Unmasking (High Society)

Kopaka

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And so, Kopaka returned to the place his quest had started.

Helping with the cleanup and rebuilding process for the newly descendant island of Nausicaa had taken far longer than he had hoped for. The reluctant forces of The City of Hope had contributed only a token effort into the damage control effort, focused more on repairing the damage to their own infrastructure. It was as if the people of Nausicaa had ceased to be Skylanders to their urban kindred the second the mote had been snatched from the sky. It was only through incessant, nearly threatening insistence on the part of Kopaka and General Althaus that any of Comstock's industrial coterie offered consistent succor.

Frankly, Kopaka was glad to be far from the City of Hope. The very name of the place seemed to be a hypocritical farce, and seeing his own efforts fail to dent the scale of the situation had left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

A Toa, he had concluded, was not a builder nor a savior. His job was to intervene and save what he could, and he had the tools necessary for maximum impact to that effect. Once the dust had finally settled on the now desolate, but otherwise secured, Nausicaa Isle, Kopaka had lamented that darkness and vileness had multiplied elsewhere in the Crossroads. Luckily for him, he was now in the company of other individuals who held the same disdain for greed and debauchery. It had been decided that the Toa, Morene Fellon, and Doctor McNinja would be dispatched to Erde Nona to help hunt down any number of known bounty targets currently sullying that World.

McNinja had gone rogue almost immediately, as was his nature, but Kopaka found a surprisingly kindred spirit in the knochten woman. Both of them had a desire to pursue and complete specific objectives as efficiently as possible, and it made for an easy working relationship during the rebuild of Nausicaa, as well as their first few days in Arcadia.

...

...However, the ability to get along easily did not make them any better at communicating. On this particularly dreary, blustery day in the Royal City, Kopaka stood at the threshold of the Saedath Auditorium, waiting for the heavily armored woman. She was ten minutes late for their rendevouz, and their VIP client was becoming impatient. Kopaka wasn't entirely eager to serve as a private bodyguard; there were surely people in the Hinterlands in need of rescue from dragons or demons or some such drama...but Ezrihel had stressed the importance of gaining a positive reputation within the echelons of the Kingdom of Arcadia.

A skybus roared past overhead, casting the courtyard of the opera house into shadow for a moment as the gleaming LED stripes that adorned the building across the street became obscured by its bulk. Kopaka watched the hulking canister, filled with patient commuters, round the corner, when he became aware of Morene's tell-tale marching approaching him from behind. The android turned on his foot and regarded Morene with an impassive expression.

"You are late. The client will be here in less than fifteen minutes." Kopaka chided. Morene frowned, and shifted her weight slightly. The cerantium servos growled softly to compensate.

"No, you're late. I've been talking to the theater staff and inspecting the perimeter. Locating exits. What good does standing around waiting for the client serve?" she drawled. There was a small contest of silence between them as another immense skybus rolled past overhead.

"We should invest in telecommunication devices to better coordinate our actions." Kopaka relented, before turning back to face the road.

"Agreed." Morene said flatly. They stood at equal, armored height, perfectly spaced ten feet from each other. More flying cars, some of them fantastical clockwork contraptions, others sleek and futuristic, rumbled past. The LED lighting on the opposite building shifted from golden yellow into burgundy as the hour struck noon. Five more minutes until the client arrived.

"Hey Kopaka, the people who run this theater group...they feel a bit uncanny." Morene spoke up.

"Explain."

"Well, they're all wearing these scowling, screaming, laughing--it's hard to tell--grinning masks. Dressed like clowns in leotards...even the ushers are masked." Morene continued.

"So are we. Are you certain you spoke to the staff and not the playwrights themselves?" Kopaka rebutted.

"Yes." Morene said, somewhat pointedly. "Actors, stagehands, snack vendors...all of them dressed with masks and checkered tights."

"Is that odd?" Kopaka buzzed. Morene rolled her eyes slightly before catching herself; Kopaka had a very loose grasp on humanoid culture. This was probably his first time even being within a hundred yards of a theater production.

"I think so. But it's more than just the costumes. Their demeanor is also masked. As if, when speaking, they're always about to start singing or...deliver a punchline. Like they're never being totally honest." Morene said, shrugging in finality. Kopaka nodded softly.

"I have no reason to doubt your judgement; perhaps our client feels the same way about these people...thus our hiring." the biomech offered. Morene snorted, only partially out of amusement.

"Makes no sense to me...why buy tickets to a show where even the mophands feel threatening?" she chortled.

"Ours is not to question, only to fulfill the contract. Also, I believe this is the car." Kopaka said, gesturing towards a shining, red limousine that skated along a track of gleaming energy. Everything about the vehicle whispered the glories of wealth and status. It slid to a stop, almost silently, at the zenith of the Saedath Auditorium's curved driveway. Kopaka and Morene approached the doors as they hissed open, and immediately took up positions flanking the lavishly dressed VIP as they exited...

Quest: Introduction to Arcadian High Society
Participants: Kopaka & Morene Fellon
Word Count: 945/5,000
 

Morene Fellon

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Hesitantly, the clientele turned over in his seat, taking one step out of the limousine and outside of the entrance of the auditorium. An incredibly pasty human man, easily pushing his late thirties, introduced himself as cordially as humanly possible to the two knightly guards that stepped out to greet him, both Kopaka and Morene holding his rather slim hands to pull him up. Rather impressively, Morene nailed the pronunciation of his name as he was assisted to his feet.

“Mr. Prétot, sir?” She nodded, towering over the man after doing a gentle curtsey, the sound of her armor enunciating the comically feminine greeting as cerantium plates slid between each other. Kopaka simply nodded as Prétot confirmed his identity.

It was quiet now, awkwardly so, as the two warriors and this rather meek government official stood on top of the reserved parking space, nodding to each other in a silent agreement to march towards the entrance.

The man’s full name was Raphaël Prétot, a name fitting for a man who works in the higher ranks of the Arcadian Bureau of Social Development. It was as if he was destined to be there, and he looked the part; his hair was slightly greased back, his colorful suit far too tight for his body, and according to the research done by Morene prior to taking up the contract, he didn’t have the negative reputation as other men who worked in the same department over constant and consistent abuse of systemic issues in regards to distribution of welfare plans.

His reputation showed; he was incredibly run of the mill for his job, jarringly so. What was strange, was his insistence to wear shades uncomfortably big for his head, and the thin layer of sweat shining off of his aging face. Nervous sweat.

It begged the question nearly immediately; why would somebody like him hire out bodyguards from a faction of freelance bounty hunters called The Spirits of Vengeance? Men that were a part of bureaucratic agencies typically had members of some sort of secret service for security detail; even considering the lowballed prices for the work that the Toa and knochten were providing, which may have been an interesting experience by itself if taken outside of this very context. This man was hiding something, and both the Toa and knochten were aware of it. Still, they had a contract to fulfill. Both of the knight-errant warriors were under the impression that this would be an easy job.

As they walked towards the unimposing building, neon lights highlighted the title of the play above the entrance; ‘Vultures of Cegorach.’ Completely removed from any sort of cultural significance to Morene or Kopaka, the huntress was actually quite the fan of this sort of thing. A thespian herself when she was far younger in public schooling, Morene was intent on getting a peek of what alien playwrights would conjure up on a massive stage with a big budget.

Kopaka, of course, couldn’t care less. Literally, he couldn’t; Morene knew that there was more to the Toa than meets the eye in regards to him having a soul, but being a robot with an icy grasp on practicality, he was not one to partake in the arts. As they went inside of the extravagantly large building, Morene continued to check her flanks, contemplating in the back of her mind to apologize to the android for snapping at him a moment ago after this was all done.

Uncharacteristically grumpy of her, that was. Still, Morene had worked with Kopaka long enough to know that any apology handed to him would be met with either confusion or disaffection. It didn’t matter now; she’d have to make up for it later.

