Police Brutality
Richard stepped off the plane covered head to toe in blood, though he at least managed to divest himself mostly of viscera. Despite this precaution, he encountered a firing line of SWAT officers awaiting him in the airport. After releasing an annoyed sigh, the militant police began trembling.
"Oh, it's a good thing I was in town, Gerry." a man spoke up from his place in the corner of Richard's vision, "This guy looks like a lot more than you can handle."
"It's a good thing for America I was in town. He's another Hanma." Spoke the man's companion as the pair walked between the SWAT officers and Richard, "Stand down, all of you. The US Army is taking this matter over."
Gerry was a huge jacked older man in an olive drab uniform with the sleeves rolled up over his massive arms and a black beret on his head. A lit cigar hung from his hand despite the fact that smoking is not allowed in the airport.
The SWAT officers slumped in relief as if metaphorically slipping out from under the weight of the world, as if they'd escaped the jaws of an apex predator.
Gerry's companion was a unique form of human, almost spherical in shape, though not from fatness, from titanic slabs of muscle bulging all over his body. Richard wondered if maybe his own muscles could become so cultivated by the time he finishes growing up and filling out, and that perhaps this man could be a new milestone for him in the development of his masculinity.
Richard Hanma and Biscuit 'Mr. Unchained' Oliva stared each other down as General Gerry Strydum made sure no one did anything stupid. Unfortunately, one of the more panicked men collapsed when released from the pressure of facing a beast in human skin like Richard Hanma, and his finger depressed the trigger on his rifle. The bark of his gun set off the other members of the SWAT Team who began shouting things like 'Officer down!' and 'Shots fired!' as they took up their guns and began spraying lead at the two imposing African American men.
The cigar fell out of Gerry's mouth as the situation turned terminal in the terminal and over a thousand bullets peppered the pair and their surroundings. The cops kept firing until their guns ran dry, and when they went to reload, a wave of fear emanated out from the pair that completely shot the motor skills of the men in black armor. They tried and failed to feed more ammo to their bullet hoses as they flopped on the ground in terror.
Richard and Biscuit shook off the hot lead that failed to penetrate their iron-like bodies. While the shorter and stockier man looked amused by the turn of events, the young Richard Hanma looked down at the destroyed remnants of his clothing, and his torn up luggage and released a stream of hot breath that attempted and failed to vent the fiery anger rising up within him.
Sensing the young destroyer about to lose his mind, Biscuit flexed his buns in preparation for the fight. Even prepared for it, the strongest man in America almost failed to react in time to the youth's attempt to pounce on the police officers who dared to destroy his clothes, only the cry of 'WUGA!' gave him enough warning to block the boy's advance.
In truth, Biscuit also wanted payback for the desecration of his sweet digs, but he'd flexed out of enough outfits to remain in his right mind at this flagrant disrespect. He wrapped his arms around the waist of the blind raging youth and held tight.
"It's not worth it." Biscuit growled as he struggled to contain the youth.
"Their lives aren't worth one outfit!" Richard roared in response, his eyes white with rage, "And they destroyed four! WUGA!"
With that second cry of WUGA, Richard broke free of the steely arms of Mr. Unchained, and executed a spinning hook kick that sent the shorter black man flying through a nearby column. He then leapt at the downed officers to take his revenge, the pure energy behind his focused fury causing the men to experience seizures. The approaching fist of doom sought to release them from their dread, but General Gerry Strydum arrived to save the day for these men.
The General wrapped his hands around Richard's flying fist and yeeted the boy in the direction of Biscuit Oliva, who caught him in another bear hug, but this time drove him backwards with the full tensile power of his back, glutes, and hamstrings to slam Richard's face into the floor. It was the German Suplex.
Biscuit scrambled to maintain a controlling position on the grounded youth, but felt the muscles under the boy's tattered shirt shifting, forming a demon-like face. How was Biscuit to have known this boy's unique no-no touch reaction to grappling? Like a b-boy, Richard spun using all the muscles in his body to create a rotation like a tornado that prevented Mr. Unchained from securing a strong hold, while his spinning limbs sent the stocky man airborne.
Unlike before, Richard kept up the pressure on the other shooting victim, pursuing him across the terminal while maintaining his motion as a force of rotating hell.
"This is…" General Gerry growled up in surprise, "DANCE FIGHTING!"
Indeed, Richard busted blazing moves across the airport using his hands, elbows, and even his back and head to keep his feet rotating as a mighty vortex that generated enough power for the General to need to hold on to his beret. Like a beyblade of brutality, Richard juggled Biscuit Oliva with his kicks, not letting the man touch earth for even a moment in this chaotic combo.
All throughout this pain filled attack, Biscuit Oliva maintained the gaze of a true predator, finally taking this battle seriously in its most ridiculous phase. Once he felt he had the timing, Mr. Unchained Raised his arms over his head at the peak of his airtime and flexed, causing the veins sticking out under his skin to bulge from the pressure of his heart forcing his blood into his muscles.
With a primal battle cry, Oliva brought down his heavy arms before the moment of impact with Richard's next strike and broke through the dance fighting maneuver. His arms brought down the dual hammer strike - his fists seemingly weighing a ton each - right down onto the washboard stomach of Richard Hanma. The impact destroyed the floor and kicked up debris as if a comet struck.
General Gerry grit his teeth as the dust cloud was disturbed by the shock waves of new attacks. After seemingly a hundred titanic thuds, the battered form of Biscuit Oliva came flying out of the airborne debris. The meaty smack of his bulging back landing on the polished concrete rang out in the General's ears like final clang of the Liberty Bell. The face of America's strongest man leaked blood out of swollen cuts, and his legendary invulnerable abs sported bruises that stretched across his core and up his sides.
"You might… need to call in... the Ogre... for this one…" Buscuit gasped through split lips, "I think… I need a nap."
Nearby, the dust settled and the battered from of Richard Hanma stepped out of the crater.
"Your obliques…" Richard stated with a far away look in his eyes, "are weak."
When Richard took his next step out of the debris and destruction, General Strydum's mind went into overdrive for conflict resolution. He considered sacrificing the SWAT Team, but immediately threw it out as un-American Communist pussy thinking. Instead his eyes widened as he observed the boy fully, looking for any sign of what this destroyer might want. Finally his eyes settled on the twisted remains of an expensive belt buckle, and on the bloody corpse of some gator skin boots.
The lights from heaven shined down on Gerry Strydum once more as he figured out how to deal with this newest threat from the Hanma line. Reaching into his pocket with slow movements so as not to startle the injured beast, he produced his wallet, and from that wallet he produced a black credit card.
"Let's forget about killing all these guys and go shopping." Gerry offered with a disarming smile, "On Uncle Sam's dime."
Richard ceased as he considered the offer and responded, "Uncle Sam better have more than a dime, cause replacing these gators is going to be Benjamins."
"No limit." Gerry grinned widely, and Richard smiled back in kind.
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