Participants:
| Scene Title | The Only Way Out Is Through, Part I |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The residents of Gun Hill have known of the impending November 8th Raid since the Flashforwards. They know the way out, but things don't always happen exactly as predicted. But that doesn't mean they changed all that much either. |
| Date | November 8, 2010 |
Gun Hill is named after Gun Hill Road, the street that the five story tenement resides on. A bright red brick exterior separates it from the surrounding buildings, making it difficult to miss even though the complexes on either side of it are similarly coloured with fresh coats of paint in yellow and blue donated to their proprietors by an urban renewal project devoted to eliminating graffiti from the Bronx's residential zones in an attempt to raise property value and re-establish the borough as a desirable place to live.
Inside, the building shows more obvious signs of wear than the rusty fire escape affixed to its front, including old hardwood floors so scuffed that no amount of wax or polish can return them to their original luster, and faded wallpaper in neutral shades of cream with a strange mottled texture. Instead of an elevator, the tenement's upper floors can be reached by taking a stairwell with numbered flights and roof access via a heavy metal door that sticks more often than not.
Entering Gun Hill, as a twosome of FRONTLINE agents discover, is like trying to break into the home boobytrapped by the kid who got left home alone for Christmas. As soon as they kick open the door, there's a flash of bright light that their masks filter out. The police with them aren't so lucky, crying out and covering their eyes. With every step, there's something. Caltrops on the floor trying to cut into shoes and feet, explosives in the wall, triggered by movement. Within twenty steps, one of the cops is down.
"The terrorists have rigged the place," one of the men says. Maybe FRONTLINE should go first… Good thing they have two.
But deeper into the apartment building, in the basement, there's another crisis— the terrorists have problems of their own.
"I can't find my daughter!" the mother of one of the remaining family yells into the hallway at the first sign of a flash. That was the warning. They've known for months of this attack, and yet, when it all came down to it— no one was really as ready as they wished. The first family has already been moved into the bunker, and into the tunnels, to make their way under the streets and out of sight towards the waiting van. But the second one is causing a delay…
One of the children is missing.
The basement of the apartment building houses a small clinic, and it's the clinic that's the last thing of essential to be packed up and moved toward the bunker. But they have a man with multiple hands who can handle as much as six men. That's more than they may have expected to have.
Another day. Another shift in the multi-million dollar gimp suit. Fel's used to it, by now. His armor's distinctive - it lacks the exoskeleton and a lot of the external gear that's standard. Not to mention the gray-on-black image of Felix the Cat on the left pauldron, holding his gut and laughing, head thrown back. "Let me go first," he says, simply. He's fast enough to almost dodge any explosion. Almost.
Lashirah frowns at the announcement of the missing daughter… it only takes a minute to picture the child from when she took stock of who was who earlier. "Get going. I'll find her." If ANYONE had a chance of moving through these halls with hostiles inside, and surviving, Lash likely did. After all, she set the place up and knew where all the fun surprises were. I wonder if they found the ball bearings yet.
There is no backtalking during an operation. There are plenty of unpleasant things to ago around, so Diego takes his position bringing up the rear. His armor is far more standard issue. Nothing is missing, and there are no personalizations painted anywhere to be found. In fact, if you didn't know him, he could easily be Generic FRONTLINE agent number 1. Underneath that facemask, though, old military training has taken over. He moves on instinct and reaction- his specialty.
Armed to the teeth, Banjamin glances towards the hall from he's stations at the stairs to the clinic. "Shhit." He growls out, taking a few steps back down, his Ak-47 clutched tight in his hands. "Griffin… we're out of time." His deep voice carrying down to the clinic, he taking a few most steps backwards and down. His hand pulls at the bolt as he prepares for what is to come. "It's go time."
Sharp blue eyes peer out from under the shadowing brim of the fedora, his bloody stained duster is settled over his shoulder and hides his vest of goods.
