Author: Adrianc
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Blood was spattered across the floor in random droplets. Hydraulic fluid pooled in the corners of the corridor. Paint peeled from the walls in thin sheets. Concrete dust lay heavy in the air, casting swirling shadows across the scene, diffusing light from the single swaying globe that descended from the ceiling on a chain. The access corridor to the bank vault had seen better days, yet, glittering at the end of the corridor, its surface burned and scarred from multiple strikes, the vault door stood defiantly closed. Two figures limped along the hallway, one holding its leg while the second clutched its abdomen, both appeared to be in considerable pain. A cape hung, tattered and ripped, from one figures back and the other was using a large mace as a crutch. Both figures had large rents in their shiny armour, such large rents that in ones case the large white spider on one figures back was almost completely ripped away, exposing only bleeding flesh beneath. The viewpoint changed to a longer camera angle and a large gun-barrel swung out from a concealed bay on one wall. The two Arachnos officers had time only to jerk upright in surprise before multiple flares of vivid flame exploded from the twin barrels and both figures evaporated into a grainy mist.
“And that, wretched villains, is why we need to work together!”
The lithe figure known only as “The Woman Next Door” straightened up from the tiny video screen and looked about at her unwilling comrades, one hand placed lightly on one black-clad and shapely hip. The depth of shadow in the ruined warehouse only added to her subtle menace as she observed her companions. Around the group, fallen girders and rusted shipping containers lay festooned with cobwebs and decorated with colourful graffiti. Discarded rubbish lay about them on the bare concrete floor, adding flavour to the stained and cracked composite. Crumpled blankets crowded against one wall, and a bare but filthy hand peeked from beneath it, the warehouse had not been empty when they arrived.
Komatsura, the anachronistic Japanese warrior dressed in ancient and highly stylized Samurai armour, raised his thick eyebrows and crossed his arms as he contemplated his fellows. A faint aura of writhing tendrils of darkness coalesced about his head as he frowned.
Yuki Sagamoto fidgeted, bored, hands playing back and forth over the pouches at her belt, the only thing out of place in her otherwise perfect sailor-moon Japanese school-girl outfit. Behind her three tall ninjas stood impassively in the shadows, eyes glittering and always watchful for any threat to their tiny mistress.
Zen-Mes slouched casually against the wall, torn jeans surmounted by a stained white t-shirt under a shredded black jacket speaking volumes about his youth and rebellious attitude. He tapped his hands together and small arcs of electricity skipped between his outstretched fingers before he clenched a fist and shuffled into a more upright position.
The Woman Next Door crossed two wiry arms before her and addressed them all.
“We’ve all reached this stage through our own strengths, and we’ve each spoken to our individual contacts. We’ve each been given the same task, retrieve the Sceptre of Serafina from the Golden Chalice Bank Vault. A mission no doubt crafted by our Arachnos ‘masters’,” she emphasized that word with a grimace of her face, “to drive us into conflict with each other. I believe it is a test, and a test we cannot pass each on our own.”
“This is bullshit!” exploded Zen-Mes, spit flying from his lips, “I could take those guns out in nanoseconds! I don’t need any of you, none of this is necessary! If you hadn’t posted such an interesting advertisement in the Rogue Island Times I’d already have been in there and have the Sceptre, beating you all to the chase!”
“Indeed,” Komatsuna spoke quietly but forcefully, “nothing could be easier than to teleport in, retrieve the sceptre and teleport back out, all under the cover of darkness…”
“Then you’d both be dead. Komatsuna, can you teleport through Viridian walls? Yes, Viridian! The vault has been charged by that hated Hero Organization, MAGI, specifically to stop teleporting activity! Do you want to know how many pieces you’d end up in if you tried it? Zen-Mes, do you know what a Viridian wall would do to your shocking blasts? Can you dodge your own attacks, and dodge flying lead at the same time?”
The Woman Next Door turned to Yuki, who had been idly fingering a pouch of blinding powder and looking bored.
“And you! Yuki Sagamoto! Would you risk your treasured brothers against guns that fired not solid shot, but mini-flechettes? How fast can your brothers move? Can they deflect a thousand flying shards of metal?”
The Woman Next Door turned to the assembled group, “No! We’d all fail if we tried this alone. I alone stand a chance, and even with my considerable abilities I would not get past the guns, charged floors, Viridian vault and considerable force of guards to the Sceptre and back out again! As little as I like any of you, or you like each other, this calls for,” she flared her nostrils, pursed her lips and spat the word out, “co-operation!”
Yuki stood up and spoke in a petulant voice, “That’s easy for you to say, when we don’t know you, when you don’t even have a name!”
