Tongue Sandwitch, Served Hot

[deadlock]

Edyth Lostetter didn't know what they were. The mohawk-adorned late-teenager didn't know where they came from. She did not have time to care, either - She was too busy running for her life.

And she was terrified.

Coming from a person who had looked down a gun barrel, who had fought zombies with a shotgun in an overnight holdout with friends in an apartment complex, and looked death in the eye on a daily basis, this was no small thing. She knew enough not to panic, but these damn things did not know how to quit. They persisted against all reason, egged on even more when she fired upon them.

The punk girl tried her damndest not to think about what was hot on her heels, but the image of her hunters - she'd given up counting how many there were - wouldn't leave her mind. Flatyed skins, largely missing to expose glistening red muscles (KEEP RUNNING)... No eyes - only swollen, visible brains beneath filmy flesh (KEEP RUNNING!) tongue that she'd seen tear a man in half (OH GOD KEEP RUNNING), and... god damn it they were STILL chasing her! She could hear their hissing - behind her... but in front of her too! A red form dropped into her path from the periphery of her vision. (OH GODDAMNIT!)

A thick, clawed appendage swung at her head as she went in passing. Acting on reflex, she took a step sideways midrun and slid on her feet, the foul-smelling thing sailing over her head by inches, a claw cutting a tuft of her mohawk clean off. As she passed, she lifted her gun directly against its chest and squoze the trigger, eliciting a hideous scream from the thing.

Edyth didn't stop. She didn't have to - she knew it wasn't dead, and knew that it wasn't the only one chasing her. She'd played that game already. She turned a corner and...

"FUCK!"

The bricks rushed at her like an impending end - but there was an out - the fire escape! Feet left the ground, and she jumped for it, meeting the ramp upward and running up the rail for her life. As she turned the first upward corner, one of the lickers met her - it had obviously jumped up to get at her quickly, to cut her off. Without hesitation or slowing, Edyth Emptied her clip into the thing's face - Eleven shots and one forward kick - not one missed.

With a hideous scream, the creature lost its grip and plummeted ten feet to splat on the sidewalk some distance below. Two more took its place. She was long ago on the next ramp by the time they got purchase. The clip was familiar in her hand, taking the empty and stuffing it into her pocket, then producing a fresh one, snapping it into place crisply.

Instinct bid her pause - a tongue sailed past her face and embedded - EMBEDDED - into brick an inch from where her temple might have been. On reflex, she stuffed the barrel of her gun into the thing's mouth and gave it at least three servings of the good stuff, then slugged it with all her might in the solar plexus - Monster or not, it looked humanlike enough. The flesh was hard, but it gave way, and the creature, winded and likely dying, lost strength and dropped as well, splatting thirty feet below. Down was out of the question - they were climbing up. And when she heard something overhead, she looked for an out - some way off the fire escape that didn't involve a neck injury.

It was a fire escape, right? She fired into an old metal door's handle mechanism and pulled it outward - she impacted something that hissed and pushed agianst her effort. No need to find out what. She pushed into the room and dissapeared, the door slamming with the creature's weight behind her. Then it opened again. She was long gone, bolting for the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. She was in no state to think - only to run, to escape these horrible things. No normal zombies in sight. Not one. This was a blessing and a horrible curse - why weren't there any? Were they scared of these things?

Feet met pavement again, and without a second thought, Edyth ran headlong into the street.

[York]

Francis York Morgan only had one car- his Bucar, or Bureau Car. Why would he need another one? If he needed something off of duty, he could just walk to his destination. If he didn't want to do that, he could drive his Bucar there anyway. One could use it for most anything, so long as it wasn't drinking or going to a strip joint or some other sort of 'un-professional' activity. Of course, York never partook in those. The worst he did was smoke.

But today had been rather eventful. As he was leaving New York, he had caught sight of one of the FBI's most wanted and after a chase, managed to cuff him. He was still in the back, he couldn't go back to NYC HQ after being ordered to pay a visit to Dallas ASAP, but eventually his common sense overweighted his duty, and he decided to stop by Gotham City to drop the man off at the nearest HQ...then again, the Bureau presence in Gotham was pretty low...and he hadn't seen many people walking about at the moment. Perhaps he could have waited to Dallas after all.

"Deserted, Zach. Do you think the infection's reached Gotham? I sure hope not, but still..."

He decided to click on the radio as to listen to some music. He pressed the 'ON' knob, but yet, it didn't play. His brow furrowed, as he clicked it again. Nothing.

Click.
Nothing.
Click.
Nothing.
Click.
Nothing.
Click.
Nothin- HOLY-

A woman in a mowhawk dressed in drag ran across his headlights. In a quick swerve, he managed to skid the car dramatically to the side. It spun almost out of control, slashing open fire hydrants and knocking down streetlight's with it's mass before finally coming to a stop behind the girl. The car had done a complete 180.

"Clear as a crisp spring morning!"

As soon as he came to a halt, he gripped his pistol holster and rolled out the door to face the fleeing girl. To the less keen eye, they might have mistaken her from the drag she wore, but York could spot a crossdresser when he saw one- infact, come to think of it, York had to deal with his fill of crossdressers...

'The world is a weird place, Zach.'

