Operation: Retribution
Aug. 29th, 2008 02:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsDecoit receives a call he never anticipated, and finds out that someone has been watching his Imperial Guard.
Kalidas worked long hours. It was his nature. Even before he'd been named Dacoit and placed in charge of the newly public Imperial Guard, his nature had been to always take his extra hours and pour them back into the service. After all, it had taken him a long way from Madripoor.
He never liked to think of those days, after his father's small importing business had collapsed, and the fool decided he could fix everything with money from gambling, ignoring the obvious fact that most of the island's games were run by one criminal group or another, and universally fixed. For his debts, he'd lost first his wife, and then his son before finally his life, and Kalidas could remember the harsh years in the fighting pits, his only possession a knife and a burning desire to survive.
It had finally been his uncle who had located him. Uncle Sureesh was the first officer on the INS Ranjit, and when it docked in Madripoor, he'd put his entire crew on a mission to find his brother's family. It was too late for his mother, but Kalidas had left the fighting pits and Madripoor wrapped in a blanket, with his feet on the deck of the Indian military ship. Since then, he'd known who his life was dedicated to, and the second his powers had appeared, he'd flung himself into every training procedure and mission his superiors could imagine, turning himself into a new weapon with a single-minded ferocity to match his loyalty.
If only some of his newly minted Guardsmen had the same motivation.
"Sir, there's a package for you." The armsman saluted and stood at attention. Kalidas waved him inside.
"At ease, Lieutenant. It's been cleared by the front."
"Yes sir." He handed over the courier package and left. Kalidas tore open the package, and a cell phone slid out on to his desk. It was a generic model, easily purchased in any kiosk or store. He picked it up, and thumbed the power on. After only a few seconds, it rang.
"Hello?" He said carefully, putting the phone to his ear. "Who is this?"
"Decoit. You are the commander of the new mutant counter-terrorism team assembled by the Indian military, specifically under a long term program initiated by allies of D. Ken Neramani. Your team is supposed to be focused solely on countering the rise of mutant terrorism, but in Sri Lanka, you were used to coordinate and expedite the displacement and slaughter of northern Tamil settlements, as part of a political agreement by your Prime Minister to expand his own powerbase."
"This is nonsense. The Indian mili—"
"I'm not interested in a discussion, Decoit. You know what was done. I know what was done. I'm not looking for a confession." The voice was neutral and calm, and could have been a hundred different nationalities in origin. "I have a message for you. There are people out there who take exception to governments using mutants as a way to suppress populations or use their powers in an overt military manner. There are rules to this game, Decoit, and you broke them. We're the penalty. Listen closely…"
Wanda and Jubilee close on the first target.
Wanda had picked a fire escape on the other side of the building to climb up. Away from traffic, she climbed unnoticed to the roof. Once there, it was simple enough to trot low enough on the roof to where she and Jubilee had agreed to meet. They were above his flat now and would creep in through the same window as before.
She spotted Jubilee a second before the girl spotted her and she gave the short signal as she approached.
Jubilee nodded to Wanda, and set up the small device that would let them see the inside of his flat. It was short range, easier to stay undetected that way. She wanted to make sure everything was clear before they went in.
"Looks clear." she said quietly, before looking up. "You want to get into position before I go in, or wait up here in case everything goes to hell?"
***
"One of these days, work is going to send us to Maui, and on that day I will be a very happy woman." Jubilee noted to Wanda, grinning at the steward currently wheeling a trolley down the row. They weren't far from their destination now and Jubilee could almost feel the tension in her shoulders tightening. She wanted this done with; quick and simple, no complications, Wanda being along would hopefully mean that the chances would be stacked in their favour.
She could almost hear the voices of Remy's guild friends though, telling her to be careful, to be alert and never to assume anything, even down to the finest detail. It gave her a headache sometimes, it really did. When this was all over, she was going to crawl into her apartment with a bottle of scotch and not come out for days.
"Mmm, trust me; the last time I wound up on a beach for the call of duty, I had to fight pirates and a man in a suit of armor." Wanda smiled a little. "Though, if you're up for it, one of these days you really should ask Haller how we managed to get the information of the whereabouts of the cave. It is a fun story."
The paper rustled in her hands as she turned the page of one of the local newspapers. She wasn't familiar with the language but she knew how to pretend how to read and look busy. "Any tenser, Jubilee, and you will snap in two," she said under her breath, voice carrying only as far as needed. "Relax. Go over it in your head if you need to. And for Gods sake, girl, are you breathing at all?"
Jubilee almost visibly tried to relax her shoulders, laying her head back against the seat back as she went through in her head what Remy had told them. "Breathing, yes. Although, if it means that I get one of these nice lookin' guys giving me CPR, I can stop any time. You ever done anything like this before?"
Talk was good, talk relaxed her muscles and stopped her from dwelling on just what they were going to be doing over the next couple of days. She may have resigned herself to the fact that it had to be done, and that she would do it but it didn't mean thinking about it over much was going to help her at all. Time for that when they were in the thick of it and needing to be focused.
"Exactly like this?" Wanda responded, shaking her head negatively. "Not quite. Trust me when I say that working here means that every time is something new and different. In general though? Yes. New Orleans, for one."
For the first time, the newspaper dropped and their eyes met. "When you first decided to grace our doorstep, and my couch I might add, I considered you a liability," Wanda said frankly but with no malice in her voice. "But Remy and Pete know what they are doing, so I was content to stand back and watch. Now..."
"And now?" Jubilee asked, a hint of the tiredness she still felt almost constantly creeping into her gaze as she turned to glance at Wanda. "What do you think of me now?"
She slid the paper back up and scanned a few more paragraphs before peeking back over it. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes as she said simply, "That you snore when you sleep on my couch." Wanda winked at her and the amusement faded slightly, though not completely, as she gave Jubilee a challenging look. "As for the other, nothing is constant, everything is changing. My opinion of you is ever evolving, just keep that in mind. I think the bigger question is - does my opinion of you matter? That's for you to decide."
"I so do not snore, that's a filthy lie!" Jubilee replied, but the grin she flashed hid the weariness that had been in her eyes only moments before. "I don't care what all my former roommates might say to the contrary."
***
Jubilee dropped onto the ledge of the small balcony, having scaled the outside rather easily. She'd been somewhat surprised that no one had ever thought about how easy bars made climbing a structure. She padded over to the door, and wasn't surprised to find the window above it unlocked and slightly raised to let in the light breeze that currently ruffled her hair.
She could hear traffic a short distance away, and the sounds of a couple, maybe in the next apartment, but otherwise the night seemed quiet. She suspected that the occupant had not thought anyone could get through such a small space above the door. She wondered if that was short-sightedness or simple arrogance, she suspected the latter.
Jubilee turned back to the railing of the fire escape and gestured for Wanda to follow her up.
The bottom of the fire escape was, as was normal for these buildings, tucked and locked up out of reach of thieves. But a muted flash of red from beneath it solved that problem and Wanda easily caught the falling ladder before it hit the ground and woke everyone in the neighbourhood up.
She eased her way up - Jubilee might have been able to scamper here and there but Wanda was much heavier than her co-worker. And more gravity inclined, as well. But by placing her feet carefully and shimming up portions, she managed to make her way to the correct landing without any tell tale creaks or groans from the stair well.
Wanda crouched next to Jubilee and quirked an eyebrow at her.
"I'll go through up there, and then open the main window for you." Jubilee explained voice pitched low. She'd learnt not to whisper early on, it always carried.
Standing, Jubilee walked over to the door and examined it for a second before jumping and latching onto the underside oh the window. The next bit was the fun part, and Jubilee grimaced slightly as she slowly brought her legs up and hooked them over the edge, drawing herself up and then hanging on the other side before dropping lightly to the ground.
She turned and clicked the latch to let Wanda in.
Wanda tugged the gloves on her hands to make sure they were still on tight and snug before she pushed the window open just enough for her to duck through. The flat was exactly as they had been expecting it to be.
Empty.
Their contact had been correct about when their subject was in and out of his apartment but after that night, they would rely on their own eyes instead of another's. No matter how well paid.
She tapped Jubilee on the shoulder and pointed to the window and doors. She'd done her part for the moment by gaining them access. Now Wanda needed her to keep a sharp eye and ear on their surroundings while she checked for appointment books or paperwork that would proof useful. There had to be something in here that would detail some of his personal life and, given enough time, she was going to find it.
Jubilee nodded, padding quietly around the parameter of the room as she kept an ear and an eye out for any unusual disturbances, or sounds that might indicate a return of the mark. She needed to lay down some listening equipment, small devices that Mark and Doug had provided them with. She just needed to find the proper places to put them, places they weren't likely to be discovered. As far as Jubilee was concerned, both jobs could be done at the same time, it meant splitting her focus slightly but considering both jobs required a degree of alertness, she didn't think it would change much.
***
Jubilee threw the straw hat on the bed and gingerly kicked off the boots she'd been wearing, the smell alone would probably be offensively considering she'd been trekking through tourist sights all day in an effort to look touristy and interested in the local scene. She looked over at Wanda with a tired gaze. "What has our friend been up to today?"
"Not much," Wanda responded, tapping the city map that spilled out before her. It was large enough that it overflowed on the small end table that had come with their room and she'd spent the last few hours scribbling all over it. "It seems that when he is home, he is a bit of a homebody. He has a few favorite stops and he tends to walk around the city quite a bit. He spent a good amount of time in one of the markets today."
"He get a lot of visitors at home?" Jubilee asked, coming over to look at the map. She was all business now, the expression of annoyance smoothing out to be replaced by a certain seriousness, and an alert, smooth grace to her movements. "Anyone to miss him quickly?"
Wanda shook her head. "No. If he has family, it is not in the city. From what we saw of his flat a few days ago, I would say that this is not his permanent home. A stop over, if you will. He had very little in the way of personal effects - no pictures, no odds and ends lining the wall. As for other, more official visits, if he were smart, he would meet them elsewhere in the city." She leaned back in the chair while she rubbed the back of her neck. "And his neighbours seemed to be more of the 'it is none of our business' types."
"There weren't any places to crawl into, nowhere we're going to be able to go unnoticed in there." Jubilee said, her eyes running over the route he'd taken through the city. "I think we're going to have to go in once he's asleep. Less chance of him screaming and waking the whole damn building up. We'll have to watch him for a few more days, see what his sleep patterns are."
