[Alan Spencer]

Current Date: January 16, 2010

Alan looked down at his desk, the last glimmers of the sun pressing through his windows at his back. Instead of wearing his usual suit he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, something that looked more than a little odd on him. He was used to at the very least polo shirts and khakis, and even then that felt casual. In the past two years suits had become his mainstay. His desk was also different that day. Instead of files, papers, books, folders, and printouts, a nice selection of guns had been presented for his approval, from a late 90s Walther P99 to a M1A1, the same semi-automatic rifle he used while a Navy SEAL.

For a moment it felt like he was back in the Navy, an officer in charge of a unit, off to complete a mission. Then he remembered that he was the president of the Friends of Humanity. These guns served a similar yet very different purpose, especially today. For one, they were illegal for him to now possess without the proper permits, especially in New York City.

He stepped back and picked up the bulletproof vest from his chair, slinging it over his shoulders and expertly strapping it into place. It had been a few years since he had been in the military, but it felt like only yesterday. Alan even remembered how to expertly pull on the shoulder holster for his sidearm, mostly because he illegally carried the gun much of the time anyway. After the recent series of events that had almost cost him his life or the lives of the ones he loved and cared for, he wasn’t going to stand by and let himself get shot. Then he picked up his old rifle, balancing it in his hands, checking the cartridge, made sure it was clean and ready. The men downstairs in ‘community operations’ had assured him their recent acquisition was in perfect working order, but he wanted to make sure. Marines had a tendency to fuck things up in his working history.

Holstering a 9mm and shoving the Walther into another holster hidden underneath his pant leg, Alan pulled on a beat up leather coat and grabbed the rifle. Someone else would clean up the mess he left on the desk while he was gone. The others who were accompanying him that night were already waiting in the hallway outside his office, all looking similar to him – dressed in normal street clothes holding rather conspicuous weapons at their sides. “So everyone knows the plan I hope,” he said, addressing them. “The house is at 234 East 143rd Street. Two mutants, one a male aged 31, the other a female aged 19 according to our surveillance. The girl is the higher priority. She’s powerful, an aerokinetic. Take her out first, then go back for the guy. He’s a chameleon. Everyone got it?”

[Margaret Prince]

Fuck it.

What the hell did she have to lose, huh? Her life had turned to ratshit in the last few weeks, ever since the raid, and nothing she did ever seemed to be good enough, not for her bosses, her colleagues, or even what few friends she had. Losing herself in alcohol and cheap, casual sex night after night had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but none of it meant anything. None of it made her feel any better, not even while she was running at full throttle in self-destruct mode, so, for the last week or two, she had been trying to find something that would.

By chance, she had run into one of her old buddies from the MEU, someone who now worked for the Friends of Humanity, who almost too-casually mentioned that the FoH could do with someone with her particular skillset, and had brought her along to a highly secretive meeting at the Friends of Humanity headquarters a week or so ago.

Who would have thought that the Friends of Humanity had a secret "mutant death squad"?

After the raid, Prince had truly lost her mojo. Her work had been getting sloppy, and the desire to carry out the MEU's orders was waning. In one way, she felt the raid had been a step too far, especially with the accidental death of the young female mutant, one who could have been useful down in New Smyrna, but - and this was the kicker - she sometimes felt that the law didn't have the balls to go far enough. That was something she would never admit to her employers, and had never had any intention of revealing to anyone.

Until now.

So, a couple of meetings later, and here she was, tooled up and ready to go with this strange vigilante group. hell bent on taking out a couple of mutants at this house in the Bronx. Finally, she felt as though something she was about to do was going to make a difference, and she could feel that old fire coursing through her veins as the adrenaline kicked in.

She was more than a little surprised, however, when the group was joined by Alan Spencer himself, looking unusually casual - and almost out of place - in jeans and a t-shirt, covered by a battered leather coat. She nodded in affirmation at his instruction, feeling the comforting weight of the Desert Eagle in a modified shoulder holster, hidden under her brown leather jacket, and a much used and well-loved Heckler & Koch MP5 dangling loosely at her side.

"Are we expecting anything in the way of defences," she asked, her voice all business, and her tone brusque. "And you want them dead or alive?" Probably a stupid question, but she figured she'd better ask before she went blasting the head off whatever damn prize Alan Spencer was after.

[Holly Winslow]

Holly believed in god. Being a preacher’s daughter it was sort of something ingrain in her and all she ever really knew. The only thing on earth that she believed in more than god was one man. That man was Alan Spencer. Her belief in him is what had guided her through her adult life. Being a woman of faith she rarely questioned anything he ever did figuring it wasn’t for her to question.

