Logs:Rocking Out (Prometheus Raid, Team 2)
|Rocking Out (Prometheus Raid, Team 2)|
<MA> Dirac Research Laboratory - Western Mass
Massachusetts is gorgeous in the fall, the leaves blazing in full autumn splendor, the sun bright overhead. It's gorgeous out here, too, a wide and lovely campus to come to work, no doubt choice assignment for those who are lucky enough to receive it -- long winding walking trails through the picturesque woods, a fitness center set with huge picture windows looking out on the small pond, a tennis court, a wide roof deck atop the sprawling main building with an excellent cafeteria attached. If some of the windows are suspiciously heavily barred, well! It's not the windows in the top-floor offices with their lovely views of the grounds. If the drones circle the grounds continuously, well! Extra security for the many high priced automobiles in the parking lot, and really they're high enough up not to be obtrusive.
The guards outside seem relaxed as befits the splendid mild autumn day -- a pair of them in the driveway outpost outfront, one filling out crosswords while the other scrolls Facebook, another pair who should be on patrol but are leaned up against a tree engaged in intense discussion of the season finale of You. If they have noticed the buses that have parked themselves a distance away under the trees they certainly make no sign as yet. A short distance behind, the facility itself looks almost serene.
Ryan doesn't wait for much. Knuckles cracked, head count taken, a FIRM kiss planted to Jax's forehead and bam. His group skirts wide around the guards outside -- they have B and her own drones to deal with any alarm that might get tripped -- leaving the relative cover of the treeline at the last possible moment to head for the building itself. Subtle, his approach is not. There's a thrum that fills the entire air around them, rumbles through the ground, shakes the building up ahead. The concrete trembles, the windows rattle, the wall in front of him beginning to crack and split apart.
Peter strides behind Ryan, giving him plenty of space to work from -- a good 15 or 20 yards. Dressed in a black customized body-suit, his form looks like a silhouette; a pair of dark-tinted goggles mounted atop of a face-hood that obscures... well, everything. Not an inch of him is exposed. It's definitely a look that says 'this person is up to no good'... which might be why he's letting Ryan take the advance. Or maybe it's just because the way everything is shaking around him. Either way, his gloved fists are clenched tight -- the little black-colored wrist-mounted webshooters kept at the ready to provide any necessary cover-fire. He's keeping an eye on everything and anything that might pose an immediate threat toward Ryan's initial approach -- ready to help lock it down.
Shane has stationed himself just behind and to Ryan's other side, a mirrored flank with Peter in black custom suit and webslingers of his own. Despite himself, despite knowing it's coming and plenty of training his head turns aside in a flinch when the rumbling starts, inner eyelids blinking shut and his shoulders hunching up against his ears. His eyes go wide as the wall starts to crack and crumble down before them.
Completing their rough diamond formation, Polaris brings up the rear. Like the others, she is dressed in a black tactical suit, rows of wicked throwing dagger mounted along her torso -- front and back -- a larger combat knife at the small of her back, and a pistol at her thigh. Deadly calm, she hardly even flinches when the wall comes tumbling down, her powers stretching out beyond her teammates to feel for and destroy with an easy twist any part of the outer suppression grid still functioning.
The drones are considerably faster than the human guards at scrambling; there's already a familiar low hum closing in on them fast from behind and overhead. All three of the drones are targeting Ryan, two with a pair of darts -- quiet thwp thwp in the air -- the third not bothering with preliminaries and opening live fire -- though it mainly targets him as well its spray is somewhat less discriminate as it veers in.
As soon as Peter feels the faint, nearly pre-cognitive tingle of danger in the back of his head, he's rushing forward into a full-out sprint -- within just three steps, he's cleared nearly 10 yards in an instant, almost gliding across the asphalt. Mid-step, there's a subtle thwp as a thin, gray line snaps out and splats against one end of a four-inch high, 6-foot long parking divider... only to land a few yards behind Ryan and seize the cord with both hands, tucked over his left shoulder. He lunges into a half-spin, ripping the unanchored concrete slab off the ground and into the air -- turning it into a tightly spinning 200 pound missile -- aimed at the closest of those three drones. The one that's deigned to just straight-up open fire.
Shane does not have a tingle but he does have a hypervigilance that serves him just about as well. Peter might be prickling at the back of his mind but he's springing into action the moment after Peter does, whipping around to shoot a long sticky tendril out toward the nearer of the suppression-dart firing drones, yanking it hard out of its path and toward the other.
Ryan does not afford himself the luxury of worrying about getting shot at, trusting to his team to help him Not Die. The wall continues its crackling decay, splitting apart and leaving a wide and dusty hole for them to step into. If there's a bit extra adrenaline coursing through the air around them, well! He's in one piece, at least. "Thanks," he says, just a little breathily to the others.
'CRUNCH.' The drone that has been shooting finds itself met with a solid slab of concrete, sent tumbling from the air (still spraying a last few bullets upwards as it goes.)
