Napalm cracks the guard dog on the crown with his collapsable baton and it staggers and then collapses on the ground with a huff.
Napalm rushes into the room, putting a table between him and the guards.
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Trystt runs in to the guardroom, throws her hex at the northern guard, and then shouts, "Get their keys!"
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Spore advances into the room, stepping carefully around the unconscious dogs, and reaches out with a creeping vine to the closer guard, trying to steal his gun away.
As Spore steps in and tries to take the weapon from the guard, he lashes out instinctively with his gloved hand, trying to knock the large plant-creature away.
Hit
Midnight glides sideways through the air, shifting so she can target the guard that just tried to assault Spore, without him getting in harm's way.
Miss
Midnight's blast slams into the guard, made vulnerable by Trystt's manipulation of his electrical balance.
The guard before Spore fires again, the noise deafening in the close quarters but Spore's vine rises quickly and bats the gun aside, sending the bullet smashing into the ceiling where a cloud of dust plumes down.
Hit
But the other guard's weapon tears a chunk of bark from Spore's back as both men continue trying to fall back toward the warehouse.
The noise of more guards can now be heard charging through the office and heroes now before long they will be flanked and outnumbered!
Napalm hurls another liquid nitrogen grenade at the rearmost guard, hoping to cut off the other one.
Napalm's canister explodes, showeirng the guard in liquid nitrogen. It blisters along his face and arms and he staggers, half blind, down the corridor. Somehow he is still on his feet, though barely.
Shift tosses his own grenade. Since Spiderman's arrival several weapons manufacturers have tried to replicate his webbing with varying degrees of success. Shift's grenade is one such attempt and though it lacks the tensile strength of Spiderman's ability, it works well enough to wrap the guard in a burst of entangling, sticky strands that glues him to the floor.
Midnight follows up, swooping into the room and blasting the stuck guard with charged air. The man is knocked unconscious but is unable to fall to the ground!
Still aching from his wounds Ebon pulls out another medley and finishes strapping up how's shoulder.
Spore charges forward, running towards the backpedaling guard and whipping a bundle of vines towards his face, while sending another towards his feet
Spore rushes forward and picks the guard bodily off his feet with his vines, slamming him this way and that into the walls of the corridor before tossing him idly to one side.
The sound of charging feet come along the corridor and suddenly the back office is full of guards, pistols in their hands. Ebon catches sight of a group of four of them before slamming the door behind him.
Ebon steps into the room pushing the door closed and bracing it. "There's a lot out there. Is there anything in this guard room we can use?"
Napalm rushes the remaining guard, swinging his baton at the man's head.
Midnight watches the scene play out in front of her, then turns to aid Lucas as he goes to finish off the last guard in the room.
Ebon braces the door and watches as Trystt works on the door. "Let's hope." He says stepping back. "Ok what do we have in here? Can we get that other door open before they get in?"
"Try it quick, if not, we're gonna have a lot of unhappy company..." Spore says.
As the others move around, he inspects the unconscious guards.
Napalm moves up to the double doors. He checks them over quickly and looks back to the others. "Ready?" He pulls out a device and attaches it to his tac-vest. A protective, shimmering field appears around him.
Napalm, Ebon and Trystt rush up to the double doors. They appear to be heavy duty steel and, unsurprisingly, are locked by some electronic mechanism.
The door into the guardroom holds for now but the pounding on the other side and shouting voices are incessant.
Trystt rips a panel off the wall and, standing on tiptoes, reroutes power from one conduit to another, pulling out wires with seemingly careless abandon but in fact using her innate knowledge of electrical flow to find the proper sequence.
There is a clunk as the locks disengage
Nicely done...
Knowing her alien physiology and the nanotech flowing in her system allows her to take more of a beating than the others, Midnight moves to the door Trystt unlocked and yanks it open, moving in to the space so she is the only target in case there are hostiles inside.
Flowing winds and sparks cascade on and around her skin.
Ebon lets out a short breath as he smiles. His shoulder twinges with pain but he pushes on. "Very well done, just like the window I wont have to smash it down. I say we push on and let's hope they take their time with that door."
