Have A Cigar!(IC)

[Ari]

GM

2011, November 4th, 9.30 P.M.

The glowering warehouse stood in its place, its number in metal above the large double door, a row of eight of its brothers and sisters, all alike as peas in a pod. Number 4, however, had a special honor tonight: it was playing host to a gathering of the enforcers of two of the leading Mafia families: the Drioganos and the Olivertis. While the two weren't officially at war, they were hardly friends, and their representatives sat on opposite sides of the room, watching each other like hawks while awaiting the all clear from the watchmen posted around the warehouse. With a crackle of static, each band moved towards the large table set on the upper floor of the place, keeping a close eye on each other for the slightest of movements towards the weapons both sides had brought despite the clear orders of their leaders.

Al Driogano and Giovanni Oliverti hadn't seen the point of coming in person. So instead they had each entrusted an underboss with the task of making the deal. Seeing it best to avoid meeting together in case of attack, and discounting calling due to attacks that seemed led by phone taps. A meeting like this was one of the few ways they could be sure they had even a chance of being undetected, and even this was thick with risks, leading to the deployment of a dozen of the best shots the two families could gather together for the night.

The two underbosses, a sleek, ell-like fellow and one reminiscent of a camel, seated themselves and looked warily at each other. Oliverti was rumored to be readying for a crippling blow to one of the Driogano's operations, and it was hoped that his deal of cooperation could smooth things over for now.

Outside, the dozen watchdogs took drags from cigarettes and fingered their weapons, ready to fire a warning shot at the first sign of a cape...

[supersheep]

Quarrel

Enzo's sojourn to Freedom City had been one rife with paperwork the last few months, but that didn't mean he didn't have an ear to the ground. After all, it paid little to be a costumed adventurer on the side who just wandered around the city streets aimlessly looking for trouble; you had to know where to look. With a little bit of eavesdropping, some sight-seeing to the local dives, and a bit of practiced know-how, Quarrel soon found himself in his own current predicament.

Sitting a good ways from the warehouse where he'd heard rumors of some sort of deal going on with the local gangs, it soon became obvious that the darkly-mosaic archer was in over his head. With his hood upturned and eyes keenly observing the cadre of men puffing their nicotine-rife death sticks from behind his mask, their hands at the ready, it became obvious this wasn't what he thought it was going to be. These weren't your average pushers or gangbangers looking to consolidate their forces. These were the big-boys, clad in their tailored suits and brandishing top-notch iron, organized criminals of the foulest variety.

"Descaballado," bemoaned the Aztec-themed sharpshooter in a whisper, hunkering down as far as he could against the rooftop across from the array of armed men standing guard outside the mafiosi-infested warehouse. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

Slinging his compound bow discreetly from his shoulder alongside a pair of arrows, Quarrel surveyed the situation delicately. If he were to attempt a frontal assault, he would have to be quick, taking the allotted men out all in one fell swoop to avoid alerting the other targets inside. Failure would mean a shoot-out, and the head honchos would slip out the back. No... he would just have to wait and see if an opportunity would present itself. Maybe they'd get sloppy, have to use the restroom, something. Quarrel just needed a chance to take them down without rousing suspicion.

"This used to be so easy..." sighs the young hero again, returning to his prone state as he observed the guards' from afar, waiting for the chance to take his shot against the men in the darkening streets below.

[Brown Dynamite]

Omen

Looking down from across the rooftop of one of the nearby warehouses the costumed crimefighter, Omen skulked comfortably in the darkness. The cool night wind danced softly against his skin as he prepared himself for tonight's catch. It was actually pretty considerate of them to plot this meeting so nearby, he didn't have to stroll that far from his penthouse just to join the party. He'd have to show his thanks by taking them down quickly. Taking a keen look at the neighboring warehouse he figured it would take a bit more tact than simply busting his way in. Although there was something to be said about simply busting in.

