Temporal Momentum


brennan_icon.gif elisabeth2_icon.gif felix4_icon.gif gavyn_icon.gif harmony_icon.gif kaitlyn2_icon.gif lola_icon.gif warren_icon.gif

Also Featuring:

sarisa_icon.gif df_cardinal2_icon.gif

Scene Title Temporal Inertia
Synopsis While the future fights to assert itself, residents of Summer Meadows, elements of the Endgame conspiracy and FRONTLINE find themselves caught between a rock and a hard place in the riots. But the arrival of an unexpected piece of technology onto the scene changes both the tides of the battle and the shape of things to come.
Date November 8, 2010

Summer Meadows

The tension in the air is so thick that it feels like a dense humidity.

Freezing cold air whips in off of the water, sweeping across Roosevelt Island's southern tip in clear view of the inferno raging out of control over the river to the east in Hunter's Point. Billowing clouds of choking black smoke head southwest towards Brooklyn, but ash still falls from the sky like snowflakes, mixed with glowing hot embers.

Everything is dusted with a fine coat of ash, from the tall spotlight stands shedding bright floodlight down onto Main Street in the absence of gridded electricity, to the matte black GPV Colonel — the personnel carrier for FRONTLINE — parked across the road like a makeshift roadblock. Sandbags have been erected behind which National Guardsmen sit crouched and ready, AR-15 assault rifles trained north up Main Street.

Three black-clad FRONTLINE Unit-01 officers stand at the ready nearby to the GPV parked across the road, ash dusting the shoulders of their armor, smudged across the glossy, black visors of their faceplates.

Behind the National Guardsmen and FRONTLINE, NYPD riot repost teams wait with transparent plastic shields in front of another sandbag barricade and temporary chain-link fencing erected behind them to block off south end of Main Street as it heads towards the unlit facade of the Suresh Center on the very end of the narrow island.

Most of the residents of Summer Meadows are locked away in their homes, windows shuttered and closed, some non-residents are contained behind the defensive barricade that rests in the middle of the street, behind the sea of NYPD SWAT officers in full riot gear, nightsticks and plastic riots shields and visored helmets all that protects them from what is coming down the road.

«Attention all FRONTLINE assets in the area, backup inbound, repeat, backup inbound.» The call comes from the police command stationed back at the Suresh Center, moments before the sound of a helicopter approaches from the direction of Brooklyn over the water.

The helicopter's blades chop noisily in the air, its floodlight shining down on the street into a crowd of onlookers who shield their eyes with their hands and squint up at the incoming vehicle. Wheels unfold from the bottom of the chopper as it moves to land in the middle of the street behind the barricade and the prepared defensive line.

When it touches down, the side door slides open allowing a new black-clad figure to step out with a whine and hiss of hydraulics forming a framework over her arms, legs and down her back. She touches down with a hop out of the vehicle, a light flickering to life on a head-mouhted camera on the right side of her helmet, unique to the other members of FRONTLINE here.

On the chest-plate of her body armor, a number has been stenciled in white: 01-05 It's a number formerly reserved for Adelle Sanderson before her death just days ago. «Dooley is boots on the ground. Repeat, Dooley is boots on the ground!»

There was little time to prepare for what is about to happen, and the shouting cries from up ahead are growing louder by the minute. Summer Meadows residents who refused to be contained to their homes, along with other protestors and looters are making progress down the street from a recent surge. But that isn't the real threat, and despite repeated warnings blared over megaphones, they refuse to see the coming storm.

Thirty minutes ago, word was spread that a group of crazed rioters — possibly berserking people affected by the transmission — entered the subway tunnel at Flushing Street Station in Queens and were headed west under the river. The attempt to block them off at the subway station ended poorly, and all communication with the NYPD positioned at the subway has gone silent.

Violent shouting and screams have not yet been heard, wherever the coming tidal-wave of madness is, it somehow hasn't managed to cut down Main Street yet, but the tensions between the residents themselves and law-enforcement is getting hotter. Shouts come from both sides of the barricades, tear gas has already been dispersed in billowing clouds but has had minimal success in diverting the dissenters.

This is all going to become very bloody if the people rendered psychopathic by the transmission managed to get through the subway and onto the island.

No one expected the violence to be this bad.

Lola Mayeux has known where to be for a day or two. Cardinal told her that this is where she would be, and Elisabeth would be her target. It's actually unknown to either of these two women that this is where they first met, when Lola was wandering across the beach right as Liz was being kidnapped. But that's a long time ago, and as previously said: neither of them would know it anyway.

She is warm enough, for a change. A black woll cap helps keep the heat inside of her head. She wears a form-fitting black zip-up jacket with extra little pockets in it for all sorts of things. Grenades, ammo, you get the drill. Grappling gun - yes, you get the drill! Black gloves cover her hands. Tight, black Cargo pants allow for more storage while making being quiet and small just as possible. Black combat boots from a military surplus store keep her feet warm and give her traction. She has a large duffel over her shoulder as she walks, with a purpose, up the stairs and into the empty apartment.

She is in one of the larger, nicer brick apartment complexes near the entrance, facing the main street as it sweeps into Summer Meadows. A second window in the same room, facing inside of the meadows, allows her to move deeper into the area as is needed. And of course, she can always jump apartments.

Lola falls to her knees, pressed against the wall beside the window. With a look of steely determination, she yanks open the bag and takes out some binoculars, and starts to watch. She has to find her target. She has to find Liz.

Coming back to Roosevelt Island was a bad idea, even if he wanted to load up whatever he had left into a large brown backpack. Warren isn't dressed warm at all, he expected to be driving his car, but now everything is shutting down, and the idea to enter the Summer Meadows area until everything blows over proved to be even worse.

His gloved hands are holding the straps of his backpack tightly, black suit buttoned up for once with a matching gas mask on his face. Ash is ruining one of his favorite suits, but that's the furthest thing from his mind. He ducks into an alley, not far from where FRONTLINE are gathering, not sure at all what's going on except for the rioting itself. He's armed, in his own way, but wasn't stupid enough to bring any sort of guns or grenades to Roosevelt Island in this mess.

Elisabeth Harrison is not going to be easy to miss exactly… but she wont' be easy to spot either. True to her word to a certain shadow and others, the blonde has kept her helmet on throughout. She doesn't feel like she's as aware of the sounds around her, but the techs have done a halfway decent job of making a standard helmet workable for her. As the helicopter brings backup in with it, her visored face turns to watch the approach — she can't exactly hear a whole lot around the rotors. She stands near the one armored individual who can be differentiated by the Felix the Cat symbol emblazoned on his shoulder, simply watching. «Acknowledged, Command,» she replies into the radio when they call in that backup is arriving. Seeing Sanderson's number on the helmet twists her guts, but it's not evident.

She said she wanted to help, and that she had heard the possibility that someone pretty close to her just might be left at Summer Meadows. With this worry on her mind, Harmony knew she would simply sit in the basement and go stir crazy. A force such as her just itches to burst free, despite the dangers that might be at hand. She too is here to back up Elisabeth, and has taken caution to remain as unseen as she possibly can. At least she gets to wear her little pieced together outfit in hops it helps for cover and mobility, with a little protection against some of the other complications that could come from being in the heat of things.

