Assassins and Electricity
Roleplaying Log: Assassins and Electricity
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Volt comes across the Assassin Le Bien Qui Fait Mort, but there's something familiar about the beautiful killer!

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: May 14, 2019
IC Location: New York
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 15 May 2019 03:48
Rating & Warnings:
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

The sun had already begun to set, evening starting its swing and people begining their routine or activities for the night. For Amelie? It meant that her 'work' was just begining, but that didn't mean her day had been spent idle. Amelie had been out shopping, and for more than just some new shoes.

Resting atop a building, her gaze down to a particular Italian restaurant further along. Her targets would be there, they'd be gathering soon.

With a small hand-mirror in her left hand, the assassin was in the midst of applying her lipstick while humming to herself. Dressed to kill in a very literal sense, her form was wrapped in her figure-hugging custom suit and her hair tied back and dyed. Like the lipstick, she'd chosen a dark blue shade for its striking and distracting nature, the very same choice that meant she had gone with her two-piece suit that left her arms and midriff exposed, her bottom half covered by figure-hugging pants practically moulded to her body. Every about her kit was designed and 'bespoke' for her exactly.

Well…almost everything. With her lipstick done she bends now, retrieving the day's new purchase. Lifting the rifle and turning it over once more, the 'M4' carbine had come from the illegal weapons smuggled by one of the branches of the very people she was about to 'assist' into a leadership change. Loading the magazine and checking the slightly magnified sights, she could not help but smile to herself at the ease of replacing firearms. The states had its benefits.

Of course, none would know of the killer in wait. At least, not until the small convoy of black SUV's escorting a single limo pulls into the parking lot. Then the fun begins to the press of a button and a quirk of Amelie's lips. With a loud -crack-, the charge she'd hidden earlier detonates and sends a steel penetrator punching into the engine of the limosine, stopping it for good. This was more brazen than she liked, but her client had paid extra and thus things were about to get loud!

* * *

X-Men weren't known to normally patrol. But Volt wasn't the typical X-Man. He preferred to be proactive, to make a statement about himself, and about mutants in general. He hated the idea of sitting idle. If he was going to do good for the city, for people in general, for justice(!), he'd need to be present and accounted for. Besides, this serves as excellent field experience, and an opportunity to get more acquainted with the city skyline. He'd need to show people that they could trust mutants. Or if nothing else, see him as a superhero first and foremost. Good PR, you know?

It's a weekend night. He has to get an early night tonight for classes tomorrow, so he's out on patrol early.

Volt tends to stick to the rooftops when there isn't anything to take care of or intervene on. And usually, the crimes he runs into are fairly petty and of the street variety - they often don't even require the use of his powers. But hearing the loud CRACK of a detonator has caught his attention. And the commotion that follows tells him exactly where to zero in.

Green boots pat along the smooth surface of the rooftop as he closes in. It isn't long before matching eyes pick up the figure of an individual with a rifle leaning over the edge of the building. He lands on the building and quickly weighs his options. An electrical shock could cause randomly muscle spasms and result in wild, dangerous shooting. Closing the distance unnoticed is unlikely to happen. So he makes use of what he has on-hand. A sleek, cylindrical device is retrieved and aimed for the butt of the rifle, discharging a clamping hook. Should it connect, the wire will suddenly retract to ideally take the assassin by surprise and disarm her!

* * *

Amelie's rifle wasn't quite intended for sniping, but the first shot ringing out zips through the air like it were guided by will alone. Those unnatural gold eyes of Amelie's could see everything, from the shift in the wind to temperature, it made her the perfect markswoman…it also made her quite difficult to catch off-guard.

That being said, the woman hadn't exactly been expecting the mafioso's to have a meta or mutant on standby, or a costumed hero to attack. She -barely- manages to twist out of the way of the hook, already bringing her rifle around on the interloper and firing several shots that looked rather deliberately intended to hit him in the face, yet somehow never seemed to come closer than scratching a cheek at best. Maybe he was just lucky?

The would-be assassin herself though? She's backing to the edge…and then simply drops backwards right over it. Plumeting to freefall, the woman's own free hand fires a very similar line to Volt's own, hooking into the building while the line is attached to the harness at the small of her back and turning her rifle back towards her targets. The poor men were only just drawing to return fire when she squeezed on the trigger again.

