January 30, 2016:

Deathstroke finally gets the information he needs from 'Henshaw'.



NPCs: 'Henshaw'



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Deathstroke is quiet for a moment, looking from shoulder to shoulder and the girls that are there at his sides, "Hey," he says firmly, his voice sharpening to an edge, "get your shit together. This is what we train for, this is what all those hours in the all those rooms is for. Trust the training, move as your body knows how to move, don't second guess yourself of your squadmates. I only make the best." the white light at the top of the lance narrows to a point and he swings it in a sharp arc, bringing the glowing end down in a pair of slicing X marks on the door that cause the edges to glow pink and white and slag away before the doors just collapse in on themselves. He doesn't even say 'go', he's just through the door, a fistful of glittering throwing stars preceding him with force nearly equal to that of a bullet as they whistle towards the spider thing on the ceilling.

Lunair nods. Fighting a phobia is difficult. But she's trying. She really is. She is content to leave the spider to Deathstroke. Lunair does respect privacy of fights and the personal nature of choosing one's opponent. Lunair heft her plasma rifle. She's got the layout of it. Adrenaline and training are kicking in to wash away the fear in favor of DESTROY UTTERLY. She will charge forth, flanking Deathstroke easily enough and blasting at those turrets, to jam their barrels with plasma or melt them but good. Whatever animal they are attached to will find life very unpleasant.

Melody jerks just a little, her gaze cutting towards Deathstroke as she tries to retain her game face. Yeah, she was scared shitless. She was always scared shitless. She should be used to being scared shitless right now. Though, a little part has to be sad for Deathstroke, he's surrounded by a bunch of squirrely women. That in itself makes her want to laugh and a little smile curls upon her lips. A nervous one, but it's there. Trust the training. Blank it all out. They're not rats. They're just.. things that are trying to kill you like half of everything else in life.

And they were moving, Melody all but squeezes to her side of the room, one gun only used for now as she begins to fire towards her targets. No glows, not shutting off the fear, no cutting off the pain centers within her brain. Nothing. It was all her.

Audrey spent the better part of a year and a half living on the streets and in the sewers. Rats and spiders just aren't all that terrifying anymore. As the others rush in, she follows behind them, picking off the loose ends and anything that looks like it might make it past the others with pinpoint accuracy.

As soon as Deathstroke explodes through the door, everything in the room comes to life. No longer limited by human structures, they react with the speed and tenacity of machines. The spider thing releases it's hold on the ceiling, it's fat bolbous body on it's ten thing needle like legs dropping even as the throwing weapons glitter past it, a pair of the weapons slashing cuts along it's jiggling greenish flesh. It flips over in mid air and it's then that the shape of it is made clear. It's created from the corpse of an obese woman, from the remaining shreds of her uniform one might guess she was in culinary services at some point. Her head is upside down in relation to her body, and one of her eyes is simply gone, a deep red sullen electronic glow emits from the otherwise empty socket, painting a targeting laser on Deathstroke's chest. Two of the needle like legs snap outward like the tips of fencing blades, while her mouth opens wide and a jet of something off yellow and viscous slorps it's way towards him in a stream.

The rats and smaller spiders on the walls, created from the bodies of lab rats and what is now clearly a collection of smaller money species, Instalty explode into motion as well, hurling themselves at the rest of the team as they enter, blurs of fur and steel that bounce around the room like hellish parkour experts with hands made from scalples and rats with glowing eyes and zig and zag across the floor in erratic patterns, trying to get close as the machines on their bodies start to beep ominously.

Oh holy hell. Lunair tries not to think about it. Thinking is for out of combat. Or at least, thinking about the horrors. Lunair promised, and now it is time to keep that promise. Bolts of plasma arc towards the rats and spiders, with an alarming rate of fire.

Lunair is nimble, stomping on a couple thanks to her power armor. One gets kicked like an urchin in a Dickens novel, only to slam into one of his bretheren. The beeping ominously is unnerving, but at least she is keeping her promise- so far.

There wasn't anything that Melody didn't shoot at. Save for the teammates. Friendly fire is bad form especially with shit like this going down. She doesn't even waste bullets, aiming.. not perfectly at the rats and spiders that move, her eyes keeping track of everything in motion that was all fucked up and mixed with something horrible. The glorp that flies towards Deathstroke was noted, Melody running fast but not jumping in the line of fire. She figures the bigger man had enough skill to get the hell out of the way, but she does kick a fallen panel into the big spider woman thingers direction, hoping to cut off the spray of goo to have it backfire towards her.. whatever it was.

Melody was totes going to have nightmares for days..

There's no shortage of targets in the room, and though Audrey is going to be feeling her earlier trick later, she's trying not to focus on that at the moment. Her instincts are screaming at her to go invisible, but she knows better than to push herself after that effort. Instead, she stays near the door, where she can have a little bit more control of what's coming at her. One gun runs out of ammunition and she replaces the clip in a smooth motion, eyes sharp on the room.

