Jonathan Cole vs Isabella Sandoval - Draw

Jonathan Cole  	Good thing there was at least a match-up somewhere. He would have hated to have been duped in his winnings should he result the victor. "...Hh...Good, would imagine it bein' rather difficult cashin' in space credits..." the man eventually muttered as he began to make his way towards the stands; railing hopped as soon as it was reached. In terms of her scans, there wouldn't be much in terms of abnormalities. He was armed to the teeth, of course, though he possessed no augments or enhancements, nor did he seem to hold any immediate anomalies. There was, however, something that may have been detected if her instruments were sensitive enough; a genome that was seemingly never there, yet, present the moment it was consciously acknowledged. The data didn't seem to pick it up, but sure as shit, a ghost was in the digital shell. "...You gonna keep eyeballin' me or are we gonna do this?" the old man eventually asked as he turned about to face the other; his cigarette flicked off to the side afterwards, "...Makin' weird with you feelin' yourself up and shit..."

Isabella Sandoval  	"I'm simply keeping myself groomed, mister. I'm sure you know how much of a hassle that can be on some level so I make a habit of doing it often in small amounts." She followed suit, discarding her spectacles into some compartment of her outfit. "We had to establish a medium of exchange with precious metals common to both of our species. You have such abundance here," she would comment casually and jumped over the low wall with a graceful somersault. The sands filtered through her paws abrasively as she paced forward. "How a bout a change of scenery? I don't think the current layout is conducive to gunplay." A holographic display emanated from her hand, as she frantically coded the parameters for what would become their arena. Foreign symbols flashed on screen, and it only took her but a few columns before their surroundings began to transform. The earth cracked, revealing the metallic surface of a very large freight elevator that had begun its descent into darkness. After (continued) Isabella Sandoval  	a minute of darkness, the auxilliary lights engaged, flashing white and red, and cautionary sirens sounded as they descended what seemed an endless pit. It was about half the size of an american football field, and it was littered with shipping crates full of all kinds of goods and hazards for them to exploit. Most of it could be used as effective cover or concealment. "How is this for you, human." she asked with glinting honeygold eyes. (Concluded)

Jonathan Cole  	As the other went o to explain trades and such, the man simply listened. Was definitely a booming business, though he was hardly the salesman. He needed people for that, and in order to get people, he needed scratch. While the pit was fine for traditional hand-to-hand, the woman made point of a shared preference, thus, would give a nod to the question posed. Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, Jon began to look about as the other accessed their device; the expected shift in the environment soon to follow. Not a shift one in expression. The descent, the sirens, the eventual rocking stop; not a flinch one. "...Looks good..." was all the praise given as he began to step forwards; stone gray eyes shifting to the other as he passed, "...And it's Jon..." Thus, on he began to clear the elevator and continue for a few yards or so, only to come to a stop and turn to face the other. Looked like he was a bit ready to go given the intensity of that stoic near-silence. "...Ready whenever you are..."

Isabella Sandoval  	She closed the gap between them as they met in the middle, surrounded by containers of all types. A mechanical cargo hoist loomed over the combatants, and it was then clear that the staff were actively unloading the cargo, so this battlefield would change dynamically. 'Yes, I knew you would find these conditions agreeable, Mr. Jon. I am Isabella. You may call me what you wish." All of her weapons were concealed at this point, and her hands were bare. Tail flicking expectantly, she then offered her paw to him, "It is customary in your culture to shake hands, yes?" She asked with a wicked grin, though her body subtly began lowering it's center of mass and her other hand remained hidden at her back. The were surrounded by the raucous clamor of screeching metal and heavy collisions.

Jonathan Cole  	With future opponent meeting them towards the center of the busied storehouse, the man had taken an opportunity to actually glance about, taking in whatever details he could. The first he was looking for was what were they packing and shipping; it might be useful. The other was the people. They were simulated, surely, though they would likely react to what was going to happen. Whether they were armed or not would determine their course of action. The last was moving parts; heavy machinery that may harmed, hindered, or obstructed. As hand was offered, eyes shifted down to the hand that was offered before flicking up to her expression; a narrowing gaze soon to drift down a faintly shifting form and a hidden hand stowed behind their person. "...Usually..." the man muttered as right hand lifted in attempts to take hold of her own outstretched hand, and obviously, jumping right into her trap, "...But that's not how we're introducing ourselves, are we?" It was as if he was waiting, and with the strength of his grip and the tension of his body, it showed.

Isabella Sandoval  	"You're a sharp one, Jonathan," were the only words she offered the man, knowing that her intentions were betrayed. She attacked, clasping his outstretched hand and swung her free paw viciously with predatory claws extended in hopes of sinking and latching onto his flesh. Her body contorted with the momentum of the strike; it was clear that she was trying to break his wrist. Fangs bared, she growled lightly and crouched, using her body for leverage to aid in ripping the tendons that held it in place.

