DeviousMe

Prodder's plan succeeded perfectly, the Frostvine Agent rasping a pained hiss through his ventilator as the close-range burst ripped through his armor and ran the mercenary through.

Already upset by the potential loss of profit, and now hurting badly, Nataan had just gone from ticked to blood-boiling mad.

A ripple ran through the air as the mercenary triggered a partial hyperfield, accelerating his senses to strike with nearly twice the power he could usually muster. Worse yet, the air about him chilled to abysmal temperatures as he used its heat to fuel a further power boost. The chill's range extended only a few centimeters, meaning unless someone decided to touch the Frostvine Agent at just that moment, the action didn't affect anyone but him.

Well, him and Target Lad's arrows.

The few that managed to make it through to Nataan froze to the very core in an instant, shattering like crystal glass against the mercenary's biosuit. They still hurt, but did not achieve their full lethality, as nothing but frozen dust that slowly sank to the floor remained of the five or so arrows that had reached the zone of chill about Nataan - logical, considering the writhing flora that covered virtually the entire chamber, yet had by some miracle not managed to do anyone in.

That was about to change, if the Frostvine Agent had anything to say about it.

"Devour him." he hissed commandingly at a pod of plantlife, which immediately sprang into motion, forming something that might as well have been called a Venus Man Trap. The animated plant didn't hesitate to obey its command, chasing after Target Lad with the intent to consume him by whatever means necessary.

The Frostvine Agent then turned his attention back to Pokin' Prodder. Unbothered by the stream of mustard gas, the mercenary used his temporarily supercharged biotech to call forth a mass of flora nearly triple the magnitude of what he'd been commanding so far, a thick strangler of massive, root-like vines erupting from underneath Prodder's feet...

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

Doctor Con Vulse's efforts of sensitive sonic scanning were somewhat unnecessary, the six mechanoids in he hallway producing more than enough of a ruckus as they ran for an average human to take notice.

This of course also had the side effect of obscuring any sound the invisible thief might have made, but considering the unseen robots likely followed either the robber or his partner, that really didn't have much to do with anything.

Still, they were rather fast, which meant whomever they followed was pretty darn swift. The doctor might have been hard-pressed to keep up as the pursuit led him toward the portal chamber where the main battle had broken out...

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

"Gotcha." Julia and Cynic more than likely heard the invisible figure's voice as he ran by them, either talking to himself or in communication with someone else, "Negative. Right choice. Might buy some time. Keep it open."

About a second later, the voice was gone again - not due to its owner being a super speeder or anything, but rather thanks to six mechanoids rumbling down the corridor, not to mention a very angry man in powered armor that crackled with crimson lightning in hot pursuit...

OOC:

Well, let's see...you got Cynic bugging out, so what's left is:

1) Pokin' Prodder fighting with Nataan and Pestilence. This fight is also affecting the entire room on occasion, thus far by filling the lower part with concentrated ammonia, and some plants running wild. Presently, this effect is a room filled with creeper vines.

2) Julia just entered the room on the upper platform, where Cynic has departed.

3) Mister Hysteria bumped into a battle drone and Dr. Con Vulse. Presently, the doctor is chasing someone invisible accompanying the robots.

4) Ghoul is in a corridor running toward the portal room fight from the direction of 3.

5) Ry and Shinji are also in that corridor, however are doing nothing useful.

6) Macrofracture is in the corridor as well, but up further, slowly heading toward 3.

And I think that about covers it. Did I forget anything?

Oh yeah, to Burning: bitter ice blast, carrion creepers, greater ice sword.

Prodder grunted as the sword struck true, but no sooner had it retracted than the wound began to seal itself. The hero chuckled. "You're gonna have to try harder than that."

"As you wish." hissed the Frostvine Agent in a most sinister manner, a swirl of supercooled air racing up his sword of ice, the frigid weapon growing like a time-lapse crystal to even greater proportions. The process took a second or two, but luckily the chemical mercenary had bought plenty of those just now.

As Prodder's spikes came at him yet again, Nataan threw his free arm toward the hero, a wave of bitter cold erupting from his palm along with knife-like shards of ice. The crystalline projectiles rocketed right at the man while the supercooled air they trailed froze his spikes in mere instants of contact, the embrittled missiles merely shattering upon the mercenary's biosuit.

Fortunately for Pokin' Prodder, the arctic air didn't seem to be very cohesive, dispersing its full effect after only a meter or so, long before the hero entered melee range with the Frostvine Agent. Though the bitter cold might well shake him nonetheless, he was in no danger of being frozen solid where he stood.

Well, at least not by the aforementioned chill - the titanic blade of very unusual ice could still do a number on him.

Worse yet, Nataan didn't seem content to leave it at that, his will forging forth further flora to do his bidding as his arm swung the heavy edge. Thick, savage vines erupted all about the room, even from beneath already defeated Longbow, whipping their thorn-covered forms at anything they considered hostile with murderous intent...

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

"Sorry, I need that one." Doctor Con Vulse perceived an unseen voice as a page of the now-uncovered documents liberated itself from his grip as he ran, only to disappear into thin air as well.

Of course, it hadn't really gone anywhere, but considering the armorsuited villain hadn't noticed the seven invisible figures in the corridor beforehand, there was little chance he'd noticed the one who could move silently.

Still, the unseen man (judging by the voice it was a mean, at least) wasn't about to get careless, and quickly bolted out of range of any would-be counterattacks, such as any caustic auras the good doctor's powered armor may have possessed...

Acid's eyes narrowed with Curtis' peculiar behavior. The reptilian seemed to be reconsidering an action he'd been about to take, slowly bringing together the clawed fingers of the open hand he'd faced at the Gunslinger.

The flashbangs didn't much affect the Khelari, or at least not in a fashion enough to stun him. His ears were adequately tolerant of volcanic eruptions, and a pair of secondary eyelids dealt with the sudden brightness. Still, it meant he couldn't actually see his opponent for a short amount of time.

Then again, right now he didn't need to.

Tearing his bladed rifle from its 'holster', the reptilian aimed the weapon straight up as the chamber clicked, switching munitions, then blasted an amplifier shell to altitude so Acid's portable scanner would have a larger operating area.

What did it see? Was Curtis' backup-less operation just a fluke or part of some more sinister plot; an insidious trap that'd spring as soon as he'd gotten Essex clear...?

