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There are many abandoned subway stations in New York.
Most of them lead to tracks that go to another space that remain unused and then used, dark little corridors that only have their lights on before the train diverts its path into popularity. Others were created, the first rooms built, then abandoned when the money soon ran out or didn't fit with the infrastructure of New York underground. There were many theories to that; the Free Masons blocked the permitting and zoning process for their own reasons, or the Illuminati had a hand in creating pathways that they knew would funnel money into their pockets by the public. Or.. some old ratty senator had a thing for whomevers wife and shut everything down to make them a failure to steal someones woman.
Stories told by drunken men were suspect, and it was a wonder if the Hand knew the truth as to why they were down there in the first place. Like all rumors, it starts with a whisper.
Lenny went down the wrong route to catch a train and he was never heard from again.
Jack heard loud banging, and went to investigate before he ran screaming, speaking of ghosts.
Johnathan could have sworn he had seen ninjas. Maybe? Maybe not. He -was- drunk after all.
But if you were the type to notice the small things; then there would be a realization that all points lead to that abandoned station off of Central Park.
Ninjas.
Ninjas crowded the place in the middle of the night (which is when this takes place), a few of them pouring over old construction plans submitted to city hall and put up for record. Others carried tools of the trade, pick axes, while strapped to the nines themselves just in case. Elektra stood off hand, back against a dusty wall, foot pressed against a rock which rolled back and forth. She was fully healed from her dust-up with Nightwing, the days and months passed since she issued her last threat and yet.. she deemed them /ALL/ unworthy.
Capturing New York?
That was more important.
The subways attract Castle for much the same reason - secret, safe, dark, unpatrolled. He has a couple of safehouses already created around the city, but a place down here would give him a real bunker, somewhere he could pull back to when the heat got too intense. And it's gonna get that way - he's killing the rats too fast not to put a match under a few asses.
As he approaches Elektra's position, he narrows his eyes and slows his step. Not that he hears or sees anything precisely, but he can almost feel it, a tension in the air, the old veteran's instincts telling him that something's not quite right…and that he's far from alone.
He slowly lowers his duffel and slides a shotgun out with a slow, hissing slide of the zipper, starting to move forward again at a measured crouch…
Sending death threats and then not following through. The Hand was supposed to be more professional than that.
Deathstroke is somewhat disappointed. In truth he took some precautions. He sent his partner and his daughter out of New York. Moved out his nice townhouse into a bunker-like hideout in New Jersey. But still… nothing? Nothing at all?
So he went out hunting. He broke some bones by Little Tokyo. Followed the money trail. Even went to Japan a week to investigate. At the end were the local rumors that bought him to the abandoned subway stations.
For a man clad into heavy metal armor Deathstroke he moves very quietly. And he carries a M-60 machine gun as if it was a twig (and several other firearms). Swords might be more fashionable to fight ninjas. But today he is thinking in quantity, not quality.
Quantity of corpses, that is. The plan is making a loud statement.
*TINK* *TINK* *TINK*
The sound of metal hitting concrete was almost a welcome addition to the atmosphere. And yet, their movements were beginning to slow as one took a step back to strafe towards Elektra's side to whisper into her ear. For a moment, there was a slight consideration there, until her nose flaired and eyes widened just a touch, fingers snapping and a loud whistle cracked through the air which causes them to still.
Every communication was had by a series of gestures. Gestures that had them surrounding the nearby table behind Elektra after she's near it, her hands planted on either side of the plans as she gestures for the overlay that was crudely, honestly, drawn out through means of necessary bribery and torture.
RIP, unknown man.
The paper was shifted and studied, turned around and pointed out, gloved fingers tapping upon the area and pointed towards the wall, her hand lifting then to wipe beneath her nose as her head shakes. It was.. not a nice smell. In fact, one had to have the nose to smell it. (Now a days, gas has been created to give off a smell of sulfur or rotten eggs when mixed with the open air. Or something like that. But this is the old days!)
