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<Fuck you.  We need a fall guy.  I got no choice.  I'm hitting Henderson then Neon Trails.  Got a crew of assholes and a fucking reporter with me.  Get ahead of this.>

"Fucking asshole," growled Skender as the link was cut off.

If Tak had been doing his job, then this shit wouldn't be happening in the first place! Now they were gonna have to sacrifice Henderson at the very least; but a sinking feeling in his gut told him the cost would probably keep rising. The supplier wasn't answering his calls at the moment; which meant that he had to decide how to move forward. When this shit went wrong, he would be the one saddled with the blame. Taking a deep breath, he sat down behind his desk and took a drag of his third cigarette of the hour as he gathered his thoughts.

Fucking John Wilder!

Okay. Focus.

Anyone with a brain could dope out that Tak was heading for Neon Trails. Knowing where the assholes were going to be meant that he could plan ahead accordingly. The best idea he had was to send some heavy badasses to take care of the problem. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it might buy him some time to get in touch with the supplier and work out a solid plan of action.

Skender opened up a comm link and to the proprietor of Neon Trails, a bitch named Daisy, and told her to keep the gang there, and to get a message to Tak about what was coming. Once that was done, he called up the emergency number the Supplier had given him in case he needed a higher tier of muscle.

Almost immediately, a calm voice came over the link, "Yes?"

"Neon Trails. Two guys, sending you photos. Third guy is off limits."


The link went dead, and Skender leaned back in his chair. With any luck, this would all be over soon.

@Twitterpated @Noko @Peach @Malintzin



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As luck would have it, there was tall lanky man-boy with blue hair leaning against the open kitchen door as Tak approached.  He looked at the cop warily, exhaling a cloud of smoke around the metal wrapped cigarillo that dangled from his lips.  "Wrong entrance," he greeted the suited lawman with a statement and the jerk of his chin toward the bar's front.

"No shit," answered Tak as he lifted empty palms, fingers spread.  As far as any could see, Tak was unarmed - he did have a suit jacket on, though, and suit pants, and a car full of who knows what, but at least for the immediate second he was unarmed.  The heels of his too-expensive shoes scuffed as he trudged along the asphalt toward the door.

"Woah, woah!"  The waiter objected, flicking ash in Tak's path as if a wall would spring up from its grainy nothingness.

"I need to talk to Daisy."  Coming to a halt, Tak slipped his hands into the side pockets of his pants and looked up at the teen.

"That's nice."  Again, a counter.

"That blue dragon?"  Tak's response was curt, pointed.


Tak waited, his dark brows lofted high above deep-set eyes as if it he wasn't sure what illicit substance the waiter was smoking.  The thing was, he was very sure - shimmering smoke and a faint chemical scent?  Blue dragon, as illegal as fucking in the park on a Sunday, and carried a few years for possession.  The waiter looked at him, frozen, then took the cigarillo from between his lips and eyed it with betrayal.

"..so, Daisy's inside.  Let me show you the way."

Ah, good.  It was always best when things just worked out.

Sighing, the waiter pinched out his smoke, pocketed the smoldering remnants, and strode into the club.  He was all legs and arms, all joints, all fucking pieces moving this way and that with a clumsy coordination that reminded Tak of a baby giraffe or a hound dog.  It was like nothing in his body connected; it all just operated independently, moving this way and that, and lending the man the impression of having always just tripped.  He waved off the other curious staffers, leading Tak through a cluttered array of stainless steel appliances and larger-than-life bowls which the Vice Under Chief couldn't imagine being used for anything legal.  It's not like they were running a catering business out of the back.  

In due course they arrived at a hole in the wall with a door and on the door was a sign that said simply, 'Manager'.  Here, Tak's blue-haired baby giraffe in a black apron stopped, waved his hand at it, offered a curt, "Seeyalater," and was halfway back to the parking lot before Tak turned to reply.  So he didn't, he just slapped the door with his palm, and walked right in.

