The Vindicator at Andersonville

[Tsurin]

The Lobby

Tsurin leaned forward, intent, watching the interplay of words that hung there, stretched slow and liquid between the blank, featureless white walls and the white ceiling. She breathed, eyes wide and her face pale and tight; a frown brushed the dark corners of her mouth as she shifted in her seat, fitting herself between the shadows she knew were waiting at Vanya's back. Slid her legs into the spaces the wall made under bent knees and curved hands. Her fingers tightened around her own wrist, small and warm and sweaty, her thumb pressed over the twitch of her pulse, but it didn't ease the knot in her throat, wasn't enough to stem the rushing tide of words. Strong words. Forboding words. Words that broke Vanya's silence like a hammer through glass.

"Unarmed you say?.. Well, I do like a good fisticuffs as any, but unarmed, First Lieutenant?.. Least give us a tool or two... A knife perhaps? Or something blunt... Easily disarmed from any others that would dare take it from us.. Hmm... What do you say, Hun?..I think it would benefit those that plan.. to go."

Without wanting to seem startled, Tsurin turned to look Vanya in the eyes. Those bright, sparkling eyes that were suddenly locked on hers. Vanya smiled with perfect ivory teeth. It was no different from the dropped tip and crinkle of the everyday, but this time she felt a stab of feeling penetrate the single-minded focus she'd clutched around herself like a thick protective blanket. Something put both it's hands deep into her chest and clutched. It was the first time in a long while that she'd felt anything like it, and now she recognized it for what it was. It was that missed punchline, caught up to her, and she couldn't help but laugh, even as her heart threatened to beat itself dull from how hard it thudded. She finally got it. Finally understood, too, how perfectly unsettling it was, giving herself permission to laugh at something that had the veneer of absurdity, the paint of it, but underneath felt like anything but funny.

"No." Her opinion was largely irrelevant, now as in all things, but that did not mean that she was made of stone. That she hadn't hesitated on hearing that a man had --no better way to put it-- been left behind. Or that every word didn't send a slow shudder running through her body, spreading up from her toes as acid cold knotted low, sat sour on her tongue.

Not to say that she was afraid. Not quite. It didn't have the familiarity of fear, that bite that used to leave her gasping, shocked, nervous heat twisting in her belly and her hands snagging at shrouds and shirttails. No. It was not fear. No more fear than it was uncertainty, though that, at least, felt like something close to the truth of it. A lie still, but one so familiar it would be easily swallowed, because wasn't there so little she was sure of? Did know?

She didn't know whether this would work at all, no more than she knew her middle name. Or what the bush outside her bedroom window had looked like, or how it smelled after the rain. Or if this was worth it-- and it didn't matter, anyway, did it? All the platitudes in the world couldn't convince them, convince her, that this wasn't a useless gesture. That, gesture made, she'd done everything she could because she'd always think that she could do more. And who knew? Maybe she could. Maybe Masters was right. Maybe they all could. Maybe they couldn't. Maybe what they had wasn't good enough for even one man, one day, or maybe it had to be good enough for that --for one moment beneath unblinking eyes-- all of her questions and doubts shifting their gravity for just one second. One breath. Girls like her didn't pause for just anything. Didn't bow her head and ask just anyone if it was going to be alright. And they didn't decide that it was, that it would be, for just any speech, no matter how well meant. For any man, no matter that it would have, should have, if she'd had an opinion.

No.

It was only as Tsurin blinked up at Masters, her eyes hot and raw in the light, that she knew that feeling for what it was. Smiled, a smile that lifted her lips but did not reach her eyes, because it was no more a joke than all of the rest of it, no less. The only real surprise should have been that she was surprised at all. At any of it. They'd come full circle-- here she was, legs bent to plastic and steel instead of a square a of sunlight that had checkerboarded the Paquin streets. Here was the final man, the only man, and here was Vanya, coaxing Tsurin to take her place with eyes that flashed black and open, reaching hands. Her dark hair curtained her face as she cut Faust in half, her back arching like the horizon, a perfect curve that marked the descent of the sun.

