DisturbedSpec

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Avenger Armory > Dead Zone, 08:52 hrs

LVL: 2

WC: 1,295

EXP: 12/20

Interactions: OPEN, interacting with @Lugubrious(Goldlewis)

Mentions: Everyone present in the SFE

When the briefing concluded, Snake exited the room in a calm stride toward the Armory. As he joined the others in line, taking a bubble shield pack and synthetic raincoat, he stepped out of line to ensure that the garment provided full coverage of his Sneaking Suit. From the onset of zipping it up after securing his pack, he knew it was going to be an issue. The raincoat had formed a press around his suit, which meant quick, careful movements would be needed to avoiding any tears. He didn't need anything else from the armory; prioritizing to travel as light as possible for this mission. While his iDroid wasn't as able to receive detailed, prepared reports like it did with Mother Base's intel teams, the intelligent assistant within it highlighted various marks of interest from Sandaphalon's report regarding the BT's, Timefall, and the unusual matter of chiral contamination. Snake moved to board the strangely angular dropship as he climbed into its troop bay; taking a vacant seat on the far right side closest to the cockpit entry door as he mulled over the situation. Snake's lip twitched as the massive dropship lurched up and forwar as it left the Avenger; far more abrupt than the gradual ascent of the UTH-66 Blackfoot. The only view of the outside was the trapezoidal viewport at the back of the troop bay, which was quickly becoming obscured dense fog and the staccato thrum of heavy rain against the hull of the aircraft.

As the SFE was activated, Snake straightened in his seat; the feeling akin to making every hair on his body stand on end- yet not producing any gooseflesh. It was uncomfortable, yet the moment quickly passed as he felt the deceleration of the aircraft signal their fast approaching drop point. Rising to his feet at the peak of the hover, Snake pulled his raincoat hood over his head and joined the other in taking a short drop onto the ground below. The faded scent of sterile metal had been instantaneously replaced by clean, crisp petrichor. Glancing around the environment and silently marveling at the bizarre accelearting effects that the rain had on the local flora, Snake stayed within the boundary of the field as he reflexively moved to pull out the strange walkie-talkie device attached to his hip, before holding it out ahead of him and depressing the side button. He actually hadn't remembered activating his iDroid since he arrived in this new world, and its response confirmed his suspicion. The handheld device chirped in an English-accented clinical tone; relaying various status updates as it cycled through data up until its disconnection from the Earth's satellite network. Strangely enough, wherever they were, a connection was found.

Reboot successful. iDroid Online. System functionality nominal. Alert. Disconnection from Mother Base. Warning: GPS connection lost. Detecting connection. Acquiring local signal. The map has been updated.

Snake let out a grumble as the device finished, being sure to set it on silent to avoid any sudden disturbances during their trip. He took a moment to cycle through everything that had been stored up until Galeem promptly wiped everyone out- and everything up until that point was still there. Dossiers, intel reports, document scans, Audio logs from Miller, Ocelot, Code-Talker- everything. Satisfied with knowing that not everything was lost, he switched over to the map view and held the device a little further out ahead of him. The holographic map expanded tenfold as he looked over the topographical layout of the area. Markers of different colors and indications littered the terrain, yet there appeared to be a discernible pattern where they were placed. River crossings, equipment markers, and a plethora of warnings alongside the occasional heart symbol. Had the environment not been so hostile from the start, Snake wouldn't have minded exploring this strange and hauntingly beautiful landscape. However, they were all on borrowed time. Even with the iDroid able to provide a detailed layout of the area, it would have to be used sparingly. They had to reach the Qliphoth, and as the Hellpods jostled the ground beneath them, threatening to send the incorporeal phantoms to their location just as they arrived, none had come. That didn't mean they wouldn't be out there, however.

