Participants:
| Scene Title | Like Blood in the Water |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When Nick Ruskin returns from the past at an inopportune moment, two hated enemies find an opportunity to act as sharks do. |
| Date | November 8, 2010 |
"New York City's such a fuckin' piece'a shit, M'happy t'watch the bitch burn."
Detective Daniel Walsh is a cynic, born and raised, an Irish transplant one generation removed and a cold, callous bastard. Using his connection within the NYPD, he has made a small fortune running guns to disparate terrorist organizations to bankroll his own personal endeavors, which include extortion, kidnapping and murder.
"Y'know, sweetheart, m'hopin' tha' you wind up makin' a better gofer than that prissy-bitch I 'ad before hand. I tell you, if I ever see Nick York again after he up an' disappears on me, I'll put my fist so far up his ass e'll be a hand puppet."
Life for Keira Fionn has been difficult these lats few years, and the fortunate break that she's been chosen to replace a Staten Island gun mover by the name of Nicholas means vertical movement in a business that often literally is cutthroat. Seated beside Detective Walsh in his car, the blue siren perched on his dashboard prevents him from being pulled over and harassed by National Guard in these hours well after curfew.
Manhattan may not have been a war-zone like other boroughs of New York City, but the glow of the Queens fires burn so bright and so hot, that their fiery orange radiance can be seen between the skyscrapers of Battery Park City.
"We're gonna' stop at the pier an' I'll introduce you t'one'a me boys, then we'll take you out to th' Rookery where we have our storehouse. Get you familiar with the goods and our client list." Walsh casts a blue-eyed stare towards Keira. "You fuck me on this, I'll bury you deeper'n I have a fuckin' analogy for."
Cutthroat, but with room for advancement.
A Quarter Mile Away
Headed in the Opposite Direction
"«Fucking cops, mother fucking cock sucking cops!»"
A litany of cantonese spews from a man seated int he back of a black SUV, clutching his stomach and bleeding profusely from an abdominal gunshot wound. Legs kicking, eyes wrenched shut and head tilted back, Donny Yien is a low-ranking and largely unimportant member of the Ghost Shadows Triad, but when riots got too close to one of the Ghost Shadows holdouts in Chinatown and tensions flares, gunfire was the Triads' exit from the neighborhood.
Shot in the crossfire, Yien will likely not make it to the hospital. "Fuck, fuck!" Turning to look over his shoulder, the driver of the SUV slams his hands on the steering wheel and looks back ahead to the sparse headlights on the road. "We're gonna' get fucking pulled over by the fucking Army! They're gonna fucking kill us!" English is a rarity among the purebloods of the Triad, but in recent years the Triads have begun to become less about family and heritage and more about money, power and influence. A watered-down cultural morass of Koreans, Japanese and other Asians mixed together where a decade ago that would have been unacceptable.
"The next pig fucking cop fuck I see is getting shot in the face!" The four men in the SUV all have reason to be upset, the grudge between the Ghost Shadows and the NYPD goes back longer than most of these boys have been in the Triad. Only one man in the SUV is quiet, stoic and realizing what kind of situation he's gotten himself into.
Dong-Tian has been many things in his life, more than anyone alive is even aware, but an accessory to murder against police officers will be a new record. Because up ahead, there's blue flashing lights headed this way.
In the Street
The Worst Place to Be
Flakes of snow blow thorugh the air, actual real snowflakes that gutter, twirl and twist before melting on the asphalt. Tumbling forward as if he'd just been thrown from a moving car, Nicholas Ruskin — sometimes unfortunately known as Nick York — lands on his knees on the pavement before doubling over and rolling onto his back. Wrapped in a vintage World War II SS Officer's jacket and in a pair of too-loose brown pants with black suspenders, he stares up at a starless night's sky surrounded by skyscrapers on all sides.
Turning his head to the side and catching his breath, hands shaking, he notices a pair of double yellow lines beside his head.
Headlights incoming, blue light flashing.
This day is about to get a whole lot worse.
It takes a moment to make sense of it all — the surreality that is unfortunately his reality is disorienting. Blue eyes blink at that double-yellow line, and fuck it if he's not going to cross it and get the hell out of this road before he gets run over.
That is, if he can get to his feet.
