Looking around a corner to make sure no one was looking, Proust nodded in satisfaction that he was, in fact, alone. He checked his new comm to the Codex and Sanctuary. It beeped once in recognition to his genetic signature. From this he looked at the pile of armor at his feet. Once he "found" the pieces needed (that would fit him) from the Codex armory, Proust decided to give them a run for the money ... wherever that money came from didn't matter to him. The armor was here and it was his.
He looked around the corner and spied a group of Council soldiers setting up a streetside rally. Only a few of them at that corner, but that's all they needed anyway. Proust shook his head and popped a knuckle before grabbing a burgundy and gold colored gauntlet.
Proust started mumbling the litany of combat he was trained to use inmoments like these. He felt proud as his right arm snuggled perfectly into the second gauntlet. It sensed his fingers at the tips and shock padding inflated to securely "hug" his arm. He stomped once, as was his practice, like a bull ready to charge. Proust's black body-suit sported the cross of the Codex and flexed comfortably to his moves. He stretched slightly and calmly exhaled. Activating the rune on the comm, he said, "Training". This alerted everyone on the Codex frequency that Proust was active. Then he turned a corner and calmly walked into street.
Pedestrians of Paragon City have learned when a meta-fight was about to happen and stopped in their tracks. Proust was aware they were also looking at an 8-foot tall purple-skinned person. The Council group noticed him as well and pulled out their rifles. The people wanting to watch the brawl started to cower or scatter. Only the brave kept looking.
"Know you cannot defeat the Council, welp. We have a right to assembly!"
Cars stopped for Proust as he strode across the lanes. He shook his head at the words but did not stop. Traffic resumed behind him and cleared quickly.
"You will not stand," Proust growled and pointed toward the statue in the center of Steel Canyon. One soldier lowered his rifle to follow Proust's finger.
First.
"Cheddar this fool!" The Council soldiers raised rifles to shoulders and released projectile and laser pain. Proust jumped before the triggers and was airborn as the ammunition exhaled. He landed near the curious soldier and brought down both armored fists. A crack of thunder and blast of light exploded from the helmet and the soldier crumpled to the ground. The flash seemed to daze the others and Proust wheeled on his heels to smash the faceplate of a second soldier. That one went flying backward and Proust fired another fist at a third with the same effect.
The last cowered at the sight then regained his courage to face down the juggernaut. A round was fired point-blank into Proust's chest. The bullet pentrated and tore through him, missing his heart. Blood trickled from the wound but was ignored. Proust grabbed the rifle by the barrel and twisted to bring the soldier closer, then brought his free hand from under. His armored fist bowled into the coucil soldiers torso, causing a yelp from the pain. The follow-through tossed the soldier fifty feet away. He landed and did not move.
Proust looked around and a few people started to clap at his performance. He waved them off and started to fast-pace down the road until he saw a group of Outcast thugs threatening someone near an alley. He started a run toward the group who was too busy to notice his approach.
This training session to the hidden entrance to Sanctuary would prove to be very relaxing.
He looked around the corner and spied a group of Council soldiers setting up a streetside rally. Only a few of them at that corner, but that's all they needed anyway. Proust shook his head and popped a knuckle before grabbing a burgundy and gold colored gauntlet.
Proust started mumbling the litany of combat he was trained to use inmoments like these. He felt proud as his right arm snuggled perfectly into the second gauntlet. It sensed his fingers at the tips and shock padding inflated to securely "hug" his arm. He stomped once, as was his practice, like a bull ready to charge. Proust's black body-suit sported the cross of the Codex and flexed comfortably to his moves. He stretched slightly and calmly exhaled. Activating the rune on the comm, he said, "Training". This alerted everyone on the Codex frequency that Proust was active. Then he turned a corner and calmly walked into street.
Pedestrians of Paragon City have learned when a meta-fight was about to happen and stopped in their tracks. Proust was aware they were also looking at an 8-foot tall purple-skinned person. The Council group noticed him as well and pulled out their rifles. The people wanting to watch the brawl started to cower or scatter. Only the brave kept looking.
"Know you cannot defeat the Council, welp. We have a right to assembly!"
Cars stopped for Proust as he strode across the lanes. He shook his head at the words but did not stop. Traffic resumed behind him and cleared quickly.
"You will not stand," Proust growled and pointed toward the statue in the center of Steel Canyon. One soldier lowered his rifle to follow Proust's finger.
First.
"Cheddar this fool!" The Council soldiers raised rifles to shoulders and released projectile and laser pain. Proust jumped before the triggers and was airborn as the ammunition exhaled. He landed near the curious soldier and brought down both armored fists. A crack of thunder and blast of light exploded from the helmet and the soldier crumpled to the ground. The flash seemed to daze the others and Proust wheeled on his heels to smash the faceplate of a second soldier. That one went flying backward and Proust fired another fist at a third with the same effect.
The last cowered at the sight then regained his courage to face down the juggernaut. A round was fired point-blank into Proust's chest. The bullet pentrated and tore through him, missing his heart. Blood trickled from the wound but was ignored. Proust grabbed the rifle by the barrel and twisted to bring the soldier closer, then brought his free hand from under. His armored fist bowled into the coucil soldiers torso, causing a yelp from the pain. The follow-through tossed the soldier fifty feet away. He landed and did not move.
Proust looked around and a few people started to clap at his performance. He waved them off and started to fast-pace down the road until he saw a group of Outcast thugs threatening someone near an alley. He started a run toward the group who was too busy to notice his approach.
This training session to the hidden entrance to Sanctuary would prove to be very relaxing.
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