Chapter 58: 58

"Oh my god, you dumbass fuck! Why did you grief my base, bro? What the fuck!?" Andrew's voice erupted through the VC, his rage palpable as they played MyCraft online. Andrew had become a major Lextuber, boasting just over a million subscribers. But tonight he wasn't filming content. Tonight was just about kicking back and gaming with the boys. It was a Saturday night, July 3rd, and school had ended weeks ago. Summer was in full swing, and with no responsibilities in sight, Joseph's friends had decided to hop on a private server for some good old-fashioned chaos. Joseph, for his part, was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Watching Andrew's base explode in a glorious chain of TNT detonations had him gasping for air. "Bro, the way your house just went up—" He broke into another fit of laughter. "I can't—oh my god, the way you screamed—" "Yo, chill, dawg," Jackson cut in, chuckling but also trying to keep the peace. Andrew, still fuming, took his revenge, methodically placing TNT around Joseph's base. "My bad, bro, my bad! Nooo, I'm sorry! Don't blow up my base, my dog is in there! Noooo!" Joseph pleaded dramatically, adding to the chaos. It was moments like these that Joseph truly savored. Taking care of Chicago was fulfilling, but nothing quite compared to just hanging out with the boys, gaming, and talking shit. Sure, visiting places with Kori was fun, but there was something special about this. About just being... normal. Unfortunately, normalcy was fleeting. Maybe he was cursed. It had been a few weeks since Joseph enlisted Dizzy's help to clean Chicago's rot. The system was simple. Carla Viti, now firmly embedded in the city's underbelly, tipped him off when certain figures crossed the line. Joseph would investigate, ensuring the accusations were legitimate. And if they were? Dizzy handled the rest. It was efficient. It was effective. And most importantly, it was discreet. The League, law enforcement, and the corrupt powers-that-be had no idea. Chicago was essentially his city now. With the war between Thanagar and the Gordanians in full swing, Hawkman and Hawkwoman weren't coming back anytime soon. Captain Atom barely patrolled with him, trusting him to be able to handle the city as he handled other matters since the League was short on members. Crime rates had reached historic lows under Nova's protection, and Carla was steadily tightening her grip on the criminal infrastructure, enforcing his rules. But she knew better than to get comfortable. She'd already crossed him once—hiring a metahuman assassin to kill him and then shooting him herself. He didn't give second chances. Joseph had also made it clear: if she caught even a whisper about Intergang or Leviathan, he wanted to know. Both organizations were laying low, but it was only a matter of time before they resurfaced. For now, though, Chicago was quiet. Too quiet. ** Several years ago, a man named Harold Loomis had been murdered. Harold had been an electrical engineer, part of William and Wallace Cole's initiative to build a train line through their old neighborhood. But the deal soured, and Harold paid the price. The Cole brothers made sure of that. Halloween night. Little Oswald Loomis had returned home from trick-or-treating to find his father's lifeless body sprawled on the front lawn. Years later, William Cole had been arrested, but he never ratted out his brother. Wallace went on to become mayor of Chicago. Oswald never forgot. As a message, he sent the mask he had worn that night to William in prison—a grim reminder that their punishment had only just begun. Taking the name The Prankster, Oswald turned his grief into a crusade. His first target: Alderman Anthony Laine, a part-time child trafficker. He forced Laine to burn all his illegally obtained money while a feral wolf prowled around him. By the time the police arrived—thanks to an anonymous tip—the wolf had torn off Laine's arm. His second target: John Conaway, a con artist who sold faulty lighting insulation. Tied to his own defective product, Conaway had to prove his insulation actually worked. It didn't. He was electrocuted to death. And so it continued. One by one, Prankster hunted down the corrupt officials who had paved Wallace Cole's rise to power. Until he noticed something unsettling. Someone else was hunting them, too. At first, it had been subtle. Officials he had marked for his justice were disappearing—some found dead, others vanishing without a trace. It was methodical. Precise. Whoever was responsible wasn't making a spectacle of it. They were erasing them. That wasn't justice. That wasn't vengeance. That was theft. Prankster clenched his fists as he reviewed his latest target. No. He wouldn't allow this. This was his city. His revenge. Whoever was trying to steal it from him was going to learn a very painful lesson.