Double Tap

April 18, 2015:

Laundry night is interrupted by the appearance of Victor Creed. The days of Sharon Carter are numbered.. 13.

Chen's Laundromat

A typical laundromat, with rows of washing machines and dryers to suck up the quarters of the masses.


NPCs: Wei-Lu Chen


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Sharon wasn't a popular agent by far; where most were out on their Saturday nights drinking and meeting up for dinner, whatever they do on their downtime, she was stuck at the laundromat. The mission over the icelandics was sort of a bust, but you know? That was alright. Things happen. Reflect and regroup, right?

Which is what Sharon is currently doing. With two large baskets full of laundry, each sorted according to the age old colour scheme which is lights and darks. The buckets were placed upon the provided table, bag of change shifted from her pockets as she picks one with the heaviest loads. They were big buckets, you see. And the heavy loaded washing machine may or may not get out the faint traces of blood.

Dirty clothes? Check.
Detergent, in the form of Tide? Check.
Fabric softner added? Check.

The change was deposited like so; two dollars worth of quarters pushed into the machine as Sharon grabs her book from the basket, drawing down upon the nearest seat to plop herself down and begin to read. Ocean at the End of the Lane. She heard that book was magical.

Victor Creed just happened to be staying in this particular neighborhood at the moment - three blocks away, a local arms dealer had used the place as a squat from which to deal low-end Russian pistols and semi-autos to street gangs. Unfortunately, he'd gotten greedy enough to short one of his suppliers on their cut, which is when Creed came around to collect.

Creed just left the stains where they were. A little blood on the floor added to the ambiance, far as he was concerned.

Unfortunately, the bastard didn't have a washing machine. Creed didn't care about clean clothes in some ways, but smells, when you have hyper-sharp senses, can get under your skin. Things like gore, sweat, blood, those th ings didn't bother Creed. But he'd brought home a hooker three nights back, and the bitch must've rolled herself in some convenience store perfume 'fore she showed up, 'cause everything in the bedroom fuckin' reeked of it. So, here he was, with scentless detergent and scentless fabric softener and a napsack to carry the sheets in, backing his way into the laundromat and having to duck his head for the door…

The opened door allows the cool air a chance to lick upon Sharon's skin. This causes her to glance up from the book, her eyes squinting harshly at the sight she sees. The man was a behemoth, but that was almost usual in her case. She only stood at a 5'8 and the ones that were taller and much bigger? Took a heavier fall.

With a slight sniff of her nose, her shoulders shrug as her gaze fall upon the words, her eyes drawing back and forth ever so slightly as she takes a full lean and a crossed leg settle upon the chair. She was getting mighty comfortable.. sort of. The pistol tucked within the back of her pants made it a touch uncomfortable.

Victor Creed smells the pistol right away, the gun oil having that particular tang that he's all too familiar with. He turns and sets his things on the table, preparing to sort them as he casually flicks his eyes over to the woman. Pretty, fit, more vigilant than she was pretending to be. She had her back to the wall, so she couldn't get jumped. A little scar, impossible to see for most people, just under her left eyebrow, probably from shrapnel or the tip of a blade coming close to popping her eyeball.

Could be a cop, but cops didn't tend to be that pretty. Made you a target when you walked a beat in the wrong neighborhood. Might be a soldier, just on leave, hanging on to old instincts, but you need a special permit to carry a gun in New York proper and just being a vet wouldn't be enough to justify it.


He starts to toss his things into a washing machine, not bothering to sort, lazily just flinging a bit of soap powder in after it. "Not even any muzak, huh? Here was was hopin' fer smooth sounds o' the Seventies…" he says.

There were a few things that crosses her mind at that moment; where in the world does he shop? Is it expensive? What the hell shoe size does this guy have? Size 50? That inward monologue causes her to bark out a sharp laugh, which was soon quelled by the drop of the book to her lap and a hand that covers her mouth. Pull yourself together Sharon. This is probably why you don't have friends. Or backup.

She inhales again, stilling herself, drawing the book upright to read again, a light smile appearing upon her face as she tries to focus on the words until the man speaks in an accent she can't quite place. Not yet.

