2009-10-22: Villains Vs Villains



Guest Starring:

Flint, All of Level 5, Company Agents

Date: October 22nd, 2009


It's villains versus villains when Alpha Protocol raids Level 5 for what it holds. Mostly villains…

"Villains vs Villains"

Level 5

Level 5. A couple of years back, it was moved here: the middle of nowhere, this underground complex with its still-familiar cement walls and heavy, secure doors. Above ground, it's night, and the sky is pitch black, harbouring a few smoky grey clouds and a scrawny sliver of a crescent moon, bright white but giving off little light. It's the bluish floodlights that lend an eerie glow to the aboveground part of compound — bland, nondescript buildings and a taller lookout. It reflects on the tall chainlink fence topped with barbed wire.

Until, tonight at 10:05PM, the lights go out.

The Company guards look up in confusion, instantly going on alert and getting on their radios. Two men stationed at the front gate suddenly fall down, taken out by unseen bullets.

Downstairs, in the maze of cells familiar to those who are forced to live there, the power goes out. With a jarring hummmmm, the generator comes on, basking the Level 5 prisoners in an even dimmer glow than they're used to.

The resident telekinetic was hovering a pencil above her head and floating in the air when the lights when out, she slowly comes back to the ground and stands, walking closer to the glass. "Looks like there's gonna be some fun tonight ladies." She calls and meows like a cat, snickering and then running a hand through her hair.

Dex was here, right after they moved here. This prison is home, the only home she has left.

Down below, the occupants of Level 5 don't really have much of a sense of time. Night or day, who knows. There are a few things that break up the monotony, but those have passed for the time being, which Kayley takes to mean that it's when everyone else is normally asleep. Without a watch or clock, it's impossible to know the exact time the lights go out. Already awake, Kayley has been humming her hymns again in the hopes it will annoy Flint more than it has already. He hasn't spoken to her much after their last encounter, but she doesn't mind. She finds him boring now. Slowly, once the lights flicker back on, she sits up and cocks her head to one side, like a dog listening for a whistle pitched above human hearing. Then, she smiles lopsidedly. Other than that, she gives no other sign that she knows something is amiss in the building.

Watching his breath fog on the glass an inch away from his face is what Rafael tends to spend the hour between 10 PM and 11 PM doing, daily, a ritual that he began what he thinks was last month but may, in fact, have gone on somewhat longer: the calendar dates tend to merge into each other when you don't actually have a calendar. Abruptly, however, the ghostly patch of condensation that had been oscillating its boundaries at the point of his nose — goes dark. When the backup generator's illumination chokes on, the glass is clear, smeared by the bend of his wrist. He cranes his head, squinting his eyes into the hall for any sign of… of…

He can't tell if it's the Haitian pills getting in the way or if he's quite dense tonight. He picks himself off his chair, straightens the thin cotton of his shirt with hasty fingers, for no other reason than that because he feels safer on his feet. Which isn't saying much.

The back-up generator isn't on for long before the occupants of Level 5 find themselves in the dark entirely. There's a distant, muffled thump and thrum as the generator dies; the lights flicker and go dead.

Moments later, there's an accompanying sound: a metallic clunk coming from the high security doors. Are they so high security without power?

More of the prisoners stir; some hustle back into corners, some near the glass as close as Rafael. Flint Gordon, Jr. leers out into the corridor, sending a stream of hot blue flames against the glass to see by — one of the prisoners who, like Dex, aren't drugged at all times. Not like they can get out. In the cell next to him, a tall, wiry man with dark skin and wild eyes watches. Across the way, the tough-looking bald-headed ex-Pinehearst experiment shakes his head and shuffles backward, muttering. A muscled man with glasses, The German, is adventurous and clever enough to push and pull at the door of his cell.

It gives. Rattles. Opens.

Footsteps sound aboveground, quiet but present. A low hiss begins to reach the prisoners' ears and, to those closest to the light given off by Flint's eager fire, a thin, misty cloud can be seen sneaking in from the vents in their cells, some more than others. The German drops to his knees; thumps sound as prisoners all over Level 5 start to fall.

Outside the doors — one at either end of the main corridor of cells — Company guards, dressed in suits more befitting of offices, unlucky bastards to be posted here at such a time, ready their weapons. Company issue guns. One of us, one of them… they probably have more than bullets at their disposal, but the gas is sneaking from vents above them, too, and even they get a little unsteady on their feet.

But they'll stand here loyally as long as they can.

Level 5. This is a place that Max remembers all too well. The minutes that feel like years when you're trapped behind glass. The watching, judging eyes of every infidel to walk past his cell. The food, if one can call it that. The location may have changed, but the ambiance remains the same.

