Never Mess with A Man's Ride

April 05, 2015:

Deathstroke runs into some trouble and has some unexpected backup.

Opal City

Opal City is a nice, if small ish, Midwestern Town. Which is about to get… less nice.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

You know what's a bad sign that your day trip to Opal City has gone straight to hell is? Explosions. Explostions are a bad sign. You know what's worse? Explosions caused by small rockets fired from the shoulder mounted weapons pods of very agile, very fast, very cybernetic, very angry enhanced bio-borg ninjas. Well. That's how Slade knows his trip isn't going according to plan. That and they blew up his new car. HIS CAR. Come on people. There are rules. You don't fuck with a man's ride, and you /certainly/ don't fuck with a man's ride when it's only eight hours clear of wearing dealer tags… Sigh. He loved that car. It was pretty. It was a classic.

Deathstroke rips down the street on the back of the Ducati super bike, it's engine whining up near inhuman pitches as he pushes the machine to it's factory limits. He weaves through the traffic as if it were standing still, which to him it nearly is, and he manages a look in the side mirror on the bike, a sort of reading from his periferals as he S curves his way through a pair of town cars. The techno-ninjas (he reallys should name these guys something solid) don't seem to be dismayed by the nearly 80 mph pace he's setting as the repulsar sleds that glow under their feet seem more then up to the challenge of keeping them within firing range of him. He bares his teeth behind the mask and cuts so sharply to one side his pauldron scraps sparks on the under side of a tractor trailer, the lean putting his knee into the asphault and carving up a short shallow furrow. Nth metal people, tell your friends. Where he was a moment ago there's a rose flower blossom of flame and sound and hear and a Prius, so quiet and unassuming, becomes something of a sudden attention getter as it turns into a 60 mile per hour hybrid fireball. -I need to take this off the free way, to much open space.- he thinks to himself even as his body puts him into action seeki-Oh. Lookie there. An over pass ramp. He aims the front tire of the bike at the guard rail support and it's charmingly ramp like angle and pops the front end of the bike up just as rubber meets steel. -Shade is gonna be pissed. Heh.- he thinks to himself as both he and the bike go airbourne over busy Opal City streets followed by a dozen hyper tech ninja warrior creepers of clearly varying specialties.

***

The Partisan, everyone's favorite freedom fighter. She does not, normally fight techno ninjas. Fuck she doesn't normally fight ninjas at all, of any kind but well. Bad guys often have something of a "look", and techno ninjas? Yeah ok just fuck this. She lifts a hand to pull down her gasmask, before keying her throatmic. "1-2, 1-1. I need you here. Ninjas and shit, do me a favor and bring me my ultimax?"Quietly she slips out from between the alley, stepping into Deathstroke's peripheral as he rolls up to pass. She offers him a glance, before bringing that MDR-C up to shoulder and she gets right down to fucking business.

Automatic gunfire rips down city streets, and well her aim? It's as good as everyone says, she's a fucking machine man. Pounding these super neat and tidy 3-4 round bursts after those techno ninjas as she gives a proper Partisan warcry just to ensure she can get their attention. "FUCK YOUR SHIT!" Yep. Mother Fucking Partisan live and direct, and getting -right- down to it.

***

Sara has had a difficult week. And as she usually does when things go bad, she's taken refuge in work. So when talk of cyber-ninjas came in to SHIELD, took the opportunity to claim a mission away from the city. The ley pendulum gets her close, but ley lines don't care much for the details of human roads. She ends up getting dropped half a mile up the road from the fight as it stands now…but those fights rarely stand still. As the Witchblade starts to form armor, she starts to run toward the last reported location.

***

There's a flash of purple light not far from Partisan and a man in black tactical gear appears, with a leather case slung behind him. He's got Part's ultimax in one hand and tosses it toward the woman before reaching behind him for that case. In it is a device that can unfold into a blade, but in this case Jericho just takes cover and goes straight to cabine mode. "1-1, 1-2. What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?" Isn't that usually her line?

***

Rose got tired of the ribbing over the Kawasaki. It was fast, it did what she needed and wanted, and it looked good enough to her, but she needed and upgrade and a few jobs got her just the upgrade she wanted, in fact could have never had /better/ dreams then after she picked up the Dodge Tomahawk using the Kawasaki as her down and a bit more incentive to roll it off the lot without having to pay it all right then and there.

Shit sucks when you have /nothing/ here and come from another reality. The prior Rose Wilson (no Worth) had piss poor credit, apparently.

