Owner	Pose
Monet St. Croix	The Sentinels hadn't exactly been trackable - smells often didn't work that way. But the scent on them of the general area where they had been was. And here, such a short time after the fight (and the Belly Bump from Blob) was Sabretooth stalking through the streets. How did he do it? Scent of paint? Dirt on feet? Decaying posters or garbage clumped onto exoframes? Plastic bits from rubber masks that had been put on? However it was, he had stalked them to whence they had originated by whatever means.     It wasn't the sewers, it wasn't an abandoned warehouse.. It was a run down looking barber shop in hwat passed for the garment district. A few boards on the front window and a 'reopening soon' sign, and a QR Code on the boarded up window.     From inside, the heavy stench of robotics. Oil, grease, electricity, fusion, fire, octane.
Victor Creed	A sniff at the air, and Victor Creed tries to determine what he might face on the other side of that window and door. He has some idea. Likely more of the same that his fellow mutants were tangling with already. He thinks, briefly, that perhaps he ought to bring in someone else to this party. But why would he do such a thing? Victor Creed is no hero. But he _is_ a fanatic. And he trusts himself more than anyone else. He moves to circle around the building, sniffing as he goes, and keeping an eye out for any cameras. Going in the front might be more unexpected than the back, but he wants a full sense of he might be dealing with.
Monet St. Croix	Is he doing this because he's the only one who can? Is it a challenge? Is it for fun? Or is it just the latest cause for violence and the easiest thing to pursue. Is it for a higher calling or simply a target? Do the two have to be separate? The Sentinels use technology on par with anything that humanity can showcase. From Hydra, to Weapon X, to Stark Industries. Even the half dozen individual units within have technology that has few peers on the planet, made of scavenged, taken things. But Creed? Creed's stealth borders on the supernatural with how he moves. Without so much as something that would register to a flea. Inside are a half dozen Sentinels. Humanoid size. Bulkier than the ones that attacked. A larger, bulkier thing making loud machine hums and processor sounds, of old analogue internet beeping in a frenzy. There are no signs of cameras or sensors. The Sentinels consider themselves to be the best security.
Victor Creed	The larger machine earns a bit of a curious thought from Victor. He is hardly a scientist, engineer, or even very smart. But that is not what they fought, andyet bigger is likely more important. Once again, it occurs to him that perhaps he should bring in someone else. But then he remembers that there are enough psychics who would put themselves into whatever he experiences that he does not need to record anything at all. All he has to do is find things, and let them sort it out. And so he works back around and slowly tries to open the door, careful of any wires or trips that there might be. To see if he can get inside, as close as he can to whatever the larger machine is. If he has to cut through the Sentinels to get there, he knows that he can.
Monet St. Croix	Time spent thinking on whether he should bring someone else in (spoiler, he won't) is time spent not figuring out how to break this place up. The others can figure it out later. But time's a wasting. His enchanced senses pick up through the door a series of almost invisible, carefully laid monofilament wire along a vibrowave mesh. No signs of security cameras behind it.. But anyone just coming through the door sneakily and quietly would have themselves cut to total ribbons. Over along the boarded window panes of the front entrance there's the ever so faint scent of contact neurotoxins. The flooring and ceiling are laced with small patches of flechettes carefully laid into the ground. It's like someone gave Kevin MCCallister a budget and permission to commit war crimes in pursuit of anyone breaking in. The heavy humming and beeping goes on, the sound like an analogue modem remaining high in pitch. The half dozen Sentinels aren't moving at all. They might as well be statues other than the quiet hum of thier components whirring.
Victor Creed	In a fit of irony, Victor Creed knows the best way into a secured room in this sort of locale, but it more painful to him than others. Air ducts are usually secured, in some fashion or another. But a building of this size and makeup likely had some form of access through the sewer system. And so Victor pokes around to see if he can come in from below. It would be a challenge for someone of his size, to be sure, but if this was a barbershop and had enough running water for all of the chairs, at least before it got taken over, than maybe there would be a pipe large enough to make his way in. If not, then it would have to be a crawl space. Because he was not taking any of the doors or windows in.
