The Package - Open RP (Pace: 1 post / person / day)

The wrestler, the egoist and the concubine stepped past her, snapping the lick and letting the sound of simmering storms seep in, punctuated at either end by the think metal door’s swing-slide-slam. No attention was paid to the girl, none was returned. She stepped into the café proper, and caught the harsh man’s miming a pen and paper. A thin arm aimed toward the edge of a counter, shirtsleeve tuck sort of half-up-half-down and just barely revealing the failed attempts of a maladjusted childhood. The matriarch had already produced the requested utensils.

She duck back into the kitchen for another moment, throwing her hand around her mouth, “That’s what I’m worried ab-hout.” Hung up, hurdled, landed on the soft heap of cloth backpack and the girl eyed the group, the blonde, the group. A childish kind of glare jumped from her eyes, begging silence.

The blonde stood from her chair, its legs scraping loudly against the floor’s old wood, echoing and bouncing off of the ceiling’s punched tin. Her flat-bottomed shoes slapped with each step toward the girl. “Hello,” tricked from her thin lips in a vaguely disagreeable monotone, convincingly feigned amnesia floating on her breath. Arguably, a smile bubbled in her mouth.

Eyes squinted under red hair, behind tortoise-shell glasses, jaw set, she swallowed hard. "Can I help you?"

"My part's easy." Myra says, leaning back in her chair and picking up her cup of coffee again. "All I've got to do is get caught. It's you guys that I'm worried about... not only do you have to get away when the enforcers pick me up, you've got to follow them back to their hideout and launch an all-out attack on it. I think I should be able to prevent a hostage situation, but the timing is going to have to be perfect... I'll need some kind of way to signal you, electronically. It'll have to be small enough to be easily concealed. Any ideas on how to hook me up with something like that?"

"My only other concern is there's a chance this whole thing could spin out of control really fast. I didn't mention it when Del was here because I knew he'd shoot down the plan right away, but we don't really have much to suggest that these enforcers are the kind who normally take prisoners, Erin aside. If they took his daughter for some specific reason, she might be the exception to the rule - we could get in there and find out these guys prefer to shoot to kill."

Alice pressed gently at the bandage on her nose, and her leg quivered slightly and her eyes watered. A taxi honked past as a few of the people up by the counter made their way back to the kitchen. She gave the rest a nickel’s worth of notice, peering through the open-and-close door, at the redhead. Red polka-dot blotches painted her face, and contrasted sharply with the white of her skin. It made her look erudite, like a cloistered scholar.

Very close to the truth.

The redhead reappeared, hiding a few words in her phone, then tossing it somewhere. Two at the front said things and tried to sound important. They looked like street rats, tomcats, stray dogs. She caught the girl’s quick glance, and maybe she would lock her in a closet to rot, but then knew that she would not. And so she made a performance of reaching the counter.

“Hello,” she sung, her teeth keeping her mouth from moving much.

Fara looked like a stupid little kid, all tuck into her messy hair and her damn hipster glasses. “Can I help you?” she forced out, and Alice almost grinned. The other two kept talking, a bit more hushedly.

“Caffé Misto,” she weighed the moment. “You did not go back to Seattle. Adrian said you would go back.” Alice watched the girl’s skin go clammy. “We should speak in private.”

It's you guys that I'm worried about... not only do you have to get away when the enforcers pick me up, you've got to follow them back to their hideout and launch an all-out attack on it.

"Getting away should not be an issue. We'll be packing enough firepower to ward off anyone that gets cocky or brave. Following them won't be a problem either, when enforcers arrest someone they get caught up in their fun and won't pay attention. As far as the attack is concerned, going back on enforcers being caught up in their fun, it'll give us a small time window when their defenses will be weak. A double distraction on your part."

Jekyll sat back in his chair. He reached up and pulled his goggles off. "Something on the lense, it irritates me. One moment."
His yellow eyes pierced the very air itself. Empty. They concealed the creature that lay beneath. Very few have seen his eyes, even fewer that survived to this day. He cleaned the goggle lense and being satisfied returned them to the rightful place over his eyes.