Shane's drone whips off its course, its darts spreading chaotically out around it as it wobbles through the air, thunks hard against the other drone. Both drones slam to the ground, briefly thrown off their balance and orientation -- but then find their feet, skittering to their many legs and following the team into the hole. Thwp. Thwp.
Polaris is not as fast as Peter or Shane, but certainly certainly faster than she would be without their senses. She feels the drones get back up and before she has even half-turned to face them she seizes hold of one and hurls it unceremoniously into the other, feeling for a battery she can overload while it's airborne.
Peter never released the length of silver webbing he used to hurl that concrete parking divider. Still charging, he lurches up into the air, chasing its spiraling arc -- lunging past Ryan, toward the newly made entrance. When he lands, both feet lock to the ground -- and the webline, briefly slack, suddenly goes taut. Spinning to eyeball the distance of the two other grounded drones, he yanks down as hard as he can, throwing his body into it -- lurching the still-spinning barrier out of the air and back toward the ground. It's no where near as precise as the initial throw, but -- he's aiming for the two Polaris is trying to overload. Just to make sure.
These drones might be downed but there are a half dozen more skittering up from the stairway below, preceding a quartet of Company X contractors who look almost blase to find the team waiting up there.
A chunk of the downed wall picks itself up, hurls itself at Polaris. One of the other mercs is just frowning at their escape hole in the wall -- which starts, rapidly, to reconstruct itself. Their two human partners don't bother with such shenanigans -- they just pull their guns and open fire.
Shane's snarl is low and harsh and probably, somewhere among the psionic side-chatter, not entirely directed at the hapless drones. He flicks his strand of webglue free of his wrist cuff, gills pressed flat as he surveys the downed drones. Just for a second before --
a pivot, a thwp, he's grabbing one of the smashed legs off the broken drones, flinging it out like a flail towards the gun-hand of one of the shooters. This comes just a second before he launches himself there, claws seeking some kind of weak point in protective gear to slash at.
Whatever Ryan was doing before, when the chunk of wall lifts itself -- he's spinning around, sending a shockwave at it now that crumbles it to far less harmful fragments in the air. Then continuing on.
<< Thanks >> and << you've gotta be kidding me >> overlap in Ryan's thoughts. "We were using that exit," he informs the mercs -- almost brightly, a little singsong as the air thrums back to life. In their shared psionic space his mental tracking of the bots and human guards comes with the weight of expectation for the rest of his team -- take care of those -- with a host of rescuees imminently en route he's got a door to hold. He doesn't aim his shockwave at the wall, this time, but the person rebuilding it, targeted to disorient and nauseate.
Polaris had started to throw herself out of the way even as she seizes the rebar in the concrete block when it breaks apart, and by the time she rolls to a not-very-graceful stop she has several iron-threaded chunks of concrete that curve around to bowl for skittering bots.
--thwp-thwp--Peter's spinning and firing two web-lines to splat them on either side of the stairway down, gripping either line in his fists before lurching himself backwards with a single kick, stretching both lines with a creak... and then, lunging his fists back and his body forward, he slingshots right toward the emerging drones with breakneck speed -- face-first. Thwp-thwp-thwp -- as he sails down the stairs, he's aiming lines to hit as many as he can and yank them behind him, to drag them down the steps like two of the world's creepiest flails. << you got the guys with guns? >> he asks, his thoughts directed vaguely in the direction of Polaris and Shane.
Something -- someone?! -- is bouncing up the stairwell, ricocheting off the walls wildly toward the team holding the exit. Behind them are two more labrats, actually just running (one on all fours and the other just fast). The shouting and commotion following them suggests the trickle is about to become a flood. The bouncing one does not seem wholly able to control their bouncing and in their terrified scramble for the exit is not paying much mind to their rescuers, as likely to know them down as actually get out. The person running on all fours suddenly lunges at the nearest guard, snarling, heedless of weapons or drones.
Shane's flail smashes into the hand of one of the shooters. He doesn't drop it entirely, but smashes the butt of the rifle towards the smallshark's face as Shane charges. The claws find purchase in a joint of his armor; he hisses and goes to the ground in what might in other circumstances be a somewhat comical tangle of enormous burly guard and very tiny bitey shark. Perhaps neither is currently laughing.
The other Guard With Gun is taking aim at Ryan, shooting towards the audiokinetic right when the first of the emerging labrats arrives. His next two shots are considerably less aimed -- the barreling labrat? Polaris? It's a bit hectic as he gets knocked straight over, flailing with his gun to shoot up toward the snarling person currently attacking him.
Two of the drones are knocked rapidly backwards as they emerge by Peter's initial FACEFIRST volley, clunking into one behind it and another behind that -- but the next seems to learn from Peter's own shenanigans, spindly metal legs spiderwebbing out across the stairwell to secure itself steadily and meet Peter with its own dense center mass, suppression darts at the ready to jab the young man as he sallies toward it. Two of its long legs slash out, quick and razor-sharp toward Peter as he approaches as well.
