Description: A wise man once said that all the world's a stage, and all men and women merely players. Angelo has always believed in making sure that his stage is carefully set. But the police, in the past, have always been the ... stagehands, the people who clean up after him and chase him out of the theater, to torture this metaphor even more. In reality, though, when criminals start pushing back against the police, only one thing is certain. Regardless of intent or reason, there will be blood on the streets. Especially when the police one chooses to push against, is Thomas Miracle, a man so terrifying just one shotgun isn't enough.
Metro City. Land of a thousand hot dogs.
Angelo has been through Metro City before, of course. But, only briefly. One job was enough to convince him that, actually, Metro was just too hot. Mike 'Break Bad Guys' Haggar was just too much of a hassle for Angelo to ply his ... trade, here, when he was learning. America in general, in fact, wasn't somewhere the Italian had particularly enjoyed being. But, after that enthralling encounter with Miranda, Angelo had been completely unable to get the woman out of his head.
It'd taken a long time to heal up, but thankfully Angelo had time, and the full 'Romero' box set to get through. He'd had to buy a television first, and a DVD player. And then he'd found the entire lot to be pulp tripe that he really didn't see any value in. But he'd watched them all. Three times. Because Miranda had mentioned it, and there /had to be a reason/.
Eventually, though, Angelo had run out of patience. Which is how he got to be here. The very heart of Metro City itself, a disgustingly law-abiding town with only a few shattered remnants of what had been the criminal underworld left pawing beneath the surface. He has not been impressed by what he has seen so far. But, there's at least a few people that Angelo wants to meet before he calls it a day.
And one of them is one Sergeant Thomas Miracle. Also assigned to this 'Division Eight'. This man needed to be ... talked to. Angelo, in his characteristic hooded jacket, is leant up outside one of the high-market shops. Watching. Waiting. Hoping that he was right about where Sergeant Miracle is scheduled to be.
Something's wrong. The night is certainly gritty enough, with rain hurtling through an unhappy night to spatter against grimy streets and grimier people. It's very bleak. And yet, something's missing -- it's as though the scene has no shad-
BEAT DUTY
DOWNTOWN METRO CITY
2:35 AM
- ah, there it is.
Thomas Miracle has been walking his assigned beat for the past two and a half hours, appropriately stone-faced to the point that only a spectacularly brave few have bothered to offer even a smile his way. Carmine might have been concerned over the lack of pleasantries, but Miracle knows better - it's Metro, downtown, early-morning. Police and Haggar aside, this place is far from safe.
Also, Carmine's got a baby-face. People love him for it. He probably -should- get worried if he's not getting the hellos.
Nonetheless, Miracle's rounding the corner nearest Angelo's current perch, hands in the pockets of his tactical pants. Unseen, they fondle a box of cigarettes and the lighter beside it -- Miracle shakes his head, offers himself a concilatory smile, and sets his eyes straight-ahead. Already he's marking what'd changed since his last pass.
- The liquor stores are all either closed or working towards it. Good.
- The thugs, troublemakers, and terrified pedestrians have virtually all left.
- It's still raining.
- There's a guy in a hoodie, hanging out against a buildingfront. Gloves, nice pants, shoes Miracle wouldn't touch let alone buy.
"...Evening." Thomas approaches the suspicious kid. It's technically his job.
"Sergeant."
Angelo turns the word over as he says it, his voice is dark, as though stating the rank is something, unfamiliar. Alien, even. His voice has an unmistakably Italian accent, and he straightens himself up. The hood still tucked over his features keeps the majority of him in shadow, gloved hands pulled from his pockets, clasping in front of him.
"Sergeant Thomas Miracle." He says, just the smallest hint of amusement tickling in his tone, "Division Eight, I believe. And those two shotguns of yours hint to me that you use a similar style of combat to one Officer Miranda Jimenez."
There's an aura of supreme confidence around Angelo at this moment, although, at the same time, there's a rising excitement in his voice. This Division Eight, if it was everything he hoped it would be, was everything that he wanted in the world. Miranda /knew/ that if she didn't kill him, he'd just keep coming back. That was, after all, the only logical conclusion to draw from the final shot. But, she had failed. He had survived, come back, stronger. Better.
