|The Blüdhaven Tea Party|
|What: Ravager and a squad of her mercenaries assault the Silvermane Family as they try to collect a fresh shipment of drugs and other supplies meant to help them establish a foothold in Blüdhaven.|
A container ship pulls into Blüdhaven Bay well after midnight as a stevedore skeleton crew looks on. The manifest claims that it's entirely full of clothes and accessories from Italy; the small army of men in track suits approaching the ship from a nearby parking lot suggest otherwise, with their lethal back bulges and empty duffels. At the head of the group is a middle-aged man in an actual suit - a dark gray affair that probably cost someone a fair amount of money - with a metal briefcase in hand.
As the lionshare of the stevedores set about unloading the shipment, one of them - also older, with a crown of black hair around his otherwise bald head - races up to the man leading the newcomers and offers a hand, which is looked at but not taken.
"Yeah, well," he grunts a moment later as his hands are tucked into his pits. "Right-- well. You need any help from my guys, you just lemme know. Same arrangement we useta have with the Ghost Dragons before-- well." He looks down, rubs the back of his neck for a moment. "Y'know. That Deathstroke loony."
The track suits are already moving past the pair to board the ship; there are a few containers that the stevedores know better than to unload-- at least, until after the Silvermanes have had their pick. "Lou, c'mon," the guy in gray says with a smile too big and tight to be sincere and a hand on Lou's shoulder, "'s a nice night out here. We're gettin' healthy, you and your boys are gettin' paid; whyddya gotta go and ruin it by bringin' up that stronzo?"
"I know, I know, sorry, just-- guess it's kinda hard to shake. Was a crazy few months--"
As stevedores and button men alike work their way around the mountains of cargo heaped atop the ship, a black chopper makes a whisper-quiet pass over the bay with no lights of any kind of any kind to help it stand out in the night sky. A quartet of black loudspeakers hangs from its belly.
"-- guys in fruity masks butcherin' everyone who didn't fall in line with 'em--"
Gloved hands deftly plug a rainbow of wires into the mixing board pressed against the rear wall of the chopper's passenger area. A series of *CLICK!*s sound as guns are loaded and texts are sent.
"-- they shot the goddamn mayor! The mayor, for chrissakes! -- but, enh, you're right, you're right; not really the time. Guess you had to be there, and honestly? Yer lucky you weren't. Damn lucky."
"It was a very traumatic time," the man in gray exhales. "But it's over now, yeah? City's almost back to normal; let's just count our blessings and--"
A veritable orchestra of strings begin playing a melody that is as simple - just a few quick notes repeated over and over again - as it is deafening, as if this exchange of illicit goods and services is taking place at a free concert nobody bothered to advertise. At first, reactions are mixed: there are plenty of grimaces and yelps of shock and/or pain, but only a few people linger to look around for the source of the noise or draw guns; most take it as a sign to hurry the hell up because someone is clearly near the area. Or-- having one hell of a loud party.
A voice filtered and distorted down to a positively demonic register momentarily interjects, as do a siren-like noise and crystal-clear triangle hits that send cracks shooting across windows and windshields.
And then an 808 booms so explosively that every bit of glass on the wharf shatters. Not only is it accompanied by the machine gun staccato of frenetic hi-hats, it is followed by many, many more melodic bombs.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS--" is as far as the man in gray gets before crumbling after one of his eyes is suddenly replaced by a red geyser.
"JESUS CHRIST!" Lou screeches as more bullets ping off of containers and pavement and burst through skulls. He frantically looks for cover, the briefcase abandoned as he sprints for the nearest stack of empty containers.
Grapple lines - easily a dozen, if not more - shoot out of the water and hook onto the ship's railing. Men and women wearing visored, rebreather-equipped helmets with their black, VSG-logoed wetsuits swiftly climb their lines with assault rifles strapped to their backs. A couple pause long enough to unholster sidearms and return fire at the rare man who is simultaneously not too badly disoriented by the ruckus to function and is aware of the boarders; others wait until they've finished boarding to draw guns or knives and commence clearing the ship.
Combined with the chopper providing them bird's eye intel, the containers form a lethal maze designed to give VSG's operatives a confined, controlled theater for slaughtering the Silvermanes. The stevedores are largely ignored, with the exception of one who gets the bright idea to try getting the drop on an operative with a crowbar; he succeeds in giving her a nasty bicep bruise, but gets a knife to the throat for his trouble.