Deactivating and clipping his iDroid back onto his beltloop, Snake proceeded to silently follow the bigger military man with the BB. Taking up the last of the group on the nine 'o clock position, The Mercenary kept a reasonable spacing as the group trudged onward. The terrain was not to be trifled with; much more intense than the Anglo-Zaire region during its heavy rainstorms. Actually, there was nothing worth comparison. This world was, for all intents and purposes, familiar yet entirely alien. Snake couldn't help but wonder if the rain ever stopped. Sticking close to Goldlewis, he did his best to ignore the cry of surprise the catlike woman elicited as her momentum overshot the barrier of the SFE; briefly causing its activation and protecting her in a glistening field of flicking pearl golden energy. The anticipatory tension of encountering one of these so-called BT's began to gnaw at his insides, furthermore as the BB carrier's Odradeks began to activate one by one. The cacophonous clicking of the devices darted with insect-like movements as they swapped between their user's targets, and the phantom's proximities to each. They were already surrounded.

Snake watched as the group adjusted their trajectory to try and counter the direction to whatever it was they could see, which made him quietly close his own distance to Goldlewis to ensure he didn't accidentally set one of these things off. However, just as Snake was inches from the man's six, the veteran's knees popped as he stifled a curse. The Mercenary froze, trying to remain as still as possible as something rattled hoarsely to their front before setting down a heavy handprint in the mud. With heavy rattling snarls, the creature began to gradually creep up to investigate the disturbance. Snake grit his teeth; steadying his heart rate as the ghastly specter skulked around the man’s front, then to the left and directly toward him. Snake adjusted his movements; stepping off to the right of the encroaching handprints and being sure to give the thing a wide berth. Once the BT had passed, Snake deftly made his way forward and back onto Goldlewis’s flank. The man was used to avoiding hostile patrols, but the dread of being ‘caught’ by one of these ghastly entities unnerved him- even if he wasn’t going to show it outright.

With what limited time he had before the group began to splinter, he surveyed his options. The craggy terrain and clapping Odradeks immediately invalidated the first option for him. He didn’t have one of those strange amber pods, so attempting to navigate around those things was out of the question- unless someone went with him and could be his eyes. The path through the ravine was out of the question too. The terrain on this world was unpredictable, and plunging into lava wasn't something he was too keen on doing. The third- what the hell was that thing? Some kind of crashed Metal Gear? They weren't here to scavenge a derelict wreck, but the path it led to and around to their objective seemed to be the safest, if not the longest of the three choices. Out here, slow and steady won the race.

Rejoining his previous position along the big man's six, Snake crept close to gently tap Goldlewis on his right shoulder as he spoke softly, voice never breaking out of a low growl. "Route past that wreck over there appears to be the safest path forward. I wouldn't chance the other two."

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: The Avenger, 06:20 hrs

LVL: 2

WC: 864

EXP: 11/20

Interactions: OPEN

Mentions: N/A

After Falcon had shown Snake to his room, the rest of the night became a near-dreamless blur. It was impossible for him to settle into rest as he still dealt with the influx of memories, old and new, recent and distant, that circulated incessantly within the blackness of his vision. He had lived a fabricated existence for who-knows-how many months in that strange hypertechnicolor dreamscape, and he had lived his existence of peaceless tragedy that finally culminated in defeat back in his universe. Yet here he was, spared from the death that he was sure would claim him following the demise of Skull Face. Miller was paranoid that there was still something out there that needed to be dealt with; not simply content to have cut the head off the Hydra that was XOF and be done with it. Ocelot's penchant for vengeance wasn't as intense, but "there was still more work to be done." The Russian cowpoke had been drafting something up the day after after Skull Face had been killed, and according to him, it would be readily presented in the next week.

Then came Huey.

Snake's flickering visions brought him to a table in a dimly lit room- a rickety old wooden thing big enough for a pair of two, housed within Code Talker's quarters. The old man requested a meeting with him after hearing through hushed whispers that his own tormentor was no more. The Boss was content to oblige, more out of curiosity for the visit over expecting praise for his actions. Seated across from him, Snake looked at the Native American biologist. The man had to be ancient- well past a century at best. Mottled skin, pockmarked with creases and wrinkles and liverspots that adorned his wisened features, with pearl tufts of wiry hair layering against each side of his head. His piercing white eyes gazed onto and even through the Boss, as if the man could never get a read on the Mercenary commander's soul every time he was looked at. Code Talker nodded graciously as the Boss sat down, musing out a croak in his throat as Snake fully expected him to offer his gratitude.

