Eight Minutes

May 01, 2016:

Eight minutes after the events in Goodbye.. The Authority comes upon the devastation that was left behind.

What used to be Melody's Brownstone

Characters

NPCs: The 'Other'

Mentions: Oliver Queen

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Peabody stares at the screen and reaches up to rub sleep from his burning eyes. As the image comes more clearly into focus the exhaustion that's set into his limbs fades in an instant and he tastes metal on the back of his tongue. Adrenaline. He hits the coms hard and calls out, <Boss! I have visual on what was recently Rant's home!> his voice is calm and controlled, just like he was trained, but there's an edge to it, sharp and hard. There's a short pause and then the coms flash and the sound of metal on metal as someone starts jumping into armor from a dead sleep carries over the coms, <Get me recon and prep a heavy loadout. If Charlie is out there I'm going in carrying more ass then a Kardashian.> he growls into his mic, mixing his old army slang with new pop culture references. Who wears coms to bed? Slade Wilson, of course.

It takes less then four minutes for Slade to be suited up and slinging enough arsenal to his personage to fight his own war with an established nation. <Armory!> he barks into the coms with his Comman Voice, <Up and at 'em, we have an attack on Rant's home. Unknown damage. Unknown condition of asset. Unknown resistance. Gear up heavy /now/!>. Peabody does what he does, which is 4 things at once, <I have no Charlie's on site, first responders are still three minutes out,> he pauses, checks, <we're going to need Damage Control.> he says softly, eyeing the remains of the building, it's caved in walls and the devastation left in it's wake. <Then book them.> Slade growls. Peabody sends the message to Wrecker personally. Sometimes it's good to have connections on both sides of the law, your Rolodex is /thick/ like that. Slade uses his HUD to scroll through the images, his eye narrowing, <How long ago?> he asks, calculating in his head as he stares at the damage. Peabody is quiet, <Eight minutes.> he says softly. <Get us down there. Now!> and he steps through the gate that appears in front of him, fully expecting to see Armory joining him on the other side, time of day/night be damned. One of their own is possibly down, and say what you want about him, Slade doesn't leave his people behind.


It was a close call. That was for sure. But Melody herself wouldn't know. There are times like these where her paranoia pays off, and there are times like these where it doesn't.

The brownstone was a wreck, the front half of the building caved in as well as the roof and whatever made up the second floor. It was reduced to a very, very tall one floor house, bathtub broken into pieces upon the concrete with a sink implanted into a very, very nice looking SUV. The Kawasaki, 2016 we might add, was crushed beyond belief by a few of the bricks caught in the blast. And for all intents and purposes, it looks as if she were still inside.

People were in the streets, some crying, some screaming.. others getting into their cars and fleeing. This was New York. They new the drill. Anything that bangs and pops was the clue to get your ass out of there and keep moving until you see the sun shine in the sky.

And the sad thing is, the sun was still out. 1PM. The brownstone was still burning.

Crackling flames licked against a few fabric pieces that still remained in the rubble, though water pours out from a sink hole that 'used' to be part of the kitchen. And the smell. It was the remanents of gas that occasionally sparks a few tiny explotions whenever the gust of wind blows the fumes in it's direction.

SOMEWHERE ELSE:

Melody was unconscious, dangling upon the shoulder of a man who looked hurt as well. Plain closed, bloody, with a limp who'd stop to rest for a moment, then begins to drag her away. They were five blocks out.

THAT ONE OTHER PLACE:

'Seems like they made a mess of things. I told you we shouldn't have hired them.'
'The job was done though, right?'
'Yes. But send in the other. We need confirmation.'


Lunair is pretty quick to snap to when she's called up. Epsecially when she hears her name barked. And when she hears Rant is possibly being attacked. She'll get her power armor on, though it's darker colors as Peabody mentioned before. She frowns, listening. <Got it,> She remarks. Armory is up, though she has some non-Armory created weapons, following and peering. <Did we bring fire extinguishers? If not, I'll put them out -> They need controlled destruction, not - well, this. Lunair looks horrified by it all. This is going to be tough, especially with people already there.

