CLOSED PARALOGUE The Evrensel Conflict: Paralogue 1 -- The Cyber-Hangover

[littlekreen]

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

Flynn was used to the pain of injury and the cold that crept up her frame, but this was different. There was something colder now after Grandfather Teeth touched her inner traveler. You didn't even want it nearby with those metal gear ticks from shadows one couldn't quite see or any of your gear. Nothing about power incarnate was a blessing like the humans thought of their gods that failed.

Grandfather Teeth coming for her to make her one lasting nightmare an absolute certainty should have been something she figured out sooner. She might be one of the oldest reachers in a profession where they die young, though insane AI wasn't one of the things she had ever considered. Her mother, the albino demigod Yellow, killed any sibling Flynn might have had with a lethal persistence that seemed like it would never change. Mother Yellow couldn't lead her way out of a latrine with a backpack full of matches and, thankfully, had few allies among the Reachers. Grandfather Teeth didn't need her for that, though, so it didn't care. As the humans might put it, the purpose of the Yellow was just to maintain the status quo. At least until the quarantine bulwark got a Flynn-sized hole punched through it. A convenient warmaker reacher already in its maw after she'd invoked it after the tank incident. The status quo was shot down for that replacement gathered for her mother.

Holes in her lungs left the crawling numbness, leaving her ruminating, that just sat over the embers in her gut that now refused to go out. Any hopes of avoiding becoming her mother had failed with this last attempt in the cage. It was one of the problems Keepers always said that if the monsters in the dreaming don't get Reachers, then the sweetdrink will. She didn't know if the yellow rim on her feathers meant that she would literally become her mother or just take her place as a pawn for the malignant natural force of Grandfather Teeth. A breath finally stayed instead of leaking out of the holes with the long, hollow sound of a mirthless laugh. She put her mind to work, reshaping a dead dream to find a new one, with enough painful sense for the reacher to shape her fate instead of submit to it.

What freedom of movement she had to look saw the holes stabbed in her body seeping with blue blood as her blood pressure returned. That and looking up at the ceiling. Four small bolts on the chain mount above her didn't look built for angry reachers with working legs. Lurching her small weight forward allows for a cage swing with the cost of painful leaks of blood from stab wounds. The cage creaks and sways across the room until she grabs a ledge with her toes and heaves a misty spray at the cage bars. The cage lifted just enough for the chain to slacken until the weight of both itself and flynn shattered the anchor and chain links with a wild swing of metal. The crack of a chain whip bisects a railing as the cage itself cracks the floor, and its weld anchors break free to slap flat. The clatter she didn't care about, but she knew an interrogation room when she saw one. A splintered femur didn't give her any less pain than the machine's process of knitting her back together. Flynn grimaced a snort of indignation with the lance of her splintered bones as she limps into the main room... without the lungs to do more than a wheezy staccato at the hilarious scene.

Throbbing in her head bleaches her color vision as a hangover violently objects to sunlight in a creature of dark places. Meaty diamond-shaped holes were all over her upper body with blue spattered blood on the yellow-rimmed black feathers of the dromaeosaurid-like being. Under the light of day, to the eyes of vigilance, Flynn was someone who had just been stabbed dozens of times while still alive to bleed and didn't choose to move.

The irises and reflective retina flip away to pure black eyes when her color vision is abandoned. The hangover and its angle grinder to the brain were bad enough without the daylight burning two holes in the front. She had to keep going when Flynn and drunkenness just wanted to lie down and die. There were reasons why she didn't drink much, though this last experience was more profound. At least her thermal vision was just washed-out orange shades enough to pick out the shapes of a woman on the floor. A sniff of a fractured muzzle and a hazy memory said the woman was Alec, for some reason, next to something to sit on.

The fanned tail dragged as Flynn sauntered to the chair and swung her tail over the back. Eager for a half-crouch on the chair to take the weight off her leg. Flynn forced a toothy smile as she did so, "Morning asshole. You look about as good as I feel. We got 'fucked up'."

 

[BazusoTheGrey]

Fifth Grade Fixer, Oliver, with a First Grade Hangover

Removing both of the large objects shrank its height slightly with the change in volume as it offered both to Oliver the raspy voice seeming to come from its entire face rather than a mouth, "We are ready to be employed if you require us. We have not had the opportunity to consume the psionic essences of so many unworthy meat machines before. We are extensible. Our origin mechanism is not built to slice and bleed interlopers."

It looks to the other room where Flynn rattles her gilded cage, "It died, but we see it is better now. We will rejoin it later as Jinhai. The armor mechanism has been altered. It appears ready to copulate with the other mechanisms. One appears unstable. Another is unrecognized. The defensive mechanism has just exited the abnormal psionic state."

Oliver nodded slowly at the worm thing as he grabbed his bag and blade from its hands. He really had no idea what the hell it was talking about, but the old Fixer standby of 'nodding along with the freaky shit' never failed in these types of situations.
AY, FUCK YOU WORM-THING, THERE'S AT LEAST FOUR OF US IN HERE. ALSO, WHO ARE YOU CALLING INCONVENIENT YOU SHIT?!
Oliver paused for a second, when were there four voices in his head? Eh, whatever. Anyway, he should probably try not to bad-mouth the thing that just casually revealed that it could read his mind... wouldn't want to insult it like he did just now.
FUCK YOU, IMMA DO IT AGAIN. THIS IS A PRIVATE FUCKING PLACE, IT HAS NO RIGHT DIGGING AROUND IN HERE.
Yeah, that's true. But still, best to just politely tell it to fuck-off or something, it did give the sword a much-needed tune-up, hell, the thing looked like it came straight from the workshop with how clean it was, it probably just didn't know any better. Focusing back on the worm, Oliver responded, "That's uh, that sounds inconvenient. Thanks for holding my stuff but I don't really need anything else, also I think I'm good with my.... parts the way they are, thanks." An awkward pause, "You should probably go and do that whole Jinhai thing now, honestly. I'll just be right here, on this uh, hand thing."
THAT WAS AWKWARD, WE SHOULD HAVE JUST SLASHED IT.
Well, the other two parts of his brain that were made for talking weren't here right now. Probably cause of the migraine. Makes sense that the words didn't come out right. On that note, Oliver began digging through his bag, eventually pulling out a small bottle of K-Corp branded 'Pain Relief and Grade 9 Healing Solution TM' and a syringe which he clumsily filled before injecting it through his spinal port. Instantaneously, the medicine worked its magic.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand we're back. By the Wings man, didn't we say not to overdo it?
What is going on? Did we kill everyone? Where did these trophies come from? Who are the new arrivals?
New arrivals? Craning his head around, Oliver finally focused on the source of the yelling, his coworkers, with a few people whom he indeed did not recognize. Also, a quick check through the windows revealed that the city they were in was getting mildly fucked. Must've just been this universe's equivalent of the Night in the Backstreets.
NO, THIS IS SOMETHING MUCH MORE FUN. PURE. FUCKING. CHAOS.
Focus. We have to address the new coworkers. Michael and the woman specifically, the latter is familiar with us somehow. The big woman can wait.
Oliver turns and stares at the others for a good minute.
Alright... Michael seems aight, very much a guy in our line of business, like him already, carries himself well, kinda like Agatha. The small chick is... Alec, somehow.
Are you sure?
Yep. The accent, the facial structure, the fact that she... he... they? The way they instantly blame us for this is a pretty Alec thing to do.
Alright, how do we respond?
FISTFIGHT HER. SHE JUST DISSED THE TROPHIES.
No, she did not.
SHE DID, WITH THE IMPLICATION.
Pfff, yeah, nah just refuge in audacity or something... blame the hippie too maybe.
Oliver starts, his head moving back in mild annoyance, "Hey bud don't blame me, I was just doing my job" he quickly glances around at his trophies, "and uh, cutting loose a little bit. Honestly, if you want someone to blame, blame that hippie with the purple eyes. He was likely doing some freaky mind shit or something." With his final bit said Oliver finally got out of the big hand, left hand holding his bag, and his right grasping the hilt of his already-shouldered sword, "Anyway, with the situation being as it is, we still grabbing supplies or are we just heading off? Oh, also, I got some medicinal crap in the bag if you want some help with your hangovers." He addresses that last bit to everyone present.

