13344/Bastard Royale

Bastard Royale
Date of Scene:	03 December 2022
Location:	A junkyard in Upstate New York.
Synopsis:	Frank Castle is captured by parties unknown in the wake of a massive treasure hunt in a junkyard.
Cast of Characters:	Frank Castle, Talia al Ghul, Skara Spark, Veronique Lalonde, Sundance, Cecily Winters, Jason Todd, Cinque Evers

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Frank Castle has posed:
Carpenter Brother's Junkyard is several acres large, a sprawling, twisted labyrinth of rubbish, broken down cars, old appliances and every form of salvageable junk imaginable. The place is infested with rats, raccoons, possums and more than a few stray dogs. In between piles of rubbish, haphazard trails of bare dirt go here and there. Occasionally there's a full size schoolbus or a boat shoved in amidst the debris.

The whole thing is surrounded by a fifteen foot high chain-link fence, secured with electricity and topped by barbed wire around the full perimeter. Sparsely placed lightpoles provide a degree of illumination once the sun is fully down, but there will still be plenty of dark shadows, this deep out in the country, far from the light pollution of the city. It's the middle of nowhere. No cops coming, no ambulances, no superheroes patrolling overhead. Just a private place for bloody business.

Bastard Royale contestants are allowed to enter through the front gate and park outside as they please. Every contestant is allowed one weapon of their own to bring inside - beyond that, there are guns and other surprises hidden throughout the junkyard, some of them fully loaded and ready to kill, some of them boobytrapped and ready to blow up in your face. You take your chances as you see fit.

In front of the contestants, there's a makeshift stage made out of a large truck with a massive bed, with big pick-ups on either side. Standing on the bed is a massive man in a bright white suit, an old fashione hat on his head, but with the features of a large boar. No mask, either, his nostrils flaring and beady eyes staring, with a cigar at the corner of his mouth. This is Hog Boss. This is his show. The rednecks with porcine features working the door and providing his security are his numerous sons, the so-called Pig Pen. His daughter, Piggy Mae, stands by his side in a gingham dress with a big bell in one hand.

"Awright, ya bunch o' greedy fucks!" Hog Boss calls out into a megaphone. "Gonna be sunset any second, so it's about to get this show out on the road. Gates lock at sundown, don't open up again until midnight. Out there, somewhere, there is half a million bucks in untraceable cash shoved into a red haliburton just like this one," he says. Piggy Mae reaches down into the truck and lifts up a shining metal briefcase, "It ain't the only one. There are four others, just like this out there. But they don't got money in them. Some of 'em are good. Some of 'em are bad. If you have the briefcase when midnight rolls around, congrats, you win. If you engage in physical hostility outside of the designated times, my boys will be putting big fat slugs in your pretty little heads for bein' bad sports. We like our sportsmanship, yes, we do. So, gonna give y'all a minute or two to get yourselves sitchiated and when that last sliver o' sun goes down behind the tower o' dishwashers right over there, I'm gonna fire off the gun and you're off! Any questions, too bad, who cares."

There's a large cleared out area for contestants to mill around and socialize before the start of hostilities, with the Pig Pen providing general security such as it is. From that clearing, multiple paths go off into the junkyard proper.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
There's a group that isn't part of the festivities that are observing things. They're concealed within the darkenss, scattered around. They aren't here for the cash or the fighting. Or even the carnage. They're here for information. On possible recruits. On fighters. On possible threats. It always pays to have good infromation.

And the League prides itself on having some of the best. So scattered around the area in various states of concealment are members of teh League of Shadows blending in. They don't intend on getting involved. But..

~Let the melee play, let them stab in every way! Time to get away.. Here in junkyard rock~

Skara Spark has posed:
    It's crazy what you can find out with a pair of open ears, roaming around a mixer on college grounds. At first, the idea of a real-life battle royale didn't sound legitimate, but when Skara starting looking into the details of the location, it started getting more and more believable. One busride later out into the middle of nowhere, seeing far too much traffic around a random-ass junkyard made it clear, this thing is entirely real. Good thing it's a Saturday night.

    Geared up, shield in place, no other weapon needed, Skara's out in the shadows beyond the fence, waiting, listening, sighing at the very thought of this event. Money? It'd be nice, but she'd rather have this stupid spectacle shut down. "Bloody stupid way to get money, or get dead.."

