Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 It was chaos. People screamed, heads turning as they wildly fled some yet unseen threat. The streets of the city were always busy, always full of life and noise, and were usually full of good people. It seems like this wasn’t the case for today. 

 Towering above the crowd that he pushed through, Tankie huffed irritably; If only people would just move, it would make my job a lot easier. The bear of a man, with the inhuman strength to match, fumbled his way through the sprinting river of people, grumbling explicit phrases (in Russian, of course) whenever a body collided with the container on his back. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, his face betrayed no emotion; eyebrows taut and lips unwavering; eyes cold, but crimson like a raging fire. There were still stragglers pushing past him as he rounded a corner, some sobbing worldlessly, clothes deteriorating and rugged, others clutching their throats and wheezing, barely able to run in their breathless state. A scream echoed across the cobbles only to be cut off with the swift movement of an unfamiliar hand.

 Tankie’s red coat billowed in the wind as he stared down the source of the lost shriek, a young girl suspended by the throat, legs kicking wildly, but quickly falling limp. The Russian pressed a hand into his pocket, on the right side, and slipped his fingers into the comfortable metal form of his knuckle dusters. “Let her go, Мудак.” He spoke sternly and without fear, but was met only with a laugh.

 “You think you can tell me what to do?” Yelled out a sniveling voice. The commie barely flinched when the shrouded form threw the girl’s body to the ground. Her screaming continued, but with good reason, as it was clear from where he stood that her arm was contorted beneath her. Tankie allowed his eyes to trail down the street: bodies on the road, on the sidewalk, propped up against chairs and tables, some still moving, others not so lucky. He locked his eyes back onto the figure as it stepped out into the middle of the street, “I’m superior to you! I’m superior to everyone here!”

 “You have a superiority complex, I understand.” The Russian bit back as he began to pick up a pace once again, his long strides turning into quick steps as he sprinted towards the shorter figure in the middle of the road.

 Bad idea. Tankie yelped as the road beneath him crumbled, the cracks in the tarmac stemming from a veiny blue hand that was pressed to the ground. The path he stood on was disintegrating. He heard the figure taunt him, but the blood pounding in his ears was louder, and probably held more meaning than the words of a villain. Tankie ripped the handle of his hose from the holster at his hip, making sure to angle it down before he pressed the trigger. Water spritzed out, freezing before it even hit the pieces of road, and he kept sprinting. Surprised, the blue-skinned man pulled back, his mismatched eyes growing wide under the shadow of his military-style cap. He raised an arm in an attempt to block, but Tankie was faster, pummeling his metal adorned fist into the side of his face. The smaller figure let out a cry as he stumbled backward, clutching his cheek as he crashed into a partially decayed car. There was red on the gold of his knuckles.

 “Who are you!” Hissed the crumpled figure, raising a hand to wipe the blood from his now split lip, “Who the hell are you!” Now it was Tankie’s turn to laugh.

 The Russian crouched beside the pathetic excuse for a villain and placed a large hand on his shoulder, gripping the fabric with intensity, “Siberian Winter,” He muttered, sending the scowling figure below him a crooked, but forced, grin, “You haven’t heard of me? I’ve been around for a grand total of ten minutes. Congratulations, comrade, you’re here for my debut!”

