RPG The Chasers: Justice has a face.

[Mr. Blonde]

..........................

[DeLarge]

[SIZE=1]Fist collided with skull which collided with brick as the man known only as Enigma smashed a man's head against the wall of the alley he had been waiting in. As the hard cartilage in the man's nose crunched and shattered under the force of Enigma's fist, a spattering of blood erupted from the man's mouth, making Enigma's glove slick with warm, sticky fluid. The violent meeting between skull and brick resulted in a head injury that Enigma guessed, from the force of the impact, would be fatal. More blood smeared across the bricks, already slick with rain, as the man's body slid to the floor.

Blood washed from the man's face as the rain continued to heave down, making a strange swirling mass of crimson on the pavement. There was a kind of twisted artistry to what he had just done, but he was not finished yet. Leaving the body where it was for the moment, Enigma walked calmly, far too calmly for a man who had just committed wilful homicide, to the opposite end of the alley, and with a single blow from his boot, smashed a wooden palette to pieces, fragments of jagged wood splintering and flying up in all directions. He picked three of the biggest and sharpest, and stepped quietly back over to the body.

The tiniest of clouds of vapour billowed from the man's face. He was still breathing, and therefore still technically alive. Unfortunate for him.

[B]"You should really be wishing to bleed to death in the next few minutes," [/B]the masked man growled, his voice gravelly and non-descript, muffled slightly by his mask, [B]"Otherwise this next part is going to be hell."

[/B]He grabbed the body and dragged it over to the wall, where he began his grisly work...

---

[B]"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," [/B]exclaimed Detective Inspector Mark Rutherford of Scotland Yard as he took in the scene in front of him, [B]"This is barbaric..."

[/B]Rutherford ducked under the yellow police tape, hitching up his brown trenchcoat to stop it from dragging in a puddle, and got a closer look at what had happened.

A man, mid-thirties at best guess, his black shirt soaked in blood, his face distorted almost beyond recognition by a series of blows, was pinned to the wall of the alley by three jagged pieces of wood. The brick wall around here was particularly old and crumbly, which probably made it a lot easier to hammer wood into it. There was one shard of wood pierced through each wrist, and a third rammed through the man's ankles, in an example of a classic crucifixion position. Bloodstains streaked down the wall underneath the body. It was a horrific sight to behold.

[B]"ID in the wallet says his name is Jeremy Peterson," [/B]said Rutherford's partner Lewis.

[B]"He worked for the Face, didn't he?"

"Removedly, yes. He worked for someone who worked for someone who worked for the Face. It's unlikely that they ever had any contact."

"This could be the start of something big. Someone could be working their way up through the ranks, starting at the bottom and heading towards the big cheese."

"There's no pattern, though. Just this one body."

"Haven't you read this morning's papers, Lewis? Gordon Weaver was found dead, with evidence fingering him as a child molester sent to the Times. Weaver had strong ties with the Face. Maybe there's a pattern developing." [/B]Rutherford's contemplation was cut short by one of the uniformed officers on the scene rushing over to him.

[B]"We're just about to remove the body, sir," [/B]he said, and Rutherford nodded, giving him the go ahead. The officer nodded and ran back to the body.

It took three men to lift Jeremy Peterson's body down from the wall - those shards of wood were embedded deep in the old brickwork. As the body was removed, Rutherford noticed something. While everyone else's attention was on the mangled corpse, he continued to look at the wall.

[B]"He's left a mark," [/B]Rutherford said, pointing at the wall where the body had just been. In amongst all the bloodstains, there was a simple design sprayed on in black paint.

A single question mark.

[B]"What does that mean?" [/B]asked Lewis.

[B]"I don't know. But I don't like the look of it," [/B]replied Rutherford, heading back under the police tape.

---

Unbeknownst to the police, the culprit was looking down upon them at this very moment. The man known as Enigma stood on the edge of one of the buildings that formed the alleyway, his breath billowing out through his mask in clouds of vapour.

[B]"This is only the beginning, Detective Inspector."[/B]
[/SIZE]

[Darth Vectis]

[SIZE="1"][B]"You know the darkness works to the advantage of people like me."[/B] A figure whispered from the shadows, a man dressed in an overcoat that was just draped over his shoulders turned toward where the sound came from, his tuxedo was pressed and clean. Looked as if it had come straight from his own private laundry mat and was taken care of to even the last stitch his two bodyguards stood near by, they looked around in a paroling manor, making sure their boss was safe. They had the safety on their guns off and exposed to the mid evening air. They wanted to be able to get to their weapons quickly if need be, a wicked smile was on the face of the figure in the shadows. He moved like a cat, quiet, graceful, and with purpose.

He was stalking his prey, this one he had been following for about an hour now, staying out of eye sight and remaining silent. He wanted this move to be sweet, he wanted to taste the ecstasy of when he inflicted the pain that was coming. He craved that vision of terror he saw in his victims eyes. He desired nothing more then to hear the screams and see the pain, and the longer he waited the better it was for him. Now was the time to strike, the time to show who he was. He pushed back his trench coat, revealing his dark purple shirt and his tanned pants that were tattered in every way imaginable. He reached into his coat and pulled out two knives, one was hunting knife with a serrated edge and the other was a switch blade. He held the blades in his hands, focusing his intent on the people in front of him. He waited for only a few moments more, the body guards moving into the right place where he could strike.

He emerged from the darkness in a split second, appearing only inches behind the bodyguards. He jammed one knife into the spine of the guard on his left, using his hunting knife on him. He then used his switch blade and slammed it into the kidney of the other guard, he couldn't so much as make a sound as the pain was so debilitating, he then tore the blade out sideways, ripping away flesh and forcing blood to spray everywhere. The man fell into a dead heap, the life extinguished form his eyes. He removed the hunting knife from the bodyguards spine and moved toward their boss. He only took a couple steps before he turned again toward the bodyguard. The bodyguard had fallen on to his face, his legs no longer worked and he was panting as he was trying to over come the pain.

