Description: Stuff happens!
It's been....a trying week and a half. And not in the 'oh dear, work is just sooooooo long and draining and my career is going nowhere, when's happy hour' kind of trying. It's not even 'my god, I'm out of work and collectors will simply not stop calling, fuck the economy!' kind of trying. There's plenty of both to go around there...but for a young Mr. Neuer, it's a little more....visceral. Then again, that's what having a crime lord on the East Coast sending goons to throw a grenade into your family's home in Duluth gets you.
Part of him blames himself for it...I mean, it was that damnable pride that prompted him to tell the Man that Hell Spat Out to go back to where he was spat from. Even the assurances he got from his Mom during her daily vigils at his dad's bedside that it wasn't this fault didn't help. But...mostly? It was definitely Duke's fault. And while his contractual appearances and fights kept him distracted as much as possible, Brett couldn't get his mind off any of it.
Which is why he's here, of all places. Sketchy place to be looking around, and certainly loud thanks to the traffic constantly above...but that is perhaps why Brett is here. This seems like as good a place to start if he wants to find out more about this Duke asshole and do something about the whole thing. Sure, he had no delusions that he was anywhere near good enough to take down his organization himself....but as he snuck around warily, he knew he could find...well...something that could lead to him.
Sure, he was scared as hell...but hurting family does something to a man's priorities, you know. If starting on the slow road to possible vigilantism is in the cards, then so be it.
Damnd sits on a large, half-burned upholstered chair, holding court at night in one of Metro City's most dangerous areas. A large bottle of rum is in one hand, and in his left is a big phat blunt, which he puffs on as he grins and chit-chats with his hoods. They're gathered around a barrel with a fire in it, doing their various drugs of choice - most of it provided by Mad Gear. And now that Mad Gear has a Glow connection, they're even more wealthy, and are partying like Romans at the end of the Empire.
....whoo boy. That's...well, it's not exactly a deal going down, but it's mad sketchy as hell. That's the impression that Brett gets anyway, as he sees a gang right there, slumming around their junkyard empire, celebrating over a spliff. Sure, smoke in itself isn't a sign (at least not for Brett, who never did buy into that Reefer Madness hysteria he gets from school officials and the occasional TV ad). But...it's hard to not see this and think it's some kind of meetup for thugs.
It's a little hard to be stealthy as a 6'1", 200lb kid that probably sticks out like a sore thumb with his short cropped hair and reasonably clean (if not exactly fashionable) clothing. But hey...he's this far, he may as well try and slink in closer and get a better look, maybe close enough to hear something. It's a good thing he stashed his skates nearby too if he needs to get out of Dodge....
The conversation the men are having is all about the Glow business, and the money they're making. They're also talking about Shadaloo, and the local business Shadaloo is operating out of, after they stumbled into the middle of a Shadaloo arms operation. As Brett gets closer, he gets a couple of glances, although nothing more threatening - yet.
...well, there goes any pretense that he was actually being sneaky. When he gets those glances, the hockey kid swallows a lump in his throat. A nervous look over his face comes as he slowly starts to rise out of his cover. He finds himself chuckling nervous and squirming, as he gets another look from the gangsters.
"Heheheheheh...sorry, I think...I got lost a little..." he says, laughing. He's...not a very good vigilante really, shrinking away under the first bit of pressure. Hey, its his first venture out, he wasn't expecting to meet a whole gang here really. "I'll um...leave ya to your....ROACH!" he shouts, reeling as he apparently sees a cockroach, using the chance to sprint the hell out of there....
Or at least hopefully run out of sight long enough that he can try sneaking close again with better results, later. Just hoping they don't chase after him, and that if they do, they're too smoked up in the lungs to keep up.
As Brett speaks up, there's a sudden silence, the assembled goons, hoods, and thugs staring at him. Then, as he runs, there's a loud series of laughs from the men, judging that it's not a police officer, their only real concern. Damnd laughs and puffs his blunt, slurping down rum. "Dat white boy sure can run."
With skates swinging in one hand, and burning in his lungs, Brett gasps and runs, only stopping finally when he figures he's a good while away. Resting against a wall, he catches his breath and sighs. Well, that was botched. Maybe he should wait....
