrongs Masahiro righted were undone. Behind bars, he was at the mercy of the people that feared him and those that still remained in their tiny concrete cages. The respect he had was banished. Within weeks of the story and quick trial, his name was brushed away like dust under a mat.
His legacy was dead all because he stumbled into a trap. A nicely placed evidence that tied one massive political conspiracy… and it blew up in Masahiro’s face. How could he be so blind? The proof of betrayal was right in front of him. Everyone warned the prosecutor of going after a senator [let alone a candidate for the presidency]. But, he ignored them. In this great country, no one is above the law. No one… until that day. The months that followed, Masahiro came to learn that the justice system he held to his heart was nothing more than a scam. It was just one big show to fill a quota and allow people like Maximilian Love continue to exploit the loopholes and horde the massive payouts from corporations and criminal organizations. Behind bars, he learned that there was a new system: those that ruled and those that got screwed. Masahiro was far below that, hated by all and left to defend himself. Even the prison guards turned their backs while pocketing their pay off. Beaten day in and day out… placed in solitary confinement when he fought back… his cries going unheard in the night…
… Masahiro was utterly alone.
And, just like that, Masahiro was free. A year had passed since he was taken out of that courtroom. Not a word is spoken as to why the heavy cuffs were freed and his possessions given back. Black and blue, he stepped out into the sunlight and was nearly blinded. There… no one picked him up. He was forced to walk a good mile and a half before he came across a bus station. There, with the change left in his suit, he commuted home… and found nothing. His lavish and upscale apartment had long since been given to another renter. Most of his possessions were sold off while the rest was seized by the police and placed in storage. When he tried to take out money to rent out a hotel, his accounts were frozen. Masahiro only had the clothes on his back, his dogtags, a dead cellphone, old business cards, useless credit cards, and 62 cents in his pockets. His life was over.
A week has passed since his release from prison. By some damn miracle, there were still some people that believed in Masahiro Go. Pulling the strings, no one noticed a few items disappearing from police storage. Someone was able to get ahold of one of his accounts and withdraw the contents, handing over a few thousand dollars to the abdicated prosecutor. His home is now somewhere in Skid Row, a low-income neighborhood known for gang-related activities and drugs. All he bought was a bed, a set of clothes, necessities, and a cheap cell phone and card. Time in prison has given Masahiro a clear direction of what he wanted to do when he got out. Instead of wallowing and going down a self destructive path, he came to realize that his way was never the right way. No… there was only one way to right the wrongs in this world.
It wasn’t through the court but by the end of a gun.
The fall of one of Arkham City’s greatest prosecutor was felt everywhere. The man criminals feared; the hero of the wrong that herald a world of fairness; an honest lawyer in a dishonest city… was taken into police custody once his final court case was dismissed. Every single case he’s taken on in the ten years he’s served was questioned. Many of the men and women he put behind bars were released due to “questionable” proceedings and evidence. All the wrongs Masahiro righted were undone. Behind bars, he was at the mercy of the people that feared him and those that still remained in their tiny concrete cages. The respect he had was banished. Within weeks of the story and quick trial, his name was brushed away like dust under a mat.
His legacy was dead all because he stumbled into a trap. A nicely placed evidence that tied one massive political conspiracy… and it blew up in Masahiro’s face. How could he be so blind? The proof of betrayal was right in front of him. Everyone warned the prosecutor of going after a senator [let alone a candidate for the presidency]. But, he ignored them. In this great country, no one is above the law. No one… until that day. The months that followed, Masahiro came to learn that the justice system he held to his heart was nothing more than a scam. It was just one big show to fill a quota and allow people like Maximilian Love continue to exploit the loopholes and horde the massive payouts from corporations and criminal organizations. Behind bars, he learned that there was a new system: those that ruled and those that got screwed. Masahiro was far below that, hated by all and left to defend himself. Even the prison guards turned their backs while pocketing their pay off. Beaten day in and day out… placed in solitary confinement when he fought back… his cries going unheard in the night…
… Masahiro was utterly alone.
And, just like that, Masahiro was free. A year had passed since he was taken out of that courtroom. Not a word is spoken as to why the heavy cuffs were freed and his possessions given back. Black and blue, he stepped out into the sunlight and was nearly blinded. There… no one picked him up. He was forced to walk a good mile and a half before he came across a bus station. There, with the change left in his suit, he commuted home… and found nothing. His lavish and upscale apartment had long since been given to another renter. Most of his possessions were sold off while the rest was seized by the police and placed in storage. When he tried to take out money to rent out a hotel, his accounts were frozen. Masahiro only had the clothes on his back, his dogtags, a dead cellphone, old business cards, useless credit cards, and 62 cents in his pockets. His life was over.
