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stakeout

A corner of his mouth lifted. "By the end of the day, I'm sure my good looks won't be a problem." The mission had been too quiet thus far after all--something had to give.

---

While Jack allowed one foray from their hiding place (a false lead, as the scanner had led them to believe that a Fear creature was incredibly close, but in actuality it had been reacting because the device had been a little too close to Jack's totem), their waiting quickly became quiet again. Nearly lulled into complacency as he stared out, he snapped to when he heard the faint sound of the school bells ringing.

"Show time," he murmured, easing one of his legs out to stretch; he had sat in this position for too long. As the sound of children ages 11-13 began to fill the air, the scanner registered the same strange signature he had labeled as the clone's creeping close. "Discretion," he reminded Chel with a glance. "We observe, we follow it to a less public area, and then we capture it. Remember that these things have advanced healing abilities; don't hesitate to cut off a limb or two if that's what it takes."

Following the blips of the scanner, Jack led them to a shaded area of the wall that surrounded the schoolyard. Several trees with thick leaves near the back of one of the buildings provided the coverage they could use to drop in unseen; after all, what was one twelve foot gate to two hunters, even with particularly pointed tops to discourage birds? The "corridor" of space between their drop point and the building led out to a stretch of grassy field that seemed dismally small compared to the space: a playground sat on one end, while closer to the building (the cafeteria, it seemed) were tables the students were congregating around.

In one group there was a drabby child with a mop of blond hair that was a very familiar hue. The students around him seemed interested in something he was holding out in his hands, though it was impossible to hear what their conversation was from Jack and Chel's distance.

sneak

His face creased as he tried to surreptitiously sneak looks through the binoculars at the group. "Quite the opposite," Jack said. "None of us are born with an innate understanding of societal norms, but I took longer than most to understand adaptation was needed to survive."

After a pause, he translated: "I was still a piece of s**t as a kid, that is. Just of a different sort." After another pause, he muttered, "The exchange has been made. Target is on the move."

The group enclosed around the space left behind and mulled over their prizes; several ingested the strange candy without a care. The clone child pocketed its money and hustled towards the opposite end of the field from the hunters, pulling its hood up as it avoided one of the cameras and hugged a building wall.

"Let's move."

sneak

If Jack knew what her question was, he didn't show it; his gaze and focus remained forward and onward as the day grew grayer above them.

The bob and weave routine continued for a stretch of time, with plenty of near misses when they reached city crowds. In these times it was easier to navigate by scanner, as while the clone could physically lose them, it was still being tracked. Over the course of several hours it ducked through several major thoroughfares and multiple back ends—easy enough to discern as it being aware they were being followed and yet staying non-confrontational. Jack wondered briefly if somehow this one was a peaceable type, but the paranoid part he could now literally put a face to was louder: trap.

Which was why, as they passed through what appeared to be a more abandoned district if not in more need of overhaul, it was curious that the clone suddenly stopped at one point. Both Jack and Chel could hear it too: the sounds of feathers rustling in the rooftops. Chel already had her daggers in hand and he was a split second away from summoning Owain—when the clone suddenly broke into a run.

Two things happened at once immediately afterwards: first, the scanner made a lit up in his pocket; second, a large winged figure with white war paint descended upon it, and a humanoid hovered to the ground before the hunters, volts radiating from his hands. The skull pin hanging from his neck gave him away as a student if the bolt-shaped daggers didn't, and there was a spiral mark on the back of one of his hands.

The boil paused as he looked them in the eyes, focused particularly on Jack with an incredulous look. Chel could feel the temperature around him seem to drop as he leveled the student with an particularly icy glare as his sword appeared. The confrontation made little sense, but the opportunity for revenge was very simple.

The clone squawked as the horseman took flight with it in tow.

fight

What Chel counted on was the Jack that didn't stray from mission parameters. Beat the pavement and catch the signals. Observe that an exchange is actually going on. Tail and capture the clone. No stopping to help the civilians, no ruckus about the horseman or whatever else they might encounter. What was unfortunate was that while his rationale was usually sound, there were still a few things that could cloud it--and the biggest threat to logic was vengeance.

He dug his sword into the reaper's exposed stomach and relished the way the boil's voice cracked, even the way the reaper dug his daggers into them each individually, simultaneously tazing and slicing their shields.

"Get out of the way," he growled at Chel without looking at her. There was still a trace of that initial outburst of heated hatred, but it was starting to cool; Jack's features began to smooth over into a cold mask. "Go after that ******** thing."

hp: 46
damage: 5
charge: 1/3
reaper hp: 32

The moment Chel left his tunnel vision, she might as well have not existed.

