[IC] {Closed}

[corneredbliss]

Vivian Hong | Regalia; Safehouse

---

No one would have guessed that Vivian had just taken down a few muscle-heads except for the few beads of sweat that were hanging out around her hairline, which she promptly swiped off with the back of her wrist as the last of their predators fell from an upwards open-palm strike to the chin with the same hand. A gust of air burst through her lips as she rolled her eyes around the room, making sure that all the suits were down and staying down. It would have been a funny sight to a bystander; all these grown men laying in heaps on a dirty dance floor as strobe lights and bounce music buzzed around their unconscious bodies. Vee snorted inwardly at her joke, kicking one of the men's shins with her boot as she made her way back to Quinn, who was catching his breath at the bar after losing yet another of their games.

She didn't say a thing to brag about yet another victory, but her smug expression probably told him whatever it was she would have said. Grabbing her leather jacket and holster and donning both on as she idly moved back among the uniforms, she nodded her head in agreement to his statement. "Right, right," she muttered, following him out of the club while also pulling her own phone out from her pocket.

^{Vivian Hong -> Lex Mason}
Sorry for the late reply.
You'll get a text from Gyles in a minute,
but we're meeting at the safe house.
Heading there now.
Hope you're OK.

Send the text.
Start the car.
Glasses on.
The sooner they got to the safe house, the sooner Vee would be reunited with her pretzels.

#

The BMW slid to a stop in front of a run down, relatively small cement warehouse, where it was put into park and turned off. Set in the middle of the quasi-abandoned industrial area of Regalia, it served as the safe house for their crew. Vee and Quinn made their way into the building, which was basically a labyrinth of large metal crates that were stacked on top of each other, tall enough that most were pressed against the ceiling. Only those in the know would be able to navigate their way through the maze to the service elevator built into one of the red containers in the back-left, and it took the twosome just a few minutes before they found it. Both presented their eyeballs to a scanning pad that unfolded itself from the red-painted metal, and after they'd been ID'd by the security program, stepped into the spacious lift that opened up, waiting to take them underground to their actual destination.

There was a ding that preceded the opening of the doors, and the pair stepped out of the elevator to a very sleek, very upscale living area of sorts: a minimalistic color palette colored this huge, open and pleasantly lit area, in the middle of which was a circular indent in the floor whose lining served as a couch. There were also randomly scattered chairs around the floor from the last time they'd been in the space. On either side of the room were hallways that led to bedrooms, bathrooms, and a room that functioned as the crew's personal artillery.

Along the wall opposite of the elevator was a fully stocked kitchen area, towards which Vivian made a beeline.

"That was shitty, wasn't it?" The two hadn't spoken much during the car ride; She was too busy enthusiastically singing along to an Alanis Morissette CD she'd had in her car. There was always leftover adrenaline that fizzed around within her after encounters like the one in the club, and Quinn just so happened to be with her for this time's outing.

Finally finding her stash of chocolate pretzels in one of the cabinets, she swung around, and after also grabbing a can of orange soda, sauntered back to the middle of the room and down the few stairs into the couch-area. She placed the can and bag of pretzels on the thick glass coffee table before slipping out of her jacket, tossing it on the cushion, and plopping down next to it. Pushing her specs up the bridge of her nose, she snatched her snacks from the table and replaced them with her booted feet. She tore open the bag and tossed a few pretzels into her mouth before her demeanor flickered slightly.

"Do you think everyone is alright?" she wondered aloud, though she knew his answer would probably be that they'd know soon enough. Vivian wiggled her phone out from her back pocket and checked to see if Lex had responded yet, or if anyone else had reached out to her. But seeing nothing, she put it aside with the sound on and returned to splitting her attention between Gyles and her pretzels.

[icmasticc]

Regalia - Safehouse - Quinn Gyles

---

An exaggerated, heavy breath parted Quinn's lips as Vivian's BMW literally slid to a stop in front of the familiar warehouse. After avoiding rides with her for so long, the excitement of the night had completely wiped the caution from his memory. The distant thoughts returned immediately when that lead foot met the gas pedal. Vivian, in Quinn's experience, had always been too much of a speed demon and even though it was probably warranted on this particular night, Quinn still found himself thanking the lord for solid ground under his feet as he hurriedly stepped out of the fancy vehicle and adjusted his suit jacket. It only dawned on him at that exact moment that since he rode with her to the safehouse he would have to ride with her back to the club to retrieve his own car later. The depth of sadness that welled up within was unfathomable.

From there, the twosome made their way through the maze of metal boxes that comprised the interior of the now defunct warehouse. Vivian led confidently while Quinn shifted his gaze to and fro as if he had never set foot in the building. Truth be told, it had been a number of years since this particular safehouse had been used in any sort of way. The industrial area of Regalia was once a bustling district of the massive metropolis, but the government's interests soon waned when a small gang war broke out in the area. It was easily quelled by the Syndicate, but the damage was done in the eyes of the public. With the area mostly abandoned -- private construction companies still roamed about determined to turn to the location into something -- the safehouse was deemed unnecessary and the organization simply moved on. Fortunately, the years that divided the present time and last use of the place would ultimately make it the most valuable location a branch on the run could have--not many people knew it existed in the first place and even less knew it still existed currently.

