[OPEN] mod plot | sacking of olympus: harbinger descends

[unplug]

CHARACTERS ▶ All characters opting in
LOCATION ▶ Olympus
SUMMARY ▶ The Zion Defense Grid with civilian relief corps arrive at 1100 6/18, and Commander Gwisin gives the orders for rescue, assault, and investigation. This log is player-run and includes The REAPER simulation option (1 of 3) in the Matrix, as well as rescue activity in the Real. Kill some zombies, save some abducted babies.
WARNINGS ▶ Violence and reference to human experimentation, possibly R.
NOTES ▶ This is Part II of the Sacking of Olympus plot. Questions/investigation here, for example, what happens when you shoot compartment x of the centipede

▶ Sacking of Olympus Part II

REAL: THE ZIONITE RESCUE OPERATION ◀

Gwisin's orders are terse over the comms, two hours before the fleet makes Olympus. Make contact and communication to the best of your ability, restore comms if possible. Provide emergency care, fire control, and evacuation, before the unidentified bogey arrives at city center.

Pandemonium reigns over the populace of Olympus, civilians trapped by fires, drones, and debris. Olympus’ forces have rallied but remain thin on the ground, and the Zionite reinforcements are direly needed. Electronic communications remain down except for the Matrix pirate signal, darkening the panic and despair that have descended over the city; REAPER drones harry every human or ship that tries the ground or air.

Organizing this wide-scale rescue in the face of explosions and still-unexplained abductions comes down to ingenuity and manpower.

REAL: HARBINGER DESCENDS ◀

Thirteen hours after the Zion rescuers arrive in Olympus, the Harbinger does too. The cavern ceiling, dead center, cracks, crumbles, boulders the size of hovercrafts hammering down on the city center. By now, thankfully, the heart of the city is empty of civilians, but as the Machine breaks through, it's instantly clear that isn't going to be enough.

Harbinger is massive. Digging mandibles up front could eat a squid whole, and have room left over to total a hovercraft; its name emblazoned on red on each segment. Scarlet optics glow against its black chassis, and drones flush out of the gasping ports in its sides the same way insects give birth in dozens. Ponderous but unmistakably powerful, the centipede-shaped robot crawls out into a dangle into empty air. Keeps dropping its head toward the city in neat, clockwork degrees, almost elegantly, to let itself down onto the rubbled cavern floor. Erratic gasps and comments sound off across the disrupted networks: the oldest of the humans, civilian or otherwise, have never seen a Machine like this in the Real.

But maybe you remember dreaming a monster like this, from another lifetime.

Pilots throughout the city gun their engines, preparing for a feat of comms-blind synchronization. The battle truly begins.

MATRIX: REAPER COMBAT FREE-FOR-ALL ◀

When the Harbinger arrives, the Matrix pirate signal augmentation doubles in strength. Triples. The operator reports start to come in, distorted from the REAPER signal jamming, but unmistakable. There's a simulation out there, like a bridge to-- what? The Matrix? The programming language carries unmistakable similarities to the Dowager's feed from Kitty Jones' call to the Atalanta, but there's nothing specifically like that strange, consuming pattern in the girl's neuro-output. At least, not on this level of the sim. Not yet.

Jack in, and the first thing you see is the cold belly of a spaceship. What you hear are the screams, bouncing echoes off catwalks and cold corridors. Next, figures coming in a wave of seemingly unstructured attack. In the vanguard, the Husks, screaming zombies-- sinewy, discolored flesh mingled with useless tech components and bioluminescence. Not far behind, the bulbous Scions with their single energy weapons. Bringing up the rear, the Banshees float in deceptively slow at first, only to accelerate into a dazing flash of teleportation, skeletal-faced, real death waiting in their razor hands.

One thing is certain: they're guarding something, though where in the recesses of this ship, the operator must largely guess.

