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SenTinel

The unknown is what keeps us safe.

1 · 257 views · located in The Abandoned Slums

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Moonscar

Groups

Registered citizen of the Terran National Government

Description

Sennen T. Noel - Kid Mercenary


Image
Age: 19
Gender: n/a

Species: Human
Race: Chinese Caucasian

Nationality: Terra
Place of Birth: N/a
Current Residence: N/a
Occupation: Mercenary

Appearance:
With brown eyes, brown hair combed back in spikes, and pallid skin, Sen looks like your usual just-out-of-those-teenaged-years kid. That is, if it was not for the gas mask upon their face, worn at all times with minimum exceptions. Usual apparel consists of a large army coat and baggy pants.


Weapons:

-A .45 usp and a UMP45
-One KABAR knife
-Two M67’s
-One M18


Other:
The gasmask has an inbuilt voice synthesizer that Sen uses to communicate. It goes between the voice of Microsoft Sam and Microsoft Mary.

Sennen T. Noel - The Early Days

So begins...

SenTinel's Story

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The bar door was pushed open, complaining, as it normally did, in a chorus of squeaks and groans.

The person who made their way inside was hardly odd, especially in comparison to the many others who were, indeed, strangers in more than one fashion.

Sen was of a fairly common height; five seven. Sen also had plain, combed back brown hair, tanned skin, and light brown eyes.

The only strange thing about Sen was the gasmask that covered the soldier's nose, mouth, and a good portion of their throat.

There was a UMP45 machine gun slung over one of the soldier's shoulders. They wore a heavy green coat and baggy pants. There was nothing leaning toward one or the other gender with them.

Sen was just...Sen.

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The soldier made their way to the counter, dumping themself into a stool. Rough breaths were audible through the gas mask. Sen reached for a touch-screen menu, dialing in an order.

From within their coat, Sen produced a plastic bag with a thin tube sticking from it. As a water bottle was placed in front of the youth, it was quickly emptied into the plastic bag.

For a moment, Sen paused, that sensation of being watched haunting them. Hazel eyes darted toward Anton, lingering upon him for a moment. It was uncomfortable enough to do such a thing in the vacancy of other people, but with someone actually watching?

With a grunt, the soldier simply continued until the bag was full, then sealed it. Before they would continue, however, they would once again look back, this time at the Invictus members.

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The bar door was pushed open, complaining, as it normally did, in a chorus of squeaks and groans.

The person who made their way inside was hardly odd, especially in comparison to the other who was, indeed, a stranger in more than one fashion.

Sen was of a fairly common height; five seven. Sen also had plain, combed back brown hair, tanned skin, and light brown eyes. The only strange thing about Sen was the gasmask that covered the soldier's nose, mouth, and a good portion of their throat.

There was a UMP45 machine gun slung over one of the soldier's shoulders. They wore a heavy green coat and baggy pants. There was nothing leaning toward one or the other gender with them.

Sen was just...Sen.

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The gas maske'd individual turned their eyes toward the cat.

Three seconds passed.

"That's what I should be saying," came the very robotic, outdated, Microsoft Sam voice, straight from the gas mask. "You're a talking cat, I noticed."

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The soldier's hand came up to the side of the mask, and a small slick registered.

"Perhaps it was this one," came Microsoft Mary. The soldier's cheeks lifted lightly, indicating what was perhaps a smile. "There were more, from my understanding."

At note of the Invictus members, Sen looked back. They had not been there the whole time, had they? Notice went to the weapons.

That was worrisome.

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"Lets just say I'm mute."

Which was not entirely a lie. Sen could certainly make sounds. Just not words. "What kinds of drinks they have? Not...just...does water cost here? I'm...foreign."

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Sen's eyes studied the computer screen. Was...that real? There were computers here...and cars were in such an abundance on the street. Sen certainly wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Or, rather, post apocalyptic Washington.

Tentatively, the soldier reached out a hand and touched the screen. No buttons, like the machines back in Washington.

It did not take long to figure out how to order. Soon, a water came. The soldier's eyes grew wide. "That's a little impressive."

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The bar door was pushed open, complaining, as it normally did, in a chorus of squeaks and groans.

