Scene #7367: Graywashing: Board Meeting

Owner	Pose
The Janitor	MONDIAL CORPORATE, SAN FRANCISCO, 4:05 PM Gray clouds gather over a ten-years-in-the-future kind of city. Drizzling rain finds its way between the skyscrapers to patter on the dishwater-gray, sun-bleached asphalt below. A cold breeze drives the droplets at a slight diagonal. It's a dull kind of day; the kind where you could just stay at home and drink cocoa. But you're not staying at home. You're here because Mondial Inc is a horrifically, cartoonishly, bleakly evil organization; because its board members are all conveniently in one place between 3 and 5 PM today; and because if you don't put the boots to them now, odds are good that they'll never face the consequences at all. They know the kind of heat they're in. It's been all over the news- "alleged" human experimentation, followed by bloodsoaked cover-up attempts, witness intimidation, and assassinations in a desperate attempt to keep stock prices high and risk of jail time low. But the security they've posted here is in anticipation of an angry mob. It's not prepared for you. Mondial Corporate is a thirty-story skyscraper, and the board meeting- disgruntled sources tell you- is being held on the twenty-eighth. The ground floor entrance has a skeptical, bored-looking middle-aged receptionist at the desk, plus a few white-collar employees milling around with lanyards on their necks and drinking coffee, and keycard-locked employee elevators at the back. The general atmosphere is one of hushed tension and palpable uncertainty- everybody who works here knows what's been going on. There's a helipad with roof access up top, likewise secured by a keycard system and a couple of burly-looking men in suits- that's probably how some of the more important people arrived. The twenty-eighth floor also has windows, conveniently- breaking in through them could be an efficient route, if unsubtle and impractical for those without personal flight. You've got an hour to make these suits regret their entire lives. How are you going to do it?
The Janitor	INSIDE Shining Tiger is ushered into a small waiting-room-like antechamber not far from the twenty-eighth floor's elevators. There's a few uncomfortable chairs, some ugly carpeting, and broad windows on one side showing off a high view of the gentle rainstorm outside. Ahead of him are fancy mahogany double-doors leading to the board room, with a sternly-worded placard informing him that the occupants are not to be disturbed. Someone has very politely left him with a large quantity of triangle-cut sandwiches and cool bottled water on an end table- probably the dregs of an earlier catered event, but still fancy. The only other occupant of the room is an uncomfortably bland security guard, wearing a simple black outfit and a black baseball cap; their hair's tied back in a short ponytail. They're sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup and reading the newspaper. The security guard doesn't look up as Shining Tiger enters. After several moments of ignoring him, they say in a dull, toneless voice: "Good luck."
Shining Tiger	Shining Tiger is dressed in a decent Chinese suit, hand-me-down, but good enough for an occasion such like this. He looks at the placard, and then turns to the security guard. "Hey, I can't read, what does this say?" And then, the martial artist, working as bodyguard who got ushered into the antechamber, moves over to grab a sandwich, and just devour it. And then, he realizes they said 'good luck'. "Oh, thanks! I'm excited." The young man has dark red eyes, a ponytail pulled back, and is hiding a lot of lean muscle. He's certainly fit, but not in that 'big bodybuilder bodyguard' way. Probably an agile combatant.
The Janitor	"It says 'don't go in there'," the security guard answers him. They take a long, slow, quietly audible slurp of their styrofoam-flavored coffee. If he looks real close, Shining Tiger might be able to tell that it's entirely cold. They look down at the clock above the windows, and then back down at their newspaper, idly tapping a foot against the carpet.
Eryl Fairfax	Eryl walks in through the front door. More subversive entrances are for ill-doing; his eyes are alight with righteous cause. To the receptionist he only says, "One for the board of directors. I do not have an appointment." Without even stopping, he walks up to the elevators, slams hid fingers into the gap, and pushes them apart with brute strength. Once inside the shaft, he grabs the support cable and begins climbing. Level 28, right? He can make that climb easily.
James Bond	Alleged. Why bother using that word? Bond turns the Aston's radio off, no longer wishing to hear the news. Then, the radio panel flips to reveal a series of buttons that were decidedly after-market. One of them reads JAMMER. He presses it, uses the 'volume' knob to set the timer for thirty minutes. The device won't activate until that time has passed. This isn't an official op. But... A woman, bloodied, half her face a mess of scar tissue, teeth gritted, ready to kill whoever stood between her and freedom. Undoubtedly held against her will. What was it she had said, given more ample means to secure her freedom? You're doing something good today. I promise. It wasn't the same as being told 'good job' or 'good work.' It was... different. He has to be here to do this. No one from the agency knows about this, and hopefully, no one will. He isn't sure what he'd say, were he found out. But he has to do this. To find out if that feeling is real, for one. And perhaps, dancing at the back of his mind... there is something unformed, just out of his mental grasp, which compels him, too. The meeting is being held on the twenty-eighth floor. It's not difficult to make a fake ID. You need an example to work from, patience, attention to detail. When he enters through the front door, he isn't James Bond. He's Mr. Arlington Yates, who, unbeknownst to his family or co-workers, met an unfortunate end last night on his way home from work. To the receptionist, his blond hair and green eyes, the mole on his chin, they're all the same. The ID is the same--only the electromagnetic strip has been altered to grant him access to places he wouldn't normally have. Mr. Yates takes the elevator, to the 28th floor--and if he should have to card to do it, that's just fine. The elevator car begins ascending below Eryl. Better hurry, Grandmaster!
Starbound Flotilla	"We're not fuckin' around." "You understand the cost involved in this." "Sure do! Take it out of my cut for the first Mondial thing." "Grim. I'll split that tab with you, George. This is important." "...Thanks, Sef'." "Mmmh, not a fan of goin' all out for something like this. But..." "Floran sssay, yeah, outvote. Let'sss do." "It is who you are, to do this, George. We would not be your Flotilla-mates if we chose to not accept this, so essential it is to your soul." "Let's do it." At 3:57, an electromagnetic burst commonly associated with sublight decelleration is detected in the exosphere above San Francisco. An unidentified aircraft enters San Francisco airspace at approximately 4:03, from almost directly above. Moving at a surprisingly rapid speed, it ignores all hails and disregards all airspace restrictions. The heavy transorbital gunship, SFS Vehemence II, is only starting to cease its rapid movement when it gets close to the skyline of the city. "You stay on the stick. I want the guns this time." "You're less accurate." "I wanna pull the triggers." "Hmh. Descending, two angels and slowing. Three cherubs in five, fox twelve ready." "Assured. I have the building locked on. We'll halt almost outside their window." "Readyin' the gundrone deployments. This heavenly host ought'a ash 'em quick." Anyone with access to even the most basic area radar can detect what's on its way. The Flotilla might not even use that landing pad, with George's particular feelings about a company of this sort; their intent might simply be to flood the area with heavy weapons and knock the whole skyscraper to the ground.
