Overwatch: Resurgence IC

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by The Wanderer, Jul 5, 2016.

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  1. OPEN SIGNUPS - Overwatch: Resurgence

    A couple of years ago, a corporation made special A.I in robots, so they could manufacture items faster than what normal everyday workers and machines could. But, they were shut down due to several accusations of fraud.

    After this, they shut down their robots, and sealed them away. But, this wasn't the last of the robots, as soon as they went offline. They were reactivated after being infected by "God Programs." After being awakened, they began to build militarized robots, so they could combat Humanity.

    And while some of the world's countries utilized special weapons and mechs to combat the "Omnic Threat." But, despite this, they couldn't hold off the Omnics without suffering massive amounts of casualties.

    So the UN created a specialized task force, comprised of: Scientists, Adventurers, Oddities. Dubbing the new taskforce, "Overwatch."

    After this taskforce was created, the Omnic Crisis ended. Ushering in a new era of peace.

    Though like most good things, it didn't last. For the taskforce was soon investigated after reports of corruption within the organization. Soon being disbanded.

    But not before a violent firefight broke out between a rebellion led by Gabriel Reyes, and loyal members led by Jack Morrison. Soon escalating as an explosion took out the Swiss Base that the firefight took place.

    Presumably killing both Reyes and Morrison.

    The now disbanded taskforce's members were no left to wander the globe.....That is until, a certain series of events transpired.
    This brings us to present day.

    You have decided to book a passage upon the newly built, SS Martha.
    Basically a flying cruise ship....That allows you to do whatever so long as you got the cash.
    Such as carry weapons.

    And for whatever reason, you've decided to hang out in the club area.

    And upon getting there, you'd notice that there are very few people there. Two were at the bar, one of them was a man wearing a orange coat, with a gray hood, a green duffle bag on the floor next to him. And the other one, was a man with white hair, sunglasses and wearing a suit.

    In one of the dark corners, there was a man wearing a coat with a hood. Though, his coat had hexagonal designs all over it.

    And in the middle area, next to the dance floor. There was a man wearing a gas mask with a backpack on the table infront of him.

    Over in an area closed off by a bouncer, obviously for VIPs. Were a small group of people. Most likely rich or important people.
    @Victor Markov @Michale CS @Rax Rosetta
    And unbeknownst to the people aboard the ship. The Recalled Overwatch has sent one of it's original members, Tracer to check out a group of special individuals. Which in this case, smuggled her aboard the ship.

    Giving her a few pictures and notes of the people she is suppose to check out.

    But, she isn't the only one coming to check out these individuals....​
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  2. [​IMG]
    I'd been doing merc work for awhile now. Now and then, however, I took a break as it were, and enjoyed something like this - a cruise ship with all the perks. I mean, what good is making all of that money if I never spent any of it?

    Currently, I'm just relaxing with a drink. I chose to let myself get a little buzzed. That's always a fun trick - I can decide if I want to burn off the alcohol fast or just let it mellow. It's saved my ass a few times. People thinking I'm drunk out of my mind - and sometimes to be honest I'm pretty close to that - then suddenly I'm at top form, kicking ass and taking names.

    There are a few others around - I sort of recognize them, but I've never put much stock in remembering names unless they're either a potential client, or potential enemy.

    Of course I don't go anywhere without my suit. Why not? I can camouflage it as whatever I want for a couple three days straight.

    As for weapons? Sure I can use them, but see I am a weapon.

    For now, I just look around, gathering what clues I can from the surroundings to make sure that someone who might have been on the receiving end of one of my jobs wasn't here gunning for me.

    I hate it when they do that. You never get invited back to places where that happens.
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  3. Lena Oxton did not usually find herself in swanky places like this. The flying cruise ship, the SS Martha, was definitely one of the more upscale venues she's been to in her career. Even during her Overwatch days, the former test pilot spent more of her time in the trenches rather than hobnobbing with the rich and famous. She was, after all, Overwatch's best advance scout. Overwatch generally left the hobnobbing and politicking to what Lena called "the Big Faces" - the late Strike-Commander John Morrison and his second in command, Gabriel Reyes.

    Lena sat at the bar, nursing a glass of exotic - and expensive - wine. She was never more glad that undercover jobs got a healthy business expense account. She was a East Side Londoner and pub-crawler, where a pint was actually affordable. As good as the wine was, it was obviously over-marked. By a lot. She kept her large eyes scoping the terrain and its clientele with the ease of long practice. She was a scout, after all, and her eyes were her best tools.

    "Another glass, miss?" the sharply-dressed bartender inquired, bottle in hand.

    Lena nodded and held out her glass. "Thanks, luv." It must have been somewhat disconcerting, her Cockney lilt coming out of the refined illusion she was garbed in. Her normally rowdy hair was groomed into a bun and her lithe physique was poured into an elegant black dress. Rather than the bulky chronal accelerator she normally wore, her friend Winston equipped her with a more compact version on her wrists. They looked more like a pair of expensive bracelets rather than a high tech piece of hardware. The downside to the stripped down chronal accelerator was that her time-manipulation was far more limited without the full spread. Add in the fact that she literally couldn't hide her pistols anywhere on her person while wearing this dress, and she felt fairly naked.

    The scout ruefully glanced down at her modest chest. If she were built like Dr. Ziegler, she might've been able to squeeze in a single-shooter in her cleavage....

