Regelion sat with smirk on his face at Page."Well you never asked. I did say i was from the Mythic squad ninja troop, a lot of knowledgeable people about us.I thought you where one of those people by the way you look." Regelion looked over at the bat girl that he thought to be cute and gave her a smile.
Shadow looked at the tables in The Last Resort boredly, he was wiping one of them that someone had vomitted on. But instead of using a towel or something in that direction, he used the idiot who had made this mess. The bartender didn't care, Shadows brutal punishments reinforced order in the pub and kept a lot of troublemakers away. When Shadow was finished he went to the open door and threw the thug straight into the dirt. The victim of his assault quickly vanished into the streets. Shadow turned to the back of the inn. It was time to get some sleep before the new day really began. Then some real big people would appear to take in their meals. Leaders of small mafia-like organisations etc.
Adamaska stepped off his speedboat and onto the dismal pier of Detroit's shipyard. Already, the gloomy stench of decay hit his nose with a deadly force. It was after midnight, but Russian immigrant was still very much awake... and rather hungry.
The Mythic Squad HQ wasn't that far away, but he already knew he was late for the meeting. That old Seattle grunt that was supposedly leading the group now always started meetings on his schedule, and Adamaska wasn't too pleased about that. He made sure the shotgun was on his belt and easily accessibly, he grabbed his specially-made cane and hit the sewage-filled streets.
He didn't get far until he ran across a frightened young man with blood all over his face and reeking in swaths of vomit. The kid was deranged, and he pulled out a knife. One click of the button sent the sharpened sword out of his cane, and Adamaska demanded, "Stop what you're doing immediately!"
The kid did and looked even more despaired.
"What are you running from?" the Russian asked.
"That maniac at the pub didn't like what I did to his bar counter. He grabbed me and used me as a towel."
Adamaska looked at the cut face. Impressive job. "Where is this pub?"
"Look man, don't go in there--"
"I say where I can or cannot go, my friend."
The kid gulped and pointed behind him. "The Last Resort. Three blocks to the north. The bartender is an assassin by the name of Shadow, although I'm probably not supposed to tell you that. He runs things with an Iron Fist."
Iron Fist, eh? I might know this character. "Go get yourself cleaned up."
The kid nodded and fled. Adamaska picked up the pace and found the pub indeed three blocks north. To say it was seedy-looking was an understatement. This place rivalled the most dangerous outlets in Moscow... and that said something. He knew he had a meeting to catch, but like his stomach said, he was hungry.
He pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
Shadow woke up as the bartender called for him. He sighed, so much for getting some sleep. He stept out of bed and entered the front of The Last Resort. He saw the man in the door directly. He was probably russian and looked well-built. Shadow went straight up to him and adressed the arrival with a slight bow: "Welcome to The Last Resort sir, what do you wish for?" But in his mind he was leveling the russian. Was he a troublemaker or not? He definetly had the build for one. Patiently he awaited an answer.
The smell of the pub was intoxicating and godawful. It was all the Russian immigrant could do to stand there and take it in. The first thing that ran through his mind was to leave immediately, his stomach be damned, but the bartender had a trigger-happy mouth. Adamaska thought that that was Shadow the vomit-covered youth had told him about, but apparently the youth was a bit useless in the observation department.
Shadow was a waiter and a dangerous-looking one, too, since he was the one who was supposedly an "Iron Fist" with his patrons. The man walked up to him and greeted Adamaska politely with a slight bow, but his eyes shiftily gazed the Russian up and down. The look was obvious.
Knowing that, Adamaska thought fit to not answer right away. Always good to check out the scenery first.
The pub was quaint besides the daft smell of alcohol and an occasional belch from stone-drunk patrons lounging in the dark corners to the east. A staircase led up and another led down. A faint smell of illicit materials came from the floor above, and some loud noises were coming down below.
This reminded Adamaska too much of his hometown roots, and he visibly shuddered. He wanted to get away from all this, but deep inside he felt a passionate embrace overcome him.
Shadow was waiting for an answer and tapping his foot. Adamaska extended his hand.
" Добрый вечер, вид сэр. That means, Good evening, kind sir. I see you just woke up. Pleasant dreams, we've had?"
Shadow raised his brows: "I don't dream but it is kind of you to ask. Are you cold? You're shivering you know. Anyway back to business: this floor is for drinks and meals, drugs are taken in the floor above us and there is a casino below. If you have any questions feel free to ask me." With that said he retreated back to the counter to clean some of the glasses standing around. He felt unomfortable in the suit he was wearing and that although he didn't even wear the complete set. Suddenly the bartender came up from the steps leading down to the casino: "Oy! Shadow! Pass me some money, the tables have turned on me!" He was clearly drunk and Shadow sighed as he got the requested money out and threw it over to the bartender which stumbled back down the stairs. Then he returned to the glasses.
