...789...790.

Striker hung upside down from a heavy metallic pole, his abdominals burning as he did his nightly warm-up crunches. He held on to the pole with his legs as tightly as he could knowing full well that the grip on the pole was what was separating him from a direct 40-story plummet to a faceplant into the concrete.

Once he reckoned he hit the sweet spot for activation, he closed his eyes, as he loosened his his grip on the pole, slowly slipping from the hold until he was free falling. The wind whipped past his face, his cape billowed out behind him, and he could hear the cries of people below as they pointed at him in amazement. Neptune found it odd that, amidst the free falling, there was a profound sense of serenity within him that flared out as he got closer and closer to the ground. The sort of sensation one gets when they are teetering at the edge of consciousness and sleep.

Just before he was about 20 feet away from facing the concrete, he kicked off, activating his power of flight mid air and leaving a small dust cloud behind in the process. He'd practiced this fall so many times in his career that he lost count. Ever since he could fly, he would always do this little ritual prior to starting a patrol. He wonders what will find himself contending with today in the city of Denver. Perhaps it'll be a quiet night?

It was rarely a quiet night in Denver, but one may be hard-pressed to find anything particularly challenging goin' down. Petty theft, random street brawls, and unprovoked assaults within the broader populace were easily solved by intimidation and precisely measured violence, though the cape population weren't the type to concede easily.

The first sign of something Uniquely Fucked going down was the torn-off rear door of an armored car (reading BRI- Secur-), just vibing in the middle of an intersection. The car itself was found two blocks down, having veered off the road and slammed directly into a streetlight after presumably flooring it. One of the occupants was dragging the other out of the driver's seat, both of the -NKS -ities employees seeming pretty concussed yet not horribly beaten up as they Hit Da Bricks.

The rear of the car was rustling and sagging, as though something far too big to comfortably fit was stuck in the payroll truck. The top and bottom edges of the rear entrance was crimped and dented, as though crushed by an uncommonly large hand...

Neptune takes quick notice of the commotion occurring around the armoured truck and darts towards it, encasing himself in light blue armour to better protect himself from what he surmises will end up being a cape fight.

He gently lands on the concrete and rushes towards the -NKS- ity employees, concerned about their well being. He would do well to have them move out as soon as possible, they probably shouldn't get caught in this crossfire. "Hey guys? You good? I'll call for medical attention immediately. Who did this?"

“Fucked if I know, something with a lot of arms jumped our car in an alley. It’s still in the back.” the Securities employee replied, trying to quickly drag their concussed coworker off the road. “Don’t worry about us, we’re insured.”

Three grey-blue fists, each about the size of a child, punched through the roof of the armored car, tearing out a massive hole for a rather bulky beastie to climb through. A Thing with thirteen massive arms, each connected to a central mass about the size of a human body lurched its way atop the roof, two of those arms covered in duffel bags like someone trying to get all their shopping in the house on one trip. The other rear door and a discus of Roof Metal was clutched in their arms, and the Thing spread their arms out wide to reveal a great, unblinking eye that leveled its glare at the armored flyer.

Oh boy.

Neptune rotated his skull, audibly cracking, tensing his body for the confrontation ahead.

"Hey there! Have you not been told it's bad to steal private property. Unlawful even! Perhaps you can throw that away and maybe we can hang out for coffee and bagels. What say you my friend?"

As if that was going to work.

Striker, created a secret shield construct behind his back, preparing to position it in front of him to block him should the 'Thing' make a projectile out of the various bits of garbage it was holding on to.

The great Thing spoke slowly and tonelessly, in spite of having no visible mouth. The car sagged beneath its weight as it moved, using two of its arms to brace itself against the edge of the roof.

“Indeed. It is immoral and illegal.” it inanely states, the eight fingers supporting its bulk bending and tensing. That is all the warning Neptune gets before it pushes off from the roof in a headlong leap, armoring itself with several forearms wrapped around its Eye as it flings itself at Neptune.

“Perhaps I am just a bad person. Is that something you considered?” it mirthlessly states, several mouths opening up on its forearms to permit speech.

Striker sighed. He'd need a spreadsheet to track the number of times he's* faced a mindless chaotic type. "I'm always willing to turn people around to do good. Even people like you, my friend. Maybe there is some good in there."

Neptune took a step back, well away from what he thought would be the Thing's landing spot. He waited until it got closer, darting his eyes several times to his right, making sure it was at a certain distance from him, before immediately turning his back and swatting the shield forming on him at the Thing - like batting away a fly with a newspaper.

