The Authority: Infiltration

September 13, 2015:

The team infiltrate the island of Gamorra; looks like trouble! (Backdated, blah blah)



NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's been a full day since they arrived on the ship just outside of Gamoraa's waters, and Slade, standing on deck, stares out across the seas, his eye narrowed to a slit. "Banner," his coms function by passing through a tiny golden gate that sits over the ship, about an inch around, matching another that floats in Ops back on the Resolve, "I clock movement at the edge of the cove, military or civilian?" he asks, his enhanced vision allowing him to at least pick out motion at this extreme distance. He motions with one hand to Lux, sending her to the side rail where the small submersible propulsion units wait so she can prep the two for drop.

The ship is a small one, a fishing vessel not unlike the others that dot the horizon here and there, though this one's not exactly 'standard', what with it's camoflaged .50's and the dual heavy duty motors hidden under the water line. With the dampening field in place, the gates they use to get to and from the Resolve weren't able to get them anywhere near the island, so they're going old school. Ish. Bruce gets to man the satalites, grainy though their images are, and feed intel to the group while Armory is on overwatch with her rail gun of doom… which Slade sincerely hopes she knows how to use long range. Like really long range. The other two are with him. The mission is strictly intel, all things go according to plan it's in and out and no ones the wiser."

Slade allows that thought to cause him a small sneer of derision. He should be so lucky.

Bruce eats the Combos that he got shipped in, just like Slade promises, munching on his little bits of cracker wrapped pepperoni happiness. Sometimes, it's the little things that keep you from turning intio a giant monster that might murder your friends and family at any moment. Mmmmmmmmmmmm, Combos.

"It's Gamorra, Slade. There's no such thing as 'civilian'. Even if it looks like a raggedy-ass fishing sloop - which that does, by the way - it's probably got a cadre of anti-aircraft missiles underneath the sardine-infested netting," he says, lighting a cigarette. "Doesn't look like they've noticed you guys yet, though, regardless. But I wouldn't count on it lasting - somebody's gonna come up and ask you for the Kaizen's secret handshake and things'll get messy real fast after that. Just keep your heads down and at least -try- to make it to shore before you start blowing people's heads off, though, huh?"

Audrey hasn't used submersible equipment for a little bit, so when Slade motions her over, she takes her time looking over the equipment, double checking every attachment and setting to make sure that everything is in order. Despite the times, the motions are still automatic, ingrained in muscle memory until it takes effort to pay full attention to it.

Armory is quiet. She really wants to be quiet. It might be strange that her footsteps produce no noise. She's altered her boots somehow. She's been diligent about learning and practice. And she seems just fine watching over things. She will stay on overwatch with an alarmingly large railgun that looks like it could peg a toupe off a politican from a mile off. After all, shots made over a mile away… are not impossible. Throw in a bit of super science and, well. She does have binoculars with her, in case that in her power armor fails.

Melody doesn't remain close to anyone, really. She stood off to the side, looking over the edge and into the waters, her fingers gripping the railing as she quietly tries to psyche herself up for the intel mission. She was used to being the one in the back; quiet and unseen, moving through the crowds and picking pockets and bank accounts with the swipe of her fingers and the flick of her thumb.

But this was a new game, no. It wasn't even a game. This was business. And her game face was slowly being created as her little nanites work to deaden the nerves that fire off certain synapses within her brain. There was a little smirk that plays upon her lips as she listens to the conversation, and finally, she pushes off of the railing to walk towards the back of Deathstroke, only stopping to kneel down and properly lace her boots, tightening them to a snug fit. She was almost ready.

Deathstroke blinks and forces his eye to readjust to a more normal range and turns his head to look at Rant, "Seriously, we're going to have to work on that costume. Branding it important." a glance Armory's way and he nods his head, "Stay here, this is our evac plan, if everything goes tits up, blow the ship and gate out, we'll find another way off the island, if it doesn't then you hold this boat as long as you can." should be easier, with the modifications, but likely not the sort of possition that could last forever either. "Come on kiddo," he shoots Rant's direction, "you're with me and Lux, we might need you to bleed on something, and for god sake, try very hard not to get me killed." days like this he misses Taskmaster and Rose. Not that he'd /ever/ say that.