    But, she reminded herself, this was strictly an information-gathering operation.



    "Wait, wait, back it up, Winston!" Lena pushed her goggles up onto her forehead. She continued to protest, "I'm not an undercover agent! That was always the commander's job! I'm just a scout."

    Her friend, Winston, a massive talking genetically-enhanced space gorilla - and Lena never got tired of stringing that particular combination of words together, much to her personal amusement - mimicked her movement by pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. He gestured to the computer terminal behind him and the monitor that demonstrated the various former Overwatch agents...and the pending replies to the Recall order he sent out a few days ago.

    "Only a few of us answered the Recall order, Lena," Winston rumbled in his soothing baritone, "and of them all, you're the only one with the skill and experience for an assignment like this."

    Lena shook her head. "Scouting, I can do. Hit and runs, I can do. Flying circles in a dogfight, I can do. Playing dress up? You're lookin' at the wrong girl. That was always more Commander Morrison or Lacroix's job." Strike-Commander John "Jack" Morrison was Overwatch's leader and one of the finest military men on the planet. Whether it was battlefield command, fighting in the trenches, or infiltration, the man seemed to have familiarity in all fields of war. About the only Overwatch agent better at infiltration than Morrison was Gerard Lacroix, a French operative and intelligence officer who possessed an uncanny ability for blending into any crowd. Lena didn't hold a candle to either.

    "And, again, they're not exactly available," Winston said patiently, though Lena hardly needed the reminder. All of Overwatch remembered the day Lacroix was found dead in his own bed. And none of them could forget that horrible day when Morrison died, along with Overwatch itself. Winston laid a large hand on Lena's shoulder. "You can do this, Lena. I need you to do this."

    The gorilla looked to the computer monitor. "So few of us are left. Fewer answered the Recall." He pressed a button on the terminal. Dossiers and pictures of other superhumans overlay the established Overwatch personnel. "We need to recruit more to our side, if we are to stand a chance. These individuals may have what it takes to be the next generation of Overwatch. You need to find them, meet them, and see where their loyalties lie."

    Lena stared at the screen. A new Overwatch....


    "...Wish I could've done this without the goofy dress," Lena muttered to herself as she took a sip of her refilled glass.
    • Nice execution! Nice execution! x 1
  4. "Well, since you boys are offering, sure, pour me another drink. Hell, just give me the whole damn bottle, been drinking you kids under the table already as it is."

    The 'kids' in question, some young bucks who were looking to show up the old man who was along for the ride, were not looking too steady on their feet. The old man, early fifties, grinned at them as they tried to talk shit, it all coming out rather amusingly garbled. They lacked experience, and tolerance for the harder drinks. The higher quality whiskey this joy ride sold? Well, well above their normal means he would imagine. Rich parents sending rich kids out to 'see the world' from a brand spanking new airship. Normally, he didn't have the surplus cash for this kind of adventure, but a few tweaks and modifications into the passanger list? Well, suddenly he was here, not high enough up to warrant special attention, but enough so to turn a blind eye to two special things. The sidearm, if one could call his handcannon of a pistol that, currently hidden under his bulky coat. And SHERMAN, currently hidden away out of sight except for a trusted few crew, and the man himself. Rolf Ruprecht, engineer and inventor of the SHERMAN mech.

    Sure, if something unusual kicked off, it would be childs play to get to SHERMAN and come out swinging. Rolf resisted grinning at the thought, the kids losing interest in their losing drinking match against the old engineer, heading off to do their own thing. Likely rejoin the rich and dumb families in the VIP area. Done slumming it with the common man, as they say. He was scanning the rather colorful few outside the VIP area, including a rather oddly familiar looking lady in a dress, drinking wine at the bar. Not familiar enough to go poking his nose about in business that wasn't his, but familiar enough to warrant a half seconds thought. But it was gone like that, as he mused on the why he was out on this thing. Kick back and relax? Not his style, to be fair, far as he remembered, one of the stops was a rather war torn area, rife with trouble. Perfect for Rolf and SHERMAN to go marching out and being generally mean towards the folks that tried to keep causing trouble in this day and age. Maybe something interesting besides gang bangers with small arms would happen this time? Speaking of interesting times...

    He couldn't help but reminisce on the Omnic Crisis. Originally, old SHERMAN was a recovery and rescue vehicle, a sturdy bipedal walker to march into an area nothing else could survive, or traverse, getting through to grab folks and get them out. She was going to have more than one hotseat, but circumstance demanded he change that approach. Hell, most folks who had seen him work in the Omnic Crisis knew SHERMAN, not the man piloting it, so it was alarmingly easy to get about typically. But arming her left no room for more seats, so he had adapted it again. Ingenuity had its place in invention, after all. But he shook those thoughts from his head, dark memories were as prolific as brazen victories during such times. After all, robots and meatbags lived side by side now, more often than not. No sense glorifying the past warfare between the two, right? Bah, the engineer thought darkly, taking a swig from his bottle, those who don't learn from the past get shafted by it. Or some such nonsense like that.

    "Feh, some days I'm too old for this shit. Should have stuck to my usual means of getting about, too damn quiet up here..."

