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  #101  
Unread 17th of March, 2004, 08:13
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(Osprey)

Hoping to borrow some influence from Wreck's presence, Rob steps up to the reporter, swallows hard, and dives into what are probably shark-infested waters. "Yes, we are associated with the Foundation. No, I do not have an official statement on what happened here, other than to say that it was an accident that could not be avoided. As with most of us, the identity of the wounded man is not for immediate disclosure. This is all the information I am able to give you at this time, please contact the Foundation directly for further comment." Rob tries to keep Tahner busy as best he can.
I probably just got myself fired.
  #102  
Unread 18th of March, 2004, 02:30
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Wreck

"Yeah, what he said."

Wreck nods toward Osprey and moves next to the man, adding his bulky presence to the mix. He eyes the crowd with a bit of apprehension. If it was a question of punching the reporter into submission, he'd do it, but chances are he wouldn't get his cash should the Foundation catch wind of his behavior. So instead he tries for a more subtle tactic. He cracks his knuckles, absent-mindedly and returns his gaze to the reporter. The man is reasonably tall, but Wreck likely outweighs him by at least a couple hundred pounds. He takes another step, closing the distance between him and the man and leans his head in. He should let bird-man do the talking, but this Tahner is starting to bug him.

"You got your answers, now give us and our friends some air," he says it simply, eyes locking on Tahner's, "they were just in a...wreck."

((OOC: Intimidate +16))
  #103  
Unread 18th of March, 2004, 15:19
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Bolt

As you copy the curious information from the pad, Alicia Stone hesitates. "Possibly. It depends on how badly hurt they are, and how much publicity this arouses. Parahumans making this much noise will either make them quiet down and try to avoid notice, or convince them that we are distracted enough for them to operate with impunity."

Impromptu Roadside Media Conference

Unable to jump up and down, shout, threaten to dismember or throw cars at people, Wreck finds himself somewhat less imposing than he would normally be. Tahner seems to sense this - the man's demeanour indicates he's no coward or push-over, with the hard-nosed determination of the born news hunter. For a long moment, he meets Wreck's gaze fairly evenly... but at last, he lowers his eyes and steps back, demuring, caught between the brick's stonewall physique and Ospreys quick talking.
  #104  
Unread 29th of March, 2004, 22:11
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The Mechanic

Robert sits on the edge of the emergency services truck watching all the activity feet away... going over the moments before the car impact in his head. As the EMT's check him over.
I saw a little girl out there.... I KNOW I did.

The pile of his jacket and protective gear sits on the ground near his feet. His mask lying on top of it as well. One of the EMT's is still looking in a perplexed manner at the rather ordinary gear that he COULD NOT remove when initally trying to check his patient for injuries.
"Ms. Stone," he says in a low tone, activating the signaling device in his ear. "I'm sure you're aware of the situation taking place downtown... but you may want to have one of your PR folks get on it double time... We've got an AWFUL lot of media folks down here..... awfully fast too for a fender bender... How'd our connections get out do you know?"
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  #105  
Unread 5th of April, 2004, 19:09
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The Centinel Building, New York City
4:46 pm, January 13th 2010.


The vans came just in time.

Alicia Stone, fuming under her icy facade, walks up and down the conference room. The five 'superheroes' sit, stand and lounge, as is their wont.

The Seer, Mechanic, Osprey and Wreck were gathered up mere moments before things got all complicated, with more lawyers, more reporters and more mob-on-mob action.

"This... could have been a better first day." She grates at last. "One man, albeit probably hired muscle, dead in our custody, one bystander in serious condition... one car a write-off, two casualties on the team..."

Two grey vans, unmarked, spirited you back to the Centinel Building and out of the public eye. Foundation paramedics finished the patching up in a perfuncionary way.