Comments

[metempsychotic]

Oh thank God- [ Bella gasps, once the immediate threat has passed and Horse informs her that there are in fact a fair few friendly ships left even if the REAPER forces are thick both in the air and on the ground- even though that thing that bored down from above is still operational ] -I can do fuckall down here. I need a proper ZDG craft, with an interface.

[ Said luggage remains closely guarded, and it is with visible reluctance that Bella sets it down - nestling the box securely between her ankles - so that she can facilitate the impromptu medical examination. For the most part she's bruised and scratched on neck and shoulders. She rolls up her bloodied sleeve, revealing some of her plugs along with some long scratches that have all but entirely clotted. There is a deeper wound in her leg, some inches shy of any arteries, but easily the worst thing she's sporting. ] I think there's some shrapnel in there-[ she comments with a strategic lack of affect ] -nothing too big, though.

[ In summation: crippled, N - dying, N. She probably should get that leg looked at, but it's evidently useable for the time being. Much of her present mobility, along with her pain endurance, is probably due to the adrenaline searing through her veins. Despite the clipped pragmatism of her words, there is a tremor constantly threatening to climb up her throat. She's scared shitless, clearly- more in need of a stiff drink than a splint. ]

open | matrix

[hacker]

Some people would call it luck, that she'd gotten aboard the Atlanta just in time to have jack-in experience in advance of the Olympus crisis. At the end of the day, though, it didn't make much of a difference. She was still green. Once she plugged in, she felt almost as if she'd never unplugged. Bangs brushed into her eyes, hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her hair wasn't long enough for a ponytail anymore, she knew, but here it was, and there was no one to tell her otherwise.

She tried to find and stick to high ground, pulling out a sniper rifle and leveling it on a rail along the upper deck of the ship. As she fired rounds off, picking scions and husks alike off in kind, she tried to get some idea of where they were moving, trying to track them back to what they're guarding. But it wasn't clear, and her bullets kept flying straight through the teleporting banshees.

It appeared she aggravated one, because it flew up to appeared up beside Skye in a flash, greeting her with the jab of a razor-sharp arm. Any slower, and she'd be dead. In the Real, she'd definitely have been dead, but muscle memory was a blessing, and she was trained by the Cavalry. Skye whipped out of the way with only minor cuts through her arm. She dropped the sniper rifle over the edge, abandoning it to pull her handgun. Before she could get even a single round off, though, the shaking started.

"No," she urged, looking down at the barrel. She tried to fire, but the pin wasn't lined up properly. The tremor had rattled just enough loose in her weapon, begun dismantling it, and it wouldn't fire. The banshee advanced. A panicked look struck her face, and she hurled the weapon aside, which fell into three main pieces the moment it hit the hard ship floor. The railing rattled in its holder, the metal plates of the floor vibrating with a loud, metallic hum.

And then, the catwalk ended. Or rather, the banshee lunged for her, and panic blew out from Skye like an explosion. She hit the floor, fingers grabbing for the edge of a metal plate. The banshee plummeted down, bleeding from—something. As if parts of it had exploded from the inside with the same vibrational burst from Skye that shook the railing apart, and left Skye dangling over the bottom level, ready to plummet down.

[scission]

[Claws and teeth unsheathed, the changes to Deuc's appearance are not as significant as those to Steve, but notable all the same. His eyes are a red glow as he turns to follow the path of the shield through the air back to its master, taking only a moment to reconcile the features of the man in front of him with the slighter figure he'd met once back in Zion. It's fitting, almost, considering the fervour he'd had for finding a crew willing to extract his friend.

There's another shriek from further in, and Deuc's gaze cuts back to the walkways ahead. Already covered in sprayed and streaked layer of the noxious green fluid the creatures seem to have in place of blood, he has the feeling they'd meet a steady onslaught just for standing in the same spot. An extremely aggressive defence. And staying put wouldn't offer much answer on why.]

Before they pin us down again, then.

[He says, voice not as garbled as might be expected for the teeth filling his mouth. He moves forward, stepping over the fallen remains around him to head towards the next walkway, already picking up the sounds of more approaching. He flicks a spray of green off his claws onto the floor.]

