Closed RP Beats Per Minute

This RP is currently closed.


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He wasn't wearing a mask that night. That was why he was here.

The man had been following him for a few blocks now; Kosuke had seen him in the thinning crowds from the corner of his eye, trying to avert his gaze, trying to look inconspicuous. He didn't seem to notice he was noticed. So, through the winding streets, Kosuke had managed to take a little detour- a longer path to a different destination, rather than the straight shot to where his bike was parked. Sure enough, his follower had followed, slowly closing the gap between them as they rounded the corner.

It was dark, and the broken streetlamps made it even darker; sputtering the last of their light against the midnight gloom, as the ill-fated pair wandered into the alley. Kosuke watched from the corner of his eye as the man reached for his gun before tapping him on the shoulder.


He turned around to face his assailant; hands in his pockets, and a lazy half-smile on his face. What an idiot, following him down here- letting him lead him down here so blatantly. A dark, secluded alley was the perfect place to mug someone without getting caught, and it was the perfect place to do a lot more violent things as well. Unlike the man before him, Kosuke wouldn't stop at mere threat.

"Can I help y-"


Something moved. A shadow, or a piece of garbage, or some other metropolitan detritus- something had moved. Something had been moved. They weren't alone.


This wouldn't be a problen for his attacker, of course- or, at least, not much of one. The guy didn't have much of a reputation to uphold, not compared to Kosuke, anyway. He, on the other hand, had everything to lose. One stray note, one moment of violence, one poorly-timed display of competence from the bumbling shopkeep, and he'd have a lot of cleaning up to do if he didn't want the whole house of cards to come crashing down.


Kosuke put his hands in the air.

The metal fire escape is very low on Spork’s list of places to sit while wearing shorts. Unfortunately, they can’t be bothered to change. It has been a long day, and even bugging Mari hadn’t been very effective in bringing their mood up.

So here they are, fire escape digging into their legs and cigarette dangling from their fingers. They hold the smoke in their lungs until it burns and then breathe it out slow, but the sharp corners of their thoughts refuse to soften. They want, more than anything, something to break.

That’s when they hear the shuffle of footsteps in the alley below their perch. It takes them a moment to place where they’ve heard that voice before, but then it clicks - Kosuke, Mr. Music Man. He’d been tolerable at the bar the other night, and that was enough for them to at least remember him.

In another circumstance, they might’ve been tempted to listen to how the confrontation below plays out. As it is, their muscles are itching for violence. They stand up as quietly as they can, croc-ed feet surprisingly quiet on the steps of the well-maintained fire escape. Guess stealth training pays off.

They’re three floors up. When they reach the first floor, the voices have gone quiet. If they want the element of surprise, they’ll have to move now.

They’ve fallen from higher places. They take one more drag of smoke and snub the cigarette on the brick of the building, flicking it away as they take a running leap off the fire escape.

Smoke and laughter trails from their lips as gravity sends them crashing down into the would-be mugger. Hopefully. It’s hard to tell exact positions from shuffling footsteps and quiet voices, but they definitely landed on somebody. They kind of hope they didn’t just crush Kosuke.

“Whoops, clumsy me,” they blatantly lie. Despite the improvised crash-pad, they’re sure to have some fun new bruises tomorrow. “You make an awful cushion,”

God, he was an idiot. Kosuke couldn't see whoever was there, but sightlines weren't all that mattered with him. If they could hear him, he'd be suspicious. If they could see him as well, he'd be guilty. He'd have to take this one. God, he was dreading it. He made a mental list of everything he was carrying; about $100 cash, a temporary card, his phone, custom-fit earphones, that heavy old FLAC player he carried because he refused to listen to music on anything else... shit, it would be a pain in the ass to get them back- even moreso if the guy found the keys to his bike. He grit his teeth, furious behind the visage of panic when-


-someone leapt down from the unseen, and landed squarely on top of his attacker.

Kosuke stumbled backwards, cautiously lowering his arms. He looked around him, searching for a way out, before his eyes inevitably drifted back to his unknown saviour, and he recognised them.


