Log:Communication Breakdown: The Wedding Present of The Twin Thunders

2015/09/13 Malcolm Paragon 1

It started out as a simple lunch meeting between friends. No, really! Malcolm Gibbs texted Paragon early this morning to inquire if she wanted to have lunch, catch up on old times, and maybe discuss plans for her up-coming nuptuals. Grimm has a ten page paper due on Monday morning about the effects of quantum spectroscopy and electrofluoridic microscopy on evidence handling and criminal prosecution in the mid-21st century. Were it not for such criminal justice major chicanery, Malcolm and Grimm might be getting lunch at Hak Fu's while discussing the efficacy of Grimm's Eight Dragon Ox Pinch of Destiny technique in actual combat, rather than in the middle of combat training.

How, exactly, it came to Malcolm and Paragon standing back-to-back in the middle of a warehouse on the eastern side of Chinatown, surrounded by Yakuza and Triad soldiers is probably the largest of the question marks surrounding Malcolm and Paragon at this very moment. Fortunately, the two-page splash has a lot of question marks to choose from, not to mention plenty of criminals to punch in the face. It also has Malcolm and Paragon lit from the top and slight to the right side of the book by a shaft of amber sunset light coming through a gaping hole in the roof that may or may not look suspiciously like a Malcolm and Paragon silhouette.

"You know, P, I didn't think you were serious about mudhole stomping gangsters as a wedding present," comments Malcolm as the scene fades from in media res toward a protracted and necessary flashback explanation.

The reader turns the page and the first narrative box on the top left, with a lavendar background that denotes it belongs to Paragon, reads: "...How often have you known me to joke about fighting crime, Ace?"

The panel behind the narrative box shows an idealic sunny afternoon street scene of Chinatown. You can tell right off the bat that it's chinatown because of the store names and the very obvious, very clearly chinese in design gates to the Dragon Palace in the backdrop. The central focus of the shot is the a particular sit down chinese restaurant, Din Tai Fung. By the transitioning of the panels, you can tell the interior restaurant in the panel our two heroes first appear in is the inside of Din Tai Fung's.

The decor has dark wooden panels of geometric design, red table clothes, and dark chairs to match the wooden screens and panels within. It's old fashioned, a step up from a hole in the wall chinese place, but not the fancy glitzy fusion places you'd find in the Towers.

At a round table, off to the side of the center of the main floor but not against a wall, sit Para in plain clothes and Malcolm Gibbs, Special Agent, catching up on old times. As Para looks over the menu, she confesses, "To be honest, I...haven't really been on top of the planning. I've never planned a wedding before."

Malcolm, as ever, is dressed in blue collar chic. He has on a neatly pressed "vintage" mechanic's shirt over a plain black tee, some old boot-cut jeans that have aged so much as to look "designer vintage", and a heavy weight pair of boots. Leaning back on his chair, Malcolm smiles cheerily at Third whilst he sips at his knock-off Coke.

"And... Porter has?" inquires Malcolm, sounding at once curious and dubious. He somehow wouldn't doubt that Porter has, in fact, planned a wedding or three before despite suspecting he would have heard about such exploits in the past. At the very least, wouldn't Malcolm have heard about the wedding that got annulled because of the gruesome cake knife incident that ended up going perpetually viral on the internet?

People would pay $100 for brand new aged pants like that in the mall! Malcolm is a fashionista if ever Paragon saw one. Not that she would know one if she did see one. Porter does her clothes shopping for her. Gone are the days of a beaten leather jacket, simple tank top, and black leggings with combat boots. Today, she's wearing a white summer dress that stops at the knees, and simple brown leather sandals.

"I see your point," Para replies as if it had never occured to her. "But I thought he would understand it better than me. And perhaps his parents would help."

Her hands are cupped around a small tea cup. The tea pot of oolong tea is sitting close by at the edge of the table. "He wants it to be exactly the way I want it. But I don't know how I want it. Having a preference for something I've never done is...odd for me. And now...he suddenly seems eager to speed up the date. He was talking about going on a cruise and getting married in secret."

"To be fair, he can afford that now," replies Malcolm. He sets his cup of not-Coke down on the table again and hooks his elbows over the back of his chair as he smiles at Paragon. Lightly shaking his head, Malcolm grins and comments, "But I think you two need to sit down and actually talk about what you two want to do. Why you want to do things the way you want to do things. You may not know, in broad terms, what you want for a wedding, but I bet if you two sat and talked, you'd know exactly what you did want and didn't want for your wedding."

Pausing a moment, Malcolm's expression sobers as he crosses his legs under the table. His grey eyes meet Third's eyes and Malcolm rolls one shoulder.