His faceplate drops down with a clank over his face and there's a soft hissing sound as his armor seals itself. He hands Rant her rebreather mask before he walks over to shrug his way into a back mounted propulsion unit, more advanced then the ones the girls will be riding, but also heavier. "Remember, silence is our friend, coms on subvocal. Questions?" he asks, then without waiting for an answer nods, "Good." and drops backwards over the rail into the water, a flurry of bubbles and then he's gone, speeding away under the waves towards teh shore. He assumes they'll catch up.

Bruce Banner flicks around the satellites, knowing he'll only get called in personally if things go really, really wrong. Basically, Hulk is the team's "Get Out of Dictator Jail" free card. Well, if free includes devastating most of the island and making a really, really big noise. But Bruce didn't care much about international incidents. He didn't care for turning into the Hulk, though, so he was going to try and help them succeed without him.

"First targets about half a click inland. It's been disguised as a basic chicken farm, but the coops are arming stations for those silos. Initial satellite imaging indicates there are underground tunnels going from it towards the silos themselves, so that's probably your easiest entry point into the facilities themselves. You'll be in a bottleneck, though, so, y'know…be prepared once you get underground."

"Just let us know if you're starting to panic," Audrey adds to Rant, nodding reassuringly. "We'll make sure you're good." Or at least that's the plan. Once that's set, she steps up to the edge of the boat, suits up, and goes into the water behind Deathstroke. Water missions? Not really her favorite thing. On the other hand, at least they're usually fairly quiet approaches.

Armory is settling into her place, quiet and watchful. She's been on overwatch. She's been cover, tearing apart crowds. She nods and grunts softly at Deathstroke. Quiet, no saluting, only acknowledgment. This is her boat to watch, and she is a dogged opponent. She has shaped her armor to resemble clothes - a flashy suit of power armor would be like throwing up a neon sign over free cake outside a Jenny Craig.

She has no questions, and watches them go. The plan echoes in her mind, simple repetition.

"There's nothing wrong with my costume. It's really comfortable." One thing though, she wasn't wearing spandex or leather. She'd look like a midget who'd sign up for a tossing contest after being slathered in a vat of glue. She slowly stands, twisting her body back and forth, stretching left and right, even jumping just a touch and blowing out a breath of air to get herself ready. Hair tied and tucked into a bun and out of the way, she gives a nod along with a roll of her shoulders to follow the two along.

"I ca— I wo—" She starts out, even lifting a hand to interject but he was already over the edge. A glance was given to Lux as she starts to speak as well.. then.. lets out a little huff of air. "Bruce, monitor my nans, yeah? I just uploaded my app, just let me know if you spot any bugs and I'll try to correct."

Suit quickly placed on, breathing apparatus tucked in, a slight salute was given to Lunair and she was off. Bubbles and all.. she may not keep up but she'll be close upon their six.

By the time the other two arrive, Deathstroke has secured the beach, having slipped up out of the water like the world's deadliest ocean spirit. The patrols, such as they were, were timed perfectly, and getting up the beach into the heavy jungle cover didn't take much, anchoring the submersible just out of tide range and swimming the rest of the way was harder. He covers his team as they reach him, the shouldered G36 with it's dual drums of ammo and customized attachments looking almost like a pistol in the way he sweeps it about with shocking ease. He nods once and heads into the jungle at a slight jog, and infuriatingly enough, he's as silent as a passing wind, barely ruffeling the leaves as he goes.

A half a click to the village with the chicken coops is covered at a marjional jog, and Rant at least will get to understand why he makes them run in full gear every day. He throws up a fist as he nears the edge of the jungle clearing and his HUD throws up a scan, he frowns behind his mask.

"I have trip wires." he subvocals to the other two, "IR beams set just outside of tree range, knee height, and I suspect those little tufts of grass are hiding triggered explosives." he makes a motion to Lux. Hey, if you have an invisible scout on your team you might as well fuckin' use 'em. "Banner, guide her in." He makes sure his HUD display is sending back to Lunair's tech, so she can see what they do, or at least a portion of it. Doesn't do to have your overwatch unaware of your surroundings, that's how friendly fire situations crop up.

