9238/Dottie Underwood, Slayer of Angels

Dottie Underwood, Slayer of Angels
Date of Scene:	22 December 2021
Location:	Recreation Lounge: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Dottie is being trained in the use of Shi'ar weapons. Particles rifles for Miss Dorothy? We are all doomed.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Dottie Underwood

---

Michael Erickson has posed:
    'Come down. At once. There are things happening and you are needed.'

    She is /needed/.

    Needed to show up to the gunnery range, apparenty. At the end of the row, in one of the advanced booths, he awaits her - that hard, patrician, inhuman. An eagle with a human face. A large bag sits on the storage shelf where unused arms are supposed to be. Waiting.

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie raises an eyebrow at the urgency. But she strides into the gun range, past the attendant. No weapons check out needed.

"Awww," Dottie mouth makes a coy moue. "For me?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Enough." Oh, the accent is out. Serious business. Cal'hatar opens the bag and produces from its interior a sleek, compact weapon of gray metal that looks like a prop from a very high-budget science fiction movie with an aesthetic that is surprisingly based in reality -- no glowing lights, ridiculous ornamentation, anything of the sort. It's about the size of the standard SHIELD P90, though a bit chunkier in the body. "Time to be a good Communist and kill God."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie's grin becomes too wide, too sharp. She looks at the weapon with something akin to possessive desire. "What is that?" Whatever it is, Dottie want's it.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Shi'ar standard issue particle gun," he says, nodding at the weapon now laid upon the active shelf. "Assault model. Fires bursts of positively-charged particles in a beam at the target, inflicting thermal and radiation damage. Call it a proton gun, if you want." A nod at the weapon. "Very little recoil, semi-automatic, one hundred shots in its cell. Contains a breeder cell that automatically recharges over time, drawing from planet's magnetosphere." He pauses. "Christian angels are apparently real, and seek to destroy reality. They manifest in Manhattan in two weeks."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie doesn't seem worried by angels. She covets the gun. "So you give me the proton gun and we stop them," she says. It's a good plan.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He snorts at that. "Going to be more than just the two of us," says Cal'hatar; he goes to pick up the gun, which has a small box atop the weapon's spine where a scope should go. He proceeds to show her the basic functions - power on, trigger, that sort of thing. "There is no guarantee that anything not magical will kill them," he explains, "So you will want to focus on the weaker creatures. Infantry, that sort of thing. But they will all be likely flying." He pauses, the gun still in his hands. "Do you have training in fighting airborne combatants? Jump packs, wings?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie nods. "HYDRA has been known to do that on occasion."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He nods. "This will be the importnt thing, then. Everything will likely be airborne." A beat; he reaches into his jacket and comes up with a sheaf of laminanted pages. "This is the draft civil resistance packet I have given to SHIELD for consideration. They will be editing it, of course. To fit the Geneva Convention." A real sneer in his voice when saying that.

    The pamphlet is rather surprisingly precise and packed with information in its double-sided, laminated pages: how to conduct urban warfare, to stay away from open areas (sorry, Central Park), the best ways to bring down flying opponents -- how to lead, conduct massed fusillade fire before breaking and fading away, setting up explosive traps and wire deadfalls on higher levels in city buildings to spray formations with fragments and fire. It is, at every point, a guidebook for /vicious/ warfare against opponents that even it admits my shrug off anything but the most concentrated offensive tactics. And with the significant information on survival in a wartime urban environment, it's rather a startlingly concise document for both professional soldiers, would-be resistance fighters and civilians all alike. There are even little statements of defiance written along the margins, extolling the reader to fight on for the good of their species. It's a /lot/, but it's very, very effective. There's even information on dispatching humans who turn into 'believers' and decide to aid the angels' cause.

