Bavarian Steel


dutch_icon.gif mortimer_icon.gif

Scene Title Bavarian Steel
Synopsis Dutch goes after Mortimer, but Mort proves to be more than a handful
Date April 30 2009

Staten Island

There's something about the fringes of Staten Island that will always inspire sentiments of unease. After the bomb, much of Staten Island has fallen into glorious disrepair, so much so that places that were already in stages of decay look more like monuments to entropy than once urban settlements in decline. While much of the island was suburban residential areas before the bomb, there were two crowning moments that drove this borough of New York into an early grave. The first was the mass exodus of survivors and panicked people fleeing Manhattan. They came by foot, bicycle and car across the bridges to Staten Island, all manner of desperate and frightened people flooding into a crowded place. While some fled through to New Jersey, others simply couldn't — or wouldn't — go further. This, like in Queens, led to an eventual chaos that would in time eclipse the pandemonium in the eastern edge of New York after the bomb.

Staten Island was in the direct path of the fallout from the explosion, and after thousands fled to the island, the entire populace was forcibly evacuated. Those few that managed to stay, clung to their homes desperately, and those few who did would suffer from radiation sickness and the ever-escalating crime rate. By the time Staten Island got the "all clear" from the government, the damage had already been done.

What was one suburban neighborhoods and parklands is now a monument to decay. Houses lie in various states of disuse and ruin, and like much of New York has seen property values nosedive. Few want to move out to a formerly irradiated zone, and even fewer want to return to a place so rife to violent crime. Now, much of Staten Island lies in various states of decay. Houses abandoned by families that fled the city, were forced into forclosure and were never resold, or simply places where entire families went missing and are now squatted in by any number of transients line the once peaceful streets. Staten Island is a home to crumbling infrastructure, spotty electricity, and people who wish to remain undiscovered by law enforcement. Few police will willingly go into this now infamous island.

Quietly Dutch stalked down the alleyway, he hadnt even gotten into position yet and already his heart was pounding. He didnt rarely investigate cases these days, but every so often he'd come across something suitable to garner his interest. a week ago he'd found the strange SMG, taken it off the dead body of a would be bank robber infact. It didnt take much asking around, to lead Dutch to the Island nor even Mortimer.
He'd played this by the book until now, long distance observation and an extensive logbook of his suspect's actions. Nothing meant much sofar, but tonight was the first night he'd seen Mort all by his lonesome. So whilst a less driven fed would have played it cool and tried to assemble some semblance of backup, Dutch didnt have that sort've time. He'd closed the distance, pressed in with street traffic and now he was so close to making the arrest he couldnt turn back now.
Out from underneath Dutch coat comes the CZ-P01, letting it hang behind his thigh as he cocks the hammer. He was so close now. "ATF, Freeze motherfucker!" comes his command as soon as he steps around the corner, pistol already raised and ready.

Oddly enough, Mortimer wasn't doing anything special, he had his hands together, alone in the alley, apparently praying. "I pray to the angel, Abigail Beauchamp, to not send me to hell with all her angel wrath. I'm just gonna pray this once, and I plan to keep doing bad stuff, but like, stay away from me anyway, alright? If you don't, I'll clip your wings. Amen."

Done praying, his head is suddenly jarred in Dutch's direction, reaching behind him and pulling out two SMGs with abnormally long ammo chains that seem to come from under his shirt. More Dakka indeed. "Eh? ATF, that's…" His eyes turn completely silver as he thinks it over. "Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Damn, I forgot about the last part."

Then, out of the blue, he squeezes the trigger on both guns, which seem to spray bullets out rapidly and in all directions, most of them appearing to fire in directions he's not even aiming in. "Hey, buddy!" he yells over the sound of gunfire. "What's your name?"

