(Contains a torture scene.) Spiraling shades of red, reflecting blood money, reflecting expensive gemstones, reflecting a consumerists soft drink in the old world. Both rich reds, receding rotary to meet round, rotund, rotating walls. Those reds roaring with a ravenous rebellion. Racing ‘round radially, radical reds requite and repulse. Rabbit fur roads-- one is-- residual radio glows right into the eyes. Raked resting foot-rags, they read a real readily revealed desire to… randomly ram, rant retinal ransoms, and ransack rarities. The carpet of Paolo’s white penthouse was like… [color=FF0000]Roses.[/color] Really though, those expensive red rugs in Paolo Rivera’s room were more of a hybrid carmine and soft maroon. Although they practically [i]radiated,[/i] comparable to a [i]redundantly ridiculous ruby,[/i] it was doubtful those sinister intertwining carpets were the first thing on anyone’s mind who entered Paolo’s penthouse. The floors, furniture, and appliances of his home were lined, seemingly at random, with women in various states of undress, consciousness, and possibly, various stages of consent. Among those women, Lucy Castalia-Rivera, wife of Paolo, had the night before, managed to shoot up, smoke, and consume more designer drugs than every other person in the room. She woke with a migraine bordering on aneurysm, the feeling as though she were about to vomit, a distinct sense that she was constantly leaving her body, an inability to stand on her own, and the smell of rancid horse dung clinging to her body. Her eyes opened red. Close up, they were indistinguishable from the carpet. For some reason, she found herself dressed in a bikini made out of candy, a purple tutu, and a hat with some pre-fall ‘ATL’ acronym. Looking around, she stole a pair of aviators from one of the birds in Paolo’s harem. She could rock this ‘fit. Stumbling to the door, retching to give whatever she still had in her stomach to the red carpet, she eventually opened the balcony door. She had made a good call in getting the shades, even with them the day was unbearably bright. She felt like cat hair was in her blood. Paolo was alone, reading some documents. Lucy stumbled over to the edge, to dry retch over the side of the balcony. Paolo guffawed, “I see my wife was the first to stir, as always.” His expression became more serious, “Look at all of that blue, as my queen, it’s all yours now.” Lucy threw up again. “I sent your father to get rid of the body,” Paolo said, “Your grandfather. How do you feel about that?” “I…” She slurred, “Man, I really fuckin’ don’t.” “What about Lucania and Leocuca?” Lucy wiped the spittle from her lips, “What about ‘em?” “Ah.” Paolo leaned back, “Of course you haven’t heard of the swarm… It’s lucky you got here when you did, really.” Lucy’s red eyes went wide behind her shades, “[i]What?[/i]” “Oh, I was just saying it was lucky you--” “No!” Lucy, falling over herself, stumbled to Paolo, “I waannaa know ‘bout tha [b]SWARM[/b] you fat fuck!” “Oh that? It’s just some nonsense going on at Russel City, none of our business, really.” Lucy was practically at the point of tears, “[b]LUSHANA’S AT RUSS YOU MOTHERFUCKER?[/b]” Paolo smiled nonchalantly, his moustache quivered, “Is she?” “[b]AHH GOTTTA RAYYDO HER NAO!![/b]” Lucy lurched toward the door as fast as a body with 0 muscle control would allow. “Ah, radio...” Paolo feigned thought, “Floor 58.” Paolo opened back up his folder, “Oh, and wife?” Lucy stopped, propping herself against the doorframe to the balcony, she gave an annoyed sigh. Meaning ‘[i]what,[/i]’ and meaning so much more than that. “Rivera’s boys doesn’t have the same ring as Castalia’s-- you know? Can you think of a good name.” Lucy didn’t turn. Paolo’s shit-eating grin was audible, “I’m thinking… Epicureans?” Lucy held a hand to her bumping head, somehow, her synapses were firing off, “Acsually… that wouldn’t work…” “What?” Paolo turned toward her, “What would you know about it?” “I… don…” Lucy shrugged, still facing the inside of the apartment, “Lululucania taught me about it, you ain’t an Epicuran, you’re like a He… He… Heda…” Paolo frowned, “Hedonist?” “Ye.” “What’s the difference?” “You…” Lucy took a step inside, “You’re sad… and you don wanna be happy.” [right][color=333333]#rekt #shotsfired[/color][/right] [hr] “[color=purple]YOU WANNA STEP TO US, CUZ???[/color]” “[color=yellow]NAH BRAH, I WANNA STEP OVER YOU.[/color]” “[color=purple]HOMIE, I’LL FUCKING CAP YOU.[/color]” “[color=blue]HE AIN’T YOUR HOMIE DOG--[/color]” “[color=green]DOG, LOOK AT THIS DUDE--[/color]” “[color=pink]WHAT YEAR IS IT, 2200? JESU--[/color]” “[color=purple]SHUT[/color] [color=red]THE FU[/color][color=silver]CK U--[/color]” “[color=green]FUC[/color][color=yellow]K YO[/color][color=pink]U--[/color]” “[color=red]YE[/color][color=yellow]AH[/color] [color=silver]W[/color][color=green]EL--[/color]” “[color=purple]S[/color][color=orange]H[/color][color=blue]I--[/color]” Voices overlapped as the yelling escalated. Two parties bickered over turf, over money, over innocent civilians. The authorities were gone, now the gangs were stepping in. Who were they? One group, Lucania came to understand to be the 29th Street Reeboxxx Boys. A merger of sorts, formed by treaty from the ‘[i]29th Street Thug’s Angels[/i]’ of hood legend, only rivaled in gangsta prowess by the Grove Street Family; ‘[i]The Reboxxx Boys[/i]-- underdogs with a knack for parkour; and a revival of the once prolific street gang ‘[i]The XXX Harmony[/i],’ apparently men from the XXX had children-- which