ArchivedLogs:Gods Among Men (Prometheus Raid, Team 2)

Gods Among Men (Prometheus Raid, Team 2)
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jackson, Jim, Logan, Parley, Tatters, Flicker, Jane, Kay, Peace, Carnage, Kai
In Absentia	2013-03-07 Team 2. Finds some lightning. Finds some dragon. WARNING: Violence, death, acid. (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location ???
Here is a compound. Quiet. Daylight is waning but not quite gone. There /was/ a fence to get through but look! The fence has been GOTTEN THROUGH already, partly by aid of some telepathically-coerced guards and partly by aid of your Intrepid Teleporter. Now there is this: one large squat steel-and-concrete building, one heavyset door. A heavy buzzing sound coming from somewhere on the other side of the building. As well as some yelling. Hopefully the rest of your party is ok! But you don't know that. Because you are here. Facing a door. It's kind of doorlike. Some time after the spurt of yelling, an alarm starts sounding inside the building. From out here it's faint. To most normal senses, anyway. Flicker has disappeared from the party, as is his wont, in his typical quicksilver flash of movement. Some short time after this, Hive's voice snaps into everyone's head, blunt and quick although, for once, not hammery-painful as it usually is. Just a voice: << Fourth basement floor. Most of the guards are coming up the front right now. Probably that won't last long after you break that door down, though. Best hurry. >> Jax is standing back from this door; for the moment he's watching the sky instead, with a slight frown. The door gets only a cursory glance before: "Jane." That's it. Just Jane. It sounds like a command, though. Tatters steals up to the building and stands by Jax's side, quiet and solemn, flicking an eye curiously towards the noise elsewhere. She's rather up-armored for the occasion, looking rather spikier, bonier and /toothier/ than she usually does, a grim cross between an orc and an ankylosaurus wielding a massive, crude home-made iron falchion that looks more bludgeon than blade . . . and wearing a cheerful quilted gambeson in checkered greens and browns and yellows, with smattering of more brightly colored patches appearing towards the bottom when material had started to run out. Over a pair of jeans and sneakers. On her back is her customary backpack, with some additional straps for securing her big cleavy thing. Jane is near the middle of the party, looking rather more comfortable in her camoflague fatigues than she has wearing pretty much any clothing that she might have been seen in before. "Yes sir," she says, raising her hands. A translucent red thin shimmer appears in the air, rippling with electric-like jolts, before it stabs into the door. The sound of sizzling can be heard as the door is literally cut quickly into four pieces. The edges where the cutting had happened are raw and steaming slightly, as if subjected to a blowtorch. A warm smile lilts on her face, stepping forward while the shield still is up to glance down the stairs. It vanishes and she steps aside, gesturing quickly. "Go, go, go." Lingering near the rear of the group, Logan shrugs his shoulders - scowling. Every so often, he glances behind himself at the ground as though searching for something, but the shoulder-shrug might suggest he has already given up. "That was my last one," he mutters in the barest of whispers under his breath in irritation. The buzzing noise from across the compound elicits an even deeper scowl from the grizzled old mutant (not that he looks old), as does Hive's voice in his mind. "I hate that," he hisses from between his teeth and then inhales sharply his nostrils. "Perimeter's clear," he murmurs a second later, hinting as to where he has been - and then he moves as though to push past other mutants and head inside. Inside the facility, there is a room under constant survelliance. It carries an unusual sign that reads: 'ABSOLUTELY *NO* REFERENCES TO MYTHOLOGY BEYOND THIS POINT'. Two guards watch the sole occupant -- an old, shaggy white man in his 50s with a salty beard who is sitting on his bed and drooling as he stares at the wall -- through the one-way mirror. "So, what's his...?" -- "Professor of mythology. Went schizophrenic. No family, no medical coverage, ended up homeless. Turned mutie shortly after." -- "So is that why...?" -- "Just... trust me, son. Don't say a goddamn /thing/ about mythology around him. Save us all a lot of trouble." In another room, a young Korean boy is in a hospital gown, sleeping in his bed. Two guards stand outside of his room. One of them mutters to the other: "Does this kid even speak English?" -- "Nope. Not a fuckin' word." -- "What's he do, anyway?" -- "Has an imaginary friend." -- "...that's it?" -- "Yeah. Just pray you never meet it." Then the alarm is going off. Radio chatter. Both the guards observing the old man and the guards outside the boy's room stiffen and snap to attention. The former stay at their posts while the latter immediately move to enter the Korean boy's room. "Get the VENOM," the older snaps to his compatriot, moving to rouse the boy awake -- the boy mumbles, eyes popping open, squealing out in a language no staff here understands: "{Oh... oh God, please no, not again...}" Inside there is a hallway. Also, a louder blaring of alarm. Also a lot of commotion, from somewhere; shouting, gunshots. Something bright and flaring from around a corner. More yelling. Many thumping footsteps. But for the moment not much else. More doors. They are helpfully marked! Laboratory 4. Administrative office. Stairwell. Cameras in the corners. It takes some short while after their entrance before a voice sounds in the headsets of the Promethean security: "Additional intruders on the premises. Rear exit." Hefting her blade, Tatters follows swiftly after Logan without a word. She's the least experienced of the raiding party, but knows a marching order when she sees one: fighters in front, casters in the back. So she jogs down the stairs, eyes dialating to adapt to the dimmer interior, swiveling towards the sides of her head to give herself as much peripheral vision as possible as she advances. There's a noise from inside the stairwell. Somewhere further down, more footsteps, but when the door opens it's only one, a somewhat glassy-eyed guard who -- beckons the intruders inside? Probably not his marching orders, and when he speaks it's his own voice, for sure, but the surly-gruff swearing he speaks is very familiarly Hive's: "Jesus fuck this place is swarming, come on. They have a fuckton of creepy and I don't want to see what the fuck they're waking up." Jane follows near the middle of the group, one hand resting on the pistol on her side. "Let's move. Move low, move quick, and stay against the walls." she instructs as she heads down towards the guard. She eyes him suspiciously, then smirks and nods, once. "You heard the man." she says, in a gruff, commanding voice that carries an iron tone of one whom books no disobedient shit. A disgruntled marine drill sergeant turned high profile security outfitter, Maxwell Trench receives his orders from the control room, stirring his company to alertness. They are not the first run, having previously been off duty, but upon the sounding of the alarm, they are called to duty. They strap on kevlar vests and extra magazines and lock on weapons to straps around their shoulders. They line up in the door way and prepare, making the second wave rushing up stairs toward the onslaught. A group of four in the back grab long distance rifles, those preferred by snipers, and put them over their backs, bypassing the others and driving upward toward the roof. A single coffee cup rotates around its bottom rim a few sloppy times before sitting still on the table as the heavy bodies of lower ranking footstolder guards ON BREAK surge in a single wave to grab up their riot gear and guns off the far wall. In a clump!