2012-10-09 Surgical Strike

Having just finished an emergency response to one of his preferred customers' tracking beacons, One is still carrying a great deal of gear as he makes his way down a staircase bolted to the side of a large, weather-beaten building. He pauses at the landing between the third and second floors to adjust his things. He's got a heavy black satchel in one hand and what appears to be a long document case slung over his other shoulder, similar to the type used to carry blueprints.

Despite having just been elbow-deep in another man's guts, he's spotless and neatly attired. He's wearing a white shirt, gray slacks, a black tie, and a heavy, stylish overcoat, which he tugs a bit more tightly around himself before resuming his descent.

She was told this is where he'd be found. A quiet location, one that would escape the notice of just about everyone who might pass by. Heck, Knockout wouldn't have given the building more than a quick glance if she hadn't been told this is where she's supposed to be. Thankfully the place isn't lacking for places to lay in wait in; having chosen a shadowy alcove, Kay spent the time waiting for One thinking, pondering.

Very little given in the way of details to mull over, Knockout finds herself nodding off just about, lulled into a near stupor while standing there, back against the wall, arms crossed over her body, legs crossed casually at the ankle. Such a casual, almost sloppy pose for one who is supposed to be on the look out for someone.

The sound of something being shifted rouses the former Fury who snaps out of her bout of laziness swiftly, the warrior's instinct and training coming to the surface. Should she wait and let One finish his trip down the stairs? Patience was never Kay's strong point, her inability to wait getting her moving. The first flight of stairs is climbed and the landing stood upon, Kay doing nothing to hide her presence.

When One reaches the second floor landing, he lays eyes on the woman blocking his path. He seems more curious than anything else. One eyebrow arches upward and he tips his head a fraction to the side. Long, quiet seconds pass as he studies her, measuring her, gauging her, locking information away for later dissection. Then, finally, he speaks. "You're in my way." His voice is silky and smooth, with a lilting hint of some European accent that's difficult to pin down.

It strikes Kay as odd as to just how non-descript One is. Like the building, he'd barely get noticed if they were to pass each other on the street yet here she is, sent to deal with him. "Yes, I suppose I am," she admits, looking up at where he stands and then over her shoulder to the ground floor below. "I have to say," she adds, still looking behind her as she speaks, "I was hoping you'd be more of a challenge. You don't look like you'll be much in a fight." Heaving a sigh, she looks forward again, her mouth pressed into a thin, tight line. Hard to shake the disappointment she is feeling at the moment. "Shall we get this over with?"

One drops his satchel, unslings the case from around his shoulder, and draws a very old, very large revolver from inside his coat. In an eyeblink, he's not only unburdened, he's armed and he's drawn a bead on the woman. The tip of the heavy firearm doesn't waver. "Looks can be deceiving. Whatever you're after, I can guarantee you that I'm more trouble than it's worth."

The implied threat is clear. Move out of the way or I'm going to shoot you in the face.

Oh. He's fast. And his aim seems to be pretty damn steady, Knockout notices. But while his threat... promise?... of bodily harm should get her moving out of the way she is doing the opposite of what she should be, the tall woman instead moving closer. "I would rather this didn't turn ugly," she intones without much emotion, whatever curiosity over the man and the disappointment she had felt before gone. Now she's merely a weapon, ready to move in for a fight with very little warning. "As for what I'm after? To put it simply, it's you." She doesn't make a move to attack just yet, her intention to assess him a bit more before pressing the offensive against him.

"Okay," One replies.

Then he pulls back his revolver's hammer and squeezes the trigger, firing an enormous incendiary bullet at her head as calmly as he'd swat a fly. Not too concerned with the basic value of humanoid life, this one. He immediately draws the hammer back again, cycling the cylinder on the old single-action and readying a fresh round.

