Red X
New Member
Part One:
Let's Play Hangman.
Looking back on it, they always beg for their lives. The clock rang the presence of the midnight hour, a full moon shining down upon the hill-top manor with pity. This manor was the scene for many, many crimes. Blood money filled the cracks of it's very foundation. There was even a body or two buried on the property.
The owner of this building was a very bad man. A bad man who made a whole lot of illegal money by harming people, by breaking families to the bone. The man's name was Carlos Valkova, and he was just returning home. He was expensively dressed in a multi-thousand dollar suit, an expensive Rolex around his right wrist giving away the fact that he was left-handed, and an almost-as-expensive haircut.
He turned the lock to the manor door, and let himself in. He seemed to have a mission, as he nearly ran to his office and closed the door behind him, hurrying over to the desk and leafing through a rather large stack of papers.
"Looks like you're in a hurry. Get on the wrong side of someone pretty powerful?" Carlos nearly jumped out of his skin, half of the pile of papers cascading to the floor below. The Billionaire turned to look for the source of the words. A man sat in the wing-backed chair in the corner. The intruder had a black and white skull-face mask, a police-style utility belt, and all black clothing including gloves and boots. He also noticed a black backpack that seemed rather full on the ground.
"What the Hell do you think you are doing in my home?" The man asked, indignation clear on his face. He reached for his desk drawer, ripping it open and pulling out a silver pistol. Turning to look at the man in black, Carlos paused and his mouth fell open. The man was gone, backpack and all. Obviously shaken, he grabbed the whole stack of papers and threw them into a laptop case, rushing from the room and down a maze of halls. Turning a corner, a pain erupted at the side of his head, blinding him for a few moments. Carlos fell to the ground, stunned.
He felt hands flipping him onto his stomach, heard the 'click click click' of handcuffs tightening around his wrists behind his back. The next thing he knew, there was something being forced around his neck, and tightened... a rope? This bloody psychopath was going to hang him! The man in black pulled up on the rope, forcing him to struggle to his knees, and then to his feet. Without the use of his hands, this was no easy task for him.
The attacker lead the Billionaire down the hall and into a room, one wall of the room looked out over the beach, the entire wall was a glass window. In the center of the room sat a chair. The man lead Carlos over to the chair demanding that he step up onto it. The attacker threw the rope up and over the rafter/support beam, and tied it to the doorknob across the room, pulled taught enough that Carlos was forced to balance on the stool, on the tips of his toes.
"You know who I am, I trust?" The man in black asked calmly. The bound man nods his head, struggling to get out the words. "Yes... a... Shadow..." The black skull faced mask was pretty specific to the team known as The Shadows, a team of very highly trained killers under the control of the Government until they were disbanded about eight years prior.
"Then you know why I am here, and what will happen if I do not get what I want." This time, the man on the stool said nothing, simply waited for the questions to begin. "I want the information I came for, and since I had to come all the way out here to get it, I'll take your safe code for my troubles." The man in black sat one foot onto the stool, smiling beneath his skull-face mask "Or you can die, I can take the frustration out on your family, hack yours afe, and hunt down someone else who knows about the Kill Order put on The Defiant."
"Why do... you need... this information.." Carlos struggled out. "It's done... Let it... go.." The man in black narrowed his eyes. "Two heroes are dead now, two good people." He growled out, pausing to think for a moment. "Since you don't want to talk, I'll be sure to give your children your best." Carlos' eyes widened, the stool was kicked out from under him. Casey turned to walk away as the Billionaire hanged, kicking his feet, never to draw breath again.
Part Two:
The Intruder.
When the team was disbanded, some went on to continue fighting crime. Some became scholars, some Assassins, some Hackers-for-Hire, etc... John Wilkins did none of these things. Instead, he found a cheap hole-in-the-wall one bedroom apartment and outfitted it with security he'd stolen from The Bunker when the team fell apart.
There he stayed, venturing out only once a month for the purposes of buying food. John was a paranoid man these days, refusing all contact from the team, under constant belief that someone was out there, trying to hunt him down and kill him.
