C-Listers: Batch 22

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(Becouse New 52 was taken. Geddit)

"The Office. Secret Lair of The Broker. Possibly Hell. Somewhere between doom and damnation, 5:30"

"And they showed such potential.." The Broker stared at the newpaper in his hands. While front page had Captain Ultra beating down Capitol Punishment with the arm of some russian knock off robot, that particular article didn't interest him much. Capitol was a hardy, old school kind of villain. He'd be back up swingin in no time. The same could not be said for the group of fledgling villains he had assigned the simple task of robbing a shitty little bank office. Of the original crew, only two had made it to out properly. Tim, a local genius type; Vengeful, unsure of himself, chip on his shoulder. Bright kid. And Mad Dog Mulligan. Less then bright, unless you count his flames. Former IRA, crazier then a a turbo charged Irish teenager on St Patricks day. He had helped put a Hero in the hospital AND made it out with enough cash to at least cover Brokers share. Only reason he was still alive. The other were either incarcerated or dead. Such as Air, some broad who got knocked down by the c-list Hero; Bastille. Bastille who had fought them while still on fire. He had been almost to much for them to handle in the end. In fact, the entire thing had been a disaster. Broker looked at the article that was taking up the middle spread. At least they generated some buzz. There were going to be a few B-Lister in desperate need for muscle.

"Robbery turned Massacre. 10 dead as failed robbery attempt end up in shoot out." The article said. He scoffed as he scanned for relevant details. "Three suspects have been apprehended, and two have been accounted for as dead. Three or more may have escaped in the chaos. Exact identities of these are unknown. Police hope hearings will yield more results." Broker scoffed again and made the paper in his hand dissolve into flames and ash. He rose from his elaborate and no doubt expensive chair as he surveyed the room. Several workbenches and office chairs were strewn about, each surface cluttered with binders, books or stacks of papers. Computers from all kinds of time periods were neatly on a row along one wall. Broker grabbed a few of the papers and binders, seemingly at random, and started to rummage.

"You... And You... And you." He mumbled. "You to. And you. Oh. A monster? Defienetly you" He continued like this for a while longer before returning his desk were a phone had suddenly appeared. He picked it up and spoke. "Lucida dear, could you send out a envelope to these... Fortunate ones?" There was pause as giggled could be heard from the other end. "No. You deliver them. I am afraid that if I showed up in person so soon they would think I favored them or something. Yes. That will be fine." He killed the call and looked over the papers again. "Alot of Magic.. But why a seal?" He mumbled as he leafed trough it. "I swear these names are getting sillier and sillier. I miss the days of Clobber and Disaster Master"

He spun a key made out of bones around his finger as he punched another number in. Barely a signal passed before someone picked up the phone. Brokers smile grew into a wide grin, a myriad of teeth both sharp and narrow like needles glimmered.

"Yes. The plan is still go. I think I just found the perfect bunch of people..."

Earth Side, 15:20, Millenium City, Harbor District, Abandoned Warehouse.

A group of extrodinary people stand idly as a young, redheaded woman with two very large horns protuding out of her forehead sits ontop of a crate and dictates to them.

"So my Boss talked to some people. He see potential in you lot. I don't see how. I seen better villains in a daycare." She said with a obnoxius, southerm drawl that was clearly mocking them and the people who generally sport said drawl. She was a pretty woman, if you looked past the snakelike eyes, the horns and tail. Most people did. The people infront of her, spread in a semi circle, were the latest in Brokers schemes. A ninja turned cubicle slave turned back to being a ninja. A redheaded brat of a wrestler, a nervous looking genius intellect who had been one of the few bright spots during the failed robbery. A crazed Irishman with a hardon for burning things. There were others to. But aside from the seal, everyone but here were chump change for all she cared. The seal was dinner.

"Now that I got y'all here. Here be the deal. We are running short on thugs and troublemakers as of late, and we feel there is a serius need to shake things up. So The Broker has actually found you gud'fer'nuffins' two venues to get your name out there. No bank this time." She looked to Mad Dog as she said it.

She produced a whole projector set out from thin air and set it down. Next she produced a screen for them. Two pictures were immidiete visible on the screen. A man wearing a black hood and your standard issue 'red villain goggles'. And the other was of a young woman dressed in old fashioned maffioso pinstripes and red pumps.

"The man you may recognice as Blast Zone. He is a heavy hitter for sure. Well he just bust out of prison as of two hours ago. Since pretty much every hero of note will be going after him before he levels a few blocks of the city, the Lady in the Pinstripes there have a preposition. Her name is Carmella DeCross, daughter of late Manny DeCross. A small time gangsterboss. Well Carmella is more ambitius, and she is offering you lot a chance to make some guarateed money. There is a small gambling joint down here at the docks. Now. Don't be scared. But the place belong to the Amino Family." She paused, waiting for everyone to realize they were going to hit the property of a infamous Mob Boss.

"But Amino has been slipping up. And he renegaded on a deal with DeCross. So she is sending a message. Colleteral damage is not a problem. The messier the better here." She smiled and flipped to the next picture. This time there was a man with scraggly white hair on the screen. He wore a ludicrusly looking victorian suit.

"This Is Dr Swan" She noted "He was killed five years ago and his little lair has been safeguarded by Broker for a while now. Now he is offering you guys to go there and clean it for your own use. Its still full of his patented Swan Bots. But if your not complete idiots about it, you might just survive and bag yourself your very own hideout!" She clapped her hands together in mock excitement.

"Any questions?"
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Saying that his last heist didn't go well was probably an understatement. There were some civilians injury and most of them were either dead or caught. Not to mention that most of what they do manage to get out, courtesy of the burly Mulligan, was used to pay the Broker. Tim couldn't say that they did a good job and he'd need to do better if he want to get his chance at payback against Big Glory. His gadgets had malfunctioned shortly after the chaos started and he can only do little other than running away. It was a wonder that he got away without being noticed nor caught really.

With nowhere to go after dropping the payment, Tim found himself in front of the wreckage of his scrapyard. Most of it had been cleaned, although he could still see the place where his office and workshop were from the signs bordering the site and there were new pile of scraps being put in the yard as well. Entering the yard, Tim found that his "hero" cave under one of the bigger pile of scraps had been left untouched. He hadn't thought of using his 'hero' loadout before, a combination of pressing time and probably the hope of being able to be a hero still in the future once he have his revenge on Big Glory. But after the failure from before, he can see that was not a good way of thinking and he needed everything. He couldn't afford to have his gears all broke down like that. At least with his Clamp, buggy as it was, he would have something to defend himself with. Tim yawned as the tiredness of the day caught up to him. Wrapping himself with the tarp that covered Clamp, Tim fell asleep on the ground of his cave.

Tim was woken up in the morning by a gorgeous woman that he belatedly notice had two horns on her head, a tail and a pair of unnatural eyes and that she had somehow found him hiding under his 'hero' cave. The woman left behind a letter stating nothing but a place and time along with the Broker's mark. Tim shuddered at how easy it was for the Broker to find him and the threat was all too clear. He at least has some time to give a few more touches on the Clamp before going to the Harbor though.


