2013.04.06 - Jungle Boogie

A.I.M. transport 43 Echo an amphibious platform hybrid that is half truck half tank has already departed Victoria/Harbor sections of Madripoor's dredges to veer east out of the city. It's heavily guarded as expected when something so valuable has been put in transit.

How valuable? Good question. Not one of those hired on knew but the pretty penny put behind it was no penny, not unless you had millions of them. The tip off went through the local wire, the perk of this operation it's independent within A.I.M. to the only outfitter of their people on this near forgotten island nation. The flaws, A.I.M. has amazing technology, with equally amazing resources and equipped men. Whoever engineered tipping off the likes of those involved was an insider, it's not uncommon for A.I.M. to have internal power struggles, this is one such time.

Oh Three Hundred A.M. Transport Echo 43 just drifted over a ridge known as a speed trap and drunk driver alert zone. The local law officials on duty didn't so much as bat an eyelash at the caravan that just flew past them at the beyond the speed limit rush. In exactly twenty minutes they will be just outside of the secured and hidden compound where access to what they carry will no longer be an option.

The landscape is sparse tropical forest cluttered with high and low sweeping hills cut through by a poorly maintained road that has weeds jutting up from cracks, in some places vines tangle along it. This road forks soon, from the main highway to a dirt, that dirt road is the one leading to the compound. There is a checkpoint at said fork, obscured and overseen by A.I.M. personnel but small, not generally heavy in numbers.

All of this intel has been forwarded to parties in question; buyers and clientele. What they do with it, of course, has been put entirely up to their whims.

It isn't morning, it is pre-morning and instead of bright and early evil Baroness, they got the all out sleep deprived Bitchess of the Manor. Yes this was a good deal, a perfect arrangement, but ever since her arrival things have gone horribly horribly wrong. More insurance was needed that this time the payload was going to be delivered.

Not only was she going to be there, but tip offs, and all out good sources told her yet another name that ran in the same lists as Taskmaster. Deathstroke. The only exchanges between them were over cell phones, an untraceable wire transfer of half of the money and a texted image of the other half. A neat pile of cash. Way to be a bitch, but it was almost 3 A.M. and she was climbing on a motorcycle with a truck pulling out behind her as well, hoping this time luck is in her favor.

Or she'd just blow the whole thing up and go back to bed.

Deathstroke watches all of this from hundreds of yards away through the foliage and the shadows it casts, his eye focused not on his employer, but rather on the target vehicle and it's path. "This shipment must be something special for you to hire me." he says, his voice carrying over Baroness' communications and straight into her ear piece. How he cracked it is anyone's guess. "You should know, they're taking the secondary route, detouring around your original ambush site... You're certain you wish to be here for this? I can merely deliver the cargo once the job is complete." He doesn't like working with people generally, but the boss is the boss once he accepts the money, and this one is pushy. His HUD zooms in closer, catching glimpses of the truck/tank through the leave and breaks in the trees.

The zoom on Deathstroke's HUD will pick out several things an easy SPOTREP for a soldier like Slade, unit, time, obviously a modified combat transport, additional dangers being the re-purposed HMMWV's to the front and back of it each loaded with four men each, driver, navigator, gunner and commander. One would almost think A.I.M. had actual military personnel working for them for once and not just scientists. Those visible aside from what may be inside of Echo 43 were pretty bad odds for a normal man, woman or even combat unit. Slade and Baroness were not normal however.

Along with Baroness was her own armed escort, there to assist and follow orders like good peons. Their own Russian surplus weaponry looking rather shabby compared to what was sported by the A.I.M. units. They'd been trained how to use it though, and re-trained, most are ex-soldiers and militants who have undergone training from the Taskmaster, a face nowhere in sight. Off doing another job or simple refusing to go because Baroness outsourced. Either or. Possibly even both.

The transport is indeed veering off, going wide from the original intended point and using their all terrain capabilities to carve a new path that doesn't even bring them to their own checkpoint. Unfortunately for them Deathstroke still has eyes on. Also it is beginning to rain.

The helmet is sleek, the black visor having been pulled down to reveal the lighter shade of black designing that patterned over the shining surface of the helmet in a matte finish - reptilian scales. As if the helmet was one piece, a part of the body suit she remained covered, leaning down in a stretch over the Ducati 1199 beneath her that tore down the winding pathway. "I hired you to ensure I get this. I don't do failure well, and I have had some very lucky people get in my way and live. Not this time. So yes, I want to be here to watch it all go down. I'm a hands on girl."

