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Janine Liberi     The meeting is taking place in a small, disused warehouse on the edge of Venice bear the shore. The murky water laps against the land as nondescript cars pull up, the occupants quickly moving from their vehicle to the inside of the warehouse. One or two linger outside, lighting up cigarettes and moving to the alleys on the sides. Guards no doubt.

    Janine can be seen on the roof in her Dove ensemble. She puts a call out over the radio. "I'm recording the start of the meeting so the gangs can't just write them off and claim they don't know a thing about it. In the meantime, take out the guards, disable the cars. Remember, no one leaves unless it's with us."

    There's about six men on lookout and four cars to deal with. In terms of breaching the warehouse itself, there's the front door (guarded by two men), the skylight which Janine is looking through, and some high windows next to the internal catwalks, one of which has a fire escape leading up to it.
Karlan Nobles     <<"Anyone posted outside will be taken care of. If we can get their eyes in one direction...">> Pramanix murmurs to her allies over the radio as she squints at the lookouts posted around the warehouse from a distance, alrady starting down the path to get closer to the place. <<"... It should be easier to bring their numbers down and get in undetected. Or... Less detected until we're ready for it.">>

    She heads towards the entrance closest to the shore, keeping her eyes firmly on the shore itself as she strolls along like an oblivious tourist. That's only partially true since this is a new place for her, but it's easy enough to pretend as she hums softly without a care in the world! Just stepping along, humming, completely oblivious to any potential danger as she waves to the guards with a gentle smile right before tripping over her own feet and landing facefirst on the ground with a brief, but sharp ring from her bell at the fall.

    There's a fairly long delay before Pramanix starts whining, quietly at first as though she's trying not to make too much noise. It's only partially an act, though, with the landing being considerably harder than expected. She's totally playing up the damsel-in-distress angle, though, complete with shaking on the ground and occasional heaving like someone trying not to lose their shit over faceplanting in public.
Xion Xion sits on the edge of the roof, kicking her legs out over the termination into open air over Venice path-walks and water. "So they're... bad people, right? Not like nonspecifically bad, but... bad-bad?" Xion asks, confirmingly, to Dove. "I'm surprised they got cars in Venice. It's small enough to walk around in, isn't it? Maybe I just like walking around exploring more than the next person." She admits, tugging up the hood of her navy-blue hoodie with white cloth drawstrings and trim, leaping from roof to lamp post and then sliding down the post in a spiral with her black-gloved hands (her one concession to wearing her normal cultlike robes), as gloves are comfy and keep your hands warm and ~~don't leave fingerprints~~ make funny noises when you clench your fist dramatically.

Praminix is eager to draw attention, and is also very pretty - so Xion just goes with the plan. It's easiest that way! If the guards will be distracted away from the door, Xion will slide around the cones of light to unlock the front door!

If they don't heck off, Xion will rotate to the side fire escape to start unlocking it via SHIMMYING QTE MINIGAMES.
Liza Grier     There is one additional face to round out the group. She walks onto the warehouse grounds from an adjacent yard, hands in the pockets of her sleek black coat, pulled over what ostensibly looks to be a mostly-concealed suit, save for the clack and occasional splash of shined black shoes. A coiled wire earpiece lends to the image that she could be either the president's secret service, or the Don's on-site supervisor, if either of those typically ever hired women.

    Besides that, not quite overly tall, boring, and butch enough for the part. Someone who hasn't bothered to do a thing with their hair since showering, bunching up in the collar of their coat. Someone walking with a little bit too much purpose. Too much to be out of place. Too intense to be here for drugs. Click-clack-splish-splash.

    "Not a chance they'd have time to." Liza sighs through the radio, and is unable to convincingly affect weariness. "If they have a car in a city like this, all of their exploring time is spent paying for the thing. The reason to have one is to skip the walking and maximize the efficiency of the time they have left. My bet is they even go inside less than a hundred of these buildings in their lifetime." The radio is unrelated to the earpiece, it seems, wired into the same coat collar. The former goes to an old-fashioned, local MP3 player.

