Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][ROUND ONE: TELEVISION LAND]
12-10-2011, 06:58 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by BlastYoBoots.
"Wait, hey, wait up, kid-"
Freefall's rush to the door as it closed shut its last few inches was interrupted by a pair of bullets impacting its metal frame, near the handle.
"Freeze."
She turned, meeting Lieutenant Gladwell's eyes and the shades in front of it. Not a moment afterwards, his cruiser loudly morphed into a fireball, blasting in the glass of the storefront in a sea of orange light. Gladwell remained impervious to the shockwave, standing stock-still in the doorframe with his handgun aimed at Freefall's brow.
She withdrew her arms from their protective stance in front of her eyes, and passively lifted them into the air.
"You're under arrest."
Now, technically, Freefall knew what to do.
Technically, she knew she should give a few lines about the "Heroes and Hero Groups" laws of 2036 - sorry, the <HER0ES AND HER0 GR0UPS LAWS 0F 2036>, citing their most recent provisions on properly asserting limited authority in foreign environments and alternate realities. Lines that Ace and Metal had forcibly drilled into her over and over again for just such an occasion.
Then, still technically, she would have to respond to his likely unabated threats of force by yelling at him about the lives he's putting at risk until she had a chance to run off and continue heroing without him pursuing quite as hard, ensuring that both parties were put in the lowest possible amount of danger without jeopardizing her current mission of "don't lose the kid and his dangerous suit of armor".
But also, technically, kid and suit could be gone in some obscure fucking direction long before she was done with all that. Also, technically, this was a cheesy TV protagonist so there was technically no way to be sure how much it could help, or if he technically even had any authority at all.
Realistically, Freefall was fed up with dealing with annoying TV characters, and wasn't really thinking clearly after having spent an unusually long minute or two sailing through some sort of fuzzy static in-between, and did she mention she was somehow already sick of being bossed around by walking stereotypes that probably weren't even real?
So, realistically, Gladwell only managed to get out, "You have 'till the count of five to-" before she was ripping the metal door off its hinges to lob at him broadside.
The Lieutenant ducked, but was nevertheless met head-on with a large metal rectangle flying at incapacitating speeds. Freefall was never that good with cops.
Prying a flattened bullet of Gladwell's off the side of her suit as she walked out the back, Freefall was expecting to encounter another scenario she was never that good with: diplomacy. But instead, she ran into yet another she apparently wasn't good with at all: freshly dead, bleeding, severed bodies.
Most hero/villain encounters were surprisingly non-lethal. Or, at worst, only near-lethal. Both culture and the system encouraged would-be evil-doers among supers to avoid blatant murder; if you avoided that, punishments were light, and you'd probably amass a fanbase - fame, not just infamy - that would help you secure valuable contracts, info, and tech. Companies would intentionally place their cutting-edge R&D teams and valuable storage in hotspots frequented by supercrime, overseen by superheroes. It was like an enormous advertisement that said "HEY", to the public, "Our shit is so awesome we need superheroes guarding it!" And every well-insured theft (successful or thwarted) and scientific disaster merely increased this fame, attracting the best and brightest to their ranks, consumers to their products, and investors to their stock. Add in well-paid crimefighters like Freefall, and you had a gaudy, sanitized financial ferris-wheel.
This? It wasn't any of those things. This was half of a cop laying face down on the pavement under a streetlight, still coughing up his last bloody gasps, his other half six feet away and barely connected by spiraling entrails that had just finished shitting themselves. She'd seen some truly nasty injuries in her life, but never the fresh insides of a human being. That much blood, you even smelled it if you looked away and-
Covering her mouth and backpedaling, she suddenly felt and heard the sickening squish of a young, female rookie's left lung coming under her heel, where the light was dimmer. Maybe she should have worn shoes instead of sticking with the suit beyond the pants and jacket.
A flicker of static among the bodies and a loud clang in the distance finally shook her back to what she was supposed to be doing. Snap out of it. Get moving. Suck it up.
