TheSoviet

((The rocket was already fired...))

((LAW coming at you?))

((Right.))

As soon as Famine saw the grenade come over the barricade, his jumppack ignited. With the intense rapid explosions of a Pulse Detonation Engine, Famine shot over the barrier and away from the grenades, firing his TMPs down into Gunner as he did so. Not stopping to see what had happened there, Famine cut his engines to land comfortably behind the rapidly closing portal. Reloading and then holstering the TMPs quickly, Famine pulled out an M72 LAW, or Lightweight Antitank Weapon. As the rift closed, Famine fired it through the rapidly dissipating energies, the rocket a bolt of lightning from a distant god.

((Yeah, I know it was a lame post after a long wait. I blame medication.))

((Can we be more specific about the guns we're using here? I don't know if you're plinking me with a .22 or plugging me with a .45...))

Famine yelled "PLAAAAAN!" In a rather triumphant fashion before jumpjetting at inane speeds to directly in front of Masque, taking pretty much the entire hail of bullets for him in dramatic fashion.

Fortunate about the ballistics armor.

"Now, didn't yer mom ever tell ya? NEVER BRING A SEMI TO A FULL-AUTO FIGHT!" The mercenary cackled at the magical gunman. Famine brought up his twin TMPs and unleashed an absolute hellstorm of lead, stepping deliberately forward as he did so, slowly closing the distance between the two.

((No?))

Famine was in to the arena just seconds after Lotus and Gunner.

"Oh damn. I was hoping I'd get to try this."

The mercenary lifted a tricked out orange communicator (An increasingly common theme) and tapped out a long string of commands. With the characteristic blue flash of the standard Paragon/Rogue Isles teleport, a sort of Jetpack was suddenly attached to his back. The nozzles were wide and there seemed to be only limited control systems. It appeared to be more of a 'jumpjet' than anything.

"What to use, what to use." Famine asked himself, stroking his faceguard in mock consideration.

"AH YES." He exclaimed, drawing the TMP....And another TMP.

"Because sometimes, accuracy and practicality just doesn't matter." He announced to himself.

"...™"

"ANYWAY! Let's DO THIS!"

((The jump-jets he has are basically like what the Zone Troopers get in Command and Conquer three. No in-flight control, big plume of smoke when he jumps, but the jump is fast and forceful. I guess you could say it gives him superjump.))

((EDIT: Yeah I suddenly realized that he's almost exactly like a Terran Reaper now. So sue me.))

"Hot." Famine stated simply to Silk, bringing up the lower half of a ballistics faceguard to project his chin and mouth, thereby completing his combat preparations.

"Yeah I'm with Grey here, let's do this, LET'S DO THIS!" He yelled, getting pumped up.

"PSSSSSSSHHHHH." Famine rolled his eyes, taunting a bit loudly. "C'mon, pally." He said, smacking a magazine into his TMP, "I'm normal, see, just like you! Regular old Joe, yeah? C'mon, it'll be great!"

Famine's grin widened a respectably large amount at Silk's offer.

"Yeah, babe, I'll fight you. Since I got this guy, I hope your man-pal here's ready for a beatin'."

Famine removed the hoodie he wore to reveal the extensive ballistics armor plates that covered his entire upper body. He had taken the suicide vest off for the fight, for obvious reasons. He pulled up his orange-tinted protective goggles (Basically the 'Squadron' goggles from in game) and produced an orange-and-black boonie hat for purely thematic purposes.

"You ready, uhhh....Teammate guy?" He questioned the gray haired man, pulling the bolt on a Steyr TMP Machine Pistol.

"Yeah." Dune answered him. "It'll happen."

Mister Dune walked out of the casino, all of the goons standing and going with him, leaving Danny without so much as a second thought.

---

Famine swaggered up to the arena cage, glancing to the left and right with a grin on his face. He adjusted his bright orange hoodie.

"So how do I sign up for a fight, eh?"

Famine laughed outside of the bubble.

'Dune' spoke to the security guard.

"This kid's insane. If my associate had a bomb of some sort, he would have never made it on to this ship."

The security guard knew this was true. It's not like the biggest, newest cruise liner on the planet would let someone with a bomb blatantly strapped to their chest on-board, right?

Right?

"Sorry about the trouble, sirs." The guard said. "He won't bother you again."

By this time several other of the ship's security had come over, and they surrounded the floating bubble from below. It was obvious that they had arrived to escort the boy away.

"I can't believe this place." 'Dune' scoffed at the guard.

"I'm truly sorry, sir."

Famine was still grinning cruelly at Danny. Just because he had seen the bombs didn't mean they weren't being careful about them.

"'Scuse." Famine told 'Dune' and the others, making his way out of the casino nonchalantly. "We'll finish this later."

