Red Rover, Red Rover, We Call Kris Over (St Jimmy)

A fork of sunshine broke through an embankment of cloud to smile on the denizens below. Across the block a symphony of shutters, blinds, and curtains sounded. In five short minutes the main street was deserted. Ten minutes further and a cloud of smog had blotted out the Sun once more. Not even this celestial body received a warm welcome in the squalid pit of poverty and brutality that was Crash Alley.

Down below lurked a collection of world-weary wastrels passing the day in an euphoric stupor alongside chrome-dome degenerates, nursing dolled-up women in the crooks of their arms. Bags of waste piled up on street corners - the garbage men had failed to materialise this week, the council didn't care, not that anybody had written a complaint. The only building with any life was the tavern, and that was using the term generously.

Amidst this dusty, forsaken corner of the otherwise grand metropolis, there was an apartment complex more dingy than the rest. The majority of its windows faced into an alleyway itself, the side of the adjacent building was a mere two arm spans away. Occupants held the privileged view of clogged gutters and rancid pools of rainwater on the rooftops around them. But this was far from the most noteworthy thing surrounding this high-rise. For if one looked close enough, they might just see the invisible assassins standing sentinel about the perimeter.

These assassins were today standing in as bodyguards. They were ordered to watch over the metahuman Pix as he engaged in a delicate assignment. TIBERIUS was careful and meticulous, leaving nothing to chance. If things went pair-shaped, they would rescue the hapless sprite and deal with the contact. You must always be careful who walks away with what information.

Somewhere on the top floor a doorway opened. The occupant had finally returned to their lair. At last. A chair in the far corner of the room swung round. This morning the flat didn't have a swivel chair, but an intruder had carried it here especially for the purpose of melodrama. With the windows covered, darkness engulfed the room and its fixtures, putting the stranger in stark contrast, as his body was illuminated with an electric light. Everything but his head glowed revealing a form constructed entirely of pixels yet keeping his expressions a secret.

"You've been expected, Kris." Pix spoke in a deeper voice than usual.

Kris walked into the apartment building with a cigarette between his teeth. He had an odd feeling as he climbed up the stairs, something was tugging at the back of his mind as he stumbled with the key. As he opened the door he was greeted by some illuminated.... thing. Kris quickly grabbed his pistol and jumped to cover before yelling out, "Who are you? And don't say repair man because I'll have to kill you. My stove still isn't working and my hot water has been out since September!" He was ready to kill this thing if he had to, he was having a bad day anyway.

The occupant was relatively unassuming at first glance. Reasonably tall, never been taught to use the right side of a comb, workaday scum. But given his intel, Hugh knew this visual visage to be misleading. The assassin was incognito. Like Quinn he was unsurpassably lethal. However, unlike the merry prankster, he did not use any ready excuse to commit murder. This marginally endeared him to Pix, who had felt alone so far in a group of short-sighted hair-triggers.

Tenting his fingers, Pix willed a bunch of pixels to slam shut the open entranceway. Privacy would be required if that gun ever did go off. Plus it added to the whole 'large and in charge' motif the sprite was going for. He'd be stroking a cat but the stray he found kept attacking him. Instead the room now danced with a snowstorm of illuminated diodes. Because if the Godfather could, he'd have used fairy dust to frighten his associates as well.

"My name is not important. But it's Pix. P-I-X. Pix. Big time super-criminal. Ask any policeman. Actually it is rather important." The sprite resisted the urge to spin in his seat, "I'm here as a representative. I have a controlling interest in an underground syndicate which goes by the name of HIVE. Ever hear of us?"

Kris walked around the apartment, seemingly aimlessly, but he was looking out the windows. He saw a shimmering in the air towards the top of a roof looking into Kris' apartment, "What's the matter? Afraid, Pix? You can't come alone?" Kris whistled as he closed the blinds, keeping an eye out for any other unwanted guests in the apartment. The assassin then grinned as he looked at Pix, "Can't say I've heard of them, or you for that matter." He walked over slowly, one hand half in his pocket, the other placed lazily over his mouth, "Did you really think you could intimidate me in my own house? Where I have weapons hidden everywhere? But you have my attention, so speak."