And just like last time, Tsurin shook her head. No. "No," she said simply. "Uncuff me. I'll get your man."

[Julius "Jules" Hanner]

Well, things were off to a lovely start. The first suggestion Hannibal had given had near instantly been objected to by some of the prisoners. Felix Lanna and Deron Briggs...Jules hoped that they were the only ones with the "every man is expendable" mindset. In truth, he couldn't figure out himself why the Captain was so gun-ho to get this man--because it was true they could find another easily enough--but he was sure that the Captain had his reasons.

"Captain, the doctor's right. If she doesn't get that man to an infirmary, he might not make it out of this lobby. Perhaps one of us could escort them to the ship?" That said, he turned to Belle. "Lieutenant, if you send them in unarmed, there's a good chance we could end up losing more than just one man. She makes a valid point," Jules said with a point towards Vanya. "At least give them a weapon of some kind."

So far, they had only two volunteers, which made Jules a bit uneasy. While most hadn't replied, two had vehemnantly denied. If the rest followed that trail of thought, Jules was worried about trusting them to have his back in the future. Wariness was called for around the prisoners, true, but at some point they would become comrades-in-arms, and it's generally good to be able to trust one's comrades.

Regardless, Jules slung the rifle off of his shoulder. "Captain, if you need someone to lead our little rescue party, I volunteer. That being said, I'd rather not go in blind. We have any intel on where Lawson might be?"

[Mari Green]

Mari listened to what was going on and what was being said. There was a man still in the Egg that they were waiting for and between him and them was a full on riot.

A couple of the inmates there had also refused to go help retrieve the guy. Didn't they know that they were showing their true colors? Those guys deserved to be left here in this Hell hole. Who would want someone on their "team" like that?

What Nikki said was sound. She needed to stay here in case the man (or anyone else for that matter) came back injured. But what she didn't get was why the crazy chick who liked to talk to dead people volunteered to go? There was bound to be formidable people there, although such individuals were much less scary when they were alone. One on one was one thing. Mari knew she could size up someone pretty fast. But the whole population going nuts at one time? And many of them haven't seen a female in years? It was just plain crazy.

What also puzzled her was that the girl seemed to thrust herself into the situation based on the mere asking of the other female there. Mari wasn't quite sure if she had volunteered and wanted to have crazy come with or if she had volunteered crazy girl and planned to stay behind. Whatever it was, it was certainly odd and needed more investigating at a later date.

So it seemed like the soldiers and just a couple of her new "crewmates" had volunteered to go. She couldn't stand there and just say nothing. She thought that was tantamount to refusal and she wanted to be a good team member. She wanted to be the first one released from "duty." She wanted to get to see her father as soon as possible. She turned to the ones that refused.

"You are despicable," she growled. "You are getting an opportunity... A huge opportunity to get the Hell out of this place and the first thing you say is no? You deserve to be left behind here and replaced with someone who really deserves this."

She knew she was probably not making friends right now, but there were things that needed done. Mostly a man who needed rescuing. She turned her attention to the Alliance soldiers there.

"I have some skills to offer. I went to military school. I know the importance of getting your teammates back home in reasonable shape. No matter if you like them or trust them or whatever..." she told them.

Because Lord knows, she didn't trust any of them, but she knew that being a "team player" might move her along a little faster. She knew what she had to do. She was going to stick her neck out. She shifted in her seat so that they could see the growing blood stain on her side.

"It's not real bad... yet. If Nikki could patch me up temporarily, I could help some," she offered. "I'm a quite fair shot and I wouldn't mind joining you in the rafters to assist you in providing some back up. I wouldn't be much help down on the floor of the East Egg. Not like this."

