Description: NESTS continues its information gathering ways as Agent Upsilon moves his way toward Sunshine City in order to document the physical fighting prowess of noted professional fighter, Robert Richards. Big Bob is tracked down and a fight ensues. But can Bob show NESTS whatfor and beat them back? Will the brazen actions of the egocentric Upsilon draw undue attention on the NESTS Cartel's activities? Only time will tell.
"Subject: Robert Richards. Successful American fighter, professional rating," The dark haired Dutchman speaks into an earpiece while a pair of sleek, white, oblong drones hover around him. His coat blows in the concrete canyon created winds of Inner Sunshine. A place sparkling, clean and shining. Compared to Outer Sunshine, this enclave is something that nears the NESTS Agent Upsilon's personal standards.
His target, however, does not. "A man of capability, he has gorged himself obscenely in pursuit of what he lacks. While I doubt that any information gained here today will be of any matter, the scientists assure me that understanding the physics of his inertial management will be key to furthering their developments." He shakes his head and pushes his glasses up along his nose. A direct look into the cameras of his drones to confirm their feed status, and he the man begins his walk down Sunny Sunshine City's streets.
The glasses Upsilon wears aren't for sight, he professes perfect vision, they are useful for an Augmented Reality HUD. He uses them to know the status of the drones currently trained on him, and the ones seeking out Bob Richards through facial recognition technology. It makes seeking and finding the target all the easier in hustle and bustle of city life.
With a casual disdain, and his white long coat gleaming in the sunlight, Agent CODENAME: Upsilon brazen searches out information for the purposes of his mysterious backers.
Robert "Bob" Richards has stayed on the move...mostly, but he has laid low. While the karateka was once a shining star in the martial arts circuit, his popularity has never fully recovered from his makeover even if a few paparazzi are determined to keep tabs on him. After the Neo League semifinals he disappeared off the radar for a time, staying on the move and still trying to slowly pick up the pieces of Shadaloo's war with the Syndicate.
And Sunshine City still bears some scars from that conflict. Bob was here to follow some leads on a missing persons case. Some suspect the Black Dragon Syndicate. Others blame Shadaloo. In any case, the police were overworked and unable to follow up. Bob thrives on these kinds of cases because they give him a cause to fight for and money for his bills.
He's walking up the street with his hands in his pockets. Today he's dressed in an orange button up and blue jeans with suspenders. He goes through several photographs on his phone, one glove tucked in his breast pocket to keep his hand free to use the screen.
And then, he spots Upsilon. The long white coat. The glasses. There are many unusual characters in the world, but this one catches Bob's eye.
"Hey pal," Bob says jovially, "I'm new around town and was looking for Maple Avenue. Could you help a brother out? My GPS signal's spotty around here." The photos are gone from the screen, replaced with a maps app.
Serendipity, by definition, arrives unexpectedly. All the same, it's still surprising. When the target himself finds Upsilon before the drones do, it puts the former pro-fighter on his back foot. Which, despite his technique, is not the foot he prefers to be on socially. He tugs at the lapel of his shirt, fixing it over the body-hugging suit he wears underneath. "Form in," he speaks before answering Bob, alerting the drones to his location.
Zipping silently above, the little white football shaped devices open their electric eyes. It will take a moment to establish uplink and physicality reads. So Upsilon buys the time. "It is not terribly far. It would be simple to show you," he says, barely able to hide the evident distaste for the rotundity of a fighter that has let himself go.
"I believe," he fakes touching the bow of his glasses, pretending to check messages he doesn't have, "Yes, I have time. Come along."
Upsilon turns with enough dramatic flare to send his coat out behind him, but where he leads might be away from main streets, but it's certainly not toward any Maple Avenue.
"Yeah?" Bob says, "that's good news. I was afraid I was lost." The large fighter--in every sense of the word at over six feet tall--steps back and pockets his phone. As he does, the glove comes out his pocket and he slips it back on.
"I really appreciate it," Bob says, letting Upsilon lead the way. He keeps slightly back behind, briefly glancing at his phone to confirm his suspicions. It goes back in his pocket without fuss.
