2012-10-22 Battering Ram

So, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Do a little work, break up a little drug and weapon exchange, sweep some low-lifes back under New York City's rug, and score some extra gear along the way. As far as jobs went, this one's not official. She's not getting paid. Rather, the payment comes down to what she's capable of taking from them as she sweeps on through. It's fun, it's excitement, and it's a great way to pad the ol' arsenal!

Except that these boys aren't screwing around. One woman against a whole mob of trigger-happy denizens, kitted out with a whole manner of fully automatic weapons that they have no right possessing in the first place. Things might have gotten a wee bit out of hand on Domino somewhere back there. This old bottling warehouse has become a warzone with the same ferocity as a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite.

"The bitch went that w-GRK!"

A toned, armored arm snaps back around the corner an instant before it explodes in chips of brick and mortar, pistols and sub-machine guns peppering the surface while some guy with an AK proceeds to shoot straight through the cracked mess.

"Time to admit this wasn't your brightest idea, Domino." A spent pistol mag gets snapped out of the grip, clattering a few feet away from her as she retrieves a fresh one and locks it home. She's running out of places to run, there's a lot of armed thugs here! Ground level's becoming way too hot. That just leaves the stairs going up...

Glance left, glance right. "-Damnit!-" A few more shots erupt from her pistol as she dives for cover, tucking a gun under her arm as she gropes around for that circular metal disk that a certain doctor had given to her before. "Alright, kiddo. You win this one. Time to show your stuff."

One was just about to drive his APC into the shipping container that serves as its garage when his work phone goes off. "Somebody got lucky," he mumbles as he thumbs it on and glances at the screen. He can't help but chuckle and shake his head. "Eight blocks away. Kid, you aren't lucky. You're blessed. And I'm en route."

A few taps on his touchscreen send a return signal to Domino's tracking device, which vibrates to indicate that help is on the way. Then he fires up his converted BTR-4 and gets it on the move.

Just over two minutes later, One pops the top hatch, pokes his head out, and starts scouting Dom's location with a pair of infrared field glasses from a few hundred meters down the street. There's a lot of distortion from all the activity and weaponry, but he can still track thermal traces from warm bodies. A lot of warm bodies.

The field glasses are dropped into the co-pilot's seat, the hatch sealed, and he belts himself into a four-point harness. He takes a deep breath and fits a boxer's mouthguard against his upper teeth, then revs up the Meatwagon's engine and takes off. He's headed directly for one of the building's exterior walls. And he's going really, really fast.

"Gah..!" Dom's not expecting that little disk to buzz back at her with confirmation! "Guess my table's just about ready..." She's hauling tail up the stairs, only pausing long enough to snap off another handful of shots down at the others as they close in on her location. At the top of the stairs some guy tries to cut her off, earning a shoulder under the jaw before she flips him up, over, and down the stairs after his buddies. The sling of the weapon he had a moment ago almost conveniently lands around her forearm, swiped in a heartbeat as she bolts for the catwalk.

"Timing, man, timing..." The rust-flaked walkway quickly becomes perforated as the incoming fire gets redirected, taking out nearby light fixtures and rattling against pipelines bolted to the ceiling. Domino doesn't even look to see where she's shooting, both pistols hammering away to try and keep their heads down before she can barge through the rickety door of an office, crashing to the floor. She's just about to one of the factory's outer walls, hopefully even the right one for where her knight in shining APC happens to barge through.

It's then that she notices her personal sidearms are empty. "Fudge." Fortunately, she's had a chance to pick over a few of the offerings before getting shot at by dozens of sources. Time to switch it up a little.

"Hubba-hubba," One chortles just as he SMASHes through the wall. His entry point is about ten feet to Domino's right. Close enough to send tremors through the wall, but not far away enough that he's out of reach. Debris sprays in all directions as the big, burly vehicle screeches to a halt. There's a moment of near-silence, the only sounds coming from chunks of metal and plaster hitting the ground.