    Relatively speaking, since they were moving through the sky at a fairly good clip, so outside the common areas, where only crew and staff were likely meant to be, it was probably a lot louder. But no, he chose to go to the club area to drink and see who else was around. No one that struck a chord in his memory, name wise, familiar faces lurked. But hell, get as old as him, that happened a lot and rarely meant anything. Right up until it did, and all hell broke loose. For now, Rolf kept an eye on the egress routes to SHERMAN, and drank the day away. Not fast enough to inhibit himself, but enough to be comfortable. Sure, he may have just been another human, but training and experience made up for a lot in the right hands. And in the wrong ones, too, for that matter.
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  5. Lena hummed thoughtfully to herself as she continued to scan the bar patrons. She'd already spotted two of the individuals Winston had given her intel on.

    She pulled out a cellphone from the clutch hanging on the edge of her bar-seat and flipped through a few files.

    A rather tall, leggy blonde sitting on her own nursing a drink caught Lena's attention. Her phone's facial recognition brought up the appropriate dossier: Rayleen Thorne, age twenty-seven, five-seven, one-sixty pounds.

    Yanks and their silly standard system, Lena idly thought, wondering when America would finally get on board with the rest of the world and convert to metric. The phone continued to spit out information: Powers not fully documented, suspected to have peak human physical abilities, source unknown. Noted mercenary with multiple successful missions over the last few years. To Lena, Thorne sounded a lot like her old mentor, Commander Morrison - soldier type.

    She swung the phone to an older gentleman who seemed to be successfully drinking most of the youngest clientele under the table. This one Lena recognized from older Overwatch files. Rolf Ruprecht, age fifty-one, five-nine, one hundred-forty-five pounds. The last Overwatch record on him put him as a potential candidate as far back as the Omnic Crisis, though no recruiters ever approached him after D.Va joined. The phone continued to deliver information: Noted engineer and inventor. Constructed SHERMAN all-terrain recovery vehicle. Complete service record on file. In brief, multiple successful search and rescue missions during the Omnic Crisis. Current service data lacking since end of Omnic Crisis.

    To Lena's knowledge, D.Va had yet to answer the Recall. A pilot like Ruprecht would obviously be a great candidate. Even if D.Va returned, her mech was designed for combat, while Ruprecht's seemed designed for safety, evacuation, and rescue. Lena smiled. A new Overwatch could use someone like that.

    Lena waved the bartender over. "Hey, luv. Can you send a glass of scotch to those two over there? Tell them I have a proposition for them...."
    #5 Razilin, Jul 6, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 6, 2016
    • Nice execution! Nice execution! x 1
  6. [Subject X]
    The man in the thick weathered orange coat with an equally weathered grey hood, was sitting at the far corner of the bar, every so often ordering a shot of whiskey or something in the category of strong alcohol. What looked like the bill of a baseball cap was poking out from under the hood, the odd thing about it, was that it had a slight metal shine to it.

    He seemed to be looking at his hand, which was covered by a leather glove. Slowly clenching his fist, before relaxing it.

    He only stopped when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he recognized the two young adults from the VIP section. Obviously drunk. "Hey.....Since when did this place allow homeless people?" The one in the red Hawaiian shirt jeered. While his friend in the blue shirt went 'Oooooo!'

    "Since when did this place allow people who most likely don't know more about pop tarts than they do about manners." He shot back. Quickly, the smirks were gone. And as the one in the Hawaiian shirt looked ready to fight. His friend in the blue shirt stopped him. "It's not worth it...."

    Grumbling, he and his friend walked off, toward the person in the gas mask. But, midway through him standing up to go and deal with the two punks, the man with the coat with the hexagonal designs intervened. Holding a sheathed katana in one hand. The sight of a weapon, although a sheathed one, quickly scared them off.

    Soon after this, the man with the sword put his hand on the shoulder of the one with the gas mask. Most likely asking if he was alright, after receiving a nod, he made a motion to the bar. And while he received hesitation from the one wearing the gas mask. The person caved in, picking up their backpack, they went over to the bar, while the one with the sword went back to the dark corner to retrieve something. Sitting next to the man in the orange coat. Now up close, he could see that the person wearing the gas mask, had a nametag on his hoodie. "Karl." It read.

    "I wouldn't worry about those punks. They're brave when they pick on defenseless people. But, when met with a threat. They run away like cowards." He commented, before adding in, while holding out his hand for a handshake. "My name is.......David. David Woodrow." The name was a complete and honest lie, but for reasons, the man deemed it necessary. Karl shook his hand.

    Eventually the man with the sword came back, carrying a small grey backpack. He sat next to Karl.

    But, rather than start a conversation. "David" stayed quiet.
    The man in the suit was looking at the other people in the club. Though, his sunglasses hid his gaze from most of them. And he only looked at them for so long. His face didn't change from the serious expression he wore constantly.

    For, he was taking notes on everyone that caught his interest.

    The man in the orange coat [Subject X], whom was looking at his hand in such a way that he would've compared to scrutiny. As if he was disgusted with his hand. But, if that was case. Why was he doing that? Did he commit a crime, and was just simply feeling "Killer's Guilt." Or perhaps it was something else. This sparked another question. Why was he wearing a large coat with a hood. For the atmosphere called for either formal or casual wear. Not heavy clothing, meant for cold temperatures. Possible disfigurement? He'd have to later investigate on the matter.

    Then there was the lady in the dress. He would've just overlooked her, if it hadn't been her posture and accent. Those two alone made the man think of a few theories. One of which, was that the lady wasn't there for wine and the company of the rich and famous. Assassin was ruled out. For it seemed to be nigh impossible to even fit a single shot weapon on her person, especially with the dress. For he could say from experience, that it is a lot more difficult to hide weapons on yourself with a suit and possibly a dress, than what movies and comics make it to be.