One more job, that pre-paid cell phone had lead her right to where she needed to be to complete the transfer and the dispatch of unhappy opposition. The money is already wired, the final payment for this sleek silver beast waiting for the doubtful salesman and the couldn't-be-happier-with-her-toys woman is ripping down the sreets to exit Opal city when…

"Fuck me running…" Stated when the shadows sails over head in that boost. "Telescopic, night vision." The half masked face follows the figure of Deathstroke while the cybernetic eye does as told, confirming her suspicions of the one good eye, bringing her to swerve and pivot the bike around to persue the man.

One foot props to the ground and reaching into the tac belt an injector is withdrawn, slamming it into her thigh, a sting followed by the muscular titch that sends the bike flying forward before her booted foot rises, her body pressing down to contour flush with the flying body of the bike in pursuit of Deathstroke and the ninjas.

***

Deathstroke is sailing through the air when he spots Partisan and her teleporting friend standing on the cross street. His own coms short burst across channels, "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?" he asks as he kicks himself away from the bike beneath him. The bike, still pushed by momentum, hurtles away and he uses his own shove to flip himself upside down. For him, time slows to a crawl as it usually does in combat. He feels the familiar weight of the custom pistols fill his palms as the world gets inverted by his twisting flipping motion. The ninjas are right behind him. For what it's worth, they're good. As rounds begin to pepper the frunt runners, they fall back and a trio of ninjas who look like their suits were built to make fight-fight with the Hulk take lead. One of them slams his forearms together and they sort of meld and fold outward, making a slightly angled shield, not unlike the front of a plow. The dozen or so ninja's take up formation behind him, two bruisers to either side and the others in the back. Bullets ping off armor and shield alike, denting, maybe warping on impact, but not penetrating the tech. From the back a swarm of a half dozen small rockets blast free and then home in on Partisan and Co's location from multiple angles, small smoking trails behind them.

Slade holds his shot, guns extended, his body upside down and hurteling at just over 80 mph towards the side of a build that sat on the corner of the cross street that ran under the overpass he just leapt off of. Holds his shot, counts, and waits. Patience is the virtue of the true time tested killer. He dosen't see Rose, sue him, he's … somewhat busy at the moment. And upside down. And flying. Lots of shit going on, he'll feel bad about it later, promise.

***

Part lets that subcarbine swing to hang from it's sling, before snagging that Ultimax from thin air and flipping it from safe-semi-auto. "Fucking Ninjas Jerry, fuck I haven't fought Ninjas since Lima. Like 75-76 maybe?"She's dressed for a very different raid, she had a sneak and peek in mind but shit happens and you handle it. Black and grey tigerstripe BDUs, neat black jungle boots, a more subtle chest rig, no helmet, no backpack just her 1911 and that MDR-C. So yes she leans into the stock and opens up on the ninjas, laying down a rather significant volume of fire with a chuckle. "Come on you chucklefucks lets dance!"Out comes her trademark white phosphrus, if you didn't have a gasmask you'd likely be praying for one now. Luckily, Willy Pete does wonders against guided missiles, as does a like fourty something mile an hour sprint whilst continually laying down a veritable cornicopia of automatic gunfire. "C'mon try harder give me a fucking fight over here!"

***

Sara rounds the bend of the road just in time to see what's about to be a motorcycle going through the cross street with cyber-ninjas in hot pursuit. "How is that a thing that's actually happening?" she mutters to herself, putting on an extra burst of speed to get closer to the chaod.

Jericho breaks cover as the motorcycle swings and lets loose several bursts of flame. His traces flip amber and wings sprout from his back. He may need to be a bit more mobile in this. And then he sees… "Part did you bring me here to bail out Slade Eff-ing Willson?!" Jericho remembers the guy. From a few encounters not all of them hostile. But he does not remember the guy fondly. Something about being shot and nearly killed.

The wings flap, Jericho has time to see that he Part and Slade aren't the only people on the battlefield. Okay, let's see who'se got electronic comms. Time to synch them all up.

***

Rose is quickly following up from behind, Deathstroke did not have to see her, nor did she expect him to when the first pass is a flight overhead followed up by the techno ninjas. The race along the over pass has her weaving between vehicles, nearly a silver and white blur in the passing of the padestrian vehicles, the black of her body suit only an outline of figure with the nearly bike-matching metal of scaille maille down her sides and over vitals where extra blows and penetration needed avoided.

