T O B I A S E V A N S:

---

The storm raged on as Tobias soared higher into the night. And though he couldn't feel it physically, his projected consciousness could easily make out the gloomy coldness that had clung to Crescent City of late. He stopped climbing at just over the mile mark, taking a moment to scan the city below. It felt angry. Between the buffeting storm, the blaring sirens and the newly erupted fires to the north, Tobias could sense the burgeoning despondency that was beginning to grip the metropolitan triad. A faint *knock knock* tugged at his attention from below. Tobias rolled his eyes with a sigh, "Not even five minutes?" He quizzed to no one in particular. The knocking sound came again but this time much louder and far more intrusively, sharp stabs of pain began to prickle behind his eyes. Begrudgingly, the connection to his Illusion was severed and Tobias gasped slightly as the rush of returning to his physical body overwhelmed him. He lurched forward in his high-backed leather chair, having been fully reclined earlier with his feet perched upon his desk. It took a moment to catch his breath.

The knocking came a third time with a renewed urgency that only succeeded in worsening his mood. "Alright! Give me a moment!" He snapped, a figure shifted on the opposite side of the door to his office. The pain behind his eyes had flourished by now, spreading towards his temples. He rubbed a hand over his forehead as a means to stem the coming headache, whilst simultaneously yanking his desk draw open with the other in order to locate the familiar white bottle of pain medicine that he'd increasingly begun to rely on. The rattle of pills against plastic denoted his success, before he quickly thumbed the lid resulting in a soft *pop*. With a series of short jolts, Tobias poured two Advil capsules into his outstretched hand, which he'd removed from his forehead, and then rapidly palmed them into his mouth. He repeated the process again, swallowing the first set of pills, before washing the second lot down with a half-consumed glass of Ron Zacapa XO that he'd swiped from his desk.

Tobias fell back into his chair and breathed, relishing the feeling as the concoction of alcohol and medication swiftly traversed its way to his stomach. 400mg of Ibuprofen was probably overkill for a headache but it was less than the recommended 'safe limit' and it had worked to stave off Mind Burn before now, especially given the level of stress he'd been under in the last twenty-four hours. "Come in." He said to the door.

It opened slowly and a heavy set man, dressed in black, entered tentatively. "Sorry to dis-"

"What have I said about knocking?" Tobias interrupted. He could feel his face settle into his trademark scowl of contempt. The man, one of his assigned bodyguards, cast his eyes toward the old wooden slats that made up the floor.

"Don't knock too-"

"Precisely. So why must you insist on banging my door down like a goddamned gorilla every time you need me for something?" The man stayed silent this time, unable to find the right words to say in order to ease the situation. For all his brawn, he certainly didn't make up for it where his brain was concerned. Tobias maintained his scowl, allowing several awkward seconds to pass before urging his guard to divulge the news. "Well then. What is it now?"

"It's Lucio, boss. He's downstairs."

"Lucio?" Mention of that name had surprised him for sure. Until that moment, Lucio had widely been considered dead at the hands of the Fierro Family during a deal gone south. The same deal that had kept him awake for the last day or so, trying to issue damage control measures. "Bring him up." He ordered.



Moments later the guard returned with a rain-soaked man in tow. Tobias analyzed him. His shirt was missing beneath his long coat. It didn't take long to realize that it'd been used help patch up at least three gunshot wounds. Diluted red streaks trickled down his torso as the cotton packing had become over-saturated with a mixture of blood and rain. Every other item of clothing was also similarly drenched, his dark, shoulder-length hair too, and he could see a tiny puddle forming beneath where Lucio stood as the excess rainwater-mixed-with-blood dripped from his being. He was shaking visibly.

"You look like shit." He remarked.

"I've had better days." Came Lucio's reply.

Tobias looked to his guard. "Get him a change of clothes and a doctor, pronto."

"No need for a quack, boss, I've seen one already."

"Which would explain how you're still alive. At least have your bandages changed then, you're pissing out blood all over my floor." He gave the puddle a disconcerting look, the idea of Lucio's dried blood in his office didn't exactly inspire excitement. The guard didn't wait for a reply and rushed off to call the nearest doctor on the De Vitis payroll. Lucio's beleaguered expression betrayed the tough act, he was quite clearly in pain and needed further medical attention.

"I guess you're right, nobody likes bloodstained floorboards." He staggered forward as he said so, catching himself just before he fell. A moment of exhaustion overcame him. Tobias stood rapidly in response.

"Come. Sit down." He said, beckoning to one of the chairs situated on the opposite side of his desk. As Lucio made his way to the chair, Tobias strode over to his drinks cabinet. He pulled out a tumbler and a bottle of rum, the same brand as earlier. Walking back to his desk, he poured two large drinks and offered one to his injured subordinate. "Drink this, you'll feel better." The pair of them drank. "So this doctor, where did you find them?"

"Lonely Hearts." Lucio answered, shortly after swallowing a large gulp. Tobias hardened his gaze at that.

"They're expensive." He stated.

"I know." Lucio looked down slightly, obviously expecting the backlash of using a doctor outside of the payroll. But he'd needed to lay low until he could get back to the relative safety of De Vitis territory and there was no better way to do that than an independent surgeon, one who's loyalties lie with none of crime organizations in the area.

"And who else, besides this doctor, knows you're alive right now?" He questioned, slowly sitting down in his chair and leaning forward on his desk.

"No one, except a strongman, as far as I know." Lucio replied, looking back up to meet Tobias' inquisitive expression. "After the deal with the Fierro's went south in Lil' Santiago, I wasn't actually that far from Lonely Hearts. One of the strongmen we'd taken for protection, Tito, had also survived and helped me find a doctor. He left immediately after dropping me off and told me to wait for him to see if the coast was clear."

"And where's Tito now?"

"I'm not sure. He never returned, so he's either dead or the Fierro's have him locked up some place and are torturing him for information."

"Information? What information could a strongman possibly have that would be of any interest to the Fierro's?" Tobias furrowed his brow, contemplating his own question and sitting back in to his seat.

"During the deal..." Lucio paused, hesitant to say whatever came next. "The Fierro's kept asking about you." A spark of anger and confusion flashed across Tobias' face as he sat bolt upright. But Lucio began to explain before he could say anything. "Well not you specifically, but the man who'd setup the deal in the first place."

"You mean to say that they didn't believe you were the one who set it up?" Tobias quizzed, relaxing slightly.

"No. Whenever I tried to explain that I'd set it up, they laughed it off as if they knew different. After I'd explained the third time, their leader pulled his piece and just starting blasting everyone." Tobias mulled over what Lucio was saying, his earlier anger having subsided for now. A cool head was required now more than an angry one.

"Sounds like a rat." He said after a few moments of thought.

"Impossi-"

"Improbable? Yes. Possible? Entirely." He stood up, downing his drink and slamming the glass against his desk, marking the varnished finish. Tobias then moved to his coat rack and donned a dark trench coat.

"Where are you going?" Lucio asked, a look of confusion plaguing his face.

"When the doctor is done with you, go get some rest. I'll need you in a few days." He replied, ignoring the question as he made for the door to his office. He wrenched it open forcefully and strode through with purpose. The door closed behind him with a loud *bang*.

---

Ok, she hadn’t counted on this. Why, why hadn’t she counted on this! She’d decided to throw on a mask – well, ski buff – hit the streets and try to become a vigilante, all the good stuff. Why oh why hadn’t she counted on the crooks and criminals, whose nights of doing bad-guy stuff she was going to be disrupting, to fight back?

To be fair, she had pictured it, but only in the vague, nonsensical, reality defining confines that comic-books, tv shows, and movies placed upon the event. She’d visualised herself, standing tall and strong in the face of adversity, handing out haymakers and clotheslines to wayward baddies and villains like they were candy, interrupting her delivery spree of two-fisted justice only to interject the odd one-liner, before finally concluding the confrontation with a totally sweet roundhouse kick, and ending on some sort of GI Joe-style pithy life lesson, something along the lines of ; “crime doesn’t pay vagabonds, and your bill just came due,” before heading home to gorge herself on victory ice-cream.

That was how she’d picture it. Never, not in her wildest imaginings, had she even come close to the reality. Not once had she considered just how pants-wettingly terrifying it was to have a group of angry looking gang members charging full pelt at you, faces screwed up in rage, animal grunts and truly colourful threats emanating from their teeth-clenched snarls. Never had she wondered if, when faced with her foes, would her muscles lock up with terror and her limbs refuse to obey any command she set them, whether that order was to run or fight. She’d heard that old adage about the deer caught in the headlights, she’d just never thought she was one.

I’m going to die here. She realised with grim certainty. She waited for her life to flash before her eyes, frozen as she was, but instead the only image that came to her mind was her parents, tears streaming down their faces upon hearing the news that their daughter had been found beaten to death in Los Paradiso, leaning on one another for support while a grey faced Colton looked on, his own grief etched upon his features as he realised he was going to have to tell his eleven year old son that his half-sister was dead. Lisa realised with a start that she’d never seen her daddy cry in real life.

_{I’m so sorry that I let you all down.}

The first blow struck her like a hammer, made all the more powerful due to the fact that Lisa had never really been hit in her entire life. She’d been clenching her eyes shut without realising it, and now they blew open in shock as she rocked backwards. Surprisingly she stayed upright, though unfortunately that meant she was still in perfect position for the second punch, thrown by the brute with the bad artwork, to slam straight into her chest.

This time she was thrown from her feet, hitting the cold, wet, unforgiving tarmac with bone-shuddering force. Lisa wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the punches or the fall. The kicks that came afterwards certainly ranked high on the pain-scale, each one thundering into her unprotected sides and face, soft flesh giving way to hardened leather and steel toe caps. Hot, salty, iron liquid filled her mouth. Blood, she realised. The realisation made her jolt, and the jolt made her swallow, and the swallow made her choke. She was going to choke to death on her own blood, miles away from anyone who loved her, or even knew her. She’d come to downtown Los Paradiso to choke to death on her own blood in a dirty puddle.

_{I’m so sorry.}

She heard laughter, realised it was directed at her. They were laughing as they killed her. These people were monsters. What she wouldn’t have given to have taken them down, to show them that it’s not right to hurt people like this. But, no. This wasn’t the comic books. The good guy doesn’t win just because they were the good guy, and the bad guy didn’t always get what was coming to them. This was real life, and she was dying.

Or … was she? Those kicks weren’t coming as hard anymore, and the pain in her chest and face, while still making her wish she’d stayed in bed that morning, was becoming far more manageable. The sharp edges of burning agony had become a duller ache of continued suffering. Where they taking it easier on her?

