2057/Gambling with Purpose

Gambling with Purpose
Date of Scene:	18 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Black Bolt, Crusader

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Black Bolt has posed:
There's got to be a rule somewhere that invaders hit Manhattan first. Alien Chitauri? Attack Manhattan.

Nasty beings with a bone to pick, arriving from another realm? Show up in Manhattan.

Rogue cyborgs march free of a building anywhere, it's in Midtown.

No wonder insurance rates are so bloody high and no one but Tony Stark can afford to build. Bylaws in a pale effort to curb maintenance costs aside, the shining towers attract plenty of interesting people too. Usual suspects gather near Times Square, dressed up as their favourite hero: Spider-Man, Batman, Superman, Diaper-Man, Horse-and-Carriage-Man. Masks and proper costumes win points from the amused tourists, though the standard city-dwellers can easily be distinguished by the unhappy expressions on their faces. They just want to get places.

Blackagar Boltagon, King of Attilan, really prefers to reach ground level as he steps out form the subway terminal along with a thousand other souls disgorged from a steel train. Vapors and fumes sweep around him, a sickening plague he does his best to ignore. With his sleeve raised to his face, he's hardly noteworthy from dozens of other well-dressed fellows of a given age.

Now, the parade of people dressed like flying squirrels and chipmunks marching neatly for Times Square is another thing entirely. They carry sacks reading NUTS! in loud letters, and for the most part, join the morass of performers trying to make a few quick bucks.

Black Bolt has posed:
There's got to be a rule somewhere that invaders hit Manhattan first. Alien Chitauri? Attack Manhattan.

Nasty beings with a bone to pick, arriving from another realm? Show up in Manhattan.

Rogue cyborgs march free of a building anywhere, it's in Midtown.

No wonder insurance rates are so bloody high and no one but Tony Stark can afford to build. Bylaws in a pale effort to curb maintenance costs aside, the shining towers attract plenty of interesting people too. Usual suspects gather near Times Square, dressed up as their favourite hero: Spider-Man, Batman, Superman, Diaper-Man, Horse-and-Carriage-Man. Masks and proper costumes win points from the amused tourists, though the standard city-dwellers can easily be distinguished by the unhappy expressions on their faces. They just want to get places.

Blackagar Boltagon, King of Attilan, really prefers to reach ground level as he steps out form the subway terminal along with a thousand other souls disgorged from a steel train. Vapors and fumes sweep around him, a sickening plague he does his best to ignore. With his sleeve raised to his face, he's hardly noteworthy from dozens of other well-dressed fellows of a given age.

Now, the parade of people dressed like flying squirrels and chipmunks marching neatly for Times Square is another thing entirely. They carry sacks reading NUTS! in loud letters, and for the most part, join the morass of performers trying to make a few quick bucks.

Crusader has posed:
Stepping out from the subway, the seats groaning as if relieved of a great weight, was Bjorn Artturson. The man stood well above most other people and somehow moved quietly. It was difficult to tell his age, he had white hair and large beard...and a world worn expression about him...and yet his sheer muscle mass and expression was more youthful. As he excited the subway cart, never even knowing the King of Attilan was among them, he looked about

He was excited! So much was going on, and he smiled wide! The man mental state...was odd, definintly not completly human. He waved cheerily to folks and greeted them with a booming "Hello!" energetic indeed. He even watched the folks dressed up as various super heros. It was quite the sight to behold

But he never was even aware that some rogue cyborgs where on their way to cause chaos, seemingly lost in his own little world

Black Bolt has posed:
Blackagar takes several strides into traffic. He instinctively seeks those gaps between slower moving people, the sort who loiter around staring at their phone screens or try to get their bearings. His is a purposeful stride intended for a destination, possibly the tunnel or headed into Bryant Park. He well has the look of someone a bit too cool for an office job in Fisk Towers. The United Nations isn't so far away, either, and anyone recognizing him by rights of the thin metal circlet on his brow could possibly guess that's a likely heading.

They'll never get to know.

Approximately five minutes after the train pulls in, screams start originating from the back of a long, crowded sidewalk. The cause: a white van of no particular description bustling right into a mob of people snapping photos of furry tigers wearing t-shirts and Batman flapping a cape and standing around majestically. Where Bjorn waves to them, several others wave back. He might end up in a picture. He might well /be/ the star attraction for a Korean girl giving a big "V" shaped fingers to friends back home. Right up until collisions of steel bumpers and flesh. The laughter turns to screams.

And the nut brigade open their sacks with a coordinated precision hinting at practice. Out go packing peanuts and biodegradable foam, weapons snatched up. Guns, for the most part, the high-powered semi-automatic to fully-automatic sorts that authorities are forever going on about. They're modified, though, in such a fashion their ammunition is probably not a standard steel casing.

Crusader has posed:
Bjorn dosn't gasp dosn't even seem surprised. His feet seem to move before he even thinks. One step, two and suddenly Bjorn is /RAMMING/ that van right back off the people it was crushing as if it was a paper weight - it endd up knocked on its side as people scattered in fear and confusion.

Panic....was not the key here. The large man gets the attention of several people who did stay calm - and they do their best to quikcly moved the injured citizens away.

But as for him...Bjorn seems to dissappear in the crowd - as if he was never there

And he didn't quite appear...not yet. A transparent...fluid? Or Goo seems to have appeared underneath the crowd. It flowed forward rapidly and than rises up creating what appears to be a transparent wall - right in the path of where those nut jobs where aiming litterly using his body as a shield. But what will these rounds do if they hit him? He has not a clue.

