Description: The Hellriders have come to town, and they're looking for a fight. Why are they targeting Mad Gear? What business do they have with Stray? Who are the Hellriders anyway? If you want the answer to these or other questions, you can F**K OFF. There are no answers here, only good old ultra violence. (WARNING, Strong Language and Adult Content Within)
The Skull Cross primary compound in Metro City is an old Chevrolet factory in the Industrial District. After the automotive industry moved out of Metro City due to rising costs of business created by Belger's takeover of the various unions, it was dirt cheap for Stray to purchase. Along the roads approaching the factory, there are various smaller warehouses, Skull Cross strategically owning the ones necessary for efficient triangular crossfires of approaching enemies, or scouting police. The factory itself is a three story affair, with tilting glass windows along the upper level of the factory. Instead of using actual live spotters in the factory itself, security cameras mounted inside and outside do the trick, the entire base wired by Stray's custom computer technology based on Chinese-manufactured mainframes. The streets are quiet in the five block compound, one block outwards from the primary factory block in a oval around the Skull Cross field site for organization of Metro City operations.
Security is always a necessary part of any operational HQ. Sure, you can disguise a base. You can insure that every man who knows about it is sworn to secrecy, on pain of death, or whatever asinine punishment happens to seem ominous enough at the time. But when confronted with the choice of eventual punishment or immediate mutilation, the vast majority will choose the option that allows them to continue living with both legs attached to their body.
At least, that's the lie that they are told. Half the fun of an interrogation is that peculiar look of horror on their face when they realize they are going to be torn apart anyway after betraying their employer. Classic evil has its thrills.
The relative quiet of the streets surrounding The Skull Cross compound is disturbed by a distant growling rumble. At first a quiet, far off thing, the noise begins to grow more distinct, gaining volume and intensity as it approaches rapidly through the industrial district. In very little time the sound resolves itself into the deep, chesty rumble of perhaps 6 large motorcycles, roaring their way down the vacant streets at a pace far exceeding the lawful limit.
The first of these bikes whips into sight around a corner, passing directly beneath one of the scattered warehouses set aside for constructing crossfire's. It is a beastly monstrosity of a bike. A chopper of some kind, its already heavy frame has been weighed down yet further with reinforced steel plates welded over the gas tank and engine, shielding them handily from small arms fire. Yet more bits of metal have been welded across its frame to form aggressive spikes and steel protrusions, while what appear to be jagged sword blades jut from the thick spokes of the wheels, churning the air violently like the blades of an ancient war chariot. it is painted black and red, with crimson orbs inset randomly throughout the structure, each glowing hellishly in the light of mid day.
The aging grey-haired man atop the bike is leant far back on his seat, tattooed hands lifted to grip the high hanging handlebars before him. The posture spreads his arms, allowing his leather vest to fall open and flap behind him in the wind. The whole of his arms and body are covered in dark black tattoos, but two stand out amidst all the rest. Two lines of text , one above the other, that draw the eye down from his scarred face and burning grey eyes.
'POOR IMPULSE CONTROL'
The whirling blades of Rae's bike throw sparks up from the cement as he banks around another turn, aiming the heavy machine down a long road that passes between many tall warehouses. However, at the end of this access road is the loading doc at the rear of Mad Gear's base. The road doesn't lead anywhere else, making the savage biker's destination extremely obvious.
Behind him, 5 more bikes roar around the corner. None quite so large or wicked as his own, but all of them twisted, strangely warped, and strewn with inset orbs of crimson. And atop each of them rests a large, ill tempered figure. Some men, some women. Some with glowing red eyes, others yellow. At least one with a pair of rams horns curling out from his temples.
As the motorcycles pass through the outer edge of the Industrial District, a cop hangs around outside a diner made for factory and refinery workers, drinking from a stryofoam cup of coffee. The large, overweight cop slurps a long draw of lukewarm black charm, his mustache briefly dipping into the liquid. He slurps it off, before the hulking African-American cop sets the cup down on the roof of his cruiser as the bikers move past, getting on his radio. He flicks the channel off the Metro City PD channel, and onto the 'special' one used by gangsters in the city. "Edi E. here. Just a friendly shout to our friends from the east. Y'all got hawks."
