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Fight them on the Beaches (IC)

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16th Feb, 2019


Freedom City Coast




Summer was not here, but the cool chill of winter was waning. The skies were less sombre, the trees less spartan. And, best of all, 'twas the weekend. 


A weekend to go driving one's motorcycle along the seafront. 


However cautiously or legally one was driving (or not) there was always one idiot on the roads. That was urban life for you. But Fascimile, driving his motorcycle most cautiously and legally (or not) was witness, this very day, this very afternoon to a most unusual type of idiot on the roads. Even by the extraordinarily high standards of Freedom City. 


Whipping past him, at a speed well beyong that which was legal, safe, or even sane, was another motorbike. And sat upon this motorbike was a lunatic dressed in chainmail armour, sword by his side, and holding a lance. 


"AN-AR-CHY! AN-AR-CHY!" he yelled as he terrorised pedestrians and motorists by the beach and by the buildings on the other side. 

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Well this was certainly new


with a challenging rev of his trusty steel steeds engine he blasted after the lance loony.


Part of him wanted to ignore it nd go on with his day, he'd just gotten ahead with his studies and able to enjoy a nice slow weekend.


The rest of him remembered what marcus had done to those police officers when he'd been allowed to escape.


"Whats this? There A Ren fair? No-one told me they were in town!" He bellowed over the roar of engines "behold the bumbling biker buffoon!" He teased as he attempted to close the gap.

Edited by Exaccus
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As Fascimile accelerated he could see a lovely view of the sea and the beach, with a bright sun glistening on the water. It was a fairly calm day. Gentle waves, neither mirror-glass nor stormy. 


But he had his eyes on the road, of course, like any sensible driver would. 


He soon drew near, but his approach was noted by the lance weilding maniac. 


"Behold! The Knights of ANARCHY! AN - AR - CHY!" he yelled at Facsimile as he drew alongside him. 


"JOIN US!" he added, before acclerating to crazy speeds. The man was surely reasonably at home with his motorcycle, and somehow had even got some practice in holding a lance. But even an expert would find these speeds, on this road, lunacy!!!

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Alex felt his inner racer twitch but his cooler head prevailed, this guy was reckless beyond anything that someone with some level of self preservation could be.


Trying to catch up to him had only provoked him into going faster still, he would need to be a bit more cunning than he usually liked to cut the loon off before someone got hurt or worse.


"Knights of anarchy huh? Can't say im familiar." He called back as he did his best to keep pace even as he began to slip behind the chainmail wearing lance weilding biker.


"You guys like playing in traffic?"


Witness banter it was but that gives brain time to plan, even the reckless knight had to slow down to take a corner if he wished to remain wreckless! Corralling him into one and quickly over taking him was the hard part, one it turned out had a simple solution!


Alex had one more advantage over the man, he had been his bike, he knew more about it than even the people who designed or constructed it.


Keeping his balance almost perfectly he extended one of his legs from the foot rest and gave the other bikes front wheel a gentle shunt, sending the speeding driver turning onto a long, narrow avenue with a dead end, one that he parked across the entrance way of with a sharp hairpin turn.


"Let's chat somemore bucko!" He taunted as he got off his bike and removed one of his gloves, tracing his barehand over the brickwork as he strolled towards the now (he hoped) trapped anarchist knight taking on a Bulkier blockier form as he went.

Edited by Exaccus
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"Traffic! Aye, tis the way of Anarchy!" yelled back the Knight. 


He spoke in an american accent, with some mangled medieval pronounciation. 


"Now then sir! My way be blocked by you!" he said more stiffly as he realised he had been blocked in. For one horrible moment, there was the possibility that he would try to ram his way through the dead end. But extreme reckless was not the same as pointless self-harm. 


"It is my way...and the highway! hahaha!" he said, jovially. Then, he revved his engine and pointed his lance at Alex. 


"Stand not between a man and his freedom, sir! ANARCHY! I give you warning of intent! Move or be lanced!!!!"

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"eh...I really wouldn't if I were you sir knight..." He said bemusedly by the man's turn of phrase but unshaken by his announced intention.


"I'm a Bit of a brick wall." He explained as he removed his helmet to reveal his now chunkier and more...cuboid features "though you may prefer to think of my as an anvil." He added "Strike and find your weapon reshaped."


That game with the other kids had made him such a nerd.


"Heaven help you should I fall from on high."

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The Knight raised his eyebrows at the transformation. 


"Sorcery! Witches and Witchery!" he declared. He certainly paused for thought, but he had the loopy determination of a fanatic. 


"No matter! My will is mine own, and shall not be diminished! Onward! CHarge! Clippity Cloppity Clippity Cloppity!" he yelled, mimicking the sounds of horsehooves. Sort of. 


The engine of his motorcycle certainly revved, however, and in a moment he was accelerating towards Alex with lance held ahead of him. There was no way to avoid the lance - either Alex would move, or it would hit Alex. Or, at best, even if the lance missed, there would still be a crash....



