Simplicity

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Simplicity

Post by Katja on Wed Apr 08, 2015 12:22 pm

Part One: Bullet from a Gun

Katja Markova

The rain fell in hard sheets that plastered against the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio loft apartment. It wasn’t a permanent home, really, but one of convenience as it had a spectacular view of the city proper. Sanguine was a large territory that spread over a tri-state area, making it larger than Texas, Arizona, and Nevada combined. Draven and the Council; made up of the leaders of the Vampire Bloodlines, ran the city with an iron hand, but they seemed to be fair in their judgments as far as Katja could tell. She wasn't one for political tactics. She preferred the simplicity of a bullet and a buck. She was a killer for hire, a paid gun; or for the sake of simplicity, an assassin. She was damned good at her job. Spread out on the glass coffee table before her were the tools of her trade. A highly modified Barrett M82 lay unassembled and organized precisely as she restocked the clip with hand crafted ammo, a prized blend that only she and Oen knew how to make. Beside the rifle were modified dual Beretta 92FS that had already been cleaned and reassembled.
A custom black Kevlar holster lay empty at the right side of the table, the special custom throwing knives waiting to be cleaned and oiled meticulously.

The shrill beep of her phone cut through the incensed silence. The aromatic smoke easing her mind into a state of relaxation. It was a ritual she preferred to use before a particularly taxing assignment.

"Da." She answered, her voice husky and sensual, even with its fairly thick Russian accent.

Oen Deshlenkov wrote:The sounds of pairing rain rattled the aluminum ceiling of the small shack out in the middle of no where. Like the distant sound of war, drumming against the walls before splashing into the dirt. Oen stared at the door for a moment. A lit cigarette flaring a bright orange as undead lungs filled with smoke. A soft sigh brought plumes of blueish gray smoke seeping from past pale lips and drifting towards the ceiling, adding to the haze that already filled the room. The Russian was adorned in suit of grey shades, and crimson specks that splattered across his face, and tainted the white undershirt. His tie loosened, and cuff links were removed. He turned his wolfish blue gaze upon a man sitting in front of him. Hands flat on the table, a Russian NRS-2 jutting out from the back of each hand.

"You are making your life difficult my friend..."

Oen feigned a tone of voice that sounded forlorn. It was certainly a farce, he enjoyed violence. He reveled in the chaos of war, breathed in the smell of cordite like one would the gentle fragrance of a rose. He was a killer through and through. Only his new allegiances kept him on the straight and narrow. Though that didn't mean there was a lack of work, now? It was just more centered on a shared objective with the council. He bloodied his hands for them, and he enjoyed it. The man swallowed hard and just glared at the russian, Crimson eyes divulging that it wasn't a mere mortal Oen had stapled to the table.

"You are strong minded da? Good, good..."

Oen grinned in a most sadistic fashion.

"I am liking strong mind... You see, I enjoy chess... This is like chess no?"

The man looked at Oen like he was mad... For the last few hours the Russian had done nothing but torture and interrogate, was this all a game?

"It is being your will against my own. Much like chess... We are moving pieces towards a certain goal; Checkmate."

The Russian reached into his jacket.

"You are not liking Chess? I have another game... It is a bit... Cliche', but it is doing good to get job done... I am having important dinner date, with pretty lady."

Cold hands gripped the stock of a gun and slowly the snub nosed S&W 500 magnum was pulled into view.

"I am liking this gun... Good power, it will be stopping anything dead in its tracks... I don't get to use it much, but for this game it will be working wonders!"

He exclaimed excitedly as the cylinder was slid open and a single round deposited into the chamber, which was fluidly slapped shut, the Hammer pulled to half ****ed and deft fingers spun the cylinder. Round and round it went until Oen pulled the hammer fully back pointing it at the man's head. That sadistic grin widened, pulled the trigger.

Click

"Ahhhh... You are being lucky my friend. This is good!"

He stood up from his chair, his victim already seeming to perspire, as he pulled another bullet from his pocket.

"I was being told demons return to where they are coming from when expunged from this world..."

He shook his head and tsked softly.

"This is being no good, comrade... I am liking more permanent results, but I am also liking to know what I need to know to get my job done, and I am thinking... you know where your master has been running off to... I've been chasing him for sometime... You are understanding. An old vendetta."

He knew the demon understood.

"All you need to do is be pointing me in the right direction, I am not caring about you... Just the light bearer."

The demon groaned.

"I don't know I already..."

Click

The demon cringed.

"I know he headed east! Too much heat in Sanguine! He wants to set up outside and run interference from there!"

Oen nodded and sat on the edge of the table, adding yet another bullet to the five round cylinder, again spinning it.

"Where east?"

Oen asked, as calmly as before. Gazing over his bloodied and battered guest.

