The Lesser of Two Evils

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Samson was not the nicest of cities. Crime was bad. Not just bad, but horrific. The back alleys, the old brownstone buildings, the shipping and urban districts were full of the worst society had to offer-from corrupt politicians, well informed mafia men, and masked homicidal lunatics, there was plenty of hurt to go around.

And its mythic, larger than life protector? Well, she wasn't exactly bringing a lot of light to the place. She didn't serve the city out of love and protection, was no shining beacon of hope-she stalked the streets for her own purposes, seeking displaced but no less ruthess vengeance in the cesspit.

Judge, jury, and executioner -utterly unapologetic about any of it. Not even the Heroes United Front could rein her in.

The media had settled on calling her The Protagonist, after a failed bid to term her Blue Hood. She had no insignia emblazoned on her chest or anywhere else-but she didn't need any. Her attire was enough, her reputation was enough.

The Protagonist wore a dark, twilight blue cloak that gave her a larger presence, the hood deep enough to shadow her features. Her costume beneath it was a thicker, protective material, tight on her athletic form but plenty modest. It looked like motorcycle garb and was the same blue twilight color as the cloak. From the turtleneck portion of it, a scrap of black cloth was pulled up over the lower half of her face to conceal her mouth and nose, rumors of a steel jaw and sharp, jagged teeth abounded. Just above the edge of the cloth mask, a thick strip of black swiped from temple to temple, crossing over her eyes and the bridge of her pert nose.

Flat heeled, steel toed boots came up to about mid calf, black with heavy velco straps across the front. They matched the black gloves and the utility belt she wore, a bolo hanging from one curved hip and a grappling gun on the other-and untold weapons and tools stashed in her gloves, boots, and pouches of her belt.

The cloaked heroine had shown up almost a decade ago, and had been putting the fear of God into the criminal sector ever since. She hadn't been able to stomp out crime, nor was such a thing even possible-but she sure made it difficult to operate, and certainly more difficult to get away with anything too ambitious. Her almost supernatural ability to be in the right place at the right time made criminals paranoid and fearful-and what she did to the people she caught red handed was whispered about in seedy bars and police precincts across the city.

She was a demon summoned to punish the wicked-and the wicked couldn't seem to claw their city back with their hands crushed beneath her steel toed boot.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

All in all, seven men were involved in the heist, not including the man hired to get in and get out.

Each of the men shifted uncomfortably in the basement of Anterior Labs, scanning the darkened hall behind them. The supposed leader of the outfit was a slightly pudgy man named Leonard-he had been the inbetween for the hired men and his mysterious boss, and it was his sweating continence that spoke to the importance of the mission.

And he was sweating. In a white dress shirt and yet another one of his outrageous ties, he had donned body armor for the occasion. It clashed with his dress pants and balding head terribly, and the handgun on his hip wasn't fooling anyone-he was out of his element. The others he'd brought with him were muscled, automatic rifle toting, large men decked in black, their body armor vests a dark grey.

On the other side of the initial vault door was a lab counter that held various equipment. Two rows of metal tables filled the space in front of that, but it was the back wall that would catch the most attention-the entire back of the secured room was filled with metal drawers interspersed between larger vault doors. Samples, files, various equipment and confiscated items-along with God knew what else.

Anterior Labs was relatively mysterious. A bit of research would show the lab had a lucrative contract with the Department of Defense-though what this contract involved was unknown, buried under layers and layers of classified documents. The mysterious shadow boss wanted something from their vaults, though only Leonard knew exactly what. The thief had just been told the number of the door and to be quick about it.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Neil Murphy had been out of prison for the last 2 years. He'd steered clear of the city of Samson for one really really good reason, the pain in the ass "Girl in blue as he called her." She'd caught him in the middle of a major heist he'd nearly pulled off the last time he was in Samson. That was 3 years ago, and thankfully she didn't catch him with everything he'd had on him. Most of it he'd been able to ditch before she'd caught him, during the heist something kept telling him, a feeling like dread or an itch on the back of his neck that she was going to show up that night. And indeed she did. He didn't fight, Neil resigned to his sentence and paid his due, but he swore he'd never set foot within the city limits of Samson again. Little did he know how long that little rule would last.

At 36 Neil had spent a good portion of his adult life in and out of jail or prison. He considered himself a career criminal, of course it all started early when his dead beat old man had him play look out at the age of 12 while his old man boosted cars. That skill turned into something more when child services took him away and he ended up in a foster home. They pretended they'd gave a shit, when indeed Neil made the effort to get some sort of education on his own. On the streets, in the classroom there was a defined difference, life was often times a better teacher than any lesson he could get from school. Neil was well on his way to becoming a thief, and an awfully good one.

At 14, when puberty hit, he found out about his ability. He'd gotten pissed at his foster father who'd taken away his ipod. the thing had all his music on it, something that his old man had given to him before the worthless old man was locked up. Neil got so pissed off he'd lost his temper and crashed every electronic device in the house, Computers, cell phones, the VCR, the fridge, micro wave, anything with an electrical circut was pretty much useless. It was explained away by the power company as a nasty electrical surge, but Neil knew better, and as he grew up he experimented, he crashed an entire computer lab because he was flunking class and a girl he was hot on had shunned him. He rendered a few cellphones useless, and turned a bully's car into a useless four wheeled coffin. His criminal career was off and running the moment he turned 18. Most of the last 18 years was a mix of prison time (twice caught by "Blue" as Neil had decided to call her), escaping the cops, hiding his nest egg and eventually plotting his retirement. He'd planned on playing this game till he was 40, old enough that he'd make a good enough amount of money, enough to disappear with, enough to start over with. This last job in Samson was supposed to put him closer to that number, maybe even allow him to retire at 38.