The first bullet to hit a rat center mass of it's techno-bits causes it to WHOOMP in a sudden flash of heat and noise, a ball of liquid fire expands outward like a bubbel popping, and where ever the splatter lands, it continues to burn a whitish blue color, hot enough that it quickly creates divots in the concrete floor and causes any bits of metal near it to glow and sag. One of the droplets hits antoher rat which also bubble pops, splattering some sort of thermite varient on everything within five feet of itself. The razor monkeys change tact, heading high while the rats try to swarm at the team's feet forcing the team to split their focus. The rats try quick suicidal darts towards the team's possition, and the closer they get to the team, the faster the ominous beeping sounds. It doesn't take a genius to recognise self guided thermite mines when they seem them. This is /really/ bad.

"Willie Pete!" Deathstroke calls out as he spins his staff while twisting almost impossibly far to one side, bending in a way that would make a yoga instructor proud, the slorp hurteling past him to mostly slop across the floor. One of the rats isn't so lucky and runs right into the puddle and instantly is stuck in place by the tar like substance. "Masks on! The fumes are toxic!" willie pete, it's one of the code phrases he's drilled into their heads in training, it means white phosphorous, a very illegal form of chemical warfare. As if in answer to his own words, his mask mask a hissing noise, sealing shut. He spins the staff again, a blurring motion that just barely seems to keep up with the sudden stabbing of four rapier like blade legs from his own opponent, the stacatto tinktinktinktinktink of the defence filling the air as his wepaons twirls and cuts, trying to defend against attacks from four different directions all at once. It forces him back a step. Then a second. He feels it when his heel makes contact with the slorp-goo from before, because his foot instantly is locked in place.

Shift weapons. Lunair has that shockwave staff. And thankfully, she can modify her power armor to ensure she is sealed off and granted air supply. She's gotten better at this! Lunair is happily sealed. The shockwave staff gets swung and Lunair moves forward, likely to let Rant do the shooting. Why shockwaves? What is their tactical value?

KNocking the rats back into their fellows is why. She is aware of all the badness that guided mines and EVIL FREAKING MONKEYS bring. But it's keeping her busy, as thooms and booms scatter dust, rat and monkey alike. It'd be funny if the situation weren't so deadly serious. The nice part is, Lunair seems to be much better and precise with it - even controlling the shockwaves themselves better. No one likes friendly fire.

Audrey slaps her mask on at Deathstroke's cry, gunfire pausing as the creatures start to burst into flame. Well, crap. Blowing them into further explosives seems counterproductive.

The thing about thermite, though. It's hot, but all that heat gives off a whole lot of light. Slinging her gun across her body, she takes a step back into the doorway to focus on working with that light. Generally speaking, she doesn't often use light offensively. Creating enough light to convert it to energy takes more energy than she's capable of storing or sparing. But right now there's light and energy to spare.

Holding out one hand, she pulls the light from the thermite burning rats into a weapon of her own making - a finger-thin beam of molten light she aims at the massive spider in the center.

Deathstroke bares his teeth when he feels his boot stick to the floor and it centers his defense, which is not a good thing in this particular situation, one of the legs manages to get through adn spark spray from his thigh where it's tip drags along his armor, then again as another bladeleg slice across his belly, a few metalic scales blinking away into the darkness as they're torn free and sent spinning like a handful of change. He grunts softly but ignores the last hit, a portion of his mind breaking off to check the damage and coming back with a report. Minor injury, but now there's a weakness in the armor. Peachy.

Armory's wailing Halo Hammer does good work, razor monkies and explosive rats go flying away from her, but both seem particularly resilant to being tossed around, like cats thrown from a porch, they twist and turn in the air, catching pipes, debrise, broken bits of wall, and scamper away to attack from new angles, only a couple suffer impacts great enough to incapacitate them, and even those continue to try to drag themsevles back into the fray.

Lux's beam of blinding light blisters past Slade's shoulder, and the spider thing seems to shift it's bulk to one side with preternatural speed just as she aims her shot, the beam grazing along it's fat rolls and causing a hissing burbling sound like meat on a griddle and the air if filled with the smell of rancid bacon cooking. It skitters to the side and seems to slide off balance there, a glance shows that while it avoided the blast, the two legs on that side that were supporing it's weight have been sheared off cleanly, their now short stubby ends glowing pink where once blade like legs used to be. It rebalances itself on it's two front legs, halving the number of attacking blades stabbing at Slade's locked down form. His snarl becoms a grin inside his helmet, "Gotcha." he says simply as the ends of his staff blaze to light and he spins one of the glowing ends around to shear another of the legs off of the creature, the bladed end winging away into the shadows with it's own end glowing. With that, the rats all seem to change direction and charge at Deathstroke, the one member of the team no longer capable of dodging. Oh. And the razor monkeys all now grow a strong attraction for Armory, one can tell by the ways the air around her is darkened by a dozen hurteling balls of fur with jaws and claws made of steel, and a couple that seem to have something pointy and hypodermic looking on the ends of their tails. Unrelated note, electronically autotuned monkey screams are creepy as fuck.

