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Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Posted by ScriptsFor group 0
Scripts
GM, 21 posts
The King
of Comics Canon
Fri 1 May 2015
at 15:01
  • msg #1

Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Info:Las Vegas, Nevada. Home of casinos where you can gamble your life away, top-drawing shows and fights of every kind, hedonism, self-indulgence, and enough lights to blind anyone. Over the course of the last 8 years, an industry of Gifted individuals displaying their powers in magnificent, carefully choreographed shows has sprung up. Almost needless to say, this has been a dream come true for those Gifted whose dreams told them to seek fame and fortune. Since Vegas is the only city permitted to put "destructive superhuman abilities" on display, it has also been a dream come true for the city's tourism board.

However, Sin City's new industry is not without its problems. Rivalries between the various Gifted performers abound, and many fear that a belligerent performer or drunken accident could spark the entire state's destruction. Still, the shows go on and on and tourists keep pouring in.

So, have you ever wanted to be famous? Or did you just come to see the Gifted individuals and the world-changing powers they're showing off for the audience?
Orthros
player, 2 posts
Arthur Coin
Tue 5 May 2015
at 11:44
  • msg #2

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Arthur hopped off the back of the pick up truck he'd been hitching on and waved a warm goodbye to the truck driver who'd been kind enough to bring him here. Turning round his head tilted back as he viewed the towering array of neon lined monuments and giant plasma screens that lit up the strip before him. He let out a low whistle, as thoughts about not being in Scotland no more drifted across his mind. He'd wanted to see this place for so long, a city where others like him could display their powers without fear of reproach or condemnation, it really was somewhere to cross off his bucket list.

A low growl from his stomach though reminded him of more immediate concerns. Gosh he was hungry, as it turned out hitching across the states with barely a dime in his pockets was above all else a really hunger inducing affair. Had to get some grub. With this mission in mind Arthur started making his way around looking for something like an affordable cafe or diner.

An hour later Arthur was as hungry as ever and had managed to do little more than stare forlornly at the prices on offer that were way outside his meager budget. Wandering rather dejectedly now, his self pity was suddenly cut through by what sounded like a racking cough of pain followed by a few wheezing breaths from a nearby alleyway. Worried that someone might be in distress, Arthur quickly made his way to the mouth of the dark alley, instinctively raising an invisible barrier around himself.

Dimly illuminated by a flickering wall light someways overhead was a sight that shocked Arthur. Two heavy set men in suits were standing over a much smaller and badly bloodied fellow, who was the source of the pained intakes of breath, as he lay crouched up on his knees and elbows. As the bloodied man tried to get up one of the heavy set ones kicked him right in the side sending him crashing onto the floor, causing a fresh cough of blood from the man. This seemed to amuse the two heavyset fellows as they both chuckled callously at the injured man's reaction.

"Hey! Stop that, leave him alone." The words were out of Arthur's mouth before he really had time to think as he took a few steps forwards. The chuckles stopped from the pair of thugs as they turned their attention to the comparatively scrawny Arthur. The one closer to him turned to face Arthur fully. "Better leave now boy, while you're still walking." To underline the threat, the thug very deliberately brought the back of his right fist into Arthur's vision, showing off a rather intricate looking tattoo. Also what Arthur had thought was a set rings lining the man's fingers turned out actually to be a rather wicked looking knuckleduster.

"Sure thing. Just let me take that guy with me, he really looks like he needs a doctor." Arthur continued his approach, only stopping when he was right in front of the knuckleduster wielding thug. As Arthur leaned around to try and get a better look at the injured guy, the thug struck, swinging a meaty, metal lined fist right at Arthur's face where it came to an abrupt halt an inch or so from his right eye with a sickening crunch as at least two of his fingers broke from slamming right into Arthur's psionic barrier. The thug cried out in pain cradling his now wrecked hand as he backed away dropping to one knee from the sudden shock.

"Oh jeez, you ok? Your hand, look maybe we could all go to some hospital together?" As Arthur leaned over the stunned man he wasn't paying any attention to the guy's partner and so didn't notice the baseball bat that now came swinging at the back of his head. Again though the effect wasn't really what the man intended as rather than splattering Arthur's brains all over the alley floor, the bat instead ricocheted right off his psionic barrier back into the assailants own forehead knocking him out cold. "You guys really need to be more careful you know. Um... look maybe you can help out your friend and I'll get the guy you were both wailing on some help, deal?"

Taking the somewhat incredulous and stunned look from the still conscious bruiser as a tentative yes, Arthur made his way over to the still groaning man covered in blood. "Hi there, looks like you could do with a hand. Come on lets get you up and to a doctor, easy does it." As Arthur carefully helped lift the man up to his feet, giving him a shoulder to rest on, the first gunshot went off, striking his barrier near his left rib cage before deflecting off into the brickwork of the alleyway wall. Looking back Arthur saw the thug with a broken hand, was standing now, a revolver in his left hand. He squeezed off two more shots, both still bouncing harmlessly off Arthur's barrier which he'd extended now to also shield the injured man. One bullet though ricocheted upwards smashing through the upper quadrant of an overlooking window.

