Crashing Grand Central

March 28th, 2015: The Rogues attempt to perform a robbery only to be interrupted by Kid Coke & The Hostess. Skye, Gwen, Tigra and Fiver are luckily there to help save the day.

New York

Grand Central Station



  • Kid Coke
  • The Hostess
  • Rogues

Mood Music:

It's rush hour in New York City. There is much frustration, yelling, noise. Up on the street car horns honk loudly. How nice for all of those down here in Grand Central Station — no car horns, just everything else, plus the sounds of train tires squealing as they pull into the terminal and buskers playing their guitars badly, people hawking newspapers and hot dogs. The noise, noise, noise, noise! The Grinch would have a conniption.

But the Grinch isn't here, and doubtless he's thankful of the fact. Rather, in the men's room, a pair of men step out of a mirror — much to the surprise of the guys washing their hands. One in blue with white trim, a futuristic chrome gun gripped in his hand, the other in orange and green gripping a similar weapon in metallic green. They nod at each other as they step out into the terminal proper.

A third man comes coasting into the station atop a train, blonde with a ponytail and striped blue and gold pants. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouts into a megaphone. "If you'll remain calm and quiet, we'll be done here just as fast as we can be!" The train doors refuse to open — which is okay, really, since it's empty anyway, but the same thing is happening at all the platforms. Empty trains preventing trains behind them from coming into the station.

"This is what you might call a hold-up! If you'll just drop your wallets and purses on the ground, please, we'll be out of here in no time!"

A day off? Do SHIELD agents get such a thing? Well perhaps it really is not a day off for the hacker, as she sits corss legged in street clothes upon a subway bench with her laptop upon her lap. It is hard to let go of the old life sometimes, and the sounds of the city and the people watching do tend to give a sense of comfort and calmness at times for the young agent. Upon hearing the man call out that it is a hold-up, Skye looks up from her computer screen and visibly slumps her shoulders, "Seriously? A hold up?" She makes no real effort to rise just yet, watching the man as the commuters react to the loud voiced command.

The noise is something that has taken getting used to for Tigra, with her enhanced senses. Fortunately, even New York City's background noise usually fades into the background for her these days, and at th emoment, she isn't even out as Tigra, but in her mostly normal human form, Greer Nelson, dressed rather more modestly in grey skirt, blouse, grey jacket, black pumps, and a bag slung over a shoulder. On her way from here to there, she stifles a not very womanly growl as trouble appears. She steps back to try to find a concealed spot to change into something a bit more suited to trouble like this.

Gwen Stacy was an ordinary girl with a busy life, one so busy she often forgot she could use her powers to quickly travel. Instead of webslinging from building to building, avoiding rush hour she's in Grand Central Station with hundreds if not thousands of others trying to get from one end of the city to the other.

She's wearing a black hoodie with red words 'The Killers' scrawled on the front of it, legging and boots with a backpack slung over her shoulder. A pair of white earbuds are secured in her ears, the white cords of the headphones leading into her backpack.

Her Spidey-Sense tingles before she hears the train surfer start to announce that this was a hold-up. A glance is given over her shoulder to her backpack, there was no way she was going to be able to change in the middle of all this.

Of course she would be on the ground right now beside the woman she had webbed the night before. Looking over at Skye she smiles, "At least it's just a hold-up. Better just give them your money and let the police handle it."

That was totally not heroic but it was advice that her father had beaten into her skull over the years.

'ZWIIIIP. wishclink…KChwooooooooosh!'
The very distinct sounds of a sipper being done up, followed by a belt being fastened and a toilet flushing emanates from one of the stalls in the men's bathroom Just moments after the two costumed individuals exit. Heavy brown work boots shift under the stall door, and then it is unlatched and swung open to reveal a tall, scar-faced man in jeans and a flannel coat. Sauntering across the damp floor toward the exit, he fishes a silver lighter from his right coat pocket and a pack of smokes from his left.
Apparently he isn't going to wash his hands!
Blissfully unaware of what he is walking into, the big merc stoops to shoulder open the bathroom door and casually lights his first cigarette of the encounter. Drawing the cancerous fumes deep into his lungs he steps clear of the shutting door and blinks his milky white eyes as, standing atop a train further into the terminal, some blond super-something in blue and gold suggests he hand over his wallet.
"Huh." Is Fiver's grumbled response, a puff of smoke following the sound through his lips and swirling up toward the ceiling. He makes no move to reach for his wallet, instead choosing to stand near the bathroom alcove and smoke his cigarette. Though he is in casual clothes he tends to stand out, having sickly grey skin, more scars than anyone should have, and being a good deal taller than most.