"Mmm, yes. Here..." Wanda tossed the room keys to Jubilee as she stood, stretching. "In the mean time, we need to eat. There is no reason for us to go hungry, especially when we are not making our move tonight."
***
Wanda thought about it before shaking her head. "It'll be better if I wait outside - we cannot discount any other night time visitors and I will have a better time of keeping watch that way." She squeezed Jubilee's shoulder before moving to the edge of the roof.
"Good luck, I will be right behind you if something decides to come up."
Wanda didn't seem to need an answer to that, and so Jubilee remained silent as she turned and dropped off the roof, catching herself at the last minute before swinging lightly onto the balcony below. Getting in was easy, it was being quiet and actually killing the mark that was going to be difficult.
She climbed through the window, pausing once inside a moment to listen; making sure her movements hadn't been detected. She could hear traffic in the distance, the sound of a faucet dripping in the bathroom and a small clock ticking away the hours toward dawn, but nothing else.
Jubilee straightened her shoulders and padded across to the bedroom door. She noted that it was open already, and slipped through quickly, drawing the knife from the sheath at her thigh. It would be quick, a short hard stab to the throat, and then step back to make sure he was dead.
She could feel sweat at the back of her shoulder blades, and a dull curl of nerves in her belly as she stood beside the bed, looking down at the man. It didn't stop her from stabbing the knife forward though, and as the knife entered his neck and then retracted she realised she wasn't sorry at all.
Unfortunately, she hadn't counted on him still being able to move once she'd stabbed him. The fist punched into her gut with reactionary force and launched her toward the wall, which she hit with a thud. Jubilee looked up, trying to get her head together enough to fight back, only to hope that this first assassination wasn't going to be her last.
The target on the bed was writhing now, attempting to get up. One hand was clasped tightly around his neck but the other one kept reaching for Jubilee. There was a reason he had been picked for the duty he had been charged with. No ordinary man could have survived that - or at least, been able to clamber, however unsteadily, to his feet.
He got all of three steps before his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he dropped to the floor with a hard thud. Blood pooled thickly between the hand trapped between the floor and his neck and it started to seep across the floor.
Jubilee finally got her eyes focused and turned toward the door, noticing Wanda for the first time. Once upon a time, she might have come out with a pithy comment, something to show she wasn't shaken by the fact she'd just been tossed into a wall. These days, it all seemed like a hell of a lot of effort just to be a smart arse.
"Thanks for the save." she said instead, pulling herself up the wall slowly, attempting to control the pounding in her head.
The red light faded from around Wanda's hands and she studied the twitching corpse for a moment. "You are welcome." She turned to go but stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Besides, you did give me the opening - I am assuming the blood loss from the knife wound weakened his heart. How's the head?"
Jubilee had managed to get to her feet, and now she took a couple of steps forward before having to place her hand on the bed, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "Woozy. I'd say the man kicked like a mule, but it was his fist that was the problem. I'm foreseeing a month of 'why we make sure they don't get the drop on us' training in my future."
She cleaned the knife she still gripped in her hand on the bedspread and then sheathed it before looking down at the dead man. She was lucky Wanda had been here, it could have gotten a lot messier.
The younger woman had taken not more than two wobbly steps before Wanda was sliding her arm through hers. "Up you get," came the soft voice. "If necessary, I would like to avoid any ... what is the term, again? Ah, piggy back rides. Besides that, lean on me until we get to safer ground. We'll regroup and go over the mission."
Messy, yes. But a success.
Amanda and Marie-Ange close on the second target.
Amanda paged through the rack of clothes, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of pachouli hanging heavy on them in an attempt to cover the fact they were extremely pre-worn. Ugh, filthy dirty hippies. Fantastic disguise. A light-brown dreadlock fell into her face and under the pretext of brushing it away, she glanced over at the gym again. No sign of their target yet, but there were a few minutes left.
Marie-Ange hadn't so much looked in Amanda's direction, except for a withering glance on seeing her the first time, and that had been prearranged. She had to acknowledge that she'd seen that the other girl was in place, even if they couldn't speak. The "Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft" wig and currently-fashionable large sunglasses weren't exactly the best disguise, but they were adequate. She bent her head over her tea and tapped out a text message. "Nothing yet."
Amanda's phone vibrated in the pocket of the baggy cotton pants she was wearing and she fished it out, smiling broadly as she read the message, a tourist hearing from home. "Soon", she replied in laborious text. "Creature of habit, this one." They'd certainly established that after several days of watching.
"Sick of her already." Marie-Ange tapped back. All that time spent texting Doug and sometimes Mark had gotten her to the point of being able to tap out the messages one-handed without having to look at her phone. "Going quiet unless I see her or hear from you." No sense in risking even the slightest chance of someone seeing them both texting. If Marie-Ange and Amanda could be paranoid, so could everyone else.
And chatter could be distracting.
"Gotcha." Amanda tucked the phone away again and wandered over to a table of cheap brass and copper bracelets that conveniently faced the front door. Picking through them meticulously, pausing to put one on and admire it, she was in the perfect spot to see the doors open and a red-skinned woman in military uniform come down the steps. Amanda's hand slipped into her pocket and she pressed the redial button, letting it ring Marie-Ange's phone just once before hitting 'off' again.
Marie-Ange's phone buzzed on the table next to her drink, and she picked it up, silencing the ringer after checking to see who had called. After a few moments, she gathered up her shoulder bag and left the small cafe. They knew that after the gym, Hussar walked back to a small private parking garage and collected her motorcycle, and that she often stopped along the way to get a bottle of water. In the days of watching, they had also discovered that there was a McDonalds right next to the parking garage. And that Hussar not only never entered it, but made a disgusted face at the brightly colored ads in the windows, making it the ideal place to meet Amanda.
The bathroom was, as bathrooms in McDonalds usually are, clean, and small - two stalls and barely enough room at the mirror for two women to wash their hands. Marie-Ange waited until she heard a flush, and Amanda emerged from the nearest stall. "Ready?" She asked.
If the witch was a little paler than usual, she was glad Marie-Ange didn't mention it. "Ready," she replied, face grim. "It's a good plan. Let's go do it."
***
Amanda flicked ash into the ashtray on the table and took another drag, careful to keep the smoke out of her companion's face. They were in a small bar not far from the military barracks, at a table that still gave them a view of the street. Amanda was wearing khaki pants and a plain white cotton shirt, a camera slung around her neck and her hair tied back neatly. There were a number of newspapers spread on the table between them, along with their drinks. They weren't the only Westerners in the bar - it had been chosen specifically because it was a haunt for foreign journalists.
"Looks like we have some competition," she remarked to Marie-Ange, her accent far more "BBC" than it usually was. She sounded almost like Betsy. "India and the Imperial Guard have some attention, at least, for what happened in Sri Lanka. Should work in our favour, at least."
"Or against it. If they are being watched, they may stay away from the public eye. After all, paranoia does not mean people are -not- out to get you." Marie-Ange idly played with some loose strands of hair that had come out of her bun and continued to ignore the ice melting in her glass of what was supposed to be a screwdriver and was just -wrong-. "At least we do not have to worry about paparazzi. I doubt that the Imperial Guard would make for a good Page Five spread."
Amanda snorted. "Definitely not. Besides, there's that whole bad military uniform fashion thing." She shifted a newspaper slightly, tapped on the grainy black and white photograph of a woman, hard faced and tough-looking. "From the profile Sof gave us, I'm guessing we're looking at someone with something to prove."
"Also her hair and her skin clash." Marie-Ange noted with distaste. "I think so too. Military, Indian, female and visibly x-gene positive? I am not sure I would not have something to prove in the same situation." She frowned, and peered at the photograph closer. "Have you ever seen that terrible movie with, oh, I can never remember her name, who used to be married to the actor from Die Hard and now is married to the actor from That 70's Show? The goofy one? I suppose this Hussar woman is just like that. One-armed pushups and getting up at stupid o'clock in the morning to go on a five mile run and carries all sorts of guns on her person."
"Which means we'll have to be really careful." Amanda took another thoughtful drag o her cigarette. "She could really fuck us up, between her training and her powers."
Marie-Ange picked up her glass and looked down into it and then set it down with a disgusted look. It still wasn't orange juice. Who made a screwdriver with -Tang-? "I think we are best playing keep away until we can somehow disarm her or take her by surprise... " She suggested. "And somewhere out of sight. Not only does she stand out, but we do as well, and I am not really interested in a tour of the local jail for assault on a member of their military."
"That's where having this lot around helps us." Amanda twitched her cigarette to indicate the other journalists. "Camoflage. We watch her for a couple of days, pick up her habits, see if there's any weaknesses we can use. If anyone wants to know, we're looking at a story on the Guard." She grinned a little. "Tho', you're the writer. If anyone sees my writing without a spell check, they'd wouldn't be fooled."
"You would be surprised how many journalists cannot spell properly without their computers." Marie-Ange said. "Doug likes to point out spelling mistakes on cnn.com when he is very very bored." But she still patted the closed laptop on their table and smiled. "I was bored on the plane. I have two articles outlined out." She had liberally cribbed from wikipedia and the emails that Doug had sent her from his sources, and it didn't matter, because all they needed was for it to look like it might be an article in need of editing. "I think we need to be a little less visible while we keep an eye on her. Camoflage, yes, but we should not always been seen stalking her. It could incite a fight before we are ready and I do not want to lose any advantage we might have." She frowned, pulling out a lock of her hair and inspecting it. "At least you can color yours. Mine never takes dye well at all."
"That's where the beauty of wigs comes in," Amanda said with a grin. "And Emma's discetionary fund. Why do your own stalking when you can pay off a couple of handy sources? And in a place like this, it's almost expected."
***
The parking garage had an elevator, but Hussar never took it, or at least, they never saw her take it - she always parked her motorcycle on the top floor of the small garage, and always took the stairs. So by virtue of expediency, Marie-Ange took the elevator up to the top floor. A glance told her that the bike was still there, and so their target was still in the stairwell.
She eased the metal door open, and listened - footsteps below her, a few levels down, it couldn't be more than two or three. A quick text, pre-typed went to Amanda "Stairwell confirmed." and she crept down, a pair of cards already in her hands.
Several floors below, Amanda took a deep breath and lay her hand on the metal door between her and the stairwell. Showtime. With another breath she opened herself up to Pune's energy, and murmured a few words, before reaching for her phone again. "Go for it."
