The Rule of Threes

January 22, 2019:

A trio of the darker types meet at a mansion. Not intentionally.

Northern New York

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

*

It is a lucrative contract, this one may be for a set time period but if he impresses here it could mean big contracts for corporate offices and the similiar facilities as well as VIP protection rackets abroad. And the rep it would earn his company if he won these contracts out from some of the big players in the game, well now that is big business. So he is here in person for this one making sure that everything as is it should be. He probably has too many men for him with a job like this, but well he wants to impress.

But at the same time, these guys are not the men he recruited directly from special forces or CIA ran programes. They have assignments all over the globe that take priority, and well Billys personal team? The less they are seen with him in a proffesional setting now the better. Currently there are two teams of three sweeping the area around the house directly as well as a two guards stationed at every ground entrance. Inside there are two roving men, doing their best to keep an eye on the target as well as staff and partiers. Billy himself is currently acting as the kids private security guard. And hating every godamn minute of it. He is better than this shit, but sometimes you just have to bite the bullet.

*

It was a lucrative contract for more than one party, but not to the same degree. It wasn't a big time contract nor was it the 'one last score' the sort that plenty had thrown their lives away on. It was the sort that came up at the right time to keep contacts paid, gear repaired and bullets loaded. Being a top assassin wasn't nearly as expensive as staying one after all. With a distance between the houses of ten minutes travel Floyd was looking at just over a 3.7 mile shot. Not even the official world record nor his personal best. With his rifle loaded he'd watched and waited for the returning target to come home. Too hard to track in town, but the walk from the car to the font door was inevitable. Easy money.

Or it should have been…but at that distance? All it would take was for one of the security detail to lean the wrong way and the bullet could hit them as well. No other casualties than the target? With the flight time and side of the bullet even he couldn't be 100% certain. He'd have to do this another way.

The rifle was stashed, the mask was removed, instead the man simply walked his way towards the back door with his coat buttoned and his sleaves rolled down to conceal the 'aces' up his sleeves. He didn't look like a partier, but he didn't have to. Instead the man pulls back the slide on his supressed pistol, chambering a round and then steps from the shadows. The team was pretty good even if they weren't the best Billy had, he'd had to time them out for several passes before he'd made his move. Three sharp and precisely aimed pops, he was already counting his window before the next check-in and pass by another team. They weren't dead, but those rubber composite rounds would hurt like hell when they woke up.

*

Curses to the heavens, this was suppose to be a simple score for the girl. Word travels, and sometimes big-wig families have some the prettiest things. For her? It was a collection of tiny figures made out to take on the features of the twelve creatures of the Chinese Zodiac. Each figure was made of white jade, and with only an ounce of the stuff being worth 3000, this was going to be a good night. Or, at least she thought it was. The rumors of the property being unoccupied were sorely mistaken.

She would have to lay in wait, her lips moving smoothly as she counts steps, passings, figures…what was that noise? Lowering her head, she turns it just so, pressing her ear up and against a barrier of the building. Something else was happening, something else not in her original plan. It was almost time to toss that 'plan' to the wind, it wouldn't be useful to her what so ever.

Often times, sweet things were kept in a basement vault, but these beauties were prizes of the family. They were up higher, possibly in an office safe or even on display. For her, she'd have to go up for this one. A dash later, she's moving up the side of the building. Gotta love old-timey loving folks, they did enjoy having ivy lattices.

*

Billy checks his watch once again as the 'party' goes on through the door he is waiting outside of. At least he has a nice comfortable chair and a tumbler full of what these people consider mid range scotch. So more than most people could hope to afford without spending a couple weeks pay at the very least. He looks at his watch one more time before reaching towards the radio at his hip. "Russo, all teams report in." It is the standard radio call in, one conducted every twenty minutes like clockwork. "Team One Check, Team Two check, …., …., …., team four check."

"Godamnit, buy the best and it still craps out on you even after you have just taken it out of the fucking box. "Russo, team one converge on team three's patrol route. See if Henderson can get their comms back up again." He shakes his head as he limbers up in his seat. "Alright, kid. Just go the fuck to sleep so you stop making so much damn noise. It's the girls that are supposed to scream."

*

Of course, Billy was probably the sort to spring for at least some form of enryption on his teams radios. It wasn't the most expensive thing to do after all, and breaking encryption usually took more toys than the average player was willing to spend money on. Of course, that didn't stop the more basic way of hearing what your opposition was up to: stripping one of their radios. It only took a rather basic earpiece slotted into the port and he could carry and listen without being given away by the device. He'd almost certainly pulled this trick before.

