Like the gentle breeze of a summer wind, Shadow moved between the rooftops with weightless steps. Leaping onto a larger building, the swordsman climbed its length with haste, the fluidity of his movements barely human in their graceful execution. Feeling the night air brushing past his clothes with the accelerated speed, Shadow vaulted over the edge once he reached the rooftop, landing on his feet with catlike reflexes before he continued on. Many light breaths left his lips, muzzled by the mask covering his face, the obscuring shroud providing a link back to Tatsumei's voice. Hearing her instructions was an addition Shadow had grown used to throughout the months, as if a constant reminder of her presence. Accelerating an otherwise improved capability, Shadow's mask provided a highly technological selection which allowed for night vision, as well as providing a small digital map for traversal. Acquiring such an impressive gadget was explained as old acquaintances. Tatsumei was not alone in her endeavor to protect New York from its many threats. She was however the only remainder of a group once called The Trinity which was composed of her and two close friends, one of whom sat on impressive wealth.
As every story has its end, The Trinity found itself outmatched at one point. Tatsumei managed to correct the mistake at a later opportunity, but the damage had been done. She was the sole survivor, and the loss turned her towards a darker path, one similar to Milo's path of bloodshed. Finding her way back was a feat, but she managed the task and eventually ran into knowledge of he who would now be known as Shadow. It is said that everything is linked together, and thus the two intertwined paths into a singular objective.
Lowering himself to a knee, Shadow tapped the side of his mask and zoomed in on the sight displayed before him. Far below the building which acted as an eagle-eyed view, Shadow saw the target of his assignment. The Goldhill Bank stood tall and proud, though infested with robbers eager to bathe in the riches within. Shadow had to give credit where it was due. At the very least, these thieves had not targeted the bank during daylight. Such an action would have brought with it a new slew of issues and complications. No less for them.
Further tapping the side of his mask, Shadow's view shifted into what Tatsumei described as the Analytical Mode which clearly revealed how many threats resided within the building, and where they were. Armed with assault rifles, AK-47s to be exact, they would cause quite a hassle if Shadow engaged them blade to barrel. Indeed, their bullets would not put him down with ease, but a myriad of lead from all sides would acquaint him with the floor sooner rather than later.
Placing his foot on the edge of the rooftop, Shadow executed a leap of fate which would have shocked any onlooker, would he not have extended his left hand and fired a long, thin wire attaching itself to the bank's surface. Thought barely visible, Shadow's left bracer contained a very handy transportation device. It was hard to believe that he made ends meet without these trinkets.
Reaching the bank, Shadow flipped onto the roof with the wire quickly retracting to his bracer once it loosened from place. "In position." The boy's silent voice cracked through the night sky, vanishing with the incoming breeze.
"There's an entrance to your left." Tatsumei's response reached Shadow's ears, her illumination barely necessary as the door stood apparent for anyone who'd look. The thieves had used this way to get in, the stairs leading down into the back part of the bank. Police were already on their way due to the alarm, but Shadow had made it his objective to arrive before them. If he could deal with this issue first, no one would come to harm.
Making his way down the stairs, Shadow reactivated the Analytical Mode of his mask, the visor revealing his enemies through the walls. There were seven of them, five working on filling their bags while two remained stationary, ever vigilant lookouts. Silently moving along the walls, Shadow positioned himself around the corner. With two shuriken between his fingers, Shadow revealed himself a mere moment before expertly throwing the stars at the lookouts. Knocked out cold from the electrical impact, the path was opened for Shadow's entrance. Arming himself with another three throwing stars, one between each finger, Shadow hastily proceeded into the vault and dashed forth. Throwing the shuriken in a wide arc, they connected with the lightly armored targets focused on their task. Fluidly moving his hand towards the blade on his back, Shadow slid forward and spun around with a swing of his sword, the edge sending a powerful shock through the bandit before the remaining enemy met the same treatment at the end of Shadow’s circular slash.
The sound of sirens was now clearly audible outside the building, queuing Shadow’s exit. Hurrying up the stairs, Shadow threw himself off the roof and fired the wire from his left bracer to leave the area. It had been a clean job, one reliant on stealth. All the police had to do now was to apprehend the thieves who were all peacefully sleeping.
Main Weapons: High Frequency Electro Blade. Offhand Weapon: High Frequency Electro Knife. Ranged Weapon: High Frequency Electro Shuriken.
Feeling his vision returning, Milo traced the pads of his fingers across the foundation of a soft, wooden floor beneath his frame. The light was still quite challenging to meet with tired eyes, his attention shifting back and forth from the thick, wooden bars keeping him within the cage he had so profoundly found himself in. The confines were an unexpected addition, but he would recall losing consciousness quite abruptly due to a well-planned ambush. Thinking back on the matter yielded little success however, as he could not see nor sense the attackers beforehand. A pain had echoed through the back of his head, followed by an immediate darkness blanketing sight and sound, forcing him to yield beneath the weight of force. Truly, what had struck him was strong enough to surpass his cellular regeneration and knocked him out, leaving the boy defenseless. It was no wonder then, that he found himself in a wooden cell not long after.
Peculiar as it was, Milo had only to peer beyond the bars to disregard what they had been made of. As if an image frozen in time, framed from an old movie dating back to the samurai, Milo's eyes recognized his surroundings as a quaint home of oriental birth. The warm, bright colors were enough to ease an otherwise troubled mind, but Milo would soon return to reality, his focus shifting to the bars steadily barring his path. Without an utterance leaving his lips, the boy sat up and leaned against the wall opposite the bars, breathing out as he found himself disarmed and without a chance for escape. Lucky then that he didn't have to wait long before the sound of footsteps snapped him back from getting too comfortable. "Good morning, sleeping kitten." A voice echoed through the otherwise empty home, the words belonging to an elderly woman who found great pleasure in the pipe between her lips. "For someone who can't die, you're sure easy to smack down." She continued, exhaling a puff of smoke with a not so unexpected smirk making its way to her visage.