Alaster slowly advanced on the last member of the hostile force that had ambushed their escape route, calling themselves the 'backup'. It pleaded for mercy, stating that it was 'close to retirement' and other irrelevant arguments. No matter. These men were clearly a threat to the boy, and required immobilization.
The man admittedly had a point: there was no need to kill him. Timothy was hiding safely behind a nearby dumpster, so lethal force could be omitted for this threat.
Dismemberment was the logical option. The man would no longer be capable of menacing Timothy minus his weapon arms.
Alaster separated the threat's left limb from his shoulder in a smooth, gentle sword swipe. His scream of agony was expected.
But the sudden, loud bang against the dumpster wasn't. Alaster turned its head, clockwork cameras beholding a much more important threat.
Now that her fist had everyone's attention, Freefall glared at the young wizard cowering and whimpering behind her improvised gavel, pointing an accusatory finger at the suit of armor.
"Stop that thing from killing people before I turn it into a heap of scrap metal."
Ace delivered another kick or two to his punching bag, taking his time before responding to the business partner in his training room's vidscreen. "Yeah, I thought about it... and it's just not gonna work out. You might want to put your talents to work somewhere else."
-- "But... that doesn't make any sense! You spent three hundred thousand dollars on my patent and rights to the 3D Eagles home toy-printing system! It was going to spread your merchandise twice as far, cheapen availability, promote customization and resale... I was supposed to have a cut of every unit sold! What do you mean it won't work?!" --
"Yeah, sorry." Ace threw another punch or two at his equipment. Appearance and attitude is quite important when interfacing with clients. "We crunched the numbers, and it would just take away too many sales from our main toy partner. Don't want to lose those fat margins; I hope you understand."
-- "What... no, that was the whole point! You could undercut them with your own merchandise! They offered to buy the rights from me just to keep it off the market. I believe in this toy system! If I didn't want them produced, I'd have just given in and sold it to-" --
Ace faced the screen now, smirking viciously. The haggard entrepreneur on the other end went white as the truth dawned on him.
-- "You... you bought it off me... just to..." --
"One point three million, Mister Coleman. You shouldn't have turned it down when they offered. We'll make more reinvesting the cool million-worth of turnover back into our own business than we would with your product."
-- "You bastard! This was my life for the past three-" -- "I don't think we have anything left to discuss. Goodbye, Mister Coleman. Vidscreen, end call." -- *blip* --
"Pretty cruel, Ace."
He turned to find Freefall leaning against the doorway. "Oh, uh, yeah... heh, I get kinda carried away when it comes to business." Ace managed the finances and PR of the team nigh-singlehandedly. As a hero, he was a brave team leader, but as a businessman he was positively ruthless. Fabricating trust, nurturing it, breaking it brilliantly and profitably... some Japanese firm had gone so far as to brand him a 'contract demon'.
He'd always get a bit embarrassed when his teammates caught this side of him. It was cute.
"So, training time?"
"Ah! Sorry, I'd lost track of the clock. Let's get started."
Ace walked across his training room, taking a blunt training sword from one of the weapon racks.
"...Swords? Can't I just go heavy and block these things?"
"Rachel, if someone's going to fight a superhero with a sword, do you think they'd use a normal one?"
"...Good point."
Freefall uncrossed her arms, striding over to face her training opponent.
"If you want to check, use the environment. Swing something at them or wait for them to hit something, see if it's an ordinary sword. Then you can probably block it if you go heavy, though your suit wouldn't hold up as well as you. But either way..."
Ace raised the sword to point at her, dramatically. "The best policy is not to get hit at all. Watch their sword-arm. Get in close, disable it as fast as you can."
"So... just how well can you use that thing, anyway?"
Ace flourished the sword like a foil, then assumed a calculated-looking stance. "I learned to use a sword before I knew how to use my fists."
Alaster advanced on Freefall. "What do you mean you can't?!"
"I can't!"
"Then I will!"