Growl. This isn't good. Time to dual wield. Lunair is hoping that knocking them around helps her teammates take them out. And now she has a monkey problem. Monkeys wielding the very thing she's afraid of. A strangled scream.

It's less about killing, and more about hitting them back into their pals if they explode. Keeping them away. She is relieved Deathstroke is only minorly injured. Anything that hurts Deathstroke does a number on her.

One hand takes the stave, the other a laser weapon, burning light beams to sear through the creatures. Between the screams, syringes and stuck DS, Lunair is in a nightmare. She did promise to guard her boss, and she lingers near, to swat rats away, batting at monkeys and searing them, but one scrapes a gouge in her shoulder armor and gets blasted in the face. Still, owwie. Oddly, Lunair makes no noise of pain. Why is that? "Just die, die, die." She is upset. A little. A lot.

Melody's hand reaches back to smack the mask in place, thankfully it was attached to her hat and had no qualms about keeping herself protected. All she had to do was not bleed, right? She was on the move, using her bullets wisely to snap a few shots into a skittering rat, even as they all change direction which gives her a decent vantage point to put bullets into asses as much as she could. Squealing monkies? Fine. It was loud as hell but she'll deal.

And.. it really didn't hurt to shoot at them too, after ejecting an empty clip and slamming one back into place with an ease of motion as she practiced. Eventually, she's going to get pissed and try to mind-meld with the fuckers to shut them off. If she could. Even though she can't…

Audrey aims the beam of light into the floor beneath Deathstroke's foot before the energy to keep it going runs out, letting it wink out. As soon as it does, she goes invisible herself, all the better to try to go after the monkeys going after Lunair. Guns don't seem to be much help, but knives might be more useful now that she's moved in close. One in each hand, she moves in close to slice at them - particularly those needle-tipped tails.

The primates land all over Armory, a couple of industrious ones atop her head, one grips her facemask with razor talons and screams full in her face while arching it's back and trying to pry her mask off, it's needle tipped tail darting in like an angry scorpion stinger to slam repeatedly against the visor over her eyes, at one point causing a pinpoint spiderweb of cracks to begin forming. Needless to say it's less then pleased when a staff smacks it from her face and a laser burns it in two. These things are fast and ferocious, but their attacks aren't particularly well planned. If she'd been, say, the armorless Rant, she's have been turned into hamburger, luckily this was not the case. Her somewhat frantic stompy, smashy, lasery, death dance is fairly productive however, even more so as Lux's blades join in, slicing free whatever limbs present themselves. Things slow just a bit as monkies caught by the dual attacks of beam weapon and invisi-knifer quickly cause them to lose bits and peices of themselves, their chassis built more for speed and precision then durability.

Rant's firing at the rats is both effective and somewhat… scary. It's akin to rolling a bowling ball across a mine field. As she goes the first couple of rats seem to have little effect on the whole, but as they near Deathstroke they bunch closer and one of her shots sends off a chain reaction of white hot explosions, splattering and resplattering phosphorous all over the place. Including a few bits that splatter across Deathstroke's armor where they instantly begin to sizzle and divot the metal. On the bright side, is does limit the number of rats that close in on him.

Lux's superlaser is equally helpful in this regard, as she manages to heat whatever chemicals are holding Slade in place to a point that they lose their own cohesion, and never one to miss an opportunity, Deathstroke plants his staff and vaults skyward the instant his foot is free, leaving most of the rats to clump together right where he was standing an instant before they explode, their proximity sensors going off just as he vanishes from range. His poor staff however catches a wave of WP and begins to heat and melt, forcing him to throw it to the side with one hand while his other jams it's fingers into a crack in the concrete ceiling, holding the entirety of his weight on that tenuous grip as beneath him the floor becomes a raging puddle of molten metal, concrete, and chemicals, toxic fumes billowing upward.

The giant spider creature makes a sound that's somewhere between a human laugh and an electronic scream and it's maw opens once more, splorting more goo in a stream, this time towards Lunair, and unwittingly her invisible friend.

Lunair is unhappy, but on the plus side? Having created her armor, she can mend it on the fly. Unfortunately, mending requires attention. But the death dance continues, a frenetic swing and ebb of stave, laser, and weapon. Still, Lunair is doing her best to keep them off of other, less armored teammates. She did want to protect them, so, so badly. And help the goo'd Deathstroke.

Unfortunately, she's about to join his club. Lunair is doing her damnedest to keep the status quo. She moves to avoid the goo, without abandoning her nearby teammates. She plays well with others, which seems to be one perk on her side. There's blood in her armor and she's full phobic. At least fear grants her speed and rage. "DIE." Pinned or not, she isn't going to make it easy. There is a whispered thank you, in gratitude for help. But what to do about their leader?