Neil was no fool, he knew the risks, his appearance was imposing when he needed to be. At 6'1" he was tall enough to be threatening when he needed to be. He had his father's black hair and broad shoulders, his mother's grey eyes (as his dad had told him many times growing up) and his family sense for personal enterprise which lead him to be a world class thief. Jobs were offered up to him, but at this stage in the game, so close to the end, Neil was starting to get picky.

Neil had received the notice about this job from an old contact in Samson. Leonard, the guy was more than a bit shady, he dressed to impress but had little skill, and what was worse, he had a propensity to screw things up. Especially when it came to organizing the job, which is what brought Neil to be frustrated with him at the moment.

"How did this guy and his goons expect to make it out of this place without drawing attention?" Neil asked himself. He had a number of other questions but ones that were closed down and an inner voice that hadd been told to shut up by the single one and successive number of zeros he'd see if he could get out of this building with his head intact.

Looking over at Leonard, the man was a sweaty mess, he looked like someone had tossed him under a heat lamp and left him there. His face was a sweaty mess, which meant the bad comb over looked like it was taking on a life of it's own. The thin strands of hair now draped backwards, exposing his near bald head. Neil wanted to tell him to just cut the whole thing off and go bald. There was a bald actor he'd grown up watching on some science fiction show who'd made going bald look good. But Leonard wasn't him, not even close.

"Just concentrate Neil.." he said to himself, "You need your wits about you."

Anterior Labs had secured the building with a number of electronic locks, key pads and retinal scans, some they were able to bypass, others Neil was able to simply disable, and at his skill level with his abilities, Neil could focus to the point that he could start to control technology as he disabled it. Which is what brought him to the vault door he was standing in front of. Looking around at the crew Leonard had brought with, the six men were armed for a small war. completely unnecessary, and if anything a waste of time.

Neil instead concentrated on the locks, the tumblers of the vault door. Neil had his small headset plugged on to the metal door turning the combination as he felt the locks fall into place.

"Almost there." He thought..

The last tumbler fell into place as Neil turned the combination till it finally hit a hard stop. Then, twisting the wheel of the door until he heard it the latches pop, and the door started to swing free.

Pulling the door open, Neil looked in at the vault room, tables, chairs, and three other vault doors within, spaced between shelves and cabinets.Neil looked for the final vault door he was sent here to crack. Dressed all in black, his simple work belt about his waist, Neil was dressed simply as he always was, Black shoes, with soles made to reduce noise, black pants with leg pockets that didn't stick out, a black long sleeve lightweight shirt that allowed him to keep cool. On his left wrist he wore a simple analog chronograph which was not electronic, but which stayed wound by the the force of body movement. Neil also carried a simple work belt with the few gadgets and tools he needed. Stepping over toward the third vault door with an electronic keypad to it's left, Neil took good look around, the hair on the back of his neck was starting to stick up.. This was not a good feeling...

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

The Protagonist waited patiently, watching the men file in behind a familiar face. She was crouched on an upper railing of the small side mezzanine, all but invisible in the dark reaches where the dim emergency lights didn't quite illuminate. In her younger days it was something she lacked, this calculating patience, brooding calm. But there was also the strong sense of determination that had always been with her. It had carried her through hell and back, an underlying willpower that would not quit. It overrode everything else, was stronger than her jaded weariness and disgust with the corruption and grime of her city, a city sick with a disease she knew she'd never cure. Then again, she'd set out to punish the wicked, not play hero.

And something wicked had definitely entered her city. She barely had anything on the so called 'Lord' Roland, and was not pleased about involving herself in his affairs while blind. She would have preferred more information...but nothing good could come of letting these mooks leave with ANYTHING from Anterior Labs. And here was Murphy, back where he didn't belong. He'd been smart enough to steer clear before...must be quite the payout promised for him to venture back. Could prove to be a useful source of knowledge afterwards.

Either way, Roland would be rounded up just as so many others had been. This was her city. She had enough psychopaths in and out of masks to deal with as it was, and plenty of scum to beat back in her never ending war.

Her dark eyes narrowed as the master thief moved to the third vault door. Whatever they were after, it was in there. She looked back to the armed men, her plan of attack finalizing. She supposed she'd take care not to get Murphy shot. There were only six men, one of which looked useless for fighting. Easy pickings.

She straightened to stand, the anticipation of a fight slowly building in her chest. They'd regret coming here. They would all regret.

Now.

Two metal balls flew through the air, one striking the sweating man's forearm and the other hitting one of the thugs smack between the eyes. There was a stickiness to them a gel-and as both men reeled back-arcing electricity could be seen, the innocencous little orbs dispensing quite a shock.

They both went down, and then there she was, dropping from the steel beams above in a whirl of her dark twilight blue cloak, boots catching another man in the upper chest and slamming him into the unforgiving concrete. Her momentum carried her forward off of him, the crime fighter a tight ball before she popped to her feet in the middle of the shocked remaining mercenaries.

They had never stood a chance.

The anger that was always beneath the surface boiled in her blood, her nerves drawn taut and her eyes narrowed as she tore through the men easily twice her weight with forceful, calculated strikes. Her rising anger was barely corralled by her discipline-the adrenaline and the building rage matching her increasing ruthlessness. She was intent to hurt all of them. She was always intent to hurt scum. Anyone wielding a gun, melee weapon, even a mean look-The Protagonist was a whirlwind of unforgiving violence anytime she engaged the 'enemy.'