A short retinal scan and elevator ride later, Vivian lead Quinn into the immaculate safehouse for the first time in years--immaculate because it was still in perfect condition. The enforcer whistled and pocketed his hands. Vivian made a beeline for the kitchen, as her comrade knew she would, and he sauntered over to the circular couch to take a load off. "That was shitty, wasn't it?" Vivian commented; The two hadn't spoken much during the car ride. Probably because, in reality, shitty was an understatement.

"I don't was is the right word here, considering. But yeah, this is shitty for sure," Quinn cracked open a fresh pack of cigarettes and pulled one out with his teeth. A gold lighter flickered to life and a long, satisfying puff tried its best to take the edge off. It was not working very well. "The main branch. They sent the main fucking branch. You know they only do that shit for an excommunication. Good frickin' lord," Quinn took another long drag and blow a slender stream straight up into the air. He watched the mist ascend to the ceiling and permeate the barrier.

"Do you think everyone is alright?" Vivian wondered aloud. Quinn pulled his cellphone and flipped through a couple brightly lit pages. He had a few messages from some of the group. Mamushi, their resident hacker, for lack of better term, was on his way with his humor still intact. The twins seemed to have arrived just as the enforcer and eraser were getting comfortable. At that, Quinn raised an eyebrow just as Vivian plopped down.

"The twins are here," He said cautiously. There was no animosity between the enforcer and the twins, but even Quinn knew he was nowhere near as... Savage as they were. The twins held no qualms about starting a firefight in public or just about anywhere they were at. They would have been targeted along with everyone else, but Quinn prayed they had not caused too much ruckus. A gaggle of cops on their trail was the last thing the branch needed at the moment. With that in mind, he grabbed a remote which automatically activated a switch that brought a rather large TV descending from the ceiling. He turned no the news and muted the sound. Now, it was time to wait.

[Culluket]

Devi Rana | Regalia - En route to Safehouse

---

Devi leaned against the window, watching the city disappear. The glass vibrated against her cheek, the reflection of her painted eyes staring back at her as they drove further and further into the empty foundations of Regalia, picking up speed.

It was a strange, lonely feeling.

She never drove herself anywhere anymore. There was always someone waiting, ready to open a door and make sure she ducked through it. Today, that was Jim Hawj; a doughy, loyal Hmong thug with a shaved head and round-framed sunglasses that never seemed to come off. Devi's eyes kept drifting to the black submachine gun nestled beside the driver's seat. She'd never really considered what it was for until today.

The zone outside the window was empty. It FELT empty, as though this part of the city had simply atrophied and died from loss of blood. Concrete structures loomed like tombstones, stripped warehouses laying open like the carcasses of dead whales. There weren't even any rats. But there were cars outside her destination as they pulled in. She wasn't certain whether that was a good sign or a poor one.

They slowed, tires grinding to a halt against dirty concrete. Her driver pointed.

"Hong's car." He muttered, nodding toward an askew BMW parked in front of a set of black treadmarks . "Shit got real."

Devi blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"It's fine, ma'am."

"No, it's not fine," she leaned around the seat, trying to look him in the eye, "I want to know what you meant by 'shit got real'. I've just walked away from a set of assassins, I wasn't expecting it to get any realler. If there's something I should know then I want you to tell me."

"It's fine, ma'am." he repeated. "I watch front entrance. Just in case motherfuckers not get memo."

He patted the gun, firmly. Devi threw up her hands and got out of the car.

---

Gloved hands tossed her red-and-gold silk scarf closer around her neck as the wind cut through the back of her coat. The clicking of her heels echoed back at her forlornly, amplified by the vast theater of the warehouse as she stepped through the wide doors. A dark labyrinth of painted metal crates towered in front of her.

"Hello?" she called, a soft chorus lilting back at her from the four walls, fading and dying by degrees.

No, of course not. Too easy.

It's true that anyone in the know would have no difficulty navigating the dense maze of shipping containers. But Devi was not in the know. Whether by accident or design, nobody had introduced her to the Regalia branch bolthole during her brief engagement with the Ariella Syndicate. She didn't know the route.

But she knew labyrinths.

Mazes followed rules, basic, simple, mathematical rules. Understand the algorithm, and you could understand the mind of the architect. She had a regular subscription to the Minotaur Society's puzzle books. This was the sort of thing she did for fun. And it was the kind of thinking that had in some part gotten her headhunted by the Syndicate in the first place.

It took two false starts before she had it nailed as a poor man's Hopcroft–Karp sequence and found herself standing in front of the red container. A panel set into its side rotated with a smooth, mechanical whine, revealing a hi-tech retinal scanner. Devi stared at it.

