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025 - Wrong Place at the Right Time

 
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Chris




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PostPosted: Mon Jul 12, 2010 11:36 pm    Post subject: 025 - Wrong Place at the Right Time Reply with quote Add User to Ignore List

The festive atmosphere in Johannesburg carried on into the night, but its population took to rest and recuperation eventually in anticipation of the continuation of the tournament the next day. While small pockets celebrated, other segments of the city were dark and seemingly empty. It was here that Felix Maizer, clad in lightweight combat boots, khakis, and a casual button down shirt, walked the streets, hands pocketed and deep in thought.

He was once again unemployed. Of his own doing, of course. The Boss wouldn't be calling for any more jobs, nor would his lackeys be forcing him out of Johannesburg. Secretly, Felix wondered if fleeing the city would still be his best option. The Boss had spoken of strange happenings. Of further concern was what Felix had stolen from the Boss' estate. He stopped, and slowly turned his head sideways.

Murmurs. A few shadows.

With caution, Felix continued his stroll. He passed several well-lit establishments, proof that some areas of Johannesburg never truly slept. He didn't feel any safer near them. Even in this new age, even in a luminous torch in a ruined world, one was always at risk while taking a stroll late at night through the back alleys or even on the streets themselves. He would pass an occasional citizen, some sober others annoyingly inebriated. He never risked anything but a simple nod.

Felix once again allowed his thoughts to wander to the cargo the Boss had hidden in the bowels of his manor. He had examined it at his apartment. It had been difficult to get to his room, as the case itself was the size of a man. Once Felix had a chance to crack the code on it- whoever had programmed the security function was an amateur- he saw why. Unbelievably, the Boss had somehow come into the possession of a full-on, military grade PCS- personal combat suit. The thing had made Felix's own homemade protective armor look like a T-shirt and shorts. Composed of a variety of pieces and parts, assembly was to be done individually per use and took several minutes once Felix got the hang of it. He had repeated the process, four or five times, each noting the intricacies of the armor.

Although unable to put the PCS through any hard testing, Felix figured that deduced that when fully powered, the lightweight but resistant alloys that composed the suit's primary outer layer of protection would literally deflect bullets while sustaining minimal damage. Inside, the combatant would be protected- mostly- from explosions and other projectiles, allowing him or her to be tossed like a rag doll with minimal injury. A real living walking tank, Felix thought to himself, allowing a slight smile when thinking of his ragtag Kevlar and plate suit he had assembled earlier. He was still learning more about the PCS, which looked to have been American-made, likely stolen in the aftermath of the nation's devastation. That meant it was slightly out of date, but likely worth an ass load of money on the black market.

Or, Felix could use it. But what for?

His mind was filled with questions, and Felix was so deep in thought he almost did not notice a clamor on the next block, through the alley behind him. He stopped, checked his bearings, and realized he wasn't quite sure where he'd wandered to. Dangerous territory, perhaps. Few lights, no people around....

There was a loud crash and light footsteps. Felix reached for his .38 and ran back down the alley, awash in darkness. He instantly regretted his decision but it was too late to change course. He became lost in a maze of back alleys and just when he stopped to catch his breath- a flash of light! Felix covered his eyes instinctively, needlessly. His eyes readjusted to the dark as a shadowy figure landed in a roll from nearly twenty feet above. All he saw was a shape- it was far too dark. It paused.

Although unable to tell, Felix had the terrible feeling "it" was staring right at him. He held his breath, realizing his .38 was on the ground.

"Can I help you?" he asked, sheepishly, foolishly, in an almost comical tone. "It's a-" Cold air brushed Felix's cheek and it took him a full second to process the several razor sharp objects that had just grazed him. Another full second to realize he had not been the target. Felix was shoved aside as another figure leaped past him at the other. It was insanity- he was unable to see anything or tell what the hell was going on. His training kicked in, but it did him no good dressed in street clothes with not even his revolver to defend himself.

His weapon. That was it. He needed it. Felix hit the deck and rolled until he came across the cool metal of his .38. He hoisted it and without thinking went to squeeze the trigger.

He was holding only air. The .38 landed five meters away with a clank and Felix felt a stinging pain in his wrist. A hand grasped his throat in the darkness, pulled him up effortlessly to waist level. It was grim; Felix struggled to breath and reached out to touch the smooth leathery ninja suit of his assailant. It was not the first time he had been near death, yet human instinct demanded that he fear his impending doom, and fight it at all costs. He tried to speak to no avail as he felt the life being squeezed out of him.

And then Felix was free as another brilliant flash of light illuminated the alley for a brief moment. This time, he did not cover his eyes, and for a split second his trained mind caught the sleek ebon-armored belligerent. The other, however, bared no features, for during the nanosecond he was visible the man seemed to burn brightly as a torch.

Blackness again. Footsteps...and serenity. Felix simply lay there on his back, wheezing, out of breath, teeth clenched. He could barely bring himself to stand it was so quiet and he could not see anything. His wrist stung with pain and he grasped it, not uttering a word but wincing in the dark.

A strong arm grabbed his collar and dragged him through the alley. Everything was a daze but soon..light. A car whistled past in the street as his frayed pants hugged the street and Felix, battered and bruised, felt the arm lay him on the side of the road. He dared to look and what he saw-

"They weren't after you," the figure said matter-of-factly. Felix sat up, squinting, eyes adjusting to the street lights. "What is your name?"

He saw no reason to lie. "Felix Maizer, resident."

"Do you enjoy long walks on the streets of Johannesburg at this time of night?" A grin. That was good. Felix didn't answer. "No, I suppose not, but you are much more than just a resident, my heart tells me." The man laughed. Felix frowned, unsure of the situation. "How rude of me." The man offered a hand, and Felix hesitated before gripping it, pulling to his feet.

"Thank you for your help, Felix Maizer, intentional or not. My name is Marcus Lizar."
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