Logs:Cash & Carry

Cash & Carry
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Isra, Heather
In Absentia	2022-02-14 'Burn'.
Location <VA> MAD Central Distribution Facility - Crystal City
This building, like the rest of the federal government support apparatus sprawling out from DC like a dismal bureaucratic fungus, is not even making the abortive attempt to look appealing. It looks like someone was building a parking lot but got distracted somewhere along the line and accidentally installed a warehouse not quite in the middle, which in turn sprouted a tumor of administrative offices. The interior of the office complex is as underwhelming as the exterior, intensely prosaic despite its incongruous makeup. It follows a formula perfected by corporate America: floors upon floors of cube farms, each with a crust of middle manager workspaces sandwiched between the lobby and mall-esque food court at ground level and the fancier administrative offices at the top. The adjoining warehouse is meant to be the latest in automated inventory management and distribution, but this has made it labyrinthine and irritating for the staff to access. The ground floor of the facility is built around a staggered series of loading docks where crates of Guardians and other specialized equipment are loaded and unloaded from the trucks that transfer them to and from MAD field offices. The levels above, each easily as tall as two residential storeys though somehow claustrophobic all the same, consist mainly of a rail system that moves crates into and out of storage. Someone with the inclination to do the math might observe the facility is significantly larger than should be necessary to supply even the projected MAD infrastructure. Here in the small hours, even the traffic noise from far too many highways feeding into the District has quieted. The facility is minimally staffed but maximally lit, patrolled mainly by Guardians while human security guards wile away the graveyard shift on the Internet. No one took notice when their uninvited guests arrived on the rooftop, since the camera feeds showed the helipad and surrounding spaces stubbornly empty. The electronically locked roof access doors also yield readily, admitting the intruders without sending up an alarm. Isra seems little troubled by the load she carries distributed evenly across her lanky yet powerful frame, the body armor she wears underneath sleek and shadowy and difficult to see against the sky, though somewhat more visible now in the unnecessarily well-lit utility space at the bottom of the stairs. What little of her skin is visible has been left slate gray, and in addition to her natural weaponry she now carries an electrified lance of sorts across her back. She stalks on long, smooth strides to the door that their briefing said should lead to the top level administrative offices, wordlessly waiting for her siblings to ready themselves while her ears swivel to and fro. Dusk isn't carrying much past a messenger bag slung over his chest, his wings pressed flat behind him. He's still looking too pale, too thin, but his movement at least have lost the sluggishness of days past, confident enough as he follows after Isra. He gives her a wider berth than is perhaps necessary when he comes to a stop, one arm curled protectively around the bag he holds. 'Ready', is all he signs, silent. Heather is wearing a tactical turtleneck and a pair of black slacks, eschewing her bright aesthetics in favour of dressing like a superspy baseball player. The latter part is accomplished by the pair of bats (one steel, one polypropylene) that she has in a makeshift holster and a black Washington Nationals hat. She also has a bag slung over her shoulder for other equipment that she thinks might have been useful. Her usually wild black hair is braided up and threaded through the back of the hat. She also signs her readiness, her head jerks up and down in a nod. On the other side of the door, things are pretty quiet. A single Guardian loops through the wood and glass lined hallways, occasionally hipchecking the water cooler as it goes. One human guard has taken over the reception desk, far from the roof access door, as his station to play League of Legends on his laptop, while the other is actually in the security office, her eyes occasionally flicking up to the monitors and their pretty lie about the roof before back down to her fanfic in progress. Isra's ears twitch at the sound of the Guardian's incautious (or perhaps just impertinent) passage. She nods, points to the source of the sound, tacking on the very intuitive sign for "robot" one handed, then flings open the door as she draws the lance and darts for the Guardian. A single powerful stroke of her wings lends speed to her rush as she tries to skewer the robot's battery. Dusk trails in Isra's wake, ignoring the charge toward the robot -- he's headed toward