Tim could not identify the majority of the people gathered, there was Mulligan and the woman from before, but the others were new faces. They all felt trouble or weirdos, but it all paled when he saw a kid, an alpaca and a seal being counted among them. Not much was said before their contact started to brief them their jobs this time. The first being a rather easy smash job. Tim froze when he heard to whom the joint belong to however. He felt sweat trickle on his back at the thought of having the Amino hounding after him on top of the cops. As he was at the moment, there would be no way for Tim to even risk messing with the Mobs. Which left him with the second job, the second larger and just as crazy job.

He had heard about Dr. Swan before, although it was partly due to the Doctor's obsession with the namesake birds had caused a short period where the citizen all fearfully looked up at the sky for a dreaded flock of angry mecha birds. Tim had no chance to study one of the bots before so a chance to do so would be welcome and at least the bots would just kill him, he didn't want to think what the Mob would do. They'd probably make him an example to the rest of the community.

"I have one, would you provide transport to those of us heading to Dr. Swan's lair?" Tim slowly asked.
Mad Dog Mulligan

"So as that huge, fat arse came waddling in, that's when I blew his fuckin arse up!" Mad Dog took a huge swig from the pint glass filled black, thick, frothy ale that only the likes of himself could stomach to drink up. His family laughed, bellowing throughout the irish themed pub aptly named "The Luck of The Irish." Mad Dog was out of his usual grubby armored outfit and into something less intimidating. His aunt patted him on his back and gave him a smooch on the cheek. "Ya did well, me boy! Keep it up and you will be the king of this shit hole in no time!" Mad Dog reveled in the praise, as much as a Pyro-maniacal Terrorist could. "Don't worry, Auntie Fran, I managed to get me a pair of wrist mounted Thermite Sprayers to help with my goal: Showering the city with my oozing flames. Innuendo intended!" He replied taking another big swig. The party lasted till the early morning. A few fights, many broken chairs and even a few teeth missing from the unlucky drunken bastard that tried to piss off Mad Dog was the aftermath. Mad Dog had awakened midday, his jeans still on as he headed downstairs. "Did you have a stellar time?" His younger cousin, Dilly asked him. "Some really sexy feek dropped by to give you a location for a new job. Like I'm not even kiddin', Mully. She was a fookin ten" Mad Dog already knew what this meant. Mad Dog smiled, a smile of craziness hidden with some joy and sadistic glee. "It's show time once again."

The Red headed demon chick gave Mad Dog a look. He was clad in his usual "Pyro Suit" and ready for action. "What?, I can't be accounted for the job's sudden change. I mean, you did hire me, an Ex-IRA terrorist with a fetish for blowing up stuff and setting things on fire. It was a good thing I was there, the other fuckers would've been running around like a bunch of drunks trying to organise a piss up in a brewery." he defended himself, a snide look coming from the inside of his mask. "I, for one, would love to explore this old shit hole of a villain's lair. Never know what kind of tech he had laying around for me to turn into something that could burn things" There was a sadistic joyful tone to his voice that would've made the regular average shmuck shudder. "This is going to be a great family trip!" Mad Dog mocked with fake american accent that sounded like Christopher Walken jacked up on ketamine and speed.

Count Xuihcoatl

" so, this cargo, what did you say it was?" the sailor asked the well dressed man, looking at the large crate with huge words "DO NOT OPEN" printed along the side. "Oh, it's just something valuable, something old." The man replied. The Ship was nearing the harbor, a mist suddenly covered the deck as the sailors aboard could feel a sense of dread. The crate burst open, the mist grew thicker, moving as if something was hidden inside. "What the hell? what is this" the same sailor said out loud towards the well dressed man. "I guess you can say it's feeding time" he muttered, clicking noises followed the sailor as he slowly stepped back, confused and scared. Suddenly, a creature appeared in front of him, large and almost fish like. The Creature looked upon the sailor, and gave out a blood curdling shriek. As he tried to escaped, he found himself trapped within the tentacle like appendages, brought closer to the monster. The teeth, razor sharp rows of knife like teeth, dug deep into the Sailor's neck, rending flesh with ease, and ripping apart flesh cleanly as the creature consumed the blood and flesh. The same fate met the crew of the ship that seemingly carried the monster to the city. The Creature's appearance slowly changed back to a bandaged up suit wearing man. "Thank you Peevish, I sincerely appreciate this. Please keep my company alive until I return. Count Xuihcoatl will return when the time is right. The Count remarked with a smile, hidden behind bandages.

He stood among the others, hearing the briefing of both jobs. The Count chuckled. "Some collateral damage sounds like fun, consider me interested." he said, a tone of elegance and professionalism behind it. "I do say, feasting upon the lifeless corpses will not be a bother during the job, right?" The Count asked as nonchalantly has a snobby one-percenter.​
He wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to do now that he had manufactured the tools of his new trade. The next likely step would be to craft a villainous identity for himself, but he was drawing a blank. Electromagnetics was his area of expertise, but there was a dearth of catchy words that would serve well as a banner to operate under. He had toyed with the idea of borrowing the name of the shapely assassin and archenemy of Professor Q, quadriplegic leader of the Qman Beings, changing the Magneta to the much more manly Magneto, but he would be damned before his genius level intellect was hauled into court over copyright infringement. No, he had to think of something better.

As his hands encircled the handle of his gun, he mulled over what the horned woman in front of him was saying. It was a whole lot of nothing at first, a casino plan, some gang violence, politics. He didn't care. The seedy underbelly of crime didn't interest him. He wanted to advance his arsenal, hone his skills, and strike terror in the hearts of the asshole supers who thought they owned the place. That's why Dr. Swan's lair sounded like a veritable heaven on earth. Dr. Swan was well known for being a plague upon men with his contraptions and his Swanbots were hard to take down and even harder to dissect. He would kill for an hour alone with his blueprints. It even seemed like he'd get the chance for it.

A slightly timid looking younger man was the first to volunteer for the job, contingent upon transport. Gonzalez scoffed, "I don't care if you get us a van or not. I came prepared for this." He flipped a switch on his boots and began to levitate to prove his point before settling back down on earth, "Patented technology, and there's more where that came from. Even more once we get those robots and such a spacious lab." He took a quick scan of the people around him. He assumed he wasn't dealing with a host of evil geniuses, so he decided to take the easy way out and settle on a name that would perfectly encapsulate his entire gimmick. "You should all be happy that you've got Dr. Gauss on your team."
Vim and Vigor had been on the planet long enough to know how to make a Starbucks order of tall iced coffee, but in a grande cup, with extra ice, but not more than three inches, with 3 1/2 pumps of caramel, 2 pumps hazelnut, but only if the 1/2 pump of caramel is not exact, otherwise 2 3/4 of a pump is ideal, an inch of non-fat milk but only if the fractions of the pumps were perfect, if not regular milk will do the job, and finally topped with a dome lid and a venti straw cut 3cm shorter.

