9312/The Roots of a Community

The Roots of a Community
Date of Scene:	27 December 2021
Location:	Meadowville, NY
Synopsis:	Coulson, May, and Michael Erickson visit a small town in Michigan where they find an alien mind-controling plant beneath the town turning all the residents into meatpuppets. Chaos ensues.
Cast of Characters:	Melinda May, Phil Coulson, Michael Erickson

---

Melinda May has posed:
The bus touches down in the parking lot (more like a trampled, muddy field) of the local fairgrounds. The briefing, going into all this, was relatively straightforward. The small farming community of Meadowville, NY, has been growing, lately. Normally, this isn't considered a remotely remarkable situation -- save, perhaps, for the fact that most small towns are contracting due to economic pressures. Even so, it's not really considered a SHIELD-level crisis. No, the problem came when the daughter and son-in-law of a certain NY senator spent a week visiting the town and decided they wanted to stay -- as in they sold their swank property in the Hamptons and moved into a little cabin on a scrap of land at the edge of the township. Even still, that wouldn't be enough to attract SHIELD's attention (despite the noises made by the senator, this would still normally fall into the jurisdiction of the FBI or maybe the DEO), except that a young agent with family in the area disappeared there over Thanksgiving. SHIELD goes in after their own. The agent's whereabouts has finally been determined, thanks to the reactivation of her remote tracker. But when the tracker was discovered, it was found in the middle of nowhere -- but the town is closest so... It's a place to start.

Normally, only a couple of agents would be sent in, in a case like this. And they were. They never came out, either. One of them, though, managed to get out a message -- a text message that suggested the local argricorp that has been buying up farms in the area (yet somehow convincing the families they displace to stay on) had something to do with the first agent's disappearance.

At any rate, it all adds up to one strange mystery: Three missing agents, oddly behaving residents, and a possibly corrupt agricorp. The missing agents are reason enough to go in. The rest of it is enough to warrant the numbers and skills of the small team the bus now holds.

May shuts down the engines and emerges from the cockpit. "Okay," she says. "Welcome to Meadowville."

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil's toy. It's one of the perks of working for SHIELD. He gets to play with the biggest toys in the world, bar none, and he loves it.

As Melinda moves from the cockpit, Phil is buttoning his suit jacket, puts on a London Fog overcoat, hits the button for the bay doors, and waits at the back of the aircraft for them to open, revealing what most would consider a sleepy farming town.

"Huh.. does look like a nice place to retire to. If you like cows. And corn."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Well, it's certainly the largest human-made aircraft Erickson has ever been in, this 'Bus' of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s - as the ship settles down, its quadruple-wing construction throwing a wide shadow across the landing zone as the agents to whom he has been attached prepare. Like Coulson, he too wears a suit, sharp and gray, though his topcoat is significantly thicker and a scarf has been bound around face and shoulders rather like a defensive visor from the nose down. Any weapons he might be carrying are likely under the coat, likely not S.H.I.E.L.D issue. But not, praise be, overt.

    "I like it," he offers as the others head for the bay. "Reminds me of Arjom."

Melinda May has posed:
Even May is dressed more 'civilian-like', today. No tacsuit. But she hasn't gone for the suit and jacket look. She has her black leather jacket over a grey sweater and dark jeans. While she doesn't look precisely 'country', she certainly doesn't look 'corporate', either. Someone has to dress down in this crew. It's a small town at Christmas, after all. She fixes her ICER under her jacket and pulls on a light pair of leather gloves. Her plasma blades are tucked into a holster in the small of her back, concealed by the jacket.

"How do you want to play this?" she asks Phil. "Hit the corporate offices or the main street?" She can probably hit the main street without raising brows. Get a literal feel for the people in town.

Now they're in town, so to speak, they might be able to get a fix on one of the other agents' trackers. That would help.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil stands for that minute longer, looking out at sleepy town before them. He doesn't have to look to the side to talk to his partner, instead addressing the air before them. "I think Main Street first. In this town, everyone is bound to know everyone else, and everyone else's business." Of course, it's probably a spoken echo of May's thoughts.

"And, if we show ourselves, it may force someone's hand." For good or bad, that is.

He turns, now, to look at May, then takes in Agent Erickson, "Ready? When this is done, I think I might want the card of one of the real estate agents."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Agent! Agent. Everyone keeps calling him that. Politely, the tall man nods to the two higher in the food chain - he knows hierarchy, slips into it on these things. "Old hat to me, Agents" he offers to the two, though he pauses to adjust his scarf so that he doesn't look like as if he's in a Le Carre novel. "Direct me, and I shall fulfill."

