5993/Ants Drawn to Sugar

Ants Drawn to Sugar
Date of Scene:	14 December 2018
Location:	Bludhaven
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Brutale, Kid, Amarok

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Brutale has posed:
The Vampiro Rojo Cartel's business partner in Bludhaven, the String Yellow Posse (a Jamaican smuggling band), happens to own a two story motel in a bad neighborhood, used for drug deals, weapons stockpiling, and prostitution. A faded shell-pink brick building surrounds a modest parking lot, with doors lining the inside ring, and a small office out front. The office, manned at all hours by an old Haitian ex-cop with a soul boy shave and a shotgun, looks over the parking lot, taking token sales for those using the motel. Mainly for the purposes of book keeping by whomever is using the motel, as clients of the Yardies.

Tonight, the indoor pool area has been granted to a small cadre of the criminal conspiracy in Bludhaven selling cocaine. Colombians with Amazon tribal blood strong on their faces and brown jackets with snakeskin boots on their feet, Yardies from various islands with dreadlocks and canary yellow hoodies, and a Peruvian man with a business suit and sunglasses curling around his face, are all gathered around a round table. The placid waters of an pool are between the table and the entrance to the meeting hall, with guards holding AK-47s milling about, smoking cigarettes laced with cocaine.

On the roof of the motel, Brutale kneels in the quiet darkness, watching the motel through his black goggles. Nightvision circuits are active as he observes, breathing softly with an electronic sensor installed on the side of his helmet. It monitors for any unusual auditory activity, boosting his hearing amplitude with a circuit breaker for anything too loud in his range.

Kid has posed:
Wheeling down the street of the not so good neighborhood, was a very large and clearly mutant teen, an illusion Kid likes to use. Despite the 'wheelchair' he even sitting doesn't look like the kind of person to mess with, especialy since he tends to have tendency to growl at whoever approaches. He even had a dagger holster to his hip this time, sheathed, but there.

And he was clearly quite comfortable in this enviroment, having no problem navigating the streets even when dark. Though needing a break, he stops outside the motel and leans agaist a fence. It been a tiring day. And so he closes his eyes and simply listens to whatever surface thoughts he could hear in his range. Ironicly this has him noticing the freakin cartel in the motel and so he particular hones in on that out of interest

Amarok has posed:
A series of brutal crime syndicate related murders a stone's throw from Gotham? Sounds like fun! Or whatever approximation of fun Amarok feels, if anything at all. The recon work lasted scant minutes, and after the glancing over of outside security, the wolf took to the prowel, coming in low off the street from an opposing angle from the fancy roof guard and snaking his way into the motel. The familiar sight of a wheelchair giant draws only enough notice from him to stay low and out of sight until he's turned away, before following the muffled sounds towards the cartel's little meetup.

Brutale has posed:
"We just want our end protected," a weathered Barbados man with an eyepatch says, playing with a green poker chip in his stubbly hands. "We want to make sure that this isn't going to bring in heat that we don't want."

"What heat do you want?" comes the calm voice of the Peruvian, that the other Latinos are deferring to.

"The ones that are against the struggle," is the basso report of a young Jamaican with tattoos on his neck and throat. "We aren't a Mafiaso unit, here. Not like those doghearts across the bridge in Gotham.. We run information for Blockbuster because he lets us support the community."

"What is your community?" comes the quiet voice of a young Latin man with a priestly contenance, a length of wooden rosary wrapped around in his hand.

"Anyone who's been burned by the man. The Batman."

There's a quiet hush, as the Peruvian raises his hand.

"Our political struggle has nothing to do with him. We keep it that way, do you understand?"

Kid has posed:
Kid ears twitch as he more hears the surface thoughts of the conversation before they are said. He snorts. If The Batman was anything like Batwoman...he might be a pain. But she was nice...so he might be? Huh.

he considers that a few moments...and soon curiosity got the better of him

He wheeled around the motel. For such a massive being he could be somewhat stealthy due to his padded feet and some experience in sneaking. He slides into the motels yard near the front, kicking aside a stray can before heading once more towards the back. He stops by a wall just around from the backyard proper and simply continues to listen to the thoughts.

