The club is a hell of a sight, Fresno night life neither of the two Agent's specialities. A long line of varying levels of attractive waits out front while two bouncers hold it all together. Belltower, now Eight, sighs.
He's wearing suede black slip on's with buckles, his ankles showing as thin but loose slacks with a pull string waistband looped. A large black undershirt, that's buttoned up about halfway to show much of his chest rests beneath an open dark rouge business coat. His smokes are packed away, but one is emptied and wrapped in a zig-zag to create what looks to be a spliff behind his ear. On one hand is a silver bracelet, while a large watch is on the other. Minimal amounts of make-up are used to slightly accentuate Eight's features, emboldening the strong jawline and cheekbones, exactly as one trying to appear more masculine would attempt.
"Yeah, you look ready to play now." Katherine had said at the time. "Just treat people… Like slightly better than dirt, and you'll be better than eighty percent of the men and women there."
"Uhuh." He's got a mildly annoyed look on his face, "Feel like a piece of meat." Eight grumbles.
"Really? This is what you normally wear with a bit of color and loosened a tad." Moxxi (with an I) said back, before remembering she was the tough protector, and puts on a very stern look.
He gives a look at Moxxi, "Really. I don't remember leaving my shirt unbuttoned." Starting to march towards the back of the line, showing a real unfamiliarity with how this works.
This worked with Eleanora, but… She shrugged, "Go to walk past the bouncer, don't even look at him unless he puts his hand in front of you." Katherine whispers, walking close behind.
Sighing, he settles, placing a look of disconnected observation on his face, dulling his eyes ever so slightly as he marches right past the bouncer. On the other hand, the bouncer stares at Moxxi, frowning at her appearance before Eight says, "She's mine." Gesturing vaguely behind himself, trying to be cool, or seeing something she didn't.
Christ, he has no idea what he just said. She didn't stop keeping firm a stare wasn't a no, and she was a… Actually, she was a trained killer now that she thought about it. She sighed quietly to herself as she got in, wondering what the hell must have been in the water in the aughts. Moxxi was wearing a full professional blue business suit, with mirrored shades. Matching slacks over dress shoes with grip pads. She still didn't like not having a trench coat, but admitted no-one else there had one.
Pulsing EDM takes a short break as the DJ moves to a new track, though the dance floor isn't the only attraction, this place is very profitable judging from its size. Eight's a little nervous, looking around and trying to find his way in the new place of entertainment. Eventually just moving towards a booth. Without a reservation.
Moxxi hadn't even got past paying the cover charge, plus tip before seeing that and tried to power walk casually. Though she realized that as security, she could be a little cranky. She quickly snaps her finger at him, and points towards her heel with a fierce look that penetrates through her shades.
Looking confused but acquiescing, he gets close, "What'd I do?" Eight keeps cover, but still tries to figure it out.
"I know you're used to your assistant handling all of this, but on spur of the moment trips like this we don't have reservations." Then on a quieter note, "We also don't say 'She's Mine' unless we're trying to seem like a republican or a future school shooter." That one came out as a hiss.
"Oh. That's. Different." Eight's hiding something very apologetic, playing a character well enough, "How much does a booth cost? I don't want to be just…around." He slips a black card out, offering it to Moxxi.
She looks at him, realizing he's serious, taking a bit of a breath, "Literally, all of the cash in yours, and my wallet, on top of a table charge and bottle charge. The first one is to bribe a host to get yelled at for 'accidentally' double booking a booth."
"Hmm." He sighs, "Fine, here's my personal card, it has four hundred on it." He slips a blue card out. "Booth's necessary, in the open means unimportant still, right?"
"Yes, but I'm going to just use personal wealth for this, because you're about a digit off on well pretty much everything. Bribes are also still done in cash." Then she thought about it, could you do a bribe through Venmo? You'd have to be friends then right? CashApp maybe, when would people just pick an app for illicit deals already.
Very quickly, she moved to an ATM, and typed in the agency pin so that her card wouldn't get munched for pulling out five grand in twenties. Then stopping, thinking about how many twenties that would be. pinching her eyes letting the pressure build up for just a second. Then doing two thousand, quickly pocketing it before walking to the bar looking haggard trying to amplify it just a bit as she sat on a stool.
