7181/A Turtle Wants For No Stone

A Turtle Wants For No Stone
Date of Scene:	09 April 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Turtle, Kid

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Turtle has posed:
The Turtle was a humble man, but he had his pride. When his plan in Canada had been thwarted by a mysterious shapeshifter, with telepathic powers, The Turtle was wounded. It would take him some time to recover his gumption, but he knew the proper chicken soup for his soul.

Revenge.

But, in the process of recovering his confidence, and taking revenge, he always had to have his day job. That was the business of superhero research. That meant he would have to study Kid, in order to better understand how to undermine him in the future. Particularly if he was hired specifically for that purpose.

Nicknamed 'Malcolm', the only name Turtle could find for him, he surveyed parks and areas with high crime, working occasionally as criminal enforcement or as an automotive mechanic. Short temper and a rage that couldn't be fathomed, didn't like tight spaces.

Oh, of course, and his telepathic grip, that Turtle has seen personally.

The Turtle had hired Kid for an easy job, the theft of a New York City gangster's ammunition, meant for a cache uptown, at a contract killing agency, one friendly for that gangster. The ammunition was to be delivered to a warehouse on the waterfront, where a new driver would take over, out of sight of the knifemen that Kid was supposed to hijack the truck from.

The warehouse, labeled, 'Johnson Barns Paper', was full of reams of cashier paper, small balls of printer ink paper meant for use inside various cash registers. It was after hours, after midnight in fact, and the warehouse had a number of lights on outside, with the gate to the warehouse parking lot open, for Kid to drive the boxtruck inside.

Inside the warehouse, were mobsters waiting for Kid, planning on ambushing him, consciously in their thoughts, armed with machetes and pistols.

The Turtle had guessed that Kid was psychic.

But the payment, as had been arranged beforehand, was a large key to a stockpile of deli meats in a butchershop downtown. And one of those gangsters, the leader, just happened to have the key around his neck, beneath his white tanktop.

Kid has posed:
    Malcolm may have been changing his ways, but the streets where still his home, and what he knew best. In the past it been suggested, he put his skills and needs to a better light...and he been doing that. Which at times comes to blows with his typical behavior and way of thinking.

A whole lot was changing and at times it was confusing.

But this job was straight forward enough. Between his temper and size, most didn't mess with him. And with his know-how...guns where not a problem. He stole the truck easily enough - leaving the people he stole it from in shock as it looked like the car was driving itself!

But what may have been more frustrating is...the car couldn't be tracked, at least in close range. It was almost like the car dissappeared. But really, it was but another illusion, where the truck had swapped logos, and paint job. He had stolen the car early as his next step was time consumming.

He took the time to open the truck...and disarm every single weapon, being rid of the ammunitions. He had no plans to have more blood on his hands...except if he spilled it. A few weapons he even rigged to explode - not enough to get rid of someone hands, but enough to burn someone real bad.

By the time he was done all that, the time, he was prepared to head down to the warehouse. Still incognito, when he did get near, the original car materialized. But none the less, he slowed down, taking a psychic reading of the area. He always liked to know how many people he was dealing with - rare was the site that had 'one person' Top dogs and criminals always had back-ups and enforcement on stand-by and he liked to know how many he was dealing with in case something went wrong.

Turtle has posed:
Inside the warehouse are eight men, one of them the leader, inside with the key to the butcher shop and the delicatessan's dream payment, around his neck, beneath his tank top. On top is one additional man, with a hunting rifle, peering down at Kid. He mutters into a phone, attached to the landline on the roof that connects to the nearby phonebox, and the men in the warehouse begin shifting about, picking up machetes, shotguns, and the leader, with a six shooter pistol. They all take up positions around the warehouse, as one of them pulls a switch.

A floodlight snaps on, across the parking lot, giving Kid the light he needs to maneuver in the dark. A prearranged signal, a double flip of a shade, is visible in the window beside the door.

