4261/Yippie-Ki-Yay Holiday: The Terminal

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Yippie-Ki-Yay Holiday: The Terminal
Date of Scene: 30 November 2020
Location: JFK International Airport - New York City, NY
Synopsis: William Townley and his well-armed militia take over JFK International Airport during a raging snowstorm in the hopes of strong-arming a release of his brother, Jared, after last week's failed heist. Unexpected help shows up in the form of heavily-armed Falcone gangsters, the Venom symbiote, the armored tech raptor Ballista, and The Shadow herself. Local national guardsmen are found to be turncoats, the majority of the militia is slain under hails of gunfire or torn to pieces, and all but one hostage within the ATC tower is saved. William is arrested, but some men fled into the storm and managed to escape. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of these men...?
Cast of Characters: Cecily Winters, Eddie Brock, Carmine Falcone, Natasha Cranston, Leena Danvers

Cecily Winters has posed:
    It's cold. It's snowing. It's early December in New York and between the traffic, the shouting matches, and just the inability of people to drive... there's already holiday travelers. And while it's only been a week since the incident in Jersey City, everyone's really already forgotten about it, more concerned with shopping and family and getting from place to place, thoughts of late night drinking and holiday revelry and vacations to warmer climes on their minds.

    When the silent alarm at one of the largest airports in the area goes off, however, police and federal officials are quick to remember when the list of demands is made known. JFK International is evacuated, at least as best as it can be, and put on lockdown. Law enforcement has their hands tied, and dozens of incoming planes are forced to circle the city as communications are jammed. The reason? The ATC tower is being held by some paramilitary group or another, demanding the freedom of one Jared Townley, and a plane to get them out of United States airspace.

    What are the stakes? The promise of bringing down passenger planes, many of which have nowhere to go with comms jammed and not enough fuel to make it to one of the landing zones further out of state. The weather and the situation certainly make things difficult, and an open call for heroes has, once again, been put out while local and federal agents set up a perimeter and attempt to run negotiations. The ATC tower itself is surrounded by ubiquitous black SUV's, hostages from the tower crew are up against the interior windows, and the only communications making it in or out are landlines due to whatever kind of jammer they've managed to install. It's going to be a long, cold night, and it's still weeks before Christmas.

Eddie Brock has posed:
Venom is already on the hunt. Eddie's influence on the symbiote has been minimal. Although hardly a paragon of virtue, Eddie doesn't want to go away for murder, and the times when Venom has killed and eaten innocents weighs heavy on his paranoid mind.

When will the police get wise that HE is that black, alien monster?

But recently Venom and Eddie have become more in sync with each other. Venom doesn't want to get caught anymore than Eddie does at this point. So THEY have been targetting criminals more often. Tonight they sling between NYC's rooftops, searching for crimes in progress..

They hunger..

Carmine Falcone has posed:
     The sun was shining on the roaring the snow was falling down pouring there was a sense of cool anticipation in the air. For such a public place as this the space was calm and quiet as the Falcone Family did their business.

     A return trip from Madripoor in a private jet landing down heavy laden with goods from the trip. They'd just missed the orders to fly round by a matter of seconds slowly taxing across the open runway. Snow builds up under the front tires as the intercontinental hypersonic jet rolls down to a stop completely unmarked save for the bare minimum requirements as it rolls into a platform sealed off for 'maintenance.'

     The windows of the jet are mirrored to a shine impossible to see into or out of lead lining rendering the traditional scans all but useless. This job had been planned for months.

     The radio chirps. An echo out in voices crisp as crystal through the hundred thousand dollar speaker systems in the cockpit as the pilot came to a stand. He pauses for a moment color draining from his face. He turns from the view of that cordoned off section and inside the massive private jet 15 men in suit and tie set drinking white wine.

     At the far back of the plane one man with a rose pinned to his lapel hair fadded a dull white sets sipping his wine. He's an elderly sort easily past his 60's. The man takes notice at that voice over the radio and narrows his eye for a moment.