Duh, Lisa you idiot. Your Hype gene. The one thing that convinced you that you could handle this vigilante biz. That must have been the answer. They weren’t going easy, she was getting tougher. She was still in a whole world of hurt, and she was still in a pretty dangerous position, but maybe, just maybe, fate had been kind enough to give her a way out. Now she just had to make best use of it.

Sorrynotsorry.

The tattooed gorilla’s boot thudded into Lisa’s side once more, though with considerably less vehemence than it had once held. Seemed the brute was getting tired of brutalising young women – even if they were masked, and he couldn’t really tell how young they were – and was struggling to put the same gusto into the beating. It was a shame really, because he’d regret that laxness when, quick as a viper, Lisa rolled onto her side and grabbed his booted foot in both hands.

“HuhhooOOOOOAAAAHHHHH!” The peculiar sound – so peculiar that it may have been the first time that a human mouth made it – was due to Lisa pulling his calf towards her, then sinking her teeth into the meat as hard as she could. Usually it wouldn’t have done much, thanks to the light mesh of her mask and the heavy denim of his jeans, but thanks to her added strength she was chomping down with the bite poundage of an angry Rottweiler. Fabric gave way as Lisa tasted blood in her mouth for the second time that night, though this time it wasn’t hers. The thought that someone else was in her mouth nearly made her gag, though she fought through the urge to vomit and clamped down even harder. The man continued to howl, though with his compromised position there was little he could do to free himself. He was the fox, and she was the bear trap, only it was Lisa who was chewing his leg off to survive.

The other gangers, Crew and Thirds alone, could hardly believe what they were seeing. This girl had been half dead a minute ago. Where did this fight come from? Who the Hell was she? Two of them leapt around to try and haul their comrade away from Lisa’s pearly whites, while another tried to grip her by the forehead and chin to pry her mouth apart. They made little traction, Lisa doing her best impression of a bad-tempered dog with a bone, until the fourth criminal, the skinny woman with the crew cut, leaned over and started to power body blows into Lisa’s midriff. The punches were hardly as troublesome as they had been – closer to lovetaps than knockouts now – but Lisa let go regardless. She figured they had gotten the message.

I’m not so easy to kill after all. I’m not going to be drowning tonight, not with a say in the matter.

And sure enough, as soon as they’d managed to release their fat-friend from her rabid embrace, her five tormentors all scurried back, thinking they needed a few feet of safe space from the girl they had been until so recently curb stomping into street pizza. To say they were shocked to see her clamber slowly, ever so slowly, back to her feet, picking herself off the wet concrete like Rocky picking himself back off the mat after ten rounds in the ring with Apollo Creed, was an understatement. Yes, they lived in an age of wonders and Hyperhumans.

They’d just never expected to see one.

Lisa raised her face towards the gang-members, her mask hanging in haphazard strips from where her teeth had torn the fabric, though there was still enough left in place to conceal her identity. Her lips hitched back from her clenched teeth, forming a red-stained mockery of a smile, horrific and disgusting in equal measure. She looked like the cover art of a bad metal band, thought was now certainly capable of striking the ‘terror-into-the-hearts-of-criminals’ that she’d intended when she’d first struck upon the idea of being IllAdvised MKII.

She lifted her right hand in front of her face, and clenched it quizzically, as if she’d never seen her own fist before. After a few moments of inspection her grin grew to even wider proportions.

“Yeah. This’ll work.”

“What the fuck did she say?” Stuttered the crew-cut woman.

Fury looked up at the huddled crew, who suddenly did their level best impressions of statues, freezing to the spot in hopes that she wouldn’t see them, huddling in to each other, men and women that they had been trying to kill before Lisa had arrived upon the scene, perhaps thinking there was safety in numbers, perhaps hoping that she wouldn't strike if they circled their wagons.

Fury laughed, a dry, almost grating sound. It was a laugh she had never laughed before, something cold and harsh, a sound alien in Lisa's throat, and yet sounding so right bubbling from Fury's burst, bloody lips. The laugh was directed at them.

Then she charged.

---

Priya eyed the man as he approached. Her first glance saw he was armed with a gun and some sort of staff. She wasn't about to question it, knowing some of the people that ran around in this city. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep my gun. You did say you were monitoring my calls. Doesn't exactly spark trust." For all she knew, this was a trap and she was about to be shot in the head. However, something told her the man in front of her could be trusted. At least, in this instance.

As Duos spoke about his plan, she had to admit he thought a lot through. He also knew a lot about the situation. "If you don't mind me asking, just how do you know about what's going on in there? I don't know much and I have the entire police department at my back. The plan seems solid, don't get me wrong, though I also question having a large quantity of armed personnel chasing after you as the safest of options, I will trust you know how to handle yourself."

"Be that as it may, we'll need an understanding. No killing. No breaking the law. I am first and foremost an officer of the law. If anything goes wrong during this, the backlash will be on me. And yes, even if you come up front to take the blame I will not allow that as it happened under my watch. So if we are going to do this, it needs to be by the book." She put her gun away, a sign of trust, and stepped forward and reached her hand out for a handshake "You already know my name, but I'll say it again. Priya Khurana, Detective. Nice to meet you and I look forward to working with you."

Tariq nodded at her, accepting the dialogue. It was reasonable that she would be hesitant to trust them fully, they had just tapped into her calls after all. They let her speak and mulled over her words after the second introduction, the Human telling the Alien how to respond. They couldn't mess things up now, they had just gotten her on their side. "I gathered my information just like I gathered from your call. Let's just say I have a complex call-tapping machine and leave it at that, wealth and resources needed for such a thing is besides the point. I will make sure not to harm any of the criminals to make sure that your... reputation stays clean. As I have stated before, I am Duos. I will be giving you a communications bead so that you will be able talk to me during this operation. We must take leave, circle around this block and go to the back of the hotel, wait before moving in. Explosions are your signals." They reminded her a second time and with a passing of the bead, they nodded and entered back into their car.

With a tap on their headset, Tariq connected to the encrypted communications channel and spoke clearly into Priya's ear. "I will leave now, Detective. Delay your leaving for a time then move on to your location. Godspeed." They drove out, turning the car to face the direction of the hotel. They took a deep breath, eyeing the patrol car that was doing rounds around the next block and slammed the accelerator and the brake. With a high screeching of tires, trying to gather as much attention as they could, they took their foot off the brakes and sped their way out. Passing the first patrol car that was parked to the side of the road, they could hear shouting and the familiar arming of guns. Assault rifles, shotguns and pistols, illegal weapons that had no place in the hands of a police officer. They barrelled through the streets, one fake officer parking his car on the road, setting a road block in front of him.

The Human grimaced. This was a tough car, reinforced with armoured plating and made to take a beating. Didn't mean he had to like this. Despite these grievances, Duos drove forward. Three officers came out of the road blocking car, aiming their rifles at them, shouting louder and louder as they came closer and closer. The pretenders finally fired, shooting at the windshield of the car, letting loose bursts of bullets at them. The large rounds cracked the bulletproof glass but never penetrated it and not enough to fully ruin their vision. As they came close to the point of impact, the three fakes dived out of the way, just in time as the police was swatted away to the side by the Ford. They winced as the sound of crashing and grinding metal almost broke their sensitive hearing but they continued to plow through, not letting up until the stolen police car was out of their way.

As they drove through the road, Tariq opened comms. "First roadblock clear Detective. Anticipating further hostile encounters soon, no deaths." One laid groaning at the pavement after diving to the wrong side, a piece of shrapnel in their foot but nothing the man could recover from. They hoped that the upcoming hostiles weren't setting traps, that this was to be an easy job with little danger to a Celestial such as themselves. But they also knew that such naivety could be their downfall.

Plot: Dark Necessities || Location: Kilbride, Super E Mart, Night

---

Dim lights and the steady drum of rain against the roof of the building caused Vernon to yawn. Softly, the cash register booped and beeped as items were scanned at a steady pace. He leaned over the handle of the shopping cart to stretch his back. He stared ahead of himself, his gaze passing through the large paneled windows of the storefront, and into the rain soaked parking lot. Streetlights gave everything an orange glow in the rain, the light taking on a sap-like quality because of all the water.

The cashier, a young brown-skinned woman with dyed red hair and long decorated nails, blurted out suddenly, "You came at a weird time, Mr. Vernon."

Arching a brow, Vernon looked over at her and replied, "Don't I always come at this time?"

Two and a half hours before the store closed on a Saturday, preferably around the end of the month, Vernon always arrived for his monthly restock of food. The Super E Mart tended to empty out around this time or it was populated by people that were half-drunk and hyper-focused on their searching for groceries-- not by the nosy mothers of four with screaming children or the large groups of teenagers acting like stupid little shits. He would call this store, despite it's size, actually something peaceful around this time. Most of the other cashiers were either clocked out or staring at the ceiling lights, waiting for their time to leave, except for...

Vernon squinted and eyed the young woman's nametag-- Ah, Yolanda. She had worked at the store for maybe three years and he still hadn't memorized her name. She was around her twenties or something, he couldn't tell, but her work schedule seemed to always line up with his visits. They had something of a good rapport between them and she liked to keep him updated on local events every so often.

"Naw," Yolanda replied, "I don't mean like that-- I mean, like, they been havin' some weird trouble this whole week. Fires over in, like, that labor district, gangs acting up, and then, like, all this rain. Folks ain't been goin' out much but they come in to stock up when stuff, like, looks like it's goin' down hill."

Glancing over his shoulder, Vernon eyed isle six, the one where the large bottles of water and soda resided, and reminded himself of it's relative emptiness. The steady booping of the cash register occupied the silence between them for a moment as Vernon lapsed into thought. Two piees of information weren't unusual in Yolanda's report but, the first thing she had said?

"Fires?"

"Yeah Mr. Vernon, up by the uh-- you know. That electrical labor place?"

"Power district?"

"Mmhm," Yolanda replied, rotating a box of popcorn around, trying to find the barcode, "Firemen been real busy, same with the hospital folk, they been racin' all over the place I hear. I mean, like, my grandma went to the ER for chest pain but had to wait a real long time, like, last week or so." Vernon shook his head, "How they startin' fires in this kind of weather?"

Yolanda sucked her teeth the took a sarcastic tone as she replied, "I ain't no fire-ologist Mr. Vernon, I scan items in E Mart." Vernon couldn't help but smile. "Plus," continued Yolanda, "I don't even live up that way so, well, like, I don't really care too much, you know?" She shrugged then started typing on her cash register, "Cash, credit, or debit?"

Vernon gave her a weary stare as he pushed his shopping cart forward.

"Yeah I know Mr. Vernon, I just gotta ask every time," Yolanda responded without a glance at him, "Like, you ain't gotta look at me with that face-- two-hundred thirty seven dollars, forty cents is your total." Vernon pulled a weathered leather wallet out of his coat and began counting through his cash.

