Seeing the Steward's head explode like a melon. I figure screw the pistol. My shotgun will be better for close quaters. I quickly dart behind cover. "Rico cover me while I get out the Duct Sweeper. Two can play this game!" Init (1d10=2) +4=6
As a fumble aroung getting out my shotgun, and making liberal use of as much over as possible. Some thoughts run through my head.
Ahmazzi
I try and get a look to see if our attackers have a mixed look to them. Gang markings, the build of a voidborn, etc.
There is the briefest moment following the steward's death when time seems to stand still, the single shotgun shell turning end over end in the air as the lead ambusher purposefully strides forward, eyes squinting from the acrid cloud of cordite filling the air around him.
Then, as the shell clatters to the floor, everyone explodes into action simultaneously as if triggered by the expended ammunition coming to rest.
Thanks to Savalos' instincts, Uriah, just behind Johnnie, Savalos, and Albrek, quickly ducks into the reassuring cover provided by the nearest reinforcing strut for the corridor. He draws his pistol, keeping the thick layer of hull plating between him and the attackers.
Johnnie's handcannon is out of the holster and aiming at the lead man in the blink of an eye, his arbiter's cold resolve and steady nerves availing him well as he fires one well-placed round while standing fearlessly in the middle of the corridor.
The bullet from the handcannon rips through the left leg of the lead ambusher, blowing away a hunk of flesh from his unarmored thigh, he drops to the ground as if poleaxed and a geysering torrent of blood jets up from his shredded femoral artery. His wailing screams begin filling the corridor, a shrill counterpoint to the explosion of gunshots.
Savalos lithely ducks into the cover of the pillar opposite Uriah, slinging his shotgun from his shoulder in one fluid motion. He risks a quick glance at the men as the explosion of Johnnie's handcannon booms through the echoing confines like the voice of an angry god.
From his quick glance, he can tell immediately that these men are no simple ruffians or hive scum. They move with the practiced, drilled precision of Arbiters or Guardsmen.
Ishmael unholsters his pistol effortlessly (Initiative = 6), and standing behind and to the right of Johnnie, takes careful aim and fires.
Albrek, your Initiative count is 9 there is a pillar to your left available for cover, I will await your action for a bit before continuing on, it will resolve simultaneously with Johnnie's.
The three attackers seems surprised by your immediate reaction to their ambush, and the pair behind the shotgunner dive for cover near the metal supports closest to them. Initiative = 3
I will use Unnatural Aim(1/2 action) and then fire my las pistol.
psy roll=15
to hit=84
I give a quick hand signal to those in the group who can see me that I think the aggressors are five in number. "Listen well ya fraggers. You move like regulars, and are not from this ship. Your ambush failed, and you lost the inititive you gained from the attempt. We have the advantage of numbers and cover. Your mate is already bleeding out on deck. I suggest you throw down your arms before this becomes personal. Not saying we are going to be friends after this sharing a drink of amasec. But its better than being mopped up from the floor."
Albrek sidesteps as your foes advance, taking cover behind the support pillar to left of he and Johnnie. He slips his lasgun from his shoulder, slaps at the charge pack, and risks a peek around the support marveling at the arbiter's fearless audacity, blazing away in the middle of the corridor.
Ishmael, either drawing strength from his boundless faith, or perhaps because his Gunmetallican ego does not allow him to seem less of a man next to Johnnie, stands his ground and opens up with his pistol, the concussive crack of his revolver adding to the din. His round impacts the side of the flak vest worn by the man in the rear rank on the righthand side. Although the ambusher grunts in pain with the impact, he manages to get behind the pillar's cover.
Both of the remaining ambushers take cover, one of them swapping his autopistol for the naval shotgun slung over his shoulder.
With a hiss of smoldering air, Uriah fires his laspistol at the same man, just missing his head as the blast slags a two-inch hole in the support post he just sheltered behind. A rain of molten sparks cascades down, scoring and burning the deck as they land.
Savalos yells to them, but the eerily silent men either choose not to respond or cannot hear him over the pitched gunbattle. Savalos believes he is correct, however, the shadows playing on the deck plates suggest the presence of two more men, five total including the one already incapacitated.
