Closed RP Corner Pocket (Pittsburgh)

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Ricochet

Ricochet

New member

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Pittsburgh- 10:41 PM​

It had been some time since he had been in the states. The increase in the costumed hero population meant these types of jobs came with a failure to complete cost that most weren't willing to pay. He had been half hoping nobody would end up paying it so he could stay the hell out of the halloween town that was vigilante culture. Every once in awhile though he got a client who shattered that dream.

The target was some former top dog in the Russian Mafia who had left his, very rich, bosses daughter at the altar to run away with a rivals daughter he had met in the US. Real Romeo and Juliet stuff. 'Story always ends the same way, you think these types would catch on.' he thought as he peered through the scope on his pool cue. He was eight buildings away. Eyes locked onto a laundromat; Suds & Things. "Shit name" he muttered under his breath.

Intel said the guy was getting cover from the Shining Light Triad. Sadly for him they weren't that good at keeping him hidden. He at his watch then shifted his scope down the street. A black car turned onto the road.

"Bingo"

He rolled a pool ball, a bright green 6, in his hand. The client had requested that number specifically. It was how many years this guy and his daughter had been together. Fingers danced across its polished surface leaving faint magical symbols in their wake. 3 accelerates and a pierce. It was the standard for this range. He gently positioned the projectile in the air and took his shooting stance. Eyes locked onto the car.
"15 seconds. 6 ball, right temple. "
His pool cue slid back and forth letting him get a feel for just how much power he would need. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. The car pulled to a stop. The front doors opened. Two men stepped out, neither were his target. One opened the door to the laundromat. The other opened the rear right passenger side door. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. The target emerged. The first guys body was in the way. Deep breath in. The pair moved around the car. CRACK The ball ripped through the air, accelerating to the speed of a bullet, ready to punch a hole clean through the right temple.
 
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A bullet ripped through the air. It shot cleanly toward it's target, until, at the last second, it collided with something in midair. Sulphur peered through his sniper's sights, frowning. Whatever his bullet had hit had shattered. Judging by its trajectory, it was likely intended to hit his target, a former Russian mobster who Obsidian had assigned the hit on as part of their growing relations with another group. Whatever it was, it was gone now, shattered by the force of his bullet. The pieces sprayed around the target, who looked around in panic.

Well, that was going to make this hard. He quickly racked the gun, loading another bullet into the chamber of his Sako TRG M10, training the gun on the target. He was moving quickly, his guards trying to shuffle him back into the car. Lucky for Sulphur, he didn't seem to be heading their warnings, and was being quite difficult as he insisted on looking around. He wasn't going to find where the sniper was, more than twelve buildings away. Sulphur took in a breath.

In the time it took him to breathe in, he started making the calculations. He accounted for the wind, for the height and the angle, for the motion. He accounted for the bodyguards moving around in his way. And he patiently waited another three seconds, at which point he had come to the conclusion that they would have moved into the perfect angle for him to take another shot.

Hopefully whatever that object from before was had just been a fluke. If another miss occurred, this was going to end up being a chase, and that was going to be an issue. From his position, he'd be able to fire about four blocks before they got away from him in any direction with the height of the building. He let his breath out, and on the exhale Crack. He fired his second shot, aiming once again for the man's head, this time aligning right with his left eye, in what would be an instant kill shot.​
 

"Mother Fu-" He ducked down when the gunshot rangout. Had they hired protection? Did someone just purposely hit his shot out of the air? No, not possible, he had covered his tracks. Someone else was after his mark. Normally not much of an issue. You just issue the client a refund. The problem was he had already spent the refundable portion of the downpayment on this nice new scope & the non-refundable part wouldn't be enough to cover it. He conjured another pool ball and took aim again. Four accelerate sigils this time, hoping to be faster than whoever he was having a shoot off with.

The target wasn't making it any easier standing there swiveling his head like a snipers choose your own adventure game. "You're supposed to run when you're getting shot at moron." His body guards were moving to rush him into the building. He calculated the distance, he'd have to bank this one off of a nearby lightpost to get around the human shields doing their best to cover someone with the survival instincts of a lemming. A shot through the eye would work though. He took the shot.

CRACKPING CRASH

His pool ball exploded right in front of the targets face sending shards of resin into his eyes. He ducked down and his body guard rushed him into the laundromat. If they didn't rush him into the car they definitely believed this spot was fortified enough to hold off any would be assassin.
"He did say any means necessary." He started his traversal towards the building. Careful to avoid staying in one place too long incase his would be rival got any funny ideas.