The person who made their way inside was hardly odd, especially in comparison to the many others who were, indeed, strangers in more than one fashion.

Sen was of a fairly common height; five seven. Sen also had plain, combed back brown hair, tanned skin, and light brown eyes. The only strange thing about Sen was the gasmask that covered the soldier's nose, mouth, and a good portion of their throat.

There was a UMP45 machine gun slung over one of the soldier's shoulders. They wore a heavy green coat and baggy pants. There was nothing leaning toward one or the other gender with them.

Sen was just...Sen.

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Sen's hands immediately came to the machine gun at their side, the soldier taking a rather startled step back. What the hell was going on? Aschen?

Needless to say, the soldier was rather new to Terra as a whole. Their eyes twitched over the Terran Resistance soldiers.

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Into Gambit's bar came Sen.

It was nothing new, to wear a gas mask into the bar, nor was it anything strange to be be armed with a gun. Slung right over Sen's shoulder was a UMP45, and on the soldier's belt were three grenades. In a holster on the other side of the belt, a large knife.

The soldier with the gas mask was hardly fooling around. This city, and the one they had come from, was dangerous.

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With one other coming in after them, Sen just had to look back, brown eyes scrolling along Adam and his bloody knife. The soldier kept a wary eye, but otherwise made their way to the counter, swiftly ordering a glass of rum.

It would be difficult to drink, especially with the business of the bar, but it was high time the soldier learned to deal with it. After all, there was hardly any privacy in the city, and no money to buy a decent place. Not just yet.

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Sen quickly looked to the side as yet another patron made his way in.

This one looked a tad familiar.

The soldier kept staring at Flux, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. They both wore gas masks and were both armed. A long sigh filtered through Sen's mask.

"You're shitting me," came the voice of Microsoft Sam from Sen's mask.

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Sen's hands clasped atop the bar counter, right as the rum came. It was perplexing, the other gas mask'ed individual.

It wasn't rare, but it was still surprising.

Though, as Flux refused to answer, the soldier simply took the rum, looking at it with a bit of a loss.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?"

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Sen's eyes locked with Flux's own.

"And what do you hear?" asked Sen. It sounded like a stupid question, but it meant more than what was on the surface. Sen had already caught on that this other individual, to who they suspected was male, was some sort of mercenary. Or something of the like.

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The bar door was pushed open, complaining, as it normally did, in a chorus of squeaks and groans.

The person who made their way inside was hardly odd, especially in comparison to everyone else who normally came in, who indeed were strangers in more than one fashion.

Sen was of a fairly common height; five seven, and also had plain, combed back brown hair, tanned skin, and brown eyes. The only strange thing about Sen was the gasmask that covered the soldier's nose, mouth, and a good portion of their throat.

There was a UMP45 machine gun slung over one of the soldier's shoulders, combined with wearing a heavy green coat and baggy pants. There was no telling about anything with the soldier. Nothing specific.

Sen was just...Sen.

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The soldier's head turned so slowly that a satellite landed on mars before Sen's eyes reached Paul.

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"You were teased as a child, weren't you?"


The robotic, and unmistakable Microsoft Mary voice staticked out of the gasmask, the soldier's eyes narrowed in annoyance.
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"Perhaps you're lonely. You're not going to fix that with me."

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"I'm sure you're absolutely distraught."


Sen reached up to snatch the piece of paper off the counter, running their eyes over it. The rumbling of the bar did not perturb them. They were born on a battlefield, after all. They looked it over thoroughly, then put it down.

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"I have to wait that long to say yes?"

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"Wouldn't be hard to decline after. But you're a white collar. Of course you wouldn't understand."
said Microsoft Sam.
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"Fine. Go. We'll talk later."
replied the soldier, dialing in a quick order.

Water. Just a large gallon of H2O.

The setting changes from gambits-bar to Canti's Diner

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The small bell atop the door jingled, signaling that the slightly haggard soldier with the gas mask was inside. Their boots were heavy on the wooden floor, giving them away even more. The soldier did not mind. They weren't trying to be silent.

Coming in, those brown eyes glued themselves onto the only current living being in there; Paul Sanderson.