Deathstroke continues to watch the truck as it rolls, his gaze settling on the HMMWV's. He puts his hand down to the throttle of his own bike and rips off down the dirt animal path he found wound off of the road, a path quickly becoming more mud then dirt. "I wouldn't know what it's like." he says as the engine whines a high pitch and the bike and rider both loft a solid six feet through the air, "Failure." he explains after a moment's pause in case she misunderstood him. His bike lands on the road the convoy is on, ahead of the target by a half mile, and he flicks his wrist, a square box like thing hits the road and small flaps on it's sides flip open and down, locking it in place. There's no lit up LED light on the device, but in Deathstroke's HUD he picks up the arming mechanism. There's his distraction. He then backtracks, stepping off of the bike as it's still moving and leaping into the air, catching low hanging vines and hauling himself hand over hand up into the overhang above, the bike itself wobbling before spinning off the road and vanishing into the bush, buried beneath countless varied forms of fauna. He balances on his toes on the branch that bows slightly under his weight, and waits, counting the distance, time, and speed of the truck in his mind...

The rain just moments ago a drizzle has picked up to a steady downpour that obscures the horizon. Grey clouds cloaking the early morning sky.

The caravan itself continues it's grind forward through the easiest navigated path. Mud is an understatement at this point and Deathstroke without surprise goes unseen thanks to the coverage of weather and his over-all placement.

Baroness herself has lost sight of her target and her employee but from her vantage she is witnessing a new sort of confusion below as a jeep rolls out of a canopy of tree and foliage. No clue how long they'd been there but it appears they had been waiting as well. The figure in the front extends a hand and waves from left to right. No distinguishable markings are worn upon any of the personnel within, weapons can be seem, covered or wrapped but not from this range recognizable beyond their carry locations and for what they may or may not be.

"What should we do about them, Baroness?" The heavy Austrian accented man beside her on foot asks. His mop of blonde hair hidden underneath a bandana his face covered in warpaint. Enthusiastic? Definitely.

The first HMMWV's tire front tire somehow manages to completely miss the placed armament the back just skimming it enough to cause pressure on the mud surrounding the flaps. All that is required for the next muffled explosion that rockets skyward through the center of the vehicle, cracking it open in the middle like an egg as it's guts spill out in a fiery plume and the men inside are scattered in all directions, limbs, weaponry and all. The blip of light caused by this a tell-tale alert to what was going on to those near enough to catch the disturbance, the jeep below included which is now bursting through the trees headed that way. From her OP Baroness and her men can see the quick flare of light and hear the racket caused with it.

Beneath the mask the expression Baroness bore could be unseen. Her path wound upward, taking to her to an overlooking vantage point where she stopped the bike and the trailing truck of her 'goons' comes to a halt, her masked face turning towards the man as he spoke up, another handing her the HK XM-8. From a bag slung across her back she withdraws an elongated muzzle attached to the 20" barrel, sliding it in place. Reach her now free hand up the helmet is pulled off and set between her legs on the tank of the bike, long black hair framing her face as she draws the large weapon up and looks through the sight towards the unloading truck of men.

There was not one in particular she looked for, the first one within the scopes crosshairs alive was fired on while the explosion burns over living and dead alike below. "Kill them. They're not what I want." Intentionally, the comm was left on so Deathstroke could hear whether he cared or not. No secrets, no hidden meanings.

Deathstroke drops even as the first vehicle explodes, his boots landing heavily atop the cab of the AIM truck. His arm is already in motion and a cylinder the size of a coke can flips out and hits the hood of the trailing HMMWV, where is ZZZZT's! and locks into place with a soft magnetic clink. Then it blinks red. Slade ignores those in the following truck, already knowing their fate, and his hand grips the edge of the cab as he leaps up, swinging his body up and over, pivoting on the planted hand so that when he rotates around his boots lead the way towards the passenger side window, aiming to take both driver and passenger out with a single pile driving kick. He's fast, and he uses it to his advantage, not willing to let the enemy time to recover from the initial assault.

The canister hits the front of the HMMWV with a loud *clink* sound. Driver immediately already pulling a hard left so the vehicle pops off to the side as it goes up, instantaneously a depression appears in the center of the hood severing straight through and popping it's wheels and axel outwards, shrapnel in all directions even an intact tire. Like a discarded Hot Wheel the Hummer swivels off the muddy makeshift road to come to a rest against a tree.

