It belonged to the corporations now, the city. Or as some would tell it, it belonged to one. Initially divided among a few select recipients of a lucrative no-bid government contract, it wouldn't take long for them all to fall by the wayside in the capitalistic wake of the Alaric Foundation. Coming in well under projected cost and ahead of schedule, current CEO and former military stand-out, Elsa Beremud had become the city's resident media darling and championed humanitarian hero. Washing away what many considered to be the former president's conspiratorial stench. Gothic was back in the union and the city was rebuilding. Bigger, better, brighter.....bought and paid for with the blood of the former mayor, Absalom Strix.
Even before Gothic had been destroyed and the city's bat-themed vigilantes had vanished, Ishmael had appropriated several of the Knightfall's secret liars, tunnels and habitat based resources. Secretly running his small street level criminal enterprise in shadowy concert with his brother's public political persona. Born and raised in the city, the cherished brothers extracurricular influence ran deep into the very heart of Gothic, easily allowing them to paint a positive face on their city wide take over. But that was then. Now it would seem as if another of the city's own had accomplished the same.
However, as the Ghostshell of Gothic stoically sat in observational silence, eye's zeroed in and focused on the large illuminated monitor before him, the screen's multi-holographic layouts all had one thing in common.....they all had spider like lines of connecting digital webbing tracing back to one source; 'The Alaric Foundation.'
"How can you be sure?" a soft voice questioned from the shadows, heard but not seen. Ishmael did little to react.
"I'm not." casually touching and manipulating some of the data, maneuvering them around to suit his theory. "Thats why tonight I'm going to track down and question" sliding a screen of information into the forefront of everything, "them."
"The Street Savages? They havent been heard from in months...."
It was Sparky who spoke, as he liquidated a server farm using a simple blowtorch and some water balloons that he had somehow filled with butane. "Businesses don't keep huge mountains of paperwork anymore. It'll all on MyFace or something, and computers just don't burn good."
"Stay on task," snapped the Wolf, as she used her switchblade to carve something decidedly not family-friendly onto the front desk of the office in which the Street Savages were busy living up to their name.
"Our task is just breakin' stuff," grumbled Deadeye. The team's marksman didn't exactly have a lot of opposition in a corporate headquarters that had been closed for the night, so he was settling for entertaining himself by making two golf trophies on some executive's desk fight. "Don't exactly take a lot of concentration."
"Where did Slag go, again?" Boomer asked. Having quickly disabled the building's security system, the group's tech mutant was now thoroughly bored, having exhausted the entertainment potential of pouring some paint thinner he'd found in a janitorial closet onto all the family photos that the employees has at their various work stations.
"He's in the restroom," answered the Wolf. "You know him; always has to smash the toilets first, so he can giggle like a second-grader the entire time. Let's wrap this up; if we can get across town in less than an hour, we can hit that place with the weird lobby furniture before we call it quits for the night."
Inside the mens bathroom the florescent light flickered on and off with dull and nauseating irregularity. Several stall doors gently swayed in the wake of an unusual and unfeeling breeze, their paint-chipped doors occasional hitting against their frames creating a chorus of annoyance.The atmosphere was weighted, but why? And the air, it was thick and congested, further influencing the sickening sight of the bathroom's faded pea-green hue and locker-room sense of claustrophobic confinement.
Suddenly, and without warning, the toilet on the end surprisingly flushed; apparently on its own.
The lights went out, casting darkness for longer then previous intervals, before finally coming back to life. And what they brought with it the Street Savage known as Slag would soon find out. With the stealth of a shinobi the cowl and caped Ishmael appeared directly behind the destructive criminal for hire, casting his towering silhouette out in front of the unaware merc.
The Ghostshell of Gothic would remain silent, remain still until noticed. Only moving if or when the surprised Street Savage violently retaliated or attempted to flee.
Ishmael needed answers and he needed to be sure that what the gutter dwelling criminal told him would be the truth. Which meant Slag needed to be scared, he needed to be hurt. He needed to feel the gut turning queasiness of having his bones broken, one, slowly after, the other....
Slag was not, by most objective means of measurement, especially bright. Thoughts tended to bounce around in his skull like ball bearings in a coffee can that someone had put in a washing machine set to "heavy fabrics." His neanderthal-like brows knitted as he glanced over his shoulder at whatever was casting its shadow, not quite being able to put together what he was looking at. However, where a more subtle mind might become analytical when faced with the unknown, Slag's was more inclined to revert to the "fight or flight" response, and the "flight" setting that he had been issued with was defective.
With a vocalization that was equal parts growl and belch, the massive mutant hauled back and launched one bowling ball-like fist at Ishmael's skull.
One month prior to Ishmael's investigation into the Alaric Foundation
Gothic Harbor 2:00am
Drowned in the sea of industrial dock noise; fork-lifts, cranes, hydraulic gasps and such, the Ghostshell of Gothic's magnetic gas-powered grapnel inconspicuously fired and clamped down on its target. Allowing the masked Ishmael to swing across the skyline with aerial acrobatic expertise. Landing with perfect pitch in an observational crouch atop a freighter's pilothouse. Cloaked in darkness, he vigilantly focused his attention. Zeroing on on a specific freightcontainer.
As Ishmael Strix, surviving brother of beloved former Mayor Absalom Strix, the blueblooded aristocrat spent his days spearheading the rebirth of his family's lucrative empire. By night however, as the mercilessly Ghostshell, he spent his time dismantling his enemy's criminal organizations. Systematically influences the geo-political landscape of the rebuilding metropolis by attacking and curbing its notorious underworld. Rivals were destroyed, potential allies were groomed. For Ishmael was no hero, no villain, he was simply a favored son of Gothic City. No more dirty or corrupt then the next, simply.....better at doing it, better at playing the game.
And in order for him to fully capitalize on the city's changed and altered dynamic, its return to the union having caused a fundamental shift in its cultural and financial economic landscape, the Ghostshell needed to track down, reverse engineer, and ultimately employ the forgotten and left over resources from heroes and villains past. To recover weapons and tools misplaced in the city over time. A task he had already begun before Gothic's collapse, but now, with eyes and oversight everywhere, it had become increasingly more difficult.