When the leap by Slade in front of her is seen her eyes widen, the one azure gaze blinking where as the cybernetic one whirs in the trace of the ninjas now in their tailing, both narrowing as she swerves, using her body to buck the motorcycle back into a wheelie, pushing the throttle into acceleration that almost fully lunges her backward and flipping off.

Timing, the ass end of another vehicle is close enough when she slams on the brakes and brings the muffler traces cassis of the bike into a slam upon it, accelerating up on top of the car to make the jump off the overpass and down.

Landing in a skid, the bike shudders under impact, control slightly lost but with the skidding of brakes it lands on its side while Rose tucks and rolls to come to a stand not far from Partisan, the Diamondback F2000 drawn from the holster across her back over the duo of swords pulled and open fired on the ninjas. She doesn't stop walking forward in her assault though. There's a goal here.

***

There. The bullet's on its way before the thought is fully through Slade's mind, the one pistol barking out. He doesn't bother waiting to see if it lands or not, he's folding himself up tightly, head tucked between his shoulders, knees drawn to his chest, arms folded in over his anckles. Impressive flexibility for a man of his size really, turning himself into a cannonball like that.

The bullet does in fact hit, and the Ninja-Bullet-Plow is suddenly gone. Well, not gone, just no longer a factor. Sparks trail from his left foot while his right suddenly flares with brighter light as the full power is shunted over to it. Captain Plow suddenly hurtles to his left as his right side repulsar kicks into over drive. This has the effect of ramming his knee skyward, right into his own chest, sending him into a completely uncontrolled spiraly spin who's g-forces will require both passing out and projectile vomiting and to which there is no end in si-Oh. Never mind. That big Stark Tech billboard there was kind enough to stop him with it's thick steel support pole. BONG! Captain Plow continues to flop, pinned to the pole by his own leg, then the compensators over heat and his foot sparks and smokes and he plumets towards the ground and out of sight. CRASH. Car alarms sound vaugely in the background.

Without their meatlessshield however, the ninjas take at least a pair of casualties as the combined heavy sustained fire from Rose, Jericho, and Partisan, one of the rounds apparently gets through the mash of cyborgs and a lightly armored lean body falls from the back somewhere and bounces and skitters over the street below, it's momentum making a real rag doll show of it all. Another peels away from the group, blood streaming down the side of the armor as it peels from the pack and towards a near by rooftop, presumably out of the fight. The remaining 9 split off, three behind Bruiser 1, and four behind number 2. The first group zeros in on the retreating Partisan and company, their entire crew bursting through the smoke and shrapnel cloud left from the diverted rockets, their eyelenses glowing dull orange. When they land they hardly slow and beginning charing at the trio. The Bruiser is kind enough to lead the way. With another Prius that he picks up and hurls at Jericho like a shot put. A pair of smaller lean forms draw glowing weapons, one a pair of kamas the other a sort of spiked ball on a glowing chain, and they divert towards Rose. Both weapons are, unfortunately, made to face off against swords. And of course Mr. Rocket Ship continues to chase Partisan, and he's not skimping on the artillery as a tri barrel gun pops up out of his forearms and begins to spin up to speed.

It's about that point in time Deathstroke vanishes into the side of the building, smashing through a window as if he'd planned his fall perfectly enough to aim for it. It's to deafening out side for anyone to hear the crash of his rolling destruction through someone's office, but it's a thing that happened too. As the fight moves quickly away from the overpass, Sara gets to realize the shear level of destruction a small group can make in a /very/ short time.

***

"Who?"is all she can retort, ducking a knee and diving behind the cover a prius provides. Fucking Prius deserves it anyway, fuck that hybrid shit. She pops right back up, leaning in to brace her shoulder against the A-pillar as she pours on the heat. "I called you hear to bring me an Ultimax, If you're going to go play Magical marvin with your little demon friends don't get pissed when I resort to calling you for hotshot deliveries. I never asked you to fight you dumb motherfucker."She's not actually angry mind you, she's just in the middle of a firefight here so she's a little salty. Anyway she's got an Ultimax with a hundred round drum filled with steelcore, so she has work to do. Swinging the glowing red dot over onto the asshole chasing her, before squeezing the trigger and just letting the Ultimax bark away at full cyclic. Yeah she's magdumping the whole thing right here and right now.

***

One cyber-ninja at a time. As Sara catches up to the fight, she picks out one of the pursuers, leaping upward and striking out with a short, wide, curved blade in her hand. She doesn't waste time going into questions. Instead, she wraps one arm around its shoulders, holding on as the jets in its feet send the pair careening down the street and around the corner.