     He lets out a low chuckle that echoes out over the soft and inviting classical music, as his hand drifts past the emergency phone, past his pistol and grips firm onto the handle of a fully customized m60 GPMG.

     Across the surface of the Ivory grip are embossed platinum roses with fine attention to detail on even a microscopic level. Not a single millimetre of the weapon is left undetailed.

     He slides a fresh box magazine into the base of the weapon.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
        Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

    Of all the bad luck and worse timing. Natasha reflects that it /could/ have been worse -- her private jet had landed /before/ the blackout, and the militia wasn't quite interested in rounding up every pilot still on the airfield; it's not as if they had anywhere to go, after all. A reasonable assumption -- and a fatal mistake. Fortunately, Natasha rarely travels without a... diplomatic... package, and her personal pilot sports a girasol ring.

    "Continue to try to raise Traffic Control as if you're not sure what's going on, James. Keep them in the dark."

    "Aye aye, ma'am," James replies, with only a slight amount of concern in his voice. "From the police traffic, that's a lot of heavily armed men, though. Are you sure you don't want to wait for backup?"

    Natasha chuckles as she moves the scarf into place. "That would be more fair, but I don't think the other planes can wait until they've gotten some reinforcements..."

    A minute later, the cargo ramp discreetly slides open, and then closes again without anyone seemingly getting out -- and the footprints in the snow are covered by the gale as quickly as they appear...

Cecily Winters has posed:
    It's such a wild mixture. Heavily armed mobsters. Alien beasts. The only one that seems to be directly interacting with the police and agents is a fox-tailed woman. "If it's anything like the last time," Cecily starts, "...we'll get help from the shadows. We can't count on anyone just showing up and saying 'what's up, I'm a hero', that's not how this works, and you know it." Unless it's Tony Stark or something. And maybe, just maybe, for a moment the professionally-dressed fox looks around, as if hoping that Iron Man might arrive.

     "Look, national guard's got a group of guys on the way," the flustered sergeant says, trying to calm the situation. "Civvies are on the way out, but traffic's a mess out there," he adds. Cecily rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak before the sound of boots and a throat clearing is heard. "We're already here, sergeant," grunts a man in armor and fatigues, him and about a half dozen others shaking snow off of their boots. The police officer looks at his nearest subordinate, "Why didn't you tell me they were here?" he asks. The younger shrugs helplessly, "Radios are out, sarge?" Oh. Right.

    The guardsman eyes the situation room, half full of airport personnel and the other half full of the NYPD's finest and feds as well. And one fox. "There's a radar installation off of south terminal, we lock it down, put a signal booster on it, and we're good. You guys work on the crew in the tower, got it?" he points a gloved hand at the sergeant before sweeping his hand and having his men fall into step. Cecily just stares, dumbfounded, while the cop shrugs. "...that's how you get things done. Grab a radio and tag along, would ya?" he tosses her a handheld, "Give us a ring when you got it running, send those boys a cup of coffee too."

    She catches the radio, her tails lashing about, agitated, and her ears go flat. "...and just like that...?" She exhales a long, frustrated sigh, checks her sidearm, and follows the guardsmen.

    Out on the tarmac, the main tower is dark, men and vehicles patrol around on the nearby runways, and occasionally, a shot or two are fired towards the terminal just to keep the heads down of anyone getting too curious. A good long look would show lots of individuals in warm winterized military gear, armed with mainly your standard automatic rifles and carbines.

Eddie Brock has posed:
Venom lands on top of the JFK airport control tower. Operations do not seem normal, people were fleeing the airport when they first arrived, and now it's gotten quiet. As two minds in one, Venom's abilities are at full strength, their instincts whole.

They wait, crouched down, seeking their prey. This is it, this is the place..

Where? Lacking the senses of a wolf or tiger means relying on sight for the most part. They do not know what is going on but the obvious disruption has drawn their interest. At this point patience is their move.