Frank Castle creeps slow and steady, patience born of long practice pushing him ahead even as his knees creak a little bit. Years hadn't caught up with him yet, but he could feel the ghost of them in his shadow, creeping up behind him in little aches and pains.
He sees the gathering around the table through the dim light, keeping close along the wall and trying to get as good a view as he can without giving away his position. Lots of guys in pajamas and a beautiful woman. Plenty of swords. Nothing good going on here, he'd read enough Robert Howard pulps growing up to know that.
Deathstroke stalls, spotting a ninja crouching in a nook up the ceiling. A guard and well hidden. Without his enhanced senses, pretty much invisible.
A flick of his wrist and a metal blade flies up, hitting the ninja just under the jaw, driving all the way through the skull and impaling him to the ceiling. The corpse goes slack, but doesn't fall down to the ground.
Then he reaches to the station proper. Spotting Elektra and the whole ninja army. Yes, this would do it fine. He reaches for a grenade on his belt and then spots Frank Castle. The Punisher? Interesting. Interesting enough to stall him a few seconds.
Probably long enough some ninja spots him. But he doesn't care. The plan is kill them all anyway.
Quiet kills are the most hard to pinpoint, especially when everyone is distracted about -what- to do once they've hit a snag. Surely the superiors would be upset, but everyone in attendance knew that if you wanted to impress them, figure the shit out yourself.
So as Elektra took a deep breath, a slight little sound hit the paper. A droplet of blood. Her hand reaches forward to lightly press against it, examining it as she pinches through her fingers, that same hand pressing at the back of her nose to see if those effects were starting to take place.
Nope.
That would only mean..
*PSSSSST*
The sound came from between her lips as she leaps away from the table and into the shadows. The sound of her blades could be heard but… she had a sneaking suspicion..
Frank doesn't react to suspicions and he's not about to break cover just because the pretty lady with the blades smells a rat. There's plenty of rats around here and he's not about to put his neck out for 'em.
Slade's position is detected in turn, the armor-clad figure getting a momentary stare. What the flying fuck was going on down in the subway? Maybe this wasn't the best place for a super-secret bunker - looks like the place was getting crowded.
Oh, but this is an excellent place for a super-secret bunker.
Once the rats are exterminated.
Elektra has already felt something, so there is no reason not to start the party. "<Good evening, warriors are killers all>" He greets in correct Japanese. "Would the members of the so-called Black Hand that dared to threaten me step forward? The rest of you mooks feel free to leave this place and my country?"
He opens fire with the M-60. Those are a *lot* of bullets flying towards the closest ninjas.
|ROLL| Elektra +rolls 1d50 for: 50
|ROLL| Slade Wilson +rolls 1d500 for: #-1 ARGUMENT OUT OF RANGE
The first sound that escapes from Elektra's lips, regardless of her quick action was met in kind. They were all trained, some more than others. But they knew the sound and moved in tandem to the motion of others. One was left dead, the others began to fan out in a star motion, each leaping into action with their weapons drawn. It was like a look at everything in slow motion, for things slow down just a tick. Adrenaline in the eyes of the beholders.
Bullets are flying; some catching a few sentinels and ninja's mid jump and draw, others winging and wounding most. The thunderous clap of the heated bullets reign down upon the area as some begin to scramble. Others begin to fight back by throwing what they could; stars, shuryken, their own swords. It was mayhem. Panic. And Elektra?
She was already leaving. And why?
The gas that was slowly filling the space ignites, the heat from the missile-like bullets and one of the asshole ninjas who strikes a flare close to the broken line.
*BOOMMMMM*
So much for the subtlety of the East.
Frank pulls back even as Slade advances, turning his back and diving low as the line blows, burying himself facefirst against the slab of flooring. He keeps his duffel underneath him, both to have his weapons on hand and to make sure they don't get ignited by any stray explosions.
In the end, Frank won't get more than singed, but he's going to come up in a bad, bad mood. And he isn't exactly cheerful to begin with.
