extremely_hot (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} extremely_hot) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} avengers_logs,@ 2018-05-04 23:38:00 |
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Who: Ellen Brandt, Gamora, Sam Wilson
What: Fight Club!Investigation
When: Sometime after Sam's party
Rating/Warnings: YELLOW for now, could get explicitly violent later, though.
The First Rule of Fight Club, Ellen thought, was 'Don't Talk About Fight Club. She also thought about Tyler Durden's words at one of the gatherings. "I see a lot of new faces here tonight. Which means some of you have been breaking Rule One." What was true in the movie was also true in reality. From her vantage point a block away, Ellen watched a stream of pedestrians and vehicles entering a supposedly closed building.
The vehicles drove down into the subsurface parking garage. Judging by the quality of the vehicles, their sleek lines and glossy appearance under streetlights, they were expensive. These would be the high rollers who were there to watch, not participate. And gamble, of course. The pedestrians, uniformly less well off to judge by their clothing, would be the participants.
It had taken Ellen longer than she liked to admit to track down this event. She'd pounded the sidewalks and lurked in countless bars (okay, dives more often than not), before she got the information she was looking for. She'd had to demonstrate that she could take care of herself in a fight more than once, either to fend off thugs trying to shut down her investigation or to prove she was up for the challenge.
She'd even had to agree to a date with one potential informant before he'd talk. The date had been surprisingly enjoyable up to the moment when he tried to welsh on his agreement unless she slept with him. She left him nursing a broken arm and the knowledge that she'd been half-inclined to bed him anyhow until he showed his true colors. But she got what she needed.
Ellen walked to the side entrace of the building alone. Probably better if she and Gamora entered separately. She glanced up but didn't see Sam. Well, that was the idea. Nobody was supposed to see him. He was there to provide an additional pair of eyes above the rooftop event, and backup if she and Gamora needed it.
The building was closed, but a couple of bruisers lurked by the door dressed as janitors, ostensibly taking a smoke break. They eyed her as she approached.
"I'm here for the show."
"There ain't no show, lady. Building's closed."
"Oh, right. Speakeasy." As passwords went, it was better than some, worse than others. One of the thugs rapped once on the fire door behind him before they both stepped aside.
The door opened. Ellen entered. Two more thugs, both visibly armed awaited her. A folding table to one side held a score of cell phones and a couple of cheap handguns. One thug nodded at the table. "No phones, no weapons."
"Didn't bring any," Ellen said. She had an earbug in one ear, but didn't figure they'd find it, and she was right. The other thug searched her, then stepped back.
"Down the hallway, take a left. Take the elevator to the top floor. Then the stairwell to the roof. It's marked."
* * *
Ellen pushed open the stairwell door and stepped out onto the rooftop. It wasn't the tallest building in the city--not by a long shot--but it was taller than any nearby buildings. Anyone in a position to look down on the roof would be too far away to see anything. She forced herself not to look around for Sam. She wondered if he were in the air or perched on a rooftop somewhere. He would be able to see things clearly even from a great distance.
A tall, cadaverous man who looked like an undertaker smiled coldly at her. "Welcome to Fight Club. And you are?"
"Ellen Brandt."
He looked her over, then smiled insincerely. "A participant, I presume?"
"How'd you guess?" she asked. He didn't bother to answer. She didn't fit with the high rollers.
"You have your entrance fee?"
"Of course." Ellen handed over the cash. She eyed the gliterrati who were milling around some distance away. They were dressed casually but expensively. No suits or cocktail dresses here. Nonetheless servers circulated amongst them with drinks and hors d'houvres. 'Fight Club' was a misnomer. Most of the people here were spectators.
They would watch metahumans beat one another up for their entertainment and gamble obscene amounts of money on the outcomes of the fights. The actual fighters would brawl for a pittance by comparison. It pissed her off. The fighters took all the risks but the spectators made the real money.
"You may wait over there," the undertaker said, gesturing with his chin. With the other deplorables went unsaid but clearly understood all the same.
Ellen walked over to the corner of the rooftop opposite the spectators, where about a score of presumed metahumans were assembled. Most looked perfectly human, as she herself did. Not all of them, though. One man's skin looked like alligator hide. Another man was built like Bruce Lee, slender but with every muscle clearly defined. He had Little Orphan Annie eyes: entirely white, with no visible pupils or irises. Ellen thought he might be blind, but wasn't sure. Still a third man was tall, broad and powerful looking. His hair and 70s porn-style mustache were black; his skin was medium blue.
A large, heavyset woman was among them as well. Her clothing was loose and fit her oddly, as if her body wasn't shaped normally. The only other woman was shorter than Ellen, with dark hair and a round face. She didn't look particularly imposing, but she seemed confident enough. Ellen wondered what her secret was.
She joined the crowd, unabashedly studying her competition (and possible allies, if the bad guys showed up). All that was left now was to await Gamora's arrival and the start of the event.