Street Sweeping: Purifier Style

May 03, 2016:

The Purifiers attack a Mutant-friendly establishment in a coordinated assault, but their plans are unraveled by Death, Hulk and the Enchantress. (Witchdoctor makes a cameo!)

New York

A mutant-friendly Cafe and the streets outside.


NPCs: Elite Purifiers, Mooks



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Another day in New York. For some, it's a simple and easy morning amidst the usual sounds of traffic and talk that tends to fill the streets at this time of the morning. For others? It's a day off to relax and enjoy the time however they might pass it in the Big Apple while others sit in traffic and worry about making it to their places of work before 9 o'clock comes and goes. That's how it goes for most of the civillians.

For another party however, it had been a time of quiet reflection and then militant preparation. They had a goal, they had a target, now they had the manpower and weapons to achieve it…

Mirna's lounge was a relatively new addition to it's block, a cafe in the mornings and bar in the evening, the business still sported tarp over a recently broken window caused by a vandals opposing the owner's public expression of support for mutants and meta-humans. While the sympathy for those different had enraged and brough protest from some, over time mutants and even other meta-humans of NY had come to view the place as somewhere safe enough to relax and enjoy their time.

This was about to change…

Joe Fixit is currently asleep. Rather than in a flop hotel or crashing on Melody Kenway's couch like he usually does, he's sleeping in a crappy jalopy he picked up for five hundred bucks from a chop shop. It ain't much - 1984 Ford Escorts just aren't, even if somebody detailed flames on the side. But he pulled out the front seat and is stretched out nicely in it. His fedora is over his face as he sleeps, the loud snores from his granite-colored, thick-limbed frame rattling the windows and making dogs bark when their owners walk them by. Owners who take a glimpse of the gargantuan inside and quickly shuffle along before it wakes up.

Finally, he stirs and awakens, smacking his lips together, "Jeezus frack, what a night…dat floozy musta left. If she took my wallet wit' 'er, she's gonna be gettin' a big knock on her friggin' door. If I find her…" he mutters, cracking the door on the car and finally stepping out. Over seven feet tall and wide as a buick, he wears pinstriped trousers, well-shined shoes, a wife beater shirt and a couple of gold chains around his neck. He twists his head to the side, vertebrae popping so loudly it sounds like gunfire, "Ah, shit, I need to get one o' them posturepedic thingies fer the Joemobile…" He blinks as he looks at the cafe, "Huh. Breakfast."

Death 'works' nights, or at least that is what he calls it. So he is preparing to head home for the day. His weapon has already tasted blood and his pistols have their last full magazines loaded into them. The glow that usually glares from his masks eye sockets is dulled in the morning light, it only enhances the glow of his weapons though the silver of his scythe and pistols gleaming menacingly.

He is actually walking across a roof at human pace for once, crime seems to have gone down with the moon and now he is winding down before he dissapears for a few hours to grab some shut eye. He tunes his portable police scanner as he makes his way towards the edge of the roof. Maybe he can take one more job before it is time to turn in.

It's one of June's days off from the library, and Enchantress is taking full advantage of it to do something she can't normally do during 'her hours:' SHOP! Ohhh, how the money flows freely from her well-manicured, beautiful hands to the highest end stores that New York, New York has to offer! She's had a spa day, already. She got her hair done. She had a mani-pedi. She had a delicious lunch at a restaurant people would literally kill to eat in, and she's feeling fantastic. She's now going from store to store whenever something catches her eye—clothing, makeup, jewelry, shoes… Anything. Of course, being a sorceress and having the ability to keep all of your purchases in a pocket dimension for ease of burdenless travel makes such extravagant spending sprees much easier.

She's making her way down the street in a devastatingly stylish outfit comprised of fashion houses Valentino, Dior, and Ralph Lauren. Her shoes are Louboutins, and her shades are Chanel. She smells of luxury perfume and an air of irresistability trails in her wake as her heels click-clack purposefully on the sidewalk.