Now it was a race, to see if she could get them all before the 'mask' could catch her.

* * *

A shoot and a miss? Talk about superhuman reflexes! But all it takes is that movement aside to quickly put Volt on the defense, already prepared for something to go awry. Why? Because mutants aren't bulletproof. Even as the line withdraws back into the device without the added benefit of disarming his quarry, Volt is twisting aside and clear of the errant bullets sent his way.

"So much for resolving this nicely..," he mutters behind the cover of a ventilation unit.

A peek over confirms what he thought he'd glimpsed her doing. She's not present any longer. She dropped off the building. So he rushes the span of the rooftop, only to slow and peer cautiously over the edge to reassess the situation. She's on a zipline, and aiming at innocent (as far as he's aware) people down below. Mass shootings? A hit? Doesn't matter. He can't let it happen, and he's out of options.

Emerald eyes quickly track the line connecting her back up along to the building. His right arm extends, palm spread. A narrow arc of bright blue electricity bolts out to connect with the anchor, intent on coursing a mild electrical current down to her figure. Striking her directly is harder to control. Feeding it down the line lets him more easily keep the charge as a subdual level.

* * *

The worst thing about being a superhero? Sometimes it was hard to know exactly who the badguys were. Sometimes? They were all badguys. As Amelie's bullets strike down several of the thugs and bodyguards, they'd already began to return fire. Of course, without the inhuman aim and reflexes of the trapeze-moving killer, their own rounds are a little more wild and narrowly missing. Then one of them spots the man in green and yells something inaudible at this distance…and now gunfire was coming Drake's way as well.

The assassin was already making ready to retract the line in her swing when her eyes widen a little. As fast as she could see and react, she was not faster than a lightning bolt. The surge brings a scream of pain, her body jerking and spasming for a moment before she hits the emergency release. Catlike grace had come before, this time she lands hard and tumbles along the ground, pulling herself up from the ground and muttering a curse in her native tongue, only for a louder one to follow as some of the return-fire finally catches her. The shot hit the plating at her back, but damn if it didn't hurt. Scrambling for cover behind one of the parked cards, the woman was already muttering as she fished for something on her belt and set it rolling towards the vehicles the mafia men were using for cover. He gaze? It flicks up to the rooftop where Drake peers down at her and she narrows her eyes before lifting her rifle to peer through the sights at him. Given her reaction and aim at her targets, it's perhaps suprising how she gives him time to duck if he chooses before several rounds pepper the edge, sending stone fragments flying into the air.

* * *

The additional time sincerely isn't necessary, as the gunfire from the men down below have Volt already turning to crouch behind the edge. He'd hoped the electrical shock was enough to give her pause, and let the others get away. But apparently the others haven't figured out that he's trying to help them! That complicates things. But he still can't leave them to get mowed down by a psycho killer! So whether they /want/ it or not, he's sticking around!

He can wait only long enough for a momentary subsiding of gunfire to risk moving again, rushing to the far side of the building in hopes of flanking all parties involved. He hops over the edge and in a similar move, turns the device still in-hand to fire the grappling hook onto the edge of the building to rapidly descend to the alley below. Without bothering to reach the floor, the hook releases and he drops to a three-point stance, holding only long enough to let the zipline retract.

The device is set in place at his utility belt, and he bunkers in behind a dumpster to pause a moment and wait to see if the coast is clear.

* * *

The device that Amelie had rolled? It finally erupts. No blast this time, at least not a truely explosive one. There was a flash, a brilliant blast of blinding light that had the men clutching their eyes and screaming in pain…then a burst of thick smoke behind it. A second charge taped to the first it seems! Trust a former French resistance fighter to know her way around a bomb!

Rolling around the car she'd been using for cover, her healing had her muscles moving properly again after the shock, but it still wasn't comfortable as she fired off another burst of rounds. The bullets actually travel through the door of one car and out the other side into the bodyguards as she makes her pathway towards the limosine. She could already tell it was bulletproof, but that was the very reason her targets were still inside.

