|Behemoth|| The evening is quiet. Despite the recent horrors with the Umbrella building, the penthouse is isolated from the clamor-- one of the myriad perks of the high life. With little else to distract him, James has retreated to the library for a spot of reading or study.. or even just to brood, and fixate on the battles in his life to come. Material is spread across the coffee table haphazardly, and all's right in the world.
Above the roof, the birds are singing, chirping, moving in their migratory flocks. It's faint enough to be heard through the walls and the windows of the top-floor penthouse, and then it silences with a flutter of wings and squawking.
|Behemoth||Beneath the silence of the birds, so faint it's almost undetectable, there's a dull roar.. muted, as though far away and made with some strange material, but James recognizes it from his time with Umbrella as the rotor blades of a helicopter.|
James was in fact plotting, trying to figure out what move he needed to make next against one James Marcus. His father. A real terrorist. At least he found a copy of the Nerdcore Rising cd at the local music shop.
But then there's a noise, is that a helicopter? He hadn't received word of a visit, he'd have hidden his weed on the rooftop and in the living room if that were the case. "Huh."
The teen casually rises to his feet and strolls over to the bookcase nearest the door and lies down, just in case. Last thing he needed was to be assassinated in his own home.
|Behemoth||The humming fades. There is total quiet; and then, the power to the penthouse is killed, and the upper portion of the building collapses into darkness. As the shadows stretch and James' eyes adapt, his sensitive ears pick up the sound of many booted feet marching in unison through the other rooms of his home. He can hear shouting, doors being kicked in, orders barked-- without a doubt, right this moment, the penthouse is being secured. Given the nature of the visit, friendly seems unlikely.. but James has some time to react, as, for whatever reasons, they have not yet come to the library. Maybe they just don't expect him to be in there.|
|James Scott||'See, they get me,' James thinks to himself, slipping on his brass knuckles, 'they didn't just send four guys to deal with me.' His brows furrow as his mind goes to where it probably should have first, 'Wonder what I did to piss them off? Probably when I borrowed those files that I didn't have clearance to view.' His brows relax and he nods a few times, 'Yeah, that was probably it.'
They aren't shooting, so he carefully pushes up to a kneel, right foot resting against the bookshelf behind him. 'I wonder what I'll fix for dinner. Probably should have stuck a roast in the crock pot this morning. But then again them cutting the power would have fucked that up. Oh well.'
|Behemoth||The professionals work with all haste. They clear the other rooms and, not finding James, locate him by process of elimination. "Breach the library!" one says, voice muffled by a face mask, and there's a heavy crunch as a booted foot kicks it open. It rattles and shakes on its hinges, and then there's a small 'donk' as an object is tossed in, bouncing off the coffee table and rolling near one of the many rows of shelves upon the walls. It clicks, and there's a flash like a miniature sun, and a painfully loud sound. Smoke fills the air and the force of the explosion has knocked some books down, and only then do a handful of men rush in, armed and ready.|
|James Scott||"Oh fu-" Before James can finish there's a blinding light and he stumbles backwards, clutching at the eye that isn't covered by a black patch. "Really! You couldn't just fucking knock?" he screams into the whiteness, reaching out to grab hold of something, anything. It's a book. Not just any book either. It's his first edition of Gone with the Wind, burnt and blackened thanks to the detonation.|
|Behemoth||Without wasting any time, the first two mercenaries open fire on James as he stumbles and shouts. A stream of molten lead tears through the library-- he throws himself out of the way of a few shots that rip into the books and splinter the wood of the shelves, but another catches him in the arm, drawing blood.|
|James Scott||At the end of the day, there's a reason James is a captain and these guys are shock troops. As soon as those bullets bite into his flesh white hot rage replaces the confusion caused by the sudden flash. His exposed eye glows a brilliant red and he kicks up onto his feet, promptly driving his shoulder into the nearest mercenary's sternum, cracking ribs and sending him back a comfortable bit. The other soldier isn't quite so lucky, as the teen throws what appears to be a straight punch that misses, but rather he brings his elbow back in a devistating smash that completely shatters the man's protective respirator.
