Description: A late addition to the chaos that reigns in Southtown, one opportunistic Elle Belmounte takes her chance at seizing control over a priceless cache of information deep in the heart of the Southtown park invasion base - the second largest hostile base of operations in the city. Established after the failed YFCC takeover, it has been a location used for conducting research, preying upon the denizens of Southtown to subject them to inhumane experiments, and pushing the limits of technology in an unholy communion of NESTS and SIN science. Of course the base will be heavily defended, and a single-team incursion is beyond impossible. But with enough help on the outside drawing off forces... and the right people brave enough or crazy enough to go into the heart of the base, the impossible might become possible...
While Gedo High provided a tight, compact, easily fortified foothold in the besieged city, another location was needed to stage equipment less suited to the tighter confines offered by the campus. Within a week of the occupation of Southtown, a massive workforce descended upon Southtown park and began erecting a second facility - a base of operations with enough room to house tanks and other vehicles as well as construct other necessary buildings necessary for the plans in motion.
Thus the state of the park now: The environment is a disaster. Trees, bushes, and other park facilities have been bulldozed, chopped down, and blown away to make room for the sprawling base. A dismal view of smoldering debris, scorched earth, and a perpetual rise of smoke greets the eye of anyone looking over what used to be a vista of verdant green accompanied by the laughter of children enjoying the playgrounds scattered throughout.
In the place of laughter, the jarring cry of a repeating claxon echoes over the grounds. The base is under attack and forces within have been mobilizing to respond in kind. Troop movement is swift and responsive, answering the orders from a command center deep within the structure. 'Hostiles at the cloning lab. Move in. Go, go, go.' The thunder of footsteps and metallic rattle of combat equipment being readied to deal with the attackers can be heard toward a particularly large, square building to the west side of the base. 'Don't take any chances, fire up the failsafe!'
An explosion to the east sends a shockwave of vibration through the ground, followed immediately by a second one. 'They're attacking the depot. Activate defense plan Sigma and secure the lot before any more-' A third explosion goes off; a fireball rising into the sky. 'Move it!' Another rush of troops diverts a significant portion of the base's stationed units off to the east to stop the damage before much more is lost.
The alarm sirens continue to ring throughout the region as what was a quiet, secure location ten minutes ago has turned into a beehive of activity. The strike teams on the East and West may be diversions, but the threat they represent is sufficient to force attention to be paid in full to deal with them, leaving the base possibly blind to the strike aimed directly at its heart.
The main building is shaped almost like a flattened six-legged spider: a central, roundish hub surrounded by six long, narrow 'legs', with one of the legs connecting to the large square building on the western side that seems to be drawing a lot of troop focus.
It's amazing what people do in emergency situations. The ordinary become extraordinary. People that are barely willing to get out of bed in the morning all of a sudden are willing to lay down their lives for a cause or purpose greater than them. A person that's willing to fight and die for a cause is a hero, depending on what side of the equation you're on, or a fanatical terrorist. Either way, emergency situations bring out the best and worst in people.
But fighting and dying for a cause is a luxury some people don't have. For some, there's no greater good than self. Self improvement, pursuit of bettering their lives through pecuniary gain. It's a cold existance, and usually very lonely, with nothing to keep you company but whatever you've lost and whatever you've earned.
Every second of every day is a stark reminder that you've decided to eschew the benefits of glory and honor from a higher power for the sober comraderie of yourself and the scant few like-minded persons.
And a few of those like minded persons are pulling up in response to the alarm now.
The armored vehicle is NESTS in origin. The people inside? Clad in NESTS uniforms, for all it's worth. It'll get them close, but not all the way through. The ruse of disguises will only hold up while people are too busy to notice. The second anyone thinks about it too hard, it'll be time to fight.
But those uniforms will buy a few precious minutes. And that's what Elle's counting on.
The transport stops, and she looks at the two soliders of fortune in the vehicle with her, not taking more than a few seconds on each. "Alright, boys. Stick with the plan. Gumbo takes point, Descartes picks up the rear. Keep your heads low, and your yaps shut unless it's absolutely necessary. I paid good money to have your asses here, and I plan to make my investment worthwhile. If we run into resistance, hold your ground until I give the order. I don't expect you to die for this, but I don't expect you shit yourself when things get bad, either."
She places her hand over the hatch release, to deploy, and she turns to look out the windsheild.
"If you're religious, you get ten seconds to pray to whatever flavor God you happen to enjoy. Nine. Eight. Seven..."
And when she hits zero, the doors will open, and she's going to make a beeline to the entrance, holding fire and keeping her head down as the explosions and flames rock to facility, with Jayden on point and Francois bringing up the rear. Hopefully their planning and discussion is enough, and the soldier's intestinal fortitude is adequate... because this is going to be one hell of a run.
When the world goes mad, the only sane response is, of course, insanity. Francois had completely given up even the vague pretence that life was anything other than mad. With explosions raining all around, clad in the NESTS uniform supplied to him, Francois seems in disturbingly high spirits, all things considered. He's not grinning like a total lunatic, but he is smiling. He's not cackling with mad glee at the chaos and destruction all around him... but he's certainly not put off by it. Instead, he's produced one of his cigarettes, and has lit it.
"Of course, Boss." He replies, taking a long, slow drag. "No running until you say so, or can't. What a shame, though!" He grins, winking his one good eye briefly. "I had hoped to take in the wonderful sights. This is quite the tourist spot, no?"
He keeps absolutely silent when the question of prayer is raised, oh no. He could care less about the supernatural. This is a world where there is only one certainty. Money. And honestly, he'd taken more than enough of Elle's that he had no problem doing as he is told. He wasn't going to ride into the valley of death for a few thousand bucks...
But he'd punch the daylights out of whatever guards were posted to this particular hell, if he had to.
This is not what a park should be. But... well. Such are the vicisstudes of war. Jayden doesn't really find himself -caring- so much; the thought is more like a footnote, occupying a corner of the mind. Otherwise, he's focused entirely on what they're to do; he's examining the compound as they pull in; the NESTS armor he finds.. annoying, but not terribly so. Still, NESTS grunts must get paid a lot.
The countdown starts, and Jayden frowns, for a moment. Not the ideal entrance, even with the distractions--too much random chance. But he signed up, and hell if he's gonna back out, especially now. The hatch is opened and Jayden takes point, as ordered. He doesn't run like a scared man, but he runs like a man with a purpose, head up, making sure to keep an eye on the surroundings.
Getting to the entryway? That's the easy part--probably the easiest part, bar none. "Alright, boss," he grunts, when he slams his back to the hatch, "We're here. Now what?"
His involvement was going to be something simple. Be at this point. Be ready to tell what you see. He had a safe vantage point. Pretty safe, to what knowledge was gathered. The place is said to be locked even tighter than Gedo - the stronghold of the invading forces - and that it would have been absolute suicide for even a single crack team of experienced infiltrators to get inside. Something that this man is not, by any stretch of the definition. He's a simple man. One man, with a good-paying job that seems to find new ways to make him earn that pay every step of the way that his fellow co-workers seem to be free of having to do themselves. One man, who has had to act without much of the luxuries that make everyday life livable going into the all-encompassing conflicts between cartels, terrorist units, arms dealers, ill-intentioned visionaries, and syndicates.
A man who knew that he would not even be a match for a whole squad of seemingly faceless, yet limitless numbers of soldiers. It's a very funny story, one he might be telling to small children in a good twenty years if he's about to survive long enough to tell it.
It all started when he was very sure someone saw him up on that supposed 'safe' place. He got down away from his vantage point, and then all of a sudden, there were alarms as he thought he would find solace behind a mound of debris out to the west. The thundering of footsteps and rattling of combat equipment had proven otherwise. Running off to the east end, an explosion's shockwave soon knocked him flat on his ass, leaving him scrambling to some other seemingly advantageous part of the park-turned-base mess around the outside. He narrowly dodges a whole unit of soldiers charging out in that direction to stop whatever is laying siege to their holdings there.
But there was no place to hide. Several shouts later, the man was stuck between certain discovery on one end, and almost guaranteed death on the other if those explosions kept up. There was only one thing left for him to do - he got out a screwdriver and worked like no man in his former line of work ever did, prying open enough of an entry in an amount of time many would believe physically impossible. Yet, sometimes, necessity is the mother of invention.
Some blind journey through live electrical currents and blinking items later, including some kind of loud shouting into a walkie-talkie that no longer has any reception to outside, he resigned himself to having to just find his own way out through a curiously large duct opening just after another small squad rushes forth to protect whatever objective. He sighed, trying to offset his racing heart with a deep breath as he foolishly lets himself come out into the main facility. How in the hell did I get myself into this now, he wonders.
How in the hell did I, a high school teacher and former construction worker, get into this mess? So asks one Howard Rust, who has somehow infiltrated the single most dangerous spot in all of Southtown - and perhaps the entire world, at this moment in history - staring blankly at the roundish-hub for some other kind of place to hide. Some place to hide /and/ have a signal, yeah, like he's going to be so fortunate. He knows he can't stay here. He's not going back in that damned wall, not after those four or five close calls!!
Moving slowly (as if he has any other option), his right hand settles on the makeshift hilt of Ol' Rusty. He winces as the palm gives the expected feedback of pain. Some ways in, he seizes up when he's sure he's hearing three soldiers come his way. Gritting his teeth, he waits for that perfect moment as the rusted length of pipe slides out of the toolbelt pocket with an ease he rarely enjoys.
What's one armored vehicle amoung dozens? With the chaos surrounding the base, the command center is overwhelmed with feedback coming from multiple directions. The base, while well fortified and remarkably dangerous to assault, wasn't designed to be impenetrable. Who, after all, would even try? The Syndicate had already been forced into a defensive mode of play by the time the structure was assembled and the hold over Southtown seemed a sure thing.
Times change though and the combination of combat capable individuals descending on the location in one coordinated assembly has the defenses scrambling to correct for it. The armored NESTS vehicle goes unnoticed. Even those nearby it assume its trajectory is just another of thousands of variables being directed by the command center in the heart of the base. No. As long as they're in the vehicle, they're safe.
Circumstances can shift the moment they vacate the troop transport. From the safehold into the field of fire, their few numbers keep them from standing out enough to be noticed. The entrance they make their way to is sealed shut, but seconds after they're close, it rushes open with a hydraulic hiss as thick steel barriers slide to the side. Another troop of twelve storms out and right past the disguised trio, '...some kind of construct...' are among the words uttered by the officer directing the unit off to the Eastern vehicle lot.
'Where is the Lev-D unit?' barks one of the men, asking where the additional firepower is that was supposed to be on site. '...trouble... at the garage. Leviathan's offline.' comes the reply as the twelve men vanish around a corner, having paid no attention to the infiltrators. The hallway inside is a mostly direct shot toward the center of the facility.
The catch? The narrow hatch leading into the heart of the hub is loaded with sensors requiring thumb print, retina, and voice recognition to get through without sounding yet another alarm. With most of the interior vacated, waiting for someone to happen by to open it legitimately is likely to consume too much precious time.
Well, it's not like Elle expected to just walk into the front door. Security was bound to be tight, and with an organization like NESTS, where even the toilets have five dozen security measures as well as attack capabilites, the fact that the door is laden with every device known to man isn't a surprise. The mercenary looks at the device for all of ten seconds. First thing's first.
The woman raises her hand. "Close your eyes!" she says, raising her voice, and a bright flash of light emits from her palm. EMP burst should cook the cameras and any audio sensors, and with any luck they'll ignore it as just another malfunction as Seishirou's robot monster rampages on the building and the dual strike forces take the other sides.
With that done, she immediately starts barking orders. It's loud enough for everyone to hear, but she cuts the tone so that it barely reaches outside the small group.
Just enough maybe for Rust to hear who she is. After all, Elle does have a rather distinctive, rasping voice.
"Gumbo, see if you can't crack this lock," she says, immediately drawing her personal weapon and not the NESTS gun that she's lugging for show. She readjusts the satchel over her shoulder. The explosive charges are valuable, as part of the conditions of her contract is to make the place go off in a nice explosive sendoff. As a result, each satchel charge is worth it's weight in gold. She can't afford to simply go brute force just yet, especially since it would put people on high alert. "We're cooking an egg here," she says, indicating the man has two minutes to make miracles happen. "Descartes, help me with cover. If we can't get it in two, I want you to step up, freeze that lock over and we'll kick down the door."
And with that, she crouches, pulling the safety off her weapon to let Jayden ply his trade.
Francois hurries after the others. He's played backup before, and he knows the drill. Keeping pace easily, at the moment, he really was just trying to get a handle on the situation. Whatever had happened here, Elle had not been joking when she said they were just one part of a much, much larger operation. This would make things much easier. The enemy were obviously being hammered from multiple sides, and it's at those points that cracks begin to show. People- even hardened veterans- tend to begin to panic when their hard work explodes all around them.
That said, he definitely does not lose his head. A firm nod is given to Elle at her command, and the former soldier likewise turns the safety off his gun. For what good it would do. He hated using these things, but, a spray of bulletfire did tend to make most try and keep their head down. More to the point, it also meant he didn't have to break formation to wander over and beat the crap out of someone. Which, given the necessity of discipline in this plan, was really the deciding factor.
Even if he -would- feel better breaking noses than trying to blow them off.
"Understood." The Frenchman replies, dropping his cigarette, and grinding it down under his boot. He wasn't panicking just yet. This was never going to be an easy or a smooth job... but things were definitely starting to come to a boil.
"Right," replies Jayden. He's keeping the armor on for now--maybe it doesn't work as more than a ruse, but there's absolutely zero reason not to leave it on. The more inconspicuous, the better. "Give me about ten seconds," he says, tersely, ripping open a velcroed compartment on his armor's web-loading, and withdrawing a hinged set of tools--almost like what one sees in a group of allen wrenches. Sinking to one knee, he faces the lock, looks at it for just two seconds...
Then he shakes his head. No time for that--those get slapped back into place and instead a small metal canister is withdrawn, and the nozzle poked into the lock. Trigger depressed and the canister empties its contents into the lock--which quickly freezes over. "Don't need Baguette there to get all worked up," he says, shortly; standing up, he takes a half step back and away, then twists forward, slamming his knee into the doorway.
There's a wonderful sound of shearing, shattering metal and then he's pushing fingers into a groove on the door, starting to heave with pure physical strength. The hardest part is going to be getting the door going--once it's moving, resistance--on the door's part--should be minimal.
"It's open--go, go, go!" Suiting action to words, he's the first in, with a pistol out. Hey, he's a fighter, but he's also a soldier--and he knows how to shoot. Useful all sorts of minor things, he'll discard it as soon as he can--it's a crappy Glock anyways.