I'll need some kind of way to signal you, electronically. It'll have to be small enough to be easily concealed. Any ideas on how to hook me up with something like that?"

"Yes, I do believe I can be of assistance there. We have a few micro GPS transmitters in the warehouse. About an inch wide and half an inch thick. Emits a signal that we can track. Latitude, longitude, altitude, speed, direction. Very specific. Has a small button on the side that causes the signal to pulse. That is what we'll watch for.

"We're going to need a few volunteers for the attack, I am but one man. I'll see if Simeone can supply a few goons, but don't count on it. Besides I'd rather have experienced gun runners then cannon fodder. This is going to be bad enough as is."

Del gave the signal indicating Ian to head out first. Mud splattered the wall behind the Bishada in a way resembling blood escaping from the body when a round from the HVR hits a soft target. The two of them were off at a breakneck pace and Del watched with a smile, Kids.

Gently Del lifted the clutch and depressed the accelerator, sending the Cisco creeping forward to the edge of the parking lot. Looking both ways before entering traffic, and engaging the turn indicator, Delinquent slowly pulled onto the street and rolled forward at a reasonable speed. The Cisco’s speedometer was just barely tickling the speed limit as he moved down the cracked pavement toward the intersection ahead. With a nod and a wave Delinquent greeted the San Paro Police Department Officer who had set a speed trap in hopes of engaging some unsuspecting person who had violated the sanctity of the law.

The Cisco rolled a halt at the light, the windshield wipers beating their rhythm as they worked to keep the vision clear for the driver. Delinquent looked about him and saw no cars in the area. Checking the rearview mirror, Del watched the Policeman pull out from his hiding place with lights illuminating the city around him. The Officer was off giving chase to a vehicle that splashed along at a high rate of speed in the opposite direction. Delinquent flipped down the sun visor and looked at the picture that hung there of his wife, Jennifer, who was holding their new born baby girl, Erin. The picture was old and worn with a single line that ran down the center where it had once been folded in half. Two of the corners had begun to curl from the years and the color was yellowing in some places.

“I will fix this, I promise,” Delinquent spoke to the empty air of the vehicle and placed a finger on the photo for a moment.

Slamming the shifter into first he stomped the accelerator and released the clutch allowing the tires to chirp and shout against the wet pavement. This was a delicate operation that would require speed, two things that did not work well together.

Myra nods thoughtfully. "Having some of Simeone's thugs around could be helpful. God knows he keeps enough of them on his payroll to spare a few... Don't forget that we'll have Del and the others for the latter part, though, and maybe they'll even get back in time to help us make some noise. Besides, our first move isn't supposed to be a 'victory,' per say... we don't want too much firepower. It'd be a reckless waste of lives on our part and might draw more attention from other enforcers than we want."

"Oh, and that transmitter sounds exactly like what we need. Perfect. I think that's everything, yeah? We should probably get moving on those trucks, and I'll need to head back home to gear up and prepare too."

The Bish skidded to stop outside the terrace-like area Simeone was known to operate from. "Not the most fun of the two jobs, eh?"

I got out, letting the radio continue playing as I leaned back against the car.

"Ah well, it's for Del, right?"

"Very well then." Getting up from the table, he nodded to Myra. "We have much business to attend to, I will get the trucks and firepower squared away."

Jekyll walked out of the coffee shop and up to his behemoth of a truck. Armor plating, Ammo locker, reinforced chassis. It made for one hell of a monster. Turning the key in the ignition a rumble tore through the earth itself. Jekyll flew out of the parking lot of the coffee shop, taking out parking meters and mailboxes in the way.

Myra downed the last of her coffee in one drawn out gulp and put the pen back in her pocket, then stood up. She glanced at the few faces around the room and shook her head irately, disappointed that more people hadn't answered Delinquent's call for help. She was sure some of them did have actual excuses, but still, it was times like these where you learned who you could count on and who you couldn't. Myra wouldn't think twice about taking a bullet for any of her friends, if it came to that - and today, it would. She just had to stop and remind herself sometimes that not all the people she considered friends would take one for her.

