Reflection
Dec 21, 2012 1:18:28 GMT -6
Post by Chanto on Dec 21, 2012 1:18:28 GMT -6
With a rather abject sense of dejection, Chanto plodded on down the darkened city sidewalk, shivering even in his thick hoodie. "It's way too damn cold out here...", he murmured to himself. The wind was really picking up at this point, whipping thousands of snowflakes around the air, many of them smacking into Chanto's face. What a day to really kick in the winter season...
The apartment buildings at either side of him looked so warm and inviting and...out-of-reach. He would have sighed if his breathing wasn't already so thrown off by the extreme cold. Unfortunately, with the life he led, Chanto couldn't afford to live in a cozy apartment building. Neither literally nor figuratively. Technically, he supposed, he could possibly rent out an apartment for some time with the cash he had stocked up, but his...occupation didn't exactly afford him much consistency in his budget. And even if he could provide himself stable lodgings, again, his job as a hunter made that an unwise idea. There were plenty of people, he was sure, out to get him just for that. Not to mention his history that's put a bounty on his head with both the mafia and the royal guard...
So, to keep from staying locked down in one place for too long, he had to slum it. His home was whatever motel he was currently renting a room in. Generally, these were at the edge of town, which meant pretty long treks for him. Normally he was able to at least make the trips to and from his destinations interesting by running and jumping along the rooftops all the way back home, but with deep winter setting in, and remembering his fiasco with trying to take down Lairion a while back, he was smart enough to realize that rooftops + slippery ice = pain, most likely. So he walked like everyone else, to his dismay.
After a couple of hours of trekking, he made it back to his room, Room 12 at the Hornet's Nest Inn. Not the most pleasant of names, really, but a room's a room. It had all the basics that he really needed. Food storage, a bed, bathroom, outlets and an internet connection, along with a few other niceties that he never really bothered with. Television and such.
He walked into the darkened room and flashed some light out of his right palm to illuminate the area just long enough to check the inside perimeter for any potential ambushers. Satisfied that he was safe, he locked the door, strolled over and flopped down onto his bed, exhausted. He nearly dozed off before remembering he had some important business to take care of. He rolled over and snapped up into a seated position, fished his laptop out of the bedside nightstand drawer, plugged it in, turned it on and logged into his email to see if he had any new job requests, or any updates on old ones. But this time around, he didn't come back for anything new. For the most part, he was relieved at this. He certainly wasn't in any kind of mood to deal with any more jobs right now.
His only current target was a Trojan named Arroz. His contact, all of whom always keeps anonymous, claimed that the mafioso had the rather unusual ability of Memory Theft. Chanto managed to track Arroz down to get his own opinion on the guy. While the hunting requests sent in served as a guideline as to what Chanto had to look out for, he would never take down someone solely on the word of a client. He had to make sure for himself that the target really did need to be taken down.
At this point, an explanation is overdue for what exactly Chanto does. Professionally, he refers to himself as a Hunter. While he's the only one around he's aware of, he realizes it's entirely possible that he's not the only one. Technically speaking, he's functionally an assassin, albeit a very morally-guided one. His clients can send in requests for him to eliminate particularly troublesome persons of interest, or extremely aggressive/destructive nonintelligent creatures that roam the land and sometimes manage to cause civilians trouble. The clients give him as much info as they can on the target; name, powers, why they have to be taken down, etc.
From that point, if Chanto deems it worth looking into--which is the case most of the time--he'll investigate and make his own judgment call, based on the information he finds, whether the potential target is enough of a threat to society or not to risk hunting them. His services usually manage to rake in decent sums of cash per kill for him. And because of the strict principles he follows, he's typically able to avoid any guilt over it, as he's cleaning up society in his own way, as he sees it.
Anyway, his previous mark, Arroz. His attempt to take him out hours ago was thwarted by the sudden appearance of police on the scene. It was initially just another one of his research runs, tracking his movements and activities, seeing what he'd do. As soon as he went, completely unprovoked, it seemed, after a practically defenseless teenager in the park, however, Arroz lost all living privileges in Chanto's eyes. The mafioso would make bail soon enough. Then Chanto would have to track him down all over again... But he wouldn't be able to hide forever, Chanto would make sure of that.
Frustrated at practically everything that occurred that day, he figured now was probably not the best of times to inform his client about the current status of things. He'd put it off until tomorrow. For now, he needed some rest. He shut off the laptop, put it away, and settled down in his nice-ish, mildly comfortable bed. As he started to doze off, he let his mind wander. It eventually wandered back to one of his first experiences with wanton vigilantism in the Ninth City after his escape from the Research Labs...