Bruce Banner sends in coordinating data to the others so they can make their way to Deathstroke unerringly. He relays a com directly into Melody's ear, so that only she can hear him, "It's cool, Mel, nanites look stable, everything's fine. I have an override program ready just in case,though. Don't let Slade's hardass shit get in your head, he still puts his Tweety Bird shorts on one leg at a time, just like everybody else," he says.

He goes back to standard coms, "Heat signatures show four sentries on the beach side of the perimeter of the farm. Two of them look to be up in trees and all of them are laden down with enough cold metal to make blank spots on their signatures."

Audrey jogs behind Deathstroke, stoic and steady as she goes. She's keeping an eye on Rant, though, gauging her pace just enough to maintain an even distance between the pair. "I can track the IR," Audrey murmurs to the comm, blinking once and refocusing her vision to pay closer attention to the trip wires. "Going dark."

With a moment of concentration, she goes invisible, fading out of sight. Bruce will still be able to see her heat signature, but for anyone not using IR of their own, there's nothing to see. The extra gear is an encumbrance, but she manages all right, slipping silently through the jungle.

Being the world's deadliest ocean spirit is no small feat, either, considering how deadly many of its living denizens are, shaped by millions of years of conflict. In a kingdom of killers.

Lunair has her tech up, even if she has non-technical back up should something happens. There's no direct response to the feed in, but she is getting it. She furrows her brows at news of sentries, furrowing her brows to observe and listen. No fire. But she is quietly acquiring targets, tallying the best spots to hit if she can see such. She does feel a little bad for not speaking to Lux before the water happened. But for now, there's a quiet tension.

Rant manages to keep up just fine, if not lagging a little bit behind. The training was a good payoff, as well as the meals; the vigorous regimine that they were set up pretty much made her for this mission. She broke a tiny sweat yes, but she wasn't tired in the slightest. She could go a few more miles before she cranked out and fell to the floor, dying.

Not in the literal sense.

Bruce's voice within the comms draws out a little smirk, her hand reaching up to lightly smack the top of her head, which turns as she murmurs back into the comms. "He's cool." But what she wanted to say? Slade probably wakes up and his clothes automatically appear like magic. But either way, she doesn't move, only watches.. and lifts her brows in surprise as Lux suddenly disappears. Lady of many talents!

Deathstroke motions Rant to cover his six as he moves slowly, the rifel sweeping the trees. Slowly he lowers the gun, securing it to his back with the quietest of click noises before he reaches down and pulls out a pair of knives that in Rant's hands would look more like short swords, heavy bladed things that one could use to cut up a large carcass for market. They're black, so the metal doesn't glint in the mottled light just this side of the clearing, and he slowly lets his head rotate, waiting for Lux to make her move.

Bruce Banner isn't doing much at this point, except monitoring, making sure Rant's nanites keep her in tip-top condition and really digging into that bag of Combos. Seriously, not to be sneezed at.

Audrey moves by the trip wires, slipping through the grass with little sign of passage. She's already stealthy, but any grass that might move with her is carefully smoothed over in illusion, covering her tracks. As she reaches the first emitter for the IR, she leans down to deactivate it. "One down," she murmurs to the comms. "These coordinates." Since it isn't as though anyone can see her or the trip lines to know which one.

Armory is she who watches the … people. She's watching quietly, unmoving and still. Her railgun carefully at the ready. She's flicking her gaze here and there, deceptively alert. Little movements squinted at.

Rant moves in behind Deathstroke, leaning back just a little as he retrieves his weaponry, prompting her to do the same. She wasn't sure if she were to go with a glock or a blade, but she mimics him like a junior, her own blades smaller, enough to fit her constitution and not overly large.

Nothing was said at this point, and only a hairs of a noise crept from the girl, which was the way she tightens her grip upon the hilt of the blade that had her gloves straining against the handle.