Alaster's advance paused jerkily, then exploded into a rush. Freefall tore a thick metal downspout from a nearby wall, swinging it hard at the suit's head as it reached her. Alaster's movements remained unchanged excepting his sword-arm, which repositioned the vorpal blade to guard the blow; the pipe was severed clean by its edge with nary a motion from Alaster. She had about enough time to think 'Oh fu-' before the suit's unhalted charge bowled her to the ground.
Alaster slowed, halted, then turned to face the fallen girl and bring its sword up. Freefall delivered a hard sweep to its legs, sending it swiftly crashing to the ground in the exact same position it'd held while standing.
She quickly rose up and leapt for Alaster's vulnerable right sword-arm. Alaster took a cue from her, suddenly spinning from the ground legs-first in breakdance-reminiscent fashion; even a substantially dense Freefall wasn't enough to stay standing in the face of such raw force, flying to the ground just as Alaster's predecided movement sent its sword flying through the space her head was just in. Clever bastard!
Leaping back near the dumpster, she quickly tore off one of its metal half-lids and sent it at the suit frisbee-style. Only reacting at the last moment, Alaster sent its sword instantly up through the projectile, the resulting halves clattering harmlessly off the sides of its armor. Sharp damn sword. But... Freefall'd taken the opportunity to sprint up close to the automaton, shoving her left arm up against its sword-arm as her right fist slammed into its stomach.
Timothy winced at the sound of his caretaker receiving its first dent.
Alaster's blade-arm was pinned too strongly for its clockwork to overcome. It attempted to level a strong, straight blow to its opponent with its free arm, but was stiffly blocked and began to receive retribution tenfold.
No.
Painful metal crunches echoed through the alleyway as Alaster's assailant marred its previously flawless armor with craters. A particularly vicious blow hit the jaw of its suit, blocking a tooth of some neck-driving clockwork. The automaton's normally rhythmic operation sounds were now tarnished by a broken *whirr-tick, whirr-tick, whirr-tick*...
NO!
Freefall leapt back as Alaster rotated the sword-handle within its right palm, sending the blade dangerously close to her body. Then she noticed Tim had leapt out behind her from the dumpster, holding his palms up in the armor's direction.
"Conteig!"
Or at least that's what it sounded like. He might have been expressing his love for Country music, or mispronouncing a rather vile slur at her. Regardless, his hands glowed a dark emerald, sending a shimmering spherical barrier of a similar color around the suit. Alaster abandoned his stance, placing the tip of its sword in the ground and assuming a statuesque position within the shield.
Freefall turned in relief, stepping towards the struggling young wizard. "Thank you, finally. Now is there a way to reprogram armor here to keep him from murdering everyone in sight, or-"
She noticed just in time that the glowing hands he'd struggled with were abruptly fading.
Diving forward to dodge a sudden blade swung at her back, she scooped up Tim backwards by the waist in one arm and started running the hell away.
"...Sorry."
"Five seconds."
"Huh?"
"You couldn't hold him for five seconds."
"I said I was sorry!"
"You are the worst wizard I have ever met."
"HEY!"
Freefall glanced back at the kid - and Alaster, beginning his pursuit - to notice that her prior statement apparently had him tearing up.
...dammit, you suck with kids, Freefall.
"Just kidding," she recovered. "I've never met any wizards."
Lieutenant Gladwell rose, not even rubbing his bruised head.
The TV shows in this odd, fragile pocket universe had long evolved past the need for writers. But if they were to still use them, Gladwell would be unambiguously considered "poorly written".
The vision behind this show painted Clint Gladwell as an unconquerable badass. Nobody called out his behavior or snark. If they did, they were always clearly wrong, intimidated down by his practiced, quiet-yet-gravelly voice. Nobody stood for long against Clint Gladwell. Any fight scene - no matter how ridiculously stacked against him - would result in his eventual complete victory, even if he had to kill a dozen members of some sort of Latin mafia to save a child or such.
In short, he wasn't a vulnerable protagonist, like a more skilled show might portray a supposed 'badass'. He was invulnerable. Impossibly skilled, untouchable by the consequences of his actions.
And he always got his man. Or in this case, his girl.
