Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Van Leugen: The Nillies

as written by Lialore

She looked at her glass of wine as Ariadne spoke, only making eye contact when she’d finished. Her ambition was clear, and Freja’s own glassy-eyed glaze was greedy. Money was power; that was what she believed. And so, by the time she’d finished her drink, that frown had been replaced by a whimsical smile.

Freja wasn’t a morning person, but the excitement even threatened to overcome that.

Arrangements to make, a particularly fine trench coat to dig out; with a nod, she made her exit, twirling her taxi – a silver coin – between her fingers as she swayed out.
 
as written by Saarai

"And, you." She said, turning to The Hooded Man. "I want you to make contact with the Aschen for me." She told the man, "You are my most trusted, most loyal, soldier. Make this happen for me."

"Go."

With those words The Hooded Man disappeared, seemingly imploding in on himself with a loud pop.
 
as written by Calcos

He prowled the night-washed streets, pulling his coat closer to his person as a chilly wind blew across the sidewalk. Shaking the goosebumps that raced across his flesh, he rached into his pocket, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes he had purchased not even half an hour ago. Lucky 7s, his favorite brand. He popped one of the deathly paper sticks into his mouth, sparking it to life with a strike-anywhere match, puffing out a billowing cloud of gray smoke that drifted like a phantom into the inky night sky.

Niklos Bornislaw: information broker and all-around weasel. He had found a home in Van Leugen, as it tended to accommodate rats such as he; the kind that would sell out their own mother to the mob for a couple of extra zeroes on an under-the-table paycheck.

Continuing to stroll along the paved sidewalk, his shadow was cast long against the bright lights of the Nillies as he hummed to himself an old tune that originated from his mother country. Hands in his pockets, he looked up into the starless sky with a glint of optimism twinkling in his irises, a smile perched uncomfortably across his rather unattractive face.

"Niklos Bornislaw. Information broker," someone called from the shadows, causing the Slavic man to whip his head in the direction of the voice's origin. He pulled a .45 automatic handgun from the waistband of his trousers, wielding it in one hand as he trained the sights into the darkness of the alley adjacent him.

"You had better show yourself unless you have death wish, no?" he said, his accent thick and rigid, his voice commanding and unwavering. Suddenly, a canister plopped between his feet, nestling perfectly in one of the cracks in the sidewalk, prompting the man to look down just a split second before smoke started to encompass his immediate space. He fired blindly into the shadows ahead, coughing as the smoke assaulted his sinuses and lungs. Soon, he found himself on the ground with no worldly recollection of how he got there.

All he knew was that his jaw was hurting.

The smoke cleared, and Niklos found himself able to sit up and aim his gun, taking it into both hands as he fixed it on the alleyway once more. Immediately afterward, he was lifted from the ground in a rear chokehold, his hand twisted in the grip of another in order to relieve him of his firearm. With a sleeved appendage wrapped around his neck, Niklos found himself in a rather compromising situation.

"I...I..." he said, coughing as the pressure on his windpipe irritated his throat, "I have...nothing...tell you." The squeeze was tight, painful. "You're gonna tell me everything you know about the missing Hopper girl," the Blue Mantis demanded from the man.

Coughing and sputtering, Niklos' reply came out in bursts. "I know...nothing...you're talking about. What would I...know?" The Mantis grit his teeth as he demanded information more furiously. "You must know who took her and why! Tell me!" Niklos used a rather restricted hand to tap on the elbow that enclosed around his neck.

"I don't know!" he tried to shout, the sound exiting his mouth as a hoarse grunt of words. He was pushed to the ground, his own gun finding itself at the side of his head. "Tell me what I want to know before I turn your brains into a fucking grease stain on the pavement!" the Mantis shouted.

Niklos extended his fingers in panic, his eyes widening as the prospect of dying rehearsed itself in his mind a thousand times over. 'Oh shit,' he thought. He breathed uneasily, taking short, sharp breaths. "H'okay, okay. I talk. There have been some reports come by me, contacts of mine, tell me of underground trafficking ring. Specialize in little girls. Big money, big names supposedly in on take. Haven't looked into much myself. Not my style."

The barrel was removed from his temple, and the Mantis stood straighter, still pointing the weapon downward just in case the broker tried anything. "What names?" he demanded. Niklos nodded. "Ahhh, Denton, Cumberbatch, lots of other politicians. Benedict, Samedi..." That last word caused the Mantis' nostrils to flare.

"What's Samedi doing in the trafficking racket?"

"I already tell you, trafficking is big money, and Samedi all for big money. You should know."

The Mantis contemplated that statement; while Niklos wasn't wrong, trafficking didn't match Samedi's usual criminal operations. He was about business deals with other families, the drug trade, and protection rackets. Buying and selling human beings was something he never dipped his hands in before.

So why now?

"Thank you, Niklos," the Mantis said, vanishing into the night.

"No problem. Anything so long as I don't di-" Niklos said as he rolled over, having taken a much smaller handgun from his coat pocket and pointing it at the empty space where the Mantis had been just moments ago.

"How in hell?" the man said to himself, standing up with a wobble in his legs.

"I need drink."
 
as written by barney_fife

The clock had just struck midnight as a rainstorm pelted the streets of the Nillies, within Van Leugen, streetlights cast an orange glow on the surrounding storefronts, which had all been closed for the night.

Headlights pierced the rainy veil, headlights from two dark sedans, and a large cargo truck, with the name of a local mover plastered on the side.

The three vehicles came upon a storefront that looked worse for wear, boarded up windows, broken glass, and a barred door where a sign hung that read "For Lease." The storefront had been bringing surrounding property values down for some time, until it's owner was offered a substantial rent with a least term that ran until the leasing party terminated, with one year's lease up front. The cover was they were prominent jewelers looking to open shop in Van Leugen.

As each vehicle came to a stop, the occupants surveyed their surroundings, those in the Sedans emerged first, well dressed men in large trenchcoats to keep themselves dry from the rain, and conceal all manner of nasty weaponry. One of them moved to the storefront, sliding the key into the locked door, he turned it with a click, and pushed the door open.

"Duram, Jones, Let's get this stuff unloaded, we have until daybreak." One said quietly, as he adjusted his wide brimmed hat, stepping into the storefront and turning on the lights.

It was the perfect cover, the interior needed a lot of work, so they'd move the equipment in tonight, and then hire a contractor to renovate the storefront while a contact provided jewelry.

Everyone was out of their cars now, strategically parked to obscure their activities from onlookers, the Cargo Van pulled up in front of the storefront, and one of the men opened the back, revealing all manner of computer equipment, strange devices, and laboratory equipment. The men lined up, and began to unload the truck, unloading large crates onto a large dolly, and carrying them into the storefront.

"Get the power unit, and the subspace relay online first. We'll set everything else up in the morning." Duram ordered. "We still have to head back to the post to get the rest of the stuff."
 
as written by Saarai

Suki watched her target, a stocky older man by the name of Tony Kasparian, from her pickup truck. He was an associate of many criminal organizations in Van Leugen, that included the Skull Society and their new Russian rivals.

Tony handled outsiders for all of the mobs. Hitmen, smugglers, arms dealers, he knew them all. For whatever reason he stopped dealing with the Society, now Suki had no reason not to grill on the whereabouts and identity of the assassin who killed Adrianna.

Adrianna was family. Suki grew up with her and Jackson back in Sao Paolo. The Russians crossed a line when they killed her.

Tony was sitting outside of a convenience store protected by a local clique called the RDVs. They were fine with the Society working in their turf, so long as they got dibs on Loa and other product before their immediate rivals.

"Okay, bitch." Suki said to herself, placing a hand on the revolver next to her. She moved to open her truck door, but before she could a car pulled along side her. The door was pinned shut by the car, and inside were several men.

Suki recognized one of them. He was a gunman for the Bratva.

"Vremya umirat', suka. Uvidimsya v adu. I, Samedi tozhe." He said, raising a machine pistol towards the woman. Suki dived for the passenger door just as he started firing. A bullet slammed into her back as she opened the door, another hitting and pushing her out onto the concrete.

The Russians pulled up a bit, the shooter opening his door to get out. Before he could get one foot out a group of men dressed in green opened fire on him, "Go!" He shouted, slamming his door shut. The car quickly sped off, the men continuing to fire until it was gone.

"Yo, check, on old girl." One of them ordered, a few of the green-clad gangsters rushing to Suki's aid. She was hurt, it was hard to tell how badly until she got real help.

"Call her people, pay the cops not to come here. Lockdown." One of the OGs ordered of his subordinates, "We got you." He said to Suki as she lay in a growing pool of her blood.
 
as written by Calcos

High above the busy midnight streets, he stared down on the roadways of his poisoned city. He saw many things that caused an ache in his heart; drug-peddling, black market dealings, prostitution, street violence (many instances of which he had personally put a stop to). And tonight, as any night, he prowled the blackness, searching for more villainy, more corruption to bring an end to.

While it was impossible to say that the night was quiet, it was certainly slow. For a city characterized by its criminal element, he wasn't noticing anything in the way of illegal activity. Arms folded across his chest, he stared blankly at the city below, his mind unfocused as his ears were trained on the noises rising from the world beneath him.

Suddenly, the sound of a roaring engine caught his attention; a van careening through the streets, adorned with fresh bullet holes, weaving dangerously between other vehicles as it traversed Van Leugen's highways at breakneck speeds.

Spreading his arms out, he dove headlong towards the roadway below, the electric current in his gloves triggering a reaction in the memory cloth that made up the cloak draped around his body, allowing him to glide through the night. With the press of a button, he would summon the assistance of his own vehicle, the autopilot systems navigating the heavily-armored automobile through the streets, gracefully slipping in and out of traffic as it made a beeline towards the location its owner would need it to be.

The Raven soared over his vehicle, the hatch opening to reveal a single-seated cockpit. The vigilant landed gracefully on the sidewalk below, his vehicle coming to a halt just before him, allowing him to clamber inside and chase the van into the night.



Elsewhere...


He stepped out of the black sedan with masked soldiers in tow, their guns relaxed against their suit-adorned frames as the man approached quickly, paid emergency medical personnel following close behind. His name was Mitchell Sanderson, a trusted lieutenant in the Society.

He looked over the group of RDV operatives before his eyes came to rest on the bloodied Suki, whom the paramedics immediately attended to.

"What happened?" Mitch said, composing himself as he looked from one gangster to the other.
 
as written by Saarai and Calcos

Your girl got hit by some guys in a car." One of the RDVs told Mitch, "Bunch of white dudes." He added, pointing in the direction the Russians had sped off in.

He then pointed to Tony, now on his phone. At least he was until he noticed he was being pointed at. "She asked us if we saw him. We saw him at the bodega."

Not far from the attempted assassination the Bratva gangsters were celebrating their victory against the Society. The first official shot in a war they planned on dragging out.

"I got her good!" The Bratva gunman exclaimed excitedly to his comrades. They were coursing with pure adrenaline, it was the kind of night for them that was going to involve strippers and a lot of alcohol.

Or it would have been were it not for the vehicle behind them.

"Are they following us?" The driver asked, "I think we're being followed." He told the others, "Hand me a Kalish." One of the passengers said, another lifting an AK-47 and handing it to him.

The gangster held the weapon out of a window, trying to intimidate the other vehicle.

____

The rifle protruding from the window did little to deter the tailing vigilante; the vehicle he currently piloted was armored heavily enough to resist a vast manner of weaponry. Small arms such as automatic rifles were laughable compared to the punishment the Ravenclaw could take...

...and dish out.

Flicking a switch on the car's console would reveal a hefty, single-barrel 50mm gun that swiveled on a turret. Its ammunition reservoir contained a multitude of different ammunition types. Selecting a low-yield explosive option, he engaged the van with the target lock-on system, maintaining steady speed so as not to interrupt the target acquisition process.

Once the monitor gave a sharp beep to let him know a target had been acquired, he pulled the trigger.


Mitchell walked over to Tony, sizing him up with squinted eyes that oozed a hatred unfathomable. He recognized the scumbag; the same sleazeball that had given up relations with his people, his boss.

Without warning Mitchell sought to deliver a reckoning headbutt to Tony's face, hoping to bloody the fuckwit's nose and possibly break something important.

____

The Bratva gangster squinted his eyes at the vehicle following him and his criminal colleagues. "The fuck?" He asked himself, expecting an answer when he watched the gun turret on it move.

"Shit!"

