[FENG SHUI] The Legacy of Atlantis - updated 2/24
Rybaer
First Post
Act 1 – Fracas on the Crimson Tower
Max does not immediately understand the significance of the events transpiring around him. He does, however, recognize the body-painted models as a threat and decides to do the right thing and intervene.
MAX
Yo, Todd, toss me that big one there.
The bartender, huddled below the bar, reaches for a bottle of Galliano and tosses it up to Max. He hefts the long, narrow necked bottle and winds up like a major league batter. One of the models becomes aware of his presence, but it’s too late as the heavy glass bat crushes the wind out of him.
The remaining three models in Max’s immediate vicinity turn on him. Two women, prowling like feral cats, flank him on either side while the remaining man charges in swinging his fists. Max ducks the punches and parries one of the women’s kicks with the heavy bottle. Whirling with remarkable speed, Max spins on the balls of his feet and delivers a head shot to all three opponents with one swing. His combined work experiences as a former bar tender and batting cage operator seem to have finally paid dividends.
Dong, eager for an opportunity to demonstrate the real-life applications for his Fung Ku teachings, joins the fray. He performs the Tiger Leap and flips over the buffet, landing squarely in front of a separate squad of half a dozen models. Taking advantage of their momentary hesitation, Dong plants a solid side kick in the abdomen of one woman and then delivers a quick knife jab to the neck of the man beside her. Both drop.
DONG
Funk you up wit’ da Fung Ku, babe!
The models swarm Dong and land a flurry of punches and kicks, most of which he blocks effortlessly. Thinking fast, the Fung-King takes a step backward, feigning retreat. When two of the models close in, eager to pin him against the buffet, Dong executes his surprise maneuver. Reaching behind his back, he grabs a pair of the spicy pheasant wings he’d been partaking of prior to the interruption. One wing is jabbed in the eye of the each of the two closest models. Both shriek and fall back.
The two remaining models charge Dong. One slips on a stray ice cube and cracks her chin hard on the edge of the buffet table, knocking herself unconscious. Dong grabs a lid from the buffet table and uses it to deflect the other’s punches, and then slams the guy upside the head. He casually tosses the lid on the last fallen opponent.
DONG
No shirt, no shoes, no undies, no service.
Dong looks up as another four models pour out of a stairwell right before him. The Fung Ku guru grins and beckons them forward.
Stu Nodd finishes taking his photos of the Siphu-belin and decides to prepare himself for the thieves. He chooses not to pull his gun and instead unhooks two of the velvet barricade ropes from the nearest brass post. Ten models, holding their breaths, are bearing down on him. Stu hefts the post, trying to get a feel for its awkward balance.
VIXEN
John! We can’t let them get the Siphu-belin!
John, from his position behind the bar, makes a mental note that the archaeologist did not run down the stairs as he’d instructed her to. He takes her call to heart and fires three shots – dropping three of the models charging toward the pedestal and the tweed-suited gentleman wielding the post.
Stu swings both ends of the post at a pair of models, quarterstaff style. Both take glancing blows but refuse to fall to his attacks. Another model kidney punches the Canadian from behind. Of the remaining four models in the center of the gas cloud, two grab the Siphu-belin and run for the far corner of the roof while the other two flank them protectively.
Stu tosses the brass post to one of the mooks, who momentarily breaks off her attack to catch it. While it doesn’t hit her hard enough to cause any physical damage, she momentarily forgets about the sleep gas and takes a deep breath and collapses a moment later. Stu tries in vain to punch out the other two models.
STU (under his breath)
At least I’m keeping up with my cover…sort of…
John recognizes the problem that the guy in tweed is having and turns his gun to help. Both models still engaged with Stu drop in clouds of red spray. Stu curtly nods in John’s direction and then hurries after the robbers.
The models running with the artifact have help arriving in the form of two more models. These new comers are lifting up the seat covers of a bench along the edge of the roof and start pulling out backpacks. John, leaping to the top of the bar, opens fire on the carriers but manages only to graze the Siphu-belin. He senses Dr. Love flinching somewhere behind him.
