We're do for a hero

"Three, two, one." Kent said under his breath, as he flipped off the wall. He was in some old warehouse where some low level supervillain was plotting some ridiculous plot to take over the world. Kent needed to get the details, but it could wait till he finished kicking these goons asses.
"So what's it feel like to be in the employ of one of New York's least threatening villains?" Kent said as he planted a boot firmly in the back of a nameless thug. He then did a spin in the air. He could hear them yelling and screaming to kill him. One of them drew a gun, and a potted plant by his foot became a projectile to knock it out of the man's hand. "Does the Henchmen business have good health insurance?" He fired away again, like a true reporter. Four of them came at him at once. "I'll take that as a yes." He said, effortlessly knocking them down to size.

Kent hated dealing with low level villains, but he needed to get in at crime of all levels to see what the heroes of those levels were doing as well. With the tip offs that were given on this little warehouse, Kent was actually quite surprised that he was the only person there as of yet. He did several backflips until he sat on a chair off in the corner. He then did a backflip while on the chair and sent it flying at two henchmen. "Seven Ten Split." Kent then checked his watch, and looked at the door.

"I think we're do for a hero in three, two, one."

Why was this night going so horribly. First the dry cleaners lost his favorite blue tie, then his hat blew away in the wind, and now he was getting a call that some hero was throwing a wrench into one of his master plans. He took a cab to about a block away from the old warehouse and stalked towards it, his cane clicking against the pavement. He checked his reflection in a window, noting that he looked sharp in his suit, even if he was short a tie and a hat.

As he neared the warehouse he shook his head, still disappointed in this low level villain. He was more of an investment than anything, Will had used his connections and abilities to help get this guy where he was, and now he was getting his ass kicked. He walked up to the door of the warehouse and threw it open.

He looked the hero dead in the eye, and smiled.

"You are making things very difficult for me, kid." he said with a chuckle, pointing the cane at him.

There was an awful lot of noise coming from one of the warehouses in a more shady area of New York, New york. As was standing on the roof of a building not far off but his heightened hearing could make out a lot of crashing and thumping noises. He hopped gently to the roof of the warehouse and tried to find an opening to figure out what was going on. Then closer he got the more clearly he could hear some man yelling questions/banter at some low-level thugs. 'huh, that guy could probably use some help.' He thought to himself especially when a rather menacing man came into the picture.
He decided to wait to see what this obvious Crime instigator had to say.

"I'm wrong? Wait... I'm never wrong." Kent just sighed as he finished off the henchmen on him with a couple swift kicks to the... well that's not important. Kent then hooked a nearby table with his foot and sent it flying at the low-level villain, KOing him. Kent dusted off his dirty clothing and pulled out a recording device from his pocket. He then held it outstretched to the man who had just entered. Kent was never wrong. Never.

"Kent Journey, Journey to the Truth. Perhaps you've heard of me? I'm doing some investigative reporting, who are you and what is your connection to... I didn't even get his name." Kent looked back at the villain in his black and green tights with his stupid little gadgets that barely worked. He was sure that the thugs themselves were wondering how some guy in jeans and a jean jacket kicked their asses with little effort. He smiled at that thought. "Are you a hero, if not, why did no heroes respond to this poor excuse for villainy.. Wait, answered my own question. I'll cut that out in editing."

Reporters. Will hated reporters. They were nosy and never left people like him alone. He wanted a story? He'd give him the story of his life. "It's pathetic what the world will accept as a hero these days." he said as he began to conjure an illusion, "Back in my day, only the truly powerful even dared to expose themselves. Back when we were worshipped as Gods." A thick fog started to rise up from the ground, as Will looked around deciding what the room needed to defeat this kid easily, "Now, anyone with even the slightest abilities can call themselves "Super."" he laughed as a few tables and chairs appeared arround the room, he hoped to throw his mobile enemy off a bit.