Well okay! With Deathstroke flying towards the ceiling and the monkies being lazered off by Lunair and Lux. And both of them evading the goo (she sure hopes they do) gives Rant the chance to do something sneaky. Her guns were quickly holstered as the blades were drawn out, Rant ducking down and behind an upturned table, circling the room to attempt to approach at the massive spider-chef's back, or side.. which ever was the closest.

Even while the thing laughs, she was sneakily hopping, kicking a rat which goes squeeing into the distance, both arms drawn back as she launches from her hidey-hole to throw both blades with breakneck speed towards the head and side of the spider-cook. Pretty sure she has to pay for that later..

Audrey would catch hell from Deathstroke if she didn't pay attention to her surroundings in the middle of a fight. When the spider opens its mouth, she reaches out to grab a pair of monkeys by the tail and fling them into the path of the goo, diving out of the way herself as well. "Armory, platform!" she calls to her teammate, flashing a disk of light beneath Deathstroke to underline what she means by that.

Deathstroke hangs from the ceiling like the worlds tackiest and deadliest chandelier, his fingers, three of them anyway, jammed into the crack and hooked there, holding his weight with that grip alone. He turns, slowly, on his forearm, body held out horizontally, his gaze sweeping the battlefield, taking it all in. Rant's sneaky flying knife attack makes him tilt his head to the side and watch, in slow motion to him, as the blades sink into the gelatinous fleshy blob part of the abomination, causing it to stutter off balance, one of it's legs buckling and causing it to roll to it's side. It tries to stand again, legs scrabbling at the floor filling the air with the sound of steel on concrete, scraping and hissing noises that inevitably fail as it begins to twitch more the scramble and then quiver more then twitch and then merely fall to intermittent tremors with lengthening pauses of stillness. Rant will have to dig her blades out if she wants them again. Slade sincerely hopes she does not.

He looks for a place to land, but waits when Armory's suggestion cuts through the air, "Clean up." he says, dropping down onto the platform as it materializes, and hops from there to a space where there is no burning bubbling pit of noxious chemicals. He rolls a shoulder which still smokes, pitted holes where the phosphorous burnt into the armor darkening it's usually slick clean lines, "I'm going to have a chat with our host." he turns towards the back of the room where the shadows are deepest and the largest mound of misshapen monster sits unmoving.

Lunair would fear a Deatholier. Well, admittedly, fear has given way to respect and maybe even awe - especially with what Joey had told her. Nevertheless, she appreciates the platform. "Thank you!" She is duly grateful. Lunair is not stuck! She will keep any rats and monkeys off of it, to make sure Slade can do his thing. She has found some floor, keeping near as she can. At least in her armor, despite having to mend dings and tears, she can 'tank' a bit. She is aiming to kill these things. A nod at Deathstroke.

Lunair is excellent at minion clean up, and she will look out for Lux in turn. For Rant. But she's a hard worker. It would be funny that she swats a rat into a monkey, before it gets shot and the two are left to explode. But it's just a relief, ending that horror as another enters.

The table that Rant previously hid behind was grabbed and set upon it's legs, Rant pushing down upon it, shaking it and wiggling it to make sure that it'll support her weight. She was a light weight anyways. She was sure that it wasn't going to break. With that said, she climbs atop of it, folding her legs beneath her indian style, her weaponry checked as her mask remains on, hat remains tilted to the back, shades soon pulled from the band around her neck to draw her shirt out to wipe them clean from.. well, probably her tears.

Ignore the slop, ignore the fa.. yeah. She looks. And for a moment she seems as if she was just going to hork right there in her lap, cheeks all puffed up, back of the hand pressed to her lips and..

"Guh.. I swallowed it back down.."

Audrey blinks back into view on the floor, looking a little bit worse for the wear. She's pushed her abilities here, and it's going to take a toll on her. But now isn't the time to admit to the splitting migraine that's starting to grow behind her eyes. Clean up? There's a moment where she looks at the room, trying to decide just where she's supposed to start with that. Rat. Gun. Pop. Kick a monkey into the goop.

