Official RP Thread: The Evolutionist's Stone (8)

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

Simon found him in the back, sleeping, and poked him.

He sat up groggily and looked around. "Are we there?"

"Yep. Hey, listen man-"

"Cyril." came his quite interruption.

Simon was puzzled for a few seconds, before getting it. "Cyril, right. I just wanted to thank you for, well, everything man. Seriously, I-"

Cyril held up his hand. "It was literally nothing. Took no trouble at all."

He got up and walked to the front of the bus. "How's she handle?" he asks Duke. "Felt like it was doing most of the work, right? Great thing about an idea, in encapsulates the whole of a thing including a conclusion. I won't say this thing wants to be driven, because that's ridicules, but its certainly an apt comparison."

He gazed out the window at the big walls of the prison.

"So, we going in Trojan Horse or Rambo?"

[Celadon's Penultimate]

Duke looked back to the men, and thought to himself. As much as he figured he had sound judgment before, he was beginning to think now, that maybe he was over-analyzing things. Maybe the best solution was a simple. They had a good little mix of supers and fighting-fit normals, and when they get in, they'd only help free even more.

His decision made, he turned back to face the jail, with a grin.

"Heh...for this kind of job, I think Rambo had the right idea."

The men filed out, and approached the fence to watch Cyril work his magic.

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

"Alright then! Lets get armed, shall we?" He walked out before them, opened up the book to a specific page, and pulled out a freshly minted Machine-gun. He threw it to Duke and produced another, walking from man to man handing them out, all the while talking.

"Now, lets go into some ground rules for these things." He said, like an instructor teaching a new class. It's clear from his tone and practiced voice that he's given this speech before. "What you have in your hands are not guns. They are Guns; capital G, proper noun. Any gun you have handled before now has just been metal shaped and pressed and assembled into the form of a Gun. This," He holds the latest one up for emphasis. " is an an idea. The whole of it, including a conclusion. If you've never handled a gun before, don't worry. The conclusion to the Idea of a gun is that something gets shot. You'll handle these things as if you've got years of experience under your belts."

The men who have weapons look down at them, feel them in their hands. One adventures sort raised his, only to have Cyril rush over push it back down. He looks the man dead in the eyes. "Let me finish."

He obediently keeps it down as Cyril continues down the line.

"There are certain risks that come with wielding a concept. I'm not going to say these things want to shoot people, because that would be silly.  However, I've noticed that people fingers seem to slip an awful lot when wielding these things so lets all practice some basic trigger discipline, keep them pointed at the ground until you need them, and absolutely do. Not. Point. The barrel. At anything. You Don't. Want. Shot. And for god's sake, keep 'em set to semi-auto."

He reached the end of the line, handing the last weapon off to Simon, before turning around. "Now, I'm gonna hand out Flak Jackets...."

After a moment, that was done, the men hastily pulling the bulletproof vests on in light of Cyril comments about the weapons. He looked over them, satisfied that they seemed to have the proper deference for the power he had just put in their hands.

"Okay, everyone back on the bus."

"What are you gonna do?" Simon asked, but Cyril had already pulled something out of the book, a heavy thump signalling exactly what Cyril intended to do.



Still, it wasn't like him to leave a question hanging. "Scare them. If this all goes well, we won't have to kill anyone. They'll see how outmatched they are and give up. I believe it's called an 'overwhelming show of force.'"

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

Aiming wasn't an issue. You don't even have to aim it, not really. The Mortar's conclusion was that it Fired on it's target. It would hit home. It always would. Scanning one of the old things on his way through North Carolina had been an inspired decision. The problem was, collateral damage.

The two people Duke and his friends were here to rescue laid somewhere withing that complex, and he certainly didn't want to blow them up. That would just be an issue he did not want to deal with. It would complicate things. He'd probably never meet the man in charge with that hanging over his head.

He took out his book. He wouldn't need to load the thing. Instead, like all of his guns, it fired something that caused Harm. The firing of a gun was intrinsically linked to the idea of a gun, and the things that guns fired hurt people. He had no idea what it is they fired by default. He had tried to look, once with a high speed camera, but he had never seen them firing anything. In simple terms what they fired was the effect that had on their target, in this case Wounds and Damage. However, that wouldn't be appropriate right now. He had to make some modifications.

After a few minutes, he was done. He had added the Loud trait a number of times to make the effect as load as possible to better scare and disorient the guards. However, the effect was no longer An Explosion That Caused Harm. Instead, through careful shifting around, he had changed it to An Explosion That Creates A Cloud Of Smoke, Along With a Bright Flash.

