Garrick "The Demon" Foster ground his teeth. 

He was not a happy person.  For him that would have been second nature, 
after starting a successful crime ring, a private war, getting busted, 
detained for years, then let out to find someone that was intent on 
him not doing just so.

Even so, the Demon was not in the best of moods.  This would have 
meant a painful death of the people who were annoying him as of that 
very moment.

His forearms were a mass of bruises and hurt every time he moved.  
The black Bishop hit *hard*, and his body was testament to that.  
Silently, he hoped to hell that the other white Bishop had not managed
 to survive being pumped full of lead.  Nothing short of high-grade 
spider-silk plate could stand up to the heavy duty magnum rounds he used.  

Next to him, a smiling Richmond waved his good arm in sympathy.  The 
bullet the Bishop had put through his shoulder had been a through-and-
through, the wound piercing through the flesh, luckily not damaging the 
bone.  Unfortunately, that meant Richmond's capabilities with knives 
would be limited to his right arm for a while while he healed.  
The Demon winced at the slightly sadistic smile and wondered why the 
Bishop had not managed to kill the Silent Knife the first time.

"Whatcha thinkin'?"  Geraldine asked, poking him in the ribs.  

Garrick let out a small hiss as the imposing finger irritated bruised 
flesh.  "Dammit, sis!  That hurts!"  He followed up the curse with a 
glare, reinforced by his glittering green eyes.

Geraldine shut up.  Which, as Richmond so kindly pointed out later on, 
was a first.

The Demon sighed.  The group was not in the best of states.  Geraldine 
was acting all smart-aleck, which was good, provided she did not sink 
into trauma at actually shooting someone.  Alice was still nursing a cracked 
rib, courtesy of the Bishop's custom, fast-burning, slippery oil mix, and 
Richmond's fighting capability was cut to 50%.  

Not the best of times. 

The group's van pulled up outside a sleazy little shop with the letters 
'SYCHO ART GALLERY' in red and green neon lighting.  The 'P' on the first 
word was dim and darkened, not visible in the late night.  

Alexander turned from his seat, big hands making the steering wheel look 
like a child's toy.  "You 'kay, Demon?  You looked pretty beat to shit by 
that Bishop dude."

Garrick Foster closed his eyes.  "I'm fine."  Grabbing the door handle, he 
pushed the pain to a far corner of his mind.  "We need to find Forsythe, and 
I'm kind of pissed off at the fact he's using us, as I would put it, a 'fucking
garbage disposal'."

The large hacker turned away, but there was concern in his face as he reached 
for his gatling gun.  

Dammit, Garrick thought.  This was not the time to be weak - there was a 
chance that Ness Carter, one of the most well-known illegal smugglers in the 
criminal underworld, was in that building.

And Carter was never alone.

"Okay."  He checked his trenchcoat for extra ammo clips and got out of the 
van.  "Let's do this."


 

 tHe bLacK pAcK 


Part 13, Day 16d, 17a: the number thirteen and luck
 

impro begun by MtB


herein continued by chaos-d; 




Anger.

Fearhatefuryannoyancejoypestilencemadnessanger.

The thing that was Cyber Wraith hissed to itself, still wearing its gas mask, 
shoved inside a metal crate and moved around.

Not for the first time, the Wraith cursed the failure of that incompetent fool 
Dougall.  Making him look bad in front of the boss.  He did not fail.  Cyber 
Wraith never failed.  That was an established fact, as many others who had been
victim to his electronic crimes could testify.  

And now he was being forced into work for Forsythe.

Tapping on the sides of the metal box he had been shoved into, he rocked back 
and forth, shaking.

Forsythe would pay.

Outside the box, Ness Carter watched, flanked by two of his Horrors elite.  
He sighed as the captured hacker inside began to tap on the box in a most 
irritating fashion.  