"...got to be joking." she murmured, leaning in to present her eye to the glass.

There was a clunking, and a dull thunder of machinery as the far end of the crate opened into a cargo elevator, radiant in white light. Devi stepped inside, wrapping her arms around her waist. A sleek security camera that looked as though it were designed by Steve Jobs caught her eye. She glared up at it, gesturing toward the doors.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was working for a criminal fraternity, not James Bond."

The doors closed.

She was going down.

---

The doors opened with a musical chime. Devi stepped out of the elevator, feeling less and less real by the moment. The safehouse was bright and comfortable, more like an upscale train station than the modern oubliette she'd been expecting. The facilitys other residents had already made themselves at home. Quinn Gyles she knew. A well-groomed, boyish-looking man of some reputation, though what that reputation actually was, nobody quite wanted to tell her. People tended to stop looking her in the eyes when she pressed the matter.

Along with him slouched a petite Asian woman shoveling chocolate pretzels into her mouth, who looked vaguely as though she wanted to spit in Devi's face on general principle. Devi wondered, briefly, what her role in the organization was. Was that her car outside? No. You know what, never mind.

She clicked over to the inset sofa, easing herself down and crossing her legs as the huge television flickered silently. Her fingers toyed with the maroon leather handbag in her lap.

"Why--" she cut herself off, recrossed her legs, digging her nails into her temple. "Why was I nearly killed in my own office, by the people I'm supposedly working for? They seemed to think there was some sort of conspiracy going on, that I had something to do with it, and I'm fairly sure they were simply going to kill me and then hunt down the loose ends through the books. This is not actually how I wanted to spend today."

[Kingfisher]

Kimberly- Seeking Sanctuary

---

Kimberly made her way cautiously down the sidewalk, doing her best to blend in amidst the throng of commuters who shambled by. There was still very much a hit out on her head, so the young woman had put her make-up artistry skills to good use; She’d been in the theatre before she was a lawyer, after all.

Her lightly tanned skin was completely done over in a coat of pasty white, pale make-up, complete with a smattering of freckles, and watery grey contact lenses. Her blonde locks vanished beneath a fiery ginger wig, and subtle changes to her walk and posture made Kimberly Kristen almost unrecognisable.

“Excuse me, miss!”

Balls.

Against her better judgment, Kimberly cocked her head to one side, catching sight of the suit-clad duo who’d slipped out of the crowd and materialized next to her.

“Could you spare a moment to talk about the upcoming election?” One of them chirped with a cheesy, salesman-like grin plastered across his face.

“Je ne parle pas l'anglais.” Kimberly said with a slight stammer, doing her best to feign ignorance.

“Fuckin’ mexicans…” One of the men said with a scowl, as the pair vanished as quickly as they’d appeared.

From there it was only a short walk to her destination.

Murphy Quang leant inconspicuously against his cab, dressed in his usual dark shades and jacket, with his thick head of hair slicked back across his scalp.

“Looking for a cab,Miss?” Quang said with a smile,acting as though he didn’t know Kimberly.

He was Ariella through and through, and had been a getaway driver for the syndicate since before Kimberly’s time. He worked as a cabbie on the side, but he also happened to know the location of every Ariella safehouse, and how to get there without drawing attention.

“It just so happens that I am.” Kimberly smirked, shooting him a quick wink.

“Where to?”

---

Kimberly Kristen gently stepped out of the elevator, which rose ever-so-slightly as it was alleviated of her weight. She’d lost the disguise on the ride over, and had returned to her normal, well-groomed, self.

“Hi, honey! I’m home!” She called out to the room with an air of undeniable flamboyance, batting some hair away from her eyes“You wouldn’t believe the traffic out there!”

[Howler]

Mamushi | Regalia - Safe?

---

Nobody drove Mamushi anywhere.

In the five minutes of shivering-bunny PTSD he’d allowed himself, it occurred to him that shit like that was what got people killed. The only reason he was alive, that he would be leaving at all, was because the Main Branch was as retarded as the Regalia Branch when it came to keeping up with the times. It was all very Scorsese, “send my best guy” this and “I’ll whack ‘im good, boss!” that. The compute rat knew well enough how they operated because he’d watched it about a hundred and a half times over the past few years, keeping his own little files in excruciating detail before surgically removing them from the world’s collective digital memory. Let the other Erasers rock the lye-and-bathtub scene, he was the one who excised all the dirty little secrets from the light of day.
Gyles they’d send men for. The Twins they’d send men for, and wish they hadn’t. Vivian Hong, that fine piece of tail, they’d send men for. Warawasa Mamushi? The computer nerd? He could practically hear the eye rolling from here. Whatever Enforcer got his assignment probably felt like he’d gotten the short end of the stick.

Sup bro, you comin’ with us to take down the Reg? Cut your teeth on some real meat?

Nah, man, got some chicken-shit Teriyaki to fry.

Weak, dude, hurry that noise up and come for the real party.

