Wolf War

Summary:
June 05 2014: The Partisan's war on Hydra heats up as she targets a subverted NYPD detective.

Midtown North Precinct

A squat, ugly, four story building that houses the NYPD's crime statistics arm. Seriously. It's pretty hideous.


Characters

NPCs

  • Detective Ryan Nevares
  • Mystery Man

Mood Music:
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBgp5aDH23g]


The Midtown North Precinct building is a squad, grey, ugly four story building on the south side of West 54th street. It's a veritable monument to staid, unimaginative government architecture. Mostly it houses the Crime Statistics Department for the NYPD but some officers and detectives also operate out of there. It's also the present location of Parti's next target: Detective Ryan Nevares.

Aspect is watching the building through a spotting scope in an unused office on the 11th floor of a high rise just south of the Precinct. He's used this perch before to observe and silently ransack Crime Stat's computer systems both for his own uses and to data mine for evidence of Hydra complicity. Nevares a key player in Hydra's influence over the NYPD, able to manipulate what the force thinks the emerging picture of the crime situation in the city is, and what the hot spots are. He's also a grade A jerk. He's been under investigation by IA four times in the last two years alone and not without reason. He's dirtier than a pidgeon in central park. But he also knows how to not leave behind evidence. At least, not the kind that's admissible in court. Jericho doesn't care about that either. And neither does the person on the other end of the radio. "You know," he says, as he checks the scope again. "This is really gonna piss off Detective Pezzini. Especially doing it right at the Precinct house." His tone is conversational, as if they were discussing what they had for lunch.


"Of course it is, the Detective is a good woman. Every bit the sort've police officer I would have been friends with back when I was still wearing a badge."Quietly she lifts an old mosquito net up and drives it over the window's opening with thumb tacks, before opening the window and driving tacks in the bottom. "She believes in doing the right thing, and in her world that means law and order. She's young though, she's never been to the evil places in our world. She's never met an evil which can't be locked up, someday she'll learn. For now, we'll just stay out of her way and guide her along."

Quietly she moves an ancient table around to rest a few feet behind the window, before the partisan kicks over a chair and has herself a seat. "I need about eight minutes, can you confirm his shift will begin in ten?"Out comes her kit, and if you're surprised to find modern weaponry there you shouldn't be. Sniping has been a tool of the Partisan movements across the world since the rifle was invented, so of course she's spent money to keep her kit up to date. Unfolding the bipod, before setting her DTA SRSA1 on the table top and another flick of the monopod out back before she lets it sit. "You don't happen to have the barometric pressure, air temperature and wind speed handy do you?"


Jericho is no slouch of a shot himself, but 1300 yards is about what he can manage comfortably with a good rifle and good scope. 1700 at a stretch on a good day with no wind. CQB is more his lane. The Partisan's a much, much better shot than he is, and knowing that she's been doing this for several times longer than he's been alive, let alone been acquainted with the practice of arms, he feels no shame in admitting that. He's armed himself, his kriss and an M24, but those are really strictly for if this thing goes south. Way south.

"Barometric pressure is it two-niner point seven eight inches, temp is down to six-zero degrees fahrenheit and the wind is North-Northwest at one-three miles per hour." One thing he's really good at though, is keeping track of data. Weather stuff is pretty easy when you can bypass the NOAA and just look directly at their satellite data. "You were a peace officer?" He's trying not to ditract her, but she doesn't seem to distract easy. "Yeah, he starts in ten and looks like he's pretty much never early."


"I was a meter maid for two years, met my husband that way. He was a very honest cop, in a very scary place. He was allergic to mean, didn't have a dishonest bone in his body. If you'd read about him you'd say he was a comic book character or something, totally unlike anyone I'd ever met in my entire life."Taking a moment to roll the magnification up to 25 before she sights in the front of the precinct, setting those little hashmarks against a trashcan set on the curb. She knew how tall a trashcan was, and she knew the distance between the hashmarks on her optic. The math to accurately range herself wasn't too difficult. 2,112 yards, not too bad.

Part takes a her time with the math, running things twice before peeling apart the dope sheets to plot the ballistics on a little scratch pad. This done, she cranks up the elevation and sets the windage before sliding the magazine into her rife and slapping the bolt closed. "First time in my life I'd retired, first time since I was about ten that I'd given to minutes of thought about marriage and kids. Back then of course it was an arranged marriage, but that's just the way things were back then. He would've made a good husband, if I hadn't eaten his father's heart out've his chest in front of him."


It's a testament to the fact that Jericho's been tangling with Hydra for a year that a statement like that doesn't make him recoil or look askance at Parti. It's a testament to the fact that, despite all that, his weird meter is still set to fairly mundane levels that it does give him pause. "That would put a damper on thanksgiving dinner conversation, I suppose." Snark and banter is his default way of coping with things. It's not a trait he admires in himself, but it's gotten a lot worse in the last year. Still, it's better than the alternative, which for him is going insane. Er.

