Nameless - SvN: Flashpoint

Description: I was just supposed to be an clean, simple escort. Using the cover of Bastion guards, NESTS moved its special cargo through Japan. Shadaloo, however, has more than just a little interest, and ambush the transport vessel, all out. Soon, the nameless clone known now as Jason must defend the transport vessel from the infamous boxer M. Bison,..

The operation to intercept a NESTS truck carting at least six of the supremely high-tech analysis equipment as it's transported from the warehouses outside of Southtown is underway; there's little attempt to hide things, a massive semi heavily reinforced with armor all along, runflat tires and armored enough to take a 105mm tank shell from the front. Four vehicles are driving alongside it on the highway, but little is being done about the absurd traffic jam. This should only be a two hour transmute... but information indicates that this is a very sensitive target, and none other than Jason -- the only name he currently has -- is within. It's a quaint room near the front, with a hatch overhead leading to the roof of the transport, with a small television and mini-fridge. A number of Bastion guards are similarly spread out, numbering around six.
And high overhead sails the Shadaloo air dropper. Within this particular vehicle is about eight Shadaloo operatives, Mike Bison, and Balrog himself. The latter is holding up a picture of nameless, laughing lightly and running a claw across his mask.
"Mademoiselle... I cannot wait to cut you."
"Dude, that ain't no chick." Bison states, thumping his fists together. There's a long pause.
"S'a dude, man. Trust me. I know." Swish, swish! Bison is to assist the ground interception after Balrog is dropped to remove any high target threats in the transport itself. ...or so it was the plan.
After verifying this information, Balrog shreds the picture with trembling arms. "How dare he... such misleading beauty... I refuse!!"
"Refuse what? Huh?"
Alarms begin to go off within the transport. << AIRCRAFT DETECTED! AIRCRAFT DETECTED! >> Nameless is ordered to go upon the roof as the transport accelerates. Air-to-Air missile launchers pop from the sunroofs of the flanking vehicles, as the Shadaloo transport lowers within range.
The bottom drops open, before Balrog smacks Bison right on the back. "That means I'm not interested. YOU deal with the threat."
Descending like a meteor, Bison thumps upon the transport and bounces, rolling over to hands and knees. Wind buffets him hard, slowly sliding him further and further down. "PIECE OF SHIT! I'LL KILL YOU! I'M GETTING PAID DOUBLE, DIRTY UGLY MOTHER FUCKER!!"
The transport is forced to fly away as missiles fire, deflected with shining bursts of chaff. Slowly, tentatively, Bison tries to stand. "Ain't... ain't no thing... Just gotta--Gotta get inside..." Wobble.

Jason was not Jason right now.

Sure, his alias was Jason. But for the nameless clone, he was not in the persona. He was not the awkward football star of Taiyo High. No, as long as he was here, he was ready for. It was almost liberating to be free of the stresses of High School. No more girls wanting you. No more competitions over small, meaningless things. No more pulling your punches when thuggish students threaten you. No more, no more. This was a real mission for him; gone is the student uniform, and in its place is the uniform of NESTS; the synthetic leather that binds his slender frame. The black glove, to the counterpart to his Isolde; his blue-white glove of a companion. Over his shoulders, a black cloak, long and tattered, wraps around his frame.

And yes, he was beautiful.

The teenager sits in the breakroom. He does not watch the television. He does not take anything out of the minifridge. He just sits below, polishing his glove, playing with it. It ebbs it flows, slipping free from his fingertips. It was moments like this he felt the closer connection with the glove, the connection with its responses. If he was questioned, he could honestly tell his superiors that it was training; he had to ensure perfect and balanced responses. As the icy overflow finally grips Jason's fingers, he cracks a smile.

The alarms go off.

Jason rises up from his chair, the orders ringing out. There was no more smile on his face, his finger tips ripped free from the ice. He was calm, in spite of the scrambling. But he was not slow. Already he was halfway up the ladder, moving swiftly and delicately. Balrog was no too far off in admiring the grace of the teenager. With sheer speed and agility, Jason slips up to the hatch. With a smooth series of gestures, he unlocks it, and unlatches it. And with a bound, he throws open the hatch, leaping up through it.

And lands with cats feet.

As Bison is steadying himself on the top of the transport, Jason stands steady upon the vehicle. The hatch behind him closes with a clunk. Feet locked fast on the smooth surface, he was not so easily knocked off balanced. Behind him, the teenager's black cloak flutters in the wind, the long tatters of the garment fluttering in the wind. Standing fast on the moving transport, he stares dead across at the intruder. M. Bison. The boxer was too famous to conceal who he was. As for why he was here, it was obvious. He was after their precious cargo. Jason breathes quietly, expression blank.

There are no words.