Maybe the others would change their minds and see that they had a role to play here. They just couldn't be given a golden chance like this one and treat it like they had a choice in deciding what they could and could not do.

She knew one thing... those ones refusing to help were the ones that definitely needed to be watched extra careful and if needed, removed as a variable in her equation for freedom.

[Hannibal Masters]

Hannibal Masters was a proud man. However, despite that pride he was not a foolish one. Some of the suggestions he heard should and would be taken to heart. No guns was one he was forced to agree with, it would draw far to much attention. Despite his most obvious desire, his Alliance nature screaming to go in guns blazing and flags flying, dealing justice and carnage in equal measure, stealth seemed more required for this task. There would be other days for glorious charges.

A plan was forming in his mind based on the good advice. Send the doctor back to the ship to prep the medical bay, have Belle up high with the rifle, take the men and any women bold enough to volunteer and appropriately disguise the party. Melee weapons for all were also a must. Furthermore, much of his own time during the conversation had been spent observing the cameras and downloading schematics of the East Egg, they were as ready as they would ever be.

Oh, right. One other little detail.

Fixing Deron and Felix with his most wintery smile, Captain Masters spoke in a firm, crisp tone. “Well, Mr Lann, Mr Briggs, I'm very glad you both agreed to stand in the front line with me. I utterly and completely appreciate it.” Waving in the direction of the nearest weapons crate, the Alliance captain continued. “Help yourselves to melee weapons and body armour. It will be needed after-all.” His tone was chipper, almost asking the duo to challenge him. It also carried the unspoken promise, argue with me on this one and end up back in that hole.

I dare you to defy me.

Turning to the rest of the gathered convicts, he addressed them. “Now, I understand the sensitive nature of this mission for some of you. If you are a woman I only expect volunteers. If you are a man, unfortunately you are required to join me on my stroll.” He smiled at them a smile both cold and somehow reassuring. “You will be given some attempt at disguise, don't worry.”

Removing his personal core-pad, Hannibal displayed a rough map of the Egg, projecting it for all to see. “According to some cameras, Mr Lawson is at the far end of the egg, moving towards us at top speed. Obviously, the goal is to intercept him and retrieve him. After that we can withdraw in an orderly fashion. Kill anyone who gets in your way but please, try not to draw to much attention to yourselves.” Cocking his head in Belle's direction, Masters continued, “The First Lieutenant will be up in the balcony providing discreet covering fire. Do not rely on her too much, go into this task assuming she is not present. The Sargent and I will be calling the shots. You obey him as if he were me. If you get out of line or cause him any trouble I will support any discipline he sees fit. Are we all at agreement?” Without waiting for a response he clapped his hands. “Excellent! Now, arm yourselves and get some armour on. We have a mechanic to recover.”

This was risky, almost reckless, however it had to be done. If Hannibal backed down on this he'd never manage to gain control of these cons. He needed them firmly in their place if they, and more importantly he, were to survive this adventure. Of course, being a man of principal, Hannibal wouldn't ask them to do anything he wouldn't do himself, hence, leading this mission personally. Hopefully it wouldn't be the last thing he did.

Plot Progress

“It's worse than I imaged in here, First Lieutenant,” Hannibal told Belle over his comms device in an unusually cheerful manner. All around him the Egg was in flames, bodies lay bleeding on the ground and screams filled the air.

His body armour felt a little snug underneath the dirty trench coat he'd borrowed, but it would easily stop a prison shank. Comfort was a small price to pay for continued breathing.

“I've got my core-pad registered to track the feeds from the cameras,” It had been hell getting Devore to agree to that, “If he moves past one of them we'll know.” He lowered his voice so only Belle could hear him now, “Please don't do anything too reckless.”

Turning to the squad with him, Hannibal began. “Keep a low profile and stay together. Ready? Let's move.”

OOC: Unless stated any prisoners you come across are Red-shirts, please remember, there are consequences for your actions, so think your moves through.