Daisy looked up from a desk full of paper and tiny baggies, and rolled her blue-lined eyes.  "What the fuck," she said by way of greeting, tossing her too-black hair back as she threw a wave at a nearby chair.  Its current occupant was a greasy, mostly-empty pizza box, which Tak eyed with disappointment.

"My cholesterol is fine," snapped the woman, "Why the fuck are you here?  We're paid up."

"Fucking John Wilder, that's why,' answered Tak.  Wearing his irritation like Daisy wore her sleeplessness, he slapped the pizza box off the chair and dropped into it.  "Whoever is cooking the Tranquil is dropping bodies and guess who gives a shit."  His brown eyes rolled toward the water damaged ceiling and Tak took advantage of the momentum to blow his bangs out of his eyes.  "Henderson sold you down the river, so now I gotta toss the place.  I need the fucking cook, Daisy.  It's not going to stop until we can hang this on someone's neck."

"Aren't you supposed to be keeping this shit from happening?  Fucking god, Tak.  You're a piece of work."  Kicking back from her seat, Daisy stood up and waved both hands out at the tiny room like she was presenting a Queen.  "G'head, fucking toss it - like I don't have enough shit to deal with?  Go on, get your fucking rocks off."

Standing, Tak heaved a sigh.  "I'm doing what I fucking can, Daisy.  I'm just a cog like you."

"Yeah, your place getting trashed now?" countered Daisy sharply.


And with that, the show began - Tak stood,  dispirited as he lifted his scuffed shoe, and kicked the ramshackle door straight off its rusted hinges, shouting with all the frustration he felt, "I need a FUCKING NAME.  Who's making the Tranquil, Daisy.  WHO?"

Edited by Noko

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The bartender didn't seem to amused by the outsider, no doubt he could feel that something just wasn't quite right with the Meta. Begrudgingly, he served Bishop as requested, though it was approximately then he could hear a commotion. Regardless of their being a certain lack of business so early in the evening, it wouldn't have been hard for a hyperkinetic Meta like him to key in. He was going to leave it be, simply put if they were being robbed at opening or if someone was being roughed up for any reason, it wasn't his business. Fuck the hero complex. Though his interest was granted when he was certain he heard a familiar voice yelling. Jumping up, Bishop bound the counter without hesitation. The bartender berated him and told him he couldn't do such, though Bishop wasn't the listening kind of man. Pushing into the kitchen, he saw the blue haired dude. The strange looking lad's eyes told him all he needed to know to confirm his growing suspicions. 

Pushing past the kid, Bishop stopped in the frame of the door. as he witnessed Tak ruining the lady's office, his lips parted and his tongue folded. Hinting at his Meta prowess, he produced and inhumanly high pitched whistle to warrant the pig's attention. Folding his arms over his chest, his narrowed blue hazel eyes settled upon Tak; A smirk slowly forming on his lips.

"Th'fuck y'doin'? Y'fuckin' 12 or sum'like tha'? How th'fuck you suppose t'find sumthin' makin' a fuckin' mess lik'is?"

Every single one of those questions were rhetorical of course. 

"Why don' you jus' go wait out back f'me o'sum? I'm tryna' score sum tranq aight? When I get a deala', I'll hustle'im for'is supplia. From ther' I'll fin'th'source...An' then y'can tear shit up yeah?"

@Noko @Peach @Malintzin @danzilla3

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Tak didn't need the whistle.  He may just be a dirty cop, in here dirtying the place up and not at all in the meta sort of way, but he was still a cop with a bucket of experience looking at a woman who was looking behind him, at a now filled doorway.  When her blue lined eyes flit toward the should-be empty space, his shoulders turned fully and the simple, childish-level of frustration which washed across his flushed face was the purest emotion seen this side of a kid not getting to stay up late.

