Hail Tyranny

May 02, 2015:

Baroness, the Winter Soldier, and Fracture destroy a shipment of Smooth. Lines are drawn in the sand.


Spotted with lush tropical resorts, private parks, houses and manors the
Island of Madripoor looks to an outsider's view a virtual paradise but upon
closer inspection this former sanctuary for freebooters and pirates is
anything but.
As one of the business capitals of the Pacific Rim beyond it's beautiful
areas there lie unprotected squalors of poverty stricken civilization seated
at the feet of monolithic skyscrapers that are rife with prostitution, drugs
and slave trade. Both criminal haven and a place of escape and abandon for
the wealthy Madripoor is truly a place to marvel at.
Located in the straits of Malacca nestled between Singapore and Sumatra this
city state is both magnificent and terrifying. The careless are sometimes
never seen again.


NPCs: HYDRA soldiers


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


Run by organizations, be they criminal, up and coming, or denizens, perhaps simply perusing for what the criminals ship in and offer. Only the best of the best, right?

Not all. Bootlegged shit if you don't have an eye.

Though the docks are always a bustling place for the piracy abound there are specific docks that had been taken over, all in the name of Naja Trading Corp. Though the head of the 'naga' is that of a red cobra with spread hood stamped on the side of the crates. One by one they are unloaded while others are filtering in off of trucks, but these bear that of the HYDRA logo upon the sides, dropped to reveal some intercepted ad pilfered vials. The green sited clad men look over the wares and nod their appreciation.

"We thank you for finding some of zee missing goods. They are a necessity to the advancement —-"

The black gloved hand waves dismissively, languid fingers making a flicking motion to hurry the man up. "Just get them off my docks. Spawn heads and make it fast." The russian accented vocals of the woman are clipped, just as short as the heel-toe walk along the dock that carries her in a sway through the crate exchange like a serpent through the thick. Predatorial even on her belly.

Glasses reflect the morning to noon light, making sight of those frigid blue eyes blanked out by pure white light.

Along the docks there are warehouses, unmarked save for the business mark of Naja, a few large goons in suits but heavily outnumbered by the ones in black tactical gear bearing the emblems of the red Cobra upone their chestplactes, much akin to Baroness' own.

One small watering hole-in-the-wall rests on the edge, just for the workers and soldiers stationed down here, just inside the checkpoint that reigns the whole cluster of dock control in by high razor wired fencing and erecting towers.

The whole thing is business, the whole thing means control, and who better to have aconstricting hold?


"Two of us against SHIELD," the Winter Soldier says in some old KGB safehouse that'll likely be abandoned by the end of the day, just like the others he's rendezvoused with Fracture in. "I have a mole, but he's soft. Confused. Uncertain; he can't be relied on. They are preoccupied, but with their resources… we can't evade them forever. Not here, not alone; we need more." He starts to reach for his belt, pauses for a second, then completes the motion, drawing a cellphone from one of his utility compartments.

"I am going to make a call," he quietly says with an unspoken apology underlying the words. "Have you ever been to Madripoor?"


The Russian-accented Baroness has a Russian-tainted bodyguard standing at attention just behind and to the right of her. The jet-black assault rifle slung over his shoulder has a red cobra head stamped near its butt; it's the only identifying mark on his person. His face is mostly concealed behind goggles and a mask, but his eyes are darting between the men in green and those in black and red, suspicious of every single one despite their colorfully broadcast affiliations.

That phone call? It arranged for a stealthy pick-up, a trip overseas. and a safehouse in the one place on Earth where no SHIELD agent would dare go digging for trouble for long. Watching Baroness' back is part of paying for it all; the rest'll come whenever the non-eagle crested trouble infested the island decides to come calling.

Thankfully, there was no being put to work on Veruca's end. That little small watering hole-in-the-wall? She kept the men in there busy, showing a little leg here and there, gaining free drinks, a little laugh or two with urges for them to leave with her in tow? And bar fights there after. Many, many bar fights.

Teeth were embedded within the wooden floors of the place, blood stained the walls. While she did not actively try to kill anyone, one hit here and there caused ruptures that many do not wake up from after they laid in bed at night. Moral of that night? Or many nights?

'Buy my drinks, no still means no.'

Though for now? Everything was relatively quiet. She's had her fill of drunken brawls and waking up with shit hang-overs, her fill of training by herself in some hovel she managed to find herself in while the 'other guy' set to work; so there was a very, very tall glass of orange juice within her hand along with a pitcher set off to the side, the lone table where she makes her home was provided with chairs should any dare to join. Though, bloodied knuckles were a bit too stiff to engage in play.

The television casts a gentle white noise that allows her a moments peace, though. Which may or may not be a good thing.