Not that he could simply ignore the chance to stick it to Driogano and Oliverti's operations by bringing in their underbosses. There was also the fact that information straight from the horse's mouths would be fruitful. The athletic teen certainly wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. He made sure to scan the perimeter once more, not wanting to miss any other guards in the area and giving himself ample opportunity to crack a joke about the mobsters. "If you're going to make a late night rendevouz in an abandoned warehouse, it'd probably be good to bring a gift maybe chocolates. Or else you're just a cheap date," Erick quipped to no one in particular. Being focused on the mobsters guarding Warehouse number 4, he hadn't stopped to consider anyone else also looming over a rooftop.

[Ari]

Marceau Suvou sped noiselessly through the night, his legs pumping up and down as they carried him to the edge of the Boardwalk, where his informant had told him a meeting of the Mob families Driogano and Oliverti to discuss a potential operation in the Fens. He had decided to investigate, and in necessary put a stop to it. It was common knowledge that the two families worked together, but as of late the Oliverti's had been getting restless, and Giovanni was rumored to be looking for more profitable partnerships.

Marceau slid to a halt at the edge of a warehouse near number 4's western wall. He knew he ought to have changed into his disguise at least a block before, but some longing for fresh air kept him from donning his cowl until now, almost within sight of the patrolling men. With a weary sigh he pulled on the rest of his more rigid costume, adjusting the armored boots to iron out a wrinkle in one sock. The red breastplate with the white diamond presented no difficulty, being just flexible and bendy enough to be comfortably put on and worn while still being protective.

Attaching the cape, the black red and white hero the King of Suits fired his grapple gun at the warehouse roof above him, scrambling up right next to a blond man in black. Startled, he only just managed to lower his voice before blurting out "Hey, who're you?!" his gaze was fixed on the blue eye symbol the man wore, and with it came a revelation "Are you with Foreshadow? Is he here?" he asked eagerly, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark night.

[Brown Dynamite]

Omen

Erick stared at the man clad in red, white, and black with apprehension. Sighing he began to reply in a low whisper, "Name's Omen and no I am not directly associated with Foreshadow. His symbol just tends to summon the right amount of fear for the people down here. So, I wear it as a tribute to the guy. I doubt he's here, he probably would have caught these guys before they even made it to the warehouse. Sorry to disappoint." The explanation was certainly rehearsed, but it flowed well. Besides it wasn't as if the mob had taken to hiring capes, so he was probably on the up and up.

Giving the man a once over he came to his own conclusion. "Well I don't have to be Foreshadow to figure that you're here for the same party I am." Erick wasn't bothered by the prospect of others arriving to bust up Driogani and Oliverti's talks. After all, he never once thought about taking up the whole lone wolf part of the gist. That was a lonely and a bit dangerous approach to things with all respect to his father of course.

[Ari]

Blinking in surprise(with a slight flash of disappointment at learning the nigh-legendary Foreshadow wasn't attending), the King of Suits shrugged, and cheerfully thrust forward his gloved hand "The King of Suits, at your assistance Omen! I take it you already know about the reason for the meeting? About Oliverti and Driogano trying to patch things up and all that?" he scanned the rooftops and stiffened when he saw a hooded and masked figure holding a bow. "Hmm. I think we might have another party here Omen. Would you like me to talk to them, you want to go or should we proceed as a company to propose an alliance? I doubt he's int he pay of the Mob, they'd never let an agent of theirs wear a mask like that"

[Brown Dynamite]

While griping the King of Suits hand Omen also caught sight of the hooded figure nearby and nodded. "The more the merrier. No reason why the two of us can't go over and get the introductions out of the way. Especially, if they're also here to cause a bit of a stir." The bow was a nice touch, though he was starting to wonder if they would end up running into a fourth person at this rate. It only went to show how big of a deal these talks really were if the information was so readily available for those looking. That or everyone knew just where to look.

[supersheep]

Quarrel

As the caped vigilante known as Quarrel awaited his ample opportunity to infiltrate the warehouse full of criminal lieutenants, something odd catches his eye. It's only for a fraction of a second at first; the sight of something shuffling upwards towards one of the nearby warehouses. Cocking an eye and readjusting his point-of-view, Quarrel re-positioned himself for a closer examination. That's when he saw them, silhouetted in the shadows beyond: a pair of costumed individuals! While it was hard to say for certain whether they were friend or foe, it seemed odd that they'd be poised together - one substantially more flashy than the other, at that - in a position that could serve to adequately assault the group of wiseguys guarding the front door to the ever-so-mysterious Warehouse #4.