Jonathan Cole  	If she only knew the half of it. Good thing about the pits though, she was about to learn. "...Yep..." It was all to be said before motion caused that previous tension to snap into action. It seemed as if they had the similar idea, for just as her body began to swing, Jon's body was turning right as it began to drop; right hand twisting left in attempts to overturn wrist to a point where it broke or forced her to break stance and swing. This, however, merely acted against her own attempt, causing the two torques to lock into a stalemate, if only for a brief second before possible augmentations overtook. These motions, however, were not performed without intent. With the dropping of his person, she would have to swing much lower, and with right arm having to raise to compensate for the shift in angle, it would find itself in the path of blade instead of face. Thankfully that coat had plenty of protection; thick leather layered over steel chainmail, and beneath that, kevlar padding. Had she gotten wrist or forearm, additional vambrace waited for her as well. In the midst of all this? That left hand was already moving to his right breast and swiftly draw that .45 sidearm, and with keeping the weapon pulled close to his chest, would begin to squeeze off a couple of rounds right into her left leg, specifically wherever there appeared to be no armor, or at the very least, a weak point such as joint or the like.

Isabella Sandoval  	He was swift, the faint glinting of the Taurus Judge alerting her to change tactics. So much information gleaned from first contact, down to the types and layers of armor he was wearing. It was all quickly processed by the assassin. The extensor muscles of her legs came to life, catapulting her upward into a front handspring as she released his wrist and began the rotation of her body, gripping his shoulder for which to prop herself up on. A white particulate glow stemmed from her bosom as the chronomancy was performed, allowing her the time to unholster her five-seven pistol from within her armored leather suit and take aim at his neck, firing two rounds of spitzer-styled armor piercing bullets which were aimed down through his chest cavity. Launching herself from the hunter's shoulder, she performed an inverted flip a few feet to his rear and rolled down behind a supply crate.

Jonathan Cole  	This woman was quick. Dangerously quick. He was no slouch himself, though that feline grace was going to come in handy. It seemed those shots missed their target, and now, she was sailing overhead; her hand still gripped in his. Particulates began to swim, and with it, that anomalous gene would immediately kick in. The woman still looked at Jon as she was somersaulting over his head, and likely, was watching the world rapidly slow to a crawl around her. Jon, however, was not slowing down. Her temporal flow was altering itself just fine and the world was very much affected, yet, so long as she was consciously acknowledging the old man, his temporal entirety synchronized with her. What would this result in? Hell. Jon's body was already having to twist about to compensate for her arching figure, and with it, likely

had his arm fully extended. As she reached for holster, that same right arm would jerk itself, as well as her hand, right back to his form as he continued to twist, and now, push himself up from that crouch. She was likely to draw that bead, but leveling a shot was going to be impossible with her body coming towards the ground. In tandem with this, the left arm draw to his chest would push out and up, again putting armored forearm in weapon's path as his own was pointed down; a single squeeze of the trigger sending a round straight towards where she would have landed. Once said round left barrel, it would immediately be caught in that temporal distortion. Why the shot? Her chronomancy was likely requiring focus; his attempt to use her free-weight form against her and put her into the ground sought to distract her.

Isabella Sandoval  	The fur bristled along the nape of her neck, paper-white hairs stimulated by the sense of dread  barrelling up her felid spine. There was something familiar about the way this man fought, her honeygold eyes narrowing as the world slowed and grew just a tinge darker, as the warping of space-time within her immediate surroundings slowed the transferrence of light to the corneas almost like a sort of stasis. Here, in this pocket of existence, she could hear the thrumming of her heartbeat, the epinephrine secreted in startling quantities from her adrenal glands. which set her nerves ablaze with activity. She scowled, feeling the embers of hatred take to fire within some spot deep within her chest and it was here in this single moment she remembered a piece of her nature.
His well-armored limb had seized control momentarily of her paw and, while she was still within the limits of her brief spurt of chronomancy, capitalizing on her feline esque skeletomuscular structure she compressed the ligature of her muscles and tendons, managing to free herself from his threatening grasp. It was a technique she had mastered across her several attempts at escape -- those times she was captured and bound by rope or such restraints from innumerable hostile encounters. It was to her fortune that she managed to slip out of his grasp, for he demonstrated a very peculiar ability to slow his bullets. No doubt, he would've returned the bullet to speed once she was pinned under it and caused her extensive damage.
She was, after all, relatively unarmored. All of her defeenses lied in the special ability to move quickly and silently, which was not something that heavy armor easily lent itself to. The most she was protected against would be a few initial slashings of a dagger or small form-factor bladed weapon. The best defenses would originate from deep within her mind - the synaptic cores firing crackling electric signals down a logic tree of causes and outcomes for the actions she would follow next. As his body jerked downward in attempt to slam her into the floor and finish her off, the acrobatic lioness righted her upward orientation and kicked off of where his shoulders melded into his upper back to perform a forward flip, and brought both of her paws together at the grip of the FN five-seven.
Matrix style, her eyes glinted down the iron sights. In this position, he would either have to shoot through his armored chest to hit her, or bring his arm around and take a blind shot behind himself. He would feel the cold tip of the barrel of her gun press to the back of his skull. It was a point-blank shot. The irridium low-light sights glowed. Isabella stabilized the gun within her grasp and fired a single round into the back of his head. (Concluded)