Stopping now, Baroness' hip checks to the right in that restful stance that leaves the criss cross holstered pistol jutted forth. One hand rests just over the exposed butt of the weapon while the other lazily hangs between herself and Winter Soldier. In Russian her words pass lowly between them. "Your friend makes my men into mince and in replacement I order whores to quell their needs where the worst death is rotting from the crotch, not drowning in their own blood in their sleep. Who is she? All I can find are her videos on line… For now." And if baroness could cut to the chase here and now, she is going to.

Though it is only a moment of pause before Baroness switches to English and speaks in the comms in response.

"She's awake and here drinking her juice, she has such pretty eye—-"

"If you seek to keep yours in place be a good little escort and tell her her company is demanded." Baroness responds before lancing back to Winter, inhaling sharply and looking over the docks.

Russian: "And what do you think of this, the drugs and HYDRA's new form of /business/." Though that final word is a hiss drawn out enough to rise her upper lip in a show of displeasure.

"Her name is Fracture," the Winter Soldier replies in Russian. "She's my…"

He pauses, trying to decide how best to summarize, or even define the nature of their connection. Thinking about relationships is hard when the only one you're conditioned to care about is 'employer-employeed'.

"… ally," he finally goes with. "Your men should have kept their hands to themselves, I think."

When she switches to English, he falls silent and resumes concentrating on scanning for threats. Even after the switch back, his eyes remain elsewhere.

"I don't think of it," he says of HYDRA's entry into the drug game. "HYDRA has decided that this is important to its goals, so it is." After a beat, his eyes flick to her long enough to note, "You dislike it, but you're still here."

"Y..y..your c..comp.."

Veruca draws a slender brow upright as she lifts the glass of juice towards her lips, watching the messenger as he fumbles through his words. He was not afraid of Veruca, he was afraid of the fact that he'd lose an eye or some other limb that would be of use to him in the future.

"Requested or demanded?" She blurts out, finally thumping the glass upon the table as she pushes the chair back with movement of legs and hips, drawing herself to a stand as one hand reaches into her pocket to draw out a foreign coin which was left upon the surface for collection.

"Come on." She assures, her hand reaching out to grasp ahold of the man, easing him towards the chair which was soon sat in, and pushed forward nice and neat with her hip. "Be a dear and drink the rest of this for me? I hate to waste fine juice." And it was damn good juice. She takes her own glass and pushes the pitcher forward towards the man, then without muss nor fanfaire, draws herself out to the designated meeting.

Her approach was casual enough, tall glass still held within fingers that grow just enough to create curved black claws upon her fingertips, which lightly tap against the glass yet not too hard to cause it to shatter, but just enough to let people know.. with or without sight, that she was approaching.

There was no verbal greeting as she stood before the two and the middle of scores being shipped, just a slight nod and a glance to watch.

"My men have needs, and most women here sell easy. They will learn, but I prefer not to waste good soldiers on ass that has yet to pay their weight in worth." Those words come forth in english, easily heard by the approaching woman.

Cold gaze lands upon her and with a single step back a Naja crate is flicked open, the wooden lid falling carelessly to the ground.

The HYDRA agents are done loading, the one that had exchanged brief words with Baroness clicking heels and saluting in old fanfare. "Hail HYDRA!" Before he turned on heel and boards the vessel off COBRA docks and they disembark, heading across the crystal blue waters with their drugs in trade.

Baroness returns the 'hail' with a salute that looked almost like a signed 'fuck you' flickeed from forehead instead of beneath her chin. Russian: "You come here for my help. You have made one wise choice in who will protect you and your…." eyes flick to Veruca. "Assets and ally." Pausing Baroness reaches within the opened crate and beneath the padding of straw and anti-detective reflectors one Soviet RPG 7 is withdrawn.

"Whoever is running this particular operation in HYDRA is careless. I wash my hands of it and the heroes this has attracted as well as the governments. This is a trade they can ply elsewhere and risk another ass for. I have not lasted this long, and become this successful by being /this/ careless. Have you?" Baroness looks between Fracture and Winter Soldier for responses, though her other hand delves into the grate and another RPG is loosed into her other hand while she waits and loads both.

"I do what's expected of me," the Winter Soldier replies with a glance towards the RPGs. "It's kept me alive this long."

The Soldier's attention is mostly on Veruca, now that she's in view.. At first, he's sizing her up the way he would anyone - even being here, in contact with no less than one of HYDRA's heads is a betrayal of their agreement to leave their respective employers out of the loop, and she's a difficult woman to predict; ally or no, she could just as easily be a danger to Baroness as she was the unfortunate men who tried to pick her up. Gradually, paranoia subsides and he's just— looking. Watching, waiting to see what she'll do; she is the odd woman out, after all, and so far, she seems content with reveling in it.

"Our— " he begins to say before remembering who he's speaking to. "They have grown very bold," he allows, in reference to HYDRA's carelessness, "but heroes are inevitable. They're everywhere, even where we least expect them." After a beat, he adds, "They are not so unlike us; even killing would likely stir up others to avenge them."

