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Uncanny Team-Up: Savaged
Rplog-icon Who: SHIELD: Arsenal, Domino, and Geiger and the X-Men: Cyclops and Wolverine. Emits by Wolverine.
Where: The Savage Land
When: Morning
Tone: Heroic
What: A small group of scientists and former terrorists are faced with prosecution--and who knows what else, when S.H.I.E.L.D. and the X-Men both choose the same day to raid their expedition to the Savage Land.


Hidden in the vast emptiness of Antarctica, the ecological phenomenon known as the Savage Land is a place of lost eras and untold riches. Home to its own unique ecosystem and civilizations, the prehistoric jungle went undisturbed by outsiders for a great many centuries--until greed drove enterprising and resourceful interlopers to seek out and plunder its bountiful resources.

Since its rediscovery, numerous corporate and private parties have made expeditions to the primeval Land, hoping to exploit it; the latest is the Indivino Group, a tech firm and defense contractor with patents on a number of unusual devices and weapons systems. The Group's base camp consists of a dozen military-grade deployable shelters of various sizes, with the largest three set up in a semi-circle around the camp's geothermal generator, and the rest fanned out from them. The generator's inner workings are hidden beneath a geodesic dome built from a dull, but sturdy composite material, with a few taps visibly running from the back of the structure into the side of the nearby volcano at various levels.

There are fifteen, maybe twenty people moving around the camp presently, split between scientists and a security detail. The jungle has been cleared away for about a mile around the camp, and the resulting timber combined with sections of armoured plating to form crude walls against the dangerous wilds beyond.

High above the patchwork wilderness, the envy of every military on earth streaks through the sky with a yellow and blue-garbed savage seated in the co-pilot's chair. His cowl is pulled back to make sipping from the can of beer resting on the instrument panel in front of him a little easier, though presently, he's too occupied with pecking at the controls to get the auto pilot online to do much drinking.

"Gettin' close to the target, Slim; the 'bird'll get herself somewhere safe once we're clear. Just gotta do our part." With a final button press, the plane's course is set, and Wolverine lifts his head to glance towards the two parachutes hanging beside the exit door.

"You ready?" he finishes as he then turns his head to look squarely at his pilot.


Cyclops gives Logan a flat look as he shrugs into the small backpack with ease.

"Wolverine. I was born ready."

A flick of the switch opens the bottom gate and exposes the land below as well as a rush of air into the cabin. Cyclops stalks to the end and makes his way downward using the exposed handrails. He turns to give Wolverine a nod before leaning out over the edge of the ramp into a swan dive, plummeting towards the planet. As the air rushes over his form fitting X-men suit, he can see the volcano approaching quickly in the distance. He idly looks to his wrist to gauge the altitutde.


SHIELD's monitoring of the Indivino Group as an organization of interest was paying dividends. Much of its current research division were former AIM, Hydra, KOBRA, and other such rogue organizations. The surveillance indicated that whatever they were doing, they were getting closer to completing their development.

So it was a small demolition group that was sent to take care of the situation: Martin Kavanagh and Roy Harper.

'Course, Roy -liked- having an ace in the hole. A sort of 'lucky' charm, as it were... and who better than Domino? "Because if things go pearshaped," Roy mentioned in attempting to convince her that she'd -very- much enjoy a working vacation to the Savage Land, "we need someone who can blow lots of shit up in a hurry." At least, that was the rationale he used to try and bring her along. Better than "lucky charm", at least.

And now, somewhere in the jungle that was the Savage Land, Roy adjusts his pistols and his rifles, and glances at the other two. "So, Marty, Dom, I get dibs on the volcano explosion -this- time, okay?"


How the heck did Domino wind up in this mess? Because Roy had invited her along, really. Having an agent of SHIELD owing her a favor can't be a bad thing from her perspective. "You say the most romantic things, Harper."

There are, of course, other reasons for having agreed to join this trip. She's done work with SHIELD and she's made quite a number of enemies where AIM and HYDRA are concerned. Something's going on way out in this part of the globe, and she wants to know what. Deciding on going with or not hadn't been the challenging question. The challenge was in figuring out what one brings to an island full of dinosaurs.

The giant Pelican brand rifle case that she's lugging around would suggest that she packed very well for such an occasion. After all, who wants to lose a fight with a triceratops? With her newest acquisition she can take down anything from a Shih Tzu to a self-propelled howitzer at a thousand meters and counting.

It's even made in the US. Buy American.

"Great, while you're at it you can pick up the tab next time we go drinking."


Martin Kavanagh looks up to Roy after placing in a last contact lens, newly colored eyes blinking slightly as he moved to adjust them. "That's not going to happen again. Probably. When was the last earthquake around here?" He notes, before flicking on the subvocal system at his throat, his voice changing tone with the next words. Maybe the famous superheros could walk out there with their smiling open faces and kick ass whilst yelling their names, but some people had a deli to run that they didn't need some KOBRA joker putting two and two together for.

