Fight Party in New York

Summary:
March 28, 2015: Jericho, Partisan and Fiver get into it.

New York


Characters

NPCs

  • None

Mood Music:
[*<http://insert.video.or.music.link.here>]


Some nightclubs are tough to get into because they're high class, others because you don't dress like a cheap whore. This one, well it's rough to get in unless you're HYDRA. It's a recruiting tool really, they lure hip youngsters in with the nightclub and free shit and then snag them on the brainwashing. Tonight then, is no different from any other for the most part. Music throbs down the alley, theres a line of folks standing outside. Theres your big burly bouncer, and a wafting smell of..pot?
Inside, well shit is getting fuckin real. Whilst this place is usually packed with 200 "Hydra recruits", it's pretty rare any of the actual management wants anything to do with this. Tonight though, standing on a railing above the thriving mass of dancers below is everyone's favorite Hydra shitbag. Alfred Pezona, Hydra's number three man and the guy who runs the recruiting efforts. This nightclub, the kids below, the brainwash music blaring over the speakers, the free booze and drugs? Thats all Pezona's work, and tonight represents a site tour to ensure his vision is being carried out. He's even gone far enough to have a "Fuck terrorists" sign hung above the DJ, though judging by the graphics it looks like he's making some sort've statement about the Partisan there.
Speaking of The Mother Fucking Partisan, she's not exactly having a swell time just yet. Slumped in the back of a boring white work van, as she snuffs out her cigarette and drags her gasmask down. She pops open the back doors and takes a step out, before turning to look at the bouncer across the alley. He's like 6'6" and 320lbs, She's like 6ft and well it's impolite to ask. Tiger stripe BDUs, MDR with "FUCK YOUR SHIT" scribbled down the side, gas mask painted with an animal skull? Yeah he recognizes her and the whole world takes a pause, becuase that there? That's the mother fucking Partisan. Inside they're having a Party because they supposedly killed her. Yet there she is, right there….shit's about to kick off.


Hydra. Some call them fanatical psychotic scum bags. others refer to them as fanatics, but can respect the dedication to their work. Still others refer to the organization as the up and coming saviors of humanity.
"These fuckin' shit heads." Fiver rumbles to himself, standing beside a table in one of the private alcoves on the second floor. His deep smoke and whiskey voice has an odd muffled echo from his own breathing attachment. Though his current armor sports no power pack, the tubes from his mouth plate are plugged into the shoulder plates, probably using some sort of internal power source and oxygen filter/supply. Also, surprisingly, he still has his weapons.
How is a mercenary standing on the second floor of a night club full of dancing Hydra agents?
He walked in through the front door.
Having worked for Hydra in the past, Fiver didn't even need to talk to the bouncer. The glowing green eyes of his suit and the spray-painted 5 on his chest are mildly familiar sights around here. He also has a rep for 0 patience. Piss him off and he might tear your head off and eat it in front of your friends. Rumor has it he did that to Jason from Hydra Special Projects. Nobody knows if he actually did, but there isn't anyone named Jason in HSP these days.
Lifting his left forearm, Fiver activates a hud control inside his helmet and the section of armor across his left forearm brightens as lime green letters form on the black surface. Swiping once across the armor with his right pointer he flips the menu to a new series of options, selects 'External noise filter.' then selects 'hypnotics scrambler.'. Two more swipes change the setting from 15 percent to 25, then cause the green light to wink out entirely. Checking the remaining power on his battle hub, Fiver readies himself for the fight that should be starting any moment, if his employer is correct.
Fiver's load out tonight consists of some sort of long knife or short sword attached upside down to his right upper arm, the spiky hilt projecting just past his elbow. A black device with two raised ridges runs along the back of his right forearm, and an odd long-barreled pistol is stuck in a shallow slot on his left thigh, almost blending in with the black armor there. it must be magnetic or something.


