Drifter Vs. Acheron

The night was bleak, another searing reminder of the hopeless future that these pathetic humans would lead, the decaying roots of an already dead city led to nothing more than homicide, filth and perversion.  These City streets of the New York Projects were a bad place, littered with porn and blood..the smell of people pissing their lives away.

So if this city were so rotten, what would a french diplomat like TheDrifter be doing here in the first place? Simply put : Assassination.
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Two Weeks Earlier - Las Vegas

"Interesting proposal you offer but this was meant solely as a pleasurable vacation, not one of business"

The Mob boss sat at the head of the table, his nicotine laced hands dealing out the cards whilst the other gangsters simply sat and watched him like a sick puppy following it's mother. "I don't ask for much Drifter, I just need you to kill a guy who's causing some problems for me or rather my boss."

"And who might that be?"

"His name is the Doctor" He said with a chilling tone, putting his now fully smoked cigar into his empty whiskey glass.

"well well...How much does this pay?" TheDrifter asked beneath his skull mask, the metallic tone obviously heard throughout the room.

"Five Hundred Thousand if you bring him back alive, One Mil. if dead"

"Who am I after?"

"Acheron. Some nut in a white clad costume...can't miss the b@stard."

"Where is he?"

"Last seen being the under-dog hero somewhere in the deep Bronx projects. Being a silent avenger or some crap."

Toasting a bottle of beer, TheDrifter threw his chips in and tossed his cards...

"Cheers"

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Currently

The harsh beating rain in a filthy city set the backdrop, tonight two heroes walked in...one came out.

The rain splattered down heavy, splashing over all surfaces. The wind whipped it about so that it would blind most people, and thus, almost no one was about.

Acheron was laying the final strikes on a group of punks, breaking their jaws, arms, and legs with non-fatal blows. They were scattered about around him, moaning in pain but unable to move. The alley was wider than most, and long. They had been foolish to attempt something here, if only because the environment prevented them from attacked at the same time.

The hero leaped into the air, out of the alley and onto the adjacent roof. He gazed about. Something did not feel right. He switched vision modes, and swept his eyes over his surroundings.

There.

A lone man, clearly ready for battle. He was obviously a hostile or a unknown. Acheron always assumed it was the former. Light gathered around his hands as the Sphere was opened, and in a flash, his katana appeared. It glowed a dull red, and the rain sizzled on the blade. He drew out three throwing stars, and made his way closer to the man. He was on the roof above, looking down. He wore a strange metal faceplate.

Without any indicated warning, Acheron hurled his three throwing stars at Drifter, and then flipped off the roof. He landed on the other side of the street of him, and waited, gauging the man's abilities before he launched any further attack. The shurukens split the rain as they soared silently towards the target.

Drawing his own Katana, two of the stars simply bounced off the sword and back to the rain covered ground, whilst pierced his right arm, going through his Kevlar armor and straight into the flesh, with blood trickling down his arm, he then performed a back-flip, his photographic reflexes mimicking that of Olympic level gymnasts before he landed in the streets below...never once uttering a word.  Gore and rain began to mix and drizzle down to his right leg, yet he still managed to hold his sword to the warrior across the street to him and say these words...

"En Garde" The metallic tone resonating throughout the deep crime infested suburbs.Sliding sideways across the hood of an oncoming car, TheDrifter ended up on the opposite side of the street, still clutched to his sword, he parried three slashes to the vigilante's abdomen before running down into an abandoned alleyway and onto a fire escape..patiently awaiting his opponents next move.

The man was fast, and he blocked two of the shurukens that Acheron had thrown. The third had embedded itself into his arm, drawing blood. Without a second of waiting, he rushed, not leaving any extra time to attack. He crossed the street quickly.

The blades the man carried were easy to see, the water ricocheting off their smooth surface. They sliced through the air at Acheron's torso. The machine brought his own blade forward to guard against these attacks, and the swords clashed. Sparks sprayed off the metal. He blocked the first slash, and parried the second. Unfortunately, this action left his body open, his arms too far out of the way to guard again. Acheron leaned back in a attempt to minimize the damage. The sword cut a half inch into his stomach, drawing a fair torrent of blood which leaked over the white cloak he wore.

He pursued Drifter, who had leaped up to the fire escape. Acheron jumped off the ground, ran up one side of the alley's wall, and then pushed off of that, flipping up to where his opponent stood. As he was flying up the alley, he hurled three more shurukens at the man, which were meant to distract from the real attack. As Acheron was landing, he brought his sword down upon Drifter's head in a vertical slice, going for maximum speed. Strength was not needed when the area of the body was so vulnerable.

TheDrifter didn't have much options, There was Himself, Acheron,  and a full city on the brink of it's own apocalypse and so taking a cowards way out, he slashed at the abdomen of the white clad avenger before running off into the alleys where he would find a fire escape. Quickly, he darted upward, before the white knight would retaliate. 