The knife wielding man looked down to the man and grabbed one arm, the bodyguard tried to pull him down with his other arm but was quickly thwarted when the switch blade slashed at his forearm, then was rammed between the ulna and radii bone and was pinned to the ground. He screamed in anguish as his hand twitched, some of his fingers no longer worked since the tendons had just been severed. He looked down at the man, cocking his head to the side, a sadistic smile was spread on his face.
[B]
"How does it feel? Does it hurt you more that you can't walk? Or that you just lost all control of your fingers? Please, indulge me. I must know."[/B] Before the guard could answer, he heard a hammer on a gun pull back. He looked back and saw the boss with a gun pointed at his face, his smile remained, his eyes showed a new spark of interest. The boss was fighting back, and he had a gun at his head, he was becoming more interested. He now thirsted for this mans pain even more, it was slowly growing into an obsession that would only be subsided by this mans agonizing death. The bosses hard face was looking down at this maniac, he certainly did not look at all happy to see a man murder both of his bodyguards with a couple of knives.
[B][I]
"Now, before I put this bullet in your fucking head, who are you and what the fuck are doing here?"[/I][/B] He turned toward the boss, still gripping the bodyguards arm. He was pull it now against the hold his knife had against his arm. He lifted his foot and swiftly kicked into the mans arm, he screamed louder as their was a sickening snap that followed. Then he tugged on it hard and another pop followed, the screamed grew and the knife wielder took in a deep breath, his eyes rolled into the back of his for just a moment and his smile grew. He dropped the arm and looked to the boss.
[B]
"Me? Who am I? That is a good question indeed. If I could remember who I was today, I would certainly tell you, but I can't remember who I wanted to be today. Its so hard to keep up with who I am. But, I am called The Endless."[/B] The boss kept his gun pointed at Endless, it shook just a little bit. He was slowly losing his nerve, this mans smile and rather psychotic way of speaking was starting to get to him.
[B][I]
"Why the fuck would they call a freak like you The Endless?"[/I][/B] A robust laugh erupted from The Endless' lips, it echoed through the walls of the alley way he had cornered them all in.
[B]
"They call me that, because the pain I inflict never ends. I am never ending, I am a being of unending possibilities. If I am going to play the game of life, I prefer to have multiple choices! It is so much more fun to have the options you don't have. Wouldn't you think, take all the blood I can. Smash their heads in, its all for the sake of my Endless enjoyment."[/B] Endless struck out in a flash, cutting the bosses arm deep enough to cut all the tendons. He howled in pain as his gun dropped from his grip, Endless then lashed out with a swift hit to the bosses throat. He drew in ragged breaths and gripped his throat with both hands. He tripped over a scrap in the alley and fell over. He rose quickly, only managing to crawl to a near by wall. He sat him self up. Endless rushed forward and placed his face right in front the bosses.
[B]
"Big boss Jeremiah Sarkov. You have been tried and found guilty for committing atrocities against your fellow man for nothing more then the opportunist ways you thrive on. For your crimes you will not enjoy your punishment, their will be no prison time, now cushy jail cell for you to sit in for the next twelve hours. You will be punished now, for my enjoyment."[/B] Jeremiah spoke through gasps of air.
[B][I]
"What....the fuck..... do you want..... from me?"[/I][/B] He gasped for more air, it was getting easier to breath, but it wouldn't before long. Endless let his smile fade for a moment, then grow in an instance. He turned back to the bodyguard on the ground, barely alive, his arms destroyed because of him. He lifted his boot in the air and the brought it down with such force a disgusting crack echoed. He raised it again and smashed it down again. This time smashing the mans cranial cavity completely, brain matter was squishing under Endless' boot. He pulled his knife from the man arm and hid it away, he did the same with his hunting knife and then withdrew another knife. His filleting knife, he walked back to the boss and held the blade firmly in his hand.
[B]
"I want to hear you scream. I want your blood all over this alley way. I want you to suffer more then you ever have."[/B] He reached out with his other hand and snatched the bosses hair in his fist and started dragging him away, deeper into the alley. He wriggled and yelled as he was dragged into the darkness.


...............................


Cameras flashed and police lights showed their colors as the area of the crime was taped off. Forensic officers took all the evidence they could, cataloging anything they could that would lead them to the culprit. Many police officers moved in and out of the scene, some were doing crowd control, others were checking the scene for anything they could use. Few of them ran off somewhere else to vomit their stomach contents up at the grisly sight of the man that hung from the street pole. He hung his wrists from the pole, what he was tied with was only part of the gruesome nature of it. His intestines were wrapped around the pole and tied around his wrists, his gut was slashed open where the incision had been made. But, by far worse degree, his skin and been completely removed.

He showed only his muscle structure underneath and the leathery contents of what use to be his face that had been removed and then thrown back on this face, as if it was a Halloween mask. Detective Inspector Mark Rutherford could only stare in utter disgust at the horrible fate of the unlucky man. The mans clothes were neatly folded under his corpse, blood was dripping on to the white shirt of the tuxedo. The officers had secured the victims wallet and head to Rutherford to reveal the identity of their newest morgue occupant.
[B]
"Its Jeremiah Sarkov. Also known as Big boss Sarkov. This was a crime boss Detective, this is far more then that thug from the last murder."[/B] The detective looked at the photo and then up at the leathery face of the Big boss.
[B]
"No, he was part of a very small family. He would of mattered very little to the Face. But, this is an escalation from the last murder today. Things are going to get out of hand soon."[/B] Rutherford walked closer to the corpse, he looked up at it a little longer before his eyes looked down to where the clothes use to be. He crouched down when he saw something on the ground. He looked at it closer and noticed it was an arrow, pointing away from the corpse, he turned his head in the direction that it was pointing and noticed another arrow, he stood up and followed the arrows. Looking up occasionally to make sure he didn't run into any one, he kept discovering more arrows until he was forty yards away from where the corpse was and then the arrow curved and pointed to an alley way. He walked into the alley way and saw and arrow on a wall pointing up.

That's when he saw what was left for them in the alley way, a message that could only be convey in material it was written in. He stared at the words on the wall, trying to read it without trying to blank it out of his mind with the brutality of it. The words on the wall were written in blood, and some of the letters were made entirely of human flesh. He stared for a few more moments before he yelled over for a forensic team. Several mean in white hazard suits rushed over and saw what was left for them. They all froze as they looked it all over,the silence was deafening until finally the Inspector spoke up.
[B]
" 'Life is so fragile. Blood is so limited. Souls are eternal. But, the pain is Endless.' "[/B] As the words were uttered aloud, the every man stood only fifteen yards away. His smile still on his face, he now had four horizontal black lines across his face. His hands were in his trench coat pockets. He turned away as he let out a small chuckle to himself, the pain was only beginning.[/SIZE]

[Mr. Blonde]

[FONT="Courier New"]“Bloody fucking Hell!”

Gilford Cornett slammed his fist down on his desk; in his other hand he held a copy of the London Times.

[CENTER][IMG]http://img155.imageshack.us/img155/320/newspaper8548x399ce1.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER]

“What the fuck is happening?!”

Cornett slammed his fist down again, the scotch in his glass rippled, and the cigar ash jumped out of the ash tray on the desk. Cornett sat in a lavishly adorned office, about a half dozen men in suits stood around the room, with seemingly nothing important to do. One of them, a tall skinny man spoke up:

“Hey, boss… you always said you hated the Greeks. Why do you care if somebody offed Sarkov?”

The Face stood from his chair and buttoned his blazer.

“Because, Harold, the Greeks pay me, just like the Russians, the Irish, and any other fuck who wants to scam a point or make a deal within fifty miles of this fucking city! Our hold over everything hangs on perpetually by a thread. If people think dealing with me gets them killed… that’s bad business. We can’t afford bad business. And if the Greeks themselves had Sarkov murdered then that means they're planning something, and it's not going to be good.”

The face walked over to the window with his hands folded at his waist.

“Fuck Sarkov. I could give two shits about Jeremiah Sarkov and his meat and potatoes gang in Northampton. But what I do care about is the fear… This city should be scared not to deal with me, not the other way around.”

Cornett stared out of the large picture window out onto the city.

“Who the fuck is doing this…? Why now? I let all the other gangs earn. I let them feed their families, and this is how I'm repayed?! We have to get this under control.”

“The only reason anybody knows about this, Boss is because of the paper. Let’s shake down the Times.”

“There are thirty other newspapers in this city. Are we going to blow up half of London? The riots just calmed down. I need people taking to the streets again like I need a fucking bullet in the head. We can’t run business in that kind of mayhem. We don’t need to take out the papers, we need to take out whoever is doing this. We can't have civilians thinking its okay to kill people connected to me."

"Who do you think it is, boss?”

"I wouldn't doubt anybody at this point. Go around town and pay a visit to our multi-cultural friends. Pay extra attention to those fucking Russians. Find out what they know by any means neccesary.