And this is where things should get interesting. While Knockout's big and rather built she's also quick and surprisingly agile. She can't doge bullets like the man in that one movie she saw on TV can but she does manage to get herself out of the line of direct fire just in time. The bullet does hit but where it'd cause major bodily harm on a normal human it merely gouges her cheek, the hot metal searing flesh even as it rends it. The pain gets her to stop and reach up, her gloved hand brushing against her face only to be drawn away with sticky red glossing the tips of her fingers. "You... hurt me," she announces dumbly, her eyes now wide behind the obscuring lenses of her mask. "You... hurt me."

A low growl of anger rumbles from the Amazon-like as anger and blood lust hits, causing her to lunge forward as if to grab One. Temper is over-riding training now, Knockout no longer able to fight smart like she might have been able to normally.

One, on the other hand, is calm and collected. He fires a second round just shy of point-blank range. Then the time for firearms is at an end. Or so you'd think.

Not so. One scoops up his satchel and case, then leaps from the landing just as Kay reaches it. He takes the fall like a champion, tucking and rolling to absorb the impact. Once he's got his feet on the ground, he immediately brings his revolver back to bear and snaps off a third shot. "You're not very good at this, are you?" he asks, his smile cold, thin-lipped, and mocking.

Bang. Bang. This time the bullets glance off, bruising flesh but he won't get the satisfaction of making Knockout bleed again. Not unless he actually manages to get a lucky shot off. Wheeling around, Knockout stares, not moving for a moment. "I see my employer had grossly underestimated you," she points out, not bothering to comment on how it could just be a case of her not having been given any of the important details instead. "Who are you?"

Hands lifting, she balls up her fists and rushes forth, not daring to give One anymore of a chance to get himself gathered. She realizes that in order to win this fight she's going to have to keep on her toes and remain on the top otherwise he just might hurt her again and the next time he just might get lucky enough to seriously injure her.... or even kill her.

Three rounds down, three to go. One fires them all in quick succession as Kay makes her way down the stairs. The shots are intended as a distraction and annoyance more than anything else. He's a scientist. He's already seen enough evidence to know that he's not winning this fight with bullets.

The revolver is tucked away, then his heavier belongings are tossed aside again. Now he's only holding one thing. A scalpel. The blade is tiny; it would seem a comical weapon to draw when facing a bulletproof opponent. This scalpel is special, though. The blade is a single molecule wide, allowing it to cut through many substances with ease.

"Me? Just some guy. Are you /sure/ you don't want to leave?" he ripostes, that smile still tugging at his lips. "I've already been up to my wrists in blood one time tonight. I can always wash my hands again."

And an annoyance they are, rather like gnats or children who want to cling to your leg while begging for candy, little things that niggle and pester without being harmful otherwise. Little things that distract Kay who doesn't even notice One has swapped out weapons. The knife is so small that she doesn't even see it at first, the blade missed as it's at his face level she looks at, not down towards his hand.

The mention of blood gets Knockout to chuckle slightly as she regards him, cockiness oozing from her. "You can try," she says while beckoning with a fist, using it in lieu of cooking a finger to try and goad him into attacking first. Now she sees the knife, the size of which gets her to laugh, the sound as mocking as it is amused. "I see you didn't learn your lesson." Fists falling to either side of her body, she leaves herself open, assuming her physiology will protect her like it has up until now. "Come on. Make your move. Try to hurt me."

One's smile turns to a fierce, unwholesome grin as he reveals a second scalpel in his other hand. "Okay," he says again.

He's fast. That much is undeniable. He zigs, then zags, just short of being a blur as he closes the remaining distance between he and Kay. His blades weave an intricate, dangerous web of attack and defense; a virtual wall of cutting and piercing and slashing. He's not picky. He strikes at any and every square inch of her that comes within his reach.

Mistake #1: She assumed that One really could not move so swiftly, there being no indication that he is so fast given previous to now. Knockout tries to keep him in sight but her eyes just can not track motion that fast, giving him the first advantage.

Mistake #2: Kay assumed that those knives were incapable of rending her flesh, her ego getting her into the position she now finds herself in. At first it's a sting, like that when paper bites into flesh. It's not bad but it gets her attention as does the thin line of red that trickles from the cut. "What the hell..." That's all she can get out as One continues with the assault, leaving her having to defend herself against the man and the weapons. Every single time she lifts an arm it is gifted with another cut, a new gouge, a deep tear, the damage he's inflicting upon her increasing with every swipe of that thin metal. It isn't much longer before it isn't just her arms and soon her shoulders, torso, belly and even her legs are soon sticky and crimson-tinted.