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[deadlock]

Right about the same time as she ran into the street and headlights illuminated her view, Eddie realized just the mistake she'd made. To the driver's credit, he didn't smack right into the teenager and make her dead. She didn't stop running though - merely changed pace and direction - She knew just what was after her, knew that they wouldn't be intimidated by something like this

Eddie snarled and ran to the sacked car, the streetlight overturned onto its roof. It was a black sedan, marked with federal plates. This was a fed, and she was flashing her piece. From the moment he rolled out of the car, she had her gun trained on him. Standing on his trunk, she did not have the look of someone who messed around. She was sweating, fear in her eyes, and blood on her clothes. Once upon a time, this might have put her at the scene of a murder. But when several low-riding red forms swarmed from the apartment building she'd left behind, And she turned her attention on them again, the situation changed instantly.

As she pushed back toward the front of car, she squoze off a clip in their direction. Considering, she was a damn good marksman - at least 3/4 of the shots hit something, but the hellish screeches they emitted did nothing to make them look human or slow down in the least. If anything, they picked up the pace.

"Fed! Get in the goddamn car!" she howled at York, and jumped to the passenger side, slamming the door shut behind her.

[York]

York saw the skinless, brain adorned creatures crawl from the building, and wasted no time jumping right into the car. He didn't even say a word as he twisted the key into the hole and floored the gas, turning the remaining...thing, into a thick pile of tomato soup promptly.

As the 'soup' splattered all over his windshield, he turned on the wipers and casually turned to the girl with the mowhawk. He didn't seem to be all that effected by the monsters that just crawled past him, and frankly, he seemed far more interested in her haircut and wardrobe choices- as well as the gun she was white knuckling. With a free hand, he pulled a badge from his breast pocket.

"Hello. I'm Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Just call me York. Everyone calls me that."

He spoke casually, as if he could start whistling in his next sentience and it wouldn't be out of place. They passed a gas station as they drove forward, and a few restaurants that were completely barren, which was something that indicated an infection, something York didn't anticipate when he drove into Gotham.

"What a shame, Zach. What a sha-"

In that instant, he remembered that he wasn't alone in the car anymore.

"-lom. Shalom. Your alive. Congratulations."

[/COLOR][/size]

[deadlock]

Eddie calmed almost instantly, satisfied with the thick splat of the red thing on the hood, popped like an angry red zit on the windshield. If it was human once, it sure wasn't anymore. This would work. The others moved back into the apartment complex, into the dimly lit alleyways - they had other things to worry about, like the sun.

Looking skyward, she went dour, incredibly serious as a new clip clicked crisply into place with the keen sound of a well-maintained weapon recently used. The pistol itself was a custom usp9, a beautiful weapon with a custom red laquered handle depicting a stately figure with a sword, adorned with a crown and a metal-embrossed 99. This was a symbol of the 99 Kings.

"Welcome to Gotham City, York." she said, shooting a glance backward - thankfully, the Lickers weren't... She sighed and ate her preemptive words.

"You need to get us to the 99th street Junkyard as fast as you can... and you need to lend me your phone. We're in trouble - a lot of trouble. That wasn't any small number of... those things. We're talking bout' a hive here - an infestation. And I know just where to find a 'king' sized can of raid. Savvy?" she shot him a look.

[York]

York had gotten a good look at her gun, and listened to the girl with interest. The symbol on her weapon- he recognized it. One of the gangs that so often sprung up in the slums of 'Batland' as York often called Gotham. Before there was nothing special about them. They were a 'normal' run of the mill Gotham gang with a few members with shiny mutant powers and what-not. But within the past few months, there had been reports of a robot or something that had been causing grief for the boys down in Batland. Nothing compared to the Joker and his boys, but still, a new face in Gotham's supervillain community, so to speak. The 99 Kings, was it? The sly innuendo that the girl gave implied as much. He shifted out a cigarette as he attempted to figure out what course of action he should take.

"Phone? Well, your in luck. The Bureau finally coughed up a satilette phone for me. I even got to customize the ringtone and all that. I made it-"

Suddenly, York was cut off by the phone suddenly ringing to the tune of...an odd, infectious, and all together catchy whistle song featuring a kazoo and an acoustic guitar...

"Hi, This is Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Just call me York, everyone does. Ah, hello George. What? Tom and Jerry Marathon? Oh, me and Zach would love that!...Well, What I mean is...Just give me a moment, George, I'm no good on the phone while I'm driving."

Suddenly, he pulled over, and didn't notice until after he had stepped on the breaks that it was directly in front of a small horde of the walking dead. York pulled what appeared to be a 9mm Submachine Gun from below the drivers seat and rolled down both the windows to Edyth's side and his own side. He grasped the phone with his chin as he fired into the waves of zombies, expecting the girl in the other seat to do the same.

"Sorry about that George. Oh, no, I'm back. Well, I'm in Batland right now. Yeah, I was on my way to Dallas, but I sort of got side-tracked. Well, there's an infection going on. Yeah, really! I've just gotten to the outskirts of the city, and I have no idea how large a scale. Well, yes, a Quarantine team would be nice. Alert the state and all that. What? Oh yeah, sure, Tivo that marathon for me please. Thanks George."

