[Collab between Ghost Shadow and Mach2]
Havok had helped Vagrant move around on her new knee, deciding to find them a small abandoned warehouse where they could rest. Crates were scattered about to serve as chairs. Light pierced through small holes in the metal exterior of the building.
Havok rested his mistress on one of the crates and sat on one opposite her, staring at her, as if he was studying what she would do.
Once situated on the crate, Vagrant slowly bent and flexed her new knee, staring at the prosthetic as it moved. It still hurt. Less than when the bullet had gone in, but still a hell of a lot. "That thing's gonna take getting used to."
She looked up, seeing Havok staring at her, and raised an eyebrow. As much as she wanted to ask him to take her after the men who had killed her brother, she knew she wasn't ready for a fight just yet. Even with the help of an assassin droid. So instead, she resorted to conversation. After staring back at Havok for a few seconds, Vagrant leaned back and asked, in genuine curiosity, "How much do you weigh?"
Havok's eyes flared in response. "Mistress, how rude! Do I look like a heavyweight platform to you? My model was built for durability and speed. You offend me." He hissed out at her.
Vagrant rolled her eyes at the fact that she'd managed to offend him yet again. "Yeah, but how much? You're this ten foot tall assassin bot made o' solid metal." She laughed, intentionally attempting to annoy him now. "Think you could crush one o' your bounties by sitting on 'em?"
"Specification: Mistress my platform stands at only 6'5.7" tall. My platform weight in at about 234 standard pounds. Now, if you are done belittling your loyal assassin droid, perhaps we could discuss more prevalent matters at hand?" He asked, his tone now somewhat irate.
"I ain't belittling you, lighten up," Vagrant laughed.
Nevertheless, she nodded, her expression becoming more serious. Trying to disguise the effort it took, she lifted her legs up onto the crate so that she was sitting across its surface, prosthetic knee bent at a slight angle that still didn't quite qualify as comfortable. Pulling out the papers from the Datacore again, she spread them out on the crate in front of her. "So how do you usually do this? Just go after 'em and shoot 'em down?" she asked Havok, staring at the pictures of the three men.
"Mistress, do I look like second-grade junk to you? There is a lot of planning that goes into my assassinations. I need to know my target, their backstory. Past experience changes the way the target reacts or is prepared for such occurrences. Then there is the method of assassination. Though, I, myself enjoy front-up assault type methods, I also enjoy practicing the simple long-range sniper shot." Havok began explaining in great detail.
Vagrant shook her head bitterly. "No. They don't deserve a sniper," she said simply. "I want them to know they're gonna die."
She looked up from the papers again. "So what kinda planning do we need to do? We already got their backgrounds and all that," she said, holding up the first sheet of paper to emphasize her point.
"Well, we need to find them next. I usually study their daily routine to figure out where they will be at what time. Each contract may take some time, but I guarantee it will be creative." Havok vowed with a sinister tone.
"All right. Guess I can be patient. I waited a few months already, right?" Vagrant glanced down at the papers once more, skimming over the summary of the first man. She stuck her finger on the image of his face, looking to Havok. "So should we go after him first? Harvey Bishop? The guy that works the auto shop in D-17? He shouldn't be too hard a target."
"I will go after whoever *you* tell me, Mistress." He said with a small nod, fingering his rifle in anticipation. "It will be great to harm organics physically, emotionally, and psychologically." He said, chuckling lightly; an odd sound.
So long as he ended up dead, she cared little about the methods that Havok used to achieve that goal. If he suffered the same terror she'd seen in Austin's face when he died, all the better.
"We're goin' after Harvey Bishop, then," Vagrant answered decisively, folding the papers up once more and stuffing them back into her pocket.
"Mistress, my optical scans confirm you are still only working at 76% of full function. You're still organic and need a few days of careful rehabilitation. If I am forced to endure the fools inside that clinic another second I'll plant a pistol to my core and pull the trigger...repeatedly!" He said fervently.
"Let me go after Harvey Bishop, Mistress. If you want, I'll take pictures of the result." He said in a sinister manner, his eyes flaring.
The scowl formed on Vagrant's face. She wanted to be there to watch him die. Wanted to make sure he knew what crimes had cost him his life. But Havok was right. She was still barely able to limp without help, much less make it all the way to D-17 to witness an assassination.
With a heavy sigh, she conceded to Havok's suggestion. "Fine. Make sure he knows why he's dying. And yeah, I want a picture," she confirmed. She wanted to see Harvey dead. "I'll get used to the knee, and then I'm going with you on the next one."
"As you wish, Mistress." Havok replied neutrally. "Tell me, what is your preferred method of extermination? I could make it slow and painful." Havok suggested, "Or perhaps a long suffering burn to death by my flamethrower?"
"Go crazy," Vagrant answered with a shrug, almost indifferently. "Just make sure he's dead."
"You are quite vague, Mistress. More room for variety." He said, his eyes flaring once more in response.
He stood from his spot on the crate. "Time to get to know my target. Mistress, please do try and keep yourself from harm while I am away; you're one of my most preferred mistresses." He said before grabbing his rifle and sprinting out the door.
"Will do," Vagrant answered as he left.
She watched the door close with a slightly disappointed expression. Glancing down at the prosthetic knee once more, she scowled. "Damn thing."
With a sigh, the girl slowly lowered herself off of the crate and onto the floor. Most of her weight was on her good leg, and she supported herself against the wooden crate with one hand. Even though virtually no weight was on the new knee, it still hurt. "Cool. He gets to go kill people, I get to practice learnin' how to walk again," she muttered bitterly.
With obvious effort, she started to take lurching steps across the abandoned warehouse. Her weight was still supported primarily on her good leg and the wooden crates, but each step sent pain shooting up her leg. As much as she hated to admit it, it was probably for the best that Havok had gone alone.
