Empire - City of Corruption (Black_Out and Violet8518)

[Black_Out]

Long dark nails of ebony black that sparkled with prickles of silver dust stretched out over a globe of shimmering crystal. The clouds of paled white and royal blue swirled about within as the shadow of the Visionary loomed over the crystal sphere. No reflection shone upon the opaque surface of the object as the gifted eyes of the woman were absorbed in the patterns unfolding within the growing storm contained within the shimmering globe. It grew in intensity, flooding her eyes in a blinding brightness as her sight fell into the vortex of mists that now spun furiously about within the mystical ball.

Darkness swiftly ruled, though the faint sound of music broke through the veil of black and made it more palatable. It started as a barely audible thing that gained volume with every passing tick of the clock. The scope of vision began to rise up out of the darkness as the song gained strength and clarity. Dark grey pools bled away the sheet of pitch night blackness. The wispy puddles of grey began to grow and spread taking place of the vanquished dark. They softened into a yellow glow that rose up and defined the shape of a room from where the music was blaring. A smoke stained cracked plaster ceiling was illuminated by an old dusty ceiling light of yellow glass. It's meager offering of light fought against the grey pools that had formed into the swirling shapes of billowing smoke that swam about the room.

Rough and hardened hands freckled with dark hairs flicked a trio of thin red poker cards forward over the green velvet face of a poker table. The cards flipped in mid air as the deft fingers they left from spun a turning gesture into their flight. They slid across the table, landing face up, displaying three nines to the discontent grumbling of the others around the table. "Don't worry fella's, you'll make it all back after our withdrawal from the Hanover Credit Union tomorrow." The grease sickened black haired ex-con with heavy mutton chops and a variety of gang and prison tattoos remarked while his greedy fingers drew the waiting pile of cash back towards himself.

The vision drew back, revealing the entire dimly lit and smoke choked room. Guns were set out around the table, nearby each player like they were a necessity to be part of the game. The foursome of cons and crooks laughed before they resumed their game of chance. Empty cans of cheap beer were crumpled up and tossed aside like trash. Fresh ones were opened, while more then one bottle of strong liquor were passed around among the plotting criminals. The smell of marijuana filled the room as one of the bleary red eyed men worked to shuffle the deck for the next hand. The spying eye turned away, drawn by the current of the smoke that was pulled out into the night through a partially cracked open window.

Glistening wet pavement several stories down greeted the gravity influenced gaze as it sped out into the night. Streaks of light reflected off the rain slicked roads below as the driven eye raced by. Those lines of stretched and fuzzy light passed in a blur beneath the turbulent randomness of the eyes travels. It swarmed up a rickety rusted fire escape in serious need of replacement. From their it shot skyward, leaving behind the rooftop of some typical high rise complex of overpriced apartments where the tenants struggled to pay rent to the uncompromising slum lords that owned them.

The distant glow of the sprawling city beneath basked the bottoms of a dense cluster of rain clouds in a mix of soft saturating colors. The sweeping flight of the lens peaked and turned back down towards the Earth. It blasted through the night air like some sort of guided rocket as it shot across the middle of a main drag that cut through the heart of the city. It traveled unhindered by the traffic below as the swerving cars maneuvered about in an attempt to avoid an ongoing high speed police chase. Bullets shot out of the back of a shattered window that belonged to a dark brown sedan. Masked crooks took aim from that vantage point while officers pursued and returned fire with reckless abandon as the pursuit funneled over a wide and long bridge.

Swirling spins turned the focus down and over the protective embankments and left the dangerous pursuit of justice to sprint away to some as of yet unknown conclusion. Beneath the noisy overpass was a jungle of cardboard shanty's and tents that were home to just a small portion of the poor and destitute of Empire City. Fires blazed warmth from within steel drums and old rusted metal trash cans, their light defining the shape of the dried up trash ridden canal that they had claimed. The homeless, unlucky, and addicted mingled here in this lawless refuge beneath the shelter of the rumbling bridge overhead. The exploring lens swept through the randomness of the settlement before turning to bring its attentions upon a cluster of weary sagged tents where a small handful of the cities forgotten had gathered.