Disappointed that the fire fight continues; I swear in disgust. I point out the two shadows on the deckplate. If I can get the angle I will take a shot at one of them. If not I will shoot at one of the guys we are in the fire fight with. My intention is to pin them with fire to limit there movement. If I can force them to keep there heads down it makes it safer for all of us.
"Take that you Traitorous Skum! Eat the firey lead of Redemption; get em boys, in the Emperor's Name"
<while trying to instill a fervour in the group; I continue to attempt to calmly aim and fire controlled shots, thinking to be ready with my hammer if we close, but loving the sound of gunfire>
I curiously try to note what weapons they are using; shotguns, what kind and what else do they look like they are carrying; are they armored as well?
"careful with your shooting all; we dont wanna let outside inside if you get my meaning, let close with em"
I will again use Unnatural Aim and shoot either the same target or a different target if that one is down.
Unnatural Aim is 1d10+5=9
las pistol to hit=1d100=64
Made the shot by 4. (I am glad for Unnatural Aim)
Damage 1d10+2=5E in the body
Johnnie's familiarity with most gunfights compels him to seek the nearest cover before continuing.
The guardsman, making ample use of his cover, snaps a quick glance down the corridor before shouldering his lasgun and sucking in a quick breath, aiming down the sight at the man who was just hit in the vest by Ishmael's last shot. Steadying himself, he fires a burst.
The burst rips into the edge of the thick metal door, punching a trio of holes along its length and eliciting a hoarse cry of pain from the other side as the last blast penetrates at the level of the man's leg. Acrid smoke wells up from the door and the afterglow of the melted metal fades slowly.
Watching as the remaining man peers around the corner of the left-hand blast door, Johnnie wisely ducks back into the cover of one of the support struts, opposite Albrek, on the right-hand side.
Johnnie fires his gun without really aiming but hoping that the shot keeps their foes off-balanced and cringing for cover.
Another explosion sounds out of the arbitrator's handcannon, but the shot goes wild, ricocheting off of the reinforced bulkhead near the door and punching a hole in standpipe that begins venting steam into the corridor.
Savalos, crouching, ducks out of his cover to fire a covering blast from his shotgun into the doorway. Cursing from the recoil and the miss, he realizes he fired too late, as the attacker has already pulled back behind cover following Johnnie's last shot.
Ishmael, still standing near the middle of the hallway takes careful aim and pulls gently back on the trigger as the man just shot through the door by Albrek risks a glance around the corner.
The bullet catches the man in the bridge of his nose, blowing off most of his face, and dropping his suddenly lifeless body to the deck-plates, the shotgun he had just shouldered still clutched tightly in his lifeless hands.
As soon as Ishmael's target falls, another man takes his place behind the right-hand door, firing a wild blast from his shotgun down the corridor. A third foe, standing, fires a burst from an autogun over the crouched man behind the left-hand door. There seems to be an increased urgency to their actions now that two of their companions have fallen.
The staccato blast from the autogun reverberates in your ears, as the foe fires his burst down the center of the corridor at Ishmael.
Amazingly, whether through the Emperor's divine intercession, or just plain dumb luck, the spray goes wild, pinging off of the bulkhead in all directions, none of the rounds actually striking the firebrand cleric.
The foe who just replaced the man that Ishmael killed fires his shotgun at Johnnie.
. He then quickly pumps the weapon to chamber another round when the burst only finds the thick metal of the strut.
The final opponent, crouches, takes steady aim, and fires at the exposed Ishmael as well.
The shot from the autopistol whistles over the cleric's shoulder, just missing his ear.
perception=15
Made it by 30.
I made my Unnatural Aim with a 9 and I hit with a 64(with a +30 my BS=68) my damage was a 5E to the body.
Knowing odds, I figure its only a matter of time before a stray round nails me.
I take a quick peek around the corner. Awareness Check (1d100=1)
I go to take my shot against the guy running up with my shotgun.
Ballistic Skill (1d100=19) With my well aimed shot blasting into the guy.
Rolling to confirm crit Ballistic Skill check rolling to confirm critical. (1d100=29) Confirmed!
critical damage bonus damage (1d10=2)
Using the advantage of such a devasting shot. "WooHoo, hahaha. Well look at that ya Fraggers! Drop your weapons or get mopped up from the decking by a servitor!" Charm/Barter roll. (1d100=59) Guess I am not the convincing type.
