NationStates Jolt Archive

European Commision Headquarters, Brussels

Along the Rue de la Loi/Wetsraat in what people refer to as "The European District" sits the Berlaymont Building, a 13 floored, star shaped building with four wings jutting out from the central hub. Headquarters for the executive branch of the European Union. Here, important trade deals are made, laws proposed, upholding treaties, as well as numerous other governmental services for the EU. The EU, since its' creation has become a major world economic powerhouse with a combined economy almost equal to that of the US.

The day's air is still and cloudy, having lightly rained earlier in the morning, moisture still lingered in the air. Three black BMW's lined the round about outside of the building. The drivers waited patiently inside. officals criss-crossed the open plaza, scurrying off to important meetings, chatting with passerbys, and waiting to go home. It was always busy.

"He should be done by now" said Yuir Petrov as he sat in the back of one of the BMW's. He slid the cuff of his shirt back over his Rolex and began tapping his finger against the leather arm rest. After a few more minutes he looked out of the tinted windows and saw the squared frame of a man approaching. Petrov darted out of the vehicle, composed himself, and approached the man.

"How did the meeting go, sir?" Petrov asked, opening the door for the man. The man had a powerful frame, square shoulders, a neat trimmed beard and short hair. His dull gray eyes still had a unique sharpness to them, underlining the possibility that there is more than what your first impression may be.

"The committee tried to wrangle me up and force me to trip over my own words. Of course, they were sadly inept at doing such" the man said as he sat into the car, Petrov closed the door and entered his side. The line of cars then sleaked out of the round about and onto the Rue.

"Did they come to a conclusion?" Petrov asked, looking out the window, seemingly nervous.

"No, they had no proof or substantial evidence supporting their claims" the man replied, cracking his neck loudly. "All they had was a nervous Russian Trade Union's claim." he then smirked.

"What of Stelski, will he continue to pursue it?"

"I made it very clear to him to not pursue it further. He's probably going to have to ice his hand after the handshake I gave him." the man said, looking at his own hand, "You can tell alot by a man by the handshake he offers. Stelski's was limp and weak. He's not a strong man in the physical sense and mentally as well."

"There will be a follow up report regardless, even if Stelski doesn't want one. The other Unionists will want to see you run out of Russia." Petrov reported, "i already got a call from the Union's lawyers wanting to take this to court."

"What?!" the man pounded his fist against the leather seet, his neck became red with anger. "I am Dimitri Zemsky! I could easily crush them!" Zemsky made a motion with his hand, closing it into a fist. Petrov watched the fist nervously.

Sign-Up/OOC Thread: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=548341

OOC: remember, each character is on their own seperate story arc in the beginning, this is just an introduction.

Andrei Stelski stepped out of the stuffy Commission Building, his right hand throbbing. he cussed under his breath and made his way across the plaza, weaving in and out of the crowds of workers and officals. Stelski was a tall, thin man with salt and pepper hair with gentle blue eyes. He always fancied himself as a good man, trying to do good for the workers and farmers of the United Worker's Union, one of the premier trade unions in Russia. As a representative of the union to the EU, his primary responsibility was to be the voice of the very worker's and farmers that he professed to represent, ensuring that their concerns became his concerns and became the EU's concerns.

Today was a personal defeat for him and a political defeat for the UWU. The chairmen and representatives of the UWU were feeling threatened by Dimitri Zemsky, President of Zemsky Industries. Zemsky Industries was originally a Kulikovian based company but when the Soviet Union collapsed, the business moved to the newly opened market of an economically weak Russia. Zemsky's father was the one who made this move and the founder. Zemsky Industries dabbled in numerous markets, heavy arms manufacturing, military contracts, experimental technologies, and other sciences. Many described Dimitri as a control freak, a modern day conqourer of economics, not lands and people. As the company came to fruition and established itself, the company began to expand, leaving out the trade unions. This angered the hard working population not employed by Zemsky. Today, he had to appear before a special committee on economic monopolies. The UWU brought all their guns to bear but somehow managed to not score a direct hit and Zemsky skillfully manuveured and elluded their attacks and emerged unscathed.

Demoralized but undaunted, Stelski admitted defeat and decided to step back and reevaluate his position. He grously underestimated Zemsky who remained calm and in control during the testimonies and examinations. The profile sheet and research on Zemsky yeilded little in an advantage when this day arrived. His team was embarrassed.

"Mr.Stelski, who do you do?" asked a gentleman in a sharp suit, English accent, and slicked back black hair.

"I've seen better days" he seemed crossed, "Who are you?"

"I'm Matthew Frost, from the EU's Special Economic Inquiry Commission. I have been assigned to assist on behalf of the UWU." his smile was wide and friendly enough and offered a hand. Stelski still felt the stinf of Zemsky's ironclad grip and politely declined, citing he recently sneezed into his hand.

"Did the council from the UWU ask for assistance?"

''Yes, as I'm sure you know, they are very disatisfied with today's verdict by the committee. So, a special inquiry is being conducted on behalf of the UWU and several other organizations, including the EU who feel that Zemsky Industries...arenn't being entirely honest in their business conduct." Frost began walking, talking quickly, obviously a man with precious little time.

''Excellent...Uh, how much experience do you have. If you don;t mind me asking" Stelski struggled to keep up.

"I've been an investigator for the inquiry for over five years with a previous ten years in INTERPOL" Frost smirked and looked at Stelski, "You can rest assured that I know what I am doing. every inquiry is like a criminal investigation and I will treat it as such and with upmost dilligency." Frost seemed quite confident and the air of confidance that surrounded him assured Stelki's judgemental mind that Frost was the right man for the job. They continued to discuss the current situation for over a half hour before Frost waved him goodbye, stating that he would 'Get to the bottom of Zemsky's mind".

The night air in Boston, Massachusets was almost always cold, a fact that annoyed him to a degree since he hated the cold with an almost primal fervor, but he was warm enough wrapped in Underarmor, his usual black clothing, and hidden under a large burlap sheet. His target, a rival to the guy who'd hired him, stood nearly a mile away on a street corner, doing what he was usually doing this time of night, which was dealing various flavors of illegal drugs, not that the man under the sheet cared about the 'what' or the 'how' of things. He was usually concerned with the end result, the 'shot' as it were. It had to be brilliant in its execution as well as terminally effective.

Normally Bullet didn't take these kinds of jobs, but his child support was due soon and he had to make a few extra dollars some how. His son had to eat, and he had to buy more components for weapons and ammunition. The wind had died down from the previous howling gale it had been, giving him the opportunity he needed to take his shot. His target had also completed a deal recently, and he'd gone back to standing on the corner, making himself an excellent stationary target. Bullet slowly worked the bolt on the custom-built rifle back slowly, selecting a single .300 Winchester Magnum in a 180 grain steel jacketed loading, and carefully slid it into the chamber, closing the bolt behind it. While a .308 would have done the job, he wanted the extra speed the WinMag provided to compensate for the drastic shifts in windage he was expecting. The rifle itself was built on a McMillan A5 stock, outfitted with a VersaPod and built around a pre-1964 Winchester Model 70 action which he felt was just that much better than the Remington 700 action the military and most police forces preferred. The scope was Leupold in a 10x24 magnification, a little underpowered for one-mile shots, but he knew the compensation well.

Slowly he eased his right eye into position, far back enough from the scope to avoid knocking himself out when he fired the powerful rifle. The crosshairs were placed at the very top of his target's head, which would produce a lethal upper-nasal cavity hit and leave a crater where the face used to be...

Exhale and squeeze...

The trigger broke like a glass rod at the even 2.5 pounds he'd tweaked it for, almost surprising him when the weapon went off, the desired effect when taking that sort of distance shot. The round did exactly what it was supposed to do. It impacted the target slightly above the right eye and a little to the left, blowing the top part of the drug dealer's head off in spectacular fashion. Bullet watched through the scope, making sure he didn't have to fire again before slowly moving off of the office building roof he was using as his nest for the night. Moving in a crouch he carefully made his way to the fire escape and down into the alley below where he had a car waiting, a black Toyota Corolla that looked stock to the naked eye, but the engine was anything but. The rifle went into the trunk and he went into the driver's seat. Dressed in black tactical pants and a black hooded sweat shirt, he looked like little more than a hoodlum, and the three rings in his left eyebrow and the extensive tattoos he'd collected over the years enhanced that image.

There was a Nighthawk Customs T3 M1911 holstered on both thighs in thigh rigs, and a MercWorx Sniper fighting knife at the small of his back for wet work at point-blank. He hadn't needed them in a long time, but they were there when he needed them. His employer was meeting him across town with payment, the shooting would be on the police radio in a few seconds anyway, and that was proof enough. Fifteen minutes later he was at the meeting point, a poorly lit basketball court in an equally poorly lit part of town...

"Excellent work, man. That bastard had no idea what hit his dumb ass, and the pigs are chasing their tails like usual. Here's your..."

The rival dealer was about to toss him a duffel bag filled with small bills when a round took the man in the center of the face, spattering the area with gray and red. Bullet was already diving into the shadows with both of his pistols drawn, dashing off towards the most likely direction the shot would have come from, a nearby apartment building. As he neared the entrance, a man in black came out the door holding a rifle in one hand. Bullet brought both of his .45's to bear, but the man simply raised a hand and something launched Bullet backwards into a chain-link fence fifteen feet away as the man in black took off running. There was no catching him, but he did get a good look at his face. When he'd worked with the Secret Service on a job a few years ago he'd been working with a creepy bastard they kept calling 'Agent Zero', and that had to have been him but he had no idea what had thrown him backwards so damn far...

The caravan of cars lurched through Brussel's Airport security without so much as flashing any ID or even slowing down. Zemsky had won his victory but knew full well that the issue would not die. The UWU remained undaunted in their resolve to run Zemsky out of Russia. Of course, Zemsky, even when he assumed the mantle as head of the company, prepared for such foes. The company provided thousands of jobs, helping to stimulate the job market in Russia and owned several other companies and affiliates across the globe. A great percentage of their contracts go to the Russian Military and other organizations.

So, armed with these facts, Zemsky easily bypassed the unions and other activists. Not to mention to numerous, incentives he gives to politicians and other officals to make sure the light stays off of him. Zemsky never enjoyed being in the spotlight or have any attention brought to him. He preferred to work behind the scenes. The Board, however; decided that it was time to bring a public face to Zemsky Industries and it became so.

"What's next?" Petrov inquired as they stepped out of the car and onto the tarmack of the runway, next to a private hangar. A private jet sat fueled and ready for take off.

"I'm going to go back home and have a glass of cognac." Zemsky decided as he ascended the stairs to the plane and greeted the pilot.

"The follow up inquiry is going to pick and prod everything, searching for any reason to bring charges against The Company" Petrov seemed worried, far more than Zemsky who casually sat down and leaned back in the plush captain's chair.

"I am not concerned, they will find nothing." the confidence of his voice was something that everyone who worked with him got used to. No matter what setback befell the company, Zemsky remained his steely reserve and promised to plot ahead. "Don't concern yourself with these things, Petrov." and with that, he closed his eyes as the plane taxied.

Bogota, Colombia

The fan hummed above, continuously without relenting. It was a machine, built for a sole purpose and nothing else. That was what it did, that's all it would ever do until the day it finally broke. The room was dark and still. It was early in the morning. Despite this, the humidity still clung to the lungs, and in a few hours, it would suffocate and drown you in humidity. The noise of the streets could be heard, horns beeping, music playing in the room next door, and shouting from the vendors. Suddenly, an alarm went off, not an alarm clock but something else.

A delicate hand hovered over a small black PDA which sat on the nightstand, next to a sleak eye patch. The hand next moved over to the eye patch and the frame of a woman sat up from under the silk sheets. She brushed back the bangs of jet black hair and placed the eye patch over her left eye and brought the hair forward again. The beeper continued to go off, radiating throughout the room. It activated and a small screen turned on, the outline of a figure appeared, the face obscured by darkness.

"Agent Scarlet, are you awake?" the man asked.

"Yes Chief, though I wish I was still asleep" the last word lingered for a moment.

"Well, you'll get some well deserved rest later, right now, however; unforseen circumstances have accelerated your mission" Chief replied, his voice was deep and percise. "It seems that Santiago has come out of hiding and is in the city."

"Really?" Scarlet seemed more interested and stood up from the bed. She was rather tall and toned for being a woman, a striking figure and face. "Where is he heading?"

"The Mayor, Antonio Vargas, is holdign a party at his house int he classy part of town tonight. It's the perfect opportunity for you to kill two birds with one stone." Chief said.

"The second little birdie being the mayor? Why?" Scarlet asked as she examined herself in the mirror, one blue eye stared back at her.

"He's involved with Santiago in several ways. It's beacuse of him that the drugs can make it through the airport and to the distributors overseas."

"Alright, I'll make my way into the party and take care of business." Scarlet replied, turning off the PDA before Chief could get in the last word.

Zurich

Tory had only been in town a few days, but it was long enough to gather all the information she would need. This was going to be a tricky job, but one well worth the payoff. Now at 2 in the morning she was scaling the side of a damp, cinder gray building. Her timing was crucial to avoid the security cameras both at street level and at the corners of the roof. Thankfully the embassies were not as well monitored as the banks, and the cameras were mostly stationary. Her contact waited on the roof. While he never said it directly, she was convinced he was some sort of intelligence operative. His accent was American, but that meant very little these days. It was amazing what one could be groomed for.

Her outfit this evening was solid black with a balaclava to disguise her face, projecting a ninja-esque flavor to the scene. An ace bandage bound her chest tightly, while extra padding broadened her shoulders. She needed to present a male figure in the event her counter surveillance measures were unsuccessful. Padding in her shoes added another inch to her height. She slipped onto the roof quietly, unseen by the waiting operative until she was virtually on top of him. He didn't speak, but handed over a small piece of paper containing 4 numbered accounts, which she deftly accepted before vanishing into the moonless night once more.

Getting to the bank was more of a challenge than the embassy. She had to cross the rooftops to get there.. the street was too risky. Having observed the bank in daylight, she knew that a rooftop entrance was not feasible. There was no way to get to the security cameras undetected. She had to settle for a window on one of the higher floors. This was the risky part. She had to climb down from the roof of an adjacent building to a ledge about two thirds up to avoid the bank's rooftop cameras. She then had to jump for the bank and pray she could catch a ledge before plummeting to a rather unpleasant and embarrassing death. Miraculously, she had judged the distance correctly. The ledge itself had a lip about three inches wide she had not been aware of. The lip made it easier for her to catch without slipping, and hoist herself up onto the ledge. The actual entry was a cakewalk. This high off the ground, the windows were not barred. Cautiously, she walked along the thin ledge until she found what she was looking for. Someone had left the window cracked in the men's toilet. Soundlessly she slipped inside.

The operative had provided her with schematics to the building, which she had committed to memory. She was able to navigate the hallways and an elevator shaft before winding up in a comm closet. This particular closet housed one of the building's main hubs. Closing herself inside, she removed a small electronic device and plugged it into the hub. The device was a delicious little bundle of malicious code she had picked up from a hacker friend in Beijing. It would appear to drop the bank's core system, no doubt sending their IT department into a panic. However in the background, it attacked the 4 accounts the operative had given her, withdrawing a full quarter of the money contained in each and freezing the remaining assets - as if the bank's automated security had kicked in. The "freeze" was really a script which would allow her remote access if she so desired, so long as it remained undiscovered. Remote access though a terminal registered to the operative - a small piece of the plan she had neglected to mention. She also failed to inform him that his 20% cut of the total would be directly transferred from the hacked accounts to one he had provided her. The remaining bounced from account to account, creating an auditing nightmare, until it finally settled her own numbered account in the Cayman Islands.

The code executed in no less than thirty seconds - plenty of time for security to swarm the building if they were on point. It was time to go. She unplugged the device and pocketed it as she left the comm room. Her primary egress route took her out the same way she had entered. She had only encountered two guards on the way out, and both were dispatched swiftly by her small curved knife. Holding her breath, she made the leap again, this time catching not a ledge but fire escape railing. Favoring cover over a speedy departure, she ducked inside an open hallway window. Tory wasn't sure if she'd been spotted, no doubt there were cameras she hadn't seen, but if she had done everything right, the authorities should be looking for a male.

While swiftly crossing the building to escape another way, she replayed the job in her mind, looking for anything she might have missed. Tory wondered briefly who the accounts might belong to. Probably drug dealers, or shady international corporations. Maybe even a dictator or two. Those seemed likely intelligence targets. One part of her almost wished a camera had gotten a glimpse of her. It would seal the operative's fate when the authorities traced the transfers to him. Once again, the Phantom left no real trace.

"And you are confident he did not escape?"
"Yes Sir."
"Very well. You are dismissed."
The thug in a suit nodded and strode out the door. Maxis Donver sighed to himself as he leaned back in his red leather chair. His office was dingy, shadowy and moldy. Hardly the kind of place one would expect a crime boss to be, more like a drug dealer or hitman's den. But it was out of the way, located on the eighth floor of a crumbling apartment building in the middle of New York's mean streets. Even the cops avoided coming down here. Loan sharks, hitmen, hookers, vandels, thugs, guns-for-hire, assassins, drug dealers, deadbeats: All sorts of scum. Some slimey than others. Donver ran a criminal empire with bases in Hong Kong, Toyko, New York, Paris, London, Los Angelous, Mexico City, all over the place. His front business, a puppet, was IASM Industries, Incorperated Advancment in Social Medicine. They dealed in three major things: A kind of anti witness protection program, safehouses for those on the run, and smuggling. Smuggling brought in most of the cash, but many payed well for other services on the side. Unknown to him, Donver had made some very high up people very angry. So they called for his death and the destruction of his illegal empire. Starting with this.
Docks...
He dug himself out slowly, carefully, fearful of sinking lower anymore than he already was. The ship was slowly filling with water, and the fact that he could not swim didn't help things. An assortment of rubble pinned him to the ship's side, and he removed it with all the careful percision of a doctor operating surgery on a patient. Finally he was free, but the water was up to his knees. Quickly he made for the exit. On the docks the last car, a rusting squat black thing, sat, engine ideling, watching the small cargo hauler sink to the bottom. Kartosh could just barely make out two men sitting in the front. He lept from the deck to the dock, rolling into the shadow of a nearby tanker, watching the car. It didn't move. Kartosh slipped from shadow to shadow, heavy clothing damp against him. He was completly covered, not an inch of bare skin shown anywhere, even his face. The car rumbled and began to back out, crunching gravel under it's tires. Kartosh ran and climbed into the slow moving car's truck, shutting it behind him just enough to shield him but not enough to lock him in. The two thugs in the car didn't seem to notice the change in weight, and they roared off. Kartosh hated getting his hands dirty like this, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

Boris finds Vladimir staring at the Winter Palace across the Neva. The man was half Boris's age and weighed 20 kilograms less than him. Still as he approached him Boris felt a ball of ice in his chest that reminded him that he was terrified of Vladimir.addressing him as Lord Bobarov Boris tells him that the attack on the Tambov was a success. Vladimir nodes never looking away from the Palace across the water. Continuing Boris informs him: We lost 14 of our own but we still managed to kill about 4 dozen of the bastards." Waiting respectfully for a reply Boris knows the number is inflated by the bystanders that got in the way but is afraid of what would happen if he disappointed Vladimir.

Standing along the Neva Boris recalls that from the beginning the attack went well. Over 50 of the Oprichniki had gathered and surrounded a neighborhood that it was known many of the TamTambov gang lived. Armed with ak-47's and SR-2M's Boris had led the assault. About 4 in the morning he sent his troops in to attack. Everything had gone perfectly. By the time the Tambov knew what was happening the Oprichniki had cleared the first apartment and were working there way though the second. Vladimir's orders had been clear. "Kill everything". And they did. Floor by floor, room by room. They left no one alive. Boris still wasn't sure whether vladimir was behind the riots in the subburbs that had occupied most of the police, but he new even the ST. Petersburg police couldn't be bribed to look the other way from this wholesale slaughter. Once the riots were put down he new there would be a crack down. Interrupting his thought Vladimir asks him if there was anything else. Boris quietly replies "No my lord." realizing it was a dismissal Boris backs up 4 steps before turning around and walking back down the street to where he parked.

Feeling the brisk wind on the back of his neck Vladimir was thinking though what needed to be done next. He knew the police would be busy for a little while longer at least with the riots, then they'd be looking for someone to crucify. Then with a few well placed eye witnesses who would say that it was a faction of the Tambov that had been driving for power. What ever elements of the Tambov that survived the crack down would be hard pressed to face his Oprichniki. The bigger problem was funds. With the weapons the Oprichniki had needed and the bribes it would take to have the police look where he said he'd be drained. Even with market opening that would be left by the Tambov he needed new avenues to support his plans.

Darkness...that's all he felt, that's all he saw. It was a hazy darkness, nausiating to the senses. The dreamscape was one which he knew all too well, a reoccurring dream that guided him. Before him hovered Earth, a precious blue gem in a sea of deadness. A fragile orb that hovered in the heavens, so delicate but so grand. It began to wither like a tree, devoid of water. The seas dried up, the green turned to a dead brown. He walked closer and closer, hand outstretched, attempting to halt this calamity. Suddenly, and explosion emminated from the orb, shattering it to pieces, flying across the Universe...

Zemsky shot up in his seat, breathing heavily, his broad chest rising and falling in paniced symphony. He rubbed his eyes and looked around him, he was not dead, the Earth had not exploded. Each time this dream came to him, it fueled him, drove him to do the things he does. The plane was still in the air, now over Germany.

"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you but..." Petrov trailed off as he sat across from Zemsky, glasses folded and a concerned look on his face.

"What is it?" Zemsky asked, readjusting his eye sight.

"It seems as though there's a situation that you need to be made aware of. I was just notified about ten minutes ago." Petrov fumbled through a notepad that he always carried. "It seems that a bank in Zurich was robbed just an hour ago. A thief broke in and used some electronic devices to tap into several accounts, taking a large sum from each and freezing the rest...one of those accounts belongs to the company..." Petrov closed the notepad and felt uneasy.

"What?!" Zemsky exploded with furious anger. He threw a glass of liquor across the cabin and it shattered into numerous pieces, "How much?" he demanded.

Petrov retracted from the fetile position in his chair and nervously read off, "An estimated 50 million Euros stolen and 150 million Euros are currently frozen..."

"Dammit! Are they almost done unfreezing the amount?!" Zemsky asked.

"No, the IT's at the bank are working on it-"

"Send our own team, I want that account unfrozen as quickly as possible" Zemsky pumped his fist against the arm rest several times, trying to contain the caged beast within that clawed its' way to the surface. "I want those responsible dead!!"

OOC: ANyone able to tie this in with their character?

Houston, Texas

James had never liked his last name, Pamison, it sounded strange and foreign to him. Of course, he was strange and foreign so I suppose it fit him well. He still didn't like his ties to his life before the radiation and the last name was one of them. So were his first and second names, James and Henry, but they could be anyone's names. Henry was a strange name for an Uir boy, considering the structure of Uir but his parents were proud of their British heritage and James would be accepted by the other Uir.

The move to Houston had been a swift one. He told all those who he thought would care that he was going away forever. He thought no one would care so instead he left a note to his parents. He took the 1000 arjets or so he had earned while working as a uranium miner and left. The exchange rate was good and it got him the first month's rent in a single bedroom, single bathroom run down apartment.

He spent the rest on telephone and television service and looking around town for anyone who might need his services. He had met one guy, apparently wanted to make his suicide look like an accident. It paid well so Henry, as he now asked his associates who saw him in human form to call him, turned into a titanium statue. Simply falling onto his employer his job was finished.

He did a strange thing on the day back and retrieved a lost kitten. He turned into platinum and attracted the cat's attention. The cat came down and Chemical handed it to the little girl. When she asked what to call him he just said, "Call me Chemical." A strange name he had thought of on the spot before he ran to his crappy apartment of a home.

OOC: Really, really messed up, I had writer's block and this is what came of it.

Black Island, Questo Bay, QMC Territories

Amedia paused again to look at her watch. It was just about sunrise and she had been sitting here waiting for her ride for at least the last hour. A young man in shorts and a long sleved shirt walked into the coffee shop.
The waitress waved as the young man, no more like a tall gangly boy walked up to the counter. She produced a small cup of coffee and a stack of newspapers on the counter. “Tanks Tam…” the waitress nodded her head towards Amedia.
“Huh, oh damn…” The young man winced at remembering. “Hey your Anita right?”
Anita blinked slightly, there she was in a dark suit and silk blouce. She was obviously far off the mark. “No it is Amedia Clauton actually, are you here to take me to Starkweather Island.”

“Yeah, but were headed to Black Island…”

“I am here to interview with Jas Starkweather…”

“Yup, Doc Q lives on Black Island…”

“Oh, yes then I guess I am your passenger…”

Amedia Clauton found herself in a twin hulled speed boat crossing the waters of the bay at fast clip. Her blond hair was tossed by the wind, but the morning air and the smell of the sea was quite invigorating.

"So how long have you worked for the Starkweathers?"

"I've worked for Doc Q for about three years now, general errand boy"
She nodded as though it ment something. "So why doesn't James Starkweather live there?" She pointed to the large stone edifice that seemed to dominate the bay, a multi-story french chatue on a bit of rock looking down at the sea and all who were on it."

Jacob shook his head, "Doc and them fell out when he left QMC to found his own firm, say fourteen years back or so. Bought Black Island out from under their noses seven years ago just to tweek them a bit."

"Oh, you mean SATER isn't part of the Starkweather Empire?"

"No, he founded SATER himself using some funds his grandmother gave him, today he's a billionare with his own private island." Jacob pointed to the longer, lower island they were headed to. The sun was bouncing off the white stone building that stood along the top of the ridge.

"Which one is the main house?" All of the buildings were low, one or two stories at most, it looked more like a farm complex than the island getaway of a billionare scion of one of the major families of the QMC.

"The big low one with the tower. Doc built a bath on one side of the tower so he only has to look at the old homestead when he's taking a piss."

Amedia blinked at that comment and dropped the conversation. A few moments later they were pulling up to a dock. A man in a butler's uniform stood at the end.
"Miss Clanton? My name is Sims, please follow me..."

*************
“Doctor Black, you must understand that….” General Mistimo was cut off by the black figure on the other side of the screen. This video conference was already not going well.

No you understand…we agreed for the final payment to be in an escrow account, one which I allowed you to maintain control of. Now you are telling me that said escrow account has been frozen by the bank, and looted apparently.

“Yes…” The general began to explain, for being a man of science TBC was dense “His Supreme…”

His supreme molester had better damn well find me the money he owes me….or should I say you should find me my money

Mistimo eyes narrowed at the implication of the statement and went back to standard government demands
“We are a poor nation, we hoped that with this unfortunate act that you would be willing to give us time to catch the culprits and regain the money. We need to defend ourselves against a dangerous world.”

Considering they sacked a Swiss bank in the first place makes me think that is unlikely any of your corrupt police could even catch a cold from them. As for defending yourself, there is very little that can defend against a hover armored personel carrier with a 50mm chain gun capaible of firing depleted uranium shells within your region. The price was 200 Euros, not 100. And the stolen funds are your problem not mine.

“So you refuse to let us have the time, or to give us the technology to defend ourselves…His Supreme Greatness will have to consider the appropriate response for such a criminal action.” The general decided to threaten his way with this irate contractor, usually mining engineers would quickly fall into line when the idea of sitting in a jungle cell came into view.

Oh, your people will be seeing their weapon of greatness. After all, those slaves of yours had to mine out a small hill in your backcountry to get that many gemstones. The only question is if you’re going to live long enough to see it make you the Supreme Overlord.

The General paled slightly, “I do not know what you are…”

Don’t be coy with me General Mistimo, your planning a coup. A hover APC would be quite effective allowing you to hit the Supreme Guard from across the river.

“It is in defense of the nation that I was placed…” Mistimo was seriously concerned that this shadowy figure had seen into his plans.

You could have gone to far more legitimate firms than me if everything were above board general. I don’t know who was funding your little project, perhaps it was just graft from the gem mines but you need to pay me.

"And if I don’t…"

“I will get paid by your estate if need be. I didn’t get to where I am today to let fidgety customers attempt to back out of deals without penalties.”

Ah, but it is well known that your favorite…adjuster…is dead. One of the last actions…

The screen of the dark figure vanished and the general sat back and chuckled.

“Ah quite so, the dreaded Black Doc is not so dangerous without someone to do his dirty work anymore…” The general considered the situation. Perhaps he didn't really need his partner anymore, either of his partners.

***********
Mr. Black switched to a different screen on his computer. “Mister Clark, I hope you were monitoring that call.”

Clark appeared to be a man in his sixties with a patch over his left eye and deep burn marks across that part of his face.

“Bugger won’t pony up…dink’s I’m dead.” The speech was slurred by the fact that the left side of his mouth was limited in movement.

“Quite, and although I find your personnel management activities quite useful, I need to demonstrate that I can, and will, remove those who cross me from the face of this planet.”

“I’d bloe dat blugger’s heed off meeself…but I’ll find someone to do the job.” His lisp had vanished as he had been speaking.

“Clark, do remember to keep taking that medicine, it is the only way the nerve endings will ever regenerate so you can speak normally. But see who you can dig up…maybe put them on a long term contract if they are any good.”

“Yes sir…”

There was a buzzer sound. The Black doc "I have to put you on hold Clark... Yes Sims?"
Sir, Miss Amedita Clanton is here for her interview
"Thank You Sims, please bring breakfast for two...Clark get it done."

"Yes sir..."

The screen went dead and Jas Crawford rose to go outside onto the porch and greet his guest.

Bogota, Colombia

Scarlet spent most of the day drawing up plans for her upcoming mission. She was momentarily caught off guard with the call from Chief, fast forwarding the operation. This left her offguard but for only the short term. Being able to adapt and overcome was one of the main things that kept her alive throughout numerous operations. Being the only one of her kind, part of an extensive and expensive government program, yielded some benefits. She moved freely throughout the world as she pleased, auntonamous from central command, save the Chief.

Several contacts provided her with an uplink to the floor plans of the Mayor's residence as well as securing a vehicle for escape, as well as several escape routes. Agent Scarlet was meticulous and methodical in her preperation and execution of an operation. A highly skilled agent, and expert in numerous hand to hand combat techniques, a marksman with any weapon, and a master of disquise and counter surveillance and espionage. Also, she had to go shopping for a magnetic dress, one to catch Santiago and Vargas's attention.

"Well Scarlet" she said to no one in particular as she applied some eye shadow to her eye. "You'll be dressed to kill" a smile curled on her ruby lips. After hours of prep work, she was now ready with a forged invintation and credentials. she wore a strapless black dress that accentuated her natural curves. A small scarlet rose was attached to her wrist. she kissed the rose and stepped out of the room, leaving her compact P10-45 pistol, having no way to sneak it in. she flicked her hair back and readjusted the eye patch, the hair fell over it, concealing it.

The Mayor's Residence was an upscale villa, overlooking the capital city. Tall, iron gates surrounded the villa with numerous palm trees and other shrubs lined the inside. A round about in front of the main entrance had an elegant fountain that spouted wate out. Guards in black suits scowered the area, alert, and ready for anything to happen. each guest was searched at the main entrance and went through a metal detector in the lobby area. It was a bustling party already as lines of limos and other fancy vehicles lined the long driveway, and more people continued to stream in. Scarlet blended into the crowd, but still drew glances and long stares from male admirers. She offered a flirtacious look to one strapping man and disappeared into the crowd again. She passed easily through the metal detector and winked at the guard who blushed slightly.

Inside the main hall, duel staircases ascended each side with an elegant chandaller hanging overhead, gleaming brightly. Scarlet snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a delicate sip, surveying the scene. People dressed in expensive clothes, talking business and pleasure. She mingled with several people until she saw the man from outside. He wasn't Colombian or a South American. The man was tall, black hair with long sideburns, dressed well in a tuxedo, broad shoulders and a white smile. Why not have some fun while I wait for my guests to arrive.

"All these people around yet you stand alone?" the man asked, coming up from behind, standing next to her, surveying the scene in front of them. He took a cool sip of a drink.

"Not anymore, it would seem" Scarlet replied, taking a sip of champagne.

"No, I guess not" the man cleared his throat, preparing for his next choice of words, "What brings you to the Mayor's party?"

"A car brought me, what a silly question" she enjoyed toying with men, there was a certain thrill to matching wits with them that excited her in some way.

The young man laughed at himself, his ehad tilting to the floor, "I walked right into that one"

"Let me rephrase the question for you: What is your reason for being here?" she asked, finally making eye contact with the man, smiling quaintly.

"I'm a journalist for CNN, working as an area specific journalist." he replied, "My name is Dan Sheperd, pleasure to meet you-" he left himself hanging for a reply from this mysterious woman.

"Scarlet...my name for this evening and for your sake is Scarlet" she replied, shaking his hand, giving him a stromg grip, one which he wasn't prepared for and winced at her strength.

"Well, Scarlet...it's a pleasure to meet you, I should probably ice my hand now" Sheperd laughed jokingly.

"You don't know if it's a pleasure...yet" Scarlet replied, smiling playfully at Sheperd who smirked back...

"Well, Miss Scarlet, I'm hoping it will be a pleasure" Sheperd offered a witty retort which met with a positive reaction from Scarlet who ran a finger across the rim of her glass which neared empty, drinking while on the job never sat well with her, but it was sometimes needed to keep up apperance. Luckily, her tolerance was exceptionally high, as was her tolerance for many things.

"So, Mr.Sheperd, how does working here in Colombia settle with you?" scarlet asked, finishing off the glass and motioning for a waiter to remove it from her pocession.

"I hate it. The country's dangerous, corrupt, and a backwater post for someone like me." Sheperd replied, "Now, I don't mean to sound boastful, it's a long story of sorts."

"I hope it's a short narrative" Scarlet played, still keeping an eye out for her guests.

'What happened was I pissed off the big wigs at CNN for my stories which weren't the kind they wanted to show the world." he took a gulp from his glass, "I covered the Henderson Act and the reprocussions that followed. You see-the world needed heros in the past and we still need them today. I was very passionate in my criticism of the law which outlawed the very people who made our world safe. It's a shame that they were treated like that. Now, they're all gone and the world is getting worse. The big wigs didn;t want to hear any of that so...they reassigned me to this shit hole." Sheperd seathed a little.

"Were your stories honest?" Scarlet seemed interested enough to ask a question.

''Of course, perhaps too honest for the public and the CNN heads to handle. I wanted to get the full story, not some biased, scewed perception."

"Sometimes, brutality isn't always bad. Being brutally honest is sometimes best. The people need to know the truth, Dan" she added a hint of admiration in her tone.

"There's no shortage of brutality in this country" Sheperd pointed above the crowd, "Criminals like that man over there can walk freely without fear of legal action here." He pointed to none other than Fernando Santiago who appeared at the balcony, flanked by fake-breasted models.

"Excuse me, Dan" Scarlet reluctantly said and disappeared without another word. Sheperd stood alone, scratching his head.

Kartosh felt the car stop and heard the doors open. The drive had been short, though bumpy. He winced and rubbed his aching joints as he opened the trunk and clamored out. The two who had been in the car had already entered the building and were out of sight. Kartosh slipped though the door, picking the lock. Inside it was very dark, but not so much that he couldn't tell it was dirty. Boxes were piled everywhere. Looks like the boss is moving out. Kartosh stealthily climbed the stairs and peeked around the corner. Two thugs, one armed with a shotgun, the other with a semiautomatic rifle, stood side by side in front of a creaking wooden door. Ah. Reaching into the folds of his clothing, Kartosh withdrew a silenced pistol. A Browning 9 millimeter Hi-Power, the gun was a single-action, 9 mm semi-automatic pistol. It had a 13-round magazine capacity, the MK1 version. Modified, of course, to fit Kartosh's standereds and needs, and the grip was worn, showing extensive use. Poking the gun around the corner, he fired two quick, quiet shots. The place was not totally silent (it was NY, after all) so the coughing noise was covered as both men dropped to the floor, neat holes in their respective heads. Kartosh walked down the hall, stepped past them, and opened the door beyond.
OOC: Thank you Wiki! :p
Anyone wanna jump in here or something?

Tora cursed in four different languages - three of them completely unknown on this planet - as she watched her intended mark get blown away before she could be the one to do it. But that didn't keep her from looting the body. The cash she took, and quick. The drugs, she curled a lip at, and at the primitive timepiece they called 'watches' though she didn't understand why, it had no sensors to observe in any fashion. Nor did she take the bling, too hard to move for one such as she.

"Time to flit" the semi smart A.I. that lived in the bracer she wore wrapped around her left forearm muttered.

The L.E.O.s - or 'other white meat' as they were called in this back- ass planet would be here soon, and she wished no Imperial Entanglements, though they scarcely seemed competent to catch even the most dubiously intellegent of criminals. The fur-kit stirred in the pocket it prefered to sleep in and that stirred her to even swifter action as she scurried briskly away from the scene of the crime. The scurry becam a ground eating lope, then, in the darker parts of the city, a dead out run, that Tora reveled in. As always she wondered why she didn't just run until she dropped, unable to continue further and just let it all go, find herself falling free of the strangeness that was her existance.

The finely made black leather duster, an Abbey Shot original -that had been intended to be barely ankle length on a taller person- nearly touched the gtround though she was in two inch heels. The crimson silk lineing made a nicely dramatic color contrast Tora thought as the coat flared around her in the cold and miserably damp Boston alleyway. But they'd be home soon enough, though no place was truly home. She'd taken the coat as spoils of survival off of a dead would be rapist several weeks ago and was glad she had. She didn't like this cold city, but she was caught here until her contact with the not-necessarily-legitimate-but-would-pass-as-such passport came through. Some place warm would be nicer, and she had the funds to do it.

Her hunting had been good of late.

The sharp, and to her distinctive, smell of blood, and the strange smell of the local slug thrower's propellant slowed her steps...A equally, distinctly dead body- it was missing most of it's face- a blood splattered rough cloth bag, a semi conscious man in black entangled in the nearby woven wire fence, had her stopping short. Growling under her breath, she never the less scooped up the bag - it had to have something interesting - she'd learned quickly that, if it brought death out and about, it had to be worth something - and began to do another of her fast exits of the area. She'd need to find a new place to 'toss down' as they so quaintly put it.

