Saitama, the Caped Baldy's Story

Depending on Origin's security, and the technological prowess therein, those drones tasked with monitoring the activity of the skies above would detect a single fast-moving object. Saitama had just entered the planet's atmosphere and the light produced by the flames of the ignited air around him caused his bald head to shine with the radiance of one thousand suns. All the while, he kept a disturbingly plain expression on his face.

Let's see. The itinerary from that space cruise I ran into said that this place is called Origin.

He scanned the face of the planet with a single glance. Five continents. One large ocean. It wasn't exactly engrossing, but that didn't matter much in the long run. He was here to defeat villains; furthermore, he had traveled to Origin in the hopes of finding someone strong enough to give him a challenge. Saitama had scoured his own planet to find just that, but everyone there--hero and villain--failed to get him to use even one percent of his total power.

Air roared past his ears as he fell toward the planet's surface. It was when he arrived in the planet's lower atmosphere that he realized something: landing in a populated area at this speed probably would cause a lot of damage. So, instead of hitting the ground and sending people flying from the shockwave produced by the impact, Saitama opted to direct his descent toward a location that wasn't marked by the large buildings and paved roads characteristic of civilization. He spotted a ragged landscape west of his location.

That should work.

It was far from the city he intended to visit but he could always use that distance to get a good workout. He picked a relatively flat expanse of arid ground to land and performed a quick somersault to orient his feet toward the ground. The ground came rushing up toward his feet at thousands of miles per hour until the soles of his boots slammed into the ground. As the well-known trope commanded, the ground beneath his feet exploded away from them. This created quite a large amount of seismic activity that certainly would register in any nearby cities or congregations of monsters that mottled the surface of the planet.

He looked around to get an idea of where he was. Alas, he couldn't figure out where the nearest city was, so he picked a direction and started walking.

Sgt. Lydia Crawford hung her head with a sigh. It sounded more like a robot wheezing due to her helms speakers, the cheapest tech they had. That annoyed her too, now that she thought about, in fact the whole damn VTOL seemed to piss her off as she glanced around. It was literally a just a V-83 with jets strapped on, which meant she was locked in a arc-welded bench thrown against a wall with a bunch of overhead racks, and gun shelves.

And the only friggin' light source was the ever-dim red glow of the go light.

"What's eating you this time, Sarge?" The snarky tone carried well through the static. Usually she got a chuckle from Gitz, but today was bad enough she snapped.

"Troop goddamn discipli-" Her bark was caught off by an extreme wall of turbulence. Everyone in the hold rocked violently, the rollbar creaking a little.

"Or maybe the goddamn turbulence?"

Sgt. Crawford snapped to her left, helmet obscuring her contemptuous gaze. "Don't think I won't shove a medic out without a chute, Adams." The man merely shrugged in response. "I got two chutes Sarge, sounds like fun!"

Sgt. Crawford chuckled a little, The 61st Regiment was known for its daring, and 1st Battalion being Airborne, more so. "Never sucks enough for airborne, does it?"

"HOOAH!" None voices echoed in unison, their Sarge finally cracking a smile. She opened her mouth to return the call, but someone beat her too it.

"Right, Hooah, can you grunts shut the hell up back there?" The pilot sounded like someone on downers trying to be pissed. "Something just went supersonic in the vector," her tongue clicked impatiently. "I'm trying to patch through to CA.."

This time Sgt. Crawford interrupted, "Command has been offline for an hour." It was a worrisome fact, and they had been trying to raise command every ten minutes since it went dark. To no avail. She'd be a bit panicked, but right now "Command" was a field tent with a few comm ops in it. Someone probably spilled coffee on a radio.

"No shit, smartass, but it lit the hell out of our instruments, and procedure is procedure.

The Sergeant gruntted in agreement. "Roger, what're you thinking?"

"Maybe circle around an-"

"Come in V One Niner Charlie, over. Repeat, come in.." The signal was faint, and shaky at best, but to call the bird by name meant they were likely friendly. In response the V-83 banked left, descending a bit to get in range. The message repeated again, getting a little clearer.

"This is VTOL-One-niner-Charlie," responded the pilot, tipping the craft a little lower still. "dare I ask who I have on the horn? Over."