"He didn't sa-"

Bang

The gun sounded off and echoed around the small empty shack with enough concussive force to blow out a normal man's ear drums. Where the demon's skull had been, there was nothing but the tattered, and jagged remains of a head. The bullet had entered through the temple, tore, gouged and took the rest of the skull with it... Leaving only the bottom half of the mandible still attached to the corpse, which was now listing forward and crumbling over the table. The side wall and corner of the shack was covered in gore, and so wasn't the Russian's once clean, and crisp white undershirt. Oen offered a soft sigh and holstered the gun into his jacket.

"Lucky, but not being too lucky, comrade."

He muttered softly. He had a direction now. East, there was only so many places that a man could hide in that direction. Outside of Sanguine the amount of large cities dwindled. The cigarette was snubbed out. He would continue this work another time. There were other fish to fry. Oen reached into another pocket and pulled out his phone. A call was made and the device lifted to his ear.

"Da"

He heard a familiar voice ringing through his ear.

"Rook takes Pawn."

Code words that changed daily and meaning different things, how ironic that today it was a chess statement, or perhaps Oen just enjoyed the game. This one signalling that all was well, plans were still on track.

"Are we having reservation? I am quite peckish."

There was a certain tone to his words... Something dark.

"I am being ready in one hour... Need to clean up here and.."

He looked down at himself.

"Freshen up... I'll be meeting you there."

He'd state simply, before letting the phone drop and ending the call with a push of his thumb. He stood up and pulled his favored knives out of the remnants of the corpse's hands before making his way to the door. Another call was made, and there was a ringing in the back of the shack. Oen made his way out into the rain. The heavy sheets flattening his black hair, and the scent of petrichor mixing with the metallic, and reptilian twinge of demonic blood. Oen opened the car door and slipped behind the wheel of a Bentley Continental GT. A soft exhale. He'd find this mark... It was personal, but for now? It was back to business as usual.

The sound of her sultry chuckle echoed through the mouth piece of the slim smart phone she held in her hand.

"Da." She answered in response to his inquiry about reservations. "Cerulean Hotel."

She glanced down at her left wrist, turning it so that she could read the time on the rather expensive watch that was loaded with all the bells and whistles. A custom made piece that was waterproof and; knowing Oen, probably bullet proof. It was black on black with no shiny parts so that her position wouldn't be given away in the dark of night. The face of the watch sat on the inside of her wrist, making it easier to gauge the time if she was set up behind a rifle. Katja was more of a blade killer. She liked to get up close and personal. The weapons in front of her were back ups mostly, tools she would need depending on the type of contract she was full filling.

"Twenty one hundred hours." Without another word, they both broke the conversation short and disconnected.


2100 Cerulean Hotel, Sanguine


Her shoulder length black hair had been kept down for the evening. It's wispy layers framed the nearly ethereal beauty of her face. Bangs were swept to the left, covering her left eye and obscuring part of the other worldly beauty. Beneath the thick fringe of inky black lashes were eyes such a bright blue they seemed almost unnatural. A mix between cerulean and sapphire. It was one of the first features that drew attention. Though she was petite in stature, she made up for her lack of height in various other skills and most of them deadly. Katja's slender, curvy build was enveloped in a form hugging black dress that swept down to her ankles. There was a slit in the dress along the left side, nearly to her hip that revealed most of her bare left leg as she sat on one of the stools in front of the bar. The dress itself was simple, unadorned but low cut enough to show a tasteful and classy amount of her assets. Replacing her normal black on black watch was a slim one in gold. A simple gold chain adorned her left ankle and another sat around her neck, sporting a tiny diamond heart pendant.

"What can I get for you, miss?" The bartender asked, his eyes immediately drawn to the beauty of her blue eyes instead of the cleavage. He was barely old enough to even serve alcohol, let alone check her out.

"Black Russian." She replied rather simply, her voice void of any accent. It was a simple thing really, to ditch her native tone. It was part of the disguise that she and Oen occasionally used when they needed to.

The bar tender said nothing else and moved off to make the drink. Three minutes later, he set the old fashioned glass down on a black coaster in front of her. When he moved away to fill another order, Katja picked up the glass and took a delicate sip of the mix of 2 ounces of Vodka and 1 ounce of Kahlua. Beneath the coaster was a small piece of paper with the bartenders name and phone number.

Slick. She thought, nudging the paper aside where she didn't even so much as spare it another glance.

Oen Deshlenkov wrote:Oen ended the call and still he sat in his Bentley in front of that derelict shack. His eyes staring at the door as if waiting for the headless man to walk out. Of course no such thing happened, and it was more him staring off into space, contemplating the next move on that checkered board.

"I will find you, Light Bearer..."