This goes on for longer than is comfortable for Kay; the Fury's blood loss not enough to kill her, yet, the fight or flight response kicks in and soon defensive maneuvers are paired with punches and kicks. She isn't trying to kill him but get him off of her, hoping to get some space between them so she can turn the tables on her target.

As potent as his little blades are, One is experienced enough to respect the hand-to-hand combat abilities of anyone who's bulletproof. It's just good math. His theory proves to be correct when one of those punches slips through his guard. He twists evasively and takes a glancing blow to the chin that sends him flying backward. After ten feet of sliding and skidding, his fall is broken by a cluster of metal trash cans.

"Ow," he grunts as he pulls himself free from what is now a twisted pile of aluminum. "I think you'll find that was very ill-advised."

Bruised, yes. Even bloodied. There's a cut above his eye that's flowing freely. Now /he's/ angry. He's lost one of his scalpels, but he still has a doctor's intimate knowledge of the human body. He slashes viciously at tender portions of Kay's anatomy, focusing his attention on her face and hands. He's no longer trying to kill her. Now he's trying to hurt her. To punish her.

"I think I can say the same to you." The pain is dulled by endorphins, the high not unlike one gets after running a marathon helping to override the ache that has settled into her muscles and shunt the throbbing from her various wounds to the side. It is a good thing too as she's back to having to fight him but instead of merely trying to protect herself like she did the last round of combat Kay doesn't merely try to keep him away from her. She wants to hurt him and every effort is made to do just that, the sight of his blood bolstering her.

One of his slashes gets in past one of her attempted uppercuts, allowing him to get at her face. The point of the scalpel goes in deep enough to hit bone, the impact against which causes her jaw to close hard, jarring her teeth together noisily. That's going to give her a headache.

One makes a very risky gamble. He opts to soak up a hit in order to press his advantage. The punch lands squarely in his chest, driving the air from him and cracking several ribs. As quiet as the night is, the POP-POP-POP is alarmingly loud. This time he clings to Kay, so closely that his face is pressed against the top of her head. The point of his blade is still jammed against her cheekbone, as well. He yanks it down toward her throat with a sharp, jerking motion.

"You're going to run away," he hisses at her, his breath hot against her ear. "You know... why? Because you're not good enough to kill me. I might not be able to kill you either, but hurting you makes me /happy/. I'm not going anywhere."

If it wasn't for the blood this could be very romantic with how close their bodies are, how warm he feels against her, the tone of his voice as he speaks. Knockout forgets herself and tries to move forward, wanting to feel him against her more, needing the contact. A breathy sigh, almost a moan, escapes her, a single sound that does so very well to convey just what all of this is doing to her. Poor Kay. Such a twisted woman to be enjoying this as much as she is.

It is an enjoyment that is short lived as the knife nicks the large blood vessel in her neck, causing red to gush from the wound with every quickened beat of her heart. It's a serious wound but she will be fine, not that Kay remembers that fact at present. No, she looks very afraid. When she finally can speak to retort it is in a whisper that trembles, what words she can get out broken by the waver.

"I will s-ee y-you ag-again," she vows.

Turning away, she does exactly as One predicts and does indeed run away but it isn't fear that fuels the Fury's rushed departure. No, it's a need to find a place to tend to her wounds that speeds her along her way, her path marked by drops of copper-scented red that swiftly congeal in the cool autumn air.

The bloody scalpel is still balanced lightly in One's hand. He considers it briefly, then lifts it to his lips and licks the dull edge of the blade. "Yes," he says. "You will."

Despite the pain in his chest, his jaw, and his neck, his body is loaded with adrenaline. There's so much energy stored inside him that he's nearly vibrating. It's a long time before he tucks away his weapon, bends to pick up his things, and turns to walk in the opposite direction.