“You may call me ‘The Woman’, if you must call me anything, and Yuki, don’t give me reason to rebuke you. Your ninja slaves would be as nothing before me. I give you warning, do as I say and join me or leave now and fear our next meeting…”
Yuki Sagamoto pouted, and ran her fingers through a pouch at her hip, sliding her fingertips over the myriad glass spheres it contained, each one a lethal dose of nerve toxin, strong enough to disable a charging elephant. Her other hand flashed through a swift series of hand-signs, and she heard her ninjas shift their weight behind her in preparation for the strike.
“You’re not the boss of me, you bitch! You shouldn’t threaten me and you should learn your place!” Yuki snarled as she tensed to fling a handful of globes into The Woman’s face.
Swifter than the eye could follow, The Woman moved, Yuki found her hand jammed deep into her pouch and her other arm twisted up behind her back, then suddenly she was flying shoved backwards to be caught by the ready arms of her ninja brothers.
“Then leave now you little fool, and await the coming of the cold night with dread!”
“Ladies! Ladies! This is most uncivilized,” Komatsuna stepped forward to position his broad body between the two, “such beautiful women should not be fighting. The Honourable Woman may have a point, I sense that she is as unhappy with this situation as ourselves. Let us call a truce and hear what she has to say…”
Zen-Mes unclenched his fists and allowed the static charge around his body to ground through his feet in a short crack of electricity, crumbling the concrete beneath his feet. “Yeah. What did you have in mind Woman?” he asked.
The Woman Next Door’s eyes glittered cruelly as she told them.
A soft susurrus of murmuring voices filled the air. An atmosphere of excitement filled the air, this was the fashion event of the century! The famed designer Le Phaedre was releasing new designs, rumours were circulating that this time the designer had outdone even their previous achievements. The reclusive Le Phaedre had a history of creating amazing designs that tantalised, titillated, and in some cases even seemed to empower the women and men lucky enough to wear them, but Le Phaedre had never actually been seen at a fashion show. In fact, no-one even knew if Le Phaedre was male or female or … something else. The most recent release from Le Phaedre in Paragon City had been a frightening affair; one of the models had gone insane on the catwalk and collapsed, screaming and clawing her pretty face apart in front of thousands of amazed and terrorised fashion journalists. It had been a spectacular story and the public response had been more, not less, demand for Le Phaedre’s designer-wear. However, when the model collapsed shrieking about how the clothing was eating her certain uptight authority figures in Paragon under sway of the Hero Legions had turned an unwelcomed eye on the fashion studio. Various patrons of dubious reputation had enthused in the past that the Le Phaedre designs were in fact magically endowed, some kind of super-clothing that made the wearer somewhat more than human. The Heroes had unsurprisingly been less than enthusiastic, and the intense scrutiny had cramped the designer’s style, at least that was what the press release announcing the studio’s departure had stated. So much better now that the designer had relocated to the much more liberal Rogue Isles, some rumoured that the move was a part of a major deal between the ever-present but never seen Lord Recluse and the designer him, her or it self.
Such flights of fancy were of course unsubstantiated, and tonight was a beautiful night for a high-society fashion show.
Fine crystal glasses of wine clinked and rattled on silver trays carried by outlandishly attractive waiters and waitresses, gentle light radiated from a million tiny flame shaped light bulbs in glittering chandeliers overhead. Brilliantly sculpted ice-art reflected the light across bubbling pools of sparkling water hidden artfully behind carefully tended exotic vegetation specifically imported for the event. Gold trimmed pillars and bands flanked and held red velvet curtains on either side of full-height windows that framed the neon skyline of St Martial Islands Giza Casino. A full and heavy moon cast frosty rays of light through skylight windows overhead. VIP invitees mingled convivially amongst the splendour and remarked in mock-surprise at each fellow member of the societal elite they met. A babble of condescending greetings and introductions provided a gilded cover for the poorly disguised enmities that lurked beneath the surface of these sugary-sweet social interactions. Socialites circled each other warily like hungry tigers about fallen prey.
A swell of sound brought attentions back to the catwalk as the gaggle of journalists and photographers reacted to the appearance of the eye-catching presenter as she walked to the right of the stage. Glasses, waiters and petty rivals were suddenly ignored as she walked up the shallow stairs to stand before the low podium and greet her guests.
The presenter was elegantly garbed in a low-cut long flowing crimson dress, hanging loose on one side to bare a finely shaped shoulder of alabaster perfection and cut high on one hip to descend sharply to the adjacent ankle, baring one majestic and statuesque leg to the crowd. She cleared her throat briefly and addressed the microphone.