 The figure below him only responded by spitting at his feet, crimson mixed with the clear saliva, “You fight like a tradwife!” He hissed, before throwing his full body onto the Russian. Now that was unexpected. Tankie flailed his arms, the cylindrical tank on his back, forcing him to roll to the side, but before he could stand, he found himself dangerously short of breath. He was acutely aware of the cold hand gripping the back of his neck, still choking him despite being on the opposite end to his throat. “I hope you choke,” seethed the figure that crouched above him, “You dirty fucking foreigner!”

~~~

 “Shut up, faggot!”

 “Make me, you Trump-loving cunt!”

 Every morning it was the same argument…

 “Can you both shut up, I’m trying to listen to the news!”

 “Just read it!”

 “I’m blind, you fucking cuck!”

 I’m up; I’m up!

 Calloused hands fumbled on a wooden nightstand before picking up a pair of glasses and retreating to their owner. The Russian let out a mumble of complaint as he slid the spectacles up his nose. The first term of uni had begun just over a month ago, and already he was considering quitting and moving back to Russia. The course wasn’t hard, political science was simple considering he read theory books for fun, but his roommates were by far the most irritating people he knew.

 “Ow-! What the fuck Ancom!”

 “That wasn’t me, it was Nazi!”

 “I may be blind, but I am not an idiot!”

 “Let’s agree to disagree, Ancap.”

 The door to the kitchen swung open to reveal a barely dressed Tankie, who gazed disapprovingly at his roommates through lidded eyes, “What happened this time. Is it the coffee machine, can’t you just buy a new one?” He sent an exasperated look at ancap, though it was in vain as the other man could not see it. Sitting on the counter and smiling like an idiot, ancap waved at Tankie (or at least, where he assumed he was) and opened his mouth to speak.

 “No, it’s not the coffee machine,” Ah, there’s ancom. The shrill voice coming from the smallest form in the room, wrapped in an oversized green hoodie, broke the very brief silence, “Nazi came home with a black eye and-”

 “And he keeps trying to poke it like the cunt that he is!”

 “Like the cunt qui is! It’s qui/quem!”

 “I don’t care!” Nazi barked like a dog when he argued, and spat just as much. Tanke grimaced and walked around the counter into the open living room. He sighed, tired eyes taking in the natural sunlight of the room, before flickering down to the outstretched mug on his right. “I was going to give this to ancap, but he’s siding with the little faggot again...”

 By Stalin! Tankie couldn’t help but wince upon taking in the sight that was Nazi’s face, bruised and swollen, and plastered with- well- plasters. A lot of fucking plasters. The Russian smiled as he took the cup of coffee from his friend’s scuffed hands, “Did you get beat up on your way to a trump rally again?” Nazi scoffed, taking a sip of his own drink, only to choke it back up as the commie flicked his MAGA hat off of his head. Nazi gave him an offended glance, which forced hearty laughter from the Russian man’s chest.

 “It’s not funny, and no, I was not attending a rally.” He rolled his eyes as Tankie’s laughter didn’t die down, but crescendoed as he attempted to tell his story, “I was at a barbeque. A fucking slav crashed the party!”

 ~~~

 Dirty fucking foreigner, да?

 Tankie would have laughed had his breath not literally been stolen from him by the imposing blue figure. All it took was the quick press of a button, and the grates on his water tank opened. Steam poured through the circular holes, boiling water spraying onto the arms and chest of the villain above him. There was a shriek, and suddenly the hand was gone.

 Tankie remained on all fours for a moment, breathing heavily and unevenly as he attempted to regain his posture. He could see the figures of civilians dancing in his peripheral vision, or was he just woozy from the lack of oxygen he just had to endure. Either way, the Russian forced himself to his feet and glanced back in search of the smartly dressed villain.

Usually, they just wear normal clothes, but that was a uniform… He had a matching hat and everything!

A hand reached up to readjust his ushanka, tucking his red curls back beneath the warmth of his hat. He had lost the damn villain.

Chapter Text

Four voices. A dimly lit room. Televisions flashing imagery in black and white. Security footage.

“So there’s a new one…”

“He called himself Siberian Winter, should we look into him?”

“Not just yet, and quiet, I’m watching.” 

Silence. A pause filled with quiet breaths and the sound of buzzing electricity. Short-lived.

“That was quite a punch, I’m adding inhuman strength to the list!”

“He’s clumsy, he let Superiority slip straight through his fingers.”

“But he’s smart, not like the others that rely on strength.”

The scribbling of pen on paper. A sigh. Somebody adjusts their glasses.

“You’re going to keep an eye on him, I presume?”

“Oh please, I keep an eye on everything.”

Footsteps. There is only one in the room now. The buzz of electricity continues.