Jericho's monitoring the situation from… some distance out. Not so far that he couldn't get there in a hurry, but not so close that he's likely to be noticed. It helps to have wings, really. "Target confirmed, 1-1. I've got visuals on him and a pack of other VIP types. Place is really hoppin' tonight. Guess we know where they've been getting their recruits, mmm?"

And then… "Wait a minute. I've got something. External operative in a hard suit on cameras. Nothing in my HYDRA databases… got no idea who this one is."


"I'll handle it 1-2", before reaching back into that van to grab tonight's special feature, A ballistic shield but of course, featuring a trio of claymores taped onto the outgoing edge. She pulls the shield onto one arm, slings her MDR and proceeds fourth. Theres a moment where this threatens to spill out've control before it's even begun, as that bouncer lifts a hand to his headset. The Partisan gets to him first, grasping his collar as she delivers a stomping kick to his knee. Before swinging his skull back against the doorway and just dumping him in a pile where he lays. The night club is still hopping as she makes her way inside, everyone's a little too distracted to notice the soldier sliding in the door, before she reaches behind to draw that R8 from the middle of her back "1-1, going loud."
"She produces a thermite grenade from behind her shield, she'd already 550'd the pin to the back of the shield so it comes away and drops the spoon almost immediately as it soars above the ground. Bursting in the middle of the dance floor, and sending molten slag in every direction. The crowd, well predictably it panics of course and begins to scatter and trample almost immediately as smoke begins to fill the air.


Stepping forward to the entrance of his private alcove, Fiver idly leans out and scans left to right. The second floor circles all the way 'round the building, with a railed hole cut in the middle so that the literal higher-ups can stand over the peons flailing about on the dance floor. It's honestly a little poetic.
Lesser officers in sharp suits line the railings on Fiver's side, the west side, of the building. Sprinkled throughout the mixture are the bulkier, angrier-looking forms of body guards. There are perhaps 13 or more officers and 10 body guards on this side of the second floor, with Alfred around the corner near the center of the north side, where he can gaze down upon the front door.
Stepping out onto the balcony, the black-armored mercenary glances out past the railing just in time to see a small cylinder arc into sight. Tracking the device through the air he waits, passing the couple of seconds in expectant silence…
'FWOOOOOSH!'
The air explodes into fiery chaos, and Fiver gets to work. Without reaching for a weapon he strolls out into the middle of the balcony, right up to one of the looming bouncer types, and looks the equally tall man in the face from behind his glowing green helmet lenses.
'WUMF!"
The mercenary's kick is almost too quick to see, armored boot ploughing into the man's pelvic and instantly shattering it. The unfortunate bouncer's body crumples around the kick as he is launched off his feet and over the rail, flying in a shallow yet graceful arc until he smacks into the lip of the balcony on the other side of the room.
It's go time.


Jericho winces as the blasting starts. Immediately he kills the lights, power and communications in the building. "1-1 this is 1-2, hard shutdown in progress. Try to to make too much of a mess." That last is delivered with a smirk. This is already a mess. HYDRA recruiting raves? Well, he supposes he's heard of stranger things, albiet not recently.


Partisan moves through the crowd, and well with the few thousand lumens worth of floodlights on the front of that shield? Yeah people just sort've part all by themselves, which is good because people are all but stampeding out've the place now. Still she races, making it to the back stairs and sprinting up to the second level. There are actual guards here, and this is when she finally opens fire. That R8 of hers has a red dot ontop and a flashlight on the bottom, and well even when she's aiming around that shield she doesn't seem to have much problem with it. The first fellow to make the mistake of rushing, gets a .357 right through the cheek and he goes tumbling over the railing to the dance floor below. Its about this time really, that the gunfire begins in earnest.


