Vigilance: Blood and Justice [IC]

Status
Not open for further replies.
((I'll probably edit with color coding once I get to a computer.. Unless nobody has issues with reading the post!))

A Kilbride community had a positive appearance to those who drove by, yet its streets were clear with not even a single child loitering about in some playful scheme. People there would be in a rush to either leave or get indorrs and close the curtains. One wouldn't know the tensions that consumed those homes until they walked through and experienced what was really hidden in that neighborhood. Even the very few officers who drove by could tell you something was off, and since the disappearance of one of the neighborhood watch volunteers things started getting worse. If there wasn't a cop car out and about there was a questionable individual or two, and one house in the center of the neighborhood would have unfamiliar vehicles come in and go out rather frequently throughout the day. Despite the usual activities, it wasn't long after the patrolling officer was diverted for things to get a bit more uncanny according to the typical neighborhood standards. Little did the gangs that hid behind the innocent know: their reign will someday come to an end.

At one of the many porches, a pair of trench coat wearing individuals stood before a family, one of them holding a notepad while the other, a more familiar figure wearing a base ball cap spoke. "So you can not recall anything from that night?"

"No, I've already told you everything sir." The father of the family replied, his wife standing by his side and his two children peeking over at the strangers from behind the tall legs they hid behind.

"So Mr. Feeny, a neighbor who lived down the street just disappears without anyone noticing, right?" The conversation went on and on as the two men exchanged words, the notepad wielding man scribbling down quick notes about what was being said. That was until a car came to a halt just on the side of the road with three men climbing out. All of them wore suits, but one of them had a fedora hat; the evident leader of the 'three musketeer' group. Just then the door was shut, and the two questioning men were left alone. Soon the groups would approach one another on the sidewalk, a chuckle escaping the man in the fedora.

"Seems like the neighbors don't want to talk right now. Why don't you just run along, yeh?" The leader of the intruding group said, his arms crossed as he gave a look that dared the nosey dog to dare something.

"I wonder why..." Were the last distasteful words that were said before the two groups separated, the three going in their car while the pair went over to a nearby black Crown Victoria. It was just a daily sandbagging scenario for those who come looking for answers, but this time it got a bit more intense.

Once the black crown vic 'drove off' the three suited men climbed out of the car again, making their way to the home and giving it a loud bang on the door. This time only the man came to answer and he was met with a rather rude introduction. "You fuckin' said anythin' chump?"

"N-no. I didn't."

"Good. 'Cus let me tell you something:" The leader said, tugging on the collar of his jacket before continuing. "If I or anyone who knows me hears about you sayin' somethin'.. You better get outta here before you loose a house. Got it?" There was silence and such silence was satisfying for the leader as a grin surfaced on his face and a pat on the shoulder was given to the poor family man. "Good, I'm glad we have an understanding Mr Freeman." With that they let the man be and returned to the car, stopping to talk amongst eachother about the rising issue of folks who were a bit too curious for their own good. "Lets get the fuck outta here. If I see that bastard again I'm gonna kill and toss 'im into a river myself."
 
Adam - Kilbride

How he escaped that whole scene, in New Lilith, was far beyond what he could care to comprehend. Adam just made himself scarce and went to a different part of the city, like he had always done. It was similar to a wheel of fortune but all the slots were places to run to. It looked like a nice neighborhood that he ended up in. Wholesome and suburb-y. Seeing the headlights coming towards him, a cough was faked. A tactic to cover up his face. Trying to see the car out of the corner of the peripherals, it looked like a car that his uncle used to have. I think he called it Queen. Of course, the actual name of the car escaped him. Crown Elizabeth or something.

Continuing to walk, he stared at the cracks and counted the amount of steps each slab of concrete received. One, two. One, two, three. One, two and a half. One, two, and a heel. BANG

Adam's eyes popped up to see what the heck that was. He was only a house or two down the sidewalk on a quiet street. It was pretty easy to hear what they were saying. Oh, a shakedown? And one is wearing a fedora? I can hear Dean Martin playing now. ~Ain't that a kick, in the headdddddd.~ Still the activity didn't suit him, and as fun as it could be, attacking them now might actually be a bad idea. As the men took their leave and spoke of killing, Wrecker started to walk again. Nyeah, see?! Maybe not draw attention just yet. Once they leave the house would be getting a much more friendly visitor.
 
She couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at the words of the kid when he called out where his super suit was. What in the world was he getting at? Of course later on it clicked. That damn Incredibles movie, it was a quote from... Frozone? Something like that, dark guy with ice powers. For good measure she chuckled a bit, even though she was still distracted.
Of course having a second person burst into the room, figuratively speaking, almost had her hitting the table before her with her forehead. Months of being careful to not let anyone get wind of her connection to S.H.I.F.T. and suddenly there are two people who barge in within minutes of each other. Either it was Strum's intention to not be subtle about their presence, or she was just much better at him in being undercover. No matter how odd that sounded.

Whatever it was that had attracted these two to the room, the second guy seemed to know her? She looked him up and down, but nothing gave way to where she might know him from. Not that she was all that good with names or faces to begin with, but this did feel a tad off.
A different sound distracted her before she well replied and questioned who he was again. When Emma had summoned the shirt, by accident, she had heard a soft 'wow' from among the group and it finally sunk in. She looked around as Strum talked about the objective of the day to the newcomers till her eyes locked on to the youngest in the room. Ah, that made sense. Now that she actually took notice of him she recalled that she hadn't figured out yet why he had looked at her so foul yesterday.

The switch between who was talking now broke her attention and she looked at Aiden. Even though she had been in a complete daze this morning, much more so than usual, she had dressed smartly. "Thank goodness I decided to wear my 'super' suit, or we'd have to drive back home." She replied dryly. It wasn't an official suit as given to Ewan, but it was good enough for her purposes. She got up from her spot when her eye fell on Zebulun again. In a rare instance of clarity she had an idea, so she walked over to Zebulun and knelt down by his side.
"Hey, I don't know what they say in schools these days, but did you know that a lot of the fairytales aren't just full of made up people?" She places the shirt on her lap. "Like the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella. She gave Cinderella a beautiful dress and a golden carriage so she could go to the ball, but, when the clock struck twelve, it disappeared." As did the shirt she had brought in a moment ago. "I'm kind of like her. I can make things appear." Emma held up her hand as if she was holding a match while her power brought in a lollypop. "And eventually it disappears again, like the shirt earlier." She placed the candy on the table by his plate. As she did so she looked at Ewan. Emma sighed heavily as she stops, and seems distracted again. Luckily this time she recovered quick and looked back to Zeb with a smile. "And you know what else I can do? I know your daddy will be home safe tonight." Emma says and winks as she gets up. Most of her visible outfit disappears, leaving her standing in a multiple blue toned and brown catsuit hugging her body neatly, save for the short skirt that shifts into place. The only thing that didn't disappear were her boots, seeing as she wasn't going to wear double shoes.
"All set, awaiting your orders." She states as she slips back into her training.
 
  • Love
  • Like
Reactions: Lord Wraith and Roman
((Now really much but...))
@Cerulean
It was to no surprise that the hero had little to no incident during his walk through the community, even when he stopped to look in on the situation the black car that drove past him came from. Eventually the band of troublemakers entered the car once more and drove off leaving the streets empty once more. Just like always the streets were empty once more, showing no sign of trouble like it had done for weeks now.
 
Had it somehow gotten colder since last night? It certainly felt like it. Dani tightened her scarf around her face , curling her hands into her pockets as she headed for her preferred supermarket. At least the streets were quiet, meaning that she didn't have to worry about running into those men again. She didn't really have to worry about running into anyone, really.

As the cashier saw her, his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. She pulled back her hood and her scarf away from her face, smiling at him as she retrieved a cart and started filling it with the essentials. She also found some thermal gloves and threw them in as well, knowing she'd need them for the walk home. She resisted the temptation to do a full shop, again, knowing that she had to walk home.

After an awkward conversation about the weather, she escaped back out into the street, carrying her bags. As she walked though, the feeling that she was feeling followed came back, despite the fact that she knew that the only people who were out were either mad, or really, really had to be. She refused to let herself glance over her shoulder, telling herself that she must have been imagining it.
 