"There is nothing wrong with quiet." Was a hint really. Shut up, so she can read.

The laundromat was empty, especially around this time of night, save for the two and a random man who reads his own book in the office of the building. Chen, was his name. He really didn't care what people did as long as it wasn't illegal.

Creed smiles at the laugh and, when he does, his fangs flash clear, the heavy canines filling out his mouth and causing some of the difference in his speech - he's well adapted to speaking with a mouth full of fang, so it's subtle now, compared what it once had been. He shrugs off his leather jacket, leaving him in a Black Sabbath t-shirt, road-worn, and jeans. The sharp points of his nails click lightly against the table as he drags the tip of his index along the side of the machines, vandalizing them lightly out of simple boredom.

"Quiet's got its place, ain't no argument from me…'course, sometimes it's fun t'get loud, too," he says.

"How fast are you with that gun, girlie?"

Sharon was focused on that one word; 'the', her eyes didn't move far from it, but her jaw was already tensing from the appearance of the man. He was incredibly off. She glances up towards him as she catches his smile, her eyes zeroing in on the fangs, her teeth soon gritted as she watches the way the jacket was shrugged off.. it was clear what was about to happen. He didn't look the type to do his own laundry, she assumes. No, this beast was not domestic.

The graze of his nails brings a sharp annoyance to her ears, one that has the book dropping into her lap yet again as she stares towards him. There was no fear in the gaze, his words weighing heavily upon her soul..

Which is when the light within her eyes suddenly goes out.

He was going to see just how fast she was.

Her movements were swift, leaning forward, her right hand drawn back to snatch the pistol from it's grip, the aim steady and true as she fires two shots to double-tap right in the middle of his chest. Sharon was no angel, despite the fact that she wears a white catsuit in the name of the Red, White, and Blue. She was a soldier, a deep cover agent, and a girl who wanted to stay alive at any cost. He -already- had the jump on her without her even knowing it.

The two bullets strike hard, punching through Creed's chest - one splinters his sternum, the other passes through his ribs and runs straight through his heart - damn near perfect shots, the first cripplingly painful, the second straight-up-lethal.

To a normal person.

Creed, for his part, stumbles back a step and lays his back against the row of machines in the wall, writhing for a moment like a man trying to scratch an itch he can't quite reach until he finally breaks out in a laugh, head falling back to show the full, brutal range of his fangs, "Woooooooooooo! God damn, woman, that stings!" he says, shaking out his arm as he pushes back up and throws his head forward, some of his hair falling across his eyes as they shift a bit from blue to yellow, the slits in his pupils catlike as he peels his lips back in a feral grin.

"Well…I gave you your two free shots. You gonna gimme mine now, pretty eyes, or you gonna play hard t'get?" he smirks, the wounds in his chest visibly sealing up beneath the blood where his shirt is torn by the slugs.

Sharon stands as soon as the last bullet leaves the chamber, that one arm held upright as the other remained balled into a fist. She watches.. and waits.. until the laugh was issued which as her taking an instinctive step back. Her finger still upon the trigger, laced and ready to squeeze again.. but.. would there be any point?

"Oh.. shit.." She mutters to herself, her eyes widening, her teeth soon gritting as she continues the slow steps back. It would be pointless to empty the clips into him.. but then again..


The firing was quick, the way she squeezes the trigger is like an assassins dream, and once the gun was hot within her hand she drops it and takes off towards the door, her run at a full tilt.

The bullets strike true, but their effect seems to be negligible. Blood sprays, flesh tears, but it just draws a snarl from deep in him, an animal roar that strikes deep in the animal parts of the human brain, the cry of a predator in the wind. He swipes his arm powerfully, hooking the massive table in the middle of the room, separating one aisle from the other, and dislodging it, pipes tearing as he flings it into her path, blocking any easy escape past him.

The man in the office slams the door shut and locks it, apparently not feeling chivalrous enough to try and rescue the pretty girl with the gun. Creed cocks his head and runs his tongue over his fangs, "If you need to reload, go ahead, I ain't in no rush. Washin' cycle's gonna take at least forty mins." he ays.