"So how long have you lived in Sunshine City?"
"I do not live here," Upsilon states. He lacks an accent. Part of the results of much work done on him since he left the world at large for the capable hands of NESTS. He looks nothing like the Jakob van der Lans that he was some time back. "But I am here on business."
The man in white pauses when he gets an alert on his glasses. Link established. Upsilon looks down at his hand. He rubs at the joint of his wrist. "I've seen you before, online, you're a fighter, yes?" he asks, looking back over his shoulder.
"Yeah," Bob says, "I've been in a few competitions, believe it or not. I wish I'd managed a better showing during the Neo League, but it's just proof I need to train harder, you know?" Bob takes it all in stride, apparently not too torn up about it. "Been a bit since I've competed in anything professionally, though."
"What about you? What kind of business brings you here?"
The man is disgustingly humble, Upsilon finds. He sneers to himself, a fat man with little to show for the world and yet his superiors want information from him? He should still be on K', or corralling some of the others to focusing on the King of Fighters Tournament. But that wasn't what was happening, and even as Upsilon sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose, he knows he has a job to do and one he knows will be done quickly and efficiently.
"I am here for reasons beyond you, and yet they require you." Upsilon turns once more, flashing on his heel and bringing his arms up to a ready position. "Come on then, show for the cameras just what a washed-up never was can bring to the table."
COMBATSYS: Upsilon has started a fight here.
Bob keeps himself in pace with the other man, lingering just far enough to give him space without seeming as though he's lost or out of place. It's a bit too close for a tail, but Bob's approach implies a lot of experience doing just that. At least, it would for the particularly aware.
"Huh," Bob says, the casual tone of his voice showing little surprise. "That sounds awfully sinister." He takes a slower step, coming to a stop before shifting his footing. One slides across the sidewalk as he widens his stance and then brings up his fists.
"It's good to know my instincts haven't gotten that rusty." His eyes trace around, looking for signs of back-up. "As for washed up," Bob flashes his teeth. "I'd like to think I'm not there yet."
Bob's lurch forward is sudden, but smooth. Cat-like seems inadequate with his size, the movement more like a tractor rolling forward out of gear. He goes down, into a somersault, curling into a roll that closes the gap between himself and Upsilon while keeping him low and mobile. His feet impact at the end of the roll and Bob's suddenly springing up, fist snapping out with a sudden gut-punch.
COMBATSYS: Bob has joined the fight here.
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Bob 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Upsilon
COMBATSYS: Bob successfully hits Upsilon with Lyonnaise Break.
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Bob 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Upsilon
He should've gotten the jump on thigs. But he doesn't. The blow is fast, surprisingly so. There is no trick, no surprise, no shock. Simply put, Upsilon isn't fast enough. The rolling gut punch heavy enough to send Upsilon stumbling backward, hand planting to stabilize himself. He rolls backwards in a summersault of his own.
The output on Upsilon's glasses read that data collection has begun. While he doesn't have to succeed and beating Bob for his job to be done, his ego is bruised. The Dutchman snarls and kicks forward.
The strikes come quick and practiced. A strong right and left, pistoning punches. Each one bleeds with bursts of orange light. A short combination finishing up with a spinning back knuckle to the American's round face.
COMBATSYS: Bob blocks Upsilon's Iteration Two.
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Bob 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Upsilon
Bob steps back out of the crouching position, slipping back into his usual stance. One foot back, giving him power in reserve, the other forward and loose for mobility and reactivity. The first two strikes that come at Bob are met with equal precision. He swings outward with his right, intercepting the punch by striking forearm against forearm to redirect in a tradition karate block. The second is more awkward, Bob's forearm block striking at an odd angle so that it directs the blow into his shoulder instead of catching him in the face. Staggering back, Bob brings up both arms to cross-guard against the back knuckle, which impacts his arms heavily enough that he takes yet another step back.
"Not bad," Bob smirks, his teeth practically gleaming as his hair blows with the sudden movement. Despite his size, he does seem to have some charm to him, at least. "That's a lot of power you're packing there."
