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Saviour

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The thing about becoming a hero is that you don’t expect it. You grow up, looking at the real heroes and thinking, ‘I could never do that,’ but then the next thing you know, there’s a defeated monster under your fists, and kids are looking at you and thinking the same thing.

 

This story starts with a simple man named Harold Smith.

 

The PHD hanging in his office may have officiated his title as doctor, but his true pride lay with the thousands of pictures of his three kids also decorating his office.

 

Harold didn’t care much for anything that wasn’t immediately relevant to his life, superheroes included. All he cared for was doing his job right and keeping his children safe.

 

His family was his purpose, his everything, and every single day he hoped that his loyalty could properly get across the unconditional tsunami of love he felt for them. Naturally, he struggled as a single parent raising three kids, but throughout it all, he stuck with them and always loved them with his whole heart. Even when Succotash brought home a rude gremlin of a girl whose only job had been at VapeNation; even when Vicki left home to pursue her athletic career; even when they all mourned for Succotash, Harold stood with them through it all.

 

A day at the office began unbelievably average albeit with some excessive paperwork, but it quite abruptly turned sour when the roof in the doctor’s office quaked violently, plaster raining down through the building. Harold rose to his feet, caught between diving under the desk or out of the room, when the entire roof was severed apart and revealed a scene he’d been completely oblivious to happening outside.

 

An infamous supervillain that Harold only distantly remembered being mentioned on a news story was piloting a giant mech, the crumbling remains of the roof crushed in a looming, robotic claw. Before Harold could escape, another gargantuan claw snatched Harold up in an unrelenting grip. He was lifted far into the air, farther up than he had ever been, allowing him a better view of the villain.

 

Oddly, in this life-or-death situation, as Harold’s brain malfunctioned and lost all ability to process the scenario, all he could notice was the appearance of the villain.

 

Lanky limbs stuck out of a bulbous body awkwardly. With a balding head and a curly mustache, he heavily resembled…

 

“Dr. Robotnik?” was all Harold breathed out in confusion before he passed out.

 

That had been a little over a year ago, Harold -- now known as Knife Dad -- remembered with a shudder.

 

Nearly a year ago he had come to in a warehouse and had been dropped into 6 vats of acid.

 

Nearly a year ago he staved off death long enough to be dragged out of that acid and into a room where he would scream in agony and experience his bones cracking, shifting, transforming until he was a quivering mess on the floor, a monster.

 

Nearly a year ago, he had left the name Dr. Harold Smith behind for good.

 

And nearly a year ago, his saviour had come for him. A hero with one glowing red eye had carried him to safety. The warmth of that hero’s body against Knife Dad’s was a small comfort during the traumatizing event but it was just enough to latch onto in an attempt to ground himself.

 

You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive, you're alive, you're alive.

 

The hero had carried him to another hero -- one remarkably less...well, remarkable. One that, with a wave of her hand, pulled most of the pain from his body, leaving Knife Dad feeling hollow and out of place, his bones creaking uncomfortably with every movement.

 

When his saviour had turned around in a blatant departure, Knife Dad rasped out “Y-Your name?” in a voice that was no longer his, too rough and growling and desperate to be his.

 

The hero paused before tossing a smile over his shoulder -- one that was surprisingly goofy for a professional superhero, one that put the gap in between his front teeth on full display, one that looked like sunshine and hope and life.

 

“Revolution.”

 

That was Knife Dad’s idol.

 

As soon as Knife Dad had felt properly adjusted in his new body, this hulking mass of fur, he immediately signed up to become a hero. Got the certification and everything.

 

Obviously, as any rational hero would, he didn’t dare let his newfound hero life take over his personal life. He wore a disguise when he shifted into hero-mode -- A plaid shirt, mech cuffs, a giant metal fedora, and sunglasses. He still wore his dad jeans though because the day he wore something other than those would be the day he died.

 

Not that the separation of his double-life had been truly necessary; after all, he hadn’t done much since receiving his certification. He'd only been doing small jobs taking down minions of the head honcho villains that much better heroes would take care of.

 

This time, it was Qularr drones swarming all around Millennium City, everywhere Knife Dad looked, but most of them seemed concentrated around City Hall.

 

Slowly but surely, he was making his way through the herds when he saw it: A flash of movement in his peripheral vision so brief he almost thought he imagined it.

 

Thank fucking Christ. He’d commed headquarters for some backup a while ago. Took them fuckin’ long enough.

 

If he was lucky, they probably sent Xpiire, a close friend and the only other clashing monster of a hero.

 

With one more slash, the last enemy in this vicinity was down, so he made his way to where the movement had been. Even if it wasn't Xpiire, his temporary partner deserved a "hello, I'm Knife Dad" at the very least.

 

Atop a pile of rubble and rocks stood a slender figure, having just finished off a drone himself.

 

Taken aback by the unfamiliar silhouette, Knife Dad faltered in his steps for a moment. This clearly wasn't one of the lower-class heroes that Knife Dad knew.

 

That hesitation was all the time the stranger needed to turn around and cause Knife Dad’s heart to immediately jump straight into his throat -- The glowing red eye. The katanas. The hood. The dark, billowing cape. The goofy smile with the tooth gap.

 

‘Oh, shit, Revolution’s here,’  was all that ran through Knife Dad's mind as he stumbled forward, his claws thankfully aiding him in scaling the pile as fast as possible so he could practically launch himself at Revolution’s feet.

 

He only allowed himself a moment to compose himself before blurting out, “The name’s Knife Dad.”

 

Fuck, he hadn’t even considered how nerve-wracking this would be because of how Revolution's hood obscured the majority of his face.

 

A couple seconds of silence followed before Revolution spoke with a clear smile in his voice, “Nice to meet you, you already know mine.”

 

The calm and cool confidence brought a grin onto Knife Dad’s face, “I saw you stop the evil plans of Dr. Robotnik," he cleared his throat and continued, “I would bow but I have bad knees.”

 

“From the 6 vats of acid?” Revolution fully turned to Knife Dad, his interest in the conversation clearly piqued.

 

“Arthritis, actually,” Knife Dad shrugged, “Anyways, can you teach me how to fly?”

 

Revolution seemed to contemplate the question for a second, eyeing Knife Dad. Before he could speak however, another drone pulled up behind Revolution and reared its arm back.

 

Without even a second of hesitation, Knife Dad nearly tripped over his own two paws as he leapt forward, yelping out, “Revolution! Look out!”

 

Although the drone had put up a good fight, them working as a pair meant it stood no chance. The two now stood, panting in tense air, over the shattered bits from their victory.

 

Knife Dad glanced around before turning to Revolution and breathing out, “I just saved your life,” and a grin stretched across his face, one that he didn’t care if it showed his ugly, ugly beast teeth, “You owe me a life debt -- You gotta train me.”

 

Revolution paused, then a chuckle built up into laughter and he shook his head with a clear grin under his hood, “Fine, fine, okay. You want to team up?”

 

For a solid couple of minutes there, all words and coherent thoughts left Knife Dad so all he could do was shake his head yes dazedly. This had been such a big dream of his for the past year, he hadn’t ever even considered it ever becoming a reality.

 

His saviour. His teammate. Revolution.

 

Revolution unsheathed his katanas and gestured his heads towards the nearest drones and hopped off the rubble onto stable ground.

 

“Oh, we are going to fuck these enemies up, ” Knife Dad soon joined Revolution on the ground with a new vigor buzzing in his bones.