The Fist is for Honor...
"
So...?"
Nathanial "Nathan" Black hangs the general question in the air prior to tipping back his third bottle of Flat Tire beer, downing the remnants with practiced ease. Once finished, he set the empty container to the side amongst the rest and waved over the waitress to get another round going.
Jonathan Hyada, a close friend, student and rival of Nathan for a handful of years stared down at the label of his own beer, studying the weight of the half filled bottle in his hand. He hadn't missed his friend's question, but the card he knew Nathaniel was about to play was not one of his favorites in the deck.
"
What is it that happened again?"
"
We lost our match." The wrestler, no longer a fighter, hit the bottle again, draining it to only a few drops left and set it aside on the table next to him. "
After the match the champions, the Dragons, came to aid us against Cerberus who desired to continue the conflict." Jonathan waved off the fourth beer, which Nathan happily took in his stead. "
Amber Warren, the female dragon, then took it upon herself to make a parting statement by pretty much kicking Haven's head off. He's currently resting at my apartment after suffering a concussion."
"
Your place?"
"
He spent a few days under care in the hospital but was released, not cleared to compete for a while, but released all the same. And instead of him staying in a hotel or in his U-Haul, I offered my home to him."
"
You were always good to those that meant something to you."
"
While I have not known Haven long, I feel I can trust him as well as I can trust you."
Nathan smiled, he always enjoyed a compliment.
"
So...?"
There was that card again... but Nathan seemed to not be pressing the issue as hard as he could just yet. Popping his fourth beer and emptying half its contents in a single draw, he left his leaned position against the wall and grabbed one of the chairs by the pool tables; a
steel folding chair. Jonathan eyed his friend, understanding that he was getting ready to tip his hand. Returning to where Jon continued to lean, he placed the chair down and sat back in it while retrieving his beer.
"
You and Haven are up for the titles soon, right, at a pay-per-view?"
Jon nodded. "
All or Nothing."
"
Against the Dragons and Cerberus, right?"
Another nod.
"
In uh, what kind of match?" Nathan shifted on the folding chair, kicking his feet up to rest them on the bar table.
Jonathan eyed Nathanial for a good number of seconds, disliking the path of questions.
"
A Tables, Ladders and Chairs match."
"
So in this match there is access to more violence through the use of these objects, legally?"
"
Yes." Flatly stated.
"
So...?"
Jonathan stared at his feet with those icy eyes while his hands tightened within the pockets of his black
Punisher hoodie. The former fighter,
former, was rigid in his disdain for the possible future.
"
I won't be that person again."
Nathan set his now fifth bottle on the ground, having drained the fourth during conversation, and waved the waitress over again.
"
No one's asking you to kill anybody."
Jon stiffened at the off hand jab.
"
Do you want to be what you truly desire to be, or do you wish to hold yourself back because in a former life you lacked control?"
There was Nathanial Black's ace of spades.
Jonathan had no answer for his friend and such is exactly why Nathan asked what he had. As the waitress approached, Nathan rose from the chair and handed her a wad of bills, making sure to drain the last beer. With the tab paid he approached Jon and placed a hand on his shoulder and stared his friend in the eye.
"
There are many shades of right and wrong my friend. But you trying to remain lily white will not get you want you want."
He tapped the former fighter across the jaw with a feigned punch before leaving him to his thoughts.
* * *
Jonathan Hyada silently entered his own apartment some hours into the night after his conversation with Nathan. He closed the door behind him and turned on the main living room light, finding no surprise in seeing his
Young Justice partner stretched out asleep on his couch. Haven still sported a great bruise along the jaw where Amber kicked him, and despite being asleep the man seemed to be instinctively protecting his head in his hands. Jon began to walk towards his room but paused when he noticed that a few of the action figures he normally had on display now made their home strewn about the sleeping hero. The former fighter chuckled to himself, enjoying the fact that his friend still retained his lighthearted quality, but did not continue on his way. He found himself firmly planted where he stood, studying the fallen hero.
Someone like him should not have to face such violence.
After a moment he finally began to move again, entering his room and turning on the light. He removed his hoodie, revealing a black
Red Lantern shirt beneath, and opened his closet to hang the hoodie where it belonged. He gave pause upon opening the closet, for before him was an
Iron Fist costume he had been working on for an upcoming comic convention, stylized to be red and black rather than the normal yellow and green.
His eyes followed the details of the outfit; the red dragon symbol on the hardened black torso armor. The subtle flame designs he had painted onto the gauntlets.
More importantly the mask of the costume stood out to him, as his coming opponent had now come to favor wearing a brand new mask of her own. The red eye designs on the otherwise fully black material stared back at Jon, boring into him. He leaned back away from his closet to check on Haven, finding him still completely passed out on the couch. His thoughts drifted towards the happenings at
Ascension; the challenge laid out by Amber and the second assault on Haven. He clenched his fist and returned his stare to the mask, his eyes now showing a faint tinge of purple flame.
What are you willing to do?
* * *
"
Where's the money?!"
"
I-- I--"
"
Get the money in the bag or I swear to fuck I will end you!"