"... and you've yet to meet any equals." Her eyes glint coldly.
  #106  
Unread 5th of April, 2004, 21:14
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The Mechanic
Robert sits in a chair at the table in the conference room. He looks at Ms. Stone after her tirade... waits for her to relax a moment then begins to defend himself.
"Just a couple points Ms. Stone. First... according to the EMT's on scene the Man who we were bringing may make it... we won't know for sure for a while... Second... the accident could have potentially happened to anyone. Third, if we were "standard" employee's neither the Seer or myself would have made it out of the crash alive. And finally... I'm not so sure about not having met any "equals" yet. The child I saw had to come from somwhere... I'm almost certain that someone was observing us. And don't give me "the Seer didn't see her", at the time she showed up he had his head between his knees braced for impact... not that I blame him." He nods to Brace.
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  #107  
Unread 6th of April, 2004, 05:22
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The Mechanic

Stone gives you a glare. Her tongue dripping acid, she says: "And your testimony will be highly useful... assuming you plan to make an insanity plea?"

With a visible effort, she regains control of herself. "No... no, you're right. At this level of play, nothing is to be taken for granted. It is entirely possible you were subjec to a projected hallucination. Wreck seems to have suffered some kind of neuropsychic assault." Stone runs a finger down the spine of one of her folders uneasily. "It may be that our opposition has a mentalist of some sort assisiting them."

Her mobile phone bleeps once, and she lifts it to her ear. The message she receives is short, but has a visible effect on her. Her pupils dilate, and her stance goes rigid...

OOC
Initiaitve:
Bolt 27
The Seer 22
The Mechanic 15
Wreck 14
Osprey 13
  #108  
Unread 7th of April, 2004, 01:08
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(Osprey)

Prior to Ms. Stone's "seizure", Rob had been sitting quiet and uneasy, feeling more than a little bit responsible for the disaster the day had become. Rebuttals rose to his lips several times, but he bit them back and pushed down his indignity, thinking it best to remain humble right now. Stone's seemingly absent-minded comment about a potential mentalist on the Hammers' payroll made him feel even more apprehensive about the mission than he had previously; near as he could tell, nobody on the team, save for Seer, was particularly resistant to mental assault, least of all himself. It'd be like a hand grenade in a nursery.

Last edited by GusPorterhouse; 7th of April, 2004 at 06:15.
  #109  
Unread 7th of April, 2004, 04:40
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Bolt

Ryan sits and watches Ms. Stone and only half listens to the conversation going on around him, his thoughts are focused on what Ms. Ling said and what could that message mean that he found in the lab.

On a subconsious level he notices Ms. Stone go rigid and that brings him into focus on whats going on around him.

He kicks in his speed and races up to her and supports her so she doesn't topple over, he also attempts to get the phone out of her hand and turn it off before whatever effected her effects the rest of them.
  #110  
Unread 7th of April, 2004, 05:18
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Bolt

The problem with having superhuman reflexes... is that sometimes they are faster than thinking. In a sliver of a blink of an eye, you are over my Stone, holding her up by the shoulder. You pull the phone from her hand and toss it away, switching it off.

Stone [screams in alarm as you grab her. She tries to drive her elbow into your gut, but you roll away form the blow without difficulty.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?! Get your hands off me!"
  #111  
Unread 7th of April, 2004, 20:58
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(Osprey)

Bolt's sudden warp-factor dart takes Rob completely by surprise, and his startle lifts him a full six inches off of the floor. He eases down and responds to Ms. Stone's shrieked question: "Probably thought he was saving your life, ma'am. With all due respect, the five of us don't have the luxury of playing by the normal rules; I mean, two of us can fly, and one of those is practically invulnerable. Another can see into the past by touching an object, and there's one who can teach your computer to talk to dogs. And Bolt--heck, Bolt can take his clothes off and put 'em back on before you're done blinking, and probably has at least once today. Long story short, we have to be alert for just about anything. Even you now suspect that our enemies have abilities that we're unaware of; who's to they don't possess some kind of bobaphonic alpha-wave mohujulation that can be broadcast over cellular networks?
"All's I'm saying is, we didn't survive this long by not knowing how to recognize danger and acting on it when it shows it's ugly face. I know that sometimes it means you're going to be taken by surprise, shocked, startled, or whatever, but I'm afraid that's pretty much unavoidable."
  #112  
Unread 8th of April, 2004, 06:26
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Bolt

Ryan lets go of Ms. Stone immediately

I... you... the phone... he stammers trying to explain and failing miserably.

He retrieves her cell phone and sheepishly gives it back to her.

Sorry, I thought you were in danger.