"Wait, hey, wait up, kid-"
Freefall's rush to the door as it closed shut its last few inches was interrupted by a pair of bullets impacting its metal frame, near the handle.
"Freeze."
She turned, meeting Lieutenant Gladwell's eyes and the shades in front of it. Not a moment afterwards, his cruiser loudly morphed into a fireball, blasting in the glass of the storefront in a sea of orange light. Gladwell remained impervious to the shockwave, standing stock-still in the doorframe with his handgun aimed at Freefall's brow.
She withdrew her arms from their protective stance in front of her eyes, and passively lifted them into the air.
"You're under arrest."
Now, technically, Freefall knew what to do.
Technically, she knew she should give a few lines about the "Heroes and Hero Groups" laws of 2036 - sorry, the <HER0ES AND HER0 GR0UPS LAWS 0F 2036>, citing their most recent provisions on properly asserting limited authority in foreign environments and alternate realities. Lines that Ace and Metal had forcibly drilled into her over and over again for just such an occasion.
Then, still technically, she would have to respond to his likely unabated threats of force by yelling at him about the lives he's putting at risk until she had a chance to run off and continue heroing without him pursuing quite as hard, ensuring that both parties were put in the lowest possible amount of danger without jeopardizing her current mission of "don't lose the kid and his dangerous suit of armor".
But also, technically, kid and suit could be gone in some obscure fucking direction long before she was done with all that. Also, technically, this was a cheesy TV protagonist so there was technically no way to be sure how much it could help, or if he technically even had any authority at all.
Realistically, Freefall was fed up with dealing with annoying TV characters, and wasn't really thinking clearly after having spent an unusually long minute or two sailing through some sort of fuzzy static in-between, and did she mention she was somehow already sick of being bossed around by walking stereotypes that probably weren't even real?
So, realistically, Gladwell only managed to get out, "You have 'till the count of five to-" before she was ripping the metal door off its hinges to lob at him broadside.
The Lieutenant ducked, but was nevertheless met head-on with a large metal rectangle flying at incapacitating speeds. Freefall was never that good with cops.
Prying a flattened bullet of Gladwell's off the side of her suit as she walked out the back, Freefall was expecting to encounter another scenario she was never that good with: diplomacy. But instead, she ran into yet another she apparently wasn't good with at all: freshly dead, bleeding, severed bodies.
Most hero/villain encounters were surprisingly non-lethal. Or, at worst, only near-lethal. Both culture and the system encouraged would-be evil-doers among supers to avoid blatant murder; if you avoided that, punishments were light, and you'd probably amass a fanbase - fame, not just infamy - that would help you secure valuable contracts, info, and tech. Companies would intentionally place their cutting-edge R&D teams and valuable storage in hotspots frequented by supercrime, overseen by superheroes. It was like an enormous advertisement that said "HEY", to the public, "Our shit is so awesome we need superheroes guarding it!" And every well-insured theft (successful or thwarted) and scientific disaster merely increased this fame, attracting the best and brightest to their ranks, consumers to their products, and investors to their stock. Add in well-paid crimefighters like Freefall, and you had a gaudy, sanitized financial ferris-wheel.
This? It wasn't any of those things. This was half of a cop laying face down on the pavement under a streetlight, still coughing up his last bloody gasps, his other half six feet away and barely connected by spiraling entrails that had just finished shitting themselves. She'd seen some truly nasty injuries in her life, but never the fresh insides of a human being. That much blood, you even smelled it if you looked away and-
Covering her mouth and backpedaling, she suddenly felt and heard the sickening squish of a young, female rookie's left lung coming under her heel, where the light was dimmer. Maybe she should have worn shoes instead of sticking with the suit beyond the pants and jacket.
A flicker of static among the bodies and a loud clang in the distance finally shook her back to what she was supposed to be doing. Snap out of it. Get moving. Suck it up.
Alaster slowly advanced on the last member of the hostile force that had ambushed their escape route, calling themselves the 'backup'. It pleaded for mercy, stating that it was 'close to retirement' and other irrelevant arguments. No matter. These men were clearly a threat to the boy, and required immobilization.