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"well technically I'm a mutant." Alex responded calmly as he leaned forward and prepared to intercept the bike.


"Mine genetic cocktail has got a bit more kick than blonde hair and the ability to digest lactose though." He added, an after thought as he pondered his situation..he'd have thought the man wouldn't dash himself against either the wall of bricks or himself but he fancied his chances better with the metahuman it seemed.


He would need to sidestep the vehicle, grab it by the unused handlebar on the Lance's side and the wheel guard, pray, wish, dig in his heels and tip the guy off.


This was not going to be easy, though it would certainly be impressive if it worked!


Kind of a shame i don't have more of an audience really.

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The Knight of Anarchy did not seem to heed the words of Alex. Perhaps he did not even hear them over the engine noise and rush of adrenaline through the blood. 


Alex's trick was not easy, but it was pulled off. And, as he had sumised, it was also impressive. There was a small audience of people strolling along the beach front eating ice creams and holding balloons (or in the case of one petulant small child, eating a balloon and holding an ice cream). 


There was the sound of chain mail metal grinding against tarmac. The Knight was on his front, bruised and stunned from falling off his bike. His lance was thrown to one side. 


"Mnywah!" he grumbled, eloquently, trying to put his brain back together again. 


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"ya fought with Valor an' reckless abandon, I salute ya courage and worry about your selfworth, wanting to smash headlong into a brick man." He commented as he he thudded over, a quick kick sending the Lance even further away from its owner as he turned the turned the key with a free hand and set the now stopped bike back on the ground.


"You'd have made yourself into modern art on me if I hadn't stopped you." He commented as he stowed the man's Keys away in a pocket on the back of his trousers.


"Let's have a little chat now that's all said and done with."

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"At least it would be art!" declared the Knight. He had a bad nosebleed. A very bad nosebleed. There was claret all over the road pavement. But at least his limbs were bending at the correct points and there did not appear to be any splintered ribs erupting from his chest. 


He tried to get up. He got to the half way point then sat down again. 


"My bike!" he lamented. the front wheel was bending at very incorrect points. And it was rather scratched. 


"You, sir!" he said, in his faux-medieval american voice. "Did unhorse me! A low blow indeed! A pox upon ye, Sir!" he said, indignantly, although it was somewhat muted by his bleeding nose and the knight holding his head back in an attempt to stop the bloody fountain. 

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"thats how Jousts works dummy." Facsimile deadpanned "don't go throwing your toys off ya rocking horse cause you lost and don't like it." He huffed as he set the bike aside "no one made you pick a fight with a literal ton of bricks."


"Now then, you don't seem to have a concussion or any major trauma...so let's have a talk whilst we wait for the police to arrive about why you talk like that...and who these knights of anarchy are...." Facsimile rumbled as he stomped over, more of a dull Thoom to his steps than the twang of steel as he carried his immense weight towards the man.


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"The Knights of Anarchy are a motorcycle club. AN-AR-CHY! AN-AR-CHY! AN-AR-CHY!" he yelled. 


He had a curious mix of superficial linguistic fluency and lack of any real depth of intellect. "We are the brothers of our founder, SIR PRIZE!" he said, proudly. 


His belt did indeed have a "KNIGHTS OF ANARCHY" engraving on it. 


"And tonight we have a celebration! A festival of engines and beer and jousting by the beach!" he said, still proud. "Now, you look like a cool guy. With a motorcycle! Why don't you come along at midnight, see if you like it?" he asked. 



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The Knight got to his feet slowly. 


"Sir Prize is holding a grand tournament by the beach!" he said. "We don't have a hangout, or a bar. We live on the road!" he said proudly. He started grasping at the air animatedly, full of fevour for his passion. 


"What does this society do but surpress the joy and belief of man? Is this living?" he asked. It sounded suspiciously like he was repeating a mantra rather than creating one. 


"No! The Knights of Anarchy Reject Society! We have no home bar the ground we walk on!"


He coughed up some blood and spat out what looked suspiciously like a tooth. 


"Come! Join the movement! Fun and fury for all the family at the beach!"

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"sure thing." Facsimile responded as he against his better judgement veered towards letting the knight go again.


"Roughed you up more than I meant too." He commented "sorry bout that, but men with opposing wills and planted feet will ever clash with one another." He reasoned as he clenched his blocky brick fingers hamily.


"Want me to try unbend your bike or you got a mechanic friend?"

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The nosebleed had almost stopped (although the fallout over his chainmail would take some considerable cleaning and polishing to fix), and the Knight seemed almost jolly now. 


He surveyed his bike. 


"You did bust it" he complained, looking at the sorry wheel. "You don't bust a man's bike, you know. You just don't" he said, as if it was murder in the first. He didn't need to butress his protestations with any logic, of course. I mean, obviously it was just a thing you didn't do. Even if anarchy and anarchy and anarachy. 


