ArchivedLogs:Battle For Harlem: On Holy Ground
| Battle For Harlem: On Holy Ground | |
|---|---|
... or what's left of it, anyway. | |
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-09-26 (Part of the Battle for Harlem TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> St. Martin's Church - Harlem | |
This church is not large, but it has a quiet majesty to it all the same, in the way of many old churches. A tall stone building tucked into the center of Harlem, it is one of the earliest Catholic churches in the city, and it looks it. Inside, the wooden pews stretch off towards the alter, the crucifix an immense and solemn wooden carving that presides over it all. Most of the windows are stained class, rich and vibrantly colourful depictions of various saints and Biblical scenes. Small recesses along the wall hold the Stations of the Cross depicted in intricate stone carvings, and the prayer alcove holds real flickering votive candles unlike many modern churches who have switched over to electric. The vaulted ceiling has detailed painting done between its arches, and the distinctive scent of frankincense often lingers faintly in the air. Below, the basement of the church has been heavily modernized; there is a pair of meeting rooms for classes, a pair of bathrooms with showers, a door leading out to the tiny adjoining rectory building where the pastor lives. In tribute to the church's namesake, ministries for the poor are a large part of the church community; one room holds a wealth of donated clothing that is free for any to take. With the large dining room and industrial kitchen that serve hot dinners six days a week and distribute donated bags of groceries every Monday, there are frequent visitors through here who are often in need of the helping hand. It's a beautiful fall afternoon in Harlem, crisp and cool and sunny. It's been largely quiet on the block of St. Martin's church, the usual foot traffic of people in and out -- Mass won't start for a few hours yet, and the scheduled afternoon confession time is winding down. Outside the church, a young man is taking a smoke break. Inside, the last of the penitents has not yet left church, conversing quietly with the priest in one of the pews. The church is crowded despite not having Mass, people sleeping in the pews and chatting up in the choir loft; the basement is more crowded still, and the neighboring buildings contain their own share of refugee mutants. The police cars down the block have grown considerably in number over the past little while -- at the moment their radio chatter has grown, too. But the church, itself, for the moment, is calm. For the moment. The lines of police officers surround the blocks around the church, as normal, and people continue to bustle back and forth through the screening processes. Perhaps it is a little bit stricter of a search than usual, but no more than it has been on some other days, when there was some particularly hard-ass sergeant supervising the checkpoints. A few things are different, however. Off to one side, surrounded by another small cluster of officers, a grey-haired police officer in a white dress shirt and the badge of a deputy chief is talking, quietly, to a lieutenant. Blocks away, gathering in a parking lot, police vehicles have began to amass. Blue and whites, ESU trucks, two armored personnel Bearcats, and a gigantic mobile command post. Quiet doesn't in all times imply soft, nor shy - as the long days carry on, Kay has held prolonged moments of silence even amongst his people. 'His' people seeming to expand, really, to any that have come through the church doors. Silent pats on the back, nods of the head, quiet words - he has these to offer. And a vigil, lurking by the windows. He's rarely away from the middle floor now; lurking up along the ceiling stairs at times, or standing with his squinted face smashed to the window, hands cupped to either side of his head to look up the street towards the police cars. Right about now, though, he's wandering the pews in a crouch with a trash bag. Gathering up spare cups and stray napkins - the random detritus that inevitably builds up amongst people living tightly packed together. He's changed out his shirt for a donation t-shirt. But over it, he still wears his kutte. And a black bandanna tied around his left bicep. "Sergeant Pointdexter." Malthus' voice comes in through the comm; it possesses the serenity of a Zen Buddhist's morning mantra. Six HAMMER operatives -- clad in gleaming black bodyarmor and helms -- cling to the side of the rumbling 8-wheeled Stryker (the steroid-weaned lovechild of a tank and an SUV). Malthus' voice comes from the interior, where he sits beside one of his technicians -- who is currently bringing the three Osbots attached to the roof online. "I read you, sir," Sergeant Pointdexter -- the leader of the six HAMMER operatives -- responds. "We're green." "Remember," Malthus tells him. "All eyes are on us, today. We do not need