Noses, jaws, teeth, knees, arms and trigger fingers-she broke, fractured, and bruised every man she got her hands on. And she was pretty quick to get her hands on them.

 

[CoSurvivor]

“Oh god damn it..”

Neil said to himself, his ears, atunned to pick up sound that shouldn't be there, heard one slight movement, and then a subtle shift of boots against metal. Neil could hear two men get flattened behind him while he tried to concentrate on the key pad infront of him but the chaos behind him grew to be too much. Turning he watch as one of the goons Leonard had brought with him was tossed across the room skittering across a table and crashing to the floor taking a few chairs with him. Shaking his head at the woman in blue, he yelled at her.

“HEY! You could have at least waited till I opened the door! Then we'd both know what was behind door number three!”

His sense of humor was probably lost on her along with his pathetic reference to that old game show “Let's make a deal” but damn it if he wasn't really pissed now. Turning again he looked at the key pad, then thought of how long it would take him to get out of the building and utilize his escape plan. Deciding against the obvious, he grabbed what gear he'd put on the floor and bolted toward the door, leaping over one of the goons and throwing him in another other direction.

“Excuse me.. not today jack ass..” leaping through the open vault door, Neil could feel something wrap around his left ankle and trip him, sending him sprawling across the floor. Within seconds he could feel his ankles meet as a thick mesh covered both binding them together.

“What the hell Blue.. you threw a band-aid at me??”

Scooting back as he could see a few of the remaining goons were trying to get up, Neil could sense that Blue was now focusing her attention on him..

“Um….I don't mean to distract you but.. I think goon number 5 and goon number 2 are trying to get up..”

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Protagonist hears the words but it's just noise, irrelevant and unnecessary. Even while she dealt out brutal punishment to his less chatty cohorts however, he was on her radar. He'd run. She was sure of it.

When he proved her right she was ready for him, knocking the last man down with a shove (he was already beaten senseless, all it took was for her to let go of him), while her left withdrew an old fashioned but easily recognizable weapon-a black balled bolo.

It snagged him off his feet and intertwined around his ankles, a release of air as the two ends opened to emit a substance that foamed together-and formed a flexible mesh as good as any rope.

The fight was over. Two men were still conscious but groaning-one with a broken knee and the other bleary eyed and concussed. The sweating man twitched, coming to his senses. Good.

The vigilante strode through the downed men, stepping not around, not over, but ON them with a stomp of her steel toed boots on her way to him. If he reached for anything, if he tried to swing-she knocked his hands away from him and grabbed him by the collar.

"Again?" She growled, pulling him bodily to his feet, then dragging him away from the open vault door and his escape. She was strong, but she wasn't all that large of a woman. Up close like this, it was clear she was only five four or five five, and that was IN those heavy soled boots. Up close like this, he'd see her dark, lash fringed eyes weren't even looking at him right now, but at the downed men. Once they were far enough inside she felt assured he wouldn't be crawling away without her noticing, Protagonist dropped him against one of the over turned desks. "Deal with you later." She says darkly, her eyes narrowing. Even without being able to see her lips, one could almost imagine the snarl of displeasure.

Or, if the rumors were true, the grimace of a steel jaw.

He'd find his hands ziptied in front of him before she turned and headed for Leonard-kicking one man in the jaw to send him sprawling back onto the floor in a spray of blood. She was never as harsh or as violent with him, and he might consider himself lucky.

Leonard had come to his senses enough to realize her destination-and whimpered, scrambling backwards in a panic. Her body language within her cloak did always seem particularly murderous...

He lifted an arm to defend himself as she swooped for him, dropping her knee hard onto his sternum, her right hand grabbing hold of his left wrist-and screamed when her left seized his fingers and promptly broke three of them. She hadn't even started asking questions yet. That was her style-punish them first, THEN see if they felt like being compliant.

"You're still in one piece, Leonard." She said menacingly, the words more growled than spoken as she leaned in close, dark eyes glittering malice and disgust. "I can rectify that." The man's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak-when something metal hit concrete several times outside the vault, something tumbling down the stairs.

Her shoulders straightened and she half turned to look towards the entrance-when the wall to the right of it suddenly exploded in a mist of red. What the hell?!

She had popped back to her feet so quickly a blink would have caused a person to miss it, the demon woman stepping back off of the whimpering Leonard as the portly man curled around his broken hand, openly crying.

"No need." A deep voice sounded just beyond the newly created entrance, echoing withing tight metal confines. A shadow stepped from the side and filled the doorway. “It’s not him you’ve come for.” His voice sounded a little distorted and very, very deep, Neil's mysterious employer at last and in the flesh. And what a wall of it. ‘Lord Roland’ cut a terrifying figure, easily six foot six and built like a bear on steroids. He was a heavy, mobile brick wall three times as wide as the vigilante and probably at least three times as heavy. Spiked gauntlets and shoulder pauldrons made him even more menacing. His muscled chest was bare, his pants held up around his hips by a red belt with a large black buckle on the front-an R embossed upon it in a dark red color.

His face wasn't visible due to the almost medieval style helmet he wore, dull blackened metal with a dark red t on the front.

As always, The Protagonist failed to be intimidated. One could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she scrutinized her enemy, straightening to her full height and letting her cloak fall around her person.

Despite his eyes being concealed, one could feel the man's stare and what felt like...dark amusement. There was something off about him...otherworldly. He filled the gap and strode inside, heavy, powerful footfalls of a man on a mission.