The apartment buildings at either side of him looked so warm and inviting and...out-of-reach. He would have sighed if his breathing wasn't already so thrown off by the extreme cold. Unfortunately, with the life he led, Chanto couldn't afford to live in a cozy apartment building. Neither literally nor figuratively. Technically, he supposed, he could possibly rent out an apartment for some time with the cash he had stocked up, but his...occupation didn't exactly afford him much consistency in his budget. And even if he could provide himself stable lodgings, again, his job as a hunter made that an unwise idea. There were plenty of people, he was sure, out to get him just for that. Not to mention his history that's put a bounty on his head with both the mafia and the royal guard...
So, to keep from staying locked down in one place for too long, he had to slum it. His home was whatever motel he was currently renting a room in. Generally, these were at the edge of town, which meant pretty long treks for him. Normally he was able to at least make the trips to and from his destinations interesting by running and jumping along the rooftops all the way back home, but with deep winter setting in, and remembering his fiasco with trying to take down Lairion a while back, he was smart enough to realize that rooftops + slippery ice = pain, most likely. So he walked like everyone else, to his dismay.
After a couple of hours of trekking, he made it back to his room, Room 12 at the Hornet's Nest Inn. Not the most pleasant of names, really, but a room's a room. It had all the basics that he really needed. Food storage, a bed, bathroom, outlets and an internet connection, along with a few other niceties that he never really bothered with. Television and such.
He walked into the darkened room and flashed some light out of his right palm to illuminate the area just long enough to check the inside perimeter for any potential ambushers. Satisfied that he was safe, he locked the door, strolled over and flopped down onto his bed, exhausted. He nearly dozed off before remembering he had some important business to take care of. He rolled over and snapped up into a seated position, fished his laptop out of the bedside nightstand drawer, plugged it in, turned it on and logged into his email to see if he had any new job requests, or any updates on old ones. But this time around, he didn't come back for anything new. For the most part, he was relieved at this. He certainly wasn't in any kind of mood to deal with any more jobs right now.
His only current target was a Trojan named Arroz. His contact, all of whom always keeps anonymous, claimed that the mafioso had the rather unusual ability of Memory Theft. Chanto managed to track Arroz down to get his own opinion on the guy. While the hunting requests sent in served as a guideline as to what Chanto had to look out for, he would never take down someone solely on the word of a client. He had to make sure for himself that the target really did need to be taken down.
At this point, an explanation is overdue for what exactly Chanto does. Professionally, he refers to himself as a Hunter. While he's the only one around he's aware of, he realizes it's entirely possible that he's not the only one. Technically speaking, he's functionally an assassin, albeit a very morally-guided one. His clients can send in requests for him to eliminate particularly troublesome persons of interest, or extremely aggressive/destructive nonintelligent creatures that roam the land and sometimes manage to cause civilians trouble. The clients give him as much info as they can on the target; name, powers, why they have to be taken down, etc.
From that point, if Chanto deems it worth looking into--which is the case most of the time--he'll investigate and make his own judgment call, based on the information he finds, whether the potential target is enough of a threat to society or not to risk hunting them. His services usually manage to rake in decent sums of cash per kill for him. And because of the strict principles he follows, he's typically able to avoid any guilt over it, as he's cleaning up society in his own way, as he sees it.
Anyway, his previous mark, Arroz. His attempt to take him out hours ago was thwarted by the sudden appearance of police on the scene. It was initially just another one of his research runs, tracking his movements and activities, seeing what he'd do. As soon as he went, completely unprovoked, it seemed, after a practically defenseless teenager in the park, however, Arroz lost all living privileges in Chanto's eyes. The mafioso would make bail soon enough. Then Chanto would have to track him down all over again... But he wouldn't be able to hide forever, Chanto would make sure of that.
Frustrated at practically everything that occurred that day, he figured now was probably not the best of times to inform his client about the current status of things. He'd put it off until tomorrow. For now, he needed some rest. He shut off the laptop, put it away, and settled down in his nice-ish, mildly comfortable bed. As he started to doze off, he let his mind wander. It eventually wandered back to one of his first experiences with wanton vigilantism in the Ninth City after his escape from the Research Labs...
It had only been a week since he managed to fight his way out of the so-called "protection" of the Royal Guard, but it felt like a month already. Everywhere Chanto went, he felt the need to keep one eye on every corner, waiting for someone with a big sword and shiny armor to come charging at him. Or to just get shot on the spot. He wasn't sure exactly how the government operated when it came to fugitives. Either way, his mind was on severe high-alert mode.
As he wandered through the local shopping district, his heightened perception clued him into a particularly distinct person in the crowd in front of a food stall. Among the clamor of people scrambling to buy fresh fruits, bread and such, he noticed one man in particular...he appeared to be picking off items of food every so often and stuffing them into his pockets. How did nobody else notice him? Well, no matter. He began to approach the stand. Fugitive or not, Chanto did retain some basic knowledge of right and wrong in his teachings. This little thief was not gonna get out of this quietly.
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