She puts a twenty under her hand in front of her letting go of it when the bartender notices it and approaches, letting him slide it off the counter. "What can I do for you?"
She points at Eight, "See that little douchebag? I've got to watch him all night and it's his first time in a club. He didn't… Plan this well." She takes the stack of a thousand dollars and places it in front of the bartender. "Can you make sure we get a booth, plus a good time? And put everything else on the tab on this card," handing over a debit card that is tied to a temporary virtual card with her bank. She sighs quietly, and then says, "And four bottles of Grey Goose." Pointing at a two hundred dollar bottle of liquor.
The tender moves, commenting, "Seems to already have company." As a woman about an inch taller than him with tan skin and tribal tattoos in white on her arms is practically leaning over Eight as he visibly tries not to hurt her.
The Bartender intonates that the booth Eight had chosen would be fine, and Moxxi very quickly left, knowing her card would be at the counter or sent to the booth anyways. Moxxi moves over to watch Eight, very much in eye-line of both of them, luckily towering over most of the crowd there.
"Hey pip-squeak." The woman chuckles, brushing a finger on his arm, "You here alone?" She grins, eyes wide and body toned with muscle and a few scars covered up by the tattoos. Eight stares at her with something like distaste, trying to choose his words carefully.
"Admit your nervous." Katherine says loudly in a faux whisper to Eight, leaning more into a nanny kind of security role making apologetic eye contact with the other woman and an uneasy forced grin.
"And who are you are…?" The woman asks, eyes glinting oddly in the dim light,. She leans back into Eight's booth, letting the sleeveless top pull to her body, lifting up to show tattoos on her toned abdomen.
"Moxxi," She says, "I'm just here to make sure he gets home Okay." Blunt, to the point. Trying to seem ill socialized and dangerous. As if the potential violence is why she was hired.
She loses all interest in him immediately, refocusing on Moxxi. "Hey, Moxxi. Name's Zayn, you more free than him?" She leans onto the table with a smile, waiting for a response.
"Sorry, it's a work night," Moxxi says trying to spot who'd be watching Zayn in case things got ugly. Then again, she might be dangerous enough to not need it, though still, someone must have eyes on her. Its not hard to spot them as they snap their fingers loudly, making Zayn twitch towards them. A shorter woman, looking older and with an eyepatch, giving a curt gesture for Zayn to come here annoyedly.
"Shit, looks like it's a work night for me too. You want my number?" Zayn quickly asks, smirking.
Moxxi hands her a business card, "The work number is just my phone."
Snatching it, she pounces out of the booth, rushing over to her beckoning…boss? While Eight sighs, Belltower slipping out, "I nearly killed her." He sits down at the booth.
"Yeah, I realized it was a danger thing and not just threaten-flirting which I'm starting to think is not a thing really." Moxxi says quietly.
"It wasn't flirting?" Eight's confused, frowning.
"I think she was trying to rob you." Moxxi replied.
"Huh." He keeps frowning, "I was freaking out because she touched me, I stopped thinking after that. This…might not have been the best idea."
Mox nods gesturing to the booth, "Yeah, I was saying we switch roles for a reason. I'm not touch averse, and this is a touchy atmosphere. Where as you can at least look ready to kill which stops most of the touching. Get in the booth. I'm going to walk a little bit away. As if I'm giving you the illusion of privacy."
"Alright." He sits, staring out at the crowd, "I'm still trying to place a feeling I'm getting, need a couple minutes to do that." Eight whispers as Moxxi leans on the side of the booth to give him time to manage himself.
The club is back in motion as music returns, bottles of vodka and a card being taken to the booth. The two women are joined by three men, all of them with the same white tattoos as Eight talks through the booth wall. "I'm ninety eight percent sure they're my feeling, which means that clusterfuck might have been a backlash from figuring that out."
"I really just want to open fire now." Katherine admitted, "Seems so much easier."
"We can't. Too many people around. Rule one, remember." Belltower cautions.
"Wanting to do something isn't the same as doing something. Like, I want to lick batteries, but I don't anymore." Moxxi says quietly.
"Wasn't convincing you." Eight quietly states. "They'll be here awhile, think we can place their car? Or cars, or motorcycles."
