Presence (PM me but otherwise OPEN)

Campeon had been working for good as well as he could for the last few weeks and he was beginning to hope that this night patrol would be kind to him in return. He had been burning the candles on both ends keeping clean the few neighborhoods that he had placed under his watch and were in his range of patrol. When he was finished dealing with the break in on 4th street there was a masked loon going by some ridiculous animal based name causing mischief on Jefferson. It was taxing in more ways than just physical for the young hero but it was well worth it. The more often he hits the streets, the more often he has to dive in front of a panicked thug's bullets the more he builds a name for himself the closer he gets to cleaning up this handful of boroughs. After a few weeks he realized he's not going to protect these people with only his fists. Despite them being a effective tool for stopping the robbery in progress they don't do much for the robbery that will happen a few weeks in the future.

For that, He needs presence, Just as his Abuelo had trained him in the ring to make the man in the other corner fear his fists, make him quake at the possibility of a counter-punch and make him stay down for the knock-down he would need to do the same on a larger scale. And thats where things become difficult, he cant just throw a few good body shots at the bell and eat a few hard rights, He would need to shut people down and show people he is not to be messed with. Which is hard. Very hard. All the many tank tops ruined the bullet holes can attest to that easily.

But he has been working to that, Now as he steps into the brisk New York evening (Not after picking up a empanada at the little stand run by the sympathetic old woman that could easily pass as anyone's grandmother) He starts his patrol. On foot. At street level. He had always thought he should do something a little more dramatic on his patrols. Like a grappling hook or something exciting like that. But his current method of walking about, distributing black-eyes and collecting weapons sure is effective.

Now after a few hours (and Empanada's) its close to midnight and he has a sackful of bent guns (that could easily pass as modern art) ready for donation at the local junk yard. He's now standing at a stoplight waiting to continue his patrol (What?! He's got to be a good role model)

Carlos leaned against the stoplight as a taxi rattled by, And then, someone called out to him. A rare occurance on his patrols but it happens every once in a while. Usually it consists of threats like "Oye Cabron!" or "Give me your bones punk!" but this "Hey! What are you doing?!" May have the same end result as those listed previously, A distribution of black-eyes and what ever else is necessarily. He rotated slowly with his hands raised to around chin height in the event anything went wrong but he was surprised to see whom was calling out to him.

A young woman in a costume that looks much better than his, an actual costume?! Carlos needs to get on the ball for this sort of thing. Walking around it street clothes i- Focus!
"I am headed to the ehh..Scrapyard. I need to..recycle these things. Would you care to see them?

He reaches into the sack slowly at retrives a long barreled revolver that had its barrel bent back on itself. He holds it out for a moment and then slowly bends over to slide it across the sidewalk

"I am very much hoping that you are not some cat-theme psychopath....I've had a good night."

Carlos was relieved to have finally met a fellow hero on patrol. It wasnt that he hadnt had company before, He had the normal group of psycopaths and robbers and novice super villain but this was different. He had finally met a fellow a hero and maybe someone who is much more legitimate than himself with the costume and all that, Heck she may even know other heros! That was a good reason for Carlos to continue his patrol with her....Plus he was really. Really lonely from walking around on his own and making modern art from deadly firearms. It was pretty fun and interesting but still kind of boring.

So he walks along with her quietly, he bent a few barrels into bow's as he walked to pass the time as he normally did on patrols, walking quietly as his companion was texting someone, He didnt mind much. Just glad he had company really. The only conversation that had been consistant for him was with the owner of the scrap yard and old woman who sold him empanada's. Now when she had him duck away to the shadows. That came as a surprise to him. He was agreeable, ducking down into the shadows with her. This was new to him. His method normally consisted of spotting, and disruption and the distribution of punches. He turned to her as she gave him the warning on the thugs, nodding occasionally before turning to watch the group himself. "Guns you say? That wouldn't be an issue..." He watched them for a few more moments, They were a rowdy bunch. Brandishing guns and the occasional person passing by and otherwise just drinking as they blared music from their car. Soon another car pulled up and the small group of goons grew larger and rowdier. Carlos narrowed his eyes and adjusted his cap. "I will deal with them. Do not worry."

He got up slowly as he walk towards the sizeable group of goons. As he walked across the street insults where thrown at him and the bandana that was tied around his face and well worn nature of the tank top that he wore. Didnt matter much to him. He just keep walking until one of them decided to approach him, pistol in hand. "Man, you best step off if ya know whats good.." The goon said as he brandished the pistol towards the chest of Carlos. Carlos glances down and grips the barrel of the pistol, crushing it as were made out of paper-mache. The goon panics and fires causing a small explosion in the hand of Carlos which causes him to release the firearm more out of surprise than pain. He responds my firing off a jab directly into the nose of the thug, causing a fountain of blood to spurt out and leaving the thug crumpled on the ground in pain. Carlos and the remaining thugs both leap into combat. Carlos steps into a pair of them, He gets a bullet in both of his sides but they stop once they pass through his Cotton undershirt, He in return throws a pair of body blows that leave both thugs on the ground, His eyes glance back to Tyuki as he were signaling her to join him

In a van nearby, several more thugs were lying in wait, one adjusting his sniper rifle.

