Have Backup

February 11, 2018:

Backdated Scene. Continuation from Whiskey Sour. (NSFW Language and Violence)


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Two Days Later

A television set gets nudged with a sandal, the split on the screen being prodded at. "You really should consider a maid or at least letting your friend Jackie clean up your house like she offered." He is fairly certain the pretty brunette was joking. The slum that is Cassandra Taylor's house is in need of some TLC, also bills paid and it is unsafe to sit in any corner, for fear of getting a knife in an unpleasant place or a random gunshot wound. "Not that I am complaining… I appreciate the kindness." The man shouts loud, loud enough she can hear him.

It has been two days and a night since she brought him home and let him take over the raggedy green couch that occupies her living room. An ex-boyfriends clothes from her good friend managed to fit him, unfortunately it consists of lazy Hipster clothes, the only thing hes missing is a manbun and some pretentious glasses.

It is only due to the lack of his own memory of who he is or where he lives that he hasn't left yet, a trigger still waiting to be had, around her, hes got brief flashes, violent once, flames, fury and death. It's something at least.


Ballistic is out the window, on the tiny grated fire escape smoking and with her morning cup of Coffee… Bailey's.. Okay so Baileys warmed up with a shot of coffee. Feet are bare on the frozen grate, a 'nice try' pair of lycra workout shorts covering just her ass-ets -kind of. The leather bomber jacket, a sports bra to match the shorts, more lines of straps over inked and scarred skin to keep it in place.

Final draw and she flicks the cigarette to the streets several stories below and drains her mug. Climbing back through the window is one leg at a time affair as well as good practice in yoga, but the yell causes her to pause and tilt her head Taskmaster's way in tandem with the notification chime of her phone. "Well, why would I pay Jackie when you are on my couch for free, consider it your room and board payment if you so desire the place cleaner." Window is dropped closed and she weaves between the divider wall and steps over a rig lining for a trench coat, a rifle, and plucks a blade off the floor with her toes and casts it to the side with a snap of her leg to imbed it into the wall. Someone could hurt themselves on that!

Bomber jacket is shed to the floor behind her as she reaches the counter and touches down on the screen and then locks it off again.

"My kindness is because we know eachother, I know we do. The way yo moved in the bar, the whiskey…..sours, a depth of your voice on vowels. Why else would some Rent-a-Mercs try and take you out?" A refill of her Bailey's… Coffee *drip*, and she is leaning on the wall to watch him, one pale eye dimmed to pure white, the other a chilling blue/gray.

"It is odd… seeing your face… After all that time not."


"I… I suppose that is fair." T's mouth opens and closes, like he wishes to object but cannot find a suitable retort nor real validation to. "You could just burn it down, I have this nagging sensation you're rather used to just burning things to the ground, often."

"Jackie definitely look better in a maid's outfit than I do. Thats one reason I guess." The man grins, yeah, both of the women, Cassandra and Jackie are knockouts. "I agree to that though, I will clean for room and board until I figure out if I actually have money to my… name, which you said is what?" He frowns.

Stepping away from the busted television and the reruns of *M*A*S*H* playing on it.

"You think those guys were intentionally trying to take me out? I thought they were just dickheads who didn't like my pretty face…. " A long pause, one scar riddled hand rubs over a light scruff laden jaw, "You know me but you have never seen my face? Kind of weird, all of this is just sort of nuts, you know? Like, I can't remember anything past getting off a bus and finding that bar, only one open and last stop, I had no money the guy finally kicked me off. I had this… " He slaps his hand to his side, then fondles around moving over to his jeans that are hanging on a clothes line in her apartment, "Shit, its wet now." A small folded piece of paper pulled out. Just a number on it. Soggy it is running a little.


Arms cross over Cassandra's chest, the mug slowly lifted to her lips, a sip, testing the temperature, and ten it is knocked back - drained. Mug is roled into the sink and she rises a hand to lace fingers through the messy blonde hair while she laughs at his words. "I get no joys in Jackie in a Maids Outfit, so.. You're it." A flip of wrist, an extension of her index finger and she is walking towards T, the hand as well as extended finger nearly poking him but not.