Some people start to drop wallets and purses. Others watch the man on the train and mutter amongst themselves, even as his compatriots in blue and green/orange seal the area by their own means. A wall of ice appears, blocking off the north and west entrances, while the reflective doors to the south and east become portals to a reflective world.

The man atop the train struts back and forth, yammering on about this and that. One might notice that his eyes are fixed on a gentleman off in one corner, a tall and well-appointed man who is not, notably, dropping his wallet or watch, but instead yelling into a cell phone. "Yes! Grand Central Station! Send them both, dammit!"

"Wah WAH wah wah wah WAH?"


A whistling noise can be heard from above. And then…


A chunk of the station's ceiling, a beautiful ceiling that's been in place for over a hundred years, crashes into the room, and a pair of commuters jump out of the way just in time.

"What the hell?!" demands the man in blue, raising his weapon upward.

A pair of people are gliding down into the room — a blonde woman in a neat, fitted black dress bearing the logo of Hostess snacks, her hair streaming back around her and into the face of her partner, a brown haired boy of no more than eighteen in red and white with a Coca-Cola symbol on his chest.

"Kid Coke is here! You got nothing to fear!" the boy pronounces. He brandishes a can of Coca Cola, pops the top and drains it rapidly before casting the can aside.

With everyone's attention focused elsewhere, Greer's able to find a niche where she can slip out of her street clothes and down to bra and panties, which actually cover more than her usual outfit. She roughly shoves things into her bag and then flings it up onto a high ledge where it's not likely to be noticed by normal people. "By the Power of Greyskull," she murmurs as she activates the magic in her amulet, changing into her furry self, just in time to see…"Oh. My. God," she says quietly. Okay, this she has to see. She sticks to the shadows and tries to find a better vantage point to see how this is about to play out before making a move.

Gwen is reaching into her backpack for her wallet to empty out the measly forty dollars she has for the robbers when her hand brushes up against something else; the mask of her costume.

She glances around the people closest to her, trying to calculate which of them are going to be a risk if she was to take a move.

Of course Skye would be. Stupid SHIELD. That was going to become Gwen's new motto everytime she saw one of them 'Stupid SHIELD'.

stepping casually into the crowd to avoid the ice wall now expanding across the wall beside him, Fiver studies the three villains over the heads of the shuffling crowd. As he does, his brow furrows, and he idly flicks ash from the end of his cigarette into the hood of a young girl's sweater. Gwen's sweater, in fact.
Without stopping, the looming merc continues on past Gwen and Skye, dead eyes lifting to study the ceiling. Moments later that ceiling is dropping into the lobby, and two corporate sponsored hero's and swooping in to save the day.
Fiver can't help himself.
he starts to laugh.
A deep, hoarse chuckle shakes the rough-looking man's shoulders and he is forced to stop walking and clasp his left hand to his stomach, right hand holding his cigarette to one side so he doesn't accidentally inhale it. Stooped forward amidst the crowd he hacks, spits flem onto the shoes of a nervous-looking business man, then continues to chuckle as Kid Coke's can bounces off between the legs of startled commuters. Dead eyes closed he lets his laughter slowly die out.
God bless America.

Log Edit: make a move, you can't take a move I think

The Trickster, atop the train, is stunned into silence for a moment or two. Just a moment or two. His eyes flicker toward the man in the corner again, and he almost frowns — almost, but not quite. Let it never be said that James Jesse isn't prepared for anything. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he announces. "This evening's guest heroes, Kid Coke and the Hoste… JESUS CHRIST LOOK OUT!"

As he says this another section of ceiling comes crashing down toward the pair in the center of the terminal. Kid Coke dives out of the way, but the Hostess is busy trying to cram a Twinkie into her mouth and only looks up with a 'hnn?' to see a broad chunk of alabaster crashing toward her. Her first outing, it appears, will likely be her last.

"The ceiling?" the guy with the cell is demanding. "They came through the ceiling?! They could have killed somebody!"

"Sam," the man in blue tells his orange-and-green-clad friend, "we been played."

