Historical Revisionism

August 14, 2014: The Eraser's henchmen hit the American Museum of Natural History, but run into opposition from Falcon and Jericho Trent.

American Museum of Natural History



  • Eraser's henchmen
  • Museum Security
  • K'nert

Mood Music:

It's a dark night, and a strong storm has come in overhead over the streets of New York, few people scuffle about with umbrellas raised high moving about their days blissfully unaware of the current situation brewing behind the American Museum of Natural History. The storm only looks to be getting worse overtime as a full on storm front moves in, lightning crashing down to the ground thunder booming loud overhead.

When the storm is at its worse just after a strike of lightning all power for the street seems to go dark, cars coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road. Cellphones fail, and all electronic devices have died in a small localized area for just a brief few moments, before roaring back to life. Whatever caused it has passed just as quickly as it arrived, yet the lights of the AMNH remain off, as if something had shorted the power to the building completely. Most people seem confused for just a few short moments before carrying along their way with much more important things to be doing at this time of night.


You know what they say: you don't know what you've got until it's almost demolished by a prehistoric sea beast rampaging through the city. Or… something to that effect. Consequently, attendance at the Museum of Natural History has seen a considerable spike since the recent Helluland gala nearly turned into a scene from a Godzilla sequel. One of the many New Yorkers who has found a new appreciation for the location is Sam Wilson, who is just making his way out of the museum so that they can close when everything electronic shorts out.

He pauses with his hand on the door, waiting for the lights to come back on. They don't. He glances upward at the building, thinking for a moment, then ducks back inside and starts to unzip his backpack. Not that the Exo-7 will do him all that much good indoors…but at this point it's part of his signature look!


The moment the lights go out a few security guards start heading towards the back of the building. Try as they might the radios strapped to their belts don't seem to be working for them, almost as if something had fried most of the electronics in the building. Murmers go through the crowd as people check their cellphones only to notice that for the most part they are just as dead as the radios and the lights of the building. Something has seemingly fried a large portion of any unshielded electronics inside of the building.

"Alright people don't panic, this is just a bit of a blackout, I'm sure everything's going to be just fine if you'll leave the premises," One of the security guards who stayed behind calls out with a rather friendly and confident voice. He holds out his hands motioning for the door way, as more people check their cellphones trying to figure out how to get them to start working again. "We'll make sure everything is ready to open come tomorrow," For the moment he's doing a very good job of keeping people calm despite the chaos that one would expect from the current situation, "But for the moment we need to just get maintenance in here to try and fix the generator,"

Meanwhile on the second third and fourth floors of the museum men dressed head to toe in black uniforms, with goggles covering their eyes get quick to work. It seems like they had just been waiting in the restrooms for the right signal. With bags, and carts ready each squad of bandits starts to quickly make way for a different section of the museum proper. The expectation was that by the time the device went off the building would have already been cleared out, and the groups would have more then enough time to get what they came for. Whatever the reason each group is accompanied by two men holding rather odd firearms that look to be drum loaded, and set up to collect back each spent shell casing. Whoever this group is working for doesn't seem intent on leaving much of a sign of their being here.

One group passes right by Rorschach missing him completely on the way to their target. This particular group is headed for an exhibit on a revolutionary deep sea diving suit, that thanks to the recent dinosaur attack has been allowed to remain on display for a few weeks longer then originally expected.


In the darkness, it isn't much of a challenge for Sam to slip past the crowd and the guards leading them — especially once he slips on his Falcon goggles and activates their nightvision sensor. The lenses go entirely opaque externally but light up inside to give him a complete sense of his surroundings. He hugs the wall and sticks to the shadows, slipping his gauntlets on and uncovering the main housing of the Exo-7 so that he can extend his wings if he needs to.

He makes his way down the darkened halls quickly and quietly, relying on his stealth reconnaissance training. It turns out to serve him well: he spots the group going for the diving suit, waits for them to pass, and sneaks up behind them. He targets the one farthest back, sneaking up and snagging him in a silent sleeper hold. The goon won't be able to make a sound, and should black out in a few seconds. Sam may not exactly be Batman, but he knows a few tricks.


The electrical blackout didn't go unnoticed. Fortunately, his cyberware doesn't exactly run on electricity. Which is good. Jericho had been passing by on the way home but this demanded investigation, if only to figure out why three square blocks of city grid went dark and he didn't do it. "Museum of Natural History?" He pauses. "Okay… who blacks out a museum?"


