5789/Collateral Damage

Collateral Damage
Date of Scene:	16 November 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Crossbones, Typhoid Mary

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Crossbones has posed:
The job was simple and straightforward, but Brock thought a little flavor and chaos could add something to it. Which is why he'd invited Mary. Beyond that, he has a small squad of Hydra thugs, disciplined enough but the very definition of cannon fodder. This wasn't an assignment that required delicacy or precision.

The headquarters of MoneyShark Inc. stands in a dingy part of town. An exploitative company that made its money on predatory payday loans, the company was part of the holdings of a particular Ukrainian crimelord determined to make strides here in America. Unfortunately for him, he'd stepped on a few very particular toes. Now he had to be taught a lesson.

That lesson would be to have this particular business burned, wrecked, trashed and purged.

Crossbones flicks his helmet down and looks across at Mary, hefting a grenade launcher in his arm, "You ready, sugartits?"

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    If only Mary could hear the way Crossbones thinks of her -- insinuating she's incapable of doing things with delicacy and precision -- she'd be sure to give him a good piece of her mind and, at least, a few inches of sharp, cold steel near a very delicate, precise location to help him reconsider his stance. As it is, he's smart enough to keep such thoughts to himself -- possibly because he rightfully assumes she wouldn't appreciate the sentiments.

    Standing next to him and fondling the business end of one of her many blades, Typhoid looks to Crossbones with a smile, "Have I ever looked like I'm /not/ ready, slick?" She gives him a wink and flips the blade in her hand, slipping it into some place on her person that isn't obvious -- which is difficult to do, given her usual mode of dress. "Are you planning on using that thing right away? Kinda takes the fun out of sneaking up behind a guy and making him piss himself, but hey. I've already done that at least once, this week. Just give me the sign and I'll start doing my thing," she gives an easy smile, gathering her dreads and resituating them so they won't get in her way.

Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow grins behind his mask. It isn't so much that he doesn't think she can be precise, it's that he's not entirely sure of his grip on her. No matter how sharp a knife, be careful how you thrust it unless you're sure of where you can aim it. Hence, perfect for this job - there were nothing but viable targets to be had here.

"How 'bout you go and get us started and you let out a whoop when you're ready for me to make some noise, huh?" he says, signalling for the other shock troops to hold back and let Typhoid do her th ing.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid smiles broadly at the response, nodding her head and shaking her limbs out to loosen up, rolling her head back and forth. "Ahh, I always get all bunched up with adrenaline before I slip into killmode," she says excitedly, stretching in a way that looks very practiced -- probably part of her warm up every time. "It's like that feeling you get in your jaw when you really wanna just...bite the shit out of someone or something. Y'know? Coiled snake!" she says, grinning wildly, waggling her eyebrows as she slides her katanas off of her back. "RIGHT," she says decisively and claps Crossbones on the shoulder, handing him her katanas, as she steps out of the alley...

    And, almost instantly, it's like she's transformed. She staggers a bit unsteadily, her feet shuffling as she hugs herself and keeps her chin lowered as she moves in the direction of the loan shark's front door, flanked by guards. She shivers, like she's freezing -- to be fair, it's fuckin' cold outside, and she's hardly dressed for it. She stumbles her way in that direction and, as she gets close, she kinda...throws herself/falls on one of the guards, "Oh, fuck, hey, I'm s-sorry." She coughs and her jaw trembles, her teeth chattering, her eyes looking like they're mostly rolling into her skull, very unfocused. "Hey, boys, hey... Th' boss here? I need... I needa get well, I'm feelin' so s-sick," she says in that breathy, sketchy way a junkie does. She smiles feverishly, "Y'know, boys? I just...I just need a lil' help. Can y' help me?" she asks, hanging onto the one guy as though she can't keep the ground stable beneath her feet, and she's reaching out to the other guy with a grasping hand.

Crossbones has posed:
The guards on the outside look at one another, even as one moves to catch Mary's weight, "Hey there, uhhhhhhhhh...I mean...shit...don't just stare, Stan, help me out here," he says to the other guy. Crossbones watches with grim amusement from his hiding place. She's a pretty decent actress, no doubt about it. He holds her swords in reserve and braces himself to intervene if anything goes wrong. But she should be able to handle these two.

