Contract To Make Toys

May 19, 2015:

Deathstroke strikes again….

New York

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…

There is only one kind of prison in metropolis, it's the kind built to hold all of the ridiculous crazy creatures and metahuman things that prove threat great enough that Superman has to deal with them. Then there's the jail for your more regular bank robber or drug dealer, but the middle ground criminal, the kind to dangerous to cut loose in an ordinary facility but not strong enough to survive inside any metahuman population, well they get shipped to a different facility. Arkham for some, Iron Heights for others, occasionally a SHIELD structure if there is cause. Today this transport is headed to Enclave M, the lesser reported upon 'bad big brother' to Belle Reve.

The transport, consisting of a large prison carrier car, heavily armored and with a mounted LexCorp auto cannon atop it, and a half dozen armored HumVees with adequately loaded out personel are enjoying the oh-so-fun drive through the Sonora dessert towards the facility in question. Surely a sleepy lazy job like this couldn't go anything but okay. Who knocks over an armored prisoner transport in 104 degree heat at noon on a Tuesday?

Melinda May is running escort on this prisoner transfer, piloting a military-grade helicopter that's shadowing the rather over-the-top seeming procession of vehicles. Whoever is in there, the powers that be do NOT want to take any chances. She's also been in touch with Oracle during this, because so far it's been a pretty boring flight, and the grunts in the main compartment are too busy talking sports and breaking out rulers to be even remotely interesting conversationalists. "So what do you think, O? I don't see how WAND is going to step on any toes, but then my point of view is a bit skewed."

Well, at least it's not Gotham where even the pigeons come armed with switchblades and tiny SMGs. There's a lot less selfie-worthy dramatic fog, though. It baffles Lunair, as does the rampaging popularity of guys in short shorts and carrying katanas. But there's a lot in the world Lunair doesn't understand or claim to understand. She's superintelligent and has no idea, so there's that going for her.

But Lunair often does a lot of things simply because she can, up to and including chucking flash bangs at Russian super soldiers who respond by flipping dumpsters at her. Today, that involves following along in cooled power armor using rocket propulsion. If any of the cars radios her, she'll answer politely. She's a well behaved mutant in power armor. Eat your heart out FeMale.


"Well first, May, congratulations. That's an awesome development, I mean really." Oracle's in the Clocktower and watching her screens. She's tracking Mays progress, mainly out of habit. The video feeds from the CCTV and security systems appearing on her monitors as the convoy progresses. "I'm sure someone will find something to complain about. Some people just like to wave it around, you know… show others how big it is… but I can't see it will step on anyones toes and with what we've seen, it's needed."


For Special Agent Thompson of Team WAND, the last few days have been fairly routine. It's all the getting caught up and filling out all the paperwork to get things transferred that had him feeling a bit tired and out of it. Just what he needed, however, was some fieldwork. And perhaps May keyed onto that when they both departed to follow after this escort mission and make sure the transport went well.
So there he was, a bit of time later sitting in the helicopter's passenger seat and keeping an eye on things with a pair of electronic binocs keyed to display data regarding the mission and some of the targets presented before him.


"So I told her that if she wanted run her mouth so much I had a few ideas of where she could do it." the driver of the lead HumVee says, grinning into the rearview mirror at the younger man sitting in the gunners seat of the vehicle, currently dropped down out of the sweltering heat. The young guy offers a nervous smirk while the other man sharing the front seat of the armored vehicle shakes his head, "No you did't George, I was there. You walked up to her, she dissed you, you sputtered for like three seconds, then she offered to give you a number if it would make you go away. You said yes, she said twelve and stared at you. Then you went away. Like you agreed." the young guy in the back snerks aloud now and the driver is suddenly studiously eyeballing the road, "Dude. To mean." he tells his partner, who in turn merely shrugs, "I'm just sayin' bro, you gotta get over this whole girl-phobia you have. I show you the pert tips of a pair of hollow points and you couldn't care less, make them pert nipples and suddenly you're an idiot with a speech impediment." he plucks up the radio on squacks twice before speaking into it, "This is Toy Solider 1 to the Toystore, sound off Toystore." the driver mutters unkind words about his parteners questionable parentage as the convoy drives on and each member car of the group sounds off with a status update. "Toy Solder 2 all good." "Toy Soldier 3 clear." "Toy Soldier 4 is bored as shit." "So is Toy Soldier 5, also sweating through his armor and unhappy about it." "Toy Soldier 6 wishes everyone would man the fuck up alr-" George taps his partner in the front car on the shoulder ignoring the radio, "What's that?" he asks, squinting into the glare of the sun and motioning with a hand.

