"Come on, what the f**k is on this f***ing thing?" Jack muttered to himself as he pressed random buttons on the computer thing in his cell. "Gotta be some f***ing way to shut that f***er up, or at least keep him out."
"You always this high-strung, or only when you scared, Jack?" Kalden quips. "Take a damn seat, enjoy the show. It's a double feature. 'Grandmaster Kickin' Ass', followed by its sequel 'Grandmaster Gets His Ass Kicked'. It ain't every day we get to sit front row for a Skull Crackin'."
Deacon, elated, settles into one of the probably not very comfortable steel benches that they have in the cafeteria and munches on pretzels. He keeps one eye on the corpse of Mantis with an almost feral hunger to his gaze. The pretzels are gladly shared among anyone who wishes to partake, especially while there is a Grandmaster Kickin' Ass on display.
"So, who here's a betting man? We can start up a pot, bet chores or whatever on how many he takes down before the feds put him to bed. I'm thinkin'... Fifteen."
Whipping his head around to look at the burly guy casually relaxed in the kitchen area, Jack gave a snarl. "High strung? High strung?! That f***ing old guy is rippin' f***ing heads off, and you over there actin' like it's a f***ing movie! 'Scuse me if I feel like livin' past this!"
"Thought you had plans? If something like a little head ripping sends you running for the hills you don't have the stomach for anything big."
"I'm all for a good round of 'Off With Their Heads', as long as it ain't my head on the damn block."
4 inch thick transparent barriers slide down from the ceiling at the junction of each set of rooms, and around every 2 meters down the length of the hallway leading down to the various cells/bedrooms.
The blonde woman, previously shattered by the Grandmaster, whimpers on the floor, and tries to crawl back towards her chamber. With a badly broken arm, probably a dislocated shoulder, and a messed up shoulder girdle that probably includes a broken collar bone, and probably damage to her neck, ribs, and face. She makes little progress, crying out as she tries to use her damaged body. The Grandmaster looks down at her with a sneer; as though contempting her for her weakness.
The loudspeaker crackles, "Inhibitor failure! Scramble to AA-23; Initiate power surge on inhibitor 1138!
For a moment nothing happens. Grandmaster looks about momentarily, a somewhat derisive, bored like look on his face. When nothing happens, he walks forward a step, crouching down and taking the blonde prisoner's head in both of his hands.
Then an electric whine can be heard as the ever-present hum of the inhibitor field generators that can always be heard by those with better than average hearing crank up, getting ready to discharge an overload pulse. The air throughout the cellblock starts to hum, feeling tense, and a sensation not unlike static crackles along the surface of your skin. The sensation intensifies, until the pressure starts to press in on your body from all directions. The feeling keeps growing, passing merely intense, and becoming oppressive, making if feel as your skull might crack in. It climaxes with an intense jolt of power that slams through the whole cellblock, and hitting everyone in it.
and out go the lights
"What the heck was ... ARGHH!!" <thud>
"AAAAGH!" Lance screams as he's electrocuted.
Lance's nanomachines fight valiantly to shrug off the electric surge, but they're so inhibited at this point that it's all they can do to keep him conscious. He sways, almost falling out of his chair, struck by a sudden sense of vertigo.
"What tha f**k is goi- Jack was barely able to say before what seemed like a massive surge of electricity went through his body, and without his powers, it left his crumpled on the floor, barely conscious.
In the meantime, I actually like the idea of you having a free point against me. Should be interesting to see what you do with it. By all means.
Deacon grits his teeth against the whine that steadily gets louder, but when people start dropping like flies around him, he just stares. A quirked brow and a grimace are all that he can manage for the moment, though he does reach out to grab Kalden by the collar. Just in case the younger man falls, as well.
Erik awkwardly places his hand on Deacon's shoulder. "You good? I got a trick like that myself. Learned it off of Electra once. You can always kinda tell when its gonna hit. Oh, you thought that was gonna wipe me out? Y'know who I am? The most explosive guy in this room! Gonna need a little bit more than that to knock me off these dogs a'mine. These jerk offs ain't playin tonight. Show's over. Bed time."
"Yeah, yeah," Deacon replies with a bemused little smile as he lets go of Kalden and straightens the man's collar for him. "I know who you are. And you know who I am. I look after my people."