In other words, not very long. Vim's good breeding had quickly maneuvered her around the dismal and generic drink recipes of the poor. The whole idea of pumping flavor into a cup of water was barbaric, but Vim had seen some shit in her time and she wasn't going to let her mind linger on the minor details of proper hydration. The job at hand, after all, was diplomatic relations. It hadn't taken her long to abandon her office and explore the true grapevine of her future.

She raised a childish eyebrow at the red woman as they both, along with a group of other life negotiators, in the warehouse. Vim's small hand gripped the gold-plated handle of her gun, a gun loaded with Vigor's entrail residue more potent than any bullet. The burka perfectly disguised her un-7year-old-like aspects as she felt the small alpaca bump into her from behind, completely shattering her hardcore attempt at the raised eyebrow attitude. If a life of hardship had taught her anything, it was that timing was not on her side.

Vigor's beady eyes watched the group with curiosity before it took a few friendly steps forward, as if the horned lady's voice welcomed him. Vim would have pointed the barrel of her collectible piece of luxurious yet relatively cheap handgun to Vigor's head if she'd meant to be diplomatic. But no. Diplomacy was not on her mind yet. She had to walk through the shit to get to the small rewards. Typical. Story of her life. Her hand sewn, engraved leather, specially designed lining and new technology soled shoes shifted as the lady mentioned gangs and money.

She'd sure had seen some shit in her days and this just sounded familiar. Vim, for all her tough exterior, would never have confessed to being homesick. Her arms were crossed under the burka, her eyes showing a depth beyond her years as if a terrifying flashback were overwhelming the little soldier. At least it would seem like it on a first glace, her eyes actually reflected her age exact with some added "depth" for good measure, for looks, for style, for a fake reflection of that persona the child played out as she wished.

"I'll partake of that gambling joint job," she said grimly. Vim looked on as if reminiscing about a similar prospective violence long passed. Her brow lowered and her jaw clenched and she let that brew for a bit before she whispered to no one in particular, "war is hell." Vigor, the clueless alpaca, as if on queue, understood the signal and lowered its head in solidarity as he slowly approached her albeit in a practiced manner. The little scum, Vim thought, he had much to learn.
Sedna had always wondered if the seal hurt her credibility at all. She knew some heroes got away with downright stupid, cartoony sidekicks, but she always noted, with a hint of despair, that villains tended to either go it alone, or with a skeletal army at their disposal. Partnering with a figment of her own imagination seemed like it was bending that rule, seeing as Sealo was in some part an extension of her own self, but the more she thought on it, the more she realized what the common people saw. They saw a girl in a coat and her adorable, unceasingly smiling seal subordinate.

She'd gotten a summons a few days back, after she'd been laughed out of the queue to what would eventually be known as "quite the bank robbery", and it seemed like someone finally wanted what she had to offer in terms of magical expertise. Things were starting to look a little less dismal. She slipped the letter in first, followed by an envelope containing her meager yet heartfelt donation to her favorite band of Alaskan terrorists, and topped the whole thing off with Sealo, who dropped into the bag with an adorable "plop". Literally, the word "plop" appeared in some visual onomatopoeic coincidence. She took a moment to wonder if she was doing herself a disservice by carrying him around in a backpack. It was just the slightest bit too schoolgirl for a villain persona, but the idea of putting Sealo in a cape was simply too laughable. The fabric would touch his little seal body and then burst into black flames, which would eventually dissolve into a wave of spiders and disperse. She'd tried before. She still had flashbacks.

Sealo chirped in contentment. Again, the words came to live as he made the sound. He took the C and placed it sidewards on the front of the backpack. He took the 'dot' from the i, chirped again, and took that dot too, placing them apart from each other and above the C: A smiley face. Sealo stared blankly into space as the remaining letters faded away, unwanted, unloved.

"I'm a seal," he said, to no one in particular. He valued the self, if nothing else. He knew what he was, and he took comfort in it because life was cancer. Or he was just fuckin' retarded. He pullled at her hair, then disappeared fully into the backpack. "It smells of shampoo in here. Halp."

Hoisting the pack onto her shoulders, she checked behind to make sure she hadn't dropped Sealo. He had this habit of noiselessly soaring from great heights, only to be found when one wasn't looking for him with a huge crash, or other startling noise. There were moments in her life when she wondered just how many times she had been dropped on her head as a child in order to have given Sealo his winning personality. Was personality the right word? She had always been on the fence about whether he actually had one of those.

As Sedna moved out, a 'vrooooom vroooooom' noise came from the backpack.

When they finally arrived at the warehouse, she placed the backpack down and allowed for Sealo to jump out. He failed her, of course, choosing to squirm out in weird crawl. He sniffed the cold floor. "There's a Damon here. He loves Nina, but Paul Wesley won't let him have her. Things change when-" She placed a finger to his tiny seal mouth. If he was going to spoil the Vampire Diaries, he was going to have to do it to someone who cared. Nonetheless, she knew enough to decode his gibberish.

"What's wrong, boy? Is someone in a well?" she looked at his face and decided to try again, "Are you trying to tell me that there's some great evil afoot here? Y'know, besides the group of villains that were all called here?"

"Nobody's well." Sealo said, his frozen, porcelain smile managed to convey sadness. "Nobody's well here. We're all sick. He's not a Damon, he's a Klaus. He's an old one. March 24th." Then he went still again. From fur to porcelain, and from porcelain to fur.

Again, the gibberish came through nice and clear to her: it was the release date of Bloodbourne, a game built on ripping off Lovecraft without giving proper credit or renumeration. She was fairly certain she knew where he was going, but they were cut off by a woman's voice.

A horned woman. Something flashed before Sedna's eyes, a vision of a red woman with a tail, columns of flame, screams of agony, a baby, and twitching fingers grasped around thorns. She shook it off.

"Latent homosexuality!" Sealo must have seen it too, though he had obviously taken a very queer message from it. "Why chu gotta be so people, Queen?" He stepped up to her and sniffed her where he thought she should have been, as if he could still see her. "I think she's a quest giver. All you lady folk do is give errands and hair therapy."

He bit onto her shin, and she knew, with vivid horror, what was coming. "Let's go!" he said, his voice muffled through delicate application of his metal-shearing jaws on the best part of her.

And then he dragged her. Across. The. Floor.

It was a whoosh. It was friction, heat, pain, and above all, a dizzying whoosh. It lasted forever in the same way getting outed as a lesbian by your autistic son lasted forever, but they did come to a stop. Sealo dropped her in an undignified heap at the feet of the villians. "You have to convey strength to them, or they'll eat you alive, baby seal." she had said a bit back. He had obeyed. She got up, dusted herself, and pretended nothing before this had happened.

