Jason Brennings's Questionnaire

 I'm livin' in this godforsaken Boston! I've been stuck in this joint since I popped outta my ma's womb, and let me tell ya, it's been a real pissah. Ya see, my whole freakin' family is from New York, we're all born and bred New-Yawkers, tough as nails. But, my ma and pa decided to open up this stupid pizza store here, and dragged us all along for the ride. Now we're stuck in this dump, callin' it home.

One of the reasons I'm stuck in this dump is 'cause my ma and pa are too stubborn to leave. They got this little pizza joint, and it's doin' alright. They think they're celebrities 'round these parts, with their "authentic" New York-style pizza. But let me tell ya, it ain't nothin' compared to the real deal back home.To make matters worse, we live in this crummy apartment building owned by my Great Uncle "Gerald" The guy's a coppa, chargin' us an bitta nothin' and a leg for this dump. The walls are so thin, it's like livin' in a sardine can. And don't even get me started on the neighbors. They're a buncha nosy, chowder-lovin' idiots. Always stickin' their noses where they don't belong.Now, why the hell am I still here, you ask? Well, it's 'cause of family, ya numbskulls! My ma and pa may be crazy for stayin' here, but I'll be damned if I leave 'em behind. Family means everythin' to us New-Yawkers, and I ain't leavin' 'em to fend for themselves in this place.

Sure, Boston's got its charm and history, but it's nothin' compared to the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. The energy, the attitude, the pizza! That's what I miss the most. But until my ma and pa wise up and see the light, I'll be stuck here, grumblin' like a true New-Yorker about this city. So, there ya have it, ya mooks. A true-blue New-Yorker stuck in Boston, complainin' till my voice gives out. But hey, at least I got my family, my ma and pa, ownin' that measly pizza joint. That's what keeps me here, sufferin' through this wicked pissah city.

Now, don't get me wrong, I ain't hatin' on everything 'bout Boston, but there's just somethin' off about this place. Maybe it's the absence of a proper subway system that runs 24/7, or maybe it's the obnoxious way they pronounce their "r's." I mean, seriously, "Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd"? Who talks like that? Anyway, to make ends meet in this godforsaken town, I'm slingin' pizzas for my folks' joint. Yeah, you heard me right, a pizza delivery driver. But hey, the tips ain't too shabby, and it keeps me fed. Plus, I ain't got no love for the Sox, so I ain't losin' sleep deliverin' their pizzas to their fair-weather fans.

On the side, I'm also a part-time player for the local baseball club. Ain't nothin' like the crack of the bat and the smell of fresh-cut grass to make me feel alive. But man, this ain't no major league gig; it barely pays for my gear and a couple of drinks at the bar. Boston's got some serious catching up to do when it comes to baseball. Yankees all the way, baby! Speaking of gear, turns out a good chunk of my hard-earned cash goes towards equippin' myself for some extra-curricular activities. You see, under this rough New-Yorker exterior, beats the heart of a vigilante. Yeah, that's right, I'm keepin' this city safe, one delinquent at a time. So, I'm investin' in baseball helmets and bats, 'cause you never know when the scum of Boston is gonna need a strong dose of justice.

Now, don't you dare think I ain't takin' care of basic necessities. I may despise this city, but I ain't no fool. Rent, groceries, and all that jazz, they eat up a sizable portion of my dough. Gotta keep a roof over my head and food in my belly, even if it means stickin' around this Red Sox-infested place. But mark my words, one day I'll be back in the heart of my beloved New York City. 'Till then, I'll keep deliverin' pizzas, swingin' the bat, and secretly ridin' the mean streets of Boston from the darkness. 'Cause a true New-Yorker don't just settle for pizza delivery, my friend. We strive for greatness, even if it means fightin' crime with a baseball bat in hand.

I've got a different kind of ambition burning inside me. You see, I ain't just dreamin' about bein' a regular superhero; I wanna be like Batman, or even better, Spiderman. Ya know, swingin' bats throughout the city, fightin' crime, and takin' down bad guys left and right. It's in my blood, I tell ya.

What am I striving for, you ask? Well, first and foremost, I gotta protect my family. They're the most important thing in my life, and nothin' would give me greater joy than keepin' 'em safe from all the scumbags out there. But it's not just about my kin, it's about protectin' the innocent too. The city needs someone to look out for 'em, someone who's got the stones to stand up to the bad elements, and that someone is gonna be me. AND hey, a superhero's gotta make a livin', right? So, I've got this brilliant idea brewin' in my head. I wanna get a sponsored deal from RedBull for baseball. Can you imagine sippin' on that sweet energizin' liquid while I'm hittin' homers? It'll be wicked awesome! I mean, who needs Gatorade when you've got wings, baby? Don't quote me on that, they wanna sponsor, I don't mind.