The man ran a hand through his dyed gold hair and gestured to one of the Horrors
 - a young, attractive auburn-haired girl with a pair of wickedly sharp sai at 
her belt.  She grinned, moved to the side of the box, and pressed a button.

Several gigavolts of electricity coursed through the sides of the box, landing 
the trapped Wraith in a personal little world of pain.

Carter waited for nearly a full five minutes before telling the Horror to cut 
the power to the contraption.  It smoked slightly, the hacker inside letting 
out a small wail of madness.

Whoever was inside was strong-willed, Carter could give him that.  It normally 
took only a couple of hours to break even the proudest of spirits in this box, 
and this guy had lasted over a day.  He tapped his chin thoughtfully.  If Forsythe 
had not wanted the Wraith to work for him, he would have been a good Horror.  

"Someone to see you, sir."  A Horror behind him said, dragging something that 
made little whining, struggling noises.

Ness Carter whirled.  Whenever someone came to see him announced, it was never good.  
The only people who came into his presence were normally unnannounced.  The last time 
someone had been announced into his presence, it was the Demon himself.

A Horror wearing a black bodysuit, a punk haircut, and a sadistic grin held up
 an oily little man that was sweating in fear.  Carter could never remember which 
Horror it was, but then he saw the goggles.  Only Pierre would wear those stupid 
goggles to complement the pair of flamethrowers he always used.

Pierre held up a lit flamethrower in his captive's face.  "I can interrogate him for 
you if you want, sir."  The fat little man struggled to get loose, but stopped when he 
saw the tiny ignition flame at the end of the flamethrower, nearly crying in fear. They 
didn't call the fat little man Vinnie the Squealer for nothing.  

"What is it, Vinnie?"  Carter asked, sipping delicately at his drink.  "Something I 
should know?"

The Horror's face lit up in a grin, but Vinnie was already telling all he knew.  

Carter's fists clenched as he listened.  The Bishops were dead?  Just like Forsythe, 
to use them like a cudgel in the heat of battle.  And the twin Bishops were far from 
being the weakest of the Horrors.  

Vinnie was on his knees by now, half-crying, half-screaming.  "Ness.  It's the Demon, 
I swear, it was the motherfucking Demon!  He's loose, he's fucking loose, and we're all 
going to die, we're all going to fucking die!"

Inside the box, unnoticed, Cyber Wraith seethed as he listened.  So Forsythe was actually 
starting to take the Demon seriously?  Carter had lent the Maccivelli ringleader the use 
of the Bishops in return for a lot of money, but the contract did not include the death of 
the Bishops.  Ness Carter wasn't one to forgive and forget, either.  Forsythe could find 
himself two very powerful enemies in the Demon and Ness Carter both. 

Carter sniffed disdainfully.  "I refuse to believe that Garrick Foster has somehow... ah, 
returned?  He is safely in New Alcatraz, and..."

Pierre's grimy face had darkened as he listened.  "Then who the FUCK killed the 
Bishop?  He's good enough, both of him."

"I suspect Lord Forsythe wants to keep the Bishops for his own use."  Ness downed 
the remainder of his drink.  "He is entitled to as long as he continues to pay our 
hiring fees."

Pierre frowned, facing the other female Horror in the room, the one with the 
sai knives.  "Rayne, do you believe this shit?  I mean, the fucking Demon, man."

The girl's face was alight with sadistic pleasure.  "The Demon is back.  If there 
is anyone capable of breaking out of New Alcatraz, it has to be him."  She idly 
played with one of her knives.  "And I look forward to meeting him when the time 
comes."

The punk Horror laughed, hefting his flamethrowers.  "You'd just better hope Angel-boy 
doesn't get him first.  He's always fancies himself as a successor to the Demon.  
You know, demon-slaying and all that shit?"

"ENOUGH!"  Carter yelled, all patience gone.  "I want to be able to transport this..."  
Here he kicked the metal box viciously, as the hacker inside whimpered.  "...thing to 
Lord Forsythe in an hour, ready to serve.  You two got that?"