"So you wish to test yourself against the Magic Man?" he said, spreading his arms out wide. "Come and get me."

As the 'hero' he'd thought was in trouble easily managed to deafeat the men he was fighting Blaster started to debate letting the man know he was here. Especially after he started to 'interveiw' what was clearly a villian. 'They're both nuts!' Johnny thought. 'He can handle it himself. I'm out.' He would remember to avoid the reporter if saw him again. Then he quietly launched off the roof and left the two to duke it out.

Kent scoffed a bit and slid his recorder back into his pocket. Curious, he didn't turn it off. His eyes never left the man who was taunting him. Kent put his hands behind his head and smiled. His attention briefly catching to a sound on the roof of the building. "Seems my salvation has left me. Figured, all heroes in this town are the same. There's no glory in a little takedown like this, so it's not worth it." Kent sighed a bit as the man referred to him as a hero.

"First off, while many call me otherwise. I am NOT a hero, nor am I a reporter. I am a Journalist. Also a talking head... okay, I guess am I a bit of a reporter, but that's not the point. I don't to these petty crimes to stop them, quite the contrary, I want to see them in progress. I come to wait to see how a hero will deal with the situation. Now, just because villains don't like me sitting around, I normally end up getting into fights... Like what you are offering, for example." Kent bantered a bit. He then watched as the tables as chairs appeared around him. Kent was intelligent and knew how to put puzzle pieces together in his head.

"I don't really want to fight, I just want an interview... But if you insist on making me work for it let's analyze the situation shall we? Let's start with your strengths and weaknesses. First off, Magic Man, Magic. The word Magic implies mystical origin, yet few self respecting sorcerer's would refer to themselves as Magicians, and by calling oneself magic man you are implying just that. So in this pretext, Magic implies slight of hand, though what you have just done is no slight of hand, so I must imply illusory pretexts. Am I correct?" He grabs a penny from his pocket and flicks it through one of the illusory tables. He waits for the result before he attempts to continue his verbal analysis of the situation

This guy did not shut up ever. He wanted to just reach over there and slit his throat, cut his tongue out and feed it to him. This guy didn't want a fight? Well, that was just too bad, he is going to get one. He gave him a mischievious grin as he threw the penny, he wasn't an imbecile.

He cloaked the penny with his illusion, simultaneously making an illusory penny, that appeared to hit the table and bounce off, the real penny still cloaked and hitting the floor, under the thick fog.

"My turn," he said, "I am older than you can imagine, with hundreds of years of experience in gypsy magic. You are a young kid, in over his head, messing with things you can not comprehend. I am the champion of the gypsies; you are the second-rate reporter, your show is even worth watching, you're just another pretty face."

Clink Ah, the sound of a penny hitting the concrete floors here. Luckily, Kent listened with all senses, but he'd let his opponent think he had the upper hand. Kent, though, didn't even acknowledge the penny as he continued with his evaluation of the situation.

"Where was I? Oh yes, my analysis of you. Next off, stereotypical villain. Hopes by bragging about his stripes, he can intimidate the hero, which I must repeat in this scenario is not me, into backing down. Now next we have reliance on power and own personal ability. Which reminds me of a rather interesting side note. Have you ever heard of an offshoot of Shoalin Kung Fu known as The Way of the Empty Hand?" Kent began backtracking between the illusions as if he believed they were there. He then sat down in an actual chair that had been there before the fight, situated between a pushed over supply cart, and a few pieces of machinery.

"It's a great style, being able to take any ordinary object the monk can get his hands on, and making it as deadly as a steel sword. I heard about the style, when I spent about six months at a Shaolin temple. I begged the monks to teach me, but they said I wasn't ready. Imagine that." Kent then snapped his fingers as if having forgotten something.

