Description: The chaos in Southtown gave Aranha the opening he needed to deal with his sister's kidnappers. After receiving a tip that his sister is being kept there, Aranha heads over there to collect his pounds of flesh.
When the Syndicate's head quarters was destroyed, it presented an opportunity for Aranha. No one would notice if he disappeared since the Syndicate was too busy with their own issues. And considering the damage done to the base, if Aranha didn't answer his phone it would be entirely possible that he got caught up in the mess. First things Aranha did was go to the bank to both make a withdrawal from his 'rainy day' bank account and leave his cell phone in a safe deposit box. Next, Aranha bought a couple of burner cellphones, picked up some safe cracking equipment from his place in Southtown, and then made the trip by boat to the United States.
Afterwards, he made a cross country trip by bus, with every motel he stayed at, he paid in cash. He didn't want a paper trail. Or atleast a paper trail that could be traced right away. Slowly, he made his way to Metro City and to place where he would finally confront the people responsible for the kidnapping of his sister. Just before he was forced to make the flight to Southtown, Aranha was able to do some investigation work and all of the info led him to Capital 7. A place he was intimately familiar with and a place he prayed he'd never have to return to again.
Aranha knew that since the casino was under new management, a lot of the things he knew about it were invalid. He spent a week casing it and by the end of the week he knew where the cameras were, he knew where and how the money was transported to the tables and where it would come from. He was absolutely confident in his ability to hurt his sister's kidnappers by way of personnel and finances. He tried to stay out of the criminal world for the sake of his sister but when they used her to bring him back in, he knew that he'd be involved no matter what he did.
All quiet on the homefront.
The casino was under new management. In many ways, it was similar to the old management. A legitimate business, with illegitimate funding. A place all kinds of entertainment, in every wretched form of it. If you wanted to gamble, this was where you gambled. If you wanted flesh, you could seek out your flesh here. If you wanted blood, it was rumored that there were ways to fulfill those means as well. The Capital 7 was two faces for the Syndicate, as everything the Syndicate touched carried at least two.
And of course, the Casino was a prime place to hold a hostage.
But rescuing a hostage was not so simple though. Rescuing never was so simple. The lead he gained placed her not on the floors of the Casino. It was far away from the top floors, the hotels, the gambling grounds. It was in the depths of the casino, in the seedier shadows. The sewers of Metro City, hooked into the sour heart of the criminal underworld. The catacombs were labyrinthine; the passages were watched, were guards, and were on cameras. A dangerous path, even for someone like Aranha.
But there was still a path.
The entrance was somewhere between an open secret and a guarded secret. The open portion of the secret was well known: If you wanted to find the dark side of the casino, you had to begin at the casino. If you asked the employees, you would never find it. And you would be marked. But there was a certain ritual to find the path. It didn't matter what dealer you started with. What mattered was the floorboss. And from the floorboss, the pit boss. Each was a lock, looking for a certain phrase to open the way. Three locks. Three phrases. Aranha came here to find where his sister was locked away. The opportunity was there to free her. But before he could uncover her cage.
He would need to give them the key .
Of course the problem is Aranha has already been to the underbelly as a result being there before. Even before it was managed by the Syndicate. He didn't need anyone to tell him the wheres. The cameras would give him away before he got even close. No he had at least find out the rules to this game before he broke them.
One of the benefits of spending the amount of time casing the place he did. He could keep track of who said what and where they went. When he noticed that people would go to where the underbelly was, they went to people in a specific order. Then he took note of when people would go to the floorboss and then to the pitboss. With enough observation he could eventually finally get the phrases he needed to get into the underbelly.
First of all, he needed to attack their money though. He doesn't need their money. Just to deprive them of theirs. While wandering the floor he'd slip tiny explosive packets into their money carts while no one was paying attention. Going from dealer to floorboss, floorboss to pit boss he'd give the phrase.
When he gets in, he's going make them pay, literally and figuratively speaking.
Aranha had the keys.
