Track Ops: 'Reflection'

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Iliana, May 15, 2012.


    meh.jpg LOG #22: It had been a while since my people were sent on one of these babies. I haven't seen one of them in a good month or two and I damn sure didn't want to see one again. Every time I got on one I ended up walking another cold trail, wasting the time of my partners and the pilot. I wasn't chasing them off of paranoia, though, I had a lead. We all had a lead. How far we could trust that lead, we didn't think too much about that. Why waste time tumbling over sources with Kelly still away from home? As BAD we're bound to follow whatever we have and retrieve her by any means necessary, but man, I gotta tell you, this is is some bull shit.

    I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. We all had it hard, all 4 of us, including me. I don't remember the last time I had a good night sleep without being woken up by some outside source. Yesterday was the alarm clock. This morning was the phone. If we found Kelly tonight or not, which I doubt we would, I would probably be waking up to someone else bothering me about what I haven't got done yet, what I need to get done, or some other pestering shit.

    Now that I think about it, being on this baby isn't such a bad thing. And by "baby", I mean this c-130 that's gliding thousands upon thousands of feet above the ground. I get to be alone with my thoughts for a while until we get the call to go. We can't get the call without the confirmation from Reflection. We always have to wait on that bastard. We are being good little law enforcers, following his every direction, keeping silent and erasing all the tracks of the internet to keep him hidden, and still, no Kelly.

    No Kelly.
    Spec Ops #14
    July 18th, 2002

    "If I could pick any way I'd want to die, it wouldn't be like this, man. Not in this weather." Marce barely lifted his head to acknowledge Bryson Waters who was yammering on and on about the cold in different ways and formats. He knew he was annoying everyone around him but the cold kept making his speak about it, as if talking about the cold was going to make it less cold. Bryson was the boy to the far corner of the ship, closest to the passengers bay where the passenger, a chocolate man by the name of Bowe had went to sleep, and probably the warmest spot thus far. Marce was his opposite, hanging to the far left next to the open cock pit that blew in centuries of crisp, icicle air. Still, Bryson was only acting the way he normally did. He was the youngest of them all, 23, and the one who needed the most attention by Marce's assumption. Scared of anything that could potentially be dangerous, Bryson's output was always openly discussing problems and tactics in compensation for his rising fear of dying or getting hurt badly. That is why he made the perfect recon.

    "So free falling would be how you would prefer to go?" Alex asked to the side of him. She was the only girl on the team and Marce thanked heavens for that. One problems is enough problems. Not that she couldn't hold herself, no. Sitting with a Steyar AUG A1 on her lap, she made quite the impression. Lips full and pink and black hair cropped under her white and grey sported helmet, she gave Bryson the slightest of nudges.

    "I would go anywhere if you'd come with me."

    "Do not go down that road with me."she laughed in return. Marce dry heaved in his throat. He didn't know why the two didn't just rent a hotel room after the mission and stop playing with each other's emotions. Alex had gave him the 'no-go' signal too many times. Either Bryson was hard headed or Alex was in denial. Whatever the case, he wished they would keep it out of mission lines.

    "Instructions." he snapped, trying to get the two of them to focus. Of course, he didn't mean to be a sour grape about their love-hate game of tug-of-war, but there was a time and place for everything. Being in the cargo bay of a c-130 in -12 degree weather at 2:47AM was not the time nor place for any of that. Bryson snapped a small chip off of a strapped proto-pad that was tied to his wrist. He kept it close to him to listen to any instructions that could have been coming in by silent transmission, even if it was set to vibrate. A small buzz originated and Bryson's ear was soon smothered fully against the device, listening to every word and detail he heard from Bob.

    Bob Public was the name the boss had to go buy, simply for security reasons. With a name like that, the Merenzo's would never find any trace of him.

    "Coming in....dock 6 minutes off of the timer clock... coordinates now set below...Sandman's transmitter sounded with no response...wind compensation adjusted for on landing pad..."he said, almost mechanical before the buzzing stopped and he turned his head to Marce's. "We have 10 minutes."

    "Strap for preparation."he ordered, taking all the necessary precautions of making sure his shute was secured. He didn't need to be in the BAD to know what will happen if his shute was not working properly. 10 minutes until the jump into the air with icicles whipping across their helmets in hopes for finding the tiny orange strobe lights from their last comrade, Sandman. That closer to landing and that closer to finding Kelly. For once, Marce hoped Reflection's directions were right.

  2. Finding a loft apartment in the middle of a city for a reasonable rate was hard. Getting one that was spacious, clean, in good repair and not in a horrid neighborhood was nearly impossible and asking for a small fortune. Having all of the above for free without a single roommate was impossible - and Reflection had no qualms about achieving the impossible on a daily basis.

    That wasn't her real name, of course, just as the name on the lease was false and so was the documented source of her income. In all reality, she lived here for free and not a single soul in this building had ever seen her before. She didn't leave for anything. Her groceries were delivered, dropped off at the closed door and left. Everything she needed was here, and she didn't dare to go outside anymore. Now that she was wrapped up in messing with the government, it just wasn't safe.

    Tonight, she was sitting in her usual spot. A comfortable black leather chair that faced an entire wall of computer monitors. Each one showed something different. A few were showing percentage bars on stealing files from the Pentagon that she had found interesting, while a few were live feeds from random wireless cameras around the city that she enjoyed watching. Her main focus, however, was on the large screen in the center that was opened to her email outbox. She was staring at a message she had sent earlier, the most recent of many. For months, she had been leading BAD around as if they were her playthings, but she had her reasons. It had all ended now, since she gave them the final piece of the puzzle. Tomorrow she would have to leave, to vanish once again and erase the traces of her existence before the Merenzos showed up.

    She sighed and stood up, her long auburn curls tumbling down her back. Deep green eyes peered out from a pale face, her jaw set with determination. She wore only a small white tank top and a pair of jean shorts, not bothering to dress up since she was - as always - home alone. Her only 'accessory' were her tattoos. A few on her arms, a few on her back, one on the inside of her left hip, several on her legs. Each one meant something to her, each one told a story. Now it was time for another story to begin, she thought as she began quickly packing her belongings into boxes.

    Reflection (open)
    Reflection (open)
  3. "Alex, hold the hub. Bryson, you're right behind me. Check your left and right elastics." Marce ordered. Alex's face was pulled in a white angry expression and could tell she was fighting back a large huff behind her lips. He knew she was angry because she had to hold the back of the team and he was not going to change his mind just because she was feeling headstrong. He had lost too many women before and he was going to make sure that never lay on his conscious if he could help it. Mission Kelly was really starting to get to him. Reflection himself didn't even know if the young girl was still alive or not seeing that she was missing for a long while. They were all living on a prayer, it seemed, with Marce living on a million. Too many times had he seen the large eyes of women shaking and quivering, trying to reach out for the help he strained to give but they would never receive.

