Gordon Freeman (
acts_of_gord) wrote2008-09-07 11:25 am
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Assault on City 17: Team Destroy
The group of Milliways patrons earmarked for the pincer movement is ushered into City 17 without much ceremony. The streets here are cobbled, the buildings grey with age; the handful of cars in the street are old, old things, worn down with time and lack of care. They have the look of machines that were abandoned where their owners fell. This was a residential part of town, once. That was before the Combine- before the black thing on the horizon existed. In the distance it rises, visible down the eastward-facing streets: a tower of such immense size that its top pierces the low-lying clouds.
"Hey," calls a human voice- a Hispanic-looking woman, young of face but old of eye and attitude. She's dressed in dark blue and black, partially bulked up by the body armor of a fallen Civil Protection metrocop, and she carries a submachine gun. "Didn't see you guys show up. Are you part of the diversionary force?"
"Hey," calls a human voice- a Hispanic-looking woman, young of face but old of eye and attitude. She's dressed in dark blue and black, partially bulked up by the body armor of a fallen Civil Protection metrocop, and she carries a submachine gun. "Didn't see you guys show up. Are you part of the diversionary force?"
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To Dora she says somewhat sheepishly, "Sorry, pulse rifles. And I will stay away from the orbs."
Weird devices that disintegrate people, vastly outnumbered and fighting the good fight, it's just like home!
There is a certain amount of glee in Annabelle's scent at the mention of pulse rifles.
Some people collect snow globes, Annabelle collects weapons.As the dropships move in Annabelle moves to a defensible position and prepares to open fire.
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The first of the dropships- there are two- passes overhead and begins to lower itself for a landing. If one were to cross some sort of crab with a massive flying robot, engines glowing blue in the ends of the larger legs, it might look like that. Its smaller legs are clutching a dull black metallic container, which it sets down before landing entirely. The other hovers, awaiting its turn.
As the door opens on the container a pair of scanners drop from the hovering crab-thing's underside, sweeping down the street and beeping furiously.
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And, of course, on what the second dropship is up to.
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Unless elite number one is very good at dodging he's going to get a bullet in the ocular as soon as Annabelle can get a clear shot...
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The instant the bullet strikes the other Elites are on alert. The heavy thudding of pulse rifle energy fire rips through the air even as the doors finish opening; the Elites believe that the best defense is a good offense. Scanners swoop down to note the number and location of the rebels as Dora and her forces begin shooting back.
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She's dropped from a helicopter before--surely dropping from a ledge on the side of a building shouldn't be much different.
And maybe the Elites aren't expecting an attack from above.
Maybe.
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The best defense being a good offense is Annabelle's strategy as well. This was occasionally a point of friction with her teammates.
Annabelle keeps aiming for the red oculars while dodging pulse rifle fire. She's not certain that the body armor would stop that kind of fire, after all.
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He's being a bit more careful about being hit, though, mostly because he's fairly certain that pulse fire is not made of atoms and therefore is not stopped by his shield.
But at least it's not a laser.
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Any energy bolt that hits him will be absorbed into the glowing aura that surrounds him, and that'll be another bit of energy he doesn't himself have to provide for the returning of, as it were, fire.
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If the Combine Elites are startled by the sudden influx of fire Annabelle will take full advantage of it.
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Translation: Dora's goin' down.
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And the best defense is a good offense, which means she flings herself at the Elites, aiming first to take out their weaponry, and next to finish them off permanently.
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As for any Elites unfortunate enough to get in the way...Annabelle is as fast and as accurate as is humanly possible and genuinely vicious.
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It is a very bad day to be on either side of this conflict. If you're not a rebel being shot or shot at, you're an Elite bursting into flames, or clutching at your mask, or simply reeling in circles and falling over backwards. That or you're the scenery and you're flying to pieces at the least little provocation.
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They are, at the moment, glaringly irrelevant. And she does not have time for distractions.
There's nothing pretty about what she does. Brutal efficiency is probably closer to the mark.
And another group of Elites bites the dust.
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At the moment, however, she has more pressing concerns. With a final vault over the broken bits of building that Dora was using as cover, Annabelle finally reaches her. At the moment she is attempting to ascertain how badly hurt Dora is.
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Even Donighal.
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Dora, for her part, had to drop her gun. She's using both hands to apply direct pressure as best she can- there's a really amazing amount of blood spreading through the visible part of her clothing. "All right, this stinks," she says weakly and tries to suppress a wince. "Anybody got a rescue pack on them?"
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There will be much cursing at the energy orbs when Annabelle has to dodge them. Getting hit by those is not an option.
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Which is why she seems to be staying fairly close to those Elites, three quarters of her attention on dodging the energy orbs.
The other quarter is devoted to taking out those weapons. And the Elite holding them.
X is very bad at defensive fighting. That's why she doesn't bother.
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Now, it's a good thing to capture an enemy's weapons and use them yourself. X is making this no longer an option. On the other hand, a weapon destroyed is still a weapon denied the enemy.
It is a very, very bad day to be Elite.
Well. It was. Now it appears to be a good day to be a great many corpses....
(And away in the distance, the sound of fleeing dropship engines is overlaid with the sound of approaching dropship engines. There are three more of them. They are coming. And they are heavy-laden.)
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