  • Like
Reactions: Lord Wraith
They left. Good. As soon as their car was out of sight, Adam immediately turned around and made his way back to the house. There was something going on here and he wasn't about to let a bunch of goons lord over innocent people like that. Now they got more than a neighborhood to keep quiet. They now have a much heavier issue on their hands. That issue was Wrecker. If they come ooooo they are going to be in some shit. That car doesn't look to be too heavy of a throw. Just have to make sure they land in a way they never forget.

Stepping onto the yard, the hero tried his best to get the rest of the facepaint off. There was still some left from the rocket launcher but it was still noticeable. Instead, he used the hose to wash it off. Jesus H Christ this is numbing my face. Turning it off, he stepped onto the porch and a tried to give a friendly, but not overly obnoxious knock on the door. One of the lights was still on, so someone had to be up. Unless it was just a guide in case a zombie came down stairs and needed to take a piss.
 
A strangled groan escaped Conall's tightly clenched lips as the lassie in the room somehow materialised an exact copy of the t-shirt he was wearing in her hands. Hyperhuman's, aren't we good at making things damned uncomfortable? Whelp, the cat was well and truly outta the bag now. No point trying to hide the incriminating evidence any more, so he let his arms drop to his sides and stood stiffly to attention as he waited for the group to decide what to make of him.

Of course with his luck he wasn't even allowed to wait in polite silence without some mishap. A tidy lad with a mop of chestnut hair entered the room and bumped into Conall. The Scotsman kept his peace about that, even when the newcomer 'forgot' to apologize, all the while suspecting the fella did it on purpose. He certainly seemed assured in his movements enough, possessing the flowing gait of a fighter, that he could have avoided the careless collision if he had been inclined. Conall's suspicions become even stronger when mop-top spoke up, revealing himself guilty of being English. Doesn't seem tae matter where the Scot's go, there's always some poncy English-man there, waiting tae tread all over us.

Still Conall bit his tongue. He was here begging for help after all. Starting a scrap wasn't like to endear himself to anyone present. . . Even if the lad he started scrapping with was looking like a big nosed, smarmy prick that was going out of his way to wind up everybody in the immediate area code.

He was distracted from big nose by Maddox piping up, speaking with a Scot's accent. Weird, cause Conall had always figured he'd sounded more Welsh than anything else. He didn't get to long to ponder it though, as the oldest boy began speaking. Something in his demeanour, the way he held himself, told Conall that he better listen up because whatever was said was gonna be damned important.

And it was. Hell, it sounded suspiciously like Conall just been conscripted. Conscripted for what exactly, he wasn't certain, but it sounded big. And important. And most importantly dangerous. And even more most important, bloody vague.

Details were pretty slim on the ground before the old fella coincidentally made his exit, stage right. Ain't that always the way with the high hegions, disappearing just before question time. The only thing Conall knew was that SHIFT must be as desperate as an Aberdonian come closing time if they were reaching out to complete strangers like him and the Englishman. Either that or their recruitment standards were much, much laxer than they led the public to believe.

The Scot was on the cusp of declining the request for help, the words 'Thanks but no thanks, I'm doing perfectly well getting myself killed on my own' dancing on the tip of his tongue, when he had second thoughts, and a real attack of conscience. He could just imagine his old man's disappointment if he was alive to see his son now, begging help from complete strangers, but unwilling to reciprocate in kind. Da had never been one for religion, in fact he'd been as staunch an atheist that had ever walked (in his opinion) a non-existent God's green earth, but he'd always been a proud follower of the Golden Rule. The least Conall could do is cope that example now, especially when it was for such a good cause.

After all, who better to send on what sounded suspiciously like a suicide mission than a man that cannae die.

Gulping down the last of his misgiving's he spoke up.

"Aye, if things are that dire then ah guess ah'm with ya's. Gie's a minute tae get ready." He headed back through to his coat were his few meagre belongings remained. Over the new t-shirt he pulled on his dark blue zip up hoody. It still bore the marks of his run in with the jakes, but by the sounds of things a less-than-dapper appearance was hardly going to discount him from joining this little mission. Hell, it was probably a good thing it was already bloody. He left his leather jacket where it was, as it inhibited his movement too much and he reckoned that if things got dicey it wouldn't give him any more protection than he already had. Better to stay mobile. Lastly he fetched his da's lucky fist wraps, tying them tightly in place. Ah'm gonna need all the luck ah can get, by the sounds of things.