A young man, face covered in acne, rushed seemingly out of nowhere to pull the cart to the end of the register belt. Vernon heard the boy's heavy sigh as he began bagging the groceries. "Don't waste your breath like that, Julian," Vernon warned the boy, "Else you ain't gonna have enough goin' to ya head."

"Mr. Vernon you know all I need to worry about is catching the football," Julian laughed over the sound of plastic bags, "This just a part of my biography on Wikipedia to make me look normal later!"

"Yeah, well, look normal with all ya brain cells, huh?"

Shaking his head, Vernon moved to assist Julian with bagging the groceries. He was a good kid but he was a right knucklehead when he wanted to be-- reminded Vernon of himself sometimes. Julian waved a hand as if to shoo Vernon away, "What you doing, man? You know you ain't gotta help me out like that slow-ass Amberly chick-- you in a hurry?"

"Yeah-- you know Bongo outside gettin' antsy."

"No she ain't. I saw her on the way in man, she chillin'," Julian chuckled again. Vernon continued to help him with bagging the groceries. After a few minutes all the groceries were bagged, the price paid for in exact change, and Julian was walking Vernon to his truck to help load the groceries up. "Really workin' hard for that tip, mmhm," Vernon told Julian as they loaded the groceries into the covered truck bed.

"You know it-- I gotta buy the new Fifa game, need this extra money!"

Vernon shook his head and handed Julian a ten dollar bill then waved goodbye to Julian. He opened up the truck door and found Bongo relaxing on the passenger's side of the bench seat. She perked up slightly when he sat down and started the engine.

"You ready, girl? I think we got some fires to fight," Vernon briefed the dog, "I hear there's a bit of truble up in the Power District. We close enough, ain't we?" Bongo pushed herself up from laying then pawed at the window behind them. Vernon slid the tiny pane of glass open and Bongo shoved her head out to, staring over the truck bed, panting slightly. "Naw, I ain't get nothin' that's gonna spoil. We got enough milk at the house, meat in the freezer..." He trailed off as he shifted gears and began driving.

Pert of Vernon wondered what exactly he was going to do when he got to the Power District but, another part of him wondered how fires could be a a big problem, enough for Yolanda to take note of, especially in this weather. She was good for telling him big occurrences, ones that he needed to know as a citizen but, never had she made him take note of something like a fire problem or power lines down-- that sort of thing.

This time Vernon knew something weird must have been up. Yolanda's inability to remember details often irritated him but she would at least get the most important gist of it, then relay it to him.

Well in about fifteen minutes or so, Vernon would see what exactly there was to note about these fires, once he arrived. Vernon turned the radio on and eased in to the ride, letting his thoughts focus on the song.
_{Currently playing on the radio:http://tinyurl.com/b8unk4r}

---

Priya let him go. Common sense would have told her that she shouldn't trust some man who said he was tapping her phone and who had told her that an explosion would be her signal, but her instinct told her to trust him. So she did as she was told and made her way to the hotel. On her way she noticed that patrols weren't as common as she first saw. She wondered if they were following Duos as he planned. She heard his report that he got past the first roadblock. It seemed he was doing ok. She parked her car and ran over to the hotel service entrance. There weren't any guards outside, but she couldn't be sure they were inside.

Then she heard the explosion.

She wasn't really expecting one. She figured it would be something that sounded like an explosion, but she knew what she heard. She wanted to run back to her car to see if anyone was hurt, especially Duos, but she also knew that if she stepped away, the girls inside could be in danger, killed or otherwise. She waited a few beats to see if any guards ran out before she crept inside.

She entered the side door and looked around. The hotel was no worse for wear, but she doubted the goal was to bring the hotel down. She drew her gun and made her way through the locker room into the hallway. No guards in sight. Duos did his job well. She made her way into the hotel lobby, when she heard the distant conversation of others.

"-nd he just took it to the roof. Guy had a weird look in his eye."

"Well he and Chip were close, you blame him?"

"No, but a rocket launcher seems overkill, don'tcha think?"

Priya knelt down as she listened. Rocket Launcher? That was the explosion she heard. Then her thoughts raced to Duos. Was he hurt? Killed? She didn't have time to sit and ponder, she had to make it to the penthouse. She had to use this distraction. She snuck through and made her way to the elevators. She pushed the button and heard the ding. She winced.

"What was that?"

One of the men came back and walked towards the elevator. The door opened and no one stepped out. He inspected the inside. "Weird. Is this hotel haunted?"

Before he could turn around, he felt the back end of a gun against his temple and he crumpled to the ground. Priya grabbed his leg and dragged him behind the nearby desk. "What was it Julian?" His friend came by and looked around, "Julian? Did you go take a leak again? I told you to go see the doctor." Priya tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, she smiled and waved, before bringing her palm up on his nose and cold clocking him. Two down...many more to go.

She pushed the button again and got on the elevator. She expected the penthouse to be blocked off with key card access, and she was right. She hit the button for the highest floor she could reach. She would have to make the rest of the treck on foot.

She wanted to make sure Duos was ok, but in case he wasn't, she didn't want to distract him. Thoughts raced as to what she would do when she got to the top floor. She was alone without back-up. Common sense told her it was stupid, but she had to try.

T O B I A S E V A N S:

---

Tobias killed the engine to the car after pulling up on the opposite side of the street to a well-known, and liked, brothel-house; La Petite Mort. He'd driven an inconspicuous vehicle, plagued with minor scratches and dents so as not to draw too much attention. Sure, he could have been chauffeured in the Bentley Continental GT he'd been gifted from Raul, but Tobias wasn't the grandiose type and after what Lucio had said tonight he didn't need to be making any grand entrances. He exited the car, clicking a button on the key-fob to make sure it locked behind him. An orange flash accompanied by the audible *bleep-bloop* of the central locking system being activated drew the attention of the two hulking bouncers that were stationed at the entrance to the brothel. Tobias crossed the street toward them, a slight swagger in his step. It wasn't long before the shorter of the pair recognised him, despite the dark.

"Mr. Tobias, good to see you tonight." He said, attempting to change the pitch of his gruff tone to one that didn't make him sound so aggressive.

"Is she in?" Tobias replied, launching his car keys towards the guard who struggled to catch them.

"Yes, Sir. Go right in." He strode right past the guards, barely acknowledging the larger of the two who's current look of confusion betrayed the information that he was relatively new to the job.

Upon entering the establishment through a set of black leather-cushioned doors, his senses were assaulted by a mixture of heavy bass music, exotic aromas and the intensely red colour scheme of the dimly-lit reception area. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low-light but in that time a young, scantily-clad brunette had already approached him to take his coat. "Good evening, Sir. Will it be business or pleasure?" Tobias took his time examining the receptionist before replying.

"A little bit of both." He said with a wink, as he passed over his coat. She spun on the spot, making sure to accentuate the curves of her mostly-exposed figure, before placing his coat inside the cloakroom.

"If you'd just like to follow me, we already have a private booth setup for special patrons." She said, walking towards another set of doors to the right.

"No need for all that, doll. Just take me to the bar and let her know that I'm waiting." Tobias followed from a distance, appreciating the tantalizing sway of her hips as they entered through the doors.

La Petite Mort, though a well-established brothel-house, still had to remain to be seen abiding by the State's anti-prostitution laws. As such, the first three floors were decked out as an illustrious, upmarket gentleman's club, whilst the remaining floors were operated under the guise of a hotel. It allowed patrons and courtesans to purchase rooms for the night and even offered hotel-like services in order to subvert the law. Quite often a sex worker would rent a room at a discounted price so that they may use it to ply their trade. Customers would then liaise with the club staff to book a room, which didn't include a price for the girl or guy they wished to spend the night with. In order to pay for that a patron would select their desired cohort from a listed menu, much-like they would a meal or drink, and pay with cash. The money would then be placed in a Safe Deposit Box until it was picked up by the worker the next morning. This kept the money made by the hotel and the courtesans separate, allowing for an extra level of security.

As they approached the bar, the brunette motioned for a drink to be made with the utmost priority. The barman had already been notified, by the guard out front no doubt, and placed a single glass of his favourite brown liquor on top of a black serviette. "My thanks." He said. The receptionist then disappeared to find her mistress. Tobias ignored the looks of the other patrons, wondering just who exactly could demand a drink so rapidly from such a distinguished club. Business was the reason for this exceptional treatment. As an under-boss for the De Vitis Syndicate, Tobias handled the majority of the organization's import/export dealings. Whilst this mostly included firearms and narcotics, there were a few times where he'd had to organize the trade of livestock. Most notably, sex-slaves. Though unknown to most patrons of La Petite Mort, the city's most famous brothel-house also operated a sub-level department, dedicated to the illegal import and sexual consumption of kidnapped slaves for those of a more demented nature. It had its' own separate entrance and used a similar monetary system to their above-ground ventures. The majority of the staff weren't even privy to its' existence. Only rumours were whispered about disappearing workers who'd been unable to afford their rooms. Not including the rumored few, Tobias had supplied every trafficked slave for the brothel's basement business. A business that undoubtedly made them more money than all services offered by the hotel proper.

He was distracted by his thoughts by the return of the receptionist. "Madame Sasha will see you now." She stated. Tobias merely downed his drink before following behind the girl. More envious looks chased after him.



"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" Came a female voice from behind a black & silver damask dressing screen as he entered the supposed office of Madame Sasha Raphaelle; Owner of La Petite Mort and one of the most reliable Information Brokers in the City Triad. Tobias waited for the receptionist to leave before speaking.

"Nothing owed this time." He stated. "In fact, I need a favor." Tobias thought he heard her gasp at that.

The woman stepped out from behind her dressing screen in a sultry manner, as if she were performing just for him. She'd prepared herself for this meeting by wearing a curve-loving bustier of sheer black mesh layered with exquisite lace patterns and matching black stockings. Tobias had to steel himself in order to remain focused. Her choice of garments alongside her exceptional beauty and luscious dark locks, complimented by the olive tan of her unblemished skin, made her dangerously attractive. "A favor, you say?" She asked, inquisitively, cocking her head ever so slightly to one side whilst keeping her gaze firmly affixed upon his. She was beginning to weave her usual web of seduction, a normality during every one of their prior meetings. Tonight would be no different.

"I'm not here to play games with you, Sasha." Tobias replied, his short temperament evident in the exaggerated *sigh* he let out afterward.

Sasha moved towards him swiftly, instantly invading his personal space and infecting it with her perfume; Lilac & Gooseberries. "Oww, but I like playing games. Especially when favors are involved." It was from this distance that Tobias could see the flecks in her pretty green eyes. They sat like emeralds, surrounded by a smokey, black haze of eye-shadow, eyeliner and mascara. It was obvious how a lesser man might fall so easily to their charm. Even he himself had once been that lesser man before now, but not tonight.

