Wicked

"Dress like you plan to be the life of the funeral."

The jacket went on with such a satisfying feeling, the fibers gently gliding across Luke's shin as he donned the armor of the modern knight. The suit was tailored just for him, the largest and most sensible purchase he could make. The ceramic plating made it slightly heavier than it should be, but he barely noticed it anymore. Mary zipped up her military jacket, hiding the police vest underneath. Abigail sat in the corner, loading the bullets into magazines and organizing them into three stacks.

When finished, they exchanged glances and quickly left the hotel room. Their weapons were discreetly hidden, their minds focused on the task at hand. The car ride seemed like ages, each light turning red as if a warning to turn back and try another night. They were all thinking it, and Mary made it obvious with the slightest hesitation when the light turned green. Luke gazed to the clouds above. He searched for a sign, some indication that the night would end in success. When his moment never came, he took a deep breath, staring at the road ahead as if walking to his death. At least they would be dressed for the occasion. Above them, lightning flashed. Had Luke been paying attention, the sign he longed for was in plain sight. As the light shot across the clouds of the storm, the face of a woman lingered for only a moment, the light casting shadows across the clouds just so to make it clear as day.

They finally arrived at their destination, leaving the cars and marching with purpose toward the warehouse door. They stopped, positioning themselves on either side and exchanged silent conversation with nods and glances. The rain was calm, but steady, drenching them as they sprang their ambush. Luke brought his colt up, ready to fire, Abigale held the rifle, and Mary looped the shotgun over her shoulder by its strap. She pulled out their bomb, a compact explosive made from fireworks over the course of hours. The charge was set, and Mary pressed a button, shifted out of harm's way, and the explosion echoed through the city streets, drowned out by a convenient roll of thunder...

Wicked, whose members are often referred to as Heaven's Harlots, is a group of men and women who deal specifically with the human element of The Web. They focus on pseudo paranormal crime, targeting cultists, serial killers, and any other criminal that gains an advantage through less mundane means. They are rarely involved in the larger scale operations of the web, hilariously outgunned by both their enemies and their allies. Like most Troubleshooters , they take the minor jobs, especially if local law enforcement are ill-equipped or not knowledgeable enough to handle whoever they hunt.
Wicked has nothing particularly special going for them. They don't have The Gift of Tall Tales like The Black Betties, nor do they have access to vehicles that possess unique qualities like the The Midnight Riders. Heaven’s Harlots need little in the way of gadgets and powers. They'd rather be out of the fight, and the one sneaking around to stab their foe in the back. They are always at a disadvantage, and that is how they succeed.
Their only advantage comes from knowing the odds are against them. The Harlots of Wicked have tricks up their sleeve ready to throw at their unsuspecting enemy at a moment's notice. They have connections all over the world, some in high places, some in the seedy underbelly of society. If The Web had spies or scouts, an organization suited more for recon than any other, Wicked would be it.

The Struggle

Wicked began as a liberal movement and non-profit charity named Polaris, that sought to assist victims of various crimes, domestic violence, and to assist runaways. In 2005, They enjoyed many anonymous contributions that reached well into millions of dollars. By 2007, they fell victim to extortion, forced to perform many unsavory acts. Those they removed from the streets and swore to help were sent promptly out again to do the bidding of criminals.
Wicked was a small group of men and women who split from Polaris, dismantling the organization from the inside out. Their methods were as brutal as their criminal masters had been. Pimps were hitched to the trunk of cars and paraded through the streets of the bad parts of town. Hitmen were captured, tortured, and killed. The bodies were displayed in full view of the organized crime bosses who reckoned themselves the masters.
Wicked wouldn't merely destroy Polaris, but went on to dismantle many human trafficking rings, drug lords, and other criminal syndicates tied to Polaris. They wouldn't join The Web until they met The Black Betties. The Betties sparked the candlelight in The Harlots, and a new world opened up for them. Dealing with mundane crime became effortless as they gained what little they could. Soon after, they realized the world of The Web was far worse than what they were used to.

The Hustle

The Harlots refuse to be selective of their members. They can't afford it. Clergy and ex-convicts alike are welcome into their ranks. Most of their members were once or still are members of the sex trade. Strippers, escorts, adult performers, and the like make up the highest demographic drawn to the organization. These men and women have more than enough experience manipulating others, and this charisma is their bread and butter.
Each has their own methods of getting what they want. When that doesn't work, they show how wicked they can be. Despite the enemies they face, they are never one to shy away from crime so long as it benefits the greater good. They are forced to push twice as hard as others would due to their insufficient power when facing The Web.
This isn't their only trick. The Harlots have plans ranging from B to Z and can switch quickly in the heat of the moment. They study what little they can of arcane practice, perhaps using the gifts bestowed by some artifact that took years to learn how to use. They train with weapons, learn how to fight as a team, and are always more dangerous in numbers.

Absinthe

Initiations are simple. The recruit will be told the true nature of the organization, what will be expected of them, and just how wicked they must become. Upon agreement, they will be given a glass of Absinthe and will share a toast with all members present. This tradition stems from the connection Wicked has with Madame Wormwood. It is considered an omen of great fortune if the goddess appears to toast with the recruit.

