Upstairs Downstairs
Roleplaying Log: Upstairs Downstairs
IC Details

Billy Russo's men steal something precious from the Hellfire Club of New York.

Other Characters Referenced: Agent Orange
IC Date: May 08, 2019
IC Location: Hellfire Club, NYC, NY
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 09 May 2019 02:40
Rating & Warnings: PG-13 (Violence)
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits: Emma Frost: HFC Guards & Staff, Billy Russo: His Team
Associated Plots

It is 4:22 in the morning. The last of the illustrious guest list that frequents the floors of the Hellfire Club's New York chapter has long since gone home, for this is an ungodly hour. The staff, having finished the cursory cleaning after they left, has not yet come in to start the preparations for the mid-morning opening. The only ones here are the kitchen staff and a handful of women in French maid costumes who will deliver up the indulgent room service meals on silverplate trays. Because, while the primary floors are mostly vacated and the streets are a far cry from the midday crush of bodies, the building is not empty.

On the upper floors, there are a couple dozen guests who are visiting from destinations across the globe, but there are several floors between them and the luxuriously appointed public floors of the club.

But, everything seems very quiet.

Billy Russo would much prefer to be walking through the doors of the Hellfire Club once again as an invited guest. But this job seeks to earn a payout that will bring him closer to the echelon he desires.

So, compromises.

That, and the type of mutant who does worry the expert liar are the ones who can see through those lies. The other ones? They just need better equipment, better resources to handle it. But psychics?

That, plus the fact that Agent Orange made it known that this mission wasn't optional is why he and his team creep around back, to the delivery entrance that their intelligence suggests would be the best entrance point. There's five figures, all dressed in black and decked out in body armor. They're among Anvil's best - and also the most morally flexible. The tech among them works at the lock, with a sophisticated rugged tablet meant to override whatever the Hellfire Club has used to secure the door. This entrance point was also chosen because it's got the straight shot to the basement, where this elusive psychic amplifier is supposed to be.

The choice proves to be a good one, the bare bones staff not yet expecting any of the day's deliveries. The door disables after a couple of minutes, granting admittance to the lofty club. The way seems to be clear as some of the club's employees work in the kitchen, and the thick Oriental rugs that cover the herringbone wood floors of the lower floor's walls make it that much easier for well-trained feet to move all the more silently.

It's a short path past costly art, to a door that once housed the way down to a wine cellar.

A door that isn't so clear. It's an elevator now if the paneled doors are any indication, despite what the plans say, and it's guarded by two men in their own armored suits of blue and red with AR-15s and doll-faced masks that obscure their identities.

So much for a stealthy in-and-out, no-one-will-ever-know-we-were-here scenario. The five men move in a tight formation, eyes scanning with night vision goggles to make sure nothing surprises them from the shadows.

When the figures are spotted, there's no hesitation. The first silenced shot comes from Billy, sniper-accurate even at a much shorter distance. The soft pops of bullets cutting air follows from two of his men. It's a merciless spattering of kill shots, with armor piercing rounds - because it's better to be over-prepared.

There really isn't time for the men to react, although their masks efficiently steal any final expression of pain or surprise from them. Bullets find their marks with a deadly efficiency and sink into the guards' bodies with dull, wet thuds. A couple escape the confines of the dead men, finding the wall behind them as corpses fall to the floor.

Blood pools on the expensive wool and floor, but the way for Billy and his men is clear.

The elevator's panel is another coded piece, although this one requires a palm scan.

The men in Billy's company are so well-trained, he doesn't need to utter orders for them to fall into step. As he reaches for one of the downed men's hands, they set up a perimeter to watch for other guards. He reaches down, tugs off a glove (if there is one) then pulls the inert hand up to press it against the palm reader. That may not work, but it's a solid plan A in his estimation.

And sometimes, Plan A is all you need.

The thick blue glove is a pain to take off, but it does eventually come free. And when the hand is placed upon the scanner, Billy will find he is in luck. The panel scans red, turns green, and then triggers the elevator doors to open.

The change in aesthetic is immediate. Mahogany panels with elaborate carvings give way to an elevator car that shines brightly with a modern steel interior. The options for this elevator are different than the others found elsewhere; there are only two: G and B. That might, one would think, would make it easy.

His face might be covered, but Billy's forehead is furrowing and his jaw is setting. Elevators are a strategic nightmare. He motions for two of his guys to stand guard, and for two others to step into the elevator. He punches 'B' with his gloved hand, then stands with weapon up, pointed at the door. The other two men do the same.