Myra strolled out of the cafe, moving quickly through the downpour of rain to get to her Bishada parked in the lot. She flipped her wet hair out of her eyes as she got in and turned the ignition, rolling quietly out onto the street before she roared it to life and went off in the opposite direction of Jekyll, heading to her waterfront apartment, the place she actually called "home" instead of "safe house #x" to get ready for the bloodbath that was yet to come.

He placed the last crate of focaine in the back of the armored van. Focaine was a cocaine imitation, smelled and tasted the same, but fake. Very useful for bullshit missions like this, the enforcers will be too caught up in the heat of the moment to notice the difference. Also sitting in the back are a few crates of Assault rifles and pistols.

Jekyll fished in his pocket and withdrew his phone. Dialing up Myra's number he made his way back to the armory.
As the phone rang he pulled the HVR from the locker and rocked the bolt. Satisfied he sat the rifle on the table and waited for the call to go through. When Myra picked up he spoke. "Van is good, weapons are solid. Ready to make the call." Pausing a moment he added "Looks like we are doing this with less people then we need. Shit has to be down to the letter."

The Bishada rolls into the alleyway between Myra's building and the one next door, protected by the rain and hidden from the street by the dark shadows that were cast by the two dirty, off-white structures to either side. A stray cat, disturbed from dumpster diving, leaps up on the low wall on the far side of the alley and hisses at her as Myra opens the door and steps out. The headlights blink and there's a soft click as she locks the expensive sports car, and then she disappears inside, through the door on the side of her complex that's supposed to be inaccessable from the outside.

Her phone beeps, and she retrieves it from her pocket and flips it open as she walks up the stairs to her room on the fifth floor. "Yeah?"

Dice wrote: "Van is good, weapons are solid. Ready to make the call." Pausing a moment he added "Looks like we are doing this with less people then we need. Shit has to be down to the letter."

"Shit down to the letter, I know. You said that already. It'll work, don't worry. Give me about ten minutes, then we'll just be waiting on Del and the others."

Myra unlocks her door, opens it a fraction of an inch -only enough to slip her hand inside- and carefully lifts a small tripwire off its pin attached to the door and places it in a slot on the wall. Had she opened the door any more, the whole place would have been firebombed. It wouldn't have killed anybody who tried to open it, but it would destroy any evidence in the place and that was good insurance to have when you were going to be away for a while. Moving over to a dresser, Myra takes off the clothes she had been wearing and quickly changes into something more suitable for a firefight. She pauses for a moment when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her bared skin covered in bluish-colored Russian prison tattoos. Each one had a meaning. Her fingers lightly traced over one on her abdomen, the symbol inked around a bullet scar - the symbol stood for loyalty. She'd done this before. "I'll be alright... everything is going be fine." she tells herself, taking a deep breath.

She changes into something more suitable for combat, including loose-fitting black combats and a black, buttoned-up blouse that covers a light kevlar vest. She changes her gloves out for something lighter that she can better hold a gun with, covering up the last of her tattoos. Only one or two people in the Dogs had seen them, and she fully intended to keep it that way. There was a reason she only wore long-sleeved shirts, no matter how hot, and never went sunbathing in a bikini.

Myra straps on her combat knife and the holster that fits beneath her shirt, up against the small of her back, to hold the Obeya FBW. She also grabs a small set of lockpicks that she tucks into a secret pouch in her sleeve, leaving the matching pocket in the other sleeve open for the transmitter Jekyll had hopefully gotten a hold of for her. Her phone beeps again. A text this time, from Del.

Delinquent wrote:"We start now, begin the operation."

A second one follows, giving the location they got from Simeone. Myra quickly dials back Jekyll as she leaves the apartment, carefully replacing the tripwire on the door. "Del talked to Simeone, we've got the general area they call home. It's over near where Lilith has set up shop. Meet me at the corner of 7th and Coast Highway as soon as you can. There's a spot over there that I think will work."