There they all sat and toiled away with bottles around a singular figure dressed in disheveled layers of discarded hand-me-down fancy garments. A crooked and dented top hat capped his head, giving him the appearance of a ring master without a circus. His features obscured by a deep red scarf that fell away in snaking pattern around where he sat perched upon his throne of an empty plastic milk crate. His ragged jumbled dark hair fell low as it framed his face. His maddened eyes were shielded by darkened glasses leaving only his thin nose and slim portions of his cheeks to peek out. A pair of red scuffed up pointed tap dancing shoes drew attention down his long wiry legs.

Scratched up black leather gloves played with an arrangement of red tubes of dynamite. Thick layers of duct tape were woven around them, strapping them together in a nice explosive bundle. The villain known as the Vagabond peered up as he looked between the crew of desperate men and women that were the sheep in his flock. His hidden gaze shifted between them watching as they went about filling empty bottles with kerosene. Stuffing doused rags into the opened tops and setting the completed molotov cocktails into an empty cardboard beer case. He nodded sharply and tapped the metal tips of his dance shoes to the ground in excitement as he gave his project a brief inspection before setting it aside and gathering up more sticks of dynamite into his lap.

The flying movements of the lens didn't settle upon the scene for long as it curled away from the self styled champion of the homeless. The broken and uneven slabs of weathered concrete darted in a blur beneath the travels of the unseen eye as the crackling fire lit sanctuary of the poor was left behind. Up the curving walls of the trash ridden canal the speedy travels of the curious lens went. From there it zigzagged across smaller side streets, ducking around clustered brick and mortar dwellings that walled off the lightly traveled roads. Down and through a series of dingy dark and dark alleyways it swept. It churned along, exiting the maze of alleys as it swept over a rundown park.

Spotlights that flickered, or were all together devoid of light shown a meager amount of light upon the shadowy empty basketball courts. Cages surround weed claimed tennis courts where nets sagged limply between the bent poles that they were anchored too. The dimmed lights of red cargo van rolled up into the parking lot driven by a thick looking chap of Italian descent. The soft glow of slow burning cigarette cast an orange hue across his fattened features while his grubby fingers pulled away from the steering wheel and opened the door. The plump man with a balding patch that reflected the sparse light stepped out of the van as the mystical view swung past his plodding steps.

As the eye swirled upwards into the night sky the silhouetted figures of a pair of dark leather clad men saddled upon heavy duty motorcycles passed into view. They sat parked in the shadows of the intermittent flashing white lights of the empty parking lot. The burly and large man was making his way across the peeled lines of white paint that defined the boundaries of the empty basketball courts. One of the bikers propped a heavy looking black duffel bag across the chrome of the bikes handle bars while the other traced rough fingers across the handle of a pistol hidden behind his back. That pending meeting of drug related intentions was lost as the eye turned away and soared back up into the drizzle that fell from the night sky. There was more to see in this city of depraved souls, more then enough to keep it's heroic entities busy tonight, and every other night to come.

 

[Violet8518]

Nora Grey crouched on the rusty metal grid of the fire escape, peering down the dark alley to where it dumped into an run down city park. She’d been sitting there for a while, blinking back exhaustion, waiting for any sign of the drug deal that she knew was going to go down soon. A breeze blew by, bringing with it the stench of the city; garbage, an open sewer somewhere. She wrinkled her nose from under the blue mask she wore. Sometimes having enhanced senses was more of a curse than a blessing. Still, it gave her a clear view of the two men who’d pulled up on motorcycles some time before, but they hadn’t moved from their positions, and Nora had stayed in hers.

