[color=lightgray][h3][center][color=tan]Sean[/color] & [color=#BB253E]Angel[/color] [color=tan]PART 2[/color][/center][/h3] [hr] [I]Whatever amount of time has passed to get to their destination…[/i] Sean's truck crested the edge of a parking lot conveniently overlooking the street of the Bluefin Market fish shop. The vehicle's headlights were off but it wasn't hard to see the subtle activity below beneath the faint sporadic glow of a flickering streetlight. The Bluefin appeared to be closed for the night as the neon “open” light against the inside of the window held no glow and the metal barred door remained shut over the glass door used by daily customers. Beside the shop, a large box truck was parked. Its rear was hidden but the individuals walking to and from it and the side entrance of the shop with containers filled the two in on what they couldn't see. [Color=tan]“Kudos to Griggs, there is indeed something fishy going on down there,”[/color] Sean commented far too easily. Angel leaned her elbow against the window, gaze narrowing on the scene. From up here, it should’ve looked like any other truck offload: workers moving crates, tired men keeping heads down and making idle chatter, but the rhythm was wrong. [color=#BB253E]“Yeah,”[/color] she murmured, more to herself than to him. She counted them once. Then again. There were six shapes cycling between the truck and the side door. Not a single one spoke to each other. No shitty old music blaring from inside the shop and no cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. Every step, every lift, every turn mirrored the last. They didn’t even look down at what they carried. Angel rolled the window down a few inches, and the air hit her with a sting of blood chased with bleach. Below, a crate slipped from one man’s grip. He froze, spine stiff, before scrambling to grab it again frantically. His eyes darted toward the alley as he lifted it as if he expected something to come out of it. A flicker from the truck’s rear caught on the crate’s surface in that moment, revealing black wood, just like Griggs had said. It was stamped with a faint red mark that glowed for half a brief moment, then died out. Angel’s brows drew together. [color=#BB253E]“Definitely not fish,”[/color] she whispered as Sean drew out a breath. [Color=tan]“It’s a little tight but we'll play this like we usually do with you taking the lead while I cover you from the rear.”[/color] Sean pointed to the side door. [Color=tan]“We also have to keep them from locking that sidedoor. If we go fast and violent, it doesn't matter if they notice us. Plus, we have the element of surprise yada yada yada, you know the deal.”[/color] Angel was no rookie, so Sean wouldn't treat her like one, but doing a once over the plan gave the rogue warden some extra confidence. Now, he was nearly ready, reaching behind to the backseat for his trusty rifle. Angel sighed as she murmured under her breath, [color=#BB253E]“Yup. Same old song, same old dance.”[/color] She then slipped out of the truck, stepping out onto the asphalt. Next, she crouched low, studying the slope of ground that ran down toward the cargo truck and the men below. Overgrown grass and scrub brush covered most of it — It would do nicely. Without hesitation, she dropped and slid low. She timed her slide, pausing between lightning flashes so the shadows wouldn’t betray her. As she glided down the incline, mud streaking her knees, she paused midway on a flat patch of grass. A short drop separated the upper ground from the lot below, and a stack of pallets sat just under the edge — one good shove away from falling. She reached the bottom edge of the slope and stayed low. Her boot nudged a sheet of metal buried in the weeds. From a crouch, she kicked it downhill, angling her boot so the echo would carry toward the truck. The impact rang out, a clang that ricocheted off a drainpipe and rolled across the lot toward the cargo truck. Two men bolted in that direction. As their heads turned, she palmed a loose pebble and tossed it hard toward a distant pallet. The second noise drew them even farther off, their search pattern scattering exactly how she wanted. The foreman barked something curt and foreign. A few guns flashed as the workers drew sidearms and swept the shadows with strange, mechanical movements. Their formation looked rehearsed, like they were following marks on a stage. Angel grinned to herself. [color=#BB253E]“Dumbasses.”