The super-Brit Mr. People, aka Baz Berrycloth, has just had his first match in Ultimate Wrestling, and while most anyone else would have been pleased with such a dominant showing, the tough-as-nails Baz was still feeling some guilt as to how the match ended for K. D. Feigel.
So, once the rush of competition left his mighty body, he made a beeline for the washroom, splashing water on his face, over and over again. He looks at himself in the mirror, almost in shock as to what the man he's looking at could do inside a ring. This was his first-ever match, after all. Beforehand, he'd fight in the streets, but usually people submitted before things got gory. He sits in the quietest part of the arena, losing himself in thought.
Now before we continue, let's explain why Baz refers to himself as Mr. People when that's his superhero name and he doesn't really bother dressing up or hiding his identity. He's explained it before, yes, but there's one little secret that you, the reader, may like to know. An even _better _explanation that awaits:
Because he's dumb.
Anyway, Hiroshi Nakamura, who by having already built some semblance of a rapport with the brutish gentleman had also been relegated to minding him on occasion. When Baz went missing, Hiroshi was dispatched, something he didn't mind; if he were to be in an arena filled to the brim with powerful villains, what better sanctuary than in the presence of Mr. People?
"Mr. Berrycloth, there you are!" he says, looking relieved to have found him fairly quickly. The Tokyo Dome could never be defined as small. "We all thought you'd have wanted to celebrate your first win!"
Baz just stares ahead, his head resting on both hands.
"Mr. Berrycloth?" Hiroshi calls out again. "Is something wrong?"
"Mr. Nakamura, dat bloke's arm, mate... dat bloke's arm..."
Hiroshi looked confused for but a moment. "Oh, you mean what happened to Kid Chaos? Listen, in this sport, accidents happen, okay? He fell poorly, and while it was an unfortunate event, it wasn't your fault!"
He couldn't understand how someone so tough could find himself so easily traumatized by a mere accident, albeit a grisly one. Not too long prior, he was boasting as to how he was going to maul both his opponents, but now this? Could this be a sign that, for all his power, for all his sense of justice, Baz might not quite be a good fit for professional wrestling?
But Hiroshi couldn't word it like that to Baz.
"Mr. Berrycloth, why don't you get out of here?" Baz finally turns to look at the interviewer. "Yes, it'll be okay! Just go get some fresh air, take in the sights, and forget about this."
"But I-"
Hiroshi interrupted, "Go wash up, get dressed, and take some time to clear your mind."
Hiroshi tried balancing a smile with a stern look; this was an order, but it came from a place of kindness.
Baz tensed his jaw, then exploded back up to his feet. "Awright den, Mr. Nakamura, we'll do fings yer way."
A bit of friendliness was knocked out of Baz' cadence, but that was understandable at this time. Hiroshi nodded, patting Baz on the shoulder before going off to actually do the job he's paid to. Baz headed off in the opposite direction.
Later, Baz was walking down a busy street, wearing his civilian clothes and toting his, well, his tote bag with him. Being closer to the Dome, many passersby did rubberneck the lummox, but many others had already seen gaijin bigger, more impressive, roaming about all over the place, ever since UW came into town.
But to Baz, it was all about breathing in fresh air, taking in the sights he'd only seen in books and online. It would also normally be about making connections with the people wherever he went, but today, he was feeling a bit antisocial.
He eventually found himself gravitating towards the train station, and while being in such a concentrated mass of humanity for a big man wouldn't have bothered Baz all too much, shamefully he had hoped nobody would bother him right now.
So it was to his luck that he discovered that everyone on board was quiet and minding their own businesses. At first it felt odd to him, the ca-chunk ca-chunk of the train louder than the murmurs of human voices, but then he found himself relaxing. This was peaceful. He didn't even have to think, just sit and allow the remorse to bleed out of him.
It'll be that much easier to achieve on Night Two.
But then he was certain he heard someone making some sounds of protest. When he locked eyes with its origin, he spotted a nervous and uncomfortable young woman as some greasy loser was breathing heavily on her shoulder. He raised an eyebrow, but looked on for another few seconds before her recoiling prompted him to spring to action.
Without missing a beat, he waded through people to get to the chikan. "OI! D'ya reckon ya wanna get yer 'ands offa dat bird?"
And now Baz has become the discord, defying the unwritten rules of peace and calm on public transportation in Japan. All eyes are on him now, and there's precious few places for the other passengers to move away to.
<"I don't know what you're saying, but mind your business!"> the pervert's words oozed out like so much gutter oil.
Now, to Baz, who didn't bother to learn a whit of Japanese, this was an act of war. Never taking his eyes off the creep, he parted him from his victim, guiding her away with his arm. The perv glanced at her briefly before looking up to the colossus that was now pressed up against him.