[Thats it. Thats the one...] a synthetic like voice assured through the closed channel com-link in the Ghostshell's cowl. [Its the only lead we've had so be careful. It will probably be rigged with all sorts of nasty surprises. I wont be able to help you until you gain access, so get your ass in there] the voice finished. The snide remark causing the caped Strix to smirk like a child antagonistically looking for trouble. "Most of the Knightfall's armories were destroyed, but not you." pulling the large door open while protectively bracing himself.
But when nothing happened Ishmael quickly removed and snapped to life a green glow stick, immediately noticing yet another hatch on the containers floor. "Hmm, interesting." he thought, before pulling it open and descending down. What the Ghostshell of Gothic would find down there was anyone's guess. The hope being, that the former Knightfall Patriarch had abandoned a treasure trove of weapons and resources, but in Gothic City, where everyone and their mother had a secret lair, there was simply no telling what, or whom, was down there.
@beremud: It didnt require any amount of authorized martial talent to track the street juggernaut's reactionary motion. His gait shifted and lead foot subtly anchored to the ground. This, along with a hundred other physical tells, fueled the Ghostshells stoic response.
With his arms inconspicuously held along his body, lost within the trappings of his dark cape Ishamael swiftly swayed to the right with his upperbody exhibiting the bulk of his physical aversion. Promoting his hypermobility and allowing the lost son of Gothic to seemingly skate to the side avoiding the strike, before blitzing a stunning jab from beneath the veil of his cape aimed straight at the dimwitted Hulk's kidney.
Slag did no possess a lot of what most would consider to be "positive traits." His hygiene and manners were generally in line with his ability to discourse on shoestring metaphysics. He lacked the dexterity and prowess to even register that the punch was headed his way before it slammed into his back with a satisfying thud.
His only saving grace was that his body tissue was every bit as dense as his mind. A punch that would have felled a heavyweight prizefighter elicited a startled grunt and drove the behemoth down to one knee, but he responded to pain as he responded to most stimuli: further violence. He swung one meaty arm in a wide arc, hoping to put his mysterious, masked assailant through the nearest wall.
Classes at 8... what am I even doing here? Alice wondered to herself as she stood, perched at the edge of a container among an ocean of containers stacked upon stacks atop the freighter. She was supposed to be on the lookout for something or someone, she had no idea what or who, but whatever or whoever it was, Alice had a feeling when it showed, she would know. There were hundreds of people, noises and movement, going all about, and this was 2 AM in the morning. Gothic City's docks was truly an area of the city that never slept. If it did, that would disrupt the cash flow into many accounts and perhaps even jam the food going into a toddler's stomach. People worked around the clock, stocking, clearing and moving containers, loading onto a flow of trucks that never ceased, a massive industry of its own that no doubt filled the pocket of one of the filthy rich moguls of the city, into some deep rooted family's bank account.
Who was Alice in contrast? Nobody. No one knew who she was, She was just an ordinary girl doing a sociology major at collage. Okay she did not know if her powers were a mutation. Her family was normal with no history of X-gene on either side of her family, so when she somehow developed powers, it was declared she was meta-human but through means unknown, she was neither a mutant nor a mutate, her abilities weren't locked to a gene at all. This baffled the doctors who first checked up on her, but decided to leave it alone as the powers Alice had developed was found out to be extremely generic, and by generic, common. Appeared like a mutation, spider like powers. No one would pay attention to someone like her, and no one would come to know she existed despite her efforts at small acts of heroism across the streets of Gothic City.
Six hours prior:
Alice was doing her homework. After a relaxing day of mostly lectures she didn't have to strain over, Alice jumped right into her bathtub, taking a shower before climbing into the bed of her dorm which she shared with another girl named Clara who was already absorbed into the book she was reading, quite the book worm. "Liam asked me out on a date!" Alice sounded as she grabbed her text book and sat at the edge of her bed, excited to be telling her roommate this information. "Oh god its just Sunday... that's like... it's on Saturday ... make the days go faster!" Alice groaned to the silence of Clara. The girl sitting on the other end of the room looked up, sighed before steering her eyes back down, "Good for you," She chortled, not saying anything more. Girls in this particular dorm were famed for being virgins and approached by guys on regular but no one dared to do anything more, because both girls were capable in their own right as meta human beings.
Half way through her homework a rather ambiguous spider dropped down into her lap, laced with red spots along its back and long legs, the species of spider was easily the most recognizable, famously known as the black widow, it had calmly crept over onto the book Alice was reading. Alice, her gaze traveled on to it. Normally such a thing was enough to make any girl scream for their deer life and abandon the dorm, Alice though, her big brown eyes curiously stared down at it and the spider seemed to be doing the same thing. Alice was conscious of her own behavior and this freaked her out greatly. She was supposed to be freaking out but she was not, she just calmly stared at it. After a while when nothing seemed to happen Alice looked at her roomie, "Look, a black widow!" She whispered, afraid that the spider would scurry away before Clara could see it. The girl looked up from her book in the direction of Alice and only frowned, giving Alice a look of questions and disbelief, "Alice...where is the black widow...?" She asked. Alice pointed right at it, still sitting in the middle of her open book, "Right here..."
Clara sighed and returned to her book, "I don't see it," She said, offering a brief explanation. The girl Alice Walter was famous for her stories of seeing things which weren't there. A spider was the first but not really anything new as far as rumors flying around campus went.
Only you can see me. The spider spoke much to the bewilderment of Alice. Or at least Alice thought it did. There was no sound though, it was almost as if the voice was in her head. Questions formed in her mind. Why is this happening to me again?! She groaned in annoyance. Something is happening at the Docks tonight. Be there. The spider spoke to Alice. The docks? Tonight. What was going on? Is this a new power that she is able to talk to spiders. The spider had simply left of its own accord afterwards and disappeared into the corner of the room.
Docks: 2 AM
Alice never had trouble at just knowing what she needed to find, this was another of her unexplainable abilities she had come to call spider sense. She was looking for someone in a sea of people? No problem. Alice could find them easily. And thus, when an irregular movement occurred on the freighter, Alice was quick to take note, the shadow that found its way towards a container. The man clad in black opened a particular container door and crept in. A few jumps took Alice right across a bunch of containers, and came to land at the edge of one, barely making any sound at all, and even if she made one it would be drowned out by the moving crane overhead that was on its way to pick up and unload a container.
