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After-Effect; Post-AC RP
Topic Started: Oct 24 2010, 10:41 AM (21,534 Views)
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Clockwork Master

WOAH!

Even as she stepped back to strategically place their fight as far as away as possible from her friend's fight, Jenosa literally felt the fire suddenly blaze within her 'clone'. What ire! she exclaimed in thought, this really the 'weapon' they were making? But she's like a person with a burning passion And yet, despite how concerned she had originally been with this being a 'distraction', it was her 'clone' - her 'sister's' - emotions that actually made her incredibly focused. It was - it was as if it was because Jenosa and Armoria's determination were the same.

Either way, Jenosa's mind was purely focused on her opponent, who was now charging strait at her like a bull. Even as she nearly emptied a full magazine into his body (Or was it his head?), she knew she was going to need to conserve her gauntlet's energy, simply for dodging, as much possible.

This was going to be a long fight.

======================

(OOC: Jefe, tell me if this is alright with you)

Tamaki gave a dark look at Jimmy, having a good feeling in what he meant by 'King and Queen of the Underworld.' Although she had willingly partaken in this clandestine experiment, she still held some sense of principle; and the idea of selling the kind information stored here made her feel uncomfortable. Still, chances were the information on the general data banks here wasn't as bad as the data that she had stored in a 'personal' safekeeping device.

She sighed nervously in response to Jimmy, "Yes, well, you really don't leave me with choice."

But it was only about thirty seconds after, in pure silence, that Tamaki - and probably only her - heard a muffle beeping from her pocket. It was only 3, one between each second, but each one made Tamaki's heart stop. And then nothing else. The silence following that should have been a relief for her, but instead only brought more dread; for that noise had Armoria's mutation indicator.

When they had implanted the micro-bomb in to Armoria's brain, they had done it with the knowledge that their creation could spontaneously undergo a mutation. A possibly volatile one at that. As thus, they had retrofitted the bomb with a small sensor to monitor her over all cellular growth and metabolism. If any of that started to go out of bounds, the sensor would report back to any radio device within the facility (Computers, certain comms, etc) specified for its frequency; including the remote detonator she carried.

And if anything went out of bounds too much, too long, then the bomb would go off, regardless of user code. Everyone had agreed they could not let a monster run loose.

Now Tamaki realize Armoria was, in some ways, a walking, fighting bomb. And she was pretty sure those three beeps were the results of the fight she was currently having. As time ticked by, she found herself more and anxious to stop the fight, but not matter how much she thought, there didn't seem to be anything she could do.

She tried to take her mind off of it by actually staring at Oujair's corpse; which quite frankly bother. And not in the sick sense. In fact, there was something uncanny about it. It was as if the blood was dissap-

She froze. “Jimmy,” she spoke in alarm, “look at Oujair's blood. No, on the floor. It's dripping, and I'm hearing it drip; but here's the puddle.”

In fact, she noticed, the drops were just disappearing half-way to the ground. And it then the entire body flickered briefly like a static screen. “Oh good,” came a familiar but disembodied voice, “I was wondering when you'd notice.”

“Ho-hologram,” Tamaki stammered.

“Nero-Hologram,” the voice of Oujair corrected, “very handy for leaving a room without anyone noticing. Thanks for the door by the way.”

The hologram flickered again, the corpse disappearing and replaced by an image of Oujair, alive and well (Mostly) and sitting on the chair like he had been before. His expression, however, had been completely surprisingly replaced by that of deep seriousness.

“But honestly, did either of your really think I could go about this place and show everyone the scars they're unknowingly digging into themselves by just prattling words? Almost all of you, particularly you Tamaki, were incredibly zealous with the 'work' you were doing. Sometimes to show people the truth you need to show them how ugly it really is.”

“Though I'll admit,” he added with a smirk, “sometimes I tend to enjoy my work a bit too.”

“W-w-what do you intend to do?”

“Me? Do what I always do, kick everyone's chess game off the table and then disappear while laughing. Nothing special or grand scheme like these twits have here.”

“Oh, and Mr.Vega,” he said, his smile becoming much more sinister, “since you were so generous with those 5 minutes of yours, I'll be generous back. How long does it take to yank out that mobile disk of yours and run out the room screaming like a girl? Saaaay, 5 seconds. Yes, 5 so that should be 8 seconds for comfort's sake.”

His hologram began to flicker off, but just before it went out, he made on last call, “And do give Jeonsa my regards.”

The hologram disappeared with echoing laughter, leaving what appeared to be an actual device on top of the computer terminal. Whirring ominously, it bolted itself onto the terminal without harming any of its function. A blue, holographic counter appeared over it, with yellow rectangles appearing one after the other around the circle in a counter-clockwise fashion.

The timer then began to count down, with the device threateningly humming and becoming louder with every passing second. And the counter was only a few seconds above the download time.

Then again, download counters were never pinpoint, and could sometime despairingly fluctuate.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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Native Son

"Seriously?"

An exasperated Jimmy stood up and folded his arms, staring at the device and watching the timer tick down for far longer than he probably should have. He shot a glance over at Tamaki, who still had that terrified-yet-scheming look on her face. "Jesus Christ, will you have a little faith in me?" He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips, still just staring at the device. He wasn't so cool and slick anymore, and yet, he didn't seem to be nearly as nervous as he should have been, what with a live bomb sitting on the desk in front of him.

Finally, when the timer indicated three minutes left, he gave a little nod, a sign that he was ready to go to work. But first, he went back to the computer and turned up the volume on the cool jazz music that he had playing.

"You like John Coltrane?" he asked. "I've always been a Coltrane guy."

Jimmy took a large folding knife out of his pocket and opened up the blade, using it as a screwdriver to open up the panel. Once he had that removed, he took nearly another full minute to just stare at the inner workings of the device. Again, far too long for someone disarming a bomb. Then again, he'd been raised around weapons and bombs. They were the last things that made him nervous.

Jimmy Vega was no engineer, and he certainly was no scientist. Nor was his father. And yet, between the two of them they probably possessed the greatest wealth of technical knowledge of weaponry and explosives outside of an actual database. Even advanced alien tech was no match for their patented Vega Family Know-How, as Delacroix and the Colonel had seen earlier.

His eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a grimace as he began to tinker with the bomb, using his knife as an all-purpose tool. "So, what is it that you were trying to do here?" he asked Tamaki, still focused on the device. "I don't mean the mission of the project, I mean you personally. What the hell are you doing here?"

Now he was glaring at her again, and he had stopped messing with the bomb, letting valuable seconds tick away. "You don't belong here," he said, his accent nearly stretching "belong" out to a three-syllable word. "And something tells me you don't really wanna be here either."

He went back to work, prying at something in there with his knife. "I bet you got yourself a couple fancy science degrees under your belt," he said. "Believe it or not, I went to college for a couple years. Never got no degree, though. Spent most of my time smoking dope, selling dope, and messin' 'round with coeds. When I did do actual classwork, it was more like reading stuff like Nietzsche and Jung, or Blake and Coleridge." He smiled, not taking his eyes off his work. "Thought it would make me a better gangster, you know? I always imagined myself sitting with the big boys, in their fancy suits and acting all cultured 'n shit. Quoting philosophy, all that stuff.

"Now you, I bet you didn't think you'd be where you are now when you were siting in Biochem 101. Probably had all kinds of dreams that in no way involved human cloning or secret government bunkers." He probed around with his knife, then all of a sudden he shouted "BOOM!" and banged on the desk, drawing a yelp from his hostage. He got a good quick little laugh out of that, then casually stuck his knife back in there and cut a wire, and the display went dark.

Eleven seconds left on the clock.