"Pretty sure you can guess why he wants to speed things up and elope."

Paragon draws the teacup up to sip delicately. Only because she has to be delicate with her superstrength to avoid shattering the porcelein cup. Her expression is thoughtful as she listens to Malcolm's advice.

"That sounds like good advice," she comments as she sets her drink down, now drained of tea. "Although we do seem to get distracted any time we try to do that." She reaches for the tea put and begins to pour herself another cup. There's a few specks of loose tea leaves that flow along with the tea as she pours.

"We haven't even been able to settle on a middle name for Kysmette. I feel bad. I have a list I'm composing internally, but I still can't decide." Making decisions of what she wants and her own preference has always been difficult. She's more practical than picky, but there are a few quirks in that general attitude.

As she sets the metal pot down, the stretched reflection of their waiter can be seen, bringing their food on a tray. "I'm not exactly sure why, actually. Nothing has changed from the usual."

Malcolm's grey eyes shift toward the teapot and the reflections moving across its brushed metal surface. He frowns slightly, regarding its mysterious, shiny surface for long moments before he offers a broad smile and turns to greet their waiter as he arrives. Ever helpful, Malcolm assists the waiter in setting down the plates of food whilst surreptitiously surveying their surroundings.

Only when Malcolm is sure that the waiter is out of earshot does Malcolm conversationally inquire of Third, "Do you see what I see? Your two o'clock?"

Whilst Malcolm has been trying to look at the people at the table over there, Third has likely been trying to figure out who she heard talking. She's positive that she heard several male voices speaking in broken English about 'when to pounce' and 'show those gwailo' and 'those are the gaijin'. Only when/if Third looks in the direction of the table of well-dressed Asian men that Malcolm indicated does she recognize several local Triad soldiers. There's something odd about the other five guys at the table, something she can't quite seem to place beyond 'those guys are suspicious' and 'those guys are not with a Triad'. Perhaps if she could figure out what was odd about them, she'd know how she could be so sure they're not with any of the major Triads in Colonial Bay.

Paragon's ears pick up the broken conversation while she's clearing some room for the plates, moving drinks and teapots aside. She tries not to react while the waiter is there. In fact, she casually glances around the room at anywhere not in the direction of the whispering. This is the sort of restaurant where most of the diners are chinese, which is how you know it's the good stuff.

She also seems to be waiting for the waiter to go, and as soon as he's out of earshot, she says at the same time as Malcolm, "Do you hear what I hear?" She however keeps silent as he explains the direction.

Reaching for some moo shu pork with her chopsticks, her eyes lift innocently towards her two o'clock. Her gaze returns to the next dish and she starts drizzing some hoisin sauce on her moo shu pork wraps. "Triads," she whispers casually. I think I heard them talking about pouncing those gwailo and gaijin." Something seems odd about the other group.

Suddenly, she looks up at Malcolm and stares him in the eyes as she remembers something. Yutaka had taken her to Japan when he was dating her, without her knowledge that they were actual dates. Or maybe she was just too dense to realize them for what they were, chalking them up to 'friendly' trips abroad for food.

"Wait...gaijin is Japanese," she whispers in realization. Yutaka had to explain that word to her two on one of their trips to Japan after a run in with the Kitsune Clan.

"Yeah, it's the Japanese for gwailo," replies Malcolm. He has, in the mean time, put several different kinds of foodstuff on his own plate. There is rice and steamed dumplings and lo mein on his plate, neatly arranged into their own little sections of the plate. Malcolm quirks an eyebrow at Third and inquires in soft tones, "There's Yakuza here? In Chinatown?"

Hey look, that one guy in the dark purple suit with black silk pinstripes is missing a pinky. It's also worth noting that he has the head of an Eastern dragon tattoo on the back of his hand, its neck trailing back toward its body under the sleeve of his suit coat. Notably this gentleman also makes an airy gesture with his pinkyless hand and his chopsticks that gets nods from the Triad and Yakuza sides of the table.

"Yes. They're sitting together with some Triads in a large group," Third whispers, but her body language attempts to be casual and occupied with the meal at hand. "They all seem to be...agreeing with each other about something," she adds as she plucks a dumpling from one of the family style serving dishes with her chopsticks. She pops the dumpling in her mouth and enjoys it while she can.

"Probably how to kick our butts," opines Malcolm before stuffing a steamed dumpling lightly coated in duck sauce into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, Malcolm studies the reflections in Third's brushed metal tea pot. He can't really see much of anything now without actually turning his head to look, which is probably not a smart idea. Instead Malcolm swallows and reaches for his not-a-Coke to take a long, long sip.