Melinda May has posed:
May arches a brow briefly, but nods. The Bus is cloaked, of course. It's safest that way. So, she turns up the collar of her jacket and starts walking.

Main street is quaint, in a rundown sort of way. There's a feed shop, a general store, a bakery and a small diner. There's even a pharmacy and the town library. None of these buildings, however, look like they've been able to afford a lot of extra upkeep. They're in decent repair, but the paint is a little rough and the streets are a little cracked. People have had other things to think about than prettifying the town, which lends credence to SHIELD's intel that the town's growth is strange. It doesn't look at all like a growing town. It looks like a place getting ready to implode.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil sets his hands into his pockets as proof against the cold; at least one of his hands still feels the weather's effects, and begins the walk. It's not far, and he takes the distance in silence, checking on Erickson's progress. Blue eyes don't miss a thing as the center of town is approached; the same look of 'seen better days', and 'could use a coat of paint' is in the forefront. Sorry Erickson, you picked a mission where both the field commanders really don't talk much. They've learned each other's patterns over the years that even when not communicating, they're communicating.

"Okay, I could probably afford this on my pension. Property values are down."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Nothing wrong with that; Erickson's been doing this longer than either of them have been alive. Talking's overrated. As they case the place, however, and make note of the town's state of creeping decay, he adds to Coulson's observation.

    "It reminds me of a Potemkin village," Erickson notes, his voice soft over the link. "Albeit in reverse. Nothing to see here, we're just a poor agro-colon....farming town..."

Melinda May has posed:
"And yet, anyone who comes here and stays more than a couple of days, never seems to want to leave," May notes dryly as Michael makes his observation. "I don't know, Phil. I don't think the library's nearly big enough for your tastes."

Pursing her lips slightly, her brows beetle. "Something's off here," she notes. The stores are open, if quiet. There are certainly people moving about. But they don't 'feel' right to her. "Want some pie?" she asks the men with her. "I think we should get a piece of pie." Which generally translates to: Phil gets to chat up the locals while she scopes out what's going on around them. And maybe Michael will have insights they don't.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Yeah, but in a town like this? There'll be a mechanic that can appreciate Lola." He's betting that there are fields filled with vintage cars just waiting to be uncovered again, or barn finds!

Phil nods at May's assessment, though he spares Michael a quick smile, "Yeah. Almost feels like that." He looks back at the tableau before them, and exhales in advance of his response.

"Pie it is. Little places serve the best. And coffee." With that, the Agent begins to make his way towards the little cafe. Chairs are set outside, but obviously in the winter, they remain unused but for decorations to sit in. There's a Santa with a coffee cup in front of him, little elves sitting with him, a family of snowmen at another table.

The door chimes with the little tinkle of the bell. It's quaint, homey, and so full of tchakes that it's hard to tell what color the walls are.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Psychic interference, perhaps," Michael muses, tracking the figures who pass - his eyes are raptor's eyes, tracking each face, committing them to memory as best can. "Adbduction and brainwashing, perhaps with drugs. Or telepathic choral techniques. Frog in the pot on gradual heat, that sort of thing. Anything's possible."

    He's a good boy, of course. He makes his notes, leaves hte obvious to the experience of the other agents. He's used to spying on human society, even infiltrate it, but that doesn't mean he always understands it. Certainly it isn't his own. As May and Coulson enter the cafe, Michael follows, noting the decor in quiet way that doesn't at all scream 'alien' like you see on TV. He's just one more fella. "I wonder if they've got cherry."

Melinda May has posed:
The trio attracts some looks as they enter the diner. Nevertheless, a waitress comes over in short order to serve them. "Welcome to the Meadowville diner. What can I getcha?" The name on her uniform is 'Louise', her hair is pulled back into a serviceable ponytail, and her notepad is held loosely in hand. "Don't see many outta towners."

Which, really, doesn't make sense at all, given what the agents know.

May doesn't say anything, though she offers a smile. She glances up to the menus on the wall, but lets Phil take the first swing. Meanwhile, she's concentrating on the various patrons, trying to read their emotional signatures. The feeling that something's off only grows.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil finds a good table, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair before he pulls the chair out a little for May. It's a subtle gesture, but one all the same. Once down, and the waitress comes over, the Agent turned Commander gives her a quick, friendly smile.

"Louise.. that's my sister's name. Louise, I'd like a slice of your apple pie, some vanilla ice cream on the side, and a cup of coffee, please." He finishes it up with a quick twist in his chair, looking around at the other patrons before he looks back at their waitress. "Yes, well, we're just passing through. Do you know if the motel has rooms available?"