"I assure you everything is going to be alright, as long as you leave this to the professionals," The head security guard still trying to usher people out from the dangerous structure with the help of a few other members of security. On the bright side, there are at least enough members of security here that no criminals should be able to get away with anything important. "We will be open again tomorrow at the usual time,"

The Man at the back of the group is knocked out cold without much effort, his body falling limp in Falcon's hands. It's odd how much planning has gone into this uniform, built in such a way as to cover all skin, facial features, and leave no fabric behind. Someone designed these suits to leave no trace behind, but thankfully none of the other thieves notice their missing man.

Out front of the building a few people still trickle out trying to get their phones working again, so they can get back to important things, because they are important people with important lives, and a lot on their plates. Some of them have family or work obligations in the morning for goodness sake, and no one would want them to miss that. So they pop up umbrellas, hail cabs for themselves, and call it a night.


Sam has zipties this time! Handy. It's the work of a moment to bind and gag his victim and check him for an earpiece or other communicator. If these guys have a way of talking to each other remotely, he wants to be listening in on the conversation. That done, he swiftly follows the group and makes a head count. Two guys with guns, four more unarmed. He likes those odds.

Dropping to one knee, he takes aim at the gunmen with his gauntlets and fires both of his talon grapples at them. The X-shaped cables should entangle each man and yank him toward Falcon, to be disarmed and, if necessary, beaten senseless.


Falcon finds a small earpiece hooked to the side of the mans black mask, it looks home made, out of common household objects, completely untraceable. He picks it up just in time to hear "Half past four" which is a bit of an oddity considering the current time is somewhat closer to ten o' clock at night. A second voice calls out "Thanks, heading out to grab a snack" it all just sounds like mundane conversation over radio. Though the fact that it is being broadcast over radio might raise a few red flags.

No one seems to notice the hacker jumping up for the roof people unable to even see him through the torrential downpour going on outside of the building itself. Thunder cracks out, a bolt of lighting striking off in the distance.

Back inside of the building the other two teams are fast at work grabbing exactly what they came for. Four men from each of the two teams split off to grab what they can with one gunner covering each walking direction a third man taking his attention to look around with special goggles.

For that third group going after the exo, it seems things couldn't be going much worse. First they got told that they would be going after the heaviest of the goods, then they have to stand on the ride over, not even allowed to eat from the buffet table provided before heading out. Now they seem to be being attacked by some freak in a suit, for one member of the group it all seems too much, the second the two bruisers are grabbed he starts to make a run for it, calling out into his radio "They said this job would be easy, what the hell's a super doing here man". The gunman are drawn close one of them firing off his gun which instead of firing normal rounds instead fires off suppressed rounds that seem to eat away at whatever they hit, bits of eraser shavings falling down to the ground from whatever animal matter it hits.


Falcon's posture braces him enough to yank the two men off their feet and drag them back to him on their backs. When one of them manages to spin around for a shot, he unfurls his metal wings and wraps them around himself, deflecting the fire. Once they're in range, he grabs each by the crown and slams both of their heads against the floor. He does not have the time to play nice with armed burglars who are shooting at him. Of course, they're not armed for very long; the whole point of giving them matching concussions was to stun them long enough to scoop up both of their guns.

He levels the two weapons at the rest of the group, puts a boot on the erstwhile shooter's chest, and unfurls his wings to their full extension, detached from the gauntlets. Technically, this wing posture is a maintenance inspection routine, but as with pretending he can dual-wield a drum-fed firearm, the point is to be theatrical. Enough so that when he says, "Lie face down, hands on your heads," they're not thinking 'four on one,' they're thinking 'Angel of Death.'


Jeri's hearing does pick up the 'pck-pck-pck' of suppressed weapons fire. He drops down to the floor, draws his own sidearm and begins to prowl. Hrm… electronic signature. Ah, that looks familiar.

"Sam? This is Jericho. The hell is going on here?" He hisses.


The one man is already running for his life, leaving behind the other three. They look at each other and one of the men goes to sit himself on the ground lifting his hands above his head, the other two ducking behind fish a fish display each, trying to take cover. One of them seems to be pulling out a small pink eraser as he dives for cover, with a good deal of effort put into the motion. The man on the floor doesn't say a word as he looks towards the ground.