"I could try more procedural work, but that seems to be pretty angry at us right now." Moxxie admitted with a grimace, before slapping the side of the booth quickly with a startled jerk. "Let's go smoke, spiders are back."
"Yeah, let's." He stands up, moving to an exit, any exit to light up cigarette past, basking in the tendrils and fumes of his chemical smoke again.
Katherine lights up her psych and mild, and realized that they looked like a couple of college aged stoners posing. She tried her best not to dwell on it. Though it probably needed to be said, "We look… One of us should have stayed old I think. That might have been the funny feeling?" She points at him then herself. "I'm at a bit of a loss. We're two college aged people throwing massive wads of cash around, you're awkward, I'm aggressive. What the hell does that look like?"
It hits her, "Drug dealers. You sitting alone, me being angry and approaching, you blowing off women who aren't interested in talking about dating." The blue smoke pulling away at spiders and whispers that skirt the edges of her vision occasionally.
"I don-well." He stops, looking at his cigarettes, "Guess I could use a couple as cover, it's more or less a downer." Belltower's mind races, eyes sharpening from the panic of before to something comfortable, planning his next step. "Drug dealers, the tattoo'd people won't approach after, gives me time to observe, pick up traces. Confirm if they're involved and get a handle on the club."
"I could shoot in their general direction without hitting anyone." Katherine offers, giving Belltower two thumbs up, "It'd be really easy."
He smiles, shaking his head, "Low key, remember. Its why we don't have the IX-5's." He finishes his cigarette before standing back up. "You try and see if anyone will talk to you. I'll be doing my best Sherlock Holmes impression while pretending to be a drug dealer."
"I love our job." Katherine says snickering at his pained expression, "Yeah I'm cute I'm sure I can get someone's attention."
Back inside the club, Eight returns to his booth, eyes flickering across the entire place as he starts to replicate body language of someone looking to offer something perfectly, its like he just changed suddenly. She stares at Eight for a minute, with a respectful nod. Then she decides to do her best at… Fuck. What do women do to get laid? All she's ever done was cry at them and cut herself. That… Well it might still work but Katherine realized she might want to leave that for Plan… C
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Walking through the club she finds the entire thing tiring she had to admit. Especially once the cigarette had taken away the rising paranoia and anxiety. There just wasn't anything here for her. Though, she guessed that meant there wasn't really a way to fuck that up. She sees a guy at five ten hanging around the people they're supposed to be tailing. Something in her mind clicked over a bit, and she decided to off on a whim watching him as he moved from the table. Tracing his path through the crowd. She starts the hunt.
As the man comes to a stop, Katherine slams her hand on the wall next to him, staring downwards with a big smile, "Hi," she says quietly in a whisper as he startles. She hadn't meant to scare him. Why did she scare him. "I'm not scary I swear." Well now you sound like a serial killer.
The man couldn't be older than twenty two, at best, and he seemed to be trembling. He was trying to say something but he started to stutter. "He—he-he-Hello." His voice was very squeaky and high in register.
She leans in a little bit, noticing the man placing himself flat against the wall behind him. "You busy for the next thirty minutes?" Then she looks him up and down, "Probably fifteen in your case."
"No- well ye-ye- no… But…" This man is skinny having a lanky build, that seems like it was woven from taffy that had half the necessary body mass.
She leans in closer into his ear, "Use your words, I don't speak bottom." Then tries not to giggle as he gets a nosebleed, and starts to faint. Very quickly she scoops him up, and grabs some napkins. Taking the man outside and plugging his nose, before rifling through his pockets for wallet and phone. She looks up at people smoking, "The fuck you looking at?" The crowd dispersing almost immediately.
She finds a business card that her gut says to snatch, and then, she puts an extra hundred dollars in his wallet. "Sorry bud." She says quietly. Very quickly forwarding most of his texts to a burner e-mail on the off-chance there was something there. Then leaving him unconscious in the alley.
The club clarifies in Belltower's eyes. His senses sharpen to intake a thousand scents, sights and sounds, trying to look past pulsing music and vibrating lights and to the targets. Details about their leader coming together.
Tattoo's, luminescent, not UV. Dirt on boots, recently in rural area. Colour suggests nearby. His mind races, bouncing from fact to fact. Woman leader, eyepatch hiding most of what looks like claw marks from above, two inches long, half an inch wide, eight years old–Regenerator possibly, may be only a year or two.