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

((I just noticed I completely forgot Khell. Aoops. Also Sovs, I'm rubbing off on ya - Grey's other characters could probably use a reply too. ))

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

"Understood." Thermplast practically exhaled, his tone seeming to contain no care at all.

From his large while cloak, the man now whipped his Phantom Bayonet; the weapon entrusted to him by the Soul Police. Its construction resembled that of a Nemesis weapon, though the intrinsic design of the techno-spiritual gunblade was of course quite different.

Thermoplast didn't hesitate even an instant, igniting the ground about the golem's feet...

"Karsis!" the Osh'kan mercenary swore chafingly, then growled something about apparently needing more accuracy. Cynic's straregem meanwhile succeeded, frying the terrestrial flora to a crisp, but that didn't stop Nataan from keeping an eye on Pokin' Prodder as he vaulted over the mercenary, intercepting the hero's makeshift blades with one of his own - a frigid sword of solid ice.

Frostvine Agent Nataan may have been more of a support specialist than a Neutron or Neutrino Agent, but he was certainly no pushover when it came to direct combat, wielding his icy weapon with masterful skill. But bladesman or not, a sword didn't do much good against a hail of projectiles such as Prodder's spine eruptions, more and more filling the Frostvine Agent with each pulsation. He needed to do something, and do it quickly.

Then the ceiling panel dropped.

Nataan joined the grotesque chuckle from above, trying to strike back at Prodder with his ice sword as the ammonia spread, then commanded patches of roots to spring up around the feet of all opponents, even Target Lad hanging like a fly upon the wall. He didn't expect the roots to actually immobilize any of them, but at the very least they'd prevent flight while Pestilence worked his magic...

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

The hapless human projectile vanished for a moment as he entered the drone's deflector field, emerging a few moments later on the floor, where the machine had gently placed the officer before moving again.

Yeesh, if I'd known things'd turn out this rough...ah, nevermind, done is done.

The seven remained silent as Ghoul took off in the other direction, an explosion sounding from below in the same way.

Oh, Pestilence is here. Oh...Pestilence is here...well, at least it's not War. The building should remain standing.

With Ghoul gone again, the seven got to moving once more, barreling down the hallway toward the lab of one Dr. Ferdinand. On the way of course they ran into a certain hysteric Mister Hysteria.

Literally.

The battle drone on the far inside of a corner rounding moved with too much speed to stop as it came around the bend, the psychic villain standing right there, panting hard and doubled over. The machine collided with him like a runaway train, even though it attempted to slow down beforehand.

More than likely, the mechanoid would bowl over the man and zip in another direction right after, but whatever happened he'd still catch a minute glimpse in the short time he stood within the drone's deflector field...

"This will do fine." Thermoplast remarked laxly, twirling his racket as he stepped toward his intended position.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't ya, calculator-brains?" Mitch grinned competitively, making to hop the net to place himself on the other side, "Who's serve...?"

Nataan's eyes narrowed in disgust at what he believed to be an obvious lie. Still, the sudden appearance of not one, but three heroes was enough to make him hesitate.

A savage rasp retched through the chamber as a multitude of spines speared into his suit of armor, the Osh'kan taken aback by the sudden assault. Still, the spines weren't enough to take him down alone, the organic outfit of course doing its fair share to resist penetration. In addition, the toxin within Prodder's projectiles didn't seem to have any effect on the guy.

"Pathetic." Nataan growled at nobody in particular, letting the plants under his dominion go to work. Practically the whole room writhed with sudden, unreal life once more as the merc threw his hands toward the portal, a cloud of seeds erupting from a few plants gathered about his feet.

Aimed upward and ahead, the cone would probably catch both Target Lad and Pokin' Prodder in its grasp, and the 'seeds of confusion' (as people around here liked to call them) would work their vile effect on whatever they latched onto, be it organic or technological.

Cynic, though just outside said cone, wasn't left out of the equation, the writhing vines about making a beeline for the man along the floor with amazing speed, intending to hold the Commander fast within their thorny grip...

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

Not far away, the door to a certain maintenance supply closet opened just a crack. From the darkness within peered an invisible eye.

"We're in business." whispered a hushed male voice, and then the door opened fully, allowing seven unseen figures passage into the hallway. Wreathed in deflector fields that bent away most of the electromagnetic spectrum, the seven moved with all the silence that someone trailed by six standard robotic henchmen could produce.

In other words, none.

Still, with the ruckus from the nearby portal chamber, chances were good that things would go according to plan. Now all he had to do was get to the research lab...

Curtis' rounds wavered in a sudden suction, passing through nothing bit thin air as the Gunslinger's reptilian opponent jumped in literally zero time. Not an instant later, a sharp pain raced up the man's left arm as Acid raced past him like a bullet, lashing out with a handful of vicious claws to tear into the man's sleeve of woven armor. Chances were he only nicked the skin, but it was a painful experience nonetheless.

"I do." the Khelari gave retort as he hit the ground again in a crouch toward Curtis, still skidding a bit from his remaining momentum. Though one hand once again dug its claws into the stone-metal of the floor, the other was free and open to face the Gunslinger.

Chances were that by now Curtis had done the math, coming to the correct conclusion that Acid had predicted his teleportation, ergo following with a jump of his own. Thankfully, even though he'd moved in the direction the reptilian had anticipated - toward Essex - he'd been off more than enough to avoid a lethal strike. Still, it meant he'd have to adapt his strategy a bit, and by the look in Acid's eyes, Curtis' adversary expected something like that; especially snipers...

Agent Nataan growled an obscenity into his ventilator as he perceived the clack of the doors. His associates were already deeper within the campus building, performing the deed they'd been hired to do.

This meant that whoever would be stepping through that door was either a hero or someone who really didn't know better than to waltz into a heist on Portal Corporation - like Crey and some other of their competitors were so extremely fond of doing.

"I may need backup." the Osh'kan mercenary rasped into the organic headset woven within his hood, "We have company."

I was too bad, really. Any way this went, it'd cut into their time - and with that, their profit. One of these days, Nataan made a mental note, he would have to puzzle out how to conduct a proper raid into Paragon City without suffering these sort of delays. After all, this mission was such a simple one: invade Portal Court, get to the lab where Portal Corp.'s scientists were working on their newest pan-dimensional wonder-widget, and make sure it ended up as unoperational as could be.

Then again, it probably wouldn’t have been quite the same any other way. Especially not on Casual Friday...

