Post by Haupien on Jul 16, 2023 21:19:39 GMT -5
Hatch City was an hybrid of abandoned and bustling. Much of everyday life seemed to be absent, shops closed and the occasional road blockage where stray shots from the fierce battle that had loomed ahead. Sometimes he walked multiple blocks before seeing any signs of life. Other times, he was pushing his way through large bickering crowds, a swell of people returning to the city and trying to return to the life they left without any further disruption. From what he could tell, the damage was largely superficial, but no one in the citizen trusted that it wouldn't be a repeat of last time. Even now, some looked at the skies, fearful that the blue sky should turn golden with the flare of a super saiyan. Super Saiyans, real, breathing, in the flesh Super Saiyans. He had never been one for legends and myths, but even he had heard of them. Hell, Mayze had probably talked his ears off about the legend at some point. What Saiyan hadn't? Occasionally he caught glimpses on a display of the fight, countless super powered beings with glowing hair floating above the city, trading words and balls of energy that could demolish entire cities with ease if their trajectories missed. For a moment he imagined himself on the monitor, radiant energy around him, the world in his fingertips, but then he quickly dismissed the thought. He was nowhere near their power, and even if he did- they all had purpose, had some belief that drove them to wield such power no matter the cost. What would he do with that power- make money, take jobs? He supposed it may be fortunate that he was spared such power- it would wasted on him.
His scouter notified him that he had arrived. He looked at the building with a raised eyebrow, not certain that he was in the right place. This didn't quite match the aesthetic of "Saiyan center of war," but he supposed they had only recently laid claim to the city. He walked in, a slight feeling of anxiety traveling through him. He wasn't one to feel nervous often, besides when he was forced to talk too much rather than swinging a sword. But the bruises, now turning yellow, splotched across his body, the slighest tell of swelling across his face, and the broken nose, the bandage now almost falling off, they reminded him of what he wasn't. He had always thought himself strong, someone who had his place in life and a good one for that. It might not be the most stable job, but being a mercenary fueling his soul, the art of combat engraving deepily in his art- and it paid of course. But what had come of it? Was this really all he wanted?
Didn't want to prescribe details about your current set up so kept it vague- feel free to describe whatever entrance I'd have to make, people to talk to, whatever, and I can go over it in my next post before I get to my normal reply to you
WC: 464