Okay, that'll get Tigra moving. She was content to stay under cover for the moment, but she sees the ceiling starting to fall when the Trickster does, and dashes out, claws scratching up the floor as she digs in for maximum speed, and while she's no Flash, she's pretty quick over short distances. "Go limp!" she calls out just before she leaps, intending to tackle the…girl with the Twinkie and carry her out of the way of the ceiling.

She is beginning to think she is a trouble magnet. Everywhere she goes, the circus seems to appear out of midair and SKye soon finds herself amidst a flurry heroes, wanna be heroes and bad guys who have yet to see that there is now way they will ever amount to anything no matter how many old ladies scratch tickets they manage to steal. Still seated on the bench, Skye takes out her phone and starts to film it. Coke a cola, twinkies, and felines oh my. Toss in a few other super enhanced individuals and she seems to think the scene is well in hand. Well, at least thinking that she would only be in the way.

THe phone is soon set down and she looks back to her laptop, then to the subway trains. A few quick taps and a soft murmur can be heard from anyone around her, "Wow, less secure then the toy crane machine at the Quickie Mart." She looks to the man on top of the train and pushes one button on her computer, "Choo choo dumb ass" ." The power to the trains comes back on as lights flciker to life and sparks can be seen on the rail line. The train slowly starts to move.

Gwen's fingers clutch the mask tighter as the ashes hit her in the face causing her to cough. With the confusion around her growing into a level of what might be called overwhelming she whips the mask out of her backpack discreetly. In another instant it's donned over her head, she really hoped Skye had not gotten a look at her face because she would totally have to ditch this sweater!

Tigra is moving to save the girl who loves cake, that was good. It bought Gwen a few more seconds of precious time.

Leaping into action with a somersault right over Skye's head, Spider-Gwen fires out a stream of high impact webbing towards the collapsing ceiling.

The blue man holding the gun was her other target and she fires a stream of webbing towards him, calling out, "Hey, you really need to chill with that gun!"

Eyes still closed, Fiver's super hearing alerts him to the second chunk of ceiling breaking free and starting to fall toward the newly arrived heroes. Dead eyes flickering open, he snaps his head up inhumanly quick, the motion seeming abruptly freakish compared to his normally lazy attitude. Sighting in on the large chunk of alabaster, the mercenary has a split moment to wonder how much Hostess would pay him for saving their show girl. But then, the sound of claws scraping tile reaches his ears and Tigra shouts her warning to the girl.
The real heroes are on the job.
Though he is standing much closer to the accident than anyone else, Just a couple of yards outside the danger zone, Fiver screws his cigarette back into the corner of his mouth and relaxes. Watching to see if the orange blur of speed will make it in time, he idly estimates her current speed and a brief look of respect tugs at the corners of his milky eyes. If she doesn't make it he might step in to catch the slab and buy her a couple more seconds, but it looks like the tiger woman might be able to handle this solo.
In the background the subway sparks, and the train Mr. Megaphone is standing on starts to move. Slowly Fiver's head starts to shake, tangled hair briefly shifting to flash the 5 tattooed on his forehead. One villain getting train jacked, two corporate heroes trying to commit suicide by gross negligence, and now…Spider webs flying toward the blue goon and the falling ceiling?
Two jets of smoke swirl out of Fiver's nostrils as he considers his position. This place is getting hot. Very hot. It's only a matter of time before he is forced to actually do something. But who is he going to punch? A hero or a villain?

As the train starts to move the Trickster stumbles, steps to the left and off the train, but is still hovering in mid-air, skating on metal disks that allow him to float through the sky. "Well then," he says, annoyance on his normally jovial features. "Mr. Haberman, I assure you, we are not pleased with these events."

Tigra manages to snatch the Hostess away from the falling ceiling as it crashes to the floor. Gwen's webbing reinforces the area around the hole, though Captain Cold manages to dodge her other shot — he's used to fighting the Flash, and while Spider-types are quick they are not the Flash by any stretch of the imagination.

"Right," he grunts. "Jesse. Plan B," he says, not quite sotto voce. "Sam."

The man in green and orange — the Mirror Master — releases the doors to the south and east, letting them resume their regular purpose, and fires his own weapon into the reflective surface of the floor. He jumps down into nothing, vanishing from sight.