“I’m always watching.” 

~~~

 Nazi kept his head down in class, a hand placed deliberately over the sizeable purple bruise that spanned half his face. He could feel Tankie’s humoured gaze burning holes in the back of his head and had to stop himself from reaching over to lob his textbook at the provocative Russian. It wouldn’t be the first time that the two had gotten into a fight during class, but they had only been on the course for a month, and another dispute so soon would be embarrassing. Who would’ve known that the two extremists would be at each other’s throats so much? That was sarcasm. The entire political science class could feel the tension between the two, and Nazi had to keep sending glares across the room when someone’s gaze lingered for too long. Though, for one individual, his intense eyes weren’t enough to deter them.

 “You should stop covering your face,” Nazi grimaced as a familiar voice whispered to him from his side, “I think the bruise makes you look sexy~.”

 Nazi growled and snapped his head in the direction of the voice. Wearing a shoulderless pink jumper that left absolutely nothing to the imagination was HomoNationalist, legs crossed, and lipstick-covered lips pulled into a grin. “Fuck off, you faggot, I’m trying to listen.” And with that, he turned his attention back to the professor, who was drawling on about-

 “Oh, please, call me that again.” Homonat slurred, drumming his painted nails against his desk. Nazi could have killed him then and there.

 It wouldn’t be hard. All he had to do was slip off his gloves and grip the man’s throat. Not even that, Homonat wasn’t worth that kind of effort, he just had to have his right hand placed on any exposed skin and the queer’s breathing would be stopped. Maybe he’d let him enjoy it at first, like some sick game, and would drink in the look of fear in the man’s eyes when he realised he was going to die. 

 Nazi cleared his throat as he finally reigned his focus in, unfazed and unwavering as he began to listen to the lecture once more. Homonat didn’t attempt to bug him again, but he guessed that it was due to his lack of a response rather than his intimidating aura.

Class ended shortly after that, and he was free to leave the cramped classroom that he had the misfortune of sharing with, not just one, but two of his least favourite people. One of which was walking up behind him, ready to leave.

 Nazi grunted as the giant hands of his less-than-favorable Russian roommate slapped down onto his shoulders, “You joining me for lunch, Nazi? Ancap invited me to the anarchist’s café. You know, the one that opened off-campus last week.”

 “Yes, I’m aware of the café, Ancom wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks as they were talking about opening…”

 Tankie pulled away, walking with his smartly dressed companion as they left the building. He let out a sigh as he pushed his small square glasses up his nose. They walked in silence for some time, which Nazi was thankful for, but of course he wasn’t allowed peace for long. “Did you hear about the attack yesterday?”

 How could he not have heard: ten dead and thirteen injured after an attack on Main Street. “Yes, I heard. A new hero, huh?” He mentally scolded himself. It could have been twenty-three.

 Tankie grinned at this statement, “I heard he is Russian too, should we invite him over for some solyanka some time?”

 Nazi knew that the comment was a joke, but the thought of having some foreign hero in his apartment made his skin crawl. He could only laugh nervously as Tankie swung open the door to the café, “Sure, if you can get the damn slav’s attention.” They walked inside.

Nazi paused, before letting out an audible groan as the Russian dragged him to where the capitalist sat.

A cat cafe. Of course it was a cat cafe. Nazi sat, arms folded as Ancap and Tankie played with the furry creatures around them. He hated this, he hated the fact it made him look soft. He wouldn’t stoop low enough to even pet the damn animals, let alone pick them up and nuzzle them like Ancap was doing. 

The capitalist laughed as he felt the black and white kitten paw his face. It was unexpected but pleasant. His white cane was currently in the hands of Tankie, who was dangling it over a collection of cats like it was a toy. What a pathetic sight.

“You have been awfully quiet today, Nazi. I almost forgot you were here!” 

Nazi wishes he could wipe the blind man’s grin from his stupid fedora-covered face, “Damn, I was hoping you did forget so that I could get away from this degenerate shit.”

Ancap laughed at this, fumbling for a free space beside him before placing the kitten down, “Then you should learn to brood more quietly, you huff like a child!” 

Nazi was about to retort when the shimmer of something outside the cafe caught his eye. The cats suddenly scattered, yowling fearfully as a blurred figure was suddenly launched at the open-front window of the shop. There was no crash of glass, but a brightly lit figure went spiraling into the nearby tables, yelling as they finally rolled to a stop near the counter. 

What?

This time, the window did shatter. A winged form barreled into the already downed neon body in the middle of the cafe, sending them both flying into the far wall. Tankie yelled, gripping Ancaps arm and forcing the cane into his hand, before rapidly making for the exit of the cafe. Nazi could only stare in awe as the figures in front of him grappled for power.

“Fuck you, Hoppean!” spat the hooded green figure as they kicked at the man holding them to the wall. Hoppean only laughed in response to this.

“I thought you would put up more of a fight, you little green fuck.”

“Oh you’ve seen nothing yet, you over-glorified chicken nugget!” 

Nazi ran, following in Ancap and Tankie’s footsteps as he made for the exit. He could see the two in the near distance, the Russian occasionally glancing back at him with wide eyes. He was almost out. 

Suddenly, he was on the floor, breathless and sprawled out across the cobblestone sidewalk. He must have hit his head (as if he hadn’t already endured enough brain damage over the last few days) as his vision was blurred. He tried to inhale, but he could barely move with the body of the green figure now lying over him. Nazi winced, for someone so heavy, he certainly got thrown with ease. 

“Oh we’re going to have so much fun.” Rumbled a voice behind him, and he turned his head to take in the sight of the winged man, Hoppean, striding towards him. His light brown wings trailed along the cafe’s floor, as did the tail end of his bright yellow coat, and he walked on two clawed feet. Not naturally clawed, mechanical, large metallic talons contracting and then spreading out again with each step. Nazi swallowed, briefly locking eyes with the approaching villain. His pupils blew wide as one of the bird-like feet hovered over his head, threatening, promising. Oh shit.

Chapter Text

The steady drumming of feet against wood was deafening in the lecture theater where qui sat. Ancom didn’t dare to glance away from quis computer screen to find the culprit, instead leaned in closer, tapping quis fingers rhythmically against the keys of quis laptop. A hand moved up to tilt the screen back, thumb trailing over the command terminal that flashed in front of quem, before gliding back down to the glowing letters and numbers below. It wasn’t a race and there were no stakes involved, but Ancom couldn’t stop quis throat from tightening anxiously as qui rewrote a line of commands, skimming over what qui had already typed. Qui couldn’t crack it.

Ancom groaned as qui let quis head tilt back, tired eyes staring blankly into the ceiling. It was late morning, but any hour was too early for quem, especially when qui had to attend class. Tankie and Nazi left at nine for political science, a full breakfast being jostled between the two of them as they struggled out the door. Ancom smiled fondly as he recalled the scowling face of Tankie as his fellow authoritarian leaned in to wipe a smudge of Nutella from his nose, the toast hanging out his mouth threatening to drop. A puff of air left Ancom’s lungs as qui snapped quis gaze back down to quis laptop. There...

“Asterisk, Hacker voice, Asterisk: I’m in.”

Cherishing the defeated groan of quis peers, Ancom sat back, arms behind quis head as qui stared down at the now accessible information: a single image of ‘well done’ in comic sans graced quis screen.

“How do you always get there so fast, how many lines did you do?” Whispers a voice to quis left.

Ancom snickered under quis breath before scooting quis chair closer to the boy at quis side, who was currently adjusting the metallic-painted arm cast that hung against his chest, “Are we talking coke or are we talking code?”

Qui could hear quis friend’s eyes rolling at that remark, “I’m serious, Ancom. I have enough here to fill a book-!”

Sure enough, when Ancom slid over to look at Transhumanist’s screen qui was greeted with pages worth of complex-looking output. Qui would have cringed had it been anyone else, but the robotics nerd had a tendency to overcomplicate things, so Ancom dragged quis own laptop over and gestured to the screen. Qui sat back and watched as Transhumanist scanned the two screens with his amber eyes, occasionally tapping a few new lines in with his functional hand. Qui passed the time by drawing an unnecessarily detailed smiley face on the side of his cast.

