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Mark 2
The Shadow Elemental Helldiver stepped out of the electrical door that led to the Freehold Hollow.
AFter years of combat, spying and everything else, something tickled at her neck.
Mark 2
There was a shimmer by the nearby black SUV. It wasn't moving as Vorpal was about fifteen feet away. Once it was determined it was seen, it took a few steps forwards and became visible. It looked like something from I, Robot, but clod hopped itself towards Vorpal.
A computerized voice, "Excuse me, Miss. I am a Philadelphia Police Department Mark Two Autonomous Policing Unit. Are you the individual known as Jackie Drexel? Known associate of Ylva Theodulus?"
Jackie Drexel
V turns to peer at the machine, head tilting faintly. "Come now, you're on loan," She croons. "You're the fine work of Hermes Defense Industries, have some pride in your roots. As it happens, I am Jackie Drexel. How can I be of assistance?"
Mark 2
Vorpal's eyes detect the following, with that goblin eye rolling in her stomach:
Every piece of the shell that is visible is obviously magical. As are something in the neck, the eyes, the cables that run through the limbs, and the skull.
The machine replied, camera lens eyes opening and then focusing down on Vorpal's face, "Ylva Theodolus is wanted for questioning in relation to the disappearance of one Mitchell Zimmerman. You have been shown to be in her presence multiple times. We are questioning all those who know Mrs. Theodolus and her wife. Your name has come up, and therefore I have been dispatched to find you and interview you."
Jackie Drexel
"Ah! You did mention her earlier, that does track. Very well, then- what questions do you have for me?" Jackie asks plainly, clearly fascinated by the advanced "technology," but keeping her hands to herself for the moment.
Mark 2
Vorpal's continue study of the robot reveals that there are two pieces of magic closely related to the Crown Regalia. The neck's magic is most closely related to Vorpal's own court, Autumn.
"Have you seen Mrs. Theodolus since the day of," the day of the broadcast and the Wanted information was provided," or know anyone who has been with her?"
Jackie Drexel
That was rather fascinating. Control magics made sense to program the robot, but to invest the neck with... fear related magics, perhaps? Or for the analysis of magical effects? Hm.
"Ah! I did, actually, the day of. There was a Solstice celebration that same evening, I think, and I saw her there, but I found out one of my partners was pregnant that night- I'm afraid directing individuals to the police was the farthest thing from my mind after that." She tips her head the other way. "Judging by how she was acting, I don't think she'd seen the broadcast at that point."
Mark 2
From... where were they a moment ago? Another of the Mark 2 policicing units appeared from the other end of the Garage, approaching from the back, but not trying to hide itself.
The initial Mark2's eyes hyper focused and then resumed 'normal' levels of dilation. A slight clicking noise was heard, almost like an old dial-up starting. Then the unit spoke, "Please tell me where the solstice celebration was, anyone that may have interacted with her, and the name of your partner so that we may verify the information provided."
Jackie Drexel
Vorpal's eyes slide back towards the approaching unit, and back to the initial "friend." "I'm a very private individual, friends. If you identified that I am a known acquaintance of Ylva's, you already have a list of anyone I'd name from that party. As well, the party was local, did not have any security footage to review, and was the same day as the broadcast, and as such is without any additional information relative to the investigation. I'm definitely not going to provide the name of my partner, because she is very not involved.
Now." She draws herself up. "I've been cooperative, offered the last place I saw her, gave you additional information as to her awareness of the broadcast. I'm not going to dox the entire party, much less my partner, and the location of the party isn't relevant, so I won't be sharing that either. Am I being detained or am I free to go?"
Mark 2
The voice took on a vibrato that pushed into Vorpal's mind, blanketing her with Guilt, "You are not free to go. You will tell these units the truth, fuckhead, or be apprehended."
Handcuffs came out of a slot in their hip, to emphasize the point.
Jackie Drexel
V recoiled at the mental intrusion, eyes narrowing wickedly. "Everything I told you WAS the truth. I haven't said a single lie since we started speaking. So since I'm not a fan of standing around and being mentally and verbally assaulted by undersocialized, rent to own robocops?" She turns and starts to walk away. "Good luck on your investigation. You've gotten all the help from me you're going to get. I strongly recommend you pursue some other lead."
Mark 2
The initial unit nodded and turned away, "Very w--" and from the exit, across the street, and down an alley, came a rifle bullet, into Vorpal's leg... or it would have, if Vorpal's exceptional cunning didn't pull them to the left at just the right moment, for the sniper rifle to take out the engine of the car behind him.
The Mark 2 behind him spoke loudly again, "You need to lay down on the ground and put your hands behind your head. You have been identified as a person of interest and must be detained." The weird modulation was on the voice.
The first one paused midstep and in a blink was within arms reach of the Lost.
Mark 2
The bullet's explosion of the engine of the car caused shrapnel hit the robot behind her. Shards impaled in the cables and other softer materials of the machine.