He looks back at May and Erickson, blue eyes lingering for a long moment before his attention is back to Louise, expectantly.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He's an alien. He knows when things aren't human, because /he/ isn't. The singemindedness, the lack of gossip. Erickson clears his throat as he looks up at the woman, too, a faint smile on his lips...and his voice, however tiny, in their ears as he covers with another soft cough.

    < Synthetic or clonal, > he suggests. Just enough to be covered. Timing, you know.

Melinda May has posed:
"Lemon, if you've got it," May tells Louise. "And tea, please." She doesn't drink coffee. Anyone who knows her well, knows this. She hears Michael's observation and gives a faint shake to her head. But she waits until Louise retreats to give any opinion on that.

Once they're alone, however, she says softly, "They're human, but it's like they've been wrapped in padding. Like there's some sort of... interference." She frowns at the thought. "Like someone else's emotions are laid overtop of theirs."

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil is a watcher of people; he watches and is virtually a master of human reaction. He can make anyone do anything, given the right catalysts. And he's smart; he learns quickly what buttons will give the desired effect. But the affect of Louise, and the others in the little cafe?

The agent shakes his head, ducking it slightly as he brings his voice down to a stage whisper, "I got this. Take Erickson and see if the others outside are like this. I'll get what I can here, engage the townsfolk before I join you." Bar fights don't always have to be in a bar. He's curious as to whether or not high emotion can be wrested out of the immediate population.

Now, Phil looks to the third Agent on the team, "What I need from you is an environmental analysis. Air, water; and while I don't think we ran into a magnetic field or something like that, we should check it."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Sounds like something the Selvat did," murmurs Michael. "To hide rebels. Can't find the the standing nail if they all seem hammered flat."

    To Coulson, he nods. "I'll need time in private," he says. "Lest you want me standing around in red." A reference to that armor, of course, the red chrome anatomical model. "I'm betting on 'no'."

Melinda May has posed:
May rises, giving Phil a tight smile. "Let's go for a walk," she tells Michael. Then she leads the way to the door. She's pretty sure Erickson can find a discrete place to change, if he needs. For her part, she wants to see just how far this malaise stretches. Thus, outside, she says to the alien agent, "You grab the tests. I'm going to go see what the other stores feel like. See if I can pin point a source for all this."

That leaves Phil alone at the table, waiting for two peices of pie, which arrive shortly after May steps out the door. "What happened to your friends?" Louise asks, curiosity in her eyes.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil nods at Erickson's stated need, and he glances over to May, and then back, "You'll get it." Now, his attention moves back to May, and he murmurs, "This could go well, or this could go badly." Soon after, he gives a quick smile and a nod as plans are set in order.

Once the pair depart, and Louise returns with the pies, Phil offers a light shrug, followed by, "They needed some air," in terms of explanation. He's ready for his pie, and when it's set down, takes a spoon and draws it first through the ice cream, and then the pastry itself. The first bite has him gagging, choking..

Rising to his feet, Phil's ready for a show, "What are you .. joking? You call this pie?" He shakes his head, looks at the table, then back at Louise, full on the annoyed customer. Gesturing to the pie again with his 'good' hand, spoon held, "Did someone spill their cigarette ash into the filling?"

Taking a step towards another table, Phil lowers his voice, "Excuse me, but is your dinner as inedible as my pie?" He cants his head sideways, looking at Louise, adding, "There might even be a grasshopper leg in there. I thought there was something that reminded me of a small twig."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Where does a good spy set up his gear? In the john, of course. And so there he is, standing in the toilet cubicle in the diner's restroom - or he is for a moment, once sure it's empty. An eyeblink's span and a flash of energy, and Erickson is far away, sealed in a crystalline pod somewhere in the nightmare darkness of the void, surrounded by a sky full of screaming stars. The glossy red-chromed figure of his armor, however, stands there. Human musculature model mixed with metal, wings retracted into his arms. Bit like a neon sci-fi bogeyman.

    But the shallow 'v' of his visor, crackling with violet light as it is, allows him to see...

    << Erickson, >> his voice is a metallic, distorted nightmare echo of its usual warm baritone. << There's something going on, all right. Trace metals in the soil and water table that shouldn't exist, and...mycelium runners. That's not earthly fungus that I've ever seen. Whatever it is, it's from off world, and it's centered in a geological void under this town. >>

Melinda May has posed:
May wanders into the pharmacy, giving the clerk a small smile as she does. She moves to inspect the pain killers, because those are always useful. Especially if Phil's tactic goes south. Ibuprofin, a small box of bandages, maybe some neosporin... Yeah, she's done this before.

Even so, she finds the same muting of emotions, that same assertion of an overlaid signature. Then, Erickson is talking about alien mushrooms and a void under the town. She picks up her first aid supplies and wanders to the counter, offering cash to cover the cost. "Nice town you've got here," she says briefly as the clerk runs her purchases through the register.