"That's just too dangerous." Arthur raised his hand as he spoke creating a field around the gun and dragging it forcefully to one side, intending to disarm the thug. What Arthur hadn't figured on though was the man clinging for all he was worth to the weapon, so that he too was suddenly jerked bodily to one side crashing face first into the metal ladder of a partially lowered fire escape walkway.

Oh dear. Arthur thought to himself as he surveyed the now pair of unconscious men strewn about the alley. Go on, who are you kidding? Admit it, hurting them was fun...

"No! I was just trying to help, they hurt themselves." Arthur retorted out loud against the whispers in his mind. There followed a rather derisive and cruel laugh that seemed to only gradually fade away from his thoughts. Only after a considerable pause did Arthur realise that the man he was holding was speaking also.

"Hey I ain't disagreeing with you. We got to get out of here, it ain't safe. My car its just round the corner."" The man had a certain confused look in his eye, like he was wondering if Arthur had all his marbles, and Arthur could hardly blame him.

"Yes ofcourse, lets go." Arthur helped the bloodied stranger make his way out of the alleyway and to a beat up old sedan. Easing him into the back, Arthur fished his keys out of some blood spattered jeans and soon they were pulling away, just as the sound of police sirens could begin to be made out in the distance. "Um so I am not really from around here. Is there some hospital I can take you to?"

"No. No hospitals, too risky, bound to check there. I have a friend who can patch me up, just follow my directions." The man sounded serious so Arthur just nodded and drove as he was directed, but curiosity quickly got the better of him.

"So you in some kind of trouble?"

"Hah! What gave it away? Just about always, but this time I am not so sure I'll see the other side of it."

"Those guys back there, they were enjoying beating on you. With enemies like that maybe you need to lay low for a while."

"Not built for that I am afraid. Anyways its my job to not lay low round people like that."

"You a cop or some such?"

"Reporter. Clinton Rice of the Nevada Bulletin, at your service. Although you aren't really catching me on my best day. So you'll forgive me if I can't quite manage to lean forward to shake the hand of my savior. Clinton let out a pained groan as they made their way over a rather nasty pot hole.

"Sorry about that. Arthur Coin, and I ain't no savior, just doing what anybody else would've." Arthur tried his best to not hide his face a little from Clinton as it went a slight shade of pink at the embarrassment from being dubbed a savior.

"Don't sell yourself short man, barely a soul in this city would've put themselves out there to help me like you did, makes you a hero in my book. So let me say this before I drift off into some pain induced coma. Thank you Arthur, not sure I'd seen another sunrise without you. Here we are, pull over to that building on the left, my friend's number 21B."

"Glad to help Clinton." Was all Arthur could think to say, lame as it was. A hero huh? Arthur liked the sound of that.

While helping Clinton up into the apartment building neither man noticed the black jeep parked a little further down the road, or the man behind the wheel who pulled out a phone after they'd entered the building. "Found him. He has someone helping him, don't recognize him." There was a slight pause as he listened to the answer. "Understood." As he pocketed the phone, lit up momentarily by its light was a tattoo on the back of his hand, the same tattoo as was on the thug's hand that Arthur had broken earlier that night.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:35, Tue 05 May 2015.
Shadowjak
player, 2 posts
Wed 6 May 2015
at 05:32
  • msg #3

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

The Lambroghini Veneno Roadster screamed down the main strip in Vegas. Though the law enforcement had seen the bright red sportscar was weaving in and out of traffic with maddening ease, they knew that they had little chance of keeping up with the vehicle. All they did was keep track of where it was going. Hopefully, the driver would either stop at some point, or have a very unfortunate accident.

While the car was quiet a spectacle, everyone missed the real surprise. The roadster's shadow flickered across multiple marquees and glass fronts...first ahead of it the behind, always moving with the Italian Import, matching it's ease...even surpassing it at some points. As the loud Lambo, drifts around a tight turn, it's shadow seems to flicker and separate from it for a brief second. Lost among all the lights, a shadowy figure flows up out of the shadow as it wall runs along a sign advertising Monolith's Challenge to all Gifted: Beat the Man Mountain at any feat of strength and win a Million Dollars!

At the end of the sign, the dark figure leaps off the neon message and swan dives down towards the tarmac some yards below. Just when it looks like the figure will abruptly smack into the pavement, it seems to flow down into a brief pool of shadow cast by a speeding Semi-Trailer. In an instant, the figure is gone, and the shadow of the Semi begins it's new flickering dance among the lights.