"I'm thinking we should try to beat a retreat to a less crowded area before the guns come out, y'know?"

Malcolm pauses a moment, looking thoughtfully at Third.

"Does helping kick gangster butt count as a wedding present, P?"

"A good idea," Third concurs as she takes a bite of her mu shu pork. May as well get ready so she doesn't have to fight on an empty stomach. After she swallows, she offers a polite smile. "I believe that would be an acceptable wedding present."

Third begins to lean back from the table, removing the napkin from her lap and draping it onto the table cloth in preparation to retreat.

Malcolm reaches into his wallet and pulls out a crisp, fresh $100 bill that he sets under the heaviest container on the table. He finishes his soda as he murmurs his apologies to the dumplings - his sweet, sweet, delicious steamed pork dumplings - and leans back in his seat again as he watches Third carefully.

"You get started, P. I'll follow," suggests Malcolm as he balances on only two legs of his chair.

Beyond Malcolm's shoulders, the Triad and Yakuza soldiers start to mobilize themselves as well. Or, at the very least, they seem to be mobilizing. It's entirely possible that they're up to some other form of shenanigans that requires delegates from each side of the table.

Paragon is an expensive date compared to Grimm and Hak Fu's. "Alright, Ace. It would seem that they are starting to move as well, so now is a good time to retreat," she says with a cheerful smile that says 'Absolutely nothing's up, and I'm trying very hard to make it look that way'. Guile is not Para's strong suit.

She rises up from her table and heads not for the front door, but for the back of the restaurant towards the restrooms, which are usually near the rear exits. It wouldn't due to lead the Triads and the Yakuza out to the main street where the tourists and civilians are milling about.

Malcolm has no comment about the expense of dating Grimm.

He values his life.

Watching Third make her escape from the table, Malcolm pops another dumpling into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. The tall man twists slightly on his seat, watching the Triads stand first from the criminal conclave. Only two Triad soldiers, fortunately, followed by two Yakuza soldiers. All four of them start to issue toward the back of the restaurant after Third whilst Malcolm slowly stands up and brushes himself off.

Casually, Malcolm scoots through the restaurant and onto the back of the THUG TRAIN (toot toot).

All aboard! Third reaches the rear exit to the restaurant, which lies past the bathrooms and past the kitchen. Her hand comes up to press on the pushbar and step out into the back alley. Making an immediate left, she gets out of line of sight of the doorway as the door closes, then stops two meters from the door and turns around to face it.

And there she waits at a standstill, arms at her sides, with the patience of a machine.

Malcolm takes the time to roll up the sleeves of his mechanic's shirt while he's busy following the street soldiers through the back hallway of the restaurant. He also casually grabs a couple of those collapsible tables for servers to put trays on while food is being doled out. They'll... Come in handy?

The two Triad soldiers burst out of the restaurant first, inexplicably trying to go in the same direction as the door. Perhaps they expected Third to use it for some kind of cover? One draws a gun from under his cheap suit coat while the other one starts reciting something in a Chinese dialect that Third has presumably not previously heard. It sounds vaguely mystical.

A pair of Yakuza soldiers burst out next, dressed in much nicer suits and with their black hair slick with hair gel and swept dramatically backward. One pulls a katana from somewhere under his suit coat while the other pulls a pair of pistols. Both Yakuza soldiers turn left to face down Third.

She gets a couple of seconds to deal with these guys first before Malcolm even shows up. That Malcolm, always late to the party!

Paragon offers a polite smile to the Yakuza and Triads, although the Yakuza may be the only ones who will get to see it. She doesn't know much Chinese or Japanese, but she does recognize the insults at least.

"Gentleman. Firearms and swords are illegal to carry in public without the appropriate permits. I trust you have those in order?"

While in the old days, Third would simply wait for them to prove their innocence, she now has a baby and Porter to come home to. She can't take risks in the name of honor. There's the sound of metal sliding on lubricated buffed metal, clicking and assembling in place starting from behind her before the armor claps itself over her form.

After her body has been swallowed by the suit of armor, those inactive eyeslots begin to illuminate as the helm's additional censors power up. She places her hands on her metal plated waist, standing akimbo for a response.

The two Triad soldiers who emerged from the back of the restaurant first are still facing away from Third as she starts speaking. Somehow her speech doesn't inflict penalties on the chanting of the apparent Chinese sorceror beside the gun-toting Triad soldier. In the middle of his chanting, the sorceror reaches into thin air at his side and abruptly produces something that looks like a sword made of coins impaled by a long, rounded over wire connected at both ends to a peachwood sword pommel.

