[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLjAwMDAwMC5WR2hsSUVOc1lYYywuMA,,/down-town-auto.regular.png[/img][/center] [center](An abandoned warehouse, Marvin Hayes' hideout)[/center] [hr] [center]January 15th, 2020[/center] 5:10 a.m. [hr] The months of December and January Marvin spent training. He began his full time venture into mixed martial arts in the highest order: first Judo; seven days a week, three hours a day, he practiced various leg trips, hip throws, and sweeps. On the old heavybag upon which he used to practice his boxing, he went through three repetitions of five moves each: first, the harai goshi--the sweeping hip throw. He grabbed the heavybag around its top and set outer part of his rear against its front, he pushed one foot backward into the bag and used his hips to twist with the bag's forward momentum; a massive smack echoed against the dusty of the abandoned warehouse in which he had set up his personal training room near the low-rises of New York's Marcy prjects. Next, the Ippon Seoinage--the one arm shoulder throw. A more difficult maneuver to pull off, havybags have no arms one may note. To compensate, Marvin grabbed the heavybag by its chain and curled one arm beneath an artificial crux he made by giving the chain some slack; he proceeded to twist his body so the bag rested on his back, and then dipped into a slight squat before propelling himself upward forward and tossing the bag over his body completely with the chain still in grip. He took brief respite. The old warehouse swelled of sweat and old boards. It would definitely need some renovation if he was going to make this his base of operations. Marvin took a look around; a splash of fuscia? maybe some forest greens and earth browns? It would fit the all natural look he had always wanted when he got his own place. He didn't care much whether this place was ten year old painting factory with some less than savory chemicals trapped in the walls. After his short rest, he returned to training. Now it was ground transitions and using muay thai elbows and knees in combination with the transitions. It took another hour of continuous training before he had completely run through his entire regimen for the day: Judo, BJJ transitions, Muay Thai knees and elbows, and of course some regular boxing refreshment. If he was going to build himself a hideout, it had to be gorgeous. That, and he would probably need to invest in some kind of actual protection--his fists still weren't as fast as bullets. Off to the home supply store and the outdoor hunting establishment. [hr][center]Later that Day[/center] 4:00 p.m.[hr] Shopping cart in motion, Marvin scanned the available camoflauge fatigues. Green? Black? Tan? These folks had [i]no[/i] fashion sense. [i]They just don't know, you gotta look good when you bustin' heads![/i] Marvin shook his head in disappointment at their appalling lack of fashion sense. He chose the black fatigues; they were obviously the best choice for disguising oneself for night-time barhopping--if one would use such loose terminology to describe taking down the mob. He continued his search, one finger tapped his thick chin as he pondered his decisions; did he want the fingerless gloves and the tan workboots or should he wait and order the army boots to pair with the gloves? The army boots had better traction across different terrain, after all. No, the workboots would do just fine. He snatched both into his shopping cart. When he got back to his base of operations, he tried on the camo gear, gloves, vest, and boots. It all fit well, though it all felt a little heavy. In time he figured he would get used to the feel; it probably just meant he had to strettch more, for after all, he was beginning Taekwondo next month and he had never thrown many kicks before. [center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLjAwMDAwMC5WR2hsSUVOc1lYYywuMA,,/down-town-auto.regular.png[/img][/center] [hr] [center]February 1st, 2020[/center] 12:00 p.m.[hr] January passed in a flash, in the intervening weeks, he had sent a little compensation the governor's way to procure rights to the land surrounding the warehouse upon which he had been nesting: compensation to the tune of of half a million dollars. He would have no city inspectors haggling him as he continued to prepare for what was brewing. The Mob had apparently relented in their pursuit of his life and their money, or so it seemed. New York's streets often talked, and Marvin had been keeping his ear close to her pulse; a new set of Triads had moved into town and had their sights on the Italians' territory. War was coming to NY streets, and there would be blood. Marvin would be right in the middle of it. After he was done painting and re-decorating of course. He spent the last two weeks of January adding his own touch to the white walls permeating the 200x300 space. He spent much of the month simply painting his hideout; black and white tiger stripes draped across half of the warehouse from ceiling to floor; the other half was left unfinished until he felt like getting to it. He wasn't paying himself for this. This was indeed a strange time to be alive; superpowered people were slowly making themselves known--the most known of them all being Lady Arcana. Marvin didn't have a TV, but he heard from word-of-mouth of some of her more grandiose deeds; something about holding up a building with one finger? Marvin was unsure how much credit he could give to such stories. Although he was among these 'powered' people from what he knew of the changes he had underwent. The world was changing, growing; people with incredible powers were appearing everywhere, and for every superpowered human who had appeared the common person still remained, and so did her problems. A rising of heroes was met with a rise in men and women who only wanted to capitalize on the suffering of the lowly. It was no wonder to Marvin thus when the lowrise housing projects he looked over had gotten another influx of drugs right into the heart of its population.