Three blocks north and one west, inland from the dock, the Turtle sits at a computer, inside a comfortable motel room. He quietly drinks from a cup of black coffee, with a plate of donuts beside him. The large, bald man, chews slowly, narrowing his eyes as he leans forward, trying to get a look at Kid as the car cruises along, unaware of the telepathic tricks due to range.

Kid has posed:
    Due to the range The Turtle is working from, any telepathic tricks Kid would typically Imploy are mute. Kid resembles an unsually large gorilla for his apparent age. He had an unsual greyish green tinge to his skin - but typical black fur...save for the specs of silver and gold here and there. Infact there may even be something familiar about him. Currently his left shoulder is pretty bandaged up as if he had been in a scrap not to long ago.

Malcolm continues when given the signal. Already his temper was acting up. Eight men was overkill. That or whoever this was, was paranoid to hell. More minds, ment more emotions, more thoughts, more disarray. And it usally ment at least ONE punk was going to piss him off. He clenched and unclenched his fist as he made it to the warehouse.

Once infront of it, he waits patiently for the door to open. One edge he absent mindedly picks one of his canines. Once the door slides open with a mechanical groan he drives the rest of the way in, and steps out of the vehicle to face the men, in particular, the boss, wanting his Key. As usual he is silent, but wating, watching, knowing how things like this can go south real fast.

Turtle has posed:
The door slides open, and the men beckon him inside.

The warehouse is a dimly lit affair, with crates stacked up along the side full of cashier's paper, in padded quantities.

They're collecting dust.

The mobsters watch Kid, each one sizing him up for a takedown.

"Paisan," comes the voice of the lead mobster, a Sephardic man wearing a leather jacket, a white tank top, and jeans. In his right hand, is a Colt revolver.

"Come, give us the keys," he says with a grin, showing off a gold tooth. Kid, meanwhile, has mobsters in all directions, pointing guns at him and holding their machetes at their sides.

"No funny stuff now, Mr. Malcolm, and you'll get the meats."

There's a slow movement of the Sephardic Spaniard's tongue, as he holds out his left hand for the catch.

Kid has posed:
    Malcolm lets out a growl, he didn't like these weapons being pointed at him, and his eyes BURROW into the mob-boss eyes, the rage just eminating from his person. That same predatory rage many have felt before. His eyes glance around.

Kid hands come up, empty of course, and he begins to sign. New Fact Aquirred! Malcolm wears a watch that directly translate his sign language into words via a synthetic male voice "Whats funny is, you have so much back up here Hombre. And I rather do not appreciate that. But guess there not much I can do...."

Or was there?

Kid reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys. He tosses them into the air and catches them a few times, with the jungle of metal evident.

Now comes the important part, that Turtle would be privied too. While the illusion keeps up this appearance. The real Malcolm takes several steps to the left, carefully sliding between two men while the illusion keeps going, the other unaware of his presence, but turtle completly aware of whats going on.

The Illusionary Malcolm 'tosses' the keys to the man. Interestingly - The Real Malcolm tosses keys at the same time, cloaking them. Time thus so when the man catches the illusionary keys, he is also catching the real keys. Clearly this rilla has been at the illusionary game at a while.

Turtle has posed:
The mobster catches the keys, grinning.

"I need backup, paisan, in case you decide to be a burro, not a mule, you know?"

Turtle watches, frowning thoughtfully, as the gang leader, the Sephardic Spaniard, points his revolver at what looks like, to the Turtle, to be thin air.

"And I think, you look pretty nice with a bit of jack."

There's a gunshot, as the mobster fires his pistol directly at the illusion of Malcolm.

Kid has posed:
    Seeing the Gunshot raised and poised to strike, it pissed Malcolm off....much MUCH more, potentially causing agitation in the other mobsters. But none the less, it wasn't the first time Kid has actually been shot before, nor his first time seeing a gunwound.

