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Post by Firelizard on Feb 7, 2024 22:33:02 GMT
Snow crunched under leather heel, the imprint left behind soon fading as crystalline, icy reinforcements raced to fill the ranks of the few inches of snow lining the rooftop. A sharp breeze cut in from above, blowing those reinforcements and Miss Militia’s scarf in all directions as it cut a path through the concrete New York City skyline. Red, white, and blue intermingled with lovingly stitched stars flashed with this new introduction of kinetic energy, the only source of either movement or sound to accompany the lonely sound of wind so far above the ground. Hannah’s eyes were fixed on the movement of vehicles and men below. Maggia goons with coats far too bulky to simply be made out of down and dander hefted similarly solid wooden cases, each several feet long and several feet deep. Teams of two shoved and slammed the containers into the back of vans before wearily trudging back to shipping containers full of painted metal, rust, and wooden boxes that seemed to get heavier with every trip. “Hurry up! Karnelli wants these back at HQ in less than an hour! He’ll kick all our asses if we keep him waiting!”A man in a finely crafted suit was the source of the motivational outburst, teeth and lips smashing down and gnashing against a once smooth and supple cigar. What had once been an impressive delivery system of nicotine had been reduced to little more than a cylindrical nub by way of dental assault. Smoke soared into the sky, lifted by the wind racing downward from Miss Militia’s position on a neighboring building. Her eyes tracked both the smoke and fiery glow emanating from the head of the finely dressed Maggia member. The pistol on her hip vibrated as she concentrated, eyes noticing the hip holster of the leader as she put out both of her hands and kneeled down. The weapon glowed and then lost all shape, turning into a blur of energy as it raced to her outreached hands. What had once been a pistol now resembled a makeshift grenade launcher, a powerful scope sitting atop a circular barrel full of tiny metallic canisters. Miss Militia leaned into the newly formed weapon, putting her face against the scope to get a better view of the operation below.
“Miss Militia to Brooklyn Three, I’ve got eyes on target. Appears the information provided was correct. Permission to engage?”Her voice, soft already so as to not alert the thugs on the ground, disappeared into the static ether. Her stance shifted as she turned to the left, letting the white and nondescript vans come into focus as the army of worker humans lugged more wood into the metal containers with wheels. Her eyes widened as two goons in thick winter gear slammed the dual locking doors of the back of one van shut, both of the men grunting as they tried to catch their breath and keep up the pace at the same time. Miss Militia caught the annoyed and tired eyes of a driver in a side mirror, looking for approval to move before the suited man with the cigar thumped the side of the vehicle. It started up the road and away from the small docks that had been its temporary home, the whole frame bouncing and groaning from the new cargo and weight that had newly been attached to it. Miss Militia’s eyes widened as she tracked the movement, knowing that she had but moments before the snow white van vanished into the flurry ridden New York City night. The grenade launcher in her hands buzzed with new energy and took on the form of a simple hunting rifle, the wooden stock still warm from the transformation providing just a bit of warmth through the heavy green coat and star spangled banner ridden bandana that covered its owner’s face and neck. With more concentration than it had taken to make the weapon change, Hannah pulled the trigger. Barely any sound emanated from the action, no gunpowder present in the seemingly magical munitions within the gun. A dart, not a bullet, flew out of the barrel and rocketed through the night sky. Its arc was perfect, snow and wind accounted for as it thumped soundly into the fender of the van. The driver was none the wiser, the dart slamming into its intended spot right as the van hit a particularly nasty pothole. Miss Militia allowed herself a small smile, already self assured about where the dart would land, but still happy about the result. There were a lot of tactical issues and concerns when fighting in New York City, but the one thing you could count on was that there were all manner of environmental variables to take advantage of. “This is Brooklyn Three. You are a go for contact, authorities have been alerted and dispatched.”