Deathstroke flags the spot with Lux's mark and heads that way, one of the massive blades sliding down into his palm, hilt out low in a throwing grip just in case. Slipping through the cleared lane he motions Rant up on his six and makes a series of simple hand gestures, part of the field training they've all had drilled into them since they started here. He's going to go, she covers him, then she comes right behind him, soon as he's in the nearest coop's door so he can cover her passage. He barely waits for an acknowledgement before making his move. Turns out, for being well over six feet tall and covered in gray and black armor, he's remarkably fast. Like… yeesh. As soon as he's in the coop, Rant can see the barrel of the rifel poke out of the doorway, wobbling once in a 'come on' gesture as he covers her approach. Lux, he assumes, can make it here on her own without all this help. Invisible is cheating if you ask him. He likes it.

Once Rant is beside him he nods at the coop itself and subvocals, "This is why we brought you, find us a door and open it. Quietly." he says before the laser sight on his weapon, a IR sight, flashes three time across the clearing, he assumes Lux can see it and will make her way to them. It doesn't stop him from covering the ground behind them, in case a sentry gets froggy. "Banner," he whispers in his suit, "how far from the coops to the facility proper? Any idea on the size of the tunnels?" he is the single greatest tactician he's ever met, and he's met a lot, but tactics only work if you have intel upon which to base them. He hates going in blind. Like he hates boybands.

Bruce Banner comes on the coms, after he finishes taking a long sip of his Mountain Dew, sighing, "Looks like about three miles. Y'know, a nice crisp morning jog for you Green Beret Ranger Seals. Halls are decently wide, about fifteen feet square, probablyl because they're hauling big shit up and down. Might be some sort of rail or magnetic cart system in there, I'm definitely getting some interesting readings in the floor. I wouldn't put booby traps entirely out of the equation, because it's Gamorra and that's kind of how they roll. Think the big crazy priest guy from Temple of Doom, only with cyborgs instead of hophead cultists."

Audrey can indeed make her own way to the rendezvous, slipping through the greenery and taking care to avoid any of the mines. She doesn't deactivate any more of the IR tripwires - one can be shrugged off as a malfunction, but more makes it clear that there's enemy action afoot. And better that no one be looking for them. Once she rejoins the others, she murmurs to the comms. "On your six." Which is helpful, because she doesn't go visible just yet.

Overwatch is on ur boat watchin ur backs. And your fronts. 3 dimensional, really. But Armory is remarkably focused when she wants to be, hazel eyes narrowed and flickering here and there. She would probably be inclined to agree with Bruce, listening. Doorways, potentially trees, paths. She's got more gaze than Medusa at a snake farm.

Granted, she watches near the boat and such, too. Don't want a patrol to bumble up. But mostly, she is an ally from afar.

It was a little bit hairy, a little bit frightening, thankfully those uploads were put in just before they dived into the water. Else she'd be crying, vomitting, and probably shitting herself the entire way there. There's an app for every damn thing, amirite? She follows as told, not taking a step unless order, memorizing the steps that he took and following the path easy enough, even if she had to hop and leap to cover the stride of his long legs versus her short.

Once they were inside, the blades were soon put away, her gaze scanning the room as she gives a quiet, and solid nod towards Slade. "Door. Quiet. Got it." And once Audrey joins, she looks around to make sure that the coast was clear, her jaw clenching as she pulls the comm out of her ear to prevent feedback and distraction. She also needed to hear. With a finger pressed to her lips to indicate for them to remain quiet, she slowly begins to pace around the coop, a few small steps here and there to listen, the sparkiling glow that used to emit from her skin now only focused within the color of her eyes.

Thanks Deathstroke, training was aces!

She stops cold as she passes a certain part, indicating for them to back away as she does, her eyes focused upon the floor as a thin line begins to slowly etch its way through. At first, it forms the shape of a square.. and then, a line down the middle, quietly parting it's way through with a quiet hiss.. at least she didn't bleed for that to work. The comm was replaced within her ear as she taps it, her own voice quiet as well. "Bruce, I need basic packet loss, I have to slip into the wifi during the hiccup."