Uriah focuses his will and the air around him begins to ripple for a moment as he raises his laspistol, the steam flowing from the ruptured pipe in front of the doors suddenly begins to shower upward, raining with a pitter-pattering sound on the ceiling. This coincidentally opens the psyker's line of sight to the man clutching the shotgun by the right-hand door. He pulls the trigger, focusing his mind, and the burst from the pistol sears razor straight through the partially open door and through his flak vest. He lets out a cry of pain and ducks back behind the doorway.
"RICO!!!! BREK!!! Get that Fragger! He's pulling a pineapple!" I point at the guy before ducking behind the beam again.
Johnnie pulls back as fast as he can, diving for the nearest cover that can handle a grenade.
Savalos' shouted warning comes not a moment too soon. His hoarse cry is barely out of his mouth when Albrek calmly adjusts the aim of his lasgun from the doorway and squeezes off another burst, this time at the mortally wounded man on the floor.
The Guardsman's regimented training avails him well and the concentrated burst of las-fire shreds the man as he pulls the grenade from the clasp on his greatcoat. The small, bloodstained explosive drops to the ground with a 'thunk' and rolls a meter or so away from the man...with great relief you realize that the priming ring is still firmly attached.
When the concussive blast never comes, Johnnie peers back around the protection of the hull strut, handcannon at the ready.
As soon as the man with the autogun presents himself as a target, Savalos rolls from his cover, racks his shotgun and fires full-bore into the middle of the corridor. The weapon's deafening boom is only a counterpoint to the ruin that ensues. The ambusher catches the blast full on in the face and neck, and has both literally ripped away from his torso in sudden, pink mist. The wash of blood and gore sprays into the face of the man crouching below the autogunner, and he frantically rubs at his eyes with his free hand to clear his vision.
Despite Savalos' shouted command for the pair to surrender, they fight on without any semblance of hesitation, uncaring of the fact that they are now outnumbered and outgunned.
Ishmael, still standing fully upright in the middle of the corridor, seemingly oblivious to the danger, takes aim and casually squeezes off another round from his revolver at the remaining attacker with the shotgun.
The round hits the metal frame of the door, glancing away with a metallic pinging sound, just a foot from the ambusher's head.
Johnnie takes a hasty shot at the shotgunner.
I shout, "Surrender or Die."
I will try to Inflict Pain and then shoot (both 1/2 actions.) This is assuming they do not surrender.
Inflict Pain=13, made it.
BS=33 hit him.
He gets a WP save
Dam=4E
Johnnie leans out from his cover, just as the shotgunner is leveling his weapon at Ishmael and Savalos. The handcannon booms again, and the round takes a sizable piece of the man's left arm with it, causing his weapon to jolt upward as it is fired, blowing out the glowing orange sign above the landing bay doors.
Although obviously gravely injured, he persists in attempting to chamber another round into his weapon.
The ambusher at the left-hand door aims carefully and fires his autopistol at the easiest, most obvious target again, centering Ishmael in his sights.
Again, amazingly, the round misses the cleric, passing through his vestments just inches from his underarm before embedding itself in the guts of a door control panel.
A loud alarm klaxon begins to blare a noisy, repetitive refrain from the rusted vox-speakers that line the corridor leading to the landing bay. It appears the confrontation has been detected by the Void Needle's crew.
Awareness roll
[/url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2289926/
score 52+10=62 /url]
<yelled in religious fervour>
The Holy Emperor's power is absolute, His fury at traitors legendary. Surrender heretics and be redeamed lest you die the curse of Hundred Deaths brought back from death by medicine only to die again until your soul melts to once again serve the Empire. There will be no purging fire of cleanzing for you, surrender or learn to tremble for each beat of your traitorous hearts!
<pull out my hammer and charge to melee as we cant risk another grenade>
/ooc am hoping the sight of charging will cut through break their drug induced courage
I did a few more rolls; I think I have invisible castle figured out; but still working on my link coding
Stepping out momentarily from cover, Uriah fires his laspistol at the shotgunner who is still frantically trying to reload his weapon with what seems to be one good arm. Each drop of perspiration stands out in stark relief on the man's brow, his haunted eyes pained and desperate in the flickering orange glow of the shattered deck-light.
The las-blast catches him square in the chest and burns through him, the lambent glow of the crackling energy setting fire to the front of his drab colored greatcoat. He drops to the ground, legs kicking feebly before finally expiring.