A week has passed since his release from prison. By some damn miracle, there were still some people that believed in Masahiro Go. Pulling the strings, no one noticed a few items disappearing from police storage. Someone was able to get ahold of one of his accounts and withdraw the contents, handing over a few thousand dollars to the abdicated prosecutor. His home is now somewhere in Skid Row, a low-income neighborhood known for gang-related activities and drugs. All he bought was a bed, a set of clothes, necessities, and a cheap cell phone and card. Time in prison has given Masahiro a clear direction of what he wanted to do when he got out. Instead of wallowing and going down a self destructive path, he came to realize that his way was never the right way. No… there was only one way to right the wrongs in this world.
It wasn’t through the court but by the end of a gun.
sorrow made you
from the bottom of the dark, dark sea
There was a low whistle from the many shadowed alleyways of the slums that never seemed to sleep. Always restless, always ready to spring into unjustified action. From the darkness, only the dim light of lit cigarettes gave that there was some business to be done. There was a quick exchange of a piece of paper and a wad of cash, then a handshake. Another cigarette lit up after a match was struck. The only sounds between the three figures were the deep inhales and smoothed sighs.
Boyan Greiger, known as Reggie to all, closed his single eye as he brought a hand up to his mouth. The smoke and nicotine was calming to say the least, but it couldn't stifle the swirling in his stomach. It had been much longer than expected to get the ex-prosecutor out of prison. A lot of time and money had gone into finding people with reasons to free Masahiro Go. But Boyan wasn't across the street from Masa's shabby little apartment just to rub it in his face. Oh no. That little bit of information would probably be taken to the German's grave. Instead, he was there for a long overdue visit.
The news a year ago had not boded well with Boyan. The thought of Arkham's own Hero of Justice being put behind bars with the very criminals he judged was just ironic in the most nonhumorous way. The Ghosts weren't particularly pleased with Boyan when he decided to be particularly moody that day with no apparent reason. The radio had been broken and Boyan had locked himself in his workroom at the hidden base. Hours upon hours were spent mapping out plans not only for the Ghosts next move against the corrupt shitstain that called itself the government, but plans to get Mr. Go out of that godforsaken place he should have never been in the first place.
All of his planning, plotting, works and means to put it all in action paid off. And finally... Boyan made his way across the street oh-so-casually. Hands in his pockets, cigarette still lit, he headed into the front then headed up to the apartment he knew to be his old comrade's humble abode. Getting in was the easy part. He knew leaving would be ten times more difficult.
Entering the small, run-down place, he closed the door behind him and started to wander, careful to where he stepped. Who knew if Masa had gone off his rocker from all of the pressures and booby-trapped the place. From room to room the one eyed blond moved, seeing what Masa had managed to gather of his things. Eye turned to the bookshelf as he went back into the main room. He made his way over and started skimming over the spines.
"Tch, of course." Boyan muttered, rolling his eye before taking one of the many romance novels off of the shelf and opening it up to skim through it. Was this part of that series Masa had lent him all those years ago?
A slight jingle sound made Boyan pause. He held the book between his hands and gave the apartment a quick look-over. Nothing... and then...
jingle. Mrow!
Boyan let out a relieved sigh as soon as he saw a little brown-ginger cat. A small smile slipped on his lips as he crouched down and clicked his tongue, extending his hand to the cat. It seemed that Masa... wasn't absolutely alone. Not now at least.
Boyan Greiger, known as Reggie to all, closed his single eye as he brought a hand up to his mouth. The smoke and nicotine was calming to say the least, but it couldn't stifle the swirling in his stomach. It had been much longer than expected to get the ex-prosecutor out of prison. A lot of time and money had gone into finding people with reasons to free Masahiro Go. But Boyan wasn't across the street from Masa's shabby little apartment just to rub it in his face. Oh no. That little bit of information would probably be taken to the German's grave. Instead, he was there for a long overdue visit.
The news a year ago had not boded well with Boyan. The thought of Arkham's own Hero of Justice being put behind bars with the very criminals he judged was just ironic in the most nonhumorous way. The Ghosts weren't particularly pleased with Boyan when he decided to be particularly moody that day with no apparent reason. The radio had been broken and Boyan had locked himself in his workroom at the hidden base. Hours upon hours were spent mapping out plans not only for the Ghosts next move against the corrupt shitstain that called itself the government, but plans to get Mr. Go out of that godforsaken place he should have never been in the first place.