Her path was clear, that was until it was not. The leg of the table knocks against her arm, sending her towards the left at a slight roll within mid-air that lands her upon the ground. There was a small cut there, but it was nothing, though it did start to lightly bloody the sleeve of her short, white tee. Her teeth grit as she scrambles behind the table, regretting the moment she discarded the gun as well as the fact that she came without ammo. She was on her own for the moment, and that didn't look too good.

The door of the office was locked, that much she could hear, she was silently bitching the man out who hid and didn't offer aid. But.. she was Sharon Carter. Sharon.. fricking Carter. She didn't need any goddamned help.

"What the hell do you want?" She finally calls out, keeping her back pressed against the table, her feet planted and hands ready to move and scoot if she needs.

Victor Creed chuckles, running a claw down his front and tearing apart his shirt, dropping the shredded, bloodied cloth to the ground, "Well, a new vintage shirt wouldn't hurt. I got that on their '74 tour," he smirks.

His massive shoulders hunch and shrug, "Amusement. Something to pass the time. A few screams, a little blood. Who knows, perhaps true love. Your kiss might turn me into a prince. Wanna try?" he says, pursing his lips and making a few smooching sounds before laughing wickedly.

"Truth be told, you're the one who started shooting, girlie. I just asked a question. A threatening question, yeah, an' I was probably gonna mess you up anyway, but I hadn't really thought that much 'bout what to do with ya yet. Who are ya anyways? CIA? SHIELD? You ain't FBI, they don't shoot that good," he says.

As he speaks, this buys enough time for Sharon to spy the rod that was left upon the floor during the destruction of the massive table. Sure, a few baskets and buckets were littering the area, but the rod was just a good a'thing as any.

'74' She mouths outloud, the man didn't look a day over thirty five. He regenerates from being shot.. he has claws and fangs.. what the hell is he?

"Fuck off!" She hollars out at the kiss, her body leaning forward to snag the rod from the ground, holding it tight against her chest as she shifts her weight, preparing..

"I'm NYPD. And I suggest you back off now!" She calls out, surely it was a lie but hey? If this man was about to kill her, she couldn't have him going after her family.. or possibly Fury.. or worse. But why was she hiding? She went toe to toe with the best.. all she had to do was just.. move..

And so she does, scrambling to her feet with the rod in her hand to try to gain distance, which draws her to leap over another massive table at a slide and a drop to the ground.

Victor Creed shakes his head softly, "No, definitely not a cop. You'd have shown your badge and told me I was under arrest by now. Standard procedures and all that. Plus, your heart skipped an extra beat and your skin pissed out a little hormone that screams 'liar' - comes out under your armpits, gets 'em nice and damp. 'course, I kinda like that, but I'm a monster, if you didn't notice," he says.

"Now, what're you gonna do with that thing? Hit me? You think bullets ain't gonna hurt me, but I'm magical allergic t'building materials? Or you just got so much kung fu know-how that you can get all ninja turtle on my ass? Hmmmmmmmmm…y'know, if Sabretooth ever gets old, Shredder wouldn't be a bad codename…"

Sabretooth. Now -that- name might ring a bell. It would certainly set off a lot of alarms if you entered it into a SHIELD database.

Still, he continued to blab, which was fine by Sharon. She was already moving still, keeping herself at a low crouch as she makes her way along the row of heavy loads, a loud *DING* causing her to jump as she looks into the rotating window to spy a pair of her socks, plastered to the window. Huh. At least her clothes were almost done. All she needed to do was dry them.

But.. his name. No, that name. No, /his/ name, it causes her to stop cold, fingers clenching around the pipe as she carefully places it upon the ground. There was no sense in this. She did not need to have eidetic memory to know how that name floats among the criminal databases, even if and when she infultrates the CIA.. the FBI.. MPD.. where ever. It. Was. Prominent. And unfortunate. Unfortunate that it was just her and not a team to stop him.

"Victor Creed." She finally states, drawing up to her full heigh as she stares down the beast of the man, her gaze flitting towards the exit that he blocks.. "Mercenary, assassin.. terrorist.." She wasn't going to list off the name of charges, but she was going to attempt to get him to come to her..

