Sentinels Among Corpses

Today, is a good day.

---

"No, please, for the love of God!"

Unheard prayers. Typical. In the City of Gothic, only two things matter: how much money you have, and how much you're willing to lose. It's become a battlefield. Day in, day out, nothing changes. Apparently, Malcolm Press has had enough. He's looking to 'change' it for the 'better.' But what he does not realize is that what he dreams up and what is cemented in the present state of the planet are two entirely different things.

However, death is not on the menu tonight. Corpses will not be strung up on lampposts on every street corner. Orphans won't be gutted, still alive and screaming. That was the job of a very different psychopath, one that still haunts the footsteps of one Dark Vengeance. No, tonight will be different.

Wanted felons from across the board, each one a dangerous asset to the organized crime arenas setting up shop in Gothic, would be rounded up one by one. The Pursuer needed bait, and once the police stations received floods of calls detailing the capture of their most insidious drug lords, pimps, and murderers, this phenomenon would surely catch the attention of the two people the Pursuer wanted to see at the moment, because the police would see neither hide nor tail of these criminals.

They were gathered up, and stored away for safekeeping, the Gothic Museum of Art and History being their...temporary...prison. Hollowed out by raiders, the museum had certainly seen better days. Yet, the structural integrity did not cease being totally magnificent. Those displays still bolted into the floor remained, adding a texture of uncertainty around every corner. They simply stood there, weathering the test of time and torment like distant spectres yet to fade away.

Once his targets would come to investigate, the Pursuer would spring his trap.

"We don't know what happened to 'em!"
"Bullshit!" I yell and slam him into the wall. A common street thug, usually not worth the time, but crime has been odd tonight. I feel something is off, it's... unorganized. After beating his two cretins to a pulp, this one wasn't that difficult to make talk. It's great really, the underestimate the sixteen year old kid coming after them, they don't think I'm a threat. By the time they realize their mistake, it's already way too late.
"He was snatched up by somebody! That's all I know!" My lenses scan him for just a moment, he's not lying. Technology is pretty awesome. I smash my elbow into the side of his head and he collapses to the ground.
It's time to find out what's going on.

Twenty minutes later.

I come up behind another group, six this time. I know these guys, my lenses bring up their names and crime records as I watch from fifteen or so yards away. All of them were arrested together, after they got into a gang fight, released due to a lack of evidence -- a corrupt judge. The thing is, they're not doing anything, just like the others. Almost as if they have no orders. I can tell by they're body language, they're not waiting for something either. And criminal pawns don't get days off.

I consider going after them, I could get into a huge brawl, or dart them and trap them, but I decide not too. I patch into the police's system and I can hear the calls. Calls upon calls talking about how all the big bads are getting snatched up. Crime bosses being abducted, but not dropped at the police station.
The calls detail a capture, and none of the captured were taken to the station, it's not a vigilante. As far as I know, the crime bosses came to agreements about who got what, they wouldn't do this to each-other. Nobody reported killings either, so it couldn't be murder. These guys were captured, and taken somewhere. But where? That's the big question.

Thirty minutes later.

Some satellite imaging Stark won't miss, some hacked street cameras later, and I've got it. I've never seen this dude before, an assassin looking type has behind it all, and he's been taking his captures into the Gothic Museum of Art and History. "Well. This should be fun."
I'm on top of the museum itself now, walking through the front door would've been horrifically stupid.
A little tiny blowtorch lets me cut a hole in the grated vent on top of the building. I look down it, and it's a straight drop of one floor. I would be fine, but I can't risk making the noise.
So I flick a little switch on my wrist and the tips of my gloves become magnetic. I silently crawl on the wall of the vent until I'm all the way down, I flick the switch again and begin what would be a pretty long crawl.

Eight minutes later.

