Mayhem At Mettropolis

May 1, 2014: The Mayor's rally is interupted by Intergang.

A Metropolis park.



Mood Music:

With the rumors of Superman's death leaking amidst the streets and the lack of his making a full public appearance in some time, the once pristine reputation of Metropolis' relatively crime free nature has just started to lose it's shine. It's the reason Barton's been sent, to make sure no one takes the rare opportunity to make a statement. Slade's eye focuses in on the window where he spotted movement, not the rooftop, only rookie snipes post up in a place without cover in a town known for flying heroes, but a top floor window. He narrows his focus which has the added bonus of 'zooming' in for him an-there! Movement. He frowns and sets the coffee cup aside as he rises to his feet, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve and letting his focus widen again. Dammit. No one else was supposed to have this contract yet.

The music is sudden, loud, and a bit surprising as a clean cut man in his early 40's, fit, movie star jaw, politician hair and family on display, walks out onto the hastily build stage, both hands raised in the air so he can wave to everyone at once. Cheers rise, loud enough to make the music seem muted, and contetti fills the air with twin WHOMPS of air cannons.

Cal leans against a tree to wait for whoever the speaker is. While he does glance around making sure all is well, it's more out of habit than any real suspicion. His interest perks as the man and his family arrives and then chaos erupts. "Shit." he mutters. "Can't I get an afternoon off?" But even as he grumbles, his civvies BLINK off of him and fall across his bed back in Westchester as he reaches up to tug the headpiece on. Unable to see where the threat is coming from, unable to hear because of the panicing, he transforms to metal and BLINK is up on the stage in front of the podium and the speaker. A sniper is the most predictable threat.

Chain reaction. The pops and bangs, the sudden turn of the crowd from cheering to screaming. It becomes the catalyst for change on several levels, though for a certain albino there's only one level which really matters.

A blacked out sedan suddenly gets rammed into from the side by a panicking motorist, which in turn redirects the sedan into a lightpole, which in turn causes the engine to become trashed and the bodywork to get all bent out of shape, which in turn causes its trunk to snap open..just so.

Then the trunk lid gets thrown open by an invisible force. No..not completely invisible. Just small, and monochrome. And handcuffed. Bruised and cut with dried blood scattered across her face, Domino kicks open the trunk then throws herself out of the back and into the street, very nearly getting run over by a Mazda in the process. Just as quickly the four doors of the same vehicle fly open, disgorging dark men in business suits. Judging by their tone and that they all happen to be reaching for weapons it's pretty clear that they're not at all pleased about this turn of events.

As if in echo, that single word happens to escape Barton's lips as well. Rising from his spot, he's got the arrow nocked, and is searching for that first target. Backpack guys.. one arrow is loosed, two.. three.. each in rapid order, and each mule gets an arrow to the -knee- (yes, I did say knee!), ready to take them down. Nothing like marking those expendibles. (They -had- to know they were the sacrificial lambs, right?)

Rising from his spot, Hawkeye jogs from his vantage to another near, blue eyes staring down at the scene. He's got his eyes pegged on the speaker, and the moment Calvin makes his move towards the speaker on the makeshift dais, the bow is up and moving steadily across, ready for that next shot.


Black sedan? Sonova.. bitch!

Threat assessment.

Kid headed towards the speaker. Black sedan disgorging four toughs and a Domino. Great. Just…

An arrow escapes the bow in the direction of the politician, or moreso towards the young man that is scampering up towards the guy. Not on his watch. Nothing in the briefing stated that any other agency is involved…

And, it's a good thing that all training wins out. In a simple target shoot, loosing 16 arrows in 30 seconds is child's play. In this case? Getting off a few arrows in the span of a few seconds, after target acquired is a little more challenging; and Hawkeye loves challenges. With the three backpackers taken down, that arrow towards Calvin is probably the last shot he'll get off without having to come down out of his roost.

But.. he can get at the toughs.. and one arrow flies through the air in the direction of the goons, catching the one in front full square in the chest… and down he goes.

Totally jealous of Cal's blinkie thing. Totally. As things are starting to get a bit - loud, Lunair jerks, startled. She sort of grits her teeth and resists the urge to bare them or dive for cover. But she was just about to. Stupid reflexes. The first round of LOUD NOISES! puts her on edge, and she's unhappy. Granted, she has a dufflebag and a pastry so it's a little bit better. Then chaos erupts (it always does) like a soda after being shaken a whole lot. Maybe in a paint can thing.