This is why she was hurrying down to the street needing to see him. A chill ran down her spine and doom filled her belly when she found him not in his office. She told herself not his panic. He couldn’t be gone. Not yet, not before she could say goodbye.

She didn’t understand what he was doing but she knew she had to see him before he did. What happen tonight was going to change everything, she knew that. She hated change but knew they had to happen. Her faith was the only thing she had that assured her that everything was going to be alright. There was no room to start doubting now.

The blonde slowed her pace when saw Alan and his group came into view as if suddenly losing her nerve. She pulled her bright red jacket closer around her as she willed herself to get closer. She eyed the group, have hoped to catch him before he left the office. Now she was afraid she was going to make an extreme fool out of herself.

She took a deep breath as she pushed open the door. Holly stood in the door way for a moment just staring at him. Now that he was so close everything she had wanted to say left her mind blank and mouth dry. She then reached for his arm. “Alan…” She finally said as stepped closer and blushed looking down at her shoes. “You weren’t leaving without saying goodbye. Were you?” Her eyes move slowly to his face.

It seemed like a silly thing to say but it was the first words that came to mind. It was either say that or kiss him. With Ashlyn being in the picture she didn’t figure he would appreciate her kissing him.

[Alan Spencer]

Alan felt at ease leading a bunch of people who were well trained with guns and military procedure. He had retired from the Navy as a Commander, having risen far in the ranks of the SEALs before he realized that his calling was elsewhere, with the Friends of Humanity. Standing in the corridor looking at the men and women holding guns but otherwise looking like regular denizens of New York City, it was odd at first, but this wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last either. It was part of his job and he had to do it, whether or not he liked it.

“We’ve only done drive by surveillance and spoken with the landlord, who is the person who tipped us off. He says that he was in there two days ago and they didn’t have anything in the way of defenses or even weapons it seemed. The guy could have been wrong.” Alan pulled the P99 out of the holster beneath his arm, checking to make sure that the cartridge was securely in place and the gun in working order. Satisfied, he replaced it and fixed his jacket, placing it perfectly back in place so that it looked completely normal other than the rifle now slung over his shoulder. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Should be just like raiding an insurgent’s compound, except with mutants instead of Iraqis.”

That last comment was directed at Prince, a long time member of the Friends of Humanity but only a recent recruit to the more covert operating forces for the organization. Alan knew her history, and he knew that she had been a part of the raid that had ended with Ashlyn leaving the government’s employ. It wasn’t her who he had issues with, though. That was reserved for Jackson Vonnegut and Jackson Vonnegut alone.

Out of the corner of his eye, past the group of assembled soldiers and off-duty police officers, Alan spied his long-time secretary and assistant Holly looking more than a little nervous and uneasy. “Excuse me, I need a word with my secretary,” he told the group, pushing past them and placing his hand on the blonde’s shoulder before leading her a few yards away.

“I thought you had gone home for the evening like I had asked,” Alan told her under his breath, looking down at her with a concerned look on his face. A glance back over his shoulder confirmed that the group didn’t seem to be paying a great deal of attention to their conversation. “You know the drill, right? I leave my cell with you and if she calls, tell her that you left it in the office by accident before I went to a dinner meeting. Tell her I will call in the morning and not to wait up, alright?” He patted her on the back softly. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it, go to a bar and have a drink and meet some new people. Have fun.” Alan needed Holly off his back.

[Holly Winslow]

Holly gave him a slight pout when he reminded her that he had sent her home. She felt bad about not obeying his orders but she just couldn’t leave him. The blonde bowed her head like a scolded child and looked to her shoes with her hands shoved in her pockets. Her eyes slid back to his face as he once again went over what she was told to do.

She nodded knowing she was suppose to do everything in her power to keep Ashlyn from knowing what was going on. Ashlyn was smart. Holly doubted they could keep her in the dark for long but agree to it and would try her damnedest because that how Alan wanted it. “I remember.” She nodded as she tried to smile. “I’ll do my best to keep her from worrying.”

As he mentioned her going to bar and meeting new people she laughed a laugh that held no real humor. “You know me, boss, alcohol and me don’t mix well.” She blushed tilting her headed to the side as a slow smile appeared on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then again maybe we mix just a bit too well.” Holly simply as if it was just another of life's mysteries.

Her eyes looked to waiting group and she got the feeling of doom in the pit of her stomach again. Her teeth went sunk into her bottom lip as she looked to Alan. “Please do something for me, Alan.” She said softly, never has she asked him to do anything for her before and hope because of that he would take her request to heart. “Take care of yourself.”

“I don’t know what Ashlyn would do without you.” Holly said with a soft smile that once again didn’t quite reach her eyes. She wanted to say something else but Ashlyn was her friend and she was a good girl. Sometimes, it sucks to be a good girl and tonight was one of those nights.

