No Rest for the Wicked

The hot LA sun beat down on Scott as he made his way around the city. It was days like this that made him thankful for the heat resistant suit. Not only did it keep him from burning himself at top speeds but it also kept him cool during the hot summers. It's materials were one of the multitude of things he had stolen from nearby airbases. He felt no guilt for his crimes, after all they were necessary. This city and the world itself was full of filth, he could feel it. From bloody and brutal experience he knew what the world was capable of, and it made him sick every time he thought about it. To know the things people could do, the things he HAD done, were the reason he started his one man assault on evil. In Scott's mind, few others were capable of doing what was necessary, not right, but necessary. There were heroes in the world sure, in fact it was filled with them, but he was not a hero. Too much blood and pain had been sewn by his hands. Instead he considered himself a sin-eater, a man capable of bringing down the evil in the world by forcing it on himself. He would steal, intimidate, harm even murder what the world would call "innocents" as long as it meant the good of society as a whole.

And that mission against the vile tendencies of man is what brought Scott to one of recent sites of arson in the city. A high class bank in one of the more snobby parts of town had recently been charred to a fine crisp. Almost nothing stood of the once impressive architecture. As Scott looked upon the foundation, he noticed a small white object shining a harsh contrast against the cinders and ashes. The firefighters and cops were still on scene, trying to make heads or tails of the arson. A midst the chaos, Scott worked his way around the side of the building, avoiding the gaze of the authorities. They had a warrant out for his arrest after his first attempt at crime-fighting, a venture which gave him the name he now goes by.

It took some careful maneuvering but Scott eventually made his way to the center of the ash and rubble. Even through his mask, bits of fine ash rose up and tried to choke his lungs. Not a terribly hard feat, considering the state of disrepair they were in. He began to cough violently as he knelt down on the stone floor, the heat from the fire still lingering on its surface. Leaned up against the remains of one of the counters was a white mask smudged from ash. Scott let out another cough, this time alerting a nearby policeman to his position. "Requesting backup requesting backup, fugitive Redline is on site" Scott heard the man speak and turned to look. the cop was no more than ten feet away and drawing his gun. "Fr..." was all he got out before Scott bolted from the area, kicking up a choking puff of ash in his wake.

Now at least a mile from the scene, Scott propped himself against the cold stone wall of the second floor of an underground parking garage. His suit was covered in ash and the black demon of a cloud he churned up had followed in his wake and was attempting to strangle his already inefficient lungs. His mask was doing its job sure, but the smoke coupled with exertion did not help. Slowly crumbling he fell to a knee, lifting a clawed hand to his mask. Through a wave of coughs and rasps he turned a small dial on the respirator, releasing a dose of medicine to the broken organs. Slowly but steadily his breathing changed from short rasps to a semi-regular pattern. Just like the cloud, his past was always catching up to him, reminding him of the evil in all men.

On the subject of evil, Scott looked down to the mask in his hand. The strong winds force of air from his trip from the bank had blown away all soot present on the mask. It now glared up at him with the devilish grin of a deranged clown. Obviously this was no accident and the people who did it took great enjoyment in harming others. Scott's mind began to race as he contemplated their motives. Many of the recent arson cases had been committed in some of the richest parts of town. Mostly banks were targeted, but a few homes hand been destroyed in the process. Whoever did this had some obsession with the rich, some fixation. Also there was the mask, a sign that this person or group of people wanted their actions known. Was their some purpose behind their actions, or was the string of crime merely the work of a madman who wanted quite literally to watch the world burn. Scott continued to contemplate, as he rested his lungs. Regardless of motive, these people needed to be stopped.

Grim looked over his handiwork somewhat proudly. It had gone exactly liked they planned. They bursted into the bank, forcing every single person inside to evacuate, before smashing the place up and torching it afterwards. There was not a single casualty and it had gone as smooth as silk. The bank's greed and deception was put to an end, as they had done more harm than good. They handed loans to those that obviously couldn't afford to compensate, and then they took their own homes away from them. But that was an easy job, baby stuff. Grim had already conducted multiple arsons with his gang in the rich parts of the city. But the next plan of action was going to put his gang on the map, then their cause would be taken seriously. It was an assault on Hollywood itself. They would attack a news station and take everyone hostage before relaying their message. After that, they would burn down that famed Hollywood sign that people cherished so much. He had it all planned out.

