ArchivedLogs:Dead to Rights

Dead to Rights
Dramatis Personae Anette
In Absentia	2017-07-02 WARNING: Contains graphic violence, murder. Part of Future Past.
Location
Matthew Thaddeus makes his home on the outskirts of New York City, somewhere near Westchester -- a large, pleasant looking stretch of land skirted by woods. The house itself is three stories tall, in Victorian style -- white trimming with greenish-brown siding -- a long, winding road swooping through the front and curling around to the back, where the garage sits. It's currently evening; the lights are on throughout the house -- the Thaddeus family has just finished up dinner. Two children -- Suzette Thaddeus (12) and Thomas Thaddeus (15) are helping their mother put the dishes inside of the washing machine. Meanwhile, Mr. Thaddeus is upstairs, in his office -- on the third floor -- working on his laptop. There is a balcony open to the wooded region beyond, with the glass door closed (but not locked). He is sitting at his desk, eyebrows crumpled -- he is an older man, mid-40s, with a handsome jaw and ambergold eyes. At this very moment, he's wearing a blue collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his thick forearms -- olive skinned, he is fit, stern, and examining lines of code on his laptop with an air of focused intensity. Anette hasn't put too much planning into this operation. Oh, she did the obvious stuff, like finding his address, figuring what security systems he had, the hours he was most likely to be home, who else might be present, and so on. But between the steps 'Enter House' and 'Leave Corpse Behind', there really wasn't a plan laid out. Unfortunately, most of what little plan there was involved waiting. The trees were convenient and lucky her, she found one tall enough to hide in out of sight, away enough from the house not to be spotted but still within her own enhanced line of sight. Here, she's waited for the last few hours, tucked in and hardly moving. Keeping her eyes and ears locked on the house before her, she's been watching the windows and tracking the people walking by. Finally, she's got Thaddeus alone, the wife and kids out of somewhere out of sight. With a deep breath, she spreads her wings and takes off, keeping to the trees as closely as she can. She aims for the balcony before shooting straight up and landing on the roof with a controlled thud. Hoping she got his attention, she crouches on the balcony and waits, watching to see if she can lure him out. Matthew catches the sound of that thud; his head snaps up from his computer, eyes sweeping across the room as his eyebrows rumple together in consternation. For a moment, he's staring out the window of his room, his gaze drifting to the balcony... and then, with a bit of caution, he reaches up to close his laptop with a delicate click, getting to his feet -- moving toward the balcony door, staring out into the wooded region beyond. Scratching at his jaw. Anette silently waits, listening to the footsteps as they approach the door...then stop. "You sonnuva bitch..." she mouths silently, anxiously waiting for him to make a move. Anxious but patient, she runs through every scenario in her mind while she waits for Matthew to do something -other- than stare directly at her only entrance in. And then Matthew reaches -- for the switch next to the door. With only a flip of that switch, the lights around the perimeter of the house -- mounted to point out toward the woods and all the surrounding regions -- flick on. They're floodlights; powerful LEDs that proceed to make the grounds around the house nearly as bright as a well-lit sunny day. As he does this, he's scanning the grounds around the house, still behind the glass -- looking, apparently, for intruders... or, more likely, wandering zombies that might have stumbled into something and made a bit of noise. Anette winces, blinking furiously as the lights come on, and she ducks down on her perch on the roof. This is going to be challenging. That's ok, she likes challenging. Then an idea hits. Slowly, she lifts her head and emits a loud, very realistic screech. Not so loud as it give away she's human, just loud enough for him to hear and, hopefully, believe the noise he heard was merely an owl. He wouldn't be completely wrong. Matthew visibly steps back at the sound, briefly startled; after a moment, he wrinkles his nose in amusement. Still, he scans the grounds for any signs of movement -- but when he doesn't see it, he reaches to switch the light off. At once, the area around the house is once more plunged into darkness; he turns away from the glass door, moving back toward his computer, reaching to open it up with yet another tell-tale click. Anette takes her cue when she hears footsteps heading in the opposite direction. In an instant, she jumps off the roof and lands on the balcony. Immediately opening the glass door, she steps inside and behind Matthew. If she's good, she does this all before he's had the chance to look around again. He suddenly finds himself with talons gripping his throat: indeed, it seems as if her mutation has evolved in the last few years and she no longer has human hands. "Hand where I can see them. If we all behave, we'll get through this just fine..." she says, tightening her grip briefly to show she means business. Matthew's turning the moment the glass door makes a rattling shudder; his eyebrows snapping up high, he's spinning around just in time to face -- talons moving toward his throat. There's a soft, sharp intake of breath -- he's a fit, athletic man -- but something about having talons embracing your throat, something about never having an intruder in your house *before* -- these things throw him off. He manages a surprised gurgle, his entire body snapping rigid -- hands reaching out for