 

[The Wanderer]

Artyom

Stumbling around the apartment as his senses slowly came to him and his body ached, begging for him to lay down and rest but he needed to figure out where in the Hel he was. The other occupants were wide awake, most of them. None looking to be Japal or affiliated with any known Guard regiments. In fact, he was convinced some were Hivers or potentially Hive Gangers. Not that he cared since he knew of good Guardsmen that came from Hives. Barely needed training and often as deadly as a veteran. He'd gladly take Hivers. But then he started to see some crazy shit that made him consider if half of these people were possibly heretics of some manner. He spotted a potential Xenos and what looked like a Tech Priest but if it came from a Hive.

He was offering to give medical items to clear up hangovers. And since Artyom wanted his headache gone, he would pipe up. "Just need something to deal with the headache, tha-" He stopped, hairs standing up on the back of his neck. His heartbeat picked up, adrenaline filling his system as instincts told him something was wrong. His ears that consistently ringed had been interrupted by a faint noise that sparked a fight or flight response. Headache dulling out. "Nevermind, I think I'll just manage."

Maybe it was paranoia but he felt like he should be ready. Then again, from the looks of the city outside, maybe the glimpse had finally caught up with him and Artyom was realizing that outside was a potential combat zone. His eyes wandered until he caught a glimpse of the chainsword on the floor and not wanting to let it sit idle, he strode over to pick it up. The weapon was off, and he near immediately recognized the model. It was something made on Cadia, so it'd be reliable. Hooking the thing on his belt, he would hold onto it until he needed it or one of the others needed it.

Getting his lasgun in hand, he would pull the mag free as a light spark zapped out as he'd check the count. It was fully charged and that was good enough. Putting it back in and pulling a lever back on the side would make the lasgun operable once more. His finger hovered over the trigger and his thumb rested on the selection lever. Ready to turn the safety off at a moment's notice. He could feel his grenades on his belt next to the other mags. "By the Throne." He'd mutter to himself as he'd walk over to the window and he'd look closely at the havoc ongoing. It was going to be a shitshow to walk around out there so he decided to say a quick prayer quietly. "Protect your servants, O Emperor."

@Amber Franklin @Wade Von Doom @BazusoTheGrey @littlekreen @PolyesterH

 

[Amber Franklin]

Abigail Delano, Courier Six-Played by Amber Franklin

Abby's vision spins and takes a minute to stop after Flynns husk thing catches her. The woman groans from the vertigo and the disgusting feel of the vomit on her foot when she sets them both down on the floor. "Of all the gross things…" Abby walks carefully into the bathroom to step into the shower and turns the faucet. She yelps at the cold water but stands still, letting the shock run its course to wake her up. She also drinks the water, getting hydrated further, clearing her mind. Most of the night is hazy, but she remembers some key moments.

She had danced onstage with Alec, then gone in search of the rest of her armor; then in search of food; then somewhere to party even as the city itself descended into one large party. In all the madness, somehow Alec had been turned into a woman. How? Abby has no recollection of that. Only snapshots of the fun they had with the change.

A few minutes later, in the midst of others talking, Abigail walks out of the bathroom in a towel and drying her hair with another. Apparently the towels had been spared the shenanigans of the night. Awake and aware now, Abby walks through the main area into the master bedroom and rifles through the mess for her belongings.

The search took her to the bedroom window where her helmet sits with the gauntlets and gloves arranged to make it look like the gloves were covering the visor. After laughing at this and collecting them, Abby sees the devastation of the city and whistles.

"Yeesh. Wonder how much of that was us?" She wonders aloud to herself. After gathering what looks like most of her attire, Abby dresses while paying no mind to the drow still in the bed.

Abby walks into the main room of the suite wearing the leg and arm pieces of her armor, the helmet and chest under each arm. She quickly stops to bend down and kiss Alec on the cheek.

"Morning beautiful! Sorry about the kick, its a reflex." She apologizes and kisses her on the chin. Abby walks intp the kitchen area, grimacing at the paint on the chest armor.

"We got anything to get paint off my armor? Better yet, where's my Death Pod? Even better,we got anything to eat? I'm starving." Abby sets the helmet and armor on a table before going to the fridge. To her surprise, there was her Death Pod. It sits wedged in the fridge, covered in what looks like but might not be ketchup and mustard.

"Found my Death Pod! Someone tried to eat it and put it in the fridge." She pulls her weapon out, grimacing at its state. "Now….one of these should have something I can clean with. Maybe this?" She steps over to the door next to the fridge, and is not prepared for who she finds literally filling the small pantry.

"Uh…Anri? Kid? Is that you?You…got real big." She stammers in disbelief.

 

[Girania the Knightess]

Big Anri
Anri (who is currently big)​

As she continued to wiggle, she slowly began to become aware of other things involved with her surroundings. It was muffled, but she could hear footsteps and muffled voices. Some were familiar, but Anri chose not to shout out. She had a good feeling that her wiggling was working, and that she was steadily making progress in freeing herself. Then apparently the door opened, and she was faced with a very small version of Abby, looking at her with confusion.

"Big? Oh! I guess I am! How'd I do that?"

Anri was genuinely confused. She didn't remember being grown or eating so much she would grow this fast.

"I can't move much… I wanna be smaller!", exclaimed Anri, continuing her wiggling.

 

[Wade Von Doom]

~~GM~~

Alec would be more thrilled by Abby's kiss if she wasn't dealing with a throbbing headache. And a sore chin. And wasn't covered in bits of her own vomit. And was still, you know, a man. Right now, she'd buy David's story of being a merc for hire, as long as he wasn't here to start any trouble. Another random 'scattered' showing up was the least of their concerns.

But then it clicked in her head once she finally wasn't so dizzy. "... Flynn?" Alec questioned aloud. "Wait, wait, Flynn?!" She then stood up, almost tripping over her feet in the process. "How did you get here?!" Flynn was on the Pathfinder, last Alec checked. If they went there during their blackout...

