Description: Two weapon fighters do battle atop a moving transport truck as it plows through the Destruction Zone. A violent clash of ice and steel ensues. In the end, one must fall. (Winner: Makari)

A surefire way to get the attention of members of the House of Strolheim is to /pop off about how cool fighting is./
Makari Maksimilian, last of the House of Maksimilian, newly fledged in the House of Strolheim, was one of the first people to arrive in Kowloon.
He's already waiting at the head of the supply convoy, sitting atop the cab of the biggest and strongest truck in the line, legs crossed and knives in his hands. The armored blonde weaponmaster is grinning brilliantly as he looks ahead at the Promethean Colosseum, approximately one combat scene away. His handmade daggers flick and dance through his hands, blades darting between his fingers, red leather-wrapped grips occasionally smacking into his palm as a knife is flipped up into the air to be caught again shortly later.
He is humming with his excitement. Some Russian bubblegum pop song. Doors start slamming closed as the convoy preparations are complete, a huge man in a jumpsuit bolting a giant steel ram onto the front of the lead truck.

"Makari Maksimilian?"

The voice, a gravelly baritone, comes from somewhere behind the Russian weaponmaster. In a moment, a black glove appears over the back of the truck's trailer, soon to be followed by the sleeve of a trenchcoat before his opponent-to-be pulls himself fully up to the top. Rising up to his full height - notably less than the Russian's, though still on the tall side - Lynx starts to make his way toward Makari, the tread of his boots resonating from the metallic surface.

Despite the weather, he's dressed for the cold - black trenchcoat, gloves, boots, and even a light sweater, along with a red scarf and mirrored shades hiding most of his facial features. When he speaks again, it's in well-honed Russian. "Lynx. I under stand that we have an appointment."

As he finishes saying this, a horn sounds loudly and the truck rumbles to life beneath them, the noise echoed by the other vehicles in the convoy behind it as they start to roll into position.

COMBATSYS: Lynx has started a fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Lynx             0/-------/-------|

At the sound of his name, Makari's hands flick. The daggers scatter up into the air, turning lazily above Makari as he stands. Weapons clank as he pushes to his feet and turns, massive grey fur cloak sweeping out behind him.

The daggers don't hit the ground, disappearing as they drop in front of Makari in blurs of motion. His hands are difficult to see until he slowly slides the last one into the lining of his cloak.
While Lynx looks like an operator, Makari looks like something straight out of an 80s fantasy movie - heavy jaw, old-fashioned hair, his own black sweater and heavy pants accentuated by the shining red chestplate, kneeguards, and of course the various weapons he wears. The truck crunches over a pile of garbage wood as Makari lets the cloak slip closed.
"Yes, yes!" he responds, voice bright. "Lynx, this is correct? Good! You look like a good opponent! This is quite the event, yes? I am very interested to meet the organizer. I would like to discuss what strength is with him."
The Russian adjusts weapons and harnesses under the cloak, leather creaking and metal clinking, before lifting his left hand up to the grip of the zweihander across his back, crouching and waiting. "Perhaps we will also discuss strength, yes? I warn, I do intend to be the one to guard this convoy until the very end."

COMBATSYS: Makari has joined the fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Makari           0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Lynx

Lynx's hands slip innocuously into the pockets of his trenchcoat as he observes the display with the daggers. His reaction is difficult to gauge; his posture doesn't shift, and his expression is all but completely concealed but for the slight lifting of one eyebrow.

"Sleight of hand and philosophy? Two of my interests as well." In contrast to Makari's enthusiasm, Lynx's tone is understated, though he speaks loudly enough to be heard of the sound of the truck's engine as it begins to turn. "Unfortunately, where some of our interests may coincide, others are in conflict. Under the circumstances," he says as he holds one hand out to the side, "I propose that let battle be the forum for our discussion."

As he speaks, an icy mist forms around his hand before ice begins to gather in it, stretching and forming into the shape of a curved saber. As the truck begins to roll slowly underfoot, he makes a quick lunge toward Makari, making a sweeping slash toward the Russian fighter, frost trailing through the air in the wake of the blade.