The moment the word is out the other two teams have to move even faster, grabbing only the bare essentials and shoving them into bags. The gunners take position at the stairwells for their floor. They just need to be able to grab what they came for and leave, anything else at this point is just extra. Another voice calls out over the radios "Three to midnight, make sure you catch that train,"


"Trent?" Sam answers incredulously. But if he doesn't have time to treat gunmen gently, he also doesn't have time to give this gift horse a dental checkup. "Good timing, man. Looks like a robbery. Guys are armed with modified Tommies, shooting some kind of exotic rounds." As he gives this rundown, he ejects the mag from his offhand gun, pockets it, and tosses the weapon as far away as he can. He then opens up on the guy who is drawing a… whatever that thing is. Falcon can cope with a lot of weirdness, but pencil erasers are not the first place his mind goes in the middle of a firefight. That said, diving for cover with your hand in your pocket makes you target number one.


"Robbery? How do you get involved in these things Sam?" Jericho tries to avoid trouble generally… but since he's here…

Moving along the upper level he spots on of the groups stuffing things into bags. This is going to be interesting. He pulls up a small cowl that conceals his face from the nose down and leaps over the railing down amid the group, glowing with red circuit traces, red eyes and small red claws on his fingertips.

Thump "Hi guys." He delivers a palm strike to the nearest guy and lays about with claws and his pistol butt. He's not trying to kill… but he's not being gentle and certainly not above neatly severing tendons and ripping muscles to make it hard to strike or get away.


As he's shot the man who'd been going for an eraser lets out a blood curdling scream, gurgling as he falls to the floor. His face contorts as he writhes on the ground screaming loud as he can, foam coming from his mouth as the compound works its magic. The spot where he was hit literally seems to be melting away into nothing more then rubber vapor, as he thrashes about. The look in his eyes is one of pure pain and terror, though he doesn't seem to suffer for too long his movement stopping completely for his body to fall limp. Within seconds it's completely gone.

The man on the ground closes his eyes behind his mask, this wasn't anything like what he signed up for. All he wanted was some quick cash, to pay for his schooling, and now here he was watching people getting literally eaten alive by chemicals. He might never be able to sleep again after seeing that, but the other of the two surviving men calls out "You're going to pay for that", before tossing a small eraser onto the ground which starts spilling out smoke.

The men of group two are already shaken by the sounds ringing out over radio, so when they see this terrifying gentleman drop down they can't help but try and make a run for it covering their escape with gunfire from their odd little assault rifles. The man being clawed screams out as his protective mask, and goggles are ripped off by the attack, revealing the face of a previously rather nice looking young man, now most likely permanently scarred by the attack. He falls to the ground clutching at his face as the butt of a pistol slams into him knocking the man completely unconscious.

As for group one, they've had it with all this nonsense, and they only want out. They've got what they came for, and they sure as hell don't plan on knowing what made all that noise on the floors above and bellow them. As they extract one of the men calls out "It's midnight, we're headed for the station" the mans voice sounding rather unsure of himself.


"Man, I just wanted to look at some damn dinosaur bones!" Sam answers. Handy thing about suppressed weapons: they don't interfere too much with your banter. Their effects, however, can sometimes ruin the mood. "Trent, do not let these fuckers shoot you. Like, way, way more than usual, do not get shot," Sam says into his headpiece, wincing at his former (or soon-to-be former) target. Judging by the effect of the gun he just used, he does not want to see what that smoke does; he takes a few quick steps to the side and uses his wings to create a gust that will force the stuff against the wall.

"Oh, I'll pay? It's your gun, ass," he snaps. He reaches in his pocket and tosses a zip tie behind the man's cover. "You want to help your friend? I'm a paramedic." Or close enough. "Come out with that on your wrists and I'll see if there's anything I can do for him." The guy who willingly surrendered just gets a jerk of his head toward the exit. Implied: get out of the way and we never met each other.


Jericho turns and fires after the fleeing hoods, shooting low. If any of them are it, it should be in the legs. He's just 'encouraging' them to leave.

"Jericho here. One group in retreat. How many more are in here?" Reaching out digitally the hacker tries to jack the interal camera feeds… that is, if they weren't crashed by whatever nuked the building's power.

"Oh, and are you okay? Need a hand… wherever you are?" He's moving again, looking for any other targets.