    But, if not assassin, then what? Much like the man in the orange coat. He would have to investigate.

    The man in the gas mask [Karl.] didn't really catch his interest, but it was worth to note his name tag. Possible muteness? Or perhaps he was too shy to even speak.

    The man [Echo] with the sword was interesting, but much like him. He remained emotionless. Thus eliminating any clues. Although, his clothing style did catch his eye.

    Why is it a hexagonal pattern? And why are his gloves weird looking? They looked like they were meant for other purposes than just cosmetics.

    Now, he hadn't forgotten about the aged man and the blonde lady. He could tell just from looking at them. They had seen combat, and were possibly pros at it. And they didn't seem to be hiding anything.

    After reviewing the people. He went back to looking at his book. "Of Mice and Men."
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  7. "Mind if I join you, ma'am?" An armored man asked the disguised Tracer. "For some reason, you remind me of someone I haven't seen in an age and a half. I don't know why. Maybe the accent. She said she was British hung around the man that saved me years ago before overwatch turned on itself and took the man who I owed my life to the other side." There was a bit of poison in his human eye, but he quickly shook it off and said "sorry, don't want to bore you with my old war stories. My name's Leon. Leon Cornelius." The man was more machine than flesh, but when you were shredded by omnics during the war. He then seen Rolf a little ways off and called out to the mech pilot "didn't think I'd find you here, Rolf. How's life been treating you? Bet you don't even recognize me after we parted ways once the war was over."

    Meanwhile, in a triple max security prison four men were sitting in solitary confinement, shackled to the wall near the back of the small cell. All of which had received a letter from a man called reaper, someone who drove the guards to toss them into the hole and triple the guards around that area. Ghost, a man with a white hood and mask was meditating in his metal prison within the prison while the other three were struggling to break the bonds that held them fast to the wall. Firestorm and salamander were trying to get the guards to enter their cells while headhunter continued to try to rip the metal to shreds with brute strength or chew through the shackles with his razor sharp, jagged teeth that resembled the jaws of a shark more than those of a man.
    #7 Victor Markov, Jul 6, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 8, 2016
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  8. [​IMG]
    A drink being bought for me. Huh, of course that's a nice way to get my attention. I ask the barkeep who my benefactor was, and when he indicated the tiny chick in a dress, I shrugged and looked at her a little more intensely. Someone else was chatting her up too, but what struck me was the fact she looked like the type that was rarely in a dress - or anything fancy at all for that matter.

    That meant this was likely business, not pleasure. Not that I prefer being in the sack with women, but it's more of a diversion, when a suitable guy isn't around.
    I decide that whatever it is, I could at least take a listen and find out if I like whatever her offer is going to be before just blowing it off. So, I take my free drink and wander over to her table, smiling and raising the glass in salute - before gesturing to an empty chair.

    "I take it you had something you wanted to say to me. I appreciate the drink. Mind if I sit down to find out the reason for your generosity?"

    Music of course was pumping through the place, setting the mood in a way for me. Music is kind of a big thing to me.
    @Razilin @The Wanderer @Victor Markov
    #8 Michale CS, Jul 7, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 8, 2016
  9. Lena saluted with her wine glass as an armored newcomer took a seat by her, introducing himself as Leon Cornelius. She didn't need her cell phone to recognize this one. Gabriel Reyes thought highly of the man back in the day. While Lena had limited exposure to him, she knew about some of his skills and abilities from Reyes' glowing remarks. Before she could reply, Leon was already waving down one of her prospects, Rolf. Hopefully, something would come out of that. In addition, her other prospect, Rayleen, made her way over.

    "Well, it seems I've got all of your attention," Lena said, finishing her glassy salute and downing the rest of the wine. She made an inarticulate burp of approval, much to the bartender's chagrin behind her. "I'm looking for a couple of new hires. I need only the toughest, fastest, and most fearless for one of the greatest jobs in history," she said excitedly. "Y'see, the world's kind of going down the tube and the organization I represent wants to get things back on track. Y'know, be heroes again. The world could use more of them."

    She flashed them the stripped-down chronal accelerator on her wrist. "My name is Lena Oxton. But you can call me...Tracer."
  10. [Subject X]
    The man was about to comment about the whole thing, when all of a sudden the large doors to the club burst open, with a large group of soldiers coming through. Brandishing assault rifles. There was about sixteen of them in total.
    "Secure the target!" One of them yelled. And for a split second, they looked like they were converging on the group at the bar, but they stopped. With six soldiers aiming their guns, but not firing. Doing the same with the other six soldiers aiming at the dance floor. While the last four went to the VIP area, pushing the bouncer aside, and going through the patrons in the VIP area.

    After a few moments, one of them pulled out a walkie talkie. "Target is not here, sir." A few moments passed before a voice replied. "Search the rooms. As for stealth. Drop it. For continuing to stealth at this rate would only hinder your progress."

    "Sir, what shall we do about the club area. Large number of civilians." The soldier said. And once again, a few moments passed before the voice replied. "Viper Squad. Remain there, make sure none of them become a problem. Kill if you have to. Rhino, search the east side. And Bravo, search the west side. Eliminate any and all obstacles." With their new orders, ten soldiers exited the club, while the six that were aimed at the dance floor remained behind.