It had been a long day, starting with a crack-of-dawn meeting at the marketing firm where Nora worked: Pelotin, Dank, and Grey (no relation). They’d just taken on a big campaign to try to restore the public image of Empire City’s police force, an effort that Nora thought was likely to be wasted on the jaded and tired citizens of the city. But she wasn’t a partner-- yet-- and therefore had no say in the matter.

It hadn’t helped that she’d been out late the night before, too; following up on leads and trying to find out more information on where the city’s newest designer drug, Euphoria, was coming from. Night after night she’d struck out. Supposed meeting spots had been empty, warehouses abandoned with no sign of the drug or the people who sold it. She’d found lots of little fish-- users, dealers on the lowest levels-- but no one who seemed to know anything of any use.

She knew what the drug could do to people, the type of hold it had. Her boyfriend-- ex boyfriend, she reminded herself-- had had a little sister who’d gotten addicted. She was little more than a walking zombie by the time she finally overdosed on it. They’d found her down by the dock, naked. She’d been dead several days. They didn’t bother with the autopsy. They rarely did with the addicts anymore. But it was clear that she’d endured some unspeakable horrors before she died.

Nora yawned, struggling to stay alert. From what she understood, the guys meeting in the park tonight weren’t big fish, but they weren’t little fish, either. The two guys on the motorcycles were intermediaries. They got their product from the manufacturer, or, more accurately, from a broker who knew the manufacturer. The guy they were meeting was more of a mid level dealer. He had a set of men who reported to him who dealt directly to the good citizens of Empire. She was so close, she could almost taste it. She needed proof of who they were. But it was getting late, and still there were only the two guys on the motorcycles…

Her phone vibrated in a pouch on her belt, and she jumped, her hand immediately fumbling to reach for it. She glanced at the screen with a frown, cupping her free hand over it to hide some of the glare. It was turned down to its lowest level, at least, and her eyes had no trouble making out the words.

Hi Honey. It’s mom. (of course it’s you, Nora thought with a shake of her head. Her mom still hadn’t figured out that caller ID was a thing). Just wanted to remind you about Nan-Nan’s birthday tomorrow. You said you’d bring the salad?

Nora nearly groaned. She had forgotten, of course, or nearly so. Her grandmother’s birthday, and they lived a couple of hours away, in the suburbs. She put the phone away without responding. She was going to have to make an effort. She’d missed last year’s birthday. And hadn’t seen her family for her mother’s, grandfather’s, or her own birthday.

Idly she lifted her hand to nibble at a fingernail, a nervous habit, but remembered that her hands and forearms were covered by the deep navy blue gloves she wore with her uniform. Besides the gloves, which stretched almost to her elbows, she wore a pair of bracers, one on each forearm. The had the feel and limited flexibility of leather, but the dull silvery-grey shine of metal.They extended over the backs of her hands, and a half-dollar sized gem was set into the material. The gems seemed clear, but they had a curious silvery quality to them, almost like mirrors, although they didn’t reflect anything.

Then she spotted movement down on the street, and straightened up with renewed interest. She idly pushed back a strand of long hair that had come loose from the high ponytail she wore, and peered curiously at the van that pulled into the parking lot. As the headlights shut off and her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, she saw the glow from the man’s cigarette illuminate his face as he stepped out. She recognized him from the description she’d gotten from some of the people at the bar last night. It had been a seedy place, the window illuminated with a blinking light advertising cheap beer. Its patrons nursed bottles of beer and glasses with bottom shelf whiskey and were reluctant to tell her much, until she picked up their tabs.

She shook her head, watching as the guy from the van crossed the parking lot. One of the bikers was armed, probably the other one too. She was half tempted to see how this would play out, but she didn’t want things to get out of hand and lose her opportunity. She wanted to question one of the bikers, if she could. She wanted to know who he worked for, where he got the drugs from. Then she could make sure they were all stunned and make an anonymous call to the police.