Azrakel wrote:"Del talked to Simeone, we've got the general area they call home. It's over near where Lilith has set up shop. Meet me at the corner of 7th and Coast Highway as soon as you can. There's a spot over there that I think will work."

"On my way." He hung up the phone and started the armored van. Adjusting his goggles he let loose a sigh and pulled out of the warehouse.

Pulling up at the location he noticed Myra's car to the right. Bringing the van to a halt, he turned it off and stepped out into the rain. Walking up to Myra's bishada he knocked on the window. When she rolled it down he handed her the GPS beacon. "Hide it well. These things aren't easy to come by." Looking around the area he noticed a building in the distance that was fairly high. "I'll setup on top of that rise, and provide what cover I can. They shouldn't be able to see me with this HVR."

Turning to walk away, the thought hit him that this could actually go horribly wrong.

The rain had begun to taper off, the occasional droplet falling from the sky and spattering itself in a suicidal fall to the pavement below. Delinquent brought the Cisco to a halt on the sidewalk, the screeching tires startling a nearby pedestrian as the vehicle bounded the curb and stopped with a hands distance between it and the building.

“Son of a bitch! You almost hit me!” The pedestrian belted out in panicky anger as the wrestler stepped out of the vehicle.

Thwack! The sound of a hard object striking against the pulpy flesh of the pedestrian echoed into the street as Delinquent walked by, “No. I did hit you.”

Quietly Del ascended the stairs to the balcony above from which Simeone watched his grand empire. It was a gutsy move that showed the true grit and fortitude of Simeone as the placement of his fortress of solitude was out in the open for all to see. A park off in the distance with a statue erected in the center provided excellent cover for a single sniper to place a round down the range and into the soft target that was the head of the Blood Roses. But Simeone never showed fear, and instead welcomed the challenge of an enemy showing their hand and trying to kill the mob boss.
Delinquent took in surroundings as he climbed. Dolly and Ian were nearby playing lookout and watching for suspicious actions. Simeone’s goons watched as Delinquent approached, one stepping forward preparing to pat down the wrestler before granting entrance to their boss. The other laid a hand across the first guard’s chest and shook his head. This was clearly the smart one of the two goons. Delinquent appreciated not having to coerce the men with the heel of his boot and so the weapons remained with the wrestler.

“Delinquent!” Simeone shouted in a pleasant greeting with arms spread wide as he stepped toward Delinquent, “It is very good to see you once again.”

Simeone placed his hands on each side of Del’s head and pulled the wrestler in close. A single kiss was placed on Del’s forehead, the hands squeezing slightly, placing a hint of pressure on Del’s temples before they released Delinquent with a forceful shove. Delinquent took a step back as he realized that he was just given the Kiss of Death from his employer.

“I take it you don’t expect me to survive this ordeal,” the skepticism was clear in Del’s voice as he challenged the greeting.

The smirk was oily and made Delinquent feel dirty as Simeone turned toward his table and lifted a martini glass filled with a clear red liquid and two olives impaled by a white toothpick, “In a word, No. I can only trust that you will find a way to defy me and bring back my money.”

Money, it was always about money. Delinquent looked around and took in the massive white building that the balcony was attached to. It was all Simeone’s and it held several high end condos inside as well as an extensive shopping center on the first floor. It was among the most expensive places in the city to spend your money and one could almost always find some yuppie with a micro dog in their purse as they did just that.

Piece of shit, Delinquent thought as he flashed a pleasant smile to Simeone, “What about Erin? You know damned well that is why I am here and that your money is just a bonus objective.”