But TODAY. TODAY! Lunair has her armor kinda near! And mercifully for the audience at hand, there's no transformation sequence or stripping. Although, she does have to duck in somewhere and change at the speed of small children after a run on pixie stix. And to her credit, Lunair does manage to change pretty fast. She hops out of cover pulling on a shoe, leaving her cupcake and bag in a safe spot. Only to spot Miss Domino. "Angry - I mean, Miss! Hi!" Oh gosh! She should totally help! Wait, someone is being shot? Hmm.

Slade watches as the smoke begins to billow, slows in his minds eye, and becomes a morass of tendils creeping it's way outward. The pinkish flashes of Cal's teleporting aren't entirely stealthy, and Slade makes note of them too, and of the bright sparks that flash off of Cal's forehead as his metal skin manages to put itself in the path of the sniper's bullet a fraction of a second before it would have turned the mayor's head into a canoe. The car accident is one of two, and the sudden appearance of arrows in knees has Slade smileing slowly as he tracks their flight through the air with his naked eye, and he suspects that Harper is… … …That's not Harper. That's the SHIELD guy. He'll do. Slade takes all of this in in only a couple of seconds… and then all vision is blocked. The packs on the now downed backpackers are spewing the thick black smoke, as are the canisters in other loactions. The fog is heavier then air, and there's so much of it that the light breeze barely stirs it, and by the time the last arrow is speeding Cal's direction, no one in a half a block in any direction can see more then four feet in front of their face. Slade's jaw sets and he reaches into his coat and pulls free a pistol and an older style Marine Corp K-Bar as he settles his back down against the wheel well of a nearby car. "EVERYONE! DOWN!" he bellows, so many years of leading Teams in ops worse then this have given Slade the Military Voice Merit, the sort of voice that can be heard over crowds, gunfire, explosions, and hell. Most of the civvies drop without thinking about it, responding to the authority in the tone without hessitating to question it. It saves lives.

The explosions come from three places at once, inside the dense fog, the blast waves are literaly visable, shoving the smoke before them before colliding somewhere in the middle. It doesn't so much dissipate the fog as stir it and the confetti into a whirling soup, though it does help extend vision to almost 10 feet. The explosions are loud, but this isn't a movie, so there's little fire. The zip! whip! zing! whirrrr! of shrapnel cuts through the air in every direction as the trashcan, car, and store front that housed the explosives are turned into small bits of hurteling death. Whoever planned this wasn't taking chances. Slade can feel the warmth of trickling blood on the side of his face and knows he's lost hearing in one ear… and he can't remember falling face down on the sidewalk… Guh… he misses his armor… "ow…" he says, his voice sounding hollow and far away even to himself.

The bullet ricocheting off Mimic proves the wisdom of his choice. People up on stages are just too big a target. Unless it's a kidnapping, you can bank on a sniper. The arrow barely gets noticed since it's just mixed in with all the shrapnel in the air now. Turning, he says "Sir, report this to the police." BLINK. Mimic is alone on stage as the mayor and his family appear in a Metropolis police station lobby.

It's amazing what -getting out of a car trunk- can do for one's sense of mobility. Expression pained but determined, Domino gets both feet beneath herself and hops just enough to sweep her arms down and around to her front. Then she notices the one guy sprawled out with an arrow sticking through his ribs. -Then- she notices Lunair. Walking armory.


"Gun!" she calls out in response, more as a demand rather than a warning or observation which a regular person might have expected. She's hardly even caring what Lunair might happen to summon forth for her to seek revenge upon her captors with, if it shoots it works! Either way, it's pretty damn lucky that there's a familiar face (and a familiar ARROW) within her immediate proximity.

The remaining three Suits, not at -all- expecting to get sniped by a flipping -archer,- quickly take cover behind their trashed car. Two try to find the archer himself to respond with bullets, which is quickly becoming a tall demand with all of the smoke in the air. The third keeps an eye on Domino, or at least tries to. Too little, too late. He takes a small elbow square beneath his jaw, cracking a few teeth as he falls over backward with a stifled grunt.

Like she hasn't brawled while cuffed before!

Another one takes a piece of metal shrapnel across the side of his face, causing him to fall away screaming with hands pressing across his cheek. So, there's that.