In the meantime, the Yakuza soldiers look at Third like she's crazy. Katana elbows John Woo and murmurs something in Japanese, both men crack up as John Woo waves one of his pistols at Third. He looks like he's about to say something when Third is swallowed by her suit of heavy armor and Paragon's optics buzz to life with a faint thrum of electrical power coming online.

At this point there is a full second pause punctuated by two occurences. First and foremost, the Triad gunman turns around and lifts his pistol to take aim at Paragon. He doesn't yet fire however, apparently setting his sights on her and painting her as a target. Secondarily, Malcolm bursts out of the back door of the restaurant and kicks it shut behind him. Malcolm promptly jams both folded up tray holders under the door handle to jam the door shut.

Of course, this places Malcolm directly behind the two Yakuza soldiers as they stare in shocked silence at Paragon.

Those folding tray holders came in handy!

Paragon remains standing akimbo, motionless and unconcerned with the guns pointed her way. The sword is a nice touch, its appearance causing those glowing optic orbs to expand slightly in diameter with a realization that comes with the spells.

"Tim Lee's men, I assume?" she addresses the Triads as her helm pans to track them before panning back to the Yakuza. She's processing what information she can download on the organizations, but she only knows as much as is on record and what she's been told. Streetwise, the undead mechanical heroine is not.

"I didn't realize your two factions were working together," her modulated, echoing tin-can voice rings out with pleasant surprise. Her tone, as usual, is polite, informative, and inquisitive. And yes, even downright cheerful now that she's back in armor. There's protocol she must follow as a hero. Never cruel or cowardly is one of the many ways to describe her heroic code.

"And you will never live to tell other souls what you think you know, gwailo," shouts the Triad gunman. He starts to advance, apparently either unaware or dismissive of Malcolm's value to the situation. There is a terrible sneer spreading across his face as he advances toward the action.

Yakuza Katana hisses something in Japanese as he spins around to face Malcolm. It's not clear who he's directing his Japanese words toward, but Malcolm takes the opportunity to cheerily intone something right back in Japanese. Or, at least, one assumes it's Japanese - Malcolm's Brooklyn accent somehow seems more pronounced in Japanese than in English. Whirling his katana around showily, Katana smirks at Malcolm as afternoon light reflects off of the blade's cutting edge.

The Triad Sorceror finally turns around to face Paragon. He adopts an extraordinarily stylized stance that points the coin sword directly at Paragon but also awkwardly hyper-extends his reach. Somehow this still does not stop his chanting in that mysterious Chinese dialect.

And finally we get to John Woo. John Woo holds both of his pistols up and out, not appearing to be obviously aiming at Paragon's head or torso. Is he aiming at her joints? It's very difficult to tell exactly where those guns are aiming at the moment without actual ballistic trajectories to trace. Paragon may need to make a best guess regarding how to dodge/deflect this guy.

Malcolm, however, is the one that kicks things off as Katana turns to face him. Offering a sly smile, Malcolm shifts his weight fluidly into a martial arts stance that, by now, is probably very familiar to Paragon. His arms fluidly shift about as he moves through a kata before, very abruptly, launching himself directly between Katana and John Woo. Landing on the balls of one foot, Malcolm pivots elegantly toward Katana in some kind of weird overhand punch that ends as Malcolm plants the other foot far beyond his landing foot, aimed at John Woo's feet.

A split second later, Malcolm torques his body in the other direction, his motion impossibly fluid as he twists himself without unmooring his feet or truly pivoting below the waist. This second punch is aimed directly at John Woo's jawline as Malcolm imparts further momentum by shifting his weight from one leg to the other as part of the fluid action of his body.

While Malcolm is doling out fists to faces, the Triad Sorceror finishes his chanting. He only spares everyone the noise pollution of his voice for a second however, as once he starts tracing a complex pattern in the air with his sword he also starts chanting again. Puzzlingly, as he completes the pattern he's woven in the air there is a sudden flash of red and blue light corresponding to the appearance of a spell circle with, of all things, the Big Dipper luminously glowing in its center. A final thrust of his sword into the center of the spell circle sends it sailing toward Paragon. She can already sense that this is not, in fact, a good thing.

Yakuza Katana takes the punch dead in the top of the head, Malcolm's fist sliding down the side of his face to ram into the man's shoulder with a harsh *CRACK* of metal on bone violence. Stumbling, Katana executes a textbook kendo shoulder roll that negates whatever effect being literally, physically punched into the pavement would have caused him. He grimaces as he comes up in a defensive kneel, eyes watering in pain.