...N 36.194168 by W 115.222060...Las Vegas...Viva Las Vegas! Now...where is that drop off point...yes...along about here?...Again the shadow peels off from the Semi, coalescing into a three dimensional form. Like before, the form runs along signs and slides down a wall as it reaches a corner. Staying in the shadows, Anton peers around the corner, down the alley. After a brief inspection, Anton retreats back into the shadows as he pulls out a pad. With a quick scroll, the Umbral Ukraine pulls up the address and the picture of the party he is to deliver to...Clinton Rice...get him the Thumb Drive...payment upon proof of delivery...article in the Nevada Bulletin...Not exactly a normal delivery, though the promised pay had been enough to warrant interest. Plus, he had never been to Nevada. Maybe the stone was to go here...who knows. For now, though, there had been no feeling of completion..no sense of rightness...at least not yet. Still, delivery is a delivery. With his eye on the supposed point of delivery, Anton settled back into the shadow.

A few hours later, just when he thought he would fall asleep, Anton hears a car rumbling and sputtering as it comes down the alley. Alertness flooding back in, Anton watches as the car stops at the curb coughing and knocking after it is shut off. At first, the wrong man steps out from the car. With a grimace, Anton almost turns away when he notices the man reach into the back seat of the car and start to pull another man up and out. Quickly, Anton pulls his pad back out and compares the photo to the man being assisted...Battered...bruised...shit...The two enter the building with the coordinates...Dammit...

Anton drops the pad back into his courier bag and starts to round the corner when he notices new movement. Another figure steps out another car, one that he had missed. As the dark man begins to saunter up to the building the other two entered, his hands reach forward and one begins a twisting motion. Shadowjak's heartbeat skipped a beat. He recognized the motion...the man was screwing on a silencer. With a narrowing of his eyes, Anton flowed out and towards the assassin. With the speed and grace equal to any nighttime predator, Shadowjak closed the distance and melted down into the man's shadow, becoming one with the blackness there.

The assassin calmly walked up the two flights of stairs. His steps were sure, he did not need to follow the trail of blood. He knew where he was going. He knew what was to be done and he knew no one could stop him. Clinton Rice had poked his nose in where it did not belong. And tonight it would be the last mistake he ever made.

21B. With a deep breath, the man centered himself...exhaled once and kicked the door in. As the cheap wood exploded from the perfect kick, the hitman scanned all three targets in the room, finally locking upon the one in the worst shape as his gun went to the one holding him up. One heartbeat...Two Heartbeat...finger starting to squeeze...and the darkness explodes up around the man. A single limb kicks into the gun as another seems to connect with the killer's jaw. The silenced bullet spacks into the ceiling. Suddenly there are two figures in the ruined doorway. Both are moving in short, quick bursts. Another round creases the damaged door frame and yet a third pops into the floor. Then...just as quick as they appeared, the fall through a pool of darkness.

Only to appear rising out of the shadows behind the couch. One figure is gracefully pivoting while holding on to the other as it trips across the couch. Continuing the momentum, the falling figure stumbles towards the window while the other once agin melts into the shadow behind the couch...then flows up under the stumbling man, catapulting him through the window and down a couple of stories. All the while, there are three more shots fired, one into the edge of the couch and two more marking either edged of the widow frame.

The three figures are still there. The one that had helped Clinton in seems to take a defiant stand, putting himself between Anton and the battered Rice. “Chill Moi Druuk...just a delivery,” reaching into his bag, Anton pulls out the thumb drive and flips it towards Clinton,” Someone doesn't like you...someone else doesn't like them, I assume. I'm betting that is what the one I was dancing with doesn't want you to have. Publish. Tomorrow's byline...all good?”
Dieter Sievold
player, 2 posts
Thu 7 May 2015
at 16:48
  • msg #4

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Dieter sat in his chair and tapped his fingers together as the man across from him trembled. Monolith, what an idiotic psudonym. Dieter had never understood the penchant for the Gifted to give themselves idiotic names. The man he had killed first in his life, choked the life from with his own hands, had called himself Atomic. Dieter expected the man had thought himself clever since his name had been Atom and his Gift had been the ability to produce localized explosions that he was immune to. Hard to explode when Dieter was shutting down your Gift with his own. Explosions were all kinetic energy and his gifts had seemed tailored for taking out just such a man. Hard to explode when any kinetics you tried to muster simply defused harmlessly. Still, this man looked brutish and dim-witted enough to probably think his alias was clever.

Cleverness, that was another thing Dieter had no time for. Clever was just another word for inefficient. Cleverness tended to be all flash and pomp with little actual product. Dieter was a man of pure, brutal production. He knew the goal he meant to achieve and his put all efforts into achieving that goal. Of course, that did not mean he was inflexible. To the contrary, he was flexible in the extreme as only the goal mattered and not how it was achieved. He could adapt, change course mid stream, or whatever other euphemism you wished and take a different course to achieve the goal.

