Monday, May 25th, 10:30 PM local time.
Jericho Blake kept to the shadows as he made his way through the crowded city. Men of his size and ethnicity were rare here. He thus kept to back alleys as much as he could, and trusted to the dark glasses and baseball cap to help him when he had to cross busy streets.
His bruises were still obvious, but not painful. Gaia had healed him quickly after the beating stopped, but intra cutaneous hematomas would stay until the hemoglobin broke down like in any other person. He growled inwardly, remembering how LeBlanc had been executed before his eyes. His escape had been somewhat cathartic, but there was more than revenge at stake.
This child prostitution and slavery ring had survived because 6 months ago LeBlanc wrongly assumed killing the upper echelons would destroy it. He had been wrong, and paid with his life, and that of many innocents. Blake planned to eradicate them. Every one of the bastards.
The increased police presence was a concern. All his instincts told him they were looking not for the human traffickers, but for him. But all he needed to do was get to the hotel. Under the bed, he had a suitcase full of untraceable weapons and ammunition. Also his conduit, should he need to get anything else from Brooklyn.
The hunter's instinct drove him to hurry, but the patience of many a hunt tempered that, making sure to call the least attention possible. But as he turned the next to last corner... The stench of smoke. Sirens. He kept walking, and was not surprised to see the hotel in flames.
The bastards must have gotten it from Leblanc, but had no easy way to trace the room, as Blake had paid a local to check in for him. So they blew up the whole place. He gritted his teeth as he kept walking, keeping to the shadows. Mentally he reviewed his current resources. A Taurus revolver in .357, a Beretta M9 with 2 magazines, and a butterfly knife. The spoils of battle.
But he'd need more if he was going to wipe these assholes from the face of the Earth. Time to talk to some old Company contacts. The kind whose numbers you never forget...
Jericho Blake kept to the shadows as he made his way through the crowded city. Men of his size and ethnicity were rare here. He thus kept to back alleys as much as he could, and trusted to the dark glasses and baseball cap to help him when he had to cross busy streets.
His bruises were still obvious, but not painful. Gaia had healed him quickly after the beating stopped, but intra cutaneous hematomas would stay until the hemoglobin broke down like in any other person. He growled inwardly, remembering how LeBlanc had been executed before his eyes. His escape had been somewhat cathartic, but there was more than revenge at stake.
This child prostitution and slavery ring had survived because 6 months ago LeBlanc wrongly assumed killing the upper echelons would destroy it. He had been wrong, and paid with his life, and that of many innocents. Blake planned to eradicate them. Every one of the bastards.
The increased police presence was a concern. All his instincts told him they were looking not for the human traffickers, but for him. But all he needed to do was get to the hotel. Under the bed, he had a suitcase full of untraceable weapons and ammunition. Also his conduit, should he need to get anything else from Brooklyn.
The hunter's instinct drove him to hurry, but the patience of many a hunt tempered that, making sure to call the least attention possible. But as he turned the next to last corner... The stench of smoke. Sirens. He kept walking, and was not surprised to see the hotel in flames.
The bastards must have gotten it from Leblanc, but had no easy way to trace the room, as Blake had paid a local to check in for him. So they blew up the whole place. He gritted his teeth as he kept walking, keeping to the shadows. Mentally he reviewed his current resources. A Taurus revolver in .357, a Beretta M9 with 2 magazines, and a butterfly knife. The spoils of battle.
But he'd need more if he was going to wipe these assholes from the face of the Earth. Time to talk to some old Company contacts. The kind whose numbers you never forget...