The Wanderer

This Universe is a dangerous one. Assassins and murderers are ready to tear you apart at a moment's notice. However, at least the Toa were able to uphold Order. But after the Great Cataclysm…? The Toa of old are dead, leaving only newer, inexperienced ones in their stead… and new ones to ascend to the pantheon.

This warrior sighed in the rain. He had no purpose now. He had forgotten it… all those years ago. He remembered that he was a warrior, upholding the will of the Great Spirit… but that was then, and this is now.

Then, he had strove to uphold the Will of Mata Nui, ergo, he had strove to uphold Unity, Duty, and… Destiny. Now, he could hardly say that he stood for these Virtues, could he?

Then, he fought, not to kill, not to destroy, but to protect. Now, he could hardly say that he was the protector, could he?

Then, he was what they could call a hero, winning the admiration and respect of all. Now, he was what they called a monster. He no longer bore the armor of a hero, but instead, he wore the armor of a murderer.

Enough psychoanalysis. The world went by, with or without his contemplation of his current state. Besides, he had a job to do. Touching a hand to his rusted Hau, he stood up, scanning the horizon of Xia. He shouldn't stay in the rain too long… it was most likely acidic from all that smog and stuff. But on the plus side, the clouds somewhat darkened the entire island, making him not stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe he'd stick out like a Toa on Xia… but that was beside the point. He took his old, tattered cloak, and flung it over his head. There! So much more inconspicuous!

Nodding in satisfaction, he continued down the street, towards his target. He didn't bother remembering her name. Names made it personal. He preferred it when they were the faceless inimical targets that his employers had made them out to be. What she did, however, was important. She was one of the big weapon manufacturers on this island. That certainly said a lot, considering that this was Xia. The problem was that her weapons were used blow things up. Namely, various settlements.

He continued forward towards the large building that was her headquarters. Publicity was a terrible thing… you were contractually obliged to hire receptionists, incompetent guards, all of those things that came with a corporation. He walked into the building, and strode up to the male Vortixx receptionist. The Vortixx looked up, startled. "Name and date of appointment?"

"Dorian. Business meeting. With the chairwoman," the assassin said, using one of his aliases.

The Vortixx glanced through his register, nodding. "Ah, you are the Dorian scheduled to meet with Chairwoman Deraka in five minutes. However, she is running late, so you will have to meet with her representative, Denare."

Oh, this wouldn't do at all. He wasn't sent to find a lackey. He knew that resistance would get him attacked by her private army (what weapons dealer didn't keep one hidden in the basement or something?)… And that would complicate his job immensely. So he nodded, and began to walk down the hall, when the Vortixx coughed, and pointed towards a sign saying 'LEAVE ALL PERSONAL ARMS HERE.'

'Dorian' grunted in annoyance. Again, it would not be good for him to combat the private army of incompetence, so he did so, leaving his large claymore on the table. "I expect it back… un-tampered."

The Vortixx took the blade rather carelessly, stowing it under the desk. 'Dorian' winced as the blade clattered against the material, but shoved the thought from his mind.

He continued down the hall, towards the room where he was expected to go to. However, he quickly swerved away, heading for the stair steps. Quite obviously, the chairwoman would be dealing with others at the top. The reason was because nobody in this corporation was allowed on the top floor. Unless they wished a very painful death involving decapitation and the like. That thought in mind, he palmed the elevator button, stepped in, and pressed the button for the highest floor possible.

The elevator smoothly moved up for a few minutes—and then came to an abrupt halt. 'Dorian' cursed vehemently, as he immediately moved around. It could NOT be coincidence that the elevator somehow broke down the day he arrived. He checked the number that he had absentmindedly pressed. 47. Well blast then! There were 47 levels to this building, and if the contractor was stupid enough to add the last one, then she was smart enough to rig an alarm.

Nope. No luck. There was no way out, meaning that he'd have to wait until they came for him, and then wait as they proceeded with the traditional bone-breaking. Well, he was NOT one to wait around. His hands briefly glowed, and then discharged their energy, sending hot plasma at the ceiling, slagging it. That being done, he jumped up, climbing onto the roof of the elevator, and looked up. Good thing that it utilized pulleys, rather than the new gravity generators that other institutions had begun to use. He grabbed one of the ropes, held it tight, and then snapped it with another burst of plasma. The rope, no longer attached to the elevator, began pulling him upwards.

Another design flaw. One that he fully intended to exploit. The elevator crashed down into the floor, and he flew to the topmost level, effectively ending his journey.