A small line of humanoid men and women, all of them very clearly upper-middle class in their dress, were buying tickets to see the upcoming play. It wasn’t a very busy day; Morene had gathered while casing the building that this was a rerun of a story that had been released weeks prior. The masked lady selling tickets behind a well-lit booth cut in as the three approached, expecting them to get in front of the short line, her voice jovially high, as if about to laugh.

“Raphaël?” She leaned in, peering into the soul of this so-called very-important-person through her mask.

“Yes ma’am, we’ll be on our way,” he replied, as nasally as both of his guards expected. His accent was strange, reminding Morene of her distant homeworld family in Dolorinaise, back in her own reality.

Little things like that always culminated strangely in her mind, constantly reminding her that this wasn’t her home, and a lot of the times, she wasn’t welcome here. Still, she made an impression; she could confidently see that, mushed in between the robotic Toa champion of frost and van’giirian knochten of the unholy lands of Creedmoor, Raphaël did not feel much safer as they walked inside.

Hastily, their client shuffled ahead. Increasingly suspicious. Both of the knights exchanged looks briefly, as if some sort of spiritual acknowledgement between them happened at that very moment.

The Saedath Auditorium was strangely proportioned in comparison to the opera houses Morene had seen in her homeworld. It was big, needlessly so for conventional theatrical and entertainment purposes. Morene pondered the need for the tall corridors leading to the seats of the stage, imagining the kind of over-the-top grandeur needed for such a large establishment. Up a few sets of dark red staircases, their client’s seat was in the paradise level of the theater; the topmost platform reserved for, of course, the wealthiest portions of the audience.

As Mr. Prétot made his way towards his seat, the view was rather impressive. Morene was certain she’d never been on the gods before, overlooking the grand stage of the Saedath, expertly crafted, high budget and grandiose. Unfortunately, neither she nor Kopaka could get comfortable; the play was about to start, and they needed to watch the door behind them. Even with the relatively calm business close to dusk, a public event of which its entire purpose is to distract its viewers makes it much easier to slide a bullet into the back of somebody’s skull. The knochten nudged Kopaka’s cold shoulder, cerantium clinking against his biomechanical arm to get his attention.

“Kopaka,” she whispered, low enough their client couldn’t hear, “this guy is freaking out.”

“I’m aware,” the Toa acknowledged in the softest voice he could muster, shifting another look at the VIP they were assigned to protect.

“I’m going to watch the door really quick,” Morene elaborated, “I know some of the offstage staff need to walk past the hall outside. Would be quite convenient, no?”

“Agreed.” Kopaka stayed put, watching as the lights began to dim above the stage. The show was about to begin.

A moment passed, but Morene was correct; a large portion of the production team passed through the dark red corridor, perpendicular to the door she was guarding. They all acted the part; strangely talkative, surprisingly difficult to eavesdrop, in the brightest colored leotards imaginable and therefore harder to discern which job belonged to who beyond their actions. These thespians seemed multi-talented, very tall, and the only distinguishing aspects of their attire were the shapes of their masks. Not helpful for third party security detail at all.

Tactfully, Morene leaned on the side of the doorframe, keeping it open so that she could see both the hall and the stage. Other lavishly fitted audience members came in, filling a sizable chunk of the seating on the highest floor, all of which were being sized up by Kopaka and Morene. Everyone here seemed harmless; pampered rich folk who were snobbish and pretentiously media literate on the surface, most human in appearance. None of which have probably held a gun in their lives, let alone thought about pointing it at somebody.

Kopaka nodded at Morene once more, keeping an eye on the catwalk and the audience below. The curtains rolled back, and the lights further dimmed, actors revealing themselves at the stage of the play.

It could be paranoia, of which both of the bodyguards had no business knowing the origins of, but something was afoot. Still, nothing could interrupt the Harlequins of the Saedath Auditorium and their theatrics.

Word Count: 1,384/5,000
 

Kopaka

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One of the taller play-writes took center stage as a spotlight slammed a pillar of swirling luminescence around him. A trickle of dancing flower petals sparkled in the air around him, flirting playfully along subtle air currents controlled by fans behind the curtains. Kopaka's optics whirred and clicked softly as the great Akaku pierced through the walls and rigging of the Saedath stage. Even by his standards, the level of machinery and sophistication these Harlequins put into their theatrics exceeded obsession.

The center-stage mask snapped upright, and he began to recite a long, flowing screed of decadent language. It was a tongue that Kopaka did not recognize, but after a minute of doting soliloquy, they switched to the more common spoken word.

"...and hence, for those unlearned in the ken of Aeldari. Brothers. Sisters. Comrades of the stage! Welcome yet again to the blessed realm of Cegorach, our Laughing Lord, as we weave a lurid tapestry rich with the zeal of Asuryani myth." the solitary ringleader sang. They strutted to and fro on the stage, stretching arms wide and in lilting circles to emphasize every bejeweled syllable that fell from their hidden lips.

The biomech continued his glacier-eyed scan of the premises, looking for weapons, anyone out of place, any movement that seemed hostile or capricious. The truth was, he found all of these in spades. Each of the Harlequins was armed with small daggers, hidden blades, or needled blowdarts. Stagehands and technicians were constantly scuttling through the rafters and hidden passages to prepare the upcoming set. This entire theater could have stood up to a small army, if it felt the need.

"For those who journeyed with us this fortnight hence, you would remember the precursor play to tonight's dream entitled...'The Shards of Annaris'..." the Solitaire continued. At the mention of the preceding play's title, a host of Harlequins all shrieked and wailed in unison. Kopaka made a note of that; the performance was clearly of critical cultural importance to these enigmatic humanoids. Its mythology may prove insightful, if he were to deal with the Harlequins in the future.

"Now, without further ado, walk with me once more into the mists of legend as we bring you...The Vultures...of Cegorach!" the Solitaire cackled, and they vanished in a plume of droning blackbirds. The crow applauded as the secondary curtain lifted, revealing a bloody bog churned up by the aftermath of some terrible conflict.

Kopaka glanced at Morene, who was also doing her best to survey the theater for threats while keeping her eyes peeled away from the fantastical displays on stage. Perhaps the perceived threat to Mr. Prétot wouldn't need a sophisticated disguise or cunning ambush plan; the cacophonous, prismatic precedings on-stage would provide the perfect distraction.

"Mr. Prétot sir, compliments of the Saedath." came a small voice from behind them. Somehow, a younger Harlequin had managed to seemingly appear from nowhere carrying a silver tray. A small, fluted glass filled with sensual red liquid awaited the bureaucrat's stretching fingers.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't allow it." Morene said, gently nudging the man's thirsty fingers away from the wine. Raphaël pouted up at the knochten with childish disdain.

"You don't think...the Saedath would never poison-" Raphaël began to splutter, but Morene shook her head firmly. "Go." she commanded the attendant, who simply gave a polite bow before receding back into the shadows. Mr. Prétot rolled his eyes, sighed, and sat back deeper into his reclining seat to take in the scrawl of high-flying, sultry, violent operatics being played out on the dreamlike stage.

For his part, Kopaka believed Mr. Prétot's statement: the Saedath itself seemed to take its theatrics and hospitality to an almost religious level of perfection. He doubted that any of these staff or players would ever deign to hurt their honored guests; not after putting such passion and effort into their craft. For that matter, Kopaka also doubted that any hypothetical assassin would be able to simply put on the mask and leotards of the Saedath and expect to fit in. Ever Harlequin in the theater had an explicit part to play, whether it was on or off the stage.

If Mr. Prétot was concerned about a threat to his safety, it wouldn't come from behind a mask or the theater itself. This was not good news; it meant that any hypothetical assassin would have to be clever and subtle in the extreme to get away with murder under the Harlequins' watch. It was not the type of foe either he or Morene were best equipped to defend against.

"We need to discuss." Kopaka said softly, pressing Morene on the shoulder. He nodded towards the door to the paradise seating. The armored woman looked at their ward with a strained expression.

"As long as we keep an eye on our man." she whispered.