He was going a bit more traditional, the assualt rifle on his knees getting a suppressor quickly screwed on to the threaded barrel. That and the fully automatic Glock at his thigh probably wouldn't take out a Brontosaurus, but those 40 millimeter grenades on his combatwebbing just /might/. Or kill tanks. One or the other. "We the only ones coming to this party? The last thing I want is to come across some SBS jokers because England decided why the hell not."


"Heh," Wolverine grunts as he chugs the rest of his beer. Standing, he flicks the can to the pilot side floor and saunters over the hatch to shoulder into his own 'chute. He could, without a doubt, make the trip down without one, but experience has taught him that it's /much/ more practical not to; less time spent recovering from the landing can't be a bad thing.

Just as he's about to finish pulling his cowl back into place, the Blackbird gives an alarm to let the X-Men know that it's time to go. And so, with a final, sharp yank, Wolverine goes--right out into the open air, arms and legs spread as the wind buffets his adamantium-laced body.

On the ground, a scientist on his way from the mess tent to his lab pauses to squint at a strange reflection in the surface of his StarkPad, but when he actually looks up to find nothing out of the ordinary, he gives a shrug and continues on his way.


The jarring of the change in atmosphere takes a moment to get used to for Cyclops, but he's done this before. Checking the altitude. Not yet. He takes the next few moments to analyze the battleplans, going over the mission again and again as he had since before the Blackwing took off in New York, hours ago. Checking the altitude, not yet. Just a little longer.

Cyclops finally pulls the rip cord and the small chute pulls back hard around his body as it slows down mightily. He approaches the ground much quicker than is normaly, but the type of drop is designed to get them there without being noticed. He'll have to stick the landing.

As Cyclops hits the ground he crumples into a tight roll to brace some of the force throughout his body. In a mere moment he's up on his feet and gathering the parachute back up as quick as he can.


Glancing about the camp for the HVTs (high value targets), Roy glances at Martin. He would, of course, know better about -what- to attack. The power source was geothermal, so likely as not, there was a generator substation set-up that would be high priority to take out, right?

And they would be pretty well prepared to blend into the jungle thankfully, after making a quick change once they'd gotten into the Savage Land and camped out. Let's see... computer systems there, transformers there... and...

"Hold on, guys," Roy says as he noticed a couple of parachutes coming down. "What's that?"


Dom passes yet another look over to Marty, still not sure what to make of the guy. He's been acting ..a little weird. By her standards, that's saying something. "Nervous about something, kid?" Maybe it has to do with the matter of having never worked alongside the albino before, in which case she has to give him an extra hard time about it.

From their vantage point she sets the case down and slips out of her coat, getting up here had been plenty chilly but with the resident volcano and resulting tropical paradise she can afford to shed the extra layer. It even stores nicely inside of that case, once the bolt action fifty caliber rifle is extracted from the foam lining. And a couple of spare magazines. And a few explosive devices. A girl's gotta be prepared.

"If you boys need the wrath of God aimed at anything in particular, you just let me know." The role of fire support is a fun and easy one. Shoot lots of things, don't bother asking questions.

Domino will still make observations, however. "Looks like we've got some uninvited guests."


Martin Kavanagh would switch over to jungle camo once they reach the demarcation between the familiar Antartic they know and love, and the jungle that belonged thousands of miles away and millions of years in the past. He pulls down a balaclava over his face , turning his eyes over to Domino as she asks her question. "Let's just say my training never included shooting Velcioraptors. So, yes, a little nervous. Trying to go for life's high score, after all." He says, before turning to look where Roy is looking.

"Well, last time I checked, we were as uninvited as they are. Except we've got that rather convienent global mandate. What do you folks think? Assess the nature of unknown forces before completing other objectives?"


One of the tents near the edge of the camp is likely for fuel or chemical storage, judging from the column of warning symbols decorating its flap. A watchtower - really little more than a platform with a square of nylon/polyester roofing built atop a segment of the walls - is set up to the east of that tent, and once the X-Men's parachutes open, the guard posted there visors his eyes to squint up at the two falling men. There are other such watchtowers spread along the length of the wall, but some are unoccupied; the guards in those that aren't begin scrambling for weapons once that first watchman calls the camp's attention to the airborne intruders.

Unfortunately for the Group's guardians, though, the X-Men fall through the tree line before their weapons can be brought to bear. For his part, Wolverine doesn't bother with the tuck and roll; instead, he just lands crouched at the bottom of a deep divot, and once he's worked his way out, he turns in place until he's facing the camp site.