Within stood a man clad in a lot of black, bald-headed with a series of rings in his left eyebrow. Tattoos arched up his neck and down his forearms, tribal in design and as black as death. His job in Boston hadn't gone that well, someone had stolen his payment after he'd been launched across the alley, a fact he wasn't happy about. The guy above the guy who'd been about to pay him had contacted him and given him another assignment, in the interest of continued business. Bullet didn't decline, instead digging in the Corolla's trunk and finding something suitable for the assignment, his rifles weren't going to be very useful at close range. His modified Nighthawks were a bit too loud, and he hadn't had the extra funding to purchase those threaded barrel bushings and Advanced Armament Corp. surpressors for them. Instead, he'd brought both the Nighthawk T-3's and a little hushpuppy of his own design. What had started life as a Ruger Mk III target pistol had become a fine example of an assassin's weapon. The barrel had been shortened to two inches and threaded, a top rail screwed to the reciever, and one of Hogue's excellent oversized rubber grips added. The front sight had been replaced with a green fiber-optic, and a small Docter red dot combat optic had been added to the top rail, making shooting it point-and-click simple. The barrel had also been fitted with a .22LR caliber Advanced Armament Corporation surpressor can, and the entire thing sported a nice matte-black ArmorTuff finish.

His target sat slumped at his desk, four .22 Thunderbolt loads lodged in his throat. The faint of snap of a surpressed 9x19mm and the usually following thud of dead body hitting wood floor reached his ears...

"Man, I don't know what you did to get me sent after you, but someone else want's you dead, too..."

Talking to corpses wasn't a habit of his, but he hadn't slept much lately and it was beginning to wear on him. He'd been in New York for about an hour before he found the place, the drive taking him a little less time than usual, and Boston was fairly close to NY. Bullet kicked the corpse out of the chair, seating himself in its place and aiming the customized Ruger at the door after propping his feet up on the desk itself. The Docter optic hung a nice red dot in the center of the doorway, and Bullet waited. There was more than one way to kill a man and make him look like he was done another way. He wasn't about to knowingly steal the kill of another hitman, that wasn't exactly fair. There may not be honor among thieves but there was honor among hired guns, or so he liked to think. The old door creaked open...

"I'm afraid you're a little late, my man. Your boy expired a few minutes ago..."

Bullet, the gun nut that he was, reguarded the man's pistol with a little disdain. While not a bad piece, it could use some work...

"And your Hi-Power's looking a little ragged, homie. She's in need of a tune-up something bad. It needs an extended beavertail, at the very least, but a nice re-crown on the barrel and removal of the magazine-detatch safty would work wonders too. Novak night-sights wouldn't hurt either, make it easier for you to do your thing in dark places where shit like ours usually has to get done..."

There wasn't much malice behind Bullet's blue eyes, just a professional interest in what the competition was carrying, and his words were words of advice spoken man-to-man...

The fast exit wasn't fast enough, however. The man in black appeared in front of her, at the opposite end of the alley she was running down...

"You realize that man has a son he needs to feed? It's not nice to steal anyway..."

There was a rifle slung over his left shoulder, and his clothing was for the most part as dark as the night around the two of them. His hair was a semi-military flat-top, jet black and professional-looking. Agent Zero had dressed himself for a night operation. Black tac-pants and a jacket to match, with a gray shirt beneath that. The boots were military-styled, but brands were difficult to identify in the dim light. It was doubtful that the bolt-action slung on his shoulder was his only weapon, but he didn't have anything else visible to attack with...

"Maybe you should take it back to him, do the right thing... Tora, is it?"

His voice carried a hint of malice beneath it, making each phrase sound threatening enough to raise the hair on the back of her neck. Zero's mind stretched outwards, feeling out hers, looking for signs of identity beyond what she called herself. Oddly, she knew little about Earth, and that made him wonder. Years of government work had entitled him to some useful information, and the exsistance of aliens was one of them. He'd been the cleaner for Roswell, destroying photos and reports, along with the occasional witness as he deemed fit to keep the general public in the dark. It was odd, so many years and he hadn't aged a day since his thirty-fifth birthday, the day he supposedly died slinking around Chernobyl...

"Or not..."

Stillwater made a slight motion with his empty right hand, and there was an immediate and powerful tug on the bag itself...

Tora flinched as the stranger knew her name, but she didn't panick. "No mine, fair stolen!" She protested sharplyas the bag stirred hard in her fist, but she didn't let go, holdingt on with a strength that was greater than one might guess for her size and slender feminine build This was not a man she wanted to go up against. No not a male with a voice like that...but, she wasn't going to yield in either!

"Mind stealer!" She spit the epithet at him with a glare as she felt a ruffling through her thoughts. She knew he wasn't one of the pirates, but he wasn't a L.E.O. either, of that she was more than certain. She forced herselt to think of nothing but astronomical calculations, to try and seal her mind away..but that brought back memories of the earliest days after her decanting and the brutal assaults she had suffered at the hands of the pirates who were happy to have fresh female meat. Tora shuddered and tried to think her way through another jump point calculation.

The fur-kit (http://www.atddm.com/furkit.jpg) stirred and woke, sliding up to the opening of the coat and sticking it's head out to look about. "I have someone small to feed too" Tora said softly, thought she didn't know if that would hold much weight. In some places in the universe it would, but here, who knew.

Within stood a man clad in a lot of black, bald-headed with a series of rings in his left eyebrow. Tattoos arched up his neck and down his forearms, tribal in design and as black as death. His job in Boston hadn't gone that well, someone had stolen his payment after he'd been launched across the alley, a fact he wasn't happy about. The guy above the guy who'd been about to pay him had contacted him and given him another assignment, in the interest of continued business. Bullet didn't decline, instead digging in the Corolla's trunk and finding something suitable for the assignment, his rifles weren't going to be very useful at close range. His modified Nighthawks were a bit too loud, and he hadn't had the extra funding to purchase those threaded barrel bushings and Advanced Armament Corp. surpressors for them. Instead, he'd brought both the Nighthawk T-3's and a little hushpuppy of his own design. What had started life as a Ruger Mk III target pistol had become a fine example of an assassin's weapon. The barrel had been shortened to two inches and threaded, a top rail screwed to the reciever, and one of Hogue's excellent oversized rubber grips added. The front sight had been replaced with a green fiber-optic, and a small Docter red dot combat optic had been added to the top rail, making shooting it point-and-click simple. The barrel had also been fitted with a .22LR caliber Advanced Armament Corporation surpressor can, and the entire thing sported a nice matte-black ArmorTuff finish.

His target sat slumped at his desk, four .22 Thunderbolt loads lodged in his throat. The faint of snap of a surpressed 9x19mm and the usually following thud of dead body hitting wood floor reached his ears...

"Man, I don't know what you did to get me sent after you, but someone else want's you dead, too..."

Talking to corpses wasn't a habit of his, but he hadn't slept much lately and it was beginning to wear on him. He'd been in New York for about an hour before he found the place, the drive taking him a little less time than usual, and Boston was fairly close to NY. Bullet kicked the corpse out of the chair, seating himself in its place and aiming the customized Ruger at the door after propping his feet up on the desk itself. The Docter optic hung a nice red dot in the center of the doorway, and Bullet waited. There was more than one way to kill a man and make him look like he was done another way. He wasn't about to knowingly steal the kill of another hitman, that wasn't exactly fair. There may not be honor among thieves but there was honor among hired guns, or so he liked to think. The old door creaked open...

"I'm afraid you're a little late, my man. Your boy expired a few minutes ago..."

Bullet, the gun nut that he was, reguarded the man's pistol with a little disdain. While not a bad piece, it could use some work...

"And your Hi-Power's looking a little ragged, homie. She's in need of a tune-up something bad. It needs an extended beavertail, at the very least, but a nice re-crown on the barrel and removal of the magazine-detatch safty would work wonders too. Novak night-sights wouldn't hurt either, make it easier for you to do your thing in dark places where shit like ours usually has to get done..."

There wasn't much malice behind Bullet's blue eyes, just a professional interest in what the competition was carrying, and his words were words of advice spoken man-to-man...
Instead of being confronted by a confused-looking crime boss, Kartosh was staring down the barrel of a fine-looking Ruger Mk III with a laser sight. And it was pointed directly at him. Kartosh kept an eye on the man in the chair as he glanced downward. His intended target was most definitly dead. Damn. Beaten to the punch. It wasn't quite unusual for a contractor to pay multiple hitmen for a kill, but usually it was two, or even more, working together, rather than lone wolfs. Kartosh lowered his pistol to point to the floor, keeping it in his right hand. One could not see his features: Black leather boots, cargo pants, a ragged gray shirt, black, light and thing gloves, a black jacket, a belt for ammo and other things around his waist, white gauze wrapped around his entire head, and large, dark glasses, mirroring all they saw. Good thing it was cool in New York. The whole outfit was arranged in such a way that not an inch of bare skin could be seen, while the man opposite him was obviously...punk. Tatoos, multiple peircings, clad in black not, seemingly, as night cover, but style. However, he seemed to know what he was talking about when he mentioned the rather worn and tired Hi-Power. Kartosh outwardly ignored his advice, mentally filing it as something to look into later. His voice was deep and strange-sounding, and one could tell he spoke though a scrambler. "How much were you paid for him?" He gestured with his left hand, the one not holding the gun, at the dead crime boss.

Kash Wison was being driven in his personal limo down time square, black jeep wranglers followed close by, there windows tinted, he was on his way back to his secret base in California, he would first need to be dropped off at the airport.

Bullet lowered his weapon. There was no hostility anymore...

"Enough to get my ass up here, and I'm not exactly cheap. You can, however, put another bullet in his head and say you beat ME here. I get paid either way..."

The hitman rose from his seat, reversing his grip on the Ruger and sliding it into a lower back holster situated below a rather nasty-looking knife...

"As for you, I don't know your rep or how you get paid. Personally, I'd lose the bandages and shit, but that's just me. Do what you want. I've got another assignment to take care of, collecting payment and what not. Take it easy, man. And get that raggedy-ass pistol modded, okay? I hate to see a good piece go to waste..."

Bullet stopped for a moment to twist a black rag over his bald head before exiting the room the way he'd entered, through the back door and out a small window. If it wasn't for his agility he wouldn't have been able to reach it, and would have had to blow a hole in the roof with a cratering charge, but that wasn't exactly subtle. If there had been a window with a line of sight he'd have taken the bastard out from long range like he preferred.

Dropping back down to the street, he entered his Corolla and started to make his way out of town. Back on the desk was a small scrap of paper with a list of mods for the Hi-Power and Bullet's cell phone. He was a much better gunsmith than he was an assassin, after all...

Tora flinched as the stranger knew her name, but she didn't panick. "No mine, fair stolen!" She protested sharplyas the bag stirred hard in her fist, but she didn't let go, holdingt on with a strength that was greater than one might guess for her size and slender feminine build This was not a man she wanted to go up against. No not a male with a voice like that...but, she wasn't going to yield in either!

"Mind stealer!" She spit the epithet at him with a glare as she felt a ruffling through her thoughts. She knew he wasn't one of the pirates, but he wasn't a L.E.O. either, of that she was more than certain. She forced herselt to think of nothing but astronomical calculations, to try and seal her mind away..but that brought back memories of the earliest days after her decanting and the brutal assaults she had suffered at the hands of the pirates who were happy to have fresh female meat. Tora shuddered and tried to think her way through another jump point calculation.

The fur-kit (http://www.atddm.com/furkit.jpg) stirred and woke, sliding up to the opening of the coat and sticking it's head out to look about. "I have someone small to feed too" Tora said softly, thought she didn't know if that would hold much weight. In some places in the universe it would, but here, who knew...

Stillwater laughed softly, an unpleasant sound filled with a mixture of evil and pain...

"Mind-stealer? You've got some balls to call me a thief when you're holding the earnings of an honest hitman... If there is such a thing..."

His hand moved again, the pull on the bag becoming much stronger...

"I'm losing my patience, Tora. Give me the bag or I'll take it from you, and I'm not going to be gentle about it. Your little pet eats a lot less than a two-year-old..."

He was getting a random sequence of numbers and some particularly painful memories. That sort of thing pleased him, at least to a degree...

"If I didn't know how hard the man works to provide for that bastard of his I wouldn't care. I'm offering a nice way out for you, one that doesn't involve getting the life crushed out of you..."

After the hitman was gone Kartosh strode over to the body. Blood pooled on the floor, but, like the guy said...
Kartosh put a second bullet into Maxis Donver's temple, then took a photo with his cell phone. He saved the photo and hit "Send." Moments later a message came back:
Well done. Payment to account (encrypted) en route.

Another message.
TARGET: Kash Wilson
(Photo)
REWARD: 500,000
HIT "1" TO ACCEPT, "2" TO DECLINE

Kartosh hit "1."

LOCATION: TIMES SQUARE, LIMO NUMBER 43588. ESCORTED BY TWO BLACK JEEP WRANGLERS. PROBABLE BODYGUARDS. BOOKED PRIVATE FLIGHT ON JETSTREAM 235 TO CALIFORNIA. JOHN F. KENNEDY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT IS DESTINATION. RETREIVE BANK ACCOUNT CODES AND LOCATION OF CURRENT FACTORIES AND INDUSTRIAL BASES. FATALITIE OPTIONAL

Kartosh nodded to himself. Alright. Pausing only to scoop up the scrap of paper and slip it into his pocket, Kartosh stole the thug's car and roared off into the night. He was soon behind the little convoy, inconspiciously tailing them. The traffic was moderate, but it would be getting thick and heavy soon.

After the hitman was gone Kartosh strode over to the body. Blood pooled on the floor, but, like the guy said...
Kartosh put a second bullet into Maxis Donver's temple, then took a photo with his cell phone. He saved the photo and hit "Send." Moments later a message came back:
Well done. Payment to account (encrypted) en route.

Another message.
TARGET: Kash Wilson
(Photo)
REWARD: 100,000
HIT "1" TO ACCEPT, "2" TO DECLINE

Kartosh hit "1."

LOCATION: TIMES SQUARE, LIMO NUMBER 43588. ESCORTED BY TWO BLACK JEEP WRANGLERS. PROBABLE BODYGUARDS. BOOKED PRIVATE FLIGHT ON JETSTREAM 235 TO CALIFORNIA. JOHN F. KENNEDY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT IS DESTINATION.

Kartosh nodded to himself. Alright. Pausing only to scoop up the scrap of paper and slip it into his pocket, Kartosh stole the thug's car and roared off into the night. He was soon behind the little convoy, inconspiciously tailing them. The traffic was moderate, but it would be getting thick and heavy soon.

The traffic did indeed become heavy as they approached the air port, The driver looked in the mirror but didnt see anything suspicious.

The traffic did indeed become heavy as they approached the air port, The driver looked in the mirror but didnt see anything suspicious.
With the cars slowed to a walking pace, Kartosh had an easy shot. He quickly abadoned his car, causing a traffic jam, and leapt on top of Kash's limo. He fired three shots, point-blank, into the windshield and smashed the rest in by jumping though. The driver threw up his hands to cover his face and Kartosh smoothly knocked him out. Then he drew his Hi-Power and pointed it at Kash. "Remember...me?" He tore the bandages off his face, the glasses clattering to the floor, exposing his face. Sallow from lack of sunlight, two yellow, slitted eyes burned out. Sharp teeth were exposed in a feral grin, and fox ears poked out of the top of his head. Kash should remember Kartosh...Kartosh had tried to kill him before, and failed, resulting in a gruesome experiment which nearly killed Kartosh...but changed him forever.

If I didn't know how hard the man works to provide for that bastard of his I wouldn't care. I'm offering a nice way out for you, one that doesn't involve getting the life crushed out of you..."

She could hear it, hear it clearly- the gloating and pleasure that her emotional pain brought the stranger. If she had been a cat her ears would have been pinned to her head and a growl sounding deep in her throat. The fur-kit wormed it's sinuous way back down into the deep inner pocket, alarmed now.

She held onto the bag, again with stength beyond normal, though her arms were aching now, and the bag extended horizontally away from her towards this new man in black. No, Not going to lose this She thought as the gift of her Novan ancestry slipped the bonds she normally kept on it...

Completely out of nowhere, flames flashed into being about him, and his clothes were beginning to ignite. Tora spun pushing herself to the limits to get away, to get around around a corner, to get mingled admist a crowd... completely and totally 'lost, man'

The flames wouldn't hurt him much if at all, but they would startle, distract and disconcert the man, givng her a few precious minutes....If he'd been...been what...nicer? She wondered as she ran and dodged past others. She wasn't sure if she had the concept down. Vanishingly few had ever been 'nice' to her but she'd seen holocinnes, and here the strange flat-on-a-screen 'movies'...but that was for other people, real people not clones.

With the cars slowed to a walking pace, Kartosh had an easy shot. He quickly abadoned his car, causing a traffic jam, and leapt on top of Kash's limo. He fired three shots, point-blank, into the windshield and smashed the rest in by jumping though. The driver threw up his hands to cover his face and Kartosh smoothly knocked him out. Then he drew his Hi-Power and pointed it at Kash. "Remember...me?" He tore the bandages off his face, the glasses clattering to the floor, exposing his face. Sallow from lack of sunlight, two yellow, slitted eyes burned out. Sharp teeth were exposed in a feral grin, and fox ears poked out of the top of his head. Kash should remember Kartosh...Kartosh had tried to kill him before, and failed, resulting in a gruesome experiment which nearly killed Kartosh...but changed him forever.

The jeeps stopped as armed guards poured out of them, the jeeps roof flew off as 50 cal's were exposed, firing shells into the top of the limo. Kash smiled as bullets wined by " Kartosh....how have you been?"

By the time Victoria had made her escape, sirens wailed in that obnoxious European two-tone oscillation. Well away from the bank, she'd changed into the trendy evening attire she had stashed in advance. At a glance now, there would be no mistaking her gender, and she was free to walk leisurely back to her hotel with the appearance of someone leaving a club or an upscale bar. Although her room was booked under a fake name and a forged set of credentials, she couldn't afford to stay more than another night. There was no guarantee the operative wouldn't talk, but all he had was a codename. She'd been careful to hide her face in their meetings.

Now, settled in for the evening she dragged out a laptop to check the progress of those funds. Her portion was still hopping the globe, it would be another day or two before it could safely deposit in her account. A quick check of two random accounts confirmed progress. She smiled to herself, anticipating a warm vacation for a change. Only one more thing to sate her curiosity. She plugged the device into her laptop to access the "freeze" code. If the patch had applied correctly, she should be able to further manipulate funds. She picked two accounts at random and initiated a transfer between them. A relatively small amount for testing purposes, she designated a transfer of 100,000 Euro from one to the other. Satisfied that the implanted code had worked, she closed the laptop. Time for a quick nap before tomorrow's departure. To celebrate, she fetched a tiny bottle of scotch from the mini bar and toasted whatever fate had aligned on her side.

Scarlet felt an unfamiliar feeling. Emotions got in the way on her job, it's gotten people killed in the past who didn't need to. Sheperd appeared quite interesting, certainly worth talking to again. It would be easy to find him, she can find anyone in the world. The party continued in full swing and she put her game face on as she inched closer and closer to Santiago. Naturally, he was surrounded by broad shouldered, mean faced guards who provided a blanket around Santiago from everyone else. She decided against getting too close, opting to let him come to her.

A baby grand piano sat in the corner of the ballroom and a woman began to play a soft melody, the name escaped Scarlet but it was enjoyable nontheless. As the song progressed, she grasped another glass of champagne and sipped it slowly, her eyes watching Santiago from a close, yet still safe distance. Her hair covered the eye patch which offered some more mystery to her character. After a minute, it finally paid off. A curious glance came her way from Santiago who's brown eyes fixated on Scarlet. This way of bringing the prey to her worked countless other times. Now, it was time for him to come to her and she gacefully departed the ballroom, towards the villa outside, not bothering to see if her prey followed.

Outside, the warm air was still and the lighting was dim along the walkway. Other couples walked up and down and she leaned onto the railing, taking a sip and setting the glass down on the railing.

"Such a beautiful night out, no?" asked a man with a Spanish accent.

"Yes, it certainly is" Scarlet replied, turning her head to look over her shoulder, it worked.

"But not as beautiful as yourself" Santiago smiled, confident in his pick-up lines. He had longer hai, a rough face, but overall not bad looking. Being a drug lord coming out of the jungle infested mountains didn't appear to wear him down that bad.

"Please, you're too flattering" Scarlet faked impressment. She now turned her whole body to him, back against the railing, crossing her arms. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Fernando Santiago" he replied, momentarily set back. Perhaps his pride clouded his judgement into thinking that everyone knew him, apparently not.

"My name is Scarlet" she replied with a coy smile.

"Such as the flower on your wrist" Santiago added, gliding a hand under hers and kissing it gentleman-like.

"Exactly..." Scarlet trailed off, "Just like the flower, my mother liked flowers. So, she named me after her favorite one", she lied.

"A beautiful flower for an equally attractive woman. What brings you to Colombia, Ms.Scarlet?"

"Business. I'm in sales, rather boring I know. Such a beauitiful country and I'm here about insurance policies" Scarlet frowned.

"I hope you're stay here isn't purely business. You must make some time for pleasure" he smiled, confident in his words.

Inside her mind, she's rolling her eyes at the cheesy line but it was funny and she laughed and died out, leaving a yurning silence.

"What kind of insurance are you selling?" Santiago filled the void with a question and a step closer.

"High Risk Assesment's are what I really do. I'm ehre to assess some potential clients for my company." Scarlet moved against the railing, "Risky business, it is"

Santiago laughed as if it was really humorous. She knew it was cheesy but that sort of thing seems to work. The two continued to chat and flirt with one another for about fifteen minutes. All the while, she kept searching for any nearby guards, he must've told them to back off.

"Shall we go enjoy a glass of cognac? It's starting to get colder out here" Santiago suggested.

"Cognac? Sounds like a safe idea" Scarlet replied and wrapped an arm around his and the two began to walk down the villa. So far so good, but no sign of The Mayor. Perhaps he's inside or she'll just have to get him another time. Santiago was her main objective, Vargas is just extra weight. As they entered another door, there were two of his guards but he waved them off as they ascended a stairwell up to the second floor of the house. The hallways were dim but lined with paintings and other sculptures. The Mayor had a fine residence while most of his country drowned in poverty and fear, due to men like the one wrapped around her finger right no.

Finally, he opened a door that led to a small room, one with a bed. a fire was going in the fireplace, illuminating the room in a soft red glow. He moved to a cabinet and took out a bottle and two glasses. Scarlet began observing the room. Two windows, one door. Below, outside the window was a line of bushes. This was something she always did when entering a room or anywhere.

"Here you are" Santiago offered the glass and moved over to the fire, watching the flames move in a chaotic yet calming dance. He began taking several drawn out sips, one eye of Scarlet who moved about the room.

"You know...I never asked what you do for a living, Fernando" Scarlet broke the silence.

"I am in construction...I deal with making contracts for projects" Santiago seemed uncertain. "It's not as exciting as high risk assessments, I'm afaraid."

"Business is always broing, regardless of what your occupation is" Scarlet replied. Santiago walked over to Scarlet, moving close, very close.

"Let's forget about business, shall we?" Santiago was now almost against Scarlet who appeared to be rather relaxed, but in reality, ready for the kill. "There's something about you...something mysterious that attracts me to you like a moth to a flame, I can't help myself" he admitted.

"Be careful...or you'll get burnt" Scarlet smiled, setting her glass down. Santiago wrapped a hand around the small of her back, bringing her in close, and his lips drew closer and closer. Finally, they locked and embraced one another. His hand moved up the nape of her neck and their bodies moved closer to the bed.

"I want to get to know you...all of you" Santiago said as Scarlet lay on the bed, under him. Suddenly, the tides changed and Santiago was on bottom, excited by her dominance. She smiled, bringing a finger to her lips, caressing them.

"I'm afraid this will be out last night...Fernando" Scarlet said.

"W-What do you mean?" Santiago was caught off guard. Scarlet smiled and brought her hands around his neck, coming in close. Suddenly, with dazzling strength, her grip tightened like a vice around his neck, crushing his windpipe with suprising strength, leicking out then dying down. It was like crushing a soda can.

"Pig" Scarlet said under her breath, breathing calmly like nothing had happened, like she hadn;t just killed a man with her bare hands. Now, it was time to get out of there and try and find Vargas...

As the plane streaked across Polish airspace, Zemsky remained on the phone non-stop with all his contacts and other affiliates. The loss of 200 million Euros was a dramatic loss. Not because it would damage his company or cripple it financially. There was something else about this money that he couldn;t afford to lose or allow others to have pocession of. After talking with the companies IT's who concluded that the hacker was highly skilled with technology that was thought to be very limited. This actually worked in his advantage, if they can trace the device used it would lead him on a trail to the thief. He personally swore to break the person's legs.

Also, he had to contain the knowledge of this financial loss. It was alot of money to just go missing. Even if it was an account not directly linked to the company, it would eventually ripple and ping on the radar. The bank manager and chief of security informed him that no traces could be found. The camera images as of now had no picture of the culprit which infuriated him even more.

"Sir, it's a matter of time before the board finds out" Petrov read Zemsky's mind.

"I'm fully well aware of this fact. We'll have to keep them in the dark as long as possible. A loss like this will have far reaching effects on the company and myself. They're always looking for a reason to make the company go public and liquidate my shares. If they find out about this, my control of the company will be threatened." Zemsky replied.

"Our IT team should be arriving within the next two hours in Zurich. Shall I contact our security chief?" Petrov asked.

"Not just yet, let's wait and see what the IT's have to say. Hopefully they will yeild some valuable information" Zemsky stood up and cracked his knuckles.

The jeeps stopped as armed guards poured out of them, the jeeps roof flew off as 50 cal's were exposed, firing shells into the top of the limo. Kash smiled as bullets wined by " Kartosh....how have you been?"
All around the limo people were jumping from their cars and fleeing in terror as the 50. cal opened up. The bullets tore though the top of the limo, smashing the inside and ritchoting off the pavement. Kartosh, seeing that Kash was unarmed, turned his back and shoved the unconcious driver out the smashed windshield. He stomped the gas metal and the limo jumped forward, smashing a few cars out of it's way. "You're coming with me." growled Kartosh as he weaved the car around or though the stopped traffic.

Stepping off of the double decker, Matthew Frost opened his umbrella, ready for the steady rain that fell, pattering against his umbrella. If there was one thing he could count on, it was the English weather. cars dashed down the streets, honking, struggling through the traffic. One car hit a puddle that Frost narrowly avoided, unlike another pedestrian who stood there, soaked and rather upset. He contiued down the street, past the ever thinning crowd, down a line of houses, right next to each other with a small front lawn, gated off with low stone walls.

He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing home. The trip from Brussels and the meeting with his supervisor combined with the weather put him in a foul mood. But seeing his house gave him a little more energy to make it to the door. he collapsed the umbrella and entered his home.

"Honey, I'm back!" Frost shouted, being greeted first by their Australian Sheperd, Sparks. "Get down, boy" he said to the dog, patting it on the head and forcing his way into the kitchen.

"Matt?" asked a female voice from upstairs, "How was your business trip?"

"It was boring, as usual" Frost replied, smiling. He set down the brief case and put the umbrella in an umbrella holder. His wife, Rachel came downstairs. She was a beuatiful woman with blond hair and hazel eyes. They kissed and Rachel moved about the kitchen.

"So, nothing interesting?" she asked.

"I have to do some digging into a Russian company who's accused of monopolizing...blah blah blah" Frost joked.

"Smart-ass" Rachel replied, "David and Ashley should be getting home soon, they really missed you."

"Well, they'll miss me no more. I'm sorry honey, but I have to get to work on this right away, I'll be down for supper." he gave her a peck on the cheek and went upstairs to his private office. There was alot of work to be done. He'd done things like this before numerous times and was a skilled investigator. Zemsky Industries was about to be turned inside and out...

Santiago's body became cold and limp. It was another successful kill. Scarlet removed the rose from her wrist and placed it on his chest, leaving a maccab sign that she was there, it was her calling card. It didn't matter of people were after her. She is a phantom, a ghost that can disappear with ease. There was no worry fo fingerprints, for she had none. various international agencies were after her. INTERPOL had a file on her, thick enough to be a novel. Of course, all that was in the file were the lists of those slain by her hand. Their investigation ceased several years ago when the head agent, a Brit named Matthew Frost was forced to resign due to his lack of progress on the case. It was a shame, he was idealistic and focused on bringing her down. The investigation floundered, him always being two steps behind her.

After the trip down memory lane, she decided to leave casually through the door, not wanting to risk anyone seeing her leap from a window. as she stepped out and closed the door gently, one of the guards stepped in her way.

"What's going on in there?!" he demanded, one hand in his pocket. Scarlet smirked. A soon as he got that out of his mouth she seized his arm with lightning quick reflexes, forcing his arm up, locking it in place. He struggled but Scarlet brough her other fist up, connecting with his jaw, shattering it and the guard flew ten feet back onto the floor, unconcious. The sound of his body hitting the ground would alert the other guards so she dashed down the hallway, ducking into the shadows when the others arrived on cue. Scarlet sleaked down the hallway and hid in another room. Shouts in Spanish and hurried foot steps sounded outside in the hallway. She turned and saw Mayor Vargas lying in bed, flanked by the two women that were with Santiago earlier.

"W-Who are you?" Vargas rubbed his eyes. Scarlet saw a letter opener on the desk, snatched it up and threw it with deadly accuarcy into his forhead. The two women screamed and Scarlet knew she wore out the welcome and departed through a window. There was an open air courtyard, surrounded by the house. She lept out the window,through the air and grasped te window ledge, throwing herself through the window, shattering the glass. Dammit, I didn't want it to go like this! Now it was time to adapt and overcome. remaining calm was key to surviving. Teh darkness worked to her advantage as she kept to the shadows, trying to find a way out of the villa.

Victoria awoke groggily after only a few hours of sleep. The empty scotch bottle was beside her on the bed sitting neatly atop the clean sheets. Blinking, the clock came into focus. Not yet 6am. Having recognized the clock, another annoyingly persistent sound vied for attention. It was a ringing phone. Her phone, actually. Forcing the haze from her mind, she sat up and answered.

"Nice work. Nothing on the cameras, no leads, and money in my account where you said it would be. You're a regular ghost." The voice was male and confident, the operative from the roof.

She hadn't left him with the name she'd used to book this room. Tory was a bit perturbed by his unanticipated resourcefulness. "How did you..?"

"Your face is much too pretty to hide all the time."

So he'd followed her after the job. That explained things somewhat. He could now pick her out of a lineup. The threat was minimal, considering the likelihood she'd ever be caught for a lineup.

"I have another job for you."

"Sorry, but I'm a one-and-done kind of girl."

"I owe a favor to a friend. Need you to track someone down."

"Get a bloodhound."

"There are polizei in the lobby of your hotel. Unless you want them serving you breakfast in bed, better listen up."

She'd listened alright, but had no intention of following instructions. Investigations and tracking weren't really her thing. What seemed more interesting was determining if any of the four numbered account holders would like to know how to find the operative who had hired her via anonymous tip. The problem would essentially fix itself. Getting to the pertinent information would be a challenge, and not one easily undertaken from the confines of a Swiss prison. Packing quickly she glanced out the window, dismayed at the flashing blue lights outside the lobby, as promised. A discreet exit was in order. Thankfully, she was good at those.

Clark threw a folder down on his desk and pulled his wheel chair away from it. He did not like being a cripple, but it was better than being dead. He rolled over to the massive wall of glass that looked down on the floor below. Various peices of equipment were laying about under the high concrete roof. Several workers busied themselves on some sm
all submarine. The mechanical arms worked well, but there was a problem with the plasma cutting torch that was attached to a third arm.

Clark huffed, truthfully he doubted that the customer would actually get into the rather large bullion vaults of Hull Island. There was probably enough sonar equimpent there to hear a cricket fart inside a sound proofed room.

But then again, Clark and the boss were not supposed to know about what the item was for anyway. Just take the money and deliver the product.

Clark sighed, he wished he could go back into the feild but a hitman without legs was rather likely to get noticed and get caught. Spending his last days in a hell hole prison was not on his to do list.

He pulled himself back to the desk and opened the folder again. The name at the top made him crinkle his nose. "Ah, I can at least try the guy out"

He pulled the phone over towards himself and dialed a number. Somewhere a temporary 'connection' had been made for this call. After it was done, the connection would be removed, and it would appear some poor sap who lived in an apartment complex had made a text message to 1-800-Henchman, not Clark Smith, Manager of Krusty's Seafood.

He entered the text message:
Bullet:
Advise Job with possible long term contract
Security and Recovery Price: 1,000,000 Euros
If desired, check-in Atlanta Airport Merriot Name Jhon Smith, room 712 this thursday, contact will be made.

Finding herself in a tight spot, Scarlet had to think quickly. a moment's hesitation could put a bullet in her head or herself in a prison, not a place she intended to go...ever. By now, security would be on full alert, crowding the guests in one contained are while they searched the villa, room by room. never understimating her foes, she forsaw that there would be attack dogs outside, patrolling the grounds. Sliding along the wall she jutted the door open slightly, the slit offered little.

Throwing caution to the wind she walked out of the door, suprised to see no one around. Walking down the hallway, senses heightened to danger she made her way down the stairs. There were more shouts, orders by her reckoning. Several men in suits with submchine guns entered the foyer, guns at the ready. Scarlet paused...they saw her.

"You there!" one of them shouted, drawing their attention to her. "What are you doing?"

"Just trying to find the lady's room, that's all" Scarlet replied innocently. The man paused for a moment then contorted his face in confusion.

"Come with us!" he demanded. He slung the gun over his shoulder and approached Scarlet, sizing her up as nothing other than a pretty faced woman. He laid a hand on her shoulder...that was the last straw. before he knew what hit him, he was flying back, knocking into the two other alarmed and confused guards, knocking them down like pins. Scarlet picked up the submachine gun and darted across the foyer. Suddenly, the walls exploded from gunfire, sending plaster and paint into the air, she ducked and raced down the hallway at dazzling speed.

Another guard fired a pistol as she approached but Scarlet, vaulted and raised the gun, blasting a short burst which ripped through the guard. As she passed him, another raised his gun from a door way, se kicked the door shut on his hand and continued along her path. Now panting, she moved like a lioness through the fray, having memorized the layout of the villa, avoiding other guards at all costs. her intention was to minimize casualties to just the two intended targets, but circumstances change, as they often do.

Finally, she reached the main door which was a heavy wooden door, closed. her ears picked up the sounds of approaching men from the other side. Time to give them a suprise. Scarlet backed up, cracking her neck, ready to vault forward. ith a running start she lept into the air and her foot impacted with the door with incredible force, knocking it off its' hinges. The agent plastered herself on the door as it fell forward, screams coming from under the door as it collapsed onto the stairs that led to it. Her legs exploded out, forcing her airborn and a running start once she touched dirt.

The escape became easier after that, as with all the guards still searching the villa or crushed under the door. Valuting the fence was trivial and a non-issue. police sirens resounded in the distance, it was time to leave. A car was parked two blocks away with extra clothes, a woman in a strapless gown wandering Bogota might rouse suspicion.

Dan Sheperd stood back up after throwing himself to the ground when the large door exploded open and fell atop several security guards. There was dirt and clumps of grass all over his tuxedo, damn rentals! Yurning for an explination as to how the door was forced open like that he needed only to look down the lane to see the mysterious lady Scarlet dashing down the drive. His attention turned back to the door, hearing several groans from underneath. Impossible! She couldn't have done that. Knocking that door off its' hinges was physically impossible for a normal person to do. The list of possibilities narrowed, there was no explosion or scorch marks on the hinges. Finally, he came to the realization and acceptance that Scarlet forced the door open. I knew she wasn't ordinary...

Could it be possible? Could they still be around? He always knew that they still walked amoung us, melting into everyday society. Now, it seemed as though one was still out there active. In his mind, Scarlet was one of "them", the kind of people who once protected the world from villany and decay. But who is she? What is her real name? For whatever reason, he found himself bolting down the drive, legs pumping hard, trying to find Scarlet. After forcing through brushes and thorns he came upon a tall iron fence, spoked at the tops. The screech of tires sounded off in the distance. Dammit! Now he knew what needed to be done. It was things like this that ended his career. If I keep my job after this, they'll probably send my to Antartica.

All around the limo people were jumping from their cars and fleeing in terror as the 50. cal opened up. The bullets tore though the top of the limo, smashing the inside and ritchoting off the pavement. Kartosh, seeing that Kash was unarmed, turned his back and shoved the unconcious driver out the smashed windshield. He stomped the gas metal and the limo jumped forward, smashing a few cars out of it's way. "You're coming with me." growled Kartosh as he weaved the car around or though the stopped traffic.

It had been a bad day to drive a cab in New York. Traffic was horrendous on Manhattan today, but not as bad as his passengers' tips or their attitudes. Yes, yes, Quigley is a strangely name. No, it's from Ireland. No, he wasn't a mick or Irish, and he had no taste for whiskey. By coincidence his favorite color was green, but had more to do with his father's stint in the US Army than the leprechauns and four leaf clovers. No, he wasn't named Matthew Quigley for Tom Selleck's character in Quigley Down Under. Yes, he did like the movie.

His present passenger's shrill voice was ordering him to find away around this traffic jam, incessantly informing him that the world economy would most likely collapse in an apocalypse of flames, ice, and locusts if he didn't arrive on time. Matt sighed and slouched down in his seat. His cab was hemmed in on both sides by cars, some idiot has abandoned his car in front of him which caused the tie up, and there were a couple of Black Wranglers and a limo behind and to the right of him. His passenger was about to launch into a cutting diatribe against Quigley's rediculous Eighties mullet, when all hell broke loose.