Nora started making her way down to the ground level. She moved silently, swiftly. She didn’t bother with a cape-- in her experience, it tended to billow, to make noise and catch the light. She was, however, wearing a stretchy dark blue leotard, leggings, and a pair of knee-high black leather boots. The body-hugging clothes kept her agile, made it easier to to slip away without worrying about them getting caught on anything. And besides, Nora wasn’t above liking the way they made her look, either. The spandex hugged her curves in all the right places.

Once on the ground, she moved swiftly to circle through the overgrown foliage that had once been well-kept hedges, and maneuvered behind the two men on bikes. She could hear them talking, now. It was easy to pick out the sound from the other sounds of the city surrounding them. One of the bikers, the one holding the duffel bag, spoke.

“This ain’t a consignment gig. Either you got the money or you don’t. And if you don’t, then you don’t get no stuff. Understood?”

 

[Black_Out]

Transactions like this were always tricky affairs. Simple slights or misunderstandings could quickly turn things to violent resolutions. Rarely though did those circumstances occur. Given that the drug was coming from one source, stepping out of line tended to sever any chance of doing future business. Though that was a small worry compared to ending up with your head severed as one such man had discovered early on when Euphoria was just beginning to become a sought after commodity. After that, most everyone got the message. If you wanted to do business, you did it right and by their rules.

He never liked dealing with these sorts, but it's not like he had a choice in the matter. If you wanted to get your hands on large quantities of Euphoria, you had to go through the necessary channels. Which meant you had to get it from the hands of the Hell's Helpers gang. "Yeah, yeah, I got the money. What happened to the normal guys, ain't seen either of you before?" The bulb bellied balding man replied as he caught his breath from the simple strain of his short walk. He turned his shoulders, shifting red sweat pant clad legs as he looked back over to the van and gestured with a thumbs up. The back doors of the van creaked and groaned as they swung open.

Out of the darkened interior a pair of younger men hoped down onto the asphalt. They were dressed in rather casual attire. Jeans of denim covered their legs while one man wore a simple yellow shirt that advertised a local watering hole called Molly's. The other opted for a plain white sleeveless shirt that showed off his tattoo adorned arms. That man in the wife beater carried a baseball bat in his grasp, while the second man lugged a briefcase of green faux leather at his side.

The broad shouldered biker stroked his fingers over his pointed wiry beard, a thick mass of black hair in the shape of an upside triangle "We herd ya were wantin ta talk shop." He remarked while his companion watched the approach of the other two men with the bat and briefcase, fingers still touching upon the handle of his tucked away gun.

"Yeah, yeah, that's right." The middle man tugged the dark blue hood of his sweat shirt up over his head as he looked back to the pair of burly gang members. "I got another interested client, some big rave going on at the old studio flats in two weeks." He paused to take a drag off his cigarette before flicking it aside with a snap of his fingers. "Shit should fly off the shelves, so we'll need to at least double the amount if you can handle it." His plump hand fished into the sweeping pocket of his sweat shirt and pulled out a crinkled up plastic wrapped candy.

"Thas'not gonna be a prob. Fuck, ya wan trips we can do that too." The spokesman for the bikers replied as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. "Come ta think of it, couple o'da girls from the club were taking bout goin to that., the one at da old abandoned studio?" He paused biting his lip in consideration. "Wha da fuck was da name o that place. Tha Steinman Studio's?"

"Yep, that's the one." The portly fella replied while his lips smacked away at the candy being suckled in his mouth. "Not my sort of thing, but should be a lot of fox's there."

"Easy pickin's" The gang member replied with a smirk as his bandanna clad forehead turned to regard the pair that had joined the chubby man. "Naw let's see tha money." His eyes fell across the brief case while his companion remained silent, one hand behind his back near the handle of his pistol as he kept a look out over the dark park.

Fatty fingers played around with the plastic wrapper from his candy, making a slightly annoying crinkling sound as his two escorts stood at his side. "Show em the money." The slurping smack of his lips slurred the words slightly, but the directions were clear enough. The briefcase was extended forward, and fingers snapped the latches free as the green plastic shell opened and revealed a row of money in bundles contained within. "That good enough?"