Carmine Falcone has posed:
     Steps lower from the massive private jet down onto the flushed white snow. Boots rocket down the stairs echoing out into the silence of the snowcovered air. Men in body armor meant for resale their faces hidden behind thick ballistics masks.

     The snow crunches beneath their feet as they touch down onto tarmac coming into visibility. Each one is clad in military grade gear and armed to the teeth. The men look better equip for a war zone then for a terror attack. Then again all of this was meant to be sold to fund a war zone after all.

     The man with the Platinum m60 motions around with his fingers in silence pointing and signaling as the Mobsters come out from the depths of the plane. Stuck out from the breast of his thick armored vest is a single red rose tucked into place.

     A few weapons are thrown down from inside the plane to the men at ground level and caught before the group of armored figures make their way into the sealed off terminal.

     The plastic over the opening is cut revealing the terminals entrance to the cold winds of the outside world once the ladder up has been climbed. This allows Falcone's men to climb their way up and into the airport proper.

     A round is chambered, safeties flicked off. The group of mobsters storming the airport without any pause for word or backup from the police.

Leena Danvers has posed:
You know, after you work really hard to put somebody away only for other people to actually become terrorists to break him out, it really pisses you off.

Ballista isn't working in any official capacity for Null tonight, instead she has opted to strike out on her own because...She just feels like it. Call it dumb, call it a strange sense of justice. You can call it whatever you want, because she's currently standing at the outskirts of the airport, looking through a rifle scope at the tower, "Hm. Too many hostages." She muses to herself, as she switches to thermal to get a better view in the snow, "I don't really /want/ to shoot innocent people. It's bad for business." Those could be potential Null customers up there, after all.

She lowers the rifle and sets it back down into her gun bag, pulling out her M-240B instead. She is going to have to shoot a lot of terrorists and this time probably won't let folks off with just cuts and bites and maybe a missing hand or two.

Using one of her talons, she slashes through the fence and then ducks inside, moving under the cover of the snowstorm and the darkness to one of the hangars near a taxiway, figuring she can move from there to get to the ATC.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The militia patrols are professional; strict routes, moving in pairs, regular check-ins. Of course, with the blizzard moving in, visibility -- not that it would have done them any good in this case...

    A flicker in the snow -- a random swirl, or someone moving? One of the guards turns and motions to his partner to check it out... But the moment his partner's back is turned, someone grabs him from behind and puts him in a sleeper hold, one gloved hand clamped over his face to stifle any screams. He has a brief impression of leather, crimson, and a pair cold blue eyes before everything goes dark.

    His partner peers into the blizzard, then shrugs and taps his comm. "Negative on that contact, command. Just ghosts in the blizzard... Roger, resuming patrol."

    He signs off and turns back to his partner -- who isn't there. He has just enough time to realize something is very wrong before the very darkness comes alive and -- socks him in the face with an uppercut that sends him into unconsciousness.

    The Shadow looks them over for a moment, then pilfers one of their radios before moving on towards the nearest entrance...

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The control tower is... ever so quiet. The sounds of groans and whimpers from bound civlian staff pressed to cold windows is heard amidst patrol check-ins and a ticking of a clock. Whomever is currently in charge is watching the time. There's a lot of radio static otherwise, though. A lot of nothing coming from the planes. A whole lot of equipment is attached to the tower's computers, though, capturing and filtering signals, boosting the specialized radios the militia teams have and drowning out all other traffic. They'd planned ahead. It's likely that this gear might've been put towards another purpose before the express needs of a jailbreak, but here it is. "Five minutes and we make another call," muses one of the men, twirling a hardlined handset around in his fingers, the landline they'd been using to communicate with the police back in the airport command proper.

    Outside in the raging storm, two men go silent after their check-in, left to sleep in the building snow, likely to endure some form of hypothermia when it piles up more on them. More shots are fired at the main building, riflemen behind the SUV's they'd brought taking potshots at windows and ensuring that any attempts at counter-fire are stifled. At the least, the weather is making it hard for anyone on either side to really get a bead, though the hostages in the windows are clear insurance.

