Didgeridont — Roleplayer Guild

The apartment was quiet. Its adornings were meager, though not enough to portray any impecunity. Each room was dimly lit by a maximum of one incandescent light stand. There was little trace of occupancy. The bed was neatly made; the kitchen was clean; there were no visible traces of dirt on the floor; the closets, cupboards, and drawers lay empty. There was no food in the refrigerator, no toiletries in the bathroom, no books in the shelves.

Catherine looked over what was left. She was assured that she had made sure to clean up any trace of her occupancy from the premises, but she also wanted to double check.

And it turned out that her hunch was right: a burger wrapper sat crunched up, hidden in the corner of the kitchen countertop. She picked it up. It was from the morning. The meal was unremarkable, so much so that she could barely remember what the wrapper even held. She picked it up and threw it away without a second though. What was the point of dwelling over a piece of paper?

She stepped out of the apartment and closed the heavy wooden door behind her, locking it with a worn key. She walked down the desolate hallway for a good while until she finally made it to the elevator. She pressed the button with the arrow pointing down, that was where the car park was. 

She waited for a while, staring at the plethora of lights outside the window, the city illuminated to the point where it resembled a christmas tree rather than a skyline. It was a pleasant sight. It brought her a sort of comfort she rarely felt in her occupation. The lights spoke to her, they warmed her, they made her feel like a small little girl in a big and wonderful world. She looked away. She realized she was getting distracted.

There was a trash can by the elevator entrance. Catherine took the key out of her pocket and clenched it in her hand. She looked up at the camera in the corner of the mini lobby. Maintaining eye contact, she slipped the key into the trash, the key landing with a satisfactory *swish* as it was caught by the thin plastic inside. This had to have been the hundredth time she did this. At first she had some qualms with just throwing things like this into the trash, but after a while the conditioning wore on her, and such an action became routine. She had to throw it out. It was what she always did. It was what she was required to do.

The two men exchanged glances after they noticed a lack of more people filing in.

“Right, I think that’s everyone,” the black man noted

“Looks like it,” his white partner concurred

“Guess we’ll call HQ and get this show on the road,” he said with a slight smirk.

The elevator door opened softly and Catherine stepped out into the warm air of the car park. The heat was a welcome change from the constant air conditioning of the apartment complex. She walked past the rows of various automobiles; many spaces were empty due to how it was a Saturday night. Her footsteps reverbed around her, giving Catherine a sense of scale she felt all too familiar with. She hardly even played attention to where she was going. She knew the route by memory, it was like clockwork to her. She stared at the outfit she was assigned, instead, Plain white shirt under a thin gray hooded coat that was covered in pockets. Her pants were basic, dark blue jeans, form fitting and comfortable, but she always thought they were too revealing of her figure. Her shoes were plain white sneakers, clean and new, but not something anyone could find in today’s stores; they had a vintage look to them.

She didn’t realize something was wrong until it was too late.

She bumped into a man. The guy was large, bulky, muscular, tall. His skin was tan, very tan, although he was still visibly caucasian. Catherina had to look up just to see his face, a clean shaven face painted with a wide grin. Catherine stepped back instinctively, her body tensed up and was ready for a fight. This was where her car was, but her path to enter it was blocked by this man. She looked around, another guy sat on the hood of the car. He had a similar build, but his features were definitely those of a hispanic man. The two wore full leather. It was new leather, shiny, not black, but a deep crimson. It looked as though both of them has just bought this get-up.

“Relax, babe, we don’t bite,” the guy in front of her purred, “We’re juss wonderin’ why a girly such as yourself has such a sweet ride like this? Is this your car? Is it your boyfriends?”

How did they know it was mine before I came here?

“That’s really none of your business,” Catherine replied. Her voice was monotone and low, betraying no information about her demeanor, other than a hint of mild annoyance.

“Oh I think it is, babe. See, ‘round here, we like to keep tabs on who has what on the streets, make sure the natural order is preserved, if you see what I’m sayin’,”

This isn’t even their territory

“No, I really don’t see what you’re getting at. Can I just go?” Catherine responded. She put her right hand in her coat pocket, with her left hand hanging onto her belt loops by a thumb. She glared at the two men.

Yet the two guys chuckled heartily. The one in front of her pulled out a switchblade from the pocket of his pants. He opened it and slowly held up to her face, softly running it around her cheeks and neck.

“Listen babe, come with us and do what we say, and then maybe we’ll let you go on good behavior,” the man whispered as he pulled her chin up with the flat part of his knife blade.

“How about no”

Catherine caught his wrist with her left hand and pulled it down and towards her, knocking the thug off balance and bringing him closer to her. Simultaneously, she whipped her right hand, with it’s mechanical middle, ring, and pinky fingers transformed into a sharp blade, out of her pocket, plunging them into the man’s stomach.

