Virtue All-Stars

[Xanatos]

((OOC: Check out the OOC thread here. For more information.))

Virtue All-Stars #1: Revolver II
Present Day
Outer District, Skyway City

Two weeks I'd been looking for this kid. I can run at 200 miles per hour and it took me two weeks to find some punk kid in Skyway City. Hardly seems right now does it? I should have handled this weeks ago. I don't like being slowed down. Wait a sec...why am I starting at the end of the story? Sorry, bad habit I guess. Comes with always thinking faster than most people. Let me try again; Listen in and let ol' Revolver II tell you a story. It's a short one. All mine are.

It's two weeks ago and I’m fighting Styx outside a convenience store in downtown King's Row. That's right. Styx. Not Charon, the infamous Bone-Breaker, the vigilante half the underworld is scared of and half the underworld doesn't believe in. No I'm talking about Styx. Charon's flip-flopping "is-he-a-good-guy-is-he-a-villain" sidekick. Kid didn't look more than twenty five years old and he was giving me a run for my money. I fired every bullet I had at the costumed cretin but not a single shot hit. I'm called Revolver II and I can't even land a shot with two damn revolvers. That ain't the point of the story though, the fight with Styx didn't matter. (I eventually fled the scene...like I said the details didn't matter.) What mattered was that in all the commotion I lost my hat. That hat was passed down to me by my papa, the very first Revolver. It's more than just a badass looking piece of headwear; it's a legacy.

And legacy is important to me.

It turned out one of Styx's rogues had been watching, incognito, while me and brain-dead-schizo-boy had our little dalliance. The rogue was some z-lister called Andrew Sachs, also known as "The Collector". His shtick was collecting discarded hero equipment, weapons, armour, and memorabilia, and using it against them. Apparently Mr. Collector had decided to take it upon himself to acquire my hat and add it to his collection. I have no idea what use he would have for an old cowboy hat. Maybe he was planning on opening a museum or something. I have no idea. Like I said the guy was small time, but he was young and in his early 20s. He should have been easier to find.

It took me two weeks but I eventually got his location from some obscure drunken mobster that I 'found' (honest officer) beaten half to death in a downtown bar. It's weird how quick people give out information once they can see their own bones. Guess it must remind them of death or something. Apparently The Collector was holed up in an old mansion somewhere in the outskirts of Skyway City. According to my 'source' the kid was filthy stinking rich and had inherited the mansion when both of his parents were killed by a local Skyway nut job. Rather than mourn his parents, or perhaps get dialled on their dime like a regular Joe, the kid decided to become a supervillain, or at least attempt to. And now here I was, perched on his doorstep, politely waiting for him to answer the door.

I heard shuffling on the other side of the door and as it creaked open slowly I readied one of my pistols. This was going to be easy. As the door opened fully I reacted without thinking - with blinding speed - placing a bullet in the chest of a surprised looking Butler. Ah hell. I'd forgotten rich people had servants. Without thinking I rushed forwards, hoping I could still maintain the element of surprise if I was quick on my feet. (And in case you didn't know, quick is kind of "my thing".) Sure enough I saw movement to my right - I pivoted and fired two shots - dropping two more man servants instantly. I had been in the foyer less than 5 seconds and I had already killed three people. It was safe to assume I had lost the element of surprise.

"Oh. My. God." I heard someone cry behind a closed door attached to the foyer. I reacted instantly, firing three shots towards the noise. The door opened slowly, and the body of yet another manservant crumpled to the floor, riddled with bullets.

I had just stopped to consider that perhaps shooting lots of people wasn't the best course of action when I saw him. Sachs. 'The Collector'. The last guy I'd shot had fallen forward and opened a door that concealed some sort of library-type area. Sachs was inside. Inspecting a series of books he'd no doubt stolen. He took one look at me through the open doorway and made a break for it in the opposite direction. I smiled as I watched him dash out of sight. He was going to try and run away from me. Me. I'm a goddamn speedster.

