16961/Punishment for the wicked

Punishment for the wicked
Date of Scene:	25 January 2024
Location:	The Triskelion: Courtyard
Synopsis:	Moving day for Frank Castle, headed to Rykers island and a group from the PMC Omega attacked the Triskelion. After an initial shock surprise attack, they SHIELD agents organize themselves and push the defenders back. Frank, however, faces off against two masked individuals who leave him wounded, but alive. Whatever happened, it's only the beginning.
Cast of Characters:	Frank Castle, Natasha Romanoff, Lara Croft, Nico Minoru, Lucas Trent, Harper Row, Atrice Duckstein, Lucy Blaze, Tom McCarthy

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Frank Castle has posed:
Two hundred and fifty Million.

That's the word on the streets. Someone in SHIELD got word that this is the bounty on Frank Castle's head. Some unknown benefactor has put together a quarter of a billion dollars to any group capable of bringing down the Punisher and it's drawn every lowlife from here to Madiapoor out of the wood works looking for a quick comeup.

Frank Castle has been held at the Triskelion for the better part of a week awaiting word to transport him to The Raft, most people assuming (with good reason) that even with that high a bounty on his head, nobody would come to collect it at the HQ of SHIELD. Today is moving day, but SHIELD isn't taking any chances. While few people would argue that Frank probably deserves the bed he's made, even fewer are willing to let him get gunned down in the street. Call it altruism or duty... it comes down to simple principle.

Frank is headed into the courtyard in SHIELD provided clothes and a bullet proof vest. Several vans are set up to transport with an expected level of security. His hair is shaggy, starting to gray at the temples, and he's sporting a pretty thick beard that is similarly peppered. Wrists and ankles cuffed. His blue eyes keep moving as she's shuffled along towards one of the various SUVs designated to transport him. "Keep it moving, Castle." Douglas, the button man that's mostly a wall of muscle says while he walks along beside the vigilante. "We've got places to be."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Taking in the Punisher will be a nightmare. That only starts when he's incarcerated at Ryker's. But SHIELD's responsibility is just to get him there. After that, it's up to Ryker's to keep him there and prevent anything. Natasha Romanova is a pragmatist. Dealing with a high collateral nightmare like Castle with a quarter billion bounty on his head brings out her most paranoid aspects. They've done the best that they can do to get ready and Natasha has.. Incentivized the entire group gonig along to take as much weaponry as they can with them, and hopefully for whomever is in charge of the convoy to have multiple levels of communication when the worst happens.

Natasha is along on an older combat motorcycle that seems to be heavily rusted and far bulkier than the more streamlined version that agents use. The bike is heavily reinforced and has a large number of armored plates segmented over it. Natasha herself is loaded as much as she can justify for this level of escort.

Lara Croft has posed:
Considering Lara was the person who brought Frank in to SHIELD custody, she felt a obligation to be here. She'd wanted a chance to talk to Frank, after he was cleared from medical, but she'd not gotten that chance for a variety of reasons. Never the less, the British SHIELD 'acquisitions expert' was here on-site today for the transfer. It is a rare occasion for Croft to go 'full SHIELD uniform' but such is the case today, wearing a dark navy blue jumpsuit fit to her form, with a SHIELD patch on one shoulder, and a WAND patch on the other, Lara is strapped up with a side arm on her right thigh, and her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She's been instructed to keep her distance from Frank, but is still there to help escort him, quietly keeping her thoughts to herself as she manuevers the situation.

Nico Minoru has posed:
Training. Things keep on happening so that's what Nico is off doing. Way over yonder in the training area, she's just doing her thing. Sure, she knows that the Punisher is off getting transported today, but he rejected the offer for Stormwatch. So for now, she's just doing her thing, minding her business as she works out, doing some fisticuffs in the WAND provided uniform.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent works best in the shadows and that's where he is today. He has nothing against Frank Castle - man does good work as far as Midnighter's concerned. All the more reason to make sure somebody doesn't take the man's head today. He puts in his mouthguard - he'll regenerate teeth, but why not protect them? Plus it's jet black and says DIE DIE DIE in crimson on the front. He does like to have fun.

He's creeping about but he won't distract anybody. He won't be noticed unless he wants to be.

And then it's too late.

Harper Row has posed:
A girl from Gotham is making noise within Triskelion. She's come seeking to, as she puts it, 'tap a source before he's beyond reach'. She's come in costume, one of the Birds of Prey that goes by the handle 'Bluebird'. For what its worth, she's trying at least putting in an effort to protect her identity until forced. Which might be hindering her getting the red carpet treatment or a stoney expression. This place probably is harder to impress than your local Cop Shop.

She mutters, while striving for that Visitor's badge, about how so much depends on a little cooperation. A little mutual scratching of backs. A little tickling of juridictions. She hasn't tried to bribe anyone, but she's starting to get desperate on catching a glimpse of Mr. Bounty. Heck, at that price, it might make anyone think or entertain thoughts just for a second.

Harper's mouth moves a mile a minute, and even takes the time to masticate some bubblegum. She's been kept on the periphery, not having the clearance to mosey about the place. Going up on her insteps to try and peer over towards the transfer. "Jesus, this is a lot of bubblewrap. Not taking any chances, eh?" This commented to anyone within earshot while she is finally realizing there's no way to pause this trip. She's making too little, too late of an effort to try and get to visit.

Atrice Duckstein has posed:
Ducky was coming back from having to go do Mortician stuff. Which is what everyone wants to be doing. Thankfully there wasn't a whole lot of dirty looks from the security guards given she went in the way that was not the front of the building. She gives a look out the doors and then back. Everyone was probably stopping to watch Frank get walked out the front, lets be honest. Her mismatched gaze looks pensive for a moment, but she relaxes given the surroundings.

Lucy Blaze has posed:
SHIELD personnel are thick on the ground. Not often they call in Wildstorm but when the superiors do, it almost surely means violence.

Like Lucas, Lucy Blaze is not visible. All those people waiting at professional attention could conceal the Coda assassin. SHIELD uniforms and hats make them rather difficult to distinguish from one another at a distance. Fashion choices as a great social leveler equally assist her as she waits opposite her teammate.

Her trademark weapons are at arm's reach if she needs them. Additional necessities too, as the government didn't exactly ask for a wetworks squad--but that's technically what they have.

Nothing to see, between the illusory veil and her uncanny skill for standing perfectly still waiting on one Mr. Frank Castle. Professionally she might smile at his count. Private opinions don't matter.

