Allen Sparks [ZERK] Advanced Start

Blood.

Like crimson rivers flowing from the bodies he left in his wake. Allen looked about at the mess he’d made from the villains that were left from this small time gang that had been preying on young children for a drug circuit. He held a man with dirty blonde hair via his long bangs and was holding him a few inches off the ground. The man, looking to be in his late twenties, looked into Zerk’s cold, black eyes that sparked a frightening yellow as his quirk kicked in again.

“Where is your boss, asshole?” He growled out, the gruff voice of the reformed criminal wasn’t the most comforting sound for a criminal that was caught in the middle of the act.

Tears.

Like crystal clear streams from his lower eyelids and down his cheeks as he tried to fight against Zerk’s rage. The criminal fought hard and well against the force of the larger male, but nothing seemed to do any good. He knew he was outmatched. This man’s strength was beyond that of your average individual. He was full of that same hatred and vitriol that fueled a villain with the passion that served as a heroes fuel.

There was no one that would be able to slide past his resolve.

The man spoke with a quivering voice,

“I have no idea, I've never met the boss. I promise. I’m just a grun--- OH, OH GOD! PLEASE, NO! NOT THA--- AAAAAAH!” His excuses were cut short as a horrific grinding sound, followed by a sharp crack was more than enough to let Zerk know that his right arm was now out of operation. The tears only seemed to flow quicker and Zerk’s rage was not seeming to soothe at all. There was no patience behind those dead eyes at this point. No forgiveness, either.

Torture wasn’t his favourite tactic but one that he was more than a bit used to. Sure it was a bit on the end of being gratuitous sometimes, but it got the job done. Nothing gets someone talking like a few snapped bones and the fear of impending death. The moment that survival instinct kicks in, they just start running their mouths like it’s a track star. It was always something that really got the thoughts flowing for Allen. He spent a long time in his life killing people, nothing at this point was all that surprising for him when it came to the fight or flight responses of those that were scared shitless.

“I don’t want excuses, worm.” The american man’s Japanese was a bit rusty, but was more than enough to carry through the ill intent meant. He wasn’t going to play nice with someone like this. He wasn’t going to let him walk away scotch-free after the things that his organization had done. There was no sympathy, no sadness, no mercy behind that man’s dead expression. The criminal yet again tried to struggle away but there was no chance. No hope.
There was a single motion as that right elbow pulled back and rocketed forward again with no force withheld. There was another uncomfortable crunch as the head met brick and Zerk dropped the lifeless corpse on there with his cohorts. “If you’re really just a bottomfeeder then there’s no reason to torture the information from you. You’re better to me just dead where you’re no harm to anyone else.”

With that he turned and began the journey home.

Mercy.

The one thing you absolve yourself of when you commit your life to the sins and vices you subject yourself to.

Allen would know better than anyone.

He lost it all once.