Match 21
#30 Nimia “The Serpent” Altamirano
Vs.
#29 Claudia “Crow” Rook
#28 Malia “Owl” Barret
Guest Starring:
Luigi “Mammone” Scorava
Agent Garret Milgram
Agent Wendell Wright
Agent Noemi Shelburn
Inventory
Darling - A mystical saber imbued with the powers of fire and ice; Fire LV 2, Ice LV 1
Death & Debt - Two .44 Semi-Automatic Magnums, formerly named Sonya & Cleon; imbued with fiery bullets.
Lucky - A .357 Seven-Chambered Magnum Revolver with a ♣ symbol printed on the handle; [Passive Effect: Luck+; Active Effect: Bullets are more likely to hit targets, even by ricocheting
“–three weeks ago, four days following the confirmed death of Tai Shao, the country’s former ruler, Xintong was rocked by a series of explosions that have devastated the small country, leaving it easy prey for its eager neighbors to descend on,” the newscaster in a blue suit droned, her voice even and calm despite the gruesome subject matter.
Not that many paid attention to the tv attached above a pillar, one of many across the platforms of San Icilio Station. The station’s patrons and workers all had places to be, whether it was in the city proper, or through catching one of the hundreds of trains going through the major station day by day. And on this warm, spring morning, two women in particular had a very specific train to catch.
The Vandalia was the train in question; a passenger train, stretching far down the tracks it rolled over. It was a luxury train, designed for comfort more than its sleeker contemporaries. It still had all the trappings of a modern train, what with its sleek body painted a fetching shade of blue, but its interior was largely based in compartment coaches, where passengers could relax without fear of interruption. There were lounge cars as well, spaced in between the compartment coaches for those seeking to sit with other passengers; at least two dining cars; and an observation car at the very back. All these things were noted by the two women as they walked the platform and stepped onboard, their eyes peeled for their targets.
“They wouldn’t be in the open,” Crow noted, only to pause as Owl held a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture.
“Our car is this way,” the 28th said instead of explaining, taking the lead, as per usual, towards their compartment near the end of the train.
The two enforcers of the Scorava Mafia were dressed quite nicely at the moment; Owl always dressed nicely, so her clothes were about the same as typical–brown waistcoat, white undershirt, long skirt, tights, knee-high boots–though she’d forgone the mask and hood for the moment. Masks and hoods tended to attract attention, so she simply wore a pair of round glasses over her narrow, hazel eyes, and a brown, wide-brim hat atop her short bob of black hair.
This meant her face was fully visible though, which wasn’t an especially large issue; she looked ordinary enough, just a regular, fit, woman with light brown skin, traveling with a similarly dressed friend. In all honesty, she couldn’t help herself; the opportunity to get Crow in a skirt was one she fully enjoyed, and having her shorter colleague dressed in an outfit identical to hers? It was too cute not to go for!
So she spent some time picking out a nice vest, a matching skirt, dark pantyhose, and matching boots, which Crow accepted with long-suffering grace, though Owl was certain her junior would appreciate her fashion choices in time. She’d even taken care to pick out a proper jacket and fedora for her partner, so really, it was all for her!
She did look lovely all in black too, as typical, though she didn’t bother with glasses, even though Owl had told Crow before they would make her look less threatening. Not that Crow looked especially threatening to her; her skin was a lovely shade of dark brown, her eyes were nearly black, and she kept her coarse hair cropped short and fuzzy. Some may call her hard gaze and tendency to scowl intimidating, but Owl had a fondness for the woman she was certain would kill her some day.
Oh, and one couldn’t forget the gloves. The gloves were important, as they hid any fingerprints as Owl opened the door to their compartment and promptly took a seat on the closest seat, bringing out her laptop from her inventory in one simple motion.
“Do you really need that?” Crow asked, closing the door behind her, “I thought those glasses could show things fine?”
“They can. I prefer having something in my lap though.” She glanced to Crow and smirked. “If you would like to take its place-”
“No.” She sat beside her nonetheless and leaned to look. “You’re already in the systems?”
“I am. Our wayward jaybird is bound to be somewhere on here. The best guess would be a carriage compartment. Easily defensible, cozy, more subtle than trying to hitch a ride in the luggage.” Her screen switched between feeds, moving steadily from each camera.
“Are you sure? The luggage carriage would be sealed off from the rest of the cars, right?”
“For passengers. It’s still a bad option. Hiding there would be noticeable.” The compartments themselves didn’t have cameras installed, for the privacy of patrons. That made the search slightly trickier, though people were still getting onboard.
“Fair. We need to wait until the train starts to move before we grab him though, right?”
“Yes. Recon is still important. Particularly when dealing with agents that have already fended off three retrieval teams.”