"Who are you?" Milo returned, his eyes narrowing at the sight. A frail old lady stood before him, her height equal to that of his own. Indeed, this woman had not warranted any amount of intimidation, her appearance anything but menacing.
"Straight to the point, aren't you?" She shot back, taking another long puff of the pipe, breathing out the smoke before her oriental eyes found home on the prisoner. "You never were one for talking, after all."
"Do I know you?" For someone he had never seen before, this woman sure knew a thing or two about Milo. The way she bore herself, her demeanor and her patient act drew the situation quite intriguing. She knew more than she let on, and she enjoyed taking her time with spilling the beans, as it was.
"You do not." The woman continued in response. "I know you, though." She delighted herself on the pipe, breathing out smoke between sentences as she spoke. "I know that you're a weapon manufactured in 1984 by a Bionic Weapons Lab. Subject Name: M110, Male 110, as it was." She moved the pipe away for a second, gazing down to the shocked expression on Milo's face, her own grin widening as a result. "You were designed to be an assassin able to hide in plain sight and use innocence as concealment." The boy's silence clearly indicated his interest in what this woman had to say, encouraging her to continue. "You were made to look like your creator's son. Someone had issues." She chuckled softly, bringing the pipe back to her lips. "Things went south, the project was shut down, lab was destroyed, you went out on your own and started killing bad boys, am I right so far?" Milo offered her a faint frown in response, causing the elderly woman to chuckle once more before she continued on. "See, I have been looking into you for quite some time, Edge." Sounding out his alias, the woman could clearly see how Milo's frown deepened. "You have been a very, very bad kid, Milo." She finally dropped his name.
"What's it to you?" The boy returned, crossing his arms as he remained in place against the wall.
"Killing people left and right, it's not a path which will leave you whole for very long. My name is Matsumei, and I am going to offer you an ultimatum."
"I don't do well with those."
"Well..." Matsumei began, approaching the bars. "See, I've been where you are, Milo. You think that chopping people into hamburgers will end well. You think that it's making a difference, a good one. You're leaving an endless wake of blood behind you, and deem yourself justified in doing so. Why is that?"
"You seem to know everything about me. You tell me." Milo sighed, shaking his head slightly. He never expected to get into a philosophical debate with an old lady.
"The answer is quite simple. You've been hardwired to consider killing a first resort. You were born and bred in a test tube, kid. Killing was what you were made for. That's why I am offering you another chance, a new life." For the first time yet, Matsumei cracked what appeared to be a smile, though it was quickly smothered as the pipe returned to her lips.
"Why would I join you?" Milo considered his situation, but it was still a question he would like answered. With bars in the way, he didn't have anywhere to go.
"You were created as a weapon. Naturally, a weapon kills. You on the other hand, are a weapon with a mind. You can be taught anew, and you can be redeemed." Matsumei turned to lean against the wall as she spoke, breathing out smoke as she had displayed previously. "I'll show you a new path. The alternative is a maximum-security prison. Probably isolation, or the death penalty since you're technically not human so human rights is a bit of a grey zone with you."
"Nice options." The boy shot back, raising an eyebrow at the options put before him. "Join you, or die, pretty much."
"No." Matsumei shook her head. "Join me, or the legal system will deal with you. Either way, I can't have you out there and killing, anymore. See, any other person would probably have been left for the cops to deal with but I have been looking into you ever since Lost Haven, Milo." She elaborated. "In truth, there are a few reasons as to why you're in this position. Firstly, your creation didn't exactly leave you with many other options. Secondly, your skillset makes you a very plausible student."
"Fine." Milo finished, ascending to his feet and approached the bars.
"Oh, that easy to convince you?"
"The alternative's a deterrent."
"As it should be." Matsumei chuckled. "Well then, go on and leave that cell."
Raising his eyebrow in confusion, Milo placed his hand on the cell door and pushed it open. It had never been locked.
Four months after Bounty's Rest
Expertly blocking each strike thrown at her, Matsumei remained with a pipe in hand and her other maintaining a stretched out, defensive posture. Though Milo attempted his best to land a successful hit, the old woman danced between his inhumanly graceful movements as if she had a sixth sense, as if she could tell exactly what he was about to do before the boy brought thought into action. With her heartbeat maintaining a calm beat, the woman smoked her beloved pipe as her right hand countered and nullified Milo's strikes with rapidity and ease. After a short while, Matsumei moved forth with a powerful strike to Milo's chest, her palm sending him to his back as if a paper weight. "Again." The woman exclaimed, only having moved an inch throughout the ordeal before her imminent attack.
Milo clenched his teeth before jolting back to his feet and attempted to start the dance anew, his quick strikes which would have been far too fast for most easily dodged and blocked by Matsumei with a single arm. Yet again, and again still, and a fourth time, a fifth and on it went, Milo found himself thrown to the carpeted floor. Matsumei was a master of martial arts, her abilities far surpassing Milo who himself had been specifically designed for this. It was safe to say that her skills faded the mortal realm in their wake.