Alice crawled along the wall of the container and down towards the roof of another, before crawling along the shadow of containers towards where the mask clad man had disappeared into. What she discovered was quite strange and shocking. An empty container but a hatch leading down. Strange. What could be down there that lead a masked vigilante to it? Still, whatever it was must have stakes belonging to or at least worth Alice’s time that had her mysterious powers leading her to it. Perhaps it was answers as to her own origin that was down there, Alice did not know. An open mind full of curiosity led Alice to climb down the hatch following the masked man into the unknown. Was someone waiting to ambush her? Was this a trap? Alice didn’t know but she wanted to go in and check it out nonetheless.
It was a magnificent monument of collected combat mementos and battle souvenirs, and it had been secretly maintained directly beneath one of the city's busiest harbors. The same harbor in fact which had, years prior, served as the starting point for his family's city wide take over of Gothic. A multi-level plan which witnessed him dispatch one of Gothic's legendary vigilantes; the Dark Avenger himself, Dark Vengeance. While his older and more sociopolitical savvy brother won the hearts and minds of the people, winning the mayoral seat with ease and ushering in the inauguration of Strixian rule.
'But that was then' Ishmael thought in stoic silence. Slowly un-draping an oversize computer monitor in the center of the subterranean bunker. Phantom memories had clouded his otherwise sharpened situational awareness. Awareness that would have normally pinpointed the unexpected arrival of an unknown individual. Camouflaged by the contours and elevated pools of shadows within the unbelievable command station once operated by the Knightfall Patriarch. They were gone now though. The Knightfalls. The city had never truly adopted them as one of their own. The Rooks, the Strixs, even the confederacy of villainous and various rogues were more a part of Gothic then the Knightfalls had been.
Yet as the masked Strix sat down in front of the screen, bringing its 3-dimensional holographic touch terminal to life, he couldnt help but respect what little legacy the Knightfall had indeed left behind. Tools, resources and weapons, Ishmael would seize them all and with them, reclaim the city that he believed rightfully belonged to him. Belonged to the court. Belonged to the Strixs.
"who are you!"
Suddenly his eye subtle twitched beneath the opal lenses of his cowl, without warning his cape flew up and from beneath its dark undercoat a series of razor sharp winged shaped shurikens came zipping out. With athletic precision they would all miss but rather ignite in a blinding blitz of lights that would engulf the entire cave.
It was stated by many that the Knightfalls, who once held a heavy presence in Gothic City, had all seemingly vanished. This included the Knightfall twins of Reality M, Quintus and Ashley. While The Knightfall Saint’s brother had vanished without a trace, Ashley had in fact lingered underground the gloomy city. Since the attack on Gothic City those years ago, she realized her place wasn’t in the streets with her brother, or on the front line of teams, but in the hidden medical facility. Saving lives of the innocent and the not so innocent was her job and she was the best at it. No matter who they were, villains, heroes or just citizens caught in the crossfire of the never ending war on the City, The Catholicon doors were always open… to everyone.
But recently, within the last few weeks (maybe longer, The Knightfalls sense of time was always off) there was a noted increase of criminals coming in for fractured limbs, open lacerations and concussions. It wasn’t something going unnoticed, but the sheer amount of patients that were being seen kept her from ever thinking about investigating. Or at least it did, until the stories began to match up together, and resembled something all too familiar.
Her hands slowly stirred her tea, banished from drinking coffee by her staff, as her eyes curiously looked upon her computer, reading the latest news articles regarding this apparent vengeful vigilante. Her glasses on the lower bridge of her nose as a knock was heard from her office door.
“Dr. Knightfall, we have another one.” A nurse dressed in navy blue scrubs stood at the doorway, dark circles around their eyes indicating they have been working just as hard and long as the Knightfall Saint.
“Thank you.” She spoke as she took a sip of her tea, her nose scrunching in disgust as she set the tea down before clearing her throat and began walking out of the room with the nurse by her side.
“He was a funking demon!” A voice screamed from one of the rooms. “He came out of the shadows and fought like a- a-”
“A demon?” Ashley asked as she walked into the room, snapping a pair of white gloves on.
“Exactly!” The man yelled through his bloody teeth. His right eye swollen shut as his lip was busted open.
“The ‘demon’ it did this to you?” Her hands reached for a small flashlight, shining it in the eyes of the patient, checking his pupils.
“Yes! He wore black, had a big black cape and pointy horns, like a demon.” He held each of his hands against his ears with his index fingers pointing up, trying to mimic the ‘horns’.
The Knightfall paused for a moment, knowing that it sounded much like the uniform her brother once wore. But it couldn’t be Quintus, could it? Would he have came back without bothering to check on his sister? Or was it a copycat? Several stories had matched this mans, down to the 'horns'. She was now starting to realize... she could no longer ignore these stories. She needed to find out, and there was only one way to do so. “Where did you say this happened?”
Gothic City 23:32
How long had it been since she wore the uniform her brother made for her? She forgot how snug it felt against her body but how easy it was to maneuver in it. The Knightfall wouldn’t have worn this, if she wasn’t worried about her own safety. She didn’t know if this man was her brother, or a dangerous creature of the night. She was confident in her own skills if combat was needed, after all, she fought in a war against Alexis and Ziccarra Pettis in her world, Reality M.
The sound of her feet hitting the pavement was a little louder than she hoped. It had been so long since she had to be stealthy, she almost forgot. But here she was, in the alley where the man was attacked. A car was parked just along the sidewalk as you exit the alley, fractured window with shards of glass on the driver side. This must have been why the man was attacked, trying to steal a car. The story of the 'demon' attacking him made more sense. She could see the blood splatter pattern and the footprints that were molded from the blood at the time, which had now darken into a charcoal black as it was now dry.
