07-14-2013, 07:31 AM
The storefront didn't give much away regarding the level of security it was likely to be working. The windows were original to the year the building was last renovated; which was probably a century ago. The door itself was just as unrevealing. Of heavy wood, a single glass pane ran down the center of it and gave shoppers a chance to peek in what they were about to enter. A normal jam fit around the edges. Solid brass hinges were bolted into the frame.
There was a reason Jaxen smoothed the smirk from sight as he entered. The decal of an abstract logo was stuck on the corner of the door. Small, but the brand it represented gave him all the information he needed.
The door swung closed behind him as he checked his 'watch'. The slick-designed armband was until now well hidden beneath his sleeve. It was an inch-wide touchscreen rather than a gear and glass timepiece: basically a flexible communication device synced to his Wallet: making for an easily accessible interface for the tools he needed. At this very moment, there were two. A timer, set for two minutes, and a WiFi grid.
Jaxen lingered about the front a good fifteen seconds. Letting the logo on the door do its job while unseen sensors cataloged his face, heart-rate, and movement patterns. Just another guy wasting time.
Of course the elephant in the room won only a passing glance. The guy wasn't a cop, that was for sure. Besides, most cops didn't have the salary to pay for a department store suit like that. It was a good effort on the man's part, but the shoes were bad. Very bad. Apparently style wasn't in the man's day job. Neither did he care too much about keeping the fact he carried a firearm concealed, Jax could pick that out as easily as he could place where men carried the goods on them. The overcoat did most of the work though, and Jax wasn't a weapon's expert. There was no way to tell what sort of weapon the man carried. Not yet anyway.
"How's it going?"
Jaxen asked, straight-faced, since it was obvious he was appraising the squatter. And he'd obviously spent too much time in the USA, where everyone waved and smiled and treated one another like childhood friends. But he moved on without caring to hear the answer. A cop would have jumped up already, rendering the countdown on Jaxen's armband worthless. Merc then? But for who? The store or someone in here?
One minute.
He passed the couple on the way toward the back. French by their accents, talking about where they were going to find dinner. The man had a book tucked under his arm and they were aiming for the front register, and Jaxen cursed to himself. Now where the hell was Denis?
He checked the WiFi grid app on his band. The range wasn't great, not with these floor to ceiling shelves disrupting the signal, but the lone anomaly of a slowly moving form finally came into view. Two aisles away, Jaxen found the kid milling about in a dusty aisle like he had all the time in the world and not forty-five seconds until all hell broke loose.
"You work here?"
Jaxen asked, voice so far normal.
He wasn't really a kid, but the last Jaxen saw of him he still had that doe-eyed look of a glamorized criminal in his eye. Denis glanced up, "Uh, yeah?" He answered just as his eyes widened in recognition. Jaxen quickly approached.
"I'm looking for--"
Then he dropped the sound of his voice, but that he was pissed was still loud and clear. "What the hell are you doing Denis! You've been out, what, six weeks?"
Denis looked agasp. "Nine and a half, actually. And i'm doing a job!"
Jaxen showed him the countdown on his band. "Well you better hurry it up, because Custody devils will be pouring in here in about twenty seconds."
"What!" Denis grabbed Jaxen's wrist, twisting the band around to see the timer for himself.
"Facial recognition, genius! You hit this place in '41."
Jax snatched his arm back and Denis suddenly looked horrified. "Give me the billfold you pulled. Now, Denis!"
"Fine." he slapped the stolen billfold into Jaxen's palm.
They parted. Denis rushing to look for a way out the back, though he was cutting it close. He'd be lucky to make it out of the alley without getting snatched. And the CCD pretty much ass-raped parole violators. Shit, Denis.
Jaxen strolled up to the front just as the Frenchman was searching for his billfold at the register. At which point, Jax set the thing on the counter alongside his chosen book purchase, "Found this on the floor back there,"
and the man gasped, then started rattling off babble in French that Jax assumed were praises.
The two French tourists, Jaxen and the clerk simultaneously looked up as a line of uniformed Custody devils barged in the front door. Four of them, all dressed in charcoal gray with the orange and black D-I patch clear as day on their arms. The Custody officers were so affectionately coined as devils because the Custody colors designed on their uniforms gave them a sinister appearance that was nearly cartoonish. Not that they were anything to laugh at. They ordered everyone in sight to their knees while two fanned out to run down the back in search of the man that triggered their response.
The tourists immediately dropped, ashen, and mouths gaping like the Ascendancy was personally about to haul them to the famous Moscow torture chambers. The clerk held himself in better form, coming out to where the Devils could see him and calmly going to his knees.
Jaxen glanced at the merc in the corner, or whatever he was, and wondered how he'd handle this--mostly out of curiosity than feeling like he posed an immediate threat. Though by the looks of the guy, Jax didn't want to meet the bad side of his temper in a dark alley anytime soon.
"Come on guys. This is a good tux."
He gestured, palms up. One of the devils immediately fixed him in his sights with a nice red laser beam aimed on his chest. Jaxen was no threat, just a guy who didn't want to get his knees dirty. Surely they could see that. Or, at least, surely they could see the chance for a nice trade here. Jaxen keeps his tux clean and a normal joe gets to take his wife out for the kind dinner that should get him an extraordinary gesture of appreciation in the bedroom--or the cab ride home--afterward. Jaxen slowly reached under his coat, going for one of the bills he carried for this exact reason. But the devil wasn't an ordinary Custody cop. He was from the Red Square. And Jaxen had overlooked the small MP Patch on his opposite arm.
Red Square MP's were nearly impossible to bribe, and in this situation, the man had to assume Jaxen was going for a weapon, not a buy off. But it was too late, and all Jax could do was not fight being hurled down. His cheek was smashed to the floor and arms were immediately wrenched behind his back: effectively rendered neutral while he was searched for weapons. They found none, of course. But by then, his tie was already ruined. Goddamn it Denis.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Jul 14 2013, 07:44 AM.
