2013.10.12 - Jobs on the Fly

Metropolis. New York City.
Any name by which it goes, it is the same. The City that Never Sleeps. The hustle and bustle during the day is repeated all through the night, and many, many offices burn their midnight oil- from the financial district to City Hall. And all points in between.
The Mayoral contest is in full swing; the offices of each and every candidate are working furiously, tirelessly, endlessly in order to make sure their 'man' is seen in the best of lights. All issues are taken on, playing to special interests or moderate, middle of the road types in the media, in each and every stop on the stump. And what a wide variety it is! Financial. Health and Welfare. Domestic Social. And, because Metropolis is an international city, an international hub, World Politics. After all, some would have one believe that what happens outside does have ramifications within.
One man in particular is building a good portion of his platform on just that. Grayson Davies. Former CFO of a major international corporation- pharmaceuticals, as a matter of fact. (He's also all for Health and Welfare reform.)
Very pro-UN, he keeps an eye on the goings on in the world, and throws his considerable clout in on one side or another.
Down in the lab, in the tunnels, Cable sits in his chair, the multiple monitors running the news stories of the day. He's got a project he's been working on for some time sitting on the table behind him; the tech so very beyond the reach of 21st century scientists that it's questionable if they'd even begin to recognize what it is that is there. Those eyes are captured by a screen, a millisecond of a group of protestors outside some Embassy. Immediately, Cable's on guard, and he offers into the air,
"Ship. Time, 8 hour, 53 minutes, 7 seconds. Coordinates 40.749°N 73.968°W. Show me."
Immediately, upon one screen comes up with a satellite feed of the UN building. Along the route, there are crowds of protesters that are converging upon one of the embassies on Embassy Row.
"Well, damn."
Business as usual.
In another respectable part of the city there's something else going down. Right down the side of a skyscraper, in fact. It's broad daylight, which makes these kinds of ops a little more of a challenge. Or, a whole lot more fun. It all comes down to one's perspective.
Here, on the fiftieth story of one of Metropolis' many skyscrapers hangs a lone albino woman, dangling upside down from a length of rappeling cord. The wind threatens to throw her off course but the piece of tech she's managed to lay her hands on keeps her hidden from view, adaptive camouflage coupled with image inducer tech turning her into a literal Predator-esque ghost. Goggles help shield her against the wind and sun glare. Short-cropped hair whips around her face as she holds a disc shaped microphone against the window of the office building, holding an earbud in position with her other hand.
Always know your targets, kiddies.
"Confirmed, beetles are in the garden," Domino mutters into a slender headset hooked to her other ear. "Minor infestation, counting fourteen."
"Pest control, you are clear to spray."
(Who the hell comes up with these silly phrases, anyway?) "I'll forward you the bill. Pleasure doing business, Gardener."
The dish folds in upon itself until the entire microphone can be tucked away into an outer pocket, freeing up her hands only long enough to retrieve a matched set of suppressed .45 caliber pistols. One good push of heavy combat boots against the window sends the woman out into the open before reaching the apex and returning toward the window, gathering speed...
Four shots.
Breaking of glass.
Chairs fall over backward as people jump and scramble within the room as one black-clad ghost of a woman materializes out of thin air, rolling across the large wooden office desk. Before she's righted herself five of the business executives are gunned down where they stood or sat, the albino mercenary coming back onto a knee and sweeping her arms around as more still fall.
All fourteen are put down before the guards outside can bust through the doors.
"Looks like that bill's going to be larger than expected."
"Ship, find.."
"Located."
There is a new satellite feed picture that flickers to life in the lower corner of the one trained upon Embassy Row. It's one of a certain albino mercenary as she shoots through the windows, only to heave her body through shortly after. The radio comes through and Cable rolls his eyes at the call names and communication format. Only once the job is complete is contact made, and the sound of Nate's voice is easily amused.
"Hey, Aphid. Catch all the ladybugs?"
There is a pause before, "If you're not too busy getting bug goo off your shell, I need you to do your spidey swing over to the..." here, Cable hesitates on the radio before continuing, "9th district office in Flatbush, Brooklyn. I'll meet you on Nostrand Ave before we go in."
"Ladybugs eat aphids."
Blink.
The response had been so automatic. Much like the automatic fire that shreds the ornate wooden furnishings of the office room. Domino's rolled behind cover as splinters of dead trees and glass rain down every which-way. It's a deafening racket but one that she's used to. While the others are busy dumping their mags hoping to get a lucky hit with a nine millimeter (hah, not getting through this armor with those guns, kiddos,) she's busy being confused.