It might occur to Neil that he never once glanced towards him, his men, the vault door-or any of it. As if he hadn't come for any item in the vault at all. As if this might have been a ruse...a trap. There was no exit save the entrance, after all.

The Protagonist never even hesitated. Throwing open her cloak with a quick draw of her grappling gun, she fired it skyward and allowed herself to be drawn up part of the way-swinging forward and driving the the heels of her feet into him-a move the giant absorbed with one massive blocking forearm that...was glowing a dull red. Whatever it was, it kept his arm from shattering.

Her legs extended to propel her backwards, back arched and the woman essentially flipping midair to right herself, landing in a runner's starting position. She wasn't surprised he was a meta. There were a lot of them, after all. It didn't so much as slow her down. The woman issued a growl and her powerful legs propelled her forward once more, barreling into the man and executing a series of brutal strikes, attempting to outpace the strange energy that swirled into life wherever she struck.

He was large but not entirely slow-and while she grew more and more determined with each strike he either physically blocked or the strange energy deflected, Lord Roland seemed to grow more and more amused.

Amused...and something else.

The Protagonist feinted towards his face-and when the red light swirled into life she dropped down and surged forward to ram her elbow into his gut instead. THAT finally got his attention-she followed up with several bloodying strikes, too fast for him to retaliate initially-and finished with an extending steel baton to the side of his knee, which dispensed a shock.

THAT got his attention. An inhuman growl within the confines of his helmet and he blurred into motion, his position merely a red glowing after image as he straightened and shot a fist forward faster than she would have thought possible for such a huge man-she barely threw her arms up in time to block him. The blow was strong enough-but it was the flare of red light that accompanied it that really ruined her day-it widened and hit her with enough force to send her flying.

Blown backwards and slamming into and over one of the steel tables, The Protagonist was briefly, very briefly-stunned. Was he a speedster? Christ-she lifted her right arm and shoulder, intending to roll off the table and get her feet under her again-when Roland was suddenly there, one of his massive hands around her throat.

Shit.

He closed his hand around her collar, but the metal mesh underneath kept him from crushing her windpipe or truly cutting off air-but that didn't mean it felt nice. She dug her fingers into the pressure point in his wrist, and he retaliated by planting his second hand on her face and dragged/slid her along the metal surface, clearing the desk with the cloaked vigilante's body, perhaps in preparation to send her flying off of it.

She curled inward with a snarl and managed to catch him in the face with a full body kick. Lord Roland's helmet snapped back and he released her, staggering back a step before he laughed- reaching to grab the heavy steel table and flipping it just as she sprang off of it and darted back away from him. Her face mask had been pulled down to expose a pert nose and full lips, the latter of which was a little puffy and bleeding. Even so, she had a rather beautiful face as it turned out. Ironic, given the rumors she had either a metal jaw or rows and rows of sharp spiked teeth-neither of which the clearly Hispanic woman possessed. Her expression was one of determination and will-as well as anger.

She was pissed. She was more than pissed, she was furious, and fury helped her focus. There was nothing else in the world except this Roland asshole right now-and she was going to end him, or die trying. The Protagonist drew another baton in her left hand and with a flick of her wrist extended the electrified weapon, snarling and moving for him again-and what followed was a brutal fight on either side. It was as if, knowing he wasn't baseline, Protagonist threw all safety and all mercy (of which she had always had very little) out the window.

But he was toying with her. Letting her get a hit in here and there, but mostly defending himself with that red energy, moving faster than the eye could follow, bearing down on the smaller woman more and more until wearing down even her stamina. Any minute now some of her hinted at, rumored abilities would make an appearance. She'd vanish in a puff of smoke. Or pick him bodily up and throw him through the wall. Suspend him upside down with a wave of her hand or bash his face in with a super human kick.

She was becoming more and more exhausted and was taking more and more glancing blows. Any minute now...he caught her hard across the right side of her ribcage and she barely caught herself on a desk, ducking out of the way of a haymaker charged with red and barely darting back when he made a stomping kick forward. Any minute. ...what was she waiting for?

Perhaps at the same time Neil would, Roland seemed to realize nothing extraordinary was coming. He was tired of this farce, tired of toying with the great Protagonist, this city's cursed protector, the one thing in his way. He sent another pulse of red energy, then another, and another-until she was being backed into the wall of metal drawers, unable to counterattack in the swirl.

And then as before-he was suddenly there using some sort of ungodly speed, had his giant fist around her throat. He finally he took her off her feet and slammed her back into the wall of drawers, causing several to slide open and dump their contents onto the floor. He drew her closer, then slammed her again, again, again-she fought, of course she fought-but he was huge and seemingly invulnerable with the red that flared to protect him, battering the fight out of her and rendering her briefly senseless before turning and hurling her across the room.

With a swirl of her cloak, she crashed into a few free standing pieces of equipment and was out of sight. For good measure, he lifted a table and hurled it in her direction. With a loud crash the table landed awkwardly against the wall, slamming into the equipment but not flattening against the floor or wall. Roland felt a measure of satisfaction and disappointment. She had been no challenge. He was sore in spots, but she'd been no real challenge.

So he was both surprised and amused when the table shifted. A pause and then it slid further, The Protagonist-bleeding, battered, and more than a little disheveled-shoving it aside with her shoulder to the metal surface. Her hood was down and her dark hair was tumbling out of its bun, little curls framing her uncovered face. The swipe of black across her eyes had been smudged on one side, the dark irises a little dull and struggling to focus. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, her right hand concealed beneath her cloak.

