12-28-2017, 02:57 PM
In retrospect, he was lucky that the area they had been in was closer to Wolfpack territory than to the Pyros, and lucky that these two had decided to simply head for the nearest big gang. He wasn't sure he had it in him to murder children, after all, no matter how criminal.
The Oni, the Ratfolk and the two human NSW goons lay sprawled across the ground. As was common of these sorts of people, they had chosen to meet in a back street, away from the prying eyes of the general public, out of sight of what little law there was in this tier.
That had been a mistake, of course, and not one that they would have the opportunity to learn from. After all, attacking them in a busier street would have drawn the local EPD to him like moths to a flame... yes, even in Tier Five, committing four counts of murder in front of dozens of witnesses was generally a bad idea.
It felt strange to him now, the necessity of this surreptitiousness, after having had the freedom to dispense justice wherever it was needed when working for the Empire. It was just something he would have to get used to, though. Up until he rejoined them, at least.
The Battle Rabbit finished cleaning the blood from his blade, having used as a cloth the coat of one of the Wolfpack goons he'd slain, then stood, flipping the katana around and casually sliding it back into its sheathe.
Without another glance at his victims, he turned and left, assured that he would have plenty of time to make his escape before anyone stumbled across them in this intentionally out-of-the-way area.
***
The three buildings loomed massive above him, their crumbling facades intimidating and ugly. This was, technically, the largest gang the two drug-dealers had known of – aside from the two Superpowers of Northside, of course – though in actuality it barely deserved to be called a gang at all.
Many of their members saw him coming, sitting or standing as they were in the shabby courtyard that stretched out between and in front of the slum tenements they called their home. To a man, they were a scrawny lot, clearly not the most well-fed of criminals... though if what he had been told was true, they barely even qualified as such. Though they did at least dress the part of common street thugs in their varied amalgamation of t-shirts, tank tops, hoodies, jeans and tracksuits, little different from the casual clothing he had seen most of the NSW goons wearing. The major distinctions were that this lot had no specific colours they tried to keep to, and that their clothes were clearly of lower quality, with some of them being so threadbare as to be practically falling apart.
As he closed in and many of them saw that he was headed for their turf, they began arming themselves... pathetically. Switchblades, kitchen knives, a couple had baseball bats... others had no weapons at all, only their fists, and the worst of it was, being the ones told to stand guard out here, this sorry lot were likely the best that this pitiful crew had to offer.
“Oi, what d'you want!?” a man with a crudely shaved head barked loudly the moment Hijiri stepped from the pavement of the street onto the cracked flagstones of their little curtilage. He was one of the only two carrying a bat, which presumably meant their either he was some sort of higher rank – explaining why he had been given a more effective weapon than one of those titchy knives – or perhaps just a guy who owned his own bat and thought that made him a big shot somehow...
Hell, for all Hijiri knew, maybe it did. Perhaps their gang's command structure was really so primitive that they simply obeyed whoever had the biggest weapon.
It was truly pitiful. Not a one of them had even pulled a gun on him.
Hijiri sighed, shaking his head, then tossed down his sheathed sword by the shouting man's feet, before reaching into his coat to withdraw his newly summoned weapon (created for the purpose fighting ranged opponents without having to exhaust himself dashing around all over the place); a gold-coloured Mark Nineteen fifty-calibre action express Desert Eagle pistol, which he also cast aside as though it were nothing.
He could have easily killed that guy instead... in fact, he likely could have murdered every single one of them, had he felt like it. Over the course of his time in the Omniverse, he had been gradually growing more and more accustomed to using his reduced powers in combat, though he wasn't yet quite to the point where he could feel as confident as he had back in his plane of origin... but that only applied when facing opponents armed with actual guns, rather than these little bats and knives. He was a skilled enough swordsman that against untrained, unfit sorts such as these, he would barely have needed to bother manipulating gravity, even if he hadn't had his nice new gun to help him out.
He wasn't surrendering to them because he needed to; he was doing it simply because he wanted to make a good first impression. Besides, even if they did decide to kill him, there was no way these losers had enough Omnilium – or Imperial Credits, or any other sort of currency – to afford a Banishment Circle. He had nothing to fear here. In the worst case scenario, he'd be forced to take a seven-day nap, before coming back here to punish them for their impudence.
Of course, he'd rather not have to resort to such methods; fear might be a good tool for controlling those beneath you whilst you held all the advantages, but if you wanted subordinates who wouldn't happily betray you in your time of need, it was far preferable to act in a way which would inspire true loyalty... not to mention, his business of investigating their humanity (or the lack thereof) would be made much easier if he could get on good terms with at least some of them.
“I want to join this gang.” he told them simply, not bothering making small talk. He spoke in a hoarse, rasping tone, figuring that they might accept this as being his actual voice. After all, given how much bloodied bandage he wore wrapped around his face and neck, it wouldn't exactly be a stretch to assume that he had acquired some sort of vocal chord injury. In actuality, the tone was simply another measure he was taking to reduce his odds of being recognised.
