02 / 06 / 11 / - Alessia, Belladonna, Dante, Harrison, Ilad, Jean-Paul, Lori, Madrox, Remy
The current campground settles on the ruins of the former base, shrunken down to an area of clearing to the northwest, near the northern gates, with the former portal building in the west a dangerous shell spilling rubble out into the compound. Around the camp, stretching another few yards out on all sides, the encroaching signs of decay have been beaten back into blackened clearing. A pair of jeeps are parallel parked against the wall of another of the buildings torched the first time X-Factor visited the area.
There are six of the guards, three men and two woman, sharing maintenance duties and cleaning duties and cooking duties and whatever other kind of duties they can find to occupy their time in the camp. A sixth person, woman, sits on a small camp stool in front of a tent near the storage shed, the components of a small device spread out on a sheet across her thigh. Surveillance earlier showed the passage of the two patrolling guns to the northwest and south of the camp, and an odd number of the others out around the camp, though none in the immediately east-west track running through the old camp.
Harrison looks entirely unthreatening. Promise. Dressed in black fatigues, sidearm holstered, he actually rather looks like a soldier. But as he approaches, he does so with obvious steps and, once close enough for it to matter, lifted hands. It's a universal signal, right? Maybe they should have an actual white flag.
Along this east-west track comes Jean-Paul and his sidekick. In the warm and sticky heat he is dressed in light and lightweight fabrics. His shirt is even white. There is nothing stealthy about it at all; perhaps it will serve to further echo the 'we come in peace'. Light body armor is a darker shadow, and his holstered sidearm is at his hip. Glancing over at Harrison, he grimaces before lifting his own hands in echo. Lacking a white /flag/, he holds up a, uhm, piece of notebook paper. The edges are ragged where it was torn from the binding of a spiral notebook. It is college ruled.
Their presence is noted first by the woman on the camp stool (Lowell, as it happens) as they round the barracks, and it is her stiffened exclamation of surprise that brings the others to their feet, clutching at guns and weapons. "Hold!" shouts out one of the men, a heavy-set older man with a buzzed salt and pepper haircut. He swings out into the line of sight seconds later with a rifle lifted and trained on Harrison and Jean-Paul.
"Yeah, yeah," Harrison grumbles. He wiggles his raise fingers for emphasis. "We're holding."
Jean-Paul holds. He settles his weight even, poised on the balls of his feet. His eyes are brightly intent. He is grumble-free. His paper crinkles as the breeze blows it back over his hand.
Buzz-cut lowers his head to peer through the rifle's scope. Is that ominous? I sure think it's ominous. Especially when he holds the position for a number of small lifetimes before he lifts his head and steps further out into area between the burned out husk of a large building and a smaller supply shed. It's door is the only thing that looks new on the whole base. Everything else, personnel included, look worn and well-used. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he yells, gesturing behind him as he takes another step. Another man appears around the edge of the ruined wall, his gun settled firmly at waist-level and pointing in the same direction.
Harrison's gaze is sharp and alert on the different men -- and more importantly, different guns -- trained on them. "We're here to talk," he answers.
Jean-Paul retreats a step, perhaps two, three and then his stance firms before that second gun. He stills. "We don't want any trouble."
"What you want means shit to me," growls Buzz-cut. The man behind him steps up to his side and together they proceed a wary step, glancing around the compound to some of the already identified cover zones. Dark of skin, the second man's bleached blond hair stands out even more, though perhaps not as much as the M-4 in his hands. "You've got 30 seconds to tell me who the fuck you are and what you want. And if you say talk again, I will end the conversation right there."
"Right." Harrison is very conscious of that M-4. Instead of answering, though, he looks to Jean-Paul, who apparently has a lie all set up.
Jean-Paul lies like a fiend: "Something weird happened. We're just looking for help. We were in our camp, then there was this light, and when we left that building--" He nods back over his shoulder. "--we saw you guys."
"Right. Since when has the area become a tourist trap for white people in body armor?" Behind Buzz-cut, Bleach snorts and side steps. The pair take another step closer. Another figure can be seen behind them near the camp, holding position and watching the exchange. "Twenty seconds."
Harrison lies like less of a fiend: "Look, we've both got people on the other side of that portal. We just want peaceful -- co-access or whatever. Get all of our people out, get vaccines in." More believable, less funny.
Jean-Paul ... doesn't lie. He isn't very good at it, anyway. He looks bland. He can do that. His paper crinkles.
"Thought so," Buzz-cut grunts, lowering his head to the scope again. "Daniels, check them." Bleach (aka Daniels) steps forward and around Buzz, while behind them, the third person closes a little more. She's going to be callled...Leather. Cause of the sun-damaged, wrinkly texture of her skin. Perverts.
Harrison totally looks interested in Leather -- oh wait, sun damage, ew. He looks generally stoic instead as she approaches. Come here, bb. You can frisk me.
FINE Bleach can frisk me.
The piece of paper slipping from his fingers with a tug of the wind, Jean-Paul stands with patient stillness as Bleach steps forward. He eyes Leather with less interest than Harrison does. He clears his throat. Awkward.
Hey, your face. Bleach does not look terribly turned on by the thought of touching Harrison's dangly bits, but he is thorough. Whatever arms he was carrying are pulled out and tossed aside (way, way aside) before he moves behind the pair to lay hands on Jean-Paul.