Crow rolled her eyes, moving to the opposite couch so she could slouch against the wall and put her feet up on the cushions. “I know that, but it’s your field, so if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get some rest.”
“Feel free to. You’ll know when we need to move.”
She nodded, then pulled the brim of her hat over her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, her breathing slowing as she dozed off in an instan. A helpful talent for those in their line of work. Owl, however, had to continue scouting, examining the passengers as they stepped onboard and evaluating threats. They would have civilians in the way during this excursion, which was unfortunate, but not unexpected. Extra variables threw things off, though they were also easy hostage opportunities. Unless they were more dangerous than expected, which was why scouting was important.
Most civilians aboard the train were quite well-dressed, and she could appreciate the pristine, blue uniforms of the conductors. A bald, broad-shouldered man was working as bartender in a vest, white undershirt, and black slacks, and...hm. A wedding group taking a train wasn’t impossible, and the white suits and dresses they wore looked nice. They were carrying on a great deal of luggage though, instrument cases in particular. Perhaps not a wedding, but an orchestra? She didn’t see anyone in particular who would be the happy couple…
The final passengers boarded, the doors closed, and the train started moving. There was no announcement of their departure though. She flipped through the feeds, and started to smirk. The engine room, the front cabin, whatever it was called in locomotive terms...its feed was dark. Just black, completely and utterly.
That was remarkably sloppy. Any effort and it would’ve taken her at least a few checks to realize there was a loop in the feed or a skip. No effort had been made though. Did they just shoot out the cameras and call it a day?
“Sloppy. Very sloppy.” Then she started to frown. “Maybe too sloppy for Bureau agents…”
She looked through the channels again, checking each lounge and hall, and came to a very interesting realization.
There were no children onboard. Not running in the halls, exploring the lounges, or peeking through the windows. A luxury train, traveling across the continent, and no families with children had boarded. That was statistically unlikely.
So she brought her phone out and up to her ear, already dialing the appropriate number. “Jaguar. We have a third party involved.”
Still, she wasn’t too worried. More parties just meant more bodies.
And wouldn’t those nice suits look so much better dyed red?
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Luigi Scorava, Lou to his friends, took a slow, shaky breath, trying not to...do something. He wasn’t sure. There were a lot of things he could wind up doing here that were bad choices. That wasn’t new for him. He hadn’t been doing well for...his whole life, really.
“Take a breath, kid,” Agent Shelburn said, giving him a frown, “You’re too tense.”
“S-Sorry, shit, s-sorry, I…” He took a breath. It didn’t help much. “A-Are you s-sure we can be out in the open like this?”
“We’re not that in the open. The curtains are drawn and everything,” she pointed out, as though that would make him feel better. Shelburn had a...weird feel to her. She was casual for a fed. Light-skinned with narrow, hazel eyes and her hair cut in a short pixie cut, she was dressed in a white blouse and blue jeans. She looked normal, if fit, leaned back in the seat next to him, one leg propped up on the other. She wasn’t, but she looked it.
Lou let out a shaky sigh, nodding. He was a mess. Scruffy, for one. He didn’t really have a full mustache or a goatee, just some hairs. His dark-brown hair had gotten long, but apparently that was fine? He wasn’t trying to be a slob, but looking messy made him look less likely to be a rich guy, right? So...messy it was, with a loose, hooded olive-green jacket, orange t-shirt, and jeans of his own. Also sneakers. They weren’t uncomfortable, just something he wasn’t used to.
He kept his hands clenched in his lap, leaning slightly. Not hunching, just leaning forward. His red eyes flicked to the two men sitting across from him. “...are we actually safe here? I-I mean, legitimately?”
“As safe as we are anywhere,” Agent Milgram replied, leaned back against his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes looked closed under his sunglasses. No, they were definitely closed.
“That’s...unfortunately accurate,” Agent Wright admitted, shrugging. His hands were in his lap, his thumbs pressing together. “It should be safer than the helicopter.”
“Hey, that was still a decent idea!” Shelburn complained, “It’s not my fault they found the airfield and gassed the whole place!”
“It’s your fault the last chopper was unusable,” Milgram countered, eyes still closed, “You didn’t have to throw Laraway into the rotors.”
“...okay but that wasn’t completely intentional either. Was more a ‘pull into’ than a ‘throw into’.”
“She has a point,” Wright added, “And the helicopter was tipped over.”
Milgram shrugged, conceding the point to his larger...partner? Colleague? Lou still wasn’t completely sure. The two of them contrasted by a lot in appearance. Milgram was fair-skinned and dirty-blond, wearing an aviator jacket over a black shirt and torn blue jeans. There was some logo on the front, but the jacket covered it. He looked like a punk.