All of his planning, plotting, works and means to put it all in action paid off. And finally... Boyan made his way across the street oh-so-casually. Hands in his pockets, cigarette still lit, he headed into the front then headed up to the apartment he knew to be his old comrade's humble abode. Getting in was the easy part. He knew leaving would be ten times more difficult.
Entering the small, run-down place, he closed the door behind him and started to wander, careful to where he stepped. Who knew if Masa had gone off his rocker from all of the pressures and booby-trapped the place. From room to room the one eyed blond moved, seeing what Masa had managed to gather of his things. Eye turned to the bookshelf as he went back into the main room. He made his way over and started skimming over the spines.
"Tch, of course." Boyan muttered, rolling his eye before taking one of the many romance novels off of the shelf and opening it up to skim through it. Was this part of that series Masa had lent him all those years ago?
A slight jingle sound made Boyan pause. He held the book between his hands and gave the apartment a quick look-over. Nothing... and then...
jingle. Mrow!
Boyan let out a relieved sigh as soon as he saw a little brown-ginger cat. A small smile slipped on his lips as he crouched down and clicked his tongue, extending his hand to the cat. It seemed that Masa... wasn't absolutely alone. Not now at least.
MISTER UN. 0W3N
schaden f r e u d e
There’s one thing of convenience Masahiro liked about the apartment: just about everything he needed was within reach. Without a set of wheels, he had to depend on public transportation and walking. With two bags of groceries, he returned to the dilapidated apartment building. The faces of each and every resident burned into his memory. A single mother with another child on the way.
A couple that’s constantly fighting or fucking loudly. A little girl sitting by the stairwell with a fresh bruise on her face. Passing by, Masahiro made sure to drop off an extra item in his purchase: an ice cold bottle of soda. The girl smiled meekly when the drink was offered and pressed it against a swelled up black eye. Silence was exchanged between the two. Masahiro had a matching bruise that was far along in healing than the girl’s. Bowing his head, the Japanese man moved on.
Two flights of stairs and a long hallway later, Masahiro stood in front of his door and searched for his keys. Eyes flicking to the floor, something stood out to him. Masahiro crouched and placed a paper bag down. Picking up a single piece of plastic, Masahiro’s brows pinched. “Damnit,” he cursed. Setting the other bag down, Masahiro quietly checked the front door. It was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, Masa prepared himself for the worse and stepped in. Sneaking around his home, Masahiro retrieved one of the many handguns stashed away for emergencies.
Armed, Masahiro checked each and every room, making sure whoever was here didn’t stay for long. Finally, when he reached his bedroom, he spotted the intruder. Crouched down, Masahiro took aim and stepped silently. Blonde hair was pulled up in a tidy bun. The stature and build was clearly male. Aiming at his head, Masahiro spoke up. “If you want to keep breathing, do exactly what I say. Put your hands above your head and slowly stand up.”
A couple that’s constantly fighting or fucking loudly. A little girl sitting by the stairwell with a fresh bruise on her face. Passing by, Masahiro made sure to drop off an extra item in his purchase: an ice cold bottle of soda. The girl smiled meekly when the drink was offered and pressed it against a swelled up black eye. Silence was exchanged between the two. Masahiro had a matching bruise that was far along in healing than the girl’s. Bowing his head, the Japanese man moved on.
Two flights of stairs and a long hallway later, Masahiro stood in front of his door and searched for his keys. Eyes flicking to the floor, something stood out to him. Masahiro crouched and placed a paper bag down. Picking up a single piece of plastic, Masahiro’s brows pinched. “Damnit,” he cursed. Setting the other bag down, Masahiro quietly checked the front door. It was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, Masa prepared himself for the worse and stepped in. Sneaking around his home, Masahiro retrieved one of the many handguns stashed away for emergencies.
Armed, Masahiro checked each and every room, making sure whoever was here didn’t stay for long. Finally, when he reached his bedroom, he spotted the intruder. Crouched down, Masahiro took aim and stepped silently. Blonde hair was pulled up in a tidy bun. The stature and build was clearly male. Aiming at his head, Masahiro spoke up. “If you want to keep breathing, do exactly what I say. Put your hands above your head and slowly stand up.”
sorrow made you
from the bottom of the dark, dark sea
The sound of the door opening from the bedroom was far too faint for Boyan to hear, however, how the cat perked up its ears and attempted to look around the German alerted him that Masahiro was probably home. He found amusement in the fact that Masa really believed there was an intruder in his home. Well, there was. But not exactly the most threatening of men to Mr. Go.
