Rolling Thunder Pirates Origin

Facing a crowd of bounty hunters, Rico Vidal was in a bad situation. While the word trap was in his vocabulary, he didn't use it enough to think that he had walked into one. No, instead, he viewed the swarm of angry armed men as challengers. The brochure he had read skimmed said Whiskey Peaks celebrated the adventuring life of a swashbuckling pirate. That didn't seem true.
A duo approached Rico first and called out to him, "Are you the Luchador?" Rico nodded. The two bounty hunters drew their blades quickly. As he heard the swishing swords of their swords leaving their sheathes, Rico's brow furrowed with disappointment.
"Hey, amigos, you can't wrestle with weapons." Rico quickly launched his right hand towards one of his opponents, clasping the mercenary's throat in a vice-grip. "That is against the rules." Effortlessly, Rico slammed the tiny man down into the ground. As soon as he heard the cracking of bones, Rico knew the first round of his match had been one.
"I must apologize, brother." Rico looked at the second swordsman who was trembling in fear. "I did not mean to hurt your friend so badly! But then again, their are risks to wrestling! Ohahaha!" The Luchador seemed oblivious to the gravity of his circumstances, perhaps because he was devoid of fear. Even as the bounty hunter thrust his blade toward Rico, the colossal wrestler refused to flinch. The tip of the blade pierced Rico's skin and halted.
"The miracle of practice is perfection, friend." Rico tackled his opponent and lifted the swordsman off the ground casually. "No miracles today though." Gripping his opponent by the ankles, Rico began swinging him around in a circle. With a huge heave the Luchador tossed his foe into a drink cart.
"Brothers, sisters, amigos... Can't you see that a new age will be made from the steel of our flesh and the fire of our spirits? No heel can stand against this face... I have behind me a desire for true justice. With these hands, I shall bring it to you. Come, fight with me. We shall bring an end to the tyranny of the World Government!"
Rico roared a powerful roar, and for a moment, the crowd of bounty hunters considered his offers. Then there was a gunshot, and Rico felt a knot in his shoulder. Blood poured out of his gaping wound and he collapsed to one knee. Out of breath, Rico laughed.
"ohahahaha... I let my guard down."

Clark sipped his scotch at the end of the bar. He had been out of the facility for a week and was starting to get used to the outside world. He had on a Hawaiian shirt to cover his mechanisms, as well as his weapons and wings retracted. He just appeared to be a simple cyborg, something that wasn't as rare as he would have thought. The drones had taken refuge within his suit, as the presence of floating machinations would startle civilians unaware of the oddities of the grand line. As was often in taverns such as this, a fight had broken out, however it was not so much a fight as a well justified massacre. Two ruffians attacked a man who was larger than even clark, and promptly had their asses handed to them. He was enthralled by the pummeling, and the beatdown was genuinely comical until some jackass fired the first bullet, now, it was a showdown. Some drunken braggart had gotten caught up un the spectacle however, and fired his shotgun at Clark. His nice new shirt had gotten teared to shreds in the back, but his titanium exterior prevented the unsophisticated pellets from doing much else.

The patron was in awe, his bullets had done nothing but anger Clark and he knew it. The man didn't want to tumble if his gun was useless and made a split dash for the door. Too late. Clark left his seat, he enjoyed watching the fight, but things had gotten into his court. "Show him the power of anger!" Shouted Fiery from within the suit. "That's it?, dumbass ventriloquism? Fight me like a man!" screamed the patron, probably unaware of his volume. Clark intended to make this quick, his polished titanium hand curled up into a fist and clashed with the fleshy cheek of the raucous man sending him to the floor. Some bounty hunters had taken notice of him, and one with a long saber approached him next. It was a fine blade, but the man was completely unskilled at wielding it, what a shame. The bounty hunter must have assumed he was worth money, due to his shrugging off of a shotgun shell, but he was widely unknown. The hunter lunged at his stomach, but the blade simply wiggled against his metal flesh. The sword, fine as it was, needed to be welt by a swordsman if it ever wanted to cut titanium. The man was large, and quite paunchy. Clark, however, lifted him without a sweat and threw him across the room. Icy chimed in “Clark, 7 hostile assailants are approaching your vicinity.” Clark, however took this all with a grain of salt, “Who wants some?” Said Courage to the crowd. Apparently a lot of them did.

