A dream inside a locked room

by **Jack Maroon** January 7th 2015, 4:43 pm

"An empty shell I used to be. Shadow of my life was hanging over me.
A broken man without a throne. Won't even stand the devil's dance to win my soul."
-Søren Kierkegaard

His fingers brushed across the dust on the table, in search of a bottle. How long had it been since he cleaned this particular room? He couldn't remember for the life of him. The mansion counted more rooms than he'd ever have need of; it was practically a castle. His parents had had it modelled after this big mansion from some anime they had watched way back when they weren't dead. He was sure he'd seen that one too, but again his memory failed him.
Memory is a tricky thing, he thought. He carried many memories with him, but these days he couldn't tell which were fact and which were fiction. Used to be a time those two meant the same to him; but not anymore. Sometimes he pondered which were which; had there really been a shadowy organization hunting down metahumans, and did he stand up and fight them or did he somehow end up joining them? Or how about that one time he went out to the outskirts of the city, doffed up in basketball uniform to parody some spoof indie game, and inadvertently found himself mixed up in a plot to erradicate all metahumans with a virus? Or was it the other way around? Oh, and that one time he fought a half-naked albino lady assassin and baked her bacon pancakes? That couldn't really have been a thing, could it?
Sometimes he pondered these things, but never to a satisfactory conclusion. In the end, it didn't really matter. If no one else cared, then why should he?

He fumbled around for the bottle once more, before giving up. Must've dropped on the floor at some point. In a rare flash of good judgement, he decided he'd had enough anyway, and should probably get up and make himself some breakfast. Lunch. Brunch. Whatever.
While he groggily fixed himself up with some steak and eggs, he found himself the victim of yet more self-pitying existential musings. He was really starting to get tired off those by now. He wasn't sure how long he'd been living like this, but it would have to stop sometime soon. Hadn't been in a fight for weeks now. Months maybe. Foggy. His mind rebelled at the thought, although he knew it was really the only way to rev up his engine again. Get the blood flowing good; wake up the beast.

The beast brushed the thought aside in favor of steak and eggs.

Jack Maroon. Formerly known as...Jack Maroon. Villain-slaying, party-loving, batshit insane, Jack Maroon. There wasn't really much left of that guy these days. Just a mopy, self-pitying drunkard blessed with a perfect jawline, chiseled abs and some grade-A superpowers. A dumb shit who thought himself so haunted by his fractured, bizarre past that he'd never even entertained the thought that there would be repercussions. So caught up within his histrionics and pseudo-philosophical whining was he, that he never realized that there'd be hell to pay. Not even a god can tread upon the laws of men without facing their ire.

Time to face the music, Jack.

by **Arcana** January 13th 2015, 1:16 am

The Agency, that one group of humans tired of being given the shaft by metahumans, so they decided to fight back against them.Considering how human he was, Sean owed the race or something along those lines to help, though he was honestly only doing this because Zell said something about doing it. Either way, he had some kind of job to do, beat upp some mook and bring them into custody, which meant he would have to....well beat someone up. Simple really for Sean, but then again nothing eas ever simple when he thought about it. The pod that would send him there however was kind of small, tight and all, the perfect size for someone of his demeanor. Apex fit in easily enough, and within a matter of seconds he was sorting through the air in his metal prison, wind whipping past the construct with the location already mapped out.

There was a certain way someone was supposed to be sitting or standing in one of these things, something that he had made sure to learn to avoid any kind of sickness. He was dressed simply, in dark colored jeans with a wifebeater and a vlack leather jacket over that. Something that looked cool, and breathed well enough that he could move fast, considering that the person he was fighting wa ssupposed to be the fastest man in the world. Of course that would bring back to mind that one virutual man, but then again he had been long gone, meaning that Jack Maroon was the reigning fastest man alive, at least one of them anyway. Either way, time would pass much slower than Sean would have liked, closing his eyes and waiting for the landing to happen, though within darkness it did not happen for a long while, until at last he would collide with hard ground.