The lights die. The music dies.
The green glow of Fiver's eye lenses fade to black.
Under the sounds of trampling feet, screaming, and the sharp bang of gunfire in such and enclosed space, there is the soft 'shink' of metal sliding across metal. Then, an equally quiet sonic 'WheeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEE' as some sort of tiny electronic device powers up.
In the dark, without the green lights to show where Fiver is, the guards turn to herd their charges away from where he used to be. Scattering north and south, some of them run toward Partisan and her incredibly bright shield. Drawing guns and firing on a visible target is almost better than facing the dark.
The second half of the scurrying guards and officers pull guns, some of them splitting off to hide in alcoves, others circling around, looking for a way down from Fiver And the bright light.
There is a soft hum, drown out by the noise of gunfire and feet, that trails the 3 body guards at the rear of the second group. None of them seem to notice it until there is a quiet whistling sound and a soft 'slish', and the left most guard's head rolls from his shoulders.
Screaming in surprise, one of the guards whirls to try a point-blank shot on Fiver as he looms out of the dark, but with another whistling swish, the humming short sword in his right hand takes the man's hand off mid forearm. Without even pausing his forward movement the merc hacks off the second guard's head with the back swing, then body checks the decapitated body into the third guard.
Stepping over the man as he struggles to throw off his companion in a spreading pool of blood, Fiver fades back into the dark.


Jericho's on the move now. Still monitoring the feeds, yes but he's also preparing to cover exits. The kids he couldn't care less about. Maybe they'll rethink joining HYDRA. VIP's though, he wants to make sure none of them make the exits or some other kind of bolt hole.


They're pouring the fire on part now in earnest, but well it's unwise. The LEDs on that shield are behind ballistic glass, and well they're starting to think they're clever. Working to try and flank the floodlights, when Part decides she's about done with fucking around. She drops another two in a pair of shots that string off like automatic gunfire, before another three make the incredibly dumb decision to rush her.

Clack-Clack-clack

The explosion is, incredible really. She'd daisy chained claymores along the mean side of that shield, and when they go off this close? Holy fuck dudes are reduced to a mass of gore and wet bloody mulch. Shrapnel seriously wounds another pair of guards, and the screams are absolutely defeaning. A scream not at all silenced by the flash of a magnesium flare, which hurtles through the darkness before smashing to the ground at their feet and it's instantly an explosion of flame. A mother fucking Molotov on the wounded, yeah it's the Partisan alright.
Alfred Pezona isn't a fighter really, but he was once upon a time a cold warrior. So when he realizes shit's going sideways, he makes the first rational intelligent decision he's made in years. Men are burning to death, he's covered in others and his suit's looking like shit. So he grabs the M4 carbine laying near him and after a moment the cobwebs begin to clear. He slaps the magazine, draws back the charging handle and switches the carbine to automatic. He's seen what this crazy bitch does, he knows he's not going to be taken prisoner.


The herd of VIPs on the opposite side of the club break into a fumbling panic as the claymores go off. Sure they're in no real danger of being exploded as far away as they are, but that, followed by the screams of the wounded and now crisply burnt hydra members has dealt a serious blow to their nerves.
Hurrying forward, the group streams through a back door and into the fire exit. The door slamming solidly shut behind them causes them to let out a collected sigh of relief. Despite the dark they think they're safe, polished shoes tap tapping down the concrete stairs.
There is no soft hiss to warn of escaping gas, but nobody would likely have noticed if there was. There are no gun shots, no screams in this stairwell, so it must be safe.
And then one of them staggers and falls, tumbling down the stairs and taking out the legs of the man in front of him. After that, they start to fall like flies. Spasming and twitching, bodies flop over and tumble down the concrete steps. They pile up at ground level, just feet away from the exit door.
But that was never a way to safety. The metal exit door was warped shut with super human strength nearly 2 hours ago.
Back on the balcony above, Fiver steps out of room 5, short sword humming in his left hand. The oddly clean blade gleams in the reflected light of Partisan's shield, little orangy flickers dancing across the polished metal from the burning bodies across the now empty dance floor.
The room behind the mercenary holds only corpses. He has done what he was paid to do. Now he waits idly in the dark, his armor absorbing the light thrown its way everywhere but on the gold painted 5 across his chest.