He turned to the page he had for earplugs and pulled out a pair. Immediately after placing them in his ears, all sound in the area vanished. He placed his hands on the Civil war era mortar and let it aim itself. When it came to conceptual weapons, human beings were only the vessels they used to carry out their conclusion. When it fired, he could feel the noise it made. He saw a window on the first story get punched in, saw a blinding flash, and watched the smoke pour out. He petted the thing.

He waved his hand forward to those on the bus, the universal gesture of "Go, go, go," and took aim at the second floor.

[Celadon's Penultimate]

==Vancouver==

Fortunately for Delilah and Jessica, it did not take much convincing for the two to be made cellmates. Though, somewhat less fortunately, they were still, in fact, cellmates. And while Delilah's perky, optimistic outlook kept her from succumbing to boredom and agitation so quickly, Jessica found herself slowly dying inside of the utter boredom that now overwhelmed every inch and fiber of her being.

Not only was Jessica somewhat claustrophobic, finding closed spaces somewhat unnerving, but their room had yet to have cable installed on their 12 inch TV, and there were only two views; the yard, with a single cluster of three trees, and the inside of the jail. And even if her powers hadn't been negated by the cell, how would she use it to escape without blowing Delilah and a couple other inmates to smithereens?

The thought of it all left Jessica feeling utterly irritable. Every few seconds she would alternate between a sigh and a groan, and she found that all she could think about was how little she wanted to think about the fact she was in jail.

"UGH!" She groaned, "Delilah, I am going utterly insane in this place! There's absolutely nothing to do, the food smells like a** all the way from here, and I can't even imagine having to take a bath in front of all those people. How long have we been here???"

Delilah raised a confused eyebrow, "Um...we've been here maybe a couple hours. And didn't you sleep when they were processing us?"

"Totally not the point." Jessica snapped, "Didn't Duke say he'd be here by now?"

"Um...maybe he got stuck in traffic or somethi--"

BOOM!

The two paused, wide-eyed as there came the thunderous eruption in the distance. Then the two exchanged glances, and Delilah's expression became pleasant.

"Oh, look." She chuckled, as she perked up to the sound of shouting supers outside of the cell, "They're here."

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

And there they went, clearing the fence. He fired off one more salvo, this one punching straight through the roof. But he wouldn't keep this up. There were better ways to demoralize and disorganize. That's what he had the speaker system prepared for.

He looked it over after pulling it out. It was one thing to construct something out of words, but it was quite another to see in in real life. It towered over him, tall as a house and about as long. He ran around the back to grab, comically small in comparison to the behemoth, the microphone. He raised it to his lips, and did what he did best.

"Attention, disorganized remnants of the old regime." Came the bellow from the hill. He wasn't sure just how loud it was, but by the vibrations alone he figured it must be pretty close to the voice of god. "This is Lieutenant Commander Raul of the Northeast Alliance Army. Your Overlord has fallen. I repeat, the Queen Bea is dead. I and my detachment have been ordered by your new sovereign ruler, the Duke of Vancouver, to capture this facility and liberate all political prisoners held therein. You no longer have any reason to fight on. Lay down your arms, get down on the floor, and put your hands over your heads. We are attempting to keep casualties to a minimum during this transition. I repeat, on the ground, heads down, hands behind your head, and you will be treated as a non-combatant." Then he dropped it and ran back to the cannon.

He fired again, this time to the area south of the jail. The smoke billowed out and hung in the air, obscuring any sight of the surrounding area. He repeated this to the north, the west, to the east. No visibility, no monarch to fight and die for, no idea how many men are coming or from which direction. He'd have to work to maintain the smokescreen, but other than that it was all in Duke's hands now.

[Celadon's Penultimate]

==Vancouver==

The future collapsed in on itself, and then slowly faded into the reality of Overlady Bea's foyer. Deepti gasped sharply, and stirred abruptly from her seat. For a second, she was still, to let what she saw fully marinate. The implications, she thought. Should she even tell the Overlady? The fact that the vision had to do with the Overlady was entirely irrelevant. Perhaps telling her would make no difference. Perhaps it would even make things worse, for her, for the Overlady, or even for the world...

Still...