Now, when it comes to how far I'd go to achieve all this, listen up folks. I won't kill anyone who doesn't deserve it. But let me make one thing clear, to protect the world, I gotta protect myself. That means I won't shy away from takin' down some lowlife if push comes to shove. I'll give 'em a taste of justice, New-York style. They'll know not to mess with me or anyone I care about ever again. As for how close I'd come to death, well, let's just say I'm not afraid to dance with the Reaper. If you ain't friends with the Reaper, you ain't livin', my friend. I'd put my life on the line without a second thought if it means savin' lives and makin' this city a safer place. Ain't nothin' gonna hold me back.

So, while everyone else is busy cheerin' for the Green Monster, I'm out here hustlin' to become the vigilante this city needs. Protectin' my family, the innocent, and maybe even landin' that sweet sponsor deal. This New-Yorker ain't messin' around, folks. I'm ready to swing into action and show the world what a real hero looks like!

Anyway, so there I was, stuck in this godforsaken city, never missin' a chance to remind everyone who'd listen that New York is where it's at.

A sticky summer day in the heart of some fuckall park, where I and HoneyPot Baseballers were locked in a proper battle. My beloved Junkrats were fallin' behind, and lemme tell ya, the mood in that stadium was as gloomy as a wicked bad nor'easter. We needed one homerun to turn the whole game around, but their confidence was lower than our fuckin' namesake. And then, outta nowhere, I heard a voice. It was like a mix of Mickey Mantle and Joe DiMaggio whispering in my ear, "Hey, kid, you got what it takes to hit that ball outta the park." Now, I ain't one to believe in spirits or any of that hogshit, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so I took my stance at the plate and swung with all my might.

Well, slap my head with a slice of pizza if I didn't hit that ball like a fuckin' rocket into outer space! The crowd went bonkers (Not really, it was a small one), and the Junkrats the lead. That one swing of mine turned the tide of the game, and next thing ya know, the press is callin' me a hero (Not really, it was a small article on page 23). They even recruited me into the prestigious Baseball League Club!

Years went by, and I ain't heard them voices again. Life went back to normal, and I was just your average New Yorker, livin' the dream. But little did I know that destiny had somethin' else in store for me. One fateful night, as I was mindin' my own business, I stumbled into a fuck that bestowed upon me a chance to uplift these superhuman abilities.

Suddenly, the voices returned, louder and clearer than ever before. They revealed themselves as the Spirits of Baseball, bestowing me with the powers of speed, agility, and an unbeatable swing. From that moment on, I became more than just a ballplayer. I became a beacon of hope for the city that raised me, a superhero fightin' crime with a MASTER BATTER Sign on my head.

Frankie Du'Chemi: Cousin, Childhood Bestfriend. 'Chemi, my cousin, grew up wit' me in a small, tight-knit community. Despite his mischievous charm, Frankie always had a heart'a gold. We spent countles' hours explorin' the city, playin' games, and dreamin' uh adventures. As we grew older, our bond only strengthened, wit' Frankie becomin' my confidant and partna in crime. (Or rather, fuckin' people up who do it)

Ma: My ma's my ma, who else she gotta be than a sweet ol' woman with the fists of irons and heart of fuckin' diamond. She ain't mucha a cook, but GOD DAMN, she can roast ya ass two ways away from Sunday church. Ya'know, she used tah be a bareknuckle boxer before she got arrested for assault and battery- Ay yah yahy, now she does that to me if I act up.

Pa: Pa's a fuckin' sweetheart, knows howta cook, clean up, fancy words and all that. Straight-laced accountant turned into pizza cook. Best Pizza cook around, but I still prefer Tonies back at the Apple. Don't ya fucking tell him, might break his heart though.

We had this tough Ma, ya know? She was always yellin' and screamin' 'bout somethin' or the otha. But my Pa, oh boy, he was the sweetest guy ya eva met. Always makin' us laugh and tellin' stories 'bout back in the day. Makes good fuckin' food. Now, my childhood friend and cousin, Frankie, he was da real deal. We'd do everythin' togetha. Play ball, get into mischief, ya name it. We were inseparable, like two peas in a pod. But ya see, Frankie wasn't like me. He was smaller and didn't have the fire in 'im that I did. Growin' up, bein' a New-Yorker in Boston wasn't easy. Them Boston bastardss, they didn't take too kindly to us out-of-towners. They'd pick on me and Frankie, call us names, and even push us around. But ya know what? I wasn't one to back down. I fought back, and boy did I fight hard. Eventually, fightin' back made me the bully. I started hurtin' otha kids, thinkin' it was the only way to protect myself and Frankie. But soon enough, I realized I became just like them Bahston bullies I hated so much.

