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+--- Thread: Two can play that (/showthread.php?tid=45)
Two can play that - Amanda - 12-20-2024
TAISA;
The file landed on her desk with uncanny precision, arriving at exactly the right moment. She knew the exact reason it had been handed to her, and no one else. When it came to her job, she was unrivaled—the best of the best, which was why she had ascended the ranks so swiftly. Her presence commanded attention. Eyes turned away as she passed, and her stride exuded an authority that demanded respect. One of the few women in her field, yet no one dared test her.
“We need him taken care of.”
She flipped open the file, her eyes scanning the image of a man she didn’t recognize. Handsome, undeniably so. But that wasn’t her focus. Her job wasn’t to swoon. Without hesitation, she flicked through the papers, absorbing the details of his operations. A man who funneled money from corporations to line his pockets. No one could prove it—until now, that was.
"I’ll have him shut down by noon." Her words hung in the air, cool and confident, and everyone around her knew she meant it.
Leaning back in her chair, she opened her computer and began to work. It took her a few moments to track him down, but when she did, her hands moved swiftly. His money would never reach his bank again; she locked him out, all while quietly diverting some of his profits into her own accounts. With a crack of her knuckles, she dove into the code, typing furiously. One final keystroke would bring his entire operation to a screeching halt. “Light work,” she murmured to herself, the weight of her success barely registering.
She rose from her chair, her movements precise. Her gun was holstered on her thigh, tucked beneath the folds of her trench coat. There was no way in hell she’d walk into a gunfight armed with anything less. Tracking him down was easier than dismantling his empire. When she finally reached his doorstep, she approached with the quiet assurance of someone who had no intention of being turned away. She knocked gently at first, but when he didn’t answer, her knocks grew more insistent, more demanding.
She wasn’t leaving until she met this modern-day Robin Hood.
RE: Two can play that - Kat - 12-20-2024
He's still piecing a new operations room together when he hears it; the first knock, and then persistent next fucking God knows how many unnecessary knocks. They were unnecessary because wasn't going to answer the fucking door, and they whoever it was, they were only wasting their time. Right now, he has his hands buried in wires and connectors and occasionally a bottle of beer that he's replaced for his dinner. There's a wire not connecting where it should be and it is fucking his whole night up. But what fucked his whole fucking *career up* in a moments notice is not the instant freeze he had on all of his deeply buried accounts and connections, or the traces and leads and bugs he has deep in some of the world's biggest fucking scam artists—but the rage induced self sabotage he let himself so ungraciously perform when it all happened.
Everything in front of him is brand new, save for a few back up pieces he's saved for just this occasion. Not too long ago he smashed every device, every piece of furniture, every piece of anything he could get his hands on the second he was shut down by some fucking scumbag that didn't know what he was actually shutting down while stuffed his face with those greasy, god awful heart attack inducing snacks Americans called *chips*.
It's when the knock on the door persists and he has half a mind to go fucking crazy again so soon that he takes in what has to be the world's biggest, longest mood easing breaths known to man—that he slowly removes his hands from his equipment and takes a glance at a single, small screen laying on his—brand new—desk. The camera to the front door shows Noone, nothing. He chalks it up to a couple of kids creeping through the woods and finding the manor and playing ding dong ditch—until he notices the slightest of dark flashes just infront of his door. There's a small spec of something where it doesn't fit in, and of one didn't look near as closely as he always did, it would go unnoticed. His lip twitches, watching and waiting to see if he's correct, and he begins to notice the same movements, the same environment save for that single little oddity that slowly makes him realize his cameras are infact still bugged—still bugged because he's watching a fucking repeat of the last few hours playing on his own screen. He picks up the tablet showing him yet another piece of his undoing and connects the back side of it with his knee, not bothering to watch it's screen shatter and crack in half. He let's it fall to the floor as he takes off to the stairs that lead him down a dimly lit hallway, where he slams a fist on a hardly noticeable button that's been formed into the wall and a doorway opens up to another set of stairs. He's skipped many, too eager to see the face he's planning on a lodging a bullet in.
He strides down more hallways, annoyed at just how fucking big their home is, and finally comes to a pillar in the foyer. Leaning onto it, facing the door, he's pulling a hand gun from the waist band in his jeans at his back and inspects it as another hand slaps a button on a monitor by the pillar. There's a short symphony of locks unlocking and hydraulic lines releasing to allow the door to swing open causally. The moment he has a clear view of the step just outside the door as it opens, his gun is already pointed low to the ground and he fires off a single shot. His ears ring as the shot echoes ofdcthe empty halls of the manor. But his gun is now waving in a "come" motion the stranger at his doorstep to come in as he loudly welcomes them with. A Please, come in, oh and watch your step., he so kindly advises them. Without fearing the chance of a fire back he only runs on adrenaline as he speaks again, less louder as his ears stop ringing—and he reminds himself to put the silencer back on— "I have a wicked headache, and sometimes only a good shot of lead will ease it—get it, the lead sh—" he stops his insanity as he notices short locks, a shorter stature, and features no where near to what he was initially imagining. He laughs near instantly. "You are definitely not the three hundred pound American pig covered in greasy snacks that I was imagining!" he was intrigued now, still offended and pissed but intrigued nonetheless. A bright white smile lights up the darker features of his face. His gun is still aimed at the spot where she stands, while he takes a few steps back and extends an arm as he bows to welcome her in, his eyes never leaving her figure while a dark grin plays across his lips.