-clump!-clump! of boots, the room stands suddenly empty, door slowly slides closed behind them, a lonely donut abandoned beside someone's car keys. Someone always forgets their car keys. A good thing for some, Logan is quick on his feet. The moment the guard opens the door, he lunged forward as if to punch the man in the gut - only to stop short when he recognises the voice. There's a growl from his throat as he stalks past - and then promptly jogs ahead, chasing a scent. There's an obvious *schikt* sound as six metal claws erupt from the feral mutant's knuckles in anticipation of trouble. In the observation room for the old man, the two guards listen to the radio chatter. They hear about the floor above -- 'protocol Maximum Carnage'. They hear the gunfire, the panic, the confusion -- the explosions. But as they listen, neither notice that the old man is no longer drooling. No, his head is now cocked -- eyes attentive -- as if he is somehow /listening/ in. "chem-trails," he whispers. "cia implanted transistors in my eyes. murder-drones inbound. mutants made by fema government plot. bloodmonster on the loose. what is happening." The guards hear him, but don't pay attention. The Korean boy is wriggling, now. The second guard returns, fumbling with a vial filled to the brim with some black substance, shoving a syringe into it -- filling it. "I, I got it," he mumbles, looking to the older guard -- holding the boy down. "I -- are we seriously -- what are we doing?" -- "Gimme that," the older guard responds, snatching the vial out of his hand -- turning to the boy. Shoving it into his arm as he squeals, kicking and screaming in Korean: "{NO PLEASE NO NO NO DON'T I DON'T WANT TO KILL ANYONE DON'T LET HIM OUT DON'T LET HIM *OUT* NO NO NO--}" Jackson trails the others inside, closing the door not-quite-all-the-way behind them with a last press of lips at that buzzing sound outside. He has no pistol. No armor, either. And today, no shining piercings or bright colours; just the same drab city-camo and a grim expression as he heads down the stairs, tensing just slightly in the dimmer light. He eyes the other stairwell doors as they head down, and as they pass, a faint shimmer of light blocks the first doorway, barricading anyone from entering the stairwell. << Whole cadre of guards heading up the stairs right towards you. One more floor down. >> That is the heads-up from Hive. He doesn't sound particularly alarmed about it. Mostly just grim-flat. Tatters nods respectfully to the Hive!Guard as she passes, giving the stairs down one last suspicious glance before she carries on -- following Jane's directive, jogging in a crouch along the opposite wall as Logan, keeping her eyes open. And her ears likewise as best she can, though the layers of bone she's layered around her head have made her hearing a touch dimmer. Something to figure out for next time. Jane waits until the crowd has mostly past her, glancing back for stragglers before she darts forward, back into the crowd, her heavy boots padding surprisingly quietly. She nods to Hive's information, cracking her fingers out. Her eyes glance towards Jax, watching him carefully as she moves. For the moment, she issues no more orders; this isn't her op. For now. "Smelled 'em a mile away," Logan grunts - and he is already on the move. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he barks: "This whole place stinks! Here they come. I'll slow 'em down - maybe even leave a few for ya." A moment later, he charges through the doorway leading to the stairwell and leaps straight onto the stairs. Team mates on the 3rd Basement Level would be able to hear the mutant's growl amid cries of alarm - pain, too - and gunfire. Looks like he found the welcome committee. Radio chatter continues. Somewhere above, a fight rages -- and mention is made of the monster rampaging several floors overhead. "Dracula's up," the radio informs the guards observing the old man. "And he's pissed." At the word 'DRACULA', the old man *snaps* to attention -- and so do the two guards. "Wait -- he can't -- shiut, he can't /hear/ the radio, can he...?" the younger one asks. The older one's eyes bulge: "Oh. Oh no. Oh fucking /NO/." "9/11 inside job -- dracula? dracula. victorian england invasion literature. england," the old man says, his head lifting to stare at the ceiling. "anglo-saxon mythology arthurian legends roots in beowulf which has roots in nor--nor--nord..." The older guard slams down on the panic button, lifting his gun to point at the window. "CODE RED! CODE *FUCKING* RED!" He opens fire -- bullets ripping through the window, shattering it into a thousand pieces. But in the next instant -- there is a crackle of lightning, arcs of energy weaving between the old man's extended fingers. Every bullet is frozen in mid-air. "STOP," the old man says. "Hammer. It is time." The bullets collapse into a single pooint -- followed by their guns, pulled from the guards' hands, crumpling and twisting -- electricity crackling across their length -- forming into... a crude, massive war-hammer. The Korean boy's eyes are now jet black. His screaming has stopped. So has his writhing. The older guard is no longer holding him down -- instead, he is stepping back. The boy's entire body is growing... greenish. Scaley. The bindings are starting to snap. And now, his mouth is opening, as his eyes become a yellowish reptilian: "FIN..." "Fourth basement floor," Jackson says, "Everyone stay together till then --" And then Logan goes running off and Jackson's jaw tightens. "Hive," is muttered, quietly, less quietly, << Get him back here, those are /definitely/ not going to be the worst we have to face. >> Aloud, just: "Keep going." Jane glances as Logan heads away, but she does not pay him too much mind. She clamps down the stairs until they get to the fourth basement floor. She flexes her hands. "Are you ready?" she says, looking back and forth around the little group. She looks at Jax for a nod of approval, and then with a tug and a flick of her fingers, she shears the lock into pieces and pushes the door open with a kick. As soon as she does so, she briefly raises a shimmering red shield that covers the doorway, peering through it for immediate threats, then drops it as quickly as it appears. "Intruders heading to Basement four," comes a clipped voice through the Prometheans' headsets. "Reinforcements, take stairwell three." The guards Logan tears into are not expecting him to COME FLYING at them - and instantly begin to open fire. The stairwell goes from being filled with the orderly sound of steps in procession and and the clack of guns against shoulders to an explosive collection of both long and short range weapons. It really depends on who goes for their service pistols