((Actually, Chameleon, a level III vest of this caliber would actually have combination bladed/bullet protection, and Wikipedia tells me such features are found in the Turtleskin and SRM body armors. So yeah, it'd have something to say about an arrow. After all, an arrow's just a really big fragment.))

((Of course, that isn't to say he'd laugh one off. Post coming eventually.))

Famine only grinned a bat-[censored]-crazy, crooked grin at the boy, and 'Dune' snapped his fingers.

One of the ship's security guards came over.

"Young man, I'm gonna have to ask you to clear outta here. Y'can't go jumpin' on people's tables, man."

"I've got half a mind to complain, you know." 'Dune' said in a fine imitation of a rich businessman. "This is rather important. I expect no more interruptions."

"Sorry, sir, we can't be on everyone all the time."

The numerous goons stared to the central table, waiting for...something.

Danny's scan would certainly turn up some interesting things.

Since the one calling himself Famine had chosen not to so much as disguise his pale blue eye color (So pale some thought him blind,) the scanner almost instantly recognized him as THE Famine, the known terrorist who had once conducted shock-and-awe bombings of the greater Skyway area, killing hundreds, along with taking out a major bridge in independence port. He was a known member of the mercenary organization the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and he handled all explosive and nuclear work for them. The orange goggles around his neck were part of his standard getup, a glaringly orange Exoskeleton Armor which provided him ample protection from his handiwork, and raised his defense levels to near that of an Elite Boss monster. Danny's eyepiece made it painfully obvious that Famine was wearing a bomb vest underneath his jacket, and he had a gigantic spool of detcord wrapped around his waist. There was a .45 caliber pistol in a concealed-carry holster under his right arm, and the switch to the detonator for his vest made it obvious that the getup was only a last resort, as the trigger was safely shielded by a titanium misfire-proof cover and placed under his belt on the left side. There was a huge Kukri knife shoved into his right pants leg and underneath the suicide vest was a level III Bulletproof vest, rendering anything but anti-material rifles practically useless against him, and throwing knives right out of the equation.

The man was a walking warzone.

'Mister Dune,' the very man who had called him out, was not seen by the goggles. He was right there but the goggles only saw one man at the table below.

'Mister Dune' looked up at the boy.

"I'd say you're a bit young to be in a casino and eavesdropping on people you don't know, boy."

'Mister Dune's' eyes narrowed, the last word almost a snarl.

'Dune' recognized the boy as a hero. And he had good reason to...

((An interesting plan. Time to see if I can write something that only amuses me in a storyline way and not in the headshot-execution style I am known for.))

((Also, Spade, happy birthday. Greensboro's a real nice town. Was there for a bit.))

Just as Odette and David sat down in the casino, several disgruntled murmurs came from the entrance.

Rather large men in rather menacing black suits were slowly pushing a circle of people away from the door. Two figures were in the center of the cluster.

One of them was a tall man of possible east-european descent. His hair was jet black and cut to a short, military-style buzz. He wore finely made clothing, his smart black shoes shined to an almost blinding sheen.

Only the very most observant would realize that all of the suited men, including him, had a small rectangular box sitting comfortably in their back pocket.

The other man in the center was completely underdressed for the grand casino. Dirty carpenter pants and black work boots complimented a long sleeved, garishly orange hooded jacket. The man above this street-trash ensemble had orange-tinted, blood stained flight goggles hung around his neck, and he was chewing a....fuse? His dirty brown hair was only somewhat tamed into a fauxhawk.

The two men took a seat at a table alone and the various suited men sat in a protective circle of tables around theirs.

A waiter approached them.

"Mister Dune, mister..."

"Famine, champ."

"Mister Famine. I hope you are enjoying your trip?"

"Merlot. Finest vintage. Go get it." 'Mister Dune' told him matter of factly, and the waiter was off with a nod.

"Right, Famine. I believe we had business to attend to."

Famine scratched the side of his head. "Sounds about right."

"I assume you fully understand the plans we have."

A waiter passed by.

"Oh, yeah, great weather.

...Yeah, I'll be ready. My payment?"

"After."

"Sounds like a plan."

The waiter returned with the merlot.

"Scallops. Get going." 'Mister Dune' told him again, shooing him. The assembled suited men in the tables around them scanned the area with caution.

"Do you fully understand who is on this ship with us?" 'Dune' asked, seeming almost impressed with Famine's casual airs.

"Yeah, pretty damn sure I know what I'm doing there Re...Dune."

"I'd better not hear any other names."

"Hey, your call. What are they gonna do here anyway, wreck half the ship to get you?"

"I wouldn't put it past them."

"You're always lookin' over your shoulder, Dune. I can respect that."

"Just watch yourself, Famine. I've got a bad feeling about this one."

"I figure there's about a ninety percent chance of our [censored] getting ruined, but hey, them's good enough odds for the rest of my jobs."

"Let's shoot a bit higher than that, shall we?"

"Whatever you say."

