Waterfront Sardines

Summary:
April 04, 2014: What should have been a simple mercenary hit turns into disaster as the mark gets away and the Special Response Division comes rolling in. (Liberal violence and language use.)

Lower Manhattan

Early evening down at the waterfront area.


Characters

NPCs
Sparrow, Craig, Special Response Division


Mood Music:


Early evening has arrived down by the Big Apple's docks. It's another cold and dreary day with steel grey skies, winter refusing to let up its aggressive hold of this part of the globe. While some activity continues to operate around the area, there's also something of a lull which leaves much of the territory quiet.

Quiet territory means there's little to get in the way should someone have something they would like to accomplish.

There's a team of three keeping the area under close guard, operating beneath the notice of others within the city. Lots of mercenaries prefer to work alone, though now and then something big or interesting enough comes down the line which brings some of them closer together. 'Sparrow' is always easy to pick out, he fancies his swords. Craig is a bigger sort, packing a choice selection of large bore weapons and explosives.

Then there's Domino, keeping an eye on the streets with a cut-down Sig 751 rifle. They've been camped out searching for their target for a while, but their intel pays off once visual is established.

Intel might have forgotten to mention that their target happens to be a metahuman with electrokinetic powers. The first shot lands with a splash of crimson across the wall behind him before he's transformed into pure energy, the injury erased. Lights and glass explode, small fires break out from scorched paint and pavement, and the first car caught within the meta's epicenter erupts in a ball of fire. Within seconds this section of the city is a gridlocked, panic-stricken mess.
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"Mother fucker."Offers a woman known to some, as the Partisan. Slumping in the back of her taxi for a moment further as traffic grinds to a hault, after a minute she produces a folded mess of bills and passes it through the slot. "Keep the change my man." Gathering up her duffle, before moving from taxicab to sidewalk. Slowing only a tick, as she lights up a fresh cigarette. It's all relatively mundane honestly, until a car blows up.
Theres a pause there, before she steps around into a back alley and vanishes. Changing into something a little more appropriate, though she does pause a few times to ensure she finishes up her cigarette before snagging that mask. Her client'll have to wait it looks like, fucker will just have to sprout wings because the Partisan has work.
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Be good. Be good. Lunair's working hard not to kill people (unless she really has to). She's trying, although some part of her is invariably drawn to fights or something. That, or luck has it in for her. She's wanted to pick up some fish from one of the markets and maybe try cooking. Can't be too hard, right? Nevertheless, she's got a car parked some ways away (and thankfully not exploded, although she's sure someone took her campus parking spot. They always do). She's following a map, when suddenly THE SPIRIT OF MICHAEL BAY STRIK— wait. It's just one car. That's not him at all. Lunair jerks though, attentive now.

She's decided to go investigate, bringing a portal gun to bear in case she has to flee. Time to see what in the world is going on. More exploding things! Maybe he did get Michael Bay Powers. She isn't sure whether to be in awe, offer the guy a soda or see if he wants a bit part in the next movie? Who knows?
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"Goddamnit Craig, I -said- I had this!" Domino snarls into her headset while throwing herself off the edge of a warehouse rooftop to rappel down to ground level. "There's this thing called windage, now ya've gone and pissed him off!"

"Shoulda taken the shot then, huh?" Craig radios back with a sneer, prepping a flashbang to fling toward their electrically charged mark. "Aren't you supposed to be all fast and stuff?"

Not far away an older GMC van gets to practice being a Faraday cage as a bolt tears across the hood, green-hued arcs lancing from the rear fender to a streetlight which promptly explodes in a shower of sparks. Not much further away from there is Sparrow, keeping a very low profile. "You two just got me killed. Thanks."

"Learn how to use a ranged weapon, idiot," Dom automatically replies while shouldering the stubby thirty caliber rifle, trying to zero in on a nearby fire hydrant. Maybe she's not all that certain of what will result, but she's willing to take a roll of those dice. If..she can just..get the freaking -shot.- "You're the one that signed up for this, you knew the risks."