and who goes for their sub machine guns. BLAM BLAM BLAM! Rat-at-at-at-at-at-at! BLAM! It echoes up and down the stairwell. << Jackass, >> snips a voice in Logan's head, which is probably not how orders are /supposed/ to be given, but --! Hive is less than polite on his good days. << Do you know what a team is? You don't go back, I'll /make/ you go back. There's something big coming, down there. Bigger than some flatscans with pistols. >> The squad of snipers takes their time to get to a backstair case and run up it, waiting on the roof for those wishing to leave. The rest of Trench's men move toward the stairwells to head for the scientists, but pause when the great raiding mutant Logan appears. They stay in formation as the other group opens fire. "You lot, subdue that mutant. The rest of you, with me." Trench orders half the men to open fire on him while the rest move on to Basement Level 1, looking to escort their scientists and doctors out. Tatters sighs as Logan pulls an about face and jumps off -- THAT sure feels familiar -- then continues on, peering through Jane's shield over her shoulder and then stepping around her into the room as it drops, falchion raised before her. Blood spatters the stairs, the rails, the walls... and most of it is not the Wolverine's. Some of it is. An automatic rifle gets slashed in half before more than a couple of bullets can rip into the mutant's side - eliciting a bellow of rage from him. Another gun explodes in its wielder's face as adamantium claws cut through it a split second before it fires - and bodies of guards tumble backwards, blocking up the stairwell like... well, like a toilet. What does that make the Wolverine, then? He snarls at the voice in his head. "Shut the fuck u--!" he begins barking verbally at Hive, but the pain of a recent, not-yet-healed gun-shot cut the sentence off. It also serves to remind the warrior mutant of the stakes - just before he dispatches the guard who shot him, with a rake of his claws. "Fine!" he grates through his teeth at the disembodied voice, and tosses one guard into another two. Then he claws his way back toward the group, over a pile of bodies - some living, most dead. "Stay the fuck outta my head, before I rearrange yours, kid." Hey, at least he's complying. Just. There is a sound, not unlike the high-pitched whine of a transformer moments before it bursts -- and the door to the old man's room explodes. Burning wreckage propelled into the farthest wall. Along with it -- two guards, their bodies nary more than smoldering char. And out walks an old, scrawny man -- clad in a medical gown, eyes /blazing/ with electricity -- clutching in one hand a massive war-hammer crudely fashioned from scraps of metal -- and in the other, a similarly fashioned shield. As he emerges from the doorway, his burning gaze settles upon Jane's shield -- and the mutants behind it -- voice *BOOMING* toward them: "ART THOU... GODS?" In the other room with the Korean boy, the guards are plastered against the wall. "He's -- he's got a chip, right? He won't kill us," the younger one babbles, watching as something yellow-green and impossible swells up before them. "He has a chip. He CAN'T hurt us. Right? Right? Please tell me he has a chip--" -- The thing that is swelling before them grins with hundreds of teeth -- jaws dripping with acid that sizzles as it hits the floor. It reaches a clawed hand up to its temple... and shoves it in. There is a lurid *THKT* as it DIGS. And PULLS. And RIPS a chunk of metal out of its own skull. The chip hits the floor with a dull 'ping'. "FANG..." it rumbles. << First hallway, to your left and right, >> Hive's voice comes. To the whole team. Logan included. << Twelve people in cages on this floor. Seven in the left hall, five in the right. >> Jackson's hand lifts almost as soon as the man appears, a shimmering nearly-translucent wall appearing, not around the group but in front of the old man, blocking his path from getting closer to them. "Jane. Logan. Take the right, get everyone out. Tatters, you're with me." He's starting down the hall, a wary eye kept on the man as he heads for the branching-off hallways. There's an explosion. And a guy in a dress with a hammer in shield walks out of it, shouting a challenge. And something inside Tatters takes over, a instinct long-trained, and long-dormant -- for once in her life there is no ambiguity, no dissonance of the ridiculous and the heroic overlayed with the real, pulling at her from oppsite directions. Today there is no reality here, and so she responds without hesitation, raising her weapon in salute and staring down the stranger proudly and croaking a reply. "NAY, WE ARE BUT MEN. BUT THAT SHALL NOT DETER US." (Belatedly, Jax's order tugs at her attention. But it can wait a few moment, she's in her element now.) << People. Not men. >> Hive is getting all politically correct up in Tatter's quipping. Jane gives Logan a look and gestures him down the corridor. "Come on, we've got work to do." she snarls, half of her attention on that man on the other side of Jax's shield, and half on the corridor she begins to head down. "Watch my back while I pull people out of the cells. You run away or let someone through, I'll kill you myself." she growls, heading to the end of the hallway. She examines the door all the way on the end and pounds her fist against it twice. "Stand back from the door!" she orders, raising one hand and gesturing around the perimeter of the door. Several seconds later, the first door falls to the ground with a clatter of metal against concrete. The guards down here have now gotten the same orders as the ones two floors up: Evacuation protocol. This clearly does not sit /well/ with some of them, but they follow orders all the same, entering the left-hand hall from the other direction than the raiders to open up one of the farthest cages. There is a quick trio of gunshots in succession, bam-bam-bam. << Seven in the left hall, four on the right, >> Hive reports, in his same grim-flat tone. "Damned pet freaks," Trench curses to himself as he starts procedures in basement 1. People have already dropped all the work they are doing and start pulling portable harddrives out of the computers they are using and load them into hefty sacks that the security guards present them with. Another pair of office staff grab heavy electric magnets and start wiping everything on the computers that have either had their harddrives ejected or were not in use at all. Computer run systems all over the base start malfunctioning, but the power stays on and the video cameras keep recording. Medical monitoring is off. Environmental control is off. One person starts stuffing the limited amount of paper in the office complex into incinerators and starting them on fire. It's getting hot up there. The office staff is left to work while guards start grabbing scientists and doctors by their elbows and escorting them up the back staircase toward the roof. The prize personnel are squirmy things, having to take whatever they can with them as they run, sometimes forced to abandon data when time starts to run out. Only two watch the door for now. There's a brief flutter of motion in the room shortly after Jane opens the door. Flicker appears behind her, a little pale, a little tense. He doesn't speak. He just slips past her inside to grab one of the mutants inside