Deathstroke keeps his possition, doing his job as always, and he motions Lux to keep an eye on the doorway behind them that Rant's opening. The last thing they need it for something fall into there and it pass through some kind of laser grid or something and set off an alarm. Luckily, even evil dictators have limits on complex security systems. Funny thing about security, the more complex the system, the more high tech and complicated the apperatus, the more prone to malfunction it is. At some point, it's just not worth it anymore… of course, for some people that point comes later then others. "Get me a clear path into the shaft, if there's a loading system of some kind see if you can't hitch us a ride on a rail car or whatever they're using. Faster, less conspicuous then us just hoofing it." that's to either Bruce or Rant, whomever, he doesn't care which so long as they hurry. This is taking to long.

Bruce Banner takes care of both Rant's and Deathstrokes request, downloading the packet she needs to maintain, while quickly downloading a full schematic of the shaft as he continues to analyze it, "Looks like there might be a cart hub about twenty feet in, behind a loading door on the left. Probably has an access panel, btu I'm betting that's kind of child's play for Rant. If not, you can just, I dunno, grenade the shit out, although that's definitely less than subtle," he says.

Audrey sets her gun against her shoulder, sighting down across the open doorway. Military operations she can do. Stealth she can do. Detailed computer hacking? Not her bag of tricks.

Lunair is remarkably quiet. Here, there, near, far. Monitoring the info/feed from DS. She has some really good tech. But a lot of it is mimicry and curiosity. And video games. But she is being a quiet, stern sentry. Overwatchin'. Glance to nearby, make sure no schmoe is going to wander up. Glance away, watch the feed. It's not a routine, though. Falling into routine might mean missing something.

Once the packet was uploaded she dips her consciousness in, and for that briefest moment, there was a flicker within her eyes as the brightness within solidifies. "I'm in. Give me a second guys.." She travels, pinging from tower to tower within the compound, following the natural lines that access the computers.. that accesses the electricity, following that path in which leads her back to the coop, and down into the shaft.. and towards the access panel.

Her hand lifts, thumbing and punching invisible buttons within the air as the rail car begins to move, Rant herself walking towards the door within the floor, only stopping at the edge as she disables the security measures that line the opening. "All clear. Keeping the connection, they don't know that I'm in." Yet. And then she jumps in, landing atop of the rail car, a landing which was taught to her many times.. weight shifted to ease the impact and only cause a small thump in sound.

Deathstroke motions Lux in ahead of him and then follows, dropping down with ease and moving to the front of the car, "Good, now get us to the nearest silo. I want eyes on what's going on, and if you happen to see a terminal you think will get you access to anything beyond surface data, then hop to it. We need to know what's going on here and I don't like the idea of trying a five and a half klik run back to the beach while under fire. Done that before, less fun then it sounds." he says that with a grin though, as if he can taste the lie as he says it.

The trip down the tube is uneventful, all things considered, and fast, as Slade pushes Rant to get them moving quickly. Of course, it can't always stay this good.

The tunnel is… well it's a tunnel. Faceless. Flat. Gray. Concretey. As they pass certain points heading down the tunnel, Slade makes a small gesture with his hand, a flick of his wrist as if he were counting points off. When finally the car begins to slow, Deathstroke hops off before it's come to a stop, dropping into a perfectly timed roll and coming up in a firing possition, sweeping the room. They've ended in an enormous loading bay, a massive structure, clearly underground, deep if the slightly downward slope of the rail was any indication. There are rail cars coming in from multiple directions and automated loading systems remove odd cylindrical tanks from those that come in, roughly man sized. The prossess is slow, agonizingly slow, as if the machines were being extra careful with the fragile cargo. "Banner," Deathstroke says quietly into his coms, staring at the massive opperation, "you seeing this?" he motions the girls to move with him as he starts towards a door that clearly leads deeper into the facility where the silos are likely kept. The question is more to check to see if their coms are still working this far down under the ground then it is to get a science view of this. Speaking of, he uses a visual tab in his HUD to begin recording as they move deeper.