A resounding boom would move out from where it had hit, though he was not expecting the location he would land. With a low hiss, the front portion of the pod would left, pulling upwards as Sean opened his eyes and yawed softly. He felt around for the weapon at his waist, feeling the hilt of the katana, and sighing with relief. He did not forget his weapon, meaning that if it came to a sword fight, he would be properly armed. ”Okay, mission begins now.” Approaching the front door, a large amount of grass and dirt thrownn up by his sudden impact, Sean would sigh, taking in a deep breath before knocking three times. The fourth time would be his foot slamming into the door, and sending it flying through the air and sliding along the ground. ”Um....anyone home?” He would say loud enough for anyone there to hear.

by **Jack Maroon** January 13th 2015, 5:34 pm

Ah, there it was. When Jack heard the crash outside, it didn't take him long to connect the dots. This, after all, wasn't his first rodeo. Nope. He knew what it was at an instinctual level; the kind that's grown from experience, not intellect.
They were at his doorstep again. They? Dominus? Shade? Illuminati? The army? Doctor Necrodium? Hell, it didn't matter who. There was always someone that volunteered to make an enemy out of theirselves. The never-ending circle-jerk, as Jack always thought of it. Villains, renegades, heroes? Big whoop-dee-doo. Didn't matter none. They were at his doorstep, no matter who they were, and they likely weren't there for civil discourse.
He was just grateful he'd gotten to finish his steak and eggs. No fighting the man on an empty stomach; that'd just be plain unfair. Moments after the boom-crash-kapow of whatever had just arrived, Jack, sped through the hallways lightning-quick, activating the hella-impressive sound system he'd built into the mansion on the way to his private quarters, where he changed into something slightly more presentable.

Well, a little more than slightly. He'd decided to go full regalia, despite the trouble he'd had to go through for that. Formal shirt and elegant waistcoat, tailored to a perfect fit. As expensive as clothing could get, though of course it wasn't that stylish a statement. Deep down he'd realized what he was doing was a lot like when convicts dressed up real nice before their final dance at the gallows; leave behind a good-looking corpse and all. The dying swan, all doshed up for death.
Wasn't that he was planning to die or anything, but it's the sentiment that counts.

The visitor knocked three times before kicking down the door. By Jack's count, that was still relatively polite. Anyone home? Well, yeah, dumbass. Your agency'd gotta have some pretty piss-poor intel if they'd sent you to an empty house. Well, maybe he was just being facetious. That he could relate to, he supposed.

"Yeah, give me a fuckin' sec." He shouted downstairs. "Don't get your panties all twisted, man. Be right with ya."

He rummaged about the room for a minute, applying some final cosmetic touches to his outfit and personal grooming, finding the remote to the sound system, set to play random music from his library, and to grab hold of his absolutely unique, one-of-a-kind katana that was by no means an expensive but otherwise unremarkable sword of which countless copies lay strewn across the mansion.

After doing that which he was doing, he sped downstairs to give his visitor a warm welcome. Facing his soon-to-be opponent in the main hall, strewn with shitty katanas, bottles of booze and other random paraphernalia, he stood strng, trying his best to strike an imposing figure.
His unshaved, hastily dressed, hungover appearance made this a difficult task. Also, didn't he know this guy? He started off strong:

"Welcome to Maroon Manor, the venue at which you're about to get your butt whooped, you...
Hey...Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Yes, real strong.

"Right..ehh...the fuck you doing here in my house, son? You looking for a fuckin' bout, huh?"

by **Arcana** January 13th 2015, 6:22 pm

Aside from broken door this place looked pretty nice, the kind of place Sean lived in actually, minus the strangely concieved chest spawn but we don' talk about those. As soon as he kicked the door, a soundtrack of sorts flowed through the home, reaching his ears and giving him a preview of the kind of bout he was going to have. ”Gotta say, this guy has some taste.” Sean muttered with an approving nod of his head, hands burying into his pockets and tapping his foot along to the beat. Something told him the speedster would be here soon, though how soon was soon he had yet to see. If the file was right about anything, this guy wouldn't do anything lame like a sneak attack, meaning they could have a super cool uofront fight, or whatever. ”oookay then.” Sean muttered in response to the male shouting for him to wait, digging his cellphone from his pocket and typing something in quickly before retunring to this thing at hand.