Nikki? If you'd please prep the med bay on-board the Vindicator I would appreciate it. Mykael, Hannibal extends you the offer of prepping the ship's chapel rather than coming. If, as a female, you didn't volunteer you will also be prepping the ship. If you did go in you've been, to the best of ability, disguised as a man so as not to draw particular attention. From a distance, no prisoners should identify your gender. Everyone has been disguised with prison style garb for added convenience. None of us should stick out too much.

Ready or not here we go!

[Mongrel]

Stabbing his knife repeatedly into the other man’s stomach, Mongrel felt the hot spray of blood wash over his arms. Jared, which Mongrel always felt was a stupid name for a prisoner, went slack, desperately trying to keep his intestines inside the mess his lower abdomen had become. He sank to his knees before the gang-leader, gazing up at him with a painful expression. Blood bubbled in his mouth, rendering his pleas for mercy unintelligible.

Not that Mongrel would have given any.

Slitting Jared’s throat ear to ear was child’s play, rummaging through his pockets a chore, hacking off one of his ears and adding it to the others? That was joy. The necklace of gruesome trophies hung comfortably from his neck, proclaiming across the entire egg that the master of the Head-Hunters was not to be trifled with.

The scent of glorious slaughter filled his nose, the sound of screaming his ears. How long had it been since the last egg-wide conflict? Too damn long, that was certain. All around him, his boys were claiming choice trophies from the sad remains of the Hard Bastards gang. They’d put up even less of a fight than Mongrel had hopped. Pathetic.

One of the gang was slowly crawling away, however, with an arm missing, his progress wasn’t very quick . Mongrel didn’t particularly feel like chasing him, so he settled for shouting. “Zhu tamin ya min zhu yi, tah mah de!” The wounded Bastard put an extra little scramble in his movements, disappearing into the flaming chaos. The odds were against him living another ten minutes; in his current condition he was a target and most likely knew it.

“Hullo, what have we here?” Mongrel asked, looking at some new targets. It was a gang he’d never seen before, not to be unexpected, Andersonville was relatively large. They seemed unbloodied.

Interesting.

“What’d you want to do Mongrel?” Marko, his second, asked, rubbing his cleaver against a pant leg. The blood-stained tool didn’t get much cleaner for the act, it was symbolic anyway.

“What do I want?” Mongrel grinned. “I want the boss’ ears, both of 'em.” He smirked, “But not yet. Get the boys ready, we go on my signal.”

Marko just smiled.

[Deron Briggs]

Briggs tightened the straps on his body armor for what had to be the three hundredth time. He was completely unfamiliar with this particular piece of equipment, and he wanted to make gorram sure that it wasn't going to slide off of him in the middle of a fight. Muttering to himself, he wondered just what in the Hell Masters was thinking with this gorram rescue mission. The fact that the man had agreed to join the front lines proved that he was a madman.

A genius, a psychopath and a madman walk into a prison riot... It was like the setup to a sick joke. Unfortunately, it was about to become his reality. For some unknown reason, Masters had decided to risk the lives of people of worth, as well as his own, to bring back that rapist pile of go se Lawson. Like any of them couldn't be taught to tinker with the engines on the state-of-the-art Vindicator. As if it was in imminent danger of needing complicated repairs. Hell, Briggs had almost volunteered to look through the manuals. But, no. Here they were, about to dive into Hell once again, to collect some pond scum.

Deron inspected the long blade he'd selected. Military issue, not a nick or dull spot on the edge to be found. He wasn't one for fighting, but with a blade like that, he really needn't be. And whatever he didn't manage to cut, he was sure Lann would be more than happy to. The sick rutter.

Gritting his teeth, he looked over at Masters darkly. "Well, if we're going to do this, let's do this."