Rayne and Pierre both shut up.  They were good at their jobs, but Pierre 
had the ego to match, and nobody actually knew how good Rayne was.  But 
they both jumped when Ness Carter said so.

Carter reveled in the silence for a second more before gesturing to Vinnie.  
"Do with this vermin what you want.  He is of no concern to me."

Pierre broke into his grin once more as one of his flamethrowers belched 
napalm.  "All RIGHT!"

The smuggler turned his back as Vinnie the Squealer squealed his last.





"Why do I have to stay outside again?"  Geraldine asked for the nth time.  

Garrick wondered if a crime like shooting your sister was considered too 
low, and then hated himself for thinking it.  "I said, I need you for backup.  
Plus, Carter isn't going to be too impressed if I show up with a childish 
little brat who has no manners."

The young explosives expert pouted. "But I wanna go!"

Alice patted the girl on the head. "How about you come with me and help 
take out the outside guards, okay?"  Geraldine pretended to think about it 
for a while, and then nodded vigorously, taking her bazooka from a large 
duffel bag.

The Demon gestured to the Silent Knife.  "You, come with me.  You too, 
Alexander."  The big hacker rubbed his hands in anticipation of a showdown.  
"Let's crash this party."

Two minutes later a single guard, in a generic punk haircut, walked outside, 
and turned towards the adjacent building.

A sniper round from a pure white rifle hit him between the shoulder blades, 
and he went down, sprawled on the floor like Foreman after Ali was done with him.  

Two minutes after that, another guard came out, saw the dead body, yelled 
for an alarm, and collapsed, as Icy worked the bolt and fired.  

Geraldine cheered.  "Good shot!  My turn!"

"-But..."  Icy stopped and got to her feet, trying not to wince at the 
pain of moving her rib that had still not healed from that debacle with the Bishop.  

"Hey!"  Geraldine took a puff on her cigarette.  "Bro said he did want a diversion, 
right?"

Icy sweated as Geraldine swung the bazooka forward into a firing position.  
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Fire in the hole!"  The young girl whooped as the rocket-propelled grenade 
struck the front of the Psycho Art Gallery, exploding with an SFX-budget boom 
and a moderately sized fireball.

Alice Rogers sighed and chambered another round into her rifle, hoping 
that the others were getting on well.





In that respect, the sniper need not have worried.

Ness Carter looked up, his eyes bulging, as a the explosion shook the 
building he was in.  Dust fell from the ceiling in multiple places.  

"What the FUCK just happened?"  Pierre mumbled.  Carter may not have 
liked the Horror, but as of that moment, he agreed with the man.  
Carter gestured to a group of two guards.  They nodded, pulled 
handguns from various pockets and started for the entrance that led 
into the 'art gallery' upstairs.  

They shouldn't have bothered.  

The double doors flew open courtesy of one very pissed-off Garrick J. 
Foster. The men didn't even have time to respond before Bonnie and Clyde 
gave them a welcome call, knocking them back, leaving long smears of 
blood on the floor as they slid.

Ness Carter's eyes widened.  

"Hello."  The Demon hissed, voice dripping with malice.  "Its been a long 
time.  Five years and you're still too dumb to change work locations."

Carter recovered from his shock quickly enough, though.  After all, being 
the number one criminal smuggler in the country had to take guts. "I 
suppose you want Forsythe dead."

"Damn straight."  The Demon spoke, Bonnie and Clyde pointed at the 
smuggler.  "And I need the information to do that."

Carter refilled his drink, not letting any emotion show.  "Nothing's free, 
Mr. Foster.  Now, do we do business, or are we enemies?"

Garrick didn't miss a beat.  "My good friend Alexander T. Brashier is 
upstairs tapping into that piece of junk you call a computer right now.  
You were quite stupid to leave all the data on past trades inside an art shop."