Max, from the opposite side of the roof, recognizes the backpacks as a compact model of parachute – from one of his former jobs working as a chute packer. He hurls the bottle of Galliano some seventy feet and manages to hit the legs of the leading artifact bearer. Both of the bearers fall and the Siphu-belin goes sliding across the tile toward the would-be parachutists.
Away from (and oblivious to) the rest of the action, Dong prepares to receive the next wave of body-painted models. Two women lead the charge. Again, the Fung King reaches to the buffet behind him and this time grabs two Sterno heaters from under a pan of Spinach and Ricotta Stuffed Squid. As the models close on him, he spins about and on each performs the dreaded “Flaming Titty Twister.” Much to his surprise and theirs, it turns out that the body-paint is not only highly flammable but also melts under intense heat.
The other two models evade their flaming, fleeing companions and hit Dong from both sides. One gives him a sharp kick in the ribs. The other swings a chair at him, but misses and instead smashes through the buffet’s sneeze shield. Dong pushes one of the models into a flaming model and he also ignites. The lone remaining model and Dong size each other up.
Back on the other side of the roof, one of the parachute equipped models grabs the Siphu-belin and leaps over the edge of the roof. The three other models follow right behind him. John and Stu look over the edge in stunned surprise. Max, however, grabs the last remaining parachute and dives over the edge before he’s even got it securely fastened.
To be continued...
Max does not immediately understand the significance of the events transpiring around him. He does, however, recognize the body-painted models as a threat and decides to do the right thing and intervene.
MAX
Yo, Todd, toss me that big one there.
The bartender, huddled below the bar, reaches for a bottle of Galliano and tosses it up to Max. He hefts the long, narrow necked bottle and winds up like a major league batter. One of the models becomes aware of his presence, but it’s too late as the heavy glass bat crushes the wind out of him.
The remaining three models in Max’s immediate vicinity turn on him. Two women, prowling like feral cats, flank him on either side while the remaining man charges in swinging his fists. Max ducks the punches and parries one of the women’s kicks with the heavy bottle. Whirling with remarkable speed, Max spins on the balls of his feet and delivers a head shot to all three opponents with one swing. His combined work experiences as a former bar tender and batting cage operator seem to have finally paid dividends.
Dong, eager for an opportunity to demonstrate the real-life applications for his Fung Ku teachings, joins the fray. He performs the Tiger Leap and flips over the buffet, landing squarely in front of a separate squad of half a dozen models. Taking advantage of their momentary hesitation, Dong plants a solid side kick in the abdomen of one woman and then delivers a quick knife jab to the neck of the man beside her. Both drop.
DONG
Funk you up wit’ da Fung Ku, babe!
The models swarm Dong and land a flurry of punches and kicks, most of which he blocks effortlessly. Thinking fast, the Fung-King takes a step backward, feigning retreat. When two of the models close in, eager to pin him against the buffet, Dong executes his surprise maneuver. Reaching behind his back, he grabs a pair of the spicy pheasant wings he’d been partaking of prior to the interruption. One wing is jabbed in the eye of the each of the two closest models. Both shriek and fall back.
The two remaining models charge Dong. One slips on a stray ice cube and cracks her chin hard on the edge of the buffet table, knocking herself unconscious. Dong grabs a lid from the buffet table and uses it to deflect the other’s punches, and then slams the guy upside the head. He casually tosses the lid on the last fallen opponent.
DONG
No shirt, no shoes, no undies, no service.
Dong looks up as another four models pour out of a stairwell right before him. The Fung Ku guru grins and beckons them forward.
Stu Nodd finishes taking his photos of the Siphu-belin and decides to prepare himself for the thieves. He chooses not to pull his gun and instead unhooks two of the velvet barricade ropes from the nearest brass post. Ten models, holding their breaths, are bearing down on him. Stu hefts the post, trying to get a feel for its awkward balance.
VIXEN
John! We can’t let them get the Siphu-belin!