Dutch fires just twice, initially anyway. 124grs of bonded brass hollowpoints find their mark downrange, each one neatly driving the SMG's from either of Mort's hands. "Shut the fuck up motherfucker!"No hesitation, not even a wayward blink as he slowly begins his advance. Pistol still raised. "Turn around, put your hands above your head or I'm gonna fucking tear you apart!"
Would Dutch really tear him apart, no perforate would probably be a better adjective in this particular instance but english was clearly never Dutch's strong suit.

Mortimer stares down at his now gunless hands, confused for a moment, then he suddenly gets a wide grin. "I never fought a Terminator before. What's your model?" he asks, silvery eyeballs possibly locked on to the man, it's hard to tell without irises or pupils.

But then he just goes for his other two guns, two golden Desert Eagles, drawing them from their holsters to start firing to fire at Dutch's shoulders. "You the liquid kind?" he yells over gunfire again.

Dutch ducks a knee as the desert eagles come up, two more rounds and then an odd CLUNK as the desert eagles go flying. Dutch's pistol slide flies back, but it doesnt go foreward again! Theres a moment of surprise, as he rolls it up to inspect the ejection port but immediately he knows what he's looking at. Its a torn rim, he'll need a case extractor to get the fucker working again. "Look what you did to my favorite pistol!"his only retort comes as he brings the CZ back with a flourishing spin before holster it.
In Dutch's offhand, comes the click of a switchblade and the glitter of a finely polished blade. Then, from his right side a small fixed blade affair. "Now, back to the beginning. Turn around, put your hands ontop of your head before I shank you."

"You're pretty pissed." Mortimer says with a curious tilt of his head when his other two guns go flying, then frowns and starts approaching the ATF man. "Man, I bet the gold is scratched and everything. Guess you really want a fight, eh? Well, alright, if you want it that bad."

He reaches back with his left hand, then quickly draws what seems to be a straight katana, quickly charging the agent and swinging it for his neck, going for a decapitation. "If you dodge, I'll make it really fun!"

Theres no dodge, Dutch needs to end this bullshit fast. The absolute last thing he needs, is to kill his suspect. So he steps in, turning to make a backhand swing at Mort's jaw with the pommel of his fixed blade. His switchblade raises, intercepting the sword with another loud -KLINK-. The tip of his high dollar microtech goes bouncing across the concrete as the badass sword slices neatly right through it only to find the high density polmer of his forearm armor, which is dense enough to stop a blade slowed by its encounter with gucci steel.

"Holy shit, you Terminator robots are badass." Mortimer says with a light laugh, clearly taking it all like a game. He doesn't move the sword at first, he instead moves to swing a leg high up in an attempt to kick Dutch directly on the chin, trying to hold his arm down with the sword. "I wanna see the robot stuff under your skin, so I can build one of you!"

Dutch grunts as his backswing goes astray, and then of course things only go worse. The kick lands with an audible crack, and its enough to send Dutch reeling for a moment or two. "Your really starting to piss me off jackass." He turns, spitting blood and saliva as he takes a moment to discard his switchblade and produce produce instead a pair of heavy hinged handcuffs. "So, why dont you tell me. You the shop class dropout churning out those worthless little toys?"

Dutch starts to step back in, sending that little fixed blade affair on a few quick jabs before going for a swift kick to the side of Mort's knee. While yes, he could easily make the argument for deadly force at this point Mort is far more valuable alive.

Mortimer is a bit busy dodging to actually answer the question yet, trying to hold his sword up to block the jabs. But then an unexpected kick comes, sweeping him to the ground. He still holds his sword pretty firmly, but for whatever reason, he doesn't immediately get up.

He smiles up at the cop, starting to roll over a few feet away to make some distance. "I make stuff, I mod it. You gonna put those handcuffs on me?" he asks as he sits up on one knee, moving his free hand over his various grenades, but doesn't grab one. "I'm having too much fun to use one of these, but you seem pretty pissed off. I can't decide if I'm ready to die yet. What are your thoughts?"