Otherwise, Lunair waits for an order, hesitating. Or perhaps, looking for trails.


Deathstroke steps through the gate and starts to pick up speed, running towards the brownstone at a pace no man should be able to make while carrying nearly 200 lbs of kit, <Get me arial recon and once you've set the block as clear, come back in for fire suppression.> he says, his strides eating up asphalt, <I'm going straight for the house, draw any fire that might be about and to survey the damage. We have incoming friendlies to help with the rubble, no idea on their ETA. You'll recognize them, they look like Hulk if he wasn't green and wore construction jumpsuits.> he clears a Suburban in a single leap as it pulls out onto the street in front of him, sailing over the SUV gracefully and continuing the run on the other side.


The SUV that was leaped over swerves and clips another car that remained parked yet disjointed by the force of the blast.

'ASSHOLE!' The man calls out, but if someone who looked like that was running -towards- the rubble, it was obvious to step on the gas to kick it up into the 140's range. HOPEFULLY the man was a good driver enough that he wouldn't be taken by surprise and sandwich a dog between the wheels of the drivers side..

No one was there yet. It was close to a mass exodus. When Melody and Oliver Queen escaped so did another and he didn't look back. His claim? He had places to be. But in reality he saw the blood thirsty woman rip someones head clean off and repeatedly stab their chest in until it was made of soupy goo..

If Lunair and Peabody did listen, an aerial would be set up and they would see the mass exodus of Greenville in full effect. Though, they would see something odd. A slow moving vehicle in that direction, which suddenly stops in the middle of the street, the drivers side door opening and a blur of what could have been a man OR a woman disappearing from sight. The 'Other' was coming.

Vehicles begin to sound their alarms as the street lights flicker on and off. It was something that could go highly unnoticeable in the daylight if they didn't start to break and shatter there after. Headlights begin to over heat as they glow and soon.. one car randomly starts up and begins to back it's way towards Melody's .. well, what used to be her house, at a slow moving pace, the windows rolling down, the A/C on full blast and the radio itself beginning to scramble.


Lunair doesn't often buck orders, even if she desperately wants to go find herself a Rant and haul her home. Lunair will help Peabody set up their aerial, doing her best to compliment and observe. <Pardon me, there's - someone moving towards Greenville but the driver just stepped out and disappeared?> She pauses. <Also, you have a car rolling towards you with windows open,> She looks to Peabody to confirm. At least Luna is trying.


Deathstroke doesn't even pause, he merely extends his arm with the assault rifle in it's grip and points it in the direction of the moving car. WHUMP! there's a baseball sized object trailing smoke that hammers home into the car's windshield and the seats beyond. A fraction of a second later the car goes up in a fireball that rocks it on it's axles wildly. Slade clearly is not fucking around, and so long as his soldier is missing he's clearly not the sort of man to play around with something that even /looks/ like a threat. He comes to a stop at the brownstone, his gaze scanning over the structure, his mind capturing the scene in it's entirety and beginning to break it down and analyze it. Enemies, damage, potential survival points, cover in case of incoming enemies, lines of fire, fire and gas line threats, so on and so forth.


He could see it. The fresh blood that pools from beneath the rubble, a gloved hand of a man as his finger repeatedly twitches. Something was doing this to the man, stuck in a perpetual state of torture, of trying to heal and not heal, possibly due to Melody bleeding into his body as he died. It was the worst way to go, probably as intended! There was even a foot that manages to shift back and forth in a seize.

The middle of the brownstone caved in to the basement, there was blood there too as well as what remained of the kitchen. And.. a piece of bread. There wasn't even any rhyme or reason why that lone piece of bread managed to come out in tact but it was slowly becoming toasted to perfection.