They pause at door and stare at the claw handed loader as it settles one of the tanks on a careful automated belt, the contents of the tank barely even moving under the motion. Deathstroke goes stock still, hand still on the doorknob that will take him deeper into the facility, his gaze settled on the tank as it slowly disappears from sight through a wall moving on along it's assembly line like path. The word is so softly whispered it's not possitive that anyone actually heard it clearly.


Bruce Banner crackles his snacks in the coms for a moment before he responds, although it might be static on the line. Probably not, though. "Loud and clear, O Cyclopean One," he says. He doesn't know what to make of the 'grant' or the tone in Deathstroke's voice. He hopes the old man isn't having some sort of ill-timed Vietnam flashback or something. He does not have it in him to talk Slade down if he goes all Jacob's Ladder on everybody in there.

Audrey jumps into the car behind Deathstroke, taking a moment to pull a veil of shadow over everyone in the car as they travel down the tunnel. Once they're down, she takes a rear guard position, gun at her shoulder. She isn't invisible - they're in a strange enough place that she wants the rest of the team to be able to at least try to track where she is - but she looks like a watery blur, like a smear on developed film.

Lunair kind of blinks. She's likely hoping the same thing as Bruce. Grant ? Granite? Hmm. No time to think about it. She's on your boat, watchin' for (and your) mans. Hazel eyes search here and there, glancing up close and afar with an ominously powerful rail gun.

The road was paved with bad intentions (read: Deathstroke and Lux), Melody kept behind them, not armed and ready, but the steady glow within her eyes drop so that they wouldn't be the first thing that would be seen. The connection to the wifi and mechanics was still there, the electricity a low thrum in her ears, which causes her to miss the whispered word that makes her slightly frown.

"What was that?" She asks quietly, her gaze following theirs, her brows furrowing as she looks towards the door, to Slade, then to the watery Lux.

Deathstroke's hand grips the stock of the gun tightly and there's a moment where time slows for him as his mind replays the moment slowly. He can't be sure that's what he saw, but it looked like Grant. It couldn't be, of course, Grant is dead. But it looked like him. Hell. It looked like /Slade/. Which means Grant. He blinks once and breaks off a section of his mind to focus on that problem while he turns and shoulders his way in through the door, his body language now angry and stiff with barely restrained violence, "Nothing." he answers evenly on the team channel. "Focus on the mission." the words are clipped and bitten off sharply. "Rant, Jolly Green, either of you know where we can find an information node, an acess port, anything that'll get her a path to tangible intel?" he then makes a series of short hand gestures to Lux, telling her to scout ahead. He wants eyes on one of these things, a canister, a launching tube, /whatever/ they are, he needs to know.

Bruce Banner doesn't particularly care for that nickname, but given that he keeps teasing Slade about his lack of depth perception, he supposes he can take it with good grace. Plus, he took two Xanax before he started monitoring this mission. Really takes away the flashbacks to childhood teasing. "There's fiber-optic data cable about seven feet off the ground in the left side wall - if you can punch a whole in that, should be easy enough to tap into their hard-wired datanet. They're not using wifi or giving any internet access sat all, it's all grounded there - Kaizen doesn't want any hackers playing in his playground."

Bruce Banner doesn't particularly care for that nickname, but given that he keeps teasing Slade about his lack of depth perception, he supposes he can take it with good grace. Plus, he took two Xanax before he started monitoring this mission. Really takes away the flashbacks to childhood teasing. "There's fiber-optic data cable about seven feet off the ground in the left side wall - if you can punch a whole in that, should be easy enough to tap into their hard-wired datanet. They've got wifi, but there's definitely some stuff that's being kept out of the airwaves - probably some private playgrounds Kaizen has. Doesn't want strangers coming in and kicking down his sand castles."

Audrey nods once to Deathstroke, a smear of soft light and color in the air next to him, then fades away to nothing as she walks slowly and carefully up the tunnel. One foot in front of the other, each step rolling silently despite the combat boots. Her gun is firm against her shoulder as she scans along the hallway, looking for enemy activity or anything that looks significant.