Polaris has bowled over two bots of her own, but they're quick to stand back up, whip back around, fire suppression darts out toward her.
The person at the wall does drop to their knees at Ryan's attack. The wall halts its process of rebuilding, but a moment later Ryan starts to feel the same disorienting-queasy nausea.
Polaris had only just regained her feet when the bots start shooting and she drops back down behind the cover of the concrete chunks she couldn't throw. She abandons finesse and just shoves both bots violently back, tumbling them over if only to buy her a little more time. Distracted by the stubbornly not-destroyed drones, she does not see the guard who is also shooting at her. The round catches her in the side and she cries out, folding over. She isn't quite unconscious yet, but her hold over the bots drops away.
-- only to reappear by the upstairs team and their hole in the wall outside. Ion has a pair of maybe-rather-shellshocked labrats in tow, some blood dripping down his arm, teeth bared in grimace or grin it's always hard to tell with him. "Whew you all having a party up here yo --" and he's out the door.
Joshua is dropped back in beside Polaris a moment after she drops. Hive does not really bother much with explanations but then -- the pain was easy enough to feel for a moment, before he managed to compartmentalize it for them.
Pretercognitive pain spikes through the back of Peter's head. He's fast enough to curl his body down and grab the corner of a step, shoving off into a spinning mid-air cart-wheel. The dramatic shift in direction and momentum avoids a head-on collision with the drone and dodges that first scything leg... but not the second. He's caught in the side, left to spin wildly through the air -- briefly slapping his hand on the drone's left flank (thwp!) before tumbling past, down to the platform below.
He hits the floor face-first (goggle cracking), a jagged crimson line carved through his left flank nearly to the groin. Rolling forward to land on his back, he slams both feet into the wall 'beneath' him, and -- head tilted back, aiming upside down -- fires off two weblines to two drones in front of the one that hit him (thwp-thwp!). Then, he 'pulls'.
But he's not trying to pull them down the stairs. He's just trying to get their attention... and turn their sensors around so they can get a good look at their buddy. Who's now sporting a small, brightly-colored thermal-pack on its left side -- a gift from Peter, web-glued to it mid-tumble. The pack is adorned with strange fractalized patterns, and produces an incredibly complex heat-signature -- a multi-level adverserial patch.
One designed to convince every drone in the vicinity that this thing right over here? Is actually an extremely pissed 'MAGNETO'.
One of Ion's passengers is badly burned and screaming, the other might or might not be physically hurt but is definitely working toward a full panic attack. Was working toward a full panic attack. When they rematerialize the seemingly unhurt one collapses the room starts shaking. Every concrete surface -- any significant mass of mineral -- starts sprouting beautiful crystals. Beautiful and sharp crystals. That keep growing and growing. Yes, from that big hole in the wall, too.
Unhelpfully, this is also when a large knot of the fleeing labrats arrive on foot in a panic themselves.
Joshua is taking Polaris and the panicking labrat both, vanishing with them together.
Ryan was more or less on his feet, albeit leaning heavily now against a patch of jaggedly crystal-covered wall, until the gunshots. He gives up on audiokinesis just about here, pulling out a taser to simply zap it at the man who'd been rebuilding the wall in front of them. Their exit had been blocked back over between rebuilding- and crystallization- but now it's coming back down, again, just in time for Daiki's barreling bus to meet the panicking emerging labrats. << holy fucking shit >> "Everybody on," is all he manages to get out, "this is gonna be the world's quickest trip home." He is himself, not getting on just get, limping and bloody but waiting outside to make sure there's no more of this ANYTHING YOU CAN DO I CAN DO BACKWARDS tomfoolery.
The remaining drones recalibrate, circle around, swarm after their unfortunate companion, chasing the tagged Sentinel down the hall and away from the team. There are still a number of guards on foot desperately trying to chase after the bus, but Daiki is, thankfully, quite a bit faster on wheels than they manage to be on foot. The strange warp in space continues to be strange, and nothingness. The wall ceases its rebuilding after Ryan tases its rebuilder. The labrats who have managed to get to the exit are clambering aboard the bus in various states of Dazed And Confused. Gamely, as if it's helping something, the sprinkler system activates, enthusiastically showering the rubble with water.
Somewhere, finally, an alarm sounds. Guess someone knows they are here.
It's at this point, upon seeing the drones recalibrating and charging toward one of their own, that Peter sits up and (thwp!) proceeds to temporarily patch the deep, bleeding gash in his side. With a grunt, he stands, rushing up the stairs with a notable limp -- another thwp-thwp as two weblines connect to either side of the partially deconstructed, reconstructed, and de-re-constructed wall -- with Peter using his upper arm strength to yank himself forward, darting through the hole and to the exterior... seizing hold of anyone he can grab hold of on his way that doesn't look like a guard or drone.
"-- Fucking hell," Joshua is returning to dump the last of their injured teammates back at the bus, wincing at the sudden alarm."Like I didn't have enough of a headache." The bus vanishes.