was no surprise, they were refined pimps and generally charismatic-- and their children followed in their imprisoned or deceased father’s footsteps. The gang of scrappy adolescents and young adults was incredibly well dressed, with unstylish, out of date shoes, and weapons that looked like pipes with triggers glued on as an afterthought. They were ready to prove themselves. They could be of use to her. Of course, convincing the boys to fight hollows on her behalf would be easier said than done, especially with their current squabble with the 737 Adidadas Gods-- they were collectively something of a wildcard. What they lacked in the finesse the 29th Street Reboxx Boys possessed, they made up for in raw numbers, and slightly better firepower. Lucania, looking on further down the alley couldn’t help but compare this to some seen from a tape, like school kids in an Old World sitcom. The civilians caught between the two groups just looked bored. “So…” Lucania turned to Vladimira, “What do you think?” “I think I see three possible outcomes to this. One, I slaughter them all and hang their bloodied carcasses from the walls; Two, I disarm them and we make them play nice and shoot at Hollows instead of each other; Three, I disarm them and they scurry like rats.” Vladimira looked ahead at the scene with distaste, “Can’t say which one I favor the most, honestly.” She’d never really liked street gangs, if only because they were impossible to understand half of the time. “Have a preference?” She asked, glancing sideways towards Lucania. Lucania’s face portrayed as much surprise as she allowed herself to feel, “My word…!” She further portrayed abject shock with a playful glitter in her artificially brown eye, “I can’t very well see the use in killing them all! It’d be a waste of money, time, and… ummm... human life!” Lucania chided, “No, I’d much prefer option two if we could pull it off. They could set an example for others…” The problem being, people in the age group, in the economic situation of these small street gangs, tended not to respond to orders very well. For order to take place, they’d need to think it was their idea. Lucania began to strut forward, toward the verbal skirmish, “Coming?” Lucania looked back to Vladimira, “I want to talk to the non-affiliated people caught in between.” “Fine by me, just try not to make them all start shooting at us.” Vladimira started forward after her employer, scoping out the two gangs as well as the civilians in between. Scrap rifles, rags, and clothes that might’ve been nice at some point, she wasn't concerned. Regardless, she opened the flaps on her holsters, just in case. She didn’t have goggles, and took full advantage of the fact that her eyes glowed like angry pools of metal, treating all present to the best withering glare she could muster. She gave the small gathering one last glare, muttering out the corner of her mouth, “Do you want me to interject, or would you like to do all the talking?” “You…” Lucania tried to give her most polite smile, “I don’t believe speaking, without using… [i]over using[/i]... intimidation is your greatest strength, Vladimira.” “Really?” A man spoke above the bickering in the streets. He was bespectacled, balding and brown. He wore a playful smirk on his face, the threadbare work clothes of someone of little means… or perhaps means, but little desire to change. He was at least 50 years old. “Lil’ rough ‘round the edges, sure, but she’s easy ‘nough on the eyes.” The man winked at Vladimira. Vladimira’s face was indignant as she groused in Lucania’s general direction, “I can be nice!” then more quietly to herself, “When I’m drunk.” She looked back up at the man, raising an eyebrow, “I’d say something in response to that, but last time that happened I started a religion. So, y’know, I’ll just let you talk to her.” She jerked her head towards Lucania, holstering her guns as she did so. Keeping her guns out probably wouldn’t help with diplomacy. “I’m just gonna stand here now, mm‘kay?” “That’s fine.” Lucania glanced toward the small crowd of Russel City’s slum residents, they gathered around the doors of their rundown homes and establishments looking on at the bickering gangs with worry in their eyes. She addressed the crowd, “They aren’t going to start fighting, I hope you are aware of that.” The old Black man was the first to reply, distrust in his voice as he looked Lucania over. Compared to these people her privilege practically radiated off of her, “Wha’chu know ‘bout it?” “I know that if they start,” Lucania gestured to Vladimira, “I’ve got the means to [i]make[/i] them stop, should speech not suffice to persuade an armistice between them.” The man scoffed, “I know you… I know yo’ type… come here, thinkin’ y’all can [i]change[/i] how it is. Thinking y’all know what’s best fo’ us…” He outstretched his arms, behind him was the rainbow of a crowd of those afflicted by the extreme poverty of Dust. They were ‘lucky’ enough to live in a city, often under worse conditions than their chances in the desert. They seemed to have gathered behind the man, all wearing old world rags in a cruel solidarity, apparently this man was some sort of representative. “You’ll either take what you want and get on, or give up an’ leave us worse than before! So get on! We don’t need y’all, an’ y’all don’t need what we got here! This here an issue fo’ family-- and y’all ain’t it, so leave this to us an’ get… or… or we’ll [i]make[/i] you get!” Silence. “You deaf!?” The old man practically spat. He was annoyed, he was tired-- they all were-- it appeared no one here had been informed about the approaching spider threat. To him, this was just another way in which the rich were looking to steal from them, or the Wings and Motum Diversum were looking to keep them as good little tax cows. He was angry, he had the respect of his peers, he was ready to fight. [color=333333]You can use that to your advantage.