Range #40

[Luka]

[glow=red,2,300]The name may sound like some Bar & Grill but it's far from it, unless your idea of a meal is serving up hot lead. Range #40 is the place to go to practice and keep your skill with your firearms up to snuff. In the city of the Hunters this is a no-brainer, but just don't piss off the regulars or you just might end up having a freak accident. There are normal ranges with paper targets to fully equipped paintball-type fields to practice your evasion techniques. No Fighting Allowed...out in the open, anyway.[/glow]

[Adrian]

Outside of the Range#40 a white motorcycle pulled up a few hours after dawn had broken over the city of New York. If there was a parking lot the vehicle would go there should lady luck provide an empty space for the Rider. Just like the vehicle he used the man dressed in mostly white save for his black shirt & the rather unique black boots he wore. Not ten minutes passed before he entered the establishment with a calm gait of a walk. The helmet he wore robbed this White Figure of a face as he looked around to not find all that many people present this early on in the day. Of course he just happened to be the type of stranger that didn't mind having a place like this almost to himself.

Describing the interior of the place could be left to someone else.

Those present were staff, one of which had to be an older gentleman dressed almost like a butler of sorts. He was probably in his late forties, of average height, average build, sporting short reddish-brown hair & a rather classy cliche monacle over the left eye. Another could be described as the misleading muscle of the joint that stood tall & possessed enough muscles to give Bane an inferiority complex. Such muscles could probably deflect bullets, a conveinent talent to have while working in a shooting gallery.

Both watched this mystery man in a helmet waltz in casually, but not long enough to cause any type of dramatic tension. The older man went back to polishing a revolver that looked about his age. His name if anyone cared to find out was Thomas Sirvaeux. Meanwhile the other who actually went by the name Alexander Nelson, or just Nelson, or just Alex, or just-please-god-don't-hurt-me. . .leaned up against a wall. Probably a good idea for the man who likely weighed upwards of 300lbs on a scale that could take it.

After a while that the clock would put its word on was thirty seconds total, the stranger spoke up. But only after lifting up the front-half of what turned out to be an interesting style of motorcycle helmet. It unleashed a white face that just barely possessed a tan, that while certainly handsome somthing just seemed plain off to the trained eye. Of course they would also have to know ahead of time what it was to realize the irregularity in full. Both eye sockets held what added up to a pair of perfectly pristne blue eyes that might almost seem to have a slight glow behind them in the dark. Square Enix could try tracking him down for a lawsuit some other year if it really mattered that much to them.

"I've come here to pick-up a package that should have been delivered to this address by today. Honestly it should have arrived last night. The person it's addressed to is named Leon Saint and the indentification number is probably obnoxiously long. Of course if you've opened it already, what's inside won't be of any use at all to you."

"It was delivered alright kid. We had to open it up though of course, just make sure no one sent us a mail bomb or nuthin'. Even opened it myself while 'ol Thomas here went to go get something out of the back."

"That was a good plan."

Sirvaeux put a box of what probably held shells along with an already opened envelop up onto the counter. Whatever package had encased them before obviously wasn't around anymore to be sure. At least these two men weren't lying even if the big one was short a few bolts in the neck.

"Before we give you what was inside I'd like to know what exactly the contents are for. Last night we tried to figure it out but nothing matched any firearms, not to mention it sounded like something liquid was inside of them. And the envelope had a check in it with what must be Leon's name written on it in doctor cursive. But the rest was blank."

"Well, to answer the first part. . ."

Pristine blue eyes looked away for a moment as he reached into his white trenchcoat to pull out an NS Pistol. The other two did nothing to show outward fear, except for a little bit of sweat barely beading on their respective brows. His gun was held up as an example before the explanation continued. A steady tone as always for the man who wore his own face as a mask to the entire world.

". . .Those are rounds I'm testing for someone at his request, very top secret. And the check is so that once my services are completed, I can add on what was used to the bill."

"Sounds like it's too good of an arrangement for me."

"Not that we're going to get into your buisness but if you're a contract killer then you might want to hit the road before some of the regulars show up."

"The law pokes around in here too since cops don't always like practicing at the station. So don't even think about testing that stuff on us."

"Good advice."

Leon replied before walking up to the counter for retrieval of his delivered items. Opening up the box first, one bullet was missing out of a total thirty. He had made an arrangement with a certain someone that if anything needed to be tested, Saint was his guinea pig. While yet another arrangement had been made with someone else. This one was to give him the heads up on anyone that wanted to get rid of problems without involving the Vatican. Or someone that both of them had concern for as a friend at th very least.

Does everyone think I'm with the mafia or something?

