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Groundhog Day (Danny)
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Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Odien March 11th 2018, 5:28 pm
“With the completion of the Transamerican Pipeline, the North American job market will soar! From parts assembly in Mexico, to oil refining in the U.S., to drilling in Canada, we shall see a revitalization of our lagging energy sectors on a scale unheard of in half a century. Never before have so many companies in the field come together to support such a cause--and a glorious cause that it is! Proudly sanctioned by all three of our governments, we are going to make North American energy great again.” Arnold Fukenheimer grinned from the podium, raising the hand of the man standing next to him up toward the heavens. Fukenheimer and Gerald Remek were both dirty, filthy rich, but this pipeline was going to easily quadruple their individual fortunes, with the most conservative estimates. Naturally, they were ecstatic about this fact.
Not everyone shared this sentiment with them. A great many people had been upset over the announcement of the pipeline. It was set to go through two Native American reservations, and would put entire communities at risk should it ever burst. In addition to the potential human harm, the path the pipeline would take was potentially hazardous to huge swaths of wilderness, primarily in the western United States and northern Canada, where the drilling would take place. Environmentalists worldwide were up in arms against the act, but unfortunately for them the oil lobby in North America has a much larger influence than those that valued ecology over economy. Unfortunately for the oil executives, not everyone on the green side was willing to just step aside and try again next time.
A group that went by Chrysallis, who had an almost cult-like attitude toward a certain plant-based evil metahuman, had contracted Harper Madison to shut down the pipeline by any means necessary, and to punish those in charge of its implementation. Crouched down on a rooftop some 2,500 meters away from Fukenheimer and Remek’s assembly, Arsenal intended to do just that. He watched through a sniper rifle as the two raised their hands toward the sky. His finger pulled the trigger at a slow, constant pace, until a round fired at a supersonic speed at the stage. The bullet barreled through the podium, missing Remek by a matter of inches. Padnamonium erupted among the group gathered to watch the speech, and security rushed onto the scene. Arsenal left the gun sitting atop the rooftop and made a quick departure.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fukenheimer sat alone in his hotel room, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Authorities had arrested the man who owned the gun that had almost killed his partner, a former soldier dishonorably-discharged from the military following a domestic abuse allegation. He claimed to have had nothing to do with the attempted assassination, stating that the rifle had been missing for days. His prints were found all over it however, and it was going to be an easy trial against him. The incident was surprising, but not entirely unexpected. Fukenheimer knew that he and his partner had enemies, and that they had made several others with their most recent project. It was troubling to be sure, but the money to be made was more than worth it.
A few hours later, and Fukenheimer was asleep in bed. He awoke to a sharp sting in his neck, eyes flashing open. He wanted to yell out, but he couldn’t move more than his eyes, and even that was a struggle. There was a man standing over him, clothed in a dark black armor and holding a syringe. He had no sympathy in his gaze as he watched the oil executive struggle. It was almost as if he were observing a worm baking in the sun-curious, but not worth the trouble of helping.
“It’ll only last a minute. By the time we’ve finished our little chat, asphyxiation will have set it. Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to feel it.” . It wasn’t noticeable on the outside, but Fukenheimer’s attempted resistance increased. “Normally I wouldn’t work with the group that contracted me to dispose of you, but I find you to be quite loathsome myself. It was more than a pleasure to take care of this matter.” Arsenal removed a USB drive from his pocket, and inserted it into the laptop sitting on Fukenheimer’s night stand. Documents began flashing across the screen. “I’m afraid you’re facing a fate worse than death, Arnold. Your work dies with you, and the public will spit at your memory. These papers, which you so helpfully composed for authorities, indicate your regret for the attempted assassination of your partner, which you orchestrated. Unable to live with the guilt of what you tried to do, you were forced to take your own life, overdosing alone in your hotel room.”
Harper placed a handful of opioids and benzodiazepines on the table beside the laptop. “You and Remek covered up the risks to society and the environment that your company was aware of, and for that your partner shall face public outrage and potential criminal charges. Your character’s are ruined, and your stocks will plummet. Effectively, Mr. Fukenheimer, you’re dead to the world.” He glanced at the alarm clock in front of him. “Any moment now you’ll be dead to me as well.”
Arnold Fukenheimer took his last few breaths in the company of the man who stole the rest from him, and then was no more.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arsenal was finishing his penultimate mile in a self-organized, self-competing marathon when he received notification that his services were desired. He returned to the the Czechoslovakian safehouse where he showered and prepared his identity for the journey. From there he booked a flight into Bristol. After arriving in England, he began the trek toward his next target, a Mr. Johnathon King.
Not everyone shared this sentiment with them. A great many people had been upset over the announcement of the pipeline. It was set to go through two Native American reservations, and would put entire communities at risk should it ever burst. In addition to the potential human harm, the path the pipeline would take was potentially hazardous to huge swaths of wilderness, primarily in the western United States and northern Canada, where the drilling would take place. Environmentalists worldwide were up in arms against the act, but unfortunately for them the oil lobby in North America has a much larger influence than those that valued ecology over economy. Unfortunately for the oil executives, not everyone on the green side was willing to just step aside and try again next time.
A group that went by Chrysallis, who had an almost cult-like attitude toward a certain plant-based evil metahuman, had contracted Harper Madison to shut down the pipeline by any means necessary, and to punish those in charge of its implementation. Crouched down on a rooftop some 2,500 meters away from Fukenheimer and Remek’s assembly, Arsenal intended to do just that. He watched through a sniper rifle as the two raised their hands toward the sky. His finger pulled the trigger at a slow, constant pace, until a round fired at a supersonic speed at the stage. The bullet barreled through the podium, missing Remek by a matter of inches. Padnamonium erupted among the group gathered to watch the speech, and security rushed onto the scene. Arsenal left the gun sitting atop the rooftop and made a quick departure.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fukenheimer sat alone in his hotel room, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Authorities had arrested the man who owned the gun that had almost killed his partner, a former soldier dishonorably-discharged from the military following a domestic abuse allegation. He claimed to have had nothing to do with the attempted assassination, stating that the rifle had been missing for days. His prints were found all over it however, and it was going to be an easy trial against him. The incident was surprising, but not entirely unexpected. Fukenheimer knew that he and his partner had enemies, and that they had made several others with their most recent project. It was troubling to be sure, but the money to be made was more than worth it.
A few hours later, and Fukenheimer was asleep in bed. He awoke to a sharp sting in his neck, eyes flashing open. He wanted to yell out, but he couldn’t move more than his eyes, and even that was a struggle. There was a man standing over him, clothed in a dark black armor and holding a syringe. He had no sympathy in his gaze as he watched the oil executive struggle. It was almost as if he were observing a worm baking in the sun-curious, but not worth the trouble of helping.
“It’ll only last a minute. By the time we’ve finished our little chat, asphyxiation will have set it. Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to feel it.” . It wasn’t noticeable on the outside, but Fukenheimer’s attempted resistance increased. “Normally I wouldn’t work with the group that contracted me to dispose of you, but I find you to be quite loathsome myself. It was more than a pleasure to take care of this matter.” Arsenal removed a USB drive from his pocket, and inserted it into the laptop sitting on Fukenheimer’s night stand. Documents began flashing across the screen. “I’m afraid you’re facing a fate worse than death, Arnold. Your work dies with you, and the public will spit at your memory. These papers, which you so helpfully composed for authorities, indicate your regret for the attempted assassination of your partner, which you orchestrated. Unable to live with the guilt of what you tried to do, you were forced to take your own life, overdosing alone in your hotel room.”
Harper placed a handful of opioids and benzodiazepines on the table beside the laptop. “You and Remek covered up the risks to society and the environment that your company was aware of, and for that your partner shall face public outrage and potential criminal charges. Your character’s are ruined, and your stocks will plummet. Effectively, Mr. Fukenheimer, you’re dead to the world.” He glanced at the alarm clock in front of him. “Any moment now you’ll be dead to me as well.”
Arnold Fukenheimer took his last few breaths in the company of the man who stole the rest from him, and then was no more.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arsenal was finishing his penultimate mile in a self-organized, self-competing marathon when he received notification that his services were desired. He returned to the the Czechoslovakian safehouse where he showered and prepared his identity for the journey. From there he booked a flight into Bristol. After arriving in England, he began the trek toward his next target, a Mr. Johnathon King.
Last edited by Odien on March 26th 2018, 10:00 am; edited 1 time in total
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
- Ʊlphaxtentis:
Odien- Posting Master
- Status :
Online Offline
Quote : [20:06:47] * Odien has sex with Mike [20:07:20] Zell : So did his half brother, don't get excited about it Odien lol
Warnings :
Number of posts : 412
Location : [17:31:53] @ Forceaus : Not killing the innocent is part of being a hero to begin with
Humor : [19:30:11 19/01/15] @ Bliss : It's like holding someone's head underwater and forgetting they aren't a fish
Registration date : 2014-04-11
Re: Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Katrina A. Russel March 15th 2018, 7:30 am
”Target spotted. Engaging.”