    Down in the south terminal, Cecily has caught up to the guardsmen, and there's a terse exchange. "Look, you guys do your job, I'll do mine. This wraps up, everyone goes home, especially the poor people stuck up there breathing canned air," Cecily folds her arms after adjusting her coat. The guard captain rolls his eyes and huffs, "Fine. Just stay out of our way and check back in once we lock this down, got it?" "Of course," she replies. The moment they file down the stairs and exit the terminal on the far south side, though, do things start going awry. It isn't the mobsters or the tower crew that start firing the first real shots of the night, no. It's a handful of those militia gathered around the radar installation. The sound of burst-firing automatic weapons fills the night as lights flash on both sides, the first pitched gun battle of the evening starting as both sides exchange fire.

Eddie Brock has posed:
Gun fire. That is their queue... the first of the armored gunmen in sight is targetted quickly. The black, alien creature laughs mercilessly as they leap down from the tower, careening straight down and onto the hapless man.

Claws slash the terrorist's chest and Venom's gaping maw closes over his body from head to torso,

Their teeth cut the man in half, one free clawed hand grabbing the bottom half and throwing it at another gunman in preparation for the next attack...

Leena Danvers has posed:
You'd think that SHIELD or somebody like that would respond to a major airport being taken over by terrorists a couple of weeks before Christmas but Ballista supposes sometimes you have to take matters into your own claws.

As the firefight erupts down the tarmac, she lowers her visor so she can get a better look at it. She has no idea who's in that fight, and it doesn't matter to her. Cops and terrorists, some yahoo with a gun and the cops, it's all the same to her: a distraction.

She finds one of those luggage carts, you know the ones that pull the big trains of luggage cars behind them, and unhooks it from all the suitcases it's connected to. Then smashes the headlights so they won't give her away. She hops onto it, rests her machine gun over the front, and then begins to drive towards the tower. She's going to go right to the source of the problem.

Carmine Falcone has posed:

     One nod from the man with the rose that's all it takes for a hail of gunfire to errupt from the overhang of the terminal as the mobsters near the end of the rows and rows of terminals. The two men sat inside of their patrol vehicle do a bit of a dance as they set in the front of their car.

     The glass shatters and breaks sprinkling out onto the ground a fountain of crimson staining the pure bed of white only to to be covered over as the vehicle finds itself rolling slowly off to one side.

     As quickly as it had hit the snow the blood is covered back over with a fresh layer of white covering it into the darkness. Supressors on the end of each of the mobsters weapons see their weapons soft enough that they fade into the background of the raging storm the shattering of glass and the motion of the action the only real noise aside from the thumping of rounds impacting flesh.

     Down from the broken open window the mobsters step feet crunching into the snow it's not even a second after hitting the floor that Falcones personal guards open fire. There's no time taken for identification of friend or foe. If they have a gun they go down. Bullets fly and the crew move with a brutal efficiency. These were the men tasked with protecting the life of Carmine Falcone with their own, and that was exactly what they were doing this night. Retired soldiers turned criminals returning to their old tricks.

     The ground goes slick with crimson spent shell casings caught inside of bags hooked to the side of each of the automatic weapons. Not one spent shell hits the ground, the only trace of their deadly killing power the steel left in the bodies, and the red quickly being covered by the billowing snow.

     There is no subtly in the motions of the mobsters as they move sweeping across the area between the terminal and ATC with brutal efficiency, there is only the flicker of lights in the snow. Once this storm clears it may become more clear what happened to the bodies but for now the winter holds many secrets.

     One man drops down onto his knee crunching against the snow. Pop. A leak is sprung on the side of the fuel truck being moved by the terrorists starting a small trail. A flicker of light in the darkness. Glug glug glug the fuel begins to drain. POP. A tracer lights the trail.