The two marched out into the adjoining hallway, and kept their eyes glued to the back of Raphaël's blanched dome of a head. Harlequins occasionally trotted along the decadently carpeted vestibule, humming along with the current song number as they flickered between theatrical duties.

"These theater staff are overly devoted to this show, and all of them are armed. I doubt anyone who had the gall to interrupt it with a knife or rifle shot would live very long to get paid." Kopaka murmured. Morene nodded thoughtfully, and rubbed her chin with an armored finger.

"Maybe. You think it's a matter of the right opportunity; I agree. But it would have to be someone who could get close to Raphaël when he's on the move. I mean...it's also possible that our presence here is just a bluff. He just wants someone to know he's protecting himself." she countered.

Kopaka hadn't thought of that, but the logic didn't make total sense. There wasn't much time for deliberation.

"Even so, we should assume that the best time for someone to strike is when the play is over. Perhaps just as he's leaving the theater, which would be a known timeframe--" Kopaka continued, but Morene snapped her fingers loudly, and a passing clownhand immediately shushed her.

"...or intermission." she ventured. Kopaka tilted his head slightly.

"Elaborate."

"Intermission, uh...it's a break in the middle of the show. Allows people to get up, stretch, relieve themselves..." Morene explained. Her mouth twisted downward as the next conundrum presented itself. "...I think you're right about the staff though, they'd kill anyone who made it too obvious. The method would have to be very quick and subtle."

"That's what concerns me..." Kopaka said, trailing off. Morene noted that this was somewhat uncommon for the Toa. He usually made complete statements which had been fully thought out. The knigh-errant felt a self-conscious lump in her throat as she realized that the stoic android was also starting to run out of ideas for the situation. She couldn't blame him; this whole affair was becoming more complicated by the minute...
 

Morene Fellon

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For now, the threat of outside intervention didn’t cloud Morene’s mind too terribly. Still, tension was high, unbearably so. The anxiety displayed by Raphaël radiated off of him, making both of his bodyguards tense as well. The thought crossed her mind at this point that this man might just be crazy. Sitting in silence as the show commenced, Morene leaned against the doorframe as she nodded to the Toa, both of them returning to their original stations.

At this point, the stage was impossible to ignore, the knochten getting the tiniest fragments of what could be considered a plot. She attempted to compartmentalize all of the names and exposition; Cegorach was a god. Their god. The Laughing God, occultic to outsiders, of which nearly everyone in the partially filled auditorium was to the staff. This play was violent, its subject expected from the mere sound of its title.

War was the setting, and to them, it was glorious. The only reason that the imagery on display of the theater wasn’t utterly terrifying to the onlookers is how high concept the execution was. It was paced slowly and deliberately, and if one of the Harlequin actors spoke, it was in the tongue of the Eldar. Otherwise, actors communicated through methodical dances and gestures that the audience would have to simply catch by being ‘in the know,’ so to speak. Still, the symbolism to weapons of war, death and divine intervention were extremely easy to pick up on even through the lens of a foreign culture.

This play was a sequel, and it seemed to be entirely in the interest of the Harlequins. They were the only ones that could understand it. Moreover, this was in reverence to their god, and served to propagate their own people. Respectable in concept, Morene thought, but something about it seemed eerie. After all, seeing a janitor armed with knives in the hallways of a theater could give anybody the creeps.

Why Vultures of Cegorach, though? It doesn’t sound as much like high concept religious artistry as it does a corny low budget sequel. Was it for us, she pondered? It was an aftermath of some sort, visions of the falling of some empire, presumably theirs. Morene stopped herself, knowing Kopaka would probably be agitated if she continued to show interest in this rather than her job, showing it too much by shifting looks at the stage every so often. Something in her felt that the Toa was interested too, simply not showing it in his iconic warrior-of-ice demeanor.

As for their VIP, Mr. Prétot, the opposite was true upon further inspection. Morene could see the side of that greasy man’s face, his glassy eyes glazing over the stage, not at all focusing on the expertly crafted focal points set up by the Aeldari playwrights. It was as if his eyes were glued open, forced to watch, or so lost in thought that his brain could slip out of his nose and he wouldn’t notice.

Half an hour had passed, Kopaka and Morene keeping keen eyes on their respective angles. Nobody crossed the hallways, nobody passed through on the rafters without their hands full of equipment, and nobody rose from their seats in the crowd as far as both of the knights could see. In so far as local businesses went, this was probably some of the tightest security in the Crossroads barring absolutely none. Still, that didn’t put Prétot at ease as the intermission period occurred. Briefly, the Solitaire spoke in the universal language of Arcadia.

“...and so, we pause.” His words were terrifyingly short. As if to let the events of the play sink in, mourning some kind of loss. Unbeknownst to both the Toa and the knochten, the fact that the Solitaire was speaking at all, especially in front of an audience of outsiders, was completely baffling. Thankfully, the Saedath weren’t the two bodyguards’ concern today.

Suddenly, Raphaël slowly leaned over in his chair. He began placing both of his hands over his face, as if in shame. His right leg bounced up and down in anxiety, both for only a moment, taking note that he was being incredibly awkward and suspicious as he overrode his bodily instincts, pretending to look at the stage with obsessive interest. Yet, the curtains had been drawn.

Morene rolled her eyes under her helmet. This was getting excessively tiring. Propping herself off of the wall, she shifted one more long gaze down the hallway she was watching. Nobody had passed by. Slowly, she closed the door behind her, making sure it didn’t make more than a click as it sealed shut. As if something was about to go down.

That’s exactly what was happening. Walking over to Kopaka, Morene kept a firm eye on Prétot. She spoke to the Toa, looking at the VIP as if pointing at him with her stare.

“Hey, Kopaka,” she began, not letting him respond, “don’t get too mad at me for this; I apologize.”

He tilted his head, hesitantly trusting her. Emphasis on hesitantly.

“What are you doing?” The Toa commanded softly, trying not to rouse too much attention.

Morene nodded to him in response. “Breaking a bit of NDA.”

Almost on protocol, Kopaka got the gist, but was immediately against it. He had to be against that sort of thing, butting into the clientele’s business like that. A cold hand grasped at Morene’s pauldron, clanking like a dropped lockbox.

“Wait. It’s very clear that our client doesn’t want to speak; you could endanger our mission.”

“I know,” Morene sighed, “but either this man is off of his meds or he’s going to get popped in the skull as soon as we leave the door.” The knochten was audibly considerate of Kopaka’s opinion in this instance, noticeably less snappy than when they first took on this job.

She stayed put, waiting as Kopaka looked down for a moment, mulling over their options. He did admit, there was an awful feeling wherever his biomechanical gut was. They were absolutely being withheld information that could undercut the safety of not only their client, but also both of them for that matter. Finally, the Toa decided to release his grasp upon Morene’s shoulder, letting her go. The huntress nodded at him, a gesture of thanks. Taking another angle, he stationed himself at the other end of the top floor, standing straight and digilent with a clear view of the knochten, their VIP, the stage, and the crowd below.

In the meantime, Morene marched over towards Raphaël in his lonesome seat. She stood in front of him, towering over the man like he was some sort of animal backed into a corner. Through his dark shades, Prétot’s eyes went wide in shock.

“Mr. Prétot, would you come with me for a moment?” Morene asked, very directly. Her tone was akin to a teacher sending off a student to the principal’s office. He sputtered back in response, already attracting a few looks from the rest of the snobbish crowd.

“W-what? What’s the meaning of this?” Raphaël gulped, staying put, stubbornly so.

“It’s for your benefit, sir,” Morene hissed in a hushed voice, “Your safety.”

He couldn’t really argue with that. Shakily, he stood from his seat, sweating as Morene placed a cold, cerantium gauntlet upon his shoulder. Intrusive thoughts began to cloud his mind, far too late to act on them. What if this Fellon lady is one of them? There’s no way I can get away now, I might just die here, right?