If the latter, then the odds were certainly stacked against the Latino archer. But that's not what Quarrel's gut said. No, these guys were on the up-and-up, unlike the well-dressed men below. From where he was perched so precariously, they appeared to be in the same boat as himself: waiting for an opportunity to strike. At least, until they looked up and spied him spying at them.

"Good. Doesn't look like they're with em'," Quarrel murmured to himself as the duo across the way atop the other roof decidedly chose not to attack, taking a moment to peer downwards at the still stationary goons at street-level. They couldn't just sit here all night; someone was going to have to make the first move. Preferably before the mobsters decided to vamoose.

Once more re-situating himself, the man with the avian masked gripped his bow in one-hand, using his other for what appeared to be hand gestures. Pointing downwards, Quarrel motioned towards the dozen or so mooks still dragging their smokes at the base of Warehouse #4; attempting to convey that now would be the time to strike while they had the advantage of numbers; relatively, anyway.

With his vague hand signals sent, the Aztec-themed adventurer steeled his resolve, seizing the opportunity to draw the pair of blunt-tipped arrows back from out of the quiver cleverly concealed behind his cape as he strung them, the familiar resistance of his bow a warm reminder of his chosen career. With deadly aim, Quarrel readied himself for the assault. Hopefully, the three impromptu heroes could catch the guards unawares through luring tactics, take them down, storm the building, and catch the crooks with their pants down before they even knew what hit them!

[Ari]

At the motions the archer made, Marceau glanced sharply down at the regularly-spaced thugs. Glancing over to Omen he muttered "I think they want us to make a sneak attack on those guys down there, lure them away and subdue them quietly to make gaps in their lines while that archer weakens them further by drawing them off himself. That sound like a good idea to you? Because I think it might be better to just throw some smoke bombs down there, grapple into the building through one of those boarded-up windows, and attack the delegate parties that way while the archer deals with the guards int he confusion" he looked at Omen "What do you think?"

He personally didn't want to have to be anywhere near people using guns, but if he had to he knew he'd feel better about it if he was at closer quarters, as that meant he would be in the chaos of close-quarters combat, and wouldn't be hindered by his absolute terror and possible flashbacks. In fact, sometimes the sheer chaos had helped him, by removing him from abstract fears like failing missions and giving him the immediate goal of getting that gun out of that guy's hand.

He had to admit though, that he was slowly getting more and more comfortable around firearms, and could now spend more than three minutes being shot at with little ill effect.

That aside, there was important work to do, and he eased the boomerangs and smoke bombs in his belt in case they needed to be used instantly.

[Brown Dynamite]

Looking down at the guards Omen noted that they didn't exactly seem heavily armed. Of course it didn't take many bullets to get the job done. "The smoke bombs would probably be preferable. Especially if their numbers aren't much bigger inside the warehouse. It does mean the archer will be late to the juicy part having to take out the goons alone though." Both plans were feasible, but with the King of Suits plan they could at the very least use it as a pincer assault. Giving the honchos no hope for escape.

Besides that there was the fact that when breaking into a building it is better to go from top to bottom. Omen also had the right equipment for King of Suit's plan, but it still left them with one problem. "So...how are we going to let him now we're changing his plan though? It's a bit wordy for impromptu hand signs." His tone remained calm as he wasn't bothered by the situation. They were still in the advantage even if they hadn't universally decided how they were going to go about their plan of attack. That was the beauty of the element of surprise.

Still he was mentally prepared for the possibility that they could all get riddled with bullets. It wasn't comforting, but it was the risk. Omen at the very least was confident he was fast enough to move before the trigger could be pulled. But still this would be the moment his personal feelings clashed with reality. Hopefully his confidence wasn't misplaced. Not that he'd ever admit a moment of self-doubt. Reckless abandon all the way.