He returned to the others and stood quietly in the corner, trying to convince himself that the uncontrollable shake in his hands was all down to the cold.

Lying bastard that he was.
 
  • Love
Reactions: Lord Wraith
As the cold weather beat down on the streets below, a lone figure remained on the rooftop, remaining hidden. On her right leg and back, the black fletchings of arrows peered out in the light, the bow that was strapped to her left side not showing much. They looked down near where the club Nevermind was, watching the comings and goings of the patrons that frequented the place. The weather certainly didn't light up her mood about the whole situation, even if she knew that the Black Lotus Society planted the device on the mountain. Why, after all the missions to determine what S.H.I.F.T are possibly up to, do I have to wait out here in this? She thought, her eyes keenly trained on the door through the orange lenses of the glasses that she wore, water completely blurring her vision. The people she had worked for informed her about the possibility of H.E.L.P conducting an operation in Crescent City and that she was to look into what that mission was, seeing as Hypers were possibly involved.

Tens of minutes seemed to pass by and she was nowhere near close to verifying that S.H.I.F.T was entering Nevermind. However, she did spot a trio of people enter the club. Looking down at the photos that her people had given her prior to this mission, she recognized two of the three people as members of S.H.I.F.T and that she was at the right place. Placing the photos back into her back right pocket, she took a few steps back from the edge of the building. She was unaware if there were any more people that had entered the club, but she moved her right hand to her left glove and keyed a few buttons that was on the console. Moments later, the attachments that were on her legs started to emanate a whirring sound, the tops of the attachments lighting up in an orange glow as the components on the inside started to warm up. Once the increasing sound had reached a constant tone, she charged towards the edge. Her right hand reaching over to her left arm, she pressed one button as she jumped.

The attachments responded, spurting out superheated plasma from the exhausts at the bottom. She was instantly propelled quickly over the gap onto the roof of the club, the jets disappearing long before she reached it. Once her feet had touched the roof, she instantly rolled along the roof, dispelling any leftover energy and momentum from the jump. Once in a kneeling position, she looked up to see if anyone was on the roof to spot her. Most people down on the ground below would have been going about their everyday business that they wouldn't notice her and for those who do would more than likely ignore her as they have many other things to do. Probably think that she was just another random traceur trying out a new gadget to improve the stunt. Satisfied that the coast on the roof patio was clear, she quickly descended down the side of the building into an alley below.

Once secured on the ground, she look for a way into the building without going through any of the obvious entrances and exits. Getting out was certainly not going to be a problem if she had her bow on her, which is why she is looking for such entrances. She had been unsuccessful in finding an entrance that would mean that she would enter the club undetected, so behind the dumpster, completely out of sight, she placed her bow and quivers in one spot, remembering the place where she placed it for a future reference. She also took off her gloves, which allowed her slightly tanned skin be visible. The only thing that was not visible was her leg attachments, which kind of stick out but needed in the case she does get caught. She remained focused as she remembered the task at hand. S.H.I.F.T wouldn't have encountered her yet, at least alive, so she would be able to go in without being noticed immediately. Once the preparations are finalized, she walked into the club, taking off the bandana, balaclava and glasses while doing so.

Once inside, she surveyed the area quickly, acting that she was looking for a place to sit down. The club was more open than she had imagined, despite the many people that took refuge inside. She spotted the men she spotted earlier and walked to the nearest seat that was to them, ordering a tea as she sat down with her back turned to them. She concentrated as she listened to them in mid-conversation. "Gentlemen, what we're discussing here affects the whole city. I assume you're both capable of helping and I assume you're both interested in doing so having approached the table under the assumption we were agents of S.H.I.F.T."

There's all the confirmation I need to know that they are S.H.I.F.T, she noted in her head. Focusing on the small group that was in the main room of the club, her eyes concentrating on the group as the agent carried on speaking.

"We believe there is a something on top of Old Stone Mountain that's responsible for the change in weather pattern. Beyond that we have very little idea what we're dealing with. It could be a Hype, it could be Celestial in nature, we don't know. Stick with mixing alcohol. If you think you can help us, we definitely welcome up. But you're possibly putting your lives on the line so I hope that's not a problem for either of you."