"You say there were three English vocal parasites." The statement was uttered out in a low grumble. The Boss wasn't expecting Code Talker to get ahold of the AAR so quickly after returning to Mother Base. Yet, he surmised, anything and everything involving 'The One That Covers' was to be given the highest priority, lest it end up like last time. Snake was quick to respond, recounting the events that had happened just a day earlier.

"According to Skull Face, yeah." Snake responded.

"Skull Face had two of the English strain with him. You burned both of them."

"There was an oil fire- I tossed 'em in."

"So that just leaves one. And you speculate Skull Face used it."

He didn't use it. The man was dying; pinned beneath the immolated wreckage of the destroyed Sahelanthropus Metal Gear. As Snake picked up the vial canister and tossed the tubes into the fire, Skull Face had taunted him at the absence of the third vial.

"He said it was... 'very close to me.'" Snake said.

Code Talker's expression hardened in contemplation as the corner of his mouth deepened into a scowl. "Very close... One of your comrades, or someone ordered to kill you... Or he could have been speaking metaphorically."

"Metaphorically?"

"Close to your spirit. Close to your heart. Someone who either loves you, or despises you." At that moment, the flickering visage faded into onyx obscurity as a surge of emotions caused the man to tense in his restless state. A slow melodic tone began to accompany his thoughts; seemingly in time with his rising emotions.

It was him. That bastard got ahold of it- but how? It couldn't have been Quiet... was it? Was she still out for her own revenge, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

The chorus of notes gradually rose in volume as the noise began to fully infiltrate his head, interrupting any further attempt at inquiry as it got louder and louder. At its peak, Snake's eyes shot open, his vision dulled into a near-monochrome as the colors of his environment were faded. An irritating side-effect of the shrapnel, but he was used to it nonetheless. The room PA crackled; the clinical feminine voice reminding him of his iDroid as it issued the morning statement. The Avenger was headed to a place called the Dead Zone, and the briefing was in fourteen minutes. Taking a moment to glance around the room and surmising that whoever he'd been roomed with was awake long before he was, Snake gave himself a quick pat-down as he made his way out of the quarters. He had time to kill... and a cup of coffee before deployment wouldn't hurt.

Following the signs to the Messhall, the steadily growing aroma of various foods emitting from the nearby room released a growling pain of hunger from his abdomen. Damn, he couldn't remember the last time he ate. Blinking away his sleep, the man steeled his jaw as he stepped through the doorway.

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:59 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: >750

EXP: 4/10

Interactions: OPEN

Mentions: @Lugubrious (Mabuchi), @Zoey Boey (Juri) @Archmage MC (Blazermate)

The Mercenary awaited a response, yet none was given as the blue robot had already begun to collect the scattered coins en masse; soon swooping down to deliver them to her after such blatant disrespect by the Mafia Boss. By then, however, the Mercenary had turned away; pocketing the handful of collected currency as he surveyed the area behind him. The rows of theater seats had been turned, flipped, strewn about in the rows closest to the skirmish on the stage- the Mafia Boss would have to find someone else to clean up that mess. The double doors of the theater were wide open now, no doubt the result of the Mafia goons as they carried their captive away to a prison cell. His ocean blue eye narrowing in focus, the Mercenary leapt off the theater stage and onto the incline of carpet as he began to walk up the incline toward the exit; tossing the polearm from his back into the scattered row of seats to his right. He still wanted answers. That suited man that tried to usurp the Mafia Boss from his control over the city had to have organized the ships' arrival. The devastation and chaos was all to his advantage- slipping off to the tower in order to make his fight against the distracted Boss much easier.