In her black leather pants, with a black motorcycle jacket and black fingerless gloves, Harmony clings to the side of a building, taking a few intense puffs of air, smoke pushing past her lips as she starts to psyche herself up. She had imagined this very moment, the various sounds carry so much more weight when they are actually real, and not imagined in her mind. The smell of burnt remains and rough ash, the sounds of the helicopters overhead, the cries of hostility and the crackle of fires set by the brutality. And somehow, an eerie silence mingles in with everything else. It's a muffling and dead type of sound. Like being in the very eye of a storm, the impending sensation that bad things are going to happen wash over her.

But Harmony has it under control. She doesn't have time to be afraid of herself, she has to find Elisabeth and more importantly, she has to stay alive. Is she armed? In a manner of speaking, yes. Yes she is. Not in the sense that she has some kind of firearm at her side. She naturally packs all the heat she will need to be effective. The big question of will she be able to do it however? That still hangs heavily on her mind.

The blonde's blue eyes turn skyward, a gloved hand coming up to shield her eyes as the helicopter flies overhead, following it's descent to where the helmeted Elisabeth and the other. Harmony knows that she was dressed like that when she saw her, but how could she tell her apart. Damnit, she should have been more prepared..

His armor's lighter, less reinforced, more finely articulated and streamlined than most of the FRONTLINE suits. Andof course, yes, there's the gray on black Felix the Cat on his left pauldron, the feline depicted indulging in one of his trademark belly laughs. He's made it abundantly clear he's going to stick with Liz, hell or high water. The tracelines on his vital signs, transmitted through the suit back to their monitors at base, have his heart already at that machine gun pace; the normal human activity around him, filtered through that hyperadrenaline response, are underwater slow and distorted, for all that he's statue still. «Fuck my life» he says, in idiomatic Muscovite Russian.

Head turning, she glances back over her shoulder to the helicopter. At least, behind the visor they can't see the slight nervous look there. Reaching up to make sure her pack is settled on her shoulders, Dooley does a rundown of her gear. Hands patting at the weapons, while out loud she states firmly, «Jesus, Mary and Joseph, y'all coulda warned me about issues of panties ridin' up. There is a reason I don't wear a thong.»

Taking the AR-15 off her shoulder, the newest FRONTLINE officer on the field takes a deep breath . "Don't go messin' up this chance, Kaity-girl." With the click and whirl of hydrolics, Kaitlyn Dooley… formerly of the NYPD, formally a homeless person, formally a secret captive… now wearing billions of dollars and asked to protect the city.

Only in America, folks.

Slowing to a stop before the three black clad figures already there, Kaitlyn straightens a little more. «Dooley, team medic, reportin' in.» Giving a nod to the other faceless members of the team. It's kind of weird meeting your team like this. It's kinda surreal.

In the standard of FRONTLINE's horizon's suits, Gavyn Mitchell stands to flank Liz opposite of Felix. She watches, not the support coming in, but what lays out in front, feet shuffling in anticipation or nervousness as the seconds tick by. Vigil is broken every so often to look at the other two with her, quick glances as though to make sure they're still there and with her.

Someone had the foresight to give Brennan a vest, protect the negator, as he was told to get his but moving from the Suresh Center and rendevous - Likely not to be the first time tonight - and go be on call. When you have possible evolveds about to riot or already rioting, a negator is a handy thing to have on call.

Button up shirt, a borrowed jacket, jeans and boots, he's behind the frontliners, waiting with the rest of the cops and an honest to god gun given to him to cart about for self protection. Not that he expects to use it but… You never know. But there is Doctor Brennan, member of the DoEA - so says his ID that he's asked for - and he's waiting with the rest of them.

The tension grows, shouted calls for the police to back down are screamed ahead by the rioters who are in control of their own faculties. Rocks are hurled ahead, bouncing off of the GPV Colonel, bandannas serve as cloth facemasks, and this all resembles something out of a third-world country. How oculd this happen in America? The news media will be asking that for days to come, but the horror of the scenario about to play out has a certain gravity to it that cannot be found anywhere else. This is America, this is a land of law and order and civilization brought down onto its knees.

From her perch up in the apartmenr facing the blockade on the street, Lola Mayeux has a higher vantage point to see the helicopter departing with a road of its rotors, kicking up ash and dust in billowing clouds. Further down the street, everything is clear, there's no signs of whatever trouble FRONTLINE and SWAT are marshalled together to face. There's a loud pop from the barricade, a tear gas canister spinning off ahead to land amidst the rioters.

Some begin to charge ahead, lobbing rocks, and gunfire cracks out in the night. Rubber bullets drop a handful of young people down onto the asphalt, and NYPD officers in riot gear rush out with zip-ties and tasers, electrocuting the downed rioters and binding them up, knees in backs, black bags over their heads, pepper spray in the eyes and mouth.

Mercy, but barely.

«There is no sign, I repeat no sign, of the rioters that went into the subway system. Helicopter reconnaissance has not seen any sign of the mob. Keep your eyes open.»

The warning crackles over the law-enforcement radios and in the helmets of the FRONTLINE officers..

Lola watches the helicopter for a moment longer, checking to see how many people there are in there, what kind of weapons they are carrying, etc. She moves the binoculors down to look over with her naked eyes, and then turns them toward the crowds of FRONTLINE members below. She's scanning the crowd, looking for a familiar face, a familiar form. Liz's face, Liz's form. She keeps herself pressed back inside the room a bit, so that any outside light will have a harder time being reflected and giving away her position. She spent good money on these things, or at least they had an expensive price-tag, and they said they were anti-glare, but one can never be too safe. She remains crouched, watching, searching.

Warren is in no way leaving the alley yet, eyes behind that the large visor of the gas mask suddenly shifting to their reflective metallic color. He's trying to make sense of everything going on, counting every shot fired, assessing the caliber of average weapons used. Are those rubber bullets? And then there's the hissing of gas… at least no one's pulled out flamethrowers and explosives yet, then he has a problem.

Elisabeth turns her head toward the new arrival and nods. «Welcome to hell, Dooley,» she replies drily. «And next time, you'll wanna wear that thong or go commando. Saves a hell of a lot of trouble,» she quips. Because what the hell else you gonna do? The woman's name might ring some discordant bell of recognition in her when she can see Dooley's face — later — but right now it means less than nothing. Liz starts pointing. «Take positions there and there,» she tells Dooley and Gavyn. «Ivanov, you've got recon. Tell me if you can find these fuckers — we can't keep standing around here with our thumbs up our asses.»

'This is bad' Harmony thinks. The intense violence, the rage and intent to harm that is thrown back and forth have more impact on Harmony than probably the items that are being thrown, and the bullets being shot. Video games, violent movies? Nothing could have desensitized her enough to not become just a little compromised by all of this. Her eyes watch with a degree of horror, her breath catching in a sharp gasp with the firing of the bullets which take down several individuals, to be gathered and collected in further violent manners. What made her think that she could do this? That she was ready? A slender hand coming up to cover over her mouth while she witnesses on further with disbelief.

It is these emotions which bring Harmony to realize something. Her ears are met with a faint sound, a hum that starts our very low and light, but starts to grow into a dull buzzing with crackling undertones. It is the kind of hum that makes one reflexively wince up their face, in fear that their eyeballs will dry out. It is like someone turned on an x-ray viewing light and cranked up the volume just a little.

