Thread: //.ghost/ECHO::Murphy_Was_Right:// [ClockworkCadence x Ryees]

RE .ghostECHOMurphyWasRight Indignation, confusion, offense it was Kirin that watched those emotions play out, compartmentalized in his own mind while .LAPLACE pulled the strings on the center stage. It was not quite and out-of-body experience, just a useful trick to observe one's surroundings he had picked up from a good friend a decade or more back. Back before he had been his own business, back when he did not spend all his time alone. Alone . That word rang at him, and he afforded himself time to perceive it. A shift in his internal plasm flow functionally slowed time for him, allowing him ample time to ponder. Alone . That was the defining characteristic of his trade, as of late. He had embraced his one-man show, entering and exiting compounds, bases, and ruins of his own accord, on his own schedule, with his own methods. There was satisfaction in that, certainly, but a compulsion had set about him now as this woman reached her hand out. He had meant to snatch it, to push his index and middle fingers into the space between the bones and squeeze, trapping the palmar muscles in flexion and immobilizing her wrist and fingers. Instead, though, his hand moved into the path of hers and simply took it in his. It halted her path, certainlyand relevantly so, considering the molestation of his internal organs she had been intendingbut held no roughness, no strength. Just adamance. Kirin's face schooled itself to emptiness as his eyes searched hers. Their eyes met, there, and he could nearly hear the sounds of brick being laid as her defenses went up, her expression more defensive than a shield wall. His deeply-set paranoia suggested this might be another trick, another play in her book, but the way she jerked her hand back somehow felt too genuine for that to be the case. She was determined and skillful, but she did not seem much of an actress. He remained silent and blank as she continued on, clearly more of a talker than he. Perhaps that was an artifact of having spent the last years in near-complete solitude, that he was no longer the socialite he had once pretended to be, or perhaps it was simply more true that he did not like to talk much where she seemed to revel in it. That was fine with him, though. The more she talked, the less she listened. So instead of shooting her some witty retort or acidic comment, he simply let a pleased smile drip onto his lips. You are already playing so well, though, he said cryptically, heaving himself with one arm to his feet. It would be a shame to spoil the rules now. He looked over the Demon, using the plasm-denoted infoscape in his mind to give her one last once-over. He opened his mouth then suddenly snapped it shut. Bullshit time over, game time. Shut up unless they say something where you actually know what you're talking about. It was not an order, it was not a command it was simply a statement, not from a superior to a subordinate, but from an operative to another operative with the full assumption that she would simply understand the situation. Ten seconds passed, the ten seconds that he saw ahead, before the pair of them heard the sounds of an engine. Shit. Must have been the gunfire. We had better get very lucky. In those ten seconds, .LAPLACE moved with sudden grace and efficiency, much more akin to the creature .DUALITY had seen from the rooftop. He scooped the MP7 and slung it about his shoulder, pulling the strap before the weapon even settled low to strap it tight to his back. He toed his boot under the knife in the dirt and flicked, tossing her knife up and snatching it from the air. His eyes met hers, clear intent to return it to her within, as well as something else more strange. Something that looked somewhat like an apology. She would feel his plasm flex. His motes were running thin, but these small activations of his mod had become second nature and greatly streamlined. Plasm coalesced more thickly on the strap and the gun, and as he shoved the knife through the loop in the gun's strap, it settled about that as well. That plasm flashed, and the air Changed. The weapons disappeared from sight. And suddenly, all that predatory efficiency disappeared. .LAPLACE dropped to one knee, his right hand clutching at his left shoulder. His breathing was ragged as if he had just run a mile, and his face twisted in pain, signs of distress that had not been there but a moment before. His eyes, though, were still sharp as ice met spring, their message clear. Fake it. A humvee sputtered on up to the pair, two men on top with rifles aimed at the pair, braced against the cab of the vehicle. Drop any weapons you have on you! and, Stay where you are until we come to you! echoed from them simultaneously, the overlap making it difficult to understand either one particularly well. The vehicle slowed and stopped, all four doors kicking open and producing one figure each. A woman climbed out of the driver seat, while a man stepped out of each other door. The woman left the door open, leaning into the crevice between the door and the body of the car, watching. She's he shot-caller, then. His eyes scanned her closely, and letters danced above her head. .GORGON ? There is no version of this where I like that name, is there? Scanning the others, his concern slackened. .MAXIM, .DEMON, .SLEDGE the other men that approached him had unassuming names he classified in C-tier, easily predictable what their mods would be like simply based on their name. He felt dots connect in his mind regarding .DUALITY somewhere in the back of his mind, but the focus was not on it as he was accosted by these new faces. Seconds passed in silent tension as the three approached them, weapons in hand but not readied. He saw each of those three take a look up and down at each of the wounded raiders, considering and weighing and thinking. .LAPLACE was keen on not being the one to break that silence.