Katana comes up just in time to watch Malcolm's big black fist make contact with John Woo's jaw. The alleyway is filled with the sickening, gut-wrenching report of metal on bone violence that results in John Woo's jaw visibly and audibly dislocating. John Woo sails all of a meter to smash into the brick wall of the restaurant with a jarringly meaty sound. His guns clatter to the ground an instant before he does. Paragon's combat experience informs her that John Woo is down and dazed, but not completely out of the fight. That said, John Woo is bleeding pretty good from his mouth onto the filthy alley floor.

Who knows /HOW/ it happened, but it happened. Somehow, the Triad Sorceror's Big Dipper Blast sails straight past Paragon and embeds itself on the dumpster several meters behind her. Maybe it was the terrifying sounds coming from Malcolm beating the Yakuza stupid. Let's go with that.

Even though Paragon can see the blast go past her, she can feel a brief, inexorable tug on her... Soul? For the briefest of moments, as the luminous spell circle was in proximity to her, Paragon's life force is tugged in its direction as though it were a weight being tugged toward a new, more powerful source of gravity. Whatever this Triad Sorceror is slinging, Paragon almost assuredly does not want any.

The big dipper blast certainly didn't miss her because she was dodging. Paragon's much to slow and dense to do that. Instead, it sails past her, her head tracking it with a delayed reaction. "Huh." The exhaled grunt is one of unexpected surprise from her. This is a rare occasion.

The tug at the tenuous life force bound to her corpse via necromancy brings her attention back to the Triad Sorceror and his magic circle. She takes a step back for a moment, not out of fear, but out of remembering her promise to Porter to always come home safe. And whatever magic this is, it seems to promise to unravel and unmake her.

But fleeing isn't in Paragon's nature, promise or no. But she makes an attempt to keep her distance from the sorceror, instead sidestepping and turning towards the dazed John Woo/Chow Yun Fat and reaching out with her hand palm down and gauntlet plated thumb pulling her middle finger palm-ward.

Paragon's hand hovers by the gunman's temple. It's not a power punch, or a slam. Just a very well placed precision blow at a sensitive spot to make sure the man sleeps for a good long while so they have time to incarcerate the others. She may be a powerhouse, but she's practice long and hard to control her strength without harming people with her potentially lethal superstrength.

This precision blow, specifically? A simple finger flick to the temple.

John Woo flips over backward in spite of the simplicity of the finger flick, sprawling out uselessly across the alley floor to further block up that back door to the restaurant. Yakuza Katana looks positively furious at the indignity of his friend's fate. Or maybe that's just painful gas from the crazy gaijin flying punch to the head and shoulder he received.

We finally shuffle back to the Triad Gunman who looks both scared and furious at the same time. He traces back and forth with his gun until, finally, he takes a fateful shot at Paragon. Triad Gunman, alas, does not rate spam because he's a fifth string mook who talks a second string game.

Plink. Plink, plunk. Tinktatink. The Gunman's bullets flatten themselves on Paragon's armor and then fall uselessly to the concrete. It doesn't so much as budge Paragon. The heroine, who was leaning over where John Woo was, stands up to her full height of six feet and some change, her faceplate turning its full attention to the Triad Gunman. "You may wish to put the gun down, place your hands on your head, and surrender now," she politely informs with the helpful geniality of Jarvis or JULIUS, minus any strange accents.

"SHUT UP, GWAILO! YOU CHEAT! YOU CHEAT!"

Triad Gunman is very eloquent, isn't he?

Malcolm looks over at Katana for a moment, considering the man. He smiles genially before looking over at the Triad Soldiers, then looks back at Katana. The tall man shifts his stance, adopting a modified Crane Stance that Paragon is /ALL/ too familiar with. Grinning from ear-to-ear, Malcolm makes a 'bring it' gesture at Katana while he intones to Paragon, "If you want to put Gunzo over there out of his misery, I'll handle Spells McKenzie for you. Just need to deal with Sword Man first."

Yakuza Katana hardly gives Malcolm the chance to sink into his Tantalum Crane Stance before he's in motion. Katana launches into motion from his combat kneel, his namesake weapon trailing behind and to the Malcolmside of him as he blazes into motion. Paragon and Triad Gunman probably only perceive a scene of inky blackness punctuated by three horizontal silver slashes of light. There is, however, meaty and metal-on-metal violence sounds that further punctuate that instant of darkness.

In the background, the Triad Sorceror mutters and curses in more familiar Chinese words for a moment. He quickly transitions back to that unfamiliar Chinese chanting as he traces out the Big Dipper in the air again. There is that pause in chanting where the Sorceror shifts his weight before thrusting his moneysword at the floating spell circle and offering up another chant in unfamiliar Chinese. Quite unsurprisingly, the luminous spell circle hurtles toward Paragon again and Paragon no doubt feels the weight of the incoming blast.