    The man with the sword grabbed his backpack and took cover behind a booth. Opening the backpack, the man pulled out a white mask, though upon inspection. The mask was actually a tactical advanced visor. The type, that from the outside, would look like a normal mask that would hinder the wearer's eyesight. But on the inside, it was the complete opposite. Displaying information, and not hindering the wearer's vision. Among other features.

    After that, the man pulled out a belt with multiple pouches and containers. After putting it around his waist, he pulled out two devices. Rolling up his sleeves, he put them on as well. After the whole process, he flipped on his hood. But before he was about to enact his plan. The man in the suit quickly, but quietly said. "Don't......If you charge in, and get caught. They'll most likely shoot the hostages and alert their comrades...." After a few moments, he looked at the counter and said. "Behind the counter.....We can make a plan, without being interrupted." The man in the suit would usher the group behind the bar. Whereupon, he would then say. "So, let's go through introductions. Save for you, Mrs. Oxton. And you, Mr. Woodr-" He was cut off as he witnessed "David" undressing, and just as he was going to say 'Now isn't the time.' He noticed the almost dark grey exoskeleton and cybernetics. The helmet that earlier was poking out of his hoodie, came down upon "David's" face.

    "Subject X......David Woodrow is a fake name." Subject X explained. Soon after him, the man in the mask said. "Echo."

    "Operative." The man in the suit said, as he looked at the others to introduce themselves.
    Soon, Ghost, Headhunter, Salamander and Firestarter would hear what sounded like gunfire. Which was coming closer and closer, til the door to their cell was blasted open.

    A man walked in.


    "You're all getting an early release, due to good behavior...." The man, known as Reaper said in his usual deep voice.
  11. When the invading soldiers burst into the club/bar area, Lena's head whipped to face them and her hands instinctively reached to her hips. She let out a soft curse under her breath when they grasped air, given that she was wearing a form-fitting dress and her pistols were in her cabin on the other end of the ship.

    She was about to rally to fight when a man in a suit moved behind the counter and gestured for her, her prospects, and two other men in gear to join him. Introductions were quickly made and Lena learned that the newcomers were Operative, Subject X, and Echo. Lena gave her cell phone a brief glance; there wasn't any data on these three in the Overwatch database. Lena figured they were too young - Echo looked barely old enough to be out of high school - or relatively new to the business for Winston to have done any intel on them.

    A third possibility, and one that made Lena a little wary, was that they might have been so good as to have kept their activities off the grid. Winston was already monitoring two such men over the last few weeks: the self-styled terrorists Soldier 76 and Reaper.

    As introductions went underway, Lena peered over the countertop, scoped out the soldiers scouring the bar area, and grunted, "Those are some decent armaments they're packing. Looks like five-fifty-sixes." She proceeded to fiddle with some dials on her bracelets; the twin bracelets began to glow brighter than they did before.

    She explained, "My friend Winston gave me a less bulky version of my normal gear. Won't recharge anywhere near as fast as my real stuff, but it'll do for an emergency. I can probably blink over and take out one, maybe two, of those guys and grab their guns."

    Again, Lena peered over the counter before coming right back down behind cover. That quick glance was everything she needed to understand their movements. "These guys aren't half bad. They got some military background, I'll bet. Those are urban tactics they're using, peeling off in a line to minimize friendly fire and maximize coverage. We've got to assume there's more of 'em. But more importantly...why are they even here?"
  12. Reaper's words brought a smile to each of their faces "good. The staff here wasn't that much fun." Salamander said while ghost stopped meditating. The man known as ghost was much like reaper, constant state of regeneration and, in his case immolation.
    The guards were foolish enough to leave their gear in the same room. "Well, we'd love to get out of here, but we're kinda hanging around." Head hunter said moving his wrists, indicating the restraints holding them to the wall.

    "Hey Tracer, I know you love your plasma pistols but until you can get to them you can use my beauties." Leon said as his half mask sprang into place and a pair of AA12 shotguns came from a hidden compartment in his back with a one hundred round drum magazine filled with taser rounds. "Don't worry, they're loaded with taser rounds." He added as he handed her the surprisingly light weapons and his left hand transformed into a plasma caster.
  13. Rolf smirked, the drink arriving compliments of the lady sitting at the bar, the one he had noted before that seemed out of place in that dress. No, he was too damn old to be chasing skirts to be thinking that way, no, she seemed the type more comfortable in more flexible attire. In an afterthought, he decided that was not the most innocent sounding thought either. Blast it, he was thankfully able to focus on something else as someone called him out by name. Well, hell, if it wasn't Tin Man? Last he heard the kid got shredded during the Crisis, and seems he was rebuilt into something better than he had been. Standing with a chuckle, nursing the glass of scotch while he held the bottle of whiskey in his off hand, walking over casually and taking a seat with the group that seemed to have formed. "Cheers for the drink, and its been awhile, hasn't it Tin Man? Heard you've been doing well for yourself."

