The Process of Extraction

August 19, 2014:

August 19, 2014 A continuation off of Process of Elimination; Hawkeye's teleported destination is Madripoor and into the clutches of Taskmaster and a very nasty interrogator. Domino to save the day (Emits by Task).


Condemned building. Royalty dockside.


NPCs: Cobra Vipers Volk Mercenaries Nika "White Fox" Golyak Nikov "Que Ball* Golyak Unknown 3rd Party



Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Hawkeye cannot hear the Russian being fired back and forth around him. BUT he can feel that very Russian fist that connects with the side of his head cauliflowering his ear in one vicious punch. That blow impacting hard enough to rocket his neck up and off to the side to the point of straining.
"Ouch. He felt that one." Taskmaster grunts, arms folded across his chest where he stands next to Nikov the brother of the woman doing the beating. He rather likes these Russian clowns, they like to drink, fight and they're very up front. Also despite her pug of a face Nika (Nikov's sister) has a fantastic body. She's exhibiting her fitness in the way she pounds on Clinton "Hawkeye" Barton like he's a slab of meat hanging in one of Stallone's movies.

"Yeah, she gets a little carried away. You have to talk to your people and get us one of these teleporter things. It is very nice."

"It is and unfortunately it's very expensive. A point to point kind of thing only, once fired it doesn't work no more. Plus look at all this garbage it required to make that happen." The mercenary waves around them at the large dimly lit room covered in an array of mechanical and high tech wiring. It's a hidden location off the Royalty Wharf side in Madripoor. A Cobra controlled location that Taskmaster knew was taken off their books intentionally (labeled as condemned), he wrangled a few of the Baroness book guys to make sure. One of them is dead. The other one is very convinced never to talk about anything involving Contingency T and his extracurricular activities.

Domino is at fault here in a round about way. Domino is also the easiest way to get in to this situation and out without disrupting lengths upon lengths of red tape. It's a very special high clearance birdy that gives the mercenary sharpshooter a very simple message. A location; Longitude and latitude. That leads to the decaying half collapsed building on the Madripoor docks. No security. Just an empty structure.

"What did she say?"
"She wants to cut off his nose."
"Kinda mean, huh? Fuck it. Go ahead."

At this point Barton could feel the weight of the woman on his lap, mask being drawn up (he probably only has visibility out of one eye) in front of him is a woman with a bent nose, scar tracing down her forehead to her chin and platinum blond almost white hair and a very very sharp gleaming knife. One she is licking. Something in Russian is said, fast, clipped and hard to read with the malformation of her lips. Behind her, blurry right now is two larger shapes, a skull faced man? And a bald man with tattoos.

"Oh! Good morning, sunshine!" The skull faced one fires off in a chipper tone.


Madripoor. Domino's spent some time around here before. The place never really grew on her, oddly enough. It's hot, it's an anarchic mess, and when one gets down to the meat of the place, it's an ideal location for low-life 'scum of the Earth' types like herself. The coordinates she received had been unexpected, but useful. That she's about to do SHIELD's dirty work for them is beyond her. All she knows is that she got screwed over six ways to Sunday on this job and that does not make for a happy albino.

She's barely slept. The wound in her back from Deadpool's blade is still fresh and sore as ever. She's ragged, hopped up on caffeine and adrenaline, and more than ready to destroy everything around her.

The first few guards had gone down easily. No one expected her to show up on her own accord, especially not after Deadpool tried to double down and teleport her here as part of the deal. Stuck using whatever equipment she could scrounge together in the area she's spent a little time rigging up some heavy chain to a few key points on one of the rotting building's walls.

The other end is hooked up to a rusting out pickup truck. Something really big and nasty. With dualies in the back for that 'almost but not quite a semi cab' feel.

The engine revs slightly as she glances back in the rear-view mirror, her stare weary but determined. "Knock knock, bitches."