Gently goading Prétot against a dark corner of the wall, they were mostly out of the way of peering eyes, next to the doorframe Morene was guarding moments ago. Paying close attention to the crowd nearby, Morene made sure nobody was looking before practically interrogating her client. As politely as she could, at the very least.

“Raphaël,” she began. Oh god, first name basis and everything. The beaurocrat couldn’t help but wipe sweat from his brow. Morene continued, firmly. “What in the world is going on here? What’s gotten you shaken like some kind of poor hare?”

Raphaël was too quick to respond. He attempted to swat Morene’s hand away from his shoulder, very clearly agitated. This is exactly what Kopaka was worrying about.

“What’s it to you? Don’t you remember what I’m paying you for?! I’m not in any danger,” Prétot raised his voice enough to attract some looks, one from Kopaka immediately regretting his decision to let Morene employ her less than professional strategy. This simply wouldn’t do. The knochten made sure to gently persuade him in the right direction.

Gritting her teeth slightly, Morene Fellon lowered herself at level with this man’s puny body. She unhanded him; he was in no harm, but as the segmented helmet of her power armor hissed and unhatched, her now revealed face had a far more convincing glare, piercing into the man’s soul before he spoke another word. She was leaning over like she was scolding a child, an apt comparison in this instance. That shut him up real quick, giving Morene plenty of time to speak.

“You’re making this difficult. Hush,” Morene ordered. Prétot could vividly imagine the knochten putting a finger over her lips with the way she was talking to him, giving the man a twinge of shame. Biting his tongue, her client nodded.

The huntress continued to speak, now knowing he wouldn’t be immediately hostile. “Who is watching you?”

“I–” Prétot stammered, “I don’t know. I can’t say. I just cannot. Please,” he pleaded, desperately now. Quietly. Pathetically. It became increasingly obvious that he wanted to put his trust in anybody trying to help, but couldn’t.

“It’s incredibly obvious you’re in mortal danger. Why?” The knight-errant continued to press, a simple method rhetorically to squeeze information out of their client. As expected, he caved, scoffing at his own bodyguards’ attempts to level with him, despite it eventually working. To both of their benefits, hopefully.

“God damn it– alright, fuck, fine.”

That’s better, she thought.

“I’m a member of the Arcadian Bureau of Social Development, I think you know that,” Raphaël caught his breath. “I–... I’ve been trying to do things there that have royally pissed people off.”

“Like?” The knochten tilted her head.

“Like,” Prétot continued, “trying to make it so those slimy bastards don’t get to take everyone’s money if they’re not voted back into office every year. Does not bode well with the sleazeballs at the very top of the Bureau, yes?”

Suddenly, the man’s fear gave way for hints of passion. As if he was about to recruit Morene to his cause. Still, she had barely an idea what he was talking about, beyond that this supposed threatened attack that the Toa and her were theorizing about was definitely politically motivated.

He kept going, exchanging looks with a few people on the top floor as the Harlequins began their play once again. Their intermission was already over, and neither Morene or the VIP was seated, thankfully just out of sight of anybody on the stage. She had a feeling the Harlequins would get strict with that sort of thing.

“Anyways, I mean it when I say I don’t know.” Prétot raised his hands in a shrug. “My family– my wife, we found a jury-rigged bomb in our mailbox the other week. I’ve been moving constantly lately, threats over the phone, letters, god…” The greasy man looked up, praying for a moment. “It’s been hell. I don’t know who it is; it’s a different person threatening me or roughing me up every time, and that voter-hostage shit has been going on for years.”

Morene interjected, bluntly. “Why aren’t you dead, then?”

As if there wasn’t a single doubt in the world he would be a corpse if they wanted him to be. Raphaël believed it too. He knew the answer to that, shockingly.

“I–... I got a letter the other day. They want me to resign, officially. I’m here to put a resignation letter, to… drop it off. Outside, somewhere, in a marked box or whatever crazy shit they want out of me.”

“Will you?” The huntress asked. Raphaël took it as a dare.

“No,” he stubbornly rejected the idea. He believed in what he was saying, at least. “I think they just… want eyes off to get rid of me anyways. I got too close to winning the ballots this year. ‘We have eyes on you,’ that's what they said this time.”

“I figure they wouldn’t be here, yes.” Morene concluded. She looked at Kopaka for a moment, seeming to be paying close attention to the auditorium beneath. Then, she turned to Raphaël, nodding. “Please, sir, back to your seat.”

The VIP gulped, shakily moving back to his seat. As the play commenced, Morene walked over to the Toa, stalwart in his overlook over the theater. Kopaka spoke before the knightress as she approached.

“I heard the situation.”

“We were too loud, huh?” Morene chuckled lightly, making sure to keep her voice down.

“Not to anybody but me.” A good listener. “What do you think they meant by the last thing they said to our client?” He asked, purely rhetorically, testing if Morene also knew what it likely meant given the context.

“Sniper most likely, outside of here,” she answered. Correct. If Prétot was being truthful, anyways. Regardless, their paycheck and reputation resided in him, so both of the knights would have to roll with it. Kopaka was certain now that nobody would try anything shady in this establishment, but it was surrounded by the plenty distant tall buildings of Arcadia’s cityscape. Ripe for some absolutely nasty perches that even an amateur sharpshooter could take advantage of.

For a moment, both of the warriors were silent. Getting a better view of the play, Morene finally got a hint as to why the play was titled as such. Vultures preyed upon the deceased, the fallen, of which the Eldar had a particular history with, if the extravagant dance and visuals of the Harlequins were being interpreted correctly by her. This was a story about them, after their empire had fallen to the hands of a cruel god played by the Solitaire, She Who Thirsts. Morene took slight solace in the fact she could watch the end of this play. Still, Kopaka very clearly wanted to talk business. The knochten turned to her partner, asking for his opinion on the subject matter.

“What do you think we should do?”

Word Count: 3,805/5,000
 
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Kopaka

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Kopaka deliberated for a few moments. If there was, in fact, a sniper outside of the theater, they would most likely be waiting for the end of the show. It would be the best way to predict Prétot's approximate location. But their ward was far from a fool; if his life was under threat, staying in a known location for any amount of time would be dangerous. This was more than simple protection; the bureaucrat wanted these hitmen to know he was being protected.

On the other hand, he hadn't exactly hired the Spirits of Vengeance on retainer; if this little charade of his didn't send a message, he would have to go right back to his life of cat and mouse. That did not sit well with the Toa. Prétot's head was in the right place, but he hadn't quite thought this gambit through to completion. It was pitifully ignorant...but...a lesser man would have simply consigned his constituents to starvation and gone into hiding. Raphael had chosen to make a stand, however ill-advised.

Kopaka could respect that.

"We should move now. The assassin expects our exit with the crowd - an early exit will catch them off guard." Kopaka said softly. Morene nodded, and rubbed her armored fingers together thoughtfully.

"But not entirely. The play is almost over, we should expect them to be warming up their trigger finger." Morene countered. Someone nearby shushed them as a wailing choral crescendo played out on center stage. Kopaka glanced over to see one of the actors being speared through the chest with some sort of prop dagger. At least...he had to assume that it was all prop and theatrics. The blood looked so real, and the Harlequins were nothing if not...fanatical about their craft.

If nothing else, it certainly didn't help Mr. Prétot's mood, seeing someone so viscerally slain. Real or not. Kopaka didn't hesitate, and clasped the sweaty human on his shoulder.

"We're going now." the biomech demanded. Raphael began to mouth something in protest, but swallowed the words nervously. Time to do or die. He got to his feet shakily, but not before eagerly swilling down the rest of his aeldari wine. They marched out into the vestibule as more screams and booming orchestral fanfare echoed from the theater chamber.

"Did you find any egress from the rear of theater during your survey?" Kopaka asked the knochten. Morene nodded solemnly.

"Sure. They have a faculty exit and loading dock along Grande Street, opposite the main entrance." she said, but scrunched her face up as possibilities and complications began to present themselves.

"...I see what you're thinking, but we still don't know the shooter's location. I would suspect he could pick a vantage that would cover most exits."