At heavy machine gun rounds sawed through the cab, Matt's first fleeting thought was 'damn, second time this year..." The following thoughts were mostly filled with expletives. The machine gun, from the sound of them fifty caliber Matt reckoned, walked it fire on. He pulled his door hand and pushed. His driver side door fell off its hinges, clattering noisely to the ground. The sound, somehow heard over the racket of the .50 cal machines guns, brought one of the gunner's attention and aim. The heavy rounds tore through the cab again, and Quigley rolled out, feeling at least one round tug at the seam of his jacket as it fluttered behind him.

Partially shielded behind his cab, though Quigley was pretty sure that wouldn't stop a point blank .50cal round, he glanced up and saw the spray of blood coating the rear windows. Quigley only hoped that his passenger had been overstating his importance to the world economy because these trigger happy goons were enough to worry about without flames, ice, and locusts. He knew he had to do something.

He edged back towards driver's seat. Slowly to avoid notice, Matt reached under his seat. This was exactly what he needed right now. There was only one thing to do, get his cash from the fares today and run. The cab company could stuff themselves. He tucked the stack of bills into a jacket pocket and began making his way out of the maze of cars.

Keep low, he told himself, keep low and resist the urges to get up and do something stupid like draw fire for the innocent people around him. Innocent? He was just as innocent as them, wasn't he? Minding his own business, trying to make a buck, a very boring, aggravating buck.

Matthew froze. "Oh, dammit...I fell into a job I absolutely hated. That pretty much ensures some kind of mook will show up and start something." He cursed under his breath. He was shaken out of his moment of clarity as tires squealed. He could barely see the black limo peel out. It slammed into the smaller car blocking it, spinning it aside. A bit late to the scene, a police cruiser slammed on its breaks to avoid hitting the limo. Responding the call of shots fired, the two police officers barely had a moment's notice before the machine guns shifted fire onto them. They flung their doors open, but only the driver was able to get out before round ripped into the cruiser. The cop in the passenger seat went down in a jerking dance played by Ma Duece. The other officer drew his service pistol and took a few shots at the gunners as he moved towards cover. All his shots went wide, the return fire didn't.

Quigley felt something tugging at him. Forces were swirling around him in his ears. He could hear phantom violins gathering, slowly lamenting the death of the police officers as they fell. As forces tugged at him, he could hear trumpets and percussion instruments stirring. He cursed again and exploded up from the car he was hiding behind, which promptly exploded spectacularly as he cleared it. He ran on, rounds whizzing around him. He thought his passenger's plague of locusts had arrived as the other guards opened fire on their machine gunners' target. Quigley dove and did a quick shoulder roll that brought him behind another car.

This car was also quickly being reduced to some modern art piece worthy of the Metropolitian Museum of Art. Probably entitled "Swiss Cheese Saub," Matt mused. He glanced to his right and saw that the surviving police officer had dragged himself to this car, smeared streaks of blood marking his path. Matt edged over and took a look at the wounded officer.

The cop's bullet proof-vest had done nothing against the high caliber fire. The cop was old with grey, receding hair. He clutched at his chest, his service pistol was held limply in his other hand. The man coughed, blood bubbling from his lips. He coughed again, trying to speak. "It ain't fair..."

Quigley tore at the hem of his white shirt to make some bandages. "Sir, don't talk. It'll be okay. I'm Matthew Quigley, and I'm here to help."

The officer's eyes rolled over towards Matt. "You a EMT, kid?"

Quigley shook his head. "Cabbie, but I did take a First Aid course when I was a boy scout."

The officer looked stared back off into space. "Ain't fair...gonna retire in..."

A cold, shock went through Matt. "Don't tell me about yourself!" He tried to yell.

"..two days." The officer finished his complaint to the world, and the world finished him. Heavy slugs ripped trough the Saub and tore the officer apart. Matt yelped and turned away as a blood spalshed onto him.

He took a moment, just shell shocked at seeing the old man ended at the prepice of a happy retirement, probably to hot inland suburb of Florida. Yeah it wasn't fair. Quigley's fists tightned. He glanced up and saw the officer's service pistol still clutched in his cold, dead hand. Matt took it and stood up. His father had taught him to shoot. He held the pistol, a Glock he recognized, in a firm, two hand grip. His feet were shoulder width apart. He could sight the nearest gunner down the Glock's tritium sights. He took a breath and let half of it out as he squeezed the trigger twice.

Both rounds richoted comically off the .50 cal. The gunner swept the barrel up as he fired. Rounds tore into the rear of the Saub as Matt ran, cursing between strides. The Saub exploded, raining depreciating fragments of some rich man's dream everywhere. The police cruiser was in front of him. He took a running leap and slid over the hood. He rolled onto the ground beside the cop whose dance card had been filled by Ma Duece. Saint Peter had already cut in on that dance. The unlucky cop's pistol was still in its holster. Matt drew it with his free hand and held it beside his other pistol.

The Unknown could pop up at the slightest moment, but there were certain things he knew. Sure as his cab had been yellow, there were laws to what occured around him. He'd realized he'd fallen into one when he took the hated job driving a cab. He may not have caused this firefight to occur, but he may have influenced its location. The elderly cop had broke another law. He'd tried to tell Matt about retirement. The sentence for that was death, quick and absolute. His poor accuracy was also governed by those laws. He'd had the perfect shop, wide open, on that gunner. So according to law, he must miss.

Those were the Laws of Dramatics. He looked down at the two guns and sneered. A plan was formulating in his head, not really a plan just an insane urge really. He could feel a wind flutter around him, blowing his leather jacket out behind him, dramatically Matt reckoned. The Laws were turning his favor. Two pistols, overwhelming odds, and a hare-brained scheme so crazy it might just work? He was radiating a badassitude strong enough to create his own local weather system, or the dramatic wind simply put.

He hesitated for a moment though, as rounds began to pepper the cruiser. His mind was blank and he couldn't go out there without a quip or catchphrase. He thought of one quickly and got to his feet. Shocked into a ceasefire by the sheer guts and perhaps his magnificiently blowing mullet and leather jacket, all the gunmen stood there marveling at the nutbird they'd been unloading on for the past few minutes. He wasn't that impressive really, average, mild mannered...well except for the blood across his face and hair...and ripped Tee shirt, the money poking out of his jacket, and oh yes, the two pistols pointed up in the air.

"Y'all owe me a cab fare." The nutbird said "I take cash, credit...or," Quigley narrowed his eyes, "blood." It was awful as quips or catchphrases go, but it'd have to do. A jump and giant stride put him up onto the hood of the cruiser. He didn't even aim his pistols but pointed them in the general direction of the gunmen and began firing. As he fired and yelled like banshee, a banshee with a low, manly voice mind you, the goons returned fire. Quigley's feet reached the edge of the cruiser's hood after what felt like an eternity in slow-motion.

He leaped from the cruiser, stretching out. Just as he feet left the cruiser, the Ma Dueces finally found the cruiser's gas tank after all their firing into cop car. Just like every other car Quigley had come in contact with, the cruiser exploded. The back end was propelled up into the air, and the cruiser began to flip slowly. With his leap and the explosion, Matt took advantage of another Dramatic Law. When a heroic figure, our Quigley in this case, leaps forward at an optimal forty degree angle and with the aid of a tailwind caused by an explosion, a hero achieves a stateof unassisted human flight as his or her body creates enough lift to negate the downward acceleration of gravity. Thus a hero can extend the range and flight time of his leaps.

Quigley used his elongated flight time to good use. He had started firing straight ahead, but mid-leap he spread his arms slowly, with each shot he shifted his fire outward towards the flanks of the goons' formation. He was sure he had already utilized another Dramatic Law by now. He should have had to reload, but the pistols kept kicking in his hands as he glided towards the ground with his jacket spread out behind him making him look like a flying squirrel of pure death.

As the street rushed up to greet him, he botched the dismount and rolled into a disorganized heap against a Ford Pinto, another disorganized heap. Quigley was blissfully unaware of his highly volitile and explosive cover, but sure did hope he'd killed a few of the gunmen with that move. He hurt like hell. The street had the worse greeting customs of any ethnic group in New York.

(( Your goons, your call, Xiscapia ))

OOC: Wow, dude. Just...wow. I'm laughing too hard to type anything else.
(NC's guns for hire, actually, but I don't think he'll mind)
IC:
The move had been totally unexpected. When confronted with two 50. cals firing at you, most civilians would curl up into a shaking ball and wait for death to come, or try and run for it. There were two Jeeps, and three men in both: The driver, the gunner, and a passenger. Quigley's heroic stunt had earned the death of the driver of the first Wrangler and the kills of the passenger and gunner in the second. It had been like a move out of 300, or The Matrix, slow motion all the way. The Wrangler with the surviving driver tore off, tires screaming, after the limo. The other, driverless, stayed as the last gunner searched desperetly for his target. The passenger of the first Wrangler was busy trying to shove the dead driver out, and noted the perfect bullet hole right between the eyes. Impossible...but possible. The gunner shrugged and opened fire randomly, the rounds hitting stopped cars, the rest of the civilians having wisely fled by now. Kill this guy, evade pursuit, protect the contractor. That was their mission.

"Boss? Are you awake?" The disembodied voice filled the chamber. Actually, "disembodied" wasn't completely accurate. Technically, the chamber was part of the body.

"Of course, Pete. I never sleep. You know that." The man who spoke the words was old and obese, and he sat cross-legged in the center of the chamber, in front of a single, lit candle. A flowing, white robe covered his body, showing only pale hands and a gray rug of hair atop of the old man's head.

"Well...I don't mean to disturb your...meditation."

"It's alright, Pete. I was just finishing up anyway."

"Good...because there's...a little problem."

"Yes?"

"Remember that swiss bank account we opened? The one with the R&D funds?"

"Not really, but don't let that stop you."

"Well, it's been hacked. Somebody stole about a third of the funds out of it, and they froze the rest."

The old man shook his head. "Some misguided do-gooder, no doubt. Must think we're a crime syndicate or something."

"Looks like there's some of that aspect to it, but it's more complex than that."

"Will that harm our ability to pay our bills?"

"No, but it'll keep us from doing our charity work for the month."

"That's ridiculous. Did you trace the fund transfers yet?"

"I started, but they're not done yet. I caught up with it about an hour ago. Some of it's still bouncing around, though. I'm not sure where it's going to end up."

"Some of it?"

"Yes. A small portion ended up in the account of a low-level hood in Zurich."

"Then perhaps it's time we paid them a visit. Can you prepare suitable attire?"

"Sure, boss."

"Good. In that case, I'll change while we're en route. Where is Brain Jar right now, anyway?"

"We're still in Houston, why?"

"Did we bother shutting down that slave ring yet?"

The AI hesitated. "Ummmm...not yet. Do...you think we've got the time?"

The old man raised his eyebrows, and, when he spoke, his voice was tinged with indignation. "For something like that, you make time," he said. He stood up.

He walked over to a column near the chamber door. "Which suit have you chosen for the raid?" he asked. He pressed a button on the column, and a monitor at head level came to life.

"The box. It offers the best combat capabilities, and its shape is disorienting for bad guys, to say the least." As the AI spoke, the monitor showed a green-on-black wire diagram of something that looked like two cubes, one piled atop the other. Various read-outs and side panels explained the travel unit's components, and their capabilities.

"No good. I need something humanoid. I'm going to be dealing with the victims as well as the captors."

"Alright...how about the touring suit? It looks completely human, and has a full range of weapons." The image on the monitor changed to a wire diagram. This one looked like another obese man--at least in outline. The component views, however, made it certain that the item that it depicted was anything but human. It, too, had the appropriate information displays.

"Perfect. When will it be ready?"

"I'll have it in the transport room by the time you get there."

------------------------------

Francisco gently stroked the wires together as the whore watched, arms and legs chained to the bed. She was a rare flower--young and beautiful, thin with perfectly tanned skin, dark hair, full lips and beautiful big brown eyes. To see the look of fear spread across her face took his breath away. There were many things that Francisco liked about his work--telling the so-called authorities what to do, keeping his subordinates in line (and showing them why he was known as El Diablo--a name that he did not coin, but that he nonetheless embraced fully)--but the most pleasant part had to be "breaking" the "inductees." And this one promised to be a special induction, indeed, he noted, as the girl inhaled sharply as the wires let loose a particularly bright spark. His only concern was that she would not end up being too special, and, losing her inconsequential little life, be rendered useless to those with whom El Diablo worked. It was sometimes a struggle for him to control himself, and, though he always won, sometimes the results of the struggle were a bit eccentric for others.

Behind him, El Diablo heard a soft buzzing sound, followed by a soft "whoosh." He turned his head, but he could see nothing. Dismissing the sound as mere background noise, he turned back to the girl and took that one tantalizing step toward her.

He was greeted with a chain in the face. Somehow, something had cut the little whore's bonds! He felt the blood begin to streak down his left cheek.

El Diablo just laughed. Instead of finishing him off, the girl just crawled back in the bed, away from him. She was no fighter, and what she had done would only serve to make what he was about to do all the more satisfying. He lifted his leg to take another step forward.

For a moment, the smile left his face. Something was holding him back. He turned, and the smile came back to his face. Holding him was a fat old man--a man who reminded him of the father who used to beat him senseless as a child--a man whom he had tortured to death on his twenty-fifth birthday. Breaking through the man's grasp, he extended the wires to show him what you get when you try to mess with El Diablo.

Much to his surprize, they never struck. With lightning speed, the man grabbed his hands--and held them with incredible strength. His face wore no expression--it was as if El Diablo was looking into the eyes of a dead man. Without a great deal of fanfare, the man brought his hands up to his face, and El Diablo did something very uncharacteristic: he screamed. In a moment, he also flew back against he wall by the bed, losing his wind and dropping his wires.

Pablo and Aldo, two guards left on the door, came running. They ran into some sort of electrical barrier. There was a bright flash, and the two men crumpled.

And El Diablo knew what he had run into. This was an unregistered, unretired Guardian. It was the only explanation for the man's powers, and for the fact that the police had not warned him that this man would be coming. He was working outside of the chain of command that El Diablo's coworkers (even now, he would not admit that there was such a thing as a superior to El Diablo) had infiltrated and bought off. And, for the first time in years, El Diablo--El Diablo!--was actually afraid.

This did not last long, however. In a moment, the arrogant, snarling smile was back on El Diablo's lips. He could kick anybody's ass, he told himself, and this freak of nature was no exception. "So, guardian," he almost spit out the word, "what are you gonna do? Arrest me? What you think the cops are gonna do with your ass, paco? I'll tell you what they're gonna do! They'll throw your ass in jail for assaulting a private citizen, that's what they're gonna do!" As he spoke, his right arm reached down to his left ankle, feeling for the concealed pistol that he kept there as an insurance policy.

It never made it into his hand. So fast that Francisco could barely see him move, the stranger zipped forward, slapped his hand away, reached down and scooped him up again. Effortlessly, the fat old man lifted the would-be torturer off the ground. Now, his face had an expression. It held a pent-up anger, a hatred, that El Diablo knew. It was the look of his enemies.

"You're scum," the old man said, "and I'll be privileged to scour scum like you from the face of the earth."

"Yeah?" El Diablo said. "Well who the hell are you?"

The man smiled a grim smile. "I," he said, "am called the Metal Man."

This was bad. The Metal Man was one of the more famous of the Guardians. The story went that he had been abducted by aliens and turned into some kind of half-man, half-machine freak that could never die and could do all kinds of crazy things. They said he'd killed a girl by sucking out all her blood once, but that the story had been hushed up. They'd never really trusted him. No one did. After the government had banned the Guardians, he had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Francisco felt his hair standing up on end, and then the pain began. He screamed and screamed as the voltage coursed through his body, screaming even beyond the point when his world blackened, and he could remember screaming no more.

----------------------------------------------

OOC: In case nobody noticed, this is Chemical's neighborhood. You wanna play? :) :) :)

At a private airport, outside of Moscow, another line of black BMW's waited by a hangar. It was cold, as it typically is in Russia with a light dusting of snow and an abscent sun. The drivers reved the heat up, waiting for Zemsky's jet to taxi up to the hangar. After the engines cooled down, Zemsky descended down the stairs, unflinching in the crisp breeze.

"Ivan!" shouted a woman from a car window, the door exploded open and a woman went into a dead bolt like a race horse out from the start. She was dressed for th weather, wearing mostly white. Locks of dirty blonde hair drapped her head, light blue eyes, and an infectious smile.

"Anya, it's good to see you" Zemsky outstretched his arms and brought her in, practically bear hugging her.

"Loosen...up" Anya choked out between short gasps. He loosened up and she readjusted herslef and gave him a kiss with an accompanying smile. "How was Brussels?"

"Uneventful and boring, I'm afraid." Zemsky replied, a quaint smile appearing on his face. As they began moving towards the cars, Anya wrapped her arms around his muscular right arm, latching on.

"What's wrong, Ivan...I can always tell when you're upset. You may be able to fool the others, but not me" Anya said in a serious tone as they stepped into the car. It was true, Zemsky had a poker face like no other but somehow, Anya Cozchenko could read him like a book even with no tells.

"Just some minor troubles with the company...nothing that can't be fixed" Zemsky looked out the window, "How have you been?"

"Seeing how you like to keep me in the dark, I was at the college, doing my job when all of a sudden I'm pretty much kidnapped by your associates" she said sarcastically. Zemsky laughed, not at the story, but at how right she was.

"I wanted it to be a suprise, Anya" he replied, placing a hand on hers, rubbing it with a thumb. In such a complex world, he found solice in Anya's soft smile and easy going demeanour. It must be blissful to have an outlook like hers. As the caravaan made its' way onto the highway, past other motorists, actually moving farther away from Moscow. It was a beautiful city yes, but he was more of a country man. Exhausted he rested his head on her shoulder.

"Poor Ivan...you're too stressed out" Anya cooed, "You need to relax more. Your body's way too tense."

Soothing words from an angel bring sweet relief to a cold, layered man. His one and only outlet from life, the life he chose. The two of them have been seeing each other for over a year now. It was at a charity event when Zemsky donated a large sum of money to the Moscow University where Anya was a student teacher at the time. It was magnetic from the start.

Kash rolled his eyes as Kartosh began to drive him, he smiled and asked " I gotta go potty, where are we going?"

Her credentials having passed the scrutiny of Swiss airport security, Victoria found herself on the next plane to London. While she could afford business or even first class, she preferred to ride coach. It was never wise to flaunt one's assets, especially when they were begotten under less than legal means with no easy explanation. Besides, it was easier to keep an eye on things from back here. Her aisle seat allowed for observation of almost the entire cabin.

With no better way to pass the time, her thoughts turned to the conversation with the operative. She had no intention of honoring the request, but something he said had caught her attention. He mentioned a Matthew Frost in England, but it was unclear if this was the target or the friend. She hadn't payed very close attention during the conversation and now found herself irritated for it. The name resonated with her, and she could not recall why. But she was determined to find out. In any case, it was a good opportunity to brush up on some of her lesser used skills. There was still an hour or two before the plane would reach its destination. Plenty of time to plan.

After the conclusion of dinner and the dishes cleaned, Frost retreated back up to his private office which was little more than a desk, computer, a squeeky chair, and storage boxes piled to the roof. This was his workspace, his sanctuary. Memorabilia from past years with INTERPOL sat atop the desk, an old photo with him and his desceased partner, Edward Graves. The two of them were best friends and an effective team, once being members of Sector 1. This special branch of INTERPOL was created for the sole purpose of dealing with international meta-human crimes. While The Guardians may have been a force for good, Sector 1's objective was to track down and monitor as many of these special individuals as possible, given extraordinary legal powers that transcended borders and governments.

As the world became safer, the citizens and governments became wary of The Guardians with their superpowers and incredible abilities. Sector 1 and various other state sponsored watchdog organizations were created to protect the people from the Guardians, in case they decided to use their powers for personal gain, or an over idealistic meta-human decided to bring the world under his thumb. Frost and Graves helped to bring several supervillains to justice, though not easily. It was a hazardous task which cost the lives of many men and untold amounts of damage. Their last case involved the Scarlet Rose Killer (the title given by Frost). This specter was responsible for nearly 200 high profile deaths around the world. The task fell on these two senior investigators who dilligently researched the case. However, there was never any evidence, witnesses, fingerprints, DNA, or even a picture of this assasin. Only a scarlet rose at every scene marked that this killer was there. Of course, Frost secretly admitted that this assasin was a necesary evil. Most of the victims were crime bosses, drug dealers, arms dealers, as well as supervillains, and corrupt officals. regardless, it was his task to find the assasin.

They managed to discover a pattern that led them to Rome several years ago. an arms dealer was killed in the Ukraine just days prior and it was found that he was shipping weapons to a mafia family in Rome. With the assistance of Carabinieri the team staked out the meeting point. Suddenly, as they hid in the dead of night, the killer struck the warehouse. Gunfire and screams resounded from inside. The team moved in to try and catch the killer. After an extensive chase, Graves and Frost were ambushed by the assasin. Trying to get a bead on the killer, Frost was knocked out by a powerful blow to his stomach and Graves was shot dead.

After the debacle and the legal dust settled from a special inquiry, Frost was forced to resign, the board cited that his reckless behavior led to Graves death. This had an unforseen affect on Frost who left the agency bitter and with a chip on his shoulder. From time to time he'll use his contacts at the agency to keep tabs on the case which was dead, but not the assasin.

Flipping through files and financial records from the past two years at Zemsky Industries, he felt his eyes laiden with sleep, desperate to stay open. The job paid well, but offered even more boredom and tidiousness. It was all numbers, transfers, and interactions. The computer was bloated with data and open windows to several sites. After several slow hours of work, he turned off the computer and slumped to bed.

Kash rolled his eyes as Kartosh began to drive him, he smiled and asked " I gotta go potty, where are we going?"
"Shut up." snarled Kartosh as he continued to use the car as a ram to bash though traffic. He finally made it into an open section. "Safe!" The rearview mirror contradicted this statement. A black Jeep Wrangler was following, but it seemed to be missing it's gunner. The 50. cal lay empty. But the Wrangler could try and ram him off the road, and Kartosh had no defenses expect to ram back. The limo skidded up a street and went into a slide. Kartosh smashed on the breaks as the Wrangler tore after them, moving too fast for the driver to react. The Wrangler smashed though the middle of the limo, not into, but though. The two sections of the car hit the ground and the Wrangler, out of control, the driver dead from the collusion, flipped onto it's back, skidded into a building, and burst into flames. Kartosh got out of the drivers seat, got into the other section of the destroyed limo, grabbed Kash, and dragged him out. Sirens could be heard outside, and Kartosh, with his hand around Kash's collar, dragged him into a nearby alley.

In a pre determined safe house, nothing more than an abandoned apartment building with scorch marks from a long distant fire, remnance of the time of Escobar and his war on the Colombian authorities, Scarlet began the task of destroying any evidence that could tie her to the party. The dress and purse were incinerated. The flames danced into the air, illuminating the hollowed out room. It offered little except providing a veil from the policia. The familiar buzz of the PDA broke the silence.

"Good work, Agent Scarlet" Chief said, but there was something underlining his words, "However, your method brought too much attention to yourself"

"I got the job done, right?" Scarlet replied, annoyed. "If you didn't want me to do an action film back there, then why didn't you just let me find him on my own?"

"We weren't sure when we'd get another chance at him. Santiago was good at making himself scarce."

"Chief, next time that I'm on an operation, just let me find the bastard" Scarlet delivered an ultimatum. This wasn't the first time that meddling from command nearly compromised her mission.

Chief sighed, "Alright, Agent Scarlet. The money has been washed and transferred to your account. There's no word on any other directives so consider yourself on leave for the time being. I'll contact you when we do"

"Thanks, Chief" Scarlet offered a relieved smile, thankful for a chance to rest and do what she wanted for a change. The screen went blank and she set it aside, breathing in a heavy breathe. Perhaps I'll go someplace scenic.

At his private residence, Zemsky veered off to his private stud, leaving Anya to go make some tea. The past two days took their toll on the man who poured a small glass of scotch and quickly bolted it down his throat. The fire in his chest reguvinated him enough to clear a clouded mind. It was a bittersweet past few days. On one hand, he secured the company's stance in Russia, but in the same breath, lost 200 million euros. A substantial loss to him and theratening to rouse the board into asking questions. As he stood alone in the study, a fireplace lay cold and dark. Next to the desk was the globe on a stand. He stepped over to the globe, observing the intricate detail put forth by the cartogropher. The raised bumps, symbolizing the high mountains. A finger glided across the globe, spinning it slowly, eyes focused on this precious blue and green gem.

"Ivan?" Anya asked, stepping into the room. Her voice broke his concentration, stopping the world from turning, halting progress and turning around to her. "I brought the tea"

"Thank you" Zemsky replied, taking the cup of hot tea and sitting on the leather couch. anya nestled against him, sipping hers slowly. Zemsky's eyes remained on the globe for a few more seconds, then began observing the study. Book cases and shelves busting with literature, autobiographies, bibliographies, study books, philosophy, and other forms. He fancied himself a reader and a smart man.

"What's on your mind?" Anya asked, "You haven't had any of your tea"

"The world" he turned to her and smiled.

Anya giggled, ''The world's too big, even for you"

Zemsky looked down at the cup of tea and finally took a sip and rested his ehad back onto the couch, trying to clear his mind. Running a multi-billion dollar industry that has just been robbed wasn't easy, especially hiding the fact proved quite tasking.

Frost had been easier to track down than she had anticipated. Now, sitting in a rental car just up the street from his residence, she flipped open a laptop, seeking an unprotected wireless network. Frost was a family man by all appearances. Ordinary, with his neat and tidy English cottage. The term "house" just didn't seem to fit in this country. Too many BBC documentaries perhaps. Nothing appeared unprotected, but there were several WEP encrypted networks with good strength. It was a simple process to select one and run Aircrack, providing both the network key and access.

Once online, a simple search on his name revealed everything she needed to know. He was former INTERPOL. She didn't recall his name from any of those investigating her own string of activities, which only added to the confusion. Further search results talked of Rome and a slain partner. She must have read about him in a paper somewhere. The famous failed detective. Regardless of the past, they shared a common link now - the operative in Zürich. She was here now, might as well do some digging. Pulling a balaclava over her face, she flipped up the collar of her coat and waited for the last light in the house to switch off. Tory gave it an additional 20 minutes before slinking out to ensure the occupants were all asleep. All she had to do was place a wiretap on the exterior phone line. Piece of cake.

"Matt, something's wrong" Graves said as he listened to a set of head phones. Frost outstretched his leg, having sat inside the crmaped van for over six hours straight, watching several monitors and wiretaps within the warehouse.

"What's up?" Frost placed his glasses down and managed to get to the monitors.

"You see here on the screen?" Graves pointed to monitor #4 which covered the service entrance door. Frost offered a shrug and looked closer. "It's cracked open and the guard is missing."

"It's dark, maybe he moved somewhere else?" Frost replied, his gears beginning to move as well, he quickly retracted his statement. There was a thug standing next to the door, alert and ready. Now, he was gone. It's impossible to think that he just walked off, even to take a piss. "Alright, we need to move!"

"Mobile 2, this is central, contact the carabinieri. We need to move in now, surround the building. Standard procedures." Graves said into the mike. Frost took out his Sig Sauer and checked for a round in the chamber, then patted his bullet proof vest which wrapped around his body. The men exploded out of the van, rushing across the street and the construction yard, using cover and concealment. Suddenly, a chopper roared overhead, its' spotlight hitting the warehouse. A loud speaker was set up and a Carabinieri officer shouted orders in Italian to the occupants. Gunfire errupted inside the warehouse. The agents rushed in, clearing the rooms. A carabinieri team moved in as well. As they passed down the corridors, Frost's heart raced faster than a formula 1 car. Bodies lined the hallway, a massacre.

"Dammit! We're too late" Frost cursed, running a hand through his hair. Inside the main office of the warehouse, the agents discovered Franco Mossino, a cappo in the Zaccaria family, a throwing knife in his chest and a scarlet rose in his lapel. Suddenly, Graves pointed down in the floor of the plant, having seen a shadow.

"There's the bastard!" Graves shouted, charging down the stairs, Frost hesitated for a second then bolted after him. More shots fired off as Graves attempted to bring the suspect down. They rounded a corner and without anyw arning, a fist connected with Frost's stomach, impacting with incredible force, throwing him back several feet and into a brick wall. The last thing he saw was Graves, standing toe to toe with the Scarlet Killer...then a gun shot...

Frost shot up in his bed, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. The clock read 10:43, the dull red glow didn;t hurt his eyes as he focused on the numbers.

"Daddy" a little girl's voice said from the dark. It was his young daughter Ashley.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning to see his wife sound asleep. He slipped out from under the covers and sat up in bed, swinging his legs out.

"I had a nightmare" she frowned.

"Oh, sweetie" Frost replied, giving her a hug, "You're alright, there's nothing wrong. What was your dream?"

"I saw the boogiewoman outside" she said in a calm voice.

"The boogiewoman? Don't you mean the boogieman?" Frost asked, wondering what in the hell she was talking about.

"No daddy, the boogieman has a wife. I saw her"

something stirred in Frost's mind, a shockwave of fear rolled across his body, stiffening his muscles, adrenaline began to pump through his body. Something didn't seem right about what his daughter was saying. Maybe it was the silly dream of a little girl or maybe it was something else...something he feared more than the boogieman.

"Alright..." he trailed off, trying to figure out what to do, "You stay here with mommy. I'm going to go find this boogiewoman" he assured Ashley who climbed into the bed, hugging a small bear tight in her small arms.

Frost sneaked through the dark house, peeking out the windows, trying to stay out of the frame. It was too dark outside to get a clear look. Parental instincts forced him into David's room to ensure his safety. The young boy lay wrapped in his sheets, like a baby. He no longer carried a gun and the only protection was a baseball bat which he took from the closet, gripping it tight. Should I call the police? Will that do any good? he crept nervously through the hallway and down the stairs, one of the steps creeked. Cursing under his breath, he persisted down the flight.

She'd circled the house once, searching for that telltale metal box. It was the main interface between the house and the rest of the world, communicationally speaking. Tory paused frequently, listening. A cat prowling the stone wall mewled softly, catching her attention for a moment. The cat would serve as a make-shift warning system. Somebody wakes up inside, and either the feline bolts or it cries for a snack. Along the back wall, she finally found what she was looking for. The cables lay exposed where they exited the ground behind a bush and ran a short distance up the wall to protective metal casing. She positioned herself carefully, not wanting to remain in view of the windows and trying not to rustle the bush either.

Glancing around quickly once more for any curious neighbors, she withdrew a small lock pick from a special compartment in the wrist of her glove. Working quickly, she sprung the simple lock on the box. Thankfully moonlight was sufficient to see the contents, but only just barely. Coaxial cable fed into the box uninterrupted beside a few strands of copper pairs encased in rubber and shielding. The coax fed directly into the house, off to a TV somewhere. The copper split out at the box into it's separate pairs. They wouldn't terminate here due to weather concerns but the wires were freed of their outermost shielding. Tory withdrew another tiny device from a pocket, no bigger than a box of matches, and affixed it to the bundle. To the uneducated, it would appear as if it were supposed to be there. The device itself was not as high-tech as some products available, but it got the job done. Anytime the phone was used, the device would recognize the electric impulses in the line and call a special cellphone for her to eavesdrop. The device deployed, it was time to close up shop. She froze in place, thinking she might have heard a faint creak of wood. The cat was silent, but still sitting on the wall. When no out of place sounds followed after a few moments, she continued securing the metal box.

Barefooted, Frost tip-toed across the hard wood floor and onto the carpet near the front door. He paused, nothing but silence answered back. Sparks lay curled up in the living room, raising his head at the sight of his master. The dog could give him away, hopefully Sparks would just go back to sleep and leave him to his prowling. His rough hands gripped the bat tight, bringing it up to his chest, trying to think of his next move. The family was upstairs, unaware of what was going on. Maybe he was just acting paranoid. Of course, paranoia and fear keep people alive in dangerous situations. There are just some things that you never lose a grip on. One of them being your learned cop instincts. That gut feeling that something isn't right, the hairs raising on the back of your neck. He knew full well those feelings and they were tugging at his mind like a needy child.

Perhaps it was just a prowler outside, checking for locked doors or an enticing prize through the window. Unlike most citizens in England, Frost locked his doors tight. If I only had my gun. Despite this, Frost placed a hand on the latch, unlocking the door and slowly turned the knob. He eased the door open and slid out, closing the door behind him. The moon finally fought through the clouds. The air was crisp and he regretted not putting on a robe and slippers. Running around in pajama bottoms, a white undershirt, bare footed and armed with a bat must've offered an odd sight for anyone who happened to glance by. Luckily, the neighborhood slumbered peacefully, unaware, blissfully ignorant.

Frost inched along the house, bat at the ready. Approaching the low wall, he saw a cat. Mr.Churchill, a black and white fat cat belonged to the Henderson's next door. Their damn cat was always out, causing trouble. He often contemplated offing the cat but decided it wouldn't help to harbor good relations between him and his neighbors. over the small wall, he heard metallic sounds. Someone was on the other side next to his house. A soon as he came to this realization, Mr.Churchill hissed at Frost who froze. Dammit!

She'd just secured the lock when the cat hissed. Hissing was not a good sign. Tory froze a moment as well, snapping her attention to the feline. The cat had raised to a standing position, tail twitching and staring intently at something. Or someone. She held her breath, listening for anything. Nothing, no movement, not even any breathing that she could discern. Her options were slim. Either take a chance and wait it out, or run for it. There was virtually no cover between the house and the wall, so she would risk exposure. Very slowly, she rose to a crouch and freed herself of the bush as silently as possible. Watching the cat intently, she backed away. The corner wasn't too far away. If she could get around the other side, options improved.

Mr.Churchill forced Frost to think quickly, lest whoever was on the other side of the wall should make an escape. He could just run back inside and call the police who wouldtake an hour to arrive on scene. Or, he could vault over the small wall and confront whoever was there. Naturally, he viewed this option with caution. What if he has a gun? What if there's more than one? What if there's no one on the other side and I just make myself look like a crazy jackass? The end of the wall was too far away for him to creep and try and see the suspect. Also, the gap would allow the person to get away before he could catch up. Being a financial investigator for the past five years didn't help his physical prowess any. frost tried to keep in shape and succeeded for the most part. Now in his late thirties, nearly forty, the veil of age cascaded over him. His knees began to hurt from crouching too long, hopefully if there was a physical confrontation, he could end it quickly, a drawn out fight would exhaust him too easily.

Throwing caution to the wind, he decided to do the idiotic and absurd. He shot upward, grabbing onto the top of the ledge, the bat was cumbersome. His legs exploded, vaulting over the small wall and over the other side, he landed on his knees, Mr.Churchill lept off the wall, landing better than he did and took off in a dead sprint into the bushes. The darkness made it difficult for him to see but he could make out the outline of a person huddled next to his house. Frost froze, uncertain of what to do.

"Hey you!" Frost shouted at the figure, managing to his feet.

An instant before he was over the wall, she knew it was coming. As he landed, she reflexively reached for the 9mm tucked at the small of her back. The one she'd left in the car. Her hand came away empty. Deftly, she retrieved the lock pick again. In a pinch it would make a good shank.

Hey you!

However a shank against a bat didn't seem favorable odds. And with the yelling, neighbors would be awake soon. A quick eyeball test gauged agility to be in her favor, however he was close enough that if she hesitated over the other wall it would be over.

"Mr Frost, I presume?"

She was hoping for shock value. With any luck, this would be the owner of the house, and he would not be expecting a prowler to know his name. She edged backward, waiting for his response. His next move would dictate her egress route.

"Mr.Frost, I presume?"

What? How does she know who I am? That's impossible! It became obvious that this wasn't just some prowler out for some fast cash. This woman had a specific purpose in being at his home. before he could raise the bat, he paused, taken back by the words. The woman's tone was cool and calculated. A pain errupted in his back, vaulting over the small wall didn't do his long existing lower back problems any justice. Luckily, the woman was unarmed, save what he took to be small knife or a sharp piece of metal, it glittered in the moonlight.

"W-What do you want?" he edged closer, trying to shake the shock from his shoulder.

"Nothing you won't miss. Not unless you try to make this difficult for me."

He was hurting. That much was obvious by the way he tried to conceal the stiffness of his motions. That gave her a considerable edge. Her Gaelic accent, though diluted through practice and repetition was still noticeable to the trained ear. It grated on her to hear it, especially during a confrontation with an ex-Interpol officer. She edged back again, careful to stay out of bat-range. Her muscles tensed in the half-crouch position, ready to explode into action. Her gaze flickered to the surrounding houses. No lights yet, and no sense in waiting for him to get curious about her visit and find the tap...

"Who do you know in Zürich?"

What is she talking about? The question entered his mind. Frost hadn't been in Zurich since his days in INTERPOL. The woman began to edge back, he edged forward, making sure to keep the gap close but not too close. If the distance was in close proximity, she might be able to vault at him before he could get a swing in, his muscles tightened and so did the grip on the bat. Instincts were driving him to protect his family. This woman was dangerous, his gut told him that much.

"I don't know anyone in Zurich" Frost said angrily, "What are you doing here? Tell me or so help me God..." his voice was stern, leaving no doubt that he would do whatever he had to to protect his family from any threat.

This was not at all how a simple phone tap deployment was supposed to work. At the first sign of trouble, she should have bailed. Frost denied connections in Zürich, but that operative had to have gotten the name from somewhere. He wasn't relenting on the distance game either, and she was running out of options. Finally, the inevitable happened. Thankfully it wasn't next door, but one of the neighbors flicked on a light. The momentary distraction gave her the boost she needed, and she sprung into action, sprinting towards the far wall. It was too high to jump. Without wasting energy to see if and how close behind he might be, she leaped at the wall, catching with one foot and driving herself upward, before repeating the action against the side of the house. The final boost gave her enough to land atop the wall. Only then did she risk a backward glance.

Her speed and agility dazzled Frost who could only watch her easily manuever off the side of the building and ontot he wall. The Henderson's were really helping him tonight. There was something odd about this woman, no normal person could've done that. Even someone in peak physical condition would find such a feet not easily accomplished with such speed anyways. The grip on his bat loosened as his jaw dropped. Dammit! She's got the advantage! he spun around, his bare feet nearly slipping on the wet grass but managed to stabalize himself. This woman lnew something that he didn't. He decided to charge at her. It was a futile effort with her being high up. At this angle his swing wouldn't do any good but the will to protect what's his drove him forward. He couldn't leap onto the wall again, less he throw his back out.

