r is for revenge | novak & yury

yury       catastrophe

Instruction unclear: he brought two guns to a knife fight. 

"AYE AYE, CHEIF!" Yury shouts back gleefully - he's grown accustom to being useful recently. Didn't know he had it in 'em, personally. He's never amounted to much outside of crime; that's where he pulls out all the stunts, however. It's strange to be the pitbull for the good guy now, is it even crime anymore? The mayor's barking orders and he's just doing his civic duty, really. Adrien says jump, Yury says how high. Adrien says shoot, Yury says how many! 

...They're beating up our little ones. "I HATE when they do that!" His last yell before going incognito. Yury ain't ever been the quiet type, but Novak's taught him a thing about a leap of faith. They've turned things around from being dust dogs fighting for scraps - even if Yury still finds himself in the heat of things. He seeks it out at this point, and Adrien knows it. 

His boots are loud enough, but he still tries to cover his voice as he reaches out to the brains of the operation. "Should I go no confrontation? Sounds lame, but," hell might make things easier. 

yury       catastrophe

That's SHERRIF Catastrophe to you, motherfucker! 

He's warming up the hot irons, got the dogs on preheat as he tries to break in through a perimeter window. Yury's not got faith but dumb luck; blind, with Novak's comms as direction. He stalks the windows, approaching to find the right angle of attack before jumping straight into the fray. "Tie them up?" To-do list so far: find rope or zip ties, find family heirloom, DON'T kill the opposition, and draw first blood. 

That last one's just for fun ;). 

"ALRIGHT, I'm GOING IN!" He shouts to Novak through the mic before getting to work. Yury starts with ripping his shirt off, wadding his fist in the fabric before punching out a hole in the basement window. Using his boot, he sweeps the broke glass off the ledge before sliding down and into the building's lowest floor. The smell of smoke permeates through the old shack, but his ears perk up at the gruff, "what was that...?" that haunts into the basement. 

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Yury stumbles around the corner as he makes his way out of vision to the staircase, "I think they heard me. Not my best work, partner," he says into the mic before cutting the volume. For a minute, he holds his breath in the dark as the basement door opens and a man descends. Yury watches the bootsteps from underneath the stairs, eyes wide and mouth shut with his hands on his pistol. The man takes two looks around before hurrying back upstairs.

With a sigh of relief, Yury reconnects his mic as the he hears the door shut. "Cobra to Kai, I am officially in the house. Working on dispatching, out."

yury       catastrophe

He's a bob cat in the mist, stalking in the shadows of this basement as he processes Adrian's commands. Bark, bark, bark - that's all he hears. Like a dog, do this do that, yeah, yeah, yeah. Ever since Novak gave Yury his freedom back, he's gotten used to doing the mayor's bidding. All in all it's a good position, most nights he drinks himself away into oblivion in the smoke shack he calls a home now. 

"Got it! Over and out," Yury the Bloodhound goes a'sniffin', sneaking around the basement of the jilted shed these boys made into a base. Tsk, tsk, tsk. They should know better! Bad, bad kids - the cellar of a basement is pitch black, the only light source being the dim starlight of the window he kicked in. Luckily, he's always been good with his hands, searching around until he finds an electric lantern on a shelf. With a click, click, poof, he contains his excitement as a fluorescent yellow pours into the room. 

Let there be LIGHT! 

From there, he probes around the shelves and shelves of random junk. Pocketing a half smoked pack of cigarettes, he busies himself with a bundle of lariat rope next. "Hound to Mare, no drugs so far," a hushed update into his microphone. Now that he's out in the light, there's more risk to his usual daring approach. Yury thrived in a fight, but he had a casket of morphling to find beforehand - if they sniff him out before then, BOOM the whole mission goes up in the flames.

No pressure, no pressure at all. Underneath one of the industrial shelves, he finds a steel lock box a few feet long. Wide enough to hold a small body, with a pinpad lock on its lid. For a minute, Catastrophe fiddles around with different combinations -- 206, 953, 167, 666, 177 -- but no avail. Instead all he's met with are beeps and beeps of incorrect guesses and a flashing red light. Whatever's in there has got to be good, but no telling until he gets that code. 

