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Post by BijuuGuy on Aug 11, 2024 21:36:18 GMT
Ears ringing. An irregular heartbeat. Senses scrambled, pain and adrenaline fighting each other. The agonizing moans and screams of the goons nearby. A settled explosion leaving its bitter aftertaste. All this made for an uncomfortable cocktail. Her eyes opened suddenly, erratically catching her breath as she came to. A moment later, pain made itself known in select areas of her body. The rest was still catching up, numbed by the adrenaline still coursing through her. Hit-Girl slowly got to her feet, groaning at every movement she made. There was still residual smoke in the air from her foe's grenades. It took her a moment to orient herself again, leading to her painfully limping towards a clearing. Snow was still falling, working in unison with the smoke around to create a landscape that looked like a painting almost. She passed by bodies, some seemingly dead, others still alive by their uncomfortable noises. They didn't matter to her. Instead, she was looking for the thing they were supposed to guard. Making her way out of the smoke, a litany of more bodies came into view. More importantly, the trucks were still there. But from a mere momentary observation, she noticed that they were stripped clean. How in the fuck?!
From what she had noticed during her scuffle with Miss Militia, the bitch was alone. But clearly had help waiting. Mindy muttered a thousand curses under her breath as she still gained her bearings. What the fuck was she going to do now? Well, she had ideas, but had to pick one. As she decided, she looked over herself to see if anything was out of place. Nothing seemed too broken. With the pain being any indication, however, she wasn't in any condition to fight for an extended period of time for a bit. And she was missing two knives. With any luck, they were stuck in the cunt. Mindy straightened herself with several more painful groans, but it became gradually easier to move around. It threw her into action and she knew exactly who to call, because he hadn't made a peep since. "SIONIS WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
Yelling into her comms was commonplace, yet it was evident how pure her anger was. While Karnelli was in charge of the cargo transfer, it was Black Mask who was overseeing the whole thing. And he was nowhere to be seen or heard. Mindy didn't stop at simply yelling, however. "Have you and Karnelli been fisting each other you cockless fuck?! Did you not see the shit that just went down? The fucking cargo is GONE and our pissfaced "army" of goons is either dead or clutching their nuts!"She was overexerting herself, but the situation was dire and she had never been one to mince her words... ever, no matter the occasion. And still, she didn't even stop there. "The mission is FUCKED! Handle. It. Or I'll make sure you never take a shit the normal way again."The last words she uttered were a clear threat. Then again, most of what Hit-Girl said was a threat, so there was really no telling if she actually meant it or not. Well... she usually did. Before she finally let go and waited for an answer, she let loose a venomous and rage-filled "MOTEHRFUCKER" both into the comms and simply out into the general area. Her frustration was obvious, no doubt. But what mostly occupied her thoughts were the coming consequences. The cargo was more important than most of them were lead to believe. Mindy, Sionis, and Karnelli knew what they were really transferring, however. So, long story short, the lot of them were pretty surely properly fucked. |
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Post by Firelizard on Aug 12, 2024 17:16:45 GMT
Smooth jazz echoed throughout the interior of the limousine. The vehicular contact sport that was interacting with the pothole ridden Gothamite roads had no effect on its passengers. Roman Sionis’ eyes were closed in a rare fit of peace. The sparkling, bubbling liquid within his champagne flute barely vibrating thanks to the shock absorbent tires of what had been his first purchase upon reaching the city limits of the Big Apple. Two women in varying states of dress conversed on the opposite side of the cabin, enjoying this rare moment of peace and their own champagne. Their eyes flicked over to their benefactor every so often, cautiously aware and waiting for any potential outburst of chaotic energy. Any potential delight or glee at such an easy night had been dashed when they heard about the likely pitfalls of a night out with the Black Mask. The mask which had lent Roman his nickname amongst his Maggia compatriots sat across his lap. Its glossy exterior almost sparkled in the moody lighting of the tinted windows, passing neon bulbs and headlights playing across its surface as the limousine drew lazy circles around Brooklyn.
