Albany, New York, April 6th, 19:54.

Wash isn't much of what you would call a 'thinker'. And not capital 'T' either, he finds thinking in any reasonable capacity to be little more than a chore at best, and a problem at worst.

Don't get it wrong that Wash is stupid, he isn't. He has a master's in sociology and a bachelor's in chemistry. In fact, if you were to ask him, thinking too much is exactly the problem.

It was always the problem. Every time he met someone, he'd be plagued by thoughts, analysing them, analysing himself, worries and anxieties pushing against his skull. Do they think his haircut looks weird? Why won't they meet his eye? Do they know what he had for breakfast? Are they just tolerating him because it'd be rude not to? Are they wearing that dress because they want to be seen? Are those marks on her wrist indicative of problems at home?

Just... too many thoughts. It was all too much for him.

So he used what he knew about chemistry to give himself a little pick-me-up, to dull his thoughts a little bit, let him get some sleep for once.

He supposes that was the start of the spiral.

The next thing he knew, he was addicted to every drug he could name, cooking and selling meth out of his grandma's old trailer so he could buy the drugs that he didn't have the materials to make.

He doesn't really know how long he lived like that, doesn't even know how old he is anymore. He could find out, with a little bit of research and thought but, again, he doesn't want to think. 

Eventually, drugs weren't enough. Those horrible thoughts in his head started getting louder, they started speaking to him, telling him things. 

They weren't very nice voices.

He never meant to hurt no one, but they just wouldn't shut up! 

He ended up running. He doesn't even know if anyone found out about what he did, but he kept runnin' anyway.

Time went on, and he only got worse, the voices getting louder, and he'd had enough of it all.

So he decided he'd take control of the only part of his life he had left. His death.

He gathered every drug he had, piled it all up, and then just... took everything.

And then, he died.

...Except he didn't.

He woke up, his head clearer than it had ever been, his body brimming with energy, with power. It was like being on a sugar high, he was so full of energy that he just had to do something.

So he just started running, eventually figuring out that he was stronger and taking to the roofs, running and jumping over them, feeling more free than he ever had before.

But he soon noticed that he wasn't just running randomly. There was a poke in his brain, pointing him in a certain direction, and he didn't care enough to ignore it.

Half a mind in the skies, he didn't stop running even after entering a small, enclosed warehouse district, with about five of them inside, forming three sides to a square, one of the warehouses, the one he was running towards, being twice the size of the others.

The large front gate opened up as he reached it, and he didn't even stop for a moment to think what that might mean.

Instead, he simply walked inside, sniffing his nose and feeling like there was something here that he wanted, even if he didn't know what.

So he looked around, taking in the sight of a pair of long trucks parked either side of the entrance, their backs open and unloaded, with a few men leaning against each truck. Then, in the centre of the room was a stack of crates, heaped into a loose, layered pile.

Standing in front of the crates were two women, both probably younger than him by a decent enough amount.

One of them, barely an adult, was dressed in a simple black suit, clearly not used to the formal attire, but comfortable enough to suggest modifications. She was wearing a mask that covered most of her face in white, with a red and gold crown painted on to it, heart shapes in place of any jewels, and a small 'Q' written on her cheek in cursive, leaving only her mouth visible, where she sported a lazy frown.

The other one, older and less relaxed, was an incredibly fit woman, dressed in a skin-tight costume of mostly blacks and reds, her face covered by a black and red diamond-chequered domino mask that glared impudently at him.

Of course, he now knows them both as Queen and Jack respectively.

Then, behind them both, sitting in the middle of the pile of crates with his hands folded together and resting on his knees as he leaned forward, his open suit jacket, black and red pinstripe, hanging off of his shoulders with empty arms, was a boy.

Barely looking to be in his double digits, with black hair that had streaks of toxic green starting to spread through it, the boy struck a surprisingly intimidating posture.

But, with his mind as lost as it was, he hardly paid attention to any of that. He knows now that they were expecting him, thanks to King's power, so they were probably talking about him being predicted, but all he could focus on was that pinging in his head.

It was telling him to go to the crates, that there was something there that he wanted.

So that is what he did. With a fervour he hadn't felt before, he launched himself at the boy, and more importantly, the crates he was sitting on.

However, he barely made it ten feet before Jack burst into action, thoroughly kicking his ass without a sweat, until he was left kneeling in front of the boxes full of whatever his brain was telling him he wanted.

The next thing he knew, there was a needle pushing into his neck, and suddenly he could think clearly again. The poke in his brain was still there, but his thoughts weren't affected by it so much anymore, he could actually  think.

He immediately wished he couldn't, as he came to the realisation that he'd just jumped head first into some kind of criminal thing, and not like the small time stuff he was used to.

These guys had  trucks to transport their shit, that means big crime, and big crime means you fucking die if you cause problems.

However, instead of just having him killed, something he knows for a fact Jack would have done without hesitation if he gave the order, the boy spoke to him.

"You must be confused, so allow me to explain. You are a parahuman, you triggered and for whatever reason, your new powers lead you here," he'd said, before reaching a foot forward and kicking off the top of one of the crates, reaching inside to take out a packet of white powder, "I assume, that would be because of this."

He'd only nodded his head, not having the strength to speak as he suddenly started feeling sleepy. He knows now that it was because of the thing he was injected with. A Tinker-drug of some kind.

"Here." The boy had said, before simply tossing the bag down to his feet. "I can always use more parahumans. Join me, and you can enjoy as much of any drug you want, whenever you want. All I ask in return, is loyalty."