She liked to talk to herself while working; a bad habit for an assassin who required stealth to operate, but as long as it didn’t interfere with her contract, it wouldn’t be an issue. And here, it definitely wouldn’t be an issue. His security was laughable; if she wanted to, she could get in and out of his bedroom in seconds, with no one any the wiser. She could slaughter every last person in this complex and still go undetected. Seriously, the security was laughable. Did Johnathan actually think this would deter anyone? He has waged war with the Silver Hand and thus has signed his death sentence. Her thin, manicured hands clenched tighter on her bow as she remembered the clear message they were sent; their agents dead, their bodies raped and defiled, strung up like animals for all to see. The Hong Kong police had a field day with that one; it took all of their resources to get the bodies released to Silver Hand custody.
She was perched on the edge of the cliff; specifically, hanging vertically, her gold rings securing her firmly to the surface. Her lower face was concealed by a niqab, her long black hair blowing in the wind. She wanted so bad to kill Johnathon; sneak into his bedroom and slit his throat like a stuck pig, look into his eyes as his lifeblood spills onto the ground. She would show that bastard her face, prove to him and everyone else who supports him that she had use, Ala’khir be damned. Pleasure skittered across her skin as she entertained thoughts of this murder. It would be so satisfying but …. She let go of the daydream with a sigh. That was not todays mission. Tonight was about sending a mission, and for that reason she put away her bow and let herself fall to the ground.
Her feet touched the floor, softly and silently enough to not leave even a footprint. From here, it was child's play. Her goal was the penthouse, the targets hiding there. But to get there, she left a trail of bodies in her wake, each slain with the clinical proficiency of a professional. The bodies were left as they are; stealth wasn’t necessary here, just a contributing factor to her effectiveness. She carved her way into the compound, leaving not a single trace of her presence save for her blade into the guards. It really was too easy; like taking candy from a baby. Or, she amended as she slid Charm through the lumbar section of a distracted guard. Really, playing on your phone while guarding your lord and ladies bedchambers is bad idea. She looked at the door he had slumped against; with a grunt, she shoved him to the side, letting his body collapse sideways. Red rings appeared on her body and with the slight rasp of steel, she pulled a dagger from her belt. A thick handle, double edge blade with one half serrated, and a blade of six inches marked it as a trench knife. She let her fingers softly run over the lock. By the feel of it, it was made of simple brass and iron. The tip of the dagger rested in the keyhole. Where the blade and the door met a red ring blossomed into existence, spinning slowly. Like a hot knife through butter, the lock gave way to the inexorable power of her magic.
It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the light in this room; it was dim, and immediately she knew why. There were only two things in this entire room; a beautifully engraved golden staff and a pitch black shield. They were seemingly out in the open, but she knew the truth. There were more traps in this room than the average pyramid. From her position at the door, Katrina could see pressure sensors, laser sensors, even sensors that detect changes in temperature and air pressure! She sighed to herself; not too hard, though, that could set off the sensors. Delicate hands slowly made sure her armor was secured tight; satisfied, she sunk into a crouch. In that instant the red rings turned gold and with a deep breath she took a step forward. Her foot touched the ground, a gold ring blooming to life as it touched the ground. The pressure sensor didn’t even move as she slowly picked her away across the floor, each foot placed with infinite care. The laser grid was child’s play, her Golden Rings blooming across them without touching them. And finally she was there. She reached out, balancing on the edge of a laser, holding her breath for fear of disturbing the air, as if it’ll break some spell.
She had heard rumors of a magical artifact seemingly made of gold able to cut anything placed in front of it, but didn’t really believe. That was Elysium. The Silver Hand had a very small sample of it, nothing but a shard from a catastrophe eons ago. How he got this much Elysium was beyond her, and if she could she would take it from him. But that wasn’t the mission. She took pictures of it from every angle, gracefully stepping from laser to floor to glass. She sighed again; the thought to rip this thing from it’s display, hunt down Johnathan and impale him on its end was almost overwhelming; it would certainly solve all her problems and prevent him from causing her trouble in the future. Her fingers lingered, tracing the runic patterns on the staff. It would be so easy to take it … but no, that wasn’t the mission. She retracted her hand with a sigh.
After taking pictures of the shield as well, she left the way she came, again creeping through the hallways. There was a close call nearer to the master bedroom, but she avoided the patrol by clinging to the ceiling. It was too noticeable and too highly traveled to kill him. Several tense minutes later, she crawled through the open window of Maria King’s room. Ah, Maria. Johnathan’s lovely wife and stalwart supporter. Slowly she approached the sleeping woman; it appeared her baby was cradled in her arms. Perfect. A predatory smirk spread across her lips and with the sound of rasping steel, she drew Dignity from it’s sheath. It was like something out of a movie; mother and babe asleep and the assassin poised to strike. In the movies, this would be the moment when the hero walked in and saved the day and they lived happily ever after … but this wasn’t the movie. This woman was going to die, a lesson to the Silver Hand. But she didn’t have to suffer. Softly, so as not to disturb her, she placed the tip of the blade on the back of her neck, right above the neck. This would sever the brain stem; instant death. With not even a hesitation, she slid the blade in, a sickening sucking noise the last sound her body made.
”And now for the baby …”
Gently she cradled the baby in her arms. It was still a newborn, nothing but a soft tuft of hair on it’s head. It’s eyes were closed, it’s breathing relaxed and calm in it’s swaddle. Seemingly as if sensing she wasn’t her mother, the babe’s face screwed up as if about to cry. Katrina shushed her, finding the blanket in her swaddle. Her soothing gestures were a simple facade to hide the agony in her heart. She couldn’t do this! This was immortal, unjust! This child, it’s soul was too pure, she couldn’t snuff it out because of the orders of a madwomen! But what could she do? Her anger paled in comparison to the guilt tearing at her heart. Her hands traveled to the child’s head, her soft touch scrunching up it’s face again. Katrina smiled through her tears; she couldn’t do this! She could take the child, run away with it! Her tears her dripping now, disturbing the child in her sleep and she turned away, drying her eyes for the task ahead. She had to leave, get out of here, before the Silver Hand find them. They’d live on the run, but she couldn’t sell her soul for them. If she killed this child, she’d be lost.
She laid Samantha down in her crib, taking care not to disturb the child. An errant cry or whimper could ruin their plans, leave her in the hands of a psychopath. To be raised by a man like Johnathon would be leaving her to a fate worse than death and that wasn’t happening. Like a whirlwind - but a silent one - she started packing, throwing enough baby supplies for the ride home, about a days worth, into a diaper bag. Bottles, formula, clothes, and toys were tossed helker skelter into it; she was in a rush. A sigh wracked her frame. From an inner pocket she pulled out the signature of the Silver Hand; a glove, sparkling like moonlight. These she gently slipped onto the hand of Martha. A warning to Johnathan. This was his fault, the death of his wife was on his head. Repeating these words soothed Katrina; it alleviated the guilt of slaying an innocent woman in cold blood while her child slept in her arms. It wasn’t her fault. Johnathan brought this on himself.
She crossed swiftly to the crib, shouldering the bag with a little effort; Martha was a much taller woman than her, after all, and the bag was stuffed. After some maneuvering, she thankfully managed to carry both the child and the bag. Her exit, however, wasn’t going to be so easy; the path she had planned out, out the window, up the cliff and across the lake, wouldn’t work with a child. She needed something safer. If she could make it down to the ground and across the courtyard, she could take a car. She was fairly confident none of Johnathan’s men would shoot at her; she has his daughter after all. The risk of hitting her would be too great, and Johnathan was a man who loved his family. It was a weakness the Silver Hand has exploited many times throughout the centuries and are likely to again.
”Put my daughter down.”
She hadn’t heard him come in and her surprise led her to spin, almost waking the baby in the process. It gave a soft mewling cry before snuggling deeper into it’s blankets. Wide-eyed, Katrina stared down the barrel of a gun, a rifle of some kind. From this angle, she couldn’t tell which. Holding the gun was Johnathan, his brown eyes laced with sadness. Keeping the gun on her, he reached out to grab his wife’s wrist. He held it for the length of a heartbeat. With the feel of a man whose entire world just fell apart, he let her arm drop, and for him that lifeless drop spoke volumes. Katrina couldn’t help the smirk that spread on her face; seeing him breaking, even with a gun in her face, was so very satisfying. The tip of the gun was shaking now as he struggled to control him. Tears streamed down his face and into his beard, flowing freely from the depths of his sadness. He made no attempt to wipe them away.
”Give me. My daughter. Now.”
