Post by Jet Somers on Dec 13, 2010 2:16:25 GMT -5
After Horizons:
Slipping past the bevy of guards heading up to the catwalk to apprehend "Ichabod," this one guard carrying the unconscious woman over his shoulder goes pretty well unnoticed the whole way out of Madison Square Garden. Taking a service entrance, he ducks out into the night. The excitement around the arena is palpable, as even in the parking lot people are awake with chatter about not only the new UGWC Heavyweight Champion, but his possible assassination. The unknown security guard turns away from the tumultuous crowd and heads toward the employee parking lot. There, he removes a remote key from his jacket and pops the trunk of a nondescript brown sedan. In goes the body of Melanie Collier. Ichabod only takes a moment to toss aside the cap of the security uniform before getting into the driver seat and speeding away from the arena.
For now, he thinks as he races through New York City, the endless lights of the never-sleeping metropolis flashing across the windshield, what happened here will go misunderstood. Once again he is a fugitive, but if the few federals still in his pocket do their end of the job, he'll be an international hero. An unkown one, of course, but that's how it's always gone. Instead of being the subject of a possible manhunt, he'll fade quietly into innocence, his task finished and no one to thank him for it. But for now, he is on the the run. At least for the next forty five minutes.
Barely pausing for the lift gate, he drives the sedan into the gap at the front of a parking garage. He takes the levels one at a time with a squeal of tires, eyes darting around for any signs of shenanigans. Every car is marked in his memory. He had selected this garage due to it's "Employees Only" rule, pertaining to the bank across the street. If a single plate in the sparsely populated structure was from out of state, or if there was a decal or frame indicating a rental company, that would be a warning bell. It wasn't perfect comfort, but the intelligence he gathered didn't make him sure Kyung-min's influence reached out of the Far East, and therefore he shouldn't have any reliable contacts stateside. If he was wrong, the TEC-DC9 SMG on the seat next to him would have to cut an escape route back down the switchback riser leading to the roof of the garage. The only thing he was sure of, was that Kyung-min himself would want to be present to collect his trophy.
One more ramp gains him the roof, and Ichabod isn't surprised to see that this pimp had his ridiculous limousine transported here, for only one night of use. He rolls his eyes at the audacity of this criminal as he exits the rental car. Thought it is nearing midnight, Kyung-min and the four bodyguards with him are decked out in shades to match their black suits. Ichabod notes the dangerous bulges in the fronts of each of the jackets. Kyung-min's jacket sports a similar pistol-shaped bulge, but one thing that sets him apart from his grim-faced thugs is his leering grin.
Without a word, Ichabod circles to the trunk of the sedan and pops it open. Melanie moans as she is lifted from the boot, and Ichabod stands her up to display his catch to the men before him.
Kyung-min gestures without looking, and one of the thugs cracks open a briefcase he has been toting. Inside are several bundles of crisp American one hundred dollar bills. Ichabod nods, and he, Melanie, Kyung-min, and the thug begin advancing toward one another.
It is Kyung-min who draws up short first, throwing a warning hand out to his guard. He quickly removes his pointless sunglasses, then whips his head from side to side as apprehension dawns on his face. He glances back a suspicious look to his hired hunter, but Ichabod only smiles.
When she had first come to, Melanie could only feel the deepest sense of defeat possible. For the third time, this monster had seized control of her. It seemed no place in the world was too far for him to reach out for his prize possession. Hopeless crushing defeat is soon replaced by hate, but the flame or her ire burns only moments before utter confusion takes it's place. The steady thump of helicopter blades whipping the air causes her to finally open her eyes as the police chopper emerges from around the imposing bank building.
Kyung-min's thugs quickly reach for their weapons, but he stops them before their impulsiveness can damn them all. Ropes unravel like the tentacles of some eldritch abomination, seeping down from the stars to reclaim the world it once ruled. Black suited men and women cover the roof of the parking structure in moments, and Ichabod pulls his captive behind him protectively.
One man shoulders his rifle and pulls his cap off, running his hand through his close cropped hair.
"Thanks for the tip off, Mr. Ichabod," he nods in the direction of the pimp, "those agents from Japan INTERPOL are going to have quite a few questions for our friend there."