Simeone lifted the glass to Delinquent and silently offered the wrestler a drink. With a shake of the head Del declined, he preferred to remain sober when he worked. Del pulled a cigarette from a crumpled pack, the plastic crackling from the rough treatment. With a flick of the wrist Delinquent brought the Zippo to life and pulled in the flame, igniting the cherry of the cigarette. With eyes closed and his head tilted toward the sky Del revealed in the thick flavor of the smoke. He tipped the pack toward Simeone, returning the gesture of the drink with the offer of a smoke. Simeone repeated the shake of the head as he patted a cigar that protruded slightly from the pocket on his sport coat.

Simeone stepped forward and slid an arm around Delinquents shoulders, leading him toward the balcony and sweeping his hand across the horizon as he spoke, “Del… Or should I say Lee? Think about it. This could all be yours. Your own stake in the claim, so to speak. This could be your world, your fortune. Complete with people bowing and scraping at your feet, and a return of the adulation and joy that you lost when you stopped wrestling.”

Delinquent glared at Simeone, there was something wrong and it tugged at the back of his consciousness, “Stop playing games, Simeone… Get on with it!”

Pulling his arm back Simeone lowered his head and stepped away with hands folded in prayer, his index fingers pressed against his lips as he sucked in a deep breath, “Lilith has their location. This enforcer crew, the ones with your daughter, they have set up shop nearby her…”

Delinquent fingered the grip of his pistol, the sound of others drawing their weapons convincing him to leave the pistol were it currently resided, “What are you not telling me, Simeone?”

“Here,” the only words that needed to be spoken as Simeone handed Delinquent a stack of glossy photos.
Holding his cigarette between his lips, Delinquent flipped through the pictures quietly, handing all but one back to Simeone Del turned and walked away. He pulled out a phone and dialed in the text message that would begin everything, “We start now. Begin the operation.”

As he walked back to the Cisco he passed Ian and Dolly. They held each other in a convincing embrace that only those who surrendered their hearts could manage. Del passed a look that advised against conversation and the lovers nodded. Del tossed a photo to the ground at their feet and continued on toward his car. The picture was a simple one, taken from an overpass in financial and looking down on a rifle range. There were two men in the photo who appeared to be watching a single female who held a Star 556 in her hands. The photographer had positioned himself well as he caught the targets facing the camera and framed the subjects well in the photo. The woman aimed down the range, her curly blonde hair tied back into a pony tail, and bronze tinted shooters glasses protected her eyes. She wore blue jeans that gave definition to her legs, and a deep blue CSA Trainee shirt with a name silk screened just underneath the image of the SPPD badge.

The name read Erin…

Before I had a chance to get a good look at the yellow-clad worker, Del approached. I say "approached" when I really mean he walked up in a "I don't fucking want to talk right now" kind of way. He tossed a photo down at our feet, and I quickly picked it up.

"What? It's just some...Oh." I let my hand drop to my side, leaning me head back. "Fuuuuuck."

I put the photo in Dolly's hand, opening the car door. "Just say the word, Del."

Myra rolls down the window and takes the beacon, immediately hiding it in the tiny sleeve pocket she had reserved for it. "Let me know when you're in position and I'll send the word that'll bring the enforcers. After that... just try not to kill them all, yeah? We do need at least a few survivors."

As Jekyll walked away and begin the climb up to the roof, there was another tap at her window. "Hey, can't park here! This is a red zone!" She flashes the patrolman a look, then reaches into the glove compartment and retrieves a small leather case. Opening it, she presses the contents against the glass of her car window for him to see - an enforcer badge and ID papers. The patrolman looks at her car, notorious for its use amongst criminals, and then back at the badge. He shrugs, then starts walking back to his Broadwing parked across the street.

Myra rolls her eyes and tosses the badge off to the side in the car. It's no wonder the enforcers couldn't get anything done, careless as they were. This city would give any dumbass a gun if they were willing to point it at the right people, didn't matter if they had qualifications for the job.