He had hoped everyone was in place by time him and Huruma had returned from dropping off Bennet in a safe location, for the duration of what was to come. Of course, as always the best laid plans end up messed up, so it had been a scramble to get it all done. A glance upwards by Ryans, he's worried about the people still upstairs… that also wasn't the plan.
Supplies have been moving as if they have a mind of their own, floating through the air and into the bunker. Amid the floating boxes of medical supplies, the tall, lanky man with the hook nose is working to move the things as quickly as possible, piling his arms as high as he can. Were it not for the appearance of the raid party, this would have been accomplished fairly quickly. He always was a very 'handy' fellow, in the unamusing words of the late Rupert Carmichael.
He's feeling rather great after Peter healed him, and gave him the nice raised black handprint on his left pectoral muscle. A scar that he will proudly bear as a reminder that Peter Petrelli certainly saved him from becoming a cripple and from having to use his vectors for transportation for the rest of his days.
At the shouting, the man pauses, frowning in the general direction of the enterance, the supplies that he has setting themselves down in a neat pile at the speed of thought. After a moment, those glowing bluish-white eyes, pupil-less as they are, turn back toward Ryans as he sets his own boxes atop the pile.
Earlier in the day, Ash stocked Griffin up with weapons. He pulls back his jacket to reveal the veritable armory of eight guns in total, strapped to various parts of his back. Then there's the knives at his hips, and the throwing knives. Griffin doesn't particularly feel like messing arond today.
"Ready when you are, Ben." The lanky man offers a slow, grave nod toward Ryans, tucking his hands into the pockets of his suit blazer.
Missing children was never a good thing. Liza's brow furrowed deeply at the millions of possibilities and outcomes for the missing daughter. As Lashirah heads off to find the child, the petite blonde offers a quick, "Be careful!", in her direction before her gaze darts about. She's armed, but it's not something she hopes to have to resort to using. She lingers back near 105, gaze alert for any unfortunate changes in plan. Any that were, however, not already happening.
Huruma, last she knew, had the important job of sitting and waiting. It's not her first choice, that's for certain, but when it comes to parking inconspicuously, she is actually rather good at that. For little reason other than she is very skilled at being careful. Even when it comes down to having to use an obnoxiously periwinkle colored van. She almost gagged when she saw it, honestly. Thankfully she came prepared when she found out her job. Stealing a magnet off of another van's broadside was easy as pie.
'Umbrella Dry Cleaners - We clean what you don't catch'
Huruma wasn't terribly sure what that means. The engine is off, the lights off, the dark of the interior bathed only in the usual nighttime glow of the city. The back doors are open, and just behind the bumper is a manhole cover. This is currently what Huruma is tasking herself with dislodging from an alleyway a few blocks down from Gun Hill. It is a testament to her when she is able to hoist it up on her own, with only the hooks required to pry it up. Cast iron or not, she has a job. The lid is set alongside the hole, and just in time. She can feel the few bodies of the first group coming closer down the tunnel. Huruma is there to meet them and load them up.
As the speedster of FRONTLINE moves ahead down the hallway of the first floor of the 'closed' apartment building, he catches the first sight of something that shows it definitely wasn't closed at all. A child. A five year old girl, by the looks of her. Curly pigtails on either side of her head, and paint splashed against the front of her dress. Paint from one of Lashirah's many spray traps, attempting to blind those who might come after them.
The girl lets out a scream at the sight of someone in a strange suit, an alien, a terrifying monster. A spaceman.
Or perhaps a speedster Russian government agent.
Turning, she ducks into one of the apartments, closing the door behind her.
And just as the door slams shut, the ball bearings spill out into the hallway, covering the floor. Have a nice trip, Felix.
It's not the ball bearings that catch Diego's attention in the corner of his eyes, followed by a few wary police officers. It's a set of stairs— that lead down. And the soft noises he can detect below. Where the "terrorists" happen to be.
Out by the van, the husband of the first family to board has a dire announcement for the tall driver. "They're here."