Her suspicions were confirmed: S.H.I.F.T is concentrating their efforts on the weather occurrences in Crescent City. This meant that they would have to be stopped at any cost, making sure that the group's goals aren't interrupted. She carried on listening to them, gathering every information that she could while sipping her tea, which had just arrived.

"You're in charge here. I'm going to pay Lieutenant Noble a visit."

One of the agents walked away, perhaps not paying any attention to her as he left the club. She carried on sipping her tea, still listening on their conversation while compartmentalizing the information that was retrieved as well. The woman of the group decided to speak up, which was mostly useless in that regard, so she simply ignored her. That was, until one small quip caught her attention. "I'm kind of like her. I can make things appear. And eventually it disappears again, like the shirt earlier."

She took a glimpse around, acting like she was looking for the restrooms. In doing so, she took a glimpse at the group as the woman's clothes disappeared, in place was an unusual outfit. How… impractical, she thought, unimpressed with the outfit. Then again, if this woman was capable of bringing items to her from anywhere, then practicality would be very low on the list for the outfit. However, the stray skirt was definitely useless, in her own opinion. She had finished her tea and got up from the table she was sitting at and started walking out. She reached into her left pocket and pulled out her left glove, bringing the little console that was on it towards her face, pressing a button as she did so. "Alpha Base, this is Mason," she whispered, her Californian accent barely audible. "S.H.I.F.T presence is confirmed. They aim to stop operations on Old Stone Mountain. Hypes are confirmed, with one capable of space-manipulation to retrieve objects. They seem to need to speak to a Lt Noble before undergoing their operation. Requesting further orders." As she said the last sentence, she walked out of the club, heading towards where her stuff was, putting her gloves on while doing so.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
"I don't suppose they're friends of yours?" The man behind her asked as the men approached. "Not exactly," Abby replied, glancing down at her hands. If they were here, chances were, they knew who she was and what she could do. And, either way, she was bundled up enough so that they wouldn't recognise her. She pulled off her gloves and lit up her hands, curling her fingers into fists. The familiar heat was comforting. "Hello, gentlemen," She said, before swinging a punch. To her surprise, he grabbed her arm, the fire evidently not frightening him. She went to swing at him with her other hand, but he just did the same, before the other kicked her in the knees and she hit the ground. She caught herself and swung one leg around, aiming for one of their legs.

As she tried to fight them, she grew increasingly frustrated. They seemed to know her fighting style and knew how to counter her every move. Hell, they'd even worn fireproof clothing, as she'd discovered when she'd tried to light one of them up. She'd ditched her bulky winter jacket and had tightened her scarf around her face, which freed up her movement somewhat, but the fact that she couldn't exactly afford to remove any more layers didn't help. She'd had to put out her flames, because they weren't working and they were just draining her. God, she missed summer.

Out of nowhere, the guy she'd been trying to get away with appeared, wielding a hockey stick. He smacked one of them across the back of the head, and the other was so taken aback that Abby was able to kick him in the stomach and get him to the ground. "You couldn't have done that earlier?" She said, looking up at him. He shrugged. "I thought you had control of the situation!" He replied. The guy on the ground suddenly grabbed one of Abby's legs and pulled it from under her, sending her careering to the ground. She kicked at him with her free foot, hearing a crunch as her boot collided with his face. He let go and didn't appear to be moving. She scrambled to her feet and stepped away from him. She could already feel herself starting to shiver, and she grabbed her jacket, pulling on and wrapping it tightly around herself.

"Let's get out of here before one of them wakes up."
"Are you sure? You look-"
"I repeat, let's get out of here. We need to get you to the airport or somewhere where you can get away from here." She also wanted a Starbucks or something to warm her up, but that wasn't the priority. She belted her jacket tightly around her, pulling her hood back up.
 
@Cerulean

While the new unexpected 'guest' used the pump there was a slight shift in the curtains from behind one of the windows, a pair of eyes peering out from the small crack to watch the man we he approached the door. After a few knocks though the door was cracked open, and the recently harassed man looked over him with a rather confused look before speaking.