"C'mon," he mutters with a beckoning gesture, trying not to limp too noticably as he picks his way through the jungle.

Back at the camp, those few vacant towers are quickly being filled by armed men and women. Their scopes sweep across the jungles, but even with the clearing they've done, it's difficult to see very far past the perimeter; whoever is out there will have to get pretty close before their weapons wiill be of much use.


Cyclops follows along behind Wolverine, deftly dodging twigs, branches, and other obstacles as he hops nearly soundlessly through the terrain. "Seems like we've been noticed," Cyclops mutters as he sees the gunmen moving around with wreckless abandon. "This should be interesting pretty quickly here."


"Man, Martin's right," Roy mutters. "Fury'd have my hide if I just charged in without finding out what's what." Casting a quick glance at Domino and then Martin, Roy shrugs. "Be careful, the camp's on alert. Dom can set up the explosives. What say, Marty? You take left, I take right, we meet in the middle?" Domino could cover their asses while they did a quick assessment of who landed, she was pretty much loaded for bear.


"I'm not too big on that 'enemy of my enemy' thing, but if they're here uninvited then there's no telling who they're with," Domino remarks while chambering a stupidly huge bullet then slinging the heavy rifle. "Unless we want to risk a potential blowout with another country, we need to know who these guys are." Which means getting in closer.

Which means she packed the wrong primary weapon for this operation.

Well, fudge.

"Guard towers are going ballistic, definitely not their guys." A quick glance is passed between the two. "It's time to make a decision. We can cover some guys we don't know or we can use this opportunity to close the gap and try to figure out who the hell they are. Unless you two really need a sniper right now, I'm going for visual confirmation." Speak now, or Dom's making a run for it. She may even know who these guys are...

What are the odds, right?


Martin Kavanagh pauses for a moment in the thick cover of the jungle beyond the perimiter, reaching into his gear and bringing out a monocular, scanning the guard towers as they're slowly filled. "I almost want to leave that team to take the fight and use the cover, but Fury /would/ crucify us if we didn't figure out who they were, you're right. So they just made this job a lot harder."

He stows the vision aid, and gives a nod to Dom. "Smart. Don't get caught. Or if you do, get caught on another approch. I would rather get on the other side of that perimiter before they truck out the crew-served weapons. I'll take left, Roy takes right." Another pause as he readies his rifle. "Code names from this point out; even if their friends, the most we should say is a vague mission outline. No sense in letting everyone know who we are."

He's then off and running, toward the left hand side of the watch tower line, trying to sneak through cover and evade the watchful eye of any guards... at least until he can get into a good range with his rifle.


|"We have hostiles in the area,"| the base's chief security officer shouts into his walkie, |"repeat: hostiles in the area. Aerial drop--no sign of a vehicle, though. Acquisitions: we need air cav."| He winces when his subordinate's affirmation is accompanied by a high-pitched screech, then snatches up a blaster resting nearby and hustles out of the command tent.

Coincidentally, that same screeching sound - piercing, primal, and cutting - can be heard in the distance by X-Men and SHIELD agents all.

Once the alarm was sounded, the labcoats began hurying to the largest tent in the camp: the western-most one pitched near the generator; with the five watchtowers filled, this leaves the officer with only a handful of men and women on the ground, all armed with basic energy weapons.

As the X-Men approach the jungle line, a few beams begin searing through the foliage in their general vicinity, all wildly off-target; the watchmen and women are still stuck firing at rustles in the trees and brief snatches of colour more than anything concrete. With all of them focused on the jungle beyond, Martin should have a few uninterrupted seconds to close in on the camp, easy; it's just a matter of finding one of the person-sized gaps between the makeshift walls.

"Could use some cover, if you're so inclined, Cyke," Wolverine tersely suggests when one of those off-target blasts lances a prehistoric rodent, which explodes rather messily.


Cyclops nods and opens the throttle on his visor, offering up blasts for the requested cover. The shots are short bursts, followed by a quick movement. Then, another burst. Rinse. Repeat.

Martin moves forward from cover to cover, awaiting for gaps in view to reach the camp itself. It may all be overanxious panic fire, but it didn't matter if the laser blast that hit you was meant for you or the colorful set of flowers a little to the left. Dead was dead. Luckily, though, he reaches the 'walls' of the camp, sliding through the human sized gaps in the fence to reach the other side. Once her does, he turns toward a guard tower that was behind him, raising the rifles red dot sight to his eye, and attempting to place two silenced bursts of 5.56 NATO rounds in half a dozen vital areas on the guards body. Quiet things down just a bit, hopefully. And /then/ it was on to secure his own perimiter, and attempting to-

"Christ." He mumbles, switching to his Radio. <<Arsenal, Domino. You see those blasts? What the hell is making them?>>


<<Unless I'm wrong, I think it's another metahuman, Geiger,>> Arsenal responds as he closes in, getting a better look. Unlike most SHIELD Agents, Roy wasn't about to kill indiscrimiately, and so he settles for the 'tranq' shots. The explosives would come later. <<Domino, you know anything about them? It's... I think it's some dude in a visor and some short fuzzy troll.>>


Time to storm the castle! With the other operatives branching off to the sides, Domino's going right for the middle. Shots are being exchanged, but not at these three. Their window's going to hold for a little while longer. -Perfect.-

<> The direct approach takes less time, giving her a chance to pull a shaped charge from her gear while blitzing for the nearest guard tower. All she has to do is slap it onto a support or two then fire when ready.