Less than half a second later and I had the kid on his ass. A pistol-whip to the back of the head at mach-10 will do that to you. He groggily raised his head and looked up at me, only to find the barrel of a gun looking back. I love the way their eyes go cross-eyed when I do that. I remember telling my buddy Facelift about that being my fave part: having my victims on their knees with a gun pointed in their face. He said it was probably latent homosexuality or something. Said that I had repressed urges. Facelift can be a real prick sometimes.

"Wh...what do you want?" said Sachs, his voice shaking terribly as he refused to move his gaze from the pistol now inches away from his mouth. It felt good; fuck you Facelift.

"I want my hat back," I said as I help the kid to his feet, training my gun on his forehead instead, "And I want everything else you've stolen."

He doesn't even flinch. He just nods weakly and moves towards a doorway. The kid is acting defeated already - probably never had a gun pointed at him before. I follow him as he leads me through a maze of doorways and staircases until we finally arrive at two large steel doors. To the right of it is a complicated looking computer interface, probably a lock of some kind. Above the doorway hangs an expensive looking neon sign. It says 'The Collection'. I die a little inside.

"Open it." I bark at the kid. He scuttles over to the computer interface and starts punching numbers. Sure enough the metal doors slowly slide open to reveal an absolutely ginourmous underground storage facility. It's set up as some kind of strange museaum. Everything is in glass cases.

I gesture for the kid to go first and he does. Despite having a gun trained on the back of his head, I can see his mood lighten slightly as he enters the collection room. He glances around with wide eyes. I don't think he's just looking for my hat. He's probably trying to enjoy looking at his collection one last time. And, to his credit, it certainly is a collection worth looking at. Kid has it all. For now anyway. I'm not sure if i'm going to kill him yet. I might not need to. I don't like not knowing what i'm gonna do, it makes me feel awkward. I decide to break the silence.

"So...collector was it?" I ask, the kid nods, "What I don't get is why do you steal all this stuff..." I trail off momentarily as we pass a human sized suit of armour styled to look like a teddy bear "...when you're rich enough to just BUY anything you want?"

He doesn't answer. At first my muscles tense: Is he getting cocky? Is he gonna make a move on me? No. He's just found my hat, that's all. It's one of the few things not in a glass display case. It's on top of a junk-filled cardboard box. The box has "misc" written on the side of it. I'm not impressed. I'm even less impressed when he picks it up and drops it. His hands are shaking; poor kid. I wonder why, briefly, before noticing what he's scoped. He's spotted a large glass case full of different types of rifles. Don't do it kid. Stay where you are. Just pick up the damn hat.

He makes a break for the rifles. Once again attempting to outrun a speedster. I sigh and put a bullet into each of his shins. Some people never learn.

He screams as his legs give way under him, his fibula ("shin bone" to people like me) shatter on impact with the bullets, causing bone to tear out of his legs at funny angles. He cries out in pain; rolling around the floor clutching, and then unclutching, his wounds. The kid's definitely never been shot before. He's going crazy; ranting and raving, actually screaming like a girl. The wounds won't kill him. I look around the room as I wait for the kid to calm down. There sure are a lot of odd looking weapons here. I check the labels; Snow Enterprises, Longbow, Arachnos, Lake Enterprises. I even spot one of Slaphappy's bows in a glass cabinet not too far away from the 'misc' box. I stop and glare at the misc box before turning my attention back towards the mewling cripple before me.

"Tell me kid," I say with a sneer, feeling smug for the first time in weeks, "How come you stole all of this stuff and yet I'm the first person to get past your defences?"

He looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. He doesn't seem to want to answer, but eventually he does;

"Because no-one else cares about the stuff I stole..." said the kid, his watery eyes looking up at me incredulously, "I mean which big name hero really cares abo-"

I suddenly feel butterflies in my stomach. Angry butterflies. "The Collector" just called me insignificant. Or pathetic. Either way the kid just made me feel like I don’t know which of the two I am.

