Purge [OPEN]

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Aeros » Sun May 12, 2019 10:44 pm

Closer. Closer, the alley became, the darkness of the confined open lane almost welcoming to the injured pilot as he moved deceptively fast towards his target destination— each pained footfall was a step closer to salvation, and all he had to do was keep moving. He was more vulnerable on the ground than in the air, but re-extending the wingsuit meant running the risk of compromising the VANS and JETS equipment pieces. He'd have to do without, just—


— keep moving.

The blade had done little to stop his stride; he'd nearly been gutted with a knife already, and a glancing blow to the back of his calf only succeeded in dropping him to one knee before he stood, silently, and continued on. Couldn't stand to feel pain, not now. His attacker was far away, still on the rooftop— if he could lose the bastard in a building, or make it to the subway, he might be able to—

"Fuckin' course." LaVerne muttered to himself as another batshit vigilante landed in front of him, obviously intending on wasting more of his time. The asshole muttered something involving the word fuck— the specifics of which were both unknown and unheard to Brock, given his hearing was still recovering from the hell it had just been put through. Auditory installations were a must in the future— as was an upgrade to the durability of his jacket.

A roundhouse kick was delivered next, striking directly against the side of the helmet— one thing Brock had invested in, thankfully, was the impact compensation of his actual flight equipment.

Pair that with the superhuman vitality given to him by the Tonic, and the end result was Aeros' head simply turning to the side, his posture wavering from the force but concrete after a moment of trepidation. The soulless green lights of the mask stared back at his second attacker— he offered no words, no gestures, no expressions.

Brock simply moved through him.

The pilot stepped forward and sought to throw the vigilante to the side, possessing enough strength to lift him with one arm, at the very least. The blow wasn't lethal in the slightest— it was more an attempt to simply bat him aside while one arm stayed locked to the knife in his side, blood leaking from the wound.

"Go the fuck home, kid. Party's over." LaVerne spoke, the voice modulator once again scrambling his voice into a bassy thrum as he continued, determined to get the hell out of dodge before the police showed up.

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Savant » Mon May 13, 2019 2:58 am

Despite his athletic prowess, Tobias couldn't do very much to resist, as LaVerne shoved him to the side. The Savant stumbled into a wall, and pushed back off of it.

Condescending prick.

The interior of the Prodigy's head felt like a whirring blender full of emotions and adrenaline. But the smoothie it produced tasted like fuck this. The Gargoyle didn't get to walk away. Not after- that.

"Nah. You don't get to fucking run, coward."

Tobias retrieved his gun. Raised it, and squared the weapon at Aeros' back. After a half-second, he cocked it, intending for the click to carry down the alleyway and reach LaVerne's ears.

"You hear me? You turned a guy to paste! Stop fucking walking, or I start putting bullets in your flight pack."

When he'd thrown the knife, Tobias hadn't known quite where to aim. But in passing by Aeros, he'd picked up some of how the wing-suit was maintained. If he fired, even in the darkness, the Savant was fairly confident he could clip the Gargoyle's wings permanently. Rupture some fuel cells, or whatever the fuck.

Better get my knife back first, though.

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by ODIN » Mon May 13, 2019 9:08 am

More gunfire, yet this time he was a bit more prepared. Pulling himself up and sinking his fingers into the brick wall he clung to, the Vessel began to rapidly scale the side of the building in a feline-esque fashion. Climbing up to the roof as several bullets struck and ricocheted off his back before the line of fire was finally interrupted. Calling back over the ledge, answering the girl's question as he respositioned himself.

"Heh, I'm in no rush, not yet. Might not have to end like that though... least not right now."

Quickly rolling to his feet, his right hand brushed over his hip unclipping the black handgun locked to his side. As soon as his fingers made contact the weapon was live, no need for a safety, no need for a trigger. All he had to do was think and it would fire. The MA-SH was currently set to neutralizer, capable of delivering an electric current powerful enough to drop a grown man in a matter of seconds. A backup plan, in case things started to go south. He was still reeling from the new plan, but this wasn't the time to argue with it. That would come later.