~~~

“Oh we’re going to have so much fun.” Spat a guttural voice somewhere behind quem.

Ancom could hear the metallic chatter of Hoppean’s bird-like enhancements as he walked across the concrete floor of the cafe; the electronics inside whirred and the talons clattered as the digits retracted and then redeployed. Come on, recharge faster…

“Nazi, get out of there!” yelled a familiar voice, a prominent Russian accent lacing each word. Ancom lifted quis head in surprise, tilting it to glance up at tankie past the dip of quis hood. The commie stood with wide eyes and an outstretched arm, hand open as if he could grab his fellow authoritarian from where he stood. Clutching his side was Ancap, suit wrinkled and caked in cat hair from the initial squabble. One hand was clutching his blacked-out glasses, the other balling into a fist around Tankie’s sweater. “Дебил, you have to move!” Ancap’s white cane had clearly been discarded in favour of clinging to the burly Russian.

Hoppean’s echoing steps came to a halt as he suspended a foot over the bobbing head of the man beneath quem. Nazi’s eyes widened as the poised limb came down upon him, and the tiles of the street all but shattered under the immense force of the avian man.

~~~
The class had ended later than usual due to the difficulty of their assignment, and every extra second in the theatre had Ancom on edge. Qui palmed quis backpack desperately, which qui knew was filled with the various components of quis costume: A nylon green hoodie was scrunched up, packed into the bag beside a metal face mask and a glimmering belt, both of which were quietly thrumming with neon energy. Qui had to get out onto patrol, playing hero was always more fun than working towards a major in cybersecurity.

“Oh, Ancom, do you have plans for the afternoon?” Spoke Transhumanist as the two exited the lecture theatre, accompanied by a sea of exhausted-looking students.

Ancom winced, “Yeah, Sorry, maybe another time?”

“Sure, I’ll text you before class tomorrow!” The anarchist let out a breath of relief when Transhumanist simply smiled and nodded in understanding, before following the crowd out of sight.

Ancom hastily made quis way through the building, almost knocking the gender-neutral bathroom’s door off of its hinges as qui excitedly flung it open. This was always the highlight of quis week. Ancom practically ripped quis bag open to retrieve quis kit, slipping the bright green hoodie over quis head and pulling it down over quis chest. Qui delved deeper into quis bag, using the time spent crouching down to pull quis socks (One with the trans flag and the other with the nonbinary flag) over quis baggy trousers, tucking the loose material in where the two fabrics met. Ancom stood up to fix the belt to quis form; glimmering with shards of reflective panels, the belt looked as if it were some scene corset, rather than the leap in cloaking technology that was. Ancom flexed quis jaw as qui fixed the metal-plate mask to quis face. Qui was ready.

The door to the bathroom swung open slowly, but no figure was inside.

Hidden from prying eyes, Ancom confidently strode across campus, quis clothing and skin affected by his natural ability to disappear, and quis backpack coated in the reflective panels that were once attached to quis belt. Quis powers were almost laughable in contrast to each other: On one hand, qui specialised in stealth, quis body able to create a natural cloak of complete invisibility up to a few inches from quis skin, but quis secondary power was very… Vibrant.