     "Nessuna pietà, nessun perdono" Carmine says in a firm voice as the flames begin to grow reflected on the lenses of his ballistics mask. A lone round placed between the eyes of a downed terrorist, only injured by the initial attack.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The sudden gunfire comes as a surprise -- standard police procedure is absolutely /not/ going in guns blazing, so who--? Natasha shakes her head. It doesn't matter who. What matters is how the militia will react, and how quickly.

    The blackout works in her favour -- few light sources to cast the shadow that is her only signature. She keeps to the walls, letting soldiers rush past her for now as she makes her way to the ATC tower.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The second gun battle of the evening starts, though it's rather one-sided. Eyes are on Venom after the first militiaman is torn in half, his partner bringing gun to bear on the symbiote. He's already shouting into his earpiece, something about a monster. A big fucking monster. Rifle scopes and patrols and vehicles start to converge back towards the tower, giving the others ample cover for the rest of their work. A night scope sees the oncoming wall of armed mobsters, too, though, and the militiamen realize they're in for a hell of a night. Inside the tower, the handset is grabbed, the main terminal dialed in, and loud words exchanged. "THIS is your idea of NEGOTIATING?" barks the leader to a completely dumbfounded police sergeant.

    "W-wait, what?" he asks, sounding utterly confused. There's a gunshot over the line and screams. Outside of the tower, it's easy to see the flash of a pistol and a spray of red painting one of the windows. "Call them off, or we're bringing down a plane!" he slams the phone down and all that's left on the other side is a cop holding a handset, sweating and swearing, "Fuck!" Then... an explosion rocks the airport. It's not the fuel truck that Carmine's men had lit a trail after, no, that vehicle is stil, momentarily, trundling further away while a line of flame rushes behind it. The explosion is the secondary radar dish.

    The pitched battle between the guardsmen and the militia seems to have ended in the latter detonating explosives they'd set. Shots fired at the guardsman go wide, bullets peppering the walls and windows around them while the guardsmen fire back. Retreat is called and the black-clad terrorists leap onto snowmobiles and tear their way to join the fight erupting around the tower now instead. The guardsmen give chase, a couple of spare vehicles left behind. Cecily, left without a vehicle, picks up a fallen rifle and aims a few bursts at the retreating terrorists, only to frown, ears going flat as snow clings to her jacket and tails, "...blanks? The hell...?"

    The hell indeed, as everything seems to be going. With all of the craziness going on, Ballista and The Shadow should at least have a chance to do things on the quieter side of things. Hopefully.

Eddie Brock has posed:
Venom laughs again, that gutteral, callous voice also finally speaking to their prey, "You have no idea what you are dealing with. You are nothing but food." A black mass erupts from Vernom's body in the form of a disk shaped shield, blocking the bullets.

Venom leaps towards the next victim, the one they threw the waist and legs of their appetizer at.

Once again their giant maw covers the man's body from head to torso. This time they do not use the bottom half as a weapon. It just falls to the ground in a bloody mess.

Venom faces another gunman, they shriek loudly, maw opening wide, then that shield couss back up to block any bullets that are fired in response.

Venom roars the next verse, "Your pathetic lives are at an end. You exist to feed us. That is all!!"

Carmine Falcone has posed:
     Falcones goons work through the the snow as it piles higher and higher mixing into a slurry with the red slush. As the figure snags a gun only to find its firing blanks they would have a fresh magazine of hollowpoint rounds tossed their way by the friendly rose wearing mobster in full on body armor.

     The man's able to throw like a linebacker even through the harsh storm and the snow. A full wall of enemy contacts comes up and it's the unstoppable force against the immovable object as the mobsters slowly push through with no care for civilian casualties or anything other then slaughtering the terrorists responsible for this little attack on their perfect evening.

     The well tanned and heavily armored mobsters lower themselves down into a crouched position some going prone for better stability as they provide a wall of gunfire with little regard for the preservation of anything at all on the other side of their weapons fire. The group is letting loose and they don't care who notices. Suppressive fire in suppressive fire out do the hokey pokey and that's what it's all about.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    With everyone's attention on the all-out gunfight raging on the lower levels, the guards inside the ATC room are just a bit distracted. They don't notice the flickering motion in the dim light that might have warned them until it's too late.