He gives his head a brisk shake to break himself free from the memories as he limps across the complex with a squad of five men in tow. His charcoal grey suit cuts an odd contrast to the tactical gear that weighs down his team. His only concession to the assignment parameters is a close-fitting gas mask. He waves his people forward, more than willing to sacrifice them before risking himself.

Though his team is equipped with an array of weapons, some lethal, some less-than, Max is unarmed. The radios linking his squad crackle to life, bearing his deep, emotionless voice to every ear. "Go loud. Take them alive, if possible."

His squad is more than willing to comply. They have heard the rumors that Max is not only a killer, but a cannibal. Whether or not those rumors are exaggerated, none of them wishes to find out. They round a corner with weapons raised. Two of them fire, launching wireless taser darts at the suit-wearing guard blocking the path.

Next to the gray suited figure of Max stalks another group of men in tactical black. Two groups of five actually. One man stands next to Max, tall and unafraid. Dressed from head to toe in black, mask, helmet. Full tactical gear. Nicholas Drake seems perfectly relaxed as he jogs across the space near to Max. "Well Maximus…looks like you are the one that decided to knock…" He drawls across the tactical net towards the Gray man. "…I guess its up to me to say hello." Flicking to a different channel he smirks slightly.

"Squads. Flashbangs, wait two then inside. We want live ones, dead ones are harder to carry."

With that his own men move in, firing at the guards should Max's team not take them down. After that the'll rush forwards should those men be down and attach breaching charges on that door.

"Agent Swa— ?!" The young man standing as a Company guard's eyes flash with recognition, surprise, and betrayal toward a man he barely knew — all in the seconds before and during the attack of that taser dart. He convulses, making choking noises in his throat before falling down. He didn't even get to use his gun. He has a colleague— but he's taken down by Drake's team. Can it really be this easy?

Dex (Drea) pages: If Dex concentrated because in my next pose she is in the hallway, the gas has effected, but not by too much. I'm sure Dex can see movement because there is bound to be a little window in that door they are about to blow. Could she use her ability to shove at people on the other side.

"Cover your mouths ladies!" Dex yells and then waves her hand in front of her face before she uses her ability to knock the door open, the door is rattled and it opens. She stumbles out, coughing, eyes watering. But her hair swings as she looks from left to right.

"Shit." She says as she hears the sound of gunshots and begins to throw open the other doors to the other cells, trying to help as many as she can. The young woman's eyes travel to the door that is being tampered with, getting ready to be blown.

Dex pulls in within herself, clear of the gas for now. Her eyes closed and she thrust her hand forward, seeing movement behind the door through the glass, it doesn't take a genius to know that whoever is coming through that door isn't a friend. "Everyone that can use their ability, get to the fucking front. Whoever these fucks are.. well they don't know who they are messing with." She says and concentrates again.

Pushing with all her might and control, the woman doesn't push at the door, no no no, she pushes at the people through the door. Sending her ability to make several of the men fly backwards. Her forehead furrows in concentration, the gas making it harder to use her ability, but it's still doable. It's as if a huge wave of force flies from the door towards Max and Nicholas' men, except it's invisible.

Drake's men at the door do indeed go flying back from the charged, leaving them unprimed. More men skid and fall or are simply lifted off the ground to land with grunts and groans and one with a muffled curse as he dislocates a shoulder.


"Guess the gas didn't entirely work. Maximus. If you would be so kind."

One of the few prisoners that didn't start a fireworks show or rushed to the window to see what is going on, Kayley remains sitting on her bed with that half smile on her face. After the lights turn off completely, that's when the blonde haired girl stands up and walks toward her door without any ceremony. Her power was shut off to her years ago through Haitian pills and the gas that starts to seep through the hallways is dealt with by ripping the sheets off her bed. Wrapping the cover around herself into an almost make-shift toga she presses the fabric against her nose and mouth in an attempt to make an impromptu mask. She's already inhaled some of the power dampening, knock out drug and by the time she makes it to the door, she's weaving slightly. That's never been a reason to stop her, though, and so for the first time in two years, she flings her cell door open herself and takes a step of freedom. Though no one else can see it, the girl smirks.

While some may be trying to group together or fight off the incumbents, Kayley doesn't give a flying leap for anyone there or anyone coming and doesn't join them or even acknowledge anyone there. With one hand, she trails her fingers against the wall in a light touch, singing to herself 'We Shall Be Released' and steps over those already unconscious. Her walk is of one after too many drinks, but she is making a steady going of it.

