NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: An RP with something of a plot, concerning the planning & assassination of a Driddain Corp. CEO. The assassin team will be avalaible for later RP's, if one would need a villan or attempt to have a government official assassinated, to spark that civil war you've been wanting, etc.

IC:



'Death is my buisness... and buisness is good...'

Such was the favorite saying of Kelstar Nightfang. Kelstar, or 'Kel', as his associates called him, was a Dark Argonian. He led the Deathwraith assassin group, comprised of other Dark Argonians. The team had six members, each a highly skilled marksman & competent infiltrator. In most circles, the name 'Deathwraith' meant two things: The death of a rival, or a promt to plan one's own funeral.

Kel lounged in the most private room of his favorite strip club, his team mates either drinking, smoking, or fondling one of the establishment's many beautiful women. Over the years outside of his homeland, the Black Marsh, Kel had grown fond of human women, as had some of his squadmates. Kel's Deathwraiths had just returned from a successful hit, on some two-bit gangbanger who had messed with a rival's girl. Kel didn't like these kind of petty disputes, but they paid the bills, and watching a so-called tough-guy run & scream in terror as he put a three-round-burst of .45's in his back was good fun in itself.

Kel would have smirked at the thought, if his reptillian anatomy would have let him. A pair of fin-ears sproted from the sides of his head, giving him the appearance of a reptillian dog, in an offbeat sort of way. Kel & his team still wore their body armor, their custom-built automatic weapons always sitting close by.

At the moment, they had nothing better to do than enjoy themselves & wait for a potential client...

BUMP to display revised title...

OOC: Again with a revised title...

Either the concept is horrible, or I'm promoting it at a bad time...

OOC: Probably bad timing. Care if I join? If not ignore...

IC: The lights were low, but she was pretty sure this was the room and by the shadow of the man, or lizard, she was sure it was Kel. It was pretty easy to find out about the Deathwraiths from little places. Plus, the girls that worked here gave out a lot of information, some she didn't quite care to here, but she knew she would hear it.

Lizzy Derang, now Kitten, walked into the low lit room. The lights now glowed a deep red and her lowlights of red blended with the atmosphere. Her hair, shoulder length, was a dark brown with lowlights and highlights of blonde and red, touched the colar of her black robe. Her normally bright pale skin looked dark in the light and almost sinister. Her black eyes matched the black of her robe. She stepped closer to Kel and let her robe slide smoothly to the floor. She wore a little black silk skirt and a black Lingerie top, with the spagetti straps falling down on her tan shoulders. She placed one leg on the chair, inbetween his legs. There was a long clank from her thick soles of her thigh high boots slamming on the chairs.

She smiled at him and then meowed. She reached behind with one arm to her back and grabbed a handgun and pointed it at his head and with her other hand grabbed a knife and touched his neck with the side of the blade. Her foot stepped down, but not too hard over his crouch. OOC: I am assuming Kel has the anatomy of a male??? IC: She retracted herleft hand, the one holding the knife and slide it back behide her leg in her boot and then scratched lightly across his armor. She reached into her black panties and pulled out a small white card with black writing and dropped onto his lap. She placed the gun back behide her back and grapped her black robe and drapped it over her shoulder.

She turned her head towards him, as she walked away, and in a low purr she said, "This kitten has claws."

On the card it read...Lizzy Derang her cell number and professional hitwoman.

She walked out to the bar and sat at the counter sipping on a water and waited.

OOC: Why would I turn away the only person who had expressed intrest?

Perhaps I should list ways to enter:
As a rival assassin/assassin group
A member of the CEO's security force
The CEO himself
A family member of one of Kel's victims seeking vengence.

Men your own Stripe.

Thats what Ocelot had been told. That the Deathwraiths were rising stars in the assassian world, and were here to stay. That contracting himself into a mission with them would look fabulous. That these men were the best of the best. By the sounds that Ocelot could hear from outside the Deathwraith private room, they like women a whole lot.

Ocelot had been in the assassian biz for a dozen years, and had seen alot of things. He always carried with him a number of weapons, predominently bayonets. Ocelot was famous for utilizing bayonets in a uniqe combat style and could kill many men with just a few swipes of his deadly blades, earning him the nickname, 'Bayonet Ocelot' and also 'AngelDust.' He also carried a SIG sauer pistol and an Uzi, and was quite deadly with both.

Ocelot hoped the Deathwraiths would impress him somewhat. He decided to wait until they left thier room to contact them.

Is This Gonna Continue Wa?

Somebody cracked their knuckles in preperation for a night of work. Moonlight glinted off a scope in the dark as it shifted ever so slightly. Crosshairs hovered over a man's face.

Pffsht.

