Ninjas and Lasers!

August 14, 2016:

An attempted 'dead drop' gets a little more lethal when some high-tech armed Ninjas arrive on the scene.

City streets





Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

* OOC Time: Sun Aug 14 19:20:24 2016 *

SHIELD is good for a lot of things, but who cares about the shit it's good at? I mean really, waste of time listing that crap off. What's really imporant is what SHIELD is shithouse at, not just bad, but epicly horrid at. Like allowing one to keep personal appointments.

For instance: When one is supposed to be going about one's personal life when one is suddenly informed via fancy encrypted phone that they're presence is required at a place to do a thing.

Was it mentioned it was a dangerous thing? No. No it was not.

Was is mentioned it was with a Mask? Also no. No it was not.

Was it mentioned that the drop, which poor Darcy has been tasked with making in a very dodgey manner involving leaving a small thumb drive under a certain kind of flower amid a plethora of flowers at a flower vendors stall, would be compromised by a the sudden LACK of flowers, vendor, or even stall, via the sudden and rather uncoth application of a propelled grenade? Also no. No it was not mentioned.

And thus does Darcy find herself crouched, in civvie 'I got personal appointments to keep' clothing, behind a frikkin Smart Car in the middle of what is extremely loud fire fight between one masked man and what appears to be at least a dozen ninjas with weapons that range from laser guns to some tiny sprite of woman swinging an M19 grenade launcher around at her hip like it weighed as much as a purse, a trail of exploding baseball sized incindiary weapons digging three foot craters in the street as they land and send up twelve foot gysers of concrete and asphault like it was party favors.

Deathstroke, for his part, was also not prepared for this. It's an intel drop from one of the people inside SHIELD who Gets Things Done, even when it's not with people that are supposed to be the one's 'doing things'. And now he's in his own civvies, a cloth mask tied aroudn his head like a bandana, with only the weapons he had hidden away under his shirt. Which sadly, only included a pistol and a few choice blades… AND THAT BITCH JUST BLEW UP HIS BIKE!?!

Great. Just great. Darcy thumps her head back into the stall she's using as cover, once. She's just glad that her 'personal appointments' outfits are really comfy and have reasonable shoes. Like scuffed and unlaced combat boots. These are better than her work-a-day 6 inch pumps. Much better. Darcy just wishes she was wearing her skates.

Taking a breath, she peeks over the edge of the stall, looking for the cause of the issue and then for something to throw.. AHA! A piece of… something like a 2x4? Wood or something. No idea. Probably part of the stall she was supposed to go to in order to drop off the thumb drive. Well, let's see how hard Darcy can chunk it. And if she can bean one of the ninja's in the back of the head with it!

Witchdoctor? Nope, the Witch was no less prepared then the others. The blonde woman was dressed in her civillian ware, her skirt and blazer look hardly the strangest thing on the street even if she was carrying an umbrella regardless of the weather. She wasn't headed for some great mystical struggle or even dipping her toe into a little vigilante work again. As the sudden -WHUMP!- of the grenade launcher sound that she's a little too familier with from the 'old days' goes off, the blonde woman dives for cover just short of the little cafe she'd been making her way towards. Blue eyes take in the scene for a moment as she raises her umbrella that strangely seems to work perfectly despite the debris landing on what looks like ordinary materials. "Well this is…odd."

Deathstroke doesn't so much roll over a Jeep as he leaps it, his hand coming down atop it's roof adding to his already impossible height and allowing him to invert gracefully. He spins as he vaults, the pistol in his hand, a much loved and worn .45, barks three times in succession so fast it sounds almost like a single round. Three of the ninjas go down, their heads snapping back under the force of the bullet impacts. One of them allows his laser weapon to fall from numb fingers with the firing stud depressed and the beam cuts a random spiral pattern across the side of the street before it finally falls dead for a rechage, molten glass pours from window fronts, clothing in the stores burns, a small hot dog stand just bursts into flame, and the top half of Darcy's chosen cover, the stall, tilts to the side and slides off as the laser punches clean through it at an odd angle. She can smell the faint unmistakable aroma of burnt hair in the air, because ninjas aren't fans of fashionable cuts. It's why they wear the full head masks. Common knowledge.

