Blackbird Lore
Inactive Member
[Blackbird as the Avenging Angel; Gwathdraug in the part of the earthly Side Kick.]
Night has fallen in Funky City, Nepleslia. The prowlers are coming out, and the familiar night symphony is slowly picking up, washing out the daytime drone of mechanical hums and the din of business. With the darkness comes sirens, shouts, and the occasionally crack of gunfire. All in accord with a typical evening in this city.
Traditional thought believes that their are only two kinds of people: predators and prey. They come in all forms, these two, but are ultimately one or the other. But in the words of a great man of combat, "There are three: the sheep, the wolves, and the sheep dogs." Funky City is renowned for its wolves. Slick salesmen, credit sharks, and criminals of vice all make a cozy living here. They own the city in a way, largely unchallenged, and comprising a hefty portion of the population.
But tonight they are hunted by that third type of individual: one who is skilled in conflict, but wields his abilities as a shield for the defenseless. A winged guardian has answered the call of the weak. He preys upon the predators who think themselves the top of the food chain, those who have grown soft from years of feeding upon the sheep.
In some nondescript, dark, dingy corner of Funky City he lurks, treading carefully but with conviction. His will is unwavering and tonight he has an agenda. Criminals trafficking in persons and narcotics have caught his eye. He's found their despicable den and given written warning of their imminent destruction. They paid it no heed.
Uriel Hisshana stands in an alley, geared for war, a swift angel of death. An ancient blade rests at his right hip. At his left, two great weapons of war- the ODM 17mm and Sizi Model 30- glint with righteous anger. His robes solidify the image of a warrior angel, or perhaps even the archaic image of the grim reaper himself. If he were a man of vice, the Archangel would have a cigarette tucked between his lips, smoke trailing ominously up into the night sky. As he is not such, he possesses the visage of a man who really should take up smoking. It would look way cooler.
Standing to Uriel's side stood a much less imposing man, his hand shaking as he himself did attempt to light up a ragged looking cigarette. Looking as if he was trying to hold his breath the man was wracked by a sudden fit of coughs and dropped both his lighter and entire pack of smokes.
Regaining control of himself with a hand pressed against his chest the balding, bespectacled man instead shook his head and kicked the trash off to the side of the alley way. Coughing again but in a much more controlled fashion Byron Hackett smoothed out his moustache and then slipped both hands into the heavy raincoat that seemed a few sizes too big for the man that was wearing it.
Uriel would know quite well that Byron's left hand was resting comfortably around the grip of the man's battered Talon TSP.
Blowing air out between his lips slowly, Hackett let a lopsided grin settle itself about his face before turning towards Uriel. "So." The man drew out the word and seemed almost as if he had expected to be able to take a long drag off of a cigarette after speaking - a realization which had a hint of self annoyance flash across the Nepleslian's face habits shouldn't define a man even when they weren't partaking of them. "They didn't listen then?"
Uriel shook his head. "They never listen." Then he shrugged. "But it's the right way." He gave pause and studied his colleague a moment, taking note of his nervousness. "You can still leave now, Byron." Being business partners, Uriel had insisted on referring to him as Mr. Hackett. Byron had insisted with much more congenial fierceness, that a first-name basis was much more conducive to a friendly working environment- especially where children were involved.
"But once we go through that door," the Patrician pointed halfway down the alley to a nearly unnoticeable door that blended in with the darkness and flat industrial pallet of the city block. "There's no turning back. I'll need to know you're with me one-hundred percent. No hard feelings if you head home now. Not everyone has a stomach for violence, much as you Nepleslians like to tout your masochism and boast about your bullying." Normally Uriel would add, "Not offensing you, of course," but they had long ago reached a silent agreement that such generalizations never included the present company. Byron was not so much a 'unique' Nepleslian- he possessed nearly all the typical attributes- but he was different. More foresighted, more charitable, more compassionate.
"Uriel." Byron rolled his shoulders and just shook his head again a wry look on his face. "I'm wearing body armour under this coat Uriel, I didn't go and dig that out of the dredges for no reason. Besides, we're partners mostly because I'm the one that handles all the numbers issues right? This is a numbers issue and here I'm saying that two is the solution, not one."
Finally working through his pride Hackett bent down and picked up his grime covered lighter and pocketed it, looking back towards the Patrician with his face slightly hidden by shadow as he did so. "Also, I am Nep. I know you don't like to think that some of those generalizations have ever applied to me before Wings, but - and there's no joy when I think on it - but I've been to almost all of them before."
Standing up fully Byron wiped his hands off on his pants. "I'm ready, no doubts."
The Elysian smirked, and was solemn once more. "Good. Here we go." Uriel led his partner down the dark alley to entrance of the criminals' den. With one final look at Byron, the angel nodded and tried the door. Like all good criminals were prone to doing, they had locked the door. He frowned. Entering was always the tricky part. "Byron, you're the Nepleslian. You'll have to do the honors." Uriel banged on the door the way an impatient gangster might, then stepped clear. There was some incoherent grumbling from the other side of the metal door, followed by the sharp screech of metal on metal as the cover was retracted from the slot in the door. In the awful light, the thug beyond it could not make out Byron's face, but saw nothing amiss. "WHAT?" he grumbled. "Lose ya car keys?" At least, that's how Byron's Nepleslian brain cleanly translated it. To Uriel's foreign ears, it was more like, "Luss yo khakis?"
Byron gave Uriel a quick wink before stepped further towards the door and blocking the door's entire peep hole with his body. Then moving with a snap the Elysian's partner had his fingers through the hole in the door and locked around the thug's nose. Hackett's wrist twisted and then pulled back and there was a dull thud against the door followed by the reappearance of an enraged gangster's face.
The man had spittle coming out of his mouth and what looked to be a rather nicely busted lip. All-in-all he was working up to a good roar of discontent when Byron's voice beat him to it.
"What is this snot you're giving me, huh?" The balding Nepleslian's voice was like a whip as his question snapped out towards the now confused looking door guard. "I'm here to see Croaker, and you - you aren't even Little Stevie Brotch."