The man's face disintegrated into a shower of red. Shouting, shouting, where were the bullets coming from.

Pffsht. Pffsht. Pffsht.

The bullets were coming too fast, the men screamed. Some couldn't get out a last yelp, their throats were missing. A bulky man barreled out of a drab olive tent, woodland camo fatiques on, revolver in hand. Foolish man.

Pffsht. Pffsht. Pffsht.

One bullet took off his shoulder. The next turned his chest into a chaotic mix of spilt blood and shattered bone. The last ended his pain, left his brains on the packed dirt. A far away shrub shuddered and stood up, advancing on the camp.

The shrub fell away and the black-clad man rifled through the camp before leaving, neatly slipping crisp papers into a pocket.

Next target was the Deathwraiths. No money involved this time. The Ninth of the Twenty was back, and he was going to show these Argonians what they'd stumbled into.

((Er...bump? Dead already?))

OCC:Good God, i almost forgot about this. I'll post something later.

OOC: Hey I will do this thing if we get WA's response. We kind of need him to interact with the hitpeople>>>

OOC: I had completely forgotten about this thread, with the Jolt move & lack of attention...

IC:

Kel's companions watched the display warily, their attentions diverted from their respective diversions. Hands drifted towards sidearms as their leader had various weapons directed at his head & neck. Oddly, Kel did not react.
This reaction set the others at ease... Just another show-off... Kel pocketed the card for later study & turned his attention back to Vector, this evening's companion...

From the door, another of Kel's men signaled him that they had a visitor. Kel motioned back that the lookout should go retrieve the visitor & bring him to him...

The man was well-armed, behind him was another man, better dressed than the first. Kelstar motioned for both to seat themselves. One looked to be a fellow hitman, the other a client... Driddish by the look of him. The blood-red suit & black necktie prompted that sort of assumption. The military-cut black hair & green eyes had the same effect...

"You first."

Kel stated, gesturing with a clawed finger at Ocelot...

Bumparoo

OOC: I'll try to enter a victim of Kel's men. I hope he isn't too young. If you don't like it I can revise it or, you can ignore it.

IC: A person sat in a dark corner of the main area watched Kel in his private room. His brown eyes burned with hatered behind his blacked rimmed Oaklyglasses. He wore a pair of tan pants and a dark green t-shirt covered by a black polar-tech jacket. His brown hair cut short, his face having some beard growth.

Alex Potter looked about 23, he was in fact almost 19. He had forged documents concerning his age and name. His parents had been murdered by this group several years before. His father had once worked for the Golden Simatar's Godfather, who he only knew by as Mr. Giovanni. Alex's father had once been bodyguard for Giovanni, then his father decided to testify and turn his boss in. Three days later, his mom and dad were dead. FFBI had nailed Giovanni a week later and Alex went to live with his uncle. While looking through Giovanni's files they found the name Deathwraith. Alex ran away and his three year journey had lead him here.

He also had a briefcase next to him. Though it appeared normal, it took the eyes of an expert to see that the "handle" was not made of leather, it was the top of a Heckler and Kock G36 carry handle. He knew how to use it. But, he didn't know when to use it. He just wanted Kel and his band dead, no matter what the cost.

OOC: If this thing isn't still going- well, I guess no one will read this, huh?

IC: A magazine clicked into place. Sixty rounds. Small bullets, but nothing known could destroy the metal they were made of once they were forged. High velocity holepunchers. The power used to blast them out of the barrel was so great that just about any other projectile would've been blasted to useless fragments by the time it had traversed a foot's distance. The tube that the bullets ran along had to be lined with the stuff, too, so that the gun itself didn't explode.

A shadow-shrouded figure checked the weapon for the twelfth time, determined he wouldn't check it any more. Twelve is the number of times you will check your weaponry. No more. No less. If you are unprepared, you will die. If you are distracted, you will die. At this time, your equipment should be ready. All small arms must be holstered in a concealed but accessible location on your person. There should be a place for everything, with everything in its place. With all the emotion of an ice cube, he stepped from an alley and pointed a targeting laser at the back door. A silenced shot blew a hole through an electrical generator wired to the knob. Minimum power blast- anything more and the bullet would have penetrated the generator, shattered the bottle of liquor on the table, punched a hole in the gas stove, and pounded on the plaster wall behind it- at the least. Mostly, he didn't want to penetrate the gas stove because an explosion was too messy. It could leave a survivor or two. But mostly, it was because he wanted to drink the liquor on the table. He grasped the knob with a leather-gloved hand, and split-toed tabi boots with sound-absorbing soles were laid carefully over three hair-fine wires. Obviously, he wasn't the only man that wanted to kill the Deathwraiths...

