Vice - Business First, Then Pleasure.

[Toggle Names]

Description: With Ultratech spreading its tendrils through the supernatural world in its quest to obtain further data, their agents have come to the attention of "R". Whilst the Lord of Battle would likely have intervened at some point purely to protect his arms sales, they cannot be allowed to push into his more esoteric concerns. And so Vice is dispatched to bring the hammer down. But it transpires that Ultratech has secrets of its own, and dragging them out into the light of day may prove costly for all sides.

The main highway between Narita airport and Southtown is a constant flow of traffic. Regardless of the damage done to the City, it is still a major hub of industry and commerce. Indeed, with the rebuilding efforts underway, there's even more traffic; materials need to be shipped in, a constant flow of people and resources which demands that the highway never truly quiets.

The sun is just starting to go down as the Ultratech operative codenamed 'The Chiropractor' is shuttled from the airport to Southtown proper. The man is sat behind the wheel of his self-driving vehicle, more for appearances than anything else. He doesn't need to do anything as he is guided to his destination in convoy. A group of large, thunderous, armoured black vehicles guiding the precious cargo home. There are few individuals within Ultratech who have been able to begin infiltration of the magical community, but The Chiropractor, with his fastidiously clean suit and neat black hair, is one of them.

Unfortuantely, there is a reason why all of this security was needed - and a variable that it proves incredibly difficult to predict.

This is proven conclusively when a motorcycle suddenly swerves, erratically, in front of The Chiropractor's vehicle. The woman riding it is red-haired and wearing a dark black pantsuit. No helmet whatsoever. And when the sensors of the vehicle pick up who it is - the vehicle begins to swerve.

Too late.

Because the woman backflips off the bike, and in a graceful arc she smashes through the bulletproof windshield of the SUV. In an instant, her hand is around The Chiropractor's throat, and before the man has time to register the lacerations from his shattered screen, she has pulled him out and hurled him in front of his own vehicle with all her superhuman might.

It is likely that the force of the impact alone would have killed him instantly, but the fact that the vehicle simply can't arrest its motion in time and his body takes the full weight of it as it passes over him is a poetic irony that pleases the Orochi-blooded sadist. Desecrated by the means that Ultratech had put at his disposal to keep him safe.

The fact that her own motorcycle is also now a useless, twisted hunk of metal skidding across the highway and causing all manner of chaos doesn't seem to concern her in the least. What kind of predictive algorithm could even begin to prepare for such reckless disregard for an agent's own escape route?!

Tumult on the highway descends on the motorcade.

To their merit, the vehicles avail themselves well in the event of the calamity that winds its way through them. Several make an increased attempt to correct for the garbage data being thrown in front of their cameras, and one or two even manage to successfully stop before the motorcycle rolls into them is a testament to the engineering the moment. It does, however, absolutely nothing for the armored Escalade that wraps the comparably diminutive Interceptor around its wheelwell - and after tearing the efficient Honda near in half - promptly loses the wheel in said well, and folds in the middle of the highway, flipping end over end in a heavy shallow arc, smashing into another sleek sedan in a hammer arc. Interestingly, the explosion is muted -- hybrid engines simply don't blow as easy as they used to.

A pity for the nostalgic. Admittedly, the appreciation amongst the crowd is minimal. Certainly, the red streak striping Unit 07's chassis may have had an academic interest in the mayhem. The audience of one is the only one left to appreciate it amongst the largely automated vehicular swarm. Well. Almost the only one.

What kind of predictive algorithm could begin to prepare? The lone rider will have the opportunity to tell. The fleet, comprised of SUVs, coupes, cruisers and a genuine decoy limousine, respond with almost eerie precision to the sudden emergency, and with swarm intelligence, cut a berth around the crumpled automotiva with the synchrony of a single mind, a brute force in grace and certitude sluicing around the wreckage undaunted. The technology at play is merciless, and the moment the mission failed, another is adopted all anew.