The Janitor	"I'm afraid you can't do that, sir," the receptionist says in a deeply apathetic voice without even looking up at Eryl. "I can schedule an appointment for... sir. Sir. You can't-" Creeeeeeaaaak. Ping. The elevator doors' metal crinkles slightly around Eryl's fingers, but the doors open for him without completely ripping apart. The receptionist stares at him in wide-eyed terror. Several of the milling-about employees back away slowly; one of them yelps in horror, another drops his coffee and fucking legs it onto the street and out of view. He's probably the smart one. By the time Bond enters the lobby a few moments later, nobody can spare a glance at him. Most of the loiering employees have dispersed. The receptionist has dialed the extension she's never supposed to dial, and is explaining what she just saw in an anxiously quavering voice while seriously considering tendering her immediate resignation. The elevator ride (or climb, as the case may be) is mercifully uneventful. On their arrival on the twenty-eighth floor, however, Eryl Fairfax will be greeted by a couple of blocky-looking men in suits with handguns in a secretary's office, one of them crouched behind the heavy wooden desk for cover and another standing off to the side of the elevator doors to jump whoever enters. James Bond will arrive to the scuffle a moment later, though his disguise may still allow him to slip by if he plays his cards just right.
Selene	Selene doesn't know a lot about demolition, weirdly enough. She knows that break things makes things break, sure, but just knocking the whole building over isn't going to send a message to the higher ups in Mondial. She has a different idea in mind for this one... She's going to crush it from top to bottom. In order to do that, though, she needs to get up there! Donning an all black version of her usual t-shirt and shorts (but not her hat), she doesn't even bother scoping out the place before beginning the first steps of her plan: Flying right up there. Alas, Selene's choice of flying Pokemon is nowhere near as subtle as her outfit, even after counting the hat. Those on the ground can see what looks like a really tall head with brightly painted wings and stubby little feet covered in white booties flapping into the air, carrying a vaguely teenager-shaped thing on its... Back? Back of its head? Whatever it is, it's flying right for the top floors, swerving around solely to avoid being directly between the gunship and the building.
The Janitor	As the Flotilla's starship approaches, the bland security guard's pager starts to go off. They fold up their newspaper, set it down neatly on a nearby table, and then stand up and grab the folding chair they were sitting on in one smooth motion. "Excuse me," they say emptily, walking past Shining Tiger to cross the room and smash out the window with the chair. The small, dark figure steps out onto the external window-ledge and effortlessly scales the rain-slicked concrete exterior to the roof. They turn around, eye the horizon from beneath the drizzling brim of their cap, and then twist their whole body like a professional pitcher to chuck the folding chair frisbee-style directly at Selene's neck. They make no direct moves to challenge the Flotilla's ship- instead, that challenge is implicit, borne of long familiarity with the person manning the guns. Go ahead. Shoot.
Shining Tiger	The security guard smashes the window, moves out to throw a folding chair, and threatens a gunship. Tiger... Just moves aside, and then goes to take their newspaper and start reading the funnies, but only for the art, since he's illiterate. There's two of them for a reason! He has to make sure nobody comes through the door.
James Bond	Bond is always one to play the cards he's dealt expertly. Everyone in the Game knows the names and faces of the Grandmaster, the First, the Mask. When you exit an elevator and see them flanked by bodyguards, you know that they've just made your job both easier and more complex. You keep walking. Why wouldn't he? He works here. A quick check of the watch as he passes by quietly shows it's 4:06. The Aston's jamming should come online in about four minutes. That's four minutes for him to handle any posted security quietly and get rid of as many of the Board as he can, before Eryl. The Grandmaster will certainly seek to arrest. Unacceptable. The sound of broken glass elsewhere would normally be cause for him to hurry. Not today. He calmly, silently approaches, muting his footfalls while maintaining that workplace casual air. Tiger is reading the newspaper. Clack. Clack. Clack. Silencers don't make that 'pew' noise they do in the movies.
Eryl Fairfax	Eryl has no words, no regard for the employees. The smart ones will run. The dumb ones will stick around and try to erase their personal involvement. Doesn't matter. This is why you go for the head, so they can turn over the organs to you. As Bond takes the elevator, Eryl simply grabs the cable that moves up to stay ahead of it. As they're about to hit the 28th floor however, Eryl slaps the emergency stop atop the lift, bringing it to a stop at its intended location. Then he crashes through the skylight to stand in the elevator proper. "Pardon me," he says to Bond before parting the doors once more and stepping out to confront at the gun-packing figures. Immediately his hand goes out to crush the pistol of the one hiding besides the doors, then grabs the whole man by the throat and hurls him at the desk to tumble over and land on the other one. "Stay down. You're not getting paid today, no matter what. You may as well avoid the hospital bills."
Shining Tiger	A man with a silenced gun comes in. He pulls the trigger. The bodyguard should be distracted - newspaper, orange cat, no awareness. But a martial artist always has awareness of his surroundings. A foot suddenly stretches under the table. With a sweeping-up motion, the table is kicked into the air, taking the bullet and diverting it off course from Tiger's head, which would otherwise have likely killed him. Standing up from his chair, Tiger quickly folds up his newspaper, and moves to cross the distance. His voice is loud enough that Eryl can hear him. "Hey! What do you think you're doing? There's a bunch of businessmen having a meeting about who knows what businessmen talk about, and it's my job to keep you out." The paper suddenly moves to jab into Bond's stomach, as the other hand moves to start countering his gun, making it difficult to shoot him without the bullet hitting his hand instead of a vital.