No, Bleach, Harrison wants to be friends! Can't we just -- hold hands? Or any sort of skin, really, grabbed at with a sudden gesture. Harrison's hands are alive with electricity; enough to really, /really/ freaking hurt, though not enough to kill. Because that would ruin the whole body shield idea. LET'S HUG. With you in front.
When Harrison goes for the crackle and grab, Jean-Paul's three-step hesitation becomes a full-on retreat. He falls back toward the burned and battered shell of the barracks. He crosses the ground quickly, and at an angle. He gets his gun out. The paper flaps on away down the street.
Bleach's body jerks and stiffens in a whole-body convulsion. Including his finger. The chatter of automatic weapons fire fills the air with near concussive force, and a heated tug rips at the side of Harrison's shirt and kicks up little puffs of dust just behind Jean-Paul's recently vacated space. Buzz-cut swears and squeezes off a round. It misses, but the next one won't, his expression seems to say as he steadies the gun again. Leather races up the alley between shed and burned building while the radio at Buzz's belt squawks to life with voices and interference from Bleach's electrocuted unit.
Hooooboy that was close. Harrison pulls Bleach closer, because we're all friends here, and twists him around before starting to drag off eastward in the direction Jean-Paul dashed off towards (much faster). At least he has a body shield? As he drags, he fires off a burst of lightning towards Buzz-cut. DON'T SHOOT ME.
Jean-Paul focuses on dropping behind cover. He skids around and into place with his feet sliding from beneath him. He doesn't fall, although he ought to; he leans at an impossible angle against the wall as he checks his gun and then risks a peek back around to see how Harrison is doing. Tranq-loaded and at a distance, he does not fire.
Bleach is a difficult pull, all sort of limp and twitchy, legs going at uncoordinated angles as he stumbles along. Buzzcut shifts his sight to the--what the hell? Where'd he go? He lifts his head from the scope to gape a little and search the area for Jean-Paul while Leather runs up, automatic pistols in each hand. In the camp, a fourth man, I will call him Hands because he grabs Lowell up out of her seat, dumping equipment pieces into the dirt, and drags her toward the storage shed. A fifth and sixth set of guns cross the small camp's center and head for the alley between shed and burned building. There are other voices on the com. You can't see them.
Lori is all set at her place on the roof, laying out flat with her rifle trained on the action below. She frowns as events unfold, but still waits for orders at the moment, not shooting yet.
Fine, stupid difficult pull. Harrison glances back towards the road between the two barracks, judging distance in a split second, then wrenches at the M-4 in Bleach's twitchy fingers so he can drop him and sort of lay down his own suppressing fire as he turns and sprints for the road and -- hopefully before he is mortally wounded -- cover. It's hard to hit a moving target, right?
While Jean-Paul and Harrison make their particular retreats, Ilad starts with a few others of his team crouched behind the burnt husk of the southerly barrack. He is a dark-clad dart in his body armor, his stealth training more ancient and less profound than that of the covert experts but in the region of 'good enough for government work'; especially as he banks on the chaos of, uhm, that bait maneuver to keep eyes on others of his teammates. Picking up speed as he darts between wreck and rubble, he lights up with a spark from his lighter that becomes a ball of flame held between his hands. He starts a runnet of flame that begins to eat along the ground. With the full force of his will behind it, it blazes orange-yellow bright in a sudden-caught blaze and gathers speed quickly, eating its way over air and earth toward the back of the camp.
Tangled chunks of blackened concrete and twisted rebar cast odd shadows as Remy lurks amongst the wreckage of the burnt barracks. While by nature he is designed to lurk in the moonlight and the darkness, he seems to be doing well enough with daylight, at least when given the tangled mess of a two years old fire site to hide in. He waits, angled to watch the approach of the dangerous al-Sahra fish from out of sight, with a holstered gun on his hip and bare fingers already caressing a precarious wall of wreckage that just needs a good *bump* to get going. He wriggles them, flicker of motion dispelling the building tingle of a charge that knows it will soon be called for.
Madrox is crouched on the burnt-shed side of the unburnt barracks, a few feet short of leaning out into the open, but he is that few feet short. There are two of him, and his inhibitor is off. The better to emergency-duplicate with. They are both armed, tranq and live pistol both, and the Prime has his tranq unholstered and in hand. He waits, tense.
Dressed down in missiony gear, likely something with a lot of pockets and somewhat neat looking, armored, armed, and crouched somewhere behind the burnt remnants of the barracks, Dante's eyes part open for a moment as he glances towards the moving Ilad. A hand reaches over towards one of his guns to retrieve it from its holster. We'll try tranq this time around. Eyes do a slow blink as he gives a glance through one of the cameras. Because multiple angle shots are fun.
Settling and catching his breath, Jean-Paul turns away as Buzzcut scans the area. He crouches lower beneath the broken-glassed window that is his current refuge and leans against the charred wall. He glances, reorienting himself to mark the hidden positions of his teammates in the burned out building.
Alessia is dressed appropriately for attempting lack of visibility over body armor. Long hair tugged back into a braid, carrying both tranqs and live ammo as she hunkers down under cover and waits for now.
Tucked away in the lee of the undamaged barracks -- the other barracks -- Belladonna's slim frame is bulked up by body armor, her usually merry face set in lines that near -- though don't quite make -- grim. She watches, with her handgun at her hip but not drawn: her weapon is her hands, which flex into fists, then uncurl to be shaken out, the movement slight. (Hopefully slight enough that it doesn't attract attention.)