Assholes.

But it was for exactly that stupid line of thinking that he was alive, that boots-on-the-ground, one-shot-one-kill bullshit that the muscle got so hard over. You want to kill someone, no question? Find yourself a good nerd.

He should have, he thought, been a smoldering heap. The moment he turned over the cylinder of the frankly ridiculous motorcycle he’d bought himself as a New Year’s present, he should have blown himself to Hell. There should have been a man waiting for him—one bullet to the back of the head, into a van, done. Hell, there should have been three men in his room so that a lucky slip like the one he’d had didn’t happen. The tiny neuron of that attempted to find pleasure in the fact that he’d beaten the odds—take that, meat heads!—was ground out under mental heel like the butt of his cigarette.

That he was alive right now didn’t change the fact that he should have been dead. As he revved the engine on his 2016 Kawasaki Ninja H2R, a duffle-bag that weighed practically as much as he did over his shoulder, Mamushi drove his damn self to the safe house.

No more room for error.

---

“Hold the—“

Click.

“—fuck.”

Kimberly Kristen’s hefty rear disappeared behind the red corrugated door just as Mamushi rounded the corner, leaving him another three and a half minutes of time to kill. That a cigarette was already in hand, a tight butane lighter flaring invisibly to searing life, probably said unhealthy things about his habits. Having almost been killed was, however, only a distantly terrifying prospect to him in the face of what was to come.
…people.

Friends, even, or the dreaded realization that Oh wait, no they’re not! How long had it been, he wondered, since any of them had actually seen him? Not interacted with him—he was a visible digital presence, the ghost in all of their machines—but actually seen him? Or, for that matter, wanted to?

The trouble with having people on constant surveillance was knowing more about them than they wanted you to. Having read—okay, skimmed—several books on the subject, Mamushi was more than aware that feelings of assumed familiarity were common among surveillance experts. Yes, he knew that Gyles spent about as much time as Mother Warhead on looking suave as fuck. Yes, he knew that chocolate pretzels meant that he should keep his mouth shut around Vivian—he wouldn’t, but he should. Yes, he knew how much his latest crush hated the way the assorted assholes talked about her pretty accent. But what, precisely, was he supposed to say?

Hey Devi, you remember that time Rob Marquette called you a dot-head? Don’t even trip, babe, he’s totally taking it from your Thursday driver. Wanna see something funny? Call him ‘spanky’ sometime.
Charming.

The problem was that all these little relationships were just in his head. It was easy, from behind a monitor, to imagine them laughing it up over his little asshole jokes. Watching TV. Getting a beer. Intimate little sit-com moments he was too embarrassed to admit he craved. Out here in the real, where people walked around with guns and expected to be able to take on four or five thugs at a time, for all he knew he was just their freaky pocket-geek. Dial-a-nerd.

“Get a fucking grip.” He muttered sharply to himself, breathing a plume of fresh smoke into the elevator as he stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket and scanned his eye. “What are you, twelve?”

---

When Mamushi was nervous, he did a lot of things. Stepping out of the elevator like a Japanese Lizbeth Salander, he immediately found himself focusing on the fact that everyone else in the room was older, cooler, and better dressed than he was. It was like grade school all over again.
“So fuck this day.” He drawled as he padded inside, rivet-head chic in black Rage Against the Machine hoodie and sweats with still-wet helmet hair plastered down the sides of his pale face. “Like, hard. Like, really hard. So hard that, between you and me? Probably illegal. I’d call on that shit, no joke.”

...grade school had not gone well for Mamushi.

“I win the badass off, by the way. No contest.” He continued, bee-lining for the kitchen as his eyes did a near instant tour of the room, collating and processing. Kim, Devi, Gyles, Vivian—decent showing, all things considered. They were fast. He was already going for some water, pulling a cup out of the cabinet. Mamushi would have done just about anything to have a stupid beer like just about anyone else, but with enough benzos in his system to tranq a horse at any given moment now didn’t seem like the time to start mixing medicine.

“Turned some fucker into a Jackson Pollock painting with a goddamn sword. Shut up, Gyles, it was impressive.” The kangaroo pocket of his hoodie shook when he walked. The fact that he knew which bottle to grab by feel was not a good sign, nor was the one-handed pop of the child-lock. Ironically, he’d had that down when he’d actually still been a child.

He turned, threw back the pill, took a sip, and finished up his cigarette in the same motion. He ground it out on the bottom of his black moccasin without missing a beat, dark eyes flicking about to the others again above his sardonic, snake-bit smirk.

“So that was my morning. Happy Monday!”

[corneredbliss]

Vivian Hong | Regalia; Safehouse

---

It wasn't long after the descent of the huge television that the elevator ding'd and opened its mouth, announcing the clack clack clack of a Ms. Devi Rana - the Syndicate's latest financial hotspot. Vivian had only ever known her on the computer screen; and to be quite honest, the pictures and credentials were far less annoying than her loud-ass high heels. Super inconvenient for the shit we're in... But that was of course just Vee's time-of-the-month speaking. Probably.