"Get up." The old lady commanded, tossing a bokken, a wooden blade, to Milo. "Let's try again." Despite the boy's new weapon, he had little luck in landing a strike on the woman moving as if she was wind itself, her middle and index finger extended with each strike to cancel her target's pressure points with fluidity. Each strike stole a large portion of energy from Milo as well dealing a respectable amount of internal damage which healed in turn, stealing even more energy in the process.
These sessions continued for a long, arduous amount of time. Milo found himself acquainted with the floor more than he'd care to share, his body only able to keep standing due to his mutation which Matsumei could end at any given moment with her godly martial prowess. Milo would however lie, if he claimed that Matsumei's gruesome training did not yield results.
Nine months after Bounty's Rest, Present Day.
Shadow, it was the name Matsumei had claimed long ago when she was still jumping on rooftops and keeping New York's streets safe. It was a name she could no longer hold onto, her age preventing her from prolonged endeavors in the crusade against villainy. Indeed, her overwhelming prowess stood far and beyond even Milo who had now grown exponentially thanks to her, but the woman had grown more static with age. Milo, with the option he had sealed many months ago, agreed to take her place on the streets. Calling Matsumei Sensei, the boy would hear her words constantly echo through his mind, not in a spiritual manner but rather through the mask he wore.
Though Matsumei's home was of a delicate, old oriental style, the woman had displayed yet another amazing skill in computers. Located within the Asian house hidden from sight beneath a tea shop, Matsumei possessed an impressive array of technological gadgets and screens allowing for full time surveillance of her progeny while he roamed the streets. Picking up Matsumei's old codename and her attire, Milo would continue the woman's legacy.
Armed with a High Frequency Electro Blade along with a matching knife, Milo, or Shadow, now deployyed a non-lethal variant to an otherwise powerful sword. Mimicking the slashing motions of an actual blade, the blunted edge of his high frequency sword left electrical shocks on his enemies, stunning and paralyzing them rather than critically wounding and killing a target. Following up on the promise he had made not to kill, Shadow also uses shuriken, or throwing stars, deploying the same kind of technology.
"You've got a mission!" Mitsumei exclaimed, lightly hitting Shadow in the back of his head as the boy was more than content with a cat on his lap and his eyes glued to the television.
"Fine..." He sighed softly, scratching Soy, the cat, behind her ears. He lowered his feet to the floor with a stretch, starting towards the armory and wasted little time before suiting up for the mission at hand. A common everyday robbery, something to get the blood going for the remainder of the night. With quick and graceful movements living up to his new name of Shadow, the boy hurried out of the hideout and tea shop, making his way into the night of New York.
Hiding his hands in the pockets of the hoodie Skyler had slipped over his frame, the boy felt somewhat like a thug. A baggy shirt along with cargo pants, converse shoes and a toboggan drew him much like a thief in the night, or someone more than willing to bash in a car window. The tail slowly wagging back and forth was clearly visible for all who appeared to offer great interest in the sight, but eventually shrugged it off as some weird kid's live role play. It's ashen color only added to the exhibition but perhaps the unnatural tone of his skin would remove attention rather than claim even more, waving it off as a prop rather than an actual appendage. With a toboggan positioned firmly atop his head, Skyler's small horns were hidden from view and his fringe made short work of his unnaturally colored eyes, somewhat hiding them but offered sight all the same.
Feeling his heartbeat accelerating at being the center of attention, Skyler attempted to focus his thoughts on calming down. If he got stressed, this building could end up in ashes. He didn't know the extent of his powers, but after what happened to his sister, he wasn't quite ready to see any more of it. The girl found herself in an abnormal swirl of embers, as if a cylinder of pure flame which erased the poor girl from existence, leaving behind nothing but ash in the wind. Bones had been disintegrated and nothing to speak of remained, nothing but soft ashes as if flour in a bag. The thought didn't help, and added to the heartbeat which was punching at against Skyler's ribs like a hammer.
The boy shifted his eyes from staring at the floor, to the large painting positioned on the wall in front of him, noticing the edge of the frame flaking from the emanating heat. Comments continued to rise in complaints, and the signs snapped Skyler back to reality. A deep breath left his lips, all the more attention drawn to him due to the anomalies. With a gulp, his inner words attempted to calm his nerves, Mushroom's bark positively stealing the teen's attention. "Come, Mushroom..." The boy uttered quietly, moving away from the now cracked image from an age old past. The heat had seeped into the fabric, cracking the dye as if the sun had laid, heating its shape for days. Skyler could draw the conclusion that his flames burned hotter than normal fire, but to this extent? Despite the traumatic event of seeing his sister cindered, what remained wasn't possible. No fire burned so hot that nothing remained in its wake. An accelerated heartbeat caused the atmosphere to ripple and forced sweat down peoples' frames as if an impossibly warm summer day.
The more he learned of these abilities, the more he feared them. Skyler had been trying his very best to suppress his flames but even within, the very thought of them rippled across his surroundings. Were these the embers of hell? Sometimes it felt like they had a mind of their own, but Skyler could draw the conclusion that they were heavily affected by his emotions. Mushroom was also a good indicator, sadly, for when Skyler was slipping. He always barked in response, but scaring him like that only added to the already heavy weight positioned firmly on his shoulders.
"Did we miss them?" Skyler continued, his voice a quiet whisper under the hoodie hiding his pointed ears. Ben was nowhere to be found, and neither was Táph. Roaming the museum's many rooms did little in helping the search but rather made Skyler out to be a spectacle. People came here to look at the paintings, but he appeared to be a much more interesting attraction. He heard how several individuals, children and adults alike, commented on his appearance and whether the museum had some kind of reenactment today. Nothing of the sort had been posted on their website, and no one else appeared present for that to be an event. Most chalked it up to a weird outsider, but those who didn't made it their duty to ogle his scrawny form.
