Ellen Park, the Lone Wanderer

Brock hardly notices the smell. For some reason, when a super scientist likes to go on adventures, they like to go to places like this.

"Nah, I'm good," he says, pulling his knife from his hip. It's practically a small machete, only shaped like a Bowie knife.

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Ellen nods. "I have stimpaks if you need them," she says, "and plenty of anti-rads if you want more than whatever you might've already downed back at the Bar. The surface entrance is this way..."

The others, she's sure, will be along shortly.

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"All right," he says, following after. "I should be fine, but I'll let you know."

If he sounds confident, it's probably because the Venture family's private jet is nuclear powered. If he hasn't been killed by it yet, he can survive the typical amounts of radiation the Wastes can throw at him.

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Jordan follows, looking around: she is a curious figure in the form-fitting all-black armored suit, her face blurry-visible behind the faceplate. The 4'10 girl carries her plasma rifle with practiced ease, in a downwards angle with her finger off the trigger.

"Any idea how many mutants are around?" The rest of her equipment consists of the energy pistol on a thigh holster, a small backpack, and of course, her cybernetic left forearm. Jordan resurfaced that last item to a dark gray and black color, to better match the suit.

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"Six of the ordinary sort," Ellen says. "Most of them armed with assault rifles. I'm not sure about their other guns at the moment. And there are two centaurs with them. They're slow, but they can hit a target fifty yards away, and the spit's radioactive and corrosive."

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She nods. "Let's try to take those out before they have a chance to spit. I think my armor can take it, but I prefer to not have to test it." Jordan waits for anyone else coming.

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Gene tests out the rifle she's given him, checking it's all in working order. His coat pockets are laden with ammo, he's got a fag in his mouth, a hipflask and a packet of Juicy Fruit about his person. He's ready for battle.

'Let's ge' on with it then. They ain't goin' t'fall over an' die while we're standin' around down here.'

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venusadept_2

Felix also declines a firearm. He's got his sword, he's got his power, and he's got little enough real experience with a gun that he suspects he'd be more of a danger to his teammates than to the mutants.

He doesn't draw his sword yet, and probably won't until the enemies are in sight, but he's going to be very alert. Especially since the radiation seems to be giving the earth in the area a rather odd feel.

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"All right. Stitch should be along shortly anyway, he can follow us..."

(The narration remains a bit unclear about Noriko, but if she arrives, she'll get to come too.)

It's a subway tunnel they're in, the old Washington Metro, and it's near enough the surface that Ellen doesn't have to lead them very far. Outside, the steps lead up into the dry and dusty daylight of early morning. Rolling scrubby countryside- some places patchy with sand and rock, others with dead trees and twiggy-looking bushes- spreads out in the distance. Nearer, however, are a handful of buildings- a two-storey store with all the windows long ago boarded over, a few half-collapsed houses- and a long rocky slope that leads away and down. And down that way, girders and old railroad metal have been twisted and forced into makeshift fencing, and overturned train-cars have become shelter for... very, very unpleasant things.

It is probably best that at this distance nobody can see the exact contents of the red-brown bundles hanging from this or that bit of metal below. However, the green-skinned figures moving amongst the carnage are unmistakable given Ellen's photographs- as are the two centaur-shaped things with all the tongues.

"Ellen," comes a woman's voice from somewhere nearby. Whoever looks up first will be greeted by a tall figure in silver-grey power armor, carrying a three-barreled gun that's got to be controlled with both hands and that's hooked up to a massive power pack slung across the bearer's shoulders. "You got here just in time."

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evil_koala_626

"Ah-chooga moopa! Feeboogoo! Grrrrrrr." Someone jabbers with machine gun intensity before a small shape rushes through the doorway, proceeds to scale the wall and sets off at a determined clip along the ceiling, snarling furiously all the while. Hopefully stealth isn't high on Ellen's list of priorities.

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Brock was expecting big, scary monsters. Still, this thing looks like a monster, so he doesn't hesitate to pull out his knife, ready to make his move in about two seconds.

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Jordan was about to greet the Paladin when Stitch comes charging; her first reaction would be to shoot, but for once, she holds back and focuses on the Super Mutants. Those are another rather immediate threat.

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evil_koala_626

Stitch emerges into the daylight amidst a a clatter of claws on concrete and a veitable hail of snarls, snorts and excited yammering. Upon catching sight of Brock, he stops dead, blinking two enormous eyes for a beat.

Two beats.

And then those eyes narrow to slits as the warbling growl starts back up again.

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"Save it for the greenskins!" Ellen suddenly snaps. "Brock, this is Stitch. Stitch, this is Brock. We're all on the same side-"

Oh, hey.

One of the mutants has a missile launcher.

"HIT THE DECK!" thunders Cross, and lunges at anyone who might still be standing up when the missile is fired their way.

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Brock looks over his shoulder in the direction of the missile, and very calmly walks out of the way. He doesn't seem to notice any shrapnel that flies his way.

He is, however, quite excited now.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!"

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Jordan was looking that way, so she was already moving before the Mutant fired: diving for cover, tumbling away, she turns on the light distortion field of her armor and moves to a sniping spot out of the direct line of fire.

Time to set up a nasty plasma-surprise for the greenskins.

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venusadept_2

For a moment after he gets up again Felix hardly even moves. He's tracking where the majority of the movement is. There's no way he can get in there to make a difference with his sword, not without making a target of himself and a mess of everyone's plans. But, as previously mentioned, that's not his only option.

He drops into a crouch, his eyes briefly glowing yellow, as the ground under the mutants shakes. Odds are, at that distance and covering that much area, it's not going to do them much harm, but they should be startled and off-balance.

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'Shit!'

Gene hits the deck, landing behind some rocks. He'd moved late, having been distracted by the small furry creature thats followed them, but he's OK and looking down towards the mutants.

'We goin' t'be able to get closer?'

Jordan looks like she's going to sniper; he's thinking that'll give cover so they can move in. But there's a lot of mutants and he doubts they're going to line up to be shot at one by one.

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"Should be," says Cross, propping herself up with a series of clanks. It can't be helped in that suit. Nodding towards the rusted-out hulks of ancient cars alongside the collapsed buildings nearby she says, "We need to split the group and come around from the right. Most of the mutants will concentrate their attention on the largest cluster of humans."

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He thinks about this.

'Well, I'm human. I don' mind bein' bait as long as I get t'shoot the bastards at the same time.'

Never let it be said that he won't take one for the team.

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"A commendable attitude," says Cross. "Care to accompany me, then? I'm protected enough to weather the worst of it."

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'I'll say.'

He gets to his knees, peers out at the mutants in case they're gearing up for another missile strike.

'Least I won' have t'run away, I can just hide behind you. When we've got more time, you can tell me wha' it feels like t'be wearin' a Ford Granada. But seein' as there's more pressin' matters, let's go an' get th' bastards first.'

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They are- and one of the others is reaching for a minigun with the obvious enthusiasm of the delusionally homicidal.

"I like your attitude," says Cross, and there might be a smile somewhere behind that helmet. "All right. On me, then-"

With that she sets off at a run, scrambling over the uneven ground with her own multibarreled weapon still in both hands.

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He swears when he catches sight of the minigun and yeah, there's obviously no time to lose. So he takes off after her as best he can, trusting that the others will sort themselves out and not let the bait get sacrified.

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