"Do you know how she got that scar on her neck?" The creepy man in the hooded jumper asks, before he seems to think better of it. Pulling himself to his full height, just a couple of inches taller than Miracle, his features are still cast in shadow, but two hard eyes glint in that darkness. The harsh electric light catching them at just the right angle.
"Ah... perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. I apologize. I am Angelo, Sergeant Miracle, and I would like you to help me with my ... inquiries."
Flickering neon signs do wonders for the effect Angelo is (perhaps unwittingly) going for. The tall, hooded enigma's features are hinted at by malevolent reds and thrilling yellows, but little is revealed. It's probably the reason Angelo's current target is squinting at the Italian, but it's almost certainly Angelo's -words- that have Miracle's features contorting as they do. For the Sergeant's part, he does a wonderful job at keeping his face throughout the entire exposition.
Well. An eyebrow does spike into his hairline when Angelo mentions Division 8 - the other eyebrow joins it at mention of both scars and Mirandas. Miracle settles a gloved hand on the butt of the shotgun slung over his lower back, settles a pinky through its trigger-guard in a familiar, threatening fashion; his initial parley lies in the cant of head and neck, the cocking of hips.
Angelo better know exactly what he's doing.
"I'm afraid I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, son." A congenial laugh, the fatherly sort that brings a twinkle to otherwise -entirely- dead eyes.
The smile falters a bit.
"Maybe you should look into a head-shrink. Not bein' able to tell reality from TV shows can get a kid killed around here."
Angelo actually laughs. A soft, chortling laughter. It's brief lived, but, if only Miracle knew how very ludicrous that sounded to his ears. Television shows.
As swiftly as the laughter had come, it stops. There's enough in the faltering smile to tell Angelo that no, he's not crazy. Not that he had ever doubted his own sanity, of course. The laughter has died, and in that same instant, Angelo is spinning on the spot, stepping forwards, and aiming to drive his fist bodily into Miracle's throat.
This is, mostly, because Miracle is preparing to go for his gun, and Angelo has learned /more/ than enough about how these people work to know that letting them shoot him just isn't going to go well for him. Should all go according to plan, though, Miracle will wind up being punched, and Angelo's hands will fall back to his side in an easy, relaxed fashion, as he clarifies;
"I do not enjoy television, Sergeant. I also do not enjoy it when people waste my time. Now, you are going to tell me what I wish to know, or I am going to kill you and move on. Please understand, this is ... nothing personal. Not for you, anyway, you are just... in my way."
COMBATSYS: Angelo has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Angelo 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Miracle has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Miracle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angelo
COMBATSYS: Miracle Toughs Out Angelo's Quick Punch!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Miracle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angelo
Miracle's dealt with all manner of situation. Be it from his time in the Army, his time dealing with the Metro Riots, or simple policework, he knows when he cannot fully deal with another man's attack - this is one of those times. Angelo's turning punch prompts Miracle to movement; the police officer's powerful arms tug at the wall beside him and the shotgun at the small of his back. Legs begin pumping, propelling the oder man directly -into- Angelo's attack. Where any other combatant's throat might have been bruised to the point of requiring hospitalization, Thomas Miracle jerks his head to the side *brutally*. The contortion of muscle, that deliberate, bodily spasm... that's enough to put a wall of meat between sensitive throatbits and dangerous fingerbits.
Must've been that time in the Riots.
In any case, it's a movement that brings Miracle to a near-stumble of a rushdown. His left shoulder skips across Angelo's chest while he falters into a kneeling spin - one unlimbered shotgun smacks against Angelo's stomach, muzzle-first, roughly enough to bruise. Deviously, Miracle's used his stumble to free up the second shotgun - this is placed against Angelo's shoulder. While his position is awkward, hunched over as he is, Miracle's arms leave no doubt as to his prowess in handling his weapons.
Those shoulders are so... so -rounded-.
"Hngh!!"
Both shotguns explode into white-hot blossoms of concussive force, briefly illuminating Metro's dingy streets with blinding justice.
COMBATSYS: Angelo dodges Miracle's Explosive Introduction.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Miracle 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Angelo
Angelo is surprised. Miracle's prowess is obvious, even if Angelo had only ever fought one other person who has used firearms to any kind of professional level. The way he had dealt with Angelo's initial strike is, simply, masterful.