It doesn't last long. One's already got his minigun spooled up. Controlled from the cockpit via joystick, he uses it to lance through a handful of enemies and lay down a thick layer of suppressing fire.

CRASH!

"Looks like my ride's here." Back out onto the catwalk and leaping over the railing Domino goes, her hands filled with a semiautomatic magnum that still can't put out enough sound to be noticed over the tearing canvas-like roar of the minigun. One of her shots snaps the cables holding an overhead fixture in place, sweeping down to smash into one of the thugs with enough momentum to send him flying. Speaking of flying..!

WHUMP. Dom lands and rolls across the APC's roof, hands clamping over her ears against the deafening roar its main weapon puts out. Hopefully the audial cue of her landing will be enough to get things into motion, she doesn't want to lose her hearing trying to find a roof hatch! To emphasize her point she drives the heel of a foot against the bolted steel hide three times, 'let's go let's go!'

Unfortunately, the BSEM-4K ambulance variant wasn't designed to pack *any* weapons, much less one as hungry as a 7.62 minigun. The gun coughs and sputters, then goes silent as it burns through the last of its ammunition. Swearing, One slides open a firing port in his door and readies his revolver as he backs the big vehicle up.

POP-POP! Two more of the thugs are downed just as the APC reaches the street. It crunches to a halt with the rear end smushed against a parked sedan, so there's no way to lower the rear hatch. Instead, One flips open the smaller port in the roof and pokes his head out. The rest of him quickly follows. In addition to his revolver, he's brought along a ballistic vest and a riot shield. The shield serves as improvised cover for both of them as he snaps off two more shots to deter anyone following them. "Inside!" he shouts at Domino. "Get inside!"

Gunfights are inherently loud, but the silencing of the minigun is both a blessing and a curse. No longer does Dom need to cover her ears, but no longer do the other guys need to stay behind cover. As the APC starts backing out she lifts her head just enough to aim down the sights of her newly acquired magnum, hammering out one round after another. There's just something overpowering about an experience like this... The yell that follows is downright feral in nature. "I'm a leaf on the wind, bitches!"

Bam! Bam! Click.

"..Crap."

Timing! The hatch opens at just the right moment, the merc scrambling across the roof to crawl head-first into the opening and unfold out into the cramped space beyond. "School's out kids, let's roll!" Already she's dropping back onto a bench, laughing heartily as she gets what amounts to a shield of invulnerability. Even the rifle rounds pang off of the toughened body, deafening on the inside but completely unable to touch her. "I have -got- to get me one of these!"

Someone's got an energy weapon. A green, crackling beam of plasma misses One by inches. "No, you did *not* shoot that green shit at me."

The last two rounds in his chamber are carefully aimed; both splat into the offending bad guy's head. Once the worst threat is eliminated, he ducks behind his shield and hums a nameless tune while he breaks his revolver open and reloads it. He doesn't seem unduly concerned by the bullets that PING and CRACK near or even off of his cover. Once he's finished, he stows his handgun in its holster and drops down beside Dom.

CLANG. The hatch is sealed and One plops into the pilot's chair. "You'll want to use the harness," he advises as he straps himself in. "And maybe close your eyes. Here comes the *really* icky part."

There's a flash of light through the hatch, and something that does -not- sound like a conventional weapon being fired. "Who the hell gave these guys battery-operated cannons?! No, that is -not- right, I should have known about this well in advance!"

Is it weird that her fire support is more at ease with her job than she is? Eh, it wasn't him getting shot at out there from all angles. "Glad you're enjoying yourself there, Doc, but can we get this show on the road before someone breaks out the RPG's?"

Okay, good, hatch is closed. Dom'll make a witty remark about being sealed inside of a steel coffin with you later, right now she's got bigger things on her mind. Like..getting buckled into her seat. "Just drive, Doc! I got things back here."