[/color] [i]Mmm… Yes. That’s good, you just need to redirect that energy…[/i] He took a step forward, “I said, is you d--’ “Could I trouble you for your name, sir?” Lucania matched the man’s step forward with her own. “What?” “Your name.” She tried to match the sincerity of the old man-- she could sense how much he cared about a better life for himself and those he lived with-- the hope was that he could detect her intentions weren’t trying to profit off of that… not entirely anyway. If he even whiffed the faintest hint of condescension, this could become hostile fast. She extended her hand, hoping organic two-headed buzz honey really would work better than Wolfwater salt vinegar. The two went silent for a moment. Lucania could feel the eyes of each member of the crowd on the two, and the old man trying his damndest to crack any facade she might have up. Luckily for her, the mildly isotopic honey worked. “Troy…” Adjusting his glasses, Troy met Lucania’s dainty hand with his own, calloused and aged, he jostled her body with his firm handshake, “Fool’s around here call me ‘Old Troy,’ though, don’t know why, I ain’t a day over 60.” “Perhaps they see you as wise?” Old Troy scoffed a second time, “Wise my ass!” This elicited a mild laugh from the crowd “They jus’ mad I’m still up an’ workin’ harder than them AND they kids!” As laughter began to die down, Lucania notice his gaze had never left her, it was clear that he was watching her closely-- he was nervous, perhaps. Scared of what she could do. Even with the contacts, he could tell she was an Immortal. Was it just that obvious? Or was he extremely perceptive? “Now, I apologize fo’ my behavior-- I ain’t a hood, that wasn’t called fo’-- but still, you need to take your bodyguard--” “Body[i]guards[/i].” Lucania corrected. With something of a shrug, she muttered to Vladimira, “Carmela is always watching… [i]somewhere.[/i]” “Body[i]guards[/i],” He corrected himself and continued without missing a beat, “and go on and get. We can handle this issue ourselves, miss…?” “Lucania.” She answered, the soft smile hadn’t yet left her face, “And I know you can. I’m not here to talk about that, not yet, at least.” She paused, allowing time for Old Troy and most of the crowd to process what she meant, “I want to talk about you.” “Us?” The crowd murmured, Old Troy crossed his arms. “I want to inform you all of something, and then ask something of you.” A what seemed to be hours of silence, a scantily clad woman in the crowd was the first to ask for elaboration. She must have worked in one of Russel’s [i]other[/i] brothels. “The Motum Diversum government…” Lucania began, going into detail about the evacuations for the wealthy and connected that had taken place the night before, of the threat of the massive hollow spider horde approaching from the west, that the Wings had essentially all gone off to fight while evacuations to Laguna, Parkland, and Serenity took place, how the city was completely empty, save for those like them, the poor and working class, whom the city thought it would be too expensive to transport. She was met at first with silence, some even rejoiced at the idea of the city being theirs. Then panic. Lucania prepared her Voice to quell the crowd, and to her surprise, was quickly beat to the punch by Old Troy, who whistled loudly enough to startle even Lucania. He hadn’t ever stopped looking at the short woman, and after the cries of abject horror died down, he spoke directly to her. “So, you come to tell us we all gon’ die and whut, you want us to fight for you? Is that it?” [i]Why won’t you just trust me![/i] [color=333333][right]You can’t lose patience.[/right][/color] “N-no!” Lucania noticed shock in the crowd at her outburst, she thought over what she needed to say as she regained her composure. The soft smile returned, “No, Troy. I want… for those of you, for everyone in the city who is unable to fight, for children, for mothers, for the old and sick, I want for them to receive an opportunity to receive the same safety those already evacuated got.” She approached the growing crowd directly, Old Troy stood off to her side, “I have vehicles in Laguna I can have here in an hour-- it won’t be enough for the remaining population of the city, but it will be a start-- my evacuation should begin well before the hollow breech the walls. I want everyone who remains in the city, and wants to leave, to know I [i]will[/i] get them out alive.” A wave of relief seemed to wash over everyone, father’s smiled, mother’s laughed. Lucania continued. “For everyone unable to travel, and for those who miss the first few rounds of limos, the Bitches Brew has rooms, running water, food and it [i]will[/i] remain safe. I’ve personally seen to it…” Amongst cheers from the crowd, a skeptic spoke out, a young man who looked like Jesus with blonde hair; “And what do you want from us!?” [color=333333][right]Fealty.