Harmony blinks, looking at the source. Her own hand! Oh shit! This stuff IS getting to her.. Okay. Yeah.. pay attention, Harmony. Buck up, get your head in the game.. C'mon. She frowns her brows to knit together, and she shakes her hand about in the air, as if sluffing off a foul substance that she dipped it in. Getting a grip, the hum stops, and she starts to edge closer away from the building, searching for a point to where she can make her move.

And that is exactly what Fel does. Go recon, rather than sitting about with thumb, etc. A blur here, a blur there, very roadrunner, complete with puff of dust. «I see nothing» he reports, over his link, pausing for the barest instant way down the main street. «Pack of zombies not present.» Let's face it. This is a zombie apocalypse.

«I will certainly be keepin' that in mind.» Comes the bland comment from the medic, her head swinging around to look towards the issues the police are having even as she moves into position. Dooley's head moves around a bit as she works at getting use to the display and yet try not to show that it's still fairly new to her.

Each name she hears, she works at remembering, a glance to designated numbers helping her. Kaitlyn best get use to these people, even if she at times misses the seclusion of her midtown hovel, this was her life now. When one of her team mates zips off, Kaitlyn starts a little. Like Speedy damn Gonzales. Luckily that thought never makes it to her lips. No 'on the go' briefing can really prepare for seeing people in action.

Gavyn nods to Dooley in vague greeting. But over the comms comes a chuckle to Elisabeth's commentary. It's really times like this that comic relief is needed. «Yes ma'am.» Her typical reply follows shortly, though actually following the orders is minutely delayed as Felix speeds off. Damn, he's fast. Being told about it just doen't compare to seeing it.

Giving a shake to her helmeted head, Gavyn picks up the pace and hustles to her designated position. Her attention returns to the oncoming rioters, professionalism returning.

There's no running forward to join the cops, no. Brennan's watching for displays, overt displays of abilities in use, ones that might turn harmful, before they turn useful. His ability not on yet, since it wouldn't do to negate the FRONTLINE members. So he's back, hanging where it's relatively safe - if anywhere here can be considered safe - and back from the rioters. Left. Right. Up. Down, he's looking all around. Thsi isn't the first time he's been in a situation like this and you never know where people might come from.

«Forward Defense! Forward Defense oh my god they're behind us! Th— »

Static comes over the comms, followed by the sounds of gunshots on the south end of the island behind the defensive barricade. Screams and distantly discharging automatic weapons sound off, followed by bright muzzle flash and terrified cries for help. Floodlights go dark down the street as they are toppled over, shattering on the ground and in what feels like an instant, the fighting has ended.

The rioting crowd on the north side of the barricade hears the gunfire beyond and a new pack of the mob emerges, a mixture of looters, dissenters and rabble-rousers looking ot cause trouble. A molotov cocktail is hurled towards the GPV and smashes on its side, sending a cascading wave of liquid fire harmlessly down the vehicle. Another goes sailing through the smoke air and crashes on the ground behind the barricade, hitting a riot officer on his shield. Fluid flames spill around the protective barrier and catch his uniform alight. The blazing shield is dropped and the officer falls to the ground, rolling around in the ash, trying to smother the flames.

A rock is hurled from the crowd to the north, smacks against Elisabeth's body armor harmlessly and bounces off to clatter on the ground. The real threat though, she can hear, and others can start to see.

To the south, from the direction of the Suresh Center a seething mob is flooding out of the building, brandishing broken bottles, baseball bats, tire irons, bare hands and whatever else they can get their hands on.

Impossibly they emerge from that building like a pack of wild dogs some fifteen hundred feet down main street, a screaming choir of some two-hundred men and women charging like an oncoming viking horde against the flanked phalanx of an old Roman column.

At the speed they're running, they will collide with the unprotected back of the defensive line in a minute's time. Sooner if any of them happen to be Evolved. Given the population of their kind, at least 1 out of those 200-something berserking victims probably is.

From her high perch, Lola Mayeux can see the approaching tide of mayhem, an undulating sea of people running at full sprinting speed towards the back of the barricade.

"Feck me," Lola groans, lowering her binoculars. This was supposed to be easy. Cap a few bitches so Liz walks home, and then she can go and find her new pet squeeze. But no. No, the little blonde just had to throw herself out there. Or something. Doing her job maybe. To lola, it's all the same - all of it puts her in this position right now.

Quick as a flash, the bag is yanked open wider. Lola lays out a tarp as though she were making a bed. Onto it she crawls, beneath the window. Out of the bag comes a rifle - a very special rifle, a rifle that works better than almost any other rifle in the world. A rifle she won playing bets against Mortimer Jack almost a year ago. It is assembled in a few moments. Now to find Liz. Putting her eyes back to the scope, Lola removes a simple mobile from her pocket and dials Liz's number. Even if the girl doesn't answer her phone, she'll see one of the people in the crowd react to it going off. That should be enough.

"Christ." is all Warren can say to the sudden floods of bodies and gunshots, running down that alley, grabbing the ladder to a fire escape, then begins a very hasty climb up to the low roof of a barely two story building. He lays low, keeping the backpack on, then crawls to the very edge of the building so he can peek down at the chaos.

The crackle of the radio brings Elisabeth's head whipping around to look back the other way. Although her blue eyes can't be seen, they are as wide as dinner plates behind the opaque face shield of her helmet. Her heartbeat kicks into near-stroke levels of fluttering as adrenaline floods her body and her rifle comes up but it is as instinctive as breathing for her to reach for and attempt to twist the noise levels already coming at the group. She knows she can use sound as a physical force, but can she build a barrier laced with the vertigo effect? "//FALL BACK!" Liz calls out urgently, her voice carrying quite well thanks to enhancement. "Fall back! They are dozens!"

Her focus is entirely back toward Suresh Center, the sound waves coming from the hurtling mass of insane people huge in their scope. Elisabeth is… quite frankly… terrified. Who the hell wouldn't be? Especially with the knowledge that this group of rioters won't be simply subdued — the Zombie horde never just gives up, they simply keep on coming. Like the Energizer bunny. Her ability grabs hold of the ambient sounds and the blonde tries to lace the deeper, incapacitating subsonics into the wavelengths even as she also attempts to literally shove the wall of sound back onto the source.

The vibration of her phone on her hip is largely missed in the horrifying reality of what's happening, though her hand absently touches it instinctively in the way most people do when something inside their armor vibrates briefly.

Oh FUCK! Shit just got real, son!

Harmony just gets that much more reluctant to charge ahead, now that the Crazies join the party. She was just about to step out and make a stupid move, but now she is slinking back a little further into hiding. With her paranoia, there is something that catches her eye in the corner. A body, moving about the alley and ascending the fire escape. That.. isn't a bad idea. Harmony would do good to distance herself at least, and that person doesn't look like they're rioting.. she'll chance it.

Before she can think hard enough about the move to think herself out of doing it, Harmony is off, chasing after that masked man who left for higher ground, wanting to get away from where she could be spotted as quickly as possible. She follows him up to the roof, pulling herself up and speaking out with a decent enough distance between the two, "Hey.. Excuse me. You're not.. rioting or anything are you? Because I can get behind the idea of holding out here, but if you're a freak or something.. We might have a problem. Rectifiable, but still a problem.." her hands are up infront of her showing she isn't armed.

