2012 01 27 Concerto Of Violence For Skateboard And Bionic Ar

Log Title:
Concerto of Violence for Skateboard and Bionic Arm

Night Thrasher and Misty Knight

IC Date:

Lower Manhattan Streets

Brief log summary::
Night Thrasher is chasing some gun runners. Misty Knight provides an assist.


There is no TS in this log::

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Lower Manhattan; One of the most recognizable areas in all of the Big Apple. There are always people here… whether it's due to the various office towers, or the commerce to be had or even visitors to Battery Park or those waiting to reach the Statue of Liberty. You know who else is here on a Friday evening? A large, unmarked, windowless commercial van. The van is careening down one of the wide streets, swerving this way and that. Other vehicles move to get out of the way of the van moving at breakneck speeds. Pedestrians are keeping close to the buildings and the sidewalk to avoid getting struck. Who isn't avoiding the van? Night Thrasher. The founder of the New Warriors is holding onto the metal rear-bumper and riding along on his skateboard. The New Warrior proves his grip on the van with every jerk of the wheel the driver makes.

The screech of tires and revving engines alerts Misty before she even sees the van. She sighs, annoyed, because she was just about to walk into a cute little hole-in-the-wall Indian joint for a nice late dinner. But the momentary annoyance is replaced by a toothy smile. Trouble. And Trouble means action.

"Hold these for me, hon," she tells the startled maitre'd of the restaurant, handing him all her shopping from the afternoon. "I'll be back for 'em. And set me up a chicken koorma to go, while you're at it." With that, she leaves the stunned greeter staring after her as she races back out into the street. Seeing the van barreling down the street, she bends her knees, steels herself and prepares her chi, then /leaps/ out in front of the van, right arm swinging down to deliver a bionic haymaker to the hood and the vulnerable engine block beneath.

Clearly the person behind the wheel of the van is almost staring out the side mirror to look at the man clasped onto the back of the van. Why is it clear? Because all of the van's jerking movements are made to shake the skateboard riding Night Thrasher off. No move is made to avoid slamming into Misty Knight until it's too late. The driver must spot her a few yards away from hitting her, because the van makes a violent turn. There is a loud screaching and squealing of brakes and rubber against asphalt. Misty Knight manages to slam her bionic arm into the engine block of the twisting van. The van's momentum keeps it spinning on the road and it goes off towards the side of the street. As this happens, Night Thrasher lets go of the van. He hops the board off the ground, twists in midair, attaches his mobile conveyance to his arm via some hidden clasp and lands several yards away from the van with the crushed engine block.

Misty was already moving before the blow landed, continuing into a series of flips that take her to end up perched in an impossible pose with both platform boots and one hand atop one of those machines that lets you buy The Daily Bugle from it on your way past without having to find a newsstand.

The van swerves and screeches but it is, of course, going to come to a steaming, smoking, dripping stop, crippled though it is. Misty raises her right hand, flicks her fingers outwards, and blows on them lovingly, before hopping down off it.

She only catches sight of Night Thrasher as he swings away. "Thrash! This movin' violation yours?" she calls out, already striding with long-legged surety toward the van before its driver can attempt to make a break for it. Hopefully the crash knocked him silly for a minute or two.

Night Thrasher stands up, stretching out his shoulders with wide rotations of his joints, "I've been hitching a ride on him since before the Brooklyn Bridge." He jerks his neck to one side and then to the other to stretch it out, "Man, makes you stiff after a while." To answer her question he says, "Yes. Though it's more than a moving violation." He approaches the van, but doesn't seem to be letting down his guard, "Careful; There's more than-" The passenger side door swings open and one can also hear the back doors swinging open violently. From the passenger door there pops out a tall, lanky man with a submachine gun in one hand. His other hand he's using to rub out the pain in his head from the crash. He starts firing the submachine gun off. Anyone in the area that isn't Misty or Dwayne are going to go off running and screaming… if the terrible driving hadn't done that already.

Misty gives a wry grin at Night Thrasher's body language. She knows the crickety-crack of tired and sore muscles after crime fighting. She knwos it well.