    He remembered clearly of the last time he lost a female. It was a gruesome way to go. Trouping through the outskirts of Prague on some news that a stealth Merenzo base was located inside one of the clubs, he, Bryson, and Alex had to high tail it there in order to catch them before their deportation back to what they called the 'Home World', good ole Italy. Instead of finding any Merenzo, they found crates. Cages. Full of mangled, maimed, and dead women. He could still remember the putrid stench of death the moment the three of them hammered through the club's back office. Bryson was the first to gag, always a disadvantage of being the youngest, and Alex's face was white and nearing Bryson's state as well. Marce could clearly remember seeing a burning crate with an ashen and bloody hand still quivering to reach out of the slit in the bars before it fell limp, feeding back into the fire.

    To think that young, little Kelly....

    "Marce. You have predestined settings ready?" Bryson asked. His reverie was was a cold trail when Bryson's muffled voice came into play behind his ski mask. Those masks itched like hell behind their helmets, but it was only to make sure they wouldn't be hit with hypothermia the minute the launched. A few clicks from Alex and Marce held his hands up with 4 fingers erect, the signal to focus on the open door. When their eyes snapped forward he checked the initial countdown of 3 fingers...2...1...

    Marce was the first to go, buckling his knees to keep them from shattering against each other. The wind had nearly whipped him back into the cargo bay until Marce leaned his upper chest towards the ground, taking care to tuck his chin next to his bulked chest to avoid decapitation by wind. He had practiced this many times, and had jumped 4 times before that very moment. Never before had he done it that early and in a blizzard atmosphere at that. Once the roar of the choppers disappeared from his ears, Marce tugged on the maroon cord next to his right breast, releasing the chute. His body whipped to the left violently, then backwards, before finally setting him upright. The adrenaline rush had stopped and was replaced with a smooth glide. It was smooth sailings from there. He always enjoyed that part of jumping. It gave him time enough to enjoy the cooling wind against his skin and a weightless drifting.

    He couldn't maneuver his body to check on the other two but knew that they were safe. They had jumped just as many times as he had and were probably enjoying the drifting as well. With Marce in the front, he had the responsibility of having eyes on for Sandman. Sandman was in charge of waving the strobes, giving them the ok-go to land at a predestined point in the middle of the wild snow. He had been in the forest for 2 days waiting for them to jump, with little supplies, but enough to keep him alive. If he saw no lights, Sandman was dead. Marce's ice blue eyes broke through the warm waters that had gathered in the air friction, scanning desperately for a light, hoping to hell that Sandman still had a heart beat. A shot of orange flickered some ways away to his right. Thank you, Sandman.

    Holding up his hand with all 5 fingers out, the signal to prepare to land, Marce was the first to prepare for the sudden pull of gravity on the soles of his already weighty boots. The wind blew him exactly where he needed to be, with a little help releasing the cords on his parachute, before a swimming sea of white snow met his feet, beckoning him to run and keep up his momentum. The air had died through the chute and Marce shrugged it off of his shoulders, checking his guns to make sure they were still secured tightly to his waist. He looked behind him to see Bryson trudging to a pile of snow where Alex had fallen. Fear prickled in him at the thought of her hitting a rock on the way down, but an annoyed batting of her hand at Bryson told Marce she was fine.

    "Lovely weather?" Sandman tossed, slapping his gloved hand against Marce's in a friendly handshake.

    "Perfect thing to go with my bikini."he replied, patting him hard on the shoulder. He was glad Sandman was alive. Bryson and Alex greeted Sandman as well while Marce pulled out the crumpled little note with crude coordinates written on them. Coordinates given to him by Reflection himself. Kelly's life was in the hands of that pair of two-digit numbers. He hoped that Reflection bastard knew that.

  4. All of her technical belongings that were not in current use or necessary were packed first since they required the most care. She owned equipment that would make the government wet themselves with jealousy, and most of it she had created herself or commissioned from people who would rather slit their own throats than claim to be patriotic. Thankfully most of it was compact, so it didn't take up too much space. She had always prepared for moving in a hurry, just in case, and now she was thankful for it. The next thing to get packed were her clothes, taking up just one single large box. A small box for her toiletries and dishes, and she was done. Looking around her apartment carefully, she made sure that nothing was left. All that she had to pack were the monitors that she had set up in the middle of the room, and her chair. The rest of the place had been swept clean, and she already had people waiting to come in and scrub every trace of her out of here after she left. No point in not being completely thorough.

    The small disposable phone that she had just received the day before through a mail delivery began vibrating on the desk that held her keyboard. She frowned in confusion and stared at the lit up device for a moment. It was impossible for anybody in existence to have her number. She realized it must be a misdial and ignored it, but a few minutes later it was ringing again. Rolling her eyes, she strode over and flipped it open, having every intention of snapping on the person for calling repeatedly when she wasn't even the desired recipient.

    "Hello?" she snapped irritably, taking down one monitor and turning to pack it carefully in a box.

    "Reflection? That's what you decided to go with as an alias? It seems sort of childish to me," the voice on the other side replied silkily, causing her to freeze and drop the monitor with a shattering crash.

    "How did you get this number?" she hissed, already looking around at the windows and making sure they were all covered with blinds. Her face was pale as snow and her hands were shaking, but she refused to let that show in her voice.

    "Did you truly think that you could get away from us? We know that you've been in contact with the governme-"

    That was all that she heard before she snapped the phone shut and hurled it out the window. She was packing up her monitors rapidly now, knowing that at any second there could be a knock at her door. Her pulse was flying out of control, but she took several deep breaths and managed to get everything put away. Apparently she wasn't going to get to see if they found Kelly. Maybe she's hear about it on the news. She wondered absently if they would tip their hat to the 'anonymous source' that led them to discover the child. Probably not. Good ol' American government. She half smirked and taped up the last of the boxes.
  5. The three of them were strapped and ready to go, since that was the saying. Sandman was going to standby, going back to the secret dugout he had made among a cottage hidden in snow, in order to steer the snow mobiles out from their camping position. He was basically their get away. It would have been dangerous for them to call the heli to the same drop off point as before. People, especially Merenzo's, were smart enough to follow trials and find out secret locations. Especially Merenzo's; that was their specialty. Marce took a strong hold of his side arm Desert Eagle while making sure to tie a firm hold on the yard or so rope secured tightly to his right hip. There was a belt he also exchanged with Sandman: a belt one needed when they were going into enemy lines. There was your typical tact grenade, a small Swiss Army Knife preferably used to cut the rope, and some knick-knacks. All the while, he hoped to hell that the Merenzo's didn't have Kelly.