by the arm. They both disappear shortly after. "Get in line," Logan growls at Jane, and makes for the first of the guards to enter the hall. A stab here, a slash there, and those attempting to prevent Jane from her emancipation efforts. "Next!" Logan grunts as another man drops to his knees, clutching at his throat. The Wolverine appears to be quite content in his current endeavours on behalf of the mission. The old man's eyes narrow at Tatters' response. LIGHTNING crackles, swelling around him -- lashing tongues of it whipping across the walls, the doors -- searching, *SCORCHING* the walls. As the shield emerges, shimmering before him, he hefts the hammer up -- and roars: "I AM SON OF WO-DAN! ONE-EYED TRICKSTER! FRIEND-OF-CROWS! I AM /LORD/ OF THUNDER!" With each word -- nearly each syllable, the hammer *SLAMS* into that shield, cracking over it with near-impossible force -- the walls shudder from the sheer shockwave of impact. The walls around him are beginning to melt. In the room with the no-longer-boy, the guards open fire -- and the bullets dig deep into that swelling *thing*. "OhGod," one of them says, and then: "Please don't--" All that follows afterward are shrieks of anguish -- as flesh is sizzled from bone. The wall *ruptures* -- a swelling gout of acidic green mist rushing forward, hitting the opposite wall, filling the hallway with a thick, choking, flesh-and-stone rending gas. As something... MASSIVE begins to swell up and enter the hallway. Big as a semi-truck -- as it moves down the hall, walls crumple and crack, forced to expand to make room for it. Something green. Something... actually, uh. It's... uh, yeah. It's a fucking dragon. And it's heading straight for the hallway that Jackson and Tatters are in. "FOOM." There's another pair heading into the end of Tatters' and Jax's hall, clearly beginning the same endeavour. A punch of code, a thumbprint, one door opens. Two pairs of gunshots ring out. The guards emerge to head for the next door but -- then -- /dragon/. One just stops, frozen. Stares. "-- He had a chip, right?" He's saying this kind of /nervously/ to his companion. At another cell down the hall, two guards have emerged from the fight in the stairwell. One is rushing to unlock the door while his partner, blood spattered and gripping his abdomen, covers him. He raises his rifle and open fires on Logan. When the cell opens, there's muffled shots inside the room, and a short yelp. Then -- a wall of FLAME shoves outward through the door, carrying a charred-black body in riot gear on its forefront heatwave. Nodding curtly to Flicker, Jane turns to the next door. She looks briefly at the bleedy-guard and gives Logan a satisfied look. Another banging at the heavy door. "Stand back!" The door makes a creaking whine of a sound as metal strains against her shields and loses, and a kick of her boot lays it out on the ground. She glances in the room, eyes sweeping it carefully. At the sound of the explosion in the hallway beyond, her eyes turn to glance in that direction. "I think we might be wearing out our welcome..." she says, quickly heading to open the next door with only a brief, "Follow me," to the prisoner. << Five left on the left, >> Hive reports. << Two still to get out on the right. >> Flicker reappears shortly after the second door is open, to claim the rather bemused rescuee and disappear, once more. ... Dragon. Jackson was clearly not expecting /dragon/. His eye has opened wide, his face paled; the shield that goes up between him and DRAGON is instinctive. But he drops it again a moment later; instead a sharp beam of light shoots forward, searing-hot as it pierces straight for the dragon's head. "-- Tatters," comes only belatedly. "Dragon." That's about all the orders that should be needed, really. Jax is heading for the nearest cell door. The others sprout protective shielding around them, just in case those guards want to continue their massacre even in the face of Dragon. "We have no quarrel with you, Thor Odinson!" Tatters replies quickly but confidently, but soon turns and dashes off when more guards enter the room, shouting over her shoulder as she leaps towards the pair. "But time is short!" With a croaking roar she aims a two-handed swing towards the closes guard, ready to follow up with a shoulder-check at the other. At other times, she may have had some scruples about using lethal force, but the guys just murdered a dude. Behind her, something gigantic bursts into the room, and she mentally adds it to the list of things to hit with her sword probably. A quick flick of her wrist dispatches the gun on the guard pointing it at Logan. A second one dispatches the guard. Then it is on to open the rest of the doors in sequence, relying on Logan to handle the flow of guards. She glances back towards the hallway and notes the sounds coming from the other hall. They do not distract her from her mission. A body goes flying across the room (well, not exactly 'flying', but near enough) - courtesy of Air Logan, and slides into the legs of another guard that was taking aim at Jane from further down the hall. Both guards go down in a tumble, giving the Wolverine a chance to close the gap between them and dispatch each one with two quick slashes. "There's more comin'," he barks into the air. "What's up with the rest of you?" Bullets ricochet off the wall near him and he bounds back to yet another hapless individual attempting to interfere with his team's work. The walls behind Jane explode in a flash of fire and metal, threatening to send pieces of shrapnel digging into her and Logan's back. 'Thor' emerges, hammer crackling with lightning, shield before him. He decided to take a shortcut: "THE METAL IN MY HEAD BECKONS ME TO SLAY YOU," he informs them, before promptly swinging that hammer *DOWN* for the back of Jane's skull. "FIN. FANG. FOOM," the dragon chants, hurtling down the corridor -- the dragon *exhales*, a swelling cloud of green gas rushing forward to envelope the two guards -- flesh bubbles, sizzles, *melts* as they writhe, their bones crumpling to the ground. The laser beam strikes the dragon in the head -- piercing through the gas, burning into its skull -- and for a moment, it pauses -- as if confused. But then it only grins, eyes *burning* brightly: "FIN FANG FOOM!" it repeats, continuing to charge forward -- it moves /fast/, and the gas is rushing forward /with/ it -- causing the doors to start to melt and crumble. Inside the rooms, there is the sound of terrified shrieks -- the gas hasn't reached them yet. But it's only a matter of time. << HIVE get Flicker. These people need /out/. >> Jax's mental command is kind of clipped-terse, and a bubble of light grows around him. The next beam that shoots out is bigger, slicing across the dragon's eyes. When the wall explodes, Jane instinctively hits the ground in a crouching position. As the hammer-man emerges, she raises a shield, covering an arch from the floor to over her head. The hammer and the shield meet, electricity meeting electricity and sending a shower of sparks up over the surface of the shield. She extends the shield upwards and outwards with a shove of her hand, trying to throw the other man away from her. Or incinerate him. She's not picky. ...and then Tatters stops, sword covered in blood, one guard on the floor beside her and the other staggering back, a second away