It is a concept old as time itself. What began as such a tiny, insignificant amalgamation of the random burst forth to blossom into...well, yet another amalgamation of the random. Only today, it's really, really, really incomprehensibly huge - at least relatively speaking. Still, some say the element of the miniscule remains unchanged, and that the smallest of happenings still set in motion the largest of consequences.

"Casual Friday my foot!"

Portal Corporation
Peregrine Island, Paragon City

Casual Friday was generally not one of them.

"Mh." grunted the white-coated researcher underneath the same counter, absent-mindedly nursing his morning coffee as another Longbow Rifleman arced over their cover and against the wall. Gruff shouts bellowed through the room, followed by another salvo tact of semi-automatic thunder, "Mhm. "

Especially in Paragon City.

"Relax, kid." the bald, bespectacled researcher sighed to his new lab assistant, a young, spindly thing straight from some university overseas, "Just part of life here. You'll get used to it."

In Paragon City, the extraordinary had become daily routine.

"What are you talking about?" the raven-haired youngling shot back with a whisper teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He still held his shuddering hands folded over his head, gazing to his senior through wide eyes, "This happens often here?!"

Especially on Fridays.

"More or less." the researcher shrugged, another grenade shaking the room as he reached atop the counter for a spoonful of sugar from the cup the night guard had left behind, "Don't worry, it's the same deal every time. Villain or more bust in, make a big ruckus, steal something or someone...then the heroes come, either before or after they bolt, but it ends up back to normal every time. Yeah, at first it's scary, then it gets fun to watch, but after a while you don't even notice anymore. Say, you see any cream up there?"

Fridays tended to be the busiest, what with many a villain having plans to kick back the weekend and pulling just one more job beforehand.

A sensitive ear could've heard a jaw drop right about now. Still, the assistant obliged, if more out of wanting to know just who or what the Longbow soldiers fought there than finding cream for his employer's coffee. What he saw took his breath away. Literally.

After all, even in Paragon City, money didn't grow on trees...not just yet, anyway.

In a cloud of amber spores that covered most of the room by now stood the form of the attacker. The man had no time to properly muster the humanoid silhouette before the floral mist sent him to dreamland, but he did get a short glance of the deep-green suit of clearly organic armor worn by the intruder just shy of two meters in stature.

So villains still had to find other ways to get paid.

A dull thud sounded through the room as the assistant hit the floor, and the intruder spared him but a bored glance of his large, opaque eyes, rimmed by a visage of scaly skin covered halfway by a ventilator. A hood and a few spikes across the biological suit here and there completed the ensemble of the extraterrestrial mercenary, the Osh'kan having need for nothing more.

Usually by performing very villainous deeds.

Well, save for the thorny vines and other assorted flora that snaked their way across virtually the entire reception area. Longbow stood, sat, and lay in their wrath, most unconscious, a few still struggling, but all more or less out of commission. It wouldn't be long before their uniforms' incorporated mediporters whisked them away to the hospital. Not that the mercenary cared.

Such as theft.

"Give it up already." he rasped through his ventilator at a writhing Nullifier with disconent, "You've lost. Be glad I'm being paid extra for every life I do not take."

Or sabotage.

The researcher beneath the counter let out a sigh while his hand pulled the newly found cream down to him. There the guy went monologueing again. Always the same. Just another normal day in Paragon City.

Of course, this also meant the heroes of Paragon City tended to be a little faster on Fridays as well.

And just as always, the soft clack of the front door being opened signified the arrival of a hero...or two, or three, or more. Idly stirring his coffee, the researcher wondered if the intruder had been smart enough to bring backup.

Which made Casual Friday really just another Friday in Paragon City...

"Okay, that'll do." Rosie graced the golem's presence with her attention, cracking her knuckles in preparation for some 'fun'.

Whether Termoplast's empowered ring of fire managed to immobilize the guardian or not, Rosie wasn't one to let an opportunity like this slide. With alert ears and defenses at the ready, the were-human flung herself toward the construct, claws at the ready for the strike...

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

Like a blazing comet the Drop Ship literally fell out of the sky, Acid pushing the craft to its limits. The deflector fields could barely keep up with the sheer volume of super-heated air the descent threw at them struggling to ionize and repel the dangerously hot particles before they could make catastrophic contact with the hull.

If the trip down looked unpleasant from the outside, however, it wasn't much more comfortable within the ship. Ram pressure shook the craft like a massage chair gone insane, and thick swaths of ionized plasma wavered about the direct-view screen ahead, blazing in all their colorful and lethal glory.

But the Khelari was an experienced pilot, and though not the best by far, knew very well how far he could push this thing's machinery. the decent remained harsh, but all in all uneventful, and in less than thirty seconds, the Drop Ship entered the airpsace above the Forgotten Sanctuary.

Only to be greeted by a volley of SAMs.

The ship rattled viciously once more, the released forces transmitting through the rigid shields, but remained unharmed. No random control panels blew up in anyone's face, no sparks rained from the ceiling.

"Looks like they know we're here." Acid stated the obvious. He didn't even turn to Sheldon, but from a sideways glance to an eye of the Khelari, the scientist knew the reptilian's mind to be racing. He spoke merely to give himself time to think, "Don't worry, they can't get through the shields. Doesn't help us of course, since we can't use this thing's weapons or teleporters with 'em up."

"I'm telling the autopilot to set down at the same platform we originally docked at." Acid explained as he brought the ship around to the mentioned course, claws tapping across touchscreens once more as Rikti symbols flew across the viewer, "No, I've got no idea what to do. All I know's there's a ton of Malta down there and our pals are gonna need all the help they can get. If you come up with a plan, please don't hesitate to let me know."

With that, the reptilian vanished with the characteristic echo of air filling a spontaneously created vacuum. He'd jumped, his method of teleportation differing radically from that of the Rikti. The Drop Ship's normenergetic shields were no barrier to him.

The autopilot performed as instructed, guiding the craft down to the airdock. Sheldon of course had the team's comm. frequencies, so he hadn't been left entirely alone - just at the edge of a very sticky and dangerous situation...

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

One might have touted Acid selfish for seeking out himself first, and maybe rightly so. Still, with Essex's efforts in vain, and nobody else around anymore now that Randall had joined the battle with the Malta Operatives where they'd once more entered an open-air area after rushing down their corridor in pursuit of Toy Dispenser, something needed to be done about his pain-wracked biological form.