And irritated.
And oh so very annoyed.
"What the hell, Cable?!" she hisses into the mic while absently reaching around and squeezing off a few more shots. It's met with a gurgled yelp as one of the guards collapses to the floor. (Secure channel my pasty white ass...) "Look, you want me anytime soon then you're gonna have to work for it. Since you already know where I am I'm sure you can gather what the situation is. You've got fifteen seconds, get me an exit or I'll find my own way home."
One.
Domino leaps out from cover, twisting around to fire toward the doorways as she sprints toward the demolished window and leaps out into the wild blue beyond, tethered by nothing more than a cable hooked to the rooftop.
(Smoking pistol swandive. That oughta appease the judges.)
"Do they? Oh. Well, point stands. You're just an armed aphid." After all, the room was probably filled with high-powered execs.
Was.
Past tense.
Cable rises from his seat now to pace, but it's productive pacing. He's gathering his things; coat and guns.
(No such thing as a secure channel. Not with him around!)
"Oh, I know what the situation is, and right now," Nate shifts the screen as the satellite feed pans out, "You've been set up. Get the hell out of there. Take the north side of the building, down to the fifth floor, through a window and take the elevator to the basement. It's sitting on an old station. You'll need to blow the back corner near the boiler."
Nate looks around the room for those last bits that he may need before he leaves his room. The tech is cut, but now the 'brain phone' is in full swing.
~ How's that for an exit? Now, I'll meet you in Flatbush. ~
"Are you seriously comparing me to a small pest that's often kept as a pet in ant colonies? Nice to know you don't see me as a threat."
What comes out at an angle is doomed to eventually fall in a straight line.
Domino's got her feet hooked around the line as it goes taut then starts to unwind, allowing for a more smooth, controlled descent. What it doesn't help with is the return trip back to the building, the woman curling into a ball as her shoulder strikes another window with enough force to splinter the heavier pane without breaking.
It hurts. It really hurts. The grunt that explodes from her lungs says as much, at least to her. And possibly Cable, thanks to the headset.
With one pistol tucked away she grabs onto the wire and starts sprinting along the outside of the building, shedding altitude as quickly as she crosses from one room to another, leaping around the edge right as that fifth floor comes into view. A few more shots and she's through the glass.
Right as the cable snaps from the corner of the building.
The albino rolls across the floor, right down an aisle of a cubicle farm, coming to a halt right at the heeled feet of an office woman who jumps back with a startled yelp, throwing her lunch clear over the back of her shoulder.
Dom's back on her feet, free of the severed remains of the line. Completely nonchalant.
"Those glasses really compliment your eyes. 'Scuse me."
Muscle memory reloads the one sidearm as she briskly walks toward the elevator, slipping past a group of people and through the doors to the empty car just as the doors start to roll shut. (Timing. You've still got it.)
"Carol?! Are you okay?"
"Did..did you see--? The woman..! Gun!"
"What are you talking about, Carol? The window broke, that's all!"
With soft, cheery muzak playing through the muffled elevator speaker, Domino pulls out a wad of Semtex and a small remote detonator. "Of -course- it needs to be blown up, what good is a stealth op if you can't bring out the pyrotechnics?" she mutters in disdain.
~ My quick education of this time had some holes. Promise I'll be better next time. As for your need for stealth? They had you pegged. Stealth or no stealth, Domino. You were set up, ~ Cable repeats gently. ~ If you want to get underground and out without blowing up a whole of a hell of a lot more, that's the way. I could give you a secondary way out, but it'd involve the row of SWAT that is lining up outside the building. ~
Cable is on the move, and breaking into a jog, the large man navigates the tunnels like, well, the back of his hand. His -good- hand.
~ But, I've got another job for you. Grayson Davies. Mayoral Candidate. ~ And the man is in Flatbush.
One block passes beneath his boots, a second before Nate rises to the 'surface' world and steps out onto the city's streets. Normal people would mix into the anonymous throng, but the mutant is far from normal. In any aspect.
~ A block or so in the tunnel, you'll come to a service ladder. You'll be fine.
(Goddamnit, why is it they -always- have me made on these runs..? Just my luck.)
"Dav--" ~ -Davies,- are you insane? I thought you wanted to -avoid- a future where all of mutantkind was on the brink of extinction. We take him out and we'll spark riots in the streets, Nate. ~
Basement level. Locked, right up until one more pull of the trigger. The pang of metal pulverizing the lock on the door nearly drowns out the mechanical noise of the slide cycling, which almost completely drowns out the muffled *Tak* of the bullet leaving the suppressor. She presses onward into the dim and noisy lower level, already heading in the right direction.