Their target continued to mount the stairs, maintaining the same jogging pace she had started her climb off with. Hussar's sharp eyes darted around to survey her surroundings, making sure nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing was, but years of training had taught her to always be alert and prepared at all times, so she never let her guard down now.
Marie-Ange leaned far over the railing of the stairs and directed her attention on a landing a floor above where she could now see Hussar jogging up the stairs. Just before the red-skinned woman reached the top of the level, a rough stone wall appeared, the product of Marie-Ange's concentration on one of the cards in her hands. She moved away from the railing, still able to see her wall, but no longer able to see their target and waited.
Upon seeing the wall, the Indian stopped in her tracks, her eyes glowing with anger. Someone else was in there. Without missing a beat Hussar drew her gun from her holster and searched the area above her for signs of movement. Whoever, or whatever, had made this wall appear had to have been above, for she was certain no one had been behind her in the stairwell. "~Who's there,~" she barked in Hindi, still actively scanning the area. When she received no response she continued on in English. "Show yourself to me!"
There was no answer - Marie-Ange shook her head wryly. Like she was going to expose her position just because Hussar had demanded it. But, while she didn't want to give away where she was - a response of some kind was necessary. Instead, she concentrated on her cards, making another wall, this one made of overlapping metal sheets, appear in front of the first one. And then another, of the same type a floor below, blocking the two most obvious ways out - up, and down.
The appearance of the new wall in front of her did little to deter the red woman, though she did take a step down from it. While the response was not verbal, it was enough to confirm was Hussar already knew: there was someone else there, and they were hostile. Her eyes squinted smaller as they continued to scan the area, catching sight of the wall behind her. She was trapped, but certainly was not scared, in fact it was quite the opposite. A sly smile appeared on her lips as if to welcome the challenge. It quickly faded however as she concentrated on finding her adversary. "Only a coward would be hiding," she snarled. "Afraid to face me head on I see."
Well, she was angry. But that was consistent with what Marie-Ange and Amanda had observed. Easy to anger, fast to go on the offensive. And something they could use to their advantage. "Why should I care what you think?" Marie-Ange called back. "I have you trapped like a rat, and there is little you can do about it." Not strictly true, but accurate enough for her purposes.
"Little girl you are over your head in this." Hassar pointed her body and the gun in the direction of the voice. Although she could not ascertain precisely where her foe was located, she had a general idea and that was good enough for her. "I am giving you one last opportunity to show yourself without harm."
"Little girl?" Marie-Ange mouthed silently. She had come into Pune already not liking this woman, and Hussar wasn't doing anything to make herself any more likeable. Not that it was relevant, and she supposed that in a culture like this, with a visible mutation, being a stone bitch was probably inevitable. Still, the comment annoyed her, and the next wall that appeared was inches from the woman's nose. ~Lets see how long it takes her to realize the one behind her is gone.~ Marie-Ange thought.
As she stepped back to avoid the wall, Hussar realized that she was quickly losing whatever limited ability she had to fire a shot at her target. But she was a woman of her word, and had certainly given enough warning and opportunity. The lack of response meant that she could not launch a full on offensive, but felt she could justify using a strategy to smoke the vermin out of it's hole. "You are a very foolish girl." Hussar placed her gun back in her holster. "You have left me with no choice." A small ball of bio-electric energy grew in her hands before being launched in the direction where she had been concentrating. In doing so, Hussar was forced to step down a few steps, past where she thought a wall had previously been.
The energy just barely grazed Marie-Ange's shoulder, causing her arm to spasm, and her fingers to drop the cards that served as the focus for her imaged walls. She staggered back, pressing herself against the wall and swore silently. The pain broke her concentration, and the stone and metal walls buckled, and slumped over, dissolving into melting piles of slime that oozed down a few stairs before disappearing completely.
Shocking as it might have been to see solid walls melt away, Hussar paid no attention to it other than to bound past them up the stairs. With the illusions gone she could easily spot the figure slumped against the wall. "Well I hope you have learned a lesson," Hussar snarled as she lumbered toward Marie-Ange, another ball of energy growing in her hand. "You should have stayed at home and played with your dolls."
Marie-Ange snorted once, and her eyes narrowed. "You have no idea what you are talking about." she spat. Before her words were finished, a barrier of linked brass discs formed in front of and around her, building itself up, and seeming to move out steadily in small increments only as thick as the discs themselves. Small inches at a time it pushed out, each layer of pentacle-marked discs eating away at the open space on the landing. Losing her concentration had forced her to take more drastic measures, and while the walls formed from the armband tattoo would hold up longer than those from a regular image, Marie-Ange's head was already starting to throb with the effort of making it grow in order to try to force Hussar back down the stairs.
There was no way that she was going to let herself be bested in such a manner. Figuring that this was yet another illusion, Hussar decided to test it. The substance seemed solid enough to prevent her from walking through. but surely a little force could send the discs tumbling to the ground as the walls had done. She steadied herself for a moment before squarely hitting the barrier with her foot. But much to her surprise it was not only solid, but still continuing to grow, forcing her back toward the stairs. In her fit of anger, Hussar had failed to fully take notice of surroundings and found herself slipping off the landing. It was a careless mistake to make, and one that was highlighted as in her haste to regain control Hussar dropped the energy ball onto her legs. Severe pain rocketed through her body, and unable now to stand, she found herself falling backwards down the stairs until she reached the landing below.
There was a ripple as the seemingly solid surface of the metal fire door leading to the floor of the garage shifted. For a moment there was a girl-shaped section of door in front of Hussar, and then the illusion melted away, revealing one of those hippie tourists, brown hair in untidy dreads and wearing an assortment of local clothing. She was young and small, barely up to Hussar's shoulder had she been standing, but her expression was cold as she knelt by the woman and pressed her hand to her chest.
"Nothing personal," she said, voice English-accented, and she pushed her hand into Hussar, her eyes glowing as she pulled the other woman's life energy into herself.
The pain was nothing like Hussar had ever felt before. And although she was still semi-paralyzed, the Indian was determined to fight back. Screams echoed in her brain as she felt the life literally drain out of her, but she maintained a firm countenance, her jaw clenched in determination. Weakened by her current predicament, the hand that reached for the gun at her side trembled. She felt the cold metal in briefly before the weight of it forced the soldier to drop it to the ground. "You. Two," she growled, each word a struggle to produce. "Will. Pay."
"I really don't think so." The effort of holding that much energy within herself on top of what the heavily-populated Indian city was giving her was telling, Amanda's teeth gritting as she felt her skin tighten and grow warm. She watched Hussar slump further as Marie-Ange finally joined her, and she yanked her hand away. "Can't take on any more," she grated to the French girl.
"Give it to the city? Can you do that? What would that do?" Marie-Ange asked soberly. One of the swords that she preferred was already in her hands, and she coldly considered the fallen red-skinned soldier for a moment before slashing decisevly at her throat.
There was no recovering from a wound like that, not without some kind of healing factor, and nowhere in their information was there even a hint that Hussar healed faster than anyone else. Marie-Ange stepped away from the dying woman, and dismissed the sword with barely a glance.
"Got a better idea." Amanda rose to her feet and moved to the elevator without looking back.
***
A deep, rattling cough shook the begger's thin frame and she paused from her litany of need to try and clear her lungs. There wasn't much success - pneumonia was settling in. Finally getting herself under control, she looked up to see a young Western woman in front of her. There was something odd about her, a hint of odd lights in her eyes, but her expression didn't speak of danger.
"Please? Money?" she held out her hand. The young woman reached into her pocket and pulled out some coins.
"Here," she said, wrapping her fingers around the thin hand for longer than might have been necessary. The begger was about to jerk away when the girl let go and vanished into the rush of pedestrians, her walk perhaps a little unsteady.
Devi didn't give her another thought. It was only later that she realized she was completely and utterly healthy, all signs of sickness gone.
Remy and Sarah focus on the final target.
The crowd inside was a sharp contrast to the stark emptiness outside of the building. It was a jumble of voices and languages as punters and gamblers argued merits and made deals around the currently empty ring. Unlicensed boxing was a passion in the city of Pune, and it had only taken a few days to locate many of the major matches, including a few details on who was big into the sport.
There was no way to avoid standing out. Sarah's pale skin and Remy's red hair marked them as Westerners pretty conclusively, which is why they'd gone completely the other direction. Pune wasn't an insignificant destination for business travelers of all nationalities, and they clothes marked them as people with money and influence. They were waved through the doors immediately, and into the hot, sweaty interior of the match.
Lines sprouted from a number of booths which took bets, and just as much money was being exchanged on the floor between the eager punters. Televisions mounted around the place showed football and cricket matches, which received almost as much attention as the booths. Remy detached himself from Sarah and wandered over to one of the men at a booth, a German sweating heavily in a white suit. Gunter and he had done a lot of business over the years, and no one non-Indian knew illegal sports on the subcontinent better.
While Sarah's look of distaste was probably misinterpreted by those around her as a lack of interest in her current surroundings, the truth was it was the sheer ridiculousness of her shoes. "Undercover" or no, heels were not work-shoes, no matter how out of place she would have looked in face-stomping boots and tasteful attire.
Moving her way through the crowd, Sarah stopped to lean against a railing that kept drunken visitors from tumbling down a sudden step down towards the main floor. Here the lines were behind her, but the buzzing activity of the crowd in front of her provided more than enough for observation.
Ramji was visible coming through the door, and that meant the mission was on. No going back until one of them was dead.
***
"Ramji Laxman Dhasal. His name in the Guard is 'Dārkā', which translates loosely into 'Fang'. Appropriate since he's a feral. Enhanced senses, limited healing factor, and large claws and fangs." Remy passed over the files to Sarah in the hotel room, twenty stories above the city. The network had come through, and Betsy's contacts had managed to turn a great deal of money into a fairly decent overview of the new 'khusrawi agoriya', or as they had started calling them, The Imperial Guard. Most of them were stationed out of Pune for now, and that had started their plans.
"This is interesting. He's a local boy, and not a proud one. Dalit caste." Remy looked up at Sarah with a grim smile. "An Untouchable One."
"Untouchable how? Like, lowest of the low?" Sarah flipped through the file in her hand, feet propped up on the bed. She'd sworn off ferals entirely, but the file still fascinated her. His life story, behavioral write-ups, the whole nine yards on a walking dead guy. "Nobody'll miss him when he's gone then."