Comfort would however be found in Mushroom's company. Indeed, his company offered a friend's dear presence but it also drew Skyler slightly less odd. Having a pet by his side added a sense of normality otherwise erased by the tail. Luckily, no one could see his horns, or his ears. Not to mention his needle sharp teeth. He'd also have to thank the invention of live role playing, making odd sightings less of a hassle to deal with. "We can go back to the entrance and check." The boy uttered, looking down to his loyal pet who followed without question. Perhaps Ben and Táph were there. This plan, whatever it was, didn't seem to go according to what they had hoped. Ben wasn't there when Skyler arrived and this was getting highly troublesome. Skyler wasn't too eager to burn the place down, and hopefully no other paintings would lose their value at his presence.
Padding through Ben’s room, Skyler made it his business to look at the various photos of a woman displayed within the four walls. Was this his mother? Skyler couldn’t recall seeing her in any other picture located anywhere within the mansion’s confines. A soft rumbling echoed through his belly and with a gentle sigh, he turned to the food brought in for Mushroom last night. Some salted meat and other canned items laid neatly stacked on the bedside table, and with few options, Skyler approached the food skeptically. “Well, you like this stuff, don’t you?” He spoke, turning to look at Mushroom who was in turn happily waving his fluffy tail from one side to the other while looking at his owner. A bark escaped the dog’s chops right before he pawed forward on the bed in an attempt to get the affection he so desired.
Raising a hand to place it on the dog’s form, Skyler absentmindedly ran his fingers through Mushroom’s fur as he was reading the labels on the cans. “I’ll just wait…” The boy accepted defeat, returning the cans to their original position. “You need breakfast, though.” He continued, wrapping his thin fingers around the can opener and began working on the metal. “Hey, Mushy’.” The boy spoke, turning to look at his companion after lowering himself to the bed. “This is Ben’s room. Heh, I’ve talked a lot about him, haven’t I? You must be sick of it.” Mushroom tilted his head slightly at the words, the dog’s large, brown eyes looking up at Skyler before the smell of food caught his attention. Moving closer to the can, Mushroom nearly shoved his snout onto the metal before being stopped by a giggling Skyler. “Mushroom, you’ll hurt yourself.” The boy chuckled, lifting his hands to get the sharp metal away from his dog.
Finally opening the container, Skyler poured its contents into a bowl which had been provided and saw how Mushroom immediately pawed himself to the floor to eat breakfast. The sight was somewhat melancholy, bringing back memories of what had transpired when Skyler found his beloved companion malnourished and neglected. Clenching his needle-sharp teeth, the boy ascended to his feet before once more exploring the room, an escape from his thoughts.
Placing his hands on a picture frame, he raised it carefully to get a better view. This woman was incredibly pretty, and there was an aura about her which was absent in every other picture Skyler had previously passed. They seemed somewhat stiff and lifeless whereas this woman appeared genuine and softhearted. Perhaps he was reading into it, but parental figures had become somewhat of an interest for Skyler. The people he grew up with couldn’t possibly be his biological parents, could they? Returning the picture to the bedside table, Skyler made his way towards the window and moved the curtains from place to gaze out across the backyard. It was quite lovely, something out of a storybook.
Did Ben spend his life here? It felt a bit creepy to look around the way Skyler was doing, as if he was a stalker, but being locked up in this room left little else to do.
If that wolf from before truly was Ben, the two of them had something in common, at least. They were both going through changes they had no control over, and they both struggled with the thought of hurting those around them. Skyler knew a thing or two about animals, and what the giant wolf he had met acted like, was a puppy. Ben was many things but playful wasn’t one of them. Given that simple truth, it was easy to draw the conclusion that something else changed, apart from his appearance, when he transformed. “The closest I’ve ever been to you, and it required our worlds to be turned upside down…” The Efreet sighed, turning to look at Mushroom. At least the dog appeared without worry, that was always something. “When he comes home, he’ll probably freak out about us being here, Mushroom…” Skyler continued, catching the canine’s attention at the mention of his name. A bark escaped the dog before he continued to eat.
“Have you ever had a crush on anyone before, ‘Shroomy?” Skyler asked halfway jokingly as he dropped down to bed, laying his head on the pillow. “It sucks…”
Placing an ornate ring on the counter of Bounty's Rest, the gaze which met Milo did so with a sense of awe. His bloodied and tattered clothes spoke of a vicious battle, and word was already spreading of 'some kid' putting Loco to the sword. It would however appear that Milo's precious weapon was gone, a casualty of war, as it were. Broken in the fight, Loco had shattered the blade but not before his heart was punctured by its eager thirst. "Damn, nigga." Doc spoke up, rubbing the beard protruding from his chin. "You scary as shit, you know that?" He chuckled, placing his thumb and index finger on the ring's shape, picking it up for a better view. "With the mess ya’ left behind, you hardly needed proof of the guy's death." Placing the ring in a safe below the counter, Doc produced a small metal case of currency, handing the fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of money to Milo. Someone high up on the food chain wanted Loco dead, badly. It wasn't hard to see how this was a power struggle. Loco was in someone's way, and they wanted him gone. This wasn't an assignment paid for by a grief struck widow, or someone who had been wronged by the man. Someone wanted him out of the equation and they paid accordingly. The riskier the job, the higher the pay. "For a nigga who doesn't need to eat or drink, those fifteen grand will last ya' a while. By the way, where you're sword at?"
"Gone." Milo returned quietly, as indifferent as ever while accepting the bounty of his task.
