[from here]S.T. switched on his flashlight as he started down the stairs. The torches flickered, and they were sitting ducks. Not tripping over his own shoelaces would be a plus
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A few short steps was all it took, and then their vision was filled with high ceilings and moody candlelight, all fancy grandeur and spectacle. It didn't have quite the same effect the third time you made it down there. By this point, all Depth Charge could figure was that this place was just one big elaborate ego-booster for Landel; some people got hot-rod paint jobs, others upgraded to the latest sports models, he built an enormous deathtrap under his psycho prison and filled it with 'ambiance', which seemed to be the fancy new buzzword for 'enough tension to make Rattrap pop a hubcap'.
Figured. Some people needed more to compensate for than others.
He held back for a while, reorienting himself while the others discussed what they were going to do and how they were going to split. And hey- he actually had something to add here. So much for just being dumb muscle.
"No powers to report here. Those're all in my old body," he said first, nodding briefly to Spider-Man (Spider-Kid? Wasn't like he sounded too old), "and whatever, do what you want with the groups." Though truthfully, it was good that he'd be able to keep an eye on S.T., just in case. "But through those doors- the east ones you didn't get to? I've been there. Yeah, there are two doors. The room on the left's an armory of some sort, and believe me, they have everything."
And that meant everything, from old Earth-style swords to chainsaws to a suspiciously similar replacement to his old tail harpoon, sized down to fit his new hands. Real convenient. Depth Charge's expression darkened a touch. "We didn't get to find out what the catch was." With that, he gave a little shrug and folded his arms nonchalantly, glancing back towards the east door. "Go where you want. Makes no difference, anyway- they're all dangerous."
"No. No, you don't," Scott answered to Peter. Some things didn't need elaboration.
First thing Scott peered for upon passing below the lip of the trapdoor was a two-headed fire-breathing monster. When that turned out to be non-existent (at least as far as he could see), he breathed a sigh of relief. If there were going to be monsters tonight, then at least they weren't going to be jumping on the group in the first room. Just as well, he thought. It was totally unfair to put boss monsters at the beginning of the first level of a dungeon, anyway.
He listened to the others go on about Sphinxes and mazes and powers and whatnot, bouncing his heels up and down impatiently once he'd made it down to the ground level. He didn't care what split they arrived at. He just wanted to get moving. The longer they spent standing around, the less time they had to actually accomplish anything. Did he need to be reminded again of the night he and Knives had gone out and barely gotten down a few hallways before the end of night caught them?
Speaking of which: god, Knives. He really did hope she was okay somewhere out there in the multiverse. Crazy expert with short bladed weapons or not, he just couldn't see her faring well on the battlefront, any moreso than he could Keman or Shinichi.
See, this was why they needed to get **** done right now. The sooner they did, the sooner they either freed all their friends or got bloody revenge for them.
Right. Excitement. He needed to get back on track with that.
Scott pumped a fist. "Sweet. I call dibs on the weapon side for our group," he declared, never mind the fact that he was holding a sword in the fist he had just pumped up. "And Peter, you don't have to pretend. I get the message. I'll just go this way with me new friends, S.T. and D.C. here," he added with a slight "pssh" sound, making some pronounced steps over in Sangamon and Depth Charge's direction (he was assuming, of course, that the epic bromance of Harvey and Indy wasn't going to be broken up anytime soon).
"Aside from the ability to sniff out a fart in a windstorm? No dice." Landel's flunkies had turned a delicate, sensitive instrument into a squalling feedback loop. The chocolate on his own breath, antibiotic (or the oily smell of the petroleum-based carrier), evaporating wax, and the minor impurities in the Doyleton Unincorporated Regional Water Collection area had all made the Final Four.
He was going to ask D.C. if he wanted another crack at the arsenal when Scott went all trigger-happy. Nothing wrong with decisiveness, but he just hoped the guy would remember who was on his side tonight. He seemed a little on edge.