"Twould be the honorable thing to fix it!" he said, slipping back into Faux-medieval speech and giving Fascimile a hopeful look. 

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"sure thing man I'll give it a whirl." Facsimile said as he hefted the bike and using his prodigiously geometric muscles began to tease it back into shape as best he could.


"Should be usable now...any more and I think I'll snap it...maybe once it's relaxed a little I can do some more." He said as he returned the vehicle to the ground.


"Might be a bit wobbly...take it a touch easier than you would."

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The Knight got on his bike. It did indeed wobble slightly, but he was not so foolish as to realise he had got lucky. He was fortunate to be riding a bike at all. And after that crash, one could even say he was fortunate to have his head within two dozen yards of the rest of his body. 


"Forsooth! I mount my steed once more!" he said, proudly. He did look rather bruised and bloody, especially on the face, but there was no denying he had a grin, and a proud grin at that. Perhaps he even relished the battering he had taken, for he now had a blue and black face that was a mark of honor. 


"Pass me my lance, Sir! I will hope to see you at midnight!"

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An afternoon, and evening, and even a bit of the night to be precise. 


There wasn't a whole lot on the Knights of Anarchy. Or rather, there was a whole lot, but it lacked depth or substance. Possibly accuracy as well. 


They appeared to start a few months ago, and had their own website - although it was not well maintained. They professed to be anarchists, of course. There was some cobbled-together philosophy about the rule of sword, nobility, chivalry, and various knightly virtues. But basically, they seem to defy the law. Man's nature was being inhibited by the toxic fungus of law. Or something like that.


There was less on Sir Prize, himself, the founder and president of the Knights of Anarchy. He was a big brute of a man, always hiding behind a suit of full plate mail. 


There was indeed chatter about the illegal (or, more precisely, unofficial) jousting competition tonight, on the beaches of Freedom City, and it did look like it was going to be a clear, starry, moonlit knight!

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Facsimile still had a few hours to go all things said and done so he opted to raid Wikipedia for information on some of the materials that he might come across on the beach, primarily of course sand, stone and salt water with his phone.


This would be the first time he donned his new costume, a morphic molecule set of biking gear complete with a helmet, all bright, stain resistant white save for the blue of the mirrored visor.


It was weird to think he'd be making his official debute so late into his career but strangeness was the order of the day everyday here he supposed.


He'd have to mimic the leather of his usual gear to sneak it out past Caitlin and his mom but with a little over an hour to go he could really use a relaxing drive to shake off the nerves he felt fluttering in his stomach.

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And meanwhile...


It was night now. The stars shone brilliantly, and the moon was like a cold diamond in the sky. As it neared midnight, the street vibe of the seaside grew, with bars and drunkards, street entertainment of various flavours, and the shine of neon lights. Music glittered across the pavements, the beach, and onto the gentle lapping waves of the ocean. 


Chromium was cruising down from Bedlam city. As a Porche. 


AEGIS wanted to try him out. Test his mettle. On something simple. 


Or something they thought was simple. 


A motorcycle club called the Knights of Anarchy. Harmless fools, probably. But outlaws all the same. 


Whats going on down there? was the mission. Street racing, or something more? Anarchists could easily become terrorists. Was OVERTHROW involved? or something more. A street racer like Chromium would get the vibe, was the reasoning. And he owed them one. Or at least, that was how AEGIS looked at it. 


As he cruised down the beach streets, he saw the likely start of something. A bar serving late night drinks and light night meat on a grill. And a bunch of punks and drunks. Some of whom were sporting medieval arms and armour. And a dozen motorcycles parked by the beach. 


And music, of course. 


Medievel music with a techno beat!



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The silver Porsche slid along the road, smooth as could be, spotting the bar and all the other things going on he drove towards it. Turning his music up, just enough to rattle the tinted windows he had firmly closed he drove into the area his first sweep was just that looking for parking so to speak. In actual fact he was looking for somewhere he could get a good view of what was going on for a little longer, and second for somewhere he could change into his other form without being spotted.


Pulling into a parking spot, as close to people as he could, he turned the music down and the car off and just listened for a bit not moving for now. Hoping people would forget a car had pulled up and no one had gotten out if he waited long enough.

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At this time of night, with the streets alive with drunken drunkards and dancing dancers, it was neither particularly easy or particularly easy to find somewhere to change. 


Turning, with a low and soothing grumble of engine, into a side alley worked. There was a couple locked in a passionate embrace, and sharing a tongue sandwich. The Centurion could descend from the skies in a pink spandex mankini riding a unicorn and they would not have noticed. There were two revellers who had all but passed out from drink and quite possibly other intoxicants given how one of them was mumbling about having invented the ground-breaking four sided triangle. 


It was certainly safe to transform. 


All the while, Chromium could hear the music and the banter from the main street by the beach. Something big was happening. A contest! Organised by the noble Sir Prize!



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