Unable to suppress a smug grin, he dialed up Oujair's office. "Hey Doc... you wanna make me scream like a little girl, next time just get some spiders." He terminated the call without waiting for a reply. He then shut off the computer, his download finished, and stuck his gun in his waistband. He knew he'd left an electronic trail from here back to Earth, but that was okay. He also knew his new friends would assume the worst. That was okay, too. Better they be surprised that he actually hadn't betrayed them than know what he was up to and screw themselves by trying to stop him. They just didn't know what was good for them. Even if and when he ever explained things, they still wouldn't understand.

True to his world, he took his knife and cut Tamaki loose. "Now out that door waits a whole lotta chaos and violence," he said. "We're talking soldiers, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and mutated genetic freaks. And all of them wanna kill you." He stepped back and gestured towards the door. "Think you can make it out all by yourself? Or you wanna roll with someone who's more comfortable in that setting?"
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~Alissa~
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Alissa bounced and spun and dodged letting the spheres of energy speed past her. Her suit’s sensor identified the radiation and shifted the charge on the plating but Alissa was not in the habit of letting an attack land when she didn’t have too. Just the same this was a distraction that they didn’t have time for, Alissa was coming to the conclusion that she was not likely to get through to Armoria.

***intelligence update*** her ship’s AI had been sifting through the data that had been uploaded over the course of their entrance ***Dr. Tamaki’s psychological profile shows an almost maternal attachment to the subject. Dr. Tamaki also carries a failsafe detonator***

The two facts seemed to contradict each other at first but did reveal something. The fact that Armoria used the name specifically told another story as well.

“Dr. Tamaki is likely the only one here who sees you as something other than a tool and she still carries the detonator for the bomb they implanted into your skull”

Alissa jumped with the assistance of her suit and kinetic generators flipping a half turn seeming to crouch for just a moment on a beam overhead before pushing out hard, there was a puff of dust from the beams around her as she broke through the air with a crack, finishing her flip but extending her leg as if intending to land it on top of Armoria’s head. Alissa knew of course that the soldier would see the attack coming from a mile away, but with limited time to react Alissa saw two responses, try to flee or block. In either case she would have Armoria on the defensive which was where she wanted the super-soldier.
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Clockwork Master

Tamaki was honestly fairly calm before the what she assumed was a bomb's counter appeared. Good lord, what have I really gotten myself into!?, she exclaimed to herself. Sitting in a room with chaos around, and with chaos within, had been the last situation she had ever expected to happen in her life. It was, in a way, very true fact with what Jimmy had said about her, and despite her frustration in seeing just how far he was willing to go for his greed (Seriously, he could have at least shoved her out of the room to avoid a possible explosion), she eventually relented to talking. If to only to try and ease her growing anxiety.

"You're mostly right, except for the beginning," she said, while averting her eyes from the bomb's remaining 3 minutes, "I did come here on my own free will. You see, since the corruption event, I poured an incredible amount of time into studying the unusual attributes of phazon. How it worked, evolved and developed with such living characteristics, which was tricky given the nature of the substance; and the fact that, of course, I would avoid human experimentation."

"Still, my work proved golden to certain individuals we know, and I was discretely given the invitation to Program vertigo. All I knew from that point were the worlds that Delacroix has spoken: 'The opportunity of a life-time to a advanced your research to it's accumulation, and see its fruits be used to protect the Federation.'"

"You can imagine I was skeptical; that, with such a tone in his voice, there would be human experimentation. But Delacroix seemed also aware of this factor, and had assured me that all the human being would be volunteers. At that point, I was sold, because of my own patriotism and, in a way, my own greed.”

She paused in silence as Jimmy carried on in his own talk, and scared her for a moment at the end; yet when as she recovered from fright, she looked at the timer not with fear but resolve

“No, this is not the kind of situation I had imagine finding myself in ever since I got into high school chemistry with a passion. Yet the phazon substance had me fascinated the most, and now I find myself here. But the irony of it is that, currently, I feel strong sense of responsibility in the woman we, well – 'nurtured' within this facility.”

Standing up, and glad to finally be unbound, she stated resolutely, “I'm willing to come, but only if it'll allows me to all of this to the end. I still hold to my responsibility.”
=================
(OOC: Hope this isn't too lengthy for you Alissa)

Armoria sneered at Alissa as energy crackled all around her, surging – pumping - vigorously throughout her whole body – wanting, no, demanding to be used. To be used to it's fullest, and with an opponent this agile, she felt there was no hold back. Especially not for her opponents remark.

“If this is another feeble to attempt to make me stand – fat chance! Even though nobody has told me, I know about the bomb, and it's purpose. If I lose control of myself, then I deserve to die.”

She defiantly blocked Alissa's next oncoming assault, the cement cracking so much that chips flew out. Roaring in fury, she flung her arms out to toss Alissa away, while at the same time unleashing two blasts of energy upwards as they did. The shots were ill-aimed, but unlike the previous ones, these bounced off of crates a few times before disapating; leaving dangerous, crackling energy wherever they landed.

Only that one of them hit a crate that seemed to have something volatile in it, and exploded shortly after. The effect caused crates to rain from above, though it was not nearly as bad as the avalanche that had occurred from Jenosa's attack – the result of damaging the upper section vs. the base. Given that even her initial attacks left crackling 'plasma fire' where they had landed, it made dodging all the more difficult, but still doable.

However, these crates, and the various contents they carried, came down on Armoria as well as Alissa. The woman stubbornly stood rooted where she was, taking blow after blow as she shielded herself with her arms. Yet for all her intense endurance, the constant batter combined with the weight of some of these crates were so much that she found herself slamming onto her knees. By the end of it all, she was taking the last blow on her hands.

In some regards, Armoria looked properly beat up. One may as well have imagined body severally bruised within that armor of hers, and blood trickled down the side of her face in what might as well have been a concussion. Yet, even as she staggered to stand up, her eyes flared as she was still rearing to go. And held in her right hand, of all the weapons that had fallen to floor from the crates, was a sword. Not just any medieval weapon, though, but a Force Blade. A gladius composed of technology itself, showing this aspect through the bright blue line glimmering along the middle of its blade.

Armoria did not know why she picked it up on such a whim, amongst all the various strewn rifles and handgun. Her opponent showed she was more deftly skill in close quarters than she was, and bullets probably stood a better chance at hitting her than this. Yet she had, perhaps to more effectively defend herself from the next immediate assault, her opponent no longer hesitating between speech; or perhaps how it resonated with her upon seeing it.

None of this she had time to contemplate as she struggled to keep herself upright even as she slid back from her opponents next joust. All the while she felt her body – her heart – twisting, turning and to changing within. This had been going on since her arm cannon had gotten torn off, but now, at this moment, she felt it was reaching it's crescendo.

And at first, when she flung Alissa off again, it seemed like fatigue was finally setting in her arms and legs. But only a mere second after, she gripped her chest like she was having a heart attack, gasping, and then reeling back in euphoria as new energy coursed through her system; the phazon not just being pumped by her heart, but now being produced by it.

Her body done mutating for now, Armoria looked as fresh as the moment these to had stared each other down. And she looked ready to turn the tables, for the spots of crackling energy still lingered, and she was going to make more of them. Many more, until the chaos would have her corned.

She pointed the blade at Alissa and said only one thing, “You have no understanding of who I am - and the choice I've made.”

And with that, sheathing the very blade in her cyan energies, she swung in forward in the air, unleashing a wave of oncoming, series of explosions at her.