<<That's a neg, Arsenal. Gonna be hard making contact with these guys while everyone's fighting. Think it's time we announced ourselves.>> Just..as soon..as Domino takes cover from the incoming blast.



The Group's shooters aren't doing a great job of drawing a bead on the intruders in the jungle, so when one of those off-kilter shots is answered by a burst of ruby energy powerful enough to send a watchwoman flying backwards off her tower, the remaining guards don't quite know how to react. One holds his rifle a little closer to his eye and frantically squeezes the trigger, trying to spray the jungle with beam fire; another just swallows, squats a little lower, and tries to keep her scope steady as she sweeps it back and forth over the trees.

The others figure they're better off trying to track their attackers on foot, so they climb down and head for the nearest exits to the camp--or rather, one climbs down; the other takes a couple bullets in the back from Martin and just falls. There's no immediate sign of the remaining guards in the camp.

With Cyclops providing cover fire, Wolverine takes a step back from the jungle line, then puts his head down and charges forward to burst from the trees and do what he does best. The two guards who are still posted up both try to set their sights on the man as he hurls himself at their walls, but before either can get a bead on him, one gets hit in the neck with a tranq arrow and the other is trapped atop her watchtower when Domino's explosives detonate it.

|"Cyke,"| a bemused Wolverine transmits as he settles against the wall with the aid of his claws, |"You didn't get Dani t' join the party somehow, d--"|

Another screech cuts him off, and it's followed by more, all courtesy of the four pterodactyls approaching the camp from on high. Each has a man or woman in Indivino-logoed tactical gear mounted on its back, and each is sporting a webwork of circuitry around its cranium, like an electric crown.


"Negative, Wolverine." Cyclops kneels down, trying to keep his cover from those in the watchtowers, but knowing that he needs to take care of the dinos as well. "We got airborne company. Watch from above." From his place in the jungle, Cyclops takes a few blast shots towards the pterodactyls in an attempt to knock them out of the sky.


Martin Kavanagh watches as the targets slowly wink out one by one, the defensive towers obviously not set up from an assualt from professionals. Or, barring that, metahumans that could fire laser blasts from their eyes and had super healing powers. By the time the other guard is fleeing into the camp, Martin is almost going to let him go. Bad luck for him, Martin wasn't the type to take chances.

Good news for the escaping guard, though; no one expects pterodactyls ridden by men with electronics all around them. Kavanagh does'nt catch all that. He just see's incoming. <<Remember when I said I was nervous, Domino?>> He says, bringing his rifle up to point toward the sky, and flipping the selector to full auto, attempting to at least get those creatures to peel off. <<Move toward the tent at the back. We need to grab whatever data on what they've been doing here before they have a chance to destroy it.>>


<<Hell...>> Roy seems almost gleeful. The reports -were- true about the Savage Land. <<Never thought I'd get the chance to be shooting dinosaurs.>> The tranqs weren't going to work, not with creatures as thick-skinned as these. Pulling out his rifle, Roy takes aim, more at where he thought the creatures' earholes were. Hey, might as well screw with -their- sense of balance, if those were located anywhere near the same as humans. <<Dom, admit it, this is better than dinner and a movie.>>



One thing Dom does love about jobs like this... They're great for relieving some tension. Once the charges go up, any hope of stealth will diminish very quickly.

Much like with whatever is making that horrific screeching noise. The first time she could dismiss it as local ambience. This time?

<<Enemy's gone airborne, they're riding the flippin' dinos!>> She slides to a halt and hauls the fifty cal off of her back, drawing it to her shoulder. "C'mon sweetie, let's show 'em how it's done." Normally one wouldn't pull this kind of trick, but she's a far cry from anything resembling normal. Fortunately, a flying dinosaur should make for an easy target.