He spit out his cigarette and reloaded before picking the phone up again.

"Huh. Got another serial killer case? Weirder than that last one? You know the one, with the law student and the papayas? Yeah, that one. Whats that? BDSM? Ugh...Well, it's called 'Interdependancy' George. Well, look at Tom and Jerry!...Look, Jerry does mean, nasty, even sadistic things to Tom. But thats okay- so long as thats what Tom wants. You get i- Hello? Hello? Damn. Guess he hit a dead zone."

[/size]

[deadlock]

The solution was at hand - all she needed was Jax now, and they'd make it, they'd make it out of this shit alive. She was certain of it. Maybe she wouldn't have to use the armor, maybe she didn't need it to? Then, the phone rang while the agent held it. At first, this wasn't much of a concern to her. Then he pulled over. They were still six blocks away from the 99th street, let alone the scrap yard!

The Suit produced a serious piece of hardware - trust it to a fed to do something crazy like talk on a phone while firing an SMG. And he did it so casually, putting his hand from the window, holding the cellphone between his ear and shoulder like he was hanging up the laundry or whistling a happy tune. Already she liked him.

To her credit, Eddie did not hesitate a lick, and did the same. Closer ones first, she told herself, and squoze off the first round. For a gang banger, she was a helluva shot - she made each bullet count, her arm snapping with a warrior's controlled precision to each target, her breathing steady, eyes steely.

While she reloaded, she reached into her pocket and produced a smaller device with her clip. The zombies were closing in, and she just KNEW the lickers were catching up now. If she didn't do this NOW, she might not have time later! She might be too busy getting chewed on! She clicked the device, an LED indicator flashing red in a steady pulse, and she put it back into her jacket, then clicked the new clip - her second to last one on hand - into place with an angry hiss.

"Bloody hell." She cursed, and leaned out again, putting one round each in a pair of zombies that had managed to get a hair too close to the window, dropping them dead with precise headshots. It was very obviously a losing battle with the pistol - there were too many of them! Her second clip emptied into the crowd, dropping another cluster dead where they once stood a threat to them. She quickly looked back at the road they'd left behind - now that the car was parked, they were having no trouble catching up, running along the awnings and in the shadows, their forms unmistakable to her, the sound of the gunfire drawing them like moths to the flame.

She snatched the phone from the agent and cursed "No phone for you! Drive, drive like the wind!" she shouted in his face, and dialed a new number rapidly from memory.

Somewhere out there, Jax's phone rang.

"Jax! Its Eddie, brother, I'm on McKinley six blocks downtown with a holdout and we need a miracle, brother! SOS, man, S-oh-fuckin'-S!" There were mere minutes to nightfall. Mere minutes before their situation went from bad to total fucking shitstorm. She hung up and tossed York back the phone - hopefully by then he was driving like a maniac - the Lickers were upon them. At least the Fed would get the help he needed. Jax would be in a good mood - zombie crushing always put him in high spirits.

In her pocket, the Device began to vibrate, the flashing visible from beneath. Then, it emitted a high pitched shrill sound, and just like that... The girl opened the door and rolled out of the car and into the street? The hell? Was she nuts?! Going out there to sacrifice herself?

It seemed likely that this was the case, but she never hit the pavement. Something massive dropped over her, perhaps on top of her - it was impossible to see, but it skidded on two massive iron legs, bracing itself with one mighty claw, the gleaming metal of its hide reflecting red in the burning twilight, the street buckling behind its massive feet.

Deadlock threw its shoulder down and collided with the undead onslaught like a freight train, thowing her entire weight behind the blow, flinging members of the horde like they were dolls, and stood to full height. "Time to make some NOISE!"

A mighty iron claw grabbed one of the skinless monstrosities by the face, then proceeded to use the thing like a living, screetching club on several others, before crushing its head and sending it sailing into the side of a bus. The massive vehicle rocked back and forth, indented several feet inward from the creature's impact.

[Jax]

I DON'T WANNA KNOW YOU NAME!!

Steel heated to temperatures unheard of except for volcanic conditions flowed as they changed from solid to liquid, changing states for just long enough, just enough time to do what he needed from it. He regarded it for just a moment and then thus out an empty gloved hand to his side.

WATCH OUT HERE I COME!

He felt the impact as a fresh piece of metal was slapped into place, another piece of the puzzle coming to him. He felt it, not just through the glove, he could feel the vibration of metal. It's impurities, it's strong points, it's weak points, what it needed, what it did not need. He didn't even need to look at it he just knew. With a grunt of thanks that was unheard over the blaring music he took the preshaped piece of metal and fitted it into place as he laid his welding torch briefly aside into the waiting hands of his second assistant. The two of them regarded him with a mixture of comradery, fear, and respect. They were proud he had picked them to assist him even if they were merely there to fetch, carry and hold but they had also heard all the stories, the things he had done for the Kings, the things he was capable of. Some was exaggerated... some was not. Jax lived by simple rules... a major one was "Thou shalt not @&!@ with me and mine".

I DON'T WANNA KNOW YOUR FACE!