They thumped over to his table, then drew the chair out none too gently. After dumping themselves into it, they leaned back.

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"Well?"

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Handcuffs.

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"Or a bullet?"
asked Sen, fingers tapping on the table.
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"That's a lot of money. More than any job I've taken before. Something tells me this isn't going to be a walk in the park. I've dealt with dangerous individuals before, but this might be something out of my caliber.
they explained.

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"Why is she dangerous? What can she do?"

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"Sounds like a personal problem."
replied Sen. They sank in their chair, hands resting atop their stomach. They looked up to the ceiling, bangs flopping on the backrest. Briefly, what could have been a contemplative sigh was pressed out of a compressed department for air. It issued a high whine.

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"Want out? You've hooked me in. When do I start?"

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"What can Kamala do? Does he have weapons? How many enemies am I facing?"
the soldier asked, taking the file and opening it immediately. Their eyes scrolled it rather quickly. When one didn't exactly enjoy communicating with others, holing up in a rented space with a few books in spare time became a..."fun" hobby.

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"Does the cell phone have a tracking device?"

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"Understood."
said Sen.
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"I deal with wild cards fairly well."
After all, they were a wild card, themself.

They got up from the table, moving their chair to the side.
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"How do I know you'll pay me and I won't just get jipped?"
came their final question.

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"I don't do jobs for free. I need money. I like living."

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Sen greedily grabbed for the money, opening their jacket a slit to stuff it into an in-pocket. Enough for anything they needed at the moment.
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"Deal for now."
Sen replied.

Enough for equipment. A better ventilation system. A better machine to keep their airways clean.
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"I'll be off. You'll get this woman by the end of the week."

The setting changes from cantis-diner to Taylor's Bar

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Character Portrait: Elizabeth Fern Character Portrait: Harriet Maria Mayers Character Portrait: Kamala Ainsley Character Portrait: Paul Sanderson Character Portrait: SenTinel Character Portrait: Frank Bonaparte

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Amidst a group of glowing, clicking monitors, throwing deep green shadows across the darkened room, Paul Sanderson fiddled with a headset above his left ear. His right hand braced on a large black handrail, his eyes focused upward at the giant, flat-screen monitor that portrayed a filmy, grainy image.

Taylor's Bar.

As he finished adjusting the microphone, he turned away from the image, wiping wet palms on his jeans, nerves suddenly jumping into his gut.

"Okay, people," he said, beginning to walk around the room and adressing the five operators, all clacking at keyboards, "we have skirmish one approaching. The paid help is en route, the target's located at Set Point Lyra. Our objective is eyes and ears only, and do not engage."

He waited until five hushed voices whispered their consent, nodding in satisfaction.

"Open the hushed casket."

---

Harriet opened her eyes, sitting up in the borrowed room of Taylor's bar, Liz's hospitality still fresh in her mind. The woman hadn't asked much more past their awkward coffee date, just pointed to her room and bade her goodnight. The quiet understanding was far more welcome to the fugitive than any sort of pity would've been.

She stood to her feet, stretching out her limbs, feeling her back pop uncomfortably. Still clad in her clothes, now rumpled and dirty, she went in search of her host.

"Uh, Liz?" she hollered.

"Que pasa?!" Came the hollered return.

The room that was directly adjascent to Harriet's temporary sleeping quarters was open and empty, lights spilling in from the high-rise windows that faced East. The glossy, retired dance floor showed scuff marks and deep scratches, but not an ounce of dust or dirt marred its surface. People stopped coming to dance when Taylor had left, but that didn't mean that Liz let the place go into disrepair. It was just empty, hollow, lacking in the warmth and the welcoming feel it used to have.

Kind of like Liz.

She emerged from a room in the back, carrying what looked like a plate of food. She left it on the polished bar counter, looking to Harriet with a question written on her face.

"Sleep okay? Took you long enough to wake up."

Harriet shrugged. "Well, being on the run will do that to a gal. What are you up to?"

"I...was cooking. Or trying to cook. It's been a while since I've tried playing at housewife."

