[closed] we expected something more

[charismatic]

Who: Will, Logan, and a Militia dude
What: Violence
Where: Flyside
When: S...ometime this week. Sukkardi or Shundi, probably.
Warnings: Just the violence, I think.

A few more years and a couple more hard knocks and Will would probably come up with a better plan -- or a plan at all, really. As it is, when the transmission ends, Will just stands up, drops some shekels on the table for his half-eaten lunch and gets on the train to Flyside, knuckles white around his CiD. He cools off before he quite gets there, at least, enough to just walk by the address casually, like he's just out for a stroll. There's no one there.

And, okay. That's a start. Check it out every once in a while. Try not to look too much like a creeper. Eventually progress to sitting outside a few nights a week and observing while trying to decide how exactly to deal with this guy because at this point in his life, Will has never held a tactical position, never had to worry about how his actions affect anyone but himself and those in his immediate orbit, never decided to break off from a faltering movement to start his own. It also means he's less stealthy than he thinks, because one night while he's leaning against the cold brick of an alley across the way, in his civvies, no weapon, no nothing, he learns he can dodge bullets.

It's a close thing -- the alley is dim and cramped and Will only gets by because he's lucky and quick and has an advanced warning system. Two shots and there's a dark shape dropping down from above; Will recognizes the shape of him because he's spent too much time staring at it not to. He probably should have expected a Militia member to be prepared, but it's too late for plans now. He's flying by the seat of his pants and operating on instinct when he darts in, low to the ground, shoulder impacting squarely with the bottom half of the agent's ribcage and and one hand out for his gun arm. Hitting the wall gives Will a chance to slam his wrist into the brick until he lets go of the gun and Will kicks it off into the dark recesses of the alley before he catches the heel of a palm with his jaw. His teeth click shut on the flesh inside his mouth but he goes with it, lets the momentum push him out to the side where he can pivot and take a bare second to reset before there's a fist flying at his face again.

Close combat has never been Will's area of expertise, but his neurons are firing so fast that all he can really do is react, ignore the bones crunching when his foot gets caught under a boot, manage to miss the worst of it and do as much damage as he can when he's too close to use his legs. Phineus must be getting annoyed with his dodging, because Will catches the glint of teeth before he drives his fist into it. He breaks a few of them. He hasn't got time to feel any satisfaction before he's hurling himself backward and away, not entirely in time.

There's a long, clean slice up his side, less serious than ugly, and Will can't feel it at all over the adrenaline rush. It'll need stitches later, but he'll be fine. He just needs to get to the later and stitches stage. He backs toward the mouth of the alley, warily eying the glimmer of the long knife being passed from hand to hand. That's okay. He's just got to recalculate to adjust for the length of the blade.