-BWAM!-

<<Waow, I forgot what it was like to fire one of these!>> Owwie. Run, eject, identify next target, chamber, stop, brace, aim. <<I'm not a dinner and movie sort of lady, Arsenal. Think they'll ever turn this into a legit sport?>>

-BWAM!-


One 'dactyl takes an optic blast to the wing, sending it on a screeching, spinning trajectory towards Earth. After a few revolutions, its rider is thrown free; as he plummets, he frantically slaps at his bulky belt buckle until it gently clicks and steam rushes out from the cuffs of his pants. The next time his soles are pointed towards the ground, those bottom quarter of those pants is shredded when his flailing legs suddenly elongate; ten, twenty, thirty--fifty feet of steel grows to separate the soldier's knees from his feet, and when those feet eventually crash through the tree-tops outside the camp to touch ground, he's left with pains shooting up his knees, hips, and spines, rather than--well, dying.

A reasonable enough trade-off, all things considered.

Between Roy and Domino's rifle rounds, the other three riders are finding it difficult to keep their beasts under control and stay out of one another's way, meanwhile: every time one of Roy's equilibrum-wrecking rounds causes one of them to weave erratically off course, the others are forced to veer away, or worse, hold off on returning fire, while each one of Domino's shells that strikes home results in the wounded creature bucking and straining against its rider's reins.

After pulling out of a sharp dive made to avoid the thrashing of a wingmate's frantic mount, the the rider of a 'dactyl sporting a nasty furrow along its right flank clutches her reins in one hand while bringing a bulky gun attached via hose to an equally bulky backpack to bear with the other. With a pull of the trigger, the gun sprays freezing air across the ground below in the hopes of capturing one or both of the snipers in the crackling sheet of solid ice that creeps across the camp and the jungle in its wake; when it's all said and done, that first pass is enough to leave the bottom of one of the walls frozen solid, plugging the gap between it and another wall.

And thanks to a timely burst from Martin's rifle, there won't /be/ another pass; when met with a spray of hot lead to the chest, the already wounded dinosaur drops out of its already rough ascent and crashes. Thrown from her saddle, its rider hits the ground roughly, bounces once, then comes to rest, still breathing.

Meanwhile, the last watchman - the one fortunate enough to make it off his tower before it was blown up, or he was shot from it - finally gets a break from looking out for falling dinosaurs and stray plasma beams, and uses it to draw his sidearm; before he can even draw a bead on Martin to repay the agent for losing track of him, however, he is roughly felled by a boot to the back, courtesy of Wolverine as he leaps from the top of his wall to the ground.

After squinting at Martin for a second, he turns his head, sniffs the air once, and then growls, "Eyes peeled; unfriendlies everywhere," as he tips his chin towards one of the tents.

And in that tent - as well as a couple of others - nervous guards hold their breaths, clutch their weapons, and wait for one of the intruders to draw near.


"Roger. Stay on look out for anything and everything. Let's move forward," Cyclops mutters as he begins to dodge his way through the forest, careful to attempt to stay clear of the freezing-air lady. "I'm going to try and get a bead on that generator. Watch my six.


Well wasn't this a crazy, chaotic turn of events. Martin is certainly firing up into the air towards those flying suarians, trying to keep them off target and, hey, maybe even hurt them a bit. The skin on those things... and the armor on those riders didn't leave him much choice on hitting them. It's this cautious demeanor that has Martin ready when he sees those dactyls moving into an attach dive, and weapons coming up, have him quickly moving from his position to another one, slamming up aganist one of the walls that absorbs most of the blast of ice. And then his rifle is up and firing again, this time putting a burst right in the midle of one the riders.

As they slow down, Martin breathes a sigh of releif. <<Looks like we've got some on the ground. Domino, police those corpses->> He starts, before there's a sound of a boot kicking a body. His rifle is up just in time to see the guard who had his weapon up falling next to the... stranger. His weapon remains up for a few seconds longer, before lowering it. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Mind identifying yourself?" He notes, before subvocalizing again. <<Arsenal, flashbangs. Let's clear tents from west to east.>>


Dodging bullets is easy enough, so long as Domino can see them coming. A cloud of ice-forming aerosol is slightly more difficult. Every time she touches off another one of those massive shells her position is practically highlighted by anyone flying the unfriendly skies. Tracking the team's mobile howitzer is easy. Finding somewhere for her to run to, much less so.

Needless to say, it's very, very cold. She gets caught up in the gas mid-leap, the massive rifle still clutched within her hands. In a flash she's gone from a major threat to a piece of frigid art.

It's a very good thing that she kept a finger on that hair trigger.

The block of freshly formed ice gets a hefty shockwave sent throughout it as the next shell punches through, splintering and fragmenting the block. It's going to take her some effort to pull free of the mess. <<I'm..r-really st-tarting to hat-te ice...>>


With the pterodactyls at least slowed down, Roy was ready to take cover. He -certainly- wasn't hanging around for the return fire... but trying to outrun it was proving improbable. <<Goddamn it, they frosted my ass!>>>

Cursing and trying to find cover, using other objects to try and duck behind, it's all Arsenal can do to manage to escape the solid sheet of ice. <<Uh, I'll get you your flashbang in a minute,>> Roy replies, as he stomps the ground, trying to get feeling back. <<Frost my ass, will you, bastards?>> Roy mutters, using one hand to rub warmth back in while throwing flash grenades with his other hand.


