[b]Arizona
Town of Duskfall, roaming the streets.[/b]

The Guise of a homeless man, though it was technically true. For it had been a long time since he had had an actual home. More correctly he looked like nothing more than a man down on his luck. His Scythe and Helmet were secured away where they would not be seen or found and if they were someone to take them would pay severely for their transgression. Though the Scythe was almost as old as he was the helmet was a newer addition, while he used to wear an old Gas Mask he felt with the fact that most of the heroes were gone he had to be more than the symbol and myth of the Angel of Death. He needed to become an Icon for people to rally behind and the gas mask didn't exactly make him look friendly. Though nor did the helmet, with metallic sides and a black sheen where his face should be off the one way glass. The Voice changer was a nice addition, not that he had any family to keep safe anymore. The ones he cared about had left him a long time ago and he had made sure not to form attachments since, he couldn't go through that all again.

Why he was in Arizona? He didn't really know to be honest. A lot of the time he just walked somewhere for no apparent reason, he had learned a long time ago to trust his gut. He would be a good detective though it was a lot easier to live as long as he did while not officially being part of the legal system than if he tried to form a new identity every couple of decades. Most people ignored him anyway and that was the way he liked it, especially when the whole world was being turned upside down after the death of the Heroes who had raised themselves up on mantles above compare to anyone else, like the Champions of old who existed even before his time. He was thankful he wasn't from the time of Champions he would have likely lost his mind over the eons. Though sometimes he was almost convinced that he already had. He moved to the alley he frequented, and looked down it. Two guards same as always, he had found this crime rinks base of operations purely by accident but after watching them he really felt he had no option but to intervene. He had watched them, kidnappings, drug and arms dealings were frequent and while that was not unusual in the current state of affairs of the world the fact that he knew their base of operations wasn't exactly good news for them. 

He opened the dumpster, once again ignored by members of society as they saw this homeless man look for food. Though it was bin day, it had been emptied though that was more of a godsend than anything else. At the bottom there was a long thin box he had screwed into the bed of the dumpster (No easy feat without making a noise) and unlocked it. Inside lay his helmet, Scythe and jacket. While he retained all his other items of clothing the jacket just completed the look, and despite its age it had held together rather well. He left the Scythe in the dumpster for now, being unable to attach it to its strap on his back in such a small space and put the helmet on.There was a hiss as it sealed itself and the foul smell of the bin was immediately replaced by that of purified air. The HUD wasn't all that fancy, he had Infrared and Nightvision if he wanted though nothing overly exciting. He stood up, grabbing the scythe and jumping out to face the door at the end of the alley. He stood up and strapped the scythe to his back. The two men at the other end obviously drew weapons, swords. It had been a while since he had faced swords. A lot of people now a days enjoyed using guns however a bit of a spar would be nice. 

He got within a few feet of them and drew his scythe, twirling it around his hands in only a way a well trained person could. He had of course met mutants who seemed to have a natural affinity for melee weapons however the training he had done over the decades beat that hands down, in his opinion. After his display he brought it down so the blade was facing behind him and looked at his opponents. "Okay, who's first?"

[i]The Cleaver[/i] was back in business.