Melanie snaps her attention to where Kyung-min and his men are being restrained and loaded into the helicopter.
"You did well. I'll take Miss Collier off your hands now."
Eyes wide, Melanie can't even stop smiling as she is cuffed and lead away by the agent. She turns to give Ichabod a grateful smile as tears stream down her cheeks.
----------
One week after Horizons:
Jezebel can't understand why his insurance agency had suddenly demanded that Jet be moved to this highly exclusive facility, especially with his life teetering intensively on the brink of collapse. Far removed from the resort cities, it was nevertheless oddly designed like a recovery spa. It even has a bar, and it is to this bar that she removes herself now that visiting hours have ended.
Straight to the bartender she marches, ordering up a whiskey, no ice, which she downs quickly. For three nights her vigilance has found her in this out of the way hospital, and her nerves are on edge from the lack of change in his condition. It seems he will be confined to a coma indefinitely.
As she knocks back her second glass, she nearly chokes at the reflection in the mirror behind the highly polished tumblers at the back of the bar. She slams her own glass back down on the bar hard enough to crack the side.
As she turns, she feels the old rage boiling up inside her. It's not the overly confident and business like smirk, the careless blonde waves of hair, or even the somewhat frightening Kabuki mask that incites her. It's the bald crown sitting back to her. Throwing out any scruples about starting a scene in this place of health, she makes her way over to the Covenant's table.
"What the blue fuck are you doing here?" she snarls. Her eyes roam the entire table, but the question is directed at Ichabod, without a doubt.
"Jez! Pull up a seat, love!" muffled behind his mask, it's hard to tell how sincere Raenius' pleasure is at seeing her.
"No games," she spits, "What the hell did you do to my brother."
Without looking up, the Invincable answers, "I think you'll find, after reviewing the clips on Youtube, that I didn't do anything to him. I might have saved his life..."
"Are you going to pretend that you didn't set up the sniper to distract everyone while you kidnapped a whore for that bastard?" Jezebel is horrifying in her hatred.
"Perhaps you'll let me explain," Dirge glances calmly from Ichabod to Jezebel, "You see, I hired Ichabod to carry out this particular mission. No blood money was passed, of course, Ichabod offered to perform this service completely free of charge, for perhaps the exact same reason why we decided to trust in him."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she asks, confused.
"You see, after we left UGWC," Dirge goes on, "It came to our attention that Jet was being stalked by this Melanie Collier on a bit of a revenge scheme. While the death of his trainer had the interesting effect of engendering the monster we had tried so hard ourselves to uncage, it was obvious he was willing to let this harlot confuse him into making a very damning mistake."
"And that was?" Jezebel raises an eyebrow.
"Throwing his life away," Raenius chimes in. "You know your brother better than we, but can you disagree that he'd have tossed himself away before he was satisfied that she was avenged?"
Jezebel considers this point as Dirge continues.
"Jet was unarmed and exhausted after winning the Heavyweight Championship. Melanie had planned for this, and was armed to the teeth. She had planned to shoot to kill, unlike Ichabod's doppelganger, who was instructed to only shoot to disable."
"The illusion was there," Chassie offered, "enough to convince Melanie that her goal had slipped out of her grasp finally, and bring her out of hiding."
"Much as you did way back when we were taking control of Global Impact Wrestling, we sought out protection for Jet from Ichabod here," Dirge finishes, "And I'd say he did exceedingly well."
"That's what you'd say?" Jezebel screams. "Are you fucking kidding me? My brother is lying in intensive care, possibly dying from gunshot wounds from some bum this asshole picked up off the street, and you calmly tell me that you engineered this whole affair... to protect him? What are you really doing here, Dirge?"
Dirge chuffs out a bit of off put laughter as he glances around at his mates.
"Well, you wouldn't believe me if I told you we just missed visiting hours with the damned little boy scout and decided to have a drink in his honor," he explains as he gestures to the drinks on the table, "so suffice it to say I'm here to make sure my money is well spent. I own this hospital, and I purchased Jet's insurance policy. From now until his recovery, he will be under the care of specially selected doctors hand picked from an elite conference of surgeons and physicians around the world. All on me, of course."
Jezebel is stunned.
"Why would you do that?" she asks cautiously.
"That's easy," Chassie grins.