[Storm Xiao]

If his mother knew what he was doing, she would have freaked out. He'd told his mother that he'd found a way to get of Andersonville. And he had promised it had nothing to do with escaping... Well, maybe he'd have to escape death. Storm kept a cautious vigil, watching all the prisoners around them. No one had approached them, yet, but Storm was sure it was bound to happen. He sighed. He didn't know this man they were looking for, but if he was the only thing keeping them from getting out of here, Storm wanted to get him out.

Storm kept close behind Masters but somewhat off to the side. He knew that if he needed to alert the captain of something, he needed to be close to him. He hadn't found anything, yet. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe they could get through here without so much of a notice or scratch.

Something caught his attention and caused his eyes to steer away. The color red. It wasn't blood. No, this red was more vibrant and almost seemed to glow. His gaze fell on Amber and his brows furrows. It wasn't often he saw her in the cage unless something bad was about to happen. Unless he needed to be alert. He saw her sign a few words.

Watch out.

He pointed to a few men. Their attentions were definitely on them. Storm took a deep breath and glanced away from them, not wanting to make it obvious that he was aware they were watching. He smacked Masters' arm with the back of his hand. When he finally got the captain's attention, Storm used his eyes to alert him of the gang watching their steps.

This post has been edited by Storm Xiao on Jul 31 2012, 03:17 AM

[Mari Green]

Mari watched as the group of "volunteers" followed Masters back into the egg. She knew it was a longshot. Riots were never easy. Especially if they extended through the whole egg.

She shook her head and knew that things were about to get ugly. She had no allegiences to the group going out there, but the Captain had gone with them.

And this ship was her ticket out of this hellhole, as well as a step closer to getting to see her Dad.

She also knew what it meant to be part of a team or unit. Like it or not, these folks were her unit and they were going to need help sooner or later.

Most likely sooner.

"Nikki... I need you to patch me up good enough to get me by for a while," she said to the resident medic. "I don't need it to be pretty, just enough that I can put up a good fight and not really care that I am a little on the banged up side."

Banged up... That description was an understatement.

"They are going to need help and I want to be in the position to give them some."

She looked down at her wound to see that the bloodstain was much larger than before.

"And we might want to work on that quick like."

This post has been edited by Mari Green on Jul 8 2012, 10:25 PM

[Felix Lann]

He thought he might cry. Really, his eyes were damp at the edges, and he had to reach a hand up to wipe away a stray tear. Everyone called Andersonville hell, but at the moment Felix was pretty sure it was as close to heaven as he was likely to get. If only Nora and Lily were with him, he’d be truly, completely happy. Still, the vast array of weapons before him was a decent substitute. He may not have volunteered for this suicide mission—regardless of what Masters said, he most certainly hadn’t—but at least there were perks. He didn’t know when he’d get his pick of blades like this again, so he’d savor this moment.

The convict ran his hands over the knives before him, picking up one or the other and testing how they felt in his grip. Any would do, but none had that special feeling that was just right. He was reaching the last of his options, and so far the man was disappointed.

Then he found the one. It was a short blade, serrated, with teeth that shone in the lobby’s light. He hefted the weapon and stabbed in front of him. The knife sang, and he knew it was the right one for the job. Maybe he could talk Masters into letting him keep it once they were off this rock—for protection only, of course. Surely that was a reasonable request. After all, he was going to be locked in a metal box with criminals! Self-defense was sure to be an issue.

Now to the armor. Felix eyed the stuff with undisguised distaste. Give him a nice suit any day over that hard, uncomfortable crap. Still, it would give him an upper hand over the rest of the men out there and allow him to do his business with relative impunity. So, reluctantly, he pulled the armor on, making it sure it was tight enough to stop it from slipping off but loose enough to allow him complete freedom of movement. The convict grinned down at the knife in his hand once more before looking back at the Captain, his opinion of the man improved with the gift of weaponry. With a nod he signaled that he was ready. They had a man to save, and many bodies in between him and them. Time to have some fun.

[Nikki]

"I think some o' them need the kinda help comes with a white coat an' a prescription pad."

