8642/Undercurrents: Guerilla Warfare

Undercurrents: Guerilla Warfare
Date of Scene:	03 August 2019
Location:	New Hope Housing Project, Bushwick, New York
Synopsis:	Revenge isn't a cold dish; it burns the man it's fed to.
Thanks to:	Cypher
Cast of Characters:	Cypher, Elixir
Tinyplot:	Undercurrents

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Cypher has posed:
Somewhere in New York.

There's the sound of dripping water from a faucet that hasn't been fixed yet. It's not hard to break into an apartment, if you have an eye for how things are put together. A glowing flash of light, and then a single figure steps out of the portal and inside.

A dog growls, and there's the click of a flashlight beam onto a scarred and angry pit bull. "...Hello, boy. Man, you've had a bad time of it."

A few hours later, Doug is sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of Hennesey after having raided the stores of the guy who lives here. He lazily scratches the happily panting dog behind the ear with techno-organic fingers, as he waits, watching the door. Occasionally he glances at his phone.

Elixir has posed:
People go back and forth in the hallway outside. There is shouting and fighting in a nearby apartment followed by someone crying. The music is loud from another. It is quite late when Doug hears a familiar voice coming down the hall talking loudly about how he is going to fuck the shit out of 'you', who is presumably the woman responding to him. The door opens and Baldie is making out with a young Hispanic woman in a much too small dress.

"You ain't gonna walk right for a fucking week," Baldie says. He closes the door behind him with his foot and pushes the woman up against the wall.

Cypher has posed:
"Well I'm flattered." Doug says, "But I'd prefer it if you bought me dinner first. I'm just a big romantic at heart, really."

Then he looks up, and swirls his drink. "You should probably leave, miss." His eyes are fixed, posture relaxed, stare hard.

"And don't even think about going for your gun. My boy Hemingway here," He flicks his gaze down to the man's dog, "Wouldn't like it if you did. You know, it's a really *garbage* thing to do, beating and starving a dog to make him mean. Take your gun out and set it on the ground."

Elixir has posed:
"What the /fuck/?" Flattop shouts, startled. He looks unbelieving at Doug. "You're fucking /dead/!"

Flattop reaches behind his back slowly, but Doug can read it. There is no way in hell this guy is going to listen to this punk white boy in front of him. Flattop whips the gun out and opens fire at Doug. The young woman screams and drops to the floor, covering her ears with her hands.

Cypher has posed:
He's already vaulting up and behind the couch *before* Flattop's got the gun around to start firing. BAM BAM BAM BAM.

The dog *jumps*, and goes for his wrist, and then Doug says, "And the clock starts running. God, why do people always have to pick *stupid*."

He quietly counts shots fired. Each one the guy wastes is one that isn't in the clip.

Elixir has posed:
Flattop yanks his arm out of the way of the jumping dog and turns sideways. It lands and slides into the door past Flattop.

"Fucking bitch!" Flattop snarls, but it is more lip reading than hearing for Doug. The noise in the confined space is deafening. Flattop pumps two rounds into the dog, his attention turned away from Doug. The young woman screams again.

Cypher has posed:
'I planned for this. This was expected. Poor dog, he didn't do anything wrong. What kind of guy shoots his own dog? I drilled for this in the Danger Room. I can do this. It's not something you're supposed to do, but you can do it. Why oh why couldn't I have had a healing factor or something else cool.'

'Ok, he's off balance. Come at him off his blind side.' He moves from behind the couch, and lunges. 'Disarm. Get control of his wrist.' He moves to grab at Flattops wrist and slam it against the wall, twisting it at the same time as he aims a kick up at his stomach. 'Trust your senses, you can see the appropriate reaction to the way he moves. Adrenaline is your friend, here... use it-'

Elixir has posed:
Flattop does not see Doug coming until the very last instant, and is very kindly swinging his arm back around to try and find Doug. The man is much bigger than Doug, but is disarmed quickly when hit without warning. All he manages to do in return is throw his bodyweight toward Doug to try and slam him into the other wall in the narrow entryway. The young woman at their feet scrambles further into the apartment on her hands and knees.