Even if it might be nothing more than getting the restorative reploid where she could be of more use.

"Hey." the reptilian greeted her briskly as he rematerialized literally beside himself. He quickly crouched to place a recall beacon on his other self, placing the palm of his left hand upon the floor to support himself as he adjusted the beacon with the other. Thunder cracked in the storm circling the Sanctuary as the mostly unconscious Khelari vanished in another jump.

But as the remaining Acid looked to Essex, wondering why she hadn't already jumped him with one of her characteristic gleeful hugs, the reptilian's slitted eyes went wide. Her pupils had assumed that hue of blue, and with the clatter of metal upon stone, the pink-armored reploid hit the floor, a telltale EM dart protruding from her left shoulder.

In the blink of an eye, Acid's head snapped round toward the source, locking down Whiskey Tumbleweed 3-4-9 with a glare that could pierce solid terconium. At the same time, the elite Gunslinger released the now-useless dart launcher, the empty weapon clacking upon the stone and metal of the floor.

Curtis.

"You!" Acid snarled in contempt, baring jaws filled with vicious, predatory teeth at the man.

"Me." Curtis retorted almost with a snigger, his accent-laden tone cool, calm, and smug as could be.

As Acid's hand shot to the handle of his pulse rifle at his right shoulder, Curtis' fingers whipped his pistols from their holsters like greased lightning, blasting the reptilian's weapon from his hand before the Gunslinger had even fully extended his arms.

Acid, however, had already jumped, his quick teleportation allowing him to avoid the follow-up of rapid fire even as he appeared only meters from Curtis, hurling himself at the Malta man with blazing speed like a coiled spring; a predator on the attack...

While Arachnos worked their schemes and preparations, the forces of the Dark Dragon were of course not idle either. Unlike their spider-themed counterparts, however, events took a drastically different course with the return of the Portal Court investigation team.

Their report yielded more than enough information to not only confirm that the Dark Rover had indeed stayed within its own time, but shifted its state level to a universe home to an entirely different stream.

Calls went out immediately to recall all forces, more than annoying the Field Commander who'd just before had finally gotten the go to get his own operation underway. Still, none of them were here for fun, and now that they'd determined that a simple dark shift would carry them home, the process commenced as soon as possible.

Less than twenty minutes after the war at the airfield had ceased, the now-empty Dark Rover counted down the final seconds to autodestruct, the disintegration pulse crumbling the titanic vehicle's structure first to dust, then monoatamic vapor. Nothing but a slowly expanding cloud of translucent green gas remained - and even this last witness wouldn't take long to fade away...

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

((Sorry guys, but my interest in this thread just plain-old keeled over a while ago, and it ain't coming back. Hope yalls have fun. And yeh, you'll probably see these guys again in some other thread sometime. ))

((Sigh...yall need to stop taking things so literally. Oh well, whatever. Just be prepared to pay the piper. ))

"All clear for the moment, Sir." a lancer told the black-scaled saurian as the two arrived at the waiting ATC, the synthetic tone of his armorsuit's vocal systems muffling his words somewhat, "All demolition teams have reported back and Spearhead Lambda is standing by at the liquid port."

"Good work." was the reply of commendation, the reptilian taking another look at the Flyers spreading their formation at field's edge, "We won't need to bother with them then. Have all units pull back and give Groul the go. We're done here..."

((Um, dude, I think you misread something. Those weren't bullets. They were 20 mm explosive shells. The sort one uses to tear apart sturdy military aircraft. The Ultra's been pretty much liquefied; there ain't no body. ))

That's probably it, heh. I think the way yalls are going about this is just a bit too independent and pre-planned for me. I like interacting with other people's characters on the fly, reacting as things come my way and in return sending things to them.

Take Worlds Apart, for example - there's really the way I like to see this work: some people have their own plots going, others are tagging along for the fun of it, and just about everyone's actions have some manner of effect on the entire resulting story, which means literally no one knows how it's going to end. To take a page from Dogma, will Comedy or Tragedy prevail? No one knows, not even me.

I mean sure, I've got a core plot, but that's dynamic and will depend on what decisions peoples' characters make. Not only that, but even though I am running said core plot, there are several others I have no idea where they're going. Khell's opened up the realm of the Rikti gods - his idea, not mine, and I eagerly await more. Soviet's got a Malta scheme going that'll probably blow our socks off, as I know him. Do I know what it is? Broadly, but the details are a mystery, and that's just the way I like it. Grey's after the Malta, and I've no idea at all where his mind's going with that, which gives me yet another mystery I can follow and have fun puzzling together. Krazy's got some scheme going with Arachnos as well, completely unknown to me, and from the look of it, it'll be something utterly sinister.

And while this may just be me, that's really the format I like most: multiple authors meshing their stories into one another, creating a cooperative composite that at the same time retains the individual essence of each person involved. Is it perfect? No - as you've seen, when people get busy in life, when everyone's an integral part of the story, things tend to slow down. That's okay, though; I never envisioned WA would be moving fast in the first place just due to its nature.

But that's really it. If I wanted to plan out a story in detail and have no sudden crashes into other people as it's progressing, I'd just go ahead and write a story. I like bumping into others and having our ideas mesh as they go. Doing so before they get started...like I said, I'd just write a story if I wanted to do that.

The assassin’s clawed feet clacked with report upon the slabs of polished white stone that served as the hotel’s front steps as he strode from the towering transparent doors of the enormous spire’s ground-level lobby, his slate-gray vestments sliding softly over the elegant lattice that connected entrance and what could have been called a street. People walked there, at least. Of course people also slid, rolled, hovered, and performed many other forms of locomotion, but the wide path of floarally cultivated ground had been intended mainly for those that walked, and there were quite a few more of them, allowing the assassin to easily slip into the crowd.

The azure-scaled reptilian’s form met chiefly with gazes of arrogance and ire – the Arcon had never been too fond of xenomorphs, and their cultural imprint had certainly stuck around even after they were no longer the only inhabitants of this world – but this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing at this point. Indeed, this circumstance allowed the assassin to make swift progress across the street, to the contact terminal that signified the location of a hoverplat docking site. A few taps upon the touchscreen monitor, and the terminal already hailed the glider he’d given to it earlier, fishing the vehicle first from its registry and then a garage below ground. It didn’t take eight seconds for the sleek ellipsoid with a transparent canopy to arrive, the aerial craft settling softly into a hover beside the interface console. A quick acceptance conformation later, the terminal relinquished control of the glider once more, and the assassin boarded his vehicle through a hatch that had opened in its side. Settling into the frontmost of the glider’s three seats, the reptilian’s claws now ran over the glider’s interface touchscreens instead, and moments later the hatch closed and sealed, the canopy’s transparence vanished into metallic opacity, and the vehicle’s engines hummed to life, pulsing its supporting fields at the ground to shoot skyward like it had so many times before.