As the Mercenary neared the theater exit, the faint sounds of a scuffle reached his ears. Rustling fabric, quick whips of movement followed by heavy impacts and staccato grunts- then the slam of a gate. Had the Mafia exacted their punishment on the man before he was imprisoned? The Mercenary quickened his pace as he reached his right hand down to draw his .45 back into his grip; forgoing his tactical knife as he swiveled around the doorway and brought his handgun to bear. Miliseconds of movement had the Mercenary see a wisp of a shadow exit out the smashed casino doors, with the door to the left of the casino tables left wide open. The Mercenary gritted his teeth as he broke into a run, sparing a glance toward the side room as he saw the two identical Mafia men unceremoniously locked into the holding cell. The bastard had enough fight in him to make an escape. The Mercenary broke into a run once more, moving past the destroyed casino doors and back to the outer rooftop. That cannon was a one-way trip, and the only way down now was a leap of faith- at least to the guy desperate enough to make a break for it. The Mercenary peered over the edge as he saw the man land on top of a glass roof of an indoor pool just as it shattered underneath his feet; shimmering with luminescent pearl waves that the moonlight cast onto the pool now dazzled by the fractals of crystal pane. It was a fifty foot drop at his estimate- well within survivability provided he stick the landing.

He was certain the man was unaware he was being followed- all too harried in making his escape to consider the possibility. He wasn't going to let him escape again. Backing up a few paces, the Mercenary slunk into a crouch; bracing his knees as he rolled his shoulders and secured his pistol to its holster once more. With a sharp exhale, the horned soldier broke into a dead sprint as he reached the peak of the roof in just a few strides- propelling himself off in his downward arc as he fell. With the shimmering blue hue of water fast upon him, the Mercenary straightened his legs, crossed his arms over his chest and held his breath as he torpedoed into the pool below; shutting his eyes and breathing outward as he kicked his legs and broke through the surface. As he scrambled to gain purchase along the lip of the pool, the blistering sting of chlorine mixing with open wounds invigorated his adrenaline as crimson rivulets ran down his head, cheeks, lips, chin and nose where splintered crystalline shards had licked open his weathered skin. Pulling himself up and over to the side of the pool, the Mercenary quickly stood to his feet as he briefly surveyed the area before turning his attention to the water and moving toward the entrance to the pool. He was determined to stop the man's exit, or give chase if he had already left the area as well.

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:59 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: >750

EXP: 4/10

Interactions: @Zoey Boey (Juri)

Mentions: @Lugubrious (Mabuchi, Mafia Boss) @Zoey Boey (Juri)

'CRACK!'

The suited mobster's skull collided mid-fall into the Mercenary's bionic fist; the resistance of bone against metal being felt up to his forearm and into his shoulder as the man sprawled out across the theater stage; weapon clattering harmlessly to the floor. The Mercenary wasted no time in stepping forward to secure the Kwan dao and heft the bladed weapon in his bionic hand; knowing from the weight of such a weapon alone, any use would be devastating at the cost of slowing him down. Perhaps he'd find use for it at a weapons exchange vendor. As for the mobster, the man was out cold and being dragged by a couple underlings presumably to a cell. Turning to the Mafia Boss, he was just in time to see the head honcho scatter a heaping handful of pons haphazardly around the punk girl's radius; clearly miffed enough about something to lack the dignity to respectfully pay her. If it was anything telling of how the catwoman acted by purposefully going after her at the start of the fight, that probably had something to do with it. The Mafia Boss was a stickler for results, and the Mercenary stifled his irritation at the disrespect.

A few pons had rolled their way over to the Mercenary; clattering against his boots as some rolled into their momentum and circled the floor before laying flat. He bent down to pick up the ones that came near him, being a sizable fistful, before walking over to the punk woman and holding his hand out for her to accept the currency, blading his body slightly with his other hand still holding the polearm as to not accidentally stick anyone around him. "Pretty good fighting style; rare to find that out here." The Mercenary complemented, his voice gravelly and rough with a notably slight lisp. Whatever she decided to do next, he was at least glad to have helped in case that man were to have recovered and prolonged the fight. After that, though, it was time for some answers. He looked back and over to Mabuchi still being carried out of the Casino. If nothing more pressing had come to his attention, he was going to tail the goons hauling his query to a cell.