Someone comes up, he maintains a disconnected small talk, they walk away with a cigarette and he keeps two hundred dollars. Jacob watches as they speak to one another, pushing and prodding in a casual violence. Rough social dynamics, hierarchy maintained partially by violence.
More details, something better, usable now. Belltower's eyes scan around them, moving up and down each person carefully in between glances elsewhere to break focus. Something, something. They're drinking heavily, one glass, two, three, four, five, no signs of inebriation. Powerful metabolisms.
Finally, something comes free, on Zayn. Bloodstain on left shoulder cloth. Sleeves cut off due to soaking, timeline matches for attack. Just need a way to get them to move. Eight glances down at his phone, texting idly to Moxxi.
Got positive ID, working on moving them plan. We want the leader AL.
I robbed a guy, gave him a hundred dollars because it was a bad lead. 👍 👍
I see. Going to infiltrate.
Belltower puts his phone away, standing up from the booth and walking towards the group with a vague look of distaste that he manages to morph into a look of distaste at everything instead of just specifically them. The two women look him up and down as he nears and speaks, "Hey, you two seem like you want blues for tonight. Am I right?"
The one with an eyepatch grins, "Sure, and your company." This makes a frown slip onto Eight's face, "Dunno if I'm looking for that." He warns, offering a cigarette instead.
"How much?" Their leader asks, pulling out cash with the very edges stained. Eight raises up two fingers, getting six hundred in hundred dollar bills from her. "Should be enough for three, he." She points at one of the men, this one with a groomed beard, "Isn't a "partier". But I think you'll wanna stay, we're getting outta here soon enough, and trust me, it'll get a lot more fun if you hang around."
"That so?" He looks around, both in faux consideration and trying to find Katherine in the crowd. Not spotting her, he continues to delay. "What's the fun exactly?" He moves to the bar, but doesn't commit to a nearby seat yet. The leader laughs again, "Carla, what's your name."
Katherine stomps out a smoke and opens the door, rifling through the scraps of paper, business cards, and receipts she had lifted from the small man. None of it useful, she had thought that was what her gut was telling her, when she looked up she saw Eight had successfully managed to infiltrate, so she decided to stay in the eye line and wait for a signal.
"Eight." The response makes Carla give him a glinting stare, "Really?" She asks sarcastically, taking another drink of straight whiskey like its water. "Okay Eight. The fun's gonna be you and me, and maybe Zayn over there breaking open our drug cabinet, shooting some guns, and then breaking a bed. Or two. Or three. Depends how tough you are." She's grinning, teeth almost sharp.
Katherine points at her side arm and gives Eight a tilt of her head. Everything on her face says, Hey, I can wing her.
A single wave of his hand says No, "Huh, you aren't wrong, that does sound fun. Where at?" He digs for information, still nervous, adding to the show of a dealer getting wrapped up in something.
Carla smirks, thinking she's caught him, "Little executive suite in town. Fun spot, lots of accessories. You wanna go now?" He looks around at the club, and then down to the money he's made. Buying time to think, "Mind if I just follow along? Got my own car I don't wanna leave here." A good excuse.
Carla rolls her eye, "Sure, you can bring daddy's car. Just don't wreck it." Moving back to the bar and taking the whole bottle to down in one go, throat gulping with effort until its all gone. She throws money on the bar, about twice as much as it all cost and then snaps her fingers, getting her crew to follow her out.
Belltower texts quickly. And sees a text from Katherine
I shoot them in the parking lot????
I'm gonna get talked into their car.
Oh Ok!
Follow in the V.
If you want me to open fire give a signal. ill know it when i see it.
Rgr following in the v
He nods to the phone, and then steps off, asking, "How far is it? I've only got twelve miles of gas in the tank." The question makes Zayn laugh, grabbing his shoulder roughly, nearly getting her arm snapped as he stiffens and controls himself.
"Don't worry about it, just ride with us, we'll get you back 'fore sunrise." She promises, squeezing him. Belltower puts a false smirk on his face, "Fuck it, lets go to the second location." Bringing smirks to both women.