"Well. I never would have imagined..!"

The blades of the chopper can be made out easily when considering the only sound beneath the invader's feet is the deep pulsing thrum of electric motors. The helicopter overhead quickly gains pace with the motorcade, and the 'U' symbol emblazoned in angry tactical red and black can be seen clearly emblazoned on its side. One man, wearing a suit almost to match the Chiropractor's own leans out, calling out to start. And when he drops, the entire motorcade shifts, slipping around seamlessly so that when he lands, the shocks of the coupe with the best suspension rock gently underneath the soles of his boots, compensating for the change of momentum effortlessly. Surveying the long streak of blood, the man's long black hair whips about him in the wind, though his eyes are somewhat protected by the tinted teashades he wears.

Plus, standing upwind has its perks.

"....Didn't think the Organization would find its way this far out," the Ultratech executive comments, his nominally lazy voice carrying a band of authority allowing it to carry over the wind to the invader. "Did you have a safe trip out?" he asks, smiling accomodatingly. And then he unpacks his collapsible baton with a slow, deliberate mien.

"Now, what am I going to do with you.."

COMBATSYS: Magi has started a fight here.

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Magi             0/-------/-======|

A lot of people assume Vice is stupid. It's an understandable assumption to make. The woman is congenitally incapable of subtly. She hits every problem with escalating levels of violence, and there is a certain kind of thinking that says her approach is just... unimaginative. The fact is, though, that Vice is not stupid. She just doesn't see any reason to pretend she is something she is not. Where is the virtue in making a situation more complicated than it needs to be?

The chopper doesn't go unnoticed. No doubt there's an "R" affiliated chopper which is currently hanging back somewhere. A road traffic accident is one thing, especially where self-driving vehicles are involved, but a full shootout over the main artery into Southtown? That's the sort of heat that could force the Japanese military to intervene. Beleagured as they are, that doesn't benefit anyone. Besides, when Magi makes his dramatic entrance, it is likely that Vice would just attack anyone trying to get her to pull back before she deals with him.

Not because she's stupid, but because HE looks like he can put up a fight.

The woman steps out onto the hood of the SUV as he lands, and there's a feral smile on her lips as she stares him down. There's a certain predatory air which is unavoidable in Vice's presence, when her blood is up. She's gotten one kill, and now her heart is pounding in her chest. She's excited. How lucky she is to have a second victim drop so swiftly into her lap! "Mnn, and here I was, worried that I'd only have toys to break."

She and the Executive are dressed in amusingly similar outfits. Vice's dark black suit is equally tailored, and they both wear it well. But when the woman flips up to land on the top of the vehicle, the illusion is broken almost immediately. Mostly because she flings her hand forward, and the jagged sliver of ballistic glass she had brought with her is sent hurtling through the air towards the executive, aiming for his centre mass in a demonstration of just how deadly serious she is. He aims to stay cool, calm and collected; she's going for a killing stroke right from the off!

"Let's *play*, Prettyboy. I hope you know how to use that stick of yours, because if you disappoint me, I'm going to make you eat it!"

COMBATSYS: Vice has joined the fight here.

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Vice             0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0             Magi

COMBATSYS: Magi blocks Vice's Large Thrown Object.

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Vice             0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0             Magi

Hurtling down the expressway while watching her, the Ultratech executive notices his heart beating a little faster as he boxes up, slinging the length of black stainless over his shoulder as if it were the blade of a katana. His sunglasses catch the light, and the faint red tint today to the glass shimmers as he raises his chin, the beginnings of a thin, pressed expression creeping knife-life across his face, as his accomodating expression slowly gives to a poker face that could win a championship.

Slowly, his heartbeat chills.