The teeny woman who is slinging the grenade launcher around moves a smidge quicker and the Jeep (aka vaulting horse) suddenly becomes a fireball, it's gas tank going up only a split second after the grenade that punched into the SUV's side did likewise. Deathstroke takes the burning Jeep to the chest and is hurtled through the air like a pinwheel, arms and legs spinning. His momentum comes to a sudden and vicious stop when he slams diagonally into an ornate wrought iron lamp post, the impact topples the timeless bit of urban 'art' over, the mercenary slumped along for the ride. "Ow." he wheezes out of the cloth of his mask. He /really/ misses his armor right now. He rolls to the balls of his feet, ignoring the pain in his back and his newly healed ribs, he's had worse, and his lips twist into a snarl… a snarl that's visible as a portion of his mask is torn away and flapping in the wind caused by the fires. He glances down at the pistol in his hand and frowns. Two left. One more glance up at the street as the assailants spread out, each getting a new vantage point that allows them to see past the burning wreckage of the Jeep.

BONK! Slade blinks. One of the ninjas, one holding a laser weapon much like the one that cut Darcy's cover in half turns around, one hand reaching up to rub curiously at the back of his neck where… a bit of lumber? Just bounced off of him. A lance of power sweeps across that entire side of the street, cutting a mailbox, a Yukon, two tourists, and a fancy artsy bench all clean in half. Now Darcy can smell the unmistakable scent of burning human flesh too, "Who threw that?!" the guy asks, as if expecting someone to answer after he's just sliced a portion of the street fare into smaller bits. The tourists, a couple holding one another behind the Yukon, slowly slide apart in different directions, though cold uncomprehending eyes show they don't much care anymore.

Darcy drops back down, sliding lower since the top half of her hotdog cart is gone, lips parting and eyes widening in slight horror that settles into anger at the guy that just cut a couple of innocent by standers in half. ..because she bonked him on the head. Stupid rookie-ass move, Lewis. Next time, taze his ass or clear the street. She swallows down the want to vomit. She was trying to stall the guy, give some others time to keep moving. And it backfired horribly. She slides her hand into her purse, pulling out her trusty tazer.

"I did, jackass," she answers. Because he did just slice a portion of the street into bits, and it was her fault, and she should have opened with this anyway. She's standing as she answers, bringing up the tazer, aiming at laser weapon ninja, and squeezing the trigger all in one move. Center mass. If he's wearing armor, Darcy will deal with it later. Better to give this lunatic a target than have him incenerate more innocent people.

The sudden laser beams slicing through bystanders? That's a step above buildings and such. It's something that she needs to put a stop to right now. Smoothly reaching into her jacket and withdrawing her own smaller calibre pistol, there's a moment for Alyse to muse on some thought as she clicks her safety off and then her pistol gives it's own pair of barks that blasts two 9mm rounds into one of the Ninja's chests. This time? She's not taking cover, instead the witch extends the open umbrella in front of her like it were a shield, the surface taking on a faint golden glow as she moves forwards.

Laser Ninja The Ruthless turns towards Darcy, the tip of his weapon glowing a soft pink and steam rising from the barrel as the coolent inside cooks off. "Oh yay." he says flatly, "A do-goo-" and then stops because he's just biteen down rather intently on his tongue, what with all the voltage coursing through his body. He'd say something about that, like 'ow' or 'fuff!' (the version of fuck! one can say with a newly bitten tongue) or even 'aaaaaaaaaah!' but instead he mostly gurbles out a few pink bubbles from his lips as a pair of lead slugs toss their bit of extra electrical conductivity into his gooey internal bits. He topples to the side, laser weapon clattering to the ground beside him as he stiffly jerks his way down to the ground next to it.

Oh lookie. A distraction. Deathstroke moves the instant he hears someone proclaim themselves the one who threw the hunk of lumber. He's borderline a blur as he covers ground, the gun barks twice more and another pair of the oddly weaponized ninja goes down, one from a sudden case of canoe head, and the other gripping his throat which is less throat and more open space then it used to be. There's a glint in his hand as a rather intimidatingly large fighting knife appears from somewhere on his person, his eyes locked now on the small woman with her Mark 19. He seems to weave through the air as he rushes towards her and the two grenades she fires as him, almost point blank, seem to miss him by scant milimeters, one of them tears away a peice of his tailored shirt as it passes, the shirt moving fast less quickly then it's owner.

