Bad Rep [[Open]]

[Robyn Loxley]

It was just an ordinary night over at the "high toned and fancy to-do" part of the district. The air was mild and balmy, with just the tiniest hint of a breeze to take the edge off. The streets were alight with the glow of the neon signs over shop windows and lamp-posts lining the sidewalk. Not a soul was in sight, with the exception of some smelly old vagrant curled up on one of the stone benches with only the stench of stale booze and his own odour to keep him company whilst he slept. Yes. It was safe to say that for at least now, the area - with it's small lawns and rosebushes sprawled out decoratively outside in the gap between each posh store - was at peace.

The soft crunch of tires upon tarmac followed the dazzle of bright headlights as a black mini-van turned the corner and pulled up in one of the alleyways. It's windows were tinted, so that had anyone actually been in the vicinity, they wouldn't have been able to see inside. The headlights flickered off not long after the arrival, the vehicle camouflagged among the darkness of the gutter. The side doors slid back sharply, six figures clad in black stepping down - three on each side - their feet meeting the gravel beneath them with a grind before they lined up against the cold brick, immersing themselves in the shadows. The driver's door opened no sooner than they had done so, a slender figure also dressed from head to toe in black leather and tights - a balaclava masking the person's face, with the exception of a pair of eyes. Eyes which gave off a distinct impression that they had once been alive with joy, but which were now filled with an emptiness that didn't appeal.

"Little Jo...Fran...Scarlett - take the right."

The voice of the person, although slightly muffled under her chosen headwear and hushed against the silence, was definitely that of a female, but with a distinct sense of force and leadership behind it. The leader watched as the named three disappeared to the left of the building, before turning her fixed gaze to the last three.

"Willow...Dana...Art - to the back. I'll take the left turn, as planned."

Obeying the command, the last of the strangely dressed women disappeared to their designated areas of the large store. With a last fleeting glance around the corner of the alleyway, Robyn slunk off in the night down the left side of the store. Drawing out a thick wind of rope from around her body, she tossed it with precision towards a latch on one of the upper windows and watched as it jammed in place. She then bound the bottom of the rope tightly around a steel rail before testing her weight upon it swiftly; it was going to hold her. With great skill, she began to push herself up the side of the building, climbing with a seemingly effortless grace, higher, until she reached the window. Taking out a sharp scalpel like object from her inner pocket, she traced a large circle in the glass, before removing it with ease and slipping her hand through the gap, reaching through to unbolt the window. Her strong thighs kept her in balance upon the rope - it being a good thing that she had been a gymnast in high school - and she slid the window open carefully before climbing inside.

Her boots meeting with the mahogany floorboards beneath her, she peered around at the large office, before creeping stealthily towards a door. Her gloved hand met with a keypad situated outside a bulky, steel door - the vault. Punching in the code, which she had memorized under very sneaky circumstances - she had stalked the area previously, disguising herself well as an important investor to the store - the burglar waited, her ears pricked for the sound of anything suspicious going on with the others downstairs. Then, although it couldn't be seen behind the mask, the woman grinned as she received the green light to go ahead, the vault door unsealing itself. Reaching out to open it, she gazed in at the mounds of crisp green bank notes, wedging the vault door open - just to be on the safe side - with a metal filing cabinet resting in the office. Slipping into the vault, she grabbed as many cases of cash as she could carry; there had to be a good few tens of thousands here.

And then she heard the alarm and her mind went into overkill. Running with the loot, she dived for the window, climbing onto the ledge and staring down at the vehicle in the alleyway. Her heart was in her throat now; Fuck! Tucking the case underneath her arm, she hoisted herself as fast as she could, down the rope just in time to see her gang members sprint towards the vehicle, carrying boxes she presumed were stuffed with the diamonds.

Then came the sirens, a flash of blue and red light illuminating in the near distance now. The coppers. She dropped the first case just as she reached about halfway down the rope, her girls not moving as they waited for her, catching both cases as she aimed them and stowing them in the van; a bastard move if ever she had seen one. This wasn't what she'd taught them. That wasn't the plan. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! And those DAMN sirens! They were growing closer.

"Boss!"

The leader didn't even have to think about it.

"GO! Now! Get the fuck outta here!", she roared to them, hoping they took the hint.

For a split moment, she was sure she'd have to beat the shit out of Little Jo for just staring at her with something like tears watering her eyes. At least, once she got herself out of this jam. Relief sunk in however, when the tall woman - her moniker an ironic one at that -retreated to the van, hopping into her boss's usual spot and steering the van off out of the alleyway, tires screeching as she did an about turn before speeding off into the distance. The leader watched as the first few police cars began a full-speed chase of the getaway van, before chopping at the bind she was hanging from with a sharp swipe of a blade. The rope crumpled, woman following and luckily landing upon one of the dumpsters in the alley. Climbing out just as quickly, she peered around the corner and swallowed a lump back in her throat, eyeing the authorities as they leaped from their vehicles, armed and ready. She was cornered. Well that just made her night, didn't it? She remained hidden in the shadows, her breathing stilled as her brain raced to come up with a plan.

Robyn Loxley always had a plan.


