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What the Hell?!Out of sight of prying eyes, Haldis gets more than a few dumbstruck stares, waltzing through the lobby with his clothes filthy and disheveled, face covered in blood and that same blood staining his shirt and the inside of his destroyed mask. They also give him a wide berth as the irritation on his face is threatening to show, and it’s just enough to be noticed. Still he’s paying them no heed, and enters the elevator that will lead him to his Leader’s quarters, eyes closing as the elevator doors do. By the time he reaches Sergey’s quarters, he’s regained most of his composure, though it’s still in his eyes. He enters, heading directly for the man’s location, wherever it may be.
Sergey left his apartment to head to his cabinet just several minutes ago, so when he got comfortable in his armchair and prepared to work with some papers for a bit… it wasn’t very pleasant to be interrupted by the knocking on the door. He stared dark
When a Rat Meets a SnakeGarbage…It was everywhere. It was not limited to the decay that littered the back alleys and stank up the gutters – it was a condition that extended to the people, both those who crawled and clawed their way through the city’s underbelly and those who stank of excess and self-gratification. It was the same in every city he’d been to, though here in Mira it seemed to have been taken to new extremes, from the colorful glamour of its heart to the blood that constantly flowed through its streets. Violent, complex…He fit right in.
Noah had become well-acquainted with the territory during the short time he had spent here, learning the ins and outs of the local black market. He had been working with a smaller gang at the time, as a hitman and enforcer. That all went south, though, when a high profile incident required a suitable scapegoat. And a Clan provided. Less than a week later, business was dead. It would’ve been one thing if they had actually done
Big MistakeThis entire mission had not been going well at all. He'd warned them about the heavy resistance Nilexs would put up if they just straight attacked one of their food storage warehouses, even with the aid of his systems; cutting out power, short circuiting wires, frying engines in their getaway vehicles, causing machinery, cooling and heating systems, etc to 'malfunction' in dangerous -lethal to a few unfortunate souls- ways. Even with that, he knew this would be a bust, and they didn't listen to him. '~Children.~' They don't understand a thing. Still, with the fight spilling into the streets, P'D's members trying to get out of there, some getting cut down, he decides it's definitely time to leave. Closing his black leather briefcase, he stands up on his perch (the roof of a rather tall hangar a couple blocks away from the fight), and slides down to drop the 12ft distance to the ground, landing easily and straightening out. Left hand on the briefcase, right hand in a pocket. Simpl
But Wait! There's MoreDressed -a little- more casual this particular evening, Doc Wire leaves an alleyway and heads down the street, hands in the pockets of his dark denim, fitted bootcut jeans, the ends of his semi-casual button up shirt hanging over the pantline rather than tucked in. Afterall, it’s not meant to be tucked in. He’s not wearing dress shoes tonight either, instead having a comfortable pair of slender shoes on instead. Having just finished a bit of recon that was again fairly unsuccessful (something he’s wholly unused to), it’s fair to say he’s rather irritated (putting it lightly) and so he’s decided he’s going to head home and relax a little before returning to work, turning off the HUD in his mask to get all the lights out of his face. Not that they bother him, but he’s done with work and so there’s no reason to have them on. Heading down the street, he’s keeping an eye out for a taxi to take him out of
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