And now there's a shotgun against his stomach, and a second pressing into his shoulder. The light smack against his center is enough to rouse his spirit, though, and, fast as lightning, he twists to the side.
For a fraction of a second, the flare of fire casts Angelo in bright light, whilst, from his perspective, the officer is shrouded in darkness. The roar of the firearms bellow loudly, and now, Angelo knows, he's running on a time limit. He would have to deal with this swiftly, or there would be more backup. For the first time in years, Angelo actually has to /worry/ about what sort of police backup is going to arrive.
Angelo's teeth grit, and those fine shoes turn sharply on the pavement. It's only been a heartbeat since he avoided that terrible dual explosion, but he's already mounting a counterattack. No more fancy words, for once, instead, chi the color of leaves turning in autumn flares about his arm...
And he brings it up sharply. A broad slash of his own sickly light illuminates the night, flaring into a physical expression of his will on this world as it aims to splash over Miracle's side. Dealing with the situation as best he can, he's in far too close for his comfort, but, he knows, if he backs off and gives Miracle any range... he was going to wind up in a very similar situation to the one he was in with Miranda.
Except this time, it is unlikely that he can be fished out of any nearby, handily placed bodies of water.
COMBATSYS: Miracle blocks Angelo's Autumn Crocus.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Miracle 0/-------/--=====|=------\-------\0 Angelo
"Damn!" It's a word half-heard in the reverberation of shotgun blasts ringing from building to building, lost in the scuffle of boots and fine Italian shoes skiffing along greased pavement. Angelo whirls to the side as Miracle is forced to recover from his failed attack - it's something the Sergeant isn't quite used to needing to do, and it shows. He first stumbles to a knee, then simply *drops* both of the shotguns he bears. Any attempt he'd like to make at getting to a standing posture is precluded by Angelo's sudden, flaring chi manifestation, and instead, Miracle's rolling to his side, literally falling into a turtle's stance, shoulder braced against one runoff-stained gutter, combat boot planted against a nearby garbage can.
In front of him, he raises both shotguns in a protective cross, hands clutching firmly to their pump actions. Angelo's chi splashes against the metal and Miracle's tight-gripped fingers. Those fingers are seared, while both shotguns are pumped *for* Miracle. Their dual CLI-CLACK suggests that Angelo might be making the policeman's job a little easier. Above the display, Miracle's expression remains a grisly grimace, his eyes flash.
"Son, you understand assaulting an officer is a -felony-, yes? You understand that in Metro City, we deal with felons via gun-assisted sodomy?" He doesn't let his gaze leave Angelo's form. This perp will -certainly- test Thomas... and he's done playing.
COMBATSYS: Miracle focuses on his next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Miracle 0/-------/--=====|=------\-------\0 Angelo
Angelo lets both his hands fall to his sides. Now, Miracle is up against the wall, and Angelo has the entire street behind him. Certainly, Miracle has two shotguns pointed directly at him, but that doesn't seem to have fazed Angelo all that much. And.... Miracle is talking. Angelo can't resist a little conversation. It's a flaw.
"Sergeant, I reject your laws. They do not apply to me. I am, of a different nature. The laws of man apply to man, but I am reaching to become so much more than that. Something which I saw in the face of young Ms. Jimenez. You may be a Miracle, Sergeant, but I..."
Both hands sweep out theatrically to his sides, and he lets a little more energy flare, casting a momentary flash in the night, to highlight his words.
"/I/, will become the Divine." He smiles, and there's a hint of laughter in his voice as he continues, "I don't expect you to understand. I see a hint of potential in you, too, but... nothing compared to her beauty. Now, will you help me, or must I continue to bleed the truth out of you?"
COMBATSYS: Angelo focuses on his next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Miracle 0/-------/--=====|=------\-------\0 Angelo
It's very theatrical. Unfortunately for Angelo, he'd lost his audience at about the time he used Thomas' last name as a title rather than an unfortunate coincidence. Were he not so caught up in his exposition, Angelo might catch the eyeroll, the unmistakable bunch of worked musculature, Miracle's slight, telegraphing lean forward. "So you're just another one of the damn crazies. We've got a dozen kids with your M.O. Ever since that fuckin' computer game came out, feels like the entire damned WORLD is tryin' their hand at the hooded assassin bullshit -- but you're different, right?"
