Poughkeepsie Attacks!!!: Team Big Blue

[gone_byebye]

The IBM Supercomputer Benchmarking Plant in Poughkeepsie lies at the center of an enormous corporate campus on the northern side of town. As far as Ray can tell, that's where the really hairy readings were coming from, although he could of course be wrong.

He's about to find out. Ecto pulls to a stop just outside the main entrance to the IBM property. "Are we good?" Ray asks.

Comments

[ultradreamer.livejournal.com]

Mirai comes running in, skidding to a stop, then throwing a salute. "Hibino reporting! G.I.G.!"

What? There's a crisis, he's reverting into 'how to deal with a crisis' mode as a human.

[basic_powers]

The mini-hero riding piggyback on Mirai drops off at the salute and tumbles before gathering himself up and giving Mirai a look.

They are so going to have a talk about sneaking around and how to carry people.

"Moon Shadow, reporting with cultist texts." He says before handing over the booklets. "It looks like they were trying to channel power to this place."

[precocioustilda.livejournal.com]

There's a sound approaching in the distance.

It sounds a little like WHURF WHURF WHURF.




Now it's a little more like WHURF WHURF WHURF (teehee!) WHURF WHURF WHURF.




The source of the sound, it becomes evident after a moment, is Matilda. Riding on Francis at top speed, giggling and holding Andrew telekinetically suspended a constant three relative feet in front of her, she makes... quite the spectacle.

Francis and his peculiar ensemble come to a halt at the fringe of the group and Tilda settles Andrew neatly to the ground.

"Hallo Ray," she says brightly. "I blew up a cough drop monster. How're you?"

[stilljustandrew]

*Andrew dusts himself off briskly.*

So do I take it the ally-ally-in-free means we found it?

[gone_byebye]

"Sure did, Andrew, Matilda," says Ray. "Hi, Francis."

"WHURF."

"Welcome back, Tyler, Hibino- I take it you disrupted their operation first? We haven't seen any particular signs of-"

Something green and glowing and hideously blobby and covered in multitudinous forming and re-forming and vanishing eyes glorphs through the other side of the park in pursuit of a cluster of running men. "Bullets won't stop it!" one of them wails before putting on a fresh burst of speed.

"-incoming new power. Ignore the shoggoths. A, they're on our side, B, they're actually animated restraining putty."

There's a series of metal-on-metal and electronic noises from behind where people are standing. "Daddy?" says the voice of a girl in the early stages of adolescence. "Are we ready now?"

"Just about, kiddo. Has anyone seen Flynn or Michael?"

Oh, yeah, this group is completely subtle and capable of staying out of sight...

[slayer_fray]

Mel doesn't go subtlety. Subtlety is for people who aren't Slayers. And maybe some Slayers who aren't Mel.

"I call the Nazis! she says cheerfully. Scythe is sheathed, gun is out, and she's already running. Apparently she trusts her dodge ability or her healing. One of those.

[gone_byebye]

When IBM hired the architects to design this park they put in a number of concrete bollards to keep people from driving in unless they were specifically authorized. There's exactly one opening wide enough for a vehicle to drive in that isn't currently festooned with the things, and that's the way Peck came.

We mention this because the Nazis in uniform can tell the difference between running-around-screaming and running-with-intent-to-commit-mayhem, and it might be wise for people to hide behind some of the bollards in question, or find some other cover.

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

Indy face-palms at Mel's exuberance.

"I guess that's my cue."

There's a shhlurrrrrrrp sound as he drains the last of his soda, then, tossing it into a nearby trash can, he heads off after her.

He has no plan. This is a 'making it up as I go along' phase.

[gone_byebye]

The biggest of the Nazis eyes the incoming pair and reaches up to thump the truck's bed with one fist. "Hey! Company!" he says; he's a man who practices economy of words.

Peck- who, unlike certain movie characters we could mention, has not bothered with replicating priestly regalia- looks up with wide, bugging eyes. "What are you waiting for?" he says. "Get them!"

The big fellow grins unwholesomely and takes aim at Indy, and his compatriots lock onto Mel. Peck starts dashing about the truck, flipping switches and twiddling with dials. It's not entirely a mad dash. He's extraordinarily careful not to cross over the police tape he's strung up at a six-inch distance from the Ark.

[slayer_fray]

Indy might not have a plan, but Mel does.

It involves skidding to a halt behind a bollard after firing one burst of energy at the guards.

It's not a good plan, but it's a plan.

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

It'll do.

Breaking out his revolver, Indy decides to follow Mel's lead. He takes a few on-the-fly shots at the man who's targeting him, and dives for the cover of the nearest bollard before the incoming gunfire rakes into him.

It's not best shelter. But it gives him a chance to reload.

Stupid six shooters.

[gone_byebye]

Pocka-pocka-pocka- there's bullet holes in the bollard, but the thing was designed to resist vehicle impact; they're craters, not tunnels. The big fellow scowls and drops to a kneeling position. It's steadier, and it means he presents less of a target. The two younger ones who were going after Mel, on the other hand, stagger backwards and fall over. It's enough to set the rest of the truck guards on edge, and while they're not going to go very far from the truck, they're definitely sweeping the area in search of anyone who doesn't belong there to shoot.