Not ten seconds later, the lobby doors already disgorged a heavily armed mob of security personnel into the street, who in turn began to question anything and everything that could speak or provide some other rapid means of communicating information to them, including of course the terminal of the hoverplat docking site. The machine kept records after all, and accessing these wasn’t much trouble, especially for those trained to do so. Transmissions rang out into the aether of channels that crisscrossed the planet, and it didn’t take long at all for several military gliders to arrive, then take up pursuit of the one that had left not long ago.

Not that the assassin particularly cared. He presently watched the scene from a virtually empty side street not far away, absent-mindedly leaning with his back to the wall of some other reflective spire while his yellow, slitted eyes gazed at the commotion on the main path from under a hood of the same hue as the rest of his robes.

The assassin was a teleporter; able to displace himself from one location to another without need to physically cross the space between the two by sheer force of will. Indeed, he didn’t require any sort of crossing at all, hyperspace being the medium of choice for his explicit method of teleportation. All it necessitated was a good amount of concentration (tearing apart one’s own body to shunt it beyond space and time, then putting it back together again wasn’t exactly easy, after all) and nothing ‘in the way’, like a gravostorm of something of equally nasty nature.

Standing there, he surmised it’d take them a reasonable amount of minutes to catch up the glider he’d sent on a downright ludicrous course through the city via automatic pilot. Still, it was always better to stay more than just one step ahead of the game, and as he had no doubt the energetic remains of his jump would eventually be pinned down once the right equipment (or people) got here, the assassin chose to move in conventional fashion once more. With any luck at all, he’d have made way to the extraction point with time to spare, long before anyone even had a concrete idea of what had actually happened.

“Hold it right there.”

Or maybe luck just wasn’t something in his favor today.

“Don’t even think about it.” commanded the gruff, somewhat warbled voice of a black-skinned humanoid in equal-hued uniform and with some manner of breath or flight mask wrapped about his face from nose bridge to jaw line. Another detail that stood out was of course the rather threatening rifle presently pointed toward the reptilian – one of a group of five, to be precise – and the few meters’ distance between the two beings did little to affect this. The assassin had no doubt the man and his compatriots would fire without hesitation if they felt it necessary in any way, shape, or form.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s just not in me.” the azure-scaled creature replied with a smirk of his predatory teeth, moving aside a fold of his robes to reveal a rather strange weapon dangling from the belt about his waist. The Concile soldiers nearly bright-orange eyebrows furrowed as they tried to comprehend the significance of the sizeable sword the reptilian now lay claws on, “It’s simply in my nature to defend my being. I simply can’t go against my nature, you must understand.”

“What nature would that be?” the man directly opposite the assassin questioned as the latter leveled the blade at the group, “Suicidal tendencies? You know we’ll shoot before you can even take a single step.”

“No.” the assassin countered calmly, shaking his head with supporting slow pace, “No, I really don’t think you will. Go ahead, give it a try.”

Not a one moved.

“Something the matter?” the azure-scaled being chuckled at the silence of the Concile security force, the black-skinned forces’ malachite eyes darting wildly about in their sockets. Their bodies sat frozen as statues, even their lips unmoving as stone, “I do apologize. Seems to happen every time I point this thing at someone. Paralyzer field, you know.”

The lead soldier’s eyes went wide with shock, as if they might depart their sockets the very next moment, then narrowed in frustration. They’d fallen for the archaic guise of the debilitating weapon without a second thought. Had he been able to speak at this point, language most deafening and vividly vulgar would have likely consumed the general area entirely.

“You’ll be fine in a few hours.” the assassin chided the five as he returned the false sword to its proper place, striding by the team as if it could have been the most natural thing in the world, “Do excuse my discourtesy for not hanging around, but I do have a ship to catch.”

This was of course a lie. Hopefully though, the soldiers who’d soon locate this man and his team would believe and pounce in the classic direction of locking down the spaceports, then private spacecraft, and so on and so forth. If this went according to plan, the assassin would be leaving Perus without so much as a single soul aware until it was simply much too late to do anything to prevent it. Or at least, so he’d hoped.

“There he is!” rang a shout through the air, followed on foot by the thunderous blare of a thermocannon, the bright-orange beam hissing viciously into the fleck of street the assassin had just occupied. Of course, the jump wouldn’t throw them off for long, and considering the gallingly short amount of time it had taken them the first time, the assassin had no doubt they’d be on top of him again in nearly no time at all. Stepping from the shadows of spire he’d jumped behind, the reptilian drew his sword once more, gazing at his reflection within the blade; first with melancholy, then with disgust. How had he let Vern talk him into this in the first place?

Logic – that’s how. Now show the guy you remember what he taught you.

The azure-scaled assassin tightened his clawed grip about the hilt of his weapon of deception, regarding well the environment that now surrounded him. With a glance at the chronometer that wrapped about his left wrist, he locked the chosen escape route in his mind. It wouldn’t be easy, but it’d certainly be the fastest – and by the looks of the Concile forces now amassing here, there, and soon everywhere, there wasn’t any doubt that speed was now of paramount importance. The reptilian being drew a deep breath, regarding the concealing shadows one more time, then sprang forward and into the crowds, sending the masses into uproar before he jumped yet again. This time, however, he immediately returned to his previous position in the throng of people, continuing his escape on foot. If the Concile’s lackeys fell for this, it’d buy him a rather decent amount of time. If not, things could get very painful very quickly. He could only hope the officer on duty at the moment wasn’t someone with more brains than usual...

OOC:

I dun' get it. Link works fine for me. Guess your ISP ate something that didn't agree with it.

And I shall not. I have no reason to. After all:

[ QUOTE ]
Khellendrosiic writes: You monster.
DeviousMe writes: I try.

[/ QUOTE ]
'Nuff said.