A few seconds passed before the next notification appeared, a packet of data. Specifically, all the information that the AMP could gather on the white-haired girl within such a short amount of time. Her image had been taken off the constant stream of his optical feed, and run through every database they had at their disposal. Including the ones, they had less than official accesses too. It had taken a moment, and most of what was gathered was incomplete. Based on little more than testimonies and largely unsubstantiated rumors. Yet even still, it had delivered. Information was sparse, but it was enough for now. Crouching over the edge of the roof the Vessel looked down over the alley, ready to back away if fired upon once more, yet still able to track the fight. For the moment his gun pointed towards the sky, resting on his shoulder, before he finally called down to The Morbid Mercenary.

"Styx... is it? Mercenary, Hired gun, Assassin? Quite the resume for someone so young. So now I'm rather interested, how much are you being offered for the Demon? I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot."

I'm gonna kill him when I got back.
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The Vessel
A machine without a home

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Lord of Nothing » Tue May 14, 2019 3:13 am

No Birth Certificate. No given real name.

The girl known as Styx hailed from a region of Russia known as Dagestan. She simply "appeared" one day under the house of a very wealthy man who was known for having a penchant for little girls. She was rarely ever seen and most people believed that she was her daughter, although vague evidence and accounts did point to her in all reality, being the man's wife.

She once did have a brother, who shared the same skillset as she does have now. He worked the same job and his skills made him into a walking weapon ready to be pointed at anyone. And he seemed to have passed it on to her, having some inclination that what she has is at least in part genetic. Whatever abilities she has, they are not really able to be classified. Her reputation as bullet witch is one that seems to follow her, given her notoriety for headshotting her enemies as soon as she sees them.

Most people speak of things that they observe in her, as she does leave witnesses, although she has been known to kill bystanders on when valuing discretion. Her jobs have very little indicator of much in the realm of moral compass, with her taking on enemies ranging from terrorists to national special forces teams. Her targets politicians, business leaders, rebel leaders, tribes leaders, the only pattern being that they had a very high price on their heads.

Her appearances are random. In places from other areas of Russia, Georgia, Armenia and Lebanon. This sighting, is the first sighting of her here.
There was thrill in this. Fear was compulsive, and it allowed her to push her body beyond the bounds when given right. With just the right amount, it was thrilling. Exciting. An oxymoronically adored change of pace for what would rather be an otherwise mundane life. After all, if she didn't experience the fear that came with risk, she would not be here, in this place. A far better place than where she was.

And despite this, she couldn't help this hide this looming fear from this man running right through her bullets. The fact that the most she had killed were some soldiers caught off guard by her accuracy. And now she was up against some cyborg, a man who could probably very well kill her with one good punch if he wanted to and a woman who could manipulate the very thing that lead to her being dubbed an angel of death in old country.

"You are about to get punched." Styx's eyes widened as he got dangerously closed, and started to yank on her hair. "But this is fine. They don't wanna kill you. If that lady wanted to kill you, she would've. But instead she's just grabbing all of your weapons." Styx founds herself clutching her guns very tightly as she braced for the incoming strike. "This isn't any different. One mistake and you'd be dead. And you've been close to death before. You dance around bullets that can kill you at any time. Just dance around his fists."

Her brother's voice resonated quietly throughout her mind.

She going to get punched, but she didn't at all have any interest in taking it lying down. She weaved backward and diffused the force of the man's punch. But this man was a monster. He sought to hit with the flurry, but would find the girl was blasted back. And to think that in all reality, the strike didn't even hit cleanly. She defused the force of the punch.

Crack. The noise of her shoulder dislocating. Blood flies from her her face and for a moment, her eyes roll up into her head, before returning to their normal blue color.

Woooosh. The subtle sound of air passing as she is almost tossed off her feet.
Her snow white, inhuman hair no more. The illusion is broken and it is shown to be a wig. Her real hair is a raven like black. She can't but feel a little naked, and her hands twitch, as though she instinctively wants to cover herself. But she knows all that will do is probably get her punched in the face again. She can feel her brother restraining her hands as she attempts to do so.

"It's okay. You're a phantom."