    "Marce, we have a tracked coordination to the destination. Looks like a 2 story house, steel car to the back, 3 people there, 2 by the door, maybe four or more inside...I only see two lights." Bryson said without Marce even calling for a quick recon. The kid was tired and ready to get the mission over and done with, just as he was at all of the other missions that were failures. And by 'failures' he meant the ones that didn't have a Kelly being found. Alex held onto her AUG and pulled down on her mask so that her eyes did not touch the bottom of the cloth, blurring her vision.

    "I can do the four to the car." Alex volunteered. The tables had turned and now Marce wore the scowl. He knew she could do it as quietly as a mouse pissing on cotton, but her over-eager attitude didn't sit well with him. Still enough, the three trudged through the snow, careful not to make any loud noises. Bryson was holding a pair of night vision binoculars close to him at all times, keeping a hand near his M16 in case needed, which, hopefully, he didn't need. It was Marce's and Alex's responsibility to keep the recon alive, not that Bryson couldn't defend himself. He had to have 'eyes on' at all times, giving the two heads up on approaching tangos in the area so that Marce and Alex could take them out quickly and without any 'problems.' And by 'problems', he meant blood.

    The lights from the small 'house' up ahead had come into view which meant that Bryson's tone had to soften down. So did their footsteps. They didn't want to be seen or heard, at least not yet. The element of surprise is one tough thing to count on and almost never seems to hold for very long. A simple stick breaking could be the difference between losing your arm or losing a comrade. Neither one should be gambled with.

    "Four in the house." Bryson whispered. Marce rounded his finger and pointed it at Alex, directing her to take on the four like she wanted to. She nodded at him over the cylindrical gleam of the silencer on her gun, crouching over to the steel car. Marce and Bryson had to get moving just as fast as she did to make them think that Alex was alone. The first 10 minutes went surprisingly smooth. Alex took all four out only shooting her gun once while Marce quickly knocked out the two guards with a quick tactical grenade.

    "GOD DAMMIT, SHE'S BLEEDING." That's all they needed to get dirty.

    He and Bryson pulled their masks over their faces and burst right through the door of the house. Two quick pops of the Eagle and one guard was on the ground with bullets in his neck. Bryson's face paled a bit but he kept his eyes on the prize: a set of stairs followed by a lingering voice above them.

    "Shit, get some napkins..."


    Marce jotted up the stairs and didn't bother to tell Bryson to do any recon on anything. He spotted the first door to him, catching two shadows hovering underneath the room that was flooded with lights. When he said 'she' his heart raced through the thermal vest. A breaking sound was heard before his eyes landed on a large mound lying on the the bed that had navy sheets. Bryson was quick enough to snap the man at the door's neck while Marce made his way to the bed. The mound turned out to be a giant man lying on top of a small girl....Kelly. Her body was as cold as the ice outside, lips blue and plump. He did a quick overscan over her body to see her wrists cut open and bleeding out onto the man who was dead.

    "My God....What did they do to her to make her do that to herself...?" came Alex's voice in the doorway to their releif.

    "Bryson, contact Bob. We have Kelly."

  6. Once all of the boxes were taped shut and stacked near the door, 'Reflection' realized her error in hurling the phone out the window. Now she had no way of calling to confirm that the cleaning crew was going to show up as soon as she left. Oh, well. Either way they'd be here before tomorrow, and this place would be as clean as a bottle of bleach. She wrote off that worry and focused on the next. It'd take at least two trips to get these boxes down to her car, especially since a few of the ones with her equipment inside were really heavy. It was six floors down to the ground floor, and the parking garage was in the basement. She had a car stored there, and the key was already in the pocket of her shorts, along with a false license. All of the information in the car, such as the registration and the insurance, were written out to the same name on her license. It had been inspected a month ago and everything was in mint condition. In other words, absolutely no reason for her to be pulled over unless she was driving poorly. She'd probably be speeding as soon as she left the city limits, but that didn't matter.

    She walked through the apartment one last time, scanning every single crack and crevice. Every closet got a thorough checking, every shelf was inspected for the smallest scrap of paper that could hold information leading to her. Nothing was left behind except for dust and specks of paint that had flaked from the walls over the weeks to sit on the floor by the baseboards. Once she was satisfied that the place was finished, she went back over to the pile of boxes. All of the information on her harddrives had been wiped and the back-ups mailed to her in several copies at multiple addresses where nobody else would ever find them. She wasn't stupid enough to carry it with her - which she was now thankful for, since she had a sneaking suspicion that she might not make it out of here alive.

    Picking up one of the larger boxes, she opened up her apartment door and shut it behind her, locking it quickly before walking down the hallway. She went to the elevator and pressed the down arrow, then settled back to wait. The elevator in this building was so slow that you could feel yourself aging, but it was still worth saving the effort and possible angst of dropping a box of equipment down a flight of stairs. She leaned back against the faded floral wallpaper and gazed at the metallic door as she waited, hearing the creaks and groans that gave away how the elevator was slowly rising. The dial atop the door paused on the third floor, letting her know that somebody else was using the elevator. She sighed with exasperation and tipped her head back against the wall, cursing inwardly several times.

    "This is too easy. Just bring her in? I mean, come on. I can't believe they tried to send more of the boys with us, as if she'd be too much of a challenge for two," a voice said, causing her to freeze and look up. The voice came from the nearby stairwell, and there was no doubt that it was deep and masculine. It was the accent that caught her attention the most.


    "Just think, though. After all that shit they gave us about going by ourselves, just think how much bragging rights we'll get when we go back with her tonight," another voice answered, earning chuckles from both of them.

    Their obvious confidence was wasted on Reflection, who had already started moving. She had shut the stairwell door and locked it with a key that she had stolen years ago, then blocked it with an old armchair that always sat near the elevator - presumably for the older residents. After that, she had raced back into her apartment and locked the door behind her, then latched the three extra bolts. Her fingers danced across the electronic lock pad and she took a deep breath as it flashed to green. She was safe.. for now. Setting the box down with the others, she opened up one of the smaller boxes and pulled out a handgun. That went in the back of her shorts under her shirt, and a small knife went in her pocket. It wasn't much, but it was better than going down without a fight.
  7. Log #23: I was starting to think she was dead. That would've been bad. Especially if she offed herself, that would have made it a lot worse. America would piss their pants if they found out that the Senator's daughter buckled under pressure and killed herself. Even thought it's not really her fault. They'll place the blame on BAD for not getting to her quick enough. As if it were our faults. Our handy dandy little source is the one playing with everyone's emotions, but the government is never justified, is it? They'll blame us for blowing down the Pentagon if we were involved in it. I don't get it. But what I do know is that the girl is on her way to a fancy little hospital with so many tubes in her they'll think she's a squid. Damn those Merenzo's. I don't know who I hate more.