Along the northern edge of the supply shed, number seven goes, swinging wide and calling out to the northern patrol with little effort at subtlety. Buzzcut jerks up his rifle and turns to look at the crackle of dry grass and weed grow louder next to his position, a snarl on his face to match Leather's. Her guns blat blat blat as she walks forward toward the space between the barracks in a continual praying patter that eats at Harrison's feet (and Bleach's knee, oops, sorry). Buzz is at her side, though he holsters his rifle and pulls out a handgun. The storage shed's door clangs shut after Hands and Lowell. The final three at the camp hit the alleyway and charge, their guns silent until they are clear of teammates.
Running, running, running -- Harrison races to outmaneuver that bullet fire at his feet. He winds a bit more south when he hits the the end of the burned building (not barracks!), trying to maximize the cover the building provides as he races for the burned barracks. It's only once he's there that he dives in for cover. HELLO HELPFUL BUILDING.
The flame spreads, catching where it can on naturally flammable material; but even where there is nothing to burn, it burns. Ilad's focused attention leads it in a wide, sweeping curve around behind the al-Sahra camp, giving chase like a hungry predator more than like a force of nature. The flames grow as they begin to eat their way through the camp, not moving fast enough to nip at the heels of the gunmen -- but hey, did you say dry grass? With the fire spreading through the brush, it is gearing toward becoming a conflagration that it would take a dedicated fire team -- or ... /multiple/ pyrokinetics -- to control. Sweat beading on Ilad's brow with the intensity of his concentration, as his targets move toward the alley, his position becomes more potentially exposed. Hm.
Madrox begins to inch forward toward the exposed edge of the building, his gun restless in his hand. The duplicate, stalking after him, unholsters his own pistol, but does not come quite as far. With that, Madrox peeks around the barracks into the alleyway. Hello, guys.
Rather than pop up near where he vanished, Jean-Paul eels his way through the bunt wreckage of the barracks to come out on the south side. There, he ascends without effort to lie flat on the burnt edges of the building's highest points. From this superior vantage he tracks teammates, bad guys, et cetera. He marks the smoke and flame of Ilad's fire, and wastes a moment watching its progress before looking down again.
Lori starts picking targets on those already between the buildings, setting them up for when the time is right, though she'll probably lose the first couple points she picks as people move around.
As the roar and crackle of a hungry fire draws closer, Remy twitches in the shadows of the barracks wreckage, as all sort of sensible instincts about running -away- from fire get trampled down beneath tactics and higher-thought reflections that this is not fire uncontrolled. (Now don't betray Remy's trust in you, Ilad.) He shifts a little, edging around one face of the rubble to try to get a clear-yet-concealed view of the enemy's movements. "I'm gonna need a go-signal to tell me when to let loose. I need a few seconds' lead," is murmured to his comm.
The final three draw even with the edge of the burned building (not the barracks) and spill out into a fanning formation while Leather and Buzz lay down cover fire down the middle of the road between the barracks, looking for that damn eel. North Gun Guy runs around the edge of the storage shed and heads straight for the Madrox/Alessia area, followed up by Northern Patrol Dude. Ilads fire eats up turf, racing along the west side of the barn and burned building (not barracks!) and camp and heading for the generator.
Madrox has less of a sexy vantage compared to Lori and Jean-Paul, but he sees what he sees - unfortunately, he's not looking toward North Gun Guy or Northern Patrol dude. He's looking down the alley toward Leather and Buzz and our final three. If not so directly he's dancing out toward the cover fire. "Gambit, Nightshade. We got three outside the trap area and they look to be staying there. The fire might draw them in."
"Gettin' into position, then," is Remy's response, quick and clipped as he shifts his location in a spider-crab scramble to accommodate for the late-entering fish.
Ilad stays in position; although he has a gun held in one hand now, his lighter tucked safely away in his pocket (he will not need another spark, oh, no, not now). The heat of the flame west of his position glows against his side as he holds steady, a few stray tongues of the flame drawing closer as some ignored snaking tongues of the conflagration eat towards the barn and towards him -- but Ilad's focus remains on the curving arc of the fire eating its way towards those last three as he tries use its blazing hunger to herd them. Swaying just a little on his feet, he lifts his hand in a coaxing gesture and with it raises the stakes by raising the temperature. The fire closest to the al-Sahra goons shifts in color and heat, ratcheting from the ordinary yellows of a brush fire into white and blue-tipped searing heat, flames forge-hot and brutal and so bright that it becomes difficult to look directly at them.
Dante continues his slow blinking monitoring. And if he sees anything he'll be sure to let people know. Once his player scrolls back up and rereads stuff.
There is something maybe a little bit fluttery in the twitch of Belladonna's hands as the fire grows louder, but she beats back the memory of being trapped in one with slow, steady breaths: not at all the kind of trouble one has breathing with smoke in one's lungs, see? "Heard and witnessed, Fission," her voice comes across the comm, though it lacks any sexy interference crackle to make it properly gritty. "Getting into position." If Madrox is on the southeast side of the unburned barracks, she's on the north-ish, moving around to get into a better position from which to make things go boom and fall down.
Tucked into a bit of rubble on the north side of the burned barracks, Harrison finishes checking the 'borrowed' M-4 rifle (oops, no tranqs) and mostly hides as they wait and hope for fire to bring their new friends into the alley between the barracks.
Ok Dante player reread and still got lost so, Dante must've been distracted. Shame Dante. Pay more attention. Dante focuses on his cameras.
