Out of the rain and into a local bar, Gwenth's presence is given brief attention by the small bell that rings above the door upon her entering. Sopping wet from head to toe, but the blank expression on her face gives the impression she's not particularly giving it much thought. Moving forward, she soon comes to claim one of the stools at the counter as a seat and sets her bag down beside it. The bartender inside approaches just as he finishes cleaning out a glass cup with the small towelette in his possession.
"Interesting outfit there. You military?" He asks.
"Huh?" Confusion takes form across her features, just until realization comes knocking and memories enter to remind her of the older days.
"Oh, yeah..." She utters, taking a moment to place her hands just above her brows and under the wet strands of hair that threatens to stick to her skin and then brush those loose tufts of hair back, slicking as much as she could down against her scalp.
"Yeah, I've got some military background. All of it feels like it came and went in a blink." She answers and follows up with small commentary. A soft chuckle emits within her throat as she reminisces on those long years she spent indulging in war. Not for any real noble reason or cause. Sometimes it was for money, sometimes it was simply a means to pass the times, and other times it was for my own personal enjoyment. No remorse haunts her through the nights. At some point, something inside of her became distorted. Broken? Cracked? No, those words aren't quite accurate. It was as if she evolved into something complicated.
"I hear how that's usually how it goes. Did you spend a year or three out there?"
"Oh, no, no. Much, much, MUUUUCH longer than that. Recalling my last birthday, I'd say I spent... At least 50 years as a part of infantry. Mercenary work, too. I did it for a while before it started getting old."
"What? There's no way. You don't even look a day over nineteen. Maybe even seventeen. C'mon, be real with me here."
"Ya don't believe me, huh? Tell me then, what do you folks consider elderly? When do you toss grandma and grandpappy into the retirement home 'round these parts?"
"About... 60 or 70, I'd say."
"Daaaaang. You guys must age as fast as a sniper round hitting a mark from 82 meters." Gwenth comments, emphasizing by snapping the fingers of her right hand. Her left now acting as a pedestal for her chin after she props its respective elbow atop of the counter.
"Gone in an instant."
"You guys? You make it sound as if you're from an entirely different planet." The bartender responds, grinning as he cocks a brow. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
"That's because I am. I'm not from this world." She responds stoically, staring in turn with a blank-like stare. The other, the employee standing on the opposite side of the counter, stares back. Waiting in silence as if expecting a punchline to a joke to come any second. He even presents a toothy grin in anticipation. But, after quiet seconds, it still doesn't come.
What interrupts those rather internally painful dozen seconds is the sudden sound of metal dribbling along concrete outside. A car winds up flipping and bouncing down the block until it lands immaculately in front of the bar's entrance - the two can see the vehicle lying on its side through the establishment's windows. In addition, the screeching of tires could be heard as another car swerves while coming to a halt before making contact with the other.
"Oh, what have we here?" Gwenth questions softly, her eyes perking up just enough to suggest she's mildly intrigued.
"Could be the local heroes on duty. Stopping a getaway maybe?" The bartender theorizes. Soon, seven men in total exit both vehicles. Two visibly hurt with injuries and all of them wearing matching costumes that consists of a robe-like top folded shut with a black turtleneck shirt underneath, the former, as well as their pants are held in place by a sash belt tied around their waists. Cloth pants leading down to a pair of shin high boots can be seen on their lower bodies. On their heads, each of them is wearing a helmet that takes after the design of a beetle, evident by the antlers that extend from the front lobe region. All of it mostly a dark-ish shade of blue with bits of black tying in.
The bunch come storming into the bar, wasting not a split second to make her intention clear as spotless glass.
"All right, civies... HANDS UP!!! You are now the Mighty Beetle King's hostages!" The apparent leader of the bunch, the single individual among them with bits of gold within the color scheme of his costume, aggressively announces as he and four of the others draw high-tech handguns from the holster around their thighs. Each of them taking aim at the four people who were already inside the establishment.
"Guaaah! Crap, crap! I can't even straighten leg out, it's so bad. I think something might be broken..." One of the two subordinates who were hurt from the crash blurts out.
"Yeah, I think I got semi-serious cuts and maybe a broken rib or something on my end, too." The other chimes in.