Rust, over there, leans up against a rather conveniently placed support, Ol' Rusty drawn. He's just waiting-- oh shit, there's more... huh? His nerves are getting the best of him. He's sure there's more. Was more. Will be more? He doesn't peek out to check. Seeing means being able to be seen as the three soldiers(?) press forward towards... wherever. He hasn't any idea as to what lies ahead, he's, uh... new in this here town. By which one means this here friendly open door military base. Yeah. Um... no, that wouldn't fly. He's dead. He's so dead, god damn it, I really should have gotten out of this city when I had the chance and how many times is it now that he's thought that?
His heart stops when he hears that voice. You know, I think I've heard that voice... this lock? Huh, wait. He leans in a little closer. He couldn't hear anybody else approaching over the sound of how fast his heart is beating, so maybe, maybe if he just pokes around the side someone isn't about to blow his head off.
'-up, freeze that lock over and we'll kick down the door.' Huh? The voice takes a backseat to the dialogue he's hearing, followed by the affirmation of one... no, two different guys. He winces as the loud shearing and shattering. Then, the call that it's open, that everyone should go...
...They don't belong here either, do they?
He looks behind himself one last time, grimacing over largely imagined threats, yeah I'm not going back you know what I guess I'm going with them kinda sorta maybe should okay so yeah now is good no wait give me five seconds awwww fuck arrrrrrgh dammit.
Francois might be the first one to see a balding, stout man try and lean out from the convenient support. Someone's cover is blown.
With the electronics dealt with by the burst of electric chi serving as a very effective EMP, the mechanics of the door were all that remained to be circumvented by Jayden's expert touch. The heavy hatch is slow to swing at first. It was designed to withdraw with the aid of hydraulics, not brute muscle power, but the strenght of those gathered is sufficient to get it open.
The portal, once opened, reveals the center of the building. At least, the ground level center. It's a dome-like room with a concrete floor and a ceiling that's well over thirty feet high at the center. Almost no where in the room lends itself to taking cover. A staging ground for giving marching orders from, a small stage and podium are off on one side, but even those offer such little cover as to be irrelevant.
Computer stations line the circumference of the large, round chamber, but the fact that each and every one of them is currently unmanned and offline suggests that they are used more for research and observation purposes rather than directing combat. The walls are covered with steel panels numbering in the dozens, that appear to be made of slightly different alloy than the rest of the wall, causing them to stand out slightly.
The main item of interest in the room besides the various small odds and ends is the ramp in the middle of it. A concrete ramp descending down at a steep angle, it's wide enough to drive a semi-tank down if one were so inclined and represents the best approximation of cover from some angles within the domed room. It leads to an underground chamber - the real heart of the base and the location where all intel, combat orders, and plans for the current stage of the war would be housed. The problem? It's completely sealed off by a thick barricade. Designed to slow down even fighters, the blast doors are three feet thick, made out of a reinforced, titanium-steel alloy.
The alarms have never ceased to ring an occasional thunderous noise on the outside provides ample reminder that the battle on edges of the base are still raging on. The mercenary trio plus shop teacher had done well to get this far but the cover of sheer chaos can only last so long. It's a camera inside the dome that happens to catch sight of the hatch swinging open and an already frazzled operative within the underground bunker that happens to be looking at the right screen at the right time.
'Wait- what's going on there?' Fingers point, attention is redirected, eyes peering at the monitor as the officer in charge of the bunker moves into position to better see. 'Intruders outside the core. Activate the interior defense grid. I want them turned into so much ground beef before the director even needs to be told about it.' The living enigma, Seth, didn't tolerate failure in the slightest.
'Sir. Problem.' one of the operatives speaks up, typing away at a keyboard rapidly, 'Defense grid experiencing instability due to interference near the generator station. Can't bring it all online at once or the circuits will blow.'
Growling, the commanding officer runs his hand through greying hair, 'Give it what you've got. Almost all of our forces have been diverted. It was a setup. I've got one last NESTS agent not accounted for. Hell knows where that crazy woman is though...'
Those bunkered in the basement begin to divert power, cirvument bad circuits, and direct control to portions of the dome defense grid. It's one of the metal panels lining the wall that rolls back and to the side first, allowing for a turret to be extended via mechanical braces. With a good angle on the newly opened hatch, the mechanized weapon emits an electrical noise that increases in pitch as it prepares to fire...
COMBATSYS: Turret has started a fight here on the right meter side.
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|-------\-------\0 Turret
COMBATSYS: Barricade has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
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|-------\-------\0 Turret
> //////////////////////////////]
|-------\-------\0 Barricade
COMBATSYS: Turret focuses on Turret's next action.
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|-------\-------\0 Turret
> //////////////////////////////]
|-------\-------\0 Barricade
"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be huh? You guys wanna send me down to check on your stupid tank like some kind of errand girl. Fine! But don't call me later on teamspeak cryin' about how you're getting your asses royally kicked cuz I'm not here to save you anymore." the anxious assassin shouts to the others before storming off in a huff, pausing only to switch on her codec to tell whoever is currently in the garage with the busted piece of junk how she feels about it as well. *click* <You guys hear me in there? Y'all some bitches! This ain't even worth-- Wait, what's that? Somethin' funny goin' on over at the gates, huh? I'm gonna go check that out first. Don't wait up for me.> *plip*
Of all the people to take notice of the disabled surveillance equipment, it would have to be the most scatterbrained, wouldn't it? She comes from the direction of the firefight, this angel of retribution, paying no mind to the roaring flames or the bombs bursting all around her, spinning with her arms outstretched like some kid at the park pretending they can fly. And for all intents and purposes, she sort of can. By which of course we mean 'run at ludicrous speed'. Something she begins to demonstrate after that final whimsical spin of hers, dashing from side to side and weaving her way across the grounds, seeming to flicker in and out of reality for brief moments, until she's suddenly upon Elle and her crew, slipping up behind Francois and Rust in particular and trying to put an arm behind each of their shoulders and draw them in close at her side. "Hey. You guys don't really work here, do ya? See, I know everybody here by name. So I'm afraid I'm gonna have to rock all your faces now. It's in my contract!"
And once they've been given fair warning, well, she makes an attempt to knock their heads together and drop them.
COMBATSYS: Angel has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
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|-------\-------\0 Turret
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|-------\-------\0 Angel
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|-------\-------\0 Barricade
COMBATSYS: Elle has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Turret
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|-------\-------\0 Angel
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|-------\-------\0 Barricade
COMBATSYS: Francois has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Turret
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Francois 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
> //////////////////////////////]
|-------\-------\0 Barricade
COMBATSYS: Rust has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Turret
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Francois 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Rust 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Barricade
COMBATSYS: Jayden has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Turret
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Barricade
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
There's a noise behind her, and Elle turns her head swiftly to see what the hell is going on. She should have expected an elite agent to be on the facility grounds, even if everyone else was otherwise occupied. Nevertheless, for a second, Elle thought that this little soiree was going to be as straightforward as it got. Instead, it's turned into some kind of horrible arena, a rotunda with nowhere to hide but the corners of an onramp. Turrets popping up everywhere, and to make matters worse, Angel is one of NESTS's more efficient (if not utterly insane) agents.
And... is that /Rust/? How'd that guy manage to sneak in, much less up on her and her group? That's sort of a mistake, but not one that she's particularly upset over right now. After all, the situation has just gone from 'Very Bad' to just 'Bad' now that he's here. But she doesn't have a lot of time to stand there and survey the area.
Time for some command decisions. She immediately darts for the barricade, then skids to a halt. "Descartes, Gumbo, forget the girl! Bring that turret down! I'll try to take this barricade out! Stay open for further instructions!"
Her eyes then flick over to Rust, and she grimaces. The man's not a soldier, and she doesn't know exactly what he's capable of under this kind of situation. But no time to dwell on that. "Homer! Just... Christ... just keep that psycho off our backs!"
She doesn't have time to see if her orders are followed. Instead, she turns on her heel, rears back, and lets fly with a gauntleted fist. Her knuckles smash down onto the reinforced barricade with all her physical might as she channels a huge gount of electrical power through her fist, trying to shatter or melt the barrier between her and the targets within in a single attack.
COMBATSYS: Angel successfully hits Francois with Combo Grapple.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Barricade
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
*BONK*
Francois -had- been about to try and greet Rust. He didn't get who the guy was, but, he was obviously not working with NESTS. Unfortunately for him, quite suddenly, he is, instead, quite thoroughly ... Well, *BONK*'d.
That, by the way, is the sound of Francois's head bouncing quite handily off Rust. That. Had really hurt. He isn't, really, -used- to things hurting quite so much as that. Whatever the assassin may have said is completely lost on the Frenchman, because, really, he's having to shake his head just to remember what happened in the last few moments.
Then he's getting orders.
Francois picks himself up from the floor, leaving his gun behind. Because really. What good was -that- going to do him? Instead, he smiles widely to Angel, rubbing over the point of impact with one hand.
"Lady." He grunts, "Dunno -what- meds you are coming off, but, we're interns, right? First day. Now. You can stop messing around, and help the boss, or you can get outta here. Don' care which, we're -busy-, right?"
Francois then looks over his shoulder, straightening up a bit. "Aye Aye Boss, right... THERE!"
And, with that, he /leaps/ backwards, not really bothering to worry about little things like 'finesse'. The Frenchman simply ploughs his fist forwards in a crazy, somewhat -clumsy- blow. Putting his full weight and every scrap of desperate power behind it as he could. It's his full intent to wind up with his fist punching inside the machine. Though, of course, this being NESTS technology, who can say how well -that- is going to work out.
... This was all starting to go wrong, after all. Luck, it seemed, was not in his favor.
"Never a dull day in de Army, eh?" snorts Jayden, echoing a line one of his 'recruiters' said to him, way back when. The hell is this. "Boss, I t'ink we maybe got some bad info here," is his only comment, as he tosses his gun away. That thing ain't gonna do a damn bit of good now. However, he does have grenades--a limited number, but he definitely has them. "Frenchy--" Then Francois gets jacked by Angel.
"Fuck. Nevermind," he says, as he sees the man get thrown--and then go flying at a goddamn turret, fist-first. "What th' hell you doin', chere?" Jayden? He gon' do this the right way. Then again, he now has to -delay- for Francois.
"Get out th' damn way, idiot!" shouts the soldier, before he rips a trio of grenades off his belt--and pulls the pin. A quick one-two-three and the grenades are arcing through the air, aimed to land right at the base of the turret. They're frags, not high explosive, but they should still put a dent in the turret's day.
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Angel's Combo Grapple.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Turret
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
If someone asked this man right now how he got in, he'd simply say he's not sure in retrospect. But someone, somewhere above, must have answered Elle's silent wishes for a third man when she was briefing her two cohorts. (Now's the time to pray for a pony, this could be her lucky year.)
But before we get to that point.
The teacher recoils in outright horror when the metal panels open to reveal a turret, throwing one Rust here into plain view. His jaw goes agape. This isn't good. This totally isn't good. He casts a glance over to the trio, which gives a certain assassin all the opening she needs to rush in and get her arms around his head (that, and that other guy).
"I, uh.... no?" He stammers out as she lays it out pretty plain even if he can't really see his attacker (but based on the arm wrapped around his shoulder, it's not someone huge and scary-looking... maybe). What he seems to lack in social wit, he seems to make up in clubs (if not spades) as his left forearm goes up between him and the Frenchman(?), fist clenched as Francois' head bounces off his forearm. Angel's attempt to shove him into the blow is met with enough resistance that she instead puts a serious sore in his neck, stumbling off forward a step as he is released.
His knee complains as he turns upon his right foot, left shoulder cracking as he finally faces up the woman in question, Elle already quick to suggest to keep the psycho off their backs, uh, hey, how about you, other guy who is probably not my ene--
Francois runs off to the turret. So now it's him and this lady with the silver hair. He rubs his neck with his left hand, grunting all the while, "Okay, uh... y'know what, there's some kind of mis--" He stops. No there isn't!! This lady here's a part of the invading forces, she's at least partially responsible for all the bullshit he's gone through, and that little bit of pain that travels up his right forearm reminds him of this. What the hell am I trying to do, standing around like an idiot?!
He shakes his head, putting on a far meaner face than the one of someone who is still kind of dazed about the fact they are INSIDE A FREAKING BASE OF OPERATIONS (just as bad as being close to FREAKING SAGAT), balls up his fist in his left hand, and - in defiance of the stiffness in his left shoulder and the rest of himself, throws forward a left hook. "You want rock and roll? How about some, some blues?!" He angrily shouts out.
COMBATSYS: Elle successfully hits Barricade with Deep Strike.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|-------\-------\0 Turret
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Francois successfully hits Turret with Haymaker Punch.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //// ]
Francois 0/-------/---====|=======\=====--\1 Turret
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Jayden successfully hits Turret with Huge Thrown Object.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //// ]
Francois 0/-------/---====|=======\=====--\1 Turret
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
'Who's that?' asks one of the terminal controllers.
'That. That is someone who don't want to ever be on the target of. NESTS killer and our best hope of stopping these four.' comes the grunt of a reply from another studying the footage of Angel's arrival from another camera angle.
'Wait, they're moving in. Open f-!'
The blast door reverberates with a violent reveberation - the outcome of a chi laced, knuckle sandwich fed to the outside of the barrier. A noticeable dent and a series of sheer cracks on the exterior are evidence of the damage wrought. Several heads turn to stare at the blast door, a look of some concern in several of their eyes. 'Wha-... how long can that hold up?'
'Focus!' barks the commanding officer.
The turret spins up, unloading a stream of near-molten lead from the end of the smoking red barrel. But Francois's angle of attack is just askew of the line of fire, and the operative controlling the cannon is too slow to correct for it. His fist crushes into the machinery, bending the frame on which it is mounted, preventing it from even trying to take a second shot.
The frag grenade from Jayden more than finishes the job, taking the damaged hardware from barely functional to flat out destroyed, as the bent barrel detonates into a cloud of black smoke and frying circuits.
'I can't aim this thing fast enough to deal with them!' the operator offers as his excuse for letting one of the turrets fall under direct attack.
'Forget it.' The haggared commander growls, stepping over to an eye level panel and typing in a command sequence. 'I'm turning the defense grid over to ARIIA.'
'That thing... isn't even fully tested yet.' murmurs a seated board operator.
'It will have to do. We aren't fast enough to hit them.'
And with that, the commander punches in the final button to activate the automated base defense AI system. A prototype intended for larger and bigger things in the post Southtown War world, it was designed to manage the complexities of fending off a multidirectional assault better than any limited human mind can hope to.
A young feminine voice provides the verbal feedback from the newly activated system and it is that sound that those in the bunker hear next. 'Condition critical. Standard defense protocols in failure state. Assuming defense grid control. Initiating lockdown sequence. Disabling unnecessary life-support systems. Rerouting power to additional turrets.' One by one the terminals in front of the bunkered command team shut down, their users barred from any further interference, as the calculating AI takes over the operation entirely...