She's just good like that.
~ I get the need for jumping through these little hoops of yours but we still need some way of financing our operation. ~
The charge gets set in position, armed for a generous ten seconds. She turns and briskly walks away.
~ Until Graymalkin can print money or spit out diamonds for us I don't see a lot of alternatives, someone has to be the breadwinner for this team. ~
KABAM!
~ Sure is nice that you're half rat, these tunnels do come in handy. ~
~ Yes, Davies. He's spearheading the anti-mutant rally outside the Genosha Embassy. He's also got ties to the island's Humanity First contingent. Magneto didn't get them all, or if he did, they're new coming in. ~ Just like the Xers making their cells? Only the opposition is better funded. ~ If he wins the election in the city, and he will, if Magneto falls, he'll be the voice everyone will hear. ~
That's an awful lot of 'ifs'.
Cable's got his hands in his pocket, his shotgun stored down the length of his back under his jacket, and it's a brisk pace that he sets for himself through traffic. ~ Well, if it makes you feel better, we can collect from a group in the UAE. He's made more than a few Arabian penninsula leaders mad. ~ He can't help but grin regarding the tunnels, however. ~ I like them. Homey. And they make your friend mad. Added bonus. ~
Dom's noticing all of those 'ifs' for herself. ~ And you think now's the time to strike based on a one in thirty-seven thousand twenty-one odds? ~ she thinks back while dropping through the smoke and rubble into the tunnels beneath the building. ~ Can you determine what the fallout might be if we remove this guy from the picture? Suddenly I'm forseeing a lot of missions where I'm being sent out on damage control. ~
~ Okay, seriously now, Nate. If there's -any- chance of us getting paid to do something we're going to do regardless then -make with the money- already. Get whomever you need on the line and start hashing out some numbers, Grayson's on a very short clock. ~
It's not long until she finds the service ladder, tucking all of her gear away as she climbs up the rusting steel construction. ~ About to hit the surface. ~
Well, there's the odds? Give it another day, two, then the odds will go down. But when that happens, it could very well be too late. Nate is practiced enough in his own telepathy that he doesn't have to give outward gestures for an inward conversation, as it were. ~ Since when haven't you been at my six for one thing or another, Dom? ~ The question is asked gently, affectionately. ~ If we had time, we could set up an accident, but the demonstration is going to happen soon. And there, he's due to speak. And that's when there's going to be another flight out to the island, and those that sympathize with the antimutant sentiment will start throwing their money at them. ~
Crossing the street at a jog, Cable puts a hand (his bionic one) on the hood of a taxi as he makes his point that he WILL cross the street safely. ~ Closing in on your position. We'll take the easy way when we meet up. ~
Of course she wants the money, and he exhales such that she can probably feel it in her head as he does so. Pulling his cell from his pocket, Nate begins to dial, and soon enough, there are calls made. One, no deal. Two, no-- maybe.
Three. Bingo!
~ $750k. Not the best we can do, but for a mayoral candidate? Not too bad. ~
Dom breathes out a quiet sigh. ~ Never said that I wasn't going to be part of this, Nate. We do what needs doing. ~ If that happens to be a bad or ugly situation or something they don't have time to arrange beyond aiming the crosshairs and pulling the trigger, so be it. Jobs are like bad guys seeking revenge, they never work on -your- schedule.
Shehe can 'feel' his frustration through that mental link, too. xy~ Nate, look. It's about maximizing potential. We're going to do this anyway, right? It's not like I'm trying to rake in some easy money for a new Ferrari. These jobs that we do we do alone. Something needs to pay the bills. ~ (AND have some fun with, but it's not -all- about the fun.
~ Seven-fifty. ..What, as an up front payment? Tell me there's more than that... Did you even -try- to negotiate?! This guy's worth twice that, easy! ~
She could just slap herself on the forehead. Or better yet, slap the back of Cable's head.
Some of the bystanders, and a fair amount of traffic, thank you for stopping that taxi there Nate, are a bit surprised to find a manhole cover being muscled aside. That it's a tiny, pasty white skinned woman that's pushing it out of her way? And covered in guns? Let's hope that Nate's telepathic nature is quick on the trigger, as well.
"I'm handling our finances from now on."
Of course they're going to squabble about money. Cable may hold a few doctorates in advanced (as in 2,000 years) sciences and mathematics, but when it comes to 21st century finances?
I'm handling our finances from now on.