Frank Castle has posed:
Despite being cuffed and escorted by a few dozen armed SHIELD Agents, Frank manages to look like he's leading the show. It's something in the way he carries himself, maybe? For those who have never seen him in person, the pictures they show never quite do justice because he's not a small man. Muscular, intense, full of personality as he's shuffled forward with a controlled grace despite his shackles.

The Duty Chief that's incharge of this transfer calls out assignments over the SHIELD comms, lets people know their places in the convoy, what the rules of engagement are. They're passing through New York City proper to Rykers. And those rules are pretty straightforward: Don't fire until fired upon. Once fired upon, win.

It's just like Frank's dad use to say, Don't throw the first punch, throw the last one.

When he passes Lara, one of many faces, he casts a glance over at her, but doesn't say anything. Hell, he looks at a lot of people, but then he keeps sweeping. If he knows about the bounty, or how much it is, he's probably as keyed up as everyone else. He's just not inclined to show it. Just wait for the shoe to drop.

The shoe always drops.

And when it drops?

It really really drops.

See, there's all kinds of Private Military Groups. One of them has a SHIELD dossier a mile long. Called Omega, they are known terrorists for hire and they employ everything from retired military (of every country) and metahuman/mutants. If there's a skillset they need for an op, Omega's shadowy leadership will reach out with life changing amounts of money...

And that's how one of the most dangerous privately funded quick action groups comes into being.

That's how a relatively calm day becomes chaotic in the span of a few seconds.

It starts with a feeling of static running up everyone's spine... the kind someone gets right before they zap themselves touching a door knob. Then there's electricity visibly jumping across power conduits. The flood lights burning into the court yard suddenly go off, and the whole area is temporarily bathed in darkness before emergency power is restored.

Nobody would be stupid enough to attack the Triskelion, right?

Well Omega is.

Where there was nothing, now there are many someone's. All of them wearing solid black combat rigs carrying high end military hardware. The shadows literally bend around them like it's spitting them out, teleported through the darkness into the courtyard at the far sides of the courtyard. The convoy hadn't even gotten underway and already there's gunfire everywhere.

First shot hits Douglas, poor sweet Douglas, who moved up towards Frank when the lights flicker. It kills him quickly, but the shot was definitely not meant for him. While Frank is ducking down and rolling towards one of the SUVs.

The second shot hits the duty chief in the front SUV. A sniper round right through the windshield.

Destablization through taking out command.

It's what Frank would do.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
The sirens go off, announcing the Triskelion is under attack and for all personnel to get to cover and ready to engage attackers. Natasha is caught surprised for half a second. That's half a second too long. A determined frontal attack on the Triskelion was not something she had given a high probability to prepare for. Few other than Hydra have ever dared. She goes to switch to analogue communications a moment later and line of sight tightbeam, expecting everything is going to be jammed. And then it's time to pay the price in blood.

Mostly their's. Hopefully.

Natasha goes to rev up the throttle of her bike, going to charge towards the nearest group of attackers as the bike goes to accelerate to seventy, eighty, a hundred, then a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour. Machine gun fire and small micro-missiles go to blast towards her on approach. At the flick of a button along her system, the armored plates along the front of the bike extend and lock in, giving her sufficient protection from the heavy fire coming her way as she races in towards the nearest targets. As she goes to make her way into the group, heavier blasts come her way - they're setting up a small anti-vehicle cannon that will kill her from a near miss.

So she accelerates, going faster and faster. A hundred and fifty, a hundred and eighty kilometers an hour. A toggle hit along the console once more, and from the sides of the front wheel spin out a pair of sawlbades as she simply drives right through the first layer of opposition.

Lara Croft has posed:
Prior to the transfer situation, Lara had been in the WAND offices, talking to a pair of the WAND upper level management types. She'd explained to them why she'd brought him in. They'd joked that she was a relic hunter, afterall, and that Frank was a relic of his time, so it only made sense. Lara hadn't really been amused by that.

In the now, she's amongst the escorts along either sides of Frank when the proverbial shit hits the imaginary fan. Like everyone, reactions fall out like dominos. Lara ducks, shifting for cover beside one of the vehicles next to the SUV where the driver takes a round through the windshield. Her weapon is drawn out, her hands clutching the grip of the handgun, as she peers over the cover of the car's hood. Everyone is shouting now, everyone is trying to make sense of the chaos, while Lara simply looks over to Frank.

She doesn't say anything to him over the fifteen or so feet between them, but THIS is why she'd brought him in. If she'd taken him to a normal hospital...

Lara sweeps herself around behind two of the other SHIELD officers behind her, as she moves behind the car's trunk, rapidly popping the trunk open to grab a rifle out of the case that had been put in the back of the vehicle...

Nico Minoru has posed:
"~Cause I'm too spicy for your heart (ring the alarm!)~"

It was getting to the chorus of the song she's such a fan off when the alarm goes at the exact same time. Coincidence? Perhaps, but either way, there's a soft grumble under her breath she mutters something (most likely to her WAND superiors) to see what's going on.

After briefly getting the sit-rep, she takes in a long and deep breath. Remembering her lessons over the past month, she pulls out a small knife and slices into her fleshy palm (as opposed to the metallic prosthetic), letting blood drip to the ground.

As she blood falls down, a swirling dark purple vortex opens up, and a certain Nico Minoru jumps into the void...

Only to end up in the middle of the battle with Omega and the agents of SHIELD. Now, with the Staff of One in hand, it seems the budding WAND agent takes a quick look around and nosescrunches for a few moments.

"Always bringing guns to a magic fight..." she says, seeming to prepare a spell that would hopefully put the Konami code amongst the various SHIELD combatants.

But unlike before where she took the terrorists by surprise with her magic skills, they brought along the perfect anti-mage; another mage.

Before she could finish the spell, a dark green energy beam strikes her square in the chest, sending her back into a wall. If it wasn't for the timing of a protective shield spell (get it?), she'd probably be knocked out. Instead, she takes a few moments to regain her wits about her to look for the other magus, cause it'd be too easy if she could just magic everything, right?

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent breaks into a sprint the second he feels the tingle in the air. His nanotech responds rapidly, shielding just enough in time to damage to his tactical core, but for a moment there, just a moment, his sprint breaks and he stumbles to the ground for a moment. If his security survival tech hadn't initiated a shield there, he might've been in very big trouble.

But he's not. He's up and he's alive and he's very fucking angry.

So he's up again, running, moving as fast as a muscle car cutting through traffic, zig-zagging around obstacles until he can take quick sprint up the hood of a fan, lowering his shoulder as he goes along the top of the van and then literally hurling himself bodily like a cannonball into the gathering horde of mercenary scum.