Miracle's speaking -over- Angelo. He hears something about Miranda in there, somewhere, but it's unimportant. It likely won't amount to much of anything, really. Especially considering the way Miracle's kicking off of the garbage can, vaulting towards his assailant, and *DRIVING* one pump-gripped shotgun into Angelo's chin, butt-first. It's more of a heavy SMACK than a thrust, but illuminating all the same.
"Point is, son, you gotta try to be more -creative-."
COMBATSYS: Miracle successfully hits Angelo with Chin Up.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Miracle 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Angelo
Angelo has to admit, it isn't often that he finds himself in a situation as bad as this one. The blow comes in too swiftly for him to do anything about it. In fact, it lifts him off his feet almost before he even knows what to do about it. Hitting the ground some distance away, he rolls up to his feet, and, he's no longer smiling.
Not because the blow /hurt/, but because Miracle is ... mocking him.
"Alright, enough." He snarls.
And suddenly, he's coming forwards again. As fast as he can, his feet pound the pavement. Bright red light flares in his hands, forming into twin, stunningly bright blades. As swiftly as he can be, he's on Miracle, no longer even bothering with the pretence of defense.
Instead, he aims to drive both those blades up and into Miracle's sides. If they drive home, the unique quality of those deadly blades will soon become apparent. The energy doesn't dissipate right away, instead, it'll continue to cut and shock deep into the cop over the next few moments. If this man is going to imply he's some sort of... popular-culture /derivative/, then Angelo's just going to do his damndest to kill him swiftly and get it over with. How... DARE he?!
COMBATSYS: Angelo successfully hits Miracle with Hemlock.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Miracle 0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0 Angelo
Miracle's already gotten a pretty solid impression of Angelo's unique attack-style from the first exchange of blows. His words aside, Thomas knows he's fighting a very serious contender - Angelo is easily on the same level or better than himself. It's the sort of thing that sends a chill down a man's spine, sets shivers to clenched teeth, and in the Sergeant's case...
Miracle affords himself a slight grin, flips either of his weapons to a proper butt grip, and even holsters the left over his right shoulder.
Angelo is on him like the Black Death on feudal Europe. Blades *stab* into the officer's sides, driving him to a backwards fall, to an unhealthy-looking slump against the everpresent corner he's backed himself into, brick walls and garbage cans breaking and nullifying whatever his fall might have been.
"Fucking punk kid...! You let me talk to your God-damned father when we're through, slap that son of a bitch 'till his head's screwed on tight enough to see the steaming pile he's inspired his wife to bring into thi-"
Miracle's rejoinder goes unheard over the sound of his lone shotgun. Again, bright white light fills the street - Angelo has one 12 gauge, 3" long buck slug streaking towards his stomach, lightning-fast.
In the distance, sirens blare, faint.
COMBATSYS: Angelo fails to reflect Buck Slug from Miracle with Foxglove.
-* CRITICAL FAIL! *-
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Miracle 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Angelo
Angelo sneers. There's a part of him- a very big part, right now- which is quite happy just to see Miracle in pain. Angelo doesn't often think of himself as a sadistic person, but Miracle has managed to get his blood up. Which isn't that hard to do, admittedly. It just, makes him angry to be seen as anything but a creative genius. Every fight is a work of art, and if this pig-headed fool is too stupid to see that, then he doesn't deserve the singular honor being allowed to draw breath.
"Idiot." Angelo spits, his hand flaring with bright white energy, "Do you really think /your/ guns can match--"
Whatever Angelo was going to say, is cut off by the fact that the slug travels noticeably faster than words. Crashing bodily into Angelo's center mass, it lifts him off his feet, and into the path of an oncoming car.
Which hits him, and keeps on going, in a panic.
When he staggers back up to his feet, Angelo is bloodied, but unbowed. Swaying on the spot, he's literally /shaking/ with fury. God only knows why this style is so effective against him, but he's not going to let Miracle get the last laugh, here. Yes, there are approaching sirens ... but he's got some time. All he needs are a few more minutes, and he'll leave a nice, bloody message behind for Miranda to understand.