“Boss, you might want to turn on the radio. She’s…yelling again…”
The glossy and opaque pane of glass that separated the driver and his vehicle’s luxurious inhabitants rolled up as quickly as it had gone down after the message was delivered. Roman sighed, his eyes flashing in annoyance as he reached for a two way radio tucked off to the side against an icy champagne bucket. He flicked his radio laden hand to the side, condensation that had built up on the device’s surface splashing against the face and clothes of his two companions. They squealed, a mixture of surprise and unbidden reaction to the sudden violent motion. Roman took a long sip from the glass in his hand before setting it down, fingers tweaking the dial until cursing filled the limousine cabin. His face contorted in rage, his free hand gripping into a fist as he sat up.
“Didn’t your parents teach you any manners, you little BITCH?!”
Roman straightened his back, the mask upon his lap falling to the floor as he raged in response to Hit-Girl’s stressed tirade. He hadn’t wanted this assignment, especially not one with a psychotic and murderous sixteen year old girl. And yet he was a new guy in a city filled with criminals who would have eaten Gotham City for breakfast. From the looks of Kingpin, he might have actually tried to do it. He hated having to eat shit from other criminals, especially ones who thought they were better than him. Always had, and it was even worse now. Roman had thought about ripping their faces off and mounting them on the walls of his penthouse ever since they’d sent him on this haze worthy field trip to some smelly dock. He’d thought this would be easy. No heat, cops had been bought off for weeks. And even if she had a worse mouth than even him, the murderous little teenager did have a way of making sure things went right.
“I guess I’ll have to come fix your fucking mess. Maybe I’ll change your goddamn diaper while I’m at it, you shit. FUCK!”
The glass in his hand shattered against the limousine’s wooden interior, bits of glass and bubbles exploding against the vinyl floor. Roman slammed his fist against the leather couch, picking up the onyx mask from the floor. A moment later the limousine sped off into the night, doors slamming as the two escorts were dumped unceremoniously to the curb.
“Delamain, you’d better hurry the fuck up or I’m cutting that ugly face of yours into a million pieces!”
Minutes later the vehicle came to roaring halt, tires screeching as they fought for a moment to actually come to a stop amidst the snow. Roman shoved the mask onto his face, latching it into place as he stepped into the chaos that had once been an easy riding convoy. He screamed into the night, his cooled breath joining the fog and smoke that enveloped the opening. He kicked a body as he walked towards Hit-Girl, not even looking down as his employee groaned through cracked ribs. Black Mask stopped a few feet away from his supposed accomplice, jabbing a finger in her direction as his eyes scanned through snow and chaos.
“What the FUCK did you do?!”
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Post by BijuuGuy on Aug 12, 2024 19:02:00 GMT
Roman's rebuttals only made Mindy's eyes roll, enraging her even more. Who did she piss off so fucking much that she was stuck with a knob like that. Fucking Black Mask couldn't even scare the most regular of jewelry thieves. If a teenager in a purple wig was more lethal than you... well, you'd think he would reconsider his career choices. He was a stunningly incompetent addition to the sprawling crime empire, which was made more evident by the limo he arrived in, because the stench that came from the inside was almost enough to cause Mindy to black out again. He liked his whores, she knew that well enough. She didn't get it though, not the way most people perhaps would. Hit-Girl was competent in many things, anything intimate was not it.
Before the limo arrived however, she paced around, anxiously thinking and cussing at the same time. They needed a plan, but they knew it would have to be reported anyway. The Promethium they were carrying was of vital importance and now that Dragon had it again... needless to say they were fucked. And Mindy rarely failed. Even so, her debt had too many caveats to count and she knew her superiors could change their mind on a whim.
The aforementioned stench was indeed nauseating as Black Mask finally arrived. Petulant as he was, his frustration caused him to kick an employee. And then he was in her face, of course blaming her for what happened. Truthfully, in a miniscule way, so did she. But he was never going to know that.
"ME?! If you had bothered to keep track, you would have noticed a fucking cape blowing everything to hell!"
Her words were a bit raspier than usual, the pain making itself known. Even as she gestured wildly, she grunted every once in a while.
"The bitch pulled guns out of thin motherfucking air! You wouldn't get how annoying that is, shitstain!"