the length of the arm that clutches at *him*. "Ssszn--money's--" he begins, his voice choking with a wet gurgle. "Safe. In here. Can get you--" His throat spasms under those claws. "...my kids are downstairs. Please, take -- whatever you want. Just don't..." Anette loosens her grip just enough for Matthew to the breathe relatively comfortably. "Oh, I know about your kids. That's how I know you'll listen to what I say and keep your hands where I can see them," she repeats, her voice stern. "See...there's a rumor going around you're working on new Sentinels. Considering there's a new iPhone out every year and you guys get significantly more government funding than Apple does, I kinda believe there will be new Sentinels along soon. This needs to stop. Now...am I right in assuming a good chunk of that project is in that laptop, right there?" she asks, gripping his shoulder with her other talon and turning him around to face the laptop still sitting on the table, her right talon still gripping his throat to keep him in check. The man stiffens at the mention of the new sentinels; something dark flickers over Matthew's eyes. He mutters, under his breath: "Mark III. They'll -- replace medical and police drones entirely. They're -- they *help* people. Help mutants. Why..." The grip of those talons against his shoulder seems to be enough to cut him off; he begins to shake his head, slowly. "I'm just debugging some of the code, but... you won't -- get much of anything off of the device." Anette shakes her head, tsking slightly. "See...that's the problem. -Police- drones. I really don't like the idea of practically indestructible mutant bounty hunters so I'm going to pick this weed before it grows. Now, if I -did- want information on this project, where would I find it? Be honest with me. I do know your wife and children are downstairs and so do the others." Alright, now she's REALLY pushing her lying abilities but she's taking that chance. Matthew twitches, briefly, at the mention of his wife and children; that dark look deepens, but he makes no move of resisting. His breathing has grown deeper, steadier -- his body is tensed and hard under those talons. "--the police *murder* you. Beat you. They put you in cages and made you *kill* each other. We're--" Whatever else he's going to say, it's lost beneath the small shake of his head; he is perhaps realizing the folly in arguing with an owl-shaped mutant who just broke into his home and is threatening his wife and children. "Oscorp. It's where the majority of information on sentinels are stored -- if you want to access *that*, you have to go through -- Norman Osborn." There is something there; just a hint of it, but still present. A *dare*. As if Matthew was almost challenging Anette to go after Norman FUCKING Osborn. Anette tightens her grip on Matthew as he mentions the beatings and cages. "Don't you think I know that?!" she yells, her yellow eyes almost glowing as she becomes briefly overcome with anger. "So fuck if you think I'm going to let you create Robocop to do the job for them!" She quickly shakes her head, dropping her voice again. "Alright, we're going to play a little game. You're going to pick up the laptop and we're going to take it to the balcony. You're going to drop it over the edge and we're going to watch it shatter together. It's not going to be as much fun as I'd hoped, but it'll be enough. Then, I swear on these very wings that I will let you go. Deal?" "Nngh--" Matthew tenses up as her grip tightens, as her eyes brighten to a vicious yellow; he physically tries to draw back, for a moment -- but it doesn't take much pressure from those talons to remind him of their presence. As she speaks those words, he shivers -- a hand slowly reaching out for the laptop -- but something cold and numbing swells up over his chest as he takes it in his hands, pulling it free from the charger. "...why do you need *me* to..." he starts, voice trembling, before he adds -- with a strange sort of detachment: "You're going to kill me." Anette sighs and shakes her head. "Couldn't let me have that, could you? See, I was going to tell you I'd let you go and once you dropped the laptop, I'd let you go off the balcony an-...well, evidently you figured it out. Yes, I do plan to kill you," she says, giving the room one last glance over. "Hm, I guess my best option is just to do this," she says, closing her fist around your neck, her talons sinking into your throat from every angle. And with that, she pulls her hand away and very unceremoniously lets you drop to the ground. "You--" he starts, but whatever else he's about to say is cut off by the sound of those talons ripping into his throat; a grotesque, gurgling sound emerges from within it -- as Matthew Thaddeus' eyes pop open wide, a whispery-wet choking noise emerging from his lips. Blood spurts from his mouth; his eyes roll back, hands immediately snapping around to try and grab at his throat -- then, at Anette -- though it will do very little good, since he's now dropping down to his knees, collapsing to the floor, choking on his own lifeblood as he struggles to drag in even a precious molecule of oxygen from the sizable, ragged hole that's been torn in his throat. Anette wipes the blood nonchalantly on her jeans as she makes her way towards the balcony. Reaching for the door, she stops suddenly, freezing midstep. Slowly, she turns around, making her way to the other door. Ensuring it's closed, she then locks it. Maybe it's to buy her some time before people discover what's happened, or maybe, just maybe, as cruel as she is, the last thing she wants to do is let the kids accidentally discover the mutilated corpse of their father. Either way, once she's out on the balcony, she jumps and beats her wings, quickly flying back into the trees.