Drugs and casinos?
Adamaska clearly was in territory that he recalled from ages ago (well, maybe just a decade ago but who was counting here?). The waiter described the layout of his pub with such nonchalantness that the Russian was a bit confused at first. Then Shadow left almost immediately to go tend to some glasses, and then the lush bartender fell over himself to say he was out of money and needed some more. Just like the good ol days.
Shadow had told him he was shivering, and apparently he was, so he walked quickly in and gradually warmed up to the heat inside. There were only a couple more patrons inside, but they were too far gone to pay any attention to anything. Adamaska slowly sat at the counter and watched Shadow cleaning glasses. However, he seemed to be cleaning the same spot over and over, and the Russian knew what that meant.
Best not to keep people who could use just about any blunt object as a deathclaw from waiting too long. "успокойтесь. That means.. take it easy. I'm not here to burn anyone's britches."
Adamaska cracked his neck. Felt kind of good to do that. "If you'll make me some sandwiches and pass me some strong whiskey, I'll pay you triple the price for this late hour plus I'll tell you why I'm here in this disgusting hellhole of a city."
Shadow smiled, he liked this man. He was different from anyone he had met in this century. "Very well sir, I shall tend to it immediately." He got out the strongest whiskey he could find and quickly prepared some sandwiches. Then he brought the two items to a table near the counter, where he set them down on the table. Pulling out the chair he said: "Please, take a seat and enjoy your meal." He waited patiently for the russian to settle down and suddenly noticed he had forgotten something: "May I take your jacket. It's wet you know. I can hang it over the heater for it to dry." Suddenly a shout from the corner rang out: "Yo, waiter! I want another beer!" Shadow turned to Adamaska: "Have a pleasant meal while I deal with this ignorant idiot." He walked towards the hapless fool. "I think I'll break his neck. No wait I'm sure." He smiled as he continued towards his prey.
Oh boy. A drunk had opened his mouth from the corner. A pitiful sight of amber-colored beer oozed out over his chapped lips, and his head bobbed up and down like a wily old curmudgeon manipulating a marionette.
Shadow was on him immediately, and Adamaska was quite surprised and elated at the sudden maneuver happening in front of him. He settled down into the chair and slid off his coat as the waiter drew nearer to the hapless drunk.
Adamaska produced a cigarette from his pocket and flicked a match off the side of the counter and lit the stick nonchalantly. What had it been? Ten minutes since the last one? He knew his lungs were blackened-blue, but who cared anyway? His mother? She had been dead for thirteen years. Who the hell cared anyway?
He took notice of the sandwiches. Beef on Weck, a staple in the nearby region of Buffalo. Four strips of roast beef, blackened on the edges. Salted, ground pepper, horesradish. Three pieces of lettuce and a very large tomato all on a succulent kaiser roll. With a pickle on the side.
He smoked and ate and downed the whiskey at the same time, while he watched the waiter do his thing.
Shadow snapped the drunks neck with a single movement and dragged the corpse to the door and threw it out onto the street. Then he smelled the stench. Shadow turned around, quickly spotting the source of the smoke: the russian. "May I ask the most respected sir to smoke his cigarettes upstairs?" he asked the smoker, clenching his fists. He couldn't stand the smell of cigarettes. It disturbed his high-tuned senses. "Slowly I'm hoping that they find me here so that I can get out of here..."
"Oh, but of course, but of course. Why... where are my manners?" Adamaska was quite impressed at the efficiency of this waiter guy. He seemed to have quick assassin-like reflexes the kinds of which the Russian had known about over in the former Soviet country of Latvia. Adamaska sneered. He hated those damn Latvians.
He took the cigarette's lit end and extinguished it on his tongue, secretly loving the brief flare of heat that scorched down his jaw. He tucked the damp, dull stick back into his pocket and then finished the whiskey. Taking his Beef on Weck, he slowly got up and ate and talked at the same time.
"I won't take up all your time. I was wondering if you knew anything about the Mythic Squad."
"Mythic Squad? All I know is that they're a pain in the ass for some people way up." Shadow answered, allowing himself a smirk, "If you're looking for them then good lu-" A few cars had screatched to a halt in front of The Last Resort. Shadow recognised them immediately, he snapped his fingers and his waiters clothes fell to the ground to reveal his usual attire. He was about to return to his life. He smiled at Adamaska: "You'd better get going. It's about to become messy." All of his reserved waiter-like way of speech and even his posture had changed.