Byron pulled out his lighter and found a cigarette that hadn't been discarded with the rest of the packet from somewhere within his coat. Glaring down at his shaking hand just as it stilled, the somehow now much more sinister looking Orphanage owner calmly lit his smoke and took a slow pull from it.
Letting the smoke drift off casually into the night's air after his display of violence Hackett grinned at the bewildered gangster. "So, what now you milk-sop of a dog-born streeter, gonna make some more jokes about me and my keys or do I need to open this door with your head? I'm sure no one will mind either way."
"Sir I-" began the door guard. "-Who's?-" he sputtered and stammered, trying to answer every question, and failing miserably. "But I-" "-sir, you din-" Finally he managed to control his babbling and create a cohesive sentence. "No sir! I- I just thought you were Jimmy, he just left and you wear a similar coat is all! So sorry, please forgive me!" Of course, this was again the natural understanding of Byron. Uriel fumbled with the words which, had come out, "Nosa! I jes tot yous Jimmy, ee jes lef' 'n ya wears simla coat's all! S'sree, please forgive me!" Odd how of all that the word forgive came out clear as a bell.
The door creaked open on squeaky hinges.
As the door opened the young guard was grabbed by the shirt and brought face first into an introduction with Byron's Talon TSP. Once more the Orphanage owner's voice broke the silence - this time though it was in a softer, less whip-like but still commanding tone.
"Go find Jimmy and get. I expect this street to stay empty you hear?"
And with that being said Hackett clipped the boy in the side of the head with the barrel of his pistol and then threw him sprawling behind him to scurry off.
The door guard, whose name was also Jimmy, stumbled into the alleyway. He managed to right himself, probably due to much experience being thrown about by larger and more important people, and headed for the street. He never caught a glimpse of Uriel, who slipped silently into the room with Byron and shut the door. "Nepleslian charm. Never ceases to fascinate me how some of you treat each other. Even more fascinating how some of you respond." The room was unoccupied, the orphanage administrators notwithstanding. A simple wooden desk sat to the left of the door, supporting naught but a telephone and notepad with a pen laid on top. Someone had been doodling.
Behind the desk was another doorway, through which they could see a couch; beyond that a TV adorned the far wall. Anything else that may occupy the room was beyond their perception. There were no sounds of activity.
Byron and Uriel were facing the main hallway, which was lined by six doors, three on either side spaced ten feet apart. The hallway ended in a left turn. Faint music notes and the din of cheeky conversation alighted on their ears coming from that direction.
"We check the rooms, then we go crash the party. I'll take the left if you'll take the right." He referred to the series of doors in the hallway.
"We're a special people Uriel, that is for certain." Byron stifled a cough as he dropped the normal magazine for his Talon out of the weapon and back into his pocket and slotted in one of his seventeen round extended clips filled green-tipped hollow point rounds.
Spitting out his cigarette after one last quick draft the Nepleslian man spit the source of his vice out and smothered it with a boot. "Been a long time since I got to act like that by the way, Wings." Chuckling, Hackett looked extremely relaxed and all the sinister bravado that had been present when getting the door guard out of the way was gone.
Which made for an extremely odd scene to say the least as it left a balding man with a very friendly, understanding air to him grinning to the very tips of his moustache in the foyer to a gang's hideout, adjusting his small round-rimmed glasses with the muzzle of a high-powered pistol.
Re-adjusting his grip on his weapon Byron craddled the butt of the Talon TSP with his off-hand as he took up a position just before and to the left of the first door - back against the wall so he could keep watch on the rest of the portals around the hall - and prepared to move in.
"Me or you first Uriel?"
On second thought he figured they should clear together. The Archangel posted opposite Byron. "You open the door and I'll breach."
In his left hand he grasped his father's Xiphos, and in his right fist the ODM 17mm weighed heavily. "On your mark." Uriel nodded at the door.
"Mark." Hissed Byron as instead of opening the door he popped the flimsy piece of wood off its lock with a hard blow from his elbow. The hinges barely had time to complain as the door flew inwards forcefully from their clash with the reinforced body armour the man was wearing.
By the time that had happened though Byron was already out of the way, leaving a gaping opening for Uriel to storm through as the Nepleslian recovered from getting the obstacle out of the way and covered them from any responders to their activities.
It was good Byron had chosen the forceful method. Locks were easier to open that way. Uriel rushed in, sword drawn back, poised to plunge into an unsuspecting thug's throat. What he found instead was a dingy... bedroom would suggest it was livable, but there was a bed and a nightstand and someone moaning like a wounded animal beneath the grimy sheets that were once pink but now looked more like the hide of a speckled roan.
"Poor soul," he murmured to himself. He approached slowly, freezing at the sound of clinking metal. He strained to determine the source but could see even less in this prison cell than in the alley. The prisoner rolled over and Uriel could hear the rattling again. Standing by the bed the culprit was evident. The drug-addled girl was shackled to the wall and if the Elysian's powers of perception were as good as he believed, that chain would keep the doorknob just inches away from the captive's reach.
"Well we've found the girls," Uriel informed Byron. And indeed behind each door they would find a young woman chained to a wall and enveloped in dirty sheets, their minds flooded with narcotics. The music must have been loud or the boys too drunk because no one came to investigate- not until they had escorted the last damsel from distress and gathered them by the desk. "We'll take them back with us when we leave."
The orphanage administrators were standing with their backs to the hallway having just eased the sixth girl onto the floor when they heard footsteps and slurred speech. "Ey Jimmy, why's all 'm doo's 'pen?" Why are all the doors open? The criminal was 15 feet away and Byron stood between Uriel and the drunkard, blocking any chance of Patrician involvement. Byron's move.
Hackett rushed the gangster, now that they were moving out the group's “merchandise” and the operation was in full swing the older Nep had settled into a very business-like mindset, his right hand extended and his left stowing away his Talon as he moved. Giving the opponent little time to react Byron jabbed his hand like a knife at the kid's face and plunged his fingers into the gutter-rat's mouth – not even blanching as spit, food, and bile made themselves known to his intrusion.