“Okay, boss.” Herald nodded his head and made his way for the door.”

The Face walked back over to his desk and took a sip of scotch.

“Oh, and Herald… did you check the Champagne Lounge for bugs, wires?”

Herald turned back around to face Cornett.

“Just like you asked me to, boss, didn’t find anything.”

“Well check again, no one goes upstairs with anyone else until we check everything! And check the other clubs too! That piece of shit Gordon Weaver… I’d kill him if he was still alive!”

Herald nodded and opened the office door. Just on the other side stood Inspector Mark Rutherford. He had his fist raised ready to knock, but pulled it down as the door was opened in front of him.

“Herald, you’re looking well," Rutherford said sarcastically.

“Fuck yourself, pig.” Herald bumped into Rutherford as he passed, pushing the Inspector against the wall.

Rutherford brushed off his jacket, looking down the hallway at Herald as he turned the corner and walked out sight.

“I hope you’ve come to tell me you’ve captured those responsible for these acts, Inspector.”

The Face’s voice could be heard from inside his office. Rutherford hesitantly stepped inside.

“H… hello, Mr. Cornett, I’m sorry, sir, but we haven’t found any suspects. But I have some new information for you.

“It better be good, for your sake. I need to know if I'm going to massacre the Irish, the Russians or the Germans. And God help those fucking Greeks if they are trying for an uprising.”

"What if it wasn't another crime family?"

"What are you saying, Inspector?"

“Some of us are beginning to suspect the murders were committed by completely different perpetrators, unconnected to one other, but possibly influenced by the crime preceeding it. They [I]are[/I] linked, but only through the influence of their actions."

The Face stood by his desk, pouring more scotch into his glass. Rutherford continued to talk.

“While the murders are similar on some levels, they show different qualities, different traits held by the perpetrators. The quality, or rather the degree of the violence suggests three different suspects. The Gordon Weaver case suggests that the situation just got out of hand, and had to be ended quickly. It was more about the evidence in the envelope than about the murder itself. The second killing suggested the killer was trying to send a symbolic message through the death, but the third, Sarkov, suggested enjoyment in the process of the murder, and a message through the act itself, not the death that resulted from it.”

The Face gulped down an entire glass of scotch and filled his glass again.

“Take care of this, Inspector! We won’t be having this meeting again. Good day, sir.”

“I’ll try my--”

“I said, good day, Inspector!”

Rutherford nodded and quickly exited the room. He made his way down the hallway and descended a flight of stairs. He couldn’t wait to get out of that building and away from the Face. He threw open the front doors and stepped outside. His partner, Benjamin Lewis stood waiting for him on the sidewalk.

“You look like shit, how did it go?” Lewis asked.

“I can not wait until the day when I don’t have to report my actions to that thug!”

“That won’t be anytime soon, mate.”

“If we don’t catch who’s committing these murders… it may be sooner than we all think.”[/FONT]

[MaskedRider]

It was raining as the man walked into the pub. It was one of those dark dreary nights that make you want to stay inside by a warm fireplace. But there was no fireplace in this pub. It was cold in there, but the men inside didn?t seem to mind. Perhaps they were too much into their talking and ranting to notice the cold air. Perhaps they were too drunk to care. Or perhaps they were as cold inside as it was outside. Any way he saw it, they were all going to die, sooner or later. Most of them sooner.
The man stood there at the door, observing the pub from behind a bandaged face with dark sunglasses. Nobody seemed to notice him standing there, in his dark trench coat. He watched them carry on, looking for the man he was looking for. He saw several familiar faces, most of them would probably die that night as well. But he was looking for one specific man. And he found him. He was sitting at the bar, hitting on the waitress. He wore dark blue pants, and a worn leather jacket. He was a short fellow, but somewhat muscular. He had a friendly face to him, he looked like a man you could trust. But the bandaged man at the door knew better. He knew better than to trust the face of Clark Rowes, who was currently a police lieutenant. The bandaged man walked towards him, and stopped beside a table next to the bar, with a single bottle of liquor on it.
?Clark Rowes!? called out the bandaged man. The pub grew a little quieter. Nobody fucked with Clark Rowes. He?d have you killed in a heartbeat. But this strange man, dressed in a strange outfit, had just called him out in front of everyone.
?The fuck you want, wanker?? responded Clark, getting up from his barstool. The face that looked trustworthy a second ago had just twisted into an angry face. This was Clarks real face. The bandaged man slowly reached for the bottle of liquor on the table.
?Johnathan says hi.? responded the bandaged man. Clarks face changed again, but this time to a look of pure horror. It would change once more, as the bandaged man threw the liquor bottle at it. The bottle shattered on impact, blood immediately spewing in every direction, along with shards of glass and liquor. A distorted yell came from the creature that was once Clark. People cried out in the bar, some going for the door, some for their guns. The bandaged man jerked his arm back quickly, which made a loud clanking noise, before lowering a shotgun down the sleeve of the arm. He thrusted his arm towards Clarks face, armed with the shotgun. A burst of fire spewed from the gun, and Clarks head exploded on impact, the body dropping to the ground. A man jumped up behind the bandaged man, stabbing him with a knife, but to little or no effect. The bandaged man reached his free hand into his coat and pulled out a modified brass knuckle. The knuckle had been equipped with half of a saw blade, which the bandaged man dug into the attacker?s face. Blood splattered everywhere. Another man jumped at the bandaged man, but was too slow to dodge another blast from the shotgun. The man?s chest burst open, and he dropped to the ground. He cried out and was silenced with another blast to the back of the neck, severing his head.
A man in the distance pulled out a hand gun and loaded 4 bullets into the bandaged man?s back. The bandaged man turned around, unphased by the assault, and pointed the gun at the man. He then raised the gun to the ceiling above the attacker, and let off another shot, bringing down a large chandelier on the attacker. The bandaged man dropped his shotgun, and removed his brown hat. He reached inside and pulled out a small grenade. Pulling the pin, he tossed it in the general direction of the man he had just downed with the chandelier. As the bandaged man ducked down, the grenade exploded, taking out a good portion of the bar. Smoke clogged the air. Random shotgun blasts were heard, along with the screams of men. This was no assassination, it was a massacre. A few minutes later, the bandaged man walked out of the bar, dragging the body of Clark Rowes. He looked up at the sign above the pub. It stated ?Champagne Lounge?. He looked down at the corpse, and started digging into it with the saw blade.
A few hours later, the police arrived on the scene. Outside, and unrecognizable and dismembered corpse was found. The word ?GHOST? was dug into the flesh. The killer was nowhere to be found.

[Nessaja]

She took one last look at the front page, before shoving it down the tall man's throat. This was the second she had force-fed him. The first was an older front page about Gordon Weaver's death. The tall man that was choking on the newsprint was one Lionel 'Lanky' Dalton. The lady forcing him to eat it was none other than Lady Luck herself. Although Lionel was just a thug, so he had no idea who she was. No one really did yet, but they would find out soon enough. If they lived to tell about it though is all up to them when the time comes.

"Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know or are you still hungry?"

Dalton choked and vomited, wiped his mouth and gave his reply.

"You can go to hell, sister."

Dalton was still underestimating her, since she was a woman and much shorter than he was. Although he was taller than most men he came across too. However, Dalton was about to learn that now was not the time for pride. She stepped on his leg again and he cried out in pain. Both of his legs were broken from his first fall. She was tempted to drop him a second time, but she wanted him to suffer a bit more first. Even if he didn't tell her what she wanted to know, she had her other sources. So he wasn't as valuable as he thought. If Dalton knew that, he wouldn't be pushing his luck so much.

