A Mercenaries Work (Leon)

[Xenoxice]

It was a bitterly cold night in the city. Back alleys and dimly lit streets in this area made it the perfect home to the denizens of the dark that creep within the shadows of every building. Man and creature alike stumble around this particular area of the city in manners that would scare the average citizen. Some drunk, others thirsty for blood. The only words that could describe this portion of the city is the crime-ridden slum. Murders were not an uncommon sight, nor were crimes of other natures. Sometimes bodies even lay in the streets before scavengers would pick them clean of their belongings before disposing of the bodies never to be seen again. This was the perfect place for Zenithe to meet his contact. A crime lord that had been hiding behind his cronies for ages seemed to try to elude Zenithe at every turn, but he was smarter than that. Every attempt this mob boss made at trying to slither further away from Zenithe's grasp ended up failing to some degree or another. Be it by mistake or by Zenithe simply outsmarting his prey. A local inn nearby was the gathering place for the majority of those that sought safe-haven. Usually there were armed guards in the vicinity at all times here offering some degree of peace of mind to those who wanted to stay off the streets during these hours. It was within these walls that Zenithe would find his contact.

The journey to this inn was slow. Not by circumstance but merely because Zenithe relished taking his sweet time with such evil lurking about. He dared any that would otherwise think of committing crime in his presence to make the attempt. While his completely cloaked exterior, save for his crimson eyes and the tail that stuck from the back of his cloak, hid the hardened warrior that lay beneath, his eyes alone were usually enough to strike fear into most. Blood red with dilated pupils. Tall and narrow like a cat's pupils. They changed and became more narrow or wider based upon his mood. Several shady characters propped against a wall nearby eyed him carefully as he maintained his slow but steady walk to the inn. Two out of the four stood up straight and began to intercept Zenithe at a brisk pace before they found themselves standing directly in front of him. "Well 'ey there stranger. 'Aven't seen you 'fore round these parts." one of them stated with a cocky tone and half a smirk. "'Round here you gotta pay a toll ta get by on this 'ere street. Ya see.... we own it and like ta collect our fee. Ya can pay now..." The cocky thug's smirk grew as he narrowed his eyes. "Or we can take our fee by force ya see?" Zenithe's head had remained facing towards the ground, hidden from all sight up to this point. He remained perfectly still and silent. "'Ey! Didn't ya 'ear me?! I said pay up!" The thug drew a rather large serrated knife from his back pocket, holding it ready to strike.

Gradually, Zenithe raised his head so his eyes could be seen. His pupils narrow, clearly agitated at this brazen confrontation. His eyes glimmered even in the dim street light. The darkness making the blood red appearance even more distinct.  "Get out of my way..."  Zenithe's voice was stern and downright threatening.  His hand shifted under his cloak and came to rest upon the hilt of his abnormally large sword, the sheathe upon his waist clearly visible and nearly touching the ground he walked upon. One would think his blade too heavy to lift let alone swing, but it also contained magical properties only he could control.  "If you wish to make me pay, you better get your friends over here.  You have ten seconds..."  The thug laughed as he growled under his breath and thrust his knife towards Zenithe.  In a single swift motion, Zenithe's tail rose up and caught the mans arm, twisting it with a clear snap and a scream of pain.  The other thugs immediately attempted to jump in and assist their injured comrade.  It was the last mistake they would ever make.  The sound of Zenithe's blade drawing from its sheathe was quick and fluent.  Sharp and sudden.  His blade drew and the razors edge met with the neck of second man who had been in front of him.  Blood pouring out into the street as he lay gasping for air.  The other two had come up behind him and lunged together.  His tail released the first thug and struck the third in the chest with an audible crack, sending him flying back towards the wall he was originally propped against, cracking a few of the bricks on the wall before laying upon the ground writhing around holding his chest in pain struggling to breathe.  The forth met with the end of the sword as Zenithe twirled it around and struck behind him without even looking where he was aiming, all in the same motion after following through the first swing.  A direct hit to the lung left the last man grasping at his wound with a small scream and drowning in his own blood. As quickly as the sword had been drawn, Zenithe returned it to its resting place before casually walking onward as if nothing had happened.  The whole ordeal lasting no more than mere seconds.  "I told you to get out of my way..."  Zenithe remarked to the first man with the now broken arm, slowly strolling away towards his destination.

At last the inn doors lay before him.  A slow creak of the door resounded through a fairly empty bar before the door shut behind him.  A quick glance around the room revealed to him his contact had not arrived yet.  Not surprising however as his contacts usually either ducked out of their meeting out of fear for their own lives or they were late.  A small sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head slowly and took a seat at the bar.  The bartender who was silently wiping a glass as a few armed off-duty guards sat around the room quietly socializing, spoke up as he look towards Zenithe.  "Need a drink there bud?  Looks like you've had a rough night.  Heard there was a multiple murder nearby, surprisingly the victims were a few of the local regular criminals that prowl around every night.  Didn't happen across the scene did ya?"  Zenithe cracked a smirk and shook his head.  "Afraid not.  And by the sounds of it, I'm not the one who had a rough night."  His words were cold but hid a slight amusement to them as he knew the truth of how that little escapade went down.  The bartender let out a small chuckle.  "Suppose so.  Guess you could be those guys eh?  Anything I can get for you then?  Room?  Meal?"  The offers were tempting and seemed to pique Zenithe's interest.  "A room.  The best you have.  Maybe a meal in the morning if I'm still around.  More to the point, you can let me know if you've heard of a man named 'Big John' come in."  With a quirk of his brow, the bartender leaned over the counter a bit.  "You lookin' for Big John?  Should be on his way here soon.  Usually crops up here round the same time every night.  Shady fella that one.  Nice though.  Looks scary but he seems like a big teddy bear to me."  Zenithe smirked ever so slightly.  "Good.  Book my room, give me the total and I'll wait here.  I have nothing better to do anyways..."  Zenithe sat and stared unwavering at the counter as he awaited his contacts arrival and for his bill to be tallied up.