She gets the signal from Dice that he's in position, so she steps out of the Bisghada and looks over at the trucks staffed by some thugs-for-hire who, hopefully, wouldn't fuck up their simple task of driving two blocks and then getting shot to hell. The dumbass-with-a-gun thing went both ways, unfortunately. Popping open the trunk, she clicks open a small gun case with one hand and dials 911 on her cell phone with the other, then starts assembling her OCA SMG while pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

When the other line picks up, she starts the act, trying her best to drop her thick Russian accent and sound panicked. "Hello, enforcers?! There's something going on at the corner of 7th and Coast, there are all these trucks and some bitch just started shooting up the place after an officer pulled them over!" The OCA assembled, she loads a fresh clip into it and puts three more in her waistband. She leans out from behind the open trunk of the car, looking to see if the patrolman was still there. He was.

"Send help, quick!" She closes the cell phone and tosses it into the trunk, then slams the trunk shut and hides the keys in a special compartment built into the rear bumper. Nonchalantly crossing the street with gun in hand, she casually sprays a burst of rounds into some shop windows. Instantly, panic erupted. Civilians screamed, running every which direction, and the head of the patrolman she was approaching snapped up from what he was doing to see what was going on.

Another quick succession of fire spewed from the muzzle of the gun, this time sending lead into the hood of the Broadwing and through the window on the passenger side. A little ways off, she could hear the trucks' engines firing up and pulling out from their hiding position. The cop opened the door and stumbled out, drawing his sidearm and scrambling to take cover behind the door. Still approaching, Myra put another two rounds into the door and then aimed lower, spraying bullets at the ground around his feet. He screamed in pain and fell over, his gun scurrying off on the rain and oil-slick asphalt, as his left knee and right foot both took hits.

Myra planted a kick square against his jaw as the man tried to set himself upright, dazing him. She emptied the rest of her ammo in random directions across from her, shattering more glass and setting off car alarms. Chaos.

The empty magazine clattered to the pavement and she slapped a new one in, then grabbed the groaning officer by the collar of his shirt.

As she started dragging him out to the street where they'd both be easily visible when backup showed, she could already hear sirens in the distance. Over the radio in the patrol car, she could faintly make out the voice of the dispatcher: ". . .enforcers be on the lookout for several armored trucks last seen on the corner of Pacific Coast Highway and 7th Street, firefight in progress. I repeat, this is an all-points bulletin. . ."

Myra made the call. Then proceeded to shoot up the surrounding area, it wasn't long before the sounds of police sirens could be heard in the distance. Jekyll loaded a magazine into this rifle, assumed a prone position, and rocked the bolt.

He pushed his goggles up to his forehead and put his eye up to the scope. He smirked beneath his scarf and reminded himself:"Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god."

One way or the other many people were going to die today.

And without any sort of struggle, they were speaking in private. Stragglers and strangers sipped and sucked down caffeine, callous to the conversation. The redhead was a finch, bouncing the back of her arguably orange Chuck in a nervous S.O.S. tattoo. She pulled at her sleeve, and the pidgeon eyes her crookedly.

Fara’s mouth snapped open, an audible breath gulping down her throat. A gurgle of words almost reached her tongue, but the woman anticipated them. “Who?” she hummed, only slightly injecting a lift into her tone. The redhead nodded. “Rapid readjustment of social stability within a structured tradition attempting to shift an enforced equilibrium. Surprised people notice what you do?”

“Parsons?” the redhead chirped breathlessly.

“Durkheim,” she blinked. “You’re a socialist.”

“I’m a barista.”

“Washing feet while taking the podium?” Inadvertently, the woman pressed at her nose again. “No, that’s not it, though. Hmm?” Eyes watered up, faintly. “The wrestler has the megaphone. Yes?”

Another nod. Alice Wainwright, PhD, was very much the smartest person the girl had ever met, probably the smartest person in the world. “What’re you doing here?” She started to make the drink.

“Observing, hmm? Adrian wants to keep tabs on this…investment.” The pause seemed forced. “Go help your friends, hmm? Get there quick enough that will probably still believe this little girl façade you’ve made for yourself.”

“Ed’s on his way,” she eyed her backpack longingly, heart secretly bleeding for the wrestler.