The glowing spell circle strikes Paragon and hovers around her. She feels that tug on her life energies again, like a momentary wave of dizziness as the spell attempts to disrupt the magical energy keeping her animate. Paragon half-steps backwards before steadying herself and regaining equilibrium. It may have felt disorienting and strange, but she's still alive.

Well...still undead, really. As opposed to just dead.

As the Kurosawa Effect fades away, Katana and Malcolm fade into view. They are locked in a positively outrageous pose with Malcolm controlling the Yakuza swordsman's blade with one hand while his other hand seems to have grabbed the swordsman by the lapels of his fine suit. One of Malcolm's legs is tangled up in the swordsman's legs as well, which also serves to immobilize himself at the moment, both men head-to-head in a staredown as Paragon is beset by anti-necromantic sorcery!

Whatever will Paragon do now?!

Paragon is left with little choice at the moment but to face the Triad sorceror in the hopes of taking him down before he takes her out. She doesn't have much to worry about from the gunman. But this anti-necromantic magic could be a serious threat.

"Ace...that mage," she starts as she protectively places a hand over her chestplate, where her unbeating heart lies. "He's more critical than the gunman." She hates to disobey the tactics Malcolm suggested, but the sorceror could do some serious damage to her. Or worse.

When she needs to, Paragon can be capable of some impressive bursts of speed and flexibility once her body is warmed up, or when lives are in danger. Her left foot slides back two inches, grinding into the ground as her knee flexes into a half coil.

She remains that way, immobile. Only her eyes move about for a moment, calculations on physics and trajectory running several simulations and angles of attack. Finally, a solution to the problem is highlighted in her HUD. And then suddenly, she takes off like a bullet.

Her powerful legs propel her in a leap that is reminiscent of watching someone get shot out of a cannon. But she actually sails overhead past the sorceror two meters above him, her bulky armored form tucking into a ball and flipping in a sommersault to land feet first horizontally against the rail of a fire escape. Her knees flex and collapse like coiled springs, and with a rapid extension, she's sent flying back in the direction she came from, but at a lower angle.

She barrel rolls in the air to right herself, leading with her right fist. Usually, this would have all the promise of the impact of a 1.6 kiloton bomb. But she aims precisely not to permanently maim or kill, landing a fast glancing blow to the back of the Triad Sorceror's head.

Matt has left.

The Triad Soldiers start congratulating one another in Chinese as Paragon appears to start fleeing. Gunman even crows, "Where your back up now, gwailo? You gon' die now," before the fire escape's aged metal offers that horrendous creak of strain as Paragon launches herself off of it.

Shocked, the Triad Sorceror swivels in time to see Paragon's fist an inch from his face. His mouth opens, but no sound ever actually comes out. Instead, the Triad Sorceror takes the blow dead in the center of the chest on what may be an important accupressure point. Gagging for a second, he crumples to the ground, utterly and deeply unconscious. The moneysword clatters to the ground and rolls away from his prone form.

Pivoting to bring his pistol back onto target with Paragon, the Triad Gunman shrieks before he empties his clip on Paragon. He really is not helping his case for not being a fifth rate gunslinger.

Katana takes a round to his lower back and lets out a pained howl as he drops to one knee. His hands remain tightly wrapped about his katana, which is itself bound up in Malcolm's arms. For the moment, Katana seems to just hang there, groin uncomfortably sliding down Malcolm's leg - did he just cause Malcolm to knee him in the crotch?! - as he tries to overcome the shock of being shot in the kidney in spite of the armor plating in his suit coat.

Oh, by the way, this means Paragon is up since she's a higher speed than Malcolm and Katana just had to waste his Seg 5 Phase on recovering from CON-STUN.

Paragon landed a few feet past the Triad sorcerer in a three point landing after the passing strike. While she's still crouched there and beginning to stand, the Triad Gunman unleashes a hail of bullets on her. Many hit the ground or the wall behind her, but many also ricochet off of her armored plating harmlessly.

Her spine rolls as she rises and straightens up, then turns towards the gunman to stare blankly towards him. With the bullets having no affect, and her faceplate covering all expression, this may come off as ominous. Until she holds out a hand, palm pointed skyward and waiting. "I think you should give me that firearm now and surrender," she suggests kindly to the outclassed gunman.

"What... WHAT ARE YOU?!" shrieks the Triad Gunman. He is very visibly shaking as he stares at Paragon.