Gangbangers in the warehouses cue up computer databases and peer out windows, until the route is identified. Stray turns around from a chair in his desk, his black cat in his lap, as he peers at computer screens. The cat instinctively slides off him, before he rises up and slips his spiked gauntlet gloves on, stretching his fingers inside them. A sickly looking Chinese man peers over the computer screen through his thick glasses, tapping at the computer. Stray walks over to him and peers over his shoulder. "Darkstalkers."
There's a sudden rattle of machine gun fire from one of the warehouses, then a stacatto from the one across the street, two lines of fire emerging from the forward corners of each building as the bikers get into range. It's a brief, pumping surge of heavy fire, aimed low into the streets to give them a stern warning that may be lethal if they aren't going fast enough, or trail themselves to wide and long in formation. As they pass the triangular arch of the fire, it abates, and the gunners duck down behind cover.
Bullets spark and zing all around the small party of darkstalkers, chips of cement spraying into the air where shots go wide. Those that impact the bikes themselves ping off with metallic clanks and bangs, seeming to do very little real damage to the heavy duty machines.
A good few bullets do seem to hit their marks. Two rounds slam directly into the chest of the leader, quick splurts of blood being forced out to be caught by the air. The blood droplets are whipped out behind him by the wind, spitting and hissing as they impact the dusty street.
A lumbering, goat-horned woman in a cropped leather vest hunches her muscular shoulders, tattooed biceps flexing as she powers forward through the hail of gunfire. She seems not to notice the dual streams of red that begin to drip from holes in her vest, trickling slowly down her exposed abs to pool between her leather-clad legs.
Their savage grey-haired leader bares his teeth as the two bullet wounds begin to heal, skin knitting itself together with horrifying swiftness. His bike roars, throttling up as he gains speed, sparks flying from the whirling blades of its wheels as it jumps a curb and crashes down heavily into the parking lot. He does not slow there, however, continuing to hurtle full-speed toward the closed bay doors, his intention clearly to ram them head on. With his scarred face contorted and grey eyes alight with rage, he looks very much the demonic beast of wrath that he is.
Behind him, moving a good deal slower but with no less intent, the group of darkstalker underlings splits into three. Two of them tear off to the right, two to the left, clearly making their way toward the warehouses that they were shot from. The goat girl, however, jams her accelerator to the max and shoots forward in pursuit of her leader.
As the bikers enter the parking lot, Skull Cross members stub out cigarettes or stop eating or drinking, and grab shotguns, their personal choice of base defense, as warning alarms go off throughout the factory. They all rush to positions around corners and at door chokepoints, shoving shells into their weapons and loading them up with practiced, angry movements, before they drop to low or covered positions, waiting nervously but with purpose more befitting of a paramilitary unit than a street gang.
The warehouses are less defended, mainly used for defensive positions rather than their actual built-to-spec purposes. This is a field command outpost, not the Skull Cross' business interests, which have been decentralized but linked by heavily Slavic encrypted computer systems and various technological tricks used by Russian Federal Intelligence. Their leader, Black, has connections into the Russian government, and many other regimes with similiar technology. The gunners in the warehouses actually begin to retreat from the warehouses, quickly and rapidly moving out towards back alleys where they can move to a small motorpool here or there in a chopshop garage. One of those autoshops that exists off the main roads and is mysteriously still in operation, of course.
The Chevrolet factory's loading dock door slowly moves open, revealing Stray standing there in his green trenchcoat, sunglasses hiding his eyes as he gives a stone faced look of hidden fear at the man. Behind him but in a line flanking him are several former Russian soldiers, all of them with advanced battle rifles, his elite guard for this base. Stray only has his gloves. Stray raises a hand, and they all present their guns.
Stray drops his hand, and there is a rapid pepper of carefully aimed shots with full metal jacket rounds, all for their motorcycles.