After lots of crawling, and a bit of help from a three dimensional map of the building, I'm at the grate that leads to the center of the museum. I can't actually see anything of importance, but I don't assume it's safe either. Silently once more, I blowtorch through the grate, but grab it and pull it inside so it makes no noise falling.
Believing I have successfully infiltrated the building without so much as a peep, I climb out and lower myself down to the museum floor. WIth a little eye twitch, thermal flicks on and I see no one. Another precise ocular movement and It's back to darkness and ancient crap everywhere.
I'm pretty sure I haven't just walked into a trap, I was careful, but maybe the captor planned for that.

@thisisgonnahurt: @matt_berk:

"Black"

I say softly to the barista taking my order as my eyes glaze over the extravagant ingredients. The corner cafe is empty with the exception of myself, the barista and a few other young patrons. The day has quietly faded into the evening with almost no incident. Normally I would be relieved, even relaxed to be so unoccupied and finally focus on my own goals, especially now with the return of Dark Vengeance and me stepping down from his mantle. A position that has risked my life and sanity in the few weeks that I wore the cape was overwhelming when compared to my persona as Vex.

"Medium coffee for Alexander?"

I hesitate at my name being said aloud, another subtle change when I'm not wearing my mask. I grab my drink without saying a word, my mind is trying to convince itself to relax. Trying to persuade my that everything is fine now that Dark Vengeance has returned and I can finally rest. My instincts are refusing to be silenced, fighting my logic and telling me that this is the calm before the storm.

"I'll just go out tonight for an hour...2 hours tops. It's not like I'm looking for trouble."

I mutter to myself. I mean, whats the worse that can happen? I break into a sprint while simultaneously grabbing the satchel on my back that held my mask, boots and escrima sticks.

A few minutes pass quickly as I leap from roof top to roof top. My boots move silently against the gravel with no sign of my presence as I pursue a known associate of a renown crime lord. I waste enough time instilling the fear into him. My final leap is to the street below aimed at his back, and I come down with a crash.

He grunts loudly with a spew of blood spraying onto the concrete while my kevlar protected hands wrap around his collar as I my eyes make contact with his.

"Now you tell me what is it that you guys are up to, and I might just let you leave without any more bruises."

He hacks a little more before replying, "What do you mean?! We haven't done nothing!! Streets have been quiet!"

I give him a little slap to the face before shaking him up a little more, "Thats exactly why my fingers are extremely close to wrapping around your throat. Since you have been living in Gothic, when was the last time you have ever had a quiet night? And now that Malcolm press announced his revival of the city, you guys must be making moves."

"No man! That's not how it is! We haven't been given any orders on nothing! There's no direction right now. Boss has been incognito!"

Either he's being honest, or he deserves an oscar a hell of a lot more than Leonardo DiCaprio. "Fine." I head butt him into unconsciousness and his body goes limp in my hands. Incognito? That's not like these criminals. It's all about appearances and reputations with these guys. If they go into hiding, they look weak and their territory is up for grabs.

A few hours go by as I followed up on a few leads and inspected the crime lord's personal residences to include his safe houses. Everything was perfect. Normal. And that is where the problem lied. He was abducted. But his kidnapper did so with such ease and skill that no one would have been able to track him...Except for me. There were a few clues that made one thing clear. He wanted to be found, but specifically, by me or someone like me.

Fast forward to now where the stench of rot and mildew flow through the dim tunnel of the sewer and the sounds of mice and water echo through its caverns. I look up and see a steel grate, corroded by rust after years and years of moisture. I reach up and grip its bars forcefully, pulling with enough strength to tear an average person's muscles and ligaments. I grow more and more concerned about my well being, but my fears are put way as the grate breaks off the bolts. I gasp, hungry for air as I reach up and flip into the smaller tunnel and begin to crawl before reaching my destination. Gothic museum.

@_vex_, @matt_berk:

Two little birds, fluttering in the sky, hardly concerned with days gone by. Only a few hours had transpired, and many questions had to be inquired.