"You still won't find Forsythe."  Ness replied, tapping the side of his 
glass thoughtfully.  "He's a smart bastard.  Changes place every time he 
does a trade.  And good luck tracing the calls as well, the damn things are 
bounced around the planet around fifty times."

"No dice.  I.  Will.  Kill.  Forsythe."  The Demon glared, and Rayne 
shivered in anticipation of fighting the man.  If looks could kill...

"Okay, no need to get angry, like you always do."  Carter sat down in a 
comfy leather office chair.  "Forsythe gets me to do jobs for him.  No offence, 
it's just business."  The Demon snorted, but the smuggler continued.  "He 
hired Rayne here..."  He gestured at the Horror mentioned, who smiled. 
"...to capture a double agent who was very, very good.  We captured him, 
kept him in one of these..."  He pointed at the metal box.  "And handed 
him in for a chunk of cash."

"You didn't manage to work anything out from him, did you?"  The Demon 
didn't let go of his magnums, still pointed at Ness.  

"Not much, only that he called himself Slick."

"And he was a good assassin."  Rayne added as an afterthought.  Carter 
frowned, he didn't like people speaking out of turn.  "Me against him, it 
was still a close fight.  I got lucky at the end."

Pierre didn't say anything.  He was still silently seething.  The Bishop 
was defeated by this guy?  He had to be kidding.  What was so impressive 
about him after all?

Here, the Horror comitted his greatest mistake - he underestimated the Demon.  
Pierre had become a Horror after the Demon had been imprisoned, and he didn't 
really understand what the man was capable of.  

Carter got up and picked up a printed white business card.  "He made me 
deliver Slick to this location."  The Demon picked up the card, letting his 
eyes flash over it once, before pocketing it.

The smuggler turned towards a back door.  "There is one thing, though..."

The Demon frowned.  "What?"

"The Horrors are expensive to keep, you know.  And the Bishop wasn't quite 
expendable."

Garrick sighed.  "Look, he was working for my enemy, you know that makes him 
expendable in my eyes.  Not to mention the occupational hazards of an assassin."

"Not my problem."  Ness finished his drink and tossed it away.  "But the 
other Horrors only find it fair game to prey on you and your... ah, black 
pack since you defeated the Bishop."

The Demon smacked his forehead with a hand.  "Shit."

"You got that right."  Pierre grinned smugly, igniting his flamethrowers. 

"Ta-ta.  Must dash."  Ness Carter slipped out the basement door and was gone.

The Demon's hands tightened inside his leather gloves.  "So be it."

He backflipped as twin bursts of superheated napalm seared the air where he 
had been standing.  Pierre let out a war-whoop, directing the stream of fire 
further.  

Horrors aside, the Demon was still the Demon.  Ducking under the flames, 
he slid to land a thigh-crunching kick on Pierre's left leg.  The Horror was 
too quick, however, and shifted his foot over the blow, trapping the Demon's 
leg mid-kick.  

Garrick was expecting this, however.  Using the trapped foot as leverage, 
he swung his body up, letting his other foot connect hard with the Horror's 
face.  

Rayne, seeing the Demon's fight against Pierre, threw a knife destined to 
bury itself in the Demon's back.  What she had not expected was for a blur to 
intersect her knife and throw it back in midair.  She was still a highly trained 
assassin, though, and managed to catch it.

She found herself facing the smiling face of the Silent Knife.  

"We can't have that now.  How would I explain the death of her dear brother 
to my darling wife?"

Despite herself Rayne shivered at the sight of Richmond's smile.  It 
was a nice smile that promised happiness and love and butterflies.  
The glittering switchknife in his right palm said otherwise.  

Drawing her sai, she waited for him to make the first move.  

He did, feinting low with the knife, then slashing upwards with the blade.  
She predicted this, and leaned back, the knife catching only a loose strand 
of her auburn hair.  Richmond had overextended himself in that last slash, 
allowing her to knee him in the chest, bend inside his guard, and bury her 
sai in his throat - 

The last move was blocked by the flat of the switchknife, thus preventing 
Richmond's very early death.  Grinning, he pushed against the girl, throwing 
her off him.  Rayne used his momentum to roll with the force, however, and it 
was the Silent Knife who ended up getting thrown.  