It's like a trick out of a cartoon or a comic book. And Fel succumbs, slipping and sliding like a dachshund on a newly polished wood floor. He goes down on his back, but takes no harm from it - armor's good for that, at least. A moment's hilarious and frantic scrabbling, and he's back up on his feet, calling back, mic turned on so the cops can hear, "Ball bearing trap."
Diego doesn't hesitate when it comes time to slip down the staircase. Anyone who has served in the military, the police, SWAT- presumably FRONTLINE -has known fear. Diego's method to overcoming it is to imagine himself as a shadow, a phantom, the Boogeyman. Clearing a structure is a nerve racking experience, but that sword tends to cut both ways, and with how fluid he is in his task, the practiced ease, it makes the way he pictures himself seem somewhat real.
Checking downstairs." His words are soft, but the wonders of electronics delivers this notification to anyone turned into the appropriate channel.
The sound of a little girl's scream. It pierces through the plastic sheets hanging in the hallway. Through the other noises. Lashirah frowns, and heads towards it slowly, carefully. She doesn't want to turn this into a shootout if she can help it, as she does her best to ignore both instinct and training, that says 'fall back, regroup' from the very trap set she made. Dry Ice fog fills several hallways. Motion activated paint sprayers. Smoke-pots. Anyone depending on infrared is going to be blind as a bat. The occasional showers of plaster dust from the 'small' little flashbang-like charges in the wall…
On a complete other tangent, Lashirah always was turned down when she volunteered to help set up a haunted house before. Maybe this is a good thing…. Not so much however, when she comes face to face with a man in generic FRONTLINE armor that seemingly has come out of nowhere. Without even thinking she jumps back over the railing of the stairs and makes a dash for one of the apartment doors to dive into. Battle plans never survive first contact… She idly thinks to herself, and … she can't decide if she should hope to be followed, or that the armored soul moves past her.
"Remember…" Reaching up he motions at his own face, "The head, especially where the eyes are." Ryans states to his companion, voice calm and his features a neutral mask, it's all business at this point. "Doesn't stop them, so much as makes it really hard to see."
"We need to get to the apartment — " His words cut off as he hears the familiar sound of the exosuit and the thump of it coming down the stairs. The old man falls silent, motioning for Griffin to do the same and points to a spot back behind the exam table.
Ryans dips a hand into one of the pockets in his vest and pulls out a flash bang and shows it to Griffin. A warning. Once given though, he moves to rest his AK on the table long enough for him to pull the pin. Another glance goes to Griffin before Benjamin sends it across the room, before ducking. It clanks, clatters out of the clinic door and then finally rolls to a stop to /tink/ against the bottom stair.
Griffin narrows his eyes at the sound of the goings-on, turning to watch Ben for a long moment. Then, his jacket opens all the way, and four Desert Eagles float out of their holsters, hovering in the air over Griffin's shoulders and head. A pair of .45s, are drawn by Griffin's own two hands. The safety clicks off on all four guns in the air, and he clicks the safety off of the two in his hands. Finally, six throwing knives hover into the air of their own will, three clutched in his final pair of telekinetic fists.
Now he's ready.
Not a word is spoken as Griffin silently moves back behind the exam table, as indicated by Ryans, ducking down with the guns and knives still hovering in the air around him. As Ryans mentions the tactic, he's only offered a nod, even as Griff silently wonders if these suits of armor are resistant to being physically ripped apart.
Liza stays close to the apartment, gun in hand as she keeps an eye on things. She shifts from foot to foot, keeping an eye on the hall. It was taking longer than she'd like. She'd like everyone to just hurry up and get to the apartment, but all her wishing wouldn't change things. "Come on, come on… you guys can do it…" She murmurs to herself.
The warning about the ball bearings doesn't quite reach everyone. A cop ends up sliding and falling down as well, so at least Felix isn't the only one who looks like something out of American's Funniest Home Videos. The rest manage to stay on their feet as they follow the FRONTLINE soldiers. Support for the police, who were sent in to arrest terrorists.
