The night had come for Gren to show his stuff. He had left the house in his usual thievery gear, which consisted of his sleeveless hooded pullover with a skin-tight long sleeve black shirt underneath, his skin-tight black pants, and the silent shoes he created with the cloth soles. He also had a satchel on his back for whatever small knickknacks he came across, along with a usual thief kit in his belt, such as lock picks and blank keycards. It didn’t take much for him to get to Reno. All he had to do was find a Greyhound headed that way and sneak into the undercarriage where the bags were held. Then, it was just a matter of sneaking out when it came to a stop. He had done this little maneuver enough times that it could now be considered an art, and he had vowed that one day he was gonna get his own ride when he could drive. He had his heart set on a classic Harley-Davidson chopper.
It wasn’t a very long trip from the Greyhound to the museum, but now it was a matter of how he was going to break in to the place. The building was intimidated him, and he knew it would be impossible for him to scale to the rooftop. So he decided to take it from another angle…the ground floor. He ran around to a security door in the back, and checked the handle. Locked. He shook his head and smiled as he reached into his belt and pulled out his lockpick kit. He shoved the two pieces into the lock and began to fiddle the smaller piece around on the top, as he bit his tongue in the usual face he made when he was concentrating. Soon enough, he heard the click, and he turned both pieces to unlock the door. In a quick, well-practiced motion, he slipped the set from the lock and opened the door. As soon as he was sure there was no alarm, he slid in and quietly shut the door.
Now that he was in, it was just a matter of being able to find the exhibit. He entered the building crouched, and he remained crouched as he walked through the hallways. He was nearly invisible as long as he remained in the shadows, and it wasn’t hard in the pitch-black building. He continued to creep along and hoped to find his prize as quickly as possible.
It hadn't been easy, but Crim El Furaga had managed to gather himself a fine crew of misfit lunatics. And as a bonus, he'd even made off with a cool landship, courtesy of some stupid fat sheriff guy whose name he couldn't quite remember now. He was pretty sure it didn't matter though, because the ship, which was now known as the "TAARGÜS TAARGÜS", was his ship and nobody else's. Finally he could stick it to those blubbering worthless weenies out east.
But first, a little pit stop was in order. The trip from San Julio (or what was left of it) hadn't been long or taxing, but the ship was in fairly dire need of supplies and repairs. And since he didn't feel like handling the repairs, he left the ship in the care of his awesome new crewmen while he wandered out into the night to track down some of those elusive supplies. Too bad he had no idea what they actually needed, which would probably go far towards explaining his current whereabouts.
He stood on the sidewalk in front of a dark, weird-looking boxy building. Something about the place made him want to go in for a closer look.
The Captain of the TAARGÜS TAARGÜS strolled casually up to the front entrance of the building, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was the middle of the night and closed for business.
"Hello?" he said as he cupped his hands over his eyes and peered into the darkened interior. "Anyone home? I'm looking for supplies. Hey, open up already!"
Patience was never Crim's strong suit. The man probably didn't even know what the word meant. Same goes for the word 'restraint'. A dangerous mixture, to be sure, for it was barely ten seconds before the Captain was winding up and punching his way into and through the glass. The impact was explosive, like a grenade going off, and it pretty much shattered the entire entrance. And of course, set off all kinds of alarms. It wouldn't be long at all before the proper authorities started showing up. Crim wasn't thinking about that though. He was thinking about the row of vending machines that lined the wall just inside his newly-remodeled doorway. Just what he was looking for, all in one convenient location! He couldn't be any luckier.
Bearing witness to the action was Terrell, a security guard who had just started working that night. He peeked up over the front desk, sweat dripping from his dark brow. A young man, once a high school football star, Terrell had fallen on hard times thanks to a torn ACL or some such thing. Plus he did a lot of drugs. Today marked his first full month of total sobriety, and he had been super stoked at having landed this job (the pay was all right, but the benefits, dear god, the benefits were amazing).
For a split-second, Terrell thought he was experiencing some kind of relapse. Maybe that last bit of meth was just working its way through or something. Or maybe it was that questionable turkey sandwich his gam-gam had fixed for him earlier. But then he remembered that thing he'd seen on the news. The report of a roving band of dangerous outlaws who had attacked a small town near the Mexican border in Cali.