His rage returns to the first man and he brings his foot around, soundly smashing his mask as well as dislocating his jaw. Not satisfied with the violence he's already inflicted he drives his knee towards the still standing mercenary, only to punch straight through the wall with it instead. Damn depth perception.
|Behemoth|| The snapping of bones elicits a cry of pain from the first mercenary. The violence unleashed upon the shock trooper's merely human form in such a short time overwhelms him; he collapses to the ground convulsing, eyes rolling back in shock. He might calm down later, but for now, he's too injured to fight.
The second mercenary fares better. He's been terribly wounded, and behind his mask his eyes widen and he lets out a cry. This close, trying to open fire won't work-- he drops the gun and reaches for his knife, but James is faster.
In the hall outside the library, the other gathered Umbrella soldiers are assembling. They can't all cram in on James at once, though, nor can they easily open fire without hitting each other. So long as he keeps it close, this is a hand-to-hand conflict now.
"Spread out!", they cry. "If he runs, shoot!"
|James Scott||"I have spread out my hands all the day unto a rebellious people... Stand by thyself. Come not near to me, for I am holier than thou." The next track starts up, apparently the cd and radio haven't been shot up yet.
Where the knee missed James' fist does not, the poor mercenary is literally picked up, armor and bone caving in from the sheer force of the strike. It's like something out of a movie, there's a sharp cry of pain before a flood of blood is vomited up on the offending arm and slicking the floor.
As the new man goes to back away James rushes forward and takes him by the weapon hooks on the front of his vest, "Oh no you don't." Just like that the fist returns, shattering yet another mask and caving in the nose underneath it.
"Can we use our words like adults yet?" he shouts out the doorway, careful not to reveal himself in case of more weapons fire. Even if he doesn't want to admit it, he's hurting. Another burst of fire like before could really ruin his day.
|Behemoth|| "James Scott," one of the armed men announces, hefting up his assault rifle. "We're here to terminate your contract." The dead man at James' foot coughs-- he hasn't realized he's dead yet, as he chokes on his blood and it spills from his mouth in thick, gagging waves. It spreads out over the wood panelling of the floors and reaches out with a sticky heat.
The one next to him, face bloodied and shattered, slumps down against the doorway, coughing and trying to pull off his respirator; he can't breathe with it on, he's clogged up, suffocating.
"He's too dangerous hand-to-hand," the probable leader instructs, hanging near the middle of the group in the hall. "Through the walls, shoot!" That warning is enough to tell James it's time to move, because in mere moments a storm of bullets fired from the hall and the adjacent rooms begins, ripping through support beams, tearing through doors, and sending up clouds of dust and debris. He's agile, he's tough, and he's strong as hell-- the only proper counter is suppressive fire.
|Behemoth||In the background, quieter, James can hear one of the men on his radio: "Target has incapacitated three, bring in the reinforcements!"|
|James Scott||"Fuck that noise!" James shouts, jumping aside he slams hard onto his wounded arm. "I'm not dying here." He grabs ahold of the man slumped against the wall and tugs him in front of himself. Those bullets rip through the wounded man, saving the teen for the moment.
He grabs ahold of one of the grenades on the now corpse's belt, pulls the pin, then tosses it out into the hall where the men are shooting from. "You can suck my fucking ass!"