Meanwhile, Louise is back pedalling, shocked and surprised by the affable man's sudden explosion. The man Phil addressed is rising from his table. "Now, c'mon now, sir," the fellow says, raising a placating hand. "I eaten here all my life. There's nothing wrong with that pie."

The kitchen door opens and a large man in a white apron steps out. "You okay, Louise?"

Phil Coulson has posed:
"So, everyone is on a 'shroom high?" Phil shakes his head, and his attention becomes focused on the fuss being made in the cafe. "It's looking almost normal here. Reactions are a little slowed, but not too far off ase," he notes for the other two. "One rising, one coming out in defense.. I think we're good here."

Phil's ready to come back to the here and now, the potential of a fight that the civilians may stand to lose. It's a fleeting thought, to try and determine if they're somehow augmented because of this, but if they found the anomaly, why push it? Hands rise in a theatric show of 'nothing there', and he rolls his shoulders before reaching into his pocket to take out his wallet and lays cash on the table for the pies, and coffee. "Right. Sorry. Maybe it's just a bad slice. I'll just meet up with my friends, and we'll try something later."

Always, always, always have an exit plan, and Phil's got one, and he backs up, keeping an eye there, as he heads to the door leading out. "Thank you for your hospitality."

*dingding* The chime on the door announces his exit.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael has the sanity to return to reality, his armor vanishing back to the Void, and slide out through the bathroom window. He emerges from around the front - eyes front and sharp, now, tracking whomever might be out there with them. "I've never watched a film myself," he says over comms as he comes out a few shops away from the front of the cafe and the open street. "But that feelt decisively...cinematic. Whatever's under the town might well be ready to boot us out."

Melinda May has posed:
May slips out of the store, rolling the bag around her purchases and shoving them into a pocket. "Oh, look," she says dryly, meeting Phil. "You're not bleeding. That's a first." As Michael joins them, she glances to him. "So. Void under the town. I don't suppose you found a way down for us to take a peek?"

She turns around, looking up and down the street. "Alien fungus, secret caverns. Why am I thinking invasion of the body snatchers?"

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil does look behind him to be sure he's not about to be pelted with tomatoes, or that they've decided that knives from the kitchen is the order of the day. His walk, however, is natural, unhurried, and almost casual when he catches up to the pair. He's filled in quickly, though he does manage to roll his eyes quickly, and hold out his hand for the first aid gear. "Not over yet."

Brows do rise, however, at the movie reference, and he can't help himself, 56 or '78?" Still, he considers, "As I said, reactions were a little delayed, but normal. So, it's not that. Anger, concern, defense of coworkers. Everything was right. So, the fog isn't quite as thick as it might be. Maybe something like hypnosis? Suggestion moreso than actual control?"

Not willing to ride on his guessing, however, and Phil looks down at his feet before looking at the pair. "So, how do we get there?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Lot of ways to control a population's minds, Agent," Michael says, giving the man a faint smile that smacks disturbingly of experience. "Right, so...ah. Shield your eyes, please."

    When is a manhole cover not a manhole cover? When it's an access hatch. Stepping forward, Michael reaches into his coat and his suit jacket to draw a long-barrled pistol that looks weirdly like something that should belong to a game console in the 80s. Jet black and glossy in his hand, he squeezes the trigger - and, with a flash, a pencil-thin beam of light, white and searing, emits from its muzzle to cut a bright, crackling swatch around the border of a manhole cover some sixty feet away, as well as a pair of holes in the center. Once that's done, he holsters the weapon and crosses the road to duck and snag the heavy piece of metal in one hand, drawing out out and tossing it like a paper plate on the street. It's not a manhole cover, of course. It's a hatch that's supposed to hinge. Probably weighs like five hundred pounds from the way it clatters on the pavement.

    He gestures to the waiting access passage. "There you go."

Melinda May has posed:
It's amazing, really, now accustomed May's getting to dealing with super types. Super-strength is almost de rigur. She moves to the edge of the now open hatch and peers down into it. Then she looks up at Coulson. "Oh, this isn't going to go horribly wrong somehow. Not at all."

That doesn't stop her, of course. Maybe she should let Michael go first. He's got the super powers (her empathy doesn't really count, in this case). Probably just as invulnerable as Morse... except May has carried her sorry ass off the battlefield way too often to believe that propaganda. She'd hate to have to pull the birdman off the battlefield, instead. So, she does what she always does. She goes first.