[Adrian]

Vehicles started pulling up outside the Range #40 with a total of four in the end. If any of the men present possessed an intimate knowledge of automobiles, they could guess every last one of them. Save for what color it was of course. One of them could be narrowed to a Dodge Viper with a V10 engine that had a transmission on its last legs. Next was an old-fashioned Ford truck that was old enough to have been built before any computer equipment at all had been installed or even created. Third came the most unexpected of all: a 2002 PT Cruiser with some type of fuel injection kit that was making the vibrations different than a normal version. Last of all was a semi-ancient Bronco with non-functioning air-conditioning.

As the passengers & drivers exited the vehicles, some of them took note of a brand-new looking motorcycle. Different races were present along with different clothing styles, which at least gave off the impression these were not a militant group. Regardless of that they all seemed to know one another in the same sense as people who lived on the same street. Glances in-between these new arrivals suggested hints of curiosity birthed from unfamiliarity.

Each man had a varying taste in weaponry, running the gambit from handguns to shotguns to machine pistols and even a crossbow. Laws were in place against this sort of thing in most states, including this one. A concealed weapons permit was one thing, but this seemed to be a whole 'nother operation. Perhaps these men were hunters just like the man inside. Surely a place like this could not be over-looked by those that needed to practice their skills before going after dangerous people.

Inside the building however, a man in white had just finished placing newly delivered ammunition into pouches on a belt. Most of these were concealed by the white coat he seemed to wear just to spite nature. As if he enjoyed the heat somehow. During this task he had revealed a few other things his coat helped to conceal: a shoulder harness. Such a small accessory helped prevent him from keeping any firearms or other weapons at the hip. Leon had his own reason for having such a drawing style for his gun.

Saint had just flipped down the front of his helmet with a deft movement when this new group entered the Range #40. For this reason any expression upon his face would be a mystery to them until the next removal. Just a few that cared to pay attention watched Saint depart from the main room. He walked toward the door that led into their shooting gallery, likely wanting to test the strange new equipment provided under 'secret' circumstances. Emotion filtered to the face of Thomas upon noticing their arrival. In all twenty people had just shown up to provide their place with some business beyond strange men in white. He seemed to welcome them even as the hairs on Alexander's neck bristled just a bit at these customers.

"What will it be today?"

"We need to restock our ammo Thomas. Word is that the old Busted Block has been cleared out."

"Oh really?"

The man with a monocle seemed to have his interest captured an inch or two after hearing a statement like that from Crossbow-man. Rumors had been passing through the city's populace about just what had caused the destruction. No witnesses had been around to relay what had occurred there; not even a single body to present useful clues. Everyone who had been around when the destruction began had simply vanished without a trace being left to light. Investigators came back saying they had heard voices, but that a terrifying sound had drowned them out. Since then everyone had been ordered to stay out while the government's wheels turned a few gears faster.

"Yeah but word is no one human did it. Some of our group heard noises last night so we sent a few guys to watch from a distance. Halpern over here saw the whole thing."

"There was a Demon there alright, a big one too, compared to the scum that usually make themselves obvious. Royalty from what I heard bellowed out from him. We were going to take care of it this morning but someone already took it out."

"Then you saw the people who did it in?"

"Sort of. The battle went so fast that it just couldn't have been anyone human out there fighting the Demon. All we caught a glimpse of was some guy in white along with two others, looking on the young side too."

While the conversation progressed, a couple of the quiet-type men headed for the shooting gallery. Seven men that possessed deadly weapons who had each killed a lesser Demon. One of them went by the name of Phalkon, who carried a Mine-layer. The weapon could hold up to ten darts that detonated after a given amount of time. Killing creatures of the night along with their conspirators helped him remember the pain of losing his favorite pet Rabbit named Brad to a Werewolf sixteen years ago. But then again, that was just the story he'd been told after being broken out of a mental hospital by the men he currently associated with today.

"I've got a hunch that the Demon wasn't supposed to destroy that block at all and some stronger ones came up to silence him. Like some sort of Demonic mafia. All kinds of freaks started showing up after he croaked, like they wanted to take the place as their own. Even flat out Ghosts. Too many for us with what we have right now. So we need heavy duty equipment."

Saint was not alone anymore as he pulled out the NS Pistol he carried while still wearing the motorcycle helmet. Perhaps it could be used to muffle sounds in a fashion that out-modded any kind of conventional earmuffs. It certainly explained why he seemed to completely ignore the other men who had come to join him on the expansive range. Each of the others took their own respective places to begin practicing their aim, taking special care to stand just close enough that their firearms were sticking out for anyone to see. Brandishing their weapons was a way to warn off any potential trouble through intimidation. Or just leave an open invitation for anyone crazy enough to take it up.

[Adrian]

Back in the main room, words continued their verbal exchange.

"So just three people were able to take down a thing like that in the same amount of time it would have taken all of you working together? That does seem inhuman."

"I don't know, they coulda had some of that special equipment like our new customer."

"What new customer?"