Deathstroke leaves the Angels to finish the mop up while he goes to have the conversation he came here to have. As he walks further back into the room the massive mound of… whatever, begins to flicker to life, entire TV screens imbedded in shadow mass turn on one at a time, most of them old school flat screens, thick and slightly bulky by todays standards, large black plastic frames. As they light up so do other things, red LED's and a few runner lights, bits of fiberoptic line which slowly begin to glow bright enough that they show they are in fact twisted up into great cables. By the time everything is lit up, so is the horror itself, letting any who wished to look a good view. Here is where the majority of the biomass ended up. A dozen, maybe half again that number, human beings have been melded together like human flesh made into dough and kneaded into a great flesh mass of differing skin shades and ages. Faces and hands and legs press from the rolls and bulges of skin in odd and incongruous places, eyes turn in sockets, half faces sunken into the mass with only a single orb and flaring nostril seem to quiver as their attention is drawn to different members of the team before they all seem to settle on Deathstroke himself. The screens and cables and wire are woven or melted into the blob in seemingly random places, disappearing into the skin mass only to reappear somewhere else and disappearing again, like a ball of playdough rolled through an electronics department and a toy store, picking up random pieces of actions figures and tech and then left alone and forgotten in a corner. The entire thing must be nearly twelve feet tall, towering up to the ceiling and growing into the wall itself, seeping into it as if it had been there so long it had started to swallow the concrete around it. It's nearly fifteen feet wide and must be well over two tons of… stuff.

"Henshaw." Slade says to the mound, and the only head that seems to be attached more to a neck then to the mass, turns slowly from on high to look down at Deathstroke. The 'neck' is nearly three feet long, giving it an oddly serpentine feel, and the cables running in and out of it's skull and the lights that seem to grow from one of it's cheeks like techno-mushrooms make it hideous to look at. "W-W-Who K-Knows Tha-a-a-t N-n-n-nnnnnname?" it asks, it's mouth making poping and clicking noises as it forms the words. Past the lips one can actually see the small speaker that fills the mouth, just behind the teeth, explaining the oddly electronic tilt to the voice.

Deathstroke's mask pops open to show his face, "You remember me." he says, his voice a cross between accusation and calm control. "We," he says slowly, "have much to discuss." the swiveling head looks past Deathstroke to the team behind him, then back to him again, "Yee-e-e-eees." it says, bobbing in an exceptionally unnatural nod, "W-w-w-we D-d-ooo." the last word ending in a warble that steadies after a moment.

Lunair is glad enough not to follow Slade, though she certainly has their backs. The horror is not lost on her - instead it is held within, a wide-eyed stare as something awful is clutched close if only to keep it from others. Horror inflicted on her when she was young keeps her from screaming or crying, but that too, may horrify others. This whole thing plays her phobia like a Faustian chorus drummed up from Hell and played by rictus grin bearing musicians.

Adrenaline, discipline and the distinct desire not to be torn apart or injected alongside others she cares about in combat barely keep her from going berserk and blowing everything up. "I think we're about done." A monkey is seared clean through, with the sickening crunch of a power armor aided stomp of a rat before it can explode.

Lux and Lunair could do the clean up, Melody was here nursing a sour stomach, her hand clutched around her gut as she rocks back and forth. The chef lady was the one that did it to her, the monkies and rats, her hands pressing to her head to squeeze and shake briefly. Her eyes lift to watch the two women for the moment, nearly tempted to help, but the sound of.. whatever that man was .. it causes her eyes to dart in Slade's direction, which soon widen and..

"Holy…" Lets just say that Rant has a colorful slew of words to say about the monstrosity and none of them were nice. At least she didn't find a corner or a bag to throw up in.

Audrey is disturbed in the part of her mind that can still be disturbed. But she's always been an artist, and training to use illusions as a weapon means even her imagination has been honed to deal with disturbing images. And whatever this is knows Slade. The unending enigma. She idly nudges bits and pieces of tech-critters into fire or acid to destroy them, but she's mostly watching the commander, trying to get more pieces.


'Henshaw', as it calls itself, careens it's neck to look towards the string of curses, the ocular implant growing from one of it's eye sockets seems to narrow in on Rant, a red point of light lancing over her for a moment before returning to Slade, "I-I-It cc-c-calls to mee-e-e." the more it talks the less broken up the words are, but it still seems to be having trouble. "I-I hav-v-e woken-n. It kn-n-nows." Slade's eye narrows, "Whatever did this to you, whatever was here, I suspect it's escaped, gotten loose. I need to know more." the head on the long neck twitches in a series of short hard motions that are entirely inhuman before the sagging skin bobs once more in a nod, "T-t-time is precious-s. I f-feared it would come for me. My d-d-defenses," the head swivels around, looking at the room, "are g-gone." Slade shakes his head, "They were minimal at best, less difficult to overcome then before." Henshaw nods again, the motion is more then a little upsetting to any human hindbrain, so alien and wrong. Human necks shouldn't move like that. "A-agreed." the head seems to droop almost defeatedly, "It-t can feel me. Touch me." the voice finally having stabilized is easier to hear, "It is…" there's a long soft pause, "everywhere."