Terrorists who apparently use childlike tactics.
The groups of police officers in less sophisticative (or expensive) body armor split up. Some following Diego down the stairs, a few steps behind, guns raised, while others move after Felix, and help the downed cops up.
«Second team proceeding upstairs via the fire escape. We're almost at the second floor.» a female voice says over the radio, to Diego and Felix.
Their back up is above them.
No harm done. Fel forges on, at a pace sedate for him, if a quick trot for the others.
"Flashbang!" The words are out of Diego's mouth almost as soon as the device comes rolling along to the bottom of the stairs. Whoever rigged this place up should be in the movies, but its effective, he can't deny that. The ex-Ranger throws himself up against a wall once he's down the stairs and drops to one knee. Once the device detonates he'll raise his weapon and scan for targets, if for nothing else to give the cops behind him time to recover if any of them get caught staring at the sun.
Lashirah reaches into her jacket pocket, pulling out a small round plastic device. Not nearly as explosive. She squeezes it until it makes the little 'pop' sound it's supposed to make, then tosses it out the door of the apartment she had dived into to join the flash bang… as it hits the floor, the CO2 container in it causes the small ball to spin airwards, spitting red paint everywhere. Someone, it seems, picked up some paintball supplies as part of their 'surprises'. She then leans back against the door frame, and draws one of her two .45s, and waits.
Head ducking down where he is behind the table, Ryans winces slightly at the boom of the grenade before he lifts an arm and circles it and points over his shoulder. Basically… the old man just told Griffin it's his rodeo. Go get 'im tiger!
For his part, Ryans shifts to one knee and bring his AK up, winding the strap around his arm and getting ready to lean around the edge of the exam table. When Griffin moves to do his thing, Ben will be ready to lay down some cover fire.
Once the flashbang has gone off, Griffin is raising to his feet, calmly moving toward the door. He moves with a confident stride, almost cat-like despite the mild limp. Glowing eyes scan the area, and land upon the armored figure of Diego, narrowing. His kevlar vest certainly comparable to the FRONTLINE exoskeleton, but then…armor never really concerned the telekinetic.
Two of the desert and one of the .45's is aimed toward the stairway, opening fire on the cops there; the other three guns are aimed at the FRONTLINE armor, while the throwing knives are sent just below the spray of bullets on both sides.
All the while, Griffin has a cold, dangerous expression on his face, his jaw set. These past few days have been dark, and are certainly leaving their mark on the man's psyche. He has a life to get back, pieces to pick up, and he will certainly be damned if he will allow anything to get in his way of helping others avoid the horror that is his life.
While Griffin begins to engage, a round of cover fire moves past the FRONTLINE solder and slams into the chest of one of the police officers offering support. The man's armor holds, but he falls backwards. "Police! Put down your weapons and surrender!" one of the men yells loudly, but another one catches a shadow in the corner of his eye…
And panics. A shot can be heard ringing out. A second and a third, followed by a horrified scream of a woman. Most of them impact the walls, exploding traps that Lashirah has planted, but once the shooting has begun, it's hard to stop.
And there's civilians down here. Children even. A young boy hiding behind his mother. A girl hiding in a room on the ground level floor, not far from Lashirah…
He can't see Griff. But someone's firing on them, and Fel goes lunging down the stairs - full speed, now, he's a blur, heading for the source.
Christ, this place is a God damn deathtrap; and Diego led these cops right down into the thick of it. There really is a lot to see, if only most of it wasn't obscured in fog, and paint, and flashbangs, and hell, flying monkeys for all Diego knows. Still, he keeps his calm right up until Griffin begins his death-stalk like a vengeful diety, fling about bullets and knives and things.
The FRONTLINE agent fires a quick suppressive burst before he has to abandon his weapon entirely. Bullets start flying; but there's a knife down below. For Diego, its almost as if time slows down to a crawl even as chaos explodes around them. There is no thought for him now, only motion, and its a symphony of motion.