"Aw fuck, you again."  He winced at the shrill whistle, face twisted up like a piece of dock-side jerky, and spoke at the same time Bishop did- though his words were likely lost in the ear-piercing sound and the to-follow diatribe.  Tak literally exhaled the word 'Ugh' and turned to face Daisy, lifting his palms helplessly as he caught his breath.  "Can you hang on a second?" he asked, prompting an unbothered nod from the dark-haired woman.  Fishing around for a moment, she wrapped pointed-tipped fingers around the worn arm of her upended chair and righted it, then plopped down.  Tak, with a break in the action, took a moment to slap the dust off of his suit before turning in time for the mid-section of Bishop's words.

"Th'fuck y'doin'? Y'fuckin' 12 or sum'like tha'? How th'fuck you suppose t'find sumthin' makin' a fuckin' mess lik'is?"  The mercenary growled through his smirk.

"Obviously Daisy here keeps a meticulous contact book outlining her criminal contacts," replied Tak, flatly, "Isn't that right Daisy?"  

Daisy nodded, looking for all the world as if she would have nodded even had Tak asked her if there was a purple elephant suspended above her head.  Keeping her eyes on her nails, she ran the edge of her thumbnail beneath the opposite, and worked on cleaning out the day's grime.

"Why don' you jus' go wait out back f'me o'sum? I'm tryna' score sum tranq aight? When I get a deala', I'll hustle'im for'is supplia. From ther' I'll fin'th'source...An' then y'can tear shit up yeah?"

"Yeah, ok.  That's going to work great now that you said it out loud.  Look man.."  Tak sighed and lifted empty hands, gesturing peace, before he reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a tiny grape lollipop which he unwrapped and then tucked into his cheek pocket.  Tossing the place had winded him a bit- too much time at HQ sitting in virtual meetings planning shit that would be removed in next quarter's budget.  "I get it- big man, big guns, big whatever, but you just got here and you're already stepping in shit.  Could you maybe tone it down a bit and learn the road before you start trying t'take shortcuts?  This city's got it's own personality; it's way of doing things and its people, their expectations, the way the game is played, and you're really taking the piss on that."

In the back, the staff had scattered- the situation had trouble written all over it and no one in New Everrun wanted to be involved in any kind of thing like this.  The blue haired waiter had peaced out, tapped his comm, and shot a text over to his dealer.

<Yo.  The cops are at work turning it over for tranq and some fucking merc is playing masquerade games.  I'll shoot you a pic if I can.  If your cousin's still swimming, he better swim north.>

Edited by Noko
Tak has now lost the random accent he developed..

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When Tak patronized him over his revelations of his plan, Bishop grinned stupidly ear to ear and snickered a bit to himself. At the utterance of look man, Bishop's face changed, as if he was truly invested in what he was hearing. He listened without interrupting in the slightest.

"I get it- big man, big guns, big whatever, but you just got here and you're already stepping in shit.  Could you maybe tone it down a bit and learn the road before you start trying t'take shortcuts?  This city's got it's own personality; it's way of doing things and its people, their expectations, the way the game is played, and you're really taking the piss on that."

"Nah, y'don'get shit! I got m'own personality, m'way o'doin shit. I got m'people, m'own 'spectations...Th'way I learnt'a play dis gam, ther' ain't no right way. Fuck this town!"

He exclaimed more in excitement than volume, his blue hazel eyes growing wide with a wild look in them. He pulled an unmarked pack of smokes from his pocket, and from it he plucked a non filtered cigarette from it. Placing it twixt his lips, he pulled out a zippo and struck the flint while flipping the lid. Slamming the lighter shut, he took a reassuring drag and inhaled deeply, pocketing his belongings. His right hand plucked the smoke from his lips, and an odd scent filled the room as he exhaled blue tinted smoke.

"Y'know, I heard y'daddy was a tough mufucka'. If he as tough as folks make'm out t'be, then why it loo'li sumbody tryna play'em f'a bitch? If this was m'town, you think ther'd be bodies droppin' this much wit'out me doin' sumthin'bout it m'self? Maybe he is bitch made, but I'm not. Tha's his pro'lem, tha's th'pro'lem wit' you justice nuts, you think tha' legal an' illegal means right an' wrong. Y'wrong. If th' good, th' bad, an' th' ugly o' thi'city all 'ave certain rules t'follow, then th'city will be mine in no time."