Still angry, still determined, still everything she ever was-but it was all filtering through exhaustion and the enclosing darkness of unconsciousness. She felt like a lance had been driven through her lower back. Her head and shoulders ached from being slammed around and knocked backwards. She touched at her side beneath the cloak and sucked in a painful breath. Broken or cracked? She'd had worse, early on. Lost a fight or two, in the beginning. It had been years since anyone or anything had been much of a challenge. She felt both alive and angry as hell it was happening.

She'd been stupid to come here. It had clearly been a trap. The oily punk must have been intentionally misinformed and then planted to draw her in. Get her where she could be cornered and finish her off once and for all-Roland probably knew she wouldn't have come after him just yet otherwise, not blind like she was about him.

Had to focus. Had to fucking focus. Had to finish this. If it wasn't just a trap, if there was something here he planned to steal-she couldn't let him have it. Protagonist needed to press her attack. Protagonist needed to win. Her world seesawed as she straightened up off the table she'd moved aside, nearly toppling forward had she not caught herself on the corner of it in time. She was not looking good. Certainly no shape to press the fight.

"This is how you die, woman." Roland intoned within his helmet, a step forward in her direction and a glowing red sword now in his right hand.

"Maybe." She said grimly and without concern-and then opened her hand to drop a small black ball that rolled into the space between them-Roland took an uncertain step back-and then it exploded with force, filling the room with an oppressive, dark smoke after hissing a strange liquid onto his bare flesh-bringing the big man to one knee.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Neil watched her leave giving him a shit look of displeasure and disappointment. He knew he'd have to escape while she was dealing with the puke across the room, and when she crushed the poor man's hand, Neil almost felt sorry for him.

"OK, almost is right." Neil thought to himself "That weasel wouldn't help a grandma across the road, what am I worrying about him for."

He had to work fast, cut through is bonds and get out of there while she had her back to him. Bringing his hands to his knees Neil felt along his right leg and found the side pocket that held what he was looking for. Pulling a small 3 inch blade he quickly cut the plasticuffs and started to try and cut through the mesh, it would be long going, but if he could loosen it enough he could slip one foot out then the other.

That's when he heard the building shake, the wall explode, and a human wall appear through the hole.

The guy was huge, literally all body, no neck just a head with some black knight type helmet on his head. Neil wondered what era this guy was originally from, the 80's? He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a big time bad guy announce himself with an 'R' on his belt. The two were going to pound each other, that was for sure, he'd seen Blue fight, figured she could handle herself and put this guy on his back so Neil turned his attention to the mesh around his ankles. He would need to cut through it urgently and get out while they pummeled each other. Watching his work, half watching the battle, Neil kept thinking she'd pull some trick out of her sleeve, but when her mask dropped, exposing the beautiful face of a determined woman, while Roland seemed barely effected by their fight he knew she was out matched. In the final moments of the fight he watched Roland swing her like a rag doll across the room.

"Stand up Blue.." Neil caught himself saying, but she didn't. Roland was surprisingly faster, stronger, quicker than she was. And the brutality he unleashed on her had put her to the floor. Neil had never been scared in his life. But he was worried for her. That's when it hit him. This whole thing, the attempt on the vault, the goons who made enough noise to wake the dead, Leonard leading this operation, it smelled bad from the beginning and he SHOULD have listened to his gut but he didn't. It was a set up, and Neil was the bait. Roland had played her, played him.. Neil had been double crossed before, but nothing on this scale and betrayal was not something he took lightly. Being a pawn in someone's game he was not.

"Time to leave..." He said as finally he'd cut through enough of the mesh to work his legs free and grabbed his work belt then put it back on. From the largest pouch, Neil pulled a small oxygen mask out put it to his mouth and activated it. The mask suctioned to the sides of Neil's face, held in place by the custom fit he'd made to it just for this job. He knew a short term oxygen supply might be needed if a defense system in the vault sucked all the oxygen out of the room. He was about to effect his plan to escape when Roland spoke. "This is how you die, woman." This caused Neil to pause.. Roland intended to kill her.. as Neil had feared. He was hoping she'd do something, something explosive.. and she did, a small metal ball rolled across the floor from her hand between her and Roland which quickly exploded and dropped the brute to a knee.

This was his ONLY chance, Neil bolted across the room grabbed the nearest metal chair he could find and swung it as hard as he could across the back of the man's head. One massive hit and the chair caved, a loud CLANG! filled the room as Neil swung it again and the chair literally snapped in two. He hoped the hits would disorient Roland enough for Neil to reach Blue.

Picking her up, Neil looked at Roland, a slight smile crossed his face...

Then the lights went out...

For 2 city blocks.

**************************************

Neil had returned to this particular safe house in ages, but when he'd needed to return to this damned city he visited it and made sure it was secure, stocked and ready for an escape, or long stay if necessary. Laying the unconscious body of the young Latin woman he'd known as 'Blue' across the bed he'd put her on, Neil thought to how this night was supposed to end, and how it was going to end now. It through all plans out the window.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you now??"

He decided he'd think it over a beer, and sought one from the fridge, an answer would come later, when she woke up. IF she woke up.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Roland issued a hellish growl from within his helmet as the chair struck-a flare of red flaring into life for the second, chair breaking swing. The sword lengthened, but he couldn't seem to lift it, to retaliate. Instead, he spoke.