"What do you want!" he demanded, raising the bat, ready for a swing.

Tory smiled under the balaclava. There was something entertaining in his persistence. The fact that a middle aged man in an undershirt and PJ's was chasing her with a bat just added to the amusement. It was hardly befitting an INTERPOL operative, retired or not. No wonder they made him retire. She dropped to a crouch atop the wall, watching him and the bat.

"I already told you. And if you don't have an answer, I suggest you find one."

Tick tock, time was running out. She needed to move. But she also wanted that answer.

Bogota, Colombia

Policia surrounded the mayor's residence. Flashing blue and red lights battered the eyes while the shouts of reporters and sirens defeaned the ears. To have the mayor of Bogota and a major drug lord as well as several guards killed at one party created quite a stir. If anything, this bloodbath exposed the corruption directly to the lights of inquiry. Colombian officals swarmed the scene as investigators turned the whole house into a crime scene. Of course, the Colombian police were notorious for their corruption and ineptness. Sheperd found himself in the perfect position to cover the story. He made several calls to his bureau chief as well as CNN heads in New York. This was a major story, a goldmine.

"Yeah, I was there Max!" Sheperd said over the satellite phone. A chopper buzzed overhead as the sun broke over the horizon. "Sure...I undertsand...The conference should be within the hour...of course, I know the questions to ask..." with that, Sheperd hung up on Max Cartwright, his editor.

A million things were buzzing through his mind. A major story unfolded right in front of his face. He was in the fray, having seen everything. The press conference was held an hour later. Masses of reporters and journalists flocked the cramped room in a building down the road. The Police Chief, a portly man with a full beard gave the conference. The questions were routine but none of the information given out made sense. They were trying to cover up the blatant connection between the two victims. One piece of information did catch his ears. Santiago's body was found with a scarlet rose attached to his shirt. A scarlet rose? This revelation further solidified his belief that the mysterious woman he met earlier in the night was responsible for the killings. Armed with this information, he had a trump card which he kept to himself till it was needed.

Supreme Court, Washington DC, United States
16:30pm

"Mr Cavourna! Can you give us a statement!?!"
"Is it true that Commissioner Brown is responsible for the rise in drug-related deaths in Amercia!?!"
"Mr. Cavourna! How are you coping with the threats on your life!?!"
"Is it true that Commissioner Brown has links to Columbia!?!"
"Can you give us a statement, Mr Cavourna!?!"

Alexander Cavourna took a few steps down the stairs of the massive Supreme Court building and loosened his tie slightly, relieved to be back in the sunlight of a warm Washington Summer's day. He turned his attention to the masses of flashes coming from in front of him and the scrambled demands from Reporters from all over the country. Far from backing away from their attention, Cavourna smiled and straightened his posture. He cleared his throat loudly and the mass silenced almost immediately to hear him speak,

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press. Today is a great victory for peace and freedom-loving people all over the world. Just an hour ago, Commissionar Jason Brown was sentenced to Life-Imprisonment for massive-corruption, drug-trafficking, being an accessory to murder and failure to perform his Civic duties. Commissionar Brown has indeed been behind the mysterious increase in Drug-related crimes throughout this great nation and, with him now behind bars, the rest of his organisation is wide open to attack."

He paused and allowed the Press to push with more demands, he could see microphones being thrust forward, cameras rolling and photographers working away to get as may pictures of the man of the hour as they could.

He smiled and continued,

"Although the death of Inspector Alan Jones cannot be directly linked to the Commissionar, it is safe to presume that it was on his orders that the man was murdered. He was trying, herocially, to get to the bottom of this drug-threat. Little did he realise that the danger was at the top. As for threats on my life, I will take them with the same good humour as I always have. If Mr. Andolini says I will have an unfortunate accident while driving, then I guess I should get the bus"

There were a few chuckles from the Press, Cavourna gave what he called a 'Press Smile' then let it drop for extra effect,

"However, let me make one thing clear. If anyone thinks they can scare me off my duty then let them know that they are wasting their time. It takes time for justice to reach those it deserves. I will continue to speed up that process in anyway I can. Thank you"

He managed for force his way through the crowd and into the big Mercedes C-Class that had pulled up at the base of the building. He had done enough for today.

Alexander Cavourna's Office. Central Washington.
21:05pm

A knocking on the door, Cavourna looked up from the report on his lap
"Enter" he called.

The man who entered was one of the Secrataries from a floor below. His job was to take Press Calls for the Lawyer and hand them over to a Press Officer. However, he also reported new rumours to Alex. The Laywer liked to keep up to date on proceedings.

"Yes?" He asked, smiling.

"Well, Mr Cavourna, Sir..."

"...I'm not a Drill Sergeant, Barney, Alex will suffice for this office"

"Sorry...Alex...a Reporter from the New York Times has been on the phone, asking for any truth in the rumours that you are heading for Columbia tomorrow"

Cavourna leant forward in his chair. The Office was modern, full of light colours and dimmed lights. His desk was massive to say the least, filled with paperwork, much of nothing to do with his currant case. He was interested all of a sudden,
"What did you tell him?" He asked

"I stalled him, but they will want to know where you have gone after tomorrow. If you keep out of the camera's for too long, they'll start asking questions. If you aren't back in time, they'll to start to provide answers themselves"

"Yeah, tell them I've gone on a two week vacation to Monaco. That should delay them long enough for me to get back"

Barney glanced at the thick report sitting on Cavourna's lap. He frowned
"The Fernandez Case again?" he asked.

"There's something I'm missing. I can feel it, something in all this text that I can't find" Cavourna shook his head in frustration and exhaustion, "That Lawyer died for no reason, I can't let this rest until his soul has retribution"

"Well, his soul can wait until you've rested. That Case must have drained you today"

"Yeah" He gave the man a grateful glance, "Cheers, Barn, I'll head home for the night. See you at the airport tomorrow"

"Goodnight...Sir" He teased as he closed the glass door behind him. Cavourna chuckled and started to gather up the papers he would bring home with him.

Alexander Cavourna's Apartment. South Washington.
23:00pm

The traffic was light and Alex was able to burn through the illuminated streets with his powerful SLR, imported from Europe. Although he was an Amercian in all but name, Cavourna still enjoyed some comforts from home.

His apartment was dark as he opened it, his girlfriend was busy on a Case in San Francisco. She wouldn't be back for at least ten days. That gave him a chance to get to Columbia and back without any hassle. The New York Times Reporter would be annoying, but he trusted Barney fully to handle any crisis in his absence.

He turned to stare at an empty glass on the table and suddenly reaised how thirsty he was. Without thinking he pointed at the tap in the kitchen and watched as a string of water flew from the closed tap and into the glass. He drank gratefully and headed into his bedroom. The doublebed had been neatly made up. Cavourna smiled at the memory of the woman he had left sleeping that morning. He also looked at the picture in his bedside drawer. It was a picture of the Blue Heart.

He smiled again, true he had missed all the glory and the adreneline if rushing out, night after night to foil some evil scheme. Now, he had come to appreciate the virtue of tranquility. The chance to have time to himself. Without it, he would never have met Natalie McDermot, the woman of his dreams.

He also stared at the frontpage of the paper he had bought on the way home. It was dominated by a massive split-picture. One half was the former-Commissioner Brown, his massive jowls clenched in fear and his vast forehead covered in sweat as he was escorted by two Police Officers, the other half was of him, smiling and waving to the crowd of Reporters who had assembled, the headline read:
DE-COMMISSIONER BROWN

Setting down the paper and the glass, Cavourna was soon ready to settle down in bed and allow past glories and the details of the Fernandez case to float though his subconcious thoughts.

(OOC: Think of this as a 'brief' introduction to my character, he'll get up to more next post, I swear)

Frost searched his memory for any thread relating to Zurich. Throughout his years in INTERPOL, he visited every country in Europe, knew numerous important people during his investigations. Its' been years since those days passed and his memory was hazy. There was no specific case that he could remember that tied in with the city or even Switzerland. Dammit! I have to think of something. The woman enjoyed the advantage she held, watching him sweat for an answer, knowing full well that she could kill him in a heartbeat. His reflexes were slower, far slower.

Suddenly, it hit him like a freight train. There was no connection from his days in INTERPOL. But...he did know a banker in Zurich. A contact for his financial investigations. William Strauss was a polite older man who worked as a financier in Zurich, managing corporate accounts. A descent enough fellow, smart, well educated. The spark ignited in his mind.

"William Strauss?" he guessed, hopefully the name would suffice.

So he did know her operative. Which meant he was probably not the target, but the one on the receiving end of a favor. A favor she still had no intention of honoring.

"I hope he's a friend of yours. Otherwise my job will get a lot messier."

She shifted her weight to the other leg, in effect pivoting slightly. Her glance flickered to the adjoining house, the only one in danger of illuminating her unless some do-gooder decided to take a walk and check things out.

"Interesting guy, old Bill. Knows a lot about numbered accounts, but not so great with manipulation. Poor guy's probably in jail already."

She watched him again, allowing the information to sink in, and searching his face for a reaction.

"So are you going to swing that, or shall we chat?"

Something started to jump start in his head, rationale? Taking a swing at this woman would result in injury or worse for him. She knew Strauss as well, but how? Strauss and Frost had worked together before. Due to Switzerland's neutrality policies and willingness to deal with anyone it made it difficult to get banking information from other bankers. Instead, he cultivated a freindship with William Strauss, a good guy with questionable motives who often leaked information to Frost during his investigations. Alot of companies were caught due to Strauss's help which was strictly confidential.

Sensing the futility in brandishing the bat, he lowered it and scanned the surrounding houses then back at the woman who rested easily on the wall.

"I never was a baseball fan" he smirked and dropped the bat to his side.

"Smart man."

Tory checked the security of the pick in her glove, satisfied that it had survived the vault up the wall. Sensing eyes on her, she glanced at Frost's house. His daughter peered out a window at her.

"He sent me here. Said you needed help. Any idea what that might be about?"

She toyed with the idea of passing him the account numbers to identify, but she didn't trust him. After all, a determined person could still trace them to her. Best not to bring it up. With the link in Zürich officially cleared up, she was genuinely curious about the turn of events. Why Strauss thought she could or would help.

Need help? What is going on? Frost stopped to think, he hadn;t spoke with Strauss in over three months. The last time they spoke was in Zurich when Frost was on another investigation for the EU. The two developed a good working relationship, Strauss provided him with vital information which gave him the edge during inquiries. Naturally, Frost felt uneasy the whole time, seeing how his Swiss friend seemed not to benefit from any of the cases. Was he doing it for kicks? Or was there something more? Currently, the situation for him improved, until his daughter appeared in the window. Frost looked up, offered a warm smile and a wave, Ashley returned the same and continued to watch curiously.

"I don't know what he's talking abou-" Frost paused mid-sentence, finally making the connection. It concerned his current inquiry case...Zemsky Industries. The next day Frost intended to call Strauss to get the low down on some of Zemsky's finances. "I think I know now what he's talking about. Strauss has been my contact within the stone-walling Swiss banking world. I'm currently investigating Zemsky Industries. Does Strauss have something for me?" Frost asked.

After a small and relaxing conversation, Zemsky asked politely for Anya to leave the room while he discuss some business with associates. She frowned but complied, taking the empty cups of eta with her. Alone for a moment he sighed and fixated on the globe one last time before Petrov entered the room, closing the doors behind him.

"Sir, the IT's have made a discovery in Zurich Petrov got straight to business. Zemsky stood up and moved to the dead fireplace.

"This better be good" Zemsky warned.

"Tracing the money trail proved futile, sadly. The equipment used was top of the line and the transfer was washed and rerouted too many times for us to track." Petrov flipped through the paper. "The camera imaging came up negative...save one photo."

"Really?" Zemsky ran a finger through his trimmed beard, interested.

"Yes, sir. the photo was taken around fifteen minutes after the system was hacked. Here's the image" Petrov took out a blaoted up photo. It was as clear as it could be, the darkness of the night made it hard to read out. It was the picture of a man stepping into a ford mondeo several blocks away. "The IT's took footage from cameras in the surrounding area as well and that's how they got this one. They're searching the database now and a match should be made quite soon."

"Excellent, let me know when they find anything else." Zemsky replied, "We must tie this loose end off quickly. I can;t afford to have my plans compromised by some...burglar"

Thank you, Strauss. Unknowingly, he'd provided her an out. She only had to stretch the truth a little to cover her own ass. The girl seemed reassured by her father's wave, but didn't go back to sleep. Likely, she was the reason Tory'd been caught to begin with.

"He gave me account numbers. Thought you might be interested in them."

Fishing in a pocket, she withdrew the paper from the previous evening, bearing only the four accounts that had been pilfered. It wouldn't take any divine intervention to discover the frozen status. Tracking the funds, however... If Strauss was his only reliable connection, there was no problem.

"I'll expect to be included, of course. Call it a delivery fee."

Frost looked at the paper cautiously. What am I getting myself into? The better question was what was Strauss getting himself into. Was he responsible for these numbers the woman had in her hand. The account numbers might tie in with Zemsky Industries. It would certainly help in his investigation. Who ever thought that financial investigations could have such a cloak and dagger attribute to it? It was quite a plot off course from the normal boredom of number crunching and phone calls to have some mysterious woman appearing at your house, veiled from possible identification.

"What is Strauss's motivation in all of this?" Frost asked, "He's helped me in the past but this is getting dangerous, too dangerous for him. Why didn;t you just take some of the money out yourself?"

"Careful Frost. You're making assumptions that I'm anything more than a courier."

The man was perceptive. Too perceptive. That needed to be managed, and required less than full disclosure on her part. The daughter was still watching her. For some reason, it made Tory edgy.

"I got my fair cut. I'm sure Strauss did as well."

"How do I know you're not just a simple courier? Maybe you are, maybe you're not...I don't know. You show up at my house, doing I don't know what. In this day in age, I try to keep my options open and don't underestimate much these days" Frost said.

Suddenly, there was a tap on the glass from the window above, drawing his attention upwards to see his daughter holding her teddy bear up, as if the bear itself tapped on the glass. frost smiled and waved back again, hoping his daughter would just go back to bed. To his dismay, the window opened.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" she asked.

Frost brought a finger to his mouth, "Quite sweetie, don't wake the neighbors."

"Are you talking to the boogiewoman?" Ashley asked innocently.

"Yes, we''re having an important talk right now, could you please go back to bed?" Frost pleaded.

Ashley waved at the woman, smiled, and disappeared back into the house. Frost sighed in relief, turning his attention back to the woman "I'm sure you know what I used to do, those instincts don't die. Now, how did he get a hold of you?"

How do I know you're not just a simple courier?

"I guess you don't."

The girl interrupted again. When she opened the window to chat with Daddy, Victoria considered using the distraction as a chance to slip away. In fact she should have. Reasons beyond her understanding kept her rooted to the spot. When the girl waved, Tory did not wave back. She merely stared, waiting for the kid to follow her father's directions.

"A pity partners can't be more like instincts, hmm?"

It was a low blow, but one she just couldn't resist taking. Aside from being a cruel barb, she had confirmed that she did indeed have knowledge about his previous employment.

"How did he contact me? Same way anyone finds someone with my special delivery skills. The bigger question is how he found out about me. I'm not exactly listed in the directory."

That exact question had crossed her mind more than once. Her name was not connected with the Phantom alias in any investigation report she'd ever come across. More than that, her name wasn't known. It wasn't connected to anything someone would want to seek her out for. It seemed this banker was a bigger mystery than he first let on.

If I didn't know how hard the man works to provide for that bastard of his I wouldn't care. I'm offering a nice way out for you, one that doesn't involve getting the life crushed out of you..."

She could hear it, hear it clearly- the gloating and pleasure that her emotional pain brought the stranger. If she had been a cat her ears would have been pinned to her head and a growl sounding deep in her throat. The fur-kit wormed it's sinuous way back down into the deep inner pocket, alarmed now.

She held onto the bag, again with stength beyond normal, though her arms were aching now, and the bag extended horizontally away from her towards this new man in black. No, Not going to lose this She thought as the gift of her Novan ancestry slipped the bonds she normally kept on it...

Completely out of nowhere, flames flashed into being about him, and his clothes were beginning to ignite. Tora spun pushing herself to the limits to get away, to get around around a corner, to get mingled admist a crowd... completely and totally 'lost, man'

The flames wouldn't hurt him much if at all, but they would startle, distract and disconcert the man, givng her a few precious minutes....If he'd been...been what...nicer? She wondered as she ran and dodged past others. She wasn't sure if she had the concept down. Vanishingly few had ever been 'nice' to her but she'd seen holocinnes, and here the strange flat-on-a-screen 'movies'...but that was for other people, real people not clones.

Stillwater wasn't exactly pleased when the flames flashed up in front of him, but another telekinetic shove cleared the area of air and extinguished the flames in a short instant. He'd let her run, for now. Bullet needed to chase down his own payment, he was big boy. He made note of the woman, her abilities and her looks. The little creature in her pocket would make her easy enough to track in a crowd, since normal people didn't keep animals in their pockets.

Stillwater had other business to attend to, and it wasn't her. Next time he resolved to just shoot her and get it over with. Toying with your prey was never a good idea...

The words cut deep, a personal blow that hit hard and hit home. What doesn't she know about me? It was a cruel punch to throw at him but he remained calm, not wanting to telegraph his reaction. He could tell this woman had no alligance, more than likely worked for the highest bid. A contract killer? A specialist at finding people? It didn't matter to him, this woman was unwelcomed.

"Maybe he looked up under 'B' for bitch?" Frost quipped, "I don't know how he found you. When your in this kind of business, the competition is slim and the circles are small. when you get into one of those circles, you get to know everyone by their first name"

Bullet was sitting at a stop-light on his way back down to Boston when his cell lit up with a text message. At first he thought it was his baby's momma bitching about needing more money like usual, but it wasn't. It was from that stupid contract service he'd signed on with a few years ago...

Bullet:
Advise Job with possible long term contract
Security and Recovery Price: 1,000,000 Euros
If desired, check-in Atlanta Airport Merriot Name Jhon Smith, room 712 this thursday, contact will be made.

The price was more than right, enough so that he could forget about the money in the duffel bag. He simply stepped on the gas and blew through the red light, spurring the little compact car to its limits as he sped down the east coast, looking to make as good time as he was able. It was Wednesday, and he needed to be there by tomorrow. It was already getting late and he had quite a bit of driving ahead of him.

He arrived some several hours later, strung out on Monster energy drinks and walking a little more deliberately than before, that bad left hamstring had started cramping up again as it was prone to do when he sat down for too long. The airport hotel was more than nice, it was downright swanky. The desk clerk gave him an odd look, he was still dressed to kill, and not in the metaphorical sense...

"Jhon Smith, I've got a room reserved..."

The clerk did a double-check, and saw that the room wasn't occupied, so he handed over the key...

"It's 712, sir. Enjoy your stay..."

Bullet tossed him a quick, half-hearted salute as he turned to go, hauling a thinly-disguised rifle case in one hand and a black duffel in the other, laden with extra clothes, ammunition, and more than a few double-pistol cases and gunsmithing tools. The room was a short elevator ride away, and he quickly dropped off his gear before clearing the room with the Ruger in hand, just in case it was a trap. There wasn't anyone waiting on him, so he settled in for the duration. The message didn't say when contact was going to be made, so all he had to do now was wait...

"Tsk tsk, seems I've touched a nerve."

He had retaliated with a spear of his own, at which she merely laughed. This encounter was tremendously insightful. She now had a good baseline feel for how this man would react to various situations. The more personal, the less rational. Valuable information. She shifted position again, rolling back from the crouch to seat herself while leaving one leg bent. She rested her elbow against that knee, comfortably casual yet still able to move in a hurry if need be.

When your in this kind of business, the competition is slim and the circles are small. when you get into one of those circles, you get to know everyone by their first name.

"Not me. I'm not sure what kind of circles you think I run in Mr. Frost, but you're off the mark."

She inclined her head towards the paper containing the accounts, shifting the tone and focus of the conversation.

"What do you think those accounts are for?"

"Shut up." snarled Kartosh as he continued to use the car as a ram to bash though traffic. He finally made it into an open section. "Safe!" The rearview mirror contradicted this statement. A black Jeep Wrangler was following, but it seemed to be missing it's gunner. The 50. cal lay empty. But the Wrangler could try and ram him off the road, and Kartosh had no defenses expect to ram back. The limo skidded up a street and went into a slide. Kartosh smashed on the breaks as the Wrangler tore after them, moving too fast for the driver to react. The Wrangler smashed though the middle of the limo, not into, but though. The two sections of the car hit the ground and the Wrangler, out of control, the driver dead from the collusion, flipped onto it's back, skidded into a building, and burst into flames. Kartosh got out of the drivers seat, got into the other section of the destroyed limo, grabbed Kash, and dragged him out. Sirens could be heard outside, and Kartosh, with his hand around Kash's collar, dragged him into a nearby alley.

Kash let out a "umph" as he fell out of the car and was being dragged, when they stopped he wiped himself down.

"A free-lancer?" Frost chanced, "That seems to fit you better. You run in circles, the underground, under the table kind of circles. Your the backdoor option for men with motives and money to spare." he added.

She was enjoying this far more than he was, almost toying with him.

"Swiss banks are known for being neutral in their business. They don;t give preferential treatment to any certain clientel. They will deal with anyone who has money and needs a place to store it...or hide it. If I had to guess anything the one account there, belonging to Zemsky Industries might be a personal account or one he doesn't want people to know about. I'm investigating his company now, he's a very powerful man, influential and sharp."

"Is that a fact..."

Virtually unrestrained access to an account belonging to a powerful international corporation? Victoria made a mental note to kiss Strauss if ever she saw him again. And the man himself was intelligent? Tory thrilled to challenges, and this had all the earmarks of an interesting venture. She was in a delightfully strategic position. Now if only she knew what to do with it...

"You've piqued my interest, Mr. Frost. I'd like to help."

Before he asked what assistance she could be, the question answered itself. It finally came to him that this woman stole the accounts and the money from Zemsky Industries. This put him in an interesting position. This woman had valuable skills that would come in handy. Of course, the honest streak in him began to gnaw at his ankles. Should I?

"I don't know how else you can help me at this point. I need to run these numbers and get to the bottom of things and sort them out. Your assistance could be quite helpful seeing how we're already traveling down the rabbit hole." Frost responded. He knew full well her intentions, financial gain, but what difference did it make? He now had someone who could prove invaluable. "Is there a way for me to contact you?"

Scarlet found herself basking in the sun on a beach in famed Rio de Janeiro. Hundreds of tourists dotted the beaches, sun bathing, swimming, and playing volleyball. It was relaxing to hear the sounds of normal, everyday people live their lives. These were the luxuries she lived without all her life. To dream of such trivial things such as having your own family and an honest job would seem crazy to anyone else but to her, these were her dreams and aspirations. Lying on a beach blanket, eyes closed, and a smile on her face. As the day progressed and the tide came in, she found herself still on the beach, having fallen asleep, upon this realization she shot up to see a male admirer trying to steal a glance at Scarlet.

Rewinding the last mission in her mind, she criticized her performance as well as that of Chief. Something didn't seem right about it. Chief knew full well her capabilities yet still opted to force action. This was unlike him, it set Scarlet's instincts up in flames. Dammit, what's going on here? The agent gathered her towel and moved down the beach, desperate for a pina colada or something cold and alcoholic. At a tiki bar she took a sip of the long awaited drink and surveyed the scene. Suddenly, a hand grazed her bottom. Taking instant offense she turned around to see a wide grinned tourist.

"G'day!" he siad in a cocky, Australian accent, "Sorry about that, I must be clumsy or somethin'. My name's-" as he outstretched his arm, Scarlet seized his hand and gave him a handshake he'll never forget. One could hear bones crush as he shrilled like a girl, collapsing to his knees in pain.

"G'day to you, mate" Scarlet bent down and whispered into his ear, gathered her things and decided to leave.

"Just call the operator and tell them where you'd like to meet. It's as easy as that."

With that, she winked at him and disappeared over the wall. She had absolutely no intention of trusting this man. If he figured out what she meant by that, he'd search for the tap. Unless he actually wanted her help, in which case he probably would just try not to use his phone. In any case, she would keep tabs on him. If he chose not to accept her help, she'd have to force it on him.. at least long enough to glean some useful information regarding this new development.

Jogging down the street, she noted that the lights which had turned on earlier were dark once more. Apparently the neighbors weren't overly alarmed. After sliding into the rental, she pulled off the mask. It tended to look suspicious driving in that.

The phrase made little sense to Frost. As the words still hanged in the air, the woman disappeared over the wall, he opted not to chase her down or anything dramatic. All he could do was blow a puff of air and return inside, his feet were wet and freezing. The night was far too interesting for his liking. With the account numbers in hand he slumped upstairs to his office, tucked the paper away in his journal, returned the bat to his son's room and crawled back into bed, mentally exhausted, however, he could not fall asleep right away. What if it was a trick? So many questions occupied that space he called a head. Frost couldn't trust this woman, but felt that he would need her in the future, sighing, he closed his eyes and finally dozed off.

Police are being tight-lipped in what some are calling the biggest human-trafficking scheme ever to hit Houston. Allegedly operating out of this building on the outskirts of Houston, it is thought that slavers could have had as many as 50 women and girls, selling sex and, some say, even body parts if the price was right.

Amid the allegations of corruption, there is even a rumor of the appearance of the Metal Man, a renegade former Guardian, though what role he played in the operation is uncertain at this time. What is certain is that, given the scope of this operation, there had to be ties between the slavers and local law enforcement. News Eight will keep you informed as the investigation unfolds.

Speaking live for News Eight, this is...

The Metal Man turned off the television.

"That should keep them honest for a little while," he said.

"I wouldn't count on it," Pete replied. "Give 'em a week and they'll be saying that you were behind the whole thing and escaped when they tried to arrest you."

"Close enough," the Metal Man replied. "By then, we'll be long gone."

"To Zurich, then?"

"To Zurich. We have to keep an appointment with the good Mr. Strauss--even if he doesn't know it.

"Oh, by the way, did you hack into that bank yet and thaw out those accounts?"

"Right under the noses of their entire IT department," Pete said with a snicker.

"Can they trace it back to us?"

"They'll get as far as an old administration account on an a college computer in New York. Then, things will get...just a little more difficult. Seems there's a wireless connection or two using the old network cards that didn't have serial numbers. VERY difficult to trace."

The Metal Man chuckled. "Good," he said. "On to Zurich. Drop the DVD with the footage of the raid into the mail...address it to Channel Eight News. By the time it gets there, some people should have a little bit of 'splainin' to do."

"If they run the story."

"I have a funny feeling that a certain reporter isn't going to let them get away with that. But you're right. New destination: New York City. We've got to look up an old friend."

Tora finally slowed, almost certain now that she was not being followed. But now she was even further from the studio apartment she'd been tossing at...and she was hungry. Though she carried a can of energy drink with her every where it would be little more than a stop gap. She always seemed to be trembling on the edge of starving. She wished she understood why, but her live among the pirated had not allowed for finding the answers to such questions, and here they knew next to nothing of cloning, much less of anything beyond their tiny little solar system.

Downing it in one long swallow she looked about for anything resembling a dining establishment. She'd eat as large a meal as would not draw attention at the first one she found, then hunt up the next nearest one.

Between her nanites and her abnormally high metabolism few poisons or toxins could affect her, and she seemed to heal faster than these 'humans' but it also meant she needed to eat more, quite a bit more and that had caused trouble in the past. Particularly at the all-you-can-eat variety of food service establishments.

A Steak and Ale sign caught her eyes from a few blocks down and she was shortly a single at a table for two. That made her lips quirk. This world placedso much emphasis on being a mated pair...

She had been destined, designed to be part of a 'fighter wing trio' - or so said the documentation she'd at one point had read. And she felt drawn- again, again and again; until they'd beaten her senseless and obiedence collared her - to two of the tubes in the Fallgaon's hold..and when the tubes had been off loaded and the pirates ship had departed she'd fallen to a nightmare wracked near coma for over a week ...and when recovered more beatings and more rapes. But by then sex and violence had become inextricably intertwined in the clones battered, unfinished psyche. She'd been decanted early, abused too badly, to ever fit in as normal on this strange and contradictory world. I'm supposed to want a Clark Kent when what rouses me is ...what I ran from back there...

She quickly placed an order for an appetiser, the largest steak they had and headed for the salad bar as she mused on the nights events. The custer with it's tiny guardian and the duffel bag were hidden well under the table and she'd be gone for only a moment...

Atlanta Airport Merriott

There was a phone call a little less than one hour after he made his arrival. The voice on the other end was obviously hispanic and in a loud bar.
Hey man, I don't know if this is some joke or not, but hell a hundread bucks is a hundread bucks man...yeah the note says under the lamp...five, five, three, eight...plug it into the network jack and hit start. Oh shit then hang up... the line went dead.

Obviously the caller was dead dialing, so there was no direct connection between what he had just said and the phone number he had been calling with the message.

Bullet had likely located the electronic safe that the Merriot chain waw now hiding in the small desks in their rooms, right under the only table lamp in the room lap.

When (and if) he had opened the safe there was a folder and a small, rugged laptop computer laying inside. Plugging it into the network jack and hitting the start button made the computer come on, and then network to some distant location.

There was a blinking light as the camera above the screen initalized and an image appeared on the screen. It was of an older man with horribly scarred skin over the left face and a patch over his eye. The other glinted hard at the screen and Bullet.

"Ah, so your Bullet. My name's Clark. We used to be competitors awhile back, but as you can see I had to retire." Clark held up a gloved hand to indicate his damaged face and eye. "It gets worse the farther south you go" he snarled at that a memory of what he had been and now was. Clark's eye refocused on his screen and the image of Bullet.

"I don't know why you youngsters want all that ink on your skin, makes it hard for you to just vanish into a crowd. But your one of the best, and my boss likes men of your ilk, craftsmen of fine implements of war if you will."

Clark paused for a second, "So Bullet, how would you like a long term position, one that will easily cover those child support payments? Cause this job is sort of like an interview on steroids. If you do well, hell you get a million and a place on the team. If you do so so, you get half and a pat on the back. You know what happens if things to Fubar on these jobs. So you intrested?"

Kash let out a "umph" as he fell out of the car and was being dragged, when they stopped he wiped himself down.
Kartosh tugged out his Hi-Power and pressed the barrel to Kash's forehead. "Alright you bastard, talk. I want everything: Acount codes, locations of all your factories, base's and deployment areas. Give them to me and I won't kill you. If you don't talk, your brains will be splattered all over that wall. Got it?" Kartosh's specific mission was not to kill Kash. Rather, he was supposed to obtain the locations of all his holdings. Wether he was doing this for a government or a private company, Kartosh didn't know. He didn't care and it didn't matter. And if the man didn't talk, Kartosh had no qualms about blowing his head off. He had other ways of obtaining supposidly secure information.

"Don't move."

Kartosh slowly looked to the right, to the mouth of the alley. There was a man standing there, feet wide in a fighting stance, hands up in a defensive posture. It was a big, muscular guy who looked as though he could be Hulk Hogan's brother: Buzzed blonde hair, bandana, leather, six pack...it was all there. And he was holding a SIG Sauer pistol, big and black and evil looking, pointing right at Kartosh's head. The unexpected intruder's eyes widened when he saw what Kartosh looked like. Cold yellow eyes, sharp, pointy teeth, fox ears. Kartosh wa relying on this, and took the moment of shock to bring his Hi-Power up to aim at the guys chest. "I suggest you back away slowly, now."

Kash slugged Kartosh in the back of the head as he turned towards the new person.

OCC: Brother vs Brother repyld, glad your online.

Kash slugged Kartosh in the back of the head as he turned towards the new person.

OCC: Brother vs Brother repyld, glad your online.
Kartosh barely felt it. Without turning around, he slammed his fist into Kash's stomach, winding him, and used the same hand to shove him to the ground, not even looking at him and keeping the pistol in his right hand pointed at the newcommer. It was a stand-off, and it wasn't about to be broken by Kash.

Kartosh barely felt it. Without turning around, he slammed his fist into Kash's stomach, winding him, and used the same hand to shove him to the ground, not even looking at him and keeping the pistol in his right hand pointed at the newcommer. It was a stand-off, and it wasn't about to be broken by Kash.

Kash hit his pager on his side, it bleeped. Within minutes police and such would be crawling the area.

Kash hit his pager on his side, it bleeped. Within minutes police and such would be crawling the area.
Kartosh sighed and swiftly turned and fired. The bullet slammed though Kash's side, smashing his pager into bits, mixing blood with electronic parts. The shot was hardly lethal, and the bullet had exited cleanly, but it was exeedingly painful. The man at the other end of the alley fired his SIG and Kartosh tore open a nearby door and hid behind it, using it as cover. The man didn't fire anymore and ran for it, away from the alley. Kartosh cursed and hauled Kash to his feet, supporting him. "Like I said before: Locations, codes. Now, or I will kill you."

Kartosh sighed and swiftly turned and fired. The bullet slammed though Kash's side, smashing his pager into bits, mixing blood with electronic parts. The shot was hardly lethal, and the bullet had exited cleanly, but it was exeedingly painful. The man at the other end of the alley fired his SIG and Kartosh tore open a nearby door and hid behind it, using it as cover. The man didn't fire anymore and ran for it, away from the alley. Kartosh cursed and hauled Kash to his feet, supporting him. "Like I said before: Locations, codes. Now, or I will kill you."

Kash winced in pain " Sacramento...Jackson California."he winced again as he held his side " New York, empire state building." Havana Cuba" a light tear came out of his eye in the pain " Tokyo and Bejing...that all god that's all."

Kash winced in pain " Sacramento...Jackson California."he winced again as he held his side " New York, empire state building." Havana Cuba" a light tear came out of his eye in the pain " Tokyo and Bejing...that all god that's all."
Kartosh punched him in the face. "Acount codes, too! Give me the codes for all your company and private funds." Blood was dripping on the ground, and Kash seemed to be fading fast.

Kartosh punched him in the face. "Acount codes, too! Give me the codes for all your company and private funds." Blood was dripping on the ground, and Kash seemed to be fading fast.

Kash's head spun " uuh Wells Fargo, 22154...Bank of America 3311, Swiss bank 32..." he fainted.

Kash's head spun " uuh Wells Fargo, 22154...Bank of America 3311, Swiss bank 32..." he fainted.
Kartosh dropped the man to the ground in disgust. He glared at Kash's prone body, debating. This man had made his life what it was now. He had been set for a relatively early retirement from a life of death. And here comes the scientist with his diabolical experiments, who changed him forever. Kartosh was sick of dragging this guy's ass around...but he had a debt to pay. He hoisted the unconcious man onto his shoulders and took him to the basement of the store nearby, threatening the store owner with his gun and paying him 5,000 dollars in cash for his silence of their presence and general cooperation. After bandaging Kash's wound (he would likely die from loss of blood if this was not done), Kartosh propped him up against a pile of crates. The basement was lit by only a pale naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, making shadows dance on the walls. The hitman rubbed some smelling salt under Kash's nose to wake him up, then backed away. Kartosh carefully covered his face again and sat on a barrel, his Hi-Power pointed at Kash. He still had that last account code for him, and Kartosh was personally interested in a few other things.

Kash woke up, the hot light burned his eyes as he regained life. He leaned against a wall as his eyes adjusted. " uhhh, where am I?"

"Dosen't matter. It's whether you will be or not in a few minutes that should concern you," Kartosh's form was in shadow, only the pistol exposed, pointing unshaking at Kash's head. "It wasn't finished with you. The rest of the account codes, and then I have a few questions."

Kash smiled " alright you son of a bitch, i got two other banks in LA and one in Berlin. 6124, 5503, and Berlin, 100533."

Kash woke up, the hot light burned his eyes as he regained life. He leaned against a wall as his eyes adjusted. " uhhh, where am I?"
"Dosen't matter. It's whether you will be or not in a few minutes that should concern you," Kartosh's form was in shadow, only the pistol exposed, pointing unshaking at Kash's head. "It wasn't finished with you. The rest of the account codes, and then I have a few questions."

"Alright," Karotsh had already taken down the building locations and other account numbers into his phone. He copied these in as well. "That Swiss bank account? 32...what?" He looked at him.

"3256..."he frowned and looked down.

"3256..."he frowned and looked down.
"Good," Kartosh grinned, his mouth hidden under his gauze. The man was watching all his money and life's work slip away from him. "So," he said, licking his lips under the bandages as he hit "Send" and transmitted the data, "tell me. Doctor. Your history." Kartosh already knew some of the man's history, but he wanted to hear it all. And if he lied, Kartosh could make things very unpleasant for him.

Kash smiled " alright you son of a bitch, i got two other banks in LA and one in Berlin. 6124, 5503, and Berlin, 100533."
"Alright," Karotsh had already taken down the building locations and other account numbers into his phone. He copied these in as well. "That Swiss bank account? 32...what?" He looked at him.

"Good," Kartosh grinned, his mouth hidden under his gauze. The man was watching all his money and life's work slip away from him. "So," he said, licking his lips under the bandages as he hit "Send" and transmitted the data, "tell me. Doctor. Your history." Kartosh already knew some of the man's history, but he wanted to hear it all. And if he lied, Kartosh could make things very unpleasant for him.

Kash felt strange at all of this, it had happend so fast " I was a scientist during the cold war, I made weapons, when the cold war ended I was out of work." he took a breath " I worked for the russians for awhile, then came back."

Atlanta Airport Merriott

There was a phone call a little less than one hour after he made his arrival. The voice on the other end was obviously hispanic and in a loud bar.
Hey man, I don't know if this is some joke or not, but hell a hundread bucks is a hundread bucks man...yeah the note says under the lamp...five, five, three, eight...plug it into the network jack and hit start. Oh shit then hang up... the line went dead.

Obviously the caller was dead dialing, so there was no direct connection between what he had just said and the phone number he had been calling with the message.