"Yeah, but I didn't—" Sparrow starts in when he gestures with one hand just in time, and just in the right angle, for the live current to make another leap onto the metal adorning so much of his person. He's unconscious before getting slammed back into a wall, his blades clattering to the ground.

And then there were two.

Two, and flashing lights. It might not seem like good luck that an appropriate response team happened to be a short distance away the instant things got out of hand. Men and women clad in strong black polycarbonate armor start taking to the streets, blocking roads and exits as they close in around the battle. It's entirely possible that they'll encounter Partisan and Lunair alike as those two start to make their way -closer- to the center.

In the meantime, Mister Electric seems to be having quite a bit of fun in cutting loose. "That all you assholes got?! Come on, bring it!" he challenges as another vehicle goes up in a rush of fire.

"Should have brought the goddamn marshmallows," Dom mutters under her breath.
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Dull grey fatigues, plate carrier, web gear, backpack. It's the sort've equipment you'll find on any special operations soldier, the point of divergence here is the mask. Gasmasks's aren't uncommon, but decorated ones actually are. Bright red and white paint, lovingly applied in the pattern of a wolf's skull. Theres a patch on the woman's shoulder actually, with this same full color logo but that presumes your looking. Anywho she shoulders her backpack, ties that long blonde hair back into a ponytail and gets to it.
Rooftops are great, but well the Partisan takes the sidewalk instead. Shoving a magazine into her Tavor, and giving that charging handle a quick jerk to chamber that first round. Luckily, folks do tend to part ways for the heavily armed folks coming through in a dead sprint. Streaking through the thinning crowd of folks going in the opposite direction just a little too quickly for her to be entirely human.
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Who brings a sword to a gunfight? What a weirdo. Does he run around in tights defending men's rights? Lunair also remembers that she's being /good/. But no one said that looking wasn't allowed just because the riot police and special forces get to look first. That's where the portal gun comes in. Lunair ties a (clean, because otherwise, ew) hankerchief around her nose and mouth like the world's most prim and proper bandit mask. She can easily get around any response team she might spot with her handy, dandy portal gun!

It looks a bit comical to witness the young woman popping out of cars, walls and what have you (even around a trash can at some point) as she makes her way over. She dutifully avoids anything that looks like a man in tights or an authority figure. Curiousity more than justice brings her along. Maybe it's a sense that she /belongs/ near fighting. It's what she grew up with, memories unwanted flooding in for a moment. She shakes it off. "Wow. It's Michael Bay Man." Does he wear a bikini like many of the female cast? She's worse off than a cat in a rocking chair convention, making her way along. She could totally make a marshmallow gun though.
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BAMF!

It's a sound that can be heard if one is truly listening for it. It comes in a constant, even beat; every three or four seconds. A blue-furred, demonic-looking creature lands upon the walls, two or three stories up (whichever is higher), keeping (mostly) out of the way. But, it's not truly in his nature to be completely out of the way. Not when there's trouble—

With another BAMF!, the Amazing Nightcrawler lands upon the ground to gather up the pair of blades that have clattered to the ground before he is gone again in the next blink of an eye. The challenge from 'Mister Electric' brings the elf's attention around, and immediately upon landing on the side of a building, he teleports out once again to act the gadfly.. to get the 'man's attention and keep it so that those sirens heard can get just a little closer by teleporting in.. and out.. and in.. and out in rapid succession around him.

"Who are you?"
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Non-standard gear. Painted gasmask. Not following protocol. Yep! It's not one of the SRD's own. Partisan's very quickly flagged as something that is not one of their own, which means she's a threat. The call's made in an instant, a helmeted figure shouldering a somewhat bulky rifle and yelling "Stand down and disarm!"

It's within this moment that Domino realizes something -else- has gone way wrong with their operation. The shouted warning is quickly followed by a distinctive -Whump!- as one of their rifles discharges, slamming into the trunk of a car a short ways in front of where Partisan's running.

Yet, there is no hole. No entry wound within the metal. It looks a lot more like someone very, very strong simply punched the material inward.