With the keys, the doors open. From dealer to floorboss, from floorboss to pit boss. Aranha was not recognized, it was part of the business not to recognize. Whether or not noticing the explosive packages was part of the professionalism was a mystery, however. Aranha was past the tables into a service hallway. Past the custodial, discrete and polite. There, they open an elevator door. This probably was very different than the entrances of before.
A feature of the new management.
Down the elevator, down to the sewers. This section of the sewers was spacious; likely former subway sections. And the smell was hardly bad at all, and only a hint of mustiness. It was cleaner now. Much more accessible to the casual criminal, the hobbyist that took breaks from running financials for some violence, sex, and drugs. It even had railings to keep people from slipping and falling. The Syndicate had standards, yes. But the old passages were well let, well camera'd. The pitboss doesn't follow Aranha out of the elevator. He simply waits. Aranha had the keys. He knew the path to where his sister was held. It was not his business to follow.
Besides, in a few minutes, he would have to start dealing with the surprises that Aranha left.
And Aranha moves away from the elevator. Eventually when he hears the elevator close, that's when he sets off the surprises.
Those packets weren't powerful enough to hurt anybody or cause any property damage beyond setting money on fire. Simultaneously, all the money carts go up in flames.
Meanwhile, Aranha wipes the remote detonator clean drops it as he continues his way. The path between the elevator and the Arena is a lot more sparse with guards and at this point Aranha starts going after guards one at a time, avoiding head on conflicts. Sneak attacks are the order of the day. And if each guard is unfortunate enough to not be able to handle a fighter of Aranha's caliber, he will brutally dismantle them with violence that's way more than necessary. He'd leave them with their legs and arms broken in several different places. Then leave them bleeding out as he moves to the next until he gets to where his sister is located.
Meanwhile, Aranha wipes the remote detonator clean drops it as he continues his way. The path between the elevator and the Arena is a lot more sparse with guards and at this point Aranha starts going after guards one at a time, avoiding head on conflicts. Sneak attacks are the order of the day. And if each guard is unfortunate enough to not be able to handle a fighter of Aranha's caliber, he will dismantle them with the efficiency of a well oiled machine. Once they're down and can't fight back it's a different story all together.
Extra time is spent breaking the poor saps. He'd leave them with their legs and arms broken in several different places. Some may never even walking again. Then leave them bleeding out as he moves to the next until he gets to where his sister is located
Chaos spreads like a fog, and conceals as easily.
The blasts up ahead in the casino serves well as a distraction. In the depths of the catacombs, the rumbles rack the roof of the tunnel overhead. There may have been a few innocents wounded in the aftermath. There may be a few dead. But collateral damage was incidental to a man lashing out in vengeance. It wasn't Aranha's fault that a few customers would be wounded. It was the Syndicate fault. The path to the Arena would be confused, and in the chaos, there would be more alert.
But the path would be bloody, that much was clear.
Crimson mingles with grey water in the dim light of the tunnels. There are muffled moans, pained groans. Aranha was well past the caliber of the types that would endanger the passages of the sewers. But it wasn't pure pain that Aranha was after, was it. He had to find his sister, didn't he. So amongst the pain, there were answers.
Or rather, pleading.
"I don't know" mingled with the "Maybes" with the "please don't hurt mes" amongst the wounded victims of an Aranha denied. But there is meaning from the moans. One meaning in particular. "No wait, I have seen her. She isn't one of the usual girls. She's held with them though. The back entrance of the Arena. Check the employee entrance."
"She has to be held with the girls."
That's one of the benefits of being familiar with this place was he knew where everything was located. When the 'I don't knows,' 'Maybes,' and 'Don't hurt mes,' became something more concrete. Ran in that direction as fast as he could. No one would stand in the way of him saving his sister. /No one./
NO. ONE.
Anyone else Aranha would enounter is mercifully spared from the worst of his wrath. This is not to say they aren't brutally beaten and left broken and bleeding out. It just means he moves with more urgency as he goes to the employee entrance.
He then tests the door.
While he wants to kick down the door and beat everyone in his way senseless, he has enough sense to realize that it's best to keep them from attacking him in numbers. The quiet(but still vicious) route was the still way to go.
Familiar places bear familiar memories.
