The shadows hung heavily among the rafters of the old abandoned warehouse. His mission was simple recon, until he discovered what he wasn't supposed to. It seemed that the White Fang had made a move on Shadow Hands turf. The two factions had been in heated war with one another since the beginning of The White Fangs transition to crime. They had tried to push into Shadow Hands territory before and it seemed as if they where trying once again, but why was Roman Torchwick among the ranks? Smoke backed further into the shadows as two new characters approached Roman. A tanned woman with emerald hair and a tall young man decked in gray.
An argument seemed to be going on amongst the three though it stopped suddenly, as they looked over to the platform. Smoke allowed his eyes to take in the woman who seemed to be in charge. But who was she? She looked familiar. Smoke reach behind himself for the small book he kept, the Black Book, a book in which the Shadow Hand kept a full record of any and all threats to the organization.
There she was, He knew she was familiar to him, Cinder Falls was a powerful dust user and a Class 3 threat level assessment. Recommended action? Elimination. Smoke stood up from is hiding place in the ceiling and loosened the short sword in its scabbard on his back. Reaching into the small supply bag at his waist the lone surveyor withdrew a few small pills and tossed them to the ground far below where the impact caused then to rupture and blow thus filling the warehouse with a quick spreading sickly green vapor.
Smoke pulled his mask Grimm bone mask over his face ans too the built in re-breather in his mouth and fell back off the beam he had been crouched on. As he fell Smoke took the Sword from his back and swung it to the left where the blade extended 15 feet away, the sword had become a bladed whip that carved a bloody swath through a group of White Fang that he continued to fall toward.
The Pavement cracked and shattered into a crated at his impact. Standing Smoke peered through the dissipating vapor at Cinder who stood tall and proud and ready for combat. "Cinder Falls, By order of the Shadow Hand you will now die."
Smoke prepared to strike but was forced to dodge as Cinder ignited a barrel of dust a short distance from him. The exploitation rocked the ware house as another blew shortly after. One by one other crates and barrels went up in fiery smoke like a line of domino. Quickly moving through the collapsing building and sticking close and low to the walls Smoke made his way with careful haste to the glowing exit. The sound of combustion and the thick blackness converged on him from all sides. Leaping the last bit of distance Smoke made it to the outside and clear air.
A searing pain exploded in his shoulder and his body rag dolled away as his exit spat fire. Rolling with the impact he was able to regain his footing. With fleet feet and an injured shoulder Smoke headed for the nearest ally to him. Blood seeped into the ground in a long winding trail was he left the scene and took cover in the shadows.
A small man hole in a deserted part of town, such small unnoticeable things sometimes hold the greatest secrets. This was the entrance the Shadow Hands HQ in Vale. Lifting the steel cover Smoke silently made his way down. Water ran in deep canals through the tunnels of the sewer system. Though thanks to the lack of population in this sector of the city the water was remarkably clean for a sewer system.
Making his way through the damp mossy and slightly foul smelling tunnel he kept his eyes sharp. Every member of the Shadow Hand knew a general location of the entrance way. They had to find the door themselves. And once that agent knew where it was he or she had to keep it to themselves. It was a practice of safety. Being a part of the organization meant that you had to be able to keep your secrets even at the door to death and beyond. The weak where weeded out in the initiation process to becoming a nameless Pawn. After a year if the Pawn was able to last out his duties and prove their loyalty then that Pawn was able to choose their function within the organization. There where the powerful Knights who severed as the guards for there various hideouts and HQ positions. Rooks acted as scouts, infiltrators and if need be, assassins. The Bishops Where the messengers, radio room mechanics and secretaries. The Queen was the head of the Bishops and was a position that one had to be elected into. And the King was the head of the HQ. The King could only be appointed by the Master, the head of the whole organization.
Smoke pulled up suddenly as eyes keen eyes picked out a large rectangular crack in the wall. Smoke immediately approached the wall and gave a small knock that seemed to reverberate around the tunnels. Soon after a small pad slid out of a hole to the right and glowed blue. Smoke removed a glove and place it on the scanner. After a moment the blue turned to a deep green and the pad retracted before a small microphone extended from another hole.
"Level 3 Rook ID 14487. Designation: Ember Smoke. Reporting Tier 7 Intel on Cinder Falls, Type 2 Threat." Smoke all but whispered to the microphone. After the microphone retracted the whole fake panal lifted up to reveal a sharp contrast to the dingy sewers. Pearly white walls and bright florescent lights splattered his shadow across the tunnels. Stepping into the light Smoke made his way past dozens of hurrying Bishops moving across the floors with single mindedness. They heavily reminded Smoke of busy worker ants.
After several minuets Smoke found himself at the end of what seemed like glass stairs that reflected the florescent light painfully into his eyes. Smoke always thought that this particular tidbit was meant to intimidate. After all any Intel rated between Tier 4 and 6 was meant to be reported to the Queen while Tier 7, the highest Tier, was meant for a direct report to the King.
Smoke gently made his way up the steps sub-conscientiously afraid to damage them. At the top there was a simple smoked glass door that was labeled "King" in gold. One knock was al it took before Smoke was admitted into a spartan white room. A desk, computer, and the King, nothing else was present. No small knick-knacks, no nothing. The king was a genital looking man who appeared to be close to his 70's. Kind wrinkles governed his flash and a long elegant white beard dominated his face. Warm blue eyes and a bowler hat. This man terrified Smoke. A lamb in a den of vipers who had no need for fear was one bad ass Lamb.