Selene	Selene's first obstacle is a chair! Normally, she'd be pretty worried about a chair being thrown anywhere thanks to the natural state of hardcore matches, and the fact that this one is actually being aimed at her by some strange guard with a wicked throw only makes it more exciting! More exciting for Selene, anyway. The Golbat does not seem so pleased, and it swings itself around to avoid getting beaned in the face or Selene decapitated. The chair does clip the oversized bat-head's wing, though, and the prompts it to start screaming wildly. Shrieking, even, as it starts freaking out and flapping about wildly to try and stay airborne as it starts careening towards the building in question. Selene clings onto it for dear life as it keeps gliding and screaming, ruining any chance the trainer had at getting up there with any sense of stealth. Time to get up there the loud way, then. Popping open another pinker ball, she unleashes a second giant head, but this one is considerably more purple and fatter with a white eyemask. "Plan B, Chuggins! Get us through uhh.... There!" She points right at the chair-slinging guard. Selene's not sure if that's the best idea considering how the Golbat is still screaming even now (especially with having to carry two things in mid-flight), but anything has to be better than becoming one with the pavement pavement. The Gengar complies, growing its hand to a cartoonishly stupid size before swinging it forwards to launch itself right at the guard, trying to clear a path as Selene and the shrieking Golbat follow shortly behind it!
The Janitor	The bodyguard nearest the elevator pulls the trigger on Eryl- a fraction of a second too late. Half the gun's already been mangled in the cyborg's grasp; it misfires noisily. He lets out a choked scream as he's bodily hurled across the room, knocking over his compatriot at the end of his arc. Unfortunately for them and Eryl both, a job like this selects for meatheads with little by way of either common sense or conscience. As the second bodyguard extricates himself from under the first, he fires his handgun at Eryl's hip twice and then tries to linebacker-tackle the Grandmaster into the floor. "STOP RESISTING!" He's just some nameless goon, though. It's still probably not going to go great for him. With the Grandmaster making such a target of himself, neither of them pay any notice to Bond- not even when the 'silenced' gunshots are dimly audible from the other room. The depth and nuance of James Bond's professional subtlety are somewhat lost on a situation like this.
Starbound Flotilla	George regards what's on his screen as the ship comes to a halt. There are a dozen high-powered guns bristling at his command. Missiles, dangerous launchers, rapid-fire weapons of great size. Some of them turn gently to track a heat signature on the roof, one of many other such heat signatures, not in any way remarkable or exceptional. George imagines it right now: Opening fire with everything he's got, hundreds of thousands of credits of munition obliterating the Janitor and everything around her. His heart seizes with the thought of her dimming her heat signature suddenly, flickering it to confuse the guns. Grabbing rubble and slinging it at his weapons with inhuman precision out of a rapid field-constructed sling made from her security jacket. Leaping aboard with implausible but not improbable strength, jamming one of the engines, and sending the whole thing away to crash into another building and cover an escape. George lights up a cigarette, and with a few beeping pokes at his console, decides to list that signature as a non-target. He focuses on the rest. A half-dozen heavy gunmetal drones, looking like esoteric mayan statues with heavy crystals gleaming in their cores, swarm the outer windows of the 28th, 29th, and 27th floor. They emit a sound that's like the first note of a choir, and then start blasting with heavy incendiary beams. George opens up on the 28th floor indiscriminately. He doesn't just want to kill them, he wants them to die scared of the whistling bullets and brutal gunshots, of nearby explosions. He's got a friendly, upbeat interest in the entire 28th floor lighting on fire.
The Janitor	What is it that they say about ghosts and normality, again? As the Gengar winds up for a massive punch against the nameless security guard, they raise an open palm to block the pokemon's strike head-on. The force of it drives them back a few inches on the gravel- but they are improbably, impossibly uninjured. When they pull a piece of shattered glass out of their shoe like a boot-knife and try to drive it into the phantasmal beast's arm in retaliation, there is no hesitation or fear on their face, nor triumph or hatred- just a clammy, empty audacity. The security guard could stand and fight. They could make a point of this. But they decide not to. Turning their back on the starship and the pokemon, they sprint for the other edge of the building and casually jump off. Several seconds later, there's a distant crunch and the bleating of a car alarm. They're gone; the rooftop is now empty, and the building without aerial defenses.
The Janitor	The Flotilla's guns and drones open fire, and the twenty-eighth floor immediately begins transforming into a fiery hellscape. Its reinforced concrete structures can hold under the assault for a few moments, but not longer- the windows immediately blow out, on the other hand, allowing explosive munitions, lasers, and bullets to scorch anything unlucky enough to have a view of the outside. Mondial never built their skyscraper to stand up to a spaceship's firepower- if something isn't done to blunt the Flotilla's offensive immediately, every mundane human being on the twenty-eighth floor is going to die. This is murder, of course. Anyone who doesn't hand in their resignation after reading in the newspaper that their company's committing crimes against humanity is at least a little morally suspect- but still, it's not just suits and meatheads in there. Someone's secretary can be heard howling in pain after taking a piece of shrapnel to the leg. Up on the roof, the helicopter pilot desperately tries to lift off before the building collapses under them, passengers be damned.
James Bond	"Is that right?" says Bond. Still keeping the pistol leveled at Tiger, he reaches into his pocket and produces a couple of blown-up copies of the microfilm from the last op. Things he shouldn't have. Things he had meant to show to the Board, before he killed them. But if this bodyguard is both good enough to see him coming and unprofessional enough not to currently be trying to kill him, fine. He'll indulge. "Take a look at what they're talking about--at what they're hiding--and tell me if you still want to keep me out." Pictures are tossed Tiger's way. Pictures of hideously deformed suffering suspended in tranquil animation, of scars from the greedy kiss of harvesting scalpels, of misshapen tumorous things kept alive and in pain to serve the bottom line. "There is a man on this floor right now who wants to give those men a trial, put them in a comfortable prison where they'll still enjoy a far better life than these poor bastards got. If you object to that--I suggest you go stop him now, and leave me to my work."
Eryl Fairfax	BANG! plink BANG! plink Eryl turns and raises his leg in response to the aimed and fired gun. The bullets drill into metal limbs, dealing only minor dents. And then the raised leg chambers, lashing out in a vicious kick against the rushing guard, smashing into his skull and sending him flying back. Eryl rushes the firing guard, vaulting the desk and wrapping his arm around his neck. "DOWN!" It might seem like Eryl's just choking him out, but he was also dragging him to the ground to avoid the beams from the drones outside. But he is still choking the guard into unconsciousness yes. Once that's done, he rushes the door to the meeting room, armblades extending, and slashes the sides, separating the bulk from the hinges. From there, he shoulder-tackles them, knocking the mass inwards, and grabs the handles to use them as shields from any retaliatory fire. "I am Eryl Fairfax, Grandmaster of the Paladins! Everyone in this room is under arrest!"