    A gunshot rings out behind William, and he turns just in time to see one of his lieutenants crumple to the ground, the other two guards spinning to cover the room, but finding nothing.

    Cruel laughter starts to echo in the room, silencing the hostages' whimpers. "Too late, Billy." Another shot rings out, a muzzle flash briefly illuminating an arm that vanishes as the flash does, and only one of his guards is still standing.

"/Far/ too late."

Leena Danvers has posed:
Since it seems that everything has gone totally sideways by now anyway, Ballista gives up on the whole stealth thing and guns the engine. Spotting several of what she is sure is the militiamen since they are armed and running towards one of the multitude of gunfights, she opens up with her machine gun from her position on the luggage cart. She's turned it into a makeshift technical.

After spraying them with rounds, she drives straight for the tower, the flashes of light inside of the somewhat darkened tower giving her an indication that someone is shooting up there, and that means she needs to hurry up or there might not be any hostages left to save.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    All hell really is breaking loose. The police crew back at the airport is dealing with the aftermath of the phone call, one explosion, and then the fuel truck goes off, the shockwave rattling the intact windows of the terminal. "Oh this is bad, this is bad. Get out there and figure out what the hell is going on!" shouts the police sergeant, the federal agents and air marshalls giving orders too. Finally, the ponderous machine that is local and federal law enforcement begins to take up positions with rifles at the windows... and just. Stare. "..you seeing this, Frank?" "It's a fuckin' warzone, Jerry." "All I see is snow..." "Shut up, Gary."

    Unsurprisingly, a lot of the gunfire is aimed towards Venom. There's something about the primal fear that comes with a creature that can bite a man in half and block bullets. So obviously, the situation is more bullets. ..and grenades. Round frag grenades are hurled at the beast, automatic weapons fire ringing out loudly while screams carry out over the snowstorm. The wall of armed and armored mobsters takes fire as well, the glow of the exploding fuel truck casting bright light while the fireball rises into the sky like a flare. It's a demon beast on one side and a faceless army on the other, and the guys trapped in the middle are running out of space to maneuver, and likely ammunition as well. They hadn't come prepared to fight a pitched battle, and even as vehicles from the flanks arrive with two to four men each, it's a losing fight.

    Cecily catches the magazine tossed at her, and stares, ears pinned back. "...bloody hell this is just one of those days... I should've stayed in bed... not taken my calls..." she grunts, dropping the mag from the recovered rifle, ejecting the chambered round, and loading in the new one. She stares down the sights, catching sight of.... well, Venom, and blinks. She blinks again, as if the snow is clouding her sight more than usual, and takes aim at... one of the men about to throw a grenade at him. "...at least I know one of you out here..." she grunts and fires off a quick burst, going less for suppression and more for precise, individual fire. All to see Ballista tearing towards the tower in a luggage carriage, gun blazing. "I'm not writing the report I'm not writing the report I'm not writing the report the feds can deal with it..." she hisses under her breath as the terrorist's numbers dwindle rapidly.

    Within the tower, it's almost peaceful... if not for gunshot. Gunshot. William and his remaining guard press back to back, aiming at the hostages. "C'mon, show yourself, or we're spraying the windows with everyone in here and bringing down those circling flights!" the boss barks, lunging for one of the devices they've got set up, likely something that helps guide planes in to land.

Eddie Brock has posed:
Venom isn't so hungry now as they are cruel and bored. That black mass of a shield blocks bullets while another tendril shoots out in the form of a spear to impale one of the other terrorists. Venom shrieks again, "Give up! Kill yourselves! It is hopeless now! Your lives are over! You have wasted them on absurdites!"

Those tendrils will continue to shoot out, attacking left and right. Venom will also pounce and eat every so often. But at this point their goal is mass slaughter rather than precise consumption.

Carmine Falcone has posed:
     The snow runs thick vision little more then a few feet in any direction. A lone backpack bobs up and down in the midst of the snow. A smaller figure thin and lithe bounds across the snow alone.