Beside the road a lump of sand, much like every other lump of sand and completely undistinguishable from everything around it, shifts. Deathstroke the Terminator rises from his place of wait, exploding from the sand and rolling to his feet, his bastard sword held in hand as he braces himself. The blades cuts cleanly through the run flat tires of the passenger side of the first two vehicles. The tires /and/ the rims they're connected to. He grunts under the strain of taking the impact along the blade of the weapon and only his superhuman strength keeps the blade from being torqued out of his hand completely. The wheels, sheered in half cause the first two vehicles in the convoy to tilt one way and suddenly spew out sparks. Deathstroke is already up and moving before the sudden drag on the lead HumVee causes it to flip up on it's side and do an amazingly bad impression of a tumbling gymnast at seventy miles an hour. Before the second HumVee is following suit Deathstroke is airbourne himself, the sword tip leading the way as he leaps into the air straight towards the windsheild of prison carrier itself. God. Damn. He's. Fast.


Melinda May has to keep herself from rolling her eyes at the call outs, and tries to locate the 'What's that?' when Deathstroke bursts out of the sand and promptly ruins their field trip. She mutters a curse in Mandarin. "We've got contact. One hostile, likely powered. Moving to intercept. That prison carrier car isn't the only thing out here sporting serious weaponry. "Thompson, get eyes on that person. I want an ID."


Lumps of sand just everywhere man. This isn't as exciting as Lunair was hoping. She's blissfully unaware of the chat between the toy soldiers or that at least one dude really needs to learn to talk to people, boobs or not. But still, she's following along easily enough and it's good practice. Nevertheless she blinks as something emerges from the sand like an angry ferret. Wait, is that a dude with a sword? It IS.

Wait. Hasn't she head of some dude like this through the ole merc channels? It's been awhile since she's done merc work (work work), but some deep alarm is ringing. Nevertheless, any dude who thinks stabbing a vehicle is a valid form of combat and freaking pulls it off is not a dude to be trifled with. He's even leaping AT the carrier at speeds that are somewhere between redonk and ludicrous. He's definitely not on the side of whomever is running that convoy. Time to get in close for a closer look, and help those peeps out. She speeds up a bit in her powered armor to evaluate the situation and see what kind of weapon she needs for this.


Because she's been tracking the progress of the convoy, Oracle see's the man burst from the sand. "Enhancing visuals, May. Accessing the video feed in your OracleComm, get me what you can." Oracles recognition programs begin running even as she's speaking, she might get something from the quality she has.


Leaning to the side in the helicopter, Flash is able to take a bead on the man. Part of him wishes he had his rifle at hand, but alas for poor planning. He brings the binocs up, keys them through several spectrums, then locks on and zooms in trying to get a visual capture to send back to SHIELD HQ. As he does this he speaks in a steady professional tone, "Orange and blue. Half-mask. Armored. Multiple weapons. I'd say six foot and some change, two hundred."
He keeps the lock on for a bit and then the response comes back from the network identifying the man, just about the same time it's most likely getting fed to Oracle. "Deathstroke, mercenary operative." He lowers the binocs, "Shall I engage?"


The sword seems to punch clean through 3 inches of bullet resisent plexiglass composite on the windshield and causes a spiderweb of compression cracks to completely ruin the driver's ability to see. Using the lodged sword as a pivot point, and the momentum from his leap combined with that of the moving transport, he releases the hilt and flips through the air over the vehicle, his hands pumping as he performs a flawless pair of twisting layouts. He stole that from Grayson, no lie. Small octigonal disks attach themselves to the roof of the LexCorp transport and begin to glow almost blindingly bright. Soon the entire roof is warping and the mounted auto cannon, which was just starting to turn and track the flipping assassin sags in it's now melted mountings and smoke starts to pour out of it's engine casing and it begins to jiggle in place, apparently stuck in a single possition. As it's barrels glow and a superheated blast of plasma fires off to glass over a sanddune in the distance, Deathstroke lands on the roof of the second to last HumVee and rolls over it's roof so he can vault twoards the final truck. Where he landed on the second one and explosion drives down through the engine block, dropping the machine parts that make it go straight out the bottom and into the road, causing the HumVee flip up on it's grill and grind it's way Hand Stand style down the road.