* * *

Volt could hear the commotion of battle carrying on around the edge of the building, and it's the explosion he pays the most attention to. Security personnel don't often use explosives. He's taking that to mean his crazy target is still occupied.

A chance peek around the dumpster reveals the alley is still clear. So he dashes around to the corner of the building. Another peek, and he sees people recoiling from what had to be a flashbang. The addition of smoke is a little weird, though. Still, he can't see his target from here.

Volt moves in closer, growing more cautious and tight in his movements. He minimizes his physical presence against the cover of vehicles, avoiding eyeline with the gunmen (that is, if they recovered any time soon from the flash), and offering only bare surreptitious glances around the bumper. But there she is - moving in on what looks like the most important car.

He doesn't like doing this, but he sees no other choice. He can't let her nail the target, and he's desperately running out of time. They'll just have to be okay having flat tires instead of being dead or kidnapped.

Volt turns fully in her directly and places his gloved hands against the asphalt of the road. Suddenly, a crackling blanket of electricity webs out along the surface, immediately bursting all tires between himself and the assassin. At least the stream is kept directed enough to leave the gunmen alone! But any foolhardy enough to be caught in the current will find the cascade potent and more than debilitating - he's looking for overloads and knockouts.

* * *

Ordinarily? Amelie would be fine. Her shoes were insulated and she was heading to jump onto the hood of the car. After all, the limosine's sunroof was likely its only weak point. With most of the thugs coughing and struggling in the smoke that didn't seem to hamper her, the woman actually fells one with a powerful kick before gracefully stepping up onto the limosine and lowering her rifle. It's in the midst of drawing her sidearm that the current hits her. It shouldn't be able to, but then 'shouldn't' doesn't always apply when it comes to mutant powers.

That much voltage flowing through her? There's actually another bright blinding explosion and flash of smoke as the charge is detonated by the blasting cap designed for an electrical detonation, the force of it sending her unconcious form tumbling hard off the vehicle and to the ground where she lays still.

For the moment? The gunmen are still mostly blind, still confused, one or two of them were even firing blindly and another lay dead from his on compatriot's panic at shapes in smoke, but there was no missing the thug's calls to kill the woman. When the nearest was able to see? He was already lifting his weapon to execute her, thoughts of questioning not quite on the level of an angry mook who'd watched over a dozen men fall to one hitter.

* * *

That really is the risk of carrying combustibles around an electrokinetic. And seeing the object burst and send the assassin tumbling, Volt is confident that did the trick. The electrical current is cut off, and he lifts to his full height to begin racing towards her. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spots the man leveling the gun on her. His path diverts enough to hop into the air and twist, aiming an aerial roundhouse for the side of the pistol in hopes of knocking it clear of his grasp.

"No! We arrest, not kill!," he says quickly.

* * *

Truely Drake was the hero in all of this. He wanted to save lives, not take them. Arrest people, not get revenge and stop an assassin even if she was targeting a killer an psychopath herself. The difference between her and someone like Frank Castle? She took a paycheck over some quest for revenge. His call, his kick? It has the men stepping back for a moment, then their own guns come up as one of the men in the limo cracks the door to yell something in italian.

Amelie could translate it, if she were concious, but when -all- of the six remaining guns turn towards Drake? He could probably figure out they weren't intending to cooperate with the 'hero'. They were perfectly fine with shooting a vigilante and then dragging off some assassin to interogate and then finish off later.

* * *

Volt lands neatly after the kick, interposing himself between the grouping and the seemingly now-harmless assassin. No, she's down. There's no need to hurt her further. But then the window cracks, and something is said in Italian. Italian? What is this, the Godfather-

Oh.

Guns are now all aimed at him.

"Oh, you are the /worst/ kind of douchebags."

Volt dives back, sliding against the hood of the limo to backroll off and land behind it in a crouch, covered. But he's immediately acting, unwilling to give them a chance to simply round the object and mow him down. He plucks a couple metallic spheres from his belt and casts them out to the ground. They immediately begin spewing smoke to fill the area. Because there clearly wasn't enough from the smokescreen presented just before, or the wind had begun to disperse it already!