The explosive hit the van, sending it careening towards a parked moving truck. The van slammed into it, one of the gangsters stumbling out immediately.

The crash had taken a lot out of him, but it didn't stop him from trying to stumble to safety and leaving his other friends behind for their vigilante attacker.

Any other person would have run, but Tony was frozen with fear. He could only watch as Mitch approached him until he slammed his head into his face.

Tony put his hand over his nose, blood seeping through the cracks between his fingers.

"They made me do it, Mitch." He said, "I didn't have a choice." Tony continued.

____

Getting out of the van was a bad move, as it gave the vigilante someone to put his hands on. Almost instantaneously, he was out of the vehicle's cockpit and in pursuit, at a walking pace, of the staggering gangster. Getting close, he reached out with a hand, aiming to turn the fleeing thug on his heels so that he could better grip him, aiming to slam him against the very truck he had crashed into.


Mitch picked Tony up by the shirt, staring daggers into the broker's eyes, a few of the Society soldiers moving ever closer to where their boss stood, ready to react to any potential crisis situation.

"You could have said no. And if they killed you, at least you could've died knowing someone would do something about it," he said before letting go, producing a Beretta from within his coat, pointing the weapon down between Tony's eyes and cocking the hammer.

"Now...well, I just hope you've got some friends left."

____

"Otvali!" The Russian gangster painfully yelled at the vigilante as he slammed into the truck, the movers watched what was going on in confusion. At least one holding his phone up to start recording the incident.

"You know who you're dealing with?" The gangster asked, "You're a dead man." He threatened, smiling mischievously at The Raven. He was defiant, brave in the face of bodily harm.

A stark contrast to Tony. The man wet his pants when Mitch pressed the gun against his skin. He began to weep, it wasn't going to matter if he begged. That wasn't how Van Leugen worked. It hadn't worked like that in years.

"Yo." The RDV lieutenant said, approaching Mitch. "He knows how to get in touch with the shooters. We can use him. Strike back at them and their people." He suggested.

He shrugged, "I mean, or we can do it the other way. No tricks. Straight up gunplay."

____

Mitch eased the gun away from Tony's face, staring down at the cretin, unsmiling even at the fact that the man had wet himself. "Search him. Make sure he has no guns, no tracking devices. Take his phone. I don't want anyone tracking him down. We're gonna take him somewhere...special." With that, Mitch turned to walk off, leaving Tony to be hauled off by the RDV gangsters.


The Raven held the gangster against the vehicle, draped in his avian-inspired ensemble, the seemingly empty eyes of his mask peering into the Russian's. Had his face been visible, it would've been unsmiling.

"Who said I was a man?" he asked, meaning to frighten the Russian. Without warning, he grabbed the gangster's hand, aiming to bend all four fingers backward until he heard a series of cracks.

"Tell me what you're running from," he demanded.

____

"Wait! Please!" Tony pleaded as the RDVs grabbed him, "Face this and anything that comes after with a little bit of pride." The RDV lieutenant told Tony, "Get him in a car. Preferably in the trunk." He ordered, his men dragging Tony across the street.

Suki found herself being helped into a van, on her way to somewhere more stable to rest and heal. The woman was barely conscious, but she was coherent enough to know that there would be hell to pay once she got back on her feet.

The Bratva were already feeling some of the karmic retribution not far away. The Bratva gangster stifled a pained howl at his fingers being bent back by The Raven.

He wouldn't get a chance to answer their question, at least not yet. One of the other gangsters practically threw himself out of the van, firing somewhat chaotically at The Raven with a pistol.

It was clear that he wasn't ready for a fight, none of them were after such an accident. But, they still had guns and knew where they wanted to shoot.

____

Mitch lit an expensive cigarette as Tony was dragged away, walking up to the RDV as he exhaled a puff of smoke. "Take him to the Normans. The old church on Sultan Street. You know the place? We've got...friends there," he said, the emphasis making it sound like he'd rather not deal with who he was referring to.

"Tell them you got a present for 'em, that I sent you. They'll know what to do from there. These guys will follow you, make sure there's no trouble," he said, pointing at two of the armed enforcers. Slowly, he glanced over at Suki as the paramedics ushered her into the van. "She'll be fine," he said with a tinge of coldness that seemed to illustrate that he didn't care one way or the other if she made it through tonight. With that, he flicked the half-finished cigarette into a nearby storm drain, walking back towards the vehicle he had arrived in.

Stepping inside the vehicle with the remaining two soldiers, he ushered the driver forward, disappearing into the night.


The gangster's sudden outburst of bullets made the situation a bit more hectic as the Raven was forced to slam his quarry's head into the van behind him, himself diving for cover as the bullets sprayed wildly through the air. One of the projectiles found itself embedded into the lower portion of his armor, right on the abdomen, knocking the wind out of the vigilante.

He crouched behind a nearby car, the pain of the kinetic transfer registering in his mind; while the bullet hadn't penetrated the armor he wore, it still hurt like hell. He had to plan his next move carefully. He didn't dare pop his head up, as the gunman was assuredly expecting such. Instead, he looked below, searching for his attacker's feet.

He was standing mere yards away, not close enough to rush in and try to disarm him without taking bullets. He had to devise another plan of action. Procuring a smoke bomb from his belt, the Raven dispatched the device, rolling it underneath the car and watching it come to rest in the vicinity of the shooter.

A puff of thick, grey smoke erupted from the spherical container, drowning the immediate area with a choking smog that would fill the lungs and eyes, impeding vision and attention. The Raven struck then, clambering over the car's hood, fighting through the sharp pain of the bullet lodged in his suit, keeping low so as to avoid stray gunfire.

As he neared, he would activate the thermal vision in his lenses, outlining the figure of his attacker, before unleashing an open-palm strike aimed at the Russian's exposed chin, seeking to render him unconscious and put a stop to any more gunplay.

____

"Come out!" The gangster shouted, leaning against the van as he reloaded his weapon. "Come on and die. I'm ready to." He said to himself, pulling the hammer back on the pistol.

He fired a single shot in the air, trying to provoke the vigilante.

The smoke bomb went off moments later, the gangster coughing and wheezing from it's contents. He began to limp away, hoping to get out of the smoke.

He didn't get far when The Raven slammed his palm against his chin, folding the Bratva gangster like a lawn chair. The others in the van knew they had to escape, but they were at a disadvantage. Between their injuries, The Raven, and the cops who were probably on their way they didn't stand a chance.

One of them, after climbing out, decided to lay down and just wait to be handcuffed. He knew his limits.

____

The sound of sirens wailed in the distance; judging from the faintness of the noise, James estimated it would take them, at the very least, five minutes to arrive. That gave him plenty of time.

The gangster that had resigned himself to surrender would find a rather hefty boot pressing his face to the concrete. The vigilante wasn't quite done yet, and didn't care if these men were giving up; he wanted answers, and fast.

"What were you running from?" he barked again. "You saw what happened to your friends. Don't make the same mistake." He would apply pressure, gradually, until the thug was ready to talk.

____

"Shit! Okay, stop!" The gangster shouted, "We were taking out some bitch that runs with your Skull Society." The Russian told The Raven, "We met resistance and then you." He continued. He didn't mind telling the vigilante what he needed to know.

The war had already begun at this point.

And he was surely on his way to prison soon.

____

The mention of the Skull Society perked his interest; Samedi's gang had the lion's share of the city, owning or taking over just about every facet of it that they could. There was hardly an organization in this city that didn't bend a knee to him.

The Raven would be sure to put a stop to that himself when the time was right, but for now, he had more questions.

"What was your target's name?" he demanded.

____

"I don't know the bitch's name." The gangster said, "I just know that she used to run with the chinks and Spaniards from Westeria City. Red Rain." He told The Raven, "That's all I know. Our people want her, and her friends, dead."

____

The gangster was being more helpful than he probably realized. His accent was Russian, and he mentioned Westeria City. He wasn't as familiar with the crime families there, but a little research into the matter would likely give him what he needed.

As for the so-called bitch they were after, he'd just have to keep an eye out for any filled rooms at any of the hospitals under Samedi's heel. The sirens were getting closer now, and he'd need to make a quick exit. He removed his foot from the thug's head, striding away from him. The cops were closing in; the Russians wouldn't get far.

As the vigilante walked away, he procured a grapple from his belt, firing the cable up towards the rooftops, snaring a sturdy place to climb, flicking a switch on the pistol as the motor zipped him upward. Just as he disappeared, a lone police cruiser swerved around the corner, lights flashing and siren wailing, soon to be followed by similar-looking cars.

The encroached upon the Russians, having gotten calls about a bullet-riddled van speeding through the streets, coming to a stop on Cornerstone Avenue.

They'd heard strange stories about a...thing that was dressed in black, but all they saw upon their arrival were a pair of unconscious mooks and another live one that had decided to lay in the road and give himself up. Regardless, the officers stepped from their vehicles, weapons drawn and ready to fire.

A group of them moved in quickly, ready to make arrests as necessary.

____

"We surrender, officers." The gangster said, he and any of his coherent comrades showing their hands or making no movements that could be seen as hostile. Prison or deportation was no big deal.

There were many worse outcomes considering the night they had.

____

They had arrived, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, sitting outside in the dark of the late night streets. Parked down the block in a nondescript black van, they watched and waited. The Russians were due to arrive momentarily, and the Society soldiers spend those moments preparing, mentally as well as physically, for the crusade they were about to initiate.

It was bad enough that they felt like they could take a slice of Samedi's pie without asking for it, but to inflict injury upon one of their own was unforgivable. Weapons fully loaded, gear thoroughly inspected multiple times, and nerves of steel rigid as ever, the Society's men were ready for a bloodbath. Hopefully, the Russians would be caught off guard by their arrival and not have time to react before taking serious losses. Mr. Samedi had made it clear what they were doing here tonight.

This was war.


Above...

He watched the goings on down below, attentive to every detail. Tapping into the feeds of the various cameras positioned throughout the city, he was able to notice a particular pattern in vehicular activity; more specifically, a fleet of cars going into and out of the Normans via "secret" routes. It wasn't hard to deduce to what organization these vehicles belonged to, but he made sure to follow their trail just in case. Of course, the trail had led him to the Skull Society.

And here the Raven was now, ready to come between them and their schemes.

This area was a hot spot for RDV activity, so normally the Society's presence here wasn't too out of character. However, this particular corner of the neighborhood had as of late become frequented by a population of Russians; the same people he had just previously encountered, if his sources were correct. In the event they were, then it was obvious that the Society was here to exact revenge for the attack on their people that the criminal from earlier had told him about.

Planning his next moves would be crucial to stopping the massacre that was to follow. He needed to be quick, precise, but most of all careful. If he fumbled, he would die, and there would be no stopping the slaughter between the Russians and the Society. He needed to take these men down as soon as possible, and decided that striking from inside the building would be the best course of action: it would be confined --but most of all, contained-- and easy to manipulate the situation.

Until the time came to act, all he could do was wait.

____

Andre, a ranking member of the RDV, watched the sauna from afar. Black hoodie pulled up over his head to obscure his face from anyone watching. Police officers liked to show up and harass the young men in the neighborhood just minding their business.

Andre wasn't planning on getting pinched today, this was his and his gang's time to show the rest of Van Leugen that they weren't a fluke. That their longevity wasn't because the Skull Society protected them from the other kids on the playground.

"Man, no one's showed up." He said to himself, eyes drifting to a pair of black sedans approaching the sauna. Men climbed out and one woman. A blonde woman, tall and dressed head to toe in dark clothing.

The men with her wore similar clothing, with coats covering their shirts. And the weapons they carried. There were at least ten total, the woman included, entering the sauna. But, who knew how many more inside?

Andre stepped out into the street, nodding towards an RDV member on a bike. He immediately rode down the street, stopping at the van.

"It's on. No one else."

____

"Time to move, boys!" Nelson said, prompting the eight tightly-packed soldiers to file out of the van, and quickly. The enforcer turned to two of his men, looking sternly at them. "Cover the exit. I'll signal you if I need you to move in." They each gave a thumbs up, moving down the sidewalk to take up their position at the rear of the sauna. One of the others started donning a headset, picking up a long black case as he made his way forward. Nelson looked at him.

"The building straight across. Fourth floor, room 2-B. If anyone tries to escape, you put 'em down, pronto." The man who would serve as their overwatch, Mandela, nodded, shuffling away as he lugged the rifle case with him. The remaining five, including Nelson, would enter through the front once Mandela was set up. Quickly, they rushed to the entrance, careful not to be seen by any of the Russians. They stopped, lined up beside the door, waiting for their sniper to tell them to go ahead.