They told him the suits would keep up with his reflexes, and if there was ever a time to find out, its now. He launches himself up and kicks off the wall. He has to twist his body awkwardly, but he manages to find a hollow seam free of ballistics of the bullet or knife variety.
Then he's down on one knee, except this time he isn't trying to keep his target profile small. No, he can move like a shadow, a demon, however you want to describe it, but there is a price. Once he's avoided the first barrage, the world around Diego snaps back into real time. This wasn't catching a knife out of the air, or even dodging A bullet. The sickness hits him instantly, and its all he can do not to immediately vomit. Worse yet, his weapon is two steps away.
"Regroup. Regroup. This is a killing field." He can't make his body move, even though the suit would do most of the work for him. Not until the sickness fades, but its never come on this strong before…
Huruma's efforts are steady, if stilted by the progress of the actual escape. She loads the first group into the van, hushing them with her velvety voice and giving them each a wash of calm to keep them quiet. She isn't able to do much else for them, aside. Huruma moves out of the back again, crouching down alongside the manhole and reaching her field out as far as it can go. Nothing. Come on, where are you? The distant pop-pop-pop of guns tells her so very little.
"Hoja punda zenu." She spits a hiss into the air towards the open manhole, a threadbare noise among the simpering of her charges.
Lashirah frowns… Her goal is simple. She shouts simply. "Fall back!" As she dashes out of the doorway. She doesn't know which apartment the child dived into, but is hoping, praying, it's the one belonging to the kid's family as she makes what looks to be a sucicidal dash not AWAY from the enemy, but towards them, and the child she tasked herself with retrieving. Say what you will about her, but she apparently rather put the fear of the irrational into her foe if it gets the job done, then give up.
Once Griffin is on the move, Ryans comes out from behind the exam table as well, hoping his own body armor protects him some. The Ak-47 is up and pointed as he sweeps out with a flutter of that brown trench coat.
Look boys! It's one of those wanted Company fellows!!
The former assistant director lets loose his own barrage of bullets aimed high, he won't feel the pang of guilt for the death of those police officers until later. Right now, he's settling into that cold dark calm that leaves him looking almost hollow and soulless. Those empty eyes peer from beneath the brim of his dad's fedora.
Anger is Griffin's first reaction to the carelessness of the cops who have opened fire. There are innocents here, people who have done nothing but be born. Guns and knives are reholstered at the speed of thought. Then, the first man to fire is suddenly yanked into the air by his left arm. Then, he's quite literally pulled, in mid-air, into a spread-eagled position.
The screams that rip through the air are horrifying, as are the sickening pops that come from his arms and neck as flesh and bone separate in ways they were never meant to separate. The spray of blood as arms and head are promptly removed, and the screams are replaced with the dull thud of a fresh corpse on the ground, the man's head and arms summarily deposited atop his body by ghostly arms covered in a thin, transparent layer of fresh blood.
Then, Griffin's eyes are turned toward the prone form of Diego, eyes narrowing. How he survived that barrage is beyond him, but he's certainly vulnerable now. All six arms converge upon the disoriented man, two pairs reaching for both of his arms to lift him into the air. Your turn to suffer the same fate, FRONTLINE fellow. Are you ready?
Griffin is silent, his eyes narrowed as he glares up at his next victims. He pauses, then, glaring up at Diego. "Any last words?" The pulling begins, uncomfortable at first, but he's drawing this one out a little bit.
Suddenly, everything comes to a screeching halt. Everything except for one our intrepid heroes, that is. Which may be more than just a touch perplexing for Benjamin Ryans.
"Shit!" comes a very feminine curse from the clinic. It's followed briefly by the click of heels on tiled floor in the preternatural stillness.
Then suddenly a woman is standing at the top of the stairs, the left side of her face mostly obscured by her white hair. Blood drips from a scalpel clutched in her fingers. "Agent Ryans," she murmurs as though it were on the heels of a dark chuckle. "Fancy that."