Volt isn't sticking around, either way. The bigger threat that he can tell is the female - if she awakens, she might kill everyone. If she remains unconscious, she's as good as dead. He needs to get her clear. So as soon as the screen is dense enough, he's dashing to her fallen form to gather the girl up in his arms and continue rushing into an adjacent alleyway.

* * *

If Amelie was an ordinary human? She might well be seriously in danger from internal bleeding after having a stun grenade go off against her stomach. Indeed there was a faint smear of red at her lips where she'd been bleeding earlier…but now the wounds seems to be halted. She was still unconcious, limbs limp in his grasp and her weapon dangling on its sling as she's carried to the alleyway. Her injuries were healing rapidly, but for now she was dead weight while the hero had to dodge the very bullets that were ment for her to get clear.

* * *

The bullets whizz by, and Volt weaves low, serpentine through the smoke as he flees. He can worry about her weapon in a moment - for now, he has to make sure she stays alive. Her quickly-healing wounds aren't even noticed yet. But he has neither the arms free nor the time to juggle her body in order to retrieve his grappling hook. So the teen abruptly hammers his shoulder into a nearby door to force it open.

Thankfully, it's a storage level. And it's after hours, so no problems here. With a turn, he kicks the door shut again.

Hopefully with everything having happened out in the open, the shooters will decide it's wiser to bail than to chase them, because he really needs to check the girl in his arms! For now, he backs up slowly, facing the door, keeping her shoulder huddled close against his chest, her legs tucked near his ribs.

* * *

By the time he's got a moment to check? She's moving again. There's a stiring, a groan and then those amber eyes open. Till now? He'd only seen the woman with glasses and with more natural makeup, so it might take a second…for Amelie it's a lot faster. With all her perceptions, she hadn't seen through his mask the first time. This close however? There was only so much such a shroud could do.

"Merde."

A single French word with that all-to-familier accent, Drake knew this assassin. Not quite the date in town they'd likely expected. She was still held for the moment, as brief as it was, but her mind flicked back to the firefight and those painted lips pull to a frown. She'd missed her target. That was -not- good.

* * *

It's quiet. There's some commotion out on the street, but the door remains securely in place. That's good. That means Volt can take a second to look at the girl currently in his arms. But at that moment, a sound /does/ rise up. But not from the door; from the bundle in his arms.

An eyemask doesn't provide all that much discretion. Usually just enough. But these two have been getting rather acquainted with each other of late. So there's a good chance they recognized each other at roughly the same time.

"Wha-.. Amelie!?," he balks. Despite his surprise, he's managing to not drop her. "What do you think you're doing!?"

* * *

* OOC Time: Mon May 13 11:39:11 2019 *

* * *

Well, he hadn't dropped her. That was a good start! She does however set her arm on his shoulders and try to squirm comfortably to a point where she can be set down or stand up. Light as she could move, she wasn't any lighter than a woman her size after all. Eventually she'd get heavy! "You are a metahuman?" she questions once she's free, frowning and looking towards the door. Were they followed? Not as far as she could tell, but it also meant she'd have to track her target again and -fast- before a full fledged gang war broke out on the streets.

A sigh, she finally looks back to him, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. "I was shooting a mafia boss…well, shooting his men. I had planned to explode the boss himself when he wouldn't come out of that pesky limosine." An answer given as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "Now things are…messy."

* * *

Drake Riley finds her squirming to get down, and though he's strong enough to manage her weight for a while, he opts to set her on her feet. He's rather confident he could shock her down again, after all. Part of being inhuman is having inhuman advantage. Granted, she's bouncing back awful fast from the hits she's taken. Most people would at least remain disoriented for a time!

"Something like that," he replies. "And it's Volt." For obvious reasons. His left hand props to his hip, keeping the right nice and loose in case he needs to deliver an electric current. Does he trust her at this point? Goodness no.

"Thanks for being so forthcoming," he says with a cant of his head and tone dryer than a rice cake. "But /why/ are you doing that? Who do you work for?"

* * *

Amelie wasn't really sure she was human anymore, nor that she had been since the day she'd first 'died', but that was a pondering discussion for another time. Licking her lips clear of the small bloody smear that had come from her earlier internal bleeding. At least that had resolved…mostly. There was still a noticable bruise that was taking longer than she'd like to fade. Her rifle was still hanging off her form, easily in arms reach, it would be a messy quickdraw showdown between the two if it came to it, but she seemed non-hostile for the moment.

