I plan on pulling out all the character stops at one point or another. Kenta, Benkei, Gingka, for certain, Yu's a sure thing, maybe a few more. And get ready to cry.
. . . . . . .
Glass explodes behind the 67-year old. The ex-blader whirls around with a grace not even age could strip from him. A man in a black hockey mask and hoodie jumps through the broken window. He's carrying a sack of stolen goods . . . and a gun.
The cowboy with an Uzi Eagle looks around wildly, eyes eventually landing on the WBBA Prez. "H-h-h-hands u-up! I-I can s-shoot this th-thing!"
Tsubasa didn't wait. He didn't think. He just moved.
He collided with the robber, ripping the mask off his face.
17. Maybe 18. A kid. Probably stole his dad's gun. I'd bet half the company he never shot one in his life. It's literally got Uzi emblazoned on it, and the kid swings it around like a plaything. And he called it a thing. You don't call an Uzi thing. That's just pasting a target on your back and yelling at Karma "come get me". Tsubasa sighed, making himself comfortable on the teenager's chest, and helped himself to the gun.
"Little young to be throwing around this kind of firepower, aren't you?" The older man wrinkled his nose, holding the firearm between his index finger and thumb. Even if it did carry the title of eagle, Tsubasa would never like guns.
One of this weapon's cousins killed Yu, after all.
Otori looked down at his would-be assailant. Kiddie Crime was brown-haired, and decent looking, but otherwise non-descript. From the blatant terror in his eyes, Tsubasa made him out to be a mama's boy. Likely never dreamed of robbing a . . . Otori turned his head to see what sort of store the little felon robbed. Big mistake.
Prez, caught off guard, was suddenly pushed to the ground.
Police sirens sound in the distance.
The Eagle faintly noticed that no one has yet to come out of Joe's Bait and Tackle.
Apparently his charming robber friend scared them silly.
Tells you something about people. Back in the OLD DAYS three honest bladers and a couple of gangsters would have my back by now. I'm over sixty people. Too old to be pulling these stunts. I get a backache from lifting a stack of paperwork.
"I TOLD YOU TO PUT YOUR HANDS UP, OLD MAN!" Tsubasa huffs at this. So what if he had a few wrinkles? He can, and did tackle this naïve little neophyte to the ground. Admittedly, he'd most likely bust his hip now, but . . . oh, never mind . . .
"Old Man Tsubasa" pulled his head out of the clouds and cuts the heroics.
"Y-YOU JUST HAD TO PLAY THE HERO, DIDN'T YA?! JUST HAD TO SEE MY FACE?!" Otori's attacker seemed to have thrown away sanity, pupils becoming lost in a sea of white.
Tsubasa waits for the kid to stop talking and run, like a normal newbie, who has yet to accept killing as a way of life. The blader can see the thief is sweating buckets, hands shaking, but isn't sure about his eyes. Tsubasa's vision is too fuzzy for fine details at this distance.
But it's easy to see the boy's staying put.
"Listen, kid-"
"LISTEN KID NOTHING! MY FATHER WOULD KILL ME IF HE HEARD I'D ROBBED THIS PLACE! BUT I HAD TO! I HAD TO." C'mon kiddo, coppers are almost here. The yelling is getting old. I'm not really all that intimidated. . . Just shoot me or run. The suspense has me more on edge than the volume of this conversation.
The gun cocks.
The kid starts crying.
"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . I can't face him . . ."
The kid puts his mask on.
BANG.
Tsubasa hears it before he feels it, but never sees it coming. Bet he does drugs.