The door itself was solid, but not unbeatable and there was simply the fact that too many people were coming and going for alarms to be useful. Security's nightmare and the Hitman's best friend. Moving into the first room, the pistol was held low and by his leg. He could lift it faster than most and he didn't need the wrong person turning this into a shit-show. Shooting civillians, even spoilt rich ones, just wasn't going to fall in line with his reputation after all.

Attractive guy, nice suit? Hopefully it would be enough that most of the 'hanger on' types would think he had a reason to be there. Even if the guys running security had checked all the faces, he was certain that the brat and his friends were too wasted to be half as aware.

*

"Hey! Fuck you, buddy! We're not paying you to tell me what to do, alright?" The 'brat', Thomas Eugene Gardner, pops the collar of his polo and scoffs in Billy's direction. A few of the girls giggle, expressing their love for his 'courage' as he stands up to the otherwise angry man in a suit. Regardless of how pretty Billy Russo was in the face, right now, he was no better than just the help.

Giving a sweep as they were told to, the security teams start moving in a different direction, all in the hopes of covering their co-workers and finding out what the issue over the comms were. The movement is a fruitful one, for all three players of this game. "Henderson here. Nothing is wrong with the comms, sir. Fox." The voice says in a monotone reply. As far as the hitman knows, no one is looking at him sideways.

Outside, with a few more digs of boots and fingers, the girl pulls herself up and over the railing and onto a balcony flat. Sighing, she brushes down her jacket and then glances at the door itself. Pretty, doubled up with slats of glass. Breaking is easy, but picking is much more fun. Her lips count once more, moving smoothly behind the shade and fluff of her hood. Smirking, she levels at 'one', and its then that the lights go out within the house.

*

"Roger that Henderson. Tell those asshole to turn their volume up so they hear the damn check ins. Boots leave the sand for five minutes…" He shakes his head as he cuts of his transmission. He stands from his rather comfortable chair and stands up over the 'child' he is meant to protect. He sighs once as he unbuttons his jacket, reaching inside to remove a slim low profile MP7. Snapping open the stock he keeps it low as he looks over the group of partiers. "Ok kids, you can keep the party going but all of you need to head towards the parlour." He waits just a moment. And nobody moves. Only a second later someone plucks up the courage. "Fuck you man this is Toms house. We don't have to listen to you." Maybe if he was more sober, pushing the man with an automatic weapon would not have seemed like a good idea. The arm is batted aside before it ever makes contact, a brutal headbutt shattering the bros nose. "Now!"

Outside his mens behaviour drastically changes as his radio call ends. All of them linking in to form three seperate teams, each one heading to an individual entrance point. Clearing it before pushing into the man building. Clearly they have some sort of preset codewords to aid them if their radios are compromised.

*

He didn't hit the power. That alone was enough to have Floyd Lawton frowning. It was a valid enough move, but it wasn't one he'd been intending on using, especially since He wasn't wearing his mask! It also was very unlikely to be a move made in response to security discovering the fallen. Already the 'timer' was lower than he'd liked and every new little factor was going to make things that little bit more difficult. He actually sighs as he moves through the dark towards the figures. It was easy enough to pick the bigger profiles and silhouettes of former military men playing security out of the frat types.

Billy's yell was actually heard, the fluctuation of temper had even been enough to distract one of the two men in the hall now that music had gone silent, but the flash of the suppressed muzzle in the house now was too bright for the second man not to notice and go for his gun before a round in his chest had him doubling over and a swift elbow had him tumbling to the ground. Messy, louder than he'd like, but Deadshot was working on a clock and he didn't have the luxury of lethality.

*

"Com'on…com'on…" Cold whispers to herself, waiting for that first ear-splitting proof of internal freak-out. Soon enough, she gets her wish, the party-goers starting to fret like rabbits being spooked by dogs. With the lights out, it slips people into the dark, and that's where you get them. They focus on things unimportant, or at least they should be were there not a killer in the house.

Textbook horror movie, the client and his followers starts yelling and scattering, taking Billy's suggestion with a massive grain of salt. "N-o, no man! Something is shitty! This isn't right! I-I have a panic room! Yeah! Panic room!" Tom suggests, quickly getting the approval of his frightened following.