a fiasco. Keep it clean, keep it heroic." "Understood, sir." The Stryker lumbers toward the parking lot where the other police vehicles have mustered. Regan has developed a new piety, in the past week; the young woman has shown up to the church looking rather unlike herself but /consistently/ unlike herself: sharp features, long braided black hair, hazel-green eyes, even if the face she wears is not her /own/ it has become a familiar one among the refugees. She is, at the moment, seated up in the choir loft, a tablet in her lap plugged into the wall. She's browsing slashdot, currently, and scanning the world below at intervals. Ion is just emerging from the basement, where he's been on lunch duty, turning piles of donated nonperishables into edible food. He still wears an apron over his jeans and blue polo shirt, his own MMMC kutte somewhere down below being used as a blanket by one sleepy young girl. "Oy, you need a hand, vato?" he is glancing to Kay as he emerges, circling around the edge of the room -- and stopping, with a frown, to look out the window. "Ah --" His brows crease uncertainly. "How long's ESU been out there?" Currently, Rasputin bears the form of not a cat, but a small gray pigeon. The mutant has been constantly surveying the police for the last week, and is nearby the police vehicles when, suddenly, the massive Strkyer pulls up. Hir tiny bird eyes widen, as Rasputin makes a mad flight towards the church. Flying in through a temporarily opened door, ze quickly tosses a whisper over to Regan, panickedly. "Regan, REGAN! Some sort of massive tank like vehicle, I mean, I don't think it's a tank, but some sort of massive car just pulled up to the police. I don't think it's standard fare either. Possibly military, or national guard, or HAMMER. All I know, is they're here, and I'm worried.." Though his angle is all wrong to see, Kay reflexively cranes up his neck to look over a shoulder towards the windows, "Long enough." Long enough to get his back up. He crams the garbage bag into Ion's hands to hold open as he gorilla-walks along the ground on his knuckles, collecting. The flutter of wings echoing across the ceiling earns a flexing down his rangy muscles. Jumpy, who, Kay? "How're the kids?" ALL the kids. Luke Cage is in the crowd, wearing a dark gray suit, and a light yellow Oxford shirt. As out as he is these days, this is really his neighborhood more than ever. Sure, people give him dirty looks everywhere he goes, but at least they're outnumbered outside the church. He waits patiently for his turn to be frisked. Regan glances up from her tablet, lips compressing but no other outward sign immediately coming from her. "One of their Strykers?" She turns to look out the window, drawing in a slow breath. "Thank you. Ah. You might want to head back out. We'll need your eyes and ears. Keep track of what is happening, and keep us," this comes with a flickering mental image of Kay and Ion, "in the loop." She tucks the tablet into her purse, and a silent voice sounds down to Kay and Ion: << They're here. It's time. This would be a good time to evacuate the people who cannot fight. The people who can -- gather them, too. >> The call goes out over the radio. "Lock it down." Cage has only just gotten through the checkpoint when the police who were letting people through stand in the way while others pull blue police barricades over the sidewalks. A few of the police vehicles leave the parking lot and head towards the church, officers handing down metal barricades from the back of the trucks. The roads and sidewalks begin to be blocked off, left and right, police streaming out of their cruisers to block off the flow of traffic. A voice rings out into the air, commanding, from the loudspeakers mounted on top of one of the ESU trucks. "This is Deputy Chief O'Neil of the New York Police Department. By order of the state fire marshal, the church must be immediately evacuated. Leave the building in an orderly line and disperse." A pause. "Let's do this the easy way and all go home early." Rasputin simply nods, and is about to fly out when the loudspeakers go off. << Crap. It's beginning. >>. As the door to the church opens, Rasputin is fluttering out, hidden in the crowd, as ze flies over to the ESU trucks, landing on top of one, listening in. Rasputin twerks hir head sidesways, like a pigeon, to blend in, as ze listens in to nearby conversations. "... too long," Ion replies, grimly, once Regan's alert comes through. For a moment he still stands holding the garbage bag before he crumples its top together in a fist. "The kids are eating. I'm going to tell them. I'll --" He claps Kay on the shoulder, briefly looking towards the door. "Be by you here in a minute." Inside the Stryker, Malthus monitors the situation quietly. The one-eyed Captain folds his fingers atop his lap, gazing upon the monitor in front of him serenely. On /top/ of the Stryker, three Osbots begin to hum to life -- though none of them detach. "Wait