Blind. He's running blind, and Barton doesn't like it at all. Thick black smoke is a bitch to see through, and reaching into his pocket, he replaces his sunglasses with something a touch more hi-tech and SHIELD issued. IR. It's something, at least.

With the origins of the smoke showing off in heat, and the floating clouds cooling as it rises into the air, it's not easy to discern individuals in the crowd. A couple hundred scared protesters running in all directions doesn't help for target acquisition—

Until, of course, there's a Voice calling out for those panicking to drop. Some do, obviously.. which actually -aids- the archer. Eyes narrow, and those forms that begin to move with purpose within the black gets targeted, and an arrow loosed. At the same time, however, the Agent does have a com… and he's radioing in.

"Agent Barton with 13 to ESF-5. We have a level 3 at Park <blah>.." Which should cue the Emergency Management team.

The explosions that come after, however, spurs the agent, if he hadn't been before. Even with the -puffs- of air that comes with the concussive force, visibility isn't great.. but he's got to get down.. particularly the -moment- the politician is away.

"Goddammit.. can't anything go right?"

Miss Domino! Lunair is worried. And then suddenly, it's like a slightly more lethal Ren-Faire attack. Except - wait, no - he is wearing tights. He just doesn't have poofy pants OR a cod piece. Good to know! She looks a bit surprised, but at least this time she has *most* of her armor on. Gun? Well, there's a LOT of guns. But Miss Domino looks kind of angry so it'd better be a good one. "Um. Okay!" Angry.Lady is not to be trifled with, lest one end up dying to something humiliating like having a sewage truck blow up, flip over a bridge and land on you or something. It could totally happen, as far as Lunair's concerned (That, and she really does seem to care). Right, right, gun. Assault rifle it is. Simple, quick and most folks who do mercenary stuff can use one. And it's loaded. Be careful! Lunair would feel bad if Domino put her eye out (no guns for Christmas).

Lunair herself pauses. "Did that guy just faceplant?" Did she see Slade or is that someone else? Well, either way, time to make sure Domino is okay and maybe help the older fellow (?) who fell over. Even though he was really good at yelling. Like, seriously. He's the wrecking ball of yelling.

Slade's head comes up off of the pavement where the bomb blast knocked him, and he eyes the smoking ruin that was the trashcan only a couple dozen feet away and gimaces. Of course. He flops back against the car with a grunt and takes a slow deep breath, pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose as he does so. Quick check tells him he has significant bruising along the right side of his body, along with two broken fingers, a ruptured ear drum, a couple of cracked ribs… He eyes the six inch peice of twisted charred metal sticking our of his gut just above his hip and frowns. Not pulling that out just yet. A second deep breath… and he turns off the pain. His eye opens and his gaze is hard, unwavering as he pushes himself to his feet, "Archer!" he bellows, instinctively acting as if this was his show to command, "Sniper, top floor, across the the street, third window from the corner, purple curtains." he moves into the smoke with a purposeful stride, knife and gun in hand.

From the black soup of fog, a man in an exosuit looms up before Slade, it's steel reinforced bars running down along the arms and legs of the wearer, it makes him appear like a high tech puppet. The mounted machine pistols on the ends of the hands and the steel plates covering most of the vital areas however make it more menacing. Slade doesn't even stop his forward momentum. As the visored eyes track to spot Slade, he ducks low and comes up beneath the extended machine weilding hand and eight inches of steel blade ram it's way under the man's jaw, through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. The blade is ripped free as Slade doesn't bother to break stride, "Tin Man!" he bellows, "Exosuits with advanced weapons! Hea-" he doesn't finish the statement before a lancing blast of blinding pink energy cuts through the heart of the black smoke and slams Cal dead center mass. "nevermind." Slade mutters, assuming Tin Man got the message. He heads for the sounds of gunfire, which is to say, towards Domino. Anyone with IR or thermal lenses might note the purposeful walk of a man through a crowd of kneeling sprawled civilians.

Tin man. It's not the first time Mimic's been called that. Piotr must be as tired of it as he is. Not to mention he has a heart! Now what's this about exosui… The energy beam slams his backward and the stage collapses, not really built to hold half ton people and weaked by the explosions. Yes, he got the message. And he actually felt that. Not something he wants to spend much time in front of. He climbs back to his feet and while he can't see the one with the weapon, it cut an obvious path through the smoke. Guesstimating how far away, he ports to the street and sees what he can see. See and break.