((And suddenly...))

If Danny looked up at War, he would only see the man painfully working his way around the next corner clutching his chest. His gloves were apparently insulated very thickly, so still he trudged on, but he could clearly see the Talsorian Arrow stuck dead in the man's stomach.

---

Doc could hear War coming up behind him with a lurching gait. The man looked like an absolute pincushion, and he was gripping an arrow rather tightly in his chest.

"I GOT THIS!" War yelled, suddenly gaining a burst of speed. His main-hand was still quite capable of swording the hell out of Julia and that was exactly what war planned to do.

Then Con Vulse showed up.

"I GOT THIS TOO!" He yelled, not even waiting for Dr. Con to finish his threatening gesture before swinging his blade with all his might at the Doctor's back.

Julia suddenly ran into problems of her own.

A claymore from absolutely nowhere suddenly exploded right next to her and mere milliseconds before the shrapnel ripped through the air she could swear she had seen the slightest distortion along the Portal Corp walls.

The Bane spider responded to the attacks in a completely unexpected manner.

He turned into a pile of sludge on the ground which slurped over to one of the Arachnos minions and suddenly shaped into a Shivan Decimator...around him.

Moment laughed in the deep roar of a Shivan and gathered a glob of Radiation, hurling a Neutron Bomb at the Arachnos forces.

The rest of the Malta Operatives stuck to their cover, blind-firing in support of Moment, keeping Arachnos heads down just long enough for the shapeshifter to get off his attacks.

War stood shakily to his feet just in time to catch an arrow in his chest.

"Oh COME ON!" He yelled at Target, unflinchingly taking another two ricochets which slammed into one of his shoulder plates, the bank-shot only landing one of the three (thankfully) on a thick composite buttplate.

Swinging the blades forward and managing to knock away a few arrows, War charged forward at a rather respectable pace for being stuck full of points. As he passed by Kirae and Abram he took a few wild slashes but didn't stick around to see what damage he'd caused as he jumped forward, swords held high, hoping to wipe Target and regroup with his hirer.

"Ohheywha-" Was all war could get out before the arrow thumped into the soft layer of kevlar he wore.

"DAMN YOU JOSEPH WILBRAND!" He screamed before the blast went off right in front of him, completely ruining any cohesive plan that could have been forming as he sailed into the wall behind him, dazed but seemingly about to get back up.

Smells like...Jenkins...

((Okay seriously? Seriously. Blood agents? Check. Psionics? Check. Stun bolts? Check. Blinding spores? Check. Paralysis Grenade? Check.))

((Let me say something, Ravenick. As much as I hate to use game logic.))

((I have a Scrapper too you know. BS/Regen. He's mid-levels, Operative Rezyin's his name.))

((He is completely twinked out on about thirty million worth of IO sets.))

((HE WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO STOP THIS.))

((Hrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm))

((The gas was being..canceled out...by her healing powers...))

((This...is...CHEMICAL WARFAAAARREEEE))

Pestilence turned around to face Target Lad just as his fist went sailing directly into his face. The Specialist recoiled in the abject pain of, well, getting punched in the face at about seventy miles an hour. His left eye-covering bent and then shattered as he hit the floor, and Pestilence yelped in fear, covering his yellowed and bloodshot eye with his mesh glove. Awkwardly making a break for it now that his suit's seal was broken, Pestilence threw one last grenade behind him before suddenly vanishing in a teleport.

There were quiet whisperings in an unknown and terrifying language.

But Pestilence didn't return.

Yet still the grenade sailed through the air, landing with an oddly squishy sound on the floor. The grenade pulsed, as though alive, and suddenly a massive cloud of spores blew into the room, working its way into everyone. An intensely painful and powerful paralytic agent made by none other than Scorpion Agent Drechi himself, these spores had the added effect of making almost impossible to see right in front of you.

Right before the spores covered him, Target would notice that the glass of Pestilence's goggle had given him a small cut on his hand.

---

War, Bringer of Strife to Humanity, Rider of the Apocalypse, stared into the inky blackness through infra-red goggles.

"I love this job."

The terrorist-priest-killer-for-hire reached into his tactical belt and drew, as bad-[censored] as he possibly could hope to draw, two Falcatas, foreward curved slashing blades from far off lands. 'Like Egypt or something.' Was what War remembered of it. Each Falcata was covered in a slick coat of Cyanide, thanks to Pestilence's last minute thinking.

"I'm just glad he's not so stupid as to think he could take these **** out himself." War smiled, ignoring the fact that he had arranged for no such further backup.

"Alright, get some, GET SOME!" The Horseman yelled, securing one of Pestilence's gas masks and charging towards the nearest heat source (Which happened to be Target Lad,) swinging his blades rampantly.

((So you're saying you TPFoed a cloud of noxious fumes. That'd be fine in and of itself, but teleporting enemies only lets you bring them closer...))