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Crack is Whack [IC]


Supercape

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GM

From Nick's mouth came a voice that was not Nick. More like the running of a blade over a tombstone combined with the last words of a dying and ancient man. The words where not grammatical or logical, and ran in a peculiar halting lilt. The overall effect would be judged disconcerting to most.

"Irishman... in Irish Street... Bathed... in Blood and Poppies... Butler Street... Slash... Grip me firm... Rend...."

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If watching a hobo transform completely into something else in a fairly disgusting manner didn't already creep Drifter out, listening to a not-voice voice thing come from the skull-faced man did the rest of the job. "Now, don't get me wrong; that was cool. I know where he's holed up, though. It's a place off Yeats; Butler, Irish, get it? I guess he's a fan of being thematic. Maybe he'll be wearing a green suit or something. I've heard about it here and there, was keeping an eye on it, but I didn't know exactly what was going down in there. Now I do, I guess."

Drifter drew his grapple gun from his belt, before thinking better of it and stopping. "Uh...I don't know how you guys get around. We can hoof it, or I can do my grapple thing. I'll show you where it's at."

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Oil-slick vagrants and death-rattle necromancers; Dragonfly had a feeling she was going to regret this. mutants necromancers showmanship? - watch for backfire - too big for just me - defended guarded barricaded - always is - will need the teamwork

She sighed and shook her head. "Bike's less than a block away. Unless we walk - only seats one." Frowning a little, the heroine closed her eyes and imagined the map of the city. "Yeats isn't too far...nearly bisects Southside."

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Slick would have loved to get to grips with Knuckles... but there was perhaps a more pressing issue. What exactly was the drug "Green" that had hit the streets?

He knew a bit about biochemistry although he was no expert. He had to know a bit, being the owner of a large multinational pharmaceutical company. And that convenient fact gave him all the resources he needed to look into this.

"You guys look like you can handle O'Hagan", he said. He drew out the vial containing the drug, its aroma of ketones and other complex hydrocarbons a symphony to his acute sense of smell. "I'm going to look into exactly what we are dealing with. This needs some analysis. "

His muscles danced again to an unrecognisable man, with streaks of oil visible intermittently. "Stay in touch. And good luck". And with that, he performed a mighty leap and sped off at inhuman velocity.

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Nick caught a look at the expressions on the faces of Dragonfly and Drifter. Okay... note to self. Next time, think before calling upon the voice of dead ages during one of your team-ups.

She sighed and shook her head. "Bike's less than a block away. Unless we walk - only seats one." Frowning a little, the heroine closed her eyes and imagined the map of the city. "Yeats isn't too far...nearly bisects Southside."

"My car's parked a block away," Nick said. "Seats four, and it's fairly clean."

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GM

Yeat street was hardly salubrious, but Butler street was downright bleak. The houses were tall, four stories high, and often wide. In their prime, they were probably rather decent, but with social decline and the great depression, they had stopped becoming middle class houses and started becoming refuges for multiple immigrant families, the poor and the criminal. Drugs and prostitution completed its ruin. Now, half the houses were abandoned, or home to squatters. The other half lived in fear. Trash littered the street, and only about half of the street lights worked, making the street was patched with night time darkness. The lights that did work illuminated the kicked over trash cans, and the occasional vagrant or drug user unconscious on the pavement.

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Nick surveilled the street and all its ruin. How the hell did I not come here before? he thought to himself. I've been too focused on playing it safe...

"Looks like the place," he said. "But somehow, I doubt going door to door is gonna work." Nick then turned his attention to scanning the street, looking for ghosts that might be drawn back to O'Hagan and his product.

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GM

As Nick scanned the street, two dozen ghosts caught his eye. None where quite the same, but all looked emaciated and ill. They surely had all died from a common cause: drugs.

They were a sorry sight. The waifs and strays. They all looked hungrily at one particular house. Just as beaten up as as the rest, but this one had two large guys, one black and one white, outside, keeping a watch. The windows were boarded with iron.

The ghosts were murmuring.