He ends the gesture by patting the Bastard on the shoulder in return, then looks around at the mayhem. "That intercom mentioned inhibitor failure, didn't it? You mind opening a window in here? It's getting a little stuffy." For his own part, he tries to take a long, deep breath in through his nose. If the inhibitors are well and truly off, he should be able to smell the blood of everyone in the area as easily as he can see them.
Roulette shudders as the energy streams through her, before collapsing to the ground, mostly insensible.
You feel no change in your own physiology, and that constant sense of energy in the air; the hum that keeps your abilities dampened, is still there. Perhaps the failure mentioned regarding the inhibitor was merely a description of its failure to contain the Grandmaster.
A look of irritation flashes over the Grandmaster's face as the surge of power rushes through the air of the room. After the blast dissipates, he drops the insectoid head of the Mantis negligently, almost forgetfully. He reaches out a hand and places it against the transparent barrier that has slid into place in the hall in front of him. A look on light concentration crosses his features, his palm placed firmly on the clear polymer shield.
Sounds can be heard in the spaces beyond the walls, pounding feet, and electronic wrrring of systems backing up.
Without warning, the wall in front of Grandmaster shatters, throwing chunks of bulletproof glass down the hall and as far as the next barrier. The Grandmaster gives his hand a casual shake, spraying glass-like shards on the ground.
As that moment, the guards finally seem to have gotten into position, two dropping into the hall in front of him, and two behind. The Grandmaster looks up absently, stroking his beard with one hand like some wuxia stereotype. The guards are wearing compact, but fulling encompassing power-armour, their faces and bodies invisible behind the layers of mechanically augmented armour. They come at him from front and back simultaneously, moving with impressive speed and coordination, in a classic prison riot take down.
Grandmaster's name suddenly seems less of an egotistical affectation as all four of the guards fail to land a hand on him. The action grows frantic, which makes it hard to follow in the cramped quarters, but at least two of the armoured men hit the ground before you lose sight of the action after a third guard, his arm having been ripped off at the shoulder, covers the plexi-barrier in blood, completely obscuring the view.
The noise continues in the unseen hall, with the walls shuddering from massive impacts once or twice, and the servo-sounds of more armoured guards being dropped in from the roof sounding out as well. Within seconds however, the blood covered barrier shatters as well, revealing the Grandmaster, looking unmussed, and still just casually disdainful of the world around him. His clothes are even relatively free of the blood stains that paint the scene of carnage in the hall behind him. He walks out into the common area, headed towards the front door. The next barrier is the last standing between him and the occupants of the viewing area. If he continues towards to front entrance, he will pass through your chamber as well.
In the hall behind him, the bodies of six men lie crumpled. A set of legs hang from the ceiling, where he was either rammed through the ceiling bodily, or perhaps attacked while in the process of dropping through one of those modular access points, and then jammed in place.
Grandmaster reaches out his hand again, placing his palm on the barrier, a look of concentration once again taking over his features.
"How the hell is he doing all that with the damper up?!?"
Grandmaster does not spare the boy a glance, but directs a sneer at him as he responds in heavily a accented voice, "If I were merely a 'metahuman' like the rest of you; empowered by some accident or random element of birth, then I'd be as helpless as you, boy. However, I earned my power, through centuries of study. No mere machine can take that away from me."
"Umm, right. No offense sir. Thanks for the info. "
"Hmm... a vestige of manners. Perhaps there is hope for you yet."
Barely able to raise his head up from the undignified heap of his body on the floor, Jack spat on the floor and said, "J-just who the f-f-f**k are you? You g-get me outta h-here, and I can get'cha anything y-ya want."
"Thank you sir. " then he hunches lower hoping to be ignored.
"The hell do you think he needs from you? He could take anything he wanted!"
At Gavewound's comment he pulls his hand pack from the plastic wall, "Anything? I could couldn't I."
He walks back a few steps to the door to Shockjock's cell, talking as though the locked door is not even there, which as far as he seems to be concerned, it might as well not be.
"You pathetic things have no idea what power is, and if you ever managed to grasp it, you would still have no idea what to so with it."
A sudden thrust of his hand rips through the reinforced door like a needle through tissue paper, destroying the lock. The blow is so fast the eye struggles to follow, and even the rest of the door barely even moves, as though it still does not realize the impact has happened. After withdrawing his hand, the old man nudges the door open with his slippered foot, almost casually.
