The Force-(CV22) Meta Humans Crime Unit: v3.0

@elliot_knox:

The air the case carried was unnaturally crude; Essence of blood, drugs, and money attacked all of his senses, even the sixth. Through the chief's descriptive tone he could only assume these instances were all too familiar. ‘Month’s’ he said? Without proper interference it seemed the bud has grown to be much more than a dainty flower, but an entire plain. The entire nervous system of illegal metahuman fighting embedded its veins much further than the Bronx. Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, hell, even North Chicago exhibited flows of blood money.

Sharp thoughts of retribution clamored in his brain. Though, he knew better than to hastily resolve a problem. He began sifting through the countless other files on his desk. It seemed nowadays criminal activity had been divided into two distinct categories: human and metahuman crimes. Sometimes, discriminately, crimes against the other group. It was no understatement to say New York City was an infestation of criminal activity.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the pile the chief spoke once more.

"Most recent word I have from a reputable snitch is that a fight is going down tonight at an old gym turned meat packing plant over on Arthur Ave. You ever been to a blood sport in person?"

Ironing himself and his will K nodded. Tonight—The perfect guise used all throughout history to commit acts of evil. Understandingly, K offered a stern gaze, “I’ll be ready”.

Hours later, night came.

@agent-k: post coming this weekend for sure.

well this is perfect for toxic.basically ever since he caught cancer he blaimed it all on the health care system and mostly on the police so he'll probably absolutely torment them.

"this is my happy face"

@eman-11711: Come at me bro (Feel free to post and respond to me any time. Keep in mind the rules of the front page and the security measures but otherwise, have fun with it)

"Ah, New York!!" Mephisto held out his arms, swaying his lanky body back and forth on his long legs.

He twirled his cane and hooked it in the crook of his elbow, admiring the sights and sounds of a city long ago absorbed into its own depravity. The echoes of what could have been died when the Bif Apple expanded beyond its own regulations, becoming a haven for rats both crawling on their bellies and standing upright.

He tilted his hat to the street performers demanding money, and to the tourists pushing past the mobs. His shoes tapped harmoniously with the endless chorus of car noise and traffic buzz.

Every once in a while, he'd be sidetracked by an errant bar blasting the latest song and dance routines. Eventually, these would begin to wear down their welcome in his precious musical sensibilities and he would continue through the winding streets, becoming lost to the world. The pattern continued for some time, leading him deeper into the bowels of the metropolis than most would dare.

At length, Mephisto found himself in the shadow of an immense bastion of a building - more castle than skyscraper, and no less modern than its surrounding contemporaries. He hadn't the foggiest idea what it was, but curiosity took the better of him and he approached. Something odd was beginning to take place in his body, however. He could feel it even as he stood further away. Stepping back, he understood.

"How odd," he mumbled to himself. It was like a haze of static continuously interrupting his feed of music, and not once did it remind him of a faulty radio.

At least then it would have some inherent charm.

No, this infiltrated through his very skin like radiation. The closer he went, the louder the grinding noise became. His smile flattened in an unamused fashion.

Considering he had gotten this far, however unintentionally, he figured someone had already spotted him. He prepared for the worst and decided to pick a song to hum in order to at least distract himself from the muffled rattling in his skull.

@thisisgonnahurt:"Don't talk to me about the capabilities of a calzone's structural integrity. I lived through three world's fairs and two world wars." Captain Knox leans forward in his desk chair and chomps down on the side of his cigar before plucking it from his lips and pointing a stubby finger into the 1970s dated phone with the pinwheel of numbers in the center and the dookie brown color that was in style in that era, "Now let's go through the list of ingredients again and this time don't skimp on the meats. Ready, and--"