We are most certainly not welcome here.

[hacker]

[ She'd been trying to follow them back, figure out what these creatures were guarding that the rest of them needed to get close to. So far, there was nothing, but up ahead—

She slowed, staggered by the sound of ripped flesh as the behemoth of a man before her ripped one of the husks apart. If she thought she'd seen carnage watching Ward and May, this was a new level. Irritated by the now-unfamiliar distraction of her bangs, Skye pushed them out of her eyes and invited bioluminescent goo to smear across her forehead.

Advancing, she at least accepted that he was on their side. ] Hey— [ And then she heard the groan. She knew what that meant. Skye reached out to grab the metal shoulder. ] Company, get down!

[ She pulled him into a crouch just as the energy cannon went off on the scion's shoulder. Looking up at it, Skye pulled a gun from the holster on her hip, then turned her gaze towards the man she'd just met up with. It wasn't until that moment, looking at his face, that she realized— ]

Bucky Barnes.

[ambidextrosity]

[Though not a medical expert, Horse is satisfied with the results of her rough examination. She digs a flask out of some unimaginable place-- she does have like five hundred pants pockets going up and down her very long legs-- and squeezes it into Bella's grimy fingers. She also gives Bella's shoulder a thump for reinforcement too. The combination should be better than an energy bar!! Ambient terror being part of the recipe, judging by the peaky undertone to Bella's face.

Inside the flask, there's moonshine. Bella can smell it from five inches away, if she opens it.]

You a ninja in your dreaming life, then? [Horse inquires, pleasantly, even as she's turning her attention back the way she came. Because she's not a medical expert, she doesn't do things like provide specific dosage instructions with the ~medication~ that she offers.] That your nunchucks in there? [She jerks her head back at the boxes between Bella's feet without looking, and starts to tilt her lanky frame into a crouch. Not calling the vicinity clear just yet, but working on visual confirmation.]

[metempsychotic]

[ With this much grit and soot in the air, the fact that the first whiff of moonshine makes Bella's eyes water is just another perk of the product. She tips the flask against her lips. She gulps. She sputters. She coughs. She wheezes. She closes her eyes. ]

Scientist. [ As opposed to a ninja. A nerd both in and out of the Matrix. She jostles the box with a foot, ever so lightly. ] Samples.

[ Another tip, another cough, though less prolonged this time. She offers the flask back. ] Shouldn't have more. Need my CNS functional. Need to get inside that thing. [ No need to say which thing with the appearance of Harbinger's singular immensity. ] Need to determine the why-ness. What could motivate this... [ her eyes peek open, and she squints up into the subterranean unsky ] -expenditure.

[ex_paragon697]

I'm going out there to get it off of us.

[ He half yells this through the continued high-pitched screech of tearing metal; Luke's maneuver was good, but the moment the drone got its legs into the ship it was probably a futile one. It also threw Steve's right side against the panel next to him, and it's presumably this that colors his statement with the shortness of pained irritation, but both the tone and impact are easily missed right now. One would think he preferred it that way.

He doesn't give Luke any instruction to keep the Phoenix steady, and if Wedge is looking for a measure of faith in their pilot, there it is. Granted, there's no small measure of the fact that he'd go out there even if he had less than full confidence, but nevertheless the understanding that Luke will capably attempt to keep Steve from getting thrown off is implicit enough as he moves back toward the armory for a rifle, going past Bucky without looking in his direction. ]

[berserkergang]

[ Thor shakes off run off electrical charge as effectively as a dog may water, fly-away strands of dense blonde brimming with static by the time he turns his attention towards the two women joining him. Their gameful proclamations bring about a crooked smile from him, twirling Mjolnir once on its strap, handle smacking into his palm.

The title of 'Hawkeye' earns a second glance, but a nod, as well, amusement as a gleam in his eyes that goes uncommented on for now, while the devilish monsters rattle walkways and come staggering out from the shadows still. The one covered in blood, too, he darts a look at, down to her axes, seeming to approve.

