A/N: My first Kick-Ass fanfic! Yay! Oh and so you don't get confused, it stays in first person between Chris and Mindy every other chapter (chapter one is Chris, chapter two is Mindy, etc...) Enjoy.

WARNING: The rating will go up as the chapters progress for language and content. And please don't bash this pairing! They're not real, you know?


Chapter One: Opening

Message sent.

Man, I hadn't seen those two words in a while...Actually I hadn't seen my Myspace page in over three months. Not since all that shit with Kick-Ass, my dad, and Hit-Girl happened.

And speaking of "HG", she's the one I sent the message to...After sorting through the thousands of messages clogging my inbox of course. Like I said, I hadn't checked my page and didn't even fucking plan to until I decided to do the whole "self discovery" shit that my mother kept ranting about during her lonely drinking parties. Her "happy hour" that had turned into a "happy eternity" after one of my dad's fingers had been found covered in pigeon vomit on the sidewalk. Fucking beautiful, right?

Eh, in a sick way I think it is. I mean she used to drink before he died, not as much, but she still did. Probably because of his work at first which is understandable. Now it was just to help numb the loss and to hide the fact that she worried I'd be the same way he was. I mean a drug lord not little bit-sized bird snacks scattered all over New York.

I finally blinked from the "sent" alert, my eyes burning from the screen. I don't even remember how long I had been staring at it or why. Maybe I was just hoping she'd instantly reply to the person she still partly blamed for her father dying. The son of the guy who put her only family in prison for something he had nothing to do with. Damn if that was the reason I was fucking stupid.


I let out a long yawn while stretching my arms. My eyes finally avoiding the blinding screen to glance over at my unorganized "Red Mist" shit that still hadn't moved from the bottom of the closet. It had been there as long as I had been avoiding Myspace and was probably permanently stuck in that crinkled position from the sweat that had soaked through. Stunk to high hell too.

I let out another groan before forcing myself to get up and see if the suit would actually hang up on a hanger without resembling a three-year-old's art project. Surprisingly, the leather was ok. No creases or anything noticeable from a distance. And maybe it was the shock that it could still hang nicely on the clothes rack that prevented my nose from shrinking. Yup it still reeked.

"Will this even fit anymore?"

I talked to myself a lot...Hey I didn't have friends because of that douche bodyguard and I was still adjusting to a highschool that required metal detectors. Yes, it was the same school I had been going to before with Dave and his friends but now I didn't have protection from those fuck tard muggers. I couldn't exactly carry a gun around.


I tied the cord of the mask around the collar of the shirt securely...At least I thought I did until it fell off the string completely...And I didn't bother picking it up and fixing it. Not cause I'm lazy or something but because I spotted my newer, probably better fitting body suit draped in the back of the closet. The "Orange Mist" costume if you will. I hadn't really decided on a name for it yet...Or worn it for that matter.

"Orange Mist?"

It didn't sound so cool out loud, especially not with my lisp. Eh whatever it didn't really matter. I didn't plan on wearing it anytime soon or ever if my new objective actually came to fruition. It more-than-likely wouldn't but a guy can dream.

Yet another one of my nasally "geektastic" sighs escaped as I quickly snatched my mask from the floor, taking it and the string to my bed in an attempt to repair it. My mind kind of wandering rather than focusing on the piece that I really, really wanted to wear again.

My mask, leather suit, boots, gloves, and sexy fucking cape. The whole thing. I would wear it again, I promised myself I would...But that isn't really what I was thinking about while feeding cord through the holes.

What I was thinking about leads back to my mother's drunken lectures about "self discovery" and "help for the mind". Shit she had seen advertised at three A.M. on God-knows-what channel. Regardless, some of the crap she'd be spewing had made an impact on me. It was nothing major but she had a few valid points...concerning things related to me becoming like my father. Stuff like making a change for the greater good, stopping the coke sales, helping some of the guys get off the crap...And what can I say? I'm a fucking comic book geek and got excited at the thought of changing lives for the better. And hey who knows? Maybe my dad would have been proud of me even if I stopped his drug ring. I still had his real estate business to work on after all. That and I wanted to try the super hero thing for real.

"Oh fuck me..."

I listened to my own whispers when the side of the mask tore. Piece of shit plastic...thing! I still don't know what it was made of but it made my face sweat like a bitch in heat. Also it apparently tears after being prodded for so long.

"Maybe I should switch to a cloth one like hers..."

Ah talking to myself again but at least this time it had to do with someone else. The super heroine assassin-Hit-Girl. The person who was the target of my latest goal instead of a shooting target falling from a window. Incidently, I still needed to apologize for that...Assuming she responded to me at all.

No, fuck that. Even if she did reply it'd say "fuck off", or "up yours, dick head", or "I know where you live and I'll cut you". Something horrid that an eleven-year-old shouldn't know. Still I had risked the whole being sliced into a compact size thing just to get my foot in the door of helping people for real.

I don't know why I chose her to start with. Maybe because my dad had screwed her over since before she was born. Maybe because she seemed like she needed the attention...Or rather deserved to have a decent childhood that wasn't completely riddled with bullet holes.

Anyway the point is I wanted to help give her the childhood my dad stole. Even though I already knew I couldn't really say or do anything that Big Daddy hadn't already talked to her about. For God's sake she was running around calling people cunts and knew what it meant! He obviously never hid anything from her or censored anything she may have asked about.

Still I had to start somewhere, help someone I actually kind of knew, stop hiding in my dad's shadow...And I wanted it to be her.

"Got it."

The cord finally knotted enough to prevent slipping back through the opening. The mask finally holding itself together after about a fifteen minute struggle.

That's not why I was talking to myself again though. I was only noting that I had a reply alert flickering on the computer.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed chapter one. Please leave a review.