"Listen, I'm getting sick of all of your chatter. Now are you going to tell me what I want to know or do I have to break your arms too."

Lady Luck found out that her younger sister, Josie Rose, was murdered this week. And she was going to give hell to whoever had done that dirty job. Especially since now her baby sister was missing too. She stepped down hard on Dalton's broken leg and pulled at his hair. He sweating hard now.

"Tell me what I want to know! Where is my baby sister?! You know Josie Rose was murdered. I don't want her to end up the same way. Who murdered her anyways? You have four chances, Dalton. Tell me or I start cutting off limbs."

Dalton almost tell her what she wanted to know, but his pride resurfaced and he spat at her.

"With what, that pin cushion?" He asked, looking at her rapier.

Lady Luck didn't reply. She just dragged him over to a fire emergency box and used his face to break it open. She then pulled the axe out from inside the case.

"Like I said, go to hell sister. Oh and I fucked your baby sister. She was delicious, but screamed a bit too much for my tastes." Dalton laughed.

That was it. Lady Luck had had enough. Forget the limbs, forget the suffering. She was too much caught up in her rage to remember her plans. She placed a few strikes on Dalton's body with the axe to stop his laughing and pushed him over the side, the axe still stuck in him.

She got out of their quickly. She was back at square one now. Not that she expected to get very far from Dalton. He was one of the smallest fish in the pond. Now she just had to figure out where to look next. She had to get revenge for her sister, Josie Rose, somehow.

[Vicky]

[size=1][align=justify]He didn?t spend too much time outside during the day. Not that he was afraid, more that he was tried. Night time was more of his thing. All his friends were pretty much dead, now, so there was no more fun to be had through the day and even less through the night, except a tiny little obligation to stand up for what you believe in. If you want peace, prepare for war.

Trojan never missed. He kept a two chains normally wrapped around his chest, razor sharp tiny knives on a few edges of the links and two heavy, spiked led balls on the ends. He could take them all down with those two metal chains and he would never miss ? he could promise that. But he had to keep the razors sharp.

He sat in the squat waiting for the only friend he had left to come back, sharpening the spikes on the led balls with a file. The squat was only one large room filled with shattered glass and stones thrown in from elsewhere, located down an alleyway, beside a river, under apartment buildings. It had nothing except two mattresses stolen from skips and spray painted walls from the previous thugs but it was home; anywhere that lasted more than a few days was home.

There was scuffling by the window (the front door to them). Trojan turned his head and narrowed his eyes, hands gripping the chain tighter. He saw a silhouette appear holding its hands up.

[B]?Hey hey, chill out, it?s me.?[/b]

Loki jumped through the window onto the glass, which would have gone through any normal trainers but not his boots. He was a tall and lanky boy, younger than Trojan, with his head completely shaven, bleached trousers and a set a clothes that hadn?t been washed in a good long time. He sat down on the mattress opposite Trojan and took off his fighter jacket, rummaging through the bag.

[B]?Here, I got ya somet? eat,?[/b] Loki threw a tin at Trojan which he caught and examined. Heinz beans. Better than a Full English.

[B]?Cheers. You find anyone else??[/b]

Loki shook his head. [B]?No. Can?t find anyone ? all gone. Not a single kid from the ol? days left. Everyone we knew is gone? dunno where. So much for if the kids unite??[/b]

Trojan grinned and opened the can with a spike. [B]?So much for it. Yeah.?[/B]

[B]?Though fer what?s worth, I got some better stuff, free of charge,?[/b] he rummaged through the bag again and pulled out two cans of beer and a bag of something else, [B]?you need to chill out some more. Thought you?d can use this stuff.?[/b]

Trojan couldn?t see the other thing but excepted the beer. [B]?I?ll take one of them, that?s all. I don?t like that stuff.?[/b]

Loki grinned and took a pill out of the bag. He popped it in his mouth and cracked open the can of beer, watching Trojan guzzle down beans and Special Brew. Even Loki found it hilarious that in the time when it was needed most the cowards who yelled for new order and anarchy had ran away when they were needed most. Or they were dead. Only posers died.

[B]?I guess you?ll be out tonigh?, Batman.?[/b] Loki laughed into his can.

Trojan nodded. [B]?Of course.?[/B] He ran his hand through his hair which had fallen down from last night?s rain, [B]?I wish I had some more hair stuff though. All ran out.?[/B]

[B]?All this shit is hard to come by these days, Tro?. Glue is harder ta find than drugs and beer. Had to go all the way for otherside to get this.?[/b]

He threw something else over in Trojan?s general direction which rolled over to his boots. Trojan picked it up and examined it as a brand of PlexiGlue, which was even good for battling the weather. Trojan grinned and picked up the mirror (full of mud and dust), getting to work.

[B]?Cheers man,?[/b] he glanced up briefly and nodded.

Loki shrugged. [B]?Dun mention it boy.?[/b]

[center]*[/center]

[B]?Move the fuck outta here!?[/b]

[B]?You better listen to him arsehole!?[/B]

The two hooded men shoved the bank manager from the heavily lit street and into the darkness with handguns waving in his face. The bank manager complied but couldn?t keep his balance, falling shoulder first into the cobblestones and being kicked in the ribs.

[B]?Get the fuck up!?[/B] the tallest robber in the blue hoody shouted waving his gun. The manager stood up without his suitcase and was thrown against the wall by the other thug, gun pushed into his chin.

[B]?You?re company messed with the wrong kinda people. They?re so ?igh up that they ain?t even comin? ta do this job ? they sent us to do it. An? they don?t pay us shit except what you got in your wallet an? satisfaction!?[/b]

The banker had his hands held up and his eyes wide so he couldn?t do anything whilst the other man rummaged through his pockets. He pulled out a five pound note and an empty wallet. Furious, the blue hood smashed opened the suitcase and threw around the papers but found nothing.

[B]?Fuck! Nothin?!?[/b]

[B]?What?s the ?ell?s wrong wit? you? You?re a fuckin? banker boy! Where?d you keep your cash? Huh? You betta? tell ?cause this bullet?s goin? through your fuckin? skull anyways!?[/b]

[i]Thunk.[/I]

Both robbers stopped. The blue hood turned around, his face visible for the first time, messy curly hair and a hard jawline. There was a figure stood a few metres away, breathing loudly and harshly at them, the silhouette distinguished by the Mohawk and a mace-like weapon on a chain rolling towards them. Both hoods looked at each other and uttered a chuckle.

[B]?Aye up, what?s this then? ?Nother bloke who don?t know who ?e?s dealin? with? You?re on the wrong side, mate. No copper ain?t ever gonna arrest us ? so you just go on ?ome. Didn?t your daddy tell ya? Punk is dead.?[/B]

The blue hood cocked his gun and aimed it at the silhouette, who only stepped forward daringly, kicking his weapon with the edge of his foot when it got closer. It rolled between the legs of the blue hood who still had a smirk across his face.

[B]?Just move along, blud.?[/B] He snarled.

Trojan breathed out through his nostrils. [B]?What part o? me looks like [I]your[/I] blood??[/b]

In a flash the other chain came forward and ripped past the blue hood?s shoulder. It tore through and rendered his arm useless so the gun fell on the floor on the man cried out in pain trying to keep the blood inside his body. His friend left the banker and raced forward, to which Trojan whipped back his first chain from under the hood?s legs, trying through some more skin and ripping at the back of his knees.