Midnighter gives a whoop of joy. Time to ruin some lives.

Harper Row has posed:
Whatever Bluebird had on her Bingo card for today, this wasn't it. Bureaucratic bunkers and rigid red-tape yes, but not this. The sounds of the calibres being used enter in through ear protection of her costume, her HUD helpfully telling her how deep everyone is in it.

Her optics have a challenging time identifying the bad guys initially, which is thrilling and terrifying. There's money and tech being used that's gotta be respected. And if they're para-military, there's nothing quite so dangerous. She'd be more comfortable with crimelords.

Bluebird settles on a strobing visual pattern to cut through the muzzle flashes and shadow, making the chaos drape itself in a disco-ball techno-spazzy Matrix demo for her eyes only. Marking optimal targets while her hands go to her utility belt. Her SMG spring-pop'n-locks into one hand, and the other is selecting smoke. A duo of the metal ovals donk on past the SUV to produce a screening cloud to make at least one facet, one slice of the battle harder to sight Frank and his escort. Sort of like if Frank was about to jump in a chopper out of a DMZ from decades ago.

Harper slaps her portable railgun with her free hand after her party favours are cast in that big overhand. The weapon activates and charges coils, sounding like a cross between a dust-buster and a hedge trimmer. She doesn't wait for a full spin as a couple Omega's are advancing with the deadly confidence that speaks of a well-paid mission objective. Bluebird spatters them with a series of electric rounds, making electric-spark ricochettes before finding an uninsulated section to volt 'em up. "Get some!"

Atrice Duckstein has posed:
Ducky had a bad feeling. Most high bounty folks that go out front doors at places tend to not do well. And well Frank was a vigilante she didn't wish anyone dead. She had too much experience with that subject. The lights flicker and she frowns, "If you aren't wanting to get shot or do any shooting I suggest you get to a safer place." she tells those standing next to her. Gunshots meant paperwork.

And this was going to be A LOT of paperwork!

Lucy Blaze has posed:
A century with her senses scraped over the magical coals and Lucy never forgets the teeth-grating sensation of space tearing for translocation spells. She does not bodily turn from her position, poised like a snow leopard waiting for her chance to ambush the prey.

Her gloved hand twitches at her side. A counterspell blunts the portal, not stopping it but forcing the spellcaster to exert much more energy to find a weak point to exploit. By then her reflexes come into play, stepping forward, sideways, darting ahead to close the difference.

Drawing the knife tucked into the top of her boot, she gets close to the black-clad figure emerging with gun already blazing. The fight should be an unfair one; nothing like a bullet to end someone's day. But she flows to the side unresisting and comes in at an angle, waiting for the arm to rise to slam the blade home under the exposed cuff of the body armour and sleeve. Putting her whole weight into the deadly embrace that wrests the human shield aside on the fulcrum of his own centre of gravity opens the first mark in a choreographed assault.

Chaos for many. For her, old and familiar steps in a dance.

The knife pulls out, blood streaming after it. Exchanged into her left hand where it gives a guard against another mercenary closing to fight with a non-descript agent, and the free grip gives her rein to draw up her pistol and take aim squarely at the chest. Bullets that leave the chamber in a halcyon chatter glow a faint, fell red if anyone bothers to trace their trajectories. The impacts that come are much more telling: hollow-point eruptions that crackle with bright plasma.

So many fireworks to dazzle those in closest proximity not expecting the sprays that glowing light bring instead of blood. Another mercenary steps in to clock her shoulder, pushing her around to face him. Zannah of Khera does not smile when she reaps. Clockwork precision in every deliberated strike.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank is in a crouch against the cover side of the van where Lara is digging for a rifle out the back. Rather than shout at her, he lifts his hands with the palms up. It's not really a question. If he's going to die in a courtyard, he'd obviously rather it be fighting than chained up like a dog in the yard. They are here for him, afterall.

Whatever her response would have been will have to wait.

Everyone is engaged.

There's no telling exactly how much personele Omega has at their disposal, but by the looks of things in the courtyard, they're throwing it all out there. Even if $250 million isn't that large a sum of money for them (It's a lot of money), the acclaim of killing the Punisher IN SHIELD custody? Well, that's worth it's weight in gold.

Omega's organization is far too controlled and tight for them to be using standard communications. With Mages visible on the field, similarly dressed in black, it's a safe assumption that at least one or more of them are telepaths that have linked the whole group together like a honey comb. These aren't Xavier Students, though. They're not as well trained as even the basic level mutant from that school... which means they'll have to concentrate. Which means they'll be easy to spot if someone knows what they're looking for.

Nat stops an anti-vehicle from being deployed and Lucas is cannonballing into the middle of another group of mercenaries carrying some kind of compact laser weapon... kind of looks like Stark Tech... or knockoff versions there of.

Now, Frank would very much like to be free of his chains for this and who really knows what Lara would have said if she'd been given a chance to answer his silent demand to be uncuffed? From out of, literally, nowhere a trio of figures in black body armor erupts from a black portal above his SUV. There were more coming, but Lucy's counterspell closes down that portal, only for another to open up further away as the mage finds a gap in the defenses.

The first rolls off the back of the SUV towards Lara, the other two head straight for the handcuffed Castle. Leveling assault rifles, fully expecting him to be an easy target in his current situational confinement. All those stories about him have to be just that, right? Stories? They are gambling... and it doesn't pay off for them. His hands go up, in so much as they're able, "I'm worth more alive." He bluffs, one of them is too young to know better and gets close before the older of the pair can stop him.

Close enough that the chains binding his wrists are looped up and around the younger attackers throat. Frank has his head bowed forward, pressing into the man's chest so his entire body is protected by whatever body armor he's wearing from his cohort behind him. A couple seconds, enough time to snap the man's neck with a ruthless twist of his wrists, uncoil his arms, and roll over top of him, and hurl a knife from the Omega attackers belt into his compatriots chest.

And that's how Frank Castle got an assault rifle.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
They can't guarantee communications. While tightbeam may work, all it takes to break it is for someone to lose their commpiece and it be picked up and listened to. Automatic systems can only do so much to keep things rotating even if they can keep an open channel. They can't be relied on now that the fight has started. Everyone will have to fight in their own little clusters until they can manage to get a perimeter formed. There's plenty of wheat around.. Time to try and separate it from the chaff.