John had fallen asleep at eight o' clock with a newspaper opened in front of him, an article detailing the deaths of two heroes, members of the very team he was a part of. It was midnight, John knew this because at exactly midnight every single night, he crossed the day off of his calender. It was part of his Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, so he woke from his slumber at 12:00am on the dot, and reached his hand out to grab the marker and swipe a black X through April 24th. His head hit the pillow again, marker put back onto the nightstand. His eyes closed once more and he readied to return to his slumber.
His eyes snapped open, suddenly aware that he was not alone. His super-human hearing picked up the sound of a single footstep from somewhere within the apartment. Rising silently to his feet, John reached a hand into his closet, fingers closing around the handle of a Louisville Slugger. Winding the bat up over his shoulder, the Ex-Vigilante made his way out of the bedroom and towards the main compartment of the apartment.
Glancing at his front door, he notices that the door is still locked, and a quick check of the windows revealed the same. An angry creaking sound came from the kitchen, so he quickly turned the corner to investigate. "Who's there?" He spoke out, eyes narrowing in an attempt to see into the darkness. A bright light suddenly flooded the apartment, blinding him. John dropped the bat, and dropped to his knees. His hands clamped tightly over his eyes.
He let a few moments pass before trying to open them again. Everything seemed blurred, but he could make out a figure with something large and white raised above it's head. His vision cleared a tiny bit each passing second, and he could make out what had happened. The creaking from the kitchen had been the figure picking up the massive refrigerator. "No..." He whispered. The figure lunged, throwing the fridge. John rolled to the side, avoiding the massive object and picking up the bat again in the process.
He turned to look at his attacker, and swung the bat as hard as he could towards the attacker's head. Whoever it was grabbed the bat mid-swing, clenching it's fist and shattering the wood. A hand shot out, grabbing John around the throat and pinning him against the wall, lifting him ever so slowly up the wall, until his feet no longer touched the ground. Gasping, struggling to get in some air, John sent a series of quick jabs into the attacker's abdomen, but whoever it was didn't even flinch. His attacker was the last thing he ever saw as his heart stopped beating.
Let's Play Hangman.
Looking back on it, they always beg for their lives. The clock rang the presence of the midnight hour, a full moon shining down upon the hill-top manor with pity. This manor was the scene for many, many crimes. Blood money filled the cracks of it's very foundation. There was even a body or two buried on the property.
The owner of this building was a very bad man. A bad man who made a whole lot of illegal money by harming people, by breaking families to the bone. The man's name was Carlos Valkova, and he was just returning home. He was expensively dressed in a multi-thousand dollar suit, an expensive Rolex around his right wrist giving away the fact that he was left-handed, and an almost-as-expensive haircut.
He turned the lock to the manor door, and let himself in. He seemed to have a mission, as he nearly ran to his office and closed the door behind him, hurrying over to the desk and leafing through a rather large stack of papers.
"Looks like you're in a hurry. Get on the wrong side of someone pretty powerful?" Carlos nearly jumped out of his skin, half of the pile of papers cascading to the floor below. The Billionaire turned to look for the source of the words. A man sat in the wing-backed chair in the corner. The intruder had a black and white skull-face mask, a police-style utility belt, and all black clothing including gloves and boots. He also noticed a black backpack that seemed rather full on the ground.
"What the Hell do you think you are doing in my home?" The man asked, indignation clear on his face. He reached for his desk drawer, ripping it open and pulling out a silver pistol. Turning to look at the man in black, Carlos paused and his mouth fell open. The man was gone, backpack and all. Obviously shaken, he grabbed the whole stack of papers and threw them into a laptop case, rushing from the room and down a maze of halls. Turning a corner, a pain erupted at the side of his head, blinding him for a few moments. Carlos fell to the ground, stunned.
He felt hands flipping him onto his stomach, heard the 'click click click' of handcuffs tightening around his wrists behind his back. The next thing he knew, there was something being forced around his neck, and tightened... a rope? This bloody psychopath was going to hang him! The man in black pulled up on the rope, forcing him to struggle to his knees, and then to his feet. Without the use of his hands, this was no easy task for him.
