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The kid was young. Young, and he looked like he'd tried to join the world's most flamboyant marching band and been rejected for excessive ostentatiousness. He wore a sailor suit crossed with a flamingo costume from the Lion King musical, and there was no reason anyone in their right mind would think a kid like this deserved to be murdered.

The kid's only crime had been being out on the street at night where Lazarus could see him, hide, and power up. His only sin was that he looked like a really, really easy kill.

This was pathetic. Quartz had killed before, on his General's orders, but it had felt different, easier to rationalize. One of the people he'd executed had been a security guard -- so at least that guy had taken a known risk with his job -- and the other one was an old lady he'd given a heart attack by kicking through the window of her apartment. Neither of them were kills to be proud of -- but neither of them were practically kids, either. The first two murders had been low. This one would be a new level of shame.

It didn't matter. It was the assignment. He had to follow orders even when the orders were especially shitty.

He stepped out of the alleyway to follow the senshi down a street. Quartz gave his arms a loose shake to limber them up: fighting wasn't pleasant, but at least he'd been well trained for it. Eli, his predecessor, had bequeathed him a body in good physical shape, and Stroud had seen to it that he didn't lack for combat lessons. He'd do this because he could and because he had to.

(Well, obviously. He sure as hell wasn't doing it because it was fun. Christ.)

"Hey," he called out uneasily, trying to settle the disquiet in his gut. "Hey, kid."

Don't talk to me, Quartz thought. Don't you ******** talk to me. It won't make this any easier.

The young senshi -- clearly new, clearly confused by all of this, clearly not ready to assume that Quartz was a threat -- was letting Quartz closer into his space, opening up the lines of communication. He wanted to commisserate about their clothing misfortunes.

It was a good strategy.

Quartz just wasn't having with any of it.

Moving at speed, he stepped into reach of the senshi's ridiculous costume, one hand reaching to fist itself up in the cloth and hold him there, and the other already curling up to throw a punch in his face.

Neither do I, kid. You've got no ******** idea.

Quartz, eyeing his opponent -- God, a ******** child, and he was thinking of him as 'my opponent,' this was sick -- watched for signs of his next reaction, trying to gauge what he might do based on either physical cues or general mental supposition. He ignored the repeated attempts to engage in conversation. Acknowledging the senshi as a thinking, feeling human being and moreso than he had to would make this harder.

"Shhhhhh," he said, the sound drawn out long, in a way that sounded soothing and was intended to be eerie. He said nothing else.

He'd determined that the senshi would hold his ground or try to flee, but it wasn't entirely sure which: either way, Quartz had an advantage in considerably athleticism. He could close the distance quickly and it wouldn't matter.

He darted forward, seeking not to throw a punch -- in case the senshi twisted and ducked into an attempted run -- but for a simpler, and more likely grab: to get ahold of the senshi by his ridiculous costume and whip him off his feet and onto the ground. It was much harder to do anything once you'd lost your footing.