Everybody hates Gamorra

October 15, 2015:

Phobos, Deathstroke, Lunair, Melody and Bruce Banner of Hulk fame discuss Gamorra and how to deal with some of his horrifying tech.

pocket dimension authority thingy.

It's in a briefing room with a big ole screen and lots of chairs.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Bruce Banner raises an eyebrow. He kind of lets Deathstroke's self-promotion roll over him. He's used to it by now and the one-eyed man seems to take offense when Bruce makes a show of rolling his eyes at it. Nor will he comment on the obvious bad result of teaching people to be killing machines is that, inevitably, those killing machines will get turned upon you. This is why we can't have nice things.

"That seems bad, yes," he comments simply.

Lunair doesn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. For all she knows, Deathstroke punches bears before he has his cornflakes, belches fire and farts lightning. She prefers not to rile the Wilsons, thankyouverymuch. She's also BFFs with Rose and made a promise not to shoot anymore cannons at her dad. So there's that. She inclines her head, curious. Huh. She didn't know about this 'Ravager' fellow before Rose took it on. Her eyebrows furrow. If DS says he's good, that's due cause for concern.

The ominousness of it isn't lost on her, and she looks thoughtful. She does glance to Melody and Bruce from time to time, but she does seem to be thinking. Maybe even writing down a note or two. Books of weapons and chemistry to think upon.

The door to that auditorium swings open, letting a bit of light into the darker area in the back. The silhouette of a young man is seen in the way, hands in his pockets and a backpack slung over one shoulder. Just a momentary pause there should any eyes wander his way he'll greet the glance with a waving lift of one hand but with silence as well. The young Olympian, Alexander Aaron, steps through and starts to make his way down through those half rings of seating. He gets to a strategically suitable place, not too up front nor too far back, then settles into the seat with his pack falling at his feet.
For a moment one might imagine that Alexander might offer some excuse for his tardiness or perhaps an apology. But no. Apologies are for mortals. At least the slight smile on his lips suggests as much.

Melody was really at a loss for words. She just listens to the story, eyeballing the screen and searching her memory for pictures of the ones that Slade shows, to match up with the ones that she has. Still, it was giving her a slight brain melt, her fingers rubbing against her temples only to stop to give a look towards Phobos as he arrives far past Black people time and borderlining on damn rude and cocky.

Just look at that smile.

Melody tosses him a middle finger for jokes, then turns back to the display to pay attention, leaning back a little within her chair as she gives a slight poke out of her lip. "So that guy is late and he doesn't get the evil intones and sit?" She snorts softly, obviously kidding. "When are we going back there? It's pretty clear that the facility needs to be wiped off the map after you guys pull these files from my cerebral cortex." Beat. "Or some area in there."

Deathstroke shakes his head at Banner, "You don't understand." he says simply, "The Hulk, for all his power, is generally an unfocused natural disaster, like a tornado or a hurricane, he enters a place, destroys things, leaves the place. Gamora has built a launching system and a weapon far more destructive then a missle. It took a handful of terrorists to fly planes into buildings and change the landscape of the world. Imagine the damage they could have done if they were smart, tactical. If it had been me, I wouldn't have flown planes into buildings, that sews temprary chaos. I'd have shot the President, then vanished. Then a week later I'd have shot the new one. Then mayor's of various cities, cheifs of police, commisioners, bombed an Emergency Responce building. I wouldn't fly planes into buildings, the fear from that is vast, but over quickly. I'd start a war. Every time a person of authority or power tried to help, they'd die. I'd tear down infrastucture, supply lines, destroy utilities, maybe leave behind evidence that it was Russia or China's fault. The Hulk, for all his rage and destruction, isn't targeted, he isn't specific, so the damage he does is always limited. But a small squad of dedicated soldiers with a mission? Now imagine instead of a squad, you had thousands of these soldiers, each one fully capable of crippling a city by itself. Imagine if you sent them all, loyal and controlled, into a single nation, split them up into difference groups, unleashed the combined destructive powers. After a week they wouldn't even have to do anything anymore, the country would begin to tear itself apart as tensions mounted."

Slade takes a breath and turns back to the holodisplay, "Don't think of this as an attack by a supervillain trying to take over the world or get vengence on someone or do whatever it is supervillains do. This isn't your run of the mill plan. This took time, years to plan, to develop the technology, the launching system… It's more then ambitious. This is dedication, conviction, made manifest in the hands of a madman." he turns back to the room, "An army like this could render the civilized world back to the dark ages in weeks, destroy treaties, economies, governments. Everything we do is more fragile then people think and if I can see the weak spots," he points a finger up at the holograph, "he can seem them better." Slade's face is a mask, but it's to much of one. For the first time the mask doesn't look natural, like he was trying to hard to remain flat and controlled, it no longer looks easy on him.

