[ Hei doesn't answer. It's as if he's already forgotten her. There is a cold humming tension scraping at the strings of his nerves. It is nothing like the wild electric thrill of adrenaline or sheer excitement; this is low-level and ruthless. A killing wrath. But that's no surprise. His mind is caught in a net, his thought-process narrowing down to the blood-red tunnel-vision of a wounded predator. And Amber has wounded him more than any person he's ever met. Others merely scratch -- she's stolen bone marrow. He will be incomplete until the day she is dead at his hands. ]
[ Jerking up like a shot, he drags his coat on, slips into his shoes. His movements are tight and snapping, like a wind-up toy's. He knows the address written on his arm could lead to an ambush. He knows he ought to think operationally. There's already a hit-team after him and Korra. He's not doing himself any favors by wading deeper into danger. He doesn't care. Every patterned defense, every backup plan, every ounce of lethal training, goes to hell the moment he hears Amber's callsign. He can never formulate a strategy beyond Get to her. Mental gymnastics are his forte, but to dwell in the disaster-stricken funhouse of his psyche at moments like these would melt his brain. So he switches his brain off and navigates on pure instinct. ]
[ For such a stone-cold killer, BK201 has an unfortunate habit of being overruled by emotions. ]
[ At the door, he pauses. Leaves a wad of cash at the table -- the equivalent for breakfast/lunch/dinner, and a bus ticket. In a voice bereft of emotion, ]
Contact your handler. Soon. I have somewhere else to be.
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Date: 2015-03-20 01:47 am (UTC)[ Jerking up like a shot, he drags his coat on, slips into his shoes. His movements are tight and snapping, like a wind-up toy's. He knows the address written on his arm could lead to an ambush. He knows he ought to think operationally. There's already a hit-team after him and Korra. He's not doing himself any favors by wading deeper into danger. He doesn't care. Every patterned defense, every backup plan, every ounce of lethal training, goes to hell the moment he hears Amber's callsign. He can never formulate a strategy beyond Get to her. Mental gymnastics are his forte, but to dwell in the disaster-stricken funhouse of his psyche at moments like these would melt his brain. So he switches his brain off and navigates on pure instinct. ]
[ For such a stone-cold killer, BK201 has an unfortunate habit of being overruled by emotions. ]
[ At the door, he pauses. Leaves a wad of cash at the table -- the equivalent for breakfast/lunch/dinner, and a bus ticket. In a voice bereft of emotion, ]
Contact your handler. Soon. I have somewhere else to be.