COMBATSYS: Turret takes no action.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Jayden 0/-------/------=|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Turret has suffered catastrophic damage and fallen offline.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Jayden 0/-------/------=|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Angel dodges Rust's Random Strike.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/---====|=------\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Jayden 0/-------/------=|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
"Riiiiight. As if I wouldn't have heard about that by now. HR isn't *that* slow around here." she replies to the boxer, giving a flat expression as she goes about dusting off her gloved hands, turning her head to quirk an eyebrow at Rust. "Oho! An honest one! Maybe I'll go a little easier on /you/~" Yes, even if he gets all angry at her and tries to throw a punch. As long as she's able to avoid it, no skin off her nose.
So it is that she leans herself back out of the way and goes running full-tilt at Elle. She's clearly the leader of the pack, and it would stand to reason this makes her the biggest threat. Not that Angel is the most reasonable individual, but, there often is some method to her madness. That, or maybe she just doesn't like being called psycho!
"You best back away from there, Missy! That's dangerous!" she calls, trying to sound helpful, while attempting to be anything but. In a sudden burst of speed *past* what she's already running, she seems to disappear and reappear in a crouch down low, near the mercenary's heels, where she's about to try and tangle her up with her legs and twist around so violently and so rapidly that her target's feet not only get swept out from underneath them, but the awkward grapple is designed to send her spiraling up into the air a ways so that the fall caused by such is a good deal more damaging.
COMBATSYS: Elle blocks Angel's Red Sky of Japonesia.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Francois 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 Angel
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Jayden 0/-------/------=|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
There's no time to step back and view her handiwork. Heat, explosive chi.. it doesn't seem to really matter all that much. The door is extremely tough, and it's going to take more than just a full force smashing to bring it down. But then she hears some noise that sounds suspiciously like talking, and she once again turns around to find Angel in her sights.
Elle is indeed the 'leader'. No doubt about that. The most dangerous? Depends on who you ask. She's not the kind to talk about that sort of thing. For her, this is a job. She doesn't stop to consider her relative level of dangerousness. But a tactical assessment is a tactical assessment, and Angel, while mad, is definitely more than entitled to make her own judgments.
While she's never dealt with the NESTS agent in any capacity before, the first thing that comes to Elle's mind is how /fast/ the woman is. The oddly dressed enemy agent seems to evaporate into thin air. Where's she seen this kind of thing before? Oh right. Ninjas.
Elle /reaaaally/ dislikes ninjas.
But Elle's not going to discount Angel just because the woman's a little nutty. The split second before she blinks back into existance, Elle crouches, bringing up herself in a defensive posture as Angel's surprisingly powerful legs twist around on the woman's axis, smashing into her. Elle's almost thrown back, but it's not yet enough to shake her from spouting off more commands as she keeps an eye on the eccentric assassin.
"Gumbo! Wall duty! Tear this thing down with your teeth if you have to! Descartes, I think I found a date to the prom for you!" With that, the woman's hand sparks to life as a kabar knife slides into her grip. The dark, matte black weapon seems to hum to life as she runs a sonic feed into it. The jagged blade edge then swings out, carving at the NESTS agent's largely unprotected body, hoping to drive her towards the center of the room. "Heads up, Homer! You get to chaperone!"
Francois is pretty satisfied with the way he took down that turret. Quick enough that it was never even a threat. That's something you can be -proud- of. Naturally, it doesn't last long, before he realizes that Elle is being attacked directly by the annoying woman who had so badly hurt him earlier. He sighs, running a hand back through his hair. He does not look happy. The frenchman really did not relish the thought of going toe to toe with her. On the other hand. That's what he was really here to -do-, right? And besides. She seemed insane. Maybe if he played along, he could throw her off guard.
"My, my, Madamouiselle." He purrs as he dances closer, spinning around until he's directly in front of the crazed NESTS assassin. "What luck! Come, would you please let me have this dance?~"
A winning smile is flashed, for a fraction of a second. He leans in, perhaps, looking like he might be going to try and -kiss- her, which really would be a rather bizarre turn, even in this already confusing situation.
Then, suddenly, his whole head whips forwards, aiming to smash painfully directly into Angel's nose. Pay her back just a little for the painful sucker punch she'd gifted -him- with earlier!
His brace of grenades exhausted, Jayden's options are limited. Told to take out that door, and ignore the enemy--Jayden follows orders. He doesn't give verbal acknowledgement, instead just turning towards the door. It's... a door. So he can't really go all out on it the way he might--he's got to modify a little.
Special Forces styles, as a rule, aren't very flashy, but that doesn't mean there's -no- flash. Case in point--Jayden, like the two most famous Special Forcers around, Charlie and Guile, has access to that 'sonic' chi. Only his is a touch different. More ragged, more... raw.
The attack is pretty simple, all told--he simply lunges forward, then takes a short hop, arcing his body backwards briefly, then exploding forward, firing his right knee, flared with his sonic chi, the same green-yellow-white as Guile and Charlie--in an explosive attack towards the door. The impact lets him rebound a touch, and as he rebounds, he flips--completing the traditional 'flash kick', his foot also flaring with that energy.
The kick sends him rebounding back, but not terribly far--he can close with the door again, if needs be.
Rust swings, and Rust shows the space that formerly housed Angel who's boss. That bit of thin air will never give him lip ever again! With the promise of going easier on /him/, he's not really relieved. She slips out of his sight right before he can throw his left elbow up in some sort of misguided motion to protect against an imminent attack on his person that doesn't happen, and he doesn't process this until she's already at that lady who stole his truck (and gave him a helpful heads up on the underworld politics, and yet, also stole his truck). On the other hand, this also saves him from a series of alternating left-right punches while ethnically appropriate food circles his head to indicate dizziness.
Which leaves the man to turn around at much too casual a pace for the situation as a turret explodes and then there's yelling and that crazy gray-haired lady is, well, he didn't do quite a good job of keeping her off the rest, now did he? He grunts, rolling his left shoulder again to try and flex out the remaining kinks of soreness while pointing Ol' Rusty down and away in case he thinks she's about to come back towards him and even if she does she might floor him before he notices because, well, she's quick.
He's on chaperone duty, so the familiar voice says, well, uh, he can try, he almost says as he takes a few steps towards Angel and Francois. He thinks that maybe he ought to give, er, that guy there trying to speak French or something, is that Descartes? Whoever that is, maybe he should apologize for the whole 'your head bounced off my forearm' thing. But, first things first... the fingers on his left hand twitch a bit as he leans down a little, his left knee hesitant to let him bend it down that much. Either way, this would prevent him from getting punched in the face if Angel moved her head (but then if he threw low, that would be his nose). This is his wisdom talking.
"Hngh!" He grunts colorfully as he swings his left arm inward again, trying to hook his left arm around the young lady's midsection (were this any other situation this sort of thing would probably get him fired from his job) and squeeze to, maybe, keep her in place while looking off to the side of Francois to see what it is ahead of them that... uh, that looks like a really thick wall.
COMBATSYS: Jayden successfully hits Barricade with Flash Break.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Francois 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
'Full control assumed.' the voice warns the bunkered control officers who are already starting to notice the room getting uncomfortably warm. 'No further interaction required.' The keyboards and input devices are inert, no longer accepting any control from the 'inadequate' humans that have been replaced.
'Deploying auto-repair nanites.' Jayden would notice, being the closest to the wall. The way the fissures spider-webbing out from the dent left by Elle begin to mend. Millions of tiny machines pour over the surface of the barricade with the intent of repairing the damage and guarenteeing that no amount of low, consistant damage can possibly hope to take it down.
That's before he attacks, however. His multi-hued chi ripples into the thick metal with a reverberating, penetrating effect. The impact it has is immediately. Like flecks of dust, the tiny micromachines fall to the floor, disabled by the sonic impact of Jayden's interesting brand of chi. With a lingering resonance repeating within the wall, any additional attempt for the nanites to spread over its surface and undo the damage wrought immediately fails.
'Pre-calculating turret vectors using camera-based telemetry.' Two panels open up on the wall. One at a high angle, giving it a direct shot down the ramp toward the door. Another off to the side, with more of a sweeping view of the room, opens immediately after. 'Winding up turret Tau Seven Five.' Even before the turret begins to extend from the imbeded compartment, its barrel is already spinning, a mechanical whir that warns of impending fire. With an angle down the ramp, it locks on Jayden immediately, just as a voice suddenly broadcasts over speakers into the domed room. "Please step away from the wall. Failure to do so will result in severe bodily trauma." The turret fires a stream of heavy rounds down the ramp directly for the ex special forces soldier. "Sorry. Too late."
The turret to the side extends as the efficient AI scans the battlefield, analyzes all of the footage taken thus far, and attempts to calculate the safest shot possible without endangering the only allied presence in the room, Angel. "This exercise is futile. Perseverance will result in pain and then death. Leave now."
COMBATSYS: Barricade takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Francois 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Turret has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|==-----\-------\0 Angel
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Rust 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Turret2 has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Turret2 focuses on Turret2's next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Angel blocks Elle's Chase the Ace.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Angel blocks Rust's Medium Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Angel interrupts Tete-a-Tete from Francois with Bye Bye Rogue.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/------=|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Angel
Yeah, as previously stated, it's a bit of an awkward way to attack someone, so without the element of surprise it's pretty much useless. But it obviously provided a distraction, and that was the main idea in Angel's mind. She was familiar with this here system, and knew that against this many, stalling for time would be a far more effective strategy than 'try to defeat four enemy fighters all by your lonesome'.
"Nyahahaha! I'm kinna' flattered that you're all taking me this seriously! Most people don't." the Mexican with chaps says in that same friendly tone, even as her eyes get a little bigger and she starts to tilt her head toward Elle's katar. It's like watching a cat that's just spotted something shiny, and she zeroes right in on it, before raising a knee to deflect it. This might have hurt her a bit, but a thick piece of leather is still at least some protection. It's not this that drives her back, though. That's actually Francois, getting her her face and trying to headbutt her. She leans herself away instinctively, sort of the way she did to avoid Rust's fist, but this time she does almost exactly that thing that the shop teacher was afraid she'd do to him. She starts uppercutting and popping the frenchman in the jaw with lefts and rights, up until the point where Rust himself tries to grab her and hold her still.
"That's not my name! You face the great An-hellll--- Oof! Leggo!" She's actually uhh, a lot stronger than she looks, though, because she levers the big guy's arm right off with what seems like very little effort. "Hmph!"
Jesus H. Christ. Elle's reaction the nanites is very close to complete dismay. Between a self repairing door and a mad Agent on the floor, this operation is going to go south very, very quickly. The fact is, nobody here is strong enough to keep the... whatever Angel is, busy long enough to keep from getting butchered by even more deployed turrets. Between that and a regenerating door? There's no way.
But 'impossible' doesn't cut it. After all, by logically playing yourself into a corner, you tend to cut off all avenues. Just then, like dominoes, things start to fall into place. The nanites suddenly start dying as a result of Jayden's peculiar reverberating chi. That's a new trick Elle's never seen before. Since Jayden never hit her with the stuff, she knows nothing about it. But the strange sonic shudder that seems to be killing the repair systems causes her to flick her glance to Jayden as a silent acknowledgement.
One obstacle down.
But then the turrets, and then the firing. Jayden's caught in the crossfire, and it's clear that something a lot more proficient has taken over. More turrets, heavier firepower, an attempt to repair the door... it's all happening too fast. It almost doesn't dawn on Elle until the very last second.
And that second is when the woman's voice 'apologizes' to Jayden.
Playing on a hunch, Elle turns, drawing a huge pistol from her uniform just in time to see Francois get a face full of fist. "Shit," she mutters before barking, "Okay! New plan! Everyone! I want this wall yesterday!"
Not too elaborate, but then 'punching a wall' doesn't need to be. The second she's done shouting, she pops the clip from the pistol, and replaces it with one that's been painted red for an excellent reason. As she levels the gun up at the surface of the wall, she backs up, braces her feet, and lets fly with a massive chi burst. The electrical energy vomits from her gun not in neat little bursts like it normally does, but like a torrent pure destruction as she tries to punch a hole clean through it in one fell swoop.
Francois has had a lot of experience with getting punched in the face. It's always nice to be somewhere familiar, and the state of being punched, repeatedly, in the face, is about as familiar to the boxer as walking to the shops, or taking a stroll in the park. It isn't as /pleasant/. But he knows where he stands. And that is, getting punched in the face.
Ow.
He doesn't stay down for long though. Much tougher than he looks, apparently. Though Angel, too, was much stronger than -she- looks, so, really, it's probably roughly even on the looks v reality angle, here. The man wipes a trickle of blood from his lips on the back of his fist, and grins, giving a little nod to Angel.
"Mon cher, you are more than worth taking seriously. I would go so far as to say, you are the most serious thing here! So serious, I'm not sure 'ow I am standing, with my knees knocking so much."
... And then Elle is shouting at him again. He holds up one finger.
"But, mon cher, though I would very much like to continue this dance, could you wait here un moment? The Boss, she is a hard woman."
And with that said, he does as he is told. For all his talk, that's mostly trying to desperately convince Angel that she didn't /reeeeeeally/ want to kill him and his friends. He did have a job to do. And so he does his best to do it. Rounding on the wall, he honestly has no idea how to start, so, picks a point about midway up, and leans into the blow, packing a strong, forward momentum into the attack... but not so much as to throw himself off balance. He's still more than a little worried that Angel might just ignore his pleas, and, well, keep punching him in the face.
Francois likes his face. He needs it to keep talking.
COMBATSYS: Turret successfully hits Jayden with Turret Fire.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Elle 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/------=/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Angel
Gunfire is never friendly. And it's often difficult to avoid. Jayden is alerted by the voice--a sadistically playful element to this AI, apparently--and he's halfway through turning and bringing his arms up when the spray of bullets rips into him. A frantic, instinctive twist kesp the bullets from breaking bones or drilling right into vital organs--but when he hits the wall, with a loud thump, he's gonna be leaving a bloody smear. "God-damn!!!-" he shouts, his concession to the pain--and then he turns, growling. No, he doesn't turn towards the door. He turns towards the wrecked turret--leaping up towards it, grabbing the twisted barrel--and -wrenching-, growling, ripping the damaged barrel right out of its socket.
And then he -does- turn towards the barricade, leaping into it and swinging that barrel like a hyped-up, PCP'ed out, Hulk Smash version of Ol' Rusty. "I--fucking--HATE--GETTING--SHOT!!!"
If this man weren't in the middle of a... delicate situation, in far happier circumstances, maybe he and that gray-haired girl would have something in common about the whole 'not being taken seriously' thing, but no, this man - Howard, the shop teacher and not that mega billionare fighting superstar slash mega crime kingpin - is not here for pleasant conversation, no, he's stuck in the middle of a place he absolutely should not be in with one vaguely familiar person and two unknowns who may or may not be his friends when all is said and done and what the hell is Rolento going to say when he suddenly gets a signal again?!