The command irritated Katrina, and she let it show by a narrowing of her eyes. Bright blue orbs, unnaturally so, stared at her enemy. By Ala’khir, she hated him. So superior, so charming - he thinks he’s so great. Jealousy and rage and hate fueled her; she kept her muscles under control. She felt them trembling, eager to rip the flesh from his bones, but she kept it still. Slowly she held Samantha out. She couldn’t entirely stop the shaking, nor her tears, but Johnathan didn’t seem to notice. He was focused on the rapidly waking face of his only daughter, the only child he’s born into this world after a thousand years. If anything were to happen to her, Hell itself would have cause to fear him. So consumed by this thought he didn’t notice the flash of steel, but he did notice when Katrina’s armed moved. His body realized what was happening and his finger pulled the trigger, but he was just too late. The instant the blade snicked into Samantha, the bullet dug into the assassin’s shoulder, sending her flying and careening off the edge. She survived - barely - and made her escape, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, ignoring the cries of a broken man, and ignoring the tears streaming down her face in a steady stream, born from the shearing of her heart.
The crowded markets of Bristol were the meeting area, an outside shopping with people aplenty. He had been told to wait in his instructions, by the candy store nearest the fire exits. And he didn’t have long to wait. The short girl was famous throughout all of England; she was touted by many as the next Prime Minister. In a blue skirt with gold trim, stockings, and a white blouse, she looked for all the world like just another teenage girl out to spend her daddy’s money; but her eyes threw it off. They were focused right on him, her lips twisted in a smirk, as if amused by the sight of him. The group of girls she was with, each prettier than the last, giggled at something one of them said, and she walked off. But she didn’t make straight for him, no; that was too obvious, and she could be watched now. She meandered around, spending several minutes looking at stores, as if contemplating buying something. It wasn’t until she looked at the candy shop that she spoke him.
”Arsenal. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”
Her voice easily cut through the din, a voice of high command. Nearly flawless save for a slight Arabic accent, merely adding to her mysterious aura. As she spoke, she was still staring at the candy sign. She obviously didn’t want to be seen talking to him.
She liked to talk to herself while working; a bad habit for an assassin who required stealth to operate, but as long as it didn’t interfere with her contract, it wouldn’t be an issue. And here, it definitely wouldn’t be an issue. His security was laughable; if she wanted to, she could get in and out of his bedroom in seconds, with no one any the wiser. She could slaughter every last person in this complex and still go undetected. Seriously, the security was laughable. Did Johnathan actually think this would deter anyone? He has waged war with the Silver Hand and thus has signed his death sentence. Her thin, manicured hands clenched tighter on her bow as she remembered the clear message they were sent; their agents dead, their bodies raped and defiled, strung up like animals for all to see. The Hong Kong police had a field day with that one; it took all of their resources to get the bodies released to Silver Hand custody.
She was perched on the edge of the cliff; specifically, hanging vertically, her gold rings securing her firmly to the surface. Her lower face was concealed by a niqab, her long black hair blowing in the wind. She wanted so bad to kill Johnathon; sneak into his bedroom and slit his throat like a stuck pig, look into his eyes as his lifeblood spills onto the ground. She would show that bastard her face, prove to him and everyone else who supports him that she had use, Ala’khir be damned. Pleasure skittered across her skin as she entertained thoughts of this murder. It would be so satisfying but …. She let go of the daydream with a sigh. That was not todays mission. Tonight was about sending a mission, and for that reason she put away her bow and let herself fall to the ground.
Her feet touched the floor, softly and silently enough to not leave even a footprint. From here, it was child's play. Her goal was the penthouse, the targets hiding there. But to get there, she left a trail of bodies in her wake, each slain with the clinical proficiency of a professional. The bodies were left as they are; stealth wasn’t necessary here, just a contributing factor to her effectiveness. She carved her way into the compound, leaving not a single trace of her presence save for her blade into the guards. It really was too easy; like taking candy from a baby. Or, she amended as she slid Charm through the lumbar section of a distracted guard. Really, playing on your phone while guarding your lord and ladies bedchambers is bad idea. She looked at the door he had slumped against; with a grunt, she shoved him to the side, letting his body collapse sideways. Red rings appeared on her body and with the slight rasp of steel, she pulled a dagger from her belt. A thick handle, double edge blade with one half serrated, and a blade of six inches marked it as a trench knife. She let her fingers softly run over the lock. By the feel of it, it was made of simple brass and iron. The tip of the dagger rested in the keyhole. Where the blade and the door met a red ring blossomed into existence, spinning slowly. Like a hot knife through butter, the lock gave way to the inexorable power of her magic.
It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the light in this room; it was dim, and immediately she knew why. There were only two things in this entire room; a beautifully engraved golden staff and a pitch black shield. They were seemingly out in the open, but she knew the truth. There were more traps in this room than the average pyramid. From her position at the door, Katrina could see pressure sensors, laser sensors, even sensors that detect changes in temperature and air pressure! She sighed to herself; not too hard, though, that could set off the sensors. Delicate hands slowly made sure her armor was secured tight; satisfied, she sunk into a crouch. In that instant the red rings turned gold and with a deep breath she took a step forward. Her foot touched the ground, a gold ring blooming to life as it touched the ground. The pressure sensor didn’t even move as she slowly picked her away across the floor, each foot placed with infinite care. The laser grid was child’s play, her Golden Rings blooming across them without touching them. And finally she was there. She reached out, balancing on the edge of a laser, holding her breath for fear of disturbing the air, as if it’ll break some spell.
She had heard rumors of a magical artifact seemingly made of gold able to cut anything placed in front of it, but didn’t really believe. That was Elysium. The Silver Hand had a very small sample of it, nothing but a shard from a catastrophe eons ago. How he got this much Elysium was beyond her, and if she could she would take it from him. But that wasn’t the mission. She took pictures of it from every angle, gracefully stepping from laser to floor to glass. She sighed again; the thought to rip this thing from it’s display, hunt down Johnathan and impale him on its end was almost overwhelming; it would certainly solve all her problems and prevent him from causing her trouble in the future. Her fingers lingered, tracing the runic patterns on the staff. It would be so easy to take it … but no, that wasn’t the mission. She retracted her hand with a sigh.
After taking pictures of the shield as well, she left the way she came, again creeping through the hallways. There was a close call nearer to the master bedroom, but she avoided the patrol by clinging to the ceiling. It was too noticeable and too highly traveled to kill him. Several tense minutes later, she crawled through the open window of Maria King’s room. Ah, Maria. Johnathan’s lovely wife and stalwart supporter. Slowly she approached the sleeping woman; it appeared her baby was cradled in her arms. Perfect. A predatory smirk spread across her lips and with the sound of rasping steel, she drew Dignity from it’s sheath. It was like something out of a movie; mother and babe asleep and the assassin poised to strike. In the movies, this would be the moment when the hero walked in and saved the day and they lived happily ever after … but this wasn’t the movie. This woman was going to die, a lesson to the Silver Hand. But she didn’t have to suffer. Softly, so as not to disturb her, she placed the tip of the blade on the back of her neck, right above the neck. This would sever the brain stem; instant death. With not even a hesitation, she slid the blade in, a sickening sucking noise the last sound her body made.
”And now for the baby …”
Gently she cradled the baby in her arms. It was still a newborn, nothing but a soft tuft of hair on it’s head. It’s eyes were closed, it’s breathing relaxed and calm in it’s swaddle. Seemingly as if sensing she wasn’t her mother, the babe’s face screwed up as if about to cry. Katrina shushed her, finding the blanket in her swaddle. Her soothing gestures were a simple facade to hide the agony in her heart. She couldn’t do this! This was immortal, unjust! This child, it’s soul was too pure, she couldn’t snuff it out because of the orders of a madwomen! But what could she do? Her anger paled in comparison to the guilt tearing at her heart. Her hands traveled to the child’s head, her soft touch scrunching up it’s face again. Katrina smiled through her tears; she couldn’t do this! She could take the child, run away with it! Her tears her dripping now, disturbing the child in her sleep and she turned away, drying her eyes for the task ahead. She had to leave, get out of here, before the Silver Hand find them. They’d live on the run, but she couldn’t sell her soul for them. If she killed this child, she’d be lost.
She laid Samantha down in her crib, taking care not to disturb the child. An errant cry or whimper could ruin their plans, leave her in the hands of a psychopath. To be raised by a man like Johnathon would be leaving her to a fate worse than death and that wasn’t happening. Like a whirlwind - but a silent one - she started packing, throwing enough baby supplies for the ride home, about a days worth, into a diaper bag. Bottles, formula, clothes, and toys were tossed helker skelter into it; she was in a rush. A sigh wracked her frame. From an inner pocket she pulled out the signature of the Silver Hand; a glove, sparkling like moonlight. These she gently slipped onto the hand of Martha. A warning to Johnathan. This was his fault, the death of his wife was on his head. Repeating these words soothed Katrina; it alleviated the guilt of slaying an innocent woman in cold blood while her child slept in her arms. It wasn’t her fault. Johnathan brought this on himself.