She'll have to improvise a scythe. Another flicked button, and the buzzsaws snap down over to the front of the bike, forming a set of ram-blades. She goes to race her way towards one of the nearest figures in power armor. Another flicked toggle has a system warming up on the bicycle.. But she's spotted in her approach, and a pulse-blaster scythes past her, through one of the nearby buildings, and through the armored wall. She can only rapidly wheel the bike around as more energy blasts would strafe at her. The armor is too heavily reinforced for the weapons she has on her to break and the middle of a firefight is not the best time to be scoping for weak points. And stealth is not an option.

Natasha keeps her bike going in circles, now at a hundred and eighty kilometers an hour, drawing fire from the powered armor unit, trying to draw it away from the fight so that it can't support the rest of the attack. With it chasing her, she switches things up. Another switch toggled.

From the motorcycle, an unseen monofilament wire is deployed. It would snap through the air like a lasso, ending along the side of the power armor. Then she's racing around it at high speed, cinching it tight as wire only a few molecules think goes to slowly splice through the armor! Hitting two hundred kilometers an hour, she goes to drive around until the wire runs out of spool, and it's dropped from the bike.

Leaving a slashed up carcass behind.

Lara Croft has posed:
First thing out of that trunk for Lara was a bit of body armor. She had it pulled around her torso, and secured around her waist when she caught Frank's pleading gesture for having his bindings removed. Two rifles were pulled from the back of the trunk as well, one slung over her shoulder, while the second... a larger cannister launcher, was held at her side. She was in the process of moving toward Frank when that figure came over the vehicle toward her. If the young woman hadn't had enough trauma in her life already, having yet another figure rushing toward her with murderous intent was surely just what her mental state needed in life, but she responded to it in kind. the cannister launcher came, up, Lara had it ready and the trigger pulled in a matter of a second. The gun 'thoomped' loudly, firing a bursting cannister of gas right in to the masked face of her attacker. Hitting him with tremendous force, she knocked him on his ass before she swept over to join Frank at his side.

"This is why I brought you in. This kind of force coming for you could not otherwise be stopped, unless it was here." She told him as she quickly worked his bindings open. "It was this, or certain death." She explained, before she saw him armed, and already doing what he does. Punishing.

Lara spins around in the opposite direction then, firing off several more cannister from her heavy rifle before she tosses it aside.

The cannister spread out, bursting with flash and smoke, bang and boom, having lobbed them at some of the Omega foes still moving in on the scattered SHIELD personnel.

Tom McCarthy has posed:
There wasn't a day working for SHIELD when alarms did not get sounded. It was almost a running joke among some of the agents. WAND was a bit of the same, but with more odd causes for klaxons. In any case, Tom got wind of the attack during the transport of Frank Castle.

They picked a hell of a target, right?

<<Arriving in a breath or two.>> Digitabulum intones in Tom's mind.

"Thanks, drop me near the back of the attackers, yeah?" He spoke back to the entity.

Swooping in, adorned in the arcane Witchblade-esque armor, Tom crashes into one of the overly-focused Telepaths. Blasts of arcane power stun and knock the telepath into unconciousness, with Tom rolling to his feet and looking for the next target. "Do we have a plan?" He calls over SHIELD comms.

Nico Minoru has posed:
Nico Minoru is most certainly a powerful witch, if only because of the Staff of One. However, her training demands that she doesn't rely on the powerful artifact, which for some reason, she is adhering to that restriction in the heat of battle.

That leaves the budding agent of WAND completely humbled by the more experienced magician that Omega has hired. Once more, the young Japanese girl is struck with a green energy beam seemingly from nowhere, the only indication is that there's a haughty laugh of someone taking clear pleasure in humbling the girl.

Harper Row has posed:
The sheer amount of crazy stimuli is partially kept at bay by her tech-filters, but being in the thick of it is still a lot. She can only chew on her portion of this crap sandwich while others nibble or chomp on theirs. Stuff is happening that's defying physics, both friend and foe, pulling stuff out of their toyboxes that she can't grok. What she can't understand raises her hackles.

When the shadows disgorge another wave, repositioned or reinforcement, the crosshairs that flicker over the exterior of her goggles seem to seek those out with a bit more bias. The trigger under her finger feels less resistance. She can tell herself she's just making sure by spraying rather than doing snap shots. They might not kill, but they will hurt and will incapacitate.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent lets the combat engine kick into gear, going into autopilot. It's not that he's not in control, he's just not thinking. Telepathy wouldn't even predict his movements, because there is no thought, just motion, just action, cutting out the middleman from impulse to execution. It means he moves fast, faster than a human could even imagine. He drives his foot into the spine of one Omega merc, pinning him to the ground like a butterfly in the collection. Another he backhands, shattering the motorcycle helmet he wears, some sort of gimmicky virtual reality rig. Trash. Midnighter turns and curbstomps the bastard. Overpaid wannabe.

The engine can also read the patterns of all the bodies around him - it's hard, with this much chaos, even for him, but it finds the hum, the melody of the battle song. Enough that he can start to mark the likely locations of the psychics directing traffic, reading the flow of combat back to the source, vectoring in observational possibilities.

He crackles onto SHIELD comms. "Agent Lucas Trent - viable targets at the following marks," he says, offering up vector coordinates. If Frank overhears, he'll probably recognize it as old marine sniper speak. Semper Fi.

CRUNCH.

He drives his forehead hard enough to cave in the face of another merc, leaving his face coated in a crimson mask of blood. He spits some of it out of his mouth and snarls.

"All these witches taking away my fun."

Atrice Duckstein has posed:
Ducky's moving outside now, into the thick of things, "Oh if I die just make sure the library is safe." she whispers to no one in particular. The ghost that is following her is just nodding, "Noted." he states in an unamused English accent. She just gives him a shrug, "You'll do fine out there. Someone else can bring you lots and lots of stuff to read. Probably." she states as she pulls out her SHIELD issued gun and takes a shot at one of the bad guys. It's a hit, but she is DEFINITELY not one of the best shooters here. Nor sorceror.

She's just Ducky.

Lucy Blaze has posed:
Offal hitting a spinning blade makes short work of most plans. Training substitutes for the absence of shouted instructions or clearly communicated orders. Gestures here would be lost on most of the agents unfamiliar with Zannah's hand-signs anyway. She does not bother with it. Occasional short, quick commands given to SHIELD agents within arm's reach have to be enough. "Drop." Or "Your left." Perfunctory action verbs for them to take to get out of the way and let her squeeze off a quick shot into a mercenary's belly, another's leg when he gets to cover behind a van.

Perforations in the waves closing on their high-value target mark her advance as the woman wheels around and takes aim at her choice of targets. The closest may not be it. She ducks an extended punch and bulls through a gap between two cars, sliding along the bumper and dumped into a crouch for the needed second to calculate her next approach after one of the mages. People standing still in a melee make for excellent targets. Smoke released adds an obscuring layer she takes advantage of. The knife mired in gore sporadically sees use, slashing a path forward for her to neatly exploit into a dash. Dropping into a crouch among the thick of it.