His next question earns a chuckle, a noise he'd heard in those accented tones earlier but perhaps might be a little more unsettling given the context. "Today? I work for someone who wanted that particular criminal dead. And I am doing it…well, because I am very, very good at it…this little mess aside. It is what I do, and it is a -long- story beyond that."

* * *

Drake Riley is rather confident in his ability to raise a hand faster than she can bring a firearm to bear. Call him cocky.

"So contract killing. That's what you're doing?," he asks with a frown. "And just because you're /good/ at it? I'm good at stepping on bugs, but I don't make a career out've it." He's clearly put off by her life choice here, painting the alluring French girl in an entirely new light. "Does someone have something on you? Are you being blackmailed?"

At the moment, he's swinging wild. None of this makes any kind of sense, and the answers she's given aren't exactly clearing the haze by large swaths. He'd been oeprating under the image that she's a refined, classy counselor-type-or-something with a ballet hobby. But here she is talking about killing people, and armed. It's a shattering moment for that image.

* * *

A sigh, a shift, she slowwwly slides herself a little further along the wall, finally reaching the door and pressing an ear to it before she exhales a sigh. No goons, no police, just peace and quiet for the moment so she can finally look at him. "Truthfully? One or two of my clients do," she speaks, once more folding her arms. That bruise? It was already far paler, and only shrinking as they continued to talk, "but not all of them."

A breath, she tilts her head to the other side and looks him up and down. "You do what you do, what you are doing now, to stop people who could do the same, non?" Her hand gestures to herself and she casts her gaze downwards. "For some, I kill. For others? I stop killers. Sometimes I am the spy, sometimes I catch the spies. Sometimes the shepard, sometimes the wolf." Her accented words continue, but those unnatural eyes now unconcealed by her glasses flick up to him in full. "Killers came for my family when I was a child 'Volt'. I became what I am because of that, and now I can inflict violence better than those who inflicted it on me if need be."

* * *

"If need be?," questions Volt. His free hand lifts to bob a finger between them. "There ain't no equivalency here, sweetheart. Don't get it twisted. What I do is /protect/ people. Not kill them. And /definitely/ not for money."

The hand lowers again, but his guard is still quite high with her. It isn't like he would've trusted her with his banking PIN to begin with, but this is certainly a strong step back. "You're driven by vengeance. Sure. I get it. And you're using that vengeance to also get paid. Fine. I hear what you're saying. But you're still /killing/ people."

* * *

"Do you think me evil? For what I have done?" she questions of him, tilting her head to the side. "I imagine you have yet to see true evil as I have. Perhaps if you did, you would be just as willing to kill it as I am…perhaps not." Amelie's hand comes up now, away from her weapon and into her hair where she lazily tucks a bang that had gotten loose back behind her ear, yet she'd looked no worse for it, ever 'perfect' as her form seemed to be.

"Your Captain America," she speaks softly, a look of almost…fondness crossing her features, "You consider him a hero, yes? A good man, someone who brings justice and liberte'. Yet he too has killed, I have seen it with my very own eyes. Sometimes killing is far less wicked then allowing something worse to live."

Finally, she uncrosses her arms and lets them fall to her sides. "I am this because there is little else I can be Drake," she speaks, his real name spoken as if to make her point. "Nothing else I have been, nothing else I have loved, has lasted. Not Ballet, not a quiet life as a baker, or a florist, or a singer…none of it. All of those I have been forced out of, nothing gets to be permanent except death." A pause, she actually gives a slightly dark chuckle. "And for me? Not even that."

* * *

"War's different," Volt counters pointedly. "And Captain America doesn't take kill contracts."

He isn't drawing any additional or particular attention to the use of his name. Rather, he keeps the focus trained on her. "Do i think you're evil? The jury's out on that. But what you're doing is definitely /wrong/. So life's sucked for you. It's sucked for me, too. And everyone /like/ me. That doesn't give me the right to kill all the idiots and criminals who might make the world a worse place. Otherwise, I'd be justified in roasting /you/."