"..and an incredible.. fucking.. bore." She even spits upon the ground for emphasis.

Victor Creed laughs softly, "Awwwwwwwwwwww, you neglected t'mention my stint with the Russian circus," he grins, "I worked very hard on those flips an' shit."

"Bore, huh? Well, I admit, it does get a little slash, rinse, repeat every now an' then. Killin' government flunkies with guns gets awful monotonous after a while, they all kinda blend together. Been a long time since I see one pretty as you, though. What's your name, sugar? If you leave me in a good mood, I'll write it in blood on the wall so's they want have to call yer dentist t'identify ya," he says.

"No one cares." Sharon snaps back, her foot placed upon the rod as it rolls beneath her foot. "But as it stands now? Asshole? It won't even get that far. You won't get to me, you can't touch me, and I'm damn sure not going to give you my name."

She snaps her foot back hard enough, giving a little kick to send the rod up towards her hand again. New plan. New idea. Run and live for tomorrow, you're not even equipped, Agent 13. Play it smart.

"Because I'm going to walk right out that door and you'll be on the floor wishing that you've never.. ever met me."

Victor Creed grins broadly, "I like you," he says. "Hell, plenty o' big grown men pissed their pants by this point o' facin' down wit' me, but you still wanna throw bombs an' even act like you believe you gotta shot. Hell, maybe ya do - I get beat now an' again, part o' the territory. Problem, of course, is I don't die…an' now I got yer smell in my nose, there ain't a place you can go I can't follow."

"So, you wanna do this, you make damn sure you do your best. 'cause I'll be the one finishin' the job one way or another…an' I wouldn't want you to feel disappointed in yerself…" he says.

"Now, as the kids these days do like t'say," he says, extending his arms out wide, "Come at me, bro."

Her eyes go straight to the windows at his back as he tempts her into a fight. They were thick, possibly plexi-glass. There is no way she could break through that followed by the smash of the rod. No way that she'd come out of that alive.. really.

The rod was pressed against the top of the dryers, dragging the rod as it makes a slight noise, only stopping once she hits the end of the row to bring herself out and into the open.

"Alright." She states, flipping the rod with a few tosses and catches.. but on that last toss? It flies high towards the ceiling, barreling down in which she issues a quick round-house kick towards the bit of steel which sends it flying to Creed's middle. Does she stop to watch? No.

She was heading towards the back office, her leg striking out to kick the door down with her.. SHIELD Issue Boots (tm), nearly knocking the door from it's hinges as she shouts towards the hiding Chen. "LETS MOVE! NOW!"

The impact doesn't knock him back much, but it does just enough, for it's only those few inches he recoiled that spare her from the claws he lashes out with. Razor sharp as they are, they whistle through the air as they come just short of her calf as she leaps off fo the side.

"Run, rabbit, run!" he laughs, crouching low, his muscles bunching to let him pounce in pursuit of the agent as she yanks Chen out through the door, the Chinese man clutching a revolver of his own in a trembling hand.

"What are you doing?" Sharon shrieks towards Chen, snatching the revolver from his shaky fingertips. She knew that she was so close to being mauled, pushing the man out into the middle of the street, turning to cock the hammer of the revolver to empty the bullets into his direction. She didn't need to make sure her aim was true, she knew that it would hit.

She also knew that he'd be in hot persuit and she had to get away fast.


She screams out towards the man, watching him down the street as she starts in a backwards strafe, tucking the revolve into the back of her pants as she darts off, running at a full tilt to put distance in between her and Sabertooth. She just may need to head back to the Trisk to let them know..

Victor Creed takes a bullet in the eye, which is the only way Sharon gets some distance, swearing as his vision is shredded, his head jerking to the side as he clutches at his face, "Bitch!" he calls, snarling for a moment as he stumbles to one knee. He stares up balefully, nerve and flesh rebinding, sealing, mangling into one, an orb of gelatinous blood congealing in the broken socket.

"Run all you like!!!!! It won't do you any goooooooooooooooood!"

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