Description: In the aftermath of the Guardian King's raid on the Capital 7, the casino has been in a state of disarray. Without Elle Belmounte and Marise Satsuko dead, the Casino staff and executives try to make sense of what to do now. What two of them find beneath the Casino shocks them to their very core. They also discover that sometimes.. That which is dead does -not- eternal lie. Hatred is not so easily destroyed..
"Damn Jackie.. Did you know all this crap was down here?" The middle-aged executive murmurs as he squints into the darkness, fingertips sliding along the cold, mold-encrusted walls of the labyrinth.
The operations veep of the Capital 7 Casino had only now had time to personally inspect the damage done during the raid. The past one hundred and sixty eight hours have been a whirlwind of phone calls, interviews, meetings - staff, executive and political. Without chief executive Belmounte or her operations chief Satsuko, the somewhat oblivious vice president has had to keep the ball rolling. Hired not long ago out of Las Vegas, Mr. RunningElk was a top, rising talent on the strip. Belmounte only hired the promising and the best, and when she needed a man to run the day to day and make a go-to adult entertainment destination spot on the outskirts of Metro City? His name was at the top of the list.
And RunningElk had delivered on that promise, but he sure as Hell had never signed up for anything like this. He had heard Metro City had a gang problem and he knew Belmounte had taken care of the local thugs and racketeers with her own operations she had going on. But he never expected that he'd have to deal with a hit like -this-.
Worse yet, he had never expected the crazy rumors about his own Casino would actually be true. The man runs Casinos on the floor, he doesn't deal with gang wars, kidnappings and secret underground mazes. That's over his head. Unfortunately, it appears, his head would be the highest on the chain of those left standing.
"Eh.." The gruff middle-aged techician mutters noncommittally. Her scraggly blonde hair pulled back into a thin pony-tail, wizened features smeared in dirt and grease, "... When Miss Satsuko was runnin' things we had a sayin' in the department," The woman derisively sniffs as she wipes her brow with the sleeve of her filthy jacket, "We don't know nuthin'." Following in the wake of the suited executive. Matching pace with his slow, cautious steps with her tired, wearied one. Neither of them has had a break since the attack. Mrs. Pemberton has been running crews around the clock trying to clean up the monumental damage done from weapons-grade explosives and an armored vehicle plowing through a wall. Thankfully the damage near the floor of the Casino was very light. No patrons were seriously injured, only a few heart-attacks from the elderly folks that were treated immediately and successfully. Of course, nearly fifty security guards were put in the hospital. Seventeen of them out for the rest of the year on comp due to the severity of their injuries.. Or so they claim. A few flat out quit; something about 'not signing up for a warzone' or similar cowardly bologna.
One could say the technicians have it easy. But they'd be wrong. Without upper management around to sign the big checks, the local teams have to patch the damage themselves with whatever they got. Pouring cement and re-threading rebar in damaged walls by hand. A few local workers have been hired on the sly with cash on hand, but otherwise they're short staffed and way overworked. She's barely slept at all, and the rings under her eyes are proof.
Heck, the best they're getting for all this over-time is a fat, formal-sounding I.O.U. letter from RunningElk until he can get legal to figure out who the Hell can sign off on anything that isn't day-to-day expenses.
It was only until five minutes ago that the grizzled worker managed to clear the debris downstairs enough for the top floor manager to actually see the place.
"Figures." RunningElk mutters under-breath as he tugs a handkerchief from his breast pocket, cleaning his fingertips while carefully negotiating the mist-covered floor. He hated working for that damn Japanese woman. Miss Belmounte was good to work with, he got along with that woman fine. She was a hard-ass and had a way with numbers that bordered on supernatural. She knew when he was over-budget before he sent her the weekly report. She had a good head for business and made it easy to get Capital 7 to top destination billing.
Satsuko was just a bitch. Mean spirited for the sake of being mean spirited. There's been rumors and truly bizarre worker's comp claims due to her.. But nobody ever said a thing against her in the organization.
He's worked with power-hungry bastards in the past. Plenty of those on the strip. But he ain't never seen a place where everyone was so uniformly terrified of someone before. She was up to no good, RunningElk knew it.
But with Belmounte's hand on the wheel it didn't worry him so much. Sure enough, her hand was off it for no less than a few weeks and all Hell breaks loose. Operations go down to the toilet, cops come sniffing around and now -this-.
A surprised murmur escapes the technician's lips as she spies the tunnel expanding into a giant junction of passages, "There's the steam furnace.." Spying the massive unit dominating the far wall of the vast chamber. Its pipes and tubes extending outwards like snaking branches of some skeletal steel tree, integrated into the concrete wall and ceiling, "..Been meanin' ta send a team here to fix up the damn leaks." Foot indicatively kicking at the pale white mists covering the floor, stirring the whole, wide room with the motion.
The mists part just enough to reveal a fold of fabric, jutting up from from the filth-covered floor.
RunningElk peers at this strange feature, frowning at the sweet stench in the air, "..Yeah. Smells like the sewer needs work too.. Is that what I'm smelling? That's some awful shi-JESUS!"