But then he reaches out for Upsilon's arm, trying to dig his fingers into the muscle around the forearm. He tugs, intent on pulling him forward as Bob himself surges toward him and threatens to smash the man back with his superior mass.
COMBATSYS: Bob successfully hits Upsilon with Sparkling Death.
~~ Alluring Hit! ~~
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Bob 0/-------/-======|======-\-------\0 Upsilon
Grabbed, slammed, much smaller than the huge man, Upsilon is kindly smashed bodily by the sheer bulk of Bob Richards. All attempts to position and to place proving worthless in the moment as he's scattered, dashed against the ground.
Anger bursts within Upsilon as he kip-ups. His coat fluttering behind him, falling to the pavement. Left in his bodysuit, the orange lines that cross his body glow and pulse with the energy redirected and flowing through him.
He pushes his glasses up his nose and checks the readings. To embarrass himself like this tires him. "You have yet to see anything," he spits at Bob. And more than words, his sweeping, heavy roundhouse kick cracks the very air. A wide of arc of concussive force, the same orange as the glowing lines running over Upsilon's body, scythes outward in a crushing wave toward Bob's considerable mass.
COMBATSYS: Bob blocks Upsilon's Flare Wave.
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Bob 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Upsilon
Heavy footsteps punctuate Bob's movement away from Upsilon. The heavyset karateka doesn't waste time, and for his girth, he stays light on his feet. "Yeah?" he calls back. "Let's see what you can bring to the table!" There's no malice there, only anticipation. The thrill of the fight resonates in his voice.
But then there's the crack of the roundhouse kick. The eruption of the orange and the visible, palpable energy of the kick. Bob's knees drop, his weight shifting as he puts himself lower. Braces himself against the impact by drawing up his arms to guard his face and shouldering into it. Boots scrape against pavement as it drives him back, ripping through his shoulder and arm with a meaty thwack. Even so, Bob rises back to his full height with some bounce in his step.
But then he steps forward again. His leg whips up, high up over his head with a flexibility that doesn't match his frame. It cuts through the air with an equally rapid descent, his heel slicing downward with an axe-like kick toward Upsilon's shoulder.
COMBATSYS: Upsilon blocks Bob's Medium Kick.
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Bob 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\1 Upsilon
Still fighting. Upsilon's seeing his strike didn't put the damper on Bob's spirit that he wants to. And more the difficulty, Upsilon finds the good nature of the big, round ball of a man to be infuriating. The kick from Bob comes down and this time it's with enough presence of mind that Upsilon claps his forearms up to block the blow. With a grunt and a slide, the fighter slips backwards.
All around Upsilon's body, the energy flows and beats through the colored lines on his suit. "No doubt you'd try to eat it," Upsilon comments. "Even then, so be it." He snaps forward, a bird-like skipping leap. With his rear foot, he surges forward, thrusting hard for the center of Bob's burly breadbasket. The strong cannon kick explodes with a blast of that Orange chi energy and a thunderous crack that threatens to break the windows of nearby lower floors.
COMBATSYS: Upsilon successfully hits Bob with Regulator.
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Bob 1/--=====/=======|-------\-------\0 Upsilon
Spiderweb cracks spread through a nearby window as the kick impacts Bob. The big man doubles over as he sails backward with the impact before landing with a heavy thud and scattering of dust and loose gravel. He hits the ground with enough force to slide several inches before coming to a stop. HEavy breathing follows, Bob struggling to catch his breath after getting the wind knocked out of his lungs.
"Not the first time I've heard that one," Bob says wheezes, climbing to his feet and dusting off the seat of his jeans. As he resumes his stance, his expression changes to one of fierce determination. His next movement is like a cannon shot; the big fighter steps forward, bending his knees in a wide karate stance and then pistoning forward with a straight, stiff karate punch that cuts through the air like a whip.
But what follows comes with deceptive speed. His legs taut like a spring, Bob kicks out of his low karate stance into a lunge, slams his feet down again, and thrusts forward with both palms in a second furious power strike.