Breathless poise unleashes the silent reaping, absent a scythe. Coordinates related from the Midnighter bring that rare smile to her mouth for a moment. She comes up, blade pulled from the cradle on her back comes free in a song, invisibility veil dissipated. Useless without enhanced vision at the speeds her iaijutsu-like draw moves. Her mark might detect the intent, but stopping the forged blade from cutting through any armour is probably next to hopeless. Slash. Withdraw. Slash again, one with the traffic.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank, still shackled, but armed, slides backwards along the side of the SUV to Douglas laying bleeding on the ground. Kneeling beside him, he reaches down to close the mans eyes with a hand sliding over the lids and takes the tactical radio out from behind his ear and slips it over his own ear, linking him into the tightbeam SHIELD comms. Just in time to start picking up Lucas' marks.

Viable targets indeed.

First things first. "Makes sense." He says to Lara, peering up and over the top of the SUVs hood. "Would have saved everyone a lot of bullets if you took me to a street doctor." He's not going to split hairs, "I could be out there killing whoever put the bounty on me." Okay, maybe he'll split a few hairs. Regardless, anger isn't directed at her.

He is definitely charging his angry lasers though.

Pointing the beam of compact laser weapon he'd procured at the chains around his ankles. A tight beam cuts through the metal and frees him for better mobility and weakens the wrist restraints enough that twisting them at the right angle snaps the metal links binding his wrists.

That's how Frank Castle got out of his shackles.

The rifle slings into his shoulder and tracks. A hovering target above the combat caught in his crosshairs. It's one of the targets Lucas' called out and with the squeeze of the trigger, there's a hiss from SHIELD comms as one of the people jamming the electric signal fall to the courtyard like an angel with it's wings clipped. Rather than celebrate, Frank pulls open the passanger side door to the SUV and crawls in, using the driver side as cover to get behind the wheel.

Is he really considering bailing?

Would you blame him?

It isn't until the SUV swings around, "Get in." He says to Lara, pointing towards a group of SHIELD agents trying to set up some kind of a defensive position. <<"Concentrate defenses closer to the Triskelion. Defensive line, use your mages to create antimagic barriers to keep them from teleporting in behind us.">> He's not usually a team player.

Enemy of my enemy is my ally, right?

Once Lara loads up, the SUV crosses the field under fire, the bullet proof glass soaking up most of the imacts until the back end whirls around to provide a barrier. <<"Form those SUVs up for physical barriers and use them for cover. And someone take out the god damn fliers... that's their command.">>

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Communication can get through. So as Castle gives his orders, Natasha doesn't bother to countermand them. Someone higher up on the command chain can call it. She doesn't bother to respond, even as she goes to move towards the next line of threats, energy blasts and heavy weapons fire going her way. It forces her to go evasive as she's on the approach, a bullet spiking through the reinforced armor plating of the motorcycle. Clean through and with sufficient concussive force from the impact to twist the bike and flip it over like a child's toy! It's all that Natasha can do to tuck in and twist off of it as it goes to crumble upon impact with the ground, reinforced frame shattering like a sledgehammer taken to a glass statue! She braces herself hard from the landing, twisting and curling her legs and arms up underneath her to cushion the blow as she would roll. Upon several meters, she's twisting up to her feet as another blast goes off to the side of her, missing by centimeters. Automatic weapons fire, a small micro-missile, the occasional energy burst.. Natasha can just throw down a series of smoke bombs to give herself some concealment.. And then of all things a small pod of chaff detonating in aluminum-like ribbons around her with flashing lights to throw off another pair of micro-missiles about her, as they would detonate about where she was.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara launches her last smoke cannister, leaving the perimeter of the battle zone covered in hazey white plumes of shifting smoke. She pulls the strap of the second rifle off of her shoulder, as she drops the heavier cannister weapon off to the side. Raising up the new weapon, leaned up against the vehicle to her left, Lara starts unleashing volleys of rapid bullet fire toward those emergy from the smokey haze. What would her therapist say if he saw her like this, after having told her repeatedly to seek out non-adrenaline outlets for the benefit of her mental state!

She'd taken her eyes off Frank long enough for the man to get inside the armored SUV, and prepare it for motion. It was his words calling out to her, that drew her eyes back toward him, and with a rush back to her feet, Lara continued to lay down suppressive fire as she backed up toward the SUV. The barrel of her rifle bloomed with sparks, bullet after bullet shot out upon the Omega soldiers!

She leaped backward in to the seat of the vehicle, dropping the spent magazine from her gun before she slapped a replacement in to the ammunition well, her door slammed shut as she sent a wild eyed look toward Frank.

"And I thought I had made powerful enemies in life..." She says toward him in an exasperated tone of her British accented English.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent kicks a guy's leg out from his...leg. It splits at the knee, the lower half flying end over end into the air like a punted football. Three points.

A cyber-soldier with some sort of bullshit buzzsaw hand dives in to try to take a few swipes at Trent. Maybe he wants to prove himself - Midnighter's got a rep in these kind of circles, he's been a ghost picking off their young, a monster in the dark around the edges of the pridelands where they hunt.

Buzzsaw ends up getting his blade stuffed where the sun don't ever shine. It's gory and flagrant and frankly would best not be described in detail. But yikes.

He figures Punisher will probably try to escape. Lucas certainly would.

"Welcome back to the fight, brother. Make 'em bleed," he says in the comms. What're they gonna do, fine him? They're welcome to try.

In the meantime, he's got mercenary by the hair and is casually banging her skull off the side of one of the SHIELD SUVs, to the point that they're just kind of dangling where he's gripping the back of her neck.

Tom McCarthy has posed:
Air targets - right. Tom nods to the comm, out of instinct. Leaping up into the air, he arcs towards the nearest enemy aloft. Even while on the path to his target, more arcane blasts are launched towards one of the command units. They weren't entirely unprepared, with the Omega operative dodging and flitting back and forth before taking aim at Tom.

Laser blasts are deflected, the Digitabulum armor shifting to protect it's bearer - moving smoothly over his body to do so.

"They seem to not be friendly..." He chirps over comms. "All this for Castle? They brought out some heavy guns."

Even so, he barrels into the flyer - smashing the both of them to the ground. Wicked spines and curved blades start working over the downed Omegan - tearing at him in short order.