Spreading his fingers out as far as possible inside the gangster's mouth Byron was making sure the kid's tongue was pinned down as he hooked one his legs behind his target's and guided the both of them into a fall.
As the gangster took the full weight of their combined drop and reflexively bit down Byron barely winced as he he brought his left elbow down on the squirming criminal's throat with more than enough driving force to crush his windpipe.
Pulling his right hand out of the downed target's mouth the orphanage owner clamped it tightly over the boy's face to silence the few sounds of death he could still make as he pulled out his pistol once more.
"Advance on me, immobile until its confirmed.” Hackett's brisk whisper barely carried to Uriel as the man kept his eyes firmly on the far end of the corridor from which the target had arrived.
Uriel advanced silently, gun trained on the end of the hall. He spared a brief glance at the men on the floor. "Good catch."
The hallway was clear and the party down the hall continued unabated. The thug searching for Jimmy passed out. He would perish from the crushed trachea some minutes later. Uriel and Byron regrouped at the bend in the corridor. It jutted sharply to the right just a few feet away and opened into a larger square room. The party was just around that wall.
Despite all of his reassuring, Byron still hadn't convinced his Elysian counterpart of his determination. "Byron, you can still leave. Get the girls out of here. Go home and call it a night."
"Uriel.” Byron brow furrowed and he licked his lips as he paced back and forth a few steps and then tapped his right hand's knuckles against the crook of his left elbow. Muttering under his breath low enough that the only word his angelic counterpart could make out was “smoke” Hackett came out of his bend and faced the Elysian full on.
"I'd shoot you first, Wings. Now c'mon let's get this finally started with.” Byron squared his shoulder as he got his hands in a comfortable grip around his pistol. “You know you're buying me a pack when we get done here right – you personally, yah know how many guys have wished for an angel to come around with just that sort of gift on a hard night or two?”
Uriel grinned a moment before remembering himself. "Consider it done."
The time had come. No sense delaying. "On me!" he whispered urgently and rounded the corner, Byron hot on his heels. They found themselves in one corner of a warehouse. The walls were lined with pallets supporting nondescript cardboard boxes. There was a shuttered gate in the opposite corner large enough to back in a delivery truck and a forklift resting beside it. In the middle of the room were five goons gathered around a stack of pallets serving as a table for their beers and pizzas. A sixth stood not five paces away from the midnight vigilantes, his back turned. He was in the middle of a story that had his cohorts laughing raucously.
If Uriel didn't know what he knew: that these men kidnapped, tortured, and prostituted women; that they sold drugs; that they disrupted people's lives with their violence; he would have offered them surrender.
But he knew. They deserved no quarter. Uriel closed the gap to the first thug and ran him through, the Xiphos peeking out through his chest. Then he brought the Peashooter to bear and began firing from the hip.
The goons dispersed and fumbled for their own weapons.
Moving up behind the shock of Uriel's brutal charge Byron managed to place two rounds solid and center on one of the thugs and thought his last burst of three shots caught one in the shoulder. Keeping an eye on his partners movements Hackett only nodded as the Elysian continued with a full on assault.
Seeing one gangster retreat into cover without any back-up Byron followed quickly, vaulting over a stack of metal plates and colliding with the man. Firing off one round as he tried to end the tangle that was quickly being made of his fight with the man the older Nep cursed as he missed and got a knee slammed into his side in response.
It was all a flash of fists and limbs and attempts to knock the Talon TSP out of Byron's hand as the two men fought. Then, finally, Hackett got his chance – one quick punch to the lose stunned the brute and a second slugger across the jawline tipped him over like a mass of dead wood.
Fighting back a fit of coughs and breathing off the shocks from combat Byron steadied himself and then finished it with a single pull of his trigger – only to drop to the ground himself as an enemy round slammed into his body armour from behind.
Struggling into cover Byron kicked away the dead thug's body and steadied himself once more.
Both men had made two kills, although Byron found himself very nearly clocking out as the fifth corpse. Uriel had taken a barrage of wild shots right to the meatshield and remained uninjured. He advanced despite the gunfire, leaving a queasy feeling in his enemy's guts. Byron's assailant, eager to make what he had thought to be an easy kill, left himself wide open. The Elysian took him down.
One thug remained, curled up behind the forklift in the far corner, nursing a bullet wound in his shoulder. In the sudden stillness following their abrupt skirmish his wimpering was loud as gunshots.
"Reveal yourself! Now! I might find mercy for you now, but--" he was interrupted by a clear series of musical notes. It halted Uriel midstep. It was a ringtone which made no sense since the Patrician silenced all alerts after dinner.
Then he remembered. There was one person, one message he had been waiting for all this time, that would trigger that alert. "Luca Pavone," he muttered under his breath. In the lull, the lone goon tried to make for the emergency exit beside the loading bay.
Byron let out a gruff 'harrumph' as he widened his stance and shot the running gangster clear through the bone of his leg for Uriel. Walking up to and past his angelic friend the Nep saw that the Elysian was quite engrossed by his phone of all things.
“So he finally called back then?” Hackett asked casually as he picked up a wicked looking piece of scrap metal that could probably used as a blade if someone had enough strength to do so – he waggled the tormenting looking piece of steel in the air a bit as he handled just in case the thug could see through his tears. “Alrighty, I'll just finish up for us here then, a little dismemberment and then...ah, what was, ah right! Post him to the wall with some spokes, 'course, what was I thinking?”
As he stopped speaking Byron froze mid-walk, one foot just about to touch the ground, and turned his head to look back at Uriel – a wry grin on his face and one eyebrow raised.
Uriel looked surprised for perhaps the second time in his adult life. That Byron read the situation so easily was just one more reminder why they were partners. "Could only be news of or from him."