His hand shot up to grab her exposed throat with venom. The speed of it causing her body to jolt back violently, making her choke at the same time. He held her there, struggling to breath as she tried to fight against his grip. "I said no games." He growled slowly, speaking through gritted teeth. Then he let her go, pushing her away as he did. Sasha stumbled backward, immediately grasping her throat and descending into a coughing fit. Tobias made no effort to help her, a grim look on his face.

A girlish laugh could be heard coming between coughs, as Sasha looked up to him, now on her knees after regaining her composure. "I just love it when you play rough." She laughed, her makeup having streaked down her face from the tears induced by Tobias' choking.

"Your next breath better be about helping me, or next time I'll keep going until you've no breath left." Tobias warned.

"Fine." Sasha replied, standing up gingerly. "What's an impatient asshole like you need anyway?"

"A few days ago, one of my trades with the Fierro's went bad. Lucio barely made it out alive."

"Well there's nothing new." He could tell by her tone that she was more than a little pissed off about his earlier actions.

"He says the Fierro's were asking after me. Not personally, but they knew Lucio wasn't the man in charge." Sasha raised an eyebrow at that. Tobias had worked hard to keep news about himself relatively low-key, in order to protect his status as a Black Lotus member. Normally he worked behind closed doors, operating and managing deals through several proxies to obscure his identity. It was the reason why everyone only ever called him by his first name, he hadn't allowed his last name to be known. Sasha Raphaelle remained the only person in Crescent City, other than Raul De Vitis, to know of his true identity. She'd gained his trust early on, only a few months after him coming here. But before divulging one of his closest secrets, Tobias warned her of the danger it would place her in. The Society would know instantly of her new-found affiliate status. And whilst it would bring in volumes of business for La Petite Mort, she could also just as easily be destroyed if that information were to leak.

"A mole? Working for the Fierro's?" She seemed a little shocked by the realization, Tobias wasn't surprised that she'd figured it out so quickly.

"Didn't seem possible to Lucio either." He replied. "I'll need you to keep an ear to the streets."

"Don't I always?" She questioned. Tobias walked over to her, this time invading her personal space. She almost seemed to flinch as he raised a hand to touch her cheek.

"I'm sorry." He said, staring into her green eyes once more before kissing her on the lips. Sasha had closed her eyes as he did so but as quickly as she had, it was over with Tobias making for the exit.

"What will you do now?" She asked after him.

"Lucio said he made it to a solo-doc immediately after the deal went south. There's only one that close to where the trade was located. I need answers on a strongman named Tito."

"You think he might be the mole?"

"It's too early to tell, but it's a good place-" Tobias' sentence was cut short by the buzzing of his phone.

A text from Lucio: LIVESTOCK ARRIVED. CORROTTO'S RAIDING THE WAREHOUSE. GET HERE ASAP!

"Shit..."

The Human smirked at the shouting that went off on their radio. It seemed as though a superior had caught on to what they were doing and was very angry at his subordinates. The duo were both quite surprised at their current success, either smashing through any hastily made barricades or threatening to run over any shooters on the road. They took fire from the rooftops but they hadn't encountered any heavy ordinance, merely various rifles and assault rifles. As they neared the perimeter of the hotel, they approached another roadblock with two cars blocking both the road and a firing line of pretenders. They grimaced as the leading officer shouted above the sound of the rain "FIRE!" Triggers were pulled and rounds flew at them at high speeds, threatening to break and tear them apart. Adrenaline rushed into them as they faced the incoming storm of bullets, bracing for impact.

Even as bucket loads of lead was fired at the car, it surprisingly held on. The front bumper and the side mirrors had come off but the Mustang drove through the barrage and came into contact with the blockade. The sound of scraping metal filled the air, sharp shrapnel flying everywhere as the gunmen received harsh cuts, bruises and wounds. Nothing fatal yet, the Human noted. They weren't so sure if the Mustang could keep going after another bout of sustained fire. The passenger's side of the windshield had almost completely shattered and threatened to come off of it's hinges. One bullet had come through and embedded itself into the the passenger's seat and much of the paint on the car had been scraped off. There were some holes in the roof from particularly high-powered rifles and thankfully missed them. They had heard the front left tire whining, suspecting that some shrapnel pierced the thick tires. The Ford was beat up but nothing that they couldn't pay to fix, it would take a damn rocket to take this car down.

Just as the Human thought that they were in the clear, they came careening down the street, heading right at the hotel. Several cars and even SWAT vehicles blockaded the road, intending to stop their charge. Tariq slammed their foot down on the accelerator, tires screeching as they accelerated forward. This was the final stretch of road they would need to cross. The plan was easy. Drive in, slam through any barricades that were stopping them, fire off a few explosive shots to attract attention and create anger, then run off hopefully with at least a half dozen pretenders in tow. It was quick, easy and efficient. It was a simple distraction tactic. Designed to cause disarray and confusion amongst the enemy so that they would be too busy to notice the infiltrator, the Detective. 'Brace our body Al, this'll be one hell of a collision.'

With the engines and the rain matched in volume, roaring against each other in a deafening orchestra, the small sound of an RPG firing was almost indiscernible. Duos saw everything fall into place, their brain clicking almost immediately. It was a trap, that was why it was too easy. Everything beforehand was nothing, little heavy weapons and missed shots. Nothing they hadn't dealt with before and wasn't nearly in the same caliber as one of their higher end operations. They had gotten cocky, arrogant in their confidence that these were just a gang. Not an international criminal organisation. Not a radical terrorist cell. Not a separatist militant group. That these no good criminals were just thugs, usually incapable of organising anything except for the most basic of defence. They had tricked them into making them feel that this was going to be an easy job. The rocket was mere seconds from impact, careening through the air directly towards them.

Tariq had a fraction of genuine surprise on their face before they acted. They were a mere fifty meters away from the wall of cars, it was either make a break for it or jump out. As the rocket neared, they knew that there was no way that they would get out of this with a direct hit. They activated the nitrous, accelerating in speed in a faster rate than before. A loud burst of flame came out of the exhaust, bursting them forward in amazing speeds. The rocket hit the road just behind them, sending the car tumbling forward, rolling and rolling towards the car blockade. Tarmac, shrapnel and fire flew in every direction, hitting and straining the armoured bottom of the Mustang. If it weren't for the reinforced steel, the driving compartment would have been crushed in what seemed to be an infinite barrel roll. The Ford finally stopped right in front of the wall of cars, on its side with the armoured bottom facing the pretenders.

Burning in parts, with the front and end of the car turned to scrap, the Ford was a wreck. The nitrous still sputtered every now and then, the slightly bent exhaust letting out a concentrated burst of flame. Tarmac landed next to it, some smaller pieces pelting the roof on the other side. It was the textbook definition of a total wreck but these criminals were smart. They held their guns steady, pointing directly at the Ford as if the thing was going to turn into Tariq at any moment. Three of them parted from the line, slowly heading towards the wreckage. The rain intensified, soaking any clothing left dry, the sound of rain pelting against metal filled their ears. A kick against the car was heard and the metal plating on the bottom of the car fell with a loud CLANG!

Every armed gunman switched sights to the distraction, twitchy trigger fingers ready to fire at the offending object. As this happened, a hand sneakily came out of the side window, now facing the sky, armed with a pistol. Before someone could point the gun out, it fired three times at the ground. The rounds, coloured yellow to signify their purpose, were aimed at the ground behind the wall of cars, a dozen meters out. They created mini explosions upon impact, showering tarmac, already burning shrapnel and pieces of buildings at the pretenders. "Fuck!" One of them shouted, taking a piece of road to the cheek, slicing it open. Several of the gunmen lay unconscious on the ground and some held shrapnel wounds. It was during this chaos that Tariq bolted from the car to an alleyway next to the hotel, quickly hiding in the shadow of a dumpster.

They were ravaged. Bruises covered every inch of their body, their joints and muscles ached against every motion they made and most important of all, the Human was unconscious. When the two receive an incredibly debilitating blow that could knock them unconscious, the conscious that controlled the body has priority. So when their nerves overload and the body tries to force both of them into unconsciousness, the genetic coding directs that force at the subconscious entity. Alien gasped for air, staggering slightly as he willed their body to lean against the wall. They opened communications, whispering into the microphone. "Encountered heavy resistance while nearing the hotel, I'm now on foot. The criminals on the outside of the hotel have dealt with but further reinforcements are sure to be inbound. My support may be... somewhat delayed Detective." Even through the strained dialogue, Priya would be able to tell the grim happiness in the Alien's voice.

Adrenaline pumped through his systems, filling him with strength as exhilarating feelings exploded within. This was how a fight should go, a true warrior's proof of ability. Fighting against insurmountable odds, no need for any plan or thinking. That was the Human's job and as far as he was concerned, the Human would be knocked out for several more minutes. As further criminals exited out of the hotel, finding a scene straight from hell in front of them, Alien planned to prep another explosive shot at the already ruined road, planning to send more shrapnel flying before engaging in melee.

No one ever said that he was the brains of the two.

---

Torrents of heavy rain fell from the sky, drenching the dark streets of Crescent City. It was early enough in the morning that the urban center was devoid of much activity. A month's worth of downpour drove most of the city's citizens indoors. Los Paraíso’s Avenue Rogue was an exception to the rule. Business boomed for the seedier trades that infested Los Paradiso's underbelly. Predictions that the end times were coming upon them stirred up the basest desires in man, dragging out their worst qualities for all to see. It disgusted Claire. She'd seen the worst humanity had to offer in the past month. While neighborhoods were flooding and fear hung over the city like a dark cloud, gangsters were taking advantage of the chaos. They peddled drugs, looted stores and indulged themselves while the police were stretched too thin to do a damn thing about it.

'What am I even doing up here?' The young Venari huntress dejectedly wondered to herself. Water slipped down her weatherproofed outer coat as she crouched atop a roof top overlooking the street below. Claire was freezing cold. The cold wind whipped against her face, prompted Noctis to pull her scarf tighter in a vain attempt to keep somewhat warm. This wasn't the first time she had these kind of thoughts. Claire had been actively searching out Hellion activity for the past year and had only encountered a single Sigbin. The little creature had been criminally easy to beat, once she figured out it was dumber than a box of rocks. There hadn't been any legitimate monster sighting since then. Claire had to wonder if it was all really worth her time. Four years of the most intensive training she had ever undergone for...what? To sit in the rain every night, hoping that something would happen? Claire could be doing something productive. She could be at the gym, or looking for a job, or finishing her college application. But instead of moving her life forward, Miss Quinn thought her time was better served patrolling the city for scary monsters.

'This couldn't be what dad wanted for me.' Claire reasoned. 'His book made it seem like the world was going to fall apart without the Venari. I must be doing something wrong. But what?'

