Character Name: Sagittarius
Alternate Identities: Summer Hunter
Player Name: NPC
|Tall, slender, tanned, blonde and athletic, Summer, like her teammates Leo and Pisces, is a gorgeous young woman. Off-duty she dresses casually, usually in jeans and some type of pullover shirt. When feeling sexy she will cut this down to 'Daisy Dukes' and a short, very short, croptop. In combat she wears a black 'catsuit' made from a material discovered on the Zodiakos Kyklos that has the appearance of leather but wears like cotton. The holsters for her collapsible crossbow pistols are strapped to her thighs and a quiver for her spare bolts is carried high on her back.|
Born: Dec. 1, 1068
The girl awoke to unbelievable pain and a night sky filled with stars from horizon to horizon with a thin sliver of a moon directly overhead. Burying one hand in warm sand she thought desert. She struggled to remember. Had she come off her bike on a jump? No, that wasn't right. Her helmet was missing and she never rode the hills around Taos New Mexico home without it. And if it had been a competition, why hadn't any one found her? A face flashed, like an after image and she whimpered. No, not a fall on her bike. She'd been raped.
Her mind cleared and she remembered the three men that had picked her up on the highway outside Las Vegas. Hunters, they'd said, looking for Prong horn. Hunting Prong horn was illegal, she told them and they'd told her only if you get caught. They told her they used crossbows because of the silence. Then they'd left the road, what came after she didn't want to think about. What she did want to think about was finding the bastards and making them pay.
It took her nearly half an hour crawling around in the dark to locate her jeans and the shirt that had been ripped from her body. She pulled both on but was forced to tie the shirt tails so that it wouldn't hang open. Moments later she found her shoes. It was time to start moving. She looked up at the stars, finding the three stars in Orion's belt and turned, picking out Ursa Major, the Big Dipper. Following the line for the pair of stars that formed the front of the 'dipper' she found the North Star.
Interstate 15 ran East-West and they'd turn to the south when they left the road so by heading north she reasoned she would cross the highway at some point. The bouncing trip out into the middle of nowhere had taken about ten minutes by her reckoning and knowing the type of terrain a desert had to offer know they couldn't do much more than 20 mile per hour without the real danger of plunging into a gully. That made it about three miles to the road.
She lost count of the number of times she fell and had to struggle back to her feet. Each time she would imagine a new way to kill the assholes that had raped her. It took almost two hours to cover the three miles to the road and once there she turned west, toward Los Angeles.
Not a single car had passed her since she'd found the road in the dark so the garish neon light brought her out of the stupor the monotony of putting one foot in front of the other had brought on. Her steps faltered as she tried to process what she was seeing. Bar, a roadside bar. Adrenalin let her pick up her pace in anticipation of a phone, the police and some water but she drew up short as she recognized the truck. Fury was gone by then, burned out by the long trek but a deep anger still smoldered. Dropping down beside the truck she peered into the cab and found it empty but with the doors unlocked. Carefully she pulled open the rear passenger door. When the dome light came on, she had to bite back a scream. Quickly she climbed in and closed the door enough to extinguish the light then removed the dome and popped the light bulb out of the holder. Pushing the door open again, she slipped out to the ground and reached under the seat for the back release.
Carefully packed behind the seat back were the three powerful crossbows the men had planned to use on the prong horn but the girl had a new purpose for them. She had no experience with firearms so the crossbow was a total enigma but she was intelligent and it was only a matter of a few minutes before she laid the quarrel into the first. Cocked and ready, she set it into the bed of the truck. Confident now she loaded the remaining pair adding them to the bed. Then she stepped back, mentally.
The truck was aligned with the tailgate toward the bar's front door and there was a cheap camouflaged tarp wadded up in one corner. Stealthily she dropped the tailgate then set the three bows in a row along the back. Next she pulled the tarp over the floor of that bed then slipped underneath and stretched out, the first crossbow nestled under her arm.
Over the next hour three cars came and went and no one paid any attention to the pickup. Just as the girl was starting to doze the neon of the bar winked out and she was instantly alert. It was maybe 30 meters to the door and with the light gone there were only the stars to illuminate the parking lot. The door opened and three men staggered out, arguing loudly. She watched them, tense, waiting for the doors to be locked behind them, hoping they'd be slow about crossing the lot.