Another line unfurls from the 'copter, a black thread barely visible against the black backdrop of the night. A slender figure decked from neck to toe in black and navy combat gear glides effortlessly downwards, white locks fluttering free of her black and burnt orange helmet. A good five, maybe eight feet out from from touching down on the deck, she springs free of her line and tucks into a tight ball falling towards a man sprinting towards the gangway with a half-empty bag of drugs. When she inevitably unfolds, the moon glints off of a pair of wickedly sharp blades for a brief moment before they snap together and send the guy's head sailing onto the dock.
One of the many containers yet to be unloaded begins to rumble, but it can't be heard over the apocalyptic strings and 808s-- nor can the metal-on-metal clanging and electric bellows coming from within be cleanly distinguished from the sounds of carnage now dominating the bay.
It's funny how small the world of crime is Croc was just coming here to clean up some left overs himself and raise some capital. He's investing heavily in a new university and he needs some more revenue to support that and his ongoing projects to make life better for the criminals of Gotham. He and his men didn't have a plan quite as fancy as the spectacular show being put on now. They were just going to drive up in vans and truck then slaughter everyone. The 'Hit it very hard' method.
One of the advanced scouts reported back to Croc's men about what's happening with the sudden thematic invasion and he tells his men to stand by. He wants to see how this plays out. There are so many potential bosses in Gotham. He wants to see which one is behind this and if he needs to feast on their hearts or not. He did wear his wife beater tank top, so he is ready for some heart-eating. Lets hope for the best!
Lurking a dock or two down, the Winter Soldier is crouched behind some crates. He has his sniper rifle out, using it to peer over the crate's top and keep an eye on the proceedings. --Our intel was good; Silvermane's people are there. If we circle around, we should be able to place our tracker and with any luck no one will think anything's wro---- he breaks off abruptly when all hell proceeds to break loose, ducking behind the crate and wincing from the overpowering noise, even from this distance. Still, he doesn't cover his ears, keeping his hands firmly on his gun. --The hell??-- (--Russian.)
Black Widow isn;t a sniper, so she was depending on Winter's Soldier's scope to know what was going on. She was in her normal 'mission' gear, black combat suit and yellow gauntlets - excapt on each shoulder is a red tentecled insignia - the emblem of HYDRA. What? --I hate dealing with riffraff, but a mission's a mission.-- she replies to the man calmly, hardly flinching as the noise starts. --Hmm, this is a complication, Uchitel. Too hot to plant a tracker.-- (--Russian.)
With no idea who VSG is, or what the hell is going on, Reflex was out trying her version of a -patrol-. It's just a good thing she didn't bring her new Gotham Knights bat with her, it might get broken tonight. But.. she was atop a building near the waterfront with a tiny pair of operage glasses doing the job of binoculars. She lay down atop the building near the edge to stare into the distance at the incoming watercraft. Of course, the explosions caught her off guard too, and she totally froze up... "What the hell?" she asks softly, wishing she had a comm device to talk to someone who she might think of as a potential mentor. But... either way, the chopper gets her attention and she unfreezes to adjust her view that way... narrowing her eyes and for now just... watching.
"Nicholas, goddamnit, what's going on over there?! Report! Stop making all that ruckus and tell me what the hell is happening! We didn't bring your fat ass all the way over here so you could sit on it and throw TANTRUMS-- GET OUT THERE AND BUST SOME FUCKIN' HEADS IF YOU HAVE TO, BUT GIMME A GODDAMN REPORT!"
While Deathstroke terrorized Blüdhaven some months ago, the private security firm known as Vigilance Security Group was brought in to help maintain some semblance of order.
It would seem that while they've stuck around following Slade's downfall, their operating procedures have changed somewhat.
There are still a few men in the chopper: a pilot, a spotter, and a couple of sharpshooters. The craft makes slow, broad passes over the ship so that the spotter can keep tabs on the situation below for the elements on 'the ground' and the shooters both; the shooters are mostly just trying to pick off runners and anyone else on the periphery of the action. Eventually, the Winter Soldier draws their attention, but his apparent reluctance to take up arms against either side keeps him from being a target for the moment. Turning an unknown into a guaranteed threat would probably be unwise, after all-- especially when he's toting a rifle of his own.
Lou is not aware of the other guy using the container stacks for cover-- at least, until he happens to bolt from behind his own stack when a bullet ricochets a little too close to him, runs for a few feet, then trips, tumbles, and does not stop tumbling until he bumps the Soldier.