Her attack meets a cold wall of indifference, the executive raising a leg at the whirling piece of glass as she sends it hurtling with lethal precision at his middle. He snaps a leg out -- with dagger precision -- and steps onto the glass in mid-air. There is a brief hitch as his weight is transferred to the vicious momentum of the glass shard, and then with a sharp crack of metal and leather, buries the sliver a hands-span into the hood of the coupe he stands on. He wags the sole of his thick boot over the edge of the glass harshly to bury it into the crumpled sheet, breaking off a section of the shard in the process.

He does so with blood-chilling certainty, and makes eye contact with Vice the entire time.

"Nothing to worry about.." he remarks calmly.
"I'm the best at what I do."

He seems to cross space in just one step.
There is a bizarre, frigid precision in the way Magi moves against his heated counterpart. While on the outset, it's hard to even keep sight of him with the cutting wind and the speed of the motorcade, there is no other indicator that he even attacks at all. Instead, he moves into her space seamlessly, with no precaution, and no 'space' given to her. Nothing held back, it's as if he is infringing not simply on her space, but on her pulse, her blood. If she even so much as blinks, he is simply on the hood of the SUV with her, alighting on it silently and moving into and past her in one step. Unlike one would expect, he doesn't even approach her on his weapon side. If she is as fast as she looks, she'll have just enough time to catch a glimpse of his open leather glove.

As he moves to bleed his staccato momentum into her neck, catching her in an instant and putting her bodily into and through the open windshield of the SUV she just ripped their prize informant out of.

COMBATSYS: Magi successfully hits Vice with Shiasa's Casket.

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Vice             0/-------/------=|=======\-------\1             Magi

Vice hadn't been expecting him to move so quickly, that's for sure. In an instant, he is on her, and before she can twist away from his grip he's slammed her through the open front of the vehicle. The impact with the driver's chair rips it clean from its mooring on the floor, and the woman lets out a low growl. Oh. Now. That's INTERESTING.

The best there is at what he does? Maybe. Not only was he good enough to negate her attack, he's strong enough to actually hurt her. Not something that anyone who has a place in the board room could do ordinarily. It's a rare combination, and it practically sings to Vice as she uncoils from the interior wreckage of the vehicle. Faint whisps of red power rise from the woman's skin. She can't hold it back any more. No. She doesn't WANT to hold it back. The Riot of the Blood always rages in her heart, but where she normally keeps a handle on its instincts and directs that ferocity...


The wild, echoing laughter and the sudden sense of danger as her Orochi blood begins to leak into the world is all the warning he gets. Immediately, the woman is lunging upwards, hands seeking to grasp Magi by the legs and simply hurl him up above her head. Being grabbed by Vice is a disconcerting experience. There's simply no way that a woman of her build should have so much strength and capacity for violence in her - and yet there it is. All it takes is a moment of clean contact, and Vice's shoulder is SLAMMING into Magi with enough force to shatter a lesser man all at once - and send him hurtling up into the sky.

Not that she intends to let him linger there for long, or to allow gravity to steal her fun for her. If he goes as airborne as she wishes, she'll snatch him from the air and bring him crashing back down to earth through the roof of the decoy limousine. The largest target she has that will let them keep fighting across the top of the traffic rather than trying to dodge it on ground level.

But what may be of more interest to the researcher in him is the nature of that energy now bleeding out into the world. Many fighters speak of the 'killing intent', the sensation one gets when facing someone who truly wants you dead. Vice's entire existence is bent towards it. A power utterly antithetical to the existence of mankind itself pulses through her veins, and now that she has let it slip its leash, it is making its presence felt even before she calls upon it directly.

He obviously knew a little of who she was - but just how well-studied and complete is the data on the power that wields her? And that, surely, must be the implication from the instinctive and casually overwhelming force that she levels against him in this opening salvo. This is not a woman who is harnessing power to her own ends. This is a woman who is acting as a conduit; a way for the infinite violence and hatred of Orochi to find form and purchase on this world.

And he's managed to impress her with his opening gambit.

COMBATSYS: Magi blocks Vice's Mayhem.