[/right][/color] “What do I want from you…?” Lucania whispered, repeating the phrase half to herself. The crowd looked on expectantly, even Old Troy, whose features had begun to soften, looked intrigued. “I suppose I want you to fight, those among you willing and able to, at least.” The crowd became silent, “And I won’t pretend like I don’t want you to fight for me, because I do.” Some faces turned dour, “But it isn’t just that. I also want you all… to fight for yourselves.” “What?” Old Troy and Blonde Jesus asked at the same time. “You and I…” She motioned her arm across the crowd, “We all want the exact same thing.” Blonde Jesus’ friend, Brunette Judas piped in from the crowd, “How do you figure that?” Others asked similar questions. Lucania let the chatter die down before speaking. “Freedom.” [color=333333][right]Nice save.[/right][/color] She had won the crowd back. “For years you’ve come to resent the people you make rich. They eat Wolfwater Lobster and sip on Aqueon wine, while you struggle to keep enough bullets in your piece to protect yourselves.” She looked around the crowd, there were children, hand in hand as brother and sister, fathers and sons, mothers holding their babies. The weren’t a tired people, they were resilient. They were workers, who lived in a world that continually tried to keep them from organizing to improve their slots in life. “This world is a harsh one, full of hardships only you’ve faced, I couldn’t even begin to understand what some of you’ve been through just to make it to today alive. You’ve felt trapped in this situation-- because you were! You couldn’t just leave the city and chance it in the Sand Sea! No matter how hard you worked your [i]cazzo[/i] boss would always just promote his nephew, and any chance to rest you got, you were either harassed by a Wing or ignored by one when you needed help.” Lucania smirked, her voice progressively got louder as she continued, “Am I close at all?” A resounding ‘yes’ from the crowd. Lucania’s smile widened as she paced in front of the gathered crowd-- the gangs a few blocks behind her had begun to simmer down, taking notice, “Of course I am. You’re the workers-- the majority-- yet you find yourselves in a position where you make the minority rich, where your taxes keep an oppressive government lording it’s hired thugs over you,” She took a breath, “Where men like [i]Adam Worth[/i] stay in power-- able to take advantage of our daughters, our sisters, our… lovers…” She let the words hang in the air for a moment. The name brought back memories of her public display a few days ago. Recognition of who she was in the crowd glittered through the eyes of the crowd-- as well as emotion. Emotion that she found herself, teary eyed, feeling an absolute empathy with the crowd. She wiped the tears and continued with an even fiercer conviction, “My name is Lucania Castalia, first of my name, heiress to the Castalia Family empire and fortune, enemy of Motum Diversum, Immortal bigots, and those ignorant who work the hardest so that we may all prosper since birth!” The crowd hung on her every word, “I want you to fight [i]with[/i] me, and [i]for[/i] yourselves, to defend this city, [i]your[/i] city, and secure it yourselves!” If she didn’t have a built in megaphone with her voice, the crowd would have drowned her out then and there. “[b][i]I want you to secure your own freedom![/i][/b]” The applause may have continued for an hour if Old Troy, who even found himself clapping a little, hadn’t stepped up to speak. “Yeah, that’s all well and good Miss Castalia, but just us ain’t gonna do no good! And what about weapons? We ain't got none worth half cameldonkey’s shit! What we s’pose to do? Punch the spiders?” “Not quite…” Snapping open her purse, Lucania pulled out her own revolver. It was stylized with her own personal crest, as well as that of the Family, it felt cool and heavy in her hand. Heavier than the last time she’d held it. She wondered if guns rusted the longer you don’t use them as she removed a single bullet from the chamber. She held the bullet, betwixt long fingers, for the crowd to see. “For years you’ve been told that this is power...” She tossed the engraved golden bullet into the crowd, it landed in the middle of a group of extremely exited Indian children, their mothers, like the rest of the crowd, looked on with interest. “Today, I’m telling you that it isn’t-- no more so than a Serenity workman’s hammer or a Gaen doctor’s syringe-- it’s a tool. A tool for killing men, a tool for commerce, a tool enabling you to do the things you want. It’s a useful tool, but a tool, nonetheless. Do you want to know where real power comes from? Things that are denied you because the powers that be fear them in your hands…?” She allowed the crowd to hang on her every… last… word… “Real power…” She spoke softly as she knelt down, and poked the forehead of a small Hispanic girl with hair longer than her body, standing at the very front of the crowd. She giggled as Lucania stood back up. “Real power, is thought… Real power is knowledge of history… it’s…” She outstretched her arms, as if to say to the crowd ‘[i]All of you.