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TAGGING NO-ONE !
WORDS 1161. !
WEARING CAT BURGLAR GET-UP !
NOTES -EVIL LAUGH-!
LYRICS BAD REPUTATION BY JOAN JETT !
CREDIT R A W R IT’S E M M A ! OF CAUTION ![/COLOR][/FONT]

[Hunter O'Neil]

“For FUCK’S sake, Tony, could you drive any fuckin’ slower? I swear to all that’s holy; if we end up at that crime scene and those bastards are gone, I’m gonna take this car and ram it right up your—“

With a snarl, Hunter proceeded to school his current ‘partner’ on the cuss words he’d stored up, just for the occasion. He had to give the guy some credit; Tony didn’t so much as blink, as he swerved around various parked cars and pedestrians. Nah crap, was he so surely all the time, that people didn’t get skittish around him anymore? Damn; there went his getting to the front of the line, just because no one wanted to deal with his face…

For the past year, he’d been loaning himself out to the local AGU of the Faraway PD. It had taken a bit of finangeling, given that most of the cops on the force knew that he’d gone off the deep end not too long ago…but finally, after a good amount of time put into the various cases he tagged along on, The Powers That Be let him in on the latest scheme. Supposedly, one of the fancy-shmancy neighborhoods in the city had been being hit. The crew was professional; there were no prints left on the scene, no faces caught on tape or witnesses left waiting around for the cops. It was in and out jobs, and the perps always left unnoticed.

The stupid schmucks. Didn’t they think that one of the rich guys were going to get smart and make sure that the police commissioner was in his back pocket? God, these gangbangers and thieves…they were good at organizing, but really sucked at everything else.

The building that the thieves had hit tonight belonged to one of the richest men in the whole goddamn Isle. It was actually kind of funny- if Hunter really let himself think about it- that the crew kept hitting the rich folks, instead of running plasma TV heists down in the burrows. The last few robberies had puzzled the cops, but the thieves had made one big mistake in hitting that particular building. Ever since others from high society had been getting robbed, Richy Rich the Owner had made sure that he’d gotten the most high tech security out there. He hired ex-cops, ex-soldiers and even had a few sometime high profile bounty hunters set up a perimeter around his things. Then, because the shithead didn’t want to get his own hands dirty, he’d gone to stay in the most expensive hotel he could find and waited it out.

From Hunter’s point of view, the guy had wasted his damn money, and a good amount of the city’s resources. Somehow, said ‘security’ had gone off fifteen minutes into the heist, and none of the guys on the ground had noticed a break in until the cop cars had screamed onto the scene. They were all milling about outside- calling their boss, no doubt- and playing with themselves, while the real heroes saved the day.

Well, that was really no skin off his nose; he was frikkin itching for a fight. The others on the task force had hemmed and hawed about who would have the cahonies to pull off these kinds of heists, and he’d kept his mouth closed.

There really was only one gang that liked to steal from the filthy rich, and he was pretty much the only cop to realize who that was…and who their fearless leader had ties with. Oh yeah, this was gonna get real interesting.

Just as all his fellow cops slid out of their seats and aimed their guns over the tops of their doors, as per protocol, Hunter slipped passed the red and blue lit defenses. Ignoring the surprised calls and curses behind him, he walked seemingly unarmed toward the street. Most of the guys were heading toward the front door, as if expecting to find the perps still stuffing collectibles into their duffel bags, but he knew better. A glance over to the right had him spotting a back alley, and he left his brothers to storming the castle.

With only a few cops on his tail, he put his back against the building at the mouth of the alley and peered around its corner at the dark shadow trapped inside.

“Well, don’t you look like a fish in a barrel,” He called out, still eyeing her from around the corner. “Why don’t you just put your hands up and save us some bullets?”

TAG - Robyn
WORDS - enough
NOTES – Bah, I hope it was alright that I played with the ‘crime scene’ some. If it doesn’t jive, lemme know and I’ll re-write it. ;3
TUNES - devil in a midnight mass , billy talent.
CREDIT - template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0

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[Robyn Loxley]

Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT!

For a moment she felt like bashing her skull against the thick stone wall - how could the Widows be so stupid? So unprofessional. It was unheard of! Hearing the dull sound of footsteps against the alley floor, Robyn had all but grasped the tail of her Beretta from her inner pocket, when someone's voice reached her ears with a remark so finalising that for a moment, she thought this was the end. But she hadn't even had the opportunity to get her complete revenge yet! They weren't going to take that away from her now! Oh no. She wouldn't let that happen, if she could help it. Her mind racing, reflexes as quick as lightning, she brought the gun to eye-level - face still hidden behind the balaclava, thankfully - and pointed it directly at the speaker with a firm hand.

"Come any closer bubs, and I'll blow your fucking brains out."

Hallelujah; so there was a God after all. A showdown with a single cop? She could've got down on bended knee and kissed the Lord's ass, but she wasn't the praying kind. The only threat was whether or not he decided to call for the rest of his squad - who, from the sound of things, were checking out the damage her girl's had caused on the inside. To shoot, or not to shoot? Putting a bullet in his head right now seemed the most probable move; but the noise would lure the others out for sure. Not that the actual killing would've been difficult for her; it wouldn't have been the first time she'd taken down an authority figure.

Her aim at the guy's head never faltered, her steely gaze boring into his and just waiting for the next move. In her mind, she quickly revisited the alleyway in broad daylight. There was a gap in the back, between this place and the old bookshop, which led down onto the Main Street. If she could hold him off for another few minutes, she could make that run and then steal a car - any car - and be home in time for the evening ale.

Stepping back slowly, her heels making light contact with the gravel beneath her feet, she continued to direct her gun at his forehead. This wasn't going to be easy; this guy had to have balls if he was coming after her on his own. For all he knew, she could've been a six foot tall bloke clad in leather and weilding a chainsaw or something. Just how he had known she was there, however, unnerved her. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense for sniffing out notorious, hard to catch, cat burglars. After all of this was done, she was going to have to beat some sense into those sloppy imbeciles.

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TAGGING Hunter !
WORDS Plenty. !
WEARING Cat Burglar get-up. !
NOTES -meep- Sorry this took so long to getting around to O.o!
LYRICS BAD REPUTATION BY JOAN JETT !
CREDIT R A W R IT’S E M M A ! OF CAUTION ![/COLOR][/FONT]