The long-legged security guard is on the move, now--albeit slowly. Each step /should/ cover lots of ground at his height, but the jungle is so thick that forcing his way through is a challenge, metal-clad legs or no. After his third time getting caught on vines while trying to catch up with Cyclops, the aching and frustrated guard finally plants his armoured feet and begins plucking grenades from his belt and chucking them through the tree tops.

Each one trails smoky white wisps behind it before finally bursting on the ground - or, in a couple of cases, in the upper boughs - and sending billowing clouds of tear gas spreading through the wilds, racing to catch up with - and perhaps overtake - the X-Men's monoeyed leader. The generator he's after is protected by an armoured, dome-shaped shell, but there must be a way inside--and that's assuming that it's sturdy enough to withstand the destructive power of Cyclops' gaze.

"Wolverine," the tracker roughly replies. When he sees flash bangs arcing overhead towards a couple of the tents on one side of the camp, he takes off towards the other, smacking Martin's upper arm along the way to urge the agent to follow along. Along the way, he presses two fingers to his ears and mutters, |"Cover ya as soon as I can, Cyke; hostiles everywhere. Lotta competin' scents."|

Soon enough, the two disappear into one of the larger tents on the east side, and for a while, the only things to leave it are the sounds of warfare and the occasional stray laser beam.

The flashbangs Roy chucks to the other side do their job, too; it takes a few tries, but a couple seconds after one of the grenades rolls into a tent, beams come shooting blindly out of the entrance as the guard within fumbles his way out of the suddenly hostile environment. One tent over, a fifty cal shell rips clean through the domicile from front to back, eliciting a sharp cry of shock from the guard within.

As for the ice: breaking free isn't too problematic, once it isn't coming down anymore, and indeed, it doesn't seem to be. Neither of the other riders has anything like the cold-bringer's backpack, and it's all they can do to keep their wounded mounts from crash landing at this point, anyway. They're trying, generally, to bring themselves to a safe landing towards the rear of the base, but it involves a /lot/ of circling through the air, and an awful lot of screeching and hollering, to boot.
You paged Scott Summers with 'There are, just to clarify, maintenance entrances all around the perimeter of that dome(since people have to be able to service the generator)'


The tear gas rips at Cyclops lung's, but his eyes stay safe with the goggles. He knows he needs to get out of here fast before he's completely overcome. Taking a split second to turn his optic blast to stun, Cyclops then shoots a blast in the direction of the tear-gasser, hoping to knock them down and buy himself some time. He then makes a bee-line toward the generator, looking to get close and, perhaps, inside a maintenance entrance--blasting a hole if need be.


Domino's hand is still shivering as she works the bolt of her rifle, having to slap it back closed in a moment of frustration. Of course she had to leave her arctic coat behind, it's a jungle paradise with teeth down here! No need for the extra layers. Shed the weight for comfort and mobility. Riiight.

<<Going ..for the generator, Arsenal! Let's pull the plug on this!>>

Start running. Keep the circulation going. One round in the chamber, one more in the mag. Plenty in reserve. Yeah, she'll be just fine until the rest of the dino party decides to make a showing at this shindig. The dome surrounding the generator could be made out of anything, considering the other tech these guys have been utilizing she can't guarantee her chances of remotely disabling their power. This is the work of more set charges. Leave nothing to chance.

Not that she's too occupied in running to cause more trouble along the way. There's that one guy out there with really tall metal legs and lots of explosives. She's not liking his contribution to their efforts so much. The next shot is fired wild from the hip, another massive fireball erupting from the muzzle as she shoots into the trees. Maybe she'll hit one of his legs, or smash a tree or three down which could get tangled up in his bionic limbs. Trust in instinct, and random chance.


Right. With Martin distracted, Roy seemed to be free to follow his own devices. <<Right. You take out the generator. I've got your back... uh, and whoever the other guy is.>>

Lifting his rifle, Roy takes aim. <<Don't worry about him,>> Roy adds as he shoots for the grenades. And if he ever gets a chance at shooting one while the guy's holding on to one...


A fifty cal shell to the knee followed by an optic blast is enough to fell any man, no matter /how/ much funky tech he's equipped with. When Roy detonates his remaining tear gas canister - creating an acrid, stinging cloud of agony for the teetering artificial giant to settle in when he's toppled - it's almost insult to injury. Between that and the grenadier's own handiwork, though, there's so much gas in the surrounding jungles that the outmached Indivino Group will be hardpressed to find many escape routes.