There was a static fizzle, then a crackling laughter. "2nd Lt. Grave, Origin Rangers, over." The pilot whistled. "Well now, ain't that a first. I got some of your winged brothers up here, over."

There was another fizzle, the man pausing. Sgt. Crawford had kicked the roll bar up, and marched her way to the cockpit. She shoved the door open, only for both pilots to snarl. "Could've asked to be patched through."

"Easy enough to walk. What's going on?"

"I dunno," the pilot sighed, "had a Ranger on the line bu-"

"Sorry One Niner, went Oscar Mike, nestled down in a bush for the moment, over." The signal was a little fainter now, it threatened to break. "Did you detect a bogey say, three standard ago? Over."

"Roger-roger," chimed the pilot. "Went supersonic, towards Origin, why do you ask? Over."

"I got eyes on it," Graves grunted, you could hear his rifle jostle around in the leaves. "Humanoid, no drop pod or gear, at least Class Four, over."

Sgt. Crawford exchanged nervous glances with the pilots. Class Four meant superhuman, and not some cheesy gimmick guy, either. She decidedit was her turn to jump in.

"This is Sgt. Crawford, 61st Airborne, 1st Batallion, Charlie. You say you've got eyes? Over."

"Rodger m'am, but by eyes I mean the scope of a .50, over." He made some more rustling sounds, the faint click of his safety barely distinguishable.

"Understood Ranger Actual, what can we do? Over."

The Ranger thought for a moment. "Last directive from CA was to clear a Goblin den nearby, any chance you got them on comm? Over."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "I thought Origin Rangers were autonomous, over."

"We are, but this might constitute First Contact with an alien race for all I know. I'd like to continue on task, m'am, over."

The sarge nodded, it made sense now. "We're on a training run, Ranger Three,"

"That's what my HUD said, over."

"So you want us to jump, and establish? Over."

"Rodger, over."

"Give the flyboys the GPS, we're jumping hot, over."

"Heh..Rodger-Rodger Charlie. Over."

With a nod to the pilots she marched her way back to the hold, kicking the door open with a shout.

"WE'RE GOING LIVE IN FIVE TO SHAKE HANDS WITH A CLASS FOUR, UNDERSTOOD?"

"HOOAH!" The sqaud hopped up, each man, and woman running to an overhead rack. They each grabbed a Grav-Chute, running it through a battery of quick tests. Once finished they'd scramble to the gun shevles, grabbing a rifle. Once each finished they clipped to attention, sounding off.

"Pvt. Cords, ready!"

"Pvt. Stone, ready!"

"LCpl. Adams, ready!"

"Cpl. Gitz, ready!"

"Pvt. Lenns, ready!"

"Cpl. Kelm, ready!"

"LCpl. Lindson, ready!"

"Pvt. Garson, ready!"

"Pvt. Records, ready!"

Lydia smiled again, nodding as she made her way to the cargobay door. She gestured to the jump light. "The second this goes green, you jump or I swear I will kick you off this bird, understood?"

"M'am, yes M'am!"

The door swung open, the hold immeditaely filled with the raging winds of Origin. It wouldn' tfaze a single one, and each time the light went green, a soldier jumped with no fear. Each in unison would follow their HUD's guided course, flaring burners to adjust as needed. The fall was long, each troop dipping into his O2 reserves until low atmosphere.

Like bolts they screamed through the air, accelerating their gravatic pulls to gain rapid speeds.

Once in sight of the LZ, Saitamma's current location, each soldier would flip, activating grav-controls to decelarate until 200ft of their target. They all hovered there, visors glaring down at the "man". Each soldier jostled their carbines a bit, or began to slowly circle.

Lydia's authoritative tone rang out through the cheap speakers. "Well hello there, pardner. Quite an entrerance you had there.." Each grave-chute's burners blazed brightly in the clear blue sky, Charlie squad hanging like angry wasps. "Care to chat?"

With the speed of his current gait, Saitama hadn’t walked very far from the center of the crater he’d created during his landing by the time the soldiers made the jump from their bird. He stopped in his tracks. The sound of bodies rushing zipping through the air far above his head prompted the caped man to gaze upward.