The man from the ground gets up and goes into a run, moving fast as he can. He doesn't want to be there any more, heck he doesn't want to be anywhere anymore after what he's just seen. Forget stealth forget the mission he just wants out. With a bit of a scramble he's out the door, leaving that one last man to fend for himself.

After throwing the first, the last man reaches into his pocket for something else as smoke fills the room. He's got no intentions of going back to jail, not while he's on parole already. "You're the one who killed him," he screams out diving for a more stable spot of cover. "And you're not taking me to jail man, I'd be dead before I ever hit trial" his voice sounds just as scared as if he where a young boy who was hiding from a beating, as apposed to being the big strong gangster type he most certainly is.

All of the cameras are dead, fried completely by the blast that shut down power for the place. The only electronics he can even find inside of the building is the radio feed from the chattering people as they run off fast as they can. Most of the radio chatter actually seems to be accidentally coming from the people screaming as they are shot at, trying to fire off behind them while proving wildly inaccurate.


With a man dead or dying in the corner, Falcon has got no patience for arguing with some jacked-up thug. He had planned to use the talon to yank away the fish display and expose his target, but then the man decided to save him some trouble. Sam shifts his aim slightly and snares the robber, dragging him in with lightning speed to meet the butt of his appropriated rifle.

"This group is dealt with," Falcon answers Jericho over the communicator. "I don't know how many more there are, but they're all wearing earpieces: some kind of homemade radios. Just said they were 'headed for the station,' but that's code." Given the liberties Jericho has already taken with Sam's communicator, it seems like a safe bet that the hacker may be able to get something useful out of the tech.


"Pick one up and talk to it. I'll monitor who is recieving." Being able to monitor and hack RF networks is such a handy ability sometimes. Everyone likes to talk. And if you know how to look, talking is will tell you where the person listening is. It's like sonar. Just like a ba- er, a submarine. It's like a submarine.

"I've got one group headed out the door. I'm letting them go. Don't really wanna waste bullets on them."

He's circling back toward Sam now. Sam, meanwhile, sees red-slitted cats eyes in the shadow near the guy that was just arguing ith Sam. There's a low, ominous hiss in the room for just a moment.


Having been taken by suprise it's no wonder that the man who was diving for cover is now snagged without much in the way of effort. He slams hard to the ground, smoke now completely filling the room, as he's moved over by use of THE CLAAAAAW. "Let me go man, I can't go back," At the moment he's trying everything he can to struggle his way out of the grip of the claw.

What's left of the two groups do their best to make it out of the building carrying what little they can in the hopes of not being intercepted by the hero's who have decided to rain on their parade. Everything about this mission's been fubar from minute one, but at least now they have something to bring back home to daddy. All of the security in the lounge seem to be making their way out of the building with whatever they can carry, lifting up masks to cover their faces as they move along.


"Your buddy got to leave, because he did what he was told instead of acting like a jackass," Falcon answers, pitilessly securing the man's wrists and ankles with yet more zipties. He gives a few more flaps, as well: that stuff may just be smoke, or it may cause his flesh to melt off. He'll err on the side of caution.

Jericho's instructions elicit a simple "Roger," and then he's on the bad guys' line, approximating one of their code phrases: "It's four AM and I'm pretty drunk so I'm gonna go get some pizza. You coming or do you think you really have a chance with this girl?" He does his best to ignore K'nert, although the idea that the little critter might have been looking out for him does seem strangely reassuring. Now, more importantly, he needs to go check on the guy he shot and see if anything can be done to resuscitate him.


The demonling goes and perches on the downed man's chest, staring at him rather intently as Jericho comes around the corner. "Great… you're okay. Look, we've got someone on the inside here. Toward the security office. Coming?" He's already moving again, weapon at a low ready. Unlike Sam his nonlethal options are a bit more limited. He may have to fix that at some point.


The man falcon had shot seems to be nowhere to be seen, no clothing, no man, no blood, just bits of rubber residue, and a small rubber eraser. Judging by the sounds he made there was no real way he could have just gotten up, and escaped, but there's no sign of him. What's inside of those rounds that could do something like this? Could it be some new chemical weapon, alien technology, or something much worse?