The jaunt through time and the malnourishment has made him both nauseous and weak, and it takes a moment to roll back over to his knees to push off of them, wincing as his bare cold feet make contact with the rough asphalt. Staggering, he begins to back out of the road — too slowly, as his bruised and cold legs seem to refuse to obey his confused mind that struggles to get a sense of just where he is. It's a scene he knows very well, but his head is still reeling from being snatched out of Death's grip not once but twice now — only to find himself in its sights again.
More levels of Hell.
Riots. Whee. At least it's not a bomb that'll kill thousands of people. Though the curfew and martial law is a bit of a pain in the ass. Not that it stops Shannon from leaving her room at the Verb and going out in search of…who knows. Excitement? Trouble? A baker who's starting in on their morning pastries really, really early? She seems to be a supremely cocky person though, strolling down the sidewalk as though it were a normal night in a normal city. Or perhaps she's just a bit brain damaged.
Except a person appearing in the middle of the street makes her pause and tilt her head. No, the face isn't familiar, but that method of poofing is. Some people would rush out and try to help the man. Shannon, however, isn't nearly so kind a person, and just stops to watch and see what happens.
"Please."
The only calm voice in the SUV speaks up for a moment, "You're going to bleed on me." The impeccably dressed Ghost Shadow leans away from the bleeding man, planting his forehead against the glass. Pushing his nose against it slightly, he lets out a little sigh. Fogging up the window, Dong-Tian draws with one finger on the glass making a small happy face. But then, from the corner off his shaded eye, Dong-tian glances forward.
"«Cops.»"
"Don't pull over. If we stop… Just don't stop." The Shadow hitman suggests, a tad quietly. Reaching into his black jacket, his pistol is pulled out regardless. He's counting on his good friends not listening to his advice or otherwise fucking it up in general.One hand reaches up to play with the yin-yang necklace hanging from his neck.
Keira is stoked about this. Sure, it's an intimidating prospect, taking over as a gofer for one Daniel Walsh. He is a frightening man, even to the petite Keira in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, who is frightened by little. She's worked hard to get here, too. She's cut more than a few throats herself, literally and metaphorically, just to get here today. It was a lucky break that she was the one, of all people, to be chosen to sit here today in this cop car.
She's loaded, too, carrying more weapons than her usual singular gun and knife combination. Today, she's got just about every handgun she owns on her person, stashed in various places for quick and easy access, if she should need it. This chaos is a bit much even for her, and although she managed to loot quite a bit of stuff that will fetch a pretty penny earlier today, she's still packing quite a bit of heat. She had to fight a few people off of some of the lovely loot she managed to get her hands on.
As her companion speaks, attentive blue eyes turn toward him, the woman nodding to signify that she is listening. "Oh, don't you worry, sir. I ain't stupid enough to try an' fuck you over. I've worked too fuckin' hard t'get t'where I am, I ain't about to fuck shit up." The petite woman nods quietly. "And I'll happily hold this Nick York fucker down while you turn 'im into a hand puppet."
The tattooed woman turns her blue eyes toward the road, watching the lines pass. She notices Nick as the headlights hit him, eyes widening. "Look out!" She's not so much worried about the guy in the road— dumbass shouldn't be laying in the middle of the fucking road at this time of night if he doesn't want to be hit. She's moreso worried about her boss getting hurt in what could be an accident waiting to happen. The last thing she needs is for Daniel Walsh to die when she's finally gotten somewhere.
Headlights wash over Nick Ruskin as Walsh blurts out a sudden shout of, "Sweet fucking Christ!" Jerking the wheel to the right, Walsh swerves around the staggering and barefoot young man trying to get out of the road. Walsh's car swerves into the other lane, just in time to veer into the oncoming path of the Ghost Shadows SUV.
Headlights shine through the windshield of Walsh's car and Keira sees the griss of the massive black vehicle barreling down in on them both.
"Shit!" The Triad driver shouts as he jerks the wheel to the left on seeing the cop car swerve right at he SUV. The two oncoming vehicles clip each other on the right fendeer. The sedan belonging to Detective Walsh sping around in a jackknife motion, causing the world to whirl about for Walsh and Keira. The car then tips up on two wheels before crashing into a lamp post, denting in the roof and blowing out the side windows. The car topples back over on all four tires with a clatter of hubcabs calling off.