Atrice Duckstein has posed:
Ducky's split attention is probably not the best thing. She looks up to the armored...Tom? "Oh that's what the armor looks like." she whispers to herself. That means that luck has run out for the not getting shot part. She is wearing a vest, given the day that was going down. But they manage to shoot her in the arm and that causes her to drop down behind cover for a moment.

Her eyes go black for a moment as she curls a bloody hand into a fist and lets out a shout as she rises, aiming some horrific sounding ball of green...something? at the Omega agents. Oops. Someone pissed Ducky off.

Lucy Blaze has posed:
Two hundred fifty million dollars. Tally up the mercenaries falling like dried corn or wheat, divide by ten. Omega still makes a handsome profit after going into the red.

SHIELD pays dearly for their advances, Kevlar vests and ceramic body armor doing their small part to pare down Omega's dividends. Bulletproof doors and reinforced glass provide the lion's share of protection, becoming the barded warhorse and the knightly shield to defenders called by their liege lord Fury's demands. Time cares for neither side who petitions its favour in the reload of automatic weapons or prayers on the balaclava-couched lips.

Muzzle flash and mute sirens flash in thick smoke that renders enemies and acquaintances mere silhouettes. Zannah surges forward to meet a heavier-armed mercenary levying his H&K MP5, explosive momentum bringing round the sword around in a narrow circle that would be absolutely absurd under another condition.

Tempered metal inscribes its vindication against the snubbed muzzle, splitting metal neatly in half. His partner turns and slams the butt of the gun into Zannah's throat, or would, but fingers gripping the gun split with another back-slash on the blade. She lashes out at the other woman with a standing kick that should have none of the power behind it that she musters, opening enough space to stab.

Battle is her scripture, her instrument the sword played to a physical Beethoven sonata. A half-turn sends the man flying into one of the SUVs, hard enough for the driver to accelerate to roll over another body.

Taking stock of the scenario for "flyers" means adjusting on the run, and calling, "Target!" A shaky roll of the dice invites her wearing a bullseye or recalculating to strike the psychics.

Frank Castle has posed:
"This is why I don't leave anyone alive." Frank says to Lara about his powerful enemies as he's driving defensively, leaning down in the seat behind a windshield that's getting peppered with automatic fire. When the SUV comes to a stop near the quickly errecting defensive position nearer the building, the driver door swings open to let him drop down and out, moving towards the front side of the hood. Until SHIELD takes control of the situation, someone from command stepping up, there's a bunch of junior agents in a pitched battle against a very aggressive, very well armed, and very organized force... and they've got Frank Castle.

Say what you want about his morals, he's battle proven.

So they're listening when he speaks. "You." He points at someone coming out with a very impressive looking heavy weapon, "Set that up between those two SUVs. You-" Pointing at someone with an assault rifle, "You watch his six. Listen to comms, someone out there is giving priority targets. Kill them." Or don't, live your truth.

Frank has cast the die, himself. They're here to kill him... He follows the good advice of Malcolm Reynolds:

    If someone tries to kill you, you kill them right back

He takes up a position near some of the Agents laying down fire on the Omega attackers near where Natasha went down and gets them working together. Bringing them out of the chaos of the initial surprise attack into the SHIELD trained unit that he seems to know they can be.

Firing three round bursts, he drops one of the attackers barrelling into the screen created by Natasha's smoke grenades. They all hit center mass, knocking him off his feet.. then another. Then another. Left, right.. slightly left. He's giving Natasha cover for her retreat.

When the gun runs dry, he tosses it aside and snatches Lara's pistol out of her holster a second before sliding across the hood of the SUV to wade into the heat of shit where the fighting is. He advances behind the pistol, held up tight to his chest as he disappears into the fog created by Lara's cannister smoke. The flash of the pistol, extending it out as he nears a group of Omega attackers. One shot in the knee, one shot in the chest, his free hand grabs the man around the back of his neck and holds him against the barrel pressed into his chest armor. Advancing under cover of body towards another attacker, he kicks the man's abdomen with one foot, weight on his other leg, and sends him hurtling at his friend.

Pistol extends, shooting them both in the face, pop pop. Controlled. He hits the release on the magazine and sends it flying with a jerk of his wrist. Another mag snaps into place and he's moving, bleeding from a shoulder wound he neither remembers receiving, nor registers.

A spectre of death in the fog of war.

With every flyer taken out, comms become clearer. Moreover, the organization of the Omega soldiers starts to crumble. The telepath Tom just took down one of the primary command is clearly sending the attackers on the defensive... some of them are starting to pull back. The portals imerging to provide clear lines of retreat now that SHIELD is organizing and their own command is breaking down.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha uses the cover shots from Frank to disengage. Another series of chaff cannisters would be flipped by her, blanketing a dozen meters or so and throwing off any further micro-missiles. Now she has the opportunity to fall back and get to some cover. She's moving to fire off a grapple line at this point, launching herself up high, towards one of the battered towers of the Triskelion. Up about twenty five meters in the air, wtih a clear view of the courtyard.. Now it's time to assess the situation. up this high, she takes her vantage point and starts calling in the enemy through the comms.

She gives quick status updates, target positions, and the best she can to try and coordinate the various groups deployed. She's taking out a sniper rifle and rapidly assembling it, but rather than firing it she's using the scope to get a better optic upon the circumstance. They can all fight. What she can do to best aid is act as spotter.

Lara Croft has posed:
Once their SUV is joined with the rest creating the barricade, Lara is exiting the vehicle in the wake of Frank. She exits through his door, putting her back up to the heavily armored vehicle as she primes her rifle. She's right there astride of the Punisher, as he does what he does best. She's no soldier, she's a survivalist. Trained by a special forces veteran, sure, but Lara's experience in this sort of thing far more commonly rquires her to be much more stealthy than this situation permits...

Her own rifle is being fired in short bursts, as Frank claims her sidearm, which garners a moments glance from the British noblewoman. She smirks.

As the team advances, Lara keeps her rifle up and positioned butt-flat against her right shoulder, making sure her body is square to the weapon, as she fires upon some of the fleeing bodies.

"Let them go!" She calls out. "Let them know how much of a mistake this was..." She says, venom in the tone of her voice.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent can feel the tide. It never really had to turn, the wave never overcame them. Not surprising. Yeah, Omega's good, but this is SHIELD. The elite of the elite. The motherfucking professionals, not work for hire jabroni-ass mercs. Even when he was on the outside, Midnighter never considered himself a merc. He didn't fight for money, not ever. He took money when he needed it, from people who didn't deserve it. Usually over their cooling bodies. Now he got cut a e-check. Not really as satisfying sometimes. But it was worth it to be able to stop hiding, stop running. At least for a while.