Still squeezing the trigger, Darcy advances on Laser Ninja. When he falls, she drops her tazer, the cartidge spent, and scampers toward him to collect the laser weapon. If nothing else, she's taking it from potentially being turned on more innocent people. At best, she's got something to turn into HQ with her report. That Laser Ninja took slugs to the chest is missed.

"That's what you get!" she tells teh corpse, not realizing he's a corpse, managing to stop herself short of kicking him in the ribs as she hefts the weapon.

"Move aside!"
"Steppy time!"
"Walkin' my babies here!"
Unmistakable Bronx accent tinted in something else comes as those fleeing the melee are parted like a wave or trampled… Rolled? Over.

Jumps, hops, a major swerve as Harley is fighting the tide of people seeking to flee the chaos while she plummets headlong in upon roller blades, lead by a team of two… Hyenas. babies, bitches!

But that does not seem to slow Harley as she sweeps up past Darcy and drops a pair of skates before her as well. "Hey teamie! Batter up!"

Harley got her inspiration somewhere, and it's time to show just what she's done with it!

A bat is drawn from the sling along her back as she lowers, knee pads scraping alog the street and the bat is swun to hook and slam upward along another ninja-goon(tm?) and send him asshole over elbow.

In the meantime Bud and Lou are let loose….

This has gone from strange to stranger…and it doesn't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. Witchdoctor's handgun is lowered with a frown. Too inefficient, too many people in play. Frowning, she instead raises her bare hand and exhales a breath. Those pale digits begin to glow and crackle with energies and voltage that make Darcy's tazer look like a static shock before she flings the bolt at one of the thugs who'd only just turned to notice the 'crazy' with the umbrella. His scream of pain is barely more then a nano-second long before he crumbles into rather satisfying ash. The witch actually lets out a satisfied sigh. It had been far too long since she'd flexed a little mystical muscle.

The knife glints as the small woman leans back, jerking the barrel of the Mark 19 up and away, it whumps once again, panic pull, and a round sails off on a long arc down the street, where ever it lands someone's day is gonna suddenly suck. But the knife, the glint, it was intentional. She watches it come, watches it pass, doesn't pay attention to the now empty .45 that disappears from Deathstroke's hand completely. But that's it, he's past her and into the thick of the remaining ninja even as she bends to avoid the swing. It's like he's ignoring her. He slides among the growing confusion spreading among the black garbbed fighters his hands a working in blinking darts and arcs, and the air around him is filled with the spraying blood of open arteries and the soft purple gray of spilled entrails.

It's not enough.

There are more, there are almost always more, and they appear just as Harley does… well, just at the same time. Not in the same manner. They appear by dropping down from buildings above, weapons glinting in the setting sunlight like winking stars.

Harley's swung bat catches a man solidly and he tumbles, but another is there to take his place, and his arms pump, filling the air in front of the clown clad gal with razor edged stars meant more to cripple then kill. He moves well, balanced and prepared, and it's not like Harley hasn't seen this sort of fighter before. Sure, they have laser guns, but they /are/ dressed like ninjas. Surely a few of them actually know how to fight properly.

Her babies draw the attention of a man weilding a weapon that looks for all the world li-yup. That's a small flame thrower. Fur and flames are not friends. Fact.

The Doctor (not that one, the lady one with the umbrella) has officially grabbed some attention. The sort of attention that very calmly eyes her, the ash of it's friend, and then decides the best course of action is to change the target of it's flame thrower. Funny thing about flame throwers, you don't actually have to hit your target to make it burn, the fires those things spit are hot enough to cook flesh without actually touching you if you're surrounding by say, a sudden firehosing of it.

Seriously. What ninja carries a fucking flame thrower? Darcy should have a talk with HR when she returns, about acceptable work policies conserning the use of ignorant field agents and dead drops. SHE WASN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING TODAY!! Luckily, no one's watching her. Emperor Palpatine is Sith Zapping people, the Joker's girlfriend just scooted on into the fire for giggles, and there's a guy with a pair of knives carving up a knot of their best like they were a turkey dinner. Taser gal is religated to 'deal with later' status. So… bonus?