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Vice             0/-------/-----==|=======\=------\1             Magi

There is some data on extradimensional entities in the annals of Ultratech apocrypha, not least of which is the apex entity known as 'Orochi.' However, to say that Ultratech has done anything more than the most rudimentary of studies on the entity's influence in the world would be a touch premature, to say nothing of the ability to make the connection. To say, then, that the executive is comprehensively aware of the intent leaching into every fiber of the air around him as he puts the red widow of R through the windshield of the SUV would be merely facile and superficial.

However, to discount Magi's 'instinct' would be in itself a miscalculation.

The executive has purchased only a few moments in melee with the vicious fatale, thrown bodily into the air with a titanic flex of her core and a train crash of a shoulder blow, the Ultratech agent struggles to bleed off vertigo as she leaps after him. The bone-jarring blow was unexpected from the tight corners he put her in, nor was the speed of the recovery. Though even hitting him unawares is a little bit like trying to strike the surface of water, his expression is well in the grip of that troubled blade of a frown by the time Vice meets him in midair. Even his defenses couldn't hold for very long against an all-encompassing attack like this.

But then again.
"Below you," he points out, as she tries to snatch him out of the air and meets only his own underhand grip at her lapels, maintaining that deadly closed space between them. Magi regains control of himself in the air from that train accident of a shoulder seamlessly, whirling like a cat as he fights against her momentum until he hits the limousine like a hammer, caving in the top of it underneath his work boots. He's currently trying to keep the pace under his control, as he tries to focus Vice more on avoiding being thrown around right along with him rather than taking out his throat.

Of course, they have limited intel on Vice's sources, but there's more than enough intel on what Vice leaves behind for their information gatherers.

If he can keep her attention even only for a moment with his outstretched arm, Magi will pull her off-balance. Just slightly - and just enough for her to see his jugular. If she's distracted, if she lets him control the flow for even a second longer, he'll finally smash her beneath the crumpling force of his baton, a deep bass -boom- felt even in his own bones as he whips the baton straight down, aiming to fold the maniacal diva across an explosion of metal and bass force. "Don't think this'll be that easy!!"

COMBATSYS: Vice endures Magi's Code Sphinx ES.

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Vice             0/-------/-======|=======\=====--\1             Magi

The difficult thing about controlling Vice's momentum is that, well, in this instant at least, SHE isn't in control of her momentum. She doesn't care about being thrown from the vehicle, or the crushing danger that a trip onto the freeway represents. What she cares about is crushing him. Killing him. ENDING, him. It's the kind of singular focus that is truly terrifying, really. The utter disregard for her own safety or wellbeing; the absolute clarity with which she pours everything she has into the act of murder.

She doesn't respond to his words, and as he brings the baton down, she's actually moving into the blow. It smashes into her skull with a detonation of force that should, by rights, send her hurtling from the crumpled limosine roof and into traffic.

But, it doesn't.

The top of her head is cracked. Thick, oozing blood drools out over her features, and that power still rises in her, still demands more. She doesn't feel the pain, only the frantic, determined urge to hurt HIM as badly as he just hurt HER. He must be able to see it in her eyes. There is no fear there; no self-preservation instinct. Whatever horrifying supernatural power has this woman in its grip, she is given over to it entirely; trusting only in it to keep her moving as she aims to snare any part of the Agent's being and raise him up above her head.

"EASY?!" She roars, and in that one single word she confirms something even more awful. Despite all appearances, she is not, in fact, a mindless animal. Even in this state, even pushing her mortal form beyond the wounds she has taken and into even further depths of violence, she retains some terrible sentient awareness of her state. "I don't want it easy, WORM! I want it HARD!"

And if she has maintained her grip, he'll find himself being taken through the limousine roof, tearing through armoured plating as though it were nothing. And should he hit the floor of the vehicle, a detonation of brilliant scarlet power will threaten to tear the whole damn thing in two!

COMBATSYS: Magi endures Vice's Nailbomb but gets knocked away!

