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Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

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Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

Feel free to squat in the OOC and provide viewer commentary. The audience eats that shit up.

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

"Dick" is my trigger word.

Mr. Skeltels don't have dicks. >:(

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

That sheet was so edgy that I cut myself on it by accident.

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

---

Sam Clarke, The Nightingale, and The Dreadnaughts

---

Part III

In about four minutes, a fleet of police cars came tearing down Beijing Street at maximum speed. There were ten cruisers, four vans, and two armored personnel carriers from the National Guard. Sam stood by the generator, gun in hand. There was a door adjacent to the generator, and if if opened he was going to be ready to kick ass.

The police cars came within two blocks.

"Good mornin', America, how are you... don'tcha know, I'm your native s--" Grit halted the murmured singing as he looked away from his scope, and turned over to see the militarized police force come zooming by, warranting a near-panicked reaction from him. He was about three or four blocks down, but still prompted his worry. He quickly spoke into his comm, "they've hit the second block, do it now! They're coming in fast!"

Caesar reached into his pocket to grab a zippo lighter and with it, lit the fuse of the firecrackers beside him. The fuse was long, he'd have to wait a brief second.

"Roger!" Sam smacked the lock off of the power box hanging from the wall with his gun and looked at the complicated system of switches inside. He pulled a few switches to cut off the power and, to make sure it got done right, shot the board with his suppressed pistol. A loud "Ping!" filled the air and the box exploded into sparks.

The lights in the warehouse immediately died down afterwards, prompting a couple of alarmed exclamations from the people inside. Baron's body was stiff and anxious. Washe looked at the fuse as it gradually shrunk. Finally, when it was just an inch or two away from the firecrackers, he jumped around the barrels and tossed them through a hole between two broken boards of the warehouse, and soon enough, went off - catching the people inside off guard.

---

The sound of the electrical box bursting open and firecrackers caught the Nightingale's attention. Why do men have to blow everything up? So messy. One big dick measuring contest, all the time. She was not left with much time to ruminate on the gender dynamics of covert operations for long-the doorknob beside her began to rattle. Anastasia quickly darted across the alley and knelt beside a few trashbags. Her concealment was by no means perfect, but between the darkness and the adrenaline of the Fiends, she imagined she'd be alright. Her gloved finger slid onto the trigger of her pistol, and she reached for her knife with her left hand. After a moment, the Fiends unlocked and opened the door, looking both ways.

"It's the fucking cops, man!" one of them said, struggling to pry a belt off of his arm. Jesus. I feel like I'm overqualified for this. He removed it and threw it on the ground, rubbing at the crook of his elbow. "The fuck do we do?"

The other was on par in terms of sobriety and strategic foresight. "I guess, just, run or some shit." The two took off down the alleyway, leaving the Nightingale in a bit of a dilemma. Their odds of stumbling upon the sniper were...low (provided this Dreadnaught had any training whatsoever), but if they did, that could be enough to botch this whole job. Leaving her back to an open door and a warehouse full of tweakers was not exactly a tactically sound choice either. Sighing (noiselessly), Anastasia rose, following the Fiends from a careful distance. They darted around a corner, heading roughly for Grit. They're either very lucky, or very well-informed.. Admittedly, the rooftops weren't a terrible idea, and she could understand where the two would look for that. Cops were going to have their hands full with the warehouse-these two cowards could lay low until the coast was clear. Anastasia wasn't used to the Fiends displaying such intelligence. It was disarming.

