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Making it Big; Open, Practice RP for Porcupine III
Topic Started: Dec 11 2014, 05:32 PM (462 Views)
Porcupine
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Patrick had been working on this for a while now, trying to figure out when to try and make a big score. Around Black Friday seemed the obvious choice, but exactly when was a matter of chance. But after some time thinking (and researching), he decided to try hitting some of the shipping warehouses on the Wednesday after Thanksgiving - most of the really good sales stuff was going to be shipped around then, and the Amazon warehouse in the area was inevitably stocked to the gills with good stuff. He wanted to try and get there right around the change from overnight to morning.

Not taking his car was a good choice, since gas was still pretty expensive and the suit ran on batteries (for that reason alone, he'd have probably used it), and it could do double the speed of his car, easily. So arriving at 6:30 in the morning, he watched the sun rise, and the shift change. He figured he would hotwire one of the vehicles he saw parked, which was no problem - he'd been doing that kind of thing since high school, though usually just for fun. He looked around the power lines and light poles, firing a few special quills into them. Two lights popped up in the HUD inside the helmet. Man, he was glad puke cleaned out of it and didn't even leave a smell. After that first flight, he'd sworn to never have a bowl of cream of anything soup before flying.

Pat watched as people filed out, and the loading dock wasn't being watched. He took the opportunity and snuck his way in. He flew up to the ceiling as quickly as he could, and grabbed onto a metal crossbeam at the top of the warehouse, sneaking along like Solid Snake. Finally he got to what he was looking for - one of the lights. He touched the spot above the fixture, firing off his high-powered electrical pulse; he saw the voltage indicator jump to numbers he was shocked to see, and in about 15 seconds he'd overloaded the power system. That led to phase 2 - the explosive quills on the transformers around the building, which cut the power to everything and left them in total darkness.

He turned on night vision and tried dropping to the ground, but his abortive attempt to use the rockets as retro-jets left him falling on his (thankfully) armored chin. Thankfully, the 'klang' was less noisy than the sounds of the workers trying to collect themselves. He lifted his arm high and fired off a gas quill, partly to obscure what vision they did have, and partly to knock people out. He wasn't looking to kill anybody, after all, just take their stuff.

Grabbing two of the wheeled bins, Pat started dashing about like a madman, grabbing computers, iPads, cameras, phones, Xboxes, Playstations, even the odd Wii or WiiU - basically anything he could quickly fence. Then he saw something he never believed he would see in his lifetime - the Lego Death Star and Star Destroyer. Those went for big bucks and could be sold pretty quickly on BrickLink. He grabbed them and tossed them into his bins, listening all the while for the sound of activity or cops. Then again, all they would find would be the gas quill, and that would put them on the scent of the guy who used to use the suit.

Cackling to himself, he dragged the two bins out to the lot, where he saw a white van - Score. He ripped the plates off and melted them with electric bolts from his suit, popping the lock on the back and shoving the bins into the van, closing it back up before hopping in and, rather than hotwiring, jabbing a quill into the hole and turning it to start the van. It was easy enough, and he got to drive away, hoping that the cops (or any heroes) wouldn't catch him before he got to his hideout.
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Black Panther
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T'Challa wasn't really one of the Avengers that went on patrol for the sake of patrolling. In his life outside of the team, he was a very busy man. His time and energy were valuable. But tonight, he was patrolling, covering for others who were spending time with their loved ones. Since Storm was in San Francisco and he was not, along with the great deal of time he did not spend on the team, it had made sense to him that he should fill in.

It was a typical night to him; a great deal of petty crime, some of which he stepped in to handle. It was all too easy to become caught up in a crusade to fight all crime, he knew, and so he picked and chose when to intervene. A vicious assault or a rape was more important to stop than a thief snatching a purse. It was better to be in position to stop the more serious crimes.

The patrol took him near the Amazon warehouse, and with his enhanced vision, he noticed something, or someone, flying up onto the roof. Silent and graceful as his namesake, T'Challa swiftly made his way over a dozen rooftops and got a better look. The Porcupine.

He watched as the Porcupine loaded a van, ran what he knew about the suit through his head: virtually nothing aside from the obvious. Powered armor, quills, flight capability and some sort of beam weapon. Nothing outside of what T'Challa could handle.