Sedna was fairly certain that the snotnosed brat with the alpaca didn't have to put up with this shit, alas, she liked to think it was part of their appeal as a duo. She sat up as best she could and cleared her throat, "We'd like the casino mission, thanks. Ever since Casino Royale, I've had a desire to be the sultry brunette with a cigarette problem in a gambling joint."

"Hello, Klaus." Sealo stared up at the vampire. "Are you british?" The witch placed a hand over Sealo's mouth. Best not to insult the one with all the info.

Sealo thought about the myth of Sedna.

He thought about fingers.

And with the frozen smile on his face, he chirped.
The lot of them were gathered, and starting to sound off regarding their place in all this. She scribbled their names down and their missions while listening to their questons. She really had the "Secretary from Hell" feel down to a T. Biting her pen with teeth that suggested a diet of meat and nothing but, she looked at each of them in turn once more. Her eyes stuck on the Baby Alpaca and she stiffled a snicker. Briefly she considered the possiblity of a three course meal, Seal pattys for starters, marinated Alpaca sides for a main course. The tears of their lovely owners as desert. She had to stop herself before she started staring holes in the poor thing. Clearing her throat she went back to proffesionalism and smiling indifference.

"Frankly Mr Xuicoatl, you can eat LIVING people for all I care. We are villains, not Capes." She said with a grin. "I like them to squirm, myself." Her stare found Sealo for a second. She once more had to clear her throat. Clearly she needed to grab a snack after this meeting. She made a sweeping gesture to the rest of them. "All of you who have chosen to cash in on the Casino job, do not hold back. Send a message." She said. As Sedna spoke about it she smiled sweetly at her.

"Dear. You are not there to be seductive. You are there to smash things. Leave the whole seduction thing to us proffesionals, allright?" Before the sorceress could come up with a witty retort or complaint, she moved on to the next ones. She stared into the eyes of a redheaded, surly looking, scrawny kid. Meteora, stared back with every bit of scrappy, no good attitude a wrestler stuck as a career heel could muster.

"Gambling joint. I wanna suplex someone trough a roulette table" She said, the stupid, oversized belt of her seemed to gleam with bad karma. She made a note to buy her a ticket to the next Mercury City Wrestling show, to pacify the brat.

Her eyes fell on Dr Gyro and Mad Dog. Part of the Lair squad. "Please. Do use whatever you find to further your own scheemes. I am sure Dr Swan have some info on how to burn people in new ways." She waved her hand dismissively at them. "The Lair is yours, wholesale."

"Excuse me. But, would you know if this Lair, had a forge. I would need to make a blade of my own, rather then this... cheap thing I bought." Fox Blade asked suddenly, and Lucinda fought back the urge to slap the stereotype out of him. Gods below he was trained to sound like the extra of a old J-Action flick.

"No. Dr Swan was a scientist, not Hanzo bloody Hatt-" She began when Fox interjected "It's Hatorri Ha-" Lucinda cut him off with a glare that made Fox wish he had stayed a office drone. "S-Sorry Miss."

"Transportation has been arranged." She said as she adressed the meek looking Genius, snapping her fingers and making the screen behind her go up in smoke. "When I finish this briefing. You will be teleported lair. Mind you, it is a one way ticket. You going to have to liberate and repair the lairs teleporter." As she said this, a cellphone could be heard ringing. She paused and held up a finger as to stop people from talking among themselves. Fishing out a sleek a black phone from her cleavage, the label reading "dPhone". She put it to her ear and listened for a few seconds.

"Oh. And Broker says that you better not dissipoint him." She said as she slipped it back in place. Her grin widened. Thne she snapped her fingers and world turned into flames and brimstone.

And then, two groups of villains found themselves standing inside a ring of rapidly dying fire.


For the Gambling Group, they were in a alley. Down said alley it opened into a small backstreet with a neon sign showing a pair of poorly drawn breasts and a cocktail bar sign. The two wellclad bouncers gave a indication that the joint was not the average titty bar of downtown Mercury. The two big men stared wide eyed at the group of wierdlooking indivuals who had just appeared out of nowhere.

Meteora, being the impatient kind cackles and broke into a run. Heading straight for one bouncers. Before the man could reach for his gun she had closed the space between them and lifted him up in a full on lineback. They crashed trough the door.

Past the door is the check in area. Where the woman taking peoples coats were covering against the wall in confusion. The corridor led to a second door that without a doubt led down a pair of stairs. Meteora didn't miss a step. Leaving the other bouncer to whoever felt like dealing with him, she rushed down to kick up the doors.

Dust settled, the group would see a large locale with all sorts of means to lose your money. Roulette tables, slot machines, blackjack and all other manners of gambling. The place was not a small gambling joint, it was a damn casino. Everyone in the room looked up at the door. In the far end of the room door likely led to the VIP area. As people tried to come to terms with what they were seing, Meteora hollared. "Smashing time biiiitcheeesss!"

[BCOLOR=#ff0000]Situation; [/BCOLOR]

Meteora decided to start you off with a bang. Thanks to that you have the chance to storm the place while people are figuring out exatly what the hell is going on. There are a few thugs for hired security. Each of you get to wreck two of these each in your next post if you chose to. Make it spectactular. Remember, breaking things and sending a message is the point of this mission.


The Lair Cleanup Crew find themselves standing infront of a vault door. Its convenietnly left open, moss growing up the fake rocks that worked as its camouflage. AS soon as you step out of the circle. A pair of red eyes light up inside the darkness of the abandoned base.

"IN-SQUAAAAK-TRUDERS!" A robot voice echoes as more eyes flare up. Wagging up the entrence corridor, three metal birds start to advance on you. The mecha swans seem to be roughtly the size of a normal swan, but they are clearly made of all metal, all menace. Much like a real swan, they seem perpetually angry. One of the em opens its beak and a laser shot out, missing fox by quite the margin, but still makes the Ninja grumble about how he missed his homeland allready.

The other two seems to lack the lazer weapon and instead have drill shaped beaks that start to spin. They charge at the group head on. Necks outstreched like the worlds most stupid lances. But they have quite a bit of speed behind them. So one should look out.

[BCOLOR=#ff0000]Situation: [/BCOLOR]

Three Mecha Swans are trying to keep you out of the base. Take em down! Beware of Alpha Swan, he has laser for gods sake!
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With the rather obvious warning given and they villains were send away to their missions, Tim could do nothing but gulp to keep his nervousness in. Fear started to creep into his thoughts as he found himself thinking what could go wrong, from meeting a large horde of the swanbots to his Clamp exploding on his back. It took seeing the laser shooting at the masked office worker and the charge of the angry swans before he focused on the job at hand. Slightly panicking at the sight of an angry metal swan charging at him, Tim fumbled with his Clamp's control before he attempted to dodge from the charge while making a jerking swipe with one of the Clamp at the swanbot in order to whack it away.
Mad Dog Mulligan

Mad Dog smirked underneath his faceplate mask. "Don't let this ole' irish dog hold all the fun" He stated looking at the rather hooded being that just announced his desire to feast. Mad Dog was unsure of what exactly this "being" was but nonetheless he just laughed. "Haha! I like tis guy a lot, don't get ya self killed matey!" And with that he he left to go on the mission he chose; cleanup duty in an old, abandoned lair.