Getting at the generator is a matter of finding one of maintenance entrances in the protective dome's perimeter--and then blowing it the hell open; neither Domino nor Cyclops should have much trouble with /that/, though. The generator within is unmanned, and fairly sizable; there are taps visibly running from several machines straight down into the ground, or into the foot of the mountain. A few more snake through openings to the outside to tunnel into the volcano from higher up. The main machinery is arranged in a circle around the inner curve of the dome, with a couple levels of catwalks constructed more towards the center to give workers access to various parts of the machines, and a console at the very heart of it all, on the ground.

And while Domino and Cyclops see to the generator, the one guard who isn't currently trying to fight with Martin and Wolverine, or fumbling blindly out of his tent - the one whose cover was breached by Domino's errant, ice-destroying round - creeps out of her tent, keeping her body low and rifle high. With no immediate sign of the intruders, she's stuck trying to ferret them out herself, which means sneaking towards the camp's outer edges in search of the snipers who've all but crippled their airborne forces.


Cyclops makes another switch to his visor. His long, gloved fingers turn the dial at the side of his head once more and open up the visor full throttle. "I'm going to blow it up," he coms to Wolverine. A moment later and with no hesitation, he aims his blast to the center of the generator and lets it rip.


This place is still a few explosions shy of a proper warzone. Add one more to the count as Dom makes an entrance for herself to the generator. Fast, effective, entertaining as hell, and the shockwave is nice and warm!

The room containing the generator is downright impressive, which leaves her wondering where all of the power coming out of it is going. Something big is happening around here, alright... Whatever it happens to be, it was enough to draw the interest of this second group. She's not alone in this room, and the other guy isn't at all familiar to her. Fortunately, their goals seem to be running parallel thus far. Neither side has attacked the other. The chances of them playing nicely together seem ..curiously good.

The point is further proven when ol' Laser-Eye takes a shot at the generator. Domino stands well clear, taking the moment to pop out the spent mag from her rifle and slap a new one home. Up from one to six. <<Be advised boys, our mystery guests here seem to have a similar investment in this place. Generator's going down. Thank the man with the laser stare if you get the chance.>>

Who the hell -are- these guys, and what are they doing out here?

No time like the present to keep moving. <<Starting internal recon, how's it looking topside?>>


<<The Indivino Group're on the run, so all looks clear so far... hold on a minute.>>

Yeah, the poor lady who's sneaking out towards the camp's outer edge? Is about to get a few warning shots, in front of her sneaking path. Just basically warning shots in her paths, till she stands still. <<So, anything of interest in there? Because you're in big trouble if you blow up another volcano without me.>>


|"Good man!"| Wolverine shouts over screams and gunfire. |"These friends'a ours seem to be on the same page."|

It takes a few seconds, but the series of small, internal explosions set off by Cyclops' blast progress to larger ones, each sending flaming bits of wreckage flying every which way. Connected as they are, it isn't long before the devastation wracking that one device spreads around the ring; soon, the first tap explodes, sending a jet of hot magma shooting up into the air.

Eventually, there'll be nothing /but/ smoke and fire and gushing magma in there; a armoured dome makes for a rather dangerous setting when everything inside is blowing the hell up.

The first warning shot stops the woman in her tracks, but she's still a bit jumpy afterwards, as if trying to figure out which way she'll need to break and run to shake Arsenal's aim. Given three or four more, though, she'll settle right down; she even puts her hands up, albeit uncertaintly. And still loosely holding a blaster up in one hand.



"That's a relief," Cyclops says to Logan via com, but his eyes seem to take in Dom. As hot magma begins spilling, it's clear it's time to go. He gives Dom a curt nod, but says nothing before trying to get out post haste.


<<Scratch that, this place is about to have some serious acid reflux.>> Pause. <<It wasn't me, Arsenal!>>

A blown generator Domino could have worked around. A chain reaction causing the geothermal vent some serious distress is slightly more terminal. Cyclops over there is acknowledged with a sharp incline of her head, though it's the last thing she does while standing still. Anything else down here will have to be abandoned. They may lose some answers, but it's going to be a total write-off for all of Indivino. Silver linings.

<<Prep yourselves, kids. We may have to make a speedy exit.>> But, at least she isn't cold anymore! Definitely not while sprinting for the nearest way out of the generator room. Soon enough, they'll all get to share in the fun and games that is determining what all is going to happen once the power is lost.


Taking aim at the blaster still left in the soldier's hand, Roy fires, before grunting. <<Damn it, Domino! Next time, _I_'m going in! I don't care how lucky -you- are... oh heck, speedy exit, eh? Guess I'd better grab a few prisoners... think the lady'll sing for me?>>

And if he's -sure- the lady has no hidden weapons, well, he'll show himself, and motion for her to get over here, FAST. Maybe she'll be more motivated after listening to the chain reaction.