Wright looked like a soldier. There was no getting away from that. He was too big and too broad. He had dark skin, and his hair was cut into a flattop. A thick, dark mustache sat on his upper lip, and he was clean-shaven otherwise. He wore an olive-green sweater and tan cargo pants.
Both were wearing combat boots. Both had gray eyes. Both had killed trained hitmen right in front of Lou’s eyes. Fernando Fracassi and Clinton Cinelli had strong reps, high body counts. They’d burned down half a town to get to Lou.
Wright beat Fracassi to death in three hits. He’d been bragging, taunting, explaining how this gig would get him made, get him ranked, stalking Lou between burning buildings until Wright stepped in front of him, clothes burning and skin unharmed. One hit drove the wind from his lungs and lunch from his stomach, a second smashed his teeth and nose and the follow-up crushed his skull on the spot. He still stood after, like he hadn’t even realized he died.
Cinelli went worse though. When Lou saw him, Milgram was just holding him. Just pressing him, shredded and armless, against the hood of a burning car. The fucking sizzle–
“You okay, kid?”
Lou nearly flinched at Milgram’s voice, but shook his head. “Y-Yeah, I’m good...h-hey. How’s it so easy for you?”
“Killing?” No hesitation on the question. It was just to clarify. Lou nodded. “Hm...It’s always been. My therapist says I have issues with empathy, something like a personality disorder.”
“...You have a therapist?”
“Bureau mandated, yup. If you wanna work, you gotta have your head on right.”
“It’s a good policy,” Wright agreed while Shelburn huffed.
“Sure, everyone loves pouring their heart out to someone paid to put up with you.”
“It’s better that they’re paid instead of a loved one. You don’t need to worry about burdening them.”
“Don’t have those, don’t care. As for the killing question, it’s not. Every single time I have to kill someone, it’s with the full knowledge I’m ending a human life, someone the world will never get back.” She shrugged. “I prefer to think it’s a good thing whenever I do it, removing someone from society after they’ve caused harm, but it’s not like our world isn't broken, and it’s not like the real monsters ever pay. But you just gotta bury it deep, and accept it’s the price of living in a world previous generations wouldn’t fix.”
“Huh. Deep,” Milgram commented, which earned an annoyed scowl.
“It’s not that deep. Just how I rationalize. Some people are pieces of shit who need removing. The trick is to make sure, for yourself, that they really are.”
“That’s an interesting way to think,” Wright said as he settled back, looking to the ceiling as he thought. “I can understand it. My way is different. I prefer to carry a death. The end of a life is a sad thing. Something with weight. So I need to accept that, and respect it. So every weight I take is added to me, so I might strike true when needed.”
“Man, you two are making me feel shallow here,” Milgram muttered, scratching at his head, before he shrugged, “Whatever. So, kid, what was your first like?”
Lou swallowed, nearly speaking before his breath caught. His neck itched, where the 278 was printed in solid red. Shelburn was about to tell Milgram off, but she’d paused, looking at him. Had he mentioned it to any of them before? They saw the number, they had to know. “...I-I have no idea. I wanted….I wanted to be like my dad. And...my ma told me, lotta stories. Big things, legendary things, and my family...they were all immortals. And I wanted to...be that. Maybe. Be like ‘em.
He leaned back, thinking. “I don’t even know what they looked like, the one before me. They were bound up, in...latex. I think. It was black, and shiny. It stretched...their arms and legs were gone. I’d been...I’d run things before. Sold drugs, managed money laundering...fuck, I ripped off you guys, selling gun licenses that’d pass scrutiny, no checks or tax. Did a lotta shit like that, fraud, you know, you said, you got it, but...I’d did good, so it was my reward. And all I had to do was take a gun and shoot some covered, wriggling thing that barely looked human.
“And I couldn’t help thinking...they were human. That’s a person. And I shot ‘em in the head. Five times. And it….It had to be like that, and I accepted that. And I went on another job, and took another shipment, and it was more people. All in the kind of jumpsuits you’d see a mechanic wear...or maybe a prisoner. And they chatted. And talked. They walked fine, they weren’t just dead in their eyes...if they did enough, they could get out. Made enough money, spent enough time, they could go home. Buy their freedom. I heard them say that, and I knew they were lying to themselves, cause the only other option was just…one bit his tongue off on the way over. He couldn’t lie...
Lou took a slow, steady breath. “...I ain’t going back there. My pop can go fuck himself.”
There was a hand on his shoulder, firm and reassuring. Scarred, but warm. “You’re damn right he can. You got out. Never forget that.” Shelburn gave him a genuine grin, and he tried not to blush.
“...I won’t.” The hand left his shoulder, and they subsided back into silence as the landscape raced past outside the windows, urban streets moving to dry fields. “...So, do we wait here the whole trip?"
“You do,” Milgram replied, back to resting.