He finally turns away from Fracture to watch the boat sailing away from them, then brings his eyes to Baroness.

"What was in that boat?" he wonders.

It is a true wonder to guess if Fracture heard those words, it could quite possibly be the play upon her lips as the glass was lifted, a sip taken and done. As the single step was taken back, Veruca uses this chance to take one back of her own, feeling herself to close to the inseperable two, her brows lowering into slight discontent at the noise that bothers her ears. And the Hail HYDRA. Messy.

But then an RPG was produced, and her icy-eyes soon draw to life, a slight smirk playing upon her lips which was soon hidden by the glass of juice that she doesn't drink. She.. had a feeling..

"Of course not." Veruca finally replies in Russian, her mother tongue. It was then and only then, she seeks to sandwich Winter in the middle of a sandwich dressed in black, leathered bread, finally drinking down the rest of the juice to bring clawed fingers to her lips to stave a burp that tries to bubble forth.

She obviously didn't mind the staring. She was used to it. But here? She was no danger. This was a welcome vacation away from the bullshit three-ring circus slideshow back in the Tri-State area. Amusing as it was.

"Are they really inevitable, Winter?" She finally asks after the ship takes off, wonder within her expression as her gaze flits from the RPG to the boat again, then towards the woman clad in black and the man with the mask.

"I've tested them. Lived my life in the open and was only captured and questioned about HYDRA. They have no interest in people like us; we're only fodder for their cat and mouse game." Her lips purse now, the empty glass soon tossed in a twirl and caught, repeatedly like a ball. Her fingers even click loudly against it, as if she were counting down a bomb that was waiting to be unleashed.

"I suppose, that at the end of the day once the capture and release game gets old.. they will set their sights on new conquests and leave us holding the bag. They will get bored. They will get tired. They will find new meat to pound into sand. Perhaps it is when their lives should end, because soon, they will realize that with all of their morals…" Her Russian soon turns harsh, her accent thicker than most born to the Mother, ".. they will have nothing else."

His last question? Would she be so bold to answer? For there was a rush of adrenaline at the thought, a flush of her cheeks, the way she shifts away from the two to draw a shaky hand upright to push and rake through brown hair. Anticipation of the heat.


"Their carelessness," Baroness replies in Russian, since it seems to be the fluent language between them. "Will draw attention to those of us who do not care to roll over and play dead. I am very much alive and free, and intend to stay that way. What say you, Soldier? How long do you intend to do as commanded right into the hands of those we wish to not be fodder for?"

The boat is far enough out to barely be definable, but not yet a speck on the oceans horizon. A load of Smooth headed for the Tri-Cities. A moan of leather encased appendage as her arm extends and holds an RPG out to Winter, and when her hand is freed of the weight whether he takes it or she sets it at his feet and against his leg the third and final is fiched out and loaded, handed to Fracture.

"I am no longer food for the careless mongerels to nip upon when their careless rabidity decides for substance. Nor will my people be left to dry on the lines as a flag of surrender. We have a larger purpose." Her words come to a close with a nod to Fracture's closing word. Th RPG is hefted and she takes a step forward, locking down the sights and taking aim out over the open waters towards the ship.

"Stand with me, or stand against me. But we fire on 3…."



He could hear the glass on glass as Veruca approached. With so little space between them, the Winter Soldier can't help but tense briefly and reflexively, waiting for a cut that (probably) won't be coming.

"After finding the Captain lurking outside of your cell," he replies with eyes on her, "and hearing of their endless campaigns against our bases… I think that, yes: if enough noise is made, if something that they care about is threatened… they will come. If not immediately, then eventually. They have causes to fight for, even if it's only their own sense of self-righteousness." After a momentary pause, he quietly allows, "They— may not be as loyal to one another as real soldiers would be, though. Maybe that's why they let you do as you please: you cull the ones that they care the least about while they're fixated on fighting against progress."

Once that's said, he turns towards Baroness and begins to say, "I exist to carry out HYDRA's will; I will do so until—" before he's interrupted by the offer of an RPG. His eyes turn towards it, confusion hidden behind dark lenses. On its own, it's a strange gesture; combined with the question preceding it and the promise following, though…

He exists to carry out HYDRA's will. The ship is full of drugs that HYDRA means to advance is goals. Baroness is one of the heads of HYDRA.

He takes the launcher, braces it against his shoulder, and as the countdown finishes, fire streaks across the water and the night sky.

"Hail HYDRA," he whispers, likely drowned out by the ensuing explosion(s).

The words that Baroness speaks surely wasn't meant for her. Fracture was an engine of chaos; she moved with her own free will until someone elses will suited her. And once that will did not align with her own, she seeks greener pastures, causing havoc until the next.. after the next.. after the next.