Oliver asked if they still wanted to get supplies here, but frankly, they now suddenly had bigger concerns. "No, fuck it. We're getting the hell out of this city." She answered Oli. "If we went back to Pathfinder fucked up like this, who knows what we did--" While going back around the couch, her voice turning more frantic from anxiety, she completely forgot the little golden chair she fell off and tripped over it. "BAH!" She screamed, stubbing several toes and falling onto her elbows. She quickly stood back up, grabbed the chair by its little three legs, and chucked it at an unbroken window. Which then promptly broke, and the chair started falling outside the building.

And then, as if they needed more stress, Abby found Anri. A very big Anri. Quickly turning her once she head the girl's voice, Alec could just about see the top of her massive head poking out the doorway of the pantry. "Oh my God!" Alec ran over to Abby, quickly taking a look at Anri's predicament. "Don't worry, Anri, we'll get you out!" She told her, looking for some way to get her out. "Uhhh... I need some more hands here!" They were gonna need to pull her out.

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

Well, ain't that a kick in the head.

Welles' eyes fluttered open, seeing a perfectly blue sky. Well, that wasn't completely true - it was filled with chemtrails, and air traffic. It was bewildering how many things he saw, flying in the air. The feeling of liquor had thankfully faded from him by now, though he was sore in more places than he cared to count. Clearly, he had been kicked around during his black-out. Who knows what he did, though.
Jeremy pushed himself to sit up, taking in his surroundings. There were crowds of the walking dead, partygoers shuffling about with two braincells left not poisoned by booze.
They weren't in the streets near the Afterlife, they were on top of a large building...a hotel, judging by a few signs.

There were, like him, plenty of people still sleeping too. He looked around himself, and found he no longer had his revolver, or his helmet. That wasn't going to stand.

Jeremy got to his feet, and scanned the area. Near the edge of the balcony, sat a gathering of men - and next to one of them was his helmet, eyes powerless. If they broke anything...
The ranger strolled over to them, the three men still sleeping. One had his helmet in their hands. Jeremy knelt down, and jostled him awake. They, despite all efforts, woke up, face scrunched and sour. "What do you want, fuckbag?" the man asked, nasally and slurred. Jeremy held his collar with his left hand, and reeled back his right, before delivering the strongest blow he could muster. Blood and two teeth burst from his mouth, as he fell back to the ground, cold and maybe even dead.

Jeremy had served in riot control operations, back in Baja and Nevada. The man was lucky that Jeremy didn't have the time to be precise.

He searched the other men's pockets and bags, finding his .44 revolver, machete 10mm pistol and his prized sawn-off shotgun. As he settled the helmet on his head, he switched it on, the world first appearing in red before shifting into its natural colors. A built-in compass emerged at the top of his heads-up display. They weren't pip-boys, but his helmet was still a useful tool.
How to escape? Jeremy wondered. I've got to get home, back to the NCR, back to my post...this world has nothing but temptations. That lady, the one who had saved him from Michael, she knew about home. Everything else be damned, it would be smart to find her. She's at least a friend, or at least she won't shoot me.

He checked the ammo in his revolver. Five rounds, one missing. Another clue to what had happened...and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. The only thing left to do was to enter the hotel, and check room by room.

 

[Valkan]

Agatha Brandt

The lady in her underwear loudly claimed to be Alec. "Oi, oi... quiet down, will you? My head is kill- wait..." Agatha's face broke into a smile "Don't tell me you got... hahahah!" Agatha laughed out loud. Of all the things Alec could've possibly done in a blackout drunk night, he chose a sex change. It was hilarious, but all that laughing didn't sit too well with her nauseated stomach.

While she had some pride in her, purging this troubled stomach of hers wasn't beneath her if it helped her feel better to some extent. So once the guy, who she overheard was apparently named Michael headed out, she proceeded to close the bathroom door before walking over to the toilet bowl. Holding on for dear life, she vomited and vomited, not stopping until her stomach felt empty. She flushed down the gross result of her night and washed her hands. She did her best to rinse her mouth too, but that taste proved to be difficult to remove.

Giving up on it for now, the cybercop stepped out of the bathroom, somewhat relieved. "You guys reckon there might be something edible in this... Anri?" Agatha said, going from curiosity to confusion. That said, she was quick to run over and start trying to pull the huge kid out of the small room, trying her best not to hurt her in the process.

 

[littlekreen]

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

Flynn nearly fell over and squawked as Alec reached underneath her to grab the small seat she was lightly resting her abused pillow posterior on. Alec then hurled it out of the window. The pain in her head could only figure had to do with their collective hangover. Even though her retinas were folded away to allow her hunter's sight, the whole canal hurt as much as remembering anything. When her eyes followed the motion with her head staring directly outside at the white-hot sun, she winced as everything flared white, "[pitched trill] I was sitting on that! I hate your sun."

Alec didn't seem to stick around at all, not that her wildly overstimulated visual confetti let her see where he'd gone, but she heard Alec just fine. Flynn's body was stiff at best and pocked with fractured muscles at worst. As thermal edges started pulling out of the multicolored noise, she shook her head at him and massaged the feathers on her sore head, "I don't remember how I got here either. I wasn't even in this dimension last I remember. The damn AI is starting to break down the barriers between multiverses, but we got hit with something. Anyway, I'm not pulling anyone out of nowhere. I'm not strong enough right now. Sweetwater eventually does what it always does to a reacher. Makes us too weak to stand the horrors we've caused. Sometimes we're unlucky enough that the easy out tells us to fuck off." @Wade Von Doom @PolyesterH

The formerly matte black body now had thin yellow rings around each feather, which gave them a repeating visual texture and tick-tacked up to her former husk. The death of either party broke a Pact. As her blood of the machine stared at Flynn limping across the floor, she knew Grandfather Teeth disagreed with either party of the latter. Not that she could wear the husk anymore.

Flynn's husk was far more cheerful when forged as her own being, she could tell, and the husk had a certain innocence that Flynn didn't have anymore. Not a child but something developed of dreams minted by what she'd made real of it. Still rather naked and sporting the two engineering indiscretions where differences in height nearly poked the smaller dinosaur in the jaw. Flynn drowned her sorrows in carnal favors. The blood of the machine saw them as fun without the darkness of the past clouding Flynn's will. The bronze eyes glowed with optimism where Flynn's blackened hollow once was as they hugged Flynn, "Mother! The pact broke! Then I felt you come back! Are you okay now? Mother is strong."

Spattered with blue blood from the many holes, Flynn's feathered head looked up at the new child to take care of and felt that if she had a fertile egg, she probably wasn't dead long enough to hurt it. She could try to find out if it was and whose, but she didn't have the stone for that right now. Something the impulsive drunk of herself never likely cared to consider when she couldn't remember the past and barely thought of the present, let alone the future having a flicker of interest. She could look into fixing Alec later, but at least the drow needed to be returned to normal. Flynn bent up a bit to check and realized there was nothing there between her legs but the spell locus. She needed to pee soon and something to pee with.

Flynn's crest raised out of the need to lie to keep the optimism in an innocent mind alive, "My machine blood, I'm not okay, but I will keep going. Hold still while I remove one of these. Give me my rifle. Then, once I detach one of those male parts, you find your clothes. Use my other pistol for yourself. you should be able to power that."

