The Red Dream of a Calamity Disappears over Eastern Europe [Romania]

November smiled and looked up at the newly formed vine ladder, impressed. "I'm glad we have such a talented crew. Well, I'm going on in. Take up your posts, and you'll know when I need you." He nodded to each Contractor in turn and walked in the front door.

"I'll go ahead and take the back door," Thomas said smiling and waving to September as he disappeared into one of the alleys. He tried to be stealthy yet quick. If things did go sour, he didn't know when it might be. Drug lords could be unpredictable. He finally located the back and opted to wait around casually, reading a book instead of trying to hide.

September looked up at the vine ladder. “Good work March.” He nodded to November 11th and waved back at January before he proceeded to the front door trying to find a good hiding spot. In the end he just stood to the side of the door, leaned against the wall of the building, lit up a cigarette and took out his journal, attempting to look casual. He took stalk of the lights around him while he waited for the drug dealers stupidity to kick in.

March lent against the building and lit a cigarette before shimmying up the ladder after making sure no one was watching. He crouched quietly in the windowsill, pulling his hood up, and bit down on the string as he pressed the glowing cherry to his bare arm. Shifting carefully, he threw the crushed butt behind him and shook his sleeve down as he watched through the glass.

November 11 made his way up the flights of stairs until finally, he had reached the fourth floor. When he reached a door with light coming from underneath, he knocked softly. The voice within asked him to enter, and he did so. Suitcase in hand, he strode into a dimly lit room with a heavy man seated at a rough wooden table, and two lanky men behind him. Of course he would bring his cronies... But no matter. He glanced toward the window, where March was surely waiting in hiding, before sitting down.

"You came alone?" the drug dealer asked gruffly.

November straightened his suit, making sure his microphone was positioned properly. "I always keep my promises. I am a businessman, after all." To the side, a kettle of tea and a teacup rested, so he helped himself to a cup.

"I like the way you think, Mr. Smith. Let's get right to business. Is that okay with you?" To his side, one of his henchmen was withdrawing a cigarette from his coat pocket. November noticed.

"Before we start, I will have to ask you not to smoke while I am here. Secondhand smoke actually contains more harmful gases than firsthand tobacco smoke. The cancer causing chemical, G-methyl-nitrosemino acid is found in amounts ranging from 5.3 to 43 nanograms in firsthand smoke. But, in secondhand smoke, it is found in amounts ranging from 680 to 823 nanograms. Also, secondhand smoke has 11 times the quinoline than firsthand smoke. That would be about 18,000 nanograms. That means that there is more danger to people around the smoker than to the smoker himself."

The henchman stared incredulously, before laughing. "If that's how you feel, just hold your breath." He put the cigarette in his mouth and reached for his lighter.

November calmly stood, briefcase in hand. "I guess we'll have to forget about this deal."

"Wait," called the drugdealer as he turned to leave, and November waited. Then, he turned to the henchman who was already getting ready to light up. "Hey!" The man begrudgingly put away the lighter, and he looked back to November, planting a finger on the table before him. "Sit!"

November smiled. People like this were always so predictable. He placed the suitcase on the table and revealed its contents. The dealers were in awe at the pure sum of cash within. "This is just an advance. If I can confirm that you're giving us the real deal, I'll pay you double."

"What are you planning on doing when you get your hands on it?"

"Well, first I was planning on killing about 3,000 people from a rival company." Their mouths were agape. "Just kidding. I'll resell it."

"Hey, you've got to be kidding--!" started the other henchman in offense, but his boss cut him off with a raised hand.

"Is it really that valuable?"

"Of course."

The dealer studied November for some time before smiling. "Then the deal's off."

"Why?"

November, hearing a click, turned to see the other henchman pointing a pistol at him at point blank range. "If the boss says the deal's off, the deal's off."

November, however, was not frightened in the least. Calmly, and perhaps a little sadly, he reached for the briefcase. "That's really too bad." But, the same henchman put the gun on the briefcase and closed it tight, still pointing the weapon at November.

"Leave."