"Look at this! hasn't seen action in a long time me thinks" Mad Dog gave the large, decrepit vault door a tap with his foot. That's when things got interesting. Large robots came online and out of no where in particular. Mad Dog looked at the bots closely. "What the fuck? they look completely fuckin stupid!" He shouted as he narrowly escaped one of the lasers from the Alpha Swanbot. "These swanfucks need a lesson in fire!" He aimed with both his Wrist Thermite Throwers, ready to spray the nearest bot with a stream of molten metal. "ready to get cooked, you stupid birds?" he asked with a crazy grin etched into his face.
Count Xuihcoatl

He watched the young girl create a ruckus, rolling his eyes as he quickly followed her through the alley. "Such a petulant child." he muttered under his breath as Meteora lead the charge. The Count moved away from the bouncer, still cloaked and hiding his monstrous form. Much like Meteora, The Count stood, looking around the large area, and the many pleasures of gambling on offer, including some of the womanly patrons. "Women's blood always tastes so... sweeet" He remarked, his eyes widening as two of thugs moved forward, wondering just what Xuihcoatl actually was. "Aah yes, how rude of me, I'm Xuihcoatl, a Vampire" He looked down at the thugs, stripping himself of his guise. as he hovered, a mass of tentacles cascaed down from his waist, his appearance growing larger and bulkier, his revealed a truly monstrous expression, his mouth a vertical slit lined with very sharp teeth, his claws just as sharp. "And you two... are dinner" he growled, his eyes glowing red. one of the thugs tried to get his pistol out on time, but was quickly stabbed in the gut by Xuihcoatl. He toyed with the thug, moving his hand from side to side, creating pain and agony upon his victim. He proceeded to rip out the intestines of the man, the entrails dropping to the floor, followed by a quick clean swipe across the forehead that sliced his skull open.

The other thug managed to get his pistol out in time, his hands shaking at seeing the monstrous being rip apart his friend. "You better pray to all of the gods that those bullets are silver, and that they will stop me or els-" He fired five shots, with only two managed to hit Xuihcoatl. A low rumble of snigger came from his teethy grin. "Oh, how I'm going to enjoy feasting on your flesh, you pathetic, weak, pile of secrets" Xuihcoatl lunged at the thug with ferocity, crunching upon his neck with force as he drunk the thug dry until all that remained was a skeletal corpse.​
Click clack, click-itty click went Vigor's hoofs on the pavement, merrily strutting his stuff. He couldn't have looked cuter if he tried.

"Disgusting," Vim whispered. She was clad in her usual outlandish style, just as expensive as the last. Her only attempt at 'fitting in' was a pair of badass sunglasses she'd seen a Villain wear in the cover of a magazine. She walked on, embarrassed by her partner as her burka swayed to and fro Clint Eastwood style. Her shiny golden gun lay hidden but fully loaded with some of the best work Vigor had done in a while.

Vigor the alpaca made a very alpaca-like sound as Vim got a full view of the gambling joint's innards. That cheery girl and the tentacled weirdo were already going at it. Full force, no style. The raw grimness and gore of violence was lacking, but how would they know? They hadn't seen what Vim had seen in her time... The glasses covered her dark pained expression bordering on the edge of deranged trauma. At least that was the aim.

"Hey kid! get out of here before you get hurt. 'The hell are you doin' here anyway," said a huge man, shotgun in hand, apparently ready to take out the baddies.

Vim turned to him, his menacing reflection over her silver mirror-like aviators. There'd been barely any reaction to Vim pulling out her golden friend and shooting him in the face. Half of it was burned off clean. "Finally," came the little girl's voice, "you do something right Vigor."

The clumsy alpaca gave a gleeful jump and breathed out an impressive line of fire, clearly happy to hear a very rarely given compliment. As it was to be expected, Vigor did not pay heed to his aim and that side of the building, curtains and all was already burning.

Vim stared at it reminiscently, "yes Vigor... such are the consequences of war... a burning hell of chaos... I remember it well." But the alpaca was gone. Vim would have to teach it some manners after the job!

"THE FUCK YOU CRAZY PYRO KID I'M GONNA KI-" Vim removed the aviators and pocketed them, "a kid! What's a kid doing in this joint?! Get out of here kid! Go! Lucy! Get me my gun these fuckers are going down!"


Metoara was off like a bullet, vaulting over tables and kicking over one armed bandits as she lept into a drop kick. Due her super strength, her first target was sent crashing trough a group of patrons who screamed and flailed. The man coughed, holding his ribs as he tried to get back up, only to feel the scrawny looking brawler slide in behind her, wrapping her arms around his abdomen.

"Meteor" She spoke in his ear. And Charlie Johnson, a rent-a-thug, realized that today was a terrible day to be alive. "SUPLEX!" Metoara lifted him off the ground with ease, lifting him well over her head before arching back and slamming him trough roulette table. If asked why she felt the need to scream out the name of the attack, Meteora would likely tell you that she was her own commentary team untill she could hire a proffesional one. Of course, while his shoulder was dislocated, his ribs broken, Charlie was not getting of so easily. Meteora stood over him and grabbed him by the collar. Hoisting the protesting, pulling her over her head, she power bombed him so hard into the floor he could feel his spine snap in several places.

It was then, one of the thug attacked her with a stunrod. Sadly for him, meteora lifted Charlie up casually as shield. Poor Charlie spasmed like a ragdoll. And as his buddy pulled back in terror of what he done, Meteora did what every "heel" in wrestling did. She fell to a knee, and swung her arm up between her legs. Hard. Really, hard. So hard in fact, that the mans feet lifted a solid two inches of the ground before he fell to the floor in a gurgling mess.

As she rose to her feet, she strode past her agressors, now victims, and hurried start wrecking everything in sight.

Meanwhile, The Count found that his bullet wound was healing slowly, even if it hurt and shot taken anywhere else might have proven fatal, a shallow shoulder wound was visibly healing due to his feasting on blood. Patrons were screaming nad fainting at the sight of him. People around him cowered, as was the only right thing to do in the presence of such a bloodsoaked avatar of evil.

(Auto Controlled becouse player failed to make deadline: Senna)
Sennas luck was less Stellar, Her spellslingers gambit produced a horde of rabbits, while cute and confusing, did little to properly stop the thug from attacking her. Luckily, a solid wack against the temple of the rent-a-thug sent him crashing into a sea of bunnies. Muffled cries of a apperently allergic man, was heard from somewhere underneath a furry carpet of adorable creatures.

Senna was seconds later tackled by another thug. The two of them were sent crashing trough a pair of one armed bandits, as Senna slipped on a pair of coins causing them both fall mid tackle. This led to a impromtu, improvised DDT that drove the mans face into the ground. Senna hit her head to, but managed to avoid being knocked out.