The started cry erupts from his throat just as their movements clear the mists enough to reveal.. A kimono-clad body in the middle of the room. Motionless and crumbled, seemingly burned all over as if lit on fire and left for dead.
"Jesus-Mary-Joseph!" The technician stammers. Her hand covering her heart as the shot of adrenaline completely dispels any fatigue she had, wide eyes staring at the corpse.
For a long, silent moment the two just stare in utter disbelief. Waiting to see if perhaps she's just sleeping or.. or unconscious perhaps. "...My God.." RunningElk finally whispers. Taking a few tentative steps over to the body before slowly kneeling down. Not daring to touch the fallen woman, he moves his handkerchief over the lower half of his face. Both to ward the smell.. And possibly to catch the bagel he had for lunch, "... Its her.."
Soulless white eyes stare lifelessly from a burned face thats still very recognizable. Slowly shaking his head the man swallows audibly, "..What the Hell happened here.."
The Technician can remember wishing the woman dead quite a few times over the last few months, but she never wanted to see this. Never wanted anything remotely -like- this, "..They.. They killed her. Didn't just kill her.. threw her in the radiator or something.. Jesus... Jesus.."
"What was she doing down here? What was she even.." RunningElk questions, slowly rising again to his feet once firmly in control of the bile risen to the back of his throat. This was not something he needed to deal with. He has way, way too many things to juggle at once without worrying about a bloody murder investigation like this. Especially with her death exposing a whole, whole lot of questions that the Casino can ill afford to answer. RunningElk was never a part of the operations that this woman was running underground. He wanted nothing to do with Blackjack's less legal matters and Belmounte let him stay out of it. He only managed what was above ground and on the up and up. At least, as far as gambling casinos went, anyway. His own opinion isn't far from Pemberton's technicians, 'We don't know nuthin'.
The executive's dark eyes finally tear away from the corpse to the exit beyond her. Squinting a moment at what seems like a passage way to deeper within the underground complex, "..What's.. What's that way?" Nodding his head in the direction, "Seems like.. She was either coming from there or they were headed that way. Maybe both.." Trying to keep his thoughts even. He has to figure this thing out now, nobody else left to take responsibility but him.
Christ, how did this all fall on him?
"I.. I dunno." Pemberton tentatively replies. Hands cupping over her lips as she can't get over this horror, "..Its.. I dunno. I think.. I think its the sewer access maybe. We link up with city somewhere that way but.. I.. I dunno.. I.."
The darker skinned fellow turns back to the woman. His jaw setting with a tight frown, "C'mon." Stepping over to the woman to gently set a hand on her shoulder, "C'mon it's alright. It's alright. Have you had anything to eat? At all?"
Pemberton would never think she'd go to pieces like this. She's a tough woman in a tough job, she takes crap from nobody. She yells louder and works harder than any man that works for her. Between exhaustion and the shock of seeing all this.. She's only proud of the fact that she's keeping her tears in check at least. "I'mgood, I'mgood." She repeats quickly, waving a hand dismissively as she chokes quietly, "Lets.. lets keep moving." Indicating the direction of the path, refusing to dwell on this and keep moving forward. 'Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.' That's what the fish, in that movie her son likes, said. A heartening tune to recite in her head as she follows RunningElk along.
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As the pair leave the central room the mists continue to stir. Whirling in a slow circle in the aftermath of their movements.
Until those movements suddenly stop. Entropy swallowing the intertia as the white moisture slowly settles to the floor. A red crackle flickers over black silk, like a circuit shorting.
White slowly begins to roll, revealing hideous gold. Ebon slit flexing narrower.
"...Nhnnnn..."
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"@#$% me.." RunningElk blurts regardless of a lady being present. The handkerchief flutters to the blood-stained floor, fingers lacking the will to hold it.
The room before them both is a torture chamber. Something out of the darkest dreams of some medieval, sadistic fetishist. Wrecked to the point of being nearly unrecognizable, like a tornado passed through this workshop chamber. Someone clearly did not approve of what transpired here, and the executive can see why.
Pieces of the puzzle start coming together. Rumors of kidnappings. Of secret chambers under the Casino. It all makes sense now.. Everything makes horrible, twisted sense.
"..W..We need to go to the cops.." RunningElk whispers. The Casino is over once this gets out. His job is over. No way is he going to work for these people for another second. If he goes to the Fed immediately and cooperates fully, he may not get indicted.
Pemberton can only make a helpless 'Hrk' in response, finally recovering as she gets to her feet. Arms folded over her middle once she finished her dry heaves, suddenly thankful for the emptiness of her stomach.
"I have a better idea."
RunningElk and Pemberton both whirl around to stare at the figure looming behind them with wide eyes. All color instantly washed from their faces.
Marise Satsuko stands tall. Her arms hanging limply at her sides, her hair draped around her burned form like the branches of a black willow. Gold, inhuman eyes burning through them both with a fury that freezes their blood cold.
"Let me show you both.. How to keep a secret.."
Violet nails extending like whispering steel.
Screams echo throughout the dark labyrinth for a long, long time before they silence.