"One more high"

"I can pay, Knuckles"

"Gimme a shot"

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Drifter didn't know what the necromancer was doing exactly, but he nodded as he pointed to the guarded house. "Yeah, I figured. I'm going to go topside and see what I can spot. Promise I won't make any dramatic entrances this time." Taking out his grapple gun, Drifter aimed for a nearby roof far enough away from the building that he wouldn't be easy to spot as he cased the joint. As he landed on the roof, he got look, looking for any entrances besides the obvious one, or any flaws in the building's defenses that they could exploit. A frontal attack could go badly for them.

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Slick

Elsewhere

In one of Fassbinder Pharmaceutical's laboratories out of town, Felix Fassbinder (also known as Slick), was looking at a computer readout. He had picked up a little know how, but he hardly considered himself an expert. And this stuff was out of his league.

He would have to risk asking Douglas, the head researcher, and asking him. Might be akward out of hours, but they what were friends for?

"Hi, Doughlas. Its Felix. Looks, I know its nearly the middle of the night, but I got hold of something important and I need your expertise"

"Yes, yes I know what the time is, and I know its a lot to ask. But this is really important to me. Look, I got a sample of a new drug on the street, and it hitting the town hard, Douglas. We have to find out what this stuff is, and get it stopped asap. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important to me. It what's the old man would have wanted."

That sealed it. Doug was still grumpy, but he agreed.

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Returning from his rooftop scouting, Drifter landed next to the necromancer and tech-girl, straightening his mask before speaking. "Well, we've got two options, it looks like. There's a backdoor, not guarded from the outside. Inside, can't say. I might be able to pick the lock, but I can't make any promises. Or we could just go in guns blazing. Not that I recommend it. Those guys are packing serious heat; machine pistols from the looks of it."

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Dragonfly frowned, having spent her time studying the pair of thugs. "Unfortunate options. Go in the front, have to go through the armed guards. Go in the back, might end up alerting them anyway when a fight starts...hmm." odds poor either way - unknown factors - indoor guards likely - armed bodyguards plus lesser thugs - second-rate - risk vs. reward

She bit her lip, still studying the front door. "Front is best only if we can take down the watchmen quickly. Back only if we can keep it quiet inside. ...voting front or two-pronged assault if we can risk it. Likely to end up fighting these two at some point, if we can't be subtle. May be able to plan something that evens odds in our favor."

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"We might be able to go around the back and get the jump on them from there. It's risky, but if we do it right we can get them out before they have a chance to draw their guns. They might have a key or something on them, too." Drifter scratched his chin, looking to the magician, who seemed to be the most experienced out of them. "What do you think, man? If we go for the split-up, it's probably going to be you going it along. You're our big gun here."

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"All right," Nick said. "Though... we got any idea about the lighting in there? 'Cause if we go in the back, it's possible I could provide us some shadow." As if to demonstrate, Nick clenched his fist, and the shadows around him grew thicker.

But as he did, something seemed to catch Nick's attention. While the shadows nearer to the building were growing thicker, they formed a definite light patch compared to the rest of the shadow. "So, yeah," he said, "about that 'big gun' thing... I think O'Hagan may be clued in. I saw a bunch of ghosts clawing at the door to this place, but none of 'em had the power to just walk right in. This place may be warded against death, which'll put me in a heck of a place."

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Slick

Meanwhile, In Fassbinder Labs

Douglas Downberry was not particularly happy at coming down to the Lab at this time, but he was intrigued. He was an affable fellow, 46 and a slightly short, slight man, but with a fierce intellect. As Felix, Slick has played Poker with him, and they were evenly matched: Douglas had the slightly finer mind for probabilities, countered by Slick's superior assessment of human nature and own skill at bluffing.

Douglas looked up from the spectrometer. "Well, it acts on benzodiazepine receptors. Some action on dopamine and acetylcholine, particularly in the prefrontal cortex and limbic system. Damm clever to act so specific. Very powerful agonist. Would basically push you into a dream like dissociative state. Heck, we were working on something like this for PTSD, but never got anywhere. This stuff, however. Not good. Very addictive, very powerful. Would destroy a man's mind. Or, for want of a better word, his soul."

Slick didn't like the sound of that much. Or indeed, at all.

Turning away from Douglas, he brought out his cell, texting his newfound allies:

Drug highly addictive, destroys personality and will. Complex stuff, Knuckles probably be the small fry. Have you found him?