[/i]’ “Real power is organization.” Lucania turned to Old Troy, “You don’t have enough people? Well then [i]organize![/i] I’ll broadcast to all the radios in the city once I finish calling for backup and evacuation, but you all need to speak to your neighbors, look for guns left behind in the wealthy districts and get everyone left behind here for the cause of fighting for Russel. I know there are more Immortals in the slums, the more you get fighting, the better chance we have, and the fewer guns we need.” Old Troy thought for a moment, “You’re…” He sighed, “You’re right.” He removed his glasses and simply stared Lucania down for a moment, their equal height made the experience all the more surreal, “I still don’t know quite what to make of yew, Miss Castalia…” He shook his head, “But if this work, it might be the first time in my life I ever did somethin’ worth anythin’...” Attempting to hide her blush, Lucania responded, “First I want you to focus on that…” Lucania pointed toward the gangs, whose argument had now come to a complete standstill as they stood looking at the crowd Lucania had rallied, “We need the gangs of the city fighting for the [i]city[/i]-- not each other. Those are your brothers, sons and friends, approach them all at once and they’re bound to listen to you.” “Yep.” Old Troy took his eyes off Lucania for a moment to gaze at the gangs, at one boy in particular, who seemed horrified to be noticed. Turning back to her, he sighed and looked down, “Gon’ be a lot of graves to dig…” [color=333333][right]Oh, certainly.[/right][/color] [i]I know[/i] Without thinking, Lucania looked at the crowd, their homes, the awnings of businesses they huddled under, their excited faces, they seemed ready to fight, ready to... She’d won them over. “Death walks hand in hand with struggle.” She half-muttered in response. Old Troy’s eyes widened at the statement, “I actually… I recognize that.” He smirked, “Like an ole family motto… Where’d you hear it?” “Stokely Carmichael.” For a moment, a glimmer of vulnerability could be seen across Old Troy’s wrinkling brown features, “My fear was never death, but death without meaning.” The vulnerability was replaced with an almost insane determination. He closed his fist and raised it high, “Salaam alaikum.” Lucania returned the gesture, “Alaikum salaam.” “Let’s go, y’all.” Old Troy nodded to Lucania, and with the crowd behind him, they accosted the gangs. Where there had once been two gangs arguing over territory, there were now squabbling families, friends, neighbors… all trying to impart that same idea. The slums were all that remained of Russel City, and they needed to fight for that, for themselves and their families, friends, and neighbors, not each other. Lucania couldn’t help but feel rather proud of herself as she looked on at the people starting to organize into teams, presumably to recruit more citizens and look for weaponry. It was minor, but at their fastest Moscow Echo and Wintergold would take a few hours here. She’d bought Russel City a fighting chance! Wouldn’t Rosemary be so proud. A young girl-- the same Latin Rapunzel she’d poked before now tugged on her dress. Lucania smiled at the girl. She couldn’t help but feel happy. “Miss Lucania…?” “Lucia’s fine.” Lucania knelt to the girls level, “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” “Umm…” The girl twirled her long black hair between her fingers, adorably, “I was wondering when you said you had a Russian, I was confused and I wanted to know what is a Russian?” “What is a Russian…?” Lucania glanced to the stoic Vladimira, at the ready this entire time, then back to the girl, “Does your mama ever drink stuff you aren’t allowed to drink?” The little girl gave an insanely cute hyperbolic nod. “Is it ever clear?” The little girl thought for a second and gave another nod. “Is it in a long bottle?” The little girl tilted her head and thought kawaii thoughts in a sugoi manner, before responding “Sometimes.” Lucania nodded sagely, “And does it make her face go like…” Lucania scrunched up her face, prompting the most innocent, precious, adorable, and harmonic laugh ever vocalized out of the long haired, peanut colored young girl. “Well…” Lucania continued as the beautiful angel laughs subsided, “That’s called vodka!” “Vodka…?” The girl said sweetly. Lucania nodded, “Mhmm! And Russians are like vodka, but in people form!” “Wow… That sounds… umm… harsh, Miss Lucia.” This lovely little girl was crazily endearing. Lucania almost wanted one. “Oh, they can be…” Lucania glared at Vladimira, “They might make you stumble and almost ruin your favorite dress…like vodka...” She looked back at the girl, christ she was moe, “But like vodka, a whole bunch of them are fun at a party! I’m actually about to call a bunch here now, at the top of that radio tower.” “Oh wow!” The girl gasped in a way that made Lucania’s heart skip a beat, “So it’ll be like a giant party here!” “Yep-- although it’ll be a grown-up party. But don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it afterwards!” “Aww really!” Jumping, the girl wrapped her arms around Lucania’s neck in hug, “Thanks big sis! You’re the best!” Lucania briefly wondered how it was possible for a human to be this cute. As she skipped away, back towards the crowd, she yelled back to Lucania “I can’t say the places name, because my Mama says it’s bad, but I’ll be in the Brew place with her while my Papa helps with the party planning!” Lucania broke out of her statuesque state of endearment to throw back a response, “What should I call you?” “Aiai!” The girl laughed as she skipped off, in a carefree bliss of the world around her, “I’ll see you soon big sis!” Lucania envied her. And now had a whole other reason to bear the mantle as the new autocrat of Russel City, in the name of the Castalias. She had to protect Aiai. [right][color=333333]Do it for her[/color][/right] [i]You have to do it for her.