The Life of Heaven’s Harlots

Members usually shift from safe house to safe house, provided by other organizations. They investigate problems, shoot for trouble, and move on when their job is done. They travel in packs, unless part of an Eberstark Unions. and work together to accomplish this goal. Money is rarely hard to come by, but having the right tools for the job can be. Standard weapons are not always effective and many other organizations still distrust these newcomers in The Web.
Heaven's Harlots despise The Memento Initiative, and consider them to be sworn enemies, earning them brownie points with The Black Betties. They have had many members fall from these killers, and seek out the initiative everywhere they go to trade an eye for an eye.
Gathering connections is also a must for members of Wicked. They bribe the homeless to be their eyes and ears, have plenty of criminals and members of law enforcement to contact for information, and it isn't unheard-of for a politician or two to end up in their back pocket.

Fun Fact: Blessed are the Meek

Wicked is known for its connection to the goddess, Madame Wormwood. Lady Anise has bestowed many strange talents to her faithful, many of which are among Heaven's Harlots. She has even been known to appear during operations to assist Wicked when needed most, appear in a plume of thick green vapor where her enemies will least expect it. The connection developed due to Wicked's origin in fighting crime, particularly what they did for victims of sexual crimes, which the goddess violently opposes.
This Connection has led to The Harlots spending all the money they can to outfit themselves in the finest clothing money can buy. Members of Wicked are always impeccably dressed, usually paying the extra fee if they can to make their clothing bulletproof against small arms, fireproof, and knife resistant.

Martyrdom

by Pxhere

Another feature of Wicked is their tendency to get noticed. The Harlots are somewhere between The Web, and the blissful ignorance of civilian life. When a Harlot dies, people know about it. Their pictures will be witnessed on the evening news and their lives will be discussed in true crime TV shows and documentaries. They become Martyrs, and this is the destiny of every member of Wicked.
For whatever reason, the smileing face on the photo that stares at you while the news anchor speaks causes The Candlelight to spark ever so slightly in certain viewers. It calls them. They begin to feel like something is missing, and only they can find the truth. They follow clues and hunches, none of them genuine, and always end up in an office with the word “Wicked” written in friendly letters across the face of the building.
When a member dies, three more take their place. Young and old, new recruits flow in and find a job within the organization. While it is not known why, there are factors that increase the likelihood of receiving the call. Victims of crime, as well as those who committed them and seek redemption, are always susceptible. Wives have left their abusive husbands, ex-mobsters have left their previous lives to seek a new one, and runaways who view the broadcast on a screen attached to a building will finally stop running and seek out shelter.

Wicked and The Web

The members of Wicked are new, and most don't know how to feel about them. Their brutality and sheer hatred of their enemies makes them out to be children prone to tantrums. Many organizations shun them, refusing to trust those who degrade themselves by stooping to their enemies level.
Once again, The Harlots prove their disadvantage only turns around on those who underestimate them. Many organizations refuse to acknowledge them, thinking they are nothing more than small-time civilians. They won't provide aid due to the belief it would be wasted on unqualified agents.
This is changing, though it changes slowly. Their usual response to this insufficient faith has earned a name for themselves. They delight in infiltrating larger organizations just to prove they can do it, often calling out the highest members of these organizations in their own office and usually with an unloaded gun aimed between their eyes before somehow vanishing without a trace.

They rushed in, guns ready, and began firing at anything that moved. Luke aimed at a tattooed man who looked up moments before receiving the bullet. Mary raced into the fray, dodging forward, bursting open a door to a room on their right side to clear it. Abigail took each shot with care, lining the sight and firing once for a kill. The moment bullets came flying back from the six or so men still left alive, Luke felt the impact as the ceramic shattered on his left side. The impact sent a rush of pain as the force pushed his body back, nearly causing him to lose balance before he leapt for cover. They said nothing, choosing their shots carefully. Luke gave Abigail a look, and she nodded. Abigail raised her gun just over a crate she took cover behind. She opened fire blindly, drawing fire as luke peaked over and fired two perfect shots, The bodies fell and all attention came to him. He heard the bullets dig into the concrete pillar he hid behind, and Abigail followed his example. She took three shots, killing two and landing the third into a man shoulder. The scream of pain echoed in the warehouse, and Luke heard the shotgun fire a shell.
He nodded to Abigail, and began dashing into the room Mary was in as soon the rifle fired. He took in the sight of cages, covered in grease and grime. There was a man dead on the ground, the blast of the shotgun landed square in the chest. He took great care, stepping around the pool of blood and around the corner to see Mary desperately screaming at another man. The man held a gun to a woman's head using her as a shield. Luke studied the woman's face and recognized her as the one they were meant to find. The woman was kidnapped less than three days ago. Mary's shouting grew louder, and out the corner of Luke's eye, he saw the slightest hint of green. He turned, and saw nothing. He gazed back, aimed his gun at the man's head, ready to take the shot.
Whisps of green vapor that filled the room with the scent of licorice began to billow from the ground around the man. Luke lowered his gun, and his jaw dropped. Mary did the same. Luke flashed the man a smile, only to feel the shock as the man fired his gun. The bullet flew from the barrel, but didn't hit his hostage. A hand flew forward from behind the man. The bullet hit delicate white skin that had a slight hint of jade in its color. No blood poured from the wound, and the hand clenched into a fist. The fist opened, dropped the bullet, and another hand wrapped around the man who was now frozen in terror. The woman fled to safety in Mary's arms. Luke could only stare. He had never seen her before. The pain in his side was gone, and all he could see was the sight of a goddess bestowing a fate worse than death on his enemy.