As he took another drag on his lho stick as they were truly called, the Russian Meta stepped into Tak's personal space before plucking the stick from his lips again; Inhaling before speaking, and blowing a plume of smoke in Tak's face after his words.

"I ain't tonin' shit down, if y'smart then you'd begin investin' in th' version o'ya'future wit' me in it."


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It all seemed so tiring to Tak; he sighed as Bishop started to speak- the tone, the edge, from the first syllable of the first word Tak already knew that this conversation was going downhill rapidly.  He squared his shoulders to meet the man and brought his fingers up to the lollipop in his mouth, beginning to thoughtfully spin it as Bishop punctuated his tirade with the informative, '...fuck this town!'  

There he slowly nodded - more in agreement of the words existence, than agreement or accord with anything else.

The cigarette appeared; the lighter, flipped open and slammed shut, while Tak gently bit on the grape candy.

Y'know, I heard y'daddy was a tough mufucka'..."

"My father?"

Tak's interrupted- he had to, the interjection of his father was just so out there that he reflexively had to confirm with all the astonishment of a drawn out moiiiii?  He blinked once at Bishop- dark lashes wrapping black eyes, staring at Bishop like the merc had just stepped out of an interdimensional portal and started lecturing him on the gossip of his home world.  Tak's father was a mechanic in Last Chance, so what the merc was going on about was about as out there as it got.

"...will be mine in no time."

Again, the policeman nodded- this time thoughtfully, mostly the movement of his head back and forth, in a consideration that mimicked Bishop's earlier display.  When the big meta shouldered his way into his space, Tak rolled his eyes and readied himself as he idly waved the smoke out of his face.  He'd been a beat cop in Last Chance not terribly long ago - this type of interaction, unfortunately, was not unusual.  It just usually wasn't with someone working with him.

"Yeah, ok.  I'll make sure to let the Governor know to expect you.  You're a real fun guy, man.  Listen, Daisy.."  The smoke around Tak's face dispersed as he turned away from Bishop with no more reaction than a wall would have.  "We need this cook- people are dying.  Hit me up, you know the anon line is good."

Daisy barely nodded, no more then the tiniest acknowledgement she had heard anything at all, as she continued to clean her nails.  

See no evil, speak no evil.  Welcome to New Everrun.

Tak turned, his long legs lost in his baggy suit pants as he made his way back out to his transport.

Edited by Noko

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Though some Iton Spirits look like men, under the skin, their irons still shine through.


Tak wasn't in so deep with his secondary source of income that he would have met The Enforcer in person, but he would damn sure have heard of him. No one knew who he was, or where he had come from; but all who had heard of him were terrified. When the Organization needed a problem to disappear, he was the one they called. One of his nicknames was HR; owing to how he solved, "people problems." Up until now, he had never been called to New Everrun; and the fact that he was here now was an indicator of just how seriously Management was taking this investigation.

As Tak walked out of the bar, a sleek, black vehicle pulled up alongside and a tall man in an immaculate suit got out. The scars on his face would be all the identification the cop needed to know who he was. Calmly walking over to Tak, he towered over the other man as he spoke.

"Please go inside and escort the lady out of the establishment," he rumbled in a calm basso voice, "I will wait five minutes, and then I will proceed."

Once he was done speaking, he would indeed wait five minutes before gathering energy in the palm of his hand, and unleashing a blast that would incinerate anyone in the front room of the bar.

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He audibly sucked his teeth as he refused to move out of the way, yet made no attempts to stop Tak from leaving when he did. Shortly after him, the Meta made way for the door. Without looking back over his should, he gave the woman some parting words.

"Take care of yourself Cici..."