While he was going past the "just-in-case" amateur security systems, he rolled over something in his mind, again and again. Something was wrong about the building when he surveyed it. He should have used infrared. And ultraviolet. And thermal. He had been cocky. Arrogant. Reckless. He said a four-letter word under his breath and switched on his thermal vision. He could see the Deathwraiths where they belonged, various strippers where they needed to be, and the girl. He checked beyond the surface of the wall, where a vague shape barely registered outside- could have been an illusion, but- something was too damn odd about it. And he had checked his goggles twelve times.

A very old man rocked peacefully in a worn, unvarnished chair beside his fruit stand that was positioned across from the strip club where the Deathwraiths were. A gnarled wooden walking stick lounged against his stand, within arm's reach. All to many "tough dudes" came around to heckle him, and a swift smack on the head was usually enough to deter them. Just in case, there was a stubby shotgun stowed behind the patched together counter. The old man hummed quietly to himself through his long grey beard, as if he were waiting for something. His knotted hands twitched occasionally in his lap.

Ocelot nodded to Kel.

"My name is Ocelot. You may now me as AngelDust or several other names i have not heard yet. My superiours have instructed-Actually, Commanded-me to either contract myself into an assassination of a person whom you choose, or i will contract you into an assassination of our choice. What would you like?"

He paused a moment, then said the final part of the offer, which he had memorized.

"And if you refuse both, I haf'ta Kill ya."

Ocelot did not think that even he could take down all of the DeathWraiths-Perhaps Kel and a few others, but he would probably be shot down before he could kill all of them.

Kel made the Dark Argonian laugh-noise, sounding something like steel scraping across asphault...

"Humans and their one-liners... Vector, entertain our guest while I attend to our more esteemed one..."

The stripper got up from Kel's lap, seating herself in Ocelot's instead...

"Now you."

The assassin gestured towards the well-dressed man...

"Of course. Mr. Nightfang, my client has a job for you. I represent Vice President Havlock Drells, of the Driddain Inc. Corporation. Mr. Drells wishes his superior, President Ulray Vetwins. My client is prepared to pay you thirty-five million dollars, USD, upon completion..."

Kelstar thought for the slightest of moments...

"Inform him that I agree. Mr. Vetwins will be dead within the next two months..."

The liason dialed a number into a cellular phone & completed the transaction. As soon as he had hung up, Kel shot him squarely in the X-ring, blowing bits of bone, blood, and heart tissue across the room. He had no patience for people who would not introduce themselves... It was now clear why the carpet in the room was blood-red.

"Mr. Ocelot, it seems that we have a job..."

Kel stated nochalantly, a thin tendril of smoke rising from the surperssor mounted on his Glock's barrel...

The team swiftly gathered up their weaponry, departing the club through an alternate door. Kel made it a point not to exit through the same way he entered, one could be easily ambushed that way... The team departed to a large warehouse near the docks, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence with a strong electric current running through it. A single Deathwraith was posted atop the building, armed with a high-powered rifle & thermal imaging system.
The sign on the gate was very clear... TRESSPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT

Within was an elaborate complex of apartments & training centers, some above & below ground, all within the large warehouse's confines, so as to not give anything away. As soon as the group was inside, one of Kel's henchman tapped in a short keycode, activating a laser alarm grid. As the Deathwraiths where extremely wealthy from their numerous successful hits, such extremes in security could be taken. After all, one made few friends as a hitman...

Alex's view was blocked for several seconds. In that time Kel escaped. SH*T! He had missed his chance to kill the group. He carefully picked up his suitcase containing the HK G-36 carbine and moved to see if they had left, they had. He ran outside the main entrance and moved around the building. He cursed solftly in native Simatarian and walked back to a beat up 1990 Saab 9000 turbo. He sat inside the leather interior, angry he had missed the bastards. He would find where they hide, and get them there. He started the five minute start up ritual of the somewhat unreliable car.

Ocelot raised his eyebrows as Kel shot the liason dead. Apparently he was better then Ocelot originally thought.

"Indeed, we do." Answered Ocelot.

A few minutes later, Ocelot was in the DeathWraith's secret warehouse lair. He stared around for a while before looking at Kel.

"Nice place. So, whene do we start this Vetwins job?"

The man, garbed in inky shadow, had been a hair away from his objective. Seconds- mere seconds- had spoiled years and years of preparation. Training. A journey around the world. Visiting graves and reading over news bulletins again and again, pasting Most Wanted signs, artist's impressions, flimsy descriptions, and urban legends into a flimsy scrapbook of information that would lead to his enemy's downfall. And it had been wasted at the climax by timing that was off by seconds. Mere seconds. He cursed his bad fortune in a vitrolic breath.