I grit my teeth. I aim my pistol. I pull the hammer back. And I blow that cocky little bastard's brains all over the floor of his makeshift museum.

Cocksucker.

[Charon]

Virtue All-Stars #2: Charon
Present Day
The Gish, Kings Row

Dead Things

He rested his finger on the trigger and stared down the barrel of the gun.

Forty one years old. One year of life, of inspiration, of love. Forty years of suffering. Twenty three years of Charon.

There was a dripping somewhere in the warehouse; a loose window pane, perhaps. He hadn’t done any maintenance in this particular warehouse in over a decade. No one else knew it existed. To all intents and purposes it looked like an abandoned storage facility on the edge of The Gish, a building that seemed from the outside as if no one had set foot in its interior since the eighties. There were even rumours amongst citizens of Kings Row that it was haunted. Even the Skulls had never tried to break the security systems for fear of what might be inside. In truth, it was empty, unused and derelict for three hundred and sixty four days a year. But it was haunted tonight.

His finger lay heavy on the trigger.

He thought back to how he had felt on the night he watched the Cloud 9 burn to the ground; how he had felt justified, vindicated: absolution. He thought of the night he had plunged a knife into the heart of the man who had taken his life away from him; how he had felt empty, cold: nothing.

Rain battered down onto the corrugated iron roof.

He tried to picture his mother’s face: nothing. He tried to picture a woman he had known once, a long time ago. A woman whose death seemed to be justification for the last twenty three years of his life; a woman whose death had caused him to kill, to maim, to cause so much pain to so many. He tried to picture her face and saw nothing but a blur. She seemed so real in his dreams.

He began to squeeze.

He wished he had died in a back alley in 1989 next to that woman he had known so well once. He wished he had died on the cold streets of Kings Row in 1994, freefalling from a ledge at the top of Paragon Police HQ. He wished he had died on the steps of a dilapidated mansion on the outskirts of Paragon City in 2011, next to a man he had just murdered in cold blood. He wished he had died for anything that meant something.

The hammer pulled back, millimetre by millimetre.

He closed his eyes. He tried to think of something worthwhile in his final moments, but all he could see were bricks falling slowly from a bridge that collapsed in 2002, crushing the first person in his life he had ever considered a true friend. He saw Mr. D mouth the words ‘It was worth it’ as his bones buckled and snapped under the weight of the structure. At the time, he had felt nothing.

He was shaking. This was it.

And then he heard the cry; a woman’s cry.

“Please, God! Somebody help me!”

He released the trigger. The hammer rested back in its rightful place. The bullet stayed in the chamber.

The cry had come from the alley behind the warehouse. He paused for a second and stared at the gun; she screamed.

His mask lay on the table next to a box full of bullets and an empty bottle of cheap whiskey. He stumbled slightly as he grabbed for the mask and pulled it down over his tired eyes, his weary face. Propped against an iron beam to his left was his splintered, bloodstained staff.

He stormed out onto the street through a rusted steel door, the staff clasped so tightly in his hands that splinted wood pierced his skin. The rain screamed from the heavens, lashing across his mask and obscuring his vision. He stumbled through the storm, searching for the source of the cry. It didn’t take long to find it.

Lying in a puddle of rainwater, blood and bile was a young woman with dark hair. A knife was lodged in her lower abdomen. Her eyes were dark and empty. She didn’t blink. She reminded him of a woman he had known once, a long time ago.

Next to the body, preserved in dirt and grime, was a footprint. Rainwater would wash it away soon enough, along with any fingerprints that might be found on the murder weapon; a coroner’s van would arrive and take the body away. No one would ever be caught. He looked back towards his safehouse, the steel door creaking in the wind.

He studied the footprint. He felt nothing.

But he could still catch him, if he moved fast.