The woman's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an alarm breaking the monotony of the night. She stood up from her crouched position and moved to the other side of the roof, leaning over the edge to hopefully get a look at what was happening. Sure enough, Claire was given a perfect vantage point of the situation unfolding below her. A gang of drunk thugs were throwing rocks through a store's window front. Vandalism quickly turned to theft as they climbed through the windows and started to loot the empty stores. Contempt built up in the huntress's bosom, but she remained where she was. Claire didn't like watching them steal with impunity; however, it wasn't her job to deal with it. She wasn't about to go pick a fight to help protect someone else's stuff. Calling the police was a waste of time. They wouldn't get there until these guys were long gone, and the cops didn't have time to investigate something so trivial when the city was falling to pieces elsewhere. 'Sucks to be them.' Miss Quinn thought with a shrug, preparing to return to her perch.

A loud voice calling out stopped her in her tracks. Gangsters appeared from the various alleyways, converging on the looters. Oddly enough, Claire's contempt boiled even more. The Crew was just there to protect their turf; they didn't give a damn about stopping a crime in progress. Just another reason for Noctis to hate what Crescent City was becoming. 'Maybe all the scum will end up killing each other. Wouldn't that be great?' The huntress casually leaned against the side of the roof, watching the situation devolve to violence. There was a certain morbid entertainment that came with watching scumbags beat the ever loving shit out of each other. The feeling that they deserved it made it...easier to look over the obvious moral quandary that came with enjoying violence. Combat sports had always held a visceral, primal entertainment value. From the gladiator fights of the ancient days to dog fighting and even professional mixed martial arts and boxing, man had a fascination with seeing things bleed. Claire was no different. She hadn't the smallest desire to stop them. 'It's better this way. No innocent people get hurt if these bastards are too busy hurting each other.'

Any sick joy the Venari found in the situation drained when a voice bellowed out that didn't belong. Claire's eyes darted across the battlefield, falling on a short feminine figure clad in...was that a ballistic vest? 'Oh my God.' Claire sighed. 'You have got to be kidding me.' It was one thing to watch a bunch of degenerate punks beating the snot out of one another. It was another thing entirely to watch them wail on some...judging on her size, young woman, who was way in over her head. Unless she was packing a Hype gene, that chick was committing suicide. 'Get out of there you moron. You can't do anything here.' Her internalized begging did nothing to stop the hooded figure from picking up a rock and chucking it at one of the thugs. She scored a direct hit. Congrats! Now you've killed yourself. Nice job.

It only took two hits to knock the girl down. Claire's dismay mounted, but she did not leave the edge of the roof top. 'Not my fight.' She reminded herself. The gangsters had surrounded her, and were starting to kick the wannabe vigilante while she was down. Noctis could practically feel the blows as she stood stark still, watching the beat down unfold in front of her. 'You brought this on yourself.' The Venari could feel her hands shaking. A pressure was building up in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. A powerful feeling of guilt washed over Claire. She was sitting there, watching an innocent person die...and doing nothing about it. Despite the victim's sheer stupidity, it was clear the woman was trying to do the right thing- and Claire's apathy would allow her to die for that. 'What the fuck am I doing?'

Noctis leapt from the roof of the short building before she could give it a second thought. If she remained there and watched this person die, the guilt would devour her whole. She was angry. Furious, even. But not at the lowlifes that hit and kicked and beat the poor girl. No, Claire was angry at herself. She had been willing to sit back and watch that woman and only just brought herself to do something about it. Her feet hit the asphalt with a crashed, knocking up the water that had gathered on the street thanks to the constant rain. Any normal person's legs would've been shattered on impact; Claire was a little wobbly, but her Valkyerian durability made breaking her bones a herculean task. Shadows encroached upon her muscled form, enveloping Noctis in darkness. She vanished from sight in less than a second, turning totally invisible to the human eye. Claire moved around the fight. It was an easy task to stay quiet with all the commotion going on.

Claire circled around to the hooded woman's side. She was...very surprised to find the supposed victim not only back on her feet, but the crowd of gangsters retreating to regroup. 'How the hell are you even alive, much less scaring them off?' She had to shake her confusion off. That was a question that could be asked of the stranger later. For now, there was work to be done. The shadows left Claire's form, allowing the light to once again encompass the huntress. She appeared behind the charging woman out of seemingly thin air. Noctis quickly pulled both of her pistols from the holsters on her hips. She brought them up, aiming them into the crowd of violent scumbags. 'Their lives mean nothing.' Noctis picked her targets, careful to keep a wide berth of the reckless vigilante. She took aim at center mass. Four thunderous bangs erupted, bright flashes lighting up the early morning with each consecutive shot.

Claire had always wondered what it was like to kill a man. She wouldn't have to wonder for much longer.

---

---

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The faint rhythm of the kitchen clock had taken over the auditory sense as silence lingered between the two parties present. One, a man, standing with both of his hands propping up his lean over the basic wooden table. His forehead glistened in the low light with a bit of sweat with the occasional trail running down his dirty face, parting the oil that clung to it. Eric was an honest man, making an honest living. He went to work everyday and had dedicated himself to a usual routine. Tonight, he had an unexpected deviation to his routine.

Fresh off of work, he hardly had time to prepare himself supper before his attention was pulled elsewhere. His sister, Catherine, had just phoned him from her hotel room, her voice strained with panic. The police had apparently put the whole area where she was staying under house arrest. It was about the only detail Eric could gain from his sister's situation before the line had unexpectedly been dropped. She wasn't using her cellphone, which was significant because Eric couldn't call his sister back reliably. Of course he tried, but that only lead him to an even more worrying detail. That end of the line was no longer in service.

It was troubling to think of why the police would put the whole area in lockdown and judging from his sister's reaction, it wasn't good. Being an honest man, Eric had first phoned the police to ask what was going on but was only meant with initial confusion by the department until they eventually told him that they will check into it. Had could they not know about the police enforced lockdown? Something wasn't adding up and Eric's mind drifted to more worrying thoughts. Were the police really out of sync with each other? It was understandable considering the current burden they dealt with but this seemed something far more than just miscommunication.

Concern for his sister took precedence and he knew he had to do something for his sister. However, his own mortality never escaped him, especially after the death of his beloved child. Eric was just an average, albeit stout, man placed in a world with hyperhumans and monsters that would clearly best him nine times out of ten. Proof of this was staring at him with cold, dead eyes from across the table. His house guest, Eli.

--

"This isn't like your normal requests." Eli said, a groggy croak still present in her voice after having just been woken up. "I know but please, my sister is tied up in this mess.", Eric pleaded. "Your sister isn't my concern. You know what is."

Eric nodded grimly, he knew what his house guest was alluding to. "You'll get your chance. I swear it." Eric paused, considering his next words carefully. "Someone over there is being dishonest and if we can't find whoever is causing that mess well... I'm sure there is someone else you can find."

Eli's bored looking face showed a sign of life as her mouth curled into a slight smile. "I suppose it'll be you if no one else is available." Eli sounded to be mostly joking at this comment but if things were ever bad, she always knew where she find her reserve.

Eric didn't laugh at Eli's joke but he didn't need to. "Fine. We can go now." Eli said, taking a glance towards the window. A dark torrent of rain clouds spat water against the house. Day, and by extension the sun, felt like a distant concept here. A reality that Eli could live with.

---

The hotel where Eric's sister was staying was only about a block away. Eli and Eric were tucked in front of a hastily closed storefront's entrance listening to the nearby carnage unfold. "Something is going on.", Eric sounded nervous about the unseen firefight and explosions. He and Eli were approaching the hotel from the rear, avoiding the main entrance as that appeared to be the roughest part of whatever this was. They were here just for Eric's sister, not to be the solution to this matter, and well Eli needed to do her thing, too.

"Come on. We should try continuing to slip in the back door while everyone is focused on the main entrance." Eric had a gut feeling that the police in this area were fishy. They had a brief encounter with a hurried, impatient officer earlier who was trying to get back to the hotel. It almost sounded like he was being threatened with the way the officer had instructed him to return inside and everything else about that conversation seemed off. Unprofessional seemed like the choice term but again, it could have just been due to the stress of this whole thing and yet...

"Eli." Eli heard Eric's mutter barely above the pounding rain. The two of them were hurrying along the sidewalk to get around to the rear of the hotel. Eric's call had stopped her just as they reached the corner. "What?", she spat in angry complaint being delayed further from her meal. Despite her detest for Eric's caution, she did understand knowing that the mortal man could be downed with a simple shot from a gun, a vulnerability that she was spared from.

"Go up to those police men around the corner and act like your mom is in there. If they don't let you in, something is up. I've been getting an odd feeling about this since leaving."

Eli squinted her eyes as she peaked her head around the corner, finally noticing the two men in uniform, appearing to guard a rear entrance to the hotel. It was indeed odd to leave a rear guard that did nothing when all the action was happening at the front entrance. Something or someone in the building was important enough to pull manpower from the front ranks, meaning something wasn't adding up. Why install a regional curfew if you are guarding a VIP? Sure you cleared the streets of possible insurgents but this was flawed logic. With the curfew in place and only guards running around, you might as well cry out to all the world that your VIP is here in this hotel. Plus, insurgents usually don't want unnecessary casualties, meaning it is that easier to target those that they want to target. These were amateurs compared to the trouble she faced in her own world.

Eric's intention was obvious now. By feigning a lost child, he had intended on discovering whether or not these were decent lawmen to assist a citizen in need, a child at that. If their only goal was protection of whatever they were protecting and not helping an apparently lost girl, then something was indeed fishy. Without another word, Eli turned the corner and began her act. She could never make herself cry but a pouty face, wet clothes which consisted of a pink sweater and jeans and the fact she had no shoes made her appear all the more helpless.

As Eli approached, she glanced around noticing with her abnormal perception that people in similar uniforms had taken up positions on the rooftops. Most of their attentions were focused towards the front of the building but she noticed the flicker of a lens from at least one person who had her in their sight. Clearly they weren't going to shoot a girl but Eric, they might.

"I want my mom!" Eli wailed as she approached the two guards. They had clearly been unprepared for this and shot a nervous glance to one another. "Uhh.. Your mom ain't here kid. You should get out of here though. Can't you hear all that over there" The man gestured behind him with a flick of his head. "I just want my mom... please.

Eli's head drooped as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around the man who spoke to her. She could hear the man curse under his breath and whisper to his partner. "Shit. What do we do about this kid?" The other whispered back, "I don't know. Antonio said no one gets in and to keep guard but we can't just leave a kid like this..."

The two man argued for a bit in a hushed argument about what to do until they eventually settled on one of them leading Eli away and dumping her off in the care of a local. Throughout their private discussion, they provided clues to what exactly was going on. Not enough for Eli to get the whole picture but enough for her to understand that these weren't police.