At the beginning of his shift, his supervisor had given him a copy of a Homeland Security Alert, which contained some details about the alleged 'domestic terrorists'. Apparently they had been tracking some of them for a while now, all as part of a growing initiative to quell the renegade activities of an increasingly uncontrollable number of rascally ne'er-do-wells.
Terrell dared to examine the intruder more closely.
Crazy blood-red hair.
Disheveled dark blue suit.
But freakishly strong.
Jesus Christ it was that guy from the Homeland Security Report. The suspected ringleader of the San Julio incident.
Already, Terrell could hear sirens approaching.
He hoped they sent the National goddamned Guard.
As for Crim, he was busy trying to decide between normal Dr. Pepper and Cherry Dr. Pepper. He didn't even acknowledge Terrell's presence, though it would be silly to assume he wasn't at least aware of the guy. He could surely hear the sirens as well, drawing ever closer. But he sure didn't seem to care.
Well, he found the exhibit. Kind of hard to miss as it was right in the middle of the upper level, main room. He had begun to look through the different items and placed whatever little things he could into his bag that he moved to his hand, when suddenly a bright light shone on him from behind. Gren froze, unable to believe that he actually got caught. The light got bigger and the thief heard footsteps walking towards him…then a voice.
“Thought you could just sneak in here, huh? Didn’t realize our cameras were night-visioned, huh?”
The young thief chuckled a bit as soon as he realized his mistake. He was so excited that he found the exhibit; he had forgotten to do his research on the building. He smiled at the same time he dropped his head, and the young thief heard a gun click.
“Don’t make any sudden movements, kid. I’d hate to have to taze you.”
That statement really made Gren laugh.
“You think you can taze me? I’d love to see you try.”
And with that, he vanished from the security guards vision and appeared behind him, and in a low voice…taunted the man.
“Guess who? Bye bye.”
He vanished again, and the guard let out the breath he had suddenly took when he saw him vanish the first time. In all actuality, Gren had the ability to move very quickly. And he was outta there. However, as he made it to the stairs, the building shook as the alarms went off almost like there was an explosion. Gren lost his balance as he ran, and tumbled down the stairs rolling straight into blue clad, slack covered legs. He slammed hard into them…they didn’t move an inch. When he regained his senses, the kid looked up and saw…the man from his dream. That made him drop the bag and back up, never taking his eyes of the man’s face as he moved.
“Who…who…who a-a-a-are…*takes a deep breath* Who are you?”
Crim eyeballed the weird newcomer with mock scrutiny. Or maybe it was real scrutiny. The guy seemed legit, anyway. Clumsy, but legit.
"So, you a thief or something?" Crim asked as he turned his attention back to the snack machines. "Because stealing is wrong, you know."
As if you punctuate his statement, the redhead smashed his fist into the machine before him, essentially destroying it and much of its delicious contents in the process. A few packages of Lay's potato chips and a couple cans of Orange Crush managed to survive the calamity though. He picked up a can and a bag of BBQ flavor for himself and then proceeded to plop down cross-legged amidst the scattered mess that he had just made, and tore into his snack as if he hadn't eaten in days.
Meanwhile, Terrell had managed to maintain a surprisingly cool head throughout it all. The regular authorities had already set up a perimeter outside, and he had sent a series of text-messages to his dispatcher, informing them of the specifics of the situation. In spite of his fear, he was actually pretty damn proud of himself. He even thought that, if he survived, he might even get a medal or something. Of course, it wasn't as if he had gone completely unnoticed. Crim knew he was there. Crim also knew the place was surrounded. He just didn't care. Even if they sent in a proper SWAT team, or a military unit, or hell, the goddamn Batman, it wasn't as if any of them would be able to keep him pinned down for long. He'd bust on out of there at his leisure, and he'd take whatever he wanted along with him.
Speaking of taking things with him, he recalled that he had come here for more than just snacks. Washing down the last bits of his chips with a final gulp of his tasty beverage, Crim stood up and stretched his arms.
"Ahhhh, that hit the spot! Now to find my stick!" He looked down at the new guy. "Hey man, you seen a fancy stick around here? I'm pretty sure I left it here last time."
"You just don't get it, do you mister...?"
"You can call me Joey; and, it's you who doesn't get it. You need to leave, you've had too much to drink pal."