The Knightfall Saint pulled out her phone, taking a couple of pictures of the print. This was the third spot she hit tonight, so far, where this horned demon was seen and the one where her patient told her he was attacked. So far this was the most evidence she had found. Whoever this man was, he was careful on not leaving much evidence behind. Did he become sloppy with this one? Or did he want someone to find this? She would try and match the print to her brothers, and anyone else that may match in the system her brother created in The Underground. She was intent on finding out who this man was, her brother or not.
Horns, sirens and abusive language peppered the dismal Gothic atmosphere with all the relaxing ambiance of....home. Relaxingly slouched inside a rather pedestrian looking Chevrolet Malibu in an investigatory frame of mind, Ishmael had confidently opted to go maskless while focusing his attention on the abandoned remains of the former Knightfall Heritage museum. A brazen act that, in years past, would have surely led to an absurd number of unlicensed vigilantes and law breaking supers instantaneously knowing his identity.
But Gothic was different now. It had survived, yet again, and in the face of total annihilation. And while it had been forever and irreparably damaged, the culture had been preserved; injected back into the rebuilt noir, back into the infrastructure. Thanks in no small part to the daughter of one of Gothic's most notable philanthropist, Gunther Beremud. With ambitious fervor he had sought to station himself as the city's crowned savor. Quite ambitious indeed. Yet where he had failed, his daughter, had succeeded.
The apparent death of the Strix family hierarchy during the city's unfortunate alien/Strigidae invasion had cleared the ultimate path, the event, the ultimate opportunity for political exploitation. It was brilliant to be fair. And had it come at the cost of any other family then his own, perhaps....just perhaps, the type of cunning manipulation Elsa had displayed would have compelled the Gothic Ghostshell into seeking a mutually beneficial alliance.
Such alliances would be crucial in the wars Ishmael believed were to come. As more and more the self-proclaimed 'superhumans' overreached in their self-aggrandized role in the future and well being of mankind. However, as it stood, all he knew, all he clung to was the code. And the code called for vendetta. The code called for him to reclaim the city and restore his family's legacy; by any means necessary.
One by one, night after night, the Ghostshell had surgically extracted vital pieces of information pertaining to the Knightfall's unbridled resources. Public records were easy enough to come by, but for the more - complicated - assets, Ishmael had had to in-list the aid of an unorthodox friend. Pressing a finger to his ear, he firmly spoke; "Talk to me."
"Well, I'll tell ya one thing. For an abandoned building it sure is putting off alot of energy beneath the surface."
"Like the others."
"Cant say for sure but would it really be all that surprising? Subterranean bases and Knightfalls go together like Demigorgons and the Upside Down."*giggles
Ishmael lightly drummed his finger against his lips with subconscious compulsion, too focused on his next act of unusual impulsive to even register the humorous allegory.
"Hey, you there? Boss? Boss!"
With un-anchored hesitation Ishmael quickly exited the car and jogged over to the abandoned structure, hoping to uncover yet another penetrable top hatch, much like the ones he had uncovered across several other properties once owned by the legendary family. Only by coincidence however did he catch glimpse of not one, but three, nearly crippled criminals who; only nights earlier, had suffered the interrogational malice of the masked Ghostshell himself. With his curiosity triggered, he skillfully followed them. Tailing them into the underground clinic known in the streets as the Catholicon. The Ghostshell had thought it myth, yet here it was, not only alive, but thriving. And if it was real, then Quintus' emails and documentaion of Reality-M were real. Which meant....
...Recognizing her instantly (unaware that she had collected his prints) he fought back an arrogant smirk. Confident in the knowledge that he knew who she was, but the same could not be said for her. "Ashley Knightfall...of Reality-M." taking a partial seat on her desk. "We should talk."
The Knightfall Saint was now back behind her desk, her phone linked to her computer as her fingers were quickly inputting the algorithm to identifying the photo of the footprint she took not too long ago. The blood she found, on the other hand, matched with that of her patient, a Henry Pollu who lived in Gothic with several theft charges built up in his file. Hoping it would be the blood of the ‘demon’ was too optimistic of her.
She was too involved in her current work to look up at the footsteps of the heavily wounded men loudly making their way down the halls, seeking out medical attention. Her eyes were focused on the brightly lit screen as a pictures of individuals were quickly flashing through, ruling out who the footprint didn’t belong to. Fifty percent done, it should be only a couple of minutes before she would find out who this person was… if he was in the system. But her attention was pulled away as she heard her name, followed by the mention of her dead universe.
A chill ran down her spine as her blue eyes, shifted from her screen to the man who was now at her desk. She didn’t even hear him enter her office. The only other person who was able to do that was her brother… or the Nurse Lynette, but that was mostly due to selective hearing in order to try and avoid her. He didn’t seem familiar, her knowledge of things happening in the world around her were limited to whatever her patient and staff were talking about. Current world events were not a priority in the Knightfall’s mind unless it was medical related or patient related. She couldn’t hold back, her lips pulling back a bit as she couldn’t hold back a smile. No one, not even her staff, knew of Ash outside of this medical center. To the world, Ashley Knightfall was a teenage girl who died several years ago. But not only did this man know who she was…. He knew WHERE she was from.
"Well then, I don't think I'm in the right to decline this unexpected meeting." she casually pulled her glasses away from her eyes, settling them down on her desk as she motioned for him to sit in the empty seat that was directly across from her. "It seems I'm at a disadvantage however, you clearly know who I am, but I don't have a clue who you are. What should I call you... Mister..?"
The minute Ishmael's fingers touched the sterilized rails of the Catholicon's stairway they were busy. Stylishly planting a thumbtack size device beneath the banister as he closely followed behind the small crew of reprobates. "Scuse me.""Watch where you going asshole" Offering a cavalier smirk as he purposely bumped into one of them, Ishmael continued on his investigatory way. Arrogantly prideful in the knowledge that he had successfully planted a tracking device on the wanna be tough guy.
And finally, the charm in which he had flashed his greeting smile in the direction of the reality leaping Knightfall had been nothing short of a sociopathic disconnect, as he sought to place his phone beneath his hand while positioning it next to the hopefully distracted physician.
