Jack Bauer (
out_of_time) wrote in
capeandcowllogs2012-06-01 07:14 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Radio's cold, soul is infected
WHO: Jack Bauer and OPEN
WHERE: Throughout the City
WHEN: The following takes place between Friday June 1st and Friday June 8th. Events occur in real time.
WARNINGS: Violence
SUMMARY: A disgraced ex-cop has declared war on crime. Chase him, help him, just meet and chat with him, whatever you like!
FORMAT: Paragraph, say when it's taking place in the subject!
Vlad Latanov died late on Friday night, breathing his last lying on a cold City street. One of his associates died with him, a hefty man with more tattoos than identification, suspected to be a Dolvanian in the City unlawfully. They both died with illegal pistols in their hands and bullets in their chests.
It was something of an open secret in the circles Latanov moved in that the 'import/export business man' was involved in unsavory activity, particularly extortion for the Zero's Children gang. He was known to make his rounds on Friday evenings, in the neighbourhood where he died, soliciting 'charitable donations' that were sometimes motivated by bruises or smashed property or broken fingers. In months of investigating, the police had never been able to find a victim willing to testify against him, or build a case that could lead to an arrest.
The rounds taken from the victims' chests matched those fired from an HK USP Compact. There was a certain former police officer who used that weapon, and he had been involved in the frustrating Latanov investigation.
The next night, a fire was set in a small home in Staten Island while the owners were at a party. The fire was quickly put under control by the City Fire Department, thanks to them being tipped off that it was going to be set. When they entered the home to fight the fire, they found a large collection of harmful and addictive narcotics, clearly intended for sale, with a few illegal firearms thrown in for good measure. The house owners insisted even as they were arrested that they had been framed by whoever broke into their home and set the fire.
That same night, an associate of the homeowners who happened to have a lengthy criminal record checked into a hospital, suffering from bruises and cuts consistent with being thrown through a window. He insisted that his injuries were the result of an accident, even as he scowled and muttered to himself about 'crazy goddamn Imports.'
On Sunday night, a bruised man filed a complaint with the police alleging that he and two associates had been accosted at gunpoint by an assailant who had handcuffed his friends, then proceeded to threaten and interrogate him for information on an 'emulator' drug ring that the three of them were most definitely not low-level dealers in. The victim was very definite about who had attacked him, too. The culprit hadn't even bothered with a mask.
Quickly, the word spread throughout the City, both on the bright and loud news channels and in the whispered, shadowy corners of the underworld. Jack Bauer was back, and he was pissed.
WHERE: Throughout the City
WHEN: The following takes place between Friday June 1st and Friday June 8th. Events occur in real time.
WARNINGS: Violence
SUMMARY: A disgraced ex-cop has declared war on crime. Chase him, help him, just meet and chat with him, whatever you like!
FORMAT: Paragraph, say when it's taking place in the subject!
Vlad Latanov died late on Friday night, breathing his last lying on a cold City street. One of his associates died with him, a hefty man with more tattoos than identification, suspected to be a Dolvanian in the City unlawfully. They both died with illegal pistols in their hands and bullets in their chests.
It was something of an open secret in the circles Latanov moved in that the 'import/export business man' was involved in unsavory activity, particularly extortion for the Zero's Children gang. He was known to make his rounds on Friday evenings, in the neighbourhood where he died, soliciting 'charitable donations' that were sometimes motivated by bruises or smashed property or broken fingers. In months of investigating, the police had never been able to find a victim willing to testify against him, or build a case that could lead to an arrest.
The rounds taken from the victims' chests matched those fired from an HK USP Compact. There was a certain former police officer who used that weapon, and he had been involved in the frustrating Latanov investigation.
The next night, a fire was set in a small home in Staten Island while the owners were at a party. The fire was quickly put under control by the City Fire Department, thanks to them being tipped off that it was going to be set. When they entered the home to fight the fire, they found a large collection of harmful and addictive narcotics, clearly intended for sale, with a few illegal firearms thrown in for good measure. The house owners insisted even as they were arrested that they had been framed by whoever broke into their home and set the fire.
That same night, an associate of the homeowners who happened to have a lengthy criminal record checked into a hospital, suffering from bruises and cuts consistent with being thrown through a window. He insisted that his injuries were the result of an accident, even as he scowled and muttered to himself about 'crazy goddamn Imports.'
On Sunday night, a bruised man filed a complaint with the police alleging that he and two associates had been accosted at gunpoint by an assailant who had handcuffed his friends, then proceeded to threaten and interrogate him for information on an 'emulator' drug ring that the three of them were most definitely not low-level dealers in. The victim was very definite about who had attacked him, too. The culprit hadn't even bothered with a mask.
Quickly, the word spread throughout the City, both on the bright and loud news channels and in the whispered, shadowy corners of the underworld. Jack Bauer was back, and he was pissed.
no subject
For Jack, it was a shooting gallery. The gunmen were inexperienced, caught out in the open, and he didn't even need to take cover. He could just stand behind Samara's barrier and take his shots. He spotted the bearded shotgunner running along a catwalk above them and took him down first, two bullets to the center-of-mass. Then he saw a young man firing a pistol with one hand while pulling out a cell phone with another. He fell next, the phone falling from a lifeless hand as red spread over his white shirt.
Two down, five to go. The others saw their friends die and started ducking behind barrels and crate and hastily-overturned furniture, scrambling for whatever protection they could find while still firing uselessly.
"Take them out!" He roared above the gunfire. "Don't let them call for reinforcements!" If they called in the police things would get extremely uncomfortable, but Jack wasn't worried about that- the mobsters couldn't call the cops without risking the exposure of the warehouse's drug stash. A carload of new goons though, that was more likely.