Shining Tiger	Radio comms come on. While Tiger talks to Eryl over that, Bond shows him the photos. His face blanches, but he doesn't look away. After a few moments... "I don't care if they live or die. I just want to fight, and..." The window starts to blow up. Tiger pushes Bond back, to avoid the glass blasting back into him, and turns. "I'll fight that thing! Holy shit that's awesome!" Tiger radios Eryl a thing, and then starts moving. Explosives and lasers are coming in. He starts dashing towards the window, arms stretched out in a ninja run, before he suddenly leaps at the very end. Tiger is propelled into the air as energy leaves his feet, and energy starts to envelop him. A blazing silver aura flares around him, as he moves to land directly on top of a drone, and kick into it, sending it hurtling to the ground, before proceeding to jump off it at just the right time to do it to another, and start trying to reach that gunship. They might want to actively start shooting him down, or something.
Selene	Selene hears a strange din outside as she crashes through what's left of the window with her Golbat, the screaming bat's noise growing ever louder as it echoes off the walls and ceilings it finds itself surrounded by. Even Selene can't bear it for that much longer, withdrawing the creature only to see two things of great import: the Gengar getting stabbed in its stumpy arm and howling in pain, and the gunship's drones blasting away at the 28th floor. Somehow, she still looks excited with that persistent wide grin on her face. "Whoa... This is what I was looking for! Now let's make it loud and cooler, weird guard!" Turning back to the nameless guard as the Gengar draws back from getting that glass wedged into it, she stares at the guard wordlessly during that aerial maneuver to just get out of there. "... I should learn how to do that." Still sounding awestruck, she glances around only to realize that she's still in that same general area with Eryl, Bond, and the mysterious martial artist. "Shining Tiger, eh? Well, well, well! Standing before you now is the world's eventually greatest but not quite great yet kidnapper-" She claps her hands together, walks around in an incredibly small circle, then strikes an odd pose with one knee held up to her side while the Gengar mirrors the pose with its own stumpy leg propping Selene up. Both of their fingers are pointed at Shining Tiger, of course, although the Gengar still seems distressed about that glass stuck in its arm. "Muscle Chicken! Guest starring Chuggins! And-" She pauses, looking around only to recall that she already withdrew the Golbat. "... Anyway. Uh. Glad to make a deal!" Seeming satisfied herself over Eryl's dealmaking skills, she flips a spray bottle out of her pocket to tend to the Gengar while following the Grandmaster to the meeting room. And then she does that same pose again, albeit stilted what with tending to her ghostly companion. "Muscle Chicken is on the case, too! Don't move a muscle or you're dead, chumplickers!"
Starbound Flotilla	"Bird two down. Bird three-- Dammit. Another one." "Alert. Incoming attacker, melee-type!" "God dammit." "Solo, twelve, 50 units closing." "I KNOW! Pullin' guns!" The Vehemence pulls back as it loses many of its drones. The heavy, armored gunship's VTOL engines rotate quickly and try to blast Shining Tiger with heavy exhaust, before opening up on him and trying to circle around the building to make it more difficult to attack any more, and give it room to focus on the building further. But that leaves the drones open... A fact that Pavo seems to hate. She pulls them away from their arsonist intentions and starts sending them all after Shining Tiger. The flying, whirring, buzzing things sing that choir-like tone as they start unloading dangerous elemental fire beams at Shining Tiger, rushing at him to make sure all of them have an open angle to use to try to burn him, whether he takes cover in the building or maneuvers, otherwise, elsewhere.
The Janitor	The bodyguard thrashes valiantly in Eryl's grip, but ultimately, he's just a hired tough- as bullets streak overhead to perforate the walls and explosions vibrate the floor, he succumbs to the chokehold and crumples into a heap as Eryl lays him down. "You can't... hrrrk." The mahogany double-doors are surprisingly thick and padded with soundproofing foam inside, but they come apart under Eryl's assault anyway. The board room beyond is isolated, insulated, nearly bulletproof- all in all, a pretty decent saferoom. It won't hold up for long under an unmitigated Flotilla assault, but it's gone thus far undamaged while the rest of the floor is more and more resembling a piece of burnt swiss cheese. A slender man with short hair is standing in front of a PowerPoint presentation. One of the slides is a still depicting a woman James Bond would recognize, her skin a sun-starved pale and half her face consumed by a web of grayish scar tissue. She's wearing proper clothes now, shown standing at a podium with a microphone, her one eye alight with a look of sharpened rage. The framing suggests the still was taken from a news program. "-best bet is to disavow the actions of the Nevada branch as... uh. As." Every head in the room turns to look at Eryl; almost every face bears an expression of obvious, guilty fear. A bald, middle-aged man in a turtleneck stands up and walks towards him with the aura of someone who's gotten whole milk in their coffee when they ordered two percent. An appropriately terrified executive tries to snag his arm and pull him back, but he shakes them off. "Who the fuck are you," he says rhetorically, too indignant to have properly heard Eryl very plainly introducing himself. "I don't know what your problem is, but if you don't put those mall katanas down, I'm going to call security on-" Director Asshole's eyes wander from Eryl's face to over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the flaming, rubble-strewn, bullet-pockmarked hallway behind. "Oh," he says dully, his gormless brain working overtime to process the notion that he might not be in control here.
James Bond	Bond is, in a word, bewildered. That has got to be both the best and the worst bodyguard someone could ask for. He is shoved, and dives further, hitting the deck. Shards of broken glass and explosions. Rubble. Fire. The voice on the radio--it's George. If he speaks up, people will know he was here. That can't happen. But he also can't leave it to chance. Getting to his feet, he runs, as George's gunship chews the building apart one piece at a time, emerging into the room with Eryl just in time to see that he's too late. The Aston's timer goes off. Bond cancels it. No point in trying for radio silence when there's a god damn gunship outside and the Grandmaster on the inside, making arrests personally. Well. Bond might not be able to get all of them--but he can damn well try. As mentioned before, silencers don't make the sound they do in the movies, but they can be around the same level of decibels. The executive who tried to stop the Director is fired upon. Remember the rule of three--two to the chest, one to the head. Eryl will certainly hear the first shot. Bond is only a few feet behind him, bloodied from a falling chunk of rubble. Original Face may give him advance warning--there will almost certainly be recognition and fear in the eyes of those two men, an uptick in heart rate, as what is clearly a pistol is leveled directly at one of them.