"Who are you?" The man asked, his right hand behind him as if concealing something as he waited for a response. Unlike the last confrontation there was nobody else around to interrupt them, but by the tone of his voice he was itching to just close the door and be at peace once more.
 
The heavens hid behind a thick blanket of white clouds, a pale light from the Sun casting some form of illumination upon the streets below. Snow piled up minute after minute, coming down in a consistent, steady onslaught most of the time, inter dispersed with momentary flurries, wind lashing at anyone foolish enough to still be outside. Somehow the snow seemed to accentuate the fact that the roads were near enough empty. But the weather wasn't what people were staying inside for. No. Fear drove most people to stay in their homes. And how could they be blamed? Unnatural climate, gang violence a daily occurrence, nuclear plants almost blowing sky high and planes dropping from the sky. The poor forgotten souls of Crescent City had every right to be afraid. Many would have undoubtedly turned to God in this hour of need, conveniently remembering Him when it suited them. He would forgive them, show mercy. But only to the deserving. The righteous. Sandro wondered how many people like that were left in this forsaken city.

These thoughts and more ran through his mind as he sat patiently, looking between the slits of his room's blinds out onto the world. He had taken up temporary residence within an old hotel situated in New Lillith's Little Italy district. Even here, thousands of miles away from home, he could occasionally hear his mother tongue. The hotel was a grand Gothic structure, its foundations built solidly and its structure made of strong wooden beams and brick. The room he was in, situated on the third floor, was dim but certainly not dingy, aged but definitely well looked after. Every piece of furniture had been expertly hand-carved and were probably older than himself. He found that idea comforting somehow. A dressing table was up against one of the walls which he had appropriated as a mini-shrine to his religion. Candles, insignias and pictures adorned the humble hunk of wood. Sandro was nothing if not an extremely pious man. But today was not a day for dedicated reverence. No, today was a day of labour. The old man took a long drag from his cigar, before putting it out to save for later.

Rising slowly from his chair by the window, Sandro went over to the dressing table and carefully knelt before it, the cartilage in his knees straining under the pressure, sending a set of cracking noises through the room. There he stayed for almost a minute, muttering a pray that was between him and God only. The smell of smoke from the candles drifted into his nostrils, whilst a broken light was cast from beyond the blinds. Once he was done, Sandro performed the sign of the cross with his hand, before kissing his hand and placing it on his picture of Jesus Christ. Placing the same hand upon the table, he used it as leverage in order to get back onto his feet, which was an increasingly difficult challenge each day that went by. He allowed himself a moment to look in the mirror and was not surprised to see an old tired man looking back at him, wrinkled and forgotten by time. Sandro chuckled at himself, laughing at his pathetic self-pity.

He approached the cabinet in his room, each step as considered as the one which proceeded it, the floor creaking with every footfall. Grasping both handles firmly, Sandro opened the doors to reveal his stash of belongings. On the racks in the main body were all his clothes, the newest of which dated to 1977. Suits were the mainstay of what he owned. On the inside of the doors were sets of hooks, which he used to hold his hats and holsters. After some consideration, Sandro picked out a fine handmade grey pin-striped suit, with waistcoat and hat to match. He laid these out on his immaculately made bed, surveying his choices for a moment before bending down and grabbing hold of a case which fit snuggly underneath. Drawing it out he placed it next to his clothes and popped the battered leather case open. Within were his assortment of weaponry. Trusty pistols, reliable rifle and both sets of technologically advanced items. Or at least they had been once. Sandro first picked out his pistol which was still as good as new, thanks to hard work and dedication. He ran a caring hand along the length of the weapon. Placing it back again, the old man set to work preparing himself for the day.

First he neatly placed the mental protection device, Baluardo della Mente (Bulwark of the Mind) within his hat, hooking it inside to the item of clothing. Next he placed the device which could provide him with a force field, Scudo dei Giusti (Shield of the Righteous) across his chest, a set of leather straps running up to his shoulders and over onto his back so it was kept firmly in place. The device itself was a small and round piece of metal, with a pale golden solid glass in the middle. Connected to it was a small wire with a wrist strap at the end of it on a button. Once this was in place, Sandro threw on his white shirt, which was quickly tucked into his trousers. Next came the holster for his double-action revolver. The belt fit perfectly around his waist, whilst the pistol was tucked into its rightful place. Dark red tie, waistcoat and jacket soon followed. A much smaller ankle holster was put in place to house his pocket pistol. Shoes were next, after making sure the blades still popped out properly. And finally his hat was placed carefully upon Sandro's well-groomed head. The case was carefully shut again, rifle still inside. Whilst any hangers were put back into the cupboard.

