Two Hunters, One Prey

Characters: The Darkedge, Voodoo
Rated: PG-13 for cinematic violence
Summary: Two rooftop-skulking dangerous figures converge on a group trying to make away with several items from a museum. Things get bloody.
OOC Date: 2018-03-11
IC Date: 2018-03-11
Where: Upper West Side, NYC

Night time is the right time for things to be on the prowl. One such creatures is a lean humanoid in all black leather. Hood drawn up to hide features, he (by the body shape) slinks from shadow to shadow, pausing now and again as if listening for something before continuing on.

One of these pauses has him ont he edge of a rooftop, body posture pulled tight.


To be fair, the rooftops of New York City are not exactly a vast unpopulated wasteland. But even so, after a certain time of night even most of the so-called heroes disappear. That's just the way it works. But the figure clad in black leather is not entirely alone up here. Also present on the next rooftop crouches a demonstrably female figure clad in dark purple, with matte gold accents. A sword with an odd sort of half-length crescent basket forming from quillons down crests the left shoulder and slants across the back. A clunky-looking odd pistol or SMG rests strapped to the right thigh. And the figure is peering over the edge of said rooftop, watching something going on in an alleyway down below.

The figure stiffens as that figure in black leather draws near, not so much from sight, nor sound, nor even scent, but because of the feel of another presence empathically. Pulled in tight, her senses do not reach as far as they might, but they are enough that she is now aware she is not quite as alone as she was, and that could be the only edge she gets to save her own life.


The figure was peered at, noted for what it was. It was mild curiosity that had him sensing out for magic, while the rest of his mind and emotions and thoughts stayed perfectly controlled and hidden. In the darkness, the elf can se her perfectly. Every detail and every color, with the clarity that most only find during the bright of an afternoon sun. Thus does Darkedge spot how her body suddenly tenses.

His head tilts.

A step is taken, into the shadow next to him, and into that shadow he vanishes, literally, teleporting through the shadows until he solidifies in teh middle of a shadow on the same building.

Across the rooftop he stands, his arrival silent, his mind still controlled and silent.


There is a strong potential for magic in this figure, but none active. No spells, no charms, no wards. And as soon as Darkedge disappears, she dives into a roll, putting herself in a different position by at least eight feet when he reappears.

Eyes wide behind polarized lenses in a full-coverage mask, her body is in a tense half-crouch and her hands are on the handles of weapons she has not yet drawn. Unable to sense any actual ill intent, she is - perhaps foolishly - waiting to see what this mysterious stranger will do.

Is he somehow connected with what she was observing down below, a guardian with a curious ability to mute his empathic presence? Or is he here to kill her? Only time may answer those questions.


Seeing her so clearly, Darkedge watches as the tension turns into a roll as he vanishes. His metallic silver eyes track her as he recoaleses. No magic on her, the only thing that makes her at all interesting is the way she moves.

Despite appearing unarmed, there is that telltale ripple of danger that the trained get from when faced with another highly trained person; this one was trained to kill.

A brow quirks, and Darkedge steps phsyically, moving to the side to remain in the darkest part of the shadow, lest this human(?) woman think to throw a thing at him. In the shadows, he can escape.


So too, the woman is clearly trained and potentially lethal, balanced on that hair's breadth from intent to action, and yet still she does not attack. It's likely even a being like Darkedge would recognize that gun on her thigh as a lethal ranged weapon of one variety or another.

Behind those polarized lenses, the eyes ripple and warp, shifting in some ill-defined way as Voodoo adjusts to improve her light-gathering, so she can continue to make out at least the outline of the figure in that shadow and stay keenly tuned in.

An altered, scrambled voice does not whisper, but speaks softly, knowing a whisper's heightened pitch will actually carry farther and generate more attention in any who pick it up. "You here to protect them?" the voice questions. "Or are you hunting something else?" Because a deadly predator like this one has to be after something.


Guns the elf has seen, but not many. That the woman's body treats it like a weapon, keeping the angles of her frame where she can reach it make it clear to him that he needs to be respectful of it. Hearing the whisper, the elf's head tilts again.

"Depends on what 'them' is," he finally replies. It took nearly a half minute before he spoke. His voice, just as soft of Voodoo's, was deep and resonant but slightly horse from lack of use.


The woman does not pull her eyes away from the figure in black, but she does gesture with a shoulder towards the edge of the rooftop. "Them. Loading the crates out of that museum." She doesn't explain that the artifacts inside are stolen, or that they are believed by those financing this to be clues to possibly long-hidden alien technology secreted here on earth centuries if not millenia ago. This figure has no need to know.


She gestures and the figure smirks lightly.

"Hmm… yes. 'Them'," he seems to purr. A step and he reappears just close enough to the edge of the building as to glance over. He frowns at the too bright lights down there before he straightens back up.

"The people are of no consequence. The items they have, I want. Are you after the humans or the items?" he asks, looking over at Voodoo.