Grim jumped off the track that he was sitting on and addressed the group that would spearhead the attack. "We will show the people our true cause today! The police and government call us "arsonists" and "anarchists", but we are simply the voice of the helpless! They are the ones that oppress every single one of us! We will rise up and take down those that claim to protect the people, and expose their true colors! And if anyone tries to stop us? We'll keep fighting harder, until they don't the fucking resolve to fight back! NOW LET'S GIVE THEM A SHOW THEY'LL NEVER FORGET!". At that, the group charged off, and Grim quickly followed, donning his mask. This was going to change everything.

Scott continued to sit, staring intently at the mask. His lungs were finally starting to fully settle down an that let his head clear a little. Thinking back, he remembered seeing a similar mask another one of the crime scenes, placed in a similar area as well. In his mind, he tried to visualize a top down map of LA. It was rough but he knew his way around most of the city and could call forth a mediocre rendition of what it would look like. Next, he tried to remember the addresses of the banks hit during the crime spree. He hadn't been on every scene and only had vague approximations of where a few of the crimes were committed. But as the thoughts came together in his mind, Scott made a connection. These people were literally burning a path through the city. Every bank had been hit in an order progressing further north. They seemed to originate in one of the more run-down and abandoned parts of town and progressed through to the richest of the rich. Where are you going Scott thought trying to trace the burning trail through the city. Then it hit him, the destination for these pyromaniac nomads, Hollywood.

He shot up from his rested position on the wall, the white mask gripped tight in his hand. These people wanted a show and unless Scott could stop them, all of America would be the audience. In an instant he took off, not for the arsonists projected destination but for his home. Ducking in and out of alleyways he arrived home at his humble living space in one of the worst parts of town within minutes. He entered quickly, ensuring no one was watching beforehand. The inside was scattered, clothes and the like strewn about everywhere. Moving towards one of the drawers he flung it open. At first glance it merely contained a few assorted socks and underwear, but inside the false bottom were his canisters of medicine, kept hidden in case the authorities or otherwise were to investigate him. After removing it, Scott was struck with a less than desirable sight. He was now down to his last two canisters, each containing enough for about three doses. This wouldn't do, once he had dealt with the problem at hand, he would have to steal more.

Quickly he switched out the used up canisters at either side of his waist. They were small enough to be encased almost entirely in one closed hand and were nigh undetectable under his hoodie. He next reconnected the reinforced tubes linked into his mask to each canister. It was a relieving feeling, knowing he was stocked up on the life saving drugs. In a normal situation he would be fine without it, but the pressures he put his body through daily pushed his scarred lungs to the brink.Scott then searched around for a backpack among the clutter, eventually he found one. He would need it for his plan to find his mark. One quick check of all ten blades attached to his body and Scott was ready to go.

This time he exited the back of his small apartment, an entrance he had created himself. In a flash he was off and headed in the direction of what he hoped would be the arsonists on the move. Realizing he could not know for sure where they would hit next he decided it best to lay low ahead of their path of destruction, waiting for them to catch up with him. In a few minutes he was at his destination, a cafe on the outer limits of Hollywood. The place wasn't much, a few tables and chairs, a beat up old TV and one ornery man at the counter summed up its contents. Scott ducked into an alleyway before entering, again ensuring that no eyes were on him. Removing the backpack he emptied its contents, everyday clothes and his old oxygen tank. With his speed it took no time at all to change and load the Redline suit into the pack. Once dressed he exited the alley and entered the cafe as a feeble 45 year old aged and scarred beyond his years.

