There was nothing like sinking the end of sword into the back of a villian. Too bad Mindy's entry into this City hadn't come with her armory in tow, but like the resourceful girl she is (like her father always taught her to be) she's hardly left defenseless. She's got fists, skill, and lots of brain, and so she was without hesitancy this morning as she set on today's crime spree challenge.
Two muggers, a gang of dumb asses, and three robberies down. Today was looking to be one hell of a day, full of good practice and fun. (Mindy hated sitting around, rotting in her pit of inefficiency and time-wasting, she'd say.)
In this round of kicking ass, we've got four idiots in the ring. These attackers, aiming for Brian Moser, are none too discreet. Cocky bastards with loaded pistols in their palms and a magpie's eye out for the cash in his pockets. If a casualty lands in their hands, well, that would just be too bad. Unfortunately, unfounded cockiness is also blindness, as they will soon find out. For now though, the four of them are awfully content with stalking him down -- four of them creating a human barricade as they rush swiftly out of the alley they had called their cover.
Four months good behavior cutting into the most intense, most carefully orchestrated killing spree of his life have left Brian Moser on edge. He's out tonight looking for trouble, well aware (thanks to the Network) that terrible things are going on out there. It doesn't bother him on principle. It's not precisely that he doesn't understand conventional morality; rather, he just just doesn't care. On the bright side, one more murder in this mess seems likely to go unnoticed, and if it doesn't, if he can call it self-defense, all the better. It won't be good; he has a sudden pang of longing, missing his clean, cold studio, his safe refuge in the wilds of Miami, the perfect place to work in peace, at his own pace. Still. The biggest thing he's seen bleed lately was a sheep, and even that had been rushed and furtive, no real outlet for his creativity or his frustration. He feels like a caged animal. He's known for a while that they're watching, waiting for the right moment to make their move. He keeps up a careful act, shoulders slightly hunched, hood pulled low, walking a little too quickly-- just a hapless Citizen out later than he should be, nervous and unaware of what's lurking in the shadows. When they step out, admittedly, he's a little dismayed; four is more than he expected. Still, under the circumstances he's not even going to try to get out of this without a fight. He hesitates just a moment and lets them make the first move, spreading slightly to surround him, before going for not the largest of the men, but the one he judges to be the smartest, moving quickly to pin him, hoping he can take out at least one before the other three understand what's going on here.
It's not creativity when she sweeps in, spinning a flip in mid air as she delivers a single kick to one of the offender's backside. It's efficiency and purpose. Momentum does its job and sends the man crashing into a pronged fence, skewered chest-first like the start of a Greek shish kabob. Mindy doesn't paint death with gilded glory, even as a child entrenched in the blood of her own justice. To say she didn't have fun would be a lie, though the smile she wears now is not one for the enjoyment of brutality, more like the enjoyment of killing someone who undoubtedly deserves it. A questionable moral scheme? Definitely.
But in the language of primal instincts, man must defend his own safety. And so the man who runs up behind Mindy, thrusting one hand forth with a knife, receives her defense through a knife in the neck. She's faster than any of them, and she knows it.
The fourth member of the party still thinks its wise not to run away. These cursed criminals don't know when to give up.
The addition of a fifth unfamiliar figure to this gathering gives him pause. He doesn't hesitate in throwing the man to the ground and immobilizing him-- anyone would be justified in doing that for the sake of self-defense, and he's certainly not going to leave himself open for attack. Crouched over his own victim he watches for a moment. The spurt of blood from the first man's back turns his stomach and electrifies his nerves, fingers curling into a tighter fist at the throat of his would-be attacker's shirt.
The newcomer isn't squeamish; that's obvious. He weighs the options while she's dealing with her second victim-- the final man is watching in malicious uncertainty, when he probably ought to be running-- and decides he'll chance it. The shadows and his chosen clothing provide a certain degree of camouflage, and it's not like he's the only one here with a body count. Brian shifts to plant a knee on the man's chest, drawing out his blade, sparing a moment to take a deep breath. Having an audience doesn't please him, but they're all distracted. He lays the flat of the blade on the man's throat, ignoring the hoarse babble of pleas the sight of the cold metal inspires, and takes a deep breath. When he rights it and draws it across the man's neck-- a neat, single cut, biting far deeper than it needs to, driven by long-suppressed urges-- it's the best he's felt in months.
He stands and steps back immediately, knife still in his hand. Only a bit of the arterial spray has actually hit him, nearly invisible on his dark sweatshirt. If not for the blade and the calm way he's watching her work, he might even seem innocent. His victim, meanwhile, chokes and gurgles for a moment before life ebbs out into a pool around him, hot and black in the shadows.
A few swipes of the assailant's black shirt against the bloodied blade clears that evidence.