They slid to a stop by the ladder to a fire escape, briefly arguing over who should get to climb first. The minute she heard boots hitting steel, she turned the corner. The Fiend on the ground spotted her, mouth widening in alarm. And yet nothing came out. Curious. Anastasia sidestepped his punch, which was terribly predictable. Forget the intelligence thing.She moved to press the blade of the knife to his neck and thought better of it. Getting blood over her clothes wouldn't do for the getaway-finding time to be irritated at command for not letting her have her suit even in the midst of a grapple, Anastasia punched the side of the Fiend's neck, pushing off with her legs and throwing her whole body into the punch. The Fiend grunted, but she must not have struck the carotid with enough force. Perhaps he was just too drugged to pay attention to the laws of biology-off-balance and alarmed, the Fiend staggered enough for her to land a kick on the shin of the leg that was holding him up. He hit the pavement more or less facefirst, and Anastasia quickly double-tapped the back of his head with the pistol. Bone and brain splattered onto her boots. I'm going to clean these off on the inside of Lihua's ass, damn her.

The other Fiend was none the wiser-camaraderie was a very relative term amongst this bunch, and the welfare of his tagalong wasn't something he appeared to be very concerned about. Anastasia holstered her pistol and clenched the knife in her teeth, clambering up the ladder much more quickly than he'd been able to. She caught him on the third flight, grabbing his ankle and yanking back down. His chin caught two of the rungs on the way down, and the entire damned, rusty scaffolding seemed to shake with the impact. I swear if this city put half of NEST's budget into maintenance. He opened his mouth to scream, and once again, quite curiously, made not a sound. Anastasia kneeled over him, resting her knee on the man's throat. He slapped at her legs and torso, but didn't have an angle or enough force to get her off. He fell asleep. Perhaps permanently. Anastasia stood up, wrinkling her nose as she brushed his touch off of her. Christ, she didn't want to think about where those hands had been. She continued clambering up the ladder, emerging behind Grit. She gave him a quick whistle to let him know she was there, and then knelt beside him, watching the scene unfold from below. Grit turned around at the sound of his compatriot, evidently happy to see a pretty face in the sea of gruff old men that he worked with. "Ah, I thought you'd never come!"

---

Meanwhile, in the warehouse, the lights had abruptly gone out. Baron was blinded for the time being, but he knew that Grit should be alright as long as he had the camera. He made sure to keep it focused on where Long Dragon was standing previously.

"What the fuck! Where'd the lights go?"

"Someone find them!"

"Who the fuck turned them out!"

"I can't see!"

Following the darkness, came the firecrackers. In the midst of alarm and panic, nobody noticed the brief second where sparks flew through the air and onto the ground. Sounds of gunfire immediately erupted from it, and the smell of gunpowder filled the room.

"Fuck! Fuck!"

"Shit, get down!"

"Who's firing?!"

From the sounds of it, half of the people in the room dropped to the floor, and in no time at all, moonlight filled the warehouse as two Fiends opened the large warehouse doors to check what all the commotion was about.

"What's happening!"

Back to Grit, still laying on the rooftops, had seconds to make the shot in time. Taking a quick glimpse from the green recording and back to the scope, he aimed it into the darkness of the warehouse. "Here goes nothing," he muttered. He pulled the trigger as the massive police invasion came to a halting stop in front of the doors.

Baron saw a familiar tall silhouette among the much abruptly lurch backward, before staggering and ultimately falling onto the floor. Behind his mask, the spy smiled. 'Whether it's Grit's luck or his skill, the boy never ceases to impress.' He turned around, making his best efforts to remain inconspicuous to the Fiends (who were more than likely distracted by the sudden army of police forces) as he casually leaned against the back door and started making his escape. He took off the gas mask as soon as he went out-doors, breathing a breath of fresh air. He looked down to see Washe's anxious face, and simply gifted to him a reassuring smile. Washe sighed.

"Mission successful," Washe declared over the comm, "now let's all get out of here before shit hits the fan."

Sam sighed and watched as the plan unfolded perfectly. These guys were impressive; they kicked ass without any supernatural abilities to help them. He was awe-struck and a tad jealous of them. As the back door burst open and Baron came running out, Sam crept over and slunk inside. He flickered out of sight and vanished once more.

"Caesar, this is KINGFISHER FALCON," Sam said. "Job well done. I'll see you around. I've got one more thing I've got to do."