Shriek's facial expression quickly descended into a devious grin, revealing his ghostly white teeth covered in a layer of saliva. Clearly the man was thirsty, despite knocking back a straight dozen glasses of Jameson. He glanced down to his thirteenth shot glass, swirling the fiery liquid in his palm before throwing it back. Loudly slamming the glass to the tabletop, Shriek stood up suddenly and without warning, his demeanor one of peculiar intensity. He glared at the bouncer named "Joey" and failed to hold back his condescending chuckle.
"This place is bogus. I'm only leaving because I'm bored, and your damn "Strippers" are lousy. I've heard of having one or two pity girls, the fat ones, but this place is ass backwards. I'm outta here."
"That's enough outta you!"
Joey flared up, his groundless temper getting the best of him he reached over and grabbed Shriek up by his collar, trying to pull him away from the bar. His attempt met with failure, succeeding only in ripping the man's shirt, exposing a rather strange tattoo emblazoned across his extremely well toned chest. This naturally struck a chord in the man to which his only response to was grasping Joey's wrist and squeezing powerfully. Joey let out a shrill wail, buckling at the knees. Shriek's devious grin widened even more, as he continued to squeeze the man's forearm, ignoring the incessant pleas for release and leaning down close to the larger man's ear...
"I could snap you like a twig with just a little more pressure...You really shouldn't have ripped my shirt. I really liked this one because I haven't stained it with any blood--yet."
"How...why?! Let me go man, please!" Joey exclaimed, tears streaming from his eyes down his unshaven face. Shriek paused, considering actually breaking his arm...
"Well, you aren't worth the trouble. I had enough problems to deal with before you stuck your nose in my bubble."
Shriek released his hold and gently (albeit not really) shoved him down to the floor with his foot. He laughed sardonically and walked out of the night club without so much as an apology for scaring the other guests. He really didn't give a flying fuck about that nonsense, really. Pushing the doors of the building wide open, he bumped and pulled his way through the clustered groups all waiting to get in, again ignoring the shouts and threats from the entry bouncer.
On the streets of Reno again, Jack breathed in the impure city air and exhaled deeply as he meandered about. The alcohol coursing his veins heavily, Jack was mildly buzzed at best. Walking in straight lines, back straight and head up high, he masked his relatively lax state rather well. His throat echoed a strange song that he'd picked up in his travels, which he seldom voiced. It somewhat helped him to concentrate when he was suffering from abnormal amounts of stress, which in current times was a cause of his recent betrayal in the town of San Julio. His client had fed him to the wolves, and he had no way to cover it up.
"Go figure, I return to America only to get fucked. Buncha God damned corrupt assholes..." Jack muttered just under his breath.
Several minutes passed and Jack found himself nearing a section of town he assumed was "down town". There was a huge ruckus, all kinds of sirens and flashing lights everywhere. It was something like midnight or so, and even for being in a city rich with the usual night life accommodations, Jack deemed it rather unnecessary, annoying, and unusual. Then he saw the front entrance and figured there was a break in and judging from the number of squad cars, the pigs were onto some kind of high profile suspect...
Walking up to who appeared to be in charge, Jack folded his arms across his chest, reeking of whiskey, he decided to rock back and forth from heels to toes.
"Looks like you got 'em cornered...why don't you guys charge in? Scared?" Jack cast a side-long glance at the copper, holding in a chuckle.
"This is no place for bystanders. You need to scram bucko, and get back to your home. You stink of booze and we're a bit preoccupied to deal with drunks." The copper replied irritably, paying little attention to the man. He beckoned one of the Sergeants to take him away while he focused on the insertion tactic.
"Bah! You're all a bunch of blathering idiots. Allow me!" Jack hollered out at near the top of his lungs before taking off in a bee line for the shattered door.
The cops could do nothing as they watched a likely hostage storm the building, figuring he was gonna get himself killed. Just before disappearing into the darkness of the Museum, Jack brandished his firearm and sneered back at the cops, flipping them the bird and laughing up a riot.
Once inside, Jack darted for a nearby column. He tapped the painted concrete with the tip of his barrel and shouted...
"Lucy! I'm home!"
...Omnicidal Death Machine
Reno is coming. Then again, maybe he's been here all along.
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