There's an absolutely incoherent string of muttered Russian profanity - enough to make all the babushkas in Little Odessa reach for their soap to wash out some filthy mouths. The rioters - not so much a problem. Pack of zombies, big problem. Abruptly, Fel's at Liz's side, and a little behind her. All the better to let her do her thing. If the audio gear in her helmet holds out.

«Holy— » The breath word comes from the medic, her head whipping one way and then the other. «Hell is freakin' right.» Kaitlyn starts taking deep breaths, this many people… when they hit the edge of her field… it's going to get uncomfortable… fast.

Seems the training she got is going to get an early test.

Abandoning her set spot, she moves to collapse in with the group, rifle gripped in both hands, feeling a bit… out numbered, especially when she twists around to look at the surging group behind them.

The call over the radio doesn't go unnoticed, though when static feeds in and the words cut off it isn't behind that Gavyn looks to immediately. She looks toward Elisabeth first and then toward the Suresh Center, fear creating a thick knot in her stomach. Her gun comes up as she moves to join the rest of her team. She remains watching those behind, back more or less turned toward the so called zombies. There's no need to let the rioters come up on them without giving some form of resistance.

Brennan, and the few Riot cops with him turn to look at the spilling out of new people, especially the ones that are the very ones that everyone was looking for. Feared about. Their origin has him turning to one of the cops, grabbing the shoulder straps of his vest and shaking him. "Suresh Center. They came in through the Center" He doesn't state how he knows it, an office on the third floor comes with it some extra privileges, some of it being information that some others might not know. Like the blast door sealed link within the center to the RI subway tunnels. "You need to radio the center! There's people there, patients" He yells at the man, to be heard above the din.

And then it hits him that they're stuck in the middle, flanked, and they're closing in. He releases the man, shuffling his gaze towards the oncoming evo triggered zombie madness that Rupert built so carefully over how long? Negation flickering on with the flip of a mental switch, sweeping along as he looks left then right, making sure that there's nothing invisible that's made it's way up first and aiming to disrupt any abilities already in play.

"I need a chopper with medivac! We may have wounded at the Suresh Center! I repeat, we need a medivac chopper and whatever backup you can spare to Summer Meadows at Roosevelt Island, over!" Following Brennan's recommendation, the Sargent in charge of this NYPD riot team lowers his radio and stares with wide-eyed horror at the encoming horde. "Sweet mother of God…"

As the crowd gets closer, the riot police turn to watch in horror as the tide of rioters begins to come towards them. The horror comes not from threats of violence, but from threats of familiarity. These aren't faceless masses, these are man, women and children with families, loved ones, homes, jobs, lives. Worst yet, they are not doing this of their own free will, that much has been stripped from them.

Police officers, civilians, teenagers and one or two small children fill the ranks of the rioters. There is no clear social or economic line to draw between them in connection. Elisabeth knows who is responsible, knows that Rupert Carmichael was a professor at Columbia University and gave lectures to hundreds in his time there.

He had to have been planning this for years.

As the ground rumbles and a wave of sonic kinesis batters back against the crowd of rioters, Elisabeth can feel the ground shaking under her feet, feel the air humming with the sense of hostility and her own sonic manipulation. The first battering wave of sound topples the front row of the berserkering group, trips up the second, but the third and fourth rows just trample the front and continue on their approach. The waves of nausea seem to have absolutely no affect, nothing at all.

The bersekering rioters collide with the police, surging over them like a scene out of a medieval war movie. Plastic shields meet with bent pipes, fire axes, baseball bats and sledgehammers. The police crumple backwards under the assault as the rioters swarm around them, followed by the next row opening fire. Rubber bullets have been the standard of the day along with bean-bag rounds for the shotgun wielding officers.

Gunfire tears through the street, pops and cracks and only the kinetic force of the shots knocing rioters down seems to matter. But there's to many, too many to stop, and eventually even the gun-wielding police officers are overwhelmed.

Gunshots ring out indiscriminantly in the crowd as it continues to charge forward, screams and howls like a pack of feral animals in the night.

«Dooley, this is Kershner. If that camera I had mounted to your headset is still intact, I need you to get up on top of the GPV and look directly at the back of the crowd, do not — I repeat do not — look anywhere else, understood?»

Sarisa's abrupt emergence into the field of battle by means of remote communication crackles over the helmets of the FRONTLINE members. «Harrison, I've got firepower on the way. Do what you can to hold your ground, do not advance on the Suresh Center. Inbound in under 1 minute

Lola manages to see Liz touch her side, wehre a phone might be. She smiles a little. "Well howdy, sugar," she drawls, setting the binoculars aside and hefting the rifle against her shoulder, peering down through the scope. Where does she peer? Directly at Elizabeth, of course. No offense, of course, but the rest of them can suck it. She's here for Elisabeth and Elisabeth only.

Of course, the mad hoardes of people is a bit disconcerning. She'll have to figure out what exactly to do about that once they reach the woman who she is protecting. After all, Lola Mayeux is not packing sand-bag rounds here.

Warren looks back, brows furrowing behind his mask. She can see his eyes, those familiar silver eyes, and he doesn't look pleased. "What the hell are you doing out here? You could get hurt. Get down on your stomach so you don't get hit by a stray bullet." By the looks of his backpack, he seems as if he could possibly be going camping, because it's completely stuffed and looks very heavy. "There's nothing I can do. If this were a small riot, I could do something, but there's just nothing I can possibly do. There are children down there…"

Jesus FUCKING Christ! It might as well be eternity. Why the hell would we be advancing on the goddamn place anyway?? We'd have to go through the hordes. From behind her, Elisabeth can hear the rioters overrunning the police lines. «Nice knowing you, Kershner. We're about overrun on this site.» There is no pulling back. Zombies to the rear of us, normal people willing to kill to the front of us — or vice versa, whichever direction you happen to be looking — and she orders in a voice that is shaking more from adrenaline than anything else right now, «Everyone who can, open fucking fire. They will not hesitate to kill anyone in their path.» Including us, but you know…

The fact that in this case her own ability is not slowing them a bit means either they can adapt or … she got lucky? Maybe there's just too many of them. But she moves from her position a bit to get a clear set of shots into the melee, trying to take out zombies without hitting cops and Brennan.

"Warren?!" Harmony blinks as she comes to recognize him from the telltale look of his eyes. Of all the people she were to run into it would be him. She honestly could have thought of someone else, but Warren's presence is at least a familiar one, and it brings her a small sense of comfort that he isn't one of those people down there.

"I'll be fine." she tells him as she slinks over towards him, closer to the ground. "I'm here to help, somehow.. I think. Actually, I dunno what I was thinking, this— this is nuts." Harmony's blond brows knit together and she drops to the ground, on her stomach, her head lifting to peek over the side at the carnage, and the scene from one of those horror movies that she likes to watch. "Maybe there's something I can do?" she looks over to Warren for a second, "God.. there's so many of them. I wouldn't know where to begin." she does start to wiggle her fingers, which means she is consciously starting to focus her power, getting prepared for something.

"Liz," Fel says, gravely. "It's time to pull out all the stops, I think. Blast 'em." C'mon, what're Harrison's full capabilities? Does he even know? For all that his tone is dull, even, there are tears running behind the faceplate. He's not sobbing, not even aware he's doing it. But….those're the citizens of the city of New York. The people he signed on to protect. And so he's weeping, even as he kills them, one by one. Wasting no bullets - they don't have that luxury.

