“I thought we agreed that you wouldn't act through the day, it destroys the air of mystery,” 

“You agreed, I was neutral on the subject,” The Fire-Bird, Phoenix's top of the line, customised, VTOL jet tore across the Astro city skyline like a bird of prey on the hunt. The aircraft looked like the unholy child of a peregrine and F16 falcon, and was kitted out with the most cutting edge technology in the world. Anti-personal and vehicle weapons, stealth systems capable of fooling the worlds most powerful government agencies, a thruster system capable of breaking the sound barrier. It was Phoenix's pride and joy.

“Coming up on the memorial park now, hostile's are in sight,” Ambrose had caught wind of the Metropolitan making a move in the city through his sources and had told Phoenix, thinking the vigilante would pass the information on to some other hero situated in Astro. He hadn't counted on Pheonix wanting to get involved himself, but in retrospect he should have known. Chris always preferred doing things himself rather than involving anyone else.

“Well can you at least fight them from the Fire-Bird?”

“No can do Ambrose, I need to stretch my legs.” Stated Phoenix in return. Leaving the VTOL hovering above the impromptu battleground the vigilante ejected some thirty feet in the air. He spread his cape out wide to slow his descent, gliding quickly towards a group of hoodies who were preparing a rope to tear the Silver Avenger's statue down. Phoenix's booted feet crunched into one hooligan's face, who proceeded to crumple like a paper bag. The hoodies took a second to take stock of this newest hero to spring on the scene, before rushing in to attack him. A bad move all round. 

A nose exploded under Phoenix's gauntleted fist, while another villain took a boot to the solar plexus. New York's dark avenger took the crooks down with a ruthless efficiency, the vigilante showing a complete economy of movement. No fancy flips or flourishes, no showing off, just a brutal barrage of bone crunching combat that left the vandals no more than broken heaps on the ground. He was taking out his frustration's for being unable to catch Whitechapel on these hoodies.

He might not kill them, but they might wish that he had.