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Wrong Place, Right Time [IC]


ex3lev3n

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November 2, 9:00pm; right off O'Donnell Street

Loud, violent music rang through the evening air. A group of shaved-down hooligans gathered about a bonfire built inside the run down remains of an old garage, adequately sized to hold the twenty-plus party animals, their girlfriends, and the much coveted keg of PBR.

Although individual conversations were hard to distinguish, the theme of each was undeniable. Hate rhetoric flew from every mouth, as did a call to arms against the so called "mongrel races". Normally, these misguided fools were just full of hot air, but tonight was different. A new player had arrived on the fascist scene of Freedom City, and he had been using his charisma to rally foot soldiers to his cause. This was the third such recruitment drive in as many weeks, but if two of Freedom City's heroes had there way, it would be the last.

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Y'know, you'd really think the boneheads would just give up and go to Atlantic City after a while.

That was what Cannonade was thinking as he crouched on the building about a block down from the bonfire. It wasn't the closest vantage point, but empty lots didn't provide much cover, and he knew he could cross the distance when the main attraction started going down. Even from here, he could hear the hate rock splitting the night air -- apparently, the white power crowd didn't care about noise violations. It's Skrewdriver, isn't it? he thought. They've got a freakish fetish for it.

Cannonade hadn't even found out about the gathering on patrol. He didn't need to. He'd been at the Fianna show down in the West End -- and why do boneheads get hot for the Celtic stuff? You'd think they'd be into the stuff from Norway that sounds like dying goats -- when some members of the Crusaders crashed it. Before they were driven out into the parking lot, they'd managed to yell about "a new leader in RaHoWa." They hadn't managed to get the name out, nor did he even think they meant to spread the name.

It's freaking White Knight, isn't it? he thought to himself. He'd gotten on the Southern Poverty Law Center website after the show. They had a tracker for sightings of hate-based vigilantes, but there was no sign of anyone on the move to Freedom City. All he could do at this point was wait, and see who would join the party.

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The streets had been buzzing with talk of a fascist movement gaining a foothold in Freedom, and Razorwing wasn't about to let that happen. It only took a few nights of legwork to uncover the time and place of the next rally, and the young vigilante had set up surveillance just across the way from the garage in the shadows of a building where the meeting, if you could call it that, was taking place.

Are they listening to Skrewdriver?

He scanned the inside of the garage with a pair of binoculars. He recognized some of the faces, but the ones he didn't recognize didn't seem like anything special. Just a bunch of hate mongers and drunks, no one that seemed like a sinister mastermind behind a fascist uprising.

"Come on, you bastard. Show your face," he said out loud to himself, unaware that another hero of Freedom was nesting on the roof above him.

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Cannonade could've sworn he'd heard someone muttering in the alley below him. Sure enough, he looked down into the alley to see someone clad in all black gazing off in the direction of the gathering. Hmmm...

He crept to the edge of the roof, then leapt down gently. He placed the jump well, landing on the asphalt without making too much of a din. When he was sure he'd gotten the guy's attention, he asked, "You waiting for the dickery to start, too?"

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Cannonade got a better look at the guy -- even though he was wearing all black in a darkened alley, he could make out at least a few things. "And you're Razorwing, right?" he said. "Heard about your work. Great stuff." He gestured to the hate fest going on in the vacant lot. "So, who do you think's gonna crash the party? Well, besides us."

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So Cannonade had heard of him. Good. They seemed to be mutual fans, and that always lent well to a team-up.

"Not sure. Probably no one, to be honest," he said in a low, harsh tone. "The rest of them normally deal with 'the big stuff': alien invasions, cosmic death rays, that sort of thing. They don't look into this sort of thing until it's already out of hand." He looked over at his companion once more before continuing.

"Nice to know someone else has their feet on the ground."

He decided not to comment on the fact that an anti-racist skinhead superhero wore red, white, and black, but that'd be for another time.

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  • 4 weeks later...

"Conviction is an admirable trait," he said to Cannonade as he searched the surroundings for a discreet path towards the garage. He doubted Cannonade was much of the sneaking type, but that was Razorwing's bread-and-butter. If his companion was going to literally "break up" the party, it'd be best if he was already on the inside when the fight started.

"I don't see him either. I'm going to get closer, find out what I can. We can keep in touch with this," he said while he pulled out a zippo-sized device from his utility belt. "I'll let you know if I find out anything useful. Click the button twice when you're ready to move in."

