Post by Malice on Jan 18, 2017 10:21:01 GMT -6
June 2011
Malice: Get the fuck down!
Cordelia Malice shouted at the remaining living members of Malos as the fed crept in on her location in the abandoned warehouse in the center of Cleveland, Ohio. She looked at the empty crate boxes and found a path towards the exit. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
Malice: Misty… go to Aunt Becky’s house. NOW!
Her 2 year old Sphynx Cat was expertly trained to take English command. There was something mystical about that cat. Cats should not be able to be trained so easily, but this one was unlike any other feline she had ever encountered. And with a purr and a lick she bolted off in the opposite direction, drawing brief gunfire and allowing Cordelia to get the jump on a Federal Agent, snapping his neck with a swift two handed motion.
But then she felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed hard in the back of her head where her spine met her cranium. This man wasn’t aiming to kill. He was aiming for a fate far worse than death. He was looking to pull that trigger and separate her spinal cord from her skull paralyzing her from the neck down but leaving her with otherwise full mental faculties. They then would torture her for any and all information that she had on the other gangs and other shit she had going down.
She raised her hands in the air, knowing by the shaking of the man’s hand that any sudden movement could move his finger enough to pull the hair trigger on the Sig Pro semi-automatic pistol that has been shooting 20 millimeter rounds her way for the past half an hour. She looked around and saw the writhing bodies of her fellow gang mates.
Smitty was a rough dude with tats all over his face. He was holding his stomach where blood was pouring out and he began to slow. She looked at Su, the Chinese assassin she had befriended and briefly taken on as a lover and tried to remember what she looked like as her face was a mangled mess, taken off with a birdshot shotgun blast. Her second in command was also captured as she was with a gun held to the back of his head. Liam Riley joined Malos when she had taken out every other member of the IRA in Cleveland when they tried to take on her turf. He survived and over the past 5 years has earned her trust and earned his way into the inner sanctum of her gang.
Seeing she was outgunned and outmanned she dropped to one knee, and then the other. And that’s when she heard a grunt and a sharp pain came across the back of her head; silence and blackness followed suit.
Present Day
It’s cold in Helltown, Ohio (never a place more appropriately named.) And it was boring as hell for Cordy Malice, a nice tall girl with dark hair and tattoos on her muscular arms. She wore dark makeup and often adorned her face with a variety of stars, hearts, or diamonds depending on what she was doing or where she was going.
She didn’t have any of that on her face today as she was wearing an uncomfortable tan business pant suit, and holding a dark brown bag over her shoulder.
Becky: Say by to your Aunt Cordy.
Becky Mason was Cordelia’s half-sister. But they were so close you might as well take the ‘half’ out of the surname. They grew up together as children and could basically read each other’s thoughts, and even though Cordy wasn’t around for the first 5 years of Ronnie’s life, her niece loved her as though she was her own mother, and Cordy reciprocated that emotion. She hugged the bright blue eyed blonde girl with all of her might as little Ronnie refused to relinquish her grip around her aunt’s neck. Cordy stood up and Ronnie hung like a necklace around her chest.
Cordy: I guess I’m going to work with this beautiful necklace on today.
She said with a smile as Ronnie giggled and lit up the room like only an 8 year old girl could do.
Becky: Let your aunty go, now. She’s gotta go to work, and you’ve gotta get ready for school missy.
Ronnie: MISTY IS THE CAT, MOM!
She replied as matter of factly as the gray Sphynx sauntered into the room with her ears wide open having heard her name.
Cordy: And you have to take good care of her while I’m at work, right Ronnie.
Ronnie: RIGHT!
She said and ran to grab the cat that bolted out of the room and on top of the fireplace mantle, just out of Ronnie’s reach. Both women shook their heads in eclectic and unopposed joy as they too gave each other a peck on the cheek and Cordy made her way out of the house.