Any other person would have faltered at this point, not knowing what to do, but November was unfazed. Underneath his shades, he confidently stared the henchman down, even as the man lit a cigarette and blew it in his face. Then a smirk crossed his face.

Slapping one hand over the hand on the briefcase, November's figure glowed blue before he even had a chance to react. He tried to pull away, but his arm split halfway down his forearm, the frozen part remaining stuck to the briefcase and the gun.

The henchman writhed in pain, the horrible wound hidden by his limp sleeve, and the other two recoiled in horror. This just gave November another great opportunity.

He grabbed his teacup and slung it at the other henchman's face, freezing it in midair. The frozen tea formed a long spiky stream that dove right into his eye.

Now it was just the drug dealer, backing away in horror. "You're... a Contractor!"

November simply smiled, before the drug dealer fled the room in terror, bashing the door aside with his shoulder and pounding down the hallway. Rather than making the effort to chase him, November just held his microphone with one hand. "Moon Dog."

The drug dealer pounded down the stairs as fast as he could, heading straight for the front door.

September smirked threw his cigarette butt on the ground, and turned towards the street. “About time,” he said under his breath.

He calmly held his hand up to a street lamp and activated his power, glowing blue and steeling the light. He held the in his palm as he turned towards the front door, walked in, and headed for the stairs at a quick jog.

January slammed his book shut and headed into the back entrance with a wide grin. He moved towards the front entrance at a jog, removing his gloves as he did so just in case. He could have simply waited at his position but there was no guarantee the criminal was heading this way. If he was then January could head him off, if he wasn't then he might get there in time to see September's light show, which was honestly the more exciting prospect. Luckily, the hallways weren't horribly hard to navigate...

March slowly scooted back, reaching up to grip for the top edge of the building and hanging on tight before swinging himself up and flipping onto the roof. He carefully looked over each side of the building, taking his time for precision, activating his power.

Vines stretched tightly over the front door, clogging locks and hinges, hindering knobs.

He lit another cigarette and stood, listening closely.

([[GM]]: Brightness of stolen light = A glow would illuminate a large room very well, a flash would impair vision for about five to ten seconds, and a focused beam would ignite semi-dry wood and cloth and give someone second-degree burns.)

As both September and January entered the hotel, they saw the spread of the bottom room fully. September entered a wide lobby, with the front desk to his left and a sitting area to his right. A hallway led to the backdoor, where January entered, and a hallway crossed it halfway.

No more than a minute had passed since November had given them the signal than the drug dealer came charging out of the side hallway. He turned toward the front door, missing January completely, and seeing September heading toward him. He pulled a gun from his belt.

"Stay away from me!"

January went into stealth mode immediately upon seeing the gun. He tried his best to sneak up behind the drug dealer, hands ready to steal 40 years of memories from the man, basically rendering him an infant, from the looks of him.

The Contractor before him glowed and pointed a hand forward, the light held within refracting off his fingers and hitting him in a focused beam right in the eyes. The dealer screamed and stumbled backward with a hand over his eyes and fired twice with his pistol. Stars danced in his vision, and for several seconds, he was completely helpless.

Hearing the shots, March ran to the window he was previously watching and dropping to the sill, gripping the edge of the building tightly. He kicked the seam between the windows, battering them open, and made his way into the room. As soon as he entered the building, he tried his best to stay hidden and quiet. Each step and breath was calculated.

January made sure to move opposite September, to make sure the drug dealer didn't see him. After the man fired his shots, he ran forward at a dead sprint, taking advantage of the man's blindness.

January jumped onto the drug dealer's back, grabbing him around the neck with one arm. A blue glow surrounded him as he ran his fingers through the man's hair, stealing his memories from the past forty years.

[[GM - Thomas]]: Thomas' mind felt like it was swelling like a balloon with the flood of memories being crammed into his mind. It felt like he was suddenly remembering an entire past life, an event that would be cripplingly traumatic to anyone but Thomas. Nevertheless, his nose began to bleed a little. Among the memories were a horrible upbringing, parental abuse, plenty of time in the penal system, all leading up to his current standing in life. As Thomas focused on the most recent memories, swirling through the fog, recollections of his capture of the Contractor Havoc came to the surface. He "remembered" having his cronies tie her up and put her in a safehouse in that very city, waiting for his contact to come and buy her. After the drug dealer left the apartment where Havoc was kept, he remembered the address as he looked back at the door: 2220 Sto Street.