Well, that's going to be a minute.

***

"I don't usually play cavalry for people who've shot me before." Jericho returns and then pulls higher to get out of the way of that car. It's a near thing, missing him by less than inches. The hacker doesn't dwell on it. He folds his wings in and dives, sword point first at the group.

And it turns out that Jerihco is something of a swordsman. He should be. He's been using it at war for over a subjective year in Limbo now. And while he hasn't dwelled on that either the fact is that he's gotten a lot of practice. And it's about to show.

***

"I don't have time for this shit." Rose states as the ninja's make their intent and approach apparent with the withdrawing of glowing weapons. Hand weapons.

Step.

The F2000 is risen and fired, the trigger is pressed down upon and the magazine is emptied on one of them while the gap is being closed between. Rose is no Rambo, but her rage, anticipation, and the slight boost of adrenaline keep her going without hesitation.

Step. Clip emptied the assault rifle is swung across her back, simlutaneously the swords are drawn and Tron Ninja number two is being met with the fine honed blades of treated and reinforced titanium. Swung into an arch they cross in front of her as she walks head on into number 2, making a swift scissor like motion to try and remove his head from his body, kicking up with her right leg to send him flying back and out of her way.

***

Partisan's tri-barrel bullet hose ninja moves like a man who knows his firearms, his foreward progress some what slowed by his constant bobbing and weaving as she sprays her mag out back his direction. The gun on his arm cuts a path of destruction where ever it's waved, chasing after Partisan as it's armor peircing rounds punch neat clean holes through cars, big blue mail boxes, engine blocks, and store fronts with equal ease. Warm spray splatters all over Partisan's side as a hot dog vendor hiding behind his cart from the gunfire becomes human pudding bomb, and the flames from the gas tank of a small moped like bike with a chinese delivery guy on it goes up with a 'whomp' sound ten feet in front of her. A few of her rounds seem to hit and stagger him, and his arm goes up wide, stitching lethal holes through the side of a building next to him and blowing out the glass windows high over head, sending great gouts of saftey glass down on anyone on the sidewalk for a block.

The Bruiser that threw the car at Jericho wasn't far behind it, and as he dodges the one he doesn't quite manage to dodge the other, who used the Prius as visual cover for his charge. A fist the size of mailbox careens in at alarming speed towards Jericho's ribs as the flying man tries to close the distance on the other fights, a fist who's steel knuckles are reinforced, barbed with slightly curled claw like spikes, and seem to be arcing with their own charge.

The two ninja that headed towards Rose were /not/ expecting her to charge right at them, frankly, no one does that. They split apart, one going to each of Rose's sides, trying to use their number to their advantage. They shouldn't have left the bruiser behind. The one with the chain weapon, whirling about in an electric scream, drops mid leap as the majority of her face is torn away by the F200, the recoil from the impacts sending her into a backwards flopping roll that ends with her weapon skittering and sparking across the ground as it goes. The man with the kama's comes on anyway, his energy blades catching and turning Rose's swords, barely, but unable to avoid the kick he rolls with it, turning the impact into a backwards shoulder roll that ends with him well balanced on his toes.

A block away the sounds of battle come from the building with the single busted out window.

***

She just, dumps that Ultimax once it's spent and she's off. Partisan has a mean fucking sprint, racing down the sidewalk as she circles around her attacker. Then with a little hop, she plants a boot against the A-pillar of a parked and rather wrecked pickup. The resulting, well almost bounce is a pretty damn impressive of -cough- catlike agility. She snags both altitude and hangtime well in excess of what should be humanly possible, before a familar shape comes away from her little grenade pouch. Oh yes friends and neighbors, one of Part's extra special RKG-3s.Carbine spraying wildly at the armored robo-ninja punk, but she's not going for the killshot there it's just plain old suppressive fire. She hits the ground in a crouch, gracefully all but floating the huge magnetic end of that anti-tank grenade towards the fucker's back before she rolls off to the right and dashes off for cover."Nice try bitch!"

***

Charge. Seriously, why did he charge. A blind rush on a trained opponent almost never gets a favorable outcome. Charges are about establishing momentem in melee fights. It's critical in mass combat, but momentum is flat out dumb in small unit fights. Momentum establishes you on a course that you cannot then alter easily. Even a slight dip in reaction times results in…

Well in this case it results in Jericho ducking low and spreading his wings, using the surface area to flip the Ninja over is shoulders and than catch him midair with the blade across the largest target that presents itself. Probably his legs. Which is itself followed by the weapon flipping to carbine and then dumping a lot of firepower onto the bruiser.