“Looks like I’ve attracted some locals. They must be coming to say hello.” he said plainly. His ears picked up nine individuals rapidly descending to his location, and further inspection with a pair of squinted eyes confirmed the information that his ears were giving him.

A growl rumbled from his gut, precipitating a wave of serious aches that tore through his entire abdomen. He was hungry. And worst of all: he forgot to pack a bag of spare veggies before he left his own world. How could he be so careless? His cravings for more challenging hero work had swelled so much that he’d forgotten the most important truth of them all: an empty stomach made for a crappy hero.

Saitama clutched his stomach in a vain attempt to assuage his aching stomach. And then the soldiers arrived. He wore an indifferent expression as he did before, but there was a sliver of mild curiosity there as well. This was his first time seeing these kinds of flight apparatuses. He attempted to discern how they worked by observing them for a moment or two; however, that proved to be too daunting a task for him, so he gave up on it.

His stomach growled again—loud enough this time for the soldiers to hear.

He didn’t at all seem perturbed by their numbers, or by the weapons they held. The only thing he was thinking about was where he was going to find his next meal.
“Did any of you bring some food with you?” he asked, “If not, do you know where I can find some fresh broccoli? Or udon noodles?”

He stood with his hands dangling limply at his sides—not unlike the doughy delicacies that crept into his mind’s eye. A small yet easily detectable trail of drool rolled down the corner of his mouth as he thought about them. He wiped it away.

Nothing about the man’s appearance suggested that he was a significant threat. Except for maybe his fashion sense. Anyone willing to wear a banana yellow jumpsuit like his clearly doesn’t care about life.

There was a collective pause among Charlie. Adams looked to Gitz, who looked to Kelm, who was looking at Lydia. Problem is she was looking at Adams, the usual diplomat. The soldier shook his head violently, clearly expressing the "hell no" he mouthed behind his visor. Great, as highest ranking officer in site it was Lydia's privilege, duty, and obligation to say...Something.

"Uuuhh.." She disengaged her burners with a click, tapping them again only to break her fall before her boots hit soil.

This was an altogether strange day, but at least the Origin Ranger was probably getting a laugh, she thought. Since he was a mile, and a half away. Still, she felt compelled to glance about her squad. "Does uh..Does anybody have uh..Any rations? On them?" Her voice was far less confident than her squad was used to.

Throw her out a bay door, dump her league's behind enemy lines, and leave her for a week, she'd shout like a D.I the whole way through. Make her a diplomat though, and well..

The Squad shuffled a bit, each man sort of glancing down. This went on for a moment until Pvt. Lenns coughed. It didn't sound organic at all. "Well.." she sighed, "we grabbed chutes, and carbines, M'am." She paused, a hand coming up to rest on the back of her armored neck.

"Not rucks."

"Not..Rucks?" Sgt. Crawford blinked, her attention off Saitama for the moment. "Nobody brought a Goddamn ruck?" The tone of a pissed Sarge returned for a moment, but it softened a little when she realized she hadn't brought one herself. Which was probably why the squad hadn't.

An awkward silence hung for a moment before somebody shouted. "Wait! Wait! I got one, I got one!" It was LCpl. Lindson, he was a little large for Airborne, and a lot too forgetful, but a nasty gunner. He fished a G.I.C ration bar out of one of his pockets. He twirled it around.

"You're inluck buddy," he tossed the small thing to Saitama. It looked almost like an energy bar the way it was wrapped, slick brown, and silver cellophane. The front was stamped G.I.C in green, and below it in small print read, "Terran style chicken bar, Best by XX/XX/XXXX." The lable was a bit smudged for some reason, it had probably been in that pocket for awhile.

If he opened it he'd find something kind of like beef jerky, but a solid tan slab. It kind of tastes like chicken.

With that the Sgt. Gestured for her squad to land, each one dropping with a flourish. It was supposed to be a training mission after all. Once every jump boot hit soil helmets came off with a pressurised hiss. Ten rather fierce, but otherwise average Terrans were revealed. They spanned a diverse ethnic background due to the melting pot that they called home, but something seemed to make them more similar than most.