[Leon]

The night wind blossomed in steam as the air trickled up from the chimneys. Moonlight illuminated the rooftops, creating a shining avenue of shingles to a solitary occupant. The head of a cigarette hung in their lips, the orange glow stark from the white of the moon. A breath of smoke escaped the lips of its owner, a man sitting upon a small stoop of cinder-blocks in a construction site. The man stood out, to the most casual of observers. Dressed in a long, smart looking, black trench-coat, a white thermal shirt, black combat fatigues, and combat boots, the man looked starkly out of place in the scene. But, then again, it was late in the evening, and no one would be looking up and towards the top of a construction site.

The man sighed and shifted his weight, shaking his head as he looked about. The area about him would surely have been busy during the normal working hours of the day, various equipment and tools laying about, waiting to pick back up from the previous day's labors. Jackhammers, pry-bars, hammers, and various other pieces of equipment rested on tool benches, and in various corners sat folding chairs and the occasional bench. The area wasn't uncomfortable, per-say, but it certainly wasn't the lavish living that the man had in his home. Another sigh and the man got up from his musings.

He's late... again. The man thought.

Taking another drag from his cigarette, the man moved off towards the edge of the floor he stood upon. A large open platform, something of a meeting space in the finished building, the man surmised, opened to the air six stories up. From his vantage, the man could see plenty. The nearby buildings were a mis-match of factories, apartment buildings, and the occasional street front store. Some of the windows were illuminated, telling of life within, but many were dark. It was late, the man told himself with a small nod of his head, and many people were probably asleep. A perfect time for late night meets in random places.

Moving away from the edge, the man turned and settled down in one of the various folding chairs to wait for the other who was supposed to join him. Resigning himself to waiting, the man took a drag and prepared himself for such.

~

A half hour later, having moved several more times to escape the wind, the man was once again at the edge of the floor. The man knew that the meet was off, having stated as such to the one whom he had agreed to meet., but it still tinged of disappointment. An opportunity for some work had fallen through, and a boring night at home awaited him. Sighing and turning away from the edge, the man began to make his way down the six flights of stairs. It was quick work finding and retracing his steps to the stair case, again simple to follow the flight down its course.

Muttering to himself that the night had been wasted, the man was about to enter the second to last flight when a scream echoed up from one of the neighboring alleyways. The sound didn't preturb the man in the slightest. Instead, a grin appeared on his lips as he turned and moved to the unfinished wall. Only twenty feet up from the ground below, the man wasted no time in leaping out of the window. A fall like that would seriously injure a regular man, at least one who was unprepared for such a jump, but doing things like this was nothing to this man. A hardened fighter, things of this nature came naturally to him. Landing with hardly a sound, the man turned and made his way off at a jog towards the sound.

Arriving at the scene less than a minute later, the man happened upon the carnage of a rather gruesome fight. Three men lay in various states, one missing his head, one slummed against a wall, and the other with somewhat dried blood coming from his midsection. Another man lay further from the others, his arm crooked and out of place. Blood dotted the ground in the area, the smell of it being moved in the slight breeze. The scene reminded the man of several incidents in his time, with others in similar positions of his own doing.

Inspecting the various dead men, the man deduced that their killer was proficient with a blade, that, and the assailant had to be incredibly strong to make such clean cuts. That, or the blade was something other than regular steel. Wondering what kind of blade made such cuts, the man stood and began to make his way. There was a pub in the area that the man knew of, and it was a perfect place to sit and contemplate who or what could have killed these men. Smoke twirled about him as he smiled slightly wider.

~

It took less than five minutes to arrive at the bar. Nothing too fancy, the simple neon sign of "Bar" hanging in the smoky window. Just inside, the man could see someone standing by the door, obviously the bouncer hanging out inside due to the cold. The man moved across the small street and pushed the door open, nodding to the bouncer as he entered. The bouncer simply nodded back and returned his attention to the street outside. The man was a somewhat regular here, so the patrons knew him by face.

The man arrived at the bar and sat in his usual spot, two down from the taps on the right, and a friendly face greeted the man as he did.

"Well well, Leon. Been a while. I assume the usual?" said the bartender, pulling out a tall glass.

"You know me too well, Charlie." The man, now identified as Leon, said in response.

The bartender smiled and nodded, moving to pour a tall glass of dark beer for Leon.