And wait he does....30 minutes he waits, until he starts slinking by again, this time trying to stay low, and use the shadows...you know, stuff he's seen on TV spy shows. Doesn't change the pounding in his heart, but he at least tries to sneak in better this time and get something on Duke...though this GLOW stuff sounds nasty, and Shadaloo is...well, people know Shadaloo, so that's not a bit revelation. But what about this Duke asshole?!
"De Duke, if he was here, would t'ank all of you," Damnd is in the middle of saying, as he talks to his assembled men. "De insurance policy worked out very good, mon, and dat is why we're rollin' in dough! Dis Glow, ev'rybody wants it!" Damnd laughs, and tosses his blunt away, most of it smoked. "As long as de Duke keeps up with de Glow, we be makin' benjamins!"
...well that's revealing. And the guy in the dreads is loud enough that Brett doesn't need to sneak in too far to hear it either. So...Duke and Glow are connected. Figures the asshole is a drug lord. Scowling, Brett continues to listen in, though his nervousness from earlier slowly starts to shift to anger. His family got nearly killed because some jerk wants to sling drugs in a city that a couple of strangers just happened to help a pitiful taco stand owner in? Really?
Is crime really that petty? Brett grits his teeth, trying to hold on to the nearest thing that he can to avoid punching at something.
Too bad that nearest thing is a section of pipe that ends up snapping off from rust and his tightening grip. Loud enough too to make him. "....crap."
The goons look over again, this time with some looks of hostility. Damnd stands from his seat, walking over to Brett. "So, you be spyin' on us, huh? You workin' for Shadaloo? Give me your clothes, mon. Seriously, get naked, I want those clothes!" He tosses his rum bottle at the ground to accentuate his point, the bottle shattering.
This is not going well...no sir. Looks like Brett has exposed his severe lack of stealth and sneakiness. And now he's facing down with the loudest of them all, the man in the bleached dreads. Of course...now that the nervousness of trying ineptly to play spy has passed, the hockey kid is a little more...solid and defiant, especially after hearing THAT Name.
"My clothes? What? Hell no! I'm not giving you my clothes. And you're dealing with that Duke bastard, I have even more reason to not want anything to do with you!" he shouts...not exactly smart, being in the lion's den and all, but...hey...
"Oh, you after de Duke?" Damnd says, cocking his head to the side as he gets closer to Brett, punching a finger in his chest. "You listen t' Damnd, mon. You get yo' pasty, white, cracker ass outta here, before I loose my cool. Mon, you don't even wanna start with dis rude boy. So if I catch you around here a t'ird time? I take dose clothes, and dump you in de river!"
Brett scowls, deeper and deeper. The poking at his chest has the same effect on him as his usual pre-fight ritual, slowly pushing him deeper and deeper into 'that zone'. Brow furrowing and narrowing at the gangster, the grip on that long pipe he accidently snapped off tightens. Finally....he has enough. "Go screw a moose!" he shouts, shoving at the thug's broad chest, no longer mindful of him being surrounded at this point.
COMBATSYS: Damnd has started a fight here.
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Damnd 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Brett has joined the fight here.
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Brett 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Damnd
COMBATSYS: Damnd endures Brett's Weapon Jab.
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Brett 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Damnd
Damnd gets shoved backwards, but is quickly surging forward, attempting to grab Brett and lift him into the air. "Oh, okay, okay, you wanna do dis! Boys, step back! Dis bugger's mine!" At that, he drops backwards, attempting to slam Brett into the pavement by his upper body, with the grip on Brett's hips.
COMBATSYS: Brett blocks Damnd's Quick Throw.
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Brett 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Damnd
The hockey kid is grabbed, but manages to pry himself out of the throw with that pipe before he's lifted up completely. It's not a clean avoidance, falling back out of Damnd's grip rather than back on his feet, but preferable to landing on his head. "NGHh....." Glowering, he snaps up his 'stick' like he would his usual hockey stick. While the form isn't quite as clean, he still manages a sharp slice through the air that creates that arc of cool blue chi that traces the ground toward the thug.
COMBATSYS: Brett successfully hits Damnd with Shark Crest.
