<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/70QCU.jpg)</div><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>  Name:</strong>         Eric Brooks<br/>  <strong>Title:</strong>            Blade<br/>  <strong>Affiliation:</strong>  Resistance<br/>  <strong>Location:</strong>   Tokyo, Ground level of Mori Tower<br/>  <strong>Tags:</strong>          No one yet<br/><br/></span></span><hr/><br/>Blade didn't say anything as she went on, instead, wondering how in the world she planned on doing it herself. But he snapped from his reverie and sprinted off in another direction from her, noting the sound of gunfire from her side. This thundering around really got on his nerves, he needed to vent, he needed to kill something evil. The buildings were relatively intact in this area, surprisingly enough for somewhere that got hit with the A-team. He didn't so much dart as veer into a building, a squat concrete affair, very sturdy looking, hopefully appearances weren't deceiving. He sat with his back against the wall, a foot or so to the left of the door, knees slightly bent, teeth<em>still</em>bared. The sounds of gunfire still prattled on, but died off, instead, the roar of jump-jets and the heavy, metallic clang of exosuit boots hitting the ground replaced it, deliberate footsteps echoing off the concrete in the empty street. Blade was silent, tensed, ready to pounce and kill, his hands seeking out a dagger and replacing the sword in it's sheath, his other hand seeking out the large caliber revolver, cocking the hammer in time with the next footstep. It would only be seconds before the soldier's foot entered the open doorway, only a foot away from the hidden Blade. The other foot swung in and Blade struck. The dagger darted in with speed and precision borne of experience, sinking into the back of the soldier's knee. The soldier was obviously a little more durable than the last, as instead of his leg crumpling, the dagger sunk in and he swung about, laying a heavy backhanded smash into Blade's ribs. Blade let go of the dagger and ducked the next swing, the metal shod fist smashing a sizeable piece of the wall away. It was followed by a practiced uppercut, which clipped Blade as he attempted to dance around the less mobile opponent. His free hand slipped another dagger out of his vest and he had to knock the soldier's wrist to the side, the mounted gun firing off the small caliber rounds into the opposite wall. Blade reversed his grip on the dagger and planted it in the front of the soldier's closest knee, quickly tucking around behind him and letting go of the dagger. The gun rose with no hesitation and the barrel pressed against the back of the now kneeling soldier and fired. There was the sound of metal hitting against metal and then the explosion of blood out of the visor. The soldier crumpled and Blade retrieved his daggers and holstered his gun, wincing and holding his ribs, that possibly superhuman backhand leaving him plenty sore. Blade's hands sought out the card that Tony had given him, the directional arrow giving him his heading, now free to follow. Discreetly. Dark boots hit concrete with a practiced silence and Blade was off, slipping through the city, disappearing into the darkest nooks and crannies.<br/><br/>It had taken Blade maybe three quarters of an hour to reach the destination given to him by the plastic card, which looked to him like a rock. A<em>secret</em>rock. That same secret rock folded into itself as he approached, revealing a small, metal entrance. Blade looked around for anyone who might have tailed him, before slipping inside, hearing the telltale click of the rock reconstructing itself. Blade was clanging up the stairs, all pretence of stealth gone, the wear and tear setting in and the dozen or more scratches irritating him to no end, even as they healed. Blade reached the top, not really catching any of the no-doubt-banter of the two nimrods. It didn't matter so much anymore, he was safe for now. He was silent and still scowling as he approached the table, but his teeth weren't bared any longer. He stood at the table and took off his sunglasses, tucking them into a breast pocket in his coat. He then proceeded to disarm himself. One might mistake him for carrying the contents of a knife store as he worked, unstrapping at least a dozen daggers, knives, throwing knives, glaives and his signature sword, depositing them on the table, before letting out a sigh and looking for a chair. Blade saw the armours and the entire, admittedly quite advanced workshop, reminding him somewhat of the workshops that he had his equipment made in. Blade shrugged and put on a look of "meh", never willing to admit when something impressed him. Not with someone who reminded him of Hannibal.<em>Never.</em><br/><br/><br/><br/>