The final HumVee in the line is the only one with time to react as the bouncey rolly killer has moved far more quickly then the Metro Corrections officers could match. The driver yanks the wheel to the side, avoding becoming the last in a long line of landing platforms for the mercenary and also avoiding the wreckage of the vehicle in front of it by stand inches. "FUUUCK!!" the last man yells into the radio, apparently still havn't having put it down since he was sounding off. Rolling on the concrete road in a controlled manner Slade comes skittering up on a knee and a hand while his other pulls a HK MP7 from a holster on his thigh and one hands it, the small barrel flashing. The AP rounds chew through the back of the HumVee and it swirvs wildly as the drive train is chewed up. He comes to a sparking skidding stop just as the last HumVee heads into the sand, barreling into the mounds and coming to a smoking stop of it's own. However the LexCorp Transport rolls on, trying to weave around the wreckage in front of it. "Dammit." Slade says to no one in his helmet, his eyes narrowing. Lex's stuff is always full of surprises. He tosses the SMG aside and begins to race after the Transport. On foot.


That's definitely not usual. Lunair has to gape for a moment at the spectacle at hand. Whomever sent this guy was /serious/. Lunair feels a bit bad for whomever is in those vehicles, familiar or not. She's likely soon to be visible to the SHIELDies, if she isn't already. Lunair isn't hiding now. She's considering the wisdom of bothering a Deathstroke (The Zen of Facestabbing?). It is a very brief debate.


On the other hand, she has to help that Transport, since the HumVees are already DudVees thanks to a pinball of murder. Lunair takes a deep breath. At least this might be educational, if incredibly painful. Time for giant laser cannon! It's a slender, white gun that looks like it belongs more on a mech than the shoulder of a Lunair in power armor. White motes dance and she purposefully aims juuuuuust by the guy on foot. Maybe it'll scare him? Bother him? Maybe? Could just be a test.


"Thompson, go." May knows she doesn't even have to slow down for him to make his exit from the helicopter, but she does to let the rest of the team on the bird off. Their job is to get to that carrier and make sure its occupant stays put and the truck gets to their destination. And to help with that, she maneuvers the vehicle to 'hover' over the carrier car to let the others drop, while taking control of an undercarraige-mounted gun to fire off a few rounds at the orange and black clad attacker. She does NOT take kindly to people screwing with her missions.


And with that there's no further hesitation. Suddenly his clothes darken to black, flowing over him and covering his face, his arms, his legs until that black and silverish suit adorns him. He takes a bare instant to grab the SMG from behind the seat, then with no thought to his safety he _drops_ out of the helicopter, straight down.
For a moment he falls, then there's a flare of black around his shoulders and back. And before he even finishes his fall the his sidearm is in his hand and the SMG is barking a steady stream of lead towards Deathstroke. Shells tinkle and clink upon the asphalt as he drops… and then _lands_ on the roof of one of those stopped vehicles. He rolls off the top of it taking cover at its side as he draws the pistol from his hip holster and readies it.


The information does come back to Oracle at the same time as Thompson gets and the redhead feeds the information to May. "He's dangerous, May. Fast, strong…. and smart" unfortunately "This is the one who came for Black Canary."

"Do you know who you're transporting?" Oracle knows that Deathstrokes not likely to be there unless it's worth it.


And the world goes white hot. The force of the explosion from the laser cannon into the street throws Deathstroke to the side, forcing him into a roll that he comes out of with alarming quickness. He's up and running again as if nothing happened, only now he's leaning into the run, hard. And gaining on the car. Seriously. W.T.F. The bullets from Venom pick and pock the ground around Slade, a few even pinging off of his armor with small sparks but do little to slow him down. If anything they seem to urge him on faster. Clocking him from above May's instruments will peg him at a flat out spring of over 45 mph. He leaps into the air and draws something from his back, a slim metal rod that extends into a full length staff just as he clears the top of the car Venom has landed on. The extending staff slams into the rood and propels the mercenary higher and faster on his given path, causing him to woosh past Flash in an orange and black blur. "Rookie." is all he says as a handful of small metal discs land atop the car next to Venom's boots. Then they pop with taser charges.