«Yes ma'am.» Comes the immediate response from Kaitlyn at the order, slick black of her helmet turning towards the vehicle in question. «In two shakes…» As the front of the rioters moves closer to that invisible point where she'll start feeling the injuries they all have, the medic is trotting towards the GPV.

Looping the strap of her rifle over her shoulder, Dooley moves to scale that squat looking brick of gray. Using her suit to the best advantage to do so quickly, ignoring the clank of her exoskeleton on the metal hull.

A little hand and knee shimmying to the top, the healer finally gets her feet under her and she straightens. After making sure she's faces the proper direction, Kaitlyn settles her gaze on that huge wave of zombie rioters. Feet braced and hands curled, as if waiting for the impact, she stares at the back of that crowd. «Alright.» She tries to go as still as she can. «How's that? Y'all gettin' a good look.» Her voice is already strained, but maybe it is at the sight from a higher position.

She was expecting that order. It can't get any worse and there's nothing left for her to try. Gavyn adds her own shots into the volley, turning to face the oncoming horde of mindlessness. Don't think about it, just do it. Doesn't matter who they are, you can worry about that later. She takes time to aim, to not waste a round, to make every shot count.

There's no may, Brennan is certain of it. Certain as the sun shines whether you see it or not, that there would be injured at the center. THey were double blast doors they had to get through. As many as there would be here, maybe more here if the folks had just cleared a path from the subway doors to the outside.

Brennan's lone gun is out, the safety off, he knows how to defend himself with it, but don't expect a frontline or even lola class ability to use it. Not to mention, that Brennan is really loathe to use it. So the negation is kept up, gun held pointing down at the ready.

An odd sight glimmers in the remaining floodlights, movement in the skies above Roosevelt island. Six feet long and four feet wide, it resemvles a wingless bird with two turbines on front and back with a hooked beak-shape to the front. Matte black and stenciled with the words PROTOTYPE on one side. A pair of camera lenses on the front give the illusion of eyes, gleaming red in illumination from the night sensors.

Soundlessly the machine glides over the battlefield, the soft hum of its engines unheard by the people below. However due to his position on the roof, Warren Ray recognizes it immediately.

It's his.

Or was, at least. One of the reverse-engineered robot prototypes based off of the designs of Hector Steel, a turbine-powered aerial reconnaisance robot. Its turbine engines pivot and angle it crooked int he air, sending it on a lazily sweeping arc around the collision of rioters and law-enforcement.

Only when it lowers its altitude do the members of FRONTLINE see it cutting a dark swath through the air, red eyes gleaming bright in the dark. Beneath it, they also see the payload it is carrying beneath each wind terminating in a cylindrical turbine.

«Fox One,» Sarisa's voice clips over the radios in the FRONTLINE officer's helmets. «Fox Two,» comes a moment later. The reports are followed by the flash and shriek of a small propelled rocket being fired from each side of the robot drone as it kilters in the air. The missiles wind on a projected path, following the telemetry coordinated by both the drone and the video feed attached to Dooley's helmet.

The missiles, no larger than a paper airplane each, sail over the heads of the charging horde before suddenly springing open with a whirr of gears, revealing tiny spinning turbines inside. Somewhere, deep down inside, Warren Ray must feel like a proud father.

Each missile explodes not with an incindeary blast, but with an explosion of tethered cables and needles launched by compressed air. Like some sort of porcupine on wires each missile fires out the cables, followed by the hum, snap and pop of electricity crackling down the lines, non-lethal aerial tasers of some impossible design sending thousands of volts of electricity coursing through the rioters, overloading their central nervous system. Even if they can't feel the pain, tasers wereproven effective on the Roosevelt Island Bridge confrontation earlier in the day to disable the rioters, even if temporarily.

Those struck directly by the needle darts are given a direct charge of electricity, and serve as anchors to the others who run into the live wires of the lines with the electrical snap reminiscent of a bug zapper.

After both missiles discharge and the electricity leaves the air with a stink of ozone and burnt flesh, twitching and convulsing masses on the ground buck wildly from the damage done, alive but not without injury.

At least half of the oncoming mass is dropped by the electrical barrage, while the prototype aerial robot tilts its turbine thrusters to the side and strafes to theleft, coming to over near Kaitlyn like some sort of mechanical watchdog in the air above and behind her.

«Dooley, I'm transferring control of this thing over to you from here. It's guided by your targeting camera mounted on your helmet. Designate an area in your field of vision, hold it, and use verbal commands and it — in theory — should follow your orders. It's already discharged its missiles, but it has two drum-fed light machine guns on board armed with rubber bullets. If nothing else direct fire should slow the crowd down. You can thank the Department of Evolved Affairs for loaning it to us.»

Despite the efforts of Sarisa's bargaining with the DoEA for their shiny new toys, some of the berskering rioters still manage to close the disance. A young man armed with nothing more than his bare hands starts to close in, only to be fired upon by Elisabeth and her team, FRONTLINE is using live ammunition and the peppering of bullets riddles the young man even as he runs, crumbling to the ground when his legs can on longer carry him. Another savage attacker leaps over his fallen comrade, hefting a broken street sign over his head, business suit perforated with cuts and holes, blood leaking down from a cut on his side, and his makeshift weapon collides with Elisabeth with a resounding clang, barely even so much as budging her from where she stands.

A quick three-round burst sends him crumpling to the side only to give way to a pair of unarmed men that attempt to drag Liz to the ground, wrapping their arma round her when they close in. Unfortunately, in her Horizon armor, she's twice as strong as both of them combined.

What worried Doctor Harve Brennan isn't so much the technological display on show, but one of the rioters in particular. He's been slowly running towards the front line ever since the crowd got here, but Brennan is sure he's seen the man take gunfire to the head and chest and shrug it off like it was snowflakes in a blizzard. He's unarmed, but with the way he's moving and the fact that not even the taser darts seemed to have effect on him must mean there's something superhuman going on there. Like a stampeding rhinoscerous he shoves a block of riot cops aside and through the air, causing a shimmer to appear in front of him. Kinetic barrier, maybe some kind of Forcefield.

Thank Julie and Liette for Brennan's growing encyclopedic knowledge of shit he has to deal with on a daily basis.

Gavyn finds herself confronted with one of the rioters as well, a young woman dressed in an orange Home Depot apron carrying a shovel in both hands. She has a bone-deep cut across her forearm and has bleached pale from blood loss. Swinging in, her shovel connects with Gavyn in her armor, doing little more than scratching the paint. Were it not for their numbers this might be manageable.

From her sniper's perch, Lola can see the chaos of the colliding forces, watches the more ordinary rioters see what is happening and start to run for their lives in panic away from the barricade. Suddenly, they are not so impressed upon by their desire for freedom and liberty when a pack of psychopathic rioters is headed their way with clubs and bats. But there's something else that Lola notices through her scope, a glint across the way.

On the rooftop nearby, there is a black shape crouched on one of the roofs, the glint from the scope of a rifle catching the floodlights at just the right angle. Were it not for that one singular tell, she may never have seen them.

That they are aiming down towards Elisabeth is also noticed.