The husk let go and poked at the tattoos almost precisely as Flynn dimly remembered doing herself while the tanned face of the security guard checked each of the storage tattoos, "Okay, Mom! I have a lot of things in my pockets. I have a dish gun. I think it's police lady's," The too-scarred face smiled brightly as the thaumatological weapon emerged from the husk's skin like it somehow slipped from ripples of the muscles the tattoos were over, "Oh, here it is!"

Flynn knew the dish gun probably was Agatha's, with no idea if she did something to the thing when tinkering, but wasn't about to say that in earshot of Agatha. She'd piled a bunch of guns at the bar on the table, but her muddy memory didn't clue her in on what the blood of the machine had in her pockets. Not precisely, anyway. There was something about a bottle of mustard and a tablecloth she wasn't sure of either. Flynn took the thaum shell rifle that stood as tall as herself by the handle; it gave a feral growl as the ammo box started to glow when bullets popped out into the transparent magazine of a worrying caliber. Parts littered with strange patterns, runes, and labels removed to make room for the same showed the energy weapon had been aggressively but finely remanufactured to a different mode of thought by an expert. Those familiar enough with weapons knew a war crime when they saw one, for they bore a certain darkness of raw function like a minigun chambered for white phosphorous. @Valkan @PolyesterH

The other bludgeoning weapon dangling from the Husk's hips was removed with a careful pressing of particular markings around the border of the ceramic plate at its base. Alex's dangling problem she'd have to handle later as the husk headed the other way in search of the leather overalls. Flynn returned to the passed-out drow and stuck his man parts back on him with a reverse of the same procedure. There was a faint quiver of magic as the pattern resonated, and Flynn set the release for a quake of magic to erupt the coin sideways out of the man's skin as the receiver pattern evaporated. Flynn's nether regions return to where they belonged now that the link was severed. The feathery dromaeosaur double-checked to ensure she had some sensation in the long-divorced body part. A returning numbness pushed a growl of discomfort, but there was a price to pay for those kinds of shenanigans. The half-drow would probably be fine when his hangover coma bothered to wake him.

The blue robe of Jinhai had left Oliver without a response until Flynn jumped as the hooded creature approached her from behind in deathly silence. It wrapped itself around her body in fluid grace to drain into the mouth until just a strange breastplate remained over her feathered torso. Rapid and feverish dancing of the brow and facial expressions spoke to the fiery internal conversation until she'd been filled in on what happened and stared at the ground, "Damn it all. It's grown into a servitor."

She left the drow to his slumber and left for the scent of food that spread around Oliver's chair. She sighed, tried not to be like her mother, and explained with an apology, "Sorry, Oliver. I'm not sure how we got this drunk that I let the thing out on its own. The worms don't understand how meat people think, and the Jinhai servitors they grow into are fucking bastards on their own that can hear our little meat thoughts. I'm eating... one of these cuts you have around here. They look well butchered. I doubt a soul is using them right now." @BazusoTheGrey

Though the digitigrade bent-over posture of her form likely didn't get much past Oliver's waist, the large rifle she carried nearly reached the back of her tail. The weapon seemed stuck to the side of the flexing blue breastplate that had been the Jinhai. The dinosaur grabbed a human leg with twisting motions of sharp teeth and started tearing off bits to eat to partly mumble to Abby, "Don't know how much is us, I know how much is me. I remember some short fuckers who might have stolen a bomb. I don't think any of the fires out there are big enough to be that one, though. I guess it was plan A." @Amber Franklin

 

[PolyesterH]

David, Chicago

Chicago took a deep breath at the explanation. It was, of course, the small bit of information he had already gathered on what was going on. He knew this wasn't his city or like anything back home, and he learned enough in the confusion after he awoke from his capture corroborated the story. Even if 'multiverse' seemed of some sci-fi term a clerk in the station used to chatter about it was as good of a word as any to explain it. He nods at Alec with a smile at the statement of getting out of the city, though his mask didn't show it. His voice, on the other hand, portrayed reserved excitement, an emotion that changes right at the end as he glares at Agatha briefly.

"Alright. I like the idea of getting out of the city as soon as possible. Food is the last thing we should be worried about." @Wade Von Doom @Valkan

He was about ready to leave when his eyes drifted towards the rifle. Although there was a twinge of envy in the look, it was also mixed with a small amount of disappointment and concern. Not so much for who he'd be dealing with, but secondary consequences. When you start committing war crimes and creating a lot of collateral damage, you print enemies, Worse, given the demeanor of this war crime totter there was no guarantee he'd be safe from the firearm. A few more glances around the room confirmed the fact everyone else was loading up. At a time like this, he'd rather blend in. He starts taking off the duffel bag and getting on one knee.

"Frankly, that rifle looks like overkill. But if we're open carrying let me load up. It wont even take a minute." @littlekreen

True to their word, he worked fast. He opened the duffel bug with one movement, looked both ways to ensure he wasn't inadvertently going to point a gun at someone, and pulled a shotgun out of the bag. To his relief, the safety was still on. With a single natural motion, he cleared the chamber. He didn't react to the fact that what came out was a spent casing, despite knowing for certain it wasn't loaded when he got his drink. Reaching into his bag, he filled some of his pockets with shells and started loading the shotgun with buckshot rounds, shell by shell. In just a moment it was ready to fire. He slung the shotgun around his back as he pulled out the sub-machine gun. This one, thankfully, was not loaded. Regardless, he cleared the chamber, ensured the safety was on, and loaded it. He grabbed a spare magazine from the bag, took out a doctor bag and clipped it to his side, and put on his knife holster. A knife which was clean, surprisingly enough. Zipping up the bag, he takes the M4 off his back and puts the bag in its proper spot. His left hand sits on the fore grip, and the right hands trigger finger sits outside the guard. He gets on his feet and turns to Alec, the M4 pointed away from anyone and the Cole sitting pretty on his lower back. He gives a look at Arty, taking a few steps over to look outside with them.

It was a good view to scout a route across the street. Too good, frankly. This was the highest up he'd been without being on a plane or helicopter. Apparently they were making hotels as tall as the Bank tower. With a deep breath he dismissed the incredible height he was standing on and focused on charting a route. His eye was particularly attracted to the many alleyways it was easy to duck through, and quite critical of the streets which were wide open and made for a poor escape route.

"Streets are too crowded to escape safely on a normal vehicle. We need to get out of the city on foot or find an armored vehicle. That's probably out best bet."

Stepping a bit away, he noticed that the Guardsman was in prayer. He takes a deep breath and speaks at them frankly, making eye contact.

"I see riots like this all the time. This is just a bit bigger. Most people are fine. The police will restore order by the time the weeks done. We just need to not pour gasoline on the fire." @The Wanderer

With that, Chicago finally turns around, seeing the trophies in all their grotesqueness. He looks Oliver directly in the eyes, then looks at the trophies, and then back at Oliver. In perhaps his only mistake during his short tenure here, he speaks at them frankly.

