ic Lucky Shot(IC)

[Supercape]

GM

 

"Uh..what...yeah man...the Kin of Suits! ! Looking out for the Fens, man! Can you give me a drink, ya..." mumbled the hobo.

 

 

Crack Crack Crack Crack Crack

 

 

One of the remaining Assassins was in the corner of the street, getting a clear shot down the alley. He didn't even register the King's new pal, who scampered low, clutching his brown bag and sprinting for cover down the alley, right past the Assassin. 

 

THe Assain, a shadow with the street lights behind him was quick, and fast. They were hardly supervillains, but no street thugs either. The Bullets cracked into the King of Suits, his armor pleading for mercy under the sustained assault. 

 

Quick as a rabbit, the Assasin ducked behind a dumpster. Admist the pain of the bullets, the King of Suits heard him call for back up on a phone, and reload his assault rifle. 

[Ari]

As his stomach churned under the constant, endless rattle of bullets, Marceau made a very big mistake: He tried to stand up.

A moment later, and the King of Suits was smashed against the wall and tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath as the last shot's impact sent shockwaves through his neck and collarbone, a dull silvery thing embedded just below the edge of his chest plate.

From his prone position, the first thing he saw as his eyes refocused was Carl, lying nearby. His leg was still a ruin, and the man was already sweating from the inflammation. The second were the divots carved into the wall above Marceau's head by the gunman. By a creature who doubt considered themselves an assassin.

A hunter of his own people.

Somebody who saw those around them as either marks or clients. Whose highest value for another was how much they could pay in exchange for a brutal, sudden death.

With his quarry lying on the ground, a single man, the assassin had paused to call for help. Marceau suddenly had an idea of what it felt like for bears in ancient Europe, when bolts tore their legs to ribbons and their lungs filled with blood as hounds tore them. And he'd shot at Carl, who could do no more harm to him than a fly could hurt a wasp. And at range, beyond any risk...

Suddenly, in a fluid arc, the King of Suit whipped his torso upright, and like a catapult launched a card from his sleeve at the ground right in front of the trash can marking his enemy's location. The King of Clubs that landed near the assassin's foot, bearing a smiling, big-boned African monarch wielding a mighty sceptre, was rare in that no razor card struck it in mid-flight to weaken the impact.

Instead, it sliced through the thing at point-blank range.

His aching head and addled mind left him unable to fully appreciate it, but the irony of his retaliatory eruption of fire and thunder did cross his reason.

[Ari]

Waiting just long enough for the drifting smoke and eerie silence to tell him that his attack had been at least moderately successful, the King of Suits limped to his feet and set off again with Carl over his shoulder. It took a lot longer to get away from the scene of battle than he.'d wanted, and the noise followed him long after it was out of sight.

In his battered and bloodied costume and armor, it was hard to be inconspicuous. But if you knew where to go and how to move, you could go to almost anywhere in the Fens with only a slight chance of being spotted. Slapdash city planning meant that it was a total surprise for Dr. Handley to open his clinic's back window at a tapping noise, and see Marceau looming before him.

A few hurried words and rumpled bills later, the King of Suits set off for the meeting place with a new spring in his step. The pain meds and a little penicillin and disinfectant dialed the agony in his chest down to a steady, comfortable throb. He could't swing from the rooftops, but he could run and leap well enough over the lower ones, and so it was with minutes to spare that he made his way to the meeting place. And all the while he did his best to avoid even the slightest risk of being seen.

Entering through the dirty, smeared rear door that had been locked a second ago, Marceau walked into the low, dimly-lit room and nodded to the local community leaders, more open-minded thugs and street people who had shown up. Moving right to the center of the gathering, the yellow light making the reds and blacks of his costume stand out all the more, he explained his plan.

"Friends," that was certainly an odd start if you weren't cornering a couple in an alleyway and about to offer some free cosmetic surgery in exchange for no money "a new crime boss is moving to take over this part of the city. Your part. He is called 'King Cole', a master manipulator and engineer of crime. This King aims to kill anyone like me, who could stand against him. And any of you he deems a threat will be next. His assassins have plagued me all today, openly attacked Deadshot's, and nearly killed several people. I mean to stop him." His blue eyes glittered. "I cannot do it alone. I've realized by now that he is counting on me being a lone wolf. He cannot fight a pack."

Gesturing to those around him at the last word, the King of Suits smiled warmly and made his pitch: "Help me take down his soldiers and the places he controls, and tonight, the next night and as many after as I can manage for as long as I can, I will train those of you who show promise, arm you like myself, and show the Mobs of Freedom that it isn't just the super-strong mutants and masterminds of justice they need fear, but everyone in this city strong enough to fight back. Help me, and I will make you strong too."

With that, he dropped his arms, returned them to under his cape to nurse his aching chest, and waited silent as a statue for their reply.

[Supercape]

GM

 

A little while later...on the Streets of the Fens...Early Morning....

 

Word had gotten around. 

 

The people of the Fens had had enough of being pushed around by yet another Crime Boss. By mouth, by phone, the people had come out.

 

the King of Suits recognised more than a few. Some were criminals, most were just brave souls who had decided to clean the streets tonight. To show the Fens that it was more than just the dustbin of Freedom City. That good people lived there too. Good people with brave hearts, baseball bats, and guns.

 

Deadshot was there too. This time with his old sniper rifle.

 

"You started a big night, cape. For what its worth, this will go down in history. And I will be part of it" he said solemnly, giving the King a salute.

 

The King of Suits saw them all. Big Jimmy Fists, Baseball Bat Billy, Mad Homeless Jane, Paul Piledriver. The Bloody Mess had come out to see what was happening, and was only too keen to break out lefty and righty. Even Harry Hound was there, wiping his brow and fretting, but for once, with the Kings Inspiration, his courage got the better of him.

 

They swept through the streets. There was gunfire, intermittently. There were casualities. Wounded, and dead. The police were not far away, but this was turning into a riot. A force of nature that could not be controlled. 

 

The Night of the two Kings..

 

That would be what they called it. Tomorrow, next week, next year. Forever. 

 

Building after building was cleaned, the hoodlums thrown out. King Cole started running, his men and his morale breaking. 

 

There was a final stand, where bullets flew and everything went to hell. The police swarmed in, adding to the chaos. Tensions were high. The people of the Fens accusing the police of not acting, saying the Fens needed to be cleaned up. Politicians would debate the night for months. But everyone knew it was the Night of the Two Kings. 

 

King Cole arrested. 

 

His men broken. 

 

And the King of Suits, triumphant....

 

....and shot again. And again. And again. Always at the front, but driven by a will so strong that bullets could not stop him until he finally had King Cole in his iron hands...