No one could hold his sister away. Blood ran thick; thicker than water. As he rushes down, silence now fills the tunnels. Was it truly quiet, or was it too far from the action. Aranha soon reaches the door to the rear of the arena. The passage to his sister. But it could be a trap. It could hold back a number of gangsters. It could hold the whole of the Syndicate. But in the end, would that be enough to stand between Aranha and his sister? The door opens slowly; it is unlocked.
And sitting within, is a young man.
The man is only 5'5, somewhat on the short side, and with a narrow, atheletic frame. Sitting on a metal chair, he is watching a small flatscreen TV. He is African-American, with a lighter tone of dark skin. A red bandana covers his scalp, bearing the symbol of a scorpion; an old Mad Gear symbol long associate with El Gado and his gangsters. Bearing a denim jacket and jeans, he suddenly rises up from his metal folding chair, staring down the intruder with half-lidded eyes.
"The hell are you?"
If Aranha wasn't on a mission... If the Dancing Spider didn't have so much on the line, he might have entertained a response to that. Maybe a 'Clearly, your TV has been collecting dust' or a 'You mean to tell me you didn't see my performance in the Trial of the Dragon? I eliminated Andy Bogard' or if he was feeling particularly smart assed 'I'm the god damn Batman'
No. Aranha has no desire to talk and as the original owner of this casino, Elle Belmounte, once taught the capoeirista through hard lessons, talking invites mistakes. Aranha can't afford make mistakes. Wasting no time he jumps right at the scorpion bandana wearing man and applies foot to the chest in the form of a front kick as he attempts to put the other man right through the wall.
Words were sometimes unnecessary.
Standing by his metal chair, the strange young man barely had time to react. Aranha was pouncing on him, just like how he had pounced on every victim, every guard before him. The stranger knocks back the chair, sending it flying aside as the spider rushes him with a kick. The expression does not change on the man, however, still staring at Aranha.
And the man responds fluidly.
Aranha's front kick is met by the scorpion bandana's man hands spreading wide. The stranger drops down low, hands catching the ground as he tumbles below the kick, keeping parallel to Aranha. Picking straight back up, he brings his right arm forward, as his right leg is brought back. And then, the same is repeating for the left, as the man begins what seems to be a dance. "You are after her, aren't you?" His eyes were still half-lidded, his face relaxed. But the rhythm would be all too familiar to the fighter.
The dance-like grace of a capoeirista.
Ginga.
Aranha had once likened it to a person's fingerprint since no one moves exactly the same. Each footstep carrying with a story and experiences that one has obtained through the years. If Aranha wasn't so filled with rage, he'd note a similarity to the way the two moved as if one had taken a different path from the other and movements reflected that.
It would be easy for Aranha, to be over confident at this point. As far as his public fighting record was concerned, he has never lost against another capoeirista. The closest one was Momoko, early in his career and as far as he was concerned he has evolved well beyond the fighter he was back then. There are two things that keep overconfidence in check. First, one of the first songs he learned was a reminder that today you maybe awesome but tomorrow you might not be able to pull off that same performance. Second, was the fact cockiness was /not/ an option as long as his sister was captured.
He goes into ginga as well, taking a moment to study him and then he's immediately on the attack. He goes into a cartwheel to move toward the other capoeirista's flank and while keeping both hands on the ground, swings a back heel kick right for his head. The momentum of the kick is used to to bring Aranha into an upright position.
Control one's Arrogance.
When one faces ones shadow, one tends to place it as a mere reflection, a mere afterimage of the true form. The man's ginga reflects similar to Aranha's own. Perhaps similar origins, before there was a split. It was Aranha's home city, was it not? Perhaps this man shared the same Roda, at one point. But small differences remain. For the stranger, his ginga was his own fingerprint, free of Aranha's touch. But where Aranha was fighting to control his arrogance, this man was not. There wasn't a flash of it within. What pride there was long beaten away. He was a goon, a mook. A last line of defense.
And he knew what it meant when it was his time to face someone like Aranha.
