City of Angels

Los Angeles. The city of stars. The birthplace of American cinema. The place underpaid waitresses and secretaries dream of being in, under flashing bulbs and cameras.

L Fucking A, the biggest cesspool of the Pacific Coast.

How had he even ended up here? He had drifted for a while in the midwest, never staying in one place too long, before the road lead him to the coast. Following it, he ended up in the stinking, hot, crowded city. He didn't even mean to come here. In fact, if you told him two years ago that he would be stalking the back alleys of L.A., a mask in one pocket and a loaded revolver in the other, he would have told you that you were crazy.

Oh, how quickly things could change.

Maybe it was a coincidence he way here. Maybe, like Rome, all roads lead to Los Angeles. Maybe his instincts told him to go for the coast. Or maybe he was looking for trouble. Lord knew he shouldn't even be there. He should just go back to his shitty bachelor room, and go to sleep. But the streets called him, like an old, but friendly lover. She whispered her pleas of help to him, telling him to rid her of the vermin and insects that scrawled upon her skin. The unjust, the wicked, the crooks. He would find them. The thought curled his mouth into a twisted grin.

Fetteralf, you are one fucked up individual, he thought.

Fucked up, but right

Looking around, he made sure nobody was watching. He ducked into a narrow alcove. He dug into his pocket, fishing out the mask he hid behind. He felt like a coward, wearing a mask. But it was better than the alternative. He slipped it over his face, before emerging from the alcove, continuing his walk.

He had not ended a single life since coming to Los Angeles. Yet the news reports the sick crimes as if it were entertainment. Other people's misery on display for the viewers to sigh in relief, thanking that their life isn't as bad. Saul couldn't blame them for the thought, but it still sickened him. Tonight, he would not rest until a criminal is gone from the face of the Earth.

Tonight, it's time to hunt.

Zalmon stood atop the building, his arms held together behind his back and standing up straight. He looked at his men in front of him, each one individually, before he began walking from side to side. "My loyal men, I am sure you are all certain why I brought you here tonight." He stopped and turned his body towards them. "Why you will look through the streets of the disgusting city, searching for anything that peaks your interest. Anything that would be useful. We do it because we need abnormals." He brought his hand forward, his fist clenched. "People with extraordinary skill, with super powers, with high intellect..." He turned around and pointed his arm out, his palm opening. "Out there, in these crime-filled streets, are Vigilantes and Mercenaries. Villains and Heroes. Each with something to bring to the table." He looked back at his men. "Take notes on anyone you find of interest, now go." With that his men took off into the night. Each of them loyal to him, each of them normal men... They had uses. He would protect them for that. Though ten of them wouldn't be as good as one of him, it was time for him to do the job he had given them as well. A leader leads his men, working as hard as they do if not harder. That was what these men appriciated, and that was what he would give them.

They were so easily manipulated. Though he couldn't help but like them. Obidient, unquestioning... Willing to lay down their lives at his word. Many of them had nothing to live for, mercenaries from various companies, but he had given them something to die for. A world under Zalmon's rule, a land of unity and order. A land where what his great mind thought could be created. Of course he didn't truly care about that. He just wanted to own more... Own everything. Own it all till nothing was left, and then sit on his throne and contemplate on what else he could do. He would probably let some rebel faction take over some places, just so he could feel the rush of getting them back again. Clawing more for himself. It wasn't so much what he was getting, so much as he was actually getting something. He smiled as he cracked his neck from side to side before looking down at the mask in his hand. He put it on his face and brought his hood up, completely concealing him. Not a cell of skin could be seen, not a tiny speck... It was a good disguise because of that fact. If someone saw his face they might recognize him. This would be especially important for his later plans... One did not just take over from the shadows, after all... The more fronts you fight upon, them more you stand to gain.

He walked up to the edge of the building and looked down at a man with a mask upon his face. A vigilante? Most likely. Zalmon fired his Grapple Wrist at the edge of the building and jumped off, making it slow his descent. He landed looking at the man, a smirk growing underneath his mask. "Hello there, scum... I see you're one of those who misguidedly thinks they are a judge of man. How pathetic your kind are." He said, his charismatic voice dripping with glee at the thought of taring this vigilante apart with his words.

It had been a full hour since he had put his mask on, and he hadn't seen a thing. Rats never take holidays. He supposed that maybe they were in hiding. There was a fair amount of supers in LA. Where he came from, there was none he knew of. Well, he didn't know much of any of them. He rarely paid notice to them. They could uphold their ideals all they want.