Or, well, just sort of flops near where the Soldier was hunkered down, if he's perceptive enough to note and react to the stevedore's approach.
"F-- " he stammers upon seeing the gun and beginning to crawl backwards on his ass, "-- F-- FUCKING-- JESUS--!"
After a crouched landing, Rose sheaths her weapons, vaults to the top of a container stack, and draws a pistol as she runs along it. Any tracksuits she happens to see get two to the head, and while her positioning makes it hard for them to hide from her, they are beginning to pull themselves together well enough to return fire now that the initial shock and awe has passed. This makes Rose a prime target, which means that running and shooting quickly becomes flipping and jumping and squeezing off the occasional shot whenever the opportunity arises.
VSG operatives begin to go down as Silvermanes manage to get the drop on, or corner the mercenaries; the 'copter' can't feed them all pertinent, up to the minute, lifesaving intel, after all. The stevedores mostly hide and flee, as a lack of arms and sufficient pay makes trying to fight these armored lunatics an unattractive proposition.
Dents begin studding the rumbling, roaring crate. The containers stacked on top of it tip this way and that until the topmost one actually tumbles over and crushes a mercenary and a Silvermane going at it in hand to hand due to malfunctioning weapons. Above, the spotter, well, spots the commotion, but by the time it's reported...
... the cantankerous cargo decides to step things up in its-- his-- desire to be free. A section of the container glows red hot, then explodes outwards in a shower of slag as a massive, blue metal gauntlet smashes through it.
Nine feet of Sicilian, cybernetic muscle thunders out of his prison, his bellows of frustration nearly overcoming the music now that he's outside. Once he has had a few moments to allow his sensors to adjust and pick up the source of the cacophony, his roar gives way to the rush of jetfire as he turns, his jaw splits open, and a rocket races towards the 'chopper.
Ravager, her VSG operatives, and many of their victims stop killing, stop running, stop fighting long enough to look up at the unexpected explosion blossoming in the air, the flaming wreckage spiraling towards the bay-- and then the mechanical monstrosity with a maniacal and entirely too wide grin responsible for it.
The men in Crock's convoy are ordered to park the vehicles and stand by. He orders the snipers he brought to take positions on the boat as crock himself gets out of the van he was riding in the back of and to casually walk towards the ship. He is taking his time, just strolling down the street and watching the events with his hands behind his back interlocked as if nothing in the world is unusual about a giant crocodile having a stroll. He casually observes the events down the block as he strolls along listening to his men over the radio stuck to the side of his head.
"This is Eagle 1, in position." a voice says over the radio in Croc's ear, "Sir, the reports were wrong. This ain't just guns. They's got some kinda battle cyborg. " then another voice checks in as another sniper sets up on a rooftop and scopes out the situation, "Eagle 3, in position. The attackers seem to be VSG security forces. I thought they disbanded after their boss died?"
Croc says casually, "Set up the smoke launchers. Target the deck of the ship. Everyone else, set up a perimeter. If the cyborg makes it past me, you have to take it down and harvest it. " as he continues his nice slow walk towards the chaos letting it unfold, letting all his potential enemies kill and wound each other. It's so nice when people do most of the work for you!
Winter Soldier is unphased when Lou rounds the corner and nearly slams into him. As the thug is scrambling back, the Winter Soldier backhands him almost absently with his metal arm-- he really doesn't seem to care much one way or the other if it knocks him out or knocks him dead. He just nods up to the helicopter calmly, still speaking to Widow-- --Someone's taking out Silvermane. HYDRA's going to want to know who.-- (--Russian.)
He pauses as the helicopter hovers near them before moving on. --Spotted us. Let's clip their wings---- he swaps out the sniper rifle for a grenade launcher, eyeing the copter.. just as a rocket slams into it in an eruption of fire. The soldier's eyes narrow at the cyborg creature that just broke onto the scene, only to be obscured as Croc's people launch a smoke cover. He launches the grenade at the cyborg instead, before the cover can become total. --New plan; use the smoke to plant the tracer in one of Silvermane's crates. I'll distract them.-- this last said simply, assumedly in reference to whatever his grenade hit. (--Russian.)
Black Widow doesn't even glance back at her companion when she hears the whump of someone getting a metal backhand. She keeps her eyes on the unfolding battle, looking away only when the heli explodes. --Well, that just happened. More exciting than anticipated.-- The Russian spy glances at her comrade, giving him a short nod. --I'll get it done, Uchitel.-- She takes a breath - and darts towards the confusion, quickly fading into the smoke, heading towards the shipment containers with a tracing beacon in her hand. (--Russian.)