"Unusual night tonight. Some new faces about the place and I heard something about a murder in the area. Wouldn't know anything about that, now, would you?" Charlie asked Leon, placing the drink before him and leaning on the bar.

"Me? Oh come now! Such things are best left for the police to figure out." Leon said, feigning surprise.

Try though they might, both men shared a half smile and a laugh.

Tonight should be interesting... Leon thought to himself as he sipped his drink.

oOc: Hey there Xeno! Sorry this is so late in coming. I've just had the hardest time trying to figure out what I should write! But, I hope what I have here for you is more than enough to continue on with. Should you need me to elaborate, expound, or re-write things, by all means, send me a PM and I''ll do what I can!

[Xenoxice]

OoC:  It's no problem at all!  Good RP's are worth waiting for and I think it's great!  If you need me to edit or change mine at any point as well let me know!
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The bar seemed to be at a stand still.  Moments passed with relative quickness and nothing changed.  The few patrons that were present seemed to be conducting mere idle chit chat.  Every moment that passed was as dull as the next but it wasn't too long before the door had creaked open again.  Shifting his eyes towards the door without turning his head Zenithe glanced to see if this was his contact.  The build and stature of this figure suggested otherwise.  The trench-coat, shirt, pants and boots all gave way to paint a rather clear image.  Ahh.  A fighter.  Not your typical one either.  Zenithe mused quietly in his mind.  Slightly amused at the arrival of someone such as this at the given hour piqued his interest a bit.  So he decided to listen quietly to the conversation that had transpired between him and the bartender.  When they had concluded their comments, Zenithe decided to pull down the mask that was part of his heavy silk cape that had been wrapped around his nose and mouth then proceeded to lower his hood as to reveal his face.  Flawless silver hair that was straight as an arrow yet flowed like the very air was tucked down underneath his clothes so it would be hard to tell how long it actually was.  His bangs were thick on both sides, still somewhat concealing his face, but his eyes... his eyes such a stark contrast to that of his hair they could still be easily seen peaking through the gaps.  That blood-red crimson eyes against the silver hair made for a rather eerie visage one might liken to a vampire, but he was far from.  No, he was something far more dangerous, at least when he wanted to be.

Zenithe spoke suddenly.  It wasn't a cold or shrewd comment, but it was spoken almost dully.  Zenithe's gaze fell on that of the man that was revealed as Leon sitting merely two chairs away.  "Terrible what happened to those men wouldn't you say?  But what do I know?  Street thugs get what they deserve don't you think?" He awaited to see how the man would respond before further commenting.  "It would appear the two of you know each other fairly well."  His eyes passed between Leon and the bartender named Charlie.  "That must mean you frequent this area pretty often.  Perhaps you may know the one I'm looking for then.  Name's Big John, or so I'm told."  His question was straight forward and to the point.  More over, Zenithe was very subtly sizing this newcomer up.  It was apparent that he was no ordinary man.  That much was very clear.  However he wanted to know a little more.  "Judging from looks alone, I'd say you work in a similar field of work as myself.  Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you may have done some mercenary work in the past or are currently in search of such a contract am I mistaken?"  Even with the idle chat trying to gauge this mans capabilities, Zenithe couldn't help but think of his wife Jolene whom was off in a different city doing work of her own.  How could he not think of her however?  It was their destined meeting that unlocked powers he didn't even know he had.  As his thoughts strayed for but a moment, his charcoal black smoothly scaled tail began to sway ever so slightly behind him.  Every now and again clanging against the abnormally long sheathe that rivaled the length of this tail which housed his sword. A truly remarkable blade indeed should anyone ever get the opportunity to inspect it.  Created from the rarest metals which to the point of Zenithe's finding them, their existence had remained a myth.  The outer half of the blades edge a translucent black, much like a lightly clouded smokey quartz crystal.  The center of the blade housing a similar appearance but it was a translucent light acid green in color.  Should the blade ever come in contact with water the colors would grow vastly more opaque and intensify turning more into a bright, glimmering acid green color and a pitch black.  A wondrous sight to behold but it wasn't the only strange property of the blade.  The metals were dense and hard enough to cut cleanly through most other solid objects with the help of the blades weight.  Eighty pounds.  That is what it would feel to any who try to wield it.  The ores had been magically enchanted however during the blades creation to feel as though it weighs but a mere fraction of that weight to it's creator.  Zenithe himself.

After awaiting for an answer from this man named Leon, in regards to his question about mercenary work, Zenithe decided he would reveal but a small portion of his own powers to this man.  Using his reaction to try and further judge his discipline and attitude.  Turning his head a little more towards Leon, Zenithe's pupils narrowed greatly.  "You came across those men, I know.  What I want to know however is how good you really are at what you do.  And don't try to lie to me."  Zenithe's words would translate directly from one mind to another.  Telepathy.  His voice this time much more calculating and precise.  It was clear that whatever Zenithe was, he wasn't willing to reveal everything to this man just yet.  That was a right that had to be earned.  After his words, Zenithe dismounted his stool at the bar and grabbed the key that was in front of him.  A set of stairs over to the side of the bar led up to the rooms for rent and it is there that Zenithe had slowly retreated to.  His posture as he walked to and up the stairs was one of strength.  But not brute strength.  It was well controlled.  Refined with a high degree of finesse.  Even as he walked away his words rang back towards Leon's mind once more.  "If you're interested in finding out more about the little escapade I'm on, perhaps you might find it pertinent to follow."