Now:
"Really?" his eyes skeptically squinted with playful sarcasm as she claimed not to know his identity. "Jesus how long have you been down in this place?" again rhetorically jabbing. "Ishmael? Strix? You know, brother of the former mayor.....Gothic family royalty yadda yadda. Oh well. Doesnt matter now anyway." With relaxed posture he rolled his head and optically soaked in his surroundings. Admiring the efficacy of the Knightfall's covert medical operation. Before reaching into his pocket and removing a non-disscript flash drive. "Everything I know about you is because of this." handing it towards Ashley. "It belonged to your brother, the Quintus of your...Reality M." visually displaying an involuntary moment of disbelief as he uttered the words aloud. "Its his notes. His theories and detailed information about, well, pretty much about everything Knightfall related." Letting the moment digest before attempting any further chatter. He would let Ashley decide how things proceeded, and whether or not he would reveal his true agenda.
Ishmael instantly sought to snag the Street Savage's wrist with one hand, while violently rifling the other up towards the crux of his adversary's overextend elbow. In one motion he hoped to capture the momentum and wrench Slag's arm behind his own back and twirk it up, dislocating it at the shoulder joint.
"I dont have time for this Slag." Jumping up and coming down with the intent of kicking out the brawler's other knee. "There's more of ya out in the hall, I dont need you alive to get what I want. Your call!"
The Knightfall shrugged her shoulders apologetically. “At one point the Knightfalls were royalty in Gothic, but now some don’t even remember that family even existed.” Her eyes fell upon a flash drive, her brows arching in curiosity, until he explained what it was. “Quintus?” Her eyes slightly widen, her fingers slowly reached out for it, grasping it in her hands as she pulled to her. She could feel her heart accelerate a bit, excitement? Fear? Anxiety? “He always made it sound like he didn’t care about Reality M anymore once we got here. I was the one trying to find a way home for months until he told me to stop, but to him… it was as if he just accepted that this was our new home.” The Knightfall Saint confessed. To Ash, it was easier for her brother to slip into this world's Quintus Knightfall’s life. But Ashley? Her this world self was a teenager, and dead for several years that was killed by this world’s Quintus. The only thing she felt she could do was do what she did best. Create a medical center, underground, away from preying eyes, just like in Reality M and she did, and so she hid, all this time. Until today.
There was a moment of silence from the Reality M Knightfall, before she began again. “How… how did you get this?” Her eyes looked up at the Strix, a bit more intensely than before, followed by. “Why are you here Mr. Strix? If this holds as much information as you say it does, I highly doubt I can provide anything else for you. My brother, as you saw, is very thorough.”
For the first time since his arrival the Ghostshell looked away, breaking eye-contact before emoting a visual sense of empathy. "Your brother is dead. I'm sorry. I had been tracking members of a secret organization known as the League of Shadows throughout Gothic. Their activity had increased in recent months, I needed to know why. Turns out they had been sent here to track down your brother." partially raising his shirt and revealing his exercised abs, Ishmael presented Ashley with a glimpse of his only scar, his only blemish. "I tried to help him. My own selfish reasons I wont lie about that, but they were unlike anything I'd every encountered before, and I've encountered alot. We held them off down in one of his subterranean compounds but ultimately, his wounds were simply to grievous. He wanted me to continue his work, take up the mantle...ha...he had no idea that the Strix's had uncovered and seized all of the real Knightfall family's assists decades ago. Including their extracurricular enigmas."
Casually looking around before adjusting his posture, standing and straightening himself and his jacket out with a couple shoulder rolls. "You know this, all of this, its just a half-measure. Right? You want to save this city you're going to have to step out into the light. Let the public see you, re-embrace the Knightfall name. Simply slip into the roll of this universe's Ashley Knightfall and become the face of one of Gothic's fallen family's. With nothing more then a name you can take this, and do some real good, legitimate good. Build foundations, charities, win the city's hearts and minds. Restore faith in the Knightfall name. Or dont." he smirked with nonchalance. "Maybe you just squeeze back into a suit again and we go track down the men who murdered your brother."nodding with suggestive anticipation.
Ishmael instantly sought to snag the Street Savage's wrist with one hand, while violently rifling the other up towards the crux of his adversary's overextend elbow. In one motion he hoped to capture the momentum and wrench Slag's arm behind his own back and twirk it up, dislocating it at the shoulder joint.
"I dont have time for this Slag." Jumping up and coming down with the intent of kicking out the brawler's other knee. "There's more of ya out in the hall, I dont need you alive to get what I want. Your call!"
"Owwww!"
One side effect of Slag's increased density was that his pain receptors tended to be, as the Foundation's scientists put it, "a bit on the subdued side." Even so, the damage of a dislocated shoulder was amply intense to breach the mutant's awareness. The hulking Savage was now on the defensive, grunting and attempting to stabilize himself against the nearest wall as his masked assailant once again deprived him of solid footing with another well-placed kick.
"Dat hurt! Dis is our target; ain't ya got yer own list?"
@beremud: Ishmael sharpened his gaze; finally, he thought. Releasing his hold and folding his arms back beneath his cape. "No. Show me yours. I wanna see these targets."
"Grr...I ain't got da list, ya dunce," Slag grumbled, smashing his dislocated shoulder against the nearest wall in an attempt to pop it back into place. Sadly, the wall proved to be less durable than he was, and a section of it merely buckled and had no effect on his injury. "Da wolf has da list. I'm not allowed ta hold computer things any more, after dat one time..."
The news of her brothers death, hit her like a ton of bricks. Her heart began to palpitate quickly within her suddenly heavy chest. It was difficult for her to focus on what Mr. Strix was telling her, a story of her brother’s last moments alive. Disbelief, the first stage of grieving was already beginning to take place. There was no way her brother could be dead, decades working together in Reality M, the Knightfall Twins faced literal Gods in battle and they lived. How, how in this forsaken reality did her brother get taken down by a petty group of assassins?
She stood up from her seat in the middle of Ishmael’s tale. Her right hand pressed against her lips as she slowly paced back and forth in her room. Anger, the second stage, was creeping in. Why didn’t he call her? Why didn’t that idiot ask her for help? She could have helped him! She could have SAVED him! Why did he always have to act as a lone wolf? She should have been there, she should have helped him, she should have saved him. Should have, would have, could have, but didn’t. She could feel her ears begin to burn with anger. Her eyes darting over at Ishamel. He was with her brother. Why did he let her brother die? No… no… she couldn’t think that, she couldn’t allow her emotions to overtake her. She wiped a silent tear from her eyes, now wasn’t the time for this, that would be later, with a bottle of scotch.