***

By the time the one springs back up to his feet, having evaded the blades Rose is already backpedalling. From one extreme to the next. Charging in and retreat! Every man for themselves!!

Running, running..

Pause to pick up the elecric chain weapon. Kick cyber ninja..

Running commence!

Reaching her Tomahawk she picks it up and swings atop, firing the roar of the engine into beastial motion, aiming directly for the path of the remaining adversary. Flying past him though her arm shoots out and she grabs him, taking him with in a drag along beside her.

Run, skip along like annies teddy bear in League, flopping at her side. Fly like a flag, whatever. He just got Scorpioned and she is taking him with her towards that building where Deathstroke fell through. He just signed up to be her message bearer!

Smoochie Booches.

***

Gun-Nut recovers from the stumble and decides on a new tact, namely the chest plate of his armor drops open as Partisan's feet just touch ground, "I'm not done yet." he informs her. With the chest plate open and pointed at her from less then ten feet away she can clearly see the plan green metal planted inside the armor plate. On it's surface is stamped the words 'Front Towards Enemy'. And then everything explodes. Everything. Her grenade. His claymore. Everything. Cars are lifted from their tires, ball bearings ripping through steel like it was tissue paper, every store front and lobby entrance on the block disintigrates, every by stander not huddled behind something made of stone or concrete finds themselves the unlucky recipient of some sort of damage. Assumedly there rig on his chest was built to withstand the backblast from the mine planted there, a sort of reinforcement. Maybe there was even some on his back. Wouldn't have matered. That much directional charge from opposite spectrums at once? By the time Partisan can get her head together enoguh to peak, all she'll find is a pair of bloody legs standing still and smoking, legs that end roughly at the navel.

Because he's not so stupid as he appears. Unlike the other's in the unit he has no weapons, he /is/ the weapon. As Jericho ducks and tries to flip the bruiser over his head, the bruiser activates his repulsars, turning a flip into a pile drive like motion instead, doing that thing that no one's supposed to beable to do, change direction mid-air. As for his legs? Well, he's a bruiser and his armor is thicker then the others. The sword's edge skitters along the armor skipping free. It does leave a nice scratch in the paint job though… so there's that.

Rose's poor ninja buddy is kited about like a rookie, following after her, the glowing blades of his kama's always managing to be just shy of actually catching her flesh, once slicing away a few inches from her trailing white hair with a sizzle and the tell tale smell. When the chain and spike finds it's way into the man he looks down and seems… confused by it. More so once he finds himself lifted from his feet and vanishing into a building, Rose hot on his heels. See? Bad day in Opal City for everyone, even ninja robot things.

***

Despite the rumors, The Partisan is neither bullet proof nor explosives proof. No she takes the blast, and takes it hard. Flung over a parked car, over the sidewalk and into the side of a building with a rather terrific crash as she sails through the huge plate glass and into the building beyond. She's impaled on huge chunks of glass, and well no worry folks that huge metal desk's corner? Yeah she cushioned the impact with her spine. She hits the ground, one gloved hand drunkenly pressing that gasmask out an inch or two so she can let the blood out as the opposite scrambles to remove the like yaknow. Conservatively 17lb shard of glass rammed through her midsection.
You can't blame Part if she yaknow, dies or whatever at this point but no. With her gasmask vented she drags herself back with a low groan, grasping numbly at the 1911 on her hip and getting right back into the fight as she finally pulls that enormous chunk of glass from her chest with a distinctly non-english stream of curses.

***

Jericho barely has time to register Partisan's hit before he's got problems of his own. The wings vanish and - as he's hit and flung groundwards - a large blue powerfield shaped like a demonic werewolf appears. The now much larger construct works his legs under and kicks outward, flinging either his attacker off or himself back to buy space. He doesn't care which.

The upside, Jericho now has a much larger sword. And claws. Claws are good too. The wear-wolf (rimshot) glowers and makes a 'come get some' motion.

***

The Bruiser eyes Jericho as he's pushed back a couple of paces and Jeri gets clear of the reach, at least enough to buy himself some time. He smirks beneath his face shield, the part of him that's clearly man, and rolls his neck. The sounds of metal grinding and bones poping echo from inside the suit. Small slits in the suit part and more of those razor like claw things appear, along his back, that back of his fist, his fore arms, the elbows extend slightly, knees, toes, heel, even a pair sprout from his forehead, making any sort of grapling with the large heavily armored fella a prickly propossition. Puns are fun. Then he's charging at Jericho again, spiked shoulder lowered. At the last second he changes direction twice in a dip-zap motion, altering the angles of his approach in a bit of a blur, the last alteration flings a hunk of asphault the size of a softball up from the street and straight at Jericho's face. Seriously, this guy knows his work. Maybe the others should have opted for training… well, except Gun Nut, he knew his work too, he was just clearly unhinged.