He whispered to himself as the car was put in reverse and he pulled it to the left and swung out, to allow him to drive hood first down the driveway leading up to the shack. Phone was picked up again, and another number was dialed. The call sent, there was the sound of one ring coming through his phone before the shack erupted in hot white flames. The thermite bombs inside the shack ignited and the volatile substance turning everything into a molten slag, systematically destroying any evidence the Russian Wolf may had left behind. His mind already working on where east this creature would head, but he couldn't allow himself the time to truly delve into it... There was business to attend to. A 10 minute drive had him pulling into the drive way of a rather modern looking mansion. His home, a gift for becoming a Vitae of his own bloodline. He didn't mind the responsibility that came with the position. Oen by nature was a loose cannon. He had always been, his life span had been considerable shorter than the rest of the council. Born in the early 1900's his lifespan had been expanded by the experimentation done to him, where his own genetic code had been modified with an alien symbiote that had been found in the remnants of the meteor that had caused the Tunguska event in 1908. He wasn't sure what was happening inside him, if the vampiric strain and alien genes had a cohesive relationship, or if the vampirism had destroyed it. He doubted it, part of him could still feel it inside of him. The Symbiote had always been a survivor, evolving to adapt to its environment. He was sure that something was happening within him, and he was sure he had past that gene onto Katja... Further tests would have to be run before anything conclusive could be decided.

Oen entered the house through the front door, only to hit a solid wall of cannabis smoke. Oen actually reeled in surprise waving his hand and coughing softly, he was still newly turned only a few years, humanistic habits had yet to completely fade, and breathing was something he still enjoyed to do, even if it was pointless.

"Damn't Bryan!"

Oen coughed, and seemed to be laughing at the same time. A short Brazilian man sat on the couch in front of the TV watching some show rambling off in Portuguese. He looked back at the much taller Russian and grinned. He and Oen had been together for some time. The Russian had many handlers over his years as a trained assassin, Bryan had been there the longest and had proven to be a valuable asset to Oen, and now Katja. Playing the roles of their Handler, Recon, and every once in awhile if they could catch him, sober. A good point man. For a human, getting on in his years, a short, and scrawny man... Most people would be right to underestimate him, but it could be a severe, and most likely fatal mistake. Bryan had been in the Private Military Scene for years, a Master at Krav Ma Ga, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Even with failing eye sight he was a qualified marksman up to 300 yards. The pot head was bonafide bad ass.

Hey man! You know I like to get my mind right before a job! Keeps me level.

The Brazilian responded with a half smoked hand rolled cigar sticking out of his mouth. Oen already walking over to him and snatching the blunt from his mouth with a startling quickness, not even the semblance of motion could've been caught by the human eye. In the same fluid motion it was brought up to his lips and a long inhale was taken, sucking in the intoxicating smoke, that was after a moment, exhaled in a gray plume of smoke.

"Da... But it is being time to go my friend, what do we have for tonight?"

Bryan nodded and waved for Oen to follow him. Down into the basement they descended and a wave of Bryan's hand over a panel, caused an opening to emerge in the floor, and stairs leading down into a well lit room; a well stocked armory. Bryan walked over to the table where two large cases were already assembled, and if Oen assumed correctly(Which he usually did) there were stock full of goodies.

So, I packed your usual travelling kit... 2 custom .45 USP's. Barrel's threaded and fitted with your suppressors, running sub sonic hard hitting ammo. That special blend of yours... I have your long barreled Smith and Wesson 500 fitted with a bandoleer to hold it at your waist, with all your nifty variations of ammunition. Explosive tips, Ricochet, Tranq Rounds, Armor Piercing, the whole nine... You're set there. You have your two Spetsnaz rib ticklers on you I assume?"  

Oen grinned, as Bryan brought up the two Nrs-2's fitted into his coat jacket at the moment, the blades were of Russian Cold War Era tech, a good fighting blade with a suppressed single shot 7.62 barrel fitted into the hilt.

"Never be leaving home without them, comrade."

Brian chuckled and shoot his head. Oen nodded to the bigger case.

"And what I am wondering, Bryan... Is being in the bigger case?"

Bryan's hand lifted was scratching sheepishly at the back of his head, when he chuckled and glanced to the crate himself.

"Well, given the level of opposition we have infront of us, I thought I'd bring my lady out... Play over watch for you and Kat."

Oen's eyes actually widened when he glanced towards the case.

"You were getting beauty working again?"

Bryan grinned in a rather knowing way, Oen didn't need for him to verbalize the answer. He merely nodded and grabbed the cases. And started heading to the car with the Brazilian following after a few moments of fitting himself with more proper attire, usually one to wear cargo shorts and a Hawaiian tee shirt, was no fitted from head to toe in black. Into the car they went and off to the hotel they went.

2100 Cerulean Hotel, Sanguine

Oen had been there for a few moments already, Helping get everything to the room, and set up. Before heading down to the bar to find his compatriot. It didn't take long, she was turned by him... He always had an idea on where she was. Sitting at the bar tossing some note off to side. Oen grinned glancing over towards the tender for a moment, catching the gaze with of the Vitae the tender's eyes widened, staring into that glowing icy blue gaze... If looks could kill, and Oen's could, leaving the young man with that sensation, that all apparent knowledge of just evading a sc**** with death. Oen's gaze didn't linger long before he was slipping in behind Katja's bar stool. His body leaning forward, hands placed on the bar on either side of her.