(OOC: For reference of this attack: check out this VIDEO. For best picture, go to the 1:30 timer mark )
Edited by CEMP, Jun 4 2014, 01:25 PM.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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Agility had always been one of Alissa’s biggest advantages in a fight. In the past regardless of a size or strength advantage Alissa’s speed and ability to not be hit had been the great equalizer. Armoria’s renewed furry had forced Alissa to move far more quickly to avoid being hit by the bouncing balls of energy. The shockwave from the explosion had caught Alissa unprepared and in the air, as such it threw her into a wall like a rag doll before she fell landing with a crack on the hard warehouse floor. She came to her feet soon enough though there was a shift in her body language.

There was a crack across her faceplate from where her head had come in contact with a beam on her way to the wall. Her HUD flickered before failing all together, she reached up releasing the face shield which she dropped to the floor with a clatter; the rest of the helmet seemed to melt as the nanites that made up the armor plating migrated down to the shoulders. Alissa didn’t look winded, or even like she had been fighting much at all; the advantages of being at least partially synthetic showing through as the operative locked eyes with the weapon.

On her left forearm the plating shifted to form into a small diamond shaped shield which was then covered in an iridescent energy shield of its own.

“You should know….I was built to take weapons like you apart…”

She reached to her hip where one of the buttons she had used before was clipped, it extended quickly and was covered in the familiar crackling and arcing energy of the stunner

“…If you were to actually convince me you were a lost cause…”

Alissa had to jump out of the way of the first wave of blue energy that came charging toward her, as she landed the baton shifted it shape to that of a long thin sword, two cutting edge ran along its mat black length which was then covered in a coherent energy field as the tech blade finished initializing.

“…I would have to do just that.”

When the next wave of cyan energy rushed toward her Alissa brought her own blade up in an arc cutting through the wave, the blade released its own energy which dissipated enough energy to let it wash over her armor and shielding. She had noticed that there was a brief charging period before each burst, which meant she needed to keep there from being an opportunity to charge. She charged swinging her own blade at a high arc, it might look like she was trying to take Armoria’s head off but really the goal was to force her to block. Alissa was going to probe, to see just how good Armoria was with that sword.
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“I'm willing to come, but only if it'll allows me to all of this to the end. I still hold to my responsibility.”

Jimmy smiled at Tamaki and grabbed the mysterious duffel bag that sat in the corner. "After you, m'lady," he said, only half-mockingly.

The sounds of battle continued to echo all around them as they made their way through the corridors, Jimmy's snakeskin boots softly tapping against the floor. He still seemed way too calm given everything that was happening, like he was out for a stroll in the park. Either he had one hell of an ace up his sleeve, or his arrogance truly knew no bounds. Most likely it was the latter.

"I've got a whole escape planned out," he said. "We'll head out through the back way while everyone else is busy killing each other. My boy Ronnie's topside, just waiting to fly me back home. Just gotta wait for my girl to give us one final distraction, then we can slip on outta here and no one's the wiser."
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Deadeye '17, eager to move on from the slow-motion train wreck that was last year.
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(( A tremendous Bossman-DA JP, twenty days in the making! ))

In the chaos following the commotion in the supply room, Travis quickly found himself alone and isolated. The ladies had been separated from them with the destruction of the B.O.X. mechanoid, and Travis had found himself utterly isolated from Z'gato in the frenetic scramble to lose his marine pursuers through the hasty but systematic dispensation of a flashbang, followed by a smoke bomb. From there it was only a matter of having found a maintenance shaft, into which Travis hastily slipped inside and replaced the man-sized ventilation cover to prevent passerby personnel from noting it was occupied. Besides, with only the back-up lights active, this was made easier; it was just like his days in the Commandoes; 7th Company, Blackwraiths, days which taught him much about infiltration and guile. Travis found the darkness and the dampness of the shaft comforting, allowing him to collect his thoughts; he would worry about regrouping later. For now, all he could do was elude his pursuers and seek to focus on the mission. Z'gato and the others would understand; besides, what good would it do if they were reunited only to be surrounded? And he couldn't risk comm lines this far in, anyway.

Following the shaft soon made it apparent to Travis that this was one of many, and most of them were linked. The complex on Beta Leonis, while difficult to detect, had the flaw of textbook planning. It had been presumed that the complex would be so well-hidden that there would be no need to plan for enemies infiltrating inside; at least, as far as these shafts were concerned. The security was so well-focused on keeping would-be infiltrators out that it never dreamed of what would happen if somebody made it in beyond the shiny, locked-down gates and into the mad scientist's lair.

Travis allowed himself a small grin; at least today, military bureaucracy would make his mission that much easier. The floor plan of the base was essentially a modified layout of a Galactic Federation Kerris class Transport Cruiser, essentially a militarized version of a commercial spaceliner; two floors, and minor alterations to fit the complex directly into the rock. Travis shook his head. (Unbelievable; then again, I suppose that they presumed that their toys would be enough of a deterrent to ward off any intruders, again.)

Following a series of diagrams set into the walls via night vision (he had darkened all of the suit's lights at this point, and gaited himself with careful, silent steps), Travis eventually found diagrams through the sprawling tunnels indicating secure chambers. It helped to know where there was sensitive materials; this information would be of use when his Navy contacts would signal in, under orders of the Chairman. Of course, if anything of the journey to this point was an indicator, Delacroix and Jenkins possibly had fail-safes ready. He would cross that bridge when he came to it; no point in thinking about what may or may not be there.

Travis continued through the shaft, at one point crab-walking past an exit opening and through a brighter part of the shaft when he heard two of the few Marines - no, not marines, judging from the lower-cut yellow shirt one of the men sported under a tactical vest and enough weapons to make a black market dealer green with envy; the man's accent and subtle slips between English and his native Mandarin language indicated his ethnicity, his shaved pate gleaming in the backup lights. He was chatting with another one - another merc whose pasty white skin, hooked nose and blonde hair placed him more at home in the fjords of Norway; maybe fighting bears, judging from the scars that criss-crossed his features. Travis shook his head; the two men were like something out of a 20th century action movie. He'd keep their names simple for now: Flip and Flop would do.

It was no accident that they weren't in armor like the marines, however; Galactic Federation BDAUs (Battle Dress Armored Uniforms) were often assembled to fit each marine like a glove; very rarely was there a chance that a Federation armor suit was sitting around to be taken by any wiling soul, and an even smaller chance that it was a correct and comfortable fit. Not to mention, judging from the tattoo that Flip sported at the base of his neck, the Galactic Federation would probably not have armor tailor-formed for former members of a Triad. Travis leaned against the wall of the shaft, careful not to lean too much out into the faint light as he looked around to listen; he had heard a familiar name echo into the ventilation: "Delacroix".

"I don't like it." Muttered Flop through nordic-accented english, his pale hands gripping the trigger and stock and barrel of his rifle with the familiar signs of unease, perhaps a touch of fear. Travis had seen it a thousand times out in the field, and scrutinized it no less than others who had been within his cross-hairs before. Flop was at least more decently attired than his cohort; wearing a grey sweater and a set of brown slacks with what were unmistakably military boots, the one feature setting him separate from standard paramilitary being his flowing blonde locks. "It's as if they're going to come out of the walls any minute. I hate feeling so exposed."

"All the kit that the boss has given us, and you're about ready to soil your drawers...? All the way down here?" Flip jabbed, his accent less noticeable but still noted through inflection. "Seriously, Laars, -relax-. The chances of those hunters coming down here after the Egghead's little science project has their way with them is very small. They made a huge mistake in coming here."

"Hmph... if only I had your enthusiasm, Tony." Probably not the man's real name, Travis mused, but continued to listen in stone silence. "I think we're underestimating them, assuming they're going to just come from the train. They could be anywhere after that one tech's little act."

"Okay, they have one who managed to dupe us for a few days; they know about the ins and outs of the operation, and it's very likely Vega told them everything; speaking of, where do you think he went off to in all this?"