The Horror assassin followed up with a vicious combo designed to damage all 
the body's extremities and cripple an attacker.  The wickedly sharp pair of 
knives flashed out, ready to catch an artery there, a muscle there, anything 
that would send blood flying and turn the victim into a struggling bundle of 
limbs.  

Richmond, smiling sweetly, managed to dodge all of them except the last blow, 
as she drew her weapons across his face, resulting in a pair of horizontal 
cuts across his right cheek.  Stopping, he reached up and dabbed a finger in 
the blood running down his face, watching with a sort of morbid fascination 
at the red liquid on his fingers.  

That distraction was all Rayne needed, jumping to slam a kick into his torso 
that knocked him back, open for a punch, and the pommel of her left sai 
slammed hard into his temple.  Dazed, the assassin known as the Silent Knife
 blocked the next sai strike, and twisted his hand oddly to rip one of her 
knives from her grasp.  Using his grip as a pivot, she slammed a booted foot 
into his torso, knocking the assassin unceremoniously on his butt and backward.

He got up, spinning with the knife up and ready to kill.  That smile was the 
thing that stuck in the Horror's mind as she readied herself to meet his charge, 
dodging away from the deadly blade.  Her sai humming in the air, she swiped 
forward with both knives, only to miss as the Silent Knife dodged around her 
and grabbed her in a headlock.

"You're good."  Richmond conceded.  "It seems the people the Demon like to get 
involved with are often the most dangerous."

Rayne did not grace that comment with a reply.  She kicked backwards with her 
left foot and caught the Silent Knife in the groin.

"..."  Richmond Gray offered, his mouth open, switchblade dropped and forgotten.

That wiped the smile off his face.

Rayne shrugged him off and left him there.  "Not bad.  I look forward to a rematch."

"......" Richmond knelt prone on the floor, face frozen in an expression of utter 
shock.




The Demon was not in a good mood, and it was about to get worse.  The wounds he 
had received from his earlier fight with the Bishop had not had time to heal, and 
he needed to be at full capacity.  Jumping out from the desk he had used as a 
temporary cover, he emptied Bonnie in the general direction of the flamethrower-
wielding psycho and waited for a response.  

It came soon, in the form of napalm that rushed against his impromptu cover.  The 
wooden desk caught fire and singed Garrick's eyebrows into the bargain.  

"Damn!"  He swore.  Flamethrowers were not especially good weapons at long range, 
but in enclosed quarters like this moderately sized room, they were more than 
adequate to reduce him to a small smudge of carbon.  

Bonnie released her empty magazine as he slammed another one home and racked the 
slide back, ready to roll once more.  The Demon was annoyed, since he had not 
expected the Horrors to have improved beyond their original specification as a 
liquidation team and into an assassin group for hire.  

Pierre snickered.  He had the Demon pinned down, and surely this would look good on 
his record - he would be the one who killed the goddamned Demon!  See if Angel would 
look so superior after that, wouldn't he...

Grabbing his second flamethrower, he primed it, ready to dispense twice the firepower.  

Which was why he was taken by surprise when the Demon slid smoothly out the side 
of the desk, firing as he went, all along one wall.  The Horror didn't have the 
time to gape in shock before he felt the tug of bullets against the fuel tank on 
his back.

This didn't register completely before Pierre blossomed into a human torch, burning 
napalm hissing on his body.

But to the Demon's surprise, Pierre didn't die.  

Fully prepared for a situation like this, since the Horror dealt with his specialized 
weapons on a daily basis, the assassin was wearing a full-body heatsuit.

That simple suit now prevented him from dying.

The unexposed skin high around his neck burned, and so did a sizeable portion of his 
hair.  So Pierre was suitably annoyed, his eyes still hid behind heatproof goggles.