+MEET: Melinda May has arrived via +meet.

GAME: Harley Quinn has set the pose order to Strokey Strokette ClownQueen Deathincarnate MayDay(Doom)

Darcy looks up as Harley blades past, dropping skates at her feet. Her eyes follow the skates. It's like the world around her slows down as the most beauitful pair of red, white, and black skates EVER fall to the ground at her feet. One boot drops sideways, and the teenage-looking bubble print leeters reading 'Heart Throb' all but summon a choir of fucking angels from heaven. Darcy, does not hesitate. She slings the laser weapon across her chest to her back, grabs the red skates with hearts and peace signs covering them, and scampers back to cover.

"Harley, I love you and want your crazy clown babies!" Darcy shouts as she moves. Cover found, Darcy kicks off ehr combat boots, digs out her cell phone, and hastily jams her feet into her gifted skates.

"May. it's Lewis. You know that drop and run I was sent on? Yeah. Well, drop went to shit. It wasn't my fault, I swear, but there are guns and I've used my taser. So… help?" Despite the earlier want to vomit, Darcy sounds pretty level headed. Wait until everything's over. She'll probably yak then. "And knee pads?"

The hit slows her momentum, if it is not for the thrust outward of leg that 'cuts' her position from forward to the sie and bahind the fallen ninja. His body is perversely 'rubbed down', what she gathers, up to (Deathstroke) sign of the cross.

But what she puts on said bludgeoned foe? His ninja-tire is clutched by the chest in a fingerless-gloved grip. Lacquered nails dig into the fabric of stretch that sags with weight and force as she skates forward… gaining momentum as her Babies are squaring off with others.

"Kill em!" The call cried forth as the body of her first foe is thrown forward and from the seat of his pants… Pellets…

Pellets that omit a green gas.

"We all wear masks!" hands spread and Harley spins… Only to get knocked the hell off her skate(keds) by a ninja who stands over her with his epiclazerness.

"I love you.." A sweep of tongue at the corner of bleeding lips while a kiss is blown and the Rhino flashes gold and black from along hip…

With a *smeck* comes a gunshot.

Fire…flamethrowers. This is not what Alyse expected when she went out to grab a pastry and a hot chocolate, especially when you add clown girls and hyenas in the middle of the city. Questions for another time. Right now Witchdoctor puts her protective parasol to use as she holds it out between her and the gout of flames, seeming to stop and deflect the torrent away from the much more meltable witch behind it. It's hardly something she can keep up forever though and just as the flames look like they're about to slip past Witchdoctor 'explodes' in a burst of golden lights that seem vaguely butterfly shaped, the swarm scattering to the wind.

It might seem like she'd booked a hasty retreat, until the sound of someone clicking their fingers unreasonably loudly is followed up with a sudden burst of flames enveloping flamethrower man who'd just had the most unfortunate malfunction of his tanks while those butterflies of light reassemble behind him into the form of the Witch once more.

Poison Ivy heads out to FRP Ready Room.

Having received a rather disturbing phoen call from Darcy, May promptly tracks the younger Agent's phone GPS while booking it to the armory where her personal collection is kept. Several choice items are stashed in her everpresent black jacket and she pauses to snag a pair of kneepads while she's at it. Then she's out of the Triskelion at a run. Why? Because the nearest Ley Line is a few blocks away. Once she's there she stands still for a few seconds then disappears.

A block or so away from the chaos around Darcy, May reappears. She glances around to get her bearings, then takes off at a run again. Now she can hear the gunfire, so she's not about to distract Lewis by calling her back to say she's on her way. That'd be stupid.

It's funny how quiet the end of a fight can be. Or at least, the last dying vestiges of it. Harley's revolver bucks once and the man standing over her, which can we just all admit how silly a tactical decision that was?, falls back, his legs no longer able to hold him up with most of his face gone. A full second later said face does what all things that go up must do. It comes down. Atop poor Harley. Who suffers a rain of face peices. Ew. Just. Ew.