Jonathan Cole  	The man may have been old, though it would appear that once he was put into motion, it was going to take a whole hell of a lot to put him to a stop. The world had slowed around them, and yet, Jon was unaffected so long as the other held intention towards him. It was because of this, however, that caused Jon's bullet to slow in the first place. Her ability didn't affect him or what he held, but anything beyond his immediate contact would be slowed within her chronomancy for as long as it persisted. By now, his body was already jerking right arm down as he twisted clockwise; her hand by this point having now left his grip, thus, signalling his need to compensate. Her hand found his shoulder as body was in the process of pushing itself upright in its pivoting, and
just as her feet was finding ground and gun was being braced by that same stabilizing hand, she would find gun not taking aim at back of skull, but a rapidly turning temple as that right arm's elbow jerked back and up, causing it to collide against side of barrel just as finger was squeezing. At this rate, round would have struck the underside of an armored upper arm, which would hurt like hell, but otherwise prevent any major damage. As right arm continued to swing, and at this rate, allow elbow to extend once before in attempts for hand to grab forearm and keep her within distance, as well as keep weapon deviated in aim, the left hand was leveling its owns sights; the weapon tucked close to his chest sending off a single round straight towards her center mass.

Isabella Sandoval  	His sudden movements were successful in diverting the aim of her gun off to the side. The gun billowed forth a sulphuric cloud of gas as the concealed hammer mechanism struck the primer charge of another deadly round. In the dim light, the flash of this detonation was made clearly visible, setting a fleeting shadow across the floor, and bathed their faces in low-temperature amber light. She would have to settle for the ensuing impact, causing minor damage to his arm, the full metal jacket crumbling to reveal the rapidly expanding lead bullet which splattered fluidly against the layers of leather and exposed the underlying chainmail where it had lodged itself flatly. The muzzle velocity of this high-speed bullet carried considerable force, dissipating five hundred and thirty jouls of energy against his frame. If that wasn't enough to throw his aim off guard, the fiveseven rounds were known to have a considerably loud report and a blinding muzzle flash.
Now that he was facing her tumbling form suspended in the air, he would be subjected to a deafening and temporarily blinding salutation from the end of her gun's barrel. If that still was not enouh, she woould call upon her feline nature once more. Just as her kind were known to effortlessly land on their feet from a precarious fall, she flexed her femoral biceps, flexed her abdominal obliques, and contorted her deltoids in such a fashion that her center of mass was offset from its original position. The round he fired grazed along the leather of her back, but tore a slit of the armor off of her leg, revealing the fur beneath.  Isabella skillfully finished her mid-air tumble, transitioning it to a ground roll and disappeared behind a narrow crevasse between cargo crates. He had lost visual tracking of the assassin, and the ringing in his ears caused by her last round would help obscure the auditory cues of her movements as she scrambled deeper into the maze of shipping containers.
It wasn't but a few seconds later that he would hear the mechanical whir of industrial servomotors drawing power from the cargo bay's substantial power conduit. Isabella had hacked into the remote hoist control and had gained control of the massive heavy tonnelage above. Angrily, the arm-like, prehensile, hoist pivoted to the edge of the platform they were fighting upon and screeched, swinging heavily into a cluster of crates; sending them barrelling toward her opponent like a tidal wave. The motion carried through, the arm threatening to cause significant damage to the elevator's motor. (Concluded)