Doesn't it suck when your reflexes kick in and make you charge forward before your brain really realizes what it's doing? Well, worthy of her moniker, Reflex has already leapt from the rooftop and thrown a liquid metal grapnel line out to catch on one of the cranes at the waterfront, and she's hurtling through the air in her all black outfit, jeans, halter top, trenchcoat, domino mask, fingerless gloves -and- biker boots. Oh.. right, and silver metal looking skin. Anyhow.. she reaches the apex of her swing when she wonders silently . . o o O O (What the HELL are you doing girl?!) But.. she retracts her swingline/grapnel and unfurls membranes out to catch the air and slow her descent. She's headed... right into the thick of it. It's not like she actively chose that, but.. she lands right in the middle of a bunch of combatants and says aloud, "Bob?! From the office? What are -you- doing here?!" And.. then she's going into evasive movements.
You see, her brain does move fast, just sometimes not as fast as the rest of her. But she's already assuming gunfire will be coming her way, and her adrenaline is up... her body moving like something out of The Matrix... twisting and turning, ducking and weaving faster than the human body is supposed to be able to move. Also, like that movie.. a couple rounds are unavoidable, but she still manages to turn direct hits into grazes along her metallic flesh by rolling with them. Of course, she's not trying to reach the battle-borg... but the odds are she'll be a bit too close to him either way. Then... hey, is that a gigantic bullet coming in? She watches, tracking the grenade Winter Soldier fired... and drops to the ground just before it goes off, minimizing explosive shockwave effect to her.
Lou goes out like a light. This way, at least, he is less less likely to draw a stray bullet from someone with jumpy nerves and too much spare ammo.
Overt-Kill actually watches the Winter Soldier's grenade on its way in; there's green smoke billowing everywhere, true, but he has fancy robot senses to help. For him, the grenade is a bright orange baseball headed his way.
A bright orange baseball that he 'catches' by spreading his arms wide to give it a clear path to his chest, cackling like a goddamned lunatic the entire time.
"Oh, please spare me your wrath, little mercenaries!" Overt-Kill gleefully bellows over the sound of the grenade exploding against his chest. It causes him to stagger backwards through corridors barely large enough to contain him, and even leaves ugly black scorch marks on his synthetic skin, but it does not put a dent in his good cheer. A pencil-thin red beam from his eye/scope sweeps the haze as he collects himself, marking targets all over the ship-- and, eventually, the shore.
Ravager is regretting her decision to style on the Silvermanes by raining lead on them from above, meanwhile. The grenade's blast wave catches her mid-evasion, before she has a chance to steady herself on a container; thus, she goes flying over the edge and has to tumble a ways before she's able to roll up to her feet. Once she's upright, she taps a tiny switch on her mask to swap its lenses to infrared with a growl, then begins racing through the containers to find the cyborg-- or, failing that, more Silvermanes to pick up; lack of a spotter is obnoxious, but Overt-Kill is loud as hell.
For example: once the cyborg is braced following his game of catch, he points both arms up at an angle, flips his right fist back, and fires a series of grenades. Some land on the ship, but others arc towards the Winter Soldier's position; Overt-Kill does not care about aggroing the unknowns, even if he can't prove that the unknown actually did fire on him. He is entirely too busy basking in the carnage to notice Black Widow's stealthy movements, but that might not prevent the explosives he's raining indiscriminately from veering her way--!
Reflex came down in a mixed group, but it's one of the Silvermanes who elects to take a swipe at her first, coming at her with a knife taken from a merc; the VSG operatives are too focused on trying to pin the remaining mobsters down, which ties most of the others up. They do join her in hitting the deck in the wake of Winter Soldier's explosive first shot, but as soon as it's safe, they pop up to begin fighting once more.
At least, most of them do; Rose pops one of the Silvermanes before he can make it up to his feet as she races through a nearby lane. A few beets afterwards, she wheels around to step into the intersection, now sporting two handguns. One is pointed at Reflex; the other, she uses to continue taking shots at Silvermane guys.
"Who-- " *BANG!* "-- the fuck-- " *BANG!* "-- are you with?!" the presses the vigilante.
Croc strolls up between the buildings and takes out a cigar lighting it as he watches the mayhem unfold, "Eagles, keep an eye on the silver skinned girl. Keep her alive." assigning them to watch over Reflex. After he's done lighting his cigar he takes out his camera phone and twists a little metal stick that is attached to it out from the phone. Then he pulls it out, telescoping it outward into an almost two foot long antenna looking metal rod.