One of the two bent down and put his hand on Eli's shoulder. "Alright we are going to find your mommy. Come on." He stood up and tried to push Eli along but found that she held her ground firmly. "Uhh.. kid. Come on." The man muttered giving Eli a harder push but only moved her slightly. In that slight motion she recoiled back and strongly pushed the man that had pushed her, back only because of Eli's physiology, the man was forced off of his feet and flew back to hit the wall of the hotel.

Stunned, the other man had only just taken his eyes off of his comrade before Eli had leapt to reach the man's face, grabbing it with one hand and then strong arming the man back so that he fell heavily onto the solid ground. His head cracked against the pavement, knocking him out instantly. Eli held onto the man's face and dragged him along as she suddenly leapt, quickly darting to the other man and grabbing his face only to repeat the procedure of cracking his skull against the wall of the hotel.

The whole encounter was over in a few seconds and Eli released both men before turning to walk inside. Previously, Eli had mentioned that if things came something such as this, that Eric should give Eli her space to work and hide somewhere until this was over. In exchange, Eli would prioritize the safety of Eric's sister, knowing what she looked like based off of photos, before committing herself to finding a meal.

Like a runaway sixteen-wheeler that’s had its brake lines cut, Fury flew towards the criminals, right arm cocked back ready to do some smashing. Mere yards away she threw that fist forwards in the biggest, wildest haymaker you’ve ever seen in your life, powerful enough to smash concrete, quicker than Ali’s hey-day jab. It was a fight ending blow, no doubts about it. Anyone on the receiving end of that rocket would spend the next four weeks in a hospital bed, then the two after that suffering painful dental reconstructive work.

All that said, she missed.

The punch went wide, like really wide, and Fury hit nothing but air. To be fair to her and her efforts, she hit the air hard, and if the air cared about things like that, then it was going to be freaking sore, but it still couldn’t be labelled a successful assault. Fortunately, her inexpert strike became an impromptu shoulder-barge as she bodily barrelled into her intended target, sheer momentum throwing the man, a Third Street Roughneck by the looks of his gang colours, from his feet with a shocked yelp. Fury paused a moment to gape at the fallen man, taking note of his swiftly reddening, acne ridden cheeks, and the look of clenched pain on his face.

My first conquest. It’s really happening! I’m doing it! Though she might have been a bit quick in congratulating herself, as crew-cut took her foes moments inaction to sock her in the jaw. Commendable initiative really, but Fury was a little beyond simple punches now, the blow glancing across her face, though without doing any real damage, unless you counted how bad it hurt crew-cut’s fist. The vigilante responded with a two-handed shove, inexpert yet effective, the gangmember flying from her feet hitting the street hard some five meters away, rolling into a tumbled heap. Oh gosh, got to remember how strong I am. I could kill someone if I’m not careful. Did ‘Man of Steel’ teach you nothing?


“Fuck her up!” Shrieked the tattooed fatty who Fury had so recently shown that, no, she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew by coming here. Seemed he wanted some revenge by proxy, seeing as with his injured leg it didn’t look like he was going to be going toe-to-toe with the vigilante anytime soon. The two-other bad-guys still standing didn’t need telling twice, and leapt into the attack with wordless cries.

A boot thunked into Fury’s midriff, bouncing painfully from the hype-hardened flesh, though the vigilante reacted quickly, grabbing the leg before the kick could be retracted, and gripping it by the foot and under the knee, used it as leverage to twist the Roughneck from his feet, driving him face first into the unyielding street, a hollow thwock reverberating through the night as teeth cracked against concrete. It looked like it might have been an esoteric Judo throw, but really it was just the knee-jerk reaction of a desperate girl, which probably wouldn’t have worked if she hadn’t been three times as strong as a full-grown man.

The second fighter had circled around her while this was happening, thinking to exploit her blind spot while she rearranged his ally’s facial features. Clasping both hands together, he delivered a double axe handle strike at the top of her spine, where neck met torso. Fury squawked aloud, more in shock than actual pain, and staggered a pace or two, though managed to keep on her feet. He antagonist went to follow up, though before he could press his advantage the vigilante spun on her heel, right arm outstretched to club into her enemies’ cheek. Succeeding where the gang member failed, she threw another couple wild punches before delivering a crunching kick that slammed into the man’s shin. He squealed in pain, hurling himself from Fury then scrabbling away as quick as his battered body would carry him, deciding that in this case, discretion was the better part of valour.

He needn’t have bothered, as Fury’s attentions were now fixed on his friends, as more and more of the combatants were noticing the mess she was making of their crews, and began to make peace with their rivals to hurl themselves at the vigilante, screaming threats and curses, raining blows down upon the girl. Fists and bottles smashed against her, a barrage that would hammer even the greatest of prize-fighters to their knees. Not Fury though. She’d done enough cowering tonight. She was going to take her likes and come back swinging. Anything they could dish out, well she was going to weather it, and hand back more besides.

She didn’t fight clean, she didn’t fight smart, she didn’t even fight all that dirty. She just fought wild, fists swinging to and thro, kicking out at anything moving, stomping on feet and knees, and anything that could be stomped. At one point she was aware of someone latching on to her back, arms wrapped around her neck like they hoped they could choke her out. She dealt with that by spinning on the spot, as fast as she could, a two-hundred-pound man hanging on to her for dear life as she pirouetted, the sight a disturbing cross between a ballerina performance and a rodeo drill. Eventually it got too much for the bad-guy, his grip failing him as he was sent spinning in a barrel roll. Good thing too, as Lisa was just on the verge of being sick. No time to be green around the gills though, as her foes were closing in once more.

Then the shots rang out. Four distinct cracks, loud even above the shouts, the swears, the constant pitter-patter of raindrops. Four gang-members fell to the ground, three screaming, one dreadfully quiet. For a moment everyone froze, confusion gripping everyone present.

“They’re packing heat!”

“Fucking go, run!”

“You shit-sucking Thirds are fucking dead when we come back, you hear me, cold-cunting-corpse dead!”

In moments the turf war was over, Third Street Roughnecks and the Welcome Crew deciding that between a super powered vigilante and a hail of bullets, it just wasn’t worth sticking around. A few, more committed and tenacious than their friends, got a few last knocks in for good measure before high-tailing it, and a handful slowed their own retreat to drag some of their injured away, including two who had been shot by the newcomer packing heat, though once all was said and done the clear majority had made good their escape, leaving only a few groaning wounded, and one or two frozen in shock.

Like Lisa.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the one man who had fallen and remained silent. He hadn’t gotten up. No one had dragged him away. His eyes were open wide to the dark night sky and the driving rain falling down upon him, and she couldn’t help but think ‘why aren’t you blinking.’ But she knew why he wasn’t blinking. Deep down she knew, but she couldn’t even countenance that it had happened. So instead she stared, and wondered, and ignored the truth. It quickly got too much, and she had to tear her gaze away.

Look at the shooter, she told herself, look and take note. Details. You need to know who you’re dealing with. It was sound reasoning, but it was just an excuse. Action so as not to allow herself time to think about what had just happened.

The woman, for the shooter was a female, was a little taller and heavier than Lisa herself by the looks of things, though some of that extra weight may have been due to the leather trenchcoat she was wearing. Two pistols were still sitting in her tight grasp. Could I survive a gun shot? Lisa wondered, a tight worm of fear coiling through her gut. She had the ballistics vest, of course, but she didn’t even know if it worked. She’d got it online, for petes sake. For all she knew it was filled with pillow-stuffing and good intentions. If the mystery woman opened fire again, Lisa could be in some very real trouble.

She remained silent for a few moments, just staring at the newcomer. It didn’t last though, as eventually she had to say something. She told her self it was because they couldn’t just stand in the rain all night, having a stare-down. The real reason was her thoughts were starting to catch up with her again, and the weight of that man lying eyes-open in the street behind her was building higher and higher.

“You shot them.” She stated. Stupid. Scared. She couldn’t have sounded less like a hardened vigilante in that moment if she tried. Right then, she just couldn’t care about that. She was scared, and she was feeling more and more stupid by the moment.

“Why? How could you?” A simple enough question, and probably one with a simple enough answer, but to Lisa the answer mattered. It mattered a lot.

---

---

---

Images of bloody teeth tearing through flesh skipped through Elwood's mind. Frantic, frenzied hands pulling and ripping skin, snapping bones between fingers to suck at the marrow. Fangs gnawing at tendons, snapping ligaments at the join to access better meat. His belly wailing for more, and more, and more, lapping up every oozing chunk of muscle without being sated. Gnashing and cleaving and clawing anything within reach, chunks of viscera swallowed without being chewed, a mad and feverish hysteria of feeding and feasting, never enough, always needing more, more, more feed me more-

A sharp pain ricocheted from Elwood's cheek to his opposite temple, a red sting quickly fading as the delirious fantasy subsided, its manufacturer retreating back to his core. Elwood's vision focused, the overwhelming darkness fleeing back into the corners as light reinstated itself from the ceiling and the lamps dotted around the room. He was in the front hallway of his mother's home, and stood before him was his grandmother, hand poised for another assault. He jerked his head sharply, unconsciously checking for blood and carcasses as his torso tensed up. He couldn't remember what he had been doing.

"Elwood Dowd, your eyes were going in front of your own grandma." Maw-Maw announced, her tone more of outrage and disappointment than of fear and disgust.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Maw-Maw." Elwood said, bringing his hands up to run through his hair and down his face, rubbing his eyes as he did so. "I...it was hungry."
"I know, Elwood. You haven't eaten today, have you?" She asked, walking away from Elwood as she stepped through the open double doors to his side, where the hallway connected to the combination kitchen and den. The TV blared a news report, mostly about the rain and the resulting crime, and both of them ignored it as Maw-Maw opened the fridge.
"No, Maw-Maw." Elwood said, his hand clenching as the Hunger growled again, deep in his belly.
"And you didn't eat yesterday either, did you?" Maw-Maw asked, returning from the fridge with a cold sandwich atop a ceramic plate, unwrapping the clingfilm as she walked. Between the thick slices of bread were turkey and sausage, and she scooped a bottle of mustard up as she passed the counter.
"No, Maw-Maw." He admitted, shamed in his own misguided self-medication. The Hunger frightened him, and as it railed against his stomach his appetite grew and shrunk simultaneously, juggling primal instinct and acute fear.
"Then you're a damn fool. I know you're frightened that eating will draw it out - but it is hunger. Here," she thrust the plate against his stomach, and he took it as she lifted the top slice of bread and slapped down a healthy dollop of mustard, "and don't think you're leaving this house until that plate is clean."

Elwood did as he was told, and while he felt the Hunger flare as he fed it, he also felt its hold loosen slightly. He smiled weakly as he handed the plate back, and Maw-Maw smiled as she set it on the side for a moment before pulling Elwood into a tight embrace.