Veronique Lalonde has posed:
    Veronique has donned her disguise-in-progress for this lucrative event. A blue balaclava with an opening for nose and eyes, a clear visor to protect against wind-burn, and a curious headphone/earprotection deal with swept back fins reminiscent of a rabbit's ears, swept diagonally back that trails wires and cords. A bottom-barrel bullet-proof (allegedly) vest, she'd stolen worn atop her body-glove. Her shoes got her here, and they're already looking as well-used as the rest of her outfit. She isn't carrying a weapon, and her hands fidgeting.

    She can scarely believe this event is for real, but the money is just too good to pass up. Better chances than a lottery, as far as she's concerned, and won't shut up murmering to herself while she loiters amongst other contestants. Her wide expressive eyes peer out, trying to size up competitors, while she shakes out her legs by stepping from one foot to the other.

Sundance has posed:
You know the best thing about no longer being under the thumb of the Null Group? Freedom to do things like this. Which is why Sundance had rode out, his Harley having been left parked just inside the gate, a he wandered around, checking out the other competitors. And picking up scents he can use to track people as needed.

He has made approximately zero attempts to hide who or what he is, the coyote mutant wearing his full getup, at least he put a bandana over his muzzle, for the good it does of hiding that he's a mutant. For his one weapon, he doesn't have one visible.

He's pretty confident in his ability to sniff out the prize, and that he'll be able to deal with any of these particular chumps who get in his way. He doesn't really NEED the cash, but it'd make a good showing for Hobb.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    A nondescript old pickup is what dropped a certain fox-eared and fox-tailed woman off at tonight's... venue. Despite the environs, though, Cecily is always dressed to kill. Black vest, white blouse, black skirt, stockings and flat shoes. Never seen out of uniform, never a hair out of place. Until it is. And by then, a lot more is out of place. She doesn't mill about with the crowd, not directly, but she does stand within the contestants' area.

    Those long lengths of white fur jutting out twitch occasionally as they sway slowly, the woman adjusting her fingerless gloves. She sighs, scanning the crowd as she straightens her glasses. At least one familiar face so far. She hopes she doesn't run across Veronique in the actual midst of the fighting. She's here to do some wet work. At least she isn't the only one with a tail this time. Adhering to the rules, she's brought just one of her many 'toys' for the main event. The reliable G21 holstered in her chest rig with a handful of spare magazines in hip pouches.

    She'll follow the event's tenets, absolutely, but she's not exactly here for the half a mil.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason Todd got word from a little bird who heard from another who heard it from a friend. Simply put he became aware of this event. Money or no money, he came for his own reasons.

Red Hood rolled up on his bike and paused to check is pistol one last time. One weapon was kind of a petty limitation he thought but the flipside is that he'll burn through ammunition more slowly with one barrel than with two.

Holstering his gun, the red masked vigilante walked confidently inside the junkyard arena, his mask's display picking up on Hog Boss and his daughter. Not that he lingered on either of them beyond taking a few images for intel.

Standing off to the side, he waited for the rules and regulations to be laid out and looked over the other competitors with a professional curiosity. This should prove to be interesting.

Cinque Evers has posed:
Leroy Evans has a history of ups and downs. He somehow managed to survive three tours in Vietnam, only to return home to not be able to find a job. This led to a cycle of drug abuse and stints in Rikers. After decades of despair, he finally is clean and has a stable of job at the Jamii Homeless Shelter. The only obstacle standing in his way from having another downturn is his desire to support the only family that he has: his granddaughter. Leroy hears about the bastard royale from an old prison buddy and decides he is still fit enough to get the money. The only problem he is stuck inside the elevator in the Jamii Homeless Shelter, and is going to be let out until is too late..

Cinque has overhead Leroy's conversation to his prison pal, and decided that it would be better for Cinque to take his place. Cinque knows the blood sport world, and he knows what type of people exploit those that participate in it.

After committing all the information about event that he can to his memory, he makes sure Leroy cannot make it. He quickly calculates the odds that his modified Navy Colt revolver is going to give him a greater chance at survivability compares to the odds are greater that he finds something similar to his Bowie knife inside. He decides to leave his Bowie knife and his spare Navy Colt revolver on his bike.

Oletha Ukufa makes his way pass the guards, showing his only weapon as he readies himself for the event.