"He's family," Raenius explains, "we've always said that."
Slipping past the bevy of guards heading up to the catwalk to apprehend "Ichabod," this one guard carrying the unconscious woman over his shoulder goes pretty well unnoticed the whole way out of Madison Square Garden. Taking a service entrance, he ducks out into the night. The excitement around the arena is palpable, as even in the parking lot people are awake with chatter about not only the new UGWC Heavyweight Champion, but his possible assassination. The unknown security guard turns away from the tumultuous crowd and heads toward the employee parking lot. There, he removes a remote key from his jacket and pops the trunk of a nondescript brown sedan. In goes the body of Melanie Collier. Ichabod only takes a moment to toss aside the cap of the security uniform before getting into the driver seat and speeding away from the arena.
For now, he thinks as he races through New York City, the endless lights of the never-sleeping metropolis flashing across the windshield, what happened here will go misunderstood. Once again he is a fugitive, but if the few federals still in his pocket do their end of the job, he'll be an international hero. An unkown one, of course, but that's how it's always gone. Instead of being the subject of a possible manhunt, he'll fade quietly into innocence, his task finished and no one to thank him for it. But for now, he is on the the run. At least for the next forty five minutes.
Barely pausing for the lift gate, he drives the sedan into the gap at the front of a parking garage. He takes the levels one at a time with a squeal of tires, eyes darting around for any signs of shenanigans. Every car is marked in his memory. He had selected this garage due to it's "Employees Only" rule, pertaining to the bank across the street. If a single plate in the sparsely populated structure was from out of state, or if there was a decal or frame indicating a rental company, that would be a warning bell. It wasn't perfect comfort, but the intelligence he gathered didn't make him sure Kyung-min's influence reached out of the Far East, and therefore he shouldn't have any reliable contacts stateside. If he was wrong, the TEC-DC9 SMG on the seat next to him would have to cut an escape route back down the switchback riser leading to the roof of the garage. The only thing he was sure of, was that Kyung-min himself would want to be present to collect his trophy.
One more ramp gains him the roof, and Ichabod isn't surprised to see that this pimp had his ridiculous limousine transported here, for only one night of use. He rolls his eyes at the audacity of this criminal as he exits the rental car. Thought it is nearing midnight, Kyung-min and the four bodyguards with him are decked out in shades to match their black suits. Ichabod notes the dangerous bulges in the fronts of each of the jackets. Kyung-min's jacket sports a similar pistol-shaped bulge, but one thing that sets him apart from his grim-faced thugs is his leering grin.
Without a word, Ichabod circles to the trunk of the sedan and pops it open. Melanie moans as she is lifted from the boot, and Ichabod stands her up to display his catch to the men before him.
Kyung-min gestures without looking, and one of the thugs cracks open a briefcase he has been toting. Inside are several bundles of crisp American one hundred dollar bills. Ichabod nods, and he, Melanie, Kyung-min, and the thug begin advancing toward one another.
It is Kyung-min who draws up short first, throwing a warning hand out to his guard. He quickly removes his pointless sunglasses, then whips his head from side to side as apprehension dawns on his face. He glances back a suspicious look to his hired hunter, but Ichabod only smiles.
When she had first come to, Melanie could only feel the deepest sense of defeat possible. For the third time, this monster had seized control of her. It seemed no place in the world was too far for him to reach out for his prize possession. Hopeless crushing defeat is soon replaced by hate, but the flame or her ire burns only moments before utter confusion takes it's place. The steady thump of helicopter blades whipping the air causes her to finally open her eyes as the police chopper emerges from around the imposing bank building.
Kyung-min's thugs quickly reach for their weapons, but he stops them before their impulsiveness can damn them all. Ropes unravel like the tentacles of some eldritch abomination, seeping down from the stars to reclaim the world it once ruled. Black suited men and women cover the roof of the parking structure in moments, and Ichabod pulls his captive behind him protectively.
One man shoulders his rifle and pulls his cap off, running his hand through his close cropped hair.
"Thanks for the tip off, Mr. Ichabod," he nods in the direction of the pimp, "those agents from Japan INTERPOL are going to have quite a few questions for our friend there."
Melanie snaps her attention to where Kyung-min and his men are being restrained and loaded into the helicopter.