Lunair is also watching the feed from DS, blinking. That is a bit odd. She says nothing, though. Sometimes it's tough when watch is quiet, but it's for the better. A little fidgets as she adjusts. Still, that feed is making her curious. Lunair is watching. Making sure no one spots or gets too close to the boat. Oddly quiet, that. There's gratitude and unease.

A slight nod was given to no one in general as she focuses on the mission. As told. Her fingers clench into a fist as she carefully extends her hands, turning to press herself against the wall near to the door as she waits for it to clear. She takes in a little breath, then exhales.. and with the draw of breath she sets herself to travel the waves again, parts of her psyche splitting off to create an all too normal anomoly within the systems whilst her main path searches for the fiber optics.

"Track me. Make sure nothing is on my back, Bruce." No sense in being hacked while on the mission, that'll upset things for certain. Fiber optic cable reached with ease as she slides into the route of information that passes to and fro throughout the base. Screw searching, she was going go gleam what is sent and retrieved and worry about the feedback later.

Deathstroke reslings the rifle on his back and opens one of the pouches on his belt, showing a small tool kit, "I could, but the idea is to /not/ let them know we've been here." he points out, and somehow he suspects holes punched in the building's walls would likely be a clue. He learned all about clues like that from Nightwing. A small handheld drill like thing is assembled and it's tip is pressed against one of the rivets holding the panel up. There's a soft 'ping' noise as the rivet is sheared away and he moves on to the next one quickly.

Lux will find that all the laser trip wires and the like are done now that she's inside, now it's a place of sciency goodness. Or badness. Whatever. The hall way is blank and boring a hundred feet later or so it T's off, and to the left are what appear to be dozens of large windows that allow anyone walking the hall to peer into various labs for clearly different things, next to each door there are plaquards with writing she can't read, she assumes the names of who's offices and work spaces are lay beyond each coorisponding door. That hall goes on for a long long while before making a sharp turn to the left. Shadows against the windows informs her that things are moving in most of those labs, and by 'things', one of course means people. The facility is clearly not entirely automated. To the right the hallway has a single long window, and she can spot that beyond it rolls the conveyer belt with it's large tank like passenger, heading off into the distance. A man stands in that hall, pacing the tank as it goes, jotting down notes on a clipboard with a pen, checking occasional readouts on various substations set withing in the wall as he goes, testing points for the capsule perhaps.

Armory's attempt at keeping an eye on the group's video feed /and/ on the waters around her must be exhausting… of course it also pays off. A couple of other fishing boats have been drifting her way slowly, no real hurry, and casting nets as they go, men hustling about the deck doing the business of fishermen the world over. But they're getting closer and Armory's boat is very pointedly /not/ crawling with figherpeoples.

Deathstroke pauses and eyes Rant, "What are you… Oh good. She doesn't need access to the cable." he looks at the metal panel he was starting to remove and sighs, putting away the tool. People need to tell him these things. Note to self: Additional communication training required.

Bruce Banner just monitors things, making sure all is clear. He scans the satellites to make sure no panic or obvious alarm maneuvers seem to be going down, "Looks like you've kept a low profile successfully so far. Go, Team Rocket."

Audrey frowns slightly to herself as she reaches the point where she can see the conveyor belt moving along, slowing her pace to move closer as quietly as possible. Whatever's in there made Deathstroke pause. That means it's worth finding out about.

Lunair is used to staking things out, quiet and patient. Although moving her attention and gaze back and forth does get tiring. "Looks like a couple of fishing boats are coming this way," She remarks. She is thinking a moment. There's uncertainty. Massacring one boat is going to draw attention. But she doesn't want them to get close and raise alarms. Gotta think. Gotta think. Ah hah.

Quiet is paramount. And then she remembers what she used dealing with some renegades. Quiet, anesthetic sleeping dust grenades appear behind the fishermen in the boats, before a soft *poof* scatters the sleeping dust into the air around them, thick and dusty - mingling with the salt in the breeze. One boat. Two boats. Both get duly dusted. Crossing her fingers and tensing. Though, she is keeping the railgun at the ready, just in case. Still, quiet is again, paramount.

