Carl Savichos

To Carl, the this was the last place he wanted to be stuck. It wasn't so much that he feared getting attacked, but it was the knowledge that this was where his brother had died, and in what seemed to be a touch a grim irony, he had gotten a flat tire at the same exact spot where his brother's body had been discovered. The man cursed heartily as he kicked at his tire's truck, taking his anger out on the deflated rubber.

Just before Carl's truck recieved three flattened tires, Conan had gotten a call on his cell phone, informing him of the man's location...

Conan

I'm the spirit sender
Come to lead you into the unknown
Take my hand and away we'll go
Never to return again...

His bare feet made no sound as he moved through the trees along the side of the abandoned road. Since he hadn't been provided with any in depth information, he didn't understand the irony behind the fact that they had stopped his car in this place. But even as he moved along through the underbrush, stalking Carl as if he were something less than human, Conan still fought with his morals. He had a sniper's eye, something that one had to be born with, a power to kill that was inherent, genetic in his blood. There were men all across the world that would have given a year of their lives to have this gift of deadly accuracy, but to Rasputin, son of the drunk and the manipulator, it had always been a curse. And never so much so as now.

In mechanics, the task ahead of him was so simple. A man's heart was arranged approximately two inches to the left of the sternum and four below the crest of the shoulder, a simple target, and though Carl knew Conan as an enemy, he'd never learned how accurate the teen could be, and for that matter, the red-head never intended to be seen until it was far, far too late. An easy task... but that wasn't what set his heart pounding in his chest, set his pulse racing like a wild animal.

As if to delay himself from having to make the moral decision, Conan paused in placing his foot quite so carefully and deliberately let it come to rest on top of a twig, which snapped with a sharp sound that echoed in the silence around them.

Carl Savichos

"....ok, then send him. Dammit, this- wait, I'll call you back." Getting off the phone with Sheryl, Carl snapped the device shut and eased it into his pocket as his eyes darted for the sound of the snapped twig. He was already on high alert, with his pulse racing and his angular features set ridgedly on his face. It wasn't until his sights fell on a particular red-haired teen that his adrenheline really started to run.

Having lived his life in a gang, Carl knew perfectly well what kind of situation he was in now. "Rasputin." Rather than show the obvious fear that was stirring in his gut, the man looked cold and determined, but couldn't stop a slight trembling in his fingers as his hand rested on the latch to the door of his car.

Rasputin

The teen hadn't been hiding from Carl... the man simply hadn't noticed him yet. When the older fellow turned to him, Conan gave him a quirk of cold smile he'd borrowed from Ben, one that was eerie and malevolent in intent, and yet somehow still very, very human. There weren't any weapons visible on the lean, muscular frame that was just in the first stages of manhood, but that didn't, of course, mean that there weren't any there. The loose-fitting, long sleeved flannel shirt could have easily held a gun, not to mention the pants that were just a size too baggy on his waist. But he hadn't drawn any of them yet, but was simply staring at Carl.

What might have been surprising, though, was that he chose to speak aloud, despite the effort it cost him to form recognizable words in his icy voice. ",B>I- wou-ldn't rec-mend tha-at."

Carl Savichos

Stunning grey eyes narrowed fiercly on Conan, startled as much by seeing the kid as he was to hear him speak. "Your time's come, boy. Don't do anything stupid that'll cost your little brother." He warned at length, fingers clutched around the handle of the door. The look that he was being leveled with sent a chilll racing down his spine, though he remained perfectly calm and under control on the outside.

Carl contemplated his choices at the moment. Banking on the idea that Conan had a weapon with him, he was trying to dicern just how readily the weapon could be produced and fired, and whether or not he could be quicker in opening the door and taking up his own weapon under the seat. It would be a rash move, but if it came down to it, that's what he'd try. "Back down, Rasputin. I swear, you do anything, and you'll regret it."