Sgt. Crawford shook her head, freeing her ponytail in the process.

"So," her gray eyes fixed on Saitama, according to her men, her gaze was quite vicious without meaning to be. "What brings you here, friend?" She lilted the last word on purpose, she was actually quite wary of the man. She had met an identical looking man on Terra once, and though a harmless troll, his powers were staggering.

She really didn't want to die today.

Saitama stared at them (the soldiers) as they stared at each other. He wondered what it was that had them all so dumbfounded. It was as if they had never seen a bald guy in a colorful outfit before. He squeezed his stomach again when it growled. At this rate, he wasn’t sure he was going to make it. When was the last time he’d eaten? He thought on it for a moment.

“Thirty-two days.” he muttered, “It’s been thirty-two days since I had my last meal.”
Saitama lifted a hand to catch the rations bar that the portly soldier tossed to him. “Thanks. I’ve been traveling to every planet in the area to see how strong the locals were there. And the monsters, as well. Nothing’s better than a little freelance hero work.”

He peeled away the wrapper for the rations bar and quirked his razor thin eyebrows in surprise when he saw what lay underneath. It certainly wasn’t the most appetizing thing he’d seen recently, but it wasn’t his place to be picky. They had offered him food of their own when they didn’t have to, after all. Saitama practically inhaled the rations bar, chewing it to a mushy paste before finally swallowing it down with a large gulp.

The bar had a bland appearance but the rich flavor surprised him. It was like an explosion of chickeny goodness in his mouth. He doubled over at the taste and placed his hands on his knees. “That was delicious! I need to find more of those things.”

He went silent for a bit so he could savor the taste of the rations bar on his tongue. He had nearly forgotten the question that Sgt. Crawford asked but it came back to him when he found himself asking the same question.
“Oh yeah. I’m here to fight monsters.” he replied, “You all do have monsters here, right? It’d be really embarrassing if you didn’t.”

During his descent, he saw several areas on the planet’s surface that looked like primetime monster hideout locations. If Origin did have monsters, he hoped they were stronger than those on the last planet he visited.

(So I rolled for this encounter. Could have been worse...could have been a lot better. This will be interesting)

For that whole time, it seemed like the air was still. As the soldiers had dropped and talked, nothing seemed to appear. However, if they had done even the slightest bit of research into flight paths, danger ratings, and listened to the veteran adventurers that had acquired enough skill and power over their lives to far surpass normal existences on other worlds, they might have realized that this was all horribly wrong.

Simply put, it was almost as if there was no motion. And after awhile, people might find that strange. Not even animals, which also existed on Origin in numerous amounts, were around.

And maybe, just maybe...if they did not catch it in time, their soldiers might start disappearing into this air as well, one by one, two by two. After all, there was nothing there except them. It was all very mysterious. And if one were to move around, they wound find it difficult to find anything, even if they were hidden or even invisible!

(So, the creature details are set already, but its up to your soldiers intelligence (and maybe luck) to try and determine what they are, if they can notice them in time. Good luck. I mean, I find it hard to think your first team, with a certain spandex wearer, will get wiped out, but lets see just how they react to things outside their perceptions? :P )

(Ah, since I have to point out I prefer PVE fights to PVP, especially in writing, these are NPCs so I don't particularly care what happens to them. So, no real bias from me, because technically this is a PVE fight. (: )

(That said, fights are more fun when they are intense and have risk...easy fights tend to be boring)

It really was subtle, Sgt. Crawford didn't realize just how still the air had been until it was too late. Her eyes narrowed, and every second of her training kicked in to suppress adrenalin as her gaze swept the LZ. All the men had been talking, swapping jokes with the strange bald man herself included. She swore under breath, she had a goddamn ponytail, how could she not notice the wind?

Her blood started to run cold, and for a moment she wasn't quite sure what to do.

Her slate gray eyes fell on Pvt. Lenns by chance, they locked with eachother, and each was about to nod in agreement when it happened - all though nothing at all really happened. One moment Pvt. Lenns was there, the next she wasn't. It was like someone just deleted her from existance. Lydia's eyes shot wide, and she tried to jam her helmet on.