"Alright, alright. Go ahead and help them down onto the seats over there. We'll bargain with these lot and see if we can get a pick-up from HQ."
"You're not seriously going to hold yourselves up in here, are you? I kind of need this job." The bartender speaks up, drawing the attention of the leader who saunters on over and proceeds to lean against the counter.
"Oh, I totally get it, man. Working ten to eight at a bar... Hoping a stray blast of plasma energy doesn't just suddenly come crashing through the window and reduce the first unlucky bastard who happens to be in its way to a hippie painting of blood and guts splattering all over the floor and furniture!" The man goes on to passionately paint a scene to the two as he looks away and up toward the ceiling, clenching a fist and shaking it as if cursing a suppressed memory that just resurfaced.
"No, I totally get it." The villain adds calmly as he shifts his attention toward the bartender again.
"Give it like 20 minutes. I should be out of your hair soon." He estimates before plucking a hand-size device, that too bears a resemblance to a beetle, from a pouch on his belt and contacting his base of operation.
"This is your glorious leader, BEETLE KING!... I need someone to send over an evac crew. We're kind of hiding out in a bar downtown with no working car and two injured guys."
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"Huh. I could toss these guys out for you, I guess. How strongly do you feel about getting them out?" Gwenth asks as she looks toward the bartender again.
"Kind of strongly, but I'm not going to ask some lady I just met to risk her neck for me." He responds as Beetle King's voice drowns into the background.
"Suit yourself." Gwenth responds along with a shrug of her shoulders. Barely a second of her speaking, the front entrance suddenly bursts open and several more people hustle inside. A colorful bunch of local samaritans sharing a theme of bird-like costumes amongst themselves.
"We've found you, Beetle Head!" The one wearing a yellow costume resembling an American Goldfinch exclaims while pointing intensely.
"You've got to be—.. Ugh. It's BEETLE KING. Beetle King, you nitwit!" The costumed villain corrects while tucking his phone away.
"Sssssscuuuum… It doesn't matter what you call yourself. You're going to go back to being a no-name jack when we throw you behind bars. For we are. . . The Nest of Flying Justice." Along with his dramatic announcement, the four local Samaritans strike expressive poses as a group.
"Hear me squawk, for am I WHITE CROW!"
"Hear me chirp, for am I Golden Soar!"
"Hear me Hoo, for I am Midnight Owl."
"Hear me screech, for am Dusty Eagle!"
"Prepare to face fatherly justice!" The group concludes in unity.
"Please, not inside the bar…" The bartender pleads under his breath, agitation audible in his voice and on his face as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Meanwhile, Gwenth looks on with curious eyes and a hint of awe. There was something fascinating about the display to her.
"Oh, yeah, totally. Let me just get down on my knees and– ATTAAAACK!!!!" Beetle King exclaims and a brawl / shootout kicks off with him being the first to draw his weapon and fire indiscriminately. All the while, a sense of nostalgia and familiarity begins sinking into Gwenth's core. Every other civilian, including the bartender, puts their head down.
"This is…" She utters within a whisper.
"Discombobulating Eagle Kick!!" Dusty Eagle shouts in the midst of running through various blasts of plasma and bird-themed projectiles, leaping with a 360 spin to deliver a flying drop-kick to one of the beetle underlings.
"This is…!" Gwyneth repeats, now holding her breath in anticipation.
"Suck plasma, bird brains!" Beetle King shouts as he simultaneously shifts to the hero in brown and white while retreating to dive behind a nearby set of chairs and a table. The latter does the same; withdrawing a few metal throwing-feathers he tosses at King Beetle while rolling behind a booth near the upper right corner of the establishment.
It's fortunate for Dusty Eagle that his three allies not only maintain the focus of the footsoldiers, but also take them down one after the other. Soon, only the leader himself remains standing.
"Give it up, Beetle! It's over. Your men are all down!" Golden Soar informs him as she and the others form a perimeter boxing off potential escape attempts.
"Like Hell I– D'oh!?" He retorts while rising up from cover to fire more shots, only to be cut off by a throwing-feathers knocking his gun out of his hands. He ducks down again and begins fiddling with his utility belt, desperately trying to get something off of it.