"Who even is dis clown?" One of the men asked their leader. The leader wore a tan duster coat, and a black cowboy hat hung lazily over his eyes. This man was a hunter. His prey? Heroes. The hunter spoke.

"It don't matter to me. I'm getting payed good money to bag any meta that falls into the trap, and this big fella sure seems like he fits the bill to me. Once he feels secure, put one right between the eyes. less cleanup that way."

"What if it don't work?"

"That gun you have came straight from the top. Meta level tech. It'll work."

"Not without this it wont"

The chilling voice of Shadowraith reverberated through the car. A thin wire of shadow had pierced a hole in the bottom of the car, and a shadowoptic camera had entered. Reverberations of dark energy allowed Shadowraith to project his voice in the car from a distance, though not loud enough for the other heroes to hear.

From the small tendril of shadow in the car, Shadowraith severed the triggers of all guns in the car, then spoke again.

You make a sound, you die." Shadowraith covered the car in a latex tight coat of shadow. Scream, honk the horn, flash the lights, do ANYTHING that would draw attention and I will crush this car until the noise stops for good. Just sit back and watch for now. I don't want you to spoil this."

The combination of Campeon and Tyuki working together had dispatched the group of thugs with some modicum of efficiency defined by the fact that the thugs were unconscious much faster than Campeon would of been able to do if he were working on his lonesome. A man has only so many fists but yet there remain so many faces that require punching. So it was wonderful for him that he could speed up his routine a bit by working with someone else. Plus it allows him to be social! Which is a rare occurrence on these types of occasions, the most chatting he gets during patrol is the smattering of occasionally extremely creative explanative that get shouted at him (A few favorites being "Sweet Aunt Jemima!" or "Give me your bones punk!")

But working together was wonderful. All Campeon had left for himself was a pair of thugs, one brandishing a tire iron, the other with a with a pair of brass knuckles and a .38 Special tucked into his waist band. Campeon stood in front of them as he had finished knocking out their companions just waiting for one of them to step into his striking radius and it looks like the tire-iron thug will muster up the confidence to enter ring. He yelled a somewhat feeble yell as he swung the blunt implement overhead hoping to crash it down on Carlos’s head. Carlos slipped his head and steps forward putting his head next to the thug. Soon after Carlos’s right hand slammed into the face of the misguided youth sending him flying right into his companion with a groan as the pair fell unconscious.

Campeon turned to congratulate his companion on a job well done only to discover that his job wasn’t that well done. In fact. He had done a terrible job. The one person he was working with was shot! Its not normally a big deal for him, he gets shot all the time but it wasn’t all lethal and bloody as this. “Ay Dios Mio” He mumbled as his cap and pressed it with a great degree of force in hope of stopping the bleeding.

Campeon was shocked yet again. When he had thought he had encountered a relatively normal person (Normal being a person who dresses up at night in silly outfits to wail on criminal scum because of some sort of self satisfaction or moral obligation.) But now where there was a girl suffering from some sort of medical emergency (to be fair every time when any amount of blood was flowing without Campeon being ready for it it was a MEDICAL EMERGENCY for him.)

He was completely dumbstruck as she laughted at him, he just sorta stood there with his blood-stained beanie cap/ improvsised medical compress just in his hand pitter-pattering blood onto the pavement. He was shocked to see that somebody could go from the brink of death (As far he could tell atleast.) to being completely fine...it was ghastly, it was shocking it was Awesome! He was able to work with someone who has amazing powers and strength like him?! He eventually joined her in laughter. He was among the truly amazing now. He just couldnt help but grinning as he bent switchblades into pretzels and tire-irons into balloon animals "They- I mean. I. Call myself Campeon." He nodded as he listened to her suggestion. "Sounds like a plan Ms. Eclipse. I know a little stand that seems to be selling empandandita's at every possible hour." He wrung the blood out of his cap and stuffed into his pocket, smiling, although she couldn't tell because of his bandanna tied across his face she could probably see the little crinkle at the corner of his twinkling smiling eyes.

Campeon nodded and began to walk with his own sack of weapons slung over his shoulder. Tonight is definiatly a good night He thought to himself as he walked beside Tyuki. He nodded slightly as she mentioned her preferences in food. "Well, to be fair, Its Puerto-Rican food we're headed to." He motions to the flag bandana tied around the lower part of his face just so she had an idea of where he was talking about, for all of his time in NYC he had encountered quite a number of people that just simply didnt know about the little island or the fact that it is a territory."Oh, and Empanada's are like...little turnover things stuffed with ca-meat and..other stuff." He attempts to make a motion with his hand to illustrate how empanada's look but otherwise fails miserably. "....You'll get it when we get there."