"And ditch the heads. They're far too much dead weight to carry." @BazusoTheGrey

 

[BazusoTheGrey]

Oliver, Fifth Grade Fixer
Oliver chuckled lightly at the group's antics for a few seconds, before moving over to help extract the now apparently large-sized kid. Side-eyeing the few people already trying (and sorta failing) to extract her, he moves to the front, assesses the kid for a second then grabs whichever part provides the best grip before falling backward into a perfect 30-degree angle.
Wait. What? Why?
Hey, we're in a full-body prosthetic man, we're pretty damn heavy. We're just letting weight and, uh... physics do the things it's gotta do while we pull at the same time. Ingenious.
Are we sure that is how it works? Why do we not just widen the opening with our sword?
DON'T WANT TO.
....You cannot be serious.
GOT A FEELING THAT WE SHOULD KEEP IT CLOSE AT HAND, IF SOMETHING HAPPENS, WE'RE FAST ENOUGH TO GET OUT OF THIS POSITION WITHOUT A PROBLEM.
That is a stupid reason, we could just be standing up straight and still have our sword in our hands because we will be using it to widen the opening.
...I DON'T WANT TO PAY TAXES FOR BREAKING THE LAW.
Sigh... I am not going to argue further, you are clearly an idiot.
Despite his face consisting of a singular camera LED and a respirator mask, anyone looking at Oliver at that moment would somehow be able to see the disappointment he had for himself at that moment, "I uh, dunno what I was thinking when I went to do this." He pauses for a second, vocalizing a lip smack out of habit, "Hey if I started cutting away at the door frame, you guys would chip in for paying any taxes that may or may not show up right?"
Are you an idiot? Are you stupid? Is there still enkephalin in your system? Do you need diagnostics?
"Actually, forget I even said that last part." Despite offering the suggestion, Oliver remained in his current position. He continued staying in that position even when talked to.

I'm eating... one of these cuts you have around here. They look well butchered. I doubt a soul is using them right now.

THE FUCKING LIZARD WANTS TO EAT O U R TROPHIES
Man, we don't even remember half of the shit we killed, just let it go.
THAT IS THE POINT OF THE TROPHIES YOU FUCKING CLOWN
Dude, a lot of that shit wouldn't fit in the bag. Besides, when did we grab meat as a trophy?
IT DOESN'T MATTER WHEN, ALL THAT FUCKING MATTERS IS THAT IT'S OURS.
Man just quit your whinging already, the chick did us a favour.
"Hm? Yeah sure. I don't tend to collect meat anyway, dunno why they're a part of the pile..." @littlekreen

His little piece finished, he turns his attention to Michael. Guy was seemingly getting more dependable by the minute. Dropped off into a random ass situation and already planning his way out? Good hustle.
A dependable ally.
Kinda reminds us of that one chick from way back. What was her name again? BoingBong or something?
HE'S LOOKING AT US FUNNY, WHY IS HE LOOKING AT US FUNNILY?

"And ditch the heads. They're far too much dead weight to carry." @BazusoTheGrey

Kinda obvious why man.
I agree with him wholeheartedly.
Same.
FUCKING TRAITORS, I'LL GUT YOU BOTH LIKE RATS.
How exactly?
I DON'T KNOW BUT MARK MY WORDS IT'S GONNA HAPPEN
Uh-huh. Well if it makes you feel any better we'll take some of them, just cut down a bit. Having dragon teeth sounds pretty cool as a memento for this little fuck up of a case.
"Eh, sure, just gonna chip off one of the teeth off that dragon skull first. It'd be a pretty good memento for all the crazy shit that happened during this case I think.

 

[The Wanderer]

David, Chicago

Chicago took a deep breath at the explanation. It was, of course, the small bit of information he had already gathered on what was going on. He knew this wasn't his city or like anything back home, and he learned enough in the confusion after he awoke from his capture corroborated the story. Even if 'multiverse' seemed of some sci-fi term a clerk in the station used to chatter about it was as good of a word as any to explain it. He nods at Alec with a smile at the statement of getting out of the city, though his mask didn't show it. His voice, on the other hand, portrayed reserved excitement, an emotion that changes right at the end as he glares at Agatha briefly.

"Alright. I like the idea of getting out of the city as soon as possible. Food is the last thing we should be worried about." @Wade Von Doom @Valkan

He was about ready to leave when his eyes drifted towards the rifle. Although there was a twinge of envy in the look, it was also mixed with a small amount of disappointment and concern. Not so much for who he'd be dealing with, but secondary consequences. When you start committing war crimes and creating a lot of collateral damage, you print enemies, Worse, given the demeanor of this war crime totter there was no guarantee he'd be safe from the firearm. A few more glances around the room confirmed the fact everyone else was loading up. At a time like this, he'd rather blend in. He starts taking off the duffel bag and getting on one knee.

"Frankly, that rifle looks like overkill. But if we're open carrying let me load up. It wont even take a minute." @littlekreen

True to their word, he worked fast. He opened the duffel bug with one movement, looked both ways to ensure he wasn't inadvertently going to point a gun at someone, and pulled a shotgun out of the bag. To his relief, the safety was still on. With a single natural motion, he cleared the chamber. He didn't react to the fact that what came out was a spent casing, despite knowing for certain it wasn't loaded when he got his drink. Reaching into his bag, he filled some of his pockets with shells and started loading the shotgun with buckshot rounds, shell by shell. In just a moment it was ready to fire. He slung the shotgun around his back as he pulled out the sub-machine gun. This one, thankfully, was not loaded. Regardless, he cleared the chamber, ensured the safety was on, and loaded it. He grabbed a spare magazine from the bag, took out a doctor bag and clipped it to his side, and put on his knife holster. A knife which was clean, surprisingly enough. Zipping up the bag, he takes the M4 off his back and puts the bag in its proper spot. His left hand sits on the fore grip, and the right hands trigger finger sits outside the guard. He gets on his feet and turns to Alec, the M4 pointed away from anyone and the Cole sitting pretty on his lower back. He gives a look at Arty, taking a few steps over to look outside with them.

It was a good view to scout a route across the street. Too good, frankly. This was the highest up he'd been without being on a plane or helicopter. Apparently they were making hotels as tall as the Bank tower. With a deep breath he dismissed the incredible height he was standing on and focused on charting a route. His eye was particularly attracted to the many alleyways it was easy to duck through, and quite critical of the streets which were wide open and made for a poor escape route.

"Streets are too crowded to escape safely on a normal vehicle. We need to get out of the city on foot or find an armored vehicle. That's probably out best bet."

Stepping a bit away, he noticed that the Guardsman was in prayer. He takes a deep breath and speaks at them frankly, making eye contact.

"I see riots like this all the time. This is just a bit bigger. Most people are fine. The police will restore order by the time the weeks done. We just need to not pour gasoline on the fire." @The Wanderer

With that, Chicago finally turns around, seeing the trophies in all their grotesqueness. He looks Oliver directly in the eyes, then looks at the trophies, and then back at Oliver. In perhaps his only mistake during his short tenure here, he speaks at them frankly.

