A Night Time Patrol (Roland)

Socialites. So nice to keep their trophies in plain view. Roland had cased the place for some time, but was unfortunate enough to not have the social connections yet to have visited the condo in person. Had it been London, Rio, Port Au Prince, or somewhere similarly snobby, he would have easily greased the social wheels and made his way in to get a lay of the land, so to speak. It probably foretold the tripping of an alarm, but he had no intentions of taking his time. This would be a quick job. He already knew what he wanted. he had seen it as the piece d' resistance at many of the parties from his surveillance post. It was now in one of the tubes he carried on his back.

Everything had been quiet. Too incredibly quiet and much too easy. Roland felt a bit disappointed, as the improved stealth suit he had thanks to Mondragon Labs would more than likely not get a good test as he had wanted. He would go hit an armored car or a vault of some sort to truly test its offensive and defensive capabilities. For now, it was just a quick shimmy out of the vent system and back into the night. He stopped short at the exhaust cover, running various spectra through his HUD. He had some new ones to cycle through, reminding him of his lovely African princess and her ability.

All spectra clear. A rainy night, stormy weather. Romantic really. He wished he had Nehanda by his side to enjoy it. Though, thinking it over, he quickly realized that she would haul his sorry butt back inside and have him deposit his treasure where he found it and probably give him a stern scolding. That sounded nice. Nevertheless, some things just had to be done solo, especially when it came to filling the vault. His auditory sensors picked up little besides the roar of rain, the occasional rumble of thunder and the city's residual noises. Looking at the vent cover, he slipped one hand over the folds in its vent sleeve, teleporting the screws out of it.

He pulled himself out with one arm and placed the cover down next to him. He sat the cover down gently and turned to straighten his tubes when his auditory sensor picked up a specific whistling sound. It happened in a second, it seemed, though once he knew it was coming, time slowed to a crawl. His body dropped and flattened against the rooftop, the baton missing his face by a hair's shadow. He rose and followed the direction of its flight, infrared primed. There it was. Another figure. In a costume. He had hoped for so much, hearing of the nighttime exploits of the city's famed vigilantes.

Night vision kicked on and he regarded the figure, his head cocked to one side. The red line pulsed green as it switched spectra. There would doubtfully be another miss by such a marksman. He simply shrugged at the other one and had a gun in his hand, silenced rounds slipping jackets in his direction as Roland took cover behind the glass of the skylight.

The man was fast. It looked like a man anyway. It would be exciting had it not been. This was all dalliance. Roland fired a couple of shots in the general direction but then quit, choosing instead to go prone on his stomach. The man had rolled out of sight behind cover. Excellent move. Smart and quick. Roland pondered escape or excitement. Ever the thrill seeker, he chose the latter. He was unaware of the man's arsenal though. So there was no reason to charge him. He could charge himself directly into an ambush. No, better to wait.

He tuned the scan of the auditory sensors to the man's last known position. No longer there. Also a plus. He was beginning to respect his opponent, always on the move. Roland rolled over to the far edge of the building, kipped up into a crouch and went infrared again, the line flashing back to red. He saw the most amazing sight as his opponent was working a series of vaults with a pole of some sort from covered position to covered position. Roland smirked inside his suit. He looked over at the baton, now lying on the rooftop. It was in his hand next.

He guessed at the eventual destination of the vaulter, realizing his obvious muscular definition and athleticism, combined with keen acrobatic awareness and a honed instinct. Roland couldn't imagine anything better, save a random mutation. He decided that since an ambush was out of the question, there was no reason not to up the ante. Baton in hand, Roland began sprinting along the general line of the man's movement. He watched the gymnast vault another time, moving to land at the next nearest conditioning unit. He waited for the top of the arc and hurled the baton back at him, hoping he might misjudge his landing.