It looks like it would really, -really- hurt to get hit by one of those.

Dom's shot-to-be is interrupted, her rifle and her focus snapping over to the peculiar weapon's report. "Aw, -shit.- We've got Sardines. Craig, ya gonna throw that flash or are you too busy posturing?"

'Who are you?' Sparky grins at the crazy little bug that starts teleporting around him. "Hah, finally something fun to catch!" That neon green hued lightning forks from his hands, zapping signs and fire escapes as thin tendrils of energy twine around anything conductive nearby the meta and his targets. There's not a lot of safe territory around him! Lunair won't want to get too close to the guy unless she's got something fancy planned.

It's while he's distracted that Craig chucks the flashbang and Domino takes the next shot, which happens to pass clean through Sparky's incorporeal head.

Then spark off of the wall behind him.

Then snap back to catch one of the SRD guys in the face before he could yell at her to drop her weapon.

The albino's pale blue eyes widen slightly. "Whoops."
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Partisan tucks a knee back as she lifts that stubby bullpup up, making a picture perfect baseball slide behind a parked van. "Fuck you!"Theres a moment or two worth of fumbling, before she sources a cylindrical grenade from her pack and jerks the pin free. -POP- goes the grenade, before she finally pitches the cooked 'nade over the top of the van. Letting it explode in an enormous fireball, which gives way to thick white smoke. That shit, is white phosphrus! Then, a long continious, well aimed burst of automatic fire poured right through the van's windshield towards her attacker's position, letting the smoke shield her own position. Say what you want, She's certainly eager to up the level of violence. A tactical philosophy found in every special forces manual in the world, when in doubt fight harder.
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Lunair has no idea what a Sardine is or why they would be armed. Some people consider sardine delicious, though. Why are they trying to kill Sparky? Did he make one too many enemies? Is he a dudebro? Bounty on his head from a wealthy sponsor? An actually bad dude? Lunair's eyes widen as something goes whump nearby. She has to think. This dude is sparkin' like crazy. And she needs a plan. Think Lunair, think. Electricity is a flow of electrons. It is closely related to electromagnetism and - sometimes a conductor will get it flowing where you want. But then, think! She's gotta have something fancy.

And then suddenly, white phosphorous! Stuff just got real.

Maybe sound waves would affect him? Something that pulls power. Could she go all Ghostbusters on him? Ponder. Well. Time for a classic. He's going to get dubstep gunned.
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The electrical charges certainly do raise the fuzz on the elf's body. Thankfully, his fur isn't any longer than just a basic fuzz or he'd look like a giant teleporting puffball. His hair, however, isn't faring quite so well. "I am—"

WHOOMP!!

White phosphorous clouds the area, and Kurt is blinded by the unexpected brilliance of the light. Self-preservation kicks in, and he teleports blindly straight up into the air, catching a fire-escape, and feeling the cold metal beneath him, he takes a deep breath. Blinking rapidly, he's trying to get his eyes to focus, but for the moment, it's simply not working.

And with the obvious authorities in place now? The SRD? (Even Nightcrawler knows who THEY are..)
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The grenade chosen from Partisan's arsenal gives the SRD troops closest to her something to think about. Every armor has gaps. Vapor has a way of reaching through these gaps. Between the hazardous white cloud burning into a few of the troops from within their polycarbonate shells and the incoming fire, there's a lot of yelling, and screaming, and diving for cover. "We've got heavy resistance, bring in the mark one!"

"That's phos…" Domino once more mutters to herself while ducking out of cover in time for a basketball-sized hole to get punched through the brick and mortar beside her head. Her left hand fast-draws a 9mm sidearm from beneath the opposite arm, twisting back to snap off a few quick shots at whomever just went after her. "Who the -hell- still uses that stuff? Craig—watch your six!"

Those grenades do seem to be working, though. Unlike her nine. Their armor easily absorbs the impact, prompting an even stronger retaliation. "Two meta positive, we've got a teleporter! Possible third, one o'clock!"