He leaped down, landed on the top of the van as it passed by, the vibranium in the soles of his boots absorbing the impact. Quiet, but not totally silent. He leaned so he was at the window and raised his voice, yet remained calm. "Dr. Gentry? Pull over and we can avoid any unpleasantness."
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Porcupine
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Patrick was glad that he was able to keep his voice inside his helmet, because if T'Challa heard the panicked cursing of the guy in the suit, he would know for sure that it wasn't Dr. Gentry. But he looked at the road, and his new suit, and took a breath. Okay, so this guy thought he was about to have a run-in with a middle aged guy who was never really all that strong in the first place, or likely to hurt anyone. That was good. And the bins were secured back there (thank goodness for using the quills as lag-bolts), so he could swerve. That was his first real reaction. He accelerated and went into a left-hand swerve, pulling the van almost up onto two wheels. Unless this guy was really, really good, he would probably end up being dropped on his butt in the road... that was the hope. After that, Pat could speed off.

Of course, he figured he wouldn't be that lucky. And he knew that if he didn't act fast, this guy was gonna pull a GTA on him, just bust the window and pull him out. So he decided to be a little proactive on that, firing a gas quill at the man's chest (which left a finger-sized hole in the glass), spraying the gas from it as soon as he put it through the window. He was too panicky to try and figure out who this guy was, so he wasn't willing to try unloading quills at the guy, or using explosives. After all, this was a smash-and-grab, not a take-and-kill.

He looked out the front window, and saw a dog running across the road. More panic flooded through him - slamming on the brakes meant getting pulled through the window and losing his swag; not doing so meant hurting an innocent dog. Split-second decisions were not his thing, that was for sure. In his panic, he brought his boot down on the brake pedal, holding tight to the wheel with both hands so he didn't turn at all - if he did, he knew he'd probably end up with the van overturned - and that would be bad for everyone.

He figured if this guy wasn't stopped by all that, then he could deal with it from there, but at least everybody would be okay.
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Black Panther
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T'Challa didn't quite sigh as he saw the wheel turn and felt the van speed up. It was not unexpected; most criminals were shortsighted but he had hoped that Gentry might be more reasonable. He reached out a hand, popping the short claws in the fingers of his gloves as he did so, driving them into the roof. Thus anchored, he was prepared to ride out the attempt being made to throw him from the roof.

The sudden braking caught him completely off guard, though, and the Panther was unceremoniously thrown from the roof of the van. The vibranium in his suit absorbed the impact of his body rolling on the pavement, but it did little to assuage his anger. He spied the dog, realized the reason for the abrupt stop. Seeing as the van was going nowhere fast, he sprung to his feet and tossed an energy dagger at the engine in a single smooth motion. It penetrated the hood but he couldn't be sure if it had damaged the engine block or not.

"Doctor. Step out of the van and power down, now." How was it that so many intelligent people were otherwise idiots? Maybe he really felt as though he had a chance to defeat the Black Panther. He wouldn't be the first to make that mistake.

"Last chance, Gentry." So far T'Challa had kept the kid gloves on, but in a fight with a powered armor suit, he would be forced to take more drastic action.
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Porcupine
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Patrick was shocked at the way this guy was - he'd obviously tangled with the original guy to wear this suit. And he'd probably won, given the whole way he was reacting to the situation. So that much was definitely against Pat.

He saw the man fling something at the hood, and realized he'd better bail - if it didn't blow the van up, it'd certainly make it inoperable if it hit anything important. And that would be bad. He jumped out the door, pulling a shoulder roll and firing another gas quill at the guy - he could lift the van maybe, or at least push it off the road and carry the bins one at a time, if he could just get the guy to go away.

First the insurance companies cancelled his insurance, then the company fired him, and now the superheroes were trying to stop him from making even a dishonest living! What else could go wrong in his life?
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Black Panther
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One thing he could definitely say about the Porcupine suit: it did nothing to make the wearer any quicker. He was moving as he saw him roll out of the van, expecting some sort of offensive attack. He was not surprised to see one of the quill's fire, not given the name and what he knew of the Porcupine, but the gas, that was something Tony hadn't mentioned. Upgrades?

T'Challa was already a dozen steps away from where the quill had hit, as ever, driving forward. He preferred to stay on the attack. His hand snaked into his belt, out came a vibranium throwing knife. He threw it expertly, looking to gauge just how tough the Porcupine suit really was, aimed precisely for the breastplate. While he wanted to end this confrontation the King of the Wakandas had no particular desire to shed the blood of this man.