What was he doing anyway? Sean was kind of standing here waiting to beat him up or whatever, yet the guy was just kind of making him stand around with hands buried in his pockets. He was like Apex, this badass with weird robot things in his blood, there was so many other people for him to beat up. It took only a few minutes, but the speedster finally appeared in a flash, a small amount of wind thrown up that caused some of the booze bottles to displace as they rolled around. Within the squallor, he looked imrpessive, alld ressed up as if expecting to die in this battle. So far he wasn't coming off as arriogant, which was good, Sean didn't really dislike the guy now. However upon seeing him, Sean noticed that he looked very familiar, a strange expression forming as he tried to remember this metahuman, though nothing came up.

”I came here to fight some kind of metahuman badass. Instead all I find is a loud mouthed drunk.” Sean spoke with an almost dismissive tone, scoffing. So yeah, i'm here for a bout, though its more of me kicking your ass.”'

by **Jack Maroon** January 14th 2015, 2:34 pm

Well, at least the kid had moxxy. Or he was just plain rude. Jack always did get those two things confused. Either way, wasn't likely this was a fight that could be avoided. No choice but to fight. Only thing he knew to do properly anyhow.

"Well, life's full of little disappointments, man." He shrugged. "If you really feel that way, suppose there's not much talking to do from here on, is there?"

Acting on his words, Jack clicked the remote to start up what he felt would be an appropriate battle anthem. And then, after tapping his foot to the beat for just a few moments, it was finally time to boogie.
He dashed forward, sword ready for the strike.

Jack didn't really ever need to think about what to do in a fight; it just came to him naturally. Part of the power package he'd gotten stuck with 11 years ago. He didn't really ever learn how to fight; from that moment, he just knew.
What he didn't, and of course couldn't know was what crazy shit this douche in front of him was capable of. Naturally that was the first order of things. Testing the waters. The boring routine shit, you know.

First, a feint. Dash straight for the opponent, then dash sideways. Get a quick glimpse of his reflexes, see if he's at all capable of following. Then, rather boringly follow up with a series of high-velocity hit-and-run strikes at various levels of strength, each aimed for the vitals. Keep your guard up; never know what kind of defenses the opponent's got up his sleeves. Force fields, laser beams, flamethrowers, super reflexes, or even the worst of all: durability. And even then, what kind of durability? Most had the whole impenetrable skin thing going on, but were still vulnerable to the basic laws of physics. If, at any point during the testing, this would appear to be the case, Jack'd switching to blunt strikes at the joints, try to destabilize the foe.

As he made the first high-speed feint, Jack wondered what this dude had in store for him. He hoped it'd be something grand. Otherwise what was the point of this?

by **Arcana** January 14th 2015, 8:20 pm

”Fraid not cowboy.” Sean agreed, some sort of battle anthem taking palce of whatever was playing before, showing that they were close to some kind of conflict, though he could not deny that it was going to be exciting. Without even needing to think about it, his body would slip into the combat stance, a loose and fluid one that would allow him to roll with the punches no matter how fast or hard. His heartbeat was hammering within his head, thrumming faster and faster as he prepared for whatever the male before him would perform. The xenogens would pick up any slack that he had left there, yet first he had to see for himself what this guy could do.

Within less than a second the fight would start, as Jack Maroon would dash forward with admirable speed, becoming a blir that even his current reflexes could not hope to keep up with. He was visible, but no means was he soemthign that Sean could react to, his speed was truly fantastic. However the initial rush was a feignt, shown by his opponent dashing to the side, perhaps a test of reflecxes, and one that Sean would not fall into as his eyes and head would attempt to follow, a few seconds too late. Next came a lot of high velocity strikes, each one of them stronger than the ones before, slamming agaisnt Sean and damaging his clothes, yet none of them were enough to eevn draw an annoyed grunt of pain from Apex.