---

He took their conversation in, utilizing a long-range microphone to pick up what they were saying, their voices relayed through the receiver in his mask. He watched the rifleman enter the building he was currently standing on the roof of, his plan formulating quickly as he decided on what to do next.

Turning from the scene, he entered through the rooftop doorway, coming upon a landing with a set of stairs leading ever downward into the unlit chasm. The atmosphere was perfect, as he thrived in the dark; it kept him unseen, and therefore difficult to deal with. Deciding he would need to take out the sniper first, he descended the stairs --or rather, repelled from the railing to the fourth floor.

Finding his footing on the carpeted ground beneath him, he looked about, his eyes taking in the dark corridor, doors lining the walls of the silent apartment building. At the end of the hall, he saw the elevator open, the gunman from the street emerging quickly. Ducking into a doorway, the Raven made himself scarce as Mandela scanned the doors embedded into the wall, looking for room 2-B. He stopped, suddenly, looking one of the wooden frames up and down, before reaching out and turning the knob on its face.

It was unlocked, of course, allowing him to head straight in. The dark-cloaked figure watching him would follow close behind. Mandela had left the door open; a costly move meant to allow him to get away quickly, but also making it easier for potential enemies to sneak up on him, such as the one that had entered the apartment just after he did. Mandela had a look around, the silhouettes of furniture standing out in the moonlit room. He paced forward, peering out of the curtains and to the streets below. He could clearly see his comrades lined up outside the sauna, waiting for him to confirm his location.

Dropping to one knee, he plucked the rifle from its case: a Dragunov SVD. He chuckled at the irony of using that particular weapon in his current situation, but nevertheless loaded it up and prepared himself to use it. He procured a tripod from the case as well, setting the weapon onto it so as to have a better angle to fire. As soon as he was sufficiently set up, he radioed in to Nelson.

"Commencing overwatch. Operation "Slavic Slaughter" is a go," he said jokingly. From the tunnel vision of his scope, he watched his teammates enter the sauna. Then, suddenly, he felt an arm wrap itself around his neck, prying him away from the rifle. Kicking and attempting to struggle, Mandela found himself caught in a arm bar chokehold by an appendage clad in a black sleeve. It wasn't long before the black shroud of unconsciousness enveloped him. Soon, he was out like a light.

Cutting off the flow of air would ensure the sniper was down for a good while, giving the Raven enough time to deal with the situation at hand. He peered out of the window, watching as the Society soldiers rushed in. He needed to move, and quickly. Popping open the window, he grappled his way across, onto the rooftop of the sauna. He had already been made aware of the two men covering the exit at the rear, and would need to deal with them accordingly. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, he spotted them, AR-15s cradled in their arms, standing by and waiting.

Their backs were facing him, allowing him to take them by surprise. He dropped down, bashing their heads together and putting them both out of commission for the night. With that, he picked the lock to the exit, slipping inside.


The Society's forces crept through the sauna, trying to scope out the interior before they started spraying bullets. Nelson took the lead, keeping his rifle close to him, scanning the building for potential hostiles. He ushered two of his men forward, telling them to be cautious.

There was no telling how things could end up tonight.

____

The sauna was quiet save for the footsteps of various Bratva gangsters as they patrolled the building. Security was lax due to the privacy needed for the meeting and what was possibly meant to be Tony's final resting place.

Towards the back of the sauna were the private rooms, where many of the men who entered in the van were headed. That was clearly the meeting place.

Steam could be seen inside the VIP area, music playing loudly to mask voices.

And gunshots.

____

He crept into the building, keeping low and alert so as not to be spotted by the Society or the Russians. Prowling through the spa, he made sure to keep his footsteps soft, and thereby quiet. However, the tile flooring had recently been waxed, so he would have to step carefully and avoid scuffing the floor and making noise.

Not many of the lights were active, and the low light afforded him shadows to hide in should the need arise. It was obvious that the Society's henchmen would make a beeline for the sauna, eager to finish what they had come to do. He would need to meet them there if he stood any chance of preventing a bloodbath. The sound of loud music, muffled behind the sauna doors, could be heard faintly.

---

They were close, that much they knew; they were following the sounds of music coming from the interior of the hall. The soldiers moved cautiously through the building so as not to arouse suspicions. Coming upon a corner, Nelson stopped, throwing a fist up next to his own head, signalling the rest of them to stop. Slinging the AR-15 behind his back, he produced a suppressed Blackhawk from the holster on his hip, glancing around the corner.

He saw two guards in the hallway ahead. They would be troublesome if he didn't do something about them. Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner quickly, bringing his weapon up in front of him. He fired off two rounds, each aimed for the heads of his enemies.
09-30-2015, 05:27 PM
Saarai
The gangsters dropped, they were unlucky enough to be in the way and not busy doing something else tonight. Casualties of war, they would be mourned.

And then avenged.

The avenging seemed to be coming sooner rather than later. Andre, still watching the outside, squinted his eyes in hopes of getting a better look at what was happening at the side entrance. The door opened and he could see people walking out.

Everyone that went in earlier, including the woman, were leaving. One of the Bratva gangsters began to chain the door shut, another jogging towards the front door to do the same.

"Fuck." Andre said as he slipped his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Mandela's number in the hopes that he had it with him or turned on.

"Activate the incendiary devices." The woman ordered, gesturing for her people to disperse. The gangsters began to scatter, one of them slipping a phone from his pocket.

Andre wasn't stupid, he knew that the phone was the detonator. He flagged down his man on the bike, pointing at the gangster with the cellphone.
 
as written by barney_fife

The IIA Safehouse
The Nillies


The attack on the hospital was all over the news at this point, multiple displays talking about a bomb, a gunman, and a potential terrorist attack. Several operatives with the IIA were watching the events unfold.

"Lieutenant, the diversionary tactics were successful." Agent Jones said as he threw a stack of papers down on top of the field commander's desk.

Her blue eyes looked over the anquietas text briefly before they flitted up back to Agent Jones. "The Naquadria bomb has been secured, and is ready for transport?" She asked, while the agent nodded. "That's affirmative; Thompson was neutralized however, he couldn't exfil." Jones said, noting the paperwork.

"His wife and two sons won't be too happy." She said, sliding the papers forward. "What did his implant register?" The blonde asked.

"The implant registered Cardiac arrest related to acute hypoxemia as the cause of death, suffocation or strangulation, death occurred about a millicenton shortly after he activated his blink packs. I've got the subspace rupture on spectum scans here." He said, pointing to the reading.

The woman nodded, and then frowned. "Dispatch a team to recover the body and ascertain the cause of death after this whole thing blows over; in the meantime get that Naquadria bomb out to the pickup site, the Aurora Alpha will be waiting for it, so we can hit the next TNG City." She said, making a face, as Jones nodded and turned to leave.

The woman leaned back, thumbing her pencil between her finger and thumb.

"I sense treachery..." She said, her Alteran mind wandering.
 
as written by Calcos and Saarai

The bodies dropped in pools of cooling blood, the body temperatures of each victim dropping rapidly as the cold clutches of death enveloped the fresh cadavers. Nelson signaled his men to follow behind him, the enforcer holstering his pistol as he moved forward, bringing his rifle back to point, mounting it on his shoulder as he clutched it tightly, finger ready to grasp the trigger and unleash hell.

From the shadows, the men were pursued by a lone phantom, draped in black and all but invisible, his existence unbeknownst to them as he trailed closely behind, ready to make his move, ready to strike at a moment's notice. He saw, in the corridor, that he had arrived too late, noting the pair of corpses now serving as blooded throw rugs on the floor. He cursed internally, painting a mental picture of how awful his retaliation would be. As the soldiers neared the sauna, he decided it would be best to act faster and move in while he still had time to prevent further bloodshed.

He crept forward, quickly, careful not to allow his footsteps to be heard.

Nelson stood in front of the sauna, the muffled blaring of music emanating from within. He and his men ducked down beside the door, the enforcer peering ever so slowly into the small, six-inch-by-six-inch window perched at the top of the metal frame. He found it fogged up, however, and couldn't see inside. Taking a hand from his rifle, he reached for the door handle, turning it downward easily, the faint click of the latch releasing barely audible over the roarous music from within. He eyed his men, his expression telling them to be careful.

This seemed too easy.

Taking a deep breath, Nelson burst into the room, gun at the ready and a team of highly-trained operators at his back, similarly armed and just as ready to fight and die for their cause. However, when they entered the room, all they found were empty wooden seats and speakers blaring so loud that the noise assaulted their eardrums. The steaming pile of rocks coated the atmosphere in a hot and heavy condensation that made their choice of attire rather uncomfortable in the moment. However, their biggest surprise yet would come in the form of a device resting on one of the nearby wooden benches.

A device that looked suspiciously like a bomb.

"Fuck!" Nelson screamed over the music. The other soldiers took note of the source of warrant for his outburst, they themselves reacting in a similar manner. From behind them, the Raven seemed to notice their panicked states; the room was empty, but he couldn't see what was happening. It seemed obvious that some trap had been sprung by the Russians, as he could faintly hear them shouting, startled and frantic.. The music, however, was becoming an annoyance, rendering him incapable of hearing exactly what they were saying. From his belt, he procured his multi-tool, receiving the signal to the building's PA and shutting it down, the music cutting out instantly.

"-damn bomb!" one of them shouted, the sudden disappearance of the music shocking them. The Raven's ears perked up, eyes widening beneath the mask he wore. 'A bomb?' he thought. Thoughts raced through his mind, contemplating on what to do. He wouldn't have enough time to engage all of the Society thugs and disarm the bomb, so he did the only thing he could think of doing: the Raven stepped forth from his hiding place among the shadows, sauntering forward, arms by his side. "I might be able to help," he said.

The collective of them whipped around, confusion and incomprehension gripping their hearts, twisting them with fear of what they didn't understand. "The fuck is this?" one of them asked. Nelson, although just as baffled and afraid as his men, steeled himself, forcing a calm composure in order to confront this unknown entity. "Hands where I can see 'em, asshole, or we light you up like a Christmas tree." The cloaked figure was silent a moment, having stopped walking towards them. The silence permeated between them, a thicket of tension that was ready to erupt into a full-scale conflict at the drop of a pin. "That would be unwise," the figure stated. Nelson afforded himself a laugh. "Yeah? And why's that?" The Raven was silent for a moment longer, his eyes wandering, scouring the immediate vicinity for anything to help him gain the upper hand in case things went south from here.

"Because I'm the only one in this building who can diffuse that bomb," he said flatly.

____

The RDV member pedaled his hardest towards the Russian, lunging from his bike to tackle the man as Andre came charging across the street himself. The Russian and the RDV gangster were tangled up on the ground fighting for the phone as Andre grew closer.

People on the street were starting to watch, other RDVs rushing over to stop the brawl.

Andre grabbed the Russian's hand and the phone, wrapping his own around both. As the other RDVs grabbed the Russian and picked him up, Andre slid a switchblade from his pocket. Before he could use it the Russian drew a pistol with his free hand, firing off several shots that prompted his attackers to flee.

The Russian and Andre fell over, the phone hitting the ground near them.

Andre reached for the Russian gangster's wrist, struggling to keep the gun away from him before he could get to the phone and save Nelson from the bomb.

____

Nelson cocked an eyebrow at the strange figure before him, guns still trained on the shadowy apparition's person, each of them prepared to fill him full of lead should he even hint at making the wrong move. Suddenly, however, Nelson shouldered his weapon, standing straighter in a comfortable position. "Alright, fine, weirdo. We'll let you take a crack at it," he said with a grin. He shuffled forward, his signalling for his men to follow behind. As they walked down the hallway, the Raven strode forward himself, passing them. Once he was nearer to the sauna, Nelson turned. "We hope you don't mind if we take our leave while you try your hand at it, though," he said, sauntering away. With that, the Raven stopped in his tracks, slowly turning and glaring in the soldiers' direction. The bodies of the two Russians decorated the flooring beneath his feet, their blood spattered erratically about the room.

They wouldn't be missed.

"You got two choices: try and stop us, or let the building burn. Better pick fast," Nelson said, continuing to walk away. The Raven turned away from them, resigning to let them go. There was still a chance that he could catch them if he dealt with the situation quickly enough. Looking over the explosive, he couldn't help but marvel at how neat it was for an improvised device. He noted the wiring running along it, the circuitry attached to a cell phone; the detonator.