“I’ll lock up.”

It struck Myra as odd when another armored truck - one that wasn't part of their operation, filled with focaine - came screeching around the corner ahead of their convoy, leaving huge black tire streaks on the road and kicking up a small plume of white smoke, even in the rain. Then she noticed that the truck didn't have the usual Blue Steele Armored Security logo on the side. In fact, it was completely black and featureless, except for a thin bar of lights across the top that marked it as an enforcer vehicle and the gun ports that had been cut out of the sides in what would normally be the cargo space. Miles ahead of the other sirens, Myra had no doubt that these were the people they were looking for.

The truck spun around, doing a complete 180 in the middle of the street. The back doors kicked open and at least eight enforcers poured out in an organized combat formation, all heavily armed and armored. And the last one out was carrying an OSMAW, aimed right at the trucks that were still heading in a beeline towards them...

Myra glanced up at the roof where Jekyll had taken position, and then dived for cover from the impending explosion as she saw the enforcer's finger start its squeeze on the trigger of the launcher.

The truck spun around, doing a complete 180 in the middle of the street. The back doors kicked open and at least eight enforcers poured out in an organized combat formation, all heavily armed and armored. And the last one out was carrying an OSMAW, aimed right at the trucks that were still heading in a beeline towards them...

Myra glanced up at the roof where Jekyll had taken position, and then dived for cover from the impending explosion as she saw the enforcer's finger start its squeeze on the trigger of the launcher.

"When the Devil is too busy." As the 12.7x99 millimeter round connected home the enforcers head exploded in a shower of blood and brain matter, long before the ear splitting crack of the rifle could be heard. The enforcer's headless body crumpled to the ground, dropping the OSMAW in the process, causing it to malfunction and fire the rocket wildly into a parked car on the side of the street.

Even more chaos ensued as the remaining enforcers started firing wildly trying to find the shooter.

"And the Reaper's a bit too much."Jekyll started muttering to himself as he loaded another round into the chamber and lined up another shot.

BOOM! Another enforcer took a round in the neck, the round tearing away most of the flesh and muscle leaving the mans head only half attached, blood flowed like a rushing rapid as the body crumpled to the ground.

"They call on me by name you see, for my special touch." Another shot, center mass, the truck behind the man was sprayed with blood and giblets of organs and bones.

"That evened up the odds a bit."
Jekyll loaded another round and waited to see how it would play out, the performance was underway, and if the enforcer's acting started to displease, Jekyll would give him the hook.

Myra's back slams against a raised planter as she dives for cover, bullets ricocheting around her. She heard the explosion of the rocket across the street and saw the trucks keep going, and she knew Jekyll had come through. She pauses a moment to gather herself, flicking her drenched hair out of her eyes and listening carefully for any more shots from the HVR. She heard two, barely, over the thunder. Assuming all three shots hit - and Myra was certain he was capable of it - that meant their targets were dropping fast.

"Eight in the back, one in the driver's seat, maybe one in the passenger's seat... that's nine or ten." she mumbles to herself. "Three down, six to go, probably seven. They'll retreat if that gets to less than four. Shit. Go hide, Jekyll, you're killing them too fast..." she continues, in an unusual display of knowledge of her non-native English with the pun, which she is immediately glad nobody but her is around to hear.

She could hear them shooting in what sounded like every direction imaginable. She needed to get their attention back to her - it was time. Her left hand splashes in a puddle as she rolled out from behind the planter and rights herself, raising her SMG. Three of the enforcers had moved to intercept the drivers of the trucks, forced to stop when they reached the roadblock created by the enforcers' own armored vehicle. She let them be, spraying fire at the ones who were searching for the unseen sniper. A few of the bullets found a mark, kindly liberating one of her soon-to-be-captors from his face. Five or six, now.