The great Thing moved exceptionally fast for something so large, Neptune’s initial estimate of its leap distance being rather inaccurate. Though while it was too fast for a beautifully timed and choreographed Swatting, a messier and quicker shield bash still sufficed to knock it away before it bowled directly into him. (the shield may also sustain a few splinters, depending on how durable Neptune’s constructs are).

The Thing cackled as it crashed against the asphalt, cracking the surface a great deal on impact.

“That’s rather sweet of you. Unfettered optimism and forgiveness isn’t common in our profession.” the great Thing stated, revealing its flat grey iris as it gathered up a few softball-sized chunks of asphalt in one massive palm. This cluster of stones was swiftly flung at Striker, its other arms preparing for an uppercut if Neptune dared to close the distance.

Neptune's construct broke, which gave him time to recall the remnants of it back to his body.

"I've been told that about my positivity and optimism." Neptune said, just when he was about to get his bearings, he gets pelted with the initial barrage of asphalt, causing him to grunt in pain.

He creates two massive fists the size of his body, using it to block the barrage, as he walks towards the great Thing slowly.

"Gotta keep the glass half full. Gives me the chance to share a drink, especially if a friend is thirsty"

When he felt he was close enough, he shot the two fists forward, initially considering to have the Thing restrained with his fist, but deciding that it was probably not going to work, so he opted for the punching route instead.

Scorn likewise slowly approached, flinging another handful of Asphalt Chunks with little effect. The great Thing seemed to scuttle more than walk, moving on eight massive fingers like some sort of beetle or crab as it skulked towards Neptune and his several fists.

"Killing with kindness, hm? I prefer working with my hands, but if it's working out for you I can't really knock it." the lumbering beast tonelessly replied, bringing its arms up over its central eye to block or otherwise contest the blue fists. A quick scuttling juke got it mostly clear of the first fist (clipping one of their hands in the process, cracking a few fingerbones. Don't worry, they have a lot of fingers to burn), but the second launched fist strikes dead-on, the great Thing stumbling back as a myriad of arms try to hold the fist in place while an additional three repeatedly punch it.

Punching it broke the constructs again, which irked Neptune. He held his breath and recalled his energy within, having it all stored inside of him.

Going too close would be the ideal way to knock it out, but the tendrils were going to be an issue. Striker has to figure out a way to deter their usage.

Neptune puts his arms up to his face and adopts a boxing stance. His upper body weaved and ducked with practiced grace, making his movements unpredictable, as he closed the distance between himself and the great Thing.

He layered himself with spikey blue constructs that would hook any tendrils that got on him. He'd have to bet on winning the tug of war.

Scorn's main advantages in a fight were multitasking and a long reach, and they would employ both of them to ensure Neptune could not slip into their guard. Nine of their arms were free to attack and defend, the remaining three either holding many duffel bags or lacking sufficiently intact fingers to do much of anything.

Two arms snapped forward at Neptune: one trying to sweep his legs with a wild swing, the other grabbing his rather spiky torso and attempting to keep him pinned in place. The remaining part of their strategy was a two-fisted overhead hammerblow, powerful enough to bounce that poor fella against the asphalt should it connect.

And connect it did, Neptune lept to avoid the first sweep, and let the second arm grab on to him to get pinned. Just before he could initiate the game of tug of war, he was too distracted to notice the incoming tendril about to slam him into the asphalt.

Though he didn't quite bounce, he found his armoured face imprinted into the asphalt, immediately dissipating the construct into 'glass'. Had he not armoured himself up at the start of the fight, he would've been knocked out cold right there and then. This thing hits.

His mind was all fuzzy and he was sure he was seeing doubles, which included a small vestige of the tendril that had his mug Hollywood'd into the asphalt. Just before the creature could withdraw its tendrils, he grabbed onto it tightly, not letting it go.

One of the Thing's palms was bleeding a thick, dark ichor from where it grabbed the thorned armor, though it didn't seem too debilitated by taking a few unorthodox stab wounds. This same arm was the only one slow enough to be grabbed and held, the other three retracting after doing their Violence.

"I had expected more." the great Thing stated, its eye revealing itself again to glare at the dazed Neptune where he was firmly latched to its wrist. The arm holding the torn-off door from the armored car attempted to scrape Neptune off with the door's edge, trying to lever it underneath his fingers.

