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legionmissions2016-07-28 06:19 pm
legionnpcs) wrote in legionmissions2016-07-28 06:19 pm
Entry tags:
FLASHPLOT: Wash
Who| Agent Washington
What| A bank robbery
Where| Rimbor
When| In the dead of night, at the scene of a crime
Warnings/Notes| Violence inbound!
You'd think that the United Planets would enforce a shared currency. For the most part, it does. Nearly every vendor on the member worlds accepts the U.P. credit as the standard form of currency. And, while most of the transactions are digital, physical cash has always been in demand. Especially after the fall of the old information networks that lead to the rise of Titanet, the telepathic communications network.
On top of that, there are planets that still possess their own currencies, or trade with planets outside of the United Planets. From the singing gems of the asteroid trade networks to corporate scrip to the liquid metals of some of the former Khundian colonies, a modern bank has to be prepared to receive, exchange, and store any form of cash that enters their doors. Contained within a major planetary bank are untold riches, if only you're bold enough to access it. Of course, robbing a bank is a major undertaking, attempted only by the stupid, the insane, or the well-prepared.
So it comes as something of a surprise when a sector of Rimbor suddenly goes dark. Not a large one, the space of a few blocks. The Legionnaire on duty frowns, taps a few things, looks up the help manual, taps a few other things, and contacts the Science Police for a quick chat before calling up Wash. "Hey, Freelancer. It's Amp. Listen, hey, I'm sorry to bother you, but you're the only one marked as awake and on duty," well, except for Brainy, but bothering him was... "...and it looks like there's some kind of jamming field set up over on... Rimbor? Rimbor, yeah. It's pretty small, but centralized around a bank. I wouldn't be bothering you with this, except it looks like the Science Police are all busy with a dance hall riot. I need you to get to the Threshold gates, hop down there and make sure that everything is cool. Looks like the field's only covering a few blocks, so if there's trouble you've just got to job a little until you get a clear signal. Otherwise, I'm going to start waking people up if I haven't heard from you in, uh. Fifteen minutes."
---
Down on Rimbor, well. The planet's been described as the armpit of the galaxy by some. The truth might be a little further south. The air's not entirely pleasant, litter fills the alleyways, and building walls tend to be covered in gang markings. Much more noticeable is the stench of ozone and the sound of crackling from an alley near the bank. Someone's set up a phase gate, an illegal device that opens an unstable portal from one side of a barrier to another. Illegal because they have a tendency to collapse, unless they're of supreme quality.
However sane or well-prepared these robbers may be, however, they're apparently smart enough to leave a guard standing watch just outside of the portal, armed with a scoped pistol of some kind with a foldable buttstock dangling loosely from a totally unnecessary sling. He doesn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings, though. He seems more preoccupied with trying to light a cigarette in the wind that cuts through the alleyway.
What| A bank robbery
Where| Rimbor
When| In the dead of night, at the scene of a crime
Warnings/Notes| Violence inbound!
You'd think that the United Planets would enforce a shared currency. For the most part, it does. Nearly every vendor on the member worlds accepts the U.P. credit as the standard form of currency. And, while most of the transactions are digital, physical cash has always been in demand. Especially after the fall of the old information networks that lead to the rise of Titanet, the telepathic communications network.
On top of that, there are planets that still possess their own currencies, or trade with planets outside of the United Planets. From the singing gems of the asteroid trade networks to corporate scrip to the liquid metals of some of the former Khundian colonies, a modern bank has to be prepared to receive, exchange, and store any form of cash that enters their doors. Contained within a major planetary bank are untold riches, if only you're bold enough to access it. Of course, robbing a bank is a major undertaking, attempted only by the stupid, the insane, or the well-prepared.
So it comes as something of a surprise when a sector of Rimbor suddenly goes dark. Not a large one, the space of a few blocks. The Legionnaire on duty frowns, taps a few things, looks up the help manual, taps a few other things, and contacts the Science Police for a quick chat before calling up Wash. "Hey, Freelancer. It's Amp. Listen, hey, I'm sorry to bother you, but you're the only one marked as awake and on duty," well, except for Brainy, but bothering him was... "...and it looks like there's some kind of jamming field set up over on... Rimbor? Rimbor, yeah. It's pretty small, but centralized around a bank. I wouldn't be bothering you with this, except it looks like the Science Police are all busy with a dance hall riot. I need you to get to the Threshold gates, hop down there and make sure that everything is cool. Looks like the field's only covering a few blocks, so if there's trouble you've just got to job a little until you get a clear signal. Otherwise, I'm going to start waking people up if I haven't heard from you in, uh. Fifteen minutes."