The attacker lead the Billionaire down the hall and into a room, one wall of the room looked out over the beach, the entire wall was a glass window. In the center of the room sat a chair. The man lead Carlos over to the chair demanding that he step up onto it. The attacker threw the rope up and over the rafter/support beam, and tied it to the doorknob across the room, pulled taught enough that Carlos was forced to balance on the stool, on the tips of his toes.
"You know who I am, I trust?" The man in black asked calmly. The bound man nods his head, struggling to get out the words. "Yes... a... Shadow..." The black skull faced mask was pretty specific to the team known as The Shadows, a team of very highly trained killers under the control of the Government until they were disbanded about eight years prior.
"Then you know why I am here, and what will happen if I do not get what I want." This time, the man on the stool said nothing, simply waited for the questions to begin. "I want the information I came for, and since I had to come all the way out here to get it, I'll take your safe code for my troubles." The man in black sat one foot onto the stool, smiling beneath his skull-face mask "Or you can die, I can take the frustration out on your family, hack yours afe, and hunt down someone else who knows about the Kill Order put on The Defiant."
"Why do... you need... this information.." Carlos struggled out. "It's done... Let it... go.." The man in black narrowed his eyes. "Two heroes are dead now, two good people." He growled out, pausing to think for a moment. "Since you don't want to talk, I'll be sure to give your children your best." Carlos' eyes widened, the stool was kicked out from under him. Casey turned to walk away as the Billionaire hanged, kicking his feet, never to draw breath again.
Part Two:
The Intruder.
When the team was disbanded, some went on to continue fighting crime. Some became scholars, some Assassins, some Hackers-for-Hire, etc... John Wilkins did none of these things. Instead, he found a cheap hole-in-the-wall one bedroom apartment and outfitted it with security he'd stolen from The Bunker when the team fell apart.
There he stayed, venturing out only once a month for the purposes of buying food. John was a paranoid man these days, refusing all contact from the team, under constant belief that someone was out there, trying to hunt him down and kill him.
John had fallen asleep at eight o' clock with a newspaper opened in front of him, an article detailing the deaths of two heroes, members of the very team he was a part of. It was midnight, John knew this because at exactly midnight every single night, he crossed the day off of his calender. It was part of his Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, so he woke from his slumber at 12:00am on the dot, and reached his hand out to grab the marker and swipe a black X through April 24th. His head hit the pillow again, marker put back onto the nightstand. His eyes closed once more and he readied to return to his slumber.
His eyes snapped open, suddenly aware that he was not alone. His super-human hearing picked up the sound of a single footstep from somewhere within the apartment. Rising silently to his feet, John reached a hand into his closet, fingers closing around the handle of a Louisville Slugger. Winding the bat up over his shoulder, the Ex-Vigilante made his way out of the bedroom and towards the main compartment of the apartment.
Glancing at his front door, he notices that the door is still locked, and a quick check of the windows revealed the same. An angry creaking sound came from the kitchen, so he quickly turned the corner to investigate. "Who's there?" He spoke out, eyes narrowing in an attempt to see into the darkness. A bright light suddenly flooded the apartment, blinding him. John dropped the bat, and dropped to his knees. His hands clamped tightly over his eyes.
He let a few moments pass before trying to open them again. Everything seemed blurred, but he could make out a figure with something large and white raised above it's head. His vision cleared a tiny bit each passing second, and he could make out what had happened. The creaking from the kitchen had been the figure picking up the massive refrigerator. "No..." He whispered. The figure lunged, throwing the fridge. John rolled to the side, avoiding the massive object and picking up the bat again in the process.
He turned to look at his attacker, and swung the bat as hard as he could towards the attacker's head. Whoever it was grabbed the bat mid-swing, clenching it's fist and shattering the wood. A hand shot out, grabbing John around the throat and pinning him against the wall, lifting him ever so slowly up the wall, until his feet no longer touched the ground. Gasping, struggling to get in some air, John sent a series of quick jabs into the attacker's abdomen, but whoever it was didn't even flinch. His attacker was the last thing he ever saw as his heart stopped beating.