"
But-- but I--"
"
NOW!!"
"
Okayokay!"
A timid little clerk, pushing into his seventies, had never had his small gas station robbed before. He had found a peaceful little corner of Los Angeles a few months ago to set up shop post retirement to make a bit of extra income to keep from getting bored. It was unfortunate for
Herburt, that the robbing currently in progress would make him wish he had read more into the Sunny Oaks Retirement Home flier.
Davis was the runt of the family, falling behind four older brothers and two older sisters, always being picked on or slapped around by his dad. Over the past few months Davis had found a family who treated him with respect, gave him cool clothes of red and saying his was part of their blood. They didn't beat him, they didn't yell at him, so he didn't see any problem in them asking that he swipe a fistful of cash from this old man to prove his loyalty to his new family.
"
Please... please don't hurt me son!"
Herburt opened the register and began filling the duffel bag that had been given him.
"
Shut up old man! I ain't yo' son! You talk to me like a pops again an' I'll cut you!"
Davis took a short swipe with a small knife towards Herburt, narrowly missing the old man's hand.
"
O-Okay... here's all of it... please..."
Herburt pleaded with tears in his eyes while shakily holding the bag out to be taken.
"
Yeah, that's right! You rem'mer that it was Davis the Dime that owns this place! An' maybe next time I won't be s'nice!"
Davis snatched the duffel bag from Herburt and brandished the knife once more before turning on his heel and bolting for the door.
He'd done it! His family would know he was truly loyal to them, that he knew they really respected and loved him unlike his so-called family back at the dump of a home. Davis ran wildly out the door and began to cross the parking lot, amazed that he had been able to do what he did so easily. His spirits were high, so high that he thought to look up at the stars.
Jonathan Hyada stood over the fallen kid, whom he judged couldn't have been more than eighteen. He wasn't wearing any form of his usual clothing or his ring gear, but rather the same outfit he had been creating for a comic convention.
Davis, knocked groggy from the unsuspecting hit, looked up just in time to see a man whom he didn't know become even more unknown as he pulled down his red and black mask. Jon reached down and hoisted Davis up by his collar, releasing him just as he came to his feet so he'd stagger back.
"
What the?! The hell k'nna freak are you?!"
Davis dropped the duffel bag and lunged forward wildly with his knife. Jonathan easily caught the knife hand with his left before it got into any sort of range to do damage and twisted it, causing Davis to scream in pain and drop the weapon. With the kid disarmed, the former fighter slipped his forearm underneath the boy's jaw and forced him backwards, slamming him back first into one of the pillars holding up the covered fuel pumps.
"
What do you think you're doing?!"
Jon screamed at Davis.
"
Yo! Lemme go man! I ain't do shi--ahAH!"
Davis cried out as Jon pinned the weapon arm in a compromising position.
"
What makes you think you can steal from people, huh?! What makes you think you can hurt innocent people?! What gives you that right?!"
Jon began to push harder with his forearm, lifting Davis higher up the pillar. Icy-indigo daggers bored holes into the kid, but it wasn't some punk Jonathan was looking at.
All he saw was the face of Amber Warren.
All he saw was the '
Dragon Queen.'
Jon didn't let Davis respond, not with words anyway, as he cried out in shock as the costumed '
hero' buried a stiff left uppercut into the middle of the breadbasket. He tried to double over in pain but the forearm kept him in place for the second and third punch, both in the same spot.
He let Davis drop from the wall.
All he remembered was the warrior of the underground.
"
Get up!"
Jon stepped forward without giving the would be thief a chance to respond to his command. He hoisted Davis up once more, and were it some trick of the light or an alteration made earlier, the flame designs on his gauntlets seemed to glow with a powerful indigo hue. With the kid standing upright Jon connected with a well placed left kick to Davis' knee. Then another to the ribs. Then another to the shoulder.
Davis felt the entire
Dragon Raid.
The kid wasn't standing and was barely conscious when Jon grabbed his weapon arm and began to lock in a simple submission hold, causing Davis to groan... which then began to escalate into a scream as precise pressure was applied. Seething, he looked up from Davis' swollen face and caught the eyes of Herburt.
The old man stood there, hands held out in pleading, shouting for Jon to stop. The warrior got lost in time for a moment, just staring at Herburt, faintly recognizing his pleas. He looked back down at the kid, the eighteen year old, and loosened his grip.
What the hell are you doing?!
He looked up again at Herburt who disappeared back into the store, more than likely calling the police. Jonathan was confused, angered and vengeful at himself and the situation all at once.
This kid was a thief.
Maybe even a murderer.
But... he's a kid.
Heroes don't do this. Honorable men don't do this.
Jonathan finally let go of the kid's arm and backed off.
But what are you willing to do?
Taking one last long hard look at Davis, still teetering between seeing the scene for what it actually was and for seeing the woman who assaulted his friend, the woman that stirred the pot within him. A half step was taken towards the thief but he veered off to collect the duffel bag full of money, chucking it across the parking lot towards the store.
What are you going to do?
Turning, Jon took flight from the scene, leaving the criminal to be collected by the coming police.