COMBATSYS: Stray has started a fight here.
COMBATSYS: Rae has joined the fight here.
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Stray 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rae
COMBATSYS: Rae endures Stray's Large Thrown Object.
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Stray 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Rae
Off in the distance, the break away bikers rev their engines as they smash through padlocked doors, heavy tires squealing against smooth in door cement as they power slide around corners, giving chase to the tactically retreating gangsters with wicked glee. But in truth, they are not the problem.
The real problem is baring down on Stray. Roughly 200 pounds of hate and rage, perched atop a heavy metal death machine that could have been ripped directly from Mad Max.
Throwing his head back, Rae lets out a harsh, hacking laugh as bullets rain down all around him. Some plough into his hairy body, trailed by red ribbons of gore as they pass right on through him. Others ricochet off of his bike before slamming into his stomach or bouncing away across the parking lot. But despite the storm of death, the insane biker does not go down.
Jerking his handlebars hard to the right,the crazed demon slams on the breaks and causes his heavy machine to slide hard around sideways, tires biting deep before the forward momentum slings the entire contraption over hard. Rae is catapulted from his seat, flying through the air with his arms spread wide, snarling laugh still being spat through his teeth as his bike tumbles over and begins to grind noisily across the pavement.
Unless Stray can save himself, the flying demon will slam bodily into him and bring him down to the ground. Tumbling together twice end over end in a tangle of limbs, the devilish figure will try to get control of the grapple and drive a knee hard into Stray's gut. Only then will he rise to his feet, dragging the gangster upright with him to meet a punishing headbutt.
Behind them, the goat-horned woman roars through the open doors and swerves around Rae's downed bike, throttling up again just moments before ploughing straight through the center of the gunmen's line.
COMBATSYS: Stray dodges Rae's Combo Grapple.
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Stray 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Rae
Stray slowly lifts his chin, stretching his throat and arching his back with a pop from his sternum as he prepares to go into hand to hand combat with the demonic biker. He immediately leaps off the ground as Rae comes flying at him with a slam, shoving a boot into Rae's back and thrusting down with a leap off him. As he pushes away and off Rae, he spins around in the air, landing in a crouch with a flourish of his green trenchcoat. He rolls his shoulders, pleased that that went so well. Not as scary as he looks, this one.
The line of mercenaries falls back smoothly with a part, as if they are all of one mind but in reality all following the same training regimen, allowing them to move about logically with minimum interruption. They don't shoot, of course, until she roars past, one of them taking careful aim and firing off a shot at the thick back tire of the motorcycle, attempting to spin her out so they can deal with her more easily.
Stray watches Rae recover from his failed tackle, using it to appraise him technically and with sophisticated, insectile calculation, his background in chess, violin, street fighting, and computers coming to fruition with the cold organization of an international mobster. As Rae is ready to face him again, he allows himself a tightlipped smile that does not look like one, giving Rae a fake movement as if he's backing off in fear, before he surges forward with a leap and an attempt to land on him, pushing him off his feet and unleashing a flurry of blows atop him with those spiked gauntlets.
COMBATSYS: Rae endures Stray's Pounce.
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Stray 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Rae
Goat Girl hammers down hard on the break with her left foot while bracing her right on the ground, using what is clearly inhuman strength to power slide her chopper to a squealing halt. The bullet meant for her back tire punctures it easily, but that only seems to piss her off. With a throaty,feminine growl, she swings her leg over the bike to dismount and tosses her long, wild brown hair behind her shoulders.
Lowering her head, she charges straight for the man that just shot her baby. The entire gang of them will likely be needed to take her down, given her rage driven strength and the resilience of her unnaturally tough body. Unfortunately for her, though she is tough, she doesn't seem to have her leader's ability to heal. Enough bullets just might be able to finish her. That is, if they can get them off while she is punching, body slamming, and drop kicking her way through them.
Speaking of violence.
