[Gotta give the man a little vengeance. BABY KILLER. This post TRULY brought to you by Fever Dream.
Anyway, he knocks his way through the hoard of ghouls Pendergast seems to have summoned, happily beating some of them into submission *cough*D'Agosta*cough* until he gets to the door. He pounds on it with a fist.]
[We could also shoot some exploding buckshot into the top of the doorframe and trust the rest of the door to take care of itself. Let's do that.
Jack is mid-conversation with someone--presumably Diogenes or Bhamba, or maybe his communicator as he does so, head craned over his shoulder, staring at something that he finds deeply troubling: one of the ghouls, who seems to be hunting him in particular, is a shambling seven-year-old girl.]
*It's a pleasure to meet you Jack, lemme take care of that daughter problem for you. And Tim does so with a well placed THWACK that sends her flying a good 5 feet or so down the hallway.*
Are you Jack?
*Don't mind his bloody clothes. It's from the ghouls. I swear.*
[LUCKILY when the door shattered into a thousand pieces, Pendergast scrambled out of the way, taking the comm with him.
Now he's standing near a crumbling wall, panting, looking slightly terrified. His hair's falling in his eyes, he's got no suit jacket and no tie and his shirt is open slightly.
Also he's got a gun strapped to him. It's a Colt .45, for the curious.]
...The closets haven't been working in my rooms. ...Is that a crocodile?
[Hey, thanks for the buckshot, Jack, that should help a lot. Diogenes pummels the rest of the door down (heavens, sledgehammer was a wise weapon choice) and yells over his shoulder at Bhamba.]
There should be another closet in there, Doctor, go!
[ Still so flattered, although there are PUMPKINS TO BE GRABBED, so the rest of the spiel is off while Bhamba stuffs his sports bag with deadly, moldy goods. ]
[Jack stares numbly at Tim and his pipe for a long moment, his lips moving silently. Remember what Sinclair said: it's not really them.]
I'm Jack. Inside.
[Easier to defend a room with a doorway than a whole hallway, so he steps inside, gesturing with his gun for Tim to follow. Bhamba and Diogenes are already inside, and he notes them with flicks of his eyes, mentally adding Pendergast to his catalogue as well.
He's shooting left-handed, but his right, which is steadying the gun, is beginning to shake with exhaustion and pain. With a hiss, he drops the shotgun and snaps his fingers, and his left arm becomes a glowing ember.]
*Yeah, that look is really welcoming. And this is an entire group of people that Tim has never met. Sweet. He's making friends. Tim and his pipe are going to enjoy the hospitality of Pendergast's room staring in disbelief as Bhamba starts pulling pumpkins out of the closet.*
[He looks for the source of the shriek and his eyes lock on here. (He's seen pictures. Like a creeper.)
He lifts his sledgehammer and runs into the hallway, because there's no way big brother's going to beat the crap out of that there gorgeous ghoul on his own, no sir.]
[Jack ducks his head out the door and lets loose with the fire, ducking back in amidst the sounds of screams and crisping flesh. He's soaked in sweat, and his sweater has become unbearable--why was he wearing a sweater in summer, anyway?--so he takes it off, leaving him in his undershirt, breathing heavily.
He's low on EVE, the plasmid already flickering, so he snaps it off. His right hand is in no shape to handle his shotgun, so he takes his wrench out of his belt.
But for now he waits, and he'll follow behind for a little while because his narration needs to sleep he's no good to them dead. He keeps his communicator on, should Sinclair have further marching orders for him.]
Diogenes comes in swinging. He locks eyes on a ghoul with a high-necked dress and bob-cut hair.
With little to no hesitation, he runs at the ghoul full-tilt and, with a furious grunt, bashes its head in. Liiiittle satisfied smile.]
ALOYSIUS?
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So feel free to bring the troops on in.
Also, I SO see what you did there.]
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Anyway, he knocks his way through the hoard of ghouls Pendergast seems to have summoned, happily beating some of them into submission *cough*D'Agosta*cough* until he gets to the door. He pounds on it with a fist.]
Aloysius, arm yourself and open the door!
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Jack is mid-conversation with someone--presumably Diogenes or Bhamba, or maybe his communicator as he does so, head craned over his shoulder, staring at something that he finds deeply troubling: one of the ghouls, who seems to be hunting him in particular, is a shambling seven-year-old girl.]
--can't shoot my own daughter!
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Are you Jack?
*Don't mind his bloody clothes. It's from the ghouls. I swear.*
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CROCODILE!
Also a man in a lab coat pushing past Mister Sledgehammer and Jack, making use of the broken door and looking around the room. ]
Is there a working closet around? I'm running out of pumpkins and I can't risk the toothpaste, not with so many people.
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Now he's standing near a crumbling wall, panting, looking slightly terrified. His hair's falling in his eyes, he's got no suit jacket and no tie and his shirt is open slightly.
Also he's got a gun strapped to him. It's a Colt .45, for the curious.]
...The closets haven't been working in my rooms. ...Is that a crocodile?
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There should be another closet in there, Doctor, go!
Aloysius, are you alright?
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[ Still so flattered, although there are PUMPKINS TO BE GRABBED, so the rest of the spiel is off while Bhamba stuffs his sports bag with deadly, moldy goods. ]
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I'm Jack. Inside.
[Easier to defend a room with a doorway than a whole hallway, so he steps inside, gesturing with his gun for Tim to follow. Bhamba and Diogenes are already inside, and he notes them with flicks of his eyes, mentally adding Pendergast to his catalogue as well.
He's shooting left-handed, but his right, which is steadying the gun, is beginning to shake with exhaustion and pain. With a hiss, he drops the shotgun and snaps his fingers, and his left arm becomes a glowing ember.]
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Are you... throwing toothpaste at people?
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[ Indignant stuffing of his sports bag with more pumpkins. ]
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...I see you're in one piece. [And then there's the unholy shriek of a VERY angry wife (thanks, Tim) and he goes dead pale.] ...oh, God.
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He lifts his sledgehammer and runs into the hallway, because there's no way big brother's going to beat the crap out of that there gorgeous ghoul on his own, no sir.]
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He's low on EVE, the plasmid already flickering, so he snaps it off. His right hand is in no shape to handle his shotgun, so he takes his wrench out of his belt.
But for now he waits, and he'll follow behind for a little while because his narration needs to sleep he's no good to them dead. He keeps his communicator on, should Sinclair have further marching orders for him.]
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[ And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the sound of one such pumpkin escaping Bhamba's grip and landing on his labcoat.
The scientists gaze is frantic and hurriedly he rips the item off, accidentally tearing away his shirt in progress.
Before he can correct his error and reach for his top, both pieces of clothing have already been covered in what looks like a thick layer of mold. ]
So... gloves. Okay? Good.
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