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:59 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: >750

EXP: 4/10

Interactions: OPEN

Mentions: @Zoey Boey (Juri), @Archmage MC (Blazermate)

Before he had time to head over to the golden-gilded kiosk, what sounded like a fighter jet had made its way toward the smashed entrance, nearly making the Mercenary dive for cover when the incoming visage revealed itself to be a strange blue robot. He saw fleeting glimpses of it skittering among the skies throughout the Town, but he didn't think it would come up here. It was feminine; lithe in construction as emerald-lit eyes scrutinized his figure. Even with the lack of a mouth, its vocalizations sounded curious; dutiful in innocence, even. Yet not before it remarked that he looked just like someone she once saw. That piqued his interest, though the term 'action hero' may have been overselling whatever reputation preceded him. He couldn't even manage to speak as the bot asked for his autograph post battle, then darted into the ongoing firefight. Might as well then. He knew he wouldn't get another shot at this.

The Mercenary resumed his previous combat stance; running back into the theater as he grimaced in concentration. The suited man was his target, and it looked like he was already being walloped the hell out of by the punk girl- with no trace of the catwoman to be seen. He briefly caught the robot flying overhead; inadvertently (or deliberately?) healing the Mafia Ball and its scattered pieces back to full strength. The Mafia Boss was sha-quatey, but had enough honor to not attack his associates. The Mercenary holstered his pistol, moving up and onto the central stage. Brandishing his knife, he waited for an opening from the girl's attack. Ensuring to stay as clear as he could of the Mafia Ball, the next time the suited man was sent flying, he was going to send a heavy punch aimed right at the man's head before he hit the ground again.

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:59 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: >750

EXP: 4/10

Interactions: OPEN

Mentions: @Lugubrious (Nadia), @Zoey Boey (Juri)

The Mercenary's pause had been enough for him to assess the figures in the room- just before the bubblegum-punk styled girl had launched herself into the fray as all hell broke loose. Seconds after, the catlike woman had joined the engagement. It was obvious the two had a rivalry against one another, and the chaos in the theater seemed to be the perfect opportunity for them to settle scores. The catlike woman was relentless in her assaults against her rival- purely seeming to target her even above the man with the polearm who threatened to usurp the entire town. As for the Mercenary, he was, as by his nature, a mercenary. Under contract, not obligation. The Mafia boss and his henchmen seemed to be holding themselves well enough, and as the Mercenary stepped back through the doorway to the theater undetected by the two mobsters, he weighed his options again after pressing himself against the wall for cover. The central stage was beyond his reach, and it was an all-out brawl that honestly wouldn't serve to accomplish much on his end. The boss roared in rage, no doubt frustrated that there was nary a coordinated nor unified response by the other two in ensuring the polearmed intruder would be dealt with. That's when he heard the boss take a deep, raspy breath. "Maaaaffiiiaaaa~ BALL!"

The Mercenary peeked around the corner just in time to dodge a flying tuna steak, and to his surprise, beheld the insane spectacle that was hundreds of Mafia henchmen; phasing through the floor, the walls, the ceiling- all to coalesce under the Boss in a giant sphere of muscles and moustaches- with a few very hapless inclusions who were quite upset about their state of being. It was there he decided that the fight was handled, and chose to move away from the theater and back out to the casino foyer. Glancing behind him, he looked around the room to spot the cashier kiosk, unoccupied. Perhaps there was a silver lining to this after all. He was looking to get an assault rifle in the future..

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:59 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: 1,174

EXP: 4/10

Interactions: OPEN

Mentions: @Lugubrious (Nadia), @Zoey Boey (Juri)

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 enjoyed 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. Bingo. 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.

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:59 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: 1,245

EXP: 3/10

Interactions: OPEN

Mentions: N/A

Within seemingly a blink, a stretched shadow had eclipsed much of the coastline of the port; blotting out the moonlight and amplifying the bright halos of the sunset-tinted streetlights. He had known something had materialized behind him in such a short amount of time, and as he moved to peer around the lip of the container once more, his vision flicked immediately away from the position of the white-suited man as he trailed over the hulking visage of a massive cargo ship- was that a cannon? The PA screeched to life seconds later; causing the man to grit his teeth in pain as he could only now stand and observe the massive ship from his position. No lookouts, no ladders or deployed anchors.. The ship seemed unmanned, save for the thunderous voice of an announcer at the helm. Looking down and patting his waist, he felt the two extra magazines for his .45, plus the heft of the fresh one loaded and chambered into the weapon in his hands. He'd have to get aboard the ship, take out the crew or Marines that must be inside the ship waiting to-

KUH-BRROAAAAAM!