Jonathan Cole  	By now, it was surely undoubted as to the level of training this man seemed to have possessed. Had she been able to watch his features during the entirety of their upfront encounter, she would find that, from the discharge of her firearm to the massive impact that collided against his arm, expression refused to part from that stone cold focus. Of course, he winced at the flash and grimaced at the pain, but in the end, it was as if this was all far too familiar to him. And clearly, it was. The motion of his arm had shielded him from that very flash, and given he was braced for the inevitable, had the common sense to take an easy shot for where there was most body. What he wasn't expecting, however, was to miss with the woman's constant flipping about. She had evaded the first sloppy
shot he had loosed during that defensive turn, though that left hand was lifting quickly as it was braced with the right; eyes staring down iron sights to a tumbling form. Crack! Crack! Crack! The remaining three rounds were loosed to the still tumbling form. She kept jumping about, but it was going to take a lot more distance for legs to push up and put her body into the air for that first shot to miss than it was for his sidearm to be raised to eye level and unload the rest of its magazine. She was fast, but was she superman fast? Regardless of whether he hit or not, thumb was already pressing against the magazine catch and letting box drop while right hand was moving to its replacement. By this point, she had either hit ground with a few new holes or she had managed to evade his barr
age and continue with her escape. If the latter, he was fast on her tail...er...tails, weapon up and close while right hand begun to search through his satchel. She was likely a few turns in, thus, the man settled on a more direct course towards the furthest wall; the clattering of heavy crates collapsing to where they had both just departed heard behind him. As if he was going to not pursue fleeing prey, especially wait a few seconds before hand. Regardless, had it come to this route, Jon would be close to whatever wall he could be as he pushed on; eyes and gun both shifting between in front of him, above him, and behind him. As for that searching right hand? It was now fast-mounting a gun light to his sidearm's rail before bracing against the grip. Light stayed off, but one never knew.

Isabella Sandoval  	He had no idea where she had hidden within the maze of crates, as evidence by the way his gun scanned the area for her figure. So now that she had a moment to catch her breath, the assassin pulled up her holographic terminal once more and continued penetrating the facility. Moments later, the cargo hoist sprang to life and meandered lowly across the surface of the elevator. It eventually settled just beside her location. She would have to hop between cover to access it, and thus inhaled deeply and performed an arial walkover, firing a few retaliatory rounds between the crates while she was inverted in the air. The movement was transitiond into a yurchenko vault, which she used to connect to the hoist arm and stood upon it as if it were a personnel lift and rose into the air. Gaining overwatch of the battlefield below, ascertaining his position, she carefully traversed the prehensile claw of the mechanical hoist, using the heavy sheet metal as cover - pressing her back against it, and hiding her lithe figure out of sight. The public address speakers of the facility crackled on, glitching as a result of her security breach. She used this system to speak. "Hey stud, this fight has dragged on long enough, and I'm pretty confident we are both growing weary. How about we call it a draw? There's a mojito at the bar with my name on it... and if you really want the two 'benjamins', we can gamble over them. What do you say?" (concluded)

Jonathan Cole  	Why was it he always had to get the squirrely ones? All that hopping and jumping about wore an old man out. Perhaps that was why he fought as he did; direct motions that went to disable or terminate with no motion wasted. Winded, just a tad, though he could have carried this fight on far longer than what she would have preferred. She, however, seemed game enough as the old man began to hear machinery start to spin; something echoing about, which sounded possibly overhead. Sidepiece remained skywards towards the upper crate's ledge as that whirring continued, and sure as shit, ricochet off the tops of crates were soon to follow. He didn't know here she was, but then, the same could have for her, especially with how those shots were so spread out. He would use that opportunity to find where the flash of muzzle was coming from. It would be then that static was heard, and to follow, words that would cause a smirk to creep against his lips. "...Alright then, it's a draw!" the man called out as sidearm was slid into holster before stepping out to a more open area; hands lifted to show that they were now empty. Had she killed him now, well, it would just be a cheap shot he'd definitely pay her back for later.

Isabella Sandoval  	"Good man. You see, for a target such as yourself," she spoke with a sultry, honeyed voice. "...I could easily charge fifty grand. Two hundred measly dollars couldn't hope to cover the effort required to snuff you out. So, i'm going to keep you alive until you cause enough ruckus that somebody would be willing to adequately compensate me for my services." She smirked in kind, licking her fang. "It's just business," she sated herself in saying. "Until then, i'm going to keep my eyes on you. Later!" Isabella commanded the hoist near a service duct at the far side of the complex and disappeared within it.

Jonathan Cole  	By now, the woman had proven that she wouldn't have tried anything, thus, allowed him to go ahead and lower his hands. As she went on to speak of what sort of price he would fetch though, he couldn't help but chortle some. "...I'll be sure to pass your number along then; might be a few people wantin' to talk to you..." However she took it, as she spoke the last of her words, the man just rolled his eyes before looking about for...ah, there it was. An elevator. And thus, on up he would go, dinging to the ground floor before eventually making his way towards his room. It was a long night, he wanted a shower and pass the hell out. Damn arm was going to be sore in the morning, that was for sure.