Swinging down into the hole, she eventually drops into the tunnel and pulls out her SHIELD phone to ignite its flashlight function and hold the light up for a look. "At least it's dry," she calls up to them.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Super-types really never get old for Phil. To be honest, however, he doesn't surround himself with them either. He's got his job to do, and they, theirs, and rarely do they intermix. When a really useful skill like, well, digging into the ground to open up the moral equivalent of a septic system (mushrooms and all!) is shown, how could he say 'no'? Instead of turning his head, however, Phil does put on a pair of aviator sunglasses which works quite well against the high intensity light used, though he doesn't look directly at the beam. That'd be dumb.

Still, little flecks of light do dance in front of his eyes when it's done, and he does take that pause as the chunk of earth is pulled up.

"Not at all," Phil deadpans back, and puts the first aid purchases into his pocket. "Rock, pap-"

And she's gone. May's down in the hole before he can say anything more. With a sigh, he looks to Erickson, and gestures, "After you. I'll keep an eye on our six.

"Dry! Dry is good. It's a start." There's a pause before, "I'd probably suggest respirators." Easy, compact and functional!

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Roger that." Michael take a step out to the edge, looking down the tunnel to where May stands - and then...off the edge he steps, hurtling down to oblivion.

    A flash of violet light halfway down, and when he lands, he a vaugely grotesque redchromed figure with that shallow, cycloptic visor full of the fire of the void. Lands with a dull 'clunk'.

    Man, superman, sleek metallic death. He's a flexible boy, our Erickson. He stes out of the way for Phil to get down there, too.

Melinda May has posed:
"Feel free to grab 'em," May replies to Coulson. Not like they've got 'em handy. So, it's a risk. Somehow... this doesn't bother her. It should, mind. But risks are kinda what she does.

Once everyone is down there, she looks up and down the passage way and then to Michael. "Which way, Erickson?"

It's only once he's made an indication that she sets off, taking point, pulling her ICER and using it and her phone light together to lead the way.

The passage goes down, eventuall giving way from poured concrete to rock and earth. Fibres weave through the earth, deep roots and tendrils. The deeper they go, the more softly glowing bulbs -- nodes of roots tangled together -- they find. May pauses at one point to pull a small blade from her boot and test one of them. It flickers ominously.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Mitigate damage. That's a way of life for a spy. Phil digs into a pocket and pulls out a small black case. Within, a form fitting mask is pulled out and set onto his nose/mouth. Now, he heads down into the hole with a soft //oomph// when he lands. "Okay, that was a little deeper than expected," is given as explanation. Soon enough, however, Phil is moving in order to come up front with May. She's got a light, and he pulls out his own, adding to the display, held by his 'off' hand. In his right, his pistol.

Never did like the ICER.

"This.. this is kinda strange." There's a moment, and Phil exhales, "I didn't do too badly in botany, but I don't remember seeing this in the books."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Erickson follows dutifully, serving as anchor in the back. "When I was stationed on Stronnaj," he says in his horrible metallic voice, "There were tower-blooms that grew thirty stories tall."

Melinda May has posed:
They come into a large cavern, lit by bioluminescent glow augmented by worklights attached to some sort of juryrigged power system. Before they get very far in, however, the young agent who first went missing -- Emily Bennett -- comes running out of the darkness. At her heels are the two agents sent in after her, Vasquez and Jenson. "Oh, thank god," she says, as she reaches them. She's panting and she looks pretty smeared with grime. "We found you. We need to get out of here. Jenson just sent the main generator to overload, it's gonna go up in like the fourth in here."

May's eyes narrow at the agents as they try to herd their rescuers back down the passage. Blue light flashes as she fires her ICER. The three agents drop. "She's got the same emotional overlay as the townsfolk," she tells Phil. "I don't think she's telling the truth. I think this plant wants to send us away."

Phil Coulson has posed:
It's a whole setup! The worklights mean that he doesn't have to have his phone light on anymore, and it's shut down. The appearance of Agent Bennett running towards them does put Phil into something of a defensive posture; who knows if they've been compromised-

"Agent Bennett. What's happened in here? What's goin--

May knows. The ICER goes off several times, and when the agents drop, Phil looks at his partner. "It's harder to carry them out to the Bus than have them walk," he reminds. "I don't want to be here any longer than we have to." Blue eyes study May for a long moment before, "Blow it up? That might toss everything into the air and not actually destroy the spores."

Phil spins around to the .. Agent in red. "I'm hoping this doesn't grown 30 stories tall. Can you destroy it without sending it all up into the air?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Possibly." Years in the service has firmly innoculated him against overconfidence. "We'll have to see what's down there. I'm confident that I can at least severely damage it. But if it's using telepathy, does that not mean that it could be intelligent? Communication may be key." Yes, the space fash is suggesting not to shoot first. You're welcome.