Uriah's vox-amplified shout echoes with buzzing feedback as he commands the sole surviving ambusher to surrender. His voice carries tremendous weight, causing everyone to have a dizzying feeling of being somewhat outside of themselves. This sensation permeates the corridor for an instant, before fading back into the Immaterium.
The man holding the autopistol screams aloud, his blood covered face wincing in agony as his shaking hands try to retain their grip on the gun.
I watch with confusion as Ishmael charges down the corridor. Just shaking my head. Thinking the zealot must have a few screws loose. I take the time to reload my shotgun tossing the empty shells out of the breach. Tempted on shooting him in the rear. Thinking better of it; I instead survey the area around the fire fight.
I remember the group of men were talking with somebody else before the ambush. So I am keeping an eye out watching for some monitor, servo skull or some person witnessing the event.
I will cover the way we came. I will signal Albrek to watch the other direction. If there is any other ways to come at us we will cover them too. I will be sustaining the Inflict Pain on him.
/ooc as no one came to join the melee with him, is thinking everyone else is petrified with fear hiding in thier little cubbies looking for safety, and marks the spot of the grenade in his mind for later and winds up his hammer for a mighty blow. hehe
As the bellowing cleric charges the remaining attacker, Johnnie tries and fails to gain line of sight to the man with his handcannon. Unable to squeeze off a shot without potentially striking the Redemptionist, he curses and instead lopes along behind the Ishmael, incidentally using him for cover.
Nodding to Uriah, Albrek levels his lasgun down the corridor in the direction of the landing bay, and slowly begins crabwalking behind the others in that direction. With the klaxons blaring so loudly, it is almost impossible to hear oneself think, much less communicate in anything less than shouts.
Uriah scans the corridor from whence you came and although it appears to still be empty, it curves away to a vanishing point about twenty meters back from the shape of the ship's hull, and he cannot be certain anything is coming from beyond that point.
Savalos reloads his shotgun in one fluid motion, and then stares incredulously after Ishmael as he charges the man. He does not notice anyone present outside of the sole surviving ambusher. It is entirely possible that the first three to appear were barking orders to the other pair as they came to the door.
Ishmael's heavy hammer, embossed with the beneficent and severe image of the Emperor of Man wreathed in spiky flames descends toward the head of the last attacker as the screaming, bloody-faced man fumbles with the autopistol, barely containing his agony.
The swing goes wild as the cleric slips in blood covering the deck-plates, and his hammer slams with a resounding 'BONG' into the heavy bulkhead plating of the door. The man steadies his aim as best he can and tries to shoot Ishmael before he can raise the hammer again.
Johnnie takes careful aim and fires at the enemy.
When the fight is over; will pick up and stowe the grenade
Johnnie halts as soon as he has an open shot, braces both feet, levels the heavy handcannon, and the tremendous 'boom' momentarily overwhelms the sound of the ringing klaxons.
The round strikes the super-reinforced plastic of the attacker's flak vest and crumples it like a shoddy beverage container, ripping away a panel with the force of the impact before the bullet passes through the man's body on his right side, finally exiting out through his upraised left arm. The exit wound breaks the bone easily, and the autopistol flies out of his hand, spinning across the hanger deck-plates like a miniature, out of control gun-cutter caught in an atmospheric storm. His ruined arm falls weakly to his side, and he slumps in agony, screaming with pain against the left-hand bulkhead door.
Ishmael, breathing heavily, raises the hammer high overhead should a death blow be needed, but the Redemptionist cleric shows admirable and surprising restraint, staying his hand when he realizes the man is completely incapacitated, both arms hanging limply at his sides.
An authoritarian, static-filled voice, barely audible over the alarm klaxons still overwhelming the vox-speakers tries to make itself heard. Across the vast width of the hanger bay you can see a pair of engineering techs in their ratty blue jumpsuits scrambling from cover to exit as quickly as possible from the landing bay through a door on its far side now that the shooting has stopped.
"Rico, Ishmael, is it clear?"
Johnnie holster is handcannon and switches to his shotgun. "They're down but not out! Exercise extreme caution in your approach!"
"Lay down your weapons! And medical aid may yet change your fate!"