from the same fate, when Jax's statement catches her attention. She stands staight up, turns, and looks down the hall. "So it is." A dragon. That shrugs off a laser and is carrying a cloudkill aura. Priorities rearranged she charges back down the hall yet again, leaving the guard standing stunned as she runs straight at the monstrous foe, sword raised, meeting his Fing Fang Foom with a "JOOR ZAAAAAH FRUUL!" Logan blinks. "I had to ask," he mutters. Spotting Jane and the... Thor?? He takes a running leap directly at the 'demigod', claws extended and ready to rip into the creature (assuming they even can!). "Hey, Goldilocks!" he bellows mid-air, trying to distract the figure from Jane, if at all possible. Escaping prisoners down here are of the high security level; as they emerge from their cells, the evidence of safety measures in place shows. Some have the glassy eyed of the heavily drugged, one is dragging a pair of lead shackles. One young man, extremely tall and wirey-lanky, is GRINNING. The ends of his almost shoulder-length hair ripple in heatwaves. Without seeming to notice or otherwise care, he has a hand beneath the elbow of a wizened old woman with massively muscular arms. And only arms. His grin strains to force up a wall of flames to burn back oncoming debris and deadly acid. A ribbon of sweat trickles down his temple for the effort. Another blip in the hallway, and Flicker reappears -- and disappears just as quickly, having reappeared in the face of an oncoming cloud of gas. The next time he appears it is with a decidedly more pained expression, part of his camo gear melted away and angry red seared into an arm. But he's working his way through the cages that have been opened, grabbing people. Disappearing. There's a /press/, meanwhile, a hard push of telepathic intrusion, seeking out the minds of ThorMan and Dragon. Do dragons have minds? It's searching, anyway. 'Thor' is hit by that rising shield of energy -- hammer shuddering as his blow is blocked -- but his own metal shield swings forth to take the brunt of the blow. He's sent reeling back into the very hole he made, along with Wolverine, who is now *hurling* himself at him. The shield is lifted -- and claws proceed to gouge through it, *slicing* into a fore-arm -- tearing through tendon and nicking bone. 'Thor' roars, stepping back -- right before a mini tidal-wave of electromagnetic force proceeds to rush forward, slamming into anything metal in his immediate vicinity and send it rushing back -- probably with second-to-third degree burns for its trouble. The dragon rushes forward -- right into those eyebeams. The blast *sears* across its sensitive, gushy bits -- eyes 'popping' beneath the heat -- and it screams, clutching at its own face, its forward motion briefly arrested. The gaseous mist begins to settle as it gouges at its own face in agony -- right as Tatters descends, sword swinging to dig into its lower jaw. Said jaw *SNAPS* down, trying to shut on more than a little of Tatters -- more acidic mist now spraying out of its nostrils. 'Thor' has the mind of... well, a schizophrenic. He genuinely thinks he is a God of Lightning. The metal chip in his head is helping to reinforce this current delusion -- it's also /hammering/ at his mental landscape, increasing his aggression and hostility to absurd levels. Right now, he is convinced he /MUST/ kill every single 'God' in this facility. Or be killed in the process: VALHALLA AWAITS. The dragon... his intellect is bizarre and reptilian and horrifying. It's also completely in Korean. Somewhere in the depths of it, though, Hive can pick up a little boy screaming, BEGGING in his native tongue for this monster to stop. Leaving her shield up as Logan attacks the other man, Jane quickly slices through the remaining prisoner's doors. Unlike previously, she does not cut the entire door out of its frame - instead, she merely burns a hole through the center of it wide enough for a person to slip through if they are careful. Too many things going ton at once. When the last door has a hole through it, she turns back to the attack, teeth gritted as she tries to close the man in a burning shield. Jackson has dropped his shield, for this second beam-onslaught, and he /hisses/ sharply as some of that green mist sprays down the hallway towards him, droplets eating through his gear to the skin beneath. Another shield is growing; this time it's smaller, localized, wrapping itself around the muzzle of the dragon. Covering its nostrils. Wrapping around its mouth. So this is what it feels like to be deep-fried... Logan arches his back in agony shortly after nearly taking Thor's arm off, and rolls - smoking - off to the side. For a few moments, he doesn't move, but his burns are already healing. At least he didn't wear his favourite leather jacket on this outing. Tatters drops beneath the snapping jaws, teeth skittering off the bony plate of her shoulder, dodging forwards beneath the dragon's bulk to get out of the (potential, if Jax's shield doesn't contain it) arc of its breath weapon, awkwardly maneuvering her sword to slash backwards with immense but unrefined strength and the dragon's hamstring. And then keep moving to get out from under the thing before it squishes her. "Basement 1 is evacuated, I repeat, Basement 1 is evacuated" Trench barks out the sharp words as he drags the last of the office workers up the stairs and onto the roof, snipers at each corner, using their automatic weapons for the time being, more concerned with close threats at this time. The personnel are loaded up into waiting helicopters, equipment stashed under seats and stowed in cubbies by stress shaking hands, fingers fumbling as they complete lock down procedures. The 'civilians' are then belted in and the 'copters begin their take off procedures. What remains of Trench's men stand guard, waiting to get their precious cargo underway. That mental presence withdraws, from both the assailants. But then it /hammers/ back in at Thor, hard and heavy, crunching down vicelike around that crazymind. It brings with it a host of other minds already, some pained, some panicking, but overall more /sane/ than the one it is battering-ramming its way into. Hive isn't being particularly gentle here. Just pounding his way in for control of this brain. 