Malcolm promptly takes the opportunity presented by Katana dropping to his knees. With a fluid motion of his arms, Malcolm spins the katana out of immediate striking range and grabs the Yakuza swordsman by both lapels. Rearing his head back, Malcolm roughly lifts the swordsman up to his feet and up against Malcolm's body.

Promptly, Malcolm's head snaps forward to drive his forehead into the Yakuza Swordsman's face. It looks like the sort of thing that might hurt a lot.


 * CRACK*

The Yakuza Swordsman drops his sword as his entire body goes slack. His entire face is a bloody mess and Malcolm immediately regrets the hit as he straightens up. Wincing in sympathy, Malcolm gingerly drops the Swordsman to the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Brother, just put the gun down and you can be the only one that doesn't need a trip to the hospital," offers Malcolm in his nicest, most pleasant tone of voice.

Paragon's fingers flex into a closed hand and open a few times in a 'gimme' gesture for the gun. "I'm Paragon of the Guardians," she states in simple cheer. "And that is Special Agent Gibbs of Starguard. Surrender now, and you will not risk injury during this citizen's arrest," she informs with a helpful tooltip on how to avoid getting a fist in the face.

Or a PROTIP on how to avoid having a fist impact his face.

The Triad gunman looks uncertainly from Paragon to Malcolm and back again. He is, apparently, one of those guys who just shuts down in a situation like this. Paragon could probably disarm him pretty easily, especially since his gun is empty.

Paragon's armored gauntlet reaches forward slowly. She almost daintily pinches the muzzle of the gun between her index finger and thumb, as though plucking a flower petal. Her pull is gradual but firm, and no amount of strength the normal man has could keep it in his grip. The pulling just gets stronger and stronger until he lets go.

It takes a few seconds before Paragon pulls the gun free of its wielder. He may not be super-human - or even a particularly effective gunman - the last standing Triad soldier had quite the deathgrip on the butt of his pistol. Staring in horror at the giant woman in metal armor and the giant man rumored to have iron skin, Triad Gunman takes a step backward. There's a good chance he is unintentionally trying to press himself up against the alley wall in a vain effort to disappear from view.

Malcolm steps forward, cracking his knuckles as he offers a broad, cheerful smile at the Gunman. Holding his hands up in a universal sign of 'I come in peace', Malcolm cheerily intones, "Now. How about you tell us what's up with the Triads and the Yakuza holding meetings like this one. C'mon, neither of us are any good at gossip, you know your secret's safe with us."

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Paragon is notoriously bad at the gossip and small talk. As Malcolm approaches the Triad with a soft approach, she examines the empty gun with glowing cyan eyes, noting the weapon isn't loaded. Then she closes her fist over it. There's the crack of metal breaking and the creak of other metal parts bending, the gun is crumpled in her grip as though it were a piece of paper being scrapped. Her helm lifts up to regards the Triad Gunlessman, hand still closed on the compacted gun.

Huh? (Type "help" for help.)

"D-d-Don't touch me, gwailo," threatens the Triad soldier. He lifts his hands in what may be intended as a bear-scaring position. Malcolm looks unimpressed - and Paragon cannot physically appear impressed with her helmet on - as the pose is struck. Both men stare at one another for long moments before, abruptly, the Triad soldier spins around and attempts to run away.

Our dear, dear friend in the Triads makes it two steps before he crashes, face-first, into the alley wall at speed. He falls backward and crashes to the ground on his back, apparently completely unconscious. At least he didn't have to suffer the indignity of Paragon or Malcolm beating his face in like the others did. Triad Soldier went down on his own terms.

"Well. That was unexpected," offers Malcolm, looking over at Paragon questioningly.

Paragon's eyes blink on and off at Malcolm. Her helm snaps down to the unconscious man, then back to Malcolm. "Indeed. He didn't need to take the right to remain silent so far," she says in deadpan. "The Triads own Chinatown. They are pervasive and protected here. If the Yakuza are joining forces with them..." her voice trails off. She doesn't need to state that it would be trouble. She looks over to the sorceror Triad as he slumbers rather forcefully. "I wonder if they would gain the same protection the Triads have."

Malcolm sighs and shakes his head, squatting down alongside the unconscious Triad soldier. Quickly and efficiently, Malcolm pats the man down in search of information. Looking over his shoulder at Paragon, Malcolm inquires, "What do you mean?"

Paragon could probably pat down the Triad Sorceror. He's no more or less dressed than any other organized crime figures in the alley. Not to mention, maybe she could find his spell book or something! That's a cool souvenir, isn't it?