A brilliant starburst erupted from the oversized barrel of the cannon; the cacophonous thundercrack sending a shockwave through the docks- foaming the seawater and pulverizing the wooden boards of the platform as hundreds of orange streaks cascaded against the onyx sky like falling stars. The ship had launched its flak payload in an arced trajectory toward the shorefront shops, and he had calculated that it was an estimated ten seconds before the flak devastated the town. Deafened and hurried by the sounds of his own breathing, the man holstered his handgun as he turned and ran into a dead sprint toward the coastal townside in a scramble to protect the townsfolk from the incoming destruction. It was only at a hundred meters left that he had realized the 'flak' was falling slower than what he'd expected. The projectiles had varying deviancies of speed and distance, and when they smashed into windows, billboards, streetlights... they didn't explode. They got up from what would be a fatal fall, and immediately poised themselves to begin their attack.

A young man twenty years his senior had landed in front of him; executing a perfect tuck-and-roll as he leapt to his feet to turn and face the horned mercenary. The younger chisel-chinned and hair-swept man in question was dressed in a pair of swimtrunks and polarized surfer shades; boasting a disproportionately built torso and arms against a lanky set of legs. The mercenary dropped into a ready stance; teeth grit into a snarl as he felt the familiar urge to fight take hold of his being. He relished it.

"Sup gramps, you ready to make some waves?" The younger man asked. The surfer-dude had chosen the moment to laugh gaudily- and found the open-palm strike of the older man's red bionic hand to contact his nose- sending him flying backward as he landed back-first and skidded against the pavement before leaping to his feet. "Aight, RADICAL IT IS BRAH!" The Dude roared back, now sporting a cartoonish bandage across his nose. The Mercenary didn't respond; face etched into a concentrated scowl as he held his ground and waited for his opponent to come to him. The Dude dropped into a starter-stance, and took big, bounding strides toward the Mercenary as he reared his right hand back to launch a devastating forward punch; only to see in a split second that the horned Mercenary had dropped down two inches, pivoted his body slightly to the left, and launched an uppercut directly into the man's jaw with his right hand; before performing another palm-strike on the man's throat with his left. The two-hit combination had simultaneously propelled The Dude slightly into the air before launching him backward again. The Mercenary was damned if he let that tank of a man get a hit off on him. He was quicker in comparison to the Dude's heavier, slower movements- that was an advatage.

"BUH-GAAAHHHWWWK!" A sonorous warcry bellowed from behind the Mercenary as a full-fledged humanoid chicken had leapt onto him in a back grapple; causing the man to stagger forward and reflexively reach up to seek leverage on the casually-dressed poultry as he found only the ends of the business suit. With one hand on the thing's waist and another at his side, the Mercenary bucked forward and attempted to throw the grappler off- which only made him stumble and fall onto the ground instead. Face-down, the Mercenary felt the behemoth readjust his stance to move off of him as he felt his legs behind picked up. Kicking and attempting to twist himself over to unholster his pistol, the Mercenary was unable to do so as, within a whip of motion, the world began to spin into a miasma of colors as wind muted his hearing. From his benchmark of seeing the surfer slowly rise to his feet, he only counted two rotations in his heightened state before suddenly being let go and thrown into his previous target- the both of them now hurdling into the window of a port office building. The Mercenary, fortunately for him, had his former target soften his blow as a body cushion; finally slamming up against the wall and tumbling off onto the hardwood floor. The impact may have been blunted, but pain screamed in his muscles and joints as he fought the disorientation from being swung by his legs.