"...I've...still...got...it"

Neptune slowly stood up, his face contorted as he grit his teeth, holding on to the arm as tightly as he could. If this thing could rip off a car door and casually wave it around, it can certainly handle his grasp.

As the Thing attempted to pull its arm holding the door, the sharp bits of said door were piercing into his skin, causing him to bleed. Still, he doggedly held on. Pain's an old friend.

He tug at the arm, hoping to finally close the gap between himself and the Thing. He has to do it quick, the sharp agony on his hand would get unbearable the longer it went.

Okay, this was becoming an Issue. Little bastard was persistent, if nothing else.

The great Thing was not going to let Neptune slip past its guard: as he pulled himself closer and closer to that central eye, more of its arms sprang into action. One wide, leathery palm interspersed itself between Neptune and its eye, while another arm gripped Neptune around the waist and tried to pull him off. The strategy of trying to pry his fingers off their arm was doing more harm than good, the sharpened metal gouging both their forearm and his fingers while his grip seemed unaffected. A similarly self-destructive strategy was employed instead, the hand operating the van's door just fukken bashing it against their forearm in the hopes of catching his fingers. Anything to keep their eye safe, after all.

Striker’s grip was likely going to let go. He flinched with each bash, as he was slowly losing his grip. The tendrils around his waist weren’t helping in this regard either. Still, he was defiant. There’s gotta be something that’ll catch the Thing off guard.

Stretching his free hand towards the Thing, a sharp blade construct slithered out of his fingers, before shooting forward, straight at the great Thing with rapid speed.

Until it arched. Towards the duffle bags.

The great Thing seemed to panic as the knife formed out of his fingers, seemingly poised to fly directly into its eye. The effect was almost immediate: almost all of its arms curled around its eye, covering as much surface area as possible like a hedgehog curling into a ball. The remaining arms in play (1 grabbing Neptune, one being grabbed by Neptune) were thrashing wildly, trying to either fling him off or supremely fuck up his aim.

The blade-construct unexpectedly arced over a great deal of the Thing's body before going directly for the bags, slashing open a few of them and cutting more of them free from the straps. The sound of tearing canvas seemed to bring it back to reality, and it laughed madly as it realized what happened.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

The blade arched and scratched the dufflebag, until it curved and immediately went taut, forming a scythe.

Striker pulls the scythe towards him now, making sure the great Thing was in tow. He himself moved, using the distraction to slip off the tendrils around his body, and straight up fly at a full 18 mph towards the monstrosity.

Many would wonder why Neptune Striker had 'Striker' in his name. Clearly, he was a Brute, not a Striker. Neptune Bruter didn't exactly roll off the tongue either.

Using all the super strength left on his bleeding hand, Neptune launched a wild haymaker, as he hurtled towards the great Thing. Should it connect, the poor fella would definitely be bouncing on the asphalt. If he's gonna live up to his name, it would have to be today.

Scorn was off-balance and unprepared, but she was hardly helpless. A few hasty jabs and a wild backhand were delivered at the onrushing Neptune, though none of those strikes would likely have sufficient strength behind them to serve as much of a deterrent.

A beefy arm was brought up to catch that haymaker, and it connected cleanly enough to dislocate whatever this thing used as a shoulder and turn their ulna into splinters. It also imparted enough force to turn the great Thing a full 45 degrees, revealing more of a flat grey eye that looked upon him with a mixture of shock and fury. "Enough." it rather flatly stated, using the remaining eight arms it had available to parley that spin into a wild Get-Away-From-Me lariat, pirouetting on their fingers with a surprising amount of grace.

With the mid-flight momentum and the lariat, he was yoinked away, being thrown across the street straight towards a wall. It took one fist scrapping the asphalt, one knee, and one foot to stop him from skidding into the wall and leaving a Looney Tunes imprint.

Striker got up, brushing away the dirt on his costume. He took a quick look at his forearm: the white sleeves were stained with crimson, which was spreading to the rest. Neptune tore the sleeve from his suit and used it to cover the wound, temporarily stemming the bleeding. He proceeded to create a construct that covered the span of his exposed arm—a mechanical-looking fist one would likely see in any generic sci-fi movie.

The jabs and backhands on his way to haymaker the creature had created bruises on his back that were slowly flaring up with sharp pain. Neptune clenched his teeth, hoping adrenaline and a bit of his determination will help him power through what he feels is going to be the final leg of this fight before either of them collapse.