Suddenly, he heard a sound. A figure descended from a building on some kind of grapple. He shot a hand into his inner pocket, clutching at the handle of the gun, ready to whip it out at a moment's notice. However, he allowed the man to speak. He was masked, as well. How unusual. Was this man like him? Or perhaps even a super hero?

No, the manner of his speech. It was refined, but... venomous. It was obvious this man was on a completely different level than the chaff he would strike down before. However, he wanted to find out more about this strange figure.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket, empty. He straightened his back, at least trying to look more imposing. "What is it to you? If you're not like the men I hunt, what have you to fear?"

He had to be careful with this one. Who knew what kind of crazy thing this masked weirdo might do?

He did not see the irony in that.

Zalmon couldn't help but burst out in laughter at what the vigilante said, putting one hand on his head with the other on his stomach. What he said was just outstanding. "Me? Fear you? Ha! I wouldn't fear you, not in a million years. What could you do to make me be afraid? Smarter, stronger men have tried before you and failed. It wouldn't be a boast to say that it would be impossible for you to even make me flinch." He stood up straight, his arms crossed in front of him with his right finger impatiently tapping his arm, his eyes scanning the man with the aid of his mask. This person wasn't abnormally strong, that much he could tell, and he didn't seem to be anything special for all that he could tell. Though he knew there were things that neither his eyes or mask could pick up, it wouldn't be wise to underestimate him. Though his words made him sound arrogant Zalmon was most certainly more cautious.

"But it is to me? I'll tell you..." He walked up to the man slowly, each step slow and almost silent. "I am The Observer. I... Do exactly my namesake, and more. I look for talent to help me steal. To help me control. To help me get more powerful," He stopped his approach, a few feet away from the man in front of him. "Though something tells me I'm looking in the wrong place. You don't look nearly useful enough to help me." He looked up briefly at one of his men, who was looking down. He shook his head, saying that he needed no assistance, and the man was off again. Zalmon looked back at the vigilante. "No... To me this is entertainment. You petty men amuse me, so dance for me jester."

This guy sounded worse and worse by the minute. As he stepped towards him, he explained who he was and what it was he did. Every conceited word seemed to Saul as if it oozed malice. This controlling man was much more than he had ever encountered before. He was obviously much more physically fit, and, he could admit, much more intelligent.

He didn't waver, though. He held his ground. The man was only a few feet from him. God, if he wanted to, he could just reach out and strangle him, if he knew he would succeed. If course, he wouldn't. He did, however, let him finish his long-winded speech before putting his hand into his inner pocket again. He gave a snort, and said with much more conviction than he felt, "Where in God's name did you get the idea that I ever wanted to help you? All of you are the same. Who cares if you're more smart, or you got cool gadgets. You're all black inside. Black and evil."

He pulled out the revolver, but did not brandish it. He simply held it in his hand. The cool handle was a comfort. As if an old friend was close by. HE didn't know anything about this masked Observer. Under that cloak, he might have kevlar, or even something more. But the gun made him feel more secure, confident, even if he didn't have a chance of winning. He refused to show fear to the man opposite of himself.

Zalmon didn't like this man, especially after he pulled out the gun. Horrible thing, made it easy for anyone to kill anyone. He had only given his men them for intimidation purposes, and to retaliate against anyone who tried to shoot them. Or used any kind of lethal force. Even then he told them to avoid killshots, if it were at all possible. Though he knew eventually blood would be spilt, what mattered to him was that when he was forced to spill some that it would be the last resort. Or in revenge for his own men's blood spilt. To spill for any other reason was something he did not want to do, would never do if he got his way. If he could go forward to see a self that would do that, he would kill himself with his own hands.

Ah, there he was again lost in his own thought. Thinking about the future when he should be focusing on the now. He really needed to stop doing that, it could be his fall one day. Well he could do it here, this man didn't seem to be any threat to him. Even with that pathetic little gun, he had ways to make sure he wouldn't get hurt.

When he called his black and evil Zalmon chuckled at him. Wow. How naive of him, how hypocritical, how absolutely stupid. Many a people had said things similar, but that was just bare-faced idiocy. "You conceited little shit. Me, black? Evil? You couldn't be further from the truth. I even have evidence, you're holding it right now." He pointed at the gun, without moving the most of his arm. "That weapon there, I would never use that. They're petty, disgusting, misused and wrong. Guns are the medium used for killing, they make it something that even a man like you can do. I bet you take killing lightly. You're more 'black and evil' then me. I am more... Grey. Yes. I am grey inside."