A bomb like this one -one that utilized a cellular device- was quite easily disarmed if one had the proper tools and know-how. Fortunately for the Raven, he had much better than that: from his belt, he produced an insulated aerosol canister containing a gaseous mixture that, once it collided with a surface, would induce a rapid freezing reaction. Aiming the can at the cell phone, he let loose a rather heavy coating from five inches away. The idea was to damage the phone's internal components and render it useless as a detonator.

However, all electronics are built differently, and depending on the phone's durability and resistance to exposure to cold temperatures...

Elsewhere, the Society soldiers were making their way towards the rear exit of the building. They needed to get as much distance from the costumed freak inside as they possibly could. The sooner the better.

____

Andre slammed his elbow down into the Russian's face, stunning him long enough for Andre to pull the gun from his hand. It went flying into the air and away from the two. Andre made a leap for the phone, only for it to be cut short by the Russian gangster grabbing his ankle and pulling him back.

"Not today, kid." The Russian said, punching Andre in the face. He made his way over to the phone to pick it up, "Watch your friends burn." He said to Andre, raising the phone up high as he let it autodial the only number it had.

He turned to the sauna to watch it go up in flames.

But, it never did.

He hit redial. Still nothing. Again. And nothing.

A gunshot rang out, followed by another. The Russian dropped to his knees, the phone falling from his hand and finally shattering as the Russian's face joined it on the street.

Andre was sure no one in this neighborhood would tell the police what he had just done, but the RDVs were going to be in the crosshairs of the law. Two incidents in one day.

The DA was going to smell mob war and swoop in like a vulture.

____

Exiting through the back, the Society members were greeted by two unconscious bodies laying nearby; probably victims of the costumed freak they left inside. Nelson had one of the men tend to them, checking their vitals and such. They didn't know how much time they had before the stranger finished with the bomb, but they didn't care to find out. "Bring 'em with us," Nelson ordered.

Suddenly, their attention was caught by the sound of gunshots ringing out in the midnight air. "Move!" Nelson said, thinking the RDV members could be in trouble. Dashing from the cover of the dark alley and into the street, they had their guns collectively ready to open fire on any potential hostiles. However, all they saw was Andre standing over the bloodied corpse of one of the Russians, proverbial smoking gun in hand. Nelson looked down at the corpse, noting the smashed cell phone by the body's head.

His heart skipped a beat once his brain allowed him to fathom how close he'd been to greeting death.

From across the street, Mandela shambled forward, holding his head as if it were due to split in half. "What the fuck..." he said, barely aware of his surroundings. He saw a dead body on the sidewalk, and his friends gathered around, the two sentries being carried on the shoulders of two other soldiers. "Let's get the fuck outta here, boys. We don't have time to linger," Nelson said, getting everyone rounded up into their vehicles.


From inside the sauna, the Raven could see out the front entrance where they were gathering. The sniper was back on his feet, though he probably wished he wasn't, and the two men posted at the rear were being carried fireman-style by two other cronies. They were all making steps towards their cars, ready to vacate the premises.

He couldn't let that happen.

Taking steps backward, he braced himself for what he was about to do: running forward, he hurled a blunted throwing knife at the window, producing a rather nasty crack down the center, weakening it just enough for him to jump into the air, arms covering his head as he dove through, the glass pane splintering into several shards of transparent razors. He rolled across the ground, coming to a halt on one knee, one foot and one hand planted on the ground, his head raising to meet the shocked and appalled visages of his enemies.

"Fuck! Kill him!" Nelson said, raising his gun and pulling the trigger. The Raven ran, his feet pushing him across the street as he unleashed a trio of smoke bombs, each of them procuring a thicket of gray, ghostly smoke; enough to render his opponents completely blind. He, however, could see them perfectly through the thermal imaging embedded into his lenses. Rushing them would be suicide, so he had to think of a better strategy. He unleashed his grapple from his belt, using it to scale the building beside him. The thugs would be too focused on the smoke to notice he had taken a vantage point above them.

From the rooftops, he would be able to unleash an attack that would catch them all off guard. From his belt, he procured a flash-bang grenade, picking a spot on the ground just outside of their perimeter to lob it. The canister sailed through the air with a whish, bouncing a few times on the concrete with sharp metallic sounds that betrayed its identity to the wary. It stopped in the middle of the street, ready to do its damage.

"Shit!" Nelson said, before the world went white. He struck then, gliding across to them, his feet planting firmly into one soldier's chest, before he turned to clothesline another, driving them to the ground with a behemoth's force. He grabbed another's rifle, using it to jab them in the face, crushing cartilage and possibly breaking parts at the front of the skull. He'd work his way around, getting as many as he could before sobriety found its way back to them.

____

"Dre! Dre!" An RDV member yelled at Andre, the young man snapping out of his stupor to turn the gun he held towards The Raven. Or at least to where he was before. He couldn't see him anymore thanks to the smoke.

The flashbangs were rendering everyone else incapable of fighting back. Dre figured that he had to do something.

But, could he?

"We gotta go!" Andre shouted, "It's getting too hot here."

____

Several of the thugs had managed to make some semblance of escape by staggering away, drunk on disorientation as they were. More still were slowly starting to recover, sobriety finding its way to them at a crawling pace, but still enough to make them more dangerous than before. One of the more troublesome individuals belonged to the RDV, calling for an individual named "Dre," snapping the latter's attention to the vigilante.

The young man seemed to be observing the situation; the freak ahead of him was swatting his friends like flies left and right, and sirens started to wail in the distance. It would be foolish to risk trying to get a shot off on the vigilante for fear of hitting the others. He made a snap decision, deciding to call for a retreat. Society and RDV personnel alike started to flee the scene.

He couldn't let that happen.

The Raven immediately whipped his grapple from his belt, seeking to snag Dre, or his friend, both of whom currently headed the line. He placed his aim carefully, ready to release the wire...

Suddenly, he was hit from the side, falling on the hard concrete with another body atop him, his hands pinned and his midsection compressed. "Go!" Nelson shouted as he attempted to pin the vigilante down. A few of the Society's soldiers stopped, looking back at their leader, debating on whether or not they should stay to help. The sound of sirens drew closer still, and they didn't want to just leave him there for the cops to take away. "I'll be fine! Move your asses!" The seriousness of his tone compelled the others to move, scrambling to their vehicles. The Raven, cognizant of the potential backfire that would come from letting them escape, attempted to shift from underneath Nelson's weight.

The enforcer had, however, been in many a tussle, especially with fighters more skilled than himself. He kept his weight pressed on the vigilante, his knees squeezing the Raven's sides so as to make movement more difficult. "You're not goin' anywhere, pal," he said through gritted teeth. That didn't stop the vigilante from struggling, attempting to pull an arm free from Nelson's vice-like fingers, the enforcer trying with all of his might to keep his opponent's hands fastened to the concrete. However, the Raven's superior wit would be his enemy's downfall; tucking an elbow nearer to his torso, the vigilante was able to make Nelson falter, to loosen and open him up for a counter. As the enforcer staggered, the Raven was able to free his right hand, delivering a swift yet brutal strike to the underside of his assailant's chin, allowing him to open Nelson up even more. Struggling free from where Nelson had him straddled, he was able to get his legs free, placing a hefty boot into Nelson's chest and rocking backward, using what little momentum he had gained to hurl the Society thug backward, flat on the concrete.

The Raven gave no pause as he jumped onto Nelson, planting a firm knee on the man's sternum, his foot pinning his left arm, while his own hand held down the right. Nelson, still delirious from the blows he had just suffered, took a moment to get readjusted, his vision becoming clearer as the disorientation shook off. Finally, he had a clear view of what was above him, staring into the very face of something he couldn't quite describe.

As Nelson stared at the concealed visage of his attacker, he felt confusion. 'Is this thing even human?' he asked himself. The more he looked, the more questions he had. The eyes, seeming so hollow and devoid of humanity, stared back into his soul with a piercing iciness, making him even more confused about who -or what- this thing was.

That confusion made him fearful.

The cars revved to life, peeling out as the sounds of sirens wailed more violently now. The Raven lifted his head, scowling as the cars made their collective getaway. Once they had gone, he returned his hateful gaze back to Nelson, who lay flat, mouth bloodied and unsmiling. "What the fuck are you?" he said weakly.

Grabbing the man by the collar, the Raven hoisted Nelson up. "I've been given many names by your kind. 'Freak,' 'weirdo,' 'monster,' 'nightmare.' But, for your sake, you can just call me...the Raven." The cold voice echoed in Nelson's ears, his eyes widening as the terror of ignorance washed over him again. He couldn't fathom this thing's presence, couldn't decipher what it was. However, he'd seen it take down his men like they were common rodents, and that gave him cause for alarm all by itself.

The not knowing only added to the dread.

Suddenly, police cruisers rounded the corners, swarming in to where Nelson and the vigilante stood. The Raven dropped Nelson's exhausted frame on the ground, ascending to the rooftops via grapple. The officers filed out of their cars, barely catching glimpses of the shadowy thing that had just fled the scene, pointing lights and guns upward so as to get a better view. Once it had gone, however, they radioed in for possible backup to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary; a rather funny descriptor to be thrown around Van Leugen. Their focus finally turned to Nelson, who lie crumbled on the sidewalk. Two officers walked up to make the arrest, reading the enforcer his rights before hauling him to the back of a patrol car. "Nelson Kepler. Must be my lucky day," one of the officers said.

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

____

Detective Oliver Cornell was making his way over to the crime scene to join the other detectives and law enforcement on site, the crowds being kept at bay by the VLPD.

Unfortunately for Cornell, a reporter was able to sneak through and rush him. "Detective, care to comment on the recent surge in gang related crime in the city?" She asked, "This is an ongoing investigation, there is nothing to comment on until we find something." Oliver answered, never once looking at the woman.

"Witnesses say members of a local gang, the Rogue Dog Villains, or more specifically, the Rockford Drive Villains, were involved in the shooting and murders today. Is any of that true?" The reporter asked, "This is RDV territory, so they might have been involved." Oliver said, gesturing for a police officer to intercept the woman.

"Wait, I have another question!" The woman called out as a cop got in front of her, "Sorry, duty calls." Oliver said with a shrug and a smirk.

____

Nelson sat rather uneasy on the leather sofa in Mr. Samedi's office. He was trembling, a lit cigarette in one hand and a glass of stiff scotch on the rocks in the other. Mitch was there as well, arms across his chest as he leaned against the wall, that cold murderer glare in his eyes remaining, ever-present as usual. Samedi himself sat behind his desk, looking over some paperwork. His composure suggested calm, for once.

"I just dunno what I'm gonna do, boss," Nelson said. He was quite thoroughly perturbed by the arrest; the Society had arranged for his bail to be posted, of course, but that didn't keep him out of the crosshairs of the law. "The mayor is pretty damn serious about these crackdowns on people like us. Hell, since he's been in office, police response times have upped at least fifteen, maybe twenty percent. It's ludicrous." He knocked back the drink, feeling the fiery-yet-smooth sensation of the liquid entering his bloodstream, shivers ransacking his body. Mr. Samedi put his papers down, folding his hands as he looked to Nelson.

"You've got nothing to worry about, my boy. All will be handled." He held up a hand as he spoke, calm and soothing; a rarity for the crime boss. Nelson took a drag of his cigarette, an honor not normally afforded in Samedi's office, but the boss made an exception in this case as Nelson's nerves were shot through the roof, out of the atmosphere and into the next planetary system. "Pardon me for speakin' outta line Mr. S, but, how exactly are we gonna be able to handle this? These ain't the good ol' days anymore; the mayor's made sure of that. We don't have people in our pockets like we used to." As Nelson finished, Mr. Samedi cast his gaze to Mitch. "Speak," his eyes had said, causing Mitch to nod in understanding.

"Then we remind them who they work for," he said, his smooth, ominous baritone voice filling the room like a snowstorm, "Everyone's corruptible Nelson, you know that. All we gotta do is find out what it'll take to make them come around." He looked to Mr. Samedi once more, nodding his head as if giving the boss the floor again. "The commissioner, for instance," he stated with an air of humor about him, "He likes to visit the VIP lounge once in a while, get his fill of cocaine and sample the local flavor before he takes one to one of the hotels down the street..." his words danced like a soft wind into Nelson's ears, calming his thundering heart.

It brought a smile to his face.