They have training, but they're soft, lazy and bored. They move aside from the entrance and try to help Mary up against the wall, the one called Stan leering directly at her, "Shit, she's a nice piece o' cooze for a junkie..."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid groans as Not-Stan helps prop her up against the wall, near the entrance to the storefront's door. Her head droops a bit and she coughs, shivering and reaching out to Stan as he responds positively. "Yeah, baby, you know it," she says in that cajoling way that a woman needing a fix has. "I can help botha you boys out," she says, looking unsteadily between Stan and Not-Stan. "I'm real good. Good for it," she chatters, her jaw quivering. "Just... I'm so cold. I can't get warm. Gimme...gimme a hug, boys," she says, reaching for them, "C'mere."

Crossbones has posed:
Not-Stan seems to be a bit more wary, looking nervously over his shoulder. Probably more scared of his boss catching him slacking off than he is of anything Mary might have up her skimpy sleeve. Stan, on the other hand, has no such hesitation, quickly moving in and trying to pin Mary up againt the wall, "I know what kinda hug you wanna gimme, baby. Go on, I bet you know how to find a zipper!" he says lewdly, drawing a groan of exasperation from his coworker.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    That's really all Mary needs. The opening she wanted. Would've been great to get both, but one is plenty. She smiles tightly at Stan as Non-Stan looks the other way and scrubs at the back of his head, looking nervous and disgruntled at his co-worker. As Stan presses her up against the wall, she nods drunkenly at him as he makes his piggish assertion, laughing softly, "Oh, honey, you don't know the /half'a/ it."

    She slides her hand between them and, pretending to fumble around for something like his zipper, instead, she takes on a look of faux surprise -- "Baby, is there somethin' /wrong/ with you? You're hot down here, like...deadly hot!" she murmurs in Stan's ear...as she lights up his crotch with her pyrokinesis. She kicks Stan backwards away from her, still aflame and spreading like he was covered in accelerant, and, for Not-Stan's benefit, screams "OH, FUCK, HE'S ON FIRE!" She smiles as she watches Not-Stan and Stan. If Not-Stan tries to put his buddy out, the fire spreads. Quickly. "ISN'T ANYONE GONNA HELP? FIRE!" she calls out, again, winking broadly in the direction of the grenade launcher.

Crossbones has posed:
Stan flings himself on the ground, screaming and slapping at his burning pantaloons. Not-Stan seems to more be in shock than anything, turning around to try and call for help only for a bullet to hit him in the back of the head, splattering his brains on the wall.

Crossbones comes around the corner and looks at the thrashing body of Stan fumbling for his gun. "Needed to make sure you were clear before I blow the doors, sweetness," he says, figuring she'll finish off the burning guard as he hefts up the launcher and fires, blowing in the front doors in a rain of fire and glass.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid laughs as Stan rolls around, his whole body encased in her psychic fire, and she kicks it up a notch as Not-Stan takes a bullet to the brain from somewhere in the dark. Typhoid gasps in surprise, pleasantly, grinning and biting her lower lip. She plays around with Stan a bit -- she draws the fire away, almost to nothing...then makes it flare back up. A few times over, she does this, as Brock comes around the corner and speaks to her.

    She smiles at him, "Oh, Bonesy, you're too sweet. Don't worry. I'm expecting it, and fire doesn't hurt me. So, let loose whenever you want, sugardick." She winks and pats the cheek of his helmeted face. Her point may or may not be proven to him as the first grenade goes, blowing the front doors wide open, and the debris just bounces off of her, falling harmlessly to the ground.

    "Okay, cutie, gimme them," she says, grabbing her katanas back and sliding them into place in an X on her back. She turns back to look at Stan who, at this point, is probably been-dead, and stomps on his crispy-burnt crotch, grinding it into the street beneath, and spitting on his burned up corpse. She then moves to climb inside the ruined entry way to the place, on her guard.

Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow hands over the swords and follows Typhoid in. He waves off the back-up - it's already clear that the two of them will be more than capable of handling anything within.

The first line of defense comes from the fire system, sprinklers going off overhead in the hallway. Emergency serices are called in, while four more guards make their way to intercept, two armed with shotguns and two with pistols, heading in a close cluster for the murderous duo.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid smiles as the sprinklers kick in, soaking her always-warm skin, and the cold from outside causing smoke to coil off of her body. Science! She crouches low as the four guards file in from a funnel point, lower than they're probably expecting people to be, and she looks for openings to fling her small throwing knives, using her TK to ensure her aim is good, accurate, and even uncanny, in some instances. This isn't meant to take them down, but certainly aimed at hampering their movement, and trip up their efficiency training.

