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[Dusk Sigil] and [Dusk Crest] fuse together with the [Mysterious Nunchaku]!

...

Something is happening with the nunchaku! A strange light appears! There are images inside of the light!

Memories of Soji Seta...?


There were only three of them left; the sounds of their pounding footsteps and the heavy breathing of men who had long since been pushed beyond their physical boundaries filled the air with a desperate chorus, the sounds of rustling tall leaves and brush all around them adding the occasional chime to the rushed cacophony of noises. Three figures, all tall and masculine, each with their own distinct style of dress and size, their own manner of movement, all moved together through the brush at breakneck speeds, and each of them had the same sort of surprised, terrified, resilient look in their eyes that you'd see in the gaze of a person in the middle of a fight for their life! And it was a fight that they were losing in the end, a fight that had devolved into this headlong crash through the trees and the brush, even with the heat of the afternoon sun still beating down on them as they fled, they had no time to stop and catch their breath if they wanted to stay alive. Something dreadful was filling the air of this place, something that set the speed into their feet and kept them full of adrenaline and energy when all of it should have long-since dried up. All around them as they moved were the aforementioned trees and brush, a tall, winding maze of green and browns that would have made for a beautiful tapestry of the jungle if they had the time one day to come back and paint the landscape. The heat would have made the task nigh-unbearable even in the most favorable of conditions the place had to offer, however, and right now they had neither the time to stop and smell the deep jungle fauna, nor the most favorable conditions that the area had to offer. Animals all around them screeched and howled and sounded off all of their famous alarm bells, fleeing in every direction from the hurried chase that brought these three men caroming through the trees, matting down uncut passes through the thick jungle...they were the smart ones, the ones who had sensed the danger and were keeping themselves far away from the terror that still loomed somewhere behind them. Here, in the Southern Tropics, it was a wild and untamed land, but while they had entered this place expecting to find some strange things and to encounter some sort of resistance and life-threatening danger, there was no way they could have imagined what was waiting for them...what was laying in wait to ambush them. The three men fled, running wildly, until at long last they had crossed an incredible amount of distance in the short, montage-like amount of time that it had taken them to get from where they had been in the thick of the jungle to the long, wooden log crossing over a tall, deep canyon below...the place they stood now, weighing their options. Each of the three came up short of the log and looked at one another, their manly muscles practically tearing through the ammo belts and green fatigue pants that were the only cover they wore despite the danger of this place. In each of their hands were a rifle; between their lips were long, white cigarettes burning with crimson ember at the edge, little trails of smoke rising from each of them. They stood and watched one another with a mixture of anger, panic, fear, and determination in their eyes...as if waiting for one or the other to finally give voice to what they were all thinking. And one by one, they began to join and rejoin a renewed conversation about just what the Hell they had gotten themselves into.

"Romeo, Windtalker...we've got to get across this bridge fast. If that son of a b***h catches up to us while we're still crossing the canyon, we're screwed," the group's leader began as he took a long drag from his cigarette, silver hair brushing away from his forehead as he looked around with ashen eyes, surveying the situation...of the three, he seemed to be the most in-command, assessing the situation with an analyst's eye. He had two ammunition belts strapped over his shoulders and across his stomach in the shape of an 'X', an ammo belt and holster at his waist with two skinned pistols on either side...a large, AK-47 assault rifle strapped across his back...grenades strapped to either arm and in a pouch on either of his two outer thighs...and in either hand he held the bar on a powerful Gatling Machinegun Repeater, which he could unload with enough force and accuracy to rip a Humvee in half in 0.75 seconds flat if he had both the inclination and the orders to do just that. His forehead bore a small cut that leaked red in a small trickle down his temple and cheek on the left side, but otherwise his masculine features and tanned, rippling muscles were unmarred and completely desirable, strong, deadly-looking...like those of a man who had been through countless wars and come back to spend several million hours in the gym after each and every one...but inside of his eyes was a clarity and sternness of purpose that made it clear, he was still just, still noble...not the monster that this place and that thing were trying to make him become. Not yet. And to one side of him stood a tall man of a clearly Native American (likely Navajo) descent, his long black hair bound up by what looked like a traditional native headband complete with a perhaps somewhat-offensively stereotypical feather. Aside from his tanned, practically bulging muscles he wore a tiny brown vest and twin ammunition straps laced up under his arms like the straps on a suspender, another massive belt of ammunition across his stomach and back, and at least three other smaller belts of ammunition on his arms and legs. A grenade belt strapped directly across his chest in a horizontal fashion, and a canteen filled with what smelled and most certainly was some kind of grain alcohol was at his waist...which his powerful hands grabbed and tore open in an instant, taking a quick drink with an angry look settling upon his grave feathers. Of the three, he looked clearly the most rattled and the most angry, his emotions getting the better of him in a way that the other two simply couldn't allow themselves to feel right now. Dark brown eyes settled angrily on the jungle behind them...a knife replacing the canteen he threw into the canyon...long, jagged-edged, and dangerous-looking. "I'm out of firewater, Chief," the Native man practically growled, his gravelly voice tinged with anger...apparently completely oblivious to how racist that entire last sentence would have sounded if written by a white (or Japanese) man, "...That monster is coming for us. It won't stop...it's already taken Tool Box, Gator Bait, Chum, Gorilla, Steamboat, Calico, Sparty, and Dik Dik. It's hunting us...like we're some sort of a sport animal." There was a hint of calmness to his voice, as though he finally was making sense of things near the end of it...and the silver-haired leader seemed to appraise him with a moderate bit of skepticism. "How do you know that? ...Our best plan is still to get to the chopper and get the Hell out of here, Windtalker. Don't get any crazy ideas..."

