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Captain Serpentine pulled the whip that lay coiled at his hip. It was ever waiting, ever present, and its weight was a comfort to him as he stalked through the night. Normally, to say he 'stalked' was an overstatement. His hunts were largely broad patrollings seeking out Order energy in hopes of arriving first and snuffing that light out. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight he was stalking one of his own.

The rainbow-haired man had not forgotten the night when his allies had turned on him, strung him up in some blood-heavy plot. He did not forget the pain, the indignity he had suffered at the hands of the Captain who had been running the show. If he did not forget, he certainly did not forgive. That was why his routine patrol had graduated to a full-fledged hunt when he saw a familiar wisp of feather, a shining pair of chakrams.

Serpentine followed the figure who leapt from the roof of the Taco Brick, trying to remain out of sight even if his energy signature gave him away. He followed him through back alleys and road construction. He followed him, but he did not strike. Not yet. Not when there were too many places to escape, too many chances for a potential ambush. Only now, as they entered the junkyard, did he make his move.

The lithe Captain moved from behind the stack of crushed cards he had been standing behind and struck immediately, sending the lash towards Bischofite without a word. He knew what he had done. Now, he would have to pay.

"Never." The hiss was a single word, but Serpentine infused as much venom as he could into it as he leapt down from his position. That his strike had hit home was no great surprise to him - he had been practicing ever since his weapon upgraded into its current form. He had knicked himself a few times, but each drop of blood spilt was one step closer to achieving his goal. The increased amount of Chaos pulsing through his chest was only further proof that he was ready, ready even to pursue his goals. Revenge, as always, but also to rise once more. Captain was better, but General would be better still. More power. More respect.

Some might think him petty for the grudge he still held against Senshi, all Senshi, for the harm done to him months ago. Yet, the damage done to his flower shop had sent him into an economic downturn from which he had yet to recover. He had given up his apartment to pay for repairs, and while the shop turned a profit every month... it was not enough for him to comfortably live outside of the building that he rented. He did not think it petty to hold them accountable for their crimes. His attitude had eve been tempered somewhat by respectful, loyal followers--such as Carnelian or Acanthite--but in general he still looked down on them.

He looked down on Bischofite even more. Nothing could lessen the hatred that coursed through him as he cracked the whip once more. Insane. Reckless. Treacherous. There were several more adjectives that could define the Captain that he had struck, but as far as Serpentine was concerned... the only word that mattered was enemy. "You failed to kill me once. Big. Mistake."

Serpentine did not dignify Bischofite's incredulous question. Yes, the rainbow-haired man 'really' had been attacked, 'really' had been a Negaverse officer forcibly trapped the entire time due to his desire to preserve his civilian identity, and 'really' had appeared to exact his revenge. To speak would be even more of a waste of time than usual.

The lengthening of space was not lost on the captain. His eyes narrowed. Most people were needlessly chattering, but this meandering speech with its Germanic tinges? As insane as every other spark that sizzled from the other officer's movements and motivations. He sneered as he strode forward, his pace even with Bischofite's, at least for the time being. "Spectacle? Meaningless. Revenge is all I seek."

Serpentine was a practical man, as much as he was a vain one. The junkyard was a field of opportunity, not carefully selected and filled with useful trinkets as Bischofite's elaborate schemings had prepared. He knew that there were risks in meeting his opponent on such a field, but who knew when such an opportunity would present itself again? So he ran forward, his boots hitting rusted cars and broken glass, following the other captain's path. The grip on his whip tightened, and he cracked it towards his enemy. Perhaps the shot would go wide, given his own movement, or miss entirely given Bischofite's speed. But any snake within range would take the opportunity to strike.

Serpentine was not a fool. As he pursued the man who had hurt him, he noticed more than the glass that crunched beneath his boots, the wiring and metal that tore at his brand new uniform. He smelled the tang of gasoline. He saw the absinthe green of antifreeze. Each vehicle that acted as a stepping stone to his retreating enemy was slick with some sort of fluid - too many for it to be purely coincidental. Serpentine did not trust his opponent in any form - either to be predictable or to be cautious. After a few of such vehicles, he jumped down to the ground, landing with a crunch of glass and rusted metal. Being below Bischofite put him at a tactical disadvantage, but perhaps not as much of one as following whereever he was led.

The gold-and-green clad captain kept his whip close, for now, and began to follow the other captain at this new distance. If he had an opportunity to strike, he would take it. Until then? He would lie in wait and see what else this madman had up his sleeve...

It was becoming increasingly obvious to Serpentine that his opponent was unlike any he had faced before. Senshi were wretches, but determined wretches that were not suicidal. Mirror wraiths were worse than animals--and even they did not seek to hurt their own kind. Every step he took only seemed to play a part in his machinations; each piece of discarded junk transformed into a treasure of destruction. He kept waiting for an opportunity to strike but soon found that being underneath was just too difficult. His whip could certainly reach, but too much junk got in the way to make an effective strike. He uselessly peeled the pain from metal and sent rust flying in the air before giving up on this tactic.

The Captain abandoned his plan, particularly in light of both Bischofite's rising insanity and the new potential for a spark to flare. Serpentine leapt up, taking the chance by landing directly in front of his foe. His golden eyes flashed as he raised the whip to strike his opponent's face, and a sneer crossed his face. Why had this one been given the Dark Gift? If he was going to squander it in such a fashion, if madness was his only reprieve... why bother at all?

He could not come up wth an answer. As it was, he just hoped his attach disrupeted whatever the other was undoubtably planning."

Serpentine had the prey in his sights. The last crack of the whip had won him an arc of hot blood to splash on his face, but he ignored the spritz. He had him, and then--then he was gone. With the same gifts that Chaos had bestowed upon Serpentine, Bischofite was gone, teleporting and leaving him to run into another rusty car. Frustrated and angry he pushed himself away and began to look around. Surely the lunatic had not gone far... or had he finally given up?

The click was unheard to him. He did not need to hear it. He heard the fwoosh of fire, felt the heat, saw the flames dance along the ribbons of various fluids that Bischofite had so carefully unleashed from tanks and cut veins. It might have been beautiful if he had not been suddenly surrounded by fire. As it was, Serpentine ran. The heat licked his back, but he managed to scramble atop a pile of garbage untouched by the fire. He patted himself down quickly to prevent the spread of fire and cursed beneath his breath.

Serpentine did not like to lose. Yet, he had said himself that no good could come from insanity, and attempting to get revenge with a junkyard a blaze was in itself as insane as the man he had come to fight. Small, and unsatisfactory as it may be... revenge had been had. Bischofite bore the marks of his whip. Though they were likely too shallow to cause scars, both of them would know what had transpired this day. His pride would not allow him to admit that it may all have been for nothing. In Serpentine's mind, he had drawn a clear line in the sand. He would not be another's puppet. He would not tolerate Bischofite's ravings, his plans, or his presence withot a fight. He felt those statements had been made in spades.

So, the captain withdrew for now without even looking to locate the target of his wrath. He could not, would not, risk further injury.