Amarok has posed:
The sound of the kicked can causes a slight jolt in Amarok, moving to press against the wall in a near blink. He holds, breathless and statuesque for several seconds, before slowly and silently exhaling and crouching down to peek around the corner.

Brutale has posed:
Brutale hears the kicked can as a muffled tin crash, a brief bevel upwards on his HUD unit. He reaches his left hand to his head and turns the unit down, before he rises from his crouched position and begins walking, ponderously in his grey kevlar suit, towards the edge of the motel roof.

Visible as a silhouette in demonic attire, he places his hand on the edge of the roof and swings around with a hefty toss to the second floor, planting a foot on the railing and stepping onto the balcony row of doors. Nightvision self-adjusting to the pallor of the motel lights, he draws a fillet blade, identical to his dozens on his bandoliers, and slides his fingers about it to hold it pointing from his two forefingers which are along the flat, his thumb along the hilt. Intrepidly but carefully, he stalks along the motel's second story, visible to those milling around the parking lot drinking beer near cars in small circles, now watching Brutale curiously but expectedly.

The people demand entertainment.

Kid has posed:
Well since Dan is peeking around the side of the building to where the can was kicked...there was a whole lot of nothing, just an empty parking lot, as Kid had kicked the can before continueing his way towards the back...and was peeking back there.

Needless to say he didn't notice Brutale above on the second balcony, or simply didn't pay the guy any mind. He wanted to get closer still though, wanting to test his luck as it where....

And so the wheelcharied bound teen seems to dissappear. This was but another illusion to allow him to simply be missed as it where. With the illusion up he pads forward even more to try and look into the windows of the indoor pool.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok catches only a scant view of Brutale, his visor lacking any sort of telescoping, rendering him little more than an outline as details go. Amarok watches for only a moment before continuing, heading for a door to his side and moving to pick it open, clicking on his thermals to check for targets on the other side. The lock clicks quickly open, and he moves in, picks away, gun out to play.

Brutale has posed:
A Yardie at the end of the hallway to the pool, the door guard, looks up as he sees Amarok enter from over a Slim Jim he's enjoying in his left hand.

The Yardie pushes into the door to the pool, bringing up at Tek-9 held in the right to fire off a three-round burst of high penetration rounds at Dan as he retreats. The burst has hard recoil, so it's poorly aimed, but it's grouped in a predictable set of three.

"SWAT! SWAT!" he can be heard shouting, as he attempts to escape.

Through the windows of the pool area, Kid can see the cartel members with AK-47s and their laced cigarettes alerted to the gunfire and shouting, raising their rifles and throwing cigarettes into the pool. There are people shouting back and forth in Spanish, dimly audible as commands for a standard military evacuation in the American style of operations, as everyone at the table scrambles to their feet, drawing various preferred pistols from holsters. The Peruvian man swins his arm, the Yardie leader members of the meeting scrambling towards a door at the back of the pool, leading towards a back door to the motel where the pool supplies are kept.

Brutale drops down behind Dan Richter with a slide down a banister and a heavy leap, a heavy thump of boots audible. He shifts his blade to an upward position, his heavy breathing audible through his mask.

Kid has posed:
It took Kid only a quick glance around to know it wasn't swat. But someone else was here - maybe the Batman himself? But wouldn't they be shouting Batman? No it was someone else.

Regardless this left quite the oppertunity. He steels himself for....an emotional battle. He can feel the adrelaline of the various goons. Their anger, their fear, their excitment. Luckily he used to city but it still something to watchfor.

With everyone trailed on the hallway entrench, Kid slides open one of the pool doors to make his way inside....and slides it closed behind himself. Deep breaths. He moves to the side near a wall...and than heads forward trying to creep by the panicked goons and follow the group splitting off, those heading for the supply closet as it where.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok simply turns horizontally and ducks his head to the side, and the bullets completely miss him, not even scuffing his jackel-esque ears. As the man bursts through the door, he himself catches three rounds in the back. They're only rubber, but he's not gonna be running, or even turning wide, for at least the rest of the night. Brutale's stompy arrival nets him another four shots his way, Amarok barely bothering to glance back at him for threat recognition before firing, then turning back and trudging determinedly towards the pool room door, spitting out his pistol's mag and slapping a new one in as he goes. The bullets aren't overly likely to hit Brutale if he bothers trying to take cover, but they will slow him down nicely.