 
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Well that was unfortunate, wasn't it? Sulphur smiles softly to himself as he quickly disassembled his sniper rifle and placed it neatly back into the altered guitar case that he used to hide it. He was going to have to close in on foot. And whoever he was competing with likely had a head start, as they seemed to be closer than he was. So he was going to have to book it if he wanted to get there first.

And he did want to get there first. After all, this was a game now. Whoever was the best would get the kill, and they'd get to walk away knowing they'd completed the job. His competition was certainly interesting as well. If he hadn't been mistaken, what he had seen through his scope was most definitely a pool ball, and not another bullet. But it had all the speed and impact of a bullet, which meant he was likely dealing with another metahuman.

While he wasn't like Malachite had been– just thinking of his lost brother made his soul twinge in anger and pain– who'd had a fondness for fighting other metas and testing his mettle against them, Sulphur did enjoy when he encountered one who put up a good fight against him. And one who could potentially match his aim and his abilities with projectiles? That was as good a game as any.

He supposed it would be good to let this other assassin know that this was a game now. He had no way to really let him know, though, so hopefully whoever it was figured it out over time. Maybe as long as he didn't aim for them, they would put two and two together and get four. Of course, the amount of people who seemed incapable of doing that astounded Sulphur. He seemed to live in a world full of the incapable.

He started to hightail it down the stairwell, making his way toward the shitty laundromat. He kept moving, not stopping for too long in any one place. He didn't want this opponent getting any funny ideas about maybe turning those magic pool balls against him. As he moved, he pulled his hand gun from its holsters under his arm, a Dan Wesson DWX that he cared for on a daily basis. It was his preferred firearm in closer quarters. He cracked his neck with a sharp crick before he started to close in on the building, keeping an eye out for any unusual movement.​
 


From an alleyway next to the building he spotted someone approaching, weapon drawn. He looked to be around his own age and all too normal. Kind of made him feel overdressed given the difference in their appearance. Much more traditional assassin garb from him but, with a distinct fire in his eyes that only someone in their line of work could recognize. The eyes of a man who could take a life and in that same breath lock away the look of a dying man deep within his mind.

He shot a ball past his head. Clearly not meant to hit its target. It was the type of shot that said 'I know where you are and the next one won't miss if you try anything'. The ball stopped in the air about two feet behind Sulphur.

He formed another in his hand and leveled his pool cue to shoot it if need be. "That's my mark in there, client already sent me the down payment."

​

 

The ball whizzed past his head with an audible whirling sound. Sulphur ducked back behind his cover, clicking the safety off his gun as he listened to the other man talk. He'd gotten a good look at him. The man was dressed quite… ostentatiously. For an assassin, he was certainly not hiding very well. But maybe that was part of his whole deal. After all, the pool balls were a highly specific choice of weapon as well.

"Paid for and everything? My, you certainly have a situation then, don't you?" His voice rang out, neutral in tone, his voice somewhere in the mid-range in terms of pitch. There might have been just a hint of a smile backing it. "Seems to me, we're at an impasse. While my employer expects me to be the one to put a hole through that man's head, you have already received a payment. We could make this interesting."

While Sulphur spoke, he pulled a compact mirror from the inside of his suit jacket, his gloved hands flipping it open with ease, the magnetic clasp opening with minimal fuss. He tilted it until he could see the edge of the other man's outline. If he wasn't agreeable to making this a game, one in which the best would win, then he would have to deal with the fact that the man seemed more likely to kill him than let him complete his job. Having eyes on him certainly helped.​
 


'The little twerp thinks he's better than me?' was the first thought that ran through his mind. He had been a prodigy his whole life. His metahuman aspect let him learn at a pace that left natural talent in the dust. When your whole life is spent surpassing your peers you tend to develop a lot of a ego. Was it smart to take him on, no. Was there a fairly large chance he wound up with a bullet in his back, yes. Did he care, see the former.

"There's probably about 25-30 guys in there," he didn't lowered his pool cue, "you think you can handle that kind of heat then consider it a game. If you get to him before me I'll even buy you a drink."

 

Sulphur's small smile grew just a touch. He took in a centering breath as he looked at the laundromat. Before coming out here, he'd gotten the layout, just in case something happened and he'd need to go inside. That meant nothing if they'd done off the books modifications, however.