Mostly, his goals were given to him these days as his own goals were simply to remain in the shadows and move the pieces instead of be the one moved. He looked at the man whose show had been slowly going down and shook his head, "Listen... Monolith... It is a simple fact that you were bested. It had to happen eventually. Someone was going to come along who had the right tricks to beat you. Your show billed you as invincible. That was hardly ever true. Still, when you came to us and asked for the funds to produce your show, we saw the benefits and backed you. You paid back our investment and then some. We were quite happy. But this nonsense of increasing advertisement or setting up a rematch is... inadvisable."

The Man Mountain frowned as he was not used to being told no. He stepped forward aggressively, probably on instinct, but then took another step. He was used to getting his way with intimidation over brains. Dieter frowned, "Mr. Miller... that is not advisable." The man chopped the air, "I ain't Murphy Miller anymore, I's Monolith now and you's gonna give me the money.. maybe this time I don't have to pay it back, yeah?" Dieter sighed heavily and motioned the guards entering behind the Gifted giant. No reason for that. "No. Mr. Miller. Now, get out."

The hulk roared and approached, his hand turning into the stone which had made him convincingly invincible for so long and swung at Dieter. Dieter watched the hand inch toward him with passionless attention and sighed. As soon as it was close enough he focused on the shield which surrounded him always and slowed the hand until it all but stopped. He couldn't stop it, he couldn't dissipate the kinetics but he removed so much the arm was all but immobile. He then moved calmly out of the path of the fist. Of course, to his mind it took hours to do so, but he used it to mull over the problems facing the organization in Vegas.

They had moved in and taken over several of the local street level gangs and hav even taken over the organized crime syndicates. They owned several casinos via subsidiaries, shell companies, and through patsies. A serious amount of money was flowing into Schwartze Augen via Vegas, but that was just a cherry on the sundae. The real benefit was finding prospective Gifteds like Monolith here and recruiting them into the organization. Some were just tier 2 thug material like this idiot but a few had more potential. It was best, though, that the organization's presence here not be known. They did not need ITSDA snooping around Vegas. Dieter was a man who preferred anonymity and the shadow. He liked to move in the shadows an the freedom that operating there allowed. When no one was looking, magic was that much easier to accomplish. He focused back on the slow motion brute before him. This one did not have the right qualities to be useful to the Schwartze Augen.

He reached out and touched the arm causing it to speed up wildly and pull the man through the punch badly. He landed on the chair and it collapsed under his weight as his whole body turned to living stone. Dieter frowned darkly and reached down to touched the man again, a punch aimed at him stopping a foot away from his face. He stooped below it and touched a finger lightly to the man's forehead.

Dieter stood as the beast of a man shook and convulsed on the floor, suffering a fatal cardiac arrest. A stone hide did not stop the insides from being vulnerable. His guards came in to clean up the mess and one handed him a tablet with information on it. It was a day which caused him to frown much. Clinton had gotten away. He sighed. He reached into his desk and retrieved a phone with one button then pressed it, "Log #23, Clinton Rice situation update. John Lau's gang assigned the job. Failed. Organization's role in Las Vegas potentially to leak. Course of action; Augen intercession recommended. Consent? Log #125; Monolith Account closed." He then spoke a code phrase, listened to his messages, and hung up.

He was going to need a specialist for this.
Orthros
player, 5 posts
Arthur Coin
Fri 8 May 2015
at 07:49
  • msg #5

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

As the door was kicked in Arthur instinctively raised a protective shield around himself and Clinton. The intervention of the mysterious shadow like Gifted though was a great relief to Arthur, as he'd temporarily lost track of their host, Marston or was it Matson and had been a little slow to extend his field so far. Introductions had been brief as the trained medic had been issuing orders to Arthur ever since in an attempt to save Clinton from his injuries. The relief turned to dismay though when Shadowjak vaulted the would be assassin right through the window. The body was out of sight so fast and with Arthur busy trying to shield the others from stray bullets he'd only finished thinking about perhaps trying to save the man after there was a nasty crunch from at least four or so stories down.

"You didn't have to kill him, why did you do that?" Arthur's voice trembled noticeably with the shock from seeing someone being killed right in front of him for the first time. Really? Playing shocked at the sight of some blood. You think those two you left in the alley are likely to ever walk straight again? Echoes of maniacal laughter rang through the insides of Arthur's skull, so much so that he only managed to focus again in time to see Shadowjak flinging a small object at where Clinton lay on the sofa. Unsure of what it might be Arthur's hand shot up at the object a small invisible field trapping the usb drive in mid-flight about a foot or so away from Clinton.

"What is that?"

"I think... *cough* its ok Arthur. I was expecting a package, although it looks like the delivery service comes with a pretty impressive benefits package." Clinton reached out a hand for the usb and so Arthur dropped it into his palm. "Thanks, to both of you. Twice now that my hide's been saved tonight."

"Twice? Hell you patch a guy up and have another fella put through your window and no thanks from nobody." Their host Marston complained, sidestepping round Shadowjak to stick his face out the broken window. "Well he won't be needin ma services. Guess I get to go back to the thankless task of saving you Clint."

