Clusterfrag

"Stay frosty....we don't know what other presents that goon squad may have left ahead of us. Pandora, your familiar with this place...any idea where they may have headed to hole up from this thing?"

Pandora cranes her neck as she jogs.

"There's an armory in the main building. I know that's where I'd want to be."

Doc snaps his fingers,

"Is there anywhere near the armory where we could hide? I don't want to go up against Legion AND whatever this is."

He grins,

"Actually, I'd much rather they take care of each other."

Max grins, looks at Doc, and says,

"I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Reaching the umbilical, Pandora yanks a hidden access panel off one of the strange, ebbed walls.

"There's a series of maintenance ducts that run all throughout this facility--they're how I got to the machine floor in the first place. I don't think we need to be concerned with triggering any alarms at this juncture."

Max speaks between huffs, saying,

"At some point" *HUFF* "we always seem to" *HUFF* "stop worrying about alarms."

The elf follows the physical adept into the service corridors, hoping beyond hope that that monster chasing them won't be able to follow.

Pandora climbs through a cloud of steam venting from a pipe, which sticks her pitch black hair to her pale forehead.

"Even if we survive being picked off one by one by this predator and the inevitable shootout with what remains of the Legion garrison, there's still a gunship to deal with."

She stops and slides flat on her bottom, pushing a hatch free with her muscular, battle-suit bound legs.

Max continues to follow the nimble woman, and asks,

"Any ideas there?"

"Let's deal with the immediate problem," Adams says in a low voice.

"Maybe something in the armory can be used against the gunship."

Pandora eases out of the maintenance hatch and into another one of the identical tunnels. She draws up to a crouch and motions for the others to follow.

Max pokes his head cautiously out from the hatch, all too aware that the coast may be clear for Pandora one moment and killed with decapitations the next. The elf pulls himself to a crouch next to the adept and rather impotently points the loaner sub machine gun down the corridors as he keeps watch.

Adams crawls in behind, making sure to muffle the sound of his movements.

"Do you have a place in mind?" He whispers, "otherwise, we might want to get a view of the armory. I want to see this thing, whatever it is, in action. Get a better idea of what we're up against."

The team spreads out against the wall, cater corner to a junction. Just around the corner, half of a Legion squad is busy barricading a reinforced door.

"They'll demote the whole platoon. We're going to be scrubbing shitters for the rest of our contract."

"Let's focus on surviving before you start worrying about the future of your job. Ramirez, give me a hand."

The closest Legion soldier--a rifleman--sighs and leans his Shiaware Arms Riot Guard against the wall before grabbing a crate.

"Lift with your legs, not your back, drekhead."

Max eases forward to the corner, his back pressed closely to the wall. Seeing the weapon, the elf slings the SMG over of shoulder and secures it to his back with a free strap to ensure that it will not rattle unnecessarily. Sliding closer inch by inch, Max's eyes dart to the distracted men barricading the door. Sweat beads on his brow and rolls down the bridge of his nose. His gloved hand extends to cover the distance between himself and the shotgun leaning before him, its considerable metallic heft evident in its size.

Max's footsteps are completely noiseless as the elf crosses the distance and leans forward. He wraps his fingers around the pistol grip and places the other hand on the stock. Testing the weight of the gun gingerly, the elf feels a sort of familiarity generally reserved for one's lover. In the soldier's stupor, he neglected to reboot a scrambled smart-link connection. Max feels the familiar tremor as his smart-link registers with the gun's internal computer.

As if sensing his next intention, the freshly rebooted smart-link interface paints a green targeting reticule on the back of the Legion soldier's head, a mere meter away.

Max shakes the weapon gently and grins. 'Not a bad piece of hardware,' the elf thinks as the targeting reticle thrums in his vision, exhorting him to test out his new toy. Its former owner working with his back turned, Max moves the sights of this new weapon over to one of his companions. Max has no compunctions about firing on an unarmed man, but an unarmed man poses less of a threat than his otherwise armed counterparts. Max selects one of the other two, gently caresses the trigger to test its tension. The hungry weapon cries out at the world, flinging a payload of lead toward its target.