He sounded almost too surprised- although, he did just have a gun pointed at him.

"Shit- shit, uh, the guy's armed. Gun, left hand? I think? Uh..."

He trailed off, continuing to mumble uselessly about the gun, about how they should be careful, about hey, this guy seems really dangerous, all that sort of thing. All the while, he continued to back away, as slowly and cautiously as he could, in case the gunman decided to fire at him instead.

The gunman in question, however, seemed more concerned with the stranger who had just landed on top of him than the unarmed civilian. He grabbed at their arms and attempted to roll to the side, hoping to throw them off so he could slide out from under them.

“The one and only!” Spork crows, already wrestling with the man under them. When he grabs their arms he’s met with a surprising amount of resistance, even factoring in their apparent musculature. They grin, sure that he’s assessing their blindness right alongside the fact that they’re going to kick his ass.

Kosuke’s warning is more useful than he knows, even if they do tune him out when he starts mumbling. They slap out blindly and smack at the mugger’s left hand, then get a more solid hold and drive his wrist into the concrete.

Without their gauntlets they aren’t strong enough to snap the bone, but their grip threatens to bruise regardless. Their knuckles scrape along the rough ground, adding to their collection of boo-boos for the night, but, promisingly, something clatters out of the man’s hand. “Guns are cheating, didn’t you know?”

Their knee smarts when they shift. They must’ve skinned it in the collision. It distracts them enough for the man to roll away, and they dive for the clatter before he can reclaim his weapon. To outside eyes, something glints on their back when their shirt rides up with the movement, metallic in the low light.

They land on… something. It digs into their arm, cold and metal. They shift quickly and sit on it, throwing a middle finger and a rude face in the man’s general direction.

“Come at me,” they challenge, unable to hold the silly face as their grin reappears. “Leave the poor music guy out of this.”

This ballsy motherfucker actually disarmed him. That strike, that slap to his hand- it knocked the handgun clean out, and pinned him to the floor. He hissed in pain, convinced his wrist was going to snap right then and there, before he was finally given an opening to roll free. Shit. Shit, now he didn't have a gun- what the fuck was he meant to do without a gun? He had a knife, but- fuck, what the hell was that? Metal? Was he fighting the fucking Terminator here?

Fuck Pittsburgh, man. He was about to get his ass handed to him by a blind fucking cyborg, but- no, no he wasn't. He still had that knife- he could salvage this. He could- he could fucking salvage this.

Kosuke was just observing. The mask of panic had left his face almost completely, replaced by far more comfortable neutrality. His voice, of course, still held that fear; he was very good at that sort of thing, emoting one thing with his voice and another with his face. It was one of Vanity Project's trademark gimmicks, but it seldom saw use outside of that. Perhaps it should. Panic never wore well on his face; it was uncomfortable to pull off, straining all the wrong muscles, creasing all the wrong places.

"Shit- knife, right hand." He said, "Is this... helping? I mean, I can shut up if you'd rather-"

He shut up.

The attacker lunged forwards, clumsily bringing down the knife from his left side, as if that would somehow throw them off.

There’s a short lull in which Spork shifts to get their feet under them again. They clumsily kick the gun in the direction of Kosuke’s voice as they rise fully to meet the new attack. It clatters noisily across the concrete.

And, see, they’re ready to intercept the man’s right hand. They’re used to being a beast of metal and kevlar when they’re in fights like this. Mari did her utmost to ensure that they’d be prepared for whatever shit was thrown at them.

It makes them reckless, and while they catch the guy’s - empty - right hand, he buries the knife in their left shoulder.

There’s a moment where the adrenaline numbs the pain, and then it hits them all at once. “Jesus fuck, what the hell-”

Rather than flinch away as their nerves are screaming for them to do, Spork grits their teeth and wraps their hand around the man’s left, and around the hilt of the knife still embedded in their shoulder. They squeeze, hoping to force him to release it or feel his hand crushed between a hilt and a hard place.

Oh, this is going to hurt. Taking barely a moment to brace themself, they kick out with all the enhanced strength of their mechanical spine. Space, make an opening and recover and then they can think of a next step.