Deepti sighed, and wished internally for some sign as to how to act. Tell her, don't tell her, tell her, don't tell--

"Deepti." A familiar nasal voice cut into her concentration, "You set up the schedule to check up on my guinea pigs. The least you could do is follow your own protocol."

She turned, "I...I have to speak with the Overlady first."

The lab tech eyed her, as she tried futilely to avoid his gaze, "A vision? What did you see?"

"It doesn't matter..." Deepti sighed, "At least not to you. You'll be informed if there's anything you can do to help out. But for now, just...look in on the patients without me."

Patients, Deepti thought to herself. Yes, that's what they were. Not hostages, not prisoners, not captives and certainly not lab rats or guinea pigs. Patients, in need of medical attention, for the sake of scientific and social progress. That seemed a good-enough thought to justify it, and soothe over her emotions for now. She would put forth her best effort to ignore thoughts of them disagreeing, and that was good enough, too.

She had other things to do, anyhow, than empathize. She needed to have a word with the Overlady.

[Celadon's Penultimate]

==Vancouver==

"Delilah?!" Duke cupped his hands to his mouth, "Delilah?! Jessica?!"

Normals and supers scattered left and right in all the chaos; thankfully, only a few used their abilities, and only to quicken their escape. Duke had no time now to make enemies, or to escape attack. Anywhere in all this mess of faces and weapons and powers, Delilah could be somewhere, hurt--

The speedster finally saw the mess of red hair. His heart fell. He recoiled a bit, before finally seeing that it was a younger girl who had been knocked over in all the discord. And she certainly didn't need his help. In just an instant, her hair reached out as four great tentacles, hoisted her high off the ground, and began stalking through the fray like a giant red spider.

"Hey!"

For a second, Duke thought the girl was addressing him.

"Hey, watch it!" It was Delilah, back to back with Jessica.

Duke ran over to them, and searched for a clearing they could exit through. No time to explain this slight revision in their plan. Cyril and the others were busying the entire jail, to make way for them, and it was unknown how long their window would last, before reinforcements would arrive.

"Think you can handle yourselves?"

The two nodded.

"But...what about all these criminals?" Delilah looked around, perturbed by the disorder, "How are we gonna re-catch them all?"

Duke ducking as a flier zoomed past overhead, and replied, his eyes landing on Cyril's shape in the distance, "I have a feeling that some of these don't deserve to be here. Now. If you two are all good here, I'm gonna go check on Gabe and Snipe and some other friends we picked up on the way."

Checking to either side of him one last time, so as not to collide painfully into some obstacle, living or inanimate, Duke sped off back into the fray. If all went well, Delilah and Jessica would meet him back outside in less than five minutes.

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

They attack had been a few minutes now, and already they were scattering in all directions. It was a strange thing to watch. Those that ran, ran out of the building to see it covered in fog. Those with no reason to stay, the ones that had been held here, kept running. Guards with no sense also kept running, or engaged the escaping prisoners. Small battles were already breaking out on the grounds. Guards with any sense at all ran out of the fog, saw no army, then began to run back. That wasn't good. Their were guards than members of Dukes team, and the more they realized that they weren't actually outnumbered, that their was no army, that the Overlady was in all likelihood still alive....

"The more they learn of the true situation, the tighter the noose draws around our necks."

To insert, the men had made the sound tactical decision to crash the bus through the front door. But the situation was changing rapidly. This was a smash and grab, and that relied on momentum. Get in, grab what you need, get out. If you lost that momentum, if you got drawn up in a protracted fight, then the operations chance of failure increased steadily towards 100%. They needed now to focus on escape. Time to break the charade. He piked up his mike.

"We have what we need, pull out in 5 minutes!" He had no idea if it was true, but if prisoners were running then they had opened the cells. Keep it ambiguous about what is happening, we could still be a large force. Don't stop panicking, guard. Don't assume you've been fooled. "I repeat-"

The shock wave he felt cut him off. Cyril whirled around to see quite a large man standing in the rubble of what used to be a fine speaker system. He ripped the ear plugs out, and suddenly the world had sound again ans was filled with shouts and alarms and gunfire. He clutched the book under his arm.

The man had the dress and countenance of a professional guard, the sneer of cold command identifying him just as easily as the uniform. Cyril clutched the book under his arm.

"Lieutenant Commander, I presume?"

The book was open in an instant, like a scene out of an old spaghetti western. The resulting revolver only took a half second, and a quarter of one passed before Cyril opened up on the man. Six shoots rung out into the air, joining in the chorus of warfare. Six scorched holes opened up in the mans shirt. If it had actually fired bullets, this would be the point where they fell flattened from his perfectly unharmed skin. With a kick, he lifted off about a inch above the ground. Cyril ran down the hill.

