Immortal's Club - Game Thread. Arc Five : Winter Soldier (Started, Open)

[Frission]

Shenshen had very little success with his Turkish secret service story. One of the larger officers had even threatened to arrest him. Shenshen had no idea what he should say to defuse the situation and he started wondering about the international fallout if he caused trouble while masquerading as a member of the Turkish Secret Service ( couldn't be worse than the time he accidentally started a war). He was almost relieved when something directed the attention of the officers away from him. Unfortunately, that something was Naditabirus throwing some tear gas right in the middle of the crowd that had formed. Gunfire erupted from the crowd.

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"Not again" was the only thought that went through Shenshen's mind before he ducked behind a nearby wall, a second too late to avoid all the bullets that were being fired. Everything turned to chaos as officers, drug dealers, locals and even some immortals started fighting. In the confusion, Shenshen lost sight of the other immortals and was forced to stay under cover due to the amount of bullets flying above his hiding spot.

He realized he had trouble breathing and counted the number of times he was hit: three, maybe four times. He was numb to the pain, due to the amount of adrenaline pumping through his system, but that would eventually wear off. He was going to have to fight his way out. Shenshen took out his pistols and fired at anyone he judged to be a threat. He was in his element and barely noticed the deafening screams and shots that was around him. The whole situation felt unreal to him and he was disconnected from his body and circumstances. His only thought was on his job and his responsibilities.

_________________________________________

His hiding place crumbled under gunfire and Shenshen was hit by a few of the bullets that passed the wall. One of the officers was firing wildly in the crowd, without a care of who he was going to hit. Shenshen cursed the fool under his breath and fired his pistol, hitting the officer in the arm. The man staggered and stopped his assault for a second to limp towards a nearby police car. He was joined by the two man in darks suits and after firing a final salvo and yelling with disturbing cheer a final order, he entered the police. Shenshen ran after them and heard them talk about 'taking down the Ceutan' before they drove away. It was now a lead to Mahmod's location, but that would also mean leaving everyone else to their fate in the firefight. Shenshen was now faced with the choice of either abandoning the other immortals to this mess or letting the agents take away Mahmod. Shenshen hesitated for a second, before running towards a small nearby truck.

The owner was cowering in the driver's seat and hadn't even bothered to close the door. Shenshen took out some of the money he had kept in his pockets and forced them into the truck driver's hands and muttered a small apology. The man looked at him in confusion for a few seconds before being thrown out of the truck by Shenshen. Shenshen jumped in the driver's seat and was gratified to see that the car was already ready and raced after the American agents.

While he was driving Shenshen was hit by another dizzy spell and nearly crashed the truck into a nearby house. He only managed to get control of the vehicle at the last second. He started wondering if he had gotten shot in the head again. He was already having trouble breathing and moving now and it would be a shame to faint due to a head wound. He was alone in the car after all and couldn't rely on another immortal to watch over his body while he healed. Shenshen looked back at the firefight regretfully. He only hoped that the other immortals would be alright.

 

[Baddamobs]

Screecher was hardly aware of Ali checking her wounds over: she was more concerned that the entire world was starting to become covered in weird fuzz.

How oddly timed, thought Screecher, just when I start to loose a few more then healthy drops of blood, that the world now faces a new rapidly growing fuzz problem. Huh, it's even appearing on Ali and Shanna...

Her eye lids were was starting feel heavy. She didn't remember feeling this tired a minute ago, but reason didn't bother her that much. She just felt so tired. The world was starting to darken, and she suddenly felt very warm. The sound of gunfire began to fade away; every sound in the world mixing together is a dim white noise. This sensation was so familiar, that Screecher didn't have an ounce of fear in her. She'd just go to nap for just a second...

"...but Screecher won't be doing much until we sort out these wounds... "

"...Wha...no." The world returned to a sharp focus, Screecher visibly shaking herself back awake. "I-I'm fine. Th-these wounds are nothing." Screecher forced a laughed, staggering to her feet, one hand clutching her body wound, while what grisly mess remained of her damaged eye was clamped tightly shut. "I'll...I'll be alright, for whatever it is you need. Just...pick me if I fall."