Some of the scientists fleeing from their large, outdoor laboratory stationed near the generator have probably never run so fast in their life as they are now, but being right next to a catastrophically failing experimental power source will do that. Roy'll probably have a great view of them streaming out of that large tent as the power goes off around the camp and the booms from within the dome grow too loud to be contained by its armoured shell; by the time Domino and Scott make it outside, they'll be treated to a much closer view of the bemused and frightened researchers as they frantically mill around and and debate exit strategies.

According to one woman's screeching, they only dumped /some/ of the data before the power went out; judging from another man's shouts, it'll be /days/ before anyone comes to pick them up, if they're unlucky. A couple are already adamantly decreeing that they won't - or /can't/ - face jail time. Or the review board; both fears seem to carry a similar amount of weight for them.

Out in the wilderness, the cornered guardswoman grunts, lets her weapon drop, and begrudgingly - even with the chaos unfolding at the camp, she doesn't seem particularly eager to comply - approaches Roy, hands raised. "Who are you even /with/?" she hisses, angry - and perhaps a little envious - as she squints at the redhead.


"Cyclops to Wolverine," Cyclops says as he's running through the fray. "Any word on the friendlies? If they're the bag it then tag it sort, we'll leave pick up to them." He runs past many of the scientists, and instead, starts to fiddle with something on his wrist in order to gauge how far the Blackbird is.


This makes two volcanic eruptions in the same month for at least two of the people out this way. The last one had been from a much safer distance. This close to ground zero, it's really quite terrifying! <<Only if you can manage them, Arsenal. This is last call guys, make your play then haul ass!>>

With so many people scrambling about topside, trying to keep tabs of just one person is quite the challenge. Wherever that other meta has run off to, he's left to rely upon his own team again. Domino throws the rifle across her back, unable to shake the feeling that they're leaving something big, something -important- behind. They just didn't have the time to do a proper recon! Nothing left now but another fire sale. They did have the time to form an exit strategy before going in, which is now seeing proper use.

<<Falling to evac, call if you need any fire support!>>



"SHIELD," Roy grins, motioning. "C'mon. Might as well get gettin' before the thing goes up."

Tapping into his earpiece, Roy responds, <<Well, they're swarming out there, but they don't seem armed. I'm not even wading in there without a few more soldiers. Calling in support. Uh... how far are we supposed to evac anyway, ya think?>>


|"Works for me,"| Wolverine transmits as he sprints from the tent. He trusts that Martin'll be along in his own time--perhaps after some zip tying, if Cyclops' guess is correct.

The Blackbird is a few klicks away, in a clearing near a relatively friendly native settlement. None of the scientists make any move to stop Cyclops as he runs past them, mostly because they're too busy worried about themselves; one of the guys worrying about jail time has actually progressed to full blown sobbing.

"Fuck," Roy's prisoner exhales with a measure of grudging respect. "Figures; I /knew/ this--this watching grown men root around in the dirt and play with dinosaurs crap was a bullshit assignment. Pay was too--"

Before she can vent her frustrations any further, a gout of fire suddenly bursts through the dome, and it's closely followed by a series of explosions down the mountain's tapped face. The pipes running into the mountain are blown clear off, and magma pulses from the wounds like molten blood. More explosions follow, but they're largely - /largely/ - centered on the generator itself; when it's all said and done, there'll be little left of the dome structure but a broken, half-formed facade to partially shelter the slagged machinery beneath from the Savage Land.


"Meet you back at the bird. Head north." Cyclops says as he continues to sprint in an eerily calm fashion despite the chaos around him. He makes it to the treeline and disappears into the woods, leaving Logan on his own to find his way. He's not concerned about that at all.


<<Far.>>

The sudden rush of fire and additional detonations only further support Domino's curt response to Roy's inquiry.

<<-Really- far.>>

It's getting a little tricky trying to run full-tilt with the ground always shaking! Good thing she's well practiced with this obstacle. Just run, run and don't look back. Pretty soon she can add volcano dodging to her list of skills, too. <<Hey, Arsenal. What did one survivalist say to the other?>>

<<Armageddon outta here!>>



<<Greeaaaat. I'll grab the parkas, meet you out near the entrance. Martin's probably found a prisoner to interrogate, so we'll...>>

There's a brief pause, and then a groan. <<You're buying the drinks for -that- joke, Dom,>> Roy grimaces. There's a brief pause as Roy assesses the situation, down to whether it was worth keeping a guardswoman, before motioning. "Better get the heck out of here, things're about to explode." And then Roy waits till she runs, making sure she doesn't get a chance to shoot him in the back, before -going-.

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