Of course, in Andersonville, it could be argued that being a bit off was just the 'Verse's way of letting you know you were still human. Being well adjusted in Crazy Land made you the crazy too.

"Of course, I ain't crazy, so what's that say about me?"

"Says I got something kept me goin', that's what. I got a skill that's in demand in there. Keeps you safer that way. You can focus on it and let the days slide by."

Mari was the same way. Just that her skill ran the opposite way.

"What you need, I got time to do right, though, and you're gonna be glad for it later. Far as pretty goes, we all gotta work what we got on that, but I don't think it's gonna hurt you much."

The ship was big. Not truly huge, but big. It would have to be for all this crew. The med bay was on the uppermost deck, down at the end of a wide passage lined with doors that might be quarters, the entrance around a tight, narrow bend. Four beds. Probably optimistic, but time would tell. At least it was clean, and it looked nicely stocked. Not a full hospital, but what would you expect on a ship this size?

"Ought to have basic scanners at least." she said, looking around the space. "Want to make sure you ain't got nothing stuck in there ain't supposed to stay when the wound's closed up. Ain't like anyone in there sterilizes their blade before they stick someone, or after. Don't think you'll need blood, long as you stop losing what you've got."

[Tsurin]

Tsurin stopped and stared, then turned her head to give Masters a look. "You." The words twisted in her stomach, sat sour on her tongue, and in the end she turned her face away rather than put that feeling to words. Away and towards the Egg, even though it hurt more to look.

She swallowed to wash away all her reflexive anger. She couldn't --can't-- argue with him, and so she was silent, unable to form words, any words at all, and when she slid down, curling up behind the others, Tsurin found herself palming her shoulder and the unfamiliar weight there. Negligible. Just another burden placed atop a greater one, but it gave opportunity to look aside at the others. Their progress seemed slow, a rough, dreamlike glide, yet fast, too fast, and Tsurin had to bite her tongue against the words piling up there. Stick together, he'd said. Right. She sighed, hot gush of frustration rushing free. It hurt her to make that noise, a twist inside her chest that was exactly like jealousy. She'd broken something, torn it, and she could feel the broken edges press on her teeth, waiting for its turn to leak out.

She had her own reservations about being here, but unlike the others, she knew that no good would have come of her saying them. They wouldn't have done any good. So why bother?

It never did any good. You couldn't expect any different, any more than you could change. They had all dug their own ruts, made their own beds and refused to lie in them, yea, and were not delivered, and now they had found the end had come for them they wanted out. Still. What none of them realized was the one things she expected Masters was counting on. The thing that had brought all of them here in the first place, to Andersonville, was habit. Was magic. The tricks you had to play in order to cast the grand illusion. They got under the skin, scars that formed a pattern, a pattern that formed a life—until you lost control of what it was you only thought you created, and realized it was always bound to free itself someday. Masters wanted that curtain blown away, and it was here that he wanted it done, here where the air was heavy with the smell of blood and fear, and. It was a good thought, if there was anything to find behind the curtain at all. Looking at all the Egg arrayed before them, she rather doubted it. Still. It was not for her to say, though its absence was written into every idle look she had, every flick of the tongue.

Instead, she said nothing. Said nothing and shook her head, pushing hair gone messy with sweat more fully under the borrowed cap. Pushed her thoughts away, too. They weren't banished so easily, lingering in the slant of her shoulders and the fall of her hand about to close on her weapon, and the heat and tension in the moment of pause.

There was movement beyond their circle. Unfamiliar. Unknown. The pitch and timbre of the screams echoed wrongly, here, the acoustics lending a more shrill tone than she was used to. Deadening the footfalls to breath, barely, an afternote in a crowded page, but there. Noticed. She turned her head to look, away, down to her borrowed weapon. It was a sap. Heavy. Felt like lead or something similar inside, and it was a welcome change after so many sharpened toothbrushes and platinum bits. She let it swing, testing it, before nodding and stepping back again, watching the watchers. Testing that, too. A moment, and she glanced to the side. She didn't like the look of those side ways. Too many places for ambushes. She knew. Laid more than a few of her own in places just like this.

