New Kicks in Town (semi-open; DM to join)

Niso had a score to settle of sorts with a place he’d long since dismissed. The Orphanage, St Martas, had done him a disservice in what he might refer to in his past life. A cave of abuse and mis-treatment of kids too young to know anything outside it’s walls, he needed to ensure the people there suffered…the more he remembered in his pursuit to find that pink haired girl from his history, the more he remembered the pain and agony he suffered at the hands of the staff and other children of St marta’s…

He could never hold it against the children. They were raised in the same mess he had been, but the people who still worked their, who let out their frustrations on children because it was easier than just letting it bottle up and having to drink it away in the comfort of their own homes. They needed to suffer. His search for specific names on his list had already begun, but he needed to be sure that he was doing this right. He needed to take down St marta’s staff, and the orphanage itself, so that no child would ever be placed in the hands of such terrible people again. Afterall, such a terrible building would only encourage more heinous staff to follow…

He needed to do this right whatever the case…and as such, he’d been practicing.

Having grabbed an old fire-man’s helmet and a fire proof coat from a surplus store that did business with the local fire departments, Niso blatantly wandered the streets, the murky old helmet covering the view of his eyes, and a bulky, oversized fireman’s coat draped off his shoulders. The sleeves were empty, and his hands working on something within the walls his hefty coat created from the rest of the world. A simple barrier to protect his hands from view, but he wasn’t about to walk the street, danging a Molotov cocktail in his hand.

Sure, it wasn’t a strong start, but it was something. He’d learn how the fire spready, what stopped it, what encouraged it, and he’d learn from there. He’d grow, he’d improve, and he would ensure not a single beam of st Marta’s foundation was left standing in even half of it’s former…no. Glory was too kind a word.

Regardless, he came to a stop, a convenience store on one side, an old, run down building on the other. An apartment building he imagined. He glanced briefly through the front window from where he stood. He didn’t have the best eyes but no one seemed home on the ground floor…good.

A flick of a lighter under his coat, and his arms pushed back through the arm’s of his coat. A sickening layer of black flesh spread from his chin and forehead, covering his entire face, before a chesire like smile in white spread across the flesh-made mask. A burning cocktail now in his hand, he didn’t hesitate, chucking the destructive bomb of flame through the ground floor window of the building before him.

Then he’d stand back…ignore the screams…ignore the frantic dialing of 911 or whatever japan had…he’s just watch through his fleshy mask, watching the flames spread…and examining it all with intense scrutiny.

(God I am so sorry for the delay on this one hopefully you still have muse for it XD)

Niso’s flesh mask didn’t do much to reflect the mild glee he felt at watching the fire spread so. Perhaps Maeko was rubbing off on him, but in truth he was picturing a different building altogether. This wasn’t his target. Heck on any other day such a reckless act of arson may not have even been fun, but in this moment, he was just thinking of the bigger things to come. Watching how the fire spread along the old wood of the building, chosen specifically for the older architecture of its design, similar to what little he could remember of that hell hole that made a vast majority of his life a miserable fog of pain and agony.

He’d burn it all… just like this. He just needed to perfect the art. St Marta’s was a miserable pit of despair, and all it had earned from him was the effort it took to ensure that it burned so thoroughly that the place it once stood would not even be worth a memorial plaque to what once stood there.

A burst of motion flickered at the corner of his vision, and he was brought from his idle trance of self thought as his gaze drifted towards the source of the activity. A hero. Ugh. He once admired the ‘chaos’ in their existence, but as they became a more and more mundane aspect of life in Japan he had to admit he’d begun to loathe them. Not because they stopped him. Oh no. He was frustrated by those that stopped his own chaos with an expression of their own, but the heroes had become…bland, barring a rare few. Their approaches were methodical. Trained. Even with such diverse quirk if you see one hero in action you’ve seen them all…

Or….perhaps not.

As some odd, tinny sound of a speaker met his ears with the order to stand down, Niso, in his raggedy, smoke stained, second hand, stolen police gear, opened his arms and stepped forward with an almost cocky swagger to his motions, his stance somewhat upright and refined in nature in it’s own oddly disturbing way, only seeming to act in stark contrast to his appearance, actions and all around attire.

“Well well well. What has you giving me the silent treatment there mister hero? Am I not worthy of hearing your true voice?~” He’d cock his head to the side, a sickening pop sounding from his neck, almost like the sharp motion snapped something within.

Oh this was fun. The more he watched the more he realized and Niso soon figured out he was probably dealing with the world’s first deaf hero. Now this was new, this was exciting, and just enough of an intriguing concept to take him off the research he was doing for the st Marta’s project. He could definitely work with this. Still, as he watched them fiddle with some little pad, snickering as he was pretty sure he heard the word ‘fuck’ amongst all those half spoken lines, he simply remained confident yet loose in his stance, his shoulders sagging but his back straight, swaying gently side to side as he got ready to pay a very interesting little game with his opponent.

He was deaf… let’s have some fun with that!~

As he took in the warning to keep his hands where they could be seen, Niso decided to be the biggest little shit he could and purposely hid his hands behind his back, actually locking his hands around the wrist of the other arm, metaphorically ‘tying his hands behind his back’ so to speak. Sure he could release the hold at any time, but for now at least, he figured if the great deaf super hero before him could handle a handicap, it was only fair Niso inflict one upon himself in turn. Of course, it just served to also irritate the hero behind their heroic little façade, as Niso blatantly ignored their commands while, in his own eyes, playing fair. “This is going to be fuuuunn….~”

As the hero rushed towards them in a burst of speed, Niso’s expression behind his mask of flesh was impossible to discern, but he held a wild grin as, with the last inch of distance between them, his spine seemed to almost snap in two. With a sickening crack the opposing hero would be glad they couldn’t hear, Niso bend backwards at a full right angle as the opposing hero went soaring over them instead, grinning up at them, in such a way it could almost be felt even through his mask.

When the hero came to a land over him, likely crashing a lot of unexpected momentum into his heals to put the breaks on, Niso slowly lurched back up, turning about to face him, each spinal chord seeming to click disgustingly back into place in a jittering, crackling set of motions that seemed to make one of the observers of their fight vomit, but Niso smiling all the while through his match, his hands still locked behind his back.

“Wanna try again?~”