Razorwing had no sooner handed the commlink to Cannonade before he seemed to merge with the shadows.

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Cannonade, meanwhile, waited at the back. He kept his eyes fixed on the celebration, trying not to give in to his anger and just charge in. Guy's an expert, he knows what he's doing, he thought. Last thing I need to do is screw things up for him. He felt his fists clench, almost unaware of the motion. Besides, it'll really feel better when I get to kick their ass.

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GM POST

It had been less than a minute since Razorwing left when Cannonade spotted a pair of headlights coming up from a side road towards the gathering. The cro magnon behavior halted and the assembled racists turned their attention to the vehicle, an unremarkable though well maintained black sedan. It came to a stop twenty paces from the mass of skin heads, a tall blonde woman in a suit-skirt exiting the driver's seat and walking towards the rear.

She opened and the door and a man of obvious Aryan heritage stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, and possessed of a regal demeanor, the man was dressed head to toe in black, tailored to resemble a cross between a business suit and an SS uniform. The woman closed the door as the man crossed the loose gravel towards the garage. He stopped just short of the main body of nazi's, appraised them all with an unreadable glance, and then saluted them.

The horde all replied in kind, saluting three times and shouting their profane slogan of victory.

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Cannonade kept a watch on the gathering from a distance, recognizing the figure in the suit from a profile in the paper. Okay, German pharma rep -- guess that makes sense. And it looks like his band of bastards like what he's selling. But what the hell is he doing here? German government really doesn't like Nazis, neo- or old fashioned; showing up at a public gathering like this when you've got holdings back in Germany is a huge risk. Why not work through an agent?

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A soft "click" emanated from the tiny piece of equipment in Cannonade's hand, and a second later the young vigilante's voice whispered, "You see the suit? Bigwig German CEO, lots of cash, and ties to the German government."

Razorwing couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. Why would a high profile executive like Strauffman be seen within a mile of this rabble throwing out "heils" if he had so much to lose?

"This doesn't feel right. It doesn't add up."

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"Yeah," Cannonade said, "mainly 'cause if any of his buddies in the government found out about his leisure activities, they'd tear up the deals. For a start. The Germans really don't like seeing anyone take up the old mistakes." He racked his brain. "I don't know anything about his sympathies or his donor card, so I see three main options right now. One, he's setting up a sting... two, he's setting up something bad for Nazi scum... or three, he's a player in something bigger, and someone's calling in his marker."

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GM POST

The well-dressed German seemed pleased, speaking with and shaking the hands of a number of the skinheads that approached him. The heroes were unable to to hear his words due to the distance and the riotous music, but the meaning seemed clear enough. The female driver followed Strauffman as he mingled with the throng of racists and charismatically "rubbed elbows" as it were with the faction heads of various skinhead gangs.

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  • 4 weeks later...

GM POST

Cannonade sensed something amiss with the gathering, other than the crowd. It seemed that whenever Strauffman came in contact with anyone and said a few words to them, their actions became more rigid and disciplined, and soon he had an entourage escorting him into the thick of the crowd. The female driver seemed curiously behind her charge.

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"Yeah, that ain't kosher..." Cannonade clicked on the earpiece to pass word along. "Hey, Razor? This guy's really good at his stuff. He's getting everyone lined up like they wanna goose step down Park Street. Now, could be he's just a charismatic bastard, but you may wanna be careful down there in case he's getting in their heads."

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From his vantage point in the darkest corner of the garage his view was blocked by rusted sheet metal and skinheads, but he had gotten a look at Strauffman as he greeted the 'leaders'. Razorwing lost sight of them after that as they made their past the opened double doors of the dilapidated garage.

Cannonade clicked on the earpiece to pass word along. "Hey, Razor? This guy's really good at his stuff. He's getting everyone lined up like they wanna goose step down Park Street. Now, could be he's just a charismatic bastard, but you may wanna be careful down there in case he's getting in their heads."

The young hero hadn't seen anything amiss, but he decided it best to trust his partner on this one.

"Copy that. I lost sight of Strauffman. You want me to follow the crowd or stay put?" he asked Cannonade over the commlink.

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"Follow the crowd," Cannonade said. "Just be careful. This guy may have some sort of whammy going on. You start hearing 'Deutschland Uber Alles' in your head, pull back." He paused. "I'll move in, too. Get closer in case things go south."

With that, Cannonade leapt up onto a nearby rooftop, creeping slightly closer to get both a better vantage point and staging ground for the fight that would inevitably follow.

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