'Thor' is enclosed in a shield of burning fire -- and his eyes pulse with electricity. Suddenly, an electric shield of his *own* swells outward, RUSHING to meet the shield that encloses him -- even as he hammers down against the shield itself, blow after blow sending sparks flying. *ROARING*: "RAGNORAK IS AT HAND! THE END TIMES ARE UPON US! WOE BE TO THE--" Suddenly, the lightning just flicks off. And 'Thor' stops moving, staring vacantly ahead -- hammer dropping to the floor with a resounding *CLONG*. Followed by the shield. The 'God' of Lightning stands still, now piloted by Hive. The dragon's jaws snap and writhe as Tatters slinks beneath it -- sword biting into its leg, RIPPING through green, scaled flesh -- spilling what seems to be an acidic blood. Its breath weapon rushes forward -- only to harmlessly fill the space in the dragon's own throat and nasal passages, locked by Jackson's shield. Its eyes are already regenerating -- flesh reknitting rapidly -- as it snarls and *WRITHES*, first trying to *HAMMER* its weight down in an attempt to (predictably) crush Tatters -- then just *rush* forward toward Jackson, doors cracking behind it. In its mind, the boy continues screaming: "STOP PLEASE STOP PLEASE STOP--" Logan stirs by the wall, groaning. As he lifts his head, the last of his burns become visible even as they fade away. He pushes himself up onto his feet, looking pained, unsteady, and ANGRY. Then, taking advantage of the moment, he staggers forward, then lunges - and pauses. Logan looks the larger man up and down, clearly aware that 'Thor' is not in control anymore. A moment later, he scowls. "Hive, you're no fun." Then he kicks Thor in the ankle, in irritation - ignoring the flames and any further pain to himself. In answer, there's a -- rather /grumpy/ -- mental /push/ that shoves at Logan's mind and then fades away. As her shield cracks in places, the bright streaming of EM breaking through, it is good that Thor's pressure stops when it does. Jane's shield melts away and she is panting heavily, as if she just ran a long sprint. Beads of sweat line her face and she wipes off her forehead. "Fuck." she gives Thor a cautious look, then moves back into action, glancing to verify that Logan is still alive as she moves to the cells. "Come on, come on. Let's get you out of here." she says, ushering prisoners out of the cells into the hallway. "I've got some for Flicker!" she calls out, into the air. "NOPE NOPE NOPE." Tatters barely rolls out of the way as the dragon's bulk hits the ground beside her, then drops her sword and leaps to tackle the dragons tail as it starts rushing away from her and towards Jax. Arms wrap around the tail and bony spikes immediately begin growing inwards, giving her a tremendous (and painful) grip as she tries to hold the dragon back and hammer it against the wall. Tatters is...well, she's clearly rather outside her weight class here, but she's a pretty heavy girl and this has /got/ to be distracting. Two walls surge towards the dragon from the remaining cluster of prisoners; the lankydude's heat-rippled aura is /sweating/ off him, unleashes a shaky wall of fire, still grinning but already these few last pushes have his char-smudged fists shaking badly. A second wall rises up from the /ground/, a shove of stone, considerably weaker by the second, nearly lost all of its momentum before a small woman with a bowl cut drops with an odd, delicate elegance to one knee. "Watch your head!" the lankyguy rasps. Almost like a /laugh/. If kind of unhinged, trying to drag the small woman towards Jane. Who has two thumbs and is ready to BLOW THIS JOINT? Flicker is very noticeably slower in his jittery-hopping teleportation, as he returns. Into one cell and out again. Into another cell -- and he stops, for a moment, shoulders slumping as he looks down at the acid-mutilated body of the man inside. Just for a moment. And then he is gone again. A little more sluggish, grabbing prisoners to take them out. << Fuck the dragon, >> Hive says to the others, a little tense-edged, << Firedude is the last of your prisoners. Flicker'll come for you all in a sec, try not to die. >> << Jane first, after the fireman. >> Jackson is backing /quickly/ off towards a wall, trying to avoid both dragon and firewalls both, his teeth /gritted/ as he keeps that shield in place around the dragon's muzzle. << Then me, >> less out of self-preservation and more because, << Then Tatters, then Logan, >> the last two have rather more regenerative capacity. << What's it look like outside? >> "Fall back," he's telling his team, out loud, "we're heading back up. Jane, you first." Thor's response to the kick is non-present. HIVE NOW HAS COMMAND OF LIGHTNING GOD. He is fifty plus years old, pretty unhealthily skinny, hasn't shave in twenty years and smells like butts. Also, he can generate incredibly powerful short-wave electrical pulses and (very crudely) control metal within his immediate vicinity. The dragon is not expecting so much goddamn fucking /resistance/. His tail is caught, wrestled, and pulled -- he jerks back, his words smothered somewhere in his throat: "FIin... FANG! FOOOUMF--" just as walls of flame enclose around him, burning and scorching him -- the stone slams into his underside, *SMASHING* him up -- eyes rolling back. FUCK. The tail snaps up -- *hard* -- attempting to flick Tatters up into the ceiling with the rough equivalent force of a semi-truck going at 30 miles per hour. And then... the dragon reaches its claws upward -- *DIGGING* them into its own throat, where all the gas has collected, unable to bypass Jackson's own shield. With a grotesque, jagged *RRRRRIIP*, it proceeds to tear its own esophagus open -- a massive *rush* of gas sweeping out down the hallway in every direction at once. EAT ACID AND DIE, SHIT-FUCKERS. << Fuckfuckfuck, >> Probably isn't meant to go out over the mental intercom, but there is Hive. Flicker is jumping quicker despite the angry red welts he bears, despite his clear exhaustion. Grabbing the heatman, disappearing. Returning to plant a hand on Jane's arm. << Drones outside, >> Hive is reporting, << so watch your backs. >> There is, meanwhile, another hammering. Reluctant, but. Battering in at the dragon's mind. Seeking out that quieter voice inside. As soon as Jane gets outside, she is looking around. She waves the little crowd of people forward towards their getaway van, glancing up at the drones warily. They are, to be fair, not all that unfamiliar to her. Specifics, perhaps, but in general, she's seen them before. It is perhaps for that reason that she keeps an eye on them even as she starts to press people towards the back of the van. With the helicopters away, Trench orders the snipers to take up positions, with his remaining six guards with automatic weapons standing guard over them. They drop down to the edges of the roof and begin to take stock with their scopes where the mutant gathering points are and what the scene looks like. Snipers are slow moving creatures, learning before taking shots. The drones will be the primary distraction anyway. Tatters hits the ceiling with a crunch only slightly abated by her backpack and padded armor, releasing the dragon's tail as she falls back to earth -- and scrambling up its back, her limbs bending oddly and her face twisting and morphing as she tries to hold herself together, knitting bones back together while she /climbs/ the back of the dragon. With a shout she places both hands against the back of its head and starts /growing,/ her limbs sharpening and twisting and digging inexorably inwards, rending flesh as they go. And somehow in the midst of this, she manages to grunt out a thought. << Logan first, I'm goingtokillthisthing. >> Curiously, her mind-voice is not full of anger, but rather concern for leaving this creature in Promethean hands. << Not a thing, >> Hive grits back to Tatters, << it's a kid. >> << What? Fuck. I don't wanna leave a kid here either! >> That's even /worse./ Tatters halts the progress of her monstrous growyhands and settles for tearing a chunk out of the back of the dragon's head rather than continuing to spear in towards where its brain should be. << Can you shut 'im down? >> There are others outside, beside the drones. Scattering out from the front door, the rescuees from the upper floors. The other team. Liam is leading them, guiding the rescuees out, Peace ushering behind. The drones are zeroing in, though. Buzzbuzzbuzz. It