By now the rest of the Airborne Rangers had noticed something was wrong.

"Sarge, what in the unholy fu-" Cpl. Kelm was cut off by a horrific scream. It was Lenns', and it was sheer agony. A sick crunching like sound accompanied each howl. For a split second, as her drop helmet slid over her head, Lydia Crawford's mind shut off. It rebooted with the pressurizing hiss. The familiar green HUD didn't even have time to fully load before she had the loud speakers running.

With a kick off the ground, and a simple click of the gauntlet, and the hyper-propellant burners of her chute roared to life, taking her airborn as she shouted.

"Charlie, Oscar Mike now, up, up!"

The remaining eight Airbornes already had helmets on, and burners primed. They kicked off in near unison, but someone always had to be unlucky. Pvt. Garson was just a little too slow, and as he sprung away his lower body exploded with pain.

"Aaarghh!" The man glanced down, both legs cleanly torn, and hemorrhaging blood like a broken dam. Adams instrictively spun towards the scream, about to gun it to his wounded commrade, but a firm hand stopped him. He thrashed widly before spinning to face I captor. All the whole they gained height, doing their best to escape the hellish vortex.

"Sarge..?" The usually jovial voice was wrought with confusion, and pain. Nobody could see it, but tears streamed down his face.

He shook against his commander, trying to break free of her. It didn't make any sense.

"Stop it!" He trashed against her, but it was useless, Sgt. Crawford steadily dragged him up.

"There's nothing you can do, Adams." Her voice was hollow, and the words echoed in the medic's ear.

"Nothing a can do?" Her jerked violently, straining her grip. They seemed to be above whatever was attacking them now, they could feel air again.

Lydia merely shook her head.

She, and Adams looked down at the wounded man, he was trying to stop the bleeding in his legs, slowly sinking back down. His arms were pure crimson, and his fingers so slick with his own blood he couldn't get a grip. One injection, one damn injection, and the medic could stabilize him.

"Gorgon's don't leave man behind!" Adams was howling with rage now.

The Sergeant turned, motioning two others to come grab him. As if on cue Garson disappeared into more crunching sounds. They arrived just as she shuddered, releasing him to their grips.

She floated back a bit, nodding. "You're right, we don't." Her tone was mournful, but that was quickly swept away. "So I'm going back in for the bald guy." She motioned to Cpl. Gitz. "Get the Ranger on the horn, and shoot if you can get a target. This is what we trained for, gentlemen."

With a flourish, and gritted teeth Lydia dove back into the fray, leaving her troops circled above it.

The stillness of the air was one of the things that, although he had noticed it, Saitama had chosen to ignore as he conversed with Sgt. Crawford and her team. They seemed like an agreeable bunch. Not very prepared, though. But he was he too talk? Saitama was about to share with them a story of one of his previous battles when a strange feeling hit him. He couldn’t pin what it was but something felt like it was off.

His eyebrows perked up when he saw one of the soldiers vanish. Well that was weird. It was like she teleported somewhere, but where would she be going at a time like this? Saitama ruled out the possibility of teleportation when he heard bones breaking from … somewhere. Somewhere that he couldn’t currently see. It was clear that they were no longer alone. But what was it that had joined them? A monster of some sort, no doubt—here to try its hand at taking on everyone’s favorite average hero.

As the soldiers went airborne, another of their members were attacked by the mysterious force. This time, a man’s legs exploded before his very eyes. He looked around with a bemused and quite frankly, distressed expression.



He considered going to Pvt. Garson's aid and perhaps even whisking him away from whatever was attempting to massacre them all at the moment. However, moving him would likely make his condition worse, and he would have no way of helping him even if he did. He was good at punching things--that was about it. When the remains of the Private disappeared into the void, Saitama took that as his cue to leave.

The caped hero leapt into the air with a powerful jump, covering the distance between himself and the group of soldiers in an instant. To his surprise, he nearly plowed into Sgt. Crawford, and he surely would have if he hadn't rotated his body so that she sailed right by him. His momentum carried him a little bit above the rest of the group so he could have a clear view of the area they previously occupied.

"Get behind me! You're not going to want to get caught up in what's coming next." Saitama shouted.