With bodies going down outside with heavier thumps against the ground, Cold was left to her own devices. Lock latching open, she slips in, leaving the passage free of obstruction. She cases the inside of a main office, her gloved fingers brushing along wall fixtures before something hooks and clicks. Another smirk, she pulls a picture frame aside, gazing now at a safe in the darkness. "Hello, sweet thing."

*

You don't run spec ops for years without learning the sounds of supressed gunfire, nor the startled gasps and cries that accompany even the briefest of combats. He begins to force his way through the crowd his build actually letting him blend in with the frat sorority types, even if he is a little tall. However most of them weren't wearing rather smart looking suits nor were they carrying MP7's. "Out of the way, out of the damn way." He shoves his way through the crowd, he is only being paid to protect one of these damn kids. Finally he manages to get through towards Tom while he and his posse are still screaming at each other about his panic room. He grabs the kid ny the front of his shirt and hauls him down bodily. "Now kid, you are going to fucking listen to me or you are going to die. We are going to head to the parlour as central point. And then you are going to barricade yourself in and let me and my men do our damn job."

"All teams converge on the Parlour immediately. Subject at immediate risk." There is a dull click from Billy as he swivels the dial at the top of his radio, one of his hands more than enough to hold his weapon to his shoulder before his other drops back to hold on to the clients shoulder. "This is Russo. QRT to the mansion immediately. Roll heavy. We are under attack by an unknown threat."

*

The parlour? Roger that. There might have even been a smirk of satisfaction at the information over the radio if it wasn't for the fact that he was not only having his concerns about violence being heard come true, but he was certain backup was converging on a central point. Taking on the entire force at once without killing a single one of them? That was pushing the limit even for him. He was good, but he wasn't bulletproof. Perhaps another day in the past he might have tried it, but there were things too important to die on a job like this.

Homework had given him the layout of the house, instinct told him that this 'Russo' had to be well-trained to not even question what he'd heard, but close to have heard it at all over the confused party-goers. Another window, another timer, and only one life he was able to take. His 'empty' hand was already lifting the direction of the stairway, his senses tracking the footwork of moving people, different weight and the difference in breathing from the scared kid and the trained soldier.

It'd have to be one hell of a shot.

The sound of the unsupressed 'bracer' going off was distinct, unlike the weapons carried by the security team or the silenced pistol he'd used before. The sound of the richochet was almost as distinct, sharp and clear under the echo of the retort. Against a normal threat, Russo's tactics were perfect. But Floyd Lawton wasn't just an unknown threat, he was Deadshot.

*

With a grace and sway of her fingers, the girl listens to the safe, hearing its delicate inner workings and manipulating them as she needed. Smiling after a heavy 'shunk' sounds, she sighs and opens the box to find her prize. Her eyes blink, though, slipping small figures into her side bag. Six? That's only half… Growling, she leaves the safe open and pivots to turn, only then hearing the sound of a voice she knew, barking out orders. Then the sound of actual gunfire in the building.

Cautious, she pads toward the door, ear to it and listening attentively. Now came more screaming. Real, unfiltered, fear. The client in Russo's grip goes lip, his body twitching, briefly, from the round lodged in his brain. A spray of red coats the Beaut's features, and soon, a swarm of fright ripples through the party goers. They run, they push, they trample. They try to get out, away, anywhere but here.

Lena licks her lips and glances at her sidebag. Six was better than none. A good score, but not the best. Sometimes, you cut your losses and go about your business. That was until on terrified figure barrels their way into the office with her. A stumble back, she looks up and over at the face of the same 'bro' that had a broken nose. "The hell are you?! Y-You! Did you kill Tom!? FUCK!"

Rolling her eyes, she levels the gun and fires. "Chill." She murmurs with more annoyance than joy. A burst of cold glows, brilliant in the darkness, frost kissed air rolls out into the hall.

*

He can see it happen, but no matter his reaction time he is not metahuman. The sound and the spark of a richochet, before he even knows it the client in his grip is dead and falling for the floor like he is. "Fuck." He goes with the weight letting it pull him and shield him from any more follow up rounds, before he rolls towards the doors. No way someone makes a shot like that on purpose and if they did, don't give them another chance. He leaps over the railing and drops, one hand catching to slow his fall for just a moment before he impacts the ground floor. "All teams ground floor. Weapons free."