Sitting in a small puddle of his own blood, Rico spent a few moments catching his breath as his would-be captors approached him. The dastardly marksman who made the shot watched from afar as a swarm of metaphorical vultures plunged down to feast on his kill. The sounds of these desperate bounty-hunting vandals was drowned out by a shotgun blast and the loud crash of a fat man being tossed about. Rico's enemies turned towards the disturbance for a moment. Taking the opportunity this distraction gave him, Rico picked himself up off the moistened ground and retreated a few feet away from the crowd. As he shrugged his injured shoulder, Rico began a head-count of all the heels he would have to face. Not counting those facing the man in the bar, there was at least as many men as he had fingers. His blood-loss made the titanic Luchador dizzy, and the lead sphere in his shoulder disabled his right arm. Rico smiled a carefree smile and roared out a vociferous laugh.
"Amigos, I see no honor in this. You, a small army, are fighting a one-armed man. This may seem so... but to me, that is not the dishonor. You justice-hounds do not scare me and no number of you could, no matter how many! The dishonor isn't even how you spit on the ring, my stage, no... The dishonor is all mine. The strong should not pick on the weak. You make me a bully, brothers. We are amigos no more."
"Shut your goddamn mouth already, you masked fuck!" Someone from the crowd hissed at Rico.
"Fair enough."
The clumsy colossus charged his hecklers with amazing speed. As he came to a stop, Rico launched one of his beefy legs into a bounty-hunter's chest, catapulting him into the bar. Several mercenaries turned towards the Luchador after he had struck down the one man who was foolish enough to taunt him. Quickly drawing their pistols and training them on the obvious target, the battle seemed to be going in gunmen's favor.
"Don't move a step!" Someone from the crowd of pistoleers shouted.
"Why no?" Rico asked smugly, before lunging at another gunman. Quickly, he forced a foe into a choke-hold and then broke his neck.
"You shouldn't have done that..." The gunmen fired shot after shot.
"No, no, no, hombres, you shouldn't have done that." Rico grimaced in pain. The bullets stung his body, but his skin was unbroken. "My body is made of steel! Your tiny little bullets can't stop me!" Excitement pulsed through Rico's veins, never before had a simple bar-room brawl been so fun.

Dear lord why were directions so incredibly frustrating?

Raulin stood in the center of the road, scratching his head quizzically as the overbearing heat of Cactus Island beat down on him from above. The man was wrapped up in all sorts of coats and scarves, and he looked very tired. He had been looking for some sort of prehistoric monster Avis Ridley had wanted him to capture, but he had messed up the directions and was now at some random island in the middle of bloody nowhere.

"Die... scum..."

Oh, and people had been trying to kill him for hours now. At this point, their bodies lay sprawled out in a thick ring around him, and most of them were dead or dying. One in particular seemed bent on continuous insulting him, the quality of his skills, and apparently the sanctity of his mother's nether regions. Quite honestly, it was starting to get old.

"By god man, will you just shut up?"

Raulin raised a hand, a metal stake forming out of metal filings coming off his arm. The man continued his insulting tirade.

"I swear to god if you do not shut up, this is going right into your throat."

The man's incessant complaining finally came to an end, and Raulin enjoyed a temporary amount of peace and quiet. Well then, about time he went hunting for that prehistoric monster dealio. He gingerly stepped out of the ring of bleeding bodies, with the stake still floating in his hand. He would probably get attacked yet again, so he might as well save time and just lance them in the throat the next time he saw them. Stupid people, why were they even attacking him anyway?

The most annoying thing to him is that none of them were good with a sword. It was seriously the most aggravating thing he had ever seen in his life. So many people trying to kill him, and none of them were even worth removing a coat. And he had like, three of them. It was totally disappointing. Don't even get him started on the people who used guns, they were just completely worthless.

As he walked, he looked around to see if there were any prehistoric monsters here. Unfortunately, there were not, but there was something catching his attention. A large amount of noise was erupting from one of the many bars located throughout the city, and from the looks of it, was caused by a bar fight. It sounded a lot like someone needed to ohwaitlookacactus.

Raulin stared at the cactus shaped mountains, too distracted by the fancifully shaped crevices to care about much else.

This shit was getting annoying, but nonetheless entertaining. Clark hadn't had a proper brawl since he left the facility, and yet, he still hadn't had one. He didn't know why they were attacking him however, it was human instinct he thought, they wanted to test their mettle against the man who could shrug a shotgun, alas, they were paltry annoyances, both to him, and to that luchador fellow. They must have assumed he had a bounty, rather shoddy practice indeed, it seemed as if the strength is equivelent to bounty formula they were practicing could lead to sticky situations with marines, and animals for that matter. Another one with a large hammer approached him. There was something different about this one, his cockyness stemmed from confidence, not ego. Clark needed to be ready for whatever this man could throw. The man was tall and dark, but far from handsome. He was pudgy to say the least, and bore a scraggly mane to his thighs. Grotesque or otherwise, the man was intimidating. The man charges, his feet shaking the ground has he trotted foppishly. He raised his hammer high in the air, preparing for a downward swing. Clark grinned, large, strong, or otherwise, he still was just another one of these bounty hunters. The sledge plowed towards clark as he slid his right foot forward and punched. His fist met the hammer with a clank, and then a crinkling sound. The hammer had crumpled upon impact. Clark, still with one foot in front of the other, took his arm from the upward ark it was in, and swapped it for an offensive sidearm stance. He bended his knees slightly, as the floor near his feet began to smoke. The Icarus Wings sprouted from the tattered remains of his souvenier shirt, and he jetted forward as he jumped, hitting the man with a strong uppercut to the chin, and sending him flying through the crown molding of the establishment.