The Triad vehicle, having struck an oncoming car is spun around and skids sideways before the top-heavy vehicle pitches right over, rolling onto its roof and crashing down with an explosion of glass right beside where Nick stumbles, drops to his knees and covers his head. The SUV bounces in a flip, and time seems to slow down as the SUV barrel-rolls through the air, flinging tiny shards of safety glass in every direction. The passengers inside sway from side to side, and Nick somehow manages to avoid being crushed to death by sheer happenstance.
When the SUV smashes down on its side after the roll, it skids on the passender's side with a shower of sparks before hitting the sidewalk. Steam bursts out of the radiator and anyone not wearing their seatbelt was flung around inside like a ragdoll.
He may need a shower, but the shower of glass is not what he had in mind. His heart pounding in his throat, Nick finally manages to look up from his kneeling position, glancing toward where Walsh and Keira's vehicle has smashed into the post and then to the Triad vehicle, trying to decide which needs his attention first — and if playing a Good Samaritan is even worth risking here. There's always the ever-popular option of Getting the Fuck Out of Here.
Especially given the fact he's got no weapons, ID, or shoes.
But Nick is on his bare feet once more and rushes the Triad vehicle to start pulling at doors to help whoever it is inside, completely oblivious that they're Walsh's enemies — and thus his, by association.
Well this is a bit exciting. Shannon's brows lift as she watches the collision, and there's a bit of surprise on her face when the man isn't hit and just run over. "Well he has a hell of a lot of luck," she murmurs, lips curving into a bit of a smirk. She moves a little closer, making absolutely no attempt to either hide herself or to help, just yet, but she does seem curious about Nick's method of transportation. She does, though, offer her opinion to him. "You've gotta be stupid to be helping people barefoot after that, instead of running and getting the hell away," she calls out.
"Fuck me.." Comes the lightly accented voice of Dong-tian.
Looking up through a haze of blood and glass. "I told you not to stop.." His hand comes up to press against his seatbelt, relieving the tightness against his waist. His other hand going to grasp at the oh shit handle so he doesn't collapse on top of his colleagues. "«Where's my gun..» Where's my gun.." He says a little dazedly. "Find my gun." He commands sternly, trying to clamber out of the top… or the side off the downed vehicle.
Waving his arm at the naked man standing at the side of the car, Dong-Tian makes his way out, a little bruised and bloodied, but mostly fully functional. Sliding off he looks back, "«My gun. My gun.»" He slides down to the sidewalk, glancing at his suit. "«My suit…»" He sounds very sad.
Keira can't really help it. When the insanity is going on, she grabs hold of Walsh and screams like a baby. She hates car accidents, and this is exactly why. They scare the shit out of her. "Fuck!!!" She shouts this at the top of her lungs as they spin, bracing herself as well as she can while simultaneously clinging to her boss. It doesn't help that the airbag just hit her in the face.
This is embarassing.
As the vehicle comes to a stop, it takes Keira a moment to regain her senses, her head spinning. One hand is on Walsh's arm, and she's halfway curled up in her seat, looking shaken up, to say the very least. However, her eyes turn toward the man, brows raising a bit, once she's got her senses back. "Walsh? You okay?!" She has a few cuts and scrapes, and she might need stitches, judging by the gash on her forehead, but she seems alright otherwise.
A death glare is turned to the SUV, the tattooed woman gritting her teeth. "Want me to fuckin' shoot the fuckers?" She sounds like she would like that opportunity, even if the accident wasn't their fault. Her face only hardens as she spots the barefooted man, blue eyes squinting a bit to see through the light offered by the flickering flames of the town.
"What the fuck, a fuckin' barefooted Nazi made us fuckin' crash? Oh god damn, this motherfucker is just begging to be killed." She's reaching for one of her guns, an angry look on her face. It's impossible to get a good look from here, but she's pissed and really wants to pistol whip a barefooted Nazi right now, shoving at the door.
Groaning as he fights with the airbag, Walsh flattens the white cushion down, fruction burns on one side of his face from where the airbag delivered a one-two punch to him. Blearily shaking his head anfd feeling at his nose where blood is running out, blue eyes stare past Keira and to the SUV tipped over and the Triad members starting to crawl out of it like ants from a tipped over ant-farm.
At first, he doesn't recognize them for what they are, fumbling around for the receiver of the CB radio in his center console. "You a'right?" Walsh slurs as he looks askance to Keira, leaning on the airbag to deflate it more. He maybe didn't hear the Nazi part.