    Damn those Merenzos.

    Damn you, Reflection.

    Spec Ops #14
    July 18th, 2002

    There a couple of seconds of pure depression when Bryson strapped Kelly's cold body onto his back so that she would be secure on their way back to Sandman. He didn't want to add in lifeless because he probably wouldn't be able to live with himself if she were. He and the others had went through too many failed missions without yielding Kelly and when they finally got to her, he feared it may have been too late. Her body was white all the way back to the heli drop zone that was behind Sandman's hiding area. Alex and Bryson were in the rear, making sure the straps were firmly secure and that Kelly was not going to fly off into the snow. It was hard for him to psychologically trudge across the snow with a cold body against his back. She had loss more blood than he thought she had in her and it chilled him to the core to ask himself why she must have done it.

    Alex told him it might have been suicidal tendencies while they were on the heli, which Sandman had called for before they even got back from the house. The kidnapped had always had a high percentage of wanting to end their lives when under the 'care' of someone else. Torture also comes into play but there were no other fatal wounds or signs of torture on her body except for the slit wrists. Age also opened opportune chance to break down inside, pessimistic thoughts making it seem like she would never be freed. That must have been what Kelly told herself while she did the deed.

    Georgia was only a good hour or so away when the medics on the heli announced that she was in intensive care and that she would need a blood transfusion stat. To Marce, that just meant she was alive. He had completed his mission and was bringing Kelly home...all thanks to the 'help' of Reflection. A string of curses flew into his head. He hated him. He hated him with the wrath of every unintentional killed soldier in his squad. For as many nights he lost sleep tossing and turning over a 12 year old girl, Reflection was lounging back in a love seat sipping coffee and puffing away on a cigar. All of a sudden Marce didn't feel so accomplished. If anything, he felt like a checker piece that had made it to the end of the opposite player's board and was granted the crown that says 'King Me.' All a part of Reflection's sick game.

    He felt even worse once he got to the airport in Decatur, Georgia, only 15 minutes away from his home. It was a convenience to live so close to that mode of transportation, helping him get to wherever he needed to go in the US on a whim. Bryson and Alex went their separate ways from him, simply because it was too dangerous to have all 3 of them with one another the entire time. Lack of sleep was catching up to Marce quicker than he thought he did. For a second or two, he contemplated going to the terminal and purchasing a large cup of coffee, most likely a black one, when the small cellular phone in his back pocket buzzed. Not many had that line so it meant business. Business that he really did not need before he even walked out of the airport.

    "Marce Jove."

    "Jove, its Bob. Nice job on your recovery." Marce knew by 'recovery', he meant getting Kelly back, but they couldn't speak in plain terms over the phone. It wasn't very reliable and could easily be tracked. It was best to lay low. Marce passed on the coffee, walking directly to the exit to Garage Port 5 where his Nissan Malibu was waiting for him.

    "Snow storms never make anything easier, I'll tell you that." An old chuckle from Bob in response.

    "Good to know that everything went well despite a couple of fucking frozen nuts on your end. It could have been volcanic, you know the drill these days." He added before a small pause followed by a cough. "That email. We've found it's sender."

    "What?!" Marce shouted pulling the transceiver of the phone close to his mouth. Could Bob really be talking about...

    "And it just so happens to be a fucking block or two from you. The string of apartments? Check the 5th floor room 32." Bob said. He was making it very solid and clear for Marce who was already yanking the car door open with more force than necessary. in the apartments by his house? He was that close and was feeding him information that he could have just given to him if he had known of Marce's address, even though he would never give that to anyone. He barely caught the rest of what Bob said. He had a floor and a room number. He had an opportunity to reap revenge.

    "Any one else down there?"

    "No. I told you first since you are closest, clearly. Try not to pester for answers. I know how you operate." Bob said before a steady tone rung in his ears. Yes, they all knew how he operated. Marce made no promises.
  8. A handgun and a knife, plus some bolts and an electric locking system. That's all that she had between her and two men who were only there to kill her off. It seemed extremely pathetic to one who was used to being prepared for any situation. Leaning against the wall on one hand, she tapped her fingers against the paint as she racked her brain. She could always run out the fire escape, but she would never, ever leave all of her equipment unguarded. It would be stolen, either by the Merenzos or by the government if they ever got their heads out of their asses and figured out where she had been. She had to take it with her, unless.. She could destroy it. All of her backups were already taken care of. It would mean an immense amount of time and cash to rebuild, not to mention the mental pain it would cause to basically murder her children since this pile was all she had. Still.. What were her options?

    She didn't brood any longer. Ripping open a box, she hauled out a duffel bag and stuffed it with clothes and toiletries, plus a few flash drives and a PDA that could fit. Zipping that up and throwing it over to the window, she dug out a kit that she had made a long time ago. She could hear shouting in the stairwell faintly, but she ignored that. Nobody else lived on this floor and the floor below was empty. There would be ample time for everybody else to get out of the building. Plus, the fire department was less than a block away.

    Taking a few deep breaths, she carefully doused the pile of boxes in the can of gasoline she had. She stared at the drenched pile and actually came close to tearing up, but now wasn't the time to be a damned sentimental idiot. One match strike later and the whole pile went up in flames. She ran to the window and picked up her back, then climbed out to the fire escape. How aptly named, she thought with a faint pang of humor. Shouts sounded behind her and she knew that the Merenzo's had broken into her apartment. Cursing to herself, she scrambled up the fire escape, heading to the roof since it was far closer than the ground. She was almost there when a gunshot ricocheted off of the stairs right beside her. Whirling around, she saw that the two idiots had spotted her and were giving chase.

    Oh, shit.

    "I really need to plan things out more. Why couldn't today have gone smoothly? I saved a little girl's life and now I'm going to die. That's not exactly a fair way of running things. Don't I get some good credit up there?" she muttered to herself, glancing at the sky in exasperation as she ran the rest of the way up the stairs and vaulted up onto the roof. She ran across the roof toward the side, where it was only about a four foot jump across to the roof of an office building, guaranteed to be empty at this hour.

    "Here, kitty kitty," a deep voice called out behind her, another gunshot narrowly missing her legs. They weren't shooting to kill, which told her a lot. Nothing that she wanted to know, though.