They drag him along outside, going to a series of motorcycles and hopping on. Carla taps the back of hers, "Come on, you're with me." Making Jacob slip onto the bike, holding onto the back of it instead of her waist, making her eyebrow raise. But she doesn't question it further, starting the loud engine and twisting out of the lot
ppl don't ride the bitch seat like that. get up on it.
I don't want to freak out.
I respect u sticking to ur values. srry, texting and drivving.
Katherine follows at a distance, not that they're looking for a tail. Getting through unfamiliar streets for nearly thirty minutes until they arrive at a fancy, far too expensive for Carla and crew looking hotel, sliding off the bikes and chuckling their way inside.
Belltower texts.
Try and get in, can reimburse purchases with operations budget.
its not about the money, dont worry. im in it for the game.
gonna be a minute, hit something. hoping a curb.
Belltower stares at the phone, before refocusing and moving up the entrance stairs and into an elevator as they ignore the clerk who seems to recognize them. Carla waves the men off, "Fuck off, you aren't invited." As her, Zayn and Eight pile into an elevator. Another text.
Males separated, take them out, they aren't important.
🤩🤩🍑💦
Not paying attention to the response, Belltower's watching the elevator doors close with nerves evident. As the elevator rises up. Six rapid shots ring out loudly, sounding like small artillery shells going off and making everyone in the elevator tense. As a hand moves to Belltower's shoulder, something snaps. Zayn has her arm grabbed, twisted and then shattered in a split second twist.
Before Carla can realize anything, her right knee is roughly kicked out from underneath her. Fur starts to sprout on both women, but Belltower's barely reactive to that, every ounce of human slipping free as his eyes dull out and start intaking data instead of the world. Zayn is pushed against a wall, her head forced against it twice in resounding impacts as consciousness fades, stopping whatever transformation was taking place.
Carla rushes, skin splitting as she fills the elevator, growing two feet in seconds and making the machine groan with extra weight. A primeval monster of fur and fang and claw. A snout slavering with saliva and teeth two inches long. Her claws swipe as Belltower ducks and slips past, moving to climb on her back, fast and precise.
A button gets pressed in the panic, the elevator starts going down instead of up. Belltower clasps a forearm around Carla's wolfen neck, pressing against dense muscle with leverage, angle and strength alike. The metal walls are torn into by claws that sink into it with ease.
Belltower is smashed into a wall, giving a groan as eight hundred pounds of monster shove him hard and force his grip to loosen. He replans fast, dropping off its back and sliding underneath, barely slipping past another claw that dents the door in. Two floors left.
A sparking wire is released from the roof, drawing his eyes to it. Carla roars, a loud sound that echoes in the elevator repetitively and makes one of his ears bleed. Still, he jumps up and tugs the wire down just as the shapeshifter bites towards him. The wire is forced into its mouth, electric shock transferring with a smell of cooked meat and a muscular freeze as they can't shift against the charge immediately
The elevator doors open just as he rips the wire out, an eerie sense of twisted probability in the air when the full output of the city grid stops flowing through it. There's an unconscious woman and, somehow, a still breathing fur and claw behemoth. A clerk stares terrified at the bloody scene on the ground floor.
The first man had been tagged before he could shift, the arm entirely disconnected, showing glistening wet bones, and heart tissue that had been trying to pump for some time now. The head was completely missing, and a ragged chunky splatter of pomegranate jelly had been sprayed across the lobby floor. His intestines and pieces of vertebrate scattered amongst the chunky preserves. The other Katherine had dumped her shells out on and had just finished reloading when the Elevator dinged. She stood in a small pile of viscera, her blue sports coat now splattered with red, tiny pink flecks addorning the white ombre.
The man underneath her had simply lost the top half of himself. The three rounds that hit him seeming to have macerated his body into a vibrant wet pulp. An eye half crushed sits in the distance staring at the ceiling while the gaping mass spews out the last of it's vital fluids. The giant handgun in Katherine's hand was bigger than Belltower's fore-arm, and while he had noticed it during her weapon checks, he hadn't realized that she had just been carrying it with her. The Pfeifer Zeliska was a behemoth to behlod, and the giant chunks of masonry that were removed after the bullet ripped through it's targets left little room to debate it's destructive power.