Brutale has posed:
The Yellow Stripe Yardies move into the pool supply annex, unaware that they're being tailed. They're all carrying Smith and Wessons, semiautomatics, with poor weapon safety as the guns are not pointed upwards, rather forward down.

"Come on, come on," the Jamaican with the tattoos on his neck says, waving the Posse middle management through the door he opens with the gun in his hand. The Barbados Posse member with the poker chip and the eyepatch is at the end of the order, notably overweight and clutching his green chip.

The Yardie watchguard falls through the door as he's pegged by the rubber bullets with a cry, his gun flying from his hand and spinning across the moist tile floor. The smell of chlorine and cheap rubber chairs and plastic tables is omnipresent as Amarok moves to engage inside, over the disabled Yardie.

Two cartel thugs with AK-47s greet him, standing across from the pool, staring him down. They fire downwards as he frames himself in the door. Meanwhile, the third cartel guard is poised along the wall the door exits from, his AK-47 propped on his shoulder.

The Peruvian and the three Vampiros representatives stand with pearl-handled Colt .45s, mainly to sight the identity of the interloper.

Brutale grunts hard as he feels the rubber bullets impact into his chest and shoulders as he charges along after Amarok, the pain redlining him into a rage as he grinds his teeth and chases down the hallway, slowing a step as he hears the AK-47 fire and taking a bow to not immediately pursue through the door.

Kid has posed:
Kid continues to pad along, but he was no dummy. He took stock of the fact the man holding open the door was gesturing everyone along. He would have to HOPE he times this correctly!

As Mr.Eyepatch goes through the door, Kid waits a moment. If he has seen enough T.V correctly...than they should go on trusting the door man to quickly scan for danger (and shoot said danger) before following. Thats the window he searches for...

And so help the doorman if this window frame is true. Cause the moment most of the posse dissappear and leave the doorman alone, will be the moment Kid -grabs- the doorman and pulls him into his 'invisible' illusion, to drain his mind and knock him out cold! His next move will depend on how successful this is.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok dives forward in a roll as the shooting starts, dropping smoke pellets as he goes and turning the area into a giant white fart cloud, blinding anyone not using thermal vision, or some form of equivalent. Scarcely a heartbeat later, the a torrent of shuriken come out in volleys, aimed with deadly accuracy to disarm and potentially maim the goons, the cold blue LED eyes bursting out of the smoke with even more shuriken as Amarok begins making his way around the pool, like the creeping inevitability of death.

Brutale has posed:
The Jamaican Yardie is pulled into the illusion and screaming in surprise as he's drained of his cerebral processes, left hanging limp. The door slams shut behind him.

"Hey, Marto!" comes a shout, four Yardies standing behind the motel, pointing their guns at the closed door.

"Where you at, cousin?" comes the man from Barbados, his depth perception off from his missing eye, backing up a step to avoid any sort of shootout, ready to go hand-to-hand instead.

The two men firing at Amarok are blinded by the smoke, dropping with slurring exhales as the shurikens hit them. They're not out of the fight, merely in a great deal of pain, going from disabling to annoying thanks to the cocaine they've been smoking. Moments later, the third man with the assault rifle receives a volley of throwing stars, then there's a splash, as he falls into the pool.

The Peruvian steps out the indoor pool door that Kid used, the other three following him slowly, pointing their guns about in the fog.

Suddenly, Brutale lurches out of the smoke at Amarok with a leaping dive, meant to bowl Dan over with a high tackle to the back, wrapping his arms around the armored soldier to pull him off his feet, knife in hand.

Kid has posed:
Kid takes Marto's gun and drops him like a sack of bricks. But he doesn't leaves the invisibility illusion...Kid does -as- Marto. Kid as Marto fires off a few shots (at the ceiling) so the folks behind the door hear it - as if Marto was defending the door. He than opens the door, lightly sweating saying "Deh'ya" a common carribian way of saying here. It sounded off cause the 'voice' was just another illusion, an audio one, but all he had, hopefully the highstake situation it will be looked over.

He gestures "Keep going, keep going!" he urges as he begins closing the door. He sends out a few more shots, purposely straying, but hard to tell with the door closing!

