bakerstreet | The Criminal AU Meme

The Criminal AU Meme

THE CRIMINAL AU MEME

Warning: This meme will contain violent content and possible triggers.

HOW TO PLAY:
1) Post a comment below, detailing your character and canon. For best results, DO NOT LEAVE THIS COMMENT BLANK; pick a role, or an AU, or write up a little on what you'd like to explore with your character.
2) Tag around and make magic happen.
3) If you get stuck, use RNG to select from the options below.

THE ROLE.
1) Criminal. (The one who committed the act.)
2) Law enforcement. (Cop, FBI, prison guard.)
3) Witness. (What did you see?)
4) Victim. (Probably not applicable in the case of murder. … Probably.)
5) Lawyer, judge, or paralegal. (Participant in the legal system.)
6) Private security. (Unaffiliated, but with an interest in keeping your client safe. Or in getting your target caught.)
7) Other. (Let your imagination go wild.)

THE CRIME.
1) ROBBERY. The crime of stealing via force or threat or fear.
You need the money. You're desperate. You have the gun, the convenience store is right there, and everything will be better once you've finished the job.

Or maybe you've been hired. Provide a little intimidation, and someone else will take care of all your problems.

Or it's a thrill. Rolling across the country, robbing banks as you go. A Bonnie & Clyde crime spree, and it can only end one way.

2) BURGLARY. Illegal entry into a building for the purposes of committing theft.
Non-violence, for you; you're just going to break in, take this one thing. Maybe a television, to sell for the cash. Maybe some jewelry, a computer.

Or maybe you're a master thief, dangling from a wire into a museum. Sliding through the air ducts of a skyscraper in search of a particular little item.

3) GRAND THEFT AUTO. The criminal act of stealing a motor vehicle.
You know your cars. And you can steal one in under 60 seconds. Better hope you don't get tripped up with one of those newfangled security systems.

4) MURDER. The act of killing another.
He had to die. He had to, and the guilt of knowing where you buried the body, of knowing that the police are coming after you -- it's starting to wear down your sanity.

5) SERIAL MURDER. A crime involving the killing of three or more people over a period of more than a month.
You have a drive to kill. Again, and again. Nothing satisfies it, nothing stops it. Maybe you hate yourself. Maybe you hate the human scum who only exist to go under your knife.

Or maybe you're a professional hit man. You've killed dozens, you know how it goes. It's just business.

6) CONSPIRACY. An agreement between two or more persons to break the law at some time in the future.
Mafia, Yakuza, crime families who keep their operations quiet under pain of death, dishonor, betrayal of the family. You're part of one of these operations, whether as a patriarch or a peon.

7) FRAUD. Intentional deception made for personal gain.
Blackmail. Cover-ups. Insider trading -- the marks of corporate crime. Perhaps you're a CEO who thinks they can do whatever they want. Perhaps your business is on the rocks and you just need a little time to make your golden parachute before you ditch it.

Or maybe you meant to destroy it. Maybe you're a professional con man, and you're stepping away from your latest conquest with plenty of cash in hand.

8) KIDNAPPING. The false imprisonment of another person against their will.
Do you do it for the ransom? For the money? For revenge?

Or is it a hostage situation, with dozens of prisoners, for some sort of political gain?

9) TERRORISM. The systematic use of terror, especially as a means of coercion.
For a religion, for a philosophy. But -- are you a terrorist, or are you a freedom fighter? It might just be a matter of point of view.

10) WILD CARD. For any crime not mentioned above.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Will you need more than that? [ . . . ] And the rest.

. . . You stash more somewhere else?

Then again, you look like you've stocked yourself to full capacity.

[ it comes out quaintly amused, his expression kept somewhat taut. ] Too much greed makes fools of men, haven't you heard?

[ . . . yeah, that would have been a bit suspect. his eyes flick over, idle. ]

How much'd you wanna leave 'em?

[ he's more than aware of the eyes burning holes into him -- of course, he's delightfully unmoved. ]

Be kind to my conscience. We're not here, after all, to rob them blind.

Doesn't mean anybody needs 'em restocking.

[ could he, in three minutes, start a self-contained fire in this room. . . a really quiet fire. . .

. . . well, it keeps him occupied, anyway. ]

. . .

[ he flexes his fingers slowly at his side; the muted light of the hallway catches on the edge of his glasses as he turns, and stares. ]

Is this supposed to be caution?

[ the glance's returned without particular concern. ]

Keep moving.

I just remembered to whom I've entrusted my blind spot.

And? Think I'm not keeping close enough?

Too close is close enough.

[ which they've already had the pleasure of being. there's another smile, the type given as condolences to a grieving party. ]

If you'd like to cut off all of their supplies, I am not immediately opposed.

As long as I do it without caving 'em in?

As long as you bear in mind the kind of effects you left behind.

Flammable, explosive, as it were.

. . . aaaa. I got it.

[ can they move on now. ]

[ yes, princess.

he turns a sharp left at the fork in the hallway; he doesn't spare the closed door to their right a second glance. the stairwell down towards the basement is just as dimly lit as the rest of the building, and darker still.

and, because ironic is as ironic does, he -- pulls a lighter from his pocket, flicking the flame on. ]

[ . . .

somewhere the universe is playing an excruciatingly slow clap just for this moment.

mikoto, meanwhile, follows with his usual stride, carelessness only slightly curbed as they click down the stairs, following the lit side. ]

[ it's a light source that won't blow the both of them up. shut up, it works.

but it's a short stairwell -- as inoffensive as other short stairwells also tend to be. the ominous silence that spreads out like a black veil around them and their tiny, guiding flame is a welcome one; it means that there are no guards yet, that things are going as planned, that if reishi is keen on the idea of getting them killed, it's not going to be on a dark, dank stairway leading into the basement for crying out loud.

still, the quiet is broken eventually enough -- there's a sneeze around the corner, a low, lame gesundheit from one of the guards as reishi clicks shut his zippo and presses his back against the wall just before they round the corner.