The man admittedly had a point: there was no need to kill him. Timothy was hiding safely behind a nearby dumpster, so lethal force could be omitted for this threat.
Dismemberment was the logical option. The man would no longer be capable of menacing Timothy minus his weapon arms.
Alaster separated the threat's left limb from his shoulder in a smooth, gentle sword swipe. His scream of agony was expected.
But the sudden, loud bang against the dumpster wasn't. Alaster turned its head, clockwork cameras beholding a much more important threat.
Now that her fist had everyone's attention, Freefall glared at the young wizard cowering and whimpering behind her improvised gavel, pointing an accusatory finger at the suit of armor.
"Stop that thing from killing people before I turn it into a heap of scrap metal."
***
-- "What do you mean we won't be starting sales? If not now, then when?" --Ace delivered another kick or two to his punching bag, taking his time before responding to the business partner in his training room's vidscreen. "Yeah, I thought about it... and it's just not gonna work out. You might want to put your talents to work somewhere else."
-- "But... that doesn't make any sense! You spent three hundred thousand dollars on my patent and rights to the 3D Eagles home toy-printing system! It was going to spread your merchandise twice as far, cheapen availability, promote customization and resale... I was supposed to have a cut of every unit sold! What do you mean it won't work?!" --
"Yeah, sorry." Ace threw another punch or two at his equipment. Appearance and attitude is quite important when interfacing with clients. "We crunched the numbers, and it would just take away too many sales from our main toy partner. Don't want to lose those fat margins; I hope you understand."
-- "What... no, that was the whole point! You could undercut them with your own merchandise! They offered to buy the rights from me just to keep it off the market. I believe in this toy system! If I didn't want them produced, I'd have just given in and sold it to-" --
Ace faced the screen now, smirking viciously. The haggard entrepreneur on the other end went white as the truth dawned on him.
-- "You... you bought it off me... just to..." --
"One point three million, Mister Coleman. You shouldn't have turned it down when they offered. We'll make more reinvesting the cool million-worth of turnover back into our own business than we would with your product."
-- "You bastard! This was my life for the past three-" -- "I don't think we have anything left to discuss. Goodbye, Mister Coleman. Vidscreen, end call." -- *blip* --
"Pretty cruel, Ace."
He turned to find Freefall leaning against the doorway. "Oh, uh, yeah... heh, I get kinda carried away when it comes to business." Ace managed the finances and PR of the team nigh-singlehandedly. As a hero, he was a brave team leader, but as a businessman he was positively ruthless. Fabricating trust, nurturing it, breaking it brilliantly and profitably... some Japanese firm had gone so far as to brand him a 'contract demon'.
He'd always get a bit embarrassed when his teammates caught this side of him. It was cute.
"So, training time?"
"Ah! Sorry, I'd lost track of the clock. Let's get started."
Ace walked across his training room, taking a blunt training sword from one of the weapon racks.
"...Swords? Can't I just go heavy and block these things?"
"Rachel, if someone's going to fight a superhero with a sword, do you think they'd use a normal one?"
"...Good point."
Freefall uncrossed her arms, striding over to face her training opponent.
"If you want to check, use the environment. Swing something at them or wait for them to hit something, see if it's an ordinary sword. Then you can probably block it if you go heavy, though your suit wouldn't hold up as well as you. But either way..."
Ace raised the sword to point at her, dramatically. "The best policy is not to get hit at all. Watch their sword-arm. Get in close, disable it as fast as you can."
"So... just how well can you use that thing, anyway?"
Ace flourished the sword like a foil, then assumed a calculated-looking stance. "I learned to use a sword before I knew how to use my fists."
***
"...I can't."Alaster advanced on Freefall. "What do you mean you can't?!"
"I can't!"
"Then I will!"