"Oh I can imagine you looking good in no—-" Cass is cut off by the path T takes to his clothes-lined attire and that piece of paper. "The name I know should not be one you put out there, because Rocky and Bullwinkle would be the least of our….*YOUR* concerns.." Why the fuck did Cass care, but somewhere along the New Year, when she blinks there are things she sees, memories broken, and even though she looks at him like her Special Little Buddy - Mouth guard and helmet to boot, she can somehow empathize.

"Give me that…" Cass snaps, closing the gap between them to try and snatch that soggy paper.

If he relents she will pinch it between her fingers at a fragile edge and carry it preciously to her own bedroom..

A mattress on the floor, blankets and pillows scattered. Blacklight, lava lamps, disco ball to reflect laser light projections to the dull backdrop of REAL Bass from a Bass Guitar with screaming vocals low in growl in the backdrop that is smoke lined by unending incense, cigarettes, spilt bottles of alcohol, scraped mirrors, pill boxes and clothing. "Careful where you step. Indiana Jones…" A hint to T as her hand extends and she does the same steps as Temple of Doom through her room. "You remember…?"


"You're clearly blind and need two cybernetic eyes." There is a grin sidelong at Cassandra as she walks towards him, poking out. "You have seen her right? Of course you have… maybe." Jokingly he steps to the side, as if she has an eye patch on and not a synesthetic replacement.

"Why? What is wrong with the name you know?" He frowns at that, "I' prefer to have some sort of name to address myself as at least, though, I suppose short form me something or give me a NOT ridiculous nickname. One I can survive calling myself until something jogs my memory in place… "

The paper is yanked free, like he says, it's just a piece of paper with a number on it. "That is mine though… " He follows after her, making sure not to step on any of the bottles, scraps or clothing, "This… and Indiana Jones, no, pass, I seen the commercials for that. I don't do hats."

Confused blinks and hes weaving around things, a slow headshake, "No, what am I supposed to remember?"


A switch is flipped by Cass, a backlit screen pops up, clips lining the frame, the paper placed onto it as she flips open a laptop and her fingers fly over keys. "I don't fuck my friends, T… Call yourself T for now." Cass mutters as she smirks and remains in her bend to punch in codes, security data that suddenly flares the mess of a room into a purely white light as her profile is snap-shot and loaded into the secure database.

The backdrop of faint glow the smeared number hangs over pulses and the origin of ink pressure starts to burn into the lining as if silver…

"Let's make a phone call and find out?" A dialpad is brought up on the screen now as the camera lens flickers, flashes and relays feed that Cass slaps to be nothing but a black wall with laser lighting and dico-tech worthy of Birdcage. The mic reverb is altered, feedback delayed as she starts to punch in the numbers clarified.

"It's a means to remind you on where and how to…" A snap up and she is not moving her feet but extending her posture to snap cybernetic arm out and almost fling T, off her Placebo modified tank top as a bear trap snaps teeth upward in place where his foot was about to be placed.

"Not enter someone elses tomb carelessly." A light 'tsk', tongue pressed to the back of bared teeth in her grin as the connection behind them sounds like old AOL dial-up. Rerouted, retraced, bounced off satellites between Japan and Russia.

"I just met you, and this is crazy…" There was that number, Cass called it….maybe… (no, she did!) Cass rolls her eyes and pivots the screen from them to ensure no faces revealed, the song now queuing in the backdrop of her room via voice recognition.

"Oh sweet baby je—-" Is there an answer. STFU!


"I can work with T. It is better than maidman or 'the maid', what is a male maid?" A look upwards, at the ceiling then around the room itself, the bear trap snapping has him letting out a loud long hiss, "Are you kidding me?" Eyes widened at that he doesn't move to anywhere there is a obstructions on the floor. "You're nuts, Cassandra. Certified."

Crouching forward to watch the screen he places one knee on the floored mattress, nothing is said by Taskmaster as the ringing goes through and then there is a voice. No sounds, nothing. The man clears his throat, "Hello? Who is this?"

A long pause then a distorted voice patches through, "This is the Hub. I'm with /the Org/."

"I am lost and I don't know who I am… " He looks over at Cassandra, not sure why he feels nervous suddenly.

"It doesn't matter. I know. I always know… you are Taskmaster and your next assignment is incoming. Await details."


Taskmaster? Task, T M, T, Taskmaster… huh… " The man sounds the word out, the letters and reclines back in his crouch, rest his rear on his heels.