the guard at the reception desk, unshouldering his bag as he approaches. "Sorry," he says, sounding cheerfully not sorry at all, "I'm going to need that." One thumbclaw is flicking toward the computer. "Don't bother trying the alarms, they don't work. You touch your phone and we're gonna have problems." Once she detects both Isra and Dusk beginning their charges, she zips over further, her sprint leaving swirling wind in her wake that picks up loose dust. Instead of targeting the main room, she moves quickly to assail the security room. It only takes a few moments for her to zip to the room, hit CTRL+S on the keyboard over the guard's shoulder, and then pull the power cable out of the desktop. She puts a finger over her lips to indicate to hush, and then punches her fist into her palm (louder than one might expect, owing to the speed of the impact). Isra's attack just misses the battery, but the lance runs through Other Important Parts, like the radio component connecting the Guardian to its companion-bots on lower floors. The inner workings of the robot sound almost like a hiss as it turns around, shooting its taser out in Isra's direction. The human guards are much less combative; League of Legends looks at the wings, the thumbclaws, behind at the flashes of light coming from the Osbot, and pushes his rolling chair far away from the computer, hands raised. Fanfic's eyes go wide when her work disappears, wider still at the sight of Heather. "Oh fuck --" and she gets to her feet, hand going to the gun holstered at her side as fast as she can (that is to say, painfully slowly for the speedster in front of her). The taser leads bite into Isra's shoulder, the electricity drawing a snarl of pain and rage but not taking her down. She lifts the Guardian bodily where it's still impaled on her weapon, slamming its head into the wall beside them twice, then a third time for good measure. "Thank you." Dusk sounds sincere enough about this, when League of Legends pushes back from the table. He turns the laptop to face himself, keeping an eye on the guard as he unzips his bag. A pair of robots skitter out -- small and fashioned to look like beetles, they climb up onto the desk to plug themselves into the computer. "How much do they pay you, here?" His tone is casual, his fingers rapid against the keys. "I'm guessing it's probably not nearly enough to ruin your life over. Make you a deal, though. You keep your mouth shut -- you didn't see shit tonight, the Osbots just started acting up and thank God, you got out just in time -- and you can walk away with a good chunk of cash. Or you go to the cops, the media, whoever the hell you think you want to talk to about us and your life is going to be even more of a wreck than what's about to happen here." Heather snaps her hand down to Fanfic's holster, her eyebrows furrowed as she draws the gun first. She points the index finger of her other hand to her forehead and taps it once with a quick shake of her head. She then makes a phone gesture, holding her pinky and thumb up to her ear and then holds out her hand, curling her fingers a few times towards Fanfic in a request to hand it over. The stolen gun in her hand being at the ready only amplifies the incentive to do so. The red number above the elevator changes from 1, for ground floor, to 2, then 3, then higher — the sudden offlining of Isra’s Guardian has alerted some of the robots below. It will be a bit before the elevator brings them all the way up here. The diagnostic kit they are bringing will be useless — between Isra, the lance, and the wall, the Guardian is lying in a heap on the ground, sparking lightly and not moving. Fanfic stares at the gun, not registering that it’s hers until her hand hits empty holster. Slowly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, finger pressed to the power button in an attempt to activate the emergency services setting. League of Legends gets with the program quicker. “Most folks don’t bring cash to a robbery,” he quips. “Or whatever. Didn’t see shit, you got it. Uh, do you mind logging me out?” Isra straightens up, still growling softly, and pulls the lance out of the defunct Guardian. It's almost like an afterthought that she sweeps one taloned hand to yank the taser leads from her flesh, not evidently troubled that the small wounds they leave are bleeding freely. She does not put the lance away, but stalks over toward the others, growl never fully fading. The elevator's movement catches her eye as she passes and she snaps her wings out and back in for her siblings' attention. Indicating the floor numbers, she gestures to show the elevator coming up. "Robbery? Man, I look like I'm in the market for some pet mutant-hunting bots?" Dusk's eyebrows have quirked up, amused. His head inclines at the request. "You got it," he echoes. He glances up and over toward Isra at the snap of wings -- then to