She hated being in this god forsaken town, but loved the time with her family. It gave her some type of normalcy. It killed her that she had to lie to her family about her job. As far as they were concerned, she was headed to the IRS to do clerical work. It explained her US Government Badge and her innate ability to get into government buildings and most importantly perhaps: why no one should EVER open her mail ‘because angry tax payers tend to send anthrax through the mail to unsuspecting IRS employees.’
That was a crock of shit, but it was a suitable cover for what she was headed off to do. The fact was she was headed to a camp of sorts where she was trained in the most modern weaponry and combat based off of US Intel and she was briefed on what her current or upcoming mission was supposed to be. When she was home she was Aunt Cordy, but as she neared the rock formation that opened up due to a censor imbedded behind one of her ears (even she didn’t know which one) she stopped being the suburban Aunt and became Malice once more.
Malice: Jones, whatchu got, bitch.
The black officer wearing a blue suit tossed her a rubber banded folder without looking at her as she stepped by, stripping out of her khaki business suit revealing the tight leather pants, with black high heels and black leather vest with nothing underneath beneath her mild-mannered exterior in a swift motion as an aide rushes by to collect her belongings and put them where they belong so she can get to them later.
They wanted her to dress like the others, in the blue suit with red tie. Malice didn’t follow the rules. She was a loner… a rebel. She wore what she wanted to wear. Her sex appeal was only a small part of her intrigue, but an important part. She was so successful that she was allowed liberties. Men like Jones who were lifelong good guys loathed her and her background. She was not one of the boys. But she did have her own clique that she was able to bond with.
Malice: Where my hoes at!
She said with a smile on her face as she passed through the ocular detector and entered the room. There 3 people stood in the room and smiled back as their fearless leader entered the room.
Mack: Hey sweet thing, gimme some sugar.
Mack was a tall dark and handsome man with a black goatee. Once part of the Italian Mafia in New York City, he was apprehended in a similar manner that Cordelia was except he didn’t have the same killer instinct that Malice did. She was a born leader, he was a born follower. But there was a place in this gang for him and his skill at bomb making and encyclopedic knowledge of locks and picking them made him an irreplaceable asset to the team.
Malice: In your dreams, Mack.
Mack: Every night, babe.
Dr. Shaw: Excuse me, Miss Malice…
Dr. Shaw was a short Middle Eastern woman with dark skin, black glasses and hair put up in the same bun every day. She always carried around her trusty clipboard, and even though she was quiet, she was brilliant. She creates all the covert devices used to complete these missions unharmed, and has come up with weapons that Malice never thought possible to exist.
The first thing she gave Cordelia was poisonous lipstick. She made a poison that had the potential to be diluted by Cordy’s saliva but was deadly to anyone else. She used it to assassinate a German Operative by simulating a prostitute, seducing him and simply allowing him to kiss her on the lips. It was the easiest hundred grand she ever made, but she never shared that income with the government.
Dr. Shaw: Your pen drive will be ready by week’s end… Miss.
The pen drive was her pet name for the Pen that she was created that could remote control a car from over 100 miles away. It sounded innocuous enough to be disregarded but was going to be in fact a tremendous toy to play with in the upcoming mission.
Malice: Listen, doll. You don’t have to be scared of me. What have I done to make you so nervous around me?
Dr. Shaw: Well there was that time you punched a man’s nose into his brain killing him instantly.
Malice: Yea, but he was a bad guy… we’re the good guys. I would never hurt any of y’all. Except maybe you…
She jovially looked over at the Hispanic man sitting at the computer, hoping he heard the sarcasm in her voice. He was only known as Hacker. He had this odd ability to hack into any computer network at retrieve information as well as step into any combat mission and take care of himself better than any trained soldier that Cordy had ever met. He kept much of his past to himself, and whenever it was brought up he generally changed the subject or simply became quiet until the silence became so uncomfortable that you changed the subject. Whatever his background he was by far the biggest strength to the team, Cordy included.