Ordering a coffee, Scott took a seat. He hated being out like this. "Scott Silver" was both a vile human and a feeble excuse for one, but at this time he was necessary. The Redline suit was less than stealthy but like this Scott was inconspicuous. Few people would suspect him of being a crime fighter and fewer still would realize his intent. THe cafe overlooked a good chunk of the entry to Hollywood and with Scott's slowed sense of time, he's spot anyone suspicious moving in that direction. The only thing he had left to do, was wait.

Grim and his gang were running through the streets yelling and shouting as if they were possessed by demons. They barreled their way through town and they smashed anything that was in their way, they couldn't afford to slow down. When they got to the main street, it turned some bozo had called the police on them due to their rather "enthusiastic" romp down the streets. As Grim heard the sirens, he had to suppress the urge to turn around and face them."Not...now". The gang scattered, going in different directions on the long stretch of road to shake the police off, taking down a couple cars before regrouping. Grim decided that enough was enough, and that he was going to give in to the urge. "No more running away!". As a car came charging towards him, Grim let out a torrent of flame, causing the car to spin out of control and crash into a lamp post. Another police car had attempted to stop, but it was too late and the spinning police car smashed right into it. Grim finally got a hold of himself, realizing that he couldn't take them all. He let out a another torrent of flames, though this one was directed to the ground, and made a suitable wall of fire to block the police cars.

Grim's gang finally made it to the news station. They burst into the building, screaming and shouting at whoever they came across to get out of the way, and beating down those that resisted. when they got to the broadcasting room, everyone inside started cowering in Grim's presence. This was where they would spread the message of their cause. His gang members forced the cameraman to keep on recording, and Grim stood in front of it to speak. "People of Los Angeles! The government has lied to you about our righteous cause, branding us criminals and terrorist! But we are much more than that. We are the voice of the helpless, those that the government don't even bother to protect! We intend to overthrow this corrupt government, and replace it with a more suitable regime! IT'S TIME FOR A REVOLUTION, AND YOU MUST LET YOUR VOICES BE HEARD!". Once the speech was over Grim and his gang quickly left the building. Next stop, the sign.

Scott continued his watch over the main road into Hollywood. His slowed perception of time allowing him to scan each and every person and vehicle as they got on to the ramp. As of yet there was nothing. he turned back to his coffee solemnly. Perhaps he had mistaken their motives, it was unlikely, but all things were possible. He didn't like the idea of being wrong about this though. It was his duty, his fate to protect the people and as long as this violent pyromaniac scum was on the streets, he was failing. His stomach churned at the thought.

Suddenly, the noise from the TV caught his attention. The background noise of the local news station had been interrupted. Standing now in direct center of the camera was a large black man. Over his face was a clown mask, the same kind Scott now had in his backpack. How had he missed them? How had they already gotten into Hollywood? not to mention hijack one of its new stations. Scott was furious. Not only had he not been able to find them, but now they were taunting him. he almost lost it then and there.

Without another thought he left the cafe, leaving what little money he had on him at the table. His Oxygen tank drug behind him as he hurried to the same alleyway he'd changed in early. In a fit he again swapped outfits, donning his skin, the Redline suit. Quickly he stuffed the filthy clothes of the horrid Scott Silver into his bag. As he did, his eyes fell upon the clown mask. Just as its cohort on the television, it seemed to mock him, grinning as though it had taken some victory from Scott. His anger boiled and he tossed the mas into the air, shredding it with his 8 inch claws. It was petty yes, but the thing was a symbol of these men.

And with that, a lightbulb clicked on in Scott's overactive head. "A Symbol..." He knew what to do. Taking off at top speeds he blazed a trail straight for the news station. His arrival took a minute at most and in that time he had to act fast. Pulling a sharpie from the backpack he wrote on the shredded mask in scribbled handwriting "DIE CLOWN". He wasn't one for theatrics but the mask would serve as a good distraction. next he set the mask in front of the door. To anyone exiting the building, it wold be in plain sight. For his final step, he backed himself up then took off up the side of the building, finding a good spot to perch on the roof above the door. Patiently he watched for the misfit thugs to exit the building. . At agonizing snail speed he watched the glass doors swing open as the first clown exited. As it took its first steps back into the daylight Scott acted, vaulting himself from his perch, his bladed right foot point dead center on the unfortunate clown.