Down on Rimbor, well. The planet's been described as the armpit of the galaxy by some. The truth might be a little further south. The air's not entirely pleasant, litter fills the alleyways, and building walls tend to be covered in gang markings. Much more noticeable is the stench of ozone and the sound of crackling from an alley near the bank. Someone's set up a phase gate, an illegal device that opens an unstable portal from one side of a barrier to another. Illegal because they have a tendency to collapse, unless they're of supreme quality.
However sane or well-prepared these robbers may be, however, they're apparently smart enough to leave a guard standing watch just outside of the portal, armed with a scoped pistol of some kind with a foldable buttstock dangling loosely from a totally unnecessary sling. He doesn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings, though. He seems more preoccupied with trying to light a cigarette in the wind that cuts through the alleyway.
no subject
He slips in through the gate and presses himself against the wall, hiding in the shadows. The light flares too often for the night vision on his helmet to be of any use, and his motion trackers are empty - nobody's moving, so nothing's picking up, which makes them temporarily useless. He's flying blind on this one. Great.
He'd gotten a description of a jamming field generator from Amp before he'd left, but he doesn't see it around - it might be hiding in the shadows like he is, or just out of his line of sight. Either way, there's no calling for help until it's down, and the clock is still ticking.
Okay then. He heads for the vault, following the intermittent light and the sound of voices, and stops against the wall about halfway down the lobby. There's virtually no cover in here, as the whole open office concept is evidently still popular in the future; once the fight starts, he'll have to end it soon.
He's had worse odds.
He releases the maglock on his battle rifle and slides it slowly off his back, bringing it into position. The Legion had given him stun ammunition for his rifle and a stun baton for close combat; he's tested them in training, but there's a difference between a live fire simulation and actual combat. If this doesn't work...well, he'll improvise.
Hopefully this will work, then. He hates improvising.
He runs to the middle of the floor, timing it with a flare - there - and aims at the silhouettes outlined by the light, firing off two shots in quick succession. He'd been known for his marksmanship in the Project - the one with the torch and the one with the carbine should be down. Should be.
He keeps moving, back towards the wall - a moving target is harder to hit, and if he can draw the other two towards him, his motion trackers will tell him where they are.
no subject
The reactions of the others echo what Wash has probably heard before. "Sprock! What was that?"
"I dunno. Are those two..."
"Yeah, I can hear'em wheezing. Who was that?"
"I didn't get a good look. A guy in armo-oh snek." Their voices dropped to hushed whispers that still manage to echo in the empty bank. "It was Doubletime!"
"What, the speedster?"
"Yeah, the dumb one that your girlfriend likes. Not the cute one." Poor XS. She had been mourned when the Coluan freak killed her with half of the team.
"We ain't equipped for a speedster. Let's just get out of here!"
"Wait, man. Think of what one of those flight rings'll sell for. Think about how your girlfriend's gonna feel when you show up in his armor for a bit of roleplay."
There's a moment of silence, then a slapping noise. "...Gonna murder the bum. Gimme your rifle. Grab the spray gun. We're gonna do like in Revenge of the Reverse Flash."
There's two solid blips on the motion detectors then. One of them keeping low, creeping his way around to the hole in the teller's barrier. The other hopping on top. And suddenly a beam of light rips through the room, though in the corner opposite of Wash. He draws a line of flame across the wall until his barrel overheats, then sweeps the other rifle across in the opposite manner, trying to ward the mistaken speedster towards the center of the room. He's carrying a rifle in each hand, which makes his aim a little wobbly, but doesn't impact the deadliness of the lasers any.
Once that other barrel overheats, his crouching pal unleashes a torrent of laser bursts with the spray gun at the middle area, filling the air between them with fragments of light that chew up the ground and walls, but nothing above waist height.
no subject
...they think he's Grif.
They think he's Grif.
He's half tempted to turn on the voice amplifier in his helmet and laugh- but there's no reason to give the game away. Not yet. If they think he's a speedster, that's what they'll prepare for, and he can blindside them with-
...with the flashy superpowers he doesn't have. Shit.
