xp_logs | WENDY: The Croc Catches Up

Ororo and Remy manage to track down the next target in Chicago. Everything looks like it might actually go well, until things go boom.

The halfway house was a stout, two-story building that would've looked run-down save for the fact that every other building around it was in an equal state of disrepair. Ororo didn't really remark on this fact much as they approached it, just the overwhelming familiarity of the atmosphere. It wasn't Chicago so much as the air of poverty and the distinct lack of hope that hovered over their heads like low-slung rainclouds. She pulled her hat further down over her eyes, hands shoved in her pockets. "I do not see any evidence of the other teams," she murmured to Remy. "Perhaps we did get here first."

"Looks like one of de seven damn houses dat I was raised in." Remy said, eyeing the house. Ororo was right; he didn't see any evidence of other teams. Most of the people around, they barely spared them a look. With their winter clothes picked up from the Salvation Army shop, they blended into the same depressed look.

"Still, let us be wary," Ororo cautioned. She glanced at Remy, trying to keep her expression confident and calm. "I know I have said as much before, but if something should happen... there is no reason that you should not go on regardless. I do not think splitting up is a wise course of action, but if it is our only option, we will have to take it."

"Let's hope dat doesn't happen. If we're going to get through dis, we going to need both of our skills." Remy pointed out. "If we do get split up, or you do need to go to ground, I've gotten in touch wit' some of de people I know in de Thieves Guild. Dey find you, get you some options to get out."

Ororo opened her mouth to say that she wasn't so sure it would be so easy, but why argue? Without another word she nodded and pulled open the front door, letting them into the building.

They stepped into what appeared to be a tiny lobby, complete with a desk staffed by a young man, looking for all the world like a harried-looking hotel concierge. Hallways stretched out to either side, somewhat dank and clinical-looking, with fluorescent lights overhead giving them a sterile feeling. Most of the doors were closed, and on the whole the building seemed rather empty.

"Landin Judkins." Remy said as he reached the desk. The man behind tapped a couple of buttons on a cheap computer and shook his head. "He's out at one of his community work initiatives until five thirty."

"Where's dat?"

"I can't tell you. That's private information."

"Is there a director here? We're, uh, look, Landin and I spent years working together. I'm just trying to find him, help him out."

"I can't help you with that, but let me call Mr. Gadiraju. He's the manager."

Ororo and Remy waited politely while the young man picked up the phone that sat by his elbow and dialed in an extension. After a short, hushed conversation, he set the receiver back down and looked up once again. "He'll be with you shortly," he informed them, unphased by their patched clothing and slightly on-edge demeanor. He was used to it, after all.

After a few minutes, a dark skinned Indian man walked down into the lobby. He gestured tiredly with his coffee cup at Ororo and Remy. "Are these the ones?" The receptionist nodded and Gadiraju turned to address them. "I'm Vijay Gadiraju, the manager of this home, such as it is. Can I help you?"

"Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Gadiraju," Ororo said, giving the man a polite nod. "We were hoping to get in contact with one of your residents... a man named Landin Judkins. We are old acquaintances of his."

"Judkins, right. Our mystery man." Gadiraju started walking down the hall with both of them. "Officially, we think he's suffered from pretty extreme PTSD, but there's no records of him past his name. Even tried the military records, but it turned up nothing."

They passed rows of tiny rooms, with the doors open. Most held a bed, a desk, and a chest of drawers. The building was dingy, not from lack of cleaning, but from age and use. "How many people do you have in here?"

"About twenty-four. We're mandated not to have more than eighteen, but resources are stretched." The man sighed. "Every time they launch a 'tough on drugs' campaign, they slash our funding to afford more cops, and forget that you need to do something with them after."

"A shame."

"More than that, I'm afraid," Gadiraju said with a shake of his head. "You've heard the best offense is a good defense? Well, if we're unable to keep the ones we have under close enough watch, who knows how many other young people are going to be influenced? And there's your next wave, right there." He stopped at the end of the hall, gesturing to a slightly larger room before them. "Family unit. Not standard, but necessary, sometimes."

The woman, the mother presumably, was sitting at the desk, working on something. A young boy, maybe six years old, sat on the floor, playing with some toys and ignoring them all. "She would have been in the shelter, but she's got some priors, which means half of them won't spare the bed. It's either here, or social services puts her son in foster care." Gadiraju sighed. "Maggie made a lot of mistakes as a kid, but that son of hers is what keeps her trying. I'm still in a turf war over it."