Cypher has posed:
Flattop is bigger than Doug. Stronger. There were drills for that, too. Remember Logan's lessons. The impact into the wall jarrs bones and leaves Doug in a daze, except that suddenly that black and gold arm reaches up to scrabble at Flattop's shirt, before he's reaching up to latch silicate fingers around his neck and squeeze, digging fingers in. "You killed my FRIEND." Doug hisses, spitting blood. "You don't get to just walk away laughing!"

Elixir has posed:
Flattop's eyes go wide and he starts choking immediately. He grabs at Doug's techno-organic hand but certainly does not have the strength to match it. His only response to Doug is a gagging grk.

The bedroom door slams behind the young woman. There are shouts in the hallway, calling people out. But no running feet yet.

Cypher has posed:
Doug looks down, and says, "I'm not going to kill you--" His eyes narrow.

"I'm not even going to send you to jail." His fingers tighten. "I want to, but that's not me."

Then he says, "Instead, I'm going to pull the trigger on the one thing that *defines* your life." He plucks at Flattop's orange colors with his other hand. "This." Then he breathes, "Actually I already did it. Just before I got here. You know, a gang, like any social group, relies on a sense of belonging and trust. So... I took those away. Every time somebody stole money, every time somebody creamed off the top, every time somebody narced to the police, every time somebody stepped out with somebody else's wife, girlfriend, sister, *whatever*... I collected that information in a god-damn *afternoon* and now I've put it out in the open where all of you can *see* it. Everybody's dirty little secrets, all the ways the people in your *family* have betrayed each other. That includes YOU."

"You killed my friend. So I killed your family." His fingers relax, slightly, letting air through. "The people here are good people... I'm sorry for what's about to happen, but I needed to make a point."

"Even if you can salvage something from this? Do not. EVER. Fuck. With. Me. Or. Mine. Again. Because I'll die for them? But I'll also *break worlds* for them. DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Elixir has posed:
Flattop stands there gagging against the wall while Doug looks up and rants at him. As soon as Flattop can get some air he gasps it. Then he pushes forward with a rasping, hiss of a snarl. He reaches out to try and encirle the smaller man and tackle him to the ground with simple size, reach and body mass. There is no elegance to it. It is the instinct born of a life of beating and getting beat on the street.

"Yo, it was in Bigsy's, come on!" someone shouts in the hall. There are at least four people running toward the apartment.

Cypher has posed:
Doug hits the floor, with a bone-jarring thud.

He's not a big guy, that's just the way it is. But he can take a lot of pain. Once you've died... what's a beating? 'You're not as big as they are. So if you get into a fight, you *have to make it hurt*. Remember what Tim taught you...!'

He slams his forehead into Flattop's nose. Then he does it again.

Elixir has posed:
"Arrrhhhh!" Flattop yells in wordless pain. His eyes flood with tears, blood flies and his hands shoot to his face. He rolls off Doug and against the door. He swears incoherently in pain.

The door opens a fraction of an inch and slams into Flattop. "Bigsy! The fuck is going on! Bigsy!" yells whoever it is pushing at the door. But 200+ lbs of gang banger with stars in eyes is an effective doorstop.

Cypher has posed:
Doug gets to his feet, and he looks down. He's been through the war. He holds his flesh arm with his techno-organic one. "Live with it."

He looks over at the still form of the dog, and then reaches down to gently touch the animal's throat with his metal hand. "Yeah. You are a fighter, aren't you. Thank you. I'll keep my word, and if I can't, I'll bury you someplace green." He glances back up. "When the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil; but wait for the time with the tiger and the devil chained - not shown - yet always ready."

"...I'm done here." He says, to nobody present. "Can you please send me to the infirmary."

Elixir has posed:
By the time the door to the apartment opens, Flattop's brother and cousins can only wonder at what happened. The dead dog. Flattop sitting with his back against the wall bleeding from the nose. Some bitch in the bedroom crying. A gun on the floor. Bullet holes in the furniture.

"The fucking dead guy, the fucking dead guy was in here!" Flattop yells. His reply is confused and concerned looks from the men at the door.

Cypher has posed:
Doug, long gone, strips off his bloody shirt, walks into the infirmary, and begins to tend to battered limbs and bruised ribs. He sits, quietly, his techno-organic right hand bunched into a fist as he puts his weight on it.

"God, doing that could get addictive. I'll need to watch myself more carefully. Wonder what'll happen next?" As if he hasn't already seen the pattern spread out before him.