To exposed, he had been to exposed. The big sound system must have painted a handy target on his location, and the earplugs kept him from hearing the approach until it was to late. Cyril raked his brain. This guy seemed like a classic flying brick. No weapon, without editing, could emit enough "Harm" to actually hurt this guy. He made for the smoke cover. If he could lose him in the smoke, he could find time to edit-

Cyril's instincts told him to dive, and he did just as the guy shot past overhead. He tumbled head over heels the rest of the way down, coming to a rest on his back. Only to almost immediately have to dodge to the side to avoid the guard, who slammed his foot a foot deep into the ground where he had just been laying. Cyril pulled himself quickly to his feet.

He could see the entrance, the bus parked neatly in it. It was withing spitting distance. But even if he made it, it would do no good. The superguard pulled himself out of the ground and shook his leg off. As long as that guy was still conscious, they wouldn't be able to get away.

He had 4 and a half minutes. He sprinted for the entrance.

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

It's lucky for Duke that someone was running out of the room he was running into. If not, he might have gotten caught in the bear trap that raised itself out of the floor and took off the mans leg at the knee. He couldn't tell whether it was one of his men or one of the prisoners of this place. He let out a ghastly scream of agony and fell to the floor, clutching the stump.

He wasn't the only one screaming. He could here more like that, coming from the room. Scream, gunfire, and occasionally strange mechanical sounds.

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Simon screamed, the black spiral swirling round his arm drilling forward toward his target. But a wall blocked his progress, pushing it's way between them. He shaved his arm into it, carving out a neatly drilled crater. That's when he heard the awful sound again. He dodged to the left just as a pendulum swung down and buried itself in the wall.

Murdoc, the last of them besides him, sprinted round the obstruction and turned to open fire. But before he could a dozen long black rods seemed to fire from the opposite wall, piercing right through his vest and pinning him to the wall, the weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

It had been like that with all of them. The jail area had become a abattoir, filled with gruesome tableus of human suffering, blood, and the godawful stink. A man here hung from the ceiling by a noose, a man there splayed across a bed of spikes, a man there and there and there who had fallen pray to a buzzsaw that seemed to form from nothing. It had been a simple task Cyril had giving him.

"Simon, while everyone is busy in the front I want you to take a small team to the back and release all the prisoners.  The more confusion we can sew, the better our chances are."

He hadn't counted on her. The wall retracted (reset?) to reveal the pretty young guard, smiling a demure little smile at him. A pair of buzz-saws flew past her head, grazing so close as to cut some of her short blond hair. Simon spun up again, reflecting them as they came close. But when he looked back to her, she was holding her hands to the ground. He felt a pulse, then the piece of floor he was standing on rose up as if spring loaded, throwing him back though the air. He knew what was coming. He had seen her pull this. He twisted in the air and drove his fist into the ground just as the bear trap formed, the teeth shattering on the spectral drill. He pulled himself up to face her.

"Come now." She spoke, he voice lightly accented with french. "Where do you think the Overlady draws most of her guinea pigs from? You didn't think she wouldn't have at lease a few agents on watch, did you?"

[Celadon's Penultimate]

==Vancouver==

Simon menaced the girl. Didn't matter how hot she was; she was going down.

"Nope. Can't say I expected that." he huffed, "Guess today is filled with all kinds of surprises for me, today."

Simon's hands charged again with that strange, smoky-dark energy, and he ran headlong toward Bea's henchgirl.

In the chaos, Duke caught sight of the two. Simon slammed down the shadowy drills with hateful abandon, and the girl riposted, barely breaking a sweat. He lunged in to gore her with the hateful implements. Her traps defended her, though, popping up from the strangest, most inopportune places. And each seemed to miss Simon more narrowly than the last. At this rate, the kid would be shark bait in no time flat.

The speedster tensed, his eyes widened. He took off. Dodged an oversized bear trap, stumbled and nearly tripped over a piece of stone wall.

"Look out!" Duke sped closer and closer, and tackled Simon, just in time for the two to miss another rogue spring-trap. The two tumbled to the ground.

Simon menaced Duke, "Dude, seriously, what the hell? I coulda had her--"

"No time, stupid!" Duke snapped, "Let's get the hell out of here! You can get yourself killed on your own time! Right now, I need as many live men as possible to take care of the Queen Bea--!"