From down the block comes the sound of masonry becoming rubble.

***

Slowly Part rolls first onto her side, and then sits up before laboring onto her boots with a grunt. "You mother fuckers"Delivered in a hoarse whisper, before she can get a hand to peel a neat sliver of glass from her throat with a hiss. "You mother fuckers."Louder now, as she almost drunkenly stumbles back the way she came. That same blood soaked hand hitting the quick ditch buckles on that little chest rig of hers as she goes onwards. "You mother fuckers!"A proper shout now, Head bowing for a quick press check before she steps back onto the sidewalk. "Hey, You fucking worthless ass mother fucking cuntnuggety son of a mother fucking bitch! I'm right the fuck over here, you want some more of me? Hey, you chucklefuck tryhard pieces of shit. You wanna fucking play games, fucking fine!"Sliding that hand to the small of her back to unsheathe that thankfully intact and rather horribly nasty kerambit of hers. "I'm gonna chew the eyes out've your face, before I skullfuck you to death you hear me?" Yeah, Part's beyond salty now. She's legitimately a little pissed off.

***

Jericho spins his sword once in his free hand. Once his opponent is in motion so is he. That chunck of asphalt glances off his shoulder. Good aim, really.
Grappling he's not real worried about. It takes legitimate anti-armor ordinance to get through the power fields even at this strength. But punching through the armor isn't the only thing he has to worry about. This guy's fast, and mobile and clearly knows his hand to hand. Killing him will be either a matter of being better… or a matter of positioning him correctly. When he finally makes his stand and brings his blade to bear there's an alley behind him into which skitters… a cat? Or something.

***

Partisan gets to stumble her very ornery very wounded ass out into what's left of the street. Far away comes the sounds of sirens and from slightly nearer, up near the undamage half of the block, reletively speaking, Jericho seems to be wrestling with a dumpster sized man covered in spikes. Which is apparently a thing. The bruiser comes in fast and hard, the spiked edges of his fist slicing in a viciously powerful hook, the momentum from which is turned into a rotated elbow strike that drives spiked edge of the other arm's elbow straight down at that soft spot in the shoulder, and /that/ strike is followed with the continuing motion of a whiplash side kick powerful enough that when it misses Jericho by a hair it ends up punting a fire hydrant like a football down the block at Partisan, ripping it completely free of it's moorings and the concrete too. Woosh. Now it's raining. Each blow is fast, ferocious, and designed to maim. The guy doesn't hold anything back clearly.

***

A hundred years with the 1911, will help you land a round or two when you want to. It helps when you built the gun yourself, and train with it on a very literally daily basis. Part gets right into things, sweeping those three dark blocks up into her vision, and then the hammer drops. Belting out red pills worth of hand rolled steelcore 10mm at the back of that spikey jackass's left knee, and it comes fast. Gliding that reset with a mixture of pure fucking animal hatred and a fairly terrible resolve. "Jerry we need a thermobaric! Pop the fucker's lungs?"Knife hand sweeping back to her side to snag another magazine as she looses the last of that ten round stick.

***

The fact that this guy apparently isn't strong enough to batter down Jericho's fields only means he's not in immediate danger of dying right now and it certainly doesn't mean that getting hit doesn't hurt. On the contrary, it does and each blow causes his traces to spark a bit. Part's shots seem to slow him, or at least so he thinks. Either way they're just about…

Jericho drops and shouts something in demonic as the guy lunges. Right behind him a stepping disk to Limbo with a fairly sizeable war party opens. And if everything goes well, he'll go right through it and it'll shut again. There are a lot of demons in Limbo. Big. Strong. Hungry demons. Who know magic. And for some very interesting reason, they sometimes do what Jericho says. Especially when they like the idea anyway.

***

Ya know, they teach you all kinds of fun things in Ninja School. Mostly fun things about killing people. Poisons and preassure points and stress levels at which bones break. Weapons of every shape size and make, toys galore and skills you can survive on for ages. They don't teach you about extradimensional demon worlds. Least not his ninja school. The bruiser spots and opening and lunges, an attempt to get his hands on Jericho properly, a fact that force fields or no, would end poorly for the ex-soldier, and instead he finds himself stumbling into a fairy book story. The ninja guy blinks, turns to look around to see how he ended… what the… And then he's buried under a pile of creepy crawly things and his training kicks in. Not that it'll do him much good in the end.