"Savalos, will you take my place watching the corridor?" After he does, I will walk up to the wounded man. "I can take away the pain I am causing you, all you have to do is tell me who you work and the exact nature of your mission, and this agony will go away."
"Aye I'll be watching. I'll also be lootin' as well." I move over to the dead shotgunner first. I will pat him down for items. Mostly looking for shotgun shells, data slates, and any thrones he won't be spending. Then I will move over to the next guy. I will not touch any of there weapons in hand. I will also not touch the Steward. Even though I am sure he has stims on him that I could sell.
I will try and keep an eye out in the landing bay area.
Holstering his still-warm pistol as quickly as he drew it, Johnnie slings the shotgun from his shoulder and into his hand. A quick glance by the arbitrator shows that the cavernous hangar appears to be deserted now, save for the looming silhouettes of at least three ancient cargo landing craft, dozens of rusted cargo containers covered in flaking metallic paint, several load-lifter forklifts and a towering, tracked, cargo crane.
The well-lit, new-looking, Oremor-built Churraptus pattern shuttle-craft sitting in the center of the landing bay stands out like a pedigreed stallion among naggish draft horses, venting gases from the crew compartment further this allusion, making it seem as if a panting racehorse just completed its circuit of the track. The craft's passenger ramp is extended, the blue-white strobes tracing its length blinking on and off in the dim hangar. There are designation markings on its dorsal stabilizing wing, but they are difficult to make out in the gloom. There can be no doubt that this shuttle recently landed, and all signs point to the men disembarking from it a short while ago.
Ishmael, the hammer still held high overhead with tensed muscles as if he means to finish the man, finally relents and lowers the weapon when his fellow acolyte points the shotgun into the screaming man's face. Without a word, the cleric walks back toward the others, casually scooping up the grenade as he does so.
Savalos, proceeds from one to the next of the four dead men, skirting the messy remnants of the steward as he does so. The weapons arrayed on the deck-plates from the fallen ambushers consist of a trio of pump-action naval shotguns and a long barreled autogun. Each of the men also has a holstered autopistol and combat knife. Between the four of them they possess eight 8-round shotgun clips, and twelve 18-round spare autopistol clips. The man who carried the autogun also has three spare clips of 30 rounds for that weapon. All four are fit, athletic men with shaved heads and the look of those well-versed in violence. Oddly enough, none of them appear to carry any personal effects, identification, thrones, or dataslates. Their olive drab greatcoats and hardened plastic flak vests could all easily have come from some Munitorium surplus warehouse so similar are they to each other.
As Uriah moves forward to speak to the wounded man, Albrek keeps his eyes down the corridor from which you arrived at the landing bay. The klaxons still ring, but he positions himself under one of the vox-speakers and can now hear the stentorian voice of some ship's mate saying:
"Security teams Valkamin, Hepshedis and Grillo to the hangar bay by the captain's order. Set up defensive perimeter in accessways 1L, 1M, and 1N. You are NOT to enagage, repeat, NOT to engage, by the captain's order. The captain and team Augre are enroute from the bridge. Do NOT engage until further orders!"
The screaming, blood-plastered man doesn't even acknowledge Uriah's words when he confronts him, his eyes locked blankly on the ceiling as he alternates between screaming and indecipherable muttering. His good hand clenches and opens over and over again, tears trickling down his face in torrents. As you look more closely at the man's face, a sickening sense of dread begins to stir within you.
scrutiny=24 missed by 6
psyniscience=74 missed by 39
Since it does not seem to matter I will drop the Inflict Pain
I will pick up some of the shotgun shell clips as well as a knife. As a dig around there bodies and find they have no identification. I have a sinking sensation in my stomach. "Someone better run quick and see if the shuttle pilot is still aboard. I have a bad feeling about these Fraggers."
Not having a recorder; I lean close to the man to hear who the oaths and such are to that we gain more insight.
Johnnie halts as soon as he has an open shot, braces both feet, levels the heavy handcannon, and the tremendous 'boom' momentarily overwhelms the sound of the ringing klaxons.
The round strikes the super-reinforced plastic of the attacker's flak vest and crumples it like a shoddy beverage container, ripping away a panel with the force of the impact before the bullet passes through the man's body on his right side, finally exiting out through his upraised left arm. The exit wound breaks the bone easily, and the autopistol flies out of his hand, spinning across the hanger deck-plates like a miniature, out of control gun-cutter caught in an atmospheric storm. His ruined arm falls weakly to his side, and he slumps in agony, screaming with pain against the left-hand bulkhead door.