A swing, and then another, and he slammed straight into the elevator doors, slagging them as well. Plasma was so… useful.

He glanced at the floor number. Forty-seven. He walked down the hall… again. Sadly for him, guards also patrolled these floors, as he soon found out, when a Steltian behind him exclaimed something intelligible and fired a cordak missile at him. 'Dorian' was forced to roll aside, having heard the roar, but grunted as the shrapnel from the weapon slashed at his side, but an enemy was revealed to him. Fortunately, this one was of Krekka's species. Meaning that he was about as dumb as a rock, and looked as good, too. He ran around a corner, and waited, looking back. Nobody was flanking him. True to tradition, the guard ran straight into him, and received a faceful of plasma for his troubles. He bent down to pick the guard's cordak blaster. It was loud, and ugly, but there was little point in debating the aesthetics, considering that there was little point in trying to remain quiet. He hefted the gargantuan weapon, and continued down the hallway.

The second guard came, shouldering his zamor sphere launcher. A single round blew him apart, sending his limbs spattering against the wall.

Smirk again. Four rounds left, one large door to go. And the only thing standing in his way was… some random number of guards. He guessed that he needed at least four to punch through the door, so that left him no more free rounds. Which was tough, since two Vortixx guards flanked the door. Not just any two, but two who bore multitudes of scars, and were certainly veterans in the game of combat, considering that they simply waited for him, rather than brainlessly advancing on him by themselves. The both of knew that, and they certainly had the advantage in weaponry. How could they not, with their wicked looking staffs that crackled with shadow energy?

He slung his 'borrowed' cordak blaster over his shoulder, and spread out his hands, clearly saying: let's do this, punks.

The two guards obliged, advancing on the unarmed assassin. The first to attack jumped forward, swinging his staff with quick, deft movements, forcing his enemy back, while the other stayed away, slowly, but surely moving into an ideal flanking position. Of course, the other didn't notice this; as he was too busy trying to dodge the staff swipes, which he barely managed to do. This guy was good. Thrust, thrust, sweep! Thrust, thrust, and sweep… again? This one was fast, but, unfortunately for him, he was predictable. He dodged the same strikes… again, so, this time, he retaliated with a swift punch that sent him reeling, and allowed the assassin a brief respite. He stepped back… into the waiting arms of the second, who grabbed his arms, shouting, "C'mon, Jarek! Finish 'im!"

The second guard, having recovered from the blow, obliged, twisting the staff, and jerked it forward, intending to run his opponent through—but instead getting his ally, who was twisted into position by the struggling assassin. He slid down limply, a look of shock in his eyes.

The other Vortixx withdrew his staff, the blood of his comrade still staining it. If he was perturbed by this, he didn't show it, as he continued his relentless assault, switching his tactics. He would have torn his opponent by now, had he not appropriated a staff for himself. He parried the blows, the two of them matching each other, blow for blow, until he quickly finished the Vortixx off with an uppercut. That dealt with, he raised his cordak blaster, and emptied it. The four red missiles streaked into the door tearing it apart. Apparently, four was overkill… meaning that he had fought for little reason! Aside from limbering up, that is.

He kept the staff, and strode through the opening, where his target sat, apparently paralyzed with fright. Behind her were several screens, each of them different. One of them had numbers, another was a video showing random soldiers shooting at others… the list was rather extensive.

"Who… who are you?" his target managed to stammer out. Seeing that her antagonist didn't move to strike her down immediately, she grew a little bolder. "Reveal yourself!"

The mercenary chuckled at her boldness. Usually, most would be screaming or have had an embarrassing accident by now. But the point was rather moot. "My employers send their regards." He raised his staff, and brought it down on his target, not caring fro whatever screams she may have, whatever pleas she may utter. And it was over. Like that. She was dead, and his employers were happy.

Now, all he needed was a way to get his blade back, get down, and all that jazz. He immediately went forward, searching for an intercom or a computer. There we go. He found her computer... still logged in. A quick composition, and that odious receptionist would be out of the way.

The Vortixx was still minding his own business (never mind the crashes or whatever that had occurred), when a giant pop-up appeared. It simply read: "YOU'RE FIRED." He sat still for a while, until angrily, he stormed out of the building.

Meanwhile, the assassin had taken the chairwoman's own express elevator down... and managed to see the Vortixx leave angrily. "Hey, where's my blade?" he asked.

The Vortixx pointed an irate finger backwards, before walking out. He had heard that perhaps the mines needed a bureaucrat.

The other smiled, as he walked over to the desk, collecting his weapon. He loved it.