Jimmy was here for certain, then? Travis tensed for a moment, grateful that the helmet masked his irritated exhaling. He didn't know what his game was, but now it became apparent that Jimmy had lied about his knowledge of this whole affair. As to why he was here and what he was doing, Travis could only guess; dig up dirt on Federation brass, steal research secrets, satisfy his uncontrolled libido with any of the female technicians... it did him little good to speculate; what he did know was that the one variable of the operation that seemed off earlier finally fit: Ronnie Black's presence. If he was relying on Ronnie to fly him out, Travis could only imagine the man's surprise to see that his ace pilot was otherwise indisposed for another few hours. Either that, or Jimmy had laid an other plan upon a more elaborate one; the classical fall guy. Still, rummaging through Vega's plans did nothing but aid Travis' irritation at being had. He'd deal with Jimmy later, so he continued to listen.

"I know we should probably kill Vega if we see him, but his scurrying is the least of our problems; they're in, Tony." Laars grimaced, gesticulating as if to note a particular point. "I was there the night that Clark inserted himself into the hotel in Durendel; they were walking around in full armor and slipped right past us...! Do you know how dangerous they must be to be slinking around like that, even as they are?"

"And they also had that blackout - intentional or not - to help things out." "Tony" was dismissive at this point. "I was even part of the team that helped to cover Delacroix's extraction. What's your point?"

"My point is that I think we're underestimating them." Laars snapped.

"Well, go find Delacroix and tell him that; you think he doesn't know?"

"Must be nice, sitting in the shiny, secure control room. Not in the dark or anything." Laars growled, rolling his eyes. "I'm not just jumping at my own shadow, Tony; I think we're underestimating them."

"Heh... yeah, sure Laars. You say that every time there is something that sets you at unease and you don't want to admit it. Just state the truth; you're scared of strange noises in dark places. I won't judge you." Tony allowed himself a chuckle and a rueful grin. "Just don't piss your pants."

"Fuck you, Tian."

"It's just a joke, Laars. Lighten up. Seriously, stop jumping at your own shadow; it's not good for you."

(So Delacroix is in the control room, along with Jenkins, maybe some of the upper brass in on this. And likely lightly guarded or unattended.) Travis nodded; he knew what he had to do now.

He was about to slip away when his mind got ahead of his body; one footfall too heavy to be mistaken for a stronger gale of air through the shaft by an attentive listener and Travis instinctively rolled into a dive, curling into a kneel under some pipes, a hurried effort to use the shadows to his advantage. (Crap...)

"What was that...?" Laars gasped, practically jumping to attention; Travis could hear the distinct sound of a rifle being cocked, the grated doors of the maintenance shaft entrance hissing open.

"It's probably just another rat; you recall hearing them before." "Tony" Tian was waving the interruption off, metaphorically and literally if his shadow was any indicator, his shadow the smaller of the two from the entryway. Travis sat within the dark reset where the pipes began to bend out deep into the walls, only further accessible by a crawl shaft.

"Well, I'm checking anyway." Laars could be seen rounding the corner now, Travis quietly pulling his head back into the shadow.

A flashlight had clicked on in the Norseman's hands, searching the tunnel for the disturbance. He leaned back as far as he could into the darkness. All he could do was hope and pray that he didn't decide to patrol into the darkened part of the shaft. If possible, he didn't want to alert Delacroix to the fact of how perilously close he was. Seconds turned to minutes, the light turning back and forth at the three-way intersection before Laars sighed in relief and released his tense form; he had nothing to fear.

["I need to drink less coffee, perhaps."] Laars intoned in his native tongue, grumbling something incoherent as Travis watched his shadow shrink, heading back through the hissing doors of the shaft. "I need to go piss."

"Come on, then, you big baby, so we can get on with our patrol." Tian growled softly, the notes in his voice garnering irritation. He clearly had not wanted to waste time with the venture to begin with.

Travis watched as both shadows faded from view, listened as their footsteps grew faint, and finally emerged from his hiding place. Now that he knew where to find Delacroix and possibly Jenkins, he could end this much quicker. He wound his way through the maze a little further, until he found himself in the shaft relative to the control room. It was then, examining the various breaker boxes and power lines, that one caught his attention: "Second Level Auxilary Power Control". He gingerly opened the panel to find a series of room and fuse designations. Another panel was nearby, the signs indicating that it was the auxilary breaker for the labs. Travis wouldn't touch that one; no telling what turning off the power there would do.

Instead, he was about to give everyone on the second level one of the most hair raising experiences of their lives, save perhaps the veterans and the seasoned brass. Travis flipped of all the breakers of the opened box panel, and now sliced the feeding power lines with his combat dagger before continuing.

Suddenly, the entire second level and parts of the first level were running completely dark, save the ever-important labs, the infirmary and a few maintenance lights. Using the sound of the sudden uproar of confusion from the nearby control room, Travis climbed up a maintenance ladder and crab-walked his way above one of the ventilation entrances in the control room, using the night vision of his visor to see clearly through the darkness. With most of the boots focused on the ruckus above unable to quickly attend to below, here was his chance. He searched the murk for the key faces.

Flashlight beams pierced the darkness, with one coming just a hair away from illuminating Travis's armored form as he sat up in the vent, waiting for his moment. Thankfully, they just missed seeing him up there.

However, even with people shining lights everywhere, it was still too dark to make out any faces. Fortunately, all Travis needed to do was track their movements, and pick out the one shadow who looked like he was hobbling with a cane. And there he was, standing next to another man with their backs turned to Travis. It was still far too noisy to hear what they were saying, but it didn't matter. Everyone was far too focused right now.

What Travis couldn't see, scans would reveal. Four armed guards, two by the door, two flanking Delacroix and the Colonel. The ones by the door appeared to be typical Marines, while the two bodyguards looked to be part of the same crew that Flip and Flop came from. Apart from them, it was mostly unarmed technicians and officers. And of course, the man of the hour.

And so the scans did reveal their parcel, Travis remaining stone still inside of the vent and having positioned himself at an angle that made it easier for him to survey the room without risk of being spotted; so far, other than the blackout, all those present were totally clueless to his presence. For now, he intended to keep it that way as he sorted out how to best extract intelligence from the systems inside the control room and interrogate both Delacroix and Jenkins without risking anyone fleeing to alert Flip and Flop and possibly (probably) even more guards outside of the control room.

[Constantine, can you hack the door panel from here?] He typed into the screen of the comm unity on his left wrist; the fingers were silent and deadly in their purpose, not alerting any of the men stationed below to his presence; he could just as easily whisper with the vocal comms turned off, but people moved subconsciously as they spoke; and spoken words weren't heavily encrypted and camouflaged as background traffic.

[From where you are now, I can patch into the system, yes. Do you need something?] Came the rapid reply, also in text.

[I need you to seal the door to the Control Room, and scramble the algorithm for that door. I need to have a chat with Delacroix and Jenkins, and I don't want any interruptions.] Travis looked the door over again; nearly a foot of Denzine Steel, an alloy of Steel and Denzium; at least, if it were like any of the previous Max Sec facilities he had been to, they were. By the time any help would cut or blast into the room, Travis would be long gone. This assuming everything went to plan, but if experience had ever told him anything, the plan wasn't so much its namesake as a guideline for when a plan was thrown out the window.