"And you look like shit." Doc added, a grin crossing his lips, the man's dark eyes trailing over the boy. "Most of that blood ain't yours, is it?" He was aware of Milo's supernatural healing factor, but the boy could bleed all the same.
"No." The answer rang out, a clear contrast to the personality Milo had displayed for the gangster he used to get to Loco. Without another word, the boy started up the stairs towards his room, peeling off the torn and bloodied clothes on a straight path to the bathroom. Without a care in the world, Milo released his grip around the fabric and let the clothes now painted red fall to the carpet, his shoes soon joining their side as naked feet brought him below a warm, comfortable stream of water.
Leaning against the wall, Milo released a soft yawn, the large amount of regeneration required against the beast of a man he had fought catching up with him. The boy felt fatigued, and understandably so. Though the loss of his sword was a critical error, he would be able to buy a new one with the money he had been given, however for the moment, fifteen thousand dollars would last him a while. Like Doc had stated, for someone who doesn't need to eat or drink, money tended to remain. In truth, this meant that Milo could relax for a while, maybe take a prolonged break where he could focus on blowing off some steam. Placing a foot outside the shower, Milo wrapped his fingers around a towel and dried his frame. There hadn't been much blood on his skin, but rather it was caught up by his clothes now ruined for future use. Stepping into the bedroom, Milo opened a closet and viewed the meagre selection of clothes contained within.
Slipping into a new pair of boxers, Milo slid into a set of black cargo pants and a slightly oversized black hoodie. Let it never be said that that the boy was colorful in clothes nor personality. Doc had stated that if he couldn't get rid of the fringe, at least he could dress differently. According to the motel owner, Milo didn't even attempt to discourage the emo vibe he gave off. Perhaps the man knew what he was talking about, given how Milo couldn't care less. Covering his feet in a pair of comfortable socks, Milo grabbed hold of a new set of shoes he had recently bought for just the occasion. One would however comment on the fact that they appeared to look the same as his old pair.
As was a reasonable course of action, Milo disposed of this old clothes, setting them alight in the bathroom before washing away the charred remains accordingly. He wasn’t about to put more work than necessary on Doc’s shoulders.
Placing his hands in his sweater's pockets, Milo skipped down the stairs with rapid grace and offered Doc a wave on his way to the door. "Leavin', kid?"
"Yeah." Milo replied, covering his ears with the brightly pink headphones he had used before and adjusted the cloth shoulder bag with its strap crossing his chest, slipping the money into its contents.
"Try not to get killed, eh?" The old man offered his farewells in a way he was well known for, winking teasingly at Milo who managed a soft smile for the first time in months. Needless to say, it caught the man off guard, though the boy was out the door before Doc could bring the shock into words. Rather, all he could do was chuckle softly once Milo's shape had vanished beyond the entrance.
Losing his sword, earning quite a lot of money and having nowhere in particular to be, Milo's schedule was free and fluid. There was no telling where he'd head from here, what his destination was. In truth, he had no clue himself. Perhaps simply walking and seeing where he'd ultimately end up was the only plan currently on his mind. Perhaps so, but it was a reasonable course of action. One thing was certain, however. Milo would make his way out of the villainous part of the city and perhaps find himself a pleasant spot to catch his breath. That was a good place to start.
Slipping the rolled-up sword bag out of his hoodie's pocket, Milo slid it over his blade and tossed the sword over his shoulder. During the past few months, Milo had gotten some well needed practice in what he was designed for, appearing innocent. Outside that uncaring and indifferent machine of massacre which had been revealed to rest beneath his innocent appearance, he needed to be able to come off as harmless in more than visage. This came to pass more effectively now that the assassin had spent more time in social venues. Hiding in plain sight was supposed to be his virtue, but had taken a backseat throughout his endeavors as a street vigilante. Recalling his roots, Milo aimed to return to the skills he had once mastered.
With music blasting through the headset covering his ears, Milo traced the trash covered streets from one corner to the next, following the instructions detailing the location of his target. Gabriel 'Loco' Hernandez had acquired a name for himself recently. The streets knew him as Loco, or The LocoMotive, for reasons proven obvious by the fist he often used to get a point across. Super strength coursed through the man's veins and he had risen through the gangster ranks like a train, another reason for his nickname, or title, as it was. Ruthless, merciless and vicious were all traits one could associate with a gang banger but it was expected in this line of work. The otherwise unnatural strength he displayed had been further elevated by good old fashioned workout sessions and it was stated that he spent at least four hours a day lifting trash.
"Hey, hombre!" A voice rang out, speaking over the music Milo had gotten well acquainted with over the countless times he had listened to the same song. It was no secret. He was a fan of Madonna, and would one search through the brightly pink iPod in his pocket, every suspicion would be confirmed. Whether he enjoyed the color or sought to provoke wasn't quite certain, but given his overall indifferent personality, the latter was highly unlikely. "Whaddya' doin' here, faggot?" The gangster continued, motioning to the headphones following suit Milo's pink iPod.
"E-excuse me..." The assassin stammered, the fake visage of innocence coating him with a cloak of invisibility. "I...I'm looking for Mr. Loco, Sir..." He finished, avoiding eye contact as Milo spoke, rather focusing those large brown orbs on the ground.
"The fuck?" The gangster stood wearing a tight tank top which hugged his frame tightly enough to show off the muscles beneath and revealed various tattoos down his arms which indicated allegiance. This entire area was run by the Hispanics, Loco to be precise. "What would he want with a little bitch like you? You're not even Latino, maricon!"