on Chief O'Neil's signal," Malthus rumbles to Sergeant Pointdexter. "Remember the briefing." "Yes, sir," comes the automatic reply. Cage looks around, standing still amidst the people rushing this way and that. He grunts at the police announcement and nods to himself. He takes long strides toward the front doors, moving as quickly as possible without running, doing his best to keep his head down, and not draw undue attention to himself. Once at the steps, he pushes the heavy doors open and closes them behind himself. Inside, he calls out at full volume, "Who's in charge here? They're about to go all Kent State on you in here. Let me help." "Thanks, gorgeous," Kay says it perhaps too under his breath to be overhead by Regan - but the bright crescent-shape of his eyes when they flick up to her, fixed even now in a perma-grin at their corners, may as well convey it. He thumps a hand down hard on Ion's, when it hits his shoulder - almost too hard. It's a little too late to tell him to just take the chance to run. "--...yeah. I'll see you up here." Already, those occupying the benches are stirring. The dozing are now sitting up, those that had been sitting are now on their feet, grasping for their neighbors to help them up as well. Kay whistles through the gap in his front teeth, "Yo, folks! You hear 'em out there. If you wanna go out, now's the time, guys!" He's saying this while hurrying up the pews (tossing a Dixie cup over a shoulder). And presses his back up against the stone wall beside the window, tipping his head to the side to try and get a better view. Ssssss. It's silent, but sluggish heat shimmers are slowly wafting up through his clothes and hair. "How exactly do you propose to help?" Regan doesn't speak all that loudly, from the balcony up in the choir loft, but her voice seems to carry down perfectly clearly to Cage regardless. "People who want to leave can leave, yes? Though there are some --" Her eyes drift down to where Kay stands, to where J.C. is quickly rousing, shaken awake by another mutant in the pews, "who can't exactly just stroll out of here and into freedom. Are you going to stand and defend them?" Oh - Kay does also note Cage's entrance. It's hard to miss. But his answer is pretty casual. In that he opens a 'by all means' gesture towards the inside of the church, where people are MILLING. And packing together in small clusters. Implied: Hey. Help yourself, bro. Luke glances around, nods at Kay, before finally spying Regan up in the balcony. His mind blurts <</to the death/>>, but he certainly didn't direct the thought as an intentional 'message'. Instead, he shakes his head. "No. No, we can do this without violence. /Please/. Let me walk them into custody. I'll keep the trials /public/. I can /do/ that. But even the wrongfully accused have to stand trial." The only other mental impression is that Cage firmly believes every word, whether they're objectively true or not. "Ese, if you really think this lot is getting fair trials you're --" Ion just shakes his head, here. And then disappears, trash bag in tow, taking the stairs two at a time down to the basement. From the church there /is/ a trickle of exodus starting -- but nowhere near as many as might be expected from the numbers. A desultory handful of homeless mutants. A woman with toddler held in her arms. An old man with snowy white stubble on his lined face. The majority in the church, though, here not only for lack of otherwhere to go but because of actively trying to /dodge/ law enforcement, seem to have no intention of /leaving/ the church. Some trickle back upwards towards the chapel. Some head down to the basement. "Stay if you're going to fight and /protect/ these people," one man mutters to Cage, "or get the hell out of our way." The Deputy Chief's voice calls forcefully, echoing off of the buildings and along the street. "By order of the State Fire Marshall, leave /now/. We will be coming in to take you out in five minutes, and when we do, you will be seeing the inside of a jail cell. Leave now, and no action will be taken against you." With no information coming from hir current location, Rasputin flies atop the Stryker, listening in, just a few feet away from one of the drones. Ze pecks at the Stryker as to not seem out of place, and makes a pigeon sound. Ze steps a few feet around, trying to listen in. "Look," Cage calls out, "There's no winning this fight! What're you gonna do? /Kill/ all those cops out there? Right now you /do/ have a chance at a fair trial, whatever he says." Luke gestures at Ion. "But if you turn this into a firefight - which by the way, is /exactly/ what they want you to do - then you'll be on camera, guilty of exactly what they're accusing you of. Please. /Please/. Don't do this..." Cage looks around at everyone present, pleading in his eyes. "/We're/ not turning it into anything," Regan answers, hands turning up. "Do you see anyone here firing? If they choose to fire on peaceful people --" Her