“Greetings you Rogues all, here in the liberated Rogue Isles!”
Polite applause filled the hall and the presenter beamed exposing a flawlessly white smile. The lights dimmed and she was illuminated by a single spotlight that highlighted the touch of silver and diamond at her ears and descending from her fragile and graceful neck.
“Let’s not dally, I don’t want to keep you good people waiting, here is what you have been waiting for, the majesty of Le Phaedre!”
With a raised arm, she turned to the stage, the crimson curtains parted, a hidden orchestra struck up a baroque and playful tune and out stepped a petite refined Japanese girl garbed in long flowing robes cut in a distinctly martial style. Patterned panels of crimson and blue fabric lay over each other in a form-fitting imitation of armour, a long sash hung on one side, depending like a brilliant gold brush-stroke to gently caress the stage as the model raised almond eyes over a coyly held Japanese fan. A selection of black velvet pouches and tassles hung from the sash and jingled slightly as she gingerly stepped forward, face hidden but shy eyes sparkling at the journalists, a smile tilting their edges.
“This years selection is heavily influenced by the Feudal style of Traditional Japan.”
The model crept on dainty silk-slippered feet along the catwalk, spinning and turning to keep her face hidden as her other hand brandished a ribbon on a stick, dancing and twirling it in counterpoint to her choreographed progress.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” the presenter asked the crowd, “See how the fabric flows gently from one panel to the other, never inhibiting her movement. The courtesans of the East danced for money and love both, and with fashion like this, how could we resist?”
A swell of applause and murmuring flowed through the crowd and the young model was bathed in staccato bursts of light from the photographers at her feet, casting a dramatic play of shadow against the walls and ceiling. Surreptitiously, two figures moved quietly to pre-arranged locations in the crowd of onlookers.
The young model bowed and curtsied her way down the walk, twirling her ribbon and casting unreadable glances at representatives of major collectors and fashion aficionados. A storm of camera flashes illuminated her as she danced, the music faded and she began to sing gently, a slow wordless melody that built in intensity as she danced and paraded. Whirling about she leapt briefly into the air, to land crouched, one hand cast forward, fingers brushing the stage, ribboned stick at an exact right angle to her body, the other holding the fan to her face. The music stopped. The fan flicked suddenly away from the face over her head in a dramatic gesture that exposed a face of such youth, innocence and beauty that the crowd drew an involuntary gasp. The air was pierced as she whistled sharply into the silence.
Glass shattered inwards from the windows and skylight as several black-clad figures catapulted through them, somersault over plants and acrobatically leaped onto the stage over the intervening crowd to surround the young girl. Their thunderous cries of “Hai!” completely drowned out the staggered gasps of surprise and mixed with the cacophony of glass breaking to startle the crowd into silence. After a moment of awed quiet the stage was greeted with hesitant applause only to be interrupted by the announcer’s next words.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Elite. You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to have you here tonight, such gullible fools you are. It never ceases to impress upon me humanity’s unsuitability to reside at the top of the food chain,” she sneered at the gawping audience, “even now you fail to understand your situation… Yuki, Komatsuna, Zen-mes, my villainous comrades, proceed!”
The room was suddenly swamped in darkness and a chorus of distressed cries and upset followed by the sound of swift footfalls moving throughout the hall. The sound of glass crunching underfoot mixed with the abrupt sound of fist on flesh to create a symphony of chaos, crackling bursts of sound ripped through the room like semi-contained thunder let loose in an enclosed space, the screams of panicked people echoed from the walls and spilled out through the broken windows into the night.
“Get your hands off me!”
“Who are you? Argh!”
“What’s happening?! No! No! Aieeeeee!”
“Darling!? Charles?? No! No! Nobody takes my husband!!!”
The darkness was briefly illuminated by a burst of fire, fire so bright that it erased a small patch of supernaturally dark shadow to expose a woman in a low-cut, high-split evening dress with flaming hands raised above her head while a swift black form quickly dragged her husband across the floor away from her. Twin bolts of electricity erupted from the darkness surrounding her tiny illuminated space to slam into her body, blasting a blackened hole in her chest as her flesh was superheated and flashed into steam. The darkness greedily returned as she collapsed to the floor.
That was the universal cue to panic. Screams and shouting echoed off the walls, and the thunder of stampeding feet drowned out the calls for order and calm.
“Komatsuna! Some light!”
The voice of the announcer pierced the cacophony and commanded silence from the scattered crowd.
The darkness winked out, exposing the crowd gasping and blinking in the sudden brightness of the overhead lights, illuminating a scene of disaster.