Elsewhere, inside the care, a blonde woman in street clothing sips at a coffee while studying an old and battered book that appears to be written in some strange language. New York did always attract a lot of tourists, but most of them hadn't travelled quite as far as she had. For now, the Witch is basking in the taste of real coffee and a peaceful morning while she studies the pages before her.

There's nothing on the police scanners that would have Death running into battle. Noise complaints here, neighbour disputes there, absolutely nothing to worry a meta-human with abilities such as his. Perhaps he'll get to turn in for the day and take a break.

As several SUV's and a van stuck in traffic suddenly fling their doors open however, it seems this is not to be…

The men that pour out of the SUV have their faces covered with cloth bandanas, their street clothing easily could mark them as members of any gang out there were it not for a deep read cross each of them has painted onto their clothing over their chests and backs. Carrying a variety of firearms, they make no subtle show as they immediately open fire, spraying the crowded street and the Meta-friendly bar with a hair of bullets. The last man out of each SUV takes longer, clipping what appears to be a harness that carries a large tank on their backs. Old-fashioned but still deadly, the men appear to be carrying Vietnam war era flamethrowers.

The men from the van? They're somethign else entirely. Deploying out the back of the unmarked vehicle, each of them is dressed head to toe in what appears to be high-tech, next gen Military tactical gear. Their firearms unrecognizable in design to even the most savy weapons expert, they seem to be many paygrades above the mooks charging Mirna's lounge. Only the deep red cross each wears on the back of their chest rig suggests any link between the two teams.

Joe Fixit suddenly has to go from contemplating whether or not he can get them to make enough bacon and eggs to possibly feed him to dealing with armed nutbags. The first problem is common - when he goes into a restaurant and says "Give me all the eggs and bacon you have", they don't always take him seriously or think he's doing a schtick. It isn't a schtick. Have you seen this man? He looks like the giant ball from Raiders of the Lost Ark turned into a guy. Except hungry.

When the gunfire breaks out, though, and the Purifers step out of their vehicle, his overprominent brow furrows. He flexes his hands. Green's had to deal with this shitheads before, and they've but a few bullets in Banner's brain now and then. And got pulped for it.

Come to think of it, he could use some orange juice.

Joe stomps once, hard enough to shake the street and making a manhole cover next to him pop up for him to snatch out of the air, "Hey, ya churchie bastards, I got yer salvation right here!" he says, flinging the manhole cover like a frisbee. Only with its weight and his strength, it's more like a missile, going righit for that tactical van and woe betide any mortal flesh that gets in its way.

Frank Castle comes into FRP Room #3 from FRP Ready Room.

Gunfire. A sounds far to familiar to Death, especially when it comes to automatic weapons and the like on a crowded street. It doesn't take long for him to hit supersonic speeds, windows warping and shattering around him as he tears down the streets. Time slows ever more for him the faster he moves, vehicles and pedestrians almost seeming to stand still. The assorted weapons are one thing, and those spec ops soldiers are another. But the first target for Death is those flamethrowers, or more specifically the tanks and fuel lines. Time for an asshole barbeque. His seven foot tall silver scythe swings around his body as he prepares to attack, ducking low under a suddenly flying manhole cover as he leaps towards the rascist crusaders.

As Joe pounds the street with his massive foot and shakes the earth around him, Enchantress is caught offguard and stumbles. Now, if it weren't for well-honed instincts, she'd probably have fallen on her face, but — thankfully — that isn't the case. She catches herself with magickal forces, lifting her upright into a hovering position as she frowns and scans the nearby area for information.

Ah, wonderful. Purifiers, and a giant man in guido-wear …tossing a manhole cover. Perfect. Not what she wanted to do on this beautiful afternoon, but she can't abide self-righteous zealots forcing their antiquated views on the helpless. So, taking care to keep a shield about her person, she zooms higher up into the air and flies forward, into the fracas. She targets a large group of the gun-wielding individuals and, smiling bleakly, she thrusts her hand outward, sending a blast of fell magickal smoke to encompass them. It's unclear what the smoke is, but what the men can tell is that their bodies are…changing. As the smoke begins to clear, the men that come into view are writhing in agony as their bodies twist and morph them into something resembling…pigmen. Yes, snouts, beady eyes, fat jowls… And, some have hoofs for hands. Their bones are snapping as their DNA rewrites itself cruelly.