[Noble]

Virtue All-Stars #3: Cap'n Buttseks
Present Day
Unknown District, Paragon City

“Dammit!” shouted Cap'n Buttseks, as he rummaged his hands through the pouches on his belt. “Out of Viagra again” he breathed deeply and let out a sigh, “another set of poor bastards denied of proper justice.” He shook his head as he walked away from the pair of unconscious thugs who were tied to a lamp post (by another hero prior to the Captain’s arrival) awaiting pickup by the police.

Cap'n Buttseks did not possess an imposing physical presence; his arms were thin as rails, and he had a pot belly that hung out over his belt buckle. And yet, when criminals saw his colorful, pink striped, purple polka-dotted, yellow , skin-tight spandex costume with his face poking out of a large, flesh-colored derriere-shaped mask …they ran as though satin himself had come to the mortal plane.

The Captain strutted down the street, his belly bouncing in perfect synch with his steps, peering down alleyways through his prescription goggles as he searched for evildoers overdue their punishment. The Captain did not enjoy his job, but by god he would carry out his duty because it needed doing, and no one else was likely to do it. So it was left to him to carry justice to the darker sides of the half-moons.

Suddenly, the soft chime of a bell shattered the silence of the bustling street, indicating that someone had exited a store Cap'n Buttseks recently passed by. The Captain recognized the sound of the bell, as it was a store he frequented often to buy twinkies while out on patrol. But Cap'n Buttseks thought nothing of it, as many law abiding citizens visited stores and purchased twinkies much like himself.

“Hey! Stop that lady!”

Cap'n Buttseks spun his head with obese-humanly quickness, taking naught but one-point-five seconds to turn, and then requiring an additional full second for his heavy jowls to settle into their proper place, and gazed upon the source of the voice in distress.

“She stole a box of twinkies!” shouted the owner of the store, as he pointed his finger towards the culprit, an old woman wearing a god-awful Christmas sweater in the middle of July, fleeing in the opposite direction of the hero and using a walker to hasten her escape.

“Never fear!” Shouted the fearless hero, “I will return your stolen goods!”

Cap'n Buttseks power-walked five steps to where the store owner stood; the look on his fast was grave, as though the fate of the universe was at stake. “My dear friend, owner of the store I love, and keeper of the secret power; I require the magic formula that stimulates my powers of justice!”

“That will be $18.95” stoically responded the owner.

Cap'n Buttseks sucked in his gelatinous gut and struck a heroic pose as he gazed towards the sky. “Put it on my tab”

10 seconds later, our hero once again possessing the means to full-fill his namesake, struts after his prey…who is now waiting at the crosswalk for the “walk” sign to show on the other side of the street. It was a dirty job, one no man should have to endure, but he knew that it was his destiny to do it, and by god it would done.

[First Player]

Virtue All-Stars #4: High-Jinks
Present Day
High Park, Kings Row

The alley was dark and damp, steam from a vent in the pavement clinging to the ground like a low fog. The air is wet with sound; the barking of dogs, the honking of distant traffic, and the slow, heavy thud of a beating. Two thugs, built like tanks and as scarred as alley tomcats, loom over a man who lies battered on the ground.

"De Boss says you ain't been too punctual with your insurance, Mr. Lee," one of the thugs growls deep from within his chest.

"He says we should take yo' kneecaps as interest," the other says, obviously looking forward to the idea.

"No, please!" the man whimpers "I'll have the money, I just need another few days, I swear it!

"I don't think so."

"De boss wouldn't be too pleased with us if we did that, see?"

"And we love to keep the boss happy..."

The man tries to get up to leave, but he's easily overpowered by one of the heavies. His pleads for mercy fall on deaf ears as the other muscle-bound mook raises a baseball bat over his head... Which clatters to the ground as the thug lets out a shriek of pain, clutching at a suddenly bleeding hand.

"What happened?" the other man shouts, letting go of the struggling shopkeeper as he looks around the darkened alley. He yelps as a cut seems to spontaeously appear across his cheek, leaking blood down his face.