"I...I have some information he'd like, Sir. I also have a gift for him..." Milo continued, his voice quiet and unsure, as it was supposed to come off. Reaching his sword out, still in the bag, he presented the blade for the gangster who could only gaze down at the boy with a raised eyebrow. Milo's apparent age was nothing new in these parts. People joined gangs before they reached a double digit. Scoffing at him, the gangster grabbed hold of Milo's shirt and pulled him along before pushing him forward.
"Walk." He finished, prepared to pull his gun at a moment's notice. Though he was skeptical, it was impossible to tell exactly who Loco was expecting and Milo seemed to be anything but a threat, naturally. Dragging him along deeper into the area, the gangster eventually brought them into an old apartment building which had long since housed the current leader of their gang. Trashy like the rest of the neighborhood, the furniture was old and decrepit without anyone to keep a clean front. There were no veils to hide the filth below, but some would appreciate such honesty.
Now standing face to face with this man, Loco, painted the picture clearly. He was a giant of a man, someone capable of ripping people apart. It would be a lie to claim that Milo didn't feel his heartbeat accelerating slightly in response to the image.
"And what's this?" Loco spoke, narrowing his eyes at the unusual scene. The man had made himself comfortable on a couch with several gang members surrounding him, each one armed and focusing on a locally hired stripper who had taken up residence in the living room. It was however more likely to assume her job a forced occupation within the gang’s property.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Loco." The gangster excused his presence, turning his attention to Milo. "Kid says he has something to tell you, and he wants to give you this." Grabbing the blade by its scabbard, the gangster wasn't quite fast enough to see Milo's hand slide down to the handle, releasing the sword from its confines. With a graceful spin, the boy planted a deep cut to the man's throat and charged forth, dashing towards his target. Using the moment of confusion, Milo placed both hands on his sword and rammed the blade down onto another gang member and then a third before guns were finally drawn and shots rang out. Leaping behind one of the old, red sofas, Milo took cover from the bullets and heard screams of pain and fear echoing throughout the room.
Seeing how the sofa was effortlessly lifted from place by Loco, Milo turned to his quick reflexes and slid between the man’s legs and jolted back to his feet. He wasn’t the target just yet. Another set of shots left the muzzle of a gun but missed their target as Milo threw himself to the floor in a fluid roll before executing an upwards slash across the remaining goon’s abdomen.
“The fuck are you!?” Loco screamed out, cracking his knuckles.
”Wait.” The boy spoke, reaching for his iPod to change the song, causing Loco to absolutely loose his cool. This kid had sliced up his closest men in seconds and now changed the song on his iPod which he had been listening to throughout the entire event. The lack of respect and extreme nonchalance Milo showed off didn’t go well with the man before him. “You little shit!” Loco bellowed, taking a quick step forward which nearly caused the floor to cave him.
Preparing his blade, Milo slipped his foot beneath the scabbard on the floor and kicked it up to his hand. ”Can’t imagine why someone wants you dead.” The boy grinned, his grip around the blade tightening as he met his opponent head on.
Throwing his tired feet onto the coffee table, the young-looking male manage a deep breath of comfort before placing the soda bottle to his lips. It was called the Bounty's Rest, a cheap motel in the ghettos of New York located within an area most would avoid. A cesspool of crime, villainy and chaos. It was understandable how the police branded this area a no-go zone. Bravery walks hand in hand with foolishness, they say. Heading into this backwater alley within New York's borders would amount to little more than stupidity. "So tell me, Sandy." Old Man Doc spoke, his dark and raspy voice hinting at the vast amount of cigarettes he had infected his lungs with throughout the years. The man's ebony dark skin painted him an afro American, something he often felt the need to remind people of with his choice of words. He was the owner of the Bounty's Rest, a motel at first glance but the truth laid in the name. People came to Doc with contracts and the hunters renting a room within his complex would be assigned jobs, some less savory than others. For a small percentage of the pay, Doc would let these bounty hunters stay in his motel for as long as they continued to accept contracts. Milo had been doing so for a handful of months at this point. "Getting any hope for the world?"
"No." The boy returned, taking another sip from his drink as he lazily watched the news on an old, raggedy television propped up in the lobby.
"What's a brother gotta' do to get ya' to say more than one word, hm?" Doc chuckled, cracking open a can of non-brand beer. Running his fingers down the white beard which had started to form beneath his chin, Doc adjusted the cap atop his head and got up with a soft grunt. "Ain't as young as I used to be!" He continued, patting his back as he circled the counter and sat on the sofa besides Milo. "I've had me people from all over stayin' here, y'know?" Doc spoke, taking a swig of his drink before nodding to the television. "You seem em' niggas come in here with guns n' powers but a fuckin' sword?" The old man laughed heartily, reaching for Milo's Japanese katana resting against the sofa's cushions. "That's rather new."
"I'm not people." Milo commented, referring to his engineered creation rather than a natural birth. He was designed from the start to be a weapon no one would suspect, an assassin who worked behind the scenes with a cloak of invisibility in the shape of innocence. He never did consider himself human, and it was for obvious reasons, but Doc and Milo had initiated quite philosophical conversations due to the comment. Milo on the other hand never seemed to care much.
"There ya' go again, Sandy." This part of town drew racial comments a common occurrence. Milo's design was based on his creator's son who was middle eastern, making Milo appear to have olive skin and dark features. It warranted his nickname, Sandy, referring to the ethnical home place of a desert. "Ya' can think, can't ya'? A brother can feel!" Doc nudged Milo's side, dropping the katana back to its previous position. "Say, what kind of music do ya' like?"