Carnival was over.
Holy crap, so this Shadow guy was more than met initial appearances. The cars that screeched to a halt outside nearly grinded the Russian's teeth to a crisp. Shouts outside could be heard inside the ambiance of the pub, and Adamaska's blood ran cold. There sounded like at least a dozen voices out there all crabbing together at once, but three of them were familiar. Familiar voices from the Motherland.
Adamaska depressed the button, sliding out the razor-sharp sword hidden within his cane-- much to Shadow's surprise. "You're gonna need my help. I have been stained with the blood of a thousand men in my short time on this earth." Reaching behind him, Adamaska took the shotgun out of his belt and loaded six rounds expertly with one hand. A trick he had painfully learned how to do in the past. Clicking the chamber ready, he rushed to meet the "waiter" at the door.
Shadow grinned, this guy was really more fascinating than anyone he had met since the cold war had ended. He drew his knives, letting the first light of dawn hit them. He threw them into the air and caught them again. Bloodlust was glistening in his eyes as he went towards the door. He could hear them placing themselves around the door then that sound was drowned by the rush of his blood. Shadow subconciously hissed as he revealed his fangs. He flinched as the pain of transforming into something between his human and cat form. His grin spread as he sensed the tension and fear from outside the door.
As he did so even the bravest of the drunks made for the backdoor.
"Whoa...." Adamaska whistled, "a shapeshifter." The Russian figured he should spark the mood a bit. A drunk almost turned over a table nearest him after being frightened by Shadow's trick. Adamaska caught the tumbling beer glass that was about half-full. The Russian grabbed the drunk's ascot and ripped it off nonchalantly, snapping the man's neck in the process, and dipped it into the alcohol. Adamaska cracked his neck again, lit a match, and lit the booze ablaze. Running quickly to the window, he noticed a goon was stupidly hiding in plain view. One shot from the shotgun ripped his back wide open, and Adamaska threw the Molotov cocktail through the open hole.
The glass broke underneath the hood of a car, and a few seconds later the engine's oil ignited with it and blew the vehicle sky high. Two other goons gave horrifying shouts, and Adamaska cocked another shell into the chamber.
Shadow acknowledged Adamaskas efforts with a nod. Then he jumped through the window in cat form, ignoring the flames. Several men in suits turned around to meet him with their SMGs but Shadow was already upon them, back in his inbetween form. He slit the throats of those thugs without flinching, when one them came up behind with a axe in his hands. Shadow gave him a brief glance before turning back to the other enemies. The axe-wielding thug didn't strike even once, for Shadows tail was choking him. Suddenly the cars turned tail and fled leaving a few men behind to face the nightmarish figure of Shadow and Adamaska who was somewhere where they could not see him.
It was a one-way battle.
The goons were no match for the devillish shapeshifter who dispatched more than half of them in a matter of seconds. Goons still waiting in the cars fled almost immediately leaving five men left to duke it out. Four stood in front of the pub, SMGs pointed at Shadow who was breathing ecstatically and patiently waiting for them to make a move. The fifth goon on the pub's doorstep ordered Shadow to halt immediately, but he couldn't finish his sentence.
Adamaska blew the door down with a shotgun blast to the doorknob. The door splintered the goon's back and stumbled him a bit forward. Before he could turn and fire, the sword from Adamaska's cane severed his head off in one clean stroke.
The last remaining four cried in fright and haphazardly fired at the Russian, but the man was spry. He hurled himself into the air and landed in the middle of the four, his sword-cane slashing first their legs off and then their heads. Body parts fell in a fountain of blood all around him, and he breathed a sick sigh of exhilaration. The last time he did this was when he was in New York City-- the Irish clans had refused to pay their tabs on the gin.
Adamaska whistled a tune as he spun his cane in a mad circle, flicking off the repugnant goo. He gave a sly smile to his new partner-in-crime who returned it, but both of their smiles fell immediately. A loud roar filled the air; the sound was unmistakable.
"It's a Mythic!" Adamaska shouted. The beast crashed around the corner of a convenience store and a shoe factory. It was nine-foot tall ogre with red beady eyes, oversized teeth, blood-stained claws, and more muscles than an Austrian Mr. Universe winner. The ogre leaped into the air and landed atop a flaming car and let out an unearthly yell at Shadow and Adamaska. "Oh f**k," the Russian said, worried.
Feral Mythics were never a pleasant sight, especially if they align with hardcore thugs and goons like the ones that lay dead at their feet at the moment. That was how the city of Albany was lost.