Eryl Fairfax	Someone wasn't listening. Eryl looks sternly at the advancing, bald man. Spitting vitriol to get his way, as he always done. But a look at the carnage behind the slashed doors immediately shuts him up. The stern look on the Grandmaster's face shifts to a pleasant smile. "Done? Good. As you can see, people are here for your life. I am here to put you in a cell. I only need a few of you, but I can take all of you. The rest are free to walk into the hail of gunfire as you pl-" There. In the man's eye as the glimmer of recognition, of fear strikes it. A reflection. The man from the elevator. Gun. Eryl shifts, ever so slightly. Two to the chest, one to the head. Bond will have to settle for two to the back as Eryl moves to take the shot, his strengthened torso absorbing the bullets, the metal plates in his skull blocking the headshot. He's bleeding, but far less worse off than the director would have been. He turns, looking at Bond with angry eyes. "If you've been hired by someone looking to erase what they've done, I'll crush you here and now. If you're seeking justice for what you know, consider what they know that you don't. Killing them here won't erase what you know, and what you don't will continue. You cut the head off to probe the brain, not to slay the beast."
Shining Tiger	Drones start spraying fire as the gunship gets away. There's a few avenues, as Tiger drops from one to another. He could run across the building. But as George talks, he thinks about those explosives and... Learns a new move. As one of the drones sets his sleeve on fire, burning it down to nothing and causing burns mitigated by the powerful ki, Tiger leaps to slam straight into the wall. He launches a forward strike, fist going straight out. A powerful flare of ki swallows it, pointing out like a rocket. It punches a hole into a room. Tiger's goal is to sweep across the 28th floor, lead the drones after him and smash them with any heavy objects he can find, and then punch another hole in another wall with another forward strike to get to the side of the building with the Flotilla gunship!
The Janitor	The assorted suits respond to gunfire like most non-Elites would- in a disorganized variety of panicky ways. For all the violence they've blandly and indirectly done to other people, they weren't prepared for it to come home to roost. The Director staggers backwards, all of the color draining from his face in abject horror as he trips over a chair-leg and falls flat backwards. Several of them scream and crowd towards the back wall, trying to get away from the gunman. The quicker-thinking ones flip tables to hide behind as improvised cover. A couple just stare at the bizarre scene, abjectly dumbfounded. None of them are armed. One of the ones hiding behind a table pops open a small metal box, like a cigar case, and pulls a green syringe out. Taking advantage of the confusion, she lunges forward and stabs it into Powerpoint Guy's thigh. "Sorry, Dave," she mutters, in a tone that says she really doesn't mean it. He makes a strangled noise, drops to one knee, and almost immediately starts shuddering in uncomfortably visceral ways. Something's happening to him.
Selene	There's a lot more people in there than Selene expected. Where to start, though? With George so hellbent on shooting them all up from thegunship while Shining Tiger charges out to intercept him and have a sweet ass fight outside the building, she's left with a bit of time to sorto ut how she wants to put the screws to the executives. Eryl seems to want to arrest them. Bond seems to want to kill them. Selene sees an opportunity to prepare herself for the future. "Alright, Chuggins... Tag out time." She holds up the pink ball and taps it against the ghost's head gently, not calling out another Pokemon just yet as she weighs her options. Eryl doesn't seem to want to let Bond kill them, but vengeance must be served! "Killing them would be pretty ironic or whatever." She mutters with a thoroughly forced attempt at sounding like a teenage edgelord, tossing a red and white ball up and down in her hands moments later. She immediately drops that tone, though, once she pops that ball open and out comes... A black and red cat. It stares at the the executives with intense disinterest as Selene chuckles quietly at first, then starts cackling loudly. "So here's how it's gonna be buttnuts! Tell us what we wanna know, or the big guy here-" Selene reaches over to try and give Eryl an encouraging pat on the side, wisely avoiding the bullet wounds. "-might not be able to stop our shooty friend back there!" She gestures at Bond next, keeping her head down in case he needs a clear shot or someone's seated. "And if you make us real mad, then this fiery little fella's gonna make you wish you had a fire escape around here!" Selene's excitable grin widens as she gets on a knee to give the Torracat a light squeeze, pointing at the leftmost person in the room and raising an eye as Powerpoint Guy starts convulsing with the power of green mystery syringe. "Yeah, oh that'll happen. Come on, we don't have all day! Spill it!"
James Bond	Bond doesn't lower his gun. "I know who you are. I don't doubt you believe what you say." There is nothing on this man's face. Not fear, not anger. He is looking past Eryl, even as the Grandmaster stares him down. "Do you know what the difference is, between these people and Mossadegh? Between them, and Arbenz? Qasim?" His eyes narrow, slightly, the one sign of emotion he's shown. "None of those men would play ball. But these ones will. Because they're soft. And weak. And they'll do anything to save themselves--especially if it means they can have their money, too." His eyes then lock on Eryl's. "You want me to stop? I want you to tell me they don't keep it. Not any of it. They get thrown in, not with the rest of the financiers and the yacht club--with the animals. And if they manage to live through a very long sentence without another inmate sticking something sharp between their ribs... they step outside, old, withered, used up, with no house, no car, no offshore accounts, no retirement plan, nothing but whatever hole they got thrown in paid them for stamping license plates as they looked over their shoulder. That's 'justice' to me." One of them has something stabbed into his thigh. Poison, maybe. Bond doesn't react. But he does speak up to Selene. "We don't even know what 'that' is."
Starbound Flotilla	CRASH! SMASH! The Flotilla's own drones are battered by desks, rubble, office golf kits, big executive tables, all kinds of shit like that. Several spin out. Others require smashing directly. But the maneuvering through the environment gives Shining Tiger an advantage over the drones. "Bird five, bird six... Dammit! Little heretic got all of 'em!" "Watch! Floran sseee, he got through to other side!" "Stressed. Marked room, near side!" "Son of a bitch is gonna jump for us. Moonie!" "Of course." Today is not a day when the Flotilla needs its teleportation technician to focus on teleporter operation. So the top hatch on the gunship slams open, with one clenched fist poking out. A heavy-duty diving-samurai armor set gleaming cyan is what's seen to emerge. Moonfin, the one wearing it, draws his katana dramatically, moves through a few dramatic motions, and takes a defensive stance, facing Shiningg Tiger particularly. Looks like he intends to be the main melee interception for if the martial artist jumps this way, and is likely to leap forward blade-first if Shining Tiger approaches the Vehemence! This way, George hopes, he can focus his heavy gunfire on digging more violently through to the boardroom with more sustained heavy weapons fire. As long as he can surround it with a raging inferno, it'll be particularly tough for these professional golf-club-fondlers to get anywhere.