Cold fires his own weapon toward Gwen — aiming to wing her only, not attempting a direct hit, even as Trickster zips by overhead, heading across the large chamber toward the man in the corner, who's blanching as he realizes that he, suddenly, is the target of their attack. "Keep your money, folks!" announces the Trickster. "We apologize for the delay! Have a pleasant evening!" The megaphone is cast aside.

The Hostess struggles against Tigra, however. "Let go of me!" announces the blonde. "I have to stop the bad guys! I've got lightning eyes now!" Indeed, a blast of electricity flashes from her eyes as she raises her head — zapping Kid Coke as he tries to stand. He goes sprawling across the slippery marble floor.

Okay, the kid is not going limp. That doesn't help. Fortunately Tigra's got more than enough momentum to get them both clear of the falling ceiling, and after the blast of lightning, Tigra lets go of her rather more abruptly than perhaps she has to. "Got to stay alive if you want to stop them," she says curtly, then pivots around, tail lashing as she reassesses the situation. Seeing the job Spider-Gwen's done at the roof, she nods in approval. "Helps to keep the civilians alive, also."

Oh this just keep getting better. SHe knows she should have chosen the coffee shop. Tho, she always thought better in the subway station. It is actually quite amusing. She reaches beside her and picks up a styrofoam cup of coffee and takes a sip as she pushes another button on her laptop. All the times on the ETA's of the trains on the display switch to something more doable given the delay, "I am so asking CIty Transit for overtime for this one."

Spidey-Senses are tingling again and Gwen barely avoids the blast of cold meant to wing her, if Captain Cold had been intending to hurt her; she may have avoided it far easier. Her eyes grow wide as she looks over her shoulder to the frozen pillar behind her, "Ok, that was too close for comfort."

Kid Coke and The Hostess seem to be another threat altogether, one that is best dealt with by dealing with them before they can hurt others.

Tigra is already holding Hostess back for the most part, so Spider-Gwen shoots webbing at the other woman's eyes hoping to blind her, she calls out to Tigra, "Knock her out before she hurts someone!"

Now she needed an exit plan.

Watching as the situation goes from weird to chaotic, Fiver drifts his attention idly across the room. Floating Trickster, new plan, charging the corporate handler in the corner…
The dollar sign practically 'chings' into life over the Mercenary's head as he decides on a plan of action. There is even a flash of light! Though that is just the Hostess zapping her team mate.
Fiver's boots crunch across the gritty floor as he circles the destroyed chunks of ceiling at a determined walk. Leaving a trail of smoke in his wake, the big man strolls calmly out of the rubble zone and across the polished floor, looming over Kid Coke as his joy slide comes to a halt.
"Upsy-Daisy, kid." Grunts the mercenary as he stoops over, ash sprinkling Kid Coke's tights, and attempts to wrap one hairy-knuckled hand around the downed hero's ankle. Though his deep smoke and whiskey baritone is calm, Fiver's scarred face looming over him is probably not a very reassuring sight for the young man. And if the hero doesn't manage to pull himself free, Fiver will straighten up abruptly and turn, whipping him up and around in a tight arc by one ankle. At the apex of the swing Fiver will release the corporate goon, sending him hurtling head-first through the air toward the Trickster.

"No!" cries the Hostess as her eyes are suddenly clogged with spider-webs. She yanks at the stuff to no avail, only getting her fingers stuck in the stuff as well. "No, I'm supposed to be the hero!" she wails in a childish tantrum. She can't even reach her purse full of snack cakes to find one that might help her out of this situation.

Kid Coke, on the other hand, foils Fiver's plan to stop the Trickster only because he knows exactly where his various beverages are. Rather than trying to jerk out of Fiver's grip (which he might be able to manage, as Coca-Cola gives him incredible strength), he grabs for an oversized can of Nos Energy Drink (TM). He cracks it open as he's thrown, drinks a swallow or two in the moments before he'd crash into Trickster, and then he's flying, executing a speedy turn and swinging back toward the zombie under the assumption that the man is on the side of the supposed bad guys. "The Power of Coke Compels You!" he shouts, apparently confused about the slogans of his parent company.

Trickster turns in midair to see the narrow miss and watch the kid go speeding off toward Fiver again. He tips a jaunty salute toward the grey-skinned man, then turns back to the businessman — Haberman, apparently.