Dom manages to take out one of the SRD coming up alongside Craig before two more grenades come into play, both hefted from the armed troops. Both have a rapidly hardening foam payload, capable of subduing anything caught within a five foot radius of where they land. The first goes to Partisan. Roughly. It's kind of difficult for them to see. The second comes rolling in right at her feet, prompting a choice curse as she leaps back into a dumpster before the blast engulfs her.

Craig's next to go down, completely swarmed by eight armored individuals. Plenty more are left over, aiming their 'non-lethal' weapons up to where Nightcrawler dangles from the fire escape. More shots are promptly taken, each weapon emitting that concussive -WHUMP!- for every pull of the trigger.

Sparky's in for an experience which is altogether different and new for him. It's..an energy weapon. Of sorts. Lunair's device of choice has Sparky howling and curling into a tight ball of barely restrained current while some of the SRD folk actually lower their weapons and stare. "What the hell..?"
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Partisan Grunts as the grenade comes bounding for her, but the reaction is instant. She takes off across the sidewalk, twisting mid step to -whip- a Russian grenade about the size of an Egg after her attacker. Its a small grenade, and well the Partisan could've played in the major leagues because man she can really pitch that thing. This done, she makes a diving roll through a storefront window. Grunting as she hits the ground in a roll, and comes up sliding to a stop. "You fucking pussies, you wanna play games? I'll chew the eyes out'cher face and skull fuck you to death just to pass the time." Threats and curses notwithstanding, she is being productive. Sprinting towards the back exit as she produces a rifle mag with a light blue baseplate. AP ammo, of course.
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That IS phosphorous. Lunair is grateful for what cover she has. She's wondering who in the world that is or why they'd use something like /that/. Sure, she could whip one up at will, but she seems to opt for straight up explosions over what white phosphorous does. She can't really hear Phosphorous, for better or worse and the world may be grateful that Sparky's not twerking although a nearby car is jumping like it's being exposed to too much base. WUBWUBWUBWUB. It's like a portable Skrillex! Lunair is just dropping that base, although she's doing her best not to get spotted. Even if the SRD folk's reactions would be all sorts of priceless.

It does stop a moment. "Hey! … hey sparky guy. Why is everyone trying to kill you? Are you evil?" Can I dubstep you more if you're evil? She does feel a bit sorry for Craig and - there's a fellow bamfing. Although, she's going to scamper if sparky doesn't answer. Lunair's not suicidal. She's simply quirky with a strange sense of humor and curiosity.
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Kapow! One of the SRD grunts nearly loses her leg from the knee down when Partisan's next grenade cuts in way too close, dropping the soldier onto her back. Another's not far behind, grabbing onto the back of her combat harness and dragging her, screaming, further back from the warped front line. The front of the building which Partisan had ducked inside of is promptly shot to pieces. Already they're moving to surround the perimeter while pressing forward to go inside, making the most of some pretty extensive training.

Lunair's position is getting overrun, her Wub Gun being challenged by their numerous Whump Guns. It's like they've managed to turn Captain America's best right hook into a carbine that can reach out to fifty yards. They might not kill, but anyone not built like a tank is going to have some broken bones and plenty of internal Hemorrhaging to go around.

When the Wub Gun falls silent, Sparky is -gone- like he just got chucked out of a trebuchet. It hurt, and that was -before- Skrillex! One meta less to assault.

The Mark One is ..still being transported. It seems like they weren't fortunate enough to have heavier armor within closer reach. This is probably for the best.

"Fuck this," Dom growls while shoving the nine back into its holster then flicking the rifle onto auto. She's always willing to sacrifice quantity for quality (and -damn- that fuzzy blue bastard and his 'pets' for stealing one of her beloved ten millimeters, these replacements suck!) Rolling out from the giant foam creampuff that's become of half of the trash bin, she dumps the rest of the magazine back at the SRD while making a mad sprint for the waterfront. Her mark's gone and this place is nothing left but a warzone. She can read these odds plenty well, thank you.