Whatever she'd made didn't look too bad. It actually smelled pretty good...whatever it was. Liz looked a bit annoyed as she glanced down at the plate. "Might order out. Or drink. Drinking's always good."

She glanced towards the rafters, dusting off her hands before crossing the dance floor and heading over towards what looked like a fire-escape that lead to the roof. "I heard noises a little while ago. Like something was walking on the roof. Knowing this place, its probably a demon or some kind of werewolf," she made a face, beginning to climb so she could get to the catwalks that criss-crossed the ceiling.

"So, were you going to leave or stay, Red?"

Harriet shoved her hands deep into her pockets, jingling spare change and watching the other woman climb. "I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome," she said, cautiously, "and you're pretty in danger here. I mean - didn't you say this place had been broken into once before?"

"A few times, but listen," She leaned her head over the railing, her dark hair hanging around her shoulders like a curtain. "...my husband used to take in people all the time, regardless of risk. He's gone, but his hospitality isn't. You're welcome to stay as long as you're comfortable, ok?"

She pulled back, jogging over to a platform that stood behind one of the massive windows. She'd had it replaced a long time ago, after the bullet holes and broken pieces made the place just a little too drafty for comfort.

Her brow was knit as she looked outside, down on the street below. Nobody. Nothing. This wasn't as difficult as she thought it would be.

Before she could move away from the window, however, a figure came into view. Kamala's. That was obvious enough, by the black hair on his head and the stagger in his step, by which the wound on his thigh hadn't fully healed. He seemed intent, however intent a walk could make a person seem. That, and he was headed for the door of Taylor's Bar, if only for the lingering suspicion that things might have gone amiss since he'd left it.

The establishment's doors were open, and that's surely how he made his way in. As soon as he'd stepped place in the marred establishment, he'd given a concerned holler and shut the door behind him.

"Liz?"

----

"The players are in position," Paul said, gripping harder at the hand rail. "Signal our b-, er, signal... the operative. Start recordings, and keep the tapes spinning. Two for acknowledgement."

A staccatto of clicks burst from high mounted speakers, and Paul nodded in satisfaction.

----

Harriet's eyes widened at the voice, dropping into a defensive crouch as her hand pulled a straight razor from a pocket, flipping it open.

"Were you expecting company?" she hissed towards Liz.

"Down girl," the woman replied, jogging back over to the ladder and gripping the outter rails. Rather than wait to climb down, she slid, landing with a slight bounce to her step before jogging over to the front door, undoing the lock, and pulling it open.

"You're alone, right?" she asked Kamala, her expression unreadable.

"Alone's I'll always be. I was just checkin' in on you." Kamala said, and seemed to want to press past Liz and get into the establishment. "Nothing's happened, right? Not since fuckly Mc. Vandalization broke in? I'll leave as soon as you tell me to, but if anythin', I didn't want to drag you into this whole shit."

The girl that was also in presence had gone unnoticed by him, as of then.

Liz's smile was a bit sheepish, but at least she was smiling.

"Er, well," she opened the door a bit wider, so he could see Harriet still crouching with the knife clutched tight in her hand. Liz was watching Kamala's face, her expression suddenly tight.

"You didn't drag me in." she reassured him. "I invited myself into the mess all on my own. Harriet," she lifted her voice, turning back to look at the girl.

"You were looking for Kamala, weren't you?"

The woman the question was directed at uncoiled slowly, her eyes taking in Kamala from toe to head as she straightened. She folded her arms across her chest, her face relaxing when Kamala appeared to be very alone, indeed.

"I was. Do you... Were you followed?" she asked, peering around him on tiptoe.

But, as soon as the red hair of Harriet had caught Kamala's eyes, he wore what was a disgusted combination of scowl and surprise.

"What the fuck is she doing here?!" he almost yelled, and pointed a hand at the woman in question. "Gee, I don't know, was I followed, Harriet?! Christ! Why did you let her in here?"

Liz was dumbstruck, literally silenced in her surprise at Kamala's immediate reaction.

He didn't know whether to be outraged or relieved that he'd get a chance to finally talk to the girl who seemed to be causing all of his problems. Naturally, the man had defaulted to outrage, and sidestepped Harriet to find his way to the bar. For a moment, his hands balled on the marred countertops, before he spun, and pointed his gaze at the redhead again.