"We're both insane, everything going on is madness… " A hand rises up and clutches his head, gripping his hair somewhat roughly.


"Oh, come now," Cass states as they await an answer, a dial tone… "I am not that demeaning. I feed you too." Potatoes, wheat, barley, or worms in a bottle, lines, pills… Counts! "And I dont check out your ass…" A waffling hand gesture. ".. I mean if you had more of one…" Cass' hand drops as the silence in her room becomes deafening.

The exchange has teeth /biting/ into the butt of her cigarette, nearly severing it, wetting it to a level where it is nearly worthless.



Smoke billows before Cass is stepping forward to grip T's hands, through his hair as a bare heel rises to kick the laptop closed with a harsh **SNAP!* that also sends it to the floor and scrapes it over the faux hardwood flooring to the closet where there is a sudden explosion! Lining her 'attire' in flames. "Ahh, shit. Don't move, The Place will go into Override!" A press to T's shoulder and she is snapping free a few garments that look more like harnesses sans a massive cloak of purple leather with matching lining within - and without.

A flare of fabric and it slides over her form, the coat parting flames as if it was Hell Bent on its own while harnesses drop from her hands like weapons or offerings.

"Who tha FUCK was THAT, T?!?! It spoke in code…!" Yes, Balllistic is used to burning everything into oblivion and leaving no tracks.

"No, this is normal for people like Us, I promise," Cass states as she reaches for 'T' and if he accepts her offering of cybernetic limb he is 'tossed' over her booby traps (-Gathers a bra in her departure!-) and through the doorway as the room behind them bursts ito flames, the minute they hit the computer is sparks and the alarms of the complex sound off loudly!!

Outside of the apartment they are racing within!:

Elevators suddenly lift, windows bearing bars blast open, and below the sidewalks quake and split, casting ice and concrete up like shrapnel to cause the streets to bare potholes from hell and manholes to rise…. pivot… and one lands in a parked vehicles windshield!

"You need to remember!" Cass yells as she is progressing through her apartment and the figure of a building physique becomes cloaked in straps, strips, black on purple beneath the flame retardant trench, pale razored and choppy hair flowing in blasts around them as she speaks and even her eye flares red.

Once 'T' looks up it is to the triple barrel of a Chiapa 'Threat', the hammer of position coming just before the lowering of muzzle towards his form. "Get. The. Fuck. Up. Taskmaster!"

A year ago:

It is his voice in her ears as the cybernetic arm is half severed, her teeth clench to grip a strip of fabric in an attempt to staunch the through-and-through in her thigh as her 'good' leg kicks her in a slide across the floor that leaves her in a trail of blood.

A Desert Manse in Iraq - massive, plush… Until they got there, now it stands on remnants of rebar and concrete pillars.

"Get. The. Fuck. Up!Or re you going to be that girl…" A male voice resounds, and in turn her hand leaves a bloody smear upon a crumbling pillar as another air assault unloads around them.

Ballistic ran!

But she was caught…

"I hate your ass right now.." An echo of exact words from that time with his.

"Don't make me do this, Task. Master." Ballistic states as the hammer is pulled back by silver-threaded thumb.

"…If you don't, the kittens will burn…" Oh god, saying that hurt like hell.


"YOU have a problem!" T shouts at Ballistic, "No one should have a house this rigged up. You are lucky to be alive, seriously, bear traps, grenades, exploding laptops."

"And /those/ are NOT clothes, those are belts and straps, you plan on tying a tarp down?" The blaze is growing, the mechanical words of the laptop chiming through his ears, Hub. The Org. Always Know You. Taskmaster. Taskmaster. %RA lunge and he is stumbling, muscle memory letting him catch himself and then an arm is latched on to, his shoulder jerks only to cause the man to sail forth, land and come up rolling, running only to have it sink in why she did that, tripwires! A bouncing betty?

"This is why you only have one friend also. Not counting me."