Eryl Fairfax	Bond is stabbed, but he stands firm. Eryl sees no opportunist seeking revenge, nor a mercenary looking to make money. A man with a different view on justice. Or rather, one who wishes to prevent an injustice, by any means. "Of course," Eryl says. "They'll lose their means. Their contacts will be scoured to ensure no influence is exerted on the justice process. They will face a fair trial and be sentenced fairly for the crimes they have committed." Looking to Serena, he sighs and nods. "As you like. You can stay on this floor and ensure they don't try to run." He walks to the table that dominates the middle of the room and slashes it in half, shoving them aside to open up the middle of the room. He then begins cutting through the floor, creating a portal to a lower floor. Bullets are flying down there too, so he cuts a second hole directly below the first, creating a drop from 28th floor to 26th "Jump down and I'll catch you! One at a time!" he shouts up to the directors.
Shining Tiger	As Tiger punches through walls and pursues the Vehemence, Moonfin hops out of a hatch on top. With the drone down...Tiger grins as he slides into another leap. "Alright, armor man! I'll fight you!" He moves to try and land on the gunship, but if Moonfin leaps out, they could have a cool battle in mid-air before suddenly plummeting really quickly, unless they get crashed back into the building. Either way it goes, Tiger shouts out. "Crap, I forgot my sword!" He is not, whatsoever, mitigating George. He's too caught up by the actual swordsman, and also, the mid-air approach.
James Bond	Yes? ...not the answer he was expecting. Not so unequivocally. Not so quickly given. Again--there is no sign of any thought process behind those cold eyes of his. The time it takes for him to lower his gun is chilling, for that fact--like looking at a man frozen in time. "Do as he says," Bond eventually orders, after Eryl has cut his hole. "It's the animals later, or the bullet now." The 'animals' might get them--but he certainly will, if they don't move. He gestures with the gun to the hole Eryl cut, his eyes flicking towards the woman still displayed on the screen. Speaking out against this... was she the one who came forward first, or just another joining a chorus of angry voices? She has every right to be angry. But the fact that she's well enough to be angry... Maybe she was right. Maybe he did do something good.
Starbound Flotilla	"Moonie! He's hoppin'!" "Fourth Sea Hylotl Style: Storm's Falling Rains!" The whole gunship rocks as Moonfin launches hard at Shining Tiger blade-first. A series of dramatic swipes, kicks, and hilt-strikes occupy the agonizingly long time the two stay about level with the vessel, and then they're diving. Moonfin's mid-air jets are enough to pull him just slightly away from Shining Tiger. "If your soul lacks the forging of a proper blade, then never face me with anything less than a blade of your own." He declares as they fall. Then, a grappling hook comes out. He fires at the side of the building, suddenly translating his momentum into a huge swing -- specifically, a swinging kick he tries to deliver to Shining Tiger's chest, brutally slamming him into the interior of the building through a shattering window, probably somewhere around the tenth floor. He doesn't wait even a single second before he's back to his big, dramatic swipes. His blade is so overcharged and his strikes so brutally impactful that even they threaten to cut support columns and smash walls, ceilings, and floors as he works to strike Shining Tiger down. George, cleared of his obstruction above, focuses. He starts unloading the more dangerous things he couldn't get a clear shot for: Exotic space-napalm and other hazardous fiery chemical weapons are meant to coat the building, to turn 27 into an inferno -- and to make the escape he's not quite aware of into something even more precarious and dangerous.
The Janitor	"Dave" repeatedly retches like he's going to throw up, but nothing happens. His arms fold in against his chest and he slumps back against the wall behind him, curling up like a dying bug. The megadose of experimental "medicine" in his bloodstream- the final fruit of Mondial's poison tree- is reacting with his skin, burning and crystallizing it from the inside in the places where the blood vessels are closest to the surface; not a biological reaction, but pure hostile chemistry. There's no trace of pain on his face, at least. He's too far gone for that. Everyone else gives him a wide berth as they filter past, hurriedly jumping down the hole; those who hesitate only need a glance into James Bond's eyes to find something scarier than the fall. One by one, Eryl catches them. Three, four, five... they don't try to resist or run, once he's gotten them clear of the carnage. They're much too shaken and cowed for that. The woman in the slideshow, the woman Bond rescued- she looks well. Healthier, certainly, than she was when he pressed a gun into her hand and told her to run. Her dark hair is brushed over the 'missing' half of her face, hiding most of the scar tissue from view; her expression, though wrathful, has an element of nobility to it. What would she think of these suits? Would she turn them over to Eryl, like that? Or would she try and shoot them herself? "Dave" picks himself up from the floor with a lurching, sinuous movement, moving in ways that humans intuitively understand their bodies aren't meant to move, and the few remaining suits in the board room scream in abject panic. They recognize what's happening to him, or they have some idea. His gaze is unfocused, his muscles are twitching and writhing under his skin, and his mouth is drooling with the tar-like byproducts of the noxious chemical mixture reacting with his bodily fluids. His shirt is starting to chemically burn away as it comes into contact with the spreading crystalline burn-marks on his body, and his hands are wizening to dessicated claws. The bald Director tries to jump down the hole. Dave grabs him by the neck, hauls him back up into the board room, slams him against a wall, and starts to tear him apart with the strength of a body in its swan song. Even as he does, Dave's blank eyes turn to James Bond and Selene next.
Shining Tiger	After the mid-air confrontation, Tiger goes slamming back through the wall of a lower floor. Rubble and glass crash into him, as he's slammed down. A blade comes down with overcharged swipes, brutal enough to break through walls and ceilings. That aura is still flaring around Tiger. The blade comes down, to kill him. Hands come up, to grab it. The overcharged energy burns into Tiger's palms as he claps the blade together, cutting into his flesh, crimson blood spilling out as he winces. "Blade? My soul isn't like a blade, so sorry about that. My soul..." The aura builds, slightly, as Tiger moves to suddenly slam his head into the armored chest with an impactful burst of strength. "IS A FIST!" Hopefully, the blade is no longer swiping down, so Tiger can move his hands. He moves to palm-strike Moonfin, trying to push him backwards, and get some battle space. "Win or lose, these people live or die, I don't care! It's all about the fight. I'd rather they live - but getting to fight you is one step closer to my enlightenment. So, thank you!" And then, a stance up. Moonfin can either continue to attack, or disengage. The former would please Tiger. The latter would probably have Tiger stalking him later.