"You did well. I'll take Miss Collier off your hands now."
Eyes wide, Melanie can't even stop smiling as she is cuffed and lead away by the agent. She turns to give Ichabod a grateful smile as tears stream down her cheeks.
----------
One week after Horizons:
Jezebel can't understand why his insurance agency had suddenly demanded that Jet be moved to this highly exclusive facility, especially with his life teetering intensively on the brink of collapse. Far removed from the resort cities, it was nevertheless oddly designed like a recovery spa. It even has a bar, and it is to this bar that she removes herself now that visiting hours have ended.
Straight to the bartender she marches, ordering up a whiskey, no ice, which she downs quickly. For three nights her vigilance has found her in this out of the way hospital, and her nerves are on edge from the lack of change in his condition. It seems he will be confined to a coma indefinitely.
As she knocks back her second glass, she nearly chokes at the reflection in the mirror behind the highly polished tumblers at the back of the bar. She slams her own glass back down on the bar hard enough to crack the side.
As she turns, she feels the old rage boiling up inside her. It's not the overly confident and business like smirk, the careless blonde waves of hair, or even the somewhat frightening Kabuki mask that incites her. It's the bald crown sitting back to her. Throwing out any scruples about starting a scene in this place of health, she makes her way over to the Covenant's table.
"What the blue fuck are you doing here?" she snarls. Her eyes roam the entire table, but the question is directed at Ichabod, without a doubt.
"Jez! Pull up a seat, love!" muffled behind his mask, it's hard to tell how sincere Raenius' pleasure is at seeing her.
"No games," she spits, "What the hell did you do to my brother."
Without looking up, the Invincable answers, "I think you'll find, after reviewing the clips on Youtube, that I didn't do anything to him. I might have saved his life..."
"Are you going to pretend that you didn't set up the sniper to distract everyone while you kidnapped a whore for that bastard?" Jezebel is horrifying in her hatred.
"Perhaps you'll let me explain," Dirge glances calmly from Ichabod to Jezebel, "You see, I hired Ichabod to carry out this particular mission. No blood money was passed, of course, Ichabod offered to perform this service completely free of charge, for perhaps the exact same reason why we decided to trust in him."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she asks, confused.
"You see, after we left UGWC," Dirge goes on, "It came to our attention that Jet was being stalked by this Melanie Collier on a bit of a revenge scheme. While the death of his trainer had the interesting effect of engendering the monster we had tried so hard ourselves to uncage, it was obvious he was willing to let this harlot confuse him into making a very damning mistake."
"And that was?" Jezebel raises an eyebrow.
"Throwing his life away," Raenius chimes in. "You know your brother better than we, but can you disagree that he'd have tossed himself away before he was satisfied that she was avenged?"
Jezebel considers this point as Dirge continues.
"Jet was unarmed and exhausted after winning the Heavyweight Championship. Melanie had planned for this, and was armed to the teeth. She had planned to shoot to kill, unlike Ichabod's doppelganger, who was instructed to only shoot to disable."
"The illusion was there," Chassie offered, "enough to convince Melanie that her goal had slipped out of her grasp finally, and bring her out of hiding."
"Much as you did way back when we were taking control of Global Impact Wrestling, we sought out protection for Jet from Ichabod here," Dirge finishes, "And I'd say he did exceedingly well."
"That's what you'd say?" Jezebel screams. "Are you fucking kidding me? My brother is lying in intensive care, possibly dying from gunshot wounds from some bum this asshole picked up off the street, and you calmly tell me that you engineered this whole affair... to protect him? What are you really doing here, Dirge?"
Dirge chuffs out a bit of off put laughter as he glances around at his mates.
"Well, you wouldn't believe me if I told you we just missed visiting hours with the damned little boy scout and decided to have a drink in his honor," he explains as he gestures to the drinks on the table, "so suffice it to say I'm here to make sure my money is well spent. I own this hospital, and I purchased Jet's insurance policy. From now until his recovery, he will be under the care of specially selected doctors hand picked from an elite conference of surgeons and physicians around the world. All on me, of course."
Jezebel is stunned.
"Why would you do that?" she asks cautiously.
"That's easy," Chassie grins.
"He's family," Raenius explains, "we've always said that."