"I thought you were a warrior, and so deserved a warrior's death." He intoned to the thick, obscurring smoke between he and his prey. "But now I see you are a child playing with toys. Your end will be slow. I will take the time to enjoy it." The omnious words carried a clear sadistic sexual overtone to his threat.

But there was no response. Once Neil broke through to where she had last been seen he'd realize why-she had slumped against the desk, expression oddly peaceful looking when relaxed like that.

As soon as he touched her though she jerked to near attention, brow furrowing with a hiss as she hauled herself nearly back to her feet, fighting to stay conscious. Murphy, loose. Unsurprising-but also fortunate. She wouldn't put it past Roland to tie up 'loose ends' with more murder.

"Get out of here Murphy, I have to-" she started out strong, but then her eyes unfocused, the words trailed, and she fell back into him. The vigilante had kept Roland at bay, but there would be no follow up. She was down for the count.

Lifting her wouldn't be much struggle-she wasn't that large of a woman. Although physically fit and lean muscled with a slight hourglass figure, it didn't quite seem possible she'd be this light or this small and not be a metahuman given all the things she had done, the foes she had bested.

Neil would feel eyes on him all the way out the door despite the smoke and dark.


/////////////////////////////

Six hours later:

She half felt she was deep, deep under water, the feeling of pressure against her skull. She couldn't entirely think straight, but she was with it enough to attempt to take stock. Had she been drugged? Where? How? Who would have thought to have tried, given the superstitious fools all thought she was some kind of demon?

She ached. Not just that usual twinge of pain in her shoulder-but everywhere. Throbbing, jabbing white hot pain in the left side of her ribcage. Her lower back, her head, her shoulders-what had she done, fallen off of a line? Shit, was she even back to base yet, or was she half passed out in an alley somewhere?

With great effort, the battered vigilante forced her eyes open. Narrowed slits take in an unfamiliar ceiling, foreign surroundings. She sat up slowly, a jab of pain in her head making the world spin. Jesus Christ-where the fuck was she? Had she gotten her stupid ass shot again?

She muttered a curse as she wracked her aching head to remember what had happened, pulling a small smartphone looking device off her belt-but it didn't turn on. Flashes of memories came back to her-Anterior Labs, the vault...waiting for something. And then the sniveling coward, a few large but easily beaten gunmen-and Neil Murphy with them all, back in her city and working for...

Roland. Her teeth ground together as she remembered bits and pieces of getting her ass handed to her by a red construct summoning, physics defying, giant asshole brute with no neck. Fuck. And Murphy had been there to see it, her reputation was at risk.

...was that where she was? Had he taken her out of there, at the end? She doesn't remember. She remembered he had slipped his binds because of course he had-but she had told him to go. She had been dead set on seeing the fight through-even if it killed her.

It almost had.

Better that than to have to be rescued. She had to get back out there, and in a hurry-but she wasn't in much shape to do so. Not to mention the sun coming up-she can see the pink hues through the blinds.

Damn. A gloved hand came up to touch at her face-and then she realized she wasn't wearing her mask. For fucks sake-well, cat was out of the bag now, not that he would know her face anyway.

She unclipped her cloak and wiped the last of the grease paint away from her eyes, almost angrily removing her gloves. She sucked in a breath-much to the protest of her aching ribs-and slid off the bed to stand, swaying slightly. The door looked far, far away, but dammit-she wasn't going to sit here stewing in her own ignorance.

With immense effort, she made it to the door, opened it silently-and peered out into a simple domicile that didn't look like it had seen much use. A safehouse of some kind?

She kept a hand on the wall and moved stealthily down the hall, coming to an open living room/kitchen area. Her eyes moved from one side of the room to the other. Murphy was asleep on the couch.

She made it to the matching arm chair sitting adjacent to it and reluctantly sat on the edge of it. She wasn't getting very far today, even if she was loathed to admit it.

The dressed down Protagonist cleared her throat, dark eyes watching him. A lot of questions went through the woman's mind, but they didn't quite reach her lips. Her expression was one of puzzlement-and struggle. She probably shouldn't be up moving around given how many knocks her head had taken.

"...Marie." She said simply, not a growl, not a ground off, terse command or insult-just a name in a normal, smooth woman's voice. Her real voice. And, against better judgment-her real name.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Neil had fallen asleep after having a beer and trying to figure out his next move. Would he escape the city? go to the coast? but each option would be on his own. No option would include taking 'her' with him. And knowing how the hero type works, she'd never leave this city anyway.

No, he was fucking stuck here. That was the last thought he had before he laid back on the couch took out his handgun, a small 4 inch 1911 and slipped it between the back of the couch and cushion he was laying on. As relaxed as he could get he laid back, and fell asleep.

He heard 'Blue' as she woke up, staggered around the bedroom and then made her way to the living room. He could hear her breathe, and the scent of her sweat mixed with the smell of blood in the air made him start to stir. When he heard her speak a name, it was as if someone had stripped away the persona she had always projected and a 'true' woman's voice remained.

Marie...

He could hear her say, was that her real name? He wasn't sure, but Neil filed that in his memory, and started to wake up. Opening his eyes, Neil looked over to where 'blue' was sitting at and made a concerned comment.

"Feeling alright? Considering... "

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Feeling alright? Considering... "

She doesn't respond right away, dark eyes unflinchingly meeting his grey ones. There's a slight frown on those full lips, a feeling of scrutiny-and also of bone tired, battered exhaustion. Her hands were resting loosely on her powerful thighs, the old scars and roughed spots on her knuckles from years of knocking the hell out of what she considered scum.