The passenger's weapon hadn't even had time to come up before his clavicle snaps and he releases a gurgled cry, muffled even more by the beehive like helmet he is wearing. His body being forcibly shoved in to the driver as they crush in to the armored opposing door which pops off it's sturdy armored hinges and discards both men in to the murk below. One of them actually bouncing off the treads.

The jeep has popped over a log and slammed down just opposite the A.I.M. transport, the four men within piling out as green gortex poncho like coverings are being drawn back. That mid dramatic flap-and-reveal movie sequence of their faces and costumes interrupted when one of them goes down, forced to a knee by impact of a shot.

"Shit I been shot!" Yells out the man with a cybernetic gun equipped arm. Bandana on his head, full beard. The arm /not/ cybernetic is the one he is cradling.

The lead figure turns and looks him over, "Oh, it is but a flesh wound Rapido. Get yourself up." The garish yellow and pink outfit recognizable as the one and only Batroc. His fellow companions likewise familiar faces to the /lifestyle/ Zaran and Machete. Their weapon toting selves already scanning for who may have fired at them. "Secure zee truck!" Yells the Leaper. None of them having seen Deathstroke himself at the wheel, yet. Nor have they clued in on Baroness direct where abouts.

Baroness raises one hand, gesturing forward for her goons to head down through the rain slicked jungle foliage towards the unloading mayhem. Still holding that modded XM-8 aloft she peers through the scope, catching the blurring speed and efficiency of Deathstrokes movements, only to take it back towards the one she had 'winged that had disembarked from the jeep. He wasn't dead? Wounded would do for now, sniping from her vantage point she aims for the man chiding him, squeezing off yet another shot.

Deathstroke, seeing the group in front of the AIM truck groans to himself, "You've got to be kidding me." it's not that Batroc's in Slade's league, he's not, but... he's good. Better then people give him credit for. His flair for drama and frankly, idiot posing in real life (who does that?!), leads people to think him a fool. He is not. It's just... embarrassing to end up on a job with him. It's like being hired by Stark and finding out you were hired to intern at Hammer Industries /for/ Stark. It's just insulting. Slade's boot presses the accelerator to the floor and aims the AIM truck at the group of mercs... hrm. That's a big red button on an AIM vehicles dashboard. Who wants to bet it shoots something? Slade punches it.

The second A.I.M. HMMWV's occupants are somehow still alive (aside from the driver) and are piling out of the side sprawled vehicle, one after another they pull themselves free to witness their transport spitting up mud and ground in a spray as it tries to bulldoze the gang of mercs.

Inadvertently Deathstroke might have just saved the Leaper's life as the man yells out, "FLIP!" Which might have been a command or he could simply just be announcing his actions as his body pulls off a very Spider-Man worthy backflip that carries him nearly a dozen feet out of the gunshot's landing point and the front of a multi-ton truck/tank. The jeep, not so fortunate.

Zaran, Machete and Rapido all in their own dives and combat rolls - maneuver out of the way.

In his injured state Rapido manages to take aim with the weapon-arm he possesses and unload on the transport, shredding through the left side tread while their jeep is turned to mulch by the heavy vehicle.

The squad of Baroness' Freedom Fighter's rush out in to the battle created clearing and unload at the Brigade only to meet returned fire from the A.I.M. survivors.

Baroness mutters, a curse under her breath in her mother language, dismounting the Ducati and swinging the bag that was strapped at an angle off from around her shoulder to the front. Already her hands were working quickly and efficiently to lay the rest of the interchangeable muzzles and scopes out. If she had to get closer she would, but for now...

"Be careful of the goods. Oh, and if they have anything you like buys, by all means - take it from their bodies." Madripoor must be getting to her, looting, pillaging? ... Nope, she was just taking what was 'hers' one payload at a time.

Raising the rifle back up, Baroness takes aim yet again, aiming to finish off the one she had hit in the first place, even as more chaos breaks out below her breaths are calm.