He impacts the back of the armored transport with a CLANG! that must ring the inside of it like a bell and seems to actually cause the merc a moment of pause as he comes to a resounding and sudden stop. He clings tightly to the chassis anyway and after just that moment begins to climb. The rounds from the chopper are a problem, but not a great one. The vehicle isn't built to pick out targets as small as a man moving as fast as a car, plus he's in a Friendly Target rich enviornment for whatever Agent is up there. Slade feels confident they'll not take to many shots for fear for perforating allies. Especially now that he's atop the only still moving vehicle. Still… it's a problem.


Lunair blinks. Just blinks. Okay, that's… alarming. Impressive. Alarming. And worrying. She's only been at things for about 7 years, the rookiest one here (but not a wookie or Logan. She's not hairy enough for either). Sigh. It's definitely not a good sign.

The dude is running faster than dudes should run. And then there's that guy. She doesn't exactly recall if she's run into that guy (Venom), but she tends to avoid nuking law enforcement types. More trouble than it's worth most of the time. That, and she did befriend a few law-abiding types and she does care. Lunair also is pending a new code name because the old one kept getting her mistaken for people. Mostly people who wear trucker hats. Nevertheless, her power armor enables her to keep up easily enough. Granted, Lunair has at least two brain cells to rub together and common sense as well as a melee score of *Nelson Laugh* means she's not getting any closer to Deathstroke than she absolutely has to be. At the sound of the CLANG! She frowns.

That's not good. Think Lunair, think. Thiiiiiiiink. She can't just cannon that transport. The immense white gun disappears. Waitaminute. !IDEA! Fortunately, smoke doesn't pour out her ears. If she can't shoot the target, why not try a Gravity Gun and try to magnetically pull the mercenary off the truck then try to swing him? That's IF the magnetism can overcome his strength and IF he doesn't just use the momentum to swat her or someone else nearby and IF she doesn't miss.


Melinda May all but snarls audibly when Deathstroke moves past Thompson and puts himself where she can't even try to take a shot at him. "Thompson, be advised. Adversary is powered and highly trained. Escort team. Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage." She then tries something really risky, trying to use the helicopter itself to distract or maybe even knock Deathstroke off of the vehicle he's standing on.


"Roger that," Already rolling off the roof of the car, he hits the dirt just in time to get mostly clear of the ZORCH of electricity that sparks through the vehicle and shocks him enough to knock him down into the sand sideways. He hits the ground, shoulder slamming. Yet he does not lose track of Deathstroke as the man makes that leap over and past him. When the man is against the back of that truck, Flash brings his arm up and instead of gunfire there's another sound.
THWIP!
A large black splotch of webbing is fired straight at the mercenary, seeking to snare and slow the man down while the young SHIELD, no wait, WAND agent starts to regain his feet. "Your face is a rookie." Yeah, he's not quite got the patter down quite yet. Still a bit rusty.


Oracle watches from the vantage of the Clocktower, this is what she's come to expect of the man. Database searches are running to see who the hell is being transported… who would warrant the attentions of Deathstroke.


Deathstroke growls at the annoyance of this. Seriously, what's with all the security for this guy? Sure, he's fought Superman a time or two, but get real, he's not actually a /threat/! Then again… Slade comes to a sudden stop as half his leg is mysteriously glued to the transport and he glances down to find himself webbed in place. He frowns and turns to look back towards Venom, his HUD enhancing his image of the man and his logo. "Oh." he says, his mind racing over recent super secret manilla envolpes that have been handed to him complete with breakdowns of this exact guy. He grins behind his helmet, "Hello Paycheck, I'm Deathstroke." he says as the staff glows on one end and then slices it's way cleanly throught he webbing, allowing the merc to pull his leg free, "Hey, do me a favor would ya?" he tosses something lightly in an underhanded fashion towards Flash, "Hold this?" Just as it leaves his hand however it's suddenly yanked upwards towards Lunair, as is Slade, who's feet lifts up from the transport. He twists around and pulls something from his belt, firing a graple to at the still oddly angled autocannon atop the LexCorp truck and anchors himself to it, "Hey! That was for the other guy!" he informs Lunair as her little gravity gun hurtles a white phosphorous explosive directly at her. Just to keep everyone honest his non-grapple-related arm swings the staff in a wide arc, sending out a thin lancing flash of energy powerful enough to make sand glow hot and melt the top layer of armor off of any HumVee's it might splash over.