Across the street at the toppled SUV, Nick Ruskin manages to pry the back hatch door open, which scrapes along the ground from the sideways-aligned vehicle. A man clutching his stomach falls out and on Nick's feet, a black tattoo of a tiger across his throat sends warning alarms shooting through Nick's mind, followed by an ammo case toppling out of the back and spilling 5.56 ammunition all over the street.
"Fucking guilao," the man with now a head injury and a gunshot wound to the chest curses to Nick. Inside the SUV, the driver is slouched sideways with his seatbelt holding him in place, both airbags deployed, knocked clean unconscious by the crash.
At Dong-Tian's side, another young Triad member fumbles with a handgun in his lap, offering it out to Dong before he unclips his seat belt and falls sideways down to what is now the bottom of the SUV.
From ehre he lays, his back to the roof, the young man sees Nick standing there out the back of the SUV, then kicks open the sunroof with a pop of glass before hauling himself out, stumbling around shakily.
Back on the other side of the street, Walsh finally sees what is going on when ammunition tumbles out of the back of the SUV and Triad start spilling out with it. "Fuck! Fuck me running!" Looking to Keira, Walsh tries to force open the driver's side door, but the car is trapped too close to the lamp post. "Get in the trunk!" He shouts, leaning forward to pull the trunk release. "Got some shotguns in the back, that's the fucking Ghost Shadows."
Ghost Shadows. Now that he's done them the favor of getting the vehicle opened so they can climb out to kill them, Nick's backing away, hands rising in surrender. "Sorry… I'm sorry, someone just … I didn't mean to cause your crash," he says, palms up and lightly moving up and down, as if to calm a stampeding stallion — also to show his hands are very empty.
He takes another step backward, wincing as the glass pebbles embed in his bare feet. He glances over his shoulder at the other car, brows furrowing — he doesn't recognize the occupants from here, but he mistakenly assumes they are innocent bystanders.
Ooooh. Shouting now? Ghost Shadows? Shotguns? Shannon glances around to see if anyone is paying attention to her, then smiles and…disappears. One moment she's standing there, then there's a bit of a shimmer in the air around her, and then…nothing. Empty space. TADA! She's not gone though, not by a long shot. No, she wants to get closer and see what's happening, without being shot as an innocent bystander. Since, for once, that's precisely what she is.
She listens, very carefully, as she approaches the cars silently, but it's Nick she's paying attention to, largely because he's the one who looks the most out of place. More, he's the one she's heading towards. Creep, creep, creep. Who knows, he could be an important person and she might rack up a favor or two if he needs help.
Reclaiming his weapon, Dong-tian brings his free hand to his head. Taking off the smashed sunglasses, it is in that moment that he finally takes in the naked man in front of him. Then the car across the street. Then back to his brothers in arms, then back across the street. "Hey…" It's weak as first, but then. "Hey."
"«Him!»"
Pointing with his pistol across the street, he glances to the other triads, then the Irish fellow and his entourage. Then finally the cops. This is going to get very bloody, very fast. His bloodied gaze locks onto Nick, the gun waving at him. Dong-tian yells incomprehinsible Chinese before finally ammending, "Get out!"
Keira doesn't need much prompting. The smaller woman unbuckles her seatbelt and promptly slips out of the car through the blown out window, ignoring the little cuts caused by it. Fuck fuck fuck, Ghost Shadows? This is not fucking good. Her feet quickly carry her around to the back of the car, the woman pulling out a duffel bag filled with five shotguns. This is tossed into the back, then she's grabbing a gun from the second bag. This is being raised, steadied, toward the SUV; moreso, it's being aimed directly toward the man who is emerging from the sunroom.
"Fuck you, stupid Asian motherfuckers. You fuck with my men, and it's fuckin' personal now." She's not sure if these asian men are linked to the ones who went after Amadeus, but they all look the same to her. That said in a nearly inaudible murmur, the trigger is promptly pulled, while she hovers in the cover of the car, grinning like an insane person. That grin probably means that she is insane.
Plus, the whole firing before they know what's going on…it's always a good thing to do, really. Gives you the advantage, or something like that.
The Irishman takes only a moment to yank the CB out of the front of his radio when Keira goes for the guns. They won't want this done on any official channels, not after where it is logically going. Instead, the Irishman scoots across the front seats, reaching inside of his jacket and withdrawing a heavy, matte black handgun from his underarm holster. Snapping the safety into the off position, he crouches behind the car's door and watches the Triad across the way before—
"Oh come the fuck on— Nicky?" Blue eyes spot Nick backing away from the Ghost Shadows, his brows furrowed and one hand coming up to cover his head. "Shittins saints you've got t'be fuckin' kidding me." Watching Nick back away, Walsh spots another Triad member running out from the back of the SUV, scanning the street before spotting Keira screaming explatives from the back of a — oh she has a shotgun.