As he began to fit the next piece into place he felt his pocket begin to vibrate and and pulse to a beat that Jax could hear in his head, he had heard the song he had put as the ringtone so many times , it was a classic after all. As Ozzy sang in his pocket about how he was indeed iron man he signaled to his two companions. The welding torch was turned off and the other ran across the room to the stereo and turned it down to a whisper. With a practiced motion Jax pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and picked up the call.

"Speak."

"Jax! Its Eddie, brother, I'm on McKinley six blocks downtown with a holdout and we need a miracle, brother! SOS, man, S-oh-fuckin'-S!"

That was it, that was the entirety of the call but that was all the information Jax needed. He snapped his fingers at the nearer of the two gangstas. The man snapped to attention, his dreads swaying in response to his sudden motion as his boss commanded him.

"Ya, get the entrance guys ready I need to get out and the $&*# is about to hit the fan, I'm going outside."

"Um Jax don't you need some backup? I mean it's almost...."

The man looked at the expression on Jax's face for a full five seconded and then nodded agreeing.

"Right right, Opening the doors."

He ran off at top speed as Jax turned to the other man, his shaved and tattooed head glistening with sweat. He was a giant of a man but wilted inside under Jax's gaze, it was more intense then usual.

"Get this finished up and then clean up. Got it? I will be inspecting ya work later."

He nodded while reaching for the bent piece of rebar. Jax nodded and then walked over to the wall and took a golf bag off the hook attached there and slung that over his shoulder, then he started running to the Entrance as a grin settled over his face, it seemed like things were gonna get interesting.

[deadlock]

The Lickers wasted no time, gave her no further opprotunity to pick them off one by one. The horde swarmed, climbed onto Deadlock, claws rasping between plates and feverish, insane fists pounding on unyielding plates of iron. She screamed out in fear and revulsion, their horrid scents getting to her even through the half-assed filters she'd managed to strap on the breather unit. It took her a moment, but the weight didn't actually trouble the mech at all. She calmed, grasping the thruster controlls in her fist, jamming the upward thrust to maximum, watching the power guage strain downward as she struggled to gain altitude at first.

This wasn't working! There had to be like ninety of these fuckers on her suit and clinging to each other! She should have had better discretion... but she wasn't out of thrust just yet, giving the directional hats on the controls of the thrusters a merry twist, letting her take what altitude she had gained and spin hard.

The sudden, unexpected force made the zombie fall off in droves, and what few that had managed to hold on couldn't keep their grip, plummeting. But now, she was in a wild spin midair, and the Gs were getting to her. With a reverse pulse of thrust, most of the spin was worked out. But below... that still left the issue of the zombies, screaming and grasping up in her direction. the bastards... she had just the thing for them. She'd really wanted to save the rockets for the hive, too... but one used still left three.

"Okay then - you asked for it!"

She flipped up the bottlecap safety on a hinge, and jammed her finger on the skull-painted red button for tube one. Fire erupted from the back of the firing tube on Deadlock's back like fire from a volcano's mouth, before the front hatch opened and a missile fired wildly down into the street, striking well in the center of the horde. The display was incredible, the blast flinging zombies and lickers alike in all direction, both whole and in chunks, a nearby car flipping over, pavement stripped from the spot like it was wrapping paper.

To be honest, that was the first time she'd been able to use one of those things.. and she was not dissapointed. She would have to thank Basalt for the recipe - what a pop! Deadlock landed with a thunderous slam well away from the column of smoke, and brandished that bridge spiker nailgun of hers, leveling it at what remained of the onslaught. She grinned.. then squoze the trigger. The tool did what it was supposed to do, and became a weapon of destruction, half foot long iron spikes flinging at the crowd of zombies, pinning them to walls, to cars,to each other, often by the head, but even without a headshot, there was 0 question as to the lethality of such a weapon. And she had a whole drum of nails she was itching to use.

The report of the weapon was thunderous, and nothign compared to the explosion. Trouble was coming. She'd need those nails before the night was over...

[Jax]

Nails flew, zombies lurched, Lickers stalked and somewhere.... an engine roared it's defiance to the world. It screamed in a voice of rage and hatred, a voice of desire unfulfilled and pain unfelt, it screamed like a baby born with skin, like a soul vomited from the depths of hell, it screamed long, loud and endlessly vengeful. This roar, this primal engine... was getting closer at high speed. Getting closer, ever closer and it brought forth chaos and respite in it's wake for what rode upon the engines wake was no longer human, no longer sane, for this brief time he was an elemental, not of fire, not of water, not of wind or earth... but of the psion of the four... Metal.

Jax screamed with the engine between his legs, salvaged from a wreak he had found in the early days of the invasion of the undead, a motorcycle engine he had never seen the equal of. He had ignored the bat shaped indentions on the metal of the engine till he had ground them out, he had expanded upon the engine, improved it, made it his own. The cycle had been remade from scrap metal, parts from the junkyard, he had put his blood, sweat and screams into the creation he rode now, armored the front and dubbed it Fenrir, flames fired from exhaust pipes, steeled studs in the tires tore into the road and gripped it firm, a flag pole welded to the back cut a path through the air and waved the Banner of the 99 Kings. The bike itself was a monstrosity of metal and spikes, jagged fangs and twisted horns. He had thrown himself fully into it's creation and it appeared some of his darkness had gone into... the fact he found it comforting to ride said some rather bad things about his mental stats nowadays but he didn't care. His face was plastered with a lunitical grin of pure unfettered joy as he rushed down the streets at breakneck speed. Upon his back rattled a beaten, dingy, and grease streaked golfbag filled with very odds and various ends.

