15 The art of jumping

"Hmm~ Hmm~ Hmm~." Gojo happily hummed away as he dragged the last of the unconscious thugs to the pile. He had managed to take out twenty of the guards without alerting the remaining ten guards stationed at the two train carts. He would call himself a master of stealth but all he did was wait for blindspots so the other's could not see him. Then he would merely teleport behind them, say 'nothing personal kid' before socking them in the face hard enough to knock them out.

Of course he relieved them of all valuables they had, from jewellery to their money.

"A good haul, I should have been doing this for extra cash." Satoru mutterd as he took off his gloves. Didn't want to leave fingerprints behind now did he?

He turned to his side, there away from the heap of unconscious men was a much smaller heap of wallets, watches, necklaces or other valuables. He most likely did not need all of it but he was greedy. So cupping his hands together, in the next instance a small and soft burst like sound rang throughout the area as the heap of valuables disappeared along with a chunk of the ground, leaving only a small crator behind.

"Now it's only those ten." His feet lifted up from the ground as he levitated to the air, the two train carts and remaining guard's were smack dab in the middle of the railway station. Four men were near the carts while the other's were spread about, all patrolling and walking around in the small area. Clasping his hands together his vision changed as did his location.

Appearing behind one men he mutterd.

"Nothing personal kid." The man snapped his head back just for a fist to sink into his cheek and send him flying, he came to a harsh and skidding landing. Clasping his hands together again he appeared where the four men were guarding the two carts were.

"Where the hells those idiots?" One of the men asked, not having noticed Gojo.

"Fuckers are probably fucking around again."

"Eh, they're probably sleepin' on the job again, buncha lazy fucks."

"Maybe they're high again?"

"Nah, pretty sure last I saw them, their limbs were unusable." Gojo decided to give his very useful and trustworthy input. It seemed only one took note of his unfamiliar voice.

"Shi-!!!" His exclamation seemed to rally the attention of his 'comrades' but it was much too late.

Gojo appeared before him in a flash, he barely had time to blink and he was already infront of him.

"Hello there." And then pain, it took him awhile to register what that pain was. A punch to the stomach rattled his guts and bones as a mouthful of blood violently erupted from his mouth. The punch sent him reeling back, before he harshly collided and skidded around on the ground.

This time the other men turned their attention to the assailant.

"Who the fuck are you!?"

The remaining three grunts aimed their weapons at him, but Gojo stood still and frowned.

"Did I just here a whimper?" He mutterd lowly to himself. It wasn't the guy who he just punched, not this sounded feminine.

He ignored the various rapid approaching footsteps that soon circled him, the other six men now surrounded him along with the still conscious three. One of the three here must have alerted them, but he ignored them for now. Even as their weapons were trained on him.

Gojo focused on the two train carts. Yes, he heard it more clearly now with him enhancing his cochlea. He heard the pitiful and fearful whimpers of people inside the carts. Women and children no doubt.

"I see now, to think I was gonna leave everyone alive. Good grief, I rather not be doing this so soon but it can't be helped."

"What the fuck are you blabbing about punk!? You know who you're messing with!? We're with Bla-"

"Quiet you, I'm thinking."

The man that was yapping was suddenly very much confused right now. As in his confusion could not be placed into mere word's. Though alot of thing's had confused him at this point of his life, however this definitely took the cake. He was suddenly much smaller for some reason and he was staring at a headless body.

Odd, that leather jacket and jeans. He remembered wearing the same outfit. Ah, he saw now what had happend, he would scream if he could.

"Would ya look at that, guess human's can survive while decapitated. At least for awhile." Gojo threw the severed head to the side as the body of the headless man fell to the ground limply.

Expressions of shock graced the majority of the remaining eight men as they looked at the scene and then back at Gojo.

His very first kill and it was a normal human. You would think he'd be atleast a tad affected by taking a human life, but no. He did not feel anything really, maybe a small miniscule amount of disgust at ripping a man's head off, hearing and watching the veins and muscles snapping like rope , as bones broke apart like fragile glass. But was he psychotic for not really having regret even at the moment? Maybe, or maybe not. But even an average human when placed in this situation would act much the same. If you rid the world of a piece of shit scum, would you regret that choice? Would there be any regret at all? Disgust maybe, but regret? No.

He was automatically a bad person now though. Killing was a 'bad thing' no matter how you looked at it or how necessary it was. You'd be labelled a criminal or monster for snuffing out a life. No one would care as to why you killed, they would only be concerned at you having killed. Because only a monster would, right?

"Y-you fucking freak!!" One of the men finally regained his barrings as he lined up a few shots with his AK-47, bullets ripped through the barrel of the gun in a rapid fire. Though Gojo was no longer in his previous position, he was behind the fool who fired.

These people might be scum, but killing was new. And not something he enjoyed, he doubted most would. So no playing around, he'd end this quickly and swiftly.

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His mouth tasted off asphalt and his vision was blurry, not to mention the pain. A severe stabbing pain in his stomach, and spreading throughout his body like a potent poison. With much difficulty he managed to push his body into a sitting position. Unsteadily his eyes focused on the scene a bit of ways away from him. Chris could not help but gape at the sight.

His heart raced as he stared at the macabre sight before him: an array of lifeless bodies, laid out on the dirty debri filled ground. The pungent smell of blood and the acrid tinge of fear hung heavy in the air. Everything seemed so silent that every breath he took seemed to echo in his ears.

Rows upon rows of pale corpses greeted his incredulous gaze, wildly positioned with no precise symmetry. Some missing a head or their hearts.