The guard who just swung along the northern edge of the northern supply shed skids to a halt, spying the crouching, spying form of Madrox. He lifts his gun.
Buzz peeks in through a gap in the wall of the burned barracks while Leather watches the unburned building.
And Ilad's flame reaches the generator, the super heating eating through metal casing and reaching for the fuel... BOOM.
Madrox barks a "Now!" into his comm almost by shuddered instinct, like a verbal reverberation of the explosion. The now is shook out of him. And if he still doesn't turn, with all that fire and watching and kabooms, the duplicate behind him does, in a too quick shift-around, his own gun raised, sad tranq as it is. "Prime," he calls, almost simultaneous with the turn.
When the call comes, as calls do, Remy parts with a quick smile, sharp and feral and with a ripple of adrenaline breaking across it like the scales of a particularly toothy gator. Hand laid to an earlier-identified piece of rubble near the base of one remaining wall section that seems to be critical to a larger collapse, he bleeds a screaming dose of charge into it, leaving it glowing an unstable purple-pink. "Fire'n the hole!" calls the Gambit, as he launches himself into a leap and a roll away from the short-fused chunk of concrete and scrambles away to find other shelter from the blast. Ilad's BOOM soon has a friend.
Jean-Paul releases his hold on perch at the explosion to the west: he flinches, throwing himself back and to the side. His distraction is only momentary. When Remy sets the charge at the base of the wall -- a wall which shares supports with his current vantage -- he skips up and over to drop down on the north side of the unburnt barracks building, tracking those herded by flame. It is not the most subtle thing in the world, but with everything in the world exploding, who cares what he does?
Lori braces at her spot on the south side of the unburned barracks roof, head down even more when the booms start, though her attention goes right back to her possible targets. She waits for the debris to settle, to see who's still standing and in need of shooting.
FFF-! Dante's eyes jolt open as he lifts a hand to press against his ear muttering a silent curse before moving back to a ready position. He glances down the alley way in the direction of where all the 'fun' is happening. He focuses on the bug once more but keeps his eyes open, allowing for the overlay of images.
Ilad startles at the sudden explosive blast from the camp, turning his head in a stutter of focus as the generator explodes. Leaving the fire to burn or not in all its roaring glory now, he surges into motion. His most obvious escape route being full of men with guns, he moves to evade flying molten shrapnel from the edges of the camp by moving south toward the barn, into the main mass of the escaped conflagration. A fire so hot it is hard to look at will make excellent cover for getting shot at -- right?
The firestorm the fuel-fed explosion sets off is is bright and blinding, flashing over the western edge of the al-S campground and eating eastward, over the scryer-infused bits of metal put into place earlier. It also doubles back on itself, creeping in a gathering wave toward the firestarter. It is most excellent cover as it circles around. The three guards who just spilled out to the east side of the burnt building hit the ground, only in time to look up and see the wall of the burnt barracks tumble down on Buzzcut, obliterating him, while Leather is pinned by a large, further flung bit of exploded wall.
Al is hunkered down still, flinching at the explosions even if they are expected. A turn of her head to look for the men she's supposed to shoot.
Belladonna's expression already set with concentration, it doesn't take much after the call comes for her to scramble up, up and away from her building. With her building more stable than the burned-out barracks, she sets both hands together to aim a blast of superheated plasma at what she's judged to be its weakest point. She blasts, and blasts, and holds her breath and blasts -- as several seconds tick by. She holds the charge for as long as she deems safe, then skitters and dives and scrambles her way away.
Northern Guard's gun was already in motion when Duplicate turns, and squeezes off a shot just as the first boom hits, and Duplicate's shoulder is hit and jerked backwards.
Pulling out of his rubble hiding spot before it comes tumbling down around him, Harrison skitters east along the northern side of the burned (and now collapsing) burned barracks. The M-4 is lifted, but with Buzz-cut and Leather taken out by the falling buildings and no other guards in the alley, he doesn't immediately fire.
Dante squints for a moment before shaking his head. Oh fo- Ok maybe he'll give the bugs thing a rest for a few moments.
The duplicate thunks against Prime as he half-falls, which makes it awfully hard for Prime to get turned around and try to fire back. He does his best to get a bead, though, even as the building next to him has sudden structural problems.
Wreathed in flame, Ilad makes his way through its bright blaze. The flame-resistant material of the body armor is also slow to roast -- with such continuous exposure to high, high heat, though, it is doomed. The tranquilizer dart in his pistol is altogether cooked, flash-fried in seconds; his spare tranquilizer darts start exploding in little shattering pops of chemical and glass. The simpler articles of his clothing are incinerated to ash in very short order. A figure of dark-singed black and golden skin and blue-white flame, Ilad moves, staggering, out of the main mass of the conflagration to crouch beyond the south side of the barn. He spends a moment trying to get his communicator to work.
The structure was unburned, but let untended for several years. Weakened by time and chunks of exploded wall, the plasma soaks into the supports and builds. The building groans, swaying gently under the pressure, then bows out in an explosion that is oddly gentle and quiet compared to the others of the evening. The south east corner dips and shears away, followed by the northeast. Bits of concrete and rebar sail outwards, in Alessia's direction while the ceiling tilts at a crazy angle. Better hang onto something, Lori.