A smart woman knows to cut her losses. A smart woman also knows to accept a gift she clearly wants once offered.

Clawed hand reaches out to take the loaded RPG from the woman, taking a slight step aside to bear room as she hitches it upon her shoulder with a little hop, sights pulled from their depths and eagerly aimed for the departing ship with the souls of HYDRA on board.

"They will come and leave all the same." Fracture replies, one icy gaze canted in his direction. "Perhaps you're right." Resignation in her tone. "Perhaps I'll kill the ones they care about to make them /react/… however.."

The countdown.. she fires in tandem with the two, making her choice right then and there. She stands with her, and it was refreshing to have a woman, possibly more terrible than her, to side with.

The breath of fresh air was taken as the RPG was lowered from her shoulder yet clutched like a prize, her eyes closing as she suddenly takes a step forward to cast her gaze over into the waters at the edge of the dock.

The reflection that carries within the water seemingly splits into three; which soon rise yet remain in the waters afloat.

"Water this time?"
"You needed a bath."
"We have orders."
"Kill the survivors?"
"If there are any."

Veruca draws a hand along the expanse of the water, ushering the three ladies with a simple word. "Go."

That steele gaze soon returns to the two standing there, a slow skip in her step given as she takes her perch upon the vacated side of Winter.

"Hail tyranny."

The rockets meet their target, three echoed heralds of explosions as the ship, its passengers and its contents all go up in a small mushroom cloud of black and flame. The volcanic eruption of Naja exportations ire.

"I have a few very simple rules." Baroness states after the smoke cloud folded in on itself in the reflective gaze of glasses, turning to look at the both of them. "-I- only kill my own. Don't be stupid. Keep the children out of it." When she speaks on killing her own her eyes snap to Veruca.
"I do not know what your story is, but I want to hear it. If my men assault you, I want to hear it. I will pull the trigger or hand you the gun."

Gathering the RPG's from them she gingerly sets them back in their crate and rips off the shipping label that reveals a green one beneath stating - PASS, the FAIL in red being crumpled and tossed aside. One hand rises and gestures for them to follow her, heading for a black SUV parked ahead and aimed for the exit gate that remains locked until clearance is given.

"I have plans for this island and over years have taken spots of it for my own. I wish to expand this cess pool into a home. Those who follow this can remain /safely/." That one word again hissed out, it has a clause and a catch, but what does not with their kind?

The doors to the SUV are opened for them, a driver already waiting and starting the engine.

"If your enemies seek to come here for you they will quickly learn the error of their ways." Baroness leans against the passenger side door of the SUV and gestures to the other open doors for them. Watching Veruca though one finger rises. "One survivor. Make sure he only lasts 24 houurs. Enough to deliver the message."

Goggles make staring into that ball of smoke and fire easier than it otherwise might have been; even without them, though, the Winter Soldier's eyes would probably be locked on the destruction. On any other night, the people and product burning together would've been his responsibility.

Now, he watches as they're lifted into the sky in thick, black plumes, all for the sake of loyalty. Heart and respiration rates that one could normally set a watch to steadily climb with each new flame, or secondary explosion that rocks the boat.

Baroness' rules wash over him without question or complaint; following orders is second nature, after all. When she's done giving them, he finally turns to look between the two women, watching one to see how she'll react to the prospect of order being injected into her chaotic existence, and the other to see when she's ready to move. At Baroness' gesture, he approaches the vehicle, braces a foot to climb in, then pauses.

"Do you need help delivering it?" he wonders of Veruca. Afterwards, he looks back towards Baroness, as if seeking confirmation, or permission.

There was a look of reluctance in her gaze as the RPG was taken from her hand, but she lets it go at the same time those glass claws were retracted, now locked in a satisfied silence. It.. for her, was damn near better than sex. To see things afire, destruction, flying against the norm, anarchy.

Once the rules were issued, Veruca nodded clearly, those rules went with her own credence as of late. Leave the children out of this. Let them make that choice, but once they hit 18? All bets were off. Those eyes gained a look in return, one of understanding and acceptance, and if it wasn't clear? A solid nod.

Terms were agreeable.

And then, they walk. Her hands sticking into her pockets as her face grows a little pale, the output of power the three steal from her to get to the reckage was obvious. But she keeps her chin upright, focused upon the SUV as it was approached, a little smile drawing upon her features as she finally lets out a breath. "Home is, where the heart is." Or where it's carved out. Whatever.

She watches Winter now as he climbs into the back, one brow raised as her eyes draw up towards the sky, taking in the sun as if it empowered her. "The message will be loud and clear." She states towards the woman.

"Only if you know how to filet a catfish." Her words were given to Winter then, and with those words spoken, she enters into the SUV, a hand striking out to push at his shoulder to make room for her perch.

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