Bullet had likely located the electronic safe that the Merriot chain waw now hiding in the small desks in their rooms, right under the only table lamp in the room lap.

When (and if) he had opened the safe there was a folder and a small, rugged laptop computer laying inside. Plugging it into the network jack and hitting the start button made the computer come on, and then network to some distant location.

There was a blinking light as the camera above the screen initalized and an image appeared on the screen. It was of an older man with horribly scarred skin over the left face and a patch over his eye. The other glinted hard at the screen and Bullet.

"Ah, so your Bullet. My name's Clark. We used to be competitors awhile back, but as you can see I had to retire." Clark held up a gloved hand to indicate his damaged face and eye. "It gets worse the farther south you go" he snarled at that a memory of what he had been and now was. Clark's eye refocused on his screen and the image of Bullet.

"I don't know why you youngsters want all that ink on your skin, makes it hard for you to just vanish into a crowd. But your one of the best, and my boss likes men of your ilk, craftsmen of fine implements of war if you will."

Clark paused for a second, "So Bullet, how would you like a long term position, one that will easily cover those child support payments? Cause this job is sort of like an interview on steroids. If you do well, hell you get a million and a place on the team. If you do so so, you get half and a pat on the back. You know what happens if things to Fubar on these jobs. So you intrested?"


He'd located the laptop, and was doing as asked, but something didn't feel right...

"Yeah, I'm interested, so long as I'm not doing any truly evil shit. I don't roll like that. If you're serious and not just jerking me off, hit me with your best shot my man. I'm all ears..."

The ink was an expression of who he was, every tattoo held some semblance to him, if only him alone. The rings in the eyebrow were indicitive of how many times he'd reconciled with the mother of his son, apparently to no avail...

Stillwater vanished into the night, taking any of his secrets as to his motives etc. with him....

Kash felt strange at all of this, it had happend so fast " I was a scientist during the cold war, I made weapons, when the cold war ended I was out of work." he took a breath " I worked for the russians for awhile, then came back."
"Mmm," Kartosh muttered, amused. "A turncoat scientist. And I expect you make money now making and selling weapons? Tell me," he leaned forward, "what kind of weapons?"
Streets...
The Hulk Hogan clone slipped into another alleyway. He pressed a button on his wrist watch and suddenly there was a slender man, barely out of his teens. His eyes were yellow, and he had a fox tail and fox ears...just like Kartosh. His skin was tanned and naturally dark. His parentage was mutt, a mix of northern European, Irish and English and French and Finnish and all kinds. Brown hair, scruffy and unkept, fell over his face as he considered. Another one! Foxfire thought wildly. There's only one thing to do. He took out a little ring and held in the black stone in the center, hearing a click. One...two...three...four...that should do it.

Kash smiled " The kind that kill people" he began to laugh.

"Yeah, I'm interested, so long as I'm not doing any truly evil shit. I don't roll like that. If you're serious and not just jerking me off, hit me with your best shot my man. I'm all ears..."

Clark might have attempted to raise an eyebrow, but he only had one anymore so it wasn't an effective gesture. "Good, The firm has a client who is delinquint in his payment for a specialty weapons purchase."

The screen split into two and an image of an older man with a mustache wearing a green military cap with four stars appeared on the screen.
"This is General Mermerit, Of the Klezticistan...no...Klatz army. who contracted to construct a specialty APC with rapid fire armor peircing capablity, and hover construction to cross rivers. He claims upon the instruction of Grand General, Supreame Greatness, and Benevolant Overlord of Klatzikistan...Everyone just calls the place Klatz."

A second picture, this of a fat man man with a mustache and ten stars on his military cap appeared.

"If they look very similar, they are actually first cousins. In the end, the General's funds have been stolen, considering the bank that was held up, and that only four accounts were hit, it was an inside job. Very likely by the General, Katz has a great deal of minerial and precious stone wealth that can be turned into small easy bribes without serial numbers or electronic transmissions. I suppose we could hunt down culprit of the robbery, but the Firm is owed 100 million euros by the General. He placed it in escrow in his account, so the money being stolen is his problem."

Clark actually rolled a bit forward as he spoke again. " Your assignment two fold, the first is to convince the General to pay the outstanding bill. If that proves impossible, or overly costly, you will terminate the General."

"The firm has found having a reputation for removing former customers for non-payment or robbery has allowed us to focus on clients who are willing to pay."

Clark paused, "Futhermore, we have it on good authority that the Supreme Greatness did not order said superweapon and that it is likely the centerpeice of a coup attempt by the General. If you can recover the 100 million by using this information including selling out the General, so be it. He has violated the good faith clause of the contract and we are now acting in bad faith."

"A complete dossiers on both men has been provided. What methods, arguments, and weapons you use to acheive one or both of your tasked assignments will be up to you. The firm needs someone who can handle entire recovery missions without causing undo burden of time upon myself or the Doc. Any questions before I give a more detailed breifing?"

The Metal Man sat bolt upright in his meditation chamber.

"Pete," he said, "a friend is in trouble."

The rings he gave were special transmitters. They were hooked into an emergency distress system that Species One had built into their cybernetic systems. It was something that he could not ignore--and his enemies had been known to use this against him.

"I know," Pete replied. "It's in New York City."

"Oh," the Metal Man said. "We were going there anyway."

"In fact, we just arrived."

"Good. To be honest, I'd spent enough time meditating."

Within five minutes, a fat old man in tennis shoes, jeans, a Giants T-Shirt, a dark blue nylon jacket and a Yankees cap appeared in the alleyway where Foxfire Rose was waiting (think "Michael Moore with gray hair"). He smiled.

"Hello, old friend," he said. "I'm going to need your help."

"Two trips to the salad bar ought not to raise any eyebrows" Tora murmured as she finished the appetizer and started on the entree - a large baked potato fully loaded, a side of steamed asaparagus, and a 20 ounce prime rib and the loaves of fresh black bread that every table got. Still hungry she requested a Death by Chocolate. The fur kit had gotten some of the lettuce and cheese off of the salad, and some of the rib eye cut into tiny bits.

She paid in cash with a helft tip and left. She was still ever so slightly hungry but the worry that the mind stealer might have gotten the information about where she lived hung heavy on her mind, and she'd know she'd have to move on. Her contact for the passport could get it to her as easily in the next large city to the East, the one called New York. She had been given to understand that it was an even better place to get lost on.

She had things she didn't want to leave behind, namely the rest of the money she'd gathered in her meancering journey east across the vastness of the Uunited States. The planet was so very amazing to her.

The pirates had not let her leave the confines of the ship until she'd been five years out and even then when allowed togo planet side she was 'escorted' at all times and not allowed out of the vicinity of the starport. Holographs and cinnies just didn't have the same impact as crossing it, mostly afoot.

Suddenly exhausted she headed straight for the studio apartment, coat wrapped about her, the fur-kut snug asleep and the duffle bag firmly in hand - the only good thing was that the land lord didn't ask any questions in return for exorbitant amounts of cash.

Vladimir looking out the window on a train to the south. Things hadn't gone as planed. The Tambov were nearly gone. While the police had listened and cracked sown on them hard the police was now under pressure to stem the tide of gang violence. The answer to this problem was simple. MONEY. Vladimir simply didn't have enough to keep the police away.
So rather than get into some very bloody battles with the local government he left most of the gang in ST. Petersburg and with 12 trusted guards set out towards Moscow where he could get the funds he needed.

OOC:

Sorry I'm so late, been busy with work.

IC:

Beautiful

That was the only words that came to mind as Caster looked onward to the Buran shuttle launching into the clear sky. So many of these magnificent space vessels have lifted off from Independence Spaceport that it was impossible to count. Each one brought a new memory for Caster. He loved to come here and watch, observe, and even video a few. In truth, however, it was his son that made him so interested.

"Will they come back, daddy?"

Caster looked down to his five year old son. Smiling, he looked back into the exhaust flame of the shuttle. Of course they would, they always did. Not one time has a shuttle been lost to the Anagonian National Aerospace Agency. Maybe a few foul-ups, but funding from Congress fixed all those a long time ago.

"Of course they will," he said while maintaining a sharp gaze on the shuttle, "they alwa-"

KATHOOOOOOOM

Caster was shot down by a massive blast wave, his son tumbling a few feet behind. Recovering quickly, he went straight to his boy and held him close as he cried at the strain to his young ears. Looking up, Caster saw the impossible.

"No," he whispered in disbelief, "not now..."

The Buran space shuttle, with the Energia rocket launcher, had exploded violently. Shards of super-heated metal were flaming down to the surface below. Then he heard the Spaceport Sirens, never used before. Loud, almost sounding like weather sirens. He blinked, gazing down at the Spaceport to see a flurry of activity, looking back up to see the original explosion ball having turn into two, then four. Minor explosions were sounding everywhere, from shrapnel hitting the ground, to pieces still falling to the earth.

"Are they coming home, daddy?" Even through the pain, the sobs, and the tears his son still asked the obvious. Caster looked down at him with tears of his own. "No son, their in the heavens now."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over the next few days, media outlets and newspapers had only one headline to run. Shuttle Bombed, they repeated over and over. Military took control over the investigation after Spaceport security camera's caught some suspicious individuals placing some additions onto the payload a few weeks before. They images were shown of the individuals, in normal scientific outfits, but the payload was blurred out. The explanation was that it was top secret, which had many of the populace wondering who Anagonia pissed off this time.

For Caster Oblivion, it was hell. He had already went through five meetings with foreign diplomats concerning the matter. No one claimed responsibility so far, and no leads were found. No one knew why Anagonia had been a target of such a tragedy. And, most importantly, no one wanted to make Anagonia a target.

Which was good, of course. The only thing he could do was continue on the course the Chief Governor had planned. Diplomatic meetings, and delegations. Caster was to find anything from anyone. So far, he felt like he was wasting his time.

That was until he met up with the delegate from Orondo, a nation just to the north of Anagonia. Walking through the steel-plated doors to the secure meeting room, he nodded to the Orondo ambassador and smiled, like he did thousands of times before.

"Let me guess, nothing." Caster didn't bother sitting down, he knew what would be said.

"Actually," replied the Ambassador, "Something."

Caster gazed with a quizzical expression, then sat in the chair across from the Ambassador. "Do explain," he prompted.

"Your military knows more than I do," he said with a sad expression. "Somehow, three agents of a covert network of terrorists managed to get into our borders, then to yours." The ambassador seemed pained, "I regret voting for the open-border policy now."

"Don't be," replied Caster. "You coming to us makes it worth it."
"So there will be no repercussions for this?"
"Your people and government have been a valuable ally for over a hundred years now," Caster smiled. "The Chief Governor more than likely would overlook the security flaw, probably suggesting we move our troops in to help."
The Ambassador nodded, "The President would more than likely accept that. He believed there were to be more severe terms, but this would be a less one."

The steel door behind Caster opened and, to his disbelief, Chief General Oscar Vladinchi walked through the door. Dressed in the Soviet military attire that gained Nodea Rudav popularity, he patted Casters shoulder and looked straight at the Ambassador. At the suggestion, Caster stood and Oscar sat. Taking off his Beret he cleared his throat.

"We have recieved all Orondo information," Oscar said in heavily influenced Russian-English. "I believe we are on equal terms. Thanks to you, we now know who to exact retribution upon." He looked to Caster, then back at the Ambassador. "Go now, alert your government to our troops to help your security flaws."

The Ambassador stood and left, having no further reason to stay. Personally, he didn't want to stay around the Chief General. Too many bad tales had been said, and to his people having survived an encounter, even under peaceful terms, was a blessing.

Caster went and took the empty seat left by the Ambassador as the steel door closed behind.

"So," Caster started, "What do you want me to do?"
"Simple," Oscar replied, "kill all responsible."
"Even the innocents?"
"Leave them out."
"When?"
"Two hours."

Dastardly Stench;13420812']The Metal Man sat bolt upright in his meditation chamber.

"Pete," he said, "a friend is in trouble."

The rings he gave were special transmitters. They were hooked into an emergency distress system that Species One had built into their cybernetic systems. It was something that he could not ignore--and his enemies had been known to use this against him.

"I know," Pete replied. "It's in New York City."

"Oh," the Metal Man said. "We were going there anyway."

"In fact, we just arrived."

"Good. To be honest, I'd spent enough time meditating."

Within five minutes, a fat old man in tennis shoes, jeans, a Giants T-Shirt, a dark blue nylon jacket and a Yankees cap appeared in the alleyway where Foxfire Rose was waiting (think "Michael Moore with gray hair"). He smiled.

"Hello, old friend," he said. "I'm going to need your help."
"And I, yours," Foxfire looked grim. He hadn't changed much since the last time the MM had seen him. Then again, neither had the Metal Man. "It seems...it seems there is more than one of me. Specifically, in a basement several buildings away. He was beating the crap out of some poor guy. I tried to stop him and he pulled a gun and shot the man he was interrogateing. I'm not sure exactly what it's all about, but he's taken up residence in a nearby No. 1 Chinese. You catch my drift?" He raised his eyebrows.
Kash smiled " The kind that kill people" he began to laugh.
"Obviously. What kind, types, specifications? Guns and swords and knives? Robots, explosives, poison?"

Moscow...

The next day offered little in the way of comfort for Zemsky's mind. News that Vice-Chairman Vassili Ulansk somehow became aware that there is a certain issue regarding the company's financial status. It was only a matter of time before he scratched further and found the root of these whispers. With an inquiry investigating his company, the loss of 200 million Euros, and now that snob Ulansk was sniffing around. A fire began to spark deep within him, a seathing discord that contorted his face in anger. Zemsky prided himself on remaining calm and in contrl of his emotions. With his plans so close to coming to fruition, having such annoyances couldn't be afforded. In his private study, fixated on the globe...such a precious gen, Petrov entered.

"Good morning, sir" Petrov said, "I have some good news"

"Tell me..." Zemsky seathed, not towards Petrov but to some invisible tormentor.

"Our security technicians have come up with a positive match for the photo. It turns out that the man in the photo is...William Strauss"

"What?! My financier?!" Zemsky exploded, the knowledge that his own personal financier in Zurich...stealing from him boiled his blood. A greedy Swiss compromising his plans just for monetary gain was unthinkable but a reality. "I want him dead!"

"We can contact the Swiss police and infor-"

"No!" Zemsky charged up to Petrov, towering over the much thinner Petrov who cringed back. "This has to be contained. It doesn't matter if I get that money back or not. The potential light that this could bear on me is something I will not allow...I want him dead" his words were final.

Petrov was at a loss for words, "Sir...Ulansk is on the phone as well, he wants to speak with you"

"Fine!" Zemsky forced himself past Petrov, knocking him in the shoulder. What does that old fool want? As long as he could remember, Ulansk desired nothing more than to helm the company himself, spearheading the campaign to make the company public, thus liquifying Zemsky's control over the company. Naturally, he fiercely resisted and manipulated the situation to stem the tide for the time being. if Ulansk discovered this large monetary amount missing, it would be the right size caliber bullet to bring Zemsky down. Not to mention that this money wasn't on the books or in the records. Recollecting his thoughts, he returned to the office where most business at was conducted. A phone hanged off the hook.

"Vassili, how are you doing?" Zemsky composed himself enough to sound cheerful.

"Still breathing, yourself?" Ulansk replied on then other end at his private residence in Moscow.

"That's all anyone can ask of anyone these days, what can I help you with?"

"It's come to my attention that the special inquiry is under way on their investigation, correct?"

"Standard procedures, I'm afraid. Of course, we're clean and their investigator will not find anything. Stelski is on a witch hunt against the company." Zemsky replied, tapping his fingers against the desk, "There's nothing to worry about"

"The board will be meeting on Tuesday to brainstorm on the next contract with Kulikovia."

"There's still plenty of business here in Russia and the other countries, why go back to Kulikovia. They won't deal with us. Their monitoring laws and stagnate socilaist views won't allow us to have much business there." Zemsky wondered what Ulansk's angle in this move is.

"I'm sure you can find a way around that. You always manage to. I'l see you on Tuesday" and the line went dead. There was something about that sentence that didn't sit well with Zemsky, he pondered if Ulansk had more in his deck than he let on.

"Good evening, I'm Natalie Fox and this is your world news...tonight" A woman in her mid thirties appeared on the television screen, short blonde hair and pearly white teeth which seemed in a permenant state of smile.

"Our top story today...Infamous drug dealer Fernando Santiago was murdered in Bogota Colombia early yesterday morning. We have Latin America Correspondant, Dan Sheperd live in Bogota, Dan?"

Sheperd appeared on the television screen, now out of his tuxedo and in regular clothes. He still stood in front of the layor's residence, "Thank you Natalie. The Mayor of Bogota, Antonio Vargas held an exclusive party for the upper crust of the city's society two nights ago. One of the guests was convicted drug trafficker, Fernando Santiago, head of the Cadena Drug Cartel which has been in hiding in the dense rain forests in the southern provinces for the past few years, eluding Colombian officals. Vargas, facing corruption charges held a party despite his negative poll numbers and repeated calls for his resignation. Sometime in the early hours around 2:30, Santiago was found dead...his neck crushed in a room in the upstairs."

Sheperd pointed to an uostairs window and continued to read from his notes, "Several members of his entourage were killed in an ensuing gun battle with a yet unidentified killer. During this time, Vargas was also killed. The killer escaped, somehow managing to bust open the large front door behind me here, Colombian police claim that the attacker used explosives and that there may have been more than one person involved. Police are being rather quiet about this, seeing the embarrassment in having an elected offical and a cartel leader sharing drinks at a party. A member of the policia, wishing to remain annonymous stated that 'Santiago's body was found with a scarlet rose which witnesses said he was not wearing when he was last seen alive'. More on this story when it develops, back to you natalie" Sheperd offered a subtle smile at the end, but made sure not to make it too obvious.

Scarlet turned off the television in her hotel room, contemplating what to do next after this unexpected turn of events...

The buzz of the alarm clock was exceptionally annoying this particular morning. Sleep clung for dear life on Frost's eyes, yurning to stay shut but knowing it was a fool's dream. Reality continued to sound off, one annoying buzz at a time. Finally, he lurched his arm over to the night stand and smack the alarm clock off onto the floor, praying that gravity would do the job for him, which it did. With the reassurgance of silence, he contemplated giving into the eyelids demands, sadly; Laura foiled this plan "Good morning, hon"

"Morning" Frost mumbled and lazily swung his legs out from the bed and onto the carpet.

"Get up, lazy!" Laura demanded, refreshed from a good night's sleep wereas her husband spent the better part of the night in his pajamas, armed with a bat, squaring off against a mysterious courier. Of course, Laura would never know any of this.

"Don't worry, I'm getting up" his bones felt like the bones of some prehistoric humanoid skeleton dug up from somewhere in Africa. Last night's excitement did his back no justice. Bypassing normal morning routines, opting to get right to work, he headed into his private closet/office and recovered the slip of paper left by the woman. Before he could imput some data, Laura called from downstairs.

"Honey, don't you want some breakfast?" she asked from the kitchen. Dammit, well I guess this will have to wait. Frost exited the room, closing the door. In the kitchen, his two children ran about in circles, giggling. Laura began to make pancakes. Frost, not very good at cooking, decided to wrangle the kids out of Laura's way. Grateful, she offered a wink as she mixed the batter.

"Daddy, did you make the boogiewoman go away?" Ashley asked, sitting on his lap.

"I told her never to come here and bother you again"

"Yay!" Ashley exclaimed, proud of her fearless father who in the face of darkness, took an epic stand and defeated the evil forces of...evil. David grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Frost bounced his daughter off of his knee, enjoying the simple family moments. The news flicked on.

"T-That can't be..." he trailed off, listening to a reporter covering a story in Colombia. One poarticular detail caught his attention. The fact that a cartel leader and a corrupt mayor were dead had little impact on him. It was the mentioning of a scarlet rose that nearly stopped his heart...

The Metal Man sighed an amused sigh. "Oh, just killing someone," he said with a sarcastic grin, "is that all? Well...I suppose you'd better show me the way back there. We can try to negotiate for whatever's left of the victim. Oh--did you let him see you as you are?" He didn't need an answer to tell. "No? I thought not. Please let him this time."

In five minutes, they were exploding through the doorway, just as the other supersoldier was opening the rear door to step out. A cursory glance told the Metal Man's heightened senses that the victim was still alive.

"I don't suppose we could talk you into staying for a peaceful, little chat," the Metal Man said.

Dastardly Stench;13421853']The Metal Man sighed an amused sigh. "Oh, just killing someone," he said with a sarcastic grin, "is that all? Well...I suppose you'd better show me the way back there. We can try to negotiate for whatever's left of the victim. Oh--did you let him see you as you are?" He didn't need an answer to tell. "No? I thought not. Please let him this time."

In five minutes, they were exploding through the doorway, just as the other supersoldier was opening the rear door to step out. A cursory glance told the Metal Man's heightened senses that the victim was still alive.

"I don't suppose we could talk you into staying for a peaceful, little chat," the Metal Man said.
Kartosh had been stepping out for a quick smoke. He was sick of this guy, but he needed the information. And it's not like anyone knew where he was...except apparently they did. Kartosh pulled his Hi-Power and backed up, extended to point right at the fat man's face. He barely registered the other figure, but a quick glance revealed...
Shock.
He stared. Impossible. Ears...eyes...tail...it's all there. I'm not...the only one? He mentally and physically shook himself. No time for distractions. "Who are you? What do you want?"He growled though the scrambler. Foxfire held his SIG, but it was pointed at the ground. He had no intention of shooting the man. He could take Kartosh out with his wide array of martial arts, but he wanted to see what TMM would do.

The Metal Man smiled and brought up his shields. "I'm the Metal Man," he said, "and, from the way your blood pressure shot up when you looked at my friend here, I believe that you both may benefit from a brief exchange of information.

"I've got an interesting little game for you to play. It's called 'the truth.' For the next two minutes, we talk. We ask questions. We answer every question. Nobody lies. Nobody sanctions anybody for the unpleasantness of the truth they hear. Nobody gets shot at, hit, kicked or hurt in any other way. We all get to leave with our dignity.

"You game?"

Vladimir always despised the idea of working with others who believed them selves his equal. He was the leader of a powerful gang and over time would be the most powerful person in Russia. He was chosen!
How ever present circumstances required a bit of humility. So he would go to Moscow where either corrupt politicians or desperate companies always needed someone of his talents.



Dimitri had lived in Moscow for the past 33 years. There was little going on he didn't know about. So when Vladimir notified him of what he needed his first thought went to a foreign CEO that went by Zemsky. He didn't have anyone near him to propose that Vladimir was what he needed but he was confident that if he could get Zemsky to meet with him there would be no contesting the partnership between Zemsky and Vladimir.

Dastardly Stench;13421917']The Metal Man smiled and brought up his shields. "I'm the Metal Man," he said, "and, from the way your blood pressure shot up when you looked at my friend here, I believe that you both may benefit from a brief exchange of information.

"I've got an interesting little game for you to play. It's called 'the truth.' For the next two minutes, we talk. We ask questions. We answer every question. Nobody lies. Nobody sanctions anybody for the unpleasantness of the truth they hear. Nobody gets shot at, hit, kicked or hurt in any other way. We all get to leave with our dignity.

"You game?"
How does he know my blood pressure?!
Kartosh was not, usually, a stupid man. He could see if this pudgy, overweight sonvvabitch was so confident, there was a reason. He kept his Hi-Power up. "So your not here to interfere with my job? Just a few questions? That uncooperative fool in there hasn't answered many at all." While he was looking at TMM, his eyes kept darting back to Foxfire.

Over the next couple of days, Caster began debriefing after debriefing concerning his next assignment. In his Foreign Affairs position was placed a well-trusted diplomat, so Caster wouldn't have to bother with two things at once. So far, the information he was provided gave hints towards a possible future military operation in another country. In retrospect, he considered, he should be military.

File after file came through to his desk as he looked over the paper work and did research. The now-known terrorist attack had struck a nerve at the heart of the Anagonian people, leaving no alternative but military strikes. The problem was, no one knew who or what did it. Tapes were reviewed and suspects were seen, so they knew they were human and involved in some kind of organization. But what puzzled both Caster and investigators was that no one, absolutely no one, claimed responsibility.

That left one alternative. He had to find out what the payload on the shuttle was. If he could gain that top-secret information, perhaps pieces of this puzzle would be found. Taking a quick look at his computer on a secure government link, he failed to gain access to the ANAA Military Branch site. Odd, he was up with with Oscar. So he should have all-access.

He left his office to his Secretary and found his Ford Ranger parked in the government parking lot. He would take matters into his own hands. The only place next to the Chief Governor's office that had all top-secret information was Base 53. It would be a long drive, but he believed it worth it.

Before he left, though, he had to make a call.

"Hey honey," he said into his cellphone. "No, no. I'm alright." A pause, "Yes every thing's fine. Look, I'm going to be late, okay?" Another pause, "Sure thing. Love you too. Bye."

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Driving down InterProvince 20, Caster Oblivion noticed the weather conditions were uncanny for this time of year. Everything seemed alive, full of life. Even after a national tragedy, it surprised Caster at how well everyone bounced back from the horror and shock of the event. Such was the case for a democracy, he supposed.

He had driven two hours so far, and it would be ten more hours before he got to the outskirts of Base 53. He sat back in his comfortable seat and switched lanes to let a faster vehicle pass.

"And I, yours," Foxfire looked grim. He hadn't changed much since the last time the MM had seen him. Then again, neither had the Metal Man. "It seems...it seems there is more than one of me. Specifically, in a basement several buildings away. He was beating the crap out of some poor guy. I tried to stop him and he pulled a gun and shot the man he was interrogateing. I'm not sure exactly what it's all about, but he's taken up residence in a nearby No. 1 Chinese. You catch my drift?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Obviously. What kind, types, specifications? Guns and swords and knives? Robots, explosives, poison?"

" Guns advanced weapons, nuclear, robots" Kash coughed.

How does he know my blood pressure?!
Kartosh was not, usually, a stupid man. He could see if this pudgy, overweight sonvvabitch was so confident, there was a reason. He kept his Hi-Power up. "So you're not here to interfere with my job? Just a few questions? That uncooperative fool in there hasn't answered many at all." While he was looking at TMM, his eyes kept darting back to Foxfire.

"If your job involves killing or maiming this man," the cyborg said, "I'll interfere. Otherwise, no. You can check around if you like. You will find that I always honor my bargains. But I'm not the only one who has questions. I have only one, and it doesn't involve me per se. If you want, I'll even give it to you before the game begins. And I'm sure you've got some of your own. Of course, if he," he indicated the victim, "wishes, he's free to join the game, too--but I'm not sure he's in any condition to participate. Blood loss can do that to a man. If you don't mind, I think I'll take a closer look at him. Wouldn't want him kicking off before the fun started."

He walked not toward the supersoldier, but toward the victim.

The cyborg's hearing had picked up some of the conversation prior to his entrance into the room. The man was making a list of weapons. Perhaps he was an arms dealer who'd cheated a client.

Dastardly Stench;13423527']"If your job involves killing or maiming this man," the cyborg said, "I'll interfere. Otherwise, no. You can check around if you like. You will find that I always honor my bargains. But I'm not the only one who has questions. I have only one, and it doesn't involve me per se. If you want, I'll even give it to you before the game begins. And I'm sure you've got some of your own. Of course, if he," he indicated the victim, "wishes, he's free to join the game, too--but I'm not sure he's in any condition to participate. Blood loss can do that to a man. If you don't mind, I think I'll take a closer look at him. Wouldn't want him kicking off before the fun started."

He walked not toward the supersoldier, but toward the victim.

The cyborg's hearing had picked up some of the conversation prior to his entrance into the room. The man was making a list of weapons. Perhaps he was an arms dealer who'd cheated a client.
Kartosh shrugged. His contract hadn't specifically called for the death of Kash, merely his information. He knew it would be prefferable to all involved parties if he was dead (except himself, of course), but he wasn't going to argue with TMM. The guy was radiating bad vibes, and Kartosh could sense that if it came down to it, this was a fight he could not win. He finally lowered his Hi-Power. "Alright. What's your question?" he jerked his head at Kash. "You can look at him if you want, but he's not in danger of dying...yet."

"My question is simple, and easy to anticipate," the Metal Man said, bending over to get a better look at the victim. "Who is this man, and why have you taken such a personal interest in beating him up?"

The Metal Man's sensors took in the unfortunate man's condition. It was obvious without any sensors that he had a bullet wound to the chest. The shot had gone cleanly through, but a blood flow analysis showed that it had nicked the man's right kidney. Kidneys are extremely vulnerable to trauma. If he didn't get treatment within a half an hour, that one would probably fail. Heart rate and blood pressure showed that the man was getting ready to go into shock, but not there yet. There were other bruises and contusions, but they were minor in comparison.

"When would you like the clock to start?"

"Yeah, I'm interested, so long as I'm not doing any truly evil shit. I don't roll like that. If you're serious and not just jerking me off, hit me with your best shot my man. I'm all ears..."

Clark might have attempted to raise an eyebrow, but he only had one anymore so it wasn't an effective gesture. "Good, The firm has a client who is delinquint in his payment for a specialty weapons purchase."

The screen split into two and an image of an older man with a mustache wearing a green military cap with four stars appeared on the screen.
"This is General Mermerit, Of the Klezticistan...no...Klatz army. who contracted to construct a specialty APC with rapid fire armor peircing capablity, and hover construction to cross rivers. He claims upon the instruction of Grand General, Supreame Greatness, and Benevolant Overlord of Klatzikistan...Everyone just calls the place Klatz."

A second picture, this of a fat man man with a mustache and ten stars on his military cap appeared.

"If they look very similar, they are actually first cousins. In the end, the General's funds have been stolen, considering the bank that was held up, and that only four accounts were hit, it was an inside job. Very likely by the General, Katz has a great deal of minerial and precious stone wealth that can be turned into small easy bribes without serial numbers or electronic transmissions. I suppose we could hunt down culprit of the robbery, but the Firm is owed 100 million euros by the General. He placed it in escrow in his account, so the money being stolen is his problem."

Clark actually rolled a bit forward as he spoke again. " Your assignment two fold, the first is to convince the General to pay the outstanding bill. If that proves impossible, or overly costly, you will terminate the General."

"The firm has found having a reputation for removing former customers for non-payment or robbery has allowed us to focus on clients who are willing to pay."

Clark paused, "Futhermore, we have it on good authority that the Supreme Greatness did not order said superweapon and that it is likely the centerpeice of a coup attempt by the General. If you can recover the 100 million by using this information including selling out the General, so be it. He has violated the good faith clause of the contract and we are now acting in bad faith."

"A complete dossiers on both men has been provided. What methods, arguments, and weapons you use to acheive one or both of your tasked assignments will be up to you. The firm needs someone who can handle entire recovery missions without causing undo burden of time upon myself or the Doc. Any questions before I give a more detailed breifing?"

Bullet had gotten hold of the small note pad present in all hotel rooms since God-knew-when, and with the matching pen in hand he had scribbled down a few notes...

"Two questions: How am I getting there and how will my gear be transported? I don't use anything else than the stuff I build by hand, or at least tweak to my liking..."

That included ammunition as well as firearms, but he was sure this guy already knew what he was talking about...

Dastardly Stench;13424432']"My question is simple, and easy to anticipate," the Metal Man said, bending over to get a better look at the victim. "Who is this man, and why have you taken such a personal interest in beating him up?"

The Metal Man's sensors took in the unfortunate man's condition. It was obvious without any sensors that he had a bullet wound to the chest. The shot had gone cleanly through, but a blood flow analysis showed that it had nicked the man's right kidney. Kidneys are extremely vulnerable to trauma. If he didn't get treatment within a half an hour, that one would probably fail. Heart rate and blood pressure showed that the man was getting ready to go into shock, but not there yet. There were other bruises and contusions, but they were minor in comparison.

"When would you like the clock to start?"
"He has wronged me personally, involving matters which do not concern you," said Kartosh coldly. "He is a scientist, president of a large corperation which specializes in advanced weapons technology. A merchant of death, to be sure. The "clock" may start now." He looked at TMM. "Why are you here? What do you do, exactly?" He was bursting with the real question but kept it under control. No sense in revealing his true intentions just yet, and, as far as he knew, neither knew of his "condition." If Kartosh had his way, they wouldn't either.

"I am here at the request of my friend," he said. "I'm a stubborn old has-been--a former guardian who can't completely let go. As such, when my friend told me that someone was being tortured at gunpoint, I felt compelled to step in. Of course, it didn't hurt that the torturer shared, shall we say, certain characteristics with my friend. Is it possible, then, that this man has wronged my friend in the same way that he has wronged you?"

Unheard, he transmitted a signal to his companion in a nearby invisible flying saucer.

Pete, I'm going to need some medical supplies: please prepare an IV with ringers lactate and two units of type B-negative blood.

We don't have any blood, boss, came the reply, but the rest I can do.

Alright, Pete. There's a situation here that's got to be resolved before you can send the stuff in, anyway. See what you can come up with while we're waiting.

The man--the only true man in the room--appeared to still be conscious, but was keeping his mouth shut.

1:38 left.

"I am here at the request of my friend," he said. "I'm a stubborn old has-been--a former guardian who can't completely let go. As such, when my friend told me that someone was being tortured at gunpoint, I felt compelled to step in. Of course, it didn't hurt that the torturer shared, shall we say, certain characteristics with my friend. Is it possible, then, that this man has wronged my friend in the same way that he has wronged you?"

Unheard, he transmitted a signal to his companion in a nearby invisible flying saucer.

Pete, I'm going to need some medical supplies: please prepare an IV with ringers lactate and two units of type B-negative blood.

We don't have any blood, boss, came the reply, but the rest I can do.

Alright, Pete. There's a situation here that's got to be resolved before you can send the stuff in, anyway. See what you can come up with while we're waiting.

The man--the only true man in the room--appeared to still be conscious, but was keeping his mouth shut.

1:38 left.
Kartosh looked at Foxfire again. Certain characteristics? Then the man knew what he was talking about. There was no use trying to hide his secret any more. Obviously. "Possibly," said Kartosh slowly. "It may be likely, even. Due to the nature of the condition, I doubt it could be repeated in different hands. And the man was a government scientist..." His voice trailed off. If this was so, then were there more? How many more? An entire secret society of strange animal-beings, like the gods of the Native Americans? "Alright, time for my questions," he looked directly at Foxfire. "How?" Foxfire shook his head. "Long story short: A mysterious murderer kills my parents. I set out on the road, kind of aimlessly wandering for a while. I stray too close to a secret U.S. military experimental site, way out in the desert someplace. I am knocked out, and next thing I know I'm like...this," He spread his hands wide. "I managed to bust out. They're still looking for me, although it has been...well, years. I don't expect the FBI to come knocking on my door anytime soon. During my, ahha, travels, I met this guy," he nodded at the fat man. "The Metal Man." Kartosh nodded slowly, taking it in. "Do you remember anything at all, about the lab, about the people in it, about what it was like?" Foxfire shook his head. "All I saw was what looked like an ordinary surgery room, like at a doctor's office. I didn't see any faces, they were all hidden behind masks or helmets." Kartosh nodded grimly. "And you?" said Foxfire, raising his eyebrows. "What about you?" Kartosh didn't answer. He was staring at Kash, or seemed to be, it was difficult to tell with his huge, black glasses. "It was him. Another long story, most of it classified or boring anyway, but basically he was the one who changed me. Some kind of new device. Before your time, though not really long before."

Well...what a change of pace, the Metal Man thought sarcastically. No heroes here, only villains beating on each other. So...this guy is what I bargained away taking that killer off the streets for. I bet he's going to laugh his butt off--until he realizes that killer over there is going to be back for him and I won't be around to stop it.

New request, Pete. he sent. I need an ID on the man in front of me. Who is he and what did he do?

Pete didn't send any words back. Rather, in a few seconds, the report came in. That meant that the back door account in Interpol was still working.

Name: Kash Wilson

Age: indeterminate. ID records say 25, but they clash with accomplishments. Probably more like mid 80's.

Founder, Cyber Matrix Corporations.... the report went on.

Are there any arrest warrants for him, or has he managed to operate above the law so far?

Above the law, boss.

Just what I love to hear. How much time is left, anyway? Oh. 47 seconds. Well...I don't have any other questions. Maybe one...

"Very well, then. Would you two gentlemen like to keep in touch?"

Dastardly Stench;13425274']Well...what a change of pace, the Metal Man thought sarcastically. No heroes here, only villains beating on each other. So...this guy is what I bargained away taking that killer off the streets for. I bet he's going to laugh his butt off--until he realizes that killer over there is going to be back for him and I won't be around to stop it.

New request, Pete. he sent. I need an ID on the man in front of me. Who is he and what did he do?

Pete didn't send any words back. Rather, in a few seconds, the report came in. That meant that the back door account in Interpol was still working.

Name: Kash Wilson

Age: indeterminate. ID records say 25, but they clash with accomplishments. Probably more like mid 80's.

Founder, Cyber Matrix Corporations.... the report went on.

Are there any arrest warrants for him, or has he managed to operate above the law so far?

Above the law, boss.

Just what I love to hear. How much time is left, anyway? Oh. 47 seconds. Well...I don't have any other questions. Maybe one...

"Very well, then. Would you two gentlemen like to keep in touch?"
Kartosh shook his head. "If anything new regarding such as...us, I'd like to hear it from one of you. I'll pay if I have to. Otherwise..." He looked at Foxfire. "Not so much." Foxfire shrugged. "I don't particularly care one way or another. Another freak, but we've got nothing in common. Time to go, I'd say." Kartosh looked to TMM. "Are you going to be taking him?" He nodded to Kash. "I'm done."
He wasn't, actually, but there would be time for Kash's death later...

"We will," the Metal Man replied.

Boss, the police band is lighting up like a Christmas tree. The authorities are on their way.

Thanks for the heads up, Pete.

You're Welcome.

"It would seem," the Metal Man almost said good sir, but thought better of it, "sir, that the authorities are on their way. I recommend that you make your escape before more lives are in jeopardy."

There's still 12 seconds left, but who's counting...besides me?

Bullet had gotten hold of the small note pad present in all hotel rooms since God-knew-when, and with the matching pen in hand he had scribbled down a few notes...