"And ditch the heads. They're far too much dead weight to carry." @BazusoTheGrey

Artyom

Having finished up his prayer, Artyom had began to scope out routes that could potentially give way for an easier time navigating through the chaos. Alleyways were good options but risky. Chokepoints and easily being cornered were highly possible. Being out in the open along the roads even worse off as while cover can be plentiful, the risk of getting flanked and not knowing of potential sniper positions would make it a shooting gallery. Third option was navigating using the buildings as cover. Just as risky as an alleyway with being cornered but potential cover and enough ammo and firepower could make a building more defendable than an alleyway or behind a vehicle that wasn't armored.

Hell, just by looking at the vehicles here, they probably wouldn't hold against an autogun much less anything else. And since he didn't know what firepower was being packed on this world, he wasn't going to be trusting his life to an unknown. He would turn to look at Chicago, his purple eyes looking the man up and down. He didn't look like much. No sign of flak armor, the outfit was something he'd see on a Ganger. Combined with the way he carried himself, Artyom wasn't impressed but he knew that at least Gangers had combat experience so any lack of decent Guard training would be made up by fighting instincts. He did see the autogun he was carrying. It was a model he didn't recognize, but he could tell the caliber was subpar to what he was used to. Probably couldn't even pierce armor.

Hearing his words, Artyom wasn't exactly keen on them. "Not my concern. Notice how there isn't military or the local authorities flooding the city? If it was manageable, we'd be seeing air support, armored tanks rolling on every street corner and armored up units with itchy trigger fingers. Not to say they're not present, but gut is telling me they're currently off dealing with something they're not used to dealing with. A veteran used to dealing with rebels and heretics is gonna have a hard time adjusting to dealing with Tyranids. One shoots you and the other spits acid that can eat flesh and bones down to a slurry." He'd speak to Chicago. Turning away from the man, to look out the window. "Emperor knows what we'll be seeing down there."

Walking away from the window, Artyom would watch as a woman would throw a chair out the window. He had to hold back the urge to face palm or say something less than cordial. He would have to see if he can find any of the Japal Guardsmen from the events before he was utterly shitfaced. At least there'd be some form of the Guard he could have some order in. Especially since he was certain there was a Xenos bird thing around. He was immediately concerned with the individual that was borged up like a tech priest, but the heads were sending images of chainswords and lunatics wanting skulls for a skull throne. Slipping on the armored face mask and helmet, Artyom would keep a fair amount of distance between himself and the others now, posting up near the door in case Oliver was going to whip out a chainsword and try to take more heads for some Warp Daemon God thing but not actual in front of said door in the event someone prefired through it. He had seen too many recruits not survive the first fourteen hours because of mistakes like that.

The Guardsman would just watch the others try to get someone out of the cupboard.

@Wade Von Doom @Amber Franklin @BazusoTheGrey @PolyesterH @littlekreen @Valkan

 

[littlekreen]

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

A forearm, as food eaten by the bone like a corndog, perhaps was a little worrying for the others, but Flynn was too hungry to care right now. A moment to follow the husk going about the room looking for missing clothing saw the now independent golem repurposing something as a shirt. A new child with her own opinions on her mother's lack of modesty, but something pulled from under the pact shadow of Lucy Ferre. Flynn would have to name the husk looking to her as a caregiver. The throbbing self-destructive parts of Flynn's drunkenness from last night recoiled from the pain of children, whereas the sober parts took that pain in more somber respect. This one was more challenging for the world to burn. A child born beyond her world's borders that she wouldn't hear screaming from a firebox whenever she was drunk.

With a shake of her pounding head to dislodge the thoughts in it, Flynn pulled the rifle by its stock to point the barrel at the floor. She inspected the controls and pressed a selector button above the drum. A rapid clicking of a moving ammo belt came as large shells rotated away somewhere else. Fine humms and chirps of servos later, small blue casings emerged at the leading edge like the large ones once did.

Flynn stood near Artyom and Chicago, watching the others get the giant critter Anri out of the place they were in. Flynn mostly just dripped bits of red at times beside them as she ate. Though also a fair bit of blue from the hundreds of stab wounds still healing on her body.

She looked at Chicago and Artyom after overhearing the assessment of the outside. Flat black eyes of her infrared vision stared at him as the black-toothed blue mouth talked, "Before I was a Reacher, I was an enforcer for the sanguinary vampires. There was no kill like overkill. I didn't even think anything of it until clutch mother Yellow told me she was proud of me, but I'd have to die. I wonder if she's afraid now."

The long feathered head tore off a hunk of muscle to swallow, then continued, "Food and water is ammo for us that cast from within. I'm not doing anything airborne in this city to scout though. Even if I could fly, I'd end up with half the city's vantage points on me. I can take a lot fewer bullets and still keep moving than the husk I can't wear anymore."

Flynn has the barrel turned down, showing spikes faintly tinted blue on the back of the stock as she gestures to the drum, "Sanguithaumatological loci are flexible weapons platforms. I must have burned every loaned spell I had in me while drunk. I can always make hydrogen fireball shells. All I trust the new form of my servitor to provide are reconstruction."

She raised the barrel toward a shattered kitchen chair seat and seated the spikes in her forearm. Winced by the points making contact with her a slow blue flare lazed out of the end of the barrel as the small packet impacted. The wood buzzed and crackled as pieces of itself still nearby impacted it with a clonk. A fury of angular blue threads reconstructed it into most of a kitchen chair. The support spars between the leg promptly fell out and it listed.

Flynn's blue crest raised out of the white-rimmed black feathers on her head, "Oh, do you just glue the damn things together? Lazy craftsmanship. I still need to know what I'm fixing and how for it to work. Can't fix Oliver with it. Any heal spells I know will probably kill you."

A strategic mind was not her kind but more an implement and offered, "I can feel there's a dreaming here. In the floor. In the air. In the walls. The cracked Net has dimensionality in it somehow. Our machine demiurge has been sniffing around in it by now. Maybe it's broken into somewhere that the authorities have gone to deal with. I can probably move us into the Net like I do into our Dreaming, but I don't know what we'll see on the other side. Avoids the drunks but we'd go in blind. I can't tell from here if it's coterminous and coexistent with real space. If it isn't, we leave blind too."

The voice to Artyom was very much the one he heard coming from the husk who was currently in a corner trying to clothe herself, "At least if your Emperor can tell, someone can see. My color vision will be shot for hours yet."

 

[Wade Von Doom]

~~GM~~

Well, ain't that a kick in the head.

Welles' eyes fluttered open, seeing a perfectly blue sky. Well, that wasn't completely true - it was filled with chemtrails, and air traffic. It was bewildering how many things he saw, flying in the air. The feeling of liquor had thankfully faded from him by now, though he was sore in more places than he cared to count. Clearly, he had been kicked around during his black-out. Who knows what he did, though.
Jeremy pushed himself to sit up, taking in his surroundings. There were crowds of the walking dead, partygoers shuffling about with two braincells left not poisoned by booze.
They weren't in the streets near the Afterlife, they were on top of a large building...a hotel, judging by a few signs.

There were, like him, plenty of people still sleeping too. He looked around himself, and found he no longer had his revolver, or his helmet. That wasn't going to stand.