The drug dealer, rent of his memories, stood dumbfounded in the hallway, staring at the ceiling with mouth agape.

Upstairs, November watched March come tumbling through the window as he pried the henchman's frozen arm from his briefcase. "Nice moves," he commented. "Let's get going." He lifted the briefcase from the table, snapping it shut, and started off down the hallway.

September watched January as he took the drug dealer from behind. The man’s eyes looked blank, sympathy for him hit September surprising him a bit. He walked casually down the hallway, took the gun out of the drug dealer’s hand, waited until January stepped out of the way, smirked and then shot him twice in the head.
“Anything interesting in there?” he asked January as he stepped away adjusting his suit.

January did manage to stumble a bit to the side as September approached. He was feeling extremely dizzy, so he was lucky he didn't just fall over. His ears were ringing, also. He heard the gunshots faintly, but as the ringing died down September's question was a bit louder. He took a couple seconds to focus enough to answer, but he managed to say," She's at 2220 Sto Street..." he groaned and sat down on the floor, putting his head between his knees. "Nice work, by the way," he complimented from his hunched position, slowly pulling out his notebook to write down the man's memories. As he opened it to a fresh page a drop of blood fell onto it. He cursed and left to find a bathroom.

March smirked faintly, almost sheepishly, and followed November out. "You never can be too careful, you know."

“Compliments are in order for you as well January,” September said as he watched the contractor stumble down the hallway. He put the gun safely in a pocket on the inside of his jacket and bent down to frisk the drug dealer for anything useful, though he didn’t think he would find anything.

"Of course," said November. "It's always good to be alert at all times." He pulled out a cigarette and casually lit it as they headed down the stairs. After a long drag, he blanched again and started coughing violently. "Ugh... It would have been nice to at least have a remuneration I enjoy. Some people just get all the good luck."

He came to the landing on the bottom floor with March in tow, seeing September near the drug dealer's corpse. He looked around briefly. "Where's January?"

January found the nearest bathroom quickly. Even in the heat of the moment he'd been able to take note of where they were when he had entered the building. He washed his face, stemming the flowing blood quickly with some pieces of toilet paper and then began to wash his hands. He couldn't stop thinking about this man and the things he had done. How dirty and horrible. He scrubbed over and over, like Lady Macbeth trying to rid herself of that damned spot. However in the mirror his expression remained stony. Devoid of emotion, almost like a living statue. He regretted not bringing the play with him to read for his remuneration, but he did have a good poem. After scrubbing his hands until they were bleeding just a little as well, he finally dried them, donned some gloves, and opened the book he brought with him:

"The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd,
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!"

He took a deep breath and closed the book, taking out his own notebook and beginning to write down all the drug dealer's memories as he finally exited the bathroom to rejoin the others. Usually he tried to simulate a bit of the humanity he felt he had lost, but now he only wore a contractor's cool gaze as he furiously scribbled.

September looked up when November 11th spoke, “He went stumbling down the hallway as I finished off our friend here. My guess is he went looking for a bathroom, with that nose bleed he had, I’m sure he needed some paper towels or something. Oh yes, and January picked the location of Havoc from the head of this lovely fellow here,” he said giving the now very dead drug dealer a nudge with his foot, “2220 Sto Street.”

"Is that so? Well, I'm glad we didn't lose such critical information, then." He dropped the cigarette and stomped it out, and by then, January was returning down the hallway with toilet paper stuck up his nose. November smirked, but didn't address the situation. "2220 Sto Street, huh? That's not too far from here. Shall we go for a walk?"

"Indeed, a walk sounds like a swell idea," September said with a devilish grin. "You alright?" he asked January.

"Fuck you, September." he said removing the toilet paper from his nose and continuing to write. "I didn't catch most of the conversation, but we're walking to Havoc I assume?"
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