**************************
RunningElk speaks no words now. He fights with every part of his being to keep no sound from escaping his bloodied lips. Tears blurring his vision and streaking his face. His suit a complete mess now, huddled in the corner of the blood-soaked dungeon as he is. A hand cradling the claw-mark slashed from shoulder to middle, soaking the black fabric in a warm wetness.
He doesn't let himself say a thing now. Not a word or a sound. She told him 'Be silent' and that is what he will do. The man prays to his ancestors. Prays to the spirits his Grandfather insisted he should pay attention to back on the reservation. But all wordless, soundless prayers.
Above all, RunningElk thanks the spirits that the Devil chose Pemberton, not him.
The ghostly monster rises again slowly from the shredded over-alls and technician uniform. At full height the woman's head lolls back with a soft sigh of relief. Her face.. already vastly improved from the burned-out wreck it was when the Casino manager first saw her. Healed in preternatural speed to reveal some of her previous beauty.. Even though the lower half of her face is smeared in fresh blood. Running in rivulets along her neck and the divide of her cleavage.
The Sealing, as imperfect as it was, still removed the bulk of her life-force. Just as it did before, if not nearly as severe. All the Chi this pathetic lump of a woman had was just enough to keep her sated. Pity she had to resort to such.. savage, lowly methods.. But she had not time or patience for anything more complicated or efficient. Her enemies may still be nearby.
The recovered monster then turns her wicked gaze upon the whimpering coward. Recognizing this one from meetings, she knows he's too useful to butcher. Even if she's really, really in the mood for butchering right now.
"Mister RunningElk," The Devil invokes the name like a command. Striding to his corner as the man huddles against the wall even harder, as if trying to push himself through the wall rather than risk this creature's presence.
"We need to talk."
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Damn them all.
The needle clatters to the watered pan with its fellows. A fresh wave of crimson spreads out in its wake.
Children. -Children- did this to her.
She should have known better than to place her faith in anyone else. Ayame betrayed her. 'R' betrayed her. They led those Demon Hunters to her very doorstep. Descendants of her age-old enemies, through an improbable coincidence, coming to rescue their gaijin friend.
The last of the needles is pulled forth with an uncomfortable grunt. The Devil discards the implement carelessly as it clatters to the floor. Her eyes squeezed closed while small rivulets of blood run down her cheeks like tears.
The fact her specimens were stolen from her was bad enough, but all of her equipment was left in ruins. She may not be able to fully realize her goal of immunization, but she still had her research. Her notes and findings were intact. With those, perhaps there may be a way to salvage something out of this disaster.
The Devil reclines carefully in her iron-work chair, wrists balancing on armrests as her eyes shift beneath her lids. The terrible pain subsiding a little bit at a time as her Kinmagan reconfigures.
So. A week it has been. The children doubtlessly think her dead now. The world thinks her dead. As much as vengeance burns within her breast, as much as she wants to flay every last one of those children alive and swallow their hearts..
Patience.
Let the world think her dead. For now.
RunningElk has been given his instructions. All the proper paperwork and authorizations given to him with some very, very stern advice. She is confident of his compliance. He has not the guile Ayame had, the terror she smelled was most genuine. She needs to move her research quickly. The American Authorities will undoubtedly try to figure out what transpired here, best to remove all evidence before they manage to overcome what roadblocks Blackjack has set in the local bureaucracy.
Best to leave Metro City for now. There's no one left in Blackjack the creature will trust. Not that beer-swilling fool or that insane witch. Most certainly not Ayame. Even that native mongrel coward may yet betray her too.
She should know. Only family can be trusted. Only family.
Slowly, The Devil's eyes flutter open. Golden eyes, now pinioned with a triad of black marks within the iris around the central, narrow pupil, continue to roll about as focus slowly returns to her. The world a kaleidoscope of flowing colors. Even here in an environment that would seem lifeless to human eyes, Marise can see the flow of the Earth's breath. Swirling around inanimate things, the glow of the mold, the fading glimmers of what's left of Pemberton.
Now.. Something new.
The Devil inhales sharply, leaning higher in her seat as she looks to the cage that once kept her prize specimen. Seeing now a lingering new kind of aura. Radiating as a shape, a power she can see as.. hopelessness. Fear. Rage.
"...Yes... Yesss.. I see it now.." Marise whispers slowly in a low tone. Laughing mirthlessly once before slumping onto her seat with a low growl.
All of that for just THIS? She wished to make herself completely -immune- to these strange powers. Now? Well.. At least now she can see them. Recognize them for what they are. Altered her techniques just enough to be able to defend herself somewhat. She is no longer as vulnerable as she was before.
But vulnerable she still is. A condition she is now forced to tolerate. At least.. For awhile longer.
Her plan now is the same as it has been since her return to this world. Be patient. Stay hidden. Return to her former glory a piece at a time. She still needs the essence of the stronger fighters to significantly grow her power. Time for her to return to Southtown and begin her hunt anew.
Besides.. In that miserable township there is still vengeance to be had. And there is still Hotaru to carry on her work. Yes..
And one day.. One glorious day.. Complete vengeance will be hers.
Log created on 22:38:48 04/06/2008 by Marise, and last modified on 22:41:14 04/06/2008.