    "Nice try, jackass!" she retorted, pulling out her gun and firing a few shots back at them. They apparently expected her to be armed since neither one yelled, but she also didn't hit them. "Things work out so much better in the movies.." she muttered to herself, turning and continuing to race across the roof. The fire down below was starting to spread rapidly and she could hear the alarms going off now. People on the street were starting to yell, and hopefully the flames would hide the action on the roof. She jumped up on the ledge and leapt onto the roof of the office building, a bullet sinking into her right calf before she made it. Rolling on the roof and trying not to yell in pain, she hauled herself to her feet and literally fell through the door to the stairwell inside the building. She tumbled head over heels down a flight of stairs before stopping, dizzy and disoriented in the darkness.

    "You have got to be fucking kidding me.."
  9. He normally never went on missions alone but this one felt more personal than business. Bob didn't tell him exactly what to do when he saw Reflection and Marce didn't expect him too. Half of the BAD knew that Marce Jove was out to find Reflection for personal reasons, the main one being toying with his emotions and the life of Kelly Standet. That bastard didn't know a woman from a hole in the ground, Marce assumed, or didn't have a care for small children. Any way it went, Marce was not a humanitarian. No. He had done things past the point of forgiveness; things he hadn't even told the BAD, let alone if they wanted to find out. But playing around with an entire country and being associated to the Merenzo's? That put Reflection on Marce's BAD Most Wanted List at number one.

    That's why it felt so good to be speeding down the Georgian dark roads on his way to his home, taking a slight detour to the apartments behind him. His house was snug in the middle of a string of complexes, right next to the apartments. It was pretty high class to live where he did, so Reflection must have had a great deal of money. It boiled Marce's brain to know that Reflection could have been spying on him from afar with a telescope. His tires cut gravel when he skidded to a stop in front of the entrance to the apartments, spotting the first thing: a fire.

    "Shit."he spat, feeling good that he could let out a curse and get out of his car with his mind still on the 'mission.' The fire was tiny but it was spreading thought certain rooms. It must have just started by how small it was, and one look at the biggest bog of smoke told him where the fire had started. The 5th floor. Reflection's floor. He swore out loud again and fumbled for the phone in his pocket. Bob said no one else was there so why in the hell was there a fire! A streetlight reflected a yellow glint across his black screen before he paused. Calling Bob would be bad. The line was used twice in the span of 20 minutes; someone was bound to trace the line. Once again, Marce was left alone to fend for himself, though he had no unearthly idea of where to start.

    Pretending to make sure his gun was close by his hip, he tossed through ideas and options. Going head first through the fire would be a no. He couldn't even justify that action by thinking that he wanted to make sure the room was Reflection's. To have a call that he was found and a fire at the exact floor 20 minutes later? Too big of a coincidence. He could travel around the back of the apartment, but by that time, he probably would have escaped through a get away car of some sort. However, just standing there looking for a plan was as bad of an idea as any. In truth, he had completely ran out of options.

    A sudden gun shot, however, sent a adrenaline spike through his feet and he sprinted towards the sound. Gun shots. Why in the world would Reflection be firing? Unless, someone was firing at him. Another swear later, Marce found himself running in the direction of a stair case on the opposite side of the fifth floor. Just because he had a lead on where Reflection might be didn't mean he was going to run in all willy nilly. The gunshots had to be because someone else had come into play. Bob had told him he hadn't sent anybody else, so Marce automatically assumed the pursuers were bad. Which one was more of an enemy? Reflection? Or enemies of Reflection?

    He opened the door to the stair case to see a large mound on the floor beneath him, a clearly defined human body in the barely lit slit of the doorway. Marce withdrew his Eagle and pointed it directly at the shoulder of the mound. Every fiber in his being had screamed that whoever he was pointing at was exactly the man he had been looking for.

    "Get up."he ordered in a sharp voice, one that someone from any language would have clearly understood. A gun shot later and Marce didn't wait for a response. "Up!" he said again, with more force. He reached down and yanked the arm of Reflection making sure to keep the gun tightly secured in his other hand, in case Reflection felt lucky enough to engage in some kind of combat. He didn't need another gun shot warning before shooting back behind him, twice, and pulling Reflection off into a run. He didn't know if he hit anybody but he got what he came there for. He be damned before he let them kill...

    ...a woman. Marce saw the obvious outlines of a woman before it had even registered in his head. At first he feared he had grabbed the wrong person, but a trail of blood coming from her calf told him otherwise. Still, he hoped to hell that this was not who he thought it was.

    "Tell me that those men chasing you aren't after you because you're Reflection."he said. It didn't come out as much of an order as he thought it did, for honestly, there was no denying. The person's who's blood he was after was a grown woman. She was holding him up in their run back towards his car that he was scanning for. His ice blue eyes cut through the night; left, right, and left again. A bullet buzzed passed his face dangerously close, but that was the adrenaline shot he was waiting for.

    Plan B: Go to the lake beside the apartment and hijack a rental boat.

    "Come on."he ordered again, voice slightly softer this time. Reflection or not, the woman was probably scared to death.
  10. Her breaths were coming in light gasps as she laid her head against the floor, just waiting for it to stop feeling as though the floor were rocking beneath her. After a few moments, she felt better, but the sounds of footsteps on the roof above were starting to make her anxious to move. She rolled onto her stomach, ignoring the small puddle of blood on the floor from her wound. Later, it'd have to be fixed later. What really bothered her was the fact that she was leaving a trail a mile wide for anybody who cared to look. BAD would have a field day if they could figure out which building to look in right now. She rolled her eyes at the thought and got up on her knees and elbows, her hair obscuring her face in shadow for the moment as she tried to brace herself to stand.

    Just then, the door to the landing that she was on opened. A million and a half curses flew through her mind, and all she was thinking was that it was a Merenzo come to finish her off. She didn't look up at the voice, but her movements froze. That accent was most definitely not one of the Merenzo idiots that were after her. It was familiar, but how? She didn't get it, even as he again ordered her to stand. His pull made her stand just as the door at the top of the staircase opened and the Merenzo morons burst through. The gunshots weren't necessary to make her run, and she moved along easily beside whoever the hell was stupid enough to come get her. A cop, probably, she figured.

    She was thinking a few things at that moment. One, that cops were idiots who got mixed up in things that they didn't really need to be in. Two, that the Merenzo family would be better off dead. Three, that she was thankful that she had managed to keep a firm hold on her bag this entire time. One of the only things that she wasn't thinking about at that exact second was what she had done earlier that night. That all changed as the mysterious stranger beside her spoke again. He used her alias, and his tone suggested that he was very much aware of who she was. She stopped and stared at him, finally getting a good look at his face.

    "Marce Jove.." she said, startled into speaking by the horrifying surprise of seeing him in person.

