Nexus 100 Rain
Title: Undampened Fires
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: The Shadow, unnamed criminals
Prompt: 066 Rain
Word Count: 966
Rating: PG
Summary: A dark moment on the job.
Author's Notes: It’s miserable weather here, and this fits in very well with current RP events as a brief interlude, although it should stand alone just fine as well.
Rain had soaked through felt, making a wet band across his forehead, and every few seconds it coalesced into a single large droplet that dripped from the brim of his hat in the very front. His position against the wall was an uncomfortable one, the only spot in shadow that was not also under the cover of the eaves. The reason for his unpleasant station was that the more enviable positions were already taken up by a ragged group of crooks in quiet conference. His was the only useful vantage point from which to observe the exchange. It also put him standing nearly ankle-deep in a puddle.
For the moment the criminals were quiet, waiting with sour expressions for their contact, a man whose name and face The Shadow had, as of yet, had no clues to. This gathering was a crucial one to his latest drug-ring investigation. After a lull caused by a police crackdown, a matter the Shadow had also had a hand in, those involved in the drug trade were working with a level of caution that made his work all the harder. Much would hinge on the next half-hour. Like the waiting crooks, The Shadow’s gaze was drawn to a man who slouched and slipped his way up the street toward them, casting furtive glances for any other watchers that gave him away as a member of their band. He drew level and edged into the narrow shelter along the wall, with the excuse of begging a light for his cigarette. Their eager faces were dimly illuminated by the flare of a match, but the one who’d requested it looked glum.
“No good, they’re on to the boat that was bringing the shipment. The docks are crawling with cops.” He sucked moodily on his cigarette, as if seeking to draw the heat from it to warm himself. Water dripped off his cap and jacket.
The small gathering broke into muttered curses, but no one’s mood could be darker than that of the unseen watcher. These men would be quick to disperse, and with them, all hopes of a lead to those in control of the operations. His face was a stony mask, but within that composed visage, his eyes blazed. The lowered, dripping brim of his hat was all that stood between the criminals and that fearsome gaze.
With a few more muttered exchanges, the men began to filter away. The Shadow watched his leads skulk off through the rain, two and three at a time, to vanish into the dark mist. When there were only two men left, his sense of desperation came to a head. The contact man was one of the two, and a forceful interrogation might provide results if done now, before the leaders he answered to had a chance to bury themselves in hiding. He lunged from his hiding place like a shred of living night, sledging an automatic to the second criminal’s head. The man dropped to the street without a single sound to call back their departed companions. The contact man was only a few feet further, and The Shadow’s sweep carried him onwards toward his target.
The pavement was slick, and his feet were utterly numb from the long vigil in standing water. It was sheer bad luck that The Shadow slipped, skidding sideways to land clumsily on an elbow and knees beside the man he had intended to catch. The criminal grabbed for the gun at his back as he turned, cigarette dropped to sizzle out on the rain-slicked cement. He was too startled to even take stock of his attacker, and for a moment the black-clad form at his feet escaped his notice. That moment was a crucial one for the vigilante on the ground, and he made good use of it despite the ringing shock of his fall. Without dropping the automatic in his gloved grip, the Shadow swept out an arm to knock the criminal’s feet out from under him. When the younger man struck the pavement on his backside, they were on equal footing, and a quick grapple on the ground disarmed him. On his knees in the puddles, The Shadow clamped one hand around the crook’s throat, and held a gun poised in the other as a silent threat. A lucky blow in the struggle had left him wheezing, and his hat had been lost to leave the cold rain pouring down on bared head and the back of his neck. Unable to even gasp an exclamation, the criminal quailed under the cold rage that boiled in the blue eyes above his face. The hand that gripped his throat seemed made of living iron rather than flesh and bone.
Squeezing hard, The Shadow shook his terrified captive, venting the roiling frustration the night had inspired in him. In that brief moment, a lifetime of training and focus slipped, and he reveled in the monstrous power that culminated in the helplessness of the man he held in one hand.
The younger man’s eyes rolled back and closed, and his body went limp at the end of The Shadow’s arm. He was merely unconscious, but that unexpected conclusion was enough to snap the dark fighter back to himself. Stiffly, The Shadow clambered to his feet, and hauled the still form over one shoulder. The burden did nothing for his own ragged breathing, but long experience had taught him well in ignoring his own injuries. There was a car waiting several blocks over, and he had agents who were skilled in interrogation. Their heads would be cooler than his, tonight. Retrieving his fallen hat, The Shadow squelched off into the wet night with his prize, leaving the other criminal to wake in the empty street with the rain on his face.