OOC:

Dang, and I'd hoped that'd be explanation enough. Oh well. Translation: not everything is as it seems, and I will generally not be straightforward about the truth; at least not right away. You'll need to read between the lines and figure things out for yourself if you want to know what's going on before I choose to reveal it.

Take as an example the Ultra's reflection field. I didn't even need to explain it in oder for Krazy to puzzle together what it did. The clues are all there - you just need to find and arrange them in the right order. A tip for your questions: look for timing, sound, and air.

((Yes, yes, and no.))

The grenade-carrying TacOp swore viciously as he saw Jake and his entourage rocket out the window gallery, and by the tugging motions of his cable, the Black Hawk's pilot wasn't too happy either. Still, they were out, and that's what mattered.

He didn't care a lick about Acanous, however, which meant that if the meta wanted to die here, it suited him just fine. Releasing the grenade belts, the man depressed the contact of his harness, signaling the helo's winch to start spooling back in order to catch his fall as the Malta operative leaped back out the windows as well.

The sniper had of course lost his bead on Acanous due to the hero disappearing behind a collapsing wall. Then again, he didn't much care, as watching the minigunner hose the whole CC with high-explosive shells from a chain gun that could fire more than 4000 of these suckers per minute was at least twice as entertaining.

The Vulcan literally shredded nearly the entire command chamber, its compound ammunition tearing through control terminals and monitor banks while the spinning barrels spat fire and thunder into the air between helicopter and tower, razing the entire level with enough collateral damage to make any insurance agent die of fright.

The Ultra barely had time to react, still focused on Acanous at the time Walsh had taken off - and with the hail of high explosives tearing not only into its body, but the structure all about as well, things didn't look at all good. The thermocannon did power up again in an attempt to destroy the hovering helo before its gun could finish the job, but the chamber's destruction - courtesy of Jake and company - prevented anything even remotely resembling aim. Rained on by debris, shrapnel, and of course 20 mm detonators, the huge reptilian merely staggered backward, its cannon never discharging.

The Ultra and CC alike vanished in a storm of dust, smoke, and fire as everything about collapsed and exploded, even a portion of the corridor behind the chamber.

And as the Black Hawk finally ceased fire and took its away-man aboard once more, the only question that now lingered was whether the meta had survived...

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

Or not.

The Arachnos troops Cynic had left behind were certainly still alive. Then again, quite a few of them probably wished the pacing monsters would get it over with already, rather than dragging the situation on and on!

"What do you want from us?!" one man's nerves collapsed, the Bane Spider figuring if his last moments had come, he might as well die quickly - well, sort of, anyway. The man's coherence had left his mind right after the initial breakdown.

And in his onset of psychosis, he did something that filled many others with dread and fright: he flung his power mace into the dozen pacing creatures.

Nothing happened.

Literally. The weapon only clattered loudly against the ground, having passed right through every single one of the nightmarish beings it should have made contact with.

In that moment, it dawned on the thrown Night Widow, and without hesitation she sought out the ellipsoid and ran the device through with her blades. The shield wall vanished virtually the next instant, as did a slight pressure on everyone's ears; the sort that occurs when one is exposed to a barely audible hum.

Moreover, however, the dozen Antis faded away into thin air.

Cynic had fallen for it; as had they all. Those twelve had never been there to begin with...

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

Close to the far side of the Arachnos tower complex, on a roof a good five stories above the tarmac, five beings had come running from a hole in the wall the flat, metallic roof sat adjacent to. Two were reptilian, the other three animalistic and vaguely skeletal.

Below and all about, the battle for Weaver Airfield raged in its fullest, lancer fire teams composed of various xenomorphs exchanging energy bolts with Arachnos forces supported by the high-powered 'conventional' weaponry of the Malta Group and the Council. The engagement wasn't in their favor, however, as the skies belonged to several ATCs flying CAS with their tribeam cannons, often rotating about their yaw axis in one direction even as the ventral-mounted cannons spun the other way.

"Relax." the black-scaled saurian told his towering comrade, the Sky Commander's draconian from hunched over in pain, a bloody arm clutching at his side. At one end of the roof, and ATC hovered to a stop, folding back its side hatches to allow the five to board in addition to the fire team it carried, "They won't get here in time."

The blue-scaled officer smirked warily at this, a trickle of blood running over his maw's razored teeth as he spoke, "I'm not...so sure about that."

The robed saurian didn't need to gaze in the direction his taller compatriot now indicated. He already knew of the flight of Arachnos Flyers presently crossing over the edge of the tarmac, as well as which held the source of the spell that had jammed the Dark Rover's recalls.

"That would be very bad for them." he told the Sky Commander dryly, "Because then Mr. Malak and we shall have a bone to pick..."

"Holy...!" the Malta Operative barely managed to cry out before the tactical warhead detonated, showering the man with its chemical spray. It didn't take him but a moment to notice that the stuff ate right into his uniform and underlying ballistic armor, roaring into his radio as he dove for cover behind a control panel, "MHI! MHI!"

The crew of the Black Hawk hanging outside seemed unsure of what to do. They couldn't hose the place without annihilating Walsh as well, and that really would've put a dent in the success rate of a rescue operation - but neither could they allow some upstart meta to crash the party and perhaps nail the Arbiter.

Thus as the preparations of Acanous and Walsh took place, the operatives aboard the helo passed one of their own a long-barreled sniper rifle. It'd take them a few seconds to line up though, especially in the sickly-cyan fumes in there.

From just said haze suddenly roared a series of truly horrific sounds, a sickening staccato of squealing metal and popping weld seams. The obscurity didn't last long, however, and not a few moments after the rail guns had discharged, six metal rods could be seen reverberating in a huge tangle of metal in the manner of tuning forks.

The Ultra may have not been fast enough to do anything about the sudden rocket strike, but a quick analysis had showed the called-for weapons a potential threat. Rather than wait around for them to fire, it had torn a section from the floor and created a makeshift barricade of twisted metal, which had sucked the energy from the rods quite nicely simply by deformation.

A postmortem quickly showed this to be a grievous error, however, underscored by Acanous leaping forward. The rail guns had been but a distraction!

Battle conditions Veccer exceeded. Switch to reaction scenario Ivus.

Taking a step back to throw Acanous' arc out of whack, the Ultra intercepted the man with a palm strike, sending the hero so focused on offense that he'd neglected his defense right into a suspended monitor bank. It followed this up with a slice to the makeshift wall from its other hand's Kaiser blade, causing the amalgamation of warped metal to come crumbling down in the direction of the Arachnos forces. Corroded by the chemicals, there wasn't any way the barrier would hold up to another attack, and so it was likely put to better use as a weapon itself.