"Aw, what's the matter, Flash Jr.?" her voice was clear, even through the sounds of the skirmish, "Going so soon? Your power seems to have given you a real instinct to run, but why not humor me a little. I haven't even had a good workout in a couple days; you don't have anything to be afraid of...this time."

Duke clenched his teeth. Balled his fists. Looked up to where Bea's smug emissary still stood.

"Get out of here, Simon." the speedster ordered, "I'll be right after you. This shouldn't take long at all..."

[Celadon's Penultimate]

==Vancouver==

The girl smirked at Duke, and her eyes narrowed, "Catch me if you can, Speedy."

Challenge accepted, Duke thought to himself. With barely a thought, he darted off after her, kicking up dust in Simon's face. He would only grab air. Anticipating him with expert timing, the ground spring-loaded under her feet, and launched her into a perfect aerial backflip. She would perfectly stick the landing.

Duke wiped his nose and sniffed. It had been a while since he'd been bested by simple reflexes. And to be honest, it kind of felt good. Perhaps he would have a challenge after all. Defeating her wold be much more satisfying.

The girl beckoned to him again, "Is that all you got?"

Duke answered curtly, "Just gettin' warmed up, girly."

He tore off after her again. Dodged a bear trap,  a rope trap and a hail of poison-dart arrows. And barely stopped short as a wall shot up from the ground, feet away from his face. Dodged backward as the stupid wall slammed down in front of him like a giant stone mouse trap.

The girl hopped up onto the fallen wall, still looking triumphant. Entertained, she pulled a red handkerchief from her pocket.

She snickered, "Toro, toro!"

Duke glowered. This was starting to get ridiculous. He'd better end it quick, he thought, or quite honestly, he had no business with Superhuman Speed. He thought for a second, and quickly recognized his error. And it sort of shocked him he hadn't caught on before. He smirked, and took off again...zig-zagging.

The girl tried to follow his movements, but only managed to find blurs. And where she saw a blur was only where Duke had been standing an instant before. She wouldn't pinpoint him this time. And where would she dodge to, when she didn't know what direction the danger was coming from? She would have to wing it, and she hated winging it. Still, any second, he'd reach her, and he'd--

Too late. Duke may as well have been a teleporter, how quickly he appeared in front of her. The girl stumbled, taken aback by a mix of amazement at his quickness, and fear of what he'd do to her.

"Stay back--!" she idly threatened.

Stumbled backward, flailing. Tripped on a piece of the fallen wall. Unwittingly triggered her ability.

But Duke had no time to feel sorry for her. Or even pull her lifeless body off of the spike-covered spire she'd called from out of the depths of nowhere. He'd leave that up to whatever ambulances and policemen could make it to the scene when this fiasco was over. For now...his team was waiting for him.

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

Cyril Riggs dived through the melee, the people Duke had drafted now performing a fighting retreat back toward the bus. He heard his pursuer shatter the wall to pieces, being far to big to wedge himself between the wall and the bus like Cyril had. Everything was mayhem; the guards inside still not knowing what was happening, the guards who had been outside coming back, the impromptu freedom force, and the smoke all swirled together into a perfect chaotic miasma.

Cyril had no time to worry about that. Even here his smoke had come in, settled on the ground and ceiling concealing the larger room. Every once in a while a figure would pass him in the gloom, and he would drt to hide under a desk. It was while taking refuge that he heard gunfire, a scream, and the crash of a shattered window. He heard the Superguard call out for him. "Lieutenant? Oh Lieutenant? I have something I want you to hear."

He heard a snap, and a scream.

"Now Lieutenant, one of your men is in need of medical assistance. Surely a heroic freedom fighter such as yourself wouldn't leave this man to die? Surly?"

Cyril needed to think. He opened up the book, looking for things he could use. His eyes landed on a certain page as he heard a second snap and another long sharp wail of pain.

"You know, that power of you're seems valuable." he said, mockingly. "In fact, I think you might be worth more than any of these men. How about this; you come out peacefully, and they can all leave."

The Lieutenant did not make himself known. The Super guard sighed. You just couldn't reason with some people. He gingerly took one of the weeping convicts legs in his hand, the mans arms already hanging useless and mangled at his side. That's when a bullet pinged off of his head. He turned slowly to find Cyril, smoking 9mm in hand. He dropped the poor prisoner to the floor, where he lay and squirmed. The two stared each other down. Then Cyril fired three more times as his hunter took flight after him. Cyril ducked under him, and vanished into the gloom. The man considered grabbing another hostage, when another bullet pinged off of his head. He flew in that direction.