"Good evening, miss."

Oen spoke in a voice of his own, devoid of that tell tale accent the Russian Wolf usually carried. His head positioned close to her, his lips close to her ear as he spoke to her.  They had a few moments... Why not some idle banter?

That's it. Closer.

Her eyes snaked upward, watching Oen approach her from behind. She always knew when he entered a room. She would always know. He had created her, after all, but there was a connection between them that went way beyond Sire and Childe. A smile tugged at a single corner of that wickedly sinful mouth of hers even as his lips brushed her ear. Each of his hands were braced on either side of her on the bar. Effectively trapping her between the front of his body and the bar top. The needle thin heels of her shoes were nearly four inches long and housed for inch stiletto blades.

Katja's gaze met Oen's in the mirror a split second before she swiveled the stool around to face him. The movement had her hip brush against his thigh and placed her lips a mere hair width from his.

"I would say that you are late, but knowing you, you have probably been here for a while." She said softly, lifting a hand to brush it over the tie of his suit. She leaned forward so that the fullness of her lips ghosted over his. Her right hand, quick as a snake, and undetected, slipped into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and planted the keycard she had pick pocketed earlier from their mark when she had first entered the hotel.

In her mortal youth, she had been a skilled thief, lifting wallets, cash and even jewelry from the unsuspecting marks. She had run the streets of Moscow stealing whatever she could get her hands on. At the tender young age of nine, she had picked the wrong pocket. Kristov Markova had been a very prominent figure for the Russian Mafia. Instead of cutting off her fingers as she had been expecting, Kristov took the young Katja under his wing. She turned from stealing to killing for money and she proved to be just as good. The skills she had learned on the streets had been refined, honed, and expanded.

Her hand slip back out just as slick as the edges of her front teeth nipped almost playfully at Oen's lower lip.

"Why don't you dance with me?" She inquired, sitting back on the bar stool. "One dance."

Before he could get a chance to respond, she slid down from the stool and took his hand in hers as she led the way to the dance floor. The live band kept the music classy, elegant as she slid both of her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. She waited until he pulled her close before she spoke, letting Mother Russia break through in her voice.

"Mark has companion. Female, mixed race, mid twenties. Certainly not wife. Too young. Key card I slipped into your pocket is for her room next door to the marks. If you get me what is needed, I can plant in girl's room."

Closer.

Her cerulean gaze shifted up, catching the icy blue of his. Before she could get lost in them, however, her attention shifted, drawing her eyes to something over his left shoulder.

"Mark is moving." She whispered for his ears alone.

A dazzling smile gave her a nearly radiant beauty as she shed her accent flawlessly.

"Excuse me for a moment, darling, I must visit the ladies room." She spun away from Oen and sauntered across the dance floor, a sway to her walk that oozed confidence and purpose.

It was time to go to work.


The bathroom was empty when she entered, as she knew it would be with the Out of Order sign she had strategically placed for such a purpose. She had slipped inside unnoticed by both staff and security cameras. Once inside, she locked the door and toed off her heels. She picked up the shoes and slipped into the first stall to retrieved the bad she had stashed in the ceiling earlier. Katja stood on the toilet and shifted aside the ceiling tile above her. She pulled down a small black back pack and jumped silently down. She unzipped the dress at the back and let it slide down her body in a whisper of expensive fabric. She wore nothing beneath but flawless pale skin.

Folding the dress carefully, she place it into the back pack with the heels and pulled out a neatly folded parcel. She wiggled into a skin tight black body suit. Over the one piece light wright material, she fastened a black corset that lifted her generous breasts and showed off the dip of her waist. Fingerless black gloves covered her arms to the elbows and flat black shoes made her footsteps silent. With quick, precise movements, Katja secured her hair into a single tight pony tail. Even her bangs had been scooped back to leave her face bare. The entire exchange had taken less than ten seconds.

She slid the back pack onto her back and fastened it securely so it's contents wouldn't shift and make noise. After she switched the slim gold watch for her usual black on black one, she slipped a thin head set into her right ear.

"Rook checking in." She spoke softly into the small microphone by her mouth.

There was a deep inhale followed by a harsh cough as if someone was hacking up a lung.

"Perhaps one should lay off smoking that shit before one coughs out their ass."

"You're such a sweet talker." Bryan's voice was husky through the head set. "Bishop checked in."

"ETA to check point, thirty seconds." Katja leapt up and pulled herself through the opening in the ceiling. She replaced the tile behind her and made her way silently through the small space to her destination.