No one here is wielding guns. It's a nice change. ]

It would be my pleasure.

[ Mjolnir spins again, and this time, there's a whine, her song charged in the air as it becomes a blur at the end of his arm. He launches upwards as if dragged in the wake of the hammer's momentum, the ground shivering, electricity crackling with even less control than he used to wield once, when all this seemed real to him. With access back to what he knows best, he can't help but make the most of it while it lasts.

His aim becomes clear -- there's an opening to another section beyond, across and up, swarming with husks as they make their leaping, swinging progression towards them. Landing, Thor fights as brutal up close as he does at a distance -- a slam of the hammer cracks open skulls, and caves in torsos when he throws it at a spin.

He grabs at a husk when it comes launching at him, tipping it over the edge, just in time to catch Mjolnir on its return light.

The husk lands hard at Johanna's feet. Still switching, still alive. A present. ]

[ambidextrosity]

[Scientist, sample. Central nervous system. Horse knows what those ones mean. She loses track a little after that, with 'whyness,' which doesn't sound very scientific, and then 'what could motivate this,' which doesn't sound like she's talking about Machines anymore. Horse's eyes are pinned forward. She watches the movement of light and shadow in the dust past the drone's collapsed body.

And then she motions sharply, a wavey-wavey motion that's pretty hard to misinterpret even for a civilian. Go go go. Horse is going too, of course; she leads the way up to the next lump of gravel, right up near the drone, her gangly legs folding up with surprising agility, making herself small. She is trying to look out the narrow gap between the bot's round bulk and the edge of the wall. The rifle isn't completely charged yet, but the meter shows it's more than half.

When she hears Bella scrape up next to her, she asks sidelong,] You mean, you're gonna kill the big one?

[Laypeople translation. Surely.]

[metempsychotic]

[ Bella tucks her precious set of 'samples' up against her chest as she skitters after Horse, go go going as fast as her little legs can carry her. Whereas Horse is interested in the gap, and what lies beyond, Bella appears more curious about the drone itself- though not so curious that she is willing to touch it. Instead she examines it with a furtive gaze that keeps darting back to Horse, no wanting to miss the next cue to haul ass. ]

'Kill'? [ she gives a dry and hollow 'heh' at the very thought ] That would be ambitious. Let's say 'vivisect'.

[ And then, since layperson translation is apparently a 'thing': ] I'll do my part.

If- [ she adds, ceaselessly goal-oriented ] -you can get me to one of those ships.

Are you with the ZDG? Or are you an Olympian who just... stumbled across that thing? [ A gesture indicates the invaluable but inrushably charging rifle. ]

real } mila gallo

[forcemageure]

[ Recently, Hawke a] got to make the Atalanta go very, very fast and b] in the process learnt a new and exciting slang term ("...step on what, exactly," he inquired of his captain at the time). What this has proven, if anything, is that while if pressed he could disembark and navigate the bare basics of the recoily mystery that is guns, everyone's probably better off if he just flies the ship for people with much more experience aiming much more ...bigger ones. ]

So!

[ He addresses Mila, because if he appears to take this seriously, while, in actuality, taking it quite seriously, he'd probably suffer some kind of sobriety-based embolism, and then where would they be. ]

Your menu options this evening appear to include both appetizers and one great bloody hulking entree. Does madam have preferences?

[ ...he means does she want him to go for the swarms of drones or the Harbinger. While the larger ship is obviously the greater threat, clearing out the drones improves the chances of anyone who is attacking it, so both possibilities have their uses. ]

please excuse my inevitable typos

[blind]

[ in a way, this was extremely simple. it shouldn't be, all things comsidered. there shouldn't be anything simple about taking on creatures like this with just his bare hands and a billy club, and yet here he is.

matt was no use in the real, but once he plugged in, he can rip things apart. that, more than anything else, is all-consuming motivation to do this again and again. matt wants to be needed. how much of that gets tied up in having his senses back ( back is a dangerous word, the wrong word, when according to everyone he never had them to begin with, but back is the word that comes immediately to mind. ) is hard for matt to say, but it feels unimportant as a husk shatters to pieces with a disgusting noise. matt grunts, spinning around to take in the field, find his focus and--

and oh, that sounds bad. ]

Move!

