[b][u]Finding A Cause 12:23 AM[/u][/b] [i]Jackson exits the Dojo Bar, in which he has rapidly become a regular. In one hand he clutches a pint of ale, in the other his signature Hickory cane. He walks out into the streets, headed for his room within the Dojo. His eyes search the night-time culture, finding quickly any threats to his own safety first, and second anyone else. He passed alleys and side-streets, catching the gangs and muggings out of the corner of his eyes. His pace quickens at these sights. It would not do to get caught up in such unpleasantness. He feels a tickling at the base of his skull, a sort of sixth sense developed in the swamps of Florida. Someone was watching him, no, they were following him, a few buildings back. His usual scowl deepened into a frown, the sharp edges casting an unnatural look to him. However, he was not visible from the back, and thus the gang that had gone to follow him did not learn of the danger they were in. He turned into the next alley, the gang close behind. However, when the five young men turned into the same alley, he was nowhere to be seen. They turned to one another, chuckling. The rat would be caught by this pack of wild dogs was their train of thought. Their youth and strength gave them a confidence that bordered on arrogance, bolstered by their previous victory over a rival gang. As they moved further, they checked around and in the dumpster. When their search came up empty, they grew confused. There was nowhere else to hide, the rest of the alley was empty! They began to quarrel and argue when behind them the air, which had seemed distorted began to...dissolve? Where there had been empty space earlier was now the man, cast in shadow by the streetlight behind him. The mug was gone, and he held the cane in both hands, lightly tapping the handled end on his left hand. The boys rushed him, the alley confining them to pairs of two and one in the back. As the first two collided with him, they attacked in tandem. The first went for a kick with his left leg, thrusting it low to Old Hickory's ankle. The second boy went for a punch where he expected the General's face to be once he was tripped. However, Jackson lifted his own left leg and swiftly brought it down upon the first youth's knee, at the same time jabbing him in the diaphragm with his cane, driving the air from his lungs to prevent a scream. The second boy landed a punch, but not on his exposed face. Rather, he hit the armored chest plate of ceramic, breaking most of the bones in his hand. A jab to the windpipe from the General's right hand sent him to the ground, clutching his throat. He spun to his right, grabbing the first lad's mouth and pinching his nose, while at the same time swinging his extended left arm and cane, smashing into the third boy's head and knocking him out cold. The fourth backed up until he was with the fifth, and both stood there squatting in fighting poses, inching forward and back. The first boy stopped struggling and collapsed, unconscious. Jackson dropped him to the floor, facing his full body to the last two of the gang. He stood tall, and nodded. The boys looked to each other. This was a mistake, made evident as the cane was thrown into the left one's face. The other boy turned to face Jackson, seeing only a black silhouette towering above him before he felt a hand clutch the left side of his face. He ceased to comprehend as his head was viciously slammed into the wall to his right. The last boy looked up as the General turned to him, dropping the fourth companion. Half of his body was now visible, revealing a long, imperious face that glared at the boy with all the authority of Fate and Doom.[/i] "[b]He'll live. They all will. But that is not a permanent state. Everyone dies eventually. However, spending your time doing things like this will bring that bill due faster than intended. I let you live, not because I care for any of you, and not because you're youthful, but because [i]it would be too inconvenient to kill you[/i]. Keep that in mind, that the only reason you all live, is because you're not worth the time and effort to kill. I may hold that sympathy. Others will not. You [i]will[/i] run into someone who doesn't care for convenience, or for his own time. And then you will die.[/b]" [i]The boy opened his mouth, to say his apologies, to beg forgiveness, but was prematurely silenced by a kick to the side of his head. Jackson, left alone, retrieved his cane and walked off. He had escaped unscathed, but his frown remained. Had they been more experienced, he'd have been threatened. As such, he came to a realization. Freelance was too dangerous now. He needed a following, or a cause to follow. He pulled out his phone, looking up where the nearest library was. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He'd heard of the Legion. Hushed tones and quiet conversations, carried out in the dark corners of the room. However, until he'd done his own research, he'd had no idea just what they were. Even now, he was still unsure as to their purpose and job, as the sites regarding them were ambiguous, and the talks about them on other third party sites had been taken down. However, what was clear was that they were NTR, and operated as some sort of stealth unit. There was his answer. A unit that allowed him to work individually, yet have backup and a cause, as well as numerous allies. He grinned as he sent a radio transmission to the Crusader. This should at least provide some entertainment.[/i] [spoiler]JT.[/spoiler]