Miracle watches the entire situation unfold with, at best, a wince when Angelo is *hit by a fucking car*. By the time the assassin regains his footing and made his way back to the officer, said car's driver has contacted OnStar. OnStar operators are unfortunately untrained in how to address victims leaving the scene of a crime - while the car is totaled, there is NOTHING in the protocol for this.
Angelo's reappearance is enough to set Miracle to startling, and the officer pauses in the middle of putting his shotgun away. His eyes harden, but in this, a perceptive man like Angelo might see that slightest granule of fear beginning to spark. It's something Thomas hasn't felt since his days walking beats for the MCPD Bay Precinct, since his years-ago run-ins with the elusive, sadistic Freeman. It's simultaneously the thing that makes a man love and hate his life.
"...You're back." His voice doesn't change in timbre or implication, and whatever trace of that faint emotion has left his features, replaced with an implacable mask of callous, dutybound efficiency. Miracle opens the slide to his shotgun's chamber, and begins loading rounds into the thing.
"This is not just a 'gun', this is a Remington 870 Police-issue, pump action, customized shotgun intended for use by yours truly. It has a treated barrel and reinforced stock to allow for multiple ammunition types and repeated blunt physical impacts. It has been signed by several retired or dead soldiers and honorable policemen. It has been the last thing hundreds of slime-sucking pukes have ever laid eyes upon. It is my family, my closest friend, and the most intimate item I have ever been blessed enough to posess. This is my executor, my biblical flaming sword, and my ticket to a world where I don't have t-"
Clack, clack, clack go the bullets.
COMBATSYS: Miracle gathers his will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Miracle 1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0 Angelo
Perhaps, being hit by a car has made Angelo less chatty than he normally is. Perhaps, Miracle's attitude is rubbing of on him. It's really rather hard to say. The fact is, though, that Angelo does not seem to particularly care about what Miracle is saying. Yes, he's proud of his gun. Good good. Angelo is not interested in the least about the specifics of Miracle's gun; it is a gun. Guns are not interesting to Angelo. The people who wield them, however.
Stalking forwards, blood trickles from underneath the assassin's hood. His gait, slowly, corrects itself. Despite the nasty rip in his clothing, he does not seem to have broken any bones. Not for the first time, Angelo is incredibly grateful for his talent with chi. Using it to stop himself being crushed, shot, stabbed or maimed has become so much more important in the past few weeks.
There's no words from Angelo right now, no play for information or anything like it. No, right now, Miracle has Angelo's utterly undivided attention.
This may not be something he appreciates.
One hand is drawn up next to him, held out in a simple spear-hand, and, without any hesitation, he simply drives his hand forward as hard as he can. Hoping to stab deep into Miracle's stomach, drive him back up against the wall. He's just, so /tired/ of these techniques besting him. Until the moment he hears guns being readied behind him, he is /not/ going to let himself retreat. He is better than this. He WILL get what he wants!
COMBATSYS: Miracle interrupts Strong Punch from Angelo with S.C.A.R.S. Aggression.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Miracle 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\1 Angelo
"-o deal with ungrateful, anarchistic dipshits like yourself gratin' against the hardworkin' American man because you can't swallow the notion that the best kinda happiness comes from a solid day's work!!" The sirens grow louder in the night, but Thomas does not let this distract him. His voice rings with his indignation, and white-knuckled fingers SLAM that slide-action shut, locking it into place. Miracle meets Angelo's eyes with his own, the officer's wide enough to suggest that the two might share more than a little of the 'crazy'. Nostrils flare, and as Angelo drives in close...
Miracle screams, a hoarse, infuriated thing. Angelo's fingers do not just stab into the officer's flesh, they slip around his tactical vest, find the skin beneath, and -tear- at it in a way that would make Iori Yagami at least a little proud. Blood seeps through Miracle's compression shirt, but it does nothing to abate his resolve. Warm liquid tumbles over Angelo's fingers, muscle grinds against his hand as the MCPD officer *steps into* the punch. He lifts his shotgun, *SLAMMING* it against the back of Angelo's head, length-wise, before twisting to the side.
A torrent of red blood arcs free from Miracle's chest as he pulls Angelo's hand free, but again, Miracle is paying no attention. He's still screaming. He's driving Angelo's head downwards, wickedly fast, into a brutally lifted knee.