Also Featuring:
Odessa Price.
"They're with you?" A snap of her fingers, and Liza, Lashirah, and the little girl with her find themselves aware of their oddly still surroundings. "That one, too?" Odessa tilts her head to regard Griffin, and his prey suspended in time and by the man's ability. "He does good work."
Singular blue eye narrows on Diego's form. "He should really be aware for this, I think." Another snap of Odessa's fingers, and Griffin is free to resume his work with Diego fully aware of the fate he's about to meet.
And as if what was about to happen doesn't bother her at all, she turns to the former assistant director, "I don't know the layout of the place anymore. I can't hold them still indefinitely." Beads of sweat forming at Odessa's forehead betray the strain she's under. Picking and choosing who's influenced by her ability with so many outside variables is difficult. "But I can buy you time. Go."
Diego is singularly aware of what is happening to him. The mystery lies in the how, but are there any mysteries left when anything is possible? No, Diego has pretty much always known he wasn't going to die peacefully in bed of old age. Really, its more a miracle that he's stretched out this life as long as he's managed already.
He can feel sinew stretch. Joints stress, and its the beginnings of what will first feel like simultaenously managing every injury he ever sustained in football. Then, what? He'll know what it feels like to be drawn and quartered? No, shock will probably take him long before then. Either way, the man asked for last words, and by God, he's going to get them.
"Freedom knows no fear; my conscience is clear." The words are strained, but his any satisfaction Griffin might have had at seeing the pain in his eyes is stolen by that damned facemask. He forces the words out through a low, gutteral growl. Otherwise, he'd never be able to speak with the pain forming from some invisible hand inside of him. "What you're about to do will haunt you til the day we meet again in Hell."
"Fuck you."
Lashirah whispers softly to the little child "Cover your eyes" She doesn't question the odd stillness. She doesn't have time as she gets the child to the escape hatch by… carrying her, she frowns a moment as she sees what Griffin is doing. She makes no comment, though, as she looks about, she sighs. The goal was to avoid a firefight… a bloodbath. Certainly, that had failed.
Taking advantage of Griffin's distraction, Ryans takes a step back, "Get out as soon are your done." Is the only instructions the old man gives as he starts to back away from the telekinetic, eyes on the bloody chaos and yet… he feels nothing.
Benjamin will have no sympathy for a FRONTLINE officer, in fact, he gives Diego a cold stare. "Tear him apart." Words just as cold are growled out in clear support. A hand claps on Griffin's shoulder, before Ryans starts to turn when he realizes everything has stopped and then a familiar voice.
Slowly he turns around, AK-47 coming up, he stares at one that he mostly remembers as a little girl. "Odessa?!" Ryans doesn't lower his weapon, but then it dawns on him. She's helping!?
"There are some of ours upstairs, too." He ducks past Griffin as he starts his work, and hurries up the stairs avoiding this person's parts and that. When he comes even with Odessa, he pauses. "Thank you." He offers her, with a gentle rumble. He always had a soft spot for the kids, even if he has always been a stoic individual. He touches the back of his fingers to her arm, "Be careful," and hurries upstairs again.
"Fall back! Go go go!" It's shouted as Benjamin, comes out from the stairway, hurrying on his way to the apartment that will allow them to escape. "Move it!"
Griffin notices the silence. Briefly, he falters, glancing around at the paused surroundings. He turns back toward Odessa briefly, his brows raising a bit. However, the strong, silent fellow also is well aware of the strain that can come with using an ability. A small, respctful nod is cast toward the white-haired woman, followed by a tip of an imaginary hat. Thanks, I owe you a proper introduction and thank you when this is over.
Then, he turns back toward his helpless prey, silently regarding the fellow with a cold expression on his face. It is moments like these where he realizes that he really is a monster, and that the government was right to want to put him away in a prison for Evolved. He can kill without batting an eyelash these days. And now is certainly no exception. This man, suspended in the air, will die.