Cardinal had mentioned another sniper. Lola had meant to look, but of course she got distracted trying to find and save Liz. Still, this works just as well, right? I mean this is the saving of Liz. And this works just as well. Besides, Lola's never killed a sniper before. Certainly something to put on her resume.

Swinging the rifle, or rather jerking it would be more precise, Lola is squeezing off a double-tap within a breath. She saw the glint, and that's all she needs, when she is the world's best shot using one of the world's best rifles. Shots fired off, she immediatly lifts her head, then puts her eye to the scope, zooming in with her sight. Confirm the kill.

"This isn't good, this is not good. With all of these people, I can't think of any way they can stop them with non-lethal force. But, they can't, they won't, there are children." Warren's hand grips the edge of the roof, tone growing increasingly frustrated. "Don't, just don't. You will not use radiation with those children down there."

Pull out all the stops? Elisabeth doesn't even know her own limits, if the truth were to be told. She has never been in a position — outside of being augmented by Gillian — to be faced with a crisis of this magnitude that has to be responded to with powers. When the robot comes in above them, her eyes are drawn upward for just a moment. Long enough that she's tackled and attacked. Felix wants to see what happens when Elisabeth literally loses her cool? Well… the adrenaline spike of terror, of knowing that she is supposed to die here today combined with everything else she has seen and done in the past hours catches up, and she begins to fight back with the Horizon armor-enhanced strength. Literally throwing a couple of people off her. As she regains her feet, she orders, «Hit the goddamned deck, everyone between me and Suresh!»

It's the only warning they will get. The only one she can give. Elisabeth has no idea whether this will work, but sound moves like water, and Conrad once said her only limits were in her own mind. "Not today, Con," she whispers softly, the sound probably lost in the rest of the ambient noise of the radio comms. There is a soft bass rumble, reminiscent for those who know her well enough to have been exposed to it of Elisabeth's anxiety attacks this past year. But this rumble is at hearing range instead of well below. It takes every bit of focus she has to try to shield the people closest to her from the effects of what she does next. Expanding her senses to feel the sound waves, building them, amplifying them, strengthening them, and shaping them into what she wants them to be, the blonde peacekeeper pulls off a stunt she would never have dreamed of before Pinehearst. And she possibly blows out her own brain doing it. Certainly there's blood coming from her nose and ears beneath the helmet as she pushes her ability into the ranges she's only ever felt in Gillian's hands.

The sounds, subtle and yet very much audible, build to a crescendo and roll outward from her toward the remainder of the horde not effected by the taser. The street surface itself rattles about and cracks under the assault. Just past the point where Brennan and cops are standing, there is what amounts to a massive sonic BOOM!!! and there are suddenly bodies flying backward for tens and maybe even hundred of feet.

And Elisabeth remains conscious long enough to see it happen, then ever so gracefully crumples where she stands.

"This isn't good, this is not good. With all of these people, I can't think of any way they can stop them with non-lethal force. But, they can't, they won't, there are children." Warren's hand grips the edge of the roof, tone growing increasingly frustrated. "Don't, just don't. You will not use radiation with those children down there."

Then, motherfucking goddamned robot! "What the hell?" He stands up, ripping his mask off and tossing it to the ground. He stands on the very edge of the roof, lights reflecting from his mirror-like eyes. There's outrage on his face. Stopping the robot would reveal that he can stop them, which would ruin his future plans and cause more lives.

But he's so full of utter rage, he slips his backpack off, reaches into it, then pulls out one of those megaphones he used in his microwave experiments, turning it on to yell, "What the fuck do you think you're doing, using one of my inventions on children!"

"Look, I understand your heart is bleeding helplessly down into your crotch, Kryptoniting your balls to melt into a mass of heroic mush? But in case you haven't realized? Zombies.." Harmony announces in a 'hello, duh' tone as she points down to the raging people, "Or reasonable facsimiles.. Don't you watch the movies? People like you get killed/ by the same //children you're crying over. If something is not done, if they are not stopped, then more people will die. Don't be 'Cooper', Warren.. I'm not helpless, and I have a bit of better control than just to bombard them with—"

She sighs shaking her head, sending blond curls to bounce from side to side, "You know what, this is wasting time.. I'm gonna try to hinde— What. The. Fuck!?" While she pulls herself up to a place where she can do some good, her head sloooowly shifts up to see a robot flying in and do a big old Gundam-Godzilla sweep of the mass of zombies. This is quickly turning into one fucked up B movie. She can just picture a kid with some kind of reality warping ability with a pencil and an eraser, looking down on the drawing board that is their life, snickering and calling out 'Ain't I a stinker?'

"No. Way." Harmony comes to stands, and she can't help but snicker-snort once at Warren's outrage, "I guess you're not helpless after all.."

"FUCK. MY. LIFE." It's going to be both battle cry and epitaph. This time, delivered in English, both over the helmet link and the open mic. This…it's turned into that part of the Jungle Book where the dholes come against the wolves on the banks of the river: blind flurry and smother in the dark; hit, trip, and tumble, yelp, groan, and worry-worry-worry, round him and behind him and above him. Fel's standing over Liz, having let his rifle fall to its sling and gone to knife-work, even as he tries to scoop her up, get her unconscious body into the safety of the APC. The drone - even that only gives him pause for a fraction of an instant. Fight now, gawk later.

«Oooh ho. Like my babies.» Kaitlyn sounds like a kid at christmas, the woman brightening considerably even in the face of the oncoming hoarde and the discomfort that's starting to wash over her. Glancing up as it passes after it drops it's payload, she watches it for a moment, only eyes moving with it.. as ordered her head stays still. «Ma'am, I will personally //kiss the person in charge, who done agreed. Gifts from heaven.» Even as she speaks her head turns this way and that to get a feeling for it, before focusing on a large group of shambling people. It's easier to think of them in the sense of being Zombies, then actual people. Especially for what needs to be done. «Target.//» The large drone slowly banks around towards the group at her direction.

«Alright, lets see what this pretty puppy can do.» A few tweaks this way and that, Kaitlyn can't help but grin behind her mask, a hand comes up and a finger is point in the direction of the crowd with a flick. «Prototype… Fire!» After only another beat. «Sic 'em, boy!»

Dooley could totally get use to this job.

Damn it! There's another mark down for the paint on her armor being scratched. They just can't leave well enough alone. Gavyn slams the butt end of her gun to knock Ms. Home Depot away before turning the weapon back around to resume fire. Somewhere in the back of her conciousness she realizes the help in some form that's shown up. The massive robotic things taking down the zombie horde with its electrodes or.. whatever those were. But she's a little busy keeping the space around her and the other Frontline officers cleared.

Brennan's gaze fixes on the man, negation settling in too late to help the ones who the kinetic barrier'd man punts to the side. But with Brennan's gaze, it's gone, negation sinking in and that Barrier will dissipate surely as fast. Brennan keeps his eye on the man, the most threat at this moment, to the physician. It's amazing what he's seen since his time at the Suresh Center, wholey different from Africa and other countries. But this is different in that here, he has a gun. The physician lifts it, and with the man negated, no chance for him to bounce a bullet off, the physician aims for the chest. Even a horrid shot might actually wing the guy and put him down.

And with Liz's command, the physician is sinking to a knee, obeying the FRONTLINER, but he's going down to his knee's only, keeping an eye on the kinetic barrier man he just fired at.