Ororo had been able to keep a relatively detached viewpoint of the halfway house and the problems it faced up until now, but the sight of the little boy on the floor hit a little too close to home. True, he wasn't completely abandoned, and he had a roof over his head, but it was her firm belief that children should not have to experience that sort of hardship in their young lives, ever.

"You are doing a good thing," she told the manager, tearing her gaze away from the boy. "I am sorry things are so difficult for you. You deserve praise, not more obstacles and barriers."

"True, but you tell them that." Gadiraju saluted her with his coffee cup. "Anyhow, I'm really not supposed to give out patient information. But in Judkins' case... he's not getting better in here. I suppose he's more stable, but not better. Having someone that he knows around might help."

He sighed and took a sip of coffee. "Landin works over at the Sobey's. He does four hours a day helping unload the trucks and getting things arranged for the stock boys. Helps stablize him a lot. He'll be on medication, so don't be surprised if he's a little slow. If you want to get him, you can have some time with him while you bring him back here, alright?"

"Thank you, sir. Is he due off work soon?"

Gadiraju pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch, then nodded. "Half an hour or so, yes. It's not too far away, within walking distance, at least."

"Thank you," Ororo said again. "For everything you have done." She reached over to place a hand on the man's arm, smiling warmly.

"Just see that you bring him right back." Gadiraju said, before taking his leave of them both. It was chilly as they leave the house, heading up towards the supermarket that they had indicated. Both were wrapped in their own thoughts, most of the way.

Remy stopped before Ororo even realized they had reached the store, and she mentally cursed herself for her lack of awareness. That is the sort of thing that gets people in trouble. Glancing up at the sign, she allowed the Cajun to lead the way into the store, bypassing the front aisles and heading for the back. When they got there, a smocked employee jerked a finger at a side door in response to their inquiry about Landin's whereabouts, and they stepped out into the loading dock area to find a small group of workers there, cigarettes dangling from their lips and fingers.

Remy walked straight over to the man seated on the dock, slightly away from the others. It was a slack face, numbed under a short beard. "Landin?" Remy touched the man's shoulder. "Dat you?"

"I don't know you." He said slowly, shaking his head.

"Non, dat's right. You don't." Remy said, almost sadly. "Come on, we need to go back to de halfway house a little early today."

"Early? Oh..." Landin gave him a long look and then slid off the dock to his feet, flicking the butt of his cigarette onto the ground. They began to plod along at a slow pace, one on each side of the slump-shouldered man. Ororo couldn't help but sneak a furtive look or two at him, secretly aghast. That could have been Remy...

As they approached the halfway house, Landin looked up. "Home." He said, the first bit of animation in his voice since they'd gotten to him.

"You right, Landin. We going to just--" The words were ripped from LeBeau's mouth as the house went from a stable two story structure into a fireball. The shock of it blew out windows on both sides, and sent the three into the side of a parked car. Remy shook his head, trying to clear his ears as Landin huddled down, shaking.

"Oh dear sweet goddess," Ororo murmured, the back of her head aching with a fiery pain. She scrambled to stand, finding that the street seemed to dip and shift a little beneath her feet. Ignoring this, she stumbled towards the inferno, raising her arms to call down a rain to put out the blaze.

"Stormy, get de call button!" Remy yelled, grabbing Landin and forcing the man to his feet. He looked around for a place to move him when he saw the two men at the edge of the building. They were heading for the inferno, moving with purpose. It was the way that they walked, trained and supporting the others. Their black outfits were a little too obviously non-descript, and the hint of a tattoo peeking out of the neckline announced them; this must be the Hand group, coming in to make sure they got the kill.

Faintly Ororo heard Remy's words, barely registering them through the ringing in her ears. The sight of the dark smudge by the building moving stealthily over the debris was enough to bring her to her senses, and she quickly jabbed the button on her bracelet with one finger. She knew there wasn't much hope of survivors, not in an explosion like that, but she had to look anyway. That little boy...

"Stormy! Fuck!" Remy cursed. He popped open the car door and pushed Landin into the back seat, ignoring the glass covering it. "Landin, stay down. Just stay down!" Judkins, who was shaking and mouthing silent words, did so.

The Hand had angled off towards Ororo, where she was trying to fight her way closer to the blaze. Remy took off at a flat run, cursing the fact that the deck of cards in his pocket, once a formidable weapon in his hands were now useless. One of the men turned just as Remy got into striking range, lashing out with a kinfe that nearly gutted LeBeau. Remy twisted, avoiding the blade and grabbing the Hand's wrist, fighting for control of the knife.

'Ro had let them get far too close before reacting; now she was locked in a hand-to-hand battle with a man who was obviously was intent on finishing them off, even if they had missed the target. She barely avoided a slash aimed at her eyes, twisting and driving her elbow as hard as she could into his solar plexus.