Frank Castle has posed:
Awaiting Hog Boss' gun are a variety of scumbags, freaks and greedy bastards, all willing to do whatever it takes to walk out of here with a shitload of money. All in all, there's somewhere just shy of 200 participants, most of them just your garden variety asshole. However, there are a few notable names, including:

Bushwhacker: A big Dolph Lundgren looking bastard with a right hand that appears to be some sort of cybercannon.
Lady Vic: A gorgeous British noblewoman with a katana strapped to her back and a white mask.
Flamingo: A Latino man with a straight razor, a thin mustache and a pink jacket. Likes to eat people, supposedly.
Chainsaw Charlie: That's just Terry Funk wearing panty hose on his head and carrying a chainsaw.
Torque: An ex-cop with his head on backwards.
Flutter: A Japanese woman with a butterfly tattooed on her throat. Seems to favor shuriken.
The Dogs of War: Pug, Husky and Mastiff, three cyborg mercs.

And numerous others (OOC: Feel free to improvise enemies as you like, especially if you want to take them out).

"Everybody ready? On your mark? Get set! GO!" Hog Boss cries out, firing a .357 Magnum into the air and then being handed a plate of barbecue by Piggy Mae as he takes a seat on a lawn chair propped up in the truck.

At the sound of the shot, deep inside the junkyard, the trunk pops on an old 1960s Sedan and the Punisher rolls out of it, popping his neck and stretching his limbs before he starts to unload all the weaponry he brought. He doesn't follow other people's rules. And he's not here for money. He taps the commlink in his ear, connected to Cecily's communications rig. "Death's Head to Foxy - I'm in the sixth quadrant. Be safe out there."

Talia al Ghul has posed:
There are several members of the League spread about the area who are watching. Present, perhaps even is the semi-mythical Dogwelder, going about in search of his prey and ready to pounce on anyone that was just going to stare.

The members of the League would be spread out, in concealment, and in cover. They're tracking the fighters and the mayhem about to start. It's going to be a very useful evening as far as their higher ups who dispatched htem are concerned.

Skara Spark has posed:
    Ah, the ever classic go signal: Firing a gun into the air for all the world to hear. Whatever will Sparkblade do outside this MASSIVELY TALL CHAIN LINK FENCE? Vault it. Seriously, her weapon, Zethian, was built with a lot of utility in it, part of which is launcing off it, with it, after stabbing it down into the ground after a good running start. And that's how she got in. The cheaty way. She could care less. She's near the very back of the place, opposite the sprawling yard's gate, which gives her some time to scan about, check and see what sort of 'surprises'are awaiting the numerous goons making their way in. She doesn't really care about the briefcase. If she finds it? Fine. If not? Whatever. She's more here for the recording she has going, a camera on her shoulder, to get all of the evidence she can so Hog's little game can get shut down.
    It'll be a damn shame if something happens to that camera, even hidden as it is.

Frank Castle has posed:
Piggy Mae screams out among the hubbub: DADDY I WAS SUPPOSED TO RING MY BELL DADDY THAT AIN'T FAIR.

Sundance has posed:
The sound of the hand cannon firing makes Sundance move. He plants one of his feet and busts into a sprint, the coyote rushing forward past the several others that are at his section of the entrance. He mantles over a pile of scrap metal to propel himself further into the junkyard.

Okay, so find a bunch of cash and don't get killed. Easy enough, he thinks. He slows his pace down after he has a bit of room to work. He takes a knee and sniffs at their a few times, trying to sniff out something useful. Cordite, explosives, anything that may come in handy. in the mean time, his hand slips into his jacket and he pulls out his tomahawk, tactical style one, with paracord around the base that's attached to his wrist, to keep him from losing it if he throws it.

"Cash has unique smell. I bet I could find it if I get close." He mutters to himself, before he gets back up to his feet and starts moving again, ears twitching as they pick up on the sounds all around him, people running around nearby. Should help if someone tries to sneak up on him.

Veronique Lalonde has posed:
Unbeknownst to Veronique, Ms. Winters has arrived. That would certainly have put her on pins and needles if she realized. Her nose twitches, nostrils flaring at the smorgasborg of different scents, flooding out the familiar unique one of Cecily. For better or worse, she's going in as ignorant as the next chump. And she's certainly going to catergorize the nearest people to her as chumps. Reaching up to her headphones, she adjusts to try and nerf the worst tinnitus causing sounds. Preparing for a round or two to go off for example. "Money money money." she murmers a mantra, and then reefs up her mask so she can jam the worst kind of truck-stop high-caloric caffiene-laced snacks into her mouth to devour.

    Giving the mane of red hair a toss, pony-tailing out from an opening in the balaclava, she does some quick squats and limbering up exercises. Not at all similar to a certain routine down in one of NYC's strip joints. Stretching some of her garment's stitches and hoping to avoid the same in some muscles groups once everyone starts moving. It's a bit gratuitous, like she's applying for job, but it serves purposes.

