Clusterfrag

Max looks at Doc, and says,

"You run the bypass. I'll cover you."

Adams grabs the sequencer, and dashes to the door, pressing himself flat against the wall.

Out of view of the camera, he starts the bypass.

Max follows closely behind Doc in the brief moment of cover that the restarting camera provides.

Doc eases a paper thin strip of metal in the slit between the panel and concrete and then pops the cover off. Lifting the panel carefully, he exposes a bundle of wires.
After tracing the alarm wires back into the conduit, he separates out the rest and crimps those into the sequencer.
The small display on the sequencer throws a generic error code at Doc.

Doc mumbles a curse and tosses the sequencer in his pack. Sliding a pair of pliers around the ribbon of cables, he plucks a pair and crosses the leads. A few stray sparks accompany the smell of ozone as he trips the system's on-board fuse. As the display comes back on, he quickly pops a jumper off the integrated circuit board and twists the heavy handle on the door, pushing just enough to disengage the locks.

Adams flashes a thumbs up to the team.

< We're in. >

Sinjin stops to extend a hand and help Val to his feet with a brief tug. After a silent clap on the shoulder, the two make their way up the ramp after Doc and Max and enter the building close behind them.

Val logs out of VR, returning to the painfully chilled body of his meat. He stands stiffly, and calls up the control software for the security camera. After another quick restart, he follows Sinjin to the threshold of the doorway, staging shoulder-to-shoulder with his teammates; his rifle is at ready-low.

Adams steps softly into the entrance, breath still fogging in the pocket of air that has followed the team inside. He scans his surroundings taking every detail in.

Tyros walks nonchalantly past the security camera and into the building. Technology is so crude in the face of magic.

Beyond the door, an umbilical corridor of circular metal supports slopes gently into the earth. The atmosphere inside is a welcome respite from the haggard outside conditions, and the tell-tale hint of recycled oxygen nudges at the olfactory. The team's boots squeak along the plastic floor tiles as they drag a combination of dirt and snow with them. Lighting here is soft--muted--a combination of yellows and oranges that emanates from two strips running along the ceiling. The sound of heavy machinery undulates somewhere in the distance, echoes distorted by the bizarre acoustics of the architecture.

Max presses forward into the facility, giving his eyes a moment to adjust from the blinding white of the snowy world to the dim glow of the interior. The place is eerily empty, and the elf is instantly on high alert. He recognizes the tricks that the echoes of the chamber are playing on him, and concludes that pinpointing the source of a noise will be difficult-- if not impossible. Max drums his fingers once again on Marlowe's pump as he swings the barrel from side to side, clearing the corners and blind spots. The howl of the wind outside is fading behind him as he gets further from the door, but its replacement of the mechanical thrumming is somehow even more disquieting than the lonely song of the frozen gale.

Max stalks downward through the tunnel, leading with the barrel of his trusty shotgun. The sound of pistons and actuators increases in volume as he progresses.
Max's boot crosses an unseen motion detector. A pair of hatches open on the ceiling roughly 10 meters ahead.

Val's eyes widen abruptly as they catch the motion of the ceiling panels.

"DOWN!"

In a knee-jerk reflex, he throws himself to the side of the tunnel, his eyes darting around in search of cover as he waits for what he assumes will be a pair of turrets to descend from their stowage niches.

Adams follows Val's lead and dives to the other side of the hallway, grabbing what little cover he can.

Tyros has never been one to throw himself in harm's way, but his confidence in his magic propels him forward. Leaping forward, sword drawn, Tyros lands slightly behind and between the two opening turret positions, ready to smite them when they emerge.

Max can hardly believe the rookie mistake-- how could he have been so fraggin' stupid?! The elf dives to the side of the tunnel and finds himself shielded by an industrial support strut that juts out from the wall. His index finger plays atop the trigger guard of his weapon as he hopes that no shots will be fired to alert enemy combatants to their presence.

A pair of heavily armored auto-cannons drop out of the ceiling and whir was they swing into position.

[ Max = 50 ]
[ Val = 44 ]
[ Autocannon 1 = 44 ]
[ Doc = 42 ]
[ Autocannon 2 = 38 ]
[ Sinjin = 34 ]
[ Tyros = 28 ]

Max's keen eyes don't miss much, and his shame over having missed the IR sensors is glaring in his mind. What they don't miss, however, is the cannon on the left beginning its slow whir to murderous life ahead of the other. In combat situations, taking out the opponents most prepared to strike in due sequence is key to survival. The method to their gory madness is instilled in every member of the team innately, and indicates the deeper trust that they all have for one another. Max might be closer to a mercenary drawing directly on him, but will choose to shoot another who is faster on the draw but bearing down on Val. And vice-versa. If Max were ever to stop and think about any of this consciously he would undoubtedly recognize that this single aspect of how they all work together is why they're still alive after so many trips into the mouth of hell. Max doesn't think of it, though. Instead, Max simply knows which cannon to shoot first to ensure that all of his comrades make it out alive, which is exactly why they always all make it home.

(( BF on the first shot, SA on the second. ))

The auto-cannon's actuators shift the gun to the side as the targeting computer plots the trajectory of Max's shotgun, which fails to register a hit.
< 5P DAMAGE >

A shower of sparks erupts from the auto-cannon as Max's slug rips through the armor.

((Is it possible to get a surprise round, or at least automatically lead the initiate order, with a preemptive action? It was kind of the point of Tyros not going for cover like everyone else to be ready to strike the canons when they dropped before they or someone else could shoot. Figured that was the trade off for not having cover...))

Shoulder aching slightly from his enthusiastic dive to the wall, Val raises his rifle and fires off a burst at the damaged turret.

(( BF. Repeat if the turret survives. Also, remember I have AV rounds now. ))

Val pops a clip of AV rounds into his FN HAR, slides the bolt and fires.
Val's burst ricochets off of the corridor walls.

The first auto-cannon turret to acts fires on Max.
Max winces as the massive projectile leaves a smoking, partially melted scar across his Phalanx chest-piece.
The second shot takes out a large piece of the support strut, but fails to hit the elf.

Adams sees the second turret snap into place, and fires on it without hesitation.

< 6P DAMAGE >

Doc's burst hits the turret dead-on, causing a plume of smoke to erupt, but the gun continues to operate.

Doc's second burst only grazes the smoking turret cannon.

The heavily damaged auto-cannon turns to fire on Doc.
< 7P DAMAGE >

The force of the cannon slug striking Doc knocks him off his feet and sends him sliding.

The turret turns on the next closest target--Max--and fires again.
Max stays flattened against the wall, unharmed.

Sinjin throws an arm over Doc and lugs him backwards, out of the view of the turrets.

(( Tyros is up. ))

Val fires a second burst at one of the autocannons.

Tyros leaps up towards the first autoturret and slashes it across the extension arm holding it in place.

< 7P DAMAGE >

The turret explodes as Val lays into it with anti-vehicle rounds.

< 13P DAMAGE >

Tyros cuts the sentry gun free in a single fell swoop.

(( Combat's over. ))

The clamor of combat ends in a shower of sparks and metal as Max rushes over to his friend, who lies badly wounded on the floor. Kneeling hastily beside him, Max quips,

"Didn't anybody tell you that getting shot is my job on this team?"

Adams clutches his gut, slowing the flow of blood.

"I tried to tell them, but I don't think they heard me over the gunfire," he mutters.

He clumsily paws around in his pack, finally retrieving a medkit. Starting with a pressurized shot of anesthetic, he gets to work healing his own wounds.