[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240828/688ac5d3d40c75e034e218d1778edf8d.png[/img][/center]
[center]LOC: Mafia Town, 17:59 hrs [/center]
[center]LVL: 1 [/center]
[center]WC: 1,174 [/center]
[center]EXP: 4/10 [/center]
[center]Interactions: OPEN [/center]
[center] Mentions: [@Lugubrious] (Nadia), [@Zoey Boey] (Juri) [/center]


	As The Mercenary continued his sprint up the steps toward the first vista of seaside restaurants, he momentarily caught a glimpse of a pink-and-black blur that soared in an upward trajectory toward the Mafia Headquarters. He hadn't been there, but supposedly someone had taken advantage of the chaos to let themselves in and make off with whatever was inside. Perhaps he- 

	"YEERRRRAAAAAAGH!" A guttural roar erupted to his front just as the Mercenary had crested the flat landing to the second flight of stairs. A wrestler brandishing a lead pipe had squatted down into a launching stance, then propelled himself into the air for a summersaulting rotation, no doubt using the pent-up momentum to amplify his ground strike. Within a blur of reflexes, the Mercenary snapped his Wu-S up to level at the airborne attacker; firing off two darts and stepping aside as the man relaxed out of his stance and dropped his pipe, clattering down the stairway while snoring all the while. Holstering his Wu-S and ascending the flight of stairs, the Mercenary had reached the plaza and took in the chaos. Bodies, those of neutralized maniacs and civilians alike littered the streets, inside of shops and even hanging off rooftops. The Civilians of the town gave them one hell of a fight, but he noted that the Maniacs also had a tendency to fight one another in the resulting skirmish- seeing as some fighters lay strewn over each other in some areas. That would be to his advantage- the less attention to him, the better.

	Another thunderous bang, and the Mercenary looked up to see another, smaller blur that had launched toward the Headquarters. Glancing over his shoulder, the Mercenary spotted a group of people heading toward the mysteriously-cannoned ship that had materialized in the docks. He was sure he would encounter them at some point- reaching the Headquarters became his priority. The Mercenary trudged through the cobblestone-laden streets, sometimes having to step over the littered bodies of fallen Maniacs that contested the narrow walkways and alleys. The Mercenary's bodysuit blended him into the shadows; keeping him concealed as he paused every so often at the sounds of distant fights, assessed their range, then bound over to the next cover point. There was a notable reduction of noise compared to when the fighters first descended on the town, and he suspected that the Maniacs had taken care of the majority of each other just as much as the Civilians and other individuals had risen up to fight back. Ascending up the inclined pathway and moving up and around a switchback, it was there that the Mercenary found a bigger storefront at the peak of the end; the sign violently torn from its housing and splintered into pieces. No telling what it was before, yet it was the black metal ladder on the side of the building that caught his attention. The construction had lead to the rooftop of the building, and it was here the Mercenary supposed, he'd get a better viewpoint to oversee any points of interest he may have missed. 

	Mounting the rungs, the Mercenary wasted no time in quickly moving up and over the ledge to the rooftop. As expected, it was barren paved concrete- saved for what appeared to be a black cauldron-like thing that had been blown out on one side; the metallic flaps secured to the frame with bundles of rope wrapped around it. Moving over to it, the Mercenary traced the barrel's angle up and over, pointing the firing trajectory directly up to the Mafia HQ. He could smell the acrid, pepper-y tang of gunpowder residue from where he was at, knowing this cannon must have been fired by the two people who had shot themselves up to the Headquarters. The barrel was big enough for a man to stand in, and so he went. Feet first, arms crossed over his chest, and then he felt the cannon lurch backward. The explosive rattle of yet another firing cannon deafened him once more; rattling him physically to his bones as he was shot off his feet and into an arc; the howling night wind lashing his face with ceaseless intensity. Despite being a short arc to the massive platform, the Mercenary briefly wondered if those hooligans below [i]enjoyed[/i] this. He certainly did not. Spreading his arms out to slow his decent and bending his knees, the Mercenary hunched into a recovery roll at the moment his feet hit the ground. Bounding to his feet, he quickly unlatched his .45 from its holster, checked its magazine and chamber, then unlatched his service knife in his left hand as he ran past the smashed-in entrance.

	As he moved past the doorway, the man raised his .45 to eye-level; crossing his knife-wielding left hand to brace underneath his right wrist; blade pointing toward the rows of desolate roulette tables. The bodies of the Mafia, piles of ash, more hooligans, and perhaps some of the white-suited man's henchmen were sporadically clustered at the smashed-in central door that was ahead. Just how many people were here, the Mercenary had no idea. Judging from the distance sounds of fighting in the rooms ahead, however, he deduced that those two figures from earlier had made it- possibly even the man with the polearm as well. Hell, it was impossible to ascertain with the level of bodies that currently lay around the area. The Mercenary continued a slow creep through the area, the sounds of clashing blades growing louder and louder as his heart began to pound in his chest. The sound was at its crescendo through the kicked-open set of ornate wooden doors to his left, and as the Mercenary braced against the wall, he heard the unmistakable growl of the suited man from earlier. [i]Bingo.[/i] Curling his lip into a scowl, his anger at the man's probable cause of these events devastating the town motivated him to round the corner and step past the doorframe.

	The dimmed lighting of the theater interior made it easy for him to acquire targets. His eyes were drawn to the suited man, now enveloped in a burgundy radiance as he surveyed the area from his peripheral vision. Two feminine figures were at the midpoint of the rows- not within range of the polearm-wielding man, yet not up on the stage where the Mafia Boss was either. He wasn't sure why this dockside man wanted to take the town for himself, yet he knew as much that it wasn't done out of generosity. The suited man was surrounded by the group, and the Mercenary wasn't about to let any more people be butchered by this madman. To those who saw him enter, the gruff, grizzled man had his gun raised and ready to fire at the mobster at the center stage- with a strange golden glint that caught the light within his ocean-blue eye. He didn't say a word, finger wrapped around the trigger and ready to fire at the slightest movement from his target.