The elevator glides smoothly and silently downwards, and - for what may seem like forever - Billy and his two men stare at nothing save their own reflections in the highly reflective metal. Either the elevator is very slow, or it's a lot further down than your average wine cellar.

But the palm scan triggered a changing of the guard.

Beyond Billy's hearing, there's comm chatter.

"You're early, Evan. Did you forget how to read your watch, dummy? You owe me another thirty minutes." And when the silence follows, there's a question next. "…Evan? …Pauly?" More silence.

By the time Billy and his duo come to the bottom of the elevator ride, there will be another rifle raised towards the doors and ready to fire at anything not blue and red. And it sounds like more are coming from down the long corridor with its walls covered in an artistic blend of wood and steel.

Normally Billy would be happy to gaze at his own reflection, but his face is covered in balaclava and goggles, so that he and his men look indistinct. He remains tense with weapon raised towards the door. They don't, after all, know how long this ride will last.

That means when the door opens and he sees the faintest hint of motion, he pulls the trigger before the person beyond it can confirm that the figures inside the elevator are hostile. The thing about not having an actual conscience is there's no hesitation in situations like these. It also gives his men a chance to get into gear and likewise lay down fire at anything moving beyond.

The hesitation is deadly, and the Hellfire Club guard in his own mask finds himself the unfortunate receptacle for another volley of bullets. He, however, unlike his friends upstairs, manages to move enough to change the bullets’ point of entry and get his own rounds off. The string of destruction travels upwards as he falls against the wall, tearing into the custom fluorescent lighting and ceiling panels and sending a bunch of it crashing to the floor.

The sound is deafening as it echoes in the corridor, and once it dies down there are the sounds of new footfalls from one of the six doors as more guards approach.

The elevator is a coffin. They need to get out of it. That's the priority in the moments between the end of their barrage of fire and the start of the next. Any bullets that catch them will hopefully be stopped by the state-of-the-art body armour. That is, unless the Hellfire Guards saw fit to equip their guns with armour piercing rounds as well.

If that's the case, this is really going to sting.

But one of them, namely Billy - needs to get clear enough to huck out a flash bang that should hopefully stun the guards and fill the area with smoke. It's a risky move - assuming that the space outside is enclosed enough for the smoke to give them the edge with their night vision goggles.

He should've brought more guys.

Regardless of whether the distraction and smoke does the job, all three attempt to exit the elevator, firing on any figures they see in the interim.

Fortunately for Billy and his men, the guards are not presently armed with the more expensive armor-piercing rounds, for fear of how far they’d travel if fired in the wrong room of the den of iniquity. The ones fired into the elevator sting enough to bruise, but fail to perforate the intruders.

As guards move in, en masse, there are the signs of training. Their formation is respectable, and their aim is good. But the ammunition is wrong, and they’re outclassed.

They aren’t the sort of soldiers who would ever catch the attention of Billy Russo.

The stun grenade does its job, and there’s more than one sound to mark the displeasure of those in the hall. The smoke doesn’t draw much in the way of coughing or gagging; the mark of the light filtration their masks provide.

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. That wave fires back, at least a few of them, only to take the return fire and eventually lie still on the cold steel floor, dead or dying.

In a few minutes, there is only whatever sounds Billy’s men make. Everything else is silence, and the majority of the incident isn’t even caught on the hall’s security cameras, thanks to the smoke.

In this off set of hours, the security is light. It leaves the small underground compound vulnerable, and free for Billy’s exploration. (Although those cameras are still plenty functional.)

One is a room full of security feeds from all over the club. One is decorated with the same taste as upstairs, rich and warm, but filled with more screens and is, most likely, a communications room, but it has room enough for a large table and a well-stocked bar. The guards’ break room. A large open space with nothing but metal walls. A large room with all manner of electronics, including what seems to be some sort of generator. The last door? Is locked with another palm scanner.

Billy winces as the rounds bite against his skin through the body armor. One of his men is unlucky enough to be grazed along his neck, where the ballistic fibre isn't enough to fully stop a bullet. He's bleeding, but not severely, and he's well-trained enough to keep moving.

The three men sweep the underground compound with the skill, discipline and thoroughness you'd expect from a highly-trained black ops unit. They make note of details.

"Document," he murmurs, voice low and purposefully distorted in case the cameras are picking it up. The man to his left nods, then touches a camera at his temple. There's a sweep of stills and of video feed. Can't hurt to get some intel while they're here.

