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Krillin took off his helmet and stared in exasperation at the scene in front of him. He had quit fighting and joined the police force so he could start a family proper. To help protect and serve, to save the people of his city. He had not given up fighting alongside Goku to chase after vigilantes!
“It’s another one, chief,” he said into his radio. “The Baseball Ninja has struck again…”
He surveyed the scene before him. Each of the ruffians (for that is what they certainly were judging by the boxes of live grenades) were hanging upside down, tied in stable but unimaginative knots with half-sized baseballs stuffed into their mouths to keep them quiet. Krillin buried one hand into his short hair and sighed. Imagining the paperwork that awaited him back at the precinct. This was more trouble than it was worth.
Across the city, a man dressed in black stood atop a building and surveyed the city. His city. One he'd protect at all costs. It was safe for another night. He pulled down his bandanna, revealing a scarred face and cocky grin.
With a smirk, Yamcha flew towards home. The Baseball Ninja was done for tonight.