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Re: Simplicity

Post by Oen Deshlenkov on Tue May 19, 2015 9:47 pm

Had stalked in on the woman, every moment like that of a wolf. But she was certainly not his prey. Furthest from it. The man was quite capable of turning the hotel in a gruesome scene of death dealt with an unnerving precision. But her? No… He cared for very few, even the council he so vehemently protected. The only one of them to garner his respect was Draven herself. Katja, Bryan, and Draven. It was a short list, but they were certainly the only ones that well trained mind, would allow the weakness of emotion to be for, and each one of them were quite capable of handling things on their own. Her sarcastic reply would bring a widening to his lips, to reveal a row of perfect pearly white teeth beneath.

“You know me too well, miss… Just been about, getting the lay of the land.”

There was certainly more to that statement than spoken, he knew this building’s layout better than the people who ran it… He had observed the blueprints, and a near photogenic memory made him a quick study. Eyes were transfixed upon the femme fatale as she turned to face him, their proximity painstakingly close, that it almost made the calm, level headed killer, crack. If only just a little bit, showing in the way grin peeled lips back even further. He was well aware of her history. He knew it all, way before they had even begun working together… That bond was cemented, even before he had thrust his fangs into the perfect canvas of her pale flesh. Her question was met with a solitary nod, his hand slipping into hers, and the nip of teeth, was met with the faintest of growls, low and practically inaudible to anyone void of Vampiric graces. Something that seemed leagues away from a threat.

He didn’t meet her request with words, simply the action of following her out onto the dance floor. As she turned once again, slinging her arms around the Russian Wolf, his own hands slipped to the small of her back, larger hands creeping up her back, certainly drawing her close enough to speak in a voice that’d make eavesdropping difficult.

“Da… Mark will most likely be following his hussy into her room… I’ll slide the widow maker into the room… Once it goes off. You know what to do, man lives… Do what you will with the escort.”

That heavy Russian accent allowed to show in his words. His gaze transfixed upon her, hand lifted to trace into the ebony strands falling from atop her head. Her words were almost a hindrance, all work and no play. He merely smiled and bowed his head as she made her way to the bathroom, and made his way towards the mark, walking like a man shunned by a beautiful woman, and making a quick escape to salvage his pride, bumping into the man, and causing him to stagger and spill his drink.

“Oh… Oh! So sorry!”

Oen exclaimed.

“It didn’t get on your shirt did it?”

The man ruffled his shirt and shook his head before going on about Oen spilling a 70 dollar glass of single malt.

Oen handed the man a crisp one hundred dollar bill and bid him to by another on him, and to keep the change. Just the delay he needed to make his way to the elevators, and all the way up to the 40th floor. Where the suites began. He pulled the deposited key card from his pocket, gave a quick rap before letting himself in. Empty, as he hoped. Still down at the bar getting their drinks and surely calling the man every name under the sun. Oen sighed and walked over, placing a small black cylindrical device upon the vent, and pulling a larger disk, and slipping it under the bed. The widow maker… It was every assassin’s dream. A device that admitted high and low frequency vibrations to make an area virtually silent. A full on gun fight could go on the room, and the neighbors would be none the wiser.

“Honeymoon suite’s prepped, Bishop check…”

He spoke quickly as he made his way to out of the room, just in time to hear the banter between Katja and Bryan. He cracked a smile but remained radio silent as he made his way to the stairs, and began ascending. Making his way towards the roof.

“Copy Rally point alpha, bring the birthday boy for the view.”

Acknowledging that all was set, and that plan A was in motion… An incursion on the roof… Now all they needed was the guest of honor.

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Re: Simplicity

Post by Katja on Tue May 19, 2015 11:43 pm

Patience was a virtue, especiallyin their line of work. They could spend hours simply waiting for the intended target to move into the position that they had strategically moved him or her to. It was like a game of chess, using people as their pawns to win the game, but it wasn't a game they were playing against each other, no, they were partners.

"Target on the move." Bryan ' s voice spoke at her ear. "ETA thirty seconds."

"Copy that. Stand by."

Sure enough their predictable target and his current arm decoration stumbled into the room. The door closed behind them as the man kicked it shut. While they were occupied groping g one another, Katja slipped through the vent, being careful not to jostle the device that Oen had attached to it just moments before. She replaced the vent just as silently ass she had removed it and edged her way through the darkness of the bedroom. She took up a position in the corner by the ceiling and like a spider watching a fly she waited for her prey.

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Re: Simplicity

Post by Oen Deshlenkov on Sun May 24, 2015 12:55 am

Oen emerged onto the roof. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette case, a popped it in and placed the american tobacco between his lips and lit it... Some vice's still hadn't found themselves bled out with the rebirth into undeath. The radio chatter echoing into his ear. For a moment he stood out, staring to the east.

"So, what did the demon tell you?"

Came the voice of Bryan behind him. Oen turned to glance over his shoulder. And gave a light shrug of his shoulder.

"He wasn't telling me much, my comrade... But this is not being the time..."

Bryan frowned lightly and sighed.

"Have you told Kat yet?"