[Ari]

"Simple" the King replied briskly, and whipping out a playing card and a pen, he clicked the writing instrument into readiness and scribbled down the following: I am the King of Suits, I have no powers but I do have some experience dealing with armed criminals. The other is called Omen and is associated with Foreshadow, I assume he is a protege of the vigilante. I believe I have a better plan: I and Omen will throw smoke bombs down at the guards, and then swing through the boarded-up window on the side of the warehouse the Mafia people are in- see other side> he flipped it over and continued -adjacent to me and Omen. We will capture the delegates, secure them, and then assist you in apprehending as many of the guards as we can. If you wish to inform us of a better plan, please write it on whatever surface you can fire over with the pen I'll send your way. Regards, K.o.S. That done, he twirled the two items in his hands before throwing them with impeccable accuracy onto the rooftop where the figure of Quarrel could be made out. Turning to Omen he said brightly "Well, now if Archer there-" he stopped, adding as an aside "Who knows? Maybe that's their name. Really, I once met a bow-wielding hero named Archer in regular life" coughing a little he finished "-has a better plan, they'll let us know in a moment"

Dropping into a crouch, he observed the stars with a deep intensity. He often wondered if people could really tel the future with them, though that seemed to defy several well-established material principle. He tensed himself as he listened for the whine of an arrow or the crack of a gun.

[supersheep]

Quarrel

As he awaited the first strike from his impromptu comrades down the street, Quarrel soon found himself on the receiving end of a very peculiar message. Startled slightly as the pen and playing card come clattering atop the room, sliding only a few inches from his foot, the young archer gave a wistful glance towards his heroic compatriots, a look of surprise behind the mask.

Quietly returning the arrows to his quiver and stealthily moving backwards, Quarrel stooped down atop the warehouse's roof, scooping up the creatively conjured letter. Slowly, he read the duo's newly conceived plan, an eyebrow arched as he analyzed the situation. On the one-hand, it had its merits: slipping in amongst the confusion, they had a chance to apprehend everyone inside with significantly more ease than if, say, another dozen men were present. On the other end of the spectrum though, there was no telling how many more goons were inside, not to mention the prospect of Quarrel being left with such a staggeringly large number to deal with himself. If he were to come up short or have the other men go running into the building, it'd be a bloodbath annotated in a hail of gunfire. That means he'd have to be fast... no, beyond fast; he'd need to sweep the men off of their feet faster than he's ever done.

"Nunca es' facil," sighed Enzo, looking from one side of the armed cadre to the other before returning his gaze. With no rogue leaflets lofting about - after all, he was on a roof! - Quarrel was left with little more than his own signification to relay his acceptance of this course of action. Hopefully the other two could get things done pronto. It was a gamble, and everyone knew the risks... Quarrel just hoped he wouldn't come to regret the odds.

Hoisting a thumbs up in the direction of the dynamic duo over yonder, Quarrel rearmed himself, poised to take the shot the second they began their assault. With any luck, Enzo could pick off at least half of the assembled contingent crew below in a flurry of arrows; enough to at least give the surprisingly unpowered enforcers across the way atop the warehouse a fighting chance.

[Brown Dynamite]

Watching the card fly through the air Omen raised an eyebrow in confusion. It got the job done he just wasn't exactly used to card mail. Well that wasn't the issue at hand and he wasn't going to prod about whatever King of Suit's had written on the card. Seeing as the archer looked as if he had begun preparing himself for the change in the place. "Well then let's get to work."

Reaching towards the utility belt housed on his waist, Omen placed his hands on the grapple gun that sat comfortably on his side. He would have reached for the smoke pellets instead, had it not been for the fact that cowled hero having coming up with the plan must mean that he already had smoke bombs of his own. Unless Omen was advertising that he was walking around with them. Parting his lips to speak softly in the cold night air he continued, "Just give me the go ahead when you're ready."