"We wish. As part of de Guard, he's a national resource now. What dat means is dat he grew up on de wrong side of de tracks, and dat might be useful to us. According to dis, he was involved in street fights, illegal boxing, dat sort of thing." Remy looked through the files. "Dere it is. According to rumour, he still is a big fan of dem."
"Oh, damn. Don't make me go watch the fights. My fragile heart may not be able to handle it." She turned another page in the file. "Says here he was actually pretty good."
"He'll be dangerous. Still, if we can get him to an isolated fight, dat would be de best place to make it happen." Remy looked through the pages. "Likes de women well 'nough. You feel like breaking out de high hells and tiny dress? Dey don't fit Remy so well dese days."
"Wow, that's a mental image that will give my grandchildren nightmares." Sarah looked up from the paperwork in her lap, and glanced irritably at the high heels sitting where she'd thrown them after they got back. "I knew I should have just left those at home."
***
"Two hundred thousand rupees on Quamar!" LeBeau sidestepped the corpulent Sikh who was betting, and took one of the few seats in the back, where he could watch the crowd. Sarah was circulating as well. It had been three nights, and they'd caught sight of Dārkā twice. He didn't try and hide his nature as a mutant, and they'd followed his keen interest in the fights. Sarah was to make a limited contact tonight, while Remy tracked down the other information from a contact of Wisdom's; an old SI contact who had retired to India.
James Sinclair certainly stood out, a head taller than most of the crowd, with shock white hair and a ruddy Scots complexion. He moved cleanly through the masses and took a seat next to LeBeau, picking up the newspaper that had been sitting there and placing it beside his bag. The paper held five thousand, a simple tender for a small amount of information.
"Mr Sinclair."
"Names aren't necessary. By God, it's hot in here." He smiled, showing yellow teeth, and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "I suppose we're unlikely to get proper air conditioning on the illegal fight circuit though. Ha!" He laughed at his own joke.
"Dhasal will be here?"
"Of course, old boy. For a while at least. He's always been fight mad. Was one of the stars until it became obvious he was a mutant." Sinclair dropped his voice lower. "Of course, that didn't stop all of the matches."
"There's a more illegal illegal fighting circuit?" Remy said, allowing a touch of incredulity into his voice. The Cajun's accent was pure Midwestern, as blandly and unremarkably American as could be imagined.
"Mutants. Mostly Dalit caste. A lot of them end in death. Very secret, lots of money, and very popular to those who know they exist. Dhasal is an honoured guest at them, and occasionally makes a brief return to the ring for enough money. Carefully hidden from his superiors. I think they wouldn't appreciate the hobby, you think?"
"That's sounds about right. Drink?"
"Constantly, but I'll take mine down at the Embassy Club. Enjoy the fight." Sinclair tucked the newspaper under one arm and walked out. Remy sat staring out over the crowd, ignoring the fight starting and looking to see if Sarah had spotted Dhasal yet.
Their mark stood just paces away from her, leaning against a wall with a drink in his hand. He looked deep in thought, or preparing, possibly just bad-tempered. Sarah was willing to bet the last. He was her kind of feral. She approached him slowly, the drink in her hand untouched and dripping down her fingers. She smiled, eagerly. "Excuse me, sir? I can't help but notice I've seen you here before. Do you fight?"
Ramji looked her up and down slowly, arrogantly. Once he would have been nothing but a body in this place, people only interested in his fighting abilities and the odds on him. Now, he had both a name to be respected and a reputation to be feared. Which explained why this American woman was now coming up to him like he was a star. His English wasn't good, especially compared to the rest of the Guard, but he hadn't been pampered and sent to private schools. Ramji had learned everything here.
"I used to. Now I watch. You would have enjoyed seeing me fight." He gave her a second appraisal, noting her lean curves with interest, and the few bony protrusions out of her body. This one was a mutant. It explained her interest and the lack of fear her could smell on her in this place. "You are here alone?"
"My business partner doesn't know I'm here." She examined the nails on her free hand, then looked back up at him. "Too busy in some back alley with his pants around his ankles to care."
"A shame. The real excitement is in here, during the fights, and in the hours after being sated by one." He could smell the arousal on her, and it excited him. The sweat-blood-fear atmosphere of the fight often inspired the sexual lust in some women. Obviously, this was one who liked her men bloody. "But these are still tame compared to some fights. Ones where the fists are not the only weapons a man has to use. You would enjoy them."
Sarah's mute nod contrasted the excitement in her eyes, and Ramji scribbled a brief note on a napkin, passing it over. "Tomorrow. It will be a memorable night." He said, not realizing the certainty of his statement.
***
Sarah paid the taxi driver, glancing around the empty street in front of her for some sign of Dhasal. The driver had asked her twice if the address was correct, apparently worried for her safety. When the cab pulled away and sped off into the distance, Sarah considered the very slow ways she would kill this bastard if he didn't show. Sure, they were going to kill him anyway, but by god, she was going to make it worse if he stood her up.
"You are on time. That is good. They are strict about arrival." Ramji said, materializing from the shadows. The man moved with unnatural grace, a side effect of the feral mutation. He smiled at her outfit, obviously intending the night to have a very specific finish and ushered her inside. The steel door opened a fraction to identify Dhasel, before being flung wide to admit them both.
The room was cavernous, with tables and chairs ringing around a large circular hole. The arena itself was sunk five feet into the ground, and the circumference was studded with massive steel bars, and heavy fencing stretched between, to make a high ceiling fighting area. Inside the ring, two men battered each other, one using flaming hands to attack his opponent, who fought back with snake-like skin absorbing the blows. Blood spattered the ring all around, and the inarticulate babble of the crowd washed back and forth as they battled.
Dhasel ushered her in, and a bottle of champagne was brought to the table he selected in a booth at the back. "This is why we are only allowed to fight. Sometimes to the death. I was a champion here."
"I knew you were a fighter from the moment I laid eyes on you." She smiled brightly, leaning forward slightly on her forearms. She needed to, not just to keep his attention and interest, but because the roar of the crowd made it damn near impossible to hear at times. And she didn't have super hearing to help out. "You can tell the winners from the losers just by the presence they have when they walk in a room."
Dhasel handed her a glass of their champagne, clinking his own glass against hers and waiting for her to take a drink before tasting his own. He wondered about the boldness of this American woman, taking his word and coming to what she must have known was an illegal event
after only having met him for a few moments. And her attire? She was either very brave to show up dressed like that, or very stupid. He allowed his eyes to wander a moment, taking in the toned muscles of her upper body. Perhaps it was bravery after all. "I like a woman who appreciates the fight. The spilling of blood. I have no use for the squeamish."
Sarah glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the snake-skinned fighter was no longer in the ring. Instead, a feral roared into action, twisting and turning out of reach of the other fighter's fiery blasts. Taking another drink of her champagne, she leaned forward to be heard, although as a feral she knew he wouldn't have needed it.
"This one doesn't hold a candle to your reputation." Slowly, she ran a bony finger down his pant leg, ripping threads and leaving a thin trail of blood it its wake. "I, too, have no use for the squeamish."
He grabbed for her hand then, fast as anything, nails digging into her wrist like claws. He watched her reaction closely, watched as her eyes fluttered but didn't close, and her bottom lip found it's way in between her teeth. Pleased with the reaction, he moved closer so she was nearly pinned under him. "Such a pretty face. I shall enjoy bringing you pain. So will you, I think." A throaty laugh came from the woman beside him.
I have sworn off ferals, I have sworn off ferals, I have sworn of ferals.... This was a lot harder than it she thought. Sarah leaned forward teeth grazing sharply against his ear as she whispered "Then hurt me. I am yours tonight." She only hoped Remy would do this
quickly, because she was sure the longer this went on, the less she'd actually want it to stop.
A few minutes later, they were pressed against the wall of a dark alcove, away from the tables and the fight. Each rough caress was punctuated with the slashing over claws or the rough cut of a bone. The smell of blood saturated the air, clogging Ramji's senses, although he barely noticed, too focused on the pleasure and pain of the mutant infront of him. His need to penetrate her was as strong as his need to hurt her, and he didn't know whether he could wait to leave the room before doing it.
His last caress, a stroke with his claws over her breast, actually bisected the erect nipple, and Sarah's hiss of pain came with the tearing sound of a bone worked from her back; a sickle like rib, sharp and jagged. She buried it into his back, right at the kidneys, and Ramji arched back at the pain, knowing then that he would not wait, and as the delicious red fog of hurt filled him, that he would have her right here, against the wall of the fight club, in a blood of their combined blood, and kill anyone who might object.
Neither paid any attention to the figure that walked past, almost unseeing as the bone pierced Ramji's back. He didn't paused or slow, but there was a purple flicker in his hand as he passed, looking to have simply run a finger along the back of Dhasel's neck.
The feral blinked once, twice, and then collapsed against Sarah. She eased him to the ground, seeing the lightly discoloured line across the back of his neck. The wound was the thickness of a playing card, and severed his spinal cord neatly between the first vertebra and the skull, scoring a line through his brain stem and cerebellum. The arch was key, he'd told her, to make the kill as clean as possible, and counteract the healing factor. Ramji would have been dead before his mind realized it.
Dress torn, blood dripping from her wounds, Sarah walked into the back rooms of the ring and walked out a rear service door. It had been locked, but now pieces of the locking system lay on the floor. The night air seemed slightly cool after the heat of the club.
Remy tossed a bag to her, and Sarah quickly toweled the blood from her face and changed her clothes, putting everything back into the bag. There was no hurry. Anyone finding the body would be preoccupied with finding a way to hide it, or dump it far from the illegal ring, doing their job for them. Clean enough to not raise comment, they disappeared back into the city, leaving no traces behind.
Message completed, the point is hammered home to Decoit.
"That's three of your men, Decoit. Three. It could have been more. It also could have been the people who gave the order just as easily." Kalidas had been making frantic notes, and waving people in to try and locate all of the Imperial Guard in the city immediately. "As I said before, there are rules to this, and breaking those rules means you get punished for it. Special guards haven't been the safest security option for Indian Prime Ministers in the past, and we can make it happen again."
"You will pay for this."
"At least forty thousand dead in Sri Lanka, Decoit. Likely more once an international team finally gets to poke around and find the mass graves. You think that your threats have any impact on me? Three for forty thousand. You're getting off cheap. Consider it, and learn the rules. Or the next time, we take the full amount out on Neramani and you. Don't give us a reason to have to contact you again." Remy took the phone from his ear, switched it off, and tossed it into the nearest garbage can.