Amarok has posed:
As Brutale tries to tackle the heavily armed psychopath, he's reacted to like a cat's whiskers, a hand coming up and grabbing his arm, whipping him over Amarok, and flinging him mostly upside down across the pool area, before quickly going to flinging more shuriken, because if these guys didn't suffer from terminal wanker's cramp before, they will by the end of the night come hell or high water! The tossing of Brutale similiarly does nothing to slow his approach, simply walking along as he flings his various deterrents.

Brutale has posed:
"Let's get outta here," comes the man from Barbados, and the four Yardies flee towards the street, knowing the odds of police are low because of the motel's payoffs to the notoriously corrupt Bludhaven police. Particularly on a night as important as this for this particular precinct, and the extra cash slipped in the dispatch team's salaries by the lieutenant.

Brutale is summarily sent flying across the pool. There's a distant thump in the fog, as Brutale hits the ground, with a roll and a bump as Brutale hits a wall. Then, he comes back to his feet, pulling another knife out of his bandolier, in his left hand. He throws one, at Amarok's center of mass with a direct shot that sends the knife flipping end over end in a wobble, before he crosses over with another, thrown straight tipped, at Amarok's lower body and to the side, planning for a dodge attempt.

The Peruvian and his three Cartel cohorts are now moving towards the parking lot, where the Haitian ex-cop is waiting with his shotgun, having already had their cars turned engines on and hot. He watches the smoky pool stoicly with his shotgun in hand, visible through the windows.

Kid has posed:
Oh....

Oh no....

Oh no no no no no....

Kid has to resist a groan! He HATED small spaces. Cars where small, and he KNEW they were going to be closing all the windows and all that crap! He dreaded it. HATED IT! His temper was on the sudden rise and it could simply be felt. But he had to play it cool. He just had to see this as another...oppertunity.

And so Kid Marto does the only thing he can do...he get in whatever car he is assgined with whoever he is assigned to ride with for now.

Future Sight Tip - Never ride in a car with a claustophobic gorilla.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok rushes as the gangsters make their escape, a few more shuriken pinning the last man to the door to the wall. The knives only technicly being dodged in that he moved past their flight trajectory, as knives dont show up on thermals. As he exits the smoke, he reaches up and clicks a space on the side of his helmet a couple times, unknown to those around that he's normalizing his vision. He slowly turns his vision to Brutale as he casually closes his nearly empty shuriken pouches, "....Back down now, and you might live to see the sun again." He says in a monotone just barely loud enough for Brutale to hear.

Brutale has posed:
The Yardies, with Kid in tow, rumble off into the night in their 1970s Chevrolets.

Brutale stares down Amarok, his hands open and without knives. He makes sure he gets a good scan of Dan, squeezing his left fist shut and digging his fingers into depressors beneath his glove in a certain sequence, flipping through vision-types, taking a picture with each depression of his pinky, forefinger and middle finger cycling vision modes. He'll have Amarok/Dan Richter photoanalyzed, to determine what sort of organization the soldier came from. Brutale is an expert on all modern world intelligence organizations from his training in Hasaragua, and he knows the literary propaganda sources for anything new that might crop up. The combination of high-tech body armor, modern ninjitsu operative training, and shuriken use, suggests a non-existant organization, a modern Japanese imperial soldier. He'll have to confer with his base commanders, ex-CIA affiliated with the Contras, in Colombia.

Without saying a word, Brutale steps through the door to the pool that the Peruvian and his three comrades exitted through, and stalks off into the night.

The Haitian ex-cop, with the four Latinos driving away, moves back into his booth and gets on the phone, reporting an all-clear to Bludhaven's dispatch line, reporting a disturbance with some drunks, and informing the police that they've left the premises.

Kid has posed:
There was one...small unfortante event that transpire after all that. Marto was by now plainly visible in the pool area. Which left the question of who was the fourth Latino who left with the mafia?

The world may never know. Since at one point, whoever was unfortantely enough to have been in the car with Kid when he blow up, promptly got their bones broken, their face partly rearragned before being tossed out the window.

Everyone else would have witnessed the car swerving dangerously nd the flash of gun shots before seeing the man tossed out, windows shattering and the car driving away. Apparently without a driver. Kid much preferred the broken windows, not so styfling...and he got a car out of it!