Clack. The sound of her her ballet like dress shoes landing on the ground. And another crack. She feels her brother pushing her shoulder back into it's appropriate place, though to the external observer, Styx did it to herself. She grunts and lets out a whimpering noise, and then braces for the ongoing assault.

The first punch comes and BANG it is swatted away by her shooting his fist point blank, using the bullet's pure impact to deflect. Her body swayed, and now, she proved hard to hit overall, slippy even when she wasn't running, her movement oddly comparable to that of an evasive boxer. She saw
that he going for her hands. But blow after blow was deflect as slowly but assuredly, Daemon was pushing her back. She had no bullets and at this point, one could very easily see that she didn't have anywhere near the strength needed to hurt Daemon or come anywhere near contending with him at close range.

Even now she still talks. Her body is completely relaxed, like a fighters. And her methods require little stamina. Moreso skill. "I have to say, you're pretty good Mister" She bats away another fist with a bullet. "I haven't been hit in a long time" She sways past another fist licking her bloody lips. "I thought I could kill you but" She fires off her second to last bullet "I don't think I can today." Her last shot.A spray of water juts out a pipe near. His hand finally hits it's mark, slapping a gun out of her hand. But he focused far too much on disarming her rather than focusing on her. Stretching her arm out and having him hit it made it all the easier to misdirect him, and for her to step in that nice blindspot and slip behind him.

She drops her gun as she sprints off. It wasn't like she had any use for it.

It seemed someone had taken an interest in the girl, and tried to find out who and what she was. The data that came up was indeed very scanty.

"Funny you mention that Mister Cyborg!" She stops just shy of one particular spot....
A little blood dripped through a hole in the brace, over his hand. His fist clenched.
...Takes out a handkerchief and swipes up a pile of blood. She turns to the cyborg man, clearing her throat.

"Twenty Five thousand for a wound and about a hundred grand for his head." She turns and starts to run. By now, he's probably gaining on her. "Sorry Mister, I think it'd be interesting to work with you. But I made a promise. And I value my promises."

She runs...

And runs...

And runs...

Until she can't run anymore.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

Police sirens whirred in the background. She leaned on an alleyway wall, her legs wobbling. Blood dripped on the concrete, this time hers, from her own nose.

It was a funny thing. At the end of the day, she didn't really find herself worth chasing. She was out of their hair, and doubted she would be hired again after that performance. She left all of her weapons at the place and would have to find a way to rearm herself. She pulled out the hankerchief, stained with a few swipes from of Daemon's blood.

All for a scratch.

She took a quick look at her environment. Surveying the area around her with her eyes, before she walked along, slinking along the shadows and from her perspective, leaning on her brother and hoping not to be seen.
Bashanipal,The Accursed
Voracious, The Vampire Vagabond
Styx, The Bullet Witch
Sudden Death, Malcom the Merciful
HossDaBoss,The Backyard Drug Lord
Belle, Delighted Fledgling of the Damned
Auspex, Your Friendly Neighborhood Domestic Terrorist
Mera The Merciless,A Once God of War
Ms. Mayhem, The Mayor of beatdown town
Ultra, The Psycho Crusher
Grevious, The Cosmic Draconian Conqueror
Melinoe, The Gift of Death
Lethe, The Wild Reaper

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by illirica » Tue May 14, 2019 10:59 pm

The girl was disarmed, almost literally. Teja didn't think Flint had really been going for that, but she recognized a dropped shoulder when she saw one, and the girl moved back and shoved her arm back into its socket with a firmness that made Teja wince in sympathy. She'd done that, a few times. More than a few, lately. The hair was interesting, and Teja grabbed a few images of the dark-haired girl for later analysis as well.

Flint moved in with further attack, and the girl shot back, bullets meant to push him away. Teja grabbed them as quickly as she could, hopefully stopping them from getting to Flint. If she didn't, well, he could probably take it. He'd taken worse than a few bullets, in Alaska. Of course, he'd had the support of all of Deterrence behind him, then, but she had a feeling that he still had as much as he needed, just a few less tanks.

Tanks wouldn't be much good here, anyway.