As for her babies, well… they're Hyenas, not stupid. As the Doc's butterfly trick kicks off, they run away from the fire and instead decide to chase a cat up a tree. If by 'cat' one meant 'ninja' and if by 'tree' one meant 'the top of a delivery truck' where he currently stands missing the majority of one pant leg and bleeding profucely while trying to swing some sort of straight edges sword at the leaping animals gaping snapping maws.
And of course, there's the poor fella the Doc got personal with. Well. Actually there isn't a fella, there isn't much of anything. Except fire. The problem with malfunctioning tanks of preassurized accelerate meeting flame is the preassurized part. The explosion doesn't just cause a shock wave to expand outward like a large mortar round went off, which it does, blowing out every in tact window in fifty feet in every direction, but it also sends out a literal wave of sticky, gelatinous, flameing goo. Goo which begins to rain down in droplets on everything in fifty feet. Ninjas, cowering bystanders, store fronts, cars, stalls, supervillains and SHIELD agents alike. In the area immediately around the explosion there is, blessedly, little, but in almost consentrick rings from ground zero there is a slowly lessening amount of liquidish goopey fire stuff. And it's HOT. Being /near/ the site of the explosion is enough raise blisters on skin and singe hair away from arms or legs. The gun fire goes silent. The clang of steel on steel goes quiet. And for a moment there's nothing. Then the screams begin. People finding themselves either near large splatters of the burning material or a few unlucky ones with bits of it on them. Like poor Harley. Who so did love her skates. Ahem. Sorry. Skate. As only the 1 will survive. The other is currently trying to melt itself to her ankle/foot.

Deathstroke stands amid a half dozen men and women with edged weapons, most carrying near fatal wounds, two or three already underfoot have bled enough to make the ground traitorous. He lets one of his knives roll in his hand until it's in a reverse grip and his lips, now almost fully visible from where the fights have ripped away the majority of his cloth emergency mask, pull apart in a grin of victory. "I'm going to kill you all." he says in the same tone people mention what weather is currently like. The blades move, the light dances, and two more fall dying at his feet, a third stumbles away, clutching his groin and whimpering as blood leaks through his fingers. At the last second he spins, holding his reverse knife out under his arm and pointed at one of the better fighter's chest and braces himself. It happens a /fraction/ of a second before the flame thrower explodes and the shock wave hurtles his opponent forward off balance and right onto the outstreched blade, as if Slade had planned for that exact moment. He uses the knife burried in the dead man's chest to keep him propped up like a literal human sheild against the splattering rain of fire that arcs his way in a wave, managing to avoid most of it. Most.

BOOM! Darcy curls into a ball, hands over head, rolling under what's left of stall. She can feel heat over her head, and looking up reveals the brightly glowing spot that's starting to melt down toward her. She scrambles, hands and toe stops, out from under her melting cover, leaving the beaten up combat boots on the ground. The pock-marked street is a trail of foot work, causing Darcy to have to seem to hop-scotch on wheels and toe stops. Getting people clear is a priority, and so spotting the guy on a very still kicking Harley, Darcy roll-hops her way over to haul the body away.

"Holy fuck balls, what was THAT?!" she's asking Her Royal Jesterness even as she's hoping ot help her get to her… is her rolelr blade boot MELTING into her foot? Letting Faceless Ninja fall, possibly onto a bit of magma-ooze because Darcy did not pay attention so long as it was OFF THE HARLEY, she works to try to help Harley out of the roller blade and up to her one good skate.

"Sunnova…!!" Harley is sputtering, flailing, slapping chunk-of-head off of herself to the point she is spattered like a surreal painting of vesceral goop. AKA facepieces. Does not match her makeup.

Harley's body spasms as she sputters and sweeps fingers over her eyes, smearing makeup and slime across her face while clearing her gaze. "Babies?! Buddy. Lou…ise?" who can tell who is what with hyenas. Not even Harl. "It hurts!"

A flail of Rhino laden hand and the large pistol flashes in light just before she plants it at her ankle muzzle first. The pain is excrutiating despite her demeanor, and she was willing to be the animal, and shoot her own limb off. But the body of the head falls and just as flame rises Harle backpedals… "Back!"

Bud and Lou stay back, watching from the outskirts of well-known fire to pace, call in their heckling bays, and watch while Harley grabs the corpse of the ninja and wears him like a blanket to take on the heat, like a Jedi on Hoth basically!