[Leon]

The beer was slightly watery, but the taste of the dark liquid was strong enough. Charlie had wandered down to the other end of the bar, doing a few of the stack of dishes that crowded the counter space near the sink. Overhead, the semi-static voice of a weather person read off the weeks weather, and in the background, several of the patrons of the bar whom were deep into their cups, prattled on to each other, paying little to no attention to what the others had just said. A typical night in the bar, as far as Leon could think. The only other company that Leon saw from his entrance as the solitary figure seated at the bar. Seated several chairs down from himself, wrapped in a black cloak and hood. The only other observable thing was the tail that hung from the person, hanging over the edge of the chair as they sat. Noticing that they had nothing before them, Leon surmised they must be waiting for something. Possibly food? Something else? Leon secretly hoped that it wasn't food. The beer was watery, but acceptable, but the validity of the food was something that Leon never was able to guess at.

Maybe if you're drunk enough, you can stomach what's here. Sorry Charlie, but I'd eat MREs before the stuff here. Leon thought, smirking into his glass.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted, as his compatriot at the bar spoke up. The figure lamented the men whom Leon had come across earlier, but it sounded rather sarcastic to his ears. The topic shifted then, rather quickly, to the subject of Leon's and Charlie's acquaintance. A brief memory flashed before Leon's eyes at the mention of their history. It had been perhaps six years that the two of them had met. Leon remembered that he had been downtown for a business meeting between his company and another. The meeting had dragged on for an hour and a half longer than he had wanted it to, and all he wanted at the point was a stiff drink. The meeting concluded with a business proposition being passed to the other, papers signed, and hands shaken. At that point, Leon's considerable patience had been pushed to a point, and the first thing he wanted to do was find a bar.

It just so happened that when he searched the local area for listings, this very bar came up at the top. Cheep beer, and plenty of liquor was the subtext on the web. And so it was decided. Hopping into his car, Leon drove from the meeting place and spent the next three hours drinking at the very counter he sat at currently. Charlie was the new owner of the bar at the time, and to have someone whom wasn't afraid to spend money trying to de-stress from a long business day, prompted he and Leon into becoming fast friends. Both of them made out like bandits over the course of their friendship, Leon having a very high tolerance to alcohol, and Charlie for supplying Leon with the booze. The memory made him chuckle, but the moment passed as another point was brought up. The patron, his voice identifying at least his gender, posed that they were looking for someone, and thought that Leon knew whom they were. A man named "Big John" or so the man was told.

The name meant nothing to Leon, so he simply shook his head at the question, taking another sip of his drink. As he placed the glass on the counter before him, however, Leon got the feeling that this other was sizing him up. No obvious tells, but the inflection of their questioning and mannerisms told Leon that he was intentionally being singled out. An inward sigh and a quick check on the screens in his sunglasses told Leon that he was equipped at the minimum for a fight. Should he need anything else, it was a simple matter of calling out to his sword. The trick always made him smile. A simple snap of his fingers, and one of his two swords would warp to him in an instant, gearing him for a hand to hand fight faster than some of his foes could react.

The next question confirmed his suspicions. The man made a point judging from Leon's looks, that he had to have done mercenary work in the past, or that he was waiting for someone. The man also happened to inform Leon that they shared a similar occupation.

Here's to hoping that a fight isn't about to break out... Leon thought, taking a drink.

The man's question hung in the air for a moment, his gaze now more intently on Leon. From his peripheral, Leon could see the man's eyes now. Slit-eyed and blood-red, his gaze was that of a predators. Lesser men must have cowed at the look the man was giving him, and they should. Leon could tell from the simple look that he was dealing with someone who knew how win fights with looks alone. Thankfully, however, Leon was a hardened soldier, and he had faced down the veritable stuff of nightmares on more than one occasion. So, someone with cat-like eyes the color of blood was definitely something of note, but the fear they would instill in regular men found no ground with him. Besides, Leon's left eye was of similar appearance, but held a whole different notion of making someone shake with fear at a glance.

Suddenly, words began to ring in his head. A phantom's voice told Leon he knew that he had investigated the bodies in the alleyway. It called into question his capabilities as a fighter, and made a threat should he try to lie about them. Leon was well aware of his good he was. Having survived in hell for six years during his stint in the military, Leon had marched right through ten more as an assassin, all the while continuing his career in computer sciences and engineering. Coming to a point with the development of his own AI HARVI, and the formation of Domestic, Regional, and External Artificial Defenses Incorporated, or simply, D.R.E.A.D. Inc. A rather odd name, but it got the point across. Leon made it a habit for create new and innovative designs of combating various methods of conflict or harm, so keeping in shape as a fighter paralleled keeping his mind active and working.