Ryan will go sit back down.
  #113  
Unread 9th of April, 2004, 16:22
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You hear Stone mutter something about 'tension' as you all settle back down.

"While I... appreciate... the concern, rest assured that if the opposition had a creature capable of exerting influence over telecom lines, we would know about it. No parahuman of that calibre would escape our notice." She sounds convinced.

"In any case, it remain for you to determine how to proceed. Surveillance of the warehouse indicates that they are going into lockdown... more bodies going in but none leaving, more movement inside... but no signs of the weapons, yet. We still don't know how they plan to get them to the site; given that there are less than two hours left before the rendezvous, it may be that the weapons are not going to be traded tonight.

"Your task remains to capture Jerry O'Malley and any other criminals present, capture the arms dealers if possible, and recover any informaiton that ill lead us to the location of the weapons."

Last edited by Dirigible; 10th of April, 2004 at 19:54.
  #114  
Unread 12th of April, 2004, 11:27
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Wreck

He merely sits there, his mouth half-open, frozen in mid-reply when all hell breaks loose. He almost thinks there's something wrong with Ms. Stone, but then blinks and that speedy little bastard is by her side. The best part is, she's shoving him away. Wreck chuckles at the sight.

Probably just looking for a cheap feel, he thinks, watching the rest settle back down.

"Okay, so we'll get him...how? Wait back there for the deal to go down? Maybe I could get another nose bleed."
  #115  
Unread 22nd of April, 2004, 18:39
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Robert looks around the room at the others...
"Well, I have...or rather had... some Micro-Cams with my gear in the car. I was planning on dropping them at the scene and giving them remote commands from here so we'd have a view of what's going on.... But with everybody shouting for a quick getaway... which didn't do US a whole lot of good, I never got around to leaving them."
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  #116  
Unread 24th of April, 2004, 06:26
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(Osprey)

"I can plant them wherever you want. As for a plan...well, I'm used to working alone. I know what I would do, but coordinating a team effort is another thing entirely. I do think we should use Wreck and Bolt as shock troops, get them in there to knock out some of the heavies and keep the others off guard. Meanwhile, Mechanic and I can attack in a different spot, hopefully one that'll be relatively lightly defended because of the ruckus and Wreck-age going on elsewhere. We could lead the remainder of our forces in, if there are any, and begin the capture."

OOC: I'm out of time right now, will finish this post later.
  #117  
Unread 28th of April, 2004, 14:45
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From the outside, a dusty halo of approaching evening settles around the Centinel Building. Cars growl back and forth as the City That Never Sleeps sheds its workaday clothes and gets ready to sit back, relax and party down. The crowds thin out, grow rowdier and more casual. At the Building, things don't change so much... people still clean and polish, stack and arrange, setting the last few bits of the structure and decor in order.

The discussions continue for a while. You have at the table:

* A professional hired gun (hired flying meathammer, these days);
* A hypergenius smart enough to have deduced the existance of war from first principles in the time it took for the coffee to brew;
* A kid raised as a scrapper, whose been in as many scufflesas anyone;
* A precognitive who may have already have seen the outcome;
* And, uh... a guy who read a lot of comics. That may come in useful.

Finally, after much debate, pointed fingers, low implications and the use of enough scratch paper to rebuild a tree, you come up with the semblance of a plan. (OOC: What it is is up to you). Ms. Stone has stepped in and out of the room several times, clearly still busy, occassionally furnishing you with area maps, floorplans, police reports and anything else you think you might need. Outside the window, you see a man and a woman in FedEx uniforms handling a stack of boxes down the hall, but it seems to be the last delivery of the day.

"Mr Scribner... do you think you could help us with something? I know that you were supposed to go with your team-mates to handle this smuggling situation, but we have something that your unique talents might be more suited for..." Stone has the grace to look at least a little embarrassed about the last-second change of plans. The Seer stands and after a moment's consideration moves to follow Stone, offering you all a quick "Good luck," but leaving you wondering if you can handle this with one fewer man.

But all that is beside the point. The time for procrastination is over. The time for preparation is over.

The time for ass-kicking is about to begin.