As Grim and his gang burst through the doors they spotted a mask, sitting in front of the building with the words "DIE CLOWN" written on it. At first they were confused, who exactly would have gotten at their location so quickly. At that moment, something fell from the sky, crashing into one of the gang members, who was wearing a clown mask. Grim managed to get a look at the thing that fell from the sky and saw that it was a person wearing some sort of outfit. It was filled to the brim with spikes and looked somewhat disturbing. The clown that had been hit by the person let out a final cough before expiring. Grim was overwhelmed with rage. How dare that man kill one of his own. How dare he stand against them! "Fucking kill the asshole!". At that command, the other members charged at the man. The knife throwers kept their distance and threw their weapons with deadly precision, while the acrobats and the clowns charged directly at him. The man was quick and agile, able to evade every strike, and he fought back just as furiously as the gang. Grim felt the fire enveloping his hands and he got ready for the fight. He didn't know how, but he was going to kill this motherfucker.

His preemptive strike had worked. His bladed foot came crashing through the clown's head. One down... he thought, spinning around to take in his opposition. There were a lot of them, more than he had originally anticipated. This was good. A high concentration of them here meant that many more scourges off the streets. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for an all out assault. In the recesses of his mind he assessed his breathing condition. It was stable for the moment, he could only hope it would stay that way.

The clowns wasted no time unleashing on him. A hurricane of blades, fists and feet flew in at him. He breathed a silent breath of relief as the onslaught came at him. They're blows were no faster than that of a regular human's, which meant they would be like dodging molasses to him. His entire surrounding slowed, not literally, but to his ratcheted up brain it was like watching a movie in super slow motion. Coupled with his speed and Scott was feeling confident.

But as the group of clowns closed their distance his dodging became harder and he decided it time to strike back. In a flurry he whirred about, hacking at every arm that came his way, to every leg he shot a quick thrust. And when he saw through one of the gaps in the mob, a thrower taking aim, he ducked behind one of the lakies, hoping that they would react and toss a knife in to one of their allies' backs. As he fought, Scott's breathing began to grow more intense, and every few breathes he would have to force his mind to calm. If he let himself go, his condition could become an issue.

The man was fast and managed to evade most of their blows. As more of Grim's men fell to his precise strikes, they decided to flank him. One of the members had been in the back with a knife after the man used him as a shield, many others were forced to ground due to the man's strikes. The remaining thugs started to try pushing him to towards the streets. They kept on fighting, even as more and more of them started to fall. One of the thugs had attempted a flying tackle at the man, who simply moved to the side, causing the thug to smash into the windshield of a moving car. Another had his arm and leg broken and was forced to the ground. The fight was getting more and more desperate, as the fighting eventually moved to the middle of the street. The moving cars sped past them as they brawled. Grim himself was waiting for an opening to send a stream of flames towards the man without harming his own. Just then a car had smashed into another, causing a chain reaction of accidents...

Despite his agility and speed Scott could not hold his ground fully against the mob. Ever so gradually they forced him back, their attacks coming from multiple directions. With each attack, he could feel himself being pushed back towards the streets, the one place he did not want this conflict to go. He decided that the time to mess around with these clowns was over. Like a switch had turned on, his counter attacks became more vicious, more reckless as he terminated a few more members of the gang. In doing so though, he left his body exposed, and even with his speed a few good blows came in, mainly to the abdomen. With each hit, he felt the sharp pain in his chest. The blunt trauma aggravating the delicate tissue.

His more offensive strategy was working but it could not prevent them from forcing him further into the city. This was the opposite of his goal. People were going to get hurt, unintentionally. Collateral damage was not something Scott was ever proud of. The lower a profile he could maintain, the better. And as they worked their way into one of the main streets, that low profile was blown out of the water.