"Hehehehehe..." the chuckle comes from all around, it seems.

"Christ, no, it can't be him!" one of the mooks, clutching his wounded cheek, stammers, as he raises his gun "I hate clowns!"

"Shut up!" his companion barks, reaching down to retrieve his fallen weapon. There's a flurry of movement, and a tall, gaunt figure seems to materialise, leaping from the shadows. The figure slams a foot into the thug's stomach as he bends. He grunted as he crumpled to the ground. The gunman freezes in horror as the lean and acrobatic figure vaults backwards onto a dumpster and raises his head.

There is a blank face mask, perfectly porcelain white, save for a wide, blood-red grin.

"Good evening Ladies and Germs!" the figure laughs, "Are we having FUN yet or what?!"

His hand flashes out, tiny, colored balls flicking outwards and exploding in puffs of green smoke. The thug tries waving the gas away, but he pauses, bemused. He begins to laugh, first chuckling, then guffawing, then bellowing in confused hilarity. The figure moves in a streak of yellow, white-gloved fists pounding into the thug's stomach with incredible force, literally raising the man a few inches into the air, before the masked vigilante grabs the thug and slams him into the unyielding asphalt.

By this time, the other enforcer has recovered. He stands shakily, eyeing the masked clown as he pulled an oversized revolver from his utility belt. The thug winces and shields himself before the clown fires, a "BANG!" flag unfurling from the novelty pistol as he cackles madly. The thug breathes a sigh of relief before he's pistol-whipped and knocked to the ground.

"Now THAT'S comedy!" He laughs loudly.

The figure stands tall now, over the fallen bodies of the criminals, cracking his knucles and stretching his neck. The shopkeeper, motionless through all of this, finally manages to stammer three words.

"W-who are y-y-you?!"

The slim figure turns his head towards the man, extending his hand... before, with a subtle flick of the wrist, he produces a round object from a pouch on his gloved hand and tosses it to the man. Another ball, this one as white as his mask, branded with a matching smiley-face insignia.

A moment later, the figure and both the thugs are gone, and the stunned shopkeeper sat there, the ball held between his shaking fingers. He looks down at it before it explodes, expelling multicolored confetti.

[TopHat]

Virtue All-Stars #5:

Present Day

Mr. Rot, Kings Row Bank

It was really early in the game; I had just gotten my new name. Things were easier and some ways and a lot more colorful in others, a lot of primaries and tights. I was still making quiet entrances unnoticed - my specialty - but now it starts with a puff of darkness that spins and coalesces into what I think is a very nice figure. A few months ago I depended on good ol' fashioned identity theft and skulking to get me over and under walls. Now here I was - a super...Mr. Rot. I know it's not the catchiest name but it definitely gets the point across and I add my own style to it. Now here I was in King's Row doing a bank job for some quick cash to...well, whatever a modern ghoul needs. I'm telling you enough about myself already; I'm not one to share.

Back then I didn't quite get my powers so I was also stretching them out and seeing what I could do. All that was clear so far was that I was another shadowy guy who can appear one place or another and things I touched tended to not do too well. I stepped into the shadows of a corner of the bank and made them deep enough to keep my presence unnoticed. Night guards aimlessly patrolled and chit-chatted with each other mostly. I could tell they were pretty bored and all-around easy marks. One of them finally passed me and I wrapped him up in dark before he could take a breath. Just a few seconds in my grasp knocked him out. I stalked the rest just as silently and drained them all. They would wake up pretty woozy but unharmed, giving me enough time to make my withdrawal.

I took my time strolling over to the big vault in the back. It was a classic beauty - a huge round slab of stainless steel and concrete beaming invitingly. I'm a man who can appreciate good security workmanship and this was one of Paragon's better models, which was good because being in the center of King's Row attracted a lot of working-class like myself. With a casual stride I walked over, maded sure to wave to the security camera, and got to work. I wanted to some evidence that there was a new guy in town, a guy with character and the skills to back it up.