Misty's guard? Down? Never quite so much. She was almost to the driver's side door, so when the back doors open up with the driver having acquired a gun, she's behind him. Her teeth bare in a fighting grimace, and then her eyes narrow as he starts firing without regard, seeking to hit the meddling Thrasher.

"There are civilians on this street!" she snaps, anger making her forego the silent approach from the rear. "You think you just gonna distract us by hurting innocent people?! I'm! Not! HAVIN'! It!" And that right arm swings up again, ready to deliver another blow to the back of the man's head — or to any of his boys, should the van have others in it with a mind to fight.

"-one of them." Thrasher completes what he was saying before as he dives behind a freshly abandonned city bus to avoid getting shot by the randomly shot bullets. The bullets stop getting lobbed when Misty clobbers the man who hopped out with the Submachinegun. He staggers forward and drops like a ton of bricks. However, to prove that there are more than one, half a dozen other individuals file out of the van, each carrying weapons. Most carry handguns, one last straggler is tugging on something in the back of the van on her way out of the van. The handgun carrying men start firing at Misty to protect the man she just clobbered.

Night Thrasher, next to the bus, leaps up, grabs a hold of its roof and pulls himself up on top of the city bus. He quickly and fluidly unattaches his skateboard and reattaches it again on special clasps on his back. He pulls out his battle staves and hurls one towards the closest guntoting individual. The woman in the back of the van, pulls out what can only best be described by civilians as a bazooka. She leaves the back doors hanging wide open as she walks away from the van with her heavy weapon.

Misty doesn't have but half a hair's breadth to savor her having taken out the leader. His goons are following the leader in more ways than one. She swears, at length and with some really inventive phrasing, as she dives out of the way herself. "What's their deal?" she shouts at Thrasher. He was following them.

She is just skidding to a stop behind one of New York's strategically planted picturesque old trees when she sees the woman attempting to pull a bazooka out to bring to bear. "…and what the hell are they tryin'a protect?!" This is a question she's going to want answered, and pronto. Still wearing the expression of fury, she dials it back enough this time to move in silence and reach for the dented and bent hood of the van which fell off when it crashed, knocked off its moorings by her blow.

The escrima that Thrasher threw slams into the shoulder of one of the goons with guns. It spins him around and knocks him for a whirl. He's dazed and confused. Thrasher leaps off the bus and runs towards the next closest gun toter, "Weapons trafficing!" Dwayne answers Misty, "They've got all kinds of goodies strapped into the back of this van." The handgun of Dwayne's target goes off as the man empties a clip towards the advancing New Warrior. A couple of bullets strike Thrasher's armor, but it's not enough to slow him down. Just as the clip empties, Thrasher's fist slams into the man's face, followed by a whack to the kneecap with the escrima.

The other men start firing at both Thrasher and in Misty's general direction. The woman with the Bazooka? She's running away from the van and the fighting, presumably to get a good angle on a shot.

And the woman with the Bazooka is the biggest threat. Thrasher's armored, and her suit can handle a few bullets, to say nothing of her arm.

It's not aerodynamic by any stretch, but Misty hauls back and /flings/ the hood of the van with all her human strength in her natural arm, augmented by the incredible strength of her right arm. It flies in an uneven arc, but if the bazooka woman doesn't make a sudden zigzag, it stands a better than fair chance of nailing her before she can turn to fire.

Misty doesn't wait to see if her improvised projectile connects. She rips the door off the van and bends it over the leader and the one Thrasher has just downed. "Anybody else feelin' like they wanna continue actin' the fool?" she demands, glancing around to see if any more of the group are really feeling brave enough to keep the fight going.

The woman with the bazooka? As she's running away, she's looking back over her shoulder to make sure everyone is where they should be. So, she spots the incoming impromptu projectile and moves to avoid it. It clatters and screaches against the ground when it lands uncerimoniously. The woman spins around next to a lightpole and braces herself against it while lining up a shot towards the ground.

