Naomi Ito
Parked outside the school entrance, the black, window tinted vehicle confined Naomi as she was beaten mercilessly inside by her two captors. They were human after all, so it was only natural they were susceptible to revenge.
"Welcome to Mirai Academy, Jack," a voice said sarcastically as a door swung open and Naomi, fully armoured, was sent rolling out of the car before it took off. Fumbling around on her elbows and knees while breathing frantically, a small pool of blood began to slowly form below her, as blood dripped from every crevice of her armour. The metal was heavily contorted, scorched and scratched from her journey.
They were supposed to remove the handcuffs, she noted, trailing her eyes to her bound hands before back at the school entrance. Her entrance into the school grounds was slowly and paved in blood. Her head glanced from side to side at a few students who, no doubt, recognised her. Or rather, recognised the armour.
At first it was simple name calling. Then more came and the agitators grew more aggressive, throwing rocks or small projectiles at her. She managed to stay walking. Then one student got a little too heated. "You captured my father you bastard," he blurted as he ran up behind her and swung a baseball bat at the back of her head.
Her expert training proved itself, swinging around and blocking the bat with her radii before making motions to counter act, but never did. Letting her hands drop by her side she shook her head and turned around to continue moving forward. That is when the pain tore into her side as a supernaturally enhanced punch left her feeling like she had shattered a rib.
Falling to her knees, clenching her fresh wound, she had barely enough time to register the fact that a small group had now formed around her with vicious intent before the bat struck the side of her head, knocking her helmet off and revealing a surprisingly feminine and youthful face, a sharp contrast to the manly appearance most would have presumed resided beneath the mask.
She wasn't around to notice their surprise however. The strike with the bat, which sent splinters of wood loose upon impact, had rendered her unconscious, or at least unresponsive. A merciful soul would pray for the former, at least then she wouldn't have felt the sensation of being kicked and stomped on by a group of no less than seven students. |