They played this game of cat and mouse across the building, Cyril staying just out of sight, until the wound up at the second floor holding cells. The ones they kept the normals in. The hunter stalked forward, triumphant. This room was a dead end, there was no way for the good Lieutenant to escape now. He heard a whistle off to the side, saw Cyril standing in a cell, and charged him. His punch shattered the bastard into a million pieces. That should have been his first clue. The second was when he heard the big door slam shut.

He whirled around, to find the eyes of his prey staring in through a slot in the door. He threw back his arm and leveled it at the door separating him and his pray. He then drew it back, observing no major effect. The eyes laughed at him.

"I Hope you liked my Cyril Sand Sculpture. I think it's a fetching doppelganger." He looked down at his feet, at a pile of mufti-colored sand. "And I hope you enjoy the Special Evolved-Human holding cell, all the way from Georgia state penitentiary. This is what they use to keep specials in solitary confinement. I afraid you've lost, son."

Fingers shot through the slot at the eyes, but the eyes backed away. Then, he felt a slight burning sensation as the punk slapped him on the fingers with something. The voice was silent for a moment, then said "Why thank you, Brain Scottsdale. I know a Argentinian fellow who would find your type of strength very exiting." The slot was closed as the Superguard, Brian Scottsdale, cursed and screamed at Cyril. Cyril closed up his book, and started making his way back to the bus. The five minutes were up, and he felt like getting the hell out of here.

[Gentleman Vaultboy]

The front lobby was in chaos.

Someone on the rebellions side had taken the liberty of backing the bus up out of the hole it had smashed in the front of the building, turning it horizontal in the yard. Prisoners had retreated outside for the most part, taking shelter in and around the bus, and were now fighting a pitched battle with the guards taking cover around the edges of the hole and shooting from the open windows. They were no alone, either: the prisoners ranks had been bolstered by those who unfortunately had not been able to get away quickly, and by Dukes allies who had joined up with them at Cyril's sound of retreat. The same sound of retreat that, along with the clearing smoke, had cleared up the confusion of the guard populace. The rebels surprise advantage was now all but lost and contact was surly being made with reinforcements, who would be arriving presently.

The guards fought well and hard, spurned on by the pain and humiliation they felt. The one's at the gate were particular valiant. So focused were they on the enemy that they didn't even feel the the sudden explosion that took they out.

Cyril reflected that Grenades were ever so useful.

A figure came bounding out of the wreckage, wreathed in a raincoat and pushing a moaning man in a wheelchair. Bullets poured into his back from the windows, but he kept running until he reached the safety of the bus, collapsing and massaging his back.

Bulletproof, however, was probably the greatest, most useful adjective in the history of the English language.

Men rushed to him, and he waved them to carry the man onto the bus. Three broken limbs would not make that a pleasant trip, but it was better than being dead. Besides, he had a use for that one. He stood up, listening to the bullets ping off of the bus, leaving not a scratch.

Like he said, a wonderful adjective.

Simon descended the steps as he leaned against the bus catching his breath. Cyril saw him, and immediately grabbed him by the collar to pull him close.

"Head count?" he asked through breaths.

Simon fidgeted for a bit, before relaying. "We lost some dudes, but we gained some to. It's hard to tell right now."

"Objective?"

"Uh, FUBAR. I didn't find anyone matching the descriptions of the girls. Maybe they esc-

"Then why in blue hell are you still here!?"

"Duke's not here. Last I saw, he was figh-"

Cyril interrupted. "Who says we can't leave?"

"You know, them. The dudes who were with-"

Cyril was already on the bus. He looked over at Mr shrinking french Canadian at the wheel, and pointed at it. "Drive, now."

"Don't touch that key!"

Cyril turned to face Gabe and Snipe. He looked around, could see the tension of the prisoners faces. Most of them wanted badly to leave before they were squashed. Most of them had weapons. Most of them, unlike the guards that had been chumped at the beginning of this affair, knew what Gabe could do. Cyril had the sinking feeling that, if a single one of them sneezed, it would lead to a blast out and none of them would get away. Even if it didn't come to that...

"Gentlemen, we do not have the luxury of debating this." he said seriously to the pair. "The clock is ticking."