Frank Castle heads out to FRP Ready Room.

Inside the cafe, bullets fill the air. Unfortunately, not every mutant or meta-human is bulletproof, so cries of pain and fear fill the air as deadly lead rains down on the unaware people within. Innocent people injured or killed in broad daylight doesn't seem to bother the Purifiers, but then they simply don't see their victims as people. While one of the men with the flamethrower on his back moves to light the barrel of his weapon and start his 'mutie-cooking', the sudden rush of wind and speed is about all the warning he gets before napalm sprays from his severed hose and his world ends in one violet burst of fire and pain. He'll be dead before he hits the ground, a large fireball left in his wake that startles his companions. The second man with the flamethrower? He wisely witnesses his double's demise and hastily struggles to remove the leaking accelerant pack before he too might be exposed to an open flame.

Joe's arrival turns the attention of one of the 'thug' groups immediately as one of their men is collected by the manhole cover with a sickening crack. When he hits the ground? He doesn't get up. The rest fill the very air Death was running through with rapid-fire spray of bullets from their small machine pistols at Joe, unaware of what exactly it is that they're shooting.

For enchantress? Her magical display is…horrifying, but her floating certainly gets attention. Even as they twist and warp, those with still-functioning hands turn their guns towards the flying woman in an attempt to cut her down and end her spell.

For the time being, the Hi-tech team seems to be assessing the situation, checking the damage while the men themselves take cover. If one had the hearing to pick up such a noise over the mundane gunfire, they'd notice those Sci-fi looking guns giving off a faint humming noise.

Within the cafe, Alyse was clutching her shoulder and side, cursing her luck while she took cover from the overwhelming bullets coming through the window. This wasn't the first time she'd been shot, but it had been a long time. Had it always hurt this much?

Joe Fixit takes some bullets, but they don't seem to do much, just flattening against his skin. They do sting a little bit, like mosquito bites, which leads to the big grey guy growing increasingly irritated as he stalks forward. "No class, no dignity, no friggin' plan, just a bunch o' brats splatterin' everything cause they don't get their way. Big friggin' babies," he mutters. He doesn't seem to mind the one he hit with the manhole cover, grabbing another by the head and casually throwing him over his shoulders, starting to wade into the Purifiers in bulk. He likes a good brawl.

Of course, then one of them shoots him in the face iwth a flamethrower. Which leaves his hair singed and his eyes a bit scalded and makes him bend his head down for a moment to shake it off, "Oooooooookay…now you punks are starting to PISS ME OFF."

A man moving at higher than supersonic speed doesn't find it too hard to make open flame. And there is not much that he hates more than a bunch of racists that just hate people because they are different than themselves. He is back amongst the men in a mere second his scythe a flaming sign of bloody vengeance, wet splotches of flaming napalm dripping as he starts cutting through scum. The flamethrowers remain the primary target, the spec ops soldiers the second. Whatever they are doing it cannot be good, especially if the distraction form the 'heavies' are men weilding flamethrowers against innocents. Deaths mouth is set in a grim line beneath his deaths head mask, there will be no mercy shown on this day.

When the bullets start flying in her direction, Enchantress tosses her head back and laughs. For some reason, it resonates through the area, so that all nearby can hear. "FOOLISH MORTALS! YOUR PIDDLING GUNS ARE NO MATCH FOR ENCHANTRESS!" she laughs, raising her arms in a wide arc, magickal light trailing her movements and forming a sphere large enough to encompass her form. She then zooms down toward the ground— much like a meteor diving toward earth— and uses her shield like a magickal bowling ball plowing through so many human pins.