    Of course, the lady in the dress gave herself away as Tracer. Well, hell, Overwatch again, was it? Rolf didn't have overmuch time to really react to that, since a bunch of soldiers came crashing the party, as the saying went, and he found himself huddled behind the bar with the others. Tin Man, some spooks that introduced themselves as Operative, Subject X, and Echo. Well, spooky black ops titles, probably new on the block or really, really, good at keeping below the radar. Of course, the discussion turned to, well, how they would be fighting off against this lot. Tracer was undergeared, apparently, side effect of being thrown onto a stealth op. Tin Man was handing out guns like candy, and Rolf took another obstinate slug from his whiskey. "Great, military types crashing the party. Black Ops, I'd reckon, they have the profile. Ain't the best I've seen in the field, but they aren't half bad. Probably cheaper hires, too, you folks reckon? Any points gained, lost for hostages. But to be expected, really. Unimaginative, to boot."

    Rolf proved that, even outside Sherman, he was always ready for a scrap as he produced his own personal handcannon, a massive magnum semi auto affair that looked like it would break the arm of someone stupid enough to fire it. Rolf, well, he was partial to the hand tooled weapon, and could handle its recoil. Checking the magazine, he calmly slotted into place before taking the safety off and using the reflection from the bar back drop to scan the oncoming. Plenty of em, and at least Tracer and himself were not armed out fully. Looking around, Rolf grabbed several bottles of rather potent, high proof booze and uncorked them, taking bar rags from under the counter and building improvised petrol bombs, molotov cocktails to the common man. In case things really went to shit. "Get them clear of anyone innocent, we can torch em. Otherwise, I got six shots plus one in the pipe on my sidearm. Good arm, and a better shot, could coat most of em in liquor, then one of these bad boys can set em alight even better. Otherwise, I'll need to get to SHERMAN to really show them the meaning of shock and awe. She's about a dozen paces away, through that employee only entrance and down a flight of stairs, to get down to the cargo hold."

  14. "Well Hell." I started. "I didn't even get to finish my drink." I gave a wink to 'Tracer'. "Watch me." After a quick scan of the the soldiers, I ducked behind a table, staying within sight of those who were near it. A few adjustments and my seemingly casual wear morphed into a near exact copy of the soldiers' outfits, with the exception of a small symbol - a rose - on the back between the shoulder blades, so I wouldn't get tagged by my own 'team' while I was disguised.

    I quickly moved out as if I were one of the soldiers, and as soon as I was close enough, moved to suddenly disarm one of the attackers, following up with a rifle butt to the chin.

    Dropping the disguise, I find the nearest cover and start assessing the situation while I continue to pump adrenaline into my veins. I'm trying to figure out what they're after, but I'm not going to pass up any opportunity to take any of these guys out. I'm trying for leg shots, however. Be nice if one of them survived to pump for information.

    I look around to see who of us here seems to be on which side, and do my best to lay down covering fire while I build up subdermal bone plating in strategic points on my body.

    "Anyone know who these rent-a-mooks are?" I call out.
  15. "Thanks, Leon," Tracer replied, accepting the shotguns from the man. She listened to Rolf's assessment of the situation and, particularly, the location of his mech, the SHERMAN. She nodded to the mecha pilot. "I can get you there. My cabin's not far from there, either. We can both gear up and get back in the game. I just need an opening...."

    An opening which was readily provided when Rayleen went into disguise and into enemy lines to disrupt their organization. As Rayleen began to lay covering fire, Tracer beamed and declared, "That'll work!" She grabbed onto Rolf and warned, "Hang tight, luv, and try not to hurl!"

    The bracelets on her wrists burned with a crystalline azure glow and suddenly everything around her stopped. She dragged the suddenly-still form of Rolf around the counter and past the evolving battle in the club. Rayleen's bullets hung in the air, completely immobile, and the woman herself had a visage frozen in concentration. Tracer giggled to herself; she never got tired of watching people's expressions when they were frozen in time. When she finally got Rolf past the employee-only entrance, time sped back to normal.

    To everyone else, it looked like she and Rolf had vanished in a blue streak of light, only to reappear at the entrance.

    She slapped Rolf on the shoulder. "Go get your toy, old man! I'm gonna sweep the cabins! There's gotta be more of these guys. Cheers!"

    It would take longer than normal for her stripped-down chronal accelerator to recharge for another blink. She kept a firm pair of hands on her borrowed firearms as she made her way aft toward the cabins. Fortunately, it seemed that this section of the ship was bereft of invaders...for now. The civilians she encountered were stunned to see an armed woman moving along the corridors, but Tracer quickly identified herself as a friendly. "Bad guys are crawling all over the place! Get to the life-pods!" she ordered.

    Eventually, she reached her own cabin, slipped in, and cracked open an aluminum suitcase.

    "There you are," she grinned, swapping out her bracelets, dress, and shotguns for the contents within.

    The full chronal accelerator hummed over her breast and the catsuit creaked imperceptibly as she reached up to pull her goggles down over her eyes. Tracer tapped a button on the lenses.

    "You with me, big guy? I need some intel, fast."

    "What seems to be the problem, Lena?" Winston's voice carried over her goggles' comlink.

    "Got a bunch of black ops types crawling through the ship. No identifiers and I don't recognize the uniforms. Can you pinpoint them for me?"

    "Working on it...."

    "Thanks, luv."
  16. The rest of the soldiers take cover, while one of them yells. "Contact!" One of them pulls out a walkie talkie. "Sir, we encountered resistance at the club. Orders?"

    "Eliminate them. Or, if that option is not a choice. Hold them off, til we have found the target. After that, fall back to rendezvous." The voice replied.