While his people are busy watching the battle Crock steps out under a street light and turns his back to the ship then he sticks out his arm holding the selfy-wand on his phone and taking a couple of pictures of him with the battle in the background for his girl-friend. Sure, there is a life and death battle going on around him, grenades exploding everywhere but man, does the chaos make a great backdrop for selfies. One of the pictures has a guy's arm flying by in the background as Croc flexes and makes sexy eyes at the camera. Ok, as sexy as they get when your eyes are red, reptilian eyes.
Winter Soldier tsks, seeing first the red laser sweep out from the fog only to be followed by a return volley of grenades. He scoops up the sniper rifle and bolts to avoid the explosions, leaving his own launcher behind; it likely makes an especially impressive explosion when it is hit, perhaps convincing some of his observers that he is no longer a concern. Too bad about Lou, though.
The Winter Soldier weaves behind more dock detritus, getting further from the hot zone, and eventually climbing onto a taller pile of crates. He's dressed darkly and keeps low to avoid being seen-- With this much distance and the helicopter down, he now starts quietly reporting over the radio to Black Widow whatever intel he can make out through the fog, and readies his rifle for when it's clear enough to allow him a covering shot-- or another go at that cyborg. Maybe with a few cool seconds to study it, a weak spot will present itself.
Black Widow does her best to stay out of sight and sound - relying on her training to stay safe. She radios Winter Soldier back with a calm affirmative, seeming unconcerned that she's basically in the middle of a warzone. Of course, she has to dodge rockets and fighting mobsters and mercs, so she's somewhat winded by the time she reaches her target - an undisturbed crate, untouched by the battle. She affixes the tracker discreetly. --Now what?-- she radios quietly, crouching in the dark. --That - machine, was not expected.-- (--Russian.)
And... damnit, smoke. Reflex is already down on the ground when she realizes the smoke is growing thick enough to interfere with her senses. So... while everyone else is jumping to their feet, she's already kipped up and dived off of the container to reach the ground below. She doesn't have souped up senses, and by the time Rose's gun is pointed her way, she's already gone from where she was. Her reactions are quite literally hundreds of times faster than normal. "Ow." she mutters... reaching a hand up to rub a shoulder where one of the bullets creased her. See... reflexes are one thing, but.. she spoke aloud. That's a no-no. With the thick smoke, that was enough for a couple gunmen to get a bead on her, and suddenly a chatter of AK-47 fire goes off, and Reflex didn't see it coming.
Next thing she knows, her nanotech is fighting to repair internal damage. But it -hurts-. She's.. conscious, but now crawling into cover with a bit of a whimper. Oh yeah, and a trail of red on the deck of the ship as she tries to find some place to hide and lick her wounds. Maybe those medical supplies she carries in her pack for -others- might come in handy here. The gunmen who fired at her reload, and are starting to head down, seeing her blood trail as they start to zero in on her location. It may be a good time for her guardian reptile to help out...
Ravager follows the silver-skinned stranger's movements out from under the barrel of her gun. Reflex is not the only girl with a heightened ability to track and react to movement, but she very well might be too fast for Ravager to keep up with. This leaves her struggling not to be a step behind the vigilante's evasive maneuvers until they cease and Reflex opens her mouth.
A couple of Silvermane thugs open fire; the one takes a bullet to the head shortly afterwards, but the damage is pretty much done. Rose takes a step towards the sticky red trail Reflex leaves behind in her search for cover, but after getting a sense of where it goes... she decides to leave the stranger to either be picked off, or bleed out, or-- something.
Really, she doesn't care a whole lot now that Reflex is down and unlikely to sway the fight one way or the other for the time being; there's still a cyborg to tend to, after all.
The one guy left to actually follow Reflex's path does so with zeal, figuring at this point that anyone who doesn't look like him or his pals is fair game. The rifle's ready; as soon as she's in his sights... !
"Keep your ass down!" she shouts with her eyes on the corner Reflex's trail disappears around. Just in case she isn't properly hostile.
"NICHOLAS, fucking REPORT!" one of Silvermane's lieutenants screams into a cell phone. "I KNOW you're out there! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?! WATCH OUT FOR MY MEN DOWN THERE, YOU HEAR ME?! YOU keep an EYE on them, or your ass is SCRAP! I don't care WHO you know!"