"1-1 this is 1-2. Other asset has gone inactive." Jericho perches atop the building with a sniper rifle, watching those who exit. So far none of the VIPs have made it out alive. "I have nooooo idea what he's doing. Engage him/her at your own discretion." Beat. "He didnt' shoot at you though so there's that."


"1-2 bring the camera and that old tire from the van. We're about to finish this off."Part's not fast, she's superhumanly fast and in up close and personal like that speed is all that more impressive. She abandons the Shield, before sweeping through gore and fire like a nightmare made real. She has no thermals, no NVGs, but thats not stopping her from pounding motherfuckers with that .357 like it's going out of style. Skidding to a stop as the final few guards flip a couch to make their last stand in defense of Mr.Pezona. Theres a rushed reload, before sweeping it back into the small of her back. Out comes that MDR, and she sweeps back out've cover. Vaulting the distance from the floor to the support beams, an easy 10 feet up. She rolls smoothly, curling one leg over the support beam before swinging her MDR downward.
Theres a flurry of automatic gunfire, before she drops down silently amongst the corpses, which is about when Pezona makes his move. Rising above the overturned table to fire blindly into the darkness, but well he can see her. Flickers of a darkened form amongst the muzzle flashes, like a strobe light until his M4 goes empty and she gets her hands on him. It's a brutal hit, tackling him into the wall behind him hard enough to crack both the drywall and the 2x4s behind. Then a swift punch, and another six for measure before she's knocked him the fuck out. "Ello ello, whomever else is in here running an op. Lets be professionals for a moment, all I need to know is if you need Pezona alive or dead because I'm gonna fucking off him in a minute here."As she rather casually dumps him over the railing to let his form crash down on a table laden with drinks.


"Do whatever the fuck ya want with Mr. Pizza." Comes Fiver's rumbled response. The black-armored merc saunters forward to the edge of the southern balcony and reaches across his body to slot the end of his shimmering blade into its sheath. The metal tip buzzes against the metal of the sheath for a moment, before the knife's hum starts to audibly wind down. About two seconds later Fiver releases the now still blade and it is sucked up into its sheath with a soft 'shink.'
Apparently activating some sort of control in his helmet, Fiver directs his attention across the gap toward partisan as the eyes of his helmet once again flare to green life. Folding his arms atop the railing he leans his stomach against it and lets out a breath into his gas mask.
"Yer folks paid me to make sure nothin' stupid happens to ya, and that this shit gets done. If Doctor Doom or some other jack ass happened to be shmoozin' with Hydra tonight, I was here to whip some ass." These words are followed with a slow look to his left, then his right, before Fiver returns his glowing gaze to his female counterpart and offers dead pan, "Reckon you're gonna be fine." And with that final statement, the mercenary glances idly down toward the Hydra leader now lying unconscious across a solid table covered in broken glass. Various flavors of alcohol drip from the edges of the table with a solid pitter patter.


Jericho appears on foot a moment later with the camera. Fiver gets a wary glance before he starts it up and points it to Part. "Been a while since we did this." He murmurs. "Whenever you're ready there, Partisan." He can edit that part out later. Or leave it in. The point is to make HYDRA realize she's very much not dead.


Partisan just offers fiver a nod, satisfied with that for the time being. She drops down onto the first floor as silent as can be, before dragging Pezona by the collar and drags him to the center of the dance floor. Then she gets to work, binding his ankles together and sleeving an old tire down overtop of him to keep him right there. Then comes the booze, which she douses both him and the floor around him in. She digs around a moment for those smelling salts, before she can bring the fucker around with a groan of pain. "Alright, you ready? Flashlight on his face or you think it'll come out alright?"