Going back over to the dresser, Sandro picked up a set of documents and most importantly his new identification badge. Because today he was not Alessandro Ciriaco Vandelli. No, today he was Benjamin Whiteland, or Benny to his friends. A member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Recently there had been a spat of murders, most likely carried out by one of the damned (what others liked to call Hyperhumans). Indeed, he was convinced one such being was behind all of Crescent City's weather trouble, whilst a whole host of others were responsible for the havoc being spread through the streets. But one Constantine Guard, alone and generally ignored by his superiors, could do little alone and cut off. No, he had to get involved somehow. And what better way to do so than act as a federal agent? The hope was that he could gain insight into invaluable information which would help him carry out God's holy work. So for a time he would have to play a game of deception. Indeed, he had had an entire backstorty and qualifications planted in the system to make Benjamin Whiteland look as real as possible. It might just work.

It was finally time to set off. After checking the room over once more, Benjamin threw on his winter coat, placed a pair of leather gloves over his hands and was over. There was a new murder to solve, and he wanted to be at the scene himself.

******

Arriving at the end of the alley in his dark blue '65 Valiant 100, Ben slowly brought the car to a halt, taking care not to lock the wheels as he had done for the whole journey. As he did so he saw a patrol officer leave the scene. Which could mean that someone was already there. Allowing himself a moment, Benjamin watched the snow quickly start to pile-up on the windscreen now that the wipers had stopped. Braced for the cold, the FBI agent stepped out, closing the door carefully behind him. Slow steps brought him to the entrance of the alley. He stood there, watching as another man approached what must have been his own car, an assortment of things in his hands. Could this be the detective on the case? There was only one way to be sure. Producing the cigar he had put out earlier, Ben lit it with a match which he then shook to put out the fire before flicking it away. Placing the cigar between his teeth, the man inhaled before walking forward. FBI agents were typically seen as arrogant, and he liked to play on that. Any normal person would greet the apparent detective first, but Benjamin carried on, pretending as if he hadn't even seen him. The man didn't come to a stop until he was dangerously close to the strip of police tape. And there he stood, one hand on his cigar, the other tucked into his coat pocket. He probably wouldn't be waiting long.
 
  • Like
Reactions: Roman
Adam made sure his hands were visible, at all times. Without wanting the man to grow nervous from a pause, he spoke immediately from his heart. "Hello, I don't mean to keep you awake but I managed to catch what had just drove away did. I am not affiliated with either of the groups who were just at your door, but I would be lying if I didn't notice that something was wrong. They were talking loud enough for me to hear them down the street."

With that, he took a sigh. "I can help you. I want to help you. All I ask, of you, is for any information you have. Anything pertaining to who, what, why, where, how those men feel the need to make sure you aren't saying anything to the police. Men like that, even if you carry out their demands to a T, with a pretty bow on top, they still tend to hurt you. Sir, I want to give you a reason to not have to try and conceal that weapon when you answer the door." Wrecker motioned, with his eyes, to the man's arm. "Please, let me help you."
 
@Cerulean

The pair of eyes stared at the man for a long minute with a mixture of doubt and hope in them. There was nothing but silence at first before a heavy sigh escaped the man as he leaned against the doorframe and spoke. "Look... You're a good kid and all, but this isn't really something someone can just come up and fix. Despite it being hard it's better than what happened George." He opened to say more, but then fell silent again, waiting to hear the man's response. During that moment of silence shuffling could be heard behind him along with whispers that was almost impossible to comprehend due to it's muffledness.
 
He shook his head, and scratched his shoulder, out of habit more than anything else. This man's spirit is defeated! Down for the count! He is to the point of laying down and thinking about anything else, if it means to protect the others in the house. Understandable, but did he even understand out expendable he might be to the man that was just at his door?