[/color] She was already moving, counting weapons, and keeping track of their positions as she did. One worker raised his pistol toward the shadows, finger stiff against the trigger guard. He scanned the empty lot, barrel jerking left and right in jittery bursts. The others took small steps forward. Overall, their movements were too coordinated for dockhands. While they played guard duty, she darted for the warehouse’s blind side. The commotion she’d made worked beautifully — perhaps too beautifully. The group stayed focused on the noise, no one glancing where she really was. She didn’t linger on it. The job came first. The side door waited ahead; it was obviously one of those doors meant to slam and lock automatically. Her hand traced its seam; it should’ve resisted her, but it didn’t. The latch hung loose. She slipped a thin metal shim into the strike plate so the bolt wouldn’t seat; the door could close, but not lock. It was good enough for Sean to slip through later, enough for her to get out alive. She let the handle settle so it read closed at a glance. Then she eased the handle down and gave a gentle push. The door swung inward on greased hinges. Angel crouched once more; her fingertip skimmed the threshold and ground at ankle height for filament or taut line, but nothing snagged her glove. Behind her, boots scuffed. The workers were still moving around, but not toward her. They paced the lot like actors waiting for their cue, guns drawn but muzzles low, turning in slow arcs. One even barked a question into the dark, voice cracking with what seemed like forced panic, then dropped instantly silent when all that answered was the sound of a round fired from a distant place. It wasn't abnormal on this side of town. He and the others had heard them almost nightly considering Halcyon, the true Halcyon, was a city very intimate with violence between the several factions. Typically, he’d disregard the sharp bang as a bullet fired in some unknown altercation but why did he also smell fresh blood? Why did he hear someone nearby fall to ground, leaving their weapon to clitter and clatter far from their grip? Why was- All of his questions, half-formed or not, went unanswered. The gunfire sounded like a beating hammer against a slab of wood— suppressed but not incapable of being silent. Sean killed the same way he always had— cold and deliberate. Through tinted perception and from a fixed position against the slope leading down toward the shop, the warden honored his choice words: fast and violent. Inside, the air hit Angel like a slap. The smell of bleach was stronger, but so was that sweetness that didn’t belong in a place meant for fish. The noise outside dulled, replaced by a hum. Sean took a moment to enter the shop behind her. It had been less than a minute, but it was clear he wasn't moving as fast as he normally could. The few bodies that had littered the sidewalk had been dragged and placed beside the parked truck, close to the others he shot down with silver. He hadn't immediately crouched as he entered, but he kept his steps quiet, walking heel to toe and weapon at the ready until he reached Angel’s side. The fight would be different from here on as spaces varied in shape and size inside. The side door connected to a corridor that led around to the backside of the establishment where a freezer, a breakroom and a stairwell were located. The stairwell likely led to an underground storage area. If the poorly lit corridor was followed to its end, it would swing around to the front where regular business was normally conducted throughout the day. Sean gave a head tilt toward the path ahead, refusing to give chance to alerting anyone with abnormally sharp hearing. Angel met his gaze with a smirk, then moved ahead first. Her shoulders brushed against the corridor walls as she stepped quietly and slowly. The flicker of the lights didn’t reach far, and each light left strips of shadow between them. Though the air grew fishier with every step, that sweetness thickened too. Angel had been a vampire for years now, and blood still called to her with that same intoxicating pull she’d learned just barely to restrain beneath the surface. But this was different. This scent crawled beneath her skin. Her throat burned, and her fangs ached behind her lips with an insistent pressure she refused to acknowledge. She pressed her tongue hard against her teeth in hopes it would ease her suffering. Her eyes locked onto a freezer as the corridor opened up into a dim back room, and for a split second, part of her hoped that would be the source. But she knew immediately that whatever smelled so sweet wasn’t in there. There was definitely fish in that thing; she could taste the salt and decay even from her spot at the threshold. Empty hooks lined the walls where fish should have hung, but the drain below them was slick with something dark. She crouched, touched a gloved finger to the puddle, and pulled it back to see red. That burning feeling in her throat intensified, and she quickly wiped her glove on a nearby cloth, then moved from the area. Across from it, a breakroom sat, chairs neatly pushed in, cards strewn all over the table as if a game had been abandoned, a mug still half full beside it. The coffee had curdled. Her gaze finally locked onto a descending staircase, and she glanced back at Sean with a lifted brow. He gave her a nod but reached out to grab her arm to keep her from acting too quickly. An idea had come to mind for the warden. Letting her go, he set his rifle on safe and gently set it on the floor. He pointed to the flash grenade on his hip. Maintaining silence, he pointed to his chest with one hand and oscillated two fingers on his other to indicate he'd walk down the stairwell. He then gripped the flash grenade and wiggled it before raising his hands slightly with an opening motion. After that, he pointed at her again while his other hand wiggled one of her blades. Then he gave a thumbs-up with a nod. Angel’s eyes narrowed as she