Night Thrasher retrieved his thrown excrima by rolling it up onto his foot and lifting it up with a quick movement of his foot. He snatches the weapon out of the air and holds both battle stave out in front of him in a defensive posture. A bullet collides with his padded shoulder and then another against the armor of his chest. He escapes the lines of fire by leaping to one side of the ruined van. Thrasher announces, "The big gun is lining up a shot. Move if you can!"

But can she? One of the goons appears to be taking her challenge. One man, a rather burly, bear of a man, is barreling down on her. He's charging at Misty like a linebacker. He's got his handgun in one of his hands, but it's not in any position to fire and hurt anyone. The man seems all but focused on bowling over the woman.

And Misty's reaction is first on the big burly bear of a man trying to simply pull a football move on her. She doesn't speak a word. She simply shifts her weight, through her hips, and /pivots/, letting the man's own size and momentum carry him past and around her, so she can catch his gun hand and yank it up — hard — behind his back. It's not /quite/ hard enough to break his arm, because she's using her ordinary hand, but she's a trained martial artist, and only a little more pressure will make it pop out of the socket — which is in its own way, almost worse than breaking the arm. The gun, of course, clatters to the ground, and is kicked away by Misty's booted foot.

"You ready to take out your own posse?" Misty shouts, presumably at the woman preparing to fire a bazooka on a city street that, while not exactly crowded is not entirely deserted either. This is New York: some people refuse to let all this superhuman crap throw them off their groove.

The big burly man's weight and size are taken advantage of. Misty performing that move on him is humbling and humiliating! How can she do that to him?? Do what exactly? Why, flip him over, remove his gun and slam him heavily into the asphalt. The back of his head slams hard against the ground and when he wakes up, he'll be seeing stars for a month. The woman bracing herself with the bazooka lines up the site on Misty. Misty's question goes unanswered as the woman has no intention of entering into conversation with Misty or Thrasher.

Thrasher finishes off another of the goons. How? He's hiding behind the broken van! Well, Dwayne vaulted on top of it, hurled his escrima at the goon and disarmed him with that one throw. The gun clattered against the ground and with little more than a moment's breath taken, Thrasher was on top of the goon. Thrasher knocked the man to the ground as he jumped on top of him, and held the other escrima roughly against his throat as a modified chokehold. A moment of violent choking is all it takes before the goon passes out.

There is a high pitched whine coming from the woman with the bazooka just before it is fired. The firepower of the bazooka is homed in on the broken van.

Misty was trying to provoke the other woman. But that gambit failed, and the bazooka is fired. "Oh, $#!+!" she swears, and dives, seeking shelter behind that same bus Thrasher hid behind only moments earlier. "Move it or lose it, sugar," she calls out on her headlong rush to get out of the way of the shell projectile. "…This is gonna make a mess." And look /terrible/ on the 10 o'clock news, too. Thankfully no news vans have arrived yet.

The round lobbed by the woman's bazooka corkscrews through the air between her weapon and the van. It zips right through the opened double-doors of the broken vehicle and collides with something solid inside. The collision is what causes the explosion that follows. The van is lifted up into the air a couple of feet by the explosion inside of its bowels. It bounces against the road and a fire has erupted it… beginning the process of the fire consumption of it and anything held inside of it.

Thrasher managed to pull the man he choked out along the asphalt as a means of saving him from dieing in the explosion. The shockwave from the explosion is enough to dislodge the man from his grasp, though. Thrasher curses and waves his hand in front of his goggles to clear the gathering, oily smoke. The woman who fired? Is taking the opportunity to make her escape. The gathering smoke making for an excellent, ahem, smokescreen.

Smokescreen, yes. But Misty had marked her position while she was making taunting remarks at the bazooka woman. She darts out behind the bus, giving chase. Long legs eat up the sidewalk, quickly closing the gap between quarry and pursuer. She isn't bothering with any more remarks now, simply concentrating on catching that last malefactor — particularly since she's the one who has now caused the most damage that the city is going to have to pay to fix.