shoulder hitches upward in a shrug. "All we've wanted is to have a safe place for everyone here. I'm sorry if that's unpalatable to you. There's the door. It's your choice which side of it to be on." The trickle of mutants out of the church tapers off after only the first few. It doesn't seem like more are forthcoming. Rippling in sluggish, thick heat, the way a summer grill might ripple, Kay says serenely towards the window, "They're not taking me alive." At his sides, his knuckly long fingers are curled into hard, familiar fists. Then he calls brightly over a shoulder, "Anyone /don't/ wanna get out of here, you might wanna get downstairs then, cats and kittens. Cage's right about one thing." And he moves right past Cage, clapping him on the shoulder as he moves past. His skin is extremely hot, but the touch is also just /warm/, friendly. But distracted - he's watching the door. "It's gonna become the OK Corral in here, sooner or later. You wanna help brother, you go on out and tell them - we don't want to hurt anyone. But if they attack, we'll defend ourselves. And if they bring guns..." A low snarl of flame leaps up one arm, and then fades. "Five minutes," Sergeant Pointdexter -- clinging to the side of that Stryker -- replies. "Do they really think they're going to--" "Cut the chatter," Malthus responds; someone listening very carefully /might/ just hear his voice from within Sergeant Pointdexter's helm. "We're moving shortly. Remember what we're dealing with: Trust nothing." The Stryker revs up; the Osbots stay in position, folded neatly into a triangle pattern on the machine's roof. "You are illegally gathered. Sit down and lace your hands behind your head; you are being detained." Even as the words ring out, a heavily armored troop of police officers head towards the front door. They are dressed in riot gear, with large plexiglass shields and extended batons. None, at least, have any assault weapons - that's the second group, standing back for the moment, sub-machine gun slung around their shoulders. The riot police head up to the doors of the church, keeping clear of the windows as best they can. One of the officers smashes one of the windows open and tosses in three canisters, one after the other. One of them begins spewing thick grey smoke, and a few moments later, the other two explode in bright flashes of light and sound. "Goddamnit," Cage says quietly. He clenches his jaw, and slips outside. Once everyone has left who wanted to, he shoves the door shut behind him. He stands out on the front of the steps. He ducks instinctively at the noise of the smoke bombs going off, and calls at the police at the top of his lungs, "Stop this, you have no right to advance on this building! By New York ordinance 337, the people in residence here have claimed legal sanctuary. You have no right!" There's a scream from inside the church, at the sound of that flashbang. It's taken up by others inside: "Oh my god," "have they started shooting?" "Do WE shoot?" "We don't have guns!" "Don't shoot!" But the sound of the flashbang is quickly /followed/ by a rat-tat-tat of gunfire, coming from one of the police with assault rifles a short ways back. The gunfire rattles through the broken windows, hitting the crucifix in the back of the church with a hard rattling sound of metal on wood. "Don't think they're listening." Regan sounds grim. "People. Follow Ion to the basement if you cannot fight." "We're green. Go." Malthus' command is quick -- sharp -- and accompanied by the thunderous roar of the Stryker's engines kicking into full gear. The machine /tears/ across asphalt in a snarl of thick rubber, rumbling toward the church with a violent lurch. The Stryker stops about 7 yards away from the entrance; all six HAMMER agents are on the ground, assault rifles pointed at the windows and entrance, approaching rapidly. Two of the three Osbots pop off the roof, their distinct hum filling the air as they swing wide to flank the HAMMER agents -- and then Cage is emerging from their entry point. "Sweep for the legs," Sergeant Pointdexter says -- and two of the HAMMER agents are firing directly at Cage's feet. There's a THWPTHWPTHWP sound from the barrels of their guns -- glueballs fired off to glue the man's legs firmly to the ground. Above, one of the Osbots lets loose with a similar barrage, aimed at Cage's face. "GO!" Kay has a vulpine-sharp shrillness when he raises his voice - not out of control. Just LOUD, with his teeth bared, stooped over with a the back of his wrist pressed against the underside of his nose against the SMOKE filling the room. His other hand, for a moment, is also cringingly hovering over an ear. "Fuck this." He shoves forward his hands, and the world explodes outwards with it in an incinerating shockwave. The front doors of the church explode outward in a fiery eruption of charred wood fragments and glowing embers, engulfing Cage, the splatters of glue balls, and any men standing in front of the door in solid