[slayer_fray]

For Mel, it's not a case of reloading, but ducking around and firing again as quick as possible to avoid being shot. Short bursts, and not well aimed, but a good shot from these will take her out for at least five minutes. Baselines last longer.

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

From Indy's crouch behind the concrete post, aiming accurately when he leans out to get a round off is not easy. He's a decent shot, but he's not used to targeting body-parts that won't kill. As such, he finds himself in a semi-stalemate with the big enemy gunner.

After his third reload, Indy decides he's had enough of this particular situation, and looks around for alternative targets. Someone, something, anything, that might break the deadlock.

His eyes come to rest on a generator that's being used to power the vast amounts of electronica on board the flatbed. More specifically, they come to rest on the fuel barrels that are lined up by its side. Hoping they still contain some fuel, and hoping that said fuel hasn't deviated much from the flammable kerosene that's used to power generators in his time, he unloads six rounds at the barrels...

[gone_byebye]

Few gunners in the United States ever really get the chance to practice on moving targets other than ducks. These men have discipline, but they've never hunted, and most of them have never been to a police firing range. They're good at hitting things that hold still, but Mel's darting and firing is confounding to their aim, and it means another guard drops to the ground. A fourth drops his gun and starts screaming, fingers gone nerveless; the one who'd been hit by Mel's gun's discharge had brushed up against him in his collapse, and the stunner's field was conducted across.

He is, by local standards, one of the lucky ones. Because those barrels? They've still got a nice bit of fuel in them. The resultant BRRRABOOOM! sends several guards flying and destroys two of the flatbed's outer tires, making those shots the most economical uses of ammunition yet on Indy's part. (And inducing greater urgency and screaming on Walter Peck's part, although if anyone can hear "Idiots! Morons! You said you knew what you were doing!" over the ringing in the ears left by the explosion, we'll be very surprised.)

[slayer_fray]

"Nice one."

Mel, however, is sick of ducking and firing. This time she's out from behind the bollard and running forward. Or rolling forward mostly. Moving targets are always best.

Tacking like a boat among the firing range, she's aiming to run into the big gunman.

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

"Ace would be proud," Indy calls back as his fingers pull new bullets from belt loops and drop them into empty chambers of his gun's cylinder.

Before Mel reaches her (prey) foe, Indy launches himself sideways, away from the bollard, and fires another volley at him. Distraction is the primary objective, but if a bullet happens to find its mark, so much the better.

[gone_byebye]

Either he was clipped or he felt the bullet's passage. It's hard to tell from the way he jumped, and there's still too much smoke from the kerosene explosion to see whether he's bleeding or not. The big fellow starts swearing up a storm, wiping at his eyes and emptying his gun at anything moving that doesn't look like it's one of his people.

The smoke works two ways, though. It's not much in the way of cover for Mel, but it's enough to divert his fire a few times as she leads every firearm in the park on a merry chase.

[slayer_fray]

One of these days Mel is going to get tired of drawing bulletfire away from people. Not today, though. Today she sets her jaw in concentration and launches herself at the big guy.

Lets see him dodge the bullets.

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

Of the guards that are left still shooting at Mel, one finds himself suddenly dispossessed of his weapon by the well-aimed lash of a bullwhip... of all things.

Indy retrieves the length of it and charges at the disarmed man.

[gone_byebye]

There is a time and a place for surprised, extended profanity.

The time is not 'when Indiana Jones is throwing a punch'.

The place is not 'in front of Indiana Jones' fist'.

Ow.

As for the big guy, he pauses a moment in his fire, trying to peer through the smoke- he's almost certain he saw that streak of lightning shaped like a woman somewhere...

[slayer_fray]

Somewhere around his waist, that'll be.

Mel barrels him to the ground, one hand grabbing for his gun with bone crushing force.

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

Seeing his comrade-in-arms reel backwards from the force of the aforementioned archaeologist fist, another guard starts to run to his aid. Indy goes for his gun again, in a typically complacent fashion, and fires one his final rounds into the attacker's shoulder.

More ownage. Ho hum.

[gone_byebye]

The gunfire that drops the wounded guard gets ignored by Peck. The sound of the big guard barking out a single profanity Harry Wells would be proud of as the Slayer rips his gun from his hand is another story. "Warner!" he says, his head coming up sharply.

Warner isn't available for comment right now. He's trying to put his remaining working thumb into any of the soft parts of Mel's face he can reach. Also trying to get his legs into position to leverage the bitch off him, or at least flip them over- she's strong as hell but he's pretty sure he outmasses her...

Peck's lips go thin and he sinks down low among the electronica. There's a sudden, sharp ominous hum.

[slayer_fray]

Oh he outmasses her. But that strong as hell thing is a big issue. Mel flips over and brings him with her, letting him go long enough to kick him backwards towards the truck.

His gun is crushed in her hand.