Even without adapting to defend against damage, his xenogens were always at work trying to protect him from basic damage, and it did that job fine. This guy was strong, and against the lesser opponent he would have been able to do damage, yet against Apex he was nothing more than a fly buzzing around him. However, despite the fact that he could not harm him, the joint strikes were enough to cause Sean to flinch, though by now the xenogens had adapted, and that meant that Maroon would have more of a fight on his hands. Everything seemed to slow down rapidly as his reflexes rapidly increased, so much so that it seemed more that Jack was just running rather than actually moving like some kind of speedy bullet.

With a thought, one arm would attempt to snap up, an attempt to grab onto the speedster with a show of speed that had not been obvious before, and if he succeeded he would punch the male in the face and send him flying. ”Nice trick, now time I show you mine.” He would say this regardless of whether he managed to hit him or not.

Xenogen allocation:

by **Jack Maroon** January 15th 2015, 4:41 pm

In every battle there's a point where you really start to understand your opponent, Jack believed. It's the point where you get a good handle on your opponent's strengths, weaknesses, quirks; where you dig up his general groove. And then there's also that point of perfect synchronization, where every blow exchanged becomes like a line of slam poetry dedicated to the demise of the self and the birth of true transcendant understanding of the other. The point where you and your opponent aren't really fighting, so much as having a meaningful philosophical discourse, cleverly disguised through the cunning ruse of base physicality. Jack didn't really believe in the latter, even though he'd always hoped to find a fight like that. So far, to no avail. The former though, he valued highly for its practical application.

He was in fact applying it during his first move in his battle against the mystery assassin; trying to get a feel for him. His first strikes had made one thing glaringly apparent: his sword wasn't doing much damage. No damage at all, really, unless you counted shredding the guy's clothes up like some kind of psycho catlady with sharp nails. So that's when he dropped the sword. Wasn't no point to having a swordfight with a brick wall, was there? So he switched over to unarmed strikes targeting the joints; anywhere where the bones connect, so as to hopefully dislocate them and incapacitate an opponent he couldn't damage normally. Wasn't entirely going all that well, though it seemed to be rattling him. That was something, at least. But not enough, it would prove.

He should've seen it coming, but he didn't. He'd already confirmed the opponent's durability vastly outclassed his own, and guessed he might have more strength as well, but Jack was confident this one's speed, reflexes and general combat aptitude was shit. Relatively speaking, that is. And that's why he didn't see that counter-attack coming. One moment his foe had gotten hold of Jack's shoulder, the next he had his fist in Jack's face, and before he knew it he was soaring through the foyer like a majestic fucking eagle. He crashed into the wall semi-gracefully, regaining his footing near-instant. Still, that had been a nasty-ass blow, he had to admit. He told himself it was the position he'd been standing in and the way he rolled with the punch that saved his perfect jawline from getting unhinged and utterly wrecked, but truth was the guy'd just been holding back his punch. That knowledge did not please him. Not one bit.

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "Pack a mean punch, huh? Aight."

Still, victory wasn't out of reach. Fuck no. Jack Maroon had never lost a fight. No, this wasn't a set-back yet. The whole testing the waters, this was part of it, aight? He now knew the guy had reflexes and skill possibly matching his own. Or just close. Wasn't nobody skilled like Jack; nobody. He wasn't no brick wall either; that counter-attack was fast. Real fast. Not Jack-fast, but fast enough to catch Jack unawares. No chance of that happening again though. By Jack's rough estimates he was still at least twice as fast. Him being able to follow Jack's moves but not match em' was an advantage he'd have to make use of. Somehow.

