[h3][center]The [color=6ecff6]Habsburg[/color] Rental[/center][/h3] [center][@Sosuke] [@Sightles][/center] True to the Archer's keen aim, his first arrow pierced the grenade in mid flight. Like the first, the less-lethal munition had only teargas particulate to dispense. As its casing split down the middle its powder sprayed out, the pulverized granules instantly transformed into an aerosol by the energy exerted on them. A great cloud of white gas erupted across the courtyard, a swirling tunnel pierced through it by the roiling aftershock of Archer's strike. Eyes met eye for the first time there, the Assassin already recoiling from the interception. She reached up to her face, pulling up her heavy scarf across her mouth as pieces of crystallized CS began to fall from the cloud of agitated tear gas. The moment passed, the tear gas surrounded Archer. His arrow hit the ground, the shock of the impact causing the asphalt to explode like a hand grenade. [i]Out of the kill box.[/i] They threw their grenade launcher at the bowman, forgetting it. The wraith sunk to one side and dived, arms outstretched at an unlikely target. Shot, bruised, covered in tear gas, the gate guard was having an awful day. Mucus poured from his face, his eyes screwed shut as the irritant set in. Powerful arms scooped his bleeding form from the ground, the limber Assassin sheltering him from the aftershock of Archer's attack as the wraith rolled into the smoke. Chips of concrete tore strips off of her jacket. Grenades fell from Assassin's coat, wooden sticks topped with metal canisters. White lines decorated their rim, the stenciled letter "N" marking them. As they hit the ground they exploded, the smoke grenades instantly blanketing the courtyard even more densely in obscuring fog. Assassin disappeared from sight, the screaming guard left safely on the ground as faint footfalls on the grass, easily audible to a fellow Servant, signaled the path the Assassin took away from Archer. Arrows shrieked into the smoke, Archer's volley unleashed upon the wraith. Beyond line of sight dirt and grass exploded into the air. The iron fence around the estate wailed as Archer's arrows snapped metal spikes in half, reducing spots struck directly to molten slag when the azure tips passed through. His aim honed in, instinct sharpening his shots, cutting off routes of escape... But Archer had no need to predict. Assassin stood still within the fog, her position revealed by the glow of gunfire. True to the image of an agonizingly slow marksman Archer had assigned her, the Assassin class had to stop to line up a shot without vision. The muzzle flash of a machinegun turned the smoke and clouds into a thunderstorm. Bullets rippled out, spraying indiscriminate death at the Archer while his own lethal attacks peppered the shooter. The hail of hundreds of arrows met with a deluge of bullets. Whatever effect their desperate attack could have had on Archer... the Assassin could not have survived such a barrage. Three victory shots cracked from the bowman's weapon. Throat, calf, arm, the Assassin's carcass was surely destroyed as the shots sailed home, their gunfire pitching up into to the sky as they fell in defeat, corpse's finger wrapped around the trigger in pathetic defiance. Something wasn't right. Footsteps surrounded Archer, and a sensation followed. Not the presence of Assassin, but of flowing prana, the tether of a Servant [i]passing by[/i], its far trail leading out into the countryside, to a Master far away. The near side pointed to the door. A wire stretched through the smoke in front of Archer's face. The tumult of projectiles flying back and forth finally dispersed the chaotic gray clouds, leaving the scene on the courtyard clear for all to see. Assassin had sped past, obscured. The wraith appeared at the doors, visible only for a fleeting instant. A black cord stretched from their hand to the "Assassin" that Archer had fired upon. A tripod sat on the lawn, destroyed by his attacks. An empty machinegun was fastened to it with the solenoid trigger pinned down by the Assassin's device. They dropped the wire to the decoy and disappeared into the entranceway. Another smoke bomb fell down in their wake, the undulant cloud spilling with the fleeing Assassin into the foyer. They had a head start, and swift feet when they needed to. The chase was on. The blackened wraith leaped onto the banister of the lavish hall's serpentine stairs, sprinting up to the second story. Just as their own magical path could be felt in proximity, the empowering flow of Od into the impressive Servant outside had pointed like a compass to her target. A brilliant star, shamed only by burning too bright. The entourage of guards moving ahead of him probably wouldn't hurt her chances either. [h3][center]Somewhere Downtown/[color=6ecff6]Old[/color] State House June 29th, 2021 Slipshod Custodian [color=6ecff6]March[/color][/center][/h3] [center][@Reflection] [@Scallop][/center] The Boston morning had been chaos. Moreso in the proper city part, somewhat removed from the tourist trails where real people with real lives worked real jobs. People dressed for the summer heat marched back and forth at the tail end of their commute, carrying food, carrying phones, carrying the hopes of another day of American business. Some of them marched out of cafes, some of them posted up by food trucks. Even in the heart of the Walking City, however, it was impossible to escape every facet of the tourist industry. After all, a place so compact, so filled with history made it inevitable that cutting through downtown was a proper course for some tours. It was the end of the lunch rush. A small group of what had to be tourists, for they were lead by a bespectacled lady in a foppish looking black and blue uniform, passed by the respectable if tuna-scented establishment a sidecast eye identified as The Winter Palace. The occupants appeared to be up to something else however. No need to tour for those who knew where they were going. The lady in charge threw her hands to the firmament, loudly extolling the virtues of the ornate moulding along the buildings they passed. Her voice rose and fell with the eras, eager to inform her passenger hostages of the sheer amount of meaning and history contained in the tiny differences in artistry that the ages had brought. For their part... Some of them were wandering away. So went that brutal march of attrition into the downtown until the last survivors stood before the looming (but dwarfed by its surroundings) shadow of the State House they weren't using anymore. Gigantic 'closed for renovation' stickers and signs dotted the territory, an eerie silence pervading over the building as if it had been set away from the whole of humanity. [color=6ecff6]"Now hold on a second, I know a thing or two about this kinda thing. In America, this!"[/color] She held her hand up to the closed sign, running her palm under the words as if they needed hand modeling. The white glove sailed up to the corner, thumbing out a tack and taking hold of the bulletin. Her fist clenched. The plastic and paper ripped, and contented with outright destruction of property they nudged the now blank standing sign to the ground. [color=6ecff6]"Is more like a suggestion. Don't give me that look, no one's forcing you to be here."[/color] Trouble turned its silver-haired head, glasses glinting in the rising sun as they stared at the door. Seemingly unaware of the bounded field they treaded over, they strode up to the black, street facing double door of the Old State House and crashed the back of their fist against the door. The force of the blow rang through the inside of the abandoned structure like a drum, the triumphant sound of an actual lunatic demanding entrance from a structure that should be fully empty. With all the determination in the world they took a step back, crossed their arms, and waited for the masters of the House to step forward.