John, from his position behind the bar, makes a mental note that the archaeologist did not run down the stairs as he’d instructed her to. He takes her call to heart and fires three shots – dropping three of the models charging toward the pedestal and the tweed-suited gentleman wielding the post.
Stu swings both ends of the post at a pair of models, quarterstaff style. Both take glancing blows but refuse to fall to his attacks. Another model kidney punches the Canadian from behind. Of the remaining four models in the center of the gas cloud, two grab the Siphu-belin and run for the far corner of the roof while the other two flank them protectively.
Stu tosses the brass post to one of the mooks, who momentarily breaks off her attack to catch it. While it doesn’t hit her hard enough to cause any physical damage, she momentarily forgets about the sleep gas and takes a deep breath and collapses a moment later. Stu tries in vain to punch out the other two models.
STU (under his breath)
At least I’m keeping up with my cover…sort of…
John recognizes the problem that the guy in tweed is having and turns his gun to help. Both models still engaged with Stu drop in clouds of red spray. Stu curtly nods in John’s direction and then hurries after the robbers.
The models running with the artifact have help arriving in the form of two more models. These new comers are lifting up the seat covers of a bench along the edge of the roof and start pulling out backpacks. John, leaping to the top of the bar, opens fire on the carriers but manages only to graze the Siphu-belin. He senses Dr. Love flinching somewhere behind him.
Max, from the opposite side of the roof, recognizes the backpacks as a compact model of parachute – from one of his former jobs working as a chute packer. He hurls the bottle of Galliano some seventy feet and manages to hit the legs of the leading artifact bearer. Both of the bearers fall and the Siphu-belin goes sliding across the tile toward the would-be parachutists.
Away from (and oblivious to) the rest of the action, Dong prepares to receive the next wave of body-painted models. Two women lead the charge. Again, the Fung King reaches to the buffet behind him and this time grabs two Sterno heaters from under a pan of Spinach and Ricotta Stuffed Squid. As the models close on him, he spins about and on each performs the dreaded “Flaming Titty Twister.” Much to his surprise and theirs, it turns out that the body-paint is not only highly flammable but also melts under intense heat.
The other two models evade their flaming, fleeing companions and hit Dong from both sides. One gives him a sharp kick in the ribs. The other swings a chair at him, but misses and instead smashes through the buffet’s sneeze shield. Dong pushes one of the models into a flaming model and he also ignites. The lone remaining model and Dong size each other up.
Back on the other side of the roof, one of the parachute equipped models grabs the Siphu-belin and leaps over the edge of the roof. The three other models follow right behind him. John and Stu look over the edge in stunned surprise. Max, however, grabs the last remaining parachute and dives over the edge before he’s even got it securely fastened.
To be continued...
The man walked into the tavern and looked around. The sights and sounds in this place, nay, this entire city, were amazing to behold. People in the streets dashing to and fro, talking, laughing, smiling. The tavern was even more interesting. He had never seen so many different bottles with different colored liquids. The chairs at the bar looked large and comfortable. Placing his belongings at his feet, the man sat down.
"Ale," the man said, shifting himself on the stool. The cushions were a luxury he had only seen a few times before. He was pulled out of his fixation by the barman's voice.
"What kind?"
The question took the man by surprise. "I'll try something new. Give me your favorite." The bartender reached into a shiny box behind him and got a bottle. He opened it and placed it in front of the man.
The bottle was odd. First off, it was brown. Second, the bottle said Miller Lite on it. Third, it was the coldest bottle he had ever put his hand around.
He sipped the beverage. It was watery and not very good. The grains the miller named Lite had contributed to this brew were dull and lifeless. However, the coolness was refreshing. He had been walking around the city all day.
Not long after, another man sat on the stool next to him and nodded a greeting. This man ordered a Crown and Seven. After he got his drink, he turned to the first man. "So, you here for the game, eh?"
Ah, yes, The Game. The whole reason the first man was here in this city in the first place. He found the idea of this game offensive. Pitting two groups of animals against each other for sport and entertainment grated on his sense of morality. He was most definitely here for The Game.