VSG'S ROCKIN' BOAT PARTY
Overt-Kill's laser does another sweep that terminates early once Ravager is pin-pointed. He bellows, "Friends, have you ever had an employer who didn't know how to SHUT UP and let you do your JOB?!" in an electron-laced voice all the while. "Quite annoying! You do a thing for years, you build a reputation--"
Big as he is, he is quite nimble as he stalks through the spaces between containers to close in on the Terminator's position. This all gives the Winter Soldier plenty of time to study him, but without a closer look, or access to his schematics... the only obvious potential soft spots would appear to be his eyes, his mouth, his ears-- the human parts of him. The rest is heavy metal. If the Soldier could somehow sneak something in through one of his weapons apertures when the cyborg is in the middle of firing, that might also cause some disruption; whether or not a bullet would do the job is dubious, though. Given the way he took the grenade, it's a safe bet that his armor is pretty serious.
"-- you develop a real LOVE for your art, and for what? For WHAT?!" Pausing in front of a container, he drops low, his scope glows, and the tracking beam intensifies to the point where the container begins to melt. As soon as it's soft enough, he charges through, extending a hand to capture the girl he knows to be on the other side.
"To be YELLED at by-- hm." His fist closes around empty air, because Ravager is already somersaulting onto his arm. She manages to run a few steps along it and unload the rest of a clip into his skull - every round of which ricochets harmlessly - before he bucks her free.
Meanwhile, the Black Widow manages to apply her tracker without incident. Score one for espionage!
- CLICK!* *CLICK!*
Of course, not even five seconds after she does so, a couple of mercs sweeping for mobsters happen upon her and immediately raise their weapons. "Identify yourself!" one exclaims.
And meanwhile, on the shore: Killer Croc takes a dope selfie. #sexbomb.
"Sir, the package is in too hot. Suggest extraction. Should we engage?" one of the snipers asks into Crock's ear. He puts away his phone as he looks up at the cargo ship and says, "Focus on the cyborg keep him on deck, get Matt and 3 guards on that crane and play Yankees with that cyborg. I wanna see if he knows how to swim."
Of course that will take a while and from the sounds of it Reflex isn't going to last that long so once more Croc has to do the job of heroes. Croc turn and starts to run at the two.. no wait, one man with AK-47s after the silver skinned girl. His nice, calm Boss crock persona put aside for the moment he rushes along the dock like a freight train heavy foot steps barely audible over the sound of gun fire and explosions.
The large reptile man rushes into the gunman lifts him up into the air and keeps going right behind a shipping container on the docks. Reflex doesn't see exactly what happens to the men that shot her there is only a shadow cast on the side of the cargo ship for a few moments of the massive form of Killer crock as the man fires directly into Croc's chest but then he.. well... there are sounds and screams, the sound of flesh ripping, bones breaking. A hand falls limp at the edge of the container just visible around the corner but the voice of the man comes from several feet away as he begs for life... It only lasts for a moment then there is a snap and he never makes another sound.
Winter Soldier is watching as Rose unloads at point blank at the cyborg's head to no discernible effect. He radios back, --Do not fire on it. Target appears entirely immune to standard munitions.-- he pauses. --..Listen to me. I want you to hit it with one of your EMP stingers. I don't care where, and don't stick around. Hit it without being seen if you can, and then get the hell out of there, Nattie.-- this last said sternly. He settles himself, and keeps his sights on the cyborg-- if it happens to turn a weapon on his teammate, he's ready to take a shot at the threatening limb, and hopefully foul it's aim, even if it is likely to do little else to the well armored construct. (--Russian.)
--Understood, Uchitel. I won't do anything too reckless.-- There's a smile on the Black Widow's face, a rather warm one, as she replies to Winter Soldier. There's affection in her voice as well. That all fades in an instant when she hears two guns behind her. She raises her hands, standing up slowly. "Identify myself?" Her voice has a slight but noticable Russian accent as she turns to face the two men, extending her ands towards them to show that she's holding nothing.
Of course, she's never without a weapon. A twitch of her fingers, and tiny darts fly out, stricking the men and sending massive voiltage throug their bodies. It doesn;t kill them, though. "I am the Black Widow, Agent of HYDRA." she tells them, running past to head towards the cyborg. Orders were orders, after all. She'll try and tag the big guy, but she sure isn;t sticking around to see if the Widow's Bite actually hurt the thing. (--Russian.)