"Ya coulda apologized, but ya'd rather lip off ta me, eh?" Baz said as he cracked his knuckles. He had lowered his tone, but it was still very audible.
The gravity of the situation was very apparent to the creep, but he took advantage of the crowded train by whipping out a knife.
<"You look like a big dumb monkey, but you can't really maneuver in here, can you?"> the slime said slimily. But he was right; the only way Baz was going to uppercut this germ was to risk accidentally hurting someone else as he wound up to send this trash to the ceiling.
While Baz still couldn't understand his foe, the knife being presented to his body in a menacing way was ample body language.
So, he gave him a classic Glaswegian Kiss. Slam, thud, vermin neutralized.
He then picked the punk up, hoisting him in the air, cocking his fist back, ready to liquefy this man's marrow. The pervert was barely conscious, merely mumbling out pleads for mercy. But then the image of that arm, that goddamned gruesomely broken arm. And that was a trained wrestler and more! He then looked on at the other passengers, but instead of the expected looks of praise and awe, Baz found a sea of horrified faces, even found on the woman he helped out.
Confused, he looks back at his prey. Decorum is now required here.
He allows the creep to slowly slip from his grip to plop on the ground. "If I didn't have no big match comin' up, I'da tossed ya out an open window!"
Then the train reached the next stop, with many people flowing out, whether they wanted to or not. Baz decided this was a good idea himself.
Looking around at his new environment, he basked in it initially, but then his face went long.
"Bloody hell, where am I now?"
Later still, Hiroshi is seen driving down the highway, Baz in the passenger seat. Baz called the interviewer for a ride back, having obliviously travelled without being able to read any crucial signs or any signs at all for that matter.
"I'm sorry again fo' de disturbance, mate." Baz said in a quieter, more humble tone.
"It's not having to pick you up that's the problem, Mr. Berrycloth." Hiroshi replied, "It's that you caused a commotion on a train!"
"But 'e was well gropin' dat bird!" Baz snapped back.
"I understand that," Hiroshi retorted, "But you could have crushed his skull, and then what?"
The logic was sound, even to the slower-witted Baz. "But I didn't."
"Look, Mr. Berrycloth, I understand. I honestly do. But you could have just used your tone or even got her out of safety and wagged your finger or something. You need to keep a lower profile moving forward."
"Den I'll wear a mask ov some sort."
This was something Hiroshi wished Baz had thought of prior to coming to Japan.
"Figure that out after your match, all right?" Hiroshi asked, but the question was more of a command. "It looks like you've overcome your problems from earlier."
Baz slowly nodded, but he couldn't even convince himself. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "I fought so too, Mr. Nakamura, but nah. I had dat pervo dead ta rights, like, an' den it came over me again."
The woes of being a rookie. Hiroshi could have explained this to Baz, made him understand even more, but then he had an idea. Baz was god-hearted, but sometimes he needed things explained to him in the absolute most basic of terms.
"Well, you certainly still gave him something to remind you of. But anyway, that's good."
Baz raised an eyebrow, "Dat's good? How ya reckon?!"
"Because it means you'll have self-control. Remember: you're not allowed to use your powers in the ring."
Baz sighed as he nodded.
Fearing this may not be enough, Hiroshi decides to deploy... another tactic.
"If you want to let out your aggressions, do so at the Ronin Rumble, okay? Just imagine all the other competitors are like that guy on the train, but also remember that-"
Baz narrowed his eyes, The very thought of that trash sickened him, and this motivation worked.
"I'll butt em." he vowed as he pounded his fist into his hand, "I'll butt em all an' stomp out ooever's left movin'!"
Not wanting him to misconstrue the message, Hiroshi tries to continue, "Yes, but please but bear in mind that some of your opponents are-"
"I know, Mr. Nakamura," Baz said back. This relieved Hiroshi. "I know. I know dat dey've gotta get tossed over th' top rope, don't ya worry 'bout dat!"
This did not relieve Hiroshi.
Elsewhere, it is another part of Tokyo. A humble sushi joint's owner is about to close for the night, but as his back was turned, an odd bluish light hummed behind him. When this eventually caught his attention, he turned around to investigate, now face-to-face with a small group of older white men, one of which appeared more unusual than the others. Just something about him, his look, his aura, but none of it was good news.
"Oh, don't mind us." that man in particular said. Each word was filled with such venom that a mere syllable ached within the store owner's very soul. He found himself dumbstruck as the man moved closer to him, casually pulling out a photo. "We're just on the lookout for this man. We suspect he won't be too hard to spot. Seen him?"
He holds up a photo of Baz Berrycloth.
