The Bandit, The Rat, and The Paladin [Isaac & Beau vs. Anderson]

Early morning is an amazing time of day. The birds chirping, the sky being that light blue color with it's dark radiance. The morning fog was rolling is, leaving a little bit of dew on all things in the construction yard. Cranes here and here, steel girders, cement trucks, you name it. It was all there with a guarantee that no one was going to show up later on considering it was Easter. I guess even the remodeling of an abandoned hospital had to wait for Christ in today's world, even if it was already half way done. Nearly three quarters of the building is entirely refurbished while the new wing is still in the structural stage. Tarp, wood, and girders on one end and an entire five floor hospital on the other. If anything his mark should be pissed about fighting on this day. It was a comforting thought to Isaac to know that he would already be getting to the bastard before even saying a word.

First floor. Watching the construction yard through a window right by an emergency exit/stairwell which was active.

His UMP slung on his shoulder, aiming at the ground, safety off.

Isaac was ready for the ride of his life.

Why the Hell Beauregard was working the ground while the man with the SMG was providing overwatch, he'll never know. He didn't question it much (none out loud) and just worked. Beauregard was a bit more busy than his compatriot. He had already booby trapped the main entrance to the hospital (above which Isaac was on lookout) with a bit of C4, a handful of lead and silver shot shoved into the plastic explosives for good measure. A quick press of a button hidden away on his person would make the entry-way nigh impassible. Should he need to retreat, he'd go this way, up towards Isaac, while blowing the entryway.

Next, Beauregard dug a little foxhole with such lightning quick proficiency and speed, even the mole people would bow down before him and declare him their king... again. In this hole he jumped, covering the top with a tarp that matches the brown of the freshly dug up construction yard fairly well. Only the barrel of his G3A3 stuck out. The weapon was chosen over the old BAR because of two reasons. One, it was slightly easier to transport to the site. Two, Beauregard wanted my practice with the new weapon.

A minute passed and the rat remembered he wasn't alone, stuck his head out, pulled a tiny mirror from a vest pocket, and signaled his ally that he was all set up down here. He flashed the light almost directly in the man's eyes, partially as a show of passive-aggressiveness. He would much prefer to be in the more tactically sound position, especially with his high-powered rifle. Afterwards, he re-camouflaged himself and waited for the first movements of his approaching target. He mumbled under his breath. "Jesus Christ... gonna be a long Easter."

High above the two well-prepared mercenaries, a pair of crimson eyes hungrily glared daggers from its' perch. Atop one of the many cconstruction cranes located within the site, a singular vampire sat silently watching them, its' mouth upturned in a confident grin. The two below had hidden themselves pretty well but one of the wonderful benefits of his new life was the lovely ability to hear the blood pumping in their veins. It wasn't hard to find where they were now, especially the tasty looking one hiding in the foxhole. A little jump from here and he could be in that hole right now having a snack. Other guy might not take to kindly to it though. Decisions were so hard for this vampire lately. In the back of his mind, the nagging question of why they were here presenting itself stubbornly. They looked like they were waiting for somebody but he didn't frequent this place all that much since the construction had started. So what exactly were they after? Without warning, a warm hand settled on the back of his neck. Taken of guard, the vampire tried to turn to see just what had managed to get so close to him without warning but to his horror, he couldn't move an inch. Despite all his power, the vice-like grip on his neck held him fast. Suddenly, he was hauled into the air, his feet dangling helplessly as he kicked in a futile manner. "Christ, who the fuck are y-" the vampire spattered, both hands at his own neck desperately struggling for freedom from the grip which had continued to tighten.

"Shut up!" a heavy scottish accent ordered into his ear close enough for him to feel the heat of the attacker's breath. "Yew dare tae darken this city on this blessed day o celebration an force mah hand tae prepare fer the rigors o battle. Ah haff no patience fer yer foul tongue vampire." the behemoth said, anger edging into his voice at war with a mounting excitement. Before the vampire could retort, he felt a burning sting on the left side of his chest just below the heart. Looking down, the "immortal" was horrified to see the tip of a blade protruding from his chest, the silver edge glistening with his own crimson blood. Between the searing pain and the chokehold around his throat, the monster couldn't even bring the scream raging within his mind to bare and simply writhed harder, all of it to no avail. "In tha Name o tha Father, Tha Sun, an tha Holy Ghost..." the Sword Dancer said, pulled up on the blade ever so slowly, the razor edge slicing through bone and tissue like butter as it drew ever closer to the beast's frantically beating heart. Finally the blade paused, resting just below the heart as the sadistic Iscariot decided to finish his prayer while the vampire could still hear it. "Amen." he said, a menacing whisper to the vampire's ear before he ripped upwards with the bayonet, destroying the heart and tearing up and out through the creature's shoulder blade.

