June 27, 2015:

The Punisher stakes out a convoy of criminals and gets unexpected help. (emits by Punisher)

New York

Greenwich Village


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Greenwich Village, 1:22 am, three black sedans roll off Avenue, crossing over a thinner street. Anyone with experience in how to indentify rolling convoys would know just by watching an hour of their pathing, where they stop, who they talk to, that this is the criminal world's version of an armored bank truck. It's here to make collections from everyone that works their street. Maybe you're here by accident. Maybe Frank, in an uncharacteristic admission, called for back up on a dangerous task. Whatever the case, you're sure to see something pop off as they come onto a certain street with a flickering street light at its corner.

Posted up on top of a building, with a black hood pulled over his graying hair, Frank sits cross-legged in front of a rifle balanced on a tripod. He's watching the approach of the vehicle with a flat expression, swallowing down the bar he had been snacking on. Game on. He leans in to check his thermal device.

In the distance, they can hear the wail of sirens. The recent incursion of Gotham supervillians have kept the police force quite busy.

Lunair tends to prefer New York City to Gotham. Fewer strangely whacky villains and weird guys in yellow tights with katanas. Plus, even the pigeons have small arms. It's just not her scene. College students keep weird hours sometimes, and Lunair is among them. She's curious, and curiosity has lead her to coincidence. She's unaware of Frank, but she is watching from a nearby, lower rooftop. Quiet, quiet, in camouflage armor. Though, Frank can probably see her. She doesn't have thermal stealth.

Magdalena was tracking down something a lot nastier than some hoods…at least in her mind…but the sight of other vigilantes gives her pause and piques her interest. She too has found herself a rooftop to watch from, hooded cloak billowing out behind as her eyes glance from car to Punisher to Lunair. Her fingers grip and regrip the spear in her hands and numerous other weapons are strapped to her body…though none of them seem to be a gun. She is praying softly to herself as she waits.

Rachel had been in Greenwich Village meeting with an underground contact of hers in preparation for her trip to Bahrain when a few familiar psychic signatures popped up on her 'mental radar'.

It was never a quiet night was it?

The young woman ducks into a near-by alley, her clothing changing into a red bodysuit and a dark green hooded cloak before she steps back out towards the street.

The Punisher had helped her when she returned to this time, she would at the very least even the score between the two of them.

As the trio of sedans move out from their prior destination to the next, Rachel Summers steps out into the middle of the street and a blue-gold phoenix symbol appears over her eyes as well as a set of ethereal phoenix flames as she actives her telekinesis.

Her hand is pointed outwards towards the cars and she attempts to use her telekinesis to stop the automobiles dead in their tracks, something that should be an easy feat for her.

Invisible to the naked eye, a barrier has also been erected around her in case of gunfire.

The convoy of vehicles come to a stop. They came to a stop before Rachel even stepped out into the street. They came to a stop nearly a block before their expected pickup, and in the rear, the back passenger side door is flung open with a shriek. A woman falls out, blood on her lips, skinning both palms and knees on the pavement. She doesn't stop to cry out in pain, scrambling with all the grace of a struck deer, adrenaline pounding in her veins faster than her feet on the street.

Frank looks up, the cold light from his thermal optics briefly flashing on his face, looking first to the vehicle that the woman escaped and his target sits. Then beyond her where Rachel Summers has appeared. Not only appeared, but forcefully blocked their advance. A dark haired man cradling his fist steps out the same side as the woman, three dancing brides tattoo'd on his neck. "Get her! Get the bitch!"

Two men step out of the armored truck to pursue the innocent(?) while the driver at the front of the convoy steps out with a pistol to aim at Phoenix.

Frank leans back in to look through his scope.

Lunair is curious, watching for a moment. She's quiet, and still. But then, two men are stepping out and one seems to be aimingat - waitaminute. Hmmm. Okay, well. Lunair can help this time. Definitely. She summons an alarmingly large sniper rifle and a black blanket. Frank can probably see her moving and setting up. It shouldn't take her too long. Her heart thumps as she aims, producing that figure 8. Breathe, wait for it to hit the middle and… try to take out one of the pursuing thugs' knee. Perhaps this is to test the waters, to see how far the thugs are going, or will go.

Magdalena studies the changed battlefield, mapping out plan after plan in her head. The snipers should have some of the bad guys covered. The woman in the middle of the road either knows what she is doing or is too far gone to help. That means she is on the 'innocent'…the woman struggling to get away. Magdalena leaps down from the rooftop, using the fire escape balconies to quickly swing her way down through the shadows and in the direction of the escaping woman.

Rachel did not seem to be afraid of the gunmen at all, human gunmen were decidedly small fry in the grand scheme of enemies she faced; that did not mean she did not relish the opportunity to cut loose.

She smiles at the man pointing his gun at her, "Go ahead, take your best shot." She starts to walk towards the Mafioso with little regard for the weapon that was likely going to be fired at her.

Reaching out with her telepathy as she approaches, she tries to find the man's greatest fear and then makes him see it.

Why is Frank not a hero? Is it because he doesn't wear bright tights? No. He's got on his own symbol, after all, even if most of his clothes are purchased second hand. Is it because, at his nature, he's a vicious killer? Nope, not that either. Why he cannot ever truly join others is becaus, unlike a real hero, he's more interested in the criminals than the victims. Even as the woman runs into an alleyway that is near to him, even as the dark silhouette of Magdalena swings in pursuit, he levels his crosshair's at where he last saw the man with the three brides tattoo'd on his neck. Even now, he's screaming as he comes around the back, caught between his escaped accomplice(?) and the very powerful telepath that has blocked off the road with literally just her willpower and presence alone.