Crossbones has posed:
One of them does go down, the blade slicing into the side of his neck, leaving him clutching at a wound as he falls to the floor. Another takes a bullet in the throat from Crossbones as he moves in behind, letting Typhoid serve as a sweeper while he cleans up the remnants of anything she leaves behind. By the time both of them pass by any living thing, it will be dead and finished off.

One of the shotgun guys tries to raise his weapon at Typhoid, close enough for her to take a swipe at him, while the other tries to charge past her to tackle Crossbones. Neither is likely to be very successful.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid's instinct and intensive training is always with her, and it serves her well as the one guy with a shotgun tries to yank it up to aim at her. She grabs the barrel, wrenches it expertly to break his trigger finger and yanks it out of his grasp, tossing it harmlessly out of the way. She kicks her boot in a certain way and blades pops out of the heel and toe of it, which she then uses to kick and clobber the remaining life out of the guy.

Crossbones has posed:
There's a gurgling, wet sound as the next man goes down, counterpointed by the snap of bone as Crossbones twists the neck of the man who tried to tackle him, leaving him laying on the floor with his head on backwards. Brock nods and the unlikely pair move forward, going up the stairs and hitting the second floor. As soon as he sticks his head out, though, a pair of ceiling mounted autoguns try to take him out, pushing him to seek cover again, "Fancy. Wonder why?"

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid just takes a moment to admire Crossbones' form as he snaps the lackey's neck, smiling to herself. She kicks her boot in that special way and the blades retract, their sheaths tight-fitted enough to leave any lingering blood on the outside of her sole. She follows along with him as they ascend to the next floor. She makes an 'huh! i dunno' face in reply to his question, but leans around the corner just enough to get a bead on where they are. "I can take 'em out," she says confidently, as she claps and rubs her hands together.

    "You think I can't do 'finesse,'" she mutters to him, narrowing her eyes in concentration. She gets a bead on the first gun's barrel and focuses on it, tossing a marble up and into the general area, within her line of sight. She grips the marble with her TK and, with good concentration and staring at the gun barrel, slides it deep into the metal shaft, lodging it firmly in, where it can move no more. She does the same for the other autogun. It takes her a few minutes, sure, but it's something she's /workin' on/. She ain't exactly an expert with it, just yet. "Okay. I'mma step out and test it. Real quick-like," she says. And, she doesn't give him much time to reply before she puts up her TK shields and steps out to trigger the sensors. She's ready to dive out of the way, though, just in case.

Crossbones has posed:
Her little trick worked, though, and the gun promptly explodes when it tries to fire at her. Seems like her experimentation is going pretty well. "Nice," he says. of course the other gun is starting to line up and actually fires on Typhoid, a few bullets bouncing off her TK shields before Crossbones can unleash another grenade from his launcher, blowing a hole in the ceiling and leaving a wreckage of wires and melting metal in its wake.

"Knock knock, motherfuckers," he says, starting to step around as two more guards arrive, this time with assault rifles.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    One out of two ain't so bad! Typhoid flips off the other autogun for not jamming properly and mucking up her finesse flex. She watches as it explodes from the grenade gun and smiles as though it got what it deserved. She follows alongside Crossbones as he makes his way to the next turn and whistles low at the sight of assault rifles. "Well, y' could just lob a couple of grenades at 'em, but where's the fun in that?" she grins.

    She holds out her hand and a flame sparks to life in her palm. She focuses on it and breathes heat into it, blowing a thin stream of fire from her mouth and into it. The ball grows large very quickly and, keeping it aloft and contained in a sphere between her two hands, she steps around the corner just quickly enough to send the huge flame orb zooming at the two men, the fire unfurling into a broader shape that seeks to wrap itself around the men, as if it has a mind of its own. It doesn't. It's Typhoid's malicious grey cells that direct it, but they dunno that.

Crossbones has posed:
Crossbones lets Typhoid play with the men, starting to chase them around like cartoon character fleeing from the flames that try to consume them, darting to and fro. They look quite frightened and rightfully so, one of them finally slipping and finding himself igniting and thrashing on the floor.

The last one throws down his gun, holding up his hands as he gets on his knees, "Please, please, I give up, I give up!" he says.

"That's nice," Crossbones says, casually walking up and popping a cap through his forehead.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid laughs quietly, trying not to cackle as she really wants to, as she chases the men around with the flames, finally catching one and wrapping him up in it. She makes sure he's good and toasted before she turns her attention to Crossbones, who is just... really leaving a good impression on her as he gives the deadly one-liner.

    "Sheesh, Bones. You know how to make a girl hot under the collar. C'mon. We need to finish this up. I'm feelin' a bit steamy," she grins and smacks him on the rump as she moves on.

Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow rolls his neck, popping vertebrae in it as he lead the way deeper into the facility. "Don't blow your load just yet, dollface. We still got another couple floors," he says.

Of course, they've already taken out all but four of the guards, which will make things significantly easier. The third floor, in fact, is clear, as the remainder pull back to guard the most valuable items on the top floor: the cash reserve.

"Technically, we're just supposed to blow the place to hell and let the guy suffer his losses. Personally, I hate to see a pile o' cash go to waste. Whatcha think, you up for blowing a safe tonight?" he says, leading them into the elevator and hitting the button up to the fourth floor. "They're gonna be waitin' for us."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid grins and quips back, "Who said I've only got the one load to blow?" Let him think about /that/ in the quiet after the job is done.

    That said, she is on the job and she's focused on getting it done, and done thoroughly. She moves along with him, silent death on four feet, as they move deeper and deeper into the building, heading up to the next floor.

    "Mmm," Mary says thoughtfully to Crossbones' comments. "Um, do the words 'fuck yeah' mean anything to you?" she says in a faux valley girl voice. "There's nothin' wrong with padding our pockets with a lil' bonus, as long as it wasn't strictly forbidden by the terms of the job, right?" she grins. Then, she pauses. "Well, we'll give 'em a big surprise, then, won't we?" she moves to stand in front of Crossbones and raises her hands up high, like he's holding her hostage. "Don't worry. I'm deflecting bullets, but I can't take a shitload, so the second you get a chance, pop out from behind me and feed 'em a few grenades, hm?" she says, her hips swaying, like a cat anticipating pouncing.

Crossbones has posed:
"Not wastin' grenades on these last couple. Wouldn't wanna burn some of the bills," he says. When the doors open, the two guards remaining do, indeed, open fire, criss-crossing blasts from their assault weapons. Typhoid's TK can take most of it and the one bullet that does get through makes a noisy ping on his assault armor as he steps between her with a pistol in each hand, criss crossing his wrists and unleashing steady blasts. Despite the intensity of the fire, he doesn't seem shaken, staring them down as he puts down the last remaining obstacle with them.

"Easy enough. Glad I didn't bring the boys," he says. "Waste of a split on the take. See if you can get the safe open and I'll start setting charges to bring the building down."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid smiles as he points out the money, "Right. Don't wanna hurt the babies." She's ready for it when the doors open and she keeps the majority of the bullets from hitting their targets, but the assault rifles pack a punch and she's been using her TK a lot, tonight. It's probably just her head getting to her, but one of the bullets slips through and she cusses a dirty, black oath as it ricochets harmlessly off of Crossbones' armor. She, again, is given the chance to admire him at work as he steps in front of her and takes the remaining men out of the picture, sewing up the job neatly.

    "Me, too. You hardly needed 'em," she says agreeably as she moves over to the safe and begins, again, exerting her TK to see if she can successfully unlock it -- feeling around with her extrasensory feelers, like a psychic lockpick. She's got other things she can do, if it doesn't work, but neater is nicer. And, this is a good exercise for her TK.

Crossbones has posed:
"I never mind a bit of company on a job," he says. "Solo works all well and good, but I like havin' a squad. Always good to be prepared," he says. He kneels down in each of the four corners in turn, setting explosive charges in place. After a few minutes of diddling from Typhoid, the tumblers finally turn and the vault slides open to reveal a fairly decent sized pile of cash and assets.

He throws a sack at her feet, "Bag it up and we'll split. I know a place we can go make it rain and, if yer in the mood, we can party in the back. I did a stint with the owner up in Stryker's Island."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Hearing the tumblers click open, Typhoid exhales almost lewdly. "Aw, yes," she says, watching the door slide open and reveal its precious goods to her. She looks down at the sack Crossbones tossed to her and she nosewrinkles, "Fine, I'll bag it. But, you owe me for this. I won't say what, but I'll let you know when," she grumbles playfully, grabbing the bag and stuffing it full of everything the vault contained. She leaves behind nothing of value and, since it's all gonna get blown up, she foregoes leaving any creative presents for the owner to find. "Sounds dope, sugarballs. Let's peace outta here," she says, hefting the sack over her shoulder.

Crossbones has posed:
They make their way out of the building and head out to the transport SUV. The flunkies have already left, fucked off and leaving the two costumed villains on their own as he puts the car in gear, letting Mary toss the money in the backseat.

"Party time," he grins, reaching down and hitting the triggering button, the two of them driving down the road as the building goes up in a burst of flames behind them.