Jeri checks the camera feeds he's tapped into again, and pauses for a moment to listen to the local area police dispatchers. "Nothing on their radar yet. No unusual activity from the precinct house." He reports.


"He was a good man, and he didn't give a shit about who I am or what I am. I'd spent the last ten years at the CIA's beckon call, comitting war crimes and slaughtering people like it was going out of style. I'd gotten to a point where I was so immune to whatever violence, that I lost every semblance of perspective. Set kids on fire infront of their mothers, tortured people to death just because I could and made their villages watch before I killed them too. Before Vietnam, there was always this very clear line. I had my moral certainty, I walked a line and I didn't cross it. I knew very acutely, right from wrong." Exhaling softly, Partisan lifts a hand to turn her ballcap around. Adjusting the monopod out back to get the rifle squared up just so.

"Then Vietnam and, every week it was something a little further from OK. By the time 'Nam was over, and they got me down in South America I was in a bad place. Never had more than a few days to myself, was always snorting coke just to keep up with the pace of things. Told myself I was immune to the side effects, like every junkie ever. Got so bad the Agency cut me loose, which was great. No money on hand, couldnt get my candy. He found me beating coke out of a dealer on the outskirts of Bogota, got me someplace to sleep and bought me a meal."Click, goes the safety. "First time anyone ever gave a shit about helping -me- out, about asking what I wanted or needed. First time somone was nice to me, because it was the right thing to do. Everyone was always nice to me because they needed me, or they were scared of me. Believe it or not, there is a difference."


"I know." Jericho says. He's not sure what Parti is, other than she's not human, or not entirely. He knows that he can't know what that is like, not entirely anyway. But war? War he understands. There is an inhumanity to war and fighting it means dying a bit, killing and burying parts of yourself to stay alive and mostly sane. You don't get those parts of you back when you come home. Not entirely, anyway. Most find a way to cope, to soldier on, but every warrior everywhere knows the feeling. The kind of war he fought back when he still wore the uniform… Alexander the Great once called it Wolf War, when he went into the same part of the world two and a half thousand years ago. The instrument of Wolf War, he wrote, is the massacre. One does not fight enemies was warriors, but runs them down like game. One cannot fight a Wolf War with regular armies, nor with regular men.

"Nevares just pulled up to his parking space. He's a block out." A pause. "Still no unusual activity on any channel." Jericho checks his spotting scope again. All quiet on the western front, it looks like. "He sounds like a hell of a guy, Parti. They don't really make 'em like that anymore."


She winces just a touch as she gets herself completely squared "Eyes on, have the target. I can't verify his face at this distance, once you verify him that'll be my release to fire." Finger coming to rest on that trigger guard as she works to slow her heartrate down. "If you ask nicely, I'll tell you what I am. Not knowing is just eating you alive, isn't it? Second assassination, I suppose I can trust you with that much." See, she isn't a complete bitch.

What she was, was a fighter. Never a soldier, but always a fighter. A hundred years and change worth of front line, usually entirely on her own. Considering the fact that she could walk, talk and not get tense around people with cellphones? You could say she was coping well, but then again she isn't human is she? She'd never pretended to be human, but it is easy to forget.


Actually, he was figuring that asking might be the thing that got him eaten alive. Finds that he likes Parti, but he's not particularly under any illusions that she's his friend. When one deals in secrets, one makes a point of knowing where the line is drawn where the risk starts to outweigh the knowledge. Still, so long as she's offering…

Business first, though. He gazes through the spotting scope as he looks down on Nevares from three separate cameras. "That's him alright. Hang on, I've got something here. Someone approaching from the east. Black sports coat, expenensive shoes. Running his face… he's not a cop. Looks like he's going to chat with our mark. Your call if you want to take the shot."

Jericho adjusts his scope a little and pays extra close attention to the police bands. "So… if you don't mind my curiosity then… what are you?"


"There are a bunch of ways to do it, nowadays everyone's most familiar with the virus. In my day it was a spell, or in my case a deal made with a demon. Sold him the majority of my immortal soul, and filled in the rest with the soul of a man eating wolf."-CRACK- goes that rifle, lifting the dust in the room and cutting a simple neat .33 caliber hole in that mosquito netting. Lifting a gloved hand to casually throw the bolt, before setting the empty casing off to one side. "In modern English, I'm a werewolf."

Down range, there's no warning. That neat projectile ploughs through the man's lower jaw, and immediately the delicate jacket peels away whilst the projectile's still moving. It destabilizes, and begins to spall (to tumble) sending bits of high velocity shrapnel up into his brain his neck and even a few into his chest. His jaw just, collapses and one half peels back away from his face before flying into the street whilst the opposite dangles from a flap of skin just below his ear. The lead core drives forward, causing a massive soft tissue disruption and localized spikes in blood pressure which alone are fatal. Still the lead payload drives on, sending out globs of high velocity shrapnel before penetrating the base of his skull and exiting the rear with a exit wound approximately the size of a tennis ball. Like god reaching down, and flipping the fucker's light switch. The portions of his brain normally associated with regulating basic bodily processes are scattered down the street in a find pink and white mist as larger pieces of bone tumble further. His brain stem is wrenched from his spinal cord, as those localized spikes in blood pressure cause "mechanical relocation" of other parts of his bodies. Namely, his eyes bug out and don't quite shrink back into their sockets as he tumbles to the ground in a heap.