[/i] Confident that nobody else was in earshot, Vladimira walked over to Lucania. “That went from serious and inspiring to ‘I have to hold in the squee’ levels of adorable in about… half a second.” She watched Aiai skipping away, “Though I can do a bit more than ruin dresses, I like to think.” “The dress is ruined regardless…” Lamenting, Lucania brushed all the mud off of her knees as she stood. “It was well worth it though, and you’re right, that was easily one of the most adorable encounters I’ve ever had in my life…” She sighed, “Perhaps next time you can tell her how you two share dress ruining as a hobby? You’ll hit it off, I’m sure.” She took a step forward. They needed to make for the radio tower-- “[i][b]BLOoOoOooODY SLEeeEeEVES!![/b][/i]” A voice coming from an alleyway screeched her name-- a dry squawk bouncing off the dark tin towers of the slums. It was strained, like whomever the voice belonged to had been screaming, or perhaps crying that name, [i]her alias[/i], for hours. “Yes?” Lucania didn’t approach the source of the warped voice, but looked to its source, a place where shadows only just concealed a man. From what she could tell, he was skinny and pale, an angry junkie perhaps? “How can I help you?” “[i][b]Is THAT what you call the ‘second chance’ you give people? That everyone gets?[/i][/b]” He was laughing as he spoke. There was something deeply off about the man’s cackle, there was something… not quite [i]fear[/i] inducing… but more… [i]unsettling.[/i] Lucania’s stomach churned, her heart felt as though it might stop, and she was unsure as to why. “[i][b]You bitch! I bet they don’t even know what you would have done to them if they’d have disagreed! They’re all lucky little spoiled brat got what she wanted…[/b][/i]” Squinting didn’t reveal anything new about the man, “I don’t…” After an apprehensive glance toward Vladimira, Lucania risked a step forward, “I’m sorry?” “[i][b]You… you don’t even remember me do you!?[/i][/b]” The man laughed, “[i][b]You… y-how? How do you just mutilate people and not even remember it? You murder four people like it was nothing! You just…[/b][/i]” He laughed again, hysterically, he stopped his pacing and almost fell out of his spot in the shadows. He moved a little closer as he regained his composure, “[i][b]Your family must hate you… shit! Almost as much as I do![/i][/b]”[color=333333][right]What?[/right][/color][i]What?[/i] “[i][b]I don’t even care that haven’t even figured out who I am yet, you thick motherfucker! I’m just glad I get to be the one to see you die![/i][/b]” He took another step forward, revealing an eyepatch and an expensive looking handcannon.[color=333333][right]Lucania,[/right][/color][i]Wait what was--[/i][color=333333][right]you need to get out of here.[/right][/color]“[i][b]You won’t get a second chance, Bloody Sleeves! This one’s for my boys![/b][/i]”[color=333333][right]Run![/right][/color][i]--going on?[/i][color=333333][right]Yell for your friend![/right][/color]He raised his gun. Time began to slow.[color=333333][right]Do [i]something![/i][/right][/color][i]This is bad, you need to get out of here…[/i][color=333333][right]Don’t just stand there[/right][/color]“[i][b]By order of Paolo Rivera, you dumb broad![/b][/i]”[color=333333][right]and die!![/right][/color][i]Turn. Run. Now.[/i][color=333333][right]Please!!![/right][/color][i][b]BANG. BANG[/i][/b][color=333333][right]Please don’t die![/right][/color] Endorphins pumped through her body at breakneck speed, and as the pain of the lead hit her, for Lucania, time stopped. She knew she had been shot, she recognized exactly who it was that shot her, why he did it, and who gave him the means to carry out the assassination. The man was as good as dead. Vladimira was already in the process of retaliation. That was good. She was pleased that the one-eyed man who had shot her would be dead soon. Her mind ran possibilities as she fell backward, consciousness slowly drifting away. She needed medical attention, she could feel it, but she’d be fine. She’d only been shot. Well, actually she’d been grazed. Once. The pain pulsed through body still. It was red hot. Hotter than the sand, hotter than sun. It felt like a metallic fire, spreading from one spot across her body like a cancer made of molten lava. Lucania wanted to cry and scream and go to sleep forever, but ti me was mov ing too slo w. [b][i]BANG. BANG.[/i][/b][color=333333][right]Fuck![/right][/color][i]F uck.[/i] He got off two more sh ots. One actu ally hit this ti me ! Base d on the pain s he was fe eling, it wa s near the sho ulder… She co uld n’t eve n… [i]t H i N K[/i] Th ere wa s just t hat na ggin g [color=333333]hidden[/color] vo i ce, be g ging h er t o be oka y. Ti me ret urne d to no romal //L u cia fal l bo ckv va rds, , to we re dd th [b][i]Time slowed down.[/b][/i] Vladimira saw the one eyed man pull his gun. She’d started reaching for her own pistols the moment he showed up, but it couldn’t have been more than a second or two until he’d drawn his gun and fired twice. She could swear she saw bullet trails in the air as they slammed into Lucania. It was like some old world action movie, she watched wide eyed as her employer fell straight to the ground. It had happened so fast but so slow, too fast for her to react, too slow for her not to watch in agonizing detail. [b][i]Time sped up.