"Most likely, yes...but that still gives us the advantage. The parking garage on this side..." Kopaka said, pointing down the hallway in the general direction of the neighboring complex, "...is not tall enough to offer position on both exits. The Leville Hotel, however-" Kopaka explained before Morene cut him off.

"Okay, sounds good. We need to hurry though, I think they're wrapping up." Morene butted in. Something about Kopaka's hypothesis still left her uneasy, however. There were quite a few assumptions they were making, and if the assassins were truly as skilled as Raphael reported, the knight-errant and her partner were still on the back foot.

"Very well. But two problems remain -- do we split up, and how do we escape after the initial feint?" Kopaka asked flatly. Morene swallowed, in spite of herself. These were questions they should have figured out before the first act, let alone during the finale.

"No sense in splitting up. We don't have a decoy for Raphael." Morene shook her head.

All three of them jumped, and hands reflexively went to weapons, as a cackling voice issued out from the shadows overhead.

"On the contrary..." said the Solitaire as they slid down from a thin, carbonweave string, "...it sounds like our little play was merely a matinee to your main feature. I heard you have a part that needs filling?" the gothic clown chuckled.

...

Five minutes later, during the final soliloquies, the front and back doors of the Saedath Auditorium opened with a pronounced bang as Morene, Kopaka and their new charges exited at opposite ends of the building. Kopaka and the Solitaire -- who had named themselves as 'Lieth-Shaec' -- had opted for the front exit, under the assumption that it would be the more likely target and therefore require the stronger pair. Lieth-Shaec had equipped themselves with a holographic disguise, which was apparently a staple of Harlequin costume. To any distant assassin, a perfectly presentable Raphael Prétot was bumbling alongside the Toa as they made their way down to the waiting limousine.

Morene and Raphael himself quietly slipped through the stark, halogen shadows along the loading dock towards the street. It had turned into a cool, clammy night. The clouded sky overhead was a bruised, orange color crossed with twining spotlights from the various downtown entertainment hubs. Skycars and regular roadcars hummed past in uniform fashion, and a stray dire rat scampered down into the gutter as the knochten and her ward skirted behind various dumpsters and concrete barriers.

"Kopaka, do you see anything?" Morene whispered into a crystalline radio-bracelet. It was another gift from the Harlequins, who were not only glad to lend a hand to their valued customer; they now seemed to be making Raphael's escape into a whole new piece of theater. This, obviously, had given Morene pause considering their dramatic tendencies, but their window for a discreet exit hadn't allowed much time for arguing.

At the front of the building, Kopaka turned his eyes to the towering hotel to the right flank of the theater. Various rooms were illuminated, but any good shooter would be aiming out of a darkened window. The kanohi akaku began to gleam as his vision penetrated the outer walls, scanning for any threats within the structure. There were a lot of occupants in the hotel that night...but metal stood out particularly well on x-ray scans.

"Not yet, but I am still scanning-"

All warriors have an instinct that alerts them to an impending attack. For some, the instinct is generous, bordering on prescience, and allows them to duck away from unseen threats with impunity. Kopaka had never had such a strong instinct, but the psionic alien to his right was quite adept.

"Down!" the Solitaire yelled. Kopaka instinctively hunkered down to face the hotel as his gyro-shield whined to life. He didn't have time to see where Lieth-Shaec had tumbled off to before a hail of heavy caliber bullets rained onto the entire theater plaza.

But not from the direction he had been expecting. Several of the shots found their mark on the left of his torso, causing him to crumple out of sheer shock. His vocoder buzzed and crackled with a grunt of pain, and multiple damage reports began to flash across his internal systems. The shots had come from across the street, in the dark business high rise.

"Kopaka?!" Morene barked into the bracer as she heard the shots echo. There was no imminent response, but her training and expertise did not permit hesitation. The knochten hoisted Raphael onto her shoulder like a limp child and she began to sprint towards the alleyway to her left. She saw the muzzle flash in a third story window across the street before the rounds impacted her right pauldron. She staggered slightly, losing her balance, but managed to charge into the narrow service path between the theater and hotel.

"Two shooters! Kopaka! There are two shooters!" she screamed into the bracelet. Heartpounding moments trickled past as she waited for a response.

Kopaka, recovering his senses, wasted no time as Morene's voice blared across the radio. The Toa rose to his feet, and in one fluid motion, threw his hand skywards. A swirling, blinding squall of ice burst into howling life around him, just as another salvo began to smack into the pavement around him. The gyro shield, now properly interposed, reflected the renewed attack with ease.

"Acknowledged. What is your position?" he growled. The kanohi akaku focused its optics on the convention center across the street, and the Toa saw a lone figure, wielding what appeared to be a moderately sized machine gun, climbing onto an idling swoop-bike that had swung upwards from the parking lot.

"We're in the alley between theatre and hotel. Pinned down. We-"

"My shooter is mounted and repositioning. Do you know where yours is?" Kopaka said, checking his wounds. His protodermis armor had saved him the worst of the damage, but two rounds had managed to penetrate his left hip servos. He would be significantly slowed down until maintenance was possible.

"Third story, some kind of meeting center directly behind the theater. I can't see them from my cover." Morene grumbled. She pulled her mechanized crossbow out from its holster, and it snapped into firing position with a smart click-clack. It was going to be one of those kind of fights. Raphael was panting and shaking next to her, clearly having a panic attack.

"I thought...I thought you two were professionals!" he blubbered. Morene gave the bureaucrat a deadpan look as her battle visor snapped into place.

"Yeah. Well. So are they."
 

Morene Fellon

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Sucking air through the elaborate filtration system of her helmet, Morene counted the odds. She gripped her Starbolt Pulsar with white knuckles, the plates of her gauntlet sliding and clinking together. Another pop of high caliber ballistics filled her muffled ears. Still, Raphaël’s panicked, stammering breaths were the loudest.

Morene’s thoughts and plans played out like a flowchart in her head, compressed into a matter of seconds. She didn’t have to remind herself of the years of experience in life or death situations, an expert in the game of cat and mouse. Unfortunately for her, this time she was the one whose tail was dangerously close to getting bitten off. More accurately to the analogy, her job was to defend the poor little mouse. Raphaël Prétot squeaked out, playing his part perfectly. He stammered into his phone in an emergency call to his driver to stay put and prepare for a quick getaway, nearly dropping the communications device as he turned to Morene to repeat his intentions.

“The parking lot! W-we have to get–... limousine,” the VIP stumbled on his words. Morene didn’t even bother replying. She didn’t need to; her chances were pretty good, all things considered.

The alley provided good cover, even if they were sitting ducks. Though there was absolutely no way Raphaël could have gotten here by himself, only possible due to Morene’s close calls being a human shield for the little rat-faced man cowering near a dumpster, the shooters that wanted him dead had absolutely no angles to play. Nevermind the presence of the huntress herself, plus the added help of the Toa who were both practically impervious to gunfire that wasn’t specifically designed to pierce armor. Despite this, Morene would be worrying had there not been one extra detail.

Absolutely nobody was to damage the property and ritual stage of the Aeldari Harlequins, whose building both the knight-errant and her client were protected by. Though Morene had an interest in theater, her knack of noticing the subtleties of the grand act weren’t supernatural by any means. She recounted months ago, when Masahir N’air gave her formal lessons on performing in front of a stage, in exchange for brief fundamentals on swordsmanship with the limited time allotted in their free time running shop. Even with her limited experience in the enigmatic and nerve-wrecking field of drama, Morene could tell the Harlequins were being shockingly cordial.

Giving her an extremely valuable and advanced telecommunications device? As far as she could tell, the Aeldari kin were very, very secluded. The plot of their play seemed nationalistic in many of it’s story beats, viewing outsiders as constantly malicious, something to be feared, but always belittled. Even in their righteous fury, there was an awkward emphasis on the lesser nature of others not in their society, the implications of such bugging Morene to no end. Were those people even real? She was absolutely one of those people.