Nate is, however, on the ball in terms of the psychic covering, and for all intents and purposes, once the manhole is recovered, and the pair are across the street, any knowledge, any memory of that action is effectively wiped from the memories of all in the surrounding areas. Just a pair of City natives walking across the street. Nothing to see here. No weapons. No bionics. No giant man with a giant trenchcoat with a shotgun tucked up and underneath.
Nope.
The moment they're in a good position, Cable offers up, "Flatbush. Body slide by two."
Flatbush.
It's not the most glorious of places. It's struggling. There are the indigent living beside the struggling who live near the 'paycheck by paycheck', humans and mutants. An historic area, the buildings are grey from both the building materials and from age and wear. The cars are fewer in between, and the pedestrian traffic is less. It has a different -feel-. A more neighborhood feeling as opposed to the hustle and bustle, which for some may be welcoming. For Nate, it only makes it easier for his telepathic tricks to be used. Suggestion is always easier than changing observations!
"Okay, it's this way."
Away from the office building. Away from the tunnels. Away from the crowds. Domino adjusts the goggles onto her forehead then nonchalantly rubs her shoulder where it had connected with the thick pane of glass during her earlier descent. One look around the area and she's got something else on her mind to share.
"You really do take me to the nicest places."
As they walk she's got her eyes on the move, picking out prime locations for SWAT sharpshooters and roadblocks. If they want this guy dead but don't want to be directly connected to it then she's going to need something a bit more substantial than a pistol, which she doesn't happen to have on her. Where else might she get a high powered rifle with a telescopic sight bolted to the receiver?
From the boys in blue, naturally. She should be able to pick out some of their nests any moment, now.
"You got a plan for handling this one or do we take the first opportunity we get?
A low rumble up the street draws her attention away from the buildings in time to catch the flash of sunlight against red paint and chrome trim as a car ducks through an intersection. (At least someone around here has a bit of money to throw around.)
Cable steps away from their landing, his psi in full working order. Two people did -not- just appear out of the aether fully armed and loaded for bear. Scanning the immediate area, obviously Dom sees different things than Nate does. But, the man is on the move, and he's headed away from the stated target area.
"Only the best. I know you'd feel out of place if it was a black tie affair, so..."
Nate is looking for those same locations, to be sure, and as they walk, he runs the risk of looking something like a tourist as he's looking up more than natives to the area. Pointing to a spot in the distance, he looks to his side, "Church good? I can draw out."
As Domino's attention swings around, Nate misses that which caught the albino's eye so quickly. "Anything good?"
"Because you're perfectly comfortable in a tux," Domino flatly teases back. "We both know how difficult it is trying to hide a sawed-off under formal attire. Seriously Nate, are you planning on holding up a Seven-Eleven with that cannon? Maybe hunt some wild Metropolis buffalo? For a long range hit you came even less prepared than I did, and you're the one that had some advanced notice."
Mention of the church is followed with another subtle glance, the albino dipping her head. "Draw 'em out if you want, otherwise I just need to get up behind them and go for the ankles."
It worked for Jayne in Firefly!
"Only if you're into obnoxiously loud, inefficient, and horribly outdated vehicles," she casually replies. It's followed with a thin smirk. "Looked like fun."
Reaching the next intersection also happens to reveal the 1972 Mustang Mach 1 in question. Cherry red, matte black vinyl, matte chrome drag racing rims. Some gal in thick curly blonde hair and ridiculous heels is briskly hobbling away from it, talking excitedly into a cellphone.
"Of -coahse- I dumped his sorry ass, took him for everythan' he was woath, including that stupid car a' his! Hey--you two!" she interrupts herself, holding the phone slightly away from her ear. "Heads up!"
With a poor underhanded toss the keys come flying toward the pair. Dom has to lunge forward somewhat to catch them before they hit the ground, a dumbstruck expression about her.
"Do whateva tha hell ya want with it, I don't evah wanna see tha piece a' crap again!"
Overly tall heels click away as the blonde woman wanders off, blabbing back into her phone once more.
Dom holds up the keys then glances sidelong at Cable, eyes notably wider than before.
"I didn't plan on that happening."
"I'm not sure my tux fits me anymore," Nate confesses with something of a bemused smile. "It's been a little while." He never gets to go anywhere nice in this time!
Still, her point is made, and Nate has to agree. After a fashion. "I just feel naked without the shotgun. I could cause a serious electrical spike, but that wouldn't send the same message. I could blow up his cell phone, but then that'd cause a recall on all those models, and I don't want to be the cause of that." Because that would inconvenience people! "I could even try to get his dog-- wait. Metropolis Buffalo? I've never heard of them."
