Eradicating evil was always on my to-do list (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cerebel) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2013-04-08 01:26 pm
cerebel) wrote in bakerstreet2013-04-08 01:26 pm
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.
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Flammable, explosive, as it were.
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[ can they move on now. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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(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.) ]
why bread
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. ]
centuries later...
. . . 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. ]
......... ah yup
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. ]
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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. ]
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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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[ the search through his jacket's promptly abandoned as he bows his head to the little flare, tucks two fingers around the stick and breathes in.
settling back, one hand checks the gun's chambers -- reflex more than caution against bad memory. an eye's only partly following munakata's little gestures. ]
Meant how long it'd take you to finish.
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[ the zippo clicks shut -- for a little more than a second or two. he lowers his hand just to flick it on again, holding it steady.
the flame flickers lazily as a bullet soars overhead, embedding itself into the wall in front of him; he hardly stirs, barely spares an extra blink as he brings one of the stolen phones up to the fire. it doesn't take long for the screen to crack, but setting it on actual fire seems to be taking some time. ]
So a minute.
Do you have a spare grenade in that jacket of yours?
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[ fifty seconds and counting -- but he makes no move for his jacket, his boots. the gunfire's wavering; even the footsteps are fading out of earshot.
well, nearly. but his concern's transparent -- so much as to be invisible. ]
Sure that's enough?
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[ and to clean up the trash, presumably. eventually. actually. within the next second or two would be nice.
because the phone is on fire and he's edging to the side of their makeshift hiding spot to throw it at the door. the thing shatters and crackles upon impact just as expected, and it's just the kind of noise he needed.
what results is as follows: the two men hiding behind the pillars are smoked out to the front and towards the center of the room like the ill-trained mutts that they are; to refrain from catching his allies in his ill-timed spray, corner henchman #3 shifts his aim just in time to nail crate henchman #4 right between the eyes as the poor sap peeks out to assess all the chaos. what's left then, is three men and easy pickings, the end to a particularly boring impasse. ]
Go.
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[ honestly, an explicit warning wouldn't have gone amiss --
but it's easy to guess where they'll be after the descriptions lent to him -- there's only so many crannies to duck out of. the cigarette's jammed between his teeth as he slides a hand through his coat to the exact pocket, tosses it from hand to hand briefly before he pulls the pin and twists, peers over the top of the crates (no, that's not how the order of it's supposed to go) and slings it over before sliding back down into place. ]
Might wanna block your ears.
[ with a very particular cheerful malice -- just before the explosion rocks through the grounds after all. ]
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it's enough that he drops his cigarette in time for the eruption, too (just in time to avoid biting off a piece of it, what, with how his teeth clack together). for something small, it still works through the floor beneath him, violently shaking the standing obstacles, the columns, the crates, even the rooted beams acting as their cover at their backs. in the end, it's little wonder they don't wind up crushed beneath the steel. it's nice to know suoh is careful enough for that much.
even through the firm press of his hands, he can hear it -- the yelling, the crying of the men running around the space just before the explosion hit. mafia is a place of pipedreams for temporarily hired fledglings like these, and he could almost feel sorry; no one wants to end up as gunpowder, as the ash bleeding into the cracks in the concrete.
beyond their cover, the double set of doors have blown open. only one of them is still hanging by a hinge, the metal twisted and black. ]
Well -
[ his ears are ringing. there's not much to hide the wince, the scrunching of his brow as he closes his eyes to it. ]
That went well.
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Gonna move?
[ he doesn't seem inclined to, not yet, slouching on one braced hand to exhale smoke, his whole frame given up to the sound and devastation. his gaze is lidded and only a little considering. the empty air, after all, resonates. ]
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[ he inhales and the air smells sharp with blood and gunpowder. still, he's smoothing out the wrinkle in his expression as the shrill sound of the emptied room gives way to silence broken only by the occasional stray piece of walling, the occasional crack and scattering of concrete broken off in the explosion.
he's still leaning back, relaxed in his posture, as if the shaking of the room's enough to unwind him, enough to make him laugh.
what a beast, he thinks, if the bombing's not enough to affect him, to rattle suoh mikoto.
he reaches over to pick up his fallen cigarette, and he twists it into the cement to ground out the flame. ]
I suppose we should. It won't be long until they'll notice us from upstairs.
THE OPPOSITE OF LIGHT.
Think they'll figure it out?
[ where they're headed. how to get there first.
. . . it's only a little bit jibing. ]
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but he stands in the end, smoothing out the dust from his clothing. ] If they're smart.
But we've ourselves a building holding two families. You've seen it for yourself, haven't you?
The disorganization.
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S'that make 'em slower? Or faster?
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