(2) Puck: Toronto

In that "bad part of town" that every major metropolis seems to have, Eugene Judd has finally caught up to his quarry.

Two nights ago he took up a cause to rid at least one neighborhood of their bad apples, and there bellow him, on the sidewalk, passing under streetlights, three thugs make their way back to their den.

Those men, thieves of the timid, had a pretty good score this evening. The former Alphan could've stopped them before they started but better to let them walk a broad trail to the ones who call the shots.

Tracking them was hard in the big city, for Puck didn't want the bustling winter crowd to see him. A cold front from the North helped clear the streets though, and a few rooftop subway car rides later avenues of solitude offer him more substantial hiding places.

A warehouse. "Typical", he thought. He wondered what other mobster clichés these clowns were good for. Puck scales the corrugated steel riddled with rust in order to gain the high ground, as it were. From above, he creeps along the heights until an opening can be convinced to squeeze him through. Tucking his trench coat into the crawlspace, Puck finished suiting up for action. Outfitted in black kevlar, accentuated with his trademark orange "P" along the front, he ambles downward until he lands softly on the second floor loft. Voices from nearby tell him that there are about five men in a room down the hall. Learning long ago never to leap before he looked, Judd searches for a way to better assess the situation.

To climb on top of it would be too risky. Old buildings like this enjoyed creaking at every opportunity, and so, instead he continues to probe for an opening, getting closer and closer to the door with each failed survey. He glances again toward the railing that opens the main part of the warehouse up from floor to ceiling and sees no threats from outside the busy, well lit room. He was about to peer through the tiny keyhole when a shift in the planks, slight as it was, warns him that someone from inside was about to exit. No other options present, Puck flattens himself in the corner as the door flies open, in effect, hiding him from view. A surge of comic relief strikes him at that moment and he turns to look through the door jam near his face. Six men had been in the room. One just left while the others mill around an accountant's table. Crumpled bills are spread out, but Puck sees no weapons... undoubtedly all concealed on the goons.

Stan the Goon: (looking up) Close the damn door, you horse's ass!
Roger the Crook: (walking away down the hall, over his shoulder) Aw, get bent!
Stan the Goon: Jimmy, get the door.

Seizing the moment, Puck slams the sturdy oak ingress closed on poor Jimmy's face. Just as quickly as he shut it though, the Alphan whips it open again, barrelling aggressively into the stunned room. Bounding over Jimmy's writhing body, Puck escorts three others from consciousness before anyone else can even spit out their expletives. One of the casualties of his assault, a broken chair offers up a detached leg for use against the remaining criminals. Five powerful strokes later the last two join the others on the floor.

Working quickly, Puck begins to stuff scattered money into a black pouch. He hears shouting from outside the room and silently curses. Too many new voices and thumping footsteps for this to be a cakewalk. Though he detests guns, Judd grabs one off a fallen thug and fires five shots into the open air outside the room. This will buy him time, as the reinforcements have to halt for fear of being hit... a good bluff. Puck prefers subduing his opponents the OLD, old fashioned way. In a flash, he's gathered up everything of value the room has to offer, including money, wallets and firearms and sets off through the doorway. Bullets zip past him, nipping at his fightsuit but taking no real bites into flesh.

Bounding up and into the shadowy rafters, Eugene has just struck a first blow against this small time pack of wolves. Escaping into the frigid night Puck delights in the rush.


A block away now, he watches the commotion surrounding the warehouse, taking mental notes and calculating forces. The operation's slightly larger than he'd hoped, but with the right plan, shouldn't be a problem. What he's most concerned about is how deep this thing runs. If police and politicians are involved it could escalate beyond his hopes and fears. All he wants is to do good by the honest folks carving out their living... nobody should have to wage a war just so they can break even.

On cue, a squad car pulls up without it's reds and blues flashing. A sure sign that they're there to secretly lend support to the enterprise, not to answer a distress call. A garage door opens greeting the officers with bloodied noses and angry body language. The cold weather captures their breath in steamy fits, and they all go inside.

Indignation rises, and the thought of innocent store owners fan flames inside Eugene Judd. This was supposed to be a probing mission. Gather info, knock a few heads together, take some guns off the streets, recoup some of the lost money... but something's changed. It's not enough. Puck removes the loaded pouch that's a part of his outfit, drops it on the rooftop and steps forward toward the ledge. In the background, Toronto's bright lights gleam in the frosty air. Directly before him, the warehouse taunts him, and he remembers, with a wide grin, that he's left his trench coat inside...

-end (2)