"We do not appreciate your method of doing business, Mr. Haberman, and will not be working with you again in the future," he pronounces. "However, we will be turning over evidence of our dealings with you to the New York City DA's office. Have fun with that!" A glance toward Cold. "Two to beam up, Sam!" he shouts as he flies right toward the nearest window, and into the mirror world.

Cold, for his part, takes a long moment to consider the room, and then starts to banish the ice walls he formed to prevent people from leaving the terminal. And then reinforces Gwen's web-repairs to the ceiling with ice. That should keep things intact long enough for everybody to get free and people to put up signs.

Haberman. Tigra thought she heard that name earlier, but was distracted with Hostess. Now she makes a note of it. Right. But… "The Power of Coke…" For a moment she looks like someone had been talking about tides. Okay, two bad guys gone, one is actually being helpful, and…is that a bad guy or not? To avoid making an immediate decision, she crouches down by Hostess to make sure she's not causing any more trouble. "Calm down, or I'll do like she said and knock you out," Tigra says with a growl.

She is calm and collected and still she remains on her bench, closing her laptop as she looks out at the scene of herpic confusion. There is a ring of her phone and she puts it to her ear, plugging her other with her finger, "What? Speak alittle louder. Yeah, I am in the subway. No, no..everything is fine. Pretty normal for this time of day." She sips her coffee and wide eyes as Coke Boy takes flight, "I'll be right there. Don't touch anything. " Another slight pause, "No it's encrypted. Another pause as something else that surprises her catches her eye, "Oh shit.." Apologies given to the obvious person on the phone, "Nothing I spilled my coffee; an obvious lie. She slowly stands, with her computer tucked under her arm, "It's encrypted, if you trigger the fail safe you will wipe the whole hardrive. You can wait to play Angry Birds." She sighs softly, hangs up and skirts her way along the wall of the subway towards the stairs, "A busy day at the Triskelion I see."

With the hold-up dealt with and the two corporate heroes mostly dealt with, Spider-Gwen was no longer needed.

The sweater is ditched in a trash can quickly when nobody is looking, but Gwen had not seen the little girl staring at her in wide eyed shock. Instead of keeping the mask, she instead approached the little girl and handed it to her.

A finger was put to her red lips and a 'Shhhing' sound was mad, "Our little secret, okay?" She winks at the girl and snatches up her backpack before heading up towards the stairs herself.

She brushes past Skye and gives the other woman a little look before blending into the crowd and heading out towards the streets.

Fiver stands back and surveys his work, a smoky sigh gusting through his teeth as Kid Coke pulls a mid-air turn and comes back around toward him. His chin tilts up a fraction at Trickster's salute, as if to say, 'well played.', before his dead gaze once again returns to the confused hero baring down on him.
"You don't wanna fight me, kid." The big zombie rumbles as he takes a single step back and braces his feet against the ground. Between his scars, attitude, and the fact he's very obviously a zombie or something, these might be words of wisdom he's offering. But, only Coke knows what is pounding through the kid's head, all hopped up on sugar and caffeine.
The mercenary's hands haft lift from his sides and he waits, poised to try and hurt the red and white clad punk if he comes for him. Though his flannel coat is hanging open to show the shirt beneath, he doesn't seem to have any weapons to hand. Then again, he just tried to throw a human being one handed for distance. So he might not need them.
The other hero's and villain in the crowded station are mostly ignored. If they step in then plan B will have to be adjusted, but such is life.

Hostess struggles more against the webbing over her eyes, and then subsides, sobbing in frustration. "I was supposed to be the hero," she informs Tigra once more. And then, louder, "This sucks!"

Kid Coke suddenly realizes that he is flying directly toward a zombie. An angry, hungry looking zombie. And he decides, at the last moment, that he is not getting paid enough for this shit. Hostess is the one who's all about being a hero. He's in this for the cash as much as Cold and his cronies. He pulls up a little over a yard away, within reach but ready to backpedal should Fiver grab at him. He fumbles another can of Coke from his 'utility belt' and tosses it toward Fiver. "Have a Coke and smile!" he says hurriedly before racing away, bursting through a window and out of the building.

"Y'know," Captain Cold observes, "seems like whenever one of the Rogues gets me into a mess like this, I wind up causing less damage than the heroes. Hasta luego, kitty." This last is directed toward Tigra. "Nice tail, by the way!" And then he too has jumped through a reflective surface and into the mirror dimension.

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