Jeremy got to his feet, and scanned the area. Near the edge of the balcony, sat a gathering of men - and next to one of them was his helmet, eyes powerless. If they broke anything...
The ranger strolled over to them, the three men still sleeping. One had his helmet in their hands. Jeremy knelt down, and jostled him awake. They, despite all efforts, woke up, face scrunched and sour. "What do you want, fuckbag?" the man asked, nasally and slurred. Jeremy held his collar with his left hand, and reeled back his right, before delivering the strongest blow he could muster. Blood and two teeth burst from his mouth, as he fell back to the ground, cold and maybe even dead.

Jeremy had served in riot control operations, back in Baja and Nevada. The man was lucky that Jeremy didn't have the time to be precise.

He searched the other men's pockets and bags, finding his .44 revolver, machete 10mm pistol and his prized sawn-off shotgun. As he settled the helmet on his head, he switched it on, the world first appearing in red before shifting into its natural colors. A built-in compass emerged at the top of his heads-up display. They weren't pip-boys, but his helmet was still a useful tool.
How to escape? Jeremy wondered. I've got to get home, back to the NCR, back to my post...this world has nothing but temptations. That lady, the one who had saved him from Michael, she knew about home. Everything else be damned, it would be smart to find her. She's at least a friend, or at least she won't shoot me.

He checked the ammo in his revolver. Five rounds, one missing. Another clue to what had happened...and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. The only thing left to do was to enter the hotel, and check room by room.

If this was a hotel, it was a big one. The roof overlooked the whole city. It was more a skyscraper than a single floor bed and breakfast. But either way, he had a long way to go down by foot, as the only entrance up top was the staircase. The door looked like it was supposed to lock from the inside, but there was a rather large shotgun blast where the handle used to be.

Before he could head down though, the door flew open, and a man came flying through like; smashing against the ground with a loud thud while screaming at the top of his lungs. It was the man in black from last night, Jay he said his name was. He looked beat to shit. A black left eye, a cut over the eyebrow and one long his lower lip, a small trail of blood leaking down both. Not to mention the other small bruises along his face, and his suit looking half made and with one of the sleeves torn in half.

He brushed right past Jeremy, and the one who threw Jay through the door quickly made their appearance. "I ask one more time," the attacker growled, squeezing itself through the doorway. "Where is it!?"

​

Jay could only huff at first, barely able to catch his breath. Mostly from how bruised his chest felt, like some ribs were broken off into his lungs. "You... You sure it ain't up there?" He asked Kintaro while looking up at him from on his knees. "Cause I swear... You got something stuck up your ass if you're this much an asshole." The response didn't help his case, and the tiger-monster-thing grabbed Jay's throat with one of his lower arms, before dragging him over the edge of the building.

"Last. Chance." Kintaro seemed sick of dealing with Jay.

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

Alec struggled, but Anri wasn't moving. And not helping were the onlookers. "... Oh, please, don't let us bother you!" Alec snapped at Arty, Flynn, Chicago and Abby. "But if you're done gawking, you mind helping?!" Wasn't like a child was at risk or anything.

"Oli, if you think you can, just cut up as much of the doorway as you can. I don't think we're staying long enough to deal with house-keeping." Alec then told Oliver.

As after she finished saying that, however, the front door to their suite began making noise. Someone was trying to kick down the door.

 

[PolyesterH]

David, Chicago

Chicago's attention is immediately yanked from Alec's anger by the door. He had harsh words lined up for Alec, but those are forgotten. He knows exactly what this is. Somebody was trying to breach in. If it were police, they'd have announced entry. If they had good intentions, they'd have knocked. There was no doubt in his mind, they had hostiles. He turns quickly to the door. Holding his shotgun in his right hand he takes his left hand and makes a stop sign, tapping it against the gun. Then, he turns it into a fist and yanks it backwards. This was how his department used to do a hand signal for an enemy contact, and a follow up sign for a wedge formation. Not that most people here would know what that means, but the routine and calmness he addressed the situation led credence to his claimed occupation.

He moves forward, taking a position in the bathroom. He raises his shotgun up, propping it against the side of the wall for stability and keeping himself partially in concealment. It almost certainly wouldn't make good cover, but it was better than nothing. From here, he had a clear shot on the door when it opened. Namely, to fire shots before he could be acquired as a target. His plan to those who recognized the hand signs was clear. Take concealment in several spots in the room in a wedge shape, and hold the doorway against the initial breaching attempt. To everyone else, his silence was very unhelpful beyond the fact he was intent on shooting whoever was banging into the room.

 

[Amber Franklin]

Abigail Delano, Courier Six-Played by Amber Franklin

"Hold on! I gots an idea. I think!" Abby grabs her Death Pod and wipes it over the parts of Anri she can reach that are wedged into the pantry wall or doorway. The greasy mustard should help her squeeze out, and fix her issue of cleaning her favorite gun. She made a mental note to get after Alec later about his horrible people skills.

"Awright Anri honey, yer goodband greased up-dont lick it!- just squeeze on outta there and-" Abby stops instructing Anri when the noise at the door starts, and seeing the hand motion from the newguy, Abbys mood changes. She makes a shushing motion at Anri and Alec, taps her now semi-clean pod weapon to make it open, and puts on her helmet en route to a better firing position. The chest plate of her armor is too complicated to don in this instance, it sits on the counter where she left it. Abby takes a position near the panoramic windows with the door in her line of sight. The missile had apparently been used, so hef first idea to blow the door and anyone behind it with a missile was a no go. Setting the weapon to full auto fire, Abby pulls the trigger and holds it to spray the doorway with bullets and fill the suite with that loud distinct rattle she has come to love.

Abby doesnt stop until the door has been literally shot off its hinges and falls forward to shatter into splinters.

 

[The Wanderer]

David, Chicago

Chicago's attention is immediately yanked from Alec's anger by the door. He had harsh words lined up for Alec, but those are forgotten. He knows exactly what this is. Somebody was trying to breach in. If it were police, they'd have announced entry. If they had good intentions, they'd have knocked. There was no doubt in his mind, they had hostiles. He turns quickly to the door. Holding his shotgun in his right hand he takes his left hand and makes a stop sign, tapping it against the gun. Then, he turns it into a fist and yanks it backwards. This was how his department used to do a hand signal for an enemy contact, and a follow up sign for a wedge formation. Not that most people here would know what that means, but the routine and calmness he addressed the situation led credence to his claimed occupation.

He moves forward, taking a position in the bathroom. He raises his shotgun up, propping it against the side of the wall for stability and keeping himself partially in concealment. It almost certainly wouldn't make good cover, but it was better than nothing. From here, he had a clear shot on the door when it opened. Namely, to fire shots before he could be acquired as a target. His plan to those who recognized the hand signs was clear. Take concealment in several spots in the room in a wedge shape, and hold the doorway against the initial breaching attempt. To everyone else, his silence was very unhelpful beyond the fact he was intent on shooting whoever was banging into the room.

Abigail Delano, Courier Six-Played by Amber Franklin

"Hold on! I gots an idea. I think!" Abby grabs her Death Pod and wipes it over the parts of Anri she can reach that are wedged into the pantry wall or doorway. The greasy mustard should help her squeeze out, and fix her issue of cleaning her favorite gun. She made a mental note to get after Alec later about his horrible people skills.