She crossed swiftly to the crib, shouldering the bag with a little effort; Martha was a much taller woman than her, after all, and the bag was stuffed. After some maneuvering, she thankfully managed to carry both the child and the bag. Her exit, however, wasn’t going to be so easy; the path she had planned out, out the window, up the cliff and across the lake, wouldn’t work with a child. She needed something safer. If she could make it down to the ground and across the courtyard, she could take a car. She was fairly confident none of Johnathan’s men would shoot at her; she has his daughter after all. The risk of hitting her would be too great, and Johnathan was a man who loved his family. It was a weakness the Silver Hand has exploited many times throughout the centuries and are likely to again.
”Put my daughter down.”
She hadn’t heard him come in and her surprise led her to spin, almost waking the baby in the process. It gave a soft mewling cry before snuggling deeper into it’s blankets. Wide-eyed, Katrina stared down the barrel of a gun, a rifle of some kind. From this angle, she couldn’t tell which. Holding the gun was Johnathan, his brown eyes laced with sadness. Keeping the gun on her, he reached out to grab his wife’s wrist. He held it for the length of a heartbeat. With the feel of a man whose entire world just fell apart, he let her arm drop, and for him that lifeless drop spoke volumes. Katrina couldn’t help the smirk that spread on her face; seeing him breaking, even with a gun in her face, was so very satisfying. The tip of the gun was shaking now as he struggled to control him. Tears streamed down his face and into his beard, flowing freely from the depths of his sadness. He made no attempt to wipe them away.
”Give me. My daughter. Now.”
The command irritated Katrina, and she let it show by a narrowing of her eyes. Bright blue orbs, unnaturally so, stared at her enemy. By Ala’khir, she hated him. So superior, so charming - he thinks he’s so great. Jealousy and rage and hate fueled her; she kept her muscles under control. She felt them trembling, eager to rip the flesh from his bones, but she kept it still. Slowly she held Samantha out. She couldn’t entirely stop the shaking, nor her tears, but Johnathan didn’t seem to notice. He was focused on the rapidly waking face of his only daughter, the only child he’s born into this world after a thousand years. If anything were to happen to her, Hell itself would have cause to fear him. So consumed by this thought he didn’t notice the flash of steel, but he did notice when Katrina’s armed moved. His body realized what was happening and his finger pulled the trigger, but he was just too late. The instant the blade snicked into Samantha, the bullet dug into the assassin’s shoulder, sending her flying and careening off the edge. She survived - barely - and made her escape, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, ignoring the cries of a broken man, and ignoring the tears streaming down her face in a steady stream, born from the shearing of her heart.
Two Months Later
The crowded markets of Bristol were the meeting area, an outside shopping with people aplenty. He had been told to wait in his instructions, by the candy store nearest the fire exits. And he didn’t have long to wait. The short girl was famous throughout all of England; she was touted by many as the next Prime Minister. In a blue skirt with gold trim, stockings, and a white blouse, she looked for all the world like just another teenage girl out to spend her daddy’s money; but her eyes threw it off. They were focused right on him, her lips twisted in a smirk, as if amused by the sight of him. The group of girls she was with, each prettier than the last, giggled at something one of them said, and she walked off. But she didn’t make straight for him, no; that was too obvious, and she could be watched now. She meandered around, spending several minutes looking at stores, as if contemplating buying something. It wasn’t until she looked at the candy shop that she spoke him.
”Arsenal. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”
Her voice easily cut through the din, a voice of high command. Nearly flawless save for a slight Arabic accent, merely adding to her mysterious aura. As she spoke, she was still staring at the candy sign. She obviously didn’t want to be seen talking to him.
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Re: Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Odien March 16th 2018, 4:29 pm
Forty euros for Pink Marc de Champagne Truffles, huh. Even candy isn’t free from the tyranny of inflation, it would seem. No matter, after we’re done here I will definitely be taking some home with me. It’s not easy to find such a dark couverture these days, and I deserve it.
Arsenal stood in front of the candy shoppe where he had been instructed to wait. He had visited this particular marketplace once before, several years ago. Enough time had passed that he felt he no longer had to fear recognition from anyone in the area, but he wouldn’t remove his sunglasses just in case. He pulled up the email sent to him one more time, seeming to examine merchandise through the shop window, but actually reading the message visible to only him on his contacts. The employer had said to be here a few minutes from now, and he would give it some time after the deadline, but not too much longer-there are factors beyond our control always, but if you can’t respect punctuality then Harper didn’t respect you.
That wouldn’t be an issue for this contract, as the child approached Arsenal not but a moment later. “Arsenal. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.” The man kept his countenance toward the shoppe, but from behind his glasses he looked at Katrina Russel. “And you look exactly as the media portrays you. Your height isn’t under-exaggerated it would seem; better for you. Taller women are frowned upon, it makes them look stronger and too assertive. People fear women with too much influence. I’m pleasantly surprised at how well you seem to be doing in your race.” He raised his watch up and glanced at the time; unnecessary for practical purposes, but he liked to keep up the appearance of waiting on someone. Less suspicion that way. “Your email was vaguer than I usually like, so I must admit I’m running a little blind here. Normally I would have required more information before coming, but the man I’m supposed to pay a visit to is worth the secrecy. He’s been an issue for myself and my friends for some time now, it will be my pleasure to take him into the business, as it were.”
Arsenal stood in front of the candy shoppe where he had been instructed to wait. He had visited this particular marketplace once before, several years ago. Enough time had passed that he felt he no longer had to fear recognition from anyone in the area, but he wouldn’t remove his sunglasses just in case. He pulled up the email sent to him one more time, seeming to examine merchandise through the shop window, but actually reading the message visible to only him on his contacts. The employer had said to be here a few minutes from now, and he would give it some time after the deadline, but not too much longer-there are factors beyond our control always, but if you can’t respect punctuality then Harper didn’t respect you.
That wouldn’t be an issue for this contract, as the child approached Arsenal not but a moment later. “Arsenal. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.” The man kept his countenance toward the shoppe, but from behind his glasses he looked at Katrina Russel. “And you look exactly as the media portrays you. Your height isn’t under-exaggerated it would seem; better for you. Taller women are frowned upon, it makes them look stronger and too assertive. People fear women with too much influence. I’m pleasantly surprised at how well you seem to be doing in your race.” He raised his watch up and glanced at the time; unnecessary for practical purposes, but he liked to keep up the appearance of waiting on someone. Less suspicion that way. “Your email was vaguer than I usually like, so I must admit I’m running a little blind here. Normally I would have required more information before coming, but the man I’m supposed to pay a visit to is worth the secrecy. He’s been an issue for myself and my friends for some time now, it will be my pleasure to take him into the business, as it were.”
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Re: Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Katrina A. Russel March 19th 2018, 8:09 am
Her words hit her almost like hammer blows, but she didn’t react to them. Obviously he knew significantly more about her then she did him; it seems to go with the territory, however, so she let it drop … for now. What did rankle her, however, were the comments about her height, and at these she spun to face him, her expressive blue eyes positively blazing with anger. She struggled to keep it under control, however; whether or not it was meant as a barb was irrelevant. What was relevant, however, was his skills and abilities. Height remarks or not, he was regarded as one of the best mercenaries in the world; now normally she would have gone to the Silver Hand for this, but they couldn’t know how significantly she failed. They couldn’t know- tears prickled her eyes at the memory of the baby, lifeless, and pain again lanced through her shoulder, forcing her to clutch it out of reflex. She tried to smooth this out as well as she could, brushing it off as her fixing her outfit; it didn’t matter if she believed it or not, the intent was clear.
”I appreciate the compliments, though I’m afraid my position isn’t as secure as I would wish. The opposition is, unfortunately, quite popular with the minorities who view me as something of a spoiled rich girl.” She rolled her eyes at the comparison; if they only knew what she did at night. ”But, that’s hardly relevant. I have hired you to help me do one thing.” She wasn’t caring about people seeing them now; the mall was crowded enough, loud enough, and full of enough distractions that she could talk to him without fear of being observed. ”Kill Johnathan King.” The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, as if they had a sense of dramatic timing. Johnathan King was her political rival and, on the surface, a philanthropist and loving family man. While his death would certainly benefit her, it was also dangerous to delve into assassination to eliminate a political rival in this country, particularly one who was slated to become the next Prime Minister.