An assault rifle always works. Slightly more difficult to use without having proper hand placement, but Dom's up for the challenge! The weight, balance, and recoil habits of this particular specimen are well known to plenty of people that have spent a lot of time with it. Personally, she couldn't care less. It continues to go *bang* until it's out of ammo or she lays off of the trigger, anything else can be figured out on the fly. And perhaps with a little luck.

The man with the broken jaw is put down easy, it's more of an execution than a defensive maneuver. Spinning about she drops to a shoulder and rattles another barrage of fire through the sedan's interior, in through one open door and out through the other. The front seats and steering wheel get ripped apart, as does the vehicle's former driver. Only one remains, though he's still busy trying to keep his face held together.

It buys her some time, stifling a cough from the smoke as she roots around for a set of keys. If she can't see the last guy then he can't see her either, though she can sure as hell -hear- him. It's not quite on par with echolocation but it works.

What's even more unexpected is someone yelling 'exosuits.' "Never a bad time for things to get a little more fucked up," she hisses under her breath.

The concussive blast is messy. Those are sirens undoubtedly in the distance, bearing down on the scene. Only the first couple of patrol cars, mind, and they're getting hung up in Metropolis traffic. Those police on foot patrolling the area are pretty much busy themselves, what with the shrapnel that flies, and the blasts.. and the fact that it's still really -hard- to see without specialty equipment. (Though the fog-of-war is beginning to dissipate a little.)

'Archer! Sniper top floor…' comes through loud and clear, however, and there's that lingering moment when that 'friend/foe' works through his head. Eyes lift from the scene to peer across the way, and there, in that window, behind that curtain, he can just make out the form and figure of a person. A specialty arrow, for sure. Tazer.. is lifted from his quiver, and with the practiced ease of a man used to taking a shot under less than idea conditions, looses it once again. Silently through the air it flies, and in the next beat, it finds its mark only to let out a good dose of voltage. It should disrupt operations for the time being, and Barton is on the move once more. There's a teleporting metal man (what the hell?) and a Domino that has .. (Oh, shit. She's armed.) an accomplice?

Those that are questioning exactly the intelligence of kissing the pavement are given that secondary order as Clint makes his way to ground, bow still in hand and ready should he need to get another shot off. "Get down!"

Shouty guy (read: Slade) seems to be okay. Lunair is partially armored and she's glad Domino is okay. "Um, here." She'll offer to use a small plasma knife to cut Domino's handcuffs away if Miss Domino doesn't find the keys. Lunair is thoughtful that way. Because friends don't let friends re-enact Tarantino scenes. Or something like that. She's not so good at this. The gun will disappear once the ammo runs out. And then the word exosuits.

Quirk. Headtilt. LASER CANNON TIME! It's alarmingly large in comparison to the teenager. Is she overcompensating again ? She is!

From Cal's new vantage, just outside of the slowly disappating cloud, he spots one man in an exosuit put his foot on a Prius and send it skittering across the pavement like a shuffleboard puck, a twenty mile an hour car sized projectile headed straight for Domino and Lunair, a grin on his face. As the car's tires grip enough for it to tip over and start to just roll their way, a shoulder mounted canister tips horizontal and a trio of small rockets smoke free of it and towards the car, the intention being turning the Prius into a giant fast moving explosion straight at the two armed women. "Be a dear and burn." the man mutters.

As Clint sprints, he comes across Slade, bloody knife and pistol in hand, he looks much the worse for wear, his eyepatch is missing and Hawkeye is given the dishonor of getting to see straight into the gaping hole and twisting scars the patch usually hides. Disturbing in the worst way. Slade's gun comes up and snaps off three shots, pointed straight at Clint, the bullets whip past the Archer, one close enough to break the fletching off of an arrow in the quiver as all three slam into something fleshy directly behind Hawkeye. Slade gives the nod any soldier would recognise even as he fails to notice the slightly glowing barrel of the laser cannon that's swinging his way a few feet behind him in the lingering fog.

"I don't think so." Mimic murmurs. He can't negate inertia when he ports something and, in this case, doesn't want to. As the rockets explode the Prius… BLINK …and it continues its hurtling path except toward the exosuit which is about six feet in front of it. "Be a dear and…" Never mind. Can't think of anything witty under the circumstances. Keeping an eye on the exosuit in case that wasn't enough to take it down, he looks to see what other threats need to be dealth with.