Last edited by Dirigible; 28th of April, 2004 at 14:52.
  #118  
Unread 28th of April, 2004, 14:48
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Mercer Shipping Intl. Warehouse, New York City Docks
5:59 pm, January 13th 2010.


Streetlights cast sodium-yellow loops of light across the brick flanks of the warehouse as polluted water laps at the wooden pilings nearby. There's still not a lot of activity going on outside, but dim lights can be seen through the high windows.
  #119  
Unread 29th of April, 2004, 02:04
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Wreck

He starts the knuckle-cracking that always serve as a precursor to cracking skulls. He flexes opens and closes his fist, stretching his fingers. Turning his head to the side, his neck gives a slight pop and he smiles. He's a man of action, not planning. The fact that the team had basically given him license to smash has made him a very, very happy man.

"Ready to start a disturbance when you are," he whispers into the communications device provided by the Foundation.

I could come in through the wall, he thinks, stroking his van dyke while watching the building, that'd surprise the hell out of me. Or maybe those windows. Probably wouldn't expect that neither.
  #120  
Unread 29th of April, 2004, 03:53
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The Mechanic

Robert stands on the rooftop of a nearby building... checking the surrounding area with the enhanced optics he currently wears... His armor and pistols are hidden beneath the long black duster that drapes around him and occasionally moves with the errant breezes.
"Looks all clear from up here folks." he utters into the comm system. He pulls a small handheld device from beneath the jacket. "It's odd... I'm not picking up any security systems... I'm sure there would have been something. Anyone spot the robot casing from earlier? I'm not seeing it from here."
He stands and pulls the goggles off his eyes letting them rest over his forehead. He briefly checks his guns, making sure they're clear... then a brief once over of his gear... Ammo, tools, gadgets, and flashbangs hidden in various locations throughout his suit.
"Wreck... I don't know about you... but that robot gave me the chills... I'd much rather know where it's at before we start some mayhem."
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  #121  
Unread 29th of April, 2004, 05:24
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Pier #42, New York City Docks
6:00 pm, January 13th 2010.


The crew of the Atlantic Venturer hollared at the empty docks as they threw ropes across the narrow gap of water onto the pegs, ready to secure the boat in place. Captain Allarie stood outside of the bridge window, hat pulled low against the shill of this damn northern-latitude city. His hands were clenched in his pockets as he brooded. Damn Russians, he thought. That garbage scow, what was it, ah, the Gruczynski nearly drove us out of the water. They sure as hell were in a hurry to get somewhere... but then they never bothered to actually approach the docks. Damn Russians. Unseen by the small vessel's skipper, an athletic figure vaulted silenty out of the shadows above the bridge and disappeared into the night.

In the bad light, the dock #42 site manager fumbled with the keys to the padlock on the gate. Just beyond the chain-link fence, he could hear the francophone african sailors shouting and laughing, and someone was trying to attract his attention with a flashlight.

This was not a good night for Derek Wilkins. First, there'd been a car wreck right in front of him on his way to work, all those capes flying back and forth and stickin' out their chests. Worse, right now his daughter would be rehearsing her lines and looking around for her daddy to help smooth the butterflies in her stomach before her big performance. Dammit, this was a crap night.

Finally he found the correct key and unlocked the gate. As it swung open, a patch of shadows dropped off the arm of an overhanging crane and hit the ground silently behind Wilkins, bouncing up immediatly to a standing stance. In a sliver of a blink of an eye, Wilkins was pulled rigid, a cold metal rod all but crushing his windpipe as an unseen, unfelt, ungodly strong figure held it there. His booted toes scrappled for a surface to support his weight on as his attacker pinned him, and his fingers clawed at his throat.

A soft, accented voice murmurred in his ear: "I 'm lookan for de Centinals... tal me wheer I can find am." Terrified, Wilkins stretched out his arm, pointing towards the centre of the city. The Centinel Building was hardly low profile; even Derek Wilkins, uninterested in stuff like that as he was had seen it on the news, a gleaming steel and silver structure near what used to be Ground Zero.

For a sweet instant, he could breath, the pressure removed from his throat, for that was all he could think about. A length of metal flashed in an arc through the darkness, connecting with the base of Wilkin's skull and sending him sprawling insensible to the ground. Wilkins attack pasued a moment, crouching to press to finders into the dock manager's neck, then stood, the metal staff folding into a short cylinder.