This wasn’t their world, and it truly wasn’t even their stage. Their rules didn’t apply; the Saedath Harlequins knew they wouldn’t survive on their own, stranded in a realm farther removed from the Aeldari than anything they’ve ever seen in their years of waging war on the cosmos. These acts, these games, were all they knew. So, they might as well have fun with it.

Morene heard heavy footsteps behind her. The dense metallic stride in the alleyway cued that the Toa had finally caught up with the knightress and their client. Kopaka pointed vaguely at one of the snipers’ previously known location behind the brick wall, as if he had a sixth sense for being shot at.

Immediately, he began barking orders. “Morene, status?”

She didn’t respond, not just yet. Her eyes peered out onto the empty street, planning a route for escape. She raised a hand, gesturing Kopaka to pipe himself down and wait just a moment. He complied, knowing his partner had only just been pushed into this corner, truthfully. The Toa looked over at Prétot, coming over to ever so gently shove him out from behind the dumpster he was cowering behind. Finally, Morene replied.

“I have the faintest abstraction of an idea,” the knight-errant tilted her head. Raising her crossbow, she parked her back against the side of the damp and dirty alley, zeroing in on a fire hydrant close by.

Kopaka leaned in, the tension rising once more as another gunshot filled the air, this time from a different angle altogether. The Harlequins, now zigzagging along the streets, bursted into illusory holographic distortions. Still, the shooters were armed well enough that they could reasonably keep them at bay with suppressive fire. As Kopaka’s attention was diverted for a moment, he knew that this situation would come to a close in less than a few minutes, hopefully in their favor. Looking back, he watched as Morene was about to fire onto the hydrant, presumably to act as a smokescreen to cross the street.

That was exactly the point. Still, all that would happen if she blew that hunk of metal to bits was a misty geyser. Thinking quickly, Kopaka put his biomechanical hand on Morene’s power armored shoulder. “Wait,” he asked, with the intonation that there was something crucial that the huntress had missed. Instead of speaking, he pointed a finger towards the metal pipe, breathing in as he channeled the manifestation of cold within his arcane heart of ice.

A beam of condensed, elemental frost shot out from Kopaka’s left hand, effectively flash-freezing the already cold metal. As the glowing essence of ice shot out of his hand, Raphaël’s mouth went agape, clearly not accustomed to the presence of magic. A thick sheet of ice quickly rose up and covered the hydrant, as if stuck into the back of a refrigerator and sped up over a thousand times. The two knights nodded in unison, relishing in successfully winging an escape. Kopaka looked over at the woman.

“Now,” he gave the cue, stepping back momentarily. Morene smirked beneath the protection of her helmet. Time for property damage.

With a small countdown in her head, Morene slowly applied pressure on the trigger of her crossbow. As she hit zero, an energy bolt exploded from the flight groove of the barrel, launching out towards her target. The fire hydrant immediately dematerialized, concrete beneath it cracking under the pressure of the sudden combustion. As the ear-piercing bang filled the streets near the Saedath, Prétot covered his big set of ears, whining suddenly, as if expecting to be hit by the thick shrapnel of metal pipes bursting out of the hissing fog.

The trio recoiled under the sudden pressure and noise. Naturally, the two knights were first to raise their heads and recover, watching the chemical reaction of ice, metal and concrete under intense pressure and heat. In truth, neither of them knew what to expect as they constructed this plan on the fly, but it worked out almost exactly as expected. A geyser of chill water shot up, nearly towering over the auditorium’s extravagantly high roof. The geyser alone was enough to completely mask their movements if they decided to pass on through, but what was more impressive was the comical amount of smoke and mist radiating from the center of the explosion. Evaporated gas poured out like a fog machine, spilling out onto the streets faster, somehow, than the water flooding into the nearby drainage system.

Raphaël, now being dragged arm-in-arm by both the Toa and knochten, still had room to complain. “Wh–what the hell? Why aren’t you shooting at them?” He enunciated clearly towards Morene, referring to the crazed gunmen out to kill him out in public. The man was being pulled into the street now, resisting like a child forced to get up for school as she replied.

“Not risking collateral,” Morene huffed, running out into the open now as a meatshield for her client. In the next immediate moment, a few of the aforementioned Harlequin warriors took this as an opportunity to push forward. Watching as the Aeldari danced, warping the light around them with the help of their Holo-suits, practically prancing about in the fantastic practical effect made for them took Morene out of it for a second. It was mesmerizing, even to somebody as usually unfazed as her. Still, she didn’t stop running until they got to the alleyway across the street, one block closer to the parking lot now. Turning over to Raphaël, Morene looked him dead in the eye as she continued to speak. “Also, rather not kill what may possibly be federal agents.”

Alright, if she was being honest, no, there was absolutely no excuse for her not to have an actual firearm in her dimensional pocket at this point. In hindsight, bringing only her armor, a very large sword sword and highly explosive ordinance was not actually ideal for security detail. That would have to be an investment for later, though, she thought. Besides, those excuses came quickly, and they did good in shutting up the little rat-man they had to protect. Kopaka rushed ahead of the two, still intensely focused on the mission at hand. Absolutely no room for breaks with him, not now, much to Prétot’s discomfort.

“Morene,” the Toa chimed in, “help me clear the next street.” A nod was exchanged from the huntress, immediately hunching over and walking at his flank, covering the opposite angle that he couldn’t see as they walked over towards the other end of this particular alley, Mr. Prétot right on their tail. Even before Kopaka placed his foot on the sidewalk, a bullet narrowly passed his head, cutting through the air and slamming into the concrete beneath Morene’s legs. Their actions committed to muscle memory, both of the bodyguards walked back, outstretching a hand as if putting up a barrier between them and Prétot.

Looking back, Morene Fellon audibly growled in adrenaline fueled frustration. Breaking formation, the knight-errant lowered her crossbow, zoning in on another dumpster, nearly empty in its contents. Walking over to the cuboid waste container, Raphaël and Kopaka both exchanged a puzzled look.

Gripping one of the handles, Morene swore she felt her hands folding some of the rusted metal. Without hesitation, she pulled it over, incidentally grinding it on the edge of the bricked wall it was previously propped against. The trash container made a horrific screech, one of its wheels dragging against the concrete as she dragged it behind her with ease. To her, it was like rolling around a defunct shopping cart. At the end of the alley, she threw the dumpster forward with her one hand, past Kopaka and Prétot and onto the street. Ducking behind the dumpster, she grasped one edge of the uncomfortably shaky makeshift cover, gesturing to both of them.

“Rally to me! In front, now!” She yelled, in a range lower than expected of a knochten giving orders. Both of the men complied, this time without hesitation. In this instance, Raphaël was more scared, now slightly so of Morene, meanwhile Kopaka was ever so slightly impressed by her intuition and strength. Slightly.

With a great heave, Morene lurched forwards, slowly rolling their cover forward, shakily trying to keep it from wobbling to and fro. It was surprisingly frustrating given that one of the wheels was busted. Still, the trio’s morale was significantly bolstered as they, finally, closed in on the parking lot. It wasn’t all smooth sailing though; Morene was very keenly aware that this thin metal dumpster wasn’t actually thick enough to prevent a bullet from passing through from that caliber of rifle ammunition. She was made more aware of this by a gunshot colliding suddenly in between one of the cerantium plates on her neck, thankfully not penetrating. It felt like she got hit with a club. Gritting her teeth, she cursed out, masked by the ringing sound of parallel metal sheets being punched into.

“Zounds–...” Morene spat, pausing for a moment. The shooter, whose point of view was comically disrupted by a slow-moving dumpster dragging across the street up until this point, knew they hit their mark as their target screeched and lagged. Gritting her teeth, Morene pushed forward one last time, feeling another sniper bullet fly behind her, narrowly missing as she suddenly sped up, pressing her cold, curved breastplate against Prétot’s back. Another spike of adrenaline shot up all three of their spines, making the final play to leap towards safety under the roof of the enclosed parking space.