Oen shook his head softly. He hadn't told her what news he had on the Light Bearer either. She hadn't spoke much about it. His own personal crusade against this unknown transgressor. The reason he had ended up in Sanguine in the first place.

"You can't keep it from her forever."

Oen snapped his gaze back at Bryan, ready to scream and yell, but the fact was, it was the truth. The two shared a bond he had not felt with any before. There was no reason for her not to know. Would it just show that perhaps the cold blooded killer, wasn't as stoic as he liked to play at. Leave it to his pride, and the fact he had always lived a life of secrecy.

"Da... I know... I'll be telling her when we have time. For now... Get Beauty ready."

Eyes shifted to their true target... A towering platform, that reached almost as high as the hotel itself, only a few hundred meters from the roof they now stood on. Bryan nodded, glancing down at his watch.

"Aw shit..." He reached in to place the headpiece back in his ear and switch it on, as he descended back down the stairs. Just as the door closed he could hear him giving Katja the status update.

"Target on the move... ETA 30 seconds."

Oen glanced down at his own watch, a small video screen displaying what Katja saw. He grinned darkly, reaching up, to switch his mic back on.

"Crash the party..."

He stated simply before watch fell and cigarette was pulled from his lip and tossed off the side of the building. It was time to get a hold of the Gate Keeper... The security architect for the building owned by a radical group of humans who waged a secret war against the supernatural in the city, the saw it all as bad... The didn't discriminate, and didn't care for the collateral damage their war caused. Draven had tried to handle the situation in other ways, but when an infestation had festered long enough, the infection was set in deep, and needed to be eradicated. This was Oen's unit's job... The last option, when peace proved for naught.

"Si Vis Pacem, Parabellum."

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Re: Simplicity

Post by Katja on Wed May 27, 2015 2:36 pm

"Crash the party.."

That was the only phrase she needed. Just as the mark and his arm candy stumbled into the bedroom portion of the suite, lips locked, Katja struck. Moving with the speed of a pent up viper, she had the man by the throat and the woman laying in an unconscious heap before either one of them knew what had hit them. Her gloved fingers dug into the tender flesh at his throat while her free hand pushed aside the fabric of his shirt to reveal the identifying mark at his right shoulder. One of the Sanctioned. A group of radicals that had high dreams of wiping out every supernatural race on the face of the earth. Draven had been right, they were growing in number, masquerading as high profile public officials such as the wealthy man in her grasp.

"You are of Sanctioned." Katja stated softly, her grip firm and yet her fingers loosened just enough for him to speak. "What is Sanctioned doing here?"

The man coughed, feebly attempting to disengage her grip. It only made her fingers tighten. Swiftly, Katja pulled a knife from the holster at her left hip and with an expert flourish held it against the mark's mouth just at the corner of his lips.

"I will not ask question again. What is Sanctioned doing in Cerulean Hotel?"

"I-it is a well known hangout for bloodsuckers. I-I'm on a scouting mission."

The Ucigas scoffed.

"Hard to scout when trying to get into woman's panties, comrade."

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Re: Simplicity

Post by Oen Deshlenkov on Tue Jun 23, 2015 4:47 am

Oen could hear the commotion of the room clearly from his ear buds, at least… He heard all the sounds a professional cleaner made; which were few. If Oen had been an artist, the Da Vinci of death, Katja was certainly his Mona Lisa, the epitome of his own training, condensed and concentrated. He had turned the girl he had met long ago, a skillful black hand, into a dancer. Her specialty? The waltz of Death. The Russian Wolf couldn’t help the grin that crept over his features, he had done exceptionally well, and she had blossomed taking what he had taught her, and incorporating it into a grace that Oen just could not match. She was a scalpel… He was more like a chainsaw. As Katja played out her part, Oen was changing. Slipping out of the suit and into something more suiting for what was to come. A black Kevlar sweater with a shoulder holstering rig stitched into the fabric. Housing his two custom made, suppressed 45 USP’s. With four clips of extra ammunition. Each round slow moving, sub sonic to aid the suppressor in its job, but at times this low impact was surely not enough. An issue Oen had addressed with a bit of science. These slow moving bullets surface was scored to cause friction, to heat the lead in custom tungsten barrels. Hot enough to ignite magnesium filaments on the surface of the bullet, causing the bullet to enter a transition of chemical compositions. In Laymen’s, the bullet heats up, glowing a bright orange and raising the temperature enough to allow the projectile to burn its way through most conventional armors. Burning up inside the body, making this bullet difficult, if not impossible to trace.

At Oen’s waist was the bandolier that held his beloved S&W 500, the snub nose switched out for a longer barrel variation. The bandolier itself, hung loose, placing it at the operator’s mid-thigh, in perfect, and measured reach of Oen’s hand. The holster itself was minimalist, and for good reason. A magnetic plate with a small lip on the end, just enough to keep the gun secure, but also allow little motion to bring the gun from resting, to firing position. A Russian playing at a cowboy it seemed, and he prided himself on the quickness of his draw; a forgotten talent. The wide array of different types of bullets constructed for this gun, one more thing occupied some of the expanse of his bandolier. At the small of his back his NRS-2’s. A pair of Spetsnaz scout knives with a surprise, nestled there behind him. A perfect place for concealment, without nullifying accessibility.