"It's a Predator," the third member of their team finally spoke up...and as all eyes turned to him the light in the jungle behind him seemed to part the very branches and surround him in an aura that was both awesome and completely heroic. His long, blue hair flowed down his back as his incredibly rippling, tanned muscles bulged through his FOUR ammo belts strapped across his chest, grenades strapped to either arm and both legs tightly, twin AK-47 rifles strapped across his back, twin swords beneath that, twin pistols at his waist, and last but not least, twin SUPERMODELS he carried with supreme ease on either arm. "Our mission was to come to the Southern Tropics here and rescue these two incredibly-hot superbabes, but that was obviously just a cover-up, Captain Mack. What they really want is for the two of us to take out this Predator that's hunting in their jungle, and they knew that the only two people crazy enough to do it were a pair of retired war-hero veteran Pimp-Daddy persona-users like ourselves, Sir! The superbabes here are just a very sexy bonus. AWWW YEAAAAH!" The two babes giggled, but mostly seemed to be there for decoration and to emphasize how much of a pimp 'Romeo' seemed to be. Otherwise, the silver-haired leader couldn't help but nod at the (outrageous) logic that the blue-haired pimp seemed to be sharing with him. It all came together now, didn't it? Sudden deaths in the jungle, a superbabe pair of twins who had been kidnapped and taken here, only to be found amidst a bloodbath the likes of which he could never remember having seen. Each of the bodies had a little piece of them missing...each the same. It was their skulls, ripped straight out of their heads before they even had the time to stop screaming...and now there were only three of their team remaining from their flight through the jungle, the rest having been picked off and killed no matter how many strategies they tried to lure the monster out. Ludicrous as it might have sounded, he had to admit the possibility that there was something out there right now hunting them for once, and not the other way around. Something like a Predator... "Wait, but doesn't Predator only hunt in the Southern Tropi-" the silver-haired leader suddenly stopped himself, slapping his head as he turned to the bridge, "...oh, right. We're in the Southern Tropics. ...Said the guy dripping with glistening sweat from the sweltering heat of said Southern Tropics." Truly, this was a brilliant stream of expositional dialogue, but before long there was a sound of birds cawing and flying away from the nearby trees behind them, a surefire sign that they needed to haul a** out of here before bad things happened, "All right, Romeo! Take the superbabes and cross the bridge first...I'll cross behind you, and Windtalker...you're going to stand on the bridge with just your knives and try to stop the Predator from following us by yourself." The Native American raised a hand slowly, but was cut off before he could speak. "But..." "TODAY, Windtalker!" A sigh, and the native was painting his face with blood from a shallow gash on his palm, armed with twin knives as he waited and his friends fled behind him...

...

A moment passed as Romeo and Captain Mack made it to the far side of the bridge, and passed into the thick foliage of the jungle, moving swiftly again in order to get away from whatever monster was still behind them. In retrospect, they probably should have stopped and called back to Windtalker to let him know that he could come now...though he should have known that on his own, right? It was just common sense, really. He wasn't actually going to stand there on the log waiting for the Predator to come meet him and fight him armed only with knives...knowing that their enemy not only had active invisible camouflage everywhere he went, but also that he had infrared vision to see his enemy from like, forever away...he had blades in his wrist, all sorts of weapons built into his armor and strapped onto his suit, including a damned laser that rose out of his shoulder and fired, several missiles, and a self-destruct button in his wristband that would create like, the least deadly explosion in the history of cinema! Windtalker was always one of the most spiritual and sensible in their group, and...

"OH DEAR GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE!"

...

The sound of a man being beaten to death by his own dismembered skull could be heard in the distance behind them.

...