Uriel took a moment to ready himself for the message and discovered he was anxious- another emotion with which he was unfamiliar. When he snapped from his reverie Byron was waiting for the Elysian's input on the matter of dismemberment. Uriel sighed and shook his head dismissively. "Your sense of humor will always give up your Nep heritage."
Byron just sighed and shook his head as he let the piece of scrap fall from his hand and clatter to the ground. The Nepleslian man ran a hand through he hair roughly as he exhaled heavily. “That's good that you'll be getting some fresh info to chew on then.” Walking closer to thug he had shot through the leg Hackett shook his head once more – this time though it seemed to be an action filled with frustration and regret. “This part always gets a bit heavy, yeah?”
Crouching down by the kid Byron snapped his fingers a few times right in front of the gangster's face. “Hey, hey. Calm down for a few seconds and just relax.” The orphanage owner's voice came out as if he was coaching the – Byron clicked his teeth together as he noticed the wounded criminal was a dirty and malnourished member of the newly growing population of Nep girls growing up on the planet. “Gah, always gotta make things more vexing than they have to be. Give me a moment Uriel.”
Poking the kid in the forehead and flicking a bit of the sweat running down the girl's face from her skin the older Nep smacked his hand against the skin of her cheeks to help through her panic. “Stop moving your eyes so much alright? Just – look – just close 'em for me girl. It'll be easier that way. You hear me talking right -” Byron shuffled his way closer to the gang kid and his left arm ghosted over her face – her eyes thankfully closed and unseeing – as he held the muzzle of his pistol hovering just off the side of her temple.
“Sorry gal, I hope you thought up some happy ones in these last couple of moments.” Was all Byron could think to say as he pulled the trigger and ended he and Uriel's job for the night.
Swiveling on his heels while still crouching Byron Hackett looked up at Uriel with blood splattering across his face and glasses and a distinct lack of expression on his face. “So, how's your friend, anything solid or just a peck to get your attention? Looks like we didn't get Croaker and his main goons by the way – no worries though, I'll be able to handle them in the next couple months.” Byron didn't even voice the 'on my own' that stood silently at the end of that statement - he had no doubts that Uriel would be meeting up with his old comrade as soon as was both humanly and angelicly possible.
Byron tucked his Talon TSP back into his coat and cracked his knuckles as he stood up. “But, you know I am and always will be worried about the orphanage – I don't want them kids to have to become some form of my personal army, they deserve to go to the few good parts of this planet we still got left. You know what it would do to me if I had to mercy kill one of them like I had to do that poor girl?”
Hackett walked closer to his friend a frown on his face and his arms folded against his chest. “Uriel, I don't like to ask you something like this when you finally got some good news for yourself and things to do again, but we got to make sure that the whole city knows that no matter what, no matter if you are gone or not they don't mess with the kids.”
The battered Nepleslian scratched his head as he looked down at the ground and let out another sigh. “That means we – and I do mean me and you, don't forget what I said early – got to do something big.”
Uriel was able to read the entirety of the message by the time Byron pulled the trigger one last time. He hadn't properly recovered from the new information until Byron was talking about a private army. He shook his head, trying to refocus. "I'm sorry, you'll what now? Oh. Croaker." Uriel glanced about as if expecting to see the goon in question.
"Wouldn't worry about him too much. This was his startup and we've already let out the girls. We burn out the drugs," he gestured at the numerous pallets, "And the destitute fool should be done."
With the captives evacuated, Byron set the building ablaze. The six girls became the newest residents of Orange Street Orphanage and were put to bed immediately. Byron began to type up an itinerary for them that would address their malnourishment and future withdrawal symptoms. Uriel sat across from Mr. Hackett at his own terminal and arranged a more personal itinerary.
"About what you said... We need to talk about it now. Doing something big. I don't think it's necessary. I don't leave survivors so no one knows it's me. And you, now. But if you would feel better, I'm all ears for any ideas you have.
"And Byron? I'm not abandoning you nor the children. I will return. That's a promise." Byron never knew Uriel to break a promise and couldn't imagine the angel starting now.
Byron sat back in the rickety scrap metal chair that he carried all around the Orphanage for use when he went about his duties. Letting his hand rest on the grip of his pistol that he had worn on an open holster since coming back from their raid the Nepleslian drummed his fingers slowly against the side.
“Yes.” Was all Hackett said to Uriel as he drew out the single word. The man turned his face away from his friend and ran a hand over it once, then twice before finally readjusting his glasses and looking back towards the Elysian.
“Habits, huh? They can become some pretty nasty things, no?” Byron voice was wry as he asked his question and then he got a far off look in his face and his voice quieted as his brow furrowed. “And they're always there even when you think they've gone and gotten -” The orphanage owner's eyes refocused and he looked squarely at Uriel as he shrugged. “ - gone.”
“Yeah, yeah. No thoughts on it now that I've been away from all that... that that night was.” Byron exhaled calmly. “Early on, out on the street and when we first busted our way in – that was all me. A numbers game, situated right in my old element. But, there, once everything was said and done and I'd gone through all of it like a perfect op should run – that was all you then. So, thanks Uriel. I – I saw a war and -” Hackett just shook his head and waved one hand in the air dismissively. “Thanks a lot.”
Chuckling and leaning forward to grab Uriel's arm and give it a shake Byron grinned up at his friend. “And us? The kids and me Wings? Don't even worry about it – I'm not some old coot yet and our little jaunt seemed just the thing to shake up that cough of mine!”
Leaning back again and patting the pack of cigarettes he had gotten the angel to go buy for him in person the Nepleslian smiled as he pulled out a stick and just rolled it between his fingers. “And, hey, don't you either forget anything I've said or what I am Wings. Every time you're in the neighborhood and you or that bud of yours are snooping for a bit extra I expect to be on the short list – make it something nice though, I'm expecting to be able get one of those nice cigarette cases out of you at the least when we go again.”
It was a very wide grin on Byron Hackett's face as he stuck the smoke he had been fiddling with in his mouth and lifted his hand off his pistol and into his jacket pocket for his lighter.