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Vice             1/------=/=======|=======\=======\1             Magi

That sort of hit was aimed perfectly. This strike with this particular class of Ultratech dismantling baton would have been 'checkmate' -- to the left, lose one arm, to the right, lose the other. Don't move, and.. well. You're down for the count. Only that Vice simply is not conforming to the rules of engagement. Or, at the very least, the human body.

For a moment, there is only the harsh snap of leather, merino and silk as limbs whip between the two, one hand crossing over another, the squeal of boots over a crumpled enamel-coated steel as the two exchange grips. Like cats, Vice nor Magi ever -- truly let go of one another through the engagement. It's more of a dangerous proposition for the Ultratech executive, as Vice proves herself viciously competent and nearly indestructible. Somewhere in the exchange, Magi frees his hand, right before Vice's body shifts, draining all of the agency from his heavier frame as she takes his weight over her and hauls him off of his boots, slamming him through layers of steel and ostensibly bulletproof glass right into the dense floor of the limousine, shattering the entire upper body of the cruiser like a gutted orange.

"Guh!!!" Magi's suit is crumpled around Vice's grip, the killer drowning him in her murderous intent as much as the thick scent of oil and thet harsh crackle of electricity from the battery banks of the limousine beneath the floorboards spark. "Is that so?" the executive snorts derisively, around his own blood, whose scent slowly boils up from the guts of the machine Vice drove him into. He frees his hand with one sleight. The movement is fast.

"If you want it hard," he hisses.
"Then prove it!"

The movement is fast. Too fast. Magi releases the seat headrest from what's left of the seat next to him, only to try and catch the leading glittering chrome point of the headrest's posts in Vice's ankle -- and through the floorboards into the limo's electrical system. The ensuing jolt will barely catch her attention, he knows. But that's the point. To catch her attention. For only one moment. Just enough to command that violent will for one roiling second as the limousine still reels on its shocks. To lock up her nerves, to make her feel it in the back of her teeth, if he can.

Because the distraction is only that, and only there to allow him to roll onto a knee and move with full force to hit her with a vicious hellborne uppercut to the midsection, his leather-wrapped fist cocking back and firing at and into her hard from the shoulder like a cannon. She is dangerous in these quarters. But then again, Magi has no qualms about meeting that lethal warlord of a mentality kind for kind.

COMBATSYS: Vice blocks Magi's Fierce Punch.

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Vice             1/----===/=======|=======\=======\1             Magi

It's a good plan. The metal stabs into her, and draws a snarl from her lips. The boiling red power around her seems only to grow more intense as the electrical system snaps and crackles through her. But when the punch comes, she catches it. Her hand grasps around his, and she wrenches his arm out of the way. Close quarters indeed, and the woman's monstrous strength just refuses to let up. Her rage drives her on. It's truly startling to her just how stubborn this man has proven to be. She's never so much as heard of him before. But here he is, somehow not just keeping up with her unleashed fury, but pressuring her through it.

And he DARES to ask for more.

There is nothing human about the hiss which comes from deep within the woman's throat. As she twists in the tight confines, those impossibly powerful and sinuous limbs of hers seek to coil about the man, wrap him up in her embrace... so that she can slide both hands tight around his throat, and just squeeze with all the murderous force she's been using to dismantle this military-grade hardware.

If she gets her way, she'll wind up on top of him, legs pinning his arms to his side, fingers wrapped tighter than steel bands about his throat and her full weight aiming to simply crush his windpipe. Her poisoned Orochi blood dripping down onto his face from the head wound he'd inflicted. There is nothing subtle about Vice's style; she is as simple and direct as a couple of bullets to the back of someone's head. But as any military contractor will tell you, sometimes that's just what you need.

"You should be more careful, Prettyboy." She purrs, the savage smile on her lips at complete odds with the low, sultry grown in her voice, "If you keep flirting with me, I might just take you home to meet the rest of the family."