She ends up bouncing into Joe as he, also, makes his way through the Purifiers, and she smiles, waggling her fingers at him before she zooms off in another direction. Noticing the men running from the napalm explosion, she takes advantage of the fear and whispers eldritch words that creates an illusion of the fire spreading and surrounding the people running, in an attempt to pin them down in one spot. She catches sight of a flashing scythe and men falling around the one holding it. Turning her eyes back to the pigmen, on the ground and almost completely transformed, Enchantress laughs delightedly and runs over them with her shield-bubble for funsies.

In chess the pawns move first. Draw out the stronger defences of your opponent, then crush them to leave your goal undefended. Under the fists of the Almost-Hulk Joe, the magics of the cackling enchantress and the blazing speed of Death and his scythe, the 'gang' members stand little to no chance. Small calibre bullets that can't pierce the defences of two and are moving in slow motion for the third are simply not up to the task.

But now the 'real deal' know what they're up again. Behind the red-tinged visor of his helmet, a complex tracking algorithim maps the projected path of the man moving too fast for the purifiers to see. Taking 'aim' in the general direction, the trigger pulling gives a rather unintimidating -HISS- as instead of a bullet or laser bolt, the weapon releases a cloud of silver dust. Hanging in the air like a visible aerosol, the mist begins to accelerate in a deadly cloud towards Death, gaining speed the faster he moves almost like it were somehow drawn to him.

For Joe, two more of the men raise their own weapons, the vague shape suggesting some form of grenade launcher and their firing backing that suggestion up. The 'grenades' however do not explode, each instead uncoiling mid air until they vaguely resemble scarab-like insects that latch onto the massive figure's limbs, immediately crackling with energy as they shock poor Joe with enough voltage to power a quarter of the city each.

For Enchantress? The last three men take aim and fire their weapons at her energy shield, their guns giving a high-pitched scream as bolts of plasma hot enough to leave an a faint flaming trail in the air of their wake blast towards her defence.

These guys aren't the average mooks.

Joe Fixit stumbles a bit as the mechanoids latch onto him, feeling the veins jumping underneath his marble-hard skin. "What the he—GLURK," he gasps, almost gagging as the shocks send an powerful ripple through his nervous system. He twists his head, gritting his teeth at the pain and starts to headbutt one of them, the klang loud enough to reverbrate around the area as he tries to shake off the other.

"You punks…are starting…to…offfffffff…" he snarls and, if anyone were to look closely enough, they could see cracks forming along his dark pupil, along the veins on his arms, a skein of emerald green starting to bleed and spreads through the grey.

Suddenly Death finds himself ducking flying bodies and horrifying pig-morphs. Magic comes more and more into play confusing 'friends' and foes alike. The rolling ball of mage death moves slow compared to the speedster but he still ends up throwing himself to the side to avoid it, consumed by his bloodlust to the point where he almost missed it barrelling down on him. He may not be the biggest fan of magic, but at least this time it seems to be crushing the right people.

Finally the spec ops soldiers join the fray, and it is even more than Death feared. Specialised adaptable weapons suited to taking out various supers. Luckily long before he had powers, even before he joined the military he watched cartoons. His flaming napalm scythe is thrown, the weapon weighing as much as an average maand thrown at supersonic speeds. His pistols flash into his hands the .50cal rounds ripping through the air towards the spec-ops soldiers. Then comes in the cartoon idea. The silver dust aerosol gains on him, drawn to him seemingly moving faster and faster. Death reaches his max speed then he starts, weaving in and out of the Purifiers throwing in multiple sudden turns intentionaly cutting around as close as he can. Time to see how precise that weapon is.

Enchantress, at first, doesn't seem to notice the plasma bolts, because she's having such fun bowling for Purifiers. However, when she notices the plasma blasts slamming into her magickal shield, she slows her roll - as it were - and turns her full attention to the special ops annoyances. Her eyes narrowing, she begins signing a very complex set of hand motions. As her hands move, making shapes that seem nearly impossible, an air of power begins to swell within the area around her. The energy crackles in the air as her hair begins to rise of its own accord, swirling about her head in an ethereal fashion. And, then, she hisses a sharp command, shoving her hands outward at the special op men…and she INHALES. Audibly. The air that once filled the lungs of the men is now speeding its way to her lungs, instead. She's literally taking their breath away. She exhales, and INHALES, again, her eyes glinting with wicked light.