The clutch snaps and the engine lets loose with a heavy snarl, launching the truck forward a few feet before the lines catch, snapping the back of the truck clear off of the ground. In that moment there's a -CRACK!- which reverberates throughout the warehouse that's followed by the shriek and groan of tortured metal.

One more heart-felt yank and she'll rip the whole damn wall off of the building.

Screw subtlety. Dom's pissed off.


Barton's head snaps back with the force of the strike; he's been taught, trained to follow the punch, but that in no way shape or form lessens the pain of impact. Nor does it help with the bruising and the bleeding from torn skin. A grunt rises from the impact, and his battered head whips back, and then down as he draws pained breath as if attached to his shoulders with a rubber band.

Taking the moment to lift his head, Barton rolls it backwards to draw another breath through his mouth, tasting the bitter iron, only to feel the warmth and weight of a woman settle onto his lap. As the mask is drawn away, he's got one blue eye swollen shut and the other just now coming into its own with the ichor-green and purple bruising, trailing down his cheek. Can't miss the knife, however, and lifting his good eye to the pair talking, even in the silence, he can make out a word here and there. And that knife?

Can't be good.

"Could'a-" okay, trying to find his voice and it's not working. Ow. "Coulda let me sleep in a little longer," finally manages to come out, perhaps a little loudly (in that he can't actually -hear- himself talking). Barton's one good eye flickers between the skull-faced guy and the woman on his lap. (She's got a body that won't quit. Too bad her face could use the mask he's no longer wearing, though.) "Didn't your mother-"

Whatever is left remains unsaid, however, as Barton -feels- the tremors of the building. It's a rumble, for sure, and there comes a shred of… is that hope Barton? At least maybe a -chance- of getting out of this one vaguely alive.


The knife point pushes in just above the nose below the left eye before the entire building shudders causing the woman to stop just as blood was burbling forth.
Taskmaster looks towards the wall and releases a hrmpf noise. "Looks like funs being interrupted." He hopes it's not Baroness having a tiff but odds are more likely it's her than what it actually is.
Nikov turns around and heads out of the room without a word his shouting in Russian is loud and erratic waving his men out towards the front. It's a squad size crowd of them here, seven to be exact not including Taskmaster, Nikov or his sister Nika.


Machine gun fire is tearing in to Domino's 'monster' truck right now. Eating it's backside as she tears the front portion of that building down around the docks. Oh this is going to get very messy.


Extra tires in the back mean that Domino can afford to lose one or two in the automatic fire which follows, quickly ducking down in her seat as the back end gets turned into Swiss cheese. One quick spin of the wheel slides the behemoth around to face the opposite direction, generally not a good idea, but now that she can see it coming her probability-bending ways should work a little better.

Better still as she suddenly floors it right for the now open building.

She's still a sitting duck inside of an unarmored vehicle facing a wall of bullets. A graze to the side of the face. A chunk out of a shoulder. Another round rips apart the dash and cuts up a hand with plastic shrapnel. She can barely see through the windshield anymore, but her course is already set. The damage is already done.

The truck hits the downed section of wall at speed, springing up into the air as it comes barreling inside of the building. Almost before it can touch back down she leaps out and rolls across the floor, clutching a rifle to her chest.

A bolt-action rifle. Against a bunch of automatics. Hey, she did what she could on short notice!

"Hope you fuckers saved me some vodka!" she calls out in Russian, hurrying to cover with a brisk limp. First Russkie to show himself is getting turned inside out by a seven millimeter slab of metal.


Barton sucks in a hissed breath and yanks his head back just as the blood begins to well under the stupidly-sharp blade. There's nowhere for him to go, but making things difficult is probably the best route to take. (Assuming she doesn't flinch and he loses an eye. That'd really be bad.) Behind his back, his fingers haven't stopped trying to pull at the ties that bind him, but there isn't enough play for him to get a good grip somewhere. Anywhere. (They knew what they were doing.)