    With their new set of orders, the soldiers took defensive position near the dance floor, where innocent civilians were lying as close as they could to the floor to avoid being shot.
    He pulled out his carbon fiber sword from it's sheath, before pressing a button on a device on his belt. Activating his cloak, turning him almost completely invisible.

    When this happened, he leapt over the counter, charging at two of the soldiers. When he got close enough, he leapt at them, slashing in a sideways motion, quickly cutting the one's neck. Using the momentum from the swing, he slashed in an upward arc. Killing the soldier. But, this didn't go un-noticed, as the remaining three soldiers quickly aimed to take him down. But, thankfully. Rayleen's covering fire caused them to resort to blind fire to avoid getting hit. Thus giving Echo enough time to reach into one of his pouches, pulling out a small cluster of pellets, he threw them to the ground. Revealing them as smoke pellets. Using the smoke, he leapt into cover. Turning off the cloak, as to save the power left in the small battery.

    Peeking out, he saw that the one known as "Subject X" had engaged an isolated one of the soldiers in hand to hand combat. Though the soldier was using Krav Maga, Subject X was using a fighting style Echo didn't recognize. But, whatever it was, it was efficient. As he quickly disarmed the man, using a joint locking movement, before breaking the soldier's arm and throwing him into the wall. Knocking him out.

    Now armed, Subject X began to assist Rayleen in providing covering fire.

    Meanwhile, Karl had set up what appeared to be a small turret, though it was soon it wasn't a turret, per say, as one of the soldiers threw a grenade at Rayleen. But, the device shot out a glob of slime at the explosive. Enveloping it. And just as it went off, it was contained by the slime. Now looking like melted plastic with bits of shrapnel in it.
    Reaper looked behind him. "Spectre. Cut them free."

    Soon, a raspy robotic voice replied. "Yes sir." It's owner revealed himself as a cyborg uncloaking himself. His right arm was opened up, so a ten inch blade could be out. It was covered in blood.

    Walking over to each individual, he sliced through their restraints like butter.

    Once he was done, he went over to Reaper. "We may want to leave. Authorities will be arriving shortly." From the sounds of Spectre's noises as he breathed. He sounded like he had trouble just inhaling and exhaling air.
    [For Winston. Cause, y'know. Plot and what not.]
    A selection of surveillance cameras would become available. Although, only one had activity on it.

    It showed what appeared to be a large number of soldiers, all surrounding a bunch of civilians. Though, from the looks of it. They were staff. Engineers and what not.

    But, on a platform nearby, an elderly man was being interrogated by an unknown man.
    [Minus the sergeant symbol.]

    "I will not help you!" The old man said, though he could identified as Albert Wilson. Excellent Scientist and Engineer. "You will. Otherwise....." He gave a hand signal. And all of the soldiers aimed their rifles at the large number of civilians. "You are going to have a lot of preventable deaths on your consciousness......You have until the count of three.......One.......Two....Thr-" The mysterious man was cut off by Albert, whom went. "ALRIGHT! I'll.......I'll help you....Just don't harm them......"

    "You've made the right choice. Everyone, we're heading out." He soon pulled out a walkie talkie. "Viper, we've got what we came for. Pull out."

    "Sorry sir, we can't......We're pinned." Came the reply, although muffled by gunfire.

    "We'll come and rescue yo-" Once again, the leader was cut off. "No need sir. Continue on with the mission! We'll be fine."

    "Understood." Was the quiet reply. Before the leader walked out of the view of the camera. He noticed the camera zooming in on him. Pulling out his side arm, he quickly shot the camera. Cutting the feed.

  17. I knew that these guys were looking for something, I just had to find out what. Normal people can't hear radio conversations over the sounds of a gunfight.

    Thankfully I'm nothing near normal. Still I only got the near end of the conversation, the rest was hidden in the wash of sound that was the VIP room.

    "Well, that wasn't much help." I snark. Then I add loudly, "There's more of them than there are here. Drop these guys quickly so their buddies don't get whatever it is they came for!"

    With a burst of extra muscle, fueled by my adrenaline, I wrench a nearby table from its moorings, and charge toward the nearest grouping of attackers. Between whatever that table was made of and my self-made bone subdermal plating, I should take minimal damage from any stray shots.

    And shoot they do. The tabletop is riddled and I've taken a few grazes before I plant the whole thing down across a couple of the mooks necks after I've bowled them over. Good thing too, my first weapon was out of ammo.

    Now, when I adrenaline up, I admit, I get a little bitchy. Strike that, a lot bitchy. I snatch up another weapon and start pouring rounds movie action hero style towards any remaining opposition.
  18. "I was able to hack into the SS Martha's surveillance cameras," Winston's voice came through Tracer's comlink. "They knocked out most of them, but I was able to restart a few critical ones."

    "I'm all ears, big guy," the lithe young woman announced as she darted around the aft section of the ship, ferrying civilians to the life-pods. "Come on, everyone! This way!" She blinked over to an elderly woman in a flash of blue, gently cupped her shoulders, and blinked back with her to a pod that wasn't full yet.

    "Looks like there's a squad down in engineering with some hostages, mostly staff. Got an ID on one of the victims, looks like a VIP...Albert Wilson. I've heard of him. He's known for - "

    Tracer was already blinking several levels down, heading for engineering. "Winston, luv, I just need the short of it, not the whole bloody novel."

