Grian Oneshots

67 ~ Masquerade's Revenge [ANGST]

TW: PTSD; Blood; Gunshots; Puking; Panic Attacks; SA; Torture; death; murder; kidnapping; captivity;

~

The Masquerade was a well known person throughout the city. They had many different masks, and went after many people, good or bad. Some classified them as a Vigilante, others as a Villian. But the heroes had to get him in custody in anyway they could.

...

It wasn't a busy night, he just had tripped trying to get away from a hero. So he was considering going home early, and doing his mission in a few days.

He had a black hood over his head, and a black masquerade mask. A utility belt around his waist, holding up black cargo pants. His shirt was a black sleeveless shirt, with a black hoodie over it. Black fingerless gloves and combat boots finished the look.

"I should probably just look at it." He muttered, sitting down against the air conditioning box.

He pulled his knee up to his chest, and started untying his shoe. Slipping it off, the Vigilante felt pain as he saw his foot.

"I don't think it's supposed to bend that way." He muttered.

He bit his lip as he put the shoe back on and retied it. Standing up, he walked over to the fire escape. Once on the ground, he hobbled his way to a hideout. A room underneath an apartment, that had just blankets, a first aid, and some charging cables.

He sat down, and grabbed some of the blankets, before tying them around his foot tightly. The foot wouldn't get as hurt, if he walked around now. Getting back out of the hideout, he walked towards the forest.

He woke up in a hospital. He knew because of the smell and clean room. His hands were handcuffed to the bed, as well as his not broken foot handcuffed too.

Moving his hands in the shackles, the person in the room with him told him he wasn't going anywhere.

"And who are you?" He asked, glaring at the ravenette in one of the steats across the room.

"I should be asking you, Masquerade." He said, standing up.

The Vigilante bit his tongue to not incriminate himself.

"As soon as they release you, I'm taking you into custody." He said, resting his hand on the bed. Grian recognized it as the Hero Mumbo.

...

Hours later, he was handcuffed, but the holding room was pretty neat. There was a TV, a comfortable bed, and a closet with some spare clothing.

He didn't dare change, but did lay down. Sure his outfit caused some discomfort, but he didn't want any hidden camera's to see anything. His hoodie and utility belt was already taken away, so he wasn't much of a threat to anyone.

Mumbo returned, and sat on a seat he'd brought in.

"What's your name?" He asked.

He stayed silent, so Mumbo just put down Masquerade.

"Any allergies?"

"Bullshit." He muttered. "...And rabbits..."

Mumbo raised an eyebrow, but wrote them down.

"Prefered pronouns?"

"He/they."

"Any medical conditions?"

Masquerade thought for a moment, before answering.

"PTSD."

Mumbo looked up at Masquerade out of suprise, but didn't know if he should ask. The scars visible on the man's neck and arms were mostly burn or cuts.