The moment men start running forward as if being attacked, well… that puts a tired, pained smile that looks a great deal more like a grimace, on his face, and gives him a small push of adrenaline. Nika has a knife- he wants it. The moment distraction comes, Barton's head whips forward in an attempt to hit her squarely in the head with his forehead, then flip his seat over to the side, causing them both to land on the floor. (If he's lucky…)

Knife.. knife.. knife..

Of course, who can miss the carnage of the truck pulling the wall off the ruined building? Bits of ceiling are falling, and Barton is trying his damndest for some leverage in order to flip himself into a slightly -better- position. So far, can't tell -who- this cavalry is, but even if it's in-fighting? He'll sure as hell take it!


Unfortunately that chair is bolted down. Sad panda. "Look at you wriggle. I like that." Nika says with a grin, that knife begins to hover again and then a headbutt snaps her in the face. One that makes her upper-body bow back and she releases a groan. How twisted.

Taskmaster blinks, "Oh man… get a roo… hah!" He shakes his head and walks over to swat the woman off of Hawkeye's lap sending her to the floor. "We got no time for this kinda weirdness. Save it for your honeymoon." He's grinning that skully grin down at Clint mask and underneath, "Hello again archer. Seems you've awarded yourself a fan base."

Nika releases a growl as she sprawls on the floor and looks almost like she is ready to leap on the mercenary but instead just picks herself up straightening out her close. "Later, later I have fun with both of you." That accent thick and full of not so pleasant intent.

"Yeah yeah, save it. We need to move the package before whatever is outside gets inside."

Too late. A truck is headed through the entire building and it actually only comes to a stop once it's high ended on the wall to the room they're in, the headlights only an inch away from Barton's face. Nika and Taskmaster nowhere to be seen in the debris but the horn of the car is deafening (to those who can hear) apparently it' stuck on.

Volk gunmen are firing everything they got at the merc as she scrambles for cover amidst the shoot out. Even a grenade is thrown. She is unfortunately for them out of their league. Nikov doesn't know this though and he's moving in on her all Solid Snake like with a garrote wire. Once close neough he will spring.



Several inches' worth of muzzle flare lights up the shadows at the business end of Domino's rifle, the woman ducking back to cover as she snaps the K31's bolt straight back then straight forward. Out-numbered and out-gunned. Her kind of odds. (Fish in a barrel, Dom. Fish in a barrel.)

Another deafening crack thunders from the Swiss-made rifle as she puts a heavy slug clean through the stalled out truck, trying to obliterate another gunman who decided to take cover behind it.


"I'm gonna eat your hearts you worthless bastards!"

KABLAM! (Cover, bolt back, bolt forward, listen, fire.)


Another huge chunk of brass clangs across the concrete floor as she spins and back-pedals out of the fray.

Right into a garrote wire.


Armaments for a merc on a budget. She's got a large brush knife handy, the sheath hastily duct-taped to the fore-end of her rifle. The latter gets dropped as she swipes out for the former, trying to gut whomever managed to sneak up behind her. (-Come- on, you worthless grunt!)


Barton's breathing is heavy; all he wants to do right now is to find a place where he can crawl, curl up, and die. Dying would be good right about now. Still, when the Russian chick with the knife is tossed off his lap, he allows himself the moment of gratitude. Never look a gift horse in the mouth!

The one still open blue eyes looks up, and in the haze can be seen recognition. And it's not hard to see what it is Taskmaster is saying. Honeymoon? "Already married once. Don't want to make the same mistake twice," is coughed out; blood is welling at the back of his throat, and a weak spit dislodges some of it. Fanbase. Means that it's put them on the defensive. Good. But that can also mean that it's not SHIELD. Bad. But potentially recoverable.