"Yeah, yeah..." Washe muttered. He proceeded to lead Baron through the back and through the alleyways to bring him to the van that they had made their mobile base of operations.

Grit grinned from ear to ear. The old man's plan worked like a charm! It was like he knew what those Fiend mooks were gonna do. He took apart the stand fo his sniper rifle, and slinged the gun over his back, then immediately began rushing across the rooftop as he ripped off the ski mask over his face - the damn thing was too hot for a tropical city like this. As he began making his escape, he smiled at agent NIGHTINGALE, clearly satisfied with himself. "What do you think, eh? Not too shabby, am I right?"

'I take back my previous sentiment about the Dreadnaughts being hired to fight for you - these two had no qualms with ignoring NEST and blowing the man's head out.' The Nightingale thought.

Anastasia rolled her eyes at Grit's attempt at coming on to her. She's been in this scene a long time, and if there was one thing she should've gotten used to be now, it was a cocky marksman. Being one herself, though, there was some place for respect on Grit's part. She was at least impressed by Grit's ability to take out a target in pitch black darkness, but was a little skeptical that perhaps the man was just lucky beyond compare. When he took off his mask, she was taken back by the marksman's youth - at least a couple years younger than she was. She wasn't the type to pray (with the life she's led so far, it's safe to say she's forsaken her place beyond heaven's pearly gates), but she might just contemplate praying he wasn't one of those prodigies that made her look bad.

Grit was mostly concerned about getting the hell out of here than flirting with the hot assassin while they were surrounded by the militarized police and by gang members. He stepped on the scaffolding ladder, and as he slid his way down to the platform below, he called, "let's get outta here while we can. We've got a rendevouz over by, uh... down over by... uh, damn it, I don't know. The Chinese take out place? Let's just get out of here!"

Anastasia sighed. 'So maybe he isn't a prodigy. Good for me.'

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

---

Sam Clarke, The Nightingale, and The Dreadnaughts

---

Part II

It was only a minute or two before Sam and Nightingale were surrounded by the sloped roofs and colorful lights of Chinatown. This part of town had significantly more people on the streets than Union Point did, and the road was filled with screeching cars. Sam looked up the address on his watch and started a GPS route to the warehouse. His usual touchpad was too big for the undercover mission, so he substituted it for an Apple Watch. He felt like a total nerd.

The Nightingale raised an eyebrow. Sam looks like a total nerd.

They cut across the street and began to walk up the road. As their paths diverged, Sam turned to Nightingale. He pointed to the bluetooth, a signal for her to silence it so he could speak without being overheard. The Nightingale nodded, waving a hand nonchalantly. A bubble of invisible energy enveloped Sam, catching any noise he gave off and killing it before it could travel further. The noise from the comm cut through to the Nightingale's ears, but no one else's. His heavy boots hit the concrete noiselessly. Anastasia allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk. Damn, I'm good.

"Caesar, this is FALCON, we have approached the building," Sam said. "So just a heads-up here, my partner NIGHTINGALE is mute, so I'm trusting your agent Grit to identify her properly. I'm heading to the second rendevous point now, over!" He turned to Anastasia. "Good luck. Try not to unnecessarily murder anyone." Anastasia gave a noncommital shrug, right hand resting on the butt of her pistol. They always focus on the mutism. I'm also a pretty good cross-stitcher, but that's never how they introduce me. I should make a note of that at the next team meeting. I'm sure Lihua would be understanding.

"Her, eh?" Grit mused over his headset, the sound of panting being easily heard as he quickly squirreled his way through the nooks and crannies of the city, ducking under clothes-lines and the like. He made a leap onto a dumpster for some extra height, and the jumped back over the width of the alley towards the other brick wall and grabbed onto a cast-iron railing that was mounted on it. He climbed over the railing and found himself situated on a platform with a ladder bringing him to the top of his destination. "You're telling me that NIGHTINGALE is a lady, eh? Well boy, don't I just like the way this mission's goin' already!"