"Did you psychically mindfuck your way in here, too?"

"BEFORE we all start screaming at each other, why don't you explain why the fuck you've gone apeshit?"

Liz seemed to snap from her surprise, reverting to anger. She looked between Harriet and Kamala. "Am I not seeing the whole picture here?"

There was something she was missing. Kamala was an angry man, but he didn't get hostile without good reason.

Harriet raised her brows, her lips set in a thin line. "Are we believing fairy tales from the men who tried to kill you? Kamala, I thought you were smarter than that."

She shook her head. "What the full picture is, is Kamala saved me from a crazed kidnapper. I was captive on his ship, and he was to take me back to Sanderson. Kamala - with a lot of heroics, actually, it was rather dashing - incapacitated the man, and freed me. I then took care of him."

She shook her head in disgust. "I knew they'd get to you first, Kamala. And... I'm sorry for what you've heard. I know I have no right to ask you anything, but could you hear me out? One last time?"

"The part she's forgetting to tell you is that the crazy bitch made me shove a body into an incinerator with her. You were a lot less kissass when you were telling me how much of a fuckin' idiot I was, lady. And how much shit I'd be in if I didn't toss Kane's body with you." he growled, though he kept himself placated at the bar.

"You've got the speak-stick now that you're here, I guess. Shoot out some shit that'd probably get me screwed in another way, just like everyone else has done. Go 'head."

Someone had walked in at an opportune time, it seemed.

The kid was standing at the entrance, staring at Kamala and Harriet as they argued, one brow raised. They hardly had room to talk about shock or strangeness. After all, arguments were normal, everyday things. The kid? With their gasmask and heavy army jacket, backpack with a tube of water hanging out of the side? Was just slightly more strange.

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"...should I come back?"


And then there was that voice. Robotic. Unreal. Devoid of emotion. Like a program application from a computer, coming straight from the gasmask.

"Shut the fuck up, Kamala. You're still an idiot." Liz spat.

She got this distinct feeling that someone was watching her from behind. Glancing over her shoulder, she startled, taking a step sideways so she could turn and stare at the newcomer. Kamala's presence was relatively welcomed...but this person?

"Unless you've got a good reason, I don't think you should," she replied immediately. "Bar's closed."

"A shame. I just got shot at in Gambit's," came the voice again. "Was just looking for somewhere to stock up and get a drink..."

Harriet suddenly squinted at the newcomer, beginning to move forwards, cautiously approaching the gasmasked fellow.

"You look... familiar," she said, cautiously. "Kamala, they aren't with you?"

Harriet's footsteps closed, further and further on the person, taking her away from Liz and Kamala.

"No." Kamala abruptly answered, though his quick tongue had come from the frustration of being hushed and shut down rather than suspiciousness of the newcomer. "Fuck if I know them, just do whatever. Not like I have any say in shit that goes down around here."

The kid seemed almost pleased that someone, in the very least, had decided to approach them. Their eyes squinted at the sides, as though a smile had forced them to narrow. "I don't think we have ever met." came the voice of Microsoft Mary from the gasmask. They extended their hand. "But my name is Sen. You are?"

They peered at Kamala and Liz for a moment, before letting their eyes pin onto Harriet's face.

"You might if you didn't up and leave." Liz hissed, deciding to place herself at Kamala's side. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed and a scowl fixed on her face.

"So, you came back cuz you were worried about me?" she asked in an undertone. "It's cute."

Her eyes were staring hard at Sen.

Harriet frowned, taking another step forwards so that her and the strange figure were almost toe to toe, her head cocking slightly.

You're working with Sanderson.

The words were not spoken; but projected directly into Sen's mind, in Harriet's disembodied voice.

"My name's Harriet," she said, aloud.

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"Oh. Excellent."
said Sen. Before Harriet would be able to react, the soldier whipped out a pistol, slamming the butt into her temple. As she went limp, they curled an arm around her shoulder to keep her up, and pointed the gun to her head.

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"I'll be taking my leave now, so don't worry,"
they said to Liz, backing up toward the door.
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"I've got what I came for."