When they make it to the second palm reader, his shoulders tense. Something tells him the dead guards won't open that room. And besides, the last time they scanned, it drew the attention of the guards. If there's any left alive in the building, that is.

He looks to his other guy, nods towards the panel. The figure nods, then tugs a rugged tablet off his belt and then goes to work attempting to hack it while Billy stands guard.

The quiet continues, still as the grave, while Billy's team moves with precision. They get their additional intel of the basement without disruption.

The hacking takes a long time. The security is formidable, but at least he gets to work in a relative peace. For what must seem like eternity after the rapid pace of what came before, it seems that the panel won't give.

And then? A quiet 'hiss' and the sound of tumblers moving as the heavy door slides slowly into the wall. The room beyond is tiny; perhaps ten by ten. And recessed intoits wall, what looks like the sketch that was offered up, with a few minor deviations. The panels of the mounted device look about right, and the size, too.

Too long, in Billy's estimation. He doesn't speak for fear of being recorded and possibly tracked, but the tech/soldier can sense his impatience by body language. He's not a man to keep waiting. Especially not when they can't be certain what's waiting for them at the top of that elevator, if the way out is still guarded.

He examines the room for a moment, at the box beyond, and the panel. Rather than go in himself, he nods towards the man who was making the recording and motions with the barrel of his rifle to go inside to retrieve it.

Officer's prerogative.


It won't be an easy removal, just because of the way it's been mounted into the wall. But once the front panel has been cleared, the heavy device is easy enough to pull free. It's heavy, though, and cumbersome; nearly three and a half feet squared and must weight nearly a hundred pounds.

There's a wire that, once disconnected from the power source, trips a silent alarm. Unfortunately, though, everyone here today who would have responded to it happens to be laying on a the floor in a pool of their own blood.


Billy gets his hands dirty - but only to a point. He motions to the tech to go and help with the box. Here he was, picturing something small, like a cable box. This is logistically complicated.

Even as the guys wrangle the heavy box, he stays alert, with weapon at the ready. When it looks like they've got a handle on it, he starts back for the elevator. He'll feel better when they've got a clear view of the exit.

As his two men move the box towards the elevator, past the dead men who stare through them - through the walls - and out into space, Billy will find they are again entirely uninterrupted. They will be able to shuffle to the elevator with their stolen goods without any undue resistance, and begin raising upwards.

Upstairs, however, one of the maids has shown up early for her shift. She's not paying attention at first, as she walks past the main entrance towards the kitchen and the time clock. Imagine her surprise when she moves past a staircase… only to find two men there who very much don't belong there. Her eyes open wide, and then she opens her mouth to scream.

Billy didn't bring men on this mission who would hesitate in a moment like this. One of the men guarding the elevator raises his weapon and fires off a head shot and two to the chest without so much as a second's hesitation.

Meanwhile, Billy is getting anxious as the elevator raises. Being in an underground room with only one way out (that's mechanical) is not a good place to be in tactically. So he's more than a little eager to get out of dodge.

Another body for the count as the dark haired woman collapses in a unceremonious heel. The box fits back into the elevator, just barely squeezing past its doors. Once it and the men liberating it from the club are inside, there is barely any room left. It is just as slow to climb to the top of the shaft as it was, making for an uncomfortable ride. But then it's there. At 4:48 AM, the elevator doors slide open and let them out safely on the blood-soaked ground floor of the club.

A little tension leaves Billy's shoulders when they're out of the elevator. He's not exactly claustrophobic, but being in enclosed spaces is a tactical disadvantage.

And Billy Russo does not like tactical disadvantages.

As before, his weapon is raised and ready to fire on any unfriendly movement when the door opens. When it does, he exits, nods once to his men, then nods towards the door. Let's get the hell out of here, his body language says.

Fortunately for Billy and his men, and unfortunately for everyone who has encountered that team this morning, the way back out to the exit is clear. The cumbersome tech that looked so much more manageable in the sketch that was offered can fit through the loading dock that granted them entrance in the first place, and whatever secondary security may have been triggered by the silent alarm certainly hasn't arrived yet.

It won't be until nearly twenty minutes later, when the rest of the morning staff arrives that a more public chaos will unfold.

Billy doesn't say a word until they've loaded the cumbersome piece of tech into the van and are headed away from the Hellfire Club. And then when he does, it isn't to praise his men, or berated them, either. Instead, he dials his radio to a different frequency and murmurs two words, "It's done."

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