    She walks straight up the fire escape, ascending the stairs by casually skipping every other step with little rattle-jangles of damp seaside metal. One of her hands is still fiddling with the player in one pocket, but the other withdraws to slap a stamped metal canister and bundle of wires to the side of the second floor, over the top of the fire escape door. Magnetic clamps latch it into place, and a green LED flashes twice and turns red.

    "Is this all of them? I was hoping for a bigger crowd." she asks, leaning slightly to the side so she can peer through the windows.
Janine Liberi     Pramanix's little display does catch the attention of the guards in front of the warehouse doors. At first they do their best to ignore the apparent tourist whining and making a scene, but as she gets louder and starts heaving, one of them sighs and begins making his way over. "Hey miss," he says in English with a thick Italian accent. "C'mon, it ain't that bad. Tourist spots are thataway." He offers a hand to Pramanix to get her back on her feet. The other guard walks over too, but not all the way. Standing in the middle of the street and looking all around somewhat nervously.

    "Bad-bad." Janine confirms over the radio. "And they have cars because they're not local. The mafia has some amount of pull in Venice but that's mostly taking a cut from the local scammers and grifters who prey on tourists. As such, it's the closest thing to 'neutral ground' in Italy for them. No wonder the Penose wanted to meet here."

    Xion managers to slip over to the front door and unlock it, but given the antsy second guard she'll probably need to slip back into darkness quickly. Likewise, Liza manages to get up the fire escape. There is a guard in the alleyway, but given that they're staring intensely at a dark corner and twitching slightly... they likely just dosed on their own product and are in the midst of a bad trip.

    At this moment, a minivan pulls around the corner and parks outside the warehouse. The doors open up, and seven more men pour out. The guard tending to Pramanix looks over and yells, "Hey! What the hell is this? We agreed on how many men we were bringing!"

    The nervous guard just breaks into a sprint and tackles said guard tot he ground, hands wrapping around his neck to throttle him.
Xion Bad-bad.
Xion had an inkling of how bad the men were just from Janine talking about them, but being close to the guards' hearts while she opens the front door. She can see - just about - the sweeping cone of attention begin to waver and pass back towards her, and dive-rolls forward -- through the door, rather than back and away -- when the commotion begins outside the minivan.

A bit of a risk, she moves for the first available cover and hunkers down awaiting any response to go outside to the altercation between two groups. Thankfully, the sound of the fight outside will cover the otherwise cartoonishly loud sounds of her nervous sweating!
Karlan Nobles     Luckily, Pramanix's face isn't particularly busted up aside from a bit of blood and some scratches thanks to definitely not doing that often in her own time. As she's helped onto her feet by the English-speaking Italian, she purposely avoids looking anywhere near Xion slipping in and Liza heading up from the fire escape, instead gazing right at the guard like the damsel-in-distress she's pretending to be. "Thank you, kind stranger... Italian people can be so-"

    More guards arrive. Inhaling briefly at the noise, she glances over at the group of new arrivals, then jerks sideways in surprise when the nervous guard brings down the one that had just helped her up. "What's...? Hey! Stop that!"

    Time to make herself scarce, but not right away. Imitating a move she's seen from a few fights outside of home already, she backs up a short distance before running perpendicular to both of the guards' heads and delivering a meaty, if somewhat clumsy punt to the face of the nervous guard. She doesn't stop running after the kick, though, careening around the pair to make a break for the side of the building opposite from where Liza had gone up.

    After that, Pramanix's first priority is finding cover in case anyone comes looking for her. The second priority, if they don't, is to find a way inside or up the building.
Liza Grier     Liza leans away from the window when the new van rolls up, taking all of four seconds to decide who it is and what to do about it. When the guard who is supposed to be with the first group begins strangling his compatriot, having been trying to sound the alarm, she concludes, again in faux-tired tones, "Well well, these are definitely the local kind. They're already trying to erase them before someone noticed."

