Re-Writes and Re-dos - Beginning anew, perhaps?
Nightfall.
A time of sleeping. A time when the city-that-never-sleeps admittedly slowed down just a little if nothing else.
As he was about to settle down for the night, Tyrone stretched with a soft groan, standing from his desk to straighten his papers and head for bed. At least. That was the plan, anyway, until it was interrupted by a gust of wind, and a man in black grabbing him from behind.
"What is this?!"
The man in black snorted dismissively. "Truthfully, bud, this isn't much. But what do I know?" With a swift, blurring motion of his left hand, the one in black knocked Tyrone out. "I'm just the distraction." He flicked open a communication device. "All clear, Boss. I've already checked all the other rooms in this place, richboy here was the only fella out an' about." He flipped it shut, standing and glancing around.
The heavy, glass paned doors were forced open by some invisible power, as another individual in black glided in. This one in a heavy cloak, and what, judging from the glowing parts, could only be assumed to be power armor. To say nothing of the skull shaped helmet he was wearing. He spoke, in a rich, if digitized, British tone. "I'll assume you showed restraint, and didn't kill him?"
"Yeah, yeah, guy ain't dead, knocked him out just like y'showed me." The lanky one gestured, slower, "And you said somethin' about memory loss?"
"Short term memory loss, yes. Killing isn't necessary to accomplish our goals this night, and I would prefer to avoid it." Glowing, red eyes fell on the tall, lanky man. "And I would appreciate it if you showed respect. Mercenary or not, you will know your place, Mister Cerberus."
'Mister Cerberus', or Ignatius as he was more commonly known, made a dismissive wave of one hand, and in a blur of motion, was suddenly in Tyrone's swivel chair, his feet up on the man's desk. "Pfff. You pay me for gruntwork, Boss. Not respect."
"Realize, Ignatius, you haven't been paid yet. And this is, as I said earlier, a test of your skill."
For his part, Ignatius snorted, but offered no further argument on the matter. "So what's this guy got that's so important, anyway?"
The armored individual was slowly scanning the room, in a fairly literal fashion, given the sophisticated eyes of the suit. "An artifact." Was his simple, civil response. He paused, shifting his weight and raising a gauntlet-ed hand out of his cloak, taking a step back and gesturing towards himself with his hand.
What Ignatius could only describe as a vibration of everything in the room--to the point that he nearly fell out of the chair--occurred. A painting was moved to the side, and a massive safe was literally ripped from its foundations in the wall, and set on the floor before the armored individual, who ran his hand across the top of it.
Understandably, perhaps, Ignatius objected, "Holy--. I thought you told me this was supposed to be a subtle job, and here you go tearing safes outta walls!"
The armored one shot him a look, that if it weren't for the emotionless mask, would probably be dry annoyance. "The safe is a containment unit that I require in transporting this."
"What kinda artifact is it, anyway? That needs some kinda special containment--" In another blur of motion, Ignatius was out of the chair and peering at the side of the safe, and back at the armored one. "'Cause really..."
The armored one gestured, and the picture slid back into place with a click. "I told you, Ignatius. This matter is personal as well. I will not be answering any more than necessary. Now. Come. We need to leave."
A gesture, and the safe started to rise, as did the armored fellow, and both drifted out the opened doorway. Jet boots on the armor fired up, and gave him the speed for a faster getaway.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin', Kaiser." He muttered further under his breath, "Frickin' annoyin' mysterious types, I sweartagod..." He was gone in another woosh of wind, and a blur of motion.
A time of sleeping. A time when the city-that-never-sleeps admittedly slowed down just a little if nothing else.
As he was about to settle down for the night, Tyrone stretched with a soft groan, standing from his desk to straighten his papers and head for bed. At least. That was the plan, anyway, until it was interrupted by a gust of wind, and a man in black grabbing him from behind.
"What is this?!"
The man in black snorted dismissively. "Truthfully, bud, this isn't much. But what do I know?" With a swift, blurring motion of his left hand, the one in black knocked Tyrone out. "I'm just the distraction." He flicked open a communication device. "All clear, Boss. I've already checked all the other rooms in this place, richboy here was the only fella out an' about." He flipped it shut, standing and glancing around.
The heavy, glass paned doors were forced open by some invisible power, as another individual in black glided in. This one in a heavy cloak, and what, judging from the glowing parts, could only be assumed to be power armor. To say nothing of the skull shaped helmet he was wearing. He spoke, in a rich, if digitized, British tone. "I'll assume you showed restraint, and didn't kill him?"
"Yeah, yeah, guy ain't dead, knocked him out just like y'showed me." The lanky one gestured, slower, "And you said somethin' about memory loss?"
"Short term memory loss, yes. Killing isn't necessary to accomplish our goals this night, and I would prefer to avoid it." Glowing, red eyes fell on the tall, lanky man. "And I would appreciate it if you showed respect. Mercenary or not, you will know your place, Mister Cerberus."
'Mister Cerberus', or Ignatius as he was more commonly known, made a dismissive wave of one hand, and in a blur of motion, was suddenly in Tyrone's swivel chair, his feet up on the man's desk. "Pfff. You pay me for gruntwork, Boss. Not respect."
"Realize, Ignatius, you haven't been paid yet. And this is, as I said earlier, a test of your skill."
For his part, Ignatius snorted, but offered no further argument on the matter. "So what's this guy got that's so important, anyway?"
The armored individual was slowly scanning the room, in a fairly literal fashion, given the sophisticated eyes of the suit. "An artifact." Was his simple, civil response. He paused, shifting his weight and raising a gauntlet-ed hand out of his cloak, taking a step back and gesturing towards himself with his hand.
What Ignatius could only describe as a vibration of everything in the room--to the point that he nearly fell out of the chair--occurred. A painting was moved to the side, and a massive safe was literally ripped from its foundations in the wall, and set on the floor before the armored individual, who ran his hand across the top of it.
Understandably, perhaps, Ignatius objected, "Holy--. I thought you told me this was supposed to be a subtle job, and here you go tearing safes outta walls!"
The armored one shot him a look, that if it weren't for the emotionless mask, would probably be dry annoyance. "The safe is a containment unit that I require in transporting this."
"What kinda artifact is it, anyway? That needs some kinda special containment--" In another blur of motion, Ignatius was out of the chair and peering at the side of the safe, and back at the armored one. "'Cause really..."
The armored one gestured, and the picture slid back into place with a click. "I told you, Ignatius. This matter is personal as well. I will not be answering any more than necessary. Now. Come. We need to leave."
A gesture, and the safe started to rise, as did the armored fellow, and both drifted out the opened doorway. Jet boots on the armor fired up, and gave him the speed for a faster getaway.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin', Kaiser." He muttered further under his breath, "Frickin' annoyin' mysterious types, I sweartagod..." He was gone in another woosh of wind, and a blur of motion.