Uriel just smiled and said, "Consider it done."
Night has fallen in Funky City, Nepleslia. The prowlers are coming out, and the familiar night symphony is slowly picking up, washing out the daytime drone of mechanical hums and the din of business. With the darkness comes sirens, shouts, and the occasionally crack of gunfire. All in accord with a typical evening in this city.
Traditional thought believes that their are only two kinds of people: predators and prey. They come in all forms, these two, but are ultimately one or the other. But in the words of a great man of combat, "There are three: the sheep, the wolves, and the sheep dogs." Funky City is renowned for its wolves. Slick salesmen, credit sharks, and criminals of vice all make a cozy living here. They own the city in a way, largely unchallenged, and comprising a hefty portion of the population.
But tonight they are hunted by that third type of individual: one who is skilled in conflict, but wields his abilities as a shield for the defenseless. A winged guardian has answered the call of the weak. He preys upon the predators who think themselves the top of the food chain, those who have grown soft from years of feeding upon the sheep.
In some nondescript, dark, dingy corner of Funky City he lurks, treading carefully but with conviction. His will is unwavering and tonight he has an agenda. Criminals trafficking in persons and narcotics have caught his eye. He's found their despicable den and given written warning of their imminent destruction. They paid it no heed.
Uriel Hisshana stands in an alley, geared for war, a swift angel of death. An ancient blade rests at his right hip. At his left, two great weapons of war- the ODM 17mm and Sizi Model 30- glint with righteous anger. His robes solidify the image of a warrior angel, or perhaps even the archaic image of the grim reaper himself. If he were a man of vice, the Archangel would have a cigarette tucked between his lips, smoke trailing ominously up into the night sky. As he is not such, he possesses the visage of a man who really should take up smoking. It would look way cooler.
Standing to Uriel's side stood a much less imposing man, his hand shaking as he himself did attempt to light up a ragged looking cigarette. Looking as if he was trying to hold his breath the man was wracked by a sudden fit of coughs and dropped both his lighter and entire pack of smokes.
Regaining control of himself with a hand pressed against his chest the balding, bespectacled man instead shook his head and kicked the trash off to the side of the alley way. Coughing again but in a much more controlled fashion Byron Hackett smoothed out his moustache and then slipped both hands into the heavy raincoat that seemed a few sizes too big for the man that was wearing it.
Uriel would know quite well that Byron's left hand was resting comfortably around the grip of the man's battered Talon TSP.
Blowing air out between his lips slowly, Hackett let a lopsided grin settle itself about his face before turning towards Uriel. "So." The man drew out the word and seemed almost as if he had expected to be able to take a long drag off of a cigarette after speaking - a realization which had a hint of self annoyance flash across the Nepleslian's face habits shouldn't define a man even when they weren't partaking of them. "They didn't listen then?"
Uriel shook his head. "They never listen." Then he shrugged. "But it's the right way." He gave pause and studied his colleague a moment, taking note of his nervousness. "You can still leave now, Byron." Being business partners, Uriel had insisted on referring to him as Mr. Hackett. Byron had insisted with much more congenial fierceness, that a first-name basis was much more conducive to a friendly working environment- especially where children were involved.
"But once we go through that door," the Patrician pointed halfway down the alley to a nearly unnoticeable door that blended in with the darkness and flat industrial pallet of the city block. "There's no turning back. I'll need to know you're with me one-hundred percent. No hard feelings if you head home now. Not everyone has a stomach for violence, much as you Nepleslians like to tout your masochism and boast about your bullying." Normally Uriel would add, "Not offensing you, of course," but they had long ago reached a silent agreement that such generalizations never included the present company. Byron was not so much a 'unique' Nepleslian- he possessed nearly all the typical attributes- but he was different. More foresighted, more charitable, more compassionate.
"Uriel." Byron rolled his shoulders and just shook his head again a wry look on his face. "I'm wearing body armour under this coat Uriel, I didn't go and dig that out of the dredges for no reason. Besides, we're partners mostly because I'm the one that handles all the numbers issues right? This is a numbers issue and here I'm saying that two is the solution, not one."
Finally working through his pride Hackett bent down and picked up his grime covered lighter and pocketed it, looking back towards the Patrician with his face slightly hidden by shadow as he did so. "Also, I am Nep. I know you don't like to think that some of those generalizations have ever applied to me before Wings, but - and there's no joy when I think on it - but I've been to almost all of them before."
Standing up fully Byron wiped his hands off on his pants. "I'm ready, no doubts."
The Elysian smirked, and was solemn once more. "Good. Here we go." Uriel led his partner down the dark alley to entrance of the criminals' den. With one final look at Byron, the angel nodded and tried the door. Like all good criminals were prone to doing, they had locked the door. He frowned. Entering was always the tricky part. "Byron, you're the Nepleslian. You'll have to do the honors." Uriel banged on the door the way an impatient gangster might, then stepped clear. There was some incoherent grumbling from the other side of the metal door, followed by the sharp screech of metal on metal as the cover was retracted from the slot in the door. In the awful light, the thug beyond it could not make out Byron's face, but saw nothing amiss. "WHAT?" he grumbled. "Lose ya car keys?" At least, that's how Byron's Nepleslian brain cleanly translated it. To Uriel's foreign ears, it was more like, "Luss yo khakis?"
Byron gave Uriel a quick wink before stepped further towards the door and blocking the door's entire peep hole with his body. Then moving with a snap the Elysian's partner had his fingers through the hole in the door and locked around the thug's nose. Hackett's wrist twisted and then pulled back and there was a dull thud against the door followed by the reappearance of an enraged gangster's face.
The man had spittle coming out of his mouth and what looked to be a rather nicely busted lip. All-in-all he was working up to a good roar of discontent when Byron's voice beat him to it.
"What is this snot you're giving me, huh?" The balding Nepleslian's voice was like a whip as his question snapped out towards the now confused looking door guard. "I'm here to see Croaker, and you - you aren't even Little Stevie Brotch."