Deathstroke just... sighs as Batroc cries out and flips, something inside him dying a little bit at the sight. Then a lot of things happen at once. The tred on the left flies apart under the weapon's blow, and a Stark Tech Repulsar Engine whines to life behind Slade with a high pitch. Slade freezes, his mind processing the entire situation in the blink of an eye, slowing down everything. "Fuck." he mutters into his helmet as he reaches a rather unpleasant conclusion. Turbo booster. Of course it is. AIM morons put a booster... on a tank... instead of a gun... Cause they're cowards and running is more important then fighting. Scientists. Jesus. Rather then try to fight it, Deathstroke just braces himself inside the drivers seat as the sudden thrust lurches the transport forward under a full G and a half of acceleration. Two things make this entirely impossible however. One, this is mud, and so there is no traction to be had, and two... there is no left side tred. The transport lists instantly to the side, and all of the thrust applied to the back end of the massive vehicle is halted as the tredless axles dig into the soft earth. The other treds become skis, and in an instant, the entire massive transport is spinning around like a top, it's girth and the force of it's rotations sending up twelve foot walls of mud and water with every rotations, tsunami's of filth as it spins and spins and spins and spins, Slade holding on for dear life. When the Repulsar engine dies, the transport is only eighty feet from where it started, but the road is three feet deeper and the mud comes all the way up to the engine block. It's not going anywhere. Slade manages not to puke. Barely. "I hate the French." he groans, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

The Baroness' soldiers find themselves in a rough situation as they close range and one of them goes down, his mid section bursting outwards as a concussive shot from one of the A.I.M. soldiers hits it causing him to basically pop at the mid. Whats worse is they're being flooded with sonic rays that have their senses disoriented, hardened as they are they continue to fire back as Zaran leaps upon the closest one, a sword being thrust through the man's chest the same instant one of the bee keeper's takes a roudn through what could be the throat. Hard to tell with those ridiculous costumes.

Another shot from Baroness and Rapido is running for cover, hunching down below a large stone slab jutting out by a cluster of bent trees. "WHO the FUCK keeps shooting at me!?" He yells loudly, a vein sticking out of his forehead.

"SACREBLU!" Screams Batroc as the A.I.M. prototype transport/tank has just become an eleven ton spinning ground bloom firework. A swath of mud, fire, rocks, dirt, foliage, vehicle pieces, tread bits and even yes, body parts spray out in all directions. Machete somewhere in that mess of thrown objects and tsunami wave of mud disappears. No one even wants to know what has just happened to the men who were still in the back compartment of the vehicle.

Both of Baroness' brows go up, hedging over the rim of her glasses as the tank begins its spin. A massive metal transport tearing its own crater into the center of the jungle as well as blazing its own path. "I'll teach you to drive one of those later.." Sarcasm drenching her tone as she speaks into the comm, though that sight seems to blanket the rest of the chaos - in mud, muck and sizable turmoil she does not miss her men falling to the superior weaponry and and morons; but the looks on their faces... /Something/ wasn't right, and from her vantage she was not effected by the disruption in frequencies. They were honed and trained by Taskmaster, some should not be falling that easily. "What is going on?" She barks into the comm, shifting her stance from one foot to the next with a light push of her hip to the side. She was in debate of joining, but instead she raised that weapon back up and took aim again, firing on any moving in the path of her target that just keeps /barely/ escaping.

Deathstroke grinds his teeth and his fist lashes out, blasting a hole in the windshield. He grips the glass and wrenches the laminate free and tosses it aside, climbing out onto the smoking hood of the transport. "BATROC!" Deathstroke's slightly altered voice bellows over an enhanced comms, "You are playing in the wrong sandbox!" he slides off of the hood and into the mud, a sweep of one hand hurling the entire clip of a mini uzi in the general direction of AIM's all to easy to target yellow suits, the other carries a short metal tube that, as he walks, extends into a full staff, both ends of which begin to trail steam and smoke as they glow white hot with energy.

One. Two. Three. Four... this leaves none of A.I.M surviving. It also appears as the Freedom Fighter's have all been put down, some holding their heads with blood coming from ruptured eardrums or shrapnel wounding. A quick body count calculates to ten dead A.I.M., five dead Freedom Fighters with three additional now out of commission. All red shirts accounted for as an eerie silents falls over what was once absolute jungle mayhem.

"You beckoned, monsieur Deathstroke!" The man, spry as ever springs out of the murk and grime in a flying kick that is both fast and powerful; both feet aimed for the center of Deathstroke's chest.

Rapido combat rolls from behind the rock to grip one of Baroness fallen men. Grabbing the sonic disoriented man up in an embrace against his chest as the Brigade member's gun arm props over his shoulder, "Come out sniper, come out!" Turning left to right with his new meat shield before him.

Zaran like Machete is nowhere to be seen.

