[ Then again, choosing the most vulnerable prey is easy after a lifetime of practice. In the early days, as a soldier, Hei was always too intimidated, too concerned that his performance was not up to scratch -- terrified, he supposes, that his enemies and peers would see through the charade even he could barely sell himself. Except they never had. And as each day passed, he'd sensed his personality shifting to that of the mask itself: silent and menacing. All the perceived shortcomings that haunted his waking self -- a lack of humanity or an excess of it, a feeling he shouldn't be here -- evaporated like water dripped on a searing engine block. ]
[ Out of habitual precaution, he hangs back a moment. Scanning the terrain, on alert for any newcomers who might be attracted to Korra's scream. None. ]
[ Good. Leaping off the branch, he drops to the frosted grass, rolling in a parachutist's pose. Retreating from the dissipating fumes, he simply studies his two victims for a moment. The dog, he can either electrocute, exsanguinate -- or leave alone. It's not a particular priority. The girl, supine, her hair a smudge of charcoal across the snow, he studies for telltale tics. Any signs that she might still be conscious. Nothing. Satisfied, he steps forward. His soft-soled shoes barely seem to touch the grass. After muzzling and hogtying the dog with a spool of wire, he does the same with the girl. ]
[ He has to move quickly. There's no doubt other agencies will be circling the area. He needs to haul his target out of the valley, and to the narrow dirt road where he's left a nondescript car -- covered and fueled. From there, it's a simple matter of getting her to the airport, where the Syndicate have an aircraft waiting. ]
[ No checkpoints. No passports. Easy access. (In theory.) ]
no subject
[ Then again, choosing the most vulnerable prey is easy after a lifetime of practice. In the early days, as a soldier, Hei was always too intimidated, too concerned that his performance was not up to scratch -- terrified, he supposes, that his enemies and peers would see through the charade even he could barely sell himself. Except they never had. And as each day passed, he'd sensed his personality shifting to that of the mask itself: silent and menacing. All the perceived shortcomings that haunted his waking self -- a lack of humanity or an excess of it, a feeling he shouldn't be here -- evaporated like water dripped on a searing engine block. ]
[ Out of habitual precaution, he hangs back a moment. Scanning the terrain, on alert for any newcomers who might be attracted to Korra's scream. None. ]
[ Good. Leaping off the branch, he drops to the frosted grass, rolling in a parachutist's pose. Retreating from the dissipating fumes, he simply studies his two victims for a moment. The dog, he can either electrocute, exsanguinate -- or leave alone. It's not a particular priority. The girl, supine, her hair a smudge of charcoal across the snow, he studies for telltale tics. Any signs that she might still be conscious. Nothing. Satisfied, he steps forward. His soft-soled shoes barely seem to touch the grass. After muzzling and hogtying the dog with a spool of wire, he does the same with the girl. ]
[ He has to move quickly. There's no doubt other agencies will be circling the area. He needs to haul his target out of the valley, and to the narrow dirt road where he's left a nondescript car -- covered and fueled. From there, it's a simple matter of getting her to the airport, where the Syndicate have an aircraft waiting. ]
[ No checkpoints. No passports. Easy access. (In theory.) ]