Warehouse 32, 5:45 PM
The Double Drakon members murmured in hushed voices amongst each other, the majority of their conversations being queries as to what was taking the seller so long. Suddenly, the discussion was interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling in, large crates stored in the trunk. The vehicle skidded to a halt in front of the gang, and after it was parked, a man dressed in rather Western clothing—trench coat, jeans, boots, and all—stepped out of the truck, approaching his buyers with a tip of his hat and a toothy grin.
"Sorry to keep y'all waitin'. Shipment came in a little late, but what can I say? I got high standards for my craft."
A handful of the Double Drakon members walked over to the trunk and began unloading, setting crates down on the ground and opening them with a crowbar. The boxes were filled to the brim with all kinds of rifles, rocket launchers, weapons with heavy firepower and massive damage. Gang members whistled in fascination and interest, chuckling to themselves over the prospect of all the havoc they would be able to wreak with such destructive firearms, and the seller's smirk grew wider.
"As you all can clearly see, these bad boys are more powerful than anything you can get on the black market right now; all the destruction and chaos you can create lies right before your eyes, and the Paragons? They don't got the time to deal with us. While they're occupied with taking out the supers that share our... lawless tendencies and wading through all the paparazzi, us humans will be right there to keep doing what we do without any fuss."
Before the excited clamor could get any louder, the seller clapped once to regain the gang's attention and shoved his hands into his pockets. "So... let's get down to business, shall w—urk!!"
In the blink of an eye and a brief flash of light reflecting off of steel, a shoto blade was flung from the scaffolding high up and pierced through the seller's back, and with a splatter of coughed up blood, he fell to the ground, no longer breathing. With gasps of shock, the Double Drakons quickly rose from their seats and brandished their assault rifles, looking up to the ceiling and trying to locate where the blade could have come from.
Suddenly, a burst of bright red light shot downward like a thunderbolt that scorched the ground where it struck, out of which emerged a man clothed in ninja garb and a cloth mask covering his mouth and nose. Steel samurai plating adorned his torso and shins, and two sheaths hung against his left hip. The man would have looked like an overachieving cosplayer, had it not been for the sparks of scarlet lightning, crackling around his body and dancing in his eyes, that were more than enough for the gang members to identify the underground hero known as Sparkblade (Shuzo hated that name).
The Double Drakons' eyes were filled with terror, but after a brief moment of shock, a particularly bold member yelled, "We outnumber him; just gun him down!" Immediately, the entire gang began to open fire, some even grabbing the upgraded weapons from the seller's crates and shooting at the hero. Shuzo narrowed his eyes and lunged forward, yanking his shoto out of the seller's corpse and unsheathing his daito as he leapt into the fray with his red lightning in full force; as he charged at the gang, he remained oblivious to the presence of another vigilante watching from the shadows of the warehouse.