I can move silently. Painfully so. I can stop my heartbeat, slow my lung capacity down to zero, and forcefully halt any digestion. It's agonizing, but I have to time these events perfectly with those I stalk. Otherwise, they can pick up on the differences in sound and find me easier. The reduction in sound transpiring throughout my ears causes me to imagine things as my brain tries to compensate for the lack of oxygen and noise. I finally find the first of my victims, and I find solace in the thunderous drumline echoing from his chest, so I restart my circulatory system. Refocusing, I can see that the target in front of me is merely one half of those I have been assigned to eliminate.

It is Red Renegade.

I can move silently. Painfully so. Each footstep is in synch with his, each muscle contraction down to simply breathing. I crawl down from the rafters, not even disturbing dust. Before I even throw my first knife, I am gone again. A ghost. I know he will hear it and block it. The purpose is to make him uneasy. I know where he is, but there's no possible way for him to know where I am. Panic is my friend, and I intend on sowing it into his mind.

In conjunction with the knife, there is a smoke grenade. It will cover thirty feet in either direction of the hallway and extend all the way to the ceiling in vision-impairing smog. Again, I do not want to harm him yet. I want to make him concerned about his well-being. I want to make him feel as though he is no longer investigating the museum, but rather trapped inside of it. Regardless of what direction he takes, my escape route is already flawlessly planned and I slink away, unseen in the dense fog.

---

Little did they know, a great danger did grow. From nowhere it did soar, a sneaky beast called Horror.

Vex.

How intuitive, little Vex, using the sewers to your advantage. Less of a bird, and more of a rat. I am entitled to use just as much stealth regarding this one. However, the unique structure of the museum did not allow for perfect acoustics. When several tours were being held at once, they were measured so that the sounds did not collide and interrupt each other, which would inevitably cause friction between curators. Vex stood at the isolated end of just one of these halls, whereas the Red Renegade had been encountered all the way across the building.

He would not hear the battle.

I lower myself from the rafters, shoulders-first, until I am staring intently at the back of Vex's head. I reach forward, hands distanced so that I do not cause noticeable dissonance with what he is hearing in perfect silence. My blood vessels run cold. It is a sensation I am familiar with.

Like lightning, I strike, looking to apply an upside-down chokehold on the youth, strangling him as I slowly rise back into the ceiling. But I am prepared to deal with a man ready to die. I have done it plenty of times before, and against victims who were many times stronger.

I am prepared, for my Court wills me to do this.

@_vex_: @thisisgonnahurt:

The museum is erie, I really do not like the silence. Luckily though, I didn't set off a trap. Quietly I move about the large room I'm in, looking for clues, footprints, fingerprints, anything that could help me track down the men taken hostage. I find nothing. I think maybe it's time to move on to the next room. Then I have an idea, I could hack into the museums security cameras to find out where the men and their captor are. In seconds I've got the museum camera footage. Immediately I realize that they had broken down at some point. The last footage is from three days after Gothic was declared a no-mans-land.

I've got nothing. Then, I hear something zip through the air towards me, I sidestep instantly and catch the blade by it's handle. "Alright, lets go." I say before turning around to nothing. Nobody was there. Well, obviously someone had to be, the knife didn't throw itself. The smoke grenade clanged on the ground and it echoed throughout the nearby halls.
I flick on thermals to see If I can spot someone hiding in the smoke, and there's no one. The smoke fills the entirety of the hall all the way to the ceiling, I can't seem a damn thing.

I feel like he's out there, watching and waiting to strike, but he's not my number one priority. The abducted are. If I get to them first, whoever put all this together did it all for nothing.
I bring up a little 3-D map of the building's interior into the top right corner of my lens. I can see that I'm nearly at the front of the museum,in the center. The biggest empty room in the building is a supply room in the opposite side of the building, I think he's most likely keeping them there.

It's been about two minutes and sixteen seconds since the knife flew at me. I doubt he would wait this long to strike, so I decide to cautiously move out, to slowly make my way to the other end of the building. The red of my suit stands out brightly against the dark and gray of the decaying museum. Every step I take echoes through the halls. I think for a moment, maybe I could yell out to the hostages? Their captor already knows of my location, so it's not like somehow it would screw me over.
"Hello!?" I yell out. There is no answer. Just the lonely echo of my voice.