"I have no doubts in my capabilities. Let's agree on no 'friendly fire' then. Given your aim back there, I'd assume you can manage that." He said it with emphasis on "friendly fire", to indicate that he knew they weren't true friendlies, but that it was the closest term he could come up with for what they were engaging in. With that said, he stepped out, tucking the compact mirror back in his inner pocket.

Despite that, he held his gun up, angled perfectly to place a bullet in the man's head if he needed to. He didn't fire, nor was his finger on the trigger, if the man was observant enough to notice that. Sulphur was confident enough that he would take the deal, as he was engaging, that he didn't feel the need to be ready to do anything other than drop, if a ball came flying at his head.​
 


He winked at the comment about his aim before nodding his head in agreement. He kept the fellow assassin in his peripheral as he approached the Laundromat door. The entire storefront was glass with the lights up nice & bright. The inside was devoid of life. Just rows of washers and dryers waiting for their nightly feast of 2nd shifter laundry. He immediately clocked the door at the back. If this was a drug operation the chances were they were on the upper floors with ventilation wired directly into the building. The smell of dryer exhaust would help mask any chemical scent.

He opened the door just enough to gently guide the brass bell out of the way with his pool cue. With a nod he gestured for Sulphur to move in first so he could let it down. The linoleum was stereotypical white & blue checkerboard with that faux marble veining. A small trail of blood, most likely from their target, led to the back stairwell. He pressed his ear against it.

Approximately 10 feet up the stairwell he heard the slight shuffle of footsteps. Two sets of them. The first was halfway up, the second at the top peeking around a doorway. He rolled his hand over, conjuring a striped 14. He placed it in the air in front of the window, angled his shot, Bounce sigil, bounce sigil, pierce, Accelerate, accelerate, and then he let it fly. The ball crashed through the small window and him right behind it. It bounced off the wall into the head of the first thug. The one at the top of the stairs swung behind cover to avoid the shot.

Ricochet's movements were fluid. Flowing from the ground into a series of off the wall hops that got him above the top of the stairs. When the other guy came peered back out to take a shot he got a pool cue through the top of the skull. Shouts came from further inside the building. It was time to see if his competition could keep up.
 

When the other assassin didn't send a ball through his head, Sulphur was quick to follow, slipping in through the door that he held open for him. He took a quick look around, looking for anything out of the ordinary– and he noted one thing. No immediately obvious cameras in the room, which was strange. Most laundromats that Sulphur had been to, when he was younger, had at least one camera, that covered most of the room, including the entrance, to ensure that no one came or went unnoticed. This was especially true given most laundromats were unmanned these days.

So this was a front, like they had assumed it was. Confirming that hadn't been on today's docket, but neither had been a game of odds with another assassin or clearing out another gang's territory. The Shining Light Triad were on the list of gangs that Obsidian eventually wanted to control, so this was beneficial to the overall plan. At least, that's what Sulphur rationalized as he followed the man to the back door.

For a moment, he watched him work, letting him handle the first two men. He took a lead up the stairs, but Sulphur was close on his heels. He slipped past him, listening for footsteps coming down the stairs to the next floor. They were just beyond a door, growing closer. He closed his eyes for half a second, until the door opened. Then, he flipped out his compact, angling it to see the three men coming down the stairs. He saw a flash of a gun being raised, and quickly withdrew his hand as a volley of bullets flew past, burying themselves into the stairway and the wall. It took a moment longer than Sulphur would have expected for them to stop firing– and he realized with a bit of disappointment that they had made his job easy by wasting all their ammo.

The tall blonde man stepped out around the corner and raised his arm in a single, continuous motion. One, two, three shots rang out from the gun in Sulphur's hands. He adjusted the gun, taking out the three men in quick succession with a sigh. Their bodies dropped, the guns clattering on the ground, empty of bullets, among the spent shells. "That was disappointing. Maybe the next room will be more of a challenge."

His voice was soft as he led the way up the stairs. At the top of landing to the second floor, he stopped. The staircase went all the way up, but there was no guarantee exactly where they had ushered away the target. Sulphur looked to the man next to him, then to the door. Almost as if to say to his competitor, "Feel free to go first."​
 


Cold, calculating, & efficient were the three words that popped into his mind while he watched Sulphur move into the next room. There wasn't any hesitation or the stereotypical assassin 'lure you in and then let them kill you' that he had half been expecting & half doing himself. Before he could even remove his cue from the thugs skull the kid was past him clearing out the next section. He moved like a soldier with far more trust in Ricochet than he was getting in kind. Part of him couldn't help but feel a little bad about making so much noise to set his competition up.