COMBATSYS: Makari auto-guards Lynx's Frozen Armament.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////////////  ]
Makari           0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Lynx

Makari's grin sharpens, a cold light flickering into his eyes. "Of course." Lynx comes in with the saber of ice and the Russian looks down at it, eyes flicking over it analytically, assessing the weapon. "Perhaps... there." He shifts, pivots on a heel, and presents his back to Lynx. The ice sword lands close to the hilt on the zweihander across his back and - if you'll indulge me - stops cold.
"Perhaps," he comments mildly, "we should refrain from assuming anything about our respective interests, yes?" He drives his right elbow into the zweihander from behind the cloak, the metal ringing and pushing the both of them away from each other. Makari is already twisting again, left hand dropping back into his cloak, zweihander still softly humming. "Best not to assume anything, I think."
The big man's hands come out and snap, flinging two battleaxes from within the cloak, the one-handed broad-headed weapons spinning rapidly in offset arcs. One has the image of a snarling wolf graven across it, the other a stoic bear. The axes intend to hammer into Lynx, arc back around in tightly controlled arcs despite the truck's speed, and return neatly to Makari.
A short distance away, a dirty man on a motorcycle watches the convoy on binoculars, planning to drive down and snatch what he can. He sees an ice sword in one man's hand and axes in the others'. He grimly returns the binoculars to his pocket, turns the motorcycle around, and has rather wise second thoughts.

COMBATSYS: Lynx fails to reflect Viktor and Nikita from Makari with Frigid Mirror.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Makari           0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0             Lynx

Cracks spiderweb along the blade of the improvised ice saber as Lynx slides back along the roof of the truck, and after a moment, the weapon falls apart completely, leaving nothing but a frozen hilt in his hand. He tosses the remains over his shoulder to land in the dust, crushed soon thereafter under the tires of the truck behind them.

"Fair enough," Lynx starts to reply, but in moments the Russian's axes are whirling through the air toward him, cutting him off. He quickly raises one of his forearms, brow furrowing as ice envelops his sleeve rapidly to form a smooth barrier around which icy energy swirls. He then slams the arm forward in an attempt to intercept the axes, but a miscalculation on the American operative's part of the arc of the weapons allows to whip past and slam into his shoulder, driving him backward with the force of the impact.5R
"No... assumptions, then," Lynx says before slipping toward the other side of the truck as the one he was on clips a row of condemned housing, spilling debris onto the surface.

The axes smack one-by-one into Makari's hands, the larger man spinning them easily in a few lazy circles. "Hmmmmm..." He has a speculative look on his face as he examines Lynx's icy shield. Techniques not dissimilar to his own, but rather than wear all the weapons at once, perhaps he simply makes them as he needs them. More maneuverability that way, but...
He doesn't step away from the oncoming debris, pivoting at Lynx sidesteps, axes still in hand. He bashes concrete coming for his face to pieces, hops up and stomps down another one... and keeps his legs tucked. The stomp onto the debris arrested his truck-borrowed momentum, and then hanging in the air that extra beat allows the air resistance to take him. Makari abruptly hurls through the air at Lynx, axes vanshing within the cloak. There is a beautiful chime of metal that resounds even over the racket of the truck powering its way through half a building.
A cavalry saber with a beautiful handguard of woven gold, silver, and platinum sweeps out from behind the cloak, fading light flashing off the ancient Damascus steel of the blade. The Russian attempts to use Lynx to arrest the speed of his flight, a quick X of slashes against the man's chest.

COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Lynx with Medium Strike.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////           ]
Makari           0/-------/------=|====---\-------\0             Lynx

Freezing mist begins to rise off of Lynx's lower arms as he holds them low and at the ready, an icy sheathe forming around his sleeves and gloves. As Makari smashes apart the oncoming concrete, debris flies toward the American's face, and he raises his hands to keep it from bouncing off of his glasses. The motion obscures his vision briefly, and when he gets sight of Makari again, the Russian is already upon him. His hands are up too slow to catch the saber on the ice coating his arms, and a muffled grunt rises from behind Lynx's scarf as the blades find purchase, a faint cross slashed into his sweater.

In retaliation, Lynx throws out one of his hands, trying to slip it past Makari's cloak and plant it against the Russian's chestplate. If he gets hold, the ice energy concentrated in his hand would be channeled into Makari's chest, to freezing effect - though the intent is to distract the Russian and hold him in place, as the truck is passing under an arch, with only a few feet of clearance.

COMBATSYS: Makari endures Lynx's Medium Throw.