One day, Pa caught wind of my bullyin' ways. He looked me dead in the eye and told me off. He said, "Jason, ya ain't raised to be like this. Be better than this, be somebody who helps otha people." And ya know what? Pa was right. I didn't wanna be no bully no mo'. That's when I decided I wanted to be a superhero. Like them fancy ones ya see in them comic books, but a real-life superhero ya know? Someone who helps others, stands up for what's right. I'll use my fiery spirit and determination for good. No more bullyin', no more fightin' back with fists. (I got a fuckin' bat for that) I'll use my voices and actions to bring people togetha, to protect those who can't protect themselves.

I may sound like a stereotypical New-Yorker, but deep down, pizza-pie ain't too bad. I won't let my tough Ma or the mean kids in Bahston define who I am. I'll be the superhero this city needs, one act of "Fuckin' up at a time. And heck, maybe one day, Ma and Frankie will be proud of the New-Yorker they raised in Boston.

There's a little somethin' people keep assumin' about me, and lemme tell ya, it's drivin' me up a wall. So, listen up, 'cause I'm about to lay it all out in this here. Now, it all started when I met this fella, Juan Carlos, from San Francisco. He's got this charm that's got me all wrapped up like a pretzel from the hot dog cart on the corner. I mean, I can't even look at him without feelin' these flutters in my belly, ya know?

But everyone and their mother seems to think that means I'm some...how do I put it mildly...that I take a shine to other fellas. Now, I get it, all right? I got this "accent," this loud mouth, and maybe I'm a little more flamboyant than your average New Yorker. But that don't mean I'm gay, alright? Straight as an arrow here, folks, trust me.

My love for Juan Carlos? That's just admiration, pure and simple. I mean, come on, the guy's got style for days. The way he struts down the streets of San Fran is like a runway model, and I ain't ashamed to say I notice. The way he talks with this smooth blend of English and Spanish? It makes my heart skip a beat, plain and simple. Sure, I might follow him around like a lost puppy whenever we hang out. And yeah, maybe I can't keep my eyes off his perfectly coiffed hair that just begs for me to run my fingers through it. But that don't mean I'm gay, okay? I just...appreciate what's in front of me, got it? It ain't easy bein' in this situation, ya know? Surrounded by folks who can't see past their own assumptions. And trust me, I've tried to explain it to 'em. I've told 'em how much I dig high heels and Broadway shows, how I can belt out Barbara like nobody's business, and how I ain't exactly the most macho cowboy in town. But do they listen? Nope.

So here I am, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Deep down, I wanna be honest with myself and with everyone else. Maybe it's about time I start embracin' who I really am. But until that day comes, I'll keep tellin' everyone who'll listen that I'm as straight as the subway tracks runnin' through this city.

In the meantime, Juan Carlos, if you're somehow come across this. Nevermind it. Love you.

I'd say my sexuality, but I feel like that's all past now. I guess my biggest fear is not livin' up to h standard ya know? I've been doing the whole hero thing for shits and giggles; 'been just for h pride and glory and all that. Now it's like a kick in the head. People are dying, I'm contributin' tryin' tah make things right in the world and what not, yada, yada...

Biggest fear, worst fear, whatever...

I'm afraid of not being someone: I'm afraid of people forgettin' me, that I'm no-one in particular; that being a hero is all I'm good for; parade around acting like a clown so people will respect me. My worst fear? Being a piece of shit, nobody cares about.

I'm tryin', I swear; I can't help but feel like this is all for nothin', but I also can't stop ya know? Yeah, sure, there are people who get ticked off by me, people who hate my name, spit in my way, but at least they're thinkin' of me alot more than anybody else.

I don't want to be forgotten, but I also don't wanna be hated enough for it to matter. I don't know what I'm sayin'... I just wanna be somebody.

The Master Batter helmet Mk. 1... It's a bicycle helmet, with a wired mask. I had it since I was in middle school, been chasing the dream for so long, but I can remember those days in the back alleys playin' hero with my buddy Frankie. Then again, I was always the villian when we played, the cops chasing me... I didn't want to be villain, but hey, the circumstances made me— I just the helmet is a reminder: No matter what people think Brennings, do what's right. Yeah, people are shit, but you don't have to be.

The Helmet is more than just that though, it's also something given to me by one of my neighbors back then. He was a real sport; playin' for a local baseball team. Got me into the whole hitting homeruns thing. He was my hero. Shared comics and shit when Ma and Pa were workin' late...