After he was done speaking she continued to remain silent. As a revelation suddenly occurred. "You're him." She finally spoke. "You're the one who has been keeping us busy here, your the 'demon'. Dressing like my brother, beating on criminals. Which means... Quintus has been gone for a while now." She connected it. Maybe this was fate, the reality telling her it was time to move on from here. She couldn’t remain in the darkness anymore. Helping people, that was always her way of life. But the one person she cared about the most, was now gone. It was time for her to also, in a sense, take up the mantel of her brother. While she hid and helped people in her Catholicon, Quintus was out there sacrificing his very life for this city. “Why should I limit myself? Why not do both?” She walked to her desk, reaching down pulling a drawer open as she pulled out an unlabeled bottle of whisky and with a THUMP placed it on top of her desk with two glasses. “Let's go after this League, you and I, and finish what you and my brother started. But... I am going to need a bit of help on the coming on out part. I’ve been disconnected from the world for… well several years.” She opened the glass bottle and began pouring the drinks. “I know you helped my brother, and I’m grateful, but now I ask for your help. Help me avenge my brother, rebuild this city and I’ll do what I can to help you with whatever you need.” She set the bottle down and picked up both glasses, one in each hand, one held to her and the other outstretched towards the Strix, as a way of solidifying an agreement. “What do you say to an alliance?”
Ishmael's lens covered eyes sternly sharpened into an emoted squint, his cowl conveying the contemplative lines of reactionary stress. If Slag was the muscle, then the Wolf was the brains. Cunning and dangerously charismatic, her mutated ability to radiate an undetectable like perfume of seductive entrapment was the perfect cocktail of subliminal influence. Pointing towards Slag, physically conveying his silent command to remain still and seated, his other hand rose up to touch the side of his dark cowl.
"You get that?"
<Already on it. Wolf; real name unknown, last known location; unknown. I told you the mainframe is incomplete, its going to take some time to recover all of the Knightfalls lost data. But there is a rebreather in your utility belt, should do the trick....sorta...>
"Sorta?"
<Yeah, uh, well, just dont take too long...like...4 minutes...give or take. Do some of that ninja stuff you do. Only, quicker.>
With a deep sigh centering his focus and catching one last gulp of clean...relatively speaking, air, Ishmael retrieved and placed the simple rebreather and prepared to tackle one of Gothic's most nefarious street crews. "Dont even think about getting up Slag." marching towards the door, cracking it and peeking out down the hall.
In one quick and swift motion the Ghostshell bolted out of the bathroom and into the hall. Temporarily running up and along the wall before diving through the door size window of the executive office. Simultaneously firing two bat-themed shurkin's, one with a small flashing red-light, towards two very specific targets.
With surgical precision Ishmael had targeted the human firefly's blowtorch in hopes of rupturing its ability to safely contain its explosive mixture, causing a diversion while his other shuriken hit the far side of the wall behind Wolf, and exploding. Somersaulting, using the same hyper-stylized momentum that had initially energized his entire offensive maneuver, Ishmael dove towards Wolf. His aim being to shoulder tackle her out of the newly made hole in the building to the roof of the adjacent building several feet below.
Confidently swooping up and subtly raising the glass with experienced style, Ishmael tilted his head before gulping the shot back. A slight hiss of throat burning satisfaction escaping his curled lips, but his eyes quickly reverted to a more stoic state of situational composure. "Bringing Ashley Knightfall back from the dead will be the easy part. Any first year wannabe psy student could deduce you are, for lack of a better term, an emphatic person. A good one, otherwise you wouldnt have built and maintained all of this, in-spite of what its ultimately cost you. When the time comes all you'll need to do, all you'll need to be is, yourself."
Regretfully sighing with a physical pause, Ishmael's glance shifted to the floor while he proceeded to pour another drink. "I should tell you up front that...I am no hero. What I do I do for my family's legacy, for our city...all of it. The good, but more importantly, the city's underworld. I do this for myself and what was taking from me and mine. There are no limits or depths to which I will not go to achieve my victory. And if you truly wish to go up against the League of Assassins with me then" halting to slide the freshly refilled glass towards the Knightfall Saint, "may I suggest you adopt a similar state of moral ambiguity..."
Without waiting this time to drink in concert, the Ghostshell gulped and set his glass upside down on the desk and straightened the collar of his slim fitting retro-style classic button down shirt. Reaching into the breast pocket of his matching vest and removing a nondescript; hand held black tech-logic usb carrying case, filled with numerous drives from the Knightfall data-well.
"I dont need to tell you to be careful with these. They hold an invaluable amount of documented information, schematics, profiles, forensic files, and history. All courtesy of Quintus Knightfall. This reality's Quintus I should say. He now goes by another name, another title. They say he is the Father of Assassins, the Raysh Al Shaytan of the League. Or one of them...stories deffer. But he is the man responsible for your brothers death. He is cunning and dangerous and if we do not come for him, in time, he will surely come for us." Looking around and nodding. "So, we should get started." Rolling up his sleeves. "Need help packing up?" he quipped.
The thick mutant paid the Ghostshell no further heed, involved as he was with trying to relocate his own shoulder with little success. To his mind, his attacked was just another of his employer's minions; it never occurred to him that he might have been attacked on purpose. He made no move to either detain his assailant or give any warning to his compatriots.
Thus it was that the rest of the Street Savages were caught entirely unaware by the Ghostshell's blitz. Sparky had time for a confused "ehh-" before his tank of volatile accelerant was ruptured and combusted. His ability to control flames was not powerful enough to contain the erupting fireball, and it was all he could do to keep it from engulfing him as he threw himself rather gracelessly forward and behind a desk that was thick enough to mostly shield him from being too badly singed.