Except when it's— oh god, the beams of light blind the archer, but when Barton sees that the damned bullet-riddled truck isn't -stopping-?! Muscles contort, trying to brace for impact, and the one eye that isn't swollen shut closes on its own accord. He's saved with the fact that he's not hearing the sound of the horn all that loudly, but that does manage to find its way through that low percentage of what he -does- have left. The bullets that ricochet around, well… here he is out in the open, in the middle of the fray. Bits of concrete, of metal are cutting into his flesh as they dig into surfaces so very near him. One unfortunate strike does hit him, in the meat of his right arm. As the bullet digs deep and hits bone, Clint pushes back with the pain of the impact.

There, in a pain addled mind, Barton things that he's feeling something wiggle? The bolt is moving? Again, but this time with a touch more urgency (as he's in the middle of a futzing -fire fight-!).

And the one that drove the truck in?





"Watch your fire you fuckin' mooks!" Taskmaster's voice is somewhere. "You'll hit Hawkeye." And me. He's crouched low off to the western side behind a old boiler that's no longer of use. It's not even connected to anything but the wall and is making for a suitable bit of cover right now. "Nika? Where you at girl? Make these Ruskitards stop shooting at everything."

Nika is near Clint standing up only to pull a long slender piece of broken shrapnel from her calf muscle with a prolonged hiss. "On your own Taskmaster. You hit me. NO one hits me and lives unless I say so."

"Ah shit, c'mon. You're deviating just think of it as foreplay. You can get me back for it later; this is very bad for business… you're supposed to be a professional."
The headlights and truck's obstruction is allowing Hawkeye the freedom of movement and operation right now to loosen himself from that wrist eating and ankle slicing bind to the straight backed (very uncomfortable) chair.


Domino can feel warmth, the wet spill of what is probably an intestine oozing down the back of her hip, backside and legs. It's got that very distinctive feel as well as the pained wheeze escaping her assailant. "I take you with me, you bitch." His gasped in to the back of her head as the garrot wire tightens and the man's (though weakening) body tightens, binding his knuckles up and turning them so the wire cuts in to her neck. Airflow should be cutting off now and even a veteran would feel that rising panic.


Not..good… Piano wire can be one of the nastiest weapons out there. With each accelerated beat of Dom's heart she can feel the pained throbbing within her temples, blood trying to reach somewhere where it's needed but cannot go. Even disemboweled the guy clings fast, credit where credit is due. She's got a blade and whatever she can reach, blindly.

Both of his hands are occupied. He's wide open back there.

She shoves the blade lower. Past the gut. Straight down to no man's land. She'll go clean through to the femoral artery if she has to, that'll bleed a person out in seconds. All she has to hold the hell on..a little while longer..!

Hurts to move hurts to think hurts to try and breathe feels like her head's going to fall off -die you sonuvabitch!!-


While they're not bad at tying ropes and zips, it won't always hold up to such things as a -truck- grinding through a building or the serious will of someone who spent formative years as a carney. Blood helps loosen bindings as well as helps lubricate the hands in order to contort and pull free. (Not to mention that huge adrenaline rush coupled with the fact that he's not feeling a damned thing now. Must be shock.)

One tattered, strained hand is pulled loose, which allows for the others to be yanked, tearing at his fingers and fingernails in the bid to get free. Barton can't hear a damned thing, but he can swear that he can hear the blood racing in his own veins as he works furiously. Almost… done…


It's not Madripoor police or militants in this particular area one has to worry about. It's the Cobra Security Forces, men and women personally trained by Taskmaster himeslf armed to the teeth with high-tech weaponry, booster drugs an body armor. Something like this in their territory goes down and they begin to amass like hornets.

Domino mid slice 'n' dice already sees one of the Volk soldiers get mowed in half by a spray of concentrated fire. No questions asked. Those Vipers are here to eliminate.

Nika begins to limp towards Hawkeye that shrapnel chunk in place of where her arm was, it's hefted and about to cut through the air at him when shield bounces off her chest knocking her flat. "Damnit, I warned you." Taskmaster snarls but is unable to get towards Clint. "Kill them." The mercenary yells at the Viper troopers. "Kill every stinking last one of them. Except the archer."