The only thing left to contribute was a little reassurance. There'd been a catch on the other side, but a full-disclosure one. Two copies short of a standard waiver, but they'd had a choice. "The Sphinx was fair. Told us what we were risking, and even picked something that didn't take a history major to figure out." Standardized tests weren't. He'd heard the bitching when he wandered the city. Longish hair and old BU sweatshirts turned him from a white guy to just another nobody. Useful when he was taking the pulse of the real Boston. Kids in Chinatown could speak five languages to the homegrown one, but they got docked points for drawing chain-link instead of picket fences.
"Whatever game Landel set up down here, he wants us to have a shot. Provided the Eagle hasn't rigged it."
Figured. Some people needed more to compensate for than others.
He held back for a while, reorienting himself while the others discussed what they were going to do and how they were going to split. And hey- he actually had something to add here. So much for just being dumb muscle.
"No powers to report here. Those're all in my old body," he said first, nodding briefly to Spider-Man (Spider-Kid? Wasn't like he sounded too old), "and whatever, do what you want with the groups." Though truthfully, it was good that he'd be able to keep an eye on S.T., just in case. "But through those doors- the east ones you didn't get to? I've been there. Yeah, there are two doors. The room on the left's an armory of some sort, and believe me, they have everything."
And that meant everything, from old Earth-style swords to chainsaws to a suspiciously similar replacement to his old tail harpoon, sized down to fit his new hands. Real convenient. Depth Charge's expression darkened a touch. "We didn't get to find out what the catch was." With that, he gave a little shrug and folded his arms nonchalantly, glancing back towards the east door. "Go where you want. Makes no difference, anyway- they're all dangerous."
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First thing Scott peered for upon passing below the lip of the trapdoor was a two-headed fire-breathing monster. When that turned out to be non-existent (at least as far as he could see), he breathed a sigh of relief. If there were going to be monsters tonight, then at least they weren't going to be jumping on the group in the first room. Just as well, he thought. It was totally unfair to put boss monsters at the beginning of the first level of a dungeon, anyway.
He listened to the others go on about Sphinxes and mazes and powers and whatnot, bouncing his heels up and down impatiently once he'd made it down to the ground level. He didn't care what split they arrived at. He just wanted to get moving. The longer they spent standing around, the less time they had to actually accomplish anything. Did he need to be reminded again of the night he and Knives had gone out and barely gotten down a few hallways before the end of night caught them?
Speaking of which: god, Knives. He really did hope she was okay somewhere out there in the multiverse. Crazy expert with short bladed weapons or not, he just couldn't see her faring well on the battlefront, any moreso than he could Keman or Shinichi.
See, this was why they needed to get **** done right now. The sooner they did, the sooner they either freed all their friends or got bloody revenge for them.
Right. Excitement. He needed to get back on track with that.
Scott pumped a fist. "Sweet. I call dibs on the weapon side for our group," he declared, never mind the fact that he was holding a sword in the fist he had just pumped up. "And Peter, you don't have to pretend. I get the message. I'll just go this way with me new friends, S.T. and D.C. here," he added with a slight "pssh" sound, making some pronounced steps over in Sangamon and Depth Charge's direction (he was assuming, of course, that the epic bromance of Harvey and Indy wasn't going to be broken up anytime soon).
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He was going to ask D.C. if he wanted another crack at the arsenal when Scott went all trigger-happy. Nothing wrong with decisiveness, but he just hoped the guy would remember who was on his side tonight. He seemed a little on edge.
The only thing left to contribute was a little reassurance. There'd been a catch on the other side, but a full-disclosure one. Two copies short of a standard waiver, but they'd had a choice. "The Sphinx was fair. Told us what we were risking, and even picked something that didn't take a history major to figure out." Standardized tests weren't. He'd heard the bitching when he wandered the city. Longish hair and old BU sweatshirts turned him from a white guy to just another nobody. Useful when he was taking the pulse of the real Boston. Kids in Chinatown could speak five languages to the homegrown one, but they got docked points for drawing chain-link instead of picket fences.
"Whatever game Landel set up down here, he wants us to have a shot. Provided the Eagle hasn't rigged it."
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