"What's your name, my friend?" Striker asked, placing his hand on the side of his head and pushing it, causing an audible crack, before he started walking towards the Thing.

"My name is Scorn, for the spurned and the contemptuous." Scorn replied, their toneless voice not making her sound any less pretentious. "You know, you're allowed to just walk away. Your flesh and bones are probably more valuable than roughly 13,000 in loose bills and a bit of street cred."

Regardless of her expressed sentiment, she immediately set about arming herself with a buncha shit to throw or bash with. A thick plastic recycling bin (unfortunately empty) was snatched from the curb, along with a blue mailbox being wrenched out of the concrete of the sidewalk.

"Aw come on, don't go littering now!"

Striker flew up, flying in seemingly erratic patterns that would throw Scorn's aim off. Or actually...

"My flesh and bones are...relatively replaceable. I stand to lose more fleeing. And, it's not in me to give up. That's not Neptune Striker, that's not me. That was me, but not anymore!"

He holds still, hoping to catch one of the objects she throws at him.

"Hm. I can respect your resolve, but my remaining intact bones would've preferred it if you just Hit The Bricks." Scorn stated, voice lacking much of the annoyance she felt. None of her hands were idle. five of them gripping the collection of weaponizable junk she had collected (1x Rear Vehicle Door, 1x Piece of Vehicle Roof, 1x Empty Recycling Bin, 1x Derelict Mailbox {thankfully empty, so she can avoid the wrath of the Postal Inspection Service}, and ~2.8 pounds worth of asphalt particulate.)

The first thing she flung was the disc of scrapped roof metal, ideally occupying Neptune's attention with the Roof Frisbee while her eye revealed herself a bit more and most of her hands braced themselves against the ground. With the most fucked-up looking handspring possible, she flung herself onto the roof, her arms scrambling to nyoom himself at Neptune. A second leap flung herself at Neptune (now that she had a bit of a height advantage), hurling a fistful of Asphalt Particulate at his face before attempting to bodyslam the fella.

Striker was prepped to catch one object. It's practically the reason why he stood still. One arm outstretched, his blue mechanical one, he captured the roof frisbee which got him to reel back while he was in flight. A cool shield, this would have to-...

His eyes darted around to track Scorn. She was missing. An asphalt particulate knocked his head before he realised what direction she was headed towards. Him.

Instinct screamed at him to put the shield up, which he did, and was immediately met by what felt like a truck violently colliding into him. He pushed back using every ounce of his simmering super strength. He felt his feet claw into the concrete as he pushed back, creating a small crater upon impact.

That's what it took to give in. His grip on his roof shield loosened and he fell on his back, rolling away several feet until he crashed into the side of the van he was trying to protect, leaving a dent in the progress. He attempted to get back up, gritting his teeth, whilst adopting a wobbly boxing stance.

He fell on all fours as his cape gracefully draped over his shoulder. Light-blue wisps simmered out of his body, making him 30% less muscular than he was in his powered form.

Shit.

His arms and legs collapsed under him, leaving him prone. One meagre hand still attempted to force himself to get back up. But it was futile. He was done.

Scorn did indeed have similar mass to a truck, and her car door-first bodyslam was appropriately devastating. The ball of sturdy arms and spindly fingers landed in a mild heap on the pavement, gathering itself back to its 'legs' via a lengthy and undignified process.

Her central eye blinked and swept over where Neptune lay, looking confused and infuriated. "This was a pointless use of ten minutes and eleven bones. Your dogma will be your death, in the fullness of time." she tonelessly proclaims, setting down the various junk she had gathered. The completion of her objective made her suddenly aware of how much everything fucking hurt, a white-hot aura of pain settling over her shattered forearm as a various medley of aches seeped into her muscles. Yet she wouldn't make it home to stash her bags without the mobility of this form, so suffer she must.

"Farewell. May we never meet again." she stated, Hitting Da Bricks.

"...wait"

Striker, Karl, dug his nails into the asphalt as he tried to weakly claw his way towards Scorn. No point there though.

But, the creatures words rung to him. Death. Always at his doorstep. With thirteen years in this godforsaken career, he always wondered when he would bite the dust. What would it take to finally give in and go to the other side.

He figured that it was going to eventually come for him. There was no growing old for Karl.

Atleast if he went out, he hoped to make the lives of as many people as possible better.

He smiled.

The sounds of sirens wailing in the distance got clearer and clearer. Karl took his moment to collapse and sleep.