And that, was how he met his Boss, Joker.

He will admit, he's somewhat embarrassed by how quickly he folded, but in his defence, Boss really did keep his promise, and he has since consumed enough drugs to kill a man many times over.

He knows because he has died many times over.

But he always comes back.

That's his gimmick. If he overdoses, then he comes back with new, temporary powers dependant on the drugs he died to. Psychedelics tend to be Shaker powers, anti-depressants, Master powers and so on and so forth.

He knows that his power will only activate if it's the drugs that kill him. Obviously that hasn't been tested, otherwise he would be dead. Then again, Boss' girlfriend could probably bring him back to life, so who knows really?

And isn't she something?

She came around not long after Wash joined up with the Red Hearts, and since then she and Boss have taken to using him for experiments a lot of the time.

Because poisons count as drugs too, so they can't kill him. Not permanently at least.

Some of the tests were pretty painful, he'll admit, but in the end, he thinks they were all worth it.

For one, they discovered some really cool powers he can get from specific combinations of drugs, and then there's the fact that he gets upgrades.

Granted, all the other Numbers have gotten upgraded too, simple stuff like an internal mesh, reinforced bones, anti-Master redundancies and the like. But as Experiment Number One, Wash gets all the upgrades he wants. Even if he has to compromise a little by getting upgrades Boss wants too, but that's fine.

Boss gave his life purpose, saw potential in him when everyone else, including himself, only saw a waste of space. It's not like he was born called Wash. He got the name because he never used to wash, back when he was living in a tailer, and people got so used to telling him to wash that they just called him that.

He's fine with it though, he takes care of his hygiene now, Boss insists. Though he could probably do with washing his suit more, but frankly he can't be bothered. He only has the one, and doesn't want to get another one just so he can wear it while the first washes.

Besides, he's Number Ten! The giant red 'X' tattooed across his face, temple to jaw, isn't just for show. And the raggedy, worn out suit that he wears, regardless of it's flayed edges, also isn't for show. He just thinks that the brown suit matches his eyes and hair. So what if the seems are coming apart?

What he wears doesn't change his position, so it doesn't matter anyway. Only four people can even tell him what to do in the first place.

The hierarchy of the Red Hearts goes like this; at the top is Boss, then there's King, he is the one in charge when Boss isn't. Then it's Queen and Jack, but the former is just a bodyguard and doesn't give anyone orders, unlike Jack, who is the head enforcer, and leads the 'army', for a certain definition of the term.

Certainly, there are a lot of men, and women, and there are a lot of guns and explosives, training and skill. She's the one who organises defences and most assaults on rival gangs.

Then, there are the Decks, each let by a Number. One to Ten, 'I' to 'X'. As the Highest number, he is the most powerful and can order the lower numbers about, to an extent anyway. 

Each Number has a Deck, and each Deck tends to have some kind of focus. One's is surveillance, keeping an eye on things, while Wash's Deck is focused on setting up in new locations. He even has a couple of capes working for  him now, though they are by no means his most important subordinate.

No, that role goes to lovely little Elsie. She's a stern girl, kind of a bitch actually, but damn if she doesn't know what she's talking about.

As he's said before, he doesn't like thinking. Luckily, Elsie loves to think, so he just lets her do all of that stuff for him. I also helps that she has an amazing ass, and when she scolds him all stern-like, well... it kinda does something for him.

But that's not all there is to the Red Hearts he is now so proud to be a part of. See, Boss doesn't like merging every group into the gang, something about tributaries and plausible deniability. So instead, they have the Dollars.

The Dollars is just a catch-all term for anyone who works for Boss, without working 'for' Boss, if you catch his meaning.

So, where does that all leave him?

In Albany, apparently.

Boss wants him to help Jack finish up taking over at least enough of the local underworld that she can handle the rest by herself with no problem. Then, he's to go back south, down to some shithole called Brockton Bay.

Apparently going North to the border form there will be a cakewalk, but while he's over in Jersey, Jack will probably be struggling to take territory in Massachusetts and Connecticut. Though he thinks Boss is planning on leaving Boston alone, kind of like New York.

He doesn't really get it, since both of them are probably full of opportunities, but, like he's said, he doesn't care to think about it.

He doesn't really mind though. He might not be black, or Asian, or gay or anything like that, but Brockton is the Nazi capital of America, and he wouldn't say no to beating up Nazis. A lot of his old friends  were black and gay and not actually Asian, now that he thinks about it.

Point is, fuck Nazis.

---

A/N: He~llo! Dear readers!

I think there might have been more that I was planning on writing for this one, but not only did I get carried away with Wash's backstory, but I felt like I hit a pretty good line to end the chap on.

Also, it's only writing this that I remember one of the things I forgot, which was the same thing it usually is with me, describing what he looks like.

Imma go back and look for somewhere I can insert a quick description now.

Got it.

anywho, I was asked about maybe doing a Shard POV epilogue. On one hand, I was planning on saving that till the end of the fic (as a whole) but on the other hand, that was mostly just cuz I find it funny to keep the non worm readers in the dark, and a bit of mystery can be a good thing. 

So let me know if that's something you'd want to see, and feel free to suggest Shards (I won't write Lusia's, that is definitely best saved for what I have planned) I'm thinking I'll do Jinx's Shard, could be fun. I'll only do one, cuz again, mystery. Also, keep in mind that some of your votes are worth more than others'.

Also, I forgot to show you, but the reference for the thing Lusia sent Number Man will be added to discord :)

5(+) Advance Chapters on my Patreon :D (There should be buttons below the poll)