"...His sacrifice will be remembered in the coming empire," the leader spoke calmly, before looking at Romeo and shouting in a thick, Austrian accent, "GIT TO DE CHOPPA! NOOOOOW!"

...

"No!"

"Huh?"

"Babes, you heard the man...you go. But Captain Mack and I...have some BUSINESS to tend to..." the blue-haired, manly soldier winked as he let the girls down and they swooned nigh-instantaneously over Captain Mack, before adding, "Then when we meet you there after...I'll tend to your business...AAWWWW YEAAAAH, BABES!"

...

The girls ran off through the woods, their cheeks flush with wanton desire and amazement at the manliness of the two men who stayed behind. But for all of their bravado, there was still the pervading question behind the two soldiers who remained in the path of a hunter that could kill at a moment's notice in the most brutal manner possible. Ashen eyes glanced at the brazen companion who had suggested the plan as if searching for some semblance of what he intended to do against the monster, but the blue-haired man was simply staring at the backsides of the ladies, even as they ran off into the distance, admiring the view until they disappeared into the jungle. "ROMEO!" the Captain called out over the haze and drool and snapped his ally's attention right back to him, sweat dripping from his forehead as the night began to fall and the darkness crept over the jungle, the sounds of the animals near-silent in an ominous, eerie feel that made even the hairs on the backs of their perfectly-sculpted necks stand on end, "Do you have an idea, or are we just screwing around here...?" His question was simple and to the point, and to his credit, the blue-haired warrior finally snapped out of his daze and turned his attention to his Captain, a big, silly grin and a thumbs up gesture providing some hint as to what his answer would finally be. The Captain self himself at ease...until at last, 'Romeo' spoke.

"No idea!"

...

They were screwed.

...

"We're screwed..."

...

"Yep, you're screwed."

...

Behind the two of them, a tall, clearly-alien form suddenly faded into view from its invisible armor disappearing; its helmet stared at them with infrared vision that made it clear that it had seen them long before it had arrived, and was likely waiting on the two of them to quit screwing around before it revealed itself to them, as though simply mocking their ability to even put up a fight in return. It was enough to make the blue-haired soldier's eye shoot open in surprise, but it was the silver-haired leader who spoke first of all. "What the Hell is that?!" he cried out as he drew his guns up, aiming but not shooting as he leaped back and took a stance...but Romeo's dramatic pose was far better, casting his weapons aside as he shouted to his leader in annoyance and surprise, "IT'S A PREDATOR! Didn't you see the movie, man?" In confusion, the leader raised an eyebrow and shook his head, returning his attention to the monster before them. "So, that's a Predator...man, wait, didn't I say I knew where they hunted just a little while ago? Now I don't remember what a Predator is...? I don't even make sense anymore!" the silver-haired soldier complained, to which his companion simply shrugged, "Just go with it! It'll be like drama, action, and comedy...a perfect date movie...if this were a movie, dude!"

...

"There's no arguing with you...is there?"

"None."

"Right..."

"...Uh, guys...?"

"So, like...what do we do, Captain Brokowski?"

"At this point, there's only one thing we can do..."

"I'm still here..."

"AWWWW YEAAAAH!"

"...Gonna staaab ya..."

"SHUTUP!"

...

Two fists crashed into the Predator's face and sent it skidding along the mud, covered in the cold goop where it thrashed around, scrambling back to its feet with, like, a bazillion guns raising up out of every part of its armor. Its mouth elicited clicking noises, now no longer speaking in plain English as it had been before.

...

And before it, a pair of ultra-manly bros stood with blue cards shimmering above their hands...before they shattered like glass inside of their powerful grips.

...

"IZANAGI!" "CERBERUS!"

...

The sounds of Predator cries filled the night air in the jungles of the Southern Tropics.

...

The sound of a telephone rustling could be heard suddenly, as a silver-haired teen listened to the person on the other side of the receiver literally slamming their palm directly into their forehead. The memory pulled back suddenly and the sight of Soji Seta on the telephone at his house, casually shutting the speakerphone off as he stepped outside and left his blue-haired script-performing companion inside the kitchen, eagerly awaiting good news. And on the far side of the line there was an elegant, female voice that let out a rather inelegant sigh, as if trying to process all that she had just heard from the two of them over the last several minutes. For his own part, the Senior was patient, but it became clear after a few moments that she was waiting for something...an explanation, a clarification, or...?

"And that was the script for 'Predator XI: Predator v. Persona' that Zeo wrote for our performance at the summer Festival. Mitsuru-san, I know how it sounds, believe me..." the teen sighed and smiled faintly, glancing back at the door, "But he was pretty insistent. You know how he can get, don't you...?" To her credit, she held back the groan of agreement that she desperately wanted to let out just then.