watched Sean pantomime his whole plan. She gave him a thumbs up back, indicating her understanding, then angled her head toward the stairwell in a silent go on, then. Her blades shifted with a metallic sound as she readied herself while Sean balled his fists tightly to mentally ground himself in the situation. Scooping up his rifle, Sean proceeded forward to the stairwell. His movements were uncannily smooth as if well-rehearsed, yet that’s sort of what was going on. The rifle was slung over his back before he removed a flash grenade from his hip. All the while, he persisted as quietly as he humanly could. One wrong misstep or hitch in his breathing would be enough to give away his approach. He wasn’t a bloodsucker or a ravenous wolf-man, but he thrived in their world. In the concrete jungle known as Halcyon, he was one of its predators, clawing and gnashing at his rivals that yearned to crown themselves as the apex. Sean lacked their strength, speed, senses, and abilities, but it was up to him to find the weaknesses and exploit the strengths. To not just even the playing field, but to give hell to anyone on the other side of his barrel. He reached the base of the steps, encountering several faces already looking his way in the midst of loosely organized barrels and stacked crates. [color=tan]“Ha!”[/color] He managed a soft laugh as he realized he wasn’t as silent as he thought; however, it was too late. He had already removed the pin, and they were still figuring out why “Hollow” was in their basement. The moment the several vampires shifted to move on him, the grenade was released with a sharp throw. It bounced once. Each step forward they took spelled their doom, especially as Sean immediately unslung his rifle. It bounced twice. Sean inhaled instinctively, gripping his weapon as they closed in. [center][color=white][i]BANG[/i][/color][/center] Blinding light. Deafening sound. Two elements that could leave any human disoriented… but what about them? [center][i]“I am the danger. A guy opens his door and gets shot, and you think that of me? No. I am the one who knocks!"[/i][/center] [color=tan][i]Speed, Sicily, speed.[/i][/color] Sean mentally urged as he recovered from being so close to the detonated grenade. Angel was running down the steps only a second after the flash went off. Though her vision had gone white briefly, she could soon make out the foes at the bottom of the stairs. They were staggering with their hands to their ears, eyes squeezed shut. She immediately launched herself forward. Her first target barely had time to flinch before she slammed into him, knocking him flat against a crate. Another swung blindly toward her, but she was faster. She swept his legs and drove a sword into his ribs to keep him down. A third tried to intervene, so she cut him off with a sharp kick to the jaw. [color=#BB253E]“If he’s the one who knocks, I’m the one who FUCKING kicks the door off its hinges!”[/color] She pivoted to clear the space for Sean’s line of fire, a wicked grin stretching across her face. With a cackle, she added: [color=#BB253E]“Say hello to Walter White himself, boys!”[/color] The dulled gunfire sounded as silver bullets pierced the flesh of vampires that desperately tried to defend themselves. One after another, their bodies collapsed to the basement floor. Sean aimed his barrel up the stairwell, finding no targets on his front sight post. [color=tan]“Done and done,”[/color] Sean commented as he was sure every target that could pose a threat now lay dead. He stood up and walked over to Angel, looking her over silently before speaking again. He was checking for wounds, but he’d rather keep her wondering than tell her, especially if he didn’t find anything serious. [color=tan]“Griggs needs a sample from one of these, right? I might take a share to bring back to the Wardens… You know, to let them feel good that I’m still killing shit.”[/color] Sean shrugged, but he wasn’t really asking for permission and more so stating what he planned on doing. Angel followed his gaze and barely restrained a laugh, the remnants of the sound escaping her lips. [color=#BB253E]“This isn’t the time to check me out.”[/color] She commented. [color=#BB253E]“As for the sample, do whatever you want—“[/color] Her voice broke off as the entire basement vibrated and a mechanical groan echoed through the concrete. She looked up just in time to see the open stairwell slam shut as a steel slab covered the opening, sealing the entrance as if they had been closed in a bank vault. A hiss followed. Then— [i][b][color=gray]CLUNK. CLUNK. CLUNK.[/color][/b][/i] It was the sound of heavy boots on metal grating. At the far end of the basement, a large service door rattled… then began lifting, slowly, revealing only darkness behind it. Shapes stepped out of it and toward them, and Angel readied her stance as she counted them off mentally, five large armored bodies. Something about them made the dock workers look like children. Gas masks covered their faces, glowing faintly at the filters. One man moved to stand in front of the others as they approached. His smug voice carried through his mask as he said: [i][center][color=gray][b]“We’ve been expecting you.”[/b][/color][/center][/i] [/color]