What his professional fighting record was not as public as Aranha. But as the capoeirista lunges on the guard, the stranger observes quietly. As the cartwheel comes, the capoeirista readies himself. The backheel kick comes, and he crouches down with the rhythm. Curling down, he plants his hands down to catch his balance. As Aranha recovers, the effeciency of the dodge is flawless, but simple. Using the momentum of the evasion, the guard throws out a low sweep, attempting to knock as he spins around. It was no surprise he could see through a feint like that to dodge a kick.
Just like it will be no surprise that does the same for his own.
Aranha's foot gets caught by the foot sweep but that was the beauty of having both hands planted on the ground. It allowed Aranha to keep three points on the ground as he was attacking. When his foot gets taken, he still had his hands on the ground and he lets his foot go with the sweep and using the momentum of both his kick and this strange mirror's Rasteira, twists himself into a spin sort of like a helicopter with the blades spinning vertically before landing in a crouched position with one leg extended and not in the position that he wanted to be in and slightly harder on his heel than he would've liked.
Aranha spins back to his feet and then performs an outside crescent kick. He doesn't even let the foot touch the ground before attempts to hook his foot around the front foot of this man standing before him attempting upset his balance slightly before delivering a side kick to the chest.
Aranha's skill was being well demonstrated now.
The fluid movements of the two fighters were almost intermingled now. The cartwheel kick transitioned into the low hooking sweep. The momentum continues as Aranha catches the kick as rolls with it. As the spin comes, the other fighter rises up, spinning his own legs in synergy. Both could read the other. But as the outside crescent kick comes, he takes the bait. He knows it is as he lets Aranha hook the foot, working with the momentum to pivot.
When the side kick comes, he is almost nodding.
The capoeirista does not stumble though. Knocked down, yes, but not stumbling. The ginga continues its flow, the steady rhythm ebbing. Every action was part of the same duet, the same duality of dance. As his footing remains, the pain in his chest seems to let something. "Where did you learn this?" The man states calmly, as he circles around his opponent. A kick comes, whipping around for the torso. But it is short, and it is narrow. A feint. Using the momentum for another lunge to the side, he will pivot around Aranha... and into Aranha. If successful, he will hook a leg behind Aranha's knee, and use it as a buckling point as he drives in with his elbow. To break his rhythm, the break his balance.
And to send Aranha hurtling down to the dank concrete.
The feint, Aranha recognized it for what it was but not its purpose and so he moves inward attempting to cut off whatever this mysterious capoeirista was trying to do off at pass. Aranha inadvertently plays right into this guard's hand. Just as he's about to deliver an elbow strike to this other fighter buckles the Dancing Spider's legs and it's at this point Aranha knows exactly what move is being performed on him and that there's nothing he can do about it.
The irony of having Vingativa, a move that roughly translates to 'vengeance' in Portuguese, being performed on him, is that if there anyone in this place with a right to revenge, it would be him. Aranha spins away from this mysterious fighter giving himself some distance before response.
"I learned this, in the 'Home of Schugerg's Invasion, the place of the lost towers.'" Partially quoting lyrics from 'Welcome to Metro City.'
Right or wrong held no meeting in the heart of the Syndicate.
As Aranha takes the hit, the opposing spider crawls after him, his nimble movements following in sync with the intruder. "You must be a local guy. I'm impressed. It's rare to encounter another capoeirista. You're good. But not Rolento good." As Aranha builds his distance, he may see his opponent begin to build up speed, a surge of power overcoming him. The rival's legs begin to flare with energy; not blue chi, but a fiery red.
And for a moment, Aranha gets a clear glimpse into a broken mirror.
The guard performs an outside crescent kick from his front leg which then drops to his rear leg. He shifts back and swings his leg around in a rear leg outside crescent kick, then quickly follows up with a trio of kicks; each kick touching the ground as he swings the heel of his rear leg towards his opponent's head. On the final kick, the guard cuts it short into a feint, and turns his foot as he drops it down on the ground. He follows up that motion by swinging his other foot at the head in a roundhouse kick-like motion though it's also done with both hands on the ground as well. The guard then shifts his weight over to the side, swinging the unplanted foot up and over into another feint, building momentum for the other foot to come back across and slam into his opponent's side, finishing the assault by falling into a handstand and unleashing a series of rapid spinning handstand kicks. And with the furious combination, the guard mutters out loud as the last of the burning kicks come.