“Heard. Also, placed a tracker on one vehicle that has already left the scene. I know you already have eyes on it, but just in case…”The dispatcher’s response was drowned out by even more wind, and the vibrations ringing against Hannah’s body as the hunting rifle transformed back into the grenade launcher. The weapon thrummed with what felt like excitement, mirroring its owner's own. What was about to transpire had been the culmination of days of investigation and hunting, the latter much more difficult to conduct in a forest of concrete trees as opposed to one of more organic material. The teams and heroes of the Justice League who watched over the Big Apple had been thinly stretched the past few weeks, and Hannah had been called in to plug the gaps left behind by the harried heroes. The Maggia Family had been more active as of late, and there had been a need to track down the source of the high powered weaponry they were wielding as they quietly carved paths of destruction in the underbelly of the city. Soon they would be one shipping container less equipped, the victims of a hero who could call upon more weapons than could fit in a whole cargo vessel. Stopping one such container wouldn’t put a stop to the whole crime family’s nefarious deeds, but it could definitely put a dent in their operations. Miss Militia ignored the comparisons to Sisyphus flashing across her mind, letting her focus drop back to the boulder at hand. She pointed the grenade launcher down below and pulled the trigger. Five metallic grenades dropped below and impacted at various sites across the dock. Each landed near clustered groups of workers, exploding into bright and harsh flashes of light that stunned and threw the thugs into disarray. The weapon vibrated once more, though was still the same model it had been before. She pulled the trigger again and watched as five more grenades rocketed downward. This time however they each hit a man, exploding into almost harshly grey billowing plumes of smoke. Miss Militia let the weapon transform again, a grappling hook protruding from its nozzle. A pull of the trigger and an explosion of gas shot the hook against a long defunct chimney, its metal claws sinking into weather chipped brick. She gave the line it was attached to a firm tug before jumping off of the roof, bouncing against the concrete and brick laced wall with her feet several times before reaching the snow drenched alleyway. She shot her eyes in the direction of the shipping container and vans, watching as the stunned and dazed shadows of men flitted through the smoke still billowing from the grenades dropped just moments ago. Miss Militia walked forward, letting the grappling hook and line vibrate and vanish into a blurring image of green and black in motion. Two handguns sat in her open palms, metal gleaming as their owner walked forward to confront the confused jumble of goons and smoke ahead of her. |
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Post by BijuuGuy on Feb 21, 2024 20:37:01 GMT
For 400 years or so, New York City had risen from something barely resembling a village, to what some may call, the heart of the world. A history so storied, it would take several novels to even scratch the surface. And during all those years, influential people and families shaped the essence of what New York became. The accomplishment of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. A tradition that persisted to this very day. What most people try and ignore, however, were the sacrifices made and the lengths those figures had to go to, in order to ensure New York's lasting influence. The Maggia family was no different. Their sacrifices had ensured the economic splendor the metropolis enjoyed for decades now. The lengths they went to ensured the lack of disruptive competition that could bring ruin upon all they've built. The general public saw them as unsavory, dangerous criminals. The "official" figureheads saw them as a plague to be eradicated.
And with every plague, pests became frequent in trying to feed off of it. They were like an infestation, impossible to get rid of one by one. Even with successes here and there, they always had the tendency to pop back up. Old ones thought long dead. New critters wanting to make a name for themselves. They called themselves "superheroes." And New York City was the grand buffet that kept them fat and satiated. Extraordinary people by chance or through privilege who did everything in their power(s) to undo the work of those that actually got their hands dirty. They were celebrated by the loud majority, vilified by the loud minority. Seen as veritable gods or those fighting for the little guy, superheroes were everything the Maggia despised. Self-righteous, egotistical, full of unfounded moral superiority. In their ivory towers and ridiculous spandex, they cast judgement on those below them with little regard to the wider consequences. They had nothing to worry about. Because as long as the masses cheered for them, they were seen as righteous.
But even then, even with their unfathomable capabilities, the Maggia persisted. Still running the city, protecting what they rightfully earned and owned. Influencing economy, politics, law enforcement, their reach spread far and wide. Yet still, the pests persisted. Something that one Mindy McCready knew all too well. After all, she used to be one of those pests. Now? She was one of the people doing the bidding of those she took down on a regular basis. Bound by circumstance, Mindy blamed it on the shit hand she had been dealt. Or the unfortunate destination her row of dominoes lead her to. One thing was for certain: she was stuck. Repaying a debt with insurmountable interest. It was partly why she was the lookout, the silent enforcer for this particular operation.