Melinda May has posed:
"He's right about that much," May says as she carefully lifts the agents and moves them off to one side, tucking them between a couple of uprights to keep them safe and out of the way. "The thing probably has some sort of consciousness -- if that's the emotional overlay I'm sensing. It's not like I sense dogs or cats. It takes a certain level of intelligence to trigger me, I think." She's still learning.

"Though, if it comes to it, we could try burning it out, if we can seal it in." She'd be happier, though, with a botanist along to tell them whether or not fire helps the seeds take root like with some species of trees.

Nevertheless, it means they need to keep moving. Assuming there is a symbiotic relationship between the plant and the people, it probably already knows where the three are. Which means, before much longer, they're going to encounter resistance. Probably human resistance. Innocents, if they're being controlled...

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil exhales in a quiet sigh as he acknowledges the information. "Emotional control is pretty basic. It's primal. Atavistic. I don't think we could communicate with it on an emotional level. There's no logic, no reason."

He helps move the agents to a kinder, comfortable location, and disarms them. Just for now. For everyone's safety.

"Best we could do would be to send a fragment to the lab," and he doesn't even have to mention the security and isolation protocols that would be in place for such a transfer. "That'll just extend our stay," though no one said this would be over with within the day.

It never is.

They do have to keep moving, it's true, and Phil is walking just next to May, eyes and ears in such a place. They'll probably encounter those that he'd riled up in the cafe, with his luck.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael has...a different opinion. He's met intelligent plants. Some are even subjects of the Empire. But it's not his operation, not his command, and - most importantly - not his planet. So he keeps in step with the rest, his footfalls somewhat soft compared to the metal feet that make them.

    "Aside from strength and talons," he informs them, "I have my fusion gun. It won't be perfect, but it should do a /lot/ of thermal damage, even on wide setting. Should at least burn it back to a manageable size."

Melinda May has posed:
"I've got my plasma blades," May replies as they moved deeper. Eventually they come to the edge of a catwalk and the whole situation becomes a lot clearer. The thing probably arrived in a meteor who knows how long ago now, if the crater is any indication. It has a tight knot of roots or maybe a node at the very center that seems to be a focus. From out of it come thick roots that circle round and rise layer by later, large nodes stuck to the crater walls at intervals. "Maybe we can cut out the root ball?"

Just as she speaks, of course, others arrive. "You're not welcome here," the big cook from the diner growls. And the trio very quickly find themselves in the middle of a townie lynch mob.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"I have.." Phil considers it for a few long heartbeats before he shrugs, "I got nothing." He does, just nothing that will help at that very moment, that is, for the digging up and/or destroying that rootball.

"That sounds like a good idea," comes slowly. "Though I think we might have some-" Beat. "Company."

As the 'having been harassed earlier' townsfolk appear down in that hole, Phil cants his head, narrows his eyes; there has to be another entrance for them to have come up on the three. It's just a matter of where it is.

Moot point at the moment, however, as they're surrounded and outnumbered.

"May," Phil's voice is low, "the two of you need to cut this off. I'll hold them off." The moment that's said, Phil turns his attention, and the tenor of his voice to those who have just arrived.

"Oh? I'm sure I left a pretty sizable tip. 100% on the bill is generous, don't you think?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    << Acknowledged. >> Over the railing does Michael leap, just missing decapitating the two agents with the foil-like wings that spring from his forearms; guillotines in red metal, they gleam even in the low light as he sails like a bladed torpedo for the root ball.

    Assuming he can make it there unassailed, he puts the blades and the armor's great strength to work; scything swings with laser-tipped edges shall be employed to savage the roots, but of course even for his ability to caused destruction it's hardly a one-man job. Not easily, anyway. Or quickly.

Melinda May has posed:
May shoots Phil one of *those* looks. Her usual, baleful 'Don't make me have to save your ass again' look. Then, however, wordlessly, she tosses him her ICER and slides her blade hilts out from under her jacket. Three quick steps bring her to the railing and she's up and running along it as Michael plumets down. She leaps higher, moving toward some of the nodes attached to the earthy wall. One of her blades ignites, a bright white slash of light that hums with electromagnetic energy. She uses it to slice the steely cord of plantmatter coming from the rootball to bulb attached to the wall. It takes effort. The cord is easily the width of a mature tree trunk.

The smell of burning sapwood begins to fill the cavern. As the cord gives way, she leaps again, parkouring her way along a wall back towards the rail to run a catwalk around to another node bulb to repeat her actions.

