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Crack is Whack [IC]


Supercape

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GM

The Thug hit the deck, landing at the top of the stairs, face down. It was as if he had had a tombstone placed on his shoulders.

"What the whuuuuuuuuuuff..!" was all he could explain as he had the air sucked out of his lungs from the impact and pressure, and a cloud of dust kicked up from his fall straight into his lungs.

He coughed loudly, his hand still on his machine pistol that intermittently spat out some wild, ineffective, bullets as testimony to his surprise.

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Drifter nodded to Dragonfly when the second man went down, wasting no time in moving up to the door; the guys inside had to know they were there now. He pulled a small, gun looking device out of his backpack. "Don't ask me where I got this. Alright, you two start looking for a key, in case this doesn't work." He stepped up on the stoop, but his eyes fell on something else; a large, paddle-like piece of sports equipment leaning against the wall of the front stoop. Drifter picked up the cricket bat, turning it over for a second. "You've got to be kidding me. Where do you even get these around here?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Drifter held the cricket bat in his left hand as his right pointed the lock-release gun towards the front lock and pulled the "trigger". Hopefully, the deadbolt wasn't too complicated for the piece of technology to trip. Drifter remembered where he had picked this little baby up; it was a burglar who had gotten a hold of some impressive tech for a street thug and decided to squander it on petty thievery. It was a story of dumb crooks that got repeated a hundred times, but it ended up being useful in the end, he supposed.

He heard the click of a lock, smiling under his mask as he went for the door. However, it only opened a little. Drifter cursed under his breath. "He barred the thing. Should have guessed. Guess it's time to say goodbye to the last little bit of stealth." Stepping back, Drifter lined up a swing before going for the fences, knocking a rather large hole in the door. With the bat, he began to reach in, fishing around for the bar to lift it up.

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GM

The battered door swung open on its hinges, to an empty hallway. The air was dusty and had the pungent odour of a cocktail of recreational drugs.

Everything inside the house smelt and looked of neglect. It was dirty without quite reaching the levels of disgusting. Ragged carpets peeled away from old wooden floorboards. Paint was chipped and there were cracks in the walls.

From the floor above came the blast of heavy dub music. It was just possible the racket above had not even been noticed.

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Nick entered the house behind Dragonfly and Drifter, and right as he did, a damp chill ran down his spine. He felt like he was covered in wet gauze -- he could still perceive the world around him, but it was hazy and slightly uncomfortable.

"Yeah, that's a ward," he said. "Pretty strong, too. Whoever did this knew his stuff. I could try taking it apart, but... might take longer than we have."

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GM

On the stairs to the second level sat a slightly emaciated man, half asleep, leaning against a shotgun. In his other hand he was holding a glass pipe, and on his face he was wearing an inane grin.

He bopped his head up and down to the music, not quite in time, humming the song, not quite in tune.

Check out that noise. Mmmmm yeah gotta check out that noise. Bossman wants that g'damn noise checked out. I want's'nuther blow on dat pipe. mmmm.

His eyes where droopy and his pupils dilated, but he wasn't quite asleep yet.

From the room above, an Irish accent shouted out "JD, go check out that noise before I punch yer lights out yer lazy crackhead"

Another blast of dub music and a wave of fumes rolled down the stairs.

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Dragonfly grimaced as she stepped through the door, covering her mouth with one hand. disgusting - how can you live like this - doing a service by taking it out of the neighborhood - single guard - noise problem - time to be a little more subtle

Sneaking up as fast as she dared along the wall, Dragonfly shot out a hand and grabbed JD by the wrist. Lights and circuits on her gauntlet flared; he had just enough time to look at her in a wide-eyed stupor before little lines of fracture spread up his arm and across his body, like creases in paper. And like paper, each new little facet in his image started folding in on itself, twisting and collapsing inward towards Dragonfly's hand until the only thing left behind was his shotgun and the traces of his pipe's odor. see how long he stays in there - matter of willpower? - hopefully a while

"Should have listened to his boss." The young inventor smiled a little as she flexed her hand, looking up the stairs towards the second floor.

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GM

The stairs continued to waft down music and smells. Above the heavy beat of the music came the same voice again, an Irish accent. He was clearly getting angry, and between his fury and the blast of music speakers, it was difficult to make out exactly what he was spitting out. But it didn't sound too pleasant for the newly relocated thug who had just departed this plane of existence.

He finished off with a "Fercryinoutload. Boots, AK, lets sort this out. Leave the rest here. I'm gonna beat the hell out of that goodfernuthin skank head."

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Drifter had a grin at Dragonfly's comment, but his ears perked at the sound of more coming. He looked at Nick and Dragonfly, nodding to them. "Ok, we've got more company. Let's try to make this quick." Drifter took his own advice, looking for a place to set up an ambush himself. He choked up on the bat, preparing himself for the inevitable.

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Nick took his position opposite Drifter. He worked his will over the shadows, trying to see if he could find a crack in the ward. After a few seconds, the shadows began to creep over him. It wasn't as much as he could usually call up, but it would have to do. Taking a position in the thinner part of the shade, he waited for the muscle to come out.

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Dragonfly opened her mouth to reply to Nick just as the voice drifted down the stairs. Shaking her head, she held a finger to her lips and backed up, getting out of view of the upper steps and putting a little distance between herself and the others.

Quietly adjusting her gauntlets, she waited for someone to show their face. fast and efficient - minimum force maximum effect - hopefully won't know what hit them - hopefully pocket containment holds

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GM

At the top of the Stairs, 3 men appeared. They were clearly not your average thug.

Their leader was a broken-nosed red haired man wearing a sleeveless leather jacket over a bare chest. He had tattoo's on his arms and was loosely carrying a Glock. Despite being shorter than his two subordinates, he somehow semmed bigger, commanding respect and having an air of authority. He looked tough, muscular and lean.

The two men behind him were bigger and carried assault rifles. They wore combat fatigues and heavy boots, and looked ex-military.

The red haired man peered down the stairs, and started to stroke the carefully wrought iron knuckleduster on his left hand.

"Stay frosty, boys" he murmured, clearly more cautious now.

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