@teethlikeconfessions | to get rid of a temptation. | ⚠ STARTER
“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”
Nothing was quite the same after his imprisonment at the wasteland. Weeks under the scorching sun made any other weather feel cold, the air had a lingering bitterness from the city smog which replaced the sandy haze he had grown accustomed to, the food tasted different, the tangy, metallic taste of raw meat lingering as an occasional craving. Vagrancy had become his new lifestyle, despite the change of scenery. That didn’t change. But these streets, no, this world was alien to him. At first, he wanted to raze the city to the ground. And the rest of the country. And the planet. However, even his shattered psyche understood that to be a reckless idea, as much as he longed to take his frustrations out. All thanks to Angstrom again. He craved nothing more than to wrangle that piece of shit. Now, stuck in this random version of the Earth he knew, with no actual way to assess the dangers, he had no chance of ever returning to his world and realizing his revenge. That’s how things stayed for his first couple of days, until a group of shady people approached him trying to rob him, despite having nothing but his tattered suit. The veil of the night didn’t let them see the dried up blood that caked his arms and face, in spite of the funny looking superhero costume. Mark made sure to stay out of sight, while he had no way to look more… presentable. They were looking for trouble first, so it’s not like somebody would miss them. That’s how he got some money, clothes and a bag. He discarded his suit and decided it was time to clean up. Once he looked more well adjusted, he got a haircut and a shave. He soon learned that this city had plenty of scum nobody cared about. So he used that to his advantage. Now he had a proper way to get food and income. He spent a few weeks like that. He would hunt criminals, not for any noble reason, they simply made easy targets. Then he would devour their flesh, hide or destroy whatever was left and take whatever valuables he could use. He still had no place to stay or any consistent way to understand the world around him. Mark tried to keep an eye out for any rumors, went into shitty, underground bars and even bought newspapers. An important thing he learned was about the presence of heroes — he made the right decision not going on a rampage, they had enough strength combined to kill a Viltrumite. One day, luck would strike him. He walked through a dimly lit backstreet at night. He wore a leather jacket over a turtleneck, some fitted jeans and sneakers. Not exactly his style, but it worked when he couldn’t hover and had to rely on walking pretty much all day. Mark made sure to move around town and murder his victims in different ways so that people would not identify a pattern with his killings.
His ears picked up on some noises coming from an alleyway ahead. A scuffle, perhaps? He walked closer, his steps inaudible to the human ear, moving against the brick wall. He peeked slowly, judging by the noises, the couple would be too distracted to notice his presence. And that’s when he saw a man choking someone else beneath him. Normally, he would write it off as something ordinary in Gotham. Violent crime happened day in and day out, especially around this part of the metropolis. Mark couldn’t look away, however, because the attacker seemed distressed about his actions. He licked his lips, his sinister mind machinating a plan — which would at the very least, amuse him. He whistled, stepping closer to the scene. “You really did a number on this guy, huh?” Mark's stance was casual, a few feet behind the killer. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes set on the corpse. There was only one emotion in his stare. Hunger.