In all honesty, a small part of Screecher agreed with Shanna: in her condition, moving around would only aggravate the wounds, worsen the pain, and increase the chance of her dropping dead. And she wouldn't be much use to the others as a corpse for whatever time she would remain as one.
However, a much larger part of her screamed that showing any weakness was unacceptable: she was Screecher! She was once the deadliest predator of an entire forest, and remained the most level headed member of this entire operation! Showing any sign of weakness would only make all those years of careful presentation worthless. True, she may have lost her temper and flared up or said something foolish once or twice.
Or thrice. Maybe a few times...

The point was, she wasn't in the habit of sitting back and appearing as a weak human: bad enough she had to walk around as one! If she was going to be stupid, flightless, hairless ape, the least she could do was make the best of it.

Screecher slowly looked out of their partial shelter. Chaos was still rampaging in the streets, and the body count was only rising. Screecher looked around just in time to see Shenshen speed out of the battle in a presumably stolen truck, appearing to following another car making a similar escape.

"Looks like Shen's got the right idea..." Screecher commented, before gingerly ducking back in cover. "We should probably find Jack, Lilith and the others, and follow Shenshen's lead. Best we don't all get split up..." Screecher swayed slightly, before righting herself. "I'll leave how we're going to do that up to you two. You say the word, and I'll be right behind you."

 

[TheIronRuler]

Tijuana

Isaac

Isaac felt like walking away. All he wanted to do was just take up his cane and walk away. That was what he was doomed to do for eternity anywhere, so why fight your destiny? Everything was going to shit, and this little adventure/holiday turned sour fast. What else did he expect out of such a gathering of so many freaks? The law was after them, and the outlaws were all over them, and they were fighting among themselves, same as always.

Madrid, 1492

'Get the bastard', they snarled at him, holding everything they could find - picks, and knives and axes, a bit of stick here and there. They've run him out of town, angry stares, foaming at the mouth. There was a priest there, an inquisitor, dressed in red. You never expect the Spanish Inquisition.

Getting burned was the worst death he had ever experienced. You can smell yourself going away in smoke, your skin and flesh charring, and even though your nose had burnt off you can stille smell it all. Then you wiggle and try to get away, you scream and you shout and you try to block the pain away. It'll all grow back, God isn't as stupid as they say, and he'll have to experience it again.

They would always find him, under a different name in a differnt roof in a different city, but he couldn't walk away. He had a family there, of sorts, a community which accepted him as who he was. Their customs were strange, yet they were still his people. He was no longer a wanderer - he had settled down, found a profession, looked for a wife. Then the Inquisition happened. He wouldn't lie and he wouldn't leave. Many of them left for other kingdoms, some coming back to the Muslims, but Isaac stayed. It was his land now, his home, and he would wonder no more. That was before they had burned him for the first time. This had been the seventh, and he had stopped counting the days of torture he had suffered. He learned to fake death in those damp, dark cells.

He had to leave Spain. He had to wonder again, forever deprived of a home, forever wandering for his crimes. What crimes did he commit? He was a Jew, after all.



Where was he again? When was he? It all came to him in a blur. His friends were long gone, his people long scattered and lost. There was nothing for him to do anymore, and he couldn't hide away these thoughts with the right elixir. That's right - an elixir, that's what he needed. He haven't had one of those nasty brews by the Alchemist in two years. He had to find him, he had to... He remembered why he was there, of all places, of all time, and his mind clicked back into reality.

His nose burned, just like it did under the flames, but Isaac wasn't bound in hempen rope. His heartbeat jumped, his bretahing quickened, his rage grew tenfold, and continued to grow. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and today was a good day for revenge. They were centuries apart, but they were guilty of the same crime, and he was the same victim, for the same reason.

Isaac's eyes turned black, his jaw hanging loose, a lopsided smile shining at anyone close enough to see. He had became a madman, turned Berserk, lashing out at anyone closest to him, ripping them to ribbons with his bare hands. Say one thing about the Wandering Jew, say he's a ruthless bastard.

Lilith

Slithering away like a snake, the first woman had evaded the fight expertly, making herself invisible to the naked eye. She had been well-versed in the art of getting the fuck away from grievous death, and had been perfecting it ever since she came to be. She had never tried it before, the whole violent death experience, and she wasn't going to risk trying it. She stopped at an alleyway, curled down into a ball and pressed her head between her knees. It will sonn pass, and whoever wins, she could still get back home and find another reason to live on, another reason to experience the world. She could get back home, but who was waiting for her?