A punch landed in Scott's gut and he retaliated, jamming the three metal blades of his right hand through one of the clown's jaw. Blood sputtered in gush's from the wound as the body fell limp to the pavement. An oncoming car saw the falling body and swerved to avoid it. It then spun out of control and barreled into oncoming traffic, crushing a few other cars beneath it. each car in a long line behind the wreck crunched up against one another. Some swerved trying to avoid the pile-up only causing more pandemonium. In the chaos, a large semi came raging onto the scene, unaware of the carnage ahead. By the time the man realized he had to stop it was too late. The back cab swerved, swiping across both lanes then began to tumble towards the fight that had caused the wreckage.

Scott turned to his back as the massive tanker came hurtling towards him. With a great leap he caught the side of it, digging his claws deep through the metal. Gas poured out over him and the street as he sped to the top of it and jumped, landing in a belly flop on one of the smashed cars. His lungs screamed at him in agony. The pain shot through his entire body as his breathing came in hurried gasps. He had not idea what had become of circus freaks. With any luck they had been crushed by the semi, but luck rarely was on his side. Scott considered it part of his punishment for his past sins, nothing was ever handed to him anymore. But that didn't matter at the moment as he gasped for life giving air, his lungs unable to take more than shallow spurts of air. Slowly he rolled on his back and turned the know on his mask. The medicine poured into his lungs as he tried desperatley to catch his breath.

As the cars came crashing into each other, Grim lost sight of his men. For all he knew they could have been dead. As a car came hurtling towards him, Grim rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding it. "FUCK!". As a semi came speeding towards him, Grim run as fast he could to the side before making a wild dive. He smashed into a car and heard the semi crashing into the others. After a minute of rolling on the ground in pain, Grim finally got up and saw the mangled bodies of his men sprawled across the scene. Grim was filled to the brim with anger. He was going to tear the guy who did this apart. He looked around for him before spotting him sprawled on the ground. Grim violently kicked the car that was blocking his path and sent it sliding into another. He walked through a wall of fire and felt his hands engulfing into flames, he was screaming and yelling with his rage clear in his voice. "YOU! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!"

Redline lifted his head tentatively once the screeching and crashing had dulled a bit. His chest was still in decent pain and his breathing had not yet returned to normal. He was in bad shape, though from his scan of the area so was the gang. The semi that he had narrowly avoided had reduced the whole of them to a gooey pulp splattered across the road. At the sight, he let out a heavy sigh of relief. There was time now, time to think, reorient and rest his lungs, all things he was very grateful for. Slowly he hoisted himself to his feet, feeling a tight pain in his right side. The fall he took earlier had done something to him, he hoped not internally.

But before he had more time to evaluate his condition, the sound of crunching metal drew his attention elsewhere. One of the cars involved in the mangled carnage had been tossed aside like a play thing. Colliding with the others, it triggered a large explosion, sending flames across the area in front of Redline. He shielded his face, the pain in his side weakening his right arms significantly. He knew the heat shielding in his suit would protect him from fire normally, but since he was covered in gasoline, he wasn't taking any chances. And as the flames from the wreckage grew, so did Scott's mounting problems.

Out from inside the wall of fire came the last surviving clown, the band of outcasts' ringleader. He was big, easily bigger than Scott and his body seemed to absorb the fire, reigniting it over his body. Had there been any doubt before as to the genetic status of this man it was now erased. He was a meta, and a pissed off one at that. A raged yell aimed at Scott confirmed his suspicions, this man was violent and dangerous. But the comment forced a chuckle from between Scott's lips. Through deep harsh breaths, his voice came distorted from inside the respirator. "Ha...the clown tells jokes", he said, followed by a grizzled cough. This guy had to die, and Scott was going to enjoy doing the killing.

Taking in a deep breath he sped from his current position and at the deranged arsonist. As he approached, he saw the clown grow closer and just as he reached him, Scott ducked to his hip and slimmed his body, sliding on the slick gas beneath him. In an instant he was on the other side and spun his body rapidly, riding the gas from his suit and flinging it all of the clown. With any luck, he could only control fire, not endure it.