It all happened so fast, so many things all happening at once.

A high-pitching whining wail drowns out all other sound while Elisabeth works her audiokinetic ability. causing asphalt to crack, rioters to be bodily lifted off of their feet and hurled thorugh the air. One man stands against the barrage, his kinetic barrier flickering and shimmering like a diamond-glittered plate before Brennan's vision and negation cone washes the barrier away. The once nigh-invulnerable man is hurled off of his feet, bouncing across the ground and skidding on asphalt leaving a dark streak in his wake.

The noise silences the report of Lola Mayeux rifle as it fires and her unerring aim strikes her target dead on, sending a difficult to see shower of liquid and solid matter exploding from the back of the sharpshooter's head. His rifle tumbles from his grip and falls backwards to the other roof before he could take his shot.

When the sonic effect begins to end, the riotous noise of two light machine guns firing fills what should be silence as Kaitlyn Dooley is illuminated by muzzle flash. Her Prototype aerial drone unleashes a volley of rubber ammunition down onto the crowd, blasting rioters off of their feet, toppling others with nothing more than one verbal command and a pivot of her head to change the tracking.

Gavyn Mitchell's rifle butt cracks against the forehead of the insurgent rioter she's struck, knocking her backwards and down onto the ground. Mitchell barely has time to raise her rifle and fire three more rounds in rapid succession at the center mass of one of the lastr stragglers, sending him crumpling forward and onto his knees, then unmoving.

It ends in an instant. Six or so seconds of sheer madness, and then nothing but the distant sound of car alarms wailing.

Some two-hundred rioters lay dead or disabled on the ground, a mix of NYPD SWAT among them, though some are managing to pull themselves out from the mess, weakly limping away while others double over and begin to retch from the sonic disturbance Liz had caused.

The rabble-rousers who had been harrassing the police earlier are already fleeing on foot, pursued by the flash of blue lights and squad cars chasing them down and the bark of K-9 units.

Hovering at Kaitlyn's side, the drone angles its underbellt-mounted automatic rifles down towards the ground in an at-ease position, hovering with a soft whirring of its engines at the officer's side. A noisy chirp of beeps emits from the machine a moment later, perhaps some sort of digital resmblance of yes, sir.

It's odd, for a machine, it almost behaves like it's making some decisions all on its own.

From his position at Elisabeth's side, Felix keeps close watch on her. On his HUD inside his helmet, he can see her vital signs are weak but stable, heart rate averaging out. Seems like she just pushed herself to her limits, and Felix needn't know just how close Elisabeth got to death from the snipers perch of her unseen assassin.

Lola Mayeux undoubtedly saved Elisabeth's life, for whatever that's worth to her.

The sonic boom is enough to send Lola backwards onto her tarp after her shots are fired. She remains there a moment, head covered, curled up in case something's about to fall on her. Well there was a boom and things kind of shook, for all she knows it's a freaking earthquake. But when that seems to end it, the Cajun sets her hands to the window sill and sits up, peering over the edge.

The sight of 200 humans dead, dying or hurt spread out in front is enough to un-nerve most people. It un-nerves Lola too. She gets eyes on Elsabeth, as part of her job, and sees her uncontious and with her FRONTLINE people. With nothing left to do except be nervous about what the hell just happened, Lola is quickly wrapping up the tarp and disassembling the gun. She leaves the small apartment just as she found it, slinging the gun over her shoulder and going to look for a place to hide until all of this cools down.

"Goddamnit." Warren tosses the megaphone to the ground, ignoring Harmony to grab his backpack and climb down the roof. He's marching out of the alley, then starts walking straight for FRONTLINE. The sight of the robot is unintimidating, he knows the thing inside and out, it's just a mass of parts to his reflective eyes. "Who would unleash that thing on a crowd with children in it?" he calls out while trying to avoid the downed rioters. "That is not what I built it for!" He doesn't even know who he's addressing by now, perhaps all of them, as a whole, fully expecting someone to stop him before he gets too close.

Wow. Did he just.. Yes, Harmony thinks he just did. "Warren, where the heck are you— Are you serious?" she blinks as he picks up his things and zips on by to start heading for the armored soldiers. She isn't about to just stay there by herself, so she quickly follows after him, staying back a bit as he begins yelling at the people in black armor with guns. The blonde girl purses her lips together and stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets. For the moment, she'll just watch, while she furthers her opinion of Warren. She is careful as she follows however, moving to avoid much of the chaos and keep from getting into a bit of the fray herself.

Felix Ivanov, human hurricane, and now Liz Harrison, human tsunami. That image is going to haunt him, later, the flotsam and jetsam cast up by his lover's use of her power. But the crisis is over, and with Liz as safe as she's going to be, he ventures out to help with the aftermath, rifle bumping at his hip like a purse.

«Good boy.» There is a sort of smugness to the ex-K9 officer's voice, surveying the damage that machine did. Then she looks up at the machine hovering by her side with a look of wonder, not that anyone can see it. «We sure we can't keep it?» Her tone clearly asking, 'Can I keep it mommy?' as if she found a stray on the street.

Then a blinking light on her HUD finally snatches her attention and she focuses on it. «/Harrison's down?//» Kaitlyn steps to the side of the vehicle and crouches down to look where Felix hovers over Elisabeth.

«She'll live» The words flat, but true. No healing needed here, in other words. «Sleep will do her a world a good.»

The approach of Warren has Kaitlyn's head snapping up, eyes narrowing. Slowly she stands up again, sliding the rifle off her shoulder. Giving him a look over, Kaitlyn can't help but chuckles, «So get this… there is this wacko, claimin' to have built this thing.» He can see the dip of her head as she gives him another once over with a huff of a chuckle, before turing her attention to the carnage as she waits for Felix to get the downed officer safe, before she jumps down herself.

Gavyn's rifle is slung over her shoulder, slowly and deliberately, as she begins taking in the scene surrounding her. So much death and damage. As Kaitlyn's voice comes over the comms she looks toward the Medic. It would be questioning, if not for the shading over her face shield.

Turning to face the man being questioned, Gav moves to intercept Warren before he gets to close to her fellow soldiers. A hand is held up, non threatening, though one does remain resting against her rifle. «Sorry, who are you? If you have questions regarding this…» Yeah she doesn't have anything to add to that. Write a letter maybe?

Down goes Mr. Kinetic barrier and up comes Mr. silver eyes and yelling from on top of a building. Brennan turns to look up at Warren who's venting about his invention hovering in the air near Dooley, and just like that, silver eyes go back to normal as Warrens ability is nullified by the physician. "Who the hell is that?" He calls out, not yet moving to go help the triggered people and start to triage until he's called elsewhere. Not while there's potential trouble up high.

While the officers of FRONTLINE may be more forgiving to Warren, while Brennan may be willing to question who he is, most of the NYPD SWAT are a little too shaken up and mortal feeling to allow a bystander off the street without a badge or a uniform to come waltzing anywhere within vicinity of them.

Stop him is too kind a word for what actually happens. Admittedly, Warren did bring it on himself.

The aftermath of a violent riot is the worst time to come barreling out of an alley shouting. The crack of gunfire comes almost reflexive as he's struck in the chest by one of the riot officers on duty. Rubber bullets flatten against skin, leave a black and blue welt nearly four inches across that weeps blood from the force of impact, staining the inside of Warren's suit.