A small smile tweaked at the corner of Clinton's mouth but was quickly replaced by a grimace of pain as he tried shifting up a little. He clutched the usb drive almost desperately like it was the most important thing to him.
"Need a PC. This could be the break that opens up the whole case."

"What you need is rest! But knowing you a if its a story oh hell, you two just keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't open up his wounds again." Marston disappeared for a short while, before returning with an ipad a few moments later.

As Clinton plugged in the usb and began pouring over the contents, Marston went back to stitching up a wound that was still bleeding from Clinton's shoulder. "Well at least that stuff is keeping you more still than before."

Somewhat warily Arthur used this small break to approach Shadowjak. "You're a Gifted right, like me. I've never met another in person at least. Is this Gifted go about doing? Delivering packages and tossing people out of buildings." There was a clear note of accusation in Arthur's voice. He knew the man had come to kill them, but taking another life, it wasn't something he believed was ever really right.
Shadowjak
player, 3 posts
Fri 8 May 2015
at 13:13
  • msg #6

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Anton stood there breathing heavy for a few seconds...a score of heartbeats at least, before the rest of the room caught up with his motions. Sometimes the shadows  made things seem like they were in slow motion. Thankfully, the shadows receded as the rest of the light began to bleed through the gloom that surrounded Anton.

The interaction between the battered destination and his caregiver was familiar and easy between the two. Rice was no stranger to pain...that was obvious. The third man turned towards Anton. The anger and defiance written upon the very young face was bathed in a shimmer that had noting to do with displeasure. Anton could almost feel ripples in the small room...eddies of something that pushed at the very edge of Anton's senses.

At the mention of killing, the Umbral Ukraine cocks his head for a moment, letting Arthur fling his insults like so many punches," Dead? You think he is dead? Heh...if only we was lucky my friend."

With a weary sigh, Anton slid around Arthur, avoiding the force he could feel, if not see. "That man...that man was here to make someone else's issues disappear," Anton takes a quick glance out the window, confirming what he feared. A spatter of fluid on the ground, no body. "That would be the mess of bandages on the couch over there...Mr. Rice and anyone near him...ie YOU. Besides...he shot twice while falling."

Straightening back up, Anton cracks his neck and moves back over to the door, "Body's gone by the way...he is not a pancake on the pavement...so dead? No...he is not dead. What he is, is pissed off...very pissed off. By my best guess, we have five minutes tops before he either comes back or brings some friends to help him clean up his mess." Anton peaks out the shattered doorway, looking up and down the hallway both ways, then turns to look at Clinton," So...where to now? I don't get paid till you publish...so, Mr. Reporter, got another bolt hole?" Then with a dip of his head a quiet whisper, "And yes...it pays the bills and keeps things...interesting." The grin that accompanies the quiet reply is one of embarrassment and excitement combined.
Dieter Sievold
player, 8 posts
Fri 8 May 2015
at 15:06
  • msg #7

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Vincent Lee grunted, dropped to a knee, and bit back the curse as one of his ribs reset itself beneath his skin with an audible cracking sound. As bad as it sounded, it felt worse. Vincent had been stabbed a few times and he would have honestly preferred that to his own increased healing factor. Of course, he preferred the healing factor to having just died. Who could have expected his own shadow to rebel against his murderous intent and throw him out a window. It was all blurry in his memory but he recalled a shape in the shadow and assumed it was some unknown Gifted. He grunted and looked down at his other injuries. Most of the scrapes, cuts, and bruises were already fading but he had three more broken ribs and a broken arm. The arm was going to hurt... a lot.

He stumbled up to his car and grunted as he used cut fingers to open the door and slide in. He pulled a phone out of the center console and dialed up John Lau, his boss. A short conversation in Mandarin occurred and then he frowned at the receiver. This job was going sideways as hell, but whatever had his boss spooked was worse. It took a hell of a lot to frighten a Triad boss, but his boss was beyond terrified of failing at this job. He popped the trunk and pulled out an Ak-74 carbine and a double clip which he loaded then reloaded his pistol. He grunted and bit clean through his lip as his left arm set itself. Fuck that shit hurt, then he slammed the trunk and made for the apartment again. Reinforcements were also on the way and the Golden Dragon Triad had put out a "public" bounty on Clinton Rice as well as circulating an image of Arthur Coin without a name. The bounty was not small and Vincent intended to collect.



In Boulder City just outside of Las Vegas proper, a man sat across from the editor of the Nevada Bulletin and smiled as he handed him a manilla envelope and a burner cellphone.



In his office, Dieter sat considering a set of data on the latest earnings and grunted. He swept it aside with a flick of his fingers and pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned on his new desk. It was not the heavy oaken thing he had preferred, since Monolith had seen fit to crash through it, but a temporary metal thing until he could get a replacement made. A man stepped in and coughed. Once Dieter looked at him and waved, he stepped forward and spoke, "Monolith's corpse is prepped sir, It will be transported to the Ohio facility in the morning. John Lau is downstairs requesting an meeting."