The townsfolk converge on Phil, a handful of them breaking off to go after Erickson and May. They have no weapons, but their eyes are glowing an odd yellowish green, their skin having taken on a greenish hue as well. They move faster than zombies might, their actions coordinated almost unnaturally. However, every time May or Erickson slice into the plantmatter, they flinch and react.

Phil Coulson has posed:
His usual response is that smile, the 'I'll be fine' expression that he usually wears just before 'getting into it'. The ICER is caught gracefully as its thrown, virtually simply landing into his hand. The moment he gets it, it's charged and ready for use. He doesn't yet, however; non-lethal still hurts. Instead, he has his hands down, body language open, "I thought it was fair. And the apple pie was pretty good. Ice cream was a little freezer burned, but there's not a lot to help for that. Maybe a little Saran Wrap over the top?"

He can smell the burning, just barely, through his form fitting respirator; he doesn't need to look behind him as to what is occuring. He's got his hands full without worrying about all that.

"Hey!"

As soon as that small handful starts to break off, the ICER is up and *thwap*, *thwap* into a couple of those trying to rush past. Those that go after him, however, has him ducking, shifting out of the way, and a leg-sweep brings down the waitress with an *oomph*. Of course, the cook that had come out in Louise's defense isn't far, and he throws a punch at the Agent turned Commander's head, with Phil taking a step back, causing the cook to overextend in his strike. The wrist is grabbed, and Phil steps in and flips him gracefully up and over so he's on the ground with Louise.

The town seems to be showing up, however, and Phil calls out,

"Looks like it's a turnout for movie night, May.."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Claws and wings flash through the air as Erickson does the best impression of a man-sized blender he can - the guillotine vanes along his arm slash through the massive roots, raptoresque claws have grown from his fingers - it's not quite as clean a job as May's swords, of course, but every stroke is laser sharp and with the strength of a wrecking ball behind it. << You can help him if you need to, >> Erickson informs her through his metallic mask, pulp and greenish fluid splashing across his armor, coating his limbs, his wings. << I can get this, it'll just take a litle bit more time. >>

Melinda May has posed:
May nods to Michael, though she's far enough away that she uses her coms rather than relying on him to see that minute movement while he's turning roots into an alien plant-based smoothee. "<<We'll buy you time,>>" she replies. She runs along one of the root cords, slicing through the bulb before she flips down to land behind the group harassing Phil.

Her swords disappear, back into her jacket, before she moves in to start pulling people away from their focus on her oldest friend and work partner. They're fast, they're focussed, but they're not trained combatants. Even controlled by the plant and unified by its influence, there's only so much they compensate. As long as she can keep them from ganging up on either of them and overwhelming them with numbers, she knows both she and Phil can handle this.

And with each node Erickson destroys, the mob's cohesion dissipates just a little more.

Phil Coulson has posed:
It's gotten physical, absolutely. Phil can keep up with the best.. well, he's one of the best agents. He's learned over the years how to conserve energy and make his opponents expend their energy to set themselves up for the fall. More psychological than physical, really, and even with the people under the spell of mushrooms, he can use it to advantage.

One gets through him, and he brings the ICER up to shoot them in the back (he's not above doing that!), and redirects his attention back to one/three of those that are going after him.

"You're still paying full price. Came in during the trailers.." Phil calls over to his partner of years. They don't actually have to discuss what they're doing; they simply know. With each motion May puts in, Phil is virtually doing the same, only with a little less 'oomph' as she.

"If anyone offers me Cream of Mushroom soup, I am definitely going to politely decline.."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    And now, without anyone around to get accidenally shot in the face, Erickson pulls the fusion pistol from...his thigh, which has apparently extruded it. Aims. Fires in rapid succession. This time, there is no thin beam but legitimate /blasts/ of crackling white plasma, each one landing with a hiss as they incinerate the plant tissue and convert the water inside all those otherworldly cells into vapor. It's not clean, it's not fancy. But it /is/ effective as he makes baked beets of the root ball's major arteries.

    << Opening up on this thing, >> he calls up from between the loud sizzle-pop of vaporizing liquid and tissue. << Won't be long! >>

Melinda May has posed:
"I don't know," May says, ducking under a body grapple and sweeping the legs out from under a townie before she thupms them hard enough to leave them unconscious. "A nice mushroom risotto might be a thing."

As Michael's blasts start taking down the rootball, an unearthly moan vibrates through the chamber, soundling like a lost whale. When the root finally does give way, blazing with the plasmotic fires from Michael's gun, the moan becomes a keen. In the end, there's a horrific ripping sound that echoes through the cavern as the weight of the root ball tears it away from from the earthy walls.

When it does, a collective shudder seems to run through the townsfolk and, almost as one, those still standing collapse in a heap.