[/b][/i] He was running. Running like a sniveling coward. She glanced at Lucania laying motionless on the ground. A shoulder wound. And one that’d grazed her eye. Not immediately lethal, but could be if she didn’t act fast enough. Shit. Manic laughter pulled her attention up. The stranger with the eyepatch was laughing as he ran- she’d have to fix that. “Don’t move.” She grumbled to the still form of Lucania as she lunged into motion after the fleeing shooter. [i]Gunshot wounds peppering his legs, a gentle river of blood flowing into the san-[/i] She shook her head to clear it, pumping her legs into the sand even harder as she raced after him. He wasn’t going to get off that easily. Bringing one of her guns up, taking aim and firing two shots, firing another two shots. All four missed. [i]Shit.[/i] She brought the other gun up, firing it and the pistol she’d already shot until their magazines were empty. [b]Bang! Bangbangbangbangbangbang bang bang![/b] Nothing connected. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Throwing the guns to the side she flexed her hands and a cloud of scrap metal flew out of the various pouches on her belt, forming into wickedly pointed spikes. “JUST SLOW DOWN A BIT!” She screamed at him as she launched the mass of spikes in his direction. He stumbled and went sprawling, at least three of the spikes sticking out of his legs and one appeared to have lodged itself in his buttocks. Despite the circumstances she had to resist the temptation to giggle at the sight, instead dragging the man to his feet and throwing him against a wall. He’d dropped his gun as he fell, and she bent down to pick it up. He wouldn’t be needing it anymore, after all. Rounding on the shooter, she grabbed him by the neck and began dragging him back to where Lucania’s hopefully still breathing body lay, ignoring her pistols as she did so. She could pick them up later. Thankfully, Lucania was alive. “Right, don’t move even think about moving.” She hissed at the man as she threw him against another wall, then had second thoughts. “Actually, just in case…” She muttered, making a generic gesture with her hand as two of the recollected spikes buried themselves in his hands, anchoring him to the wall. She would deal with him momentarily. Turning back to Lucania’s body she looked about uncertainly. How the hell was she supposed to treat a bullet wound? Press on it? Hell if she knew, but it was the best idea she had of things. She rummaged in her rucksack, pulling out what could possibly pass for a first aid kit, but was in reality a bandage and a small bottle of isopropyl alcohol that she was pretty sure could be used to sterilize it, and any impromptu bandages. Glancing over her shoulder to assure her that the mysterious shooter hadn’t escaped, she hastily poured a small amount of the alcohol over the bandage to… make it clean, she guessed. Arclight didn’t have first aid lessons. She wrapped the bandage tightly around Lucania’s shoulder, pressing on it as hard as she felt was safe to try and stop the bleeding. Hopefully that’d be enough to keep it under control for now. Lucania’s eye… she didn’t have anything for that. A figure dropped from the roof of one of the slums, makeshift towers, landing muffled next to next to Vladimira. The woman, always without words, always without expression-- held in her eyes grief and contempt twofold. She was on the verge of tears and murder, and apparently, she didn’t care that her red, angry red bloodshot eyes, betrayed that. A second’s distraction may have cost Lucania her life… She knew what she needed to do, but she needed satisfaction, even a moment’s so, before anything. Carmela brushed past Vladimira without so much as acknowledging her presence. In reality she was pleased the man had been unable to evade her, but right now, all her focus was on that pathetic, crying… laughing… one-eyed man. She marched over to where he was propped against the wall, and promptly ended any semblance of laughter by shooting the man in the groin. Then, with a metal spike of her own, she removed the man’s eyepatch and pressed the rusted screwdriver into a scabbed over razor wound, as far as she dared without damaging his brain to the point he couldn’t speak. Where before laughs had turning into pained cries, she was met now with the screams of the damned. Standing, she cracked a smirk and walked back to her employer and Vladimira, giving the woman a nod. “‘Er uncle’s been shot more than a few times,” She spoke low in her Briton accent, “I’ll get ‘er to ‘im.” Gently, like a mother with a sleeping child, she knelt down and picked up Lucania’s unconscious form, “We can rendezvous at the pub after you’ve finished,” Contempt filled her voice as she addressed the screaming man a few feet away from them, “with [i]tha.[/i]” Beginning to walk, employer and friend in her arms, she gave Vladimira one last, sincere look, “Make ‘im suffer.” With that, she was off, Lucania in tow. Vladimira was left alone in the alley with the man. Why the hell would someone just randomly show up and shoot at her? What’d she done to that man to apparently drive him insane? Time to find out. Rounding on the man staked to the wall of some building, a few shards of metal coalesced in her hand to form a long, thin, knife like blade. Amidst cries of pain, the man half-spat and half-laughed as he was approached by the woman. “Aha…” He was beginning to lose his voice, it wavered weakly from his continued screaming and blood loss, “What’cha gonna do with that? Cut me some more? Torture some answers out of me?” She continued walking towards him until she stood right over him, not saying a word she knelt down and looked him in the eye, grabbing his hand and raising the knife. “Nice trigger finger you’ve got there. That’ll be the first to go, hope you enjoyed your time with it.” Pressing the knife deliberately into the joint where his finger met