The sprite baulked as Kris effectively undermined his atmosphere by pointing out the elephant in the room. Or the elephant on the rooftop. Assassin elephant on the rooftop... this metaphor got away from us. Anyway. It meant he was capable of picking up on slight inconsistencies in his surroundings that a normal person would attribute to a trick of the mind. It went beyond his prospective skill set that TIBERIUS had presented at the meeting. Out of HIVE, both old and new, Kris easily held the most potent awareness. He'd been underestimated.

That didn't stop Pix cursing the assassins. Blame was instantly shifted to them. They had one job - ONE JOB! Stay out of sight. Their discovery jeopardised his mission, giving Kris a reason to go on the defensive. You know, beside all the other reasons Pix had already given him. The other HIVE members seemed to have refused their offered escort as they made these recruiting drives, but Hugh had jumped at the chance to wield professional backup. Such a shame they were dragging him down.

Oppressive coercion had failed. As attested by his record, the assassin was cool under pressure. The sprite had not considered hidden caches. Their existence was a distinct possibility, "Tch. Alright. Don't have to be such a clever donkey about it." A pixel construct hit the light switch. Overhead illumination provided a better contrast of light. The face of this mysterious intruder was now revealed (o-o). On a coffee table at his elbow lay several folders  and binders. Trying to discourage comment on his appearance, Hugh held an open one of those folders in front of him.

"HIVE was envisioned as a coalition of like-minded super-criminals promoting syndicalism over capitalism. We are backed financially and logistically by a sponsor who is in practice our CEO. Members were picked based on their criminal acumen in obtaining financial profit whilst minimising unseemly collateral. Also on their collaborative ability otherwise known as 'synergy'. Decisions are handled on a democratic basis subject to the overarching authority of the CEO. After sale and after tally, the spoils are divided as dividends, pending a review of eligibility. Are you with me so far?”

“Recently we held a headhunting campaign and voted on prospective recruits to bring aboard this criminal enterprise. You made the cut. In choosing to abide by our legislation, you too can benefit from the proceeds of teamwork. The data collected in these print-outs should help convince you beyond a shadow of a doubt our effectiveness.” A pixel platform now picked up the remaining pile of folders and proceeded to dump them on Kris. Inside were a multitude of charts, graphs, and progress reports for HIVE activities which Pix had compiled himself. These included scatter graphs pertaining to areas of activity, monthly revenue estimates, frequency of media and authority mentions denoting infamy, as well as non-specific future attainment goals.

“It's estimated that we are responsible for forty percent of unsolved crimes in Jump City. I myself claim one-hundred percent. Who's going to argue? When asked to quote on our progress one resident said 'Please don't hurt me, I have a wife and kids, hurt them'.”

Kris listened and read the documents, "So, what you're saying is, we work as a team, we pull of heists, split the money, and make off like bandits?" Kris walked as he read them, "Ok, Pix, I'm in." Kris extended his hand to Pix, "I'll need help bringing my stuff to my car."

"Oh hell yeah. Like desperados." The sprite replied. Thank goodness Kris had understood. A lesser class of man would be left asking why they wanted to hunt his head. Granted, it was a reply lacking in the level of significant intelligence Pix had shown, but he often factored on the inherent simplicity of folk into estimate responses. There was low chance Kris would have responded in the negative. Pix knew little of the assassin's history past what TIBERIUS had chosen to share. Despite this he had hit upon the inherent confidences which attracted investors the world over.

For a change he hoped to have attracted someone with a smattering of common sense. Of course TIBERIUS himself exhumed tactical brilliance, but the rabble Pix was left to deal with were less than inspiring. He swore the other day Gilda had asked how many swings it would take to turn Titan Tower into the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

"Wise decision. Tell you want. You can keep the chair." A platform of pixels condensed underneath the office appliance Pix had brought. It began to levitate the seat upwards, "Meet you downstairs. I'll send our stalkers up to carry everything else. Those assassins might as well provide some use today. Even if he wasn't taking furniture, Hugh hoped Kris would ask them to carry those settees down the entire compliment of stairs.