COMBATSYS: Bob blitzes into action and acts again!
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Bob 1/---====/=======|-------\-------\0 Upsilon
COMBATSYS: Upsilon blocks Bob's Fierce Punch.
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Bob 1/---====/=======|=------\-------\0 Upsilon
COMBATSYS: Bob successfully hits Upsilon with Granchi Cannon.
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Bob 1/=======/=======|===----\-------\0 Upsilon
"If I had may way, it'd be the last. But that isn't in the cards," Upsilon laments, given his orders. He isn't one to buck the trend of what NESTS asks of him. Even if he would be elated to know that a fighter like Bob wasn't making a laughing stock of the fighting world with his unique take on the physicality of fighting. He adjusts his glasses in the wake of the blasting kick and the moment of time it buys him.
Still, the stance is legitimate, and the pain that ebbs throughout Upsilon's body is more than real enough for the NESTS operative to accept. This may have been more troublesome than K' was. He'd just have to bide a little more longer. . .
Like a shot of lightning, Bob is on top of Upsilon. The spectacled agent is quick to slam his guard up against Bob's opening bulk. The sound of the focused chi energy borbles when Bob meets Upsilon. The force bleeds out with little clear hit. But it's enough to slow him down and Upsilon is caught hard in the chest.
Staggered back, chest heaving, the orange power pulses. Still the Dutchman stands, something moving him on. He looks ready to lose himself, to swing in with bitter ego, but he halts. And his finger goes to his ear. "Retrieval, hone on my position, data that we needed is collected," he says, "Upsilon out."
His hand drops, the other pushing the smart glasses back up his nose. He smiles a broken grin. "Thank you for your cooperation, now for the personal round," he says. With a sharp snap of his wrist, Upsilon swipes his hand right and then left, a spiraling disk of energy cuts outward and spins like a blade toward Bob's bulk.
COMBATSYS: Bob blocks Upsilon's Remix Wave.
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Bob 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=------\-------\0 Upsilon
"Sounds like you're kind of a vicious type, huh?" Bob's teeth grit slightly and his shoulders tense. Sounds like he's working on someone else's orders. "Though I can't say that I'd pick you as the type to follow orders. Must be someone scary pulling your chain." Shadaloo? The unusual technology in play doesn't seem like much of a stretch for them, Bob considers.
But then the moment's respite is gone, chased away by fury and chi. The spinning discus of chi rips through the air like a blade, and Bob finds himself in a corner. Does he try to dodge it? Does he dare risk endure it? There's barely a moment to think before he's shifting his stance, reposition his footing. His leg snaps up, taking the blunt of the blow while he smashes down with his elbow, countering force with force. The chi explodes outward like a burst balloon, energy awash against Bob's bulk as the blade digs through his pants leg and draws blood while driving him back and forcing him into a three-point stance to keep from falling over. Leather pulls against his hand, scrapping the concrete as he drags his fingers across it then pushes himself to his feet.
"The personal round, huh?" Bob says, his breathing heavily. "Then here," Bob rolls his neck and raises his fists, squeezing them tightly with a creak of leather. "Let me give you a personal touch and show you while I worked for this body!" Bob surges forward, building up momentum like a freight train. He closes the gap with deceptive speed, moving more like a stampeding bull or a charging bear. As his foot slams down toward Upsilon, Bob pivots into a spin, transferring that forward momentum--speed and weight combined--into a spinning, backwards roundhouse kick that takes him clear off the ground with surprising acrobatics.
COMBATSYS: Bob successfully hits Upsilon with Grater Langouste.
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Bob 0/-------/<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0 Upsilon
"The world is changing for the better. If you had cared for yourself, they could have had use for you," Upsilon states. "I was like you. But I found something better than stuffing my face."
Caught in his words, Upsilon is carried away by the freight train that is Bob Richards. The slamming blow crushes, kicks him down. He drops with a heavy crunch. On bended knee, he's open for Bob's graceful swinging kick. One hard enough to shatter bone that sends the NESTS agent dashing against the ground.