Sedatives. Not precisely a novelty. The German exploiting every tiny advantage that comes his way is not entirely unexpected either. Huge brown eyes probably better suited to a bush baby nearly flatten up against the pane that separates Rafael from the gas outside, his eyebrows hiked up, almost disappeared into his black stringmop hair. A moment or three, panic fluttering around caged in his ribs, and he promptly wads himself down at the bottom of his cell, keeping as far from the venting gas as is physically possible for him. He isn't a tremendously tall fellow. It works out. It helps.

A little.

The hand he flattens against his door wobbles with gelatinous weakness anyway. Rafael mumbles something under his breath, an Inuit epithet that's normally reserved for human foolishness in the face of nature's implacable ruthlessness, a man wading into a swift-changing tide to find his wallet, something like that. There's something terribly implacable about what's going on here, and it feels very nearly like foolishness to go out and meet it in person, but, you know, he's been in here awhile and show any caged rat egress. It's instinct, a lot of it.

Also: there's a woman out there yelling orders at 'the ladies,' and he's given to understand that it is some cultural slang… …thing…, that he is somehow included in that category. She sounds like someone you should listen to because she is throwing people around with her mind powers. So he crawls out. Stops just in time to avoid being trod on by someone who appears to have his hands on fire, but keeps going after that, investing his thought not in prayer but squinting preparation for some sign— any sign— that whomever turned out the lights and loosed the doors is going to do something else. Anything else. Aaaaah—

"Yeehaw!" Flint is one of those who the gas hasn't taken full effect on. Flames shooting into the air from both hands in a brazen lightshow, all he seems to see is the chance to escape and wreak havoc. After Dex's assistance, he kicks open his door and waltzes right into the corridor behind the deceptively small and delicate-looking ladies and Rafael, who is wise to get out of his way. Like Kayley, he walks slightly drunkenly — but he's all smiles. The mad leaving suits him. At least the small rebel team has light to see by. No one else emerges from their cells; it's just them. "Bring it ooooon, bitches!"

The wave of force that crashes through the assembled squads is unexpected, to say the least. Max ducks his head and puts one shoulder forward as if walking into a strong wind, but it's not enough to keep him on his feet. He growls and hauls himself upright, muttering under his breath as he dusts off his stylish attire. He only stares coldly at a man who seeks aid via an outstretched hand.

"With pleasure," he replies to Drake's request, smiling in a most unsavory fashion. Then, with a flick of his eyes and an exertion of his will, he wrenches the doors to the cell block open and sends then careening toward the massed prisoners.

"Nice…" Nick's drawl is lazy as Max rips the doors right off the hinges and flings them back into the room. "Alright boys, doors open." He calls as he brings a weapon up to his shoulder to aim into the room filled with smoke. Flashing lights and Evolved. The weapon he brings up is a big one, a massive bore that is made to fire something more than bullets. Something bigger.

Stun and flash-bag grenades to be exact.

"Fire in the hole." He murmurs softly over the radio before he pulls the triger to send a shell in right after those doors. A throaty whump from the weapon as it slings the grenade in.

Set for airburst on a timer, not go off on impact.

"Go!" He calls to his own squad as he sends the remaining men that are up and mobile in a handful of heartbeats after the grenade's burst of sound and light.

"Hello door." Dex murmurs softly and throws her hand out, feet spread. Her head is throbbing already, the gas taking some hold, but not enough to stop her. Her strength is called up as she sees the door flying towards them. The door stops as it hits the telekinetic shield that she calls up and she looks over her shoulder at Flint, "Do your worst Flint baby." She says with a wink and then the door is thrown back at the men even harder.

Then the flash of light and the sound. Owwwie, ringing in the ears. Dex sinks to the ground on her knees and closes her eyes, vision blurring and dizzying before she can see again. Tears are in her eyes as she throws a hand back behind her, remember those prisoners that were.. well laying on the ground?

One by one, she hurls them at the men. Her ears still ring but she looks at Flint, "Go, go go!" she yells for him to hurry and attack also, she can't do it all on her own.

Though her sheet has helped with the intake of gas inhalation, it has slowly begun to sink into Kayley's system. Already devoid of powers long before this team of rescuers? Kidnappers? Who are they exactly? came with their guns and flash bangs, all that is left to do is knock the teenager out. That doesn't quite happen yet, but each step she takes is slower and more purposeful. She's stopped singing and her hands are both pressed against the sheet on her nose and mouth, as if trying to press the good air down into her lungs via the sheet. Leaning heavily against the wall, she crouches down at the flash bangs and covers her head with her arms. The flying doors and bodies don't effect her, however, she doesn't get up again from her spot. Whether that's by choice or through drugging is up for debate at the moment.