The business woman lowered herself down on the sofa across from the twosome and finally spoke, looking like a delicate little flower in distress - which, granted, she had reasonable reason to be.

Rana's last line earned a soft snort from her throat, a sort of sarcastic agreement. But that would be the only acknowledgement from the Eraser, who was unsurprisingly quiet around people she wasn't used to. She proceeded to reach forward and close her hand around the orange soda can, snapping back the the tab and take a long sip while catching Gyles' eye. She held his gaze somewhat smugly for a few moments, before nonchalantly rolling them up to the ceiling. Vivian code for: She's all yours, buddy.

There was a low, satisfied "Ahhh..." that Vee emitted as she replaced the can on the table, briefly glancing over at the other female in the room to see if she got any sort of reaction. Then, leaning back, she pressed a button to illuminate her phone in search of a text or anything from Lex, confirming that she was alright. Still there was none, and a little nugget of worry plopped itself into the back of Vivian's mind. But she flushed it away just as the elevator opened up again, this time producing the proudly round diva of their motley crew.

Her obnoxiously bright energy, infectious as always, pushed the corners of Vee's mouth into a small smile. "Hey, Kim," she replied in a sing-song voice, jerking her chin up in a nod of greeting at the third female in the room. Although she's only been around Kim K a few times before this, the girl's attitude, blatantly contrasting her own, actually served as endearing instead of horrifying. An advantage for both of them, since a lack of patience on Vivian's part would probably spell trouble, especially now. As Kim passed her on the couch she held up her bag of pretzels in offering, and then, so as not to be considered too much of a cold bitch, she extended the offer to Devi, in case she was in need of some salty-sweet goodness, as well.

It wasn't until the youngest one of the group came tromping out of the elevator that Vivian produced a fully-fledged smile. He too was another one that she had only ever met in two dimensions, and she was aware that he probably knew more about her than she did about him. Maybe. Normally she'd be wary of this, but his nervous rambling and his not-so-nervous jab at Quinn was enough to make him likeable in her book.

She lifted her hand at the end of his spiel, pointing a slender finger at him in deadpan fashion. "You're fucking hilarious, man." Then she cracked, the smile reappearing on her face as she lifted her orange soda as a sort of toast in his direction. "Happy Monday," she repeated, miming as if she was clinking the can against his glass of water before taking a sip.

"Want a pretzel?"

[BreakingMe]

Regalia - Safehouse - Lex Mason

---

The ride to the safehouse was as awkward as you might have expected. Lex decided to sit in the back seat, making sure the new guy didn't pull anything while she was riding with him. Sure, he could have run the vehicle into something to try to hurt her, but he would have injured himself in the mean time. Plus, she sat in the middle seat in the back. It was statistically the safest place to sit.

Her phone vibrated when she received a text. The sound penetrated the silence in the vehicle, jarring her nerves a bit. She glanced down, noting it was the response from Vee that she had been waiting for. Jax seemed preoccupied with driving so she decided it was safe to read. She could shoot him without looking at him anyway. As soon as she read the text, the second, anticipated text from Quinn arrived. Luckily, they were already headed to the house. Jax seemed above board for now.

When they pulled in, Lex continued letting Jax make the first move, following his lead inside. She stepped through the doors and immediately searched for Vivian.

[icmasticc]

Regalia - Safehouse - Quinn Gyles

---

Quinn took a breath as the room began to come to life with fresh bodies appearing from the elevator. He had been focusing on the exaggerated crunch of Vivian's everlasting food supply so much that he had begun to lose himself to random thought. As the elevator ding became more of a constant than it ever had been in the last few years, the enforcer started to remember that indeed the Regalia branch of the syndicate was larger than he'd remembered. It was nowhere near the main branch of course, but it was like the National Guard during a drill weekend; you never really kept track of how big your company was until you all showed up in the same location. Once the people began making themselves known, he slowly began to piece together the information he had made sure to compartmentalize upon their first meeting. Each soul was useful, that much he knew, but personal tidbits created by rusted connections years old resurfaced as he looked over each arriving member.

Devi was one of the financial managers of the Syndicate - because you could never have enough people to run your books - and she was damned good at it. This was partly due to the fact that she was not as in the life as the others, but also because she was just more intelligent than at least Quinn himself. Her ethnicity had been a point of contention back when she first joined, but that had been the product of an older regime and she quickly proved herself through her work ability. It also helped that she was a looker, but the sanctity of the enforcer's mentality thanked him for not saying that fact out loud - there was only so much one could take from a certain Asian and her ability to make fun of another. Vivian's god damn sarcasm was legendary after all.