    The gun goes off and people stream by her. She's still swallowing down the load of sugar and protein and then gets down into a sprinter's pose, caboose up and head down. ~foooosh~ The ground she lost is gobbled up quickly as she spurts forward in a Veronique-shaped blurr to dive headlong and foolishly, deeper into the junkyard to put some distance between herself and chaff and professionals alike.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Check," Cecily says simply under her breath. She's got a throat mic in place under her clothes, and a wireless receiver in one of her ears. Ears that are still twitching after the starting pistol rings out. She watches the throng of ... /individuals/ ... as many of them she'd classify as beneath the term 'people' charge off hooting and hollering. She just sighs, though her brow quirks as she spots Veronique lingering before blurring off into the sporadically lit junkyard. "Moving in," she then adds.

    The fox is definitely a straggler, likely being one of the last ones through the gate as she casually makes her way inside with time enough for the gate to close behind her when it does. With darkness coming so much sooner now that winter is nipping at the edges of autumn, there's going to be a lot more hours to go until midnight. She's not rushing about or scrounging around, though, and instead simply draws her gun when she's across the threshold and checking for the round in the chamber.

    Click. Clack. Charged.

    To one side of her, she can hear a loud CLANK as someone with a crowbar pries the rusted trunk of a car open. He whirls around, staring the well-dressed fox up and down before lunging at her. "HEEEEEY FOXXXXXXY! THOSE TAILS WOULD MAKE A FINE COAT!" he abandons whatever dubious loot might've been in the first car in the gate and swings for the vixen only to take a bullet in the kneecap, sending him tumbling to the ground in a heap of bleeding and tangled limbs.

    "Tch..." she sighs and snatches up the crowbar before leaving a dent in his skull for his trouble. "...not even worth a second bullet..."

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason Todd watches and listens. As it becomes clear the gum flapping has come about to an end, he makes note of Lady Vic. Yeah. She was going to be one he'll watch for. The rest?

Even as the gun rises, he has already faded into the shadows. He IS a Bat after all. He wasn't about to be in sight when the full metal melee started. Those in the center of the starting group are certain to be the first lambs to slaughter.

Weaving between a few towering walls of wrecked cars and trucks he set about finding the place he wanted to use for a lay of the land.

Catching sight of a semi rig stacked high above one moutain of junk, he changes course. Launching a grapple, he ascends to the cab. He has no plans to linger, but it was time to join Obi Wan. Time to take the High Ground for the moment.

Cinque Evers has posed:
Oletha quickly moves through his immediate area, taking in all of his surroundings and committing them to memory, from the number of rats and other vermin to the repugnant smell of the garbage to the make of different cars. His objective is to get to the high ground to gain more data on his surroundings. The only problem is that he is not the only person that had that strategy.

Standing in Olethat?s way is a person known on the streets as Little Sugs;however, he stands about six foot four. Oletha rubs his right index finger across the brim of his fat, "Little Sugs, this is what you are doing now? It seems your business never recovered from when I stole all of your money, and set your product on fire." Little Sugs screams in a deep Jamaican accent, "Dat was you!" Little Sugs goes to swing his machete, but he is immediately shot in the head.

Oletha lets out an exasperated sigh, "Who brings a knife to a gunfight? You never seemed to be very bright. Oletha pats the dead man?s shoulder as he relieves his of his machete, "You had the same password for all of your accounts." Oletha calls over his shoulder to the dead man as he begins to climb on top of the cars, "Sorry for never introducing myself. I hope you don?t think I am rude. I am Oletha Ukufa, it means Death Bringer."

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank smears his face with black and silver to help slip him more easily into the shadows, a headband cinched at his brow to keep his hair out of his face. Should've buzzed it before. Sloppy.

The constestants fan out and scatter with relatively little violence, outside of some bickering among the cyborgs and some of the hillbillies who'd shown up not knowing their feuding neighbors were coming to the same shindig. But that didn't lead to much but a few weak blows in the dirt, ended when Olaf, the oldest of the Pig Pen, steps over and stomped on one man's hand, breaking it. "Get yer dumb asses out there and hunt fer that money, you little pissants!" the pigman yells and who are they to argue?

A faint pop of gunfire here. Some yelling there. And then the roar of a shotgun, from deep in the mounts of trash. <<We got ninjas.>> comes over the com to Cecily as Frank ratchets his shotgun over the smoking ruins of a pair of Talia's minions. Lady Vic seems to see Red Hood there and gives him a wink before she dashes off alongside Bushwacker. The two of them seem to have their own agenda.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
The gunfire erupts early. At least, by the calculations of some of the observers who were here. The quick shotgun blast of Frank drops two members of the League, which pushes them that the time of stealth is over. One of them goes to call out from concealment, "The PUnisher!" He goes to throw his voice so it echos from elsewhere, using ventriloquism. "We're under attack!" That's all the time he has no as someone else shoots him and he goes to drop, a large hole in the center of his chest by whomever was the one a bit too fast for him to get back to hiding.