Silent steps were heard almost as clear as day to the half-blind ex-soldier. Or maybe it was that slight creak in the floor. As soon as he heard the gun, a broad grin spread over his lips. That threat would have intimidated anyone... of Masa hadn't learned that tone from the very man he was pointing a gun at. Slowly Boyan placed his hands behind his head. "And here I thought you'd want me to welcome you home." Boyan started, smooth tone mixed with slight German accent. He started to rise, but didn't turn to face Masa quite yet.
"I'd hoped you'd want t'keep me breathing too. Or are you into corpses now in days?"
Silent steps were heard almost as clear as day to the half-blind ex-soldier. Or maybe it was that slight creak in the floor. As soon as he heard the gun, a broad grin spread over his lips. That threat would have intimidated anyone... of Masa hadn't learned that tone from the very man he was pointing a gun at. Slowly Boyan placed his hands behind his head. "And here I thought you'd want me to welcome you home." Boyan started, smooth tone mixed with slight German accent. He started to rise, but didn't turn to face Masa quite yet.
"I'd hoped you'd want t'keep me breathing too. Or are you into corpses now in days?"
MISTER UN. 0W3N
schaden f r e u d e
The moment the intruder spoke, Masahiro hesitated. That voice… it seemed so far off in his ears. It was an echo from the past, reminding him that connections exist outside the prison bars. Boyan Grieger. First class special ops agent Boyan Grieger of the anti-terrorist unit: the Black Skulls. Proof of their existence clings to Masahiro’s neck. Even when he traded in his assault rifle and sword for a pen, he never lost his identity as a soldier. He fought to the bitter end like a good soldier, doing what is necessary for the sake of bettering humanity.
Did Boyan feel the same way? Since the two were dismissed from the military, they went in opposite directions. Wherever Boyan went, he always managed to find his way back to Masahiro… just like this. To Masahiro, it felt like a long game of cat and mouse with this man. Two decades… twenty long years of coming and going into Masahiro’s life. When will he finally settle down and stay with him?
Taking a breath, Masahiro steadied himself and lowered his weapon. “You know me: I’m always prepared for the worse” he answered. He started to move forward, letting his steps sound out. The kitten mewed loudly and scampered towards her owner. The bell around her neck rang out as she rubbed against her leg. A tired smile appeared on Masahiro’s face as he crouched down to scratch behind her ears. “Hello to you too, Maddie” he cooed lightly. Soon, the tawny kitten moved on and found interest in a ball of yarn. Righting himself once more, Masahiro made his way to Boyan. Standing behind him, Masahiro pressed his head in between Boyan’s shoulder blades. His free hand soon wrapped around Boyan’s waist.
He was here… he really was here. This wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him while in solitary confinement. Those times he expected Boyan to visit him in prison never came. They were either the men and women that destroyed Masahiro’s future seeing their dirty work play out in front of him. As time went on, everyone seemed to have forgotten about Masahiro and his “treachery.” “It’s nice to see you again,” he mumbled.
Did Boyan feel the same way? Since the two were dismissed from the military, they went in opposite directions. Wherever Boyan went, he always managed to find his way back to Masahiro… just like this. To Masahiro, it felt like a long game of cat and mouse with this man. Two decades… twenty long years of coming and going into Masahiro’s life. When will he finally settle down and stay with him?
Taking a breath, Masahiro steadied himself and lowered his weapon. “You know me: I’m always prepared for the worse” he answered. He started to move forward, letting his steps sound out. The kitten mewed loudly and scampered towards her owner. The bell around her neck rang out as she rubbed against her leg. A tired smile appeared on Masahiro’s face as he crouched down to scratch behind her ears. “Hello to you too, Maddie” he cooed lightly. Soon, the tawny kitten moved on and found interest in a ball of yarn. Righting himself once more, Masahiro made his way to Boyan. Standing behind him, Masahiro pressed his head in between Boyan’s shoulder blades. His free hand soon wrapped around Boyan’s waist.
He was here… he really was here. This wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him while in solitary confinement. Those times he expected Boyan to visit him in prison never came. They were either the men and women that destroyed Masahiro’s future seeing their dirty work play out in front of him. As time went on, everyone seemed to have forgotten about Masahiro and his “treachery.” “It’s nice to see you again,” he mumbled.
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