     Atop his back rests a large backpack. It bobs up and down as his feet never hit the ground for long before he pops along to the next spot in the new. The young blue skinned man is a mutant, bundled up for the cold weather.

     As he comes closer the rattle of gunfire rings out. He slides down across one knee down through the snow next to the gathering of mobsters.

     The man is hardly older then 14 at most. He moves from one man in the line to the next passing out fresh magazines and taking empties from them. For everything one could say about the Falcone Famiglia they were and always would be: a FAMILY business.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    A lunge is often a desperation gambit - relying on a burst of speed and hoping that whoever had the drop on you won't react in time. William realizes his gamble has failed when a leather-gloved hand wraps around his wrist before he's even halfway to the control switch, and a moment later he feels a sharp pain in his instep as his feet are swept out from under him, turning his lunge into a tumble over a crouched figure that materializes underneath him.

    "As I said..." comes the Shadow's voice almost conversationally as he hits the floor face-first, and before the stars clear away from his vision he hears an ominous 'click' and the chill of a metal gun barrel pressing against the back of his neck. His last remaining guard manages to shake off the surprise, but by the time he can even think of lifting his rifle he's staring directly at the business end of the gun in the Shadow's other hand.

"... Far too late."

    A brief glance towards one of the ATC crew, paired with an audible cocking of the hammer to dissuade the guard from any last moment heroics. "If you'd be so kind as to untie one of these good people so they can get back to work?"

    "And as for you, Billy... I suggest you call what's left of your forces and tell them to surrender while they still can."

Leena Danvers has posed:
Needless to say, Ballista is not something anybody really expected to see out here. Especially since she was not spotted by anyone save for the wounded guys at their last attack. This time it appears she's not holding back.

She dives off of the luggage carriage, leaving a special surprise behind as it careens ahead, and slams into the side of the ATC. Don't worry, it's not high explosives. It's just a couple of tear gas canisters that burst and fill the area around them, and any of the guards nearby, with noxious fumes. Ballista locks her mask into place, and continues shooting, at least so long as guys have guns and are pointing them in her general direction.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Ok..! OK! Ok ok ok..." William grits his teeth as his face is enjoying the cold of the floor and the taste of blood from what trickled down after his murder of a hostage. He reaches for his radio, clicks it on, and all there is are screams and gunfire. "Stand down.... STAND DOWN! Retreat!" he coughs. "...hell..." there's a resigned grunt. The other guard drops his weapon, grateful to be inside, and alive, considering what it sounds like out there, and hurriedly begins to unbind the ATC techs. The young woman wrings her hands and staggers, trying to get her feet under her after being held for so long. "A-ah j-just.. give me a... umm..." she looks around, frantic, and then pulls one of her co-workers down, "Joey! Get all this jamming shit turned off, I need to recalibrate the dish and the transponders. And call someone to get the fucking backup power on so we can get landing lights restored!"

    Outside it's pure carnage. Or, rather. It's Venom. And mobsters. And the raptor. And a fox. Vehicles are filled with holes, men in armor and winter gear fall as the sheer hail of gunfire (or just being torn in half) is more than their equipment can withstand. None of them brought breathing gear, so it may be a mercy when the teargas makes a handful forcibly surrender when the luggage cart goes off in gas and shakes the tower. What few remain on the fringes of the battle start to retreat, slinging their guns and rushing towards the edges of the runways, south along the water where the false Guardsmen and the radar demolitionists had gone. The leader may be down and they might be out a couple of dozen armed men, but they might live to fight another day.

    Even as the retreat is sounded, a bullhorn is heard from the terminal, "THIS IS AGENT DURHAM OF THE FBI. DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER." ...leave it to the feds to be late to the party.

Eddie Brock has posed:
The gas makes Venom shoot up into the air, a tendril pulling him up above the noxious fumes! The fleeing men however give Venom yet another target..

They think they are safe...