Trojan twisted the chains up in and around his arms, only scratching the leather and protecting his skin.

[B]?You can stay around or move along ?ome yourself. I ain?t too mithered ?bout playin? target practice through nigh? ? only thing is, I neva? miss.?[/B] Trojan warned the blue hood when he had came close to his face.

He looked over at the banker who still stood with his back to the wall. Obviously his company had pissed off some kind of major criminal family ? most likely the Face and his whackjobs ? but it was no reason to be shot in cold blood. Trojan eyed him.

[B]?You better get ?ome as well.?[/B]

The banker nodded and whisked himself off ? clumsily ? back onto the lit street and running off with all his might.

Trojan was about to move off when the blue hood got up, angrier than ever now, and went to hit Trojan on the back of the head. It didn?t take a genius to see his shadow, so Trojan ducked down and flailed his arm out, the spikes on his chain sticking into the blue hoods chest. He blurted out a loud cry and some kind of jumbled together sentence before dropping to his knees, holding his now bleeding stomach.

[B]?Don?t be a pussy??[/b] Trojan scoffed, [B]?that ain?t going to kill you. Just shut the fuck up screamin? an? get outta here. And you,?[/b] he pointed to the second robber, who squirmed from the floor, [B]?you got a brigh? idea too??[/b]

The robber shook his head violently with his mouth locked shut.

[B]?Good.?[/B]

Trojan cleared his throat and spat out whatever was brought up onto them both. He may not have been a conventional hero, or even a clean, well-mannered, martial arts-trained master at that, but he was a hero with the right respect for the right people and he would never kill a man. No, no sir; never kill a man.

[center]*[/center]

Trojan had to drag himself back to the squat during the morning. His face had received a gaudy blow, cutting open his eyebrow and a bruise was forming on his neck. The last fight he was in involved a bunch of ex-football hooligans who knew how to fight, but Trojan managed to beat them down and keep them out of trouble. Though his head did rather hurt now.

He stumbled through the window onto the glass and through down all his weapons ? the chains, the knives and the guns he?d picked up. He breathed in the sweet smell of beans and beer, the 5 o?clock train whizzing past above them, and moved over to Loki?s bed.

[B]?Hey, heeeey Looooki??[/b] he whispered in a sing-song voice slapping his head. [B]?Wake up your dirty skin. Oi,?[/b] he patted his head again but there was no movement.

In frustration Trojan rolled him over ready to slap his face but paused. Loki?s lips were blue, the underneath of his eyes red and mixed colours, his skin pale and clammy. Slowly Trojan placed his palm onto Loki?s face which was ice cold to the touch; he pulled it back and narrowed his eyes.

[B]?Loki? what are you playin? at? Only posers die, man. Loki. Loki? wake up man??[/b]

He checked his pulse and it was dead. He slapped him again, shook him violently, checked his pulse, slapped him on the face, checked his pulse, slapped him on the face?

By the end of it Trojan got up. He wanted to cry now, but Trojan had never cried since the accident; he took up a knife off the floor and walked over to the wall, where there were lines carved in. Slowly he carved another line into the plaster and watched it form as another friend was dead, now.[/size][/align]

[Darren]

[SIZE="1"][B]"Wake up."[/B]

Dr. Petr Kovalev was a relatively young man with horn-rimmed glasses, which currently hung haphazardly from his broken nose. His hands were tied behind the back of an uncomfortable wooden chair and he couldn't help but notice that he was sitting on the roof of his apartment building.

[B]"What do you want?"[/B] He called out into the darkness. There was a shadowy figure in the distance, but he couldn't make out a thing.

[B]"Oh, let's not delay your last moments with formalities doctor."[/B] The voice sounded oddly familiar, although Dr. Kovalev couldn't place it.

[B]"What do you mean my last moments? Who are you? Why are you doing this?"[/B]

[B]"I'm surprised you don't remember me, Dr. You may remember me as Patient 626, but nowadays, I go by Wavelength."[/B]

Fear spread through Petr Kovalev as the man stepped into the light and the man could feel it overcome himself.

[B]"Attempted murder would have resulted in quite a hefty sentence some time ago. But I supposed when you're a simple orderly, you don't have to worry about conviction."[/B]

It had taken some time for Wavelength to overcome the emotions of others, but since then, he had managed to convert that feeling into power. He thrived on the thought of his revenge for the past two years while he sought help for what the good doctor had done to him. While he trained his powers and learned to control them.

[B]"It's so funny actually, Dr., because if you'll recall, those are the last words I said before you threw me in river almost two years ago.[/B] Wavelength could almost hear the man's heart racing.

[B]"Only difference: I was innocent."[/B]

The doctor didn't speak. Perhaps it was due to the until recently, presumed dead/ former patient of his. Or perhaps he truly felt some guilt over what he had done.

[B]"I bet you never thought you'd never see me again."[/B]

[B]"I had no choice, please you have to understand!"[/B] The fear was now coupled with desperation and Wavelength had pulled out a small stool from the shadows and sat down face to face with the man. [B]"When the experiments failed, he made me kill you. He couldn't be bothered by such a scandal when his rice to power was so fragile."[/B]

[B]"Save your breath Dr. Kovalev. I know all about your company's boss, The Face. Don't worry, even if I were to tell anyone, it would never make it to print with his name on it."[/B] Confusion. The doctor was confused as to how this former patient had known so much about his company and it's working.

[B]"You see, Dr. Kovalev, I know all about your company and it's workings since I've been following and tracking it for two years. Only thing I could do to keep myself sane while I waited for this very moment."[/B]

The doctor eyed the new augmentations to patient 626 and say they weren't one of his own. Realizing this, the man continued, [B]"Gotta admire the handiwork, don't you? I bet you wished you'd have thought of something like this before you tried to kill me. Keeps the absorption under control for the most part."[/B] The tone in Wavelength's voice was truly befitting of a malicious spirit out for his revenge.

[B]"Of course, on nights like this, it's always hard to control what's unnaturally attracted to me."[/B] He pointed to the sky, as they rolled across the night horizon. The were a deep gray, fully charged with lightning. Wavelength could feel the fear encompass Dr. Kovalev once again as a crack of thunder emerged from the sky.

[B]"Don't do this!"[/B] he pleaded, [B]"What I did to you was terrible. I never meant to get involved in all of..."[/B]

His former patient placed a cold, metallic finger to the doctor's lips in order to hush him. [B]"Of course not doctor. You're completely innocent. All the murders of the failed experiments are now carried out by grunt-workers and security guards of your company. But just as I'll repay your boss, I'm repaying theirs for something he did two years ago. Maybe they'll grow a brain and get out."[/B]

Just then, a hard rain began pounding the apartment building roof. Dr. Kovalev was still afraid, but Wavelength's empathy told him that he had come to accept his fate. It was time to put the miserable bastard out of his misery.

Wavelength lifted his metallic hands into the sky. His absorption was unconscious, but he knew that it was inevitable to avoid being struck by lighting in his condition. Sure enough, a few seconds later, a bolt hit the tips of his fingers, sending a tingling sensation throughout his body. It hurt a bit, but no worse than what he was subjected to in order to make him like this.