Kent then threw his hands back behind his head. tilting his chair back slightly. "Okay, sorry, Went on an unrelated tangent there. I know I'm wasting your time, and I'm sorry. Now, let's see, assuming you showed up promptly at the end of my fight and.. oh excuse me." He picked up a dropped baseball bat with his foot and with his hand used it as a projectile knocking out one of the henchmen who was coming to. "As I was saying, You are mastermind behind this project, now you look like a man who prefers action to talking which is precisely the point. I bet you want to rip my throat out right now, but you also strike me as a gentlemen, waiting for me to finish my rambling before you do so. I hope I've accurately judged my opponent, but now that I've taken ample time to set up my advantage and talk my way into the agitation of my newly defined nemesis, shall we play? You can tell me about your plan as you attempt to beat me, knock me out, kill me, or whatever it is you intend to do." Kent still sat there, with this horrible grin on his face, leaning back in his chair, yet to the trained eye, he was ready to counter the next attack coming his way.

Will smiled, he had not failed to mask the sound of the penny hitting the floor, everything was merely his plan. He noticed Kent still acting as if the Illusions were real, this would serve a greater purpose down the road, he listened as he digressed even more.

"The Way of the Empty hand, very good, turning the room into a weapon." Will said, "I just got back from seven years in Tibet, didn't learn that, but learned a very different art form. Are you familiar with Aikido?"

Will smiled as he leaned agains the wall, the fog thickening around him. "A form where the purpose is not to counter your opponent's weapons, but to use them for your own purpose. If a man uses a sword against a master of Aikido, he will be slain by the same sword, for example. It is a very tricky art form, one that requires trickery, deceit and manipulation." The fog thickened even more, clouding Kent's vision, but what he would see is the shadow of the Illusionist standing where he had leaned against the wall, while multiple shadows flitted about the room, none of the shadows actually belonging to the Illusionist, who was making his way to Kent, cloaking himself and the sound of him, making it sound as if he were still standing against the wall.

He wound up behind Kent, with his cane sword unsheathed, inches away from the back of his neck. "You are not wrong on many things though, but one of them you are wrong is that I will tell you anything." He swung at Kent's neck, attempting to sever his head from his shoulders.

Tragic flew through the air, loving the feeling of the breeze in his face. He had been flying for hours now, almost a day, and had finally made it into America. He had heard about this place, hearing the stories of superheroes and villains that ran rampant throughout the cities. However, once arriving he felt sort of disappointed as many of these so-called heroes and villains weren't as strong as they led him to believe. He was bored, and fighting random thugs, civilians, and anyone else willing to put up a fight didn't help cure his boredom either. He needed a challenge, it was like an addiction he couldn't recover from. The thrill and adrenaline of combat, and the exhilarating feeling received from winning made Tragic feel drunk with power that he fed off of.

Arriving in New York City, he was amazed at the destruction here. Seeing the drieriness and disaster however made Cassidy feel hopeful, as he believed if someone had done something like this - they must've been very powerful. He needed to find somebody powerful, somebody who could be an equal challenge and push him to become a better fighter. He descended, landing slowly on top of an abandoned broken down roof and that's when he caught sight of something amazing.

In the next building, Tragic saw two men engaging in combat or at least something that appeared as one. One man was leaning against a wall, while another was fighting some dude from a chair. Watching them, Tragic realized that the man on the wall was somehow creating whatever was attacking the man in the chair. Tragic watched the man in the chair, listening to him, enjoying his endless rambles as if he was commentary to a high profile fight. As he saw, Tragic noticed the lighting within the building was changing but could not understand why. Before he could figure this out, the man doing the weird illusions had appeared behind the man in the seat holding a sword. A smile appeared on Tragic's face seeing how skilled both men were, but he felt a sense of sadness thinking that the fight was already over.

As the fog came up, Kent closed his eyes. Eyesight was useless here. Then he stopped listening. Hearing was also useless he figured. He'd have to rely on his last two senses, plus his amazing brain power to put the situation into perspective. He shouldn't sit still. Just as this thought passed him, he felt a chill at the back of his neck, as if something cold was hanging near it. A quick dodge to the left and he felt something rip through the collar of his denim jacket. He slipped out of the jacket quickly and without a sound, wrapping the jacket around the blade. He attempted a yank to disarm the man.

