"Give us your wallet and you live," growls Scorpion Marks. His narrow gaze holds a wicked gleam as he presses his switchblade close to the throat of the man he's yanked into the alley.
The man's adams apple bobs just above the blade in fear as much too wide eyes dart back and forth to see if anyone witnessed the abduction. Hands up in surrender he stutters, "Ah, all right, just don't kill me..."Nervously fumbling through his pockets for the leather billfold, dropping it in the process, he never takes his eyes off the knife at his throat.
"You trying to stall for help? You know no one will save you, not in Rhydin jackass. This town doens't have heroes, it has wanna-be's." Scorpion laughs darkly before punching the pedestrian in the ribs, switchblade leading the strike and hurls the lost soul out of the alley to bleed to death in the street.
"Now I wouldn't say that, effendi. There's always at least one golden apple on the dead ambrosia tree." a voice behind Marks pipes up from the other end of the alley.
Whirling around in surprise with his knife raised Scorpion looks to the new voice with violence in his voice. "Who the fuck are you?"
Slowly the voice emerges into the soft lighting coming from the street. At first features are hard to make out as he, or she, is dressed in an odd suit of armor. A white helm with but a single lens for an eye seems to shutter and click as if taking multiple pictures. "I'm no body, for now."
Overcoming his shock, Marks advances on the nut job. "And you'll be a nobody tomorrow. Just a corpse, though I might keep the get up. Use it for a Samhain costume."
"You won't want to kill me..." the mysterious figure replies with a slight thread of fear in his voice.
"Oh, I think I do." Ten, seven, six feet away from Captain Crazy, Scorpion can taste his blood.
"Just to warn you,' Mystery man says while raising his hands..."I'm a screamer.."
Before Scorpion can blink the alley is filled with a soft buzzing sound when he's suddenly launched backwards by a great unseen force. His skin tinkles as if just coming from standing in front of the loudspeakers at a rock concert. He crashes heavily just beyond his mugging victim in a twitching mess.
Slowly looking up at his apparent savior, the mugging victim reaches out only to watch as he is stepped over. "I am gonna die.." he murmurs.
A metal clad fists connects with Scorpion's face, driving it into the street, knocking him cold. From there the good Samaritan starts to go through the thugs personal effects. Wallet, money belt, everything he can find upon the man's person. "Scorpion huh?" he murmurs looking at a bit of identification. "Well, you just met your biggest fan.." with a laugh as the great lens on his takes pictures of the man's various tattoos.
Standing again, he touches a point on his helmet just behind the ear. "Send a bus to this location. Knife victim."
With a final look at the man bleeding on the ground, the mysterious hero says. "There are plenty of heroes in Rhyidn. Just a matter of timing, for most, they suck at being punctual." The man then bends his knees and leaps into the air. Taking off like a rocket as something fires off from the soles of his boots like a wailing banshee.
The man's adams apple bobs just above the blade in fear as much too wide eyes dart back and forth to see if anyone witnessed the abduction. Hands up in surrender he stutters, "Ah, all right, just don't kill me..."Nervously fumbling through his pockets for the leather billfold, dropping it in the process, he never takes his eyes off the knife at his throat.
"You trying to stall for help? You know no one will save you, not in Rhydin jackass. This town doens't have heroes, it has wanna-be's." Scorpion laughs darkly before punching the pedestrian in the ribs, switchblade leading the strike and hurls the lost soul out of the alley to bleed to death in the street.
"Now I wouldn't say that, effendi. There's always at least one golden apple on the dead ambrosia tree." a voice behind Marks pipes up from the other end of the alley.
Whirling around in surprise with his knife raised Scorpion looks to the new voice with violence in his voice. "Who the fuck are you?"
Slowly the voice emerges into the soft lighting coming from the street. At first features are hard to make out as he, or she, is dressed in an odd suit of armor. A white helm with but a single lens for an eye seems to shutter and click as if taking multiple pictures. "I'm no body, for now."
Overcoming his shock, Marks advances on the nut job. "And you'll be a nobody tomorrow. Just a corpse, though I might keep the get up. Use it for a Samhain costume."
"You won't want to kill me..." the mysterious figure replies with a slight thread of fear in his voice.
"Oh, I think I do." Ten, seven, six feet away from Captain Crazy, Scorpion can taste his blood.
"Just to warn you,' Mystery man says while raising his hands..."I'm a screamer.."
Before Scorpion can blink the alley is filled with a soft buzzing sound when he's suddenly launched backwards by a great unseen force. His skin tinkles as if just coming from standing in front of the loudspeakers at a rock concert. He crashes heavily just beyond his mugging victim in a twitching mess.
Slowly looking up at his apparent savior, the mugging victim reaches out only to watch as he is stepped over. "I am gonna die.." he murmurs.
A metal clad fists connects with Scorpion's face, driving it into the street, knocking him cold. From there the good Samaritan starts to go through the thugs personal effects. Wallet, money belt, everything he can find upon the man's person. "Scorpion huh?" he murmurs looking at a bit of identification. "Well, you just met your biggest fan.." with a laugh as the great lens on his takes pictures of the man's various tattoos.
Standing again, he touches a point on his helmet just behind the ear. "Send a bus to this location. Knife victim."
With a final look at the man bleeding on the ground, the mysterious hero says. "There are plenty of heroes in Rhyidn. Just a matter of timing, for most, they suck at being punctual." The man then bends his knees and leaps into the air. Taking off like a rocket as something fires off from the soles of his boots like a wailing banshee.