Mindy doesn't wait for his death, the soft gurgle of a man choking on his own blood, ignoring the sound to step toward the other person in this game. Far too dark to see the damage done, but light enough for assumption to lend a hand, and for her to make out the dark lump of two bodies. Unlike many of the others today, Brian Moser isn't a victim. A victim doesn't end up unscathed with the corpses of his attackers laid around him. In tune with Mindy's logic, this leaves her with a feeling of respect for this stranger, respect for one's ability to fight his own battles, to not allow himself to play victim amongst unpredictable forces. There's a bitter edge though, as respect also draws defense on her part.
She doesn't trust anyone, especially not strangers.
After a few steps forward, she remains there standing. A divide of street and darkness wedged between them, wide enough that either would have to run to catch the other.
There's an amusement to his tone, hard to pick out perhaps because he's speaking very low, with a rough and unaccustomed edge. For reasons that may be obvious, cooling in the street between them, he'd prefer not to give her any clues to his identity. Still; there's something he likes about the ruthlessness she's shown, whatever her reasons. Call it kinship between predators. Right now, he's just a little over the edge (and yet so much more centered than before,) a little too wild to fit back into the persona he keeps up during the day.
The fact that the figure before him is so diminutive doesn't really bother him, the way it might others. Brian isn't in the habit of preying on children, for any number of reasons-- but being what he is, he knows that young need not mean innocent. There's something funny about the scene; his mind goes to the right place, children playing dress-up, though in his world it's more a matter of monsters playing at being heroes. That's all right by him, though vigilantism has always seemed silly, based as it is on a morality he doesn't subscribe to.
"There were more than I thought," he adds casually, flatly. The lack of concern or compassion is obvious from the rolling shrug that accompanies his word, a movement of darkness on darkness where he stands, head tilted slightly to one side as he regards the mess in the street. It's as close to a thank-you as she'll get from him. He'd have gone after them all either way. Still, assistance means time for more personal attention, and he can't help but appreciate that.
She doesn't expect a thank you. If she fought crime for the sake of gratitude, for the feeling of doing something good that often is the faulty screw in the authenticity of altruism, then maybe a "thank you" would be expected of Brian. Yet, what she fights for are her principles, the clear black and white cut of bad and good in which she serves as justice. He may think it silly, but shouldn't Brian know well how the influence of youth permeates ones personality?
"Saying you couldn't handle it yourself," she teases, striking a grin muffled by the darkness.
What Mindy's trying to place now is Brian's role in this game of black and white, where on the checkerboard he sits-- an enemy or an ally? Hard to judge when you can barely see the other's face, a veil of darkness rubbing out distinction. She's spent hours perusing the network, assigning face to name to detail, so maybe a small glance is all she needs to make a judgment. However, trust is the issue here, and she figures it's not worth it to bother with this man anymore. Her job was done, and that was that. In and out was how superheroes kept both their identity and safety secure, and this encounter would be no different.
"Don't get your ass kicked, dude."
Mindy ends her farewell with a childish chuckle, before backpedaling backwards to start off on a dash to some place or another-- wherever help was needed.
He knows that all too well, and perhaps vigilantism wouldn't leave such a sour taste in his mouth if it wasn't a learned behavior, passed on father to daughter, bastard to son. He's on too much of a high to goad her for it now, though when he comes back down-- an even deeper low, no doubt, but right now it seems worth it-- certainly he'll recall this meeting and wonder. He's trying to gauge the details as well as he can, but everything is sharp edges and the scent of blood in his mind, right now.
"Would've been less fun," he counters her first comment, the sharp smile an evident tone in his voice. Strange times make strange allies, and for tonight, to an extent they want the same thing. It's only circumstance and convenience. He doesn't have a sense of justice.
"Don't stay out past your bedtime," he teases back as she goes, stooping to wipe his knife. A waste, dead men in alley, only so much discarded flesh. He's had his fun at least.
Two muggers, a gang of dumb asses, and three robberies down. Today was looking to be one hell of a day, full of good practice and fun. (Mindy hated sitting around, rotting in her pit of inefficiency and time-wasting, she'd say.)
In this round of kicking ass, we've got four idiots in the ring. These attackers, aiming for Brian Moser, are none too discreet. Cocky bastards with loaded pistols in their palms and a magpie's eye out for the cash in his pockets. If a casualty lands in their hands, well, that would just be too bad. Unfortunately, unfounded cockiness is also blindness, as they will soon find out. For now though, the four of them are awfully content with stalking him down -- four of them creating a human barricade as they rush swiftly out of the alley they had called their cover.
Reply
He's known for a while that they're watching, waiting for the right moment to make their move. He keeps up a careful act, shoulders slightly hunched, hood pulled low, walking a little too quickly-- just a hapless Citizen out later than he should be, nervous and unaware of what's lurking in the shadows.
When they step out, admittedly, he's a little dismayed; four is more than he expected. Still, under the circumstances he's not even going to try to get out of this without a fight. He hesitates just a moment and lets them make the first move, spreading slightly to surround him, before going for not the largest of the men, but the one he judges to be the smartest, moving quickly to pin him, hoping he can take out at least one before the other three understand what's going on here.