All the while Harley worked beneath, digging fingers and nails beneath and between flesh and leather skate tops to rid her foot of the melting synthetics, beating the rough edge of her pistol against to aid… Would she pull the trigger?

Darcy answers thatwith a sudden beam of heavenly skated light and relief. Pain is a burning sensation in the backdrop, but her eyes are squinted, searching… the odd masked Deathstroke? The Witch (doctor?), and the burning chaos around them amassed with a green gas, ever rising from the ashen remnants of a corpse.

Rising up, a pigtail is hanging, sagging, loose and frayed around her face, blown back and away from gaze beside Darcy while she kicks off her other skate in a manner that has her catching it and chucking it at Deathstroke's head. "I BLAME YOU!"

A look to Darcy and she thumbs over her shoulder to the man she just attempted to assault. "I blame…him."

Pause. Kiss to Darcy's forehead. "Hope ya like the skates. I owed ya." A wink with the flash of a hyenidae grin of her own as she limps through the flames, a bat dragging beside the foot where her damn tube sock is melted into her ankle, but the skate at least is not gimp-ifiedly affixed! (thanks Darcy!)

Along the other side the large Gold and black Chiappa Rhino dangles, tapping on bare outer thigh, sweeping up to free her face of hair and reveal the 'Rotten' tattoo on her cheek.

"Fuck." *BOOM!" (Gunshot)

"YOU!" *BLAM!*

"Every!" *CRACK!*…

This commences as live, dead, fried, whateverthehell is shot just for shits and laughs on her exit.


Through the fire, Bud and Lou come to meet their partner with nips to her jaw… without hopping. They're massive African beasts. An arm goes over… Lou-ise?? and she drapes over ones back to be carried off throug the backdraft of smoke.


Harley Quinn returns to OOC Land.

Alright…so she might have overdone it a pinch. Even Witchdoctor herself is nearly toppled by the blast of the flamethrower, her own clothing splattered a little by the napalm and earning a little noise of startled shock. Too much showiness can be bad for your health, magic or not! Turning her gaze towards the ninjas who seem to be -mostly- occupied by the man with knife. It'll have to do…because this was probably going to hurt a little.

Ignoring the rising heat and flames that were eating one edge of her skirt and threatening some rather nasty burns on her leg the witch raises her arms up above her head, speaking hushed words in some strange language before a chill sweeps into the air…an ungodly, wintery chill. The flames, melting plastic and burns are suddenly replaced in some blink-and-missed-it swap. Where napalm once seeped now ice-cold water splashed in some reality-warped exchange. Swap water for fire, simple to say…not so simple to do. Alyse's eyes roll back glazed and she sinks down to her knees. When did the world get so dim and 'spinny'?

Melinda May can't miss that explosion. It was VERY loud and VERY close. She even ducks around the corner of a building to avoid … stuff that she's still too far away to have to worry about. But then she's running again, because she knows if Darcy is here anywhere, she's in the middle of this chaos.

And chaos it is. She looks around to see what's going on, and misses seeing the woman leaving with the help of two bear-sized hyenas. Instead she sees the man with corpses all around his feet, Darcy near another corpse, and a random dude on top of a delivery truck with injuries. And blades in his hands. That's enough for her. She pulls her ICER and fires at the guy on the top of the truck as the fires all around suddenly become wintry chill and precipitation. Others might be shocked by it, but her brain simply supplies the most likely explanation: Magic.

Deathstroke twists the knife in the /very/ dead guy that's stuck to it and lets him fall away, turning to look around him and the carnage there. Almost dismissively he reaches up to catch a bit of the burning material from his arm on the blade, literally cutting it off of himself. He glances to the two remianing ninja and flicks his wrist. The one on the left catches the flaming blob in the eye while the one on the right stars to climb to her feet. He kicks out viciously, shattering her arm at the elbow where she was propping it and then rams a punch to the back of her skull so hard it drives her face into the street with an audible crunching sound. She doesn't move. The man clawing at his face and screaming, stops when his eye-fire is replaced with eye-water, not in lack of pain but rather in shock. He doesn't get to enjoy the reprieve however as Deathstroke nonchalantly picks up a dropped sword and cleanly cuts the man's head from his shoulders with an irritated lazy swipe. He pulls his shirt off, as it's kinda burny, and tosses it away, turning to look around him slowly, gauging the area.

