<strong>Alias: </strong>Creeping Shadow<br/><strong>Your Team:</strong>Team F<br/><strong>Interacting with:</strong>Kari, Team H<br/><br/><br/>The wave of plasma washed over him, and the woman he was currently choosing to protect; it dissolved most of his shirt, to the point that the scraps of it end up falling off. His jeans, too, now have some severe rippage and holes in them, but at least they're still holding up. He barely grunts, his eyes closed as he does his best to shrug it off, and  power through the pain.<br/><br/>Eventually, it passes, and Kari would, at most, probably have a bit of singed hair, if that; he had been able to almost fully shield her. Once he was done doing that, he rose up, re-gripping the telescopic baton in his right hand, and turned around to survey the field; he glared daggers at the now unconscious creator of the stuff that ruined his favorite shirt.<br/><br/>"Ahh, no fun." he comments idly as he flicks the baton, causing it to sink back into its smallest size. The weapon slides into his pocket, and he takes a few moments to check over his arms, legs, and the rest of his body; all in all, aside from the deep cut on his face, which was now covered in clotted and dried blood, and which was likely to scar, he was actually in pretty good shape.<br/><br/>Years of abuse and years of fighting back, of never giving up, of never surrendering, have seen fit to give the Creeping Shadow a remarkable degree of resilience and high tolerance for pain. It was no super power, but it was worth noting that it took a lot to even make this guy slow down.<br/><br/>When the next group came out, he actually snickers a bit at their name. His eyes seem to lock in on the woman with the mask, and he cat-calls her.  Why would he do that? There's probably a reason, but it's not readily apparent, and he's certainly not sharing it.<br/><br/>His attention, however, would not stay on her for too long. Instead, he seemed to focus in on the guy with the utility belt. Now, that looked like it would be fun. His hand slipped back into his pocket, drawing out his baton; and with a flick of the wrist, it fully extended.<br/><br/>He'd point the weapon at Kid King "Hey, you. You look like you're up for a beating. Come over here." It was as much a declaration of a challenge as anything else.