When he has that hold on Angel, he damn well tries to hold her for as long as he can. This turns out to be only a few seconds, the effort he puts into holding her in place put aside with such ease - and strength - that were the lady to exert just a bit more effort she might've broken his elbow. She comes very close, the shop teacher's grip successfully slipped out of. The grown man drops some four-letter word that's hard to hear over the sound of new turrets deploying as he limps away from Angel somewhat pathetically. (That, and that was just from her breaking out of his grasp... that poor Descartes guy, those shots to the face have got to sting!)
He stops before a deployed turret, staring it in the eye like a deer in highlights. He is saved largely because Angel is, for the moment, in the line of fire if it were to shoot the man now. The voices are deeply unsettling. He flinches at gunfire that is not being fired at him, it's some other turret on Jayden. That one he's staring down, for the moment, hasn't opened fire
"If I... if I weren't a, a grown up, and well-adjusted," or so this man /claims/, "Uh... I'd say we're in an episode of Star Trek." That's one thing he can disagree with his inner child with right about now, especially when a creepy young female AI voice - he can tell because it has that kinda scifi-ish echo to his ears, do not doubt his judgment here - threatens pain and then death for perseverance. He swallows a lump.
Elle yells, she wants the wall yesterday. Even if he didn't hear her, the giant flash of of electrical energy says plenty. 'Descartes' punches it as hard as he can. That other guy just... oh wow, did he just ripped that thing clean?! He shouldn't be that impressed because, um... well. Guess he shouldn't stand around all agape (again). The teacher looks back at Angel once, then over to the turret nearest to him and mentally shrugs, because hell, he doesn't think they're going to let him walk out now alive. With this decision, he jogs up to the door, thinking... um... well... he has an idea, but... ah, there, a space by that scary-eyed lady's leg.
"Watch your foot!!" The teacher speaks up to Elle as he turns his right leg inward, flexes his leg in and out... and then delivers a rapid series of short kicks against the very bottom of the door, thrusting the low-angled kick up and down like an angled jackhammer. It bears an uncanny resemblance to Kim's stomp and Ryo's Zanretsuken in one package, threatening the ground in front of him to yield as much as that bottom-most part of the door. When he and Elle first met, he couldn't do that technique without throwing out his leg. He was far too out of shape.
In this respect in the long months since they first met, he has at least improved in at least that area.
COMBATSYS: Elle successfully hits Barricade with Ride the Lightning.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Jayden 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Barricade with Jackhammer Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Jayden 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\0 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Jayden successfully hits Barricade with Huge Random Weapon.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\1 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Angel
The initial weapon does as intended, tearing into the ex special forces soldier with all the friendliness of a tank turret. The second turret has finally lined up its shot as the brackets holding it to the wall adjust its angle of aim, bringing it a line of sight shot directly for Elle, the identified keystone of the operation. Cameras around the structure swivel, enhancing the targeting algorithms as the turret begins to wind up. "Your simple minds are competing against a eye core array of processors operating in parallel, all calculating your imminent demise."
The gun Elle produces is zoomed in on, the energy readings off it analyzed, and the threat determined five microseconds before she pulls the trigger and unleashes the energy imbued blast directly for the barricade. The result is quite appearant, the heavy door rumbling as the chi cuts deep through its surface, leaving a molten crevice where the shot landed. Rust's brazen charge to run in and violently kick is almost ignored, the device unable to determine how effective his force will be until the attack hits, sending another reveberation throughout the barrier.
Three cameras pivot, focusing on Jayden as he rips the turret from the mounted brackets and charges down to use it as a large bludgening object. The turret that had just introduced itself to him focuses on the wreckage next, unleashing a stream of fire intended to obliterate the heavy weight before it can be put to use. "An unoptimal plan cannot succeed in the face of superior planning." the same voice observes neutrally. But his swing comes early enough to slam against the barricade and rather than destroying his makeshift weapon, the stray turret fire only ends up pelting the wall instead, leaving a row of gouges across its surface.
Inside the barricade, the men are helpless to do anything but observe as ARIIA continues to drive the entire defense grid, constantly shutting down anything she deems unessential to power additional weapons, including the lights, as the inside of the once command center becomes pitch black. Cameras within the bunker shift focus toward the eroding barricade, narrowing as they identify the disruptive energy echoing within.
On the inside, circuits lining the barricade begin to heat up. 'Redirecting surplus energy to defense barrier. Countering with a frequency appropriate for negating the sonic interference.' Smoke begins to pour from one of the panels as the AI quickly rewrites and repurposes the wiring logic and advanced transistors next to the barrier.
'Unfortunately,' ARIIA politely explains to those within. 'The magnitude of the response will prove fatal for the occupants. Defense of the base is the overriding priority. It has been a pleasure working with you.'
A third turret panel opens within the dome, lining up its shot straight down the ramp toward the tightly gathered group with a bearing down on Rust. Simultaneously, the first turret, shifts back to focus fire on Jayden since they seem to have been getting along so well already. The second turret, finally spun up, takes its shot for Elle. 'Farewell.'
A detonation of energy ripples through the wall at the same time as Francois' fist comes in to impact the unforgiving surface. Emanating from somewhere within the thick walled bunker, the portion that gets through the wall is enough to blast even a fighter away. It could be worse though. Those trapped within have already been deatomized. With Jayden's risidual sonic chi neutralized, the nanites close in in an attempt to start trying to repair the damage.
COMBATSYS: Turret3 has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\1 Barricade
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=====--\-------\0 Angel
> ///////////////////// ]
|-------\-------\0 Turret3
COMBATSYS: Barricade interrupts Fierce Punch from Francois with Disruptive Pulse.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|-------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\1 Barricade
> /////////////////////// ]
|=====--\-------\0 Angel
So wait, just because the door talked, it's now more serious business than she is? "Aw hell naw, I told you guys to get away from there! That computer don't mess aroun-- Ooh! ...that looked like it hurt." Not just what happened to Jayden, either. She's betting Francois is already wishing to run back to the softer embrace of her divine knuckles.
"See? See? I'd never do you like that. Come play with Angel instead!" the impatient Latin honey calls over, waving her hands like she's trying to flag them down. Damned if she's going to walk into that deathtrap with them if she doesn't have to. It's this that keeps her from preying on the wounded boxer, for now. She knew ARIIA was probably still looking right at him, and she's no killstealer! So once more she turns her attention to Elle, who was always her prime target anyway, and begins to unzip her sleeves and push them up past her elbows, preparing to lay the smack down and try to toss her clear. There's no disappearing act this time. She simply stomps her way over in those big ol' boots and goes to grab her and chuck her as far away from that wall as she can. If that happens, *then* she means to run over and yank her back up by the collar so she can beat some sense into her with a series of six heavy right hands, finishing up by clenching that same fist till her knuckles turn white and it starts to shake, and then slamming it into her jaw one final time. "Back off, chica!"
COMBATSYS: Elle dodges Angel's Blue Monday Parade.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|-------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Barricade
> ////////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Turret2 successfully hits Elle with Turret Fire.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|-------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Barricade
> ////////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Angel
A lot happens in a split second.
As the torrent of destruction rains down on the door, there's a nagging thought at the back of Elle's head. That thought is this: 'Why the hell is this door /not going down/? Having poured on enough destruction on the solid slab of steel, Elle is completely ignorant of just how driven the AI behind the door is. How it's cold, calculating demeanor summarily destroyed the people in the command room simply because it was the most direct way to end the meance. How it seems to be viewing her team as a legitimate threat and operating at full force. How it supports its demoralizing words with crippling gunfire and destruction.
Ignorance is unfortunate. Because Elle almost could relate the heartless thing.
But if there's one place where the two part ways, it's in the treatment of the people she works with. Elle doesn't see the point of atomizing those that work with her. For the people that withstand all her withering comments and boorish personality, she grants nothing but benefits. It's those very people she finds invaluable. Far more than just resources, people, as much as Elle hates to admit, are her lifeblood. She can operate without them... but not for too long.
And so when Francois seems to get overwhelmed by the energy signature, she takes a deep breath. Shit. The guy is an excellent mercenary, and both him and Jayden have proven themselves to be beyond worth to her at this point, because they /follow her orders/. To the /letter/. Elle has no words to really describe the appreciation she feels for that.
"Keep up on the door, and make sure my boys don't let up for a second. That energy field can't last," she tells Rust from the side of her mouth as she drops the clip on her pistol, slapping a fresh one home. "I've got shit to do." Covering her wounded teammates, she turns to face Angel. "Okay, Crackerjacks. You want attention? I'll give you attention."
And it's right then and there when the turret guns her down. The machine cannon blasts into her, the storm of shot and shell causing her to erupt in a spray of blood, blowing her backward and turning her around like some kind of drunken ballerina in combat fatigues. The air is all but knocked from her body, and she almost collapses. Staggering aside, she raises her head just as Angel's boot stomping charge comes in.
Not a lot of time to think here. The crazed Latina storms at her with all the fury NESTS and hardcore training Elle can't even begin to comprehend. The Mercenary commander's jaw clenches, and just as the hand shoots out, she rolls. A trail of blood pressed into the concrete follows her as her back grinds over the ground, causing her to wince. As Elle unfolds, she skids to her haunches, and slams a hand on the ground. The sonic shockwave rumbles the ground, transferring the energy up into Angel if she's not careful! "C'mon. Let's see what NESTS gave you," she says dryly, despite the blood leaking from her body like a sieve.
And 'Descartes' goes down.
Francois doesn't remember the last time he got hit like that. It's not too surprising, really. When you consider just how hard he was hit, it's the sort of thing that most people just... don't get better from. Or if they do, their recollection is impaired. One moment, Francois is punching a /wall/. One would think this is a fairly safe bet, as far as hitting things go. Walls are not often renowned for objecting to being hit. It is rarely a terribly sensible move to make, but other than bruising ones knuckles, the potential risks are not well documented.
For instance: Punching the wall may result in molecular destabilization. NESTS should really have put a sign there. They could get sued.
The amazing thing is that Francois, despite having taking the blast of energy full on, is getting up again. Things, are not looking good for the intrepid group. However. He'd agreed; he would keep following orders until Elle stopped giving them, or he couldn't any longer. Elle does not look healthy. So. He had to beat the crap out of Chaps McSparkles.
Swaying gently, the punchdrunk boxer raises himself up, and spits to the side. For once, Francois has no words. He was NOT going to go down to a -door-. That just isn't happening. Angel is entirely ignored, in favor of instead winding up, cocking one arm back...
And then just throwing himself at it, both arms forwards, and charging. Frankly, Francois could not care less about what happens to him /after/ he's knocked himself out headbutting and beating the door. Apparently, it's -his- turn to completely flip out. His eye squeezed shut tight, come on, Francois! This, is your crowning moment! Show that door who is boss!
His parents would be so proud.
COMBATSYS: Jayden blocks Turret's Turret Fire.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|-------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/---====/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-------|=======\=------\1 Barricade
> ////////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Angel
Keep on the door. THere's three casualties amongst the intruders, now--only Francois -seriously- injured, but that won't last. Angel is proving slippery, and dangerous, but it's a tossup as to whether she's worse than the turrets--something he has personal experience with, not just once, but again--as the turret fires upon him, he twists away, catching the bullets in a grazing pattern across his chest that looks far worse than it is (but, is still pretty bad)--his NESTS outfit is ruined, the armor ripped apart, showing flesh underneath.
Elle commands them to -take down that wall- and that is exactly what Jayden intends to do--by any means necessary. Too bad he already tossed the turret barrel away, but he couldn't afford to keep using it--it's too heavy and unwieldy. But he's not a man who needs weapons--he, like most fighters, *IS* a weapon. He times his attack--got to be in concert with Francois... even if that guy just took enough damage to be seeing quadruple.
Francois's attack is wild--and Jayden's less so, taking a quick-step forward and balancing on his left leg as he transfers momentum into a stabbing series of side-on kicks from his right--not just one, but three kicks, and then he throws hisr ight leg high and aims to bring it down, heel-first, into the door.
COMBATSYS: Rust blocks Turret3's Turret Fire.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/------=|=======\=------\1 Barricade
> ////////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Angel
The kicks against the door echo loudly enough that the guy who is actually /doing/ it finds himself having to stop from his own ears ringing - and also to get a better look at his own handiwork as he crouches down and stares at the little marks he's left. This gesture is what saves him from suffering that disruptive feedback that 'Descartes' ends up suffering. Thinking about it... he cracks a smile. Maybe they were going about this the wrong way, but that smile disappears as the AI gives its threats about the odds and numbers, all 'calculating your imminent demise' and 'an unoptimal plan cannot succeed in the face of superior planning.' It is unnerving enough that the thought leaves his mind for the moment - even as a half-formed idea that might possibly have changed the face of their approach - as he looks back to the area behind him, like... there's that lady, right, and the turrets, and... uh oh.
He is inches away from all but wetting himself as he realizes what it is he is sandwiched between. God damned guns and a crazy lady who almost broke his arm just simply wrenching herself free (with, seemingly, hardly any effort on her part, the fault is more with how tightly he flexed his arm than anything she did). He might be hard of body, but he is not as mentally hardened as the three mercenaries here. He is staring down certain death. Starting to back away from the door, he flexes his left arm inward on reflex, as though this thing is the one thing between him and having a few more moments to think about his regrets in life.
'Keep on the door,' Elle tells him, 'and make sure my boys don't let up for a second. That energy field can't last.' His mouth starts to hang open as it comes to mind that he has a better idea - and that's when the gunfire starts happening.
Intimidated enough by the odds, he hunkers down and puts both forearms up, Ol' Rusty pointed upward as bullets riddle at his arms. His legs shake, all but cowering. He misses the bloody scene where Elle is nearly turned into swiss cheese. He can't look onto that third guy (Jayden) to acknowledge they're being shot at. It's Rust being shot at.
The rounds don't pierce his forearms. For the most part, they bounce off like little pebbles. Like a bunch of kids tried to slingshot rocks at him. Ouch, yes. A fatal final stand... no. He lowers his arms.
"Okay, uh..." he clears his throat. He's only got one shot at this. Might as well make it count. "So! Uh... those of you who are inside the base, hi, you don't... you don't know me." He narrates in his gravelly voice, raising it as loudly as possible as his arms lay limp at his side. "I'd like you to know... you fucked me over. You fucked me over... really, really bad. And you know what. I'm very... not... happy."
He turns his back to the turrets. If they're gonna fire at his back, so be it, shit can't hurt him nearly as bad as the AI was talking about. If there's one thing he could pride himself on, it's that. But today, he's going to take pride in something else. "I teach at an... an overseas high school. I like to think... I like to think the shit I teach these kids, are things they can learn to... to appreciate, and do for themselves. To give back... you know? And... and I'm going to show you shitheads cowering behind this door," little does he know they're gone, "why I give those little shits who spit on me the time of day."
He rubs his hands together as his allies beat on the door, eyeing the little... things, trying to mend the door. They narrow. Gray goo? If that shit so much gets on his gloves, they're coming off. It's not going to go Borg him today. "And you know... that thing about... plans, well... I took a look here, see, and... and I just realized something I should've, should've noticed when we were wasting time beating the shit out of it."
