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To Serve and Protect?; ONE SHOT-closed
Topic Started: Jul 20 2013, 10:07 PM (111 Views)
Darkstar
Unregistered

July 18, Mid Afternoon
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A mere hour ago, the blond SHIELD agent had been a victim to an unwarranted attack while on duty. The attack had been unexpected; a small seemingly harmless crowd had turned on her as quick as someone could flip a light switch. She had been observing the group of approximately fifteen men and women as they crowded around the televisions on display in a shop window. While she was clothed in civilian attire but actively on duty, her casual appearance alongside her gender gave her the advantage as appearing as nonthreatening as possible or at least so she had thought.

A firm hand gripped her shoulder tightly, swinging her around to meet a set of fiery eyes, his grip didn’t falter for a second. “You, I’ve seen you before. You are one of them, you are one of those government owned mutant freaks, we pay taxes, does that mean we own you?”

“Sir. Please be so kind to remove your hand.” She remained calm, her own strong gaze met the stranger’s as they narrowed to the sound of her voice. His boisterous behavior quickly to attracted the attention of those around, unfortunately. He didn’t remove his hand; instead he closed the distance between them, waving a finger from his free hand in her face as he continued on his fear fueled rant. “You are not even an American… You a mail order mutie?” A personal insult was a great way to escalate things, which aided her in deciding quickly it was time to shut this guy up.

“This woman! She’s one of them!!”

Too late.

A heavy fist came from outside her peripheral vision, connecting solidly with the fine bone structure of her jaw which caused Laynia to wobble on her feet in shock. Adrenaline allowed her to respond, she lashed out to the instigator with a firm palm to the sternum, followed by a closed, sharp fist to the chin. But her victory didn’t last, instead a series of strikes to the back of her skull tipped her forward again just in time for a glass bottle to collide with her forehead, dropping the petite woman as the crowd tightened their circle around her, everyone wanted to get some of their frustrations out and here was their opportunity.

It was unclear exactly what had happened until she regained consciousness,
barely in time to catch a foot on course to her rib cage. She twisted the ankle viciously, sending the owner’s body spinning to the ground. She could taste blood and her head was pounding, she couldn’t be expected to wait around to deescalate the situation, she needed to take flight and escape while she was still able. A thin ebony veil of energy wrapped around every curve, hoisting herself free from the grasp of the agitated crowd, erupting into flight at her very top speed.

A short while later.

Seated in front of SHIELD medic who was holding a mirror up to her face, she got a good look at her set of stitches and freshly bruised face, the crowd had really left their mark on her. A painful reminder that the state of the city was at an all-time low and still, there was plenty of room for things to get worse. The last few months had been quite emotionally draining, she imagined she was not the only civil servant feeling the pressure at the hands the infamous Illuminati. Their effective series of attacks had slowly been chipping away at the status quo. People were angry and agitated with all that had happened and were fearful of what was to come. Now their fear outweighed any sort of rationality and her battered frame was proof enough.

“Well you are lucky you didn’t get a concussion, you must be a lot tougher than you look.” Medic joked, obviously trying to make light of the situation.
She forced a smile, “Apparently not, but if I am all in the clear, I’ll take your word for it.”

Her jawline and cheek were terribly discolored, along with a couple stray marks on her neck and arms, it was the 2 inch gash on her forehead that was the deal breaker and the last thing she could remember before briefly blacking out. She had bravely volunteered to patrol the streets ever since the outbreak of violence at St. Vincent`s Cross and truly things had gone from bad to way worse. Laynia had grown up in the Soviet Bloc, had witnessed the dissolution of a once powerful empire and the civil unrest to follow and frankly, her day to day experiences on the New York streets were starting to mirror just that. A society crumbling from the core, violence running rampant in the streets and respect dwindling for those delegated to lend aid and provide protection.

This needed to be changed, faith needed to be renewed and she found the need to make one thing crystal clear. She would not be intimidated by violence and would not be discouraged from doing what was right.
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