Her breathing slowed, her heart beat calmed, and she felt like everything had stopped. Sighting down the length of the unfamiliar crossbow she noted a brief glint of starlight reflected from the man at the rear. When it appeared a second time, she was ready. The only sound was the man folding up onto the dirt of the lot. His two buddies never noticed. She pulled the second crossbow to her and drew a bead on the second. He fell backward just like a fallen tree, landing with a quiet whump.
The third stopped and turned to stare at his comrade then swung around. He seemed to peer through the darkness directly at her. She felt nothing as she released the third bolt and he fell without a sound. They had been right. No one would notice the nearly inaudible twang of a crossbow.
Flipping the tarp back she pivoted on her ass and slipped down to the gravel of the parking lot. Moving silently with one eye on the front doors of the bar, she approached the last man to fall. By feel she emptied his pockets, finding the truck's keys, his wallet and a small wad of bills. Quickly she moved to the next then the last, the closest to the door. From inside the bar she could hear voices approaching and she darted for the truck. It kicked over on the first twist of the key and, with the lights out, she rolled out onto the highway heading west. Keeping her speed to about 30 she drove into the night with only the stars to keep her on the road. Ten minutes later she turned on the lights and accelerated, five minutes after that she passed a California Highway Patrol car heading the opposite direction, lights flashing.
It took the San Bernardino County sheriff's department four days to identify the three dead men but by that time, the girl had vanished into Los Angeles.
Heart pounding, the girl crouched an oleander just below the window of the house scanning the surrounding area. Satisfied nothing was moving, she slowly stood and lifting a half brick wrapped in a towel, tapped the glass just above the window latch. Nothing happened. She tried again, putting a little more into it and was rewarded with a sharp cracking sound. It was a great deal louder than she'd excepted so she froze, ears straining for any indication it had been heard. Slowly she relaxed.
The third time she struck the pane broke into three pieces and caved in about an inch. The putty around each piece held them in place. Gingerly she took the edge of one section between gloved fingers and pulled. It came free with only the slightest grinding of glass against the wood of the frame. Very carefully, she set it on the ground then stepped on it with the toe of her sneakers, pushing it into the soft soil. After repeating the process with the other to pieces she reached in and rotated the old fashion latch.
Before opening the window she pulled a can of 3-in-1 oil out of the side pocket of her backpack and drizzled the oil down into the sash on both sides. Allowing a few moments for the oil to penetrate she used the time to listen hard and scan the area again. Still quiet. Taking a deep breath she lifted the window effortlessly. From the side pouch of the backpack she removed two small soft wooden wedges and thumbed then into the sash of the window at both sides.
Removing the backpack, she let it slide down to the floor inside then with a little hop, bellied up into the window catching herself on her hands and wiggling through. Snatching up the pack she pulled out an ultra small Mag-Lite she'd fitted with a layer of red -inted plastic sheeting that dimmed the white light to a dull red. It gave her plenty of light and reduced the chances of being seen through a window.
Moving slowly, she scanned the room, rejecting the TV and VCR as too heavy. What she was looking for was cash and for a few moments she stood running possible hiding places through her head. The people that lived in the house were older, probably in their 60's and she'd figured they would be more likely to have cash floating around the house than young people. Tiptoeing into the kitchen she scanned the room then smiled to herself. A cookie jar.
Pulling the fat cat-shaped jar off the top of the refrigerator, she set it on the counter and lifted the lid. Cookies. Homemade cookies but still cookies. With a shrug she picked one up and took a bit. Chocolate chip and very good. She found a box gallon-sized Ziplock bags in one cabinet and emptied the cookie jar into it. She smiled. Sneaky. Under all the cookies was a sandwich bag with bills. She stuffed it into her pocket then added the cookies to her backpack. Closing the lid, she placed the cookie jar back exactly as she'd found it. She wasn't greedy, she had what she came for and disappeared into the night.
When you arrive in a city, especially a city like Los Angeles and you are a seventeen year old girl with and athletic body and a beautiful face you can expect to be hit on by every male within ten miles. It was no exception for Summer Hunter. With a name like Summer Meadow Hunter you had to be the daughter of a pair of Taos, New Mexico artists and hippies. She'd been conceived during the Human Be-In held in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park just before the Summer of Love. She"d been raised in the artist commune of Taos and indoctrinated in the Love, Peace and Pot hippie way of life. Everything had been going great until she'd been given a ride on the back of a boy's motorcycle. Summer loved the speed, the power and the thrill.
"It is a noisy air-polluting menace," her parents had told her when at 12 she asked for one.