flame. As soon as the engines of the Stryker start, Rasputin is off, flying towards the church, through one of the smashed windows, coughing up smoke. Ze quickly is sending a shout to the others. "They've got drones! Incoming!" Rasputin's then landing near Regan, huffing. "Two drones, but there's a third on the Stryker. This..holy shit...". Outside, in the aftermath of the flame that has swept out the front door, two of the riot cops -- still /smouldering/ -- are, apparently, panicking; their weapons turned on the HAMMER agents on the ground, assault rifles firing on /them/ instead with a sharp rat-tat-tat. Ion returns from the basement in long leaping strides, stairs two and three at a time as he bounds back up into -- a wealth of smoke and flame. The electrokinetic starts coughing upon emerging from the basement stairs, calling out into the still-fleeing mutants leaving the chapel: "Follow the sound of my voice! {Follow the sound of my voice. This way.} This way," English and Spanish both in turn to direct the mutants still heading out to the basement. Outside there is a crackle of ozone tinge in the air, power starting to be sucked out of -- most everything outside on this half of the block. Cars, phones, light posts. Robots. Cage was indeed held fast. His feet were jammed thoroughly and the blob aimed at his face engulfed nearly his whole head. He was scrabbling franticly to free his face and breathe, when the door exploded behind him. He is engulfed in flames, and shards of the heavy wooden doors. Thrown the several yards to smack against the front of the Stryker, Cage lands like a limp sack of potatoes, draped across the angled nose of the vehicle, smoking, but also free of any glue. And clothes. It seems some tattered remains of his boxer briefs are managing to do their job, but nothing else is left when the smoke clears. He lies still. "Holy shit--" is all Sergeant Pointdexter manages to get out before the front doors of the church /explode/ in a wall of flame swooshing forward to engulf him and the man next to him. Both of them are sent reeling back -- the fire retardant suits manage to hold off the bulk of the flame, but the rush of concussive force is enough to send them onto their backs. The four other HAMMER agents are fanning out, opening fire with a series of THWPs -- back into the entrance of the church that just exploded. The two flying Osbots make a tiny 'BLZZZT' before suddenly tumbling to the ground, as if someone flipped an off-switch. Inside of the Stryker itself, lights suddenly flicker, dim, and go out -- the monitor crackling before going dead. The Stryker itself relinquishes one last growling rumble -- before sputtering to a halt. "Sir--" one of the technicians begin, but Malthus is already raising his hand." Cops are firing on the HAMMER agents. A bullet pings off the back of one of the four firing glue guns at the entrance -- the agent drops to a knee, shouting -- "RADIO DOWN! Shit, we're--" "Stay in fucking control!" Sergeant Pointdexter shouts, getting up -- smoking, smoldering, but still alive. "Around the Stryker! Take up point! We're going the fuck in!" The breach is a quick one. Only a few minutes after the police officers first knocked on the door and ordered everyone out, the sound of machine gun spurns them to more anger, even as they're ducking for cover at the sound of gunfire. "Let's move it!" There is a brief pause before the armed officers move quickly up, still crouching down slightly. More flashbangs are tossed in, and more smoke to boot, creating -- well. A thick wall of smoke to join the wall-o-flame for the HAMMER agents to try and navigate through. There's another crackling sizzle in the air, but then -- then there are /people/ actually listening to Ion, making their way through the smoke towards the basement door. "Shit -- Kay, man, I gotta --" He doesn't finish this. He curls his arms around one thin teenager, limping from a long-preexisting injury, to help support the boy on his way down the stairs. "This way," continues, first in one language then another, as Ion makes his way down the stairs. The door to the church belches out thick obscuring rolls of smoke like the mouth of some terrible dragon. Flashbangs can be seen flickering within, and there's the sound of crying out. The sound of coughing. And then another hard forcewall of flames roars out, raking red and yellow talons up to ten, fifteen feet, then fades again with a few oily heat shimmers once again. The aim is a little.. off. But with explosive shockwaves, you don't really have to aim, do you. The brief window afterwards has cleared the smoke enough to show Kay dropped to one knee, clutching his ears. "Wait, I have an idea. Maybe to throw them off a bit more. I could impersonate one of the head's voices and try and throw them off..but I'd have to get close...no, too risky. Should I head out for backup from home base?". Rasputin asks, cocking hir head, though still panicked. "This is going out of