"Don't really care." An expected response, but Doc grunted all the same before reaching for the stereo controller, turning on some old nineties hits.
"There we go. Gotta' have some life in here, ya' know?" Doc finished, ascending to his feet before he started towards the counter and reached for a folder. "How do ya' feel about gang bangers?"
"They bleed a lot." Milo zapped through the channels disinterested in his surroundings, occasionally sipping from his soda with halfway closed eyes.
"You fuckin' psycho." The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, this job just came in. Looks like a new group of gangsters are popping up. Run by a meta, n'I know you like those, brother." Stealing Milo's attention, the boy turned his focus to Doc who grinned in response. "There we are, a nigga's alive!"
"What kind of meta?" Milo ignored most of what Doc had been saying, phasing directly to the point.
"Super strength. That kinda' shit gets you respect roun'ere, y'know?" Doc finished, dropping the folder onto Milo's lap to allow the boy a better view of what he was getting into. Hispanic, large, tattooed, male, the typical. It was what you expected, nothing new and nothing special, but things had been rather dry recently.
"Fine." The boy stated, dropping his feet to the floor and slipped into the black and white converse shoes he had by the sofa. Doc had strict rules, no shoes on the table. The man usually got his way, despite his age and seemingly fragile appearance. One should however not judge a book by its cover as Doc was known by something else entirely on the streets.
"Don't die, kiddo." The old man shot Milo a grin before turning the music up. "And get a haircut, you fuckin' emo."
"Can't. Milo was the epiphany of 'frozen in time'. The boy's regeneration prevented any change to his body and a single strand of hair falling from its place would immediately be replaced by another. Perhaps this semi-immortal frame was what had drawn Milo so cynical and indifferent, seeing the world wither and die around him while he remained the same, forever. A depressing thought, but Milo found himself bathed in blood too often to think about much else, recently. Heading out the door, Milo didn't bother hiding his blade. Everyone here owned a weapon, and everyone was armed. Anything else was a death wish.
With a pleasant yawn echoing through his frame, Skyler stretched his body before feeling a wet tongue traveling across his face. A soft giggle left his lips in response, followed by nuzzling Mushroom’s furry shape and planted a kiss on the dog’s snout. ”Good morning, Shroomy.’” Skyler spoke with a groggy, newly woken voice as his hands reached up to rub his eyes. Lowering his feet to the floor, another yawn managed to escape before he ascended with a stretch. It was positively the best night of sleep which had blessed him in over four years, something he was more than prepared to cling to. It was impossible to tell when the next palatable night had the opportunity of visiting, after all.
Seeing how Mushroom leaped down to the floor, Skyler lowered his hand and gently scratched the dog behind his ears, starting towards the opened doorway with Mushroom’s eager paws close behind. The dog wouldn’t leave Skyler’s side anytime soon, that much was obvious.
The fuzzy friend was still lacking much in a sense of weight, but his previously playful personality had returned and even though Mushroom wasn’t as quick on his paws as he used to be, he’d get there with enough time and nourishment. Days of misery were behind them, by the way things were looking now.
Skyler rubbed his eyes with a third yawn, placing a tired hand on the bathroom door and pushed it open to pad his feet onto the cold tile floor beyond the threshold. Reaching his hand up to scratch his head, Skyler’s eyes widened at the sight befalling him in the reflection of the mirror. To the point of jumping back with a yelp, Mushroom reacted accordingly and barked, startled. Skyler on the other hand didn’t move his newly colored eyes from the image staring back at him. Pale to the point of appearing slightly grey, his skin had shifted notably along with his now pointy ears and jet black irises. Completing the new appearance, the whites of Skyler’s eyes turned to a golden yellow. ”Sh-shit…” The boy gulped in confusion. With every passing day, something seemed to be changing with him. What was next? Claws? ”Do I look different to you, Shroomy’?” Skyler lowered his eyes to the dog who barked in response, planting another lick on the boy’s face once he got down on his knees in a desperate attempt to look Mushroom in the eyes. ”Well, that’s a relief.” Skyler sighed deeply, ascending to his feet again before turning back to his image. Things were looking less and less normal by the day. Was this some kind of new puberty he was going through? Something which was changing his body together with these fire powers running through his veins? None of it was normal, that much was obvious.
Reaching behind him, Skyler grabbed his tail to get a better look of the appendage. It too had shifted color along with his skin but remained the same in other ways. ”Guess this is me now, Shroomy’”. Though a heavy pout escaped his lips, Skyler seemed to have reached a level of indifference. Everything had come down on him like a rock, he could barely recognize himself anymore. Whoever stared back at him in that mirror was not the same person he had come to know during the last sixteen years of his life. A tail, grey skin, black eyes, pointed ears sharp teeth and horns? The more who thought about it, the less human he was beginning to seem. At first, Skyler hoped that he was a mere mutant, someone who had a few extra tricks up their sleeves but now he was starting to seriously doubt his own humanity. Was he human at all? Was there even a fraction of humanity in him?
After taking a morning shower, Skyler wrapped a towel around himself and moved back into his new room, closing the door behind himself for the first time yet. Angelo had been kind enough to leave a large bag of clothes for Skyler before making his way out of the mansion sometime during the night. They filled their purpose with haste as the boy slipped into a pair of cargo pants and a t-shirt which fit his frame better than what he had been previously wearing. ”You think I can go out in public again, Shroomy’?" Skyler spoke softly with his fingers running through Mushroom’s fur. ”I hope I can at least go down to the kitchen. Come on, we should get some food.” Skyler finished, his voice echoing with a slightly more assertive tone now that he was back together with Mushroom.