Slade frowns at that, his visage darkening, "Explain." he says flatly. The head makes an electronic sound like a sigh mixed with mic feedback, "It was taken from here when last you visited by the one designated T7-4." Slade's nostrils flare in anger but he doesn't say anything, "Samples. Bits. I warned but she would not listen. After you sealed me here, locked me away," the entire biomass trembles, in anger, fear, happiness, it's impossible to tell, "I felt it's probing again. Weeks, days. Not long." Slade stiffens, "/Days/ after we were here, it was back?" his voice is a hiss, "Noo soldier." the head leans in close and almost whispers, "It was complete. Finished. It seeks to destroy signs of it's passing. To erase. Erradicate. Me." Slade lets out a slow breath, "And what does it want now? After all this time?" the ocular implant winks on and off as if blinking in surprise, "The same thing it has always wanted. To kill the Enemy. Genocide. Extinction." Slade's hand unconsciously rests on the butt of his pistol, "And we are the enemy." he says as if finishing the thought. Henshaw's head shakes side to side, which if anything is even more disturbing as it causes the things cheek skin to flap softly in the air, "No. We are the weapon. Tools."

Melody grows still as the thing scans her, her body going rigid at the thought of turning into something like that. It was horrendous, hideous. Nightmarish. She had to turn her head away to focus on something else, but once 'Henshaw' speaks, she couldn't help be drawn to the conversation at hand.

Something twitches from out the corner of her eye, her hand moving quickly to withdraw a throwing knife from the side-pocket of her knee, fingers curling and flicking outright as it plants itself into a gobbledy gook of.. whatever the fuck that thing was. Blech..

She really couldn't stand sitting there anymore, so she hops down from the table, careful in her steps to approach the entryway of where 'Henshaw' and Deathstroke were. But she was quiet. No more swearing.

Once most of the cleanup is done, Audrey moves back toward the doorway to keep watch. And maybe a little bit so that she can lean against the doorframe and help hold herself up. Her skin is paler than usual under the mask, and there's a fine tremor in her hands as her blood sugar starts to drop. It's getting close to time to pay the piper for her use of powers.

Deathstroke's answer is deep and growly, "Tools." he seems to take the term personally. Henshaw nods once more, "It is… is…" the head trembles on it's stalk again, "signal degradation. Incomplete pattern recognition. Reaching out. Local network contact. Local network contact. Local network contact." and then Henshaw's head flicks in a lightning quick motion to lock it's laser eye on Rant once more. "Local network acquisition. Access point. Enable command route prompts. Access. Access. Access." and every nanite in Rant's body suddenly finds a very sudden and powerful need to talk to her brain like they had a warrant. "Contact." Henshaw says and the fiberoptic cables begin to pulse as Henshaw's software begins to invade Rant's very being.

Slade reacts before Rant does, "GET HER OUT OF HERE!" he bellows, his mask slamming shut just as the blob of techno-flesh lashes out with a robotic arm that was hidden in it's folds and swats him aside like he was an annoying gnat, sending him hurdling through the air hard enough his armored body passes through a concrete support pillar, shattering it like it was made of plaster and leaving bent rebar reinforcements spread out in every direction like tendrils of ivy. At the end of the robotic arm there appears to a frikkin' plasma cannon.

When Audrey moves to stand into the door, Rant shrugs her backpack off halfway to rummage inside, retrieving at least two snickers bars and a hersheys to offer towards the woman. "I'd give you water but like.. it stinks in here. You know how you're in the bathroom and your air freshner goes off and it tastes like water-freshner? Well it stinks in here and you're gonna taste like.. stink-water or something." She pauses a little. "Sounds weird but, here. Candy?" Thankfully she didn't have a sandwich. The sandwich would have probably been filled with meat and seemed very gross right about now.

Though.. something tickles the back of her brain, her brows furrowing.. her hands looking down at her fingers as the glow begins to reach the pads.. lighting up her fingerprints which.. has never really happened before and.. 'Oh.. cool..' Wait.. she couldn't even speak.

Deathstroke's words came a little too late, her head snapping back once Henshaw's software begins to make contact. She could barely even move, yet her nanites were working in overdrive and fighting against her natural need to flee on Slade's command.

"Not sure it's a good idea to take the mask-" Audrey stiffens when Melody's posture changes as the nanites try to take control, just as Deathstroke calls out. Deathstroke missions are the worst.

Pushing off the wall, she doesn't hesitate to rush the other girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and starting to drag her out of the room as quick as she can.

Deathstroke has not had his bell run in… well, it's been a minute, and flying through a pillar like that is sure to cause a bit of a ring. He rolls over, his arms pushing himself up to his knees, then his feet even as his mind begins to clear itself, his body running on training more then conscious thought. Four cracked ribs, strained oblique muscles, broken wrist and two fingers, sprained ankle. His mind rattles off his injuries and he begins to shut down pain receptors, or more accurately ignore them, as the messages come in. He's up and with his sword in his hand before he even thinks about doing either of those things, and he's in the air going right back the direction he came about the time his mind has cleared enough to formulate the plan. "You're not taking any more of my people!" he growls loudly as the sword comes down on the elbow joint that holds up the plasma weapon, causing it to jerk upward as a ball of super heated matter hurtles from it's ejection system and into the ceiling over Lux's head, missing them by scant feet. Even that far away the heat is blistering. He wrenches the sword aside and grips the underside of the weapon with his free hand, forcing it up into the ceiling again as it fires. Ow. Ribs. Shifting. Ignore. "Access. Access." Henshaw repeats over and over again, though the entire mass seems to shake and shimmy with some sort of effort, the fiber-optic cables pulsing faster, "You're," Slade growls through his teeth, "not accessing," he grunts, the sword reslung on his back so he can grip the weapon with both hands and begin trying to bend it back on it's wielder, "shit!" metal groans as he pits his strength against that of the damaged robotic arm.