He passes by an assortment of random objects, pictures and maps and sunflower seed pouches. Half of this had to have been left here from a past owner, just like the growing mold he found in the corners. "Ooooh," he can't help but animate as he finds a cask of "moonshine, baby!" POP goes the corkscrew top, and the whiff he takes is strong enough to almost land him on his ass. "Now this is that strong shit," unregulated. Technically illegal, but not quite the money maker he was hoping for. 

No, he needs to open that lock box. 

There's a determination that settles after stealing a swig or two of the moonshine. He hoists the bundle of rope onto his shoulder and holds onto his pistol holster as he makes his way up the basement stairs. Get ready, it's show time! Yury adjusts his mask before peaking his head around the stairwell doorframe, listening for which direction the faint whispers seem to be coming from. "Just two of them, right?" 

Sounds like three. 

Let's make it four, daredevil! 

yury       catastrophe

"Could be more though," Novak says, casually.

Sunnova bitch- here he was hoping this'd be a simply 2 versus 1 situation. With his hot hands, he wasn't even worried, but now that's a toss up. How many chickens in my coop, he walks into the ground floor with his pistol drawn in his right, and swapping his lantern for a pipe wrench. Cluck, cluck, Yury steps gently towards the voices emitting from down the hall - 3 voices? 4? Oh wait, that last one was internal. 

That ain't bad! He's done good with worse, he catches the lasso around his shoulder before rounding a corner, peering into what looks like the den of the shack. SHITHOLE, a few bullet holes in the walls won't hurt nothing, this place's a piece of hell as it is. "Showtime," he whispers into the mic, before taking his first step into the limelight. It's center stage when Sheriff Catastrophe meets the ringer, and he meets it hot, with one shut eye and the other focused, lining the red tip of his revolver to that of one of the goonie's knees.

BANG!

"BANG! BANG! BANG!" He mimics, the boy he shot collapsing with a withering scream, agony settling over the room. The other two shout muddled commands at each other, the second of which pushes himself out of the way before jetting after the room - shit! Can't let him get too far, but his hands are full dispatching the remaining standing punk. Yury tosses his gun to the side, unable to reload in time, and swings his wrench over the head of the girl now charging at him. 

Swing and a missus. She punches him in the gut and nicks him with a pocket knife, drawing blood on his exposed chest. This is what I get for being sexy on the dancefloor! Yury kicks at her, stomping on her pelvis before pushing her back - the girl juts forward in desperation, stabbing the knife into the dense meat of his thigh. "HURT ME MORE!" He yells out on instinct, stepping forward with a struggle as he strikes the girl again, this time in the back of the head. 

The blood train's in town, Catastrophe stops to zip tie her hands together before stepping over her body. He pulls the knife out with a sickening grunt, but the pain is almost debilitating as he chases after the former goonie that escaped the room. Yury makes his way to the front door and peeks his head, squinting through the mask. 

[ searches for 3rd gang member ]
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"Me to you," he speaks lazily into the coms, "two down, one escaped." Yury drew first blood, might regret that when Novak chews him out, but he needed the jump to make this work. Even now he may have been too slow, hardly keeping track of his target. The dark night makes this no easier, but he follows the steps leading off and around the house into nothingness. Goddamnit, he heads back inside.

The girl is still blacked out and tied up when he returns, the boy still writhing pathetically. "Shut uuuuuuuuuup already," Yury says, stomping on the boy's bleeding shin. He squats down next to him, twisting his masked face into the boy's and yanking him by the hair to establish eye contact. "Code."

"WHAT, FREAK?"

"The trunk in the basement, what's the code?"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW-"

Yury shoves the knife that was once in his leg into the boy's face, not good enough, "5 seconds to figure it out." Count us down, choir man! He doesn't even make it to 3 before the boy squeals a three number sequence: 4-2-0. 

So obvious. "if that don't work, I'm skinning you alive with a butterknife," Yury says in his gruff voice, before dropping the boy to the ground and stepping over him. He walks with a faint limp, pressing his hand into the bleeding, pulsing stab wound in his thigh. The walk down the staircase is a bitch, but it's all worth it once he types the dumbass code in and watches the light flash green. There's a soft click before he's able to detach the padlock and lift the lid, and "holy mother of crack cocaine..." 

Jackpot.