Fiver continues to lean on the railing, watching silently as Pezona is drug into the center of the room. He has only a moment to wonder what is going on, before the man is tied, tired, and doused in alcohol.
"Huh." Grunts the merc, deep voices inflectionless.
Pushing upright, Fiver braces his right hand atop the railing and vaults over to free-fall toward the ground. In comparison to Partisan's quiet landing, Fiver's boots hit the wooden dance floor hard enough to splinter the wood in a spider web pattern for 3 feet in every direction. Knees flexed, he absorbs the landing easily, then straightens up and directs his glowing gaze toward Pezona.
"Pink, PINKPINK pink.'
Metallic twangs sound from the mercenary's right gauntlet as he lifts the hand and makes a tight fist. That, must be what his knuckles sound like.
No wonder he's so heavy.
"Fuckin' kids." Fiver grumbles, tone vaguely disgusted as it filters out through his mask.


"Lighting's fine." Jericho assures Partisan. "Bit of bad lighting makes it look a bit more authentic. There won't be any doubt who he is. I can promise you that." Wich is the biggest worry. That HYDRA might misidentify what Partisan is about to do. "Pink?" He looks back up. Okay. Odd.


"Start rolling then."Part glances back to Pezona for a moment "Say the words dipshit, go ahead. Say the fucking words."She's always been quietly impressed that when prompted, the devout always give it up even before the torture begins. Pezona though, well he looks like hell and truth be told he's honestly not even terribly sure where the fuck he is, but he sort've stares off into space for a moment before leaning back.

"Hail Hydra!"

Thats all Part needs, she brings a zippo to life and drops it in that pool of alcohol. Watching ever so casually as Pezona goes up in an inferno, screaming until the fire scorches his lungs to ribbons. "Now that I've got your attention."Part lifts that MDR high above her head before lifting her tone a few octaves. "The Partisan lives motherfuckers! Try again you amatuer hour chucklefucks!"and off she goes, strolling out've frame. Short and sweet, like all "official" partisan videos.


Watching quietly as Pezona is lit and screams his last few moments away, Fiver slowly uncurls the fingers of his fist. Beneath the armor the mercenary's body is unnaturally still. Lizard like in its focus.
"A'ight." Comes the armored man's deep baritone, "I'm gonna have to charge extra for havin' my name associated with this shit pile." Giving his broad shoulders a slight shake, the big man sweeps his glowing gaze across the room. taking in the smashed bottles, flaming leader, and the psycho killer with her camera boy. The floor around the Hydra member is starting to catch fire as well, but Fiver doesn't seem concerned by that.
"I don't burn folks alive. I also ain't this god damn messy. Fucks said I was gonna be insurance for a Skilled Operative." a snort blows through the mask, like an angry bull, "Fuckin' shit heads knew I woulda turned it down if they told me yall was makin' snuff porn." And with that, the merc wheels calmly about, back to Partisan and Jericho, and starts on his way toward the front door. He seems, very unconcerned that he might have just offended a very dangerous couple of people. Perhaps he isn't worried they will be able to hurt him, or maybe he doesn't think he'll get shot for mouthing off. Either way his back is there, broad and open.


Offending Jericho is a lot more dangerous than the prospect of getting shot. There are far less risky, far more satisfying ways of making someone's life hell. And in this particularcase, that can be quite literal. However it's also a lot more difficult to offend him than others because, honestly, he mostly doesn't care what people at large think of him. Mostly because they're not likely to know who he is. Which is how he likes it. Anonymity is armor. "Someone oughta figure out who hired him. I don't recall us getting SHIELD support. Figure he was here by mistake?"


Partisan shrugs, no fucks Given indeed. "One of my supporters more than likely, I have like an actual fucking fan club and I put more than a few governments in power yaknow."Turning towards the exit with a roll of the shoulders. "Fuck I'm hungry, you wanna go for BBQ or is that in bad taste? I know this Spanish joint not far from here, sort've expensive but the food's pretty good."


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