[B]"But how?"[/B] The doctor asked, [B]"We killed you because you were a failed experiment, how did you manage to live and attain the powers that we worked for so diligently?"[/B]

[B]"I'll consider that your last request, doctor,"[/B] Wavelength almost told the man what he wanted to know, but then realized that he had a better idea. [B]"But first, I want to ask you a question. It's only fair since I never got my last request two years ago, don't you think."[/B]

The doctor frowned and bowed his head. Wavelength felt the acceptance in the man's mind. so he continued. [B]"How can you sleep at night knowing that you're responsible for tearing apart numerous families?"[/B]

He gave it a lot of thought, to be sure. Perhaps the doctor was attempting to prolong his death as long as possible. But finally, [B]"I don't sleep very well at all. Not a day goes by that I don't wish I could escape. Not a day goes by that I don't think of what I've done to you and many others."[/B]

And now, Wavelength was pissed. He could feel that Dr. Kovalev was lying, [B]"Well doctor, it's time to say goodbye."[/B]

[B]"Wait, wait!"[/B] He screamed as his former patient outstretched his arms. The doctor wasn't sure how his newly acquired abilities worked but he was sure it involved electrocution of some sort. [B]"What about answering my question?"[/B]

Wavelength smirked, [B]"Wouldn't you like to know."[/B] And he shot a wave of energy at the doctor.

Surprise was the last emotion that the Wavelength picked up from the doctor before he died. What the doctor hadn't learned about his experiments was that the result allowed patient 626 to convert and project electrical energy into different forms.

The doctor's chair flew back with quite a blow as the force field struck him dead on. The back legs of the chair caught on the small boundary ledge that surrounded the roof, sending him into a backwards spin as he plummeted to the ground below. His body landed with a sickening thud even from Wavelength's position 12 levels above.

[B]"Good riddance."[/B][/SIZE]

[Mr. Blonde]

[FONT="Courier New"]The Prime Minister, Nigel Langley lied in bed, sleeping next to his wife. His cell phone began to vibrate, shaking loudly on the nightstand next to his bed. The Prime Minister slowly opened his eyes and coughed harshly. He shook off the sleep and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. His eyes strained to look down at the phone number on the screen, as his vision cleared he saw it: Gordon Weaver.

“What the Hell…”

The Prime Minister slowly raised the phone to his ear

“…Um, hello…”

“Mr. Langley…” the Gent’s voice rang through on the other end.

“Who… who is this?! Why do you have Gordon Weaver’s phone?! It’s past bloody midnight!”

“You do not know me, sir, but you soon will. I am the one that has murdered Gordon Weaver and I’m calling to tell you I am going to murder you as well.”

Silence.

“Are you still with me, Mr. Langley?”

“Is this a joke? Even if it is you’re dead!”

“Oh I assure you this is not a joke, Prime Minister. Your Industrialist Party has not been in rule for so long that the people have forgotten the rights they once had.”

“You-are-dead!”

“Have you been reading the papers, sir? There is a rebellion in the works. The people have said no, and they are accomplishing what their government could not.”

”I… I… don’t know what you’re talking about. What do I care if the criminals are turning on each other?” Langley uttered, his voice trembling.

”Don’t play coy with me, Mr. Langley, the roots of organized crime stem higher then most know. But you know, sir, don’t you? You know what it feels like to be bought, to sell yourself for self preservation, to be so proud that you are willing to lose your own country to bedlam. You have the sound of tears of your words, Mr. Langley. I know that feeling, the dry pain in the back of your throat, it’s almost unbearable. Don’t hold it, Mr. Langley, cry while you can. I’m organizing something you know? It seems I am not the only one who has decided they have had enough, though I do claim inspirational rights, for it all began with Gordon Weaver. The people just needed to see that the untouchable can be touched, the Gods of London can be killed, and that there are others out there like us.”

“You have no idea what you are getting into. They will chase you to the ends of the Earth; they will hunt each one of you down. They will not stand for defiance!” Langley’s words were muffled by tears.

“No, Mr. Langley, [I]we[/I] will chase [I]them[/I].”

*CLICK*

The Gent stood in an empty warehouse with Gordon Weaver’s cell phone in his hand. The screen read “CALL ENDED”. The Gent opened the back of the phone, pulled out the battery and removed the sim card. He threw the card to the ground and crushed it into the cement floor with the butt of his cane.

The warehouse was poorly lit, but it was lit. Fluorescent lights hung overhead, giving the entire repository a cold and gray feeling. The warehouse was empty all but for a small metal fold up table, with a haphazardly constructed ham radio sitting on the surface. The Gent sat down at a metal chair in front of the desk, lighting a cigarette. He turned a large black knob on the front of the radio. A pale green light emanated from a small screen on the transceiver. He pulled the microphone close to his mouth and began to speak.

“I hope you are listening. My name is not of consequence. I am broadcasting illegally on a pirate station from an undisclosed location, but know that what I have to tell you, you must hear. I will broadcast this message every fifteen minutes for the next twelve hours. Do not be afraid to listen to what I have to say. I have murdered Gilford Cornett. Others, the same as me have taken a stand against the criminality in our fair city, and though some of the methods may be questionable, we may all be united through a single idea. An idea that we can no longer stand by and wait for the collapse of Britain, an idea that we no longer need to live in paralyzing fear, that we will do what our government has refused to do… fight back. The time for negotiations and mercy is over; we must fight these horrifying acts with equal retribution. They must fear us, so that we no longer fear them. If you are with me, my brethren, join me. We must unite if we are to survive. I will be riding the London Underground on the Victoria Line tomorrow at seven PM from the Gray’s Inn Road station. If you choose to be on the train at that time, we will meet. Wear no identifying marks, for if you have heard this message, the villains have as well. And remember… smile.”

The green lights went dark on the radio as the Gent turned it off and sat down the transceiver. He puffed heavily on his cigarette and folded his hands on the table in front of him.


--


The King’s Cross station of the London Underground bustled with people partaking in their daily activities. Harold, Gilford Cornett’s right hand man, and four hired thugs moved through the crowd. Walking just feet behind Harold was Inspector Mark Rutherford and his partner Benjamin Lewis. Rutherford stepped up to a ticket booth and flashed his badge to the attendant.

“Is the train on the Victoria line on time?”

”Oh, umm… officer, that line is down today,” the attendant replies.

“What do you mean?”

“The track was sabotaged early this morning and they have to repair it. It’ll be down for a couple days. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”

Rutherford walked away, puzzled.

“What’d she say?” Lewis asked.

“She said the line is down today, it was sabotaged.”

”Harold?”

”No, Cornett's gang were relying on people getting on that train. I'm guessing the man on the radio never wanted anyone to get on the Victoria Line, they would just be sitting ducks after all. I suppose that’s what I thought was so odd about the message. He wanted them to do something else all together.”

“But what?” Lewis raised his brow.

Rutherford looked around, hoping something will jump out at him, something that will tell him exactly what he wanted to know. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. The underground was flooded with people, spotting anyone in this mob would be nearly impossible. But maybe he wouldn’t have to.

Rutherford noticed a large sign plastered on the wall, an abstract advertisement for the Underground.


[CENTER][IMG]http://img519.imageshack.us/img519/8618/project2550x400pf6.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER]

”Smile… clever… There’s an address hand written on here: 1347 Walsh Lane. This guy is really relying on these people to be quite astute.”

”[I]You[/I] noticed it, mate.” Lewis chimed in.

”Yes I did, my friend, yes I did. Let’s just hope Harold and his goons didn’t.”


--


Rutherford and his partner pulled up to 1344 Walsh Lane: a vacant former coffee shop.

“The place is all boarded up,” said Lewis pulling up to the curb.