[Alan Spencer]

Alan sighed when Holly gave him a pout. He wanted to roll his eyes but common sense told him not to. Besides, he had respect for her, given the history they shared that admittedly had more to it than a simple boss and employee relationship. Since he had started dating Ashlyn, he had made sure that his secretary knew he was committed to his girlfriend, but he still had a soft spot in his heart for the young woman that had devoted so much to serving him faithfully.

“If she found out about what I do sometimes, I don’t think she would react well,” Alan told Holly quietly, looking back at the gathered people who were waiting for their leader to return. He turned his back to them and put his hand on Holly’s shoulder, gently motioning her to move a few more feet away from the mass of people, still trying to make it at least appear that he was coaching his employee to do some task or another for him. “You have to do something with your time besides working for me. What do you do exactly besides work and then go home at the end of the day?”

He had to admit, he had never been sure about what she did with her spare time. From what he could tell, she just came to work, worked her ass off, and then went home. There was not much of a social life as far as he could see, and he at least thought he knew her well. “You need to go do something fun sometimes. Working for me can’t be an exciting, fantastic job, at least not most of the time.” He gave her a smile and patted her on the back. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. In all the times we’ve done this before, nothing has ever happened besides cuts and bruises, and even that’s rare. You know the deal.”

Holly mentioned Ashlyn and he smiled. He wished he could go over to her apartment and spend some quality time with her that night, but duty called. “I think I rely more on her than she relies on me,” Alan told her quietly. “I’ve got to go, but just remember not to worry about me and go and have some fun, alright? Don’t go home and be bored for hours thinking that Ashlyn might call. Don’t worry, okay? Do that for me.”

[Oliver Eddy]

Yeah. He'd fuck her, the blond bird with a shapely bum that spoke of miles and miles of nearly endless pleasure. He smirked, looking down his nose un-apologetically at Margaret Prince's ass. He didn't care if she caught him in the act. Why worry over what was obvious, men had been and would stare at women's bodies for all time. It was genetic. If she were facing him he'd be staring at her tits. She had nice plump ones, that bird.

She seemed a little on edge, he noted as his eyes and his face casually tilted upward, following the lines of her leather jacket up to her blond hair. Seemed like her hair had a bit of curl to it. He hoped she hadn't bothered to get dolled up to go kill some folks. Of course, there was the oft chance that she might get off on this kind of thing. All the better. Ay, she'd be fucked. He thought before he was distracted by the opening door in front of them.

He found it amusing that the three of them were wearing leather, like a bloody scene from the bloomin' Matrix. He smirked, knowing he was Keanu. Yeah, I'm the fuck'n one. His inner musing weren't visible upon his placid face. Outside he was stone cold, indifferent, immune. His eyes met the American President. He'd known of Alan Spencer for quite some time, even if he didn't see the man regularly. He was fairly certain Spencer always knew where to find him. He wasn't sure if he liked that all that much. But hey, the way he looked at it, at least that meant they knew where to deliver his pay.

“So everyone knows the plan I hope,” Spencer said, addressing them.

He was decked out in similar fashion to his boss. He had at his disposal the tools necessary to take down a room full of mutants as far as he was concerned. He hadn't faced or taken down an aerokinetic, but that didn't matter. Everyone looked the same once their brains littering a wall. He nodded, saying nothing. Spencer knew that he was prepared. He figured the question was rhetorical.

“The house is at 234 East 143rd Street. Two mutants, one a male aged 31, the other a female aged 19 according to our surveillance."

He'd done his own squat outside the place, last night and when he'd first arrived in New York. He had been doing this long enough that he had learned the hard way not to trust his Intel completely. The rest of it had been in his file so he simply leaned back slightly on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. The length of his own leather trench flared slightly. His was black, newer. He looked good, ready for death.

"Everyone got it?”

"Aye, crystal." Ollie answered flatly, his accent bringing more life to the words than he'd felt necessary. He was ready to go. He turned to see what had earned Spencer's attentions. Wasn't surprising to see the man run off after something like that. He might too, that is if the was tapping that piece. Beauty, she was, clear enough. A man would have to be blind to miss that kind of show. Even so, the Brit Thug was annoyed as hell to find himself delayed. His lips turned into a snarl and he shook his head and muttered low, "Unbelievable, fly me three thousand miles to stick my thumb up my ass."

[Alan Spencer]

Alan gave Holly one last pat on the shoulder, trying to reassure her that all would be well when he didn’t know that. He left her there and returned to the group, adjusting his holster on his side. His mind was elsewhere, on Ashlyn and on his son and also on Holly, remembering what they had scared before Ashlyn had come into his life and became a person he could actually call his girlfriend and not the woman he occasionally met with after work to satisfy his urges. That was what Holly was to him at the end of the day, mostly because he knew just how damaging it could be to ever be in a real, true relationship with a woman that worked for him.