For her birthday they"d given her a BMX bike instead. She was furious and wanting to get as far away as possible, climbed on the bike and headed for the hills, literally. When she returned her paradigm had shifted. She'd discovered the excitement of off-road biking.
Three years later, in 1982, Summer Hunter, age 14, won National Champion BMX, Women's 20 inch for her age group. She led the standings from the very first race and never looked back finishing with a record point total that is still yet to be broken by any BMX racer. It was during this year that Summer began to suspect she was different, different as in 'mutant'. It wasn't that she could fly or pick up buildings like the supers in the news but when she won her first race by nearly a minute, she began to seriously consider it. She also figured she had better be very careful or someone might get curious. For the rest of the season she continued to win but by two seconds or ten seconds, never coming close to the minute mark again.
After that season, it wasn't enough. She wanted to move up, to challenge the boys but the rules prevented it. Looking for something more exciting, she borrowed a boy's dirt bike and knew she'd never be happy on a BMX again. For three years she pestered her parents only to see their stubborn resolve grow more entrenched. Finally, she resorted to threats and when Christmas Day rolled around just after her 17th birthday and no motorcycle was forthcoming, she followed up on the threat.
A few days later she awoke in the desert and set out to kill three men.
One hears of men lurking at bus stations ready to snatch up girls arriving in the city. Give them food, a place to sleep and maybe a little something to try just to see if they like it and the next thing they know they're on the street selling their bodies. Summer refused to let something like that happen to her and the $87 she'd found in the bottom of a cookie jar was her protection from just that. A highly intelligent girl she began to frequent the libraries, reading up on the skills that might be needed for a successful cat burglar. She learned, she practiced and she scored, never taking more than cash or the occasional bit of jewelry and she was able to live frugally. Then she broke into a house only to find another burglar.
SJ Dodge had been breaking into houses for the better part of a year without even a hint of discovery so when he stepped around a corner and ran into another burglar, he's heart nearly stopped. Summer couldn't quite stifle a squeak of surprise when she found hands gripping her shoulders and for a moment she fought to get free.
"Shh," the man hissed.
"What are you doing here," she hissed back.
"Apparently the same thing as you," he replied.
"Shit," she muttered.
"This house isn't big enough for the both of us, sweetheart," he said in a very good Humphrey Bogart.
"Then leave!" she shot back.
"You leave," he returned.
Slowly she looked down at the hands that still held her tightly. He snatched them away.
"Look, we are both here for the same thing so why don't we do this and sort it out after, say over coffee and pie," he offered.
She looked up at him and into his eyes, grey eyes, sexy eyes.
"Alright," she said. "Ten minutes then out."
"Agreed," he replied. "You have a preference?"
"Downstairs," she said.
"I'll take up then," he agreed. "Ten minutes. I'm SJ."
Thirty minutes later they sat across a table at the International House of Pies contemplating one another.
Summer had to admit, she liked what she saw. SJ was maybe three years older, about 20, with surfer blonde hair and those great grey eyes. He was lean and just a bit taller than her and out of the all black, wore faded jeans and a tee shirt with 'Bad to the Bone' stenciled across the chest. He also had a killer smile.
"First things first," he said. "What did you get?"
"What did you get?" she returned.
"Okay, how 'bout this," he suggested. "Pie, coffee, then we can worry about that other stuff."
"I can do that," she agreed.
Four huge slices of strawberry pie later they headed for SJ's apartment.
Summer stretched, the sheet sliding down her body to reveal one breast. She yawned and rolled onto her side, a fist propping up her head. In the small kitchen, SJ moved around fixing breakfast nude. She loved watching him move, especially when naked. He must had heard her shift and looked back over his shoulder at her.
"English muffins okay?" he asked.
"Sure, we got any OJ left?"
He stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. Bending slightly he peered in and Summer flipped the sleet off and in three quick steps as behind him, her body pressed to his ass.
"Hey, how do you expect me to get your juice?" he asked.
She wrapped her arms around him and he turned to face her.
"I love you, you know," she said.
"For which I am grateful every single day," he replied, kissing her.
She shrieked when he touched the juice carton against the small of her back.
"That was EVIL!" She gave him a pout.
He set the carton on the counter then admired her from head to toe.
"How about breakfast later?" he said moving in close and putting his arms around her.
She looked up into his beautiful eyes and smiled.
"I'm thinking an hour," she said. "Or two ..."
The roar of a pistol ended it all.
"The man was armed and he broke into MY house, endangered MY family," the man said.