Jackie Drexel
"Do you always fire High caliber rifles at your persons of interest?!" V roars as she FEELS the threat of the bullet and twists out of the bullet's path, allowing Fate and the Wyrd to dictate how to punish the assailants for their betrayal. "No charges, no arrest, lethal force? THIS is the autonomous policing you're bringing to the city?"
Mark 2
The Robot closest to Jackie jumped into the air, hands literally pushing into the ceiling to hold it into place, then it shot straight downwards with all of its force, hitting the ground immediately next to the Lost. The asphalt and concrete shattered, shooting shards in all directions.
The robot behind Vorpal fell to the ground and started to claw towards Vorpal, doing it's best to do it's duty.
Then he let out a gut wrenching scream of pain. No computerized voice. Then an oily mix of black and red hydraulic fluid begins to leak out.
Vorpal's enhanced senses notice a flicker of a scope sight in the evening's light. Then there was a sound of metallic clicking, like something undocking ... there were 10 red lights popping up near the end of the alley by the scope light.
Mark 2
As Vorpal prepares to act, something happens in the realm of twilight!
Vasyl Tometchko
In twilight, newsprint begins to climb the walls and creep over floors. Digital text spins over the tops of parked cars. The beeping trills of signal noise, the nattering voices of babushkas aftering after redolent grand kids. The sum of the information of a town. Becomes this place. It's subtle at first, the way the lights in the ceiling begin casting an EM pulse that interferes with long range RF communication and short wave networking. Odd too the way light refracts 1.25 degrees more per meter squared than it ought to. Odd, too, the way the shadows around Jackie Drexel grow a little more inviting, and indeed soothing.
Something walks out of the wall, something like a man. Lanky and hungry and lean. It raises a glowing fist pointing it at Jackie and the creatures around her, and it's unclear what is about to occur until the blue paint begins to boil away and the rubber insulation on the thing's exposed wiring begins to bubble.
"Stand up," comes a sparking, staticky, buzzing voice from her cell phone, "we'll back your play."
Mark 2
The blast hit through the robot next to Vorpal, causing it to shake and smoke as its system is overcharged.
Jackie Drexel
V's seeing red. Almost literally. Twice, these abominations have violated her mind, twice they have demanded things of her they had no right to demand, and they'd done their best to take her leg off at the knee. Without charge. Without arrest. Without any violence on her part. Had she been nearly anyone else on the planet, she'd be down a limb and dying or dead.
But because she was herself, she was half out of her mind with rage and fear and that was before the standing one dropped itself like a bomb, hurling her back a pace as she hid behind the enchanted leather of Sigrun's amazing handiwork. Before she heard the all-too human screech from the unit being torn to pieces by the collateral of its "allies."
Everything about these things was evil as hell and she was terrified.
She wasn't sane enough to dive. It'd take time. If they so much as screamed HALT a couple times, she'd pass out.
She didn't want to fight back. Not right in front of the Hollow's front door.
She just wanted to leave. She'd talked one into it. But they'd had other plans.
She'd done everything she could to walk away without tipping her hand, without compromising anybody else's safety- at least as far as she knew... but the shift in the area, the crackle on her phone, the promise that she wasn't alone.
She could do this.
She rose, a shadowed hand sliding up her body, plucking up a stray hair. Oso's, she was sure. The shadow slid into her mouth with the hair and she swallowed both, bringing two contracts into fruition at once as shadows erupted from her, seething against her skin protectively as she released the nastiest weapons she had in her arsenal.
The Vorpal Blades were not knives.
Her fingers curled into reversed sickles, the blades tracing the back of her knuckles, designed not to grasp and shred but strike and slash and she threw a punch immediately, one with no chance of reaching the robot that was already being slagged- but its shadow did the dirty work for her. The blow she struck twisted its shadow up to land for her, smashing into its shoulder only to grab it in the next instant as her free hand snapped forwards in the opening and struck again.
Six times.
It's destruction is ruthless.
But perhaps merciful.
At least it won't be left to scream in horror at its own existence as it falls to the floor.
Mark 2
The Robot closest to the Changeling let out a note of surprise as the healing of the woman in front, while the thing came out of the wall. Then it was electrocuted. As the Lost pulled out their dog clawed knife fingers, and shadow trickery, it was turned swiftly into minced metal and cable. The head went bouncing to the right.
In a non-computerized voice, "Time to call the U.S.O. Commandos." And then more of that black and red pneumatic fluid flowed from the neck of the machine and the eyes slowly dimmed, the lens of the cameras slowly closing, still watching Miss Drexel.
Fox
She can't be seen, but she's not too far from Jackie -- there's only so much room in the alley -- and there's a low, soft laughter which bounces off the walls. Fox didn't choose to make herself silent, just invisible to the machines. They can't perceive her voice, her actions, her movements, nor can any cameras. They can't see Vasya whether or not he materializes. They can't record her. Their servos simply don't know she's there.