Monet St. Croix	And of course he likely had to presume that the sewer entrance was trapped as well. And there was enough of the stench of things around for him to get the impressiont hat everywhere in the place was rigged with something to stop or lsow someone busting their way in. But up alog the rooftop of the place is a crawlspace. An attic. Probably left from when it was just a tenement building and had long since been converted to a business space. The Sentinels had only gotten here recently by the scent, they couldn't have rigged up the entire upstairs. Or he could go in through the sewers. But it was the obvious way to sneak in as well.
Victor Creed	Any weakness that did not reek of filth is appreciated by the mutant with acute senses, and so victor moves to scale the wall in his own inimitable style. Talons extend as he scratches through the brick wall on the back, making his way upwards. Whether there is anyone paying attention for him to get the drop on, it was always easier coming down than it was going up.
Monet St. Croix	There's a saying - what goes up must go down. He works his way into the attic easily enough with some working. No one's been up there in decades. There's cobwebs, mothballs, and a mummified corpse that's been entombed in them like it was in tupperware, shrunken skin on a face locked in horror however many decades later, preserved in some sort of macabre testimony to something ancient (by the standards of here, at least). The pinging from beneath is getting faster.. Then it slows and stops and the chimes from the big thing go quiet. There are no traps this way up. Well.. There are in the floor beneaht him.. But not the ceiling.
Victor Creed	The smarter course would be to report back. But Victor Creed is not smart. At least, not in that way. Victor pulls the ceiling aside, tenttively, and leans down to poke his head through. First to make sure that nothing shoots at him. But maybe he can drop down onto the larger device, and figure out what he can do with it.
Monet St. Croix	The larger device is a very, very large sphere on wheels. A solid meter round, smelling of micro-processors and electronics. A large antennae along it that was slowly retracting as a series of lights upon it would go to dim. There are a half dozen Sentinels surrounding it - bulky and humanoid, each taller and heavier than Creed is. By the scent of them, they're heavily armored and have a great many weapons on them. By their formation, they're here as protection for whatever that sphere is. It's the important thing. And it just finished whatever ti was..
Victor Creed	Thievery was not something part of Victor Creed's repertoire. But common sense was starting to win out. Maybe if the guards had been human, and he could have smelled and tasted their blood, he would have been swayed to violence. But somerthing told him that he could find value and profit in bringing this device, whatever it was, back to the Brotherhood. He glances around in his little crawlspace, and hatches a plan. Crafting a small loop with the wiring, he prepares to try to fish the device out and up. He has no illusions that it won't trigger a response from the crowd of Sentinels. But with any lucky, he can move to the roof before they can do too much damage to his attempt to flee.
Monet St. Croix	He goes to drop down his improvised lasso (it might be more appropriate to call it a noose) and yank at the ball. It's bulky and heavy - surprisingly so. To a normal person - not to him. So with a smooch yank he goe sto get it up solidly and tug it towards the ceiling and through the crawlspace. But each Sentinel in turn goes to snap thier attention upwards towards the upper floors! And there's the sound and sensation of a half dozen miniguns, laseres, and plasma blasters going to shoot upwards!
Victor Creed	Victor knew this was coming. Not that he quite expected the vast array of weaponry that was aimed at him. But even if he had, would that have changed anything in his mind? He yanks the sphere up and starts making his way back from whence he came, far less care exerted on his exit than his entrance. A hand reaches up to tap at a comm that he so rarely uses. "Sabretooth needs an evac." The very notion that /he/ called for such a thing should indicate just how much of an extreme the circumstance is. But if he can get to the roof without getting punched full of holes...
Monet St. Croix	And under those circumstances, whomever it is with the Brotherhood that handles such emergencies is available. Even as energy bursts fly forth, and weaponsfire detonates around him.. THere's a flash as the teleporter takes him back up to space in Asteroid M. With his cargo mostly intact. And him, quite possibly singed, shot up, and sore.. Needing a drink.
Victor Creed	There is some burnt hair, and his bloodied clothes (others blood, of course, not his) have some tattered to them. But as always, Victor Creed stands tall once he is on the ground of the asteroid. He looks around for a moment, and then pats the sphere with one hand as he holds it under his opposite arm. "Where's Raven? I brought back a gift." He gets a toothy grin.