"Two questions: How am I getting there and how will my gear be transported? I don't use anything else than the stuff I build by hand, or at least tweak to my liking..."

That included ammunition as well as firearms, but he was sure this guy already knew what he was talking about...

"You and your gear will transport in together. Currently, Katz is quite liberal in its import policies, and the United States is quite liberal in its export policies. You will be leaving from a small airstrip along the Gulf coast and traveling by private plane to Port-a-Prince. From there you'll be on a cargo plane bound for some Middle Eastern nation with a strong like for banana rum, but they have a pick up and refuling stop in Napia, a small city about 60 miles north of 'Grandia Grandios' which is the current capital of Katz."

Clark paused and coughed. "Alright, getting out will be a bit more difficult. Your equipment will be shipped out in three packages from the Vatican mail drop at the Holy Order of St. Francis Mission. The Jesuits are using it almost as an unoffical embassy. You will be transported out to an oil rig where you'll be transported by the supply vessel to a foreign port where you'll pick up an international flight into Europe and then Atlanta."

Clark paused again. "I assume you have an alternative identiy passport at the moment? I only ask because if you do not, we need to get you downtown ASAP."

Dastardly Stench;13425363']"We will," the Metal Man replied.

Boss, the police band is lighting up like a Christmas tree. The authorities are on their way.

Thanks for the heads up, Pete.

You're Welcome.

"It would seem," the Metal Man almost said good sir, but thought better of it, "sir, that the authorities are on their way. I recommend that you make your escape before more lives are in jeopardy."

There's still 12 seconds left, but who's counting...besides me?
Kartosh nodded. "It's been real," he cracked before he turned around and headed though the shop. Outside the sirens were getting louder as fire trucks, police cruisers and ambulences tore up the New York streets to get to the scene of the crime. The limo still lay in two halves, and the Wrangler was a crumpled, blackened heap at the end of the street. Back out somewhere there was a huge traffic jam, caused in no small way by Kash's hired guns. They would be long gone by now. New York's finest would be catching no criminals today, except the dead ones.
Kartosh made it a few streets away and flipped open his cell phone.
Target: Kash Wilson
Status: Alive
Bank Accounts: Wells Fargo, 22154/Bank of America 3311/Swiss bank 3256/Berlin, 100533/6124, 5503 LA
Holdings locations: Sacramento Jackson California/New York, New York, Empire State Building/Havana Cuba/Japan, Tokyo/China, Bejing
He hit "Send" and waited.
A few second passed and his cell phone buzzed.
WELL DONE. PAYMENT OF 500,000 USD EN ROUTE (account code encrypted). ACCEPT THIRD CONTRACT?
Press "1" to accept, "2" to decline
Kartosh hit "1."
PROCEED TO SACARMENTO JACKSON CALIFORNIA FOR THIRD CONTRACT. CONTACT OPERATIVE IN (Hotel name and number encrypted), ROOM NUMBER 348. MAKE CONTACT IN 48 HOURS. PRIVATE PLANE IS WAITING.
Kartosh hailed a cab. "JFK airport, make it snappy." The cab driver didn't even blink at his unusual, completly covered appearance. 'You got it, boss."
Alley...
Foxfire perked up as he heard the sirens. "What now?" he asked The Metal Man.

Kash began to fade until he passed out hearing the sirens, no doubt he wished to be found by the police, he would walk away.

"Now," replied the Metal Man, "we set up an IV on Mr. Wilson over here. When that's over, we're off to Zurich."

As the Metal Man spoke, an intravenous injection kit appeared on the ground beside him. It didn't take the cyborg long to insert the needle into the man's arm and start the IV going. It stabilized Kash's condition. He'd probably been pumped for some top secret information. The Metal Man could have revived him and tried to mitigate the damage, but, somehow, he didn't feel like doing that for a man who was involved with kidnapping and illegal biological experiments. He would leave it to the police.

"You up to another ride on the matter transmitter?" he asked Firefox when he was done.

"Now," replied the Metal Man, "we set up an IV on Mr. Wilson over here. When that's over, we're off to Zurich."

As the Metal Man spoke, an intravenous injection kit appeared on the ground beside him. It didn't take the cyborg long to insert the needle into the man's arm and start the IV going. It stabilized Kash's condition. He'd probably been pumped for some top secret information. The Metal Man could have revived him and tried to mitigate the damage, but, somehow, he didn't feel like doing that for a man who was involved with kidnapping and illegal biological experiments. He would leave it to the police.

"You up to another ride on the matter transmitter?" he asked Firefox when he was done.
Foxfire nodded. "Sure. Whatever we have to do," He looked down at Kash with a faint air of digust. "So, old friend, in what manner do you have need of my services?"

"You and your gear will transport in together. Currently, Katz is quite liberal in its import policies, and the United States is quite liberal in its export policies. You will be leaving from a small airstrip along the Gulf coast and traveling by private plane to Port-a-Prince. From there you'll be on a cargo plane bound for some Middle Eastern nation with a strong like for banana rum, but they have a pick up and refuling stop in Napia, a small city about 60 miles north of 'Grandia Grandios' which is the current capital of Katz."

Clark paused and coughed. "Alright, getting out will be a bit more difficult. Your equipment will be shipped out in three packages from the Vatican mail drop at the Holy Order of St. Francis Mission. The Jesuits are using it almost as an unoffical embassy. You will be transported out to an oil rig where you'll be transported by the supply vessel to a foreign port where you'll pick up an international flight into Europe and then Atlanta."

Clark paused again. "I assume you have an alternative identiy passport at the moment? I only ask because if you do not, we need to get you downtown ASAP."

Bullet could see that this guy had done a little homework, but not all...

"I don't exsist on most official records. My child support, if you can call it that, is paid under the table in cash. I've done a little too much government work for them to let me 'live'..."

The whole plan seemed a little complicated, but it might work. He had most of his stuff with him, and if he could get the needed tools and parts, he could easily construct whatever else he might need...

"And who am I killing this time? I need the usual shit, a face and a name and a location..."

Clark shook his head, "Do I have to repeat myself Bullet? Your job is to retreive the outstanding payment of 100 million euros. If that is not possible, you are then to eliminate the General. Obviously time and location will be your choices based on the intel that we can gather and your own method for dealing with the Generals insistance not to pay a debt."

As Foxfire appeared in the Journey Room on Brain Jar, the Metal Man smiled.

"Recently, one of my bank accounts was raided. Some funds were taken, and the rest of the account is frozen. The payments trace back to a banker in Zurich. I need to have a word with him.

"Unfortunately, mine was not the only account raided. Some of the other accounts are registered to people with, shall we say, less savory dispositions than I have. One, for example, traces back to Zemsky Industries. In case you haven't been following world economic news, Zemsky is a Russian robber baron--some say he has designs on world dominion. He's corrupt as they get, but smart enough to keep enough separation between himself and the rough stuff that nobody can put him away for it. If his people get his hands on that banker before I do--I'd rather not talk about what they're capable of.

"Working against those odds, I won't be able to save the man alone--let alone extract information about his operatives. There's no way the man did this alone. So I'd like you to tag along and help. I figure that Zemsky's too smart for a frontal attack, so I'm going to need someone with extra-sharp senses to help me dodge Zemsky's forces. It won't be easy, but I'll pay you what it's worth--standard rate plus 10% of any funds we recover.

"Acceptable?"

Brain Jar...
Foxfire sighed. "World domination? Again? Seriously, where do these people come from?" It was purely rhetorical, and required no answer. "I'm thinking yes. Especially when regarding payment, I would do it for free, but I have been following the part of economic news concerning American gas prices, and when gas prices go up, so do bus and taxi fares. So yeah, I'll come. I'd like to make a pit-stop at my apartment first though: Collect some weapons, and make a call to the dojo that I won't be in for a while."
JFK International Airport...
Kartosh bypassed security easily and made his way out onto the private hangers area. A gleaming white jet with no logos of any kind was sitting there, waiting for him, stairway extended. Kartosh had no idea who he was working for, and they apparently intended to keep it that way. This string of missions indicated that they were trying to do something quickly and efficently, with little time for reaction. Based on the events so far Kartosh suspected it was a private citizen or corperation rather than a government. The United States government would have no problem doing what he was doing, and international countries tended to have little regard for boundries or boarders when it came to Black Operations. A rival company of Kash's, then, or perhaps a person or group of people he had done wrong in the past. First a crime kingpin, then a interrigation for account codes and locations, and now a secret meeting in California. Kartosh boarded the plane, finding it empty save for, assumidly, the pilot. He sat down in one of the chairs, placing his breifcase which held his weapons beside him. Aside from the contents of his case and the clothes on his back, Kartosh needed nothing. He had a house in Russia, although it would technically be classified as a bunker, far north in the wasteland, on the coastline near the Artic Circle. He vacationed there, so to speak. His ultimite goal was to gain enough funds to live there comfortably, and with these new contracts, he was well on his way. Kartosh had no particular love for killing or his work. Like his guns or cell phone, it was just a tool, means to an end. Kartosh's end was to live in comfort without having to look over his shoulder or check the rearview mirror for armed gunmen or paid assassins. Kartosh knew that very, very few of those in his profession lived to retire, or, if they did, were hidiously disfigured. To put his wants in a word, retirement. But that was a long way off, he reminded himself, and he must focus on the present. The plane lifted off into the gray morning sky and banked, heading for Sacarmento Jackson California.

Awaking in his captors hands Kash groaned as he sat up, he didnt feel to bad for his condition. " We moved again?"

"You up to another ride on the matter transmitter?" the Metal Man asked.

Awakening in his captor's hands, Kash groaned as he sat up. He didn't feel too bad for his condition. "We moved again?"

"I'm sorry to have to annoy you like this," the Metal Man replied. "I'm the Metal Man, and I've just saved your life. The authorities will be arriving shortly. The needle in your arm is a standard intravenous bag that any paramedic would carry. It should keep your condition stable until you can receive proper treatment for your injuries."

The strange, fat man gently released Kash, stood up and walked to the far end of the room as he spoke.

"I've got to go now. I hope that, the next time we meet, it will be under less dire circumstances. Maybe we'll speak again in another century or so." He winked.

Then, he and the man he was with simply vanished.

Before they left, Kash could have sworn that he saw...The Missing One.

Kash shook his head " Who was that man?" he thought, but enough of that, he needed to get out of here, something was in motion in the world, and he needed to prepare for it, he was quite as he was sent to the hospital and then released.

Clark shook his head, "Do I have to repeat myself Bullet? Your job is to retreive the outstanding payment of 100 million euros. If that is not possible, you are then to eliminate the General. Obviously time and location will be your choices based on the intel that we can gather and your own method for dealing with the Generals insistance not to pay a debt."

That made it a little more difficult, then. That amount of money was going to be hard to transport covertly...

"I'm an assassin, not a package boy. That's too much bread for me to haul in secret, even in big bills. You'd best set up some sort of covert wire transfer system, otherwise you've got the wrong guy unless you want this asshole face-up with his head missing from the chin-up..."

The assignment was becoming a little more complicated than he'd anticipated. He was all for difficult missions, but suicide operations were something entirely different. His regular clients knew better, and obviously this guy didn't know any of them...

OOC: I apologize for not posting recently. I haven't had the time but will be free shortly. This post is to reassure you, the rper that I am still around.

"William Strauss?" the Metal Man asked.

"Wilhelm, actually," Pete replied. "He's Swiss."

"How long to get there again?"

"Depends on how much longer Firefox spends packing for the trip."

"Be ready to move the moment he's back aboard."

"Already am, boss. In case you haven't noticed, we're already airborne. Engines are all warmed up and everything."

"Yeah, I know."

"Good."

Foxfire stood in what passed for a kitchen in his tiny apartment, which had been labeled "cozy" by the real estate agent. He surveyed the objects on the table in front of him: A katana sword, sheathed in black, five shuriken (throwing stars), two knives, his SIG Sauer pistol with two clips and a box of ammunition and his portable wrist hologram projector. He strapped the sword to his back, put the shuriken and knives in his belt, put the SIG into it's hip holster, along with the pouchs to hold the clips and ammo, and put the projector on his wrist. It all fit snugly, never sagging or growing too tight. Foxfire made a call to the dojo where he ran a self-defense class saying some bullshit about being away because his dear old granny off in Europe someplace was dying. He replaced the telephone and stretched. Time to go.

Victoria watched her phone boredly as it rang, idly running over the possibilities that could be on the other end of the line. It could be Mrs. Frost... again. Arranging details for soccer practice, chatting with friends and neighbors, calling Aunt Marie or whatever her name was.. the woman was probably the sole generator of the Frost telephone bill. Of course it could also be Mr. Frost wanting to meet with her. Or at least contacting someone interesting. Pressing the talk button, she held the phone to her ear but didn't speak.

Silence on the other end. Then after a few wasted seconds, "...hello? I knew you were a master at evasion, but I hope you're not telepathic as well. Then again, it would explain a lot... Phantom, isn't it?"

"Who is this?" The voice sounded familiar to Tory, but she couldn't quite place it.

"It's Strauss."

She should have hung up then and there, but remained on the line. "How did you get this number."

"It's not important. How is your search coming?"

Not important my ass."I told you. I'm not a tracker."

"But you made it all the way to England..."

"Yeah, and I talked to Frost. He didn't even know you." Who the hell was this guy? Surely not just some banker..

Strauss made a sound that must have been intended as laughter, but it was nervous and dry. "Nice try. Listen, I need you. There's something important-"

"Not interested."

"No! Wait I-"

The line went suddenly dead. Tory stared at her phone a moment, as if the connection might magically reestablish. Instead, the digital screen blinked the elapsed time and went dark. She hadn't hung up, though instinct had urged it. Something must have happened on his end. Curiosity gnawed at her, but she set the phone back on the table and returned to an annoyingly dry British sitcom.

Tora had decided to make a 'grocery run' rarher than stop at another restraunt, though she bought very little, the duffle bagt was rather large and heavy and she wanted to get it 'home' quickly.

"Hey mom" Shays called as he heard the front door unlock and open "You'll wat to see this film commin outta New York." Her son was an apparently hopeless news junkie.

She'd been a month pregnant, though she hadn't known it, when the Interstellar Patrol ship had taken on the Pirate vessel. She shouldn't have been able to get pregnant, she was just a clone and one designed to die at roughly age twenty or so. That was part of the pay off for her lightning fast reflexes and high metabolism. Plus no one wanted to pay the maintence on an over the hill fighter pilot. She wasn't sure of all the deetails, the pirates hadn't had much information in their database.

But she worried badly, for at only eight years of age, Shay was full grown, looking actually a bit more mature than she did. His birth had been long and difficult nearly killing both of them, as the thin survival hand book in the lifepod barely covered pregnancy, labor and delivery. She'd come down in the depths of the all but totally uninhabited Alaskan bush, and only finding the ramshackla remains of a long abandoned trappers cabin had kept her aliver long enough to give birth.

However he was adapted to this world and it's strange culture as she would probably never would be, and she appreciated that more than she could ever tell him "Here count this out while I cook us up a snack" Her cooking would be more of hearting in a 'microcave' and making pb&j's on whole wheat than anything resembling real cooking, though over the years she had managed to learn to make some casseroles and other very simple dishes. She far prefered eating out.

He fur-kit sczmpered up to Shays arme to curl around his neck as the tall youngester, he stood over six foot and still seemed to be growing , tossed the bag on the small kitchen table and unzipped it. He whistled low s he began hauling bundles out from the interior of the grimy bag.

"Well, Foxfire, it looks like our friend Mr. Strauss is still active. There was activity on a cell phone linked to him a few hours ago. On the other hand, I'm not the only one who can triangulate the signal. We'd better get moving.

"Pete, how long 'til we arrive?"

"Another hour or so."

"OK. Do you think this warrants a phone call?"

"Considering who we are, yes."

OK. Open a line.


You have reached the number of Wilhelm Strauss. I am not
able to come to the phone right now. After the beep, please
leave a message and I'll do what I can.

::BEEEEEEEEEP!!::


"Hello, Mr. Strauss. This is the Metal Man, or, as you probably refer to me, your insurance policy. I'll be arriving shortly, and I'm sure we can work out a deal where I'll provide the protective services that you've obviously set me up to give you. If you'd like to get in touch, you can reach me at 1-800-METLMAN."

The cyborg pushed a button, terminating the conversation.

-------------------------------

OOC: I sorta figured that Strauss could use a hand evading Zemsky et al...and it would be *rather convenient* for him to hire someone like a former guardian to help him do this. It makes sense that he would try to draw someone like TMM into this...in just this sort of way.

Is Strauss an NPC or is he the property of another player? Can I RP him, or should I wait for someone else?

And can I arrange for a little showdown with Zemsky's people? Hopefully, one that will involve Foxfire Rose? :) :) :)

OOC: Foxfire, godsdamnit. Not "Firefox." I swear you do that intentionally. :p
IC:
Foxfire nodded. "Good to hear. I'd hate to travel all this way only to find a corpse," he sat down on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. "So, what do we know about this guy, anyway? William Strauss. Swiss, as was said."

OOC@Xis: I'm too damn boring to think up something that good. :) :) :) I'm just terrible with names. Humblest apologies. Post edited.

::wipes egg off of face::

-------------------------------------

IC:

"Pete, lay a profile on da man," the Metal Man said.

"He's not a man," Pete replied.

"He's a supersoldier," the Metal Man countered with a wry grin. "If he says he's a man, he's a man...or else."


Name: Wilhelm Strauss
Age: 44
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black/Greying
Biography:

Strauss has spent most of his life as a banker, following in his father's footsteps. Current position is Lead Broker for the International Finance Division of the Bank of Central Collections, Inc., located: Zurich, Swizerland. No family. Current residence: unknown. Failed to report to work this past Monday.

The Metal Man snickered. "The BCCI," he said. "I should've figured."

--------------------

OOC: :) ;) :)

--------------------

IC:

"In a bank like that," the cyborg continued, "a broker develops contacts with powerful people--people who can get their hands on information. If he's a sleeper agent waking up, or a man going through his midlife crisis, he could have acquired some dangerous toys and/or associates by now. We've got to keep our eyes open."

Upon the completion of breakfast, Frost managed to slip away from his family and retreat upstairs to his fortress of solitude, making sure the door remained locked. Finally, with a chance to do some work, he retrieved the slip of paper and went to work on his database. Special software was developed to track money trails and retrieve missing data. Armed with this his fingers glided across the keyboard with percision. After an hour he hit some paydirt in the form of several tax returns over the past five years. Most investigators only look two years in the past worth of taxes, he opted for five. What he found was quite interesting. Frost nearly jumped from his chair and reached for the telephone, but hesitated. That woman might have my lines tapped. Throwing caution to the wind he picked it up regardless of the possibility of another set of ears listening in on the conversation.

"Hello?" asked Paul Vanders, his supervisor. A Dutchman and veteran of the finance inquiry commission.

"Paul, it's Matthew...how are you doing?" Frost asked.

"Fine, Matthew, yourself?"

"Well, I'm doing far better as of recently. I've made some headway on the Zemsky Case." he beamed.

"Really?" Vanders asked with interest, "What do you have so far?"

"I have here in front of me a bank account number that isn't on any of Zemsky's records or income tax returns for either the company or his private accounts."

"How did you find that?"

"A little birdy helped me out" Frost didn't want to say that a shadowy woman invaded his home the previous night who stole that account from a bank in Switzerland.

"How much money are we talking about?" Vanders inquired.

"This account is worth over 200 million Euros alone"

"-What?!" Vanders almost choked, "How did he accumilate that much money. W-What's he using it for?"

"I don't know the answer to either questions. This is just one account that's been discovered. There might be more. Perhaps it's being used for bribes or something, I'm not sure" Frost said.

"This is fantastic, keep up the good work and keep digging. I'll forward this information to the commission as soon as possible. Just be careful" Vanders hung up, leaving Frost sitting there, a wide grin on his face.

Scarlet felt a twinge in her mind. A conflict that she hadn't felt since...ever. A part of her wanted to enjoy the remaining relaxation time she has before being summoned for another operation. The other, darker side wanted to pack up, return to Bogota and killed Dan Sheperd. Of course, here in lies the conflict: Sheperd was someone she admired even if they only spoke for a short time. He appeared to be an idealist, one of the few remaining in the world. In a world devoid of heroes and examples to live by, such people were a neccesity. Consider yourself lucky, Dan. As she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body that familiar buzzing resounded from atop the night stand. Dammit!

"Yesss Chief?" she asked with an added hint of annoyance.

"Sorry to disturb you Agent Scarlet but I'm afraid we have to cut your R&R short for the time being" Chief replied, ignoring her tone, "You were almost compromised in Bogota by a reporter. Having such attention brought on you cannot be tolerated. To make sure that there is no follow-up by this reporter. You are to return to Bogota and eliminate Daniel Sheperd"

"The mission wouldn't have been compromised if you had just givern me more time!" Scarlet exploded, "Why do I have to eliminate him? He has nothing"

"Don't question your orders, Scarlet. This is most unbecoming of you. You weren't designed for such things!" Chief returned fire.

It was like a shockwave, shaking the very stone foundation she developed to protect her from the reality. "I apologize, Chief...I'll be en route" her voice was defeated.

-snip-
OOC: 'S alright.
IC:
Foxfire pondered this information for a moment. "He's a supersoldier, but a banker. He's been banking 'for most of his life.' What has he done with the other 'less than half?' In my experience, supersoldier projects are usually successes or failures. And if you're a failure, they won't just give you a pat on the back and release you into the populance. By now," he stared at the ceiling, "it's quite possible someone else has gotten there first. Enough time has elapsed. I wonder if he can adiquitly defend himself?"

"No, Foxfire," the Metal Man replied, "you're the supersoldier--but this only makes your comment about him defending himself more poignant. On the other hand, if his cell phone is still working, it's likely that he's been able to escape capture so far. I'm sure we'll find out soon."

As if on cue, Pete chimed in. "Boss: phone call. Guess who..."

"Our good friend Mr. Strauss. Put him on conference call."

"Hello?" said a voice over the intercom.

"Guten tag, Wilhelm. Wie geht's?" As the Metal Man spoke, a monitor on a nearby wall came to life, showing a translation of the conversation for Foxfire. ("Hello, William. How are you?")

"Gut, danka. Wie haben sie meine Nummer gefunden?" ("Good, thanks. How did you find my number.")

"Nicht seine Sorge. Ich bin hier, um sie bitten haben. Vieleicht sollen wir begegen und unsere Lage discutieren." ("Not your concern. I am here, as you asked. Perhaps we should meet and discuss our situation.")

"Wohl. Mein Beuro, zwei Stunden." ("Good. My office, two hours.")

The conversation ended.

"Short on words, isn't he?" the Metal Man asked.

ooc: Not to be rude, but William is my char. Well.. my creation anyway.

That made it a little more difficult, then. That amount of money was going to be hard to transport covertly...

"I'm an assassin, not a package boy. That's too much bread for me to haul in secret, even in big bills. You'd best set up some sort of covert wire transfer system, otherwise you've got the wrong guy unless you want this asshole face-up with his head missing from the chin-up..."

The assignment was becoming a little more complicated than he'd anticipated. He was all for difficult missions, but suicide operations were something entirely different. His regular clients kneIf w better, and obviously this guy didn't know any of them...

"Actually Bullet, I thought you were an expert gunsmith." Clark replied, "Which is why we are talking, any number of men can kill. A man who can create, who understands the give and take of creating the best weapon for a given purpose is far more likely to understand the balance of force and tension to get people to do what you want them to. To convince them that their best intrest is meeting your requriements. And just as sometimes a weapon is so badly designed it is worthless and should be just used as scap. Some debts should be written off with only an lesson to our future customers."

Clark paused and then switched tracks, "Obviously a wire transfer would be easiest. The computer before you carries an automatic transfer packet which will direct the funds to an account of ours within Port Olympus. You will call confirmining the transfer. For your knowledge, the money and the account will vanish within minutes after the transfer. If some other form of payment is offered, we will adjust to the situation."

Clark pushed himself a bit in his wheel chair. "Bullet, perhaps you haven't realized this. But we are prepared to assign assets to assist in this task." He paused, "would you like to have a partner in tackling this particular project?"

Bullet snorted at the idea of a partner...

"Again with the homework, man. I work alone. If there was another, more severe form of alone, that would be how I operate but there isn't so 'alone' will have to work for now... But out of curiosity, who were you thinking of adding?"

It was true he was an expert gunsmith, but making a weapon and making a deal were two different things. Materials like steel and glass could be bent to one's will with the proper tools, and humans could be to, to an extent, but they wouldn't enjoy the process. He could work the frame of a nice custom 1911 from a solid block of steel, the procedure taking days of precision grinding and shaping. He was pretty sure he could also work a nice set of bone handgrips out of the general's femur, but that was a last resort.

His negotiations, however, were nowhere near as precise. That was why he used a rifle from an ungodly range instead of talking things out face-to-face...

"I take it you don't want me to cut this asshole then? I can do torture, that's not a problem, but that's not going to get you what you want unless I'm really careful..."

Bullet snorted at the idea of a partner...

"Again with the homework, man. I work alone. If there was another, more severe form of alone, that would be how I operate but there isn't so 'alone' will have to work for now... But out of curiosity, who were you thinking of adding?"

It was true he was an expert gunsmith, but making a weapon and making a deal were two different things. Materials like steel and glass could be bent to one's will with the proper tools, and humans could be to, to an extent, but they wouldn't enjoy the process. He could work the frame of a nice custom 1911 from a solid block of steel, the procedure taking days of precision grinding and shaping. He was pretty sure he could also work a nice set of bone handgrips out of the general's femur, but that was a last resort.

His negotiations, however, were nowhere near as precise. That was why he used a rifle from an ungodly range instead of talking things out face-to-face...

"I take it you don't want me to cut this asshole then? I can do torture, that's not a problem, but that's not going to get you what you want unless I'm really careful..."

Clark mulled for a scond, "I would suggest myself, but I think it is better if I remain dead to the world at large. No, there is a fellow here who is quite good at planning, but looks as whimpy as they come. Although he is a sadistic bastard."

Clark chuckled, "As for cutting the General let's first remind him that he can be touched. Then if he doesn't pay, then we will cull the bastard."

Clark pushed himself a bit in the wheelchair as though something had grabbed his attention offscreen. "Bullet, may I suggest you read the intel packet on the General? Perhaps it will give you some ideas. You'll pardon me to go check on something else that has come up here in the office for a moment?"

There was a nod from the bald-headed assassin as he tried to call up the file. He wasn't much of a computer guy, but he knew his way around a mouse when need be. Hell, he owned a damn CNC machine, which saved him innumerable man hours when it came to shaping metal to exact specifications...

"Go right ahead, and I'll handle this op on my own this time. I don't need anyone slowing me down..."

He brought up the intel packet, reading thoroughly for any important information, memorizing what he needed to, and mentally scrapping the rest...

"This shouldn't be too hard..."

ooc: Not to be rude, but William is my char. Well.. my creation anyway.

OOC: I specifically asked in a post in this thread whether he was an NPC or not, and you did not respond. Not one post, not one TG in the mailbox of either of the two nations I posted under in this thread. Nor could I find a bio of Mr. Strauss in the OOC thread. I'm sorry for having taken liberties, and I'll gladly allow you to play Strauss from now on if you like, but you're going to have to keep in contact either way.

What would you like to do next? If you want to cancel or reschedule the meeting, feel free.

Next thing Kash knew, he was inside a corporate building, of course this was his, located in Los Angelas California, it was one of his most productive facilites. This particular one was devoloping Plasma-based weapons, and contained his UCA(Universal Combat Armor), this included personal sheilding, and the ability to to use extreme strenght,speed, or armor, but only one setting could be used at a time, this was added by his freeze gun that stopped molecules in air.

OOC: I specifically asked in a post in this thread whether he was an NPC or not, and you did not respond. Not one post, not one TG in the mailbox of either of the two nations I posted under in this thread. Nor could I find a bio of Mr. Strauss in the OOC thread. I'm sorry for having taken liberties, and I'll gladly allow you to play Strauss from now on if you like, but you're going to have to keep in contact either way.

What would you like to do next? If you want to cancel or reschedule the meeting, feel free.

ooc: I work for a living. So sorry I can't check NS every day, especially on week days. I had intended for Strauss to just die, but I guess it's too late for that now. Unless Kulikovia has an input, carry on I guess. But I'm assuming control of him.

Precious few options remained. Time ticked away, against him. With his plans being so close to completion, how could it all be threatened by a missing account number? This money served a purpose, though its' purpose would seem rather, unbusiness liked, it served a higher purpose that he could not afford to be compromised. Ulansk was suspicious, Strauss betrayed him, and Stelski hounded him. These were dangerous enemies to his beliefs. In a Machivellian frame of mind, they must be taken care of, less his goals fail. With this in mind, Zemsky departed his private study, down the hallways, foot steps echoing.

"Sir, where are you going?" Petrov asked, files in hand.

"There is busness I must take care of, someone I need to get in contact with" Zemsky replied, brushing past his aide.

"Who?"

"Someone who can help with my pest problem..." Zemsky continued down the hallway.

Atlanta
General Mitizmita (actually no one knew the correct spelling, he apparently kept changing it)

Age 44
Height 5'9"
Dark Complextion
Hair Black
Eyes (blue)

Current source of funds: Extorted gemstones, Drugs, and general corruption

The General is head of the Kazikazistan Security Force. Primarily the Security Force operates only three Battallions. However, it appears the mechanized battallion is rather quite large. Currently stationed in and around the Second Battallion base south of the captial. One company of AMX-13 is on detached duty cleaning up some 'rebellion' however, considering the funds suddenly at the general's disposal.



The second battallion is primarly a police force with one company acting as a general death squad. Mostly they use jeeps, and AK-47's although they do have a few wwII half tracks with mortars/ 88 mm mounted for dealing with people in the jungle.

The Third battallion is again a police force, but this one is focused completly on the gem trade. Far better armed, usually sporting tailored suits, bullet proof vests, gold chains. The amount of corruptoin within this group is quite substantial.

The Third battallion's Colonel, Utiza is a former russian mob hitman who's loyalty is to The Supreme Commander currently, although it may easily be bought at a high enough price.

The General lives with his wife, three daughters and son (Colonel Mitiztima at age 16) in part of the compound that the Supreme Commander calles the 'Palace of Virtue'. The palace is primarily a military base for the Supreme Guard, armed with modern weapons including twenty TI-95 tanks. However the palace stands in a bend in the river, and is quite accessable from the river.

The General currently has a girlfriend, or actually two girlfreinds living in a seedier section of town. The girls, named Kaka and Zara live in a brothel operated by a seedy character named Tomas. Tomas is also something of a small time drug dealer, and it is believed that he is the primay contact for foreign drug buyers.

The General also spends a good time with the detached 13th company. and time in Zurich.

Known primary associates:

Kilgar: Large gentlemen, quite intelligent however Kilgar is as much a messager than anything else. Currently bald, no other distinquishing characteristics. Weapon: typically two 1911 45 with extended range and a heavy submachine gun carried in a case Note: Kilgar operates under Diplomatic Immunity and his case, and weapons, can not be searched.

Little Pimp (real name unknown) body guard, quite nasty at close range, beleived to be insane. Marked by short stature, green eyes that appear to be bloodshot at all times, wild red hair, and a scar from scalp to mouth along one side of his nose. Weapons: Bowie Knife, Chain, Uzi

Information on the 13th company base was it was a slave labor camp, women and men were forced to either mine dimonds or make heroin in the nude. The outer perimiter defense was little more than some surrounding network of roads and poppy feilds that had been hacked out of the jungle.

[b]Zurich Airport
A bald headed man in a tailored suit perused the menu. He prefered dining here in the private club for Air France first class passengers. A young lady of demure stature led another man towards him. Kilgar stood with a bright smile at the other man. "Ah William, so how does retirement feel?" Killgar stood and offered his hand, then noticed William seemed to be focused on his phone "Why do you look so troubled?"

(OOC: by permission of Gaeltech)

Dublin, Ireland

Trembling, unsteady hands reached across the table. A single shot glass stood as a challenge, mocking the blurred vision and weakening stomach of a young man, trapped in a vicious drinking challenge. Crowds of people in the pub surrounded this remarkable test of stamina.

"Are ya done, laddy?" asked the man across the table, arms folded, unscathed by the tremendous amount of alcohol consumed in the past hour.

The younger man could not answer, all his energies were focused on steading his hand long enough to grasp the shot glass. He gulped and managed to surround the glass with nimble fingers and bring it shakily to his lips. Suddenly, the shot glass fell from his grasp and spilled on the mans' lap. An uproar surged through the pub. The young man, so cocky just an hour ago, was nothing more than a pile of human existance now. He slowly leaned to the right and like a tall tree, fell to the forest floor, crashing against the wooden floor.

"Looks like someone had a wee too much to drink, the pansy" the other man replied and stood up. He was solid built, a red beard and blue eyes. His accent was not like those in the pub, he was Scottish.

"Oy, you bastard!" shouted a roudy young man who knelt by the drunk. "Me friends dead!"

"He shouldn't have challenged a Scotsman to a drinking game" The Scotsman scoffed and turned to walk away.

"I'm talking to you, you bastard!" the man grabbed a bear bottle, grasping it by the neck and lurched for The Scotsman, ready to deal a blow when suddenly he swung nothing but thin air. The Scotsman moved with blinding speed, clenched his fist, drove it into the man's face which forced him into the crowd of people, knocking them all down.

"Looks like a pint might not do for this lot" he smirked. Several men charged him but what one would expect to be a bar brawl turned into a massacre. This Scotsman wasn't an ordinary person. He lifted a table above his head and sent it crashing into the biggest guy in the bar. His strength was frightening for the lack of a better term. His anger grew and grew, he became more vicious with each opponent, an uncontrollable torrent of superpowered rage. This man lusted for violence, wanting nothing more than to brawl but not a single man in the pub offered anything approaching a fitting fight. Finally, a man came up from behind and drove his fist into the Scotsman's face. He instantly stumbled back, hand broken.

"Bad idea" Scotsman replied, throwing him off. Suddenly, a phone rang and he searched through his pocket, kicking another man in the chest at the same time. "Hello?"

Frustrated and suspicious, Scarlet set about the task of preparing Dan Sheperd's death. A careful orchestration that always took a methodical mind to accomplish and ensure its' success. A symphony of death of which she, the composer was a master of. As she tapped through a secured laptop, researching more in depth of her intended target. Her prey was a public face, plenty of information was avaliable. Social Security number, date of birth, birthplace, tax records, personal profile, everything. One thing caught her interest the most, a piece that he wrote which caused his career to take a turn south. This is part of the story.

A World without Heroes
by Dan Sheperd

I found myself walking down the streets of New York late one night not long ago. I observed with distain as I passed graffitti marked walls, gang members prowling in the dark alleys, and the downtrotten. With a heavy heart I asked: Where have the heroes gone? Today, we find ourselves existing in a world of shrinking morals, apathy, and corruption. Not just corruption of a person in a position of power and influence, I'm talking about a corruption of society, not just ours but the world as a whole. In a world, devoid of examples to live by, a moral code to guide us, and protection from ourselves. We are our most dangerous enemy. Brother turning against brother on the streets. The criminal element, like a disease, spreads across our society and infecting all whom it comes in contact with. How did our world come to this? What happened to the Golden Age?

There was once a time when one could walk through the streets and not fear the darkness or those who hid in it. A warm blanket of protection against the shivers of villany. Once, a special few decided to use their gifts for good. These Guardians of the innocent saved the world time and time again from those who would threaten our very existance. They had no political allegiance, no alterior motives, and no personal gain. These people helped those who could not help themselves and fought those who would prey on the weak. With extraordinary abilities they saved the world from darkness and ensured a world of peace and harmony. This Golden Age seemed too good to be true, and by our own hand, we ended it.

With the future of the world secured, questions arose. Now that we are safe, what will the Guardians do? What will they do with their powers? Such innocent and understandable questions were natural. Soon enough, the questions became more and more...paranoid. What's to stop the Guardians from using their powers for other things? These questions scared the ordinary citizens. Some of these special people had dazzling powers, incredible abilities. These questions turned into demands and demands turned into action. An ambitious senator by the name of Robert Henderson helmed a campaign to unmask the Guardians and keep them in check. After repeated attempts and lobbying, a law managed to pass, The Henderson Act which outlawed what he referred to as "Masked vigilantes" this phrase took away their good nature and turned them to vengence seeking theatric freaks. A year later, the UN passed similar legislation. How could this have happened? They very people that we looked up to and depended on to protect us were now being hunted like witches. Our own paranoia and nature secured this tragic fate of the Guardians. Most refused to register themselves, fearing that their right to privacy might be compromised. They melted into the very society that revered then scorned them into hiding.

Now, the world has regressed all in thanks to our paranoia and an ambitious senator who is now on his fourth term as a senator and a successful manipulatir of the political landscape. As our world descends into darkness once more, I label this world, a World without Heroes...

Zurich Airport
A bald headed man in a tailored suit perused the menu. He prefered dining here in the private club for Air France first class passengers. A young lady of demure stature led another man towards him. Kilgar stood with a bright smile at the other man. "Ah William, so how does retirement feel?" Kilgar stood and offered his hand, then noticed William seemed to be focused on his phone "Why do you look so troubled?"
Having just finished a conversation before the lounge hostess appeared to escort him in, William had been distracted until a familiar voice brought him back to the present. He pocketed the phone fluidly and accepted Kilgar's proffered hand with a firm grip.

"It's nothing. I have another appointment to keep in a few hours, so unless you feel like accompanying me back to my office, we should keep this short. I'm buying a new insurance policy."

The Metal Man, if accounts held true, would prove helpful. It was only a matter of time before Zemsky connected the dots and came for him. It certainly couldn't help to have a little extra muscle around. Meanwhile, the Phantom was homing in on the wrong target although inadvertently she was aiding their plans. It would take some effort to guide her in the desired direction. He had good reason to be distracted. Strauss glanced around the sparsely occupied lounge, noting the faces around the room.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Short on words, isn't he?"
"Da," said Foxfire, then smacked his forehead. "Wait, that's Russian. Jawvol?" He asked hopefully. "I'm terrible at languages. But it seems our friend here is okay, and he didn't sound nervous. Perhaps he is confident that he will overcome his situation?"
Sacarmento Jackson California...
The jet landed with barely a bump and taxied around to the private hangers of the local airport. Kartosh exited, made his way though the airport, and out into the bright warm Californian air, a change from the drab shadows and gloom of New York.