"FUCK!  You piece of SHIT!!!"  

The Demon looked on in wonder at the burning figure walking towards him, and frantically 
searched around for anything he could use.  

It came in the form of the box that Cyber Wraith happened to be imprisoned in.  Garrick 
kicked outward with both feet, sending the box skidding across the floor and into the 
Horror.  Pierre went down, and the Demon sprung up, both guns blazing, the magnum bullets 
ripping fist-sized holes in the assassin.  

Pierre screamed in rage, and then twitched spasmodically as a bullet burst through 
his skull and entered his brain.  Still burning, what had been one of the 12 Horrors 
fell.  

The Demon stood victorious.  

And swiveled to draw both pistols at Rayne.  

She wasn't stupid - she dived for the nearest available cover as Bonnie and Clyde 
fired twin bursts.  But then the inevitable happened, and the hollow 'click' of 
Garrick's pistols running dry rang through the room.  

Smirking, Rayne made for the same back door that Ness Carter had used to make his 
escape, and exited stage left.

Sighing and cursing his luck, the Demon methodically reloaded his guns and hid them 
in his trenchcoat.  Then he took another look at the business card. It was a 
llegitimate address, alright.  

He shook his head, just as Alexander burst through the main double doors, gatling 
gun in hand.  "They got away."

"Well, I sure missed one fuck of a party."  The large black man surveyed the scene.  
The downed Richmond, the burned and burning furniture, the charred corpse of one 
professional assassin, and the pure murder on the face of the Demon all made for 
interesting viewing, after all.

"Don't worry - Icy's got a shot on anybody and anything getting out of this building."




"I hope they're okay.  If they're not, it's all your fault!"

"What?  Hey, lady, I use my methods, you use yours.  If mine happen to cause a 
little more property damage than yours do..."

"And stop smoking.  Garrick's going to be in fits.  How many had you had now, 12?"

"Look, just because you'd like to spend the nights screwing my brother silly 
doesn't mean you have to worry about my health, after all..."

"I...!"

Geraldine and Alice, both lost in their argument, did not notice the shiny 
professional black car that pulled out of the back of the Psycho Art Gallery 
and pulled away at top speed.

Neither did they see the bike that followed it several long minutes after.





Some time later...

"What do you MEAN, you missed them?  I know, Carter I can understand, but 
the girl - "

"We're sorry."  Alice and Geraldine chorused in unison.

"Just our luck."  Garrick muttered.  "Is nothing going our way tonight?"

"Calm the hell down, Demon."  Alexander rumbled.  "We're all tired.  I 
don't know about you, but I need some fuckin' rest.  And some food, too."

The Demon nearly launched off on another tirade before he realized that 
Alexander was right.  

Plus, you don't argue with a large black man armed with a gatling gun 
about food.

The Demon sighed and turned to brooding, staring out the van window as 
Alexander pulled up at the building they had occupied.  "I guess you're right."

The bruises all along his body agreed too.

"Relax, Forsythe can wait.  He's an asshole, and there are always more 
assholes out there."  Alexander added, knowing the Demon was impatient.  
Another group of assassins after your blood didn't help either.  "I mean, 
you got the address, right?"

"Yes."  The Demon muttered, gently fingering the business card in his 
trenchcoat pocket. "Tomorrow, we hit one of the Maccivelli hideouts."  
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "And rest up.  We all need it."

Alice breathed a silent curse, which was very unlike her.  "Got that right.  
We're nearly all still suffering from wounds.  Geraldine and Alexander are 
the only ones unharmed."

"I plan to keep it that way."  Garrick mumbled under his breath, but the 
sniper still heard him.  






Early morning.

Remy Forsythe, criminal boss of the Maccivelli, dangerous to an unknown 
degree, killer of hundreds, was engaged in doing something that most 
people would not have suspected him of doing.