She didn't explicitly mention Miss Militia kicking her ass, but it was naturally implied. Roman was no doubt going to bring it up anyway, so she left him that opportunity only as a chance to yell at him some more. In the meantime, she looked right into his eyes with intense disdain, all the more heightened by the finger still in her face.
"Now get that twink finger out of my face. Oh hey, I have another idea! Maybe I should just shoot your dick off so you can't stick it into anything that fucking resembles a hole! Not like you can get it up anyway. Use whatever the fuck you have instead of a brain and think of a plan!"
That was merely meant as an outlet for frustration. But they had to do something about the situation.
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Post by Firelizard on Aug 13, 2024 4:00:40 GMT
“Oh we…you…yeah…you are so FUCKED! Wait until Kingpin hears about this, you little shit. Oh just you-”
Black Mask turned around scanning the road. Remnants of what might have been Maggia issue cargo vans lay strewn about the snow ridden ground. Bullet casings and gas canisters interspersed with bits of once whole rubber tire and vehicle frames littered the area as far as the eye could see. The…fuck, fuck, fuck. The prometheum was gone, that gun toting imaginary bitch Hit-Girl brought up might actually be real after all. He’d…it was coming back to him now. One of his men coming up to him with urgent news, urgently waving a bit of intel around Roman’s penthouse. Roman subsequently beating the goon unconscious for interrupting a virtual silent auction for an Australian aboriginal spirit face mask. The stupid sack of shit limping away to ‘prepare for a mission.’
“Oh this pooch is more than thoroughly fucked. It’s been drawn and fucking quartered.”
The masked villain screamed into the night air, brandishing his fists and kicking up puffs of snow that disintegrated upon contact with the frigid air. He looked down at the henchman nursing his cracked ribs, noticing his broken nose and bruised face. Another loose end, even worse than the purple wigged preteen bitch in front of him. Black Mask screamed again and kicked the man, pulling out his pistol and tapping it against the side of his mask. Think…think, Roman.
“Where’d they go, you little Grimace haired freak? Up in the sky? Away in a car? Or were you too busy getting your ass kicked to notice even that minute detail, huh?!”
Black Mask screamed again and racked his pistol, pointing it at the now unconscious and thoroughly kicked man at his feet. He pulled the trigger and sent a bullet right into the chest of the most unlucky goon in all the Big Apple. Then Roman didn’t stop pulling the trigger until he heard a click, quadruple tapping the now very dead man below his gaze. He grinned through the mixture of faux and all too real rage, wide eyes staring Mindy down as he waited for her reaction. The masked supervillain might not have been the most keen criminal in New York City, but he definitely had a penchant for violence and using it to cover his tracks.
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Post by BijuuGuy on Aug 19, 2024 20:32:23 GMT
Sionis unraveling right in front of her almost brought Mindy to laugh uncontrollably. She would've if it wasn't her equal amount of rage suppressing it. It didn't take her long at all to realize that he realized the magnitude of the situation and his own fault in it. His burst of rage only confirmed it. He struggled to express himself properly, which only prompted her to speak out again.
"You realize that you're in just as much shit as I am?! We're both drowning in shit!"
He wasn't going to get away with just blaming her. No. Fucking. Way. Of all people to end up with... she was stuck with the most mediocre sketch of a man. His ramblings made it evident that he had absolutely no backup plan. Granted, Mindy should've probably had one of her own, but she had more of a credible excuse than he did.
But she didn't respond before annoyedly looking at him shooting that unlucky sack of shit at his feet. People like him were fascinating in their own ways. Not that Mindy cared to find out, but daddy had told her about people like that. Hell, they'd killed people like Sionis before. It wasn't anything new, yet there was still something that made her want to just sit down and observe what they did. Insane fucks, they were.
"She was shooting at me WITH A BAZOOKA!!"
Those last three words were yelled at with as much rage as she could muster in the midst of her injuries.
"Try dodging literal goddamn motherfucking missiles, get knocked on your ass, and then notice where the in the ever living fuck they might have gone to! They're GONE, we can't track them down now. That fuckstain Dragon can't be tracked, you would know this if you didn't royally fucking SUCK at your job."