A short, chubby man held a cardboard sign on which was scrawled "Cyber Matrix Corporations." Kartosh allowed himself a smile under his gauze at the irony. Cyber Matrix Corporations, or CMC, was the company which his last target was president of. Obviously someone, a corperate rival probably, wanted to take CMC down. Whoever they were, they had a lot of money and ambition. Kartosh strode up to the man. "I am here," he said simply. The man nodded. "Follow me." Kartosh did so and in no time they were in a limo, being driven to the hotel which he was staying at. It was a huge, fancy place, with thousands of dollars a night for staying there, complete with palm trees, multiple pools and steam rooms, a huge dining room, ect. The hotel was not far from the airport, so the drive took very little time. Once there Kartosh retrived the room key saved for him at the front desk, declined to have his luggage taken up for him, and entered room 348. Inside the room was all one would expect: Several different rooms, fantastic balcony, crisp white sheets, all the good stuff. Kartosh set down his things in one of the rooms and located a scrap of paper hidden in the drawer of the bedside table, inside one of those Bibles that seem to be everywhere. The paper was over a verse: Matthew 24:45 - "In That Place There Will Be Weeping and Gnashing of Teeth" . Bemused, Kartosh closed the book and examined the paper. On it was scrawled a location:
Hotel dining room. Eight o'clock. Reservations have been made.

Kartosh sighed. He hated actually having to deal with his employers. When he received contracts of the cell phone, say, that was good. Pure, simple instructions. When he actually had to meet with a client it wasted his time, speaking with someone. Especially face-to-face, and over a thing like dinner! He would have to manage, somehow. Contacts, a wig, speak as little as possible, wear a large suit. It would be uncomfortable, but it was doable. It was now 4:00 PM. Four hours to make himself presentable to the general populance. The assassin sighed and got to work.

After the conversation between Frost and Paul ended, Victoria snapped her phone shut with a satisfied grin. She was in a potentially powerful position, and Frost had just confirmed it. Not only had he exposed Zemsky as the account holder, but the account in question was secret. Powerful information indeed. Now that she held the cards, she needed to decide what to do with them.

Packing her things, she checked out of the room. It was time to go for a little drive.

After several more hours of work, a pot of coffee, and countless interruptions from his children, Frost made more head way in his investigation. With heavy eyelids and lurred vision from reading a computer screen for too long, he rubbed his brow and leaned back in his chair. Unravelling Dimitri Zemsky and his powerful company proved tasking. A complex web of subsidies, affiliates, and other organizations associated with Zemsky Industries. A man who's in the lime light constantly somehow manages to remain a mystery to all those around him.

Suddenly, one of the minimized windows began to pulse, there was a new message in his email account. He maximized the screen and clicked on an untitled email. It was a single line, not much information:

The Archangel Project

What is this? The sender was ANNONYMOUS. Upon attempting to track where the email came from, it returned with negative results. There was no way to track it. Interesting...

Sheperd poured over documents which lay strewn about his apartment. reenergized from the incident at the apartment he found himself working nonstop without a break. Desperate to uncover the truth behind the woman who called herself "Scarlet". A mysterious and alluring woman that captivated him with her personality. They only shared a brief moment but when he saw her explode through the large door, he powers obvious, he had to get to the bottom of this developement. Were the Guardains coming out of hiding? Was she just a vigilante out against a drug cartel? Or was there something else behind it? After numerous calls it was coming up to a dead end almost. The Scarlet Rose left behind offered the only clue to her identity. INTERPOL, years ago opened a task force designed to deal with international meta-human crimes. They also tried to register and monitor all those with special abilities. Perhaps this would help find a link.

Hours later, with the help of someone from the inside, he uncovered a file titled "Scarlet Rose Killer". It was a record of well over a hundred high profile murder cases across the globe. Each of the victims could be described as better off dead for the sake of society. Maybe Scarlet was a vigilante who used fatal means to accomplish her goals. One of the dark heroes that would go as far as to kill. The file was nothing more than a collection of dead ends. The overall investigation stalled after a botched sting in Rome where they enarly captured the Scarlet Rose Killer. Suddenly, a window popped up with a message:

Mr.Sheperd, you are in grave danger. I am afraid that time is against me but I want to get this to you before something happens.

The Archangel Project

The world must know. They are sending someone after you.

Having just finished a conversation before the lounge hostess appeared to escort him in, William had been distracted until a familiar voice brought him back to the present. He pocketed the phone fluidly and accepted Kilgar's proffered hand with a firm grip.

"It's nothing. I have another appointment to keep in a few hours, so unless you feel like accompanying me back to my office, we should keep this short. I'm buying a new insurance policy."

The Metal Man, if accounts held true, would prove helpful. It was only a matter of time before Zemsky connected the dots and came for him. It certainly couldn't help to have a little extra muscle around. Meanwhile, the Phantom was homing in on the wrong target although inadvertently she was aiding their plans. It would take some effort to guide her in the desired direction. He had good reason to be distracted. Strauss glanced around the sparsely occupied lounge, noting the faces around the room.

"You wanted to talk?"

Kilgar sat down, "Actually, there seem to be some problems with the original plans. Most importantly in one of the opponents intelligence capabilities were apparently not degraded at all by the former Guardians." Kilgar paused for a second and adjusted his gaze. "Perhaps we are also in the dark about problems on your end William. After all I've never heard of you needing insurance before."
Kilgar said it without any feeling in his voice. Strauss was ultimately expendable, but his current contacts with the legitimate business world were not. Nor was the money, which was very, very important if they couldn't get the Hellfire Tank.

"If he was that confident," the Metal Man said, "we wouldn't be here. I think he's just done his homework. He know that I don't like to mince words during negotiations.

"I'm going to need you to watch my six while I'm working things out with this guy. I'm not expecting his enemies to mount a stealth attack this time--for that, they'd first have to care enough to look at ALL the bank accounts Strauss ripped off, THEN they'd have to trace my account back to me, THEN they'd have to figure out that I'm in the neighborhood--but there might be hit men in the area. If there are, I want you to find and neutralize them so that I can get Strauss safely into the hands of law enforcement. He will suspect that I'm going to have this as an objective, but I'll find a way to negotiate around it. You and Pete can work this one together."

Ten minutes later, Pete had given them a holographic representation of Strauss' office--a room on the 15th floor of a 20-story high-rise--and of the building that it was located in. Twenty-five minutes later, the Metal Man, having appeared unobserved in a nearby bus shelter, made his way to Strauss' office. He still appeared to be a fat old man, but, by then, he'd changed into a blue three-piece suit, black tie and business shoes, and carried a briefcase. He seemed every bit the typical businessman whose name was on Strauss' appointment list as he checked in with the executive assistant at the main desk.


After the obligatory greeting, shaking of hands and finding of a chair, the cyborg came straight to the point. "Your terms, sir," he said.

Kilgar sat down, "Actually, there seem to be some problems with the original plans. Most importantly in one of the opponents intelligence capabilities were apparently not degraded at all by the former Guardians." Kilgar paused for a second and adjusted his gaze. "Perhaps we are also in the dark about problems on your end William. After all I've never heard of you needing insurance before."
Kilgar said it without any feeling in his voice. Strauss was ultimately expendable, but his current contacts with the legitimate business world were not. Nor was the money, which was very, very important if they couldn't get the Hellfire Tank.

"Yes, well, I've never dealt with someone like Zemsky before. Not on these terms anyway. I'm worried, to be frank. I don't see how insurance can be a bad thing, so long as information is managed properly, do you?"

Strauss relaxed somewhat, but it wasn't entirely sincere. Truth be told, he had no idea how much he could trust someone like Phantom. If she double crossed him, it was game over.

"She'll need some guidance to get her back on track. I think I approached her the wrong way. She thinks she's selling me out, but it's really a benefit right now. I worry about the future, though."

Thankfully, the rogue had gone to Frost, probably because of their earlier conversation. Had it been anyone else, the situation would be significantly different, for better or worse.

Kilgar leaned forward slightly, "Yes, I do think the wrong insurance is a bad thing. They could be hired by Zemesky, or even the Black Doc." He adjusted himself as the waitress placed some glasses of whiskey down on the table.
"So who is it that your looking to contract for insurance? Anyone I have heard of?"

He sipped his drink and continued
"As for your wayward thief, who did she sell you out to?"

"So, Pete," said Foxfire, leaning back in his chair, "give me something here. What's the layout of the building, how many enterences are there and where are they located, are there any security guards, and finally, how quickly can you transport me to the location needed if trouble does arise?"
Foxfire was all business. He was no security cheif, nor was he an assassin or a hitman, but he knew a little about such matters. He'd been on the run for about four years before he was finally able to settle down, concealed, in New York City. So he knew from first hand experience the importance of knowing the details about your location in case a quick escape was needed.

Reports from ST. Petersburg weren't good. The police had cracked down hard. For once the bribes hadn't mattered. Now his gang was in a three way war with the police. The Tambov were fighting hard but quickly falling to police raids. He had already ordered Boris and most of his soldiers to leave the city and take refuge in the country side. It was working for now and their loyalty was without question but the police raids had given him a realization. ST. Petersburg was under to high a microscope from the government after the riots. To fulfill his plans he would would have to either to wait for things to cool off in a year or two. Or move his entire operations somewhere else...



Vladimir waited calmly in the lobby of a 5 star hotel to meet some business man who needed his help. He had known Dimitri for years, he had no idea how Dimitri new what he did but he was glad. Not even an hour off the train and he had called him with a possible opportunity with a foreign business man. Details were sketchy but he had assured Dimitri that this meeting could lead to a very luckertive deal.

Kilgar leaned forward slightly, "Yes, I do think the wrong insurance is a bad thing. They could be hired by Zemesky, or even the Black Doc." He adjusted himself as the waitress placed some glasses of whiskey down on the table.
"So who is it that your looking to contract for insurance? Anyone I have heard of?"

He sipped his drink and continued
"As for your wayward thief, who did she sell you out to?"

Strauss paused. He was normally more cautious, but it hadn't occurred to him that his guardian might be a mole. It seemed unlikely. Zemsky was intelligent, but he couldn't possibly have connected the dots this quickly. He suddenly wished he had something to drink.

"The Metal Man. I asked around to some trusted sources and they say he's a safe bet."

He smiled inwardly, supposing it was true that old habits died hard. He'd been on solid ground in the banking industry for years now, but the earth seemed to be tilting under him. Normal legitimate financial advisers did not need to hire body guards. Changing tack, forced himself to loosen up again. Tension was bad for his blood pressure.

"As for our... contracted help, she went to Matthew Frost. Ex-INTERPOL agent turned financial investigator with the EU. I've worked with him many times before. He's relentless."

Kilgar put down his whiskey and considered what Strauss had just told him. "If I recall he is a Guardian diehard, one not known for being all that friendly with our side of the fence." He paused to let that sink in for a moment.

"So she went to Frost, Frost like a good little terrier of law and order begins to dig." Kilgar swirled his drink for a moment. "But Frost knows you, and...please tell me your agent has not penetrated your cover." Kilgar's voice didn't change on the last part, but his eyes locked onto Strauss's with a hard, cold light.

Despite the hard stare, Strauss smiled easily. This was one part of the situation where he was completely confident.

"No. The only resource she has is Frost, and he couldn't tell her anything even if he wanted to. Besides, I don't think she'll pursue it. She went to Frost instead of tracking the Black Doc because she wanted to know how we were connected. He gave her the easy answer. She has no reason to keep digging.

"Besides, Frost is so dead set on nailing Zemsky, he'll think my intentions are pure. A throwback to the good old days."

As if on cue, a blond attendant set a glass of water before him, smiling shyly before flitting away. Strauss took a grateful swallow before continuing.

"Now. About the insurance.. you think it's a bad idea? He would be aligned against big bad Zemsky, and his presence could only lend credence to my cover. It's risky but..."

Kilgar disliked Strauss avoiding the answer, "But she knows who you are William. She didn't just hand over Zemsky. I would not, so she didn't. She knows who you are, which means your exposed on two fronts if not three. After all, why couldn't she just sell you to Zemsky herself? I am afraid her usefulness may have come to an end, also we may need to 'free' those funds she has frozen to deal with our current problems."

Kilgar leaned back for a moment in his chair. "I think getting you protection would be a very good idea. I also think it is time for you to take a business trip and inform some of the bank's more private clients that their deposits are perfectly safe. Some of those clients live in places where it would be quite reasonable to have private security. And being on the move makes it harder for assassins to set up a hit."

"Convincing her to thaw the accounts may be tricky... in fact manipulating her at all will be difficult. She's feral."

Strauss took another sip of water, using the motion to mask his need to swallow a sudden nervous lump in his throat. He hadn't banked on Phantom learning the identities of the accounts, and therefore a double cross had never entered his mind. Kilgar's words sent an icy tendril down his spine. When he spoke again, control of his voice seemed to take a little more effort than he liked to admit.

"Who.. who do you want me to visit?"

Kilgar nodded, "Yes, but she will hunt when she needs too. I just have to offer her some incentive to do so. And if she thinks she is the one hunting, then she, like any feral cat, will likely fall into a trap herself. Just give me her particulars, and we'll have her hunting a nice juicy mouse right into our cat trap." Kilgar was already formulating a plan.

Kilgar nodded "Oh, people who would be plausible accomplices in this, but are outside of our little operation. If Metal Man is playing both sides, or attempting to get information on us by tagging along, we'll give him a ballroom of plausible suspects. I'd hit Bangladesh, Thailand, Singapore, Tokyo, Venezuela...oh and Port Olympus in the Klatch as the last stop" He smiled thinly, "That should give Metal Man's legendary brain a work out, that place has so much corruption and intrigue that the paperboy likely will have a record five miles long." He turned his head to look out the window. "And the best part is, the Klatchian Marshals are notorious for keeping outsider assassins out of their private playground. I think I can send enough cash their way to give you some extra protection."

Kilgar stood to get a better view out of the window, going through the list of airlines that flew out of the airport. "Tanzania Airlines is in a bit of a monetary crunch right now, I will arrange for you to hire one of their long range jets on a private charter. Oh, and don't use your credit cards during the trip. Cash only of course. We don't need to make anyone's life easy. Tokyo might be a problem, but I will arrange things for there using someone who specializes in this sort of thing."

Kilgar turned to look down at Strauss. "Oh, and your single right?"

His confidence returned with a surge when it became apparent Kilgar wasn't going to off him on the spot. Then again, the Air France lounge might be a little conspicuous and difficult to explain. William's mind reeled at the thought of so much travel, but leaving Switzerland was probably in his best interests. Besides, there were several clients on the list he hadn't visited in some time. And one or two he greatly anticipated spending a little PR time with.

"I haven't put in for a mail-order bride, if that's what you're getting at. As for our girl, I'll send you everything I have on her. In a nutshell if you can catch her interest with a project, she'll take it. If there's personal challenge involved, she'll be interested."

Finishing his water, Strauss glanced at his watch. His meeting with the Metal Man was fast approaching, and leaving his guest waiting might seem suspicious.

"If there's nothing else, I need to prepare before the policy review."

Kilgar nodded slightly, "Well, first your now dating an Austrian opera singer named Anna." Kilgar pulled a small photo from his wallet and tossed it on the table. Anna looked about eighteen with blond hair and nordic features. "Anna nessen has a small problem with the roulette wheel in Monte Carlo, but she also spends a great time in Switzerland, mainly for the skiing. Anna is going to be lonely so you'll need to call her often on your new sat phone she is about to send you before your trip. Because you just lost your old cell phone in the taxi." Kilgar held out his hand.

Kilgar's face didn't show it, but his picking up the singers 30,000 euro's in debt hadn't been to keep Strauss alive. It had been to make her a very nice birthday present for his Supreme Greatness. Unfortunately she would likely be more useful in this role than bedding him the night of the coup.

"Of course Anna will be sending you this new phone to make sure you keep in touch regularly, she will of course relay any and all information between us during your trip. On a phone still registered to her rather than you."

It was obvious that whatever was going through Kilgar's mind was making sure that the Banker would be untraceable for the duration.

Atlanta
General Mitizmita (actually no one knew the correct spelling, he apparently kept changing it)

Age 44
Height 5'9"
Dark Complextion
Hair Black
Eyes (blue)

Current source of funds: Extorted gemstones, Drugs, and general corruption

The General is head of the Kazikazistan Security Force. Primarily the Security Force operates only three Battallions. However, it appears the mechanized battallion is rather quite large. Currently stationed in and around the Second Battallion base south of the captial. One company of AMX-13 is on detached duty cleaning up some 'rebellion' however, considering the funds suddenly at the general's disposal.



The second battallion is primarly a police force with one company acting as a general death squad. Mostly they use jeeps, and AK-47's although they do have a few wwII half tracks with mortars/ 88 mm mounted for dealing with people in the jungle.

The Third battallion is again a police force, but this one is focused completly on the gem trade. Far better armed, usually sporting tailored suits, bullet proof vests, gold chains. The amount of corruptoin within this group is quite substantial.

The Third battallion's Colonel, Utiza is a former russian mob hitman who's loyalty is to The Supreme Commander currently, although it may easily be bought at a high enough price.

The General lives with his wife, three daughters and son (Colonel Mitiztima at age 16) in part of the compound that the Supreme Commander calles the 'Palace of Virtue'. The palace is primarily a military base for the Supreme Guard, armed with modern weapons including twenty TI-95 tanks. However the palace stands in a bend in the river, and is quite accessable from the river.

The General currently has a girlfriend, or actually two girlfreinds living in a seedier section of town. The girls, named Kaka and Zara live in a brothel operated by a seedy character named Tomas. Tomas is also something of a small time drug dealer, and it is believed that he is the primay contact for foreign drug buyers.

The General also spends a good time with the detached 13th company. and time in Zurich.

Known primary associates:

Kilgar: Large gentlemen, quite intelligent however Kilgar is as much a messager than anything else. Currently bald, no other distinquishing characteristics. Weapon: typically two 1911 45 with extended range and a heavy submachine gun carried in a case Note: Kilgar operates under Diplomatic Immunity and his case, and weapons, can not be searched.

Little Pimp (real name unknown) body guard, quite nasty at close range, beleived to be insane. Marked by short stature, green eyes that appear to be bloodshot at all times, wild red hair, and a scar from scalp to mouth along one side of his nose. Weapons: Bowie Knife, Chain, Uzi

Information on the 13th company base was it was a slave labor camp, women and men were forced to either mine dimonds or make heroin in the nude. The outer perimiter defense was little more than some surrounding network of roads and poppy feilds that had been hacked out of the jungle.


The whole operation looked simple enough. He'd infiltrate from the river and do what he could to avoid any attention, and what attention he did get would be dealt with via the Ruger or his knife. Bare hands were also an option but cracking bones made more noise than the surpressed .22 or the Mercworx blade, which made less noise than a body hitting the floor. The general would be spoken with down the barrel of a large-caliber pistol, and if he didn't arrange for the transfer on the spot, he'd simply double-tap and move out to the extraction point, as per his orders. Orders were easy to follow, especially when the execution of such orders was left entirely up to him.

He was certain he could buy off the Russian asshole, too. Bullets were cheap, but people would usually pay any amount of money to keep them out of their sorry hides which made for an excellent return investment. The only decision he had to make was which caliber to use, and then which loading and projectile type to employ. The one that came to mind was his favorite .45 ACP load, a 230-grain +P+ Black Talon-esque hollowpoint that looked more like a starfish from Hell when the mortician surgically removed it from your corpse. He was also eager to see how crazy the 'Little Pimp' was after he splattered his brains across the far wall. It was hard to be crazy when your brain had a hole in it the size of a soda can. His own Equitorian blade was very bowie-like in balance, but in effectiveness it dwarfed anything else he'd ever used, to include the Sykes-Fabrian which looked like a toothpick next to the 13-inch monster Bullet carried at the small of his back, and it left some nasty wounds reguardless of how it was used. The recurve cut deeply and the sheer size made it a lethal stabber. Armed with that sort of hardware, it was pretty plain to see why Bullet had no qualms about taking on this assignment.

Bullet still didn't have his threaded barrel bushings or Advanced Armament supressor cans for his Nighthawks, the only two weapons in his arsenal he'd based off of a current design, and that was only because Nighthawk Customs had beat him to it. He'd make due, the Ruger was more than effective if you knew where to aim it, and his screw-tip .22 loadings expanded pretty well after entry.

His information gathering done, Bullet minimized the info packet and located a battered iPod before keying up Killswitch Engage's version of 'Holy Diver'. The part about diamonds and something coming for you seemed oddly appropriate for his current operation...

"I'll take the job. Any chance you can drop me from the sky? I've got a HALO/HAHO certification somewhere in my dossier..."

It also included a level IV Combatives certification and Expert-level qualifications with every weapon in the US arsenal as well as everything the Germans had. That was just the military stuff, however. His civilian training was equally as impressive...

What have I gotten myself into? Sheperd stood, stretching his taught muscles which were beginning to ache. It was only supposed to be a simple party that he was invited to by a Colomnbian associate, then it tuns into some mass assasination with a superpowered assasin, now it's something else entirely. This mysterious message spooked his instincts. This is the cloak and dagger reporting he thirsted for and fantasized about now only wished it disappeared again, opting to do a desk job over traversing the world, dodging assasins. Could she be coming after me? Once again, his big mouth and big heart is about to get him in serious trouble.

Darkness crept over the Bogota skyline, the last vestiges of light finally dipping below the horizon, giving weigh to the night. He decided to close the laptop and gather up the papers and call it a night. As the lamp dimmed out and he lay basking in the darkness, breathing a heavy sigh of fatigue and closed his eyes.

"Aww, tired already?" asked a voice in the night.

Sheperd shot up, terrified like a shockwave of finality erupted through his body. "W-Who's there?" he asked shaking, unable to find the nob for the lamp.

"Certainly not someone who basks in the limelight, unlike you"

"S-Scarlet?" sheperd asked, eyes unable to adjust to the darkness still.

"Just a girl trying to have some fun at a party, not looking for anyone but that anyone found me"

"Are you...are you going to kill me?"

"If I wanted to kill you-you wouldn't have known it"

"What are you going to do?" Sheperd's eyes finally adjusted and he could make out the shape of a person sitting in a chair. He couldn't see her eyes but knew she was burning a hole through him with her gaze.

"Let's talk..." she smiled in the dark.

The Archangel Project ringed nigh bells in Frost's mind. After an exhausted search via several mass search engines, the trail turned a bitter cold before it even got started. The kids left for school and laura long left for work at the school. Alone, he wandered about the house, running a hand through hsi hair, mind shot from hours of concentration with little to show for it.

After taking a break, eating a sandwhich and watching a little television it was straight back to work. Perhaps there was a link between Zemsky Industries and The Archangel Project. Unable to find a connection he almost shouted into the air beut found it useless and a waste of energy that could be used for better purposes. With little options left, he chanced a call to Zemsky Industries but found it foolish, knowing full well that if there was a connection, knowing what's going on now, it would prove detremental to his well being. Dammit! There has to be a link!

As part of a financial investigation, it is often needed to visit the company in question and get the answers straight from the company. With growing suspicion he decided to continue his investigation from the safety of his house.

"You mean you didn't get it the first time?" Pete asked Foxfire. "OK. Let's start again...from scratch."

A 3D wire diagram of the office building and the surrounding neighborhood came up in front of Foxfire. As Pete went over the outline, different parts changed from their normal green to yellow, red or sometimes blue, then back again as the AI moved on to the next feature--always taking the time to make sure that Foxfire understood before it moved on.

"Got it?" the AI said eventually.

"You mean you didn't get it the first time?" Pete asked Foxfire. "OK. Let's start again...from scratch."

A 3D wire diagram of the office building and the surrounding neighborhood came up in front of Foxfire. As Pete went over the outline, different parts changed from their normal green to yellow, red or sometimes blue, then back again as the AI moved on to the next feature--always taking the time to make sure that Foxfire understood before it moved on.

"Got it?" the AI said eventually.
Foxfire nodded. "Got it. I don't suspect trouble, not here and now, but there is a chance of it." He closed his eyes, thinking back. "So, Pete, while we're not doing anything, how have the past couple of years treated you and the Man? Well, I am thinking?"

Kilgar nodded slightly, "Well, first your now dating an Austrian opera singer named Anna." Kilgar pulled a small photo from his wallet and tossed it on the table. Anna looked about eighteen with blond hair and nordic features. "Anna nessen has a small problem with the roulette wheel in Monte Carlo, but she also spends a great time in Switzerland, mainly for the skiing. Anna is going to be lonely so you'll need to call her often on your new sat phone she is about to send you before your trip. Because you just lost your old cell phone in the taxi." Kilgar held out his hand.

Kilgar's face didn't show it, but his picking up the singers 30,000 euro's in debt hadn't been to keep Strauss alive. It had been to make her a very nice birthday present for his Supreme Greatness. Unfortunately she would likely be more useful in this role than bedding him the night of the coup.

"Of course Anna will be sending you this new phone to make sure you keep in touch regularly, she will of course relay any and all information between us during your trip. On a phone still registered to her rather than you."

It was obvious that whatever was going through Kilgar's mind was making sure that the Banker would be untraceable for the duration.

Without hesitation, Strauss withdrew his mobile from an inner coat pocket and placed it in Kilgar's hand. He then picked up the photo and examined it, wondering idly what her services were costing. If her cover story held any grain of truth. Ultimately, it didn't matter.

"It's a pity I won't be around to help with that loneliness."

True that Strauss was no longer a young man, but age didn't slow him down when it came to beauty.

"Her number's in there," he mentioned off-hand, inclining his head towards his old phone. "I assume you'll know how to contact me should anything come up."

Tucking the picture away in his wallet, he stood to shake Kilgar's hand. While he would have liked to stay and dredge more information out of Kilgar, it would be wasted energy. The man only ever offered so much. If you tried to fight him for information, it was a losing battle. Besides, Strauss had other appointments to keep.

"A pleasure, as always."

The same demure attendant who had led him in now seemed to magically appear to escort him out once again. Mentally, he began preparing for his meeting with the Metal Man.

"It was like a whirlwind," Pete replied. "Joining the Guardians was a lot of work--even for me. In addition to the crime fighting, there were training exercises that we had to take part in, and indoctrination lessons. It took them a while to catch on to the fact that I'm a sentient being, but, when they did, I was off to the races, too.

"It was kind of ironic. The Metal Man thought that he could use this as a springboard to get that bogus murder conviction overturned. Then, by the time things were about to get rolling, new laws were passed and he was told to register himself like a sex offender. Needless to say, with the bogus legal work still in place, that didn't go over very well.

"So, here we are...afraid to use the new connections we made, trying to hide from the so-called law and to strike against injustice when we can. We haven't even had chance to take on any new students in over two years--and that's a bad thing. The Metal Man's skills training empowers people to stand up to oppression, tries to attack it from the ground up. When it can't be spread, it's a bad thing for the world.

"On the other hand, the boss has had time to come out with a whole truck load of new inventions--a portable desalinator to make drinking water where there is none, a "smart patch" that seals cracked concrete stronger than the original pouring, a computer game that teaches grass-roots activism. He's kept busy.

"How have things been for you?"

William had returned to his office with fifteen minutes to kill before his meeting. He felt vulnerable without his cellphone, and idly wondered when Anna would send a new one.

Taking a seat at his desk, he killed the screen saver, and entered a password to unlock the machine. His next task would be to bring up client files in preparation for his business trips. If Kilgar held true to form, William would be on a jet within 48 hours. The Klatchian client was always a tough customer, and even though reserved for last, required the most preparation. It seemed a logical place to start.

After a quick skim though the files, his receptionist notified him that his appointment had arrived. William stood as the Metal Man entered, shook hands, and took a seat in an expensive black leather chair in front of his desk.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice. As I alluded to on the phone, I need your help. As it turns out, in the banking industry it's quite easy to make powerful enemies."

Dastardly Stench;13440567']-snip-
"A computer game that teaches grass-roots activism..." Foxfire trailed off. "Yup, that's definitly progress. Sorry to hear the last couple of years haven't been good to you,"

Foxfire knew what it was like to be hunted by the law. Technically the police had been told to look out for him, but not actually look for him. The government had special teams for looking for people who didn't want to be found. Fortunatly Foxfire had managed to keep his location about as secret as Jimmy Hoffa's. Until TMM had "taken him under his wing", so to speak, Foxfire had always been on the run ever since he had escaped from the experimental supersoldier facility. The Metal Man, along with Pete and a curious character named Solus, had taught, trained and prepared Foxfire extensivly in the time he had spent with them. While he had known something about swordsmanship and the martial arts before, TMM's training had broadened his horizens and made him even better equipped than before.
Aloud he answered Pete's question.

"Well, once we parted ways in NYC I spent a few days wandering around again, trying to figure out what to do. For the longest time I was actually homeless, but I finally got my act together. After I extracted a small amount of funds from TMM's bank account, I opened a self-defense dojo. At first it was only a few people, and pure basic martial arts. Pretty quickly it got big, and I started training my students with sparring weapons. I really liked some of them..."
He thought back. There was a certain Oriental girl a couple of years older than he was that he had found himself attracted to. However, with his situation, it was impossible to mantain anything aside from a distant relationship with anyone. Foxfire had to have her trust before he tried anything. "Anyway, I used that useful little holoprojector that I pocketed from that one guy, Alliance, you remember him? It came in handy, but I never took into account battery life, and there was a close call once. After that I used the one I still had from TMM, and was fortunatly able to mantain my apperance of a short, wise Japanese man. None of my students are blackbelts yet, but several are quite close, and I have never produced a student who cannot defend themselves to some degree. A lot of what they're taught came from the Man, actually, and the rest is just my own style of fighting."

Zurich, 3 hours later
Kilgar sat in the small watch maker's shop reading through pages on a computer screen, in the same room a little man worked over a brand new phone. Really the phone looked like a fairly nice Utical 7000 multi-frequency satilite handset. Of course the Utical 7000 and the Utical MJS-9000 had the same basic electronics except for a built in 128 bit encryption module and an anti-aliasing backfeed loop. So just replacing the standard 8 bit encryption module with the 128 card wasn't that hard. Fitting both back into the plastic body of the Utical 7000 took patience with jewler's tools and a dremel.

Of course the Black Doc offered these at relatively low cost. But Kilgar was sure that anything he purchased from that source would have a convieniant 'alias' in a distant bunker some place.

Kilgar made a mental note about Houston and then ran over the checklist in his mind.
Flight...check...Strauss should have gotten his itenerary faxed to him from Tanzinia Airlines about two hours ago. I hope he didn't have plans for tommorrow because he's out on a red-eye tonight at 12:00 midnight.

Phone...almost done...I'll have it sent to the airplane before it takes off...

Anna...complete f*** up. She was in Bern for a photo shoot and demanded a meet...women are always a problem...

Kilgar looked up at the clock and winced. "I'll be back in a few minutes..." Kilgar placed his jacket back on and strode out of the back door of the shop onto a narrow alley way. A few twists and turns later he was on a major road. He looked across to the park. Kilgar wanted to wince.

Anna was waiting for him, as she said she would be three hours previously. Kilgar waited for the traffic to clear before crossing the street. Anna was focused on her small held palm unit but had noticed Kilgar. The fact was the girl was acting actually. "So Mister Kay.." She looked up with the bright blue eyes. "My savior and now my pimp. I realized that with you holding my markers and knowing my real name that I'd be having to pretend to be my sister for you. Not a stogy old banker, although I suppose a fat, ugly older man would have been worse."

Kilgar stood silently. Anna was really Anna Jenssen, and had gone into opera more as a revolt against her sister's occupation in adult films. "No comment, how many times am I supposed to service this guy...and what are you going to blackmail out of him?"

Kilgar said nothing again for a moment. "No one said anything..."

"Oh please...the only thing men ever think with is their wallet and their penis. You don't want me for your d***, so you must want his wallet...or maybe the fact he manages other people's money?"

"Your a relay...a cut-out nothing more..." Kilgar said quietly.

"Huh relay, cut-out? What is this some kind of spy game. You working for the Guardians or something?"

Kilgar again said nothing.

"Oh, wait...that would explain alot. I mean the Guardians had to be funded from shomwhere...an impenatrable Swiss Bank is better than anywhere."

Anna became quiet for a second. "Well I suppose I better go see him."

Kilgar blanched at that comment.

"I have my own website and a fan club...Annaweb dot com? If someone asks who he's dating and there isn't even a rumor your sunk bud."

Kilgar hadn't realized that Opera singers, not even headliners, had their own websites. "I had not considered that actually."

"Well I did, now then...you said I was to write a note for some present?"

"Yes..."

"I'll just deliver it in person."

Kilgar was silent again...

Zurich, William Strauss Office 3.5 hours after airport
Anna Nessen dialed William Strauss from the bank lobby..."William dear its Anna. we got done with the shoot early so I decided to drop buy and have you buy me dinner. Can I come up or would the board disaprove?"

Atlanta

Clark coughed as he rolled back onto the screen. "A Halo drop? I see you decided to go after the General at home. The only problem I see is the Supreme Greatness's rather large security detail there. I suppose if the Supreme Greatness was away, the General would be somewhere safe, but most of the Supreme Guard would be gone, as well as most of the security battallion."

Clark paused again, "But I thought we didn't know either of their schedules, so when would we plan the Halo drop?"

The man somehow managed to look down his nose at Kartosh, despite the fact that he was shorter than the assassin. "Do you have a reservation?" he asked in a tone that clearly indicated he thought not. "Eight 'oclock. Party of two." Kartosh said. His apperance was that of a very rich young man: Onyx black hair, cool green eyes, a finely tailored suit, complete with a small silver ring with an emerald in the center, worn on his right ring finger. He did not move with his normal predatory grace, but rather with the confident strides of a man used to getting his way, and getting it quickly. He didn't care what his client thought, the point was for no one to make any connection between this bastard and himself in reality. The little man flipped though a large book. "Hmmm, hmmm, ah yes. There it is. Allow me to escort you to your table." It was like magic, the way the man's mood changed instantly. After being seated and ordering his drink (vodka), Kartosh reveiwed the past events, as the seat across from his was still vacant. Kash Wilson, Cyber Matrix Corporations...those two men. He had passed them out of his mind, but now Kartosh actually thought about them. Very strange. The Metal Man? He had not been able to discover much at all about him, other than a murder record which seemed to Kartosh to be unlikely. And this other guy, he had never caught his name. The only man he knew of shared the same physical characteristics. A fluke, but obviously not, if it happened more than once.

Before Scarlet could manage another word, the door exploded open, forcing Sheperd to the ground. Bewildered, Scarlet turned around to see a figure standing in the door.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded in a Scottish accent, fists tight, teeth grinding. The Scotsman stepped forward, dusting some debris off of his shoulders.

"No one important, just a friend of our host" Scarlet winked at Sheperd who popped his head up.

"Then you won't mind if I chat with him, then...will ya lass?" Scotsman asked and began to walk forward, striding confidently past Scarlet who backed off, wondering why this man didn't attack her. "Well, laddy. Looks like you're in trouble"

He grabbed Sheperd by the collar, lifting him off the ground, head nearly touching the ceiling. His legs kicked, hands grasping the arm of the Scotsman, desperate to claw his way out.

Scarlet watched, a small smirk on her face. Just a little longer... Without warning, she charged this mysterious assailnat after assessing him for a few moments. He caught her in his eyes, tossing Sheperd across the room and thrusting a fist forward which barely missed Scarlet who ducked down and swept under him, knocking him to the ground. She stood up and a heel came down which the Scotsman dodged and the heel collapsed a section of the floor.

"You'll pay for that!" he bellowed, anger boiling over. He threw punches wildly which Scarlet, far more graceful than her opponent, danced easily around them and kicked him in the face, forcing him into the wall. Now! She lunged forward, both feet impacting his chest, sending the man through the wall, debris flying into the air, and crashing into the adjoining building. Scarlet stopped and searched for Sheperd.

"Dan, are you alright?" Scarlet asked. There was a muffled answer from under a piece of cross beam which Scarlet lifted easily and stood up verticallym clasping it.

"T-Thanks" he managed. Suddenlt, a cackle eminated from the hole, the Scotsman stood unscathed and grinning. He flew at her, levitating off the ground and soaring through the apartment. She took one swing and the wooden beam shattered against the Scotsman fist and went straight for her face.

BAM!!!

Scarlet flew back through the wall and into the next room. Dry wall and wooden beams fell to the ground. It was a hard hit but Scarlet staggered back to her feet just in time to catch a kick to the stomach and a hammer fist strike to the shoulder. The two continued to battle through the building, causing untold amounts of damage. Sheperd was dazzled and confused, caught in the middle of a super powered brawl...

Bullet didn't have any real plans, so anytime was going to be good for him...

"Whenever you can arrange for the aircraft to take me where I need to go. I can have my gear to that location in under an hour if it's here in town..."

The whole setup did seem a little odd, however...

"Who do you work for? Seeing as I'm working for you now, I must work for them as well..."

Suspicion was part of the job, since a common method of revenge on a hitman was to hire him for a suicide mission, but not tell him all the details...

Vladimir hadn't been happy when Dimitri informed him that he would have to go to Zemsky's home. But then agian it could show him something of his new employer. So Vladimir slowly walked up the stairs to the porch of the house where he was to meet Zemsky.

Moscow was a familiar place to one such as Agent Zero, or whatever name he was going by that week. The moniker was in reference to the program he'd been entered in after the Chernobyl incident, he'd been the first official test subject, and there hadn't been one since to be titled 'Agent One'. He no longer exsisted on any official record, and the CIA had quit hunting him a long time ago, they'd decided to cut their losses after he'd killed that tenth agent they'd sent after him.