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Dragonfly glanced down at her cell - closed and in her pocket - as the text came in, knitting her brow. foul stuff - need to stop it here - trace it further up the supply chain - see how far it goes Without bothering to so much as touch the little phone she sent a message right back (complete with Knuckles' address):

[Yes. Guarded, secure building. Possible magic warding. Debating method of entry, will keep you apprised.]

Returning her attention to the thugs at the doorway, she bit her lip and spoke up. "May be best to make a frontal assault, then. Concentrate our forces. Block off rear door to prevent escape, hope there are no hidden escape routes."

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"Right, the hard way it is." Drifter reached into his backpack, finding a pouch of smooth, polished rocks. He removed one from the pouch, testing the weight before nodding to the other two. "Right. We doing this the ninja sneak way, or the kick down the door way?"

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"If we're pretty sure we can take a few of 'em out quickly before anyone else notices, yeah," Nick said. "Otherwise, I'm all in favor of causing chaos."

Looking over the house, Nick was honestly concerned. He'd run into similar arrangements in New Orleans and Savannah, where some of the more experienced gangsters would try a hire a bokor or three to ward their holdings against vengeful ghosts or other weirdness. That was usually kept quiet, though, and Nick had only learned about it first hand. How did someone like this O'Hagan learn about the set-up?

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She nodded, the distorted outline springing up around her again. "Surprise if we can get it. Confusion if we can't. Can push for the upper hand if we...hm, here." Kneeling down, she sketched a rough diagram of the layout of the street and how a trained guard would likely react, giving rough odds of countermeasures and responses. "...over here. Plan won't be effective forever, though. Predictions change. Odds shift. Act quickly."

She stood up, dusting her hands off. "Other than that...ready when you are."

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"Well," Nick said, "if I can get a clear view of the back entrance once we get in... I think we can give us the back-up we need. It's possible I could draw up some fake policeman from ghost-stuff at the back door -- I'd technically be working my will outside of the ward, so it might be just as effective. It'd give him a choice between three heroes... or a squad of Freedom's finest SWAT officers."

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Drifter nodded at Dragonfly's plan and Nick's comment. He hoped he sounded a lot braver than he felt, though his voice wasn't above a whisper; the better for the guards not to hear. "Alright, we're doing this blitz-style; let's hit it. I'll take point." Nodding to the other two, Drifter tested the weight of his stone once more, attempting to calm his nerves. His vest could probably take a couple bullets, but he didn't want to find out.

He held up three fingers, counting down to Nick and Dragonfly. When the last finger went down, he whipped around the corner, breaking towards the guards. With any luck, he could get within throwing range before they would notice and react. If they were lucky, the three of them could take the men out without a shot being fired.

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Coming around the corner, Carter caught the two guards by surprise. Wasting no time and not wanting to waste the element of surprise, he pitched the stone in his hand hard, aiming for the closer of the armed men. He made sure to aim for the abdomen; he wasn't a baseball pitcher or anything, but he had a decent throwing arm, and he wasn't looking to kill the man, just disable him. Hopefully he could do so before a shot could be fired.

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GM

As the Drifter sped around the corner, the two thugs had just noticed him and where beginning to rise when the stone flew though the air. With unerring accuracy, the stone thudded straight into the solar plexus of one of the bare chested thugs, who promptly doubled over and hit his head against the iron railings that adorned either side of the staircase.

"You lucky..." shouted the other thug, pulling his machine pistol and letting loose a stream of bullets at his adversary. He was hardly a trained marksman, but he was no amateur, and it was close range. Only the Drifter's speed and agility saved him as the bullets whizzed a hair's breadth away from his body, into the pavement behind him.

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The bullets whizzed past Nick as he called upon the forces of death. O'Hagan may have had the place covered in enough wards to provide a tripwire for the Reaper himself. But there was still a heavy tide resting at his door step. Nick called upon the loss, the sorrow, and the fury of the gathered dead, and shaped it into a coherent whole.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Nick said as he let loose the backlash of anger, attempting to knock the thug to the ground and hold it them. "We've got some business to discuss with your boss."

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