C'mon. Seriously. That's Tentacles McGee, not Paycheck. Or something. Lunair's not sure. She remembers the last time she ran into the guy there was a baklava (was it the dessert or mask? So confusing). The gun seems to be working, when Slade manages to anchor down. Oh shit. "Oh! Sorry, mister!" She offers back. That was rude of - Waitaminute. Oh no. That's a- Doubletake, ho!

There's a wail from the armor and she launches upwards, dismissing her gun. It's almost flailing more than anything. She moves stupidly fast though, but she's still going to get knocked off balance by the dang thing.


Melinda May frowns as her attempt to knock Deathstroke off of the carrier is thwarted by… "Lunair. O, Lunair is here. Patch her in to our comms." Major downside to this damned whirlybird, it is not NEARLY maneuverable enough for what she needs right now. She'd ALMOST wish for a quinjet right now. Or a copilot that could keep up with this mess and free her to get down there and deal with that orange and black bastard.


As the target starts levitating, Flash breaks from cover and starts to close the distance. A webline /thwips/ out and attaches to the back of the truck, just enough to snap taut and jerk him forward like a zipline. He lands, flips to the roof of the target vehicle and starts to take a bead…
But then that tell-tale klaxon warning of his spider-sense starts to wail loudly in his mind, right before that beam of light flashes out and he's forced to /leap/ to the side.


"On it, May" Oracle is already accessing Lunairs phone "May, we have to get this kid into the network, we encounter her too often." Lunairs phone starts ringing…. and Oracle conferences the call with May. May can take the lead with that one.


And time slows down. People think that Slade can somehow 'see faster' then normal people, he's not entirely sure where that whole thing came into being, but it's ridiculous. Someone once said he clearly could tap into the Speed Force which would be nice, but self delusion isn't his thing either. This is. Right here. He doesn't usually tap the full nature of his mind during a battle, mostly because he doesn't need it, but there are to many unknowns, to many variables that weren't here when he planned the job and he needs time to think. So… it's time to stop multi-tasking and merely start focusing. Time of course doesn't really slow down, but the speed at which Slade processes all of the information his senses are taking in suddenly increases exponentially slowing the world to a subjective crawl. Whumpwhumpwhump. Whump. Whump. Whump… whump… whump… … whump … He can hear the rotors of the helo as it goes by, feel the way it's passing changes the air currents and alters his momentum on his anchored line. Splat. He sees the web line slowly impact the side of the transport and the heavily armored form of Venom yanking itself up to the roof. He focuses on his periferal to judge the distance of the willy pete from the suddenly arcing vertical Lunair and counts the time to detonation vs his own distance and velocity. He judges weaponry against his newly aquired knowledge of Venom and what's currently in his aresenal and what he knows of the armament of the helo that's giong to take at least eleven seconds to complete it's dive and arc back around for a clean firing line. He does all of this and still has time to grin wider behind his mask before the explosive charge goes off.

"I fucking love my job."

He whispers softly as he whips his legs around and hits the retraction on the grapple lines connection to his belt. The shock wave strikes him just as his whipping legs enter the passing turbulent air of the helo and the combined nature sends him into an insane nearly horizontal arc, swinging on the grapple line like his name was Spider-Man. The retraction of the line tightens the circle and increases his speed so that by the time he cuts the line loose to compensate for Venom's sudden sideways stumble, he's traveling at bone jarring speeds. He aims his boot heels dead center of Venom's silver spider logo while his torso twists around so that his glowing power lance can slam into the top of the armored car, melting a line and a hole in it so he can turn the staff into pivot point that LOOKS NOTHING LIKE A STRIPPER POLE YOU PERVS.


The brain does strange things when it's pressed to. Lunair's no slouch in combat, but she's punching up above her paygrade on this one. She at least doesn't get hit with anything. She's just annoyed. A lot. "… hey! Keep your clothes ON!" Is that a pole!? Is he going to DANCE AT THEM!? Crap! Lunair hasn't even taken a single semester of Modern Dance! And no one wants the white girl flail! Wait, should she be tipping her? HYDRA experimental weapon or not, Lunair is well mannered and you /tip/ people, dammit.

Nevermind. Agent Tentacles is going to get the stuffing kicked out of him and she's got to help. But how? She doesn't know him well enough to give him power armor. Gotta think. Gotta- ah hah. Now she's thinking with portals. Time for a portal under Deathstroke's current position and another behind the transport.

Also, Lunair apparently has a phone call. "Hi! busyfightingsorryportalingaguy."