"It's not you, Elwood. Remember that." She said, and Elwood hugged her back. "You are the bit that's resisting. That's what makes you a Maliceet."
"I know, Maw-Maw." He replied, and they pulled away from each other, Maw-Maw picking the plate back up as she moved back towards the kitchen. Elwood heard the ceramic clattering in the sink, and the tap running soon after, a welcome aquatic hiss that countered the constant tapping of the rainfall. Elwood looked at the clock above the front door, and then rushed to put his boots on.
"I have to go, Maw-Maw. I'm going to be late." He called out to her.
"Don't you dare leave without your coat!" She called back.



The walk from his home to his workplace at The Lamp was one Elwood had been practicing for the last year; the imperfect paving of the sidewalk and the various traffic hazards were well-worn into his mind, but the rain, the rain was new. A solid month of torrential downpour, never ceasing between days or nights. Unusual, unnatural, unsettling almost - but like many other things, Elwood ignored it, an unwelcome distraction from his inner turmoil, and there was plenty 'unnatural' and 'unsettling' with Elwood already. He didn't need to look to the weather for something that unnerved him. Interaction hit close enough for him, let alone his outstanding 'condition'. Instead of thinking about the rain, it was hood up, earphones in, and maintaining a steady pace to work while he summarily ignored it.

As best as he could, at least, as the thick raindrops still drummed rythmically against the outer lining of his coat. He sunk deeper into its wool insulate, turning up his phone as he focused on his feet and the music and the underlying Hunger that haunted every waking hour, and many of his sleeping ones. Traffic - pedestrian and vehicular alike - was mostly light, few people braving the downpour unless absolutely essential. Elwood preferred his days with minimal interaction; it was less exhausting that way. Less energy spent on simultaneously focusing on remaining engaged in the conversation while supressing foreign, murderous impulses.

Elwood rounded the corner and looked up. His boss, Jonathan Lafferty - owner of The Lamp, a small curosities/trinkets/antiques/knick-knacks store - was just stepping out, pulling a key out of his coat pocket with one hand while the other held a folded-up newspaper over his head as a makeshift umbrella. Elwood watched him hover the key over the lock, and then saw him look up and down the street before he did anything else. Elwood waved when Lafferty looked his way, and he quickly pocketed the key as Elwood jogged up.

"Mr. Dowd! I thought you had finally decided you liked your job less than a few drops of rain." Mr. Lafferty took up an aloof, sarcastic air, but it was one Elwood had dealt with for the entire 12 months of his employment under the quizzical, enigmatic man.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lafferty. My grandmother...cornered me...with some lunch..." Elwood trailed off, aware of how flimsy his excuse sounded. Lafferty merely raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, well, you're here now, and we haven't lost any customers in the debacle. Damn ghost town all week." He handed Elwood a key - Elwood swore that it had come from a different pocket than the other had gone into - and then pulled out a car key, clicking it a few times while relaying instructions. "Floors need a sweep. Cash drawer's been balanced so don't touch it unless you get a buyer. If the phone goes, I've got a Mr. Mulligan lookin' to sell some gear and I can meet him next Tuesday. Don't break anything, lock up at five, and polish the brass cupboard after you've done the floors."

Elwood pocketed the key quietly and nodded. "Sure thing, Mr. Lafferty." He mumbled to Jonathan's back as he walked over to his car. Elwood slunk into the shop and watched his boss' car rumble off into the rain, brakelights pitiful dots of red against the grey torrent. Elwood stood there, watching the empty street with splattered rain washing away debris and detritus, alone and unusually quiet for a few minutes, before he ventured to the back of the shop in search of the alleged broom.

---

The winds were raging, seething with anger, and despite the crow's best protests, even its soaring wings could not overcome that natural fury. Rain pelted its tar-black feathers with the type of furious equality that only a storm such as this could be capable of. It proved unrepentant, unrelenting, and no matter what angle the bird attempting to pierce its stormwall, unmoving. A fortress made of wrathful clouds with towering pillars of rain and fracturing bolts of yellow-gold lightening to defend against all intruding eyes, be they beast or man. Or in Colin's case, a ramshackle combination of the two.

_"Colin..."

The young Draoi attempted to prod The Morrigan's servant along, forcing his will over the birds own and demanding that it fly further into the storm. It wouldn't do anything life-threatening, but the bird would serve Colin as well as it could. Catching a rouge updraft, Colin let the bird's body drive endlessly upward so to gain better vantage over the area.

He had set the crow deep into the Demon's Teeth earlier this morning, and though the sprawling mountain range was fiercely beautiful, it yielded no information that the man had not already known. Crescent City's sky was bleeding rain like a vein fresh cut, and Colin was desperate to find out why. This land was sick, Colin could feel it, and he doubted any Draoi worth their salt would not feel the same wave of prickling anger that bit at the back of his mind. Rain and thunder, wind and storm, they all sang a song of rage that burned his Vis-laced blood. Something was wrong with this storm, and that something had to do The Demon's Teeth.

_"Colin."

Again, Colin ordered his crow to drill itself against the stormwall, but each time it pressed forward, it was rebuked with an equal force. Lightening shrieked down from the sky around the bird, sending it squawking away as its fire-fed fractals that stretched outward towards the creature. Some force was preventing Colin's spell-summoned pet from piercing the veil that hid Old Stone Mountain from his gaze. And even with the Draoi's perspective shoved into that of a bird, it rightly pissed him the hell off.

"Colin!"

Eye's shooting open with alarm, Colin's fist shot outward against whatever person was shaking him. His gaze turned frantic as he shot up from his car seat and steeped outside, hands guarding against any further assault. Some leftover part of his spell urged him to take flight, but this body had no wings and Colin wasn't much one for from running from a fight.

"Jesus-fucking-christ Colin! Ye' punched me!"

Colin blinked, confused. It took a second for his eyes to readjust from the avian perspective they had been in not moments ago and slip back into their normal orientation. In front of him stood Walt O'Connor, not an assailant, but an old friend to the Caille family. He was rubbing his jaw, nursing a bloodied lip and staring at Colin with a mix of annoyance and surprise. Colin's fist throbbed in return, and his face twisted with minor embarrassment as he realized what had happened.

"Uh-Sorry Walt, ye' woke me up from a wee bit of nightmare." Colin took a second to gather himself, purging the last of his avian instincts with a shake of his head. He had cast 'Morrigan's Call' at the start of the car ride, but he hadn't expected to be forced out of the trance that the spell had set him in. Usually, when he transferred his perspective into that of one of The Morrigan's servants and pulled back into his own brain, there was no kickback from the bird. He was also never snapped out of his trance by an irritated Irishmen either, so Colin supposed that Walt had an accidental hand in that.

Walt rolled his eyes as he sucked on his lip, but nodded all the same. He motioned for Colin to close the car door behind him and to follow quickly. The rain, ever-present in recent months, had poured even harder in past days. Even only minutes out in the open, and Colin was already soaked to the bone. He and Walt ran hurriedly from the car-parking lot to the entrance of the sparsely populated mall.

"A nightmare eh? So even the great Colin "Balor" Caille of Caille family fame fears something?" Walt joked as they approached the sliding doors which promised a dry haven from the rain. The younger Draoi snorted lightly, before poking the older man's ribs with a sharp elbow.

"Fuck off, ye' old blighter," Colin chuckled, warming himself as he entered the multi-storied department store. He gave the location an appreciative glance. He hoped he could find the gear he needed to hike Old Stone Mountain here. Without it, it'd be even harder to scale the mountain in hellish weather like this.

Walt laughed loudly to himself at the younger man's annoyance. He thought Colin was a good kid, an even better Draoi, but too damned serious sometimes. He was glad he could get a rise out of the boy, even if he received a bruised lip for his efforts. Walt saw a lot of Ava in Colin, both the good and the bad. If he could help the man avoid the same mistakes his mother had made in her youth, well, all the better for the both of them.

Colin stopped abruptly, causing Walt to send him a curious glance. The young Draoi was glaring intensely at an advertisement featuring a grinning cat and an empty bird cage. Walt smiled in understanding, and gave Colin a light shove from behind.

"Ye' were casting that crow spell I taught ye', weren't cha?"

"Fuck off, Walt."

"Careful now, any more lip an' I might just go and buy a cat."

"FUCK. OFF. WALT," Colin growled at the older man, an effort that lost much of its impact due to Walt's near-hysterics.

---

"Tent?"

"Check."

"Boots and Mountain clothes?"

"Check."

"Loyal manservant willing to lug all this shite to his car and drive me to my luxurious home?"

"Ye're a right arse, ye' knew that Colin?" Walt grunted as he heaved the last of the young Draoi's supplies into his car. It was a tight fit, but through some small miracle they had managed to squeeze all the remaining supplies that Colin had needed for his trek into Walt's rundown hatchback. The older Irishman slammed the car trunk shut with a thud, and turned to see the broad, smug smile of Ava Caille's only son.

"Sorry, get it from me mum," Colin replied without a trace of an apologetic tone. His grin was glib, and it proved hard for Walt to deny that the boy reminded him of Ava. He had that same passion for life, her sense of humor, and even her damnable infuriating nature. Though he must've been the spitting image of his father, a figure unknown even to Walt, his smile was undoubtedly and apologetically his mother's.

"Aye, that you do. Now, before I drop ye' off, ye' sure ye' don't want me to come with ye'? Take it from a local, The Demon's Teeth aren't easy on travelers usually, and in this weather its gonna be far worse. An extra set of hands might ye' well, to catch ye' when ye' fall on yer arse if nothing else," Underneath his teasing, Walt was very much concerned for the boy. It seemed to him that Colin was rushing off into the unknown, head full of youthful fantasies about uncovering some lost bit of knowledge. Many Draoi died that way, chasing rumors. Walt had made a promise to Ava to watch after her boy as if he were his own, and if one of his boys were doing something as brainless as this he'd have half a mind to box their ears in.

Colin raised a suspect eyebrow at his friend, and placed a firm hand on Walt's shoulder. "Listen, I appreciate the concern, but ye' know as well as I do that this is my task not yers. I can't accept yer help, the Order won't allow it, and don't want it. Don't worry about whatever me mum's said, I'll be fine," Colin gave Walt a light pat on the cheek, and while his grin was genuine, so was the stern intensity that lurked behind his smiling, brown eyes. "So stop treating me like a damned child and get yer arse in the car."

Nodding solidly, Walt brushed off Colin's hand and hopped in the driver's seat of the car. Colin followed swiftly after, glad to be out of the chill of the rain and that he and Walt had reached an understanding. He liked the man fine, but he, like everyone else, needed to learn that Colin could handle himself. He didn't need help from his family to figure out what was happening at The Demon's Teeth. This was his journey to take, and no other Draoi's.