S.C.A.R.S. is a combat style that prioritizes offensive intervention to your opponent's attack. It does not eschew the fine art of blocking or mitigating total damage, but understands that a fighter's best asset is intensity and calculated force. Thomas Miracle embodies this.
Angelo is reeling. It's the second time in just a few weeks that he's been brutally surprised by a police officer. This is turning into a disturbing trend. The trouble is, from where he's standing, Miranda had at least seemed ... if not appreciative, at least understanding of him as an individual. She seemed to respect his power. This is not something that this man has demonstrated. Instead, this man seems to think he's making some sort of political statement in his quest? He could not be more wrong.
As he comes back up, Angelo's hands are tugging his hood down, making certain that, although he's bleeding rather heavily at this point, he's not giving the officer the satisfaction of a truly clear shot of his features. Metro City, like most major cities, has a lot of cameras after all, and the last thing he wants is a clear description or even a photograph being circulated.
Wiping his nose with the back of one gloved hand, Angelo steps backwards. Now that he can speak without sounding like an idiot, he does so. A deep, shuddering breath flows out of him, and underneath the hood, although Miracle can't see it, his eyes close. That had hurt entirely too much to be comfortable. One more of those, and he'd be down for the count.
"You haven't comprehended a word I've said, Sergeant. I find that, disappointing." He says, his voice surprisingly quiet compared to the booming presence he had been trying to inspire earlier. Genuine frustration leaks into his tone, and he hunches over slightly. "To think, if you'd just answered my questions, we could have parted ways ... if not as friends, at least, not as enemies."
His voice is very low indeed as he continues, needling, pushing for a button that he suspects will draw some fire back into those cold, dead eyes. "A pity with your family gone, I can't make them scream, but, rest assured, Sergeant, that I will find a way to make you pay for this, inconvenience."
COMBATSYS: Angelo gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Miracle 1/-----==/=======|======-\-------\0 Angelo
Miracle clutches a hand to his gut as he fades back. Angelo has been proving to be a deceptive attacker; the initial strikes are quite underwhelming, taps and jerks that suggest an individual given to finesse rather than brute force. It had started as laughable, but now, with the very real reminder of his blood (his own blood!) soaking into the fabric of his shirt, Miracle is sobering to Angelo's tactics. His own expression softens considerably as Angelo -finally- seems to let down the 'act', the assassin's voice very hard to hear over the proximity of nearing squad cars. It prompts the Sergeant to tilt his head to the side.
'...family gone...'
Miracle's expression becomes a hunted one. His posture changes, to favor his chest and neck, to drive the chilly metal of a concealed necklace against his bare chest. If Angelo had been attempting to elicit a -reaction- from the hardened man, he's certainly done so. Cheeks quiver, but in the end, Thomas is closing his eyes, finding a calm, professional place.
The inky dark there allows a man's imagination to conjure up vivid images of his baby girl at the hands of some insane 'artist', dead as she may be. It doesn't do very much for one's calm.
"...hm-AH!" Miracle's eyes pop open, burning a sickly chartreuse when pit against the vivid orange of his goggles. It's something Angelo gets a good half-second to witness -- his foe has tossed his gun directly -at- the assassin, spiraling gaily through the air. It's only a matter of course that Miracle's lancing an arm out to catch it. Thing is, his hand's closed into too much of a fist to make any attempt at a grab.
COMBATSYS: Angelo counters Strong Punch from Miracle with Bleeding Heart.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Miracle 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\1 Angelo
Angelo isn't a cruel man. Not really. He doesn't like hurting people for the sake of hurting them. Indeed, pain is an unfortunate side effect of his art. But as Miracle comes in for him, Angelo can't help but enjoy the fact that he's prompted a response. That bright energy shows that, yes, now, this *has* gone into the realm of the personal. Beyond a job, beyond anything so, mundane.
There is potential here, and Angelo can only hope that Miracle will, in hindsight, appreciate it. After all, that flare of emotion is a shadow of the frustration and disappointment in Angelo right now; he probably wasn't going to be any closer to his goal by the end of this fight. But, perhaps, he could make the fight itself worthwhile!