Listening to Beethoven's Symphony No.9.

The rich bass voice rang over the speaker system as Remy hummed happily, 
legs crossed and up on his desk.  He was therefore surprised as hell 
when a loud beeping noise emitted from the modest computer in front of 
him, notifying him that he had a call.

He tapped a button on the phone, and placed the call on speaker, keeping 
the music going at a lower volume.

"Remy Forsythe speaking."

"Ness Carter here.  I demand the return of the Bishop."

Remy frowned.  This could very well turn Carter and his Horrors against 
him, and the Horrors were a valuable resource.  "I am afraid that he is 
undisclosed at the moment."

"The Demon.  He killed the Bishop, did he not?"

Forsythe paused before replying.  "...Yes."

"Then consider our contract terminated.  Oh, and by the way..."

"What?"  Remy had to fight to keep the annoyance from his voice.  
"Anything else I should know?"

"Yes.  Duck."  Ness Carter stated smugly.

To his credit, the head of the Maccivelli was no fool.  He dived under 
his desk as the room in front of him erupted.

Books and valuable art pieces vanished in flame. The computer on the desk 
fizzled out, the plastic in the wires melting and running.  Windows blew 
outward from the shockwave.  The cries of the dead and dying guards rang 
from the halls outside.  

It took a concsious effort on Forsythe's part not to curse into his end of 
the phone.  

Carter grinned, and handed a wad of cash to a small, nondistinct man carrying 
a heavy metal briefcase.  The man was grey-haired, but his eyes were alight 
with the glint of pleasure.  He nodded and left.

The smuggler continued into the phone.  "That was a little present from one of 
my Horrors who likes to be known as 'The Handyman'.  Consider your debt for 
sending the Bishop to his death paid."

On Remy's end of the phone, the music continued to play brokenly.  "...Agreed."

"By the way."  Ness savored this part incredibly.  "Garrick Foster and his 
Black Pack are due to hit Warehouse 13 today.  I hope you haven't stored 
anything valuable there, because the Demon is not one to let a vendetta go easily."

This time Remy Forsythe did swear, albeit under his breath.  Foster and his 
little group may have been useful in disposing of the extra baggage the Maccivelli 
had, but pointed in the right direction, they constituted a real threat.

"See you around."  Carter murmured offhandedly and hung up.

The head of the Maccivelli did not wait for the click and beep of the line 
to go dead before yelling orders. 

Ordering a bunch of badly scared people into action took patience, time, and 
determination.  Remy Forsythe had none of those right now.  Instead, he just 
killed the first man he saw, and the rest fell into line.

The Black Pack were becoming more of an annoyance, now.  And the Horrors 
themselves were probably against him.

Not good odds.




Warehouse 13.  

What had once been the derelict site of an old steelworks that had closed 
down, was now a storage facility for some of the Maccivelli's lethal, brutal, 
and often horribly excessive weaponry.

Yes, Warehouse 13 was an arms store.  It contained weapons, and other things 
of a dangerous nature that just screamed 'stay the hell away' in blood.

Too bad, since according to Ness Carter's little 'message', it was about to 
be crashed by a small group of five highly skilled, eccentric individuals 
who had the intent on breaking that law.

Not long after the sunrise, a pair of nondistinct black vans showed up at 
the gates, and were let in.

Five minutes later, they were followed by another van.  And another.  And 
another.  And one more after that.

Men with all manner of automatic weapons and explosive devices exited, and 
poured into the storage area for Forsythe's devices.  

Early warnings were a godsend, indeed.

But it didn't save a sizeable portion of the warehouse's guards from dying 
when a small blue van, loaded with enough C4 to blow up a small island, 
crashed into the perimeter gates and exploded.

First, we have the shockwave that ripples through the ground, leaving small 
networks of fissures in the ground.  Let's not forget the shrapnel.  

Then, we have a rush of superheated air, followed by a rapidly expanding 
fireball that consumes nearly everything in its wake, BBQing people unlucky 
enough to be in the way.