The quicksilvered glove begins to swim and boil, the clone rolling his fingers one by one. Clouds of diamond dust flutter off from the glove, as icy spears begin to build at the edge of each finger. Carefully, with perfect balance, Jason takes his steps on the transport, not losing any hint of footing. He was deliberate, eyes still locked on the boxer that had been forced onto his transport. The teenager's orders were clear. He would dispatch the intruder. The icicle talons grow longer and longer, as an icy shell begins to spread up the teenager's forearm.

Lethal force was permitted.

t"Eh...? Hahaha... without that short hair, I can see why Balrog thought you were pretty as a woman! Don't worry though. I'mma make THAT not a problem REAL damn soon." Mike Bison states. He's still in a somewhat undignified position however, squat-sprawling his legs sideways with one trembling arm keeping balance. "Must be cruel fate, eh? Everyone knows me!! I'm a CHAMPION, even after I'm outta the ring! But you..." His free fist thrusts forward, accusingly, as he sneers past his dreadlocks. "You ain't even got a NAME. You nothin' but a tool."
When Nameless approaches with that icy chi in hand, Bison finally thrusts to his feet with a snarl, slamming down his heel. Traction is a high point in his boxing shoes at least, even upon the steel. Although he hasn't prepared himself whatsoever for things, he still manages to pound his fists together. The sound is far too heavy. These gloves are weighted; there's sand within them, not cloth. They hit harder than a fist, while still protecting him from the damage of his own knuckles. Not an act of mercy or contrition -- merely his strength beyond far too much, like the shackles Nameless wears from Isolde.
"My footwork's the best! Now get ready to FUCK THAT NOISE!!" The transport weaves sharp to the right and left, sending Balrog slamming down on his side and then rolling head over heels. He disappears for a moment over the edge. Is that really it? No... one gloved fist managed to grab the side, although he's dangling. The two cars to the side swerve closer, men rising up with assault rifles and training them on Mike Bison. "PIECE OF SHIT, I AIN'T PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS!"
The transport swerves overhead violently, and a spray of autocannon shreds the engine of one vehicle. It swerves and crashes into a civilian car, both tumbling head over heels. The other is rattled, firing a spray of lead that explodes adjacent to the Shadaloo elite. As if those bullets could hurt /him/...

COMBATSYS: M. Bison has started a fight here.

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M. Bison         0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: M. Bison tumbles off the transport and clings for dear life.

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M. Bison         0/-------/-------|

The boxer's words do not hurt Jason.

Of course, what he said was neatly true. His body would very likely take on the appearance and consistency of hamburger after this. He was well known and famous, while Jason himself didn't even have a real name. His only identity was in serving NESTS. He was just a tool.

And there was nothing greater than serving as a tool for NESTS.

The stoic teenager stops his approach as the transport swerves, turning hard. In this regard, Jason does move. He leans inward for a moment, countering the momentum, before leaning in the opposite direction briefly. His head, however, turns as he watches the boxer fall right over the edge. His expression does not change, as it seems for a moment, that the encounter was over. The teenager approaches the edge with the same, careful footwork, delicate. Nothing would be that easy.

And it was clear that it wasn't.

Jason stands high above the edge of the transport, looking down at the man now clinging for his life at the edge of the truck. His cloak continues to flutter, dancing in the air as he stands fast. He glances back across at the escort trucks moving in to pressure him. He looks into the eyes of one of the drivers, before one of the aerial craft from the attackers tears apart its engine. He looks away from the vehicle, a stoic expression on his face, as it smashes into a car.

And Jason makes his move.

It is like a snap, a single fast movement, quicker than the eye. The teenager crouches down, placing his black gloved hand down on the surface of the transport as he winds his other hand back. Jason's glove begins to morph further, the talons suddenly twisting and surging in erratic shapes. Spiraling longer and longer, nearly greater in length than the clone's own body, he thrusts the jagged ice spikes down at the clinging boxer. A fluid motion, backed by what leverage he could muster. The sharp ice would likely not rip the man apart, not before shattering against the impact. But Jason was not trying to kill the man with the weapon. He was trying to knock him clean off the side.

He can let traffic take care of the rest.

COMBATSYS: Nameless has joined the fight here.

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Nameless         0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0         M. Bison

COMBATSYS: M. Bison endures Nameless' Strong Punch.