Stumbling to his feet, The Mercenary turned around, unlatched his Wu-S from its holster, and fired a single tranq dart into the Dude's head. The man's body jerked in place, then went lax as white comically-sized Z's materialized above the sleeping giant. Of course, he couldn't forget the rapid footsteps of the his new opponent charging into the building. Turning to face the approaching threat, the Mercenary was blindsided by the metallic frame of a stopsign to his upper torso- sending him rocketing into the opposite wall and out the other side of the building as he sprawled out against the ground. Eliciting a hoarse cough, the Mercenary rolled over on his back just in time to see the well-dressed avian leap into the air, holding the octagonal cudgle above its head in preparation for a ground slam. The Mercenary quickly rolled to the side just as the chicken landed with a downward swing- pulverizing the spot he had been in moments prior as he rolled to his feet. Within a second, the Mercenary had moved to close the distance as the chicken was still bringing the weapon up from its downward attack. Lunging to grab the stopsign by the middle pole, the Mercenary wrenched his opponent's weapon in a pull toward himself, before executing a right-footed kick to the being's diaphragm that sent the chicken into a doubled-over stagger; reflexivley releasing the pole which was soon tossed aside.

Wu-S still firmly clenched in-hand, the Mercenary leveled the tranq-gun at the being's head and pulled the trigger as the chicken collapsed to the ground. With both targets neutralized, the man turned on a pivot and made a running dash up to the besieged restaurants several flights of stairs ahead of him. He hadn't forgotten the words of the white-suited man, and with this event that had disrupted an otherwise quiet evening, he had wondered if that and had been involved in orchestrating this chaos.

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:55 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: 900

EXP: 2/10

Interactions: OPEN

Mentions: @Double (Captain Falcon)

Exhaling another puff from his cigar, the man decided that was enough. No sense in smoking himself into a haze if trouble could arrive at a moment's notice. Flipping the tube around to watch the red-hot ignition light slowly fade away, the man fanned the device before placing it back into his suit pouch. As the sunset horizon slowly began to reveal a vantablack ocean of glittering stars hiding among the fading hues, he looked back toward the port and resumed his expressionless people-watching. That was, until he heard the rattling, whirring and clanging of a standard bicycle being pushed to its absolute limit. He didn't have to look far; angling his gaze down at the port below and observing a suspiciously muscle-bound man clad in a Crazy Eats pizza uniform as they zipped across destinations. Even with security having died down at the port, he was sure that the local Mafia wouldn't take too kindly to the rubber skids on the pavement and various stretches of scuffed metal from the bike grinding along stairway rails. Regardless, it wasn't his problem to deal with. If anything, the eatery responsible for employing the guy would have to explain away their local space cadet. As ridiculous as it was, however, it was also entertaining to watch.

A few more zips, dips, twists and turns, then the man on the bike careened near a dockyard storefront. Just as the man completed his turn on approach, the store doors burst open in a cacophony of noise- led by the flung body of a man who sprawled across the boards seconds later as he struggled to re-orient himself to his feet. The horned man said nothing as he watched from the overlook; only making out the harsh deterring barks of the filing-out employees toward the deliveryman who had unintentionally skirted too close to their perimeter. Finally, stepping out of the entryway was a man in a pearled suit. Though slightly on the heavier side, the head honcho himself made no mistake in ensuring the underling on the ground knew exactly who was in charge- and it was evident to even other storefronts and commuters who, upon observing the rapidly evolving scene, altered their course to circumvent or avoid the area entirely. The boss was red in the face, and almost surely spitting in the air from his displeasure. Yet further analysis had stopped, as the mercenary had left his position on the overlook and began moving down the stairs toward the dock. This had taken his attention entirely.

Around halfway down the stairs leading into the port, the suit-clad man vaulted over the side railing as he landed to the ground below with a muted thud. The port gave way to the docks with sixty yards of separation, and a whole lot of active and scattered street lights illuminating the way as they began to cycle on. The docks and the storehouse were normally public access from mariners to commercial and corporate boats, but with the situation he may as well be heading into a restricted area. All the more reason to avoid using any weapons if the situation got ugly. The man slinked and snaked his way from pallet stack to forklift in a bounding pattern- momentarily pausing to peak, analyze, then move as he gradually encroached toward the situation at the docks. His movements so far had been calculated, precise- almost becoming some uncanny synchronization between instinct, intuition, and muscle-memory. Positioning himself against a blue heavy cargo container, the man sidestepped over to the far left of the giant metal rectangle- careful not to overexpose himself from the lip. Now he could hear the angry spitting of the man, still scolding the utterly terrified employee who didn't say a word in his defense- not like he could at this rate. Snippets of the boss's rant now reached his ears- it seems like that kid ran his mouth to the wrong people, but the 'operation' to eliminate the Mafia- along with everyone 'else', made him scowl. He could care less about the Mafia, but with civilians caught in the crossfire? That potentiality was something he would not allow.