Sam could feel his skin crawl, but he decided not to say anything. He had to keep it professional and the like, after all. Sam turned and parted ways with Anastasia, heading for the back side of the warehouse. Sam, of course, had no idea what his contact looked like, and so he quickly slunk into an alley and spoke into his comm again.

Anastasia frowned at the bitter irony. He takes the west. Why do I always wind up going east. She slipped into the impassive stance of a fighter as she walked, features dull, eyes pointed ahead and looking everywhere else. With a small effort, she silenced the background noise-the taxis honking horns, the sounds of generators running in buildings nearby. She picked up Sam's footsteps-audible only to hear-a few dozen yards away, barely made out the noises of movement inside the warehouse. Lihua wanted them alive. Seemed pointless-they'd get shivved within twenty minutes of being put behind bars, but she wasn't going to be trigger happy unless she had to.

"Caesar, this is FALCON," Sam said. "I'm on the west side of the building awaiting your arrival. I'm in an alley to make me easier to identify, over!" While he waited, Sam looked over at the warehouse. He could see a silhouette or two in the windows.

Anastasia heard Sam's voice over her radio. She pressed the transmit button and gave a quick note or two of birdsong. Technically, it was a robin's cry, but she didn't think any of the others would really be able to tell. And if they did, a talking point.

Figuratively speaking.

Anastasia crouched down, hidden in the shadows of the alley. She missed her usual gear, and quite honestly didn't see Lihua's need to micromanage her from using it, but the dark of the alley was enough. Plenty enough. She did hope this Grit had night vision of some capacity. If things got messy, she was taking out the lights first, then silencing it all. Deaf and blind. They'd die scared. I'm ready. Anastasia waited for the cue.

Washe stood beside the warehouse itself, taking care to stay under cover via a stack rusted metal barrels that his him from view from the street, with a man wearing a gas mask lying unconscious at his feet. His back was pressed against the wooden boards that made up the old warehouse. Soon enough he heard FALCON's voice over his own headset. Great, he just got here. Washe was ready and in position, but now he had to wait for this KINGFISHER brat to do his job.

"Northwest corner of the warehouse," Washe murmured into his comm. "There's a generator. One of their gang members are posted near it. Take him out silently."

Caesar turned his head around the corner - yup, still posted. He then looked the other way, peering just above the barrels he was behind. "Grit, you in position yet?"

The sniper has just climbed on top of the apartment building and moved quickly as he could in a crouch until he met the corner of that building, then spoke into his comm as he set up his stand, laying down on the rooftop to get a good look at the warehouse through his scope. "Yeah, just got there. Will let ya know when miss Nightengale comes along."

'The little shit is quick on his feet.'

"Roger," Sam replied. He smirked deviously as he looked over at the guard. Hehehe. If only you knew how quiet I could be, Sam thought. His appearance faded, and he flickered out of sight. He drew the combat knife out of his jacket. He snuck across the street, being sure not to get struck by a random car, and approached the Fiend from behind, completely invisible and impossible to detect through visuals or hearing. He clapped a hand around the Fiend's mouth and before he could struggle slit his throat wide open. He dropped like a marionette with the strings cut. Sam grabbed the body and with considerable difficulty stuffed it into the space between the generator and the wall of the building.

"Target neutralized, Casear," Sam said.

"Huh?" Caesar grunted. He looked around the corner once more to see FALCON standing there, apparently out of nowhere, with a bloody mess slumped on the ground. "To fuckin' hell with this city of freaks..."

Anastasia kneeled beside a trashcan, small and flexible enough to hide almost her whole frame behind it. Her pistol rested calmly in her right hand, index finger running parallel with the barrel. The faint chatter of Caesar and Sam filled her ear. All this talk. So needless. She rolled across the alley, pausing in the shadows of the opposite side for a moment. They seemed to thicken around her, darkening almost imperceptibly. It wasn't invisibility, but it was useful. She walked forward calmly, able to move as quickly as she needed without fear of making noise. No one in the alley. Anastasia crept to the door, pressing flat against the wall next to it. Waiting, waiting, waiting...