“There’s a sign on the front door: ‘Service around back.’ Stay in the car, Lewis. I’ll be right back… hopefully.”

Rutherford stepped out of the car and made his way down the alley and around the back of the abandoned shop. He walked up the two steps to the back door and rang the buzzer. He waited a few moments, looking around.

”Yes?!” A shrewd woman’s voice called from the other side of the door.

”Yes, um… I’m here about the sign at the Underground.”

”I don’t know what you’re talking about. Goodbye.”

”I heard the message on the radio!”

There was no answer from the other side of the door.

“Hello, hello!”

He hit the buzzer a few more times, but no reply was made. Rutherford stepped down in frustration, looking up at the building. He turned to walk away, but just then the mail slot on the door opened and a business card was shoved out and fell to the steps.


--


“Anything?” Lewis asked as Rutherford stepped back into the car.

Rutherford handed Lewis the business card.

[CENTER][IMG]http://img519.imageshack.us/img519/8295/businesscard320x167lk2.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER]

“Another address?"

“Go here, go to 116 Scarborough Lane. We might already be too late.”

”For what?”

“Everything.”


--


So the Gent sat waiting with the abandoned warehouse at 116 Scarborough Lane in his view. He sat patient in the alley across the street, wondering if anyone would answer his call, wondering if this city actually has a chance, wondering if tonight would be the night he would die. So he waited… for friend or foe, he waited…[/FONT]

[DeLarge]

[SIZE=1]The cold air of the early evening would have been stinging if not for the gloves, jacket and mask that covered the man known as Enigma's body. Breath billowed through the membrane of his mask, forming clouds of vapour around his head. He looked around from his vantage point on the rooftop of King's Cross station, and saw the rooftops of London, slick with condensation.

[B]"Fucking scavenger hunts," [/B]he growled, the memory of the poster fresh in his mind. He knew his destination, but he didn't like being messed around. The only reason he was even considering finding this "Gent" character was curiosity - he hadn't realised there were others in town who had the same idea as he did.

The man known only as Enigma took a few deep breaths in, and ran full pelt at the edge of the rooftop. As his feet touched the very edge, he hurled himself into the air, a leap of faith that he trusted would take him to the next rooftop.

Luck was favouring him, and he landed in a perfect crouch on the next rooftop, using the crouch as a sprint start. He ran towards the next building, throwing himself over the yawning chasm between the two structures. He trusted his internal compass, which had never failed him yet, to get him to Walsh Lane.

---

Sure enough, a few minutes later his feet slammed into the rooftop of 1346 Walsh Lane, directly opposite the house he had been guided to. He crouched down, rain now drizzling across his still form, making his jacket and mask slick with moisture. He watched as another figure stepped up to the front door of the house, a disused cafe. The figure drew his trenchcoat around him, and the man known as Enigma recognised him from the night before.

[B]"Detective Inspector Mark Rutherford. You've got a hunch, haven't you?" [/B]he murmured, to nobody but himself. He spied as the police officer hit the buzzer a few more times, then knelt down and picked something up before returning to his car.

The man waited a few minutes, until he heard the car pull away, and a few more, until he could no longer hear the engine running, before he dropped down to the back door. He raised a hand and knocked three times on the wooden door.

[B]"Get away! I already gave you everything!" [/B]came a shrill, shrieking voice from the other side of the door.

[B]"He's gone," [/B]the man growled, [B]"I'm here for what he just took away."

"I can't!" [/B]the woman cried, and the man took a few steps back from the door, his head hung in a gesture of defeat.

But he was not defeated.

He took another step back, then ran as fast as he could at the door, swivelling his body at the last mintue so his shoulder took the brunt of the force. He hit the door at speed, and the old wood shattered into hundreds of jagged shards. He landed in a crouch, just as he had done on the rooftops, moonlight now spilling in through the door, illuminating the dusty old room.

He took a look around, and saw a middle-aged woman curled in the corner, whimpering. He got to his feet, dusted his clothes off and walked over to her. She was bleeding from a wound in her arm, presumably caused by the door splintering. The man crouched down over her, yanking her head round forcefully so she was looking directly into the mask.

[B]"Are you going to give me what I came for? Or do I have to do something to persuade you?" [/B]he said, proving his point by pressing a gloved finger hard into the wound on her arm. She screamed in pain, and pointed frantically over to the table, upon which a small pile of business cards lay.

[B]"Next time someone asks for help," [/B]growled the man, getting up and walking over to the table, [B]"I suggest giving it." [/B]He plucked a card from the top of the pile, looked at it and tucked it into his jacket pocket with a tut of disgust. Picking his way over the wreckage of the door, he made his way back out into the cold night air.

---

It did not take long for the man to reach his new destination - he knew a few "shortcuts," and was incredibly quick on his feet. He now sat atop a building on the opposite side of Scarborough Lane to number 116, an abandoned warehouse. The rain was coming down heavily now, soaking through his clothes. But he didn't care for what the cold and the wet were doing to his body - he simply tolerated it.

He waited for a good half hour, and when he was sure he couldn't see any kind of threat about, he walked over to the side of the building and clambered down the fire escape into the alley opposite the warehouse.

What he didn't expect to find was another person waiting in the alley. He was well-dressed, too well-dressed really, with a tuxedo covering his body. He, like the man he was now facing, wore a tight black mask over his face, but unlike the newcomer, he wore a black fedora atop his head. A red rose was pinned to the lapel of his jacket, and a wooden cane topped with a brass head was grasped in his hand, the end slowly tapping against the pavement.

[B]"Ah, you must be my first guest," [/B]he said, his voice familiar from the radio, [B]"Allow me to introduce myself - I am The Gent."

"I don't care who you are. I wanted to meet the man who chooses to do the same as me, the man who believes he can bring down the Face. Now I've done that, I'll be on my way." [/B]The man dressed in black made his way to the alley entrance, displeased with the result of his night's work. He moved to walk past The Gent, but the cane snapped upwards, blocking his path.

[B]"You can't go. Don't you understand that London needs us?"

"London does need us. But I have no wish to be part of a team led by a man who sets out scavenger hunts, wasting my time when I could be out there cleaning this town up."

"I am so much more than just a man setting up scavenger hunts. We want the same thing - to clean up London. We could do this much more efficiently if we pool our resources."

"No thank you."

"Very well. But you have seen me in the flesh, and that is far too dangerous to let out. I'm sorry it's come to this, but..." [/B]he flicked the cane, and the end slammed into the man in black's chest with surprising force, knocking him to the floor.

[B]"...you can't leave this alleyway alive."[/B]
[/SIZE]

[Nessaja]

It seemed Luck was on her side tonight. She liked to think that it usually was always on her side, but this was the first time it had helped her when she was not in costume. At least, the first time in a long time. She was just walking alone at first, trying to forget about her other persona. But it seemed that luck had other plans for her.

?Another address?"

?Go here, go to 116 Scarborough Lane. We might already be too late.?

Was all that she heard from the inspector and his partner before they drove off. But it was all she needed to hear. The address was not known to her, but she knew it must have been something important. Lady Luck hurried as it started to rain.


Thanks to her rather intimate knowledge of the city, she made it to the address rather quickly. Especially since there was no sign of the inspector. She must have arrived before he did. Either that or she was late. But with the traffic he must have to get through to get to this warehouse, she highly doubted it. Taking a look around, the building was obviously abandoned. So either someone was just using this place as a point of reference for a meeting place of some sort, or something was going to happen inside this very warehouse later on. Hearing some sort of a scuffle, she knew it had to be the former.