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////          ]
Makari           0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0             Lynx

Makari's strikes end his flight and he drops back to the truck's cab, spinning Maksimillian in an elaborate pass before it vanishes back into his cloak and into its scabbard. "Quicken it up," he chides, "you need to be fast as thought!" He selects a dagger from his belt, the tip of it barely slipping out of his cloak when he suddenly finds that he can't move.
The big man frowns and looks down, seeing Lynx's hand dipping into his cloak. "Hoh," he comments, feeling his chest start to spasm and clench from the cold. He looks up at the archway coming for him. "Hohhhh." He drops the dagger as he throws his head back...
...and forward.
The concrete archway, already poorly-made, shatters around Makari's head, ice cracking sharply as the concussive impact spreads through his body. There is a terrible shriek of metal, and his face comes leering out of the cloud of dust, blood streaming freely down his forehead, an insane sort of glee in his eyes, a long piece of rebar clenched in his huge, gleaming white teeth. "Good! Excellent!" he mutters around it, as he continues to fall forward.
His hands shoot upward to the zweihander as he goes down, the right one now sheathed in a red gauntlet. His left is on its grip, the right on the ricasso, and it slips free of the harness as he falls. All of his body weight twists with the weapon, hammering down at Lynx with enough force to put a dent in the truck's cab big enough to make the driver let out a stream of curses.

COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Lynx with The Bird Falls.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////              ]
Makari           0/-------/-======|=======\-------\0             Lynx

Ducking into a crouch after his ploy seems to have worked, Lynx withdraws his hand from Makari's chest to plant it on roof of the cab and keep himself from falling off, dust and debris raining down on him. He looks up at the last moment to see Makari's sword coming down at him. He throws a hand up, but the blade cuts past it to graze his upper leg. A grunt escapes him, and as he concentrates, a patch of ice forms beneath his hand, rapidly creeping in a line along the top of the cab.

A moment later, he drops down and allows himself to slide across the patch, grabbing onto the top edge of trailer and pulling himself across and sliding further toward the middle before coming to a stop and rising to one knee.

"I guess that's one way to put more iron in your diet," he remarks dryly as he puts a hand to his own chest, his fingers staining red as they cover the slash marks that are starting to bleed through his clothing. As he does, icy energy channels through his body, covering the injury in frost. More freezing mist begins to rise off of him as he gathers elemental chi, training behind the truck like steam from a train as it accelerates through the city.

COMBATSYS: Lynx is surrounded by an arctic breeze as he gathers icy energy.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////             ]
Makari           0/-------/-======|=======\===----\1             Lynx

Makari tilts his head to the side with a series of pops and spits the rebar to the side as he pulls the sword back up. He shifts his stance, aiming his left side toward Lynx, sword low and angled behind him, right hand all the way up to the parienhaken. "Nutrition is important," he responds brightly, eyes scanning the chi along the 'floor.' He shifts to the side.
The Russian doesn't intend to give Lynx the time he's looking for. Maksimilian Weaponmastery is about careful planning - Strolheim Zweihander is about momentum. He keeps pressing in, dust still falling from his hair, the tip of the sword hissing a line along the paint and eliciting more curses. The truck accellerates, cresting a hill and finally bumping its way off the suggestion of a road here in the Destruction Zone and headed right for a crumbling warehouse. The truck leans on its horn to warn the rest of the convoy that it's about to get a little stupid.
Makari is heedless. He pushes his way right into the chi gathering around Lynx, letting his left hand off the zweihander's grip and driving the pommel of the weapon straight up in an uppercutting mordhau. "The Lone Pine Atop the Mountain!" he calls, leaning his whole body into the strike.

COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Lynx with Atop the Mountain.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Makari           0/-------/=======|=======\======-\1             Lynx

With the sound of the truck's horn filling his ears, Lynx keeps one hand planted against the rooftop to maintain his grip, even as Makari presses in. The other arm comes up in an attempt to deflect the zweihander's hilt as it sails toward his face, but the pommel catches him square in the face, turning his head around with the force and sending both his sunglasses and Lynx himself sliding over the edge of the trailer, a layer of rime trailing on the roof behind him. Only at the last minute does his hand catch on the corner of the trailer.

