The fog grew dim and cold, as the truck importing at least a dozen illegal drug cartels drove into a warehouse on Pier 41. The thugs orchestrating the smuggling were a bit on edge, but not more than one would expect of people who were commiting unlawful acts. Still, something was to be feared from this night. Especially when the only thing that was visible from the heavens through the fog was the unearthly glow of the moon.
Locking the doors, the thugs ran to the crates and immediatley began unloading them. Though there were hostages behind them; dock workers, squirming to get loose from their binds; the thugs stuck to their task of unloading and uncrating each of the packets in order to ready them for distribution. The leader of the organised group looked down upon the crates, inspecting them all with a watchful eye.
"Keep at it. The boss doesn't want interference. 'Specially from the cops.", He stated, looking to the far entrance, uneasy.
"What about them?", One asked, looking at the hostages. Their leader smiled, evilly.
"Damned shame what the cops
are gonna find here, huh?", He said, producing a magnum from his jacket. The hostages' eyes all simultaneously widened, seeing the gun. They tried to scream, but were stopped by the gags wrapped around their mouths. The leader's smile went even wider, at that. "Damned shame..."
Outside, however, another situation was brewing. The guards stationed outside had been hired to watch for any cops or other intrusions on their operation. But, they had been chosen wrong, as every one of the guards were either nearsighted, farsighted, or simply too lazy to notice anything. Bad for them. Good for the figure that silently entered the area, leaping over the gate and immediatley rolling behind some nearby crates.
One of the guards turned, spotting this out of the corner of his eye. But after a few moments of silence, he simply shrugged to himself, and turned back to the area he was facing. Only two steps later, that same guard found himself being grabbed from behind, and brutally punched in the face, knocking him out before he could see anything at all.
Another one of the guards had heard the punch, and decided to investigate. Taking his AK-47, He ran into the fogged area, holding it high, looking in all directions. But found nothing. Turning, the thug looked behind him. Again, nothing. It was very confusing, at first... Until the thug stepped forward, and hit something with his foot. Looking down, he spotted his downed partner, laying on the ground unconcious, revealed by the passing fog. His eyes widened, seeing a man he thought was dead, at first glance. But before he could scream, He looked up, seeing something come at him at lightning speed. Taking his gun, the thug was too late, as a truncheon flew through the fog, smashing into his hand, before spinning and flying into his face. The last thing the thug would see for the night would be white cloak of his attacker, as he fell limp next to his partner, ready for the police.
The figure that stood above him turned, silently peering at the warehouse itself. Anyone else in his situation would naturally continue with more discreet methods, so as to not attract attention. Taking three crescant shaped blades from a pouch in his belt, he placed them between each finger, and disappeared back into the fog, towards the warehouse. He had other plans.
Back inside, the leader raised his magnum, clearly aiming for the first hostage's head. Taking a life didn't matter to him. He had done it many times before, and would gladly do it again for his employer. Better them than him, right?
But the leader's thoughts of blatant murder were silenced, as two figures smashed through the overhead windows, landing and crashing into one of the drug crates. Everyone stopped, deathly silent as they observed the two figures. Their partners. The ones they had stationed outside... All bound and tied up by a thick, silver cord. The leader turned, eyes widened, seeing this. "What the f-"
The leader suddenly screamed in pain, as a crescant shaped blade suddenly dug into his hand, seemingly coming from nowhere. The rest of the group were too stunned to do anything... which boded rather well for the next figure that would enter the area. Flipping into the air, the cloaked figure landed amongst the thugs, fist on the ground as he looked up, greeting them with a face that expressed no emotion. Particularly pity, which is what they would need. The thugs, seeing this, stared for a moment. None of them were armed... That's part of the reason this cartel even existed. To pay for their weaponry. But what could they do against this new attacker? The thugs decided to attack anyway. To him, however, not only was that an act of desperation... it was just pathetic. They stood no chance.
Leaping into the air once more, the figure threw his two remaining blades at the nearest attackers, catching them directly in the back of the necks. The thugs fell, out cold. Poison tipped weaponry was the explanation. Not that any of the other thugs would ever know that. Landing on the ground again, the figure grabbed an object from underneath his cloak, and threw it at another thug. The criminal was instantly wrapped in an unbreakable cord, starting at the feet, but eventually encasing his entire body.
Spinning, the figure sent a powerful kick to another one's chest, knocking him over a crate and sending him into the still injured leader. Taking out the same truncheon he had used to subdue the guard outside, The figure pressed a button on it, and pulled, extending it from the size of a club to the size of a staff. Twirling it in his hand, the figure caught one of the thug's incoming fists with it, and spun, breaking another one's nose with an agonising crunch. Sending a backhanded punch across the face of the thug nearest him, the figure flipped, holding the staff down, allowing it to land before he did. Connecting it to the ground, the figure grabbed ahold of it, and spun sideways, allowing him to slam into the remaining two thugs with his knees.
With a backflip, the figure finally stood still once more, among an array of unconcious and beaten criminals. His head turned, noticing the leader was still up. Taking his staff, he resized it and placed it onto his belt, before walking forward, towards the leader. The leader's eyes widened again, spotting the figure as he tried to move his partner off of him. Failing to do so, the leader finally looked up, only to be grabbed and pulled from beneath the other thug by one lone arm. Holding him off of his feet, by his collar, the figure stared into his eyes with a ghostly white glare.
"P... Please... I got a kid, man... I can't go in for this...", the leader pleaded. But the figure wouldn't hear it. He simply looked back, eyeing the drug cartels, before turning back to the leader and sneering, through his mask.
"You really should've thought of that before now.", The figure uttered, in a tone that sent a chill down the leader's spine.
The figure lowered the leader, but didn't let go. Instead, he slammed the leader into the wall of the warehouse, hard.
"These cartels are highly illegal.", the figure stated, before leaning in closer.
"Just who exactly didn't get that message?"
The leader realised what was going on quickly. This guy wanted him to rat out his boss. There was no way he'd do that. No way in hell.
"Forget it... I... I'm better off dead."
The figure wasted no time in pulling out a larger, more handheld version of the crescant shaped blades, and holding it mere inches from the leader's face.
"We'll see."
The leader's eyes rolled back into his head, before the leader finally collasped, out cold. The figure looked down upon him, silent. That wasn't what he had intended to happen. He wanted to interrogate the leader... find out who his boss was, and come that much closer to ridding the infestation that rotted at New York City. The figure turned, hearing distant sirens.
For another night, he thought, before turning, and throwing the blade, snipping the binds of the hostages with it as it stuck into a nearby crate, leaving the image of the crescant in the view of the hostages. By the time they turned back to the figure, he was gone. Vanished, as if he had become one with the fog outside.
By the time the police would get there, he'd be miles away from the area. But his prescence would never leave the minds of both the people of whom he had saved, and the people he had brought to justice. Oh no...
Not as long as the moon still shined upon the city.