The rider himself wasn't something out of the carebears himself, a green mohawk split his shaved head, metal piercings gleamed in the setting sun and black riding leathers covered his flesh, upon his chest peering at the world from under the unzipped coat a t-shirt proclaimed that the bearer would indeed die for metal. With the sight of the undead and creatures that devieated from anything nature intended his grin faded from the sheer joy of speeding and turned to a grimace of anger. Everytime he saw these creatures he felt so angry, he loved destroying them but the concept of them enraged him, filled his heart with molten fury. How dare they...

"HOW DARE THEY!!!"

He screamed into the night and snatched his first weapon of the night, it was a simple weapon with a simple purpose, a rebar lance about five feet in length, sharpened to a fine point and with leather straps wrapped around the haft for a handle, Jax lightened it as much as he could as he puled it from it's holder on the front of the bike, pointing it out as he sharpened the tip and strengthened the metal, he poured himself into the length and screamed his fury to the heavens as he charged into the fray. The lance born of scrap tore into it's intended victim, a licker that had been briefly confused by the screaming bike and rider, a brief hesitation brought by a conflict of instincts... and just long enough for the lance to shove it's way way through the skull of the creature, the jolt of the attack traveling up his arm, he concentrated briefly and the metal became brittle and snapped, the sound of breaking metal ringing out as the piece within the creatures head leaving the lethel piece of metal in place. The metal strengthened once more and the rider sneered as he held it over his head and tossed it into the crowd of zombies, the broken sharp end skewering a few.

The raging metalhead plowed into the crowd, the armor on the front of his bike protecting him as the undead scattered as if they were slammed with a three ton bowling ball. A god had arrived and made his presence known... he was a god of metal.

[York]

"Huh...Zach, I think we've tuned into the 'Gangbanger Variety Hour'. It sort of reminds me of those wrestling shows we used to watch...except this time, 'Iron Man' decided to join the fray...and it looks like he got himself a sex change."

York had been observing the carnage that followed the suit falling from the heavens itself, and the new 'fighter' that decided yelling wildly would be the best option in this sensitive situation. And by 'sensitive', he meant, 'extremely volatile situation that can worsen if more zombies get attracted by the noise.' As the girl attacked the approaching crowd, York decided to deal with the pre-existing one.

He veered up the car to slam right into the thick of the zombie horde. As the bodies wetly slammed aganist the metallic hunk of steel, he backed up, crushing any that may not have been taken care of the first time around, then sharply speed up, once again decimating the horde which had reformed in the spots that York had hit. He reached the apex of the street, he before coming speeding towards the horde again. He rolled down the window on his side and charged into the right side of the undead, shoot his Submachine gun wildly into the other 'column'. Satisfied, he drove back to the robot and the mowhawk, as to let them know that the situation was winding down. As he drove away, about three zombies were left standing, several others merely crawling.

"You can stop yelling now."

Said he dryly to the stereotype that seemed to be part of the same gang as the girl. He sat atop a noisy motorcycle, and the moment York saw it, he pressed his palm aganist his face and sighed.

'Not exactly the paragon of subtlety, is he Zach?'

[deadlock]

Deadlock was impressed with Jax's entrance. And he'd gotten in so fast! The lance was just like the man, and the steed upon which he rode was a welcome, familiar sight to the King in the power armor. She smiled, though it wasn't visible beneath the iron mask of her suit, and moved in toward her comrade.

She'd tagged the Fed for a simple suit without much thought, smg or no, but when he came riding in, blasting droves of them and splatting them over the hood of what she was certain was an armored, souped up sedan, she thought better of underestimating the man again. He had balls - good thing, too. They'd need more balls about that size if they were going to make it out of this alive, powerarmor, metahuman, smg, or no. None of them alone would survive what she had seen in the Hive.

She stepped backward toward the three of them, blasting into the entrances of the alleyways as zombies poured out in burst clusters, only to be knocked flying by the nails fired from her terrible weapon and whatever else her comrades were managing. She was managing to keep three alleys covered, shooting her gun's indicator a glance. She'd used about a quarter of her nails up.

She stood over them, protecting them from what she could at her side, while the other two did their thing to hold that spot. There were just too damn many zombies... and worse out there though, and they had made quite a splash with the horde.

"We need to get to the Fort!" ROTOTOTOTOTOT the massive nailgun's report blasted into the night in a burst, snuffing a swath of zombies with violent ease, and she continued, leveling her weapon at another oncoming cluster "I'm pretty sure we can't stand here in the street all night! We need to go" ROTOTOTOTOTOTOTOT the weapon again spat fire and metallic death into the crowd. "Like, now!"

[Jax]

Stained with various fluids and ichor Jax pulled his massive chopper up next to the car and the looming mech firing short spears of metal into the creatures that had taken over the city so completely. Jax took the time to reach to the speakers on his bike and turn them up enough he could hear them over the engine and to reach into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette he lit it and took a deep puff, calmly and without an ounce of hurry. A smug sense of satisfaction emanated from the man seated astride the machine growling next to the car. Jax looked up at Deadlock's mild panic smiling faintly.