. . .

if he attempts to signal the brief game plan with rough sign language, would suoh even stop to pay attention. ]

[ it's still fairly dark, those had better be some very simple handsigns.

alternately, mikoto could just reach out to find his elbow and tug it still with a narrow, half-seen frown. he's been looking forward to barging in, must all his joys be spoiled. ]

[ . . . if half-lidded, low-brow staring can be interpreted as the question do you want to get killed, then reishi is doing his darnedest with his impression of it.

but -- it seems he already knows how this will go. his hand automatically goes to his waistband underneath the fold of his suit jacket for his gun. ]

[ for the sake of presently tender sensibilities: a strategy.

(1) rummage around in jacket.
(2) extract object and toss it around the corner, past the floor.
(3) commence shots while at least one guard's a second slowed by following the clink and the rolling of the fallen actually did he really just use an unlit flash explosive as a distraction.

(well, he gets two off.) ]

[ there are certain customs some of the more traditional of their kind tend to adhere to. omerta is one, and there are others, of course, covering what is deemed respectable practice in a war. perhaps something quaint like no man gets left behind or live by the sword, you die by the sword. in an ideal world, where mafia isn't dead, he might've given it a second thought.

alas, for him, omerta is the first to go -- the second he's presented with the chance to turn suoh mikoto in to the police is a second too late for his patience.

he has no time to shoot suoh the appropriate disapproving look before the gunshots ring to life all around them, bringing with them the smell of burning and the sound of shrill, grating metal. a stray bullet ricochets off the stone brick and goes flying through the space between them, and that is enough of a cue for reishi to create some distance, pulling away from the wall to level his gun and take out a guard just as the unfortunate man peeks around the corner.

(he even has the grace to pick up the inactivated flash grenade as he forces his way right through the confused fray within the open room to duck behind one of the conveniently stashed pile of iron beams in the corner

-- but not, of course, before lighting the damn thing because he isn't an idiot.)

you're on your own, sport. ]

[ behind him, the piece thunks, rolls over ground and under heel. its pulled pin clinks as it settles and --

. . . completely fails to go off. well, then.

there's this much luck, at least: that the dud rolls through the throng, glances off a particularly ambitious sentry's boot -- who, in turn, doubles a look down and promptly takes a headshot for his troubles. several guards split away after the initial shots, angling in the direction of the intruder -- not to take a closer mark, but to find a decent angle by which to open fire. it's a lot easier to follow after in their wake, through the thinned fray and the basement's dimmer lights. finesse is nothing like to the order of the day: mikoto gets through alternately by ducking behind crates (flimsy as hell for cover, but bulk makes up for that), taking his shots as the scattered men move after munakata ahead, and working fast in blind spots.

shots crack; a set of lights spark and burst in little scatterings of glass. he's made it to the far corner of the room by the time they've regrouped -- glances around in a sharp sweep for some sign. look, ma, minutes in, and there's been not one single other explosion. he's stinting and everything, and this really is a pain. ]

[ this really isn't his sort of scene.

and he can't imagine it's suoh mikoto's either with the kind of heavy artillery he's packing, with the type of men those things are usually used to off. it's adrenaline and testosterone and a bunch of petty criminals in a closed-quarter gun fight -- how else does he really expect it to turn out? one moves to shoot, and it's easy pickings from there; he draws faster, the trigger is flimsy against his finger, and he's ready, after all, to count out the casualties from the moment he stepped inside the base. these men almost seem hesitant despite already being in the thick of it, and he's not above using their unusual moral dilemma to his advantage.

or above dawdling, it seems.

because by the time suoh's rounded the nearby corner, he's crouching, leaning against the guard of his current hiding spot to fit a cigarette between his lips, to light it with a flame that flickers with the bullets still flying in the air around him.

and there's consideration, and maybe a query, because he's pinning suoh with a look as he extends the carton in his hand in his general direction. ]

[ the shots pour in, all thunder and bitter smoke, like an assault structured around the strategy that maybe sheer leaden volume might get them somewhere that actually being able to see their targets hadn't.

under the barrage, inches out of the erratic shots, mikoto laughs without sound. a cigarette's duly pinched out of the carton with his empty hand. the returning glance is equally considering. ]

Think three's enough?

[ - as he pinches it between his teeth and digs idly for a lighter. behind them, the firing's growing patchy between longer, suspiciously silent pauses. well, they can afford to a little bit of a wait. ]

There are four left. One behind the crate, two behind the columns beside the door, and the last in the corner. The latter will be darting for the stairs the moment your attention's off of him.

As he should when he's out of ammo.

[ it's all listed methodically. there are phones resting in his lap, pickings from the bodies he'd targeted specifically to ensure that back-up will not be coming to complicate their little scuffle. it's a bit of over preparation on his part; he'd already issued orders for fushimi to take care of their network from the outside anyway.

so there's really not much to this but waiting. he blows smoke, holding out his lighter and its flame in suoh's peripheral to spare him of an(other) unnecessary distraction. ]

Or is that not the three you were referring to?

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why bread

centuries later...

......... ah yup

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