And then, he remembered. He remembered what had been on his mind seconds before he had lost his targets. He remembered the silhouette behind the wall- a moving patch of man-shaped grayness stealthily scrambled towards a car. I should have brought a vehicle. I was so careless, so clumsy- he will have their heads as his trophy, and I will have defeat. Years of training laid to waste. A holy war lost. A contract with the dead broken. He would have to make up for what had happened. His gloved fingers moved at blurring speeds, mixing with the blanket of shadows around him and making it look like the buttons on his wrist-sheath were being pressed by invisible demons of the darkness. Suddenly, a long blade appeared, and then seperated in a snapping flash into prongs. He looked outside and grinned. Thank all that is holy- he brought a crappy car. And with that, he darted out the back door, secured the hook around a nearby protrusion from a building, and pulled himself up automatically. Seventy-five pounds of equipment were nothing compared to the weights he had practiced with- and he had leaped farther distances with those weights than he would have to now. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop felt like hop-scotch.

The old man tapped his hearing aid once and his eyes bcame stone as he chuckled. The click of a blade from several hundered meters off. He slowly shifted his eyes to the spot in time to see a blob of shadow scale the side of a building and head off somewhere, close to him. The man followed the blob's trail, and found it to lead somewhere just behind him. The chair creaked as he got up, and shuffled to stand behind his fruit stand. In those sparse seconds when he had been moving towards the suspected area, he had indeed heard the sounds and internal clicks and thunks of a cranky car. The old man smiled, and tapped the hearing aid again. The far-off sounds faded. He crouched below the stand for a second with speed unusual for his age. A couple of quick adjustments, and the old man was stowed beneath the stand.

Agent Nine stepped a few meters away from the stand and stretched, feeling a number of things pop and crack inside him. Sitting in that chair for so long in a constant state of alertness was suprisingly taxing. The actions of the others watching Kel and his ring of phonies confirmed they had left. He crept around the corner to his modified Lotus Elise, painted a ruby red. It started up with a purr.

A shadow makes no noise, and he was no exception. Some have said that the taste of revenge was bittersweet. The man hoped to find it to his liking. He saw no cars, but heard the poor vehicle starting. If they made it in front of him, he would have a plan for that as well. But as of yet, no one had noticed him, or at least as far as he could tell. It would have been a good idea to check back, but he couldn't risk losing his trail. He lept from the side of a building and fell short, but the hook blasted into stone on another building. There was a feeling of flight, and then the line was pulled taut. He flew towards the face of the structure, and his boots made contact. The line's motors and winches drove him up to the top. No need to exert himself before a showdown. He was doing exceptionally well for a man who had sought training himself. But he had still made mistakes. There was still the man in the car. He was still competition. He was worthy of the fist sized, disc shaped proximity mine left at the intersection that led to the warehouse road. Anyone approaching in a car would have to be going faster than a drag racer to not be reached by the blast. Even an armored truck would explode when the mine's heat and force penetrated the gas tank. The proximity sphere had been lined up perfectly and far in advance to fit the space between buildings, including the sidewalks. But it was just a little package. It was nothing that couldn't be avoided.

Ocelot raised his eyebrows as Kel shot the liason dead. Apparently he was better then Ocelot originally thought.

"Indeed, we do." Answered Ocelot.

A few minutes later, Ocelot was in the DeathWraith's secret warehouse lair. He stared around for a while before looking at Kel.

"Nice place. So, whene do we start this Vetwins job?"

Kelstar enters a small room, brimming with computers & other electronic equipment. It overlooks a much larger area, with alabaster-white walls...

"As soon as we are prepared. This is where you & I differ..."

The walls shone slightly, projecting a hologram of the interior of Driddain Corp's corporate headquarters. It was the ultimate in 'kill-house' simulations, with scematics provided by their employer...

"It is not luck that has made us what we are. It is training, skill, and preparation that has allowed us to operate with such efficency."

With that said, the assassin leader left the room, filing into a smaller staging area with the rest of his team, minus the marksman on the roof.

They proceeded to systematically clear the projected floor of security personnel & witnesses before eliminating their target. The first run was poor, to say the least. Two men where lost to secuirty guards. The third was nothing short of flawless, with their target riddled with bullet-holes sitting in a fine leather chair...

'Perfect...'

Kel thought, leaving the holo-projector area. The floor of the area moved much like that of a treadmill, giving the illusion of moving while not actually going anywhere. This saved on space limitations, as particular corridors & offices could be rendered as needed, with an endless amount of space...

"Havkis, show Mr. Ocelot to his quarters... We begin again in the morning. I suggest you sleep well, you will need it."

Kelstar himself retired to his apartment, as did the rest of the team. The rooftop marksman was relieved by a second... One slept while the other watched, switching midway through the night...