The sight of The Old Stone Mountain loomed dangerously in the distance as Walt's car merged out of the mall parking lot and onto the highway. Colin couldn't help but smile at jagged ridges which pierced the sky. He'd had tried to scope out the mountain range by air, and had failed. Now he would try by land, and see if that yielded any better results. The mountain couldn't resist Colin forever.

Nothing could.

Dark Necessities

07APR2017 - 23:30 - Michaels Nuclear Power Facility - Power District

---

---

Vernon panted heavily then doubled over. "Bongo," he shouted between gulps of air, "Gimmie a minute." Tiredly he wondered what had possessed his dog all of a sudden. They had been hauling ass since the moment he parked the truck all of fifteen minutes ago. He made a point of parking a bit of a distance off, so as to not get in the way of emergency vehicles and maybe to avoid looting. Maybe.

This place wasn't hard to find once he started driving-- all he had to do was find the source of sirens and eventually he saw the lights. Bongo lead the charge toward what his gut told him was the place on fire. Well, his gut and the large plume of smoke, that is. Barking pulled Vernon's attention off of the rain soaked ground. Having come back to check on him, Bongo snuffled and sniffed a small puddle in front of Vernon, before barking again. As soon as he made even the slightest movement, she twitched and dashed ahead a little bit.

"Alright-- shit. My back can't take much more of this pace, ol'girl," Vernon spoke up as he began to jog. They were running behind a set of buildings, uphill, in the grass, and the rain. A lot of things could make this suck more, Vernon was sure but, this sucked pretty seriously right now. Then he noticed a color change on the horizon.

Flashing lights and an orange tint lit up the night sky. He could hear a mumble, that of many voices at a distance, and the smell of smoke was stronger here. Bongo sprinted up and out of his sight completely. The horizon seemed to dance-- the light of fire reflected off of heavy clouds-- then it briefly came into full view.

Briefly.

Vernon found himself planting one leg far further down than the ground was supposed to be. As he began to tumble and slide down a rain soaked hillside, toward the power plant, Vernon determined he couldn't be mad at this happening, really. He should have expected this to be a buffer hill-- of course it was a buffer hill-- but at least the grass tasted alright. The rattle of a chain link fence announced his halt. Bongo barked.

Tensely, Vernon hissed, "My back," as he tried to assess the ball of person he had temporarily become... oh. He was upside down. Slowly Vernon righted himself while looking about for Bongo, spitting pieces of grass and soil out idly. There she was, staring at him, wagging her tail, with her head tilted to the side. Bongo barked at his gaze. Vernon "woof'd" back then shook his head at the nonsense of it all.

"Woah--" came a surprised voice, "--You alright?"

Of course.
Just when Vernon thought no one had saw him eat shit...
Not even bothering to clean the mud and grass off of himself, Vernon slowly eased to his feet, then replied, "Yeah I'm alright. Just a little--" Vernon didn't know where that sentence was going "-- hey this place on fire?"

Smooth.

A man with a rather charred look about him replied, "Uh? Y-yes." Closing his left eye so the right eye augment could take over, Vernon read the man's name tag, then replied, "How do I get in, Greg?" Just then, Greg stared at Vernon as if he'd sprouted another head. Vernon shrugged.
"You don't look like you a fireman or the parame--"
Vernon asked more aggressively,"How do I get in, Greg?"
Bongo whined.
"Ah-- uh, this way-- you here to help?"
"And make s'mores," Vernon replied darkly, "Lead the way."

A profound thought occurred to Vernon as he began a hasty walk, following behind Greg-- Vernon could have been practically anyone seeking entrance to this facility and this guy, Greg, was just going to straight up let him in? Just show him the way? Just like that? Who was this guy, anyway? He looked like he worked here but... what if this fire hadn't started on it's own? What if Greg had started the fire? Vernon halted, eyed the fence to his right, then reached out for it.

Taking a firm grip of it with his right hand, Vernon watched the steel links bunch up in his grasp-- the grasp of an augmented right arm. Feeling the arm vibrate slightly, Vernon pushed the links aside until he was able to firmly grasp the steel support pole. Greg looked over his shoulder. "See you later--" Vernon said as he began to feel the heat of his augmented legs powering up, "--Greg." With a sharp scrape and crack of cement, Vernon uprooted the fence post like a daisy. Too bad he couldn't tuck it behind his ear like one.

Greg's mouth hang agape as Vernon passed beneath the fence, then set it back down roughly, letting Bongo remain on the other side. "Keep an eye on that fella-- but I don't need to tell you that," Vernon told Bongo.
"Wait," Greg shouted, just as Vernon turned to walk away, "Go left-- tha-that paramedic! He hasn't come back yet. I-I-I think he's in trouble. I. I gave him my key card and I. He. He's one of two we got on site. Shit--" Greg cut off there then mumbled, "He's one of two we got."

Vernon could hear the hints of shame in Greg's voice then reconsidered his previous stance. Perhaps this really was a worker-- or it was a convincing trap? Or it was both. Vernon squinted at Greg then shifted the squint to Bongo. She seemed content to stand near Greg and was even sniffling him, trying to get his attention, perhaps to distract him from his worries. "Well," Vernon spoke up, deciding to trust Bongo's judgment, "Which way do I go again?"

Greg shouted, "Left til you see an entrance-- there's still folks trapped and running out but--but-- that guy he. He should've been back by now I-- there's no firemen here. He went in through the o--"

Vernon didn't wait to hear anymore-- now the urgency level had increased greatly. Turning, Vernon broke out into an almost immediate sprint, thanks to his fancy augment legs, and wondered just where the fire department was? Did it matter right now? How deep was the shit everyone was in?

He sprinted for the door that Greg had indicated, smacking into a terrified man fleeing the building. Without a word of apology as he bowled the guy over, Vernon charged into the building and barely took notice of the flames. He wheezed, then began to cough heavily, the smoke irritating his already damaged lungs-- why hadn't they replaced those damaged organs when they replaced his arm? Whatever-- too late to ask that now.

He reached one door handle and felt the temperature, twisted it, and it didn't budge. That was a thing, wasn't it? Cool handle means no horrible fireball-- right. That was right. He tore the handle off, sent to door flying inward with a kick, and didn't see a thing but empty office space. Vernon stared down the blazing corridor and shook his head-- there were too many stupid doors in this stupid building.

"Hey Medic," Vernon called out, "Medic-- Where you at!?"

This was going to take forever but, Vernon was going to check every single stupid room in the stupid building if he had to. He had to have been close, right? Greg mentioned something about a key card and all of these doors required one-- wait. Where were the sprinklers? Again, too late of a question.

Vernon kicked another door in after feeling the handle's temperature, "Yoo-hoo! Medic!" He waited only a moment for response before he continued kicking doors and taking... handles.

Inhale. Exhale. A slow claiming breath before the coming storm. Alien checked that the gun was loaded one last time, spinning the top explosive round in the clip fondly, before putting it back in its place. Inhale. Exhale. He turned his head and turned the thermals on. He watched as the thugs, the pretenders who were terrorising the Spires, were running. The familiar beats of several helicopters flying overhead came closer. The sound of pumping shotguns, arming rifles, heavy cars screeching to a halt. He heard the shouting and the whistling, the hurried footsteps as the criminals dispersed themselves. Most importantly, he heard the radio transmissions. The police. The law enforcement, the cavalry had just arrived. This was bad.

Before any vigilante could enter a city, one most immerse themselves in the various laws of said city. Otherwise, you may risk unnecessary prison times. Unfortunately, New Lilith and pretty much every district in the supercity had an Anti-Vigilante law. Tariq, and therefore the Alien, was a criminal to them. They were no different from the thugs that were currently running for it, terrorists. The Alien gripped the pistol tighter, swearing in Arabic. This wasn't what they wanted. This was supposed to be an easy job, a quiet one. The cuts, scrapes and bruises around his body was a testament to the opposite. They got too arrogant. He heard the radio transmission, the release of a box in the middle of the road. He had heard of the infamous androids of the local law enforcement. Why have a man do a job that a robot could? Anti-Terrorism unit, he concluded. "Resistance is futile." After several moments of silence, a arning shot was fired next to his position. A non-lethal round hitting the wall opposite to him. He was running out of time. He exited out of cover, stepping out of the shadows of the alleyway. Raising his pistol over his head, he appeared non-threatening. There was no point in hiding, the thing probably had sensors. Standing out in the open with the ability to dodge was better than being a sitting duck. Before this however, he sent a message to Priya, whispering into his headset.

"Detective, Anti-Terrorism arrived. I have no avenue of escape, running would result in my eventual arrest. Anti-Terrorism droid has been deployed, please call them off."

There was a tense silence. The android stood with it's weapon drawn, trained on him. Al eyed the thing in it's "eyes". Thoughts spun in his head. What should he do? If he was to give in, Tariq's efforts would be for naught. The Saudi's could vouch for them but such international influence had no place in the civil courts. They would be tried and arrested for violating the law. They would be locked up with the scum that they put there. It would be tragic. The warrior grinned under the cloth. There was one way he could take, delay until the thing could be called off.

"مهلا، اللعنة أنت روبوت!" Al called out, unsure of the meaning of the phrase but the Human used it frequently when he played his "games". The thing tilted it's head, almost questioningly. He quickly aimed his pistol downwards and fired three rounds at the thing's feet. The android jumped backwards as the explosives collided with the ground, shrapnel and tarmac flew all over. He began to run straight for the hotel, firing his pistol in the vague direction of the robot to create distance. Dodging and weaving, his enemy fired as well. It had calculated that the vigilante was dangerous to society with his careless use of explosives. This relegated him to immediate, brutal judgement.

As he ran up the steps, running out of explosive rounds to fire, the anti-terrorism unit fired. The non-lethal round slammed into Alien's back."Non-lethal" was subjective. Mixed with the round's own power and his momentum running forward, he was knocked back through the lobby doors. Careening through the air like a scene out of a corny action scene, surprise and pain mixing around on his face, he slammed against the wall with a loud thud. Loud enough to be heard throughout the lobby and possibly the first floor. He slumped down the wall, temporarily dazed with stars in his eyes. Thankfully, his thick skull kept him from unconsciousness but his head was spinning. As he grabbed around the floor, confused and in pain, the loose ghutrah cloth around the bottom of his face gave way. His headset and pistol was intact but laid to the side, the rest of his equipment thankfully strapped to him tight.

The Anti-Terrorism Unit entered the lobby, weapons and attention trained on the lying Alien. It began to march towards him, the closer it came, the more likely Tariq's cover would be blown. It was at this time that the Human raised out of his coma, waking to an unfortunate situation. 'What the fuck did you do?'