"Lunair. May. I'm in the helicopter. We need to get that guy away from the transport." She's still banking the helicopter around as sharply as it's capable of, and just maybe, if Lunair gets this right, she'll have a clear shot at the man with the bird's attached weaponry. Way too many ifs, but really her only shot at this point.


In that same smoothness of time, the black and grey form of Venom recovers from the dodge. There's the /whumpf/ of that explosion, the hurtling of debris cascading like a pattering of rain upon the metal top of the armored car, and then the approaching silhouette of the masked mercenary aiming his boots square at the young agent's center mass.
Yet atop that vehicle, from afar, it's all a blur. The leaping kick landing of Deathstroke. The mid-air flip of Venom leaping straight over to the back of the attacking mercenary. Then that lance slams into the rooftop and he swings around viciously. Suddenly the two armored men are face to face and the flurry of blows thrown, evasions, forceful deflections are impossible to discern.
Yet to Flash and Deathstroke it's all this steady flow of events. Attack, evade, block. Circular movements, short sharp stabbing attacks. And out of that engagement Agent Venom is suddenly knocked back by a strike across the jaw that sends him reeling one step, another. He scowls and snaps his arms out to their sides, twin batons growing with electrical sparks flashing to life on their ends.


Deathstroke's momentum alters as his staff suddenly no longer has purchase as the portal under him swallows it whole. Sadly for whatever guards are inside the van, the staff comes out the other potal glowing end first and embeds itself in the back door of the transport, melting a fist sized hole in the doors until it sags enough to fall free and be left behind in the road as the LexCorp vehicle continues. Then Slade is face to face with Venom and the kid actually throws a punch. And things get… complicated. Venom may have the advantage on strength, a fact Deathstroke discovers when a well planned block doesn't work like it should, and his speed is exceptional, but his actual skill is… well. Basic. It takes only a moment for Slade to find the younger man's rhytym and disrupt is, spinning past a right cross and that forces Venom to over compensate and driving a backspun elbow point first into the symboite's face with the force of a hammer blow. When Venom rights himself and just creates a pair of escrima sticks from nothing Slade's helm just shakes, "You were better off keeping it barehanded boy." he says as he nonchalantly reaches behind himself and there's the sound of wrenching plasticine and metal as Deathstroke rips his sword free of the windsheild it's been stuck in all this time and comes out holding nearly five feet of glittering Promethium bastard sword. As he pulls the sword into a guard possition the dessert sun glints down the length of the blade and reflects directly into Venom's eyes, a simple and effective strategy. From the helo May watches the play as it happens, followed by the tossing of a small object onto Venom and a lashing straight kick that boots the symbiote cleanly off of the still moving transport and out onto the road. Turning to eye the chopper Deathstroke raises his hand over his head so May can get a good look at what he's holding. It's commonly refered to as a 'dead mans switch'. The sword then calmly points back at the tumbling Venom. Then he makes a little flick of his fingers May's direction. Shoo bird. Go away. I'm busy. The dismissive gesture says it all.


Well, okay. That could've gone better. Lunair sighs deeply. "I guess he might've stuck an explosive on the guy or something… I was going to try to grab the - not orangey guy." That's Lunairspeak for: She was going to pick up Venom, but she will wait for May's okay.


Melinda May glares at Deathstroke. The sheer GALL of the man. And, what's worse is she CAN'T just back off like he's telling her to. There are other agents INSIDE that transport, and driving it. They can't get clear. And if they can't, she WON'T. Knowing the man can see her, she shakes her head no. "Lunair, get that explosive off of Thompson. Now." She knows it's likely futile, but anything to delay it a little longer.


Deathstroke shrugs his head then and jumps down off of the front of the van, vanishing from sight while Venom's body arcs suddenly as large amounts of electricity crackle and sing over him. Deathstroke doesn't make idle threats. He merely informs people of certain consequences. May really should have backed off. Smoke billows from the LexCorp vehicle as Deathstroke stops his attempts at taking it down by simple means and merely rams three feet of unbreakable superalloy into the engine block. Smoke and fire begin to billow from the front end of the transport in short order and it comes to a shuddering sudden stop as Slade leaps from the hood. The doors of the cab open and two men stumble out coughing and hacking, the driver takes an almost forgetful right cross to the jaw that lays him out as Slade nonchalantly walks past him towards the back of the transport. Then he pauses and tosses something through the melted hole there and leans against the side of the van in an idle manner as smoke begins to pour out from inside. Those doors also open and men begin piling out of there, three of them, and none of them so much as make it past their feet touching concrete before they're sprawled about on the road unconscious. Deathstroke disappears inside the transport and the smoke that was billowing out a small hole in the doors is now a towering column that's starting to obscure vision from on high.