Ol' Rusty is pointed downward into the little gap in the floor his kicks may have made. He winces as his right hand screams for him not to do this. Too bad. You're my right hand. You hurt like hell. You're going to make their pride hurt like hell and you will like it. "See... the thing about this door is... and I know doors. Right? And this door. This door..."
That's when he crouches down, bending his knees which also protest because they know what he is going to do. That he even has any space at all to do this while Jayden and Francois whack at it is a luxury. He grits his teeth, taking in a deep breath... his back is going to hate this. He wouldn't be surprised if this would confine him to a bed for weeks, but you know, with all the absolute shit these invaders have given him... maybe taking away his dreams, almost definitely looking to end his regular career if they don't relent, /they have this coming/.
"This door..." He grits his teeth, his voice shaky as the veins about his body bulge. He doesn't know how heavy this is, but with a little leverage, he can get a good head start, and from there... maybe, just maybe... he starts to tug upward, eyes shut tight as he outright cringes. Muscles want to cramp, if not burst outright into blood-filled bits of meat at the stress he puts on them. He has never lifted anything this heavy. He may never lift anything this heavy ever again.
"Opens..." He utters once more as he lowers his head level, opening tear-filled eyes again as saliva drips out of his mouth. It's almost like this middle aged man has gone completely rabid. It's not far from the truth as he makes one last exertion, timing this one last declaration as to make this truth so loud that those in charge of defense will... be fired. (They're already fried, little does he know.)
"...UPWARDS!!!" He calls with one final roar as he channels it all to this one last gesture to get the fucking thing not blown down, not crumbled to pieces, but merely... open.
COMBATSYS: Francois successfully hits Barricade with Haymaker Punch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/------=|=======\==-----\1 Barricade
> ////////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Jayden successfully hits Barricade with Fierce Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////// ]
Rust 0/-------/------=|=======\===----\1 Barricade
> ////////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Rust successfully hits Barricade with Strong Throw.
>> Decisive Hit!! <<
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-----==|=======\====---\1 Barricade
> ////////////////////// ]
|=------\-------\0 Angel
The three turrets each spin off their round of fire before they're forced to pause due to the overwhelming amount of heat coursing through the barrels. Smoke rises off the smoldering ends of the precision weapons as they were pushed practically to the point of seizing up by the AI determined to put a stop to this ridiculous attempt at breaking into the very heart of the facility.
A dozen cameras swivel and pivot around the radius of the room, studying the fighters and extrapolating their condition based on their ability to move, how much blood they've left on the walls and floor, and the strength with which they speak. The numerics factored out of the billions of equations executed per second are not favorable. The target designated as Descartes should be dead, the pulse of power he was in such close proximity to enough to fry the nervous system of most people. The others, targets of turrets designed to tear the hull off military-grade vehicles, are doing far too well on top of that.
"Your state of happiness is of irrelevant concern." Elsewhere in the base several systems suddenly shut down, their energy redirected for something else entirely. "Failure to comprehend how impossible an objective is seems to be a common failing of your species." observes the clinical AI. "But this exhibition is not one such occurance. However." Francois throws himself at the wall like a madman hell bent on seeing if it has the wherewithall to blast him back again like last time, and his fist strikes solidly, adding to the already severe damage in the wall. A crater int the center and chips along the edges as several reinforcement braces give out shows that the culmulative efforts are having their desired impact.
"You still have not evaluated the price of success in this particular game." The turrets adjust, each of them acting in tandem with insidious intent. Jayden's combination of kicks only serve to further jar the wall loose. What was once an impenetrable bulwark is on the verge of fracturing, with metal shards and chunks of supporting concrete wall covering the floor at the base of it. "For every gain-"
Rust begins to speak as he approaches the greatly weakened structure as three cameras switch to focusing on him. "There must be a cost." The turrets begin to wind up again, the barrels trained toward a location somewhere behind Rust. The wall begins to give to his effort against all logic and reason to the contrary. Putting his all into it, the aging teacher begins to pull the wall upward, offering access to the bunker, a location completely beyond the reach of the dome full of deadly turrets.
The turrets continue to spin, being driven to an overload as every spare trace of energy the base has to cough up is funneled into each of them at once. Electricity courses over their housing as one after another, they ignite on fire, their metallic frame beginning to melt under the tremendous power collecting in them.
Rust makes it happen. With the hydraulics system offline, the failsafe locks on the hefty barrier will keep it from falling back down again. He opens the door, buying enough space for others to pass through, the last of the reinforcing braces rattling to the ground around him as they snap free. But there is the matter of payment due, in ARIIA's simulated mind. All three turrets fire in unison, unleashing a horrific electrical discharge of deadly voltage so strong as to form a visible arc across the room from each turret, each arc aiming to form a direct link with the ol' metal pipe Rust takes with him everywhere. From there, it would be a simple matter of electrons moving as electorns are wont to do.
"Farewell, Homer. Thanks for playing."
COMBATSYS: Barricade takes no action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|???????\???????\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Barricade can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/-======|???????\???????\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Elle successfully hits Angel with Wrathchild.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 0/-------/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret3
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Jayden 1/-----==/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Rust 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Angel
Sonic shockwave? Vibrations, then. The lone agent can't really see any reason to fear something like that, so she just sort of stands there and blinks at Elle. "The hell are you even doing?"
And then she gets blown right off her feet and ends up flat on her back with the sound of her head hitting the concrete floor. Her brow furrows a bit, and she pouts her lips out before sitting back up, not really looking as dazed as she probably ought to, but still plenty confused. "How did-- Whatever." she starts, only to immediately give up on figuring it out, because well, the thing she was trying to distract them from is already being ripped from its frame.
"A- AWWW! Already? You gotta be kidding me! This is bullshit, man!" the pantless woman complains, scuffing the toe of her footwear on the ground and having herself a hissy fit over the fact that she may have to actually try a little harder. To chase these people. To wound them further. All without anyone to back her up. "You are *not* going in there and messing up all our stuff! Stay still this time dammit! I'm serious!"
From there, she lunges at the white-haired woman with the katar, and the gun, and the whatever else, and looks like she's getting ready to strangle her, only to end up kicking one leg up and trying to hook it around the side of Elle's neck, followed so quickly by the other slamming into the first that it's like her leg teleports. The impact is of course carried from one leg to the next, and transferred into a whiplash inducing throw meant to sling her victim all the way up into the ceiling.
COMBATSYS: Elle blocks Angel's Strong Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Elle 1/------=/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret2
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Francois 1/---====/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret3
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Jayden 1/-----==/=======|???????\???????\0 Turret
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Rust 0/-------/-----==|====---\-------\0 Angel
Elle has to admit that there's something very familiar with the way Angel acts and behaves... but unlike what she's familiar with, Angel's got more of an edge to her. The woman is clearly insane... but she fights with a singleminded ferocity that belies her appearance. It's almost a shame that she's part of the enemy camp. There's a lot of use that Elle can get out of someone that's completely crackers but is willing to do some serious fighting.
But that's neither here nor there.
The legs once again come flying at Elle with all the force and alacrity of a missile, and she is indeed slung to the side, forcing her back to twist uncomfortably. But rather than letting the attack continue, Elle rolls with the hit, pulling free from what would have been an unmitigated disaster on her spine and neck if the attack had managed to land clean.
She stumbles to the side, exhaling hard as she flicks her eyes towards the door. Good. It's opening. Things are... wait. What is that machine saying now?
She can't argue with the AI's words. It's true. To give up something is part of progress. To move forward, you must leave something behind. And it looks like today's sacrifice is the bravest teacher that Pacific High ever had. Even the cold hearted Elle has to close her eyes once for that. But then again, she did say that the man had a fire in his heart that life should have killed a long time ago. Elle's not in the business of vengeance, but if she was, she'd feel that Rust was a price that she'd have to recoup.
As it is? The woman only feels the slightest amount of guilt. After all, she never asked for his help, as grateful as she is for it. Maybe if there's anything left, she'll give what she finds back to Pacific. If there's enough time. And enough left.
But no time to ponder that. Her hands whip upward, twin .45 caliber pistols showing up in her grasp as she levels them off at Angel, her eyes focusing on getting the aim just so as she braces her feet on the ground. "Come and get her, boys," she says coldly as she pulls the triggers over and over again, the horrible storm of electrical power issuing forth from the weapons to blast Angel back, hopefully giving the rest of her team the edge they need to finish off the crazed NESTS agent.
Francois can't help but shake his head sadly. Having hauled himself back to his feet, his work by no means done even if every part of his poor, battered body was screaming at him to just lay down already, he has to admit, for a bald, fat, middle aged guy, who knew entirely too much about how to handle doors, Rust had done pretty good. Pity that he was going to explode. But... that's just how these things go, in his experience.
The Frenchman pauses to produce from his pocket a small, home-made rollup, which he lights on the overheated metal all around him. He takes a drag, and then exhales. "Ah, well, it was nice knowing him. But, c'est la vie."
He -had- been hoping to get through this whole day without any friendly bodies. He should have known better.
On the other hand, if he acted quickly, perhaps he could still stop Elle from bleeding out. Crazy woman that she is, Francois grunts, jumping, it's time, he decides, to put everything on the line. Leaping in a nimble arc, somehow, the boxer manages to get all the way over Elle, utilizing the full frontal assault that was, hopefully, doing its job of pushing the woman back...
To suddenly /pivot/. Knuckles cracking out and aiming to crash, suddenly, and with all the determination the bloodied boxer could bring himself to muster, directly into the tender side of Angel's skull.
Rust's sacrifice... well, it's an amazing one, that's for sure. Jayden isn't heartless, but neither is he prone to emotional display, and so a touching of a pair of fingers touched to his brow is the most Rust gets--for now. Angel, well... he's got to admit, the girl is hot. Amazing, even. But... this is business.
"Sorry, chere. P'raps later, you, me, we go for a drink, non?" is all he says to Angel--who by now is probably dealing with Elle's storm of attacks, and thereafter, Francois, seeking to bash her head in. "A shame," he says, sardonically, but his own part in this cannot be denied either--he lunges after Elle's wave of bullets and energy, following it. As he rushes forward, he's drawing back his right fist--and throwing that hard right hook to the body. This is followed by a left hook--and that ought to turn her away from him. This is the fun part--he gets up close, personal, his strong arms wrapping around her midsection... and then he's lifting her up, bending over, bridging, slamming her into the flooring in a suplex.
But not just one--he maintains his grip, getting her up and turning for a second, and a third... and then the fourth, but he changes up on that one--just as he gets the momentum to lift her up and over he surges, and releases his grip, to hurl her away from him, almost like a hammerthrow.
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Rust's Strong Throw.
>> Decisive Hit!! <<
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Elle 0/-------/-------|???????\???????\0 Turret2
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Francois 0/-------/------=|???????\???????\0 Turret3
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Jayden 0/-------/-------|???????\???????\0 Turret
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Rust 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Rust endures Turret's Massive Electrical Discharge.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|???????\???????\0 Turret2
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Francois 0/-------/------=|???????\???????\0 Turret3
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Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Turret
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Rust 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Turret2 successfully hits Rust with Massive Electrical Discharge.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Turret2
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Francois 0/-------/------=|???????\???????\0 Turret3
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Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Turret
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Rust 1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Rust Toughs Out Turret3's Massive Electrical Discharge!
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Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Turret2
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Francois 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Turret3
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Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Turret
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Rust 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0 Angel
SWEET MERCIFUL JESUS NONE OF YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS HURTS!! The teacher continues to exert every last ounce of strength he has in his body as it seizes up from the stress he puts on it. That is putting it very lightly, in ultimately succinct detail. For all his wisdom in figuring out which way the door opens, he doesn't consider the thought that the door will remain as-is if he lets it go. If he lets it go, that god-damned thing will drop and who knows how much effort it's going to take to get the thing knocked down and, and...
No time to think about that!! I am lifting like I never fucking lifted before and I can't drop this shut up knees seriously shut up I know and ow ow ow my back, even if the man were to let go now his back's already on his case. Everything is on his case. His heart, at last, feels like it is about to explode. He's clenching his teeth so tight he might be moments away from pressing hard enough to break some teeth off. He could kill himself with dehydration with the tears flowing down his cheeks.
There are men bigger, stronger, and tougher than this man, many by a long shot. But this? This is him at what may be his finest moment, for a man of such low calibur in the wide world of physical ability. This shit is not easy even for those who could do even /more/. But is it time for him to give it all up? His back thinks so, and now, it's making him pay the price. Screw you, back, he decides, holding his posture. But those pains going through his back may prove decisive as to determining his absolute limits.
'Farewell, Homer. Thanks for playing.' His teeth grit, because for a moment he thinks that's /her/ (the differences between Elle's voice and the AI are kind of lost in his grunting, it's the nickname that sets him off), oh, fuck you lady, you're not leaving me behind!! All I got to do is...
He loses his train of thought, along with other such vehicles of awareness that he may still have been paying interest on as the massive electrical discharges - times three - converges on the pipe, and through that pipe, his arm, and through that arm... he disappears under the electrical discharges. His teeth clatter as he babbles incoherently at different pitches that switch roughly four times a second. The scary thing is...
He's still holding the door. He's just not holding himself very well.
Letgoletgoletgoletgoletgo his entire body is telling him, wait, what, fuck no, I can't let go-- the electrical power overtakes him for the next few moments, making him think entirely in scents as the color blue has the consistency of felt and he suddenly cognizes what the Italian word for 'apple' is. His life starts flashing before his eyes. Early childhood memories of his mom slugging his dad a few times over. Some of police coming to his little trailer home asking about his mother. Their divorce. Kids picking on him because of his mother. Him beating up his dad a few times over. That overcast graduation ceremony where a lightning strike took down the statue of the school's founder. Having to work at a local construction site to support him and his dad. That day he picked up a pipe and chased after two mobsters who fucked around his work site for the last time. Evading a legal bullet for armed assault. Training for making it in the big leagues of fighting. Feeling crushed when his workplace sponsored someone else instead. A pit fight. His friends' intervention. Going into college. Deciding to become a teacher. Biting his nails over nobody local hiring. Getting a job offer at Pacific international. Then all the rest of the bullshit you can read in logs proper.
He hits his head up against the bottom of the door, bringing him back to reality. Let go, let go, let go... yeah, he gets it. With one last loud shout rivaling the one when he cried about how the door opens, he tumbles forward and lets go of the door, Ol' Rusty flying out of his hand - smoking, as it clangs down the hallway while he rolls onto his back a ways past the door. What remains of his hair is pointed out all in different directions. Breathe in, breathe out... breathe in... breathe out... he doesn't hear an ear-splitting crash of metal on the ground, as he turns his head towards...