Yet again, Acheron would throw three shurikens at Drifter, which were ultimately dodged as his Photographic Reflexes had stored in his memory how he dodged the last two, unforunately, in dodging, he left himself vunerable to the real attack, A vertical slash to the head, which he somehow managed to dodge albeit an inch of the blade grazing the back of his head, slicing a good sized cut as he swooped downward off the escape. "YOU B!TCH" He called out as he drew two gold plated desert eagles. Dashing towards the fire escape, he did flipped off the wall and leaped into the air, similar to what Acheron had performed in order to get onto the fire escape, finishing the move with a corkscrew, bullets flew everywhere.

Within but a few moments, TheDrifter would land on his feet with both smoking guns still in hand, slightly out of breath from the attempt to shoot down the neutral one, The Ghost in the Shell would then turn around to see if any of the shots had hit sucessfully.

He was beginning to adapt, this man. He easily saw the projectiles coming his way and dodged them accordingly, none of them coming too close to striking. The sword slash grazed the back of Drifter's head, drawing blood, which sprayed out and splattered onto the alley wall behind him. The man yelled a extremity-he was getting angry. Good, anger clouded the mind and made judgement sloppy.

Acheron landed on the fire escape, except his enemy was already on the move, running along the wall, firing bullets in all directions. The machines reflexes kicked it, and he saw the rain, the bullets, Drifter, it all in perfect clarity. He raised his katana, and began following his target. He leapt, the bullets flying past him and embedding themselves in the walls, knocking out chunks of brick.

He ran along the wall, blocking or deflecting the majority of the rounds. Sparks flew out after every collision, ricocheting in all directions. Acheron kept his eye on the prize. The last volley of rounds came. He twiched his head to the side an inch to let one pass, it flying by and colliding with the wall. He pushed off the wall to follow Drifter, but in this action he moved in the path of the last few slugs. He sliced, cutting three of them in two, but the final one bit into his shoulder. He spun in the air, knocked off balance, and flew through the wall next to the fire escape, a cloud of dust and broken brick blocking the view.

He crashed into the dingy hotel inside, flying through a table which shattered under his weight, and then through a wall, smashing it to pieces. He hit the ground and rolled, before standing. He was covered in dust, blood leaking down his shoulder. Soaked, stained, and filthy.

The last place Acheron saw Drifter on was the fire escape. He pinpointed where that was, through the wall. He thrust his free hand forth and fired off a blast, heading where the man should be. Following that, he slashed in mid-air and a wide, short wave of energy flew off his sword, cutting through the remains of the wall with ease. He didn't know whether or not Drifter would see that coming, but he was prepared for any retaliation now.

He turned to see the man stand in the middle of a dingy motel, and ready for attack by firing off a blast of energy right where the Drifter stood...The first blast was dodged in similar fashion to the daggers, he'd adapted, evolved to a peak where simple projectiles weren't cutting it anymore, however with evolution comes a sense of self-love, a cocky attitude that eventually leads to being hit...when you least expect it. This is what would happen as a wide blast of energy propelled itself off the white knight's sword, cutting through the remains of the wall and slicing across the Drifter's (now) bare chest.

Scarred, bloodied and bruised, TheDrifter lifted his gun one last time and fired off two single rounds, this time using his Magnokinesis to put an extra spin on the bullet, increasing the already deadly lethality of the lead projectile, both of which were headed for Acherons legs. Dashing to the side, TheDrifter would grab a trashcan lid and hurled it, seemingly mimicking the skill of Captain America whilst throwing the make-shift shield before he sprung to the side, already a great deal of blood lost, and positioned himself in a neutral standing point, ready to switch to defensive or offensive position should the situation call for it.

The burst of energy missed, but the slash, which was unexpected, did not. It cut across Drifter's chest, not missing it's mark completely. Acheron had figured out a strategy to combat the man-he was able to adapt to anything he had already encountered. Thus, the machine had to constantly introduce new qualities to his fighting style.

He didn't have much time to muse on this-his opponent countered very quickly. Two bullets flew at Acheron, one for each leg. He saw this as if in slow motion, his adrenaline already pumping and sending him into overdrive. He flipped sideways like a corkscrew over the bullets, which flew underneath him and slammed into the run down walls. Two massive holes were left in their wake.

As Acheron landed, he realized that the man had moved to a everyday weapon. The trashcan lid flew at a lethal velocity, moving as if hurled by one of the world's most famous heroes. This threw off the machine, and the lid slammed into his face, bowling him over. As he fell back on his head, he outreached his arms and pushed off the ground to recover instantly. He landed on his feet, stunned by still ready for combat.

He looked about his surroundings, having lost track of Drifter. He was not in sight. Immediately, he switched to infrared vision, and spotted him in a position ready for anything. Shifting to a different type of fighting style, Acheron rushed at the man head on at full speed and dove at him, arms outstreched, aiming to tackle him dead on the chest.