his hand, she began cutting, ignoring his reaction until she’d severed all the connecting flesh. “You ready? You might feel a slight tug.” She gripped his finger, pulling gently on it, then harder, then harder, and harder and harder and harder until she gave it a sudden yank and ripped the digit off, wrapping it in a rag and pocketing it. “Never know what a piece of scum’s trigger finger is good for, right?” She smiled cheerfully as she picked up her knife, jamming it through his already punctured hand and into the wall. “Now,” she began, her voice dropping to the point where it was more of a bestial growl than a human voice, “there are four ways we can go about this. One is, you tell me what I want to know and I make your death quick, maybe just shoot you, not too painful. Second option, I drag this out a little until you tell me what I want to know, maybe a few splinters under your fingernails, some niiiiice long slices in various parts, y’know, not much fun. Third option, I [i]really[/i] have some fun until you tell me- oh just imagine what I could do; so many fun places to play with, wonder how it’d feel if I pulled out your other eye, let you sit there in blind agony as I decide what to do next, hmm? And last, and what I, and probably you, would prefer the least, I resign myself to the fact that you’re a good little brainless pawn and won’t squeal about your boss’ plans and simply turn you into a lump of ground meat, [i]slowly[/i], ever so slowly, first I’d start with your feet, and skin those, then each little piggy gets to go free, one by one, then there are bones… You get the picture?” She let her words sink in for a minute before leaning in closer, giving him the most sincerely sickeningly saccharine smile she saw suiting the situation. “So?” She sang sweetly, “Still staying silent?” The man looked away, spat out a glob of blood, and between pants of fresh air, muttered under his breath, “I won’t be the last one…” “Aww, how cute.” She cooed, “Let me help you spit a bit more easily. I’m sure the blood doesn’t taste good.” Reaching up, she took hold of his bottom two incisors and pinched them, knife at his groin so he didn’t try anything, and slowly pulled the two teeth from his jaw. “Wrong. Answer. Snark isn’t endearing, remember that. Now, let’s try again, shall we? Why are you here? Why did you shoot Lucania? Who are you? And who’s your boss?” The man couldn’t even yell anymore, he was rapidly losing blood. He let out a pained groan, and spat out another glob of blood, “God [b]damnit! Fuck! Shit![/b]” His head hung limply as he tried to recollect himself from all the… [i]pain[/i]. “I’m too fuckin’ high for you, cunt! You can’t bring me down worth a [i]God[/i]damn!” He spat, putting emphasis on the word ‘God,’ “It’s not like I’ll get out of this alive anyway! What do I care if you get off a’ being a fucking dom?” “You care,” she hummed as she traced a thin, shallow line down his face with the knife, starting at the tear duct, “because the sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner the pain stops. Otherwise I [i]will[/i] make this last hours. I grew up around industrial accidents, I know how to keep someone awake through trauma. Now, let’s start again. Why. Are. You. Here?” She punctuated each word by digging the knife a little deeper into his skin, almost cutting a hole in his cheek. Well, maybe if she’d cut a bit deeper he’d have another hole for the blood to drain from. “This only lasts as long as you want it to. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll give you a quick death, drag it out more and, well, I’ve always wondered what someone does if you jam septic spikes up their fingernails, among many other things. But of course, if you tell me why you’re here or why you decided to shoot her, that doesn’t have to happen.” “[i][b]FUUUUUUUUUUCCKKKK[/i][/b].” The man’s discordant howls became slurred as the blood filled his mouth. Before, his intensity was comparable to Hell itself, now, he was more like a kicked puppy. Broken, and broken again. He was struggling to breath, his own blood was filling his lungs, and his lower half felt cold. “I-I was hired by.. by… some guy… Paolo… I don’t know who the fuck he was! I just know he promised more money than… than I’d ever see in 9 fuckin’ lives… and I know your fucking cunt boss had it comin’.” “Good boy.” Vladimira muttered simply, giving him a rap to the temple and letting him crumple into an unconscious heap. She leaned down to check his breathing and feel his pulse- it was there, but weak, she’d have to act fast if she wanted to get any more information out of him later- [i]then[/i] she could kill him. She didn’t have much more gauze, but she figured what she did have would be enough to staunch the bleeding in his legs. Wrapping that tightly around the few wounds in his legs, she turned back to the missing finger and other cuts. A bit of rummaging brought another somewhat clean shirt that she had no real attachment to. [i]Guess I’ve got some more bandages.[/i] Her little bottle of rubbing alcohol was starting to run low, but she added a bit to the shirt to kill whatever was undoubtedly growing on it, then ripped the garment into strips, tying a crude tourniquet around the knuckle of the finger she’d removed, and strapping more to his cheek with some extra to absorb the blood. His teeth she couldn’t do much about, but that seemed to be all. She surveyed her handiwork, muttering to herself, “Now to drag this… thing, back I guess. Might have to keep that coat though.”