Doomed the moment its' heart had been destroyed, the vampire presented no further struggle, hanging limply in the Paladin's grasp. Moving to the end of the construction crane, the Iscariot coldly tossed the monster's remains towards the front of the cconstruction site below. Unclean blood raining down alongside filthy meat, the corpse crashed into the earth with a wet crunch right next to a seemingly discarded tarp. The lifeless eyes of the beast stared towards the old dirty sheet for a moment before slowly drifting away as ash. Surveying the scene from above, Father Alexander Anderson smiled broadly at the quickly disapearing remains of his latest hunt. A puny beast to be sure, no real fun in a kill that easy all things considered. The wind soon picked, causing his great coattails to fly out behind him against the watercolor dawn sky, his emerald eyes hidden behind the glare coming off his round spectacles. Happy Easter

It wasn't the light shining in Isaac's eye's that upset him. It wasn't the fact that he was stuck with one of the dirtiest Geese ever. It wasn't even the fact that he was waiting for him mark for over six hours. It was the fact that Josh, the local vampire, was killed and tossed in front of him. He felt the impact of the body hitting the ground, saw the blood splatter, and smelled the body shit itself. Isaac ran to the window overlooking the site, had his gun drawn and ready to fire at the figure on the crane. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT!? JOSH IS A MENTAL PATIENT WHO WOULDN'T HURT A FLY!" The body laid lifeless on the ground still...No ash...Just blood...Isaac pulled the trigger letting five bullets fly. "Fuck the mark! This guy's the target now!"

Seriously, who kills a mental patient that likes to suck on ketchup packets? What a dick.

Beauregard was eyeing the surrounding ground, not looking above when a corpse splattered the ground before him. The suddenness of the now dead vampire caused him to jump and had he had his finger on a the trigger, a stray shot or two may have been let loose. Thank goodness for good trigger discipline. "Sweet babies!"

Going off of his partner's reaction, Beauregard went with the bandwagon. "Oh GEEZE! Josh!" But then the corpse ashed ((OOC: Just as Anderson said in his post, Isaac.)) and Beauregard grimaced at being made a fool of.

Returning his attention to the matter far above him, Beauregard set his sights on the cloaked man. The outfit, the cross, the face, it was all telling of Hellsing enemy number one, Alexander Anderson. Beauregard recognized the man from files and small talk which circulated the Hellsing Mansion. The old mercenary grinned at the sight. The man wasn't the original mark, but Beauregard knew of quite a few men and organizations that would offer him a hefty bounty for the Iscariot's head. Hell, just the fame he'd gain from killing this man would make taking him down well worth the effort.

Beauregard aimed through the sights of the G3A3 and let loose a burst of four rounds of standard FMJ. The burst was more of a surpressing burst than a well aimed volley, but Beauregard was jsut trying to buy time. Knowing that the foe's height advantage would be Beauregard's demise, he scrambled out of the spiderhole, taking his cloak with him. He sprinted madly towards the entrance way of the hospital, the same booby trapped entrance way.

What in the bloody Protestant hell? was Father Anderson's initial question as a man appeared in the window of the hospital screaming about some poor fool named Josh and a second stranger burst from the tarp on the construction floor letting loose a few stray shots. The strangers passionate curses and armaments marked them as potential combatants, a fact that held true as the first vehemently declared the Iscariot "the target". Crouching down while taking a step backward along the length of the crane, Alexander evaded the emotion fuelled spraying of bullets launched from such an awkward angle. Those that were more well aimed, suppression shots it seemed, pinged against the heavy steel of the crane before ever reaching the Sword Dancer. "Hmpf, haff it yer way heathen scum." he exclaimed releasing four bayonets from his sleeve and letting them fly towards the second man now running for the hospital entrance. Having triggered the chemical fuses while the blades were in his strong grasp, Father Anderson's blades emited fierce trails of red smoke as they swooped down on the fleeing mercenary in an intercept course culminating at the portion of the entranceway visible to the Bayonet Priest. As lovely as a direct hit would be, a few explosive bayonets striking the doorway might be enough to bring it down on the gunman's head. Either way, the Priest had no intention of playing defense tonight. Bracing his boots against the crane's frame, he launched himself forth in a blur of inhuman motion towards the roof of the hospital nearby. Clearing the open sky in an instant, Alexander landed boots first on the desolate rooftop of the completed hospital section, skidding along a few feet from the momentum of his leap. Two more blessed bayonets were drawn and the Judas Priest let a manic smile grace his features. Tonight was certainly getting interesting.