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: The Shadow, unnamed criminals
Prompt: 066 Rain
Word Count: 966
Rating: PG
Summary: A dark moment on the job.
Author's Notes: It’s miserable weather here, and this fits in very well with current RP events as a brief interlude, although it should stand alone just fine as well.
Rain had soaked through felt, making a wet band across his forehead, and every few seconds it coalesced into a single large droplet that dripped from the brim of his hat in the very front. His position against the wall was an uncomfortable one, the only spot in shadow that was not also under the cover of the eaves. The reason for his unpleasant station was that the more enviable positions were already taken up by a ragged group of crooks in quiet conference. His was the only useful vantage point from which to observe the exchange. It also put him standing nearly ankle-deep in a puddle.
For the moment the criminals were quiet, waiting with sour expressions for their contact, a man whose name and face The Shadow had, as of yet, had no clues to. This gathering was a crucial one to his latest drug-ring investigation. After a lull caused by a police crackdown, a matter the Shadow had also had a hand in, those involved in the drug trade were working with a level of caution that made his work all the harder. Much would hinge on the next half-hour. Like the waiting crooks, The Shadow’s gaze was drawn to a man who slouched and slipped his way up the street toward them, casting furtive glances for any other watchers that gave him away as a member of their band. He drew level and edged into the narrow shelter along the wall, with the excuse of begging a light for his cigarette. Their eager faces were dimly illuminated by the flare of a match, but the one who’d requested it looked glum.
“No good, they’re on to the boat that was bringing the shipment. The docks are crawling with cops.” He sucked moodily on his cigarette, as if seeking to draw the heat from it to warm himself. Water dripped off his cap and jacket.
The small gathering broke into muttered curses, but no one’s mood could be darker than that of the unseen watcher. These men would be quick to disperse, and with them, all hopes of a lead to those in control of the operations. His face was a stony mask, but within that composed visage, his eyes blazed. The lowered, dripping brim of his hat was all that stood between the criminals and that fearsome gaze.
With a few more muttered exchanges, the men began to filter away. The Shadow watched his leads skulk off through the rain, two and three at a time, to vanish into the dark mist. When there were only two men left, his sense of desperation came to a head. The contact man was one of the two, and a forceful interrogation might provide results if done now, before the leaders he answered to had a chance to bury themselves in hiding. He lunged from his hiding place like a shred of living night, sledging an automatic to the second criminal’s head. The man dropped to the street without a single sound to call back their departed companions. The contact man was only a few feet further, and The Shadow’s sweep carried him onwards toward his target.
The pavement was slick, and his feet were utterly numb from the long vigil in standing water. It was sheer bad luck that The Shadow slipped, skidding sideways to land clumsily on an elbow and knees beside the man he had intended to catch. The criminal grabbed for the gun at his back as he turned, cigarette dropped to sizzle out on the rain-slicked cement. He was too startled to even take stock of his attacker, and for a moment the black-clad form at his feet escaped his notice. That moment was a crucial one for the vigilante on the ground, and he made good use of it despite the ringing shock of his fall. Without dropping the automatic in his gloved grip, the Shadow swept out an arm to knock the criminal’s feet out from under him. When the younger man struck the pavement on his backside, they were on equal footing, and a quick grapple on the ground disarmed him. On his knees in the puddles, The Shadow clamped one hand around the crook’s throat, and held a gun poised in the other as a silent threat. A lucky blow in the struggle had left him wheezing, and his hat had been lost to leave the cold rain pouring down on bared head and the back of his neck. Unable to even gasp an exclamation, the criminal quailed under the cold rage that boiled in the blue eyes above his face. The hand that gripped his throat seemed made of living iron rather than flesh and bone.
Squeezing hard, The Shadow shook his terrified captive, venting the roiling frustration the night had inspired in him. In that brief moment, a lifetime of training and focus slipped, and he reveled in the monstrous power that culminated in the helplessness of the man he held in one hand.
The younger man’s eyes rolled back and closed, and his body went limp at the end of The Shadow’s arm. He was merely unconscious, but that unexpected conclusion was enough to snap the dark fighter back to himself. Stiffly, The Shadow clambered to his feet, and hauled the still form over one shoulder. The burden did nothing for his own ragged breathing, but long experience had taught him well in ignoring his own injuries. There was a car waiting several blocks over, and he had agents who were skilled in interrogation. Their heads would be cooler than his, tonight. Retrieving his fallen hat, The Shadow squelched off into the wet night with his prize, leaving the other criminal to wake in the empty street with the rain on his face.