“Garret is right, for once.” The immediate middle finger earned a chuckle from Wright. “You should stay here for the time being. I’ll check the nearest lounge, maybe bring back a snack.”
“Try not to get into any fights on the way,” Shelburn spoke up, “It’s your turn in the queue, so shit might get hairy.”
“I still don’t think there’s a queue for these encounters, but I’ll take your advice as intended.” Wendell nodded to his colleagues and principal, then stepped out into the hall, immediately scanning his surroundings as he closed the door behind him.
Things were quiet. The noise of the train in motion was the only sound he heard, and a glance at the compartment nearest to them showed it empty. He moved at an unhurried pace through the hall, not showing his glances towards each compartment. None were occupied, which was expected. They’d rented out this entire carriage under a number of false identities, keeping them empty. The camera in the hall shouldn’t be an issue either, as it was rigged to show a loop of the empty hall. An entirely empty carriage wasn’t entirely subtle, but the conductors shouldn’t ask questions.
The lounge car was occupied though. Three groups of civilians–a couple, a quartet, and a trio–sat at nearby tables, chatting casually, and the bar...had a single woman sitting there. A woman he recognized: Eliza Grantland, head of the now defunct CMC PMC, presumed dead following the “massacre parade” at Veracity.
Though that information was clearly inaccurate and outdated. It also seemed like Noemi’s “queue” theory of sudden one-on-one fights had some new evidence supporting it…
He took the seat next to Grantland and raised a hand to catch the bartender’s attention, “Just water, please.”
“Not looking to drink?” Grantland asked, glancing towards him out of the corner of her eye. She was wearing gloves, so she likely was on a job. The professional black suit added to that impression, though she wore it loose. She also had a black cowboy hat on, which was odd.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I am, just not alcohol. Water is fine.”
“Mh, sure, but you could get soda. Rum and cola, minus the rum.”
“That is true, though I still prefer water. Simple can be better.”
“Eh, fair enough. I’d still go for something bubbly myself. Even carbonated water’s more fun than regular water, y’know?”
“You like to live for fun then?”
“Pft. That’s a lot to assume from my drink choices, big guy. But sure, hedonism is nice. Are you offering something or…?”
Hm. He should’ve left this to Garret. Wendell shook his head. “Just making conversation. You seem like an interesting person.”
“Aw, that’s sweet of you to say! Jeez, nicer than my boss here...ah, speaking of-” She put her hand over his glass of water, holding it down. “-you might want to go back to your compartment, big guy.”
She was being more blatant than he expected, though...did she think he was a civilian? That would be a first. “Why would I need to do something like that?”
“Things are about to kick off soon, and I'd rather someone uninvolved stayed out of it.”
“Then let me offer the same to you. Go back to your cabin and forget your job here.”
His reply made her blink with visible confusion. “Wait, what? You work for the twenties?”
“...the twenties?” What? Did she mean Scorava’s enforcers–
The intercom crackling to life caught both their attentions, as did the voice echoing through it. “Ah, testing? Testing–How many times do I do the test thing? Bengal, adjust the–No, not that, the other thingy!”
“That’s not Nero,” Grantland muttered, sounding even more confused, which Wendell could sympathize with, as he was fairly certain he’d just wandered into something completely outside his knowledge.
“Ah, hm, ahem, uh, think we’re getting through okay. Hey there party people! Sorry for the wait, but we needed some time to set things up, but it’s all good, cuz we’re good to go now.”
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“So, to the people who don’t know what’s going on, congratulations! I’m telling you. Now you don’t need to die confused, which you really ought to thank me for.”
“That’s Lupul,” Owl muttered, keeping her focus on her laptop as Summerton’s mutt spoke. His presence complicated things, particularly since that meant the white suits were almost certainly a part of his–Yes, there they were, putting on flat, plastic masks with dark lenses.
“Huh. That’s an opportunity,” Crow noted as she stood and switched outfits on the spot, transferring her cute, fancy clothes to a solid black bodysuit that covered every inch of her skin with a ballistics vest over it, strapped with grenades, along with her black crow mask and the cloak that covered it all.
“The game is simple! It’s a hunt! One with many targets!”
“Only if you managed to get to him,” she replied, dismissing her laptop and switching her own clothes in an instant. It was a shame she had to switch too, but at least she kept her clothing identical with her partner, though her flat, owl mask and white, speckled bodysuit were more meant to contrast. She would have an advantage in close quarters, but the interlopers she was marking through her mask’s feed were mostly equipped with guns–smgs and assault rifles, primarily–so Crow should take point. “Plans might need to change.”
“And who’re those targets, you might wonder? Well, hunters won’t, they read dossiers, but you targets might want to know you’re on the list! And yes, that includes you, Bureau Agents Wright, Milgram, and Shelburn. You’re all worth ten thousand points! So hope you like knowing your value!”