As soon as his bullets left the barrel of his gun, Isaac withdrew inside with gusto. He saw the bayonets fly by another window and immediately he knew who it was. Alexander Anderson, Iscariot's top dog. Today was his lucky day because he was for sure going to get a huge pay raise for this one. Pivoting his foot he took a sharp left straight into the stairwell running running straight for the rooftop. It was just the only logical place for him to go considering climbing down the crane would make him a huge target. Halfway up the second floor he heard Beau fire off some rounds to keep the man distracted, even if it was for a little bit. He'd be on the roof way before Isaac could reach him.

Isaac stopped right at the fourth floor under the roof entrance with a grenade in hand, ready to pull the pin. As soon as the door opened, Isaac would pull the pin, and throw it forward on the stairs facing the entrance of the doorway and duck out of the stairway into the hallway of the fourth floor. If anything, blowing up the stairs would slow that bastard down. He needs to win this...For Josh.

Beauregard was huffing and puffing, full sprint towards the door. A steel I-beam lay in his path and Beauregard aimed to jump the hurdle. He failed his dexterity roll. Catching the edge with his boots, he fell face first and kissed the ground. He looked up, clearly pissed at the string of events when he saw trails of smoke speeding towards the doorway a distance in front of him. "Oh shi-," was all he got to say before he instinctively covered his head and the explosion went off. Booms from the bayonets and a big boom from the bayonets detonating the C4. When Beauregard looked up, he was covered in bits of dirt and concrete but unharmed. He stared out at the ruined doorway, completely blocked now by rubble. "Uh..."

Beauregard regained his senses and quickly looked up at the crane, just in time to see a blur in his peripheral vision, a blur that was heading towards the roof of the hospital. "Plan B, Plan B." Plan B was, in traditional Beauregard style, not a plan at all, but a series of quick improvisations. The rat had to get to the roof, so he circled the building until he found a fire escape and up he climbed.

OOC: " As soon as the door opened, Isaac would pull the pin, and throw it forward on the stairs facing the entrance of the doorway and duck out of the stairway into the hallway of the fourth floor." It's a common misconception that the fuse on a grenade begins counting down after the pin is pulled. In fact, the fuse starts running out once the little handle pops off as the grenade leaves the hand. Based on your post, Isaac isn't 'cooking' the grenade before throwing it which means that the standard fuse time of 3-5 seconds begins once the grenade leaves your hand. Even using the shortest time (3 seconds) Anderson's ridiculous speed and reflexes should realistically be able to get him through the stairwell.

Stalking his way to the rooftop stairway entrance, Father Anderson raised his left leg and gave a light kick against the closed door. Not using enough force to send the door flying off its hinges, the door simply swung open sharply to reveal the concrete stairwell to the Paladin of Iscariot. However, that was not all that was revealed to the priest as a grenade lobbed up to meet him as soon as the door opened. While the grenade was still in midair, the Paladin's finely tuned reflexes were already driving him forward, favoring an offensive rush to a defensive withdrawal as always. "Move!" Alexander roared silently, launching himself into the stairwell over the grenade as it bounced onto the stairs facing the roof doorway. A blur of inhuman grey and blue, the Iscariot's boots never even touched the stairs, rather they hit the wall opposing the rooftop doorway before vaulting off of it in a ping pong manner as the priest flung himself like a rocket down another flight of steps. Careening past the murderous mercenary like a hurricane, the Iscariot erupted onto the fourth floor, coming to a skidding halt as the staircase exploded in his wake and collapsed. His momentum having carried him well into the hallway, the mercenary was finally within view between the monster hunter and the now ruined stairwell. With a smile and grunt, the papist flung one of his blessed bayonets directly towards the gunman's center of mass. His blessed blades which had overcome the reflexes of countless inhuman monsters streaked towards the heathen with deadly accuracy at the largest possible target so that even an attempted dodge carried with it a high risk of severe injury.

OOC: If there is any confusion regarding the evasive maneuver used by Anderson here please don't hesitate to contact me and I'll happily explain it in further detail (I have diagrams! )

OC: I ducked out of the stairway as soon as the grenade was pulled giving me at least three seconds before Anderson pops in considering he said that he stated the grenade blew as soon as he entered the hallway. Not only that, but he also stated that he came to a skidding halt.

With his back against the wall behind the stairwell Isaac had his UMP drawn and ready. He didn't expect anything but a loud bang and rubble, but such arrogance only got people killed. Suddenly, a large white blur rushed by him followed by the explosion. The high pitched squeal of rubber boots on the floor was heard as the priest came to a halt. Without even giving the man time to smile, Isaac began unloading his magazine into the blonde Frankenstein while backing up into at nearby window. Outside was a crane holding a girder hanging about five feet lower than the current floor he was on. About halfway through Isaac shooting, a bayonet came flying, getting stuck near a quarter of the way down the barrel of the gun and rendering it useless.