~~~

There was a flash of neon green energy as Hoppean struck the ground, and two separate yells materialised several feet away from him. Spinning across the ground, both Nazi and Ancom were spat out of a glowing trail, screaming. Ancom rocketed up, pushing quemself to quis feet, “So now you recharge huh, you piece of shit?” Qui shrieked, slapping a hand against quis own chest.

Nazi, who was still on the floor, sent a quizzical glance up at the green-clad figure; were they angry at their own ability cooldown?

The cobble beneath them crumbled slightly as Hoppean straightened out, drawing his talons from the remains of the street. “You’re so professional.” He drawled, waving a clawed hand whimsically as he spoke, “Who are you supposed to be anyway, I haven’t seen your face around here before.”

Ancom laughed, an emerald glow outlining quis body, “I don’t intend to have to deal with you again, Hoppean, so what’s the point with names?” In a flash qui was upon the avian man, legs wrapping around his neck after having appeared behind him. The two figures collided with the wall of the cafe, clawed fingers ripping holes in the trousers that were currently suffocating their user. Hoppean let out a screech from beneath Ancom, and quickly reached up to grab quem by the scruff of the neck, pulling quem over his head and throwing them into the pavement.

Ancom warped to safety before the avian criminal could strike again, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid hitting the concrete, and fell to quis knees, clutching quis ribs.

“Names are important, sweetheart..” Chuckled the winged man as he approached, his figure a broad silhouette and nothing more in Ancom’s mind, “Because they need to know what to put on your fucking grave after I slaughter you.”

“It’s Neon Binary, you turkey looking motherfucker.”

Hoppean sneered as he raised a serrated hand to strike.

“Get down and stay down!”

Wait what-

Suddenly, the blurred outline that was once Hoppean went spiraling into the ground, and was replaced by a much broader, taller form. His long coat flickered in a gust of wind as the avian man flapped his wings in an attempt to right himself. The shimmer of gold on the man’s fists forced Ancom to squint as he struck down the avian again. He withdrew with calculated speed, and then there was a hissing sound. Water, cold and spiteful, sprayed over the feathers of Hoppeans wings. Ancom shook quis head, finally managing to withstand the pain in quis chest, before standing back up. Holy shit, was that-

“Siberian Winter?” Spat Hoppean from the ground, eyes wide and mouth agape. A small trail of blood trickled down from his nose, which already seemed bruised from the initial impact of the Russian man’s adorned fist, “I knew that you had popped up in the area, but you’re active again this soon?”

“Hoppean, aren’t you supposed to be serving time right now? You have killed an awful lot of people to be let out this early in your life sentence.” There was a disturbingly loud cracking sound as the Russian pounded his fists together, but this didn’t seem to bother him.

“It’s three life sentences, actually…” He said, wiping the blood from his upper lip with an unsettling grin, “and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I didn’t get out on my own.”

Both Ancom and Siberian Winter locked eyes, glowing green and deep scarlet meeting what seemed like the first and last time as a gunshot echoed around them.

~~~

“There are more of them?”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“Are they together, a group perhaps?”

The shuffling of pen on paper. The buzzing of static. Three figures in a dark room.

“Something isn’t right, shouldn’t those cameras be on?”

“I don’t know, he turned them off before he left.”

“Must be important if he’s attending it in person...”

“I’d say it was suspicious if it wasn’t him.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to get in his way.”

A pause. Gruff laughter, judging almost.

“Does that ‘we’ include us?”

“That ‘we’ includes everyone. To stand against The Party is to welcome death.”

The buzzing dims as more cameras flicker off. Silence.