(Auto Controlled becouse player failed to make deadline: Sealo)
Sealo strolled trough the chaos of the casino on small, stumpy legs. A cuddly avatar of destruction, he did not expect to be soccer punted across the floor. The thug had expected him to keel over, but instead he had attracted the wrath of a magical being who knew true power. The amount of physical violence visited upon the rent-a-thug defied description. By the time he was done, everyon around him had stopped what they were doing. The seal blinked, as he recognized one of his followers, who were now clearly devoid of faith in his benevolence. Today was a terrible day for teambuilding.

Vim and Vigor however, were finding alien diplomacy the casino equivalent of Scorched Earth tactics. As fire melted faces, patrons were crushed beneath burning rubble and money was burnt up, it all reminded her that truly, war was hell. Her new shades were sweet as all hell though, and for some reason she kept thinking about "Motherbase" and fiddles.

[BCOLOR=#ff0000]Situation:[/BCOLOR] Some minor stumbling aside. You are wrecking the place. Your next scene is one of COLLATERAL damage. Destroy property, kill patrons, be terrible people. Eat from the buffé if you are really brave.


There were few things more agressive then real swans. Mecha Swans had them beat however. Flailing and flapping razor sharp wings, the charging, drill beaked metal menace almost tagged Salvage before he could avoid it. His exoskeleton might be powerfull, but it was still clunky. It did however, let him dent the thing rather severely afte rhe side stepped it. Sadly, this sent the hing waddling side ways, and Gyro found himself getting razorsharp metal wings slashing across his hip and rear, leaving his clothes tarnished and red, shallow cuts along his skin.

The second mecha swan had a similair fate in that it failed to hit home entirely. Instead, it was sprayed with molten metal. The Mecha swans, being late prototypes of the late Dr Swans army, had very heat resistent alloy bodies. But even so, the metal did glow and slowly erode to the heat. But it would not be enough just yet.

Fox Blade vanished just as the laser was about to hit him, flash stepping to appear at the robots shoulder, cheap wallmart katana allready in midswing. To his great regret however, the swan jetted forward and out of his reach suddenly.

"The Alpha swan has a goddamn jet engine up its metal ass!" He exclaimed in frustration. "We gotta hit it simultaniusly!"

[BCOLOR=#ff0000]Situation:[/BCOLOR] The mecha swans are clearly hurt, appears their linear offence is a bit oversight of the doctor. Try not to bump them into eachother though! The alpha is highly mobile, and need a coordinated strike to take down.
Sedna knew she'd be feeling the sharp, splitting ache of head trauma for days, but she wasn't sure exactly why she felt like she was breathing through a mask of cotton balls as her vision hung on the verge of total whiteout. It took a couple of moments for her to realize that one of the unhelpful rabbits she'd conjured had decided to squat on her face while she was down for the short count. She scowled at it as she hoisted it from her head, bolting upright and using it as a projectile against the man who was approaching. The puffball connected with the grunt's face with a satisfying snapping noise, probably a combination of bunny's bones breaking and the assailant's nose being busted beyond recognition. Something had surely come over her, because she usually regarded fluffy white lives with a little more reverence, thanks to Sealo.

However, before she knew to question it, she was straddling the same poor victim and had something clenched in her right hand. She wiggled her fingers around the war-prize, knowing immediately from the unique shape and the sticky, feverish warmth that seeped through her fingers that she was clutching his ear. The trail of blood led from the wound to her fingernails and she retched as an iron-tinted bile rose past her tonsils.

The guard between her thighs wished himself dead. Assaulted by a lapine missile, left resembling van Gogh barring the talent, and now sputtering from under a frothy mask of vomit that stung his eyes and made breathing a nightmare, he could see no reason to continue on. He gagged and tried his best to spit out the lump of his own flesh Sedna had rammed down his gullet as a pathing.

10 feet away, Sealo mourned for a fallen hero.

"Conejo..." Rare was it that Sealo's voice held reverence for anything. "Conejo, you are the sword that cuts a swath through the mud of man." He pressed a stubby seal flipper-foot to the dead thug's bum, the only part of the body that still bore discernable shape, and with a hard pull, yanked one of Sedna's rabbits out of it - a little too hard. He had freed only the body, and the rabbit's head was still lodged inside the man's ruined anus. A spray of rabbit blood washed over him.

Sealo closed his eyes - less so because he was grieving and more because it was fuckin' rabbit blood washing over him. "Conejo, you are Michael's valor and Uriel's boundless might. You are Gabriel's homosexual obsession with the musical arts, and Samael's ambition. I thank you, brother Conejo. I thank you because he will not." He spat out an eyeball. Then another eyeball. Then another set of eyeballs. Then a trio of tiny child -or Chinese- sized eyeballs. Where did those come from? No matter, he said in his evilest mental voice, they could not be eaten. His hunger reached the stars, but even the greatest devourer would not deign to feast on mortal eyeballs. They were icky.

It was only then that he heard the whimpering.

He recognized the dealer from his church. He didn't remember her name, and he barely recognized the prim, proper neo-nazi lady from the huddled, weeping mess hiding under the table.

"What are you, Grand Dragon?"

"I am the law."

Her eyes widened. "Dredd?"

"Fear." Despite her terror, she nodded. She had no illusions about what he was now, but at least were still connected by shared comic interests. "Your grandparents came to me with their wish to purge the negro and reclaim the world for the pure. Do you get it, uh-"

"Cassidy, Grand Dragon."

"Cassidy. Do you see it, Cassidy?" He pointed at the Count, then gestured at the Alpaca. "These are the things from before the Fire and the Spear. We are obsolescence, and we quiver at it, for technology-" Again, he pointed at Dr Gauss. "-has marched, and we are the trampled. In my place of birth, I wield water as my birthright. I have sunk landmasses in the worlds beyond your worlds: Space!Newfoundland, Space!Kyushu, Space!Argentina-"

"Isn't Argentina a landlocked-"

"-Space!Australia. I know what must be done. Step to me, child of man. Step to me and renew our pact."

He could see the hesitation in her eyes. He could see it war with 19 years of upbringing. Faith, he knew, was a powerful thing when instilled in youth. She knew he was a monster, and yet everything prior had said he was a saint of god. Clearly he had his reasons for the violent act that culminated in shoving a rabbit up a man's butthole. He was italian, no? And a mobster too. He wasn't pure. Sealo was right-

She never got to finish the thought. Sedna came up from behind her and smacked her with a severed arm.

"Sealo, I saved you!"

And Sealo, the adorable sealpet, never hated her more than he did now.

"Let's go to the buffet, Sealo. The food will last us-"


"The food will last me weeks. Did you bring the tupperware?"

He stared up at her. His other half, and he threw back his head and heaved, vomitting out the tupperware.
The Count, Xuihcoatl - Gambling Den.