Too much confinement on this one rooftop, as large as it might be. No reason not to keep things moving. Maybe the man would think he wanted to get away. Roland turned on his heel and sprinted toward the edge of the building diving forward. A small movement of his wrist popped a part of his wrist open, revealing a small hook. He jumped short on purpose, watching the windows speed by. Looking down, which was now up, he caught glimpse of a flagpole and fired the hook, which was attached to a monofilament line. It clicked into position, wrapping tight around the pole. Roland let his momentum swing him around and then back up, teleporting the line back into his wrist as he flew upside down while going up, his HUD directed at the man's movements.

Roland's ascent slowed and he stopped at a window sill, landing in a handstand. He braced his legs against the sides of the window and slid down into a frog stnace, looking up at the rooftop. He couldn't see his opponent. Surely he hadn't given up. He seemed so active otherwise. What a shame. He thought that....."What?" Roland saw movement to his right. It seemed to be a dark humanoidshape, crouching against the side of the building, watching him. The gun appeared and a single shot slipped out to the creature. The bullet made no impact. That couldn't be good. Was it his opponent? Could he somehow become a ...no, ghosts were fairy tales.

Roland looked up at the building he was on the side of. Glancing back, the crouching wallcrawler was no longer there. Turning his field of vision, Roland saw various creatures moving up the wall from below in his direction. His eyes widened inside the suit. Could he replicate himself? What was this? Roland looked up and saw the long gutter pipe that clung to the edge of the building. He shot his grapnel up and out to the top of it, where its joint attached to the roof. Using the line and some quickly inspired climbing, he made his way up the pipe as the creatures only hastened their ascent after him.

Disengaging the hook and line, Roland crouched at the top of the building, now seeing his quarry across the way, looking around in his direction. Was he directing the creatures and their movements? A puppet master? Roland stood and turned to move on and then stopped again. The rooftop was full to capacity with these things. They had no faces, they only stood and stared at him, seeming to hold an energy of anticipated movement should he decide to turn away. Roland looked back. The puppets or the master? Kill the head and the body dies. The gun came out once more, a new clip replacing the old. Roland lined his sights up.

Three shots. The man was fast. Roland also noticed that his specters didn't try to stop him. If they wanted to observe their master's downfall, so be it. What better audience than his subordinates? Roland noticed a flicker in their appearance as one of the bullets slammed home. He was hiding, no doubt assessing his wounds. Judging from the lack of blood and the remaining presences in his midst, Roland estimated that he was wearing some sort of body armor. Something he would have to look into. It just didn't help when it came to pressure pads. it only hurt.

Waving it off as something to ponder at Mondragon, Roland raised his vision back to his target, just in time to catch the baton in his gun hand, sending it sliding to the edge of the rooftop. Roland went down on one knee. It hurt like a son of a bitch. There went any quality lockpicking for a week. the man had done all of this in the midst of a well executed handspring. Roland simply stood, the rain hammering down on him. He remained relatively dry inside, save for the layer of sweat. He still shook his head in a manner of disdain, at a loss at his lack of compunction.

He walked through the ghosts, moving to a position near the gas tanks the vigilante was crouching behind. The man was a hard worker and deserved some credit. He tossed the baton behind the tank, followed by one of the two tubes. A gift, intended for the frame below, had his electromagnetic sensor not picked up the slight ticking of a silent alarm. Yes, silent in that ears don't hear it. Roland simply clapped in appreciation for his adversary. He pondered removing his mask to say something charming, but he would have another chance. The rooftops would find him visiting again. Next time he might be the predator.

He stepped to the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the pistol. He looked back up at the skyline, the gun now missing from the spot where it was. He smirked in his suit, imagining the look on the man's face when he unfurled the contents of the tube. In the one he carried was a painting, valuable beyond price. In the other tube, something of nostalgic value. A rolled up poster of Sid Vicious crooning his stunning rendition of Frank Sinatra's 'My Way.' He dropped off the building and into the night.

(To be continued on another night. Also, for anyone who would like to hear this lovely ballad, it can be found here)