There's a moment of silence before a sigh of... infinite sighness exits the large man. "Dom..." Someone was just talking to Ship!
Anyway!
"And small? Let's not forget small," comes from the man as the sports car pulls to the side and the woman wobbles out. Stopping as he watches the tableau, Nate is silent. After all, what could he possibly say? Another leggy blond, the woman in question that her 'sugar daddy' had cheated with. One with slightly larger attributes with commensurate lower IQ. Perhaps the woman stalking off shouldn't have embarrassed him last year at the New Year's soiree after a few too many champagnes?
Dom's move gains Nate's attention, and his mouth falls open. That was unexpected. The wronged blonde hadn't telegraphed that next action, and yes. The great telepath is taken by surprise. It can happen.
"I didn't know that would happen," Nate agrees. "Dom? I wish I knew how the hell you worked."
"You and me alike, big guy."
With a blank partial shrug Dom spins the keys around a finger then tucks them into a small pouch connected to her gear harness. "At least I know how I'm getting out of this part of town today. Maybe you could fire up that psychic wizardry of yours and turn it into a powder blue Prius until we clear out of ground zero."
Well, either that or her luck would kick back in. Honestly, what sharpshooter would escape the scene in the flashest car around? That's just ridiculous!
Back to the matter at hand as though nothing were amiss, she says "If you had negotiated for more than seven fifty you could have afforded to get one that does fit you. But, I dig your work attire more than your faux billionaire look. Now," she switches gears once more without the benefit of a pause to get a word in edge-wise, "let's get this party started. I need a roost and a big pointy stick in the nine hundred yard range. You..need to not scratch my car."
Smirk.
Prius.
Prius?
"Won't someone mark a powder blue Prius as susp-- never mind." Domino's got her hand on the pulse of the street. Many streets in many towns in many countries. But why can't there ever be something roomy? Like, say, a HMMWV? Something with some ability behind it.
(Therein lies the difference between the pair. Dom is lithe and quick, and Nate? Not so much.)
"Wait. Seven fifty won't get me a tux that FITS? That's not right." Okay, he has to check to see if he's been 'taken' again, and as he looks at his partner in pretty much all things as far as he's concerned, he can't help but mentally facepalm. Again. "Stop that." Though he does offer something of a fond smile at the stated preference. "I'm pretty fond of your work attire too. It suits you." Guns and all. He couldn't have her any other way because she simply wouldn't be her!
Nate begins to walk away from the scene of the car towards the church, his head cocked to listen to the sounds of the city. "Let's get you set up." It's a block, two blocks before he starts to break into a jog. "Believe it or not, found something," he says quickly. ~ Two blocks up, head right. Flanking. There's a drug den that's moving out a new supply that came in. May have something you could use. Idiots don't know what it is they have. ~
"You ever know a sniper that decided to 'go green?' Maybe I should check to make sure those Feds aren't using environmentally friendly bullets before I pull the trigger."
Dom's smirk soon turns into a grin. "Only once you stop dropping in on my personal business, kiddo. Don't get me wrong though, I'm happy to see that things are still working out between you and Ship. You make a cute couple."
Another sharp incline of her head and the albino keeps pace with the bigger mutant, including the jog, which continues as she cuts to the side and branches away. ~ Oh really, now? ~
Odds of a drug den in this part of town: 1 in 15. Odds of a drug den within close proximity to them both with access to high powered weaponry: 1 in 86,410.
(Now we're talking.)
Two blocks ahead, just as described. And Dom with a pair of suppressed pistols. That sure is convenient! As a couple of thugs haul some more gear out to a van she simply walks right on into the decrepit building, icy blue stare searching the room for threats and weapon-sized containers alike.
~ If I have to drop one of these kids then we're going to have approximately three minutes and twenty seconds to make our move and clear the area. If they don't know that I'm passing through... ~
Well, that'd just buy them some extra time, right there.
"Hey, anyone seen the long case?"
"Not me. Didn't Chuck load it?"
"Don't look at me! Probably got moved already."
"So, no depleted core." Wouldn't want to litter the place for the future generations!
It's a jog that the large man takes, and as Dom cuts off to flank, Nate continues forward. Slowing, the large man begins to edge up, concealing himself, for the most part. Or rather, making him inconspicuous. This is Dom's game, and she knows it well. He's here to provide support and backup. He's the bull in the china shop that is more than happy to step in when all is going to hell in a handbasket. (Thank you, Dr. McTaggart for that phrase!)