"For instance, worm, if I decided I wanted your still beating heart in my hand, neither you not your fellow prisoners could stop me. One sheet of plastic is all that holds them, and yet, even if they wanted to, they could not stop me."
Struggling to stand, Jack slowly backed away from the old man. "H-Hey, old geezer, I-I ain't got no beef with you. Didn't even know you was here til you started killin' those freaks."
"Grandmaster Funk, chill with that kind of talk. We're on the same side here. Listen, go take out all the guards you want, they deserve it, but we got a lot on our plates already, yknow."
"All due respect, Grandmaster, we're also wasting time bickering like children. Unless you're enjoying flaying their cannon fodder until they're able to mobilize the big guns, maybe you and I ought to go find ourselves the generator." Deacon pauses as he has a thought and frowns, studying the Grandmaster critically for a moment. "Or whatever crazy tech bullsh*t they have. I think you and I are the only two that can still function under all this."
"'The same side.' 'You and I.' Humph. The black fly and the hawk are both predators that fly, but there the resemblance ends."
He looks down at Shockjock in contempt, but seems to have lost his taste for blood, at least for the moment. He turns and comes back to the glass. He places his palm against it as before.
As before, the barrier shatters; unbreakable plastic failing to live up to its promise. Now in the same room, the Grandmaster (all five foot, one inch of him), moves into the chamber, crossing to the door.
Looking at Kalden and Demoniac he says, "Stay clear of my path, black flies, and I won't bother to swat you."
He crosses to the front door, but as he does, it slides open, the hall beyond invitingly empty.
The Grandmaster mutters something quietly to himself, "Come into my parlor said the spider to the hawk. More bugs to squash."
He steps out of the cellblock, the door sliding shut behind him. Silence follows for a moment but then the sound of compressed gas being vented into the hall rattles the pipes. A moment later, a reaching metal sounds, followed by automatic weapons fire, blasters, a few human screams, and even an explosion.
In the silence of your cellblock, the sobbing moans of one the surviving guards rattles down the hall.
With a scowl that could curdle milk and wilt crops, Deacon stares after the Grandmaster. Who promptly disappears into the next room without a second thought. "What a prick. Kalden, remind me to add him to the list later, won't you?"
"Wait," he murmurs distractedly as he cocks his head to the side a bit, trying to pinpoint that familiar hum. His eyes quickly lock to the dangling legs that hang out of the ceiling and he points. "There. The inhibitors are connected to something there. I'd put money on us being free to cause chaos if we can shut it down. Ideas? 'Cause I can't fly."
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The Dunwich Horror had been oddly silent during the whole exchange, for once determining that nothing he said could improve his situation--and for once uttering universal truths, as was his habit, would not do anyone any good.
As the Grandmaster exits, stage left, he takes note of Demonic. The Horror simply nods.
The Horror then advances into the carnage let behind, and begins looting the bodies with the efficiency that only a multi-tentacled immortal being can.
One of his tentacles reaches up and pulls the legs, and whatever is still attached to it, down from the ceiling.
As the shock to his system slowly left, Jack made his yay down the hall, pointedly ignoring the bodies strewn about. "So, we gonna follow the wacko outta here?" he asked the others. "I so, we might wanna think about movin' a bit faster."
"Gonna be a bit hard to follow him out of here when we have no way through that door, isn't it, Jack?" Deacon responds with only a mild amount of snark to his tone. He is too busy eyeing the many-rifled-Dunwich at this point with a bemused smile.
"If you don't mind terribly, I would appreciate it. Just try to avoid bashing my head in on whatever's in there." He takes a step toward Dunwich, snatching up one of the rifles lying on the ground, as well. Just in case.
"The doors are electronic. You turn that thing off and we have no problem getting out."
"Even with a deadbolt lock or something, I think we have enough firepower to bust it between us."
"I was fine sticking around when it was the best option, but if they're going to be zapping us any time someone goes a little crazy...f!@& 'em."
"F**king dampeners, if it wasn't for them, I could fly up there," Jack said, looking up at the hole in the ceiling. "Just start pilin' up bodies so one of us can get up there and shut down the damn field. Gotta put 'em to some kinda use."