Yes, it was highly unlikely that anyone would have recognised him even if he hadn't gone to such lengths to hide his identity, but he figured he couldn't exactly be too careful; being uncovered as a member of the EPD whilst living and working amidst Coruscant's thriving criminal underworld would likely be a recipe for disaster. This lot might not have been able to afford to banish him, but some of the others out there sure could.
The man snorted dismissively in response to his statement. Whether because he was cynical enough to refuse to believe that a random stranger would suddenly show up to help them for no reason, or possibly because he was deluded enough to think that their pitiful excuse for a gang didn't actually need Hijiri's help.
It was unlikely to be the second, though, the Battle Rabbit had to admit. From what those drug dealers had told him about this bunch, he knew that most of their self-proclaimed 'gangsters' actually worked in sweatshops somewhere in the area, being paid barely enough to get by. Those that didn't either begged on the streets or sold their bodies as whores... the closest they came to running any proper criminal operations was occasionally mugging the odd lone individual in the streets.
Their lives were utter shit.
Which was exactly why he had chosen them, of course. He figured that people so low that even being at the bottom of the barrel would look like a step up to them would likely be pretty damn easy to impress, even if he didn't have as flashy Powers as some Primes.
“You don't seriously think we'd buy that, right? What is it you're really after?” a mumbled chorus of assenting statements echoed the bat-man's questions, as the gang members closed in.
“I'm a Prime. Newly summoned.” He kept his statements terse and to the point; it was all part of the act he was going for, the personality he was trying to project. Regardless of the brevity of his speech, those words had an effect on them. For a moment, something like unease or trepidation rippled through the crowd, as more than a few eyes were drawn back towards the weapons he had so casually tossed to the ground. Being a Prime would certainly be one explanation for him having access to high-quality gear, as well as for him being so willing to give it up; Primes could always just recreate anything they discarded, after all.
Of course, that alone was by no means proof of his statement. As the lead thug (if such a weedy guy could even be called such) clearly realised, “A Prime, are ya? Prove it then. Go on, summon something.”
Nodding once, Hijiri held out a hand, palm up, and watched as surprised flashed across the faces of these would-be criminals when the orb of Omnilium floated up from it, then began to expand...
It occurred to him that with the number of Secondaries in the Omniverse being so massively disproportionate to the amount of Primes, it was possible that many of these assembled had never even seen a Prime in passing... much less have had one actually stop to offer them help. It was no surprise that such a downtrodden group would be impressed by his Omni-given powers of creation.
The Oni, the Ratfolk and the two human NSW goons lay sprawled across the ground. As was common of these sorts of people, they had chosen to meet in a back street, away from the prying eyes of the general public, out of sight of what little law there was in this tier.
That had been a mistake, of course, and not one that they would have the opportunity to learn from. After all, attacking them in a busier street would have drawn the local EPD to him like moths to a flame... yes, even in Tier Five, committing four counts of murder in front of dozens of witnesses was generally a bad idea.
It felt strange to him now, the necessity of this surreptitiousness, after having had the freedom to dispense justice wherever it was needed when working for the Empire. It was just something he would have to get used to, though. Up until he rejoined them, at least.
The Battle Rabbit finished cleaning the blood from his blade, having used as a cloth the coat of one of the Wolfpack goons he'd slain, then stood, flipping the katana around and casually sliding it back into its sheathe.
Without another glance at his victims, he turned and left, assured that he would have plenty of time to make his escape before anyone stumbled across them in this intentionally out-of-the-way area.
***
The three buildings loomed massive above him, their crumbling facades intimidating and ugly. This was, technically, the largest gang the two drug-dealers had known of – aside from the two Superpowers of Northside, of course – though in actuality it barely deserved to be called a gang at all.
Many of their members saw him coming, sitting or standing as they were in the shabby courtyard that stretched out between and in front of the slum tenements they called their home. To a man, they were a scrawny lot, clearly not the most well-fed of criminals... though if what he had been told was true, they barely even qualified as such. Though they did at least dress the part of common street thugs in their varied amalgamation of t-shirts, tank tops, hoodies, jeans and tracksuits, little different from the casual clothing he had seen most of the NSW goons wearing. The major distinctions were that this lot had no specific colours they tried to keep to, and that their clothes were clearly of lower quality, with some of them being so threadbare as to be practically falling apart.
As he closed in and many of them saw that he was headed for their turf, they began arming themselves... pathetically. Switchblades, kitchen knives, a couple had baseball bats... others had no weapons at all, only their fists, and the worst of it was, being the ones told to stand guard out here, this sorry lot were likely the best that this pitiful crew had to offer.
“Oi, what d'you want!?” a man with a crudely shaved head barked loudly the moment Hijiri stepped from the pavement of the street onto the cracked flagstones of their little curtilage. He was one of the only two carrying a bat, which presumably meant their either he was some sort of higher rank – explaining why he had been given a more effective weapon than one of those titchy knives – or perhaps just a guy who owned his own bat and thought that made him a big shot somehow...