Now, there was the matter of the room's occupants. He would have to use some sort of crowd control, so it was likely he would need a flashbang; probably two, in case he couldn't knock out everyone but his intended targets. That said, he would position himself to physically incapacitate and pin Jenkins and Delacroix first. Experience had taught Travis that the road of assumptions was lined with coffins; assuming either man was totally helpless would be a mistake, even armored and dangerous as he was. From there, he would use the confusion (and likely extreme blindness) generated by the flash-bang to knock out and stun the other men in the room. There was no need to kill any of these men, though if Flip and Flop's cohorts Flim and Flam tried to get aggressive he wouldn't be above permanently neutralizing them. All of Delacroix's men had a rap sheet a mile long, if he had to guess, and they had to know what kind of man they were protecting. His Marine brothers, however, did not. Hell, most of them, if they were like him in his time in the Corps, likely had no clue what was going on other what they overheard and gandered at.

[Wait for the men next to the door to look away, then scan the door panel, Travis; I'll do the rest.]

Travis nodded before carefully crawling forward and waited until the guards were otherwise indisposed before scanning and allowing Constantine to hack into the panel.

By the time one of the marines had noticed the sequence had locked itself, it was too late for anybody, even the techies, to do anything about it.

There was a clink, and all heads present turned to the sound on reflex, just as the flashbang went off. Travis opened the vent and sprang down upon Delacroix and Jenkins from above, sweeping the caned middleman by the ankle and pinning him by the back with one foot to render him devoid of breath while chopping Jenkins in the carotid to temporarily knock him out for a few minutes. Neither Flim nor Flam reacted quick enough as either man was shot with a stun blast, though to Flam's credit he at least managed to get a hook going (a mistake against a Krav Maga practitioner) before Travis stepped in and shot him in the chest with the stunner blast. The techies were easily incapacitated; none of them had seen a day of combat in their lives, and so all of them were flailing around in utter confusion as Travis nailed every one of them on his way to the the Marines. He dislodged the helmet modules of either man before shooting them with a stunner, both men dropping the floor like sacks of potatoes. Anyone nailed with this stunner wouldn't be getting up for awhile, but at least all of them had healthy vital signs.

Travis stalked over to Delacroix, like the predator he was, and threw the cane across the room. He placed the man into a chokehold loose enough for him only to partially breathe and talk. Jenkins wouldn't be conscious for maybe ten minutes or so; enough time for Travis to deal with his first target.

"Got a minute to talk...?" Travis rasped, his outline apparent by a flashlight on the floor. "I assume we don't have to do the kid's game of 'what are you doing here'; we both know why. Start telling me what you know about this whole affair, and how deep you're involved. And this isn't like the hotel, asshole; you don't have a woman's life to hide behind, so start singing, or I break out the... enhanced techniques."

"Gah! Let me go!" Delacroix managed to cry out, desperately clawing at the armored man holding him in a vise grip. "What is wrong with you? Once and for all, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Finally, seeing as the man posed no threat, Travis relented, leaving Delacroix to collapse on the floor, gasping for air. Gingerly, he got to his feet, leaning on the console as he slowly shuffled to where the hunter had tossed his cane. Scans of the item would (rather disappointingly) reveal that it was in fact an ordinary if expensive cane.

"You wanna know what's going on here? How about a history lesson? July 14th, 25XX. A GFMC patrol is dispatched to the planet Aether to respond to reports of strange creatures and unknown energy disturbances. Twenty four Marines and crew aboard the GFS Tyr, zero survivors. We call in Samus Aran, she comes out alive. Badly injured, possibly suffering from PTSD, but she comes out alive. May 3rd of that same year, thirty Marines sent into Pirate territory. Again, zero survivors. But Cap Falcon gets the job done.

"A year earlier, when we first heard the word 'Metroid,' we sent in the 102nd Airborne Assault. Fifty-two of our best, toughest, most unbeatable Marines ready to take Zebes and bring back Ridley's head. Five survivors. Shall I continue, Mr. Clark? Please, stop me when the numbers get too high for you."

Delacroix settled into a chair, though his posture suggested anything but "settled." His shoulders sagged mightily, and he leaned forward, resting both hands on his cane. If not for the dark hiding his features, Travis might've thought the man had aged ten years since they last met.

"Those were my missions," he said wearily. "Every last one of those deaths is on my head as much as anyone else's. And this is just my own personal record of failure we're talking about here. I'm also not counting the men and women lost on successful operations." He locked onto Travis, the harshness of his stare apparent eve in the dark. "Since the dawn of civilization, men such as myself have been sending other peoples' children to die. I simply wanted to do something about that."

"Forgive me if I'm pressed to believe you, if the evidence to your criminal involvement wasn't so substantial. And nothing is wrong with me; I just treat you like anybody else deemed a hostile element. Basic principle." If Travis had noticed Delacroix's change in demeanor, he didn't show it. His voice was cold and analytic, carefully calm and level. He kept his Fenris trained on the man, his attention and scrutiny unfaltering.

"Listen... even if all of that's true, did you really think you could fix things by trying to play God, Delacroix...? I'm painfully aware of what it's like to see men go to their deaths or be the one who sent them to meet it; painfully aware." The stare that Travis returned back at Delacroix was just as baleful and pained, hints of iciness felt even in the darkness. "I once had to even turn a weapon on one of my best friends because the war hawks in the R & D cabinet couldn't leave well enough alone. She's now been made a pariah and disappeared from public and private life because all that you fools wanted was a damn super weapon."

Travis grimaced under visor, having finally allowed a bit of anger to color his tone, hands clutching his weapon. "I'm not naive, Delacroix; I know that one cannot always obtain something without giving something up, but I also know that the fools seeking power at any price have poor discernment skills. You see, in the last few months, I also met up with Samus. She told me everything about the BSL Incident; everything. Including how you idiots intended to try weaponizing the X and then had that conveniently covered up."

Travis' voice was icily, almost dangerously calm as he continued to speak. "Let me say it again to be clear: I don't trust you Delaxcroix, and I certainly don't trust Jenkins. So I hope you understand that right now your story has very little credibility with me, if any. Knowing that, please do not fault me for being tempted to disregard your story and shoot you dead like the murderer and scheming bastard that you are; you're going to need to give me more than just your word."

"Yes, what happened at BSL was a disaster. " Delacroix admitted. "Section 6 bears no small part of the responsibility, and I've long argued that Ms. Aran did what she had to do. Hell, she cleaned up our mess, we should be thanking her from now till the end of time. But the politicians wanted a scalp, and it's far easier to let a bounty hunter with a questionable background take the fall than it is to own up to your own mistakes. It ain't noble, but it's the truth.

"But even if we failed, we had to try. You see Mr. Clark, a free people will always be at a disadvantage when it comes to warfare. The principles they cherish are of no concern to their enemies. Often, it doesn't matter. But then there are those times when you must cross those lines, because the consequences of doing otherwise are far to great. So a balance must be struck between the ideals we hold so dear and the stark reality that there is an enemy out there that wants to kill us. That's my job, Mr. Clark. That's what I do. I strike that balance. I soak my own hands in blood so that men such as yourself can walk around with their heads held high, free of any sense of guild or hypocrisy.

"But do I think you naive? Hardly. The word I'd use is 'myopic.' You've seen the dark side, been a cog in the War Machine yourself, but you don't understand anything beyond patriotic platitudes to duty and honor. You still think the universe is neatly divided up between Good Guys and Bad Guys, and you don't even recognize the many, many shades of gray in between.

"Your friend Mr. Vega understands. After all, you two planned this entire operation from the very beginning. Don't even try to deny it, Mr. Clark. You spend enough time with that man, it's clear where his loyalties lie. Hell, I shoulda known you'd be coming for me the minute he agreed to build me that gun."

"I'm myopic, huh?" Travis wasn't amused, though he kept his tone carefully even. "Then what am I doing right now, with a gun aimed at you, in a high sec Federation facility in the dark? Do I seem like some knight in shining armor to you...? No, I'm not just here for justice and to do the Chairman's will, I freely admit that; I'm here because you shot one of my friends" - At this, Travis' brows furrowed - "and threatened to kill the other if I didn't become your whipping boy. Indeed, were you not with innocent bystanders, I would have just rolled a frag grenade under the table and left you and Jenkins both to your fate."