Despite realizing what he'd said after the fact, he refused to correct his error, instead choosing to walk away. Bishop recalled the strange looking kid with blue hair. He looked like a bass head, certainly that little punk knew where to find some tranq. Searching the kitchen and even the freezer, the kid was nowhere to be found. Asking a few of the employees, one said that he'd seen the kid take off through the back door minutes ago. Grunting in mild frustration, the Russian Meta needed another drink. As he inevitably went to return to the bar, he could see a man near the entrance gathering energy in the palm of his hand. Despite his hyperkinetic, there was nothing he could tell about this foreign energy other than it seemed to host some hard to see waves permeating from it. Heat...

Inhaling deeply, the Meta chest swelled preternaturally in likeness to the circumference of a barrel as his steel cleats locked into the ground beneath him by nothing more than the strength of his legs alone. As the gathered energy left the strangers hand, Bishop exhaled a breath of frigid, gale force wind. Blasting the kitchen door open and likely off it's hinges if it didn't outright shatter from both the immediate drop in temperature and force alone. Between the aggressor and Bishop himself, the breath swept the room and left a shimmering thin layer of frost in it's wake due to the hot temperature of the incinerating wave it contended with. Though not as wide spread, the breath's more cone like shape of projection threatened the offender with the widest end of it's ranged prowess. It was maybe just enough spread force to knock him back out of the entrance. It was possible that Bishop might have saved a life or two, though it was quite obvious that he hadn't intended to save anyone other than himself. 

With his ectomorphic frame returned to it's normal state, Bishop stepped out into the bar. His steel cleats crunch into the frosty, charred floor as he looked around the room to get a good idea of what actually just happened. Thanks to his experience, it was safe to say that whoever that was, was sent here to kill someone. That, or they had a personal grudge to carry out. Either way, he had no plans of getting involved anymore than he had to. Little did he know that he was the mark. It was sad when a life was lost, though Bishop only truly seemed to care when it was a life that was close to his; That he favored. Still, to some degree, all life was precious. No way he'd find a dealer here, not now. His clue should have been the staff continuing to clear out. Perhaps the cop was right, and Bishop knew better than most that the streets demanded respect.

"Yo, cyka!"

He called out to the prick that just fried the bar before stepping out the doors himself and into his view. 

"I'm lookin' t'score sum good shit. I was thinkin' I'd find sumthin' her', but y'kinda messed tha' up. Y'look lik'ya know y'way 'round her', wher's th'next best place t'ave a good time?"

@danzilla3 @Noko

Edited by Twitterpated

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To be honest, Tak thought he was about to get shot.  A lot.  He'd just been enjoying the blast of cool air after the tense, stuffy, exchange with Bishop.  He'd been thinking about who was going to win the game tonight, and if he was going to be able to get his reports done on time, and hoping that his wife made lamb for dinner, but as the sleek black car pulled up to the rear employee lot at the Neon Trails he drifted to a slow, expectant, stop.  A loud crack sounded as he crunched through his lollipop and watched car doors open.. and the fucking Enforcer got out.

Holy fuck.



Tak swallowed; he stared at his scars, at the Enforcer's empty eyes, at the immovability of his frame and decided immediately that retreat was his best option.  His feet scuffed on the broken concrete as Tak backed up, claiming space, gaining distance and some semblance of something he could confuse with safety.


"Please go inside and escort the lady out of the establishment.  I will wait five minutes, and then I will proceed."

He immediately nodded, blank-faced as his thoughts rocketed around in his mind like five-year olds at three am after too-much sugar and a night out.  "Yup, sure.  Ok."  Again, Tak nodded.  He didn't need to, but he did, and then just to be sure nodded again as if all of this made perfect sense, then turned away from the Enforcer and fished inside his suit pocket for his pipe and the dose of pick-me-up chemical in it. 

Actually, maybe pick-me-up wasn't a great choice now. 

Slipping it back in his pocket, Tak walked back toward Neon Trails, but inside of a step or two his walk was quickened, then picked up to a jog, then a frantic sprint as he hit the swinging kitchen door with the flat of his hand and burst back into Neon Trails.