The Savages were not an elite unit. Whereas trained and seasoned professionals might have identified this as an attack and responded accordingly, Deadeye, Buzzkill, and Boomer simply took the opportunity to laugh at their teammate's comical misfortune. Only the Wolf had the wits to recognize the attack for what it was, and unfortunately for her, this did not present her with an opportunity to do anything more than yell "Get-" before the Ghostshell was bearing her bodily through an opening that had appeared with explosive suddenness in the wall behind her. Borne heavily to the next roof, the impact drove the wind from her lungs with a tormented grunt and left her lying momentarily motionless on her back.
Their confusion lasted for a only a few moments, though. While Sparky was still rolling around on the floor, attempting to extinguish several patches of his clothing and hair, Deadeye hefted his rifle and headed for the hole in the wall through which the Ghostshell had plunged with his leader. A slow, twitchy smile began to creep across Buzzkill's face as he fired up his chainsaw and followed suite. Boomer simply hung back; he was all too aware that he was not a fighter, but he was not above taking a cheap shot at an enemy if the opportunity presented itself.
The exercised, but ultimately slender body of the Street Savage's tactical mastermind, cushioned the violent impact of both herself, and the Ghostshell. Enduring the full traumatic and unexpected force, where as Ishmael had already begun to angle his descent and calculate the natural course of momentum. Allowing him, upon contact, to fluently roll to his feet. Immediately running his fingers along the digital keyboard stationed along the top of his grieve.
From its premeditated position just behind and below the predestined roof, the Ghostshell's aerial equalizer slowly elevated and broke the visual plain in a full premiere of urban escalation. "Stand down, or she dies." Ishmael barked.
Yanking a black Dessert Eagle from behind his waste band and underneath his cape. An unusual sight for any wearer of a Knightfall themed cowl.The full offensive arsenal of the Aethrium Talon was on display, as the adjacent missile bay doors beneath the uniquely curved wings unfolded. "Then...so do the rest of you." he grinned. "All I want is the list."glancing down upon the air starved mutant. "And the name of the person who commissioned it."
At the Ghostshell's words, Deadeye lowered his rifle, though he threw a quick and meaningful glance over his shoulder at Boomer, who immediately slunk back into the building and began stealthily looking for a way to flank their attacker. Buzzkill paused, but remained poised on the lip of the gaping hole in the side of the building, his jaw tightening as his aberrant adrenal system responded to the possibility of intoxicating violence. The Savage's sniper gestured vaguely in the maniac's direction. "Wouldn't throw the word 'dies' around like in front of Buzzy here," Deadeye said with a smirk. "That word's kinda a trigger for him. Kinda like the word 'trigger' is for me."
Any further sorry attempt at repartee, however, was cut short by a slightly choked chuckle from the prone Wolf. "You want the list?" she managed, without coughing too much to be understood. "I'm guessing you know that I have it, unless you expect me to believe you decided I was the most dangerous target you needed to deal with." The shock of the attack and the impact with the roof had kicked her own biology into overdrive, and her system was already pumping her potent pheromones into the air. "As for the boss' name... sorry big guy, but you're still not as scary as they are. Besides, you don't need to worry about going looking for them; they'll be finding you, soon enough."
@beremud: Without hesitation the masked Ishmael squeezed the trigger in an attempt to put an isolated round in the toxic queen's leg. "THE LIST. NOW!" the automated system of the Aethrium Talon premeditated defense system triggered by the Ghostshell's elevated roar. Opening up with a missile strike on the gaping hole. "You can all die here and now for all I care. Or you can come work for me. Give me the list, give me a name."
When the bullet punched into her leg, the Wolf howled. More accurately, she released a scream followed by a string of profanities that would have likely caused any sheltered listener to burst into flames. Deadeye and Buzzkill threw themselves backwards, scrambling for cover as the missile strike did further improvisational renovations to the building.
"Okay, okay," the Wolf hissed through gritted teeth, as the dust from the blast began to subside. "You win." She pulled out the tablet with the list of targets and slid it across the roof towards the Ghostshell, using the hand that wasn't trying to stop the blood flowing from her leg injury. "We were hired by..." she paused ever so slightly, her adrenaline and pain-addled mind racing furiously. She was, at her core, a survivor, and it was obvious that this individual was the more immediate threat. That being said, Elsa Beremud terrified her in a way that her father, unhinged as he may have been, never did. "...Valencia Knightfall."
Niel sat alone in his run down apartment, finishing the paperwork he had stacked up onto his crooked, three-legged desk. Places out here don't ask if you've been convicted of a felony or two. Helps when your other half sees the law as a handful of suggestions rather than the iron-clad rules we must obey.
Here in Gothic, Polaris would feel right at home: If they had money and no outstanding warrants. The rich get away with whatever they want with no repercussions. You could drop a chainsaw down a stairwell and they'd cover it up and say it never happened.
But it was also here in Gothic that Niel felt right at home. Here the mentally ill were the 90%. The woe-begotten and the common working class. Every person he's talked to in this town had some kind of disorder from OCD, to DID, to an unhealthy preference to play ACDC at 2 in the morning as others tried to finish their resume and portfolio for a job appointment.
With his criminal record and his warrants, he couldn't just list "Doctor Niel Emerson" or especially "Doctor Polaris" on anything or the cops and the FBI would be on his tail the second he handed over the paperwork. John Smith? No, too obvious. Niel Patrick? Close, but people will get the reference and Niel hates his performances. His hand began to scratch his head as if he felt a strong itch. Paul Ruis? No, we're not a comic book villain. Noah Erikson? Yeah, that'll work.
As he finished up with his work, Niel's eyes began to grow heavy. He'd been working on this for weeks now without giving Polaris a chance to stretch. He could feel his will growing weaker as the other-him slipped in without Niel catching on. Once control was swapped, you couldn't do much without fighting for control, or waiting for the other to get tired. If Niel tried to fight back, he'd get caught in another battle for control, and those always ended in Polaris's win. He was stronger, more persistent. More dominant.
He pulled out a bottle of scotch from under the desk and popped to cork off with his teeth as he put on his suit. Nieldidn't seem to understand why he put so much money and effort into getting such nice dry-cleaned suits even when they were on the lamb. In this life, money only goes so far. You need to present yourself as if you had money. If they walked into that interview in rags and a 5 o'clock shadow, they'd think he was a bum. They'd never believe Niel had a Doctorate in anything, let alone medicine.