With an estimated twelve feet between them, his mind had run through scenarios. Get them to leave the kid alone? Confrontation was probable if he just showed up and said so. His usual method of non-lethal elimination meant that he would have to wait until the group dispersed to pick them off one by one, and when they did, the kid probably wouldn't make it before then. Killing them was out of the question- a waste of ammo and his time. He just had to-

"Boss! It's coming!"

The man arched his brow as the group of men had dispersed to prepare for the arrival of something. Peeking over the lip of the container, the man watched as one of the store employees held a bladed polearm out to give to the commandeering figure. Dipping back into the shadow of the container wall, his crimson arm reached over and withdrew his tactical .45 from its holster. He'd lost sight of the bike-riding pizzaman, but as far as he knew the guy had probably gotten the message.

World of Light: the Endless Now

LOC: Mafia Town, 17:45 hrs

LVL: 1

WC: 604

EXP: 1/10

Interactions: OPEN, Intro Post

The evening was quick to set in on this particular day; the cloud cover previously sprawling across the subdued sky now parting to reveal a sunset horizon of lavender, tangerine, and peace hues. Away from the clinking of silverware and tantalizing aroma of various cuisines emanating from the town center, a lone male figure leaned against the safety railing that overlooked the entryway to the port harbor; clad in a bulky, form-fitting grey bodysuit with two handguns nestled within beige holsters fastened at his hips. The man's enigmatic appearance only served to deepen if one took a closer look at him. His face was rough, scarred and weathered from various engagements- one of which cost him his left eye as a black eyepatch was secured around his head up and underneath the base of a short ponytail of dark brown hair. Yet perhaps the most interesting feature, and the one that could inspire fear and also single him out of a crowd, was the large titanium carbide coverings fixated to the upper left side of his head; acting as protective sheaths to secure the jagged shrapnel still embedded within his skull. Unfortunately, this unwilling accessory gave him the appearance of having a horn. It was an ugly fixture, yet it served to remind him of how he came to be, and who he was now.

His remaining ocean-blue eye reflected the tranquility of the night's atmosphere, finally finding a brief moment of R&R as he dipped his head to glance over at a pouch that rested near the edge of his suit's side webbing. Reaching a red metallic hand down to fish through the pouch, he retrieved a short metal cylinder as he popped the cap off the end, stuck it in his mouth and inhaled as the tip lit up a bright crimson red. The man exhaled the herbal smoke out the other side of his mouth, and continued staring out into the glistening docks, lost in thought. The Mafia, though relatively harmless as far as he observed, ran through that dock with a smattering of goods. The days only changed in appearance, yet each was prescribed with the same set of events. Someone gets over-confident and attempts raiding one of the port crates, or perhaps even more brazenly, a whole damn cargo ship. Mafia promptly goes on alert, and almost always looks to him to apprehend the perpetrator- if only for how skilled he gets it done. It was a little monotonous, yet it put blood money in his pocket all the same.

Another puff from his cigar, and the world felt brighter. The ritual of his evening unwind was something he'd found to start making routine when day turned to night, and people were put off enough by his appearance to usually stay away. Usually. There was one person here who he'd seen on occasion, yet never met officially or on a call to action. A hyper-muscular man who wore the tight latex-like outfit of a comic book superhero; a bizarre uniform of white armored shoulder pauldrons against a blue suit body and red knee-high boots. Or, were they gold? He'd swear the man would swap them out every so often. Those white triangle-like markings for eyes on his mask would seem to shift with his expression, even if he never moved his mouth beyond a stoic frown. He didn't get the man's name in passing, yet the Boss had seen him enough to know he would be sure to be encountering him again.

Which is precisely why the nature of this particular night felt different with each passing second..