"I figure I'll break your jaw with them, and then I'll make you wear them."Dutch doesnt seem entirely too eager to get into a grapple with a dude carrying a sword. He needs a grenade launcher, and 40mm foam batons. "You make shit, and your going to jail because of it. I dont care if you come breathing or in a bodybag, thats your call but your coming with me all the same. So drop the motherfucking sword and cowboy the fuck up."

Apparently Mortimer has misunderstood the meaning of 'cowboy the fuck up', because he suddenly stands up straight, sheathes his sword, then starts dashing forward before jumping up and attempting to slam his shin into Dutch's face. "Some good ol' hand to hand, eh? Been a while!"

Dutch grunts, not entirely thrilled with this development either. He rushes into the flying shin, ducking his head to one side as he attempts to grapple Mort from mid air. Indeed, if he can get this onto the ground he's far more confident he can subdue Mort and get him into cuffs. He doesnt sheathe his own blade of course, but then nobody ever accused Dutch of playing fair. "God damnit!"

Getting slammed directly on to the ground, Mortimer tries to hold his head up to keep it from getting smashed in, attempting to struggle. He's apparently not good at grappling, kicking and punching, punches mostly aimed at Dutch's head. "Get off! Fucking robot! 1997 is over, you don't even need to be here!" he argues, probably not making much sense.

Dutch isnt a big lover of punches, but he quickly gets to mount and gets down to business. Bashing the crap at whatever fist he can make contact with those cuffs, as his other arm begins to drop big elbows down at Mortimer's face in return. "Stop." And another elbow goes down"resisting" and another "Or I'm gonna" and another "do something!"He almost said something far more harsh, but if he threatened to kill poor Mortimer a judge would tear him apart!

Mortimer finally lays still, spitting blood from his mouth once the cuffs are finally on. He lays there, staring blankly up at the sky, apparently getting something a bit rattled in his head after all the elbows. "I lost a life…" he randomly whispers, laying limply.

Dutch starts to go for another elbow, before he sees Mort finally just go wet noodle on him. He quickly rolls mort over, and then with a huff slips those cuffs round his wrists. "God damnit."He huffs, finally shifting to sheathe his knife. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say will most likely be used against you in court. You have a right to an attorney, if you cant afford one you'll be provided one free of charge. Do you unstand your rights motherfucker?"Dutch finally rises, but for the moment keeps a boot on Mort. Instead, he produces his sidearm and begins the short affair required to clear the action and get it going again. "Your a fucking pain in the ass, and if you think I wont be there everytime you come up for parole your fucking dreaming."

There are a few clicks and snaps, his eyes still silver, so it's once again hard to tell where exactly he's looking, but soon he's holding the handcuffs up to his face, completely uncuffed, just looking at them with a curious expression. "What kind of cuffs are these? I've never seen this kind before." Then, just out of the blue, he swings the cuffs to try and slam the sharp end at the side of Dutch's knee, trying to get the leg from his stomach. A knee for a knee.

Dutch 's only just turned around, when the handcuff goes driving at his knee. Sadly for Mort, the pointy end finds only a hardened chunk of plastic and foam. Still the force of the impact does enough to send Dutch tumbling sidelong into some trashcans and nearly onto his ass. By now however, the CZ is back in the fight and raised oncemore. "Neat trick Houdini, now stay right there before I start putting holes in you."

"So what are we gonna do?" Mortimer asks, staring up at the gun with a bloody mouth and a bruised cheek. "You can't keep cuffs on me." he points out as his hand slowly slides down to his waist, then there's the sound of a clip hitting the ground, and he holds up what's obviously a grenade pin. "Oh, looks like we're gonna explode." he says with a very wide smile up at the man.

Dutch 's eyes go wide, and his jaw goes slack. "What the fuck!"he takes a few quick steps back, but he doesnt just run away. Granted, he legally -cant- shoot Mort at the moment. Well yes he has a grenade belt, so ok nobody would really complain but thats beside the point. "Put the pin back in jackass, your taking a solo trip."