"Oh, don't worry about the front end. I've got things up here." One's smile is taut and thin-lipped as he punches the engine. The APC separates from the car he crashed it into with much squeaking and squealing of metal. Everything seems intact, which is good when you consider One's apparent game plan.

He's headed directly *toward* the building they just left. And he's not slowing down. "The evac will cost you, but this one's on the house. Brace-brace-brace!" he calls out.

Then they smash right back into the hot zone. Not only that, One is actively seeking out the men who are firing on them. His plan is simple, efficient, and messy. He's running them down. Not all of them, but enough that the rest are scattering for cover or fleeing the scene altogether. "See?" he shouts into the PA. "That's what you little bastards get! In my day, we took down tanks with grenades we made ourselves. From coffee tins! You pussies!"

"I would hope so," Domino grumbles while yanking on the straps until she's effectively welded to her seat. Just in time, too! Along with the APC she lurches along, though it feels like her organs are still half a foot behind her. These babies always did put out some staggering torque.

"Wait, what are you--" CRUNCH. It's a good thing she doesn't have a light stomach, it's like being inside of a pantcan shaker. And yet, this is stuff that she's done before. Nostalgia hits her once again as jacketed metal hornets slap against the box on wheels. Inside it's dark, cramped, and completely without windows. She doesn't need to see to know what's happening. The taunting, the sudden course corrections through some notably sharp turns...

"You're crazy, Doc!" Not that she's really -complaining- about it. Those idiots have it coming. Though with each alarmed scream coming from outside, there she sits wondering how much this charge is going to ring up to. And how she's going to cover the tab. With the spent Desert Eagle in her hands like some manner of focal point she keeps her head pressed back against the lump of padding serving as a headrest, catching her breath. It's good to have capable allies. Now if she can manage to keep this one...

Finally, blessedly, One punches the APC out through an entirely different wall and tears off down the street. Though a few halfhearted shots are fired after them, the bad guys mostly seem happy to see them leave.

Though the engine is loud, a reasonably normal conversation is possible now that there isn't a bunch of screaming and gunfire coming at them from all sides. "Are you hit?" he asks Domino. "You didn't look bloodied when I saw you, but I know a place we can duck to that's just a few blocks from here if you need medical attention."

A slow, long sigh escapes past blackened lips as they roll out of the far side of the building, Domino letting the empty gun drag one hand down with it until the pair are joined across her lap. It's practically longer than she is wide with the slide locked open. "No, I'm good," she calls back in a somewhat distant voice. "Unlike the bastard that led me into this mess." Looks like some more fact-finding is in her future, which means interrogation. Lovely.

Finally letting go of the gun she reaches up to take hold of her head, working it from side to side with a few audible pops. "Gotta hand it to you, your response time leaves nothing to be desired. Wish I could get a pizza delivered at half this speed." No way she's asking what the bill is, it can wait. "I know this isn't 'take your physician to work' day, but thanks for dropping in."

"Not a problem," One replies easily. "I-- and I shit you not-- was right... there," he pauses and points to the storage facility where his shipping container is parked as they pass it. "--when I got your signal. It's your lucky day, I think. I've never been that close to an extraction point when I got the call."

Despite his earlier antics, he now handles the big APC like a seasoned veteran. He's also doing a very good job of keeping to smaller streets, ducking out of sight under bridges, and veering away from anything resembling red and blue lights. "Is there somewhere I can take you?" he asks.

Domino chuckles dryly upon hearing how close you were, -before- the call. "I guess something's looking out for me tonight, after all." Is it worth getting into the matter of her being a mutant and all? Nope, not even slightly. Everything in due time. Besides, you never asked.

"Wherever's convenient. You're the one driving this shoebox. Probably shouldn't go joyriding though, I don't even want to think about what the mileage is like." Hell, what does one say in a situation like this! Being alone in the back is starting to feel a little eerie, somehow. She gently clears her throat. "How was your day?" And does this thing come equipped with a wetbar?