Next through the ringing doors was Kimberly. Her flamboyance remained intact as she strolled through and Quinn was silently pleased that the day's events had not rattled her as much as he thought it would. Her confidence in herself, physically and mentally, was one thing, but confidence even after probably having bullets whizz by that frame was another. Speaking of frame, it was also nice to see that intact as well. Kim was more of a real person than your hollywood movie model, but it was something at least Quinn could appreciate. Who could complain about a curvaceous woman after all? Like Devi, she was also very good at what she did so there was no reason to dislike her. The only thing was that Quinn had not seen or spoken to her in quite a while. There was a multitude of reasons for this, but most important was that his field and hers was one that did not need to cross often. He remembered that their conversations had been good in the past however, so he grinned a bit when her voice rang out.

The last person through was the resident hacker and the one member that Quinn had probably only ever seen in person once - exactly once. It was back when he first joined and even then he had never spoken to the man face to face. The computer and multiple forms of technological communication facilitated the robot voice Quinn knew to be Mamushi, but seeing him in person for only the second time almost unnerved him. Technology was not a strong point for the enforcer and he had always envied those who could do just about anything on a computer. Quinn knew enough to check his email and navigate his phone, but that was the extent of software knowledge. It had always been easy to just get something done indirectly through Mamushi, but seeing him reminded him that this was a real person indeed - a real person who had almost been killed and was rightly complaining about it. A nervous smile flashed as Mamushi recounted how he escaped - and apparently killed - his would be assassins and his assertion that it had been cool elicited a chuckle from the enforcer. He wondered if any of them knew that Vee was by far the better fighter and if they did not, there was no way he was going to admit it.

With everybody accounted for, Quinn almost spoke until Lex and a stranger walked in. At least, he was a stranger for one second until Quinn instantly pegged him - Jax. It was fucking Jax. Lex made her way over to Vivian, but Jax went off to claim a lone corner and befriend a cigarette. He knew what this was. He knew that there was no way he was welcome here, but Quinn knew he had no choice but to be here. The fact that his presence was necessary only now made sense in Quinn's head. Of course he would be here after this kind of event. An eraser from the main branch and a man who used to be second-in-command over the entirety of the Syndicate would obviously come to see the branch that was being accused of betraying everyone and everything that Syndicate stood for. Deciding to ignore him for the moment, Quinn took a breath and leaned back in his seat. "Glad you all made it," He began before stealing a few chocolate pretzels and hurriedly crunching down on them. "I'll make this quick considering I haven't been around for a while." Quinn stood and lit his own cancer stick before pocketing a hand. He stepped out of the couch circle and strolled over began walking slowly, nowhere in particular.

"This day has been shit for you all, but let me sum it up for you. Apparently, the main branch believes that we have been selling drugs despite the mandate not to. For what reason, I have no idea, but this is why you guys were each attacked today. You know the rules, once your break a rule like that, it's pretty much certain death. There will be no trial or any kind of chance given to prove our innocence. In fact, me and cookie monster over here even met a squad of main branch hitmen sent to ice us all personally. They're taking this matter pretty seriously, but... " Quinn trailed as the woman on the news spoke with a familiar picture next to her head. The TV had been quiet enough to be ignored all this time, but Quinn grabbed the remote and turned up the volume as his eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from his mouth.

"Again, for all of our viewers just tuning in, the body of John Malkovich Ariella was found early this morning in an alleyway near the famous Crest Club downtown. While he was a well known philanthropist and community supporter, Mr. Ariella was perhaps more well known as the man who founded, and headed, the infamous Ariella Syndicate - the organization law enforcement has been trying to incriminate for the last few decades. His body was found with two bullet wounds in his head. Law enforcement has not released any details or comment on the situation so we will update you as this story develops,"

Quinn stood in shock for moment before cursing. This day, or night rather, had just gotten many times worse.

[Kingfisher]

Kimberly- Unsafe and Unsteady

---

“I’d love one, thanks sweetie.” Kimberly said with a warm, but slightly tired grin, as took a pretzel from Vivian, and began slowly munching on it. Food was always that much tastier if you savoured it.

“Tough day, Mamushi?” She shot the skinny lad a quick wink. “I’d love to see your bony ass try and lift a shotgun.”
Kimberly was quite the social butterfly, and someone like Warawasa Mamushi was a god-send to a criminal lawyer. Nothing helped bail out clients quite like making the evidence against them up and vanish. If a phone call needed to be erased, or a photo needed to disappear, then Mamushi was Kimberly’s first port of call. She had contacts in law enforcement who could misfile evidence, but as the world became increasingly digital, Mamushi became increasingly valuable. Plus it was nice to hang out with someone roughly her own age, and watching him squirm around women never got old.

Kim took her seat, and listened attentively as Quinn spoke. One of the main disadvantages of working for a crime syndicate was that they could hardly go and report things to the cops when they went tits up. She was willing to bet her left tit that some of the higher ups were planning to stage a coup against their branch of the syndicate, but as long as they had a few other bigwigs in on it with them, then Quinn and all his associates were guilty as far as the rest of Ariella was concerned.

When the news report came on, Kim was far from the only person in the room to stare at the screen in disbelief.