Rae's chest grinds roughly into the ground as he slides to a stop after his leap. Bracing both tattooed hands on the pavement, he clambers upright without the violent exchange of blows that he had originally planned. The ragged chuckle that had been hacking up from his gut has finally died away, replaced by heavy panting.
Boots scuffing through the grit, Rae wheels about to face Stray, shaggy hair framing his scarred, time-ravaged face. His yellow teeth are showing in a vicious grin, light grey eyes practically glowing with barely restrained wrath.
"Heh." He grunts, eyeing up the slightly taller, but more lightly built man. "You think you're tough, cock sucker? C'meer then and show me what tough is. Fucking purple haired faery." As he speaks he spits crudely onto the ground between them, fists curling into stone-like mallets at his sides.
Any sort of observation at all would reveal that he's a brawler. Crude, unschooled, but from what Stray has seen he is incredibly tough. Able to take those bullets to the chest and dive off of his speeding motorcycle with no fear for pain or injury. In fact, as the gangster studies him, the blood leaking from his puncture wounds begins to slow, the bullet holes already starting to knit themselves back together.
When Stray feints backward, Rae steps forward as if to follow. This puts him exactly where the Russian wants him, and he moves right into the oncoming pounce, taking both of the fighter's feet to his chest. Staggering back, he impacts a stack of crates that keep him from falling completely backward and lets out a hacking laugh as Stray's claws begin to rake across his face and chest. Each blow leaves behind a series of ragged scratches, but his tough old hide parts only grudgingly, as if he were wrapped in treated leather rather than skin.
"HAHHAHHAH!" the brutal biker roars in hateful laughter as hellish red flames suddenly roar out from his hands, encasing his arms from fingertips to elbows.
"Fuck off, kid!" Rae snarls, his first punch blasting through the space between them in an attempt to hammer hard into Stray's gut. That blow is followed by a vicious right cross as he shoves up from the boxes, then a blazing left uppercut. The bulky fighter steps forward as he swings, the air around him quickly growing super heated.
COMBATSYS: Rae successfully hits Stray with Death Engine.
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Stray 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Rae
Stray stares at Rae at the hateful laughter, grabbing him by the shoulders and staring into his eyes, his body locking up as he attempts to pin the arms down. But Rae just blasts through it, slamming a fist into his stomach that keels him forward, before the blow across the head slams his head to the side and off of him, the uppercut then knocking the Stray Cat to the ground, his sunglasses flying off his face. Feeling the burns on his body and smelling the sulphur brimstone associated with hellfire, he rolls onto his side, spitting out blood.
The soldier that crippled the motorcycle is accosted by Goat Girl, swinging out his rifle butt at her head but having the charging horns and thick skull break his weapon into base components and lay him out. The others shoulder or drop their guns, and move into Sambo stances, the skinny one drawing a long fillet knife and flicking it about in his hand. As she goes for one of them, the target executes a quick parry with his forearm slamming out behind the fist to blunt her assault, as the man with the knife slithers in to slide it into her liver. Not lethal for at least twenty minutes on a human, but with severe pain that would cause a lose of combat stamina.
Stray pushes himself to his feet, and takes a deep breath which he holds he, slamming his chest with his right fist to pump through the pain and get his combat rhythm back. Stray comes back in at Rae, running at him over the brief space between them and jumping past him, his left hand coming out at his face as he attempts to grab it and yanking the demon off his feet with the momentum and swing around, yanking the Darkstalker about by his mouth and nose before slamming him to the ground.
COMBATSYS: Rae interrupts Medium Throw from Stray with Harmageddon.
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Stray 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Rae
"Get up Pinkie Pie!" Rae Roars at the top of his lungs, voice bouncing off of the metal walls as he advances on his downed opponent. "You worthless piece of horse shit. Peel your sorry carcase off of the floor before I skull fuck your mother." The words streaming from his mouth burn with nearly as much heat as his still blazing fists. They are a constant torrent of filth. A seemingly unconscious stream of rage, divorced from all sense and allowed to spew forth unchecked at the cat-like gangster.