the elevator. Then, with a press of lips and a faint shiver of his wings, back down to the computer he's working on. "You know if there's a lot of other people here right now? Not the bots. Actual folks." As soon as she sees the phone freed, Heather snaps her hand out again to grab it (more because of a lack of patience than worry about activation of emergency services) then glances at the screen. She gestures for Fanfic to head out of the room, her movements quick and urgent, so that they can all get to a single place. This allows her to see the beat of Isra's wings and the elevator. "Sht," she squeaks. Fanfic stumbles out of the security office, eyes going wide when she sees that everyone else involved in this apparently has wings. Her coworker is taking Isra’s appearance in relative stride. “Maybe fifteen, twenty in this building, I think — bunch of people called out with ‘rona.” He glances towards the elevator, which is just two floors — one floor — below them. “I’m just gonna —“ he slides out of the chair, tucks himself under the desk as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Inside, there are two Guardians — they are still scanning, assessing the situation when they walk onto the floor, processors whirring loud and hot in their heads. Isra ignores the guards altogether, scanning the immediate surroundings as the elevator nears. A hop-step brings her to a decorative side table in the hall that probably exists solely for holding the potted plant she is now unceremoniously casting aside as she lifts the table. She whirls on the elevator just before it dings and crouches low, eyes unblinking. The moment the Guardians step out of the elevator, she launches the table and them and herself immediately after, lance driving toward the guts of the nearer one and wings half-flared to block their view of the desk. "Wise man." Dusk's eyes cut toward the elevator as it opens, though only briefly. He's largely focused on his computer and his work, wings tight and tense at his back. Trusting his comrades to take care of the more immediate threats. Heather gestures for Fanfic to also take cover, as a blur appears around the edges of her silhouette, drawing the steel bat. She zips forward and moves around Isra's wing to swing downwards at the Guardian that has not been skewered. The bat's impact is a loud CRACK, and a ringing sound that reverberates through the bat itself, Heather's hands protected from the vibration by the rubber grip. Fanfic finally gets with the program and dives underneath the desk. Her coworker does not seem pleased about this development. Isra's aim is true this time -- her Guardian sparks and fizzles onto the lance, battery fluid leaking out of the new hole. Heather's bat, while it sends the robot spinning and it's head unit flying off the machine, does not completely disable the Guardian. It fires its taser lead in the vague direction of straight ahead -- ie, towards Dusk. Heather steps a few paces back and, when the Guardian fires, she swings the baseball bat in a streak of reflected light at the oncoming taser lead, right in her strike zone. "Hmrun!" she squeaks in rapid glee. Isra's snarl of pain may have been frightening in its own right, but the sound she looses when the Guardian fires at Dusk is a roar of sheer atavistic wrath. Whether she can see the success or failure of Heather's swing for its breathtaking speed, she isn't taking any chances. She fails to pull the lance from the destroyed bot on the first attempt and does not make a second one. Instead she just seizes the headless Guardian, talons of hands and wings alike latching onto any joins she can find in its carapace as she tries to physically rip it apart. Dusk mantles his wings up around himself and the desk like a protective canopy, skinny shoulders hunching inward through this flurry of commotion. "Almost there," he calls to his comrades. "Any thoughts on how we evacuate this place? Fire alarm's an old standby. We are approaching take this party outside territory." "We got a generic evac alarm in there too," says League, tone still fairly affable over the sounds of combat. "If you don't want emergency services here right right away." Fanfic, who has been quietly freaking out, decides this is her personal breaking point and bolts for the emergency exit. The last Guardian is having a miserable last few moments of its robot existence -- the lead comes back and hits exposed wire with speed, shorting out the whole thing momentarily before Isra peels the exterior off. It's still vaguely moving, arms flailing, but it's not a real threat anymore. Heather leans towards the robot and jabs at it experimentally with the end of her bat. Her lips momentarily form a thin line as she rises up again and glances over her shoulder. Another blur of movement, and she is moved in front of the emergency door. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she is tapping on her wrist and raising her index finger. She points towards her companions, and also the desk; they will be leaving together in an orderly fashion. Isra holds onto the partially dismantled Guardian long enough for Heather to jab it (admittedly not long) before slamming it against the wall to stop its squirming. She yanks her lance free of the less messily destroyed Guardian, then kicks it into the elevator doorway to stop it closing. Her wings flare out and she settles her weight low when Fanfic makes a break for it, ready to fling the lance after her, though she subsides when Heather moves to shepherd the hapless humans. She stalks over to the nearest fire alarm panel and starts to sign, but seeing Dusk somewhat cocooned in his work, manages, "Say when. Alarm." in an eerie doubled voice, a resonant alto over a low rumbling bass. "When," Dusk replies, though he hasn't looked up from the computer just yet. It's a minute longer before the beetle-bots detach themselves from the laptop, skittering up to perch atop one of his large wings. "Primed and ready to go, we just have to say the word. Probably safest," he's standing, swiping his messenger bag and nodding to League of Legends, "if we do this outside. You're coming with us, man." His thumbclaw twitches to indicate Heather as he follows her pointing toward the door. "Who wants to do the honors? Just gotta tell the beetle when we're good to go." League of Legends crawls out from under the desk and puts his hands up, then, after a second thought, over his ears and goes to follow. Fanfic looks at the bat, looks at Heather, and turns right back around in the direction the speedster points in. They're going to follow the group outside, at least. Heather nods a couple of times approvingly when Fanfic decides to go with the others, holsters her bat, and then starts towards the exit. She unclips her recorder from her belt to agree with Dusk dutifully, "Safety first. I will command the beetle. My patience is legendary. Perfect timing." Isra's tail flicks once, but she pulls the alarm without hesitation. Her ears fold down and back even before the klaxon sounds, and her wings mantle reflexively as if to shield her from its shrill persistent warning. To Heather's "safety first" she huffs a single bemused laugh, then takes point again to lead their hapless prisoners out Dusk scoops one of the beetles off his wingspar as he follows the others out, cupping it carefully in his hand and transferring it over to Heather. "Patience. That is the first thing everyone always notes about you," he agrees. He's heading up the way they came, shepherding their hapless charges to the rooftop --- where he promptly scoops Fanfic and Heather up to take off with one powerful bound, lighting to set them gently down atop a neighboring office building. League will have to catch the next gargoyle over. The messenger bag, once unzipped, contains thankfully not a swarm of further beetles but stacks of cash, neatly bound. "For your trouble," he tells the guards. "I'm really hoping we won't have any after tonight." Heather cups the mechanical bug carefully in her hands, even as she gets lifted up off the ground and onto the roof. If it bothers her any, she does not show it. Once returned to stable footing, she keeps her palm upturned with the bug on it, the other turned so that the watch face is visible from under the turtleneck’s sleeve. Her recorder does play, “I will leave your phone one block east in the parking lot. Leave a comment on our performance, and forget you ever saw us. Your feedback is important to us.” Once she is satisfied with the timing, she speaks to the beetle. “Activate. We are ready. Fireworks, please.” Isra scoops League of Legends up in her arms as if he were a child and launches herself into the air with a coiled leap and a fearsome snap of her great leathery wings. For all the stomach-churning rapidity of their flight, she sets down more or less gently on the rooftop near the others, then sets League down more or less gently, too. At Heather's command, she turns toward the facility, one wing half lifted to shield her eyes should the lightshow get too bright. There isn't much of a light show initially, but then part of the warehouse side of the facility crumples and blooms bright garish red and orange as it spews debris out into the parking lot. The office side follows in short order, the flashes of the exploding Guardians much more visible through all the glass. The noise is an ominous rolling rumble that subsides to leave the building caved in on one side and sprouting a dozen rapidly growing fires on the other. Isra's tail lashes the air hard, her shoulders hunching in and her eyes squinting hard against the light. It's hard to hear her soft growl over the rising roar of the fire or the ominous structural groaning, but her hands move speak her encouragement: 'Burn.'