"Actually, yes, I am here to look into this battle of the great cats," he told his new companion.
The second man grunted. "I'm not, believe it or not. I'm here for a meeting, so I'll probably miss the game. Eh, who cares anyway? Bengals and Lions. I can't think of a more boring contest."
The first man felt his anger rising. The other man's cavalier attitude toward these noble species was appalling. Apparently, most of the other people in the room shared this attitude as they talked excitedly of their belief that the lions would kill the bengals, or vise versa. Some claimed to have made wagers on the outcome. The man had never heard of anything so barbaric.
The second man extended his hand. "The name is Stu. Stu Nodd."
"Stu Nodd?" the first man asked, the surprise showing clearly on his face as he shook the offered hand. He then sighed and shrugged. "I'm sorry," the first man said as he picked up his pack. "I'm in the wrong Story Hour."
And with that, Nigel Meadowbrook walked out the door and into the night.
"Ale," the man said, shifting himself on the stool. The cushions were a luxury he had only seen a few times before. He was pulled out of his fixation by the barman's voice.
"What kind?"
The question took the man by surprise. "I'll try something new. Give me your favorite." The bartender reached into a shiny box behind him and got a bottle. He opened it and placed it in front of the man.
The bottle was odd. First off, it was brown. Second, the bottle said Miller Lite on it. Third, it was the coldest bottle he had ever put his hand around.
He sipped the beverage. It was watery and not very good. The grains the miller named Lite had contributed to this brew were dull and lifeless. However, the coolness was refreshing. He had been walking around the city all day.
Not long after, another man sat on the stool next to him and nodded a greeting. This man ordered a Crown and Seven. After he got his drink, he turned to the first man. "So, you here for the game, eh?"
Ah, yes, The Game. The whole reason the first man was here in this city in the first place. He found the idea of this game offensive. Pitting two groups of animals against each other for sport and entertainment grated on his sense of morality. He was most definitely here for The Game.
"Actually, yes, I am here to look into this battle of the great cats," he told his new companion.
The second man grunted. "I'm not, believe it or not. I'm here for a meeting, so I'll probably miss the game. Eh, who cares anyway? Bengals and Lions. I can't think of a more boring contest."
The first man felt his anger rising. The other man's cavalier attitude toward these noble species was appalling. Apparently, most of the other people in the room shared this attitude as they talked excitedly of their belief that the lions would kill the bengals, or vise versa. Some claimed to have made wagers on the outcome. The man had never heard of anything so barbaric.
The second man extended his hand. "The name is Stu. Stu Nodd."
"Stu Nodd?" the first man asked, the surprise showing clearly on his face as he shook the offered hand. He then sighed and shrugged. "I'm sorry," the first man said as he picked up his pack. "I'm in the wrong Story Hour."
And with that, Nigel Meadowbrook walked out the door and into the night.
Rybaer
First Post
Dyme said:I hate you Rybaer!!
I spend all this time editing and all and you get your post up first .
I forsee a tragic surfing accident in your future.
Getting on my case? And just how many days did you have since my last post to get your word in?
Surf's up!
(at least you got to blow up some cars tonight...)
Max H. Coffee
First Post
Max here: Just wanted to say Hi. Anybody out there hireing?
Rybaer
First Post
Act 1, part 2 – Fracas Leaves the Roof
Max leaps off the roof of the 57-story Crimson Tower and manages to secure and deploy his chute before falling too far. The four body-painted models that had jumped before him have already deployed their chutes and are drifting through the steel and glass canyons of downtown Central City. They do not notice Max’s pursuit and he chooses not to announce it. Rather, he just paces them quietly from behind.