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Nameless         0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0         M. Bison

Although it's true that Mike Bison is a far better fighter when on a stable platform, he is not one of the strongest professional fighters to ever live for no reason. In a tier Heavy D! will die never seeing, so savage that he had such a lax in opposition his murderous intentions got him banned, he's legitimately strong. Stronger than his comical actions and attitude might seem. But some people are cocky because they don't know any better.
Bison is cocky because he's strong.
With a grunt, Bison suddenly /kicks/ the side of the transport so hard that his foot digs three inches within. Fingers clutch tight, grasping the edge with his clinging glove tight. He grins when the man comes in for a strike, suddenly rippling with tension in his body.
"GOTCHA!!" Suddenly kicking upwards with explosive force, the blow explodes upon a chest that seems harder than steel, ice flying in all directions. Before a fist attempts to slam into the other man's stomach. Hard.
This man is considered the greatest boxer to ever live. There is a reason for that; his punches are at the level of the strongest beings alive, with perhaps a tiny handful being beyond. And the attempt to fold the slender man over and launch him away should prove that, whether it's defended or not.
Of course, Bison shoots high regardless. Before kicking his legs, and falling backwards. He lands on the windshield of an adjacent vehicle that had just recovered, cursing to himself and grasping either side, pinwheeling his feet before hopping back up. The disoriented man outside the sunroof begins to aim his weapon, before being backfisted casually so hard his spine snaps like a twig. Instantly dead, his disturbingly limp upper torso flutters like a flag in the breeze, blood spurting out of the remnants of his face.

COMBATSYS: M. Bison successfully hit Nameless with Dash Straight.

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Nameless         0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0         M. Bison

Oh, Bison was good.

As the boxer suddenly kicks off and smashes through the icy weapon, Jason realized that despite his clumsy agility, the boxer was still -fast-. The counterpunch comes flying up, and Jason is extended out without his icy glove to use for defense. Isolde couldn't protect him like this. The teenager releases his grip on the transport with his other hand, attempting to catch the blow with his black gloved hand. He at least manages to touch it, nearly breaking his hand in the process. Fortunately, the fist only glances his blocking hand, knocking it aside.

Unfortunately, the clone takes the mother of all gut punches.

"GHRK!" Was the groan as Jason is sent rolling back on the surface of the transport, his cloak wrapping around him. He does not immediately get up. He is doubled over in instictive agony, dry heaving as his body simply tries to make sense of what is happening to it. By the time Bison lands on the other vehicle, the boy manages to take control of his body again, the soothing grip of his glove easing him.

But the teenager didn't know what another blow like that would do to him.

Jason is back to a stand, as he watches as the broken body hangs outside the vehicle. A needless loss of life, all because Jason wasn't doing his job. Krizalid and Zero would be ashamed of him, and Igniz... he could see the failing marks on his performance report. The teenager furrows his brow for a moment. He couldn't lose his composure.

But he was already failing a mission this simple.

Still fighting down the gag reaction from his body, he takes a short dash towards the edge of the transport. With a deft leap, he bounds off the edge to the top of the other vehicle, the black cloak's long tendrils trailing behind him. The boy lands at the corner of the roof with both feet. He had to keep pressure on the man, keep forcing him to keep off-balanced. Carefully taking his steps around the bleeding corpse of the guard, he swiftly closes in on Bison.

And he brings a his leg up.

Whipping his leg around, he hurls himself past the sunroof. Whirling it in a clockwise fashion, he drives the heel hard forward, aiming it squarely into the torso of the boxer. Jason was hurling himself hard into the blow; he was trying to knock him squarely off the windshield. Should he manage to get Bison off the front of the windshield...

Then him being run over might serve well to slow him down.

COMBATSYS: M. Bison blocks Nameless' Shigure.

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Nameless         0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0         M. Bison

What's truly frightening is that Nameless would know; that /was/ just a gut punch. The speed of it came from throwing all his mass and tendons into sheerly making an impact. That was not a hook, nor an upper, where muscle is wrought into inflicting damage. To make it worse, such was managed from a seemingly impossible position... how could someone with one toe upon a dented casing, one grasping hand, throw such an alarmingly perfect straight? A boxer uses the ground like a springboard for everything...
It's a good thing that this fight is not in the ring, for sure.
Indeed, in a casual display another life was snuffed out. It's one thing when a strafing air vehicle blows up a car. There's nothing that could have been done about it. But Bison is Nameless' responsibility. The burden on his shoulders is great, and extreme. The price of failure potential annihilation.
While if M. Bison fails, he just doesn't get paid.
It's true, though. Vega doesn't threaten him, beat him, or demean him. Their relationship is simply whether he is given a suitcase of cash for his lavish pursuits. He lives paycheck to paycheck, blowing through it in a week, always needing more from the Great Chin. Such is not because Mike is a worthy individual, but because Vega knows precisely how to use him properly. Threats would lose him. He'd throw his life away trying to fight back, and that would lose a pawn. Also...
The relaxed grin and open mind is only possible for someone with such mundane pressure. What's a few wounds? He's almost having fun with this girly-boy!
Twisting, Bison slams a foot down, heavily denting the front of the vehicle. But the block is almost simple; twisting his shoulder forward, the heel slams into it, skipping off in a ricochet of flexed muscle. And then in the same motion, perhaps before Nameless can even withdraw his foot, a short uppercut towards the temple is thrown, aiming to slam him right in the head.
"Get outta my WAY, nancy boy! I'mma kill every bitch here, and OH SHIT!"
The car swerves to the right, tire blowing out. Bison is forced to leap and grasp the end of the huge semi-like transport, as the large car's engine block is sucked beneath the monumental vehicle, a huge explosion of flame and twisted shrapnel taking place at the rear. More lives lost.
And hopefully not Nameless' own, if he doesn't manage to get off in time...!