The gas mane to the stove appeared sheared off from the wall, it was the obvious point of origin, as well as shards of metal that seemed to smack against the wall in random order, as well as bits of black glass that used to make up the door of her microwave. One could only guess, it was a quick job. Aerosol cans set to explode in the microwave and the stove-line cut to make the blast itself count.

A door remains in that big ditch of a basement, a marking resembling the blade of an axe slammed through the door itself. Stakes that were steel and hot to the touch remain skittered around the house itself so it was a matter of guessing of what in the world that was.

And the car? It done got blowed up. Though that doesn't stop the random beeping of the car horns along the streets.. as if it were trying to send a message…

Lunairs assessment was right. And she could see now that whatever this bogey was, it was closing in on her position. And it was fast.

'The 'Other' has made contact. Someone else is there to collect the prizes.'
'Kill them.'

"OKAY!" The man shouts out, suddenly directly behind Lunair and Peabody with an electrified punch aimed right in the middle of her back.


This is beyond not good. Lunair is worried about Rant. And then the car blows up. The beeping. All of it. Something is terribly awry.

But something is coming towards her fast. She's in her power armor, as before, so it could be far, far worse. She throws herself forward into a roll, to roll with the punch. The shock and punch? Still going to hurt. "OH MY FUCKING GOD, DID YOU JUST DONKEY PUNCH ME!? ALL OF MY HATE. ALL OF IT." Thank god that wasn't on comms, but Peabody just bore witness to a now irritated Lunair trying to roll up and recover herself while her spine curses the sudden but inevitable attack. There's going to be a light saber heading for behind her, though she seems to be more concerned about getting back up.


Deathstroke narrows his eye at the signs laying around and putting the pieces together. He's no detective, if this were a crime scene he'd have to work for it, but this is violence and few men in the world know violence better then him. This wasn't an outside attack, it was intention, internal. What the hell is Rant involved in? His head spins when he hears Lunair be hit, and the rifle comes up to his shoulder instantly, the barrel spewing a trio of rounds that hurtle towards the attacker's head. "Wrong place," he says into the air, "wrong time, wrong people."


Didja really have to ask? Two of the angels are child soldiers and the other one is like an immature walking bullseye with -huge- and incredibly -massive- daddy issues! Ahem.

The 'Other' that managed to punch Lunair square in the back stops mid-speed-stride, kicking his hands up into a clear boxers stance as he continually keeps his movements going to bouncing left and right. Clearly he was trained, which could be easily garnered by the kevlar and body armor that he wore, but there was something else that lined his suit that crackled with energy.

"Sure did!" He quips out, bouncing over towards Lunair to twist and draw back his good foot for a kick. He only gets /half/ way before his head is smacked back with a shot to the cheek that has him bursting with a shock-like-speed towards the left in two clicks to hold onto his face as it sprouts blood. He did -not- expect that. And it hurt like hell.

"Yo-..*CRACKLE* M…" He couldn't speak, blood sputters from his lips as he tucks and rolls to place himself in front of the burning car which is soon given a high-powered kick-flip in Deathstroke's direction.


Lunair is a child soldier with little human contact early in life besides medical personnel, people experimenting on her, and those she slew while being trained in some alarmingly genocidal local scuffle in Africa. Her moral compass is set to: 'lol what'. She really doesn't care anymore. Actually, right now, she's just thoroughly -miffed-. "Rude!"

Lunair is rolling out of the way, to let Deathstroke and/or Peabody get better shots until the man decides to kick flip a car at Deathstroke.

"THAT IS VERY RUDE. UNACCEPTABLE, PLEBIAN!"

And that's about when Lunair intercepts the car with an rocket launcher. More specifically, the rocket. The two collide in the air like the world's most pyroclastic shrapnel snuggle. At least it should help Deathstroke out because there's no car and it's closer to the assailant than him.

Can't spell assailant without ass.