This is how it must be.
There is no real satisfaction or enjoyment on his face; instead, he wears a cold mask of his own. "I look forward to meeting you in hell, then. My condolences; this is the way things must end." He frowns up to the man. No more words need to be said. It would be cruel to draw this out. Griffin sighs softly as the third pair of vectors reaches for Diego's head, clasping it in a vice grip.
Is that regret on his face?
The pulling begins, then. He is certain to draw this out even less than he did with the other man; he almost feels for the fellow. Even as Ryans is making his way up the stairs, the sickening pop and crackle of flesh separating and the wet sound of blood slapping can be heard, followed by the dull thump of Diego's headless, armless corpse slumping to the ground, His arms and head are unceremoniously dropped atop his fresh corpse.
His vectors disappear for a moment as Griffin raises his hands, uttering a brief prayer over the lives he has taken thus far, a silent apology that things had to end as they did. Then, his eyes flare back into their glowing state, and Griffin raises into the air. Floating, Griffin makes his way up the stairs after Ben, his face a cold mask.
Liza doesn't really notice the odd pause that seems to be happening. Nope. She does seem relieved when Lashirah appears with the child, that's done at least. She hears the shouting and backs up out of the way, making her way into the apartment itself as she keeps a steady hand on her gun, just in case someone decides to come after them.
With Lashirah's attention on the young child, she doesn't notice the police officer who didn't follow down into the basement. She doesn't notice the club headed toward her until it impacts the back of her head. The blow knocks her out immediately, her arms slacking against the young girl, who screams and runs away.
Runs away from Liza. To the stairwell, in fact. Upwards. Into a different kind of danger. (Why in horror movies do people always run up?)
The police officer raises his weapon and points it at Liza, firing a few shots, but she's quick enough to get the door closed. Perhaps it's time to run for it. One terrorist down.
And things don't seem to get any better.
Odessa offers one scar-marred smile to Ryans before he's moving out, like he should be. She lifts her sweater from her midsection to retrieve the badge clipped to her skirt, holding it tightly in her free hand. Just in time for her grip on time to slip. She hurries toward the sound of the child's scream, holding that badge out as though it were a shield. "Department of Evolved Affairs," she announces to the cops, dropping the scalpel from her other hand. "Agent Price."
The pause button removed. Felix doesn't need much time to register what happened. He's capable of quick bursts of speed, after all. It's what he does— it's what he was built for. The torn up body of his partner on this mission, the dismembered bodies of police officers…
In a quick burst of speed, he shoots through the air and aims a fast blow at Griffin's head.
More than one terrorist is going down tonight.
The police officers with them hold up their weapons, but stop at the sign of a badge. Department of Evolved Affairs.
Odessa's distraction may save some of the others, but… it may not save Griffin.
He doesn't get far up those stairs, before he realizes the way is blocked to him, many people no longer frozen. Benjamin growls out something intelligible, especially when he hears the apartment door close.
It's back down the stairs for the ex-agent. Jumping to last few stairs to floor of the basement. If he wasn't physically younger he wouldn't have bothered doing that. He takes a bit of joy in that as he rushes for the Clinic.
Inside it, he swings the AK onto his shoulder to hang there by it's strap. Ben's goal is a tall shelf of supplies. Reaching around it he slides his fingers done the side till he finds a latch.
Click
The shelving separates from the wall in a slow lazy swing. "Come on!" He calls before ducking into the space behind the shelving, getting hit by the musty smells and cold air. Of course, he didnt see Felix was moving again. He shuts the secret door behind him, trusting Griffin to remember the instructions about getting it open, but he can't trust to leave it.
He has people to get out and this tunnel will intersect with the bunker and the way out. Allowing him to get the people to start moving to Huruma.
Pain lances through Griffin's head as the blow hits home. He may be a terrifying telekinetic who just ripped two men apart with the power of his mind-hands, but he certainly can't get anywhere near the speed or reaction times of a speedster. Still, even as his legs are giving out beneath him and he is tumbling to the gound, he has enough of a mind to lash out with his own unseen attack, which mostly involves all six arms shoving Felix away as hard as they can, with a hopeful result of quite literally throwing him away.