But Cordy was named the leader. She had an intrinsic ability to be able to take all of these puzzle pieces and turn them into a complete picture, regardless of how poorly they often fit into each other. This whole team, known as T-19, was a team of recluses, either disavowed by the government, or taken from street gangs and assimilated into a cohesive unit to take care of things that the CIA would prefer to remain under undercover. If any of their identities were found out, or any of their missions uncovered the entire unit would undergo immediate termination. And that doesn’t just mean from their job.
They had a slow month. The job had its ups and downs. It had periods of craziness generally followed by periods of peace and quiet. The peace and quiet was welcome and led to an easy paycheck, but the action is what kept everyone motivated. The action is what kept everyone sane. And when Cordelia opened up the folder Jones tossed to her she realized that the action was just beginning.
She handed the supplementary documents to Dr. Shaw who read through them with lightning speed.
Mack: The Verducci Family… those were bad guys. My crew never fucked wit dem.
Malice: I’ve seen bitches like this before. All talk and no walk.
Hacker: In fact, quite the contrary. The Verducci Family did very little talking. They let their actions speak for them. They killed people for the smallest of unpaid loans. They had so much money that it didn’t matter how much they collected as long as they had the reputation of being cold blooded killers… at least that’s what I can find out by hacking into the NYPD Database.
Mack: The spick is right. These guys don’t play no games. If this guy is a part of them, or was a part of them I wouldn’t go jumping into a fight unprepared.
Cordelia gave the file another once over and nonchalantly tossed it over her shoulder.
Malice: In Cleveland we had the D’Amores. They tortured people… they tortured me. How do you think I got these scars?
She pulled down the top of her leather pants and exposed the swat-sticka scar etched into her upper outer thigh.
Malice: I ain’t no skinhead, and I got no respect for them, but I fell victim to a case of mistaken identity and the D’Amores didn’t care to hear otherwise. They didn’t follow the code of the street. No matter what, you didn’t fuck with a bad guy that didn’t deserve it. And I didn’t FUCKING deserve it.
So now, when I look at any guinea mother fucker I see the eyes of Antonio D’Amore, the fuccin’ blue haired slob that took a burning knife to my leg and ignored my screams as he etched away this horrible epitaph on my leg.
Mack: Why didn’t you like… I don’t know… close off the edges. Make it look like a box with a cross in it or sum’thin. Couldn’t take the pain, baby?
With a swift motion she raises her high heeled boots into the throat of Mack and pushes him against the wall; the tip of the heel expertly pressed against his Adam’s apple.
Mack: Careful baby, you’re getting’ me hard.
She keeps her foot there as she speaks monotonously at him.
Malice: I keep it here as a reminder. I keep it here as a reminder of what happens when you let your guard down for even a second. I keep this here so every time I remove my clothes I know that no matter what it will never happen again. Americans have their 9-11 never forget moment. I’ve got this moment.
She moves her foot down off of Mack’s throat and gets back into a standing position. He rubs the red mark left on his neck as Dr. Shaw can’t help but stare nervously at her Captain. Guilt immediately rushes over her as Shaw’s nervous eyes begin to tear up and a drop falls onto the Rules and Regulations of UCI document she was previously reading.
Malice: Listen, sugar…
She said to Shaw as she tried to reach out a reassuring hand to her subordinate. It was met with a shudder and a step back. Cordy dropped her hand and looked down at her boots.
Malice: I would never hu…
Dr. Shaw: Perhaps we should get in the Rover; there will be p-plenty of time to discuss this document on the ride to the event. It says here in the dossier that transportation and lodging has been arranged for us.
Mack: Road trip baby.
Malice looked maliciously at Mack and then stared at Hacker who, other than his brief outburst about the Verducci’s had kept his head in the computer the entire time.
Malice: You comin’ hun?
Hacker shook his head no. A nonverbal response was better than most so she shrugged it off and led the way out of the room. She shouldn’t need a computer expert for this mission anyway. Her own two hands and feet should be all the firepower required to take out the ex-Mafioso bitch wrestler at Overload.