Travis continued, his teeth gritted for a moment before he quickly calmed himself. "As for Vega... I've put two-and-two together myself, and after I deal with you two clowns, I'm going after him, too. As far as I'm concerned, rogue outfits like Section 6 are just as dangerous as the guys you claim to protect me and others from, Delacroix. I know sometimes blood is needed to bring peace, but you people not only skirted those lines way too close, you've crossed one line too many. Illegal cloning experiments, murder, conspiracy, weapons smuggling, bypassing the Senate and the Chairman; you'll be lucky if you get life.

Travis kept his aim constant. "But I don't think I need to go through the whole 'who watches the watchers' conundrum; stop wasting my time. You said politicians; who are they...?"

"As a matter of fact, a knight in shining armor is exactly what you look like to me. After all, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Ms. Arma, now would you? How quaint and chivalrous of you. Man oh man, you and Jimmy truly do deserve each other. Both of you stubbornly hold onto these so-called codes of honor long after you should've grown up and joined the real world. It's no wonder he chose you over me.

"But enough with this interrogation, Mr. Clark. You didn't come here for answers. You've already made up your mind what the answers are. No... you came here for blood. That's all you want, that's all you care about. That's all you've ever cared about your whole life, you just can't admit it to yourself."

He stood up from his chair, just as some of the unconscious people were beginning to stir, and spread his arms wide, resting his weight on his good leg as much as he could. "Go on, Mr. Clark. Pull that trigger. Work through those daddy issues. Won't bring him back, but it might make you feel better for a little while."

........................

Jimmy whistled an old tune, a standard, they called those kinds of songs. The ones older than the people who sang them, even if those people didn't know it.

"Somehwere... beyond the sea" he softly sang. "Somewhere, waiting for me..."

The PA speakers above them crackled, a sound reminiscent of grade school. Jimmy stopped mid-stride, spun around to face Tamaki and pointed up to the ceiling. "Wait for it..." he said.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" boomed a female voice through the speakers. "This is the Grey Fox speaking. I heard you guys were having so much fun without me, so I just had to get down here as fast as I could and join in the party. So... we're gonna be playing a little game today. It's called Kill Delacroix.

"Now, the object of the game is self-explanatory. The rules are fairly simple. Down below in the deepest recesses of this facility are dozens of tanks full of this glowing blue stuff, which I hear is highly volatile and highly radioactive. And while you guys have been running around shooting each other, I've been attaching bombs to each one of these tanks, and I've got this lovely detonator in my hand. Anyone tries to leave, I push the button. Anyone tries to come in and mount a cavalry charge to save the day, I push the button. Anyone tries to come after me or disarm the bombs... well, you get the idea. The game is not over until Delacroix is dead. Not arrested, not unconscious, not comatose or otherwise incapacitated... DEAD!

"Good hunting, boys and girls!"


A clicking sound indicated the speakers were being turned off, eliciting a smile from Jimmy. "Told you my girl was cooking up a distraction for us," he said. "Nobody does confusion and chaos quite like her. Now c'mon, clock's ticking!"

........................

"Well," Delacroix said. "You heard the lady. "Go on. Do what you came here for."

Travis smirked. It was ironic, he realized; showing amusement with that otherwise halting revelation in the air. Perhaps it was because, at least occasionally, an operation he was part of never quite went to plan.

"It seems you do keep a lot of secrets; you or Jimmy, I'm not sure who. I guess I can spare you just a few minutes to clear the air," He admonished, though he kept his aim unfaltering between Delacroix's eyes. "Here's the thing: I'm aware that you convinced that I'm purely motivated by fantastical ideals, that I am unable to see the good with the bad, that the one thing I want more than anything is to see my father and family again, or that all I want to do is make bastards like yourself suffer. Here's another thing...? I don't have to justify my life or my ideals to anybody but God and myself. Unfortunately for you, however... like everyone else, I'm not a perfect being."

The next thing Delacroix knew, Travis had struck him with a forceful hook. He was left sprawled out on the floor, spitting a small spigot of blood in the twilight glow of the flashlights; a few teeth had come loose as well, judging from the viscous blots spat from his mouth. As he hacked a chunk of lifeblood out in a cough, Travis picked the man up again, by his neck, not even bothering to use his firearm.

"Here's another thing; I would argue it's you who is immature, you old fool. You seem to really think you can read everyone and everything; although I think our presence here speaks of that 'ability' enough. You didn't think I'd actually try it, did you...? Slip in with a meteor shower?"

Suddenly, another blow came to Delacroix's side; probably braking or bruising a rib, judging from the brutal amount of force involved as he went sliding across the room. One could reason the strike enough to a kick, as Travis casually took his time to stride up to Delacroix, allowing the man only to clear his lungs as he caught him by the neck one more and pinned him forcefully to a wall.

"If this is your idea of 'grown up' behavior, you're pretty pathetic. It's really easy, isn't it...? To take a man, brutalize him and reduce him to nothing more than the sum of his past or his parts...? I'm very aware of how cruel this world can be, as you can attest to just now. But, I'm not that kind of man, Delacroix. So, if you don't want to talk... fine. I can't make you, and I can afford to. Besides, what I truly need on the moment is on Jenkins' person, anyways." Travis casually walked over and fished out an index drive from Jenkins' coat pocket, along with what he clearly recognized as a clearance device. "You're a double agent; a damaged and rogue asset. I doubt they'd trust you with anything major. But, I'm sure you knew that.

"My point is again, Delacroix, I don't have to prove a thing to you. But as you can hear, I don't have much time to be philosophical, so I'll tell you one or two more things before I give you a nap. I can't believe I have to tell an old fart like you this, but consider this: It's easy to kill, brutalize, murder, intimidate and destroy; What's hard is to feel the desire to do these things and not do them, not for the sake of not doing so, but because these acts create nothing good; indeed, what is truly hard is building something good that lasts. I bet it seems strange to hear that coming from me, and I said, I understand that blood must sometimes be spilled; in fact., I've taken lives myself. That doesn't mean I enjoy it or endorse it.

"Oh, another detail: the 48th Federation Battleship group is on their way to this facility to take you and your co-conspirators into custody; we'll have plenty of time to talk later, you and I. So, no, I'm not going to kill you; not because I don't despise you or because I don't have as much good reason as anyone else to see you suffer, but rather in that it would be rather painstaking to get all the information from this project without you. Well, that, and that is simply not how I do things; you know this. Besides, it wouldn't really change anything: she still has the detonator either way."

At this note, however, Travis' tone took a bit of a sinister note. "Oh, but that doesn't mean I'm going to save you, too; maybe you should just sit here and wait for death to come. Hopefully, nobody realizes that this door has been sealed, and you get to spend the rest of your days locked in a nice, secure cell on Roknar. At least you'll have food, water and fresh clothes; maybe, assuming you survive this. Try to think of it that way when they enter the complex and arrest you. I'll be seeing you later, asshole."

Travis leaned over Delacroix, aiming the wrist cannon and fired a stunner blast at full-charge into his chest. Once Delacroix went limp, he quickly searched the man and took whatever was of use before laying him with surprising care over the table, just as Jenkins began to open his eyes. Travis quickly rendered the man unconscious once more with another blast, this time for the same comparative length as the others incapacitated in the room. There was no point in sitting on his hands and simply doing as that woman said; he had to find her, and then finally catch up with the others.