Already nearly half the 'team' of the League down in bloody smears.

Skara Spark has posed:
        Meanwhile, at the other end of the junkyard:

Skara had scrambled up at least one stack of rusted out cars to have a look at the flow of people from the entrance. A few stragglers had ran all the way to the back, thinking the briefcase may be back there, thinking themselves smart to cross the place early. The only reward they got for this was having the blunt front of Zethian to their skulls from above. Soat least two people were already in the dirt to confuse others, leading to what would be a really fun honey pot way back there. The more people that would wander up befuddled, the more would end up on the pile! "This is too easy.." she murmurs, before a streak of motion. .... "Eh? Really? Ninjas? Why the hell are their ninjas here..?"

Sundance has posed:
"What the hell are you supposed to be?" Comes a voice from behind Sundance as he turns his head a bit, seeing a pair of guys wearing biker cuts and wielding tire irons, "Yeah the freak convention is in Pittsburgh." Chimes in the second.

Sundance tilts his head a little bit, "You boys seem lost." He doesn't get to add much more as the two of them rush at him. He ducks under the tire iron swing from the first one, kicking him in the knee with a crunch and a cry of pain, as his buddy comes around and smacks Sundance with the iron.

He gets the coyote chomping down on the arm holding the tire iron in response, ripping at his skin as he chomps down several more times, before throwing the guy with enough force to knock him out with the rusted out car he just slammed into.

He leaves them there, heading deeper into the facility. That's when he sniffs something out nearby, wheels around and throws his tomahawk. It impacts something in the shadows with a wet THUNK and when he pulls back on the cord, it has a ninja attached to it, "Fuckin' thought I left all the ninjas back in New York." He wipes the blade of the tomahawk off and then loots the ninja for any throwing knives or kunai he can get his hands on.

Veronique Lalonde has posed:
Veronique stops abruptly after she's done a few tight zoomies, her feet making two scuff-marks as friction greedily halts her progress. Flushed and breathing hard, she whips her head about, wringing her hands. "Mine...mine mine mine!" The percussive sounds of popcorn of different gauges has her straighten, and her tech-ears sweep up alert. "Frig." So they weren't kidding about this being a risky proposition. She shivers and sidles in amongst the piles of junk, heat coming off her like a desert mirage. Thankfully it dissipates quickly, with such a short series of sprints.

    While trying to back into contemplative cover, there's a shape that looms up, and swings a length of chain at her pretty little head. Startled, she just barely manages to throttle blindly forward, nearly tripping over a piles of fenders, a dancing tip-toe, and then doubles-back to duck under a follow-up that would have home-run'd her jaw. A bunny-hop and both her feet come up to piston into the chump's side, doing very bad things to kidney and spine. She doesn't look back, losing herself deeper into the junkyard, and she leaves the gargling wails behind her. "Mine mine mine!"

Skara Spark has posed:
    "Damn, nice shot!"

Skara wasn't going to not give credit where it's due, and she also isn't one to care about mutant, non, meta, or otherwise. "You got back here quick, too. Better than that one, or the group I was messin' with," the armored human points at the pile with her weaponized shield. "And I'm bored, so, you actually here for the money, the fighting, or somethin' else, cause I'm really rollin around for the fun of it." She isn't going to admit to the footage she's recording. That'll come later.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    <<Wonderful.>> Cecily's reply to Frank is quick and curt, pistol in one hand, crowbar in the other. For the moment, she's avoiding running down the middle into the maze like a mad woman. Instead, she's lingering around the periphery, near the fence line and the stacks of cars piled up like the walls of some post-apocalyptic fortress.

    She picks her way around the half-crushed vehicles with care, prying open doors and hoods to see if she can find anything of interest. It isn't so much a red briefcase that she's looking for, but anything of.. interest. For the moment, just rusted hunks of metal and moth-eaten mildered car seats. It would seem that the crowbar has been more interesting of note. Still, with her slow going and the time she's taking, it's clear the fox makes a rather prominent, juicy target. What with how much extra mass her tails give her for sight lines, and her presently-clean clothes.