|Behemoth||There's a pop like a firework and an explosion of light just as grand. The narrow hallway amplifies both; the mercenaries are caught off guard by it and blinded by the intense flash through their visors. Grunts, stumblings, blind gropings as their ears ring and they see naught but bleached-out silhouettes and afterimages. James has bought himself time-- he can hear more boots coming from the stairway leading to the roof, but has a clear shot for his front door. Before the men recover, he must choose to stay or go.. otherwise, the extras coming will decide for him!|
|James Scott||"Yeet!" James shouts, grabbing the backpack from the corner and hauling ass out of the library. From there, should everything go well, it's a straight shot out the door and to the emergency stairwell.|
|Behemoth|| The men are recuperating as the back-up arrives. Rushing past the dazzled first line, these men rush in the direction of James' departure, dashing toward the emergency stairwell. It's a race, but James has the advantage-- he's lighter on his feet, unburdened by any gear, and he practically flies down the stairs. Flight after flight, floor after floor, fast enough it seems the wind whips through his hair. But somehow, the Umbrella troops seem to be gaining on him..
A doorway opens near the stairs, a few floors down. A man with an insectoid gas mask, red-lensed, holds a pistol aimed directly at James' face. "Get down!" The metallic voice is muffled by the respirator, and with a quick flash of the muzzle, a single bullet soars past James.. striking a man who was rappelling down the stairwell between the eyes, leaving a corpse dangling.
James will recognize the man-- HUNK, from his time training on Rockfort Island. The men behind him must be U.S.S. "There is a disagreement between Management. You're not dying tonight."
|James Scott||"Oh shit!" James drops to his ass. That's going to hurt in the morning. Shit, it doesn't feel too good right now. "I'm gonna be real upset if you turn around and shoot me." He says, pulling back up to his feet. He doesn't take off running against just yet, but he looks ready to split if he has to.|
|Behemoth||Raising a fist, HUNK signs for the U.S.S. to move. There's an exchange of fire in the stairwell as the much better trained Security Services dispatch the unsuspecting mercenaries as they descend, while HUNK pivots and begins to walk, gesturing for James to follow. "You've been sticking your nose where you shouldn't," the Reaper begins, hand still tight on his pistol. "And surveillance on you has made it clear you hold no love for Umbrella. Certain individuals believe you are too dangerous to let loose; that you are a rabid dog." His voice is emotionless, blank-- it betrays his own stance not at all. "But they have been overruled. While your loyalty is suspect, you have your uses." There's a moment of quiet, and then, just a little, a few sympathetic notes creep into HUNK's words. "You need to suppress that anger, James. Don't bite the hand that feeds you again."|
|James Scott||"Well, I'm a Raccoon survivor. You know how it is." James follows HUNK, reaching up to prod at his bleeding shoulder and swearing softly. "I don't give a fuck about facility locations, experiments, or any of that. I was just looking for information on my father, and since he just set off a dirty bomb here I think we both know where he's at. But I did get information that he may have been visiting the old lab in the Caribbean. Could have something planned for there too."
"But you don't have to worry about me betraying you guys. I'm sure all of my contacts from Raccoon are under surveillance too, so I don't exactly have anywhere to hide. But more importantly, they ruined every first edition I own. I spent a /lot/ on those books."
|Behemoth|| Behind the pair, there is death; but HUNK does not turn back, focused on exfiltration. He turns down a hall, walks, and pauses in front of an elevator. A quick look over James and he hrms, listening to his speech, before holstering his weapon. One gloved finger pushes the Call Elevator button. "I'll pass your findings on," HUNK says, as the little lights flash and blink, showing the elevator rise. "But next time, pursue information through legitimate channels. You have a benefactor, but his tolerance is finite." There's a ding, and the doors open. HUNK gestures with a turned hand. "Go to the ground floor. A medical vehicle will treat your wound and deliver you to a hotel. Your reservation has been booked; stay a few days, and the penthouse will be restored. If anyone asks, there was faulty wiring."
Those glowing red eyes fixate on James. They never blink, and they never dull. "You might not care about your life much, James. But yours isn't the only one endangered when you challenge the company." He grabs James by the arm, moves to push him into the elevator with a quick 'Go', and then slams a curled hand against the button, triggering the doors to shut.
Down at the ground floor, said vehicle will be there, just as James was told. There's no double-cross; for now, at least, the threat has passed.