Remy has found a convenient chunk of rubble unattached to the section he just exploded. Given that the one he selected to blow up is approximately the size of a chest freezer, he's content to lie low and peek out from behind it for a moment until the thin and singing faintness of sudden energy expenditure passes. "Sacre -merde-," he says, as the fire burns brighter than the rising rock dust can obscure.
Jean-Paul moves west along the northern edge of the unburnt barracks building as buildings break, duplicates get shot, and Ilad gets naked. Maybe at one point he had a vague intention of possibly shooting that guy shooting in Madrox's direction -- but the collapse of the building at his back turns his attention and checks his progress. NO ONE IS DYING OVER THERE RIGHT?
Lori grabs for her rifle with her hands, and whatever rebar she can feel under her feet with her powers. With the whole building moving, that's not the best grip to get, but it gives her time to try to get her feet under her. She's getting no shooting done at the moment, though.
"--building's going down in a hurry," Belladonna says over the comm, panting hard as she finds somewhere to hit the dirt well out of its way, "Polaris may need an assist." Wait, can Lori fly, too? I'm never clear on this.
How hard is it to ignore such a bright display walking to the south side of the barn? Actually pretty easy when Dante's facing north . Funny how that goes. After waiting his few moments, he starts to peek through the bugs once m- oh right. WHAT bugs? He's sure as hell not chucking the ones he has left out just for the hell of it. You know what? Just... Let him take a couple more moments. ... DAMN Ilad.
Ilad's communicator is useless. Ceasing his poking at it, he checks his gun. The tranquilizers are pushing up the daisies. His holster has been melted to slag, so he can't put it away, either. All right. Down to the fire and his elbows, he peeks out from behind the barn, crouched there naked and gauging his position relative to the remaining gunmen.
What feet? The roof shifts and jerks in unsteady and unpredictable patterns, huge cracks running across what remains.
Screw the roof, then! Lori wobbles her weight squarely over the metal soles of her shoes and floats her way up hopefully above the height of any debris thrown at the roof collapses. She still holds grimly to her rifle.
"Sweet jesus!" Oh yeah, exploding building is always good for a motivation to move. There's still bits pelting Al as she tries to find other cover, never knowing what her teammates are going to blow up next. A decent sized bit of concrete smacks her left shoulder, causing the redhead to almost faceplant, rolling to get to a crouch again.
The three gunmen are still on their stomachs, too dazed by all the goings on to make more than a token effort at covering themselves. One finally does pull her feet up under her and makes a dash south past the barn.
HEY, remember that Northern Patrol Guy? Well, he finally catches up to North Guard. And he isn't so stunned by the building exploding Right next to him.
Having gotten his breather in and with his bugs fried, Dante's observation time is pretty much gone which leads to the slightly more fun stuff. Is he going to move from his position? Who knows?! Maybe! He just needs to figure out who needs him the most at the moment. He's looking.
She might not be expecting what she finds there, as she darts past the roar of the conflagration. Orienting by sound on the dash of approaching footsteps, Ilad is rising from his crouch and turning in the swivel of a pivot toward the running woman. His motion fluid, he moves to intercept. Never mind that she has full gear on and that he, uhm, doesn't.
Shooting is such a timey-wimey sort of thing, isn't it? As Madrox squeezes off a shot around his injured dupe, Northern Patrol steps up behind Northern Guard as he falls, hit in the thigh.
Up from behind his rubble rises Remy, scrambling-darting out from the even more ruined barracks to run along what was once their south wall. One hand draws his pistol, a favourite and familiar 9mm loaded with tranq rounds, holding it cocked and ready as he slips along the west face of the ruins to close on the men who aren't busy getting all up in Ilad's naked time. "Boys," he says, as the gun dips and sights, safety off and his finger light on the trigger as he aims at the nearer one. "Y'all will be wantin' to keep those hands where I can see 'em." He then goes ahead treacherously and shoots at the closer one, after taking a moment to square up his stance and fire with both hands bracing.
And that is no not fair. Flame-roasted naked men should not jump out from behind buildings. Her own training allows her to take Ilad's blow and minimize the impact, but it is pure defensive reflex with no thought forward behind it.
Lori is not about to try to keep herself stable enough to shoot from the air, so she takes a couple desperate hesitated moments to count, and then floats quickly over to drop down behind Northern Patrol. She pulls out her side-arm as she does, dropping the rifle to the side, but there's still time needed to make the switch.
Success! Sort of. Although the duplicate starts recovering his breath and scrambling out of the way, he ends up scrambling kind of over Prime, whose gun is knocked off-mark, precious seconds lost. ALL UP TO YOU, LORI.
Dante's still looking. Scanning, scanning sc-oh hey! Naked Ilad. Ooh. Good thing it's not night time. All of that cold ai- Right. Running over then!
Ilad drives home a blow to follow it, a solid heel kick to her diaphragm following the turn of his body into her. He is a little unsteady, but moving with the fluid and brutal certainty of his own extensive training.
With the rubble having settled enough to not fall on his head, Harrison skulks back west along the alley, but really everyone already has a shooter. But JUST IN CASE. He is here.
Belladonna and her building blowing are a little slow on the uptake after that last radio transmission, but up she scrambles eventually: to her feet, with a hand grabbing for her sidearm as she goes. She heads toward Madrox, position-wise, just 'cause he's probably the closest of her last-known coordinates. She's a little bit unsteady, after the power drain-y boom, but dogged.
Alessia is watching, empathy let to spread wide. Experience shows there's sometimes a curveball, and she's keeping a watch out for it.
