Apple Pie (open)

Albert walked down the busy sidewalk toward a little cafe that was a bit far away from his father's dojo. It was worth the walk, he heard from his other father, Leonard, the pie there was just delicious. Albert wasn't the kind of guy for pie. He stepped in a small puddle, it had been raining for some time now, good for the plants but bad for Albert as he held his bright white fedora on his head as it was still raining. He looked like business man, black suit with a red tie, the only difference between him and the real snobby sophisticated men was that he had another life behind the stage. He was Isenstein, the masked menace to both heroes and villains and leader of The Brotherhood of True Justice. Except, that was simply Isenstein, right now he was Albert, a student at a dojo and a photographer on the side. His footsteps echoed on the sidewalk, people walking by, going about with their lives. Then he stepped in a large puddle that would intefere with his life. The puddle had splashed and laid its wet hands on a street punk's shoes. Unfortunately, that street punk was in a gang and his goons were right behind him.

"Ay, suit!" The punk said, and Albert just kept walking. It wasn't until the guy came right behind him, pulled Albert into an alleyway, and slammed his back against the brick wall. "You gonna apologies, Suit?" the punk said, grabbing Albert's suit. Albert faked a paniced look and said "Look, I'm sorry, please... just don't hurt me!" He was hoping they would push further, try to do something, any excuse for him to kick their asses. They were armed, their leader with a gun which was pointed at Albert's head, the others with knives and brass knuckles.

(bump)

Bloodveld was making his way over the rooftops, looking for something to scavenge from the various restaurants. He had found a few things to eat from them, but he was still mostly hungry. He stopped on the edge of a building above an alleyway and looks up to feel the rain on his face. He had mixed felling about the rain; it was almost refreshing, but at the same time it was a bit bothersome since it made it easier to slip when climbing and jumping.

He heard something, and looked down to notice a nasty looking gang pulling a man into the alleyway in a threatening manner. He wondered if he should do something or just stay out of it. He watched as the leader put a gun to the mans head, and became even more conflicted about what to do. Finally, after some hesitation, he forced himself to jump down into the alley, about 15 feet away from the gang and their hostage. He got up, turned, and stared at them. Several of the men stared back, and one of them snapped at Bloodveld; "...The @#/% do you want? $!&~ off freak!" Bloodfeld didn't flinch and continued staring.

The one thing Isenstein didn't expect was this. A strange beast dropping from no where, standing at the far end of the alleyway. He had seen a different kind of horror once, much more frightening, and he just stared at her with no emotion behind it. No fear. "Yo, ice that...thing." The punk with the gun said, distracted by the monster's entrance. Three out of the six walked over, some full on cocky and others quaking in their $50 dollar shoes.

Isenstein took his chance with the distraction. He held both his arms out, palms open, and slammed his hands against the man's ears, the attack supposedly would stun him, and he brought his knee up to push the man back some. He expected him to fire, and he did, a round going off but missing Isenstein's cheek by a centimeter. Isenstein didn't have his mask on, which meant he couldn't kill the men for ambushing him. His mask was the face of True Justice but right now, he wore Albert's mask, his face. He took a step forward, following the knee with a double fist strike against the punk's chest and stomach, knocking him into a pile of trash. The guy was knocked out. He stepped back, taking a fighting stance with the back of his left fist near his forehead, his left elbow raised, and his right hand extended into an open palm facing the sky

As the three men approached Bloodveld he took a step back and tilted his head slightly. /Well, you asked for it. I told you not to come down here but did you listen to me? NnoooOOOooo..../ he thought to himself.
/Just be quiet, alright?/ he thought back.

The first guy threw a punch at Bloodveld with a brass knuckle; he dodged, grabbing his arm as he swung in order to pull the guy down and into Bloodveld's knee, which he drove hard onto the guy's sternum before throwing him down. The second guy hit Bloodveld in the face and he stumbled back a bit. The first guy is now about to puke, the third is kinda scared to attack, but the second goes after him again. Bloodveld is more ready this time and counters with a surprise attack; he thrusts his tongue out at the person, flattening the tip do deal blunt force. He stumbles back, putting a hand over his now broken nose.

The next guy Albert felt a bit sorry for. His attack was sloppy, a stab toward Albert's stomach. He turned his right hand over, grabbed the man's hand, and pulled him toward his uppercut, forcing him to drop the knife. A loud crack echoed through the alleyway as Albert punched the man's jaw clean off, blood squirting up, forcing Albert to move back so his suit wouldn't get covered with blood. The man fell down, not realizing what happened until he saw his jaw land right next to him. He began to freak out, grabbing his jaw and running away. The third guy was shaking in his large jeans, holding the knife toward Albert who was no longer in his fighting stance. He had his hands rested lazily on his sides, his left hand covered in blood. He gave a menacing glare, not wanting to continue this pointless fight and wanting to scare him with just one look. He dropped the knife, Albert feeling grateful for not fighting a worthless opponent, but then picked up the gun next to his passed out.

That was something Albert didn't expect. He had training a while back that focused on speed, sessions where he dodged knives and arrows like they were nothing. But he didn't train against a bullet. So he held his hand up, frowning, sad that such a fight resulted in this.

Bloodveld looked down at the man he had kneed in the stomach. Deciding to hit two men with one shot he grabbed the man and threw him head first at the guy who's nose he had broken. They collided head-to-head, knocking them both out. Bloodveld then turned and looked at the third person that had approached him. He looked less like a punk and more like a punk-wannabe in his expensive clothes and gelled-up hair. He was kind of shaking; even though he held a knife in his right hand, he appeared too afraid to try to use it. Bloodveld stared at him blankly for a moment, tilting his head. /Hmm...he might be an easy one. Let's try this.../ Bloodveld stared for a moment longer, then suddenly jumps at him and hisses loudly.