When her magazine runs dry, she intentionally hesitates for just a fraction of a second to move back to cover, though to her it seemed like whole minutes passed as she waited for the inevitable. As her OCA fell silent, one of the enforcers leans out from behind the wall he was using as a shield and sent a burst from his OBIR at her. Out in the open, making no attempt to move when she saw him, all three shots hit her square in the chest. Myra falls down hard on her kneees and keels over clutching her stomach, the OCA skittering off in some direction or other.

The wind knocked solidly out of her, she gasped to regain air and was beyond thankful that she had decided to put on the vest instead of trusting that the enforcers would rely on less-than-lethal alternatives.

The Cisco roared down the street, the tires splashing playfully through the rain puddles as the wrestler searched for his target. He looked not just for information, but for someone that deserved to experience the rush of adrenaline that surged through Delinquent. This special someone would get to experience all the rage, hate, and anger that surged through the wrestler, and if they lived they would then have the chance to sign for Del and give him what he wanted to know.

A flash of blue and gold caught in the corner of his eye, and then suddenly it dissapeared down an alleyway between two buildings, the target had unknowingly evaded the wrestler, but that was only a minor delay in the inevitable. A roll of thunder passed through the area as rain had began to fall once more. The break in the storm had only been temporary, it seems, and the skies would soon open once more. Thunder and rain would not distract Delinquent from the target, however, as the wrestler brought the vehicle to a hard stop. In a fluid motion he lept from the vehicle, the door hanging open like the stop sign on a school bus demanding drivers behind the vehicle to use caution in passing.

Del ran down the narrow alleyway, Act 44 in hand and anger in his heart. Ahead of him the man crouched over a stack of boxes snapping pictures, the flash rivaling the lightning as it began to flash as the return of the storm became imminent. Delinquent did not want to kill him, but instead to beat the man until the answer flowed from him like blood. Quietly reaching forward, only mildly betrayed by the sound of his boot heel landing in a puddle deeper than estimated, Delinquent wrapped a gloved hand around the base of the gingers pony tail and yanked hard. The enforcer was an older gentleman, easily in his forties, with a face covered in as many freckles as it was in wrinkles. Panic raced through the crystal blue eyes of the enforcer as the butt of the pistol came down and cracked a rib in the mans chest.


Chris fell to the ground, coughing and wheezing. He attempted to crawl forward toward something that he could use to lift himself from the ground. A flash, was that lightning? Blood rushing from my head? No, not lightning, but another blow from the crazed villain. Why? Was what was inside the boxes that important to this man that killing me was the only answer?

Chris faded in and out of consciousness a moment and felt strong hands wrap themselves around him and roll his body over and then prop him against the very boxes that he had been inspecting. Looking down a moment Chris struggled to focus and saw the blood soaking his blue oxford button down and disappointment swept through him. Chris realized that he would now have to replace the shirt.

Six people stood before Chris now, or was it three? It was definitely four men and two women… he thought. They were throwing questions at him, but he did not know the answers. He had never heard of Erny… or Erin? Which was it? How odd? Four of these people were holding each other in the exact same way? Isn’t that quant…

The thought was his last as he drifted into unconsciousness. The villains left the alleyway without any answers but they were now armed with Chris’ San Paro Police Department badge.

Her foot hit a puddle as she stepped outside, expecting rain. Sharp, fierce, angry wind bit at her instead, turning her skin pink. She dug into the bag draped over her shoulder, and fished out a green jumper, olive at parts, forest at others, stained from never reaching retirement. It slipped and hung over her, and she zipped it, pulling the hood down far over her head.

It was still misty, threats of more rain cracking from the skies at any moment. Lightning struck, the world flashing to daytime – everything was wrong. She punched her hand back into the bag, fingers wrapping around the small metal key, a koi fish charm hanging off of it. A few sodden steps brought her to the cramped green vehicle; it was Alice’s. Breathing hard, hands shaking, she fished the key into its hollow, twisting the locks open with a lost thump.

She got in, closing the door, letting the bag spill out onto the passenger’s seat. The whole mess gave her a weird kind of queasy feeling that knotted her throat. Grabbing her phone, she dialed the wrestler, praying he would pick up.