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Brett 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Damnd
The wave of chi strikes Damnd right in the chest, causing him to guffaw. "You call dat an en'rgy attack? Boy, you in fo' some trouble now!" He dashes forward, curling up into a ball and hurling himself right at Brett, striking like a huge ball of muscle and bone. "Ayayayayayaayy!"
COMBATSYS: Brett endures Damnd's Damnd Ball.
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Brett 0/-------/-======|===----\-------\0 Damnd
Brett doesn't budge when the somersault ball blasts forward right toward the kid. Sure, he might have been able to muster something, but it seemed like he wasn't of minds to back down, even if he takes several hundred pounds to the chest. "NGHHGNnnhhh...." Looks like he might have to do something a little meatier.
Dropping down, he starts hacking low with that pipe. Without his skates, he has to improvise, not spinning about like he would, but he still tries to put as much force as he can with those constant stick sweeps.
COMBATSYS: Brett successfully hits Damnd with Ice Thrasher.
- Power hit! -
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Brett 0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Damnd
Damnd gets struck by the rusty pipe over and over again, grunting as he's smacked by the metal pole. "Okay, you got some nice moves, I give you dat..." Damnd reaches out, attempting to grab Brett by the neck, then hurl him at the remains of a car. "But de Damnd man, he be poetry in moti'n!"
COMBATSYS: Brett fails to interrupt Guillotine Drop from Damnd with Hurricane Check EX.
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Brett 1/-----==/=======|======-\-------\0 Damnd
Brett tries to react to the sudden grab at his neck the way he usually does: lifting up his 'stick' and shoving at the gangster's face with a high check...unfortunately, the lack of wheels or ice, and the unfamiliarity of the pipe makes him too slow to react, suddenly hurled over by that yank and slammed into one of those abandoned cars. Metal crunches, bones crunch as well, and Brett slides down in a heap, upside down, groaning....
Damnd stalks after Brett, laughing as he opens and closes those huge hands. "Today, white boy, you screwed up. I hope you enjoy eating through a tube, cuz dat's what you'll be doin' soon!" He attempts to batter Brett with his fists, punching hard as he chases him around the battlefield, his men cheering and hooting around them.
COMBATSYS: Brett blocks Damnd's Combo Attack.
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Brett 1/---====/=======|======-\-------\0 Damnd
Brett does his best to get back to his feet, not wanting to get caught in an indefensible position, especially in a place like this. The first blow sails toward the car, but once he's upright, he's forced to fend off the crashing attacks, meeting them with that pipe where he can, but he can't stop all of them, most of the force still pushing through anyway. Grunting, he pushes away after the last blocked shot, trying to back up long enough to catch a breather. He's getting battered here, that's for sure...but he doesn't look like he's running away either.
COMBATSYS: Brett gains composure.
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Brett 0/-------/---====|======-\-------\0 Damnd
Damnd laughs at Brett, watching him from behind his blue shades with cruel eyes. "You wanna run along to mommy and daddy now, little boy?" Damnd taunts, completely unaware of Brett's home situation, and the attack on his parents. That could be the remark that gets him thrashed...
COMBATSYS: Damnd focuses on his next action.
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Brett 0/-------/---====|======-\-------\0 Damnd
...oh wow. That's a sore point. That's DEFINITELY a sore point. One that ends up throwing the young kid from Zero to MURDER in about a half-second.
"MY PARENTS WEREN'T INVOLVED YOU ***** **** *** * * * * * *******!!" he curses in near incoherence, trying to smash the pipe straight into Damnd's temple with all force.
COMBATSYS: Damnd interrupts Medium Strike from Brett with Super Damnd Ball.
*KNOCKED AWAY*
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Brett 1/---====/=======|==-----\-------\0 Damnd
Damnd blinks at Brett's incoherent ranting, not knowing just what he did to offend him. But it's obvious that Brett is now /pissed/. Damnd launches forward, the pipe smacking off his head as he slams into Brett with his spinning bulk. He bounces off of Brett and lands on the ground, ready for the next move.