[ is the first thing matt does, shouting furiously right before he tackles bucky. old habits die hard. they hit the ground as the weapon goes off, sizzling unpleasantly through the air. ]

Come on. Before it gets any closer.

[ it sounds like a problem, weapon or no. matt resists the urge to crack his knuckles theatrically as he gets to his feet. ]

matt murdock / matrix, open.

[blind]

[ in the real, matt wasn't of much use when it came to combat. he was still too weak, still recuperating, trying to build back muscle, let alone relearn how to use it. but in the matrix, that's not the case.

plugging in is like stepping back into his old life. ( his old dream, matt corrects silently. ) he steps back into his old mask, takes a breath, feels the world around him humming to life, overwhelming for a brief moment before matt finds his focus. this, this is what he knows how to do. ripping husks apart with his bare hands and his billy club, that's something he's capable of.

something screams behind him, and matt straightens up, turns towards the sound as he tries to parse just what's making it, and if its something he should be heading towards. he gives himself a split second before launching into motion, billy club out, because plunging headlong into things is just what matt does. hope for the best, because that generally works out for him, dream or no, right? ]

[ambidextrosity]

Zion born and bred, Red, [Horse answers. Practically crows it, or as close to crowing as you can be while you're trying to be quiet-ish to avoid killer robotst. She lifts the rifle up off her back, not even looking directly at the meter to check where its charge is at now; her eyes are still focused forward, but there's a thoughtful tilt to her head toward Bella.

She's paying attention, by layman standards. On the other side of a drone, there's movement; something wafting by, drawing a shadow through the dusty shaft of light, more delicately than a hovership can.]

Killin' it sounds easier, [she remarks.] Neither of them sound easy. How that going to help? [A long hand winds up tapping down on top of Bella's boxes. Maybe she knows what vivisection means. Maybe she's aware that said boxes most certainly don't contain any kind of surgical tools.]

( real ) open: seoraj allaway and sir not appearing in this log, the unconscious body of bill cage.

[ironwork]

( the sounds of combat come to seoraj as vibrations, first, rumbling through the twisted, broken metal of the nidhoggr and through that, his skin-- surface injuries that nearly don't stay that way, as he moves narrowly to avoid impaling himself. bill cage, not far away, is less lucky-- seoraj drags himself there and it takes almost too long to discern the heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest. he almost leaves without him.

he does not. cage is over his shoulders when he emerges, his movements sluggish and unsteady, from the wreckage. he doesn't remember clearly what happened, or how - he remembers the ship joining the reinforcements, and he remembers impact, and then this: climbing out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire, blood and sweat tacking his clothes to his skin, the harbinger looming large and inexorable high above his head.

head for the ships or deeper into olympus? one will be the other, pretty soon. he wishes he had a weapon. adjusts cage's weight. tries not to die. )

[lostsoldier]

[ A ratatatatat of gunfire is all the answer Thor's challenge earns for now, but somehow it sounds practically enthusiastic. Sparks ricochet off a flurry of metal and electricity, drones swooping around them to claw and twist. Wedge is right; they're swarming. And Steve's going out there.

Like hell you are is on the tip of his tongue as arachnoid bulb after bulb burst into blue flame against the Phoenix's hefty hull, but the shriek of metal doesn't stop. The soldier's teeth clench. There's one the turrets aren't finding, and he should be going out there, he should be protecting Steve, but even a second to swap gunners is a second none of them have. ]

Не один, [ he bites out over the racket instead, more plea than order, presumably to the only other Russian-speaker on board, although whether the language swap is intentional or just a particular brand of stress response is anyone's guess. ] I'll keep them off your back.