Taking a second to catch her breath, Morene attempted to massage the slight dent in the neck of her armor and the nasty bruise forming underneath. For now, under the darkness of the parking garage, they were safe. Mr. Prétot immediately picked up his phone to call his driver once more, looking frantically for the limousine, their beacon of safety. Morene and Kopaka exchanged a quick glance at each other.

They both knew that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Word Count: 5,966/5,000
 

Kopaka

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The three of them sat in the parking garage, two of them panting heavily while the android’s systems hissed softly. It had gone silent for almost a minute, which doubtlessly meant that the two of their adversaries were repositioning.

“The sniper is well-trained, however, the foe on the swoop bike with the heavy gun concerns me more.” Kopaka buzzed. The great kanohi on his face was buzzing and shimmering softly as he scanned the surrounding block and a half for movement. By this time, the distant sirens of the Arcadian police could be heard rapidly approaching, but that didn’t necessarily make the situation any easier. The confusion of a firefight could easily see the over eager officers accidentally shooting Raphaël. Morene shifted her bulk slightly, the ceramite plates grinding loudly on the pavement as she reloaded the Pulsar. She spoke in a controlled voice, though it was tinged with the strain of racing thoughts.

“The question is whether they flee now that the police are inbound. We-”

“Oh, they’ll give it one more solid try. I’m quite sure.” came a snide, singing voice from directly above them. Lieth-Shaec the Solitaire was lounging on a steel support girder, swinging their leg idly while their hideous mask leered at them. Kopaka fumed internally that the Harlequin could so easily sneak up on them, even getting past the Akaku.

“How can you be sure?” Morene grunted. She finished reloading and thumbed the weapon slowly, ready to level it at…well, anything that made itself a threat.

“My players have been flushing them. Guiding things. Bringing this side act to its inevitable climax.” Lieth-Shaec said. They rolled off of the girder and alighted on the pavement without a single noise. Raising their hands over their head and twirling, the elven playwright began to break into some sort of song.

As cordas…
Do No kel no…
Si-ben su llwenyn…
Conas a Gair-Faid tú iad?


Two more Harlequins alighted on the various cars next to them, and rattled a pair of tambourines. Kopaka and Morene looked at eachother, and the respective scowls of their masks were completely accurate to the emotions beneath.

“...I thought…I thought you were helping us!” Raphaël bleated. Lieth-Shaec whipped around, and the death mask of Slaanesh held him in its incisive glare.

“Oh, my dear mon-keigh. We are.”

“Incoming!” Morene barked as the engines of a swoop bike could be heard echoing through the parking complex. The Harlequins dispersed in a leaping fit of giggling rainbows, just as the moaning hoverbike came curving around the bend towards them. One of the assassins was at the controls, while the other rode on the saddle behind him, heavy machine gun poised to fire.

“Get down!” Morene roared. She leveled the Pulsar and fired a snapshot at the pair of assassins in a moment of sheer survival panic. At this level of engagement, the idea that they might be government operatives was shoved aside by sheer fight or flight.

Unfortunately, the howling streak of blue destruction went just wide of the vehicle, and handsomely obliterated an expensive cedan on the far end of the garage.

“Switch!” Kopaka shouted. Morene responded reflexively, and rolled back behind the cars around them. As she began to try and drag Raphaël over the barrier into the adjacent lane, Kopaka entered the corridor. His shield was spinning at full rotations, and he crouched down slightly as heavy caliber rounds began to pound into him. The android grunted audibly as he sustained the fire, but their firing window was cut short as they closed the distance and had to evade a bolt of shimmering ice.

The swoop bike banked slightly, juking over the Toa’s head, and began to decelerate as it leaned into the next turn.

Kopaka scrambled over the same barrier that Morene had escaped over, and stumbled slightly as he regrouped. Morene gave him a once over, and saw that multiple heavy rounds had penetrated his metal carapace. He was clearly hurt, but Morene knew the bionicle well enough to waste time asking if he was okay. If Kopaka was considerably damaged, he would have said so.

“Where’d they go?” Morene said in a flat tone as the Pulsar hummed with new ammunition. Kopaka pointed down the previous lane, which led up to the parking level above them.

“Momentary retreat…fifty six rounds expended…reloading.” Kopaka breathed. He was currently operating on one lung, and three articulation motivators in his outer armor had been torn apart. The muscle and hydraulic motors were still functional, however; he had simply been slowed down.

“Helping? Why aren’t…they…they said…Why aren’t they helping?” Raphaël said in frenzied mutters.

“He’s gone into full panic. I’m not sure he can be moved again.” Morene said. Her professionalism prevented her from sounding outright annoyed, but even Kopaka caught the stilted tone in her voice. Things were getting out of hand. The Toa activated the Akaku and looked on the upper level.

“They are approaching for another attempt. Ice-fishing maneuver.” Kopaka said firmly. Morene grinned beneath her visor, and nodded.

“Ice-fishing maneuver.”

Kopaka nodded in response, and advanced up the garage lane in the direction of the assassins’ approach. He took cover behind a large truck, and activated the Akaku once more, watching the swoop bike’s movement and gathering his elemental energy. Meanwhile, Morene braced her forearms on the hood of the hybrid car in front of her, and aimed the pulsar down the lane.

“Like a shooting gallery.” she breathed, steadying her nerves. The engine of the swoop grew louder, but was still somehow not loud enough to drown out her VIP’s frenzied jabbering and panting. The knochten blocked it out, and narrowed her focus. Everything came down to this moment.

The bike and its lethal riders appeared at the top of the ramp. Morene breathed.

Its engines swelled with power as the first few rounds of fire began to rain down around her. Kopaka’s timing was perfect as a surge of gleaming, crackling power surged out from his location. A massive block of blue ice swelled into existence directly in the path of the screaming hover bike, catching its front repulsor in a hard collision. The bike was violently swatted off course, and revved hard as it tipped sideways and began to skid down the ramp. Both riders were immediately thrown, providing Morene with a delicious target.

The Starbolt Pulsar coughed harshly, once. The swoop was reduced to flaming fragments.

Kopaka wasted no time in advancing on the stranded assassin, with his sword poised for a killing stroke. The hired killer snapped his head up, eyes wide with panic and violence behind a black balaclava. The machine gun had fallen quite a few feet away. The Toa saw the man glance at the weapon, but took on a defensive posture as he drew a wickedly gleaming knife.

Kopaka got into a defensive posture with his sword, but there came an abrupt tap on his shoulder. He turned his head just slightly to glance at who, or what, had done so. The assassin capitalized on this opening, and surged forwards. The android wheeled around and swung his whirring shield at the assailant, but his injuries made him just a tad too slow. The magical blade plunged through his chest armor, causing a gruesome spurt of blood.

“Kopaka!” Morene shouted in dismay. She touched the haft of her sword, but looked down at the invalid man she was protecting. Crossing the entire garage to save the Toa would leave him exposed to too many variables.

The Toa did not fall. He did, however, drop his sword and grab the killer by the arm. The man looked on in horror as his frail, meaty body began to freeze over. As numb, inescapable pain overtook him, Kopaka reversed their stances, and withdrew the knife from his carapace. The assassin tried to crawl away in his half frozen state, but couldn’t make it far enough.

“Fuck! No! Shit! Wait!” he blathered as Kopaka staggered towards him. Another blast of frigid energy silenced him, and the knife found a new home in his frozen back. With that, the Toa finally collapsed.

The swoop bike, or what remained of it, was the only refuge for the remaining assassin, who was hunkered down and bleeding behind its main engine block. Morene could see this from her position, and was faced with a dilemma. She had seen Kopaka recover from complete destruction in the past – it was part of his damage control systems – but it took time. She wasn’t about to leave him behind, though, she knew Kopaka would be furious if she neglected her duty to protect their charge.

Speaking of which, where was Raphaël? She glanced behind her, and the stammering man was gone. Morene wheeled around, stunned. Suddenly she saw him, standing next to the Solitaire, who was handing an ornate dagger to the bewildered bureaucrat.