The word hate was not adequate enough to describe the emotion felt by Grim at that moment. If the word "HATE" was scrawled onto every centimeter of his body, it would only be a fraction of the rage that was inside Grim. The man's distorted comment only added fuel to the fires of hatred that burned Grim. With he scream of rage, Grim grabbed the nearest car he could find and hoisted it over his head, before repeatedly slamming it in the man's general area. When he realized that the man had already slid under him, Grim furiously hurled the car at the man's direction. He sent great streams of fire in every single direction, all while yelling semi-coherently. "I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU THE FUCK UP, YOU LITTLE SHIT!". Grim was pissed off, and he didn't care how he was going to kill this motherfucker, but he was going to. This guy was fast, but running around like a little bitch does not win a fight. Grim charged directly at the man, attempting to bull rush him into a car and slam him to death. Rage. Rage was all he felt.

His attempt to lite the man on fire seemed to do nothing. Either fire had no effect on him, or the rage he was in made him forget all pain. The hulking man thrashed about violently, first hurling a car at Redline. It came in fast and he got him self underneath it as it came hurtling towards him. Next was the fire. The clown spun about in a mad frenzy, spitting hot flames in all directions. Scott began to think rapidly. While he could avoid the torrents of fire, they left him little opening for attack. He continued to process the man's movements. They were violent, erratic and motivated solely by blind rage. Blind rage, the words hung for a second in Scott's head. As long as this man could be made to throw his mind aside in favor or sheer brutality, Scott would have the advantage.

And as his mind raced, deciding just how he would keep this brute distracted, his opening for attack came. The bulging clown came barreling towards him. His shoulder pointed straight for Scott's chest. A quick observation of the area showed that Scott had backed himself against a wall of smashed cars. Perfect. He waited patiently, his world inching forward slowly as the man ran full force at him. Scot began to back himself against the wall until his shoulder blades met the hot metal. Just as they did, the clown was upon him, a mere foot away. It was then that Scott acted, darting from his position by the cars and around to the back of the large clown. The man's reaction time shouldn't be fast enough to stop from crashing into the vehicles and Scottt planned on adding insult to injury. As he watched the man grow closer to the wreckage, Scott sprinted full speed for his back. Once he was close enough Scott leaped into the air with his feet pointed out, looking to dropkick the man further into the wall of metal.

Grim felt himself crash violently into the cars, he stumbled around, one of his hands clean through a windshield of a car."YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN FROM ME!". He ripped the car door right off and attempted to bash the man to death before furiously throwing it away. He charged his power for a brief moment, and sent a larger than usual ball of fire hurtling towards the man. It exploded violently and made contact with the gasoline, engulfing most of the battlefield with fire. He caught his breath and finally managed to think his strategy through. The guy was not only quick, but crafty. If Grim could somehow bait him in, the fight could somehow be won...

(sorry for shit post)

Scott felt his feet collide with the man's back as he bull rushed into the cars. Using the remaining force, Scitt vaulted himself from the clown's back and landed solidly on his own to feet. He imagined the glass and metal tearing through the large man, hoping that his attack had ended the fight. Unfortunately this man did not seem willing to give up and came back at Scott with a dismantled car door. Swiftly, he stepped aside as the hunk of metal and plastic crashed beside him. This meta was not only powerful but his strength was impressive as well.

After his vicious attack, the violent man reached back and loosed a large fireball at the gasoline in the area. The blaze was massive and instant, sending Scott well into the air and back a good ten feet. He watched slowly as the ground grew further away and the explosive force lifted him. His ears were ringing but there was no way he could let himself lose focus. While in the air, Scott positioned himself so that he would land I. His feet and upon hitting the ground, continued to skid for five feet extra.

Wasting no time, Scott took this separated opportunity to create a diversion for the clown. Enacting his plan, Scott began a top speed sprint in a very tight circle. He could feel the wind pick up around him as dust and debris began to cycle into his growing vortex. Soon enough a small twister was towering over the scene, with Scott as it's driving force. He next moved his sprint towards the clown, bringing the strong winded tornado with him. As it engulfed the flames from the explosion Scott sprinted full force from it's center and in the opposite direction if his opposition, leaving his vortex on a crash course for the man in the clown mask.