Wright, Milgram, Shelburn. So those were the target’s protectors. Good to keep in mind.
“Hm. Think if we let him talk, we could find out something interesting?” Crow asked as she opened the compartment door, peering out.
“Perhaps.” Owl went for the window instead, cutting along its rim with the talons on her fingers before pushing it out, letting it crash to the landscape rushing past and letting in their air.
“Aw, why would you break the window? You’re not trying to leave yet, right Owl?” Right, he would have access to the feeds too. That was annoying. “Don’t you want to hear how much you’re worth? Ah, fine, you convinced me. You and your partner are worth thirty-thousand each, which means you’re worth all three agents combined! Be proud of yourself!”
“We should be worth a lot more than three agents,” Crow groused, cracking her neck as she stepped into the hall, striding fast to the connecting door.
Owl privately agreed, but it wouldn’t do to give Crow a swelled head. And maybe she should reign her impatience in. “Heading through the cars is more dangerous than going on top.”
“Jaguar’s coming from the top, we’re supposed to clear the cars.” She still stopped, turning to look as Owl considered their options. She was bristling with impatience though.
“Oh, but I shouldn’t forget our other friends! Because we still have Luigi Scorava, the cowardly boy running from his rich life! And since his papa wants him back so much, his corpse is worth one hundred thousand!”
Owl stiffened, then immediately contacted Jaguar. “Third party involvement, Paradiso, headed by Lupul. His aim is to kill the target, not to capture.”
“Piece of shit!” Crow snarled, turning straight for the door and slamming it open. Then she stopped in her tracks and stared at the tall woman right on the other side.
“Then we have our last target! For the second highest prize, we have the upstart climber causing so many problems, sitting at fifty-thousand points, Nimia Altamirano!”
Altamirano lifted the brim of her black cowboy hat, staring down at the wide-eyed Crow with a cheerful smirk. “Sup?”
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“So many problems today,” Jaguar complained, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting beneath her helmet, “And all for one stupid runaway...oh, that rhymed.”
The two women standing with her on the bridge didn’t say a word in reply to their boss’s complaints. They didn’t usually say much.
Cougar stood at her left, while Leopard was on her right. All three women wore cybernetic armor consisting of interlocking alloy plates fixed across a nanoweave undersuit, an intended “second skin” that would allow them protection along with a full range of motion. The former’s armor was sandy-tan, marked lightly in black in some spots; the latter’s was a golden-brown, marked all over by black spots.
Jaguar’s, meanwhile, resembled Leopard’s the closest, though her armor was a warm orange, akin to the sky around a rising sun. Their helmets didn’t exactly resemble the big cats they were named for, though the black visors lined with white seemed almost designed to look like widened maws, and there were claws at their armored hands and feet. There were also little ridges at the tops of their helmets, but neither Cougar nor Leopard would admit they looked sort of like ears.
Jaguar would though, and she would remark on them being very cute.
“Well, I don’t think any of us thought this would be an easy job. I was hoping those agents would just be a decent practice match though.” The woman in question sighed, watching the hijacked train speed along its tracks, approaching through the valley this bridge overlooked. “We even found such a perfect spot to jump onboard! Really, it’s a surprise this train hasn’t been robbed before! ...Has it?”
Leopard shrugged while Cougar kept her focus, her hands bristling at her sides.
“Eh. If it hasn’t, we should take a few souvenirs to make sure we’re the first.” She took a slow breath, centering herself and closing her eyes. All that was left was the sound of the wind in the air, and the approaching train on the ground. She felt the warmth in her, the heat of anticipation, and waited.
As the train passed under the bridge, three women landed on top of it. The first flashed down there, landing in a roll. The second extended her arms, stretching with shadow to slow her momentum and land in a crouch. The third simply stepped from the bridge, and fell, flipping once in the air and landing on her feet, further down than the other two.
Jaguar stood tall and turned, walking for the front of the train as Cougar and Leopard moved for the back. As they passed, she raised her hands, receiving two hi-fives in turn, and started to grin.
She always wanted to have a fight on a train.
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Crow lurched back, her black semi-automatics forming in her hands and firing rapidly as Nimia ducked low and rushed forward, firing back with magnums that shot flaming bullets as she went.
Crow snarled as her cloak burst off, her black, metal wings immediately crossing in front of her body to block the bullets and burst them into embers. She still retreated, continuing to fire until she was out, tossing the guns and pulling a flamethrower from her inventory as she returned literal fire, setting the cabin alight as Altamirano ducked into a room.