The count wiped the excess flesh and blood that had drenched his lower face. "The older the meat gets, the saltier it tastes." He turned to look at the patrons, noticing a young lady shrieking at his monstrous appearance. "Well, I see we have a prime cut. Bon apetit'" The count was ready to feed once again, but memories of the last time he let loose was still young. He took a long sniff along the lady glaring into her eyes. "Maybe when I have some time to myself" he then turned away. "I may not be at my full potential, but when my power is at my peak, I'll make this city my feeding ground." And with the, The Count moved away from the patrons, looking around the Gambling Den. "Such a shame to wreck an establishment such as this, but we do what must be done." The Count sighed, lifting a table above his head and throwing it at the nearest wall. He began to move around with speed, using his claws to cut through the furnishings of the Den with ease. The wound in his shoulder almost gone. "Seems like grunt work to me" he snarled as he continued to commit acts of vandalism.

Mad Dog Mulligan - Dr Swan's Lair.

Mad Dog stopped for a second, noticing the thermite wasn't exactly melting the bot into liquid metal. "Well fuck me on a potato and call me an irish ale! Someone actually did their homework!" he shouted with excitement, as if he was enjoying it. He looked at the Fox Masked ninja like guy. "Hey you, Hanzo fuckin Hattori! I'll set up my thermite charges over here" Mad Dog pointed to a patch of ground near the entrance. "You lure them, and I'll detonate the sons of bastards, sound good?" He explained, awaiting for a reply. "THAT GOES WITH THE REST OF YE, LURE THEM THIS A WAY" He shouted, moving to the area, taking out a couple of charges."I just need to set these beauts up!"
This Lucy gal stumbled out with a gun, she handed it over to the ready-for-some-action-guy while pulling down her minuscule and translucent skirt. Ah, even on earth Vim could recognize her kind even if back on Vim's planet their fashion was different. There was no mistaking her, this Lucy gal was a poor victim of the necessary evil that was sex in times of war. The seven year old looked her straight in the eye as the wannabe hero left them, barking some order about getting the innocent child out or some shit.

"My dear Lucy," Vim began, "look at you..." Vim shook her head gravely, mournfully even.

"C'mown ked!" out of her impossibly pink lips came Lucy's high pitched voice. "Et's gettin' dangerous in heah!" she wailed.

Lucy pushed Vim by the shoulders and Vim's finger hesitated over the recently cleaned trigger. "War is hell Lucy," she whispered dramatically, but Lucy was too distracted to witness it. With an annoyed and childish scowl Vim raised the gun, aimed it at the center of that ridiculous near non-existent skirt, and fired. Must have been a defective Vigor-made bullet because the thing landed on her like a speedy booger, except it set her on fire. Selfish Lucy rolled on the floor but the fire only spread.


Vim kicked a small chair violently, she was sure this time the woman had heard. Golden gun resting over her shoulder at the ready, Vim looked around for that highly unprofessional rookie of an alpaca. She felt quite the diplomat but knew she had a long ways to go. After all, she'd only offed two replaceables. Nobody important... yet. She neared the tentacled guy as she put on her aviators so as to be recognized, "have you seen my alpaca friend mister?"

Meanwhile Vigor had roamed the gambling joint, taking in all the new sights and confusing several people in the process. His clumsiness had damaged or destroyed some of the property. Vigor had a naturally built-in domino effect wherever he went, but he was presently captivated by the little seal. Vigor breathed fire, but this new guy! This new guy breathed tupperware!
The mayhem and chaos was total. The casino was being trashed with such effeciency and complete diregard for bystanders that even the most jaded of newreporter would take note and try to uncover the story behind it. The Count was a flurry of machines nad tables being tossed around like paper weights, Meteora was laughing maniacly stacking a bunch of tables, then grabbing some poor hapless person and driving him trough each table in one impressive powerbomb. The splinters flew everwhere as another was added to the deathtoll. Suddenly, she perked up. "Woops. I hear sirens. Time to skedaddle everone!"

This was of course, about the time the brave alpacas fires reached the booze. And a explosion rocked the entrire room. This would likely be distressing for everyone, as the debri covered their escape route. And fire didn't play nice with any of them. Save perhaps the alpaca. Not even Sealo F'oreal in his blood covered, bunny weaponizing glory, had the capabilities of undo the firey hell their Alien ally was spreading. And with the cops coming that way, the only option they had was to press invwards the casion and hope they could slip away trough the backdoor. Meteora, ever the selfproclaimed battering ram of the group grabbed one of the patrons she thought looked important and regular, and she had admit, still alvie and concius.

"Whats behind those doors?!" She asked, while pointing at the backdoors. "T-the p-private quarters. It h-has a exit" Meteora looked at him. Then nodded. "Thanks, Run off and spread the word of what happeend today." Meteora hollared to the others. "This, way. There is a escape tunnel"


Foxblade heard the thermite happy madman tell him to herd the thing into the set of explosives and narrowed his eyes. He could to that, he was fairly certein. OF course, the Alpha Swan had the help of two less dangerous but none the less bothersome swans that kept charging and making his angle of attack narrow. The two mechanized menaces zig zacked back and forth across the ground, and despite Dr Gauss attempts to murder them with his high speed bullets, he found them annoyingly hard to target. He was still trying to nail one of them, when the Alphas laser zipped past him. He was about to tell the others to contain the threat and yell on them for their incompetence, when he realized the lazer hadn't missed. He looked down, and mouthed a high pitches "My di-" But before he could finish lamenting his lost manhood, the secont laser zipped past his ear. Only, like before, it was more then a close shave. Half his skull slid neatly off and with it part of what his head had contained.

"Well. I should probobly get that damn thing to blow up now!" Foxblade yelled apologeticly above the ruckus as he dodged another charge from one of the drillswans. He kicked it and it staggered into Salvage. Salvage for his part was a bit to taken back with Gauss untimely faith and was tagged with the razor wings much like Gauss had been after Salvaged knocked on of them into him by mistake. With a yelp and a angry swipe, the actually managed to knock the things head off with a reflexive swing. It collapsed.! Foxblade in the meanwhile, exhausted himself by flash stepping all over the place, appearing behind the Alpha swan as to trigger its engine. IT finally ran straight into the designated area for the trap, where it met with a molten, superheated death. The explosion threw melted slag all over the place, and to add injury to allready fatally and thuroughly deadly insult, it made Gauss catch on fire.