That all too familiar feeling of his adrenaline running began to take hold. Things were about to get interesting and he knew it. His heart and mind remained calm as he focused on the task at hand. Just like always he had begun to psyche himself up. It was just a different stage on a different night. Just charging down the runway and heading for the vault. And just like always it will be 10s across the board.

[Ari]

Nodding firmly the King of Suits whipped smoke grenades from the sleeves in his cape, throwing them with impeccable accuracy at the feet of the watchers below, the canisters, their pins pulled sharply from their fastenings, releasing their cargo of dark smoke into the alleyway for several yards in every direction. As the gunmen coughed and scattered, trying to escape the blanketing mass.

While the chaos below slowly escalated, Marceau fired a grapple line to the roof just above the window that was his destination, aiming to catch Omen if the younger man missed his shot. Once he had a secure handhold, he called to the other vigilante "Ready!"

[supersheep]

Quarrel

And so the foray into this cockamamie scheme against the aggregated mobsters had begun. As motes of smoke grew into tumultuous torrents of cloudy shadow from one of the other heroes' chemical canisters, Quarrel watched on as the rooftop vigilantes made for their ever-so-grandiose entrance. Now was the best chance to waylay the mooks below, seizing the opportunity to deliver the proverbial coup de' grace en masse from on-high as they scrambled through the eschewed order

"Here we go again."

Once more reconciling his aim, the mosaic-garbed hero stood up from his perched position, bracing himself. With a practiced flash, Quarrel pulled back upon the composite bow's string, the familiar echo of of a twang following suit as his projectile flew forth. The whistling through the air only signified the first of many, as Quarrel continued to exemplify his sharpshooting talents by quickly readying one shot after another, creating a staccato of strings from his trusty weapon, blunted arrows raining down upon the men below in an aerial cacophony of siren-like screeches.

[Brown Dynamite]

Pulling out his own grapple gun, Omen fired his line in the same direction as the King of Suits. Without giving it much consideration he leapt for the air pulling himself towards the unguarded window where the other costumed vigilante would be awaiting. He hadn't actually heard the older gentleman call out due to the commotion on the ground below. But Omen was rather confident that the King of Suits hadn't stopped to ask him how his evening was going and took his last shout to be an open invitation to the window.

While swinging he made a mental note of the archer also wasting little time in acting through the cover of the smoke. "Well look like he's got things covered." As the youth came to his destination he readied himself to avoid colliding into the King of Suits.

[Ari]

GM

The arrows from Quarrel's bow whistled out of the clouded night sky, slamming into the unaware guards with tremendous force. The shafts hit four of the guards roughly in the head and stomachs, and sent them to the ground, gasping for breath in pain. Two of them were luckier, however, and the arrows struck them in the shoulder and sternum respectively. Thus more lightly discomforted, they let out the fatal shots, yelling for their comrades to come to the rescue and try to keep clear a path for the delegation to escape through.

It was about then that the gas grenades had struck the ground, clattering in their roll along the concrete alleyway before that sound was drowned out by the hissing of the rapid escape of their contents, the dark fog that soon covered the alleyway, sending the guards into a rather restrained panic, calling out for each other's help as they tried to escape the obscuring cloud and get to a defensible position.

[Brown Dynamite]

Keeping a firm hold on the line, Omen stared at the boarded window with a wicked grin. "Well this just won't do." Omen whistled as he pulled out a small metallic rod that was previously hidden inside of a compartment within his right glove. He pushed a button on the side of the rod which made it rapidly extend until it was a full sized staff. Quickly the teen leaned forward while aggressively swinging his foot towards the boarded window hoping to break through the boards with raw force. He was hoping to clear the way in with one go while the guards attention was focused on the smoke filling the area below.

[Ari]

GM

The impact of Omen's foot smashed into the crisp, dry wood barring the way into the warehouse. The wood held out for a few splintered milliseconds, fighting to preserve its structural integrity against the sudden assault on its very being, every fiber of the section Omen's foot was pressed against was stretched to its utter limit of endurance as it cracked and bent under the battering smashes. With a creaking groan of protest, the slabs of tan wood finally broke under the weight of the booted leg.