"Seta, I hope you can understand that what you just described to me is nothing less than a fifty-million yen script," she began, exasperated, "and that's what it would cost to make, is what I mean. Judging by the quality, even if you were making a movie out of it, you would be lucky to make fifty yen, total. Let alone, if you're only performing it for a town festival. You know there's no way I can authorize that sort of expenditure for..."

"That's...the problem, Mitsuru-san," Soji laughed uneasily, feeling the sweat drip nervously down the back of his neck, "It's...sort of already been spent. Zeo didn't exactly wait for the Drama Club's permission to give it the go-ahead. I just thought you should know..."

...

You could have heard a pin drop over the sound of Mitsuru's faith in humanity dying just then.

...

"Mitsuru...san...?"

...

Another moment of silence passed, and a deep, pained sigh.

"Seta, let me be frank...the amount of money that he spends is outrageous, and while at first it was a bit amusing in a...in some unusual manner, it's become completely out of control."

"I understand, Mitsuru-san..."

"If it were up to me, Zeo would be under house arrest already, back here in Iwatodai," the CEO of the Kirijo Group explained, the deep frustration and annoyance in her voice evident as she went on, "The only reason we haven't sent out a recovery team to bring him in is because of his connection to you and your investigation, but even with that in the balance, I'm beginning to weigh my options. So as much as I hate to do it, I must ask you..."

An unease fell over him at those words, his eyes shifting towards the window of the house through the kitchen towards the occupants inside.

"...Is Zeo's participation in your team truly so vital that you require him to remain in Inaba? And moreover," she continued after a moment, trying to figure out how to phrase what she wanted to say next, "Do you...really consider him to be a friend to you? After all of his antics and all of the wasted money, don't you find him to be something of a bother? Wouldn't your friends be relieved if I brought him back to the company?"

...

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation in his response, the silver-haired smiling faintly.

...

"A bother? Not at all..." his lips curled as he watched through the window...Zeo was hitting on one of the girls...their palm cracked against his cheek and he fell backwards, the entire team breaking out into a huge round of laughter. Zeo leaped to his feet in an instant and had his arm around another girl a moment later, roses in one hand...a signed pair of tickets to a Nyx concert in the other, working his charm as ever...and Soji couldn't help but chuckle himself at how strangely endearing the whole thing was to him.

"...Zeo is vital to us...not just as a teammate, but as a friend."

...

The memory began to fade as the woman on the other line offered a small chuckle against her own will, agreeing...the phone clicked off...and then the silver-haired young man seemed to be watching not the scene within the window, but Zeo himself...smiling faintly.

...

"You might be a little different, you know...but I think we all like that about you," his smile was easy, honest, and he spoke again in a voice that was clear...truthful...full of the heart that Zeo helped provide to the team with his wacky antics and unwavering determination, "Remember...whatever else people might say, you're you. And who you are is my friend...warts and all."

...

The memory began to fade, only the ashen eyes now visible...the smile...

...

"...You're still dangerous," the smile spoke distantly, confidently and...wait...was he...?! "But you can be my wingman any time..."

...

Yep, he just quoted Top Gun.

...

And somehow, it was fitting...

[Mysterious Nunchaku] + [Dusk Sigil] + [Dusk Crest] have joined together!

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[Mysterious Nunchaku] have become [Altair]!

...

[Altair] - A brilliantly blue pair of nunchaku with shimmering silver and gold trim, the emblem of a Falcon emblazoned on the very end of either wooden end of the chain to represent the strength of its wearer. Normal attacks with Altair connect with All enemies. Hit 2-5 times, Medium Almighty Damage on each foe. Alternatively, Zeo may choose at the outset of a battle to focus his Altair weapon on a single foe...by doing so, he engages a setting on the weapon known as 'Master Assassin Altair' mode. In 'Master Assassin' mode, the chucks will gain more traits in order to become more deadly as the fight continues. Turn 1, Altair hits with Severe Almighty for one foe. Turn 2, Altair adds a Mind Charge to the attack. Turn 3, all boosts to Zeo's Phys Power will be added to Altair. Turn 4, all boosts to Zeo's Magic Power will be added to Altair. Turn 5, Zeo may add Electricity to Altair (this step may be used at any time from 2-5 in place of the effect that WOULD take place, pushing the others back, if Zeo should choose). Turn 6, Altair adds Elec Break. Turn 7, Altair adds Phys Element. Turn 8, Altair adds Pierce. Turn 9, Altair cannot be Reflected. Turn 10, Altair damage can be used as an added hit after using Falcon Punch. [Any further add-ons after Turn 10 will be added to the description IF Zeo reaches Turn 11 in any battle hereafter.]