14024/Fifty From Freezing

Fifty From Freezing
Date of Scene:	03 February 2023
Location:	Antarctica
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Hellboy, Jane Foster

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Hellboy has posed:
    The treaded crawler moves easily but carefully across the surface of the ice. Hellboy is wearing his usual outfit, not seeming to be concerned with the cold. The driver, by contrast, is bundled in all the cold-weather gear a man can possibly wrap his body in. The sound of a diesel engine running on biofuel hums as the high-torque treads move the craft at a blistering fifty kph, at best.
    Red impatiently taps the Right Fingers of Doom on his knee, looking out at the endless ice. It's summer in antarctica, so the sun is as up as it gets. Low over the horizon, the glare is minimal from the angle Hellboy is staring. He's in his 70's, but he still seems as impatient as a teenager.

Jane Foster has posed:
For the most part, Antarctica is inhospitable to humans. Even the summer on the polar desert remains markedly chilly and unwelcoming. Between the absolute lack of any shade and the blinding glare glancing off the ice, it's about as dangerous as one can get doing nothing more than standing there and breathing. Albeit Jane isn't technically doing either. She sits in the crawler in a proper coat reinforced against the worst of the summer weather, probably feeling like some kind of penguin. Except they would not be stupid enough to come that way.

"I've always wanted to take readings from the bottom of the world," she admits, ever the scientist and sharp-minded. The tablet reinforced in a thick neoprene cover and other measures to keep it warm and the battery from draining in seconds calibrates their route, and one of Leopold Fitz's DWARFs sits behind her just in case. It's in a nice case to avoid being damaged until released to fly. "No skies as free of light pollution as they are here." That, and the dead, but she doesn't have to explain that.

The passage through places marked by polar explorers barely a century and some ago seem as alien as anywhere, and while Hellboy is impatient, she's more enthusiastic about the whole adventure. Goes with the 'here be monsters and I get to see something new' attitude so many SHIELD scientists get, maybe. Well, that one does.

Hellboy has posed:
    Hellboy regards his colleague curiously. Raising an eyebrow, he considers what she's saying. Of course, he was briefed on her astronomical background, but he looks at her like a jock considering a nerd he's trying to be friendly to. "Yeah?" he asks, clearly not sure what else to say.
    Hellboy's expression becomes a bit relieved as the driver calls back, "I've got to stop here." The crawler coasts slowly to a stop, though it doesn't have much to go to get there. It seems to stop a bit faster than it should. "It's like I'm trying to climb a mountain." Turning to face the other agents, he says, "We're about half a click from the site. I'll maintain position here."
    "Works for me," Hellboy says. He stands, hunched over, and opens the door which slides out and back like the door on a van. Stepping out into the cold, he takes one step on the treads, then hops down onto the ice in a three-point landing. He leaves the door wide open, all the warm air escaping in a moment.

Jane Foster has posed:
The brunette flicks the screen three times before it finally takes, giving another reading against the plotted grid and landscape. The slight variations in the landscape cause her to sway and shift. "Perfect spot for an observatory if you want to point at the night sky for half the year. You'd actually get to work for twenty-four hours. Helps to have that long stretch of clear, dark sky when you're trying to find very faint objects."

She sways and moves with the crawler as it settles into its resting position, though she doesn't unsnap her belt or slither out until everything is completely halted. The solid microcleats on her boots should give her purchase when it comes to hiking through the snow, anyway. "Elevation changes, or the consistency of the ice and the snow differed from the path before?"

The DWARF wakes up to her call, whirring softly as it spins into motion and hovers out of the vehicle, taking readings of the ground and air temperature, humidity, and other traces. The thing has more sensors than it knows what to do with, product of superlative engineering. She slides out moments after Hellboy does, hardly making much of an impression on the world.

And therein is one of the minor tells that all isn't _quite_ right with her. Her breath doesn't steam up quite as much as might be expected, though it does steam some. Neither is she particularly bothered by the biting chill of high summer, wrapped up in all that gear. Her pack comes next, and she thumbs up the driver after closing the door to the crawler. "All right!" It's muffled but clear. "You taking point or am I?"

Hellboy has posed:
    Hellboy scans the horizon with a narrowed gaze. "Something's not right," he says, ignoring her question of point. However, she knew this. That's why they were here in the first place. Moving forward, Hellboy draws the biggest revolver most people would ever see from somewhere in his coat. Aiming it at the ground, he points with the Right Hand of Doom at exactly what should have been expected to be seen fifty years prior: A prefab shelter erected about half a kilometer away. "Not supposed to be anything here." And, in fact, there didn't seem to be as recently as when they had both been inside the crawler.
    Flipping the weapon forward in his Right Hand while depressing the latch, Samaritan opens, allowing Hellboy to dump the standard rounds into his waiting left hand. He reaches loaded hand into his nebulous coat. There's the soft jingling of the rounds being deposited somewhere in those depths. He rummages around as he starts walking toward the site. "Stay behind me," he insists quietly toward Jane.

