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Forward Movement Only (IC)


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November 2, 2012

There was a definite chill in the night air as the red-and-white costumed hero known as the Crusader darted from one rooftop to another. Some people argued that patrolling in this manner was looking for trouble; Clark couldn't entirely dispute the claim. He was always happier when his nights were largely uneventful, though. Punching mobsters did bring him a degree of satisfaction, but there were days when it just felt like trying to empty an ocean with a teaspoon. He could just imagine how cops felt... Then again, he had no real powers of his own, so he wasn't that much different.

Crusader slowed his rooftop run and stopped at the edge of one of the taller buildings in the Fens, overlooking the area. He quietly took inventory of himself; all he really had was his costume and his shield. It was all he felt he needed before, but now, he felt like he was starting to expand into something else. He wasn't sure what yet... but it scratched at the edge of his mind like a forgotten dream, not unlike when he'd helped out the King of Suits. There was much, much more out there than thugs and vagabonds. Every threat was real, though, and he was starting to feel less than prepared.

Introverted thought, however, would have to wait--Crusader rubbed absently at his nose, smelling something burning from further downwind. A glance in that direction revealed a growing plume of smoke rising from an area further in the distance. God I hope that's just a trashcan fire.

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Clark Noble wasn't exactly a young man, but he wasn't old either; he ran across the rooftops with a surprising amount of ease, reaching the site of the blaze in a short amount of time. It wasn't at all what he'd expected; rather than a building being on fire, it was a small four-door sedan with its mangled hood open and the engine block was wreathed in flames. Less than 30 feet away were a crowd of about four bikers surrounding a hapless-looking man, his clothes covered in dirt from the asphalt on which he was lying. The laughter from the four made Crusader's eyes narrow to dangerous proportions.

"T-that's all the money I have!"

"Yeah, we heard you the first time," one of the bikers chuckled, shoving the man back to the ground with a booted foot as he tried to stand up. "We ain't done with you yet."

There were no words wasted. Crusader removed the shield from his back and wound up, sending the impervium disc flying down at the group with a carefully aimed toss. The shield bounced forcefully between the four of them, rather merciless in the way it moved, knocking each of them to the ground before returning to the Crusader's hand.

"...no, I think you all are done after all."

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"Which one of these losers took your wallet, son?"

"H-huh? Oh..." He pointed at one of the floored thugs, who had been unfortunate enough to have taken the thick, blunted edge of Crusader's shield right in the temple before he'd even realized what was happening. The wallet was on the ground next to him. Crusader picked it up and tossed it over to the young man, his gaze moving from the car to the young man again. By the time Crusader tossed his wallet over to the victim, he had his cell phone out--taking a picture of the scene before dialing 911. Crusader sighed. These kids and their priorities, man...

Crusader's hand twitched at the sound of a door swinging open, obnoxiously loud music pouring out of a bar less than half a block down. Patrons with black vests bearing a similar logo to that of the four he'd already dispatched came wandering out, and almost immediately took notice of the red-and-white clad hero standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by four unconscious club mates.

Yeah, I knew that was too easy.

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  • 4 weeks later...

The smarter thing would have been to run. A bunch of bikers wielding broken bottles, clubs, and all manner of improvised weaponry. He narrowed his eyes a little bit, tensing even as the man he'd rescued scrambled away as fast as he could manage, still on the phone with police. "You boys picked the wrong night. The WRONG. NIGHT."

The hero charged headlong into the group, nailing the first biker right under the chin with the thick, blunt edge of his shield. He spun on the spot and slammed the next one in the solar plexus with an elbow, flooring him too. He hopped backward and hurled the shield into the oncoming crowd, cries of pain springing up from them as it ricocheted between thugs, taking out at least half a dozen before returning to his hand. By then, he'd been surrounded by the remainder, none of whom looked particularly eager to engage the shield-bearing superhero.

One bravely tried to strike from behind with what looked like a tire iron. Crusader watched him approach from the reflection of a storefront window, sighing inwardly at the stupidity. He pivoted hard and backhanded the guy with his shield arm, sending him flying backward. By then, the others had started gathering their unconscious comrades to escape the sirens, but it was already too late. Red and blue lights could be seen from either side of the street, and those still conscious started to scatter.


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