Luckily for her, the majority of the troops seem to have it in for Partisan, thanks to all of her grenade throws, and the now downed teleporter, as those guys can be a right handful to catch!
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When you've fought your way clear of a perimeter a few hundred times, it really does become just another phase of the battle. The Partisan, is old hat of course. All you need, is to out-violence everyone else! "I've fought mall security with more sense than you stupid motherfuckers!"She kicks the door shut behind her as she skids into the shop's back room, taking a moment to source her last "special" grenade. There she duct tapes it to the back of the door, and runs a string on the firing pin across the door jam to the wall beyond. Bingo, she just booby trapped the door with a thermite grenade. This done she proceeds with the break out, Diving through the shop's back door into the alley beyond with absolutely reckless abandon. If it's full of SRD, they will have been trained to not shoot so as to avoid a crossfire right? Right?
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Lunair was trying to be diplomatic! Helpful! Learn something … maybe make a friend or poke the electric guy. At least she didn't post him on youtube or twitter. Also, clearly electrojerk doesn't know THE RULES because when you've been beaten up, you have to talk, right? Either way, the SRD are an unpleasant reminder that she too, should bolt. "Rude! I bet you own a fedora!" She grumps to herself after him. She even was nonlethal and nice about it. But no time to grump. Time to quietly portal gun away as best as she can, hopefully without annoying Domino, angry grenade lady (That's Partisan, although is it sexist to think that? Maybe angry grenade thrower with a talent for profanity…). She seems in awe of the giant foam and there's an elf fellow who telemaports (or did - she might portal him away if he needs help - don't elves make shoes or at least not turn you into a frog or something? She really has no idea.). But those who watch where the wubbing was coming from might see a few portals coming and going. And the world's most prim bandit mask haver.
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*Blink*

*Blink-blink..*

Those featureless yellow eyes are made to see in such low-light as to appear virtually pitch black to others, and to have such a light flare as brightly as that, it does take a few minutes. Kurt is seeing shooting stars in his vision, but at least now he's able to actually begin to focus upon what goes on below him.. and those glowing eyes widen before he mutters, "Zum Teufel.." and is gone from the safety of his perch with swords tucked into his belt on either side. Innocent bystanders, such as they are.. and those SRD that are in the direct line of fire!

The fog of the battlefield is just that.. a blur, but there are forms and figures that appear to be doing… something. And by 'something', meaning 'not good'. There's a familiar outline of Domino running and firing— and while it's cover fire, sure, there's that SRD that is coming up, unshielded that will probably be shot if he doesn't—

BAMF!

Kurt grabs the officer and teleports him directly out of the way of incoming, to drop him into a safer spot, behind cover, ready to teleport out at a second's notice.
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Being in a friendly crossfire would be way too easy! Waiting on the other side for Partisan is a large vehicle, clearly armored something fierce, resting on very large tires to keep from completely destroying the pavement beneath it. It's equipped with shuttered viewports and a turret up top, sealed within a transparent blister so the person manning the controls can get a great view without risking their own head. These guys might not be -quite- as stupid as they look.

She's next to receive a traditional SRD welcome of being shot at, the cannon emitting a similar -WHUMP- that's forceful enough to shatter nearby auto glass and set alarms off some distance away. Part of that building, and the awaiting thermite grenade within, are going to be blasted into oblivion.

They're generally smart enough to not shoot their own, too. Point to them, there!

Lunair's probably got the right idea by portaling herself out of the area. It's a mess, and it's rapidly getting worse. Good thing she can effectively teleport, it makes her very difficult to get a direct line of sight on.

Nightcrawler's got plenty of his own trouble. "Rogue mutant confirmed, subject Kurt Wagner has an outstanding warrant for arr—he's just taken one of our own!"

The one that he rescued hasn't had a chance to undergo proper teleportation training. In one instant he's staring. Then he's leveling his weapon on Kurt. Then he's keeling over and vomiting.

It's not easy pointing a gun and reading someone their rights while the ol' stomach is busy evacuating itself.