Ishmael, breathing heavily, raises the hammer high overhead should a death blow be needed, but the Redemptionist cleric shows admirable and surprising restraint, staying his hand when he realizes the man is completely incapacitated, both arms hanging limply at his sides.
An authoritarian, static-filled voice, barely audible over the alarm klaxons still overwhelming the vox-speakers tries to make itself heard. Across the vast width of the hanger bay you can see a pair of engineering techs in their ratty blue jumpsuits scrambling from cover to exit as quickly as possible from the landing bay through a door on its far side now that the shooting has stopped.
** spoiler omitted **
Afterwards; willl gather a autopistol and some extra ammunition
<gm; do I have the skills to use a shotgun?>
Savalos picks over the belongings of the dead men, hastily, yet efficiently, using talents honed long ago in the underhives of Orcut VII. As Tygault used to say in his sing-song voice: 'Dead is dead, take kit and cred, no need now to be their friend.' Tygault was always thorough. He wasn't at all shy about his calling card being completely naked corpses left behind after a street-fight or turf-battle. The scav-bazaars and alley-barters always paid well, and that's what mattered.
As Savalos is retrieving clips from one of the men by the door, he pauses, a frown creasing his face. Rolling back one of the man's wide sleeves, he notices a series of faded green-black markings oriented vertically on his inner arm. They appear to depict something akin to a double-headed scythe on a long pole, easily recognized by those born on Oremor as a chit-sickle (pronounced 'kite-sickle'), an over sized agricultural implement used to reap thick-stemmed fungal food crops. The number six is tattooed just below this icon in Imperial numeral notation. As the hiver considers this, Albrek approaches from behind and glances down.
"He's a guardsman...either honorably mustered out or active. Sixth Oremor Penal Legion...this...it doesn't make sense..."
Uriah lets out a deep breath, and the orange light above the doorway flickers brightly for one last moment before darkening completely. The man's screams immediately transition to low, agonized moans. He continues to mutter and stutter, mixing gibberish with half-heard words. The man is obviously close to death, the handcannon round having ripped sideways through his chest cavity and lungs.
The feeling of dread is palpable for one such as you, Uriah, and you search your own subconscious for the reason but come up with nothing. Despite the spray of blood across his face and the gore from his dead companion strewn across his shaved skull, you detect something familiar about him. You feel with the utmost certainty that you have never met the man before, yet, just the same...
...looking up at Juan, who stands just behind your crouched form, you see the same expression on his face. Recognition. With the confusion of knowing that it is not someone either of you have ever met.
When Juan looks back at the man he scours his almost eidetic detective's memory for any hint that he met this man before. Countless suspects, witnesses, and colleagues flash through his mind, but none seems to be a match. A rising sense of deja vu cascades through him, palpitating his heart like a strong swig of vintage amasec.
The dying man's eyes, lolling and fearful, go in and out of focus. Blood flows in rivulets from his wound, hands clenching on the deck plates as his feet dance like harbingers of his impending demise. Words tumble from his lips like half-forgotten prayers:
'Oremor...affliction...Krade...zero...spreading...everything...time...the the Parted Veil...not enough...betrayed'
By now the others have gathered around him.
As he abruptly goes still, you all fear him dead.
When just moments later his eyes suddenly go wide and a great choking gasp escapes his stilled lungs, Uriah is startled to his feet. The man looks from one to the next of you in turn and speaks, lucidly, but overcome with terrible, whimpering fear, a voice strained with a sense of failure so absolute something inside of you almost breaks with unbidden sympathy,
"By the Throne, I'm so sorry....so sooo sorrrrry....we failed you...we failed...we were so close...our only chance...we could have stopped it all..."
With this last utterance, the man spasms, retching blood, his back arching in a quaking seizure. His last exhalation sings harmony with the steam escaping from the pipes for a moment before stopping entirely.
The klaxons abruptly cease. Encircling him in stunned silence, you hear the sounds of dozens of booted footfalls banging off the deck-plates in the corridor behind you. Either their echoes, or more of the footfalls sound back from the other companionways on the far walls of the hangar.
"Deadmen walking looting Deadmen I say. We will regret this black homecoming."