Body armor can be pretty impressive at the best of times. But even if your surname is Stark being hit by high-calibre rounds still hurts. This armor? It's not quite as good as the Iron Man's suit. Two of the men firing their mist are cut down by the bullets swiftly, but the most remarkable thing occurs when Death hurls his scythe with all his strength and built up momentum. The silver cloud follows it, not the man himself. Following the arcing weapon the now insanely fast cloud suddenly changes course, recalibrating on the man when his thrown weapon imbeds itself in one of the plasma-casters with enough force to hurl him backwards and deaccelerates the weapon.

Joe's shocking restraints continue their voltage, machines themselves unaware of the growing green and the danger it means. The men holding the launchers however? Well…the Hulk has a reputation. Frantically cycling their weapon, each of them fires two more of those shocking drones at the enraged monster.

Enchantress' magic was still quite the terror weapon itself, but now the literal draining of the air from their lungs is enough that the plasma-casters remaining lower their guns and try and hold what oxygen remains. With sheer power failing, one of the clearly trained men gets smart and reaches for his belt, unhooking and hurling what appears to be some sort of charge at the woman. A charge that errupts in a cloud of semi-clear gas almost immediately. She was aleady inhaling, right?

At this point most would retreat, if not fall to their knees and beg forgiveness, but the men continue to fight with the dedication that can only belong to a true zealot.

From within the cafe, a sudden flare of light errupts. Millions of small golden lights, each fluttering like a swarm of butterflies, surges from the broken windows and doors, coming together to form a barrier that just might protect those within from further damage. On the street itself? Those unlucky enough to have been caught on the street during the attack are running for their lives, fleeing their cars and high-tailing it as far as their feet can take them.

As the voltage increases, the pain and rage increase. Joe's eyes start to bulge and those green cracks in the surface of his skin expand, growing wider, almost glowing as he starts to gnash his teeth. The first couple have been disposed of, but he has half-a dozen at this point, all of them driving him down, down, down…

And then there's a savage howl as his skin just tears, the grey ripping free, his body expanding and growing impossibly more massive, eight, nearly nine feet tall. His arms fling out to either side, shaking off drones and sending them flying off to god knows where as he beats his chest in wrath.

Most people might not know Joe Fixit or recognize him on sight. But no one hasn't seen the Hulk. His presence, his existence, is a simple fact, a force of nature, a hurricane that could blow in at any time. The world always holds its breath for his next explosion. That explosion is now.

Hulk snarls and drives both hands hard into the pavement, tearing through asphalt and concrete and just ripping the street, rolling it almost like a carpet up and back onto the Purifiers as he howls, "SMASHHHHHHHHH!!!"

So it follows whatever is moving fastest. That is good to know. It stays on him even as he weaves amongst the men at full speed, sadly they do not get cut in half by the mist as it follows Death. Well time to see what this stuff does when it catches it's target. Well a target at least. It is a good thing when you have the strength of Captain America and the speed of a lesser speedster. Death plows into one of the special forces soldiers picking up the man bodily, running in a wide arc before turning and running back towards the chasing mist. He hurls the soldier with all of his mighty strength before he rapidly begins to deccelerate. Best hope the reguler bullets don't catch up to him while he tests out his theory.

His perception of time warps again as he begins to slow. His eyes tracking rapidly over probably the oddest fight he has seen so far. And now the Hulk. This is the first time Death can remember seeing someone of that calibre. He looks…impressive to say the least and he has yet to truly get amongst the fray.