"That's right ass hole, on your feet." He snarls, booted foot coming down on Stray's discarded sunglasses with a 'crunch' as he stalks ever closer. Perhaps most horrifyingly of all, however, is the obvious healing of the scratches across his skin. Those wounds just inflicted slowly close, becoming thin pink scars.
Behind the old man, further into the warehouse, Goat Girl seems to be holding her own. Skinny's knife only makes it about half as deep as one might expect before her powerful muscles clinch the weapon in place and she clubs him flat with one tattooed forearm. Stomping hard on the back of his head with her two-inch healed boot, she shatters his face against the ground with a grin of satisfaction before whirling on the spot with a huge haymaker. The men manage to dodge back, spreading out to surround her as she pants through her nose, head swinging from side to side in an attempt to keep eyes on all of them past her thick horns. With an annoyed gesture she swings one hand down to bat at the handle of the knife protruding from her body, snapping it off and sending it skittering away across the ground.
Back with Rae and Stray, the nimble gangster charges, leaping into the air as he reaches out for the devil's face. Unfortunately for him, as his fingers dig into the scruffy hair covering the old man's cheeks, a powerful forearm hammers hard into his stomach. Hellish fire burns up his front as he is thrown backward through the air, riding Rae's outstretched arm as the wrathful brawler clothes line's him through the open bay doors and brings his body swinging down to impact hard with the uneven parking lot.
Dropping down atop the unfortunate man, Rae smashes his knee into Stray's gut, pinning him in place for a brutal series of flaming punches. Left, Right, Left, Right, the aging brawler puts his shoulder behind all five of the massive hooking blows, little sparks of savage laughter escaping him as he looms above his mounted prey.
Stray is rocketed out of the warehouse, carried by Rae with an enraged but terrified scream as his inertia senses are sent into a frenzy by being jerked in another direction and carried so abruptly through the air. He slams into the ground, beneath the Darkstalker, and is pummelled, his face slowly reduced to blood and gristle, head slammed left and right, left and right. Initial defiance is turned into a gruesomely grotesque stupor, unable to even wish it would stop.
The men surround the Goat Girl with their fists up, one jerking towards her with a feint kick forward before backing off, another maneuvering around behind her, as they all cooperate to keep someone behind her and add to her paranoia while they keep her in place. Then, suddenly, a crane meant to carry automobile parts swings down from above, aimed right at her as they position her in exactly the right position.
From Stray's office window, the Vulture, Stray's bodyguard, raises a high power sniper rifle and tips it on the edge of the outcropping and peers through the scope. A former VEVAK (Iranian Special Forces) commando, he keeps calm and lets Stray take his beating, before Rae makes the mistake of rising, just a little. He pulls the trigger, sending a high power round at the spinal column right between the shoulder blades, where the bones pull together with sinew and muscle.
COMBATSYS: Rae Toughs Out Stray's Special Delivery!
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Stray 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 Rae
"God Damned Pissant Fuckin' Fuckhead. Can't take a punch worth a FUCK!" Rae's bellowed expletives lose all sense of coherence as he loses himself to his ever growing rage, Bracing one tattooed hand against his knee as he begins to rise...
The bullet tears right through Rae's body, a spray of bone fragments and blood jetting across Stray's face and upper chest. It should be a lethal wound. it should kill the old bastard almost immediately. Paralyze him with shock if nothing else.
A roar of pure, insane, mindless fury tears itself from the old devil's throat. The sound is not unlike the slightly hoarse 'RAAAAAAAAAAAAAH' of a wounded bear that transitions into a panting snarl.
Inside the warehouse, the crane descends like the fist of a god, striking the unaware woman on the back of the head and dropping her to one knee, powerful legs suddenly loose and full of jelly. As she kneels, one hand on the ground and eyes unfocused, she hears the scream, and smirks.
"Wow you boys are fucked." She splutters, still woozy and unsure of her surroundings as she tries to clamber back to her feet. That blow would have split the skull of a normal human, but she is far beyond that.