Peabody works fast, his fingers hammering out commands until his drones take to the skies while he himself picks up his kit and runs towards the wreckage, sliding down behind a broken pile of masonry and reopening the laptop, "Okay asshole," he hisses softly, "how do you feel about superheated plasma?" he asks to no one as one of the small drones glows for a second before discharging a streaking ball of death.

Deathstroke doesn't even flinch when the car starts to go airbourne, the rifle at his shoulder merely continues to spew forth rounds in three shot bursts that seem one and all centered on the 'others' forehead as he himself begins a calm forward walk, almost a stroll, right towards the man.


The man was fading. No tech in the world could have ever prepared him to go up against Deathstroke and Lunair. Maybe the others he took out were the small timers. Like the freshly trained infantrymen who never actually looked a man in the eyes to watch him die. Yeah, the paycheck? He suddenly decides, was not worth all of this overkill. For after the car was kicked and promptly asploded, shot after shot rings against his body, the piercing armor bullets hitting the most vital parts and leaving him an unrecognizable mass.

And to add insult to injury? He was being dumped on, hot plasma doesn't immediately melt his skin, but it clings to him in a lovers embrace and systematically breaks him down into cries that draw him to his knees and back as he starts to sizzle like bacon.

But meanwhile, Peabody was in the right position for what happens next, the computer screen itself begins to flicker and dance as a few lines of code dash across the screen. Someone tapped into the wireless and begins to upload code, and with the gear that Peabody has, it was -quick-.

Words scrawl across the screen in digitized print once the upload was finished..

..and it reads..

'Stop blowing up my methods of communication, jackholes!'

Ayep. That was Rant.


Sigh. Okay. Lunair is unaware of what's going on, but this guy might be useful for intel. <I'm going to heal this guy, and see if we can get anything from him. Stop me if not,> And Lunair is going to move in with the Medigun. It's something out of sci fi and video games, but she'll tend to the poor man, easing his pain a bit. Otherwise, Lunair will let it be and keep an eye out. It really does depend on what feedback she gets.


Deathstroke is really good at shooting people in the face, and they say if you love your job… <Stand down!> Peabody says over the coms, staring at his screen, <I have contact with Rant! I uh… Huh.> Slade pauses, three and a half pounds on a four pound trigger pull, the sights of the rifle lined up on the 'others' face. <Report.> he says as the silence drags on, <Well um… Rant's in my computer and she wants us to stop exploding something. I assume him? I dunno. She's being extremely uncommunicative and insulting.> his fingers work on the keyboard and he types -The boss wants a report. He's shooty.-


The man was pretty much dead as a doornail. It's a bit hard to survive being melted by plasma and shot in the face repeatedly with expert percision. Unless you're Wolverine.

-Report.- The words on the screen says, which soon disolve into numbers that blast across the screen as the words begin to form in rapid succession.

-Target is Oliver Queen. Suspect different. No one should have known Oliver Queen would have arrived. House booby-trapped. Shot. Pinned down in basement. Four men dead. Escaped before house went. Explosives?-

The words seem a little disjointed, but seemingly perks up again.

-Muscles? See muscles? Unconscious. Nanites in overload repair. Muscles!-


Lunair stands down. She listens, though, she is going to search the dead man for anything useful. Information is information, unless someone tells her not to. <He is deader than disco, sirs,> Lunair offers simply. He lost the fight. That's all. Nevertheless, Lunair will see what she can find and listen, otherwise.


Deathstroke frowns at this information and his finger slowly backs off of the trigger, "Peabody, call in an extraction, a bird, not a gate, and get the body to a safe house where you can work on it." Peabody stares at him, "Dammit Jim I'm an arms engineer, not a doctor." he mutters under his breath, but he begins packing it all up anyway. "Armory, you're with Peabody, the pair of you figure this out. I'm going to recon the area again and await our friends in Damage Control, sift through the rubble." he pauses, hearing the faint sound of sirens in the distance, "And deal with the authorities."

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