He moved past the kid without hesitation. Weaving around the tumbling bodies and then using his pool cue like a pole to vault up onto the floor above. Through a window he saw four more guys springing towards the stairwell with guns drawn. Above he could hear the shuffle of even more hostiles approaching.

"Since they know we're here..." He kicked the door open and whipped a pool ball at the approaching foes. The first three guys ducked down but, the fourth didn't get the memo. It struck him square in the forehead knocking him out. He moved in after it. Bringing the end of his pool cue into the shortest's hand. It crunched under the impact sending the gun clattering to the floor. With a flick of his upper body he snapped the other end forward into his face. The guy stumbled back and knocked another down like poorly placed dominoes. The third leveled his firearm and started shooting.

Ricochet quickly transitioned into a wall run to avoid the shots, pushed off past him, positioned the thugs neck between his pool cue and both of his forearms, and use the momentum of his weight coming down to snap it. The body fell limp as the other two finally scrambled back to their feet. They pulled knives from their belts and charged. An overhead slash was blocked by a quickly conjured pool ball and met with a donkey kick to the chest. It put just enough distance between the two to avoid a thrust from the other interested party. He reacted quickly; grabbing the outstretched arm then snapping it at the elbow with a strike. The knife clattered to the ground. His opponent screamed in pain before being muted by a pool ball being forcefully wedged into his open mouth.

He tumbled past both of them, picked up his pool cue, and then sprinted back out into the staircase. BOOOOOM the fireball sigil on the ball detonated like a grenade. A bit of smoke billowed out from beneath the door. "Floors clear."

 

The older assassin was quick and efficient as he took out the next floor. Quick, efficient, and Sulphur had to admit, quite stylish. He watched from the doorway, keeping an eye out for stray bullets that might take him out, with a bit of envy. While guns were his primary choice for daily operations, what he wouldn't give to have a bow and arrow in his hands next to this man. The things he could do with that would have been far more interesting visually than what he could do here.

Still, Sulphur gave a small, approving smile to the man as he announced that the floor was clear, and without hesitation, started toward the third floor. There was no doubt the men beyond the door at the top of this flight knew they were there. He could hear the hollering as they geared up and the sound of feet stomping across the floor. A small, sideways smile crossed his face as he tilted his head. That sounded a lot more fun than the previous group had been. He checked behind him for the other assassin, just to make sure he was keeping up.

Without waiting for permission, Sulphur swung open the door, gun raised and ready. As he breached the room, the men paid him no mind, allowing him to slip into the room and past them, to a point of cover under a table. It was only as he ducked, his fluffy head of white blonde hair disappearing, that they seemed to notice him.

Little ceremony proceeded the men opening fire. They staggered their fire, taking turns to aim, reload, and fire. Sulphur took it as an opportunity to pinpoint their locations, as he had already used the cover to move from one table to another, and was nowhere near where they were firing. He waited for the next round of fire to stop, then came out from his hiding spot. Half of the six men had helmets, and the others didn't. He aimed for them first, taking them out quickly in a three shot burst. With a grace better befitting a dancer than a man of Sulphur's stature, he slipped between the bullets, twirling his gun around after it had cooled off.

As he closed in on the last three, he raised the gun, and slammed the but of it into the first man's face, breaking his nose. He collapsed, holding it to try and stop the bleeding. He used the man's body as cover to shoot the other two in their knees, dropping them, and forcing them to relinquish their weapons. Then it was a simple matter of tapping them through their now unprotected necks and chests. Blood sprayed from the wounds as his bullets pierced through the shitty body armor that they wore, which was unable to block a bullet at such a close range. Finally, he placed his gun under the chin of the man whose nose he'd broken, and he pulled the trigger, holding the man's gaze. The body slipped away, falling down.

Somehow, as Sulphur rose back to his feet, there wasn't a single speck of blood on his clothes. His shoes were less fortunate as he stodd in the middle of the pooling blood from the six dead men. He sighed, almost blissfully. He gestured with his free hand. "Room's clear"​
 
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