Turning back, Tsurin let out a soft whuff of breath, almost a laugh, and twisted her fingers into a shape that sort of resembled a three eared bunny, but more closely resembled a Persephone street sign that questioned their watchers' relationships with their mothers. Let them come. There was a quick, thin flash of white from between her teeth and then she was moving, ducking down around a fallen bit of walkway, putting it at her back. She held her sap easily, lightly, but she looked as much to her new "friends" as much as she did the unknowns. She didn't want them behind her, either.

[Karkoff Miller]

Back into the maw. With no guns.

Miller hadn't said a word as the others argued the best way to go in for Lawson. Wasn't his way to say a thing. He watched as the others selected knives, swords- blood weapons. A man had to be a killer to want to use those things. He had to have a lust for them.

Something he'd never managed to have.

When his turn came, he stepped up, silently dropped a lightweight armored vest over his head and buckled it. It was a bit short in the chest, but he didn't intend to let anyone close enough for that to matter. In each hand, he took up a stun baton. He snapped them to their longest length and set the charge to its highest setting before flicking the button that would make them once again small and compact. Not quite lethal, but nothing and no one he hit would be getting back up from them. There would be no lethal blood on his hands today if he could help it.

The battery packs read full. When they ran out, if they ran out, he'd have to resort to brute force. Or take the weapons of the fallen.

Miller had to reject the instinct to move in front of, and protect, the women, , something that tolled hard on his pride. But he couldn't give them away. Instead, Miller moved swiftly and silently to Hannibal's side, turning half-profile, shielding the captain with his bulk as they moved into the insanity that had become the Egg. Screams, howls of rage, blood, the stench of metal and death; the inhumanity that was Andersonville, engulfed them, and he glanced to Hannibal, nodding towards a gang near the far side.

Hell. Mongrels crew.

They were humped.

"We been spotted," Miller muttered low to Hannibal, his crooked fist keeping the still-collapsed baton low and close to his hip, "They're sussin' us out..."

He saw the first man break from the group and start to circle around them. "And... they're done sussin'."

Behind his back, he snapped his left baton to full length and dropped back to leverage his weight to his right foot...

[Elliott Lawson]

East Egg
Back Alley

Slipping as silently as he could, he made his way down the alley for as long as his legs would carry him. Elliot crashed down into a pile of trash that smelled like it was also someone’s urinal. Not his most dignified of moments, to be sure, but he didn’t really have much choice.

He needed to get the blade out.

In his right thigh was a knife, sharp as all get out, and pointy enough to kill a man without too much fuss. Its blade had gone into the side of his leg, and had grazed the muscle, coming out the other side, like an intentional piercing with a poor choice of jewelry. It’s owner had traded it for the last bullet in Elliott’s gun, blade for bullet, leg for head.

Elliott stripped off his now gun free vest, and tore a decent sized chunk from one corner of the leather, ripping along a seam. He crammed one corner into his mouth as he grasped the hilt of the knife. He bit down hard and gave the blade a yank, the pain forcing tears into his eyes, for which he was grateful. They helped wash the salty sweat out. He removed the leather from his teeth, and made a mental note to floss later, if he got the chance, as he was pretty sure he had some cow stuck there. He placed the leather patch against his bleeding leg, putting pressure on the wound with his elbow. He untied the leather cord that he’d had wrapped around the handle of one of his wrenches, and used it to lash the makeshift bandage in place.

For two long minutes, he sat there, unseen in the chaos that had engulfed the Egg. He needed to move, but more than that, he needed to let his leg adjust to the pain. It’d gone from sharp to dull, and was now working its way to almost bearable. Two quick deep breaths (which he regretted, due to his average olfactory acuity), and he forced himself to his feet, trying not to limp obviously as he made his way to the ladder that led up to the roof of the nearest building.