But he can still fly-
He hasn't really practiced with the flight ring as much as he should have, but he's got the basics, and that's going to have to be enough. He lifts off silently as they decide to kill him, turning a half-somersault in midair and landing in a quiet crouch on the ceiling. The motion trackers are having a tough time orienting to his position, but it's fine - they're easy enough to find once they open fire.
It's kind of sad, really. They mentioned the flight ring in the first place, and yet neither of them bother to ever look up. He lines up a shot at the one with the burst gun and fires. He could take out overheated barrels there too, but...
Goddammit, they think he's Grif. He wants to make a point, and he can't do that if they're both unconscious.
For the moment, he stays where he is, upside down on the ceiling, ready to bolt if burst gun shows signs of movement or if overheated barrels cools down. He's got the space of a breath to plan his next move, and if he wants to make an impression, then it had better be a good one.
no subject
The mook with the spraygun doesn't stand a chance. He doesn't even notice the shot before he's slumping over his gun and twitching. This action does, however, attract the attention of the one holding the pair of rifles, and he swings both guns up to bear on Wash. "Sprock off!"
Unfortunately for him, the built-in safeties refuse to fire when the gun's barrels are in danger of melting, so he simply chucks them both at the Legionnaire and turns to run, abandoning his fellows. Both rifles, predictably, fall well short of the mark. Fortunately for him, he's a better runner than he is a marksman, but the Legion flight ring is still faster.
The comms, however, are still out.
no subject
He's tensed to move when overheated barrels points the guns in his direction, but- well, they're overheated. He just smirks inside his helmet and takes off after the mook, easily overtaking him. He performs a neat half-somersault in midair and lands between the mook and the exit. He pointedly folds his arms and cocks his head ever so slightly, silhouetted by the flickering green light of the phase gate.
Like a badass.
He unmutes his radio. After so long with the Reds and Blues, he's perfected his I am going to kick your ass into next Tuesday tone; might as well put it to good use.
"You know, that would have been a great plan...if I was Doubletime."
no subject
His gaze flickers from Wash to the gate behind him and he licks his lips nervously. After a moment, he just sighs and drops the knife, raising his hands. "Fine. You got me, Legion."
After all four of his buddies got dropped in less than a few minutes, it would take a right moron to try to go down on his own. And this was a Legionnaire. Trying to bribe one of them would probably be just as dumb.
no subject
The rebuttal is automatic, coming out as more of an indignant squawk, and dammit, so much for making an impression. He takes a moment to try to center himself - because let's face it, his big intimidating introduction is pretty much shot and there's really no point in trying to salvage it - and is just about to try a different tack when overheated barrels drops the knife.
Okay, that worked.
His Ass Kicking Imminent tone is back in place when he speaks again. "Good move. Now, you have two choices: you can either show me where the jamming field generator is and earn yourself points for good behavior, or I can drop you like I did your friends and find it myself."
no subject
He isn't lying, either. As soon as Wash walks in, he'll find it tucked into a corner next to the welding equipment, a small half-cone with a circular antenna sticking out the top. A blue light blinks above the switch and a small display of Interlac, simply stating that it was active.
None of the men Wash has dealt with so far seem very interested in getting up and continuing their legal dispute.
no subject
He picks up the dropped knife on his way by the mook - no reason to give him his weapon back - and keeps an eye on him as he heads towards the back. The generator is exactly where he says it is, and Wash eyes it suspiciously for a moment. He doesn't know enough about this tech to be able to spot whether something has been modified, so if it is a trap, he'll have no way of knowing.
...he'll be able to heal the damage anyway, right? Hopefully?
...fuck it. He's done dumber things in his life, and he's on a time limit. He reaches down and flips the switch. The generator powers down and...that's it. Okay then.
Might as well try long-range comms. "Amp, can you hear me?"
no subject
"Oh, hey. You worked it out fast enough." It hasn't even been ten minutes. He'd been worried when Wash hadn't reported in after just a few seconds, but figured that he'd call if it was something serious. "The bank's alarm just hit the networks and I've got the Science Police on hold. Was there any trouble? You okay?"
no subject
no subject
It won't take long. The sirens can already be heard, and the Science Police have this down to an art. They'll have Wash's testimony in a short while and will release him in less than ten minutes.
Mission accomplished.