"All it takes, for evil to win, is for good men to do nothing. I am just asking for a place to start. Anything that can help me and you. I mean, even a place to search would be a start. With what I intend to do, there won't be any left to come and try to shake you down. They were all be in a jail cell...at best." The seriousness in his eyes suggest conviction and confidence. If nothing else, Wrecker was stubborn but thankfully it goes to a good cause.
 
"Starbucks? That's really your priority?" The guy whispered as Abby ordered her drink. She was frozen- the constant snow really wasn't helping, and while she wasn't really getting any colder, she wasn't warming up either. She hated being cold, hated it with a passion. Twenty minutes ago, she'd been more focused on getting him away. But the sheer misery of being cold had taken over- she almost felt sick with it. "Listen, bud, you don't want to argue right now. I need a latte, okay? Because otherwise, I'm not going to be much help to anyone," she said. Evidently, she got her point across, because he just rolled his eyes, not saying anything. They stood in the relative quietness of the one Starbucks in town that was still open, neither of them saying anything until Abby got her drink.

"If they catch up to us because you needed a caffeine fix-"
"Not a caffeine fix, a heat fix. I'm cold."
"-You stopped because you're cold," he said, raising an eyebrow. Abby turned to look up at him.
"You did see the flames coming out of my hands, right?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, well, due to those, I have a high body temperature. Due to that high body temperature, I am way more prone to hypothermia. Like, not even in relation to other people. For most people, if their core drops by one or two degrees, hypothermia can begin to set in. If my core drops by, like, half a degree, I'm at risk. So just let me drink my coffee."

He followed her orders as she sipped her drink, glad of the warmth. Eventually, they made it to the airport, and she stopped outside the departures lounge, throwing her empty cup into the bin, already missing it. "Book yourself a ticket, to wherever, and just get through security. They can't get you there. They might trace you, but I can't stop that, so just use your common sense. Good luck," she said and held out her gloved hand. He took it and shook it. "Thank you," he said. She shrugged.

"I'd like to think that somebody would do the same for me. Now get your ass in there before they find us," she said, shoving him towards the door. She turned and left, keeping her scarf around her face and her hood up.
 
There was no response from the man, his gaze shifting down to the patio that was still damp if not soaking wet from the rain water. He had that look, the look of a man that wanted to tell the truth, the look of a man who wanted to be a real man that could stand up and answer the call, but there was something that was holding him back, something valuable to him. That something came up and wrapped his arms around the man's legs with a pair of cobalt blue eyes peering up at the hero. It was a child that seemed to look no more than five years old, one that had that sleepy yet curious look in his eyes as he stared in silence. While it was a reason for the man's refusal to answer questions, it soon became the reason for a voice and after a heavy sigh the man spoke.

"Look, your best bet is to find that black Crown Victoria with government plates. Those cops seem to be the guys looking into it, but you should probably talk to..." He trailed off and disappeared for a quick second before returning to the door and producing a slip of paper with an address on it. "He watches everything, but some nasty guys watch him.. You don't look like a cop though.. So it might work? Look man I got a family. I can't say much of anything else... Can I ask why do you care about all of this?"
 
The little bundle around the man's legs instantly filled him with joy. Awww the boy is adorable. If I survive this, we should all go to the park and play frisbee or something. But, while he wasn't a parent himself, he understood want to protect all that one can hold dear and making sure nothing bad happens. While the produced the paper, Wrecker gave a friendly wave a smile. But the child seemed to be a bit shy, as he just sort of kept looking at him. It was a normal reaction, it seemed.

Wrecker looked over the note and got the address in his head, before slipping it into a pocket. He nodded to the father, taking in all the information the man could provide without endangering his family. Wiping his hands off from any water that might have been there, he looked at the boy again and then to the father.

"Because I choose to. Because you shouldn't have to worry about anything more than making sure the little one isn't getting into trouble, or that your wife has had her time to relax after work. Whatever the case may be, I intend to break the thumb of those who intended to keep you down. Thank you."

He steps back, giving a little wave before getting back onto the sidewalk.

"Ok, to find this dudeguy..."

Adam began a trek straight for the address on the note.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top Bottom
Back