Felicia - Cat at the docks[Toggle Names]
Description: Felicia runs a harddrive full of CRIMINAL data to some shady Russians for Stray, proceeds to avoid cops in a bust and gets shot up. Kitty isn't happy.
The operations in Metro City that are being orchestrated by Stray's manipulative fingers are slowly weaving into a solid grid of criminal espionage, all below the rebuilding efforts being spearheaded by Belger. Belger knows that Skull Cross is now an essential part of his operation, but Black is not a master of his own fate. And Belger is a betting man, not a chess player. Belger's operations have always been ventures and risk-reward scenarios and gambits, whereas Stray operates on computer logic with various human beings rattling about inside them, like mice in a maze. And now, Belger has taken the opportunity to test Black, through a gambit the Stray and Black had not thought of yet, both of them being products of Russia and their culture's paranoia about collaborating with the authorities, courtesy of the Thieves' Code from the reign of Josef Stalin.
At the harbor, a cigarette boat, from cartel boss Francisco Fraga's operating cargo ship in international waters, slowly glides through the Atlantic towards the dock. A small black sedan is waiting there, with a local Russian goon outside smoking a cigarette, merely the supervisor of the operation. He's waiting for the data runner, checking his watch on his left wrist as he inhales a Camel filter through his fingers and into his mouth, before glancing out to the incoming boat from behind his sunglasses. The data runner is being paid double for this mission, for some things that Belger needs especially for a business deal with Francisco Fraga that's been offered. Little does Stray realize, that someone is playing Chinese Checkers instead of chess.
Inside a nearby building overlooking the wharf, a pair of FBI agents monitor the dock and the black sedan, watching through a mounted telescope with a recording device built in. They've been tipped off by Edi. E, that a major component that could assist them in the investigation against Mad Gear and Skull Cross is present. Little do they realize, the data is worthless to them, but Skull Cross does not know this either.
Poor Felicia. Usually she was okay with going out in public, though she tended to this mainly to jog or to travel--and would pick spots that were not as populated. Going down to the docks though, she had a limitation to the number of disguise options. If she was exercising, she'd actually just tug on a sports bra and shorts, with some sandals--but right now it was essentially 'trenchcoat, hat and likely boots' to avoid the wharf rats from getting ideas and trying to take a nibble. Larger cats than her had likely been carried off by said rats at docks like this! Tying her blue mane of hair back, she heads down there, looking perhaps like someone who might be there to sign some papers for a shipment, or the like. Though one might expect the FBI agents who are watching the site to get a bit suspicious either way!
Felicia would attempt to gain entry, either by walking in--or if it was too hot she'd attempt to scale a fence to get to said black sedan, she had flipped herself over barbed wire fences before, she'd do it again.
The Russian turns his head to the side to spot Felicia's approach, recognizing her by the hair emerging beneath her hat. He drops the Camel to the ground and grinds it out beneath his black shoe, clearing his throat with a thrum cough into his right fist. He wipes his hand off on his black suit, before he slides his hands into the pockets of his blazer. "Just on time," he says, his accent Siberian if Felicia's capable of spotting the individual portion of Russia he hails from. "Cats always smell the food, da?" he says with a wide grin, a silver tooth evident on the left side of his mouth, only visible when his lips part wide enough.
The cigarette boat's high pitched engine whines as the boat turns against the waves, before it throttles down to allow the speeder to slide into the harbor. A Colombian in khakis and a Hawaiian shirt mottled brown by age jumps off the side, wobbling his way onto the wharf. He turns about, and the boat's pilot hands him a satchel with a metal-box inside, containing a hard drive. The Colombian ambles down the wharf towards Felicia, his eyes surrounded by wrinkle lines and a floppy porkpie hat on his head of stringy black hair. The Russian turns about, gesturing for Felicia to follow as he strolls towards the wharf, pulling his hands out of his pockets and being sure to show them, just like the Colombian is doing.
The FBI agents watch through the mounted spyglass, clicking pictures, as one of them murmurs into a closed circuit cellphone, the new version of the radio. Nearby, several unmarked cars begin to approach the dock, plainclothes DEA agents inside. Following them is a SWAT tactics van, that trundles along at a pace far behind them, to avoid being spotted.
Felicia had a lot of fur, but she had never hung out in Russia very much, so while she likely detects the slavic tint to the man's speech, the dialectual accent difference is lost on her. "Of course--what about these shipping papers then?" she was using 'shipping papers' as code for the pickup she was supposed to make, and get back to Stray. Assuming the man /had/ it. She briefly covered her large cat ears as the boat's engine whined, likely she was able to hear much more than what the Russian man was picking up. Felicia afollows the Russian as he heads toward the wharf, her hands visible as well. She made sure they were visible even in the large sleeves of the jacket she was wearing. Yes, she wore a size-large.