COMBATSYS: Nameless just-defends M. Bison's Light Punch!

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Nameless         0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0         M. Bison

Jason would never be a man like Bison.

He cared about the lives lost. The loss of life was a misery. It was a fact of their job; NESTS personale were often on borrowed time. His superiors considered them resources, and Jason was wasting resources in the defense of this transport. But they were more than that to the teenager; they were still people, human beings. It would be better for Jason to lose his life, if he could protect all of theirs and protect the transport. But until this boxer was subdued, then he was forced to protect his own life, to ensure the mission was complete. As the teenager's kick is blocked, he brings back the foot swiftly as the counter-punch comes straight for his head. His gut was still burning, but the clone doesn't even blink.

Jason just catches it by the wrist.

The teenager simply grips the boxer's wrist as the punch comes, gripping it with his quicksilver glove. That part was easy. But that wouldn't stop one of the strongest men in the world's punch. The clone wasn't that strong. What comes instead is the transfer of energy and momentum; Gripping the wrist tight, he lets the force of the blow flow into Isolde; his other hand. And there, he dips down and to the side; the punch continues past his face as he turns. The quicksilver gloved hand firmly grips it, as ice begins to buffer against it. Finally, he releases the fist, and flattens his palm. An explosion of ice shard burst out from the punch, the force of momentum finally finding its release: harmlessly out in a blast of ice. Jason had negated the impact, and thanks to Isolde, even found an opportunity for a breather.

But his expression does not change.

As the tire of the vehicle blows, he fixes his gaze on the leaping Bison. And in tandem, he bounds with him. The loss of more lives, in the line of fire. It wasn't just the guards, but actual innocents, caught in the line of fire. All because of men like Bison, who would do anything for a quick buck. There weren't even ideals, not even principles. Just a mercenary. If Bison cared to look behind him, he would see that the clone was leaping faster than him, the cloak trailing behind him. As the long tatter whip through the air, Jason passes him, before he landing on the top of the transport.

He would be already there waiting for him, for when he landed.

Short of landing on top of Jason, the teenager was already setting up his next move. The moment when Bison landed, the teenager would sweep his gloved hand before him, a thin sheen of ice coating the surface. And there, he would just slide along the top of the transport. Slipping forward straight towards Bison, he would simply slam his foot into the boxer's own foot. He was placing constant pressure on the world-class heavyweight boxer, never letting him have an opening. Should he hit the boxer on the foot, he will follow up with a finishing slam with his other leg's heel, right upon the fancy footwork of Bison.

Attempting to crush his foot.

COMBATSYS: M. Bison auto-guards Nameless' Shinonome.

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Nameless         0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0         M. Bison

That's unexpected. This sort of defense... Mike's seen it before. Aikidodo, or something similar. It's annoying, feeling the current of power he intended to demolish the youth opposite instead be sent curling past him, with there nothing he can do about it. He can't fathom a single thing more irritating in this world...
Outside not getting paid.
Momentarily staggered by the frost clinging to his kvarts-filled glove and shaking it away, Bison is thus lost to his forced attempt to abandon the car when it's already heavily damaged front and disoriented driver loses control. That brings the death toll up to four. Four people this unannounced man has cost.
Nameless knows he's a mercenary. And that the principal employer is the organization known as Shadaloo. That has to be broadcast now. As it lies, the air transport can defeat the rocket launchers, and has enough punch to destroy the convoy -- only two more cars now remain, each firing another homing missile screaming in a plume of black smoke.
The Shadaloo transport whirls upwards, before twirling and firing off flares. Both missiles wobble off-track, before the transport descends and they fly past, losing orientation and exploding some place in the distance far behind the roaring scene. In the time it takes to reload, it will be back.
Jumping is not a boxer's strong point, although Bison is attempting to scrabble upwards all the same, climbing awkwardly like a drunken gorilla. Halfway upwards, he can see the other man rushing forward on the sheet of ice, smirking to himself lightly. He /slams/ his fist down, shattering it; the momentum intended is lost as Nameless must charge the remainder on unsteady footing, and in a roar Bison gets up to his feet, bringing up a forearm.
Thump. Thump.
That... that was really the ruthless power of Nameless' assassin-honed kicks? His chi-fueled body? The report from kicking Bison's iron guard, brought up in the classic peek-a-boo only showing his eyes, was as if the pair were having some harmless spar and hitting mitts. It barely even /staggered/ him, beyond forcing him to harden his stance and shift weight to his toes.
Before he does something that got him banned... hopping forward in a short arc, laughing like a madman as he attempts to slam his forehead right into Nameless' teeth!!