"Ready to give up now? If you willingly surrender, I won't send you to the hospital in the body cast!" Midnight Owl proposes while smacking his right fist into his left palm.
"This is soooo much like the Galactic Wrestling Federation!" Gwenth finally gets out, a tad louder than she intends. In that small moment of distraction, King Beetle finally gets one of latest toys off of the loop of his belt, pulls the pin out of the steel sphere in his hand, and chucks it over the table he's hiding behind. After doing so, he pulls open a hidden compartment behind the false belt buckle he's wearing and pushes the button inside, which activates an airtight energy shield that covers his entire body.
"If you think I'm willingly going to jail, then think again!" The villain shouts.
"Grenade!!!" Golden Soar exclaims and knocks the sphere away with a swipe of her arm, sending the beeping object right toward Gwenth. Literally everyone except the blonde hustles to take cover and cover behind and under anything nearby. Instead of rushing to hide, a flash of her time in war zones plays within an instant and instinctive reflexes take over. Gwenth catches it within her left hand just before it can make contact with her forehead and tosses it back. Half a second later she realizes what she just did.
"Oh, wai–" She utters while reaching out, as if hoping to take back the grim mistake she made. But it was far too late.
BBBRRRRRRRROOOOOOOM!!!
A flash of light introduces a fiery eruption that consumes all within its vicinity. Every. Square. Foot. Flesh burns just like paper thrown into the heart of a fireplace fire while the structure of the bar is blown away nearly entirely. Debris flies all around, stone and wood audibly collapses onto the ground, charcoal smoke envelops the immediate area, and all but two individuals meet their very sudden and painless end. All left standing, barely so, is a single wall - the very one behind the blonde currently coughing and waving smoke out of her face.
"Augh… By Thor's magnificent red locks, what was THAT?" She asks, squinting as the atmosphere of raining amber and gray harasses her eyes and breathing. The woman stands up from the rubble under her and looks around.
"Holy Schmokes! YOU'RE still alive after that!?" King Beetle questions in absolute disbelief as he steps over the mess left behind by his unusual grenade.
"That was like… a compressed mini nuke! And you're just perfectly fine!?" He adds. It was true! Aside from the few small tears in her special made military pants, her tattered t-shirt, and minor jet black residue on her skin from the explosion, she's perfectly fine.
The peculiar woman arches a brow and takes a moment to look around and take in the new surroundings. Her eyes perk up slightly upon realizing just how much damage that grenade did. The radius of the eruption seems to have been no less than 45 meters. Her eyes then shift back to him in an indifferent fashion.
"Heh. You're one to talk." She retorts with a small grin.
"Hey, I have a high powered shield! What's your excuse? You one of them P.I.'s?" He responds while crossing his arms. It's then that an aircraft descends down low enough to make its presence known. A military carrier designed to resemble a giant navy blue beetle.
"Oh, great. My rides here! Well, it's been nice meeting ya, but I gotta scram before the cops get here. I'm pretty sure this qualifies as a terrorist attack and I'm not going to be here to find out!"
"Hang on there."
"Hmm?"
"You seem to be oddly well equipped… I take it you have connections of all sorts, no?" Gwenth questions.
"Oh, yeah. It's like a whole network. There's something for everyone and anyone who's either got time, money, or dedication. Sometimes two things, sometimes all three." He explains, then points a finger halfheartedly at her.
"You're not, like… An undercover cop or Samaritan, are you?"
"No, not at all."
"Oh, good. Judging by how you're not freaking out about witnessing a bunch of people dying right before your very eyes, I take it you're used to this sort of thing?"
"Been boobs-deep within death and excessive violence for many, many years."
"Nice. Looking to be an underling or…?"
"I fancy myself far more as a mercenary than a devoted follower. If the money's good, I'll stick around with anyone for a little while." Gwenth answers honestly.
"Ooooh. A serious business-type, too. Yeah, I can hook you up. Maybe. Maybe vouching that you're bomb-proof will help sell your résumé. C'mon." He beckons her over with a hand and enters the plane via the ramp he crew let down after safely landing. She follows him without hesitation.
"Got a name, by the way?. He asks.
"Yeah. You can call me Hardy."
"Ooooouuuu. I like it! It's simple and vaguely threatening. I see great things in your future, my mysterious young lady."