Northern Patrol isn't about to give anyone time they need. He ducks behind Northern Guard, then pushes him forward into Madrox and his wide swinging shot, spinning around to pull his gun up at the sound behind him. He freezes, mouth gaping as Lori descends.
Dante doesn't walk, he runs over towards the burned down barn, gun ready and glancing around for any other problems that may be heading their way. His attention turns towards the woman Ilad's fighting, gun following his line of sight to point towards her. "Ma'am. Just stop."
Running Woman doubles over falling to her knees and gasping. Her hand scrabbles at her boot, but her hand goes still at the second man's voice. She looks up to glare at Ilad and Dante, then holds her hands out at her sides in surrender.
The freezing is what Lori needs--she aims her live ammo shot for Northern Patrol's knee. She doesn't follow with any shots for Northern Guard, wary of Madrox's safety.
The dupe just gets out of the way, leaving his tranq pistol behind him, but Prime, already in an awkward position, goes down under Northern Guard's collapse, the barrel of /his/ tranq pistol pressed against the man's ribs in case he moves. If he can breathe enough to discharge it.
The man Remy shoots jerks and pulls a knee up under him, but flops back down before he can get any further. The second man rolls to his side and pulls his gun out from underneath him, swinging it up to aim.
The thing with handguns is that they've got shit range for accuracy, even when you're well versed in them. This decreases still more, despite the bracing and the double grip, when you're still trembling from powers expenditure. Thus, when the second gun comes out, Remy is close enough and finds it more expedient to just take two quick strides forward and aim a solid kick to the man's gun hand.
Ilad is quite obviously without the equipment to restrain his surrenderee at the moment; he tips a nod to Dante and then paces a step or two away, letting the structure of the barn bear the brace of his lean as he staggers into it.
Alessia gets to her feet, feeling her way as she slips along, trying to go unnoticed towards the shed. Attention is somewhat divided as she feels at the minds in her awareness not currently covered by her teammates.
Dante does have the equipment but considering how women who do the surrendering like to grab at guns when they come close, Dante keeps the gun trained on the woman. He cracks a slight amused smile, training the gun at her while he fishes out a hand restraint from one of his pockets. while watching the woman, although her situation isn't all that funny. "Need a jacket?" The question is likely not meant for Running Woman.
Northern guard is already whitefaced and week from the loss of blood, and all his attention is focused on trying to keep pressure on his own leg. Northern Patrol's scream echoes throughout the area.
Belladonna is still moving, skirting around the northern edge of her now-collapsed building and headed west, handgun in hand and eyes wide and alert. (Maybe a little adrenaline-wide, really.)
Ilad shakes his head, fist clenching with the brace of his hand against the wall. "Water," he says, indicating his most immediate concern. Whatever, decency.
Ow. The gun goes flying from wrist-kicked guy's hand, freeing it to wrap around Remy's ankle and yank.
Great. He's getting bled on. Madrox rather heartlessly shoves the guy off (with some aid from his fellow-friend-self and taps on the comm). "Status? We need to hit the north shed. Where Lowell is."
No one is in any shape to notice Alessia's movements, so her path is unimpeded, though she passes Belladonna.
"Feeling that way, Fission. Tryin' to check for anything unexpected before we go rushin'." Al answers Madrox, a glance at BD given.
And down Remy goes, but with a firm grip kept on his gun and his motions moving with the force of the yank. He falls forward into a roll and tries to boot Wrist-Kicked Guy in the head with his lagging foot as it passes.
Ilad fails to report in. Sad.
Oh, hey there Alessia. Between crossing paths and Madrox on the comms, she comes to a slightly skittery near-halt as she changes direction, her westward progress turning north rather than south at what used to be the edge of her building. "Nightshade headed north," she radios, her progress less cautious sneak and more headlong scramble.
And what good little spy would not go to a place like this without something to drink? That would be like going on a long term trip without bringing cards, right? AH HA HA haaa- :| "Chol and I are at the barn." Dante relays before tugging out a baby sized water bottle from another pocket and tossing it over Ilad's way. It's kind of a cruel sized bottle. Like the type airlines give you. Gee, wonder where Dante got it.
Ow, /again/. Wrist-Kicked guy releases Remy's ankle and throws up his arms to shield his head. Remy's boot slips past his head and hits his shoulder with wrenching force and suddenly the man's shoulder is no longer in quite the right spot.
"Alive," Harrison reports blandly over his comm. He starts off west towards the shed, but Remy's little scuffle comes into view first. He lifts his rifle and aims it at the man on the ground who's /not/ his teammate. "How about you settle down," he suggests.
Remy, having thus demonstrated some proficiency with Tai Kwon Leap, (BootToTheHead!) finishes his roll and whirls around to fire a tranq dart into Wristy McDislocated before he can get any further ideas. Only then, somewhat belatedly, does he sound in with "Gambit. Two o' the fuckers are nappin'."
He chokes on his own scream and looks up the barrel of Harrison's gun. His attempted nod forces out another sound of muted agony. He's probably relieved when Remy tranqs him
"Uninjured. North of the barracks," Jean-Paul reports from south of the barn. (No, just kidding. He is where he said.) He has shifted higher to take a perch, kick his feet, and watch the dwindling fuss below.
"Great." Madrox does his level best to train his pistol on the two bleeders near him while he keeps chattering. "Morrigan and Nightshade are headed north to get Lowell. Any hostiles still standing? Otherwise, anyone unoccupied's welcome to join them. Carefully."