Baroness' sights follow Deathstroke. He knows these weirdo's? Only in France.. Her head shook slightly as a count is being made, the scope aiding in her taking record of the lifeless as well as the mortally wounded. Her own or not.

Rapido did not know he very well, did he? The meat shield would do him no good, even in her eyes she would use him in the same manner, as she had when that ship sunk and think nothing of it. All she needed was a clean shot... Seeing it in one breath of a moment she took it, and in that instant it seems an unaccounted for turn had been made and her Fighter's head took the shot instead, a spray of visceral shrapnel spraying outward as his body went limp in his captives arms.

...And from the top of the hill....

"Verdammte Schei?e!"

Deathstroke grunts as the Leaper's feet impact his chest, and he takes the hit with a roll on his shoulder, his feet digging into the mud as he slides a bit, one gauntlet digging into the earth to help bring him to a halt. His one eyed helm snaps to Batroc, "I did." he says, the staff coming up in a blur that makes it whistle in the air as he launches himself towards the Frenchman in a spray of mud, a lance of energy sizzling a path before him.

The jump kick becomes an evading flip as fast as it landed, "Mon ami, I like your style it has a sort of panche and is usually very chic. But this? Euh... this is just degueuelasse." Batroc upon landing motions around himself at the mess. Sweeping from left to right as he dodges and avoids Deathstroke's very precise, very fast strikes. It is not as easy as the Leaper is pretending.

Rapido is surprised at the gore now coating his face but not so much he hesitates, he is veteran after all. Tossing the body away from him he turns the direction the shot came from and releases a spitfire of bullets in the Baroness' general location. "Found you and now you DIE!" Enthusiastic much? Right now, /very/. She had shot him after all.

It's while Deathstroke is pushing hard on the constantly moving Batroc that Zaran takes his window of opportunity. A kusari gama whirling in hand snakes out in a hooked aim for Slade's backside, trying to snare him around the throat with it.

"Unfortunately for you, Deathstroke this is not entre-nous. We are not just a couples dance you and I." Batroc taunts further in his thick French accent.

The spray of bullets had Baroness moving along that ridge, running across it and as she did so those bullets were heard imbedding into the earth around her, just below her footing and behind her in their uncalculated arch to try and peg her. One hand moved over the muzzle of the XM-8, disassembling the muzzle as well as the parts off the body. Not an easy fete while attempting to keep your own ass without the swiss cheese look and appeal.

Reaching a part in the drop off, Baroness pauses, looking down the rain-slickened hill with a pinch of dismay across her features before she dropped, sliding down the side and reaching out a free hand to catch a slender growing tree and swing herself around. Pausing there and burrowing the heel of her boot into the earth she keeps that silence, all the while reassembling her XM-8 and unclasping the holds of the knife holsters twining around her thighs. Close range it is.

Deathstroke was waiting for that. The instant the chain goes up Slade is moving, the staff whirls in a greater blur while his other hand goes behind him, a flick of his wrist wrapping the chain around his arm forearm followed by a yank hard enough to rip a steel door from it's hinges. Even as he yanks, he spins, tossing the slack in the chain up high, where the Leaper likes to be. Chains and acrobats are not the allies one might think. Meanwhile the staff snaps backward, it's glowing butt end catching the stumbling Zaran on the temple with a metallic ping sound. With his hair smoking from the short contact, the merc drops to the ground unconscious... if he's lucky. "Yes. How unfortunate." Deathstroke states dully. "In ten seconds I'm going to cut your legs off." he says matter of factly as he releases the chain, his hand going up to the sword hilt strapped over his shoulder, the other holding the staff in a deceptively laze manner, "Ten... Nine..."

Zaran is usually not such a slouch as this and to see him go down as such has Batroc cursing their previous night of party and fun. He told Zaran to lay off on the fantastically delicious fruity alcoholic beverages but did the man listen? No. One more, just one more, they're so smooth they go down so easy! Tomorrow will be cakewalk. Who do we have to worry about here? Captain America? Haha. No, not Captain America, but his evil alter ego! Batroc tumbles on elbow and knee to spring up and unravel himself from the chain.

"Machete now!"

This is where crickets chirp.

"MACHETE NOW! Spring your trap my friend!"

More crickets.

A hesitant glance upwards through the trees and he spots Rapido in what could only be described as a berserk state while he romps through the treeline shooting at everything that moves in his search for the sniper who has been shooting at him repeatedly. Bloodloss actually has the man slowing here and there as well.

