Steel Canyon, that evening.
lieutenant Wetherby did not need this today. He'd been flat out dealing with the REGULAR threats in Steel Canyon and now he'd been standing behind a barricade ringing the entrance of a popular, three storey clothing boutique, sixteen people held hostage on the top floor. The stand-off had lasted nearly six hours, apparently some manner of clothing launch for some up-and-coming starlet who'd probably be yesterday's news within a year.
Still, the Sky Raiders had seen an opportunity to make a quick buck, ransom for someone with so many adoring fans would be astronomical...however, in turn so was the police response. Snipers posted on the rooftops, Police and SWAT at the doors. Not only that but the woman they'd been meaning to grab through all of this had proved to be all the more slick than anyone would've expected, her security detail having ushered her out with a quickness the moment the Pirates had made their presence known.
She now sat in the back of a Paramedics van, a brown blanket draped over her shoulders, coffee in hand and eyes streaked with both tears and running mascara gazing upward at the top floor of the boutique. Her publicist was still in there. Joanna had always been good to her...and now, if Rhode Island wasn't able to make with the fifty-million dollar ransom, she'd be dead by midnight. Not to mention the other fifteen poor souls still trapped inside.
The media had been swift to jump on the band-wagon, this situation an absolute media gold mine. Vans, cameras and lighting all over the place as they relayed the situation back to the hungry masses of Paragon's evening audience.
"And as we can see, six hours in and the situation is still tense. Paragon Police have established perimeter and negotiations are on-going..."
"A total of sixteen hostages, who had been attending a fashion launch..."
"...Unknown yet whether a strategy has been formulated..."
"...with no sign that the situation will be over any time soon..."
Above the noise and confusion, two icy-blue eyes, burbling like a font of cold calulation surveyed the scenario. While he'd hoped for a more...gentle return to his career of vigilantism, this situation was at best, disasterous and someone needed to act. Where the police were dumbfounded and confused, their intel scattered and contradictory, Shadowstormm knew better. A thermal vision scope had indicated there were eight hostage-takers in all. Sky Raiders. Automatic weapons, body armor and at least a decent level of military training. However the greatest weapon in combat is not the one that you carry in your hands, it is the one that manipulates your enemy into doing what you want.
Tactics, Strategy, Emotion.
Fear, more specifically. These men had been trained, but were not immune to one of the strongest of human emotions.
Paragon's Grim Huntsman vaulted from his ledge, shimmering into invisiblity as his cloaking generator hummed into life the dark figure gliding high over the melee of police, media and onlookers below. It was time to return to the eyes of the public, time to make his mark once more.
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Six hours, six freakin' hours cooped up in a damn fashion store with a pack of mewling sissies all pleading for their lives. This raid had gone south faster than any of them could've expected. Overhead, the thick thudding of a helicopter's rotors could be heard, the searchlight beaming in the windows between racks of clothing. That freakin' media princess had given them the slip, but that was okay. Sixteen hostages were more than an ample bargaining chip. However, his men were getting restless, trigger fingers getting itchy.
Some fat guy began another round of pleading for his life, as if it'd make a difference. Though the group-leader was starting to grow tired of his crap, hopping off the checkout counter and tromping over to the stammering fat-body, levelling a pistol to his head, which made him descend into blubbering whimpers instead,
"Seriously, fat-man, all the begging in the world won't save you. Come midnight we start topping hostages and if you keep up with this 'making noise' ****, we're starting with you. Clear?"
The porcine, sweating, suited man nodded his head vigorously, causing his pudgy chin to wobble comically as a smile or a chuckle filled the air from the Sky Raiders, who went back to keeping an eye on the news.
"Hey, Officer Hill, Sir! We're on TV!"
"Dwight, we've been on TV since we invited ourselves in. What's new?"
"Well...nothin'. Just thought you'd be proud or somethin'..."
The Officer shook his head, gazing out the window with a frown before checking his watch: 11:45pm. Fifteen minutes until they'd begin opening up on civilians. He smirked a little, plodding over to his radio to give the Pigs a hurry-up...before his hand stopped, it crackling into life on its own...as the lights in the store suddenly cut out and the escalators shut off.
He blinked, head wheeling around, brow furrowing as the red emergency lights came on with a hefty CHUNK! He gestured to his squad, already all of them on their feet and weapons shouldered. The civilians, too, seemed rather confused, daring to lift their heads a bit before the Raider Officer pointed sharply at one of his cronies and gestured to the hostages, the man turning back to the previously moving staircase.
Suddenly there was the sound of something punching through glass, several members of the group, five in total slumping to the floor, neat holes in their skulls. Again the Officer, Hill by his name tag, wheeled around, blinking in horror as more than half his team hit the floor..
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Outside the PPD respose to the shots fired sent the radio into a frenzy:
"Roof teams, confirm shots fired!"
"Roof team one here. Negative, no shots fired. Confirm full mag."
"Roof team two. Also confirming no shots fired. Whoever the shooter is, he isn't one of us."
Lieutenant Wetherby lowered his radio, gazing up at the skyline. Another shooter? Damn it. This was hardly the time for some crackpot of an ameteur vigilante to be trying to make his mark. LIVES were at stake here. He clicked onto his radio, barking into it,
"Roof teams, do a sweep. Find whoever took those shots and...."