"You see my boy," Mr. Samedi said, "We've got everything under control. All it takes is a little phone call." With that, Samedi picked up the phone on his desk, speed-dialing a number and waiting for the rings to subside. "Ah, Commissioner Stern, how lovely to speak with you." There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by incomprehensible chatter. Finally, it was Mr. Samedi's turn to speak again. "I have a little...favor to ask," he said chillingly.

Everyone knew that Mr. Samedi didn't ask for favors.

____

"Tell me more of this...thing you encountered, Nelson," Mr. Samedi said, hands folded in front of him. He'd just finished letting the commissioner know that it was in the best interest of his health to make sure all charges against his enforcer were dropped, immediately. Now, the crime boss was interested in hearing the details concerning the strange entity that had been intruding on his business.

"God. Where do I even start?" he said, nervously scratching the back of his head. "He looked like...well, a bird. Clothed in all black, had a hat and a beaked mask. At least, I hope it was a mask. He looked a real fuckin' weirdo." Mr. Samedi payed closer attention, letting Nelson spill his guts without interruption. Mitch listened also, soaking in the details.

"Trying to put the bastard down was...we might as well not have bothered. He was quick. Gone in a flash every time we turned our heads. Kicked our fuckin' asses when he got the drop on us." He shook his head. "I had him pinned for a minute. Felt like forever. He countered me, but it was enough to let the guys get away. He spoke to me. I'll never forget that voice, it was so damn haunting. Called himself the 'Raven'." Samedi cocked an eyebrow; he understood the allure of adopting a persona. It almost made him want to respect this person.

That is, if this thing were indeed a person.

"Well, whoever or whatever this 'Raven' is, they're intruding on my business. I can't have that." He looked over at Mitch, a hard gaze staring into the eyes of his employee. "I want to know everything about this Raven. I want you to find information on them, and track them down. I want them buried by the end of the week. If they're working with those fucking Russians, that could pose a problem."

Mitch nodded, cocking his head towards Nelson, signalling him to follow. "We'll snuff him out, boss," he said finally before exiting the office. Descending the stairs, the two gangsters didn't speak a word. After they reached the bottom, Mitch spoke as he continued to walk, "We're gonna go see an old friend. He might know something about this Raven character." Nelson didn't speak, silently acknowledging what his superior had said.

The sooner they swept this fucker into a shallow grave, the better.
 
as written by barney_fife

The hulking War Adept, Tidus Khaine stood with a lit cigar hanging out from the corner of his mouth on the streets of the Nillies. The darkness of the city, and the streetlights cast an eerie line over his rugged features.

He was waiting for something, a delivery perhaps. His eyes cast a brief glance to the alien structure off to the distance, as a dark colored sedan pulled up in front of him.

He checked his watch, the soft blue holographic projection casting a soft hue upon his face. Van Leugen was full of suprises, and the Adept had to be vigilant; especially without his power armor.

The sedan crept to a stop, and an middle aged man in a dark trench emerged from the driver seat, closing the door behind him with an audible thunk.

"Michael." Tidus said in a deep, gravely voice as he pushed himself off the concrete wall, exhaling a deep wisp of smoke. Michael checked his surroundings with a brief glance, before he stepped up to Tidus.

"I recieved a communication from M, she's considering relocating; Van Leugen isn't safe enough." Michael said, as he moved around to the trunk of the car. "I have something that needs to be delivered to Nida-Kule." He said, popping the trunk to reveal a large lead lined crate. Anquietas lettering could be made out on the side of the crate.

Tidus slowly walked over to where he was standing besides Michael, eyes on the crate as the smaller IIA Agent moved to open it. With an audible clunk, the lead lined chest opening to give way to a large cylindrical device with several straps, and a keypad.

"What is it?" Tidus asked, peering into the crate, as Michael replied. "Naquadah LQ warhead, thirty kilotons." He said, closing the crate.

"Ensure this reaches the target; and then depart this city. M has placed a hold on deployment of the Thalaron device." Michael continued, as Tidus reached in, grabbing the crate's handle with one hand, and hefting it out of the trunk.

"I'll take this to HQ, and deliver it myself." Tidus said, letting the crate hit the ground beside him. Michael simply nodded, before he walked back around towards the driver side of the Sedan, he then climbed in and put the car into gear. While Tidus grabbed the crate, and began to carry it towards another inconspicuous cargo van. "Hunt Brothers Plumbing." The Logo read on the side. Tidus opened the back doors, and climbed in, with crate in hand while the driver of the van prepared to disembark.
 
as written by barney_fife and Absenthia

Several days later...

Inside the small and discreet jewelry store nestled within the Nillies, Marlene had just returned from what amounted to a tropical vacation to her. Her fair skin had adorned a slight tan, and she traded linen clothing for jeans and a heavy sweater to accommodate for the climate of Van Leugen.

After being settled in, she pushed the door open to her office, her door made an audible squeal as she pushed it open, and she peered inside Asher lips pursed at the sight of paperwork stacking her desk.

"So much for Pina coladas and fine beach sand." She said as she stepped into the small, cramped and dimly lit office. The sounds of computers echoing in the back, along with the soft hum of the naquadah generator.

Marlene quietly lowered herself into her chair, which creaked slightly, and then she heaved an audible sigh, as the patter of rain from an afternoon storm began to pour down on The old jewelry store.

____

She had gotten the memo about where to go, and wasn’t terribly keen on dealing with her own sister for this whole thing, if she ended up dealing with her. But saying no was something that was easier to say than to actually do. Claire just hoped that Marlene hadn’t gotten herself into anymore hot water than was absolutely necessary, as she had absolutely no intent of bailing the other out. Those days were gone, and it was doubtful if they’d ever return. “Specter, what’s the climate like?” Claire asked her AI as she settled the small shuttle down in a well hidden wooded area. From here she would disembark and go into the city, blending in with the traffic along the way.

“It appears that it’s a wonderful balmy spring day!” The AI chirped happily in response to the question posed. “That tells me nothing, damned hunk of silicon.” Claire commented grumpily. “Fine. The current temperature is 5˚C, with the pressure at 500 millibars and rising. It’s currently raining with the surface winds are out of the north at 13 knots.” The AI sulked after it’s reprimand. Claire just smirked after getting her way with the AI, “Ugh, cold and wet.” She grumbled to herself, her smirk quickly changing to an expression of distaste, far from amused with the current climate at hand. "Don't keep the lights on Specter." Claire added as she prepared to leave. They were basic instructions encoded with more than one meaning to the AI; in other words if she wasn't back to get the shuttle in twenty-four hours or more to autopilot back to the ship in orbit.

As she arrived in the city, Claire found it seemed sprawling, and overgrown in many ways; like a small town that quickly lost it’s identity once money was introduced. But, judging from the address she had been given, it still had it’s alleyways and out of the way places. ‘This looks like the place…’ Claire thought to herself , as she looked at the outside of the jewelry store, only having minimal information at the start of this whole adventure.

Pausing in the doorway, outside of the store, she shook most of the water off of her overcoat and umbrella before entering.

____

The man at the counter offered Claire a warm smile, before he beckoned her over. On the inside, this appeared no different than any other jewelry store, with various pieces on display behind glass cases, watches, rings, necklaces, everything someone could want.

"Hello! How can I help you today?" The man behind the counter asked.

____

“Good afternoon, I was wondering if you could help me?” She said carefully as she approached the counter. Reaching inside her coat pocket to withdraw the item in question, she soon produced a large amulet without it's chain. "I have quite the unique piece that belonged to my mother, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about it."

Frankly, Claire felt she looked stupid as hell, going into a jewelry shop and asking about an appraisal on a piece that she found ugly as sin. But, she wasn’t the genius who decided such a device could and should be concealed as a necklace or amulet.

____

The man looked to the large piece, and seemed to visibly react to the utterance of the codeword. With an abrupt nod, one of the other men in the store swiftly moved to the doorway of the jewelry store, closing the door and locking the iron barred door over it, the locks cycled with an audble clunk and the open sign was turned off.

The IIA Agent took the amulet in hand, and he inspected it over and over. This was it, this was the Thalaron device he had been briefed on.

"Let me go get M." He said, before he set the device down, and then turned to the door that led to the basement, disappearing through the door. Once everything was locked up, the other men moved to take up positions, as Marlene emerged from the doorway, her eyes fixated on the Thalaron device, almost salivating at the anticipation.

"By the gods it actually made it here." She said, as she took the amulet into her hands.

"You got it through the cordon, you're better than I thought you were." She said, inspecting the device, before she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small silver disc with a hollow center, contained within was a catalyst for the biogenic pulse.

"It's heavier than I thought it would be, but I've never seen something more beautiful."

____

‘M?’ Claire thought raising an eyebrow at what the man had called her sister. “Wow.. that’s just.. obvious and ridiculous.” She muttered under her breath as she watched the man disappear through a doorway nearby. After her idiotic sister received the item, she’d make sure she was long gone. Claire had tried her best to remain out of the spotlight, and until they had called all those weeks ago she’d have sworn they’d forgotten about her.

“Yes, well…” She commented with a shrug as she watched her sister practically having a moment with the amulet. Claire didn’t want to brag, or let Marlene know just how easy it had been to get through the cordon. “Beautiful? The thing is ugly as sin.”

____

Marlene looked left and then right as she slipped the device into her jacket pocket. "This device can kill everything within a hundred miles." She said, before she made a face.

"No doubt we've probably been made." She said, nodding to one of her agents, who was watching the Minerva ECW Module that was monitoring communications citywide.

"Everyone, we have the device. Set the bomb and we're out of here." She said, as she stepped aside.

"Claire, let's go." She said, starting back towards the door, while a trio of agents moved to initiate data purges across the computers within the room, setting up thermite to physically destroy the data drives. Marlene moved down the set of concrete stairs, approaching a concrete wall. Opening up a small concealed keypad, she entered a code. The concrete door slid open, revealing another staircase, and the stench of sewer gas.

____

"No shit, they made damn sure I knew that." Claire remarked sarcastically. Catching the face Marlene had pulled, she briefly wondered what sort of distaste her sister had in relation to the device or the job. 'Somehow I do not think that this was part of my job description...' She thought to herself as she glanced across to communications agent.

"Data purges and thermite? What the hell is going on here and where the fuck are we going?" She asked following after Marlene. Any additional questions she could think to press on her sister, were quickly subdued by the foul, vaguely sweet rancidity of sewer gas. "Oh fuck, that's awful!" Claire commented gagging on the strong smell, before covering her nose and mouth with the hem of the scarf that had been tucked in the collar of her coat.

____

Marlene grabbed a gas mask, and passed a second one to Claire. "I knew there'd be a risk trying to get something through the cordon." She said.

"I've got a place we can hide out until this thing blows over. I don't plan on setting this device off yet, we might need to use it as a bargaining chip." She added, staring down the staircase, and then starting down it. The IIA Agents in the store were still swiftly working to tear everything down, before they grabbed their weapons, and started towards the escape hall. Six men, not including Claire and Marlene were making their way down the staircase, as the thick cement door closed behind them, enshrouding them in darkness.

"The sewer system will get us clear of the city, we'll take it to the river, and then we'll split up. I've given everyone a set of coordinates to meet one week from now." Marlene said, passing out a piece of paper.

"We'll resume planning for our next op once we've met up."

The ground then suddenly shook, and the jewelry store went up in a powerful explosion, a plume of flame and thick black smoke towered up into the skies, as the lone jewelry store was engulfed in a sudden and raging inferno.


On the other end of the Staircase was a sewage pipe, from there, the group would make their escape.
 
as written by Saarai and Krysis

"Lalita, we're here. Sorry it took so long." Godfrey said, nudging the young woman as he pulled his hearse into a parking lot. The lot was mostly filled with motorcycles and members of the Lost Breed. They came in many shapes, sizes, genders and even species. The one thing they had in common was a love of motorcycles, leather and pissing off society.

At the far end of the parking lot was the Lost Breed clubhouse, it used to be a restaurant before it was bought and converted. The bones of the old restaurant could still be seen by someone with a good eye.

"Let me know when you're ready." Godfrey said as he parked.

____

The tiefling yawned and stretched slowly, then gave Godfrey a grateful, though sleepy smile. She looked a little rumpled after so much time in cars and sleeping in her clothes, but not too much the worse for wear. "Didn't seem so long. Thank you for letting me nap."