    She leans toward the railing, glancing down at the mafia muscle tweaking out in the corner. "This is your lucky day." she says, not caring if he hears. She pulls back one sleeve, tapping out a sequence of buttons on a wrist-worn PDA, which follows with an affirmative bleep and a sharp crunch. A handful of tiny crystals, dull and cracked, are spit out onto the fire escape stairs, jingling down to the cement below. A flash of scarlet light zips into her hand, and becomes a matte black pneumatic part-gun-part-powertool abomination. "Though you won't feel as lucky by the end of it." she says, aiming and firing the contraption with a punchy hiss-thwunk. An injector dart loaded with god knows what should knock him out (possibly with some convulsing and vomiting) for long enough for her to drag him away to interrogate later.

    From there she removes the chic black coat, folding it up and hanging it on the stairwell railing, and revealing the double harness strapped across her midsection, attaching the mini injector gun to the back of her belt. Rolling up the suit sleeves, she grips the rail and vaults over, dropping both floors straight to the pavement so she can arrive at the current chokehold scene faster. Strutting up on the cluster of strange and dangerous men, she announces herself loudly enough to get their attention away from Pramanix, and ideally Xion.

    "Too little too late, so very very sad. Even for a bunch of coke shills, this is pretty pathetic." She unslings a definitely very not local bullpup submachine gun out from her back and under one arm, bracing it to her shoulder one-handed, with the other braced over the top rail. In the process, she thumbs the old MP3 player, the wire earpiece starting to play something that has her finger tapping to the rhythm against the weapon. In the zone.

    She opens up on the whole crowd of goons at once, even while standing right out in the open. The gun rattles like a chainsaw, the immense recoil of so much ten millimeter ammunition packed into such a small space only being controlled by brute strength and a squared forward stance. She aims straight for the strangling guard's head through the rest of his body and then walks the weapon up, quickly sweeping it back and forth through the main squad at leg level. Deliberately. Giving up a lot of fatal shots to ensure they're too sadistically shredded to run.

    Brass spews over the asphalt without restraint. She's staring directly through the muzzle flare, not blinking. She naturally moves to grab a second magazine before the first is empty, flicking it out and slamming in the fresh one with one still in the chamber, barely interrupting the roar of gunfire. She advances step by step, forward into the mass of armed opposition. Her head apathetically bobs along with the music in her ear.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNE2oCZH_4k
Janine Liberi     Xion ducks into the warehouse, where there are thnakfully some piled crates to hide her from the meeting itself. However, the door opening does draw the attention of those inside! But the existence of the minivan and the people coming out is more pressing than the door being open.

    "What the hell is this?" one man asks. Pramanix would recognise him as the consigliere of the family that they kind of kidnapped to get their meeting with Boss Dominick a while back. The other man he's speaking with, dressed in decidedly more punkish clothes, pulls a gun. "Cut the FUCKING crap! We know you guys are the ones blackmailing all of us! I don't know how the FUCK you got that dirt but it stops now, get me?!"

    Guns upon guns are being drawn. The tension in the air just escalated.

    Outside, Pramanix delivers a kick to the attacker, dislodging his controlling position on the other gangster. He immediately capitalises by pulling a knife and driving it into the other man repeatedly. "Phew... thanks little lady. Now do me a favor and get the hell out of here. Don't say a word to anyone." He pulls a gun and fires at the minivan, causing the men getting out of it to scatter for cover.

    Unfortinately, too little too late. Liza open fire on them, shredding their ranks. They twitch on the ground, clearly under the influence of something. They seem confused honestly, like they don't understand they've been wounded, don't understand how they came to be on the ground.

    "Shit's fucked. Breach breach breach." Janine says over the radio.
Karlan Nobles     There's a small pang of guilt at inadvertently getting someone stabbed, but... Well. It's not like Pramanix came into this expecting everyone to survive happily ever after. She still keeps those two guards' face in her mind as she ducks around the corner, though, as she hears the gunfire from above. She also hears a familiar voice that isn't one of her allies, though, and she keeps low to the ground as she starts circling around the building towards the fire escape.