~ Roger that. In position. Give me the count when we clear. ~ Nate is all business when the time comes. Their safety and the mission is paramount!
"Look in the back," one calls from the kitchen area. "I'm busy!"
"Paolo has something, doesn't he? I think he was in the bathroom with it."
It doesn't take long. Find the case, relocate the case, empty the case, abandon the case.
"Ah, got it here! S'a lot lighter'n it looks."
Seconds later Domino steps around the back of the building, easily coming up to Cable's side without any telepathic thought or signal. She's such a team player. But, she now happens to have a rifle that stands nearly as tall as she does. SVD Dragunov, Norinco imported if the stamped trigger guard and bleached wooden furniture are any indication. Proper Russian models are way too rare and expensive for these kids.
"Not ideal, but it'll get the job done. Beggars can't be choosers," she remarks while slinging the lengthy rifle over a shoulder. She's got just one magazine for it and one box of imported soft point bullets, enough to top out that mag twice. Not that she's expecting to need more than one shot out of it.
Black-tipped fingers start methodically thumbing rounds into the steel feed lips, she doesn't even look at what she's doing. "Be some of the easiest seven fifty I've ever banked. Get me perched so we can get this over with, I didn't have lunch yet."
Mere feet away, behind the safety of a solid cement wall, drug thugs still mindlessly load containers into the back of the van. These two have their priorities. Thugs like that are what law enforcement exists for.
In and out. Child's play for those who know what they're doing. No sense in calling attention. Soon enough, Paolo will make a wrong move with a detective's daughter, and all hell will break loose.
Give it a year and ol' Paolo will get twenty.
The moment Domino exits the building and approaches, Nate pushes off the building where he's been keeping watch, both hands in his drover's coat, and turns to start making his way towards the church. "Easy enough to do. Do you want the private chapel for the nuns, or the room where the priests get dressed?" Something of a grin creases the large mutant's face, and he can't help himself. "If you say 'surprise me'?" Oh, he intends to anyway!
A couple more steps are taken to get some distance before he reaches out to take a light hold of Domino's arm, at the same time murmuring, "Bodyslide by two."
Immediately, the surroundings shift, and suddenly there is a room, a large-stoned, somewhat gothic room. Candles are lit everywhere, with a small altar at the front, behind which is hanging a crucified Jesus. The Blessed Mother is present on the wall, surrounded by candles in a different spot in the room. There are small windows that face roads on two sides; reminiscent of arrow slots of the old fortifications- thin.
"I couldn't. There were too many priests in the changing room." Ahem.
"For fuck's sake, I'll take my chances on the roof," Domino replies while clicking the mag into the rifle behind her shoulder. It's a decent idea in theory but lo and behold Cable takes them both right on inside of the place. As far as provided cover goes it's surprisingly effective, though for any non-teleport-capable shooters it would also be a deathtrap when trying to escape.
"Didn't think their numbers were doing so well these days," she offers back while unslinging the rifle and flicking the selector away from the path of the bolt. It's quickly followed by a meaty *Cha-CHAK!* as one of the long, rimmed cartridges gets slammed into position. The lengthy black barrel is brought out through one of the narrow viewports in the wall as the albino braces the weapon against her shoulder, already peering through the knockoff PSO-1 optics.
"Feel like Tex-Mex tonight? Had my fill of pizza and Chinese for the week."
Crosshairs drift across the weathered cityscape, searching out for the classic 'man on stage behind a podium' target. (Does it get any more cliche than this? I should start directing cheesy action flicks.)
"Unless you'd rather go for some red meat."
Limbs shift. Dom's stance tilts further forward. "Oh, and there's a new bar opening on Jefferson, just south of Twenty-Third. Could be decent."
"Tex-Mex? Sounds good." Cable looks around the room quickly, peeking through the door with a slow, deliberate look. All clear. "But we only had pizza a few times." For breakfast. Lunch. Quick snack during time research. During a new burst of building. "I'll be back to get you," is given as he closes the door softly, the hint of a *click* sounding in the room.
"Bar coming in that looks 'decent'. By your standards, or mine?" Or is that 'ours'? "As in, few breakable items and an amnesty program if the bar gets broken in a firefight?"
Stepping back to Domino, Nate looks down at her and pauses before, "I'll bring the target to the front window. Once he's down, count to ten, and I should be here before then. Then, we can decide if we want a steak house or that Tex-Mex." There's a lopsided smile that comes, and a half shrug of his 'natural' shoulder. "May order a Metropolis buffalo steak. Rare." A chuckle sounds, and before he's gone, he adds, "The seven-fifty might cover the bill."