Dieter paused and his face was a marble slate, but then he nodded and stood. The man stepped aside and muttered as he passed, "The Regency Room, sir." Dieter only replied, "Ship the corpse tonight. Also, get Mr. Green in Pennsylvania on the line for me." The man nodded.

The trip downstairs was short since the elevator was for his and his staff's private use. He stepped out into a short hallway with six doors and an elevator at the opposite end. He moved to the third door on the right and entered. John Lau sat at the table and looked worried, as he should be. Dieter moved to the bar and poured found a pot of hot water waiting. He made himself a cup of green tea and added honey. He tasted it and grimaced then added more honey before coming to the table and sitting down. The man spoke rapidly about how he would fix the situation and made several profuse apologies but Dieter held up a hand, "The matter is sensitive, Lau xiansheng. It needs to be handled soon and quietly. That article cannot be published. I have taken steps to prevent Mr. Rice from sending the files electronically... nevermind how, but he could still reach the offices physically. See that this does not happen. Oh, and I will be supporting your bounty, reckless as it may be. I am contacting a specialist to deal with the matter and I want you to support and accommodate him to the best of your ability. Do this and I will overlook the... misstep tonight." Lau looked suitably frightened and accepted the offer then left with an escort of Dieter's personal guards, all former GSG-9. Dieter got up and returned to his office, his tea was untouched.

As he arrived back at his floor, the assistant fell into step with a tray of phones. Dieter picked up the first and spoke, "Mr. Green, the last reports put the Gifted known as The Commander in your vicinity. Contact him with the job offer I am sending to your office." He set the phone down and picked up the second as he turned into his office again, "Mr. Skaar, editor of the Nevada Bulletin, Philip Skaar? Hello, the man who handed you this phone has also given you a photograph of one of your employees as well as photos of your wife and children, parents living in Florida, your brother in New Mexico, and sister in Massachusetts. Do as the man says, or the people in the other photographs will die. Have a nice night." He picked up the last phone and hit the single button in the center, "Update Log #125, product en route. Delivery in 3 days. Dermal analysis requested. Update Log #23, Specialist approached. Situation chaotic."



Philip Skaar hung up the phone and looked at the man as a wet patch grew on his crotch. The man raised an eyebrow, "Do you understand, Mr. Skaar?" The editor nodded and the man smiled as he reached inside his coat. Philip flinched then visibly relaxed as he saw the fat roll of bills. The man peeled off 1,000 dollars and set it on the table then motioned for Philip to return the phone and pictures. "For your troubles, Mr. Skaar. Do as we say and there is plenty of compensation for you. When Mr. Rice turns in his story, you will tell him that you will run it and bury it. Make sure he does not take it to another paper. Pass any files he gives you along to us."
The Commander
player, 6 posts
Fri 8 May 2015
at 22:13
  • msg #8

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Undisclosed location:

The intense and driven man known as 'The Commander' had returned from his sortie into Boura and the moment that his vehicle had stopped he found himself dismissing his men and striding alone into the heart of his fortress; his eagerness to analyse his war spoils eclipsing any of his other needs.
The air in the structure was cool and still, suggesting that it was either underground or heavily fortified and as Brett travelled further into the facility he became aware of the ambient hum from computer displays and air filtration systems that indicated he'd reached the nerve centre of his operation.

The cavernous ceiling rebounded Brett's voice throughout the rest of the warehouse like structure as he roared out a set of commands to his communication team. The four men manning the multi-purpose communication terminals that centred the room scrambled to accommodate his orders and a wall sized array of screens flickered on to show various informative displays.
"Bottom screens, news channels. Main screen, Namidian Darknet. Aux screens, bring up tonight's reports..." he sighed wearily and tried to shrug off the fact that he hadn't had a full nights rest in almost a month; his self-declared war against the world posed new challenges every day and he'd been burning the candle at both ends to keep ahead of the game.

He took a moment to appreciate the information on the screen as he glanced his eyes past each monitor before something caught his eye and caught his interest: "Our black market contact's sent us a file. Bring it up on all screens."
The split screens all cleared to show the same image; a stream of encrypted data being resolved into a single efficient string of text: Job available. Clinton Rice must be silenced. Intel to follow and payment upon completion.
He resisted the urge to close the offer immediately but only by a thin margin; to his mind assassination and contract missions was work more suited to thugs or other low level criminals that Brett liked to think himself above, but the reward for the seemingly simple task was more than substantial... and The Commander found himself reconsidering the idea. Running a small army wasn't cheap after all, and successfully completing the contract would take the edge off the setback he'd suffered at Boura.
"Contact the assets we have in Vegas and tell them drop their mission, I want them to handle this instead. Give them the Intel package and warn their evacuation driver to standby."
The commander strode to the back of the room and sat himself on the edge of a leather swivel chair that'd obviously been set aside for his own use. He perched forward and stared intently at the bank of monitors as they switched to an overhead map of Vegas and the surrounding Mojave desert, coloured blips flashed onscreen to show the location of his own men and he quickly programmed in the address where his target had been last seen and the news building that the Intel suggested would be his destination. Even if he couldn't be there in person he'd be following the mission closely; micromanaging his assets and studying every new development with undivided attention.