    <<I've got flares if we need them. Of a sort.>> she adds, clearly referring to the foxfire tracers that she's got a few of. She *did* pack some heavier artillery in her .45 mags, after all. Just in case.

Frank Castle has posed:
Explosions mark the next hour or so. One of the buses goes up in a massive blast, taking most of one of the feuding families with it. Another comes from one of the false briefcases, found shoed underneath an old water heater and covered in dust to try and disguise it. Husky loses an arm to that one, with his buddy Pug's flamethrower sauteeing the wound closed and taking his eyebrows along with 'em.

Frank's been doing his work. Nine down by his hand alone, thirteen if you counted ninjas. Word has gotten out about the Punisher being lose in the place. A few of the more cowardly types have, in fact, already given up, partying with the Pig Pen and hiding behind their weapons cache in the back of those pick-ups.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
As everyone knows, ninjas do not count in competitive kill counts. That's like saying that taxi drivers vastly overcharging for the fares and going the last efficient route to run up the meter is something freakish. All of the ninjas by now have gone down, whehter or not they've takena nyone with them.
    They're not exactly theh ighest caliber the League had to offer, and this sort of mission isn't really something that the League considered a priority.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason Todd knew Lady Vic was going to be trouble. She was easily in the twenty most dangerous participants. He'd need to keep an eye on her.

Settling into that darkened gutted semi cab, he reached back and pulled out his second pistol. Flipping switches on both, the two are interconnected to form a carbine rifle. Securing a scope, he scans the junk yard. He wasn't entirely certain who the other less-evil players were. But he wasn't in this for the killing. Just the chaos. It's a Saturday night. It was all right for fighting.

A frown crosses his masked features when he sees a League ninja and pauses. Damn it.

Tracking the ninja for a second, he fires a taser round just before the assassin can sweep in and strike at Skara. With wild twitching, the would be attacker is down and out.

Not waiting, Red Hood shifts positions. Staying stationary was just going to make him a target.

Veronique Lalonde has posed:
Veronique has accomplished bupkis. There's no plan of attack or strategy. Like animal instincts are taking the wheel. More and more often, she's running close by to others that may not be as blazing fast, but are smarter and cleverer. Or at least methodical. She's certainly not at the level of someone like the Flash either. As her form squeals past, she's literally squealing from her mouth. Explosions going off, sending shrapel. Bullets going off, angry bees buzzing past. As far as sensory perceptions go, this place is a dangerous tetanus-filled gauntlet. Huffing and puffing, the only time she slows down is when she meets a dead end that she can't leap, or there's a body acting as a speedbump. But all these tight corners are someones filled with tough characters, and she's more often than not trying to avoid them and dodge the consequences while she tries to remember how to think straight!

Sundance has posed:
Well she's not attacking him outright, so Sundance gives Skara a glance, "Just about all of it." He replies, "If you ain't looking for the prize though, I'm sure I could use the help, if you want." He slots a few of the kunai he picked up off the ninja into his vest, where they'll be easy enough to get to, "We're looking for a red briefcase, but it might be booby trapped, so keep your eyes open. You got a name?"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    There's one prize. A battered up old Remington pump-action. Cecily puts down the crowbar and holsters her pistol to get a good look at it. She moves to stand closer to one of the lights after deducing that was not attached to any tension threads and makeshift explosives. So far, so good. Lingering at the edge of that silver halo of fluorescence, she checks the tube. "A-ha..." she tsks, no shells. Not just that, but a surprise wadded in the chamber. "Usele--" she turns to toss it into the back seat of the nearest jalopy before a -THWANG- sounds out from the darkness and a surprisingly heavy bolt slams into her upper arm and pins her to the side of the car.

    "WOO! Got one!" shouts the guy who did it, coming out of the shadows with a makeshift heavy crossbow. Metal bits, aircraft cable, tensioners, and what looks to be a stock scavenged from a hunting rifle, receiver included. The fox grunts and the shotgun ends up laying on the ground at her feet. "Hey... hey I KNOW you..." growls the archer. "You're the bitch that shot up my buddy's car in Bushwick and got all of them sent to Ryker's! Oh I'm gonna enjoy this..."

    Cecily rolls her eyes and makes a show of trying to pull at the shotgun with one of her shoes as she braces herself against the car. "Oh what's the matter, fox got your tongue?" titters the mook before swooping in and snatching up the shotgun before it can be retrieved. "I'd stick around and make you bleed a little more for the rest of my crew, but I got a half mil to find, so, good night. Better luck next life, bitch."