The smallest hint of movement gives away the presence of another on this floor, someone at least roughly where Billy expected them to be. His finger tenses on the trigger faster than his brain can even comprehend the command. The rounds splatter out at 950 rounds a minute. And then Billy is gone, already stalking down another corridor as he silently reloads his weapon his feet placing carefully to avoid even the smallest creak from the floorboards. He is a predator, and impossible shot or not he is going to learn that.

The headpiece in his ear sparks quietly "QRT ETA 7 mike."

*

Sound worked both ways and Lawton knew it, or he was certainly about to be reminded of it. It might have helped him hit his target, but it also identified his position and at least one of the security was reacting faster than he liked. He'd exected a little more shock at the mark being ended seemingly out of nowhere! It was only the landing that really gave him enough warning to throw himself sideways, rolling and tumbling around the corner and out of direct sight while the drywall near where he had been positioned was chewed up by the MP7 fire. Getting out wasn't going to be as easy as he hoped, especially without killing anyone else.

The 'rubber round' gun comes up, but that sudden flash and…whatever the fuck that sound was from below brings him pause. The hell was Freeze doing here?!

He didn't really have time to ponder it though. The slight rattle of the sling and the movement coming around behind him gave him warning of that; Russo was already coming up on him. There was a moment to swear before Floyd turns and lifts his arms, rushing towards the window with a loud roar of fully automatic gunfire filling the hall. It was enough to have most ducking for cover, but the black-suited assassin? He was already covering his face as he leaps through the window, tumbling into the dark of the courtyard below. That was going to hurt like hell, but the adrenaline and a decent landing would have him up on his feet fast. Now he just had to pray the move was unexpected enough and the lack of lights blinding enough he could flee into the night before the other shooter made it to the window and had eyes adjusted enough from the muzzle flare to take a shot at him.

*

Pure chaos, that is what the night had turned itself into by this point. Shots fired, bodies taken down, windows crashing and ice crackling and popping from another room all together. This manse, as dull as it was originally, was now a violent hotspot of activity. With the lost bro frozen in place, the girl with her six (instead of twelves) trinkets decides that now, now is a good time to cut and run. Whatever was happening outside was none of her concern. Turning heel, she stalks toward the way she came in, closing the balcony door behind herself and latching her gun back onto its locks on her thigh.

She climbs down, one diamond shaped hole at a time, until she jumps, lands, and starts booking it toward the grown over grounds surrounding the house.

*

One thing about firing off a weapon like an MP7 is that you run out of rounds in the magazine really quick, by the time Deadshot has hit the window Billy is already slotting another magazine and moving forward. Abandoning any chance of steath Billy charges forward towards the now shattered window, his eyes wide as he scans for movement firing off several bursts as soon as he locates the tiniest shift of moonlight or shake of movement. "Son of a bitch." He shakes his head and turns away from the window before speaking into the mic "Russo, one canary fleeing on foot. Possibly injured, QRT patrol and pursue."

Finally as his blood begins to settle and his heart stops thumping in his ears he processes what is going on in the greater manor around him. "Russo, all teams report in. One canary confirmed. Anyone got eyes on anything else out there?" Shaking his head he crunches back across the broken glass, plaster and wood. He sighs just once as he ejects yet another spent magazine before inserting another.

*

The darkness helped, truely it did, but the MP7 itself does indeed spew out quite a few bullets. Sometimes quantity did outweight quality after all! Of course, as nice as his suit had been, there was more protecting his form that simply some italian styling, but the undervest and lining doesn't stop the sensation of 'sudden stop' that comes from a bullet hitting you across the shoulder blade. The round does have his gait staggering for a moment, but he keeps running. It wasn't the first time he'd been hit and it didn't seem like it was going to be the one that put him down, so Floyd simply sucks in some air and keeps running.

Of course, his escape may well be made all the more visible to Lena as she makes her own departure, but he doesn't stop to look back. That'd be a good way to catch a round in the face!

*

When a man runs away from something, you don't stop them to ask why. You keep on your merry way and to your own damn business. He gets a glance, and that is all, her own path splitting off and forking away from his own. With an itchy finger on a trigger, one man sends a few bullets barking off into the darkness. "Boss!" He calls back, "I have eyes on two!" The 'two' of the pair hisses in, yelling a curse to the night air as that clipping finds her back. Nice shot, but thank the heavens for her new armor. The girl continues dashing away.

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