Rasputin

His face never altered from the distinctly creepy smile it held, blue eyes that had always held a spark of regret or a light of sorrow for something he'd done now turning sharp as Carl threatened Raimi, encompassing only loathing now. He quickly fought down the urge to close the distance between them and level a good punch at Carl, easily defeating it with the memory that Ratri had always kept a spare weapon in the map-pocket of the family car's door, and Carl probably had a spare as well, which he could reach before the teen could reach him.

What he did do was draw a gun out of the back of his jeans, this one a semi-automatic Colt M1911, a military-issue gun that no one alive knew he'd lifted from his father's collection, along with a few other beauties. In split seconds time, this was trained on Carl, his aim steady and true, his finger squeezing a little at the trigger, just softly enough not to fire the weapon.

Carl Savichos

There was a second of frantic thought, where Carl fought with the idea of yanking the car door open, or whether or not to just stand there and talk the boy down. In the end, he battled down the rasher of two thoughts, flinching slightly but otherwise not making any moves. "Big, big mistake, kid." The man snarled in a cold voice, tensing visibly. "You kill me, and it'll be the last thing you do! Hear me?!" Carl's eyes flicked from the barrel to the trigger, unconciously holding his breath when the lever was squeezed.

Rasputin

He was still unimpressed by Carl's threats, flicking the barrel of the gun away from the car to let the young man know he wanted him to step away. Unknowingly as he attempted to save himself, Carl had just earned himself a very personal hatred, cementing the teen's determination to do what he'd come here to do when he'd threatened Raimi.

But he was still wordless and peculiarly silent as his eyes leveled with Carl, sizing him up as though he were no more than a side of beef in a butcher's window. Impersonal and cold: two words that described his gaze on the older man right now.

Carl Savichos

His mind was whirling with possibilities, but nothing resolute came to mind as he reluctantly obliged to the silent orders of Conan. Clenching his fist as he dropped his hand away from the latch, Carl took a few slow steps out to the side, away from the car. "You'll be dead within the hour." The man went on, voice unwavering or hinting in fear as he continued to bid for his life. "They'll find your brother, Rasputin." Even as the threats came out, something in the pit of his stomach told him that they were useless. The unrelenting gaze he was being bored down with was like few he'd ever seen before.

Rasputin

Just shoot him, Conan. Just shoot him. He was consciously sending this thought through to his hand and fingers, already determined in his mind that he was going to kill Carl for his words, but having trouble getting the message down his left arm to where the finger rested on the trigger. Still, for several long seconds, it looked like he'd lost his nerve, standing there with the Colt leveled at Carl's heart, so still and silent.

But when he again threatened Raimi, the finger seemed to get the message in a split-second's time. Face moving in an instant from cold impartial judgment to distinct loathing and fury, he squeezed the trigger back against the grip, bracing his shoulder against the kick as the report echoed loudly through the trees around them.

Carl Savichos

The chilling eyes and the wicked facade of the teen held him like a deer in the headlights, but still the man refused to give into an ounce of fear. He stared death defiantly in the face, bracing against the unbraceable as he watched the trigger finger. Muscles were tense and ready to spring, to throw him left or right and dodge a lethal shot... but, there was still that little twinge of dread in his gut that told him this situation wasn't quite like any other he'd bee in before. This boy was different, somehow.

In the blink of an eye, the trigger finger moved. In the next, Carl was crumpling to the ground without so much as a grunt or whisper of sound. Dark crimson blossomed slowly across his gray hoodie, precisely over the heart and around where a small hole was rent through his shirt. Beneath him, a pool of blood was steadily growing thick.

Rasputin

As soon as Carl went down, he was on the move, dashing forward and wrenching open the door of Carl's truck, scrabbling for the gun. Coming up with it, the teen tucked the Colt back into his belt, pulling out a third from under his loose shirt and wielding them both as he knelt down beside Carl, whispering fiercely. "One for me," another shot was delivered to his abdomen from the teen's second gun, accompanied by a second murmur, "one for Raimi," and, tucking this one also into his belt, the teen moved the third up to Carl's left temple, bending very, very close so that when he spat the last bit, his breath was hot in the other's ear. "And one for Aralyn." And he squeezed the trigger for the last time.