Then one day, he didn't show up. Murdered they say; never found the culprit. Gang violence... I guess the Helmet is a symbol.

Biggest problem right now? Money... Nah, just kidding. I guess it's more motivation. Yeah, bein' a hero, or vigilante, whatever is a tough hassle in itself, but the real problem is what to do with it. I'm too power hungry sometimes, feelin' like I can rule the world, but in reality, you know? I can definitely die.

My biggest problem is I can't see my problems. I'm too shitfaced with the high of my dreams coming true, I can't see straight and narrow. Yeah, sure, I make excuses for my actions, but are most of them valid? I don't think so. I hoped so, at least.

Look, I know it's like I'm avoidin' the question, and I guess I am: I don't know my problems, and that's what bugs me. I wanna save the world, but I can't because I'm only one guy...

My biggest problem, is that I'm only one guy.

Typical Morning.

Wake up, make the bed, brush my teeth, take a shower (maybe), get dressed, get to work. Pizza, pizza, pizza, all day, delivery after delivery, stopping some crimes along the way using the Master Batter, break time: Master Batter crim fighting for a good thirty minutes hurt nobody; and I don't mind the extra minute I take to help the Gran cross the fuckin' street or whatever. Eat a sandwich along the way, yeah, on the road. I know. Pizza delivery time!

We do the usual job, and crime fighting on the side. Now usually, before all this contract shit, I used to head to Baseball practice, but now, I just go Master-Bat for a few more hours until 11 or so— having my clones patrol when I'm sleeping. Before I sleep though, I make sure the uniform is cool, and my gear's good. I don't have much free time, but hopefully that will change soon.

A tux probably. Wait, that's actually a good look; a black and white tux, gold trim, with the Master Batter helmet on me. Yeah sure, if I didn't being it, it'll be fine, but I can't be seen outta the job; in fact, I think I know what to do if the situation were ever to occur you know? I'll stuff my gear into a duffel bag and keep it close; maybe either in the next room, or like, resting besides me as I drag it along.

I don't usually take that long to get ready, but if I wanna look my best, a shower is in order! Oh, and some personal hygiene, like a shave... Hair products? Shoe shine. Breath mint? No, brush teeth, floss, gargle. Yeah, and then moisturize. Don't forget some Cologne. Oh, iron a shirt, get some good looking accessories. Trim my fingernails... Uh, you know what? I would need a fuckin' spa date before going out.

I'm gonna celebrate it with close friends and family. It's going to be small, cheap, and full of small activities. Maybe I'll even invite other Contractors I'm friends with! Like-

Ah... Most of them are dead, and some aren't good with people...

I'm gonna go out and fight crime to forget about the days passing without them. I love my family, and I do enjoy my birthday, but hey, there are more important things than me.

The city of Boston needs a hero, and while I can't save the world all my own, I'll try to save my world alone... I'll probably drink a beer alone on a rooftop or something.

I gotta be honest with ya. I'm not really comfortable with the direction you're steerin' this conversation, ya know what I mean? 

But hey, let's talk about regrets anyway. We all got 'em, right? Personally, I think my biggest regret in life is not havin' the courage to stand up for what I believed in when I was younger. I used to be influenced by ignorant views and biased opinions, judgin' people based on who they loved or where they came from. But as I grew older, I realized the importance of empathy, understanding, and the diversity that makes our world beautiful. Especially on the contracts, meeting weird folks from all walks of life. Fuckin' robots, Asians and werewolves...

So, I gotta say, regret and learnin' from it can actually lead to personal growth. It's never too late to change I think, but I'll regret everyday I was a piece of shit.

The ghosts of dead baseball players just come from wherever to be honest. Legends like Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Jackie Robinson, ya'know, the best...

These ghosts, I almost feel their legendary aura surroundin' me. Their connections getting stronger by every contract I attend. One by one, they start passin' on their ethereal powers to me. Babe Ruth, he gives me his mighty-ass home run swingin'. Lou Gehrig, blessed me with his determination and iron will. And Jackie Robinson, well, he shares his courage and fightin' spirit, I all got different fuckin' names for every gift they give me, and every note and call I attribute to them.

Like, I had the energy of a whole team of legends flowin' through my veins all along, it's in my fuckin' soul as an American. But, I knew from that first time I attended a contract, I had been given more than a piece of baseball history, and nothin' would ever be the same again.

So, picture this: Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the beloved messiah, actually being a Contractor? Yeah, I know, it sounds like I'm fulla shit, but hear me out!