“I always thought the Crest was a shit club.”

[Howler]

Mamushi - All Sorts of Wired

---

"Up top."

Mamushi raised a hand from the counter and started unzipping his duffel. Fuck his meds; at this point, it sure wasn't going to be a stupid chocolate pretzel that killed him. Besides, the Eraser had called him funny. If that didn't twitch the corners of his metal mouth, Kim K's comment on his gunplay sure did. Not that she wasn't all sorts of right (the one time he'd surreptitiously fired a shotgun at a range it had nearly dislocated his shoulder), but Mamushi was much more adept at shooting his mouth off than anything larger than a .22.

"And I'd like to see your ass--"

Period?

Shut up, hormones.

Too busy mentally rolling his eyes to finish the comment, he was already splitting his attention between Quinn and his duffell. He largely ignored the Enforcer as he went around doing what he did best--setting up shop. The laptop hauled out of the bag was heavier than most babies, about as portable as your average Javelin missile launcher. Mamushi didn't need the pep talk--the part of him that wasn't being sedated out of panic-attack range was already focused on getting back up and running, because without information they would die.

Period.

Shut up, brain.

It was simple fact. They'd already functionally surrendered their infrastructure. Like playing chess against yourself, Mamushi was already walking through the dozen-and-a-half ways he would have shut down their little operation, and it always began with using this time to cut off resources. Assuming they'd already survived the hit-men, the natural next step was to regroup and expose the plot--if they weren't the ones slinging drugs, it meant one of two things. Either someone else had moseyed in quietly and was setting them up, or they were being set up from the inside. Whichever option it was, an intelligent enemy would cut off avenues of re-entry into the city. Hit-men were good for removing the old guard but burning the tangentials--the club owners, the salarymen, the police on the take--was bad business. It meant starting from scratch and killing some good will doing it, so they wouldn't. Main branch would roll in as management doing a restructure, but that would take time. Time they really needed.

Which meant they had a window before everyone in the whole damn city knew they were persona non grata and sold them out for a pat on the head. Ariella's death--wait, Ariella's death? He'd heard it right, straight from the Anita Pascal's well-televised lips (she was actually pretty boring, as far as celebrities went--an Adderall prescription in her son's name, but nothing interesting). If the old man was out of the picture, that...changed things. Not enough to stop him moving, leaning over the counter for a power-outlet as he set himself up on the faux-marble counter of the kitchen.

“The king is dead.” Mamushi found himself muttering wryly around a cigarette he only half-remembered lighting, breathing it in and ignoring the slight shake to his hand. Now was not the time to be panicking. “Long live the king.”

Safehouses needed power. If he was running their sweeps, how long would it be before he cross-referenced prior safe-house locations with recent local spikes in power consumption? How long would it be before someone else did?

“They haven’t found us yet, which means they either aren’t aware of this safehouse or don’t have the personnel to send to it. Worst case scenario it’s the latter, this wouldn’t be one of the ones they check first, which gives us some time until they start. If I was running the sweep, we might have a day before I could get a fix on cell-data or utilities spikes, especially this far below ground. As it stands, best guesstimate is two, maybe three if we get the cars inside where nobody’s going to spot ‘em.” Business talk. He didn’t look up from his laptop, rummaging around in the duffel to find the cellular model he had listed anonymously. Times like this you could almost tell he was a professional, brain spinning a mile a minute.

“No chance of ghosting--any way out of the city’s got eyes on it unless they’re total fuck-ups. We got a real short margin of error, ladies and gents, and not much time before they see how bad their goons done goofed and the real hunt is on. Infrastructure is the foundation, so they’ll shoot for it first. They’d need someone local to get into the utilities and traffic intranet, so they’ll have on-site operations--if I can get in first, I might be able to piggyback their hack and find it, but I can’t do that from under two stories of fucking concrete.”

Mamushi’s eyes finally flicked up. He was breathing hard--he hated feeling this way. Was he right? Was he wrong? Would they tell him to shut the fuck up and leave field work to field ops? It all seemed so clear to him, but maybe--

Enough. No time to be paranoid.

“If you want me going toe-to-toe with whatever Main Branch digital looks like, I can’t do it here. I need power, I need internet, and I need someone who can secure it all for me. You give me that, I can give you eyes and ears, and maybe a target.”

“Or I can fuck off and you run this your way. Y’know. Either or.”

...godammit, brain.

[Culluket]

Devi Rana | Regalia Safehouse | Kali Yuga

---

Devi was standing, staring, too stunned to even be afraid. The television screen may as well have been showing them the end of the world.

Vivian's Comfort Food, she'd refused with a polite gesture. "Thank you, no, you're very kind. Just... really not hungry right now." And not going to be held even partially responsible when that bag runs out, either, she added silently. She'd stolen a few cautious glances at Hong between swipes across her phone, unable to shake the impression that the woman was noticing her do it, peripherally, each time. Watching her back with some invisible sense. Some half remembered caution about staring into an abyss stirred at the back of her memory.