Gotta love 'friends' with plasma blades… Looks like those Suits outfitted Domino with the high risk set of restraints, though even the extra durable chain can't hold up to that kind of temperature. Keys are no longer quite so necessary, the albino turning to stare back at Lunair with a "Thanks-"

Something's coming. Something big, and fast. Pale eyes widen further, action preceding thought as she blurts "Look out!" and reaches to grab Lunair in order to throw them -both- over the top of that crashed black sedan!

And right next to the Screamer.

On the upside it's impossible to hear the yelling from the Suit as the Prius explodes in a fireball of eco fuel and nickel metal hydride slag. And yet… No impact. Zero collision. There she sits, hunched in a little ball with her back to the armored sedan body. Nothing but debris. That, and a flash of magenta light. That's..fortunate. Peculiar, but fortunate.

She's not about to ask too many questions. However, she's most certainly going to take a dead guy's sidearm and put the Screamer out of his misery. With one more look passed to Lunair, she suggests "I think it's time we got out of here."

A hero Domino is not.

Sliding to a stop, Clint's bow is out and he takes a shot at one of the backpackers as he's trying to stumble away, screaming. Another arrow embeds itself into the calf of the good leg, and now the man is effectively pinned.

In the next heartbeat, another arrow is pulled, nocked, but the string isn't yet pulled as he finds himself just at the battered and bruised Slade. He pulls up once again, and Barton is looking IR lens to eye, and yanking down the visor, the archer hesitates. It's in that moment of hesitation that he catches the gun rising, and feels the heat and the ringing of the report of the three bullets in rapid succession. (Crap.. that fletching'll have to be repaired! Time to break out the jig again..)

Still.. the nod comes, but Barton isn't paying much attention to that. With a nocked arrow, it's a split second when the bow comes up to full draw and the shaft is loosed.. headed right towards that glowing barrel. In the next second, a contained explosion erupts as the arrow finds a target.. preferably that barrel..

"Who the hell are these people?" Is there really time to breathe? Nope.. not yet…

Friends! Or at least people really low on the target list! Hooray! Things are definitely looking up for the partially armored Lunair. Yes indeedy. Although, at least car chucking guy has the sense to throw something like a Prius or an Aztec. Sadly, she totally misses his witty one liner. Although, wouldn't it be 'be dears and -' nah, no one likes a Grammar or an Illinois Nazi, no siree. But Lunair was freeing Miss Domino and concerned about some dude in an exosuit (dudes?). She beams, and dismisses the knife. "You're welco—"

Something big and fast? Peer. And then suddenly, Lunair is grabbed and thrown with Domino over the top of that black sedan. Mercifully, her large laser cannon is gone in split seconds, less than heart beats. She has to be in a fight. And then Screamer. Her eyes are wide as plates. Poor guy. She looks sympathetic, but there's probably not much modern medicine can do for the guy. "… I am not sure what I can do, although metal guy - the non-murderous one - is kind of a friend, I think." She wants to think so, but there's hesitance. She furrows her brows. "Is shouty guy after you? I suspect we should if that's the case because he's going to be a Skyrim meme in about - um." Count. "A moment. Anyway, running unarmed is probably a bad idea. Tell me what you'd like, and let's get to better cover towards away."

The man in the exosuit takes the hit in the back, and the explosion sends him ass over tea kettle. He impacts the car Domino and Lunair are hiding behind, his back smacking the trunk, and it flips him wildly through the plate glass window of a trendy cupcake store, a mass of limbs and steel. He doesn't appear to be getting up. "Hey, big man. You like teleporting…" a man with a large weapon mounted on one shoulder fires and a quintet of crimson glowing disks cut through the air towards Calvin, "teleport away from those." he snears. The disks home in on Calvin, even should he teleport away, or try to send them back at the man who fired them. It's like a target lock from hell.

Slade doesn't move as the arrow whistles past him, and he frowns as the explosion ruffles his hair and coat a bit. He turns around and walks over to find the man in the exosuit with the arm mangled by Clint's oh-so-thoughtful shot down the barrel of the energy weapon. A motion with his wrist that's so nonchalant as to be cold buries the knife Slade carries right in the visor over the wounded man's eyes, stilling him and his pain forever. He wipes soot from the exosuit and grimaces. He curls his fingers over the metal plate and with a trio of hard firm pulls, wrenches free the peice he was looking at and tosses it to Clint. Stamped into the metal is a logo, "Intergang." Slade says. "Standard hit squad consists of an overwatch, a leader, half dozen soldier types. They use alien tech." he adds as if that wasn't clear enough. He looks around, "Overwatch is down, four… maybe five soldiers too. Mission failure. They'll retreat if any of them are left. Cowards always do."