"I am after the humans, and making sure the items don't end up in their hands, or the hands of their employers." Voodoo answers honestly, offering a bit of a shrug of her shoulders. She is easing up, at least slightly. But she still remains precariously balanced, convinced this could still be a significant threat. "Their employers believe those artifacts hold clues that should lead to advanced alien technologies hidden here on Earth a very long time ago. I think they may be right, and I need to make absolutely sure they don't get their hands on that tech." The eyes behind the polarized lenses narrow. "What's your interest here?"


"Same as yours, it seems. I shall ensure those artifacts do not end up in their hands," says the elf, a cold grin o nhis face. He'll ensure it, but ensuring they get into his hands. And using this human to draw their attention seems like the best plan he's heard all century. He sweeps a hand to the scene below.

"Shall we?"


Voodoo frowns momentarily - barely visible as a change in the shape of the face behind the full coverage mask. But then she nods.

Not two seconds later, the purple-clad woman leaps from her crouched position, clearing the lifted ledge of the rooftop and falling towards the van being loaded below. Heels strike the roof of the box truck and she tucks, rolls, and then launches herself from that, twisting aerobatically around until she drops facing the men from beyond their position, pinning those on her side against the truck as the blaster comes up from her side, a high-pitched whine sounding from it as the power cell cycles to maximum. "Freeze!" she shouts, adding a forceful telempathic nudge of compulsion to obey.


Voodoo leaps down and Darkedge smirks to himself. Too easy, he thinks to himself, mind still hidden. He waits a moment for her to draw their attention. He waits long enough to hear her command them verbally. His wait was long enough to feel that telepathic compulsion.

The smirk falters and dies on his face. He had been mentally silent before, the silent of a well-trained mind. Now, he may almost seem a void for he hides all that he is behind his very soul. Find the lock to that door and you'll always have him. For now, Darkedge pulls his hood a bit lower over his face to shadow his eyes before stepping into a pool of darkness in order to materialize from a shadow near the crate.

There, in the darkness, the elf waits for the right time to collect those items that feel of magic.


Of course, folks like these men are prepared for 'something to come up', but even they are startled by the sudden aerobatic appearance of Voodoo in all her resplendent purple glory. Even the full coverage of her outfit cannot hide the stupendous curves, and she really can't do much to tamp down the aura of 'hottest chick you have ever seen' that seems to permeate the air about her. Even so, they don't all just capitulate when told to freeze. The ones lugging the crates to pause, looking at this and gaping. The two drivers aren't far behind them, more leaning on their vehicles than anything else. But of the four lookouts/guards, two of them manage to draw their weapons, and that leaves Voodoo with little choice.

There likely are people who have energy blasters that are stun weapons. That's probably a thing. But that's not what the alien huntress carries, and that becomes quite clear when she snaps off a shot and melts the gun of one attacker - somewhat explosively, as the charges in his bullets are superheated until they combust - as well as a good bit of his hand in that second or so of contact before the beam strikes - and partially melts - the side of the box truck.

The would-be attacker screams in agony and horror, dropping to his knees even as his compatriot takes one look at that as the gun pivots towards him and throws his gun down to the ground. "J*s*s Chr*st! Don't f*cking shoot!" he screams.

Voodooo pivots sharply and slams the hilt of her sword into the back of his head, dropping him in place as she reinforces the telempathic projection keeping the others more frozen than not. It won't last long, but she's trying not to kill people if she can avoid it.


Once down among the crate, it wasn't hard at all to find the one with the magical scent. As Voodoo attacks, working to keep the human guards immobile or incapacitated, the darkelf slips forward. Blades of what looks like glass suddenly in his hands, he appears behind one near a crate. Two stabs, quick and efficient: One to the heart, one to the liver.

Darkedge rolls over the crate, usign the momentum to pull his blades free of the human. Coming to a low crouch on the box, the elf stabs the guard on the other side of the box; one blade in his neck the other between ribs and through a lung.

The once crystal clear blades are dark with blood are pulled from the elf's victim, and with the shadows on this crate just thick enough, he drops the box and himself through a shadow and back to the rooftop above.


Voodoo watches the swift and lethal efficiency of the figure in black leather with a hint of distaste well hidden by her mask. She doesn't like to kill if it can be avoided, but apparently this guy doesn't work that way. Too bad. The mixed-race alien huntress sweeps in swiftly, powerfully, striking others in the head, knocking them out before they can really get to moving or attacking, before the telempathic projection's effect wear off entirely.

That done, Voodoo is now left with the other crates. Apparently this guy only wanted one? She shrugs, then checks to make sure all of them are secured, grabs the keys and starts up the van. She's not sure what she's going to do with all of this, but leaving it here isn't an option. She'll need her helmet soon enough so she can place a call, maybe find a Halo warehouse to stash this truck for a few days until she can make other arrangements.


Magical items secured, all Darkedge did was yank the crate open and take the items that radiated magic with him before leaving the crate open and the rest exposed to the elements. His mission was complete. He had what he came for, and with the magical items in hand, he steps into a shadow and vanished just as the van's engine turns over.

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