1869/Time Spent Borrowing

Time Spent Borrowing
Date of Scene:	07 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ravager, Deathstroke

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Ravager has posed:
Creeping back to the ammunitions cache, the Ravager aka Rose Wilson comes out of the forest and approaches the bunker. It has an understated appearance in the side of the hill, amongst the trees. She walks up to the metallic door, glancing down at the new lock. She smirks at her father's obvious precautions, but uses a brief squirt of liquid nitrogen to neutralize the lock. She shoves the door open and heads inside so she can make quick work of her time "borrowing".

Deathstroke has posed:
Beyond the lock itself, Rose encounters no particular resistance at the entrance itself, aside from a fairly heavy, sturdy door. A short passage leads through the thick walls of the bunker, into the interior space that is devoted almost entirely to equipment storage. Inside this main area, the small bunker is quiet and dark, and the air somewhat crisp despite its sealed-off construction, climate controlled to prevent damage to the stored ammunition from extremes of heat or humidity. Various pallets line the concrete floor, each stacked with a broad assortment of crates, barrels, ammunition tins, and a few portable hard containers used for larger man-portable arms. A few are covered with camouflage netting. Really, it looks like Christmas morning.

Ravager has posed:
Rose Wilson cracks an illuminated bar thingie and tosses it on the ground like a survivalist wanna-be. She runs her hand over the camo of one of the nearby pallets and crates, sweeping it off after cutting it free. She seems aware of the time because she moves a little faster than normal, trying to pop open one of the crates to search for some Guns.

Deathstroke has posed:
Opening just a crate or two, there are plenty of guns to be found! The selection covers the whole range of modern military hardware, with offerings from Galil, H&K, SIG, Steyr, as well as the U.S. and Russian militaries. And yet despite the variety, realistically, this equipment probably isn't even for father's use, save perhaps as the most extreme sort of fall-back option, as there's just far too much of it and it's all just a little too generic. It does suggest that he's still connected to his usual circle of associates, all the assorted mercenaries, militias, shadowy arms-dealers and the like, to be housing this kind of volume. But, guns! So many guns. And these aren't even the big ones.

Does it worry her that everything is so easy, that there's no sign of further security in the cozy, comfortably cool little hideaway?

Ravager has posed:
Rose Wilson hoists some of the rifles over her shoulder and piles some ammo into a cute lil knapsack, then narrows her eyes as she looks around the shadowy room again. She picks up one of the guns again and looks at it more closely, probably thinking over what her father is doing stashing these particular guns in this particular location in these crates. "Just what the **** are you planning anyway.." she mutters as she thinks it over. Maybe she'll investigate further. Maybe she doesn't paricularly care, once she has gathered enough guns and ammo to carry away from the ammunition hideout.

Deathstroke has posed:
A quick investigation definitely bears out the idea that this is for more than personal use. The number of guns, all basic stock models? Her father uses carefully customized versions, if he has any choice. And there's just too many. These have to be for someone else, whether to sell or supply, who's to say? Though it's probably enough for, if not a small army, at least a reasonably cozy little militia. There are a few big ticket items too, aside from the crates of rifles, ammunition, and other basic 'necessities' like various grenades and explosives. One interesting find is a Korean-made semi-portable missile system, a rather ridiculously sci fi-ish looking thing with a full visual guidance station that can be assembled on the field. That one might be a little difficult to carry out. But it's some serious hardware.

Amidst all this browsing, the place remains dead quiet, save for the constant hum of the climate control system. Occasionally, there's a little change in that sound, or a metallic clank from pressure changing somewhere in the system. All perfectly normal, right?

Ravager has posed:
Rose Wilson walks back toward the entrance, still wondering about her father's carefully planned motivations. Was he going to arm somebody and not let her in on it? What a jerk. She nudges the automatic visual guidance station with Rocket Arm <tm>, jabbing her toe into it idly. She leans over and picks up her PURPLE lighted nightsick thingie and heads back into the darkened corridor she came from. She glances back behind her as things start clanking and clinking. That sound happened before right? Anyway, she quickens her pace in case the whole place blows up in a fireball.

Deathstroke has posed:
Nothing explodes, although by the time she's reached the exit, she will find that the door has closed and locked itself again - with a far more secure mechanism, the steel slab of a security hatch bolting into its frame in two locations, above and below the original decoy lock. That, and by the time she reaches it, she may begin to feel just the slightest, the very slightest hint of something. A headache maybe? A little blurring in of her vision, or darkening around its edges. It may be a little disconcerting, for someone so used to being... well, healthy, one of those little advantages she shares with her father.

Of course, considering she probably triggered the security system the moment she broke inside, it means that if she'd been anyone else, she'd almost certainly already be stone-cold dead.