The man who'd been hit by the claw just starts violently sneezing as the deamonling moves over to him, sitting on his chest. He doesn't seem to be reacting too well as he shakes his head, coughing loudly while still trying to struggle. By now the others have had a small amount of time to try and escape back to whatever they came in.


Crouched by what little remains of the man he shot, Sam nods, resigned. He grits his teeth and stands, following Jericho at a rapid pace. He wants to know who the hell is putting weapons like that on the streets and make sure they go somewhere they'll never even see a bullet again. If he has to beat seven shades of it out of them along the way, so much the better. He's feeling… vengeful, if you want to put it that way.

"At least we've got a lot to go on. Four robbers hogtied, two of these weird guns and the ammo they were using," he muses as he follows Jericho toward the ringleader. "We get that to Stark or SHIELD or whoever, we may be able to figure something out."


"Stark. Unless you trust shield a lot more than I do right now," Jericho murmurs, clearing a corner. "Okay, the signal was coming from the security office back here… Let's go have a look." Knowwing he's working with an expert, Jericho 'stacks up' on the door, preparing for the room breaching technique the Army calls 'Battle Drill 6a.' He'll go in, on side, Sam will clear the other. Assuming anyone's in there, that is.


When the two burst into the room, they see a man sprawled on the floor, gasping for air, as foam gathers on his mouth, something eating at him from the inside out. From his positioning it looked like he was trying to make for the door only to realize it was locked from the outside. It doesn't look like in his current state this man is going to be doing much talking, but he is doing a heck of a lot of writhing in pain. From the looks of what's left of his clothing this man was the real chief of security.


"Trust, nothing. I want to bring the hammer of God down on whoever this is, and SHIELD's the biggest hammer I know of," Falcon answers, his voice grim. "I'll go to Stark first, though. He's a lot more likely to let me come along personally."

Sam follows Jericho's lead as they breach the room, comfortable with the practiced maneuver. He's sweeping the space with his talons again, as he has already emptied and stowed the custom rifle that he has no intention of firing, but there are no targets to be had. He kneels next to the dying man, his jaw clamped shut as he tries to figure out what he can do.

It very, very quickly becomes apparent that the answer is: nothing. At least, not to save the man. He pulls two syringes out of a side pocket, jabs them into the security chief's neck, and injects him with enough painkillers to knock him out completely.


Jericho lowers his weapon with a look of irritation. "Damn. They'll have gotten away by now too… Okay. I'm going to try to crack into the stable memory of the computers and read it directly. See if I can't figure out what happened." Claws manifest again and he rips a panel open so he can get to the hard drive. It'll need power, but Jeri's got something for that.

Behind them, K'nert bounds in, perches up on the security desk and watches the chief. Presumably, watches him die.


The moment the hard drive is ripped from the security all of the power on the building comes back at once, speakers blaring out at max volume. The song played at max volume is a little song called pencil full of lead. Images begin to show up on the screen, images flash across the security monitors in rapid succession the music going even louder then before, as they switch between camera views. The now unconscious security chief quietly drifts off as his body, and clothing are eaten away completely leaving only a few gold fillings, and a hip brace.


"Do it. We'll get the data to Stark, along with the guns and the ammo," Falcon says with a quick nod. "Maybe he can figure out a way to use this stuff to clean up oil spills, or something." The thought of something positive coming from this doesn't really have any power to uplift when he's watching a second man melt away before his very eyes. Especially with this incongrously cheerful swing number blaring throughout the building.

"That still leaves the question of what to do with the guys we caught. NYPD may not be able to keep them safe. Stark doesn't have cells in his building. If you have a better idea than SHIELD, hit me with it."


"Safe until they can talk, you mean? That's probably a SHIELD thing, yeah. Call May, if you want my opinion. I'm going to make myself scarce unless you need me to secure them." Jericho flips the hard drive in his hand and rolls his eyes at the obnoxious music. "Meantime I'm going to comb through this hard drive and see if it gets us anywhere. If I get anything, I'll come to you directly."


On the screen as the music continues to blare. The small bits of metal left behind also seem to include a golden ring, laying on the floor where the mans hand would have been. For the moment it seems everything has turned out just fine.


Sam nods, sitting on his haunches and staring at the mortal remains of the security chief. "Agreed; May's the way to go," he says quietly. "I'll be seeing you, Trent. Thanks for the assist." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts to punch in a text message. If there's anyone who can get here faster than the PD, it's the Cavalry.

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