Kalidas worked long hours. It was his nature. Even before he'd been named Dacoit and placed in charge of the newly public Imperial Guard, his nature had been to always take his extra hours and pour them back into the service. After all, it had taken him a long way from Madripoor.
He never liked to think of those days, after his father's small importing business had collapsed, and the fool decided he could fix everything with money from gambling, ignoring the obvious fact that most of the island's games were run by one criminal group or another, and universally fixed. For his debts, he'd lost first his wife, and then his son before finally his life, and Kalidas could remember the harsh years in the fighting pits, his only possession a knife and a burning desire to survive.
It had finally been his uncle who had located him. Uncle Sureesh was the first officer on the INS Ranjit, and when it docked in Madripoor, he'd put his entire crew on a mission to find his brother's family. It was too late for his mother, but Kalidas had left the fighting pits and Madripoor wrapped in a blanket, with his feet on the deck of the Indian military ship. Since then, he'd known who his life was dedicated to, and the second his powers had appeared, he'd flung himself into every training procedure and mission his superiors could imagine, turning himself into a new weapon with a single-minded ferocity to match his loyalty.
If only some of his newly minted Guardsmen had the same motivation.
"Sir, there's a package for you." The armsman saluted and stood at attention. Kalidas waved him inside.
"At ease, Lieutenant. It's been cleared by the front."
"Yes sir." He handed over the courier package and left. Kalidas tore open the package, and a cell phone slid out on to his desk. It was a generic model, easily purchased in any kiosk or store. He picked it up, and thumbed the power on. After only a few seconds, it rang.
"Hello?" He said carefully, putting the phone to his ear. "Who is this?"
"Decoit. You are the commander of the new mutant counter-terrorism team assembled by the Indian military, specifically under a long term program initiated by allies of D. Ken Neramani. Your team is supposed to be focused solely on countering the rise of mutant terrorism, but in Sri Lanka, you were used to coordinate and expedite the displacement and slaughter of northern Tamil settlements, as part of a political agreement by your Prime Minister to expand his own powerbase."
"This is nonsense. The Indian mili—"
"I'm not interested in a discussion, Decoit. You know what was done. I know what was done. I'm not looking for a confession." The voice was neutral and calm, and could have been a hundred different nationalities in origin. "I have a message for you. There are people out there who take exception to governments using mutants as a way to suppress populations or use their powers in an overt military manner. There are rules to this game, Decoit, and you broke them. We're the penalty. Listen closely…"
Wanda and Jubilee close on the first target.
Wanda had picked a fire escape on the other side of the building to climb up. Away from traffic, she climbed unnoticed to the roof. Once there, it was simple enough to trot low enough on the roof to where she and Jubilee had agreed to meet. They were above his flat now and would creep in through the same window as before.
She spotted Jubilee a second before the girl spotted her and she gave the short signal as she approached.
Jubilee nodded to Wanda, and set up the small device that would let them see the inside of his flat. It was short range, easier to stay undetected that way. She wanted to make sure everything was clear before they went in.
"Looks clear." she said quietly, before looking up. "You want to get into position before I go in, or wait up here in case everything goes to hell?"
***
"One of these days, work is going to send us to Maui, and on that day I will be a very happy woman." Jubilee noted to Wanda, grinning at the steward currently wheeling a trolley down the row. They weren't far from their destination now and Jubilee could almost feel the tension in her shoulders tightening. She wanted this done with; quick and simple, no complications, Wanda being along would hopefully mean that the chances would be stacked in their favour.
She could almost hear the voices of Remy's guild friends though, telling her to be careful, to be alert and never to assume anything, even down to the finest detail. It gave her a headache sometimes, it really did. When this was all over, she was going to crawl into her apartment with a bottle of scotch and not come out for days.
"Mmm, trust me; the last time I wound up on a beach for the call of duty, I had to fight pirates and a man in a suit of armor." Wanda smiled a little. "Though, if you're up for it, one of these days you really should ask Haller how we managed to get the information of the whereabouts of the cave. It is a fun story."
The paper rustled in her hands as she turned the page of one of the local newspapers. She wasn't familiar with the language but she knew how to pretend how to read and look busy. "Any tenser, Jubilee, and you will snap in two," she said under her breath, voice carrying only as far as needed. "Relax. Go over it in your head if you need to. And for Gods sake, girl, are you breathing at all?"
Jubilee almost visibly tried to relax her shoulders, laying her head back against the seat back as she went through in her head what Remy had told them. "Breathing, yes. Although, if it means that I get one of these nice lookin' guys giving me CPR, I can stop any time. You ever done anything like this before?"
Talk was good, talk relaxed her muscles and stopped her from dwelling on just what they were going to be doing over the next couple of days. She may have resigned herself to the fact that it had to be done, and that she would do it but it didn't mean thinking about it over much was going to help her at all. Time for that when they were in the thick of it and needing to be focused.
"Exactly like this?" Wanda responded, shaking her head negatively. "Not quite. Trust me when I say that working here means that every time is something new and different. In general though? Yes. New Orleans, for one."
For the first time, the newspaper dropped and their eyes met. "When you first decided to grace our doorstep, and my couch I might add, I considered you a liability," Wanda said frankly but with no malice in her voice. "But Remy and Pete know what they are doing, so I was content to stand back and watch. Now..."
"And now?" Jubilee asked, a hint of the tiredness she still felt almost constantly creeping into her gaze as she turned to glance at Wanda. "What do you think of me now?"
She slid the paper back up and scanned a few more paragraphs before peeking back over it. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes as she said simply, "That you snore when you sleep on my couch." Wanda winked at her and the amusement faded slightly, though not completely, as she gave Jubilee a challenging look. "As for the other, nothing is constant, everything is changing. My opinion of you is ever evolving, just keep that in mind. I think the bigger question is - does my opinion of you matter? That's for you to decide."
"I so do not snore, that's a filthy lie!" Jubilee replied, but the grin she flashed hid the weariness that had been in her eyes only moments before. "I don't care what all my former roommates might say to the contrary."
***
Jubilee dropped onto the ledge of the small balcony, having scaled the outside rather easily. She'd been somewhat surprised that no one had ever thought about how easy bars made climbing a structure. She padded over to the door, and wasn't surprised to find the window above it unlocked and slightly raised to let in the light breeze that currently ruffled her hair.
She could hear traffic a short distance away, and the sounds of a couple, maybe in the next apartment, but otherwise the night seemed quiet. She suspected that the occupant had not thought anyone could get through such a small space above the door. She wondered if that was short-sightedness or simple arrogance, she suspected the latter.
Jubilee turned back to the railing of the fire escape and gestured for Wanda to follow her up.
The bottom of the fire escape was, as was normal for these buildings, tucked and locked up out of reach of thieves. But a muted flash of red from beneath it solved that problem and Wanda easily caught the falling ladder before it hit the ground and woke everyone in the neighbourhood up.
She eased her way up - Jubilee might have been able to scamper here and there but Wanda was much heavier than her co-worker. And more gravity inclined, as well. But by placing her feet carefully and shimming up portions, she managed to make her way to the correct landing without any tell tale creaks or groans from the stair well.
Wanda crouched next to Jubilee and quirked an eyebrow at her.
"I'll go through up there, and then open the main window for you." Jubilee explained voice pitched low. She'd learnt not to whisper early on, it always carried.
Standing, Jubilee walked over to the door and examined it for a second before jumping and latching onto the underside oh the window. The next bit was the fun part, and Jubilee grimaced slightly as she slowly brought her legs up and hooked them over the edge, drawing herself up and then hanging on the other side before dropping lightly to the ground.
She turned and clicked the latch to let Wanda in.
Wanda tugged the gloves on her hands to make sure they were still on tight and snug before she pushed the window open just enough for her to duck through. The flat was exactly as they had been expecting it to be.
Empty.
Their contact had been correct about when their subject was in and out of his apartment but after that night, they would rely on their own eyes instead of another's. No matter how well paid.
She tapped Jubilee on the shoulder and pointed to the window and doors. She'd done her part for the moment by gaining them access. Now Wanda needed her to keep a sharp eye and ear on their surroundings while she checked for appointment books or paperwork that would proof useful. There had to be something in here that would detail some of his personal life and, given enough time, she was going to find it.
Jubilee nodded, padding quietly around the parameter of the room as she kept an ear and an eye out for any unusual disturbances, or sounds that might indicate a return of the mark. She needed to lay down some listening equipment, small devices that Mark and Doug had provided them with. She just needed to find the proper places to put them, places they weren't likely to be discovered. As far as Jubilee was concerned, both jobs could be done at the same time, it meant splitting her focus slightly but considering both jobs required a degree of alertness, she didn't think it would change much.
***
Jubilee threw the straw hat on the bed and gingerly kicked off the boots she'd been wearing, the smell alone would probably be offensively considering she'd been trekking through tourist sights all day in an effort to look touristy and interested in the local scene. She looked over at Wanda with a tired gaze. "What has our friend been up to today?"
"Not much," Wanda responded, tapping the city map that spilled out before her. It was large enough that it overflowed on the small end table that had come with their room and she'd spent the last few hours scribbling all over it. "It seems that when he is home, he is a bit of a homebody. He has a few favorite stops and he tends to walk around the city quite a bit. He spent a good amount of time in one of the markets today."
"He get a lot of visitors at home?" Jubilee asked, coming over to look at the map. She was all business now, the expression of annoyance smoothing out to be replaced by a certain seriousness, and an alert, smooth grace to her movements. "Anyone to miss him quickly?"
Wanda shook her head. "No. If he has family, it is not in the city. From what we saw of his flat a few days ago, I would say that this is not his permanent home. A stop over, if you will. He had very little in the way of personal effects - no pictures, no odds and ends lining the wall. As for other, more official visits, if he were smart, he would meet them elsewhere in the city." She leaned back in the chair while she rubbed the back of her neck. "And his neighbours seemed to be more of the 'it is none of our business' types."
"There weren't any places to crawl into, nowhere we're going to be able to go unnoticed in there." Jubilee said, her eyes running over the route he'd taken through the city. "I think we're going to have to go in once he's asleep. Less chance of him screaming and waking the whole damn building up. We'll have to watch him for a few more days, see what his sleep patterns are."
"Mmm, yes. Here..." Wanda tossed the room keys to Jubilee as she stood, stretching. "In the mean time, we need to eat. There is no reason for us to go hungry, especially when we are not making our move tonight."