James Bond	Something abjectly horrifying has happened, as a man Bond presumed to have been dosed with a lethal injection has instead been given a cocktail of Mondial's worst. As he watches Dave rise up, clothes melting off from the noxious secretions of his own skin, Bond feels the urge. <J-IC-Scene> James Bond says, "Looks like the medicine's worse than the disease." <J-IC-Scene> Eryl Fairfax says, "What's happening up there?" <J-IC-Scene> James Bond going for an unprecedented two, "What's it sound like? Someone gave the Director a taste of his own medicine." That woman... he knows she would have killed them all. Were he in her position, he'd probably have tried, despite Eryl. Wherever she is, he hopes the knowledge that the Director of this godawful place was killed, in a way, by his own handiwork, somehow reaches her. As for Dave... "Now would be a good time for that fire," says Bond to Selene, before emptying the weapon into the shambling grotesquerie, only after he's certain the Director is dead. He said he wouldn't shoot--not that he would intervene if someone else made an attempt.
Selene	"Hah! Sounds like everything worked out in the end." Selene laughs as Eryl and Bond come to an agreement, and she levels a dead-eyed stare at the executives that aren't Powerpoint Guy. "Well, get to it. TC here might have to set this whole room on fire in a minute if he starts getting bored." The cat's bell jingles briefly, and it looks like it's starting to glow. Selene might not be lying about that threat. Alas, she doesn't have to do that just yet as, while Eryl is getting the executives to safety, Dave begins ripping the Director to shreds. It's a grisly sight, and there's a moment where it looks like Selene's ever-present grin might actually crack. In the end, it doesn't as she instead holds her hand up to give the mysteriously transformed Dave a slow thumbs up. She doesn't just stand there gawking, of course, instead backing up slowly through what's left of the entrance to the meeting room. The Torracat remains between her and Dave, its bell glowing again in anticipation of something. Bond gives her the go ahead, and Selene's grin widens. "Say no more, fam. Hey, what's that thing over there?" She points at the wall behind Dave, then snaps her fingers. That, combined with the gunfire, is enough of a signal to the Torracat to start belching flames upon the Dave, sweeping that fire breath from side to side to try and cover as much of the room's open space in fire as possible.
Eryl Fairfax	Eryl prepares to catch the last, bald man before something grabs him. The vicious sound of ripping meat and cracking bone drowns out even the drone fire. "What's happening up there?!" he demands, and gets Bond's response. 'Own medicine?' Someone dosed him? But who, and when? The onset of the effects were rapid according to the reports, so it can't have been before Eryl entered... When they dove for cover, they left his line of sight for an instant. That is the only time an injection could have happened without Original Face noticing. And he highly doubts it was self-inflicted. Eryl starts grabbing wrists of the board directors and raising them to show him his palms and fingers. The momentary crease caused by pushing down the plunger. It might escape a person's ordinary sight, but it won't escape Original Face. "Whoever did that, expect a longer sentence."
Starbound Flotilla	SMASH! Waves of cyan sparks bleed off of Moonfin's armor, and a hefty dent and web of cracks show the impact site. Moonfin sucks in a breath that has been knocked out of him, and falls to one knee, propping himself up on the katana plunged into the ground for a moment. "A fist. Grasping nothing. Holding nothing. Let it be a palm, or a tegatana, but never a fist." He shakes himself all of a sudden, mustering more strength to fight, and rising off his knee to point the katana at Shining Tiger. "Fifth Sea Hylotl Style: Tossing Waves." He calls out, rushing forward. His katana unleashes mining-beam energies that begin to tear up more of the environment, intending to cause wholesale floor collapses. Even more, it seems, to create a casualty-inducing hazardous environment. Speaking of which, George hasn't caught on to the fact that Eryl Fairfax, Selene, and James Bond are making progress on the more personal boardroom interactions. They're too well-hidden, of course. But George DOES know to not wait for a no-bodies situation. He starts pulling the gunship in towards the 28th floor, leaving the weapons in Albert's hands. George, Seft, Biteblade, and Pavo each deploy in their full durasteel tactical gear, crashing into the burning area of the skyscraper and spreading out to seek out the boardroom corpses -- and, in the unlikely event that the board aren't corpses, to pursue them ruthlessly and relentlessly. The Boardroom gang are going to need to speed up their escape if they don't want to get interfered with by the heavily armed tactical gang and their incendiary weapons loadout -- or cut off by Moonfin's crashing and smashing of the floors far below.
The Janitor	The Director is- fortunately or unfortunately- dead before he can scream, his body reduced to hamburger in a blender-like flurry of crystallized finger-bones and chemically augmented strength. It's probably better than he deserves. James Bond discovers that the parts of Dave's body that have been chemically warped by the injection are remarkably resilient to bullets in a leathery way, but the rest of him is still flesh and blood- albeit flesh and blood that no longer seems to have a sense of pain or self-preservation. Nor, Selene discovers, is his new composition particularly flammable. The main 'stopping power' of fire is how it makes people panic- scream, flail around, roll on the floor. Dave doesn't do any of that. He wades forward through the flames, sucking in air through multiple center-mass chest wounds, only slowed by the bullets in him to the extent that they've physically disrupted his muscles and bones. He gets in a good few frantic swings at both of them with those razor-sharp fingerbones, bleeding and on fire, before finally succumbing to some combination of "losing all his blood" and "literally being cooked". By that point, of course, everyone who hasn't managed to jump down the hole yet has either burned to death in the fire or been ventilated by the Flotilla's guns finally breaking through the reinforced room. In a few moments, everything in this room is going to be charred to a crisp or aerilated by futuristic projectiles. There are still laptops, cell phones; there's still the projector and its slide show- this is the last chance to grab more dirt if you're not going home with live prisoners. Then, of course, this is the scene that the Flotilla arrive upon- three or four dead bodies in a burning room, a hole in the floor and the floor below that, and perhaps Bond and Selene if they haven't vacated yet.
The Janitor	Eryl's enhanced perception finds the culprit quickly- a woman in her late thirties, dark hair tied up in a tight bun. Her thumb bears the subtle crescent-shaped indentation caused by depressing the syringe's plunger. When he picks her out, though, she looks up at him with an expression of quivering anger and tries to yank her hand away. "I don't know what bullshit cold reading you're trying to do," she hisses back, "but it won't hold up in a court. I want to talk to my lawyer." The other four suits he's rescued are smart enough to keep their mouths shut about it, but several of them look at her accusingly. There's no real doubt about it.