He blinked, staring at his radio and giving it a shake as unnoticed above glided a ghost's shadow, vanishing into the gloom above the shop's roof...just as the radio crackled into life with the most curious signal he'd ever heard...
-------
Raider Officer Hill scowled sharply and plodded back to the radio. Damned Pigs had suddenly grown a pair and had decided to start shooting. With a fierce growl, he picked up the radio and began speaking into it,
"Oh, that was CUTE. Though five of us means five of THEM! Eye for an eye!"
He clicked off, gazing at the radio but there was no response. He blinked, checked the button again, only to find there was no static when he depressed the button. It was then the radio bursted into life, an infamous quote with equally infamous connotations:
"Well there's a passage I got memorized, sort of fits this occasion. Ezekiel 25:17.
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the
tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and goodwill, shepherds the
weak through the valley of darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder
of lost children.
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."
Officer Hill let the radio fall to the ground, drawing his pistol as the escalators ground into life, both running UPWARD toward the floor they were standing on. The Sky Raider clenched his teeth as he leveled his pistol, barking sharply at the air.
"Oh, that's REAL funny, J*ck*ss! Y'know what? Come and get it. I'm right..."
His voice slowed to a stammer as something came up the escalator: First a black hood, followed by a glowering skull mask with glowing blue eyes, gazing at him with disdain. Spiked shoulder guards were next, gleaming in the ruddy lights. What followed was all bullets, bandoliers and angry, a gleaming Colt Python held in his hand as the moving stairs ground to a halt, the shadowy figure's cape lazily drifted forward a moment with leftover motion.
Raider Officer hill shook his head in horror. The one face he had hoped was gone for good was staring him in the face. He'd always thought the Shadowstormm to be a damned tale used to scare the hell out of greenhorns who got too uppity.
"No...not you..." was all he could stammer, the Grim Huntsman's eyes narrowing sharply as he growled in response,
"Yes, me...Me, me, me."
The arm holding the revolver snapped up fiercely to level at the three Sky Raiders, the hooded skull tipping to one side slightly as more words followed.
"Running time, fellas. Tell ya what, I'll even give you three a head-start."
He drew the hammer back on his revolver, the men in blue overalls not hesitating to sprint toward the glass.
-----------
Outside, shrieks of surprise rang out shortly after three bright flashes accompanied by hefty booming sounds echoed from the top floor of the Boutique. The radio went into overdrive, comm chatter going balistic as the police tried to figure out what was going on:
"Holy...SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED!"
"Roof teams! Status report!"
"Still searching, sir! We haven't fired a shot! Trigger-man must be inside!"
"Jesus CHRIST! Get me an eye on the hostages. I want status on the Hostages, dammit!"
There was a long, agonising silence. The collective crowd holding their breath for what seemed an eternity before the radio crackled into life again,
"I...I got movement. Lots of movement. It looks like the hostages are coming downstairs!"
There was a cheer of triumph as sixteen of sixteen hostages came barreling out the main doors of the boutique, clapping ensuing as they all departed to worried loved ones. Though, where was the Hero of the hour? Who was responsible? Cheers of delight and relief slowly ebbed away as people saw the last figure to exit the doors. In the face of spotlights came a somber figure, cape billowing as he stepped onto the stairs. Faces agog with awe and shock, hands pointing the direction of the door.
Shadowstormm. The media had labeled him a murderer, a vigilante, even a terrorist, and yet here he was, standing tall in the face of spotlights and cameras.
The towering figure strode into the middle of the curved barricades, his hooded face and glowing eyes looking upon the crowd with uneasing sharpness before a barrel-chested voices issues forth,
"Your media has labeled myself and my Brothers and Sisters in arms, the Guardian Angels terrorists, thieves, CRIMINALS. Senate-hopeful Donald White has labelled us enemies of the state and has set his Longbow hounds on us to drag us in for his 'justice'."
The hooded, caped, spike adorned figure nearly spits the last word as if it were a distasteful flavor in his mouth.
"Though I ask YOU, people of Paragon-" He gestures to the building, where not sixty seconds prior he had ended a hostage situation single-handed. "Are THESE the actions of an enemy of the State? A terrorist? A criminal? Are these the actions of a man who extorts, steals and trafficks in the illegal? Selflessly putting his own life in danger to save YOUR own?"
The unforgiving gaze shifts, watching the cameras. Lights were still on. They were still recording. Good.
"You have been LIED to, People of Paragon City! A veil of untruths dragged across your eyes to shield you from the real truths lying just beneath the surface. Donald White and his pack of boot-licks have deliberately decieved you for the sake of his own political position...and the people that stood up and protected you from the worst things to crawl out of this city's alleys have suffered for it.
Well I say this: For every 'crime' that Donald White dredges up, there is an equal truth behind the matter. Donald White may be able to sick the dogs on us, drag us in or gun us down, but he CAN NOT silence the combined voices of the citizens of Paragon City. So open your eyes, seek, look, dig beneath the surface and you WILL see the truth. Then question, retort and contradict. Because, people, you are entitled to the truth. You deserve to hear it spoken."
A final, icy glare locked upon the camera in front of him before the towering figure of the Shadowstormm suddenly blinked from view, vanishing into the night once more.
So, you want more rp to happen to you, because you are better at responding to people, but the RP your finding is not up to snuff for you to interact with. Well, as Elizabeth Bennet once said about her skill as a performer ""My fingers, do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault- because I would not take the trouble of practicing..."