***
Wanda thought about it before shaking her head. "It'll be better if I wait outside - we cannot discount any other night time visitors and I will have a better time of keeping watch that way." She squeezed Jubilee's shoulder before moving to the edge of the roof.
"Good luck, I will be right behind you if something decides to come up."
Wanda didn't seem to need an answer to that, and so Jubilee remained silent as she turned and dropped off the roof, catching herself at the last minute before swinging lightly onto the balcony below. Getting in was easy, it was being quiet and actually killing the mark that was going to be difficult.
She climbed through the window, pausing once inside a moment to listen; making sure her movements hadn't been detected. She could hear traffic in the distance, the sound of a faucet dripping in the bathroom and a small clock ticking away the hours toward dawn, but nothing else.
Jubilee straightened her shoulders and padded across to the bedroom door. She noted that it was open already, and slipped through quickly, drawing the knife from the sheath at her thigh. It would be quick, a short hard stab to the throat, and then step back to make sure he was dead.
She could feel sweat at the back of her shoulder blades, and a dull curl of nerves in her belly as she stood beside the bed, looking down at the man. It didn't stop her from stabbing the knife forward though, and as the knife entered his neck and then retracted she realised she wasn't sorry at all.
Unfortunately, she hadn't counted on him still being able to move once she'd stabbed him. The fist punched into her gut with reactionary force and launched her toward the wall, which she hit with a thud. Jubilee looked up, trying to get her head together enough to fight back, only to hope that this first assassination wasn't going to be her last.
The target on the bed was writhing now, attempting to get up. One hand was clasped tightly around his neck but the other one kept reaching for Jubilee. There was a reason he had been picked for the duty he had been charged with. No ordinary man could have survived that - or at least, been able to clamber, however unsteadily, to his feet.
He got all of three steps before his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he dropped to the floor with a hard thud. Blood pooled thickly between the hand trapped between the floor and his neck and it started to seep across the floor.
Jubilee finally got her eyes focused and turned toward the door, noticing Wanda for the first time. Once upon a time, she might have come out with a pithy comment, something to show she wasn't shaken by the fact she'd just been tossed into a wall. These days, it all seemed like a hell of a lot of effort just to be a smart arse.
"Thanks for the save." she said instead, pulling herself up the wall slowly, attempting to control the pounding in her head.
The red light faded from around Wanda's hands and she studied the twitching corpse for a moment. "You are welcome." She turned to go but stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Besides, you did give me the opening - I am assuming the blood loss from the knife wound weakened his heart. How's the head?"
Jubilee had managed to get to her feet, and now she took a couple of steps forward before having to place her hand on the bed, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "Woozy. I'd say the man kicked like a mule, but it was his fist that was the problem. I'm foreseeing a month of 'why we make sure they don't get the drop on us' training in my future."
She cleaned the knife she still gripped in her hand on the bedspread and then sheathed it before looking down at the dead man. She was lucky Wanda had been here, it could have gotten a lot messier.
The younger woman had taken not more than two wobbly steps before Wanda was sliding her arm through hers. "Up you get," came the soft voice. "If necessary, I would like to avoid any ... what is the term, again? Ah, piggy back rides. Besides that, lean on me until we get to safer ground. We'll regroup and go over the mission."
Messy, yes. But a success.
Amanda and Marie-Ange close on the second target.
Amanda paged through the rack of clothes, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of pachouli hanging heavy on them in an attempt to cover the fact they were extremely pre-worn. Ugh, filthy dirty hippies. Fantastic disguise. A light-brown dreadlock fell into her face and under the pretext of brushing it away, she glanced over at the gym again. No sign of their target yet, but there were a few minutes left.
Marie-Ange hadn't so much looked in Amanda's direction, except for a withering glance on seeing her the first time, and that had been prearranged. She had to acknowledge that she'd seen that the other girl was in place, even if they couldn't speak. The "Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft" wig and currently-fashionable large sunglasses weren't exactly the best disguise, but they were adequate. She bent her head over her tea and tapped out a text message. "Nothing yet."
Amanda's phone vibrated in the pocket of the baggy cotton pants she was wearing and she fished it out, smiling broadly as she read the message, a tourist hearing from home. "Soon", she replied in laborious text. "Creature of habit, this one." They'd certainly established that after several days of watching.
"Sick of her already." Marie-Ange tapped back. All that time spent texting Doug and sometimes Mark had gotten her to the point of being able to tap out the messages one-handed without having to look at her phone. "Going quiet unless I see her or hear from you." No sense in risking even the slightest chance of someone seeing them both texting. If Marie-Ange and Amanda could be paranoid, so could everyone else.
And chatter could be distracting.
"Gotcha." Amanda tucked the phone away again and wandered over to a table of cheap brass and copper bracelets that conveniently faced the front door. Picking through them meticulously, pausing to put one on and admire it, she was in the perfect spot to see the doors open and a red-skinned woman in military uniform come down the steps. Amanda's hand slipped into her pocket and she pressed the redial button, letting it ring Marie-Ange's phone just once before hitting 'off' again.
Marie-Ange's phone buzzed on the table next to her drink, and she picked it up, silencing the ringer after checking to see who had called. After a few moments, she gathered up her shoulder bag and left the small cafe. They knew that after the gym, Hussar walked back to a small private parking garage and collected her motorcycle, and that she often stopped along the way to get a bottle of water. In the days of watching, they had also discovered that there was a McDonalds right next to the parking garage. And that Hussar not only never entered it, but made a disgusted face at the brightly colored ads in the windows, making it the ideal place to meet Amanda.
The bathroom was, as bathrooms in McDonalds usually are, clean, and small - two stalls and barely enough room at the mirror for two women to wash their hands. Marie-Ange waited until she heard a flush, and Amanda emerged from the nearest stall. "Ready?" She asked.
If the witch was a little paler than usual, she was glad Marie-Ange didn't mention it. "Ready," she replied, face grim. "It's a good plan. Let's go do it."
***
Amanda flicked ash into the ashtray on the table and took another drag, careful to keep the smoke out of her companion's face. They were in a small bar not far from the military barracks, at a table that still gave them a view of the street. Amanda was wearing khaki pants and a plain white cotton shirt, a camera slung around her neck and her hair tied back neatly. There were a number of newspapers spread on the table between them, along with their drinks. They weren't the only Westerners in the bar - it had been chosen specifically because it was a haunt for foreign journalists.
"Looks like we have some competition," she remarked to Marie-Ange, her accent far more "BBC" than it usually was. She sounded almost like Betsy. "India and the Imperial Guard have some attention, at least, for what happened in Sri Lanka. Should work in our favour, at least."
"Or against it. If they are being watched, they may stay away from the public eye. After all, paranoia does not mean people are -not- out to get you." Marie-Ange idly played with some loose strands of hair that had come out of her bun and continued to ignore the ice melting in her glass of what was supposed to be a screwdriver and was just -wrong-. "At least we do not have to worry about paparazzi. I doubt that the Imperial Guard would make for a good Page Five spread."
Amanda snorted. "Definitely not. Besides, there's that whole bad military uniform fashion thing." She shifted a newspaper slightly, tapped on the grainy black and white photograph of a woman, hard faced and tough-looking. "From the profile Sof gave us, I'm guessing we're looking at someone with something to prove."
"Also her hair and her skin clash." Marie-Ange noted with distaste. "I think so too. Military, Indian, female and visibly x-gene positive? I am not sure I would not have something to prove in the same situation." She frowned, and peered at the photograph closer. "Have you ever seen that terrible movie with, oh, I can never remember her name, who used to be married to the actor from Die Hard and now is married to the actor from That 70's Show? The goofy one? I suppose this Hussar woman is just like that. One-armed pushups and getting up at stupid o'clock in the morning to go on a five mile run and carries all sorts of guns on her person."
"Which means we'll have to be really careful." Amanda took another thoughtful drag o her cigarette. "She could really fuck us up, between her training and her powers."
Marie-Ange picked up her glass and looked down into it and then set it down with a disgusted look. It still wasn't orange juice. Who made a screwdriver with -Tang-? "I think we are best playing keep away until we can somehow disarm her or take her by surprise... " She suggested. "And somewhere out of sight. Not only does she stand out, but we do as well, and I am not really interested in a tour of the local jail for assault on a member of their military."
"That's where having this lot around helps us." Amanda twitched her cigarette to indicate the other journalists. "Camoflage. We watch her for a couple of days, pick up her habits, see if there's any weaknesses we can use. If anyone wants to know, we're looking at a story on the Guard." She grinned a little. "Tho', you're the writer. If anyone sees my writing without a spell check, they'd wouldn't be fooled."
"You would be surprised how many journalists cannot spell properly without their computers." Marie-Ange said. "Doug likes to point out spelling mistakes on cnn.com when he is very very bored." But she still patted the closed laptop on their table and smiled. "I was bored on the plane. I have two articles outlined out." She had liberally cribbed from wikipedia and the emails that Doug had sent her from his sources, and it didn't matter, because all they needed was for it to look like it might be an article in need of editing. "I think we need to be a little less visible while we keep an eye on her. Camoflage, yes, but we should not always been seen stalking her. It could incite a fight before we are ready and I do not want to lose any advantage we might have." She frowned, pulling out a lock of her hair and inspecting it. "At least you can color yours. Mine never takes dye well at all."
"That's where the beauty of wigs comes in," Amanda said with a grin. "And Emma's discetionary fund. Why do your own stalking when you can pay off a couple of handy sources? And in a place like this, it's almost expected."
***
The parking garage had an elevator, but Hussar never took it, or at least, they never saw her take it - she always parked her motorcycle on the top floor of the small garage, and always took the stairs. So by virtue of expediency, Marie-Ange took the elevator up to the top floor. A glance told her that the bike was still there, and so their target was still in the stairwell.
She eased the metal door open, and listened - footsteps below her, a few levels down, it couldn't be more than two or three. A quick text, pre-typed went to Amanda "Stairwell confirmed." and she crept down, a pair of cards already in her hands.
Several floors below, Amanda took a deep breath and lay her hand on the metal door between her and the stairwell. Showtime. With another breath she opened herself up to Pune's energy, and murmured a few words, before reaching for her phone again. "Go for it."