The biker's lips wrinkled and caused his unkempt mustache to stir beneath his wide nostrils. "Betta all be there." Leather clad finger-less gloves reached forward and took the case, snapping it shut.

"Stuff's in da trash over there." The silent one spoke up finally with a gesture of his gaze towards a dinged up, plastic dome capped, green wire meshed trash can that was a short walk away. "Go head n'look, we'll wait."

The hooded purchaser nodded once as he let out a resounding smack of his lips and cheeks while he savored the candy stuffed in his mouth. "Go on, check." His gaze looked to the man with the bat and directed him with a shift of his eyes towards the trash can. The fella with the bat nodded once and strolled casually over to the waiting receptacle, twirling the bat in lazy circles. He stopped at it's side, set the end of the bat down on the ground and leaned some of his weight onto it as his hand pushed open the green flap and reached blindly inside the waste bucket. His hand withdrew quickly and held a black bundle of plastic wrapped in red tape.

"We're good." The young man signaled as he peeled a small bit of the plastic back and inspected the contents.

"I'll find out if he wants to triple, shit will sell eventually, it always does." The portly fella remarked as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Good, if we don't hear from ya we'll be in touch bout tha next time by the end of da week." The more talkative one remarked as his double checked the latches on the green tinted plastic briefcase. Content, the pair of bikers immediately turned to take their leave. The briefcase securely in the one mans grasp while other adjusted the brim of his black hooded knit cap down above his brows, fingers still itching at the handle.

 

[Violet8518]

Nora watched the exchange from her silent position in the shadows. She heard every word, clear as day. The enhanced senses helped, to be sure, but she’d managed to creep up close enough that a normal person could probably catch at least the gist of the conversation.

These were the people she’d been looking for, the bikers. The dealer had given her some interesting information about a rave, too. She tried to figure out a plan. There were five of them, and only one of her. The odds weren’t terrible, but she wanted to make sure she had every chance of success.

As the exchange started to break up, she made her move. She extended her wrist in the direction of the portly dealer. A burst of white-blue light shot out from the gem in her bracer, catching the man in the chest. He collapsed to the ground before he could even shout out, his eyes closing as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

The two guys who’d jumped out of the van, unsure where the source of the attack lay, shouted in alarm and lunged for the two bikers. Bad idea. Nora had been counting on it. The man with the gun lifted it and started firing at the men. One, two, three, four shots rang out, painfully loud at that proximity. They didn’t last long enough to reach the motorcycles.

The other supplier, though, had turned back, searching the shadowed rubble and undergrowth behind them. Nora wasn’t there anymore, though; she’d started running before the first shot rang out, adjusting her position. She fired another blast from her bracer, but it went wide as both remaining men surged forward, trying to see into the shadows. Trying to see who was attacking them.

As the shot went wide, the man with the gun swiveled. His finger depressed the trigger, but Nora was expecting it. She saw the scene unfold almost in slow motion as she drew her left arm back and flicked her wrist as though she was throwing something. A shining blade appeared from the darkness above her hand and hurtled toward the man. It hit the hand wielding the pistol, burying into the back of his hand. He shrieked in surprise, pain, and rage, and the gun clattered to the concrete.

The blade didn’t dissipate like the beam of energy had; it remained, glowing a strange blue that resembled Cherenkov radiation. The way it reflected off of the blood dripping from the man’s hand was particularly eerie. The blade was how she’d gotten named by the local media; Crystal Blade, they’d dubbed her. Nora found it insufferably stupid, but it seemed unwise to call into the radio station at drive time or do an interview at the TV station demanding it be changed to something less dumb.

“What the fuck?!” The second guy’s eyes settled on her finally; a curvy, redheaded woman wearing a mask and spandex, one hand pointed in his direction in a gesture that would have looked menacing if she actually had a visible weapon.