Las Vegas, Luxor hotel & casino:

Three tourists elbowed their way through the overpacked crowd of the hotel lobby and laughed in good humour as they talked loudly among themselves:
"I'm telling you, the fruit machines are a fools game. They're programmed to pay out less than they take in- we should find a blackjack table and play other tourists." Said the first man, a large mound of a man with a lumberjacks beard, who's thuggish appearance often caused others underestimate his quick perception and surprising intellect. He was a high ranking officer of The Commanders rebel forces, and for this mission he had assumed the identity of 'Orwell'.
"-OR!-" Interrupted a unhealthily thin and gaunt woman who seemed to permanently exude a sense of cool professionalism and uppity snideness. "-Or, we could do literally anything else. There's more to Vegas than just gambling, drinking, and Elvis impersonators, you know." For this mission she had assumed the name of 'Boye', and acted as the groups espionage expert. Her main duties thus far had been ensuring that the other two soldiers she accompanied managed to stay in character as anonymous sightseers.
"Yeah! We should catch a show! Ah' wonder if we can still get tickets to see the Man Mountain?!" The third member of the group enthused with a very slight southern drawl. At 20 years old he was the youngest of the trio by a considerable degree, and his naive enthusiasm only served to highlight his inexperience. This mission he'd chosen to go by the name 'Huxley', and had been assigned to the mission as a wildcard; despite his inexperience he was one of the very few henchmen within The Commanders organisation who'd fought a superhuman in single combat and won, a fact that unnerved his peers to no end.

The grouped continued arguing among themselves, and given their conversation and casual attire there was very little to distinguish them from the thousands of other tourists that fueled sin city.
Suddenly their chatter snapped silent; the phone in the first man's pocket had begun to ring  and the three stood silently for a moment as their light-hearted attitude suddenly tapered off. Deliberately and carefully the big man fished the phone from his pocket and held it up to his ear.
"Uh huh... Uh huh... Understood. We'll get it done." he said, as the voice on the other end of the line talked without pause for a solid minute, once the one sided conversation had concluded the large man turned to face the others.
He spoke differently this time; whereas before he'd talked to the others in the tone of a good friend he spoke this time in a sincere monotone that would brook no disagreements:
"Holiday's over. Our boss has a new mission for us, and we're already behind schedule. Get to the car and gear up."


On the road to Apt 21B, the last known location of the target:

A unassuming white 4x4 pulled out of the Las Vegas strip and into a quieter branching road where it immediately accelerated into high gear. Orwell gripped the wheel with white knuckles as followed the urgent instructions coming from the earpiece hooked around his ear, on the other end of the earpiece one of The Commanders communication officers was using the main tactical map to guide the car through the worst of the nights traffic. Orwell was already kitted out in his bulletproof vest and his helmet and weapons lay seatbelted in the next to him waiting to be used, Boye and Huxley were sprawled in the back of the car, struggling to ready their equipment as the mobile vehicle threw their weight from side to side.
"So! Let me get this straight: The mission is just to find th' reporter, kill him, and get gone. That's all?" Huxley asked, as he screwed a fresh filter onto his gasmask.
"That's all." Orwell confirmed. "Although he DID say to take him alive if at all possible, but the implication is that he'll be dead by the end of the day whatever we do. After that we're being recalled to Headquarters. Commander made it clear that we're not continuing any further with the Heist mission."
"Bullshit!" Boye spat out venomously in a rare show of emotion "We've been here for weeks, and he want's to call off the mission just like that?! What about all the work I put in?!"
Orwell sighed, their mission in Vegas had been going poorly and he was secretly glad that he'd been given an opportunity to abandon it. They had been originally sent to Vegas to probe the defences of the vastly wealthy Vegas Casinos but had failed to find any weaknesses whatsoever: The casinos were well defended as it was, but with all the superhuman muscle that the city had attracted he doubted it'd even be possible to rob a convenience store without being dogpiled by a mob of showmen in spandex. "Cool it, our orders are clear. I'm sure Commandr'll have a new mission waiting for you to sink your teeth into when we get back."