He shoots a look Rant's direction, "Going back without a better idea of how to bring it all down wouldn't be any help. They're on high alert now and if I'm risking the infiltration there needs to be a goal beyond 'find a big red self destruct button and push it'. Which means…" he glances over at Peabody and Banner, "Can you guys get the intel out of her and parse it into something understandable?" Over all, he ignores Phobos' entrance and Rant's pouting about it.

Lunair is - actually curious. Yikes. She's alert, paying attention. She furrows her brows. She nods, as Deathstroke speaks. She takes a deep breath. This is worrying, if Slade doesn't look flat and controlled as usual. She is thinking, perhaps. What could she offer to this effort? What points would… well, she is an attentive audience. Phobos gets a quirked eyebrow.

As for Phobos he settles into the seat. One leg crosses over the other and then he folds his arms as he gives his attention to the display before him of the intel. He cocks an eyebrow thoughtfully for a moment and considers the information on the prior raid. A small 'hnh' comes from him as he takes a few moments to look at those who were present at the op. He spares a nod to Lunair and Melody, though the latter gets a ghost of a smirk as well. After that point, however, he shifts his full attention to Slade.

Deathstroke lets out a slow breath and decided to catch Phobos up quickly, he looks at the young man, "And evil self proclaimed god is about to send several hundred if not thousands of Achilles possessed of the mind of Odyseus and the weapons of the twenty-first century to destroy modern civilization." that about sums it up for the demi-god Slade thinks. He really should have just kept it short and simple, trying to impress upon young soldiers the truth of battle never works… but he can keep trying. "Peabody, take Rant with you to the lab, see what you can do about getting her to unload all that intel and start translating." not having enough intel is driving him crazy. He's the greatest tactician on the planet, but that doesn't mean shit if you don't have the information to build a strategy around.

Melody rises with Peabody, allowing him to lead the way out of the room, giving one last glance to those present. She looks as if she were to say something meaningful, but instead.. she just awkwardly waves and quickly hurries at the tech's feet.

Lunair looks between Phobos and Deathstroke. She seems to catch onto the gravity of it, even if Lunair has used her social skills as a dump stat. "Sadly, all I can tell you is he has some awesome stealth jets, hellfire missiles and … yeah." Lunair rubs the back of her head, sheepish. "I'm thinking and listening."

Tilting his head one way, then the other. "Any new data here that wasn't available after the initial debrief?" He asks candidly, though perhaps at a glance he might realize a few points are off about their prior raid. But then it might just be that he wants to know what points of focus Slade would have drawn to his attention.
Shifting to the side in his chair, the Olympian looks back to the older mercenary. "Going to gain more from Ms. Kenway, I assume, but surely you have some point of attack in mind or the outline of a strategy." The young man's lip twitches, "Other than to get at the target the fastest with the mostest."

Deathstroke turns to look at Lunair, "Oh no," he says simply, "you're job isn't to plan, your job is going to be figuring out how those launchers work and how best we can sabotage or destroy them, at the /very/ least you will tell me how to anticipate their targets. Weapons are your thing and those are just another weapon. Really really really big ones that fire human weapons of mass destruction but weapons none the less." he then turns to glance at Phobos, "I do not." he says simply, "Assumptions made before I have the intelligence to formulate a full plan could later taint the entirety of the strategy. I need more then what I have, which is precious little. I need to understand the weapons," he points at Lunair, "and I need to understand the goals and limitations of the enemy's plan," he waves vaugely in the direction Rant vanished, "until then I'd be shooting in the dark. Except worse, because I can /hit/ things when I shoot in the dark."

Lunair is accepting of strengths and weaknesses. She's no great leader. Her job is usually run in, cause havoc or murder someone and fritter off. She inclines her head. She looks thoughtful. "Yessir." She considers. She's going to have studying to do, it seems. She doesn't seem ruffled. A nod And really, she seems aware that experience is a huge advantage.

"Alright," Alexander gives an almost formal nod, as of the issue were entirely settled. Which it is. He pushes himself to his feet smoothly, seat creaking faintly as he rises. "Til then we should keep busy." He reaches down and pulls his backpack up, slinging it in place over his shoulder. The young man's hands slide into his pockets as he looks towards Lunair and then Deathstroke. "A few passes on the piste?" He asks, even as he turns already moving off towards the gym and the fencing strip.

Deathstroke shoots a glance at Lunair, "If you want to take a crack at figuring out a way to fuck with his armor I'd be open to that too, but that's a side project. Army first, dictatorial madman second." then he eyes Pho for a moment and something grim and amussed settels in his eye, "Why not."

Lunair nods agin. She looks thoughtful. "Sure." She might even just watch the two do the fencing thing, too.

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