"So, nice weather we're having here, huh?" god knows it's probably cold as hell on that wharf, 34F or around that.
"The weather in America is strange," the Russian says, with a quiet ponder to his voice. "In Russia, the weather is punishment, and reward. Here, it is always punishment, and the reward is escaping by accepting it." He stands at the edge of the wharf. "This is Carlos. He has the shipping papers that need to be developed to the tomcat."
The Colombian smiles. "Hello, Dmitri. Nice to see you're still about. I thought they'd keep you locked up in that deskjob at the industrial plant forever." The industrial plant is known as Skull Cross' operating base in the city, selected by Stray due to its access to a defunct cable and telephone network that he's tapped for their operations.
Carlos passes the satchel to Felicia, and the Russian nods to her. "These are your papers."
At that note, there's a scream of a siren from a police boat in the harbor, and the unmarked DEA cars smash through the chainlink gate to the wharf. The DEA agents pump the gas as they approach the dock, and there's a flapping thrum from a police helicopter overhead. Dmitri curses and pulls a machine pistol from beneath his jacket, as Carlos and the boat's pilot curse in Spanish. The pilot pulls out an assault rifle, his hands stumbling over it to cock it, as Carlos runs back to the boat, jumping aboard.
The SWAT van comes to a halt at the very edge of the wharf, shouts of 'GO GO GO!' coming out as troopers disembark from it.
"Man if you think this is weird try living in the north east," Felicia grinned a little, but apparently didn't contest the Russian's comments. She wasn't there to argue with the guy, of course, she was here to get Stray's shit and get it back to him--which provided her with cash, cash she needed to continue living free and not locked up as a science project somewhere for some wunderkind. So while she wasn't scared of these guys and would use guile of her own, it was more about business.
Once Felicia has the satchel in hand she curls the strap around one of her large furred hands--which is just about the time the siren peals out. One doesn't need super-sensitive darkstalker-hearing to realize they've been made, and it's by cops--big cops by the look of the van coming through.
"Well it was nice seeing you gentlemen, I'll be going now," she cuts and runs. The others would just slow her down. She was in a pickle, but not too much of one--the main inconvenience was the bag and object was too large for her to carry in her teeth in housecat-sized form. So she'd need to keep her woman-shape for now.
Carlos catches the assault rifle as the boat's pilot tosses it to him, as the speedboat thrusts around out of the harbor. Dmitri, meanwhile, runs back towards his car, firing off a burst of his machine pistol at the DEA approaching him, mostly a panicking harassment blast that peppers the car's hood and windshield, a spidercracking the glass on the car's right as it charges forward at them.
"THIS IS THE METRO CITY POLICE!" comes a vox-assisted megaphone from the helicopter, over the oppressive sound of all the police intimidation audio used by the federal task force closing in. "LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER, WE ARE AUTHORIZED TO USE LETHAL FORCE!" The police boat's siren continues to grow closer, as it manuevers in front of the side of the dock used by the Colombians.
As Felicia runs, one of the unmarked DEA cruisers veers off from the main course the driver was taking towards the docks, speeding at her and attempting to trap her between the car and the metal containers and cargo crates left along the pier for shipping companies. The driver is unaware that he's dealing with a Darkstalker, a feline one at that, who is going to have more agility than the average courier.
The SWAT team slowly takes up the tail once they're assembled, sweeping in with their submachine guns up, moving in with a triangle formation.
Felicia is thankful for the strap of the satchel--which with some effort she's able to sling over her head and shoulder--pulling her hat off in the process, revealing the large blue mane and cat ears. Well, shit. Felicia keeps running until she's sandwiched between the container and the car, launching herself up onto the hood--the sheer force of her knees and legs popping the buttons off on her coat. Beneath the jacket she was indeed wearing a pair of knee high boots, a black tanktop and bicycle shorts. Which likely seemed a bit odd for the cold weather, but.
"Hi guys!" Her weight rocked the hood a bit, grinning down at them before she swiftly used the car to do a gainer off it and scramble up the side of the container, intending to climb over it and put her and the police on the opposite sides. As she goes, she thinks something like 'wow, this sure would be a shitty time for a superhero to show up--like Dr. Strange, or hell, even the X-men!
Carlos braces the assault rifle against his shoulder, with a wide, left foot forward stance as the cartel boat swerves towards the police boat. Carlos, a veteran of bush wars in South America, keeps his cool, firing steady harassment fire at the police boat, not concerned with making himself a target against a civilian police force without military psychology in their training. The police boat briefly backs off, as the cigarette boat guns it through the harbor and Carlos holds the rifle up along his right arm, bracing himself with his left hand and a half-knee to the boat's linoleum deck to avoid falling.