A rebreather mask slides into place over Night Thrasher's mouth to protect the man inside the armor from inhaling the oily, acrid smoke. He turns his head, wafts away from of the gathering plumes and notes Misty going off after the remaining, bazooka-toting woman. He assumes Misty is going to get her, so he goes about gathering up the limp goons littered about the area by the two of them. He drags them all into a pile where they are all sitting up, leaning back to back to back against each other. He steps over to the burning van and thrusts his armored hand into the ruined engineblock. After some rooting around in the growing inferno, Night Thrasher pulls his arm free. Gripped firmly in hand is a timing belt from the engine. Thrasher snaps it, heads to the group of downed goons and uses the belt to tether their arms together.

As for the remaining woman? She definately high tailed it. she ducked into the closest alley to her to quickly break the line of sight with the two heroes. She is still holding onto her bazooka as she runs.

And holding a bazooka is a stupid thing to do when being pursued by a determined and angry detective whose yummy Indian dinner is probably getting cold. Because it's extra weight, and extra weight slows one down. The streets are much emptier due to the donnybrook taking place, and emptier still after the bazooka blew the van into the air and down again. So there's not a lot to block Misty's line of sight to the fleeing woman. When she turns into the alley, Misty just /smiles/ a predatory smile and follows.

There's a bit of noise. Trash cans getting jostled around. Blows falling. Finally a shriek.

Misty emerges from the alley, holding the unconscious woman by her collar. She hoists the unconscious woman to her right shoulder in a fireman carry, and walks her back to where Thrasher has corralled the remaining ones. "What you plannin' to do with these fools, Thrash? Best make it quick, because you know the Bugle's gonna send snaps to spin this like it's our fault." To say nothing of the brave and foolhardy New Yorkers who are holding up their cellphones from a distance so they can post blurry footage to YouTube.

Night Thrasher regards Misty's approach with the other woman in a fireman's carry. The New Warrior shrugs his shoulders and glances at the unconscious woman, "Leave 'em for New York's finest. That one-" He gestures towards the unconscious woman, "-Took care of the weapons I was after." He pauses and adds, "Let the Bugle say what it wants to say. Fact of the matter is there are fewer dangerous guns loose in the streets of the city." The rebreather unit slides out of the way, revealing the man's mouth once again. He says to Misty, "Thank you for the assist on this. I was hoping this operation would have proceeded a bit cleaner. But, they had to run."

Misty also has the bazooka in her free hand. Because no way is she going to leave the thing lying around for anybody to pick up. Same is true for the guns. She tosses the woman like a sack of old potatoes to land atop the unconscious forms of her compatriots.

She then begins crushing the bazooka to bits, one crump at a time of her bionic hand against its metal barrel. The rending metal noise is teeth-aching. "For the next two or three hours," Misty muses as she moves onto the guns dropped by the other gun-runners. She examines a couple before she destroys them, clearly making sure that what she's looking at now isn't anything new to her. By the time she's done, there's a random scattering of plastic, ceramic and metal around her feet. "Until another boat comes in from Madripoor or Toyko or where the hell ever." A little fatalistic tonight, Misty? Seems so. "But you're welcome."

Thrasher shrugs his shoulders at Misty's last comment, "Fight the symptoms until you find the cure the disease." He raises a hand to his helmet and taps at the side of it, "I am sure you guys have heard of the ruckus going on in Lower Manhatten. Can you make sure-" There are faint sounds of sirens in the not so distant distance, "-nevermind, sir, I hear the police coming now." Clearly he's got some kind of bluetooth or similar device lodged somewhere in his helmet. He says to Misty, "Cops are going to making a special guest appearance. I will let them take over." with that, Thrasher has intentions on making his exit.

"Cool." Misty knocks gently with her human hand on Thrasher's helmet as she saunters past. The danger is over, so her badass mannerisms are being dialed back in favor of more professional ones. She tilts her head and gives a faint little smile at the sound of sirens. "That's the spirit, Doctor Thrasher," she says, without sarcasm. His determination is heartening to her. "The boys and blue can handle the cleanup. I got a chicken koorma with my name on it. Hasta, bro." She turns to walk the few blocks up the street that will take her back to the restaurant where she tossed several full shopping bags at a hapless waiter.

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