Flashbangs go off a little way ahead, disrupting the flow of pernicious gasses. Enough to make Rafael flinch and put his hands on his head but he remains, for the large part, reasonably functional despite everything. It seems improbable that the most probable course of action is to go forward, but all instincts point toward the noise and chaos of the hallway, so he isn't long before thumping over to see what all the fuss is ab—

"Little girl!" Rafael says, despite that the stumbling figure above and ahead of him is turned slightly androgynous by the nature of prison clothes and the shortage of light. His best guess is 'little girl.' He'd seen one around, occasionally— blonde and waifishly thin, and when he finally lurches up off his awkward crabwise crawl on the floor to see her face, or at least where it is in profile, he's happy to see that he hadn't, in fact, lost his mind (what's left of it) during his incarceration. It's her.

He isn't exactly an old man himself, but he's struck again now as he was then: how young some of these people are. "Get down lower!" His fingers close warm on Kayley's wrist, hauling her down, and he throws one thinly clad arm over her shoulders, striving to keep her out of line of fire while the pyrokinetic and telekinetic have at up ahead. He is, most definitely, with them in spirit.

Flint is by far the largest target, and yet the flying door is derailed by the young woman in front of him flinging things with her mind. With a dangerous glint in his eye, he's ready to do exactly what Dex says, is he ever, but the flash-bangs put a damper on his fire. Literally. The pyro's fiery hands are snuffed out as he careens to the floor. Flint is blinded and deafened in the ruckus like the others, but even though he can't see a damn thing, he holds his hands out down the hall and blazes with all his blazin' glory.

…except that those dangerous blue streams of fire don't go very far. They get halfway down the corridor, narrowly (miraculously?) avoiding setting Rafael on fire before fizzling out. Small, half-hearted flames fire from his palms. The gas is taking affect. "RRRRRGHH!!" That's what Flint thinks about that.

The door at the opposite end of the hall, behind this chaos, begins to slowly open — quiet evidence that there's still Company presence to be had down here, however outnumbered.

"I tire of this," Max drones. He stoops low and makes a scooping gesture with one hand, grunting as he does. With a screeching, groaning protest, sections of the floor pull free to form an improvised wall in front of his soldiers. The flying door is caught and added to the mass, further fortifying the position against the prisoners-turned-projectiles. "Agent," he murmurs, glancing at Drake. "If you would be so kind as to have your men cut them down? I'm missing Iron Chef. You know how I get when I miss Iron Chef."

"Great…door pong," Nick growls as she notes the door coming back out of the mist towards him and his men. "DOWN!" He calls over the radio net as he sees that massive projectile on the way…and then suddenly the floor is becoming a rampart and that metal door isn't much to worry about in the least. There is a sympathetic wince as he hears the thump of the bodies against that unyielding surface of metal and he can just imagine the bruises when those guys wake up.

"Ah yeah," He adds towards Max as he tosses the grenade launcher to his second in command and instead pulls up a shotgun looking weapon instead. "Morimito on tonight?" He asks as he directs the men with handsignals to form up on the sides of the door and behind the barricade. "Can't miss him now can you?"

A nod then towards his second in command and suddenly six men are moving, two from either side of the ruined door and two from behind the barricade. No warning, no quarter and no hesitation in the least as the weapons go off. Sending taser-projectiles spinning down the hallway in a quick controlled shots.

Three aimed at Dex, one each for Flint, Rafael, and Kayley. The only ones that still seem to be mobile.

Here goes another strain for the woman. The taser hits her in the shoulder and she goes down for real this time, her body shivering and her eyes rolling in the back of her head, Damnit. She thinks to herself, her nose is bleeding from the use of her ability and her eyes red.

With a growl and shriek though, something triggers in Dex, her final stand. Her eyes grow change from their normal color and are now pitch black. Her mouth opens in a snarl and she utters one pharse. "Fuck off."

All around her, objects that are laying about slowly rise to the air, the air quivering around her withering body. With a loud scream, the telekinetic expels all of her energy around her. This is different then any of her normal waves of telekinetic energy, all of Dex's being goes into this. Everything within a 30 foot radius is hit by this attack. Sorry fellow captives as the burnt of the force goes towards the barricade that Max has erected. The force thrown in front of her, should or would at least knock the barricade down and throw it at the men, Nicholas and Max on the other side. With a final exhale of breath, her head lolls and she is out. Night night Dex.