The instant the butt of the gun struck Harriet's head, Liz had stepped out, her own pistol cocked and aimed for Sen's face.

"Take one more step and I'll blow a hole in your face." she said darkly.

Sen quickly tucked their face behind Harriet's back.
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"You run the risk of killing her. Frankly, I don't mind."


Kamala was undecided. He didn't entirely object to having Harriet taken away, and then again, he also had a cultivated hatred for the girl for bringing him into such a mess in the first place. Even if it hadn't been her fault.

He was undecided on that too.

But he drew that same black, worn pistol from beforehand from out the back of his waistband, and drew it to point at Harriet and Sen.

"If you're working for Sanderson, I'm pretty sure they want the broad alive. I don't know how happy and willin' to pay they'd be if you brought her back dead, kid."

"They never said to nab her alive. Just to nab her." Sen replied.

---

Paul scratched at his chin, his eyes glued to the monitor. This was interesting; the operative was a lot better than he thought if they could grab Harriet so fast.

"Okay, let's circle in. Maybe give them a hand. Alpha, I want you to-"

Paul paused, then, gripping the railing harder as he peered closer at the monitor. Something didn't add up.

"Can someone tell me who the fuck that is!?"

---

Another figure had quietly opened the door to Taylor's. He was lean and casual, and when he'd opened the door to see a captive Harriet, and an offender, Sen, he didn't look quite as surprised as someone should have, coming into a hostage scene. He also didn't look quite as unprepared. With a hefty hatch of construction wood in his hand, he stepped to the back of the two, and felled the object onto the back of Sen's head.

The kid's eyes widened a moment, all before their lids sagged and the soldier collapsed onto the ground, gun firing once into the wall before it flew out of their hand, nearly striking an equally collapsing Harriet. The two landed on top of each other in an odd mockery of an 'X' shape, all entwined limbs and closed eyes.

Liz slowly lowered the gun, glancing to Kamala before turning on the safety and tucking the weapon in the back lip of her jeans. She approached the pair cautiously, before getting Harriet under the arms and dragging her off of Sen. Glancing up at the newcomer, she didn't bother smiling, just watched to make sure he didn't brain her too.

She was totaly depending on Kamala to keep this guy under control.

"Someone's going to pay for that goddamned bullet hole." she muttered.

"That good? I did a good job?" The newcomer asked, his eyes flitting from Liz, to Kamala, to Harriet. Then, to Sen, the one he downed. "I saw a gun and a chick with a gun at her head. Heard you guys in here shouting about something. Guess I came in at the right time."

The man hesitated for a minute, oddly calm, given the circumstances.

"Uh... So, should I call the police? And, the chick - dude - chick? The chick with the gun should probably be... Shit, I dunno. Restrained or something. Loose fucking cannons, in this city."

He reached for his phone, only to have his wrist grasped by Kamala.

"Call the police, and I'll take that block of wood and hit you over the head with it. Who the fuck're you?" the smaller man questioned.

"The... guy who just saved a poor janitor the job of cleaning up brain matter?"

---

"I need a line on the newcomer. Get me Photo I.D. Jameson, call HQ, tell them the bird's gone bust, and we won't see that money anytime soon. Mark - where the hell is Mark?"

Paul whirled around in a tight circle, like a dog chasing his tail for a moment, until a younge aide popped up behind him. Paul leapt backwards with a gasp of air.

"Fuck, Mark. I told you to keep in front of me. I need a coffee. No, a drink. No, a drink in the coffee. You know what, just bring a goddamn coffee machine and a forty down here. It's going to be a long night."

Paul watched the man walk away, turned back to the monitor, and sighed.

"Where the fuck did he come from."

---

"We're trying to keep this whole thing on the down-lo," Liz grunted, still dragging Harriet's prone form back to the guest bedroom where she'd slept the night before. "No offense, but the police wouldn't really handle this the way we'd want them to."

All of their asses would end up in jail.

"One sec..." she called, disappearing with Harriet in tow, before she deposited the girl on the mattress, flipped up her legs and turned her into the recovery position. With a heavy sigh, Liz stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.