Crawl... crawl... pain... whimper. Reflex is on instinct right now. Her brain's higher functions are basically filled with.. ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.. and Ouch, just to keep things fresh. She reaches a dead end and her head turns left, then right... no way out from here. The guy's chasing her and she turns to peer up.... shivering in combined pain, fear, and shock. Of course, those are intensified at the shadows and sounds of the shooter being broken. By the time Croc can see her, she's had enough focus and presence of mind to grow a liquid metal shield to -try- to block anything that might be shot her way... and shw cowers behind it.
The mercs who had the misfortune of accosting the Black Widow go down in crackling, twitching heaps. There are puddles; it's pretty gross, but at least they're likely to remember this moment.
The VSG side of the encounter is doing somewhat better than the Silvermane side, but only because they got a head-start. That, and Overt-Kill is, thus far, so cheerfully homicidal that it's actually working against him in terms of acting as effective deterrent to the mercenaries, or security for the mobsters. There are several dead and dying due to bombs, shrapnel, and bullets. Not to mention that falling container.
Ravager leaves a deep indentation in the container she eventually 'lands' against before rolling off to hit the ground. There isn't much of a delay in getting up, but there definitely is one, and it gives the cyborg time to advance on her with steps accompanied by tremors and whirring machinery.
Bullets begin bouncing off of the flesh and metal parts of his body when he's just a few steps away, causing him to pause and sweep for the shooters. Most of the VSG operatives are giving O-K a wide berth; some of them actually saw that grenade stunt through their visors, and word travelled quickly. The laser paints one of Croc's snipers crouched atop a building facing the ship and the cyborg's grin widens.
The upper half of his body does an almost 180-degree twist towards the man. Another bullet pings off of his bared teeth as he extends his left arm and lets the tips of his fingers fold back, exposing a multitude of barrels that spray bullets through the night sky. It's a lot of ammunition for one man, but Overt-Kill did not get his name by picking out of a hat.
No more mobsters come looking for Reflex, at least not at the moment. Not only are their numbers perilously low, one of them just got eaten by a goddamned werecrocodile.
A VSG merc close enough to Croc's meal does, however, unclip a flashbang from her vest and chuck it at the monstrous crime boss, hoping to disorient him while she brings her weapon to bear and tries to finda soft spot to shoot him in. An ear, an eye-- anything but those scales.
While Overt-Kill is busy returning fire, Ravager has enough time to pick herself up off the ground and dump her pistols in favor of a sword. His sensors register movement from her direction, but by that point, she's already springing towards him. Her legs wrap around his arm and shoulder before he knows it, and with a battlecry of, "MotherFUCKER!" her sword plunges through his ear, bringing up a fountain of sparks and oil.
Instantly, his joy turns to fury and he flails wildly for a few moments. Ravager manages to avoid being snatched off of him by leaping free in time, but she can't quite keep herself from being swatted out of the air afterwards.
All in all, it's pretty good timing; the Black Widow's bite sticks in his synthetic skin as Ravager and her freshly bloodied nose fly away, sending massive quantities of electricity through and across his body. Rage mingles with pain in the cyborg's roars and smoke pours out of the hole in the side of his head. He remains standing - and, given a couple of seconds, begins turning towards the source of his latest torment, still with electricity visibly coursing over his frame - but his movements are labored, now.
Killer Croc walks out from behind the cover of the container and moves towards the girl in her shield just in time to have a grenade tosses at him. He catches it in his mouth with a snap and bites it cleanly in two. The top of the grenade drops to the ground at his feet, sparks and flares lighting up the form of the mega-reptile as he spits out the grenade like an old cigar.
Looking at the women who is aiming her gun at him the Crocodile man says calmly, "Don't be rude. I's don't like rude people." then he looks at her just towering there, ready to kill her if she attacks him but not taking action against her.
Winter Soldier calmly watches the conflict centered around the cyborg, mentally jotting down details. Since the sword was able to pierce his head, and the Widow's Bite hurt and slowed him, why not try for a hat trick? He takes his aim carefully, aided by the cyborg being slowed.. and tries to shoot his roaring mouth while the cyborg turns after Widow.
Black Widow glances briefly at the cyborg as it screams at her. --That would have incapacitated a human. That thing has serious electrical protection.-- she notes to her comrade. However, her mission here is done, there's no reason for her to stick around. --Meet you at fallback point Beta.-- And then she's runing as fast as she can. (--Russian.)
Sniper shells are no problem for Overt-Kill and his Sicilian engineering! Usually. When they're bouncing off of his armored outsides.