A routine delivery of goods, it was. The type she had been a part of too many times. Anything interesting happening wasn't likely. And when it was likely, the threat was dealt with quick, fast, and in a hurry. Them operating in broad daylight was a testament to that effectiveness and influence. The Maggia knew what kind of people to hire. Hit-Girl was one of them and so far, their investment had paid off splendidly.
Looking down at the men and women loading the cargo onto the docks made her feel like one of the superheroes, gazing down at the rabble going about their business. It was as if she could reach and grab one of those people, playing around with them like action figures. The falling snow made it feel like they were in a snow globe, the urge to try and shake it, just to see the chaos and disorientation, almost too great. Those musings were cut short by the sharp reminder of the cold. She was used to it by now, but every now and then, someone liked to remind Mindy that she was not above the elements. She let out a series of curses at nobody, rubbing her arms as she kept an eye on the scene. A tiny crackle of static sprung her to life again, an almost hilariously stereotypical New Jersey accent grating her ears brought her back to the real world.
"Yo, HG! All good up there?"
The voice came from an earpiece, snugly fitted in one of her ears. Mike Bianchi was tasked with the logistics of the operation, which included Hit-Girl. The man with the cigar, yelling out orders, was his brother, Bartholomew Bianchi. What compelled their parents to name one of their sons Bartholomew was beyond Mindy. The two were in charge here, some of the more competent family members the Maggia had. Which wasn't exactly a compliment, because the two were still as dumb as a pair of poles when clanged together. Bart was the older one, so he had seniority, which was always evident in the envious voice of Mike.
Mindy grabbed her binoculars before answering, surveying the surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so far. Fucking boring.
"Yupppp, same shit as ten minutes ago, AF."
"AF" was the charming nickname Mindy had come up for Mike. "Anal Fissure," exactly the type of juvenile obscenity she would come up with. Almost as if disregarding her status report, Mike focused on the nickname. Mindy used it every chance she got. The reaction she got was always amusing, to say the least.
"Listen here you little shit! I'll make your life a livi---"
"Oh, what's that? I can't hear you over your gargling on your brother's dirty ass dick!"
The insults and curses echoing out of the earpiece, Mindy clicked the line shut with a sly smirk on her face. These idiots were too fun to not play around with. In a way, they really were like her own little action figures. But her moment of joy was cut short by the sighting of a figure not too far from her own vantage point. They were sporting what looked to be a grenade launcher, primed for launch. Mindy zoomed in on her binoculars, with them being still far enough for her to only make out an outfit tinged in green and them seemingly speaking with someone. The young assassin's own earpiece was made to tap into all frequencies available in the vicinity, yet she was barred from accessing that particular one.
Alarm bells went off in her head, but it was already too late. The sounds of grenades being launched made that evident.
Mindy's rush to let Mike know of an oncoming assault was for naught. The people down below were already hit, only continuous static coming through her means of communication. Hit-Girl rose from her position, readying herself to descend as more grenades hit, covering the area in smoke. She saw the assailant grapple themselves into the cloud. Her destination was clear.
In a second, Mindy's own grapple was in her hand, attached to suitable target buildings and off she went. Accompanied by a slew of unseemly words and expressions, Hit-Girl descended into the smoke. To remedy the lack of a gas mask, she held her breath for as long as she was able. The chaos surrounding her was palpable. Gunshots, yelling, people scrambling to find a way out. Mindy took determined steps in a random direction, hoping to reach the figure sooner than later. She pushed aside those getting in her way, all the while unsheathing her guns, the rest of her gear strapped onto her belt or on her back.
Be it a stroke of luck or something else, Mindy's traversal through the clouded surroundings lead her to the silhouette of the figure responsible. The smoke was still thick enough to forbid her from seeing any more distinguishing features other than the frame of a woman. Within a millisecond, Hit-Girl's arms were extended in front of her, fingers squeezing the triggers of her guns, unleashing a flurry of bullets at the woman. She had the feeling that wasn't going to be enough, but it was her job to ensure that whatever she did, ended in the extermination of another pest that had the monumentally terrible idea of getting in the way of the Maggia.
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