(Hm... well, at least she already clued us in on where to disable the explosives.) Travis thought to himself; while he leapt back into the ventilation system and set the grating back into place, he began to plug the drives from Delacroix and Jenkins into the system for review by Constantine. If there was anything important, the GI would be able to at least examine the contents. For now, he had another concern: if he could, her ultimatums be damned, he would stop that crazy woman from blowing everything sky-high, including herself and everything in the facility. The entire mission would be for nothing if she succeeded.
Edited by Deadly Aim, Jul 3 2014, 12:35 PM.
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Clockwork Master

(OOC: Ultra big post, with some part done by Alissa ;)

Armoria's lips cracked a small smile of satisfaction as she aw her opponent's come apart, face plate first and and then everything else. She had personally wanted to tear apart that helmet with her bare hands ever since she had realized it had been 'Simmons' underneath that. But seeing it come apart like this was just as good, if not even better; for now she would have the opportunity fight her face-to-human-face. No more hidden veils or lies, no more deceptions, she would see who her opponent truly was.

This had been the most singular thing she had wanted to do.

Her grip on the hilt of her blade tightened, and her eyes narrowed and flared as she listened to her opponent, and eagerly watched her armor shift and change for close range combat. She relished the chance to go into a more direct confrontation with her opponent, and this looked like it was going to be just that.

As she saw their confrontation draw closer, she gripped the blade with both hands, and widened her stance in preparation for the onslaught. She only knew the basics of such hand-to-hand combat, least that of all that of a blade. Yet she felt a certain measure of her determination echo within the weapon she held; a tool that she found kindred to just how much she had honed herself in these short days. For despite her knowing that she was very well outclassed significantly in skill and tactical thinking, she was ready to all out defend and attack.

This defiance of her showed as she spoke back, appearing more emphasized by how the cyan patch of hair seemed to have spread. "And if that's what you think, then just come and try me!"

Armoria blocked like an amateur, but, strangely, she blocked like someone who had something to prove. Not in a fashion that said she could defeat this person, which she still wanted to do, but that, despite her zealous loyalty, she was not this 'weapon' Simmons' talked about. A label that she had found herself accepting until this person had came to make her very blood boil.

Alissa took a step back before taking a fighting stance; something in the way she moved spoke volumes even though she moved very little. Her weight on the balls of her feet instead of standing flat footed her body turned to the side using the shield to bat away an incoming attack which she easily directed away from herself before beginning her own series of attacks. Alissa had always excelled with the sword, as a silent weapon she preferred it to all others but there was more to it than that; before she knew what joy was she had found it in practicing sword play.

Something seemed to shift in Alissa, the same blinding speed was in place, the power balanced with control, and the absolute finesse with the sword was present. But to anyone watching it was clear that Alissa was not trying to kill or even seriously harm her opponent.

“Move your feet, if you stand there rooted like a tree you will be cut down like one” she was teaching, and more to the point there was the barest hint of enjoyment in the encounter

“A sword….is more than a weapon” attack, block, move, block attack “That arm cannon was a weapon, you point and fire and then point again” attack, move, parry, attack, attack “but a sword is part of you, more than just a blade your holding” feint, move, dodge, attack “it’s an extension of yourself, and right now it is telling me what you are going to do before you do it” Alissa spun around stuck a leg behind Armoria and ducked spinning to sweep her legs from under her before bouncing back out of attack range waiting for her opponent to stand up.

“move your feet”


“Don't...insult me!” Armoria snarled as she flipped back onto her feet. In the process, she had picked up a broken bar with molten ends in her left hand; most likely a casualty in the cross fire between them. She used it as a extra means of defending herself, sheathing it in her energies so it wouldn't be so easy to break apart when parrying. Their last spar had left her feeling far too prone in battle, especially when she realized how unnecessary it was for her to use two hands on one blade.

It was no honed weapon, but it would do in this event. Then again, she doubted it would make much difference against 'Simmons' expert swordmanship, which would probably fill her battle armor with twice as many cuts it already made. Many of those were just shallow, barely cutting into the frame's softer polymer, but a few drew blood, causing streaks of crimson glistening with a cyan sheen to flow down her body. None of them were life threatening, yet all of it made her suit appear far more organic than it was.

Even so – in spite of all this – she was still rearing to have another go. For she was no fool to her opponent holding back, a fact that she would greatly take advantage of.

But not entirely because it could be considered a weakness; only mostly. On the contrary, part of Amoria strangely found herself wanting to extend this clash of blades as much as possible, even though, in sense, it might as well be going against orders. Simply because, well, she was...enjoying it. Much more than she normally did when she used physical force to defeat her enemy. She wasn't sure why, only that amongst all the raw fury she had for 'Simmons' deceit, the push, parry and clash of blades – the very feeling of her blade cutting through air – struck a cord inside her.

One that made her, ironically, 'take to heart' the value of her opponent's words. For indeed, when Simmon's came at her again, she did not let herself instinctively root her feet to the concrete like she had before. She let them move, shift and even dance, albeit in greatly unrefined fashion, to her opponent's own movements. All while the parrying and counter-attacking when she could.

And as they fought on, she felt obligated to quite literally go with the phrase “the sword is an extension of yourself” phrase. Her energies – no, her life blood – began to infuse itself from palm of her gauntlets into the edges of the blade, and not like the first time she had swung it – with all the big, outward explosions. That had been blunt, crude and even excessive. Simply her raw, boiling, surface energies. No, this was a acute, refined and from within.

With every swing she made, the edges and tip became brighter, until it was leaving cyan streaks in the air. Then it happened. Swinging her blade downwards, Alissa easily parried and shifted it away, but only a split second after that, her eyes registered what appeared to be a cyan, phantom image of Armoria's blade. It was almost see-through except for the edgeds and the tip, and the 'ghost' came down along the same path of trajectory, following the cyan streak left in the wake.

Alissa's ultra fast processing mind must have quickly made the decision that his was not a trick of the mind, and made a jerk reaction in sudden surprise to block it with her shield. She was right about the danger, as the image melted into it as a form of plasma. But it also threw Alissa off her rhythm, leaving her open for that one second.

Which Armoia took. Using her immense strength, she pried Alissa's shield away, and roared as she charged. Had this been a life-and-death scenario, Armoria's reckless charge could have ended her with a blade plunged into her face; but because her opponent hesitated on such an action, Armoria succeeded in effectively tackling and pinning her against one of the warehouse's racks.

Dropping both weapons with a clatter, Armoria was quick to grab both of her opponent's wrist, and hold them outwards against the racks. Likewise, she simultaneously planted her feet ontop of her opponent's. She effectively had Alissa in vise.

A moment of silence hung as the two stared at one another, Armoria taking deep, exalted breaths as she process what she had just accomplished. Then she began to chuckle, and the chuckle turned into a laughter; and the laughter burst out from her in a sense of exhilarated triumph.

She...she wasn't sure what to believe. This had been her first, real 'mission', or so to speak, only to find out – in a scary sense – that her opponent was far superior in terms of experience. She had expected to find herself in defeat, yet here she was finding it the other way around.

As her laughter died, she looked ready to tell Alissa she was going to take her prisoner. And then the speakers cued in, and her entire world turned upside down.

Armoria expressions changed gradually as her head began quiver in panic.

“What?”

She was beginning to look hysterical. The muscles on her shoulders began to bulge abnormally.

What!?

And then her face became a rictus snarl.

WHAT!?

Her muscles bulged even more as, and almost looked on the verge of tearing apart her suit and explode. She roared in fury as she fought to control it, and succeed. She had also greatly clenched her hands as she did.

There was an audible crunch.

Alissa's left wrist got lucky. Her right on, not so much.

Gasping, still holding her 'enemy' tight – if not even tighter – the words she spoke furiously would have shocked even Tamaki. “You! You deceiving bitch. You had something to do with this, didn't you?”