There is an entire block length of a street that's a warzone. Laser beams have cut small stalls and cars in half, every window is shattered making the ground of littered mess of broken jagged glass that's as slick to run on as it is sharp to land in. Bodies are piled up on every flat surface, most killed by Slade himself but no small few by the random assorted lot of violence and mayhem makers that were hiding in the civilian population. And there he stands, shirtless, bared blades and skin equally awash in blood with the smell of cordite, ozone, and burning napalm filling the smoke and disaster laden street all around him. His grin of victory fade slightly, replaced by something blank. The half of his mask that still coveres his eye(s) he leaves, as it's not burning, and then begins to walk slowly towards where Darcy if finishing up with… Harley. Jesus. At least the clown is leaving, saves him from having to figure that bit of madness out. He stops just inside blade reach of Darcy and eyes her from the lofty height advantage he has, "You have something for me?" he says this in a manner that suggests it's only half a question. The sirens are distant and for a moment the area around them, the warzone, is oddly quiet. A few moans, some soft sobbing, but not much else. The constant noise of the city has faded here and the mass violence has brought an eerie peace.

So… this is what it's like to be a SHIELD agent. Random spouts of torrential violence intersperced with very tall very muscular men in half masks and blood-as-body-paint costumes demanding you give them things. That was not in the brochure.

Helping Harley up and getting the kiss to the forehead has Darcy grinning lightly. She was just happy not to have gotten shot by Crazy Cakes that night, so the idea that Harley owned Darcy anything was just.. yeah. But! No time to dwell. There is molten slime about and people panicked. Not the amazing fighter, Darcy got her distraction off, a 'teammate' of fortune away and not dead, and so now it's time to do what Darcy does best: rescue puppies. It's like Puerte Antigua all over again. Rubble everywhere, explosions like crazy, and people running everywhich way as firing death rains from the sky.

Gathering a breath, Darcy is turning to find the first small person needing an egress, only to find a Deathstroke.

"No idea what you're talking about, and no idea what this does," Darcy retorts, twisting the laser rifle thing to point the barrel at Deathstroke. Nevermind that she has it upside and the trigger is on the top. "But back the fuck off me so I can get these people clear or so help me Jesus I'll figure this fucker out real damn quick." There's a tremble about the young agent, coiled up fear and guilt and panic and chill. Because there's now ice where there was molten-firey-death-goo.

For all her showing off before? Alyse looks like she's having a hard time. Too much too fast, the Witch is trying not to pass out. Never mind that people for a few blocks probably have some very wet candles now, at least noone was on fire. Crawl-stumbling her way over to leans against the nearest upright thing, her eyes looks towards the dissipating green gass she hadn't noticed at first, only now seeing the few ninjas that had been spared from blades, bullets and fire only to laugh themselves to death. Nasty way to go.

Thankful that the gas hadn't seeped in her direction, the blonde woman's eyes half-lid as she continues to chase conciousness.

Finally spotting Darcy, May races across toward her, watching the imposing man with the blades approaching her and … Lewis clearing standing up to him. With that weapon held wrong side up. Siiiigh. May catches up in time to hear the last of the kid's bravado and stands next to her and a bit behind — just OUT of blades' reach. She still has her ICER in her hands, but it's currently pointed at the ground, a clear indication that she knows very well how to use the weapon but doesn't plan on using it so long as he doesn't raise one of those blades.

May has already mentally registered Alyse moving over yonder, but this potentially vilent confrontation takes first priority.

Deathstroke ignores May entirely, his gaze focused on Darcy for a long moment, staring her down. The man's gaze has Weight. It would be less what with him being shirtless, except he's also gore spattered and holding a sword like that was just a normal thing people fucking did. Like it was car keys or a phone. That shit ain't normal. "May." he says, his gaze still lingering on Darcy like a mill stone, "Your people contacted me for a job. Your agent is holding it's details." he points out these facts simply, trusting May will understand the sudden sticky situation everyone is in.