He mentally went over the plan again in his head. Cops in the precinct nearest the house had already been paid off, and if any more decided to butt in, there was enough of a payout kept inside the van they would be using to keep dozens of officers shut up. Besides, they all knew mutants were illegal; it saved them the grief of doing it themselves, storming into a building to arrest and detain potentially dangerous freaks. The squad that night was well trained, made up of people that had either spent years in the military (some in the Special Forces or other elite units), or people who had years of experience in other, less savory positions. The Friends’ hired hitman was even there, brought over on a work permit that authorized him to work in “public relations” within the company. Technically, that was the department that paid him, too.

“Are you sure you’re from London?” Alan asked Oliver Eddy, the hired assassin that he didn’t especially care for. The man was brutish with an intelligence level to match, and in the past their working relationship had been rather terse, to say the least. “Anyway, we are going to load up the van and get out there. Prince, your people will go around to the back entrance and my people will go in through the front. It should be a clear cut mission, but don’t mess up. They’re dangerous to even us. Be on your guard and do what you have been trained to do.”

Clicking the safety of his 9mm and putting it back in his holster, Alan adjusted his bulletproof vest and nodded, indicating that it was ready to move out. “Let’s get to it.”

[Oliver Eddy]

“Are you sure you’re from London?”

Ollie laughed. Not because he found the comment particularly humorous but because he was remembering the look in the man's eyes when he had a gun to his head back at Ramsey's hoity-toity snack bar. That had been fun. Nothing like the click of a hammer and an itchy trigger finger to break the ice between a man and his boss. He smirked, eyes alight with mischief, "That'd be Liverpool, Guv." He grinned, proud of his own accomplishments, his residences in and around London, "London be where I hang me hat, eh?" He liked using the lowest form of communication around the higher ups. He did the same thing with his father when they spoke just to piss on his sperm donor's cheerios.

His mood was noticeably lighter now that they would be moving. He looked over at Prince and grinned happily, "Let's get on with it then shall we Princess?" He walked past Miss Winslow, remembering her from the restaurant now, eying her suggestively, if not crudely, "Nice seeing you again, darlin.' Life seems to be treatin' you right proper." He winked, laying it on extra thick because he figured Spencer had tapped that piece more than once. After all, he would have if given the chance. Even knowing Spencer as little as he did, he had long ago decided that the two of them had that much in common.

“Let’s get to it.”

"Don't 'ave to tell me twice, Guv." Ollie exclaimed, giving his boss a reasonably aggressive pat on the shoulder. He knew it wasn't proper per se to give your boss a hard clap of the hand on his back, but then most weren't employed to kill as he was now were they? Chuckling, ever conscious of the sound of a metallic click, Eddy slipped out into the night anxious for a chance to shed some blood. He hadn't traveled this far to mingle over cocktails and fancy bits of food that only teased a man's hunger. No, he was hungry for something else entirely. Speaking of which, maybe he'd look up one of these blond birds later on. Nothing like a little sex to bring a man a sense of rightness, of calm.

[Alan Spencer]

Alan snorted. “I mean, I was just commending on the fact that you sound more like you’re from Dublin and less than England than you insinuate.” It was a rare time when he had a chance to joke, or a desire to do so, but when he was preparing himself mentally for combat he had a tendency to try and lighten his own mood and the moods of those around him. He didn’t even consider himself to be a man that could poke fun at things, not when there were more serious things to pursue, such as making sure that New York became a mutant-free zone. Along with the others gathered, they had a mission, and they had to make sure that mission was fulfilled.

He ignored Eddy’s interaction with Sergeant Prince and with his own secretary, only rolling his eyes as he made sure that all was in order. Alan knew Holly well enough that Eddy was teasing, or else he might have to have a word with the man when their latest mission was all said and done. When he was sure that he was 100% ready, he followed everyone out, giving Holly one more pat on the shoulder and a smile in reassurance. She had her mission just as he had his, just as everyone who worked for or supported the Friends of Humanity had.

“For fuck’s sake, stop calling me Guv,” Alan said underneath his breath, entering the elevator. Within a few moments, the team was in the basement parking deck loading into the black nondescript vans, vehicles more apt to be transporting supplies than people. However, these cars were well suited for carrying around agents of the Friends when they were needed, adapted to suit their needs and missions. Prince led her team into one while he, Eddy, and three others got into the first van, sitting down along the sides in close quarters. “So, Eddy, I hear through the grapevine that your assassination skills are slacking. You missed that van Dijk woman last year, let her get away, isn’t that right?”