COMBATSYS: Magi blocks Vice's Choke Hold.

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Vice             1/---====/=======|=======\=======\1             Magi

Magi isn't a man with any reputation at all, really. Insofar as the capabilities of the Ultratech executive are concerned, he might as well had been an officebound cubicle plant for as much as anyone else knew. Of course, the company prefers it that way. There are the mainline projects -- the men made of fire, the genetic mutations, the cybernetic assault platforms. Those are the projects that make their way to the company headlines, and see all of the development and research dollars.

And then, there are the departments like his.

Magi's fist is checked by the woman's fierce grip, his street-fight grade punch checked by the pure power in the maenad woman, briefly reminding him of punching into the musculature of a riled snake, his shoulder bucking against her once as his shades reflects her rancor and her visage. His glasses have a hairline crack, and the image is cut and displaced along the accordingly hairline axis, but it doesn't stop him from hearing the unearthly hiss as she parleys the grip into a hooking embrace, to wrap tight his windpipe with her fingers and crush.

"Ghk... aren't you an original," the man in herringbone grey struggles to breathe out, as her blood stains his forehead.

Trapped between her legs and a lot of silk, Magi simply doesn't have a lot of liberty to rebuke his opposing number. But she might notice one thing. Getting ahold of Magi is relatively simple, especially as she's just a lot stronger than him -- titanically so. Holding him, on the other hand, is another story. The man does not move underneath her in the way that she is accustomed to men moving. Struggling, trying to lift her, trying to overpower her. Men are stiff things, and only become all the more rigid when white terror sets in. But the agent might as well be something else, and though she can feel him shift beneath her, he moves as if he spent every night fighting her. Every night, dreaming about nothing else. The feeling is strange, alien.

That is when she can feel his heartbeat in her blood, a serene, even beat.

The reflection from the loop of leather will catch the light as it drops around her neck.
The use of a belt on Vice is regrettably crass, but he wasn't expecting to fight anyone at this level. If she doesn't realize what's happening soon enough, doesn't realize he's not natural, not struggling enough, Magi will have his belt looped around her neck in the space of a heartbeat, and haul her off-balance, fighting, scratching and kicking the whole way as he rolls. He means to take her with him, using the loops of leather around her neck and the sole of his boot to check her movements, roughly breaking the hold she has on him.

The motion is smooth, as he kicks out the ravaged door of the limo.
"A shame, I'm more a company man than a family man," Magi pants.
"Luckily, the company pays a premium for a lovely head like yours.."

Somewhere in the ensuing fight, Magi is trying to force her out the door bodily, so that she's too busy with the rushing street below and the leather looped around her neck to try and eviscerate him again. "Or did you imagine I'd make an exception for a pair of dazzling eyes?" he asks over the rush of air, as the lethal street and wheels of the limousine blur only inches away from them.

COMBATSYS: Vice interrupts This Angel Machine ES from Magi with Overkill.

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Vice             0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0             Magi

The calm, slow heartbeat doesn't go unnoticed -- but Vice doesn't know what to make of it. She is used to her prey being frantic. By this stage, even that damned Spider of Shadaloo was getting worried. When the leather loops around her throat, there's a dark snarl from the woman, and she goes very still - that, in itself, might have been the only sign that something was wrong, because as he wrestles her towards the door, she just takes the booting and the twisting. It is only at the very last moment, as he aims to push her into traffic, that she snaps into motion.

Like some terrible cobra she suddenly blurs, snares, and her hand bites into his side. He is the one pitched fully through the door - but she goes with him. And she DRIVES him into the rushing asphalt with a horrifying amount of force, using his head and shoulders to tear up the road, a deep furrow of torn earth dug into the ground before the world explodes in a column of awful gray energy.