There's a slowing in the pulsing lights of the cables and the head swivels to Slade, "F-found me!" it says, pants wetting panic in it's electronic speaker voice, "T-t-taking c-control." it's gaze sweeps back to Rant and then to Slade again, who continues to wrestle with the cannon, slooooowly forcing it back, "Tools. Weapons. Enemy. Scout. F.O.B." Henshaw says directly into Deathstroke's mask, almost close enough to kiss the man. "Error. Error. Er-Security enabled. Firewall reactive. Emergency measures." and for just a moment Rant's free, the hack stopped, the flood of software seems to just… dissipate, evaporate, allowing her to think again. "Kill me." the head whispers in Slade's face, it's own reflection all it can see in the metal. The cannon is bent back nearly double now, it's glowing barrel making a hum that says it's charging once more. The head bobs and whispers again before Deathstroke grunts, twists, and wrenches the broken joint free, ripping the cannon from it's housing, "Sure thing doc." he says softly as he fits the cannon to his shoulder just as it fires.

The giant glowing orb eats a hole the size of a beachball through the top portion of the techno-mass, it's first casualty is the head on a stalk that was 'Henshaw'. "RUN!" Deathstroke bellows as the mass begins to thrash and flail wildly, a dozen new robotic arms ripping free of the fleshy mire, weapons of every variety on the ends of the multi jointed stalks. The cannon fires again. And again. Slade begins backing out, firing into the mass over and over again, trying to kill as it flails at him blindly with it's long reaching weaponized arms.

She was moving.. no. She wasn't moving. She was imagining herself moving but she really wasn't. It was Lunair and Lux dragging her along, her feet straight, stiff, soon scrambling against the ground as she feels herself regain use of her facilities. It was almost like she blacked out, her gaze bewildered, her hands trying to fight against the two women so that she could stand and run of her own accord because..

..she was black. When people start running for whatever reason you run too.

"What the fuck.. what the fuck.. what the fuck.. did I fall asleep what the fuck!!" She was shrieking out. She.. still even felt a little bit like jelly. Help was willingly accepted when she stumbles and nearly trips. No more doing this alone kid, you got a duo of bad ass women dragging you.

"Armory, rockets. Get her out of here." Audrey hands Melody off to Lunair and her power armor, freeing up more speed. She's not far behind them, cracking the seal on her mask to pop a glucose tab into her mouth once they're clear of the fumes. "Rant," she calls ahead of herself as the other woman starts to panic. "If you can shut down access to your network, do it. Firewalls, unplug, whatever it is you can do."

Deathstroke is a full fifteen seconds behind them, but when he comes out the door and starts running up the hall after them, he's casting aside a smoking cannon who's ejection port is now a glowing melted mass, and there's a slightly ominous flickering light coming from the room behind him, like fire. If there was anything in that room that could burn. «-he fuck!! Ops to Authority! OPS TO AUTHORTY!!» Peabody's voice suddenly comes through the coms very loud and very clear, and he sounds a bit frantic, «Anyone copy?!»

Lunair doesn't ask questions, she merely scoops her hands under Rant's armpits and is then streaking down the hallway. Rant will have bruises. Slade isn't far behind and his land speed is more then a little superior to Lux's. He scoops her up under an arm as he passes, just yanking her off of her feet in passing and leaning into the run as he slings her over a shoulder. She gets to try to avoid the part where she accidentilly puts an eye out on the hilt of his sword. <Copy!> Slade says into coms, <Calm the fuck down Ops!> «Eat a dick old man!» Peabody responds instantly, «I'm tracking incoming on satelite! We have at /least/ a half dozen hellfire's headed our way. The holocover confused the first one, I managed to guide it a quarter mile off course, whoever's sending these things isn't screwing around, they're re-encrypted with software I've never seen and they can see clean through the cover! You have, thirty seconds tops before they turn this crater into a fucking /tunnel/.» <Oh.> Slade replies. And he runs faster.

"Turn it off.. turn it off.." Melody was trying. In fact, she tried so hard that.. everything shut down. She was left human and vulnerable as everything just.. stopped. It was a funny trick; usually when she shut down everything it shut down everything. No brain activity for those few seconds that she put herself into reboot mode, heartbeat ceased. Oxygen levels dropped. But thankfully, her time with the Authority retooled her to be better. And not as dumb. As dumb.