The pieces rained inward, and if the delegation had been unaware of what was going on outside, they sure were now! The guards of the ambassadors reached for their weapons, the underbosses sprang to their feet, and far below the guards clamor was becoming increasingly ordered and calm, clearly they were recovering from the shock of the assault and would soon be fit to mount an offensive against the interlopers!

[Ari]

"Well hit, Omen!" cried the King of Suits jubilantly as he grabbed the upper windowsill "I'll get to work on the fine folks inside!" he added, swinging smoothly into the top floor of the warehouse, landing neatly on his feet before the astonished Mafia gang. Flashing a broad and brilliant grin at the gray-suited men he began in his thunderous voice: "Good people, I'm afraid I must ask you to tell me who you are and why yo-nevermind, I already know: you want to set up a joint operation here and in the Fens I'll bet; I've heard rumblings of something like this for weeks" he stepped forward "And I'm afraid any more might reveal my sources, who you fine, charitable types wouldn't think twice about shutting up!" with that he sprang for the closest guard(tall, thin, gray-eyed and not Italian in the slightest), and knocked him out cold with a pivoting left hook to the right side of his face. As the man fell with the imprint of Marceau's metal-plated fist on his cheek, the red and black vigilante swiped one of his legs at the guard who had stood next to his victim, catching him solidly in the chest but failing to do more than send the guard back a pace.

Falling into a ready position from his failed spin, the King of Suits put his back to the wall next to the window and readied himself for the coming onslaught. He earnestly hoped Omen was somewhere near as good a fighter as Foreshadow was rumored to be, though he guessed the youth didn't have the prescient vigilante's supernatural powers, he knew the man wouldn't train a poor crime-fighter and let him wear that insignia.

There was nothing to be done, however, but wait in the nerve-wracking tension for the blows and bullets that usually came into play about this time.

[supersheep]

Quarrel

While he'd hoped the ensemble of artillery would have been enough to topple all of his intended targets, sometimes it just happened to be that men and women of criminal intent were made of sterner stuff. However, there was little time for Quarrel to waste, the erstwhile pair of chance acquaintances already having barged their way inside. If he didn't stem the tide of these other gangsters, the trouble inside would no doubt escalate to a point of extreme danger; a prospect most unwelcome in his line of work.

Once more, Quarrel steeled himself behind his blue avian mask, pulling taught the string of his compound bow alongside a menagerie of arrows. Like a well-trained artisan, each pluck let loose another slew of blunt implements towards the Freedom Mobsters, the orchestrated onslaught rapidly releasing from between his fingers upon the hapless crooks below.

[Brown Dynamite]

Using his quick reflexes Omen jumped through the window after the King of Suits. Taking a quick note of the amount of opposition a sly smirk appeared on his face. "Now, now don't hog all the fun for yourself," he called out while swinging his bo staff towards the neck of the guard nearest to himself. "I think I'm going to have a talk with your bosses over all the trash he's been leaving in my city. We'll just have to have a talk about when the best time to make an appointment is boys." He was a talker and it most definitely showed about now.

Immediately the man whom had just been struck would drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes which Omen took as an invitation to pivot his entire body and continue his assault towards yet another one of the guards. As he moved it could only be described simply as poetry in motion. There was hardly a wasted movement in his motion as if his body had always been designed for such rigorous activity. Mentally the youth felt at ease hardly even considering the possibility that any of these men posed a real threat.

[Ari]

GM

Omen's targets crumpled to the ground insensible after the hail of strikes, a tribute to the young vigilantes' training in armed combat.

By this point the two underbosses had managed to get out their weapons, and stumbled slightly away from the table to bring their firearms to bear against the intruders, their lean(Driogano) and meaty(Oliverti) faces alike beginning to produce beads of sweat at the suddenness of the attack, their eyes darting between the two as their brains attempted to familiarize themselves with the visible parts of their faces.