She kept up the retreat, spraying fire all around the hallway and fully setting the cabin alight as she backed up–Then winced, dropping her weapon as a lucky shot got her right in the hand. It wasn’t bad, she still had her shields up, but it was distracting and Altamirano was armored now–fully green, patterned almost like snakeskin, though the hat was still on somehow–rushing right through the flame with a burning sword–
Crow flipped over a table in the empty observation cabin, her wings flaring out around her as she pulled a flashbang, throwing it up and ducking low before pulling two smgs and opening fire on a woman that was already moving, getting close and swinging–
Then Owl smashed in through one of the windows and caught Altamirano full in the face with both feet, knocking her back and sending her skidding as she pulled twin rapiers and rushed in, stabbing fast at Altamirano, who dodged and weaved and tossed her hat up–which was still on before that moment–to avoid it getting stabbed, before moving in and swinging back, slicing at Owl as Crow tossed the empty guns and pulled her rifle, sighting quick and firing–
Only for a bottle to smash straight against her mask–right, Altamirano had a free hand–and damn it all, there was alcohol covering her fucking lenses! She tried to rub it out, then flinched as one of Owl’s brown wings blocked a revolver shot.
“CLOSE COMBAT!” Owl snapped, and Crow nodded on reflex, dismissing her rifle and bringing out the tonfas she’d trained with, guarding her arms and lunging in with the opening Owl gave her, and they had a rhythm get going quick as their wings smashed away the chairs and tables that could be obstacles to their movement.
Crow could block hits, with wings and tonfas–Altamirano couldn’t cut through either, which made Crow start grinning–and Owl could stab in quick with each opening she made. It was rough and Crow wasn’t usually this close to a target, but Owl had her back and–
Altamirano dismissed her sword and smashed Crow in the face with a fist like a sledgehammer and she stumbled, before suddenly getting shoved back, brushed off by Owl who was lunging in and stabbing faster and Altamirano was just dodging and weaving but staying way too damn close! How the fuck was she that agile!?
And there was the problem, Altamirano was agile and dismissing her sword meant her range was shorter which was a problem when Owl had rapiers out! She couldn’t stab if Altamirano got in her guard and their wings wouldn’t–
Crow shook her head, scowling at the pulse of blood in her ears and rushed back in–The kick to her chest knocked the wind out of her even with the vest and she was genuinely baffled on how the fuck one woman could hit that hard as she slammed into the opposite wall, cracking against the glass as stars flashed in her eyes.
She shook it off, slapping the top of her head as she tried to get focused. Owl was too quiet, stabbing faster and faster, swinging and cutting a line straight across the window behind Altamirano, cracking all of them along that wall, but the bitch still ducked! And the sudden uppercut to Owl’s face made Crow see red, sprinting forward with a screech of pure rage–
And Altamirano twisted, grabbed the back of her head, and smashed her straight through the glass window, sending Crow out into the open air. For a moment, she felt weightless, twisting to see the ground turn into a blue, cloudless sky overhead through shattered glass. Her broken wings sparked in the air. The wind was on her face.
Then she smashed into the ground.
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Nimia had no time, turning and ducking quick as a sword flew past her head.
She lurched, missing the next one that stabbed into the wall beside her and lunged, bringing her darling out and stabbing straight through the pair of wings that tried to block her thrust.
“GHACK-!” Owl choked as the burning sword went straight through her crossed arms and into her chest, before laughing out loud, “HA! N-Nope! D-Didn’t do it!”
Then she pushed forward, rushing fast so it stabbed all the way through her heart and out the back, laughing even as blood spilled from her lips and out her chest, staining all the white red.
“Pretty sure I did,” Nimia retorted, frowning as she tried to pull back–
Then Owl twisted and the blade snapped completely at the hilt, still stuck and sizzling in her chest as she stood up, another laugh bubbling behind her mask. “N-N-No. I-It’s fine. Cl-Claudia didn’t get me, b-but it’s fine. Y-You won’t get her.”
“...You didn’t stop me. The sword’s magic. It’ll fix itself soon enough.”
“S-Sure. I-I think y-you’re even right. The o-others aren’t easy though. N-Not at all.” She took a slow breath, feeling the fire inside her. “I-I n-never was th-the best. I-It’s fine. I-It’s...all fine.”
She lurched, then looked up, staring straight into Nimia’s eyes. “...Your grip’s too firm. I only broke it because you were clinging too tight.”
Then she dropped.
30 -> 28
“...Hm.” Nimia glanced back through the shattered window, out at the landscape passing by. She considered the woman she threw out of the train, the one her number skipped. Getting thrown from a train was lethal, for most, but...Fuck it, she had things to do.
And judging by the gunshots coming from the cars ahead, she wasn’t the only one having a hell of a time. So she grabbed her hat, yanked the rapier from the wall, and started to move, running to the next fight.
