PlatinumSkinkThinker Cup Cafe
Downtown Boston
21st January, 2011
Well, this Toxic will definitely fit into Boston, Whetstone thought.
Weird, yet capable. Most importantly, able to pull off a stunt that would render the Covenant completely helpless and allow her ample leverage in future negotiations with her runaway upstart.
“Well,” she began, “what are you after? I control a large portion of the drugs trade in the city. Money isn’t an issue either, but you don’t strike me as the type of person particularly interested in either.”
Reclining in her chair to give some distance, she met the girl’s eyes. “Something I can offer is a parahuman capable of restoring humans back to… ‘factory settings’, for want of a better term. Find yourself a test subject, and I can provide the means to experiment on that subject indefinitely. At least until you kill them. She’s good, but she’s not God.”
Allowing an almost vulpine grin to spread across her lips beneath the scarf, she rested her chin on a knuckle. “Interested?”
@Old Amsterdam
A mobile rang while the engine of the car ticked over. Professional as always, the man answered before the third ring. “Line’s secure. What do you need?”
“It has come to my attention that someone is trying to get in touch with the Covenant. A Wonderland operative on behalf of Pipeline.” Another man’s voice on the other end of the line filled him in on the details. “Knowing we have to attend the Circus is only half the politics of this, you see. Not meeting their operative would be simply bad manners.”
Donovan’s eyes scanned the chaos happening in Dorchester from a safe distance. “What if they need me here?” he asked.
The voice held amusement. “With all the brutes running around, they won’t. You’ll be back before they need to run.”
“Where’s the drop?” While asking the question, he fished out his heavy revolver and thumbed open the cylinder, counting all six chambers loaded.
“The Thinker Cup Cafe. Downtown.”
“I know the place.”
“Good,” the voice replied. “Remember. Master-Stranger protocols. Just in case.”
Donovan grinned. “Always.”
The drive had only taken about ten minutes, although he carefully broke speed limits on the way over. With the authorities focused on Dorchester, it was easy to get away with minor crimes. Pulling up outside, he flicked on a pair of aviator shades and headed round to the boot. A heavy black bag took pride of place just inside, and he slung the bag over his shoulder.
Walking through the door, he grabbed a quick coffee before scanning the area, praying Sickle wouldn’t kill him for being absent when he found out. Eyes resting on two guys sitting - one being almost hilariously unsubtle about looking around - he took a seat across from them with his back to the window.
And then he took out his gun and placed the barrel against the knee of what looked like the more capable of the two.
“So, I hear you have something for me. Here’s how this is gonna work. Place it on the desk and sliiiiiide it over, nice and slow. Don’t try to make skin contact with me, or I pull the trigger. Don’t even think about pulling something funny, or I pull the trigger.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, so Master-Stranger protocols are in effect. If I don’t check in with my partner once this is done without any change in my usual speech patterns, code phrase or otherwise, then a 50. cal bullet will make one of you about a foot shorter.” The man reclined in his chair. “And since I take you for the leader,” he said, pressing the barrel a little harder against Tony’s knee. “That’ll make your friend the one holding the short straw.” He smiled at Robby.
@Duoya
Wonderland Safe House - Raven Street
Downtown Boston
21st January, 2011
The two made their way up the stairs to an old door,with paint mostly chipped off and battered. It reflected the state of the house itself, which also wasn’t much to look at. Askaryan handed Automaton a key and the lock opened with a heavy clunk.
Inside was a collection of the biggest, baddest murders in the city.
Standing closest to the door, in a mix of biker leathers and a gas mask, was Caustic. A kill order existed for him across the entire Protectorate because of a particularly vicious spree of assaults and murders around the bayous down south. The death toll had been in the hundreds. The order had originally only stood in the states where he had killed, until the PRT as a whole realised he wasn’t going to stop.
Next to him - and still wearing her federal jumpsuit from years ago, topped with a plain, faceless black mask - was Black Kaze. She was an almost legendary figure from her days spent murdering countless people after Japan’s destruction at the hands of Leviathan. Her hair was worn shoulder-length, and was heavily matted with something. It was best not to consider what.
And sitting on the desk at the far end of the room, swinging her legs and twirling an umbrella, was a young girl. 14, at the most. She looked like a circus ringleader, with a dress flowing down to below her knees, heavily accented with grays, dark blues and white. A large, baby-blue bow sat a few inches below her throat. Her hat resembled a top hat, but striped the same colour as her dress and tied round with a bow. The mask she wore only covered the top half of her face, curving around her mouth, and was decorated with swirling black and red designs.
Besides the three most notable characters, there was a good fifteen Wonderland mooks and a few other people, dressed in such eccentricity to mark themselves as parahumans.
Every single pair of eyes in the room fell on the two newcomers.
“Well, well, Askaryan found himself a girlfriend,” Kaze joked with a harsh, throaty laugh.