"Grit, how's Zombie doin'?" Washe asked over the comm.

"Ah, that's right!" Grit replied, slightly alarmed. He held the button on the camera-looking device mounted on the left side of his rifle until it flickered into life. Suddenly, it burst into life. Yellow light filled a wooden room full of people with gas masks. The camera on the other end moved, and it became apparently that the person it was on was in a corner standing guard with a ring of people in the center of the warehouse. One person stood out in particular, looked like one of their bosses or something. With the view, he also got a good idea of where this man was in relation to the other spots of the warehouse. He answered Washe, "looks like he got in all right."

---

Baron stood in the corner of the inside of the warehouse, his face covered with a gas mask and his entire person adorned with leather. Since he had left the Headquarters, he made a point to not let anyone else but his comrades know he'd be taking any part in this. He wanted to see if he could get any information that he could out of these Fiends - nothing to share with NEST, of course, he couldn't risk leaking information everywhere. Besides, the less that everybody thinks the Dreadnaughts know, the better. To kill two birds with one stone, he rigged his person with a camera, helping Grit to succeed at an even more elaborate shot.

The knife on his Apache did wonders for subtly striking vitals, thus how he got the uniform.

The information he has gathered so far was, for the most part, completely useless. They were practically a bunch of stoners with superpowers, but there are a couple of things he could manage to glean from by posing as a guard. Long Dragon was hosting an intiation, which lent credibility to the idea that the city was full of even more sympathizers than NEST had likely lent on. There was mention of a particular drug that made these folks stronger and gave them the powers that they have. However, that piece of information wasn't something that hasn't already been covered in Vuhong's documents.

Unfortunately, the only mention of the other lieutenants or of Khan that he made was of some reference to a particularly vulgar activity. Nothing relevant.

---

"Well, that's good." Caesar grumbled. He pulled out a cellphone - an old flip phone from the pocket of the Fiend he had downed earlier - and dialed 911. After a couple of rings, the operator picked up. "Verthaven 911, what is your emergency?"

"Yes, hello," Caesar started, "I discovered heavy Fiend activity at the warehouse at 559 Redwood Street. I think Long Dragon is hiding out in there."

"Thank you, we're on our way."

Washe then ended the call there and smashed the phone against the pavement. He quickly spoke into his comm to relay the rest of the plan - or at least, the rest of the plan that the others needed to know. Whatever happened, the Fiends mustn't know they were here. Otherwise, they'll go even further into hiding.

"Okay scrubs, we're going to make this quick. This is a black ops mission - that means we're handling this covertly. These fuckers aren't gonna know we're here. NEST wasn't involved with this, KINGFISHER wasn't involved in this, and the Dreadnaughts weren't involved in this. They aren't gonna fuckin' know we had anything to do with this operation. For all intents and purposes, the VPD got a lucky break and found LD on their own. Grit, as soon as the police force comes within two blocks, let us know. When they do, FALCON is gonna shut off the power. I have a pack of firecrackers here that I'll throw in through a broken board in the wall at the same time. That'll simulate the sound of gunfire. When they come runnin' to help and open the door, Grit, make your shot. Zombie's camera has night-vision.

"When you make the shot, the police will be there just in time that we can pin the success of this mission on them. Then there's gonna be a massive shoot-out, and when that happens, we're all getting the fuck out of there. This is going to require precise timing. So don't fuck it up!"

"Oh, brother..." Grit muttered. Washe's ideas were always convoluted, and this time, it put a lot of pressure on Grit's head. Still... the man had his reasons... he always did. He made a point to look at Baron's camera and then back at his scope, to determine where to aim his rifle as soon as warehouse doors opened.