    "Right," the gorilla amended somewhat abashedly. There was a cough as he cleared his throat. "I'm tallying six tangos, fully armed. There's are three electrical generators in the starboard section of engineering. The hostages are on the port side. Lots of piping and consoles, if you needed cover. The only way in is through the front...damn it. Looks like their leader just shot out the camera."

    By that time, Tracer had taken up position in the corridor leading to engineering. She saw the black-armored and masked leader stalking through the door, Albert Wilson in tow. "I think I'm good, big guy," Tracer whispered, hiding behind a corner of the corridor's intersection. She fingered a pulse bomb off her belt and dialed down its blast radius; no point in getting civilians caught in the explosion, after all. "Just gimme a sec to take out this overdone nance."

    With that, she slid the pulse bomb along the ground toward the team leader. As the timer ran down, Tracer blinked behind the man and grabbed Wilson. "Psst!" she hissed at the leader, who spun to look at her. She kicked his rifle out of his hands and cheekily asked, "Wot'cha lookin' at?" Then she jumped into engineering with Wilson in her arms, slamming the door shut and pushing the scientist to the deck.

    "Stay down!" she ordered as her twin pulse pistols whipped out, blazing stinging bolts at the remaining soldiers inside. She saw the remaining civilians and ship's staff drop to the deck as well, freeing Tracer and the soldiers for an all-out gun battle.

    As she struggled to claim a hold on engineering, she mentally counted down the timer on the pulse bomb on the other side of the door....
  19. As a loud boom resonated from the closed door, the force of the pulse bomb destroyed the door, so no one could proper get through, without having to break down the metal door completely.

    Some of the soldiers stopped to stare at the door.

    Though, their gaze was drawn to a door opening in a room above the engineering room, but was windowed off to avoid accidents. There, the mysterious leader stood, clutching his side. His armor appeared to have taken some damage.

    He made a hand gesture, most likely telling them to continue their assault.

    Though, he turned back to a door opening down the corridor. Though, who exactly opened the door was unknown, as he went out of view.
    [10 Minutes ago. Subject X and Operative.]
    Eventually, Rayleen and Subject X mowed down the last two soldiers on the dance floor.

    Operative walked over to the civilians, speaking in a loud tone. "It is for the best if all of you head to the life boats, but as the lady with the assault rifle had remarked. There are more of these soldiers onboard, and it would be hazardous to your health if you go alone. So, we will-" He was cut off as the vibration of an explosion could be felt. "Change of plans." He said, his normal monotone voice returned. He pointed at Karl, Rayleen. "Those two will escort you to the lifeboats." He finished, picking up an assault rifle. "Leon and Echo will provide a distraction by......Taking care of the soldiers." He added in. Before walking over to Subject X, he made a quick nod to the door.

    After a few moments. They arrived at the door that looked like a boulder had smashed into it. "We aren't going through there." Subject X commented. Operative looked around, before pointing to some stairs to their left.

    After climbing up the stairs, they were met with a door. "This must overlook the firefight....Which gives us the high ground advantage."

    Walking through it, they watched as the firefight between Tracer and the soldiers was getting chaotic. Operative moved to line up a few shots, but as he aimed the rifle, he was pulled back, and forcefully turned to receive a punch, that knocked him to the window, where he then received a kick that sent him through the window. He landed behind a few boxes, stunned from the punch, kick and the fall. Though, the soldiers were preoccupied with attempting to fire at Tracer without taking hits from her pistols.

    Meanwhile, with Subject X, he barely had time to react as the soldier expertly disarmed him, throwing his weapon out the broken window.

    Knowing he was about to engage in hand to hand combat. He took a stance. Though, the mysterious soldier tilted his head. "I see you were trained in the same techniques.....The real question is. How well trained you are." As he took a stance similar to Subject X's own.

    There, they engaged one another......
    #19 The Wanderer, Jul 11, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 11, 2016
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  20. Tracer blinked around engineering. Like a gadfly, she stung the invading soldiers with bolts from her pulse pistols before zipping away the next instant. She kept her movements high, drawing fire above the civilians splayed on the deck, cover their heads with their hands. Tracer appeared in a flash of blue light on top of a console. Guns trained on her instantly.

    "This looks important!" she giggled, vanished yet again as a hail of rifles rounds tore through the console. Suddenly, the lights went out. "Guess I was right!" the woman's tittering voice echoed teasingly throughout the room. Blue light sputtered and sparkled as more pulse bolts struck the soldiers from the shadows.

    Eventually, the soldiers fell, one by one. Tracer stood victorious over her foes, a cheeky grin on her lips as she spun one pistol around a finger. She beamed at the civilians, who gingerly got back to their feet.

    "Don't worry, luvs," she said with a broad smile. "Cavalry's here!"

    The bang of someone being thrown out the room echoed above, drawing the woman's attention upward. There, she saw Operative get kicked out a window overhead, while Subject X faced off against a tall, menacing figure clad in black with a grim, white mask obscuring his features.

    "Wot the hell?" Tracer brought a hand to the side of her goggles. "Oh, its that guy again. Guess the pulse bomb didn't off him." A red outline formed around the black-clad figure with a matching blue one over Subject X.

    She lifted her pistols and began spewing a stream of stinging bolts. At this range, her shots wouldn't be as accurate, but she could divert the squad leader's attention enough to give Subject X an advantage.
    #20 Razilin, Jul 12, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 12, 2016
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