#unclebingo

p͎̬̖̺̗͗ͪ͂̍̆ͯ̄́͜r̨͎̪̦̦̲̂̆̓͛͞o̦͔̟͆̃̔͊̐͢ ̥͖̊ͯͧ̿͜d̸̤̖̖̰͕̮̦ͥ̈͘ͅ ͩ̒̾̏̌̈ͮ̂͏͘͏̞̮̘̟̺è̥̘̩̬͗͗̄̿͑̿́ ̹͙̰̺̮̅̍̊̅͡͝͠g̴͙̳ͥ̑ͣ̚͘ ̛͖̗̺̘͉̘͙̯̓̓͜r̜̳͙͚͚̭̼̳ͬͯͩ̚ ̧̝̦͙̟̬̬ͥ̊ͨ̕e̴̬̳̞̤͈͚͔͑̐̈́́ͣ ̧͖̱̒́ͩͯ́s̝̯̖̭͍ͦ̉͊͡ ̻̗̣͂ͫͫ͆͋̓́̀̕ͅs͖̜̱͙̗͔͓͔ͦ̿̕ ̶͎̤͚͎̪̼͖͔͒ͫ͂͂̀͡ĩ̼̪̲͚̙̹̪̋ͧ̅̚͜ ̴̶̖̯̼͖͋̌̒͑̈́o̱ͬ̃́̚ ̮̣̝̓̋̃̑͆͜n̞̘̙̫̻ͧ̎ͩ̐ ͍̹̮͖͋͌̏ͧ̈́͡

How Clint had managed to get himself here, he couldn't recall. One moment he had been following the lead of Buck Chisholm, the Circus of Crime's very own Trickshot, and in the next moment the haze of fog and lifted and he was among the rubble of a city in chaos. As disorienting and confusing as that was, the only solid thought that came to mind was - where did his mentor go?

Puzzled, the teenage archer sat himself on the curb of the street and removed the masked from his face. He wore a costume, one that matched his mentor Trickshot, black tights and a purple tunic. It might've been a little funny to see now, but moments ago he had been under the night sky, following Trickshot in a rather detailed robbery. Obviously, he had lost his way there - somehow.

Clint glanced up and down the street, noticing the unmistakable glow of a fire somewhere in the distance. "Hmph." Brushing his knees he stood, the mask left on the curb, noticing the building he happened to seat himself in front of - a jewelery shop? There sure was a lot of glitter in the windows. He was actually shocked, how was a place like this not even lotted yet? Crime was so easy to commit when chaos kept watchful eyes occupied.

TO: The Boss FROM: The Worm That Walks

[text] There’s a fire in Sector 4. Something big is happening here. You may want to look online and see what you think of this. [text] I think you’ll find some good use in this.

Hitting send with a sigh, Kariya shoves himself off the wall with a pained grunt and makes his way - slowly but surely - to Sector 1. It was time he paid a visit to the other important part of his life here in Citta.

It was not loneliness that rendered a man incapable of deciphering his surroundings, nor even have him reach the corner of the district where he was supposedly due to be staying for the time being, but rather... desperation. He was indeed a desperate man, though patience was an exercise practised and learnt long enough so that when the time came for Obi-Wan’s immediate and unwanted relocation, he took the time to cool his mind internally though to very little resolve. He was desperate for some glimmer of reason, for familiarity perhaps. The Force although a constant and never-ending make-up of all that he knew was indeed there, he felt it dwindle in his senses, as though it was a swinging bulb loose from the rafters of a tumbling home. 

He felt somewhat blind in that city, though not blind to its purpose. All made sense really, the hows and the whys, but it was the complications of what had only shortly come to pass which caused him to squint past the darkness of the caves within which his home had been assigned. Unsure in what to make of what had only recently transpired, in what was most likely galaxies away, he felt so very distant from the morally ground self he so often was renowned for. Whilst he carried himself in the same manner, with an expression akin to that of mere curiosity, within his mind he found himself at war with all that had become and that which had yet to do so. 

The air was heavy. It was almost foreboding as he followed a trail of blood into a dark, seemingly abandoned building. The fact of the matter was that it was too quiet for him. A feeling of unease settled within his gut and everything about this stunk of a trap. Save for the moon hanging overhead, the yard was completely dark, pale moonlight creating a long shadow stretched out before him. Slow steps carried him toward the massive opening that would lead into the warehouse.

It was a large building and the fact that he had little more than a small child’s flashlight didn’t help. Its light was dim and didn’t carry very far. But as far as he could tell, this place hadn’t been used for much of anything beyond storing a bunch of degrading boxes. Which was what made the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach that much more heavy. Whilst shining his light around slowly, his fingers moved to one of the pouches within his belt. Slowly, he withdrew three batarangs, though they were small plastic replicas, they would still do the job in distracting whoever, or whatever, it might be lurking in the shadows.

His body was tense but he was alert, moving every time he heard a sound that wasn’t him. His steps were as quiet as they could be and his fingers clutched the batarangs beneath the veil of his cape. His other hand held the small flashlight between two fingers, pointing it around slowly to regard the dark boxes for any indication as to who, or what, might be within the darkness.