Description: After his stunning defeat of the Japanese Mafia, Agent Daniel 'Jack' Little returns back to Da Chief to lay down the law, and tell him what exactly he needs to protect the world. But in the midsts of the rivalries between America and Russia, Interpol has tasked Agent Little to team up with the White Angel of Death to investigate another international tournament. What is worse, is that the Russians are involved with his Fio Tessitore, and are likely holding her hostage to compel our red blooded hero's assistance. Daniel Jack has agreed to work with the Russians for now, but will he be able to control his Russian sidekick or will he fall victim to... The Chill Of Siberia?! (The cover shows Daniel Jack strapped to a wooden chair, his eyes forced open by a set of metal claws. Standing by his side, armed with a crop, is what must be the White Angel of Death herself. Dressed in a strapless red gown, the white-haired Russian woman is impossibly beautiful with a harsh but curved figure... with the exception of a carefully placed scar over her right eye. She looms over our detective as he stares into a television, his face twisted in absolute horror. On the table that the TV is on, there is a stack of VHS tapes. Their labels include 'Jezebel Failblesse's Hamlet', 'Cowgirls Vs Nazis,' and 'A Very Lightning Spangles Passover.') (45 cents)
"It pains me to say this, Little."
That is the statement from Chief Mallone of Interpol, as he looks over the dossier. His hairy brow was furrowed furiously at the documents before him. Across from the desk, Agent Daniel 'Jack' Little stands at attention, arms crossed behind his back as he looks ahead firmly. The grey-suited detective wiggles his mustache briefly, but he just stays calm. "Physically, Little." The Chief chokes, groaning a bit. "I am dying a little right now, trying to muster the words for this." He smashes a fist on the desk, his body trembling. "When I sent you to Japan, Little, I had expected you would be performing at our typical standards. Check some warehouses, work with the cops, and sit at home and watch some TV. But Little..." He winces in agony. "Little..."
"You have done a fantastic job."
The Chief burps, and leans over the side of the desk. Grabbing a wastebasket, he dry heaves. Shuddering, he rises up again to look at the stone-faced Daniel. "The disintegration of one of the most powerful Yakuza gangs in the world is... incredible. Absolutely top standard. And your coordination with Delta Red in this mission shows a level of leadership and initative that is rarely seen in the force." He frowns harshly. "Don't let it get to your head. We have another mission for you. It's another tournament, a King of Fighters or whatever. You are gonna take part in it and investigate what's happening in the background. We have reason to suspect-"
"Now hold on, Chief."
A sharp pulse seems to run through the entire building. Instinctively, the employees shut the doors if they have them, or head on break if they don't. The whole of Interpol could feel the fallout of what was not only an interruption, but a contradiction. The shudder comes as the Chief, stunned for a brief second, realizes that Daniel was -speaking back to him-. A violent color of crimson overtakes his face, as his entire body tenses up. This should have been enough warning. Terror seized Daniel's heart.
And Agent Little keeps talking.
Staring into the face of the steadily rising volcano of wrath and rage, the detective keeps cool. "I've just gotten out of one tournament, and into the Neo-League, and now you are putting me into another tournament. Just because I'm good at investigating tournaments, doesn't mean I wanna keep within that box Chief." Another pulse runs through the whole of Interpol, one that only the senior staff had experienced. There is a scream outside, as a man jumps from the first story window. One could observe now that the room was... shaking. Everything was rattling. The chief's hands were firmly on the desk, his withering gaze fixed deadly on Agent Little. Daniel could feel it pulling him apart piece by piece, and yet, he continues on. "I have good notice that there is a lot of high profile threats in play on the international stage right now, and there is a need for a response team to handle them. I have a list of interested fighters, and frankly, I think getting an International Task Force Team in place to handle high profile threats is a better use of my time than fighting in tourna-" Daniel finds himself unable to speak, as the third pulse comes. Not even the most senior staff had experienced this third pulse.
At least, any that was still alive.
Daniel Jack takes a step back as the Chief slowly, subtly rises from his desk. "Agent Little." He states with the presence of a wolf coming upon a cornered lamb. "Just because you had one successful mission, doesn't mean that you have what it takes." A plaque falls from a shelf. "I remember what you allowed to happen to my daughter, Agent Mallone. I am still... drawing your tithe from you. So you do whatever I say, Little. If I tell you to jump, you don't even ask how high. You just know. Or I will bring the hammer down on you. You won't get your moronic task force. You are going to my bitch, Agent Little. And-"
"So what happens when another Butcher comes along?"