May stands in the midst of a pile of bodies and looks at Phil. "So. That's a no on the risotto."

Phil Coulson has posed:
The blasting, the rending and burning of the root balls are only a side-view of everything that is going on. He throws a townie at May, he gets one from her; sweep, flip. He'll even look at one as they do a running approach with a 'Really?' look on his face before again grabbing the wrist, and talking to them all the while, "You know, you could be home with the wife and kids, watching Jeopardy right now. Who wouldn't like to be inside in this weather?"

*flip*

"I know I would."

Phil takes the second to brush off his London Fog jacket of the dust, dead spores before the next one. The man runs right into Phil's shoulder, and with an upward thrust, the townsman is thrown over his shoulder, only to go flying and landing in a *whooof* of dirt and dust.

"Can always substitute the mushroom for chicken. Or celery. though I think celery would be too harsh of a flavor. You really do need the woody of a mushroom."

The rending of the ball from the wall takes Phil by surprise, and he reaches out so he's not thrown to the ground. "A nice 'Timber!' would have helped," is chastened. He manages to keep his feet, however, once aware of the tembler effect of the grounds, and when it passes, Phil finds himself back beside May. He's looking around as if he hadn't done anything, and everyone down just happened to fall down. "That's a no, I think."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Happily enough, the sheer heat of those blasts is enough to incinerate any spores that might have shaken loose from the impact of the fusion pistol's white-hot globes. But down it goes, and into the cradle of the crater it rolls, the apparent death-scream of the organism ringing throughout the cavern walls.

    Which leaves him floating - the wings, apparently, not needed to keep him aloft - as the sounds of the plant's demise fade away. Then he turns the blaster down onto the ball itself. << Probably should just make it alla pilota, >> Erickson offers. << Shall I incinerate it, Commander? >>

Melinda May has posed:
May looks at Phil as Erickson asks his question. She gives a mild shrug. "Light it up," she tells the birdman. That's the problem with putting two commanders on an op. Either one of them is likely to answer. Providing, of course, they don't just give the order in unison.

It's been known to happen.

She kneels, then, to check the pulse of one of the bodies at her feet. It's strong enough. Stronger than she expected. "We need to call in clean up and containment. Get these people detoxed."

Phil Coulson has posed:
It has absolutely been known to happen, and now is yet another one of those times, "Burn it," is said just as May offers her input into the matter. Phil doesn't even have to look at May to know her answer, and when the order is given, he does exactly what his partner does,

Check the civilians.

"We'll have to get a med-unit in here, too. I'll have a couple docs flown in," with cover stories of course. This has now fallen into Phil's bailiwick, that is, how to create plausable deniability and make sure the story and message is exactly what SHIELD wants it to be. It's second nature to him.

"Let's get these people up and start giving them the information they need."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Erickson's bailiwick, of course, is infiltration and sabotage - and destroying things. Without a word, the fusion pistol is trained upon the root ball and turned up to full, and again more white-hot miniature suns are unleashed. He only gets a few before the gas canister is emptied, but he only needs a few: the hardwood of the ball burns and splinters beneath the assault, springing into a raging bonfire in the bottom of the void as if it were a gigantic briquette.

    << Subject incinerated, >> He announces. << What's next? >>
    

Melinda May has posed:
What's next is a flurry of activity May and Coulson are well familiar with. Calls are made. Personnel are flown in. Cover stories are concocted. Once the well-oiled machine that is the SHIELD cleanup process is well underway, May decides it's time for the strike team to pull out. "Are you going to stay to supervise?" she asks Phil. There are competent agents on the ground to handle it. "I think it's time Erickson and I returned to headquarters." That means the Bus.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Once everything has started in motion; doctors called in to help, construction crews to help shore up anything that might have shaken loose, Phil's standing in the town square looking pleased. May's approach and question gains a response, but his attention is somewhere off in the middle distance. Parked off to the side, there is a quite familiar-looking candy-apple-red, 1962 Corvette convertible. He never goes anywhere without it; it's got its own mooring spot on The Bus, after all.

He exhales in a long, slow breath before he shakes his head and finally looks to his partner. "Nah," he begins, "I'll catch up. See you back home in a couple of days. Take the Bird Man of Alcatraz back with you." He knows Erickson'll be debriefed in the same manner all junior agents are.

What was right?
What was wrong?
What else could you have done to benefit the mission?

"Oh, and May?" There's a pause before, "Felt good being out in the field again." Unspoken?

//With you.//

"I think I'm going to grab a slice of pie. But first? All cafes have great meatloaf and gravy." With that, he turns and starts to head towards the cafe, hands pushed into the pockets of his London Fog coat.