Paragon's helm pans about in search of other witnesses. "If the Yakuza ally with the Triads, it could be a tipping point in the stand off between Tim Lee and Pride Tien Leung," she explains what little she has been taught about the Triads. She walks over to the Triad Sorceror with the heavy thunking of her bootfalls. She bends down smoothly onto one knee beside the sorceror.

"Do you know which faction these men may be from? I don't know much about organized crime. I would help bring more of these types to justice, but it has been explained that I understand little of the situation and would cause more harm than good." She runs her metal sheathed hand over the sorceror as her helm scans the man. Her internal HUD turns a light blue and shows his skeletal structure and loose items in his pockets, and any other items of interest as semi-transparent with highlighted outlines. "I haven't had many encounters with the Triads in person. I was a bit surprised by this person's magic. It felt...strange. Like an odd tugging inside. It's difficult to put into words."

"No idea, P, sorry. Triads aren't really my specialty," replies Malcolm. He rubs at his neck with one hand, his metal cables snaking out to collect several items of interest from the gunman's pockets. Malcolm stands up and goes through the fallen Triad soldier's PDA, a handful of business cards, and even the guy's spare magazines of bullets. Nothing really seems to pique his interest, but Malcolm does pocket the spare bullets before his tendrils of steel return the other junk to the former gunman's pockets.

Paragon finds a small, substantially aged pocket notebook in the sorceror's pockets. It is full of ancient Chinese secrets, though it's not clear if those secrets are related to dry cleaning, cooking, or actual magic. She might need someone that actually speaks/reads Chinese to help her figure it out. There's also some sort of peach pit talisman tucked into another pocket, Paragon senses there's something unusual about it, but what it is and what it's supposed to be is anyone guess.

Of course, Paragon also discovers something else of value. She finds a slip of paper in the notebook, folded up, with slightly smeared ink. It lists an address practically on the other side of Chinatown that Paragon can quickly verify via Goggle Maps is a warehouse.

"You ask me," comments Malcolm, "They're not really allying themselves. Yakuza have access to some top tier equipment and the Triads, whichever family this is, is looking to upgrade their stock. Probably looking for an advantage in some upcoming turf war between Lee and Pride."

Within her helm, Paragon's brow furrows as she thumbs through the aged pocketbook. If it were full of secret family recipes, she'd be pretty thrilled. "If only I had translation software installed," she murmurs to herself.

Some more searching produces the strange talisman. Her eyes dim. "Maybe I should download some artifact reference material as well."

Listening to Malcolm's thoughts on the matter, her eyes don't exactly brighten. "That could be very dangerous for the citizens living here. The last thing we need is one side getting an edge of the other."

She snaps the booklet shut. The force of the snap causes the slip of paper to shoot out of the booklet with a puff of air. It drifts to the floor and catches Paragon's attention. She snatches it up unfolds it. As her eyes scan the page, a window opens up in her interface that brings up an overhead view of Google Maps. "I found an address on this one. It's in Chinatown, but towards the other edge."

"Closer to the docks?" inquires Malcolm, busily collecting the bullets from the Yakuza gunman. He muses on the possible meanings of this before he shrugs a little bit. Calling over to Paragon, Malcolm cheerily inquires, "Would you care to join me in beating up more underworld thugs and possibly ruining a budding financial partnership between organized crime families?"

"It would be my pleasure, Ace," Paragon replies with equal cheer and definitely some excitement. A chance to do some heroing! After being on babycare duty, she's eager to get back into the action. She tries to mute her excitement over her neural connection with Porter so he doesn't worry, but her eyes illuminate in full as she goes on high alert.

"You, uh, you might want to armor down for the trip, P," replies Malcolm. He offers a lopsided smile and a little shrug of his shoulders, gesturing at Paragon's armor. Perhaps Malcolm expects Paragon to be less conspicuous out of armor? Less likely to shake loose objects in the streets with her every foot step? It is mysterious.

Paragon tilts her head a moment, then looks down at herself. "You think so? It will only take 6.8 seconds to get there. But if you insist." Malcolm may remember the time she landed heavily on Starguard HQ's rooftop and caused the squads to scramble thinking they were under attack, so he probably knows better than Paragon does about how unsubtle she can be.

Paragon politely complies, her back straightening and her shoulders pulling back. There's the clicking of latches and a sliding of metal on metal. Her helm rolls back and retracts into the back of her neckguard into a storage compartment. Then, her armor suit splits down the middle along the central plating, and invisible seams appear as it separates. The armor unwraps itself from her and begins to fold itself away layer by layer as it transforms and compacts, all gathering behind her before it withdraws into her lower and mid back through two...'access slits' along each side of her spine. The dress she was wear now has a forced open-back look.