Heading out of the room, Skyler made his way down the stairs and eventually found himself in the kitchen. The morning was still young, a mere eight am. Despite the comfortable sleep which had blessed him, Skyler had grown used to waking at early hours after a week of starlight nights on the streets. Being in someone else’s kitchen felt odd in ways he couldn’t describe, but the situation didn’t appear normal on any other front, either. Something else did however catch the boy’s eyes, something which stole his attention with ease.
Gently placing his fingers around the edge of a picture, Skyler analyzed the teenager appearing next to a man who had to be his father. The name Ben which Angelo had used, was this him? If that was the case, Skyler knew this boy. He knew him all too well. This was Benjamin from school, the person who had caught Skyler in a hopeless spell. Things were starting to fall together now. Was this seriously happening? The werewolf’s name was Ben; this was the wolf’s home. Benjamin from school lived here, and no one else appeared to fall under that description. With a shaking hand, Skyler dropped the picture onto the counter and stumbled back, his tail slapping a chair out of the way in the process. There was only so much he could take at any given moment.
Everything he thought he knew was falling to pieces. Everything considered normal and a part of his everyday life had gone out the window. The room Skyler was sleeping in, was it Ben’s? Was it the same Ben that he went to school with? The same Ben he had a crush on? With a trembling frame, Skyler attempted to calm himself down before there was an accident. He could already see how the air around him was starting to ripple due to the heat and Mushroom had taken more than a few steps away. The stay at this mansion would probably be a lot more difficult than he had first anticipated.
“Benjamin? Is that you?” A voice echoed through the manor, shaking Skyler from his daze and brought him back to reality with a crash. Shifting his eyes to the window, he needed only peek outside to see a Hispanic woman by the entrance. This was bad. He couldn’t let anyone see him, not like this. Angelo hadn’t mentioned that there were others at this mansion. In fact, there was a lot he hadn’t mentioned which now came flooding through. Why was Skyler even here? Why did he and Táph go with the Agent in the first place? Suddenly the world felt lost, and feeling a hand on his shoulder shattered the second wave of thoughts forcing their way through. Moments later, Skyler found himself pulled back, with a familiar voice speaking into his ear.
“Hide.” A single word, it sent a chill down Skyler’s spine but turning to see who it was froze him over entirely. Benjamin Reeves was peering into the boy’s inhuman eyes, appearing less than startled at seeing the Efreet’s full form.
“B-Ben…?” Skyler managed to utter the name of his crush in a broken attempt, stuttering all the while.
“Not really.” Benjamin responded, shaking his head. “Didn’t Angelo tell you anything? That guy’s worthless…” The doppelganger sighed heavily before turning his attention to the task at hand. “Get down and hide.”
Though the situation was accompanied by a series of confusing sights, Skyler did as he was told and lowered himself to his knees in an attempt to hide. The doppelganger took the opportunity to leave the kitchen and instructed Mushroom to follow him, something which came to pass once Skyler nodded in agreement, removing any doubts the dog might have had. “Oh, hey.” Benjamin, or rather his double, spoke. “Sorry about the ruckus. This thing followed me home and I'm still trying to debate on to do with him, mostly before Lorrie comes home.” Given Mushroom’s currently scrawny frame, it wasn’t hard to believe that he was a stray. “I'm taking him upstairs, let me know when lunch is done.” Ben continued, speaking with the help before he attempted to finally speak his way out of the dilemma. Once the coast was clear, the double peeked his head back into the kitchen and motioned for Skyler to leave his hiding place and move with haste, following Ben’s body double up the stairs and into Benjamin’s room.
Closing the door behind them, the Agency doppelganger breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, that wasn’t entirely expected. I thought Angelo told you that you couldn’t be seen yet.”
”You’re not Ben?” Skyler managed, his voice nearly trembling.
“No. I’m just here to make things seem normal. The dude’s a werewolf, and I don’t know what you are but damn. Look, this mission has gotten way out of hand. More people than ever are involved in strict Agency business and I have no idea how it got to this point.” Benjamin rubbed his forehead for a moment, moving to the windows before peering down onto the backyard. “But it is what it is. Angelo told me that he had brought some street urchin, you I guess, and an old friend of his, Táph, who would now be this group of misfit’s babysitter.” Scratching the back of his head, Benjamin’s double chuckled in response to his own explanation, barely able to believe it himself. “You, Táph, Benjamin and two Mercs are involved in this. They’re still out looking for the kid, and until he comes home and we can cook up a second part of this, stay out of sight. You’ll also not be in contact with me much, if at all. I’m not supposed to interact with any of you. I’m Ben before all of this happened, alright? Stay behind the scenes and let me take care of the center stage.”
”Okay.” Lowering himself to the bed, Skyler accepted the situation for what it was, seeing how the double had left the room. As messed up as this was, at the very least, Skyler felt like he had a better understanding of what he was involved with. For now, all he needed to do was to stay out of sight. He could do that, couldn’t he? Mushroom also had some immunity now that the fake Ben had told the house keeper that it was his dog. Laying his head down on the pillow, Skyler gently embrace Mushroom’s form and took a deep breath. He was going to be locked up in this room for a while. He could as well rest up in the meantime.
@Shard Just wanted to make sure you knew anything God is something that needs to be talked about with the Mods. I wasn't sure if you were going for that or not.
Nope, no Gawd. Just a divine realm, just like there is a Hell in this RP setting.
Though, if it's been decided that we can't play supernaturals, there are other reasons to deny Mikha'il acceptance into the RP.
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