Jack purposely played it as if he was still recovering, buying time. This really wasn't the kind of opponent you rushed at blindly, or even rushed at at all. Had to make them do the hard workin', then turn their strength against them. Classic Aikido; he was gonna have to go all Steven Seagal up in this shit. Nnniiice.
Didn't matter much what the guy's move'd be. A speed rush and powerpunch would be ideal; he'd just redirect the attack in the wall, guide his movements using his superior grappling skills and crash the guy into the wall, then dash back. Play it cool and slow, whip him up in a frenzy. Alternatively, if the guy'd take the temperate approach, take it cool himself, all Jack'd have to do was dodge his blows, dance around. Maybe get a few joint-strikes in, and in the unlikely case there's an opening, try redirecting his force and throw him over his shoulder or hip, or maybe even get him into a good hold. But that was unlikely. If he'd play it cool, best thing would be to keep dodging, get him so mad he won't notice you're leading him across the arena into unfavorable terrain. Get the higher-ground on him, push him into a corner, bump him into pillars, walls and piles of trash. Make the guy lose sight of his surroundings.

Jack made a mental note to at some point actually learn his opponent's name.Thinking of him as 'the guy' was getting tedious.

So he waited, poised to spring his trap card whenever 'the guy' made his move. It was a rare thing, really, for Jack to actually think tactically. Not that he usually needed to, but still. Rare thing.

by **Arcana** January 15th 2015, 5:05 pm

His hand clamped around the males shoulder, figners digging into the flesh and keeping the speedster from moving anymore. Sean smirked, pelased with himself, as the fist connected with the males face and sent him flying, causing a small amount of destruction in his wake and Sean blowing off imaginarty dust form his knuckles. ”You have anything else? Because that weak sauce, it just aint helpin.” Okay, now he was getting cocky, but Apewx just felt like he wasn't going to lose this one. Upon regaining sight of his target, the male did not seem too damaged, but something told him that he would be feeling that for some time. ”I have a feeling I won't even need my sword.” Sean muttered preparing to follow up his attack, slipping into another stance, a motion so fluid that it was perfect.

Silver orbs would dart around the room, considering everything and looking for a way to put the guy on the defensive possibly even more. It was then that he moved, accelerarting all at once, but not directly at the speedster like they were hoping him to do. His hands ducked down, picking up emptied, and partially empty bottles of booze, placing them between fingers, until he had all he could hold while moving still. This motion was fluid, taking less than a second, and he was a blur that perhaps only the speedster could keep sight of, then rushing him, throwing one of the bottles square for his face. It was nothing really, a destraction more than anything, something that he could have to swat out of the way, but that gave him enough time.

Turning at the last moment, he would turn, remembering the lighter in his pokcet, though why he carried one was unknown, well he did have the emergency cigarettes but that's another story. His deistination was cupboards, digging through them at supersonic speeds, until he came upon what looked like a half full bottle of....something. Okay, this something was flammable and thats allt hat mattered, so he would begin the bext part of his plan. Planning like this wasnormally not Sean's style, but then again he had been told to use his head a little bit more, so you can shover it up that hole you shove things. Okay, with that part done, he needed something, some tissues would do and here they are, shove them in and we're set. With less than a second he produced the lighter and lit the top part, knowing this would be bad, turning sights upon jack and rapidly rushing him, aiming to throw all, letting the now volatile weapon be lost among them.

by **Jack Maroon** January 15th 2015, 5:31 pm

Well, that was just great. Jack had not seen that coming. Instead of rushing at him, or approaching him at all, he started picking up bottles of booze. Then he threw one at Jack's face, which he dodged, and scuttled off again. To do what? Whatever he was doing, he was doing it fast alright, but it wasn't that fast. Jack could follow him well enough, and catch up whenever he liked. But that wasn't what this was about, was it?

Well, Jack didn't know what this was about, but his face was still sore from that punch, so he was really hankering for serving this shithead up some soup du vengeance and a slice of humbled pie. He darted after the figure with lightning speed, making sure he understood why they called Jack the fastest man alive. Most top-level speedsters ran at a 1000 miles per hour. Impressive, sure. Now double that, and you got close to Jack's max.Jack ran at his opponent at about Mach 2 and delivered what he thought was probably his finest high-speed tackle ever. Perfectly balanced, timed and aimed. Heck, the guy had only just turned around from his rummaging in closets and he was about to get hit by a nasty surprise. But what was that he was holding in his hands? Jack would figure out only after it was too late.