The bottom portion of the building down the street, about the size of a dumpster, suddenly buldges oddly, as if a bubble had appeared in the masonry, and sticking in the center of the brick boil is a bloody length of sword blade a handspan wide and nearly two feet long. It's clearly red. Then there's a shudder and the whole bubble explodes outward under a sudden impact and the bruiser last seen going into the building after Deathstroke is hurled out into the streeth amid the debris. Standing in the dust cloud filled hole is Slade Wilson. His mask is mostly gone, cracked on the diagonal is covers up part of his missing eye and most of his mouth, but leaves the other half of his face clear to the world. There's blood smeared over the side of his head and a wide gash open on his cheek where he clearly caught something edged. There appears to be a large knife stuck out the joint in his armor at the shoulder on his right side, and on his left two of his five fingers are pointing in directions fingers ought not point. He turns his head and spits phlem and blood out into the streeth before stalking out of the hole properly and down the small pile of rubble. The bruiser is clawing ineffectually at the bastard sword that's been clearly rammed through his guts, his fingers scrabbling on the blade weakly as his blood pools around him. Slade's right hand is palming something that looks suspiciously like a new helmet or perhaps a human head.

***

Part drops the empty, and reloads before taking a moment to steady herself. "Jerry, I think I'm having a sort've less than stellar day here how's you?"Off she goes at a rather more sedate pace, purging whats left of her gasmask of blood one more time as she heads off towards Slade. Yeah she's not exactly sure who the fuck he is just yet, but yaknow they were just now killing the same dudes here so they should be cool on the short term at least right?"Hey, asshole you alive over there?"1911 held at the low ready, so no she does not appear to be moving in to finish anyone off here. "Part's got a different face than the last time she met Deathstroke, hell she's taller and blonder but there are details here. Important details, the sort real badasses don't miss.
That camo she's wearing, is some sort've urban variant of Vietnam era tiger stripe. Those boots, those are fucking -jungle- boots (where the fuck does she even find those things these days). Then theres the mess of brightly colored paint over whats left of her gasmask, which alone is pretty fucking distinctive. As she turns to glance back after Jericho though, theres that shoulder flash of hers. A wolf's skull above crossed rifles, with some slavic text beneath. It's a totally bizarre sort've unit flag, but sure as shit she tagged shit all over vietnam with it. When she bumped into him, yeah same flash as she had on that shockingly vintage M-65 she was wearing at the time. "Good afternoon, who the fuck are you? I'm the mother fucking Partisan by the way, pleasure to meet you."Gaze swiveling casually back towards Deathstroke.

***

Jericho does know who Slade 'Deathstroke' Wilson is. But he doesn't seem to be in the shooty mood in his direction right now, so he lets those power fields drop (wincing at the burns) and follows Part. "Had better myself." He murmurs. He'll ask after her injuries later. He can tell she took some doozies.

***

Deathstroke plants his foot on the downed ninja's chest and exends his right hand, which as it turns out is holding both a helmet and a head, just one is inside the other, "It was a '65 Shelby." he says in a conversational tone, his voice cold and hard, "I had my guy looking for that car for years, just the right amount original parts and modern upgrades. It's hard to find that sort of quality work ya know? Care, effort, love poured into a machine. You blew it up on delivery. Delivery!" he hisses the word through his teeth and his left hand, which has been hanging at his side until now, reaches up to land on the hilt of the sword stuck in the ninja. There's a slow grinding twist, the kind meant to bring pain, not kill, and the ninja screams. "Never even got to drive it you fuck." he spits again and then shakes his head, "You people make me sick." and then the helmet head glows brightly and from the faceplate there's a sudden humming briliance of an energy weapon. The ninja's head neck, and a half moon slice of his chest simply evaporate under the onslaught before the glow stops and the head is tossed to the side, a meal thunk sound as it rolls to a stop against some bricks. He turns to shoot a look at the two approaching and reaches up to yank the knife out of his shoulder with a wet noise, "I know who you are." he says flatly before his gaze flickers over Jericho. He draws the sword out of the corpse slowly, the metal on metal on bone scrape the sort that sends tingles under peoples skin, "Deathstroke." the word is spoken with the same tone other people might say 'Batman' or 'Superman' or 'Thanos'. It's just expected you know the name. Everyone knows the name of the world's premiere killer of people for money, right? Right?!