"To where?" a winded Spore asks Ebon and the others, as he catches up. As he shuffles forward he whips his arms slightly and the most-elongated vines quickly retract back into his body like a recoiling tape measure.
"Something's definitely happening here, but now their guard is up, and we're back to being stuck outside..."
"To where?" a winded Spore asks Ebon and the others, as he catches up. As he shuffles forward he whips his arms slightly and the most-elongated vines quickly retract back into his body like a recoiling tape measure.
"Something's definitely happening here, but now their guard is up, and we're back to being stuck outside..."
"Something's definitely happening here, but now they know we're here, and we could be trapped. Better keep moving, and quick."
The moment Trystt bypasses the lock, a blaring electronic alarm begins to ring out, echoing through the corridors and drilling into your heads.
The guards pound on the door behind you and wasting not another moment Midnight bursts through the steal doors into the cavernous warehouse beyond.
The smell of stale sweat assaults you first, breaking you momentarily out of the fugue caused by the droning alarm. The rooms opens out before you like a sea of steal. The floor is a dull sheet metal that stretches to the far wall and steps run up both the east and west walls to form a balcony at the top.
In the centre of the room are what appear to be makeshift cells. Scaffolding poles have been erected together to form a crude but effective series of cages. Plexi-glass doors hang on the front of them creating rooms barely 5 feet across. Crumpled sheets and a bucket sit in the centre of the cell facing you and you image that the others are the same though thankfully none appear to be occupied.
Spying on you from the far side of the cells, peeking around the corner are two small, grotesque looking creatures. They are bulbous and fat, completely naked of any clothing to cover the mottled scaly skin that stretches over their prodigious stomachs. These creature’s bloated frame shudders with each heaving step as they move from behind their hiding place, yet despite their shape, the thing moves with surprising quickness.
You shouldna' come. says a voice. It is gruff and no nonsense and comes from a man standing upon the balcony at the far end of the room. And now we got no option but to kill ya... whoever you are.
This is Taskmaster! He has used his talent, combat expertise and tactical knowledge to become the world's premier trainer for the criminal world and government. He is a major international criminal, wanted in half a dozen different countries for crimes ranging from murder to coordinating a coup.
The Taskmaster's only superhuman ability is that of his photographic reflexes. He is able to duplicate almost any physical act he sees after seeing it done by someone else only once. Taskmaster can use this ability to master complex gymnastics routines and play difficult pieces of music. However, he typically prefers to use this ability to copy the combat skills, both armed and unarmed, of costumed crime-fighters and expert martial artists from around the world, typically seen through watching videos of them in combat situations.
Olympic-Level Conditioning: The Taskmaster is an Olympic-level athlete and has conditioned his body to the peak of it's potential.
Master Martial Artist: Taskmmaster is a formidable armed and unarmed combatant, having learned the personal fighting styles of countless individuals has has faced off with.
Ebon looks up at the man, him being clearly well armored and not new to this game. Then back down at the strange creatures, and at not of this world. "This is what we came here for. You with ranged focus on the armor guy, spore take the creature on the left, I'll move right." He looks to the others then dashes forward, to one side of the cell.
Napalm follows Ebon into the room. "What the hell are those things?!"
He looks up at the masked man. "We know you've been kidnapping people. Tell us where they are! Give yourself up and no one has to get hurt!"
[dice=Knowledge, Meta]1d20+8
Napalm follows Ebon into the room. "What the hell are those things?!"
He looks up at the masked man. "We know you've been kidnapping people. Tell us where they are! Give yourself up and no one has to get hurt!"
The man in the skull mask shrugs and says rather cryptically;
Is that what I've been doing this time? Yeah, well, money is good. I couldn't tell ya where they are or even who they are. Figure that's why I was hired. It ain't gonna matter anyway. he adds.
He raises a complicated-looking compound bow, like one you might find in an Olympic archery competition although much sleeker and made of carbon fibre.
You've also heard that Taskmaster's photographic reflexes have played havok with his long term memory. While able to impeccably remember the physical movements of his foes, Taskmaster can barely remember any information from one day to the next, often meaning he will take work and forget who he is working for - in many ways making him the perfect foot soldier