Savage Jackson/Fall Seven Times
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
"Fall Seven Times..."
The last mobster fell backwards, cartwheeling head over heels past the rail as blood spurted from his forehead. Savage Jackson clutched his shoulder, keeping the bleeding to a minimum while his body slowly told him it was ok to lower his gun. The job had been a success, if not a difficult one. Clear the office of all mafiosos, steal the "secret whatever-the-crap-they're-transporting" and deliver it back to the Isles, back to Desdemona the Glint. He smiled to himself, knowing the payout for this job would far surpass his others. The risk getting to the job was worse than the actual work, it being located deep inside Paragon City. Steel Canyon, to be specific. At this hour, also Hero central. No one had seen him enter, so all he had to do was grab the loot and teleport out. Easy as pie.
He lifted himself up and walked over to the conference table, barren except for a white briefcase and blood spatter. Seven mobsters lay dead in their seats, the eighth barely clinging on to life. Jackson reached out with his hand, and concentrated. He felt the man's diminished energy still present. With a single grab, he pulled the man's life force away and into himself. Jackson's shoulder pain instantly melted away, the slug forced from the wound and the wound rapidly closed. He sighed a breath of relief, no longer tormented by bullet wound. He opened his eyes and saw the eighth man go stiff, no longer possessing the strength to cling on. Jackson rolled his shoulders to loosen them from the sudden healing, cocked his head side to side and grabbed the briefcase.
"Whatever is in here has to be worth a fortune. Otherwise, Desdemona wouldn't risk her name being attached to this." Jackson muttered under his breath, trying to crack the case's lock. It wouldn't budge. He frowned, reached inside his belt and pulled forth a set of lock picks. It took minutes, but the lock eventually gave. "Easy peesy." He opened the case, looking to see what his prize would be.
"Drugs. Fucking drugs. You got to be fucking kidding me." Staring back at Jackson was a vial of some unknown liquid, a label stating some scientific name he could care less about. He sighed, closed the case and began walking towards the elevators. The buzz of a walkie made him freeze in place, ducking into a nearby cubicle and draw his guns.
"Yeah, mobsters dead everywhere. Not a single one still twitching. No rigor mortis and fresh blood about the walls, so this has to be recent." The walkie crackled. A faint voice came replied, but was just under earshot for Jackson. "Hero? No, no hero would do this. At least none I know. This looks like some kind of precursor to a gang war. 'Cept their ain't a body here that doesn't belong to the Verandi family." The faint voice replied, but was cut short. "How da fuck do I know?! You're a fucking amateur, Russo. I hope you fuckin' know that. It's the clothes.. these are all Verandi's men. Look at the fuckin' make, Christ!"
Jackson had heard enough. Someone must have called the cops, possibly hearing the gunfire. Apparently no hero had responded, so the Paragon Police was left with the initial investigation. Just like the good old days. He checked his supplies real quick... enough ammo to take down a small battalion and a handful of grenades. Enough for these boys, at least. He rolled out of the cubicle, crouched against the doorway and listened for the footsteps.
Russo's voice came back over the walkie, this time clear enough to hear. He was in the middle of retorting his fellow officer when Jackson spun out of the doorway, kicked the door open and opened fire. The detective staggered backwards from the force of the door and reached for his gun. It wasn't fast enough, he was dead before he hit the ground. Jackson checked the rest of the hallway, while Russo's voice called to the others for backup.
"D'Abruzzo? D'Abruzzo?! Respond, D'Abruzzo!" A brief pause. "This is Detective Russo, requesting backup. I've got shots fired in the Copper District, address -" Jackson was down the hallway before he could finish. He ducked into another office, dug his teleporter out and punched the evac button. It hummed briefly, then flashed an error message. "God damnit... they're already jamming the frequencies. Guess it's fight out... or mediport out." he muttered.
He looked at the briefcase, then sighed. "Can't afford to abandon the cargo.. we'll try fighting." He grimaced, grabbed the briefcase again and hurried out the door. "Better hope no god damn heroes stick their nose in this." The elevator wasn't far, he ducked in and hit the bottom floor. As the elevator hummed down three flights, he readied the door opener. Ding.
The doors slid open, followed by the quick response of gunfire. The doors became riddled with holes, the compartment pierced in every perceivable fashion. As the Paragon Police Department circled the opening, two grenades fell from the elevator's open latch and bounced off the floor, twice. On the second thump, it cleared the elevator lobby.
Savage swung down from the busted compartment, through the flames and rolled into the lobby. He brought both guns up to shoulder height and began blasting his way through. The PPD staggered backwards, surprised by the explosion and confused by the sudden assault. Their numbers dwindled rapidly, Jackson expertly executed their men in precise fashion. The PPD's own return fire nicked at this armored chest plate, slashed at the sides of his bullet proof vest and flew past his head. They couldn't kill him. Jackson smiled, switching positions with ease and unloading his Match Compensators into any that defied him. The room soon fell silent, no one standing but Jackson. He stole life energy from those still not quite dead to heal his mild injuries, ducked back into the elevator shaft to grab his cargo and proceeded for the front door. "If I do this fast enough, shouldn't have anything to worry about. Little disguise will do me wonders until I get to Independence Port." He chuckled.