"Clever, cowardly concealing the room instead of letting real skill determine your power. Very well, if we are playing with coy illusions and trickeries, I shall enter the game as well.. Now where was that lightswitch." Kent really didn't even need to ask. He was at the wall before a word could be said, and the lights were out. There was only a small bit of light shining in the building, the rest was quite dark. He knew the illusionist could use this to his advantage, but Kent had one trick up his sleeve that he knew his opponent had not considered.

His hand near the lightswitch, he tapped on the wall. Thud, Thud, Thunk. He'd found what he was looking for. Lighting up a cigarette, Kent stood at the wall. Waiting. He then pulled from his jacket two tape recorders. He placed them on the floor and with his knowledge of the room in complete thanks to his environmental analysis, slid them to the farest corners of the room.

"You can't see me now." One voice emitted from one corner.

"Or am I over here? This is way too easy. You should consider another career, like Hotdog vending."

The voices mocked. The tape recorders were for later, however. Kent had really hoped the man would come straight for his lit cigarette. If that were the case, a lethal surprise would be waiting for him.

Will had hoped it would be as easy as beheading the young reporter, but he knew it wouldn't be that easy. He was expecting a counter, especially from someone who used the Way of the Open Hand. The jacket was a slight surprise however, but it didn't matter, as Will dropped into a defensive fencing stance, slicing through the jacket.

Before he could respond however, the light went out. Will swore under his breath, but started to scan the room, trying to decipher where Kent was using the low light. He saw the lit cigarrete, and heard the two voices mocking him, but will was a master of illusion and trickery and knew the difference between a recorded voice and a real one. He smiled and changed the two recordings, calling an illusion that was one of his favorites, especially since he was practicing Aikido.

"You call this coy?" one of the recordings called out in Kent's voice, "You don't stand a chance." said the other, "It's no wonder you can't find a real job." said the first, "Or a girl," said the other.

Will threw his voice, making it sound as a whisper in Kent's ear. "You see boy," it said, "you really don't stand a chance against someone of my caliber."

An illusion of Will stalked toward Kent, sword in hand, and as it got close enough, swung at Kent.

Kent just smoking his cigarette. It was dark, too dark for anyone to really see. Kent saw a feint figure skulking toward him. He saw the shimmer of the blade. He drew a puff of his smoke and let it fly toward the illusion. Kent had stopped relying on his two main senses. He needed to cut it close in order to fight the Illusionist, definitely giving his opponent the edge, however his opponent was obviously used to his opponents relying on the two senses, sight and hearing, in order to battle him. This gave Kent a slight edge that would only last a short while. He knew this, he had to keep creating a new edge at each passing moment.

"Going to insult me? I'm Kent Journey. I'm handsome, rich, and can have any woman I want. I create jobs. Ever been to the Journey Cafe? I have ten world wide locations. As well as Journey Enterprises, and a few other small startup businesses." Kent then stopped himself. "Right, Stop bragging Kent. Continue analysis." Kent saw the figure swing. Right, nothing, Kent didn't move as the blade passed right through him. He was waiting for the follow up strike. He knew there was a follow up strike.

"I gotta say, I'm disappointed I don't have any backup. Honestly, but let's evaluate your methods. Cowardly, deception as a method. I mean, sure, I've been known to use deception to my advantage time and time again, but never to this degree. So, what are you afraid of? What happened to you? You harbor more fear than the illusions you control." Kent reached in his pocket and pulled out his tape recorder, turning it off. "Off the record, I would expect so much from a Gypsy. But that is off the record." He then flipped the tape recorder back on. He had to piss this guy off, but he couldn't risk offending anyone. He didn't want to issue another public apology.