Of course, that didn't mean the Ultra's counterattack stopped there. It knew well the rail guns would be reloaded whether Jake and his robots ran from the wall or not, and still had a few tricks up its proverbial sleeves.

Such as a demagnetizer.

The projectile cannon gave report yet again, its shell bursting in a rather disappointing crackle after the brilliant fireworks of the last. Still, the effects wouldn't be any less visible - if the rail guns hadn't fired by now, they wouldn't again for a long time...

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

Cynic had assumed too much. There was no deus ex machina here - just foresight, which came in many forms. One such form was of course having backup on call whenever one planned to be deep in hostile territory. It was common sense, really. The nature of said backup was of course not, but in terrain as gloomy and complex-looking as an Arachnos installation, backup that blended into such an environment was a choice of decent quality. Black on black could be hard to track, especially of it moved fast.

Another such form took the shape of a certain little device on the ground.

Still, Cynic's thoughts were completely correct in one point: foresight only went so far. Something was happening here that he hadn't accounted for - and if he didn't do so quickly, it might cost him much more than just victory.

By the time the pillar-powered portals had fully opened to disgorge their passengers, the two they pursued were already past them (though not by much), and the ellipsoid gave a sudden, high-pitched squeal. The sound persisted for all of an instant, then moved beyond the range of human hearing. Still, its apparent effect persisted in the visible realm - a pale-blue barrier of energy had jumped across the corridor, splitting the Arachnos attack force not quite down the middle, but still cutting those still near the portals off from the relatively few that had managed to make it across the device's imaginary demarcation line in time. Cynic and his drones were of the partition on the other side, and as his personal entourage fired, their blasts merely splashed into the shield.

The forces on the other side of course suffered no such impingements, though the blue-scaled draconian's weapon sought out its first target with eerie accuracy; like the guy had known his target would be there.

Said target was a Bane Spider, who really didn't much appreciate being so rudely used as a bowling ball as he went into a Mu mystic. This arcanist was of course even less appreciative, but oddly enough, the floating man didn't go zap-happy at the collision. Indeed, there didn't seem to be any spell-fueled lighting coursing about whatsoever. This was strange, to say the least. The mystics mumbled their spells no different than usual, but the desired responses to their words of power seemed to have a taken a five-minute break.

The staff-like weapon of course didn't stop there, describing an arc tilted toward the floor at a high angle. Propelled by two strong arms, this allowed for a quick and forceful sweep to both maces and legs, causing several Bane Spiders to tip like dominoes, their tight clustering only making this process easier.

The Night Widows might have been a problem, however. Even if hypothetically one knew where one's enemy would strike, if said enemy wasn't entirely herself, there really weren't any reasonable ways of predicting just where that strike would end up - and the Night Widows certainly weren't performing as Cynic would have wanted them to. They'd been conditioned to link with the minds of all about them, to use their mental prowess to gather information from both their allies and enemies, not to mention communicate with one another to form those incredibly efficient assassination squads the whole world feared.

All alone, sure they were competent martial artists and covert operatives, but their present situation could've been compared to any regular human having suddenly lost one of their most vital senses. After all, to them, that was what their minds stood as: another sense, and the one they relied upon most heavily.

In short, they could've been put side by side to blind snipers right about now, though if this made them less or more dangerous was up for debate.

A pained roar reverberated through the corridor as a toxin-laced blade gouged deeply into the blue-scaled hide of the Sky Commander, causing the draconian being to drop to his knees. By the closed eyes and clenched teeth, it was plainly visible he wasn't happy - and neither was his compatriot.

"Can I borrow you a moment?" came over the dark saurian's lips like a single word as he applied a dagor grip to the Night Widow's wrist, using the resulting leverage to catapult her into the tangle of Bane Spiders, eliciting several aggrieved gasps as the woman's blades made contact.

Still, that didn't account for the two other Night Widows that had slipped past the barrier before its activation, and the black-scaled saurian was still only one person. Luckily, he still had backup.

The Antis struck from above at the same time with horrific fervor, and the scene that presented itself to Cynic wasn't something for weak stomachs. They...wait a minute - hadn't the Commander trapped one in a detention field and given order to blast the others? Yes. Yes, he certainly had.

Looking up where he knew his detention field, Cynic saw only a steel girder in the thing. Why was there a girder in his field and not an enemy? Moreover, if there was an inanimate object in his detention field, what were the assault bot and survivors of the initial strike team shooting at?

The answers themselves were relatively obvious. First: the Anti he'd intended to trap hadn't been where Cynic remembered when he'd placed the detention field there after stepping out of his portal. Second: the jumble of 'efficiency is overrated' machinery that ran like overdimensional black spaghetti below the ceiling. Hopefully, said gnarls of metal were forgiving and wouldn't collapse on top of everyone. The Antis clearly hadn't stuck around to find out, and black on black was difficult to track, to say the least.

Of course, that hadn't been all. On the far side of the shield now dropped no less than fifteen Antis from the ceiling, the animalistic creatures moving like a pack of snakes that'd taken guidelines from wolf pack manuals. Peculiarly enough, they didn't actually strike at anyone, using only their presence as a weapon of shock and surprise. Like a gun barrel to the head of a human, the message was quite clear: 'move and we tear you apart'. Surely the Arachnos troops weren't about to forego their survival instincts and move with something that vicious-looking practically in spitting distance.

The two reptilians, however, were under no such restrictions. Though the Sky Commander's wound sat deep enough to force the use of his weapon as a crutch and the arm held over his side couldn't prevent a respectable trail of blood from following him, he reserved will enough for both to make it out the now nearby hole. Three of the Antis followed like greased lightning, but the twelve that remained didn't look like they had any intention of departing.

Whatever happened now, the ellipsoid emitter would reach its threshold in about two more seconds under the sustained fire of the Arachnos forces...

((I dunno, that black sphere sounds like a dark gate to me. Could be wrong though, so up to yalls there. ))

Cynic's gamble had succeeded; or at least, so it appeared. His forces had indeed managed to surround the two before the Sky Commander could reach anyone with his odd staff, and they weren't betting that the ones pointing weapons at them wouldn't hesitate to use them if they came any closer. The two stopped.