If it had been any more obvious as to who it was speaking to him telepathically, Leon would have laughed aloud. His companion, whose attention was now seemingly fully on Leon, made a point of taking the keys that Charlie had placed before him and walked off towards the stairs. The gait that the man carried told Leon this one was a fighter, one who could carry himself confidently through a skirmish, and arrive on the other side in relatively one piece. As the other began to vanish upstairs, one again the phantom voice called out to him, inviting Leon to learn more about the intent the voice's owner possessed in being here.

Why do I attract the attention of so many bloody telepaths? Leon asked himself. First it was his foster sister, then one of his friends, and more recently an associate of his with some of his other business. Is it really that common these days? or am I just that much of a target for them?

Whatever the case, Leon sighed and finished the rest of his beer. The last bit ran sour in his mouth, and he cast a glance at Charlie, who shrugged and smiled.

"You've really gotta replace those taps, Charlie. I think I drank more water in that glass then you've got in your sink there!" Leon said, pulling out his wallet and handing his friend a few bills. "By the by, that fellow just now, what room did he take?" Leon added, as Charlie moved to the register.

"Room 9. Back of the hall on the left. And you can forget about the taps Leon! They're plenty good enough for the rest of the folk who come in here!" Charlie said, placing his fists on his hips and smiled. "No blood shed in the room, now eh? And, do be careful Leon. I don't question the motives of folk who come here, but I don't want to see a friend get hurt, eh?"

Leon nodded his head and smiled, standing and stretching. Tonight had started out rough and looked to be a pointless venture, but now it was beginning to get interesting. Making his way to the stairs, Leon could only wonder at where the events of the night were bound to take him.

[Xenoxice]

OOC:  Sorry it's a bit shorter, but at a semi-stand still until it progresses forward another post or two.
--------------

As Zenithe headed down the hall to the room he was given he noted the decor around him.  It was plain.  Nothing fancy but nothing terrible either.  Just your average hotel styled hallway.  Upon reaching the room he had been given, he unlocked the door and stepped in.  It certainly wasn't the best he had stayed at by any means, but it was a little better than your typical room.  A tad more space, a softer bed, a larger bathroom... not exactly a five star hotel room but in this part of the city one couldn't expect much better.  The room itself was pretty bare and hardwood flooring.  The lighting was somewhat shoddy and sporadic but that made no difference.  Zenithe walked around the room and put out what few lights there were so it was plenty dark and covered in shadow, save for the small bits of light creeping through the drapes of the window from street lights as they lightly swayed.

Taking a deep breath Zenithe already knew.  This wouldn't be as easy as he hoped.  But time was something he had more than enough of and things weren't quite as boring at least.  He had after all stumbled into a what may become a rather interesting character.  Perhaps one that may be of use in his endeavors.  Wishful thinking perhaps but then again, anyone who wouldn't back away from such a request couldn't possibly be anything less than either strong... or ignorant.  Only time would reveal which one.  With the drapes still lightly swaying causing the street lights to ever so softly dance about the room, Zenithe drew his blade.  A wondrous work of art.  A masterpiece even and one that begged to be admired.  But that was another matter.  Slowly he began to manipulate blade.  Holding it out to his side as though he were about to plunge it into the floor,  Zenithe with an unblinking stare out the window began to manipulate the blade with his magic, creating a small shadow rift in which the blade would pass through effortlessly and silently disappearing within the smoke trails that emanated from within them.  Dropping the Blade into the first rift gravity took over and pulled it in quickly.  The moment one rift would close another would open sending the blade flying quickly out from within, before another rift opened and swallowed the blade in quick succession.  After only a few moments, the sword would be seen as a mere blur from its momentum as it shot from one rift to another, leaving a trail of black smoke that would rapidly dissipate behind its trajectory.  That should be fast enough.  A trivial test if I'm correct.  I just worry the concrete won't hold in the hallway...  A small grimace formed across Zenithe's face for but a moment at this thought but it vanished as quickly as it had formed.  The sword hissed in the air traveling in random directions as the rifts formed in the shadows both consuming and expelling the sword.  Zenithe slowly twirled his fingers this way and that as he maintained his magical trap, awaiting for the one he had invited to open the door.  Upon the door opening, one final rift would form from the shadows upon the back of Zenithe's cloak sending the blade directly towards the doorway attempting to strike anything caught in its path center mass.  Should the blade strike, it would impale whatever was caught in its path up to the hilt. If it were dodged however, the blade would find its way unbending and embedding itself just a little over a foot directly into the concrete wall opposite the door in the hallway.

[Leon]

This entire night rang oddly to Leon as he ascended the stairs. Simple wooden stairs that creaked ever so slightly, bespeaking the somewhat run down nature of the establishment. Leon didn't want to offend Charlie, speaking out against the decor of his bar, but the "rustic and classic" atmosphere of the bar didn't really jive with the kind of clientele that occupied the lower floors. That said even less about those whom would actually go out of their way to rent the small rooms above the bar. From what Leon could remember, they were sparely decorated, a simple bed, nightstand, and, if one were lucky, an old clunker of a television would sit on a dingy press-board table. Maybe good for people who come together in secret, useful for a night or two, or maybe for people of less reputable natures to seek protection from searching or prying eyes.