"If your man inside needs any help getting out, I can go in and give him cover once the lights go out," Sam said. "It'll be a cakewalk."

"Don't try anything fucking fancy, just follow the plan!" Washe snapped. Baron was fine on his own. The last thing he needed was some invisible guy suddenly grabbing hold of him out of nowhere. All Baron has to do is make it through the back door and go through the alleys, then he'd be out of harm's way. Sam rolled his eyes. This guy had a highly-trained invisible assassin on his side and he was using him to flip a switch? There was no point in arguing about it now.

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

I'm kind of stuck where I am and I don't like loose ends. I'd post for the others if I could.

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

The Dreadnaughts

_@Maxx

---

Grit, in the back, could only bury his face further and further into his hands the more Sam talked back on the comlink. Blood, rage, and steam were all rushing to Washe's head, filling up his face until he felt damn near ill from it. Then, Washe took a great breath and slowly but steadily breathed it all out in one big, heavy sigh. He nudged his sunglasses, prompting them to fall into place over his eyes. He made a glance over at the satellite live-feed on the screen beside him, showing he was just about a mile from their destination.

Grit looked up, and felt a twinge of sympathy for the KINGFISHER agent. Only a twinge, though – the man was a stranger, and decided to give lip to Washe of all people. Did he have a death wish? Washe was the scariest guy Grit knew; when he was pissed, you could feel it radiating off onto every other soldier on the mission. But that was just the fringe; when you were the target of his abuse, it didn't matter how defiant you were beforehand, it was all replaced with complacency. “Yes sir” replaced all other words in your mouth. But even more worrying was when the man fell silent. Grit knew the old man better than almost anybody, he was often on the receiving end of his yelling. His silence was nothing more than a shroud amidst which a violent storm may brew. FALCON was just so lucky that he was probably in his forties, wasn't Washe's subordinate, and didn't have to be Washe's target face-to-face and only heard his voice over the comlink.

“Bullshit, eh?” Washe grumbled, outside of the agent's channel and range of hearing. “You want bullshit? I go and introduce myself as fucking Caesar on his faggoty-ass channel, and the dolt still asks for identification. No wonder this city is going down the fucking shitter, their fucking elite units ain't got deductive skills worth shit. And immature? Heh, the prick hasn't been in the military, has he? Fucker would get his fuckin' lights knocked out for insubordination like that. If your high-command issues you a commander, you fuckin' deal with it. Little pansy bitch could only slow us down.”

“Yeah... a real piece of work.” Grit agreed hesitantly.

There was definitely some scary trouble brewing. They had the records and names of undercover agents and everything – and the Dreadnaughts are able to get away with quite a bit. Letting him be aware they know where he lives is nothing. But Washe doesn't take his revenge halfway.

Grit jumped from his seat and reached towards the front, grabbing the microphone that was attached to the to the radio unit, warranting a nasty glare from Washe.

“And just what the fuck do you think you're doing?” He spat.

“Hey, hey, hey, come on! Just let me see if I can talk him down and recover everythin', alright?” Grit said in his attempt to assuage his commander.

“You mean talk him to death, right? As delightful as that sounds, fuck off. I doubt that even Baron rubbing off is enough to fix the likes of you.”

Grit rolled his eyes and held onto the button on the microphone.

“Heeellloooo, KINGFISHER agents! This here is Danny Grit of the Dreadnaughts speaking! Y'all wanna make this interestin'? Let me apologize for my partner here then, a'right? If you're willing to work with me and a volatile stick of a dynamite, then I promise we're gonna have one hell of a time!”

He looked smugly at Washe, who glaring at Grit from the corner of his eye, and drew back.

“And hey, Caesar's a scary dude, but I promise the ol' dog ain't all bark. We'll make the experience worthwhile for y'all.”

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

Then smash your face against the keyboard.

Verthaven: A Bloody Paradise [Completed]

Maxx's fault.