Locks are a bit of a hobby of mine and now it was time to see how my powers ranked against my usual tools. I caressed the shiny face of the door and reached out with my mind and hungry shadow for the delicate mechanics behind the hulking thing. It was easy to feel around for the right parts to push and which to corrode into dust. The click that bids me enter still always pleasantly surprises me. The door swung open and I stepped in, closing it behind me for some privacy while I took in the smell of green.

A wave of my hands over the sealed boxes lining the walls made them brittle enough to tear open with my own hands. I was already getting pretty used to my new talents. I tossed cash and jewels by the fistfuls and dumping them into my bottomless jacket, a direct connection to my own dark little piggybank. There was a knock at the door but I figured it was either some guards I missed or the ones I knocked out were tough enough to wake up earlier than expected. I ignored it. Of course, I realized my mistake when the slab of metal creaked and was torn clean off its hinges. Even in Paragon no security guard is that well-trained.

I briefly looked over my shoulder. "Sorry, this vault is occupied." I kept the newcomer in my peripheral while stuffing my pockets, trying to act casual but keeping my guard up. He was a big one and covered in stone. I recognized his mug and MO. This was my first run in with Mr. Mud, just my luck.

"Listen, I don't know who you are and I don't care. Leave this one to me; you're on my turf." He clenched his fist and a stone hammer about my size or bigger grew out of his armor. Mr. Mud was definitely not one for waiting.

"Come on, is that any way to treat the new kid? There's more than enough in here to go around." I grinned in my mask. I'd been up against supers before but never with my own specialties; I was kinda itching for a fight and against someone like Mud I knew it'd be fun.

"I'm not playin', man. And I don't have time for joking either." He lunged and swung down his stone hammer, incredibly fast for someone six-four and covered in rock and muscle.

"I guess this means we're not going to be besties." A narrow dodge saved my skull from getting crushed and I extended my shadow underneath to ensnare Mud. A dose of my signature sickening green energy hit him dead-on and weakened some of his armor, but it recovered just as quickly. On top of that he was powering through my shadow's grip and coming in for another swing. He was slowed just enough to let me jump back again, but I could tell this brute would not be the usual easy mark.

"Room for one more?" Mud and I stopped in our tracks to look at the gutsy redhead standing where the door once was. Her claws reflected the little bit of evening light coming through and the smirk on her face. I recognized her as a Defender of Paragon - Red Switchblade. Tonight was a good night for me. Mud and I gave each other a side glance and I could see we were thinking the same thing.

"Would love to dance with you, Red, it's getting a bit crowded for me though." The hem of my trench coat expanded and swirled to fill the vault with inky blackness. A quick port and I was dashing behind Red and to the bank exit. I heard two grunts behind me and a serious thud. Without turning back I ducked to avoid Red Switchblade's highly invulnerable body from liquefying my bones as it soared through the air from the force of Mud's hammer. I thought he was being a bit of a sore loser. I ran out into the night air, but made an abrupt stop. Mr. Mud soon caught up with me.

"You little shit, I'm gonna..." He didn't finish the threat because the light beaming down on us from police helicopters and PPD units gave him pause as well. We heard Red yell something about her backup and how we should give up - standard hero fair - as she recovered and came claws ready for action, but Mud and I were not paying attention to the particulars. We were preoccupied considering the options and our silent agreement.

"Guess, we're going to have to play nice, big guy." I wrapped us in darkness to block out the light and provide some cover. I waited for Red to get in close and then hit her with a dose of sick fit for a Defender of Paragon. She was only slowed but the point was to give Mud an opening. He head-butted her with a stone helmet he'd sprouted and grabbed her around the waist with one massive hand to chuck her at the nearest copter. It definitely took the worst of it. Red quickly rebounded on her feet and onto a police car.

"So, she's why you were in such a hurry. Not really big on playing subtle are you, big guy?"