    <<"I think I've seen that one before... Small world!">> She chimes in over the radio with an amused chuckled, although she quiets down again as she hears Janine's change in plans. <<"Understood, Dove. If you have goggles, now would be a good time to use them.">>

    At least she doest have to worry about being too quiet any more. Removing the bell from her belt, Pramanix gives it a few slow rings at first, keeping relatively low to the ground in a half-crouch while still moving along the wall. As she starts getting the rhythm going, hail starts clattering against the windows, building up speed and size until it's heavy enough to outright break the windows open. A chill wind follows shortly afterwards, steadily frosting over surfaces and turning the meeting place into an open air freezer.
Xion Gunfire. Guns. Gunsmoke. "There's nothing good about guns." Xion mutters, from behind her pallet of goods. The gangsters notice 'her' anyway, the door open and the guards being scythed down by the detached heat of dispatched lead. Sticky-black hearts coated in tar snuffed out in gurgling resistance.

The Nobody draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them as the shouting starts.

"Nope."
"Don't like this at all."

Janine's heart is a burning beacon, though, and when she calls for a 'breach', Xion pops back up, mantling the pallets with her palm and stepping towards the men around the meeting area in the Warehouse. "It's not a setup, but could you all get on the floor for me?"

She doesn't really make it a suggestion, throwing out a handful of purple motes with expand into a large purple dome of gravitic energy.

"Graviga!"
Liza Grier     Shredding the first rank out of the minivan, Liza almost seems as confused as they are, for not having gotten the expected reaction of so many men suddenly thrust into the life or death situation of being crippled and bleeding out on the ground. She'd expected to already be under a hail of bullets in return by now. Not that it seems to matter.

    "Looks as if more than one side is sampling something. What even is this? PCP? Who roids up shock troops out of a van like this?" she airs out loud on the radio, almost rhetorical in its delivery. She lowers the smoking gun barrel, but only enough to point down at the men on the floor. Loading a fresh magazine and slamming the bolt, she divvies up eight men by twenty four bullets and puts three through the head of each thug on the ground in sequence, quickly moving a single methodical loop around the group. They aren't clean little professional bullet holes from an assassin's handgun; shooting from so close, three shots is more than enough to crack open a skull like a watermelon and paint the asphalt. She stops only at the minivan, turning the door frame and pulling the weapon close up to her body to aim inside without extending it into the vehicle.

    Scanning for a driver, and anything else in the interior, she responds wordlessly to the call by thumbing a detonator from her harness, flicking the lid and clicking the button twice. Shortly before the others are in the way, the canister bomb on the second level of the warehouse explodes a split second thereafter. The thundering detonation shakes the ground two floors below, and sprays an inward and downward angled geyser of red hot metal and glass fragments onto the warehouse floor, shortly adding fire smoke and fumes to the blizzard.
Janine Liberi     It starts becoming cold in Venice. Hail slams against the windows, smashing through and flooding the warehouse with freezing temperatures. "What the fuck?!" the consigliere shouts, drowned out by the detonation of Liza's charge. The resulting explosion, torrent of molten metal and smoke draws all guns to point up. This gives Xion a safe moment to pop out and end the little standoff by using gravity magic to immediately pin everyone involved to the floor.

    "Good work. Snagging the two I need." Janine smashes open the skylight above, and Catherine's golden threads descent to wrap around the neck of the consigliere and the first man to pull a gun, yanking them straight up and out of the warehouse. "Got 'em. Now, kill the rest. We can use the minivan they provided to make our exit with the captives. Once they're all dead, drag all the bodies inside and burn the warehouse down."

    "W-What the hell is this?!" A voice cuts through the operation. The mafioso who helped Pramanix, standing on the street and pointing at the localised storm, the explosion, all the dead Penose. The suddenness of it all prevented them from even pulling a gun on Liza.