"Blees you." He vanished into the night.
  #122  
Unread 30th of April, 2004, 01:30
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Osprey

Motionless in the shadows near Mechanic, Osprey focusses on his breathing and prepares himself for battle. He hoped that Wreck and Bolt were able to keep most of the main force diverted on themselves, and especially the heavy bots. Mechanic probably had something in mind to deal with the big machines, but Rob would be completely outclassed. Better to leave them to the high-octane guys. "Stick to the little guys, that's what you do best," he told himself, And make sure you get O'Malley."

As crunch time approaches, he unsheathes an escrim stick and lets it dance across his knuckles. 'God, I hope this works.
  #123  
Unread 5th of May, 2004, 07:38
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Bolt

Bolt emerges from the allyway several blocks away from the warehouse. He can see the dock and the back of the warehouse easily even though he is several blocks away, thanks to the glasses he has. "Should be able to reach there in a matter of seconds." he thinks to himself.

"Good to go here, just waiting on your say so."
  #124  
Unread 6th of May, 2004, 03:05
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Wreck

"Yeah, me too," he says into the com device, "they're probably on patrol, or stored up in those cases. Either way, you'll know if they're out. If you see one, give me a shout and I'll come runnin'."

There's a certain feeling of elation, a cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline that sets his nerves alight. It always happens right before a fight, since he was twelve and broke his first nose, Wreck has felt most alive when he's in danger. The accident did little to change that. Indeed, all it does is ensure that he'll see battle more often, and he loves it.

He bunches up a bit, hunching his shoulders and drawing his arms in, getting ready for a full on charge into the warehouse. He's picked the windows on the roof to enter. The walls would be a hell of a lot more fun, but he didn't want to risk them being reinforced with steel. Tough or not, hitting a metal wall at the speed of sound would still probably hurt, and might put him out of the fight. That wouldn't do; he's got too many asses to kick.

"Give the word."
  #125  
Unread 6th of May, 2004, 19:50
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No plan survives contact with the enemy.

Bolt
You're so tired.

It's been a bitch of a day. Away from the others, safe in the shadows of a cat-piss reeking alley, you allow your features to contort into an expression of anguish. Clenched fists thump your thighs.

You don't want to do this.

You want to scream, to cry, to crawl into a deep dark pit and die. You want to see Elizabeth again. You want to see Arjhani Singh, the man who taught you to drive taxies in Philly, who helped you start to forget the pain, again. You want to see mom and pop again. Hell, right now you want to see Trisha Ling again. You feel like you can't trust the Foundation... so many secrets bublling to the surface so soon. Maybe you can't trust the other team members. Maybe you can't trust yourself.

Slowly, you force the black pain back into its box. Time to fight. Time to fight. Game face on. Over the radio, hiding behind the sizzle of static, some one says "Go!" You break into a run. The green metal sheet of the back door to the warehouse bursts open under a flying kick that strikes it at slightly less than the speed of sound, buckling the hinges.

OOC: Still suffering the negative effects of depression.

The Mechanic
The guns feel reassuringly solid in your gloved hands as you recite the implications of Mattringer's Third Spatial Theorem in your mind. The first hints of rain from the smokey, leaden sky trickle down your forehead off the armoured headband that keeps your hair out of your eyes and coincidentaly prevents fatal skull fractures. You aren't afraid. Isn't that odd?

Inventory. Weapons, spare clips stat-cro'd to your hips, armour buckled on, grav-belt charged, utility pouch ready, multitool, tac-sensor, support cord... Yes. With all this gear, you must have thought of everything. You must be safe. Repetition brings comfort. Check again.

Tucked into a brick alcove, the side door doesn't look like much. No, no visible security, no boobytraps, no reinforcements. You must have considered all the contingencies... right? When the word is given out, you move forward, slightly ahead of Osprey. You slide the door open, and edge in, hearing the first tickings of trouble about to start...

Osprey
You could have trained harder. You could have prepared better. You're going to die, aren't you? Someone always dies in the first issue of a new comic. It adds drama. Uneasily, you twirl your escrima, waiting. This would go so much better if you had Wreck's bullet proof skin, you're sure. Or Bolt's speed. No-ones gonna even draw a bead on him...