One of the Oliverti guards was slightly more quick on the uptake, and sprang at the King of Suits without bothering to draw his gun, missing by a mile and hitting the wall at top speed. A Driogano guard took the more expedient route of shooting at the white symbol on the red one's chest, only for his shot to whiz over Marceau's shoulder as he managed to dodge to the side at the last moment. It was at that instant that one of the Oliverti guards fired his pistol at the slightly crouched King of Suits, and hit him directly at the edge where the breastplate joined the ballistic cloth, sending him into the floor in shock.

Outside the chill and smoke-filled air about the alleyway was suddenly filled with the cacophony of guns evacuating bullets in the direction of Quarrel, the watchmen below him having caught a slight glimpse of him, his beaked mask and bow glinting darkly in the light of the moon. The rain of metal riddled the concrete around him and on the wall below him, but not a single one found its mark in his body. They seemed to guess this, and the shouts of three men could be clearly heard ringing through the night air, though the words they spoke couldn't be heard without difficulty.

[supersheep]

Quarrel

---

"Caca santa!" cried Quarrel, the stream of bullets whizzing beyond his head and chipping away the roof he was poised upon. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as Quarrel tensed up, crouching and narrowing his profile reflexively as the mobsters retaliated with more gusto, the beaked hero looking about at the mayhem wrought below. With more than half of the guards outside of the mysterious mobster meeting grounds and the racket of combat echoing from within, the as-of-yet deciphered conglomeration between rival gangs either in their final throes... or things weren't going so well therein.

Still entrapped with the skirmish outside, the chilly night air bit down upon the young archer as though it were some violent beast, the combination of starlight and streetlamps just enough to illuminate the entourage of still conscious enforcers and their slumbering brethren below. Enzo needed to hurry; he had sparse seconds to incapacitate the remainder of the mafioso men before they thought it prudent to run into the warehouse, both magnifying the situation inside and making it that much harder for Quarrel himself to perform his role in this last-minute strategy. Expediency, as it were, remained the prime tenant necessary for this assault to prove successful.

Having narrowed his number of available targets significantly, Quarrel strung a new triplet of blunt-tipped arrows, this time focusing his fire even more exclusively against the gangland entrepreneurs. There was no more time to waste, the time for quality over quantity of his shots now finally a more viable option, allowing him the prospect of more aggravated precision. Pulling the compound bow much more taught this time around, the mosaic-garbed adventurer focusing his line-of-sight upon the trio of mooks who had managed to withstand his last barrage. The familiar reverberation of the forceful twang resounded through the night like a low crack of thunder in Quarrel's ears, the projectiles hurdling their way through the air with devastating force.

They might have managed to stay on their feet for the first barrage, but this time they wouldn't be so lucky.

[Ari]

GM

Upon seeing their guards dropping like leaves, the two Underbosses evidently decided to try and step in for them, as the shots that blazed from their pistols clearly advertised. What they had in practicality they apparently didn't have in the same measure of a steady aim, as both shots whistled harmlessly past Omen and the winded King of Suits. The startlement of the shots appeared to do the man some good, however, as he jumped to his feet, calling brightly to the black-clad young man "Thank you for the save Omen, much appreciated!" so saying, he began fumbling for his bolos, keeping a wary eye on the three remaining men as he made ready to try and capture them, now that their numbers were much depleted. The two underbosses, apparently now figuring that they ought to simply cut their losses and run, turned and dashed for the stairs, firing blindly behind themselves with no hope of actually hitting anyone with their flung bullets. The last guard paled noticeably at seeing his superior retreat so quickly, but stood his ground, clearly hoping to at least slow down the two heroes, his feet planted solidly, peering down the iron sights of his pistol at the two.

Meanwhile, outside...

Quarrel's arrows flew with incredible power through the night air, a cold hiss coming from the air racing through their quills. Each of the watchmen had only the briefest of instances to see the shaft hurtling towards them before the blow came, impacting their chest or upper shoulder with tremendous force, bones bent, muscles almost began to crack, and the three luckless guards were sent crashing to the ground by the arrows of the masked archer. One of them stared up at the slowly clearing fog, and saw the Moon shine down once again upon the bowman, the beak and bow reflecting the Moon's light perfectly, and put the perfect mark of fear and awe in his heart that would remain until his grave of vigilantes.