    One more loose end.
Karlan Nobles     Everything goes according to plan! Mostly. The whole thing is messier than expected, but Pramanix thankfully doesn't see as much as she hears going on inside the warehouse. She can smell the stench of death closer to the front of the warehouse, anyway, and she wisely avoids heading that way. It wouldn't do her any good to overwhelm herself from outright looking at the more gruesome side of the job, after all.

    <<"Good job, everyone. Now let's-">> There's another pang of guilt when she hears that familiar mafioso's voice. She goes quiet for several moments, just barely remembering to keep her bell ringing.

    <<"So many people in the wrong place at the wrong time... But this is for the best, isn't it?">> Janine's cleanup plan audibly weighs on Pramanix's mind even as she keeps ringing her bell, staying hidden around that corner . The snow starts to center on the remaining mafioso, swirling around wildly to blind him, threatening to bury him in snowfall within a matter of minutes.

    With any luck, he might be too distracted by all that to notice whatever's coming for him.
Liza Grier     Liza responds to Pramanix over the radio, half-paying attention while scanning the van. "What's wrong about it?" she asks, still audibly distracted by the synthetic, up-tempo music droning in the other ear. "They're here, now, because the Dove called them. There's nothing accidental about it. We made this happen." The strangely, blandly soft and slightly incredulous tone she replies in registers as something like 'don't sell yourself short', if anything.

    She doesn't even reply to the confused and possibly terrified mafioso. There isn't a line for him. Just the inaudible beat to which she reattached the submachine gun, draws a handgun from her waist instead, and pumps fifteen shots into his back, one after the other, moving along the axis of her extended arm until she is unflinchingly pushing her way into the snowstorm herself to put the last few bullets in him.

    Closing the slide so the chamber doesn't fill with snow, Liza holsters it again, taps her wrist-mount, and another bright red flash drops a pair of goggles in her hand, ejecting another sequence of drained telecrystals like spent brass. Pulling them over her head and thumbing the power switch, she adjusts them to thermal mode; perfect at a time like this, since everything will be pitch black cold with all of the magic snow, and human heat blobs will stand out like glaring Christmas lights.

    She advances into the blizzard where the rest are pinned down. Anticipating they won't have a prayer of mounting an effective resistance against her, she glides from heat signature to heat signature, looking down at each blob of human warmth, and methodically grappling, pinning, and executing them through broken necks and slashed throats, snapping limbs in brutal holds and leading with multiple gratuitously unnecessary knife wounds for good measure. Just so the coroner has a bad day.
Xion Xion has only once previous had to deal with the prospect of someone who was going to kill - who asked her to kill, to help do it. She didn't like it before, and those people enraged her.

These people were just... greasy. Bad people, certainly, even 'bad-bad'. But they didn't confront her with a present state of dying.

She came here. She didn't have to.

Standing up, she wavers between advancing and reinforcing the gravity field.

"I can do it. But I don't want to choose. If they're going to die anyway, and I'm not the one to do it, I'm still the one that brought it this far."

With Liza, and Janine, she doesn't have to... But leaving and staying doesn't clean her hands. It doesn't really move the dial.

With a 'shwink!' she summons a large aluminum baseball bat into her hands and moves in to 'help'.

She stops after a few swings, but it's enough to leave her with a persistently sour expression.
Janine Liberi     Bang. Bang. Bang. Whack. Whack.

    Each and every gangster is methodically put down like a sick dog. Bullets, knives, the sharp snap of breaking vertebrae, the dull thud of a bat meeting flesh and bone. The one wrapped in the snow stains it red as he bleeds out on it.

    Janine delivers her prisoners to the van, bound up with blindfolds and gags, along with the gentleman from the alley. "Okay, everybody in. I'll drive." Sirens can be heard in the distance, so instead of driving away from the crime scene in a terribly suspicious manner, Janine uses Catherine to levitate the van with wind and carry it away. Flying low, they exit the city and come down on a countryside road.