COMBATSYS: M. Bison successfully hit Nameless with Headbutt.

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Nameless         0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0         M. Bison

He was not anticipating the headbutt.

As the master boxer neatly stops his sliding attack cold, Jason was expecting a counter-punch again. That is why he left his hands free; having both open allowed him to respond with another defensive grab, to turn his offensive away. But a headbutt? That come out of nowhere for Jason. Even when he takes his short hop, the clone takes a side step to keep circling the man, expecting a straight or another gut punch. Even a haymaker. But a headbutt?

Jason just eats that.

The clone's mouth caves in. Teeth shotgun back into his throat as he staggers back. Blood pours from his mouth, as a shattered tooth pokes out from his lip, having been driven in. Jason gags, choking on the material now forced back, as he just spits out a glob of bone and blood. He has no more front teeth. Everything up to the submolars were either knocked out, or broken, with exposed nerves poking out. Even the gums were split, the damage reaching down to the bone: Jason had his chin split as well. The teenager wipes his mouth, beginning to realize just the damage done.

His stoic expression does not change.

He backs up now, the chaos of the fire fight having a moment of lull. He couldn't do anything about the aerial assault. The four lives though; that was his responsibility. He would report to Zero in full every mistake he had made to lead to those deaths. He wasn't like K9999. He was responsible. The teenager grimly nods, blood dribbling down his broken face, as he continues to back up.

And he reaches for his quicksilver glove.

Gripping it by the wrist with his black glove, he draws in a breath through his nose: breathing through the mouth hurt. Not breaking eye contact with Bison, he begins to pull off the glove. Removing it in a smooth gesture, he exhales slowly. His hand immediately bursts into crimson flames, blackening the flesh as he holds it high. He rolls his fingers, letting the energy metabolize, letting it fill him with power. Jason draws in another breath, his bloodied face blank of emotion.

And the flames grow brighter.

COMBATSYS: Nameless ignites the flames.

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Nameless         1/----===/=======|====---\-------\0         M. Bison

The headbutt was sufficient violently that Bison's own forehead is torn open, grinning wildly as a stream of blood runs down beside his nose. "Heheheh... chump. Once you're down... I'm killing everyone inside this transport. And there's nothing you can do about it...!!" Inflicting pain, sadism, is one of the perks of the job. All boxers have a rhythm, and right now the huge figure opposite is falling into is. He wasn't lying about having strong footwork either; this time when the vehicle swerves, he only slides heavily with a grunt, managing to pinwheel his right arm but not make any openings that Nameless can capitalize on while recovering himself.
"Ooo. Look at that. Watch, I can do it, too!!" Bison then somehow manages to dig a large gloved thumb into his pocket, pulling out a small flip-open metal lighter with shark teeth on it. Once prepared, he sprays out the sparks, and ignites it. Before setting the end of his glove on fire. He waggles it back and forth, going 'OoooOOooo' and 'Now I'm a stupid CLONE!' before cursing and patting it out once the blackened crimson threatens to breach into his reinforced sand.
"Now..." He slams his fists together. BAM. Again. BAM. Again... BAM!! The presence and pressure of a champion begins to bear, and Nameless can almost see the belt he used to wear.

COMBATSYS: M. Bison gathers his will.

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Nameless         1/----===/=======|=======\-------\0         M. Bison

Jason continues to hold his arm out, eyes locked on Bison.

He doesn't put the glove back on, as the fire begins to spread up on his arm. The pain was unimaginable, and even from where Bison was standing, he could see the fresh plumes of crimson energy ripping out from his flesh. The fire just builds and builds, the pyre beginning to grow hotter and hotter. The boy's cloak begins to smoke, before outright igniting itself, the intense flame consuming it. The naked arms of the clone were exposed now; above the stoic youth, the heat distortions was becoming more and more dramatic. A cyclone of hot air was beginning to whirl overhead, spiraling over Jason as he continues to focus hard. The fire, for a moment, looks like it is about to leap to the rest of his body...

Before suddenly growing very, very dense.