Thirteen armed men loitered in the main area as they waited for the business to end sometime in the next hour. All of them wore sunglasses that even denied a brief glance from the side to reveal their eyes. In fact they all smelled the same too. . . like an aroma familiar to those that frequented the beach. Grim expressions started to take hold of their faces as a few realizations started to hit home. Halpern asked questions about the new customer that went everywhere from his name to other juicy details. Plans had a chance to form that involved taking equipment off of someone else's hands so that they could be put to better use.

Gunfire had started to erupt within the shooting gallery, bullets racing off to meet their intended target. Everyone from Leon to Phalkon to the other six men that all wore sunglasses and smelled stronger than SPF 75 simply blasted away without any hesitation. Noisy, noisy guns. Loud enough that Leon could not possibly hear one of the men stop shooting before clip had emptied, walking up behind him. After a few minutes the gunfire ended a bit unceremoniously, earlier than it should have been for most to require reloading. Then it started up again in a way that felt more frantic and with all new sounds added on top like ricocheting bullets, angry shouts, or something even worse.

Hissing.

"THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THERE?!"

"THE MAN IN WHITE IS A DEMON!"

"WHAT?!"

"I KNEW IT!"

"IT MUST BE HIM!"

Alexander's angered yet unafraid question recieved an answer from the other side of the door leading to the range. Someone that sounded not only afraid but near death due to the gurling sound that dwelt underneath the voices. No time was spared as the hulking Alex busted straight through the door just in time to catch the second half of a gunfight. Stray shots came at him but did not go beneath his skin, clears signs of some mutant ability that granted theoretical invincibility. What he saw next showed Saint with bullet holes in his white clothing which revealed some type of dull black solid surface underneath, like armor. Yet from what the man had screamed, perhaps it was actually demonic skin that passed as a sort of armor.

Reasonable evidence to create doubt came soon enough though, as men who appeared dead now started to get back up. Most had lost their sunglasses, revealing a pair of Serpentine eyes that burned a fiery orange. Five of them had died at this point however, leaving their burning gaze to resemble mere embers. One of them was charred-looking with the top half of a Silver-Cross sticking up out of the chest in the heart's vicinity. Now who was the Demon? That same vitim who had shouted such an accusation rose up, brandishing a Mine-layer. Phalkon fired one of those darts into the flesh of Alexander, only to have it fall onto the ground between them. Not enough time existed for everyone to get away thanks to a problematic mess of men all stumbling over eachother.

*Aesplozion!*

Vespertilio was yanked unceremoniously out of a charred Serpentine corpse by a hand gloved in black before being placed insid his coat somewhere. Saint stood over one of his kills, the same one that had tried to sneak up on him, while surveying the carnage. His clothes had not a single stain or smudge on them from previous events that could be seen. Only bullet holes that revealed the reason he still walked in the land of the living. Around him the ones which had not been totally dismembered or have their hearts destroyed began to re-animate. Leon walked toward a lone hand missing most of the wrist still clutching a dangerous weapon. Thirteen men were just getting up off the ground from where a blast had knocked them as a lasersight was pointed into the main room at the one who had been acting a bit like the leader. After all he talked with red text.

"GO AHEAD! YOU'LL HAVE NO PROOF WHEN THE POLICE ARRIVE! YOU'LL BE A MURDERER!"

". . .You know, you're absolutely right."

Saint replied through the helmet as he pulled out a black device from one of the pouches at his waist & turning a dial as he was charged at from the front. Pouring out of the device came a rather acute frequency attuned to the level required to cause pain in creatures with enchanced hearing. Cries of pain followed as many of them dropped to their knees, including the one named Halpern. While they writhed in agony Leon quickly stepped around their bodies until he reached the still-living Thomas. Upon reaching the outside it became clear what was about to occur as Saint turned around just enough to aim a lasersight attached to the Mine-layer in his empty hand through the front door.

"No don't! The Range forty won't live through too many explosions! I need my job!"

"Don't worry, I'll pay for it if you keep my name from the police. Have faith."

". . .Have fai-?!"

With that reply every last explosive dart was sent through the front door, leaving only three seconds until detonation. Precious time put to use as the White Figure ran toward his motorcycle with the monocal-man still in tow behind him. Thomas watched in flabbergasted fashion right before he found his voice once again somewhere. A detonation cut off his remark early as several mutated Vampires were sent in fragments to the hereafter. It definately made enough noise to alert any authorities in the immediate vicinity. Not to mention enough dust to cloud the air making any identification practically impossible. The Mine-layer was tossed into the hands of Thomas Sirveaux, possibly as a momento of today's events or a rather serious reminder of why people often bought insurance in New York City.

Leon had left him at this point already on his white motorcycle, driving away down an alleyway while the dust poured out. Any witnesses? No one had actually bothered to pay any attention until the explosions out front. Every wall of the Range #40 was always sound-proofed to help let other buisnesses co-exist nearby. By the time anyone had come out to check, dust was everywhere without a Saint in sight.