A fourth pulse comes, but the building was nearly deserted now. A fifth one comes, a sixth, a seventh. The psionically attuned nearby could feel the waves of pure, directed rage that could only come from a government worker in senior management. The Chief was not a color seen by human eyes; humanity instinctively averts themselves from such singularities. But Daniel Jack just stares into the utter presence of the rawest of raw nerves. The man moves around the desk, every step coming with a fresh pulse of the pure emotional force. He was right in the detective's face, staring straight into him. He breathes in. He exhales. "Well, Agent Little." He says, very softly. "I guess we don't know. But you know what to do, don't you? I won't mince words, Little. I hate you. I hate you more than I hate anything else in the world. I hate you more than the criminals we are tasked to take down. But there are two things keeping you working here. The first is that you aren't dying on your missions. And the second is that you have finally proved you get results." And steadily, he backs up slightly from Daniel's face. "You want a task force? We'll see how well you lead a task force. That's why we are going to get you a proper partner for this mission." He looks towards the door of the office. And promptly, he speaks Russian aloud.
Out of all the fear, panic and despair, a lone figure walks. A mustachioed General covered in ribbons who was screaming and running down the hall stops in his tracts and goes from fleeing to paralysis.
The General is ignored. Into the room walks the human meat grinder, the barrel of pure Russian efficiency, the White Angel of Death, Sergei Dragunov.
The room feels colder as he enters. He hands the Chief a file and a small box. In the box is a shard from Agent Little’s neck, with `Sergei Dragunov’ signed on the glass.
Sergei then turns to the little Agent Little. He stares down at him with a cold silent gaze that is just ripping into his soul. Metaphorically of course… For now at-least.
Oh, that is what it takes for Daniel to break the mask.
The moment the General comes in, the detective puts the pieces together. He actually mouths out 'you wouldn't' as the second blow comes. Sergei himself enters, and a look of rage overtakes Daniel's face. "YOU!" He blurts out as the Russian hands over the box. The Chief, smiling now, takes both the box and the file. He reaches out his hand, to shake Sergei's own briskly. Daniel stares -daggers- at the man as the grim presence of the Russian fills the room. In the face of this, the detective's own resolve surges back, the fiesty detective almost charging all three of them. "You aren't serious, Chief, that you want me to work with this... this..."
"Shut Up, Little."
The Chief states sharply. "The General and I have worked long and hard to make this happen. There is more at stake here than your -feelings- Little. Russia has long been hoping for an opportunity to work with Interpol, and Interpol, well, has also been interested in cooperation." The Chief shifts his attention back to Sergei, as Daniel -fumes-.
"Besides, Sergei insisted on -you-"
Sergei wanted to work with Daniel for several reasons. First, to mess with him and see how he would react. Second, Sergei got into a fight with a Darkstalker and got beaten quite a bit, Daniel apparently had experience with them.
The third reason started when the lavender kiwi dentist injected him with that serum. It contained specialized hallucinogens that nestled in his brain and made him hallucinate for 2 days. Once the visions ended, things turned bad.
It started with a horrible pain in his leg. This was simply dismissed as a really bad cramp. Then he felt terrible aching in his torso followed by dizziness.
Then he felt the pain of having his pelvis shattered and eye ripped out. Tessitore had seemed to be interested in seeing how Sergei dealt with having all the pain and suffering he caused to others thrown back on him. There was nothing that could be done about it, he would have to wait until they wore off ans hope they had no long term effects.
Sergei then had to deal with the pain of being cut up, slammed to the ground, and the truly terrible feeling of being choked. He new he would soon have to feel all the horrible methods of torment he unleashed on the simple investigator. With this reflection, he realized he should make it up to Daniel, help him.
as Little starts to get in a little tantrum, Sergei puts out his hand to shake Daniel’s.
Daniel Jack wasn't happy with this.
Certainly, it was a tantrum of sorts. But Daniel had no knowledge of why Sergei was... willing to work with him. As far as he knew? This was the Russian that kicked his ass and left him in a bodycast... with no connection afterwards. The White Angel of Death was just as that, a force of nature with no personality for Daniel to work with. And thus, with the hand extended, he doesn't return it. Crossing his arms, he glares at him.
"We don't need to do this."