The fire was now condensed around his exposed forearm, as the teenager begins to walk towards Bison. Steady, deliberate steps, eyes coldly staring into the presence of the opposing boxer. The clone's arm begins to spasm, first a tremble, and now uncontrollably. The boy's expression finally changes, as he toothlessly bares his broken gums. He runs now at Bison, unable to walk straight from the sheer power. The spasms spread to the rest of his body, as he finally draws back his burning arm. Finally, he screams as he falls to his knees, and hurls his arm into the air.

And he erupts into the flame.

The blast of the fireball sweeps across the surface of the transport, the full heat of the Kusanagi flame exploding. Where there was once a cyclone, was now a fiery cyclone stretching high into the sky. The crimson flames spread out, easily able to consume Bison from where he stood. And the fires continue to come, continue to threaten to consume everything, even the teenager...

Until the fires stop dead, with Jason forcing the quicksilver glove back on.

COMBATSYS: M. Bison endures Nameless' Rinkou.

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Nameless         0/-------/-------|=======\====---\1         M. Bison

Okay; maybe the trick with taking off the glove and igniting is a little more impressive than igniting a glove that's already on. But Bison continues to thump his fists together quicker and quicker, letting out a snarl as he builds up his gusto. Sweat rolls down his brow, muscles tensing, every tendon in his powerfully built form bulging out as he just laughs like a crazy person once more. "YOU THINK YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE BURNING UP HERE?!"
And then everything changes when the fire nation attacks. The nation of Nameless.
"Yeah... bring it. Hit me with your best... I'll show you it ain't good enough!!" he beckons, before approaching as well, slower and steadier given the transport. Another fly-by through the aerial assault launches a burst of autocannon fire that rips into one of the two remaining cars, making it swerve off the road and burst through the guardrail, spiralling madly before hitting a tree and bursting into flames.
NESTS is losing.
The run is met with a run as well, before Bison slams down his foot hard enough to thump a small dent into the steel. Twisting, he suddenly exposes his back in a strange display, the huge eruption of fire burning across the entire top of the transport; steel twists and melts nearby, and the burning seems to completely consume all but a silhouette...
Until a fist comes flying out, ignited as well, aiming to strike Nameless right in the stomach once more. This time, it's sheer power and nothing else, attempting to obliterate him through all guard, and show him the meaning of 'strongest'.
It's clear that hurt him bad, but somehow he endured... not through anything sensible, his shirt singed heavily, shorts blackened, form sinking slightly from pain and injuries.
But the inertia of his own punch, overcoming the interia that Nameless was using to send him flying backwards and off the vehicle.
"EAT THIS...!!"

COMBATSYS: M. Bison successfully hit Nameless with Dash Swing Blow.

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Nameless         0/-------/---====|=======\=====--\1         M. Bison

Jason would live.

As the cooldown from the flames come, he was winded. And yet, he wasn't injured, any more than what Bison pulled on him. The soothing touch of Isolde comes to full effect, suppressing the flames. He was calm, he was collected. He just needed to recover from the attack.

Bison does not let him recover from the attack.

The gut shot comes, hitting the teenager right in the stomach before he can even react. Groaning in pain, he is sent hurtling away. Bile surges up, mingling with the blood of his mouth. Pain fills everywhere, as he is sent flying...

And the teenager is knocked clean off the vehicle.

Or would be, if it wasn't for Isolde. Stunned by the blow for a moment, the icy talons of the glove suddenly fire out, driving into the side of the vessel. By the time the teenager recovers, he finds himself dangling mere inches over the street. NESTS was not doing very well, and it was all Jason's fault. He shuts his eyes tight, struggling. Swinging back and forth, he gives a heave, using his quicksilver's glove to let him spin, as it keeps an icy spike into the side.

And he hurls himself back up on the transport. There was too much time now between him reaching Bison. Bison was in a perfect position to follow up on the teenager. He was cornered, trapped. But he wasn't finished. Far from it. He looks back across at Bison, a staggered breath coming in and out of his nose.

And he rips off his glove again.

He charges at the boxer, making up for lost distance with equal zeal. The fires builds higher and higher, threatening to consume him again. Sweeping his arm out, the plume of red flames comes surging out. The blast of crimson flame just channels out, flaring forward in full force. He pours the Kusanagi flame straight at Bison, attempting to burn him more. He doesn't let up, as the aerial craft continues to hang overhead. He might think he's on fire.

But there is no way he could handle that much fire... right?

COMBATSYS: M. Bison interrupts Sawarabe from Nameless with Gigaton Blow+.

