A few eclipses had come and gone now - more than a few. Way more than a few. And every time there would be at least one griefer out there, seeing if their leader had come back. Work was slow, thankfully - perhaps because of the current temporary leadership. Not nearly as charismatic, and far more awkward around people, there had been murmurs about how, well...
It was only natural he was going to continue, right? Or would the group be disbanded? And it wasnāt just the others who worried over this, Scott - having spent this entire month pretty much isolated from everything else - wondered about that too. Should they all just go get normal jobs? Wait, pause everything? Continue on the offchance Lars came back tomorrow? What if he never came back?Ā
It would also make everyone question - did they even likeĀ what they did for a living? Should they all stay? Or just let the damn thing fall about anonymously and go to school or work at some boutique or whatever?
This went on for weeks, finishing up jobs that were already on the table as things slowly came to a crawl. And in the moments where they had all faltered - Scott especially, something happened.
The other griefer, running in out of breath, stopped in the middle of the central part of their base. Everyone stopped at the sudden movement, looking to where they were standing. Waiting with bated breath as they caught theirs, the griefer spoke:
āWe...Weāve got copycats - claiming to be us...ā Now that...Wouldnāt do.
It seemed to be that in the brief lapse in the taking of new jobs, there had been requests, and they had become answered. Not that anyone in this room would be deterred by competition, but the (sloppy, it seemed) copycats were treading a line that they shouldnāt. From what it seemed like, they were small, but they were badĀ at what they did. Scott wasnāt sure if he would personallyĀ have ever referred to the Belt as a vigilante organization, but based on reports that would come in over the next few days this fake Belt couldnāt even be considered vigilante-adjacent.Ā
They worked primarily in Fibonacci - made sense - but the people they hunted were not the crimelords or leaders that ruled over underfunded and ill-kept housing units...They were.
āDebt-collectors profiting off the organs. Using the Belt as a cover.ā
It left a hollowed out feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sickeningly, it reminded him all too well of that other place, that other time. Not as though he was some purveyor of justice, but...
It didnāt sit well. It didnāt sit right. The only issue was that when he looked up, every other person in the room was staring at him. Expectant. As though it wasnāt obvious that they all had deferred to him in Larsā absence. Thatās why he had mostly put his life on hold, his apartment mostly abandoned, his van sitting with her poor engine out and in pieces. Silence hung over the base as they all waited on him. But...
He wasnāt a leader. He was just a brute. Not remotely made for this kind of thing. This kind of operation.
āThis is just temporary.ā He began, and relief spread through the room at him finally speaking.Ā āReally, though, Iām not any kind of leader, but I guess I kind of have to be one in the interim.ā An awkward chuckle as he pushed his hair out of his face, the room followed suit. Standing, Scott regarded all of them. None had left. It was more than comforting to know that their loyalty wasnāt just to Lars.
āFirst things first, routing out who may be involved. Weāre not vigilantes, but seems like we may have to start acting like some. I need names, personal histories - anything and everything.ā For the first time in a month, the hideout was abuzz with activity. Everyone seemed excited to be back to work.
Scott, for his part, walked into the other room, taking a deep breath.
;; tl;drĀ there are some copycat organ dealers in Fibb right now, though nobody else would know theyāre copycats! thats all that public for now