Her age is something that Kayley often uses against her captors and psychiatrists they bring in to attempt to 'fix' her. Not noticing, or perhaps unaware, of anyone calling her 'little girl' she remains immobile where she crouched. Not moving, the only way to tell she's still alive is the shallow breathing through her sheet toga. However, when Rafael grabs her wrist, she gives an piercing shriek, surprising in both it's high-pitch and the fact that she's awake. A surprisingly strong kick is the young man's reward for attempting to help Kayley in her attempt to get the man away from her. "Do. Not. Touch. Me." If she kicks him in the way or out of the way of those tasers, she doesn't care. If the taser didn't hit it's mark, being thrown up against the wall she was already leaning against is enough to knock her out. This time, when she slumps to the ground, it's not of her own volition.

The situation is devolving in such a manner that Rafael doesn't even think to pause and check if that errant fireball managed to take the top of his hair off or anything. He isn't that vain. And if his scalp is missing, well, the effects on his overall health aren't debilitating enough that it's a more pressing concern than the fact they are getting shot at more deliberately by agents. It's a difficult thing to miss even when you have stun grenades going off right over there and a little girl lashing her feet out at him. A taser dart snares the hem of his clothes, not a solid hit but a hit nevertheless: jolts a searing voltage of electricity through him, cutting use of limb out from under him like a puppet loses its strings.

From inside his skull, the sound of his head hitting the floor is kind of like a 'whomp.' His scalp rolls uneasy on the floor, lands on his cheek at just such the trajectory that he can see the roof of Dex's head, unconscious and limp, and Flint's face at a skewed angle. It would appear that the pyrokinetic is drooling. There isn't enough strength in his neck to get him a look up and out for Company agents, or he would; instead, he's left fuzzing out slowly as he waits for boots to clomp into his field of view.

Yep. Flint is drooling.

The door that was open a crack has been slammed shut, but now, in the relative silence, it opens to reveal a pair of Company agents, dutifully wielding their Company-issue pistols, an older man and a younger woman. The woman fires a shot down the side of the corridor, aiming for one of the men in black with tasers. The man sees the futility of the situation — with the floor peeled up, they can barely get any clear shots. "Fall back. It's too much! We have to go!" He pulls on his partner's arm.

If the first blast of telekinetic energy was a strong wind, this one is little more than a gentle summer breeze. It barely ruffles Max's suit, and the close-fitting tactical gear worn by the soldiers emerges unscathed. Frowning, the scientist checks his watch. "It's seven past," he laments. "The secret ingredient has already been revealed. This vexes me. I am terribly vexed."

Seemingly unconcerned for his own safety, the tall man strides out from behind the shelter he has created, pausing only long enough to boot the downed telekinetic in the ribs with the toe of a designer shoe. Twice.

He's far too busy to notice any bullets until they have whizzed past him, at which point he no longer cares. Still, in the interest of his own safety, he blocks the space between himself and the agents with a magnetic forcefield that crackles with visible arcs of angry, purplish energy.

"Squad two secure that door!" Even as the Company agents are starting to retreat five men are turning attention to them. Tasers fly in the direction of the suits as Nick stalks fowards past the ruined floor and the downed combatants. He steps easily around the broken bits of funirture and steel before he notices just where Max is heading. A wince from the first boot. Then a shaking head at the second.

"Hey hey! Stop that!" He calls over towards the gray suited man as he hurries over and sets a hand on his arm for a moment. "You can't just kick them while they are down!"


"Shoot em. It's more effective and you don't ruin your shoes."

With that he pumps one round at close range into the telekenetic's chest before looking up. "Bag em up boys. Double tap anyone that looks like they might still be mobile and lets get this place cleaned up. Its terribly rude to leave your toys lying around." He adds as he looks at the shield created by Max.

A raised eyebrow at that.

…purple? Really?

Max says, "This one is. It's a manly purple."

Nicholas says, "Ah. Well that makes everything alright then. Carry on."

Max says, "I'll carry on with your mother, Agent."

Nicholas says, "You do that. She'll kick your ass."

Max says, "Oh yeah? Well, I'm into that. So… There."

…Meanwhile, the Company agents know when they've been beaten at their own game; at least when one convinces the other. The man tugs on his partner's arm one more time and they turn tail and run. It's not pretty, but you do what you have to do when you're thrown into the foxhole. They have the best of intentions: escape alive to warn their colleagues. Unfortunately, only one of them rounds the corner and disappears to some form of escape (it might be short-lived, at this rate). Her colleague collapses, tazed.

All is still in Level 5 save for the out-of-place presences of the tactical teams. The government, standing in a place kept hidden from the world for so long.

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