The extra forceful balled-up smash blows Brett back hard, sending him into a wall with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. And in such an anxious, highly agitated state, it makes it that much harder to breath. Enough to stall him in his tracks, but not enough to wipe the murderous look from the kid's eyes as he struggles to get to his feet again, and get his breath back as well.
COMBATSYS: Brett gains composure.
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Brett 1/-----==/=======|==-----\-------\0 Damnd
Damnd laughs as Brett again pauses, adjusting his shades. "So, mon, you gonna give up and run, or am I gonna have to beat you harder?" He rushes in, attempting to plant a haymaker across Brett's jaw with one of those huge fists. "You don't know a t'ing about who yo' dealin' with!"
COMBATSYS: Damnd successfully hits Brett with Lunging Rasta.
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Brett 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|===----\-------\0 Damnd
Unfortunately, it seems like Brett definitely bit off mroe than he could chew. He tries to meet the giant lunging fist heading toward his jaw...but it's too heavy for him to stop, cracking him across the face something nasty. Reeling and barely there and holding on, he wavers on his feet....and then goes into one last final lunge, a renewed vigor as he tries to smash Damnd in the face as many times as he can before he finally falls down in a heap he won't be getting up from any time soon.
COMBATSYS: Brett can no longer fight.
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Damnd 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: Damnd just-defends Brett's Broad Street Barrage EX!
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Damnd 0/-------/----===|
Cammy has been exploring the scummier parts of Metro City, doing a bit of a recce. She's been here before, but she wasn't attempting to quantify the crime here - not her concern, really.
But now, it is her concern. And the distant sound of fighting has drawn her here, underneath the bridge, like a bee to honey; she has already spent a little time watching from the shadows, working out what was going on. Oh, it's that rasta guy she met before! He seemed friendly enough the last time. Except this time he's beating on a kid. Who is, admittedly, not going down quietly...
Damnd catches the fist in his hand, and uses his leverage to bend Brett downwards, squeezing and crushing his hand. "Okay, mon. Now, we gonna take yo' clothes. Dat's what you get." He turns around. "You heard me, boys. Strip him naked, dump him in de slums." He moves back over to his chair, taking a seat and whipping out his bag and a blunt wrap.
Brett groans, still shaking in his rage but subsiding as he barely can fight off unconsciousness. And he's certainly in no shape to be fighting back when Damnd's gangmates decide to shred off his clothes and leave him to a dark fate, exposed and in the slums in the dark of night.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Some fisticuffs is one thing, stripping the victim naked is something Cammy feels quite strongly about! When the gangbangers start tugging at Brett, she steps out of the shadows, and heads over to him, at a trot. "I think he's learnt his lesson already, don't you?" she observes, and gives Damnd a somewhat withering look. She recognises him. She thought he seemed like an okay guy! Apparently she was in error.
Damnd looks up at Cammy, blinking behind his shades. "Hey, mon, dat guy spies on us, insults us, tries t' beat me with a pipe - dat type of t'ing I don't exactly appreciate. But if you want, you can have 'em. Tell 'em not to mess with Mad Gear's biddiness!"
Brett groans, finding enough energy for some kind of nominal struggle, but not enough to get out of the thugs' grasp. "You're with...Duke...you....my parents...." he groans, still holding on to that anger despite his helplessness.
"Mad Gear? You shouldn't associate with the ghost of Belger." Cammy tells Damnd. "That sort of business will attract attention you don't want, and I'd hate for you to come to a bad end. Especially if it's drugs related. Life has been too hard on you already for that sort of additional heat, no?". Her gaze wanders to Damnd's blunt. Not exactly in the same league as what she is chasing, but still. It's an entry drug!
As Cammy crouches down, to haul Brett's arm over her in a firemans lift, she finds him seemingly trying to push her away. "I'm not with any dukes, and calm down, looks like you need a bit of a breather..." she tells him softly, and not unsympathetically, as he finds himself lifted up.
"Gotta make a living. Come on, boys - let's rolla outta 'ere." Damnd rises from his chair and starts walking towards the slums, where a warm bed awaits, so he can sleep off the booze - and the bruises from his fight. His men follow behind him, chattering to each other.
Log created on 19:00:30 05/03/2012 by Damnd, and last modified on 21:40:50 05/03/2012.