provides a, well, /droning/ backdrop as they circle, movements somewhat erratic but the bursts of lasers they emit targeted well. Towards the escaping mutants. One skinny girl stumbles, drops, a hole seared in her back. Another flash, and Jax is deposited outside with Jane. Flicker returns, and Hive does not have time to answer Tatters' query; Flicker is braving a cloud of acid rapidly eating at his /flesh/ so he is /quick/ with his grabbing of the girl to whisk her away, back to the outside to deposit her there as well. And Logan. Thor and DRAGON are still downstairs, but at least Thor is compliant. << Trying, >> Hive answers Tatters. And to everyone: << Snipers on the roof. >> His mental bursts are growing less sharp, more mellow. But also brusquer. He is trying to keep track of a lot. When the dragon feels Tatters groping along its neck -- at its head -- when it feels those sharpening spikes digging into its skull, seeking out the vulnerable grey matter within -- it speaks its first word that /isn't/ part of its name. It's not a word anyone present is likely to recognize, however -- as it's in Korean, and spoken with the hoarse crudeness that having your throat torn open produces: "{NO!}" Then, it's slamming its head upward into the ceiling -- again and again and again -- with enough force to *crack* concrete above it. Its skull is thick, and hard, and able to take a savage beating -- but it's not impenetrable, and there are spots where the cranium grows thin. If Tatters can hold on, and weather several blows, she'll be able to tear the top of its cranium off. Its regenerative abilities are being severely taxed -- its been severely burned on both sides (its scales are charred; several dozen fall off, revealing new, fresh green scales swelling beneath); its leg is still bleeding its acidic blood -- its throat is rapidly sealing shut. In the depths of that horrifying reptilian brain, Hive soon encounters the tiny voice pounding helplessly against the walls -- a flood of emotions. Fear, horror, guilt, and screaming. All of it in Korean. Through Parley, Hive can get a rough translation -- that he's begging the dragon to stop, and /also/ begging the dragon to reach his limit. Apparently, the 'dragon' doesn't last for long; the kid seems to think he'll be done in another minute, and is desperately hoping no one else will die in the meanwhile. Indeed, the dragon seems to look... exhausted. Its once gleaming eyes are now dull; its tongue is lulling. It's healing more slowly than it was earlier. At Hive's warning, Jane raises a shield above the group, several feet above their heads and wide, to cover the rescuees and rescuers from the drones. She does not move towards the car herself, teeth gritted from the effort of keeping the shield up. It helps with the drones, but in the same way that a hard punch with brass knuckles in the spine is better than a hard knife in the same. For a moment, at the shield, the drones pause, in unison. And then one dives sharply towards the shield; on impact it detonates in a searing flash of white-hot that burns through the shield and drips melting shrapnel down beneath it. Two of its companions are tailing it in quick succession, a laser arcing straight for Jane. Well, for Jane's leg. Perhaps the explosion disoriented it. With the gates long-since breached, a squeal of tires and the ascending lusty 'vrrrrRRRRRM!' of a large vehicle motor has a large moving truck roar into the parking area ahead of the fleeing refugees. It doesn't stop until its already gotten turned around, and the doors of the boxed back slam open, Jim filling the doorway. He's particularly TREEBEARDY, his flesh gone beneath a thick, hard layer of oak. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, pick up those heels..." He reaches down a hand to help up the first wave of people, but a single grim look up at the snipers and drones above have him withdrawing to get back behind the wheel. This is going to be tight. Calm minds start picking out targets. One chooses to scan the vehicles, attempting a sight line on some of the drivers in question. Another chooses to disable the vehicles, aiming and waiting for a command to start shooting out tires. A third is scanning the inmates and feeling rescuers, sizing up the leaders like billiard balls, debating which ways the escapees will bolt when shots start firing. "And... Fire." Trench gives the command. Jackson grits his teeth, another shield sprouting shortly after Jane's vanishes. Not quickly enough to stop all the bullets, not /wide/ enough to cover all the rescuees. It's mostly shielding the van, and the last stretch to it, guarding those clambering inside. Another rescuee drops, at the sniper shots. And behind him, one in camo; Peace has turned to send an explosion up towards the roof, one powerful blast that shoots out that direction right before one of the bullets takes her in the skull. She drops, heavily. Jane lets out a pained cry that devolves into a growl as the drone burns through her shield. Her shield retracts inwards to cover up the hole, then collapses altogether. One hand pulls out her pistol and she levels it, firing several shots into the flying drone that made it past her shield even as she scrambles out of the way of the laser as best she can, the soft sizzle of her clothes - and flesh painful. Anger flares in her face and she brings her shield down, hard, on the drones, causing her shields to crackle and spark painfully. A middle-aged trailing scrubs stained with soot takes a bullet through the hip. When a younger man runs back to try and drag her back to her feet, he takes one through the head. Jim swears, leaning out of the drivers side window to return fire with a rifle of his own braced against a shoulder. A cigarette pokes out of the far corner of his mouth. Flicker has returned, for Thor, taking him outside with the rest. Hive, meanwhile, is still pounding his way inside the dragon's skull. His vice-grip sinks teeth into that reptillian mind, and through his Parley-conduit, he is -- half talking and half just /calming/, urging that young mind forward and clamping the reptilian one /back/. If it's growing weaker, he's definitely encouraging it to hurry up along that process. Tatters flops limply to the ground when Flicker snags her from between two foreful encounters with the ceiling. There's a moment before she does anything outwardly, until it occurs to her to croak out something that roughly resembles an "I'm good." And then hot shards of metal pelt her in the back. Ugh. But though she's externally still, internally her body racing with activity as she quickly takes stock of damage and begins repairing damage. A lung gets cut off until she can dislodge a shard of rib, to restore suction; internal bleeding is plugged by cloned patches of flesh, for circulation to be restored later. Bones get duct taped together. The couple of bullets that hit her in the meantime are safely ignored. When she finally rises she does so as an ungainly monstrous form on all fours, shifting and changing with each moment as she swings her head around, trying to make some sense out of all of the noises and explosions. Oh hey, there's a big metal thing swooping. What are you doing there, you should be in the sky! A tentacle lashes out and grabs it, pulling it to the earth where she strains to -- wait hold