The car reached it's destination and the moment that the car had stopped all three passengers swung open their car doors and stood to examine the apartment. The information that had changed hands from Vincent, to Dieter, to Mister Green, to The Commander and finally to the trio had placed Clinton Rices last known position here: at Apartment 21B.
Orwell muttered a confirmation code into his earpiece before turning to the others. "This is it, the plan is to go in hard and we go in fast. We're at risk of supers showing up and getting in our way so it's more important that we do this quickly than we do it cleanly. One last thing; watch your fire. You know that the boss has a 'thing'about civilian casualties, so try not to spray bullets everywhere." With that said Orwell spun on his heel, pulled on his gasmask, shouldered his weapon, and advanced on the apartment.
Huxley grinned ear to ear as he pulled his own mask down as well, although he was muffled it was impossible to mistake the inflection in his tone for anything other than excitement. "It's time to nut up or shut up!"
"Ugh." Boye said with a simple disgusted tone as she followed behind. "Let's just finish this quickly."

OOC: Combat post is next.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:44, Sat 09 May 2015.
The Commander
player, 7 posts
Fri 8 May 2015
at 22:13
  • [deleted]
  • msg #9

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

This message was deleted by the player at 12:50, Sat 09 May 2015.
Orthros
player, 6 posts
Arthur Coin
Sat 9 May 2015
at 11:54
  • msg #10

Re: Las Vegas - Gambling Mecca, Superhuman Showcase (Location 4)

Arthur was genuinely surprised at hearing the man had survived and made his way over to the window to confirm that the body was indeed gone.

"Huh, well what do you know. I guess I owe you an apology... um what was your name again? I am Arthur." He cautiously offered a hand to the shadow like man. Admittedly his frightening visage was gradually fading and that was helping Arthur not get too creeped out by the whole business.

"This is bad." A note of genuine fear seemed to color Clinton's voice, something Arthur hadn't heard from the reporter yet, even when he was being beaten to a pulp earlier.

"Oh I don't know, thugs kicking your head in, gun wielding assassins kicking down the door only to be thrown out the window by some odd half shadow half man, seems like things are going just dandy. Will you hold still! I am trying to sow up your wounds here..." It was clear Marston's sarcasm was familiar to Clinton as it almost seemed to pierce the worrying gloom that had descended on him, almost.

"Fraid it gets worse. These are records of financial transactions, lot of names are coded but for convenience rather than as a form of encryption. So I recognize a bunch of these and it looks like whatever this organisation is, its got hooks in everything. Casinos, drug cartels, the Triads who I am pretty sure were the ones targeting me tonight and maybe worse of all. Here see these numbers, they're police precincts and its a lot of them, including the one for this neighborhood."

"Ha! Was wondering why there haven't been any sirens about, despite someone taking a dive out my window. That I guess or my neighbors really are all scumbags."

"Problem is I can't just print this, without names, faces to put to these codes, it could all be dismissed as speculation, hearsay. Need to get to this guy, Gregory Slyme. One of the few real names, here. Seems like he is the accountant handling all these books. Get him to talk and we can blow open this whole story and here is his address, not 20 min from here." Clinton shoved himself into a sitting position, a grimace of pain etched across his face and eliciting a curse from Marston.

"Easy man, you really can't be pulling anything with the state you're in."

Clinton looked his friend squarely in the eye, and managed to smile.

"Don't worry old friend. Got a feeling either way that this is going to be the last story I write for a long time. Promise I'll get some rest afterwards, a real vacation. Going to need to borrow your ipad though." Marston rolled his eyes at the last part, nodding a little resignedly. Turning his attention to Anton and Arthur, Clinton looked at each of them squarely in the eye. "Real sorry to ask this after all you've both done for me tonight. But I am going to need help getting to Slyme and then the Bulletin after. Its going to be dangerous and you'll both be making enemies that don't forgive or forget. I got no one else I can ask though."

Arthur was feeling more concerned the more Clinton talked and it was an uncomfortable feeling for the young man, one he tended to want to avoid. He nervously reached for the silver coin hung round his neck, beneath his shirt, rubbing it absentmindedly, an old habit to calm his nerves. Still Clinton seemed like a good man and he was taking on some very dangerous people, most importantly he needed help.

"I'll do what I can to help Clinton. People shouldn't have the right to do what they've been trying to do to you. We've got to stop them." Even if it means killing them? With the police in their pocket, you really think a few words in some hick paper will make a blind bit of difference? Brow furrowing even further Arthur turned to the smashed open window intending to take a few deep breaths of the cool night air to calm himself, only to see a trio of well armed soldier types spilling out of a car that had just pulled up opposite the apartment. Arthur instinctively backed off a step raising a barrier around himself and the smashed window in case they took any potshots through the exposed space.

"I think our five minutes is up. Two guys and a woman, all of them look armed and soldiery I guess. We really need to go." Arthur looked between the others hoping someone had a plan, he really didn't want to have to fight and hurt even more people tonight and also trying to protect everyone from such a dangerous looking trio was going to be tricky.

"Well I never liked this dump anyway. I got a car parked round back, there's a fire escape on the roof we could use. I need a hand though to move him. Having hastily thrown on a coat and dragged what medical supplies he had into a small shoulder bag, Marston was helping Clint get up, offering him a shoulder to lean on. The pair made their way slowly to the door, but there was no way they were going to outrun the hit squad like this.
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