A second yawn stretched her jaws and she hastily covered her mouth, though she had neglected that polite gesture for the first time. She bent forward so she could stretch her little wings as well, though the feathers did not get to completely extend, even in the spacious confines of the magical hearse. "Any last minute instructions?" Lalita asked when the impulse to gulp air had passed.

____

"Don't knock over any bikes." Godfrey joked, "Really though, they are bikers. They love them." He said, climbing out of the hearse. "Alright, lets go."

Godfrey lead Lalita towards the clubhouse, more and more vehicles starting to entering the parking lot the closer they got. Something big seemed to be happening.

"Yo! Sam!" Chemo shouted from a car he was parking, "I'll be right inside!" He called out, Godfrey nodding at the man before he continued on. "I'll go first." He told Lalita.

The clubhouse was clean on the inside, other than the spilled beers from what appeared to be a party that was starting. Godfrey would've wanted to know there would be so many people, but they were mostly people that could be trusted. Trusted as much as you could trust bikers and other gangsters.

A long bar counter, tables, a pool table and what appeared to be a stripper pole on a small stage. It was definitely a stripper pole.

"You here for Ugly Mike?" A biker asked Godfrey, "Yeah, you are. You're too clean and she ain't one of his girls." He said to Godfrey and Lalita, "They're in Church. You can enter." He said, pointing to a door on the other end of the clubhouse.

"Church is slang. It's where they do their meetings." Godfrey explained to Lalita.

____

"That makes sense. Churches used to be the largest buildings in many settlements, and so used as meeting halls." Lalita pointed out with a faint smile as she looked around. She didn't seem to mind if people stared at her, since she was somewhat used to it, though she did blush when one of the bikers did something lewd with his tongue and expression.

"Should I wait out here, or follow you in...?" Lalita asked, just a little flustered as she ran her hands over her silky black hair to make sure it was not too terribly out of place after her second nap of the day.

____

"For a country girl you know your stuff." Godfrey said to Lalita, "You're with me. Robert made you part of this, so I guess you're part of all of this." Godfrey told the young woman.

"You'd be right about that." Chemo said, stepping up behind Godfrey and Lalita. "Let's get going." He said, gesturing for the two to follow him into the room the meeting was happening in.

Chemo opened the door, revealing a long wooden table and several chairs in a mostly barren room. The room was clearly designed with space in mind.

Seated at the table was a dark-skinned man wearing a black suit, beside him a fair-skinned woman dressed in a red motorcycle jumpsuit and her arm in a sling. Sitting at the head of the table was the man of the hour, Ugly Mike Munroe.

He was a dark-skinned young man who wore his leather vest proudly, patches on it showing off his rank and accomplishments for the Lost Breed. Most notable a patch that read 'President'.

He kept his hair shaved at the sides to expose two tribal shooting star tattoos on each side, the hair he kept was in a short Mohawk.

Mike gestured for the newcomers to take seats, barely taking his eyes away from the suited man at the table. "Robert, Samson, good to see you two." He said, "And you." He told Lalita.

____

The winged girl blushed faintly at the praise, lowering her gaze to the floor as she failed to mention that it was personal experience that gave her that tidbit. Her discomfort didn't stop her from following Godfrey and Chemo where they might lead her.

It took a moment for her to realize that 'Ugly Mike' had addressed her, and then to volunteer her name in an undertone, "Lalita Sharma", before her attention was drawn to the man with the black suit. He seemed to be the focus of several people.

She'd take a seat next to Godfrey or Chemo, showing solidarity with the men she had come with, though she smiled a bit to see that their numbers matched. It was even two men and a woman on both 'sides'.

Since Lali was new to the situation, she decided to keep her mouth shut. If she listened well, she might learn more than they thought she would.

____

"A pleasure." Mike told Lalita, "Before we really get down to things, I want to introduce you all to some friends of mine." The biker said, gesturing to the man in the suit and his injured bodyguard.

"This is Yves and Suki, members of the Skull Society. They'll be handling, for the most part, getting Lalita here in the criminal underworld." Michael explained, "I thought you would be handling that?" Godfrey asked, "I would, were it not for the fact that my sister runs the Invictus." Mike answered.

Chemo nodded, understanding where Ugly Mike was coming from. They were trying to take down a guy that was working to stage a coup within the Invictus. A connection to their leadership would put Lalita in danger.

Not that she wouldn't be in danger anyways.

"We don't even know these people." Godfrey said, referring to Yves and Suki. "But, we have mutual enemies that have allies." Yves said, his accent clearly not native to Van Leugen. It was Lutetian, though not as strong thanks to living outside of the country for so long.

"Samedi, and I, we honor our alliances." Yves continued, "If there is no honor among thieves, where is there honor?" He asked, his steely gaze finding Lalita.

"Samedi's hands are safe."

____

Lalita seemed a little uncomfortable, her wings hunching to her back as she shifted her weight in her seat. "I do not know this Samedi, but I have felt the hand of fate rather strongly these past few days. I have been guided to this point, and I trust this--" She gave a vague gesture, not able to find the word for what she meant. It made her cringe a bit to settle on the word, "Destiny?", but she could think of none better.

She turned her uncertain and somewhat embarrassed gaze around the table, not really sure what they wanted of her, "I have to believe that I can do the part needed of me, to make this world better than I find it?"

____

"Even if it means staring into the abyss." Chemo said, his words more directed to Godfrey than Lalita. "If you're going to roll with the Skull Society, you need to dress the part. Nothing too crazy, just not the whole... country bumpkin thing you've got going on." Mike told Lalita.

"Rebecca." Yves said to his silent friend, the woman standing up and lifting a briefcase off of the ground. She placed it down on the meeting table and pushed it towards Lalita. And then another. And then one more.

Inside were several outfits already put together. They were as simple ripped jeans and leather jackets, as extravagant as expensive designer shirts. The Skull Society had an image, one that wasn't as mere as bikers or street thugs. They were mobsters, as Lalita would come to find out one day.

"And shoes." Yves told Lalita, gesturing to several boxes of shoes at the door. "Anything you need, we can get. Custom jobs, tailoring." He continued, clearly giving Lalita something of a sales pitch.

Ugly Mike stood up, gesturing for everyone else to do the same. "We should leave the room, give her some time to try out a look or two." He said, the other men in the room standing and starting towards the door.

"Rebecca stays. A woman's opinion is needed." Yves told them.

____

Lalita winced at the thought of having to cut on any of the leather goods to accommodate her unusual build, and her wings flinched close to her back again, though they had started to relax. Then she sighed and grumbled, "As long I'm not asked to murder kids, I think I will be okay."

She glanced over the clothes with interest, explaining, "I'm hot-natured, so the skimpiest one would be my preference. For comfort. But sometimes, when a man sees a woman wearing very little, his brain goes to the sex-place and you can't get anything sensible out of him. Which is annoying."