And watching to see if there's further occupants in need of dusting. Quiet. So quiet.

One eye pops open to take a good look at Deathstroke; lines of coded information clouding her vision as one brow arches and.. 'Huh.' The information was flowing fast and steady, downloading everything to the nanites inner network, all the while subduing the glow that would usually emit from her skin into a clear focus within her eye.

"I'm getting all of the information that I can. Won't be accessible until I disconnect and get some.." She pauses, her eyes soon jerking left and right, it looks rather creepy so she immediately snaps them shut. Surely, they need to move, but there was so much she was gleaming, even personal records.. probably google information.. but more importantly? Scientific data and statistics, results and failures.

"Pokemon reference," says a voice behind Banner, "niiiiiiiiice. The Old Man won't get it though, he hasn't watched TV since it sold out and went color." a lean athletic black man slides into a chair next to Bruce and offers his hand, "Peabody, nice to meecha." he's dressed in a pair of slacks and a dessert sand button down tucked in shirt with the sleeves rolled up a bit. There's a grease smear on his wrist and another on the side of his jaw, but otherwise he appears to be rather clean cut, almost nerdy. Shaved head with a pair of small scars near his left ear and the sharp eyes hidden behind Army issue thick black rimmed Buddy Holly glasses give him away. Ex-Military. "The Old Man's told me a bit about you, did some homework, you're the real deal. Welcome to Team Wilson… or whatever he's calling this shin dig." the man turns back and eyes the feeds, "So he killed all the cyborg-ninja-pirate-nazi-zombies yet or is he slac…" the words fade away and he adjusts his glasses and leans in, "fuckme." he mutters, "Is that Gamora?" his tone suggests that's a concern, as does the sudden lack of good natured teasing on his features.

Rant's brain is suddenly /flooded/ with data. Imagine tapping into a water pipe in a house, a solid but predictable flow of water, and then tracing that back up to a connection that leads to the city's water main. The fiber optic cable is a generation or two ahead of what's readily available in the US, and it's running at capacity. Tapping into it is like trying to hurl herself into a city water main. If the water main was also not in any language she's ever seen before. Terrabytes of information passing at light speeds. Whatever Kaizon is up to, it's not small time. This is Big. Big Big. And it's in Gamorean.

Lunair's slowly drifting boats, with their fishermen going about their jobs, slowly become lifeless as men begin to drop, one after another, slowly sinking to the deck. Two problems with that. One, and it's the 'less' important one, fishing is a dangerous job for a reason, and if she's paying attention she'll take not that at least one man goes overboard and another on the other boat is half crushed by a crane's arm that isn't properly directed to a stop because it's opperator is now snoring. And two, the more important one, there's a man on each of the boats that sits at the top, radio in hand, ordering his men about. One of them is doing well enough as a fisherman that his little Captain's seat is in a box of plexiglass, one assumes with an air conditioner. So he doesnt' get dusted, and now he's yelling into his radio in real concern.

Lux's eyes settle on the canister, in which floats what could be accurately be called an 'ideal' man. Well over six feet, powerfully built with lean muscle and little to no fat, he's a sculpture of perfection. Short blond hair floats idely around his head in a halo, held mostly in place by whatever viscous fluid slightly foggy liquid fills the tank, blank ice blue eyes staring right through her, unblinking, unseeing. The resemblance is… striking. If one were to erase 40 years from Slade, thirty pounds of muscle, give him back his eye, and take away whatever life lessons made him the hard unyeilding man he is, perhaps catch him sleeping, he would look like this. It's down right creepy.

What's worse is that beyond him, past the conveyor belt with it's Deathstroke In A Can, Lux's eyes settle on what she though was just oddly shaped shelving. It's not. Focusing in she can see racks of such tanks, racks upon racks upon racks, tanks secured with tubing and wires, hung like fruit on a vine. It brings back some small imagery of that Matrix movie she saw once, only cleaner and less organic. Right down to the robotic arms that seem to tend the 'fruit', moving about in slow precise movements.

Of course, that's when the claxon sounds and red lights begin to flash.

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