Whatever the case, Leon knew that he had a different preference. A vastly more lavish preference. It made him think of his own home. From the exterior, one would call the place he lived a mansion. Sprawling grounds of well tended grass, hedgerows, topiary, garden walks and fountains. Trees of all kinds stood about the place, with the backdrop of the home a large mountain range, and flaked on the east by large meadows and fields of green, eventually succumbing to the lush green of a large forest. The west, flowing out in green for several hundred feet, before meeting a steep cliff-face that fell down to a valley. In the valley, nature was unbridled, a picturesque waterfall flowing down to the base, and flowing quickly downstream into the ocean. The land about Leon's home was breathtaking, the unrivaled beauty of the land adding to the wondrous nature of his own home. The exterior walls, aside from the entryway into the house, were occupied by floor to ceiling windows. From the outside, they were a highly reflective black, mirroring the world in vivid clarity. Short hedgerows sat at their feet, while the supporting columns were marble white. Made from sealed and protected steel, the white and black motif was both stark and catching to the eye. The walls go up nearly three stories, before ending with a roof-top sitting area the size of an Olympic pool, the flooring of the area salt and pepper stone work. Seating was abundant, and a rooftop bar sat under cover of an elegant archway, easily seating fifty people comfortably.

Leon shook his head, his smile having deepened on his lips. Thoughts of how he had designed and overseen the construction of his home, and then the subsequent building of the massive complex below it, bringing a slight pride to his breast. The place was elegant, awe-inspiring, and at the very same time, terrifying. There was no one on the planet who knew the depths of Leon's fortress home like he did. Not even the frequent guests of his, whom some were privy to some of the deeper workings of his. What lay below the floors and reinforced shielding was one of his best kept secrets, something that even he knew was unsettling. But, it was his secret, his problem, and one could argue,some of his many "aces" up his sleeve.

His thinking was interrupted, however, as a warning notice began to flash before his eyes.

"Leon. I'm picking up strange spatial anomalies coming from down the hall. There's a rapid fluctuation of air patterns coming from the room you're supposed to meet this other in, but I can't identify what is causing the disturbance. What is more disconcerting, is that the movements appear to be random. My analysis suggests something moving at incredible speeds, but what that 'something' is, I haven't the foggiest." Said a voice in Leon's ear.

"Thanks for the heads up, HARVI. Suggestions?" Leon asked quietly.

HARVI, or House-hold Automated Real-time Virtual Interface, was Leon's most prized creation, and his closest friend. A hyper advanced Artificial Intelligence, HARVI had the distinct property of being fully self aware. He was completely conscious in the understanding of what he was, and of what he could do. Being able to crack into anything digital had its perks and all, HARVI knew full well the scope of what his actions could do. So, simply backdooring into many satellites, HARVI was able to monitor whatever he wanted, and knew that it was useful for keeping an eye on people whom he cared about. Knowing that Leon was in a generalized notion his "Father" HARVI took great lengths to provide support for Leon whenever he needed it, and this instance was no different.

"I suggest, as I'm certain you already know, to botch this and head home. But, knowing you... I suggest you ready yourself for anything. All I can say, is that whatever is beyond that door, its moving really, REALLY, fast." HARVI said, uncertain how to better prepare his friend.

Sighing slightly to himself, Leon was, for a moment, visited by flash-backs of his military days. Kicking doors and having bullets fly past seemed to be similar to what he was about to experience. Arriving at the door numbered 9, Leon pressed his back against the wall and gripped the handle. Turning it slowly until he heard the click of the mechanism release, Leon quickly pushed and retreated against the wall beside the door...

The moment the door swung open, a black blur appeared for a split second, directly in the center of the door, before spearing down the hall and crashing headlong into the wall above the stairs. The object, now identifiable as a sword, vibrated up and down, embedded into the wall above the stairs. The blade was overly large, its make almost otherworldly, and to Leon's eye, it was crafted finely. His attention, then, slid from the blade, now slowing its vibrations, to the doorway and the figure within. A flash of an idea glance before him, telling Leon to pull out one of the guns resting at the small of his back and to gun down the creature before him. But, at the same time, Leon knew that he would rather like an explanation as to why there was a kind of trap set up on the door he had been "Invited" to.

"I assume its your 'custom' to try and impale visitors? Or am I just lucky?" Leon asked, leaning against the door frame and looking in.

The figure within had its back turned to Leon. The room itself was shadowed, the blinds and curtains having been drawn to shield the room from the light of the street lamps. Questions ran in Leon's mind. Was this... person afraid of someone seeing him? Were they being hunted and thought Leon was their pursuer? What kind of magic could this one employ to be able to launch that sword at him so quickly? Too many questions, and too many things that could spiral out of his control. Leon didn't like it. There were too many variables that he didn't have a hand on, and the longer he stayed around here, the less chance he would have of gaining some control over the situation.

"I'm going to speak plainly here. What exactly did you invite me here for, and what exactly was intended by that little display? I'm all for finding out possible ways of making an evening more interesting and enjoyable, but frankly, when someone invites me to something and tries to kill me? I tend to drop it like a bad habit and leave." Leon stated, his right hand braced against the door frame, and his left at his side. At a moments notice, Leon was ready to call his own blade to him and defend himself, but he had a nagging feeling that this stranger had something interesting to say.