"Hello Deadlock"

He turned his head back towards the man in the car and frowned at him.

"I'll ask about your new sidekick later but for now he better ditch those clunky wheels and hop on the back and hang on. I got a path laid out and that car won't be able to fit down the side alleys to get to the killing ground."

Jax looked at the two and as he did so he reached into his coat and casually pulled out a pistol, there was no fancy pimped out handgun, no gold, no jewels, no hatchmarks depicting it's kill ratio. It wasn't even a recognizable brand. It was obviously hand made. A "zip gun" as some would call a street made pistol. Simple steel and base metals put together well and without ostentation. It was a tool plan and simple. A tool used to kill things.

"What? Did ya think I would go off on a rescue mission without some idea of a plan?... Okay yeah I would... by the way dead lock... Where the @*#^s Eddie? Hmmm?"

The gun did not point towards Deadlock but the positioning of it left little doubt it could quickly be.

[Trisha Waldgrave]

Standing in the garage with her cruiser that looked as though it was ready to plow and impale things wanting to get in her way as she slid those bandaged hands of hers into her pockets with a slight smile across her silvery lips. Ah yes...the most reliable thing in this whole damn place and the only thing that could make her heart feel all warm and fuzzy next to fresh donuts and delicious coffee. The woman's cruiser was heavily modified and almost looked like a Dodge Viper...except it looked like it was made to kill, maim, and destroy with the spikes and what looked like graters here and there to shred flesh a little easier. Sure it had quite a few bloodstains from the ride over but still, it was beautiful to her all the same. That and this thing had a few tricks added on to make what ever stood in her way that required a brutal death the very definition. Such as the thing on the front which was similar to a bulldozer's scoop but smaller to better suit and work with the vehicle, but the teeth were replaced with angled blades and spikes rimming the bottom as well. Lining the inside of the scoop were blades and graters for mangling whatever she scooped up.

This place had Batman and it had its little piggies along with vigilantes here and there, why in the world did they need the likes of her? Looking around at the other officers vehicles, such a question had a pretty obvious answer if they knew her background in the field of mechanics and metalwork among her other creations. All of those vehicles were typical blue and white cruisers, but with a scoop like hers. Granted they weren't as pimped out as hers but they'd do the job...then of course some of the motorcycles had some goodies in the works but she had focused on the cars for obvious reasons. Most of these guys wouldn't dare hop on a motorcycle in zombies all over the fricking place conditions. "Hey! Trish! You in here?" Frowning a bit at the voice of a new partner which wasn't Jeri or Allegra reminding her of how far from the only two living things she could possibly even call friends were while she shrugged a bit before speaking up in a bland tone hinting off bits of sarcasm, "No wonder I smelled more bacon in here..."

Turning a bit looking as though she was void of emotion to see the look of an irritated, pouty faced rookie. "So, what is it? Wait...did you forget how to hold your gun again?" Quirking a brow sounding absolutely serious with a composure to match while she left her hands in her pockets and began walking across the garage with her beige trench coat swooshing here and there. "No. No I didn't forget how to hold my gun...I got it after the fifth time. Anywa-" "Good, would hate for your brain damage from all the knocks to the head in training get the best of you." "...anyway....you need to go and help the guy who likes Tom and Jerry...uh....Special Agent Francis York Morgan..."

Blinking once as a slight look of surprise overtook her features, she walked passed the new guy and couldn't help but comment in a slightly sarcastic manner, "That's definitely a name you'll confuse people with. Lucky you I'm not a retard, got his coordinates?" Pulling out a PDA from her pocket, she pressed a couple of buttons here and there to bring up the GPS feature before looking over to the n00b rookie with those gray optics holding a slight shine to them. "Y-yeah....a-a-about that..." "Spit it out...not literally but tell me where he is so I can get him out of there and come back to some freshly brewed coffee. Sound good?" The boy looked exceedingly nervous and slowly handed her a paper which she snatched up before typing it in while calmy muttering, "What do I have to deal with this time? The undead or a metahuman on some sort of rampage?"

Turning her attention up to the rookie, he looked pale as a ghost and to that she slowly quirked a brow thinking it had to be pretty bad... "A-a-a-a....a....a....a loooot of zombies, T-trish....y-you should probably take the cruiser..." Staring at him for a while, she was trying to figure out if he was joking about taking the cruiser...but...nope he wasn't! Bummer, she needed a good laugh...with a look of disappointment, she spoke up in a tone which had undertones of `bummerrr` "Damn...you weren't kidding about the cruiser. I should be fine with a motorcycle and shotgun with lots of ammo, when you're less of a sissy you'll see that maneuverability and a shotgun will take you a long way."