The force of the rounds knock him square off of his feet, kicks the breath right out of his lungs. He may be a civillian contractor to the government, but right now he's violating curfew and spooking people who were already quite afraid.

Two more riot officers go charging over to Warren while he lay dazed on the ground, one driving down with a taser that sends a sharp electrical current through his body. Were it not for the efforts Warren put into grounding his prosthetic, they would have just cost him an arm too. Warren's nervous system, however, is fair game when the taser sends his other limbs into convulsing seisures; oh, the frailty of flesh.

Before he knows it, the machinist is flipped over onto his stomach and can feel a knee driving into the small of his back, one man on each arm, struggling to get Warrens limbs behind his back, zip ties coming out and binding wrists together.

"You are in violation of New York City curfew!" One officer barks to Warren, "Under the articles of martial law you are hereby detained until such a time as we see fit to address your case!" They're already trying to hoist him up off of the ground. Another, keener eyed officer spots Harmony lingering back from where Warren stormed in, but lacking the gung-ho attitude of his comrades he just trains his rifle on her and chambers a round with the slide on the side to get her attention.

Then, with a horizontal waggle of the muzzle he wordlessly suggests get out of here.

«This is Kershner, we've got some backup and medical assistance inbound for you. From the looks of things you have the situation under control. Ivanov, is Harrison alright? I saw her go down and her vitals look questionable.»

"Questions? Questions? You just used something I created, to hurt, and possibly kill children. I have a hell of a lot more than ques—" And then Warren goes down, realizing he possibly should have worn a vest, it's a bit too late for regrets now. He's of sound enough mind, despite the extreme pain, to swing his arms back and shield his head from the concrete. But then the tasers come, along with a random thought of Elle while his limbs convulse, and he finds himself getting turned over and arrested.

While the area connecting his arm to the robotic half is made to keep himself from getting burnt by overloads and electrical discharge, the thing can still overheat. The arresting officer is close enough to see the glove melting from his bronzed clockwork hand. When he can finally find the strength the speak, he says, "You morons." Oh yeah, the seed of anti-government sentiment has definitely been planted, now.

Harmony is most certainly not going to come tunning out screaming her head off like Warren. Sure the blonde girl is checking things out from a distance, but yeah.. they have guns.. which they use promptly on Warren to take him down.. AND they shock him. This causes her to jump and take a half step forward, almost moving in instinct to go help him at least, but common sense strikes up in her, and she hesitates long enough to cancel the notion from her mind. She starts to slink back away, taking a slow step back upon hearing them make an arrest. That's right.. violation of curfew. She didn't really find Elisabeth like she had intended, annnnnd there is clearly no more reason for her to stick around. It's time to go.

She freezes for a second as she sees someone notice her, getting a sinking feeling in her stomach, fearing she'll end up much like Warren. To her surprises, she gets the wave off, and rather stand there questioning why, she is gone. Spinning on her heels and sliding back along the wall to move off and get away. Harm getting out of harm's way, so to speak. "Sorry, Warren.." she mutters to herself as she goes.

Her gaze is on the drone, studying it thoughtfully, until the question of Harrison's condition comes over the com and Kaitlyn turns to hop down off her perch, landing in a metallic thump, followed by the whir and click of the hydraulics. Admiration of the hovering drone, will have to wait for her to do her actual job within the team.

Moving beside Felix, murmuring a soft, «Show me her vitals?» Leaning over the prone form of Elisabeth, the woman's vitals come up on her HUD, they can hear the cluck of the woman's tongue against the roof of her mouth. «She's just fine. She packed a hell'a wallop on them zombies.» Leaving the audiokenetic to Felix, Kait straightens and steps away. «Gonna have one whopper of a hang over when she wakes.»

One minute she's delaying Warren's approach and the next, Gavyn's taking a few steps back to allow space for the SWAT members to do their job. «Sorry, sir. I'm not authorized to answer to you.» Good excuse, especially since she's not sure how to process or even answer for what happened here tonight. Her response comes, whether Warren hears it or not, while he's being zip tied and hauled upward. With a nod for the local law enforcement, she glances over her shoulder to her fellow officers, but maintains a hold on her little makeshift perimeter thing.

He's down, done, taken care of. Brennan keeps his attention on the man, just a little bit longer, unsure of what he can do, and whether it's harmful to the men who are detaining him. One of the cops though, near him, gets a hand on his shoulder, stopping them. "Can you check the Suresh Center, please. I'd really appreciate an update. These people came from that direction, I'm dead sure of it"

"Kershner?" Felix asks into his comm inside the helmet, "I've got that DoEA negator over here asking for us to sweep the Suresh Center. Harrison's still down and we have a lot of casualties here." Felix turns his helmeted visage in Brennan's direction, addressing the Doctor over his external speakers. «Hold on, Doc.»

«Negative.» Sarisa replies to Felix, «Wait for backup to arrive, secure the perimeter. We can't have this cluster-fuck getting any worse. Whoever's still in there at this hour of night can hold out for reinforcements.» Felix dips his head down into a slow, steady nod and then, after exhaling a crackling sigh of static, shakes his head to Brennan.

«No can do, Doc. We have to hold position until backup arrives. We'll head in, but not half cocked. You wanna' be help, we have a lot of injured civilians here who are probably still out of their minds.» Reaching down to his side, Felix pulls out a cluster of zip-ties and tosses them in an underhanded lob to Brennan. «Help round up the ones still alive. Careful, I don't think they've had all their shots.»

A smart-mouthed Russian verses Brennan on how the situation is going to go down, a situation that is only just now beginning to come under control. Overhead, there is a sharp roar of jet engines as a pair of fighters streak through the night's sky over New York City. Fires still burn bright and hot in the distance, ash falls like snow, cinders catch on the wind and wink out when they touch the cold ground. Blood darkens concrete, moans of pain and confusion mix with the shouts of Warren Ray as he is escorted towards an armored police wagon parked behind the barricade.

The cold, dead eyes of a flying machine scan the surroundings, its thrusters pivoting and pitching every few moments as the wind gusts, keeping itself aligned by Kaitlyn's shoulder. Overnight, the world changes through a baptism of fire, awakening into a frightened new era, the verge of a police state gripped in the talons of a fearful society desperately begging for a return to normalcy.

Above the streets of Roosevelt Island, the body of a sniper lays dead on a rooftop.

A hundred miles away…

…a phone rings.

The Commonwealth Institute

Administration Wing


"Yes?" It's an expecant tone by which the man seated in his high-backed leather chair responds to the incoming phone call. The cord wags up and down in slow bounce, and for a moment there is silence while the voice on the other end relays a status report.

"I told you what needed to happen and you told me you could get it done." Turning in his chair, the scowling visage of Tyler Case is little more than a cheap suit worn by the consciousness residing inside of him now. "I hope you understand how much this changes." There's a pause, and Richard Cardinal's borrowed brows furrow into a look of frustration. "Well now no one is going to blame him for her death, are they? We have to change tactics, then."

Silence, and Cardinal's dark eyes scan his smooth, glass desk. "I have an idea…" he offers into the voice with a hushed tone of thoughtfulness.

"Is Emile Danko still alive?"

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