He'd forgotten to have the mansion properly insured.

by **Arcana** January 15th 2015, 7:22 pm

Sean had been rpepared to set the metahuman on fire with the weapon, but before he could even react, Jack Maroon slammed into his chest with considerable force. Not enough to harm, but enough to knock the wind out of him, as well as throw him off his feet and through a wall. The moltov cocktail slipped from his hand, ammd shattered upon the ground, releasing the flammable liquid along with the fire, spreading rather quickly. He however was not aware of that, a wall breaking from the sheerr impact of his body and Sean sliding along the ground for a few feet before he stopped. ”Okay, that was annoying.” Sean muttered catcging his breath and quickly moving to his feet, quickly noticing the smoke that was beginning to spread along. This gave him an idea actually, though how much of one wold have to wait until later.

Looking to his jacket, Sean frowned, the leather sliced up by the earlier blade strikes, rapidly removed with seemingly few movements and thrown aside. ”I liked that jacket.” He growled, rolling his shoulders, muscles rippling slightly as his eyes took on a faint ominous glow. Where he was now looked like some kind of game room, various means of netertainment thrown around almost haphazardly. Apex took this in with a curosry glance, preparing for the male to pursue, taking a stance.

by **Jack Maroon** January 19th 2015, 11:32 am

Jack grinned. That might not've done any real damage, but seeing that chump fly through a wall like a ragdoll was worth the effort. His outlook on the battle however was getting grimmer by the minute. He seemed able to put cut nor bruise on his opponent, even at maximum strength. He wasn't used to that. He'd had some battles were the enemy was tough to injure, but this was just plain unfair. He didn't require a level playing field to win, but having absolutely no means of harming the enemy put him at a severe disadvantage.
That thought, coupled with seeing his wifebeater-clad assailant rise from the rubble again, managed to stifle his grin and contort it into a snarl.

Whoever sent this guy at him wanted him down bad. But not dead, necessarily, Jack thought. Their agent didn't seem particularly interested in capturing or killing him, and displayed what Jack would describe as a devil-may care attitude; something he'd once possessed himself. And he'd only said he wanted to 'kick his ass'. Could be he was still target for assassination though, and this was just pointless speculation. Didn't matter anyway. Had to focus on the battle. His opponent had taken a battle stance again, yet didn't move toward Jack.
He wasn't sure whether the guy was being smart or stupid. Jack was still faster. Way faster. Whether on offense or defense, long as he held focus, Jack could dodge or redirect anything this guy could dish out. Might not really be able to do much damage, but strategically they were at a stalemate. For now. He figured that was going to have to change soon, one way or another.

He decided to take a different approach from what he'd been doing so far. Stalling the fight and fishing for information, while of course staying on guard. Wasn't about to let the guy get in a cheap shot.

"So hey, man. Know we said no talksies and all, but I gotta say I'mma getting a little curious now as to who you are, and what mysterious organization sent you after me. Don't get me wrong though, you're pretty intense and all, but it just feels kinda lackluster, not knowing why we're actually fighting."

He was going to add that he was sorry for ruining his jacket, but that was so blatant a lie he'd decided to leave it out.

by **Arcana** January 21st 2015, 10:18 pm

While they seemed to be equally skilled, Sean knew that he was beaten when it came to speed, he would have to think of another way to give him some trouble. That meant he would have to think, use that brain of his to make up for the fact he was doing poorly in this contest of speed, despite the fact that he had the guy matched or trumphed in many ways. However, it seemed that his foe was wanting to talk rather than fight, as he was probably seeing the errors of his way. ”Who am I?” Sean would echo the question, the title given to him coming to mind as he smirked. ”I go by a lot of names really, though Apex will work.” He doubted that he could simply talk this guy into complying with him, but then again Sean could have always tried it. He would keep his eyes upon everything that the male did, every move as if expecting them to try to run or strike.

”I'm not actually here to fight you, just beat you up and take you in.” Sean answered with a shrug, as he was mostly telling the truth. ”I mean you can come with me peacefully, or I beat you up.”

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