Maybe then Apollo would come back.

He snarls at that thought and stomps his final opponent one last time, hearing Lara cry out. She looks in the eyes of the merc facing him down and snarls, "You heard the lady. Run."

Tom McCarthy has posed:
<<Tom, there may be a complication.>> The entity comments, even as he's finishing off the telepath he'd dragged to the ground. One last slash across the throat of the Omega agent ends that particular scuffle.

"What's that?" He asks, getting to his feet and glancing around - seeking cover to avoid being targeted by heavy weapons.

<<Miss Duckenstein is present.>>

"Well... shit." The man looks about, trying to scan the battlefield. Aided by Digi, he quickly spots the green ball of flame splash into the agents. Digi begins almost frothing at the display - alarms ringing in her being. Keeping to cover, he starts towards where the certainly unnatural fire was tossed from. Spotting Ducky and the blood, he switches his mindset to triage and rescue. Faster than should be possible for any human, he bolts to her side - providing a body shield to cover her injured flank.

"So... you come to these things often?" He asks, firing blasts from his palm, even as he glances over to her arm to assess the damage.

Atrice Duckstein has posed:
Ducky is crouched down behind cover, flexing her hand open and closed and a bit frustrated, "Oh how did we do that?" she whispers to herself. Apparently this is not a regular thing! And she almost jumps out of her skin when Tom apprears, his question causing confusion for a moment and then a laugh, "I mean, this was not scheduled...but probably not something that was out of the realm of possibility." she muses.

"I'll be fine. Didn't hit anything major. Just my pride." she states with a wince. "You keep doing your thing. I'm going to just have a seat." she nods to Tom.

Lucy Blaze has posed:
Red stains speckles the torn black coat desperately clinging to one Lucy Blaze. Soot and dirt smudge the generous gash torn in the sleeve that exposes a gleam of red formed body armor that won't tolerate being besmirched by a bumper or Madripoorean bullet. She circles in on a source that sticks out amidst the chaotic tides of bodies and weapons, conducting the whole affair.

She strikes an open-handed blow to a soldier trotting backwards and shooting on the SUV barricade, targeting tyres and gaps where return fire most likely originates. There--the mage opening the portal, making space scream. Bone dents inward, a jarred note in the metallic crescendo fed steadily from an empty cartridge. Blood erupts from the soldier's broken nose under her goggles and above the mask. The smeared drip coats Zannah's palm as she leaves the body collapsing at her feet. Three fingers smear diagonal lines on her left cheek, then the right. A last dot pressed to her forehead makes up for the hallowed paint.

In a hushed patter of her booted feet scarcely making sound, her purposeful stalk goes directly into the retreating line pincered by SHIELD's coordinated assault. Cover fire kicks up concrete spray and asphalt clods to screen the retreating Omega line headed to regroup or hang up their guns somewhere secure and snug. Such a cozy image for a passel of hired killers. That simply will not do if Zannah has anything to say about it.

She draws the other sword riding her shoulder in its vivid scarlet cocoon. Nonsense design for how long it takes to remove the sheath. Coiled anticipation quickens the tempo of her run, and the leap drops her feather-light amidst the magician. The sheathed blade cuts through wrapped silk, its razor-fine edge making equal work of flesh, metal, and smoke. She might be lost in the mix, alternating between the longer blade in her left hand and the bloodied one in her right with the ferocity of a violinist hitting their solo.

Frank Castle has posed:
The attackers are pulling back, that much is clear, but they're not completely out of the fight. One last defenisve position, one more big volley. One more attempt to bring down the Punisher. There's a concentration of Omega forces meant to draw in Frank. Likely one of the fliers saw him wade into the smoke and called it out mentally... it is obviously a trap. Which means Frank knows it's a trap.

But for who?

He moves right towards it, disecting anyone who gets in his way, but for every couple feet he makes advancing, he's paying a harsh punishment. That kevlar is thick enough to stop small arms fire, the occational long range higher calibre if the gods are with you, but not blades. Blades have never been Kevlar's friend.

Whether he sees it coming or not, it doesn't matter. The knife wielder is moving fast.

Dropping down from above him, she had been running across a cat-walk. Wearing black converse sneakers, cargo pants, and a hoodie... with long pink hair (that is definitely a wig) dangling out from beneath the hood around a solid looking black mask that looks like it's been stitched together with copper wiring and spray painted to resemble something from a nightmare. Only her blue eyes are visible when she leaps from the elevated position and drops down onto the Punisher's back with every bit of her hundred and ten pounds.

They weight wont bring him to the ground, but curved blade of the kukri jutting out from the bottom of her fist certainly might. It catches him just between the collar bone and right shoulder, driving down through the junction in the vest SHIELD had provided for him. "REEEEAAAAAH..." It doesn't sound as intimidating coming from her as she probably thought it would, but it's laced with so much anger that it adds the weight fury to her otherwise depure physicality.

One big hand comes up and grabs her by the scruff of her neck and hurls her forward, Frank down on one knee.. the squirrel of a woman is already running at him again, juking left, then right, and slicing him across the thigh as she slides past on her knee pads, right back into the fog. Frank whips around, swinging a back fist that misses wildly and positions him for another sliding cut across the back of his calve. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She howls at him.

Down on one knee, Frank wipes a hand across his mouth and snarls as she comes in again, only this time he catches her. His arm snaps up and around, hitting her right beneath the mask with a forearm lariat that knocks her feet up in the air. Both hands close around her throat, his scream is far more fierce as he leans all of his weight down onto his palms, temporarily cutting off her oxygen.

When another of the masked figures barrels out, of nowhere like a freight train. A heavy boot catches the Punisher just under the arm in the ribs. He's easily the size of a linebacker, wearing similar clothing and mask, only designed differently. "Get off her you fuck.." His voice is deep, husky, and intense. "Let's go..." The bigger of the pair grabs the small girl and starts dragging her, kicking and screaming, towards a portal.

"We're coming for you, Frank... the Punisher will get his punishment."
"Yeah you fuck! I'll fuck you up!"

With his arm pressed up against his flank, Frank tries to get up to his feet and goes back down on his knees, blood oozing out of his open mouth. A group of SHIELD Agents rushing in after him, drawn by the screams, drawn by the desire to keep the Omega group retreating, are at his side quickly. Technically, he's still their prisoner... Frank pushes up to his feet, despite his injuries, but can't quite put weight on his right leg, and his right arm is hanging at a weird angle from the stab to the shoulder. Barrel chest heaving with deep breaths, he watches the pair of masked individuals disappear into the swirling black portal. A tiny female hand extending out to give him the middle finger as she vanishes.