Mortimer quickly stands, taking the grenade from his belt. He at first seems like he's gonna put the pin in, but then he just drops it and makes a run for it, closing his eyes tightly right before there's a loud boom, and a bright incredibly blinding flash. Oddly though, there's no heat, or pain, or anything that would normally come with a grenade.
Dutch curses, as he turns to make himself a very hard target. This time at least, he misses the flash and as soon as its over he's back up on his boots."Freeze fucker!" he shouts, as takes off in a dead sprint after mortimer. A pair of flexcuffs in one hand this time, and his CZ in the other.

"But it's getting really fun!" Mortimer yells back with a maniacal laugh. He turns the corner and quickly hops on to his G650 X Country, starting the engine with a buzzing roar, then speeds off down the street after popping his black helmet on.
Dutch skids to a stop, panting before heading right back the way he came. Down the alley, round the corner and its onto his own beemer. On goes the helmet, holstered goes the pistol and brumble goes 1200Cc of very pissed off panzer. He pins the throttle, drops the clutch and knocks the kickstand up as an afterthought.

The big HP2 Dutch rides isnt really apt to being bothered by much, and with Dutch in full attack position neither is he really. He plows a straight line over four street curbs with little drama, before finding clear blacktop. The rear knob washing out some, as it throws not smoke but rather just pea sized chunks of soft offroad rubber. The big beemer's 1200Ccs of german steel and that wide ratio transmission making for a particularly impressive pace for any dirtbike much less a beemer.

Mortimer slows down slightly so Dutch can catch up next to him, moving his left hand to draw his sword again. "You've got one too! I'm gonna sleep good tonight, this was really fun!" he excitedly exclaims over the engines, starting to wildly slash his sword at the other man, steering with one hand.

Dutch curses, cutting on the brakes to sweep from Mort's right to the sidewalk on his left. For a moment or two, he isnt entirely sure where he's going to get a suitable weapon to enguage in mounted combat. And then he finds it, a beat up MR-2 missing its wheels and both doors but the hood and the windows there!
Dutch sits up, leaning back only a touch as he drops a gear and swings away from the curb for a moment. Then in a single smooth curve he wheelies the front wheel over the MR-2's bumper, and ramps the 500+lb motorcycle off it in a singular display of urban adaptation. Of course this isnt all for sure, as he's trying to jump his bike not into Mort's 650 but rather into mort himself! Rear tire dropped below the front, as the big knobby tire churns like a hot rubbery chainsaw!

"Holy shit, you're a crazy fucker!" Mortimer ironically accuses the flying man, then jumps completely from his bike, rolling along the ground from the momentum as his own bike is left by itself, surely on a course to spin out of control at any moment.
The HP2 slams back down to the pavement with a resound WUMP, as the big pig's suspension struggles to cope with this abuse! As soon as it levels out, its on the brakes to whip the rear around and go from brakes to throttle to get those few extra degrees to turn it completely around. Then a frenzy of stomping to get it back into neutral, before Dutch has time to put a boot down and go for his CZ again!

Mortimer finally stops rolling, standing up with a slight groan. He may be wearing biking armor under his clothes, but all that rolling was no where near pleasant. When he's standing in wobbly legs, he suddenly grabs another grenade. "I'm hungry now, and tired. My guys are waiting for me, and I have things to build, but we can do this again later, alright? Here, have one of these!" he gleefully offers, pulling the pin on his grenade, and throwing it toward Dutch. When he starts running away, this grenade is a huge cloud of smoke, with another explosive boom and no actual explosion.

Dutch curses, holstering his sidearm oncemore and knocking the big bike back into gear. Theres a rushed attempt at pursuit, but when he crosses the field of smoke he finds himself alone. "God damnit."he mutters under his breath, looking around for a moment before heading back to gather up the firearms Mortimer discarded. Maybe the Desert Eagles will lead him somewhere.

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