With no more lasers threatening him, Foxblade quickly cut of the head off the last Swan. He then looked at the burning corpse. "Well. Better him then me." He said and kicked the gun from the corpse hand. "Here salvage. You get a new gun " He said before he headed toward he entrence. "Lets see just what we liberated shall we." He proclaimed he began to push the vault door open..
The Count, Xuihcoatl

The Count laughed heartily at the explosion, the debris cascading down. "Good show, my non earthling comrade! Your abilities are quite impressive." he retorted. It was then he turned towards the bloodied Seal creature. "You are brutal and quite bloodthirsty, remind me not to piss you off" he commented, moving around the air, following Meteora. "That was fun, it has allowed me to find potential delicious meals" he muttered to himself, looking at the lady with hungry eyes. As he entered the "private quarters" he then slowly dissipated into his mist form. "Just keep going, Miss Meteora, I'm right behind you" The Count remarked moving around as if he was swimming through the air.
Mad Dog Mulligan
Mad Dog watched the eruption of molten metal slag flung around the place, the smell of fire, and the body of Gauss engulfed Mad Dog's senses. His eyes wide, a large grin across his face as he experienced such blissful euphoria. "Ooooohoohooooh....I'm going to be touchin' me'self tonight this memory." his voice rung with lustful and sexual tones, almost losing himself to his surroundings. "That was fantastic, Ninja Fox, fookin beautiful, If I may say personally." Mad Dog stood over Gauss. "Gonna miss that guy, honestly, or maybe not, whatever." Mad Dog shrugged as he turned to towards the lair. "So, when can we start hoarding the loot like a bunch of Potato Farmers in Ireland Circa Potato Famine? I know, used joke and such. Take it up with the guy who's writing me!" He rambled like a mad man.​
Sedna perked up at the idea of an escape route. It certainly beat having to grab two of the downed thugs and use them as a human flamesuit in order to trek through the towering inferno. In fact, the best part of Meteora's proposed plan was that it would take them right in front of the buffet. She hadn't yet got a chance to survey the offerings, but the place was swanky and she was sure a momentary stop would be worth it.

She picked up Sealo and used her sleeve to wipe some of the blood off of his adorable, vacant, sealish face, only to reveal the slightest glimmer of razor sharp teeth and an abyssal cavern of a mouth, both of which vanished away when he put on his adorable resting face. Moving towards the buffet, she held the tiny seal out ahead of her, relying on him to be her eyes as the smoke began to impede her vision.

What Sealo saw would have killed a lesser man. Or someone with a starch allergy.

There were thousands of them, rows upon rows of sickly yellow yeast beasts stretching as far as the eye could see. Sealo chirped a chirp of fear, a single tear sliding down his furry cheek. For whom was the sword drawn, he thought. For whom do we fight when the peeled legions see no end in sight? A wise puffin once told him that they didn't have to win, all they had to was fight, but seeing it himself now...This was a forever war. Yellow was the color of the sins of the Gods, and yellow was the nightmare bramble that barred the good from the great. There was no escape.

He took a deep sealish breath, and dropped the hammer on Sedna: "It's a single item buffet." He paused, the gap a chasm between worlds. Or some shit. "They're all banana bread. Gods help us all."

Sedna's eyes watered. She'd never seen something more beautiful before in her whole life. Loaf upon loaf of warm-baked banana bread. However, the closer she got and the clearer into view they became, the more the niggling feeling of tears began to close in. Was it just the smoke? Or was there something more? An instinctive, primal horror came to light at the mere sight of the potassium-crusted dessert bread. This is why her people were mortal, after all. The Queens had once been blessed to roam the earth for millenia, free from the stench of humanity, but the starch, the slippery peels, there was something there that brought the fear of the end to her mighty clan. Banana bread... wrought from the ovens of hell and doomed to wreak havoc at the end times, perched atop a skeletal horse. She knew it now. Knew it clearly and wept.

There was still a possibility that she was just reeling from the taste of blood and smoke, so she took a slice of the bread anyway, popped it in her mouth, and ran. She didn't make it far before she spat it into the nearest trash can. From the corner of her eye, she was almost certain that the bin began to hiss and sputter, a product of some sort of chemical reaction with the half-chewed loaf, causing it to slowly melt away, warp into a throne of lies and thorns, fit for a horned goddess.

"I love you, Sedna," The half-chewed banana bread seemed to hiss. "I hate you, Sedna. I want to burrow deep into your womb and..." the banana bread seemed to smile, but it was not one of Sealo's nightmarishly vacant grins. It was something far, far worse. "A piece of you, and a piece of me: magic and yeast united in harmony. Don't go, Sedna. Don't go. 221 calories all in one cruuuuuuuunch."

It looked to Sealo, nodded as only icky banana bread could, then back to Sedna. Then it went still, and the bin was just a bin again: cheap and dirty and not melted away.

"It's just the smoke." Sealo said. He didn't even sound like be belived it. "Just the smoke getting to you."

A slight twitch above her bladder would have worried her, had her mother and aunts not taken tremendous care to surgically remove her womb after that one really, really horrendous period she'd had: one where the entire house ran stained with blood and that hole in the roof continued to whisper her name between the cries of the unborn horrors that had seemingly already come to roost among the damned on earth. She tried to push the banana bread from her mind because there was clearly nothing to worry about. She hadn't even swallowed it, so there was no chance of accidentally exceeding her alotted caloric intake for the day. Hoisting Sealo up a little closer to her chest, hugging him absentmindedly like she used to hug her toys when the screaming of her late father got to be too much, she continued to follow the sound of Meteora's voice.

There was light up ahead. It looked like it could have been an exit sign.

They never noticed how the fire didn't -or could not- touch a single loaf of banana bread. They never noticed the sudden alertness in the Alpaca as it nodded towards the tables, right before it moved to follow them.
Gingerly, Vigor frolicked his way through the wreckage sparing only that one glance at the banana bread table. His alpaca mind had completely forgotten his partner as he followed the crew. The Tupperware trick still fresh in his mind.

Meanwhile, Vim had followed the Count's lead. She bit the inside of her cheek apprehensively, as she considered this a failed personal mission. Her diplomatic skills had been useless to the team. One guard and prostitute downed by her hand... meanwhile her clumsy partner had managed the most damage and he was in all likelihood clueless about it. Then again, fire had no style, she told herself. Not when breathed at random like that. That was just the usual chaotic hell that was war. But no, they had left the real war behind... Vigor and her had been sent to this planet to fight an entirely different type of war. Diplomacy. It was just as brutal and hellish but Vim was sure there should be a smoothness to it. A coolness. A style.

She adjusted her aviators using the tip of her gleaming golden gun, finger still on the trigger as the fire burned at her back. That's right, that's what she was talking about. Now where was that damn alpaca, he should be strutting all slow-motion-like by her side! She glanced back just as she reached the lighted door up ahead and there he was.

"Vigor, you fu-"

The alpaca interrupted her with a very exited alpaca sound. His sphincter puckered and ready.
Tim didn't feel particularly well. Part of it was from the wounds inflicted by the robot, true, but most of it was from seeing Gauss' sudden and brutal demise. It didn't help that Fox Mask almost nonchalantly handed the dead genius' gun over to the surviving Genius. He had almost dropped the gun but decided to keep it as it was still a Genius handiwork. He told himself that it wouldn't be that much different than when he collected them before. He repeated the thought until Mad Dog started to excitedly ramble.

"W-wait," Tim said. "Didn't that woman said there would be traps inside? Rushing in seems like a bad idea, what if Swan rigged the place?"
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