Hell, for all Hijiri knew, maybe it did. Perhaps their gang's command structure was really so primitive that they simply obeyed whoever had the biggest weapon.
It was truly pitiful. Not a one of them had even pulled a gun on him.
Hijiri sighed, shaking his head, then tossed down his sheathed sword by the shouting man's feet, before reaching into his coat to withdraw his newly summoned weapon (created for the purpose fighting ranged opponents without having to exhaust himself dashing around all over the place); a gold-coloured Mark Nineteen fifty-calibre action express Desert Eagle pistol, which he also cast aside as though it were nothing.
He could have easily killed that guy instead... in fact, he likely could have murdered every single one of them, had he felt like it. Over the course of his time in the Omniverse, he had been gradually growing more and more accustomed to using his reduced powers in combat, though he wasn't yet quite to the point where he could feel as confident as he had back in his plane of origin... but that only applied when facing opponents armed with actual guns, rather than these little bats and knives. He was a skilled enough swordsman that against untrained, unfit sorts such as these, he would barely have needed to bother manipulating gravity, even if he hadn't had his nice new gun to help him out.
He wasn't surrendering to them because he needed to; he was doing it simply because he wanted to make a good first impression. Besides, even if they did decide to kill him, there was no way these losers had enough Omnilium – or Imperial Credits, or any other sort of currency – to afford a Banishment Circle. He had nothing to fear here. In the worst case scenario, he'd be forced to take a seven-day nap, before coming back here to punish them for their impudence.
Of course, he'd rather not have to resort to such methods; fear might be a good tool for controlling those beneath you whilst you held all the advantages, but if you wanted subordinates who wouldn't happily betray you in your time of need, it was far preferable to act in a way which would inspire true loyalty... not to mention, his business of investigating their humanity (or the lack thereof) would be made much easier if he could get on good terms with at least some of them.
“I want to join this gang.” he told them simply, not bothering making small talk. He spoke in a hoarse, rasping tone, figuring that they might accept this as being his actual voice. After all, given how much bloodied bandage he wore wrapped around his face and neck, it wouldn't exactly be a stretch to assume that he had acquired some sort of vocal chord injury. In actuality, the tone was simply another measure he was taking to reduce his odds of being recognised.
Yes, it was highly unlikely that anyone would have recognised him even if he hadn't gone to such lengths to hide his identity, but he figured he couldn't exactly be too careful; being uncovered as a member of the EPD whilst living and working amidst Coruscant's thriving criminal underworld would likely be a recipe for disaster. This lot might not have been able to afford to banish him, but some of the others out there sure could.
The man snorted dismissively in response to his statement. Whether because he was cynical enough to refuse to believe that a random stranger would suddenly show up to help them for no reason, or possibly because he was deluded enough to think that their pitiful excuse for a gang didn't actually need Hijiri's help.
It was unlikely to be the second, though, the Battle Rabbit had to admit. From what those drug dealers had told him about this bunch, he knew that most of their self-proclaimed 'gangsters' actually worked in sweatshops somewhere in the area, being paid barely enough to get by. Those that didn't either begged on the streets or sold their bodies as whores... the closest they came to running any proper criminal operations was occasionally mugging the odd lone individual in the streets.
Their lives were utter shit.
Which was exactly why he had chosen them, of course. He figured that people so low that even being at the bottom of the barrel would look like a step up to them would likely be pretty damn easy to impress, even if he didn't have as flashy Powers as some Primes.
“You don't seriously think we'd buy that, right? What is it you're really after?” a mumbled chorus of assenting statements echoed the bat-man's questions, as the gang members closed in.
“I'm a Prime. Newly summoned.” He kept his statements terse and to the point; it was all part of the act he was going for, the personality he was trying to project. Regardless of the brevity of his speech, those words had an effect on them. For a moment, something like unease or trepidation rippled through the crowd, as more than a few eyes were drawn back towards the weapons he had so casually tossed to the ground. Being a Prime would certainly be one explanation for him having access to high-quality gear, as well as for him being so willing to give it up; Primes could always just recreate anything they discarded, after all.
Of course, that alone was by no means proof of his statement. As the lead thug (if such a weedy guy could even be called such) clearly realised, “A Prime, are ya? Prove it then. Go on, summon something.”
Nodding once, Hijiri held out a hand, palm up, and watched as surprised flashed across the faces of these would-be criminals when the orb of Omnilium floated up from it, then began to expand...
It occurred to him that with the number of Secondaries in the Omniverse being so massively disproportionate to the amount of Primes, it was possible that many of these assembled had never even seen a Prime in passing... much less have had one actually stop to offer them help. It was no surprise that such a downtrodden group would be impressed by his Omni-given powers of creation.
![[Image: Hijiri_Name_Sig.png]](https://image.ibb.co/k1H7Hd/Hijiri_Name_Sig.png)