Domino's probably witnessing that odd black and white star burst as the garrote is so tight it could end existence for her and then it just slackens, Nikov lets out a death rattle and his body weight slackens falling off to the side to release the wire from one portion of her neck as legs give out to fall in a pile of his own internal sludge on the ground. Visibility will return and she'll see those black clad death troopers walking almost mechanically through the wreckage opening fire on ANYTHING that moves.



The slender wire bites in a little further as Domino hastily tugs it free, first collapsing to her knees then to all fours as she unwinds it enough to get that first critical breath through, and the sudden rush of blood flow back where it's needed. That she's now hunkered down in a pool of gore doesn't seem to concern her any, coughing harshly and sucking in air as the Vipers storm the place and mow down anything that's left. a bit of a problem for her… She remembers these goons from before. Vague, distant memories of escaping one of their facilities on a hovercraft with Taskmaster. -These- guys held her against her will. She doesn't even know what they did, all she knows is that it hadn't been pleasant and she had to run and shoot her way out of the place as soon as she had the chance.

Now they're back.

Blood coating her hands and the K31 which she pulls from the ground she snaps the bolt once more, lining up the open sights on the first Viper she sees.


Through armor. Through flesh and bone. Through armor. Through truck. Through wooden chair. Through the separation of Barton's two legs. Through the far wall. Free and clear out into the cool night air.


There's no verbal threat or warning made this time. These are soldiers. -Trained.- Better equipped. And she kinda lost her ability to yell obscenities the moment that wire kissed her throat.

High caliber rounds. Big ones, Barton is familiar with. Just because he shoots a bow doesn't mean he's not up on current (and past) armament. And the thing— what the futz?!

In the next second, however, with its timeliness, he finds himself- Free!

Two hands make quick work of leg bindings, and the archer is the hell up. Well, not standing straight up- even Barton knows better than that. But the moment Nika approaches, he's shooting out his injured leg to do a quick sweep, dropping to the floor to spin before rolling under the truck, or rather what's left of it. Probably not the best place to be, but considering his options? If he could hear, he might actually have heard that his hide is at a premium, but that part was missed. As a result, anything that can be grabbed is a weapon- from cement chunks flung at optimum spots… oh hey!

There is that knife that had been embedded in the pizza box- where is it?

Cobra Vipers make no noise when they get hit and still try to operate they just collapse like toys. It's disturbing really how much humanity they lose when it really comes down to it. The armor they were is outfitted with stimulants to keep them moving but sometimes the brain just doesn't register to body when thats not possible.

No time for being disturbed Taskmaster leaps over a wall beam that is jutting out to land on the hood of that truck. Pausing only a moment, "Spot? Why are you here ya pain in the ass." He grunts but doesn't give her more thought or attention than that. His bargaining chip is Agent Barton of SHIELD not the mutant assassin. The movement of Hawkeye has Taskmaster dropping down behind him to lance a kick out at the man's ribcage, a swift one, rapid and crippling if taken wrong. Taskmaster is one of the few 'human beings' iin the world who can take on a super soldier like Captain America or Deathstroke toe to toe. "Where you goin' pal? Just go back to sleep so I can lug your ass on out of here."

A groan escapes Nika and she opens her eyes, both of those blue beacons are full of pure animosity and rage right now as she looks at Hawkeye scowering for the knife and then Taskmaster; it takes her but a moment to sit upright before she is leaping through the air like a tigress landing on the mercenaries shoulders, fingers and teeth clutching down on him, "I told you no one hits me! NO ONE! I will kill you! KILL YOU!"

"Crazy bitch! Get off of me!" Taskmaster tries to dislodge the woman but finds shes got the grip of an Anaconda and is only wrapping tighter as she keeps her grip.

More Viper troopers incoming.