As he starts to pull himself up, a patch of ice forms under his hand, causing it to stick briefly to the roof as he reappears atop the truck, coat fluttering in the wind and a gash visible across his brow. His ice-blue eyes are expressionless as frost begins to coat his entire frame, completely defiant of the sun's warmth. He lunges wordlessly at Makari with a left handed punch, his fist engulfed in freezing cold.

COMBATSYS: Lynx successfully hits Makari with Strong Punch.

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Makari           1/--=====/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2             Lynx

Makari is a swirl of continued motion, going "Hup!" as he keeps swinging the sword up and over, letting the blade slide down his gauntlet all the way to the crossguard, spinning it out over his head, left hand stabbing out to retrieve the grip. He's feeling good about this fight. He's feeling in control. He's feeling... maybe the vaguest twinge of disappointment. Perhaps it's simply an off day. Perhaps you're better than you realized you were.
He plans the strike in advance. Let the weapon hit the ground, step, pivot with the weapon in full grip. Bash at the ankles, plant the sword behind, and finish it with a stomp kick. He bares his teeth in a fighting grin as he comes around, already seeing Lynx going over the side of the convoy to think about the fight in his mind's eye.
His chin leads the way bravely into Lynx's fist. There is a sharp pop as Makari's smile inexorably misaligns, tooth grinding on tooth, the rest of his body including the top half of his head continuing without the prominent jaw for one more heartbeat.
'Hohh,' Makari thinks to himself, 'Maybe I get a little cocky.'
Makari's feet find the ice on the truck's roof and the momentum tranfer is complete. Both men turning in opposing directions, he doesn't go spiralling away, simply slides straight back with cloak flapping and arms going wide. He keeps the zweihander in his hand through nothing but instinct, and vanishes briefly down the front of the truck.
There is a loud crack as he stops himself by thrusting the sword through the windshield. The truck wobbles from side to side, another litany of curses spewing out of the driver. Makari pulls himself back onto the top of the cab, dragging his sword behind him...
...and drops down, cross-legged, wiping drool from his unnaturally-hanging mouth, wrapping one hand around it and yanking it back into place. "Gahhkk!" he howls, banging his other fist on the truck beneath him. "Almost broke it!" he says, wonderingly rather than anything like a complaint, probing at it with one hand. "That is a good technique," he says, wincing as he stands, readying his weapon again, taking a deep breath. "Chi is truly an amazing weapon!"
The truck hits the warehouse with a tremendous crash, the large metal door barely parting before hitting Makari. He doesn't look back as they start crushing their way through racks and conveyors. "This next pass will probably end it, I think." He starts moving forward, bruises already purpling his face, eyes still icy clear and intent.

COMBATSYS: Makari gains composure.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Makari           1/---====/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2             Lynx

Lynx's boots remain planted firmly on the rooftop as the truck begins to swing from side to side before it plows into the warehouse. Dirt and rubble fly back along the truck, the particulate sweeping into the arctic breeze that's building around the American fighter and swirling around him with the frost already filling the air in his vicinity. His coat and scarf flap wildly in the wind behind him. And then, he unleashes a force most terrible.

"It can be pretty cool," he intones placidly.

Steadily, the coat and scarf stop flaring as they become laden with frost. When the wind shifts from circling the fighter to swirling around his outsretched glove, the garments are frozen too stiff to even flutter in the wind that passes naturally over the truck.

And then, with a sudden shriek, the arctic wind around Lynx's hand becomes a focused gale that sweeps across the truck toward Makari, the icy energy blasting a clean stretch through the debris along the roof of the truck as it gusts toward the Russian weaponmaster.

COMBATSYS: Makari negates Howl of the Wendigo from Lynx with Red Storm.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Makari           0/-------/----===|>>>>>>>\>------\1             Lynx

Makari hadn't seen any projectiles from Lynx before, but... you know, chi user. Always expect a goddamn projectile. At the moment that Lynx takes a step too long to begin moving, the big man reads the attack and takes a pivoting step forward, turning around around as he goes, shrugging the zweihander back into the harnesses on his back. His shoulders roll, throwing the cloak forward over his body once again.
He completes the turn, body dropping down in a half-crouch, and takes in one long breath. The cloak ripples, giving Lynx just enough time to see three knives dangling from each of Makari's hands before they start blurring. Dagger after dagger fly into the icy gale, stopping inside and hanging there, unable to break through. Some remain point-forward, others start spinning inside. Six, twelve, thirty daggers... the cloak ripples from its own internal wind, gradually becoming lighter as daggers stream out. Sweat beads on Makari's face, teeth gritting in exertion.
The muscles in his forearms finally overheat and Makari's arms drop limply back into the cloak after a final arcing spray of red-hilted blades that prove to be just barely enough. The icy wind breaks apart and dozens of daggers scatter everywhere, raining all through the convoy.