Jane Foster has posed:
SHIELD comes in when matters are suspicious, and especially transporting people across a hemisphere and two continents. With the resources at hand drawn from the taxpayer, it's only fair to make it worthwhile. The slim brunette crunches her way over the snow, same as anyone else, happy to have someone to break the snow or ice, as it were. She's rather unfazed by the appearance of that large gun, carefully staying behind and to the side. ICERs need a certain temperature to function, after all, and one of those stunguns is inside her coat pocket where a mittened hand can easily extract it.

The DWARF continues to run behind her and up, taking notes and feeding information through black-ops satellites strung around the southern side of the globe, ensuring that if anything awful should happen, at least someone back home gets the data.

"I wouldn't expect any structures out here unless unauthorized or extremely peculiar. Possibly both." Her dark eyes scan the horizon and nearer at hand for the subtle suggestions of movement. At this range, she might be unable to detect the presence of other people in the area, but opening her mind here is safe. The perils of being psychic.

Her lips tighten a little as she guides the DWARF on ahead, scanning for any heat signatures of people. That allows her to slip behind Hellboy and loft the device high in the air too, so it's not going to immediately give them away.

Hellboy has posed:
    There's definitely something out here on the ice with them. At the opening of Jane's mind, the sky goes black, and the ice reflects only starlight. A quick glance back at the crawler finds nothing but snow. As an astronamer, Jane would quickly be able to tell that the stars aren't right. They're not recognizable constellations at all. They look like stars, but they're random points of light. As the location changes, the psychic interference becomes deafening, like microphone feedback directly into one's mind.

Jane Foster has posed:
The glittering shadows dancing around the woman's greater field of reference are immediately recognizable to her as something unnatural, otherworldly references that send a frisson of warning down her spine and a shriek from the most intrinsic, ancient part of the brain that knows the nature of fear.

The flash drags her to mentally hauling her shields up, not nearly as impressive as more seasoned telepaths and in no way on par with the likes of Emma Frost. But it's what she has, even as she trips on her path and forces herself back into trudging. One hand goes to her hood reflexively, as though physical barriers can blot out the pain.

It won't; the perils to an unmoored soul, stripped of the protections of their flesh, are enormously clear even so. "I'm fine," she murmurs, not quite a lie, but the one you tell to carry on.

Hellboy has posed:
    Hellboy stops, watching her. She's fine, though, she says. He looks where the crawler was a moment ago and lets out an, "Mmhmm," as he uses a speed loader to place a new type of rounds in his weapon. Flipping it up, it catches, and he swaps it between hands, ready for anything. Hellboy is clearly NOT psychic, nor is he an astronamer. All he knows is that it, "Sure got dark in a hurry." He pulls a flashlight from his coat with his right hand and just manages to turn it on without breaking it in half. He notes a few shapes in the snow, along with wrecked machinery. There are claw marks tearing through engine blocks inside torn-open machines.

Jane Foster has posed:
So she says, and so Jane intends to be. March on, the soldier's cant. Her thumb curves around the grip of the ICER, preparing it just in case. "Something strong out there, giving off a broad signature." The DWARF meticulously documents what it finds through different spectra, but WAND deals with the /weird/. Why they stuck a world-class astronomer in there is its own business. Hellboy counts as the muscle and the scarier beat, though, and she gives him the leeway to proceed. "Possible metahuman or non-human source, though it's weighing me down enough to try and check." The bleak night sculpted during the endless Antarctic day remains an ongoing concern, one she answers by finding a chemical light stick from her pack and breaking it. Garish green-yellow, it comes to life in a few smart flicks of her wrist. Even here, the chemicals don't particularly enjoy moving. A low sweep checks for anything lurking under the machinery, whether bad or good, and signs of tracks. "Someone had the resources to build this, they're not dealing only in mundane materials. Whatever triggered this might be active or a passive mark, though what it specifically wanted..." Her fingertips tighten a bit. The bracelet on her wrist, an unremarkable chain buried beneath down feathers, wool base layers, and more starts to tighten.