The bloody body of the well-dressed woman lay collapsed in a small pool of blood in the centre of the floor, a look of surprise on her face. The crowd was gathered in tense little groups about the hall, all in various states of disarray from their frantic blind struggles. Shattered glass and discarded crystal wine glasses lay in jagged shards over the floor, trays of canapés lay forgotten and trampled. More than a few unconscious figures slumped in uncomfortable positions about the room. The announcer was gone, her red dress lay like a discarded snake skin on the floor before the podium.
On the end of the catwalk, only just recognisable as the announcer, stood the Woman Next Door, a tall and slim figure in a skin-tight and form fitting leather suit of the darkest purple, faint curlicues of lighter material adorning her flanks. She was accompanied by the young Japanese model, her resplendent cloth mock-armour split down the front to expose a bewildering array of pouches and toxic darts. In the corner stood a group of six rumpled and bruised audience members, their fine clothes torn and shredded, numerous of them nursing injuries and sporting trails of blood on their faces. Before the group of detainees stood three tall, black-garbed, Ninjas, silent, motionless and darkly menacing, their eyes never blinking in their monitoring of the corralled captives. With them stood a squat figure, recognisable as one of the eager buyers from the disrupted fashion show. His suit was spread open and torn, one sleeve completely removed from his jacket, and about him writhed half-seen tendrils of darkness. His clenched fists were bathed in the deepest, coldest blackness and his eyes burned with a red fire. Over this figure of darkness hovered a figure of light, encapsulated in a brilliant aura of flowing sparks, arcs of electricity circulating his body continually, wreathes of lightning bolts seemed collected in his fist and his head completely hidden in a blindingly bright halo.
The return of the light emboldened the younger and more foolhardy members of the audience; one made a lunge for the door while another flung a shard of broken glass from the floor directly at the Woman’s unprotected back.
In the centre of the room, a glittering spray of glass splinters erupted from the point where the Woman Next Door’s polished heel impacted the flung glass shard, light refracted through the cloud of splinters for an instant before they fell to the ground. In that frozen moment, a black blurred shape sped from the Woman’s hand towards her assailant even as her perfectly timed kick destroyed the projectile.
The moment of retaliation seemed extended, a stretched timeslice that hovered unmoving before the horrified eyes of scattered audience. Such beauty, such savagery. The running man hung suspended in air, arms outstretched and flung back, a thin trail of spittle extended into the air from his screaming mouth, both feet lifted from the floor in his sprint, an almost comical spray of blood droplets fanned outwards from the back of his neck, where Yuki’s dart had struck with terrifying accuracy. In the seconds to come he would stagger from the blow, reach backwards in surprise to feel the dart embedded in his flesh before finally collapsing in a shuddering and convulsing heap as the toxin caused catastrophic cell damage throughout his body.
Two bodies collapsed to the floor, one in a bloodily frothing mess near the door, the other with a surprised “Urk!” clutching at the blade that protruded from his throat.
The Woman’s voice shattered further rebellion.
“Nobody move! The next of you IDIOTS to even flinch is going to join these two! Against the wall, NOW!”
Subdued, the audience rushed to the back wall furthest from the ninjas and furthest from the Woman’s rage filled silhouette.
“You”, she continued, gesturing at the six detainees, “have something we want. Each of you in turn, conspirators all, have a key, a key you carry on your person always, a key to a certain vault, a key entrusted to you by certain law-upholding costumed freaks, a key you will now relinquish… Zen-Mes! Collection duty! Your pathetic Brotherhood of the Rod and Orb lies exposed tonight…”
With a crack of discharging static, the radiance about the light-shrouded figure dissipated and the attractive young man dropped to the ground neatly landing on patent leather shoes, his photographer’s disguise unruffled. He turned to the detainees and held out his hand, “Gentlemen…”
One by one, the detainees dropped an unassuming electronic key tag into his palm as they were brought forward by the attendant ninja guards. Zen-Mes flicked three through the air to the Woman Next Door, who caught them deftly in one hand; one to Komatsuna where it vanished into his shadowed aura; one towards the catwalk where Yuki caught it before nodding back at him and the final key he kept himself, slipping it casually into a pocket. Smiling, he turned back towards the Woman Next Door.
“Thank you gentle-folk, your co-operation is most appreciated. Unfortnately, we can’t let you live now can we …”, the echoing sound of multiple footsteps pounding up the hall towards them interrupted her.
“Comrades! Security make their belated entrance! Komatsuna, you know what to do…”
Cascades of inky blackness swelled forth submerging the room, and the security guards as they burst into the room, in the darkest shadow….
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