    He steps back and pulls the trigger on the shotgun. The receiver explodes the moment the firing pin makes contact with the 'surprise' inside, sending the majority of the shaped charge backwards, ripping through the thug's arm and ripping the flesh from half of his face. He falls to the ground, clutching his face with his good arm, screaming incoherently. Cecily reaches for the bolt pinning her to the car before yanking it out with a hiss of pain. "...you first..." she hauls herself to her feet, blood running down her arm as the wound slowly begins to mend itself. "Look at it this way, you aren't going to have to spend a night at Ryker's."

    She takes a knee and jams the sharp end of the bolt up into his throat before taking the crossbow and makeshift Pringles can quiver off of his gurgling body. "Enjoy bleeding out."

Frank Castle has posed:
Bushwhacker and Lady Vic split up at some point, working their way together towards an unknown target. Red Hood on her trail, however, has Lady Vic turning to throw some weapons in his direction before sprinting deeper, "Take him now!" she calls in an accented voice.

Frank has been momentarily busy drowning Hog Boss's youngest son, Wilbur, in a mud puddle, making him gurgle and thrash as the Punisher finishes him off the hard way after a brief scuffle. That noise helps to cover the emergence of the Bushwacker behind him, the massie cyborg giving a victorious grin as he raises his weapon towards Frank and unleashes a taser dart, hitting Frank in the shoulder and starting to zap him with electricity.

"Stay down, Punisher. You got a long ride ahead o' you," the mercenary says while he waits for his partner to ditch her tail.

Meanwhile, as Skara and Sundance start to converse, the coyote gets that telltale whiff of cash he's been looking for all night, just a bit to the west in that pile of old beach stuff.

Cinque Evers has posed:
After reaching the nearest high ground, Oletha quickly memorizes all that his senses take him. Oletha rolls his eyes slightly for behind his masks, "There is a lot of chaos down there." Oletha loads up incendiary rounds in his modified Navy Colt revolver as he slowly takes aim at the PigPen pickup trucks, "I'm just a little black rain cloud hovering under the honey tree.

He fires one round into another pickup, "I'm only a little black rain cloud pay no attention to little me." He fires another round into another bullet. He fires one more round for his pistol before he figures that people are going to get bead on his location, but that doesn't stop him from singing, "Oh, everyone knows that a rain cloud never eats honey, no, not a nip.

There is a wounded thug begging for mercy from another violent criminal wearing a bondage mask. When the bondage mask figures empties his gun into the wounded victim, ingoring his cries of mercy, he has made himself Oletha's next victim,

Oletha jumps off the pile of cars and buries his machete in the bondage masked individual's skull, "I'm just floating around over the ground wondering where I will drip."

Skara Spark has posed:
    "Sparkblade. That's about all I feel like giving. What about you? I don't just want to call you 'dog'. That'd be rude. ... Even considering our current company.. speaking of which," Skara turns, glaring past the yote toward the thug walking up on them. "Oy. You got a problem or you gonna go another way? We don't have the damn thing."

Sundance has posed:
"Name's Sundance." The coyote replies, as he tips his hat to Sparkblade. Then there's a moment, "I smell something. Money." He turns his attention towards the west, the big pile of beach stuff, "It's in that pile..Somewhere." He says, as he glances back at Sparkblade, and the guy she's talking to, "Put him down quick. I'll find the case!" He stashes the tomahawk and starts digging through the pile, hoping Sparkblade will actually cover him. He has no idea where she came from, she wasn't out in the starting area. But if she's not here for the money she probably won't get in the way.

Jason Todd has posed:
Jason Todd had worked through many of the lower tier thugs and wannabes easily enough. There was a trail of tasered or beaten down bodies in his wake as he carved a path through the shadows of the junk yard. It was Lady Vic he was after. He really didn't give a damn about the rest.

But Lady Vic? Well Vic is far enough up the food chain that Red Hood had every intention of seeing her taken down and sent off to Ryker, The Slab or whatever other prison they decide for her.

The would be ambush is almost amusing. Thugs of various levels that decided to answer to her. He was still carrying his carbine but six on one was more than he was going be able to take down with it. Flicking the switch, the weapon again separates into his matched pistols just as the thugs start to move in.

He shoots one, smashes another in the head with the other grip. Spinning away, he unloads taser rounds into three more before he is tackled from behind by the last.

This guy was big.

Red Hood wrestled and twisted around to drive a knee into the man's groin before stepping away. Firing off two rounds, the taser slugs leave him twitching and jerking.

Red Hood realizes he's low on ammo. Down to one pistol going forward. And the night wasn't close to over yet.