"-Double Down-"
It's only Aranha's intimate knowledge of each move that saves him. Though the color of the energy is different, a large amount of the mechanics, and possibly the intent is the same. Drown the opponent in attacks and put pressure on them in order to encourage their opponent to make mistakes. Although there's similarity in mechanics, their timing on when to deliver the attack is different. Aranha waits until he has taken their measure and worn them down a bit. This guy seems to want to use that move to wear him down or just swing for the fences. And that is the key.
Aranha's still relatively fresh so he still has enough energy in him to move, bob, weave, and spin around and under the multitude of attacks sent his way. When Aranha's rival goes into the spinning handstand kicks Aranha takes a swipe at Escorpiao's leg with his hand in the hopes the capoeirista will over spin or tilt off balance and be forced go back on to his feet.
That's when Aranha will truly strike. If those feet touch down on the ground, Aranha would go across his face with chi enhanced pimp slap from hell. The type of slap that would shake walls and hurt feelings. After that initial kick, he delivers a hard side kick to the chin.
Sure Aranha may not be Rolento good but neither is guy in front of him.
Any smugness from the guard was gone.
As Escorpiao goes for the coup de grace, the frantic assault is met with perfection. Every strike from the guard is predicted by Aranha, every sting is caught. By the time he takes to the handstand, sweat was pouring from his brow. Not from fatigue, but from frustration; He was being outperformed when he was not meant to. The strike lashes out for his legs, and he rolls with the force. Shifting from the push, those feet do touch the ground. He doesn't see the hand coming in. He only sees the flash of chi. He wasn't able to slip away. He wasn't able to block. Trapped in his own pivot, the man only struggles to endure as the slap comes. He manages to take the slap without getting knocked away. But then the kick comes.
And he is sent rolling.
Spinning through the air, the graceful balance is broken harshly, the ginga thrown cleanly away. Escorpiao hits the concrete into a tumble, ultimately smashing into some pipes running alongside the cold dark room. The clang of bone against metal runs through the air, as the man sucks air in pain. Steadily, slowly, he rises up. Eyes locked down, stance wary. He begins to rebuild his ginga, the rhythm returning. He was keeping cautious, keeping careful. He sputters words, his pride having been scarred. "What is this about? Why the girl? Don't you know who you are dealing with? Do you think you can get out of here, get away from here, even if you get by me?"
"What makes you think you will succeed?"
Where Escorpiao was trying to recover his pride, Aranha wasn't in it for pride. It wasn't about himself. Aranha would rather die than to admit defeat for one simple reason. His sister was still captured.
Even still it took a performance of a lifetime to pull that off and there's doubt that Aranha would be able to pull it off again if he went into that attack once more. Aranha's ginga becomes slow and predatory as he moves in closer. He bobs and weaves. He feints a few times and then tosses his jacket right in Escorpiao's face. Though Aranha's silent, that single action was the perfect answer to Escorpiao's question. What makes him think he'll succeeed? Because he will break any rule, stoop down to the lowest level, and be as nasty and vicious as he needs to be to see that his sister is safe.
While Escorpiao is dealing with Aranha's jacket in his face, he probably won't be able to see that powerful roundhouse to the head coming, nor probably will see that hooking back heel kick coming the other way attempting to drag him face first to the ground. If he can successfully pull that off, he'll add a few stomps to the back of the head for good measure.
Cornered.
The momentum had shifted. The guard was now on the defense, pushed on the ropes by Aranha's riposte. Every lunge was a feint, or a coup de grace. Every sign was a decoy, or the truth. Every thing Aranha was telegraphing was a known unknown to Escorpiao. His last stand would need to find an opening, and then reverse it. There was one thing, however, outside his technique that he did not predict.
A jacket to the face.