Jack had played this moment out multiple times in his head, just as he had made various fantasies about how exactly he wanted to punish Stormy for leaving him for dead; none of the scenarios lined up just enough because the moment was too spontaneous. The reaper was spared from a Jack who had his vengeance planned out and was treated instead to one that met him head on, daggers locking against sword. Electricity rippled up his arms when they met--in turn, he grabbed one of the runi daggers in the boil's shoulders, twisted it hard, and then yanked it out.

As the student howled, he tossed it away vaguely where Chel had run off.

"Jacking hell, why don't you just stay dead?" the reaper snarled. "Wanted some more of this, huh, pretty boil? Because I'm happy to remind you--"

His sword sagged under the grip of one hand as the other threw a punch over the gridlock of their weapons.

hp: 42
damage: 5
charge: 2/3
reaper hp: 27

And from one punch came an unthinking fury. Fists and collapses and cobblestone road and a body fighting beneath him and the smell of burned flesh and flashes of teeth and the instinct to pin down and cut and cut and cut little by little make it hurt make it last and daggers that bit but a sword that could bite and knock those pitiful things away. He was thrilled to see even Halloween creatures could bleed, even though what constituted as blood in this specimen seemed to be more oil than anything else, black and slick as he drove his weapon into the student's shield.

There were only guttural noises now as Jack fought to drive his sword at the reaper's neck. Watch it try to speak then.

The horseman was a bulk of muscle--while it was nothing at all to lift a child, Chel's lunge offset enough to crash back down. Neither it nor the clone were down for longer than a second, however. The clone rolled with a wince but was immediately scrambling to its feet shakily, wide-eyed and ready to get out. Upon landing the horseman immediately pulled the wing she clung to so that she could be in arm's reach. One claw-like hand dug into her arm while the other hefted a short sword to cut it off.

jack hp: 38
damage: 12
charge: 3/3
reaper hp: 15

There was such a frightened look in the student's eyes, it gave him an extra rush atop the adrenaline that now made hum numb to any attempts to paralyze him. At least, that was what he assumed were the blue volts the reaper tried to use on him when he dug his daggers into his sides; Jack barely felt a tickle either way, even though for a moment his arms did seem to convulse. It meant very little in the end. When he wanted something as badly as this, nothing short of being knocked unconscious or imminent death could stop him.

The ground could have been China or the Sahara or the common room. The gurgling sounds could have belonged to horseman or student or human. The voice begging him to reconsider priorities could have been Owain or some other semblance of conscience he'd long forgotten to listen to. But the face was unique, from the shock of white hair to the nasty sneer that belied the reaper's cold horror when he realized he was thoroughly outmatched and unable to escape. Fighting back turned into a struggle to get away; he was, after all, just a kid in terms of Halloween standards, a kid swept up in his own personal agenda against the hunters.

A kid who had repeatedly enjoyed shocking the s**t out of him with a s**t eating grin. Who had driven his dagger into his body and learned from he horseman how to draw out his screams best, what his pain threshold was before he started to black out. Who had helped carve the marks on his arms and legs and torso in preparation to be dissected. Who had sat back and watched and taunted him as the Famine horseman exposed him to the sun in hopes of preserving the hate in his eyes before they were removed.

Months and months later, and remembering it made the wounds fresh again. As the reaper weakened, Jack twisted his wrist, pushed it back from his person, and drove it deep into one of the niche's of the cobblestone street. When the boil attempted to shock him again, he clenched his teeth, grabbed the other wrist, and forcibly dug its dagger clean into the waiting hand, and the reaper screamed and screamed--

--until his mouth was covered.

He barely felt winded, and disappointement that his opponent wasn't stronger made his blood boil. Snarling, Jack grabbed the reaper by the hair and struck him once, twice against the street, his sword lying between them temporarily forgotten. The boil's cries grew weaker, which only served to further irritate him into a third bash against the street. Teeth gnashed at his fingers, but the pain was a dull one. He might have been fighting an unruly minipet for all it was worth, and that was the problem.

The war horseman reacted for split second like the dagger would bite through its Fear, but when its attention was drawn to the lack of runes, Chel's kick wasn't anticipated. Between that and the cries of its partner, it understood that the battle was quickly growing sour--and by the beat of footsteps scurrying away behind them, another quarry was also about to be lost.

Calculating the risks in the span of time it felt, the horseman swiftly caught itself; a hand pushed off the ground as it landed, and with a beat of its wings rose back to its feet. In one smooth motion, it went from aloft to crashing down on Chel of its own volition this time, short sword shimmering with a blur of Fear. Moving swifter than it should have, it unleashed a fear attack of what felt like a hundred small cuts as it gave a war cry.

jack hp: 34
damage: 13
charge: 3/3
reaper hp: 2