Leon couldn't help but think of the old attage, "What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger." Something about all of this told Leon that if he stuck around, he'd have to put that to question.

oOc: Hello hello Xeno! Firstly, I want to apologize for the lateness of this reply. Things have been hectic around the house, and I just haven't had time to sit down and think on how to respond. Secondly, I really didn't know how I was going to respond to the last post. I wracked my brain for all kinds of things, came up with ideas and then threw them out because they seemed just too outlandish. Even this one I've written I'm not all together happy with, but its the most sound and well thought out one I could think of! Let me know if this works, but to be honest, I'm uncertain of where things are going from here. Not that that is a bad thing, mind you, as I am rather interested in seeing how these two continue on! Cheers!

[Xenoxice]

OoC:  Wheeewww sorry for how long it has been since I last replied but life has really gotten in the way since the holidays!  But I'm back now Wooooo!

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The trap had been set and Zenithe merely awaited the arrival of the man he had invited.  This was a moment Zenithe found to be quite amusing.  Bloodshed didn't make him even blink an eye.  However, should the man survive or even better, completely avoid harm all together, Zenithe would disclose a bit of information to him regarding his purpose in the city.  It wasn't long before his keen ears could hear footsteps coming down the hallway.  A small grin had formed under his cloaked figure and he readied himself.  A small click was heard as the doorknob was turned and unlatched, and the final rift forming and sending his blade slicing through the air at incredible speeds straight towards the door at the very moment it was flung open.  The man had managed to avoid the trap completely which pleased Zenithe greatly.

After his sword had missed and embedded itself firmly into the concrete, Zenithe remained unmoving to see how the man's reaction would be.  His comment made about his custom of impaling visitors made him chuckle quietly.  And as he listened to the man's questions, he remained seated as he was.  Once he had finished however, Zenithe stood up and began walking out of the room to retrieve his sword.  He ignored the man momentarily until he arrived where it was embedded in the wall.  Simply reaching up with a single hand he grasped the hilt and pulled it out of the wall as if it had been stuck in a piece of styrofoam, clearly showing he had far beyond normal strength of humans as it would have taken any normal man a great deal of exertion to remove it from the concrete.  He held it up and blew the crushed bits of concrete and dust from it revealing there wasn't so much as a single chip or scratch on the blade before he placed it back into it's sheath at his side and walking back into the room past the man and sitting upon the bed, this time facing towards the door where he was leaning.  "To answer your first question, it's only a custom for me to do such a thing to those I don't like.  In your case, it was for fun mostly."  A hidden grin formed upon his mouth.  "To elaborate further and answer your second question, I invited you here because I could gather your line of work by looking at you.  Thus I was hoping you could appreciate a little hunt as much as anyone.  However, not everyone who chooses such a career is... proficient at it.  Which is what brings me to answer the second part of your question.  The purpose of that little display was to make sure you at least had enough sense about you to avoid obvious danger.  Too many military men and mercenaries get cocky of their own abilities and lose sight of the fundamentals that keep them alive.  So congratulations on keeping your wits about you unlike most.  I applaud you."  With the finishing of his sentence, Zenithe slowly raised his hands and gave a slow, albeit sarcastic and slightly unimpressed clapping.

Standing from the bed Zenithe took a few steps closer and rested his palm upon the very tip of his blades handle, as his tail swung slowly from one side to another back and forth.  "My name is Zenithe Kodalis.  Class S mercenary and shapeshifter.  My purpose in this city is currently to find a group of big wigs going by the name of the 'Proud Ones'.  A slippery bunch of little snakes who make their living off the suffering and misery of others.  Both guilty and innocent alike.  There are a few... substantially powerful people who want to see their heads on a platter.  Literally."  Zenithe's eyes narrowed as he made his statement and even with the lower half of his face covered it was clear to anyone he had a rather annoyed expression if not downright aggravated.  "Tracking them has been an issue since the cowards refuse to do any of their own dirty work and hide behind several groups of middlemen to cover their own deeds.  The ones who hired me wish for me to get a little, shall we say, closer to them.  In a manner of speaking, they requested I play the role of a double-agent.  Big John is one of the middleman groups liaisons.  He is the reason I showed up at this bar.  If I'm to get closer to the ones on the top, I need to play the role of starting from the bottom.  An underground conspiracy exists that may possibly suggest the proud ones aren't actually the top of the chain, but a single leader above them.  That's my true target."  Pausing for a moment Zenithe's expression relaxed a bit, but only ever so slightly.  "Even with my own abilities, although I'm more than confident of being able to accomplish my end goal, I do have a deadline.  And their annoying little setup is going to make it so I cannot get it completed in time.  So I am forced to ask for assistance.  That's where you come in.  I -was- going to go to the underground dealers and see who was best suited, but you happened into this very bar and I can tell your skills are far above what I would have been able to find in that cesspit.  I would have been very lucky to find even a class C mercenary there, odds are I would have been stuck with a fresh-meat or class D.  So my question to you is, are you interested in having a little fun playing double-agent and taking out some of the cities biggest crime-lords?  It won't all be sunshine and daisies taking out weak grunts, I assure you.  It will become far more interesting as things go along."  Zenithe's smirk once again returned as it was clear he enjoyed his line of work and the things he got to do.  Anxiously awaiting a response, he straightened his back and quirked his head to one side in curiosity.  "I can also promise you the compensation will be anything you ask.  I'm very good at making things happen."