She assumed that Rebecca would understand such considerations, and didn't mind fully explaining herself as much as possible. Even if the men folk hadn't completely gotten out the door yet. "Plus, the wings. I only own t-shirts that I don't mind cutting up, and halter-tops that fit around them back home. I don't have enough bust to get away with strapless things. I always worry that they'd fall right off." was offered with a sheepish grin.

~~~

Lali would run off to the bathroom before changing, wanting to at least wipe down. Her last shower had been two days previous, and she had been wearing her ripped jeans and torn t-shirt since then. The lace-up work boots would gladly be disposed of there, tossed in the trash where the rather old footwear would be less offensive to noses.

It was in the restroom when the ripples from city-wide event hit her and made her stagger and gasp. A dream of burning passed behind her eyes, too brief a glimpse to be useful, but intense enough to leave a mark in her mind. Physically, nothing really seemed to have happened, though her hair was six inches longer, the lacy scales extended from the side of her face all the way to the point of her shoulder blade, and her wings seemed slightly bigger than they had been. Other minor details had changed too, but for the moment, Lali was just more interested in getting dressed properly and would run back to the 'Church' to see which outfit Rebecca had decided would be most prudent.

____

"I'm gay. I probably could help Lalita more than your mute friend can." Chemo joked to Yves, "She is not mute." Yves responded seriously, "It was a joke..." Chemo added, nudging Godfrey. "Weird vibes from this one. I'm going to look more into him." Chemo whispered.

"You should have done that before." Godfrey noted, "We're living in desperate times where often there is no time. We could all be dead by tomorrow." Chemo said, shrugging a shoulder.

Inside the meeting room, Rebecca stood stoically until Lali returned. Looking the woman over for a moment, she began to approach her.

"Too tight, eh?" She asked, her accent very odd. Though, it would probably remind one of the accents in Fortunae. It was still very distinct from that. Alien, even.

Rebecca gestured to Lali's back, clearly meaning her wings.

"We'll fix that. Let's get going, eh?"

____

Lalita shrugged a bit, her wings mirroring the gesture and stretching up and out before she folded them tightly again. She wasn't exactly sure what Rebecca meant, and assumed things would come clear by her actions.

The case that had been on Lali's belt got laid on the table, the worn out and tired looking leather belt placed next to it in a loose loop. It was still within reach, though the tiefling was distracted with the clothes. Things she had never been able to afford, either as a fisherman's daughter so many centuries ago, or as a farmer in the madness of the midlands, were laid out for her to touch and even wear.

Naturally, she was a bit reluctant to trust it. Her artistically torn t-shirt and ragged old jeans might have looked a little similar to the clothes laid out, but her's had been bought from a second-hand store. Sooner or later, she'd settle on dark brown cargo capris, and a sheer blouse that had seams in the right places, so she could cut holes for her wings without too badly damaging the shirt.

Underclothes to match, and some cute shoes, and the strange girl thought she was ready. With her long black hair hanging loose to her thighs, and not a drop of make-up on her olive-toned skin, she asked, "So where do I go from here?"

____

"With us." Rebecca told Lalita, moving to the door to pull it open. "She's ready." She said to Yves, "Good." The Lutetian man said, stepping into the room to get a look at Lalita.

"We'll bring you more like this. For now, you should rest up. You will stay with Rebecca." Yves said to Lalita, "And take this." Chemo said, approaching Lalita with a cellphone in hand. "It's got my number, Godfrey's number, and a woman named Bones' number. You call Bones if you need support. Violent support." He explained.

"I arranged the meet for three hours from now at your place, The Voodoo Chile. You'll know the guy when you see him." Ugly Mike said to Yves and Rebecca.

Godfrey was never one for subterfuge, exemplified by his folded arms and clearly frustrated facial expression. Bad things tended to happen when you dealt with criminals and terrorists.

____

Lalita was willing to go along with the flow, nodding in agreement with Rebecca, and then in acceptance of the cell phone, and finally in response to Ugly Mike's directions, though they were not directed to her. She put the cellphone away in one of her many new pockets, though she muttered something about needing to find a better place to hide it soon.

Godfrey's concern earned him a kiss on the cheek though, as Lali gave his arm a grateful squeeze. "Don't worry. It'll be fine. I'm just glad they are going to let me finish my nap before things get hectic."

____

"Rest is important. Especially for fledgling spies." Godfrey said, "If we're all done here, I've got some other business to attend to." Ugly Mike said, "That means you all should leave." He added, "See you around, Mike." Chemo said to the man, gesturing for Lalita and the others to follow him back to the parking lot.

Yves and Rebecca trailed far behind, either not wanting to be seen with the others or just being cautious. Sticking with each other and not a group.

"Three hours. Remember." Yves said to Rebecca, "We'll be waiting." He continued, "Lalita, you need to do whatever you can to join up with the man you're meeting and his crew. We need to get to the head, confirm who we think it is, and chop it off." Chemo told Lalita.

"Once you get to that meeting, you're officially in."
 
as written by Ylanne

The plaques were small, burnished copper, designed in the shape of a simple sun. They dotted the walls of the garden courtyard, with the twisting vines carefully trimmed to avoid covering the names engraved on each plaque. Try as she might, Amira Qahtani could not erase from her mind the newest plaques -- she'd seen them placed only that morning, meticulously polished. Nasiphi Amar. Nudos Fessehaye. In honor of meritorious service and patriotic sacrifice in the line of duty. Too young to die. Casualties were a known work hazard, understood as a risk of the job. The wall was littered with suns, but Qahtani, like many others, would find herself forcing past the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, instead gazing upon the suns with a practiced reverence so quiet her breath became a roar.

In the shadows of Nasiphi and Nudos's lives, Qahtani had joined Saigo Natsuma for a somber tea with the Director in the courtyard, war looming written in the writhing clouds overhead. The old woman's footfalls echoed softly across the stone walk, and somehow, Qahtani knew she only heard the Director's approach because it was what the Director must have wanted.

"Your directive is clear."

In front of Qahtani now, hollowed, burned out walls shuddered, little gusts of wind scattering ashes and bits of whitened debris across her clean white sneakers.

"I doubt you'll find much of anything in the safe house by now, but I'd like you to look anyhow. You might find yourselves surprised."

She could hear the Director's voice in the back of her mind, such that she jerked her face upward and to the right at the sudden crow cawing, staring unblinking at the two agents with its eyes like dark pools. Marlene, Kat, whoever had been here, they were offworld by now. Qahtani was sure of it. No doubt on their way back to the Aschen Empire, safely ensconced in the fascist citadel. Hardly a footstep's faint imprint remained to analyze. Still, she dutifully snapped photos with her device, eyes keen on spotting anything amiss.

"I must know the objective. There is something darker here. They want far more than Ms. Vaeros's head, believe me."

The husk of structure listed with the wind. No bones crunched underfoot. No grass crumpled. No flag flapped. The crow cawed, and some gnats quietly buzzed about the remaining lamppost. She was silent with Saigo beside her, unwilling to initiate simple conversation, but afraid of letting him stray from her line of sight for even a moment. She did not want to see any suns added to that wall. She did not want to encounter the Director again shuddering at some ungodly hour, cheeks glistening in the moonlight, only to slip away, breath caught halfway to lips for her intrusion on the mourning she hadn't dreamt the Director capable of.

"I'm afraid you'll need to travel to Langara. I'm sure you understand the risks of making that trip. If you feel you cannot accept them, kindly let me know. There is no shame in the desire to have greater certainty of returning home to your families. But if you have no objection, then we have much to discuss."

Qahtani kept her hand on her service weapon. Something like fire tickled her veins, gnawing at the edge of her mind. She moved carefully, avoiding treading too much on the ashes. The crow had scampered off to another tree branch, one untouched by the flames, with a few small fruits growing at the edges of its twigs. The clouds shifted, allowing more sunlight to illuminate the walking path, and Qahtani felt the temperature rise with the light.

"For Terra's sake."

They would find the Aschen agent, whatever her real name was. Qahtani drew her lips back, chin up. The burned house would not be -- could not be -- a dead end for them. She was not afraid.
 
as written by Ronin

Saigo surveyed the wreckage beside her. He was dressed in a clean black suit, his combat bodypiece layering beneath his jacket like a three-piece tailored vest. His hand was never far from the gauss pistol holstered at his hip.

He had borne the death of their comrades in his usual way - with mannered, orderly calm. Praise in mention of their performances as agents, of their valor and courage. Condolences to those in the department who had been especially close to them. There was only so much that could be said at the end of the day. This was the TIB, an organization tasked to protect the freedom and security of Terra. Freedom was bought in blood.

The agent sensed a certain tension to Qahtani since their recon mission in the Normans. He could have attributed it to any number of trouble - the loss of their co-agents, their impending mission into Langara. Much lay ahead of them both, danger and responsibility alike. If they couldn't find out how the Aschen intended to strike against the TNG, then the leaders of their government may very well perish.

He yearned to talk to her - to reach out, voice his support, his commitment to standing by her side and seeing this through. But Saigo - so eloquent on the field, in the office - did not have a good tongue for personal issues.

"We should be careful," he took a step forward, "Aschen like to leave traps. Ten to one some of them survived the fire." He removed a device from his belt, drew his gun, and fixed it to its frame. A scouter. Attuning the technology to electric energy, he ran its sensors of the immediate terrace, looking for any active electric charges.

"We'll go in together?"
 
as written by barney_fife

The remains of the structure itself were little more than a burned out husk. charred support beams, concrete turned to slag. Everything indicated this was no normal fire.

The moment Saigo equipped his scouter, background radiation could be picked up, alpha particles, faint gamma rays, and the faintest signature of Naquadah could also be picked up.

Inside the charred husk of building, where there was jewelry displays were also consoles that had been burned out with thermite, the crystalline innards of the Aschen computers lay exposed; what had survived the destruction of course.

There were opened weapons lockers, inside the armaments they carried lie destroyed. In the ash at Quatahni's feet a golden glint could likely be made out. Further inspection revealed a gold Aureus coin with the symbol for Caprica etched on the face, among silver denarii, all with the province of mint etched on their face. That province was Caprica. Was this a clue or was this random no one could know.

There was one console in particular, with a strange sphere shaped recess that had been deformed. Much of the console was destroyed, but it stood out among the other consoles in the back room, it's design was newer, and did not bear the mark of time like the dated equipment.

There was also a door, obscured by rubble that led to the sewers; the escape tunnel.
 
as written by Ylanne, Ronin, and barney_fife

Qahtani shook her head, peering into the rubble. "Doubt it, actually. I'll bet every last one of them survived. This wasn't suicide. It was cleanup. Crude cleanup, but ... " She gestured emptily, her expression suggesting distraction. The device in Saigo's hand suddenly emitted a sharp alarm, the screen flashing red with an alert overlaying the electrical scan's imaging. "Radioactives." Qahtani's lips curled upward in a feral expression, some hints of rage and disbelief written there. She raised a hand, indicating that Saigo should stop. "We're not going any closer, not unless you want to run back to Veritas and grab some of that special gear."

If they were going to die here, they wouldn't have the chance to travel to Langara. No chance of gaining sufficient intelligence to interject some serious counterintelligence, no chance of disrupting the looming threat to their nation's leadership. The Director had reminded them of the consequences of detection. Neither of them had objected. And why would they? They were sworn to protect Terran sovereignty. The Director's hand had barely even shaken as she'd poured tea for each of them, the plates hardly clattering at all.

"They were preparing something here, and those weapons probably had nothing to do with it. I'm guessing they were stashed. Wish we had enough surplus we could afford to do that." Qahtani cocked her head to the side, part of her headscarf fluttering against the side of her head. She took a half step backward, eyeing the spherical cavity. "Switch from the electrical scan to the radioactives one. See if you can't get a better reading there, something that'll give us a more precise idea of what exactly we're dealing with."

____

Saigo nodded, stepping around the building slowly and attuning his scouter to the different kinds of energy emanating from the ruins.

"We know that Drulovic's informant said that they were planning an attack against Rhea and Parliament." His eyes narrowed at the readings on his screen. "I wonder if they were it holding here. Building it. Forced to destroy it or escape with it once they realized we were on their tail." He opened his comm and put out the request to Veritas for special equipment.

"Something else I'm getting..." his hands moved over the scouter, "...is that... huh. Naquada fields." He shook his head. "A rare mineral. Very dense. Channels and stores energy - used in weapons. Kind of similar to TNG muteki gel, except tek only channels energy. This stuff gives off a power source of its own."

He turned to Qahtani. "I don't like this. Radiation, gamma rays, naquada... this is the stuff you use to make a weapon of mass destruction. It all seems very overkill for an assassination job." He shook his head. "On the other hand, I'm not getting any radio waves or transmission signatures. No one's watching us - we're alone with this place."

Not long later, a TIB van pulled up to the scene. Leopold, the TIB quartermaster, exited from the back. The massive kobold approached the two with separate briefcases in hand.

"Thanks Leo," Saigo nodded.

The lizardman grunted and straightened one of his tiny cufflinks between his huge talons.

The briefcases held what looked like a cuirass made of interlocking metal plates, and a visor mask. Both agents would be familiar with the equipment - standard issue Narasimha full body suit, designed to filter particles and shield against radiations and lethal energy. Saigo strapped it to his chest, the armor virtually measuring his arms and legs. A moment later, metal discs folded over his limbs, covering him everywhere except the face.

He tucked his mask under his arm and lifted the coin from the ground.

"Caprican," he mused, "...could buy us lunch with this, on Langara."

____

But someone was indeed watching them, from the shadows of an adjacent building, situated above the wrecked ruins. Blue eyes stared down at the ruins below them.

They watched, keen eyes observing the van as it pulled up; keen ears listening to the words of the conversation.

They could kill them both, bomb the van, and flee the city in time to regroup and set off the device. Killing everything within hundreds of miles, the figure licked their lips at the prospect.

The individual was swathed in all black, leaving only their eyes and a few strands of unruly blonde hair to come through the eye slit. Piercing eyes watching Qatahni and Saigo.

"On Langara."

The figure mused silently to themselves, before they let their mind wander. Anomalous readings filled the electronics the TIB Agents wore, as the figure exerted their influence on the electronics, aiming to render them useless entirely. The figure bet They wouldn't notice them blind. Perhaps they would blame the malfunction on the sheer volume of EM interference surrounding them.

They looked at the Kobold, before the figure grinned, the sound of the TIB Quartermaster's heart rang in the figure's ear.

Thump Thump Thump

The figure's mind twitched, the briefest mental surge exerted on the Kobold's heart, if successful, the creature would drop dead seemingly without cause or warning, collapsing from a sudden heart attack.

The figure turned, jumping from their position overlooking the ruins, onto an adjacent rooftop. The next message was sent.

____

Leopold halted in mid-stride, hand coming up to his chest. Something crackled around the kobold, omnishield shaking, flaring...

He dropped to one knee, growling. With shaky hands he checked the shield on his belt, watching the power source deplete, tracing the source of the psionic attack to...

"The roof," the usually silent quartermaster snarled, pointing to the adjacent building. He gasped, eyes shutting tight.