"I am trying to remember!" T shouts at her in irritation and panic, "But why the fuck would I want to remember this sort of lifestyle!?" Outside, elbows on his knees, perspiration streaking down his forehead, cheekbones and nose, eyes bloodshot and staring. The apartment and damage being wrought is watched, stared at until he realizes shes aiming a gun at him, "Why? What the fuck, Cassandra? What the fuck is with you and cats anyways… and fire and… " The Rhino is stared at, glared towards and he straightens up arms stretching out wide.
"Shoot me." The memory triggers, they are not spiking like they should… maybe…

/The kittens will burn/ A blink. An unfocused look and the man 'snaps' forth, a blur of motion and Cassandra's wrist is struck while in the same motion the Chiappa is hooked, a finger wedgiing between the hammer the other thrusting thumb inside the triggergarde, wedged underneath the crescent pull, twisting off to the side and bending that appendage at an angle.

"Fuck the kitties."


"I don't give…" Cass states slowly in her approach that kicks bare calves against her trench coat tails as she approaches T and his Fallen Angel 'Spread' of arms in sarifice to a Triple Threat he is about to 'Kiss Goodnight'.

"…A fuck…" *Click… click*!

Ballistic would have put those rounds in him, at this range he would not even be decipherable by forensics as everything would be in piece… too teensy for them to puzzle together, and this apartment is registered to a 'nobody' in Queens.

Correction: No One Will Give A Fuck.

Not until the world around them slows with the final holster of her last weapon amongst the straps, her boots stepped into and zipped upward to mid thigh as more shells… more rounds… Make themselves apparent in the trappings of boot-encased wrappings. But only one boot made it up… partially before…

6 months ago:

Teeth clench in a lock as they spar, a skull mask to the scarred facade that drips sweat.

"If I ever fall, if my head ever changes… Make the Finale."
A happy clap with a squee! in the backdrop resounds like their own personal SKWAD of cheerlead…er?
Sigghhh "Make it quick."

….. "Que——?"

Trigger is pulled, hammer… muffled by the 'web' between thumb and index as 'T" rises and Ballistic pivots with his follow-through, the Triple Threat hoisted into the air then and her window becomes a raw and gaping opening spilling shards outward in the resounding explosion that easily makes their ears ring with the blustrade!

Ballistic's spine is bowed, her arm tense, those fingers coiled into a cupped palm.

Memory recollection: Defense 1.45 v4.2 Training Session….

"You up for this?" Ballistic's teeth clench in a snap of a pained grin before she is pressing into Taskmaster in a fast paced barreling of weight and effort towards that window.

Her smile becomes… Cheshire. "Fuck the kittens…"

If they go through that opening….!

Passing through, the haft of the Chiapa hits ground, opens, dispels shells and twists as if to land in the blaze they are to leave behind in their free-fall… But a cybernetic limb grips it in passing and holsters it along her spine before that level of the complex blasts out behind them and they land…

There is reason the sidewalks split, other tenants descending as well to bounce of the inflated cushions to a safer area while they live… yet watch their 'home' burn.



"Cassandra. This is Jackie, mind telling me why I show up with groceries for you and there are firemen putting out a giant smoking pit where your apartment used to be? Also, the hottie you roofied in to amnesia, is he dead and did you give him my number? Never mind. I just got a new puppy I dont need another floor pissing adorable idiot to take care of. Please call me back when you get this so I know you're okay."


The rumbling and rattling of the Semi-Truck is loud, the outside scream of wind and highway around them drowns out the Johnny Cash playing on the radio, the man driving the big rig with his massive forearms, hairy knuckles and friendly smile looks over at Cassandra, "So your boyfriend back there, he sure can sleep, why you two headed out west anyways?" The shake of those air cushion chairs makes them sway each bump, the dark lights of cars passing or being passed by like streamers.

"You ain't wanted are you? You know, that is all right, you paid me enough I don't need to know. I get asked I don't know you, still though, a man is curious, stories out here are the only thing to keep us company and you two look like you have a great one or several." Years worth if the man only knew. Not that right now anyone but Cassandra Taylor remembers them.

"We'll hit a truck stop up in an hour, you two can catch a shower, get that smoke smell offa ya, some grub and then we'll power on to Chicago. I never minded good company, pretty company like you, especially, them robot parts cost much?" Yeah, their new friend Ralph can talk. Friendly though, not a mean spirited bone in his body from what has been displayed.


Cassandra looked out the window of the semi-truck, ignoring the /bounce/ of the seat as potholes are hit, but aparently 'Ralph', has not ignored a single 'jolt' from the woman in the passe ger seat.