”But not for the reasons you think. He-”
But whatever he was, she never got to finish. Something alerted her, setting off a decades worth of training and experience. Something wasn’t right. Among the crowds and throngs of people, there was one person who didn’t move, who stood still against the tide, staring down at the duo. Their eyes seemed to meet and in that second, he pulled the trigger, the bullet speeding downwards towards the girl. She barely moved in time and hid. This man was a professional; he attacked in a public setting, the bullet fire scattering the crowds like a herd of buffalo. His face and body were hidden by professional grade body armor, and the weapon he carried was military grade. He was no amatuer. As he walked down the stairs, he was joined by three more mercs, each one carrying similar armaments.
Katrina was cursing herself for letting herself be so unprotected. No weapons, no secret stash, not even security. She feared it would endanger the potential relationship between herself and Arsenal. ’Death endangers that even more … stupid, stupid, stupid!’ She was stuck here, in a candy shop with no weapons of any kind. The only thing of use were plastic spoons, the counter, and the cash register … wait … an entire spawned in her head, but doing meant she’d have to kill every last person who witnesses it. She put that out of her head for now. She pried the drawer open and grabbed a handful of change.
”Arsenal, if you can, keep them busy. This is no doubt Johnathan.”
”I appreciate the compliments, though I’m afraid my position isn’t as secure as I would wish. The opposition is, unfortunately, quite popular with the minorities who view me as something of a spoiled rich girl.” She rolled her eyes at the comparison; if they only knew what she did at night. ”But, that’s hardly relevant. I have hired you to help me do one thing.” She wasn’t caring about people seeing them now; the mall was crowded enough, loud enough, and full of enough distractions that she could talk to him without fear of being observed. ”Kill Johnathan King.” The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, as if they had a sense of dramatic timing. Johnathan King was her political rival and, on the surface, a philanthropist and loving family man. While his death would certainly benefit her, it was also dangerous to delve into assassination to eliminate a political rival in this country, particularly one who was slated to become the next Prime Minister.
”But not for the reasons you think. He-”
But whatever he was, she never got to finish. Something alerted her, setting off a decades worth of training and experience. Something wasn’t right. Among the crowds and throngs of people, there was one person who didn’t move, who stood still against the tide, staring down at the duo. Their eyes seemed to meet and in that second, he pulled the trigger, the bullet speeding downwards towards the girl. She barely moved in time and hid. This man was a professional; he attacked in a public setting, the bullet fire scattering the crowds like a herd of buffalo. His face and body were hidden by professional grade body armor, and the weapon he carried was military grade. He was no amatuer. As he walked down the stairs, he was joined by three more mercs, each one carrying similar armaments.
Katrina was cursing herself for letting herself be so unprotected. No weapons, no secret stash, not even security. She feared it would endanger the potential relationship between herself and Arsenal. ’Death endangers that even more … stupid, stupid, stupid!’ She was stuck here, in a candy shop with no weapons of any kind. The only thing of use were plastic spoons, the counter, and the cash register … wait … an entire spawned in her head, but doing meant she’d have to kill every last person who witnesses it. She put that out of her head for now. She pried the drawer open and grabbed a handful of change.
”Arsenal, if you can, keep them busy. This is no doubt Johnathan.”
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Re: Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Odien March 29th 2018, 11:54 am
Katrina stopped suddenly in her proposition to remove of Johnathan King. Gunfire rained out from a set point behind Arsenal, tearing their surroundings apart. Katrina took off into the shoppe, and Arsenal backed in with her, ducking inside and hiding behind a wall. Damn this life he thought to himself. Harper supported the strict gun laws that the United Kingdom had, but they were extremely unfortunate in this situation. He wasn’t unarmed, as he never went anywhere without some form of external protection. Nonetheless, he was woefully lacking at the moment.
From beneath his pant leg Arsenal withdrew a gun that he had brought into the nation with him, one custom-made from a largely polymer material that lacked any steel to set off metal detectors. The gun was loaded in a second, and Harper took stock of the situation. He had seen at least four assailants, but there could have been more. Katrina stated that they were sent by Johnathan King, and judging off of their equipment and method they were experienced. Unfortunately for them, Arsenal was as well.
”I can keep them more than busy, but if they’re as good as they look we have four minutes, tops, before they’re in here with us, so move quickly.” After an internal three count, Arsenal burst through the door and flipped the nearest table in front of the shoppe, forming a makeshift barrier. He crouched behind the table, and from his position he fired four shots. All four hit their intended targets (two of the mercenaries). This slowed them down but didn’t stop them, as their armor was bullet resistant. Arsenal fired out the rest of the rounds he had on him, more as a distraction than anything else.
He waited until the first assailant reached his position, and then sprung into action. While he may have been outgunned, he was most definitely not outarmed. With a strike quicker than the mercenary, or any other human, could hope to react to, Arsenal brought the gun down on the soldier’s neck. Before the man could even stumble, Arsenal encased his hand in fulmen and attacked again, punching his target in the chest. His opponent went flying several meters, his body landing in a crumpled position against a neighboring shop’s wall. Harper grabbed down and took control of the gun his opponent had dropped and ducked back inside of the shop, but not before being hit with a bullet on his way back inside. The entire encounter, from the time he jumped out from the table to when he went back inside, took less than six seconds.
Arsenal winced and massaged the spot where he had been shot. Moving in front of the door, he fired off two burts of rounds, taking down one of the assailants and dropping another to their knees. With a whirl Arsenal backed behind the door again.[/color]
From beneath his pant leg Arsenal withdrew a gun that he had brought into the nation with him, one custom-made from a largely polymer material that lacked any steel to set off metal detectors. The gun was loaded in a second, and Harper took stock of the situation. He had seen at least four assailants, but there could have been more. Katrina stated that they were sent by Johnathan King, and judging off of their equipment and method they were experienced. Unfortunately for them, Arsenal was as well.
”I can keep them more than busy, but if they’re as good as they look we have four minutes, tops, before they’re in here with us, so move quickly.” After an internal three count, Arsenal burst through the door and flipped the nearest table in front of the shoppe, forming a makeshift barrier. He crouched behind the table, and from his position he fired four shots. All four hit their intended targets (two of the mercenaries). This slowed them down but didn’t stop them, as their armor was bullet resistant. Arsenal fired out the rest of the rounds he had on him, more as a distraction than anything else.
He waited until the first assailant reached his position, and then sprung into action. While he may have been outgunned, he was most definitely not outarmed. With a strike quicker than the mercenary, or any other human, could hope to react to, Arsenal brought the gun down on the soldier’s neck. Before the man could even stumble, Arsenal encased his hand in fulmen and attacked again, punching his target in the chest. His opponent went flying several meters, his body landing in a crumpled position against a neighboring shop’s wall. Harper grabbed down and took control of the gun his opponent had dropped and ducked back inside of the shop, but not before being hit with a bullet on his way back inside. The entire encounter, from the time he jumped out from the table to when he went back inside, took less than six seconds.
Arsenal winced and massaged the spot where he had been shot. Moving in front of the door, he fired off two burts of rounds, taking down one of the assailants and dropping another to their knees. With a whirl Arsenal backed behind the door again.[/color]
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Re: Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Katrina A. Russel April 1st 2018, 6:04 am
”Well, you’re certainly full of surprises.”
She knew Arsenal was good, she wouldn’t have risked hiring him if he wasn’t, but to successfully smuggle a gun into this country? Well, she was mildly impressed. And, she noted with some surprise, he appeared to be a metahuman. He was certainly faster than any human she’s ever seen, so he was definitely Enhanced. And there was some kind of pale blue glow, probably some kind of combat-effective coating. Perhaps lightning? That would fit with the glow. But it doesn’t matter; point is, this works just as well as anything as a test of his skills. By Ala’khir, it works significantly better than what she had planned. No heist could truly determine someone’s ability to work under pressure as a good old-fashioned fight-for-you-life can.
There was no more time to stand and admire the view, even one as good as the one she had right now. She … was going to pretend she didn’t hear that. Before she could get rid of the assailants, however, she had to remove video evidence of anything that might get done here. If it was caught on tape … she might just have to burn the whole place to the ground, which would inspire a whole new investigation, which would require more cover-ups, and before she knew it, her entire campaign would dissolve around her ears. She certainly didn’t have to take all the security cameras; there were at least three dozen pointed at the food court alone. She, however, never leaves home without a few party favors.
Two small round balls bounced around the corners and from them a thick black cloud of smoke billowed forth, creating a curtain of impenetrable mist. Handful of pennies in hand, Katrina whirled around the corner. Like a whip, she flicked her wrist and let the pennies go; for the briefest of seconds, underneath the blouse she was wearing, something flashed red on her wrist. Each penny seemed to hang in midair for a second before suddenly dissappearing from sight, catapulted ahead at fifteen times their normal speed. It was a shotgun blast dialed to 11, which would only be so effective … if the only uninjured agent hadn’t helped his injured ally up. Her aiming was perfect, even through the dust and the knee-jerk reaction. The chest of the man was ripped open, the pennies ripping a hole big enough to fit a basketball through. And the injured assailant, the one Arsenal had shot … it was his bad fortune that he was crouching. His head was likely somewhere across the hall, followed along in the wake of the pennies which were now embedded in the wall some fifty feet away. Almost comically, with a look of shock frozen on his face, the mercenary fell.