“...for they threatened your family. They threatened your purpose. And now, my good friend, you will send them a message in reply.” Lieth-Shaec sang, guiding him by a gentle hand on the shoulder. The two began to move towards the final, wounded killer.

“No. Raphaël, calm down and wait for our ride.” Morene said, licking her dry lips. She raised her visor to try and appeal to the previously sheepish community organizer. He looked towards Morene helplessly, but continued to march towards the wounded man.

“My…family…” he breathed.

“Send them a message.” Lieth-Shaec whispered, pacing silently around Raphaël with graceful footwork. She slowly drew the Galvanus, and glared hard at the cackling face of the Solitaire. She should have known better than to lean on outside help for something like this…especially with such an unknown organization. Stupid. She and Kopaka had both been played for fools, just for these clowns’ drama-lust.

“Step aside, knave.” Morene growled. She became aware that there were dozens of Harlequins around them, some singing and some playing a fantastical dirge on various instruments. Lieth-Shaec nodded graciously and backed away from Mr. Prétot with a delighted chuckle.

The knochten hesitated, her mind racing… How in the world did they even know about the bomb threats directed at Prétot’s family? It was practically impossible that they’d have overheard their previous conversation. Not like it mattered now, anyways. She pointed her sword at the Solitaire, who took it as a half-assed threat, tilting their head and prancing around Morene and her VIP. That seemed to have made them back off, for now.

Speaking from first impressions, there’s absolutely no way in the infinite potential of the Crossroads that Raphaël would actually be able to commit to murdering somebody, let alone somebody pleading for their life. Besides, the Harlequins of the Saedath seemed to be circling the two like vultures, intimidating them rather than being outwardly aggressive. Still, creepy. Also, very annoying at a time like this.

Rolling her eyes, Morene placed a firm, gauntleted hand on Raphaël’s shoulder. It almost snapped him back to rationality. If there was anything Morene had realized she was decent at in these past few months, it was coaxing somebody out of a panic attack. Sliding directly in front of him, the knochten took a loud knee, getting onto Raphaël’s level. She would absolutely not employ the same strategy she did previously to get Masahir stable; Morene actually cared about her, in that instance.

Morene’s face was the only thing Prétot could see; he literally couldn’t ignore her now. Her expression was absolute, knightly in its visage. Still, it didn’t help Raphaël, actually scaring him slightly more than anything. As his fingers went numb, he expected orders to get barked at him that would eventually slide off of his brain like water pouring onto a marble.

Before he could even register it, Raphaël felt a sting of pain on his left cheek, realizing that Morene had taken her hand and gently flicked him right in his rat-like face. A backhand slap to get him back to his senses would have decapitated him, with no exaggeration. As he reeled back slightly, he looked outwardly offended at this interaction, as intended. She then addressed him, as softly as she could while remaining resolute.

“Mr. Prétot, you are going to stay put. You hear me?” Morene tilted her head, watching as the thoroughly shook VIP attempted what looked to be a nod, eventually. He didn’t entirely register this. The knight-errant knew that. She elaborated further, pinning the point down, uncaring of the possibility that those bastard Harlequins might stab her in the back at any moment.

“Do you think you could take a man’s life today?”

That struck a chord. Raphaël’s shaking stopped, and for once, he actually started thinking about what he was going to commit to. In his peripheral vision, he saw the man that he was considering killing. The bright red blood trail that the hitman left as he attempted to drag himself to safety is a visual that’d stick with Raphaël for the rest of his life.

Plunging a knife into a man’s chest, blood on his suit that he couldn’t wash off. The man could barely handle eating raw meat, but killing somebody? Now? He gulped, visibly. Gritting his teeth, Prétot grew tired of being addressed like a child.

“Alright,” he groaned, “fuck, I get it, I get it…”

Morene nodded, patting him on his shoulder and cracking a dry smile. “Good.”

There came a sudden, hissing crackle. Some sort of crystalline projectiles shattered against her armor, having ripped through the man's flesh. The knochten's smile went flat as bloodspray streaked across her cheeks. Raphaël's face sank into cold, painwracked horror as she tried to cradle him into a protective position.

"No! No, no! Look at me. Look." Morene said. She tried, as gently as she could, to tap his face as his eyes started to roll back. She looked around – saw the assassin with one of the Harlequins' strangely curved pistols in his hands. Where had he gotten one of those?

She turned her head around to see Lieth-Shaec looming over her, his screeching mask of Slaanesh leering in the flickering light of the speeder wreck.

"You-" Morene spat, but she was interrupted by a sting of musical swell.

"And lo! Let it be known. Kaela Mensha Khaine as my witness, he who refuses to strike first shall often be stricken himself." the Solitaire said, bowing with an agile flourish. Morene ground her teeth and opened her mouth to howl something repugnant at the chuckling fiend, but Raphaël needed her attention.

The wounds were deep; the crystalline ammo had passed through his flesh like jelly, but the burst had been poorly aimed. She glanced back at the assassin – he was dead, apparently by a having his heart cut out. The Harlequins were gone too.

That left the knochten alone on the cold ground as the red-blue jubilee of police lights began to fill the parking complex. If she could just slow his bleeding for a little longer…

"Hold fast, Prétot. C'mon." Morene said, putting pressure against his shredded extremeties…




In the end, Raphaël Pretòt did end up surviving his injuries. The timely arrival of the APD saw the bureaucrat spirited away to the finest thaumaturgical healers the city had to offer. Despite the brush with death and deep soul-searching he'd done, Mr. Pretót was in good spirits, and of course, surrounded by his family. Unfortunately, with everything that had happened, it didn't seem like he would be healthy enough to return to his important public work.

At least...not for the next few months. But the attempt on his life had left the previously sheepish man galvanized. If ever there had been a sign that his work was important, the events of that night were all the proof he needed. Mr. Pretót mattered, and for that catharsis alone, he was fully pleased to pay Kopaka and Morene's fee, with bonus.

It was a bonus, of course, that Kopaka refused, and gave to Morene. He was emphatic that his falling on the job was an inexcusable liability that had left Morene and Raphaël in danger. The knochten, of course, stubbornly insisted that his sacrifice was deserving of the bonus. In the end, they had agreed to invest the bonus in some new radio gear. Lessons learned, and so forth.

As they entered the glossy, enchanted lobby of the Miniskirt Military Surplus store, however, they were both surprised as the blue-suited receptionist greeted them by name.

"Ah! Mr. Kopaka. Ms. Fellon. I was told to hold a package for you." the Armada representative chirped. She withdrew an elegantly wrapped parcel, about the size of a large cake, from beneath the desk and laid it in front of them.

"How did you...uh...who delivered this?" Morene stammered, plucking at the black, silk ribbon with hesitant fingers. The clerk shrugged.

"I don't know! They were dressed in tights and-"

"Kopaka don't!" Morene barked as the Toa began to tear into the package.

"It's alright. I already scanned it." he droned, tapping the eyepiece of thr Akaku. From the glistening foil, he withdrew a large, grey mask. It had strange, square eyes, square mouth, and a circuit-like pattern emblazoned on it.

"The Kanohi Mahiki" Kopaka said, turning it over in his cold hands. He could feel the magnetic power within it, asking to be equipped. He wasn't sure how he knew the name so intuitively...but he was far past questioning such things at this point.

"There's a note..." Morene said, plucking a piece of parchment from the package. She held it out in front of them, and the Toa looked over to read.

Most respectful tidings to the brave mercenaries Kopaka and Morene of the Spirits of Vengeance,

Tales of your skill and valor have reached Our ears, and we are fane to bestow you invitation to Our court. We must apologize for the antagonistic role of the Saedath Harlequins in your most recent mission. Even among other Aeldari, they are considered capricious and untrustworthy.

We would be most thankful for your attendance at the Elder Gala, being held in two weeks time, to discuss potential working relationships during your time on Erde Nona.

With most anticipatory regards,

Lady Yvraine
Matriarch of the Ynnari
 
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