The metal cop's tone got a little more serious as she put the PDA back in her pocket before continuing to speak, "Prep the bike, if there's any scratches on it BEFORE I go out there to do crowd control, I'm using your face to polish everything here, got it?" Watching him yelp and nod since he'd heard the horror stories about this woman, she looked like she had forgotten something for a moment and juuuuust remembered, "Good...and don't forget the two doughnuts and small mocha cappuccino for me, wouldn't want to go out there without the snack of champions." Turning away, she walked off to get changed into a traditional police uniform. When she was grabbing onto her helmet which had a radio and mic modded inside with those bandaged fingers that looked like they were slightly stained by a metallic sort of blood, she realized that it'd probably be best to leave the weapons with the powerless guys and take something else. A pair of metal tonfa she fashioned for herself, sure they were short range but with her abilities...those were a pair of death batons zombies would freak out over if they could. Putting on her vest that said `POLICE` on it, she wandered about and began filling the pockets with 9mm bullets just in case this guy needed some ammunition. Securing her metal tonfa to her belt in their custom holsters before putting on her helmet and tapped her metal plate boots on the ground feeling like the metal portions of it were as ready as she was for the fight about to unfold.

This was it, yet another job calling her away from working on the line of weaponry for these oinkers. Lifting up the visor and then tugged her gloves with metal plates here and there, metal detectors hated her with a burning passion and with the accessories she selected it'd just plain ol' loathe her. Making her way back over to the garage, she grabbed the doughnuts and coffee taking a bite and sip on the way only to see the rookie totally dumbfounded by how casual she was being...and...lacking a shotgun. "What...the..." Finishing up the doughnuts and coffee, she handed him the trash then dusted her hands off before getting on the sleek bike. "Are you CRAZY?! Where's that shotgun you were talking about?! I know we don't really get along but c'mon Trish you can't kill yourself before finishing my bazooka!"

Flipping the visor down, she shrugged slightly before stating, "Yeah I guess I am kinda crazy for leaving you guys with one of the better weapons to defend yourselves with, huh? Now get the door open so I can help the special agent from out of town..." She kicked up the stand and revved up the bike as soon as she saw the garage door going up. While driving off, she held up her hand for a moment to wave and...then flip off the rookie before putting her hand back on the handle. Bastard, she couldn't wait to train him again, she was going to kick his ass and get away with it! On the way there, it seemed like some of the zombies were thinned out...how...lovely. These things made her want to vomit with how sickening they were but she got over it a while back.

Kinda get used to it after dealing with it for a while, but it didn't make it any less disgusting. Apparently that S-Mart commercial was right, direct hits to the head were the way to go but why they killed regular actors was beyond her. Pretty messed up and something she'd look into when they forced her on vacation again. "Trish! Just hurry up and get the guy out of there like a bat out of hell! One of our guys in that area got disconnected telling us about a mob of clawed monsters! If they're what I think they are you're in BIG tr-"Shut up for a moment, thanks for the warning but listen carefully, alright? I plan on getting him out as soon as possible but I can't just let this city get destroyed. If he's got the same mentality as me then it'll be a while."

Lifting her hand up to snap her fingers while progressing forward among the various corpses, a little `click` sounded in her helmet ending her transmission steering now with only one hand. Why oh why was the woman with silver tendrils whipping about in the wind doing that?! Continuing forward, she grasped onto one of her tonfa tightly and pulled it out of the holster just before putting her hand at her side. There were lots and lots of those little bastards ahead, but in the distance she could actually feel a huge metal mass that clearly had a bunch of weapons within...even close to where the guy she's supposed to find is located. Awww one of the nasty things wanted a hug, how cuuuuute! Swiftly bringing her arm up and across her chest while tilting a bit to the left only to DENY it. How so?

Well the tip of her tonfa was slashed upward at a bit of an angle to pierce it in the head to gush a bit of blood before taking a swift turn against a stop sign to get that thing off while progressing forward at a speed one may only expect to see at a race show opting to drive by most of them weaving here and there. The slaughter wasn't going to officially start until Trish knew for sure the guy she's supposed to give some back up to was still in one piece and not bitten. Actually seeing the car and a bit of firing into the crowd, she put the tonfa back in its holster and took one hell of a sharp turn to avoid the target practice victims who were distracted by what was in front of them. As she got closer, she felt her eyesight adjust so she could see through metal while taking a look in the mecha suit's direction and...actually saw a blurry image of one of her contacts who called themselves Eddie. What...the...hell?! Seriously this was just all kinds of messed up and weird, quickly glancing over to the car next to it she saw someone was inside, a someone that matched the description of the fellow she was here to meet up with. Letting her sight readjust to normal, she began running over some of the crawling zombies as though they were speed bumps and pulled herself up to the Sedan she could really grow fond of seeing how to her it was definitely within her tastes.

So was the mohawked guy's chopper, even though it looked like a beat em' up and plow those bastards down sort of thing, a mechanic such as herself could see and even to a degree feel the care that went into making it. Though she only caught the butt end of whatever conversation was going on and saw the guy who looked like a thug matching a description of one of the 99 Kings she heard about pointing a gun in a way that could easily be pointed toward the contact of hers that was being identified as `Deadlock`. Oh....shit....plus his question regarded Eddie...so he was with the 99 Kings...unless it was a totally different Eddie and NOT her contact but that didn't seem like the case! Chances were this whole Deadlock thing was hush hush. Damn it all to hell she hated covering up for vigilante's but what choice did she have?! Moving her hand off of the handle bar she snapped her fingers while staring at the thug looking guy's gun locking onto it which would make that poor gun feel a tad bit strangled and moved her hand up toward those silvery locks flowing from the helmet, flicking it over her shoulder toward the left causing his gun to get a bit more left heavy and difficult to move in Deadlock's direction. Sure sure, the armor should protect the person inside but if it was the particular member that had a way with metal similar to herself...well...it wasn't going to be pretty if a bullet got sent Deadlock's way. In a fluid motion she brought her fingertips up to the visor pushing them up before speaking in a ridiculously mellow fashion, "Officer Trisha Waldgrave reporting for duty. Just call me Trish, alright folks? Now that introduction's out of the way, I'm here to help Special Agent Morgan which I'm going to assume is the guy in the Sedan."