To continue his attire, The Russian wore a pair of black cargo pants, the plethora of pockets all seemed to carry their own specific bulge, nifty little trinkets to help aid in case the job became a messy ordeal. A pair of standard issue black combat boots finished off the simple but functional attire. Hands kept bare, Oen never did like gloves, he enjoyed the feel of blue steel clenched white knuckled in his fingers, to feel the unadulterated shock of every bullet rioting from the barrels of his guns. Oen’s attention shifted as he heard the woman begin her interrogation of the Sanctioned higher up


“Let the snake speak, and he’ll be having you eating the forbidden fruit comrade… We’ll get answers of our own. We just need his codes, and his print scans… Remember my beautiful Assistant… If he goes dark, the next set of codes will be activated
.”


He had to give the Sanctioned one thing, their security was top notch, almost a nuisance for a professional team like them.


“Tether’s up in… 30 seconds.”


Oen turned to where his Brazilian contractor had been hard at work, Brian’s brain child beauty being constructed from the large case they had dragged up and onto the rough. A large sturdy tripod that reached up to just below Brian’s shoulders was placed on the rough, a compressed “thunk” as metallic rods shot down into the roof to stabilize the tripod itself to hold a peculiar looking rifle. A dream of the stoner’s own mind. The Brazilian was actually quite the artist himself, though his soldier of fortune days were much more lackadaisical now, all but retiring to enjoy more of the managerial and tinkering aspects of the job. A genius in his own right when it came to firearms and other tools of the trade. What he held now was a rail gun, a magnetic firing device that could shoot a variety of dumb, and smart rounds, anything from grappling hooks to a depleted uranium round that could punch holes in tanks, but the delivery system itself was only a part of the magic. What really gave this dog its teeth was its state of the art optic system. A complex system of optics and programmable devices that gave the operator multiple different modes of sight, anything from thermal, to deep penetrating x-rays. It had been meant to be mounted on satellites, part of the old Star Wars Program that made its debut in the 80’s. Though Brian had kept this patent to himself, dumbed it down just enough to be somewhat manageable by a one person team, but still the amount of recoil made it necessary for a stable platform, thus the heavy duty tripod it was attached to now.


“Send it.”



Oen’s only words before Brian took aim and pulled the trigger, a quick sound of electromagnets firing up, before the near silent round shot out, rioting forth with enough concussive pressure to kick dust from the roof. The round, a self-tapping drilling projectile rioted across the short distance and buried into the concrete of a structure erected on the roof just across the street from the hotel. The Sanctioned base of operations for the head hunting party that used the hotel as staging ground to gather information about the higher echelon of the Vampiric community in Sanguine. Connected to the round was an ultrathin tension wire, connected to an internal spool at was now removed from the bolt and barrel of the gun. On the other side, that round had drilled in deep, before the machinations of the well-designed bullet dug in deeper, and sunk in. Stabilizing the wire on that side. Oen was already hard at work doing the same on the hotel roof, climbing to a higher point and using a raised platform, he anchored this side’s half… A taught line to carry the wolves into the hen house.



“We have been knocking… Need the keys, 5 minutes left.”



A small window, but he had confidence in his compatriot.

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Re: Simplicity

Post by Katja on Thu Aug 13, 2015 1:28 am

She sighed softly.

“Taking away all my fun.

She grumbled, tucking the knife back away into the sheath at her left thigh. Her grip loosened just enough from around the mans neck to prevent bruising, but she didnt release him. From a custom sheath on her left forearm, she removed a slim pressure syringe. It would administer its contents without leaving a single mark or blemish on the skin.

With a swift gesture, she pressed the syringe against the side of the mans neck. There was a soft hiss  as the miniscule tracking node was implanted into the soft tissue just behind his ear. Not only would it track his location, but it would allow them to listen in on his conversations.

“What in the bloody hell did you do to me? The man nearly shrieked, bringing a hand to his neck.

“Insurance policy in case you decide to run.

Katja released him from her powerful grip. The man fell to his knees with a grunt. She turned to the marks companion and sighed softly.

There was a flutter of movement as the man bolted up, attempting to sprint for the door. Without looking in his direction, the female Vampire lifted a gloved hand. The shadows trembled, lashing out to encompass his wrist and ankles as if they were chains made of a solid substance. For a moment, she was speechless, blinking a few times at what she had just witnessed.

“Well now, that will certainly come in useful.