The talking head returned.
"Mayoral candidate Jaime Acevedo spoke at a news conference from the steps of the Los Angeles County Courthouse this morning after investigator declined to press charges in the shooting of Stephen James Dodge, 20, and armed burglar that broke into the Acevedo home late last night. Police are searching for Dodge's accomplice who is described as in his early twenties, about 5'10" with dark hair."
Summer turned off the TV.
SJ had not been armed. SJ never carried a weapon of any type. The bastard had lied and the bastard was running for mayor. Three men dead in a parking lot. It hadn't bothered her for an instant and killing his lying politician wouldn't either. Trouble was she'd gotten rid of the crossbows.
It took three days of library work for her to find what she wanted. Boarding a bus she headed for Seattle where she took passage on a ferry to Vancouver. The first three places she tried wouldn't sell her what she needed because she could prove her Canadian citizenship. The fourth, wasn't a picky and for $500, nearly everything she had, she came away with two 80 lb pull pistol style crossbows and two dozen aluminum shaft bolts. She got them back across the border with no trouble having secreted them in the tank of a toilet in the ladies room. And from there it was just a matter of practice.
Jaime Acevedo took two crossbow bolts, one in each eye,,on a Friday four days before the mayoral election.
The man with SWAT printed in white across the back of his ballistic vest gripped the ankle of his fallen comrade and shuffled back into cover before the prep was able to draw a bead. With the cinderblocks of the wall between him and the sniper he was able to crouch and get enough leverage to pull Eads out of the line of fire. Rolling the man over he saw it had been an unnecessary risk. The eight inch crossbow bolt was buried to the fletching in the man's chest. Bullet-proof vests of this model were not known for their stopping power when it came to razor edges.
"Yarbrough, status," squawked the radio clipped to his belt.
He pulled it free and thumbed the talk button, "He's dead."
"Son of a bitch," the voice replied without regard to radio procedure.
"That's three," Yarbrough closed his eyes for a moment and though of McArthur and Jackson, both cut down by a fucking crossbow bolt, just like Eads.
Who the fuck was this guy? Less than half an hour ago, he and the squad had just come on duty and were in the process of checking their gear when the call had come in. Someone had taken down Jaime Acevedo, Los Angeles mayoral candidate, with a pair crossbow bolt in his eyes. Units on the scene had gone immediately into action and some lucky ass rookie had spotted a figure running across rooftops. They'd cornered the prep in a warehouse then called in SWAT. It turned cluster fuck almost immediately.
Helmets, face shields and total confidence in the stopping ability of Kevlar had gotten three killed but not before they clipped the prep that was hiding up in the rafters. There were discussions about using tear gas but the place was open and huge and the target was at least forty feet off the ground. Riot shields were suggested but there were questions about their resistance to the razor edged bolts and the brass refused to tempt Fate. Now they were at a stand-off, waiting for one of those superhero prima donnas to show up and take this guy down. That was the problem with superheroes. Never one around when you needed them.
Inside the warehouse the assassin lay stretched out face down on the beam trying to use the weight of her own body to stop the bleeding. She'd gotten him. She'd gotten the bastard the killed SJ. She'd also gotten three cops but they'd gotten her too. Sucking in a breath she tried to keep from screaming in pain. Even when she'd broken her leg on the stupid blind jump it hadn't hurt this bad. Gut-shot, it was a bad way to die the movies said and she believed it. Maybe she should just roll off the beam, end it quick on the concrete below. The world went grey for a moment before she struggled back.
"Let me help you," the voice said. It was a gentle, melodious voice, rich with tones only heard from the greatest of Shakespearian actors.
A hand stroked her hair.
"Let me take you away from this place," it said.
She struggled to lift her head, to see the face of the angel that had come in the last moments of her life. It was too much. When she saw the small horns and cloven feet, she died.
Hell wasn't what she expected. For one the lights were low, like dawn, and she smelled flowers, roses? And there was a huge floor to ceiling window then display a vista of stars so beautiful it made her want to cry. She lay flat on her back, a clean smelling sheet drawn up to her chin and there was no pain. Faintly she heard music, a flute she thought. Her throat felt like the desert she'd stumbled across after those three men had raped and beaten her and she wished desperately for water. As if by mental command straw touched her lips and she sucked on it greedily.
"Slowly." A woman's voice, very soft.
Turning her head she saw her, a small woman with a thick mane of chestnut hair and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen smiled at her.
"You had Sean worried," she said.