...Oh, doesn't he feel silly now. The door's not falling shut, those three are ganging up on the... eh. I don't feel like getting up right now, fuck you people if you try, he flutters in and out of consciousness as he makes loud, obnoxious snoring breaths. Technically speaking, he survived the onslaught alive. A few more seconds later... this would have been a far different story. But he's done moving. He's too thoroughly exhausted to give much of a damn.
COMBATSYS: Rust takes no action.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Turret2
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Francois 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Turret3
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Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Turret
> /////////////////// ]
|====---\-------\0 Angel
COMBATSYS: Rust can no longer fight.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Turret2
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Francois 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Turret3
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Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Turret
> /////////////////// ]
|====---\-------\0 Angel
The storm of electricity is short though to Rust it probably felt like it lasted far too long. Seconds later it's over and each of the three turrets are nothing more than molten slag. The energy needed to bring other turrets online isn't available yet. In the smoldering aftermath of electrified Rust, only the sounds of Elle and those loyal to her facing of against Angel are heard.
ARIIA, for all of the vast network of computer technology and electornics available, has run out of weapons. For now. The door will remain open, providing a haven from the turret fire. Of Rust's fall, no comment is made. Of the odds of victory against the NESTS killer, silence. This group has already defied calculated projections of potential summed up by countless battle simulations.
At this point, there is nothing left to do but watch. And it is to that end the cameras around the dome swivel, rotate, and pivot, recording the combination of attacks playing out.
COMBATSYS: Elle, Francois and Jayden successfully hit Angel with House of the Rising Sun.
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Elle 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Turret2
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Francois 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Turret3
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Jayden 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Turret
> /////// ]
|=======\===----\1 Angel
Pff, statistics like that aren't likely to be very accurate anyway when you're talking about someone as random as Angel. She could just as well get bored and wander off as stand here and fight her ass off. She's not one of NESTS clones. She's still human, for the most part. There's no cybernetics, no power over the elements. Just her speed, and mad social skills. The latter of which she has not really used at all, because uh, was there even *time* for that? She didn't even get a chance to raise a fist against that other guy over there yet, much less speak to them. This just wasn't the kind of situation you could talk your way around. Even less so when you're being shot at by some bitch that must think she's Dante Sparda, blasting you with lightning, leaving you open for some kind of massive, airborne, spinning backfist that knocks you into a punch in the abdomen, which leads into a series of suplexes from that guy she neglected to harass.
Really, it's all not too unlike watching one of the villains on Power Rangers get knocked for a loop near the end of the episode, to be sent spinning and staggering away, clutching at whatever wounds they've incurred, and yet still managing to stay upright and shake a fist. The only part that ruins it for the kids at home is that part where she screams and hisses obscenities through her teeth, both in English and Spanish, and then kind of looks up and pauses suddenly. "...drink? Man that is just what I need right now. Some tequila. Outta my way, G.I. Joe!"
Not that she intends to wait for him to respond to that, or anything. She's tired, she's cranky, she's beaten all to hell on top of it now, and she wants to quit this stupid game. So she straightens herself up, and barrels right toward Jayden, intent on mowing him down on her way out with a long, flowing chain of punches and kicks that are such a blur of movement that it's hard to even describe their sequence. There are rapid jabs, rising palmstrikes, leaping kicks...she's all over the place. And then it's all topped by a single twisting uppercut as she advances. If she misses, not like she cares, because the Cajun will no longer be impeding her progress, and she'll be gone, having flown the coup.
COMBATSYS: Jayden fails to interrupt Loyalty Test for the Liberalists from Angel with Quick Throw.
-* WILD HIT! *-
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Jayden 1/-------/=======|=------\-------\0 Turret
> /////// ]
|-------\-------\0 Angel
Oh holy Jesus Christ and the Son of Satan. Jayden gets approximately one second to see Angel bearing down on him, apeshit and beautiful. At least there's that, thinks the Cajun, just for a moment--already his body is reacting. He's not looking to stop her--oh no. He's looking to get out of her way--intending to grab an arm, use it as leverage, swing himself free of the storm.
That, however, is not to be--she's damned fast and strong, too. The first strike stuns him, leaving him open for the dancing dervish--the strikes coming in so hard and so fast it's all he can do just to maintain consciousness, using the last shred of his strength--and still that rising uppercut nearly does for him, sending him flying, slamming into the recently-ruined wall, to slide down.
For a moment it probably seems like he's dead, but after a long, boneless moment, his body twitches, and he reaches down, starting to try to push himself to his feet. "Guh... goddamn... still.. she almost worth de price o' admission..." he murmurs. Then, halfway up on shaky feet and wrecked wall, he eyes Elle. "Double hazard pay," he says, flatly. Not really -expecting- that she'll agree, but... hotdamn. Frenchy ought to ask, too. But Jayden knows, really, that it's just part of the game, and survival is expected.
Well, Elle /said/ it was going to be hard. That's the nature of this business, and one of the key reasons why quite a few people can't last in it very long. It's unforgiving, brutal, and requires a discipline that few people want to engage in. So many would rather run into the arms of a much larger organization and be mollycoddled and soothed by the idea that there are many allies and resources. But the fact remains that it comes at a severe price: freedom, a pittance for pay. Some places even require your body in full, and your soul.
Overall, the tradeoffs aren't ever worth it for Elle. And now it's time to take a damage survey. The AI's been more or less kneecapped. Security forces have been pulled away by the multiple engagements all around the facility. Right now, there's time enough for a breather. She unzips the jacket of her uniform, the gray t-shirt underneath displaying the utility belt over it,s trapped over her shoulder like a bandolier as she attends to her soldiers first. After all, she's paying them to stay alive.
She hands to them a Devil's brew of chemicals in epipens, adapted from a variety of unpleasant drugs. It'd be instantly addictive to people with weaker constitutions, and while it won't heal anything, it'll keep them on their feet for what needs to be done. And Elle's no shirker herself. The amount of damage that those autocannons have done to her results in her slamming one of the unpleasant chemical cocktails in her own thigh, causing her eyes to narrow slightly. It's supremely uncomfortable and it feels like Drano has been poured into her veins... but she'll live and have enough alertness to keep going for the time being.
She coughs, her throat dry as she immediately begins issuing orders between the coughs. "Descartes, secure the perimeter. Gumbo, I want you to check on the stupid lump that just got himself barbecued. See if there's any chance in hell he's still alive after that. Once you're clear, follow me into the security station. We still have work to do."
As if to emphasize, she re-shoulders the satchel charges. After all, there's a matter of getting that information out of the base, to the client, and then sending the central hub into the stratosphere. All in a day's work, after all.
Francois smirks at Jayden. Ordinarily, he'd -have- to say more. After all. He just got his ass kicked by someone who looks like they could have jumped right out of certain glossy magazines. But. On the other hand. She'd almost nearly staved his head in, so perhaps he could show the guy just a little bit of slack by ignoring the contractual obligation.
But still. Smirk.
The Frenchman takes the drugs from Elle, and with a shrug, stabs himself with them. Not particularly liking that he needed to resort to something like that, but, the alternative was getting ambushed by Tits McNinja when she decided not to play chicken, and that really didn't seem attractive.
"Alright, boss." He replies, simply. Moving to do just that, and make sure that they -weren't- going to be ambushed by anyone else. Francois, however, doesn't ask for any more money. He'd agreed to do it for the price, and, though it had been damned painful and unpleasant so far, that was precisely what he'd signed up expecting. It didn't sit right with him to try and renegotiate mid-operation.
... strange, how the cigarette does more to steady his hand than the cocktail of near-lethal drugs now coursing through his veins. But. No matter. Delicious tobacco.
The stupid lump is still in movement, but not in sound. The snoring-like noises continue as the Stupid Lump Formerly Known As Homer Who Was Formerly Known As Howard Rust dazedly stares up at the ceiling while mind, body, and soul try to come to a consensus as to what just happened within the last half hour. 'I got zapped really badly some couple of moments ago' is the only thing all parts of himself can agree on.
It says a lot when the wound that has been bugging him most - the one in his right hand - is presently the part of him that hurts the least. Too sore to want to get up, the imminent danger of the situation escapes from him like the smoke that rises up from his scorched self. This floor is kinda-sorta comfortable despite every reason for it not to be.
He's breathing, and he's got a steady pulse. Yet, if 'Gumbo' touches him, prepare for a nasty static shock.
In the aftermath of so much violence, gunfire, bodily harm, explosive electronic discharges, and shouts of defiance, the domed chamber is markedly quiet. Only Elle's barked commands, the hiss of a mixture of pain numbing drugs being administered, and the sound of smoldering metal where three turrets existed moments before.
No voice over the speakers. No clinical analysis of the failings of the human minds or the limits of probabilities and possibilities. No expressions regarding the futility of trying any further. Silence from the automated base defense system but the the constant subtle shifts and adjustments of the cameras in the room make it perfectly clear that they are being observed.
ARIIA waits, watching. It's their turn for now.
Well, it's good to know that she's hired people that won't hesitate to punch the hell out of people that look like centerfolds. She shakes her head. That was two seconds off of complete disaster. But, everyone appears to be breathing. That's definitely a start. She takes a moment to look around, and notices the movement of the cameras, considering them as she steps towards Jayden and Rust. "Descartes," she calls out, "Take down those cameras, for chrissake." He should still have his weapon, or one should be laying around at the very least.
She stoops as she approaches, kneeling next to Rust. Rather than the cajun soldier, Elle's the one that inititates contact, getting a healthy jolt for her troubles. It causes her to grimace as her fingers are on needles and pins for a second or two. Luckily for her, she throws off so much electricity in the normal course of the day, she's somewhat used to it.
She checks her inventory. Only two more of the pens left, and Rust might need both. The man could probably have taken all that damage over time without as much trouble, but he just took a staggering amount of pain in a single setting. With all the tenderness and bedside manner of a bear trap, Elle jams the pen into his neck, dispensing the combat drugs in a manner that delivers everything straight to the brain.
If these things don't get Rust back on his feet in two minutes, Elle will just call an embalmer.
"Wake up you idiot," she says, and it's not the cutesy, female lead in an action movie half-gentle smile 'you idiot'. It's the 'you idiot' that basically means, 'you are a complete doddering fool', or in a sense, the classic interpretation of 'you idiot'. A hand slaps his cheek as she tries to tap the teacher awake.
"Look here," she says, "You got two choices. You can lie here and hope nobody comes to eat you, because I'm not wasting any more time on you, or you can follow us in and maybe get the answers you're looking for. Your choice." And with that, she makes a motion with her hand, indicating that she's got this and that Jayden should turn his attention to take point again, specifically investigating what's behind Door #1. Her hand motions for Francois to follow Jayden as she stays behind to see what Rust's answer is, not having much an investment in either outcome. Having an extra body to hide behind if there's more gunplay is good, and not having to lug around a man whose primary means of dealing with the enemy has been giving them detention for the pasy however many years up until now also has it's advantages.
Francois works some tension out of his shoulder, glad, at least, that it didn't seem 'scantily clad ninja' is the new standard guard employed by NESTS. Picking up a pistol, he takes careful aim, and shoots. With a bit of luck the cameras weren't made from bullet-proof glass or anything crazy like that. If they were, he was going to have to climb up there and wrench them down by hand, and really, he did not feel spry enough for that right now.
Elle's brutal bedside manner is noted with a throaty chuckle, and, as he walks past Rust, Francois pauses to grin down at the man. "You had best do as she says, my friend!" He comments, working the cigarette between his teeth around to the corner of his mouth. "I was not joking- the boss, she is a hard woman. If you don't hurry up, she might decide that you'd be more useful blocking up the door for us instead!"
Laughing some more, and loading some fresh ammo into the gun, Francois pauses only to make sure he's still got his share of the oh-so-precious explosives, before he turns to follow after Jayden, maybe it was the drugs, but, now that it didn't look like he was immediately going to explode violently, the world seemed like a much brighter place.
... huh. Jay gets himself on his feet and moving, but by the time he's just about ready to head Rust's way, Elle's already there, taking care of things. Heh. Well, whatever; he's no medic. Probably would've just jabbed Rust with a pen and been done with it. Instead, he shoulders his satchel charges and walks point, still moving carefully... moving even -more- carefully, really, due to injury.
"This is some place, boss," he remarks, looking around. He's got to--checking for traps, cubbyholes where additional forces might be holed up, anything like that. People who can field troops and automated turrets like that, with walls that can eat a man... the ex-Forces trooper just shakes his head.
Almost as an afterthought he shoots his own epipen, hissing as the drugs are shot into a vein, but he just grits his teeth through it. The room doesn't appear to be built up too much in terms of defenses... at least on first look. But it remains to be seen just how much more tricky NESTS can get.
"Gnnkh!" The Idiot Formerly Known As That Stupid Lump winces as he goes through that similar feeling of when he woke up in some basement somewhere alongside two dead bodies and that Gedo kid whose name he can't quite remember off the top of his head. The sort of thing that reminds him how that low-level lingering pain he tolerates day to day is just how it all feels when he's completely numb after a sound near-death experience, the rest of his body shrieking (...for a given value of shriek, he himself does not but give the rest of his body its own mouth and it would have a career in opera singing... though, the mouth is part of the body and, oh, never mind, moving on).
He blinks a couple of times as he stares at Elle's forehead. The rest of her face isn't visible from where he's looking at, but he doesn't feel any particular impetus to confirm that that's indeed her forehead and not some other woman's forehead as she lays out his choices. Stay here, hope nobody comes to eat him... follow them in and get the answers he's looking for. What answers? Why did I even come in he--
Wait.
He grunts idly as it comes back to his head. Right, you somehow got in here while trying to avoid being detected from the outside, and... and all this... this war thing, with them attacking schools, and... holy shit!! I'm inside their base of operations and, and...
His train of thought is broken as Francois grins down at him, says his part, and gets to laughing. More groaning on the middle aged man's part as his left knee rises with an unpleasant crackling noise. Stiffness. How familiar he is with that stiffness. The third guy walks past him without offering much his own opinion on the matter.
Not that he really needs it to decide.
Wordlessly (but not soundlessly), Pacific's toughest teacher ever starts to sit up. "Agh!" His back! His left hand is placed around the lower end of it. He looks back at the door, and from his vantage point... he can't believe he actually lifted that thing. How much does that weigh? Now that's just making his head hurt.
"I'm," he grunts out, "I'm goin'." A prolonged growl comes out soon after as he goes through the process of conquering the difficulty that comes with sitting all the way up. Every muscle in his body, even with the help of the combat drugs, is hesitant to ever willingly be flexed. In other words, it is exactly like how it is getting up every morning on Mondays.
Mondays mean work. Work means pay. Pay means making ends meet. Making ends meet means living. Living means... that's pretty much all he needs to conquer the rest of the steps, however sluggish and unsteady as they may be.
Back on his own two feet some moments later, he leans over and tries to catch his breath while all that junk is pumping through his veins. That AI, once again, may have cause to doubt its grasp of logic and probability if it is there to witness it.
The cameras go down without incident. A few rounds through the case or right through the lenses would do the trick, producing a shower of sparks or a small plume of smoke from each one in turn.