Polaris, willing his mind over the electromagnetic spectrum, collected his wristwatch and cuff-links from the safe they had under the bed. In this neighborhood, even Doctor Polaris, the Master of Magnetism, needed a safe to keep his valuables. He couldn't afford to shout to the heavens what kind of man he was, even if it would give him so much pleasure to watch the fear in their eyes turn their skin white.
But enough daydreaming. Gotta win this interview before Niel gets his turn back. As much as the kid likes to help people, they BOTH need this job to make ends meet without drawing attention with another bank robbery. He finished using the sleek shaving knife to clean off the hair on his face and set out. Only one of them had the charisma and charm needed to pull off an interview like this.
Underground Gothic -- The Catholicon
Anyone living in the underworld has heard of the Catholicon. An underground hospital for criminals and heroes alike. Hopefully there won't be any of the later here today well enough to spot him. Finding the place was trickier, and Niel would never have approved of his methods. Do no harm and all that cheeky nonsense. a quick course of electrocution through the spine of some bank robbers an an unlucky vigilante put all of them into a state of cardiac arrest. Niel quickly resuscitated them, but those still uncoscious got picked up by some people dressed rather suspiciously. He stayed back, but tracked their radio signals to this place. They tried to bounce them off of other cell towers, but that only stops people tracking the hardware. Its the same signal, regardless of where you take a detour, and Niel can see all signals. He walked over to the receptionist of the abandoned building that was lit and had enough power running to cause several city ordinances to question what was going on.
"Name and Injury?"
"Ni-Noah Erikson. Unemployed"
He set down his resume and portfolio and gave the receptionist a warm, inviting smile as he walked over to the waiting area. It was bad form to pull out your phone or read a book while you wait for an interview or the denial of one. First impressions and everything. But he had no idea if they'd even see him. So a quick blink and focus of his eyes and he started playing with the small flows of electromagnetism around him. Not enough to make any impact on even the receptionist's desk clippings, but enough to create some fun pictures out of the different colors of electromagnetism. like doodling on a piece of paper.
Swiftly the Gothic Ghostshell halted the tablet with his foot. Scooping it up before briskly turning towards his aerial craft pressing a finger to his masked covered ear. "Crix, purchase that building, run a search on a Valencia Knightfall."
<"Arent all the Knightfalls of this Earth dead? You know, cept for...you know who?">
"Most likely an alias. Someone out there is trying very hard to mask their identity."
leaping into the cockpit. "We have the list. Its a start."
Boomer finally slunk out of the shadows as the Ghostshell departed in what was very definitely not a civilian aircraft. "Uh, you need some help?" he asked the Wolf, who was still lying on the ground and holding her injured leg. "Like, can I get you some gauze or-aaaauuuugh!" His generous offer was abruptly cut short as the Wolf, moving with a snake-like speed that would have been surprising even she hadn't been wounded, buried one of her butterfly knives into his calf. "What was that for?!"
"Because, best I could tell, you were only one who didn't get hurt in that fight. Didn't want you to feel left out. And yes, go get me a bandage or something, you moron, and then start digging the rest of the team out. We need to disappear, and fast." As her teammate limped off obediently, the leader of the Savages brooded on their embarrassing loss. Their employer, their real employer, was not going to be happy, but the sooner they could get her the information about this new player, the less likely she would be to do anything too horrible to any of them.
Sitting at her computer the last M Knightfall fingers could be heard typing away, in putting the newest information of Halo Corps recent experimental breakthroughs. The Rapid Polymer Generation Gel (or RPG Gel for short) was working just as planned. So far all the tests they’ve ran have been going as planned, even better than planned if she was going to be completely honest. Soon it was going to go to FDA approval and when it was, it could be given to every police officer, emergency medical providers, hospitals, even military. The sheer amount of people this product could help would be revolutionary for the public.
But as she sat there, a knock was heard on the frame of her door. Her head tilted to the side, looking around her computer screen to see Lynnette, her loyal charge nurse, looking at her with slight annoyance and some papers in hand. “Did I forget to sign something again?” Ashley asked in a hushed voice, worried she may have struck a pet peeve with nurse.
“I wasn’t aware we were hiring new doctors.” she walked up, placing what seemed to be a resume on her desk.
“That's because we're not...?” Ashley spoke, completely confused with the information that was presented to her. “Noah Erikson” She read out loud as she could feel the shadow of Lynnette cloud over her. Gods, Goddess, armies, assassins… Ashley wasn’t afraid of any of those, but Lynnette? She terrified Ashley. “Well, it would be rude to not at least give him an interview, right? How does he seem?”
“He’s drawing… in the air.” Lynnette’s voice was clearly filled with irritation. For working in the Catholicon, she didn’t like surprises that she couldn’t control, and Doctor Erikson presented as something she didn’t know and couldn’t control.
“Drawing in the air?” Ashley’s brow arched, intrigued as she continued to go through the impressive resume.
"Look, either hire the man or get him out of my Catholicon, got it?"
Caught off by the snapping attitude the Knightfall Saint simply nod her head and forced a smile. “I’ll go meet him, right now, thank you Lynnette.” Standing up from her desk, saving her documentation quickly before stepping out and walking out to what would be the lobby portion of the catholicon. They must be extremely busy to have Lynnette so snippy. Maybe having another doctor on staff wouldn't be such a horrible idea.
There she saw a man, sitting and like Lynnette stated, ‘Drawing in the air’. “Doctor Erikson?” She walked up to the man, extending her hand to him. “Doctor Knightfall, I’m in charge here.” she quickly introduced herself. “Welcome to the Catholicon, please, follow me.” Motioning the direction they were going to walk she began to lead the way, using her badge to open the doorway that lead deeper into the medical facility until they reached her office.
Sitting behind her desk she motioned for the fellow doctor to sit across from her. “So, Doctor Erikson, you have an impressive resume.” She spoke, flipping through the papers of his resume he provided. “But what I’m more curious about is… why would someone of your decorated abilities and experience want to work here?”
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