[                             \  < >  /////////////                 ]
Nameless         1/---====/=======|===----\-------\0         M. Bison

That's it. Bison's punched the brat clear off the moving transport now, and only one more defensive vehicle remains, unsteadily trying to aim the last air to air missile it has. However, the air vehicle is out of countermeasures; getting in range again means it's going to get nailed, and that's never a good thing. "Bison. Your mission is accomplished. Now take out the last remaining vehicle. You are almost to the Rendeveus Point." comes the comm-link chatter.
And then... he crosses his arms, trembling in excitement. Before explosively flexing, causing his singed shirt to explode off him, upper body bared in bulging muscles.
Yet not even air support could see the frozen cling of Nameless as he dangles for a few moments, only to roll back on. Bison had walked towards the edge, inch by inch like someone afraid of getting into cold water, only to see him roll back on. "Wow. You some kinda masochist, kid..."
Bison then begins to rotate his right arm, slowly building up momentum. His left arm is held on his bicep, eyes furrowed in concentration. The strike that made him a legend. The blow that made his name echo even after he left the ring. The ultimate punch in the world.
It's revved up and ready to go.
Twisting his body away a moment, suddenly perfection appears. That the transport is listing doesn't matter. All of the world leaves him, except for Bison's big toe. Hundreds of pounds of force apply to it, before his calves clench like a fist. The power hits his knees, causing him to slip and step forward, hyper-extending at the exactly correct moment...
Nameless rushes towards him, and again a huge burst of flame comes at him. The hips come next. That single ball of power, condensed and strengthened, as if each joint and tendon it ripples down amplifies it more. Rotation. Always rotation. "HAAAAA...!!"
Then, the punch. The literal second that the flame impacts Bison, Bison's fist impacts Nameless right in his sweeping arm. It continues forward, colliding with his jaw. Attempting to turn his face into modern art.
Like a chambered rifle, all of that force explodes straight out of his knuckles, blasting the fire in all directions in a heartbeat and causing a foot-deep dent in the reinforced armored roof of the transport. The billow even causes the man in the car nearby to swerve and thump back down, almost dropping his rocket launcher. Cracks appear on the windshield, windows, and even the mirror.

Oh no.

As he unleashes the plume of flame, Jason can, for a brief moment, see what was happening. The finishing punch was being made. Jason knew what that punch was. That was the punch that could kill gods. That was the punch that would stop a bull elephant. That was the punch of all punches. And right now, it was lined up right at him. The teenager relaxes himself as he brings his arm around, between the oncoming fist and his head. He could feel it in slow motion. The transport listing hard to the side. The hatch swinging wide open. The crack of the sound barrier being broken is heard. The nameless teenager shuts his eyes. He accepts it, as it comes. He feels his black glove pressing against his face, briefly, as the punch strikes it. It soon comes to his face. He could feel the pressure, briefly, against his neck.

And soon he doesn't feel anything at all.

The hand that was holding Isolde is sent flying away, flying into the hatch of the transport, taking the arm with it... and the head of the nameless teenager known to students as Jason. The blow was so powerful, so clean, that it simply takes off the arm and head of the NESTS clone. The decapitated body just stands there, stunned by the blow, as blood pours from the exposed neck wound and shoulder wound.

As well as the fire.

The crimson flame continues to build on the headless body of the clone, as it collapses to the ground. Unchecked, uncontrolled, the Kusanagi flames erupts into a pyre. Building brighter and brighter, it consumes the body of the clone, building to a cataclysmic flame... before exploding into a fireball.

Bison might not have much time to enjoy his money.

COMBATSYS: Nameless can no longer fight.

[                 \\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
M. Bison         0/-------/----===|

COMBATSYS: Nameless successfully hits M. Bison with Rinkou.

[                            \\  <
M. Bison         1/-------/=======|

The brutal punch utterly shatters everything there is to know and love about Nameless; such is not a particularly large deal for the clone, of course, as death is not a permanent venture when one can be cloned anew, but Bison doesn't know it. "Aw, yeah! I killed him! I'M NUMBERO NE! I'M NUMBER ONE!!" He then turns his back towards the corpse of the boy, who's progressively beginning to flame. It's not until far too late that he realizes something's taking place, turning around and widening his eyes.
"Fuck that shi--"
Bison is sent hurtling off the side of the overly large semi transport. His head embeds in a passing camper from oncoming traffic across the divide, unconscious, as he's driven off into the distance with his massive body limp. Within, Grandma Davis adjusts her giant spectacles. "Didja here something, Paul?" "Ain't not but the wind, I reckon." they state, continuing the three hour drive to the rustic wilderness.
The explosive Rinkou may have blown open the top of the transport, but victory seems assured for it now. The hulking semi is still being escorted by the last remaining armored car, with a lone Stinger-wielding man keeping the transport flier from Shadaloo at bay. A pyrric victory is exactly what NESTS desires; although emergency aide is rushing forward, it's probably no longer needed.
Five minutes later, the traffic ahead is stopped. The transport swerves, and begins to barrel through it, knocking aside trucks and cars. A crash? A police stop? Who cares.
Wait, it's just a silhouette of a person up ahead, surrounded by the broken remnants of vehicles... no matter. Run him down!!