A gas leak? Slade notices the scent a few seconds too late. Foolish ninjas making their camp in a place with a broken line.
The explosion should take out a good number of them, anyway. But still sub-optimal.
Slade in his heavy armor is fairly resistant to shrapnel and fire, but he is still sent flying a few yard by the shockwave, grunting in pain on the impact with the wall. He recovers quickly, though, wasting no time jumping to his feet to search for enemy survivors.
It was catastrophic in a localized sense. Whatever the Hand were doing in that little niche of an area caused the outer most shell of it to collapse. And built when it was, the outer most shell was a thick hull that separates the street itself from the tunnel that was sealed.
So yes, cavernous rocks fall into the area, creating a nice little hole for at least a ninja or two to escape from. The room however, collapses in on itself, exposing more gas, more lines, more wires that seemingly spark to life, electrified from the shake of it all.
Elektra was no-where to be seen; at least not right away. Buried underneath the rubble, she begins to squeeze and move herself in a last ditch of desperation, a small enough rock pushed away to allow fresh.. or what could be considered fresh air into as she tries to drag herself out of where she was trapped.
Frank Castle doesn't have Slade's armor, just a heavy leather jacket and a bit more distance. Still, not really scathed, in the end, beyond a few bruises from some falling debris blasted in his direction.
He shoves himself up to his feet and ratchets his shotgun, a rapid-fire noise that rattles in the air, his face smudged and his ivory death's-head emblem the only bright thing in sight.
"Guess infiltration's off the table," he says, looking down at a ninja who starts to push up to his feet and then pumping a blast of buckshot right into his cloth-swathed face.
Slade pushes away the debris on his way. Checks the M-60 to find the feed has been bent out shape. Useless, but he has an uzi, a revolver and his sword. Should be enough. Slowly, and cautions not to cause more explosions, he begins to climb up and out.
It could have been a cheap shot; but ninjas of the Hand were trained to fight to the death. So even standing after catastrophic damage is something that no one would write home about. It was what they do. Save for when they get filled full of buck-shot, putting the message home that they shouldn't have got up. More ninja's were down for the count, and a flame bursts from the area as it should.
For now, Elektra remained hidden, tucked tight in the place of where everything collapsed. There was no telling what sort of damaged she faced, but she knew once the rest of the Hand (who were in town, of course) heard of what had happened, they'd come running to rescue the dead.
Frank Castle isn't exactly handing out mercy. He goes poking around the rubble and, if he finds something stirring, he puts it down. A couple of more blasts echo through the place as he exterminates what remains. He isn't the taking prisoners type.
He sees Slade starting to pull himself free and watches warily. He's not going to offer a hand or get too close - he's still not sure whose side this guy is on. "Nice outfit," he says with a grunt.
Slade is not offering mercy to the ninjas either, although he would like to know what were they planning. He is not seeing Elektra and he is not the kind of man that would assume she died. Not his first rodeo.
"Captain Castle," he greets, his voice altered to a bass tone. "Stop shooting, there are still flammable fumes." It is not he is bothered by the killing, mind you. "Use the knife," he advises. "I'll find a way out."
Frank Castle narrows his eyes as he's recognized. "Not sure we've had the pleasure, although it's hard to tell with yer head in a tin-can," he says. Still, he nods to the wisdom of the statement. Instead of the knife, though, he uses the boot, cracking down on the back of the neck of a remaining ninja and twisting his ankle until he hears vertebrae pop. "Gotta stomp out roaches."
Perfectly fine if Castle doesn't recognize him. Deathstroke is not sure on the Punisher stance about mercenaries, but he has worked for Kinping and Count Nefaria, so he is likely in his shit list. Slade does not like to fight veterans. Much less for *free*.
While Punisher finishes off the ninjas, he studies the ruined station, and finds the most likely way out. Digging a way out might take a while, but he is strong and pretty much tireless.