He gave the group, Sgt. Crawford included, enough time to do as he had instructed. Then, he drew his fist back in preparation for a punch. Then, he thrust his fist forward. The sheer force produced by his punch created a powerful gust of wind that rushed forward and threatened to blow anything caught in its path several thousand feet away.

BOOM!

That was the sound of Saitama's fist breaking the sound barrier. He wasn't sure what it was that was attacking them but this would let them know if it these creatures were currently occupying their physical plane.

"You all should get out of here. I can handle myself." he said.

The still air was completely shattered and broken by the punch, as dust went everywhere. It covered the area, making it hard to see or hit anything. Even if thermal vision was used, all they would see is OPM. Nothing of the monsters that...no, if one looked carefully, there were odd signatures. Distorted, dead or dying, but there...it was as if the creature did not fully exist in their dimension, that it only visited....but was what appeared to be the distorted and mere parts of those five monsters enough?

If one looked through the Monsterdex, they would find it. Dimeraptors, a monster that can bite through reinforced steel enchanted with hardiness. Capable of phasing in and out of dimensions, and maintaining themselves in a state not capable of being perceived, they can zip in and out of the dimensions to attack their prey. Because of their reaction speeds, it is better to go in for melee combat then stay at range, but only experts can do this. Thankfully they only seem to appear in areas with a high concentration of mana, as if they spread through the villages many innocents would die.

However, that was not the only thing happening. At the same time, a rather large creature seemed to make an appearance, leaping through the sky. It was larger then a car for sure, but seemed to possess strength and nimbleness. It was a superior species in the area, and got annoyed at being woken up. Most notably however was that other then the noise, it was completely unaffected by that punch...and, it had a weird aura to it.

It looked at the soldiers, and anything that flied, as a tasty snack...and began breathing in air with enough force that would threaten to pull a VTOL out of the sky!

The heavy McMillan handled like silk thanks to the SPIDER, and Lt. Graves of the Origin Rangers laid it over his left arm. He couldn't even feel the weight, to top it off the moment he got into position, the stock squarely shouldered, he locked the suit. Most of it anyway, his right arm, and neck were free to move, to line up the perfect shot.

Out of habit the Ranger closed his left eye as he leaned in on the sights.

It immediately merged with the SPIDER H.U.D, and not only was the harrowing scene almost two miles away visible through the digital scope, so was everything else. It displayed the current wind speed, accurate direction, the formula for gravity per inch, and drop calculated by known velocity to the right. It did everything but aim the shot, and that was because targeting at this far out took minutes.

The Airborne guys didn't even have twenty seconds.

It was almost surreal really, he'd been halfway to the Den when he heard the second sonic boom. He scribbled up the nearest cliff to find a slight vantage, a little rocky shelf jutting out in this case, and took aim. About then the big thing showed up, and it was all reflex from there. An eight foot sentienal watched the battle, over ten years of hunting mythic beasts under its belt, holding his breath.

Waiting.

The second the beast opened its mouth he squeezed back on the trigger slow. Like thunder the .50 bleached out flame, and lead. The scope looked so drastically off target, but Graves knew it was on point. It would take a few seconds for the round to reach its mark, and assuming it did the devastation would likely be severe.

All he could do was watch, though.

Pale mists stained the air following Saitama’s punch. In delivering such a powerful attack, he not only provided he and his party with some relief from their invisible attackers, but also that the creatures were made of flesh and blood after all. The sight of mangled limbs bleeding out onto the damp ground conjured images of the raptors that lived on his planet, in the distant past. He recalled learning a few things about them on a video documentary once. However, he suspected that any information he could recall would be of little use to him here. This was a different planet entirely, after all.

“I don’t think they’ll be bothering us anymore.” Saitama noted.

He heard a resounding thud in the distance moments before a titan of a beast appeared before him. Its appearance was lackluster but one thing did catch his attention: that his punch had done nothing to the monster. Usually that would have been enough to fell something of its size. Weird. He would just have to hit it harder the next go round.

Or perhaps not. It all depended on how the round fired by the distance shoulder would fair against this new enemy. So, Saitama maintained a passive position for the time being.