Now he was in the country of his nation's oldest rival, and searching for work. He'd gotten wind of a man named Zemsky who was in need of qualified help, help taking out those who opposed him. Working for a crime boss wasn't new, he'd done it numerous times before. His left hand held a large briefcase-like object, which concealed his Accuracy International .338 Lapua magnum long-rifle, for those times when he had to reach out and touch someone, but he didn't have their phone number. Concealed on his person was a standard Glock 19, with a minor customization in the form of a Jarvis threaded barrel with a fully supported chamber, the one big flaw in Glock's 'Perfection' repaired. The surpressor was hidden within the case as well. The final option he had on him was his Mini-Pentagon knife, a small blade with many utilitarian purposes, one of which was impromptu throat-surgery.

The address he'd been given was just outside of Moscow itself, a bit of a walk but that didn't bother him much. In a short hour he'd arrived at an impressive living space surrounded by a beautiful, if wicked-looking, cast-iron fence. There was a simple buzzer system in place, no doubt it was linked to a hidden camera like usual. Stillwater had no other options but to ring the buzzer, and ring it he did with a gloved finger. Dressed as he was in a large black overcoat, Russian fur hat, and heavy leather gloves, he looked like any St. Petersburg native. The upturned collar helped keep out the frigid Russian chill, while also keeping his face mostly concealed. The partial beard he'd grown was also helpful in that reguard...

Atlanta
Clark nodded, "So you want to know who your working for? The Black Lab of course."

The Black Lab, no one knew how to label it. Some called it an orginized crime syndicate, with the lack of crime. Other's called it a Gang of Nerds gone wrong, that seemed to be quite adept at getting rid of interlopers. The U.S. Justice Department had labled it as a "Threat to International Peace."

Whatever the Black Lab was, it was known as one of the premeir places for criminals to get all of the 'special' gear they needed. And it was supposedly run by the Black Doc, one of the more secretive individuals of the criminal underworld. Some actually said that Usual Suspects was based on something he had done, but most individuals in the criminal world thought that their were multiple 'Black Docs' who all worked as a cabal of unscroupulus super engineers and scientists.

Houston Chron

Rare Gem Located in Meth Lab

Today, the DEA and Texas Rangers annouced that a cordinated raid had occured on a recreational vehicle that was located on the east side of downtown. The raid had originally been for an address in the new Brewer Town loft complex, former safe house of the 'El Diablo Gang' that ruled much of the city before 'El Diablo' was arrested and placed into custody at a medical facility in Federal Prison. The resulting break up of the gang, and the gang warfare and interceding fighting has led to the death of eight gang members, the arrest of almost fifteen, and inditements against several officers of the Houston Police Department.

Officers discovered keys to a nearby storage warehouse where an RV was found. The RV contained what one DEA described as "A moblie Meth Wherehouse, they had stacks of beakers, vials, filters, scales, even fifty gallon drums of chemicals. Everything to start up an entire forest of methlabs." Also found in the raid was a lockbox containing almost 2,000,000 in mounted gemstones. Included in this box was a rare 3.5 carat stone of 'Blue Emerald'.

Blue Emerald is acutally a hybrid gemstone, being made of a alternating latice of both aluminium oxide and berillium oxide. No one has yet been able to make the gemstone artifically, making it one of the rarest mineral groups on the planet. Furthermore it is the only known material which presently can be used for a 5MW solid state laser. "Only Berillium Oxide has both the refractive and thermal properties that allow it to withstand thermal fluxes at those conditions.

The value of the stone is unknown, as they are rarely ever on the market. The stone will be stored in the secure gem vault of the Houston Natural Museum until its rightful owner can be determined.

Francisico's lawyers have refused to comment on the case other than to say. "Our client is a buisness man who has no connection to the apartment or the contients of the stored vehicle. Records indicate the vehicle is registered to Vincent Malone, who died in 1988 due to complications with open heart surgery.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Strauss said in perfect Oxford English. "As I alluded to on the phone, I need your help. As it turns out, in the banking industry, it's quite easy to make powerful enemies."

"Especially when you get caught with your fingers in the coin slot," the Metal Man replied. "So why me? You could have hired just about any Joe's Security Agency to take care of you. They'd have made your life much more boring than I can."

---------------

OOC: If someone is going to make an attempt on Strauss' life, this would be a good time to get it started.

Scarlet staggered to her feet, wiping a bead of blood from her lips and cracking her neck. Looks like a challenge.

"You're tougher than you look, lassy" The Scotsman said, cracking his knuckles and stepping forward. He lept forward but Scarlet grabbed his foot and swung him into the wall then up into the ceiling, causing a massive hole. Debris fell down ontop of Scarlet as she jumped up and the fight continued again. They went blow for blow, each taking remarkable amounts of punishment. As they fought, people screamed and tried their best to get out of the way from this brutal fight. The building shook and windows shattered.

Colombian police set up barricades a safe distance from the apartment complex. Fire and medical also arrived on scene. The OIC (Officer in Charge) remained stunned at what he witnessed, unable and unwilling to send any of his men into the fray. The best that they could do was evacuate the surrounding area and tend to the wounded.

She head butted the Scotsman, reeling him backwards onto the ground and she lept up to drive her fist home but ended up hitting the pavement, causing it to crack. A swift kick to the ribs knocked her into the air, and impacted the ground.

A patrolman, nervous and hands shaking, raised his pistol and fired a round at the still standing Scotsman. The shot missed wide and shattered a car window. He turned around, rage in his eyes and charged the polcie barricade which compromised of three vehicles and six patrolmen.

"No!!" Scarlet shouted and something propelled her to get up, a cause of which she couldn't explain. Seeing those people in peril forced her to muster everything she had left and stand up. Scarlet charged and bear hugged the Sctosman and began to squeeze, holding him back, trying to maintain her grip. He thrashed like a bull, lifting off into the air and ctapulting both of them backwards into a wall, driving Scarlet into the wall.

Meanwhile...At Zemsky's Residence

Petrov walked to the front door and opened it, seeing an unfamiliar yet expected guest...

Moscow...

The man in the coat extended his empty right hand in greeting...

"Good morning. My name is Igor Petrovsky. I am hearing you are in need of services..."

His english had somehow aquired a heavy Russian accent, although he spoke fluent Russian, among other languages. Stillwater wanted to remain unidentified until he was out of the open...

"Is there place we can go to discuss business? Mother Russia is cold bitch this time of year..."

Back state-side, in Atlanta...

Bullet had heard of these guys before, but it didn't concern him. This hit was on an evil bastard who deserved a large-caliber lobotomy, and he was just the guy to perform the procedure...

"I'll work for you, so long as you don't have me doing any of that evil shit you fuckers are known for. No women or children, period. I off the general and whoever else gets in my way if needed, then get out of there..."

This might end badly, but that was an awful lot of money...

"Now where's the damn plane picking me up at? I've already got a 'chute rigged..."

The hitman/gunsmith resovled to keep an ear open to any dastardly bullshit they might have him do, he didn't like being a pawn...

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Strauss said in perfect Oxford English. "As I alluded to on the phone, I need your help. As it turns out, in the banking industry, it's quite easy to make powerful enemies."

"Especially when you get caught with your fingers in the coin slot," the Metal Man replied. "So why me? You could have hired just about any Joe's Security Agency to take care of you. They'd have made your life much more boring than I can."

Strauss paused a moment before answering, collecting his thoughts. He was seated not at his desk, but on a comfortable leather couch nearby for a less formal atmosphere.

"I need someone I can trust. Someone with a good track record. Security companies are it in for the money alone, but you.. they say there's almost a morality to you."

As if struck by a sudden inspiration, he stood, crossed the room and filled two glasses with expensive mineral water and offered one to his guest, offhandedly wondering if the Metal Man could drink it, and if that line of reasoning might lead his gesture to be rude. Nevertheless, he offered it anyway, hoping to overcome the feeling of awkwardness, and returned to his seat.

"As you no doubt know, I'm a financial adviser. As such, I have a very diverse set of clients. Unfortunately some of them have enemies. Specifically, a few I need to visit in person. I need protection. That's where you come in."

His speech had grown more nervous and he forced himself to slow down and take a sip of water. Best not overplay his hand.

"I expect you'll want to be compensated and that's fine. I'm afraid I don't know what someone like you would expect, but I can arrange for it..."

The Metal Man took the proffered drink with a curt "thank you." This was for appearances only. The water would be stored in a small tank within his body and discarded later, along with any poisons or mind-altering chemicals that it may have contained.

He nearly laughed when the man had said "almost a morality." Everything the Metal Man did was within a strict code of ethics. Even what he had done to the thug in the brothel in Houston served a greater purpose. It was a calculated move rather than the loss of temper that he had made it look like.

But Strauss had scored points for intelligence: he had picked up on the ruthlessness that the Metal Man could sometimes act with.

"My terms, then," he began.

"First, return to me what you stole from me.

"Second, I will need four days to finish building a team. I don't work 24-7. I'll need to rely on others. They'll be metas, but no you'll never notice unless you cross them. Don't.

"Third, I get advance notice of your itinerary. You deliberately take yourself out of our protection, and the deal ends there.

"Fourth, we arrange protection for your family and friends. That's a tidy sum you got your hands on, and the people it's connected to have been known to, shall we say, work indirectly. We'll need a list.

"Fifth, we get to investigate any wrongdoings that we find, NQA.

"Finally, financial considerations..."

-------------------

OOC: Anybody wanna help work a security duty with a LITTLE twist...

I need at least one more person besides Foxfire (if Foxfire is willing). One of them will work with TMM to coordinate security and the other will work with Pete to coordinate the staking out of Strauss' contacts.

The information relayed surprised Strauss but he managed to keep himself in check, evading as best he could without being too obvious about it. He sipped at the water cooly, and glanced up as the fax started beeping. While listening to TMM's terms, he crossed the room to retrieve the document in the fax's tray, skimming it briefly.

"Friends and family won't be a concern. I'm a confirmed bachelor with no living relatives, and little time for friends."

Inwardly he scowled. It was going to be difficult to keep Kilgar and TMM happy with the terms being demanded. Harder still to refuse a few of them and come away without suspicion. His eyes fell to the document once more.

"I can't give you 4 days. My flight leaves first thing in the morning. What is this item I'm supposed to have stolen from you?"

Atlanta
Clark nodded, "I need to make an adjustment to your schedule. Since we don't know when the drop would be the most effective."

Clark was studing somthing off screen. "I think if we get you and other assets positioned in Tanzinia we can launch a long distance, high altuidue run within our intel window and give you enough time to be effective."

"Launching from the U.S. with anything other than a Marathon transport wouldn't give you enough time on location to be effective. And a Marathon transport would send off alarms 300 miles from the target. So how would you like a nice quiet vaction on Lake Victoria for a few days. With the Lab picking up the tab of course?'

Obviously with experience in the military Bullet knew how it worked. Get everything ready than sit on your hands until someone higher up the food chain pulled the trigger, or a 'target' moved into the kill zone three days behind schedule.

However the Black Lab, unlike the U.S. Army didn't have you sleeping on the floor of a C-130 waiting for the green light. They provided somewhat more comfortable accomidations.

As Bullet answered, Clark's attention was drawn away by a beeping noise. He hit a button and spoke, but Bullet couln't hear a word.

Clark grew concerned for a moment. Then turned to Bullet. "Sorry about that...how would you like another 250 k to play angel eyes for us while we try to get intel on a good drop date? One of our key suppliers just announced plans to travel to the U.S. on an emergeny buisness trip to secure...assets which might attract a good number of more unsavory invididuals."

Zurich
Kilgar sat in his hotel room copying over the cell phone of William Strauss to a larger unit. The box would appear to be the handset to the wireless network, but it would also force the signal to bounce of several sats before making a final connection. It would also automatically track anyone attempting to track and triangulate the call, allowing the user to keep them in the dark as much or as little as he desired.

Kilgar picked up his own phone and the paper. He dialed out a long phone number Yes...this is Ametri Kilgar with the KazKazistan Foreign Office, it seems that you may have located a lost Kaz heirloom. He said.

Nothing like hitting the U.S. State Department at 7:00 in the morning. They were just getting into work, hadn't had their coffee yet, and were now dealing with some irate foreigner who wanted his stolen gem back. Kilgar hoped that this minor annoyance would get assigned to a lazy intern or GS-1 who had gotten a job at State because of his inability to get into law school, or a decent MBA program. Someone who couldn't find KazKazistan on a map, or even pronounce it correctly. Someone who wouldn't mind being a dumb harda** upon some DEA agents and the curator of the Houston Natural Science Museum.

Bullet didn't see why not...

"Again, I need the who, what, where, and why I should blast this fool..."

He didn't see much point in killing guys who hadn't done stuff that was seriously wrong, and killing innocents was out of the question, too...

The information relayed surprised Strauss but he managed to keep himself in check, evading as best he could without being too obvious about it. He sipped at the water cooly, and glanced up as the fax started beeping. While listening to TMM's terms, he crossed the room to retrieve the document in the fax's tray, skimming it briefly.

"Friends and family won't be a concern. I'm a confirmed bachelor with no living relatives, and little time for friends."

Inwardly he scowled. It was going to be difficult to keep Kilgar and TMM happy with the terms being demanded. Harder still to refuse a few of them and come away without suspicion. His eyes fell to the document once more.

"I can't give you 4 days. My flight leaves first thing in the morning. What is this item I'm supposed to have stolen from you?"

The Metal Man sighed. "One quarter of the assets I held in a certain swiss bank account. 20% of the total went straight through your terminal. The rest ended up in the Cayman Islands, where it now sits. I can even provide you with the account number if you wish--your operative obviously set you up, and you may wish to sanction him for it.

"What time does your flight leave? How long do I have?"

Bullet didn't see why not...

"Again, I need the who, what, where, and why I should blast this fool..."

He didn't see much point in killing guys who hadn't done stuff that was seriously wrong, and killing innocents was out of the question, too...

Clark shook his head, "What in the hell are the American's teaching you boys these days? Angel Eyes is reference to protective detail. Using your eyes to note anyone making a move against a principle asset and actingly like a vengful gardian Angel and removing the threat."

Clark rolled in his chair and straited it to the screen. "It is also supposed to be discrete. So the only fools your supposed to plug are the ones going after our supplier, if there are any. You very likely will not have to shoot anyone."

Dastardly Stench;13455085']The Metal Man sighed. "One quarter of the assets I held in a certain swiss bank account. 20% of the total went straight through your terminal. The rest ended up in the Cayman Islands, where it now sits. I can even provide you with the account number if you wish--your operative obviously set you up, and you may wish to sanction him for it.

"What time does your flight leave? How long do I have?"

Strauss' eyes dropped once again to examine the itinerary in his hands.

"I've chartered a private jet. It leaves at midnight for Bangladesh. This is all very short notice. I apologize for coming to you with so little time."

He paced to the window, glancing out at the city while finishing his glass of water. Zürich had been his home most of his life. Despite his work and connections, it had never been a hostile place for him. Now all that was changing, and he wondered briefly if it was worth it. Too late now even if it wasn't worth it.

"It will take some time to free up the funds you mention. And unfortunately I have no control over the Cayman account. Convincing my operative to cooperate will be tricky... it will require patience."

The phone on his desk began ringing, an aesthetically pleasing discreet tone. Excusing himself, he answered curtly.

William dear, it's Anna...

"Please wait in the lobby with Frau Koeny. I'm just finishing with another appointment. She'll see you up when I'm finished."

After hanging up, he returned his attention to TMM.

"My next appointment is arrived. We should wrap this up."

The Archangel Project ringed nigh bells in Frost's mind. After an exhausted search via several mass search engines, the trail turned a bitter cold before it even got started. The kids left for school and laura long left for work at the school. Alone, he wandered about the house, running a hand through hsi hair, mind shot from hours of concentration with little to show for it.

After taking a break, eating a sandwhich and watching a little television it was straight back to work. Perhaps there was a link between Zemsky Industries and The Archangel Project. Unable to find a connection he almost shouted into the air beut found it useless and a waste of energy that could be used for better purposes. With little options left, he chanced a call to Zemsky Industries but found it foolish, knowing full well that if there was a connection, knowing what's going on now, it would prove detremental to his well being. Dammit! There has to be a link!

As part of a financial investigation, it is often needed to visit the company in question and get the answers straight from the company. With growing suspicion he decided to continue his investigation from the safety of his house.

Victoria found herself parked outside the Frost residence once again. Frost's earlier conversation with Paul had solidified her stance and her control of some of Zemsky's funds. But that wasn't the end of the story. Strauss had also mentioned something called the Black Doc. She wondered if she could somehow pry the intel out of Frost. Stepping out of her rental, she wore a scarf against the chill, one loop of the material covering the lower half of her face.

Frost's family had taken off earlier in the day for their various activities, leaving him alone in the house. As she strolled towards the house, she passed the tabby from the previous night still sitting atop the wall. Tory paused to scratch her furry lookout under the chin before continuing. She knocked on Frost's front door. Stealth looked odd and overly suspicious in the daylight. Best to stick with the direct approach.

After enjoying a white Russian and relaxing on his favorite recliner, an audible knnock roused him from his relaxation. Can't I just rest? Mumbling several curses under his breath he finally reached the door and opened it carelessly without looking through the peep hol. The figure standing in the doorway caused him to almost freeze in his tracks, it was the woman.

"What do you want?" Frost asked, looking over her shoulders to see if anyone was around.

'Haven't heard from you. Thought I'd drop by to see how things were coming along."

She peered over his shoulder into the house. The TV was on, an empty glass on the end table, and general signs of use. Further, Frost was dressed casually. Clearly he hadn't planned on meeting anyone today.

"I can see you're hard at work. Are you going to let me in, or should we risk the neighbors getting suspicious?"

Clark shook his head, "What in the hell are the American's teaching you boys these days? Angel Eyes is reference to protective detail. Using your eyes to note anyone making a move against a principle asset and actingly like a vengful gardian Angel and removing the threat."

Clark rolled in his chair and straited it to the screen. "It is also supposed to be discrete. So the only fools your supposed to plug are the ones going after our supplier, if there are any. You very likely will not have to shoot anyone."

That killed the mood for him...

"You sure know how to spoil a guy's good time, man. Alrighty, who's the package this time?"

He took a grain of offense from Clark's comment, but he kept it to himself. He was a hitman/assassin/hired gun/cleaner, not a babysitter...

As he stood in the elevator on his way down, the Metal Man's placid look did not betray the fury that raged within him. He had a good mind to hack the Cayman account, take back the funds, drop them back in their original place and toss Strauss in jail. The man was playing him for a fool--and he was not a fool. Strauss acted as if he wanted to hire the cyborg, but he was unwilling to meet even the most perfunctory and obvious of the demands placed before him--and he lied.

This wasn't an insurance detail, it was a distraction. The Metal Man did not know what the people doing this would want to distract him from, or why they would make such a half-hearted attempt, but he was going to find out.

As soon as he reached the lobby, he stopped for a moment. He was out of the deepest parts of the building. There wouldn't be too much interference from here. He could contact Brain Jar.

"Pete," he sent, "did you get a trace on that phone call that came in just as I was leaving?"

"Yes. It came from a cell phone registered to a miss Anna Nessen."

"And what have you been able to find out about the good Miss Anna?"

"She's an opera singer with a heavy debt load. From the creditors, I'd guess she has a gambling addiction."

"A mule of some kind. No wonder Strauss didn't introduce her to me when I asked who his friends were.

"Watch her, Pete. Especially, listen to every word she says on the phone. If we're lucky, the people working with Strauss will be every bit as sloppy as he is."

"Sloppy, boss?"

"He seemed surprised that the bank robber he hired took so much--and he seemed very surprised when I told him about the account in the Caymans. He hedged on returning the money of ours that ended up there."

"I see...he's not in control of his operatives."

"And he had the lack of wisdom to take a phone call right in front of me."

"Doesn't know about your solid-state hearing, does he?" Pete chuckled.

"I'm in the lobby now--I'm starting to walk toward the front desk."

"Yep. Got you on the sensors now."

"Good. I say we play him along until we get far enough up the chain, then toss his sloppy butt in jail--or let it rot in whatever third-world hell he hops off to. We're going to need a team of four plus you, Pete, to get this done. Two for the guard duty, two for surveillance and you to do the IT stuff. Foxfire, are you in on this?"

Until that moment, one might have thought that the cyborg was unaware that his companion heard every word that he broadcast (though he did not actually say them). This was obviously not the case. Foxfire, he trusted, would know that he was free to enter the conversation at any time.

That killed the mood for him...

"You sure know how to spoil a guy's good time, man. Alrighty, who's the package this time?"

He took a grain of offense from Clark's comment, but he kept it to himself. He was a hitman/assassin/hired gun/cleaner, not a babysitter...

OOC: Why Clark asked if he wanted to do an 'Angel Eye' after all...

IC:
Atlanta
The gentleman is named "Edward James Phillip Mountbatten Starkweather...yeah guy has a long enough name. Known as Jas..."

The screen showed the picture of a red haired man with a no-nonsene look about him.

"He will be flying into Hobby in twenty hours on a private jet. Which should give you enough time to rest and be on your way since it is a twelve hour drive. Oh, and to pick him up is easy, just look for a Mathaon transport taxining into the private airspace parking."

Zurich
Anna was led into Strauss's office with a box under her arm. She smiled and walked over to him and gave him a rather long kiss, enough to establish to the secretary she wasn't a 'client'. After breaking the kiss she moved her head around to his and said in a whisper, 'bugs'?

She let go and sat down on the couch. She smiled at Strauss and began, "Well your off tommorrow then? Kay says that for a strong relationship you should call me every day." She handed up the box.
"And so I got you this phone..."

Anna had obviously had more than just singing skills.

Bullet decided to reconsider...

"Maybe you should find someone else, man. I don't feel like following some asshole around all day and not being able to off him, kinda ruins the whole stalk portion of the process when you take the kill portion out of the picture..."

He didn't look much like a bodyguard, if anything he looked like the doorman at a heavy metal club, and that didn't do much for client relations unless you client was a fan of metal or wasn't going to be going places that a man with his unique appearance would draw stares...

Foxfire, are you in on this?
TMM could hear chuckles. "I am, Man, I am. So who are you going to recruit for this? Not your ususal gang of thugs, I hope."
Palm Hotel, Dining Room, Eight o'clock local time...
Kartosh's musings were intterupted when a young women slid into the seat directly opposite of him. Her skin was dark, a natural tan, and she appeared to be of Indian decent. She had ebony hair down to her waist, tied with little tan cords. Her red dress was revealing, but only to the point of attraction than actual exposure. Her dark brown eyes were like pools of water in a shadowed forest, silent and mysterious. She was inviting and held an animal-like urge to impress, but gave off the impression that if you rubbed her the wrong way you were liable to get hurt...
"My name is Dina, and I have come to discuss with you tonight several contracts my employers wish to make."

Clark nodded "I suppose I was always more flexible than most in our line of work Bullet. But you were handy." Clark paused, "I do know of someone who could do the following, but completely useless if things get messy."

Clark became silent again pondering possiblities. "I am going to ask you to go to Houston. Not to follow anyone, but just so we have you there if someone needs to be 'removed' Otherwise you can enjoy a breif holiday, enjoy some expensive take out and what have you.

Bullet didn't see why not, even though that was a decent drive from where he currently was at...

"Fine by me. I'll be there in a few hours, provided there aren't too many pigs on the highway this time of night. Where do I report to?"

This sounded a lot better than following some ass around all day waiting for someone to take a potshot at him. Bullet, the consumate sniper, hated shifting positions after he'd developed a respectable hide to remove his target from. That would be an almost constant thing since this guy he'd been asked to follow was someone important and would likely be very, very busy...

"Or if you can get this guy that's coming here to stay in one place for an extended period of time, I can help you here and save myself twelve hours of driving..."

The change of heart had come from really not wanting to sit in the small driver's seat of his car for half an average day going to a place where there may or may not be work for him to do...

"It's really up to you. I still think I'm an odd choice for a bodyguard, man. Look at me. Seriously..."

Clark chuckled, "Get a nights rest first Bullet. Jas Starkweather won't be in the U.S. for at least twenty hours. He is totally focused on events in Houston."

Clark nodded, "True Bullet your far from what I would normally want in terms of appearence for the job. However there are some things to consider, Angel eye operations are supposed to be 'removed'. Unlike a bodyguard you don't stick to the a**hole wandering about. Second, usually Jas's protection is provided by Quincy Mining Company. That is except in the U.S. since those twits in Democratic congress decided to pick a fight with the Soverign Corporation itself which is fine. The U.S. is fairly safe for billionares. But right now I'm scrambling. Houston law enforcement just announced finding something quite valuable after a rather horrific execution."

Clark's image shifted and a news report showed. "I would say that we're talking about more than just some simple american gang. They might take offense at Jas interfering in the name of science. And when Jas get's an idea into his head, disuading him is pointless."

That brought a smile to Bullet's face...

"Which means I get to knock the ideas out of their heads with a well-placed round..."

He'd probably be using a .308 for this one, since over-penetration was going to be an issue and a one-mile shot wasn't going to be practical in this sort of situation...

"I'll grab some rack-time, hit me up on my cell when you need me. He still flying into Hobby or what?"

"No, this time, I'm going to go through channels. First, however, I've got to wait for our new friend Anna to come out of her appointment and get a tracking device on her. Then, I've got to wrap things up with Strauss. How do you think I should play this one? Would he respond to the threat of being turned over to law enforcement, or would it be better if I pretend to be charitable, or should I, perhaps, act as if I want my money back so bad that I'll go along with him to get it?"

"Speaking of money," Pete chimed in, "the girl's financial records have just been changed. It seems that all of her gambling debts have just been paid off."

"Who did that?"

"Not sure yet."

"So...the plot thickens. I'd still like my question answered, though."

Clark nodded, "He'll be flying into Hobby International in about 19 hours or so from now. When you head to Houston take the company vehicle. The keys are in the safe. Nothing too bad, but it has a fleet card attached to it for one of our dummy companies."

Clark smiled slightly again, "You'd be surprised how few cops are willing to pull over someone with government plates."

Would he respond to the threat of being turned over to law enforcement, or would it be better if I pretend to be charitable, or should I, perhaps, act as if I want my money back so bad that I'll go along with him to get it?"
"With people like him," mused Foxfire, "it's hard to intimidate him with the authorities. I doubt he would give such a threat any consideration. I would go with the pleasant one. Act like you need your money, and you need it yesterday, and he might be persuaded to take you there."

Zurich
Anna was led into Strauss's office with a box under her arm. She smiled and walked over to him and gave him a rather long kiss, enough to establish to the secretary she wasn't a 'client'. After breaking the kiss she moved her head around to his and said in a whisper, 'bugs'?

She let go and sat down on the couch. She smiled at Strauss and began, "Well your off tommorrow then? Kay says that for a strong relationship you should call me every day." She handed up the box.
"And so I got you this phone..."

Anna had obviously had more than just singing skills.
Strauss blinked in surprise, arrested first by the natural beauty and grace with which she carried herself into his office, and secondly by the kiss - neither of which had been expected. But he recovered quickly and played along, folding her into a hug before they moved apart and the secretary closed the door behind herself. At her question, he merely nodded, uncertain of whether or not it was true, but figuring it was probably better to be overly cautious than compromised.

"Yes, my flight's at midnight."

He smiled and accepted the box politely.

"It's funny but you read my mind. My Swiss phone won't work on this trip. Thank you, dear. Forgive the state of my office.. I hadn't realized you would stop by today. Otherwise I would have tidied up."

Indeed, Kilgar made it sound as if she were off elsewhere for a prior engagement and that the arrangement for the phone would be remote. Yet another small deviation from the Plan. A few deviations could be dealt with, but at what point was it no longer coincidental and instead a sign?

Frost attempted to recall when Laura said she'd be home, it couldn't be more than an hour or so. That was plenty of time to take care of business with this woman.
"Sure, come on in" he said and side stepped, allowing her to enter and he closed the door.

Zurich
Anna studied Strauss for a moment as he answered her questions.
Not bad looking really...well off...somewhat respectable, and obviously intelligent enough not to answer questions he doesn't know.

Anna adjusted herself on the couch. "Trust me I am as surprised as you are really. I mean the whole photo-shoot in Bern was a complete wash. That twit Gregor never actually showed, and then they pulled some Frenchie in who must have been attempting to sniff a coke line across eurasia last night."

Anna stood and walked over to the window to look out. "I actually got a call from Kay right when that arrogant Frenchman made a pass at me and she mentioned you cancelling an appointment to make this trip. Well the director called off the shoot at lunch and I had nothing better to do so I drove down to see you, right after I had a quick chat with Kay about some publicity problems."

It was obvious that Kay was refering to Kilgar.

She turned and sat on the window sill "You know, I think the Frenchie may make trouble for me while your gone. I think he's going to tell the press that I slept with him. Right after I annouced I would never date a model again. After talking to Kay, I think we may need to make our relationship a bit more public."

Anna stood and walked over to Strauss. "So if there are reports of me dining with a handsom batchlor banker tonight. Well Frenchie will get told to sniff his way across the America using sugar. So would you be a darling and take me somewhere nice and quiet to dine. So that the waiters can get fifty euro's for selling their camera phone pics to the Sun?"

Zemsky's Residence

Petrov walked to the front door and opened it, seeing an unfamiliar yet expected guest...


"I'm here to see Zemsky."

Would he respond to the threat of being turned over to law enforcement, or would it be better if I pretend to be charitable, or should I, perhaps, act as if I want my money back so bad that I'll go along with him to get it?"
"With people like him," mused Foxfire, "it's hard to intimidate him with the authorities. I doubt he would give such a threat any consideration. I would go with the pleasant one. Act like you need your money, and you need it yesterday, and he might be persuaded to take you there."

The Metal Man snickered. "String me along is more like it," he sent. "He doesn't have control over that Cayman's account. Still, you've got a point. You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.

"So...whom can we get a hold of en media res for a job like this one?"

"So...whom can we get a hold of en media res for a job like this one?"
"Can't say I know anyone who could help. I've been out of the loop for so long I doubt whether any of the same people I knew two years ago are still in business. For a job like this other Guardians would be preferable, but I doubt there's any left who would or could help. And I'd rather not work with a bunch of thug bodyguards from the local gun-for-hire agency." Foxfire didn't know why the Man asked him. Sure it was good to have more input, but Pete probably had who could help and whatnot logged into his database.

Clark nodded, "He'll be flying into Hobby International in about 19 hours or so from now. When you head to Houston take the company vehicle. The keys are in the safe. Nothing too bad, but it has a fleet card attached to it for one of our dummy companies."

Clark smiled slightly again, "You'd be surprised how few cops are willing to pull over someone with government plates."

Bullet just shook his head...

"I'm well aware. I do the occasional training gig for the Armed Forces, which nets me the use of something government-plated for a few weeks. I'll be there in a while, will you contact me on this thing when you need me or are you going to use my phone?"

It wasn't like he cared, but he didn't want to look like a nut job talking to a laptop on his front seat while speeding down the highway. Next on his to-do list was to move the gear from his Corolla into the trunk of this new vehicle and get on his way...

Atlanta

"There is a sat phone in the glove compartment of the car. Orginally we put it there for emergencies but it will work for this."

"Well...Strauss said he wanted to meet me again when he was done with 'this client.' I'm going to have to wait until that's over before I do anything. Pete, arrange a meeting with Phil, pronto. We won't have much time."

Zurich
Anna studied Strauss for a moment as he answered her questions.
Not bad looking really...well off...somewhat respectable, and obviously intelligent enough not to answer questions he doesn't know.

Anna adjusted herself on the couch. "Trust me I am as surprised as you are really. I mean the whole photo-shoot in Bern was a complete wash. That twit Gregor never actually showed, and then they pulled some Frenchie in who must have been attempting to sniff a coke line across eurasia last night."

Anna stood and walked over to the window to look out. "I actually got a call from Kay right when that arrogant Frenchman made a pass at me and she mentioned you cancelling an appointment to make this trip. Well the director called off the shoot at lunch and I had nothing better to do so I drove down to see you, right after I had a quick chat with Kay about some publicity problems."

It was obvious that Kay was refering to Kilgar.

She turned and sat on the window sill "You know, I think the Frenchie may make trouble for me while your gone. I think he's going to tell the press that I slept with him. Right after I annouced I would never date a model again. After talking to Kay, I think we may need to make our relationship a bit more public."

Anna stood and walked over to Strauss. "So if there are reports of me dining with a handsom batchlor banker tonight. Well Frenchie will get told to sniff his way across the America using sugar. So would you be a darling and take me somewhere nice and quiet to dine. So that the waiters can get fifty euro's for selling their camera phone pics to the Sun?"

Funny, Strauss could almost swear he felt the stirrings of protective outrage at Anna's tale of the Frenchman - though whether or not the story had actually transpired he would probably never know. At her talk of dinner, he smiled.

"My dear, it would be my pleasure. How about Petermann's?" It was on the pricey side and a little south of the city, but a suitable place for the publicity she wanted. "I'll handle the reservation. How does 1900 sound?"

There was only one nagging thought in all this. When he found out, the Man would be furious. So would Kilgar, probably.

Frost attempted to recall when Laura said she'd be home, it couldn't be more than an hour or so. That was plenty of time to take care of business with this woman.
"Sure, come on in" he said and side stepped, allowing her to enter and he closed the door.
Victoria eyed him as she crossed the threshold, surreptitiously looking about for the baseball bat - or something with a little more bite. She's brought her own 9mm this time, but had no intention of using it. After all, it was unwise to enter the lion's den unarmed. Even sleeping, they had teeth.

Despite a small amount of clutter, the Frost home was relatively well kept. It was clean, if not tidy, which said something about Momma Frost's ability to manage her time. Or to multi task.

"Well then, shall we skip the pleasantries?"

Funny, Strauss could almost swear he felt the stirrings of protective outrage at Anna's tale of the Frenchman - though whether or not the story had actually transpired he would probably never know. At her talk of dinner, he smiled.

"My dear, it would be my pleasure. How about Petermann's?" It was on the pricey side and a little south of the city, but a suitable place for the publicity she wanted. "I'll handle the reservation. How does 1900 sound?"

There was only one nagging thought in all this. When he found out, the Man would be furious. So would Kilgar, probably.


Anna shook her head slightly and put her arms around William's neck. She pushed forward and kissed him on his ear then whispered into it. You know, most bankers do not use military time. Even Swiss ones who are in the military. You are quite a mysterious man William Strauss

She pulled back and smiled, "Petermann's at seven sound fine." She sat down on his desk. "I suppose with this emergency trip and the robbery you really don't have time to play hookie from the office today. But do you need anything picked up or such? A straw hat for the bahamas, a first aid kit for the Antartic...actually where are you off to?"

Anna had planned on picking up the train to Monte Carlo before Kilgar had interfered. Now she had to cool her heels in Zurich, best to do something.

Victoria eyed him as she crossed the threshold, surreptitiously looking about for the baseball bat - or something with a little more bite. She's brought her own 9mm this time, but had no intention of using it. After all, it was unwise to enter the lion's den unarmed. Even sleeping, they had teeth.

Despite a small amount of clutter, the Frost home was relatively well kept. It was clean, if not tidy, which said something about Momma Frost's ability to manage her time. Or to multi task.

"Well then, shall we skip the pleasantries?"

Frost raised an eyebrow and nodded, "Yes, what do you want?"

Frost raised an eyebrow and nodded, "Yes, what do you want?"

Halting in her light appraisal, she turned only partially to face him, preferring the stance to squaring off the traditional way, watching him almost over her shoulder. The pleasantly amused expression quietly melted from her face at his obvious annoyance, and her tone darkened a shade.

"Despite appearances, you don't strike me as the type to sit idly upon intrigue. What have you discovered about those accounts?"

She knew part of what he'd learned already but wanted to test the waters, so to speak.

Anna shook her head slightly and put her arms around William's neck. She pushed forward and kissed him on his ear then whispered into it. You know, most bankers do not use military time. Even Swiss ones who are in the military. You are quite a mysterious man William Strauss

She pulled back and smiled, "Petermann's at seven sound fine." She sat down on his desk. "I suppose with this emergency trip and the robbery you really don't have time to play hookie from the office today. But do you need anything picked up or such? A straw hat for the bahamas, a first aid kit for the Antartic...actually where are you off to?"

Anna had planned on picking up the train to Monte Carlo before Kilgar had interfered. Now she had to cool her heels in Zurich, best to do something.

Strauss smiled at her closeness, hands resting lightly on her waist reflexively. Her kiss effused him with a not-unpleasant warm sensation. It would take concentration with this one...

"Ah ah, can't tell you that. You'd worry far too much." He winked at her knowingly, feeling a twinge of longing that he couldn't bring her with. "With this new phone I think I have everything I need. Shall I pick you up on my way or would you prefer to meet there?"

Strauss smiled at her closeness, hands resting lightly on her waist reflexively. Her kiss effused him with a not-unpleasant warm sensation. It would take concentration with this one...

"Ah ah, can't tell you that. You'd worry far too much." He winked at her knowingly, feeling a twinge of longing that he couldn't bring her with. "With this new phone I think I have everything I need. Shall I pick you up on my way or would you prefer to meet there?"

Anna's eyes darkend slightly. "You know I'm not a squemish little girl who has to be protected from the truth, like some of those american actresses that have to beleive a democrat is President or they go into screaming fits on stage." Anna pulled back and walked over to the couch. "I am taking a room at the Steigenberger tonight..."

The Steinenberger was near the Opera House and the lake, quite nice and quite expensive. "..so when would you need to pick me up to get to Petermann's by seven" Anna picked up her purse and set it on her shoulder.

Anna's eyes darkend slightly. "You know I'm not a squemish little girl who has to be protected from the truth, like some of those american actresses that have to beleive a democrat is President or they go into screaming fits on stage." Anna pulled back and walked over to the couch. "I am taking a room at the Steigenberger tonight..."

The Steinenberger was near the Opera House and the lake, quite nice and quite expensive. "..so when would you need to pick me up to get to Petermann's by seven" Anna picked up her purse and set it on her shoulder.
He couldn't help but smile, although he sensed it might annoy her a bit more.

"You shouldn't pout, dear.. it doesn't become your pretty face. I'll be at the hotel at twenty till."