Not far away, the open water is similarly becoming dangerous with a few smaller boats dotting the area, each one tagged with the logo and initials of the Special Response Division. Domino's got her escape route, all it takes is a couple more bullets from her carbine. Things may be getting bad on the water but up at street level they've got more heavy vehicles rolling into position. Getting away is a great idea!
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"You silly sumbitches, You wanna play games lets play games!"The blast had an effect, more than the Partisan is letting on. Unfortunately the eyeports in her mask? Yeah those are glass, at least the glass didn't get in her eyes, right? Anywho, she takes off in a flash. Racing not away from that armored vehicle, but -towards- it. Trying to race underneath it's cannon arc, and hopefully slide under it entirely. She needs a few seconds with her duct tape to ready her next party favor. Why not use their own silly tank against them?
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Rude rude rude. Lunair's grumpy sparky's not grateful he's not dead or twerking or naked and didn't even talk back and now suddenly the Special respond division is all up in everyone's grill with lethal force. No chaos, nudity and confusion for them today! She's just gonna do her thing and portal away. At least she might've glimpsed a new face and successfully resisted the urge to go full yandere and murder everything in sight. Job well done! Time to celebrate by eating an entire box of Thin Mints.
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"You're welcome," Kurt offers before he's gone in the next second in a cloud of sulfurous stench, the sound of bamf! ringing in their ears. First stop onto the fire escape of a nearby building, and in the next second he's the heck out of there, to appear clinging to the side of a building several blocks away, and in that next heartbeat, he's miles away. Getting away is a good thing, and saving at least one life is even better. (Even if it was an SRD officer.)
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Tracking a target while they are beneath the vehicle which is attempting to do the tracking does have its own set of dilemmas. Partisan doesn't have long to act before the foot soldiers have the area completely swarmed, it's like a dam had burst somewhere and just let all of these goons out into the city streets. They're well equipped, well armored, and well trained. SWAT wouldn't stand a chance against them. They have to be good, unpowered humans actively targeting and subduing superpowered individuals is a dangerous line of work!

Right here is a state of the art metahuman hunting (barely) road-capable tank. It's got such standard equipment as million candlepower strobelights and loudspeakers built into its armored hide. So, maybe they can't track that crazy masked woman as she dives beneath it.

But, whoever said -that- was a safe place to be? It's like a several ton flashbang that keeps on giving!

Lunair's safe, once more proving that there is no situation which cannot be handled with the right sort of firearm. The NRA should be happy today.

Nightcrawler is a pain in the tail to catch. These guys just can't keep up. It's not happening. When he's gone, he's -gone.- Left in his wake is one soldier who is going to find his pay severely docked for letting a mutant that's wanted by Interpol escape. Right in front of him. Not cool.

Domino's own escape is remarkably slower, and louder, and more bloody, but if she can't take out a couple of goons in boats then she needs to find a new line of work, pronto.
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Works with practiced ease, sourcing the spraypaint she usually uses to tag downed foes and duct tapes her remaining grenades to the cannisters. Out comes the pins, the spoons popped and the duct taped assemblage is tosses from underneath the vehicle up above. KA-POW, theres a rather brilliant explosion followed by a heavy pink mist which settles down onto the alley. That should be sufficient to blind the fucker, and any officers standing nearby. Hopefully, maybe? Then comes a burst of AP 5.56 from underneath the vehicle, aimed at the officers legs. She's out just a second afterward, hurling an empty magazine at a nearby stooge before sourcing a fresh mag. It's an impressive sprint, she's out from under the thing and across the road at the end of the alley in the blink of an eye. Leaping neatly over a parked car infront of the next alley, and vanishing into the shadows there. "Fucking tryhards! Go cry some more!"
Perhaps the more amazing thing isn't how fast the Partisan can run, or high high she can jump. Its how well she keeps up the pace, holding a dead sprint without any sign of slowing down. Yeah, that sort've stamina ain't exactly human neither.
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By now, Lunair is long gone. Like duuuuust in the wiiiiiind.


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