The girl dodged attack after attack, curiously agile, more so than she had any right to be. Precognition? Possibly. Teja wouldn't put it past her, at this rate. She fired a shot into a pipe, and the hiss of steam hid her for a moment, maybe long enough. She'd dropped the last of her guns, which made her harder to track. Not impossible, of course, especially with infrared vision or similar abilities. The girl didn't go far, just far enough to drop something on the ground. She was close to the cybernetic individual, who was extremely visible in Teja's field-sense, and she adjusted audio levels in her suit to get an idea of what they were saying. A quiet conversation, about money.

A hundred thousand for Arno Flint seemed kind of cheap, in her professional opinion, but maybe the people offering hadn't made the link with the Daemon just yet. Twenty five for a wound, which answered the handkerchief - blood, for evidence. There were a lot of things that could be done with blood, and none of them were good - that was why her Valence Shell system had designs in place to flash-fry any blood or other DNA-containing fragments if they left the suit, just in case. She didn't want to end up part of someone's science experiment.

She was surprised that Flint didn't have the same, but maybe they just didn't have the technology... or maybe it was just that not everyone was a mobile reactor who could spare a few thousand volts for every papercut. She wasn't all that keen on the idea of anyone getting ahold of Flint's DNA either. It was a professional courtesy; he was an ally. Blood had iron in it, didn't it? Iron was conductive enough. Teja sat back and focused carefully - something like that wasn't easy to trace, not at all - but she was able to find the puddle and the handkerchief, and pull the electronic fields into a shroud around them, crackling through whatever evidence there was.

Hopefully it would be enough. Detail work was challenging - she'd let the others handle it, from here on out. Besides, this was Flint's problem... and he hadn't exactly called SOS.

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Axiom » Wed May 15, 2019 10:12 pm

More gunshots deflected off Arno's form, each one hurting more than it ought to. Most of them, though, were sent off-course by Capacitor - something he only noticed in retrospect. His right arm throbbed where the armor had been breached, but he squinted his way through the pain, delivering a sequence of brutalizing blows to the kid's shoulder -

- and coming away with a white wig. The ease with which it'd been torn away left him off-balance slightly, the unexpected lack of resistance sending him stumbling backwards with the hairpiece clenched in his palm. He threw it to the side with a growl, scanning the area for her.

It turned out she'd already scurried away, a mad little blip in the night he'd undoubtedly have to take care of later. Flint breathed heavily out his nose, trying to get a lock on her through the surrounding walls. Nothing.

Arno moved to pursue, but a sharp pain in his arm stopped him. He looked down, carefully inspecting the wound for the first time.


There was a clean hole all the way through his arm where he'd been hit, a perfect exit wound on the other end of the forearm. Cautiously, he put his finger through the small orifice, then withdrew it, the hurt burning when he did. It was sickening to look at. Had to be handled.

Wincing, he looked away from the wound and retrieved a small MedGel cylinder from his belt. Grimacing, he sprayed the gentle mist over the injury, the disinfecting substance coded to his DNA in order to promote rapid cellular reparation. Still, there'd be a scar there, even if he couldn't see it. Luckily, it wouldn't be a permanent injury, with today's technology.

He finished by wrapping a black strip of gauze around the exit wound, pulling it tight against his wrist as he spoke.

"Thanks for the help. I'll catch up to her eventually," he said to Teja, scowling out at the city. An insane little bounty hunter was bound to leave a trail. Getting her off the streets was a priority now.

Better check the feeds.

"Wait. I'm getting reports of some sort of shockwave at Eisenalder Communications. Witnesses are reporting costumed combatants crashing through a building and into the streets. That's just a few blocks from here."

He squeezed his wrist once, then twice, then rotated his arm at the shoulder. The blood stopped seeping through.

"Let's go."

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Aeros » Thu May 16, 2019 12:45 am

The word coward halted Brock's stride, and against his better judgement, the Osprey turned around to face the vigilante once more. The unwavering green eyes settled their gaze upon an attacker set partially within darkness, gun barrel breaking through the night to settle its sights upon him.

"The flight pack is made out of a reinforced ceramic carbyne composite, kid. Your bullets aren't going anywhere except the fuckin' wall when they ricochet off. I've got a kevlar body vest on, too, so you better make damn sure you put me down in the first few shots before I draw and put one in your thigh, or your gut."

