Welcome to Gaia! ::

If there was ever a place to start a heroes’ career, this little slice of imported third world ought to be it. Brian thought as he looked down from his rooftop perch. It’s got everything any marksman ever would want, cover, plenty of places to hide, few police and plenty of targets. He finishes attaching the scope to the M98 than sets it on the deck in preference for having the less conspicuous binoculars. Abductions, murders, rapes, theft … all of the above happen here, as much as it seems ridiculous to sit on a rooftop and wait for crime it is going to happen here. There was that attempted murder of a mother and successful abduction of the daughter; that’s quite some time ago and the trail is bound to be cold. Brian pulls a “missing” notice out of his pocket on his faded fatigues and looks at the picture, “maybe I’ll get lucky and score the bad guy.” Brian puts the binoculars to his eyes and starts scanning the street.

After adjusting the binoculars as much as he could Brian puts them back in the bag in disgust. “Can’t see half the effing street, no wonder it’s so bad here!” Brian produces night vision goggles and adjusts the strap on it so it wont mess up his mohawk too much than puts it on. He than sets up a collapsable chair, sits in it and picks up his rifle, staring down the scope he returns to scanning windows, cars and the street. Every minute or two he stops and scans to roof behind him than resumes with the rifle.

After waiting half an hour doing this Brian slides the magazine into the rifle and bolts the first round into place. From his position he had command of about 1000 yards, 500 in each direction.
Only a matter of time.
Patience …
Patience …
He settles the crosshairs on a random pedestrian, “bang, you’re dead,” on another pedestrian, “bang, you’re dead.”
He sighs and than resumes scanning for another ten minutes until a woman shrieks down the direction he’s not looking. Brian takes a knee straight out of the chair and looks towards the direction the scream came from. “new target,” looking through the nightvision into the scope he looks at a person wrapped up in clothes too warm for the night brandishing a knife at a woman. Brian sighs, “boring,” than shoots the knife which comes apart about an inch up the blade before the person drops it in shock.
The woman starts running up the street towards Brians’ perch, “that’s a rookie mistake, running away from the bullet impact and towards the shooter, ought to shoot her on principle.” While Brian mused to himself the other person has pulled a handgun from in their jacket and is pointing it either at the woman or just up the street in general, Brian pulls the trigger again causing the freshly oiled bolt on his semiautomatic rifle to kick again sending another round through the persons hand into the magazine on the pistol and ultimately into the persons abdomen. Brians target falls down shrieking while clearly torn about if they should hold whats left of their right hand or the wound in their stomach.
Now the woman is curled up against a partially rusted car but that’s nothing Brian is paying much attention too because, for the first time in the few hours Brian has been in Hells’ Kitchen he’s hearing police sirens. Pistol shots don’t get any attention from the locals but a high powered rifle still phases at least somone, Brian thinks while ejecting the magazing, the round in the chamber than quickly dismantling ennough of the rifle to put it in his bag. Once the rifle is put away he looks for the spent casings. “Those .416 rounds might get some attention if I leave the casings,” Brian says before he looks in horror at how close he was to the side of the building, “f***, they’re in the street!” He rips off his goggles and stuffs them into his bag, too. He zips the whole thing closed than scrambles down the fire escape and the street level. Once on the ground the first police car arrives followed astonishingly fast by another two. Brian puts his bag over his shoulders and goes back into the alley and starts up his Harley Crossbones. He rolls out into the street and drives away into the night before the police even know they’re looking for him.

Brian, seeing the red clad man, first thinks Well, s***, this is probably going to ruin my night than shifts the motorcycle into neutral and applies the brakes. The Crossbones gently rolls to a stop on the side of the street and the engine cuts off with a turn of the key. Brian lifts his weight off the bike and steps off to the side closed to Daredevil. Brian unbuttons the jacket for his fatigues which let the butt end of a Kabar knife stick out just enough that it would be easy to grab.
"A man dressed like that never makes himself that easy to see unless he wants something,”Brian says with a sharp edge in his voice while removing his backpack and putting it on the Harley, “I’m not particularly interested in fighting you and you probably could’ve gotten the drop on me so I’m guessing you want to have words.”

Brian looks back the way he came to see if the police suddenly had a spike in I.Q.s but they’re still busy with the crime scene which causes Brian to relax just enough to take the edge out of his voice, “if you wanna have words with me, I’m listening.”

Brian rolls his head back while Daredevil comments on his choice of words and his heart picks up for just a moment during those few seconds but it resumes a normal pace and Brian returns to a normal stance once Daredevil gets to business. “I may have been travelling and the city is not normally my stomping grounds, that’s true; but who asks if someone has gone section 8 … especially someone wearing that.” Brian gestures lightly with his left hand towards Daredevil.

Brian folds his arms across his chest once the billy club is put away and than continues, “I’m sane and I work for me, this place has gone to hell and maybe I am trying to do something about it. What, are you going to tell me to f*** off and find my own little s***-hole to play vigilante in?”

Brian allows himself to be led through the city to nearby the Avengers mansion. He listens skeptically to the idea of putting together a team of heroes but decides to go along with it for now, mostly because of the name behind all of it. Stark, that’s a name you can’t help but hear a few times in the military. Brian takes a few steps towards the mansion than turns to ask “Hey what’s your -” he stops once he realizes he is all alone now and continues towards the mansion.

The form talks to Brian whom responds, “Yeah, that’d be nice,” than adds on, “could I use the bathroom first?” It has been a couple of days since I last showered he thinks as he asks his question.