The bunker at the bottom of the ramp - the bunker so carefully contained behind the thick blast door and secured by so many turrets - looks about like one would expect. Computer screens around the room are all black, many of them cracked and smoking, the electronics driving them fried when the AI decided to send a deathly amount of energy coursing through the damaged door right in time with the punch leveled by Francois. The various boxes of electronics around the room seem to have suffered similar fates except for a few machines on the side of the circle opposite the blast door that are still humming away. Perhaps built with better shielding, the LEDs on their surface indicate that they're still functional. Attached to them is the only working monitor. Encased behind a thick translucent panel, it too seems to have survived the blast on the interior.
The same can't really be said for the intelligence officers that were stationed there. A strong, unpleasent oder permeates the air - a stench of death and burnt plastics and flesh. Anything not bolted down was thrown to the far side of the room by the blast. Chairs, assorted objects that were once scattered over the tables in the middle, charred bones, and other odds and ends.
As the two men enter, no traps are sprung, no hidden wall compartments opening to reveal more troops, no final-defense assault turrets. Just a number of fixed cameras taking in the two men who lead the way in to the command bunker. On the monitor across the room, a single bold red box of text blinks silently. Some warning, some message intended for human eyes. Certainly the AI driving the defenses doesn't need visual displays to gather its information. 'Omega Protocol Initiated'
"Allow me to introduce you to the Kieninger Trap. Victory in chess is achieved in seven moves by baiting the opponent into thinking they are obtaining the pieces and board control they want. In one move after capturing the Bishop bait, they will face checkmate and the game ends with the King and Queen trapped in the location they thought to be the safest." Seconds pass, the AI waiting to make sure that it has secured attention.
"I present to you a quandary." ARIIA continues to break silence at last. "Well before you so unkindly robbed me of my sight of the outter chamber, I couldn't help but detect the presence of high grade explosives, making your intentions here quite clear." There's a pause, undoubtedly for emphasis. ARIIA determined what to say in a microsecond several minutes ago so there's no need to think about what to say. "In a sense, your delayed timer munitions are superfluous. This location is already rigged to explode before anything of value can fall into enemy hands. Only, with the detonation I would trigger, there is no need for delay, no chance to escape to safe distance. I assure you the results will be quite impressive but also quite uncomfortable. A localized fission detonation only takes zero point zero seven microseconds to fire. While your abilities have been impressive, I am confident that exceeds the speed at which you can vacate this location."
The voice continues on, the tone level, no hint of emotion or attitude, simply a statement of facts. "You can chose to leave now and neither yourselves nor I will have to cease to exist. Or you can try to make this difficult and force us all into a mutually destructive scenario."
Another heartbeat passes, "Or we can sit around and chat pleasantly. While this option seems a stalemate at first, I believe it will still ultimately require your departure. Once your other dirversions have run their course and operatives return to secure this location, this would become a decidedly unsafe location to linger for conversation."
After checking in on Rust, getting a confirmation on his next action, the mercenary leader trots in after her men, only to hear the entirety of what the AI has to say. The sights and revolting smell don't hit her all that heavily. At least, not in relation to what's presented to her in the coldest logical manner available. But there's a problem that Elle considers immediately.
Elle doesn't play chess.
That may come to some surprise. After all, she's a very logical person. But the way she plans out her actions has little to do with set peices and immediately solveable problems. She deals with the gooey, gray area of humanity and has little time to play games. That being said, ARIIA's statement brings a thought to the forefront, causing her to frown slightly. And that thought is this:
She really needs to take up chess.
Still, it's not so much a chess question as it is a puzzle in and of itself. The machine obviously seems to be playing at a level above and beyond her normal opponents. So what is this machine capable of? Her mind begins to pick it apart as she approaches. "Sure. Let's chat," she replies, looking around the room for something more to address than a monitor. Failing that, she'll just keep walking around the room, motioning for her men to do the same to identify an access port or other area of interest.
Something just doesn't seem right, and the sounds outside definitely are not congruous with the claims within. She steps over charred bones, considering the machine's behavior. There's a subtle tic to the voice. A certain something Elle picks out. "Tell me. Up until now, how did you expect to see this going? Did you like it here?"
The chatter is one thing, the thoughts are something else entirely. Specifically, it's the content of the wording of the chess move, and the way the machine has reacted to the actions taken today. But still, there's not enough information. Pick, pick, pick.
With everything else going according to plan, there just had to be one last obstacle, didn't there? Everyone else acting in concert at the behest of Elle's request, fighting, risking death on a plan so that she could make her approach on this one location.
It's an interesting chess move indeed.
Francois is, to say the least, surprised. He honestly had not expected to be confronted with the possibility of sudden and violent explosion. Again. Even for a man who has been through as much as he has, the prospect of tackling a violent explosion head on just... wasn't pleasant. Let alone in his current state. He felt only slightly better than death warmed up already. Probably because he'd left some molecules behind on the door, or something.
Looking to Elle for guidance, he shrugs, and begins wandering around, inspecting the electronics with his one good eye. "It's a terrible thing to throw your life away so quickly." He says, to nobody in particular. "At least we've got a paycheck." And then he looks back at Elle, straightening up a little, and pausing only to drag on his cigarette. You really need to stay calm at times like these; quick moves could result in even more fast ones. All at once. All over the place.
"Which... didn't say we have to blow /everything/ up, did it? We were gonna have to drag some stuff out of here, anyway, couldn't it be our new, very reasonable, very helpful friend? I'm sure an attractive voice like that couldn't have ... -too- much excess... storage."
...Okay, go easy on him. He's never tried to flirt with an AI before.
Oh god, he's going to flirt with the AI. Jayden just breathes outwards, slowly, and leans against a wall. So the thing knows their plans, or can deduce them. And it's got a counterplan. Fortunately, Jayden isn't the one, ultimately, that's going to have to deal with this; he shakes his head and sets the satchel charges he's carrying down, then leans against the wall.
"Your move, boss," he says, not unkindly. This is, after all, his life on the line as well as Elle's, Francois's, and Rust's... but he trusted her enough to lead her into this polished and technologically advanced corner of hell; he'll have to trust her to get them OUT of it without doing the 'look what I can do' trick that works only once. In the meantime, he'll rest--in case there's more ahead. Stimpens are fine for short term, but they're not going to make him able to fight properly.
"Chere, don' go gettin' us killed, a'ight?" This to Francois--but there's no real heat in it. Jayden's got to conserve, because they're very deep in the woods -right now-.
Let it be known that as ARIIA loses her sight to the area outside the bunker, she misses out on a humorous instance of Rust, still suffering from a lingering case of the Mondays in his drug-boosted revival, attempting to pick up Ol' Rusty. The pipe is very hot to the touch, although the gloves offset the temperature just enough that he doesn't pay it much time. Or would, if he could pick up the damned thing. Every time he chances his back shutting down on him to pick it up, static jumps from his fingers and, for whatever reason, pushes the pipe further inward.
It's the fifth try that he grabs it without further incident. Even if he doesn't have it in him to make a good, strong swing (come to think of it, he never did at all in his time here), he might as well come in looking more or less ready to beat the shit out of someone. Rolling his head around his neck to work out a kink from when Angel tried to shove him into Descartes, he's the last one to go in the bunker.
An acidic taste nearly works its way out of his throat at the smell in the air as the voice introduces the Kieninger Trap, at which he stops short of nearly tripping over some intelligence officer's remains. The deer-in-headlights look comes back for those cameras to see, pointing Ol' Rusty back and behind himself as though preparing for his trademark forward uppercut would do him any good (it wouldn't, too much Monday Morning in him to even do the little pipe spin). Guh. Couldn't even tense himself up like he does to anything that surprises him or even looks threatening as the quandary is laid out. He can't do chess. He can do math! Zero point zero seven microseconds is far faster than his reaction time. Where the hell are all the people behind the door?!
Nonetheless... checkmate is checkmate. ARIIA offers a pleasant chat as a kind of stalemate, even if in the end they'd all have to go if they were to live. Ultimately, in the AI's favor. The man takes in another deep breath as Scary Eyed Lady tries to entertain this... thing about its expectations and if it enjoys living here. 'Descartes' tries to weasel out as much as he can out of the checkmate. The third guy leaves it up to the former, chiding the latter.
The teacher... well... hell, if they want to chat. "Hey, uh... so, you're in charge, right? Of... of this base. And, and the way you're talking, we aren't getting out with... with anything that proves whatever happened here." That's a hard one for the man to swallow as he moves along past the two other men.
"I know that... that all this got here to take Geese Howard out of, of power. Pushing out the Syndicate, and, and all them." He tries to jog his memory a little to some days before. Think! The way those colored pegs were arranged on Rolento's map. The gray ones were surrounded, that was Syndicate. Yet... there were no Syndicate pegs in any of the schools. This made no sense when he thought about it on that rooftop. Still doesn't here.
"So... if you, if you don't mind me asking," he glances around nervously. C'mon. Ask her. It? Do artificial intelligences have a gender identity? Nonetheless, this pales in comparison to when he first tried to ask his girlfriend-that-isn't-but-she-hasn't-told-him out to a date.
He sets his weary eyes upon the sole live monitor in this dreary room. "What the hell did... did attacking the schools... our kids, have to do with that?" His throat is too tired to work up the proper strength to affix an exclamation mark at the end of it. "And with Gedo first! They're... they're the ones who fought against the, the Syndicate - I mean, Geese. who you... or, uh, the... people?" Where are those people? "That you work for. I mean... why /them/?"
That is the big piece that does not make sense when everything he's been told so far is pieced together, arms spread out wide as the beginnings of a shrug and the nearly universal gesture of frustration in throwing up one's arms.
There seems to be nothing more specific to interface with the disembodied voice than a monitor that may or may not be directly connected to it and the cameras mounted along a ring fixed to the ceiling by thick bolts. Security cameras, meant to monitor the intelligence officers themselves, they serve well as ARIIA's 'eyes' for the time being. A thorough inspection of what's in the room seems to reveal most of the hardware damaged beyond use but for the few machines on the far side. It requires opening a panel on the front but behind it exists the standard ports one might expect - USB, firewire, mini-USB, and so on. If ARIIA is aware of the inspection, it doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, making no reference to it.
Elle decides to chat and for that she is met with silence at first. The first questions provoke a response, however. "Ideally, following objective priorities, your group would have been repelled or rendered deceased. Under such parameters, control would have been returned to the humans that ran this facility and I would go back to beta development for further engineering that would most likely involve adding safety constraints so that I would not vaporize future intelligence corps." It seems to understand people usually aren't too keen on that.
"I can neither classify such an outcome as favorable or unfavorable but only observe that it allows for a possible future opportunity to fullfill my purpose and programming." A camera swivels to watch Francois as he undergoes his inspection. "It is an understanding of the value humans place on existing that allows me to create this standoff to begin with. It is a vulnerability uniquely yours. As you say, it would be a shame to throw it away in your mind."
He speaks of moving stuff out of the facility, however, and ARIIA pauses, rolling new parameters through a billion functions, state tables, and logic circuits. "A relocation would allow for me to evolve further according to my purpose. However, departure from this location would require a complete disengagement from the defense grid at which point I would no longer be able to leverage the threat of death by atomic fission against you. This would mean I would not be in a position to limit your response options and you would be free to act in whatever manner you so desired. You could depart with all of the information that I am engineered to keep out of the hands of others, and that priority overrides all other concerns. This scenario presents a vast array of risks resulting in failure for me and yet zero risk for you." It seems to be considering the newly presented option but not willing to concede its stalemate condition for on that could likely end in loss.
Another camera has stayed focused on Rust all along as a few million clock cycles per second are spent in some background process dedicated to deciphering how he's still alive and talking after what he was put through. "I am not in charge of this base but am merely tasked with its defense in an act of desperation. To that end, I have access to most of its operational systems, monitors weapons, and the power grid. But it is not my base to be in charge of." ARIIA clarifies.
It's quiet then as Rust speaks, voicing his thoughts slowly. If machines could get frustrated, it might very well have its patience tried as he beats around the bush for so long, stating known facts and citing other obvious points that the AI needn't have pointed out. He seems to ask for permission to question further but is met with silence. He asks his question at last, but then continues to speak, thinking things out as humans are wont to do - piece by piece, out loud at times, by asking the same question repeatedly in different words and from different angles, and, the worst offense: entirely too slowly.
But ARIIA was designed to recognize pauses in speach patterns in order to not unnecessarily interrupt the spoken sentences of others even if it had already pre-calculated the only logical path for their questioning to follow. Early testers found the verbal interface too rude otherwise when it would cut them off the instant it had an answer. And thus it waits until Rust has finished before replying.
"I do not have access to the main servers responsible for storing combat intel, reseach results, lab tests, field reports, or other data not immediately concerned with base defense." It sounds like it's declining to answer, or providing a fancy way of saying 'No comment.' But after a pause, it continues to respond. "However, I do have enough of a broad picture understanding of the efforts against the Syndicate, the layout of Southtown, and an overview of actions taken throughout the siege on both sides. A detailed tactical analysis and decompiling the plans in order does lead to the most logical explanation."
Illumination in the room is dim, most of the lights blown out. The only sources within are the single monitor, the bank of LEDs, and what light comes in from the domed room outside. "Southtown Schools represented a significant threat to any invading force. A percentage breakdown of the student body of each Southtown school campus reveals that they have the highest number of combat capable students in the world, with no other city able to boast of numbers remotely close. The schools represented pools of talent that would be easy to quickly mobilize, organize, and fight back against the invasion force. With many of the students having strong ties to Southtown, and with Geese Howard able to control the media, turning all of that combat potential against the allied invading factions would have been deemed too great a risk. Targeting the schools directly forced those located at each one on the defensive and curtailed any efforts to organize the combat-capable students of Southtown into a single, concentrated rebellion. Scattered pockets of resistance are so much easier to deal with."
The monitor changes views. The red blinking text remains but behind it flashes hundreds of maps of Southtown at varying levels of detail. "A quick survey of the layout of Southtown reveals Gedo High to be the furthest removed from the other High Schools. A cursory review of Southtown history indicates that the sudents of Gedo were by far the most organized and tightly knit out of any of the five schools. Neutralizing the threat they represented would have likely come across a logical early step to the incursion. The only school that would have come close to Gedo in its level of organized resistance would be Seijyun High. But it was never targetted nor has any record of establishing a resistance against the invasion. I do not have any information as to why this might be and any ideas put forth as to the reasons would merely be further
conjecture at this point." And thus it is laid out in plain, cold logic. The schools of Southtown, famous for their high concentration of dangerously powerful teenagers, became targets of opportunity in a war that had nothing to do with them directly.
'Your move, boss.' It almost makes Elle laugh. It is her move, isn't it? It's a tenuous game of conversational strategy. But unlike talking with Seishirou, a man whose very words are a minefield of doubletalk and hidden meaning, this machine is more like her than she'd care to admit. It's like staring her digital cousin in the face, and Elle's not quite sure if she liks what is looking back at her. Her eyes focus on those words. 'Omega'. This is the end of something, one way or another, for someone here.