Byron pulled out his lighter and found a cigarette that hadn't been discarded with the rest of the packet from somewhere within his coat. Glaring down at his shaking hand just as it stilled, the somehow now much more sinister looking Orphanage owner calmly lit his smoke and took a slow pull from it.
Letting the smoke drift off casually into the night's air after his display of violence Hackett grinned at the bewildered gangster. "So, what now you milk-sop of a dog-born streeter, gonna make some more jokes about me and my keys or do I need to open this door with your head? I'm sure no one will mind either way."
"Sir I-" began the door guard. "-Who's?-" he sputtered and stammered, trying to answer every question, and failing miserably. "But I-" "-sir, you din-" Finally he managed to control his babbling and create a cohesive sentence. "No sir! I- I just thought you were Jimmy, he just left and you wear a similar coat is all! So sorry, please forgive me!" Of course, this was again the natural understanding of Byron. Uriel fumbled with the words which, had come out, "Nosa! I jes tot yous Jimmy, ee jes lef' 'n ya wears simla coat's all! S'sree, please forgive me!" Odd how of all that the word forgive came out clear as a bell.
The door creaked open on squeaky hinges.
As the door opened the young guard was grabbed by the shirt and brought face first into an introduction with Byron's Talon TSP. Once more the Orphanage owner's voice broke the silence - this time though it was in a softer, less whip-like but still commanding tone.
"Go find Jimmy and get. I expect this street to stay empty you hear?"
And with that being said Hackett clipped the boy in the side of the head with the barrel of his pistol and then threw him sprawling behind him to scurry off.
The door guard, whose name was also Jimmy, stumbled into the alleyway. He managed to right himself, probably due to much experience being thrown about by larger and more important people, and headed for the street. He never caught a glimpse of Uriel, who slipped silently into the room with Byron and shut the door. "Nepleslian charm. Never ceases to fascinate me how some of you treat each other. Even more fascinating how some of you respond." The room was unoccupied, the orphanage administrators notwithstanding. A simple wooden desk sat to the left of the door, supporting naught but a telephone and notepad with a pen laid on top. Someone had been doodling.
Behind the desk was another doorway, through which they could see a couch; beyond that a TV adorned the far wall. Anything else that may occupy the room was beyond their perception. There were no sounds of activity.
Byron and Uriel were facing the main hallway, which was lined by six doors, three on either side spaced ten feet apart. The hallway ended in a left turn. Faint music notes and the din of cheeky conversation alighted on their ears coming from that direction.
"We check the rooms, then we go crash the party. I'll take the left if you'll take the right." He referred to the series of doors in the hallway.
"We're a special people Uriel, that is for certain." Byron stifled a cough as he dropped the normal magazine for his Talon out of the weapon and back into his pocket and slotted in one of his seventeen round extended clips filled green-tipped hollow point rounds.
Spitting out his cigarette after one last quick draft the Nepleslian man spit the source of his vice out and smothered it with a boot. "Been a long time since I got to act like that by the way, Wings." Chuckling, Hackett looked extremely relaxed and all the sinister bravado that had been present when getting the door guard out of the way was gone.
Which made for an extremely odd scene to say the least as it left a balding man with a very friendly, understanding air to him grinning to the very tips of his moustache in the foyer to a gang's hideout, adjusting his small round-rimmed glasses with the muzzle of a high-powered pistol.
Re-adjusting his grip on his weapon Byron craddled the butt of the Talon TSP with his off-hand as he took up a position just before and to the left of the first door - back against the wall so he could keep watch on the rest of the portals around the hall - and prepared to move in.
"Me or you first Uriel?"
On second thought he figured they should clear together. The Archangel posted opposite Byron. "You open the door and I'll breach."
In his left hand he grasped his father's Xiphos, and in his right fist the ODM 17mm weighed heavily. "On your mark." Uriel nodded at the door.
"Mark." Hissed Byron as instead of opening the door he popped the flimsy piece of wood off its lock with a hard blow from his elbow. The hinges barely had time to complain as the door flew inwards forcefully from their clash with the reinforced body armour the man was wearing.
By the time that had happened though Byron was already out of the way, leaving a gaping opening for Uriel to storm through as the Nepleslian recovered from getting the obstacle out of the way and covered them from any responders to their activities.
It was good Byron had chosen the forceful method. Locks were easier to open that way. Uriel rushed in, sword drawn back, poised to plunge into an unsuspecting thug's throat. What he found instead was a dingy... bedroom would suggest it was livable, but there was a bed and a nightstand and someone moaning like a wounded animal beneath the grimy sheets that were once pink but now looked more like the hide of a speckled roan.
"Poor soul," he murmured to himself. He approached slowly, freezing at the sound of clinking metal. He strained to determine the source but could see even less in this prison cell than in the alley. The prisoner rolled over and Uriel could hear the rattling again. Standing by the bed the culprit was evident. The drug-addled girl was shackled to the wall and if the Elysian's powers of perception were as good as he believed, that chain would keep the doorknob just inches away from the captive's reach.
"Well we've found the girls," Uriel informed Byron. And indeed behind each door they would find a young woman chained to a wall and enveloped in dirty sheets, their minds flooded with narcotics. The music must have been loud or the boys too drunk because no one came to investigate- not until they had escorted the last damsel from distress and gathered them by the desk. "We'll take them back with us when we leave."
The orphanage administrators were standing with their backs to the hallway having just eased the sixth girl onto the floor when they heard footsteps and slurred speech. "Ey Jimmy, why's all 'm doo's 'pen?" Why are all the doors open? The criminal was 15 feet away and Byron stood between Uriel and the drunkard, blocking any chance of Patrician involvement. Byron's move.
Hackett rushed the gangster, now that they were moving out the group's “merchandise” and the operation was in full swing the older Nep had settled into a very business-like mindset, his right hand extended and his left stowing away his Talon as he moved. Giving the opponent little time to react Byron jabbed his hand like a knife at the kid's face and plunged his fingers into the gutter-rat's mouth – not even blanching as spit, food, and bile made themselves known to his intrusion.
