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[b][I]Kansas City, December 31, 2019, 7:30 pm[/I][/b]

He stood in the storage loft of his shop, which did double duty as his bedroom, with his phone pressed to his ear. [color=EDE275][b]”Yes G I’m sure…I’m [I]not[/I] being a ‘stick in the mud’, you know I’m not a fan of crowds, especially when you and Stacy would be the only people I know…yes, yes I know…hey how ‘bout I meet you two for breakfast on Saturday? You can bitch at me for being a shut in in person then.”[/b][/color] He let out a sharp bark of laughter. [color=EDE275][b]”Love you to, say ‘Hi’ to Stacy for me, and Happy New Year to you both.”[/b][/color]

Ending the call, he stuck the phone on charge and set it on the arm of the couch that was his bed. Stretching a few more times, he finished getting ready for his nightly ‘patrol’…though saying that, even in his head, sounded ridiculous. Sneakers, jeans and a long sleeved shirt, all second hand and easily replaceable; when he first started heading out he wore a bandanna to hid his face, but after the third time someone he was trying to help thought he was going to [I]rob[/I] them, he stopped.

Ready, he headed for the shops rear exit and stepped into the growing night.[hr]
[b][I]Kansas City, January 1, 2020, 2:00 am[/I][/b]

He was surprised at how ‘quiet’ a night it’d been. Sure there were New Years revilers, many of them hammered, but no real crime. Yawning, he walked along, eventually pushing through the doors of a 24 hour corner store. [color=EDE275][b]”Morning Azi…[I]Mr. Nasirian?[/I], what are [I]you[/I] doing here?”[/b][/color] He asked, shocked to see the older Iranian man behind the counter of his store at 2am. [color=EDE275][b]”Where’s Aziz?”[/b][/color] Mr. Nasirian raised a hand and yawned. [color=Green][b]”Good morning to you to Arty,”[/b][/color] Came the heavily accented reply, accompanied be another yawn. [color=Green][b]”My clumsy fool of a son tripped and fell down the front steps…he’s fine, twisted an ankle and got a few good bruises, but I think his ego took a bigger hit than he did. The painkillers knocked him out so I had to cover.”[/b][/color]

With another, larger, yawn he stretched. [color=Green][b]”[I]Allah[/I] knows I love my boy, but he’s a walking disaster.”[/b][/color] Arty laughed with Mr. Nasirian as he poked through the deserted shop for a snack. They’d met when Arty had interrupted a robbery, and after he’s got into a patrol routine, he’d met Aziz. Snagging a couple of protein bars he headed for the counter. [color=EDE275][b]”Hey, can I borrow your head?”[/b][/color] Mr. Nasirian replied with a yawn and a wave of his hand towards the back of the store.

Early on he come into the store while out to grab a snack, and had interrupted a robbery. The wanna-be gangbangers had unfortunately already beaten the hell out of poor Aziz, and were looting the place before they bolted when he showed up. Catching them off guard, he beat the ever-loving shit out of the pair before calling the police and seeing to Aziz, staying with him until authorities and Mr. Nasirian arrived. Since then he’d become friends with Aziz and his family and made a point of stopping by the store a few times a night with he was out.

[color=DC143C][b][I]"HEY YOU HAJI SAND NIGGER, HANDS UP AN’ OPEN THE FUCKIN’ TILL!”[/i][/b][/color] The harsh demand cut through Arty’s wandering thoughts as he was finishing up and washing his hands. He felt his adrenaline spike, fueled by intense anger, as racial slurs were hurled at one of the nicest men he’d ever met. Stepping out of the back room, his hand up and free, he saw two skin-heads standing in front of a terrified Mr. Nasirian; one had a bat and the other a cheap looking small caliber pistol. They both snapped their attention to him.

[color=EDE275][b]”Hey now,”[/b][/color] He said, far more calmly than he felt. [color=EDE275][b]”There’s no need for that, Mr Nasirian is just trying to run his bus-”[/b][/color] He got cut short by the bat armed asshole driving the end of it into his stomach; he saw the blow coming and his powers took all the force from it, a surge of energy feeding his adrenaline amp’d nerves. [color=DC143C][b]”My cous’n in lockup ‘cuz of this terrorist lookin’ asshole…he owes us!”[/b][/color] The gunman spat. Still faking how effective the bat had been, Arty slowly straightened; he had a good 4-6 inches in height over either of the racist idiots and a sever mass advantage. [color=EDE275][b]”It wasn’t him,”[/b][/color] He replied with a fake gasp. [color=EDE275][b]”[I]I[/I] beat the shit out of that turd…”[/b][/color] Though before either of the would be robbers replied, he raised a placating hand. [color=EDE275][b]”Why don’t we take this outside?”[/b][/color] [color=DC143C][b]”You wanna die in th’ gutter with th’ rest of th’ trash? Fine…”[/b][/color]

He was roughly shoved out of the small store, and as he staggered onto the sidewalk, he heard the hammer of the gun cock. His ‘stagger’ let him turn enough to see where his assailants were standing, the both of them standing side by side at almost point blank. He let the power flow and he snapped around with a kick [I]far[/I] harder than he’d ever use in a spar or a bout; his shin connected with the bat-thugs side with enough force to almost fold him in half and drive him into his buddy. At the same time the gun went off, pain shooting through Arty’s chest, while simultaneously making him feel more energized than he’d ever been.

Recovering the kick he stepped into the gun-man, who’d stayed upright when his friend had hit him, and threw an elbow strike that shattered the fucker’s jaw and sent teeth flying. Arty’s other hand flashed out and snatched the gun away, breaking several of the thugs fingers as he did so. All-in-all, the whole ‘fight’ took only a few seconds, both targets were down, one sobbing in pain while the other was out cold. Arty’s hands now went to his chest, expecting to find a gunshot wound he couldn’t feel yet…but there was no blood…a hole in his shirt, and a spot that was already started to bruise sure…but no blood. [color=EDE275][i]Holy shit…[/i][/color]
 
Mr. Nasirian rushed out the door moments later, as surprised as Arty to [I]not[/I] finds him bleeding out on the dirty sidewalk. [color=Green][b]”Arty…are you…are you alright?”[/b][/color] [color=EDE275][b]”I think so…”[/b][/color] The power crackling through him was dissipating, along with the pain from getting shot. [color=Green][b]”You should go home son, you’ve done enough…I’ll see to these [I]bisho'ur[/I].”[/b][/color] He patted Arty on the shoulder and held eye contact until he was certain what he’d said had gotten through. Arty nodded and headed off.[hr]
[b][I]Kansas City, January 1, 2020, 9:30 am[/I][/b]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMD5JcEsLwc]Music[/url] blared through Columbus Park Automotive as Arty, dressed only in trunks, worked a heavy bag. There wasn’t even a bruise now from the bullet, and though he hadn’t gotten any real sleep once he’d gotten home he didn’t feel tired from it, though the [I]workout[/I] he’d been at since 8 [I]was[/I] staring to get to him.