"Sean?" she said, finding her voice. "Where am I?"
"First introductions," the woman said taking her wrist and placing two fingers over the vein. "My name is Heather."
"Summer, Summer Hunter."
"Well Summer, there is someone in the other room who would very much like to say hello," Heather said.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come," the woman said.
Her visitor stepped in and she gasped. He was stunningly handsome with a mischievous glint in grass green eyes and worn this perfectly trimmed goatee that looked absolutely right on him. Then there were the horns. She hadn't imagined it. He had horns, small ones that also seem right for him. She tried to turn in the bed and looked down at his legs. The legs of a goat, with small perfectly black hooves. Flopping back on the bed she closed her eyes. She was in Hell.
A hand took hers and her eyes snapped open in time to see him kissing her back of it.
"I am so very glad you are recovering," he said in that beautiful voice. "I am Drynnan Illar, your slave."
The woman at her bedside rolled her eyes.
"Sean, sex is NOT on her agenda for at least a week," she said.
The man hadn't released her hand but the warmth of it felt wonderful. She wanted to bring it to her lips and kiss it as he had hers. He smiled.
"Sean Quinlan," he said with a little bow of the head.
"Where am I?" she asked turning her gaze to the window.
"Somewhere beyond the orbit of the moon," a deep voice said from the doorway.
The threshold was filled with the mass of a huge bull-headed man with various mechanical parts and a red eye that glared malevolently at her. She tried to shrink back.
"Have no fear, gentle lady for he is Taurus the Magnificent and not nearly as terrible as he seems." Sean smiled at her as if to reassure.
"I am very pleased to see you have survived your ordeal, Summer Hunter," Taurus said, his voice so deep it felt like kettle drums in her stomach. "Though all have confidence in Heather's skills, you were in dire straits indeed ere you arrived."
"Taurus the Magnificent ...' she giggled.
"Is my vestige not pleasing, oh mistress of the sea?" the giant said.
The tones, the gentle jibes, relaxed the girl, Summer. It couldn't be Hell unless Hell were more insidious then she'd imagined.
"You are aboard the Zodiakos Kyklos and, as I said, somewhere past the orbit of the moon," Taurus said.
Summer's gaze went from face to face looking for repressed mirth.
"I was on hand when a certain mayoral candidate was so expertly skewered," Sean said. "I followed the assassin and, consequently, the police to that warehouse. There I saw the assassin take down three members of a SWAT team with three shots, each perfect heart shots."
Defiance blazed from the girl's eyes.
"The bastard killed my friend!" she said tightly. Tears threatened.
"And the Police?" Taurus asked.
"They got between me and escape," she replied.
"No regrets?" Taurus asked.
She glared straight into his living eye.
The great bull head nodded.
"Good, my Sagittarius, very good."
Twelve, just like the Zodiac. When she was able to get out of bed and move around, she met them, one at a time or in small groups. They seemed like normal people; well, except for Gemini and Cancer. The former was an honest-to-God demon and the later a million year old alien made out of rock. She really disliked Gemini on sight. It wasn't like she was religious or anything, but his eyes were always on her, or Aimee, Virgo, or Heather. Of course when Ronnie, Leo, was around he kept his eyes somewhere else.
|Summer's main mutant powers are her DEX, INT, SPD and incredible COM. Her other 'powers' have been earn by hard work and research. Since that first time with the crossbows in the pickup bed, she's developed a deep appreciation for the archaic weapons to the point she has become quite the expert on them. Her other talents come from her more adventurous pursuits, like cat-burglar, sky diving, SCUBA diving, motocycle racing, road racing and stunt flying. Her next adventure will be Mount Everest and the other six great peaks of the continents. Equipment-wise she has her twin crossbow pistols with a variety of loads along with her utility belt stocked with a myriad of useful devices.|
|From the moment she sat her ass on the trail bike when she was give for her twelfith birthday in lue of a motorcycle, Summer has been pushing the limits. Always impulsive, always ready to try a jump without first scoping it out, she got hurt now and then but it never slowed her down. After the rape and once she'd taken her revenge, it was SJ that had settled her down some. She'd really loved him and his loss brought back all that she'd been through out in the desert. Killing a candidate for mayor was easy, no qualms. Being found by Sean, well, that was pure luck and it saved her from a life in prison, or from death. She would always be greatful to the Satyr. Now, working with Zodiac, she felt at home. They understood her and didn't condemn her for what she did. That made it even easier to kill people who desparately needed it.|
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