control, they're going to come in any minute now, we need to get out of here soon.". Control, outside, seems to be in short supply. One of the HAMMER agents outside, in an apparent fit of anger over the shooting police officers, is firing /back/. One of the officers drops; a second turns to shoot, too, taking aim at an agent's head. Aim, and fire. "Patience," Regan's voice is scratchy-hoarse down near Rasputin. "We just need to hold them at bay long enough for people to get /out/. Create whatever distraction you can." "Hhnnnnnngh..." Cage says, his usual eloquent self. He rolls over, just in time to see the armored soldiers disappearing into the smoke. He shakes his head and comes to his senses quickly enough. Watching the soldiers turn on each other, he shakes his head. "Goddamnit, you're in over your heads!" He rolls off the hood of the Stryker, and takes the glue weapon out of the hands of the closest surprised soldier. He smashes it against the Stryker, and yells in the man's face, "RUN, DAMN YOU." "Now," Malthus speaks in the pitch-black of the Stryker's interior. The technician nods -- and reaches behind him, pulling sharply on a lever... and proceeding to crank the backup generator. The Stryker suddenly /roars/ back to life; the engine inside snarls and kicks with a rumble as the HAMMER agents reassemble on its sides -- one agent helping one of the wounded agents back on. "Who the hell is opening fire?!" Sergeant Pointdexter asks, just as he's clicking his harness back onto the side of the vehicle. The HAMMER agent that Cage manages to snatch the gun off of seems -- surprised that this has happened! -- but quickly leaps on the side of the car, reaching for his sidearm. And then, just as the screens show signs of coming back on -- the lights flickering -- Malthus swings his hand forward, toward the driver. "Get us inside." The Stryker /tears/ for the burning front doors of the church -- where it intends to puncture a Stryker-sized hole, getting its head through before coming to a stop. Beyond the hole the Stryker has just torn in the church, smoke billows out in clouds. When the smoke has thinned somewhat, there is. One small old lady, clutching tight to the Monsignor with wide eyes. Rasputin nods to Regan, before flying out again. Listening to Pointdexter's voice, ze flies overhead the troops, as ze suddenly begins speaking, although sounding just like Pointdexter. "STAND DOWN! THIS IS AN ORDER! RETREAT, RETREAT!". As Rasputin continues to fly, ze does this again, this time, with the deputy chief's voice. "I REPEAT, STAND DOWN!". The sound is bouncing around, the location of origin untracable, as various voices of different heritage and accents plus the other two begin bellowing around. It later stops, as Rasputin flies onto a semi-stable area of the church, watching. Cage has only a moment to be disappointed in the soldier's choice to keep fighting, before the nearly-naked hero of harlem is promptly run over. He is suspiciously missing however, when the vehicle clears where he should have been. When it comes to a halt, a terrible, banging, rending of metal sound comes from underneath. Anyone inside would hear and /feel/ the attempted entry from below. "Jesucristo --" Ion's voice has resurfaced, somewhere, though it's hard to see through the clouds of smoke and flashbangs, "Kay, vato, we've cleared everyone. Ma'am," this might be up to Regan, though he uses no name, "we need to get you out. /Now/." Near the Stryker, a few more stones are dislodging where it punched through the wall. Thud. Thudthud. Rattlethud. The edges of the stone wall are starting to crumble in further around the massive opening. Ohholyshitwhat. "-are YOU CRAZY?" Kay screams, just barely throwing himself clear of the Stryker crashing through the church wall in an avalanche of old stone wall and collapsing stained glass windows. He hits the ground on his shoulder, rolls back into a low crouch behind some pews, blinking furiously to try and regain his eyesight. And stops for one long aching moment to look at the destruction. Then his mouth thins. He doesn't seem to hear Ion - can't, actually, after so many flashbangs, all he hears is a high clear single note of 'eeeeeeeee'. In close proximity, he thrusts forwards his hands, claps down his palms over the hood of the Stryker - and /bathes/ the entirety of the vehicle in a solid wall of not just flame, but deep, pervasive heat. Rippling inward to be felt gradually towards even the inside. Like lobsters in a pot. Somewhere in this chaos, Regan is making her way down the back stairs of the choir loft, also largely obscured behind the plumes of smoke. She makes her way towards Kay with a taptaptap on his shoulder that leads into a firm grip. "Come. Now. They're safe." She's tugging, firm but not rough to bring him over towards Ion and the back basement stairs. << Everyone else is clear. Get safe, >> comes to Rasputin, just briefly before she is focused on /hauling/ towards the back staircase.