Somehow having one eye and one ear pressed into the floor don't help Roulette notice the buzzing.
Sure would like to get Grandmaster into the Arena. Not much angle on the betting but he would sell a lot of drinks. She thinks as drool slides toward the floor.
"Don't worry, I got a special list for s#!tbags like him. What I wouldn't give to set off a megaton straight to his dome. He won't be callin us black flies no more."
Kalden stops in his tracks at the mention of breaking out. If he breaks out, maybe he won't have to uphold his end of the bargain.... But does he really want to live life on the run again?
"He-hey guys we should think about this real quick. We're gonna get out of here, then what? They gonna be gunnin' for us, tryna bring us down. I'm all for gettin' the hell up out of dodge & all, but I'm tryna be smart about this."
He takes a pause and thinks back on the short taste of freedom he had a few days prior.
"Shut that s++& off before it makes me any softer."
"I don't know if I want to try running right now. With him out, the probably called in the Justice League or the Titans, and I don't even know where they keep my equipment. Without that, I'm just a normal. Think I'll just keep my head down instead of it getting blown off in the crossfire. "
"F***ing kid, with that fruit cake out there takin' up attention, we got us a good shot of gettin' outta here cleanly," Jack said.
"I'm not saying you have to or should stay. I'm just saying the damper being off doesn't mean diddly to me, so I'm staying put. I'm not eager to die. Go on ahead. Good luck. "
"Hot damn, you lot are a needy bunch. Inhibitor this, gear that," Deacon mutters loudly enough for most to hear, his tone far lighter than the words themselves. Either he is enjoying all of the action or he is not actually bothered by the fact that everyone needs something.
"Fine, we'll get you your gear on the way out the door, yeah? In the meantime, I hope you know how to shoot. Dunwich, hook him up, and somebody start making a list of all the stuff we need."
He snaps back into the habit of giving orders fairly quickly, clearly not as affected by the time behind bars as Kalden. Then again, this is hardly the first time in his long life he has been behind bars.
Unfortunately, the armoured suits and gear worn by these guards do not contain any firearms, blasters, or other range weaponry. They are basically riot suits, designed to protect the occupant and provide a variety of melee and short range tools for dealing with unruly prisoners. Also unfortunately, all the systems are designed to shut down in the event of the occupant's death, or if they are removed from the suit's centralized power supply. America, having had a long history of prison insurrections, has learned enough not to send dangerous weapons into areas where they might to too easily used by the prison population against their guards.
You definitely heard both blasters and small arms fire coming from down the main hall, where the Grandmaster departed. You could always try to follow him to see if any are salvageable down that way...
The body moans in pain as it is pulled from the trapdoor in the ceiling. As he comes free (and crashes to the ground with a wheeze and passes out) the door tries to snap shut automatically. Only Gravewound's quick reflexes allows him to snag it with a few fingers before it is completely closed. Only his strength allows him to do it while keeping it open instead of losing a few fingers when it sealed shut.
He pulls himself up into the space above, and instead of seeing a security room, hallway, or even a crawl space, the area is only dimly lit, but consists of dozens of tracks along the floor (the ceiling of the cellblock), as well as the walls and ceiling. Robotic arms are folded up in a spot or two, ready to move anything necessary into position so it might be dropped into the cell through the modular floor. A personnel pod, likely used to deliver the guard you pulled from the opening, lies knocked on its side next to the access panel. Eyeing all the tracks and arms you quickly conclude that this is not a place where a human being was meant to be when the machinery was active. On every wall is a large warning sticker with the image of a stick man being crushed and variations on the warning: you shouldn't be here, prepare to get squished. Sample sign
The humming is coming from a section of the ceiling right near the centre of the cellblock. Several access panels are visible, but all are presently secured.
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The Dunwich Horror equips himself with a belt (it wraps around one of his tentacles) and one type of every weapon. He deposits the rest in piles, neatly grouped by type, for anyone that might want it.
With Gravewound's help, he stretches up to the trapdoor, and holds one edge, creating a type of ladder if anyone else wants to join Gravewound in the ceiling.
"Break me off a chair leg to use as a crowbar or something, I might need it!" he calls down.
Assuming they do, Lance scrambles as quick as he can for the source of the humming.
"Yeah, like I figured, they are not going to leave us anything useful.