LaVerne's right hand— his shooting one— slowly drifted down to the holster and settled there, fingers resting upon the cold metal of the vintage M1911 that had been with him since the War. The two Mausers had proven too complicated to reload efficiently and effectively as of late, and as such, he'd gone back to basics with American engineering. Was only a shame he left his Thompson back at the safe-house. The pilot made no moves, but his palm slowly curled around the weapon settled within the leather— a woman's face peeked out just above the side of his hand, cast in darkness under the alleyway.

A sweetheart grip. For her.

He wondered what Elizabeth would think of him, now. What she'd do if she'd seen him like this. The thought was enough to stave away any thoughts of firing or aiming the Colt, at least for now. The intention of him placing a hand upon the holster was a clear enough gesture, though.

"You sure you want to take another life tonight, slick? I'm sure as hell not in the mood to use this. I'll give you one last chance. Walk. Away."

Last edited by Aeros on Thu May 16, 2019 1:51 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Behemoth » Thu May 16, 2019 1:01 am

"He's right, Savant. Stand down."

The voice came from above the pair, off the fire escape of one of the shorter buildings lining the alley, on the other side of the Osprey from the Savant - so that as the figure gracefully jumped to the ground with a dull clomp, armor hardshell once more, his escape was effectively cut off. Still, Isaac kept his form nonthreatening, despite the increased armor and... well, general menace of the costume. He made a small hand motion to accompany his statement, one that was pretty much only known by ACF agents trying to get others to back off a little so others could negotiate with a particularly difficult anomaly. He didn't really think Sav would get it, but he wasn't really thinking at all when he made it. The Osprey was armed, too, but there wasn't much Isaac could do about that. For the moment, they were unfriendly.

The few minutes' respite he'd managed to take had helped clear his head, however. He'd figured a few things out, come up with a basic tactic, and prayed to the Powers That Be that it would work. Whether those powers would listen was a completely different story. They had a track record of being extremely fickle. It never hurt to be prepared.

"You wanted information from the civilian." The Behemoth spoke with absolute conviction, addressing the winged man directly. "It won't hurt you to share it at this point, at least the basics. No need to go into detail, just want to know whose side you're on."

He held out a hand, claws retracted, palm upward as if trying to reason with the winged man. It was an advantageous position - the white power gauntlet on his forearm was pointed at the target should he get unfriendlier than he already was, without seeming threatening. Plus, it could easily be read as the hand of friendship extended, if he was right about the pilot's intentions.

"If it's info that says you're a good guy, we've got no reason not to let you go get patched up. If it says you're a bad guy, well, you're outnumbered two to one, with several broken bones and probably a concussion of your own. You can't get any more screwed than you already are."
Last edited by Behemoth on Thu May 16, 2019 10:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Savant » Thu May 16, 2019 2:12 am

Tobias didn't even properly register what he was doing, until he did it. Responding to the information LaVerne had so generously provided, his aim had shifted. The gun was pointed at the knees now, not the center of mass. And as the Gargoyle reached for his holster, his finger began to caress the trigger, a split second from hobbling Aeros for good.

The Behemoth's voice cut through his focus, and the Savant holstered his weapon. Something felt dissonant. If he'd been a second faster, or Isaac a second slower, he would have simply fired. Not because of what Aeros had done. Not to avenge the red smear in the street back there. All he'd been doing was acting on instinct. The instinct of the Spinebreaker, who left mutilated corpses in his wake. The instinct of Blacksad, a finely-tuned killing machine that only the United States Armed Forces could produce.

Not the instincts of Tobias Prentice.

In any event, the duo had their quarry cornered. For some reason, Behemoth was talking to him like a potential ally. It left a bad taste in the Virtuoso's mouth, really. The Gargoyle had just killed a guy. Even if he was trying to shift the blame onto Tobias, who'd been trying to stop him. A patently absurd notion- the guy would never have been in danger if LaVerne hadn't put him there.