"...You can't leave this alleyway alive."

There were two men in the alley. She stood and looked at them as the rain beat down on her dark red hair and her black street clothes. One man was on the floor, and the other was standing above him holding a cane. They were both in costume. She didn't recognize the man who had received the blow, but the gentlemen with the cane was someone she didn't even think existed. She always thought of him as some sort of ghost story that all of the underworld's members tell each other, despite all of the thugs that she interrogated, swearing to her that he was real. Lady Luck had only two words to say.

"The Gent..."

[DeLarge]

[SIZE=1]At the sound of his own "name," The Gent spun round to see who had uttered the words, giving the man known as Enigma a chance to pull his legs back and slam his feet into his opponent's legs, knocking him to the floor. He took a moment to register the young, red-headed lady dressed in black stood at the mouth of the alley, but then his attention was back on the fight. He hopped back onto his feet and hauled the Gent back to his, holding him by the scruff of his neck and slammed his head into the nearest dumpster, knocking the man's fedora to the floor.

[B]"Seems I've underestimated my opponent," [/B]laughed the Gent, bending down to pick his hat up, fumbling on the floor, clearly slightly dazed from the blow to the head. The man known as Enigma took this opportunity to slam his fists into the back of his neck, knocking the Gent to the floor once again.

However, the man in black was taken by surprise by a swift kick to the chest, throwing him across the alley and slamming into the wall. The blow knocked all the air out of him, and his vision clouded with stars. He coughed, and struggled to get back to his feet. The blow was luckily placed, right on his sternum, in order to do as much damage as possible.

As the stars faded from his vision, he saw the unknown woman, the one who had presumably just kicked him, helping the Gent to his feet, handing him his cane and his fedora.

[B]"Are you alright?" [/B]she asked, seeming nervous but genuinely concerned.

[B]"Please, my dear," [/B]the Gent replied, [B]"It seems as though the only way I can get this man's loyalty on side is by besting him in combat. If you will, please stand back and allow me to continue." [/B]She nodded, confused, and took a few steps back. The Gent straightened up, grabbing his cane with both hands and swinging it towards his opponent.

With a swift move, the man in black dodged out of the way of the blow, taking a glancing hit on his arm, and ducked down to the floor to avoid the follow-through of the swing. He fumbled around the ground and grabbed something hard and round, hurling it towards his foe without taking the time to look at what it was.

A glass bottle shattered on the Gent's cane, shards falling to the ground, glittering slightly in the lamplight. With a swift move, the man in black swept his foot across the ground, knocking the Gent to the floor once again.

The man in black grabbed a shard of glass from the bottle, flipped himself onto the Gent's prone form, and held the sharp fragment of glass to his throat, straddling the man's body.

[B]"Don't move a muscle, or I'll bleed you like a pig," [/B]he growled through his mask, breathing heavily to overcome the pain suffered from the fight.

[B]"I'd advise you to do the same, or I'll gut you like a fish," [/B]replied the Gent. The man known as Enigma looked down, and saw a long, thin silver blade, the tip of which was pressed into his stomach, the cane sheath discarded on the ground.

[B]"Looks like a stalemate..."[/B]
[/SIZE]

[Darth Vectis]

[SIZE="1"]"Darkness if just a wonderful thing, don't you think?" The Endless spoke half to himself and half to the nobody in particular. He was just strolling down the street, he had on a dark blue shirt this time and dark purple pants that had a hole on the right knee and he had bright red shoes that had no laces and were just stiched up around the tounge. He let out a whistle in small tune, appreantly he was in a sort of spunky mood at the time. It could change at any time, but that smile on his face always remained. It always held that quality of a purely mischevious and mostly deadly person. He had a little bounce in his step to as he stepped up to a car and reached under with something in hsi hand and then stuck it to the undercarriage of the police vehicle.

He moved away quickly and continued down the street, he had alreayd encountered the woman from the house. She was so very reluctant to hand over the business card that he had to do a little bit of his handy work to her to get the information out of her. She was still very much alive, but she would definatly not be going outside anytime soon. Probably never again if he was correct on how much damage he had done. He simply ssmiled at the memory of his handy work. He soon approched another vehicle, this one a civilian model and reached under the car again and stuck the item in his hand to the car. He strolled away once more, this time heading to his destination. He made sure to space out where he stuck his surprises on cars.

He was starting to tremble with the excitement but he needed to keep himself calm, he had to wait just a little bit longer before he could make his surprise known. He made sure to dileberatly place these surprises far away from where he was going so that suspision would be drawn over where his surprise would be. He quickly turned from a walk to a run as he head for that knew address that was burning into his mind. It didn't take him long to get where he was going, his speed was great enough to carry him there in half the time it would take most. He suddenly came into two men fighting, one he could identify as the Gent, his tuxedo was a dead give away. The other man, covered in black was hard to identify but Endless cared very little who he was right now. And then there was a woman standing by, concerned more for the Gents well being then the others.

The Endless' smile grew as he drew one of his blades, he drew a dagger for his right hand and then drew a kirki knife for his left. He was going to see what he could do in this very interesting fight. He backed up a bit and then charged forward, leaping up abruptly and running across the wall and the pushed off as he was inbetween the two people. He reached out with both weapons, trying to cut at least one of them. He heard the distinct sound of metal edge making contact with skin, it was the smallest cut but it was enough for the Endless. He didn't care who it was from, all he knew was he got one. He tucked and rolled when he hit the ground and turned quickly toward them. He stood with both blades in his hands. He cocked his head to the side as he looked at the two now staring at him, his smile plastered on his face.

[B]"AHHHHHH, Its so much fun to see peopel fight! It just gets the blood pumping and its so much fun. Just take that hammer and smash all of their fingers! Now why would I say somethig like that? Am I crazy? I am not crazy, don't ever call me that."[/B] The two just looked at the deranged man speak to himself, while still talking aloud to everyone else in the alleyway. He stashed away his weapons and held his hands up.
[B]
"Ah, enough about me. I'm sure you all have very interesting stories and we would all love to hear them. But there is always time for that later. I see you are the man I came to see about this whole business. I am called, by all and no one, The Endless and I was the one who killed and skinned Boss Sorkov."[/B] He said in a rather proud and egotistical way, he got very little reaction from the Gent, and the other fellow. But the lady showed obvious revulsion and the Endless took to it immediatly and laughed in a crazed way. And then realization sparked in his eyes and he started clapping like a child.
[B]
"Oh I almost forgot!"[/B] He reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled out a small device that had a red blinking light on it and a trigger with a key stuck through the top of it.
[B]
"This is the fun part!"[/B] He turned the key and pulled it out, the light switched to a green one and the Endless had his finger over the trigger.
[B]
"And here it comes."[/B] He was silent for just a moment and held the trigger up to his face.
[B]
"Boom!"[/B] He said in a rather childish way as he pulled the trigger, an abrupt sound suddenly resonated through out london as several explosions went off at once. The C-4 he had planted on those cars was plenty enough to destroy them and turn the small parts into shrapnel. The Endless dropped the trigger and clapped his hands excitedly as he doubled over with laughter. He couldn't contain his laughter as he watched the plumes of smoke rise into the air.[/SIZE]

[SIZE="1"]OOC: Hope this wasn't too out there for this, and i'm finally glad i got my post up. Its been running through my head for awhile and my computer was really not helping.[/SIZE]