Crimson, a boy of about 17 years old, parked his motorcycle just outside the alley. Looking at him, it was clear he was training to be a huntsman. He wore jeans, a white t-shirt, and a red leather jacket. He had short brown hair, but it was unkempt. His eyes were blue, with a faint scar near the right one. The part of him that really stuck out, was his weapon. The device was a technological marvel, resembling a backpack, connecting to mechanical braces on his limbs, and his sunglasses. Still, there would be few around to observe, as it was currently nighttime in Vale. The only people taking note of Crimson, would be the burglars hiding in the alley. Upon seeing him, they drew their weapons. There were three with Dust pistols, and three with clubs.
Crimson thrust his arms outward and dual armblades extended from the braces on his forearms past his wrists, a smirk on the teenager's face. "Sorry guys, guess it's just not your lucky day."
He rushed forward, before sliding under the nearest one, sweeping his blade under to knock the man off his feet. He then pushed the tip of the other blade against the ground, balancing for a swinging kick against the next man before landing back on his feet.
"Anyone else wanna go?" One of the gunmen had already left, leaving two gunmen and one club-wielder left.
Crimson considered going after the runner, but decided it would be better to take down the larger group. The gunmen both raised their guns and, after a quick glance at each other, they fired on Crimson. Crimson's glasses seemed to light up as a HUD display appeared around them, giving him sensory information that others would normally lack. As he charged the gunmen, the glasses painted red lines out in front of him. Bullet trails. Prediction lines telling him exactly where his adversaries' bullets would travel. Crimson smiled as he wove in and out of the fired shots, moving closer to the two gunmen. He leaped directly in between the two gunmen, landing in a crouch before jumping up in a spin, slashing both gunmen with his arm blades. The two crumpled to the ground as Crimson landed. The last man in the alley readied his club, fear in his eyes, but still defiant. In a fluid motion, Crimson reached out to tap where the HUD had outlined his motorcycle, selecting a command for it. To the goon, it looked like he was pointing at it. Behind the final goon, Crimson's motorcycle roared to life, turning on its lights and firing its engine. The man turned around in surprise to see what was happening. This momentary lapse allowed Crimson all the time he needed. Crimson charged up behind the final goon and brought both his fists down on his head. The man fell to the ground and lay still.
Crimson chuckled to himself. "Guess they weren't a challenge after all."
He walked back toward his motorcycle until he heard more footsteps behind him. He turned and saw an entire squad of reinforcements rounding the corner, apparently having heard the ruckus. There were ten in total, four wielding assault rifles, two with katanas, three using bats, and a gunman in charge.
"There he is!" The gunman yelled. "Take him out!"
The four riflemen raised their assault rifles, ready to shoot Crimson down. Crimson relaxed his hands, retracting the blades. He then twisted his hands sideways, to continue the weapon's transformation. The blades going back along his forearms retracted themselves inside his gauntlets, while two small cylinders extended from the front of his gauntlets. He put his arms out in front of him and curled his hands into fists. Immediately, red hot streams of fire shot out of the gauntlets, coating the alley in front of him in a wall of flames. The riflemen hurriedly stepped back from the large wall projected in front of them, standing at a safe distance from the blaze. Crimson shifted his hands, and the fire parted just as he switched back to the blades, performing a corkscrew slash. His aura glowed red, indicating the use of his semblance, as the fire seemed to follow his attacks, assisting and amplifying them. To an observer, it would look like he was dancing with the fire, resulting in him forcefully beating back his opponents in much a similar fashion as fire spreading across a trail of gas. One by one the men would be forced back until they were all incapacitated, all except for the man in charge. The fire faded, and Crimson retracted his weapons, stepping forward. He grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, and shoved him against a wall, saying nothing.
His scrollglasses appeared to run a scan, popping up negative. "Hmph. Guess you're luckier than I am."
He punched the man in the face, knocking him out, before pressing a button on his gauntlet. His motorcycle lit up, and drove itself over to him.
"Time to go home." He mounted the vehicle, and left the scene.
Police sirens could be heard getting closer, and it was beginning to rain.