The doors soon came into view, but he slowed down with caution. Something was telling him to be careful. He closed his eyes and concentrated again, this time sensing life energy hiding behind some filing cabinets next to the staircase ahead. He lifted his right hand, grabbed at it and yanked hard. Not enough to kill whatever was there, but enough to take it's breath away. The figure dropped to his knees, gasping. Jackson walked around to see a lone PPD detective, clutching his chest and sweating bullets.
"Son of a bitch.... You son of a bitch. I'll kill you." The detective gasped. "Detective Russo, I presume." Jackson replied, his smile returning. "No, you won't be killing me. But let me tell you how this is going to play out. I'm going to walk out that door, this in hand," he patted the briefcase, "and you're going to return to your cubicle. All your friends dead, partner-less and with the knowledge your suspect is having a fantastic night out on the town." Jackson put his foot on the man's chest, pushing him back up against the wall. "And there ain't shit you can do about it." Jackson swung his compensator down hard, knocking the man out cold. "A little theatric" Jackson thought to himself, but continued on his way out. As he rounded the corner, things suddenly got complicated.
The door was halfway open, a man in orange and black armor entering with pistols drawn. "FUCK!" Jackson screamed and pulled back around the corner, dropping the briefcase and drawing his own guns. The newcomer yelled down the hallway "Listen, we don't have to do this the hard way. All you have to do is throw away your weapons and come in peace.. no one has to die." "You clearly don't know about the rest of the people here," Jackson thought. He sighed, raised both guns to his head and pushed around the corner, guns blazing.
The armored man ducked behind a metal door, it taking the majority of the onslaught. Jackson continued firing until he was across the hallway's opening, pausing a second to reload. As he clicked the clip into place, a flashbang grenade rolled past him. "Shit.." he muttered, closed his eyes and waited for the ringing in his ears. The man was clearly still trying to take him alive.
Ring-ing-ing-ing-ing-ing resounded in Jackson's head, and he opened his eyes to return fire. The man had stepped away from the door and for a couple seconds, the two traded fire. Jackson felt a couple rounds explode off his chest plate and he saw he scored a couple hits as well. He ducked back around the corner and went to reload again. As he glanced down, he noticed the chunk of breast plate now missing. "What the...?" he said to himself, then saw out of his peripheral vision a chunk of the corner explode. "Hero is using god damn explosive rounds!" he said in surprise, and pushed himself away from the corner. The ringing lessened, and now he could hear the explosions with each gunshot. "Too fucking close, Jackson. Way too fucking close." He ran over to the next nearest doorway, hid inside and changed his own ammo to explosive rounds. The hero's voice suddenly came from outside the room.
"I gave you the option to come quietly, even after what you did. I heard the whole thing from outside, one of your victims must have left his radio on during the fight. You killed all those people, and for what? Drugs? Drugs?!" The hero yelled. Jackson heard a single gunshot, followed by "And now no one's going home happy. The name's Jace Revant, I'll make sure you remember me where you're going."
Jackson bit down, grinding his teeth. No cargo, no payout. No easy getaway. No reward, another fucking failure. Another. Fucking. Failure. His eyes saw red, he began to breath rapidly. "And my name's FUCK YOUR MOTHER!" he roared as he rolled out the doorway, raining down bullets at the hero. The wall behind Jace exploded as rounded detonated inside, chunks of plaster and concrete dust spewing throughout the air. The hero knelt instantly, hit something on his wrist band and charged forth, returning fire. A force field now surrounded him, Jackson's rounds deflected off. Jackson's eyes changed from rage filled red to white with fear. He knew Vanguard defensive technology when he saw it. He knew he was in deep shit now.
Jackson dropped a grenade from his belt and kicked it at the hero, exploding it with a precisely aimed shot. The force field held steady during the explosion and as Jace approached, it dropped briefly for his assault. Bullets rained into Jackson and the office behind him. Computers exploded as rounds buried themselves inside, his arms torn to shreds and his chest screaming in pain. Jackson dropped to his knees, his left having been blown away by Jace's fire and tried to raise his arms to return fire. They wouldn't do it, no matter how hard he tried. Jace stopped mere steps away from Jackson and lowered a single gun at Jackson's chest.
"This is for all the people you murdered today." His helmet folded away, revealing a blond lad in his mid twenties fighting back tears. "I don't enjoy killing people, today... today-!" Jackson pulled his own mask off with some struggle, returning the stare. "Fuck you. Just do it." Jackson said and spit blood in Jace's face. He heard the gunshot, felt his ribs shatter and chest explode forth. Bits of tissue and organ spilled out as Jackson fell backwards, illuminated by the light of a mediporter being activated.
To Be Continued..