[ex_paragon697]

I don't know, they seem pretty excited to see us.

[ He offers the joke but not much of a smile to accompany it, focused instead on that noise, echoing off the surrounding metal tunneling ahead of them and under their feet. Steve picks up the pace a bit himself, his quickening steps light and gymnastic, movements contained to precise applications of strength even in the simple motion of running.

There are other corridors splitting off from this one, but they're all quieter — and if these creatures are being set on them to prevent them from getting someplace, that's probably the way to go. When the first of the husks appear he takes their legs out from under them, quite literally this time, which seems to do the trick just fine. So he keeps it up as they both move quickly in the effort not to give them a chance to mob them, sweeping the shield low without actually letting it out of his hand, a back and forth pendulum of brutal force. Even if it doesn't kill all of them, it keeps all of them from getting back up. ]

Good plan, [ he says to Deuc eventually, equal parts grim and sincere. ]

[milagros]

Madam does not believe in putting dessert before the main course, ( is the immediate reply from mila, who manages not to inquire how you can have any pudding if you don't eat your meat because they don't have time for hawke to learn an entire song that she can't remember the precise tune of anyway on top of exciting new slang terms. this isn't the most ideal moment to introduce him to the collected works of pink floyd.

she is in the process of situating herself with their weapons as she manages a slightly clearer response; )

Line me up with those drones.

[ex_spins462]

[ Wedge isn't the only one with concerns about crew cohesion, trust placed and misplaced. Black Widow's stood quiet and steady for most of the ride, observing the interactions of people she knows well and barely at all. Fading into the background is practically her signature skill despite the fact that today her hair is its natural cropped red and she's combat outfitted. Not that she feels entirely combat ready: her belly is tight with anticipation; all her training lately has been focused on becoming an operator, reading the code and protecting the jacked in bodies. It feels like déjà vu when she sees the machine, kind of regrets that Tony isn't here to make a quip about a party. Still, it energizes her, gives her confidence. Reminds Widow that she's had worse odds than this and made it through alive.

Even before the Matrix, no matter how innovative and capable she was, Widow has always been more the type to take orders than to give any, so she doesn't snap out of standby mode until Bucky's truncated remark, and then she swings to her feet and crosses the metal floor. ]

Permission to follow him?

[ She directs crisply at Wedge, because she does understand the chain of command here unlike that punk from Brooklyn. Maybe she doesn't look like she can add much, since she's shorter and smaller even than Steve, but she's got a gun and whatsmore her devotion to the guy probably came clear way before now. If Steve's doing something rash and stupid, she wants to be on his six.

Of course, if Wedge has a better idea, now's the time for it. ]

[last_ofthe_jedi]

[Luke purses his lips softly at Wedge's affirmation and keeps his eyes on the viewport. He should have guessed that Wedge wouldn't take offense, or even disagree with his order. They'd spent years being in each others' heads. They had to be while they were flying, anticipating each other's every move and making daring and calculated attacks without even needing to signal.

This chain of command might get confusing.

As Steve announces his plans Luke raises his eyebrows in mild alarm. Out there? Perhaps there really isn't any other way to take care of the problem. Luke shouts after him.]

Anchor yourself! I can't guarantee anything.

[He hopes Steve fully understands that Luke won't hesitate to make a maneuver that will protect the rest of the crew in exchange for a single life, as much as he's going to try to protect everyone. He glances at Widow out of the corner of his vision and then briefly at Wedge before returning to the viewport. He can already anticipate Wedge's response.]

[forcemageure]

( It's all right, Hawke speaks fluent quip. So the Atalanta, already hovering, sets course for the periphery of one teeming clot. )

I wouldn't have taken you for a traditionalist!