James Bond	<J-IC-Scene> Selene says, "Let's grab whatever crap we can sell on the internet and get outta here! Or intel. Sell the intel online!" "Anything that gunship hasn't blown away ought to stay buried in whatever rubble is left of this place," says Bond to Selene. "And whoever would buy it from you ought to burn along with it." The PPK is put away, the silencer removed and stowed also. To make his escape, Bond pulls, in reverse, the same trick Eryl used to get up. The same one he used at the Nevada facility, in fact. The doors are pried open with strength no mid-level pencil-pusher like 'Arlington Yates' should reasonably be able to muster. Mr. Yates' watch certainly shouldn't have a grappling dart launcher installed, nor would he be expected to rappel all the way down the elevator shaft to the ground floor. The moment he emerges into the lobby, however, he's exactly as one would expect him to be. Panicked, hurried, desperate to be away from the chaos of a building under siege. Naturally, he would be expected to put as much distance between that building and himself as possible. He vanishes into a parking garage, but the man and the car which exit, thirty minutes later, are not Arlington Yates and his droll brown sedan.
Eryl Fairfax	"Okay then." Out come the cuffs. One goes around the woman's wrist. The other goes around the leg of a large table that's bolted to the floor. "Since you have proven yourself a hazard to the valuable testimonies I am here to retrieve, I can't have you coming along. I'm sure the people in that gunship will be along to retrieve you eventually." And with that, he begins marshalling the survivors towards the stairs to get them out of the building. If-and only if-the woman confesses to the crime, then Eryl will shoot the chain of the cuffs so she can come along. If not, well. It's like he said, he only needs some of them.
Shining Tiger	The Flotilla says their piece, and then Tiger moves to radio. After back and forth, and a realization that Tiger only fights for violence, Tiger decides he'll learn how to fight to tell a story, for the battle, for the duel. That means Moonfin needs to survive, so that he can be his tutor, but... The building's falling apart. Tiger trips up, but lands on his hands, cut into glass. He flips, trying to land onto a piece of rubble in mid-air to kick off, even as he's getting blasted and damaged by the explosions. But his body is tough - it's mostly 'battle damage', nothing grievious that'll last. When Moonfin tells him to show him, Tiger leaps onto a wall, running alongside it. "I could show you my greatest technique - but that would be a misstep, I feel. We're not sworn enemies, and you haven't earned it. Maybe someday. Instead..." "AXLE KICK!" Tiger leaps off the wall parallel to Moonfin's current position, and starts kicking. His body starts spinning, a real floating spinning kick like a video game, with momentum and movement through the air, straight towards Moonfin's center of mass. It's strong and fast, meant to do 'one last hit' rather than knock him out or kill him. If Moonfin doesn't go for a parting strike, Tiger moves to then press off the nearest surface and punch through a wall with another bunker bust, to go to ground. He'll land into a crouch on the first floor exterior, unharmed.
Selene	Backing up as the Dave continues to lurch onwards, Selene lets out a startled yelp as he takes those wild flaming swings at herself and Bond, and even manages to draw blood in his death throes. In normal circumstances, that'd be somewhat manageable with liberal use of healing sprays, but... The circumstances quickly become less than normal with the Flotilla burning the place up and the Torracat also still burning things. "Lotta fire, huh, guy? Let's grab whatever crap we can sell on the internet and get outta here! Or intel. Sell the intel online!" Alas, Bond gives a pretty good reason not to sell it, although it does't turn her off entirely from grabbing stuff as a general plan, anyway. It's not the most well thought out plan by far, but it's the first one that comes to mind for Selene. With so many juicy targets to snag, how could she possibly-she goes for the projector and slide show. Just because she's not going to sell any of it doesn't mean she can't try to herself. Best case scenario, whatever's in the slideshow will give her ideas on things to make or stuff to use on her creatures.. Worst case scenario, she still gets a snazzy projector for her room. It's not like she could ever justify buying one herself. Once she makes sure she's got a solid hold of the equipment in question, she swaps the fire cat for the screaming bat head again, then uses it to dive out the missing/highly perforated wall before trying to make her escape from the air!
The Janitor	"What- what are you- HEY! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" The nameless exec first tries to pull on the handcuff, to no avail, and then to kick at Eryl's shin, which proves similarly useless. As he and the other suits leave, none of her former compatriots giving her so much as a backwards glance, she howls: "THIS IS MURDER! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!" She has a deep, almost reptilian obliviousness to the fact that she herself just assassinated a man five minutes ago.
Starbound Flotilla	The tactical slaughter gang spread and soon converge. Pavo is the one who finds Selene's exit, but no evidence of any of the board members making it out this way. She aims her magnorb gauntlet around, searching on the horizon for a sign of some unusual extration... but there's only Selene. And no board-member. Biteblade runs about, grabbing teeth, checking them against the Flotilla's records. Seft and George move together, for the most part, checking the rooms for unwelcome survivors. "Woah, hey! Hole in 27-down, boardroom!" "Uh oh! Isss bad! How many bodiesss?" "Worried. I suspect not enough." "And one'a them all twisty. We gotta see where they went! Rappelling!" George dives down, using his grappling hook to brace the fall. He slams hard onto the ground, panting as his knees crackle. He sucks a deep breath of his cigarette to power through it, and presses on, brandishing his incendiary energy-shotgun carefully as he checks... Meanwhile, far down below, Moonfin is subjected to a much more gamified attack pattern, that of a battle disk, like a combat hockey minigame. He manages to get the flat of his between him and the kick, but simply managing that isn't going to solve this by a long shot. Instead, it jars both shoulders so hard the pauldrons spark and nearly explode from the strain, knocks the man back intensely, and makes a rippling wave of contusions all inside both arms -- but he remains standing. He skids for about ten seconds through wrecked desks and cubicle walls before he stops, and he stops far too late to pursue Shining Tiger. The man harumphs in frustration, but as he sheathes his blade, he notices... a prodigious crack in it. "...Hmmmm." Meanwhile, far above, George comes upon the woman handcuffed to the table. He looks her up and down, and doesn't wait for a single word: He blasts at her center mass with his incendiary energy-shotgun, intent on burning her. Then he retracts his helmet, flicks the spent butt of his cigarette into the flames, and refreshes with a new one, lit from the flames around him, before closing back up and resuming the sweep. Through the whole damn building, if he has to. They'll retreat when it collapses or when there's just no more signs of life.