Out With the Old [modplot]

[letsgolegion]

Who| Everyone who signed up
What| The rescue of the NPC Legionnaires
Where| A movie studio in New New York
When| Takes place the same time as "Books of Magic"
Warnings/Notes| N/a

The studio where the Legionnaires are being held is swarming with supervillains. It's a trap, of course. But that doesn't mean they have to walk right into it. They have a plan, and now it's time to put it into action.

The Legion of Supervillains are expecting the non-native Legionnaires to be pushovers. They're about to discover just how crushingly, devastatingly wrong they are.

Comments

[steelandtemper]

Cortana can't (or doesn't, at least) suppress a snicker as America caroms off the shield. "Yeah, sorry, I'm doing about fifty things at once, here."

She's still dicing puppets as she speaks, hard light constructs flickering into and out of existence as needed. "Roboticans are digital sentients, not machines running on solely algorithms. They're roughly as fast as I am. Not nearly as good in a fight, though. This one just smashed the controls and ran out before I could grab him, so to speak."

At America's second question, she takes a quick peek into the fire suppression subsystem. "Fire control looks thorough--oh, hey, I could pump the stage down to vacuum." Too bad America needs to breathe. She'll call that Plan...D. That leaves some wiggle room. "Less drastically, there are foam sprayers."

Let's see...oh. Huh. That's a very long MSDS. "Uh, if you ingest any, go to Medbay after this is all over."

[thedreamisdead]

So much for having any dignity left by the end of this. Motion detection is useless. Too many positives when you're in a swarm, though Cortana's clearing that out with brutal efficiency.

Thermographics didn't show anything that look like anything's alive. Other than the now-burning husks from when Cortana dropped in. "I'll hold my breath." Or, less facetiously, she slides her respirator down. "Twenty minute oxygen supply. We'll have to talk about equipment specifics later." How's she supposed to make plans when she doesn't know what everyone's toys can do?

A very fluffy two-headed poodle with antennae and wings flies at her face. She grabs it and slaps Officer McFun, the Smiley Science Cop, sending both flying. "Incendiaries." At her voice command, her Lawgiver switches to white phosphorus rounds. She targets the struggling poodle, then the singing dishwasher. Then the still-burning couch. And switches over to high explosives to take out the stairs, before switching back to launch a few incendiaries up there anyway. And, of course, two or three rounds in the glowing piles around her new favorite AI's flying guillotines. She pauses to kick Dippy Duck into the now flaming pile and stomps over to a clearer spot. Those things caught quick.

"Remind me to investigate the safety permits here after all this is done."

[steelandtemper]

"Inhalation should only cause vertigo and...okay, that's got to be an error." Abnormal hair growth? What the hell is in that stuff? "But it reacts with stomach acid to form a mutagenic compound."

Cortana takes a moment to appreciate the near-Master Chief levels of carnage the two of them have wrought on the soundstage, then triggers the fire suppression. The mystery substance falls from sprinklers in the ceiling as colorless sprays of liquid, which expand instantly into a sickly green foam where they contact with flames, dousing them quickly. Otherwise, it forms puddles and lazy rivulets down walls and mechanical corpses, sticky and viscous.

"Huh."

[thedreamisdead]

"That doesn't sound safe." She considers for a moment, watching it trickle down her visor. Ugh. Definitely getting onto her neck, though. And down her chin thanks to the respirator dipping low enough. Like cheap ice cream or syrup smeared across her skin and left there. She'd probably have to burn the uniform. Should have thought to put on a poncho. Or the trans suit.

America holsters her Lawgiver and tucks her daystick back into her belt. She plants her fists on her hips, examining the carnage for any signs of movement. "They won't be the first creeps learn that numbers won't save them from a sticky end."

She holds the pose for a moment and, satisfied that nothing's going to come after her, turns around to step off the stage. She pauses abruptly and gently toes where the field would be first. No luck. It felt wrong, not letting the scene end on that nice little homily, but there wasn't much choice. "Is it worth asking for this to get dropped or am I just going to have to exit, stage left, and wander around backstage to find the rest of the team?"

[steelandtemper]

"So many things against the law where you're from and they didn't get around to banning terrible puns?"

When America tries to escape the candy-colored nightmare, Cortana is uncharacteristically slow to respond, a few seconds of silence greeting the request before her voice returns, sounding distracted. "Sorry, someone was targeting civilians. Just a sec...there." There's a barely-audible pop as the field drops and air rushes in to fill the infinitesimal gap left by its absence.

[thedreamisdead]

"It's unofficially encouraged to drop a little homily or some words of wisdom at the end of a case or after an arrest." America steps off and down into the audience area, not liking the sticking noises her boots are making. That would be a giveaway. "Gives a sense of closure. Keeps you from lingering."

And, Grud, but she doesn't want to linger on that. It was just so... dumb.

"Granted, that's not going to stop me from finding this Robotican and feeding it its own processors, but that's neither here nor there right now." She paused for a moment. "Thanks for the assist." The respirator was just going to have to stay down until she was certain she was out of the room.