Snippet #2471051

"So, who wants to be next?"

Goblin, or Jack as others had nicknamed him, had surrounded himself with a group of roughly ten or so local gangbangers, each dangerous in their own right. It was a good number, but not quite enough to cause worry for the operative. Two of them were already lying motionless on the ground next to him.

Despite being a good two feet shorter than these punks, he bounced around in place, readying himself to take each one down, nice ass-whooping to boot. Three of the gangbangers had closed in, two holding heavy lead pipes, the other wielding a chain. The chainfighter made the first strike at him, swinging the heavy chain at their surrounded target, the chain wrapping around one of the operative's arms.

However, that wasn't enough to disable Goblin from using his arm, and as suddenly as the chain had wrapped itself, he pulled his arm in towards himself, the sudden tug on the chain throwing the gangbanger off balance and into the operative. Within mere seconds, Goblin secured a grip on the jacket, directing the unfortunate soul towards the ground as he lifted his knee with (near) lightning speed, his mechanical knee connecting with the gangbanger's face, smashing it inwards almost instantly.

Despite their friend's face being crushed in, the others didn't care much about their own safety as the two bumrushed Goblin, flanking him from both sides. The operative, still having a solid grip on the injured gangbanger, spinned himself around, his improvised weapon making contact with one pipe wielding thug, but the other thug had made contact, smashing the lead pipe into Goblin's left shoulder, the pipe bending around the impact from the amount of force.

"I really didn't want to use them bu-"

Simulation paused.

An automated voice interrupted in, the gangbangers suddenly pausing their movements, revealing their identities as training drones. Training drones built specifically to handle almost any punishment from Goblin. "You know, I really hate it when my training simulations get paused like this, N. Direct the message to my transmitter."

Wiping whatever bloodlike substitute the drones spilled over him away, Goblin had started checking on his damage rating when his internal transmitter chimed to life. "1348 Normandy, District 83."

Understood.

While he was leaving the training room, the holographic details and structural supports faded into the room's default appearance, returning to its bland hue of silvers and light blues. It had taken him a good minute or two to reach the building's rooftop, where his personal vehicle was generally stored. He often traveled to each location that the ASIT team was called in by air, preferring to keep a low profile until he was called upon. The vehicle itself was a modified ASIT Interceptor, hummingbird model, redesigned with stealth as top priority, as well as allowing N. to autopilot the sleek aircraft back to the team's "Den" (as he would call it) when Goblin was ever needed to airdrop himself.

The dual engines silently hummed to life, and it had been a mere five minutes for the aircraft to reach the designated location.

"Send message to Specter: GBLN in position, will airdrop when requested. You should know that I love making a big entrance."