"I told you to go." She says in that same smooth, velvet voice. She's got bruises developing on the edges of her forehead and cheekbones in a clear handprint, a cut on her lip. She's beautiful, but she's been through the ringer. It wasn't surprising she ignored his question. She most certainly was not alright.

She leans forward slowly with a grimace, elbows on her thighs, hands loosely linking together in front of her. She looks at them a moment, a little dazed, a little puzzled. "Not like you, sticking around when things are hairy." Her statements are short but not terse- almost...cautious, as if she didn't make conversation often.

And indeed-it'd been a long time since she had spoken anything less than threats or grilling questions. How long had she been out? Any sort of unconsciousness was bad, but hours of it...she's groggy and her head throbs, made thinking clearly difficult-but she's not so bad she thinks her brain is swelling inside her skull.

That's good. As ever, she needed her wits about her.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Neil looked over at 'blue' and had to be honest with her. He gave her a wry and crooked smile out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, since when do I listen to you, and besides it wasn't as if you were in a position to give a whole lot of advice."

He though on her comment regarding his 'rescue' of her. Yea it was out of the norm for him, but the whole situation stunk.

"You are mistaking cowardice with strategic prudence. I'm smart enough to know when a fight can't be won. I'm a thief, not a brute with a walnut for a brain. But I also know that Roland, or 'Lord Roland' or whatever the fuck his name is was about to kill you. And despite what you might think of me, despite what makes us different, you and I, that was a set up. I got used, you got played, and I don't take well to being fucked with."

Neil thought about what he'd just said, he wasn't one to use vulgarity or swearing, but damn it if he didn't hate the fact that he'd been stupid enough to get played.

Standing up, Neil walked over to her and held out his hand to help her up, saying "I'm not looking for a thank you, but you are in no position to go toe to toe with that maniac. So, till you are healthy enough to walk out of here I'm stuck with you.

He finished by pointing to the bathroom. "Go get cleaned up, take a shower, wash off the grime. There's a t-shirt and shorts back there. I'll work on fixing us something to eat. OK?"

Looking into her eyes with only kindness behind his intent, Neil finished his statement with a smile.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"I'm smart enough to know when a fight can't be won. I'm a thief not a brute with a walnut for a brain."

The unmasked vigilante gave an affirming nod. Yes, he was no fool. She went easier on him than she would have someone else-he was no brawler, had no interest in a knock down fight. He, was clever.

"...was about to kill you."

A second nod, and he'd note Marie didn't look surprised or even disturbed by the notion. "Then he would have killed me." She said simply, looking over her own roughened knuckles on her surprisingly delicate looking hands. The corner of her full lips half curled into a wry smile. "How exactly do you think my career is going to end, Murphy?"

Her brow furrows then. "You should have left me there, played or not." Played. Tricked. Had there even been anything Roland wanted in that vault, that place? Was the entire thing a ruse, a way to lure her out and eliminate her once and for all?

She can't focus enough to follow the chain of thoughts and deductions therein. At least Murphy wasn't in on it, at least not knowingly.

He was in front of her. She initially doesn't take the hand. He had done enough. She'd take it from here.

"...but you are in no position to go toe to toe with that maniac."

"Will have to, tonight." Her voice had lowered a fraction, a little harsher, more determined sounding-habit, her mind on the task at hand...somewhat. "Won't surprise me again."

She tries to get up herself, but she's dizzy as soon as she does so, accepting his hand in instinct-and then glancing at it with furrowed brows, as if someone else had put her hand there. A shower did sound nice. She should probably eat. She'd need her strength, need to be able to think. But there wasn't time for any of that. She needs to get back to base and figure this shit out, and pronto. Roland was out there in her city somewhere, possibly with something from the Lab.

She opens her mouth to say any of that, but instead she hears herself mumble a "Okay..."

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Her movements still a little slow and uncertain, the vigilante reappeared back down the hallway after her shower, slowly making her way back into the living room. She was fucked up. Even she has to admit she's fucked up. She'd had her ass handed to her and then needed a rescue, and she'd be a lot more pissy about it if her head didn't hurt so damned bad.

Now dressed in the indicated t shirt and shorts, Marie looked about as normal as any other woman, if an attractive one. The T shirt swamped her a bit, but there was still an indicator of her figure there...full breasts no longer compressed in her suit, and the shorts allowing for a better look at her toned olive skinned legs. Without her boots she was only about five three, and her damp dark hair was naturally curly. Despite lacking a cut 'hair style' it framed her face nicely, had some bounce to it.

 

[CoSurvivor]

When Blue turned around to head back to the bathroom, he watched the subtle sway of her hips, and couldn't help but admire her figure. They'd always been adversaries, but he couldn't help but admit that even messed up, without her mask on, “Blue' was an attractive woman. It's just a shame, at least in his mind, that she had such a fatalistic point of view. It put a shadow over any conversation he'd hope to have with her, and certainly her plan to go back out and fight but he knew she'd just get herself killed. Who was he to stop her if she wanted to do that? His own internal conflict was frustrating. He'd just risked his own life to save her and now she wanted to just go back out and get killed? He'd agree with her, she'd eventually want to go back out there, go back to her cave or her base or where ever she called home and regroup, but damn if he didn't find her frustrating.

Instead of mulling it over any longer he concentrated on food. Neil busied himself with cooking up something that he figured anyone might eat. At least something that she might. Cracking open the fridge, he found what he was looking for, matched by what he found in the cabinet next to the fridge.

“Alright.. let's see if I can cook and not kill either of us..”