The first body he managed to focus on was headless, as if it had been brutally severed from its neck with a malicious intent. The sight sent a shiver down his spine, and his mouth became dry, making it difficult to swallow. He hesitantly focused more on the sight, his eyes tracing the vacant space where the head should have been. There were no traces of blood, but the neck stump suggested a horrific end, the jagged edges of torn flesh gradually fading into pristine skin.

As he braced himself to examine the next body, the sight of hearts rippling out stopped him in his tracks. Intrigued yet uneasy, his eyes lingering on the disturbingly rhythmic movements. It was as if the hearts that were violently torn from some of their chest were still alive, throbbing and pulsating with life despite being violently separated from their owners' chests which were caved open, with their rips stick out like needles in a pillow.

Each heart was pulsation, each undulation seemed to whisper a silent tale of pain, despair, and the abrupt halt of existence; a visual representation of lives cut short. The seemingly infinite variety of shapes and sizes of the disconnected hearts struck him with a haunting insight about the diversity of the unfortunate souls now deprived of their existence.

He studied the closest heart, its vibrant red hue contrasting sharply with the otherwise pale and lifeless surroundings. The rhythmic thrumming of blood vessels, once coursing with vitality, now seemed like the ghost of life trying to make its last plea.

Unable to bear the intensity any longer, his breath was caught in his throat. The scene before him shook the foundations of his understanding of life and death. He had killed before yes, but it was a simple matter of putting a bullet in someones skull who was trying to kill him. He couldn't help but wonder about the twisted mind that could bear such atrocities, creating a symphony of mutilation and cruelty with these headless creatures and rippling hearts.

Every fiber of his being yearned to understand the who, why, and what. Why were these bodies contorted in such a horrifying manner? Who had committed these acts of grotesque violence? What was the message behind this macabre tableau? But the answers remained frustratingly out of reach, leaving him to confront the chilling unknown.

But it seemed a single answer was to be granted.

He stood there among the bloody sight, yet not a drop of blood staining his dark attire or his pristine and radiating snow white hair. The one responsible for all the carnage here.

Shakingly his hand reached into his jackets pocket, before he pulled out a lean black container. Opening it he came face to face with a syringe with a radiating green substance in the barrel. If he were in a better state of mind and not piss scared he would have never thought using it, but now...

As Chris sank to his knees, he reached for the syringe that sat in the container. With trembling hands, he loaded the needle with the liquid, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath and then plunged the needle into his skin, feeling the pain shoot through his veins. At first, nothing seemed to happen. But then, as he watched in horror, the needle began to move under his skin, as if it were alive. With a jolt, he felt something icy-cold rush into his veins, coursing through his body like a wildfire.

As the liquid coursed through his veins, he felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was as if his muscles were awakening from a deep sleep, flexing and straining against the confines of his skin. He could feel them growing, pushing through his flesh like a force of nature. And then, without warning, his body exploded into action. He was lifted off the ground, his muscles tensing and flexing as he struggled to break free from the constraints of his body. His clothes ripped apart, revealing the massive muscles that had grown like a garden in his chest, arms, and legs.

He was more than man now. He was a creature of incredible power and strength, capable of doing things that he never thought possible. With a roar, he grew larger and more powerful, he felt a sense of invincibility wash over him. There was nothing that he couldn't do, no obstacle that could hold him back.

Gojo turned to look at the hulking behemoth of a man. His, no its muscles were pulsing with veins a clear and vibrant green hue. He seemed incapable of even the most basic word's as he merely growled like a wild animal. But wild animal's had instincts, and this one could sense he was a threat. If him charging him like a beast was any indication.

Gojo just looked on bored as the behemoth charged him, but...

*BANG* *BANG*

Two heavy and loud shots revberated throughout the area as bullets pelted against the behemoths head. The result was clearly shown as he slightly staggered to the side under the heavy fire of the bullets.

"Mind not killing this one? I actually kinda need him." Gojo immediately took note of the slightly muffled voice coming from behind him, followed by the slow walk of footsteps. The unknown individual came to a stop at his side, in his right hand a steaming gun. Confirming that he was the one who shot.

Of course this individual did not remain unknown for long, with that iconic red helmet how could he not know who this was?

"Eh, he doesn't look like the talkative type." Gojo spoke gesturing to the growling large man who had long since recoverd from the earlier attack.

"Don't need him for an interrogation." Red Hood seemed content on only informing him of that much. "Though I'd like to ask who the hell you are, but I'm no Batman, so I could care less..." He started as he put his gun in its holster before reaching for his utility belt. He pulled out two rather smooth yet high-tech looking knuckle-dusters.

"So how about giving me a hand? Usually I wouldn't even ask for help but that's also because I'd usually just put a real bullet in his head and call it a day, but unfortunately no killing for me." Red Hood spoke that sentence all too casually but Gojo did not seem to mind. "Though you made quite the mess, enchanced strengh? Nah, doesn't matter. How good are you at holding back?"

"Pretty decent, though one slip up and the big guy's gonna turn to mush." Gojo spoke leisurely with a shrug.

"Uh-huh, well titan serum is for mainly enchancing strength, endurance and durability. But seems like this guy's using an unfinished version." He stated slamming his knuckles together. "A modified version, even love taps should work on him. So lets tire him out."

"Ah, the art of jumping. I don't really need to but its fun to do." Though he should not have too much fun, he still needed to check on who was in those carts.

And so the jumping of the poor individual that used to be known as Chris began.

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A/N: Yes I know short chapter again, but school and all. But think about it like this, short chapter sure but you're guaranteed a chapter everyday.

So next chapter we see how Red Hood got there. And finally Gojo will start the job with Deathstroke.