***

"Little dramatic on the name, don't you think?"Part deadpans, before glancing over her shoulder. "Big block or small block? Cuz as long as you're not totally stupid about shit, I know a guy looking to sell a pretty primo hard top small block snake."Wait. Everybody stop. A hard top cobra, that meant racing pedigree. They never raced the 427s seriously anyway, cars never did quite balance just right. "Don't I know you from somewhere though, I'm shit with faces these days but the voice is familar."Casually dropping that 1911 into it's holster, and slipping that gnarly Kerambit away. "Either way, you need a lift? Pretty sure my target fucking bolted, so no use hanging around here anyway."

***

Jericho knows it mostly because he has reason to know it. So he doesn't really comment on either that or the fact that Slade knows who he is. "Sorry about your car." Is what he does say. And then quirks an eyebrow at Partisan. Well… she has been around for a while, after all, so there is that. Maybe they've met. "Slade Wilson. Formerly of the US Army. Presently a mercenary with a looooong list of impossible jobs to his credit." He supplies.

***

Deathstroke's cold blue eye snaps over to Jericho and there's a new rage in his expression, "You are an arrogant creeping child." he snaps at Jericho. What is it with the new age kids these days? I mean seriously? There is a reason everyone who's been in the game wears a goddamned mask, there is a reason Slade has never outed the ID's of the various heroes or even villains he's met and unmasked over the years. Respect. One respects the code. And here this … rookie who's all stolen tech is running amoke dropping names. Deathstroke turns and begins advancing on Jericho, "Nice sword." he says, his fingers tightening on the grip of his own, "Know how to use it?" his eye narrows dangerously.

***

Partisan offers Jerry a bit of a look"Hey, go easy Jerry."Gaze drifting back towards Deathstroke as she rests a forearm on that holstered pistol. "If I recall correctly, I'm not the only one who played jungle games here. If you two boys are going to compare dicks, sorry I mean swords? Pretty sure a tape measure works a hell of a lot better than this delightful banter on a city street. So whats the deal, soldier. You need a lift?"

***

Jericho shoots slade a rather flat look that says he's the most indescribeable kind of moron imaginable if he really wants to pick this fight with him right now. Particularly because it's not like 'Slade Wilson' is in any way connected with anything that anyone's going to connect with 'Deathstroke' which he suspects is by design. Also because Jericho is more than willing to make people's life difficult in ways that most people don't believe possible if really pushed. "Are you going to answer the lady or not?"

Deathstroke stops and stares at Jericho, "I knew a Jericho once before." he says in a conversational tone. "He was a better man then you and he was eighteen when he died." he tilts his head to speak down into the bit of helmet that's remaining, "Peabody, I need evac. Charlie LZ." then he flicks his wrist and the massive sword snaps out in a whipping noise, blood flicks free of the blade leaving it clean and clear as if the metal were hydrophobic. "I have a lift, Spook." he says to Partisan this time, "And I left the jungles a long time ago. Death is to cheap there and I'm expensive."

***

Partisan rolls her eyes, before glancing back after Jericho. "Yeah alright, Jerry lets get out've here. I'm starving, and I don't have the patience for this bullshit."Quietly stepping back towards Jerry with a casual little shrug. "How you feel about Pizza, you hungry?"

***

Jericho shakes his head and looks over to Part. "I can't begin to describe how little your opinion of what makes a good man means to me. Nor the depths of your ignorance about who I am. And I doubt it'd be worth my breath if I could." He starts to walk around the corner. "Pizza sounds good. Know a good place in Chi-Town if you like deep dish. Or we can get something here." He's headed for Part's ride, quite done with this.

***

Deathstroke grins at that, though only slightly. He turns to spot the bike Rose left and tilts his head. Hrm. This'll do. He mounts it and slides the sword back into place where it belongs. A hand comes up to wrench free the remainder of the helm, which smokes and spits sparks as he does. It clinks softly as it attaches itself to his thigh and he pulls out a fluttering cloth of two colors which he pulls over his face and ties into place. He doesn't use this mask often, but it's always on his person. There was a time… But that's all in the past. He makes a mental note to shoot Jericho again in the future sometime, nothing lethal, just annoying. Like a .25 in the ass or something. Deathstroke always pays his debts. He's like a Lannister! The bike purrs to life under his careful ministrations and he spins the back tire around to take off down an alleyway. Maybe a .38. Better message.

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