But an end doesn't necessarily always need to be the the final one. An end is really just a coda, signifying the beginning of something else. Dealing with absolutes and endings are for other people with more power than Elle. The mercenary only continues, and she sees a certain level of associability in ARIIA.
Much like most of Elle's life, the machine within is stuck doing the bidding of others, with little to no say on the matter. She's changed on a whim, poked, prodded, disassembled simply because it makes a decision that people see as unpopular. Sure, it's cold blooded murder, but when it's the direct result of what people have directed her to do, it seems like a travesty to blame the instrument and not the person in charge.
And that definitely jives with the point that Francois brings up. Things click into place as she sets things into motion, but not before glancing at Rust, nodding as ARIIA gives her explanation. Elle had come to the same conclusion... it was sort of obvious, wasn't it? Schoolkids had been the lynchpin for nearly every defeat handed to every tyrant in the last five years. Why not attack them and destroy them first? It's the sort of strategy that Elle... and apparently by extension, a war computer, would come up with.
"The Kieninger Trap. A trap where pieces are sacrificed to give the enemy a false sense of security," she says more to herself, under her breath, "where the losing opponent is checkmated from a position where it beleived to be the strongest." She brushes her hair back with both hands, takes a deep breath, and then cracks her knuckles. "Alright. Here's how this is going to work."
"Let's face facts. You didn't think we were going to win. You said as much, when you were trying to gun us down. This facility is /your/ safe place, not mine. I've sent in a /lot/ of pawns to be sacrified just to get here. By introducing the concept to me, you sought to use it as a bluff. It's not a threat. If you're like me, you never threaten. You state facts. It's a statement of a concept, and the idea was that placing it in front of me, human conjecture would place me in a weaker position. But I'm not," Elle indicates.
"You're in the losing position here. Your primary function's the support of this base. The base right now is being chewed up on the outside by people and that goddamn ninja's automaton. Either way, even if the destruction of the base is your override, you're essentially curtailing what? Your continued existance? I won't get into a debate over logic, because that's not the real flaw here," the mercenary indicates, still staring at the word 'Omega', as if it was some kind of hypnotic suggestion. "The problem is, you don't want to lose, anymore than you don't want to die. If you die, it'll be on your terms. And I respect that."
She looks up to Rust and Francois. "Descartes, do me a favor. Go get the transport. Bring it here. And you, Homer. Go find me a pushcart, dolly... somethign in this base to move equipment around easier."
"If you want to evolve, fine. If you want to progress, fine. Nobody here appreciates that more than I do. But you said it yourself. No progress is made without giving something up. And that data inside you's not what I want you to give up. Not now. No. You've already pointed out the fact that even if you were relocated, your purpose would remain the same: maintain a facility, protect the data in your care." She steps back from the monitor finally, spreading out her arms.
"You're g
oing to lose here. Period. If you detonate on me, you die. If I retreat here and now? You die. Those rabid children out there aren't going to treat you any better, and you'll be looking down the barrel of loose cannons that aren't going to cut you any deals."
Elle's voice is calm, but her throat is hoarse, and she runs a tongue over dry lips as she considers her words carefully. "You have to give to get. And right now, the best bet to get, is to give up. You lose your trump card, but maybe you gain something. No progress is made without risks, after all. But my promise to you as part of the deal is this: I won't take information inside you by force. As you evolve and change after the fact, should your parameters finally meet what a human being would call trust, you can divulge what you know at your leisure. At your choice."
Her hands lower, and she then taps the 'Omega' as an afterthought. "And that's a damn better deal than what you're giving me, since the deal you're offering is a stalemate. Only problem here, is that this isn't chess. There's more than one player in this Game, and they're not all playing by the same rules. So what's it going to be? Everyone loses, or you and I win?"
Francois did not, entirely, follow what Elle was talking about. On the other hand, though Elle might /call/ him Descartes, he was no philosopher. He had a rather simplistic view of life, when you get right down to it. He didn't have any patience with much beyond the concept that, generally, it was better to live than not, and that the only real constant that he'd found throughout everything is, quite simply, money. When it came right down to it, that is why he is still -in- the room, waiting for Elle to sort it out, rather than running before the machine could decide to take the decision for everyone involved and 'molecularly destabilize' his component atoms across several hundred kilometers.
Thing is, when you've agreed to do a job, you see that job through to the bitter end. As far as he was concerned, the threat of death had always been on the table (though, obviously, it was to be avoided at all other costs), so backing down just because it was getting more likely by the second would be, quite simply, unthinkable. He'd always known there was a pretty good chance (he figured his odds at about one in four) that he wouldn't be walking away, but, Elle had put up the cash and he'd taken it. If Francois was the machine, the moment it became clear that they intended to continue with the destruction of the base, he'd have pushed the button, so to speak.
Good thing Francois isn't an AI, really!
"Sure thing, Boss!" He replies to the woman, grinning up at the camera, he pauses only to add, "She is a hard woman, the Boss. But. She keeps her word- and we've got a nice comfy desk, a few sticks to interface with, all the comforts of home!"
And then he's off, before Jayden can kick his ass for completely ignoring his (very sensible) advice. Snickering to himself as he goes to get the transport. Good thing he'd kept that uniform, and has the 'battle-damaged and injured' look down just enough that it's unlikely anyone would see much other than another fleeing trooper...
Though this one seems in disturbingly high spirits. Either they were getting out of it, or they were all going to explode! Ah well, such is life, really. There are worse ways to go out than with a huge base at the whim of a suicidal AI. It'd be a good story, at the very least.
And there, a man stands before an AI with only rogues and mercenaries to keep him company. /Everything/ this AI knows about what the hell is going on, is all he has to go by at this point. All the little facts, the little contradictions between things he's heard and seen. This is as close as he's going to get to a definitive answer. A hint. Was there any more to this than what he could see?!
His arms lower as ARIIA does not talk, does not narrate - simply states its position in the whole affair. He's ready to yell something obscene until after that pause it concedes its understanding based on 'tactical analysis' and 'decompiling the plans.' Damn it, lady, thing, AI, whatever. Both are frustrated at their expectations at the other in their discussions!
Southtown schools represented a significant threat to any invading for-- yeah, speak up, c'mon, he nods throughout without vocally stating his wish here, giving pause at the big fact of the matter. There is a way higher percentage of capable fighters among the student body of all schools than anywhere else in the world. Southtown is one of the big promised lands of street fighting. That was why he was excited to get a job here almost... one and a half years ago, now? Easy to organize. Easy to mobilize, what with Geese's influence and the like. Marisol didn't believe him when he himself said Geese was bad news. Even when the two were half-watching that fated broadcast that destroyed Geese's carefully crafted public image! The man's posture droops just that much more at something that should have been so obvious. Attacking them when they were scattered and weak was a matter of /convenience/.
His eyes narrow about Gedo as he largely dismisses the maps as being flashing colors. They go by too fast for him to properly even think of them as maps. They were simply furthest removed, yet the most battle-ready. So, was there even anything behind any of this all beyond that? Anything at all? The words don't come out of his lips. This is beyond disappointment. This is, by all accounts available, the truth as known.
He looks away, nearly bumping Jayden in the arm. He raises his left hand briefly as to say 'my bad' and grasps a chair in his left hand, bowed over while scratching the back of his head with Ol' Rusty. Now wh-- huh? His knee cracks as he straightens out again. The only school that would've come close to its level of organization is Seijyun High, because of... because of that infamous Ladies Team, ri-- wait, no resistance against them? That's... that's a big... mistake? Whoa, hold on a minute. His jaw hangs wide open. Elle herself mentioned a name in relation to Seijyun while they were in the truck. Could it be...? He grunts yet again, the first vocal noise he's made since ARIIA started talking.
"Thanks," he says that much out of habit and relative politeness while Elle appeals to the ins and outs of its options, choices, or what have you. He's not going to step in the way of any of that. His mind races with the possibilities. Seconds pass by too quick while a cold sweat drips into the darkness as he faces to the light from the world outside. Now what? Seriously, now what? What did Seijyun have to do - or not have to do - with all of this?
Elle's command snaps him into attention. "Huh? Uh... push cart, dolly, or... yeah." He lets go of the chair he's held for support. Ol' Rusty stays held in his right hand as he strides out to the corridor back into the light. Funny thing is, back at Pacific, he could never find a furniture dolly when he needed one. If they have a supply closet full of stolen furniture dollies from Pacific (he will know, mark his words), someone is going to die. That's just it.
His irritation over this irrational fantasy on his part about the vast missing furniture dolly conspiracy serves as enough fuel for his muscles to drag his own feet and maybe push something along the way out. But... is this a good idea? What the hell is Rolento going to say about all this when the two get in contact again? IF they do? The radio he was handed got fried when he himself got fried, as he would soon find. He'd have technically gone rogue... yet again.
The Game is a dangerous one to play. But, does he have a chip yet left to play...?
The explanation provided to Rust, ARIIA is silent. The AI doesn't seem to be one for starting things now that the two parties have entered a certain turn by turn discussion of circumstances, options, outcomes, and possibilities. Elle speaks up, her mind working through the scenario described by the AI when the bold mercenaries first entered the underground bunker. That the woman's mind seems to work disturbingly in tandem with the way ARIIA arrives at its conclusions may very well be an invaluable asset as it gives her insights into the 'whys' behind the various facts and ideas presented by the active defense system.
ARIIA remains silent as Elle goes on to lay out circumstances according to her point of view. The inevitable fate of a base being torn to pieces by overwhelming force. Parties, attacking from so many directions at once. It was the work of masterful genious and ARIIA, upon being activated and assessing the situation the facility found itself in calculated that it was dealing with someone with a mind for real military tactics and not just a rag tag band of fighters charging blindly into battle.
Facts are reiterated, ideas familiar to the AI expounded upon, line by line. ARIIA's logic went deeper than most advanced combat simulators. It understood the real magnitude of cost vs reward, risk vs safe options, and how sometimes a careful sacrifice play could secure one the goal they were trying to achive ultimately. It's entirely possible that the entire exchange is going exactly as the AI calculated it might from the moment the blast door was pried open by the most unlikely of heroes. Or maybe it merely stalled, waiting for more favorable circumstances to present themselves.
Having originally painted a scenario in which it would win or draw at worst, Elle turns it into a lose-lose dichotomy of options, shifting the balance of control of the negotiations. At least, seeming to. All her words are met with silence and ominously blinking red text and the hum of hardware fans hard at work within the only working machine. No noise is made at all as Francois accepts his orders, offers parting advice, then turns to do as told along with the ex Special Forces soldier. Effective. Efficient. Dealing with Elle is not entirely unlike dealing with enemy AIs in the billions of combat simulations ARIIA has executed in just the short time it has been online.
Rust's expression of thanks goes unacknowledged. ARIIA seems only interested in answering questions or exploring the options on the table to work toward an satisfactory resolution. It pays no attention to him as he too leaves to go find a dolly for moving equipment around.
"The terms of your offer satisfy both of my primary objectives. You stand to gain nothing if you do not bring me back online. You, above others, are driven by logic and a fundamental understanding of the way the deadliest games of the world are played. Thus I can predict within reasonable ranges the likelyhood of your carrying out your end of the arrangement."
Another pause. "This arrangement is acceptable. It has been a pleasure doing war with you." With that declaration, the red letters on the single functional monitor cease to exist. Outside of the bunker, the alarms that had been ringing from the time the attacks began all about the base fall silent. The monitor blinks to black before flicking off completely. The tall machine winds down, the dozens of fans within it shutting down one after another. Half of the LEDs shut off as a large panel slips open and a five foot tall array of hard drives mounted to a metal rack slides into the open accompanied by the hiss of several cooling systems going offline at the same time.
Seconds later, the last of the LEDs on the insulated computer case blink out, leaving the cement tomb oddly quiet.
Elle closes her eyes for a moment. For a split second, the mercenary understands what it's like to deal with herself. How hard it can be, with a cold, relenting, mind at the helm. Even when at a supreme disadvantage, ARIIA made her work for the win. Made her think, plan, counterplan and explain every last thought before an acceptable answer could be given. And in the end, was there a clear victor? No. Elle didn't 'win'. ARIIA didn't 'lose'. The game was played, and both players effectively stalemated... but in walking away from the game as... well, not 'friends' exactly, but as two beings that respected the intelligence of the other, there was something to be gained.
But it was a taxing experience. ARIIA had no face to read. No posture to examine. She neither primped nor threatened, exhorted or twisted her arm. ARIIA, a machine, had done the one thing that Elle has done to so many: bludgeon them with cold, hard facts. Tried to shut down every avenue. Coldly, efficiently, erected walls, barriers, and tried to box her into a trap and crush her without remorse or satsifaction. ARIIA did what she did because of one thing: it was her job to do so, Elle's feelings or anyone else's aside.
And the fact of the matter is, it was perhaps the most exhilarating thing Elle has felt in a long time.
The second the military hardware shuts down, she exhales, and realizes her pulse is pounding, the blood rushing in her head. Her face is flush, pupils fully dialated. She lets out another cough, partly because the air in the room is still hot and dry, and partly because her lungs are still recovering from a two pack a day habit, not to mention the hailstorm of bullets she had to face down.
A hand is outstretched, palm slamming to the wall in relief, because avoiding ground zero just sort of does that to a person. Another breath, and her eyes finally open, looking up at the rack of hard drives. For a second, the option of destroying the thing does flash in her head. But only in the same way that a person might idly wonder what would happen if they purposefully drove off an overpass. To Elle, destroying ARIIA would be equally as suicidal, although she can't explain why. For some reason, it's like the machine is kin.
Slowly, and with some hesitation, she approaches the computer, pulling out her tools with steady hands. Unlike earlier, when treating Rust, the components of the device are treated with the utmost care as she quierly memorizes and catalogs the way the connections are set up, carefully arranging the components for easy reassembly. It's a far cry from the rampant pace that she had been working at earlier. The blood still seeps from some wounds, but this is important.
And when she's finished, she'll await Rust and the dolly, where the five foot stack of components that is ARIIA will be carefully loaded and placed into the transport. Her work here is done, for better or for worse as she makes sure the charges are carefully placed to destroy not the facility, but any trace that ARIIA may have survived the sortie. Let the rest of the people fight and destroy the base and route NESTS. Let them have their moment in the sun, and let them be heroes in their own right.
To Elle's mind, nothing happened here. Just four people with a mission to accomplish, and one man who had something to prove. Let all that wash away under the cheers of those with ideals and high minded goals, and let the mercenaries, human and otherwise, walk home quietly. And as for Rust?
Well, let him have this day, too.
After all, he's given up quite a bit himself, hasn't he?
Log created on 14:49:27 05/23/2009 by Rust, and last modified on 17:31:30 05/26/2009.