****

He'd busied himself with making a couple of grill cheese sandwiches and some chicken noodle soup, food that 'he' would eat without issue. The smell of the grilled cheese filled the room and he'd picked at his own sandwich while he finished grilling hers on a skillet. His timing wasn't perfect, but he was just about done when he heard the bathroom door open, followed by Blue walking into the living room. She was dressed in the clothes he'd set out for her.

Looking up from the stove, Neil said, “Ah… hey.. “ waving the spactula in the air pointing toward the bar stools in front of the kitchen. “Hope the shower helped. Have a seat, food is almost ready.”

Spooning up a healthy portion of soup for both of them in a few bowls, and placing the sandwiches on a few plates on the bar, Neil commented. “It's not the Ritz, or even the Holiday inn, but it's food, and It won't kill ya I promise.”

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Hope the shower helped. Have a seat, food is almost ready.”

No time for this. This charade was ridiculous, really. Entirely too...normal seeming. And yet she found herself edging into a barstool, a hand gripping the counter to steady herself once seated, the other drifting to her forehead.

She'd taken the painkillers long unused in her belt. They'd kick in eventually...though the risk was foolish. She needed her wits about her. She didn't think he'd turn on her now, not after the risk he had already taken-but who knew? There were a lot of enemies who would pay a hefty fee to have a crack at Protagonist, beat to shit and barely clinging to consciousness.

Smelled like cheese something. Something unhealthy, another person's comfort food. Long buried and unwelcome memories drifted through the back of her mind, and for once-Marie didn't banish them to the void. Fuck, is she sure she's not in a coma?

“It's not the Ritz, or even the Holiday inn, but it's food, and It won't kill ya I promise.” Always easy, carefree, joking. Sandwiches. Soup. When was the last time she'd had either? It'd been protein shakes and health bars for years and years...

"Maintenance." She says plainly, but as he slid her portions in front of her, she couldn't entirely leave it at that. "...looks good though." And she picked up one half of the sandwich and started on it at the corner.

It was good. Flavorful and with a crisp texture-and utterly foreign anymore, damned near decadent. She's silent and kind of glassy eyed, distant for several moments before she focused, dark eyes lifting from the middle of the counter to him again. She should say something. People...talked. Normal people. Which she hardly was anymore, but she felt like she should make an effort, if for no other reason than a show of reluctant gratitude. But...talk about what? She had never been any good at small talk. There was little point in floundering in it now. He had painted a target on his back. Imprudent. Entirely imprudent...she wasn't sure she understood the illogic of it.

She takes another bite of her sandwich, then sets it back down. "Me being here in a..." She grimaces and scowls at the same time, as if the next utterance was difficult to even entertain. "...in a weakened state-it's no good." She shook her head, eyes drifting a moment. What if Roland tracked them down? She couldn't protect either of them, not like this.

She's still somewhat scowling, eyes reflecting a powerful will that powered her through the haze of what was no doubt a rather serious concussion-snapping back to him. "And you-" That somewhat gruffer, harder tone was back, even if it wasn't quite as menacing sounding as usual. "You've painted a target on your back. Not just with Roland-if it gets out you helped me-" God dammit. She hadn't meant to say that so freely. Her scowl intensified. "Why would you do that, Murphy? It doesn't make sense." He didn't make sense, and frankly-he never entirely had to her. He was different and she didn't think of or treat him like the scum-but she certainly had never made his life easy. She'd put him away for a time, even. He'd steered clear after that.

Smart.

Her abandoning the attempt at small talk for business wouldn't be unexpected. Still-the discussion itself was unusual. A back and forth not typical of the vigilante.

 

[CoSurvivor]

Neil took her comments to be a good thing. He was afraid that once they started talking all she'd do was brood about her injuries. Who was he fooling, of course she was doing that. but her struggle to find the words and actually talk to him like normal people are supposed to gave his ego just a touch of a bump. Last thing he needed was to save her, and her be the worst patient on the planet. Ok... she was close, damn close.. but they could work on that.

And, he had to admit, the fact that she was eating what he'd cooked without faking it or forcing it down truly meant that he wasn't going to kill either of them with his cooking. Instead he turned in his seat at the watched her. Neil could see the wheels were turning in her mind, broken thoughts probably made worse by the concussion. One of those thoughts was a good one. She did bring up a good point, why did he save her? why didn't he just let her die? He had to be honest with her, and with himself. His actions were quite... rash. but then again he'd always been prone to do foolish things. And, maybe, just maybe he decided to do something for someone else beside himself for a change. Neil could feel emotions he'd buried for years come out of him, and once he started speaking. he didn't stop for a few minutes.

"I've been alone for most of my life, and that gives me a bit of a predisposition to not trust people. Simply because I don't like being used, and in my line of work there have been a lot of people who've tried to use me, and paid for it. This Roland guy... used me, to get to you. I fell for it because I couldn't see the forest from the trees. I also.. he was going to kill you. And that doesn't sit well with me. So in my first selfless act in 36 years on this abused little planet, I saved your life, risking my own. And.. I don't regret it. So. we have two choices. One, hide. Run hide, stay alive and hope he doesn't find us. Two. we get you healthy, we create a plan, and we do to him what he planned to do to you. Only... we don't kill him. Or maybe we do.. I'm a little fuzzy on that part."

With a playful grin, Neil looked over at blue and teased her. "So, once you are done eating you need to stop brooding pretty lady. Since I know you are not the running type, unless it's too a fire and not from it, we better get you patched up."