A few seconds of blindness is all it would take. As the guard struggles with the jacket, he does not see the roundhouse coming. He does predict something was coming. But as he brings up his guard for a frontal assault, he instead takes a clean, unguarded kick to the skull. Nothing is prepared to meet Aranha's follow up hook, as Aranha takes control and sends Escorpiao to the concrete. There is just enough time for him to rip off the jacket for Aranha to stomp him down. A growl comes from the man as he pushes himself off the ground.
and promptly falls.
A second attempt to rise comes, writhing and coughing. But like the first, it collapses with a moan. Escorpiao wasn't bouncing back. Blood was dripping down his face, the last assault crushing through his shell, and rending apart the soft tissue underneath. He reaches up for Aranha, trying to drag him down. But it was clear what Escorpiao was now.
A scorpion crushed under his heel.
"You want to know why this girl is so important to me? She. Is. My. Sister. And clearly you didn't know who /you/ were dealing with if you had to ask that question."
This part is censored for breaking rating for extreme violence
If Aranha wasn't so caught up in his bloodlust, he would've realized that this man was just a few opportunities short of escaping this type of life. A few opportunities short of gaining the experiences of facing off against the best fighters in the world and becoming better fighter as a result. One day, when he looks back at this, he will look upon it in regret. That he robbed the world of another strong capoeirista to build up the art within the fighting circuit.
As he rises up all covered in blood he looks around with a wild look in his eyes and then with a look at his sister recoiling in fear. She knew that Aranha had killed their parents to keep her safe but watching her brother kill someone on her behalf right in front of her shook her to her core. She was genuinely scared of her brother and he knew it. And it hit him hard.
It hit everyone hard.
The trace of the violence began with that bloodied heap of a guard. A rising star, extinguished. A broken mirror ground to dust. The line draws through the passages, where other, lesser guards, lowlife thugs are rolling in the slime, bleeding and unconscious. The line draws to the elevator, leading up to the panicked crowds. Fire-fighters were moving around, police were rushing through, and agents of the casino were caught between saving the business, and saving the casino. Utter chaos ran through the casino floor, the fallout of Aranha's bombs still leaving their mark. And the trace continues, all the way to a well-dressed man, nursing a head wound, speaking into a cellphone in a corner, away from the bedlam. That trace goes through the phone, to a small, hidden office beneath an opera house.
To a grimacing, dark skinned titan of a man, sitting behind a magohony desk.
Duke was not happy for this phonecall. The blond-haired Don clutches a cigar in his fingers, the heavy smoke hanging in the air around him. The man's yellow eyes were pinpricks, clouds of burning, violet energy were rolling off his body. "Capital 7. And you have no idea who did it?" The giant growls, the voice holding the presence of a barely contained demon. Anger was billowing off this man, and the poor soul on the other line could feel every wave of fury. "No idea? Do you understand what this is going to do our reputation? Have you spoken with Li?" There is pause, as chattering rattles from the phone. The Don hammers his fist ruthlessly upon the desk. "You want me to come down there and fix the problem? You need ME to fix it for you?" There is a pause. And then, Duke relaxes.
"No.""I have a better idea. Tell Li that we have a connection on the attack." Duke begins, leaning back in his chair. Sweeping a hand across his desk, he spreads some files across. Images of a tentacled horror, several blueprints of strange cybernetics, and a poorly shot photograph of a glaring man in a strange, crow-like fur coat. "I don't think you understand. You are going to tell Li that we have a connection to the attack. That the front in Southtown has been moved, and that an outside agent has intervened. Tell him that NESTS conducted the assault. Oh, don't worry about whoever did the attack. We are going to find out which clown pulled this job, and I will see to it personally that whoever, did it, that idiot, and every idiot that knows that idiot, will regret it, very, briefly." Duke rumbles pleasingly, before placing the phone down on the receiver. He rocks back in his chair a moment, swinging his cigar around briefly. "So they all want to stop me, do they? Enemies to my left, enemies to my right. Well let them come. Let them all come. I'm Duke! I'm the true boss of the Syndicate."
"And I won't let these NESTS fools ruin my destiny."
Log created on 19:52:08 09/22/2013 by Aranha, and last modified on 22:37:24 12/31/2013.