Grabbing his badge off of his belt, he waved hit around and looked for the regulation-required fire alarm that should be installed in this goddamn kitchen.  His dark eyes swept the disorganized mess, combing the walls for that familiar red box, before he found it and smashed his palm against the glass.  Immediately, a high-pitched screech erupted in the club, combined with a woman's mechanical voice the blared notice of the alarm activation throughout the club.  

Hopefully the Enforcer wouldn't take offense to that...

Taks' next frenzied steps brought him back to Daisy's office, where Daisy half-stood, her wide, blue-rimmed eyes flitting with annoyance between Tak's newly arrived face and the flashing fire lights.

"Tak, what the fuck?"  

Everything here was on the edge of panic, wicked and raw.

"Get out.  FRONT DOOR."  Tak spat the words as fast a she could, trying to ensure the staff got out as far away from the Enforcer as possible.  The gravity was palpable as he looked at Daisy, then for Bishop.  The big man had disappeared, so at least that was one less complication.

"Outoutoutoutout.  NOW.  Get everyone the fuck out.  I swear to god Daisy, GET OUT.  FRONT DOOR."  Tak gestured wildly, pointing toward the front exit.

For a moment, the woman was silent - but she had lived on the street, kept house with dangerous men in dangerous times, and knew a wildfire when she saw one.  Once she'd absorbed the information, her eyes hardened.  She gave a clipped nod, then echoed Tak's yell and ran from the room.

"You have four minutes!"  His warning, along with his eyes, chased her out before returning to look over the now empty room.  He shook his head, paler and sweatier than he had been earlier, with a panic in his eyes that wasn't at all reassuring.  "What a shit show," he said, turning and giving the empty kitchen one last sweep of his eyes before he slipped around a counter, hopped over a giant mixing pan, and jog-ran toward the front exit.

Edited by Noko

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The Enforcer quirked his head.

"Это будет весело"

It had been many years since he had met an opponent strong enough to give him even a mild challenge. Most of his capacity for pleasure had been stripped away to be replaced with steel and circuitry, but there was still a part of him that remembered the thrill of battle. Perhaps it was some small facet of his personality that had somehow been spared; or maybe an instinct implanted by his creators to make it easier to command him to violence. It was academic really. Even if the target had been a pathetic weakling, it wouldn't have changed what he needed to do.

A strange mechanical sound accompanied a row of small jets emerging from The Enforcers legs and out of holes in the legs of his pants that seemed tailored for them. Propelling himself at great speed, he intended to smash right through Bishop.

@Noko @Twitterpated

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The Meta responded with some amount of confusion. Ever since leaving his home world, he had grown used to people not speaking his language. His native one especially. This particular guy however, was more interesting than he appeared on the outside, even with the evidence of his body modifications. The mind of a Hyperkinetic was something special. To Bishop, not only did everything appear as if moving in a slower motion than it really was, but he could make out most if not all the minuscule details of something provided he can pick it up with his inhuman senses. He easily projected the distance of his opponent, estimated how fast he'd have to react at a moments notice whether his body was capable of keeping up or not. While the illustrious Compound V coursing through his veins helped to that end, though he was deep down inside still only human.

Bishop's arms formed some semblance of a boxer's guard as the Enforcer's legs opened up, and as his engines started and launched him at Bishop, Bishop stepped in as his right fist closed tightly and launched at the Enforcer's head in the form of a haymaker with nigh the full force he was capable of mustering in a single blow. Bishop's strength was tremendous despite his rather small frame. With a single blow, the Meta was capable of denting or even outright penetrating some of the densest metals known to man. Had the enforcer been ordinary, it's likely he'd have been easily flipped, his jets carrying that momentum forward and up as the head went back and ultimately down. As if the brute strength of the punch alone wasn't enough to shatter a skull and literally knock one's face into/through the back of it, the act crushing it to the ground was necessary overkill considering his opponent wouldn't likely be so easily thwarted. Just because this guy's head likely wouldn't pop like a squished grape didn't mean he couldn't try it. Regardless, he answered the man's takedown with a punch to the dome, his steel cleats digging into the concrete beneath them. Even if Bishop couldn't man handle him so easily, the Enforce would learn that even without cybernetics, his method thus far was best compared to the act of a small child illogically smashing one action figure into another yet neglecting to move the other in any realistic manner. All the while, the Meta began preparing his super breath* .