He did exactly what Bloodveld wanted him to do; he dropped the knife, turned, and ran back panicked. Not looking where he was going, he ran right into the person with the gun. The gun fired, but his aim was thrown off and he could very easily miss Albert.

Albert instinctly ducked, not every realizing that the move would have been futile sense he was facing against an armed opponent. Luckily, it had missed him by a shoulder's graze. The bullet hit the wall, dust flinging out and a hole imprinted by the bullet was left. Even though he was unharmed, he couldn't help but to feel anger toward the punk. Mainly, for allowing such a measly opponent to have gotten the upper hand, especially when that opponent was armed. He walked toward him, his hands clinched tight as the punk scarcely stepped back till his back was pressed against the wall.

Albert held his hand up, the right palm facing toward the opponent loosely, the left upward loosely toward the sky. He waited, the punk sniffling, on the verge of tears. Albert shook his head and began his onslaught of fists. Left, right, left, right. Up and down the poor teens chest and stomach, the well dressed man's punches repetitive and lighting fast. The teen's body jolted with every punch, his back slamming against the wall and his head bobbing up and down, hitting the wall with every punch. He slowly fell down, but the punches didn't end, as Albert kept hitting him with incredible speed.

Then, when the teen was on the ground, he stopped and stepped back. He stood up straight, held his palms toward the sky as he brought them up to his neck, and then brought them down with an exhale. He looked over at his "hero" and said. "Thank you so much for the help. I was on my way to a restraunt where they sell the best apple pie when these thugs tried to mug me. If it wasn't for you, It would have been a difficult struggle defeating them. Please, what can I do to repay you." He finished, all the while walking toward his "hero" and holding out his hand. "My name is Alfred, just Alfred." HE said, lying about his name.

Bloodveld also flinched at the sound of a gunshot, ducking a bit and putting his hands up close to his head. He looked around and, after a moment, was partly relieved to know that it hadn't hit anyone.

Albert walked up to the Punk with the gun; Bloodveld watched him approach him with a clenched fist and thought, /Uh oh... That doesn't look good.../ The punk backed against the wall; and as Albert took a fighting stance, Bloodveld looked back and forth between the two. The punk was obviously afraid and definitely sorry for what he did, and Bloodveld looked at Albert again, wondering what he would do next. The results were...shocking to him.

Bloodveld watched wide eyed as Albert pounded the guy mercilessly. As Albert kept beating on him, Bloodveld took a step back, shocked and a bit concerned/afraid. Sure the guy deserved to get his butt kicked, but this was overkill. The guy wasn't about to fight back, he was no longer armed, and on top of that he was afraid. Bloodveld froze and stared; conflicted and not sure what to do. He wanted to make it stop, but a part of him said to keep his distance and not get involved. Before he could come to any decision, it ended. As Albert finished and addressed Bloodveld, all he could do was look at the man on the ground. He felt a mixture of emotions. He couldn't help but put himself in the guy's place; what if that had been him? What if he accidentally lost control of himself one day and attacked somebody? He didn't like the thought in the first place; now it worried him even more, knowing what could maybe happen to him if he did.

Bloodveld looked at Albert when he offered to repay the favor. He stuck his hand out and offered his name; and for a moment, all he could do was stare at it. He looked up into Albert's eyes for a moment, then looked back at his hand. He was afraid to shake it for multiple reasons; still, slowly and cautiously, he reached out and took Albert's hand.

Albert gave a solid hand shake, not to hard, not to gentle, and shook twice. He seemed normal on the outside and oddly calm considering what he did to the poor man behind him. He could see the hero in front of him being uncomfortable. He found this out by looking simply looking at the hero. His shake was weak and touch was cold. His eyes were full of fear, probably from what he did to the poor kid and also how calm he was. It almost seemed like he wasn't even phased by what had just happened. He let go of the heroes hand and said "I guess you don't have to give me your name. I wouldn't too sense seeing what I did to the lad over there." He said in an Irish brouge he adapted for situations like these, where his ability is revealed unfortunately.

"The lad is alright, barely, and you probably haven't seen the other lad whose jaw was knocked off by ma fist. All part of the training in Wu Shin, nasty fighting right there. Made for warriors who fought in the battlefield of ancient China during rebellions. There is also a dojo for the fighting style. Can't miss it, the damn thing looks out of place being it a Buddhist templish lookish. But listen to me blabbing on and on after a fight like this. It's just I get excited with these situations but get carried away. Like you see. So, about that favor I owe you." Albert walked beside him and wrapped his arm around his shoulder, the teenager who just had gotten the snot beat out of him had coughed up some breath and regained consciousness. "See, he's alright, still breathing. So, about that pie shop. Do you...do you have to get changed or something?"

Bloodveld took his hand back after shaking Albert's and looked at it for a moment. He thought about getting Albert's scent from it but looked back up to listen to Albert as he spoke.

Bloodveld got kind of uncomfortable when Albert put his arm over him. He looked at Albert, opening his mouth a bit wider and breathing though it, getting Albert's scent. He looked away again; his hunger was getting to him a bit, and being this close to someone gave him the urge to kill. He kept it suppressed, but it took effort to do so. He looked over as the punk regained consciousness and Albert said he'd be fine.

He looked at Albert again, then down at his jeans thinking, /Change? These are the only clothes I have so, I guess not./