The man was outside, near a man examining cacti, and he was left scorched and burnt. Fiery had lodged in his right fist for the punch, heating his fist.
"Kill them," cackled malice with schadenfreude in his voice.
"skin them!" spouted sparky, "and sell them at market price!"
The mercs and bounty hunters went to examine he who seemed to be their superior, only to find him with a done mind, and burnt flesh. One of them, one who wasn't looking for conflict and wore a nice suit, approached him, he spoke softly,

"What are you?",

fiery took it for him "we, we're your worst nightmare hombre." "we won't loose," added courage. this soft speaking man however, carried a big stick, a cane to be exact, well really a cane rapier. He unsheathed it, this man was a talented swordsman, he could see it in his stance; this appease clark, "so it's a challenge you want?" said clark speaking his first words since leaving the facility, "i'll bite." clark sheathed his left hand, and as it retracted the two halves of his arm blade clamped together in it's place. This would be a fight to remember.

So he had ended up in one of the first islands of the Grand Line. Haru Finner liked to travel all over the world, or at least he had all over the first part of the grandline. Cactus Islabd seemed a bit dangerous for a man that had a 3.5 million belli bounty, because it was full of bounty hunters.

His water reserves in his sides were full and prepared for anything. As Haru walked through the streets he got weird looks from people... It was because he was a fishman, and not only that, he was even different for a fishman. He stopped besides a man and from his bag he took some clockwatches.

"Here, good man, I have the best clocks in the area, brought directly from the islands with he most advanced technology and metals."-Haru smiled at the man. The man checked the watches carefully.

"This clocks seem of the best quality..." -he commented.

"Indeed, they are."- Haru commented.- "And you can buy one for the low price of 2 million belli!"

The man stopped to think for a little while, then he took money from his pocket.

"Here, give me the black one with silver numbers"- the man smiled. Haru smiled back and gave him the clock.- "Thanks for buying!"

Haru continued walkig until he noticed some ruckus coming from the plaza nearby. There was a big fight going on and people that apparently were bounty hunters were trying to Kill a man that looked like... A Luchador??? One of the guys had a lot of bounty posters in his hand... He turned and saw his face, checked a bounty poster and looked at him again.

"That guy is Haru Finner, worth 3.5 million belli!!!"-he screamed and at least 10 bounty hunters turned to look at him, armed with guns, swords, axes, etc.

"SHIT"- Haru said. He backed off a bit and prepared to punch.- "Karakusagawara Seiken!"

A shockwave punch was launched towards the bounty hunters, it would have a bit of a slowed down effect but it would fly them away.

The man with the Cane-Katana was staring him down, and even though he didn't look the part, the man could be intimidating when he wanted. He was shorter than clark, by a lot really, and he wore long red hair and a thick wooly beard. His clothes were something else too, he wore a burlap shirt that went down to his thighs and had sleeves that extended past his hands. The man, in a way nearly as cautious and soft as his manner, launched himself at clark, he lunged at him, and seemed like he was going for a stab into the chest. simple enough, thought clark, as he blocked the blade with the dull side of his own, blocking the attack, or so he thought. The man, apparently balancing off of clark's blade, kicked at his face with unmatched speed, but he stopped short, with his foot two inches away. The man was waring calf skin deckers, allowing for mobility. His toes were pointed forward, like a ballarina, he was still yet. Clark went for an off hand punch, when the man moved his foot forward, colliding his toes with clarks face softly when a shockwave sent clark across the room, "Ballet Kenpo Kodokuna supēsu no ashi!"*
* lone space kick

Clark had made dents in the wall where he hit. The man had sent him flying with the motion of his ankle, his technique was at a master level it seemed. Clark managed to push himself upward, and though his exoskeleton was titanium, he could still feel the shock. Clark sent himself flying towards the man with an iced fist. The man put a backhand slap into the air, or was it something more graceful, and caught clarks punch with the back of his hand, mistake. Clark predicted he would try and shcokwave him, and on contact his had froze deep, one down, three to go.