Stepping forwards, Angelo moves his head to the side, and each of his fingers grips, turning into a claw-like configuration which, suddenly, powerfully, slams into Miracle's chest, directly over his heart, forcing the officer backwards out of the air.
The result is, most likely, unlike anything Miracle has experienced before. The blow is intended to momentarily disrupt the flow of blood, hitting at the perfect moment and fashion to cause shortness of breath, sudden shooting pains, like the entire body is being drawn up into that one point...
If Miracle was an ordinary person, it would be enough to induce a heart attack and, in all likelihood, instant death. Miracle, of course, is far beyond the *normal* person. But it is still a decidedly unpleasant experience, nonetheless.
There's something to be said for the strategic application of pressure to critical, heart-supplying vessels, especially as proximal as Angelo's attack might be. It's certainly an interesting sensation when combined with the sudden realization that you are -airborne-; the world goes grey for a moment, you see through a fish-eyed lens. You are robbed of your voice, and even the impact of the ground against your back, the way it pulls the air from your chest - all of it is terribly distant.
Miracle writhes on the ground for a moment, lips moving, words yet to transpire, combat boots splashing against puddles, uncontrolled kicks propelling streetbound litter to and fro. Eventually his hands find purchase on the ground, and some semblance of -control- overtakes his form. He fixes illuminated, hateful eyes upon Angelo, and manages, finally, to speak.
"I guess you can't be crazy if you're clever enough for that," he accedes, before pulling himself to a knee, hunched, breaths coming in shallow, wracking inhalations. Sirens are close enough, by now, to make speech difficult to hear. Red and blue lights flash erratically from an adjacent street. The first squad car begins rounding the corner.
"...What was your name again, son?"
COMBATSYS: Miracle focuses on his next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Miracle 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\1 Angelo
"Tch."
It's a cold, disappointed noise. Angelo's eyes had lingered, under that hood, on Miracle's thrashing body. That was, really, his ... favorite sight. It isn't the most powerful of his moves, nor is it the most technically impressive in terms of action on his part. But it is the most precise. There's just something very satisfying about a job well done.
But nothing is ever perfect, is it? In a perfect world, this would be accompanied by Bruckner's 9th Symphony, or perhaps some Beethoven. Instead, harsh red and bright blues ruin the lighting as Miracle gets back up to his feet, and those screeching sirens. Ugh. Could anything be more disruptive to the composition?
The assassin shakes his head slightly. "I should not have been surprised. Metro City response times are as sharp as ever." He mutters, working his neck a bit. Now that he was starting to slow down, he could appreciate the fact that he'd been shot, in the gut, beaten repeatedly, and, of course, hit by a fucking /car/.
"Ask dear Miranda, Sergeant." He says, louder, as he starts to back up. "I should hope I made an ... impression."
And with that said, he turns on his heel, and leaps. First, up onto a streetlight, and then, with a swing, up onto a rooftop. With a bit of luck, Miracle's wind will have been sufficiently knocked out to discourage pursuit... and hopefully, those other officers will see this is a kind of terrifying display of acrobatics, and not Chun Li their way up here after him as he flees.
COMBATSYS: Angelo takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Miracle 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\1 Angelo
"Tch." Miracle feels no shame in completely repeating the sentiment; it is a very good way to summarize his views on the situation. Angelo takes to the rooftops just as three speeding squad cars come to a screeching halt not even twenty feet away from the altercation. Swiftly, men spill out of the vehicles to tend to their officer - bandages are applied to Miracle's gut wound, while his shotgun is reclaimed by a plucky youth who will later be lectured on touching another man's gun.
Miracle does not pull his eyes from the retreating Angelo. "I want a perimeter secured. Get the helicopters deployed and Carmine out looking for this God-damned perp. Get artist renderings out, anybody wearing a hooded sweatshirt needs to be brought in."
"But Si--"
"Don't care, just do it. And get me to a hospital."
Miracle trudges into a squad car's back seat, where he collapses into a full sprawl across both cushions. Whatever Angelo was attempting to do might have been foiled through simple denial and confusion, but it's clear that he has, at the very least, made a strong enemy in Thomas.
COMBATSYS: Miracle has left the fight here.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Angelo 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Angelo has ended the fight here.
Log created on 14:00:45 01/25/2011 by Angelo, and last modified on 18:05:41 01/25/2011.