Ravager has posed:
Rose Wilson cusses under her breath a few times, saying a few choice curse words she loves. She takes her breather from her belt and sucks it into her mouth, but knows it will only last a brief time. She sucks in a breath as she examines the door again, then pats her pouch search for some plastique but only finds a grenade. She steps back to the mouth of the corridor and flicks the pin on one of the grenades, lofting it underhand at the metallic door. She ducks to the side of the passage.

Deathstroke has posed:
It's only after she pulls the pin that a voice comes on, through some kind of speaker system: "Now really, dear, that's hardly proper demolitions procedure. An anti-personnel fragmentation device against a six-inch steel-" *BOOOM* "-security door? Tsk, tsk." The smoke takes a few moments to clear, although even once it does, the taunting voice proves itself right. The explosive is just too low-energy to damage a reinforced structure, mostly spraying the hallway with bits of shrapnel and leaving the door scorched but still secure. "Also, you're lucky none of the chemical agents in the air are flammable, but it's probably something you might want to think about before blasting things, the next time. Now, hurry along- I've never actually tested it, but I did have that agent brewed with some of my own physiology in mind. I always thought it might come in handy if I bumped into another member of the program."

Ravager has posed:
Rose Wilson cusses again as she looks down the hallway, removing her breather to cough a little, waving her hand back and forth in front of her. "God ****** dammit," she cusses under her breath, "That ****** door was not reinforced last time I was here," she comments annoyedly. She walks to the door and examines it, then walks back to the crates of guns and ammo, "Open the door!" she lets out. She puts a hand on her hip indignantly.

Deathstroke has posed:
"Compeltely ignoring my own motivation in teaching you a thing or two, it never occured to you that a target you've previously infiltrated might upgrade their security measures in the future? My dear, you really need to stop and *think* once in a while. I know you have it in you. Rushing into things with no plan, no research, recon or other intelligence? Always the quickest way to get killed."

Despite her small tantrum, the door, well, it remains a door, and as far as she can tell, remains locked. "If you think I'm going to make this easy on you, you're mistaken. When everyone is strong, it's the smart who survive, Rose. Think of this all as a learning experience. Appreciate it. Breathe it all in- well, alright, maybe not that."

Ravager has posed:
Rose Wilson cusses out loud again, this time not under her breath, "**** this," she says, "Usually a target isn't that smart," she comments. She drops the guns off her back and kicks over a few more of the crates, maybe looking for explosives or something more to nuke the door with. "This is so lame," she mutters and puts her breather back in her mouth. She picks up a blowtorch and then looks at the missile launcher more carefully.

Deathstroke has posed:
"Your opponent's mistakes aren't justification for your own carelessness. You're better than they are, so act like it." As she searches the room, she will find, as before, that there are some explosives among the stored equipment, a small variety of types. More grenades, although those proved a poor choice, along with mines, C-4, and even some breaching charges, although whether they're designed for a door that size is something for consideration. And yes, there's the ridiculously complicated missile launcher as well, although it seems like actually firing that in such close quarters would be... well, challenging! "If you brought suitable gear, you wouldn't have to waste time digging through my surplus, either."

Ravager has posed:
Rose Wilson smirks a bit and flips her hair, "Shut up," she tells him, "I'm collecting equipment cause you don't give me ****," she tells him. She takes the large breaching charges into her arms and returns to the metallic door, "I wouldn't have to do anything if you'd act normal instead of trying to ****** trick me all the time," she whines. She places the explosives along the door and sets the charges, which takes a few minutes actually, to wire it all together and hook up the timer and make sure it goes boom just right. This job probably annoys her some more and delays the time she spends inside the bunker. She steps back out of the corridor again and sets off the charges.

Deathstroke has posed:
"I'd be happy to properly equip you if I had confidence in your work," the disembodied voice continues. "If I could trust you would uphold the professional reputation that goes with that line of work. But you're reckless, Rose. What's all of this even for? Did you have a plan, of what items you needed? Or were you just going to browse and pick whatever looked shiniest?" As she works on setting up the charges, he's mostly silent, or at least refrains from comments - or taunts - related to them, although he does muse further about her would-be training. "I'm not any harder on you than the people who trained me were, when I first went into the program. We did practice missions with live ammunition. Not everyone made it through. Where will you get, if you're not pushed?"

His voice fades out, or is lost, behind the roar of the explosives. With a pair of charges on both of the secondary locking points, the blast seems to do enough damage. The door itself remains largely intact, but the blast pressure is too much for the bolt mechanisms, bending or snapping them, and finally letting in a bit of fresh air, even as she hears the ventilation system cycling off. No sense letting good nerve gas to waste!

Ravager has posed:
Knocking down the door, Rose Wilson lets it flop onto the ground and she says, "Yeah, I have a plan, I'm not a blonde you know," she tells him. She discards her breather, "God damn, I wish you would actually teach me somethin and be normal," she explains.

Reaching back, she grabs her bag o' guns she discarded before she planted the charges and walks back to the door.