Back on the edge of the roof, Stu looks for another chute but finds that Max got the last of them. He does, however, find a box full of extra knockout gas grenades. He pulls the pins on two and heaves them toward the ground, hoping to gas out the models’ landing site. As the two grenades fall, though, the secret agent realizes that the parachutists are trying to coast to a landing site several blocks away. One grenade crushes a newspaper vending machine; the other blasts through the hood of a parked cop car. The officer inside flinches just a little bit, enough to cause a glob of raspberry filling to ooze out the back and down his uniform. He wipes it up with a finger, licks it clean, and keeps on eating.
John leans over the railing not far from where Stu is lobbing grenades. With the parachutes deployed, he cannot determine which of the models is carrying the Siphu-belin. He takes aim and decides to just start shooting them one-by-one.
VIXEN
Wait! Don’t shoot! If they drop that artifact, it’ll be destroyed in the fall for sure.
John breaks his focus and overcomes his trained instincts, pulling his gun back. He still wants to pursue the robbers, just on principle, so he heads for the only other route to the ground – the pair of glass express elevators on the other side of the building.
Stu waits just long enough to see the models turn at the end of the block and float down a side street. He grabs the last three grenades and heads for that side of the roof.
A gunshot rings out from the roof, and it is clearly not from a caliber handgun that John would stoop to using. John, Stu, and Dong all turn toward the elevators and see another half dozen models accosting the pair of rent-a-guards on duty there. The guards are immediately subdued and one of the models begins to furiously hit the elevator call button.
Dong decides to ignore the one last model still standing near the buffet table and goes after the bigger group. Summoning forth the arcane fu lore of one of his former old masters, he leaps a full fifty feet through the air, flipping once, and lands atop the statue in the fountain near the elevators. Dong jumps the remaining ten feet to the ground and grabs a large potted plant and flings it at the button pushing model. Forty pounds of terra cotta and vegetation hit the startled goon full in the chest and carry him over the railing.
Just then, the elevator arrives and the remaining five models hop in. The door closes before Dong can reach it.
Stu again spots the parachutists and from this angle is able to identify which one carries the artifact and which one is piloted by the bar-fly. He lobs three grenades at the models not carrying the Siphu-belin and each hits square in the center of their respective chutes. All three chutes collapse under the force of the impacts and the models plummet to the street below. The guy carrying the artifact now becomes aware of the attention and of Max chasing him from behind.
Dong has already hopped up on top of the housing for the elevator the models are in and looks over the side. The elevator is about twenty feet down and dropping quickly. Throwing caution to the wind, he jumps over the side and lands on the roof of the glass box.
Meanwhile, John sprints across the roof, down a set of stairs to the lower roof, and starts to head for the elevators. Vixen is close behind him and the model that Dong abandoned is chasing her. John watches as Dong leaps off the roof after the recently departed models. Fortune smiles upon him, though, as the other elevator has just arrived. He runs for it but hesitates at the sound of Vixen yelling to him. In one smooth move, he turns and shoots the body-painted thug bearing down on her.
VIXEN (panting)
Thanks!
JOHN
Don’t mention it.
The two of them jump in the elevator. John spots the grenade hurling guy in tweed running toward them and he decides to hold the elevator for him. When the elevator finally starts to descend, John introduces himself by first name and Stu gives the killer his assumed identity. Both know that the other is more than he’s letting on, but let it drop in the heat of the moment. Vixen, remarkably, doesn’t seem too bothered by the body count her “date” has already tallied for the evening.
Max is grateful that only the artifact-toting model is remaining. He skillfully gains ground on his quarry while the model turns down yet another street and starts to descend more rapidly. About a block ahead is a non-descript tractor trailer idling along the curb. Max doesn’t think that the hatch on the roof of the trailer is standard, so he figures that the truck is the model’s destination and getaway. He starts to close more quickly on the robber.
Dong grabs onto the edge of his elevator’s roof and flips over the side, intent upon kicking through the glass and into the main compartment. Unfortunately, a bit of grease on the edge causes him to slip and go into freefall some five hundred feet above the pavement. His heart has time to skip just one beat before he grabs onto the bottom lip of the elevator with the tips of his fingers. While Dong tries to secure his grip, the models in the elevator kick out the glass over his head. Rather than worry about the falling shards of glass, the Fung King takes advantage of the opening. He swings forward and then kicks hard off the underside of the elevator, swings around, and back flips into the elevator – tackling one model in the process.