(OOC: For some reference on the 'phantom slash', check HERE)
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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~Alissa~
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The armor plating surrounding Alissa’s hand gave way with a crunch. There was really only so much it could do, in truth it was built to do that to a point, to dissipate energy along the structure rather than passing it into the person wearing it…but this was a bit different. Alissa felt the fingers tightening along her left wrist, which while it did not feel good was not a concern, as pain was shooting up her right arm.

It is very hard for Alissa to break a bone, among the technological enhancements were carbon fibers literally woven around and into her bones. It made them very strong and flexible. However like everything else they had their limits, Alissa knew in most cases to keep herself out of these situations.

***Distal Radial fracture detected, activating medical program***

Aside from a tightening around her eyes the pain did not make it to her face, pain was to be ignored.

“Your accusations are not only incorrect but run counter to evidence”

The plates in the armor were already fusing back together, the swarm of tiny machines that made up her armor reforming the bonds that had been broken solidifying. The plates over her right however locked together forming a split to immobilize her wrist.

“Our goal has always been to arrest…not to kill” she drew a breath quietly looking Armoria evenly in the eye as they stood there together, after the sounds of fighting the silence between them could.

“If I had intended to kill Delacroix I would have, no one would have known how I got in or out, and I would have done it on day one” she said quietly with little emotion “this has always been about taking them into custody, about making them face the law….a dead man cannot do that”

“Please do not misunderstand….I want to kill Delacroix, he represents everything I have fought against to become free and I would have slit is throat and been done with it. However it was not the plan, it is counter to our goal to kill Delacroix, and counter to our goal to blow this base up. So who stands to benefit in that scenario?”

She paused a moment letting her transmitter come on line “blackbird, send the tram to the surface then send its command systems into shut down, lock the door”

She looked back toward Armoria quietly “our missions are now aligned, the current situation needs to be addressed, you can return to trying to capture me once we have dealt with it” Alissa smirked at that “or do you honestly think there is another person on this base capable of detaining me?”
Edited by Alissa, Jul 24 2014, 01:55 PM.
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Clockwork Master

Tamaki stood before Jimmy in shocked hesitiation. It wasn't like the facility had become her home or anything; heck, she longed to leave the confines of this facility when her job was 'done.' But...to imagine it would all come to this, with the entire facility being plunged into chaos, and held at gun point just to kill one man. All to create a distraction, of course, that was obvious.

She just never expected to find herself landing in such a crazy situation before. Not in her life.

She made reluctant effort to take two steps forward before the remote detonator in her pocket beeped for several seconds. And beep more intensely. She froze instantly during then, becoming increasingly aware that - that her 'creation's mutation index was gradually becoming worse. If this whole event kept up, Armoria may very well go beyond the breaking point and...

There were only two things that could happen at that point. The bomb would go off and kill her effectively; or it wouldn't at all. Because in hindsight, when she and the resident Scurge specialist got together and look over the data, they had contrived what could either become an incredibly beautiful, married system, or could become one of the most terrible abominations to walk this solar system.

And with the amount of raw, symbiotic energy beating with Armoria, a cerebral bore bomb may not be enough for the explosive mutation they imagined.

It was at this point the scientist in her really wanted to flee. To just leave and forget about all this madness together. But a maternal instinct – one which she really didn't think she had – tugged at her. Spoke to her. It spoke about her “daughter's” mental struggle going on right now. For Tamaki understood that while Armoria was conditioned to take orders, she had found that she also had...a sense of protection for this facility.

And everything that Jimmy had set up would put Armoria in major conflict. It would drive her crazy and...

Her decision finally clicked in after a few more seconds. She knew what she must do. Gulping and fists clenched, she spoke, “Sorry, but I'm afraid this is where we depart. Like I said, I have my responsibilities.” And she added as she turned to leave, “And you've just made it a lot harder to carry it out.”

------------------

Everything within Armoria was raging as her opponent spoke to her. At least, that's what it might as well appeared on the outside as she was distinctly threating to tear her opponent's limbs off. Deep down inside, however, Armoria was in full blown panic mode. Her entire world was suddenly being threatened in an almost incomprehensible scenario, and with her emotions and conditioning clashing, she turned to the only scapegoat there was before her.

Looking at Alissa deep in the face, her original orders still stood, regardless of what she heard her opponent say. She was to take the her in alive for questioning; yet amongst all the sudden turmoil, an urge to snap, break and pulverize every part of her opponent's body had begun to crawl into her mind. It was an urge she wanted to satisfy, one with a feeling that was almost like a voice rippling throughout her entire body.

Do it. Do it! Crush every bone but leave her alive in the end. Leave her in the pain you've been wanting to put her in for so long. Do it until you finally see it plastered on her face.

And she wanted to do it so badly, no matter the logic in her opponent's words. Just let the energies surge through her at their fullest, brush off any other trickery in her opponent's armor, and use her bare hands to just do it.. Like she had been wanting to do with everyone else every since-

Abruptly letting go of Alissa, she gripped her head and roared as she became embroiled in deep, internal conflict with herself. Not just between her emotions and conditioning, but with the destructive, killing urge she had worked so hard to subservient. She fought with it like her body had fought to adapt with it so many weeks ago.

Her arms, legs and shoulders bulged as she did, but not with the same exaggeration as before. It was restrained, as though she struggled to keep something inside of her from exploding. Giving one more final yell of pain, she turned away from Alissa, energy crackling in her fist, and 'punched' the cargo containers behind her.

All that was left was molten slag.

Gasping for breath as though exhaustion was about to finally catch up with her, she collapsed onto her hands and knees, quivering. And sobbed. She tried to hold back the tears as she looked up at her opponent, but made a grimace as the few slid down her face.

Conflict was still deep in her eyes as she spoke. “Ugh, if...if you're really mean it – p-please help me...find Tamaki first. P-please!”

-------------------

GOOD GOD!” Jenosa exclaimed in between pistol shots, “can this situation get anymore insane?”

She jumped, flipped and dodge away from the Machine, the man only ever managing only to graze her with one or two punches. But he did strongly, with her recovering quickly each time. And apparently Grace's little speech (How the fuck was she even HERE! Jenosa thought) had barely even made him stop.

“Hey big guy, you heard the crazy lady right?” she said, pushing him back with an energy blast, “That means stops and help.

He replied in kind with a phazon energy, which she barely blocked with her energy. The kinetic force sent her careening back, and, unfortunately, overloading her shield permanently.

She coughed. “Alright, enough messing around,” she muttered to herself.

She lobbed several plasma bombs into the air.

In fairness, the warehouse that they were all fighting in was big, and if anyone could have an overhead view, it would now look like a mess. Jenosa's next act made it look like a warezone. There were several secondary explosions, and alley they were in was once again raining crates from the sky. Only a more dispersed level.

In fact, the entire row was coming down on them. And it had been what Jenosa wanted...mostly. Improvising was a tricky business, and what she had in mind was to use her remaining energy reserves for her Adrenaline rush setting to get out of the collapse before Biggie did. And to a human with normal reaction time, they would have gotten pummeled on the spot. But Jenosa's gauntlet increased her reaction time enough that it allowed her to effectively shift and weave through the falling mess.

She barely made it out as it all finally came down. Turning to look back, the only sign she saw that the Machine was still alive, and conscious, was the pile of crates were shifting irregularly.

She didn't waste another second bolting out of there, hoping by the time he'd get out, she'd have lost him. And she'd be able to turn her attention of more important things. Like Delacroix.

And her own questions she had for him.

Tapping her comes, she asked the, “Alissa, Travis, Z'Gato, what's everyone's status?”
Edited by CEMP, Jul 26 2014, 07:13 PM.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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