____

Qahtani had slipped on her own Narasimha suit, offering Leopold a quiet thanks. Then she noticed the strange interference appearing on their screen's readout. Her eyes immediately darted every which way, though her head did not move. She caught sight of a small woodland animal scurrying away, little feet scampering against brushes and concrete fragments, but not until Leopold spoke, gasping, did she look upward, peering intently toward the roof of the neighboring building.

Immediately, Qahtani narrowed her eyes to slits, focusing her own energy. She felt the warmth rise within her, a familiar sensation as she gathered her power, making it for now a protective energy field, aimed against the enemy psionic. She did not realize she'd begun to clench her fist.

____

The strange figure bounded from the rooftop, spiraling and spinning until they landed crouched on the pavement not fifty feet from the TIB Agents.

The figure kept it's eyes locked onto Leopold, before they snapped their fingers, another twitch of the mind aimed at crushing his heart like a piece of fruit, an attack that would likely leave the lizardman dead before he hit the ground.

The figure let their eyes dart to Saigo, and then Qatahni, sensing the energies the female TIB agent was exuding.

The figure's slender fingertips clenched a Psi grenade clasped to a sash worn around the figure's belt, and then hurled it towards Qatahni, the grenade emitted a powerful feedback pulse that washed over the figure, and then physically exploded in brilliant light and sound. The strange figure bounded up towards yet another rooftop.

A spark formed in the gas tank of the TIB Van, what followed was likely to be a sudden and violent explosion.

____

With a final grunt, the TNG Quartmaster fell to the ground - killed instantly.

"Grenade!" Saigo shouted, marking the device as it lobbed through the air, aiming - firing. The gauss round caught the psi grenade in mid-air, the explosion occurring far from Qatahni's person. She should be completely unaffected.

Saigo trained his pistol on the moving woman next, lining up her up in his sights. The TIB agent didn't possess Qahtani's psychic potential, nor was he blessed with the spirit-channeling abilities of his Losenji heritage, but he was a marksman to be reckoned with, possibly the best in the agency.

Unfortunately, he never got the shot off. The van exploded behind him, the shockwave throwing him to the ground. He grunted and struggled to his feet. He'd been closer to the vehicle than Qahtani. Hopefully her added armor and distance would protect her.

____

Before Qahtani had time to process the sudden flash of light, a fireball consumed the van Leopold had driven over, accelerating shrapnel in every direction, including toward their attacker. Something cracked against the side of her face, and she felt thick, warm blood flowing over her cheek. She felt the energy field she'd created wavering, weakening, but it did not dissipate with the detonation of the psionic grenade. Debris crackled around her, but she was listening for Saigo's stunned movements and heavy breathing.

Leopold's heartbeat had been a thunderous roar in her skull, and now it was gone, leaving her faintly aware of the empty space his death had now created. Facing the space between the arson site and the neighboring high-rise, Qahtani focused on their attacker's presence -- there was no need to look for her; she could rely instead on her psychic awareness to locate Marlene in space -- and gathered her energies together, extending a hand and sending a powerful psionic blast toward Marlene, with the intent of penetrating her eardrums and completely disorienting her and disrupting her focus.

____

The van went up in a vast plume of flames, sending a concussive shock-wave out in every direction. The Figure flipped and bounded up as Qatahni sent a psychokinetic shockwave up towards the figure.

They spotted the psychic wave, and quickly threw their left arm in front of them, engaging their personal aegis, which formed as a brilliant shield of hard light between them and the psychokinetic blast.

However being in midair meant there was nothing to brace, and though the shield took the impact of the blast, the figure was sent flying into the wall of an adjacent apartment complex, they hit with an audible crack, before falling into the pavement below. Blood trickled through the open eye slit of the figure's mask, bright red blood as they struggled to get back up some one hundred and fifty feet away. Their eyes were on Qatahni.

____

Saigo groaned where he lay, hand clasped over his hip. He felt warm blood trickle through the digits. Wounded. His shield and suit had taken most of the damage, but he'd been too close to the van to escape without injury. Luckily, his armor had protected him from the blindness and deafness that often accompanied a blast of that caliber. He was only momentarily stunned - the bulk of his debilitation was the pain of an open wound.

Gritting his teeth, the agent did his best to shut out the agony. He reached for his comm. "Command, we need-" The radio was dead in his hands. The assassin must have messed with the frequencies.

"Comms are down!" he shouted to Qahtani. Forcing himself onto a knee, he lifted his pistol at their opponent. A hundred and fifty-foot shot would have been child's play for the marskman, but the pain had taken away some of his agility and his hand shook as he fired. Most of the shots went wide, pummeling into the brick surrounding the assassin, with only one of the Gauss blasts correctly aimed at their torso.

"Hell," he growled, reaching into his belt for another clip.

____

Qahtani's lips drew into a tight line as she gave Saigo an abrupt, sharp hand signal.

Don't fucking kill them. Shoot to incapacitate. Moron.

It was standard operating procedure -- unless an agent had no other option, the TIB much preferred to ensure an enemy would live long enough for interrogation than to eliminate any chance of gaining any information. Even deliberately placed misinformation was better than a total unknown. Drulović had impressed this upon the agents repeatedly.

"You bloody idiot," she muttered under her breath as she saw the younger agent reaching for more ammunition.

In the momentary lull, Qahtani drew her own weapon, holding it carefully in her right hand, though she did not need the gun so much as she did her mind. Her footsteps fell quietly, and might have been completely inaudible were it not for the bits of ashes and charcoal blowing underfoot throughout the area. The pervasive scent of wood smoke, marred by some chemicals she couldn't pronounce, had grown pungent. Qahtani focused her energy to a swell, unleashing another psychic blast intended to keep the attacker on the ground and inhibit use of any similar powers in response by acting like a shielding force field. Her energy ballooned over the attacker, like a suffocating plume of poisonous fumes.

"Don't bother moving," Qahtani said, speaking in a rather conversational tone. She knew the Aschen assailant would hear her.

____

The figure kept their eyes on Qahtani as Saigo moved to open fire. Several of the initial rounds went wide, giving the assailant enough time to activate their personal aegis. The final round aimed at their torso impacted the shimmering barrier with an audible 'twang' before landing harmlessly in front of them.

They watched Qahtani approach, as her free arm went to her belt. She knew another psychic attack was coming next, and right as Qahtani fired her psychokinetic burst, a powerful psionic pulse fired out from the figure's belt, a debilitating blast from a psionic grenade that washed over them and outwards in all directions. A powerful feedback pulse that would likely cause immediate, debilitating but temporary pain in those psychically gifted.

The figure struggled to their feet, before pulling their mask from their face. Special Agent Marlene Angel, of the IIA's face became visible, an odd metal apparatus worn around her head. An apparatus that was damaged, having burned skin and hair as she pulled the strange device from her head, and tossed it to the ground.

She then held her hands out, palms facing the TIB Agents.

"You got me, I surrender." Marlene said. "All out of tricks."

She looked up, towards a shadow in an adjacent window, before she looked back to Saigo and Qahtani.

____

Saigo lowered his weapon, teeth grit and hands shaking. Had she just ... surrendered?

A quick glance at Qahtani. None of this felt right. If their assailant was Aschen - and he had a feeling she was - then she should have had a dozen means of escaping their little skirmish. If Marlene had surrendered, it was probably on purpose.

Marlene's look up at the window didn't go unnoticed. The agent brought his pistol up to bear, peering into the darkness of the room for any sign of life.

"Scouter's dead," he announced, "comms are down." Vulnerable. "It's your call how we proceed."

____

Qahtani maintained a neutral expression as the assailant removed the helmet and headpiece, revealing a face that the TIB agent had recognized from some of the dossiers on known Aschen agents. Marlene Angel, one of the higher ranking operatives, who'd had a long and tumultuous history both within and outside the IIA. Qahtani had a vague memory of a steaming teapot hissing as it touched a ceramic tile, the TIB Director's hand rustling a set of papers inside a thick and well-worn redwell, one of the top sheets a glossy 10x10 photograph of the same woman now before her and Saigo.

"Wish it were that easy for you, don't you," Qahtani said warily, reaching for a different, smaller weapon from inside her combat suit. The device fit neatly into her hand and roughly conformed to the contours expected of a firearm. She turned it slightly in her palm before locking eyes with Marlene in a cool gaze, discharging the weapon. Immediately, a tiny barbed dart flew toward Marlene's body (and specifically toward her neck) at a speed slightly slower than the average bullet so it would lodge inside the flesh without passing through. The darts were designed to incapacitate even the most technologically or biologically enhanced opponents from close range, by rendering the target fully unconscious to near-surgical levels of anesthesia.

The senior TIB agent was taking no chances.

____

Marlene simply stood there with a smirk as Qahtani raised the strange nonlethal weapon. She smirked when the dart hit it's mark, delivering it's sedative, and Marlene fell limp onto the ground. All while the figure was watching from the security of their apartment.

"She's under their custody." The IIA Agent reported. "Move to phase two."

____

Still keeping his eye on the apartment window and scanning the surrounding perimeter, Saigo approached the fallen agent, removed a pair of binders from his belt, and cuffed her.

"Target neutralized," he nodded to Qahtani, "...I think." That'd been easy. Remarkably easy. Saigo only hoped that this wasn't the beginning of something much worse than the mess they were already in.

"I'll call another transport. We'll get her to Nida." He drew a deep breath. "Hopefully this is the lead we need to bolster our investigation and not the blatant trap that it feels like."

____

Standard protocol would involve transporting the detainee somewhere far from the Nida-Kule Complex. Lying on the ground, hands cuffed behind her back, Marlene Angel was temporarily incapacitated, but Qahtani didn't trust it.

"Restrain her legs, too," she said, almost offhandedly, her eyes sweeping the spot in the adjacent building where she'd seen both Saigo and Marlene glance earlier. Some strange sense of discomfort rose along her spine toward her neck, and she returned the dart weapon to its holster, retrieving her handgun in a tense grip.

"Natsuma?" Qahtani kept her eyes trained on Marlene's motionless form, speaking in a hushed tone. "As soon as you confirm that transport and a rendezvous -- not right here, a block away or something might be nice -- get out that scanner again. I think someone's watching us." She didn't like this. The surrounding area was too quiet.

____

Natsuma swiftly bound her legs, nodding at Qahtani's request.

"Alright, I'll be back," he said, wincing as he rose. He clutched the wound in his side - not too deep, but still bleeding more than he was comfortable with. "I've already started rebooting the scouter, should be back online when I get back." He took a few steps away, stopped, and turned back to his partner. "Ah. Don't get killed."

They were far from safe, even in a Terran city like Van Leugen. Alone, wounded, without comms. So much could still go wrong.
 
"Damn it, Yee, give me something." Charlie begged of the Asian gangster she followed out of a nightclub. She stood out like a sore thumb, wearing a functional dress shirt with suspenders, slacks and her crimson overcoat while everyone else was dressed to the nines for a night of drinking and debauchery Van Leugen style.

"I can't help you, Chuck. Everybody's been laying low since the new mayor started cracking down. Ain't heard of no missing girl, not one that fits the description you're looking for." Yee told the woman as they walked down the street. "Business isn't booming like it used to, babe." He continued.

Charlie let out a frustrated sigh, stopping in her tracks to let Yee continue on his own. "Thanks for nothing!" She called out, "Any time, Chucky." The gangster shouted back.

It had been awhile since Charlotte left Westeria City, making the hard choice to quit the police force and start anew as a private eye. She was lucky enough to be sent to Sonia Hughes and be one of two detectives with Hughes Detective Agency. They weren't at all prepared for the mess that was Van Leugen.

The city made Charlie wonder why anyone still tried to do any good. Why she was walking around with a picture of a missing girl and expecting anyone to actually help her out.

She let out a deep sigh, turning away suddenly to head back to her car and call it a night. She wasn't going to make any progress. Not tonight.
 
Justice, Van Leugen's most prolific alcoholic conman, wasn't expecting to find himself with his hands zip tied behind his back when he went for a night on the town.

But, there he was, sitting on the curb with several other poor souls outside of a nightclub called Sinners' Circle, hands zip tied behind their backs, and a very scary detective looking down on them.

Siobhan focused much of her scary on Justice. She knew him, but the others were college kids he was probably running a game on. They'd get to go home, or back to the club, if they wanted.

"It's legal to gamble here." Justice said, "Yeah, but not on the street with trick dice, Justice." Siobhan informed the man, gesturing for the police officers with her to let go of the others.

"I can assure you, my dice are fine." Justice told Siobhan, "Okay." She said, digging the dice from her pocket. She kneeled down and rolled then across the concrete between them. All three instantly hitting four, five and six. Winning numbers.

"You're just lucky, that's all." Justice said, watching as Siobhan rolled again. The same numbers coming up. And then again. And again. And one more just to rub it in Justice's face.

"Did I tell you that I got those dice from my cousin?" Justice lied, Siobhan chuckling as she moved behind him to lift him up.

"You've been warned. The Nillies is changing. At least take it somewhere private. I don't want to see you jammed up, J." Siobhan told the conman, "Justice knows how to get out of a jam, baby. Believe you me, he does." Justice boasted, smiling at the sound of the zip ties snapping in half.

"Only one warning." Siobhan said to Justice, the man turning to see her twirling a small dark knife before sliding it into a sheathe.

"You ain't gotta tell me twice." Justice said, tipping an imaginary hat before he began to walk off. Siobhan shook her head, opting to follow his lead and head back to her car.

"I'm off in ten. Meet you at the bar?" She called out to some of the officers as she walked.
 
The thumping sounds of hip-hop music had the dancefloor of Tombeau de Guede filled with men and women. All of them entranced by the light show above them, mostly because of the Loa in their system.

It was fast growing, becoming the designer drug of choice for the young and spoiled children of Van Leugen's elite and anyone else who just wanted to go out to The Nillies and have a good time.

Andreas was there for business. He was trying to get completely out of the criminal underworld, but it was much harder than he hoped it would be.

So, he sold drugs for the Bone Street Warlocks, Loa mostly, in their clubs. It's what he had to do to provide for his daughter until he could leave the life behind.

A young man approached the bar where Andreas sat, pushing a menu over to him. Andreas reached under the menu, discreetly slipping a dollar bill from under it and replacing the money with a small baggy containing grey powder.

That was the exchange. Everyone knew to come to him. Everyone that wasn't a cop.

"So, what are you gonna do?" A bartender asked him, "I've got an idea, Rene, but it's risky." Andreas answered, "I wanna know." Rene said.

Andreas hesitated for a moment, "I wanna rob a bank." He said quietly, "Sweet Selene, Andreas! Becoming a demolition derby driver is risky. Becoming a gigolo is risky." Rene said.

"I know, but I'm running out of options and I can't ask Yves. Put out the word for me, okay?" Andreas asked Rene, "I'll see what I can do." Rene answered.

"Another beer, by the way."
 
The man was a hulk, and stood out in a crowd for more reasons than just the space he occupied. He was covered in intricate tattoos, snaking down and around his arms in sweeping, curving lines and swirling hashmarks. He wore a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up over biceps that bulged and strained outwards. A vest rested over his torso.

He looked like a man out of time, with his musketeer mustache and fop of black hair, but his gait was determined and his eyes - a sharp, quiet green - looked as though they weren't surprised often.

He sat down beside Andreas, tapped two large fingers on the countertop.

"Whiskey, neat," he said, and, not looking at the other man, "I hear you've got openings."
 
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