Venom LEAPS in a southerly direction as fast as they can move. They will not let these cowards escape. They cannot stand the thought that these weak creatures will feel the comfort of victory and survival!

With all of their might Venom takes off in their direction with the single directive of ripping every last one of them apart for their audacity.

Carmine Falcone has posed:
     As the fed pull up Falconies men are pulling back, the smoke filling the air. The gunshots slow and stop as they fall further into the snowstorm using it as a method to blend into the background elements and get away from the fed who tend to be a fair bit harder to bribe then your typical beatcop.

     As they fall back more suppressed weapons fire out through the storm as thermal smoke is dropped down into the mix to cover the fall back. It's an interesting thing to come out for the slaughter then fade back into the midst of the snowstorm, but that's exactly what that young man with the backpack was for.

     A sheet may not do much for camouflage on a sunny day but in the midst of a snowstorm it was far better then the pitch black combat armor of the mobsters, as they fade into the storm.

Leena Danvers has posed:
"Cheeze it, the feds!" Ballista yells to nobody, that's just something she's always wanted to do.

She just sort of books it back towards the hole she made in the fence, figuring that the snowstorm, the chaos of the planes all starting to land, and the like, dozens of dead bodies will be a distraction for the cops.

Natasha Cranston has posed:
    The Shadow looks up from zip-tying William's hands behind his back as the FBI announces its presence, and chuckles. "Ah, good. I was starting to wonder what was keeping them... But I suppose that is my cue to leave." One fist snaps out, snake-quick, slamming into William's temple and sending him into unconsciousness. The remaining guard gets one last withering look before the figure turns and fades into mist and shadows.

Meanwhile back in Cranston One...

     James is negotiating for a berth with the reactivated ATC tower when the cargo ramp briefly opens and closes again. "Good news, miss Cranston. We've been granted an expedited berth on the condition that we clear this runway right now. Please keep your seatbelt fastened until we've come to a complete stop..."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    It's a completely surreal sight outside in the storm. Headlights and flashlights move towards the ATC tower at a rapid pace, though at this point... there's nothing left. Nobody to surrender aside from maybe some groaning, half-ashyxiated men, or the few that hadn't taken mortal wounds and are laying in the snow. Cecily is, of course, just rubbing her forehead with her free hand, the other holding the rifle at her side, fingers curled around the magwell. "...I'm going to have to write the god damn report, aren't I..." she sighs, tails flagging as guns come up and point at her before the sergeant barks, "She's one of ours!"

    Inside the tower, the remaining guard is just shaking. As hostages are untied and retreat from the window, he can see, even through limited visibility, the utter carnage outside. The burning wreckage of a fuel truck, a couple of bullet-riddled SUV's. And the bodies. Some not even entirely in one piece. He seems thankful that he's still breathing, even as the newly-released ATC crew turn their bindings on him and get to work on guiding the planes in, one low-fuel high-capacity craft at a time.

    Out on the southern runways, Venom finds a handful of running men to be fantastic fast food. A few running, retreating meals and warm bodies encased in kevlar and ballistic fabric. Out further in the ice cold waters of the broad channel, a few lights bob, small boats already getting too far way to pursue and a couple more on shore for the desperate, yet doomed-to-fail attempt to leave by those being hunted.

Eddie Brock has posed:
None of them make it to their boats. Venom is thorough... they incapacitate rather than kill just so that they can return moments later after slaughtering those trying to take advantage of the fallen. They might hope that Venom will be occupied but they are mistaken...

No Venom ensures that they are all disabled or dead before returning to finish off the rest. Their screams may or may not be heard by those still at the airport.

Tendrils impale, slash, and their maw devours a couple. This time Venom doesn't bother soaking whatever bullets come their way.

It stings but they literally grin and bear it this time. It's a field of execution in the end. Venom laughs, a clear sadistic tone if anyone can hear them, and the alien creature takes off into the night fully satiated and satisfied.

It is isn't long before they are once again slinging their tendrils from building to building.. back to Eddie's home..