A small pack of fleet men with ropes in their hands are attempting, further down the convoy where 'that crazy shit can't possibly get to them', to hijack a pickup filled with boxes that unwisely just say 'PAINKILLERS' in big red letters. When knives covered in ice start buzzing around like furious bees, they too decide to reconsider.

Makari continues his approach, chest rising and falling, cloak flying much more loosely now that it's been relieved of all that weight.

The arctic storm issuing from Lynx meets the storm of steel from Makari, and much like two true storm fronts colliding, the result is a funnel of ice and blades, whirling in a spectacular clash before the icy energies explode outward and scatter. As the deadly blizzard abates, Lynx covers himself with his coat, a couple of rime-covered blades catching in the frozen fabric. Shaking them loose, he advances on Makari, leaving footprints of ice in his path as he approaches with purpose.

With the last several feet of rooftop between them, Lynx suddenly surges forward, sliding along the ice still clinging to the rooftop and making a sweeping upward motion with his right arm. As he does, a pillar of ice rises with the motion from beneath the Russian in front of the hand. "Rise and fall," he says plainly, ice and gravel in his voice. The intent, as spoken, is to knock Makari upward with the pillar, and perhaps off of the truck and into the wreckage of the warehouse as they ram through it...

COMBATSYS: Lynx successfully hits Makari with Glacial Wall.

[                       \\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Makari           1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0             Lynx

Makari speaks even through his beleaguered jaw, voice low, the light in his eyes brightening further as all the pains are mounting up, and he knows - /knows/ - they are reaching that critical time. That final shining sword-edged moment. The truck charges at a crumbling wall at the other end of the warehouse right as Makari's hands flick out from his cloak with his axes crossed, trying a defensive move.
The pillar catches him solidly in the gut. Lynx hears the breath rush out of him as he looks down at it, is lifted up, and abruptly leaves sight as he is clipped by a metal beam overhead, simply snatched away from the air. There is a crash further back as Makari lands roughly on another vehicle, another further crash, and then... nothing.

Makari's world is pain.
Every day, in his youth, Makari was taught by his father to fight despite pain. A true Maksimilian needs to seem invincible, he would say. The men he would lead on missions were harsh and cruel - one cannot select for personality when the talent of a weaponmaster is what you need. The head of the house needs to be made of the same perfect Damascus steel as the Maksimillian sword itself. Makari was 12 when his father made his play and was crushed by Krauser and was already able to intimidate many of the members of the House of Maksimilian. Hard men of Russia would see this little boy with a knife in each thigh drag himself up and raise his axe, ice blue eyes intent. Only those hellish conditions enable Makari to keep thinking as he bounces down the convoy.
Axes still in hand. Good. He reverses his grips and swings down, using the curve of the axeheads to tear furrows through the trailer he's sliding on, the weapons finally catching on the corner, dangling him from the edge. Blood pours down his face and he feels like one of his lungs is refusing to inflate as he sucks in breaths, regaining control of his solar plexus. His jaw feels like a superheated lead sack.
Makari looks down - another raider, driving alongside the convoy on a motorcycle built for speed, sticking close to the truck to avoid being crushed by the warehouse. "You goan' die? I take your stuff, friend, no hard feelings, yes?"

The Promethian Arena is looming larger and larger. Enough time has passed that it is easy to believe that Makari is out of the fight. Alive or dead? It's uncertain, unless Lynx looks back at the high-pitched whine of a motorcycle engine.
Makari, streaming blood, teeth locked once again in a wide DeeJay grin despite the agony that must be causing, is riding a rusted asian-style motorcycle up the incline of a mostly-intact but collapsed building alongside the convoy. He launches off the top of it, drawing closer, closer, coming off the motorcycle with his cloak swirling around, transferring his grip until he has the left-side steering handle in his right hand, bearing down.
"A Maksimilian weaponmaster can wield anything!"
He crashes impossibly into the top of the truckbed, engine still roaring, wheels still spinning, and lets the front wheel touch the truck. The force sends him into a spin, building even more momentum, crossing the final distance before chopping the vehicle up in a tremendous uppercut at the ice master, laughing like a madman.