You did just put a round in the Baron's skull a few nights ago, a traitorous voice piped up, from the depths of the Prodigy's brain. He rolled his eyes. That's different. The Baron was a fucking monster. But then again, Aeros could have been targeting another monster. Plenty of them hide behind suits and offices, after all.

The Adept was unsure. Even if the Gargoyle was a hero, he'd turned a maybe-innocent person to salsa in the street. That felt like... a line. The sort heroes didn't usually cross.

But, on the other hand, there's not really much I can do about it. I'm not fucking Invictus, I don't have the authority to lock up whoever I want because I dislike their methods. And I doubt Behemoth here has a secret fucking prison that's capable of holding someone like this dude.

Tobias kept his mouth shut, for the moment. If his instincts about this smooth-talking douchebag were right, they'd beat the tar out of him and wait for the cops to show up. If not, he supposed they could let him go. But saying some stupid one-liner certainly wouldn't help matters much.

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Re: Purge [OPEN]

Post by Aeros » Thu May 16, 2019 11:32 am

LaVerne saw the trigger tense under the vigilante's grip as the gun shifted from his chest down to his knee. The pilot scoffed, turning his gaze away from his attacker and out to the far wall of the alleyway after shaking his head.

"What, going to cripple me, now? Join the fuckin' club with your friend over there."

And Invictus. And the Binaries. And the beast from Aberdeen—

The list went on, and on, and on, and he wasn't particularly in-fuckin'-clined to go down it at the moment, so he shoved the thought away as the first vigilante from earlier finally regrouped with his trigger-happy ally. At the very least, he possessed enough sense to ask Brock about his motivations— but apparently, the bastard also lacked enough of it to jump onto the back of a wing-suit going well over sixty miles-per-hour. Regardless, now wasn't the time to argue or insult, because what the armored one said was entirely true. He was outnumbered, had a gun pointed at him, and had broken multiple bones.

Didn't worry him, though. Not one bit. Just had to keep cool.

"The man I had in my talons before your little pal here intervened was Klaus Fischer, a business executive for Eisenalder. The entire story is much too complicated for me to waste my time explaining it, so I'll keep it brief. We all have the capacity for civility, right? I'm hoping you don't mind if I light a cigarette."

LaVerne reached into his inside jacket pocket for a moment, procuring a zippo lighter and a pack of Camels. The pilot flipped open the top of the small, crumpled box and prepared to detach the breathing mask from his helmet before halting— and inevitably moving to return the pack and lighter back to his jacket.

"Voice changer. Right, anyway. Klaus certainly wasn't a bad man, but he works— or, worked— for one. A few weeks back, I had a little touch-n-go with one of their safehouses. Caught them with their dicks out, and I was gone before they could even realize I'd been there."

The Osprey moved to the wall of the alley and leaned himself against a darkened window. After crossing his arms, he continued.

"You're just going to have to take my word for it when I say that the things I found in cold storage at Allisburgh weren't exactly pretty, even for a corporation like Eisenalder. I figured I'd go to the head of the beast directly— Klaus was the director that oversaw operations at Allisburgh for three years from a fuckin' desk in Munich before moving out to New York. If I bagged him, scared him a little bit, he'd talk. And that's what was happening, until you had to jump on my God-damn back and your friend here threw a knife into my side— which, by the way, was nice work."

He tapped the handle of the knife twice from its position directly in his side. His tone was sarcastic, in case the kid thought he was actually complimenting him.

"Not only did you lock up my suit and cause the death of an innocent man, but you've also gone and fucked my jacket. Klaus was a dirtbag, but he didn't deserve to die— and I had this handled until you decided to stick your God-damn noses in my business. Rest assured that yes, my motives are pure, and yes, you've managed to turn this God-damn operation into a goat fuck."

Aeros pushed himself off from the window, now, moving back into the center of the alleyway as he spoke once more.

"So. Let's all pat ourselves on the back for turning that old kraut into a fuckin' abstract painting. I'd report the death, but I'm not exactly keen on gettin' canned— and not sure either of you are, either, so I say we break up this little party."

On cue, the Osprey turned around and began to walk down the alley. He put two fingers up in the air and gave a curt wave as he put his back to them, breathing out as he took his leave.

"Keep the skies clear for me next time, yeah?"

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