Now, they were really just arguing. Nothing productive was coming out of either of their mouths. The urge to actually kill him right then and there was stunningly hard to resist. She knew she could do it too. Even with her injuries, she was head and shoulders above him. At least that's what she liked to think. But Mindy wasn't done with berating her "boss."
"It's amazing what a useless shit you are! I really don't know if it was Fisk's fuckass sense of humor to pair me up with you or just having really bad luck, but wow! You can't do anything but flail that little dick around. It never stops to amaze me, seriously."
Mindy grunted, grabbing onto her midriff, trying to subdue the pain. They had been arguing for too long. They needed to do something, even if it meant just fleeing the site. But no matter what they did, they would have to report in at some point. She took a few deep breaths, trying to let out the unsolicited anger. An almost impossible task with Sionis in front of her. Still, her following words would be said in a more calm and professional tone, albeit laced with doubt.
"We need to call it in. No other way. It's going to be fucked but it's the one play we have right now. We'll spin it in our favor... somehow."
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Post by Firelizard on Oct 23, 2024 19:09:52 GMT
“I was delegating, you little shit! I guess this is what I get for assuming you were even halfway decent at your fucking job!”
Black Mask released the empty magazine from the pistol he had gripped around his leather gloved fingers. The piece of hot metal clattered uselessly onto the ground, sliding upon the slow until finding purchase against the side of a felled henchman a few feet away. He grabbed another from his jacket pocket, the gold etchings flashing like a lighthouse in a storm of shit before being loaded into the ornately carved gun. An instant later it was pointed in Hit Girl’s general direction.
“You had one job! Take the shit from point A to motherfucking point B! Of course people are going to try to take it. That’s why we have you there! What a fucking, goddamn mess…”
Then the gun was pointed away, Black Mask rubbing the barrel against his temple before clicking the safety on and jamming the piece of warm iron into his waistband. He jabbed his hand into another pocket, vibrations emanating from the phone nestled within. The phone was out an instant later, a collection of tribal masks adorning the screen’s backdrop.
[UNKNOWN NUMBER]
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
The masked villain let the call drop into the void before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it. Finely made leather crunched against cellular metal, creating an abstract of wireless destruction on the snow drenched ground below. There were only a few people in all of the Big Apple who had that number. And fewer still that wouldn’t show up with some sort of name. That could mean only one thing…Kingpin had come calling. The gargantuan blob of muscle and brain cells was a control freak, and he’d probably timed the call down to the second in his itinerary. If anyone other than the purple haired little shit he was stuck with had been on the job, he probably could have answered with the promethium already on its way to a secure location. A ringing reached his ears, though not of the cellular variety. More the type you heard after a gun or bomb went off right next to your eardrums.
“Alright, you foul mouthed little dipshit. We need a plan, gotta flip the script. Yeah, gotta think up some way to save the mess w-that you’ve made…”
There had to be something he could do. City of fucking dreams, opportunity, etcetera, etcetera. The promethium might have already vanished beyond their grasp, but the night was still young. If they could come to the Maggia with something, anything, they might be able to escape with their lives. There was nothing Kingpin hated more than failure. Well, maybe maladjusted paintings hanging at an angle upon a wall ranked higher, but not much higher.
“Alright, alright. That promethium is long, fucking gone. It’s my fault, I’ll take full responsibility for believing in you even a little fucking bit. But we’ve gotta bring something, anything to the Maggia. You there, come here, bring me a phone.”
The last remaining henchman jumped, startled out of the stupor created by his associate’s unfortunate demise. He jogged over, hesitantly handing a phone over to his employer. An instant later he fell back first on the ground, a bullet lodged squarely in his face. Black Mask walked away and started swiping through the device, installing a new app as he tapped insistently on the screen. Lines of code coalesced into shipping manifests, an open map of the docks beyond Brooklyn Yard open on the right hand side. He cursed with every swipe, until he landed on what he’d been looking for. He started trudging over to his limo, smooth jazz pouring out from a still open car door. He jumped in, his masked face popping out a moment later as he gestured toward the interior of the limousine, gun in hand.
“Fucking JACKPOT. Come with me, shitbird. We’re raiding an Oscorp ship.”
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