Outside, Rae's hands grab Stray roughly beneath the arms, glowing grey eyes staring down at him through the blood and bruises that now cover his face. Blood still gushes from the gaping wound in his chest, but even that begins to close as he drags both himself, and the gangster, to a stand. His breath is hot on the battered man's face, heavy pants throwing out little mists of pink.
Stumbling a single step as he rises, the savage demon lifts Stray clear off of his feet, hoisting him up until his arms are extended and his prize hangs high from the grip on his ribs. then, he brings the Cat Man crashing down with all his might, right knee launching up in a wave of hellfire as he attempts to hammer home a flaming atomic ball drop onto his hopefully punch drunk victim. And if he can destroy the purple-haired fellow's groin, he will throw himself backward, wounded back smashing into the cement as he brings Stray's body up and over in a belly to belly suplex, spiking his head viciously into the unforgiving ground.
COMBATSYS: Rae successfully hits Stray with Devildriver.
- Power hit! -
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Stray 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\1 Rae
Stray is lifted into the air like a sack of broken bricks and cement, hanging backwards like a scarecrow, before he's driven downwards into the knee directly on his groin. He emits a pained scream of pure agony, his pelvis developing an immediate hairline fracture, before he's flipped over Rae and into the pavement by his head and neck. He bounces out of the suplex, rolling over with sheer luck, not breaking his neck like he broke his pelvis.
The soldiers stand around the goat, merely staring at her. And then, the Vulture stands there, wearing a gray suit without a tie. A Colt .45 semiautomatic is in his hand, and he raises it upwards, his Persian features cold and impassive, a pair of aviator sunglasses reflecting the Darkstalker's face and hiding his eyes. He places the gun between the Goat Girl's horns, and pulls the trigger.
Stray fades off into nothing for a brief moment, before his heart slams back to life with a shot of adrenaline. He lackadaisically rises to his feet, arms swaying and hanging briefly as if he's made of jelly and he's reforming from the feet up to his upper body. As he surges in strength, ignoring all the damage in favor of punishing his foe, he surges forward with his hands in claws instead of fists, ripping and tearing at Rae's face with his gloved fingers, yanking and pulling and even biting if he gets close enough, losing himself in savage fury.
COMBATSYS: Rae barely endures Stray's Cat Scratch Fever.
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Stray 0/-------/----===|=======\==-----\1 Rae
Inside, the goatish girl finishes dragging herself to her feet, her fierce hazel eyes still punch drunk and woozy. A lock of unruly brown hair tumbles across her face, which might even be pretty, in an intense, Amazonian sort of way. Her bare arms flex as she prepares to charge, head lowering, right into the barrel of a gun.
The bang is muffled slightly by the proximity of her forehead, the flare of the powder scorching the skin of her brow just moments before the bullet hits. There is a spurt of blood across the vulture's hand, but no explosion of gore from the back of her skull. Her head does snap backward, however, body straightening, then stumbling away as blood pours down her face. After a couple of steps she succumbs to gravity and collapses sideways , smashing into a pile of cardboard boxes that cascade to the floor around her. She is likely dead. If not, she is certainly suffering from a severe concussion.
Outside, Rae is the first of the wounded combatants to regain his feet. Forcing himself first to a knee, then fully upright, he snarls quietly with each panted breath. Stray seems to have lost his attention completely, the twitching pile of broken bones flying beneath the notice of his hate-addled mind.
This turns out to be a mistake. For as Rae takes his first step away, the sound of a muffled gunshot drawing him inevitably back toward the open warehouse, the purple-haired man rises up from behind and attacks.
The first claw catches Rae just behind his mangled left ear, tearing a large chunk out of the already battered organ and helping to snag the old man's attention. As he whips around to face his attacker, gory gob of ear hanging on by a tattered thread of flesh, he takes a second swipe clean across the forehead. A flap of skin falls across his right eye, partially blinding him as yet more swipes and bites carve into him, one catching the right corner of his mouth and tearing a gaping gash in his cheek.