John shoots out the glass on the side of the elevator facing the one carrying the models. Fifty feet below, they watch as Dong flips into the compartment of the other elevator. John holds for a clean shot, but the only models he sees are the ones that are flung out into empty space. One by one, the body-painted models are ejected until by John’s count there should be none left. The Fung King leans out the side of his elevator, looks up at them, and flashes a big gold-capped toothy grin and thumbs up.
VIXEN
Hey, look over there!
The archaeologist points down the street. From their vantage in the elevator, they can see the two remaining parachutists coming in for a landing about a block and a half away.
Max makes no effort to conceal his intent. He simply out-maneuvers the laden-down model and pilots his parachute right over the model. At about forty feet up, he drops into the model’s canopy and collapses it. The model drops hard and gets caught up in a tree. The Siphu-belin drops the remaining twenty feet and goes skittering along the ground. Max winces as gems break off and go tinkling away down the sidewalk.
The passenger side door of the semi’s cab opens and a guy in a gray jumpsuit starts to climb out to see what the commotion is. He is also carrying a sub-machine gun. Max veers course just slightly and manages to kick the door closed on the startled mook. Max executes a perfect landing on the sidewalk and detaches his chute. The truck has already started pulling away, abandoning both the nude model stuck in the tree as well as the artifact that has skidded down the sidewalk. Curious on-lookers start to gather.
Max decides that securing the artifact is more important than dealing with the model (who is extracting himself from the tree). After all, a nude model without a ride in the middle of downtown Central City probably has more things to worry about than putting up another fight. And sure enough, the model sneaks off down an alley.
John, Stu, Dong, and Vixen all arrive moments later, pushing through the crowd.
VIXEN
Thank God, they didn’t get away with it.
MAX
Yeah, no problem. Actually made the evening halfway interesting. The thing they stole might be a little worse for wear, though. Had a bit of a bumpy landing.
The five of them crowd around the Siphu-belin and Vixen turns it over for inspection. They all come to the same realization together when they notice the bright white of foam shining through scratches in the thin gold paint.
STU
Foam, fake jewels, and modeling paint. How disappointing.
DONG
Well, that was quite a messy robbery for a fake.
JOHN
Did they know it was a fake? Is there even a real one or could this have just been a publicity stunt?
VIXEN
I know for a fact that the real Siphu-belin has been found. An old friend I went to grad school with works for Strong Insights, Strong’s private archaeology group. He told me that he was physically present at the dig when they found the item.
STU
This could have some disturbing implications, then.
VIXEN
I agree. I don’t think we should stick around here discussing it, though.
DONG
We could all go back to my place. I’ve got a nice house not too far from here.
JOHN
No, I don’t like that. You’re a known persona. Should someone come looking for us for our interference in tonight’s robbery, they could start there.
MAX
I’m from out of town. We could use my suite down at the Four Seasons. On top of that, I have a limo waiting for me.
Every looks at one another and agrees. Max calls his driver and has the limo brought to the corner. John leaves with Vixen to fetch his own car. Dong, careful to avoid the police who are just starting to arrive in front of the Crimson Tower, gets the attention of one of the valets.
DONG
Hey kid. Could you take my H2 back to my house for me?
KID
Uh, well…
DONG
Say ‘yes, I’d love to.’ Here’s fifty bucks.
KID
Uh, okay. Sure.
Dong, Stu, and Max, along with the fake Siphu-belin, pile into the back of Max’s limo and are whisked away. Max turns the television on.
MAX
Hey, driver! Does this thing get ESPN?
Max leaps off the roof of the 57-story Crimson Tower and manages to secure and deploy his chute before falling too far. The four body-painted models that had jumped before him have already deployed their chutes and are drifting through the steel and glass canyons of downtown Central City. They do not notice Max’s pursuit and he chooses not to announce it. Rather, he just paces them quietly from behind.