( He also can't quote Mae West regarding cake for breakfast, which is truly a regret he would have if he knew he could uh, have it. But meanwhile, once they're in range he pulls hard to the left, not overshooting it by some miracle (actually no, he works better under pressure, possibly because not!pressure just seems weird) and settling them far enough to the outside that they won't be noticed and swarmed immediately, but obviously once guns start happening that's going to change.

As things are they can't exactly stop and sit comfortably in the air, either, but Mila presumably has considering more experience shooting at shit while moving than Hawke does, you know, making the thing move. )

[milagros]

I am a fucking lady, Hawke. Acquiring target.

( this is mostly delivered as a warning - she's firing based on trajectory, where they will be vs where they are, and there's no pissing about. the second the shot is there, she takes it, and takes it, and - it seems like a good idea to have their pilot ready to start maneuvering when she starts drawing attention. )

Let's see if we can't separate the pack. Try not to hit anyone we know.

( which is easier said than done, comms-blind. )

[metempsychotic]

[ Ah yes, that distinct Zionese pride, product of a siege mentality. In another, pettier circumstance this would be an opportunity for Bella to feel alienated; boo-hoo, she doesn't feel at home. Right now, however, she's quite happy to have some of that upbeat-in-the-face-of-impossible-odds spirit to buoy her own. Combined with the moonshine in her veins, it makes Bella feel almost normal. Almost. ]

It's only by chance that you can defeat which you don't understand, [ she avers ] -we could stand to know more about it. More about them. [ This use of 'them' has taken on a slightly different tone, not referring simply to Machines-in-general, but rather to these-particular-machines. The ones emblazoned with that grim appellation: REAPER. ]

A biologist keeps her samples on slides- [ Bella murmurs, perhaps not the most accessible example since biology is a rather impoverished discipline at this point in history, but still... ] -a programmer keeps them on discs. So please- be careful with that thing's electromagnet. [ The Faraday cage of the box should preserve them, but Bella's protectiveness is not content relying on the laws of physics. ]

…what is it? [ comes in a whisper as the shadow filters by. ]

[ambidextrosity]

Same old thing, [Horse answers, clearly tense despite her choice of words.] Drone. That thing's still rolling off heat, [she juts her chin at one still blocking their way,] or it'd probably have seen us. Thermal, yeah?

[Finally, she puts her eyes back on Bella, acknowledging her biologist disc electromagnetics with a smile that looks like it'd fit better on the front of a cat's head, wide, squinty, none of that Cheshire teeth nonsense, somewhat uninterpretable.] I'm gonna have to get close and push, [she says. It's less heroic than it sounds, maybe; there's crap lying around for leverage, and the drone is very round, precariously settled on shattered brick. It does look impressively heavy, though.] You can shoot?

[Maybe there's no actual question-mark at the end of that. Hard to know; Horse terminates the remark with a slightly wheezy cough, thanks to the accumulated dust and ash. She's already pressing Bella with her gun. It might occur to the scientist to ask, around about now, if it'd be better to wait or find a different way, if the thermal benefit isn't actually that convincing.

Or her mission, as specified, isn't that important.]

[forcemageure]

( 'Easier said than done' might as well be Hawke's middle name; a/o 'much better said than done,'. Either way he chuckles under his breath at 'I am a fucking lady,' which is quite a feat with the body's reasonable reaction to adrenaline several levels past 'through the roof. )

Roger that.

( Someone clearly taught him that, along with other useful pilot phrases. Getting the hang of using them correctly is only slightly less tricky than actual piloting, with zero context for ...context. )

We'll just send them a fruit basket if I do. Who doesn't love a good 'sorry I blew you up' fruit basket?

( Furious concentration on zig-zagging around and through the tightly clustered drones takes the place of actual speech, maneuvers not as smoothly executed as they'd be by someone who'd been at this for a more reasonable amount of time, so apologies for all the internal jostling and shit, but! They don't die, and they don't hit anyone they know. What a coup that must be. )

Sour grapes, that's who.

( If you can't pun in the face of possibly imminent death, you're just not having enough fun. )