    She would have spoken more if shots weren't still going off behind them, forcing her to start running again and ignore the pain. Oh, fuckingshitfucks. This night just kept getting better and better. She had run out of the Merenzo's hands and landed square in the lap of BAD. Yep, she was definitely going to die tonight.

    To her shock and amazement, they made it to the ground floor and outside. Her building was completely ablaze now, lighting up the street and illuminating the large crowd that had formed to watch the flames. It always amused her how people enjoyed to watch horrible things. The news crews were already there, which wasn't good. She eyed the cameras warily, then stopped on the sidewalk and looked at Marce as he seemed to pause and look around for something. Another shot went by and she flinched, whirling around to see the two Merenzo's in the doorway of the office building. She pulled her gun back out and fired a single shot, nailing one in the forehead. Thank heavens for silencers, she thought to herself as nobody in the crowd so much as glanced their way.

    "I'm coming, I'm coming," she grumbled, annoyed already with his commanding tone. She followed after him, doing her best to walk normally so as not to attract attention.
  11. The first words that came out of his enemy's mouth was his name, and with a feminine slur added in, no doubt. Her voice was not shaky or scared, but held a more bold and weighty tone to it. She must not have been terrified of what was happening in the least or what she was about to get into, but he hoped she didn't feel secure around him. Woman or not, she was still Reflection, the enemy he had sought to make bleed, though now, blood seemed like he was asking for too much. She was already losing a lot, a lake of the auburn liquid still flowing freely from a wound which he assumed must have been caused by a bullet. How she was managing to keep up with him, he was not so sure, but he had no other choice but to help her through the matter.

    "You have any idea who's chasing us?"he asked clearly. Marce wasn't even breaking a sweat as they both sprinted through the parking lot which was starting to lose more and more cars. He had did a whole bunch of running during his practice at the BAD. This run wasn't anything compared to the many miles he had ran before. At the right end of the apartments was Reedy River, the small river that offered rental boats for a casual attraction for all of the residents. There were even days when Marce wasn't working (yes, those days did exist), that he would spend a couple of dollars for an hour and a half of straight cruising. He doubted highly that when he and Reflection made it to the boat, they would be doing any cruising.

    "Stop!"came a shout from behind them followed by a loud gunshot. Marce ducked his head and hissed when he saw Reflection shoot back. Scary thing was that she shot him directly in the forehead. Too many things had been revealed to him in those small seconds. First things first: the people following them were Merenzo's. The crisp Italian slurs gave it away. If it had been brighter, their tanned skin would have also been a tip off. Secondly, Reflection was a lot more dangerous than he gave her credit of being. She had just murdered someone 2 minutes into their meeting!

    "Are you fucking insane? Put that away!"he snapped, while the two of them reached the boat. He grabbed the bag she held and threw it in first. He didn't give two shits about what was in there, as long as it was in and not in the water. Next thing was Reflection herself. He put his left leg in the boat, feeling it bob with his weight as he held his left hand out for her to come with him. Marce had a feeling she probably didn't trust him that much or knew she was in a lot of trouble, but she was only left with two options: get in the boat or die.
  12. Still feeling rather satisfied with herself for picking off one of the men chasing them, Reflection didn't expect Marce to freak out so badly. As he snapped at her to put it away, she cocked an eyebrow and shook her head.

    "I'm not the insane one, I just helped save your life. He was aiming at you. Forgive me if I'm not going out of my way to follow any laws while trying not to be killed," she snapped back at him, though she did keep the handgun pressed close to her thigh away from the crowd so that nobody would look over and see a random armed woman making her way away from the scene. She was irritated that the one helping her away from the Merenzo's was the one who she had been leading around like a blind cat. This night was going to end horribly. All he was capable of was revenge, she imagined. Perhaps his mood would be better considering she had led them to Kelly, though, she hoped inwardly.

    She was starting to have a severe limping problem despite her ability to block out pain. It was impairing her little charade of walking normally, but that didn't matter anymore. They were far enough away from the gawkers that nobody would care if she hobbled around like a crippled old lady. She paused at the sight of the boat, but before she could voice a protest, he had stolen her bag and tossed it inside.

    "Be careful with that!" she said mournfully, hoping that nothing was damaged. She wanted to jump in after it, but she hesitated and eyed his offered hand. Trust Marce Jove? The very thought made her cringe. A bullet grazing her upper arm decided for her, and she took his hand quickly, stepping into the boat and sitting down to allow him room to drive.

    She pulled her bag over to her and looked through it, but it appeared fine since her clothing had cushioned everything else. Lucky. Zipping and buckling it back up, she laid it aside and leaned back, feeling dizzy. At first she didn't know why, but then the throbbing pain in her leg reminded her. Blood loss. What a fucking joy to deal with.. She ignored it and turned, aiming her gun at the last Merenzo who was chasing them. That bastard had made her arm bleed and was obviously aiming for the heart. So much for not shooting to kill. She shot him in the throat and watched him fall off the dock into the water, then calmly set her gun down and looked up at Marce.

    "A pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Jove."
  13. "Give me that."he said gruffly, and in one slick move, yanked the gun off of her lap before she had time to open her lips in a tiny little 'o' of surprise. The woman had already killed two men, Merenzo's or not. If she was really covering her identity like the BAD assumed she was doing, then she was doing a damn horrible job of it. Someone from the Forensics could easily waltz into her house, black light the entire burned area, and find a simple strand of hair. Her gun was also a problem that he was taking care of. He wiped the ends of it with his two hands, making sure to get his prints smeared all over if. If he got back to the office, they would trace it for prints. Better to make it seem as if he had done the shooting and killing than her; and that when it dawned on him that he was trying to protect her a bit.

    The thought was like a bile in his throat that he was forced to swallow down. He couldn't power a boat by himself with that kind of feeling in his throat. This was the hardest thing he had to do since he got back from the airport. Everyone was bound to see a boat start up and take off in the lake. There was nothing he could have done to suppress the engine rumbling through the evening and the gunshots would also make the two of them seem like people trying to flee the scene in style. Besides, now that he knew the Merenzos were near, he had a feeling that they were after Reflection for a reason.

    "Well, aren't you the popular one. Get down before you get your head blown off."he said, shifting the boat into drive before wheeling off of the port. The salty smell of her blood was not helping his train of thought. Currently, he needed to know why she was being chased by the Merenzo's more than why was she toying around with Kelly. There were too many answers he needed from her, as disgusting as it was to call her a 'her', but he had to keep her alive for that long.