Back on the edge of the roof, Stu looks for another chute but finds that Max got the last of them. He does, however, find a box full of extra knockout gas grenades. He pulls the pins on two and heaves them toward the ground, hoping to gas out the models’ landing site. As the two grenades fall, though, the secret agent realizes that the parachutists are trying to coast to a landing site several blocks away. One grenade crushes a newspaper vending machine; the other blasts through the hood of a parked cop car. The officer inside flinches just a little bit, enough to cause a glob of raspberry filling to ooze out the back and down his uniform. He wipes it up with a finger, licks it clean, and keeps on eating.
John leans over the railing not far from where Stu is lobbing grenades. With the parachutes deployed, he cannot determine which of the models is carrying the Siphu-belin. He takes aim and decides to just start shooting them one-by-one.
VIXEN
Wait! Don’t shoot! If they drop that artifact, it’ll be destroyed in the fall for sure.
John breaks his focus and overcomes his trained instincts, pulling his gun back. He still wants to pursue the robbers, just on principle, so he heads for the only other route to the ground – the pair of glass express elevators on the other side of the building.
Stu waits just long enough to see the models turn at the end of the block and float down a side street. He grabs the last three grenades and heads for that side of the roof.
A gunshot rings out from the roof, and it is clearly not from a caliber handgun that John would stoop to using. John, Stu, and Dong all turn toward the elevators and see another half dozen models accosting the pair of rent-a-guards on duty there. The guards are immediately subdued and one of the models begins to furiously hit the elevator call button.
Dong decides to ignore the one last model still standing near the buffet table and goes after the bigger group. Summoning forth the arcane fu lore of one of his former old masters, he leaps a full fifty feet through the air, flipping once, and lands atop the statue in the fountain near the elevators. Dong jumps the remaining ten feet to the ground and grabs a large potted plant and flings it at the button pushing model. Forty pounds of terra cotta and vegetation hit the startled goon full in the chest and carry him over the railing.
Just then, the elevator arrives and the remaining five models hop in. The door closes before Dong can reach it.
Stu again spots the parachutists and from this angle is able to identify which one carries the artifact and which one is piloted by the bar-fly. He lobs three grenades at the models not carrying the Siphu-belin and each hits square in the center of their respective chutes. All three chutes collapse under the force of the impacts and the models plummet to the street below. The guy carrying the artifact now becomes aware of the attention and of Max chasing him from behind.
Dong has already hopped up on top of the housing for the elevator the models are in and looks over the side. The elevator is about twenty feet down and dropping quickly. Throwing caution to the wind, he jumps over the side and lands on the roof of the glass box.
Meanwhile, John sprints across the roof, down a set of stairs to the lower roof, and starts to head for the elevators. Vixen is close behind him and the model that Dong abandoned is chasing her. John watches as Dong leaps off the roof after the recently departed models. Fortune smiles upon him, though, as the other elevator has just arrived. He runs for it but hesitates at the sound of Vixen yelling to him. In one smooth move, he turns and shoots the body-painted thug bearing down on her.
VIXEN (panting)
Thanks!
JOHN
Don’t mention it.
The two of them jump in the elevator. John spots the grenade hurling guy in tweed running toward them and he decides to hold the elevator for him. When the elevator finally starts to descend, John introduces himself by first name and Stu gives the killer his assumed identity. Both know that the other is more than he’s letting on, but let it drop in the heat of the moment. Vixen, remarkably, doesn’t seem too bothered by the body count her “date” has already tallied for the evening.
Max is grateful that only the artifact-toting model is remaining. He skillfully gains ground on his quarry while the model turns down yet another street and starts to descend more rapidly. About a block ahead is a non-descript tractor trailer idling along the curb. Max doesn’t think that the hatch on the roof of the trailer is standard, so he figures that the truck is the model’s destination and getaway. He starts to close more quickly on the robber.