Zzzrkt. "-Askmas… kkrrzt." It seems the scuffle with Nika Golyak has dislodged an earpiece that wasn't underneath Taskmaster's mask. "krrt. Barton secure? Enr… krrrkt.. over-krrrt-resp-krrrrt."

Up snaps the K31 once more, leveling the sights on ..Taskmaster? Domino's more than willing to pull the trigger then and there but she doesn't yet realize the guy -isn't- on her side at all. The last time she saw him he got her out of a bad situation.

Which had also been the last time she saw Cobra…

Oh, -Shit.-

When the other merc makes a move after Barton the albino bares her teeth and slams one more shot out of the old military rifle, likely punching another obscene hole through the ruined truck. This time she well and truly does aim to gun down the guy in the skull mask.

"Barton's mine!" she snarls back in a voice which sounds ragged and positively awful, the empty rifle flung aside as she switches out to a single Arcus 94, little more than a Bulgarian Hi-Power 9mm clone. Sprinting toward the SHIELD agent (and how often is she going to do this willingly!) she goes for broke and hauls out her last weapon, a .357 revolver, which she flings low toward the floor in Hawkeye's direction. (Think fast!)

Taskie's held up by the Russian bitch but it won't last for long. They've gotta make with the getting lost, pronto!

Let it be clear that Hawkeye is -no- super soldier. He's not enhanced, he's certainly not lucky, nor is he immune to all the pain and suffering that's been dealt to him in these last 24 hours. The kick to the rib-cage makes an audible *crack* and he is seriously seeing stars. Barton is pushed back and falls to the ground writhing, a good arm wrapping about his chest. Breath is hard to pull, and it comes in pants, gulping the air in short bursts.

Domino's support is missed in the black and stars that he's seeing, but as the tunnel-vision begins to fade back to something resembling 'real' monocular vision, still coupled with stars, he does catch the albino merc coming his way, pulling out a .357. This is it. Kate gets the cookie jar. I think it's in the will… that I didn't write. Dammit!

The fact that she tosses the wheel-gun at him rather than shoots him point blank between the eyes certain makes him pause. But at this very moment, his entire body hurts. There isn't a patch on him that isn't sore, bruised, bloodied or broken, and he's pretty sure a couple parts of his body are all four. Still, he catches, or rather fumbles for it in his left hand and rolls onto his uninjured side (everything is relative at this point!) before he even tries to push up to a wobbly stand. Whoah… seriously dizzy. In the next moment, has Barton sways whatever contents he had in his stomach is now gone.

Multi-Purpose/attack vehicles stylized much like HMMWV's called the SCARAB or "Steel Crushers" seem to be the transport of choice for these Cobra Shock Troopers. That mean looking heavily armored shovel on the front comes included!
Taskmaster is a little preoccupied at the moment so unable to do more than look their direction before Nika jerks his head in a violent twist; causing him to reel around and uppercut the woman, spin her and plant that shield he slammed her chest with in to the backside of her skull. Teeth goodbye.

"Over there." A pointing Viper motions towards Domino and Hawkeye as a second beside that one levels a small cylinder attached weapon at them and a jet or pure flame rips out. Neat, portable flame throwers. Usually not a great idea but these men and women are encased in protective armor. It's just annoying to them. The unprotected well… it's not pretty.

"ALIVE! Keep them alive!" Taskmaster yells.

(So. About those odds you had figured out before tearing down the wall of this place. It might be time to revisit the list of variables.)

The next Viper to land sights on Domino and pull the trigger gets to find out what happens when a gun detonates in his hands, the shredded receiver flicking slivers of hardened steel outward like a fragmentation grenade.

While her nine probably won't do much against armor, something which she didn't think would be an issue in the first place, she uses it for distraction and cover fire, and for a few 'environmental' shots if they present themselves along the way. Nothing other than Barton and escape, in that order, matters at this point. She'll grab him with a bloodied hand by the arm and start hauling if she has to. He's looking to be in really bad shape, but he's alive… So, there's that.