But Jackie can hear her echoing, vulpine laugh. "No, I don't think so," the Thyrsus whispers. The machines of man and all their signals obey the Orphan of Proteus. "You call no one."
Mark 2
In a shimmer of electrical energy and the smell of ozone, the third robot was present, spider-crawling from the ceiling. Around it, ten mini-drones with red laser targeting sights appear with it. The lights flicker and buzz, the drones and machine moving like they were severely drunk.
At this same moment, Little Fox's concrete recorder received the signals that the Mark 2s use to contact the police reinforcements, and each other.
Mark 2
Electrical energy began to swarm around the main bots arms, obviously full of potentia... and it launched at the Spirit King that was Vasya. It missed form, but hit the ground next to it.
The mini drones turned and started shooting honest to goodness lasers at the Lost. One got through.
Vasyl Tometchko
The spirit that is Myrne slips to the side and around the rushing thing, its corpus shattering and cracking like teeth around granite. The avatar howls in slavic anguish and draws back a glowing hand. A delivery truck opposite the Mark 2 unit has its headlights turn on. A v-8 engine roars at maximum horsepower, and the vehicle screams across the distance, passing through the spirit and slamming into the machine, then into the support pillar of the garage.
The radio turns on. It's playing Kalush Orchestra.
The spirit backs away slowly, energy crackling up from the cracked ground around it like blood, the spirit gripping its leg.
Jackie Drexel
It's a clever choice, wielding light against shadow. It's an amazing dance, the way Vorpal weaves and twists and dances out of the way of the incoming lasers. They're biting, nasty weapons that carve into concrete and carburetor's alike, but one after another, they slice through air and stone and steel, and not-
"AHH! Fuck! Ow, that-"
"GYAAAAGGGGHHHH MY FUCKING COAT."
V reels back as one beam slashes across her side, cushioned by shadowy vigor, but not insulated from it. Its not the damage SHE takes that infuriates her in the moment, it's the damage to the coat that Sigrun handmade for her with pelts THEY hunted together, burned through in a hearbeat by a... fucking... wanna-be Cyclops TIC TAC.
She plays up the damage as she "fights" back to her feet, plays up their chances of pulling this off. They got her once. All they have to do is keep firing.
Right?
Fox
No one can see the frustrated look that flares across Fox's face when her idea falls flat. There's a subtle grunt, but that's about it.
Mark 2
The Robot was focused on Fox's spell, countering it with it's own internal mechanisms, but unable to do more at the moment.
Mark 2
The drones started shooting at the 'struggling' Helldiver. The feint worked, by and large, and as the Courser danced through the laser beams, the lasers hit other drones. Only one hit Vorpal, burning another hole into their thigh.
Jackie Drexel
The problem with programs is that when you LEAVE the programs to do the work, no matter how impressive, they're only going to be able to do the thing you made them do until you make them do another. And when you set a cloud of aspiring Lasek tic-tac-nicians loose to burn down an Elemental, they're gonna keep trying to do that.
Right up until it kills them.
It's not flawless. Not by any means. This war of attrition is spiraling downhill, and Vorpal is running out of leeway, but the nearly perfectly timed dive through the cloud of beam drones, controrting and twisting in those impossible, boneless ways that there just aren't programs for, results in those scathing, raking lasers carving the cloud itself to pieces, leaving exactly one to blast Vorpal dead on as she lands, sucking another wicked screech from her lips.
But she's still moving.
And she still looks very, very mad.
Vasyl Tometchko
Myrne holds up its glowing blob of a stump hand as the newsprint and voices and banking information and porn downloads surge up and into the truck, over its walls, through its hood, as though somehow being forced into the Mark II held pinned to the wall. Essence begins burning through the air between the two entities, machine and Myrne. A glowing ember from the robot's machine neck to one dribbling out of the extended stump fist of the avatar. The spirit roars in twilight, and it is the scream of 6,000 yahrzeits.
Technology begins to spark and twitch and misbehave as the spirit surges Essence into the effort.
"Sleep," comes a buzzing voice over the truck radio, over the blaring music. "Sleep, tovarische. I have you."
Jackie Drexel
Shadows scythe through the last of the drones, and then it's just a matter of letting Fox and Vasya do what needs done for the intact Mark IIs. V stands back, almost out of her mind paranoid, senses spread in frantic anticipation of incoming sirens, of jackboots, or the hoofbeats of mounted cops or... or fucking bike cops. She's not doing well. She's on her feet- at the moment- but the magic that bolstered her is most of what's maintaining that. Her eyes are wild, unbalanced, as she pulls out a cell phone- not her cell phone- and starts sending text messages.
She's... definitely bleeding through her clothes. But that's secondary right now. Fox is here. V trusts Fox. Time is of the essence.
At least it feels like it is.
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