Dong grabs onto the edge of his elevator’s roof and flips over the side, intent upon kicking through the glass and into the main compartment. Unfortunately, a bit of grease on the edge causes him to slip and go into freefall some five hundred feet above the pavement. His heart has time to skip just one beat before he grabs onto the bottom lip of the elevator with the tips of his fingers. While Dong tries to secure his grip, the models in the elevator kick out the glass over his head. Rather than worry about the falling shards of glass, the Fung King takes advantage of the opening. He swings forward and then kicks hard off the underside of the elevator, swings around, and back flips into the elevator – tackling one model in the process.
John shoots out the glass on the side of the elevator facing the one carrying the models. Fifty feet below, they watch as Dong flips into the compartment of the other elevator. John holds for a clean shot, but the only models he sees are the ones that are flung out into empty space. One by one, the body-painted models are ejected until by John’s count there should be none left. The Fung King leans out the side of his elevator, looks up at them, and flashes a big gold-capped toothy grin and thumbs up.
VIXEN
Hey, look over there!
The archaeologist points down the street. From their vantage in the elevator, they can see the two remaining parachutists coming in for a landing about a block and a half away.
Max makes no effort to conceal his intent. He simply out-maneuvers the laden-down model and pilots his parachute right over the model. At about forty feet up, he drops into the model’s canopy and collapses it. The model drops hard and gets caught up in a tree. The Siphu-belin drops the remaining twenty feet and goes skittering along the ground. Max winces as gems break off and go tinkling away down the sidewalk.
The passenger side door of the semi’s cab opens and a guy in a gray jumpsuit starts to climb out to see what the commotion is. He is also carrying a sub-machine gun. Max veers course just slightly and manages to kick the door closed on the startled mook. Max executes a perfect landing on the sidewalk and detaches his chute. The truck has already started pulling away, abandoning both the nude model stuck in the tree as well as the artifact that has skidded down the sidewalk. Curious on-lookers start to gather.
Max decides that securing the artifact is more important than dealing with the model (who is extracting himself from the tree). After all, a nude model without a ride in the middle of downtown Central City probably has more things to worry about than putting up another fight. And sure enough, the model sneaks off down an alley.
John, Stu, Dong, and Vixen all arrive moments later, pushing through the crowd.
VIXEN
Thank God, they didn’t get away with it.
MAX
Yeah, no problem. Actually made the evening halfway interesting. The thing they stole might be a little worse for wear, though. Had a bit of a bumpy landing.
The five of them crowd around the Siphu-belin and Vixen turns it over for inspection. They all come to the same realization together when they notice the bright white of foam shining through scratches in the thin gold paint.
STU
Foam, fake jewels, and modeling paint. How disappointing.
DONG
Well, that was quite a messy robbery for a fake.
JOHN
Did they know it was a fake? Is there even a real one or could this have just been a publicity stunt?
VIXEN
I know for a fact that the real Siphu-belin has been found. An old friend I went to grad school with works for Strong Insights, Strong’s private archaeology group. He told me that he was physically present at the dig when they found the item.
STU
This could have some disturbing implications, then.
VIXEN
I agree. I don’t think we should stick around here discussing it, though.
DONG
We could all go back to my place. I’ve got a nice house not too far from here.
JOHN
No, I don’t like that. You’re a known persona. Should someone come looking for us for our interference in tonight’s robbery, they could start there.
MAX
I’m from out of town. We could use my suite down at the Four Seasons. On top of that, I have a limo waiting for me.
Every looks at one another and agrees. Max calls his driver and has the limo brought to the corner. John leaves with Vixen to fetch his own car. Dong, careful to avoid the police who are just starting to arrive in front of the Crimson Tower, gets the attention of one of the valets.
DONG
Hey kid. Could you take my H2 back to my house for me?
KID
Uh, well…
DONG
Say ‘yes, I’d love to.’ Here’s fifty bucks.
KID
Uh, okay. Sure.
Dong, Stu, and Max, along with the fake Siphu-belin, pile into the back of Max’s limo and are whisked away. Max turns the television on.
MAX
Hey, driver! Does this thing get ESPN?