"That's not how this works. That's not how /justice/ works. There has to be a dividing line somewhere, something that separates us from them. And that line's gotta be murder."

* * *

"Perhaps you are," Amelie muses, exhaling a little breath. Was it a sigh, or simply relief as the last of the bruising fades and she can finally stretch her arms above her head. It's a practically feline movement, but perhaps not as distracting as it had been in the pool. "Perhaps you should fry me right here and now, if it would make you feel better. Certainly, someone collapsing in the middle of a gunfight might have been killed but…" her gaze fixes on Volt and she steps towards him, hands coming up slowly either side of her and away from the rifle. It's a motion generally made to look non-threatening, but it doesn't really change the danger she'd demonstrated earlier.

"In twelve hours, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Our friend in the limo there is going to be turning the streets red trying to find the person who hired me. The person who hoped he'd be removed cleanly before the bloodshed escalated. As long as he lives? His thugs will beat people, shoot up businesses and each other until either all of them are dead, or there are so many dead civillians caught in the middle that they're forced to quiet down. These are men that have influence behind bars, if one can even get them to stay there in the first place. This can happen or…" She turns one hand towards herself, resting it on her chest. "I can stop it all, one life rather than several dozen civillian lives along with it." The hands lower and she fixes him a small, sad smile. "I am…was…looking forward to that dinner. The question now is if you plan to try and stop me now as I walk through that door."

* * *

Drake Riley is capable of appreciating a pretty female still, rest assured. But the languid stretching isn't distracting him from the very present danger she represents, and the lack of trust between them. If she's armed, he's not taking his focus off of her. Heck, even if she /isn't/ armed, he might not. But that's a scenario he's yet to see.

Those emerald eyes narrow through the mask. "Frying you wouldn't make me feel better, Amelie," he replies. Unlike himself, he doesn't have a different name to give her. "Frankly, it'd be a huge waste." She steps towards him and his footing shifts, bracing himself at the ready like a compressed coil. "That's on him. He's responsible for that. Not you. And whether or not he has pull behind bars doesn't make us Judge Dredd. Much less for pay."

"I've run into a lot've people who'd kill more if I didn't take'em out myself. But we have to be better than that. People can change. Otherwise, it's nothing more than a might-makes-right scenario. Permanent Purge night."

* * *

"Non," she shakes her head, giving a little sigh. "If I do nothing? It is on me now." She doesn't reach out to touch him, one didn't need her hyper-perception to see his nerves or the chance he might react poorly. Instead she simply reaches a hand up, a small half-mime of a kiss blown his way before she turns her back and begins heading towards the door. "I wish I could see the world as brightly and simply as you, but…I can simply see too much."

Should she remain unthwarted, the assassin intends to make her exit out into the night.

* * *

She isn't wrong. Volt is on a hyper level of alert with her. And though he clearly has more to say, he opts out of it in favor of focusing on a different, unresolved matter. Specifically, her leaving.

"Hold it," he says. That might be all she needs to know his intentions. His voice has taken a dangerous tenor, and his footing adjusted. "You killed people. On contract. You have to answer for that. I can't just let you walk to kill again. Maybe it's criminals today. But tomorrow, politicians. Businesspeople. Civilians. You're a killer for hire. It'd be stupid of me to let you go."

* * *

She pauses, she looks over her shoulder, a hint of those gold-amber irises visible. "We each, all of us, have our code. I do what I do, but I do not do it indiscriminately. I take contracts, but not every one that comes my way. Far more I refuse, but my reputation affords me such a luxury."

She shifts a little, her own posture intended to look more relaxed and thus almost certainly not. Coiled, but concealed. "I did not kill you today, and believe me I did not miss by chance. I did not kill civillians, nor knock down buildings as some 'heroes' might have done. I killed people who have killed, tortured and…" she trails off with a shake of her head and looks back at him once more. "Perhaps if you saw the contracts I have accepted, you would understand better. But if your intent is to have me arrested, well? You know where I am staying."

With that and a hope not to be shot in the back (for the second time today!) she opens the door and continues to walk.

* * *

An eyebrow lifts behind the eyemask.