"Shut your mouth and help me clear a path." Mud also proved to definitely not be the monologue-type of villain.

"Tsk, you didn't say please!" I sent a wave of miasma ahead of us, breathing in the police force's power and then breathed it out into Mud who used it to hammer through the line and flip the car Red just landed on in the process. I watched her fly a third time with a look of burning frustration and had to comment, "Enjoy those frequent flyer miles!" Turning back I aimed and fired at the other helicopter's motor causing the air unit to crunch down onto the cars below and scatter the enemy. That bought me enough time to grab Mud and concentrate on pulling myself and his massive form through The Deadlands and a few rooftops away from the hubbub. We took a moment to appreciate our handiwork from afar and take a breath. The escape left us winded, but the trip through The Deadlands was also exhausting for the wholly living like Mud and taking him through was a strain on me back then. Finally, I looked over to my once-enemy, then-ally, now-something and tossed him a bag of cash.

He grabbed it from the air and glared at me. "What's this for?"

"Well, you're entrance did alert half of King's Row but that was some fun back there, I admit. You deserve to get yourself something nice. Excellent swing, by the way."

"I can still get the rest." He was taking a fighting stance, but not armoring up.

"Yea, just try and find it." I spread my trench coat to show off the empty dark lining.

He eyed me steadily. I thought he was going to take his swing but then he tossed the money back. "Keep it. I don't need your money. You did some good work back there."

I opened my jacket to catch the bag. "Thanks, I take pride in what I do."

"You interested in some steady business?"

I cocked my head. "It depends on how interesting it is."

"Oh, it's going to be interesting." Mud wouldn't dare smile but I could see he was reconsidering his dislike of me.

"I'll let you know." I turned to leave.

"You don't even know where to reach me."

"Trust me, Mr. Mud, if I want to I'll find you."

His face flipped back to irritated. "Are you always such an ass?"

I looked back over my shoulder. "I sure like to think so," then I faded into the night sky.

[Rottweiler]

Virtue All-Stars #5: The Rottweiler
Year One
Industry Pier, Independence Port
Part 1

Shit.


Sorry, I usually don't swear. Third night without sleep and... well, the filter comes off, I guess. Just caught myself nodding off. Bad enough when you're trying to patrol a dangerous area like the Upper Docks... but significantly moreso in a perched position on the edge of a four-story building in the dead of night.

Geez, is this what it's gonna be like? Fog so thick I can only see this one streetlight on the corner, nothing but the sound of the lapping water against the docks and the buoy bells... oh, and those two cats fighting over that dumpster a block away that woke me up. As if the smell weren't enough to. Thanks, guys.

...Odd. Still no activity in the Freedom Corps building across the street. Not so much as a security guard on this whole block since nightfall. I don't like this. I thought the information I purchased off that dockworker, Kyle... Carl? Cal? Ugh. I can't even think straight - I think this fog creeped into my brain. Whatever his name was, he said he heard something big was happening tonight. It sounded solid. At least it did yesterday.

All right, snap out of it. You knew this wasn't gonna be a walk in the park. Maybe that's what I need... to stretch the legs a bit, get the blood pumping. I don't wanna take my eyes off that Freedom Corps building but if I don't shake this, my body isn't going to give me a choice.

Four good strides to the back corner. Put it all in the legs to make the jump. Light grip on the drain pipe... ignore the shoulder. 225° turn, move it all to the back to make the arch. Stick the... landing. Still favoring my left. A little tender from the fight a couple nights back but I can't let that show. Never know who's watching.

Paranoid? Probably, but I can't afford to be otherwise until this pans out. I'll give this until dawn then head back to the safehouse... a quick shave, an hour on the cot, maybe another 20 minutes in the towncar on the way to the airstrip. Gotta be sharp to pilot the Gulfstream into PCX, even if it is just circling around... gotta keep up appearances. Don't know how I'm gonna look when I land, but I hope it translates to jet-lag.