Her attention is fully on the individuals she's targeting and, as a result, Enchantress is easily able to see the one who pulls out some sort of cannister. She's actually only drawing the oxygen out of their lungs, because she could easily kill them if she took all of the oxygen from their bodies. The cannister's contents hissing out doesn't seem to concern her, unless they start breathing it in. At any rate, it's enough to cause her to cease her spell, to protect herself from whatever agent the cannister might contain.

Leaving the others to handle the special ops people, she bats clean-up on the stragglers. She simply begins zapping anyone she sees moving with taser-level electrical charges, moving on when they've stopped moving. She keeps her shield maintained, though she shrinks its size to simply encompass her body with about two inches to spare around her entire person, as it takes less energy and concentration. It's been a while since she's had a chance to really let loose, and this has been enjoyable. But, it's time it stopped.

It's a truth, everyone knows the Hulk. When you see the Hulk coming at you? You run. If you can't run? You hit it with everything you've got. Even choking, the last of the remaining plasma casters fire on the big green monster until their vision clouds and they drop, gasping from hypoxia and passing out as their brain tries to protect an oxygen starved system. The mooks remaining as pigs and the gang members? They don't really stand a chance under the shocking bolts.

Two men remaining with their shock-launchers suddenly becomes one as Death's breakneck speed becomes quite literal. The man he impacts with doesn't actually get to really feel the pain before the nanite mist narrow in on the greatest momentum, their built-up speed from chasing the full-pace running death easily catching the slowing man who's flight hadn't quite slowed faster then the speedster itself. The moment the silver catches up with the man? It encases his form, tattooed into his skin in a nano-second before it begins to glow molten hot. By the time his momentum drops and the man hits the ground heavily he scatters into nothing but a pile of ash.

Left alone, the last man holding his shock launcher fires off his last desperate shot before his weapon clicks empty and he's faced with an angry electrofied Hulk before him. Beneath that mask the proof of his expression is hidden, but even zealots feel fear…

"Well that was even worse than i thought it was going to be. Interesting though. Wouldn't mind getting myself one of those. Bet I could make something real good out of that." Death shakes his head slightly as he looks at the enraged Hulk bearing down on the lone remaining man. "Well i am going to get out of here before the big man mistakes me for one of them." Deaths legs start moving again what few windows remain shattering as a sonic boom explodes behind him. His bed calls him.

Hulk throws a punch. He throws punches a lot, when he comes out. He's very angry, after all, and not much attuned to nuance. Hulk is a brute, pure and simple, and he only arrives enraged. But the electroshocking is very particularly irritating, because, while he heals any damage it does almost instantly, it HURTS. It's as if he's covered with bees, constantly stinging, only these bees are being fanned on by the men wearing the red cross. Puny humans with guns. There's nothing Hulk hates more.

So when he throws this punch, he throws it with his full strength. Human beings aren't made to take that kind of punch. Twenty story buildings aren't designed to take that kind of punch. So, when Hulk hits the last Purifier, there's a splat. He just pops, like an overfull water balloon, blood and organs and gelatin, bones shattering into shards, skin tearing into ragged strips, spraying his DNA over half a square block and leaving Hulk standing, heaving his breath out and with a gore drenched fist.

That he then drives into the vehicle from which they emerged, beginning to pound it into oblivion in almost a tantrum of rage.

Enchantress is just finishing up the last gang member when she turns to face the Hulk. Her eyes widen and she watches with rapt fascination as he punches a man so hard that the man explodes. All over her. Thankfully, she still has her magick shield in place and, giving herself a good blast of air, the gore slides off of her shield and onto the street behind her. As Hulk stomps off after the van, Enchantress puts her hands on her hips and surveys her surroundings. No one really standing. She dusts off her hands and, smiling, makes her way through the carnage, keeping her shield in place for a while, just in case.

Finally, with the Hulk rampaging away and the brutal combat passed, the barrier summoned by the wounded Witch within shatters, permitting access to the lounge once more. With how swift and brutal the fight had first been, only now did sirens reach the ears of those still standing.

By the time they arrive? Alyse and her book are long gone. A habbit from her old life, but the Witch doesn't like to be around when cops turn up.

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