And then he is released, and the sound of roaring traffic fills his ears--

Before Vice descends from the heavens and plows both knees hard into his stomach. A detonation of that hateful red energy explodes from beneath the pair as though summoned from the depths of the bleeding earth itself, a wound torn into the skin of the world as Vice slams into him from above, snarling and raging. The ragged welt around her throat seems to have pissed her off more.

The woman is drenched in sweat and blood - though depending on just how much clarity Magi can muster through the haze of agony she has wrought upon his body, he might just notice that the bleeding from the headwound has now stopped. Nor is the woman paying any attention, at all, to the screaming traffic now tearing in all directions around them. The cacophony of horns and people screaming at these two maniac monsters ripping into each other on the highway itself.

No, her attention is entirely on the long-haired agent who, still, she can feel, is drawing breath. In spite of everything she's inflicted upon him.

"Money." She spits, "You want me to believe you're doing this for money?! Pathetic. I demand a better lie, pretty little scorpion, or I'll swallow you up, stinger and all."

The impact is meteoric.

Wrestling the coils of a viper was never going to be a simple proposition, and the fight to pitch her out of the wrenched metal corpse of the limousine is the very definition of an awkward struggle. Though Vice is the definition of deadweight as he drags her bodily to the open car door, her sudden eeling movement proves too much for even a fully prepared agent to handle in the distraction of avoiding being cut to pieces on the exposed metal that Vice may have well simply ripped from the frame of the luxury cruiser with her bare hands, for all of the impediment it's been to the bout.
Unfortunately, Magi is cut to pieces on the asphalt instead of the steel, with Vice's fingertips lancing right through several layers to find its way in his side, a sensation that brings white-hot pain to the executive, especially as blood that might as well be the same as poison seeps into the wound. She drags him right to hell with her in the long run, her weight smashing him back-first into the asphalt, his torso driven into the pavement, and it is really only the surprising quality of something in his suit that really keeps him from being torn to pieces. At the speeds they move at, the blacktop very much becomes a fluid thing, and the executive's body bulldozes a head of batter-like gravel beneath Vice, the distinct scent of petroleum curling around his body, even when her knees cannon into his middle, driving him into the ground beneath the breadth of her brutal crimson thrust that cracks the pavement for a horse's canter all around them.

"Ngh..." the executive manages as the riled cobra spits at him. Slowly, his teeth gleam in the dark she casts over him, all white-fanged and bloodied. His laugh is pained, rueful, the reply to her demand as edged as his words. "That's... for me to know," he struggles to say. He lifts his hand from her hip, no longer trying to fight her off, as if giving up. One glove raises to his lips, in a provocative lilt.

She will then hear the distinct sound of three clarion tones, the telltale sound of a cell phone dialing #35.

Throughout all of this, civilian cars have been blaring horns at them, all trying to swerve and move out of the way of the sudden and broad daylight murder scene, some coming within feet of crashing into them. However, the artificial intelligence that arbits Ultratech products is eerily silent, and eerily coordinated. The reason they haven't been run over -yet- is simply because the motorcade algorithm surrounding them has been doing a great job of holding up traffic. A tech solution that takes only three button presses to deregulate.

No more than a second later, a dead silent and night black SUV careens by at 60mph, fishtailing violently as it - with mathematical exactness - sideswipes over Magi and comes within no less than three centimeters of taking what's left of the delicate, ruined frames of his shades off his face with its undercarriage. However, Vice might not be so lucky.

Of course, it's not her only problem.
Another is the tiny button-shaped amp he moves to send her off with.

The executive's hands are much, much faster than he lets on, and if she's too preoccupied with his provocations to notice, he's going to hit her with his car. And then blow the "R" organization's hammer to kingdom come with the kind of pavement-cracking bass blast that can be felt for miles off. It will likely have Ultratech's automotive insurance division cross with Magi for a very, very long time.

COMBATSYS: Vice interrupts from Magi with Dokken.

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Magi             0/-------/----===|

COMBATSYS: Vice can no longer fight.