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Re: Simplicity

Post by Oen Deshlenkov on Sat May 28, 2016 11:16 pm

Oen attached himself to the thin, tension wire with a small device that now hooked to his belt. Without putting much thought into the fact that he was about to go scaling across a 40 story drop, he shoved off. Soaring across the large gap between the hotel, and his actual target. Draven hadn't taken this lightly, setting her hounds on this conglomerate of radicals, but to let them continue would only cause the collateral damage to continue, spilling blood into the streets. There had already been innocent mortal blood shed. Oen? He didn't care, he was the epitome of a professional. The end game of a child soldier growing up to be a soldier of fortune. He had given his allegiance to Draven, and she alone acted as the shield that protected the world from his ire. He enjoyed violence, a connoisseur of death. He had in the not so distant past carved a path of violence and destruction across this very city.

Now? A Vitae, he dealt more with the politics that all the families dealt with; not his forte. That's why he enjoyed when their came a moment like this. Combat boots dug into the roof as he finished his traversal of the tension. Disconnecting he pulled a silenced USP from a shoulder holster, held in dominant hand as the left pulled the Spetsnaz Scout knife, flipped and held in reverse fashion. He pushed forward, heading towards the roof access door.

"Roof is clear, breaching in 10"

Oen called over their combined communications. The door was coded, the man Katja had clutched into her newly forming abilities was the gate keeper, and it seemed he was already singing like a canary. Oen looked down at his watch to see the code scrolling up. He couldn't help the grin that peeled back his lips and revealed vampiric ivory beyond.

"That is my girl."

He whispered to himself as input the code. Slipping in and driving his knife into the door jam to keep it open for Katja when she came over. They both had their missions. Katja's was to descent to the lower levels and fry the internal servers to erase what ever information that had collected on the Bloodlines. Oen's mission? Was to eradicate the higher ups, cutting the head off the snake so the body may die. Each had their pitfalls, and a rather large number of dedicated operators intent on hindering their attempts. Men trained to kill vampires, and other supernatural creations, a suicide mission for two lone vampires; or so one would think.

The stair case was empty, Oen's footfalls were silent as he descended from the roof to the top floor. He had been studying the blue prints of the building most of the week, and had memorized his routes, and the floors from the 40th down. The higher ups had offices and residences on the top floor. Once the shooting started all hell would go loose, more than that, each member had a bio metrics system. Meaning when they died, all would know which would lock down the building, and trigger the alarms. Covert operations had played it's part, basically in gaining access into the building. From here, It was OK Coral. Oen stood at the door that lead into the 40th floor. Residential, the information they had put the HVT on this floor for the next few hours. One last breath was taken, eye lids closing over eccentric blues. Knee raised and leg jutted forward sending boot into the door with all the force the Vitae could muster. The reinforced metal door gave in like a tin can and flew down the hall way, sliding to a stop feet later. Oen walked through, already he could hear the commotion, the sound of armed guards sprinting down the hall towards the disturbance. Clear hand grabbed for the grip of his S&W 500. Slowly pulling that heavy revolver from its nylon holster he held it behind his back as the first guard came into view. His USP took aim, and Oen pulled the trigger causing a muffled shot, and a body crumpling to the floor, a red mist saturating the wall behind where the guard once stood.

"Katja, don't be forgetting my knife."


Spoken calm and collected as ever. It seemed he was still quite oblivious to what was going on with his fledgling, and to himself as well. Eccentric blues were starting to fade into ebony voids with only a thin rim of blue remaining. Focus, already attuned by years of training, and vampiric graces seemed only to intensify, the world seemed slower, brighter... The shadows felt as if they were moving, and shifting all around him. Screams enveloped his ears as armed transgressors charged him only to fade away into the darkness. He hadn't lifted his gone, only continued walking towards his goals, over focused. He couldn't even hear Bryan or Katja over the communications any more. His mind transfixed, and the entire floor he was on fading into pitch black.




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Re: Simplicity

Post by Katja on Tue May 31, 2016 5:32 pm

"Not something I am bound to forget, darling."

She replied, snatching the knife in mention out of the door that he had propped open for her. She could hear, with her acute sense of hearing, the subtle commotion from above and knew that Oen was hard at work doing what he did best. Humming softly to herself in Russian, Katja decended to the lower floors with the ease and stealth of a lethal predator. She was virtually silent, passing through each security check point with ease as she tested out her new abilities. The shadows thickened as she passed into them, masking her and making her invisible to anyone who would cast a glance in her direction. When the shadows thickened, she could feel herself almost melding into them, becoming one with the darkness itself.

"I believe that when you and I return home, Oen, we are needing to have a chat."

Her voice was soft over the headset, just barely above a whisper, but Katja knew that he heard her. As she passed the last check point and into a large air conditioned clean room, the communication was temporarily cut off due to the thick glass walls. She snuck around the corner in a partially crouched position, Oen's knife at the ready as she reached into a small pocket hidden on the side of her boot where a USB flash drive had been placed. There was a small computer attached to her wrist that she would use to hack into the servers and fry them internally.

She just had to wait for Oen's signal to begin.

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Re: Simplicity

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