One of the two men chasing the woman goes down with a gory pop of his knee, screaming out in shock and horror at the ruined limb. The other man flinches back in shock, scanning the rooftop as four other men step out of the middle sedan with loaded mp5s. They do take their best shot. They take roughly a dozen, spraying bullets at the lone mutant as they spread out.

The man in the front? His eyes go wide as she looks into his heart and draws out his fears, gun clattering as it falls to the ground. He drops to his knees shortly after, liquid dripping out from his pant's leg as he twitches and convulses in a living nightmare.

Lunair watches through her scope. Lunair is sympathetic to the woman running away. She's skewed in her own right, her moral compass tilted. There's an odd awareness of precisely /why/ she was created and what for. A part of her remembers why some people object to killing, but it never really seems to reach her. She wonders if that part of her died, even if she avoids unfair and wanton slaughter. She tries to save the victims, and sometimes when she tries not to kill, it is more lethal than not. She's not sure. There's no time for genuine reflection as bullets answer her questions. Ack, ack, armor is up at least. She winces as they ding off her armor, and has to mend her armor as bullets ping. Uugh. Sniping is now out. Dismiss that gun, pull an assault rifle. She has to shimmy a little forward, trying not to get pinged more. At least the heat is off Frank. She's not sure why, but he reminds her of grandpa. Maybe they both saw a war and kept up such a profession. She's not sure she'll ever know.

Magdalena swings over the man whose knee is now a mush of cartilage and tissue and lands on the ground in a run. Her hand disappears under her cloak and then is flinging three crucifix shaped blades into the back of the remaining man's legs. They pierce deep into muscle to send him to the ground as well. Magdalena's heavy boot slamming into the back of his head to make sure he won't be waking up soon. Her dark eyes peer into the darkness of the alley. "Hello? I am here to help you" she promises the fleeing woman…wherever she may be down there. Thankfully there is a whimper to guide her. Magdalena warily advances, trying to be as calm a presence as she can. "You are safe. I promise."

The bullets being fired towards her were putting a bit of a strain on the telekinetic shields Rachel had erected, the machine gun rounds bouncing harmlessly off of the invisible shield that shimmered slightly every time it was hit.

Her hand waves towards the nearest group of men firing on her, reaching out with her telekinesis to 'explosively disassemble' their firearms using her intuitive aptitude skill.

She wished she had Demise on her, it was a shame she had lent it to Havok.

Still proceeding towards the men she reached into her cloak and removes a metallic object that she holds in her hands, remarking, "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to bring a gun to a sword fight?"

The object in her hand flares to life, a blade of pure energy springing from the end as a predatory smile crossed Rachel's features.

Ever seen four mp5's spontaneously come apart as if being field stripped by the air? Now you have. The guns click, disengage, unlock, and the parts float in the air in front of several shocked faces before clattering to the ground at their feet. The men look unsure, some reaching for pistols they have at their side. Like any predators, they can sense when larger beasts are in the area.

The man with the three bride tattoos screams at them to put her away, reaching for the door to the sedan. The loud retort of a single shot has brain matter splattering all over the dark windows. Two men have the courage to stay and try their luck one last time with the Phoenix, the others that are still alive? They run for their life, crossing right under view of Lunair.

With that, Frank lifts the weapon and turns to leave…. pausing as he looks down a certain alleyway from above.

The woman is standing at the dead end of the alleyway, pilfered gun clasped in hands that shake badly. She's pretty, dark-haired and pale complexion, but the makeup cannot hide a haggard face and exhausted eyes. She's a single wrong step from collapsing. She's running on adrenaline alone. "W-who are you?" Her voice warbles as she stares at Magdalena, the Knight-Errant can see Frank as he looms above, a dark silhouette.

Blink. Lunair watches for a moment. Well, time to try to take out some feet and legs. Let them live long enough to see vengeance. She's actually a pretty good shot. She, too, is a predator. She just seems far more puppylike than others at times. Still, she watches the goings on, quiet and concerned.

"My name is the Magdalena" she explains to the woman…and no doubt the man watching them from above. "I work for God" she adds. Sure it sounds crazy to most but she also knows its true and certainly isn't ashamed of her boss. "Let me get you out of here and somewhere safe. Those men won't hurt you anymore, I promise." Her eyes lock on the tired, frightened woman to both calm her and to look deep into her heart and soul. To see if this woman is just as bad as the men who beat her or whether she is an innocent that needs protecting…and support. Magdalena offers her hand, palm up. "Please…trust me."

Rachel raises her eyebrows at the two men who remain to fight her, what was it that a certain teacher of hers had once said? Never draw a weapon unless you're prepared to use it.

Closing the gap between the two men, she relishes a rare moment of close combat; using the energy sword to attack the men's weapons and not caring if a few fingers are severed in the process, especially since the wounds would be cauterized.

A mental message is sent out to Punisher if/when she finishes with the men, "~We're even now Punisher. Thanks for the help before.~"

The woman's legs go out from beneath her, tears chasing mascara down her cheek. The gun is by her side, forgotten, it's weight seemingly too much for her. Relief, anger, and grief spill out from her from every pore, swarming the Knight-Priestess's empathy in waves. The woman is a victim, one who has seen much trauma and hardship that scars her face, even though she is still very young. "They have my sister… they, they killed…" She squeezes her hands into fist, slamming them down on the dirty ground in helpless rage. "Anna, oh god-" Her breath escalates, nearing hyperventilation, and the wailing of the sirens means that cops are coming closer. Her accent is heavily slanted eastern European, at best guess, Polish. Whatever her story is, whatever she has been through, this is not the place to hear the story.

Frank hears Rachel's voice in his head, giving a slow nod at the unexpected assistance. Still, beyond the screams of the disabled, the last breath of the dying, and the sirens slowly approaching, the Punisher picks out a single word. A definitive that is most interesting of all of what the woman said. "They?"

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