Their target continued to mount the stairs, maintaining the same jogging pace she had started her climb off with. Hussar's sharp eyes darted around to survey her surroundings, making sure nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing was, but years of training had taught her to always be alert and prepared at all times, so she never let her guard down now.
Marie-Ange leaned far over the railing of the stairs and directed her attention on a landing a floor above where she could now see Hussar jogging up the stairs. Just before the red-skinned woman reached the top of the level, a rough stone wall appeared, the product of Marie-Ange's concentration on one of the cards in her hands. She moved away from the railing, still able to see her wall, but no longer able to see their target and waited.
Upon seeing the wall, the Indian stopped in her tracks, her eyes glowing with anger. Someone else was in there. Without missing a beat Hussar drew her gun from her holster and searched the area above her for signs of movement. Whoever, or whatever, had made this wall appear had to have been above, for she was certain no one had been behind her in the stairwell. "~Who's there,~" she barked in Hindi, still actively scanning the area. When she received no response she continued on in English. "Show yourself to me!"
There was no answer - Marie-Ange shook her head wryly. Like she was going to expose her position just because Hussar had demanded it. But, while she didn't want to give away where she was - a response of some kind was necessary. Instead, she concentrated on her cards, making another wall, this one made of overlapping metal sheets, appear in front of the first one. And then another, of the same type a floor below, blocking the two most obvious ways out - up, and down.
The appearance of the new wall in front of her did little to deter the red woman, though she did take a step down from it. While the response was not verbal, it was enough to confirm was Hussar already knew: there was someone else there, and they were hostile. Her eyes squinted smaller as they continued to scan the area, catching sight of the wall behind her. She was trapped, but certainly was not scared, in fact it was quite the opposite. A sly smile appeared on her lips as if to welcome the challenge. It quickly faded however as she concentrated on finding her adversary. "Only a coward would be hiding," she snarled. "Afraid to face me head on I see."
Well, she was angry. But that was consistent with what Marie-Ange and Amanda had observed. Easy to anger, fast to go on the offensive. And something they could use to their advantage. "Why should I care what you think?" Marie-Ange called back. "I have you trapped like a rat, and there is little you can do about it." Not strictly true, but accurate enough for her purposes.
"Little girl you are over your head in this." Hassar pointed her body and the gun in the direction of the voice. Although she could not ascertain precisely where her foe was located, she had a general idea and that was good enough for her. "I am giving you one last opportunity to show yourself without harm."
"Little girl?" Marie-Ange mouthed silently. She had come into Pune already not liking this woman, and Hussar wasn't doing anything to make herself any more likeable. Not that it was relevant, and she supposed that in a culture like this, with a visible mutation, being a stone bitch was probably inevitable. Still, the comment annoyed her, and the next wall that appeared was inches from the woman's nose. ~Lets see how long it takes her to realize the one behind her is gone.~ Marie-Ange thought.
As she stepped back to avoid the wall, Hussar realized that she was quickly losing whatever limited ability she had to fire a shot at her target. But she was a woman of her word, and had certainly given enough warning and opportunity. The lack of response meant that she could not launch a full on offensive, but felt she could justify using a strategy to smoke the vermin out of it's hole. "You are a very foolish girl." Hussar placed her gun back in her holster. "You have left me with no choice." A small ball of bio-electric energy grew in her hands before being launched in the direction where she had been concentrating. In doing so, Hussar was forced to step down a few steps, past where she thought a wall had previously been.
The energy just barely grazed Marie-Ange's shoulder, causing her arm to spasm, and her fingers to drop the cards that served as the focus for her imaged walls. She staggered back, pressing herself against the wall and swore silently. The pain broke her concentration, and the stone and metal walls buckled, and slumped over, dissolving into melting piles of slime that oozed down a few stairs before disappearing completely.
Shocking as it might have been to see solid walls melt away, Hussar paid no attention to it other than to bound past them up the stairs. With the illusions gone she could easily spot the figure slumped against the wall. "Well I hope you have learned a lesson," Hussar snarled as she lumbered toward Marie-Ange, another ball of energy growing in her hand. "You should have stayed at home and played with your dolls."
Marie-Ange snorted once, and her eyes narrowed. "You have no idea what you are talking about." she spat. Before her words were finished, a barrier of linked brass discs formed in front of and around her, building itself up, and seeming to move out steadily in small increments only as thick as the discs themselves. Small inches at a time it pushed out, each layer of pentacle-marked discs eating away at the open space on the landing. Losing her concentration had forced her to take more drastic measures, and while the walls formed from the armband tattoo would hold up longer than those from a regular image, Marie-Ange's head was already starting to throb with the effort of making it grow in order to try to force Hussar back down the stairs.
There was no way that she was going to let herself be bested in such a manner. Figuring that this was yet another illusion, Hussar decided to test it. The substance seemed solid enough to prevent her from walking through. but surely a little force could send the discs tumbling to the ground as the walls had done. She steadied herself for a moment before squarely hitting the barrier with her foot. But much to her surprise it was not only solid, but still continuing to grow, forcing her back toward the stairs. In her fit of anger, Hussar had failed to fully take notice of surroundings and found herself slipping off the landing. It was a careless mistake to make, and one that was highlighted as in her haste to regain control Hussar dropped the energy ball onto her legs. Severe pain rocketed through her body, and unable now to stand, she found herself falling backwards down the stairs until she reached the landing below.
There was a ripple as the seemingly solid surface of the metal fire door leading to the floor of the garage shifted. For a moment there was a girl-shaped section of door in front of Hussar, and then the illusion melted away, revealing one of those hippie tourists, brown hair in untidy dreads and wearing an assortment of local clothing. She was young and small, barely up to Hussar's shoulder had she been standing, but her expression was cold as she knelt by the woman and pressed her hand to her chest.
"Nothing personal," she said, voice English-accented, and she pushed her hand into Hussar, her eyes glowing as she pulled the other woman's life energy into herself.
The pain was nothing like Hussar had ever felt before. And although she was still semi-paralyzed, the Indian was determined to fight back. Screams echoed in her brain as she felt the life literally drain out of her, but she maintained a firm countenance, her jaw clenched in determination. Weakened by her current predicament, the hand that reached for the gun at her side trembled. She felt the cold metal in briefly before the weight of it forced the soldier to drop it to the ground. "You. Two," she growled, each word a struggle to produce. "Will. Pay."
"I really don't think so." The effort of holding that much energy within herself on top of what the heavily-populated Indian city was giving her was telling, Amanda's teeth gritting as she felt her skin tighten and grow warm. She watched Hussar slump further as Marie-Ange finally joined her, and she yanked her hand away. "Can't take on any more," she grated to the French girl.
"Give it to the city? Can you do that? What would that do?" Marie-Ange asked soberly. One of the swords that she preferred was already in her hands, and she coldly considered the fallen red-skinned soldier for a moment before slashing decisevly at her throat.
There was no recovering from a wound like that, not without some kind of healing factor, and nowhere in their information was there even a hint that Hussar healed faster than anyone else. Marie-Ange stepped away from the dying woman, and dismissed the sword with barely a glance.
"Got a better idea." Amanda rose to her feet and moved to the elevator without looking back.
***
A deep, rattling cough shook the begger's thin frame and she paused from her litany of need to try and clear her lungs. There wasn't much success - pneumonia was settling in. Finally getting herself under control, she looked up to see a young Western woman in front of her. There was something odd about her, a hint of odd lights in her eyes, but her expression didn't speak of danger.
"Please? Money?" she held out her hand. The young woman reached into her pocket and pulled out some coins.
"Here," she said, wrapping her fingers around the thin hand for longer than might have been necessary. The begger was about to jerk away when the girl let go and vanished into the rush of pedestrians, her walk perhaps a little unsteady.
Devi didn't give her another thought. It was only later that she realized she was completely and utterly healthy, all signs of sickness gone.
Remy and Sarah focus on the final target.
The crowd inside was a sharp contrast to the stark emptiness outside of the building. It was a jumble of voices and languages as punters and gamblers argued merits and made deals around the currently empty ring. Unlicensed boxing was a passion in the city of Pune, and it had only taken a few days to locate many of the major matches, including a few details on who was big into the sport.
There was no way to avoid standing out. Sarah's pale skin and Remy's red hair marked them as Westerners pretty conclusively, which is why they'd gone completely the other direction. Pune wasn't an insignificant destination for business travelers of all nationalities, and they clothes marked them as people with money and influence. They were waved through the doors immediately, and into the hot, sweaty interior of the match.
Lines sprouted from a number of booths which took bets, and just as much money was being exchanged on the floor between the eager punters. Televisions mounted around the place showed football and cricket matches, which received almost as much attention as the booths. Remy detached himself from Sarah and wandered over to one of the men at a booth, a German sweating heavily in a white suit. Gunter and he had done a lot of business over the years, and no one non-Indian knew illegal sports on the subcontinent better.
While Sarah's look of distaste was probably misinterpreted by those around her as a lack of interest in her current surroundings, the truth was it was the sheer ridiculousness of her shoes. "Undercover" or no, heels were not work-shoes, no matter how out of place she would have looked in face-stomping boots and tasteful attire.
Moving her way through the crowd, Sarah stopped to lean against a railing that kept drunken visitors from tumbling down a sudden step down towards the main floor. Here the lines were behind her, but the buzzing activity of the crowd in front of her provided more than enough for observation.
Ramji was visible coming through the door, and that meant the mission was on. No going back until one of them was dead.
***
"Ramji Laxman Dhasal. His name in the Guard is 'Dārkā', which translates loosely into 'Fang'. Appropriate since he's a feral. Enhanced senses, limited healing factor, and large claws and fangs." Remy passed over the files to Sarah in the hotel room, twenty stories above the city. The network had come through, and Betsy's contacts had managed to turn a great deal of money into a fairly decent overview of the new 'khusrawi agoriya', or as they had started calling them, The Imperial Guard. Most of them were stationed out of Pune for now, and that had started their plans.
"This is interesting. He's a local boy, and not a proud one. Dalit caste." Remy looked up at Sarah with a grim smile. "An Untouchable One."
"Untouchable how? Like, lowest of the low?" Sarah flipped through the file in her hand, feet propped up on the bed. She'd sworn off ferals entirely, but the file still fascinated her. His life story, behavioral write-ups, the whole nine yards on a walking dead guy. "Nobody'll miss him when he's gone then."