Unfortunate for Isaac, but at least he was still alive. Smiling, he quickly pivoted, flung his UMP out the window to shatter it and jumped out towards the hanging girder. It was a close call, but Isaac's torso slammed into the side of the metal beam which knocked the wind out of him. Trying to get a grip on it and pull himself up proved fruitless. Isaac slipped and fell through the roof of a construction trailer landing on top of a foreman's cheap, but solid, desk. Some ribs were broken, no doubt about it. The pain was horrible and Isaac could hardly breath. He saw the small man sized hole above him and quickly rolled off the desk and onto the floor. Sitting up with his back against the wall perpendicular to the hospital window he jumped out of, Isaac tried to catch his breath as he pulled his Scorpion out from it's holster. He flicked the safety off just in case.

An explosion rang out as Beauregard climbed. He had ran his way up the fire escape, pushing his little lungs until he reached the fourth floor, almost running past the entry window before noticing a flanked Anderson in the hall beyond the glass. The mercenary gingerly opened the window, stepped inside, and ducked into a side room. The opponent was a distance down the hall, each side lined with unused patients' rooms, and facing a large pile of rubble and a shattered window.

With grand dexterity and quick hands, Beauregard fashioned himself something he'd probably call the "Mad Monster Masher Deluxe Edition" which he would advertise on infomercials late at night to the ever expanding market of amateur zombie hunters and Unabomber aficionados. The device was an ingenious combination of almost everything Beauregard had in his pockets which went boom, had sharp bits, or all of the above. It was a Russian F1 grenade and one M67 grenade, both stuck together in a block of C4 which had been deftly studded with lead and silver blunderbuss shot, some screws, some bolts, a few spare rounds of .30-06, .308, and 9mm NATO, and a wee bit of pocket lint.

Then Beauregard pulled the pins on the twin grenades, caught the spoons as they flew off, mentally counted down to the right moment when the F1 grenade (having the slightly shorter delay) would explode roughly right on Anderson's back, peeked out, and chucked the big ball of boom at the man/monster/thing. If things went well, the F1 grenade would go off, causing an explosive reaction from the C4, the spare rounds of ammo, and probably the M67 greande (which would explode in all likelihood less than a second later no matter what). And of course all the grenade fragments, lead, silver, nuts, and bolts would pepper that hospital hall, rip through a few walls maybe, and generally cause lots of pain and suffering to anyone caught in the blast.

Covering his face with his free arm, Father Anderson growled in annoyance as the automatic weapon rattled on, the rounds peppering his toughened hide but causing no real damage. This one was tenacious to the point of rapidly becoming a pest. With the merc's weapon neutralized, he made a wise decision to retreat for the moment, throwing himself out the window and crashing to the construction site below. Smiling widely, the priest flicked his wrists and let loose a storm of eight explosive blades banking out the window, chemical fuses burning bright crimson. Though the merc had managed to get clear of a direct line of fire from the Paladin's position, and thus avoid impalement, the group of blades would plunge themselves into the office floor where the gunman had crashed into the desk. Stabbing into the ground in between the mercenary's hiding place against the wall and the door to the construction trailer, they would serve as an effective fence to box in the meddlesome assassin. One blade exploding at such a distance might not possess a great deal of lethal potential, but eight razor sharp bayonets loaded with semtex in their pommels going off simultaneously a few feat away from their target would be more than enough to shred the Bandit to bloody pieces.

Having turned towards the window to launch his bayonets, Father Anderson's peripheral vision was able to pick up a small sign of motion from down the hall. Turning towards it, the Paladin's emerald eyes went wide at the sight of a monstrous creation flying straight at him. Bringing up his arms to guard his chest and face, Alexander hurled himself backwards in an attempt to get as far from the explosive as possible and minimize potential damage. However, surprise was working against him this time and the Iscariot was unable to get completely clear of the blast as the monstrosity exploded where Anderson had once stood. Fire and pain washed over him, swiftly followed by a delightful shower of shrapnel tearing across his arms and legs. Landing in a smoking heap on his back, the Sword Dancer lay sprawled against the rubble of the stairwell that had collapsed earlier. Singes and burns marred his clothing and skin, lacerations here and there stood as evidence of the thrown together explosive's "sharp bits". To a casual observer, the mighty clergyman was a corpse. However, even as his augmented body silently knit itself back together, his rage was giving birth to all sorts of wonderfully painful responses to his new playmate. Listening carefully, he searched for sounds of breathing to zero in on. Gotcha! he silently roared, sitting up sharply the Iscariot let another salvo of explosive bayonets fly forth. Though he didn't have enough to pinpoint his attacker precisely using sound alone, he was at least able to get a general idea. From there it was just a matter of flushing the rat out with a bit of semtex.