The Garden.

He had taken another wife, one from his own flesh. They frolic together in the fields, naming everything they found. They share secrets she didn't even know existed, and they share the same fruit. Lilith watches them with her narrowed eyes, her heart heavy with regret, her eyes burning with a passion for revenge. She was his equal, yet he tossed her aside for a little whore, someone who would listen to his every whim, laugh at his every joke, grovel in the dirt for his needs.

...and yet she was the one who caused his downfall. She was the serpent, the snake, the eyes watching them from the dark. She seduced his wife, the harlot, and then she in turn seduced the first man. Together they fell from Heaven to Hell, and born the first boy. She received the gift of giving life, while Lilith remained with nothing to give - it was all hers. She never tasted the fruit, and never did lose her gift. She learned through the years the true nature of man, and embraced it as her own. Everyone wanted something, and she couldn't remain a naive girl in a bad man's world. She couldn't keep her innocence in a world of sinners. A world of sinners.


Someone was dragging themselves away from the skirmish, trying to stand up and falling on the floor with a loud thud. His hand was shredded, and he was soaked in his own blood. Death was real, death was cruel, yet death would not come to Lilith. It can't come to something that's already dead. She got out, ready to find the rest of her companions and finish what she started. You have regrets in this life, they'll never leave you - you can't forget them in the grave.

Idun

Fierce like the thunder god. Brutal like the hanged man. Cunning as the spurned son. Idun spun and turned, her hands clutching bloody knives, dripping wet life and spraying it in all directions. She remembered the lessons. She remembered the training sessions. She remembered the laughs they all had together, in the long hall, the drink and the stories and the sex. She often found herself drifting in her mind to those years, that time of winter, that festival of love and freedom, to overcome the darkest day in the year and defeat depression. She was happy then, before she was snatched away, before they all rotted away, lost in time - forever alive in her memories.

Siberia, 1561
Follow the brightest star, and you will find them in a hall of ice, dining on bear and drinking the waters of life.

The fortune teller lied, and Idun took another life across the veil. The gods were gone for so long she had lost count of the winters without the icy embrace of the all-father. Their people gone, scattered and turned, praying to some god who would not show himself. She had looked for them everywhere in the north, gone past to the lands of Rus and the lands of the Tartar, wasting her time away searching. She found nothing but sorrow.

Her only reminder of the past was a golden apple, one which she held close to her, the last piece of heaven she found. She wasn't in need of the apple - Idun had remained young and beautiful, sheltered from the life of mortals. Perhaps losing the strain of protecting so many of her kind had made her stuck that way permanently. Even if she had wanted, she could not end this existence. She could not find a way out and meet again with her brothers and sisters and lovers. She was trapped in this world of mortals - and she had to make the most of it.


Spin, and turn, and slice, and stab. One, two, three, four. Again, and again, and again. The elegant dance continues, the dance that never ends. Fierce as Thor. Brutal as Odin. Cunning as Loki. She was the last one, the one to hold the vigil - she was Norse, she was proud, and she would not bow down. Every foe coming at her was cut down, and every wound suffered snuffed out in a river of ecstasy. Soaked in blood, the drums of war thumping at her ears - today was a good day to die, if only she could indulge herself with that. At least she could send other to the great hall, to dine and feast with her brothers and sisters and the all-father, like warriors of true heart. If not, well, there's always hell.

 

[Baddamobs]

First things first, Screecher nodded weakly to herself, turning back to the open cover. At this point, the smog was fully spread out, still making it difficult to see, but the wind was already helping it thin out in places, and there was a chance she could actually differentiate shapes within it. We need to find the others. Now, if I was Isaac, where would I-

"...I don't think we need to be too concerned for Isaac's safety..." Screecher muttered aloud, somewhat bewildered at the the sight of Isaac tearing through everyone and anyone in his way. There was no refined edge to it, no strategy. It was like watching a small tornado wreck through the street, only with a greater amount of collateral damage and blood.

Screecher had never been close to the man, though she had heard the stories. And apparently, quite a few of them were true. If anything, a lot of them were understated.

...Alright, that's...one problem solved. I think. Screecher frowned, before straining her eyes further. It took her a second (more due to her lack of depth then anything else), but she thought she could just make out another figure within all the chaos. Whoever it was, they were performing some sort ballerina routine, except with knives and a lot of unfortunate bodies.