It was perhaps because she wasn’t holding one that he took a step forward. “Okay, girlie, here’s what’s going to happen. We’ll have some fun, and maybe at the end of it we’ll slit your throat and throw you in the river instead of handing you over to the boss.”

Nora made a slashing motion with her arm, and more light shot out of the gem. It slammed into the bleeding man, and his legs collapsed under him as he too subsided into unconsciousness. “Interesting you should mention a boss,” Nora said. “Because I have questions about him. Let’s have a chat, hmm? And maybe at the end of it I won’t dump you in the river.”

 

[Black_Out]

The single earbud resonated with music that barely was audible to anyone beyond the man whose workman like black boot quietly tapped in tempo with. Demarius stood with his arms clustered around his chest as he gazed over the abandoned Steinman Hall. Various clean up efforts were underway in preparation for the coming rave that was scheduled to be held here in a little less then two weeks time. Being put in charge of the oversight for this effort wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend a Friday night, but his employers were the hands off sort. They kept themselves squeaky clean of the whole affair. nothing ever seemed to trace back to them. Even the money they funneled into the operation linked to false off shore accounts. Oh well, his wandering thoughts mused, such was the life of a well paid and talented mercenary.

Weeks ago the local law enforcement teams that patrolled this forgotten cluster of buildings and streets had been given enough cash to keep themselves clear of the derelict arts hall. The homeless and drug addicted filth that had cloistered together in the sanctuary of the decaying massive stone building had been cleared out. To ensure cooperation a special little package had been delivered to the wild card calling himself the Vagabond. A nice snug fitting suit of light weight kevlar body armor. From the reports Demarius had gotten back he seemed quite overjoyed with the gift, and was content to allow their little party to go off without any interference.

There was more at play here though then a some large party to profit off of. Those socialite elitists didn't make meager investments with their money. No, they had plans, and Demarius was one of the few that knew what those plans entailed. Ten girls were going to be selected out of the assembled flock of drugged up revelers. Ten pretty things that would go missing that night. They'd be swept out of here through secured exits. Loaded into waiting vans that would see them swiftly off to the docks. There they'd be loaded in sound proof metal containers while kept in a state of helpless slumber. Where they went to from there, he didn't know or care. All he knew was that they would eventually be sold. That's where the big profit for this all would come pouring in from. His commission made the bore of it all worth it.

Out of habit he checked one of his disposable phones. Still no word and he found his lips pursing in curiosity at that. He was expecting a message rather promptly when the package of Euphoria was secured and waiting on the answer back about receiving more in the next shipment. Sometimes these things took time, or just didn't go as planned. He figured he'd give them a little longer, then if he had to he'd call in a favor and have the scene checked out. Alfonso Cinder owed him that much at least. Breaking his pyromaniac reckless ass out of the high tech hell that was Empire Asylum Isle was no easy or cheap task. Alfonso was good at cleaning up messes. Typically it was hard to find anything of worth in the ashes he was prone to leave behind.

Demarius took in a deeply bored breath which caused his mustache to flutter as he looked about the vast old hall. Fresh bright and vibrant paints were being sprayed in layers that would make the room shine in the strobing black lights that were to be installed in the coming days. Thin hoses spider webbed almost invisibly across the ceiling. They were meant to provide a cooling mist that would cover the majority of the wide open dance floor. Once the party was in full swing, with the flick of a switch that cooling spray would be flooded with a short blast of Euphoria. The entire packed crowd would be saturated. Give it a little time to kick in, then the ten young ladies they planned on abducting would be easy pickings.