As Dong-Tian is making his way out of the SUV and scanning the street, the Triad who had seen Keira with her gun is diving back into the SUV, popping open a black plastic case and hauling up from the inside a Heckler & Kotch MP5, a slick little glossy black machine pistol with an extended clip.
A scream roars from the young, tattooed man, standing in front of his fallen comrade still clutching his bullet wound on his stomach, unloading a spray of gunfire haphazardly across the street. Walsh tucks behidn the door again as bullets pepper the side of the car with plunks and clunks.
"Shoot them damnit!" Walsh barks back at Keira. Where is Aude Castilades when he needs her?
He doesn't have to be told twice. Nick's usually not the kind to turn his back on a fight, but when it's a gunfight, and he doesn't have a gun, well, this is where exceptions are made.
He turns and runs, stagger-stepped, toward Walsh's car for cover, catching a flash of Walsh's face before the older man ducks behind the door of the car.
This will take some explaining — why he's been gone a week, why he's suddenly practically bald and malnourished, why he's wearing a Nazi coat in 2010 in New York City.
"Fuck, Irish, you got a gun for me?" he shouts as he dives behind the car. "I kinda misplaced mine along with my shoes and hair."
Nick Ruskin doesn't have a sense of humor, but he can fake it with the best of them.
Hmm. The shoeless man is siding with the Irishman. Perhaps he isn't as innocent as he appeared at first. Shannon remains close, but out of the line of fire, she hopes. She remains invisible as well, since otherwise everyone in both cars would see her. Arms fold over her chest and she looks between the two groups, her head tilting. Hmm. Maybe she should have a little fun with them. Lips curve as she ponders just what to do. Oh wait, is that the sound of sirens in the distance? Heading this way, perhaps?
Keira is no sharpshooter by any means, but when she has this big, pretty shotgun in her hands, that really isn't much of an issue, is it? The oh-so-satisfying click-click of the chamber reloading can be heard, and more shots are sent flying the way of the Triads, the little tattooed woman emptying the contents of the gun toward the SUV and its occupants.
Once that gun is unleaded, Keira grabs the next, grinning maniacally.
"Hey, fuckin' Barefoot Nazi! You'd better hope Irish doesn't fuckin' want your life spared, because after this shit is over, I'm kickin' your skinny ass for gettin' me in a fuckin' accident!" She doesn't look at Nick as she says this, but something says that she's not bluffing.
"Who you calling Asian, bitch?" Calls out the Asian man.
And then he's diving back to hide behind the SUV. Crouching on his heels, Dong-Tian leans into the vehicle, holding his gun firmly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a cell phone. Pressing a single button, he then slides it away. He is then standing again, using the vehicle as a perch.
Firing off three shots in respons to Keira's shotgun fire, the Ghost Shadow screams at his wounded comrade. "Get down motherfuck! Shoot them!" Or don't it doesn't really matter to him, the most apathetic of the Ghost Shadows.
"I'm callin' YOU an Asian, you chink-eyed motherfucker!" This is shouted out to the Asian man.
Keira is no sharpshooter by any means, but when she has this big, pretty shotgun in her hands, that really isn't much of an issue, is it? The oh-so-satisfying click-click of the chamber reloading can be heard, and more shots are sent flying the way of the Triads, the little tattooed woman emptying the contents of the gun toward the SUV and its occupants.
Once that gun is unleaded, Keira grabs the next, grinning maniacally.
"Hey, fuckin' Barefoot Nazi! You'd better hope Irish doesn't fuckin' want your life spared, because after this shit is over, I'm kickin' your skinny ass for gettin' me in a fuckin' accident!" She doesn't look at Nick as she says this, but something says that she's not bluffing.
There's a time when Detective Walsh once thought about a different career, he'd almost been a jazz saxaphonist. That probably would have been an ultimately safer line of work. When Nick York comes scrambling across the street and into his car, the red-haired Detective jerks a look back and stares wide eyed at Nick.
"Nice'f you t'finally fuckin' answer my calls, mein Fuhrer!"