-Flamethrower.- Inside of a building! Unexpected! As soon as the rush of heat and light comes in from the side she drops and rolls, grunting as the knife wound in her back reminds her that it's still got a lot of healing to do. A flick of the wrist snaps off another wild shot, which..happens to strike and explode an old fire extinguisher on the wall, turning Barton and the merc into something resembling marshmallow fluff. It also makes the floor a little slippery, the spent magazine getting tossed out of the pistol as she scrambles onward.

There -is- a boat out there… And a heck of a lot of armored ground vehicles. They can't give chase if these two are in a boat! "C'mon!" she snarls at Barton all pissed-off-and-motivational-like. A boat also has the added benefit of being able to way out in the middle of nowhere so Barton can't simply bail on her later, he'll have to go -through- her if he wants control.

Because she's not giving it.

Owowowowow… that hurts. A lot. A whole lot. Barton's chest spasms with the pressure of emptying what's left of the contents before he slowly straightens up, if only a little bit. Wiping the side of his mouth with his still functioning left hand, he's looking more than a little worse for wear. If it's not Domino that provides the impetus to move, it's the damned flame throwers that burst flames at the pair.

The snatch, grab.. and yank down gains an almost animalistic howl of pain, followed by a grunt. Ribs. Bullet holes. Being worked over by an ugly Russian chick with a great body- Oh, and before that? Yeah. Domino and Deadpool. Barton is no mutant. No super soldier as Taskmaster knows quite well. There's -nothing- special about the man in that regard. And once coated with the fire extinguisher fluff, if the archer found it difficult to draw breath with boot-shaped cracked ribs, imagine how much harder now when the thing is designed to suck oxygen away to starve flames?

Now, it's just a drag-fest. At this point in time, who knows where the hell Domino is going and for whom. But anything right now is better than being here. 'There' has a chance of him getting away, though not bloody likely. So, lead on and he'll stumble as best he can.

The build is being set ablaze, the Vipers don't seem to be heeding Taskmasters commands and he's finding himself torn about just leaving Nika Golyak face down where she can burn to death. "Screw. You tried to bite off my ear." He grunts to the woman before moving over near where Barton had been picking up that dislodged earpiece, it's not Cobra or Hydra issue. It's something else.
"This is Taskmaster. The package has grown legs." Silence is the return response and anything he would have heard after that is cut out by the gout of flame being launched his way. Annoyed by this he sets to killing these two Viper troopers himself as Domino and Hawkeye escape. Yeah… he's pissed and they just screwed up royally.
"We still able to do business?" He inquires once clear of the burning building parts of the dock already catching whilst standing there watching the boat fire up wakes in it's getaway. It's too far away at this point to even take a pot shot at. Waste of ammo.
"I ask again, we still in business? If so, I'll hunt these fuckers down."

"No, I'm afraid that concludes business for us this time, Taskmaster. You failed us. We will not be bargaining again. Consider this a warning for you to steer clear of our organization."
Taskmaster takes the small mic and crushes it in his palm. Glaring off at the horizon.

There's a reason why Domino's arsenal is as simple as it is on this run. Timing had been a concern, but what black market weapons peddler wouldn't have a couple of full auto options on the table?

She went light on the guns because she went heavy on the explosives.

The inside of that ruined pickup truck houses a collection of improvised explosives. Pipe bombs, old warheads from previous battles, and a healthy collection of glass jars full of screws and nails. A fair amount of the collection survived the firefight. More than enough, really.

The albino unclips the detonator from the front of her armor, thin as a pen and kept neat as you please between the girls. Once on the boat with the throttle wide open…

"Satan sends his love."


Barton's settled near the bow, and once he stops moving, he stops moving as everything begins to catch up to his battered and beaten body. His head rolls back, and his good eye gets heavier and begins to close. Neither the detonation's rumble nor the concussive blast does anything to stir him from the enfolding darkness. By the time they're fully out on the water, Domino gets to be alone with her thoughts.

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