"Thanks for the warning." Mimic says and BLINks to a spot a couple dozen feet away to watch what they do. Given the man's words, that they home in on him comes as no surprise. As they get close, he BLINks once more except this time he's behind the one who fired them. Reaching out, he picks the man up and uses him to swat at the discs as they arrive.

"I don't have any idea who the shouty," Domino replies in all honesty, momentarily hesitating as something heavy and moving fast smacks the back of the car and goes careening off into the distance. She never got a good look at the shouty guy, never had the opportunity to. "Though given the tone..? Stranger things have happened to me today."

Such as an exploding Prius vanishing, followed by the guy that threw it rebounding off of the trunk and into a cupcake shop. "-Metal- guy..? I don't know about you but I'm starting to feel a little underpowered for this party." She didn't get a chance to see Calvin, either. What she -did- see, though…


Same sort of arrow used by the guy she recently stole the bike from.

Now Lunair's talking about Skyrim memes. "You're a strange little girl, you know that? Listen kiddo, stick around and help blow things up if you like but I need to get elsewhere."

Just as soon as she roots something out from the driver's suit pocket. Mysterious item of significance: Retrieved.

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

Clint's staring as Slade turns about as if ready to scold an errant child after the requisite count of 10 is given. Taking a step forward to offer some semblance of coverfire, the archer watches in.. well, he's seen high tech before. And there's a part of him that is inured to the wonders, but there's that other part that is hyped up on adrenaline, and anything that isn't -normal- is certain suspect, and more than passing interesting.

Catching the hand awkwardly as it's tossed to him, it's looking as if the battle is coming to a close, and he's able to give the bit of mechanics a better look. There's the stamp.. 'Intergang', and he repeats the name under his breath.

Time for research. Great. There goes his evening.

"What the hell did they want.." with the politician. There's more research, or rather, something for the brains to mull over back in HQ. This isn't going to fall under the RADAR.

Twisting around as some form falls over the 'battlefield', the SHIELD agent begins to recognize little 'tells' as to the organization, nodding as Slade fills in with words. He can see it now; that's where the timed explosions were off.. those operatives moved out from there… damn. Why didn't he see that before? At least…

"I'll be bringing those backpackers in.." unless they're packing cyanide teeth (which is always possible.).

Oh no…

"Hold on one second—" and before he can get anything else out, Clint is making a mad dash towards Domino. "You!" A sliding stop happens again, and the bow comes up immediately, the mechanical hand set aside for the moment, before an arrow flies towards the albino merc, ready to pin whatever she's got to the wall.

And there goes an exosuit guy into a car and the cupcake store. It's a surreal sort of punctuation, like performance art in a paint and trampoline store. Not the cupcakes! … at least Luna got one earlier. Lunair's eyes widen. "Um, thanks!" She's well mannered. Alarmingly so at times. Strange. And she is worried as someone is firing at Calvin but should she be? She's uncertain. And there's an eye patch guy investigating stuff. Yup.

Lunair listens to Domino, nodding. She looks thoughtful. "Metal guy. And yeah, I should've used the cannon." Pause. Then as Domino calls her strange, she seems uncertain. Eyebrows furrow. She's not suuuuuuuuuure. One can almost hear the Jeopardy theme going as she thinks it over. Strange? Well, she's no doctor. She nods. "Okay! I won't get in the way." Lunair understands and accepts. "Be careful and stay safe." Smile. "nice to see you!" Yup. And arrows. Pause. "Arrows? Are the French invading or something?"

She seems baffled. But she'll listen to what she can. "Ack, look out!" ARROWS! Alarmed, there comes that giant laser cannon again. But in Lunair's defense, she doesn't know those arrows and also something something murderous dudes with exoarmor. Mercifully, she's not aiming at anyone yet. She's just reacting to being startled by being ready.

And Lunair doubletakes. Wait, eye patch fellow lost his - oh dear. Well, he's definitely not eye patch guy but the gun toting holes in people artist formerly known as eyepatch guy.