As such, when the illusion is 'shot' one can see the red spreading on his chest before he slumps to the ground. But aware of the limits of his own illusions, a gun wound appear on the back as well. This is because, since nothing was there, the bullet WOULD go through the window of the truck, shattering the glass, and perhaps the other glass too depending on the strength of the pistol.

Due to the fact his illusion did appear like a mutant - it would not be too hard of a leap to imagine Malcolm tried to 'phase' or perhaps had 'thin skin' as part of his mutant power set. This is made perhaps even more probable as Malcolm lifts his head up glareing at the mobster....before appearing to phase through the floor. All while Malcolm slowly approaches the back of the Mobster Boss...

It was about to be his turn to play...

Turtle has posed:
The Spaniard looked down at the set of keys in his left hand, tossing and catching them, grinning.

"Turtle didn't say it would be this easy, did he?"

He says rhetorically as Kid sneaks up on him, an image of his hiring party appears in his mind, the man in the green tortoise shell that Kid fought earlier. Kid can see the two talking in this very same warehouse, the viewer looking down at a briefcase full of money.

Kid has posed:
Malcolm grabs The Spaniard with both his hands, violently in a vice like startling grip. Immediately he drains this guys mind like no ones buissiness, every memory, emotion, mannerisms. It would be painful, as if one very life aquirred over years was being forceably ripped away.

And no amount of struggling could save him from this grip, as he would be put to sleep. If this was the old Kid...he may have been dead, but Kid only put him to sleep. He may even have amnesia after all this is done.

However what everyone IN the factory sees is a whole other matter. They would see their boss slowly rising into the air, begining to turn blue and shrivel up, becomming a boney malnourish husk, before dropping to the ground appearing dead.

And than came an illusionary voice in all their minds. A hungry predatory ready to go on a head hunt. Of course turtle doesn't hear this, nor is any physical voice recorded. But for the men here...it would be all too real.

o O ("..It's Only Fun when they RUN!!!") O O

The psychic voice betrayed every bit the monster Kid had the potential to be. And it was followed up with a psychic 'roar' to hammer the point home. Question is...WILL they run?

Turtle has posed:
Turtle lifts a donut to his mouth, carefully chewing as he watches the familiar psychic grip, from the angle of observer, gulping convulsively in reflex at the memory of the incident last time.

The thugs watch, as they see their boss rot to nothing, backing up. Then, at the psychic roar, the turn and begin running, scrambling and pushing past each other to get through the door and get outside the warehouse to the parking lot.

Turtle climbs to his feet, and sets aside his coffee, chewing the donut. He slaps the laptop he uses closed, and slides it into a black nylon satchel, slinging it over his shoulder.

In the distance, police sirens are audible, as a gang response SWAT team approaches, along with a pair of police cars. Turtle had informed the police of the incident earlier, as his exit strategy.

Kid has posed:
    Kid watches the gang members leave. But he doesn't chase after them, they weren't his priority. From the Mob-Boss memories, he knew this was a hit from the Turtle, with the deal he made. It elicits another growl - but that would have to be secondary, as he heard the familiar sound of Sirens.

He glances to the Mob-Boss once more, considering the Key-beneath his shirt. A tempting take, but a potential problem. If this WAS a hit job, it ment there was a strong possibility the key didn't even work, or worse yet was a secondary hit. He wasn't walking into that mess.

What he does do is hightail it out of there. Instead of going the way of the thugs, he heads in the opposite direction, intending on hopping any fences or what have you. And of course keeping up the invisiblity illusion. Though he has dropped the rotten boss illusion as it was no longer needed.

Turtle has posed:
The Turtle hoists himself into the cab of a dirty, brown pickup truck of indeterminate make, as he gets to the parking lot of his motel.

There's a roar, as the custom-modified engine comes to life, belying the outer appearance of the vehicle. He grins, and sets his laptop down, in the passenger seat.

As the gangsters put their hands up for the deploying SWAT team, in the parking lot of the warehouse, Turtle cruises down the street, grinning.

"If apes were grapes, I'd be driving drunk."

"Heh-heh-heh."