Spreading his fingers out as far as possible inside the gangster's mouth Byron was making sure the kid's tongue was pinned down as he hooked one his legs behind his target's and guided the both of them into a fall.
As the gangster took the full weight of their combined drop and reflexively bit down Byron barely winced as he he brought his left elbow down on the squirming criminal's throat with more than enough driving force to crush his windpipe.
Pulling his right hand out of the downed target's mouth the orphanage owner clamped it tightly over the boy's face to silence the few sounds of death he could still make as he pulled out his pistol once more.
"Advance on me, immobile until its confirmed.” Hackett's brisk whisper barely carried to Uriel as the man kept his eyes firmly on the far end of the corridor from which the target had arrived.
Uriel advanced silently, gun trained on the end of the hall. He spared a brief glance at the men on the floor. "Good catch."
The hallway was clear and the party down the hall continued unabated. The thug searching for Jimmy passed out. He would perish from the crushed trachea some minutes later. Uriel and Byron regrouped at the bend in the corridor. It jutted sharply to the right just a few feet away and opened into a larger square room. The party was just around that wall.
Despite all of his reassuring, Byron still hadn't convinced his Elysian counterpart of his determination. "Byron, you can still leave. Get the girls out of here. Go home and call it a night."
"Uriel.” Byron brow furrowed and he licked his lips as he paced back and forth a few steps and then tapped his right hand's knuckles against the crook of his left elbow. Muttering under his breath low enough that the only word his angelic counterpart could make out was “smoke” Hackett came out of his bend and faced the Elysian full on.
"I'd shoot you first, Wings. Now c'mon let's get this finally started with.” Byron squared his shoulder as he got his hands in a comfortable grip around his pistol. “You know you're buying me a pack when we get done here right – you personally, yah know how many guys have wished for an angel to come around with just that sort of gift on a hard night or two?”
Uriel grinned a moment before remembering himself. "Consider it done."
The time had come. No sense delaying. "On me!" he whispered urgently and rounded the corner, Byron hot on his heels. They found themselves in one corner of a warehouse. The walls were lined with pallets supporting nondescript cardboard boxes. There was a shuttered gate in the opposite corner large enough to back in a delivery truck and a forklift resting beside it. In the middle of the room were five goons gathered around a stack of pallets serving as a table for their beers and pizzas. A sixth stood not five paces away from the midnight vigilantes, his back turned. He was in the middle of a story that had his cohorts laughing raucously.
If Uriel didn't know what he knew: that these men kidnapped, tortured, and prostituted women; that they sold drugs; that they disrupted people's lives with their violence; he would have offered them surrender.
But he knew. They deserved no quarter. Uriel closed the gap to the first thug and ran him through, the Xiphos peeking out through his chest. Then he brought the Peashooter to bear and began firing from the hip.
The goons dispersed and fumbled for their own weapons.
Moving up behind the shock of Uriel's brutal charge Byron managed to place two rounds solid and center on one of the thugs and thought his last burst of three shots caught one in the shoulder. Keeping an eye on his partners movements Hackett only nodded as the Elysian continued with a full on assault.
Seeing one gangster retreat into cover without any back-up Byron followed quickly, vaulting over a stack of metal plates and colliding with the man. Firing off one round as he tried to end the tangle that was quickly being made of his fight with the man the older Nep cursed as he missed and got a knee slammed into his side in response.
It was all a flash of fists and limbs and attempts to knock the Talon TSP out of Byron's hand as the two men fought. Then, finally, Hackett got his chance – one quick punch to the lose stunned the brute and a second slugger across the jawline tipped him over like a mass of dead wood.
Fighting back a fit of coughs and breathing off the shocks from combat Byron steadied himself and then finished it with a single pull of his trigger – only to drop to the ground himself as an enemy round slammed into his body armour from behind.
Struggling into cover Byron kicked away the dead thug's body and steadied himself once more.
Both men had made two kills, although Byron found himself very nearly clocking out as the fifth corpse. Uriel had taken a barrage of wild shots right to the meatshield and remained uninjured. He advanced despite the gunfire, leaving a queasy feeling in his enemy's guts. Byron's assailant, eager to make what he had thought to be an easy kill, left himself wide open. The Elysian took him down.
One thug remained, curled up behind the forklift in the far corner, nursing a bullet wound in his shoulder. In the sudden stillness following their abrupt skirmish his wimpering was loud as gunshots.
"Reveal yourself! Now! I might find mercy for you now, but--" he was interrupted by a clear series of musical notes. It halted Uriel midstep. It was a ringtone which made no sense since the Patrician silenced all alerts after dinner.
Then he remembered. There was one person, one message he had been waiting for all this time, that would trigger that alert. "Luca Pavone," he muttered under his breath. In the lull, the lone goon tried to make for the emergency exit beside the loading bay.
Byron let out a gruff 'harrumph' as he widened his stance and shot the running gangster clear through the bone of his leg for Uriel. Walking up to and past his angelic friend the Nep saw that the Elysian was quite engrossed by his phone of all things.
“So he finally called back then?” Hackett asked casually as he picked up a wicked looking piece of scrap metal that could probably used as a blade if someone had enough strength to do so – he waggled the tormenting looking piece of steel in the air a bit as he handled just in case the thug could see through his tears. “Alrighty, I'll just finish up for us here then, a little dismemberment and then...ah, what was, ah right! Post him to the wall with some spokes, 'course, what was I thinking?”
As he stopped speaking Byron froze mid-walk, one foot just about to touch the ground, and turned his head to look back at Uriel – a wry grin on his face and one eyebrow raised.
Uriel looked surprised for perhaps the second time in his adult life. That Byron read the situation so easily was just one more reminder why they were partners. "Could only be news of or from him."