    "First: Real name. You know mine. I need yours."he said, keeping his sentences short so he wouldn't completely fly off the handle. He was handling the boat quite well even though driving was mostly Alex's forte. Still, if he was being engaged, he could learn to fly a c-130 in 10 minutes flat if need be. Marce's jaw clenched as he waited for her answer, eyes darting to her leg and arm every so often. Whether she was conscious or not didn't matter much to him; as long as she was alive.
  14. Crossing her arms with a thoroughly annoyed glare of disapproval, Reflection let her eyes do the talking as he stole her gun from her. Of course, since he was with the government, nobody would consider it stealing. Evidence, maybe, or for the greater good of humanity. Peace on Earth and all of that stupid shit. She was just getting into her more irritated thoughts when she realized he was cleaning her gun and putting his prints on it instead. Deliberately. Tilting her head a fraction, she eyed him suspiciously. There was no way that he was doing this to protect her from his own, so why did he bother? It seemed like a waste of time.

    "All area cops and firefighters are at the apartment building handling a large crowd and explosive fires. The nearest Merenzo that still holds the ability to fire a gun is at least two hours away, and by then I would think we wouldn't be sitting ducks. I'm not going to bother scooting down when there isn't anybody nearby to take a shot," she informed him with a calm ease, dipping her hand over the side of the boat and bringing it up again to wash the blood from her arm. At least the bleeding had slowed unlike her bullet wound on her leg. She still felt dizzy, a feeling that she would have to keep an eye on if she didn't want to pass out right here.

    "You don't need my name, you want it. Forget taking a DNA sample or fingerprints or whatever too, I'm not in your systems. I'm an unknown and I'd rather stay that way, thanks. Your name is a lot easier to come by," she said, watching him. He was tense and asking questions that made her a little uneasy. Was he seriously about to take her in for questioning when he had just helped her? "Oh, and if you're going to arrest me, you might want to read me my rights," she added, laying her head back where it had been before and letting her eyes close from a sudden wave of exhaustion.
  15. She was just making it all so easy for him.

    Marce pressed the accelerator harder than it called to be pushed, but the result was Reflection whipping back into her seat. The water on the sides of the boat picked up as one wave lapped over another that lapped over another. Eventually it rocked back and forth making it much harder for anyone to stand up or a certain someone to regain her balance. It was the best thing he had so far so he went with it, jaw clenching even tighter. He did his best to hide the smirk that wanted to splay on his lips but something in him told him it would only feed her into an argument, an argument he didn't have time for. The boat was harder to control than a jet-ski, the only aquatic vehicle had had ever really driven by himself. The engine was far louder and a lot more dangerous. Jet-skis ran purely on water power while the boat engine had a rotatory type of engine, spinning fans in the back of the boat. If he grazed a rock...they'd be in the water. He chewed over that thought before he pressed on.

    "So, you know they're Merenzo's. That's one less fight I need to have with you. And don't worry, I'll get your name by the time we deck this boat. That's my promise to you." he said. The woman was extremely cocky and the added air of sarcasm was a horrible duo for her to have against him. If she had been a male, one of her teeth would've been missing. She knew who he was and also knew she was in a hell of a lot of trouble once they made it back to the office, and yet she went as if she were in charge of herself. Marce gave her entire body a look over and trashed all thoughts of her being attractive. Not that she wasn't, he was just trying to focus.

    "I'm not a cop and if I was I wouldn't tell you your rights. I don't think you deserve anything but a bullet through your throat."he said. His voice was as cold as steel and his blue eyes mimicked the intimidating look. He was usually not that cold to anyone but there was too much that was working against him. As if on cue, an explosion from behind them sounded off, covering the surface of the lake in an orange and red glow. Marce didn't flinch as he looked to both sides of him. he was trying to find a way to make it from the lake and back to his house. With her in the boat with him and with Merenzo's following them, whether she wanted to believe it or not, it was going to be harder to get home than he thought.

    "Let's start of from a name and work our way from there." He said simply, easing the wheel a little bit to the left. It was a miracle that she hadn't passed out from blood loss yet. Might as way make some use of her consciousness.
  16. Keeping her eyes closed, Reflection let a lazy grin cross her lips at his promise. There were a lot of things that she wanted to point out to him, but she chose not to. The chance that they may not ever get to deck with the boat, for example, or the chance that she might goad him into killing her without bothering to wait for a name. Those both seemed rather likely, but she kept her silence for now. It was getting harder to think and she passed it off as exhaustion for a few minutes before reality set in and she realized that she was probably about to pass out. Being unconscious while in the custody of Marce Jove? That was just asking to never wake up again. Sure, this was her first time 'officially' meeting him, but there wasn't anybody familiar with the Kelly case that didn't know he was.. passionate about it. She was actually rather shocked that he hadn't strangled her yet for leading them around in so many circles before offering the child up on a silver platter for them.

    "Of course I know they're Merenzo's. I've seen their pictures on the news before. Some of the most wanted people around but no hard evidence against them, or something like that, wasn't it?" she asked innocently, refusing to admit to a more personal knowledge of who the men were. There was no doubt that Marce wouldn't believe her for a second, but it was nice to put up a pretty charade sometimes. "As for your promise.. We'll see," she added simply, opening her eyes a little to glance up at him. Her vision was blurred and she gave up, closing them again with an inward sigh. There was no way she was going to make it, was there?

    "A bullet through my throat? That doesn't seem very logical, it'd be a nearly instant death. I had you pinned as more of a long, drawn-out torture process kind of guy. It seems I made a mistake," she said, her voice light but starting to slur just barely enough to be noticable if one was paying attention. She didn't even open her eyes as something exploded, but a faint smile appeared on her face. "The cavalry has arrived. I do hope you brought along a cannon, Mr. Jove," she said, finally opening her eyes to look up at him again before turning and looking behind them. "Hm.. You know, if you got closer to shore and purposely overturned the boat into the rock bank by the bouy, it'd explode and we could swim away," she suggested, then looked back at him. "Or we'd die, but that seems likely at this point anyway," she added, completely ignoring his mention of her name.
  17. "I have the strangest feeling that you know more than you're letting off. I don't know. Might have something to do with the fact that your the governments most wanted criminal. It might be that."he said. He chose to play her game as tedious as the game was. The BAD did not consider her a criminal per say, but Marce thought she might as well have been. He didn't know her exact place in the Kelly kidnapping but she knew something that she wasn't telling. There was an obvious secret she was hiding, and if you were hiding secrets from the government, that could only mean you have done something you shouldn't have done. All in all, he really didn't need to know exactly what she was hiding, just that she was hiding. Marce Jove had learned something in all of his years of being a BAD Spec Op: never feed into a losing battle.