”... well, that was unfortunate”
She casually dusted her hands off, already working on a way to hide the bodies. She didn’t have any of her tools on her, and for that she cursed herself … for the second time in as many minutes. She would have been exposed if she didn’t have her smoke bombs on her! Speaking of … the smoke was clearing, and with an almost fearful look she glanced up at the cameras. They’d surely be able to see her soon; as it stands, her silhouette was likely visible, and that alone would create an abundance of theories. There was no time to hide the bodies, all they could do was hope it wasn’t traced back to her.
”Let’s go.” She ripped the mask off one of the assailants and quickly positioned it roughly around her own. It was a quick fix, but it would have to do. ”We need to get out of here before the police arrive.” With another glance at the camera’s, she made it to the door. Her plan was to lead him to the London Underground and from there, to her home on Russell Island, off the East coast of England. Not too far from London, thankfully. Once there, through the Underground and then a private ferry, they could talk. Of course, she couldn’t exactly stop him from asking her questions on the journey.
She knew Arsenal was good, she wouldn’t have risked hiring him if he wasn’t, but to successfully smuggle a gun into this country? Well, she was mildly impressed. And, she noted with some surprise, he appeared to be a metahuman. He was certainly faster than any human she’s ever seen, so he was definitely Enhanced. And there was some kind of pale blue glow, probably some kind of combat-effective coating. Perhaps lightning? That would fit with the glow. But it doesn’t matter; point is, this works just as well as anything as a test of his skills. By Ala’khir, it works significantly better than what she had planned. No heist could truly determine someone’s ability to work under pressure as a good old-fashioned fight-for-you-life can.
There was no more time to stand and admire the view, even one as good as the one she had right now. She … was going to pretend she didn’t hear that. Before she could get rid of the assailants, however, she had to remove video evidence of anything that might get done here. If it was caught on tape … she might just have to burn the whole place to the ground, which would inspire a whole new investigation, which would require more cover-ups, and before she knew it, her entire campaign would dissolve around her ears. She certainly didn’t have to take all the security cameras; there were at least three dozen pointed at the food court alone. She, however, never leaves home without a few party favors.
Two small round balls bounced around the corners and from them a thick black cloud of smoke billowed forth, creating a curtain of impenetrable mist. Handful of pennies in hand, Katrina whirled around the corner. Like a whip, she flicked her wrist and let the pennies go; for the briefest of seconds, underneath the blouse she was wearing, something flashed red on her wrist. Each penny seemed to hang in midair for a second before suddenly dissappearing from sight, catapulted ahead at fifteen times their normal speed. It was a shotgun blast dialed to 11, which would only be so effective … if the only uninjured agent hadn’t helped his injured ally up. Her aiming was perfect, even through the dust and the knee-jerk reaction. The chest of the man was ripped open, the pennies ripping a hole big enough to fit a basketball through. And the injured assailant, the one Arsenal had shot … it was his bad fortune that he was crouching. His head was likely somewhere across the hall, followed along in the wake of the pennies which were now embedded in the wall some fifty feet away. Almost comically, with a look of shock frozen on his face, the mercenary fell.
”... well, that was unfortunate”
She casually dusted her hands off, already working on a way to hide the bodies. She didn’t have any of her tools on her, and for that she cursed herself … for the second time in as many minutes. She would have been exposed if she didn’t have her smoke bombs on her! Speaking of … the smoke was clearing, and with an almost fearful look she glanced up at the cameras. They’d surely be able to see her soon; as it stands, her silhouette was likely visible, and that alone would create an abundance of theories. There was no time to hide the bodies, all they could do was hope it wasn’t traced back to her.
”Let’s go.” She ripped the mask off one of the assailants and quickly positioned it roughly around her own. It was a quick fix, but it would have to do. ”We need to get out of here before the police arrive.” With another glance at the camera’s, she made it to the door. Her plan was to lead him to the London Underground and from there, to her home on Russell Island, off the East coast of England. Not too far from London, thankfully. Once there, through the Underground and then a private ferry, they could talk. Of course, she couldn’t exactly stop him from asking her questions on the journey.
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Re: Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Odien April 4th 2018, 4:21 pm
In a manner almost as quick as he himself had performed, Arsenal watched as Katrina Russell disposed of the remaining mercenaries, and with a handful of change no less. Apparently she wasn’t your run-of-the-mill candidate for office. It seems like everyone in America and the UK is some kind of superhero these days, but at least the Brits can keep a secret identity. Harper’s only reaction to the combat scene before him was to blink.
Stepping outside, Arsenal used the gun he had removed from the first mercenary and fired a few rounds into the bodies of the now-disposed assailants. It was always a good idea to “double tap” and ensure your opponents were actually dead, but moreover you also didn’t want this scene to appear as if it had gone as efficiently as it had. Better to make it look like a gang shoot out or warring militias than super soldiers fighting. Less questions to be asked that way.
”I thought I was being hired to take out Johnathan King, not the other way around. You did well here, but that doesn’t get you off the hook for answering my questions. Why would King send men after you, and by extension me? I don’t think he’d be so brash as to put an armed unit out after a political adversary in a public square, so if you want me to finish this job I’ll expect some honesty in return.” Arsenal headed out from the street, listening to Katrina’s explanation on the way. There was no fear of his presence having been recorded for authorities to use; he couldn’t be viewed on any of the security cameras, and Arsenal’s fingerprints had been surgically removed years ago. The ones he wore now were artificial and disposable.
They stopped by a safehouse of Harper’s on the way to Katrina’s destination. He had one in several corners of the world. Through his former contacts, a small trust fund set up by his parents, and the line of work that he engaged in, Arsenal had built up quite a little nest egg of bank accounts. The fixer wasn’t dripping in currency by any means, but he had assets enough to stay afloat, so that he could continue to operate the job as he desired (and conversely could retire at a moment’s notice should it be necessary).
This specific safehouse was a two-level townhouse, with a living space stacked on top of a garage. There were no vehicles inside, as the garage had instead been converted into a fortified bunker of sorts. While they were there, Arsenal retrieved his body armor. It would have been nice to have had it with him earlier, but it’s not exactly practical wear for a Sunday stroll. Just because you can win most fights doesn’t mean you should go around looking that way all the time.
Harper grabbed the armor and a myriad of offensive goodies, and then offered Katrina a drink. He imbibed himself with a strong bourbon, though it was purely out of habit and for the taste. Ordinary alcohol had no effect on him, and he wouldn’t drink on the job anyway. The mundane stuff steadied his nerves on a placebo scale only.
Following the stop, Arsenal and Katrina set off again, with the young Russell assassin leading the way, until they arrived at her home that shared her name.
Stepping outside, Arsenal used the gun he had removed from the first mercenary and fired a few rounds into the bodies of the now-disposed assailants. It was always a good idea to “double tap” and ensure your opponents were actually dead, but moreover you also didn’t want this scene to appear as if it had gone as efficiently as it had. Better to make it look like a gang shoot out or warring militias than super soldiers fighting. Less questions to be asked that way.
”I thought I was being hired to take out Johnathan King, not the other way around. You did well here, but that doesn’t get you off the hook for answering my questions. Why would King send men after you, and by extension me? I don’t think he’d be so brash as to put an armed unit out after a political adversary in a public square, so if you want me to finish this job I’ll expect some honesty in return.” Arsenal headed out from the street, listening to Katrina’s explanation on the way. There was no fear of his presence having been recorded for authorities to use; he couldn’t be viewed on any of the security cameras, and Arsenal’s fingerprints had been surgically removed years ago. The ones he wore now were artificial and disposable.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They stopped by a safehouse of Harper’s on the way to Katrina’s destination. He had one in several corners of the world. Through his former contacts, a small trust fund set up by his parents, and the line of work that he engaged in, Arsenal had built up quite a little nest egg of bank accounts. The fixer wasn’t dripping in currency by any means, but he had assets enough to stay afloat, so that he could continue to operate the job as he desired (and conversely could retire at a moment’s notice should it be necessary).
This specific safehouse was a two-level townhouse, with a living space stacked on top of a garage. There were no vehicles inside, as the garage had instead been converted into a fortified bunker of sorts. While they were there, Arsenal retrieved his body armor. It would have been nice to have had it with him earlier, but it’s not exactly practical wear for a Sunday stroll. Just because you can win most fights doesn’t mean you should go around looking that way all the time.
