"The idea of "Everybody" is a curious thought to me. It simply isn't a realistic concept. Not "Everybody" is different. There are slight changes to an extent, but when you've been around the block as many times as I have, you realize how false some beliefs are." -C911Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOeEUQQNxhc
"Hey, hey you, wake up!" A voice from nearby spoke, punctuating the last word with a swift kick to the man's stomach. With it, he coughed and curled up further into a ball, his stomach no longer exposed. He was lying on the ground, a cold flat surface beneath his side. Not quite the texture of metal, so he assumed it to be concrete. He was somewhere in a decent, civilized society then.
The man rolled onto his hands and knees, getting his bearings. He realized his eyes were closed and attempted to open them. It could be considered a small mistake. Light poured into his vision, blinding amounts. He closed his eyes again and stood up, then carefully reopened them slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the new world.
"I'm... I'm sorry. Didn't intend to end up here." the man said, his voice shaky and slow as it returned to him. He looked up at the person standing near him, only to realize it was three persons. He glanced around and noticed they were in an alleyway, the echoed sound of cars near and far giving him a hint that he was in a city. The person nearest to him, who he assumed was the person who kicked him, was taller than him, and seemingly more muscular too. He had a bright purple mohawk and was dressed in what looked like a biker's jacket, though he had never seen one like it before. His jeans were ripped, and he wore tall combat boots. The two people behind him were dressed similarly, with the one to his left having bright red spiky hair and the one on the right having short, black hair. All three were easily a head taller than him. A gang, most likely.
The next person to speak was Red Hair. "You came into our turf, buddy. Don't matter if you wanted to be here or not." Then he gestured at the man with a gloved hand. "Even if you did run in here in your skins, you're still lookin' for a fight."
It was then that he noted he was completely nude. He should have expected it, really. Every time he reformed, he was naked. It was simply something that happened. The man sighed and held his arms away from his body slightly. Dust and earth around him on the ground swirled and floated up around him before forming clothing on him. A pale grey shirt and loose beige pants came first, then a small dark grey scarf around his neck. After those, a cloak, oaken brown and with many pockets, formed on his shoulders. He stepped back with one still bare foot and raised his fists.
"Feel free to fight me then." Judging from the fact that the sudden appearance of clothes on his back didn't surprise these three, the man guessed magic would be commonplace in this land. A good thing too, meaning he could do what he wanted with his.
Almost speaking as if it were an afterthought, the man spoke again. "Where I'm from, it's polite to let your enemies know your name. I'm Cassiel. Cassiel Pulveris."
Purple Mohawk growled. "I don't care about your damn name." As he was saying the words, he threw a punch. Cassiel deflected it to the side, but just barely. His fighting skills were rusty, it seemed. Hopefully he would get the rust off them soon.
Cassiel brought his knee up to his stomach, then pivoted and kicked behind him, aiming for Purple Mohawk's stomach. Returning the favor, one might say. His foe stumbled backwards from the force of the kick, but then returned to standing again. He approached the sandy haired man again, this time with Red Hair at his side. Red Hair punched high while Purple Mohawk reached low to grab Cassiel. He wouldn't let that happen.
Cassiel took the punch to the face, the blow barely grazing him, but knocking him to the ground just in time to miss getting grabbed by Purple Hair. He brought both legs up to his midsection and pushed back, letting both heels collide with Red Hair's jaw. The hit knocked him against the wall, where he slumped down.
"Guess your friend couldn't take a hit." Cassiel said, the cockiness of his words seeming to anger his other foe. He let Purple Hair wind up a punch and swing right on past him, Cassiel stepping to the side. He slammed his elbow into his foe's spine, smacking right between his shoulder blades. Purple Hair was slammed into the wall of the alley headfirst, his skull making a loud cracking noise as it hit the wall. He crumpled to the concrete, unconscious.
"Honestly, were NEITHER of you trained in fighting? Disappointing." As he said the words, he shook his head softly and closed his eyes. He was surprised, his skill in combat had come back rather quickly after several years of ignoring them.
"I was." a voice from behind him said, and muscular, bearlike arms folded over Cassiel's chest, crushing his arms to his sides and lifting the man off the ground. The third of the group, the black haired one. Somehow he had sneaked behind Cassiel. So his skills weren't in peak physical condition. A shame.
He began to bash Cassiel into the wall as best he could. Cassiel took it easily, he had felt worse thousands of times. He swung his foot up, seeing if he could play dirty. Unfortunately, he couldn't.
"Where I'm from, there's a saying. If you can't win with strength, win with cheating." Cassiel said, and a knife pulled into existence in his hand. It was long and curved, a Persian design. They had always been wonderful at fighting unfairly. He brought the knife back, stabbing Black Hair in the thigh. With a shout, he dropped Cassiel to clutch at the wound, who spun around to smash his heel into the side of his final foe's head.
Cassiel began to back slowly out of the alley, the dagger disappearing into a puff of dust as he did. "Again, I'm sorry. But next time, think twice before kicking a naked man in the chest, got it?" He gave a thumbs up and an awkward smile, and with the last word, he disappeared from the alley.
The first thing Cassiel noticed was how empty the street was. Despite towering buildings being packed together for the most part, many of them looking to be office towers where people worked, there wasn't a single car parked or driving around even near to him.
As a matter of fact, the sidewalk was empty, too. It was almost as if nobody lived in this city but the three punks he had just taken care of. He walked slightly faster, looking up into the sky, watching for anything passing overhead. He touched his chin where he had been punched. A small cut, slowly dripping sand out of it. Nothing life threatening.
As he reached the end of the street, a hushed voice spoke. "Hey, you! Idiot! What are you doing?"
Cassiel stopped moving and looked around, searching for the source of the voice. Nobody was on the street with him still, the only sound on the street being his own breathing.
"Down here, you knob!" The voice spoke again, sounding more frantic this time. Cassiel directed his gaze to a nearby sewer grate, which he then realized was being gripped by a set of hands. He leaned down towards the grate, looking through to see the face behind the words. To his surprise, a woman pulled herself further up towards the grate.
"What are you doing? If they see you walking on their streets, they'll kill you!" the woman said, and she leaned to the side, as if attempting to see further down the street.
"Death's an old friend, but who's going to be killing me?" Cassiel asked, also looking in the direction the woman was. As he spoke the words, a low, slow rumbling sound became audible from nearby, the opposite direction from where they were looking.
"Shit! Too late, I'm sorry. We'll try and bury you somewhere nice." the woman said, letting go of the bars and dropping out of sight.
"What? Who's killing me? Hey!" Cassiel shouted into the grate, glancing in the direction the rumbling was coming from between words.
He was offered no response from the woman, but from the rumbling came several, the first of which was a large set of dark grey wheels rolling around the corner, connected to an equally dark, utilitarian vehicle, looking like a cross between a SWAT van and a motorcycle.
Once the vehicle had moved onto the street, it paused for a moment, as if the people inside were surprised to see somebody. From somewhere on the strange vehicle, a loudspeaker blasted out a man's voice. It sounded less like somebody's voice and more like a recorded computer message.
"Attention civilian! This is a restricted city, place your hands above your head and surrender or be removed!"
Cassiel did neither of those things. Instead, he took a step towards the vehicle and shouted back.
"Excuse me, hello! I'm sorry, I didn't know I wasn't meant to be here, if you would-" He wasn't allowed to finish the sentence. Two short barrels slid out from the bottom of the vehicle and fired two projectiles at Cassiel, hitting him in the chest. Bullets of some kind. A moment after they struck him, he collapsed to the ground unconscious, bleeding out dust.
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