on. She turns the drone around so its laser points towards the roof, /then/ starts taking bits off. It worked in Portal, after all -- and the odd, metallic croak that bubbles up from her throat sounds suspiciously like "I don't blame you." Parley has already climbed into the truck, standing almost casually with a shoulder and hip leaning against the wall of the interior bed, his eyes closed and his palm pressed hard over the front of his mouth. He loans over the central channel of his empathy, streamlining Hive's brutal hammer into a scalpel's finesse, transferring and translating to honed points. The dragon shudders. Groans. That reptilian mind is starting to dwindle and diminish beneath the physical assault to its body -- and then comes an assault to its mind. Hive's hammering, complete with Parley's surgical assault. "FRrrrnfing..." And then, its eyes crackle -- and the entire dragon /shrinks/. Almost to half its previous size. As it does, its eyes brighten, losing their reptilian edge -- becoming slanted and brown. "{What... what... I am a dragon. I am -- oh God what have I done oh God I am a dragon I am a draaaag...}" He keeps shrinking, slumping to the floor, the acidic mist settling -- rapidly dwindling into a naked, crying, teenage Korean boy. One drone arcs sideways, at Jane's shots, its hovering orbit skittering off-course at the bullets. It recalibrates, though, veering back towards Jane -- at least till that shield slams down. The drone is sliced in half, dropping in smoking pieces to the floor. The one in Tatters' hand is self-destructing in a sudden searing burst of burning. Sizzzzzzzzle. One drone, though, is hovering, zeroing in on some of the rescuers. And then it just stops. Turns. Heads up to the roof, to carefully start picking off snipers, instead. That was /probably/ not in its original programming. Hive's influence doesn't withdraw, even after this transformation, but it becomes a lot less urgently hammering. Just a mental /collar/ around the boy's mind, just in case. Flicker is back for this one last kid, and with everyone out he jumps -- outside, with the boy, and then a quick hophophop over to the van. He collapses on the floor of the van with his cargo. Kind of quietly whimpering. His uniform is in tatters, the skin beneath an angry mass of red. "Jane. Logan. Tatters. Van. Now." Jackson is backing that way, slowly, a shield held up between them and Bullets. The odd behavior of the rogue drone draws a frown from him, but he doesn't spend overlong puzzling it out. Then it comes -- from within the compound -- behind the snipers -- a blood-curdling cry. /LITERALLY/. Something is *exploding* out of one of the upper floor windows -- oh, it looks like a desk. And something behind it... something... oh fuck what the FUCK is that. It is something made completely out of blood. That's what. It looks *vaguely* humanoid; except that it has way too many limbs, and *WAY* too many mouths, and *WAY WAY* too many teeth, and they're all screaming and giggling and chanting as they hit the ground and start to *move*, on all fours -- sixes -- eights -- arms forming into all manner of barbed swords, curved hooks, axes, knives -- all of it formed from writhing, shifting, hardening blood. "I SMELL BLOOOOOOOOOOD..." It -- whatever the fuck *IT* is -- is heading straight for Tatters. And Jane. And maybe Jackson. But /especially/ Ryan. WHEEEEEERE AAAAARE YOOOOOOOU. Logan snarls in anger at the... thing, but his eyebrows are raised in shock. Even *he* hasn't seen some things... well, until now. He begins ushering people into the van, leaving himself intentionally to last. Jane drags herself to her feet, limping over towards the back. "Move, move. Get everyone in and get out." she says, raising her own shield once more to back up Jackson's. She limps to the back door, holding the door open to let the others climb in before her. "Let's go, Logan." she says, standing up into the back of the van and looking over the team once before she closes her door. This is not a very HUMAN looking ground party; stretched out, dragged down, blown up and haggard, pretense - if it ever /existed/ - is foregone. Many have shifted flesh to defensive modes, other weaker shields or increased speed or maximized strength are utilized for the final rush into the vehicle, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Not all succeed. The air stinks of burning flesh and blood and rifle-fire smells and exhaust, all against the cold, cold air. The fiery lankydude manages a wobbly hop up onto the truck without help, swooning drunkenly against the door frame. Even this terrible apparition brings up a /wired/-exhausted grin. Granted, this might also be the drugs. A shadow falls across it when the door is dragged down and closed. Tatters yowls as her pet drone blows itself up, a ripple running through her body as it shifts, retracts, repairs, working around the burns, and the shrapnel embedded in it. A thought blasts out, vocalized the only way she can, before she cuts it off to keep the airwaves clear. << WHY WOULD YOU-- >> Ugh, whatever. She doesn't hear Jax's command, only retaining half of something that could be called an ear, but when Jane and Logan withdraw she follows, bounding to the back of the van and, once aboard, turning to give the complex one last look with her remaining eye. And whip a pair of appendages up, which twist and morph into something resembling a pair of hands...with a pair of middle fingers. To the building, and the snipers, and /especially/ that weird blood thing. And then she crawls into a corner and lies down for a bit to do some reconstructing. The naked Korean boy -- mind clamped -- does nothing but collapse in a pile of weepy, sobby, babbly-in-another-language. Meanwhile... the hemokinetic is scooping up bodies. So MANY bodies. He's been busy, apparently -- and now he's got a trail to follow. Corpse after corpse is snagged up by those swinging hooks and claws, dragged into the main body -- torn to pieces, literally *EVISCERATED*, the blood swelling out and joining his form. And there is /so/ much blood... and he is getting /so/ much bigger. And bigger. And... He is almost as big as the dragon, in this point. And he is speeding up after the van. He is moving in PURSUIT -- upon a dozen or more legs. 30 miles per hour... 35 miles per hour. All of his mouths *SCREAMING*: "BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD..." He might not be able to catch them in time. But FUCK if he's not going to try. He wants to open that van like a pack of sardines. "Ohfuckthis." Jim's cigarette falls out of his mouth at the sight of that THING, and he plops - /eagerly!/ down into the dirver's seat, shoves them into drive, and hits the gas. Tires smearing a layer of rubber across the pavement with a high clean squeal against the gunfire (and screaming and sobbing and laughter and panting in the back of the truck), everyone is ingloriously thrown back when friction-purchase is gained. And they ROCKET out of the parking lot. When they leave through the gates, a set of trees that REALLY hadn't been there before grow together behind them. The hemokinetic SLAMS into said trees with a rushing *CRACK* -- limbs entangled -- shrieking behind them, limbs writhing, tearing through bark as he *howls* with frustration. All those mouths screaming after them as they escape. "BLOOOOOOOOOOD...!"