"So zis is not looking so good right now." The Leaper murmurs to himself while he circles Deathstroke. "That does look quite sharp, mon ami." Indication towards the sword. "And I do kind of like my legs, as you can tell." Surely Machete was simply lurking and waiting for the perfect opportunity, like a deadly cobra snake!

Silence. Baroness did not even move, not a sound made as her hand slips from the bag she has been carrying, revealing a different clip. Leaned back her spine hovered just over the muddied ground beneath her while her eyes followed the movement of Rapido through the trees in his raging lone stampede to flush her out.

Click

The drum magazine snapped into place, her heel pulling free of the anchor into the mud, letting her body resume the slide down just enough to seek a more solid purchase. Coming to her feet she rose into sight and spun, firing off her weapon towards Rapido, this time the fire was rapid, an echo of his own as she aimed for him from that short distance, both hands gripping the weapon that barked out it rage induced shots - giving its own expression in replacement for the placidity that remained on Baroness' facade.

Sword slowly slides from the sheath, large as it is, there's no way he should be able to hold it one handed... but he does it anyway. "Eight." Deathstroke says as he starts to walk straight towards Batroc, apparently not bothering to circle, he simply moves towards him. There's no ninja stepping, no careful balance, just advancing. "Seven." To keep him honest the lance sizzles out another stunning blast of crackling energy. "Six."

Rapido lifts and fires a split second after Baroness, a round pelts him again in the meaty shoulder while another gets him in the abdomen. Eyes rolling up the cyborg lets out a wheeze noise and falls backwards in to a bush, rolling under it to sprawl out arms and legs. Possibly dead, knowing these sorts though - not likely. Victory on the Baroness part.

Batroc, frowns while Deathstroke counts. Still no Machete. "I would like to test you one day, monsieur Deathstroke but today is not zat day. I bid you, adieu." A flourishing bow and he steps backwards at the count of five, four and three he is picking up Zaran, on two he is springing the hell away very quickly.

"Next time, mon ami, next time!"

The henchmen who had arrived with Baroness are on their feet now or had been for several seconds turning over bodies to prod at them and make sure everything was clear, "Area secure, sir." One says shakily to Deathstroke. An added, "Ma'am." Put in to the com as well, to make sure Baroness was filled in on that as well.

The driver of the awaiting truck still held in check with another gunman for Baroness word before they roll in from where their OP had been set up. "Green light to gather the goods?"

Rapido dropped and rolled. Dead, alive, she did not honestly care as long as he is out of the way. Remaining there she glances towards the rest of the group, counting her survivors as if taking an inventory of what she needed to replace, pausing on Deathstroke with a light tip of her head in acknowledgement. Turnover rate working for Baroness sucked.

"Gather them, bring them to the training facility. Deathstroke, one of my men will escort you to the base and I will give you what is owed. Perhaps you'll stick around a bit longer." A question or a statement on the last part it wasn't really left open for discussion as she turned on heel and made her way back up the hill, a few slips and slides taken with more of those muttered curses. At least they did not fail. Beekeepers and French vs. them? Yeah.. What is with this little island?

Managing her way back to the top her weapon is returned to that carrying bag and slung across her back, the helmet settled back on her head and the Ducati started. "Where the hell is Taskmaster?" /Now/ her voice gets sharp.

Deathstroke narrows his eyes as Batroc scoops up his friend, and he sheaths the sword, "Bring more friends." Slade suggests quietly to the retreating Frenchmen. He then nods to the man and turns to head for the ruined transport. The glowing end of the staff is pressed against the locking mechanism, and there's a long protracted hissing sound and acrid smell before a foot of metal door simply turns pink and melts away. Slade removes the staff and swings the door open, a pistol in his hand pointing at any living AIM personnel that might still be inside... Nothing. He nods and points at the man who first spoke to him, picking his escort, "Taskmaster and I have history," he says into the coms, "he may have stayed out of this one for that reason alone." he pauses, "It may have been for the best."

Sonic disruptor cannons, concussive rifles and the 'cargo' collected will add nicely to Baroness' growing surplus in Madripoor. The stolen equipment packed in to the truck Baroness had brought with her and the fade away begins as the gathering leaves the carnage strewn jungle behind.

Hours later...

Machete wakes up and digs himself out of his muddy hole to find himself staring at the bright sky of a sunlit afternoon, dry parched lips cracking open, "What... the... fuck..."