    "If there's one thing I've learned, its how to mess with people's fear factor. I assume you're afraid of me."he said nonchalantly as if he could care less if she was or wasn't. Her half ass explanation about the Merenzo's only confirmed his theory so he went on, already ahead. "I don't torture. That's your forte."he said with no expression on his face. He was instantly brought back deep into his thoughts on Kelly's state when she was found. Both of her tiny wrists were split open from one end to the other and had been that way until she was eventually knocked out from blood loss, like Reflection would soon be. Marce didn't have enough time to call Bryson and check on her current state in intensive care because Bob was too busy calling him and telling him about Reflection being found. Now that he thought on it, Reflection was stopping him from seeing Kelly!

    Things never change.

    Marce wheeled the boat to the right, as far away from any rocks as possible but also as close to the shore as he could have possibly gotten. He knew he and the lady would have to swim to shore which wasn't going to be too hard for him. Swimming was just like walking to him, something that came naturally and heightened during his Op training. Reflection was barely hanging onto reality. He doubted she could pull a Micheal Phelps. The night cast a shadow across the left side of his face while the right shown under a poorly lit lap post above them. He cast Reflection a look, noting the expression of disinterest on her face. She was playing hard to get with her information about Kelly and the Merenzo's and Marce had to stomach the idea of taking this woman into his custody at his home. It would've been too dangerous to go to the office while Merenzo's were out looking for them.

    "Here."he said, reaching over to take her hand. Her smooth fingers blended into his large, calloused ones, and he cringed, shoulders arching. Too much finesse for him to handle. The black water awaited the two, but, with no warning at all, Marce threw her overboard looking down at the splash her body made in the once still water, watching ripples and wave lap at the boat.

    "Need help, Miss....Ah. This would be easier if I had a name, wouldn't it?"he yawned, scratching his stubble, ignoring the splashing.
  18. Reflection shrugged a little bit, not minding what he said about her being the government's most wanted criminal. She didn't truly believe him, of course, because if he was telling the truth then the American government needed serious help in reorganizing their priorities. Hopefully somebody who actually killed people would achieve a higher position than somebody who saved a life and managed to annoy some people along the way. She kept her silence, merely cocking a brow as he spoke of her fearing him.

    Hm. Well it was an interesting thought. Was she actually scared of him? The thought of going to jail wasn't exactly pleasant, but he wasn't a prison or a judge. All he was, was a man who wanted her dead. So he was her potential killer. Dying was a legitimate fear, one that many people had. She had no real reason to live though. No family, no real friends, no feeling of being put on this planet to achieve some blessed mission. All she did was amuse herself from day to day and try to feel as though she weren't useless. Still, did she fear Marce? She had gotten a rush running from the Merenzo's who wanted her dead just as badly as Marce Jove did, but was it honest fear or shocked adrenaline?

    No. She did not fear him.

    She realized belatedly that he had accused her of torture. A frown crossed her features and she eyed him, disliking the idea. Sure, she had led them around and around before getting to the point, but it was hardly torture except maybe on their nerves. She knew that Kelly had probably been in rough shape but the end result was that the child was alive and would have been dead without her very own input to the exact right people who could save her.

    "I do not torture people," she declared with a hint of irritation, still fighting back the urge to just pass out right then and there. She glanced to the side as he maneuvered closer to the shore, avoiding the shallows and rocks. Assuming they were going to make a jump for it and let the boat crash on its own, she managed to get over her uneasiness of taking his hand with hers. Thankfully it was the hand that wasn't attached to her injured arm, and she managed to stand while putting all of her weight on her uninjured leg. Before she could bend back down to pick up her bag, he had thrown her over the side.

    Instinct kicked in before logic and she gasped, inhaling water as she was held just below the surface. Water rushed into her lungs and she struggled violently, latching onto his arm enough to pull herself just above the spray, barely enough to cough up water and try to breathe. The pain of having a fresh bullet wound dragged through moving water at a high speed is something that she couldn't begin to describe. At least it'll be clean, she thought in the back of her mind. Coughing and spluttering still, she was able to recognize that he was again demanding her name.

    And he said that he didn't torture. For shame, Marce. What a liar.

    "Ace! My name is Ace!" she managed to say, right before inhaling more water and coughing desperately, barely conscious and blacking out for a few seconds after she spoke.
  19. He thought he heard a name through the gargling and deep intakes of breath but he wasn't quite sure. So, like the patient man he was, he waited another 10 seconds before the woman disappeared under the surface of the water. Ace was what it sounded like and that was all he wanted. Marce took her bag and hulled it over his back towards the shore that was some yards away from him. He still didn't care about its contents, just that it was out of the boat before he left it there to sail away. One satisfying thud later and Marce bound into the water a second or two before the last of Ace's dark hair was submerged beneath the surface. The water was a salty green, but thankfully not as cold as the jump he had to take yesterday. Of course, after all of the running and heat he had built up, hitting the cold water sent him into a minor second of shock before realizing that he had a woman to save from drowning.

    He easily grabbed her by her damaged arm and used all of the weight he had under water to push her up to the surface. The way she was floating gave him the notion that she was knocked out for the moment, making his job harder than he wished for it to be. Metaphorically and literately speaking, she was a weight on his shoulders as he swam to the shore. The tiniest bit of water got into his eye as her arm splashed the surface, splaying a tiny splash into his face. Even when she was out cold she was still a problem. The boat was starting to look a lot more distant when he turned to observe how much space he had put between them and the vehicle. Another blast shaken the small portion of the area, powerful enough to cause a rough water wave in the lake they were in.

    "Alright, get up. A little bit of assistance."he grunted. Ace was not helping in his efforts of making it to shore, making him slightly regret ever pushing her over. Slightly.
  20. By the time Ace came around, she was coughing up mouthfuls of water that she had inhaled when she plunged under, before Marce hauled her back up. She was finally able to breathe correctly and realised that she was being hauled along to shore. Talk about uncomfortable. Her leg was numb by this point but her arm was in throbbing pain as if she had been pulled around by it. At this point, she wouldn't doubt that she had. She pulled away from him and began swimming on her own so that she'd stop weighing him down. It wasn't as though she was at risk for escaping at this point anyway. He had her bag and she was swimming rather slowly due to her injuries and the urge to just go to sleep. Wasn't sleeping dangerous if injured? No, wait, that was only if she had a concussion, right? But she had fallen down those stairs.. Damn it.

    "How long do you suppose we have until they realize the boat is empty?" she asked absently, swimming along behind him and glancing at the shore occasionally to see how much father they had to go. He probably wouldn't answer her, she figured. It was beyond obvious that he only wanted her dead, yet he was saving her life. Why? Just to question her later? That seemed stupid. They already had Kelly and knew she was tied to the Merenzo's somehow, what else did they need to really know?

    Just please don't let me end up strapped to the electric chair..