"You had your chance, Gentry. I want you to know, I take no pleasure in defeating you, but I will do what I must." The Panther continued moving. His speed and agility were his great advantage over Gentry's suit, and he intended to use them to their fullest.
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Porcupine
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The cursing happening inside the helmet right now was probably the most it had ever had, since now there was some kind of fancy throwing knife headed for him - probably the same kind as went for the van. He didn't know exactly what this suit of his could take, really, and he didn't want to try and find out by killing himself. He hit the bootjets and popped up into the air with a major burst of unexpected speed, leaving him standing in midair like Wile E. Coyote. The big difference was that he didn't have a sign to stick up for 'HELP', just a look up, down and a shake of his head as he went tumbling back to the ground.

As he went down though, he fired a couple of the explosive quills, figuring aerated ground would be better than hard asphalt to land on - and since they were pretty close, they might hurt the guy in the black catsuit down there. The knives were obviously very sharp, so he wanted to avoid them. And, y'know, if this guy really didn't want to fight him, why was he doing it? It wasn't like Pat had even hurt anybody!

And that was when he met the ground, arms first (only because he'd thrown them up over his face). He rolled over onto his back and sat up, looking rather stupidly at his opponent, trying to figure out what to do, as he tried to stand up and dust himself off.
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Black Panther
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And of course it flew. He had known that, been expecting it, but hoping not to deal with a flyer while solo and on foot. T'Challa found himself wishing he had brought along something a little more useful for armored opponents, like the Ebony Blade or even the vibranium knuckles he had devised. Those had proved their worth in the past, but he hadn't been expecting a power armor villain.

He processed the 'flight' and the controlled fall and began to wonder if the operator was impaired in some way, perhaps drunk or high. He heard the sound of more quills firing, the sharp pneumatic hiss! giving him a split second of warning. The Panther was moving away but was caught in the blast wave. It flung him into the side of the building, hard enough to be audible but not enough to really do any damage. Not to him, not with the vibranium protecting him.

If an armored suit that did not show its operator's face could be said to look dumbfounded, then that was the term he would have applied to the Porcupine as the Black Panther dusted himself off. It was becoming rapidly apparent that the operator did not have anywhere near enough time in his suit. He didn't move in it well enough.

"Who are you, then? You're clearly not Dr. Gentry." His accent was slightly heavier, his English with a British tilt to it as well. "You understand this will not end well for you? Your career as a supercriminal is coming to an abrupt end." T'Challa reached into his belt again, and then threw a small but heavy object at the Porcupine suit. It was only a small but powerful electromagnet, but he doubted the other would know that. It would cling to the suit, doing nothing but perhaps slightly disrupting some of his A/V systems. But T'Challa felt he could bluff his way past that.
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Facedancer
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One of these days I'll remember which account's logged in.
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Porcupine
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Pat was not as stupid as T'Challa imagined, but even with the experience he'd had in the suit, he'd never worked on fighting anybody - just stealing things. The suit had broken his fall and the way the helmet was set up, he'd avoided whiplash and concussions. That much was good. What wasn't good was that this guy had been trained to fight, and probably enemies that were a lot more ruthless than Pat had ever been or could be. He was just trying to make a buck, after all. This guy was treating him like a killer.

And he saw the thing flying at him as he stood up and took stock of himself and his opponent. He didn't want to take any chances, so he rolled to the side - and saw the thing swerve to get him - it was either tracking him or it was magnetic, and probably both. (Pat knew all about tracking devices and bugs; he'd used them on delivery trucks and both the City and Waste Management used them on garbage trucks). He moved a little quicker than he had previously, trusting his instinct and firing an explosive quill to try and launch it at Black Panther. He succeeded in shooting it in a random direction, at least.

He didn't want to know what it would have done if it had hit - this guy maybe knew Iron Man, and frankly Pat didn't know enough about this suit to know if someone couldn't shut it off. So, he was going to try to avoid that happening at all costs. He knew he couldn't take this guy in anything resembling a fair fight - at least not today. So he had to make it difficult for the guy to give chase. It sucked, losing all the stuff he'd snagged - but there would be another day. He finally spoke, though, through the speaker - his voice was distorted, mechanical. "I'm somebody who doesn't want to hurt anybody. Just trying to survive, not take that way from someone else."

He fired a shower of quills at the Panther, hoping to leave several underfoot and leave the guy unable to give chase as he hit the boot-jets again, this time a little more controlled as he was obviously about to try and make his getaway.
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