The man screamed in agony as Catherine pulled him into her, cutting deeper into his abdomen. He dropped his knife with a loud clang. She let go of his hand and stuffed it into the back of his pants as his partner hopped off the car hood and fumbled to attack Catherine.

Bingo.

Before his partner could bring out his weapon Catherine had already taken aim with her first victim’s .38 special. Two bangs later and the other man was on the floor, bleeding from his chest.

Catherine slid her blade out of the first man’s chest and let him fall onto the ground. 

“Damn,” the man gasped, “I guess you knew,”

“Knew what?” she inquired nonchalantly as she wiped off some of the blood that was on her right hand, transforming it back to its original state.

“That we were fake,”

“Yeh, there were a few tells. The last one was how you kept your gun in the back of your pants rather than the front. Most gang-bangers like to be more ostentatious with their firearms, so they hide them in the front of their pants. Anyway, who hired you?” she asked as she crouched down beside the guy.

“I don’t know, some hot shot, apparently. Said he wa— ” the man wheezed abruptly, “said he was working in tandem with one of the corps, didn’t disclose much.” The man’s breathing was heavy and staccato as he struggled to cope with the pain, “Just told us to dress the part, post up near this car, and stop a girl, you, I guess, from leaving. Kept it ambiguous what he wanted us to do. We planned on kidnapping but I guess we faffed about too much, eh?” he finished with a chuckle.

“Yeah. I guess you did”

Catherine stood up and went to her car. She pulled the handle; it was already unlocked by proximity to the car key she had. She entered the car and made herself comfortable, trying not to look at the poor saps bleeding out just a few feet away. It was a push-to-start, like most others. She missed turning keys. 

She put the car into drive and disengaged the emergency brake, now getting a feel for how the car handled and accelerated as she drove around the car park. Catherine stopped at the exit ramp in order to reorient herself. She put the car in park and checked the car. Under the passenger seat lay a backpack. Inside was a 12mm pistol[1], already loaded and accompanied by two extra magazines, as well as a cell phone, a charging cable, a wallet, and a bottle of pills.

She turned on the phone and called the only number listed in the contacts book. She put the phone on speaker as she waited for an answer, setting it on the center console of the car.

“Catherine what the hell, you’re way off schedule,” a perturbed voice answered. The voice was older, with a British received pronunciation

“I got into a bit of an altercation. Tell me, how many people are in the warehouse?”

“Catherine, what ar— “

“Just tell me,”

“Ok . . .” the voice then sounded more distant, as though the woman on the other side was calling to someone else, “Jerry, pull up the SeeMee TV from the docks . . .”

A pause.

“I see now. This is bad,”

“What’s the plan?” the car began speeding along, ever faster. It slithered through the streets, passing in front of any car she could, red traffic lights magically turning green as she approached.

The black man whipped out his cell phone and dialed a non-disclosed number. The person on the other side was giving some information to the man while he listened in almost complete silence. He motioned some hand sign to his partner and the other man left for another part of the building while he stayed on the phone, listening intently to what he needed to do.

“Ok, listen Catherine, there's a small hole in the wall on the side nearest the streets, You can enter discreetly through there,”

“Ok then . . . call a Trauma Team,”

“Why wou— right, on it,”

Catherine sped into the paved area around the warehouse, stopping her car under one of the few lights around. She made little sound, the car was designed to do just that. A newer model, electric, like most others, made by Honda. The silver car was sleek, aerodynamic, with a wedge-like shape that had a focus at the front. Its doors merged seamlessly with the body and the tinted windows were all angled in order to accentuate the shape of the body.

Catherine stuffed the .38 into her backpack and pulled out the 12mm. She opened the door, stepped out, locked the car, then ran as fast as she could to the warehouse. She only hoped she wasn’t too late.

As one suited man ended his phone call, the other returned with a large suitcase. He placed it down in front of his partner and opened it, hiding the contents from the arrivals. Inside were two submachine guns. Small, but exuding a feeling of hidden power. Fully loaded, with a magazine capacity of around 45 9mm bullets. They looked at each other and slowly began to take them out, making it look as though they were about to reveal some sort of secret documents or special dossier to the group.

*BANG*
*BANG*

The noise was monstrously loud. The two balls of lead pierced the flesh of the agent with ease. The caucasian man looked at his partner, then behi— 

*BANG*
*BANG*

“Sorry I’m late. The name is Catherine,” the woman said as she lowered her gun. At that moment, the sound of rotors pierced the air. Catherine stepped out of the shadows and towards the group, motioning them to follow her. “That’s our ride, I suggest we hurry,”

Two Trauma Team workers stepped out of the tilt-rotor aircraft that had landed just outside the warehouse. One of them gave a quick nod towards Catherine as she made her way into the aircraft, hoping the others would be quick to follow.
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