The northern shed's western wall is soot-covered by the wildfire still eating it's way through the remains of the camp. It is hard to see on appraoch, but a gap between the roof and the eastern wall has sprouted a narrow metal tube.
Alessia is still playing touchy-feely like a sweaty palmed teenaged boy with the emotions in the northern shed. Maybe it's because she's short, or because she's not looking for some gap between roof and wall, but she does not see metal tube, unless light bounces off it.
Inside the shed, emotions range from exasperated reluctance to cold focus.
Lori holds her gun on the two with Madrox also, until he gives the order about those unoccupied. After giving him a quick glance over, she jogs in that direction herself.
Because Remy is not what most would consider a very good man, and because the now-sleeping Wristy tried to shoot him, he gives another kick in passing to the downed man (Lighter than before, practically a love tap.) just to express his feelings. Then he gives Harrison a nod and a "Want to circle 'round from the other side of the gals?"
Harrison looks Remy up and down, perhaps double-checking for random bleeding wounds, then nods. "Sure thing." He heads off in a quick lope south of the burned building to make a circle back north and eventually approach the shed from the west. Eventually.
Belladonna's headlonging checks itself as they get closer to the shed; in time to Madrox's continued cautioning, at least. She steadies her grip on her handgun, but her emotional cocktail is all adrenal-high recklessness that hasn't bled off yet. "Morrigan, can you get a head count?" she asks, over the comm for clarity despite their proximity.
As the others circle and loop, Jean-Paul drops to run clean-up. Where goons have fallen, tranquilized, he pauses to check for a slow and steady pulse before zip-tieing their hands. He does a head count of his own in the process.
A rifle retorts lets everyone know that not all the shooting is done, aimed, oddly enough, in Jean-Paul's direction. Hey, the angle is hell.
"Feelin' two." Al glances over at Belladonna. "Ya all right, Nightshade?" Her expression suggests BD take a deep breath, as she keeps encroaching on the shed, turning empathy from feeling to pushing, trying to make the minds inside bored, apathetic. It has to be boring, all boxed into a shed.
Remy is relatively unscathed. There may be a couple little surface cuts from overachieving flying concrete chips, but the damage is cosmetic only. He trots along at Harrison's wing, pistol once again held up and ready.
Madrox for his part busies himself securing the non-tranquilized two next to him, with his good buddy self assisting. Both jerk upright at the sound of the shot.
The noise of the shot draws Ilad alert, from the vague dehydrated haze that he has spent sipping quietly through the tiny airline serving of cool water. He orients on the sound, squinting past smoke and blaze. He is obviously not going to be useful again anytime soon.
Harrison jerks and stills a bit at the noise of the shot, stalling as he turns the northwest corner of the burned building with the shack in his sights. His gaze snaps around in an attempt to locate the source. "I thought we got everyone," he snaps into his comm.
One of the minds is easier to turn, the exasperation circling into a sullen recitation of fact and figures and formulas that are far more interesting than the inside of this shed. Besides, it is hot and stuffy. Which does not seem to bother the second mind. Missing the flying freak does, however. He burbles with grar.
Alessia jerks, and blue eyes widen to study around even as she lets the one mind drift to kneejerk attack the other. She throws everything in her emotional arsenal at it as hard as she can as she gets low. Maybe she can scramble some focus and let everyone get clear.
Well, if it is a clear miss, then Jean-Paul all oblivious turns his gaze up toward the origin of the noise. "Apparently not," he mutters to himself -- and goes back to zipties.
"Crisse," is Remy's assessment of the gunshot, from where he's crouched on automatic pilot until he can triangulate where it came from. Eyes peer across the compound, seeking where sniper nests might be stowed.
"Let's . . . shut that up," Madrox mutters into his comm and leaves his duplicate to finish securing as he begins his own belated approach of the shed.
"Morrigan reportin' two in the shed," Belladonna fills everyone in as she, her gun, and her player's terrible dice skills approach the shed.
The gun fires twice more--bang, bang-- shooting in pure, random anger. Or maybe not so random. Belladonna is hit, the round heavy enough to throw her back and crack a rib.
"Gun in the shed. He's /pissed/. Nightshade down." Al reports over the comm, before she's clenching her teeth to try and wrestle that anger down and replace it with guilt.
Belladonna does not go bang-bang; in fact, she does go bang: it's pure reflex that fires her own weapon, before she goes /thud/ against the ground. She's down pretty much for the count, and doing her best impression of a dying fish, if silently. And while holding very still. (So really, it's just a lot of gaping.) Eventually, she manages to get out a breathy, "Fffff--"
"Damn," Madrox says, snaps, rather, and moves into more of a run. "Maybe I can get the door open."
"Jesus--! Where the fuck is that coming from?" But then Alessia is answering the question, and Harrison's gaze swings back over to the shed. "Fuckin'--" On the west side, he is perhaps safer, and resumes that westerly approach to the shed.
Lori had been heading at least somewhat in that direction, and sees BD go down. She reaches out at the extent of her metal sense, trying to "see" the gun in use, and then figure out what kind it is enough to do something to it.
To the sound of the gunshot, Dante's form tenses as he flits his gaze in the direction of the sound before glancing back to the woman, keeping his gun trained on her. Oh what to do. She surrendered so nicely, it would be quite rude to just go and t- To the report of Nightshade being down, his expression darkens, looking to the the not-so-Running Woman.