Harper grabbed the armor and a myriad of offensive goodies, and then offered Katrina a drink. He imbibed himself with a strong bourbon, though it was purely out of habit and for the taste. Ordinary alcohol had no effect on him, and he wouldn’t drink on the job anyway. The mundane stuff steadied his nerves on a placebo scale only.
Following the stop, Arsenal and Katrina set off again, with the young Russell assassin leading the way, until they arrived at her home that shared her name.
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Number of posts : 412
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Re: Groundhog Day (Danny)
by Katrina A. Russel May 12th 2018, 11:26 pm
Arsenal was curious, and rightly so. He had very valid points, ones she had hoped wouldn’t come up for a while. They had long and contrived answers, the kind that tend to reveal secrets that weren’t necessarily hers and were best kept to a place she knew was secure. She glanced uncertainly at a camera; they were everywhere nowadays, and while she was trained to avoid it, it could be time-consuming to avoid every single camera from here to Russel Island. So instead, she took advantage of a conveniently placed pillar to strip the mask off and tie her long black hair into a ponytail. Additionally, she rolled the sleeves up on her shirt, the white lining juxtaposed heavily against the pitch black of her outfit. The finishing touch came in the form of a pair of glasses; purely fashionable, of course, with plastic lenses. But the combined result was almost a full transformation, the strictly cut lines of her suit mollified by the rolled sleeves and ponytail and the glasses hiding the true color of her eyes.
”... it’s not an easy answer. You understand that, correct?” They were walking now, just another couple barely escaping the insanity. Cops whirled by, their lights blinking red and blue and their sirens screaming. She watched the lights, keeping the anxiety off her face. ”Ala’khir … it’s terrifyin’, innit?” For just a second, she let her natural accent slip through in her excitement. She was never this close to the danger, never this close to being caught! All it took was one wrong move, or one particularly attentive cop and that was it, game over. Her cover was blown. One of the advantages of being an assassin is the ability to look down on the chaos from up above. On the ground, everything seemed more … real, somehow. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t exciting. She might have to do this more often.
”... I don’t do this often. Can you tell?” Now that the danger was gone, she pulled the glasses off and stowed them away in an inner pocket, and unrolled her sleeves. She kept the ponytail however; in case of a fight, it’s much safer than unfurled hair. She sighed as they walked, listening to the pitter patter of his feet echo across the empty street; her footsteps, of course, were entirely silent almost without trying. Old habits. ”But I believe you had questions. I will give you answers to the best of my ability, but do know that I can’t tell you everything. Not here.” A sigh left her slim frame and sh moved to a run a hand through her hair, a nervous leftover from childhood, stopping when she felt the ponytail.
”Johnathon King is after an assassin known as Apophis. She is … well-known in criminal circles.” She cleared her throat here, her painted nails worrying the ring on her palm, wiggling the signet back and forth. ”For some reason, Apophis held a grudge against King. Not a surprise, a lot of people. But she really hated him. For years they’ve fought a shadow war, Apophis and her organization clashing multiple times all over the world. Johnathon just barely managed to avoided death many times. Each time they fought, Apophis got closer and closer to him, and finally she found his home.” They were alone now, walking down sidestreets that looked like they hadn’t seen foot traffic in centuries. This made her nervous; the perfect place for an ambush. ”She crept in to get information, you see. Assassination wasn’t part of the plan. But … King had a child. She knew she couldn’t let such a sweet and innocent thing be raised by a monster like him … so she attempted to take the child.” The memories of that night flooded through her and she struggled with them, the unexpected tide of emotion almost stopping her in her tracks. She turned her head away from him. Even now, two months later, the memory of her death was burned into her memory. She didn’t know if it would ever go away; she didn’t know if she wanted it to.
”... his wife and infant child were killed that day. It was an accident, of course.” This was a bald-faced lie; it was an intentional act of strategy. But even in the third person, she couldn’t say it loud. ”Apophis managed to escape, but only just. She was … injured. She came to me. I’ve worked with her organization several times. I helped her get better, I can only imagine King thinks I have information he can use to find her.” She was lying steadily now, but she had no other choice; to admit she was Apophis would be to admit her sin, and she couldn’t do this. No, she had to keep this strictly business, and this business was on a need-to-know basis. ”And why not attack me in public? Obviously those mercenaries were professionals. Though, definitely not used to dealing with Enhanced individuals.” She smirked at the thought of this. The death of those men brought a thrill of pleasure she was very steadily ignoring.
They were at his safehouse now, and she took a look around out of curiosity. He seemed to be well-funded, and this little nook was very well taken care of. She glanced first at the alcohol offered to him, then at the bulkiness of his body armor. His choice of gear really said a lot about him; and to her, it screamed Front-Line. ”Hmm … you’d make a good Shield …” She muttered under her breath, almost to herself. He seemed perfectly built for it … but this was no time to fixate on his physique. Katrina could only smirk as she threw back the bourbon like a professional, wincing as the liquid burned away her anxiety. A relieved sigh left her body, then she stood (though that hardly made a difference) and clapped her hands together.
”... my safehouse isn’t too far from here. Then we can proceed to Russel Manor and commence the mission.”
The walk certainly was brief; through providence or coincidence, this safehouse was only a few blocks from the one they had just left. It was nowhere near as fancy as Arsenals’, just a simple brownstone, but the inside was significantly more posh. Silk carpets and real china on the counter, it was obvious it was owned by someone with money to burn. More importantly, there was enough tech and wiring in this place to blow the entire building sky-high. Notably, a button under a metal container connected to a fingerprint scanner.
”Try not to touch anything. If the room considers you an intruder, 2,000 pounds of Blazium will blow a crater into the middle of London.”
She smirked slyly at him, as if this was supposed to be amusing before slipping into a backroom. Each hinge in the house was oiled daily, she made sure of it. The door to her Armory opened silently, and after she scanned her fingerprint, the door swung inward. Carefully, she selected her gear; her Utility Belt and all it’s associated trappings, including her swords and bow; a new addition, a Chlorphyte dagger. And then, the source of her excitement; the new and improved Apophis Armor. While the overall design was hardly changed, that was the only thing that stayed the same. The skirt made from Omnium and now shone a bright gold; inlaid with Harbenite, it weighed practically nothing yet could stop a bullet in it’s tracks. The actual armor was now inlaid with Harbenite and Omnium and fitted to her like a glove; when wearing, it was a juxtaposition of bright gold, rust red, and black. She examined herself briefly in the mirror; she was glad the Silver Bones kept the face mask. It was really helpful. She tightened several straps, securing the elbow and knee pads to her person; satisfied it was appropriate, she left the room then. It had taken three minutes for her to finish; after all, a lady needs to be able to entertain guests at a moment.
”I’m ready.” Her eyes shone with renewed intensity as she walked down the dimly lit hall; here, in this uniform, she was like a new person. Body language experts would even clarify that wasn’t exaggeration; the set of her shoulders and intensity of her gaze were almost like another person. ”We can stay here, if you wish. Certainly smaller, less lavish, and without the benefits that come from being in the center of the Russel empire … but it’s also much less secure than here.” She placed her hand on the wall, feeling the heat coming from it. ”These walls are lined Cavorite and Titanium-Steel. This entire floor is powered by Bavarium batteries and, in case those run dead, Photolite receptors. And the aforementioned Blazium explosions.In short,” she spun to him. ”This floor could handle a nuclear strike and come out unscathed. There is every chance Johnathon will send more goons after us. Next time, he might hire someone competent. But it’s up to you, really.” If he refused to choose, they’d stay in the safehouse.
If he chose to go to the mansion, there would be a long boat ride with a confused ferryman and then a walk up a flight of magnificent stairs in an old mansion; the briefing, however, would be the same. Arsenal was led into a projector room. There was a slideshow prepared already, and Katrina was ready with the button. The lights were turned off and the first button revealed the face of their enemy. An older gentleman, his facial hair immaculately taken care of, he looked like nothing more than an elderly Brit. ”This … is Johnathon King. He is a businessman and currently running for Prime Minister. He owned King Enterprises, producing and selling products ranging from weapons to baby bottles. He is, without a doubt, one of the most influential and powerful men in the world, helped along by a cabal of shadowy individuals known as The Council.” The picture switched to reveal a group of four individuals, there faces obscured by masks, each one emblazoned with a glyph of some kind.
”We think those glyphs are code of some kind, we haven’t been able to unravel it. Regardless, The Council are his connection to the underworld. They run, and control, four of the largest criminal enterprises in history and, for some reason I can’t fathom, are completely loyal to King.” The picture switched again to reveal an amulet; it looked ancient in design, though the gold was pure and shiny. ”This is the Chronos Amulet. We think it’s the source of his power; it gives off a very powerful radiation signature. What powers it gives him, however, or even the full extent of his capabilities, we don’t know.” The picture changed again to show a massive castle on a remote island; with the walls, the parapets, and the heavily armed guards visible, it was more akin to a fortress than any home. ”This is The Castle.” She scoffed at the name. ”He thinks he’s clever. The walls are fortified even more than the safehouse, he has a small army at his beck and call, and, we believe, the Council are all Enhanced. There powers are, again, obscured to us somehow.”