"We wish. As part of de Guard, he's a national resource now. What dat means is dat he grew up on de wrong side of de tracks, and dat might be useful to us. According to dis, he was involved in street fights, illegal boxing, dat sort of thing." Remy looked through the files. "Dere it is. According to rumour, he still is a big fan of dem."
"Oh, damn. Don't make me go watch the fights. My fragile heart may not be able to handle it." She turned another page in the file. "Says here he was actually pretty good."
"He'll be dangerous. Still, if we can get him to an isolated fight, dat would be de best place to make it happen." Remy looked through the pages. "Likes de women well 'nough. You feel like breaking out de high hells and tiny dress? Dey don't fit Remy so well dese days."
"Wow, that's a mental image that will give my grandchildren nightmares." Sarah looked up from the paperwork in her lap, and glanced irritably at the high heels sitting where she'd thrown them after they got back. "I knew I should have just left those at home."
***
"Two hundred thousand rupees on Quamar!" LeBeau sidestepped the corpulent Sikh who was betting, and took one of the few seats in the back, where he could watch the crowd. Sarah was circulating as well. It had been three nights, and they'd caught sight of Dārkā twice. He didn't try and hide his nature as a mutant, and they'd followed his keen interest in the fights. Sarah was to make a limited contact tonight, while Remy tracked down the other information from a contact of Wisdom's; an old SI contact who had retired to India.
James Sinclair certainly stood out, a head taller than most of the crowd, with shock white hair and a ruddy Scots complexion. He moved cleanly through the masses and took a seat next to LeBeau, picking up the newspaper that had been sitting there and placing it beside his bag. The paper held five thousand, a simple tender for a small amount of information.
"Mr Sinclair."
"Names aren't necessary. By God, it's hot in here." He smiled, showing yellow teeth, and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "I suppose we're unlikely to get proper air conditioning on the illegal fight circuit though. Ha!" He laughed at his own joke.
"Dhasal will be here?"
"Of course, old boy. For a while at least. He's always been fight mad. Was one of the stars until it became obvious he was a mutant." Sinclair dropped his voice lower. "Of course, that didn't stop all of the matches."
"There's a more illegal illegal fighting circuit?" Remy said, allowing a touch of incredulity into his voice. The Cajun's accent was pure Midwestern, as blandly and unremarkably American as could be imagined.
"Mutants. Mostly Dalit caste. A lot of them end in death. Very secret, lots of money, and very popular to those who know they exist. Dhasal is an honoured guest at them, and occasionally makes a brief return to the ring for enough money. Carefully hidden from his superiors. I think they wouldn't appreciate the hobby, you think?"
"That's sounds about right. Drink?"
"Constantly, but I'll take mine down at the Embassy Club. Enjoy the fight." Sinclair tucked the newspaper under one arm and walked out. Remy sat staring out over the crowd, ignoring the fight starting and looking to see if Sarah had spotted Dhasal yet.
Their mark stood just paces away from her, leaning against a wall with a drink in his hand. He looked deep in thought, or preparing, possibly just bad-tempered. Sarah was willing to bet the last. He was her kind of feral. She approached him slowly, the drink in her hand untouched and dripping down her fingers. She smiled, eagerly. "Excuse me, sir? I can't help but notice I've seen you here before. Do you fight?"
Ramji looked her up and down slowly, arrogantly. Once he would have been nothing but a body in this place, people only interested in his fighting abilities and the odds on him. Now, he had both a name to be respected and a reputation to be feared. Which explained why this American woman was now coming up to him like he was a star. His English wasn't good, especially compared to the rest of the Guard, but he hadn't been pampered and sent to private schools. Ramji had learned everything here.
"I used to. Now I watch. You would have enjoyed seeing me fight." He gave her a second appraisal, noting her lean curves with interest, and the few bony protrusions out of her body. This one was a mutant. It explained her interest and the lack of fear her could smell on her in this place. "You are here alone?"
"My business partner doesn't know I'm here." She examined the nails on her free hand, then looked back up at him. "Too busy in some back alley with his pants around his ankles to care."
"A shame. The real excitement is in here, during the fights, and in the hours after being sated by one." He could smell the arousal on her, and it excited him. The sweat-blood-fear atmosphere of the fight often inspired the sexual lust in some women. Obviously, this was one who liked her men bloody. "But these are still tame compared to some fights. Ones where the fists are not the only weapons a man has to use. You would enjoy them."
Sarah's mute nod contrasted the excitement in her eyes, and Ramji scribbled a brief note on a napkin, passing it over. "Tomorrow. It will be a memorable night." He said, not realizing the certainty of his statement.
***
Sarah paid the taxi driver, glancing around the empty street in front of her for some sign of Dhasal. The driver had asked her twice if the address was correct, apparently worried for her safety. When the cab pulled away and sped off into the distance, Sarah considered the very slow ways she would kill this bastard if he didn't show. Sure, they were going to kill him anyway, but by god, she was going to make it worse if he stood her up.
"You are on time. That is good. They are strict about arrival." Ramji said, materializing from the shadows. The man moved with unnatural grace, a side effect of the feral mutation. He smiled at her outfit, obviously intending the night to have a very specific finish and ushered her inside. The steel door opened a fraction to identify Dhasel, before being flung wide to admit them both.
The room was cavernous, with tables and chairs ringing around a large circular hole. The arena itself was sunk five feet into the ground, and the circumference was studded with massive steel bars, and heavy fencing stretched between, to make a high ceiling fighting area. Inside the ring, two men battered each other, one using flaming hands to attack his opponent, who fought back with snake-like skin absorbing the blows. Blood spattered the ring all around, and the inarticulate babble of the crowd washed back and forth as they battled.
Dhasel ushered her in, and a bottle of champagne was brought to the table he selected in a booth at the back. "This is why we are only allowed to fight. Sometimes to the death. I was a champion here."
"I knew you were a fighter from the moment I laid eyes on you." She smiled brightly, leaning forward slightly on her forearms. She needed to, not just to keep his attention and interest, but because the roar of the crowd made it damn near impossible to hear at times. And she didn't have super hearing to help out. "You can tell the winners from the losers just by the presence they have when they walk in a room."
Dhasel handed her a glass of their champagne, clinking his own glass against hers and waiting for her to take a drink before tasting his own. He wondered about the boldness of this American woman, taking his word and coming to what she must have known was an illegal event
after only having met him for a few moments. And her attire? She was either very brave to show up dressed like that, or very stupid. He allowed his eyes to wander a moment, taking in the toned muscles of her upper body. Perhaps it was bravery after all. "I like a woman who appreciates the fight. The spilling of blood. I have no use for the squeamish."
Sarah glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the snake-skinned fighter was no longer in the ring. Instead, a feral roared into action, twisting and turning out of reach of the other fighter's fiery blasts. Taking another drink of her champagne, she leaned forward to be heard, although as a feral she knew he wouldn't have needed it.
"This one doesn't hold a candle to your reputation." Slowly, she ran a bony finger down his pant leg, ripping threads and leaving a thin trail of blood it its wake. "I, too, have no use for the squeamish."
He grabbed for her hand then, fast as anything, nails digging into her wrist like claws. He watched her reaction closely, watched as her eyes fluttered but didn't close, and her bottom lip found it's way in between her teeth. Pleased with the reaction, he moved closer so she was nearly pinned under him. "Such a pretty face. I shall enjoy bringing you pain. So will you, I think." A throaty laugh came from the woman beside him.
I have sworn off ferals, I have sworn off ferals, I have sworn of ferals.... This was a lot harder than it she thought. Sarah leaned forward teeth grazing sharply against his ear as she whispered "Then hurt me. I am yours tonight." She only hoped Remy would do this
quickly, because she was sure the longer this went on, the less she'd actually want it to stop.
A few minutes later, they were pressed against the wall of a dark alcove, away from the tables and the fight. Each rough caress was punctuated with the slashing over claws or the rough cut of a bone. The smell of blood saturated the air, clogging Ramji's senses, although he barely noticed, too focused on the pleasure and pain of the mutant infront of him. His need to penetrate her was as strong as his need to hurt her, and he didn't know whether he could wait to leave the room before doing it.
His last caress, a stroke with his claws over her breast, actually bisected the erect nipple, and Sarah's hiss of pain came with the tearing sound of a bone worked from her back; a sickle like rib, sharp and jagged. She buried it into his back, right at the kidneys, and Ramji arched back at the pain, knowing then that he would not wait, and as the delicious red fog of hurt filled him, that he would have her right here, against the wall of the fight club, in a blood of their combined blood, and kill anyone who might object.
Neither paid any attention to the figure that walked past, almost unseeing as the bone pierced Ramji's back. He didn't paused or slow, but there was a purple flicker in his hand as he passed, looking to have simply run a finger along the back of Dhasel's neck.
The feral blinked once, twice, and then collapsed against Sarah. She eased him to the ground, seeing the lightly discoloured line across the back of his neck. The wound was the thickness of a playing card, and severed his spinal cord neatly between the first vertebra and the skull, scoring a line through his brain stem and cerebellum. The arch was key, he'd told her, to make the kill as clean as possible, and counteract the healing factor. Ramji would have been dead before his mind realized it.
Dress torn, blood dripping from her wounds, Sarah walked into the back rooms of the ring and walked out a rear service door. It had been locked, but now pieces of the locking system lay on the floor. The night air seemed slightly cool after the heat of the club.
Remy tossed a bag to her, and Sarah quickly toweled the blood from her face and changed her clothes, putting everything back into the bag. There was no hurry. Anyone finding the body would be preoccupied with finding a way to hide it, or dump it far from the illegal ring, doing their job for them. Clean enough to not raise comment, they disappeared back into the city, leaving no traces behind.
Message completed, the point is hammered home to Decoit.
"That's three of your men, Decoit. Three. It could have been more. It also could have been the people who gave the order just as easily." Kalidas had been making frantic notes, and waving people in to try and locate all of the Imperial Guard in the city immediately. "As I said before, there are rules to this, and breaking those rules means you get punished for it. Special guards haven't been the safest security option for Indian Prime Ministers in the past, and we can make it happen again."
"You will pay for this."
"At least forty thousand dead in Sri Lanka, Decoit. Likely more once an international team finally gets to poke around and find the mass graves. You think that your threats have any impact on me? Three for forty thousand. You're getting off cheap. Consider it, and learn the rules. Or the next time, we take the full amount out on Neramani and you. Don't give us a reason to have to contact you again." Remy took the phone from his ear, switched it off, and tossed it into the nearest garbage can.
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