So, there's this Harbinger, let's call him the "Father in Heaven", yeah? This cosmic being has some serious world-saving contracts, but he needs some dumb fucks with the right skills to carry them out. Enter Jesus, a regular guy with an extraordinary charisma, right? The Harbinger is like, "Hey, Jesus, I gotta talk to ya. If you do some shit for me, I'll might just give like, mad powers shit, then make you a savior in the plain shitty realm. Deal?"

Jesus looks back like he smelt a fuckin' stinker, I mean, he's just a carpenter, making wood into fancy shit right? But then like, he's like: "Why the fuck not, Ey?" Jesus is Canadian in this one, because he seems like an okay dude... ANYWAY!

The guy, Jesus or whatever, gets a gift to walk on water. Now, think about it. Who else do you know that can stroll on that H2O? It's clearly not a regular skill. This is basically Jesus grinding XP, gaining incredible supernatural abilities while impressing his disciples. WHO ARE ALSO CONTRACTORS! THINK ABOUT IT!

THEN Healing. Jesus becomes a healer, patching up the sick and injured like it's nobody's business. It's not just a touch, it's a full-blown Cleanse and Heal Battle-scar shit. We're talking about Mythic Doctor. His Contractor experience is all about grinding up his Healing gifts and becoming the god-tier healer— motherfucker must have been writing his journals and doing moves too; got all that improvements and the Bible after he "Died"

OH AND THEN! Resurrection! Yup, Jesus becomes the ultimate necromancer, reviving the dead with a snap of his fingers. It's like he's playing some sort of twisted game of divine Pokemon—"Gotta catch 'em all, FUCKERS!" He's American now, don't ask me why, he probably got a Trauma along the way, and now he roleplays differently.

And so it goes, Contract after Contact, Jesus becomes a superpowered Contractor Veteran, all thanks to the Harbinger and his divine shit. He collects followers along the way, forming a a fuckin' army to take on the big boss battle—Satan. Who's also a Contractor, But that's a whole other rant for another time.

Look, I know this shit is far-fetched and probably downright sacrilegious, but after what I've seen? You'd think so too, right?

I've seen some weird shit on the news before I did the Contract, people getting confirmed as strange fucks, supernaturally weird ass events happenin' around the world, a fuckin' monster spotted here and there. Honestly, I knew something was up, but like, shit, like, I didn't think it was that seriously fucked up.

There are monsters, fuckin' aliens, an afterlife, dead men walkin', Alien symbiotes, fuckin' walking, talking robots, a fuckin' werewolf, I've met Reapers, seen a fuckin' demon, flirted with a Latino Gay man, and actually planned on making him my— Okay, circling back...

The Contract changed me, physically and mentally. Life is too God damn short, and you can die with every turned corner, and expect to run into the weirdest shit ever. Some of my friends have died, others have gone to jail. The Contracts are selfish, rude, and demanding... It's gonna be hard to be a hero here.

But this place needs one.

Right, so look see, I ain't one to mix match, purse snatch, bitch and not speak facts, so I'll put it to ya straight. People are fucking animals, they really do be trying their fuckin' best to screw over the other guy and fuck shit up real good for the lot. Now I know I ain't the prettiest of the bunch in terms of like, you know, getting shit done good and quiet, but people gotta find some respect in this line of work, and so far, bullshit all round you know what I mean? So quite the shit and I gotta say, I like the fucking Moxie they show.

Do appreciate the fuckinghonesty once in a while, but some un's want to make me tear my fucking brains out with a god damn knife you know what I mean? I ain't even playing when I say some people gotta fuck things up for the other folks, acting all stuck up and bullshit. We're all here for the same thing ain't we? Shit.

Okay, go figure this, eh? Imagine stepping into a space that's like, the perfect blend of Boho and Japandi—a  fucking sanctuary. The vibe? Effortlessly cozy yet chic, a dance between earthy textures and minimalist elegance.

Picture soft, flowing fabric around a plush daybed, a fuckin' array of like, you know? Those oversized, colorful throw pillows in like, rich jewel tones—think deep emeralds, ye? Warm mustard yellow, blush pinks. Layered, woven textiles, vintage kilim rugs. Walls? Muted fuckin' tones—soft greys or warm whites—letting the natural light filter in like a gentle caress. Wall art. Green plants all over the fucking place— channel all that garden party energy.

Furniture, low and sleek, crafted from natural woods. Think. Rattan chairs to like, sip herbal tea (or some shit like an IPA, I don't fucking know?), surrounded by quirky side tables, ceramics and eco-chic shit.

OH AND String lights, twinkle like stars, across the ceiling. The ambiance is fuckin' fire