She clapped her hands and the lights turned on. A folder was slid across the table to him, containing all the information she had just supplied and more. ”Everything we know about Mr. Immortal and his associates and assets are in there. If you have any ideas on how we’re going to get into the fortress, take out King, and get out alive, I’d love to hear them, because honestly, once is enough.”
”... it’s not an easy answer. You understand that, correct?” They were walking now, just another couple barely escaping the insanity. Cops whirled by, their lights blinking red and blue and their sirens screaming. She watched the lights, keeping the anxiety off her face. ”Ala’khir … it’s terrifyin’, innit?” For just a second, she let her natural accent slip through in her excitement. She was never this close to the danger, never this close to being caught! All it took was one wrong move, or one particularly attentive cop and that was it, game over. Her cover was blown. One of the advantages of being an assassin is the ability to look down on the chaos from up above. On the ground, everything seemed more … real, somehow. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t exciting. She might have to do this more often.
”... I don’t do this often. Can you tell?” Now that the danger was gone, she pulled the glasses off and stowed them away in an inner pocket, and unrolled her sleeves. She kept the ponytail however; in case of a fight, it’s much safer than unfurled hair. She sighed as they walked, listening to the pitter patter of his feet echo across the empty street; her footsteps, of course, were entirely silent almost without trying. Old habits. ”But I believe you had questions. I will give you answers to the best of my ability, but do know that I can’t tell you everything. Not here.” A sigh left her slim frame and sh moved to a run a hand through her hair, a nervous leftover from childhood, stopping when she felt the ponytail.
”Johnathon King is after an assassin known as Apophis. She is … well-known in criminal circles.” She cleared her throat here, her painted nails worrying the ring on her palm, wiggling the signet back and forth. ”For some reason, Apophis held a grudge against King. Not a surprise, a lot of people. But she really hated him. For years they’ve fought a shadow war, Apophis and her organization clashing multiple times all over the world. Johnathon just barely managed to avoided death many times. Each time they fought, Apophis got closer and closer to him, and finally she found his home.” They were alone now, walking down sidestreets that looked like they hadn’t seen foot traffic in centuries. This made her nervous; the perfect place for an ambush. ”She crept in to get information, you see. Assassination wasn’t part of the plan. But … King had a child. She knew she couldn’t let such a sweet and innocent thing be raised by a monster like him … so she attempted to take the child.” The memories of that night flooded through her and she struggled with them, the unexpected tide of emotion almost stopping her in her tracks. She turned her head away from him. Even now, two months later, the memory of her death was burned into her memory. She didn’t know if it would ever go away; she didn’t know if she wanted it to.
”... his wife and infant child were killed that day. It was an accident, of course.” This was a bald-faced lie; it was an intentional act of strategy. But even in the third person, she couldn’t say it loud. ”Apophis managed to escape, but only just. She was … injured. She came to me. I’ve worked with her organization several times. I helped her get better, I can only imagine King thinks I have information he can use to find her.” She was lying steadily now, but she had no other choice; to admit she was Apophis would be to admit her sin, and she couldn’t do this. No, she had to keep this strictly business, and this business was on a need-to-know basis. ”And why not attack me in public? Obviously those mercenaries were professionals. Though, definitely not used to dealing with Enhanced individuals.” She smirked at the thought of this. The death of those men brought a thrill of pleasure she was very steadily ignoring.
They were at his safehouse now, and she took a look around out of curiosity. He seemed to be well-funded, and this little nook was very well taken care of. She glanced first at the alcohol offered to him, then at the bulkiness of his body armor. His choice of gear really said a lot about him; and to her, it screamed Front-Line. ”Hmm … you’d make a good Shield …” She muttered under her breath, almost to herself. He seemed perfectly built for it … but this was no time to fixate on his physique. Katrina could only smirk as she threw back the bourbon like a professional, wincing as the liquid burned away her anxiety. A relieved sigh left her body, then she stood (though that hardly made a difference) and clapped her hands together.
”... my safehouse isn’t too far from here. Then we can proceed to Russel Manor and commence the mission.”
The walk certainly was brief; through providence or coincidence, this safehouse was only a few blocks from the one they had just left. It was nowhere near as fancy as Arsenals’, just a simple brownstone, but the inside was significantly more posh. Silk carpets and real china on the counter, it was obvious it was owned by someone with money to burn. More importantly, there was enough tech and wiring in this place to blow the entire building sky-high. Notably, a button under a metal container connected to a fingerprint scanner.
”Try not to touch anything. If the room considers you an intruder, 2,000 pounds of Blazium will blow a crater into the middle of London.”
She smirked slyly at him, as if this was supposed to be amusing before slipping into a backroom. Each hinge in the house was oiled daily, she made sure of it. The door to her Armory opened silently, and after she scanned her fingerprint, the door swung inward. Carefully, she selected her gear; her Utility Belt and all it’s associated trappings, including her swords and bow; a new addition, a Chlorphyte dagger. And then, the source of her excitement; the new and improved Apophis Armor. While the overall design was hardly changed, that was the only thing that stayed the same. The skirt made from Omnium and now shone a bright gold; inlaid with Harbenite, it weighed practically nothing yet could stop a bullet in it’s tracks. The actual armor was now inlaid with Harbenite and Omnium and fitted to her like a glove; when wearing, it was a juxtaposition of bright gold, rust red, and black. She examined herself briefly in the mirror; she was glad the Silver Bones kept the face mask. It was really helpful. She tightened several straps, securing the elbow and knee pads to her person; satisfied it was appropriate, she left the room then. It had taken three minutes for her to finish; after all, a lady needs to be able to entertain guests at a moment.
”I’m ready.” Her eyes shone with renewed intensity as she walked down the dimly lit hall; here, in this uniform, she was like a new person. Body language experts would even clarify that wasn’t exaggeration; the set of her shoulders and intensity of her gaze were almost like another person. ”We can stay here, if you wish. Certainly smaller, less lavish, and without the benefits that come from being in the center of the Russel empire … but it’s also much less secure than here.” She placed her hand on the wall, feeling the heat coming from it. ”These walls are lined Cavorite and Titanium-Steel. This entire floor is powered by Bavarium batteries and, in case those run dead, Photolite receptors. And the aforementioned Blazium explosions.In short,” she spun to him. ”This floor could handle a nuclear strike and come out unscathed. There is every chance Johnathon will send more goons after us. Next time, he might hire someone competent. But it’s up to you, really.” If he refused to choose, they’d stay in the safehouse.
If he chose to go to the mansion, there would be a long boat ride with a confused ferryman and then a walk up a flight of magnificent stairs in an old mansion; the briefing, however, would be the same. Arsenal was led into a projector room. There was a slideshow prepared already, and Katrina was ready with the button. The lights were turned off and the first button revealed the face of their enemy. An older gentleman, his facial hair immaculately taken care of, he looked like nothing more than an elderly Brit. ”This … is Johnathon King. He is a businessman and currently running for Prime Minister. He owned King Enterprises, producing and selling products ranging from weapons to baby bottles. He is, without a doubt, one of the most influential and powerful men in the world, helped along by a cabal of shadowy individuals known as The Council.” The picture switched to reveal a group of four individuals, there faces obscured by masks, each one emblazoned with a glyph of some kind.
”We think those glyphs are code of some kind, we haven’t been able to unravel it. Regardless, The Council are his connection to the underworld. They run, and control, four of the largest criminal enterprises in history and, for some reason I can’t fathom, are completely loyal to King.” The picture switched again to reveal an amulet; it looked ancient in design, though the gold was pure and shiny. ”This is the Chronos Amulet. We think it’s the source of his power; it gives off a very powerful radiation signature. What powers it gives him, however, or even the full extent of his capabilities, we don’t know.” The picture changed again to show a massive castle on a remote island; with the walls, the parapets, and the heavily armed guards visible, it was more akin to a fortress than any home. ”This is The Castle.” She scoffed at the name. ”He thinks he’s clever. The walls are fortified even more than the safehouse, he has a small army at his beck and call, and, we believe, the Council are all Enhanced. There powers are, again, obscured to us somehow.”
She clapped her hands and the lights turned on. A folder was slid across the table to him, containing all the information she had just supplied and more. ”Everything we know about Mr. Immortal and his associates and assets are in there. If you have any ideas on how we’re going to get into the fortress, take out King, and get out alive, I’d love to hear them, because honestly, once is enough.”
Katrina A. Russel- Post Mate
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