Technically Deathstroke is a criminal, but… he does work for the good guys as often as the bad. If SHIELD has contacted him, then they have a job they need doing that they can't be seen doing. And an Agent is currently holding proof of said job in the middle of a warzone that's going to have to be blamed on someone. "I took a contract." he says evenly, his eye turning to stare down at May, those four words seeming to say more then they ought.

Into that mill stone, Darcy glares. She's stares into the abyss between the stars. She's watches endless streams of numbers about the most distance reaches of the universe. She's watched a giant flame-spitting robot level a town she had called 'home' for a few years, and bitched out the stupid government types that took her iPOD about how they moved to evac equipment and some civilians but left the puppies and the kittens and the cockatoos in the pet store. She's had Batman chide her about Pokemon GO. (The part about playing a video game while stopping for lunch during a 'take papers to Wayne and bring them back' quest was NOT included in Darcy's report and something Darcy plans to take to her grave, thank you very much. Unless Batman took that gym she saw a few blocks from the restaurant. Then, there will be issues had.)

This? Deathstroke's very casual way of holding a very lethal weapon while covered in guts and gore and ick and innerds, has Darcy's trembling getting worse and more visible but fails to make her back down. She hefts the weapon, as if pointing it properly. May's behind her. Nothing can go wrong. And with May being her SO, Darcy puts all her faith in May telling her what the proper next move is. Because Darcy's brain can't handle any more right now. So, the young agent clings to 'item was to be dropped at location, location gone, must return to base or put in SO's hand' for all she's worth.

For her part, Alyse is pretty much reduced to a spectator. At least able to pull herself up into a sitting position against her support she blinks a few times to try and clear her vision and watches, still doing the magical equivlent of catching your breath after getting a 'stitch'.

May's eyes stay on the gore-covered man as she tells Darcy levelly, "Lewis, give me the item you were here to deliver, then report back to the field office. Now." She hasn't relaxed, not at all. But the kid had BETTER do as she says or this could get truly ugly.

Without question, comment, or hestitation, Darcy frees a hand, digs into her cleavage, produces the thumbdrive, and hands it over to May. Then, and only then, does she turn and roll away to find her combat boot on her way to the field office. It has her pass that Yukon… and the remains of the couple… Darcy lets the laser weapon go, so it returns to slung across her back, and she sprints for it, trying to outrun her own emotions and want to vomit.

Deathstroke holds his hand out to May, accepting the drive that falls into it from her, "Good agent." he says off handedly, "Not sturdy," he admits, "but good. Took guts." it's unclear if he means joining the fight or standing up to him. His fingers close around the drive and the hilt of the sword both and he turns to walk away. "She wasn't supposed to know who picked it up. Dead drop. Might want to remind Lewis to forget me entirely." people that run ops like this don't like the details getting all messily smooshed around. "And take her friend." he uses the knife to point Alyse's direction, "or there will be questions." he's /awful/ comfortable handing out orders ain't he?

He heads for an alley off of the street, his pace not slow, but not fast either, as if he had all the time in the world. Somewhere behind them all, towards the pile of bodies he created, there's a shift, a motion, and the teeny woman with the Mark 19 stands up, shouldering the remains of one of her comrades off of her. Her garb is torn and shredded and she seems to be holding up well under a dozen or so minor wounds. She swings the launcher towards Deathstroke, aiming it carefully this time as one of her eyes has swelled shut. He doesn't even pause in his walk, only turns a little so he can catch her out of the corner of his eye, "I wouldn't." he says flatly. "The League will not be denied!" she screams before depressing the trigger on the launcher… and promptly turning herself and the corspe she was hidding under into pudding as she explodes in a splatter. Deathstroke stops just long enough to prop his toe up and let it come to rest on a peice of the weapon she was holding, the barrel with it's edge flowered out like petals, and he stares. "Yes. They will." he says to no one before turning to walk back into the shadows of the alley. Still lodged firmly in the crimp of the barrels steel is most of the empty .45 he rammed into the launcher barrel as he charged past her minutes ago. Screw it. He flashes a little grin as he disappears, unable to help himself. Sometimes the thing you need most after recovering from a solid plethora of injuries is something to let off a little steam. Strech the muscles. He slips the drive into a pocket in his pants and grins wider. Today was a good day.

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