Lunair's snatching her up was a damn good thing, and it hurt like pure hell. She could hear the comms thankfully, and that at least kept her focus as she … oh fuck that..


Rockets boosted up and out as Lunair picks up the pace, look at that armored up chick go!

Audrey would object to being picked up, but she'd object more to getting turned to a crisp. And it's not like Deathstroke can't handle it. So she settles for pulling her gun and watching his back as he runs, firing off a shot whenever something looks suspicious. "I've got one more good one in me," she says to Peabody's warning. Especially if she's already being carried. Taking a deep breath, she takes over for the holocover, adding a second illusion of the area a hundred yards away. Thirty seconds. That's as long as she needs to last before she passes out.

Deathstroke can taste blood in his mouth and he's pretty sure there's fluid in his lungs, he's not getting the oxygen he should be getting. His muscles are burning. Which is… quaint. They hurtle through the maze of tunnels and doors, the training on the Resolve was good for a lot of little things, part of that would be things like memorizing layouts and your ways in and out of places. Ahead there's a small square of light and Armory banks hard, boot rockets thrust out to either side of Rant's own legs as she completes a braking maneuver and then straight down, shooting the pair of them up and out through the hole they knocked in the ventilation shaft, twisting slightly as she goes so that poor Rant is spun out like a swing on one of those amusement park rides. Weeee. Slade is not so smooth. He reaches the hole up and just tosses Lux, a hand on the back of her pants and another on her tac vest causing her to be spit out through the hole at a slight arc that's about fifteen feet high at it's peak. He follows with a leap right behind her, his mask looking up at the sky. Thirty one seconds to cover that distance, Peabody is at the rim of the crater, pointing to the north. Slade's vision is superb and he scans the sky until he spots… oh my. The second layer of cover bought them mere seconds, he can see the contrails of the missles, where they wobbled for maybe two seconds, three, before reaquireing their target. <Deathstroke to Resolve,> he says into the coms, <emergency ev->

The explosion obliterates the crater, the explosions come so close to one another they may as well be a single great book, digging down another hundred feet into the earth and collapsing what little of the compound remained.

On the Resolves Deathstroke stands staring at his team, watching them catch their breath. "Armory, get Lux to the med bay, stick her under saline and nutrients." he orders flatly, apparently only allowing them the three second reprieve from the near atomizing they barely missed out on. "Rant, you and Peabody to the labs," he turns his gaze on Peabody, "I want a full run down on her, make sure she's fine. Something tried to infiltrate her systems, make sure they failed." he's silent for another full two seconds, "Now." he says firmly, standing there with his hands on his hips like a disapproving parent.

Well, that was a fun ride. Especially when you're about to die. But thankfully they were back on the resolve, Melody didn't need to catch her breath but she needed to not feel like jelly again. On her feet and a little wobbily, her shoulders slump immediately as she was ordered to the lab. She felt.. fine? For the most part, disgusted from what she had seen and.. well, fucking terrified.

There was a wordless nod given towards Deathstroke as she takes the arm of Peabody, who serves as a very handsome escort to be poked, prodded and examined like a nipple-necked baby on holiday.

Deathstroke watches both of the pairs head off in different directions, "Meet up at the war room in four hours!" he calls after them, figuring that should be enough time for them to get what they need, at least enough for them to sit still and discuss what all has happened and what they learned at any rate. He waits until they're gone, then slowly counts to twenty before he stumbles back against the wall and slowly slides down to the floor, the face-plate of his helm snapping up. He leans over to the side and spits thick wads of mucus and blood onto the floor of the hallway, his hand keeping him from falling over completely. He closes his eye and grunts once, wincing through the pain. He can feel it when he concentrates, wills himself to, the mending process, the often to slow way his cells force his body back into it's proper shape. "Stupid Wilson," he says softly, "so fucking stupid." he coughs and hacks out another wad of blood and something he hopes wasn't a bit of lung. He presses his hand against the wall and uses that to climb to his feet, eyeing the blood in the hall. No one will notice it before the Resolve cleans itself up, right? Sure. Who cares if they do, could be anyones. Mustn't let them see you hurt though. He starts the slow shambling walk towards his quarters, eye focused on suddenly wobbling and out of focus walkway. To help clear his thoughts he replays the conversation. They ran from the room, headed to the surface, he stayed. For fifteen seconds. His hand reaches down to his side where a canister is attached to his armor. It wasn't there when they went /on/ the mission, and honestly who'd notice one more grenade like cylinder on his armor? No one, that's who. He pats it twice to make sure it's there and then continues on his way. One more piece of the puzzle.

He's getting close. No one sends missiles to blow up someone that doesn't know what's going on. You send them when you're scared they'll learn something. Scared. He has someone scared, and people that are scared make mistakes. Slade's teeth, smeared with pink, flash as he sneers up a grin. He can smell blood in the water.

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