Uriel took a moment to ready himself for the message and discovered he was anxious- another emotion with which he was unfamiliar. When he snapped from his reverie Byron was waiting for the Elysian's input on the matter of dismemberment. Uriel sighed and shook his head dismissively. "Your sense of humor will always give up your Nep heritage."
Byron just sighed and shook his head as he let the piece of scrap fall from his hand and clatter to the ground. The Nepleslian man ran a hand through he hair roughly as he exhaled heavily. “That's good that you'll be getting some fresh info to chew on then.” Walking closer to thug he had shot through the leg Hackett shook his head once more – this time though it seemed to be an action filled with frustration and regret. “This part always gets a bit heavy, yeah?”
Crouching down by the kid Byron snapped his fingers a few times right in front of the gangster's face. “Hey, hey. Calm down for a few seconds and just relax.” The orphanage owner's voice came out as if he was coaching the – Byron clicked his teeth together as he noticed the wounded criminal was a dirty and malnourished member of the newly growing population of Nep girls growing up on the planet. “Gah, always gotta make things more vexing than they have to be. Give me a moment Uriel.”
Poking the kid in the forehead and flicking a bit of the sweat running down the girl's face from her skin the older Nep smacked his hand against the skin of her cheeks to help through her panic. “Stop moving your eyes so much alright? Just – look – just close 'em for me girl. It'll be easier that way. You hear me talking right -” Byron shuffled his way closer to the gang kid and his left arm ghosted over her face – her eyes thankfully closed and unseeing – as he held the muzzle of his pistol hovering just off the side of her temple.
“Sorry gal, I hope you thought up some happy ones in these last couple of moments.” Was all Byron could think to say as he pulled the trigger and ended he and Uriel's job for the night.
Swiveling on his heels while still crouching Byron Hackett looked up at Uriel with blood splattering across his face and glasses and a distinct lack of expression on his face. “So, how's your friend, anything solid or just a peck to get your attention? Looks like we didn't get Croaker and his main goons by the way – no worries though, I'll be able to handle them in the next couple months.” Byron didn't even voice the 'on my own' that stood silently at the end of that statement - he had no doubts that Uriel would be meeting up with his old comrade as soon as was both humanly and angelicly possible.
Byron tucked his Talon TSP back into his coat and cracked his knuckles as he stood up. “But, you know I am and always will be worried about the orphanage – I don't want them kids to have to become some form of my personal army, they deserve to go to the few good parts of this planet we still got left. You know what it would do to me if I had to mercy kill one of them like I had to do that poor girl?”
Hackett walked closer to his friend a frown on his face and his arms folded against his chest. “Uriel, I don't like to ask you something like this when you finally got some good news for yourself and things to do again, but we got to make sure that the whole city knows that no matter what, no matter if you are gone or not they don't mess with the kids.”
The battered Nepleslian scratched his head as he looked down at the ground and let out another sigh. “That means we – and I do mean me and you, don't forget what I said early – got to do something big.”
Uriel was able to read the entirety of the message by the time Byron pulled the trigger one last time. He hadn't properly recovered from the new information until Byron was talking about a private army. He shook his head, trying to refocus. "I'm sorry, you'll what now? Oh. Croaker." Uriel glanced about as if expecting to see the goon in question.
"Wouldn't worry about him too much. This was his startup and we've already let out the girls. We burn out the drugs," he gestured at the numerous pallets, "And the destitute fool should be done."
With the captives evacuated, Byron set the building ablaze. The six girls became the newest residents of Orange Street Orphanage and were put to bed immediately. Byron began to type up an itinerary for them that would address their malnourishment and future withdrawal symptoms. Uriel sat across from Mr. Hackett at his own terminal and arranged a more personal itinerary.
"About what you said... We need to talk about it now. Doing something big. I don't think it's necessary. I don't leave survivors so no one knows it's me. And you, now. But if you would feel better, I'm all ears for any ideas you have.
"And Byron? I'm not abandoning you nor the children. I will return. That's a promise." Byron never knew Uriel to break a promise and couldn't imagine the angel starting now.
Byron sat back in the rickety scrap metal chair that he carried all around the Orphanage for use when he went about his duties. Letting his hand rest on the grip of his pistol that he had worn on an open holster since coming back from their raid the Nepleslian drummed his fingers slowly against the side.
“Yes.” Was all Hackett said to Uriel as he drew out the single word. The man turned his face away from his friend and ran a hand over it once, then twice before finally readjusting his glasses and looking back towards the Elysian.
“Habits, huh? They can become some pretty nasty things, no?” Byron voice was wry as he asked his question and then he got a far off look in his face and his voice quieted as his brow furrowed. “And they're always there even when you think they've gone and gotten -” The orphanage owner's eyes refocused and he looked squarely at Uriel as he shrugged. “ - gone.”
“Yeah, yeah. No thoughts on it now that I've been away from all that... that that night was.” Byron exhaled calmly. “Early on, out on the street and when we first busted our way in – that was all me. A numbers game, situated right in my old element. But, there, once everything was said and done and I'd gone through all of it like a perfect op should run – that was all you then. So, thanks Uriel. I – I saw a war and -” Hackett just shook his head and waved one hand in the air dismissively. “Thanks a lot.”
Chuckling and leaning forward to grab Uriel's arm and give it a shake Byron grinned up at his friend. “And us? The kids and me Wings? Don't even worry about it – I'm not some old coot yet and our little jaunt seemed just the thing to shake up that cough of mine!”
Leaning back again and patting the pack of cigarettes he had gotten the angel to go buy for him in person the Nepleslian smiled as he pulled out a stick and just rolled it between his fingers. “And, hey, don't you either forget anything I've said or what I am Wings. Every time you're in the neighborhood and you or that bud of yours are snooping for a bit extra I expect to be on the short list – make it something nice though, I'm expecting to be able get one of those nice cigarette cases out of you at the least when we go again.”
It was a very wide grin on Byron Hackett's face as he stuck the smoke he had been fiddling with in his mouth and lifted his hand off his pistol and into his jacket pocket for his lighter.
Uriel just smiled and said, "Consider it done."
