[b]FULLER PARK
6:31 PM[/b]

No two professionals agreed on what job title best suited Steve Canicelli and Ravi Gupta. “Freelancers” was too polite, only broadly accurate. “Stringers” worked well for those in the know but was a little outdated. “Nightcrawlers” was evocative but put on in mind of something gross and slimy. 

At any rate, it was their business partnership and their personal friendship that brought the two men into Fuller Park tonight. When everyone else was fleeing the area with their most valuable possessions, Steve and Ravi were running into Fuller Park with their most valuable possession: a Canon XF305 camcorder.

“Hold that thing steady,” Ravi admonished his friend in a harsh whisper as the two crouched in an alleyway, hoping to remain out of sight. Not like anyone would hear him over Demolition Derby's ranting a dozen yards away. “No station is going to buy that [i]Blair Witch Project[/i] shaky cam shit.”

“They'll buy it and they'll like it,” Steve retorted, struggling to focus the lens to compensate for the rain. “None of the major stations are going to get past the police blockade, they're going to have to settle for helicopter footage. Not up close and personal like this. They'll pay out the nose for this. We struck gold here, man,” he said with a light punch to his friend's shoulder. 

“Oh shit, another vigilante!” Ravi excitedly pointed at the second figure walking out into the street to confront Demolition Derby. He squinted through his glasses, trying to identify the newcomer. “Is that Slugger? They've got a bat. No, it's Arc. Arc! Fantastic.” He couldn't resist hopping up and down in excitement. Steve tried to ignore his partner, focusing instead on getting usable footage of the dramatic confrontation out in the street. “Oh man, Steve, this is gonna be-”

Ravi's voice suddenly stopped, replaced by a trailing wet gurgle. Steve took his eyes away from the camcorder, looking back over his shoulders to tell Ravi to be quiet. The admonition died on his lips.

Ravi's chin rested on his chest, looking down in disbelief at the broad blade emerging from the front of his chest. And yes, there was the blood, hot and coppery in the cool fall air, already being washed away by the rain. 

Steve scrambled to his feet, but it was too late for him already- the blade disappeared from Ravi's chest, sending the man crumpling to the ground. Steve had a brief glimpse of the blade singing through the air, the edge cutting through raindrops in its path. And then the machete buried itself in his skull.

“Wasn't that a little much?” a voice asked from further back in the alley. Though it was muffled from behind the welding helmet, a trace of Boston could be detected in the accent.

The big man pried the machete from Steve's head, shook blood and bits of bone from the blade as the rain spattered . “Operational security must be maintained. The Colonel would agree.” His accent was Haitian, far more pronounced. The Haitian was huge, nearly seven feet, and built like a linebacker. The Bostonian could use the other man's urban camouflage fatigues as a tent. Satisfied that his machete was clean, the Haitian slipped it back into its sheath. “Start getting your men in position. Rooftops, alleyways, the like. Stay out of sight until I give you the order.” He paused, seemed to consider. “There might be other vigilantes hiding nearby. If you happen across any, deal with them quietly.”

With that, well-armed men and women, all dressed identically in urban camo and welding helmets began to quietly surround the confrontation taking place out in the street. Suppressors were screwed onto guns, various melee weapons drawn in case of running into a vigilante by accident.

[b]THE STREET[/b]

Demolition Derby reacted poorly to Arc's taunt. Very poorly. “Traitor! Snake in the grass! Immigrant lover!” the man in the hat spluttered, digging in his satchel for another explosive. His left hand tightened on whatever it was he was grasping so tightly.

“Try this on for size, liberal!” Demolition Derby screamed as he hurled a brick of explosives directly at Arc. A dwindling countdown could just be seen on the side as it hurtled through the air.