But even as he takes this damage, Rae lashes out. Standing his ground, he drives a vicious thrust kick forward, attempting to blast his boot into the cattish fighter's gut and fold him back to the ground so that he can turn and finish him off with a follow up kick to the side of the head. He has no words for this moment. No stream of hate speech. He has reached incandescent levels of rage, putting him too far beyond thought to speak.
COMBATSYS: Stray dodges Rae's Medium Kick.
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Stray 0/-------/----===|=======\===----\1 Rae
Stray turns around in a spin as the thrust kick comes after him, rolling with a drunk's grace at a night club with a club girl. He swings around at Rae with his fist, charging forward with a single punch aimed at Rae's throat, before jerking backwards with a stumbling backpedal.
The soldiers, having dispatched Goat Girl, pick their weapons back up and look to each other, speaking in Russian about the battle in relief, only one of them dead. And quite brutally. The Vulture, meanwhile, walks towards Goat Girl, gun in his right hand as he kneels and checks her pulse on her neck with his left hand's forefingers.
COMBATSYS: Rae interrupts Sliding Punch from Stray with Combussive Concussion.
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Stray 0/-------/--=====|=======\===----\1 Rae
Rae's boot impacts the ground with a loud 'CRUNCH' as he stomps down out of the kick, a grumbling snarl escaping him as he swings about to face Stray's oncoming fist. But rather than retreat or protect himself, the aging man, full of hate and unrestrained violence, hurls himself forward into the blow.
The blunt spikes on Stray's knuckles do not have quite enough force behind them in this final attempt to tear through the rampaging barbarian's neck. With brutish force, he crashes right through the blow, flames roaring out from between his teeth and streaming behind his shaggy head as he smashes his own mangled face into Stray's with an almighty impact. Sending the lighter fighter over backward onto the ground, he stomps forward onto his left thigh, then his chest, and finally steps off over his body to charge forward into the warehouse.
"Hands off my bitch, bitch!" The enraged old bastard roars, trampling through fallen boxes and scattering men from his path as he descends upon the Vulture. There is no finesse to his movement, No attempt at skill or subtlety as he aims a running football style punt at the bodyguard's ribs, attempting to send the assassin flying toward the far wall from the force of his almighty kick.
"I'll reach up your ass and drag out your tonsils, you fucking prick." Rae rages, stomping down hard beside the head of his fallen biker. Stooping forward, he grabs the girl by one horn and drags her free of the pile. There is no checking if she is alive, nor any real effort to insure she is comfortable as he draws in a deep breath and whistles out a shrill, piercing note.
On cue, both his, and the Goat Girl's bikes flare with a sudden red glow as the crimson orbs imbedded in their frames amp up their intensity. Little black dots appear on each orb, revealing them to be unholy red eyes that gaze out of the bikes as they roar to life on their own, tires spinning as they whip around and barrel through the warehouse toward their masters.
"GUNS!" Roars the leader of the Hellriders. "Fucking guns, and piddleshit claws. Get the fuck out of my face before I tear you open from dick to chin and strum your guts like a fucking harp." It is unclear who he is shouting at, the insane old warrior raging at anyone foolish enough to get close. Hurling the bleeding Girl over the back of her self-driving bike, he swings his leg up and over his own. As he does, his tattered vest falls open to reveal his chest, the once gaping gunshot wound now nothing more than a puckered pink scar that weeps clear fluid.
"Fucking pussy ass wastes of my god damn time. I'ma beat the fuck out of that girl when we get back." His continued snarling is barely audible as the two bikes roar through the still open warehouse doors, the blades jutting from Rae's bike churning the air as he grabs the handlebars and steers it violently around a corner.
With nearly the same abruptness as they appeared, the bikers begin to leave. Tearing away in all directions, they scatter out into the industrial district, their sudden arrival unexplained, mission unclear. What is clear is the amount of damage they have done in such a short amount of time, and the impact their presence may have made on the Mad Gear's radar.
COMBATSYS: Stray takes no action.
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COMBATSYS: Stray can no longer fight.
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Log created on 12:33:09 07/15/2016 by Rae, and last modified on 11:36:45 07/19/2016.