Hellboy has posed:
    Hellboy stops and turns, looking at Jane with that same jock-to-nerd look. There's gotta be some kind of professionalism, but Hellboy clearly doesn't follow. "What?" he asks, clearly just a little impatient or frustrated with his lack of understanding his colleague's words.
    About then, the frozen corpse of one of the lost expedition launches itself from its icy grave. At one point, it was a petite woman in her early thirties. Now, whatever it is has decided to try to bite the demon at the most convenient, nearest spot: His Right Hand of Doom!

Jane Foster has posed:
"Look out for someone with supernatural abilities," Jane doesn't seem that put out, considering she's used to dealing with everyone from operational grunts on their first run to the experts for whom 'metahuman' isn't a sufficient classification and they want granular details down to the plane and hellscape.

Or Underworld domain, which might apply or not.

The violent eruption of a corpse into movement comes in the swathe of greenish light, and she points the neon glowstick low to avoid blinding or upsetting Hellboy. Dropping into a defensive stance comes naturally through long practice, sweeping her surroundings in a semi-circle to test for anything else that wants to take a bite out of them. The dendrotoxins in the ICER may not be the most effective on a frozen zombie or worse, so she doesn't even bother pulling it from her pocket.

Perfectly suitable to reach for a bit of broken metal to use as a makeshift tonfa, as need be, to bash in some teeth,

Hellboy has posed:
    Hellboy has clearly dealt with worse. He turns his arm, grasping at the zombie's midsection. Raising his arm, he lifts the zombie corpsicle up-side down. Tilting his head, he looks at it. While they're warm pajamas, that's all the corpse is wearing. Socks, fingerless gloves, thermal pajama tops and bottoms--it's a rather curious sight. Hellboy then notes the other corpses are getting up. There's about half a dozen in total, including the one he's holding that's trying and failing to gnaw on his arm.
    "Aw, crap," Hellboy says as his shoulders sag slightly. He tosses his zombie at another. "Inside!" he insists. Raising his weapon, he fires, or tries to. As unreliable as Samaritan is in the best of times, in such extreme cold, its parts jam. "Crap!" he repeats, loudly.

Jane Foster has posed:
Having enormous strength certainly helps to deal with a corpse, but nothing like an inflexible metal rod or stick to use the same thing. In some movies of the genre, a humble shovel proves to be the best weapon of all. Of course, those filmmakers usually limit themselves to modern, military-grade weapons that anyone can use. A thorough /thunk!/ when slapped by a metal tie-rod of some sort may be enjoyable, but it's not exactly good for keeping the dead at arm's reach.

"Head for the door and hold," Jane warns. Astronomer of much repute, planning a last stand? Far from it. She tosses the bar to Hellboy if he wants it, freeing her hand except for the light stick. As fast as the dead can move, and it may be quicker than the shambling stereotype suggests, they cannot move at supersonic speeds. Hopefully.

Flash zombies, a terrifying concept.

Presuming no interdimensional wards get in the way, a blocky shape crashes its sinuous way into the brunette's palm in a matter of seconds of her sending out that mental call. If Mjolnir can make it, then it's Jane 1, zombies 0.

Hellboy has posed:
    As soon as Jane sends the call with her outstretched hand, there's a hole formed in a wall. Reports of UFO activity echo down the Atlantic coastline as the mythical hammer accelerates rapidly. However, Hellboy doesn't have time to wait for all that what-not.
    At the door, he says, "You said something psychic." He opens the door, the lock--a sturdy thing, but brittle in the cold and of comparatively frail steel from the 70's--opens for him. "Find the psychic thing. I can handle a few stiffs." Hellboy...was that a pun?

Jane Foster has posed:
Whatever the reason for those readings to cause alarm, SHIELD isn't among them. They know the mark of Thor's favourite weapon and who temporarily holds custody over it in his absence.

Of course, Mjolnir makes its appearance in rapid time as she back tracks to Hellboy, nodding. "Something of that sort. Possibly telepathic, but I don't know yet." She sidesteps to the door as the corpsicles move, still measured and protective of her back. The green light leaks into the chamber beyond, and here's hoping it's not a cliff falling down a crevasse in the ice or she's going to have a fun time climbing out.

Though the tumbling hammer, when it reaches her, enshrines her in steel and protection against the lurking cold.

Hellboy has posed:
    People all down the South American continent are treated to the streak blasting its way overhead. It's moving so fast, sonic booms are almost beneath it to describe the sound. Though, to talk to Thor about it, he'd probably just call it thunder.
    Hellboy leans back to dodge the super-sonic hammer. He feels the burst of power in his form as it makes contact with Jane's waiting hand. "Yeah," he says. "Sure. Just deal with it." His attention turns back to the zombies as they rise from the ground like puppets on invisible hands and swing at him. He takes a scientist to the chest and slams hard into the side of the prefab structure, forming a deep dent into its surface.