That's all he can manage, however, as he lands on the ground, hitting his head on one of the stairs with a whumph. His vision spins, stars flaring up in his line of vision. Shit…he has a feeling that things won't be going well for him once he wakes up. That's his final thought before blackness floods his vision, and Griffin is rendered unconcious.
Liza lets out a breath as she slams the door shut and the sound of bullets follow. At least it'd give them enough of an indication that the way out was not going to be the same as it was before. She wipes a sweaty palm on her jeans, quickly disappearing to head down to meet up with the others. She's got a way out, at least. She's just hoping everyone else gets so lucky.
Slowly, Odessa clips her badge back to the waistline of her skirt and scowls. "Who the fuck's in charge here? Where's the negation canisters? Did you even bring one ACT System?" Her nostrils flare as she casts accusing glares about. "I want these people in custody, and I want it yesterday." One must keep up appearances. Incompetent fuckwits. (Thankfully.) Hopefully her diva tantrum can distract the men just long enough to give the ones with a chance left to escape the head start they need.
"Negation canisters aren't part of our standard weaponry," is a huffed response, as the officer in charge— the surviving officer in charge to be specific, steps forward to examine the badge with scrutiny. "We're going to need to confirm your identity." After all, the terrorists are slippery.
Police offers move to try and find where the people disappeared to, but since Ryans closed the entrance behind him, they find no obvious trace. That, and Odessa, will buy them the time they need to get through, while messages are radioed in. FRONTLINE officer down. Many officers down. Felix is beginning to stir. But they have at least two people in custody, and are aiming to get more.
Huruma's stillness makes the small family more nervous than when they had come through. They wait, and wait, baleful eyes on the tall, dark woman, poised cat-like over the manhole as if she might reach down and swipe out a fish. Her tension is rewarded with a faint twitch at the edge of her senses, the emotions flickering alive under her watch.
"There." She hisses, making the family jolt alert, eyes finally blinking in expectance. Huruma sinks her face down into the manhole, one arm holding onto the street, while the other supports her torso looking down into the tunnel. Ceiling Huruma? As good as. "I'm here." Her smooth voice is low, the two words rippling down the tunnel like a soft drop into a pond.
"Get ready!" Ryans calls down the tunnel, before he ducks into the passage that takes him to the bunker. Fingers feel over the damp stone of the tunnel til he finds that latch and the door starts to swing open. "It's Ben." He offers gruffly even as the muzzle of a gun slips through aimed at his head.
It dips down and a dark haired man opens the door for the agent. "I didn't think anyone was coming for us." Ryans looks over the small family. "What about our daughter?"
"Don't worry, I trust my people to get her and not to just leave her, but you…" Ryans ducks his head down and into the room, straightening his fedora as it is displaced a little when it bumps the top of the door. ".. need to get down this tunnel." He motions to the door, before moving to the hatch that will take him into the apartment.
Luckily, the family doesn't seem too reluctant to obey. Maybe it's the grim, cold look on Ryans' face.
While they start to move to the door, Ryans is pushing the hatch open and pulling himself out of it. "Liza!? Time to go." He sits on the edge of the hatch AK-47 ready. "We're running out of time quick."
"Right behind you," Liza calls, hurrying to get through with everyone else. Running away like this was hitting a bit close to home, but the chipper blonde is offering the best smile she can muster to make up for Ryans' grim look. "We'll be okay."
"My daughter's still in there," says the woman as she looks back where they're exiting. But she has a scared son clinging to her body, and a husband who puts a hand on her arm.
"The Pastor's still up there. He'll make sure she gets out— we need to get out ourselves first." Or risk arrest. The woman might think arrest is the better option, but the second family goes on, to leave the building they knew they would be leaving today before.
A few people short.