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Sniper positions and rooftop defenses?" Dottie inquires. "How mobile are the angels expected to be? Top flight speed? Battle formations? Noted tactics?" The questions come rapid fire. Just because they can fly, doesn't mean a dogfight is the best option.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I've absolutely no idea," Michael replies with a shake of his head. "I'm assuming something along the lines of the Chitauri incursion. We cannot assume that wings would be actually mechanical constructs, either. So..." He taps his chest. "Aiming for center of mass is key."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"What intelligence *do* we have about this little incursion -- how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" she quips with a slight grimace.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Unfortunately, not much at the moment." Michael gives her a thin smile. "I'll revisit with Agent Sims as soon as possible. Assume a massive invasion, centered upon Manhattan. The stakes of losing is, apparently, all of our reality." Oh good! He lets out a long sigh. "So. Center mass. Assume that the matter from which they're made will resist bullets." A gesture to the proton rifle in her hands. "Hence why I'm trusting you with this. Wouldn't do for you to be murdered by the agents of a stupid god when we're just becoming friends, would it?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Friends." Dottie says it like it's an unfamiliar word. One she likes the sound of. She strokes the body of the gun. "Center mass," she murmurs, the corners of her lips perk into a smile.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Friends," he affirms. Then points toward the target downrange. "Now, then. Let's see about getting you started. A rifle stance will work, just remember there will be little recoil, and it will be lateral."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie nods. And taking up an appropriate stance, she aims. And fires. Her smile widens.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    The weapon surges to life with a press of the trigger; as the rifle whines, its tapered end releases a stream of bright yellow-white packets, each surrounded by a halo of coruscating light - which, because it's Dottie plus next to zero recoil, slam center mass into the target dummy, penetrating its substance and leaving smoking, blackened holes.

    "There," he says, chuckling at her marksmanship. "Not bad for an Earth girl. What do you think?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie looks at the weapon in her hand. "I want it."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "We'll see." He smirks at her. "One of a kind at the moment, at least on this planet, and I'm kind of attached to it - but you're welcome to borrow it, for now." Cal'hatar looks down the lane once more. "Well, we don't have to worry about /you/ having trouble with using it. Perhaps we might be able to secure some coil rifles from the Tannhauser group as well...mmm. What do you think?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie's eyes light up. "We could do that." But she continues to admire the rifle in her hands.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Good." He turns to lean against the aisle. "I'm going to let you keep that with you for now - in case something happens, I want you suitably protected. Now it draws from the magnetosphere to charge it; you get a hundred shots, and then it takes five minutes to recharge. We use magnetic wells to speed that up, so possibly a very large magnet might also change that." Cal'hatar quirks a brow. "Are you all right with that?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Oh. Yes," Dottie breathes. "I think I'd like to spend a little more time with...this." And she signals for another target.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Her no-longer-feathered friend leans in and murmurs, just inches from her ear:

    "/Borrowing/, Dasya. Borrowing."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Awwwww," Dottie pouts. She fires at the new target. Center mass. One gaping hole.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Salai," he says as she hits squarely again. "Salai, well done. You know I used to carry one of these in the field, eh? Standard battle rifle at the time for reconaissance units - the idea was that while it's powerful, its limited recharge time would remind scouts not to get into an extended firefight. Under pain of death, you know."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"How large were your units?" Dottie asks casually. Surely not more than a hundred soldiers, she thinks.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "My team was only twenty soldiers," he says, leaning against the wall as she goes back again. "But a standard Legion is usually made up of ten thousand. My team was an intelligence unit, however, scouting and sabotage. Recon. Not direct, front-line combat."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Bloat," she mutters. The more operatives in play, the more opportunities there are for betrayal, in her experience.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "We're talking a totally different scale," he points out. "Galactic warfare. Conquest of planets, not nations. Many of whom are /much/ larger than this one."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
She shrugs. "Infiltration is still most secure as one operative alone behind enemy lines. Or several, unknown to each other."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Oh, absolutely," he says, chuckling. "But remember, my team was military recon, not intelligence. That came later. Once I returned to the homeworld and was absorbed into the intelligence service, I was usually a solo operator. Certainly I was when I came to this place."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dorothy Underwood nods her understanding. "So," she says, refocusing their conversation to the mission at hand, "angels..."