Long legs are crossed at thighs strapped and laden in the criss-cross of straps, holstering far more of an arsenal that he could ever fathom from the South. Discrimination is laid bare in that assumption while she hits 7, to delete Jackie's voicemail.

At the line of the window, Cass watches the lines of the highway middle pass by quicker than a pulse as they head Northward and the light illumination of hr phone flickers with the sweep of her thumb as she looks through images.

Only two months ago she reunited with her sister… Or is it 4 months ago? Brows furrow in the wonder ad debate of time that is passing like the lines of the highway.

Vel commandeered her cell, forcing selfies that show the blur, the random faces around a placid Cass while the sibling is perky despite… A slow blink and Cass cracks her window, the Charlie Brown Adulting 'Whub Whoob' of Ralph's 'friendly' voice suddenly becomig a bit more clear.

"He's not… (My boyfriend) fully rested, we have walked from the Mexican border until where you found us…" South Carolina?

No… they were headed South, but ended North again…

"Save a few bad thumbs.."

Hitch Hikers Guide needs to have a safety manual… for the ones who try to be 'That Person' in a story gone wrong.

T and Cass walk along the highway, while behind them a car smokes and emits black smoke plumes to the heavens. "You have an obsession with Pyro..-"
"No, I burn everything that can hurt me.. Or trys to." A wary glance to T and she just keeps walking, shrugging the trench coat closed around her form laden in an arsenal worthy of a military, but lacking in anything of 'necessity' in the winter time.
Even pictures of childhood burned 17 years ago… and took that childhood with it.

"It cost me a lifetime or more. To be blunt Ralphie… My story would get you more than soap shoved in your mouth and your eye shot out…" A glance to him with a flickering emphasis of her cybernetic eye in a pale red hue that fades back to white in a *blink*, taking her back to counting the 'dotted' lines of the highway.

If he doesn't wake up soon, she's going to tase his ass. Literally…


T and Cassandra find themselves just outside of Chicago, cornfields, cows, silos, wind farms as far as the eye can see because it is also relatively flat.

The sun is setting in the distance makes the landscape look like a canned food label. It is just missing a farmer or a rooster, no, theyre out there. One in the distance being devoured by coyotes.

T stares across the road at the gift shop, motel and gas station they have been dumped off at by their ride. "This is the beginning of a horror movie." The man remarks to Cassandra, "We go in there and Jeb, his brother Clem and their four cousins all named variants of Zeke are going to skin us and wear us for people suits."

That confidence outside of her apartment bled away again, back to the creeping fugue. "Then again, they've never met a female killer babe from outer space like you have they?" A smirk over at Cassandra and he walks across the empty street, over one shoulder a backpack, a hooded sweater now that he keeps up constantly, its in navy blue, jeans and boots. It feels better for him. More natural.

"Only one beat up truck. Doubt they have taxis out here." One beat up clunker, rusted and then some.

"We could steal it but I bet you it wont make it ten miles."

The gift shop is closed, the gas station is too but the motel's got one light on in the window. A man visible in shadow inside, a small tv over one shoulder and he is flipping through pages, a chain link draw over a window inside of the small booth. Stained shirt, combover, chew in his lip and hes 'reading' a Playboy Magazine, "Can I help you? No gas. Stations closed. Only one room, hot water doesnt work. No directions offered, buy a road map, 20 dollars appiece." Overpriced and a very practiced speech.

"Candyyycanneee..", Ballistic drawls as the cigarette between her lips bounces just before the flame meets the tip. She'd be spooked, normally, if she didn't light her smoke with a metal arm, the fame dancing below her programmable 'fake' eye.

Cass is good at unphased-faces, aside from the quirk at the corner of her lips in a smirk as smoke plumes out.

"Outer sp—- Alright, I am not going to argue this with you again, T. I am not green and I hate Trekkies." Muttered as Captain Comb-Over and his outdated television is eye'd carefully, stepping inside is better than the open fields of winter time and wind despite the 'lack' of hospitality….Maybe.

"How much?" Ina ll of that no price was stated, Cass just cut to it before any more could be prattled out as she is taking the now, side-view of that truck, make and model while she inhales off that cigarette and taps the ash into one of the dusty fake plants in the 'lobby'.