"If y'can't," says Remy to his comm, with the slightly absent tone that says that sharp concern for Belladonna is being roundly suppressed for long enough to deal. "I could. F'y'don't need much from me after."
Belladonna, rib-cracked, tries to push up onto her elbows and then thinks better of it with another sharp, short noise. (At least it's not over the comm.) She'll just stay ... down here. It's some very comfy dirt.
The gun is an assault rifle, and it moves toward the door. Alessia's guilt lays overtop the anger, smothering all reason. There is a flash of intent a second before a heavy thunk cracks the door frame. A second thunk follows and the door flies open. The last man standing stomps out a step and starts to spray bullets in a steady thump, thump thump.
"Shit! Look out!" Al has the presence of mind to not quite shout into the comms as she herself dives into the dirt. Blue eyes squint as she's taking aim with her tranq gun to aim for the gun wielding maniac from the ground.
"You're a better lockpick than I by a long stretch, but don't exhaust--" And then the bullets spray. Madrox hits the ground, this time with enough sharp force that he spills out another self. "Bring him /down/, who the hell--" he blats rather more than orders, what does that even mean here, and tries to fumble a bead from his bad angle.
Remy's crouch becomes Remy's dirt-hugging as the assault rifle lets loose. He starts an army crawl out of the line of fire but closer to the shed, handgun holstered as he tries to close the distance.
Lori gets her shield up quickly enough to deflect only partially, and still takes a bullet in a slash against her upper arm. Her attention goes to the fruits of practice spurred by JP--she tries to bend the barrel enough that the gun will no longer fire.
Ho-shit. Harrison is not quick enough to avoid the graze along his ribs before he hits the ground. With no pistol to hand, he instead aims the rifle from the ground and attempts a shot at his knees. FU KNEECAPS.
Ilad has time to register surprise before he registers pain; he starts to move, turning as though to shield his most vulnerable anatomy from the hail of bullets even as he angles to dodge behind the barn. It is too late. The round gores his thigh, loding itself deep in the muscle as he stumbles and falls. In the dirt, he curls in on himself, useless gun fallen from his hand to rest quiet on the earth beside him. Hissing with pain, he drags himself the rest of the way behind the barn, and snarls something. (It is /familiar/ pain, at least, a bullet in the thigh.)
At the chatter of automatic gunfire, Belladonna -- stays the hell down, thank you. She does at least make a token effort to scrabble for her gun, and to aim it -- but without sitting up, even she doesn't actually bother to fire it. Surely, someone else's shooting will take the sumbitch down. Right?
While Jean-Paul's body armor is skewed toward minimal coverage, that coverage -- you know, it includes the chest. (It is limited to the chest.) Knocked off his feet by the solid strike, he flattens, dazed, and stays flat. All things considered.
Well fuck. That answers that. Dante pulls the trigger, shooting a tranq into Running Woman before heading over towards Ilad behind the barn. Out of the line of sight. God, hope that woman doesn't require two tranqs. "Chol!"
The shooter's kneecap explodes. Well, it's more his shin bones, but close enough. His leg collapses under him, the gun spraying bullets up it breaks away from his hand and slides across the dirt. He bellows in pain and induced outrage. Inside the shed, Dr. Lowell stares in horror. She also doesn't move. Just like Running Woman.
Madrox spares no sympathy for exploding shins. As the man's leg buckles, Madrox barks into the comm. "Status! Anyone else down?"
And just like Bellowing Man, once his bellows subside into a drugged stun.
Ilad growls something in Hebrew from the ground and does not otherwise respond to the shout of his codename. He still doesn't have a working communicator, so he doesn't report in either.
This time, at least, Belladonna's hissed, "Fffff--" is over the comm.
"Ah'm fine." Al is scrabbling to her feet to head for the shed at a full tilt to kick the gun further away from the guy with the exploded mess of a lower leg. "Tranq him?"
"Gambit," Remy reports. "Unhurt," and he sounds a little disbelieving about that fact as he rises from the dirt and hovers a hand over his tranq pistol in its holster. "We might need to be careful, on account o' that leg o' his," he suggests, as a slink back into line of sight reveals the carnage. "Wouldn't want him not wakin' up."
Jean-Paul's response will be made at a delay after he catches his breath against the sharp pain in his chest. He rolls onto his side, however, and glides cheaterly to his feet rather than abuse the injury.
Yeah yeah Dante's got to relay this stuff. Yeah yeah. First thing's first. Check the wound. Oh. You really need some pants Ilad. Dante tugs off of his jacket, checking out the wound for any bleeding before flinging the jacket on top of Ilad's... indecency. "Chol's been shot," he reports over the comm.
"Secure Lowell." Madrox shoves his fresh new self in that direction and gets to his feet, looking back toward the barn, the wreckage. "After all this -- can't lose her. First priority." The report brings him quiet. "How bad?"
Harrison draws himself up from the ground, rifle firm in hand, and moves slowly to the shed. Likely Lowell won't give them too much trouble while they secure her, right? AT LEAST NONE OF THE AGENTS ARE DEAD.
Dante glances towards the general area of Ilad's wound but doesn't lift up the jacket, "Thigh, but not bleeding."
Belladonna doesn't have awesome cheatery: her eventual push upright is a much slower, crankier, owwier thing. At least it's not another concussion, right?
As Lowell secures, Madrox divides, to go do some hovering. Like bland, brown and black little moths.
IT GOES WELL. GMing by Tit.