"Bodyslide by one."
In the next instant, Nate is gone from the room, and on the street near the Election office. He's just a few doors down, and begins to make his way up in that determined pace of his, drover's coat billowing in the breeze caused by his step. Stepping into the office, the mutant doesn't spare a glance to the church. Now, this is a mission, and he's nothing if not professional about it. As an added bonus so Domino doesn't use all her attention on moments where it's not necessary, he gives her something of a 'brain feed'. Everything he sees and hears is fed through.
Stepping up to an open-air half-room divider, Nate clears his throat. "Excuse me. Is Mr. Davies in? My name is Matthew Ernst, and I've got the law office around the corner?"
There is a young, undoubtedly idealistic brunette behind the counter, at a desk, and she rises, a smile gracing her face. A lawyer!
"Yes, sir. Will you sign the clipboard here, and I'll see if he'll come out to talk. I'm sure he will."
"Thank you."
Nate looks at the paper on the clipboard and scribbles his 'name' and purpose for the visit before he sets the pen under the clip itself so as to give it just a little more defense against stealing it. Now, he paces and waits, his hands out of his pockets as the young woman steps away. Testing the door, Nate uses his bionic hand and crushes the mechanism on his side before tk'ing the other side to be sure the door actually still works on the other side. Perfect. He walks towards the office bay window in the frontage, and looks out on the street. Reasonably quiet and easy enough to keep an alarm from rising too soon.
With the 'sounds good' Dom holds a single thumb up in the air without looking away from the scope. "Yeah, a few times by -your- standards. C'mon, Nate. I like a good pizza as much as any American girl but a little variety goes a long way, and I don't mean 'variety' as in 'rotating through the toppings menu.'"
(Ah, for the love of--) "Decent as in 'not a shithole' and not a 'we're trying to appeal to the city's upper crust.' It's a bar. You throw some money at the person behind the counter and get hammered."
It's then that she looks away from the sights, peering back up at the much bigger mutant. "You don't want a Metropolis Buffalo steak. Way too tough. And expensive. Save the seven-fifty for the bar on Jefferson, might last us a night or two. Now go on and fetch me a target, crampin' my style here."
Poof!
"Can't get a moment's peace with that boy back in this century," she mutters to herself with a weary sigh. "'Hey Dom, come help me with this. Hey Dom, you've been made. Hey Dom, come with me if you want to live.' Where the fuck do I -find- these people?"
When Nate starts making his move Domino closes her eyes and hangs her head with another sigh. "Why don't you ask for her number while you're at it, Wingnut." Chin up, cheek to stock, eye to lens. Even though she can't see Cable every step of the way she's still got him covered.
"I know, Kurt, I'm about to stage an assassination from inside of a church... What you don't know can't hurt you, go back to your Boating Monthly mag and don't ask me how my week's been."
Guilty conscience.
~ Care to reschedule this hit for next week? Wait much longer and someone's gonna realize this barrel isn't part of the wrought iron fence. ~
~ No one would expect it coming out of a church. How many times have you seen SWAT descend on a church in search of a shooter? ~
Cable is wandering around the foyer of the office for another few moments before Mr. Grayson Davies comes from down an inside hallway. He's a middle aged man that still has some good years before him in that he's only now beginning to grey around the temples, turning the mousey brown hair to something a little lighter. There's a confidence in his step, but then again, why shouldn't there be? Home turf.
Extending his hand over the divider in greeting, the candidate follows it with, "Mr. Ernst. Have been looking forward to meeting you. Sorry that we've played a bit of phone tag, but I see you made the first move to end that game between the secretaries."
Cable extends his own paw, careful not to crush the man, and exudes the perception of one Mr. Ernst. Searching thoughts even as Davies speaks, Nate pulls out the pertinent things, and offers a smile. "Yes, and I'm sorry I couldn't make that rally today. But, I did send a couple of my clerks down in order to give me an idea of how well you're being received."
Rally. Protest. Depends upon which side of the fence one sits.
Davies retrieves his hand, and smiles brightly, coming around to the door, hand on the knob to let himself out and into the foyer. "I appreciate the support, Mr. Ernst. Any that can be given in this difficult election cycle, even if it's positive feedback, is helpful. A mention in the news here, an invitation to a party that has been otherwise closed to me there?"
Under Davies' hand, Cable gives the knob a little nudge so it doesn't feel as if the door's been messed with at all, allowing the candidate to push it open with the ease in which he's used to. Stepping back, Nate hangs out by the picture window, and does a couple of decided theatric looks out, surveying all that lies before them, as it were.