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Magi             0/-------/----===|

It is a simple truth, when dealing with "R", that the more one holds their attention the more dangerous the organisation becomes. Mature is perhaps the least prone to this, simply because she tends not to find very many people that interesting, but when she does she'll gladly spends months devising ways to shred them to pieces. Vice's attention is easier to grab, and the more focused she becomes on someone, the more insistent she becomes in smashing them into a fine paste. And of course, there's the Master of "R" himself, whose prediliction for literally objectifying the targets of his obsession is legendary.

Magi's decision to keep stoking Vice's curiosity is, therefore, a rather... brave... choice.

The woman is hunched as he rebukes her question, her arms dangling before her. Her once-fine suit is equally tattered and blasted; whilst the Orochi-blooded warrior might well be more resistant to the rigors of battle than she has any right to be, her choice in fashion is not so resilient. Her lip rises into a curled snarl as he actually SHUSHES her, and plays with his phone. Who the hell does he think he is?! He's not Mature. He can't talk to her like that!

She's already lunging forward when the SUV comes into play, and she's just too damn focused on Magi to let something like THAT get in her way. Filled with an absolute, insatiable fury she leaps, and there's a heavy THUMP on the other side of the vehicle, which lurches--

Surely not?

And then three tons of armoured SUV are crashing onto their side, with Vice sailing over the top of the stricken vehicle. Somehow, her eyes have remained locked on Magi even through the momentary, forced separation, and then her fist is colliding heavily with the side of the Agent's head. Every ounce of strength she has left remaining dedicated to a simple backhand to lay the guy out.

The detonation of sonic power then hits, and she screams as it rips into her. The woman jerks, momentarily forced to arch back and stare up into the sky, where no doubt that Ultratech chopper is still circling. There are, however, limits to the amount of violence that even she can manifest into the world. With her body ripped and torn, pushed beyond anything even approaching human limits, she manages to take only one more shaking step towards the object of her affection, before her legs give out and she topples to the ground.

The "R" stealth helicopter that had been maintaining a wary distance then begins to close.

"Are you sure we HAVE to recover her?" The pilot mutters to his Captain, which earns a faint chuckle from his superior. "Look. The bitch might be crazy, but do you want to be the one to explain to the Boss that we let Ultra headhunt his secretary? Let's get her back to base before she wakes up and tries to clothesline a freight train or something."

It's more like thirteen tons, as an aside.

But first things first. The SUV cleaves Vice out of his immediate vicinity, and, newly imbibed with a touch of breathing room, the tall Ultratech executive manages to get to his feet, his stance hard as he rises. Though he bleeds, and he labors, the executive maintains his icy dispassion. The gravity of the situation is not beyond him -- but there is a particular 'constitution' he shows, an ever-encroaching emanation that threatens in exquisite relief to take over the heartbeat, the breath, even the very 'thought' of those around him. It's not the sort of thing that his opposite number would notice in the throes of battle, but the confidence the man exudes almost seems to reflect that of someone who simply - isn't - there.

Straightening his suit jacket at the lapels with a harsh snap, the executive gathers himself, finally dialing an actual number into his phone as the SUV squeals hard, still deep in an AI-controlled attempt to run Vice over. "This is Magi," the agent says, and his voice crackles over the company intraband aboard their own air surveillance copter. "Two for p-..."

The response comes over the phone, tinny and quiet.

Magi's eyes narrow as the SUV labors, tipping as it goes onto two wheels. He mouths something that is less than polite.

From the air surveillance station, the audio channel over Magi's phone remains open, though no further words are spoken. There is the harsh crack of flesh meeting. And then a bass explosion on the ground. The agents pause, looking at eachother in disbelief. For moments, none of them speak up. The audio channel is silent, the sine wave line that registers channel activity as tight and linear as a thread pulled taut on the loom.

"... Bring her around closer," the mission co-captain stammers.

Log created on 15:25:47 05/18/2021 by Vice, and last modified on 03:02:45 05/20/2021.