Price given, cash exchanged, the man looked disappointed at 'low-balling' the assumed bums and seeing Cass pull out a wad of cash from her pocket. One bill extracted from the wad, and handed his way as if a mere used napkin… All for Comb Over.

"Get yourself a nice toupee and some happy pills." A wink and she hands T the key, passing the truck to snap a low-flash picture over the windshield aiming down towards the dash. VIN # acquired.

"Thought Ralphie said a good shower and warm food, not cockroaches and a bath in the nearby river." Cass mutters. "If the tank is half empty (pessimist!) we can get another…" Hissss… "Oh my FUCKING GOD, the service in this shithole sucks."

The rotund man in the greasy clothes doesn't bother to look up until they're leaving then his eyes pinpoint upon Cassandra's backside, a mhrmm noise escaping his throat before he ruffles his magazine and starts to read again.

The 'ching ching' of the door sounding as they vacate to find the small, cubby of a room they are to occupy. A standing single shower, lukewarm water at best, no mini fridge, a stand with wires hanging out and no tv. On the wall is a recent calendar at least, pulled open and showing the date. The pictures are different breeds of bulls.

Taskmaster drops his bag on the singular chair in the room and looks at the woolen fabric of the bedding, then the floor. Taupe, shades of it and browns. "We're living in style. The grass is greener? At least there is only rat traps to step in and not bear traps or landmines." A grin over at Cassandra.

"Why are you doing this anyways? Why go through all of this with me?" He questions her as he unlaces and peels his boots off, tossing them on top of one another near the floor heater.

A bug zapper outside crackle hissing loudly. Once then twice.

The cigarette is at least flicked aside before they enter the room, her coat shed and thrown over the single table with a heavy clatter-thud of the hardware lining the inner surface, the bomber jacket shed as well, resounding a harsher yet similar sound as it meets its mate to lay open and reveal the layers of straps, contours of weapons beneath silken lining.

Ballistic is a 'package' of explosive dynamics, even as she drops onto the edge of te bed to take a seat and one of the legs bends beneath the abrupt weight, the mattress concaving easily. One leg lifts, the zipper descending to undo one, then the other…

Leather stained a deep violet ue, wrapped in strips of leather the same hue, flashes of buckles, fastens and beneath the peel of fabric is a 'scape just as bare as nearly the rest of her while she disarms the layers of attire and finds placement to strap it all, the final shoulder rig that holsters her Rhino's hung over the headboard… For safety. His answer left hanging in silence save the sound of groaning leather and creaking bedsprings as she 'hides' and stows all of her armaments.

The sidearms are drawn then and checked, as she even needs a moment to think about the question before she answers. Locks and pins fall to her lap, legs crossed on the bed in a manner to trap the falling pieces, a *snap* and chambered round pops onto the mattress before her, her eyes lifting from it to him.

"Smaller space, no need for traps." Literally, unsmiling as she rocks forward to pick the bullet up and eye the tip, ensuring the splintered tip is still in tact to make the round one that will ricochet inside the victims body in fragments upon impact.

"Because sometimes even people like us need to know…" A *CLIP* and the rounds are chambered, the pistol reassembled in her hand, pressing muzzle down upon the bed between thighs and the cross of ankles. "We need to.." A roll of shoulder and she stares at the calendar where a TV should have been.


"Have backup." That sounds better, less /smooshy/. Vel would be disappointed.

Backpack nudged aside the hoodie drapes over the back of the chair, T's shirt peeling up over his head to be folded and placed on the small dresser top.

"Back up, not here. They can't even assemble a truck of this century." Straightening up and rubbing the small of his back he looks over at Ballistic then the small shower, moving over to lean in and test it, "Cold, no, warmer and… " It cranks off.

"Limited hot water, maybe less than ten minutes. You go ahead. I run hot and I'll take a pillow and the chair. You can have the bed, you paid, the help can make due."

"I'm not remembering again, nothing, just you and images, nothing past that bus, waking up in it and stepping out. I am glad you got my six, only thing better probably be Superman or the Terminator. Then, I dunno, I may wager against the Terminator."

A trail off and hes sitting on the edge of the dresser, hands clutching the edges of it's surface.

"Smaller just means you'll have less trouble burning this place to the ground."

"Just make sure to wake me if you do… no, when you do."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License