"Awright Anri honey, yer goodband greased up-dont lick it!- just squeeze on outta there and-" Abby stops instructing Anri when the noise at the door starts, and seeing the hand motion from the newguy, Abbys mood changes. She makes a shushing motion at Anri and Alec, taps her now semi-clean pod weapon to make it open, and puts on her helmet en route to a better firing position. The chest plate of her armor is too complicated to don in this instance, it sits on the counter where she left it. Abby takes a position near the panoramic windows with the door in her line of sight. The missile had apparently been used, so hef first idea to blow the door and anyone behind it with a missile was a no go. Setting the weapon to full auto fire, Abby pulls the trigger and holds it to spray the doorway with bullets and fill the suite with that loud distinct rattle she has come to love.

Abby doesnt stop until the door has been literally shot off its hinges and falls forward to shatter into splinters.

Artyom

Watching the others do their best to help the child out of the cabinet as he'd stay where he was. A woman would snap at him and the others that were doing something similar to what he was doing. He would've said something but he would be amongst those to hear someone kicking their door. His eyes caught movement, his gaze going to Chicago as he made hand signals. Some of it was a bit hard to discern but he understood the wedge formation signal. Moving quickly he would flip a metal table, sending dishes, food and drink clattering everywhere as he'd take position with his lasgun. His thumb flicking off the safety before he had an idea. Putting the lasgun aside, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a grenade. Wrapping his finger around the ring and keeping his hand firmly on the lever so the grenade's fuse doesn't start until he is ready, he'd pull the pin and wait. His heart racing but keeping to a cool beat that a Veteran would have, Artyom watched as the armored woman would send enough rounds through the door until it fell off its hinges and shattered into splinters.

His ears far too used to the sound of autogun fire, Artyom felt like he was back with the Guard with Chicago and Abby's tactics. Hell, he'd almost think they were Cadians with how they set themselves up.

Once the doorway was unobstructed, he would let go on the safety lever, the item falling off and he would throw with the ease and aim of someone who spent a lot of time throwing grenades would have. The explosive device would bounce off the wall and around the corner of the doorway and out into hallway. Three seconds later, a small boom would occur, a flash of light out of view and the faint sound of shrapnel ricocheting in the corridor outside their room. His grenades weren't focused on doing explosive damage, instead he had his especially tailored to inflict deep lacerations on any poor soul that found themselves on the receiving end of his grenades.

He would pick up his lasgun and take aim, finger over the trigger as he would wait for whatever survived the ordeal and send it packing to Hel.

@Amber Franklin @PolyesterH @Wade Von Doom @Valkan @littlekreen @BazusoTheGrey @Girania the Knightess

 

[Wade Von Doom]

Subtly wasn't this groups strong suit.

While Chicago prepared for an ambush, Abby unloaded her greasy-mustard gun, and Arty flipped a table and threw a grenade. The door didn't so much shattered upon falling to the floor, it instead just crumbled like a house of cards as Abby's erratic aim just obliterated any structure it had. Followed by Arty's grenade, and suddenly they now had a bigger doorframe Anri could fit through once she was out the pantry.

With bits of wall and even more splinters flying out from the blast, Alec quickly took cover behind the kitchen counter. As smoke billowed out into the living room, and silence finally returned, Alec would respond in kind,

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!"
@Amber Franklin @The Wanderer

 

[PolyesterH]

David, Chicago

David watches the hail of bullets fly forth, holding his fire and quietly thanking his mask for allowing him to look slightly disapointed. The element of surprise against the breacher's group was gone. On the bright side, the guy kicking down the door was probably dead. All he'd have to do is move forward when the hail of bullets ended and push the offensive.

As soon as David started to lean out to motion everyone forward, his optimism was shattered at the sight of the grenade. Eyes widening, David doubles back and takes cover behind the toilet, further away from the shrapnel and blast. Upon hearing the explosive, David moves up and takes cover using the same method he had a moment ago, now on a knee for a smaller target profile. He squints, trying to make something out of the thick smoke.

Well, that grenade probably killed the people by the door, but now everyone in the building knew that the group was armed to the teeth. People would be showing up quickly, most of them probably very unhappy. Priority was securing the hallway. He had a good view of one side from where he was, but he wanted a second person on the other side of the 'doorway'. Glancing over, he saw just enough to know that Abby and the guardsmen were being chewed out, so he pointed at the husk and did a hand sign for them to move up, and points at the other side of the 'doorway'. They had time at least for the moment to take advantage of the smoke and dust, they had to capitalize on it to some degree.

 

[littlekreen]

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

Flynn saw Chicago react to the door getting beaten on and dropped her stance and the gun barrel to firing position at the noise but had her finger off the trigger. Something more measured a response than the others now that she was something other than starving and blackout drunk. Then all hell broke loose as the two others erased the door and gave it a blast to the gubbins for good measure with a grenade. She was all for overkill, but there wasn't even a target yet. Instinctively at gunfire, she stretched her feathered tail out to counterbalance a crouch toward the floor as the grenade went out and, thankfully, out of the room. She knew there was smoke but couldn't quite see it right now but for the flush of bright red and white hues that made her wince as the heat pulse rocked the door and sent woody shrapnel flying overhead.

A swirling carpet snake to keep a low profile while looking around to follow David's run past her toward the toilet, she noted his new position, then followed his gesture toward the husk. The husk had gotten her clothes on in time and a backpack from somewhere on the other side of the room. As the husk perked up and took out the first pistol Flynn made for the goblin, Flynn retreated to David's position. A name for the husk she picked from the first thing that came to mind absent any time to debate. A free blood of the machine needed to be named soon. An anchor for a true identity.

She didn't have to kneel to be at David's height but used her tail as a tripod to raise her rifle to her shoulder and whispered, "No targets yet, binocular infrared. My Erythronaut... or Erie, I suppose, is armed and bitey."

The name itself spoken aloud raised one's hackles within the static of its echo as if something in darker places had heard it.

Erythronaut 'Erie' - Character Sheet

Erie got clothed and found a backpack to use even though it had been primarily full of empty beer bottles. Not all stuff could fit in her inventory. Maybe she'd want some teeth, too. Then the world got very loud and scary as she backed up at the kicking, gunfire, then explosion. Eyes wide and locked on the flash without blinking. She stretched a bit and stepped forward before she felt someone looking at her and saw the masked man waving at her. Things seemed more apparent after that: what the kicks meant, what the gesture was for, and why the door was a problem. With a smile at the clearing sky of her mental process, she searched her inner inventory and reached into an access point of a tattooed mark to pull out a gun of dull cruor colors. The heavy pistol was made less for a war engineer than someone who needed a point-and-fire interface of a defensive tool. Though the barrel and size of that pistol made it undoubtedly a weapon adapted for use with Flynn in the husk, now Erie, that many knew not to fire without making sure it wouldn't break a wrist.

Behind a kitchen island littered with beer bottles, the olive-skinned Erie watched the smoky door, though she couldn't see much through the smoke yet. A pistol braced in two hands sticking out between them.