And now she pointed it at Carla, "Hey were these friends of yours?" Katherine's grinning ear to ear, covered in blood. "Because I can help you meet them again."
"We are going to have a chat about appropriate use of force." Belltower hisses, sweat soaked and bruised all along his forearms, chest and jaw. Deep purple starting to slip in.
"What, no humans got hurt." Then she looks at the clerk, "Well physically, that guys going to need therapy I think."
He goes to a pocket, pulls out an autoinjector and, before the clerk can do anything, stabs him in the neck with it. After a second, Belltower growls, "This was a gang shootout, there were four shooters using illegal weapons, all male. One of them had an accent, you decide what." Before letting him fall into the seat.
"English." Katherine said, not realizing that Belltower was most likely not talking to her. "English sounds right."
Belltower moves, seeing the large monster start to shrink into a naked woman. "Grab Zayn, I'll get Carla, load them into the SUV." He says on instinct.
"We took the sedan." She raises an eyebrow.
"Then the backseat. I think I hit my fucking head." Jacob snarls, a measure of aggression slipping out.
"I'll sit in the back with them and keep them company!" Katherine says smiling, "Now ladies, I've reloaded, and this pile of chunks that was your kin has shown what happens when you test my patience!" Her voice sounded asif she was telling them where the emergency exits on an airliner were. "If you just follow me, then we may never have to find out what happens when I lose it!"
Belltower lifts the leader, her eyes blearily open from the sheer injury she took. Moving outside into the night, quickly stuffing her into the Sedan while Katherine does similar, if with more ease. He gets into the driver's seat and finally lights a cigarette for himself, breathing out smoke and calming.
"I saved half a pack of my home made ones for you if you run out as well," Katherine said gently pressing the Pfeifer against Zayn's skull, "It's weird they don't put safeties on most revolvers. Isn't that dangerous? Once you cock the hammer back, hell or high water someone's gonna have a bad day."
Starting the drive as a cut on his lip starts to bleed, he answers, "Hammer is the safety. Legally anyways." The adrenaline is deepening his voice.
"Why'd they kick the shit out of you?" Katherine asks looking at him, taking earplugs out of her ears with a free hand, yanking on a blue plastic cord that kept them connected.
"Well." He glowers, "Someone shot a bullet the size of my hand while someone was grabbing me." Belltower takes a puff to calm, "And I broke Zayn's arm in seventeen places. Carla didn't appreciate that."
"And I'm the one who needs a chat about appropriate use of force?" Katherine giggles, before realizing how awful this might be. "I'm sorry, this stuff gets me really worked up. It's so much fun."
"Yeah, you aren't tired of it yet." Jacob grumbles, moving to an alley and turning the engine off as police cars scream by. "Just rote now." The Director whispers, listening for the end of siren whines nearby, tapping a finger rhythmically on the steering wheel.
"Have you considered… A bit more of a defensive fighting style?" Katherine asks looking at him, "The thing with Christine, wait, no… Cruchov. Chr— Whatever, you never really moved backwards. I watch the tapes a lot you kind of just go."
"Aggression wins fights." Jacob states, "Nothing gets solved by retreating unless you're buying time or can't win."
"So do we interrogate them with like… Buzzsaws? Or… Eleanora does this thing that haunts me where she like…" Katherine turns a little pale as she tries to put words to it. "She… Does violence on the soul."
"We'll be using a chemical interrogation method with sensory deprivation and perceived long-term isolation." Belltower quirks an eyebrow, "Torture's inefficient, there's better ways. We have a drug, Quicktime, it's made to accelerate your perception of time by about sixty…times." He smirks at the repetition, easily amused currently, "I'm gonna dose them both and leave them for six hours."
"Lame. Though, I guess it's not really fun torturing people if they're not into it as well." Katherine admits with a sigh, before looking at Zayn, "I think I might take that number now though."
Zayn's eyes are very hazy, the concussion forced on her by Belltower far from mild. She mumbles a barely coherent rattle of numbers.
"You're right, I would look good in a pink tie Zayn. I didn't realize you were so perceptive." Katherine replied, prompting the woman to try and say more. "No, no I don't think I'd have made employee of the month yet. There's still so much more to the month!" She stops as Zayn stares at her and blinks. "Good point, we'll just see what's in the cards."