And there he lay for a moment, but the power still courses through the lines on his suit. He once more lifts himself up. His glasses askew, cracking, his earpiece laying on the ground. The drones, still on their orders, flit around and film and record. All as Upsilon wipes his jaw and spits clear the blood mingling in his mouth. But the confident agent isn't finished. Without a word, he surges forward once more.
With a blast of energy, Upsilon hurls himself toward Bob's big belly with a serious of swinging bodyblows. With the Dempsey charge leading the vanguard, Upsilon follows with a heavy spinning roundhouse. The sheer forces of the blasting kick propelling the man around for a second crushing blow of his off heel.
COMBATSYS: Upsilon successfully hits Bob with Iteration Three.
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Bob 1/----<<</<<<<<<<|=====--\-------\0 Upsilon
Bob's brow furrows. Changin the world for the better? His attention seems focused more on that than the insults. Just who does this man work for?
But the break in between flurries is brief. Bob draws back defensively, raising his arms to guard against the incoming onslaught. In the wake of Upsilon's fury, however, his defense comes up short.
The first punch slips under his block, catching him in the stomach and knocking breath and spittle from his mouth. Punch and punch follows, the momentum continuing once Bob's guard is broken. The Dempsey Roll batters him like a ship tossed in a storm, driving the man back with each thundering impact. The final kick acts as punctuation for the onslaught. It impacts Bob's cheek, turning his head and sending him off in a half spin to land on his stomach and slide across the concrete. He doesn't wait to move, but each movement is strained when he rolls up, breathing heavily and dabbing his battered jaw with his forearm.
But Bob rises to his feet again with a stagger, resuming his stance. He inhales sharply, then exhales, renewing his focus. His fists tighten again, and then Bob surges forward, striking out with a swift jab, in then out. A man on the ropes, perhaps?
COMBATSYS: Upsilon fails to interrupt Aggressive Strike from Bob with Fierce Combo.
[ \\\\\\\\\ <
COMBATSYS: Upsilon can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\ <
Fight power with power. Speed with speed. Upsilon hurls himself toward Bob, the orange lights of power on his body glowing with intensity. He steps low, rolls upward with the intent to counter and claim his rightful place above the bloated Bob.
But for all his egocentric superiority, Bob Richards is the better fighter. The snapping strike cuts hard across Upsilon's jaw. A dense crack of a sound reports and the smaller fighter staggers away left and right before collapsing to the ground in a heap upon his own greatcoat.
The little drones zip away while Upsilon starts to pick himself up from the decisive blow. He rubs his jaw, staring at the ground and the broken equipment around him. He punches at the pavement, but his arm starts to quiver and he loses support for himself. He isn't down long, however, before a van swings around the corner, nearly tipping as it races toward Bob and the downed NESTS agent.
The van screeches to a stop, shielding the downed agent from Bob. A driver in blackout shades looks stock forward. On the other side, a woman with her face covered with a shield and visor leaps out of the side of the van and carries the NESTS agent back into the side of the van. While she's at that, the multiple drones zip into the van to hide away before the whole ensemble race off down the side street.
When the punch strikes Upsilon's jaw, Bob doesn't lose that tension. He remains coiled like a snake ready to strike. A man ready to react or counterattack in a moment's notice.
But Upsilon does not immediately get up. When the van screeches around the corner, the heavyset karateka draws back defensively, raising his fists higher as if in expectation that several armed persons could pop out of the van to finish the job.
When the woman emerges, Bob looks into visors and finds little. He grits his teeth, waiting for a strike that never comes. Even as they peel out and drive away, Bob stays ready. It is not until well after they're gone that he even gives himself a minute to breathe.
"Huh," Bob exhales heavily, holding his side. "Looks like trouble is still afoot...can't imagine that's the last I've seen of those guys."
COMBATSYS: Bob has ended the fight here.
Log created on 11:14:31 08/07/2019 by Upsilon, and last modified on 14:11:00 08/09/2019.