Down one of the many side streets in the bustling city of Mekkina there was a very large man over-dressed for an ordinary stroll. The mask sat up on his head allowed easy access for the mango he was currently devouring with strong white teeth, while his mixed Afro-Caribbean-Caucasian heritage was plain on his rather unattractive face. One look at him and you’d think ‘bruiser’ or maybe ‘merc’ and you’d be right on the money both times. He was obviously ready for something, because his large six foot two form was donned in Kevlar vest and army fatigues, he had a pistol over his chest, a shotty at his hip, and a baton on the other. Not to mention, he was carrying a damn riot shield for some reason.

The gruesome slurping sound echoed through the otherwise empty side street, passer-by’s giving him a wide berth. He dropped the husk of the fruit to the ground and looked around, sunken eyes staring down the street at an individual who had just crossed the main road. Unmistakable, in his lack of attire and his marked hands and forearms, it was Quebra Carolos. The armoured man began moving, tipping his mask back down across his face, revealing the red motif on the otherwise black exterior, the Rook. His shield bore the same mark, as did he.

Rook began walking down the side street at a leisurely pace. He didn’t feel any need to hurry, after all, he could always call the wrestler back if he got too far ahead. This was not a man inclined to run from a fight, even if it were one he was not expecting. The better question was whether his so-called powers would be a match for strength of arms and some modern explosives, flash and rubber-balls to be exact. That was what Rook was interested to find out, of a sort. Though honestly, this work was small-fry, more of an appetiser before the main course. GCL was his goal.

“Oi, mate.” He called in his thick British baritone. He was stood in the centre of the main street behind Quebra and the plaza, his feet set, the mask concealing his features. “Quebra, you’ve pissed off the wrong people. I’m here to teach you a lesson.” His shield at his side, the shotty was in plain view as he hefted it out of its holster and onto his shoulder, revealing it to be a sawn-off. “Nothing personal mate, but I’m gunna be beating you up, don’t worry though I won’t kill you or nothin.”