Because he is a madman.

COMBATSYS: Lynx fails to counter Siege of Steel from Makari with Lynx Claw Takedown.

[                      \\\\\\\\  <
Makari           0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Lynx can no longer fight.

[                      \\\\\\\\  <
Makari           0/-------/-------|

After Makari disappears off the back of the truck, Lynx turns to face ahead toward the Promethean Arena, the frost covering his hair and clothing blowing away steadily in the breeze. The wind begins to once again ruffle his coat, scarf and hair as they start to thaw. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulls out a fresh pair of sunglasses, unfolds the rims and slides them onto his face, pushing them up his nose with one finger. He then raises his sleeve near his mouth, pulling the scarf down away from his jaw and speaking into it.

"This is Lynx. We're on the approach to the coliseum. Should be making the detour shortly. Have your people ready."

A pause.

"Yes, the Russian is out of the picture. By the way, if you could have a coffee ready, it's been a bit chilly here - holy shit."

Lynx's head turns just slightly at the sound of Makari's voice, the sight of the Russian crashing onto the truck catching the corner of his eye. The American operative whirls around, a fresh frost rapidly coating his hand as he desperately tries to sidestep the assault and catch hold of one of the bars throughout the machinery, hoping to swing the vehicle around with the Russian still gripping it. The motion is too slow, though, and one of the motorcycle's tires slams into Lynx's gut, lifting him from the roof of the truck and sending him sailing free through the air behind it. The man's body bounces off of the hood of the vehicle behind, cracking the windshield with an elbow before his coat catches on an extrusion of concrete and rebar, dragging him off to disappear into the massive cloud of dust that billows in the wake of the lead vehicle.

It would seem that Lynx is out of the fight.

Makari lets the motorcycle go on the follow-through, the vehicle shooting up into the air before unceremoniously hitting the ground to the side, rolling under a giant wheel, and exploding harmlessly. Makari's cloak settles down, he shakes out his hand, and drops down into a crosslegged position, exhaling a great breath.

He takes stock - his hand hurts from what he just did. His jaw might be still cracked. Both forearms feel like a muscle was pulled in them. His chest might have /freezer burn/ or something. The bottom of his ribcage is definitely cracked from that pillar.
Makari slaps a hand down on the truck. "That was a good one! I want to fight him again sometime!" He folds his arms, grinning forward until he makes a hiss of pain and rubs at his chin.


The Russian's head snaps up abruptly and he smacks one fist down into a palm.

"Pretty cool! It was an ice joke!"

He is still laughing when the convoy pulls into the Promethian.

A minute or two after his fall, the dust has settled, and Lynx finally wrests himself free from the rebar his coat has caught on, dropping down onto a shattered ledge a story off the ground. The concrete quickly gives way beneath his feet, and he takes another hop down to the ground, grimacing as the impact runs through his body. One hand slips to his chest, pressing gingerly to the injury as dust rains off of his frame to join the dirt covering the remains of the structure he's standing in. The other hand rises up so that his sleeve is next to his face once more, pulling down the scarf again. A rasping cough shakes him before he speaks.

"This is Lynx. There's been a slight... hang-up. One moment."

The sound of a motorcycle engine can be heard as another vulture on wheels attempts to catch up to the convoy. Frustrated at being late to the party, the masked bandit spots the slightly stooped figure in the trenchcoat through the dust ahead. An easy target to vent his grievance on.

Lynx turns as the motorcycle bears down on him, pulling his scarf up as the dust begins to rise again. And then he drops down, pressing a hand to the ground. Suddenly, the motorcyclist finds himself skidding across a patch of ice. He tries desperately to regain control, but it only puts the vehicle into a spin.


The bandit's cry is cut short with a sickening, wet sound as he finds himself abruptly impaled on a jagged ice formation that's appeared in his path. His body twitches, eyes wide as he spends his last moments in shock.

Meanwhile, Lynx is already limping slowly away through the broken wreckage of the city.

"Now, as for contingency plans..."

Log created on 21:01:30 12/13/2014 by Lynx, and last modified on 19:09:29 12/14/2014.