Suddenly an alarm begins to weer to life in a low wailing rhythm. Something has entered the perimeter and it isn't human. It walked like it had springs in it's step, based on the camera feed from up the block, and seemed to dance with the tune of whatever was closest to his hopping feet. "To be continued--" He says into the reciever before hanging up the phone. Hopping out of his chair the 5 foot 6 muscle bomb in a plaid shirt throws on his trenchcoat and heads out the door, "Danny? With me." He says, a young man in the Force's version of police blues, more of a jumper wrapped in tactical gear and reinforced padding, steps out of the sea of bodies and salutes his Captain before leaping to his side and out the double front doors, "Danny listen, hang back and keep an eye on us. If he seems like hes going to make a bad move, do your thing. Turn your watch on." Knox says, pointing to his own white wristwatch with a green glowing face, indicating that his powers were fully engaged while in the perimeter of the stations dead zone thanks to the nullifying bands. Elliot stuffs his thick mittens in his trench coat pockets and walks up the block a few steps, stopping just in front of the unexpected visitor, who seemed to be less Jovial than he was on the screens several blocks away. He had a clear look of displeasure on an ethereal face of difficult to read features wrapped in a velvet suit. "I don't know who you are, or what you're trying to pull. But we're getting some wicked readings off you. Magic maybe? Can't be one hundred percent certain. Not too many mutants or metas could just walk through that field without losing their juice, I know that much. So...would you like to explain your game here? Or we can escort you back to the station."

@elliot_knox:

The dull white noise infecting his skull through his ears wormed around much like maggots in rotting flesh. He could hear individual tones all scrambled together, fighting for supremacy but ultimately making the entire experience somewhat unbearable. He kept the rhythm from before going as best he could, tapping from toe to heel with his designer shoes whenever able. The fact remained that his normally pallid expression seemed all the more pale the closer he approached the building. It didn't dampen his powers, but caused so much interference that calling upon them was more chore than reflex.

He kept appearances, however, and readjusted his smile to be as wide and warm as ever. Those razor-sharp fangs of his practically glowed in the low light of the Force building, though he didn't know the name of it to begin with. He had a guest to entertain - or, rather, a host to impress. He took off his white hat and lowered it to his chest, bowing his head slightly as his wild curls bounced with the soft, yet sudden, motion.

"Good evening, sir!" he chimed musically, returning to his original posture. He seemed as rigid as a stationary arrow, yet his limbs were obviously flexible once in the merriment of flight. He had yet to spread his metaphorical wings, however, and maintained a showman's charisma.

"My name is Mephisto, it's a pleasure to meet you!" he continued without skipping a step. Everything he did seemed to follow a distinct notation.

"I've always wanted to visit the Big Apple, and so here I am,"

The Man with the Long Shadow placed his hat back on his head, tipping the brim into place with the crest of his cane. Even while speaking, he had an undertone of a pleasant hum happening behind his words. A chorus of distinct voices rang out harmoniously with his syllables, making an unmistakable juxtaposition of speaking and singing.

"Some people refer to me as quite the magical man, but I like to think of it as a little more than that. While I do enjoy a decent trick every now and again, there's nothing that gets my blood pumping quite like..." he pointed his finger at Elliot, the very distinction of the most basic of gestures sending something curling through the shadows beyond the edge of mortal vision.

If cameras were to record it, no matter the angle, nothing happened. Perhaps it was one of those little "tricks" he mentioned.

"A game!!"

He suddenly snapped his fingers and threw his hands into the air, sending down a shower of colorful confetti cascading to the concrete. Upon contact with the ground, however, the material vanished without a trace.

"So, what'll it be?" he stepped forward, placing his arm around Elliot's shoulders and turning him back towards the station, walking with him as he flaunted his various lies and deceptions.

"Are you a poker player? Dice roller? You like blackjack, maybe a roulette wheel or slot machine?"

With each classification of casino antics, Mephisto showered Elliot with examples of his gambling prowess. A flowered handful of fifty-two cards unfolded from nowhere, only to disappear once The Devil closed his fist. Dice rolled out from between his knuckles, ensnared by his fingers as he clenched them together and produced poker chips instead. He swept his hand over his own eye and a roulette pill bounced off the ground and into his grasp. At the mention of the last game, he stepped away from Elliot and approached Danny, his eyes swirling with colorful icons until they landed on "JACK" and "POT" in bold red lettering. He shook his head and eyes free of those words, returning his unsettling gaze back to normal, and reached behind Danny's ear.

"Well, lookie here!" Mephisto pulled out a coin, more specifically a Duke Ellington quarter, and handed it to Danny.

He danced to his invisible song as he approached the double door... but stopped.

"Now then... is there a game room inside or am I allowed to set up somewhere first?"