Zalmon raised his arm to point at the vigilante. "I bet you would love to shoot me right now, take away my life. Go ahead. Take the easy way out. Solve the problem by shooting at it till it goes away. Typical great American problem-solving. You look down on me, I look down further at you. You're scum. I don't even want your help. I would never give you my money."

The man's holier-than-thou attitude made Saul's anger flare up like a stoked fire. He didn't know him. He was just another pest, spreading his disease across the streets of this weeping city like a plague, destroying what he touches. A man like the mask one in front of himself, he could never forgive.

"I take killing lightly? Quite the opposite. Death is the most ultimate and final justice. I take nothing more seriously than the justice I bring down on the disgusting vermin that stalk these streets, that make it unsafe to walk at night. And the only thing I hate more than that, are conceited megalomaniacs. You try to justify your actions, but you're no better than me."

He pointed the gun at the man, slipping his finger onto the trigger, "I know my heart is black, but evil is far from it. It truly baffles me why you even approached me, if you didn't want my help. Shouldn't a man of your superiority be out finding scum like you, who are more 'worthy' than myself?"

Zalmon grit his teeth slowly as he stared at the man. "No, the fact you kill at all shows you take it lightly. Your twisted sense of justice is all you need to go out and kill, to point that thing at me. When I am in power I will make sure men like you are punished properly." He lowered his hand to his side again, looking at the gun carefully. He seemed to be concentrating on it with anger in his eyes, pure hatred, though his body language itself was calmer. Seeing it pointed at him reminded him of his father, the day Zalmon took over the company. The man tried to kill him, and nearly killed one of his own men in the process. The thought made him angry, sick to his stomach, and his fists began to slowly clench. "Pointing that thing at me was a mistake, you've given me all the reason I need to make a move before you do. I even hate fighting..." He said, warning the vigilante about what was soon to come.

It happened in an instant, a large push came from Zalmon's KFG that would easily make the man before him stumble. With a quick movement he took a step forward, sliding his foot along the ground, and grabbed the pistol. He attempted to use the forward momentum to push the weapon up and hit the man on the forehead before, using any confusion he had caused in his previous actions, rip the gun away from the man's hand. "I am much greater then you, pathetic little man. You're so ignorant to my words you've forced my hand this day!" If these actions succeeded he would then throw the gun behind himself, making it hard for the man to retrieve his gun.

Saul felt himself be shoved back by an unknown force, seeming to come from the man in front of him. He stumbled back, as his gun was grabbed. As a reaction, he let it go, avoiding any further attack that would be used against him. He landed flat on his behind, pain shooting from his tail bone. He grunted, sitting up. He looked up at the man as he tossed Saul's gun behind him. He glared at him, eyes burning behind the grinning devil mask.

"You are no greater than me. I never claimed to be great. You're nothing but a petty gnat, begging to be noticed in a world that cares not for you. I have at least accepted my role in the world. Maybe you should too, before you're put down. If not by me, than by one of your spandex-clad 'super heroes'. Nobody is invincible."

While saying this, he reached behind himself. All he found was a brick fragment, just able to fit in the palm of his hand. Once he finished his speech, he whipped the stone-like object at the masked Observer. If his distraction was successful, he would use the time to run past the man, to his gun.

The Observer raised his eyebrow as Saul fell backwards. This man was even more useless, even more pathetic then he first thought. He was pratically dirt beneath him, he felt like a child playing with grass fighting him. He tutted and shook his head. "Oh, you really are foolish. Where do you think I got the money? Theivery? No. I am known, though not with this mask on. At least, I am known greater then you are. You are the gnat, even worse for accepting your place. At least try to be something meaningful, giving up is just shameful. You disgrace the rest of the human race by doing so. Can't you see that? Are you so blind that you can't see the things that are staring you directly in the face? ... Tsk. I look down on you, insect."

Zalmon saw him reaching behind himself and he prepared himself, mentally. He didn't even show him the respect of moving in preperation, it was very likely that he would be able dodge anyway. When he swung the rock at him he turned his body to the side and moved his head backward rapidly, his superhuman reaction speed doing what it did best. He moved fluidly, perfectly, as if he had seen this all before. Quickly he dived to the ground and swung his foot at Saul's legs, attempting to trip him up before he managed to reach his disgusting weapon. No, it didn't have the right to be even called a weapon. It was just a disgusting... Thing.