The sound of automatic gunfire and the blast of a shotgun echo up and down both sides of the street. With police and other law-enforcement tied up all across New York, this current firefight will have a much slower than usual response time. One of Keira's slugs finally finds more than asphalt or the side of the SUV when it hits the Ghost Shadow firing the MP5 at Walsh's car. The slug takes him clear off of his feet with an explosion of blood out of his back, the automatic weapon landing with a clatter next to the one with the gut wound.
As she's firing, Keira feels a hot, sharp pain in her leg as one of Dong-Tian's handgun rounds perforates her thigh, blasting red in a small hole on one side and a slightly larger one from the jacketed round out the other. Pain burns fiery hot, bone deep, and Keira's leg buckles as she drops down to one knee beside the trunk.
Crawling on his stomach, the injured Triad member reaches for the MP5, picking it up and spraying wildly at Walsh's car, blasting out the tires, shattering the back wind and sending one round whizzing past Keira's head so close she can hear the buzz of the bullet in her ear.
"Get the fuck out there an' cover me!" Walsh shouts to Nick, opening up the glovebox and grabbing a smaller Baretta from inside, shoving it into Nick's hands. "Before I shoot you m'self!"
"Oh, she's fuckin' charming," Nick mutters as Keira yells at him, shaking his head. It's not like he really expects proper and courteous people to be running guns for Walsh. The gun is shoved in his hand and Nick gives a nod. He doesn't feel bad shooting at Ghost Shadows, at least, so he's only too happy to comply in this case. Better than blowing his cover, while taking out other pieces of shit in the same breath.
Nick moves to huddle behind the car, aiming at one of the Triads and letting loose two quick shots.
Well now, it's interesting again. The sound of sirens continues as Shannon moves quickly towards Nick, crouching down behind him but not touching him. She does, however, whisper. "On the count of three you're going to want to not freak, and run very quickly to your right. Unless yuo want to be shot, anyway." She doesn't give him time to respond though, before, "One…two…three!" And on three, he disappears, just as completely as Shannon did, with the same sort of waver in the air, like head waves, almost.
Looking up at the sirens, Dong-tian looks somewhat annoyed. There's a war in the city and the police still find time to interfere with his business. "What the ass." He mutters. Ducking behind the SUV, Dong-tian glances to the other triads and lets out a quiet sigh. Any second now…
Down the street a black sedan comes peeling this way. Tires screeching and motor roaring, the rear window of the black vehicle slowly goes down. An automatic weapon pointing out of the back seat. Opening up on the Irishman and his entourage, Dong-tian stands up and makes his slow casual way for the car. The front window goes down, a man looking exactly like Dong-Tian stares through.
Xue gives a pretty little wave and a smile as his twin enters the passenger door. Clapping the door behind him, Dong-tian glances at the other triads. "Finish the job, boys."
Most girls would be crying right about now, sobbing over their wounded leg. Most girls would probably be screaming by now, really, with a fresh bullet wound and bullets literally buzzing right next to their ears. Hell, most girls would probably be happy to run screaming from the scene, sobbing. Or hobble, as it were. The crime world isn't exactly a woman's world, despite feminist movements in mainstream society.
But then, Keira certainly is not most girls.
Sure, she lets out a shout of pain as he leg buckles beneath her. It fucking hurts. But she's dealt with gunshot wounds before, and what doesn't kill her will only make her stronger. Besides, she has bigger things to worry about than her leg screaming. She only just barely manages to stay up on her knees, pushing al of her weight into her uninjured knee.
Screaming a volley of curse words and racist slang toward the Triads, the shotgun-wielding girl takes careful aim at the new holder of the MP5 and sends a slug flying toward him the best she can. Oh, she's pissed now, and if she can help it, these assholes will all leave here to go to the morgue. "Fuck you, Ching Chong motherfuckers! I'll kill you all and dance on your fuckin' graves!"
Oh yes, she's really quite charming.
Then, reinforcements are arriving. Keira rolls back behind the vehicle, shouting curse words all the while as she moves so that she's halfway under Walsh's police cruiser. Her goal? To nicely flatten the tires of the black sedan. "FUCKIN' GOOKS!"
Click.
A Mossberg 500 pistol-grip shotgun holds 12 rounds in its chamber before it needs to be reloaded. Shot number 13 aimed for the tires of car belonging to Dong-Tian's twin, however, simply does not exist. With the additional boxes of shells still in the back of the trunk, Keira is unfortunately not given enough time to take out the tires before the black sedan peels out with a puff of smoke from the rear wheels, fishtailing a little before it rockets off down the street.