Plan for the worst though, his mind turned to dealing with another potential pitfall that was harder to anticipate. The vigilantes, the so called heroes of Empire City. They could be a particular menace to their intentions here. Especially the one the media was calling the Crystal Blade. Though they butted heads from time to time, news traveled fast between the different criminal aspects operating in the city. The unpredictable heroes were a thorn in plenty of their sides. Which made it a rather well known fact among those in the loop that she'd been actively working to disrupt the Euphoria trade. At least there was one less to worry about with Justicar recovering in the hospital. That probably meant two, as that sassy little vixen calling herself Major Power would potentially be preoccupied. They'd been known to work together, hopefully she had revenge on her mind.

His habit returned as he was once again drawn to check his phone. Still no word from that deal taking place at the park. Just a few more minutes, then he'd call that favor into Cinder.

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The crew of men, members of the Hell's Helpers were always on call. It was all part of climbing the totem pole of the Hell's Helpers. The fresh new recruits sold the drugs. They didn't know enough to cause much trouble if they got snagged. After enough of that they were taken under Tom Tanner's wing. They were to be ready to go at a moments notice at his word. They never knew when or where the next shipment was going to show up until Tom told them. It was always a hustle as soon as those words left his lips. Face's came and went from the operation, no one ever stayed to long, except for the man they called Tanner. He was saddled with running this particular show and he made it quite clear to not bother the driver of the boat one bit. Just unload the stuff, get it loaded into the vans, and get it to their dealers.

The speedy little boat had pulled up alongside a large unlit section of the public docks and remained lightly tethered there. It's engine was softly purring just above the sounds of the waves that were washing up and around the thick beams of the dock. Hugh Morgis watched from the darkness as a small train of assembled men worked to unload a palette of Euphoria that was strapped to the open flat bed of the boat. He hated the elevated seat on this fast little schooner, this suit was so fucking uncomfortable. After awhile he just found himself standing. That caused his knees to ache though. The fucking cherry on top of it all, well that was the sea legs he was going to inevitably get.

He was the only one that brought the Euphoria in. Which meant he was the only one who dealt with the actual source. The Doctor, his location, and his identity were things that the mysterious and secretive Cult of Horns were very protective of. That's why he was in charge. They needed someone who wasn't just smart, but possessed the talent to keep himself out of trouble. And as much as he griped about the fit of the suit, it was worth the discomfort and was one heck of a hefty signing bonus.

He lifted his gloved and gauntlet clad hand up over his sleek and hardened helmet. With a press at a few buttons from his fingertips the mask let out a hiss. Portions of his dull grey mask slid away, allowing the cool air of the night to caress his face. Even in the dark he kept his hand resting against his cheek, allowing it to obstruct any clear view of his face. After allowing himself that brief pleasantry the mask hissed again and sealed his image away beneath it's cover. "Let's go. You know the drill. In and out. Pick up the pace." He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched them start to chip away at the second to last layer of tonight's cargo.

Another ten or fifteen minutes and he'd be out of here.

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​

Blood streamed out of what he was sure was a broken nose. The snap of bone from the impact of her shin and the resulting pulsing pain that emanated from his blood clogged nose was evidence enough. The crack of the Crystal Blade's boot had left the mutton chopped thug feeling like putty as he slumped to his knees and nearly fell over face first into the asphalt.

But her hand reached out. Caught him by the scruff of his long pointed beard and simultaneously kept him from falling over while pulling his bleary eyes up to her intense and fierce orbs. He let out a gurgled cry as he felt the energy blade she so frequently used sink into his shoulder. He practically forgot about his busted up nose as he shook his head about. "Tanna...Tanner knows everything!" His fingers weakly tried to claw at her wrist as the blade sank in deeper. "Fuck'a runs a crew, they pick tha shit up. Fuck!.. Fuck that hurts! Some guy in a some sort o battle suit let's ihm know wen and whare!" He grit his teeth, spitting out the last of the words, and fucking so happy that he was the only one conscious right now. Maybe he could weasel his way out of being pegged as a rat. "He tehls em at the last fucking minute! Fuck bitch! He bringhs it in by boat! Knock me out aht least! I'm a fucking deahd man if they know I tolhd ya any o this shit!"