Well, she picked the wrong thing to say. She didn't miss by chance? Can she redirect bullets to fly behind cover? That makes her even /more/ dangerous. So, sadly, by the merit of her own bragging, she's doomed to get shot in the back again today.

The door opens, and a concentrated blast of electricity blazes into her back - a bit extra forceful than before, having noted her ability to quickly bounce back from harm. Except this time when she goes down, she isn't getting a gentle treatment. Volt will be upon her quickly, one knee pressing tight behind her shoulders to keep her pinned to the floor. Ziptie cuffs would be retrieved from his belt and seamlessly applied to her wrists to secure them firmly behind her back. The firearm hanging off of her would be handled carefully to discharge the magazine, then the slide drawn to pop the round no doubt resting in the chamber. Lastly, her belt itself would be removed in favor of sliding it some distance across the floor and out of reach. No errant devices for her.

California Drake wouldn't have been so thorough or ruthlessly efficient with the dismantlement of a suspect. But the Danger Room-trained X-Man, Volt, absolutely is.

* * *

Unfortunately this time? She -had- just stated she lacked Volt's optimism. Of all she'd spoken of her abilities, she'd neglected to mention one of her finest. Her perception; she could see the movement in the shadow, 'sense' it almost as truely as the 'Spider' she'd faced last time…and she could move much like her to!

The bolt was on target, but it falls short as she twists and flings something back towards him. It wasn't actually intended to catch the bolt, but the gas grenade does just that.

In such an explosion, the noise was deafening, even for Amelie it would leave a ringing in her ears that would probably outlast the burns at her fingertips, but she was quick to try and stay on her feet and make for the nearest exit. What a day this had been already! She didn't really want it to end in a jail cell…again.

* * *

Amelie flips the Coin of Ill-Advised Action and gets heads.

* * *

The gas grenade is struck with a surge of electricity and detonates, as predictably as one might. The sound is deafening, urge Volt back a step defensively, and no doubt there's a sudden abundance of gas. But he's encountered worse. He sincerely doubts she'd throw something lethal in an enclosed space with herself, and even still? That would just mean detaining her is all the more imperative.

Still, he has no interest in lingering any longer than he absolutely has to.

So squinting through the rising haze, and now bringing both hands to bear, he issues forth a double barrel blast of electricity in her shape's direction. He's still holding back. The goal isn't to kill her, remember. Though simply erupting and lighting up the room in a sparkling vortex of death /would/ make this a lot easier, it's neither the goal, nor an option that's even on the table.

* * *

Amelie could heal from pretty much any wound, even death itself. Today however, her pride might take a little longer as the blast manages to catch her. When she wakes up anyway. For now however, the world was pain and then inky black as conciousness was robbed from her yet again and she's left to perhaps little more than dreams or nightmares of the consequences and memories.

Now the real question follows: just what was Drake going to do with her?

* * *

Volt would be doing precisely what he set out to do. Upon catching sight of her dropping, the first order of business is to pick her up and rush out of the enclosed space with her. Again, the smoke could be lethal - who knows? Second, he proceeds with the measures he'd intended before. Dismantlement: wrists bound, gun neutralized, belt removed. Only now that they're outside, he has to add a couple additional zips to restrain her back against a bike rack, letting her sit on the dingy alley floor.

Once done, he calls in to home base, letting them know an assassin has been apprehended, what she was up to, and where to get her. That ping is picked up, masked, rerouted to the police department with the relevant information. They should already be pretty close, if not in the immediate vicinity due to the shootout and explosions.

Either way, Volt's grappling device is retrieved and latched onto the rooftop's awning. He rapidly ascends to keep hidden watch over the edge, wanting to make sure the police get their target before he makes himself scarce.

* * *

The police would get her eventually. She'd still be laying still when the officers came to cut her loose, still seemingly unconcious when she was picked up and transfered to an ambulance under police escort. Drake had done his job well.

Two hours later? The woman would be seen leaving the hotel, her hair once more back to its natural black and the lipstick removed, even her glasses replaced. Her tab was paid, she'd even leave a tip for the staff that come to clean up the room, but she was going to be moving to another safehouse. After that? Well…she had some shopping to do.

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