There was a reason Jaxen smoothed the smirk from sight as he entered. The decal of an abstract logo was stuck on the corner of the door. Small, but the brand it represented gave him all the information he needed.
The door swung closed behind him as he checked his 'watch'. The slick-designed armband was until now well hidden beneath his sleeve. It was an inch-wide touchscreen rather than a gear and glass timepiece: basically a flexible communication device synced to his Wallet: making for an easily accessible interface for the tools he needed. At this very moment, there were two. A timer, set for two minutes, and a WiFi grid.
Jaxen lingered about the front a good fifteen seconds. Letting the logo on the door do its job while unseen sensors cataloged his face, heart-rate, and movement patterns. Just another guy wasting time.
Of course the elephant in the room won only a passing glance. The guy wasn't a cop, that was for sure. Besides, most cops didn't have the salary to pay for a department store suit like that. It was a good effort on the man's part, but the shoes were bad. Very bad. Apparently style wasn't in the man's day job. Neither did he care too much about keeping the fact he carried a firearm concealed, Jax could pick that out as easily as he could place where men carried the goods on them. The overcoat did most of the work though, and Jax wasn't a weapon's expert. There was no way to tell what sort of weapon the man carried. Not yet anyway.
"How's it going?"
Jaxen asked, straight-faced, since it was obvious he was appraising the squatter. And he'd obviously spent too much time in the USA, where everyone waved and smiled and treated one another like childhood friends. But he moved on without caring to hear the answer. A cop would have jumped up already, rendering the countdown on Jaxen's armband worthless. Merc then? But for who? The store or someone in here?
One minute.
He passed the couple on the way toward the back. French by their accents, talking about where they were going to find dinner. The man had a book tucked under his arm and they were aiming for the front register, and Jaxen cursed to himself. Now where the hell was Denis?
He checked the WiFi grid app on his band. The range wasn't great, not with these floor to ceiling shelves disrupting the signal, but the lone anomaly of a slowly moving form finally came into view. Two aisles away, Jaxen found the kid milling about in a dusty aisle like he had all the time in the world and not forty-five seconds until all hell broke loose.
"You work here?"
Jaxen asked, voice so far normal.
He wasn't really a kid, but the last Jaxen saw of him he still had that doe-eyed look of a glamorized criminal in his eye. Denis glanced up, "Uh, yeah?" He answered just as his eyes widened in recognition. Jaxen quickly approached.
"I'm looking for--"
Then he dropped the sound of his voice, but that he was pissed was still loud and clear. "What the hell are you doing Denis! You've been out, what, six weeks?"
Denis looked agasp. "Nine and a half, actually. And i'm doing a job!"
Jaxen showed him the countdown on his band. "Well you better hurry it up, because Custody devils will be pouring in here in about twenty seconds."
"What!" Denis grabbed Jaxen's wrist, twisting the band around to see the timer for himself.
"Facial recognition, genius! You hit this place in '41."
Jax snatched his arm back and Denis suddenly looked horrified. "Give me the billfold you pulled. Now, Denis!"
"Fine." he slapped the stolen billfold into Jaxen's palm.
They parted. Denis rushing to look for a way out the back, though he was cutting it close. He'd be lucky to make it out of the alley without getting snatched. And the CCD pretty much ass-raped parole violators. Shit, Denis.
Jaxen strolled up to the front just as the Frenchman was searching for his billfold at the register. At which point, Jax set the thing on the counter alongside his chosen book purchase, "Found this on the floor back there,"
and the man gasped, then started rattling off babble in French that Jax assumed were praises.
The two French tourists, Jaxen and the clerk simultaneously looked up as a line of uniformed Custody devils barged in the front door. Four of them, all dressed in charcoal gray with the orange and black D-I patch clear as day on their arms. The Custody officers were so affectionately coined as devils because the Custody colors designed on their uniforms gave them a sinister appearance that was nearly cartoonish. Not that they were anything to laugh at. They ordered everyone in sight to their knees while two fanned out to run down the back in search of the man that triggered their response.
The tourists immediately dropped, ashen, and mouths gaping like the Ascendancy was personally about to haul them to the famous Moscow torture chambers. The clerk held himself in better form, coming out to where the Devils could see him and calmly going to his knees.
Jaxen glanced at the merc in the corner, or whatever he was, and wondered how he'd handle this--mostly out of curiosity than feeling like he posed an immediate threat. Though by the looks of the guy, Jax didn't want to meet the bad side of his temper in a dark alley anytime soon.
"Come on guys. This is a good tux."
He gestured, palms up. One of the devils immediately fixed him in his sights with a nice red laser beam aimed on his chest. Jaxen was no threat, just a guy who didn't want to get his knees dirty. Surely they could see that. Or, at least, surely they could see the chance for a nice trade here. Jaxen keeps his tux clean and a normal joe gets to take his wife out for the kind dinner that should get him an extraordinary gesture of appreciation in the bedroom--or the cab ride home--afterward. Jaxen slowly reached under his coat, going for one of the bills he carried for this exact reason. But the devil wasn't an ordinary Custody cop. He was from the Red Square. And Jaxen had overlooked the small MP Patch on his opposite arm.
Red Square MP's were nearly impossible to bribe, and in this situation, the man had to assume Jaxen was going for a weapon, not a buy off. But it was too late, and all Jax could do was not fight being hurled down. His cheek was smashed to the floor and arms were immediately wrenched behind his back: effectively rendered neutral while he was searched for weapons. They found none, of course. But by then, his tie was already ruined. Goddamn it Denis.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Jul 14 2013, 07:44 AM.