He doesn't often take shells to the throat, though, and it becomes painfully obvious that someone probably ought to consider reinforcing some of his insides when the Winter Shoulder's expertly placed round races through the big, angry aperture of his mouth to ricochet down his steel-plated esophagus on its way towards eventually tunneling through several vital machinery. When all is said and done, he feels as if he's just eaten a sausage and ghost pepper sub with extra peppers as tiny but effective explosions sound from within his gut. Armored hands fall to his stomach as he wobbles to and fro and sends containers tumbling to the deck.
Ravager, who managed to catch the edge of a container and flip herself into a hunched position atop it, holds back from launching into another attack to see if she'll need to avoid his wounded flailing. Also, to point and laugh at him.
Also-also, to snap a couple shots with her mask's lenses. #cyberfails.
"KILL-- *kssht!*-- YOU-- *krrsh!*" he swears amidst static. Ravager, the Widow, the Soldier, the mecernaries-- even he isn't sure who he's screaming at, at this point. All of them, really. His torso rights itself as machine gun fingers spray the ship and the docks indiscriminately-- and then keeps on twisting, apparently out of his control given the way his body lurches and his intensifying roars. Ravager hits the deck; so do the remaining mercenaries and mobsters.
"You don't belong here!" the merc with Croc shouts after dropping to safety. "Not unless you're suddenly interested in keeping the city from devolving back into the cesspool it used to be-- we've got files on you, buddy! We sure as hell aren't here to get ourselves into the drug game!"
She holds off on opening fire, despite clearly being dubious of Croc's very presence. She doesn't stop aiming at him, of course, but he's a seven-foot tall killing machine, so she generally feels that she is warranted in keeping her weapon handy.
"-- ALL-- *kssrsh!*-- OF YOU! EVE*kssg!*RY LAST-- *krsssh!* O--"
Busy as he is trying to kill everything that moves, Overt-Kill does not realize that there are people - Croc's people - in the cargo crane. He doesn't notice that the arm is moving, didn't see it grab one of the containers while most everyone else was busy hitting the deck.
When he finally does catch sight of the swinging container, it is a split-second before the heavy metal object sends him flying into the bay where his battalion's worth of armor and weapons swiftly drag him and his bellowing beneath the surface.
"... Huh," Ravager exhales a beat later.
"Well, fuck that guy. Secure the vessel, people!"
Ravager and the other mercs retake their feet and spread out. Silvermane survivors hurry to their feet too, but they're more interested in running to the gangway or diving overboard, at this point. Their back-up was crazy, and is gone; the night's pretty much a wash at this point. A straggler or two is too slow to elude the mercenaries, but there aren't many more casualties once Overt-Kill is gone-- at least, on the mobster side.
The woman with Croc is on her feet too, still with her gun pointed towards him, but with her finger near, rather than on the trigger. Stepping back, she warily says, "There doesn't have to be any beef-- if you clear outta here. You're outnumbered; I'm willing to bet there are easier scores..."
The large reptile man looks at the woman as she points her gun at him and says, "Wait for it.." then he holds up a giant finger and looks up to the sky. A few moments later the cargo container swings overhead and slams into the killer cyborg. Then Croc looks back to the woman and says, "Yous welcome. Now I's going to take this girl to get help before she bleeds to death." then he turns his back on the SVG soldier and moves over to the cowering would-be hero. He catches some wild shots off his armor but at this distance most of them just ping off and he doesn't even seem to notice them. The lizard moves over to Reflex and kneels down next to her. Blood drips from his claws and chin as he looks down at her.
Croc turns his large head and looks down at the cowering girl curiously before asking, "Yous first gang war, huh?" he says further shielding her with his blood splattered body. The way he says it, it's like just another day at the office for him. "Not the best way to pop yous cherry. Yous need help getting out of the fire? I could take yous back to my house, get you all fixed up, call it an act of kindness that yous can re-cip-rocate later." Croc used a big word because he's trying to impress the girl. And.... she faints...
Croc should be use to this kind of thing, really it happens all the time. As the shield of metal drops and is reabsorbed back into Reflex's body Crock moves in closer, picking her up and carrying her like a small child in his giant arms shielding her with his body as he walks her out of the combat zone. "Good work guys. Yous all getting laid tonight." he tells the people on the radio. One of them says, "Pool party, Boss?" and Crock nods his head, "Fuckin-a, pool party boys! Lets move out. "