I guess they're all just bound and gagged held up in some supply closet. I don't care, I'll search this entire place all night if I have too. Though it feels like I'm being hunted, I try to continue on without panic. It's incredibly difficult to do. Whatever the hell it was, it made absolutely no noise, literally none. I push those thoughts out of my head, fear would not help me in this situation.

I keep a level head and keep moving. I got out of the smoke cloud a minute or so ago. Looking at the 3-D map, I'm about 3/4 of the way to the back storage room. The museum is still creepily silent. I don't even bother using any sort of stealth tactics, whatever threw the knife at me is something I can't hide from, no matter how hard I try.
I come up to the locked steel door of the storage room. I place a small bit of C-4 on the door handle, take one step to the left, and blow it. A little hole is made and the handle is off. Slowly and fearfully I pull the large door open, revealing nothing but a bunch of janitorial supplies.

"Damnit."

@matt_berk: @thisisgonnahurt:

The silence in the corridors is nerve wracking, almost disturbing. The artifacts that had been left after the Gothic riots and war left an ominous feeling within the walls that did little to comfort me. It wasn't fear that consumed me, but the desolation that drove my alertness and attention to every little detail. I'm not like most vigilantes that stalked the night, I had little technology and a small amount of contacts I could reach for assistance. I have only ever depended on my wit and agility. It's my wit that chilled my spine. I was being watched...Intently. I can't pin point anyone, hostage or criminal. Abruptly, a pair of hands grasp my collar and simultaneously lift me off my feet and slowly drag me towards the ceiling. The power behind the grip is astonishing and any normal person would flail within this assailants' hands, but I remain calm. Neither panicking nor fighting. But instead I grasp the the wrists that are choking me and perform a back flip, using his arms to push my momentum and leap away. The darkness shrouds him as if he were a part of them. I land and throw one of my escrima sticks towards an adjacent wall causing it to ricochet to where he was positioned. It's goal isn't to incapacitate him, but reveal his location. Obviously a expert and cover and concealment, I slowly back away while guarding my body.

"Coward."

I murmur. I have lost the element of surprise and he has the upper hand. But he hasn't won so quickly, and I refuse to admit defeat without putting up a fight.

@_vex_: @matt_berk:

I feel his neck. I can break it given enough time and pressure, but one of those is a precious commodity that I dare not waste. He nearly hits me with a rogue eskrima stick, but I am gone before he can properly investigate. Everything returns to the serene silence. The museum should never be this quiet. I have captured dozens of Gothic City's most wanted criminals. Surely one or two of them must be quite the obscene loudmouth.

...Have I killed them all?

Navigation through the darkness is easy, quite possibly the simplest thing to accomplish on this night. I have both of them in a panic now. They are aware of my presence, but not of my location. I would wonder if they even remember their initial trial, but it appears that the Red Renegade has eschewed my trap for a more thorough look into his environment.

This is the one with the danger sense and enhanced reaction time. He would be slightly more difficult to kill. Hence, the need for a large burst of information.

He is wandering close to an inactive bomb I have concealed under a painting. I realize that by reaching for the trigger, I will activate his innate sense of awareness to that. So instead, my fingers drift along the smooth surface of another smoke grenade.

He knows I'm here.

---

The Great Horned Owl swooped down amid the smog, throwing his weight into a violently impressive martial skill, finally revealing himself to his prey in full plumage. Hidden blades shot out from his wrists, formerly concealed by his armbands, two in each close-quarters punches aimed for the boy's torso. His mission here, however, refocused into a broad influence of melee, striking at every known and unknown variable that the boy possibly could have learned from Dark Vengeance all while manipulating the shadows and the rising clouds of smoke to his advantage.

And then, by clenching a concealed trigger in his palm, he disappeared again, accented by a plume of fire.

---

This would undoubtedly cause the other one, Vex, to rush to the scene. Maybe he would find the Red Renegade alive, maybe he won't. The Court's Pursuer is still going to watch them.