Someone gives the word, and you step forward, almost floating across the ground towards the side door, your lack of finesse with your powers a sign of distraction and fear. You dart in after the Mechanic, hoping you're ready.

Wreck
You wonder what that blond's doing right now. Probably just waiting for some big, flying hunk to come and stick his -

What? Awright! Time to get this damn show on the road. Drops of water dew in your beard and 'tash as you bunch up in the sky, muscles clsutering together in a prelude to action, and plummet down like a comet. The impact is nothing, compared to your mass, speed and invulnerability. The glass explodes into fragments around you, almost from the shockwave of air more than the collision.

No enemy survives contact with the plan.

Viscid
Dressed all in functional black, black jeans, black leather boots, black leather jacket, the grey skinned man lounges against a wall close to the back door. Above a broad but weasley face his hair is black and greasy, though well combed, and his skin has an unwholesome sheen... as if he was profusely sweating crude oil. As the windows and doors explode inwards, he casually straightens.

"Couldn'ta waited another hour, couldya? Frickin's capes." His voice is a smooth drawl, tinted with heavy scorn. "Too bad... for you. I'm gonna have ta take you out the hard way... Actinic! You know what ta do..." His eyes track Bolt's superfast movement easily but carefully as the speedster streaks into the room, his voice directed at a hovering figure nearer the ceiling. The sheen of oil seems to thicken and spread, rippling over his body as his fingers start to lengthen.

Mooks
Six toughs, clearly members of the O'Malley syndicate are scattered around the room. Two lonuge near a forklift in the middle, one stands near the back of the warehouse and three are close to the side door. Swear words, empty Coke cans and cigarettes scatter as they lunge for pistols, clubs and lead pipes, gripping them in trembling, badly overmatched hands.

Actinic
Whoa! Okay, Lara, keep it together... this is your chance at the big time, babe.

The athletic young woman dodges the storm of broken glass with a sneer as she floats in the air, surrounded by a distorted field of offset hues. At first glance, she's eyecatching... mainly because of the horrible, discordant clash of colours on her body and fashion. But second glance makes this even more odd: white shirt with orange and green logo, black sneakers... pale blue skin? The brain realises that she is a normal looking African-American woman, but all her colours have been reversed, white to black, brown skin tone to abnormal blue. This aura extends nearly a foot from her skin, making the wall behind her seem a strange shade of green rather than brick red.

"Damn right I do, Viscid!" she shouts back at the man on the floor. "Hey, bitch!" she yells at Wreck. "You got a lotta 'tude, bustin' inta here... how 'bout you run off, 'fore I bust yo' face? Not that it'd make you any uglier..." Waves of anti-light, painful to look at crackle around her fists as she assumes a cocky airborne fighting posture.

Hamlet and Jerry O'Malley

His long reddish braid shot with grey, the hard-faced mobster looks around wildly as you burst in. He starts to draw a revolver form his stylishly hard-wearing coat. "Fook me!" he snarls. "Look what ta tide's washed up, eh boys?" He surveys the scene, and growls when his eyes alight on Osprey. "Fook me! You're ta bastard that caught one a me couriers last month, ain'tcha? Fook me, but you cost me a lot of money, ya little bollocks."

O'Malley's bodyguard, a blocky, square shouldered man in a suit also produces a hefty pistol, but grabs his boss by the elbow and leans down to whisper urgently in his ear, keeping his eyes on the unfolding situation.

No hero survives contact with the enemy.

OOC: You each have half an action left after entering the warehouse and seeing the opposition.

Don't worry about anyones exact coordinates, only relative position matters. The warehouse floor is about 80' across. A large area in the middle is marked out with tape on the floor. Sitting on either side of the 40' wide marked area is a tall metal cylinder wrapped in insulation foam, with odd wires and cables running out of them, connected to a laptop.

Initiative
Bolt [23]
Viscid [21]
The Mechanic [20]
Osprey [15]
Actinic [14]
Wreck [11]
Mooks #1-6 [10]
Hamlet [7]
Jerry 'The Hammer' O'Malley[6]

Last edited by Dirigible; 7th of May, 2004 at 13:54.
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