The spray of gunfire from Dong-Tian peppered Walhs' car, keeping the Irishman pinned down and unable to return fire, the perfect getaway cover needed byt he twins that — despite all odds — seem to survive everything that gets thrown at them. Even in instances where they have surely been killed, Dong-Tian and Xue somehow manage to pull themselves from the jaws of death, earning themselves the nuckname bu sio or immortals.
Checking back to her earlier shots after Dong-Tian manages a lucky get away, Keira sees the man with the MP5 she had shot at now looks like so much ground hamburger, spread out across the street without the necessary appendages with which to fire a gun. With the illusory sirens wailing down the street, no one present knows the better that they have just been tricked by someone with a superhuman ability to control the perceptions of others, a secret that the woman who now calls herself Shannon McPherson has kept relatively well.
Right about up until now.
"Keira!" Walsh shouts now that the fighting has stopped, popping up to look in the downed young woman's direction, before turning back to look for Nick. "York you son of— " and he's gone. Walhs' eyes widen, he backpedals a few steps, turns around and looks over his shoulder to Keira. "Jesus fuck what the hell is going on t'day?"
Keeping his handgun trained on the SUV just in case anyone else decides to get out from inside.
With no ID on him, Nick isn't too keen on getting arrested for his undercover duties, and he also really doesn't fancy getting shot by the Triads defending Walsh — somehow, he doubts he'd be lucky enough to get killed, but more pain in store for him is not only likely but certain, as far as Ruskin's concerned. He gives a quick nod to Keira and does as she asks, running with his shaven head kept low, not realizing he's invisible, his arms flung overhead as if to ward off any gunfire that comes his way. He doesn't care if he dies, but his instincts keep kicking into gear to keep him alive. Like Dong-Tian, he's starting to wonder if he too is immortal — that would be a punishment he deserves.
Once he reaches a place of relative safety, he turns to look for his savior. The disembodied voice reminds him a bit of his sister, though it's not her voice, he knows, and he sees no birds nearby. "You there, girlie?" he whispers.
When Nick obeys without argument, Shannon follows him, keeping them both invisble while letting the sirens sound like they're closer still. "Yeah, I'm here. Keep moving. I don't think you want to just appear just yet, not with your buddies over there all wanting to put a bullet in you. Don't worry, they won't hear you." She can make sure that they don't. "Head for the pier. It's safe there." Sort of.
Keira snarls as her chamber clicks. She knows that this is Walsh's merchandise, but she's also pissed off right now. "God damn Chinks, fuckin' KILL YOU motherfuckers!" The shotgun is flung at the sedan as it skids away, likely missing entirely. "I will cut your eyes out, motherfuckers!"
With a sneer, Keira falls back against the vehicle. Her shirt is promptly ripped apart, and she begins to bandage her wounded thigh, looking rather angry. This shit hurts, and she's going to have to go get stitches. "Sorry, boss." She grumbles this out, as if she's disappointed in herself. The wound is packed as best as she can, and all that's left to cover her is a bra.
Still wrapping her thigh tight to stop blood, Keira frowns up at Walsh. "Sorry I couldn't shoot all of 'em. I really fuckin' tried." She looks and sounds like she's disappointed in herself more than anything else.
Looking over his shoulder for Nick, Walsh's eyes narrow. He shoots a look back to the gunned down SUV, then notices the sound of sirens is beginning to fade. A suspicious look crosses his face as he holsters his gun and crouches down by Keira's side. "What counts is tha' y'tried t'kill each an'e evry one'a them with all'a yer little black-powder heart, so tha' makes me proud, jus' a little." Blue eyes track the tail lights of the sedan disappearing down the street, then settle back on Keira, inspecting the wound she's tied off with her shirt.
"Looks like you're gonna' be on fuckin' crutches for a while." He glances back over his shoulder to his car. "M'gonna find my phone an' clal through emergency channels, get us an ambulance if there's one left in'a city. You hang tight, guns can fuckin' wait for another day. Somethin' tells me we're gonna' 'ave a lotta' new clients when this' fuckin' dust settles.
Walsh offers an askance look back to Keira, then over to the dead members of the Ghost Shadows.
"Fuck me this is'nae gonna' end well."