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“Why the fuck wasn’t I mentioned?!” Eliza snapped, glaring up at the ceiling in a rush of offense as the intercom cut out, before settling down with an irritated huff. Then she glanced up at the click of a hammer being drawn back. There was a handgun pointed at her head, and the bartender was grinning.
“No idea, but I’m sure no one would mind–” He really shouldn’t’ve taken his eyes off the agent. Maybe he thought the big guy would start running? Or that he’d be too shocked to move? Or maybe that one of the goons around pulling their own guns would’ve shot him?
Point was, the dumbass wasn’t looking as a solid left hook smashed hard enough into his skull that one of his eyes was crushed by its socket. Not that the guy probably noticed, since he was clearly dead at the hit, but that–
Oh, okay, the big guy just tossed her behind him. She blinked as she stood in front of her, his arms spread wide as every dipshit in the cabin opened fire. But there was no spray of blood, no collapsing body; apparently the big guy was bulletproof.
“Get back to your compartment and lock it up,” he ordered, looking back at her as bullets broke on his skin, actually ignoring the shooters just to make sure she was safe.
Which...well, it felt nice. She was going to need to pay him back for this. Which, hey, she did have an option for that.
“No need to throw my words back at me, I’m not a total damsel,” she replied, waiting for just a few seconds as the dumbasses firing ran into the inherent problem of having everyone in their group fire at the same time: everyone had to reload at the same time.
And it was in that lull that Eliza rolled out from behind the big guy and brought out the rifle she’d inventoried for this job, snapping off a quick shot to blow the brains out of the closest dumbass in a white mask, blowing straight through his eye and out his head in a spray of red before sighting the next one and shooting through her head too. That signaled to the rest of the dumbfucks that they should actually take cover–
“Hey, can you rip this table out the–” The big guy apparently could, tearing it straight from its moorings on the floor and letting Eliza hide behind it. “Thanks! So, which one are you?”
“Wright,” he replied as he crouched beside her. Not that he needed the cover, but maybe that helped–Oh, right.
“One sec,” Eliza said, before pulling an electro-grenade from her inventory and tossing it past the table, earning some panicked yelps and then a lot of spasming screams, “Had to preempt any grenade-throwing on their part, especially since they’d probably go for the more ‘might blow up the train’ type.”
“I see. I thought your specialty was acid?”
“Corrosive rounds, yes, and that was more of a company specialty. I’m decent with guns and explosives in general, you just aim and shoot or prime and throw or set and wait, stuff like that.” She popped up, snapping off a few shots at a pair of pricks who hadn’t gone down spasming, before ducking again at the hail of gunfire. “So hey, why are you this close to the middle of the train? Closer to the rear would be more defensible and there’d be no chance of getting caught in a pincer.”
“We were aiming to be inconspicuous at the time,” Wright replied, still waiting. Did his thing have a charge to it? “No, it doesn’t have a charge, I’m just assessing the situation.”
“Huh. Psychic?”
“Somewhat. Unfortunately, not that type.” He held up a hand and clenched it into a fist, showing a yellow glow flecked off his skin like dust particles. “Just very durable.”
“And hard hitting, don’t sell yourself short on that.”
He chuckled, which was a win in Eliza’s book. “I won’t. In fact, could you cover me?”
“If you’re asking me to watch your fine back as you work, then yes, I can.” And she did exactly that, standing up and firing at the cowering shooters who finally figured out what cover was just for a six foot six mass of beefcake to barrel through and kick their shit in. Honestly, Eliza was starting to wonder if she had a thing for the tall, dark, and brutal types.
Definitely shouldn’t be licking her lips at seeing him smash a man’s head against the wall, would definitely be coming on too strong–Nimia and her weren’t a thing, it wasn’t like she was cheating. Right? Right.
“Wright, we’ve got-”
Eliza dismissed her rifle and raised her hands at the sound of voices behind her, being very careful to show the potential government agents that she wasn’t a threat. Though she still glanced behind her to see who they were.
Decently attractive blond and scrawny brunette–wait, the ette was feminine, wasn’t it? Scrawny brun then?–some skinny brown-haired guy was not quite what she expected, but she wasn’t going to the judge– “Is that a Mage Warriors shirt?”
The blond guy blinked, then nodded. “Watched it since the first series. You?”
“Same! I used to read the comics too, though I still find it kinda funny they were actually tie-ins instead of the original source material, considering the influences the show takes from.”
“...wait, the magical girl show?” the kid asked, sounding confused.
“Magical women show, yes,” Eliza corrected, before clapping her hands together, “Right, guessing I’m on your side now.”
“That’s good to hear,” Wright said as he brushed blood from his hands, a little unnecessarily in Eliza’s opinion, but whatever, “Garret, where’s Noemi?”