There were other arrivals. The lawyer, as loud in person as she was on the phone, whom she'd mostly spoken to remotely when negotiating some rather indelicate financial requests, and a young woman, unfamiliar, accompanied by an older man whom Devi took an immediate dislike to. It was the way he walked in as though he owned the place.

She'd seen it before.

She'd given him a dark look and gone back to her pensive, circling thoughts.

And the beleaguered Ms Rana had been the only one who hadn't laughed at Mamushi's rapid-fire cracks. She hadn't even smirked. She had only stared at him with awkward concern while he paced and rummaged and talked, and then she'd just... looked away, one foot bobbing nervously in midair. He didn't look well. Well, alright, he looked as though he'd spent the last year floating in a cheap nutrient vat in the bad part of Neo-Tokyo, but it wasn't that; He looked shaken and strung out and regardless of the cocky witticisms that were stumbling a little too quickly out of his mouth, he looked as scared as she felt. Possibly more. And everyone else was just chortling away like this was another day at the office. Was it? Obviously she knew most of these people were far more inured than herself, but really? A sword? Wasn't this more or less the hard-boiled equivalent of their sysadmin? Clandestine activities aside, mortal combat can't have been something he penciled into his calendar.

...What would she have done, if due dilligence hadn't saved her life?

She grimaced to herself. Gone through the window, obviously. What could she have done? All her alleged security had just melted away in the face of her would-be murderers.

As if they'd known.

She had buried herself in her phone, ruminating bitterly on the thought until Quinn spoke. And when he did, she leaned forward, hanging on his words, waiting, yearning for the part where he explained how they were going to rectify this disaster and correct everything.

It never came.

---

And now she was on her feet, with no memory of having stood up, staring at the same thing everyone else was: John M. Ariella, master and founder of one of the most infamous and feared criminal organizations on the continent, reduced to a damning flatscreen obituary. Beneath the shock and the rapid beating of her overwrought heart, Devi felt a deep, dry emotion flickering in a part of her that had been dormant for years.

It was too far. It was unacceptable.

“I always thought the Crest was a shit club.”

"Fuck off!" Devi's shivering composure exploded like a china teacup. She whirled on the other woman, gesturing to the screen with both hands. "How can you joke about this?" she snapped, "The narcotics smear, the purge, and now this? The Ariella patriarch? Here? Now? An earthquake couldn't do this much damage!" She looked to Quinn, now, appealing to him even though she knew he had no more answers than she did, anger and panic flashing in her eyes. "What was he doing there? Who... could have done this? Don't even try to tell me this is a coincidence!"

She made her way forcefully around to the kitchenette, swinging open cupboards until she found what she was looking for. The brandy was barely in the glass before she was slugging it down, letting it burn in her throat, joining the fire growing inside her. No, it wasn't top-shelf, but here and now she truly wasn't fussy.

Their techspert was thinking out loud, now. That calmed her too, even if she was too dazed to follow half of what he was saying. It was reassuring enough that somebody was thinking at all. And he was right. The sands were running through the glass. And there was a perilous chance this safe house was about to join the growing list of places that weren't very safe at all.

“Or I can fuck off and you run this your way." he finished, awkwardly. "Y’know. Either or.”

Devi half-turned her head, setting the glass down on the counter.

"No." she spoke up, letting out a tense, musical breath. "Until this is over, the only people we can really trust are in this room. Whatever we all may think of the idea, we're in this together. Til the bitter end." her eyes flitted between them, one at a time. "Aren't we?"

She looked back up to the television screen, as though locking eyes with an opponent. Her silk-draped shoulders rose once, then fell.

"...And I want to hurt these people," she said, in a soft, rough voice which left no doubt at all she meant it. "I want us to find whoever's doing this, and I want us to hurt them."

[Kingfisher]

Kimberly- Ready and Rearing

---

"Fuck off! How can you joke about this? The narcotics smear, the purge, and now this? The Ariella patriarch? Here? Now? An earthquake couldn't do this much damage!"

Kimberly rolled her shoulders softly at the brown-skinned woman.

“Quite easily; because it didn’t happen to me.” He voice was calm and calculated, with an air of smooth serenity to it.

“You see, its situation like this that show you who people really are.” She couldn't help but smirk to herself “I find that murder tends to bring out what’s inside of us all...provided the killer used a big enough knife.”

Miss Kristen reached inside of the pocket of her hand-tailored blazer, fishing out a carton of Lucky Strike’s and an ornate lighter. Once her straight was lit up, she spent a dragged out moment inhaling, before puffing out and letting loose a burst of silvery grey smoke.

“If those of us who voted democrat are done mourning a man half of us never even met, I’m happy to provide legal consultation in regards to whatever comes next.”

The big woman chuckled in a sing-song voice like rich silk.

“You’ll be needing a good lawyer, and I’m the best bet any of you have.”