COMBATSYS: M. Bison can no longer fight.

"This is Invincible Tiger," the looming silhouette states as curls of smoke and dust draw back to reveal bronze skin, a barrel chest cut nearly in half by a barely faded scar, and single hateful eye. There are flecks of blood - some of which is even his - and oil covering his body, as well as a few light burns and scattered bruises; the reinforcements scattered at his feet did what they could, but it wasn't quite enough. "In position and ready to clean up after Bison."

The former Emperor gives himself a moment to roll his neck around with an annoyed grimace, then squares his gaze on the incoming transport and slowly breathes in.

"You'll want to mute the channel, briefly," he suggests before breaking into a run towards the vehicle. "Or not; it doesn't affect me either way."

His tightly clenched fists come up near his face as he gathers speed, close enough to shut out almost everything in the world /but/ the transport. By his third or fourth breath, amber chi begins to lick across his muscles, lighting up the air with brief, but brilliant flickers that are primarily concentrated around his arms, shoulders, back, chest, and - most importantly - fists.

There's nothing remotely subtle about Sagat's head-on, chi-driven angle of attack, save that the driver might not have been expecting the inevitable hit and run to run /at/ him instead.

Fortunately for the Thai titan, inevitability means that he doesn't /have/ to be subtle.

Even if the driver does get the idea to swerve away from Sagat, he is worryingly maneuverable for a man so large; it's just a matter of getting low and darting into the transporter's way. Either way, when he's within a few feet of the vehicle, most of the chi vanishes, leaving just a bare flicker around his fists and chest. He drops low - or /lower/, as the case may be - pulls one of his fists down near his hip--


--and then explodes from the asphault, launching himself into the transport's underside like a surface-to-air missile. Instead of stopping his ascent cold, the vehicle's armored chassis shudders and begins to crack as the entire transport is lifted into the air right along /with/ Sagat for several feet, his fist seemingly caught on some piece of its undercarriage.

Well before he hits the apex of the maneuver, though, the physics of the act catch up with him: his fist eventually tears free of its frame, allowing it to flip through the air away from him and land upside down, where it spins backwards along the road for a ways; either it'll run out of inertia or hit something, but either way, it should stop soon enough. At about the same time, Sagat crashes back to the ground in a crouch, grimacing and cradling his right arm; an armored transport is a hell of a lot of weight to carry with one's fist, as it turns out.

"It's finished," he says, tapping his comm piece. "How many hostiles remain?"

"Stand by..."

The latticework of comm frequencies tying into all the various units is filtering information through operators; working various stations and the one operator informed at the centre of the carefully monitored feeds. Keeping her appraised of new developments without feeding her only the useful and critical information in a timely fashion. The various Shadaloo units quietly waiting, salivating at the chance to sink their claws, fangs and fervour induced fear into the security ready to come to the aid of their doomed fellows in this convoy.

"Move to provide security for the retrieval teams at the crash site as they begin."

The female voice on the coms is borders on strained, distracted momentarily before returning to relay further information as per the request, she wasn't aware of all the threats, simply the most prominent as they were identified.

"Minimum of three contacts headed in your direction and encountering the perimeter forces. We are on final approach now and will begin operation momentarily."

Rumbing in low overhead the massive bulk of a purple VTOL craft slides into view overhead, the massive hulk tipping back its nose as the engines and wingtips swivel and twist to bring the sheer volume of the craft to a quick level before gently lowering toward the ground. The massive Thunderbird 2 aircraft opens large bay doors even before it makes contact with the asphalt, by the time it makes solid landing and begins to settle on the squat landing gears; engines begin to cycle down to a lighter pitched whistle, men in sealed environment suits are pounding boots down the ramp at speed with all manner of cutting equipment and tools in hand.

A forklift and what looks like an airport style baggage handling vehicle descends the ramp cautiously behind the men in suits as an incredibly well equipped force descend on the still burning transport, fire extinguishers snatched off the baggage handler used by some while the rest focus on the vehicle. Four of them start walking a pattern around the vehicle retrieving samples or anything thrown free of the vehicle.

In the command room Juli sets her hands on either side of the console, the DOLL in her full military blues and peaked cap completely focused on her role coordinating efforts to take the prize. The operation had just begun and there was little room for error. Command room was abuzz with activity around her but what was important for the most part was confined strictly to what was being displayed, picture in picture, dots upon maps.

"Command to all units; we are on site and have begun. Hold and let nothing through."

Log created on 16:45:02 01/12/2015 by Nameless, and last modified on 03:47:17 01/14/2015.