Frank Castle has posed:
Punisher thrashes as the electricity hitting his system, but it doesn't put him down yet. He yanks his shoulder hard, making the filament snap on the cord, leaving it impbedded in his flesh as he whirls around.

"Suck lead," Frank barks, bringing up his shotgun and unleashing a blast. Bushwacker dives to the side, firing another round from his handcannon, another dart thudding this time into Frank's leg and starting to fry him with juice.

Lady Vic emerges from the shadows and finally holds up a hand for Bushwacker to stop the juice. She bends down and checks Frank's pulse, "He's alive. THrow him over your shoulder. We're out of here," she says, getting out a phone and beginning to text into it.

Sundance eventually uncovers a red haliburton, covered in grease and tucked underneath an old plastic kiddie pool. Smells like cash to Coyote noses, anyway.

Five minutes later, Cecily will get a text: I'M IN. TIME TO PUT A SQUAD TOGETHER. I'VE GOT A JOB FOR YOU.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily lays low for a few good minutes, needing time for her wound to heal up enough so she can use the crossbow with /less/ pain. Plenty of time for that text to come in. She checks her phone, blinks at it, and then smiles to herself. "Well then," she muses, "...Frank's harder than treated granite, and they're not going to kill him if they want to sell him. Time to call in some friends and favors... speaking of..." her ears perk up. She'd seen the bunny zipping and zooming about. Time to go find Veronique.

    But before she does, she runs into a certain unfriendly face. A recognizable one. With her strength, it's no hard feat cocking and loading the borrowed crossbow, nor is lugging the weight of it. "Wish I could say it was good to see you again," she calls out. "Hear you're going by 'Torque' now? Lot of good folks died because of you, and I sure as hell know you've tried to off me a few times."

Skara Spark has posed:
A glance goes back to Sundance, "Oh I got'em," she replies, and then she points Zethian at the stoic mook that thinks he's being intimidating. "Thinkin' I'm easy you git? I promise you I'm not." And then she proves it by ducking his sucker punch, jumping the sweep after, and then her shield smashes into the side of his skull, resulting in him droping down into a heap.

"Told ya," she growls before jogging after Sundance. "You really pickin' up on it?" she asks, looking around. "And here I thought these idiots wouldn't have been so unoriginal as to put it clear in the back. How boring." Pause. "At least they greased it. Helps with the whole 'hold on to it until the night's over' bit."

Sundance has posed:
Flipping the kiddy pool over, Sundance finds the case, and then gives it a sniff, shaking it a few times to see if it's the right thing, before he very carefully opens the case up. Assuming it doesn't explode in his face, he'll take it and close it back up.

He hops off the pile and skids down next to Sparkblade, "Got it, yeah. Keepin' it is gonna be interesting." He uses the tomahawk to cut the cord he had been using in order to fashion a makeshift sling for the briefcase, "You see any of those weird cyborg dudes around?" He asks Sparkblade, as he starts to head towards the middle of the scrapyard, "C'mon, we better stay on the move if we wanna not get got."

Veronique Lalonde has posed:
Veronique backtracks and is almost bushwacked by some hopeful thugs still determined to ferret out the prize. It's all be avoiding, dodging and peering about as she tries not to get over excited. The fear of getting offed is a deadly kind of intoxicant. The hope of finding the money another kind of zest. But her stomach is starting to hurt and she's giving off heat like a furnace. Perspiration on her skin evaporating almost as quickly as it forms. She comes to a halt by stacks of flattened autos and leans against them, palm against the metal, threatening to peel the old paint. Her chest heaves and she stares around, feeling like a cornered critter.

    "Goddess damn it..." she pouts and cranes her head, sniffing at the air. Something familiar on the wind, that threads through the refuse. So much blood and spilled vicera and other fluids are out there, making her olfactory senses light up and crowd in. But there ~is~ that familiar scent that pierces it and makes her go a bit derp-faced. It's enough to distract her as the lead pipe is pulled over her head and yanked up against her windpipe. The foul breath near the side of her face tells her it's no friend of hers. She garbles out noises of protest before she's grimacing and trying to get her hands up between in and her windpipe to get some oxygen.

Skara Spark has posed:
    "Only at a distance, haven't seen'em close. Only a bunch of a mooks got back this far besides you," Sparkblade points out as Sundance ties the briefcase to himself. Welp that'll counter the grease. "On the move? Sure, but you wanna be open on all four sides?" Granted, that means you can RUN in all four directions, so... hrm." A left over ninja darts up only to get electrocuted when Skara's shield is tapped on his shoulder. "...Oops."