Maybe he’d have better luck on the roof. He made his way up the ladder, hopping up the rungs with two hands and a foot, and found the roof relatively empty. The normal machinery that kept the Egg running, of course, but devoid of people.

He got his bearings, and headed for the exit and, he hoped, safety. Hopefully the Vindicator had arrived on time. Hopefully they hadn’t left without him already. Hopefully, if they’d come into the Egg looking for him, they’d done it heavily armed. Hopefully they weren’t all dead...

Hopefully...

[Mongrel]

“Now boss?” Marko asked, toothless grin taking up most of his face. The killer was giving no attempt to hide his blood-lust, he embraced it. He began eagerly rubbing his thumb along the cleaver's width, practically salivating with anticipation.

Mongrel simply smiled. “Bring me a pretty one,” he commented, cocking his head towards one of the new-comers, “I could use a new bitch. And try to get one that looks something like a woman,” he added with a dismissive hand-wave, “I'm not a savage. Also bring me the boss’ ears.” An ugly hyena grin split his face, “Do what you want with the rest.”

Turning back towards the dozen odd members of the Head-Hunters, Mongrel raised his fist, “Hunters!” He roared, voice echoing over the din of battle, rattling around the Egg. Jabbing his own knife at the new band he screamed, “Kill!”

All around him, armed to the teeth with pipes, crude blades and even rocks, the Hunters screamed, foamed and shook themselves furiously. Like a mighty wave, they rushed en mass towards the band foolish enough to wander into their turf.

Slipping behind them, Mongrel followed. If these unknowns were more skilled than he anticipated, they’d take a few of his boys down. He was far enough back to avoid harm, but close enough to get some action before his men tore them to pieces.

The Mongrel leaned back and waited.

[Hannibal Masters]

Hannibal wasn’t entirely thrilled with the situation; that much he’d admit. He’d most likely alienated Lann and certainly had the professor. However, they’d spoken out against a direct order in clear defiance. He had to lock down on the trouble-makers before more seeds of rebellion were sown.

Yet he was no fool, and had his team in a decently defensible formation. He’d also taken the advice of young Mr Xiao, noting the lurking predators, though, in truth, they would have been near impossible to miss.

When Miller, the member of this new band he arguably liked most, also made the observation, he knew battle was nearly upon them.

“Stand to,” he ordered, softly enough to avoid alerting any nearby criminals, but loud enough that his party caught every syllable. “This group will most likely rush…”

The gang-leader’s screaming rendered what he we about to say pointless. The mob rushed towards them, weapons readied, faces warped with furious snarls. Nothing to do now but take them.

Dropping his sturdy blade firmly into his hand, the Vindicator’s master took one step back. He was in the front, leading by example as both the academy and his father had taught. Never ask a man to do something you’re unwilling to do yourself.

The lead inmate was armed with a large pipe held in both hands. Seeing Masters ready himself was all it took for the convict. Howling, he sprinted forward, intent on pulping Hannibal before any of his fellows could intervene.

However he wasn’t prepared for his adversary.

The captain smoothly dodged the first, clumsy strike, readying himself for the backhand. To the inmate’s credit, he made it quickly. The backwards strike lacked the force of the first blow and Masters’ blocked it smoothly with his left forearm. Alliance military grade arm-guard verse a crude hunk of steel was no contest, the makeshift club bouncing back. In one smooth motion, the captain battered the pipe away with his left arm and with his right buried the knife up to its hilt in criminal stomach.

As the first Head Hunter hit the ground, Masters’ order nonchalantly, “Destroy the entire band.”

Battle was joined.

OOC: Save Mongrel, all these guy’s are red-shirts, eleven in total. Kill them at your leisure but don’t hog them all. If you want to face Mongrel himself, PM me and we’ll set something up.

Have fun!