Omega i

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
The attackers are retreating. Natasha Romanova goes to play spotter, even as the duo attacking Frank get out of the area before she can try and snipe at them. Whatever their thing was was personal. On top of everything else.. Natasha goes to attach a priority tag to them to run through SHIELD's extensive files, based on vocal tones, physical mannerisms, and anything else that might be able to ID them and bring up useful information.

<<All assets, secure perimeter. Secure prisoners and bodies>>. Bodies had thier own extensive information to give out. One could track background DNA, pollution, contaminants.. Anything from trace materials on them to try and get an idea of where they had come from. Natasha didn't need to give any orders to start trying to backtrack their teleportation, whether it was magical or technological in nature.

And tend to their own wounded and dead. Far, far too many wounded and dead. It was alwyas too high a number. She sweeps her sniper scope around the area a few final times.. Then goes to head down from her post, goni gto help with securing the area.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara had fallen in to a cover pattern for another group of SHIELD agents that were retrieving a pair of injured comrades from a less than ideal point beyond the barricade of SUVs. Providing them cover, she wasn't aware of the two who had gotten in to get some licks in on Frank. After exchanging a spent magazine with a fresh one, she's returning to Frank in time to see the pair retreating. She fires off a few more shots toward them, the bullets casting up a series of explosive bursts of pavement and dirt in and around the portal that they retreat through.

With a heavy exhale, Lara's eyes look Frank over, as she sees more reinforcements coming from the insides of the Triskelion. "Looks like you're on your way back to medical." She dryly says to the injured man, as a med team arrives on-scene, with Lara waving a hand to flag them over.

"We need to be pro-active about whoever sent these people, and not sit back on our laurels and wait for this to happen again..."

She eyes some of the fallen, knowing that several lives have been lost here today, as the situation was wholely underestimated.

Lucas Trent has posed:
Lucas Trent has plenty of mercenary DNA all over him, but he'll make sure they can't pull their dead if they try. One of them gets a hard boot to the chest and sent back through the portal before it vanishes.

He charges one but doesn't make it in time, having it close up in his face. He wouldn't have minded being outnumbered. He'd have lived and fought his way back. He's frankly a little pissed he didn't try first. Probably had secured portals anyway. Especially if it was magick shit. He hated magick shit.

He cracks the bones in his neck for a moment, a sound like metal scraping metal with a sharp CLICK.

"And stay out."

Tom McCarthy has posed:
One bit of his armor morphs into an organic metal shield, giving a bit of cover to both himself and Ducky. Tom inches closer, keeping an eye out for any errant shots from the Omegas, even as they fall back. Sore losers will always be assholes, after all. "Hold still a moment, yeah?" He offers over to Ducky.

The man reaches over, his hand moving to her shoulder to rest there carefully. A bit of a glow, and any foreign ballistics eject from her arm - the wound sealing up after.

Into his comms, he calls out. "Any wounded still about on our side? Or are they all beyond help?" He calls out, medic training taking over. "I can help triage and heal, but it's got to be quick. I'm going to be starving after this."

Atrice Duckstein has posed:
"Oh I'm not going anywhere for the moment. Just waiting for the blood loss to kill me." Ducky jokes about her problem. Thankfully she would not be dying today. She gives a look up to Tom, "Yeah, not moving." she nods to him. The healing feels...odd. But she's not hurting anymore. "That's neat." she tells him as she picks up the dislodged bullet.

When it is clear that it is safe to start moving, the woman stands looking over things. "Looks like I've got a lot of work tonight." she frowns to that. Mainly because she's got dead coworkers.

Lucy Blaze has posed:
Zannah executes her bloody strike against the caster holding open the portal. Stabbing the magus eradicates all traces of breathing, the bloody foam spewed from his ruined lungs a parting outro in their brief interlude. The sword superbly balanced in her hand is her dance partner, sweeping in a broadside cut to hold would-be saviors at bay.

Sadly few remain to be struck or seduced into a violent end.

"Wasteful." Brief remonstration carries in a flat tone before she stoops to pick up the shredded silk used in the first place to wrap the Kheran blade up again. Not any cloth will do for wiping splotches of organ and flesh or hair from the pair of swords or daggers, but she comes prepared. Tucked into her jacket pocket is that tidy folded square in a Ziploc bag. Maybe humanity's greatest invention after the wheel.

Is that truly something to do right that second? Yes. Yes it is.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank shifts his weight off his leg everytime he starts to settle anyon his right foot and stands there staring after the pair of masked individuals who slipped out by portal. Still clutching Lara's pistol in his dangling right hand, he's shaken out of the stare by the owner of said pistol stepping up beside him. Turning to look at the agents on either side of him who, for good or ill, seem to have forgotten who he is in the face of him helping them during the fighting.

His hand tightens around the pistol grip, bringing it snug into the palm of his hand.

How fast do you think it could happen?

How easy would it be for him?

They're collecting wounded and prisoners and Frank is armed... he'd be a fool not to consider it, right? The exit is right there behind the wheel of an SUV and it's entirely possible only Lara is paying enough attention to be any real obstacle to his escape...

The gun rolls on his finger, then held out to Lara. "So it would seem." Going back to Medical. Whatever his thought process, right now SHIELD is the best option he has for finding out who sent such an incredible force to kill him. "I've pissed a lot of people off, but this is something else..." He motions with a weak wave of his right hand once she's reclaimed her weapon.

Now starting to register all the wounds, some of them far worse than others, but all of them nonlethal.. which is what bothers him most. That girl could have killed him, but didn't. He turns towards Lara and wraps an arm around her shoulder to take weight off his leg, "So much for retirement in prison, huh?" They can still put him in there if they want, but now he's got no reason to stay.

SHIELD did good given the circumstances. Now they've got a bunch of prisoners linked to Omega primed for interrogation to find out what actually happened. Sending a force that purposeful for JUST one man? Even if that one is Frank Castle?

Wasteful.

That is a good word.

"I fucking had him..." The blonde woman yanks off her pink wig after removing her mask. "I could have killed him right there, why'd you stop me, Tommy?" Around her is another three individuals, all dressed relatively similar, but without their masks. Tommy, a burley brown haired guy with a thick stubbled jaw, "What's the point if it doesn't hurt, Claire? Claire snorts and throws her mask and knife against a table and storms out towards the back room. "I'll talk to her, she'll calm down, don't worry." Tommy nods his thanks to another woman, short brown hair with the sides shaved, who heads off after the girl.