Black Bolt has posed:
The van is breathtakingly heavy for its apparent size, reinforced inside or carrying a heavy load. That said, it's not nearly heavy enough to prevent Bjorn from shoving it aside. Wheels squeal and rubber smokes on the ground, the driver gunning the accelerator all the way to the floor. Hurtling towards its target, the lost momentum still causes trouble as the back end fishtails and manages to inflict a little more damage on the fallen masses.

Panic is something that can't be halted. Phones are dropped. People record even as they scatter in all directions, children scooped up by their parents and smaller bodies shoved aside by the bigger ones.

The superheroes? They're not. Especially not when gunfire erupts in a rattle and throws streaking bullets in copper and brown all over the place. Those hit have the awful moment of striking the ground as concussive force erupts around them. Damage, then, it's not a humorous game of 'spray nuts' everywhere. Those hitting the shield may fail to get through it, but the telekinetic-like force is considerable. It pushes and shoves.

The dark-haired man in his finely cut coat is caught in that first repulsive tide pushing back. Running men and women force the pedestrian flow to reverse. He is more than strong enough to hold against it alone, but his frosty blue eyes widen. Then he's taking several strides to head off trouble, inhaling sharply for it. He's not going to speak -- the world wants to survive, after all. But Blackagar is implacable, gently nudging aside those in their rush, wading closer.

Crusader has posed:
The wall is being shoved back further and further and even topples, but simply reforms as parts of him are being chipped away at. He couldn't be everywhere at once...which pissed him off! But there only so much any one hero can do.
    But at least he was getting a small meal so to speak as bullets pelt the ground - they seem to be enveloped by an invisible substance and dissappear - the wall regenerating the parts lost as well as begining to gather infomatin on what exactly these bullets where

Regardless once everyone behind this way is safe...is when it finally takes a new form. It wasn't a flash display...one moment there is nothing and the next moment...the Crusader is there and he means buisness.

Crusader rush forward to the men with the guns - to draw their fire, and attention away from the crowds.

Black Bolt has posed:
The hundreds of people in Times Square at any given daylight hour are on the run. They race through the streets and cut between the tall buildings. More head inside on the off chance men firing on them won't pursue, which of course they do with rhythmic, awful precision. Feet strike the ground one after the other, men in a row unleashing their violence at street level. Maybe it's easier to dive behind buses for cover, or cower in alleys.

Those who fall, so many of them don't rise, pools of red running around their bodies. Fear and terror pepper the screams raised loudly to the air. Even the 'heroes' aren't really the real thing.

Blackagar cuts through the mass, glancing to the stopped van, a culprit to all these things. If he can, the driver reverses in an effort to shield himself and execute the last act of his plan. He's got a chance to flee as need be with the telekinetic curtain wall of bullets striking down and the men in squirrel and other rodent suits doing what they can.

Crusader is bound to find they're not so easily downed by a punch. Nor are they going to choose him as their primary target.

For the Midnight King, it's far simpler. He rips a post with a parking meter attached free almost too easily, eyeing it up.

Crusader has posed:
And people keep going down further and further......something had to be done. And punching this guys dosn't seem to be keeping them down! ANd there are so many of them too! Crusader begins to throw them into each other with tremendous foce...but even that was to slow, and the bullets where still flying

He decides to kick it up a notching.....with a wave of his hand he sends arching lightning forth from his hand to zap the bullet happy nut jobs

Black Bolt has posed:
Punching some of them works... for a time. Kitted out at least somewhat defensively with a layer of kevlar and other basic armour reinforced to handle firearms, at least. The group splits in two when Crusader scoops them up, throwing them at one another. They're not willing to scatter as autumn leaves do.

Lightning, on the other hand, is a terribly effect trick for scrambling microprocessors and internal systems. Their screams are inarticulate things mingling with the crowd, and bodies jerk and jolt. Sprays of bullets go in all directions, forcing others to take cover or fall. One or two become friendly fire, not that it matters.
EBlackagar is quickly engaged with two of those combatants, using the metal pole to deliver sharp strokes, swung left and right. He blocks multiple strikes, aiming to bring them down.

Crusader has posed:
Success!

Well lightning works...so lightning it will be!

Crusader acts quickly. This time he strikes with more precision, he shoots quick powerful bolts of lightning at those who are raising their guns to the crowd or actively shooting at them. He keeps a constant move trying to make sure any in his sight are caught.

Black Bolt has posed:
Stubborn attempts to resist aren't helpful, not with lightning in play. Sparks fly and ozone rips through the air, and the bodies that lie among the bloody aren't all made of flesh. Some of them might conceivably be treated as human, for they look it. Minus the synthflesh melting off their faces, and the exposed and destroyed circuitry.

Once successful, the violence ends so simply. They simply crash to the ground and that's that, leaving destruction in their wake.

That leaves Blackagar to consider his route. Already the strobing lights of the police are bound in, and he wants nothing to do with that.

Crusader has posed:
Crusader grunts as each of these...not so human sythetical falls. He didn't know what or who they were....but looking around there was blood everywhere. He sighs deeply and looks to where the police where...it was time for Crusader to dissappear

As before...he seems to simply dissappear. And moment latter... a large older gentleman can be seen trying to help those wounded along with other good samatains