Alaster's advance paused jerkily, then exploded into a rush. Freefall tore a thick metal downspout from a nearby wall, swinging it hard at the suit's head as it reached her. Alaster's movements remained unchanged excepting his sword-arm, which repositioned the vorpal blade to guard the blow; the pipe was severed clean by its edge with nary a motion from Alaster. She had about enough time to think 'Oh fu-' before the suit's unhalted charge bowled her to the ground.
Alaster slowed, halted, then turned to face the fallen girl and bring its sword up. Freefall delivered a hard sweep to its legs, sending it swiftly crashing to the ground in the exact same position it'd held while standing.
She quickly rose up and leapt for Alaster's vulnerable right sword-arm. Alaster took a cue from her, suddenly spinning from the ground legs-first in breakdance-reminiscent fashion; even a substantially dense Freefall wasn't enough to stay standing in the face of such raw force, flying to the ground just as Alaster's predecided movement sent its sword flying through the space her head was just in. Clever bastard!
Leaping back near the dumpster, she quickly tore off one of its metal half-lids and sent it at the suit frisbee-style. Only reacting at the last moment, Alaster sent its sword instantly up through the projectile, the resulting halves clattering harmlessly off the sides of its armor. Sharp damn sword. But... Freefall'd taken the opportunity to sprint up close to the automaton, shoving her left arm up against its sword-arm as her right fist slammed into its stomach.
Timothy winced at the sound of his caretaker receiving its first dent.
Alaster's blade-arm was pinned too strongly for its clockwork to overcome. It attempted to level a strong, straight blow to its opponent with its free arm, but was stiffly blocked and began to receive retribution tenfold.
No.
Painful metal crunches echoed through the alleyway as Alaster's assailant marred its previously flawless armor with craters. A particularly vicious blow hit the jaw of its suit, blocking a tooth of some neck-driving clockwork. The automaton's normally rhythmic operation sounds were now tarnished by a broken *whirr-tick, whirr-tick, whirr-tick*...
NO!
Freefall leapt back as Alaster rotated the sword-handle within its right palm, sending the blade dangerously close to her body. Then she noticed Tim had leapt out behind her from the dumpster, holding his palms up in the armor's direction.
"Conteig!"
Or at least that's what it sounded like. He might have been expressing his love for Country music, or mispronouncing a rather vile slur at her. Regardless, his hands glowed a dark emerald, sending a shimmering spherical barrier of a similar color around the suit. Alaster abandoned his stance, placing the tip of its sword in the ground and assuming a statuesque position within the shield.
Freefall turned in relief, stepping towards the struggling young wizard. "Thank you, finally. Now is there a way to reprogram armor here to keep him from murdering everyone in sight, or-"
She noticed just in time that the glowing hands he'd struggled with were abruptly fading.
Diving forward to dodge a sudden blade swung at her back, she scooped up Tim backwards by the waist in one arm and started running the hell away.
"...Sorry."
"Five seconds."
"Huh?"
"You couldn't hold him for five seconds."
"I said I was sorry!"
"You are the worst wizard I have ever met."
"HEY!"
Freefall glanced back at the kid - and Alaster, beginning his pursuit - to notice that her prior statement apparently had him tearing up.
...dammit, you suck with kids, Freefall.
"Just kidding," she recovered. "I've never met any wizards."
Lieutenant Gladwell rose, not even rubbing his bruised head.
The TV shows in this odd, fragile pocket universe had long evolved past the need for writers. But if they were to still use them, Gladwell would be unambiguously considered "poorly written".
The vision behind this show painted Clint Gladwell as an unconquerable badass. Nobody called out his behavior or snark. If they did, they were always clearly wrong, intimidated down by his practiced, quiet-yet-gravelly voice. Nobody stood for long against Clint Gladwell. Any fight scene - no matter how ridiculously stacked against him - would result in his eventual complete victory, even if he had to kill a dozen members of some sort of Latin mafia to save a child or such.
In short, he wasn't a vulnerable protagonist, like a more skilled show might portray a supposed 'badass'. He was invulnerable. Impossibly skilled, untouchable by the consequences of his actions.
And he always got his man. Or in this case, his girl.