CutthroatBitch's forum posts
"Lovely." Anastasia nodded politely at her host and then mirrored her, sampling the provided beer. She frowned briefly. Wouldn't have been my choice but at least it's not rhino piss. Another sip.
She followed Sarah's direction with her eyes, glancing at her own hands and then back at her associate. A largely empty gesture - she made it a point to herself not to think too hard about the conditioning that made her into the Mutant War Machine. Eeh,mas o menos, she mentally corrected. It wasn't exactly fair. The assessment was true in the sense that she hadn't inherited the eidetic proprioception which allowed Antonia to mimic any movement perfectly after only observing it once. But she was a once-ever genetic anomaly forged by splicing the material of two of history's modern legends. Extremely gifted. Even still most of her training was done "on the job" - still a work in progress, however composed she appeared. Good. That meant the illusion was effective. But maybe "the illusion" is not the optimal approach, here.
Locking eyes with Sarah, she allowed a wave of empathetic enervation to wash over her features. Her shoulders slouched and, just for a while, she offered what she thought of as a semblance of shared connection. "Is that a rhetorical question? Well, no, actually. I hate the chase. I think I enjoy the fighting but that's not for me to say or to find out. Like my father, what I am is not andnever could be dictated by something as petty as my own desires. I exist for a purpose, and the luxury of retirement can never be afforded to me.
"But I don't think that's what this is." She turned the can upside down and completely drained its contents. Then the water, and again sought to establish a connection.
"Retirement is one thing. Maybe I just don't understand the concept, but what I think retirement isn't is disconnecting from everything, heading out to the middle of nowhere and trying to vanish. I certainly don't think of it as a Podunk town where you allow yourself to be bullied by people who are, frankly, beneath you. Ms. Fist I think something else is happening and you are struggling. But you left a trail. I could be wrong - sometimes a police report is just a police report"—she shrugged—"but I think, juuust maybe posiblemente you were crying out for help, and now the right person has found you.
"So, who or what is it you are hiding from?"
Entering the cabin behind Sarah, the brazen young immortal carried herself with the quiet self-assuredness of a goddess on Earth. An esteemed guest whose very presence was a privilege for any who happened to be near, and anywhere she happened to be was a place she belonged simply because she happened to be there. She was right at home.
She scanned the interior with eyes akin to a supercomputer as much as a biological entity, reading innumerable details too focused and too many to matter to most minds. "Impresionante."A bit too low for my tastes, but not bad for a home she seems to have built herself.
"Can I get you something to drink? All I have is water, beer and red wine."
"Lovely. I'll have one of each," Anastasia boldly requested. "Unless it's all drywine." Her lip curled slightly as she enunciated. "In which case, I'll have three of your beer and one water."And I swear to God if you bring me IPAs...She tried to imagine what the old gods would have done if unsatisfied with the accommodations of a host. Probably raze the entire city to the ground.
"What I want to talkabout...Well, several things actually," she said, crossing one leg over the other. "Considering your computer and your game station I have to assume you have some relationship with the Internet. A million mutants march on the other Washington - including one of my own lineage. A CEO declares service androids an autonomous race and demands they be treated as such in a press release. And half a dozen other issues, small and big, which I may need to attend. But I find myself thinking I have to set these things aside if I need to use you in the ways I wish."
Casting off the flippant veneer, she dressed herself in the mien of an executive, mirroring the casual pressure she'd observed in her predecessor's formal meetings.
"You've gone into hiding. More importantly, you hid from me as well. Why is it that I had to work to find you?"
Nastya shrugged. "Heard it on the radio on my way from DC. Made me think of you."My own runaway dog. Smirking to herself, she gingerly placed what may have been a toy motorcycle into a leather jacket pocket.
And there it was. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable to the Numeromancer. A slightly arrhythmic change in Sara's heartbeat.
Well, they'd figure it out soon enough.
She gave a dismissive snort. "Dangerous? Querida, as of three days ago I am the most dangerous thing in this state, day or night, Heaven or Earth. But, it would be profoundly rude of me to refuse such a kind offer," she said through a Cheshire grin. "I would be delighted to see if your home is as lovely inside as out."
Perhaps she should've been satisfied that they'd terminated the leader of the insurgents, and driven the invaders from D.C. Kisara's first test was a resounding success. Well worth the investment. But for the Immortal Warden, the hunt never stopped. For weeks she'd been tracking and slaughtering every mutant and Watcher she could find linked to the "Million Mutant March" on the nation's capital. So brazen, and so certain of their success (of which they'd achieved a partial measure), most of them didn't bother to conceal their identities. Facial recognition tech did half the job for her. Otherwise she was driven by the awakened instincts comprising her secondary mutation, she pursued them in the order the numbers dictated. Clues unveiled through a conglomeration of numeric data - equations, geometric patterns, vectors and more. The more she hunted, the harder they became to find.
Good. Then it was working.
It was not altogether likely that she would successfully hunt down every mutant and Watcher who'd marched with Grayl (although if anyone had the time, she did). But she was spreading concern, if not fear, among their ranks. Ridding her world of dangerous unknown quantities.
The latest batch were feeling particularly dangerous.
They were expecting her.
Fortunately they, like so many others before, had failed to develop battle tactics beyond "throw everything including the kitchen sink at her and hope she stops moving." They were inefficient, and they didn't have the abilities nor the tactical efficacy to pull off the miracle they needed once the Lazarus came knocking.
"Huh. Thirty seconds early," Nastya mused at the timer in her head, picking something that'd once been a part of someone from under her nails with a claw. She frowned. Thirty seconds was a long time, indicating a single significant error or series of smaller but repeated errors in calculation and execution.
Adjustments were made. The insurgents weren't the only reason she was in town.
It all started with a police report. Between the shapeshifter and the quantum A.I. it was a simple matter to hack the files of the local PD. Once they'd entered the description of both the perps and victim...well, it wasn't exactly common to see or hear about someone matching Thunderfist's exact description. It was stranger to learn she'd gone to the police instead of handling the matter herself. If she's gone off-grid that's either a miscalculation or she wants the right person to find her.
Nastya's olfactory sense was the envy of animals worldwide. Once inside the town the scent was easily isolated. She remembered it as though they'd just left the warehouse the day before. Thankfully it seemed Sarah didn't hang around much, so it didn't take much to calculate rates of decay and which locations she'd visited most recently.
The motorcycle settled into a gentle rumble as Nastya pulled to a halt, disembarking not far from where she smelled Sarah's home. By then she could isolate the rhythmic beating of a human heart. Smells like a lovely place.And at least she's keeping healthy.
She emerged from the woods announcing her presence, whistling and singing a slightly off-key rendition of Sublime's "What I Got" on the way in the hopes that the mercenary would recognize her voice.
"♪ I don't cry when my dog runs away
I don't get angry at the bills I have to pay
I don't get angry when my mom smokes pot
Hits the bottle and goes right to the rock
Forkin' and fightin'; it's all the same
Livin with Louie Dog's the only way to stay sane
Let the lovin', let the lovin' come back to meeeee ♪
"Escucha! Miss Fist! We need to talk."