Then, we have the sound, the colossal tidal wave of sonic energy that screamed 
to be heard.

And imagine all of the above happening in about a second.

Several meters away, the Demon dusted himself off, got to his feet where he 
had dived out of the van just in time, and patted his little sister on the head.  

"Nice..."  Garrick murmured as he surveyed the burning wreckage. "Real nice."

And through the shattered, twisted, burning remains of the front gate, the 
Black Pack advanced.  

Alice was already on the right, picking off black-suited thugs one by one 
with her rifle, hitting with every shot.  Richmond had disappeared to do his 
'work'.  Alexander had started up his gatling gun, the loud hum of its cylinders 
rotating and then the steady chatter of ammo feeding through them a Bach fugue 
and Grimoire stantheseizer all in one.  Geraldine was fitting something together 
that promised to be explosive and volatile, another lit cigarette in her mouth.

And at the heart of it all stood the Demon, wearing a grim expression, as 
Bonnie and Clyde blazed in unison.

"Take this place to the ground.  And remember, leave one of them alive."

It was an order that the Black Pack were keen to fulfill.




Author's Notes:

Whoa.  Cool.

It's been a while since anybody has written for Bpack, and I'd like to put some 
more interest in it.  As much as it deserves, anyway.  After Pacopuck's last part, 
there hasn't been anybody signing up in months.  

So I plan to put my foot in it.  ^_^

Well, for some of the people who forgot, SLICK IS STILL ALIVE!!!  And on that note, 
so is Wraith.  They are potential backstab psychotic villains, nobody forget that.  

Paco said in the last part that Ness Carter was modeled after Merovingian in the 
Matrix Reloaded.  I tried to make him less of a prat, anyway.  He's much better 
as the smart evil dude waiting in the wings to pick up whatever pieces of the crime 
world are left after the Demon and Remy Forsythe fight their war.  

Oh, and the Horrors... I needed to do them justice rather than just random cannon 
fodder to throw at the Black Pack.  I mean, how many easy fights have they had?  
Random punks on street, Dougall and his various attempts, that whole puppet doll 
thing, and that very garbled fight with the Bishops that I had to try very hard to 
make sense of.

And while I'm on that note, the Bishops are DEAD.  Anybody who tries to bring them 
back will be whacked around with a large trout.  Repeatedly.

Before anyone complains, I know its a short part, and I'm sorry for anything that 
happens as a result of that, like the next writer working himself to death to pick 
up my slack.  Hopefully I did what I set out to do: advance the plot.

I know this has the potential to suffer badly from character bloat, so I'm going 
to say this now, even though I'm an accomplice in it.  Try to use up the Horrors 
and the other two (Slick and Wraith) before you start more evil supervillains... 
please?  I mean, the Horrors can be as bad, as cool, or as weird as you want... 
they just have to put up a good fight against the black pack.  It makes for more 
interesting reading.

And the Black Pack are injured.  Yep, deal with it.

Thanks to my .net friends who coerced me into writing for impro.  Kudos if you're 
reading this.  And thanks to Mads for starting such an amazing impro.  I hear a lot 
of talk on the messageboards about ditching the current lineup: hopefully the black 
pack will continue to survive.

Chaos-D (99dpang@monmouth.monm.sch.uk)

P.S.: I want it to be known that I am willing to give assistance to anybody writing
the next Black Pack chapter.  Preread/spelling/grammar/plot.  Contact via email.

"Remember, kids, with great power comes great opportunity to abuse that power!!!"




Cyber Wraith paused before realising that the box that held him was damaged, one 
of the side panels loose.  Not much, but enough for him to work on.  Soon, the 
panel fell outward, with a clattering of loose bolts on the floor.

Then slowly, like a mist, he drifted out, gas mask still on.  He surveyed the 
blasted scene in front of him, and began to laugh.

They would pay for this.

Oh, they would pay.