Dmitri swings the door to his sedan open as the unmarked car continues to approach, firing another burst, this time without running, the car swerving preemptively and letting the bullets strike the rear portion of the car as he skids to a halt, leaving a tire trail on the light grey concrete. The two DEA agents inside get out, firing pistol rounds from Colts at Dmitri. One strikes the Russian in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards against his car door, falling to a knee and firing retaliation bursts that pepper the cops' cover.
The car Felicia jumps on slams on the brakes out of a sudden fright at the nimble jump, cursing inside as the DEA agents are momentarily left in a training loophole. As she jumps off the car, the driver hurriedly shifts into park, as the passenger gets out with his pistol in his hand, watching her jump onto the container and cursing.
The helicopter tails Felicia as she runs across the cargo containers, maintaining an overwatch distance as the SWAT team sweeps in to secure the harbor. The helicopter copilot looks through binoculars, spotting the satchel Felicia carries. He gets on his radio. 'APB on a feline Darkstalker, female, between five and a half feet and six feet tall, wearing black athletic outfit and black boots. She has the principle, she has the principle. Heading due south from the harbor district,' comes the voice over the radio. Local Metro City police hear this over their radios, and distant sirens are audible to Felicia.
Shit, people were really getting hurt out there, Felicia felt disgusted with this, even if she was more concerned at the moment with making herself scarce. Realizing there is a helicopter following her--why her of all things, she thinks--what about the crazy Russian guys with guns?!--she busily tries to keep between the containers and out of sight from both the helicopter and the agents following her. Which isn't going to work for long likely, in the latter case. She realizes at first she needs to put some distance between her and the agents and try to get somewhere the helicopter can't follow her--like a subway, or a manhole cover! This was the last time she's doing a job for Stray without a suitable escape plan!
Felicia starts running, putting some serious effort into moving quickly now, running at full tilt carrying the satchel, coat billowing behind her.
The helicopter makes an arc around the containers, moving around the east-side of the containers to stay sea-side and keep the entire network of containers in view. The vox megaphone comes in again, shouting with a booming echo above the rotors, "SURRENDER NOW, A FEDERAL GOVERNMENT TASK FORCE IS AUTHORIZED TO SHOOT FOR EVADING ARREST!" Police sirens wail at the various roads around the container yard, police officers positioning themselves at the openings to the fenced in facility, as police sharpshooters are called in from a local precinct. They'll take a while to get on scene, but they are gearing up as Felicia evades through the containers, putting on their vests and prepping their rifles, before loading up their gear into police tactical SUV cruisers meant specifically for high value units like snipers.
The police boat dogs the cigarette boat out into the harbor, as the Coast Guard is called in to send a clipper out. Dmitri, meanwhile, is shot again, this time in the torso. He slumps over with a sucking chest wound, a SWAT paramedic kicking his gun away and applying first aid, with the intention of taking him in for questioning, trial, and incarceration.
At least Felicia regarded herself as sort of smart for taking off over land rather than trying to flee on the boat, she didn't exactly do well in water--not that was due to her being a cat, she just couldn't swim faster than a boat. She /could/ run faster than a human, however--but the helicopter was making this hard. And now they were threatening to shoot her. Great--well, at least if they didn't hit her spine or her brain she was fairly sure she'd be okay. But then they'd likely have assault-grade weaponry, like Bulleta. This could be hairy.
Shit shit shit--he's gotta find a way to get over or under the fence and away from these guys! She looks around desperately for a way out--she doesn't go near the obvious openings--and prepares to haul herself over one of the fences, barbed wire or no barbed wire.
As Felicia breaks from the line of shipping containers and shows herself between the varying colors of metal gridded boxes, and the fence with the street on the other side, the helicopter sees her again, and produces a drone through the air as it takes a banking turn to get on her ass again. There's chatter over the police band as nearby cruisers skid about, backing up or turning or bursting out of side streets, to chase her down. The SUV cruisers elsewhere in the city hit their lights, and begin shoving their way through traffic with the slow, but methodical movements through the bustling city that police privileges make possible.
Now that she was in the city, Felicia was going to run as fast as possible and try to duck into a subway entrance or find a manhole cover to prise up. Sure, she'd get pretty dirty, and likely destroy her boots and clothes, but at this point it was a small price to pay for either losing Stray's data to the police or getting herself arrested. She didn't think it'd be /that/ hard to escape if she was put in say, a cell, but chances are they'd have something a bit more high-security in that, seeing as she was a darkstalker and all that.
