There was nothing like sinking the end of sword into the back of a villian. Too bad Mindy's entry into this City hadn't come with her armory in tow, but like the resourceful girl she is (like her father always taught her to be) she's hardly left defenseless. She's got fists, skill, and lots of brain, and so she was without hesitancy this morning as she set on today's crime spree challenge
( ... )
Four months good behavior cutting into the most intense, most carefully orchestrated killing spree of his life have left Brian Moser on edge. He's out tonight looking for trouble, well aware (thanks to the Network) that terrible things are going on out there. It doesn't bother him on principle. It's not precisely that he doesn't understand conventional morality; rather, he just just doesn't care. On the bright side, one more murder in this mess seems likely to go unnoticed, and if it doesn't, if he can call it self-defense, all the better. It won't be good; he has a sudden pang of longing, missing his clean, cold studio, his safe refuge in the wilds of Miami, the perfect place to work in peace, at his own pace. Still. The biggest thing he's seen bleed lately was a sheep, and even that had been rushed and furtive, no real outlet for his creativity or his frustration. He feels like a caged animal
( ... )
It's not creativity when she sweeps in, spinning a flip in mid air as she delivers a single kick to one of the offender's backside. It's efficiency and purpose. Momentum does its job and sends the man crashing into a pronged fence, skewered chest-first like the start of a Greek shish kabob. Mindy doesn't paint death with gilded glory, even as a child entrenched in the blood of her own justice. To say she didn't have fun would be a lie, though the smile she wears now is not one for the enjoyment of brutality, more like the enjoyment of killing someone who undoubtedly deserves it. A questionable moral scheme? Definitely.
But in the language of primal instincts, man must defend his own safety. And so the man who runs up behind Mindy, thrusting one hand forth with a knife, receives her defense through a knife in the neck. She's faster than any of them, and she knows it.
The fourth member of the party still thinks its wise not to run away. These cursed criminals don't know when to give up.
The addition of a fifth unfamiliar figure to this gathering gives him pause. He doesn't hesitate in throwing the man to the ground and immobilizing him-- anyone would be justified in doing that for the sake of self-defense, and he's certainly not going to leave himself open for attack. Crouched over his own victim he watches for a moment. The spurt of blood from the first man's back turns his stomach and electrifies his nerves, fingers curling into a tighter fist at the throat of his would-be attacker's shirt
( ... )
She doesn't expect a thank you. If she fought crime for the sake of gratitude, for the feeling of doing something good that often is the faulty screw in the authenticity of altruism, then maybe a "thank you" would be expected of Brian. Yet, what she fights for are her principles, the clear black and white cut of bad and good in which she serves as justice. He may think it silly, but shouldn't Brian know well how the influence of youth permeates ones personality
( ... )
He knows that all too well, and perhaps vigilantism wouldn't leave such a sour taste in his mouth if it wasn't a learned behavior, passed on father to daughter, bastard to son. He's on too much of a high to goad her for it now, though when he comes back down-- an even deeper low, no doubt, but right now it seems worth it-- certainly he'll recall this meeting and wonder. He's trying to gauge the details as well as he can, but everything is sharp edges and the scent of blood in his mind, right now.
"Would've been less fun," he counters her first comment, the sharp smile an evident tone in his voice. Strange times make strange allies, and for tonight, to an extent they want the same thing. It's only circumstance and convenience. He doesn't have a sense of justice.
"Don't stay out past your bedtime," he teases back as she goes, stooping to wipe his knife. A waste, dead men in alley, only so much discarded flesh. He's had his fun at least.
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It's not creativity when she sweeps in, spinning a flip in mid air as she delivers a single kick to one of the offender's backside. It's efficiency and purpose. Momentum does its job and sends the man crashing into a pronged fence, skewered chest-first like the start of a Greek shish kabob. Mindy doesn't paint death with gilded glory, even as a child entrenched in the blood of her own justice. To say she didn't have fun would be a lie, though the smile she wears now is not one for the enjoyment of brutality, more like the enjoyment of killing someone who undoubtedly deserves it. A questionable moral scheme? Definitely.
But in the language of primal instincts, man must defend his own safety. And so the man who runs up behind Mindy, thrusting one hand forth with a knife, receives her defense through a knife in the neck. She's faster than any of them, and she knows it.
The fourth member of the party still thinks its wise not to run away. These cursed criminals don't know when to give up.
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"Would've been less fun," he counters her first comment, the sharp smile an evident tone in his voice. Strange times make strange allies, and for tonight, to an extent they want the same thing. It's only circumstance and convenience. He doesn't have a sense of justice.
"Don't stay out past your bedtime," he teases back as she goes, stooping to wipe his knife. A waste, dead men in alley, only so much discarded flesh. He's had his fun at least.
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