The barricade tumbles, just as Max pulls the trigger. Instinctively, the elf jerks back and the slug ricochets off of the floor. His intended target slumps to the ground, decapitated. Pandemonium erupts as the other two Legion soldiers open fire on the shadow that flits from one end of the corridor to the other.

Max stumbles backward away from the sudden eruption of violence. Blood already pools from thick, rhythmic gushes that emanate from where the Legion soldier's head used to rest atop his neck. The severed head of the shotgun's former owner still sits inside its helmet, and while Max can't see the face of the decapitated man, he imagines it as a mask of surprise and sorrow. The elf scrambles away from intersection of the corridors back toward the team's rear position, his eyes frantically searching Pandora's. Max shouts in her face, "You know this facility! Where do we go?" Gunfire sputters in the background, falling eventually to an eerie silence.

Pandora dodges down the opposite corridor, nearly colliding with another Legion squad.

[ Max = 60 ]
[ LRA = 51 ]
[ Doc = 47 ]
[ LHeavy = 44 ]
[ Pandora = 37 ]
[ LRB = 37 ]
[ Sinjin = 36 ]
[ Val = 34 ]
[ LPhysAd = 33 ]
[ Tyros = 29 ]
[ LHermetic = 29 ]

(( Extreme close quarters combat, so there will be negative modifiers on ranged combat tests. ))

Max's lightning fast reflexes have the situation assessed before he can even consciously register the presence of a new squadron of Legion soldiers. The elf's left hand takes hold of the shotgun by the stock and his arm swings open as his right comes up, his hand curled into an hateful claw that reaches out for the nearest Legion soldier's neck as Max speeds toward him on a collision course that will end on the ground.

Max's chop is fast enough that the Legion soldier is unable to avoid it. The elf's hand connects with his shoulder-pad, which absorbs the impact.

The Legion soldier attempts to grab Max's arm and twist it. Max pivots on his heel, pulling his limbs away from his enemy.

Doc locks onto the Heavy, mindful of the damage that the Legion soldier is capable of. The reticule settles on the target, and he opens fire.

(( Twice if necessary ))

Doc weaves, trying to get a clear shot in the crowded hallway. His first burst punches a trio of holes in the side of the corridor.

His second burst is shy, pelting everyone engaged in the melee with bits of ceiling panel.

The Legion Heavy aims a powerful haymaker at Doc.
Doc lowers his rifle just in time to feint backwards. The heavy's frenzied attack bounces painfully off of his chest-plate, but does no actual damage.

Pandora notices Doc in distress and dances in, her wakizashi shrieking as it sails through the air in a spiral.
{{ 4P DAMAGE }}

She twirls away again, a wake of blood following the precision puncture wound left in the heavy's armor.

The other Legion Rifleman strikes forward with a right hook, aimed at Pandora.
Pandora spins away, quickly removing herself from unarmed range.

Attempting to separate him from getting in too close to his comrades, Sinjin lunges toward the Legion Adept with a weighted front kick.

{{ 10P DAMAGE }}

Sinjin catches the Legion adept off guard and the vicious scissor kick shatters his chest-plate, breaking all of his ribs in the process.

Val tucks into a slide and fires a burst at the Legion hermetic.
{{ 2P DAMAGE! }}

The hermetic takes a slug, which is slowed by the ballistic plates in his battle-suit.

A strained groan escapes the Legion adept as he fights through the excruciating pain and attempts to return a roundhouse.
Sinjin is ready; he squats low and the attack sails overhead.

Tyros lunges forward with his sword, six feet of steel thrust forward like a lance at the Legion mage with the weight of a 500 pound troll behind it.

{{ 11P DAMAGE }}

Tyros' claymore pierces the hermetic's torso and the tip of the blade emerges from the other side. The troll roars and lifts the Legion soldier off the ground, tossing him away like a (dead) ragdoll as he swings the claymore.