"Kill shot." Jericho confirms. As if there was any doubt. The man whose expensive shoes and sports jacket just got sprayed with gore dives behind a parked car. The reaction from the precinct is almost immediate. Officers and detectives rush out at the unexpected gunfire and see one of their own dowwn. "Shots fired, officer down." The police band lights up like a christmas tree. "Does anyone have eyes on the shooter? Dispatch, we need backup immediately at Midtown North Precinct. And EMTs. Detective Nevares is down!"

"We should go." Jericho is already packing up his spotting scope and weaponry for exfil. "Werewolf?" If he hadn't seen what he'd seen last night he might not believe her. Fortunately for his belief, he's had an up close and personal demonstration of the fact that magic does indeed exist and it's pretty frickin' scary. He glosses over the 'sold her soul to a demon' part. Still processing that. "That explains surviving two nine mil to the neck and about thirty five-five-six to to the chest pretty neatly, I suppose." He'll keep that in mind. Werewolves are fairly notorious in folklore for being, well, rage monsters. Sure, most of that has to be bunk, but caution where caution is due.


"Stay exactly where you are, they're looking for people running. Give it a minute, and then move."She rises cooly, unloading the rifle and setting it back into it's case. Then she digs around from her pack, and scores a pair of spraypaint cans. Calmly she pushes the furniture away to expose the bare concrete floor, before she gets to painting. "I'm not just a werewolf, I'm the product of tyranny. I am the rightious spirit not of revenge, but of reckoning. I am the hero of the common people, the destroyer of evil men. I am the Partisan, a woman who sold her name and soul for the cause of the oppressed." Standing back to admire the ten foot wolf's skull, she nods before tossing the cans aside and digs out a radio. "Now you should go, I'm about to get their attention."

She clears her throat, before tuning that police radio to the local precinct. Waiting for a gap before squeezing the button. "Attention all stations this net, priority traffic follows. My name is the Partisan, and I just put a bullet through Detective Nevares skull. I didn't do so because he was a cop, even because he was a crooked cop. I did it because he belonged to a subversive secretive conspiracy known as Hydra, who's states goals is the enslavement of the American people. This is America, we still shoot motherfuckers for treason here. So officers, stop and ask yourself. If you swore an oath to serve and protect, why didn't you arrest the piece of shit. Who are you protecting, and whom are you serving if not the citizenry of the United States? Thank you for listening. Fight back or die trying, Partisan out."She jerks a ziptie around the transmit button, before resting it on the desk beside the spent shell casing. Then just as casual as can be she steps out and casually descends the staircase.


Jericho had waited on her mark and is now descending the staircase down toward the back exit, his kirss hidden in his coat and his unfired sniper rifle in a case slung over his shoulder. "That's really going to upset Detective Pezzini." He chuckles grimly over the radio. "SWAT response will be a bit delayed. They're having a couple of traffic control issues." Though appearing to be casually walking, Jericho is actually wreaking pure hell on the city's transportation grid. Lights aren't cooperating, traffic is getting rerouted in pretty crazy ways and the SWAT band radios just don't seem to be connecting to dispatch. Or anyone. "Got a ride in the parking lot for you if you don't feel like walking." Jericho is headed a different direction. He has a fairly good idea where the Hydra call for help is going to get routed to and he intends to be there when it arrives.


"I have my own wheels, thank you."Exiting the back of the building and popping the trunk of that BMW, before tossing her gear inside followed by her hat, jacket, boots and trousers. It only takes a moment, before she slips on her heels and adjusts the fit of that little black dress. On go the earrings, and then once she slumps down in the front seat makeup. That done, she pitches the flamless MRE heater aside and sets that still hot Starbucks coffee cup into the cup holder and pulls away. "Relax, SWAT can be here now if they want. They have no idea who they're looking for, and it'll be another few hours before they even find out where the shot came from."Bringing Aesop up on the stereo as that silver BMW instantly vanishes into traffic.


Jericho relaxes his grip on the municipal net. Just a hiccup right? Nothing to see here. "Roger that. Going dark for now. Y'know how to find me when you need to." He pings the closest node of the Hydra net and inserts a taunt of his own, a bit of code that's as unmistakeable as it is untraceable.

He dumps the rifle into the back of a parked BMW and then watches as it drives itself off. OnStar is so much fun. He'll pick it up later. Right now he doesn't need to be carrying it. Adjusting his faded brown baseball cap, the hacker grins to himself as he kills the virtual mic on his implants. "Rock on, Parti Girl." He says to no one in particular as he passes into the tangle of alleys in the downtown area and vanishes from sight.


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