Shifting her gaze toward the window to see the FBI agent, she flipped her visor down and pulled up one of the tonfa from the holster slightly covered in blood before continuing to speak in a casual manner as thought NOTHING was wrong, "We got two options, either kick the zombies asses and play clean up for the city or get the hell out of here like selfish cowards. Take your pick...though I gotta admit the first option is more my speed since I'd like to get this place back on its feet. I even brought you some ammo just in case." Flinging her tonfa like a boomerang at one of the approaching undead, it smacked it hard enough for a traumatic `CRUNCH` of the skull causing it to collapse with blood splurting from its forehead before pulling her hand toward herself making it spin right back to its creator. Catching it by the handle, she got herself ready for anymore of those ugly bastards that wanted some attention all while trying not to miss what this bunch needed to tell her. For all she knew they'd be going on a field trip and had to play follow the leader! Hm...maybe she should clear the air considering officers had a habit of arresting thugs, "Oh, and I'm not interested in making any arrests today. Those are on the back burner until this city is fixed up or someone does something stupid like trying to shoot an unbitten survivor for example. Then I'll make an exception..."

Quirking a brow slightly after saying those words in a casually calm manner, she half shrugged before glancing over to the guy with lots of piercings and the armored contact for a moment then turned her attention back to the zombie party getting ready to throw her tonfa again or ride off...whichever these guys were going to do. Obviously though, this officer was pretty roughed up or had a thing for bandages with the way the visible portions of her arms and fingers had bandages upon them with spots of blood here and there that looked abnormal considering there were fairly obvious hints of silver. Chances were some of the zombies weren't thrilled about getting a little extra IRON with the way she smelled to anything with good senses. Blood and metal...yeah...not exactly appetizing to things that liked regular human flesh...some didn't mind though...obviously with the way they wanted hugs of death from her earlier.

[York]

Francis loved his Bucar. It'd been wrecked over 26 times in the past, and each time York personally ordered it's pain-staking repair, even when it would be far easier to just buy a new car or get a replacement from the Bureau, and being asked to part with it in a situation like this was akin to asking a coke addict to share. Sure, if it was wrecked or damaged, he'd gladly leave it and let the local law enforcement officers to tow it back to the police station for repairs...but in the middle of the Necropolis that was Gotham, it was more than likely to get stolen by 'survivors' or even these 99 King fellows. York gripped his seat...did he have any options? The Bureau would kill him if it got stolen...he'd be a laughing stock, a joke. He might even get fired if he let the Kings get ahold of it...or what if they gave it a new paint-job? Painted it bright green, put their symbol on it, gave it hydrolics...and rims that spin even when the car stopped...No...He could never allow that.

But what could he do? He figured he'd need to see these people out to safety at least, even if they were criminals...hell, later he'd probably have to figure out a way to arrest them, even during the zombie apocalypse. And the only way to do that is follow them...and the only way to follow them was to ditch his precious Bucar to the hands of the undead...or worse...mechanics. York's brow sweat, his eyes darted around nervously. How would he choose? Even Zach was in turmoil, even HE didn't know what to do...his beloved Bucar, his beautiful carrage...

Then, very suddenly, a shiny girl on a motorcycle drove up to the group, and accidentally chipped a small piece of paint on the side of the door.

'Just great...now the Bucar's trashed...'

Decision made. York opened the door to the bucar and took a box of 'POLICE' brand cigarettes out of the glove compartment, as well as a can of 'THE PICKLES' brand pickles. He also stuffed two empty plastic bags in his pockets and a suspicious looking metal box. He folded his Sub-Machinegun's stock and put it in a large briefcase that he then placed the box and the pickles inside of. Once he was all packed up, he flashed his badge into Officer Waldgrave's general direction.

"FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Please, just call me York, that's what everyone call me...Nice to meet you, Officer. I assume your here because of George right? What a guy..."

'Zach, remind me later to thank him...now we can get my car fixed...I owe 'em...'

Having been detached from the world for the past while, he began to observe the scene for just a moment. It seemed Mrs. Waldgrave had antagonized a member of the gang, but nothing that he couldn't work over, and that she seemed to have a rather...unique approach to the infectioned.

'You see those bandages Zach? Or that Tonfa? Shes a scrapper...maybe she's one of those mutants that I've heard so much about. Fighting aganist the zombies with a close-combat weapon...or maybe she's been bitten...I hope not. I don't want to lose the only beacon of civilization out here.'

"I see...Officer. How large is the current outbreak? How is effecting the local law enforcement or the citizens of Gotham? Has it reached in deep? How long has it been going on for?"