[Leon]

Leon never took his eyes off of the man in the room before him. Following him with his eyes as got up from his chair and began walking past Leon, all the way down the hall and to where the sword remained stuck in the wall. With no apparent effort, the man pulled the blade from the wall, leaving a hole in the wall. Chips and dust fell from the blade and hole, to which the man simply blew the debris from his blade, returned it to its sheath, and then returned to the room as if this was all perfectly normal. After returning to the room, the man simply took a seat upon the bed and returned his attention to Leon. From there, the man began to dress down Leon's questions in a summarily dismissive, and sarcastic manner. Going from simply testing Leon to see if he was "proficient" in his line of work, to dismissing foolhardy young guns and want-to-be mercenaries.

    The sarcasm mostly dropped from his voice after his little applause for Leon's lack of a sword through the chest. Introducing himself as Zenithe Kodalis, an S class mercenary and shapeshifter. Leon inwardly sighed at both of these facts. 

Another bloody shapeshifter, and a telepath to boot... great. Just when I thought I was going to get a break from shapeshifters...

The idea of ranking mercenaries almost made Leon snort, in addition to his lamenting of shapeshifters. To rank a mercenary meant to him that there was paperwork associated with the merc. Paperwork meant that people could find you, get in contact with you, set you up. That was exactly the reason why Leon dealt with verbal contracts only, at least when it came to assassination or mercenary work. So far, no one that has tried to screw Leon over had survived, and word of mouth was more than enough to ensure that Mr. Ghost was as good as his name implied. Clean, quick, and methodical, Leon didn't like to leave paperwork or trials behind him, unless it was to leave a message or make a point. And even then, no one had been able to pin it on him, HARVI took care of that little bit.

After introducing himself, Zenithe got down to the business of describing what he was doing in the area, who he was looking for, and lamenting that the job was appearing harder than he had thought previously. A group called the "Proud Ones", an name to which Leon almost laughed aloud at, was Zenithe's targets, but they worked through middlemen and disposable hands. Nothing about this struck Leon as out of the ordinary, as many cabals used a similar method for dealign with large portions of their organizations. Dropping the name of the man that he had been looking for down in the bar, Zenithe mentioned that he had a deadline in which to deal with the group. His consternation with the lack of progress was clearly evident, and his lack of enthusiasm of seeking assistance from others was no surprise. Again, however, Leon had to stifle a laugh as Zenithe brought up the ranking system for mercenaries, going all the way to describing the lowly hitmen as "fresh meat". An inward shake of the head at the idea that this was almost a legitimate business model brought Leon's attention to Zenithe's final question for him.

"Well Zenithe, first of all, formality cries that I introduce myself as well. The names Leon. In the world of mercenary work and assassinations, I'm called Mr. Ghost, a name that people seem to know far wider than I thought. In regards to my interest in taking down big-time targets, I'm both interested and not. I see several large problems with this situation that you've found yourself in. Firstly, this entire thing shouldn't be on a timeframe. The problem with bugs is that when you squish one, the rest tend to scatter. When you go for the nest, you need to make sure you get every single one of them in one fell swoop. If from what I can gather about this group is true, they work remotely. They probably have was of communicating that are not conventional methods, meaning they have people running messages back and forth. Additionally, they probably all are ingrained in various legitimate businesses as well. Maybe not exec level, but certainly higher managers and bosses. Lastly, having two people working on the ground work is ineffective. Besides, since I'm not hooked up with those who rank mercs, having me show up somewhere without documentation or at least word of mouth on my previous work history would be a dead ringer for people paying attention." Leon said, his arms still crossed. 

"No this problem of yours requires two different approaches. One guy working the field, getting on the spot information, and one guy working the high end. The guy on the high end should be the one pulling information from what the guy on the ground can find, as well as pulling from what he can from the secure channels." Leon mused at this, placing a thoughtful finger on his chin. "If I take a part in this, I'm going to elect myself the high end guy. Getting information is kind of a specialty of mine, and I've got more resources than I can count to crack open data vaults. As for compensation, we can discuss that when we've got some solid information. The only real problem is that I'm going to need to talk to your boss, or bosses about this deadline. We'll have to scrub that if we want to get even a part of this group... But really... the Proud Ones? What are they, a garage band? I'll never understand why organizations give themselves these names."


Leon shook his head and looked back at Zenithe, cocking his head slightly.


"Think you can get me the contact info for your bosses, and think you can stomach some grunt work? I'm going to need info if you want me in on this." A smirk formed on Leon's lips as he said this, leaving the potential hanging in the air.


oOc: Holy Cow Batman! It only took me... Almost a year to respond to this. In all honesty, I've been writing this and re-writing this over and over for the better part of three months. In addition to the insanity that 2020 has been, I've just had no time for muse to hit me, or even time to think about writing! Sorry to have kept you waiting for this Xeno, and I hope that you and yours are doing well! Also, Happy Turkey day! I know its a little early, but still!