“Agent Shelburn’s heading through the back, eliminating bogies that way,” the blond–who by process of elimination and context clues was probably Agent Milgram–explained, still keeping one hand on the back of the kid’s jacket. Which, huh, the kid was actually taller than both her and Milgram, he was just slouching. Not as tall as Wright, but, like...6’ something to Milgram’s 5’10. “We’re hoping to avoid contact with ‘Owl and Crow’-”
“Ah, uh, might not need to for one of those,” the kid muttered, brushing at his neck–oh he was Ranked. Which might make him a lot older than expected and this was Luigi Scorava, right, okay.
“Number shifted down?” she asked instead of dwelling on that, then grinned at the hesitant nod, “Then Nimia’s taking care of your problem, and as the present representative of Altamirano Enterprises, I would like to say there’s no need to thank us for our support in any way other than monetarily!”
The agents shared a look as Scorava blinked in confusion, before Milgram shrugged. “We can discuss payment after the mission is over. How does that sound?”
“Not great, considering your mission is an escort one and you’re bodyguarding this guy and I doubt the ‘mission’ will be over after you get off the train.”
Milgram shrugged again. “Worth a shot. We’ll discuss payment once the present dangers aboard this train are dealt with. Is that sufficient?”
“You bet it is! At least it will be once we get the invoice drawn up properly, but I can handle that after we save your principal. Speaking of, you two have a plan, right?”
“We have objectives. Keep the principal alive, eliminate all immediate threats, survive, get to our destination. Beyond that…” He looked to Wright, who hummed in thought.
“...Grantland, how effective would you be in a fight?”
“Decently?” She shrugged. “I can shoot fine, and I already explained what weapons I know how to use.”
“...This is a risk, and maybe one we don’t need to-”
“Ah hey, our last targets touched down! Huh. Siberian, how didn’t-Oh, they were on the top for a while. Yeah, that would do it, no cameras up there,” Lupul muttered over the intercoms, “Okay, it’s fine, we’ll move on. So, at thirty-thousand, we have Cougar and Leopard, and Jaguar’s going to be another fifty-thousand. So if you kill her and Altamirano, you could tie with someone who just kills Scorava...oh, and apparently there’s another person on here? Uh...Lisa Gran...Grantalan? How do you say this-Ah, never mind. Uh...she can be fifty points.”
“OH FUCK YOU! HOW THE FUCK AM I ONLY WORTH FIFTY?!” Eliza shouted, glaring at the nearest camera.
“Huh? Oh, uh...hey, so, I don’t have audio on these, so...die mad, Liz. And to the rest of you, also die. Bye.”
“...” Wright nodded. “Grantland, fortify this position and keep Lou safe. Garret and I will intercept the twenties.”
Eliza blinked. “Ah, you sure? That’s a really bad idea, considering how bullshit the ranked can get.”
“We’re aware. Still, we have a job to do, and so do you.”
Milgram was already walking without hesitation to the next car, moving fast. Shit, she was really getting stuck on protection detail...well, less chance of dying in that case, but still. “...good luck, big guy.”
He just nodded back, shooting her a quick salute as he went after his buddy. Which left Eliza on bodyguarding. So she sized up Luigi, who looked nervous as hell. “So, any reason you couldn’t hunker down in your cabin?”
“H-Huh? Oh, um, th-the men in white were firing th-through the walls. They’re, um, not that bulletproof.”
“Damn, and people pay luxury prices for this crap? Fucking pathetic…” She hummed, then decided to head behind the bar, gesturing for the kid to follow her. “You drink?”
“...y-yes? Uh...should we?”
“Probably not, but I’ve already got an antitoxin program running. Can’t get drunk while it’s on, which sucks, but it also neutralizes poisons, which is nice.” Which was good, because the bartender hadn’t been subtle about that in the slightest.
“...Yeah, I don’t have that.”
“So you can have soda. Careful about the retinal fluid, sticks worse than blood,” Eliza advised as she started sorting through the drinks, not really worried at this point. The big guy was ahead of her and Nimia was behind, so she was probably good.
That was the fun part about working with capable people. You just didn’t have to worry about any bullshit.
“Uh...hey, um...this is a weird question, but-”
“I kill people for money, so I compartmentalize. Obstacles and targets are fine to kill, but I can have friends and still care about them.”
“...a-alright, I guess that’s good to know...I wanted to ask though, um...what’s with the cowboy hat?”
She paused in the middle of grabbing a sarsaparilla, glanced at the hat, then shrugged. “Nim and I made a bet for this one. Whoever gets through this with their original hat still on wins. It can fall off, but you gotta put it back on, and it getting destroyed means the wearer loses.”
Luigi was staring at her in blatant confusion. “...you’re in a life or death battle, and you make dumb bets?”
“Yeah, of course we do.” Eliza grinned. “Cuz Nimia’s going to win. No doubt about it.”