That was the response. "All we need to get is an invitation, and from what I can tell with this tournament, there is a lot of them. Chief, I'm not gonna work with this sadist. You'll either need to find another agent, or I'm gonna find someone else to work with." The Chief shakes his head. "God dammit Little, do you need to change your pad or something? I'll let the General explain the circumstances here. But long story short, Little? You ain't getting an invite, I'm not getting someone else, and Sergei here is gonna get exactly what he wants."
"Apparently, beating up ladies is below their standards."
The General begins to speak to Daniel with a slight tremble. “Now Dragunov requested to team with you to show you good will, and no hard feeling for breaking bones you did not even know you had. We have found you quite qualified to work with Dragunov.”
“Now if you were to refuse his attempt to make peace, then Mallone could cover his whole wall with signed spine shards.”
The man’s mustache beings to twitch. “also we would like for you to give us any information on the Darkstalker know as Tessitore.”
Daniel was skeptical at first.
Sure, he could see the Russian turning over a leaf. And when they said he was qualified... well yeah. Of course he was. The detective was relaxing, gradually getting won over. Sure, the threat comes, but that was practically Russian for 'I love you' or something. For a moment, Daniel was ready to team up, begrudgingly.
And then, the General says her name.
Orange Chi enregy flares up around Daniel as the words come out. The burning aura of the detective interpol comes to full bear, as it seemed that Daniel was ready to test and see if Sergei could smash and shatter his spine. His pupils were pinpricks, his jaw taut. And the words that come from the detective are halting, jagged things, cold as ice.
"What did you tell them, Chief?" The detective growls.
The Chief steps back a bit, his own rage faded and taking a much more... calm presence. "As much as it surprises you, Little, I do read your reports. And as it so happens, our friends here are investigating stuff like your experiences. Your 'Doctor' is recognized by the Russians, and I shared some of your reports with them." Daniel Jack teeth grits harder, ready to attack at any moment.
And you could see the wheels turning in the Chief's head as he made his next move.
"Isn't this what you wanted, Little? A task force to investigate this kind of stuff?" Daniel Jack's energy flames die down, though the stony scowl remained. "Sergei here is doing the exact same thing. This is your chance at your task force. You just have to put on a smile, do a little work in a tournament, and you and your new best friend can dig around holes looking for big foot or whatever crap." The Chief goes to the shelf, and pulls out a box of cuban cigars. Popping them open, he nods at Sergei. "Remember these Sergei?" He gives a wink.
Daniel Jack just stands fast, breathing hard, glaring daggers towards everyone.
Sergei was pleased at Daniel’s acceptance of this team.
The general hid behind Sergei at the sight of Daniel’s glowing rage. At this point the entire block might have to closed off due to warping in the fabric of reality.
Even as the walls glow from the mixing of energy, Sergei still has his hand out to Agent Little with his face unchanged.
Daniel hated this.
Daniel hated this more than anything else. This wasn't his vision of his future. He had control over his future. He was convinced it. His eyes scan over every single figure in the room. Carefully, he was calculating. The tension was taut, the General was afraid, the Chief was calm, and Sergei was... unchanged. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
And he realizes what had happened.
The Chief just admitted that everything Daniel did was... worthwhile, at least per terms of a deal. That he just got his strike force. An international one, in fact. Daniel Jack begins to relax more and more, the storm of chi dying down. Daniel was getting what he wanted. And frankly, if these Russians had something to do with Tess... well. Daniel Jack would have a few questions as well. His face was still stone as he rolls his neck. And firmly, he extends his own hand to Sergei, shaking it.
"Alright, scuzzy, I will work with you."
But Daniel Jack thrusts a finger out.
"But two things."
"One: We're Team Interpol. I'm not gonna be Team White Angel or anything."
"And Two: I'm the Team Captain."
Sergei found Daniel’s terms perfectly acceptable, and went to shake on it. The general was relived that this whole thing did not end in horrible bone crushing violence. To celebrate the general pulled out a bottle of Vodka and offered the others some.
The deal was struck.
"Alright Little." The Chief states gruffly, pulling out a cigar for himself as he gets some glasses for the new partnership. "You are your best friend will be in training. I've spread the word throughout our associates; I'll let you and your new best friend pick and choose who you want." Daniel Jack glares at Sergei. He was not trusting this man at all. And yet, as the vodka comes out, one thing was for certain.
He would be working hard to kick this man's ass in the near future.
Log created on 17:09:41 05/07/2016 by Daniel, and last modified on 12:08:31 05/08/2016.