Well, that's not good. Poor Venom. Lunair will go scoop the guy up and carry him back to the others, making sure he's still breathing and all. She's none too eager to go poke at Deathstroke - wherever he might've gotten off to. "Got it. Sorry," She seems apologetic because the tentacle-y agent doesn't deserve zappings, far as she knows.


Melinda May curses again, she can't see jack past the billowing smoke. "Oracle, I've lost visual. Do you have a bead on anyone still moving?" She has to drag the helicopter around again to get it stopped enough to finally land. Way too long. This is taking way too long. That lunatic will be gone, and the prisoner being transported with him.


"Too much smoke, May." Oracle was watching but Deathstroke does his job well "Last I saw, Deathstroke was heading to the back of the transport. But …" she's frustrated "I can't see him now."


And that's when the cussing starts up. At least it's in Cantonese or something that hopefully no one else understands. The helicopter touches down and almost before it's fully settled she's out of the pilot's seat with an ICER in hand and trying to track down Deathstroke.


Smoke upon smoke upon smoke. More canisters are laid, then more, and soon the area is a rainbow of colors and thick almost soupy like billowing clouds of the stuff. The helo's blades mixe it up and blow it about, but with this much dencity it actually makes things worse. Once the helo is grounded and May advances in to check on her men, everything is damned nead black as night and line of sight is limited to less then five feet. It doesn't do much to cut out the noise though… … …which is how May learns of Deathstroke's escape plan. Namely taking her ride. Why bother to bring his own when he can just make the heroes bring one to him. The chopper lifts off from where May left it, a man in a hood is in the passenger seat and Deathstroke pilots. As it lifts off and May breaks free of the cloud enough to get a good look the helo swings around and Slade salutes her in thank you for bringing him his evac plan, and then the chopper seems to swing up on invisible lines and arc off into the sky at an angle that proves his skill. The men on the ground are unconscious and injuries range from minimal to severe… but there are no fatalities. One that might be a close call if medical evac is slow, but it was caused by the HumVee taking a bad roll. Still, the LexCorp safty systems are nothing to shake a stick at and so everyone will live, scarred up, but alive. Of course now May's going to have to explain how a single man took out an entire transport and stole her helo to someone somewhere surely. That'll be a fun conversation.

In the helicopter Slade reaches down to his side and presses a hand against the exit wound, a grimace crossing his face, "Stupid," he says inside the helmet, "stupid and slow. You shoulda been faster." he berates himself as he lets his breath hiss out between his teeth. Reaching onto his belt he pulls out a canister of biofoam and sprays directly into the two bullet wounds he took low on his abdomin near his hip, one a consequence of Venom's bullet finding a chink in the armor the other a shot from the helo that clipped him. It's by far the worse of the two wounds. He lets the pain in for a moment, a reminder, then shuts down those receptors in his mind, not entirely blocking it out but numbing it away to a mere annoyance. He'll call Hemmingway to look at it after the Asset is secure. Speaking of… he reaches up and yanks teh hood off of the sputtering and cough man beside him. Balding, fat, smelling of stale sweat and something sickeningly sweet Deathstroke makes a disgusted face behind his helm, "Winslow Schott." he says as the man offers up a small ingatiating smile and a trembling hand, "P-Pleasure to m-meet you." "Shut up." Slade says flatly, "The Toyman's services are required." then he grows serious and ignores the stick long enough to lean in close so that Schott can enjoy the full measure of his helm and the cold ice blue eye behind the lens, "While you are in my employ if I so much as hear of you looking towards a child I will kill you." he says dangerously. "I am not Superman. I am not Lex Luthor. I am not Batman. Know what I am saying for the truth. There is no where you can hide from me, no where you could run. I won't torture you, I won't gloat or bargain or monologue like a madscientist. I will come for you. I will gut you like the coward you are and I will mail your head to the Daily Planet so everyone can know they need no longer fear your pervertion or evil." he waits a full five count to make sure that sinks home before looking back out the windshield. "Now go to sleep, I need to make some phonecalls." and he simply clocks the Toyman in the jaw, rendering him a drooling unconscious blob of fat.

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