The man that fired the homing disks, laughs as he watches Cal vanish, then eeps as he's suddenly lifted from his feet and used as a human baseball bat. His arms come up to cover his face and the disks he fired impact him like manhole covers fired from the worlds largest slingshot, the crunching sounds of metal on metal filling the air. One eventually sticks, both to Cal's hand and the man he holds, and unleashes it's payload, arching crimson sparks dance along Mimik's 'skin' while also coursing over and through the human tennis racket. There is smoke, the smell of ozone and cooked bacon shorly and the remaining disks fall from the sky as their control unit is fried to a crisp. As is the guy wearing it.

Slade watches Clint follow the events, come to the proper conclusions, and then run off after Domino and he remains where he is, watching. Tin Man is playing with some guy and shock disks, Clint is trying to be a cop, the smoke has more or less cleared, and sirens are closing in. Slade glances down at the metal still sticking out of his gut and his lip curls in a snear. Shit. He reaches up to fish something out of his damaged ear and then slips it into his good one. The pistol and gun are slid back into their accompanying holsters, "Peabody, I need Hemingway. Send her to the Hipster safehouse, I can get there on my own. Tell her I've lossed some blood, ruptured an ear drum, broken a couple ribs, and I think am suffering a perforated bowel. Hurts like one anyway. The quicker the better." on the other end of the line there's a long sigh then a beep of acknowledgement. Slade steps into the last lingering whisps of smoke and vanishes from the scene entirely. This was quite likely his fourth most intense recon he's ever had. He grins. At least it wasn't boring…

"Shit." Mimic drops the dead guy, giving him a regretful look. He truly loathes killing even unintentionally. There's not a lot to be done when the enemy is playing with lethal toys though. He's not sure what would have happened had all five of them stuck to him but he's just as glad he didn't find out. He surveys the scene, looking for injured that need help though the guy witht he bow running and yelling catches his attention.



In a flash Domino's hand feels somewhat numb as the Mysterious Item of Significance gets plucked from her grasp and goes skittering across the pavement. Ending up beneath an abandoned car. It's about the size and shape of a deck of cards, but made out of metal.

And now it's gone.

"Alright, that's it," she growls while spinning around with the assault rifle from Lunair still in hand, because she can conserve ammo when she needs to!

Right now she doesn't need to.

She lays on the trigger and chatters off every last round in the mag when the -gun- suddenly disappears, as well. "Is there -anything fucking real around here?!-"

A now empty hand reaches back and slaps Lunair's shoulder. She feels real, at least. "Head down, kid!" Then, with stolen Suit pistol in hand, she makes a run for the labyrinth of forgotten vehicles while shooting back in Clint's direction. Until the slide locks open on a cleared chamber. Then she'll flick the gun aside, not once losing any of her forward momentum.

The 'gang' and their futuristic weapons tech, the small metal device she attempted to reclaim from the Suits… She'll have to come back to all of this later. Which, fortunately, is something that she can do. Because that archer man, Clint Barton?

She knows where he lives.

The metal arm isn't forgotten now and is scooped up as Barton charges forward. He flips over a car as the bullets come, bringing him down on the ground, level to where the metal box is. He waits a moment before getting up, feinting around cars before he charges the spot in order to drop to his knees and pull the metal box out from under the vehicle. He doesn't look into it, no.. but instead watches as Domino makes her getaway.


Turning about again, it's a touch to the grip of the bow and it collapses into a hand-sized cylinder as he begins to make his way back… Slade now gone. Replacing the reduced bow into his jacket, cleanup only now has started. Taking accounting of bodies, the wounded.. and as the police and other EMS arrive (SHIELD in the mix), he's able, finally, to stand aside and let them work while formatting the damnable report in his head. (Particularly after discovering the politician was alive and well at the Precinct station house a few blocks away.)

"Well, it wouldn't be hard to g—" Pause. Lunair's eyes widen. "Arrows." Nod. Arrows! Poor Domino. Lunair looks sympathetic. "Sorry, that was a habit. I tend to dismiss the guns and ammo when they're empty so I don't leave things behind," She admits. Lunair eeps and pulls her head down. She's going to keep out of the way. Lunair is concerned. "Bye! Get well soon!" Off after Slade. Let it never be said that despite her murderous profession, Lunair wasn't a little bit nice.

And poor Cal. Although, at this point, she'll gather her things and slink away. Lunair has little urge to talk to authorities, it seems. Also, unguarded cupcakes. And anyway, getting her stuff will let her amble over towards Mimic to check in on him. Not that he likely needs it. Also… hey, arrows.

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