One of the mooks in the room spotted the blood. “What in the nine hells happened to you?”
The parahuman smiled beneath his hood. “Her. Turns out Gladius are hiring decent freelancers now.”
Caustic swiveled on Askaryan. “And you brought a Gladius operative here… why?”
“Look on the fucking news, you dope,” he hissed at him. “The entire area went to shit. Protectorate and the Covenant are there, and it was bad enough before.”
The goons turned several shades paler, as the room became quite silent. “There’s no way in hell I’m going up against that blood freak,” one said, as he moved towards the door.
Without missing a beat, the young girl hopped off the desk, looped his throat with the umbrella handle and smashed his head down on the desk she had just vacated. “Yes. Yes, you will, if we tell you to. That is the price you pay to live the way you do. We tell you to jump, you ask how high. We tell you to fight someone, you ask how many bullets you get. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y...yes,” he replied, sheepishly.
“Good.” The girl unhooked her umbrella and returned back to the desk, checking a notification on her phone. “As it is, you’re in luck. Pipeline’s pulling us out.” Placing her phone back in her pocket, she sighed. “Oh well, there will always be another day. You can all go.” Walking up the room, she stopped in front of Automaton and thrust out her hand, despite barely reaching 3/4ths of her height.
“I’m Planck,” she said with a giggle. “We appreciate you bailing Askaryan out, he’s too valuable for us to lose.” Pausing and looking behind you both, she cocked her head slightly. “Hey, you did bring Freakshow, too, right?”
@Lasrever
Gladius Border Territory
Dorchester
21st January, 2011
The pressure washing over the shield was causing enormous strain on Vegas, but it continued to grow brighter. One of the girls under her protection suddenly shouted to watch out, and she flicked her eyes upwards. There, several feet above her, was a small girl holding a knife.
Angled directly at her.
“Awww, it’s a pint-sized slasher,” Vegas joked, her voice struggling to keep her jolly tone. Between the fire crashing down upon the shield, and the would-be assassin bearing down on her, the stress became a little too much. “What the hell is your problem, you little shit?”
@knifeman@Kiddo
Watching the ghostly hand spin round for a second shot, Septima instinctively ran forward. “Anomaly! Don’t!” she cried.
But it was too late.
@Banana
The second strike cut through his defenses as quick as the first, the downward force knocking him to one knee. Colour drained almost entirely from the world, save for the red of the blood and the brilliant sparks of orange flame and pink neon colliding. Time seemed to slow, as Sickle knelt.
His eyes scanned the battlefield to take stock of exactly what was happening. Dragon was overwhelming Vegas. Her shield was strong, but not invincible - and he had no idea how long she would last. Time had lost all meaning. Had he been standing here for a few seconds, or a few minutes?
She’s going to die.
That much was clear. He didn’t need the voice to tell him that. But he couldn’t do anything about it. With his brain screaming not to move or the entire situation would get worse, he was literally frozen to inaction.
You’re going to be all alone.
I know! he told himself. But what am I meant to do? Someone ran past, warning him of the Protectorate’s advance on his location. They were coming for him. They would get him. But he didn’t care. Memories flash back of the nights after his trigger. Sleeping rough. Fending off the street trash. Finding the disused church to set up shop in. All the while being so incredibly alone, cutting ties with both lives at once. That couldn’t happen again.
He wouldn’t let it.
What are you supposed to do? cooed the voice, softly.
What you do best.
A callous laugh drifted up from his kneeling form as he looked at the blood on his hand. With a wet slap, he pressed it against his mask, leaving a bloody, gloved handprint alongside his regular dripping eyes. Standing at last, he noticed two light blue shields coming racing towards him. The first was already too far over and skimmed past, stealing most of his shard storm from the air. However, he’d spotted them now, and the second came low.
Leaping into the air, the shield slammed into the ground, puffing up a cloud of dust. Sickle exercised his power on the blood against his skin and inside his jacket, maneuvering himself in mid-air, landing on the top of a burned out car. He faced the Wards silently, and decided they had to be dealt with before they started something they couldn’t finish.
But first.
Turning to Dragon, he raised one hand and held it across his body. All at once, every drop of blood at the scene rose. It collected together and sped towards him, gathering in a ball behind him. Once it had grown to full size - roughly seven feet in diameter - he swiped his arm and cast the ball at the ground behind Dragon. It splashed and rolled along the floor, before he flicked two fingers towards the beast. The blood rose up in a wave beside Dragon before hardening and and driving towards her side.
Satisfied the move would give Vegas enough of an opening to figure something out, he looked at the collected heroes. Dragging back the blood that served as the foundation of the wave, it floated behind him in a kind of red cloud. Scooping some of the liquid out, he hurled it at Knight’s helmet before turning the rest into a solid bo-staff and charging for the group.
@Banana@PlatinumSkink@Kiddo