The man was stronger than him, Remy noted numbly as he felt his arms being forced down. He'd dodged the liver kite aimed at him, which would have paralysed him temporarily. Unfortunately, striking back meant letting go of the knife hand, and Remy couldn't risk that. He shifted, trying to get him offbalance.

The Hand drove a knee up, missing Remy's groin but hitting the thigh muscle hard. LeBeau staggered, barely parrying a follow up strike, and finally was forced to let go. The Hand reeled back, moving the blade into a proper stance and launching back at the Cajun. But Remy's reaction to the blow had been mostly feigned, and he moved at the assassin simultaneously. The knife went past over his right shoulder as LeBeau crouched and struck upwards, his stiffened fingers taking the man in his solar plexus. The breath went out of him as Remy pushed up, driving his shoulder into his gut and arching, throwing him completely over his back.

The Hand assassin hit badly, the shock knocking the knife from his fingers. Remy turned and brought an axe kick down on his shoulder, snapping the bones like twigs. His knee followed it down, cracking the sternum like a gun shot and paralysing the assassin. Remy twisted to find Ororo, now that his assailant was paralysed.

The woman was no longer struggling with the other Hand but instead was several yards away, pushing aside pieces of debris as she waded through the rubble. A groan nearby showed the assassin doubled over on the ground, barely moving, though he was certainly still alive. Ororo cursed and shoved away what had once been a heavy set of drawers, her mind set on one thing only: finding the little boy.

Remy cursed as he waded after her. The fierce heat of the burning building had seared away the cold day air, making each step a further trip into an oven. He finally reached where she was struggling with a collapsed door, trying to get through.

"Ororo, we need to get out!" He grabbed her by the arms, shouting over the din. "Listen to me! Dere's nothing you can do!"

Ororo struggled against him, her face contorted as she tried to pull away. "We must help him!" she protested, her throat feeling hoarse and raw. "Let me go, please, I must find him, I must." He didn't understand, he couldn't, but she couldn't leave the boy there, trapped.

"Dammit, 'Ro!" Remy grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back. Already the sirens were blaring, and the inferno around them was getting more intense. He hissed in pain as cinders floated into his face. Remy picked her off her feet, getting a kick in the shin for it, and walked backwards, leading her out of the blaze as she fought. He sucked in the air as they cleared the doorway, a chunk of the ceiling collapsing not far from where they had just been standing.

Somehow he managed to get her out of the building, though she fought him the whole way, heedless of the people who were beginning to gather on the scene or the flashing lights of the fire engines as they wailed to a stop nearby. By the time they had moved far enough away from the building to stop tears were streaming down her face, mixing with the blood and ash there to coat her cheeks. "Remy, please," she moaned, no longer struggling but hanging onto him almost desperately. "We must go back. He needs our help."

"He'd dead, 'Ro. Everyone in dere is dead." Remy said, not cruelly but with force. They needed to get away, and he needed to break through the shock that gripped her. Behind them, firemen were cursing and trying to stop the fire from spreading. The charges that had ripped the building apart were thorough. Nothing could have survived.

Ororo let out a strangled cry, going limp in his arms. She pressed her face to his chest, closing her eyes and taking a deep, ragged breath. They stood that way for a long moment, ash raining down around them like dirty snow and the shouts of the firefighters behind them breaking the stillness. When Ororo pulled back, her expression was once again blank, the mask dropping down over her features to obscure everything but the faintest hint of sorrow. "Where is Landin?" she asked, trembling a little with the effort it took to compose herself.

"In de back of dat--" Remy pointed, pausing as he caught sight of Ms Locke and a couple of men standing beside it. "Come on, chere." He said softly, as they both approached the car. The two men were helping Landin out of the car, brushing the glass from him.

"Mr Judkins will join Mr Browne until the end of the final city." Locke handed over an envelope. "Mr Lowenstein sends his congratulations."

Ororo took the envelope in one hand, not even bothering to open it. "You can tell that bastard and all of his associates to go to hell," she all but growled at Locke, in a deep and commanding voice that Remy had never heard before. An unintelligible jumble of words in Swahili followed before she turned on her heel and began to stalk away, straight-backed and proud despite the obvious swaying to her steps.

"Get Landin out of here." Remy said, and leaned in closer to hiss into her ear. "And tell who ever is in charge of dis 'Hand' dat one day he going to learn what it's like to be burnt alive. Dat's a fucking promise." LeBeau turned to catch up with her, not willing to let her walk off alone. Whatever was coming, it would hit them both together.