@danzilla3 @Yoko




Edited by Twitterpated

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Four minutes.

That's all Tak had- three minutes, if you wanted to be realistic, which Tak very much did.  He didn't want to be stuck in the club while the last ten seconds counted down, no.  He wanted to be sitting out in the parking lot with some marshmallows and a lawn chair.

The flat soles of Tak's dress shoes skidded as he sprinted through the club, taking corners only with anchors, and straight-aways like they were downhill, and he was on skates.  His voice echoed through, propelled by frantic necessity, and punctuating in between the fire alarm's shrill blare.


Who knew if everyone made it, but Tak did his best, and when the first fiery volley hit the Neon Trails, he was stumbling to an exhausted, wheezing halt in the front parking lot with the staff and what few early-bird customers there were.  Only then did he have the wherewithal to open a line to the police district and call for assistance:

<Central, this Officer Chan.  We've got the Enforcer down at Neon Trails.  I cleared with civvies I could.  Send backup, rescue, and fire.  Lots of fire.>

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The Enforcer was not a man used to being challenged.

Opposed, yes; as few enemies were kind enough to simply accept their fates and die quietly when he came for them. But they died all the same, and usually presented little threat to the cyborg who slaughtered them. Most gangs simply didn't have the right caliber of equipment or talent to inflict more than cosmetic damage upon him. He could count on one hands the number of times since his rebirth that he had met someone capable of giving him a real fight. 

Bishop was now the fourth finger on that hand.

The meta's punch stopped his charge cold. No real damage had yet been inflicted; Bishop would feel how dense the metal body underneath his skin truly was. But still, the Russian had stopped his charge, and even opened up a small gash on his forehead. Interesting.

Recovering quickly, The Enforcer drove a brutal right uppercut into Bishop's midsection, and then began to charge another energy blast with the same hand.


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Heat blasted through the Meta's knuckles as pain flooded into them. Past his prime and still out of practice despite his warm welcome at The Festival of Blades, it became obvious rather quickly that Bishop was as he used to be so many years ago. He was out of his league. However, that didn't cast any doubt to this underdog. He used to have a reputation for defying the odds! As his arm recoiled, the Enforcer caught him left ribs, fracturing two of them as far as Bishop could tell. His mouth shot open as a a bit of blood flew from it, the wind being knocked from him. His bloodshot, glazed, hazel green eyes widened as well. This moment served as a severe reminder to the limits of his meta abilities. While Hyperkinesis was great for his senses in most cases, it was always up to the body to be capable of reacting to the information fast enough to benefit from it. Even with the V, the dulled blade that was Tzak the Ripper still found himself a bit incapable. 15 years ago, he would've crushed this fucker already, no doubt!

His left elbow knocked the charging limb off to his left side as he crunched his midsection all the same as he would've in his youth to cushion the blow. Perhaps the Enforcer would notice the intent despite the old dog failing to execute properly. Suddenly, his body snapped back with inhuman speed. A faint uppercut from his left swiftly extended into a rather savage upward strike all the same from his bent elbow, aimed for the chin. He continued to charge his super breath, more than certain the potency of it's next use needed to catch the Enforcer off guard. And of course pack enough power to pierce his enhancements. Logic said he should've been using his full arsenal, but his fighting spirit couldn't resist the closing thing to Dzan Streea this godforsaken planet had to offer. He almost felt obligated to throw hands!


Edited by Twitterpated

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