Chapter Text
“Mogar.” The wild beast that cannot be tamed, a warrior stuck in the modern world, the man who known for his explosives and how he executes each and every plan with his creations. Rumours said that the male was raised in the wild and taught to be the demolition expert that he is by the world’s most renowned expert of all times. Another set stated that he had self taught himself how to create and dispose of bombs since childhood, becoming a prodigy in the world of demolition as he grew older and experimented more. Not that that was completely wrong, but what idiot would tell the whole world of his past? Especially in the city of crime? No one. And to him, he found the rumours to be hilarious so he let them spread across the land, just so his name will be known in the city and he would become infamous while his past was a mystery to everyone excluding himself.
In the humidity of July’s summer in 1987, Michael Vincent Jones was born into a family of two. His parents were grateful to God for giving them such a beautiful gift; but that didn’t last when the house was broken into when he was 2, the burglar killing his parents after they had hidden him in a safe place. Hours passed while he continued to wait for his parents to come and tell him it was ok to come out, even though he had watched his parents murdered by the hands of a stranger. Because of his young age, he still didn’t know that his parents would never wake up like they had done every day. He stayed where he was until a group of police officers found him in the small room days later with the corpses of his rotting his parents.
Michael was put into an orphanage after a couple of days spent in the hospital to make sure he was healthy and stable. Day after day, he wondered why his parents never came to pick him up; resulting in him running away from the orphanage to find his home and look for his parents. Maybe it was because he was still young or because he felt like his parents just abandoned him as their love for him disappearing the more he grew. As he looked and looked for the place he had called home, he had become lost, not knowing where he was or where to go. In the dark of the dimly lit night, he called out to his parents, tears starting to stream down his face as he brought his hands up to wipe away the tears. Over and over, he called for his parents, but receiving nothing in return.
The male walked the crowded streets, his hands in his pockets and eyeing each and every person passing by, even those that stood there waiting or just on their phones, to see if he would be able to find something to keep him alive for the day. He was already 17, basically homeless after leaving the place that he grew up in after the death of his parents, but still managing to keep himself alive in the city that he despised and wanted to leave. His clothes were ragged and dirty, his unruly curls that sat atop his head pushed down and hidden by the beanie he wore in the slightly cold weather. His eyes darted left and right, scanning the crowd before taking action and pick pocketing a businessman of his wallet, continuing to walk casually as to not raise suspicion. When he knew he was a fair distance away from the crime scene, he veered into an abandoned alley and looked into the wallet, taking out the cash that was stored there and throwing the now useless wallet onto the muddy ground and walking out of the alley to continue the same routine to survive.
Unbeknownst to the closest friend he had, Michael would gather any useful item to create an explosive. It was a way to pass the boredom for him, scavenging for anything that might aid him to create his masterpiece and finding an empty place to try the creation out. Yea, sometimes he would screw up the process and his life would be in danger with the explosions, but that never stopped him to continue his experimentation. The more he made, the better his explosives got; sometimes being requested by amateur gangs to make explosives for them and their small heist to start up their crew. Of course he would accept, he got money from it; but what Michael didn’t know was the fact that his name spread across many cities that were run by gangs, the name “Mogar” given to him the more widespread his explosives became. Eventually, he was asked by his closest friend, Ray, if he made explosives; to which he had responded with a “Yea, I make the booms for people.”
He had met Ray, the best sniper known to anyone in the world of crime, during a small chase he had when he had pick pocketed the wrong person. It wasn’t exactly small considering the guy chasing him was a gang member, a well known one at that, and was threatening to kill him once he was caught up to the ginger. Just as he was starting to run out of fuel from trying to evade the guy, the sniper had, without hesitation, killed the gang member and saved his life. Ray had made his way down the ladder and stood in front of Michael in silence before walking past him to make sure his target had been killed, to which he had found out later was Ray’s job during that time to assassinate the member. An out-of-breath Michael stared at the sniper in awe before thanking him for saving his life, though Ray had just shrugged and told him to not worry about it before turning to the ginger and staring at him.
“You’re Mogar, aren’t you? The genius explosives expert?”
Michael blinked in surprise at the sudden question, scanning the male in front of him and seeing the hot pink sniper rifle slung over the sniper’s shoulder and getting the sudden realization of who he was standing in front of.
“Holy shit. You’re BrownMan.”
Ray, again, shrugged, replying in the most nonchalant way possible. “I’m brown, aren’t I?”
“Jesus Christ, man. Yea. . .yea,” Michael said almost hastily, “I’m Mogar. How’d you recognize a nobody like me anyway?”
The sniper just laughed and grinned at him, “Nobody? Dude, you live under a rock. Your name is sprayed everywhere in town. Nobody my ass.”
“What do you mean my name is sprayed all over town? I’m sure I haven’t done much with my explosives,” the ginger replied with a frown on his face. He was genuinely confused as the what the infamous sniper was talking about. The name “Mogar”, in his mind, wasn’t all that infamous. At least not like BrownMan and Vagabond.
Ray shook his head at the question and turned to leave, “You’ll find out soon enough. I’ll catch you later, Mogar.” With that, the sniper left, leaving a confused Michael behind.
To the expert, he thought Ray was a dick for not fully explaining himself, but just like he said, he found out within the next few days what he had meant. Suddenly he heard his name being whispered and gossiped about, an influx of requests for his explosives with the addition of money skyrocketed and soon he was feared by civilians for the destruction he could and would cause with his creations.