Reply
It's not creativity when she sweeps in, spinning a flip in mid air as she delivers a single kick to one of the offender's backside. It's efficiency and purpose. Momentum does its job and sends the man crashing into a pronged fence, skewered chest-first like the start of a Greek shish kabob. Mindy doesn't paint death with gilded glory, even as a child entrenched in the blood of her own justice. To say she didn't have fun would be a lie, though the smile she wears now is not one for the enjoyment of brutality, more like the enjoyment of killing someone who undoubtedly deserves it. A questionable moral scheme? Definitely.
But in the language of primal instincts, man must defend his own safety. And so the man who runs up behind Mindy, thrusting one hand forth with a knife, receives her defense through a knife in the neck. She's faster than any of them, and she knows it.
The fourth member of the party still thinks its wise not to run away. These cursed criminals don't know when to give up.
Reply
The newcomer isn't squeamish; that's obvious. He weighs the options while she's dealing with her second victim-- the final man is watching in malicious uncertainty, when he probably ought to be running-- and decides he'll chance it. The shadows and his chosen clothing provide a certain degree of camouflage, and it's not like he's the only one here with a body count. Brian shifts to plant a knee on the man's chest, drawing out his blade, sparing a moment to take a deep breath. Having an audience doesn't please him, but they're all distracted. He lays the flat of the blade on the man's throat, ignoring the hoarse babble of pleas the sight of the cold metal inspires, and takes a deep breath. When he rights it and draws it across the man's neck-- a neat, single cut, biting far deeper than it needs to, driven by long-suppressed urges-- it's the best he's felt in months.
He stands and steps back immediately, knife still in his hand. Only a bit of the arterial spray has actually hit him, nearly invisible on his dark sweatshirt. If not for the blade and the calm way he's watching her work, he might even seem innocent. His victim, meanwhile, chokes and gurgles for a moment before life ebbs out into a pool around him, hot and black in the shadows.
Reply
Mindy doesn't wait for his death, the soft gurgle of a man choking on his own blood, ignoring the sound to step toward the other person in this game. Far too dark to see the damage done, but light enough for assumption to lend a hand, and for her to make out the dark lump of two bodies. Unlike many of the others today, Brian Moser isn't a victim. A victim doesn't end up unscathed with the corpses of his attackers laid around him. In tune with Mindy's logic, this leaves her with a feeling of respect for this stranger, respect for one's ability to fight his own battles, to not allow himself to play victim amongst unpredictable forces. There's a bitter edge though, as respect also draws defense on her part.
She doesn't trust anyone, especially not strangers.
After a few steps forward, she remains there standing. A divide of street and darkness wedged between them, wide enough that either would have to run to catch the other.
"Hey. That was pretty good."
Reply
There's an amusement to his tone, hard to pick out perhaps because he's speaking very low, with a rough and unaccustomed edge. For reasons that may be obvious, cooling in the street between them, he'd prefer not to give her any clues to his identity. Still; there's something he likes about the ruthlessness she's shown, whatever her reasons. Call it kinship between predators. Right now, he's just a little over the edge (and yet so much more centered than before,) a little too wild to fit back into the persona he keeps up during the day.
The fact that the figure before him is so diminutive doesn't really bother him, the way it might others. Brian isn't in the habit of preying on children, for any number of reasons-- but being what he is, he knows that young need not mean innocent. There's something funny about the scene; his mind goes to the right place, children playing dress-up, though in his world it's more a matter of monsters playing at being heroes. That's all right by him, though vigilantism has always seemed silly, based as it is on a morality he doesn't subscribe to.
"There were more than I thought," he adds casually, flatly. The lack of concern or compassion is obvious from the rolling shrug that accompanies his word, a movement of darkness on darkness where he stands, head tilted slightly to one side as he regards the mess in the street. It's as close to a thank-you as she'll get from him. He'd have gone after them all either way. Still, assistance means time for more personal attention, and he can't help but appreciate that.
Reply
"Saying you couldn't handle it yourself," she teases, striking a grin muffled by the darkness.
What Mindy's trying to place now is Brian's role in this game of black and white, where on the checkerboard he sits-- an enemy or an ally? Hard to judge when you can barely see the other's face, a veil of darkness rubbing out distinction. She's spent hours perusing the network, assigning face to name to detail, so maybe a small glance is all she needs to make a judgment. However, trust is the issue here, and she figures it's not worth it to bother with this man anymore. Her job was done, and that was that. In and out was how superheroes kept both their identity and safety secure, and this encounter would be no different.
"Don't get your ass kicked, dude."
Mindy ends her farewell with a childish chuckle, before backpedaling backwards to start off on a dash to some place or another-- wherever help was needed.
Reply
"Would've been less fun," he counters her first comment, the sharp smile an evident tone in his voice. Strange times make strange allies, and for tonight, to an extent they want the same thing. It's only circumstance and convenience. He doesn't have a sense of justice.
"Don't stay out past your bedtime," he teases back as she goes, stooping to wipe his knife. A waste, dead men in alley, only so much discarded flesh. He's had his fun at least.
Reply
Leave a comment