"Fine. Accepted a contract for what I'm *almost* certain is a suicide mission. If you're not injured, you can come sit in the co-pilot's seat. I'm afraid I'll hit something if I keep turning to look at you. And these controls are already in Russian, so it's not like I need any help crashing." One chuckly dryly and takes a left-hand turn, cutting across traffic and inspiring many a honking horn. A few seconds later the reason for his erratic driving rolls by. A line of squadcars, all with their flashing lights on. "I guess even NYPD has a decent response time when a minigun is involved," he muses. "My place is close. We can regroup there."

Sure, Dom's up for that. Getting free of the seat is a lot easier than getting secured to it, locking the magnum closed on an empty chamber just to make it easier to stuff into her combat webbing along the way. Being smaller in size does have some distinct advantages, like how easily she drops into the seat across from yours without kicking or shouldering any of the controls. "Well..hey. Good luck with that. Suicide missions are actually a lot more fun than they sound, it's just the whole stigma surrounding their name and all," she offers with a helpful looking smirk. "Don't speak Ruskie, huh?"

Sooner or later, she's going to have to admit it to herself. She's rather taken a liking to you. Then again, so many of her other companions are a bit ..crazy. Stability is often taken for granted. "It was a slow night before I showed up," she offers. It might be meant as a joke, but it's also got some truth to it.

"I have to admit, I never turn down a chance to fire my biggest gun," One quips. Somehow, he manages to take a dick joke and turn it into something gentlemanly and dignified. His faint, lilting Germanic accent helps with that, as does his conspiritorial smile. "And I'm glad your ass is my new record for fastest ass saved. With style, too."

The jokes and chuckles conceal a tightness around his eyes and mouth. His knuckles whighten as he grips the wheel tighter. Still, a tremor runs all the way down his arms and into his fingertips. "Nng," he grunts. "Anyway, let's talk payment. I was close, it was fast, and all it cost me was a few gallons of gas and a belt of ammo. Cover my expenses plus two grand or equal trade and we'll call it even. I'd normally charge more, but this was fun."  One slips it into his pose.

"There's something to be said for overkill," the merc femme agrees beside you with an amused look. It's in this very moment when it strikes her how ..natural all of this suddenly feels. It's particularly jarring to one that tends to, and prefers to, work alone. Her expression fades slightly as the thought starts to take root, nearly infecting her mind.

Lucky for her, there's something to help pull her back to reality and keep her anchored there. The grunt gets her attention a bit late, looking at you across the cabin. "You okay over there?" Then there's payment talk. Domino reaches up to lightly pinch the bridge of her nose, quickly trying to crunch some numbers in her head while also trying to not seem put off by the task. "I uh..." Can't afford all of this? As she lowers her hand it brushes up against the weapon that's still slung across her shoulder, causing her to hesitate for another half second. In a flash she's regained her composure, "Brought you this." Coming off of her shoulder is a Russian PP-2000. "Only been out a couple of years. Damn rare outside of the Motherland. Black market value alone makes this one hot ticket item." Smile. Now that's just fortunate.

"I like toys," One concedes. "I accept your proposal."

He takes the gun and hefts it experimentally. "It looks a little funny, but I like the way it feels. And the stock is an extra clip? Clever. Whoa! Hey, we're here." Grinning, he thumbs a button and opens a garage bay across the street from his building. When he glances back over at Dom, his eyes linger on the curve of her lips and cheekbones before he meets her gaze. "Why don't you let yourself in and pour us a drink while I park? You know your way around by now."

Whew. Okay, wicked. That'll shave a fair chunk off of the bill, the rest of it Domino can float. Another slow breath is released, along with some tension that had remained within her shoulders. While you're watching her she's got her eyes cast straight ahead, lost in thought up until you mention drinks. The thought brings a tiny smirk back around, this time turning enough to look back at you. "Gotta love drugs that don't need a prescription." The thought of sharing a few drinks, and escaping this iron tub, gets her back on the move in no time.