The wall of heat promptly swells across the vehicle. "WITHDRAW! FUCKING WITHDRAW!" Sergeant Pointdexter screams, all six HAMMER agents pulling back and behind the machine. Inside, Malthus is typing at the keyboard; the Osbot on topside makes a soft 'bzzt' -- before launching into the air, briefly rushing past the flame. It doesn't have much of a charge left; 30 seconds, /if/ that. And that's at minimal capacity. But while it's hovering in the rafters, it's snapping pictures -- taking a steady stream of information into its multi-lenses, eating up everything it sees. It's around this point that the interior of the Stryker starts to heat up -- and there's a steady clanging underneath. Malthus sighs: "Pull us back. /Now/," he states, even as he reaches for a curious wrist-mounted device. "Shit -- guys, this is going to hurt. But not as much as getting shot to death would, si?" Ion reaches to /grab/ Regan and Kay by the wrists. And then the three of them just -- vanish, leaving behind little except a continuation of obscuring smoke. Rasputin taking Regan's mental note, Rasputin mentally nods in a way, sending a quick message, << Good luck! >>, as ze flies off into the night, heading towards Ascension Island. The voice ringing is completely gone now, with Rasputin out of range. Cage bangs and scrapes along under the Stryker as it tries to reverse through the wreckage it caused on the way into the church. Finally, Cage's arm and hand punch all the way through the floor of the vehicle, and he wedges both hands into the opening, prying it open like a cardboard box. Luke hauls his whole upper body into the cabin and points at Malthus. "Sweet Christmas you psycho. Where do you think you're going?" He reaches for the military man. As Cage's arm rips through the metal floor, Malthus steps back -- the rumble of the Stryker turning into a cranking, grinding noise in response to its innards being so crudely /ripped/ in the mutant's hands. Malthus, meanwhile, carefully picks his way in the tight, cramped space around the widening hole -- the technician quickly stumbling toward the front compartment, making himself scarce. When Luke emerges, standing inside of that tight space, he finds himself confronted with Malthus -- a one-eyed man in black with a curious wrist-mounted... thing -- in one hand. And in the other hand... he's holding the lever that controls the back of the truck's hatch. Which, as Cage reaches for him, Malthus is in the process of /throwing/. The door swings down with a pneumatic hiss; a chaotic landscape of police officers -- bristling with guns, screaming -- along with HAMMER agents, their own guns trained on the church /and/ the interior of the car -- faces Cage, just as he reaches out for Malthus Rogers with one hand. Further back, cameras are trained on the scene. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Malthus replies -- again, with all the serenity of a Buddhist monk. Cage provides a truly shit-eating grin as he meets Malthus's gaze in their private standoff. "This man," he calls loudly over his shoulder to the press, and the police. "And the men under his command, opened fire on a church, and the peaceful protesters within. I am detaining this madman as is my right as a citizen of New York until he is taken into police custody to answer for his crimes." Not a bad play for a man reduced to fighting crime in his /actual/ underwear. The screams outside of the vehicle grow louder; /more/ than several guns are now trained on Cage -- Malthus has taken pains to give the man as wide of a berth as he can within the cramped space. At Cage's announcement, Malthus produces a /slight/ smile. His voice is low -- too low, perhaps, to be heard over the shouts of 'FREEZE' and 'PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD' and 'GET DOWN ON THE FUCKING GROUND' -- by anyone /other/ than Cage, at least. It's hard to say just /who/ the police are talking to. "Mr. Cage," Malthus tells him, "I don't think you fully comprehend the nature of this conflict." He pauses, before adding: "You might want to get down on the ground." Malthus raises his hands as he makes this statement; the HAMMER agents are lowering their own weapons. "By the way, did you know these vehicles cost over 7 million dollars? I don't suppose I could send you the bill." "Down on the ground. Hands behind your back." This time, they're talking to Malthus and Cage both. "Take you /all/ downtown. Let the judge sort you out." The riot police are closing in, armed with a myriad of plastic handcuffs that -- let's face it, are frankly ridiculous to put on Cage. And /yet/. With their original quarry fled -- well, they came here to arrest /somebody/ and they sure aren't leaving empty-handed. "Really? You probably shouldn'ta rode it through a building then... Opened a hole big enough for a man to climb through." Cage lets his smile drop when he turns to face the police. He puts his hands on his head when he realizes they're /both/ under arrest and nods with each instruction. Step out. Turn around. Kneel down. Lie down, face down. He lets them handcuff him, and walk him to a squad car, without any comment to the frantic press still present. | |