"And why not?" Cable asks, sounding so very sincere. "You've got the drive to see your ideas through. The desire. And, for the most part, the backing. The friends in higher places." It sounds as if he's praising the man, extolling those virtues. Domino might see it for what it is. Making the man's thoughts pop unbidden to the fore of his brain. So much easier to read that way!
"Yes," Davies comes through the door and pushes about shoulder height to close it again, the sound a *click* as it does. He doesn't seem to notice the crushed knob. China is on board and the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey will give them better rates for their goods, Areas in town will be repossessed under Eminent Domain and bulldozed before being sold to developers for lots of money. Of course, that includes Mutant Town. Razed. In order to do that, however, a million little gnats needs to keep that creature in Genosha busy.
"If elected, this city will see an amazing change. A resurgence." Wandering towards the window in order to look out next to 'Mr. Ernst', Davies drops his hands into his pockets and rolls on the balls of his feet. "I have a good feeling about all of this, Mr. Ernst. A very good feeling."
'Friends in higher places.' ~ Very funny, Nate. ~
Domino gets to stand there and listen to the mental chatter, keeping herself as a neutral entity as much as possible. She's just a cog within the machine, a rather critical one at that. No room for emotional ties, though she can tell this guy's in no danger of ever becoming any drinking buddy of hers. Not any longer than it'd take her to slip him the Mickey.
"There's probably a good joke to be had out of all of this, the irony of what this guy's proposing to do while a Communist weapon is about to put him down," she mutters while drifting the exposed tip of an alabaster finger onto the cool metal of the trigger. "What th--seriously, guys? Can't even deburr the contact point before throwing it into a crate anymore? Sheesh, glad I've got some faith in Mikhail's design or I'd be afraid to shoot this damn thing. Of all the times to miss the fall of the Cold War..."
(You know, you could use this opportunity to try and get a second contract for icing the fool, Dom.)
The woman's trigger finger lightly taps the curved metal hook in contemplation. (My kingdom for a bipod and a stable perch. Next time. Stay on target, our window's going to be small on this run.)
~ You two about done kissing each other's asses in there? I don't know about you but I've still got things to do today. ~
Cable is at the big picture window, and Davies now stands beside him, talking to him. The more the man talks, the more that Nate is convinced that it really is the right thing to do at the right time. It's all a matter of timing.
~ At your earliest convenience, Dom. ~
Dropping his hands into his pockets, Nate looks out again. "I think things will be looking up rather soon, actually."
Twisting around, Nate looks at the young, impressionable secretary behind her desk, pretending to work. A step is taken back, though with trajectory as it is, he will be pelted with brain tissue whether he wants it or not. Just one of the hazards of the job.
~ Shield's up, Captain. ~
The bullet's through the window, through the man's skull, through the wall behind him, and well on its way to being lost forever before the *Kapow!* can reach the building, echoing across the city in a flat sounding shockwave.
The sharp recoil is compensated for, the crosshairs of Dom's rifle falling back into position about as quickly as Grayson's body hits the floor from the distance.
~ Five hundred says the cops'll be swarming this place in two minutes flat. ~ (Because a shot like that could wake the dead.)
In comes the barrel, the rifle falling down to hip level as she tracks where the spent casing rolled off to. She'll just take that before they go.
(Five..six..sev--) "Tex-Mex it is," she tells the newly arriving Cable while flicking the spent brass his way.
Yup. Trajectory is right, and Nate takes another step backwards to at least avoid the grey matter that decorates the potted plants that dot the room. There is a scream that comes from the other side, but that is silenced and easily at that. The girl slumps at her desk, big brown eyes rolling into the back of her head. She'll be forgetting this, certainly, but also forgetting the brief internship with the Mayoral candidate. Mind, others may ask about it, but that coverstory is up and running too.
Not Nate's first rodeo.
When everything is done, including pulling the sheets, the pen (the doorknob is clean. Bionic hand!), Nate is gone from the place with a, "Bodyslide by one," only to appear in that nun's chapel.
"Tex-Mex it is. And I'm pretty sure we can't drink seven-fifty in a couple of nights, by the way." Catching the brass, he pockets it, and looks around briefly before he reaches out to take hold. "Guess we'll land in my above ground hideout rather than the tunnels. Lots of rain this time of year, apparently."
"Bodyslide by two."
And, they are gone.
Speaking of being gone...
Domino stands beside Cable, simply staring forward for a few seconds. Without turning to look his way, she says "Take me back to the car, Nate."
Category:Log