Picking up speed, she began to severely motor through the streets and would lead the police on a merry chase--hopping over cars and whatnot as she went! Catch me if you can!
Cars veer around in traffic at intervals determined by the individual driver, cars honking and tires skidding, along with the occasional smash of metal and fracture of glass tail or headlights. The police are unable to keep up with Felicia in their cars with all the chaos, even as the occasional round from a police issued semiautomatic is discharged in her direction by a frustrated rookie. A chase squad nearby moves, out of range of Felicia's vision, to cut her off from pursuit, pulling up on sidewalks. The only sign is people moving around the corners of buildings to avoid the cars giving occasional siren taps to alert them to get out of the way. If she keeps going in that direction, cops are going to pull out from both sides in a barricade, several blocks ahead. The helicopter is now directly behind her, sighting her for the rest of the police attempting to recover the data.
The guns begin to fire and Felicia can feel hear ears ringing, even as bullets whiz past her. As she runs, she moves to dart sideways to try and avoid being sandwiched in again--and moving down one way streets. This would be better if it was at night, of course--she could just blend into the night. So now she's running down side streets and even doubling back and going another way until she can find a way out like she was looking for--sort of like a deer. She hopes she isn't hit by any of the guns--if they do, it's sure gonna hurt--she's been shot before, and while it might not be as life-threatening to her as a human would, it still wasn't anything to scoff at.
As Felicia moves down the road, the trap is sprung, and the chase cars' sirens blare to life, pulling out on either end of the street that Felicia would need to escape. Cities like Metro, with such criminal problems, are deliberately designed with such potential traps. Cars block the road, and police officers get out, pointing weapons at Felicia. "Freeze!" one of them shouts, a Sergeant by his chevrons, as the helicopter dogs from behind. On the either end of the chase cars, across the intersection full of cars pulled off to the side of the road, is an entrance to a subway circuit.
Felicia wrestles the coat off herself as she pauses momentarily, faced with the trap. She's only still holding onto the satchel and what little else she was wearing when the cop shouts freeze at her. For a moment she looks like she'll stop, her hands in the air--and there was a subway just across the cops on the other side of them. That meant going through them, which meant they would likely fire their weapons at her. Well now was a big decision, keep this bullshit up and possibly get injured or killed, or drop what she was carrying and let the cops take her into custody.
Well, the only way to keep free was going to be to risk getting shot. Of course, Stray and her would have words after this--so she kicked herself into high gear and began rushing through the gauntlet of cars--praying she wasn't going to get killed.
The police officers begin discharging their firearms at the rapidly moving blue panther, bracing with both hands perhaps a mistake but nonetheless standard training for Metro PD to avoid injured civilians. Her descent into the gauntlet of stopped cars with civilians is her only respite, the police attempting to pick their shots at a fast mover while also being terrified of hitting a civilian in one of the cars. They're way out of their training here, even after Lord Dohma's invasion, used to taking down regular humans as part of pursuits, not someone with Felicia's grace and agility. Cops chase behind her with their left hands braced on their gunbelts so they don't lose their gear, as she crests over the blocking cars and into the intersection. The blues with their weapons already drawn and previously in her way spin about to face her back as she runs past, firing rounds at her as she attempts to make it to the subway.
Oh man, things have gotten really bad, the cops are firing at her--while there are civilians here. She didn't think they'd do that--not out of wanting to use them as shields, but out of common sense or the like. She isn't sure what to do now--she isn't sure if they're firing at her because they think she's not human or what. She takes a few shots--one embedding in her hip, another grazing open her leg and forearm--scarlet splashes running down them, the wounds already becoming puckered as her regeneration began to handle it--but she had regeneration on her side. She didn't like putting these poor people in danger and the cops are still running after her--but she was already heading down into the subway. Into the darkness, where her kind had things on their side.
The blood trail would stop after a while as she ceased bleeding, which would make trying to track her by that alone would be difficult.
The police helicopter swoops over the subway entrance and back around, allow Felicia access to the tunnels beneath Metro City, allowing an escape. The police are ordered back by the local precinct before they can track her, despite the availability of Metro City Transit Authority officers. Corruption in the department shows its ugly ahead, as it becomes apparent to the federal officers on hand that Belger's fingers inside Metro have already pressed into the local jurisdiction's business.
Near an industrial plant, Stray, who has been monitoring local bands this entire time, lights up a European-market low tar cigarette. "Kathy Griffin, you are getting a raise," he says with his Ukraine accent, chuckling and leaning back in his office chair, amidst the dim lights of his control center.
Log created on 15:18:07 02/10/2017 by Felicia, and last modified on 19:33:40 02/10/2017.