Still, they didn't seem very concerned with the situation. But why?

Cynic's first clue might be the lack of focus from the Night Widows. Sure, they still moved relatively normally, but there sat a lack of precision and coordination in their motions - like they'd all suffered a punch to the head at the same time.

The truth was of course nowhere near this lenient. Like their predecessors, those psychics that had been part of the guarding force here at the airfield, the Night Widows' mental talents had cut off from one moment to another. Not even their collective link functioned any longer, making each of them somewhat shaky on their feet, having lost the mind’s support of the others in the squad.

The second stood a little more obvious. Instead of a fine detail, it came in the form of blatant words, stemming from the black-scaled saurian with mocking tone, "You know, it's nice we can at least rely on you to appear on schedule."

And the third, fourth, and fifth clues were all clear indicators that the Commander's intended surprise attack had run headlong into a trap from hell. Almost simultaneously, three gasps of shock and pain gurgled from the living of his group, accompanied by the sickening sounds of tending flesh and cracking bones, not to mention the soft patter of blood upon a metal floor.

The warm, crimson fluid trailed from the masks of three in a scene that could've sprung directly from a cliché sci-fi horror flick - impaled through their torsos by long, bony tails of black, the three had roughly all of a microsecond to contemplate the large terminator spikes that jutted from their fronts before being savagely yanked from the floor and into their comrades with downright vicious force.

In the gloomy rafters of the ceiling, the movements were unmistakable now: the reptilians had backup, and in the form of at least three Antis, maybe even more.

Not that they had time to contemplate upon the number. The two they'd attempted to corner hadn't hesitated to make use of the shock moment the spearing had brought about, the Sky Commander bolting forward to ram his staff into the gut of the keystone soldier that blocked their path, tossing the man to the side and into the crowd akin to the manner of the Antis.

In mere moments, the pair was out the gap in the now disheveled cordon, even as the Arachnos troops still tried to get their bearings on what had just happened and how to counter it - and they'd have to somehow, otherwise the Antis wouldn't hesitate to quite literally tear them apart.

That of course didn't mean the two reptilians didn't expect some of them to favor pursuit over survival instinct. A seemingly harmless and barely noticeable metal ellipsoid, roughly the size of a human, had had been left on the floor not far from the former cordon's edge...

((Well, it wasn't literally glue, but whatever. ))

Jake's bet went sour, without warning and form one moment to another. The Ultra lashed out at the drone as it attempted to get past, spearing a Kaiser blade through the shield and into the mechanoid's guts. Apparently, the blades were disruptive in nature, and carried a sharpness that allowed them to cut a great range of normally very solid materials if enough force went into the cut - and the Ultra had plenty of force in its swing.

At the same time, the projectile barrel of its artillery mount fired again, and this time the airburst munition didn't go for its opponents...at least not directly.

Instead, it went for their shields.

Crackling energies surged through the chamber in wide arcs and fully visible fields, filling the place with a disruptive influence. It wasn't quite enough to fully demolish the multi-layered energetic barriers, but there was a good chance whatever it had in mind to dish out next would be capable of finishing the job and then some.

Coincidentally, as well as simultaneously, the Black Hawk outside had picked just these moments to return to its former place by the wrecked window gallery, a Malta Operative whistling with downright piercing volume to get the Arbiter's attention. Beside the blue-uniformed man were two more: one perched in the harness of the helo's port gun mount, which carried a minigun capable of taking out light armored vehicles; the other standing in the doorway with a line to the aircraft, multiple belts of grenades slung across his arms.

Without hesitation, the man leaped from the Black Hawk and toward the building, the one who'd whistled gesturing to Jake in a direct and uncompromising fashion: 'grab those and get down'...

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

"Convenient." the Sky Commander remarked as the fields disappeared, the pair taking a quick right down another passage. Ruined and strewn with bodies, the battle for this corridor had already concluded a while ago, "I don't think we'll be fast enough, though."

"Probably." the black-scaled saurian agreed, placing two fingers to his temple, "The ATCs won't be able to take out the Flyers. Alpha 9er, scramble."

"Roger, Control." crackled the reply through the microscopic hypercom, followed by a cutoff confirmation beep.

The corridor didn't go on for much longer (or at least it didn't now), a gaping hole in the side wall not far ahead leading out to the roof. It seemed fairly certain that would be the exit point of the two reptilians. With chaos raging in both field and sky outside, the tower subsection made a fairly decent extraction zone...

[ QUOTE ]
[ QUOTE ]
What he said. Sort of.

I am soooo rooting for this thread to suceed, but I don't believe I will be among its contributors for a couple of reasons.

1. If you couldn't tell by the number of posts under my avatar, I really haven't gotten to know most of you weirdoes yet, so I wouldn't even know with whom to collaborate.

2. I've always steered clear of the Open threads because of the stifling restrictions of only controlling your own characters. When I come over to play, I expect to play with all the toys, both yours and mine.

I will be reading, and who know? Maybe a few more chapters and I might change my tune.

[/ QUOTE ]

Talk it over with the characters' owner, Corsage. This is a world where we're all one Red Cross Express ticket away from survival, so almost anything goes. If you can come up with a clever reason why your character(s) would be messing with another writer's character, talk it over with them and see if they'd like to work with you.

The idea behind this thread, guys, is that our characters are all living in this world together. This is actually a thread dedicated to telling numerous simultaneous stories.

Yes, it will need smoothing out. Yes, this will take considerable effort. Hopefully, though, we can get a collaboration of stories not just from our own RP boards, but from across the forums.

Heck, I know I'm advertising.

[/ QUOTE ]
Well, those 'stifling restrictions' are generally in place because otherwise people start having characters that aren't their take actions that said other character would never perform.

Smoke.

However, a bit of communication beforehand (I find the format of 'how would your character react if X happened now?' generally useful) via PM or something will usually allow for an author to write for another person's character, yet maintain that same sense of composition, as if the other character's writer had actually written the reaction.

Smoke.

I've done this on multiple occasions now, and I have to say the quality of the end product is very satisfying. Not only did it allow for an epic fight with a rather unorthodox evil overlord named Diov, but I also pulled the mind of one of Grey's androids into a supercomputer.

Are ya smokin' yet?!

In short, it's pretty cool what you can do with a little communication. Still, I work best when I've got my own part that I can mesh with other people's as things play out, not before they do.