"That can only Idun." Screecher gestured to the other two Immortals to the distant fighter. "Of course she brought her own knives to a gun fight..."

She couldn't see Lilith. Knowing how resourceful and ruthless the Immortal was, Screecher wasn't too concerned; whether she was, she wouldn't be in too much trouble.

"Right, the open street is still a mess, despite Isaac's and Idun's best efforts to deter everyone except the suicidally overconfident." Screecher, winched as she shifted back round to face the others, the pain in her chest flaring for a second. "If we're going to move to those trucks, I suggest we move quickly; this cover won't last for long."

 

[JoJo]

Managua, Nicaragua

Cadeyrn awoke to see who he assumed must be President Luis Somoza Debayle looking down at him with dark beady eyes. The man was in his forties, round-faced with slicked black hair and was otherwise unremarkable in appearance. He looked more like a second class banker than a dictator to the young fae. Cadeyrn tried to move but found his hands were tightly bound together with rope, clearly after his first escape attempt they wouldn't be making that mistake again.

"And what does he do?" Debayle asked a figure behind Cadeyrn who he couldn't see.

"Watch," the cold reply came and Cadeyrn heard the click of a pistol behind him. Before he had time to protest he was thrown forwards onto the ground by a gunshot, dark red blood pouring from his chest. He sputtered and picked himself up several seconds later as the wound began to heal, a scowl on his face. The President was eyeing him gleefully.

"This is amazing!" he muttered, "A true immortal, I never imagined such a thing could be possible,"

"It does hurt you know," Cadeyrn said indignantly, rubbing his chest gingerly, "Even when it mends, it still hurts just as much,"

"Oh, you talk?" Debayle exclaimed with a sympathetic smile, "I'm sorry son, it had to be seen to be believed. Would you like some chocolate to make up for it?"

"I'd prefer to have my hands unbound, and a cigar if you have one, idiot," Cadeyrn grunted angrily. The President stared at him for a moment and then laughed aloud.

"Ha, I like this kid's spirit, get what he asked for Larios,"

~​

"...and that is why I came to Nicaragua," Cadeyrn finished his long tale while chewing on the butt of a cigar. Him and the President were sitting together on the balcony of the Presidential Palace, looking over the city of Managua. Debayle chucked and tousled the boy's hair.

"That was the most entertaining story I've heard for a while but do you really expect me to believe these spiels about fairies and magical swords and pieces of the true cross? Tell me the truth now, did the Americans create you as an experiment?"

"What, no!" Cadeyrn exclaimed in exasperation, "I've told you already, I was alive ages before America even existed! You've got to let me go Mr President, I need to get to Chile,"

"But you've barely arrived," Debayle replied, before taking his turn to look pleading, "I need to know the truth Cadeyrn, share with me the secret of your immortality so I may enjoy it's fruits too. Despite how I look I'm not a well man, my heart is giving me troubles and I may not live longer otherwise. Do that and I'll give you anything you desire,"

"That's impossible," Cadeyrn shook his head sadly, "I can't spread the curse to anyone-else, even if I wanted to,"

"I have scientists," the President implored, "Let them do tests on you, maybe they'll find something,"

A small smile spread across Cadeyrn's face, he looked up at Debayle.

"Anything?" he asked innocently. He knew there was no chance of the scientists finding a cure in him but he figured he might as well go along with the plan for now and he could always escape when their guard was down.

"Yes my boy, you can stay in my finest apartments, enjoy the best our country has to offer," the President knelt down desperately to look Cadeyrn in the eyes, "Stay and I'll promise you will never be locked away in this country again,"

"Okay," Cadeyrn shrugged as he shook the President's hand, in his mind already wondering how much he could milk out of the man, "I'll need a house with at-least five servants, oh and a theme park..."

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

"Then let's get going, shall we?" Ali said in response to Screecher's comment and a second later, Ali burst into a full sprint towards the trucks. Despite it all, Ali missed the thrill of sprinting through a chaotic situation. Among all the vices in the world, nothing was more feral and gratifying than combat and Ali thrived in it. Her run was relatively short but she reached the trucks, vaulting over the hood like a gymnast and bringing yet long legs around to smack the gunman behind the vehicle. The gunman was knocked off his feet, giving Ali ample time to finish him off with an axe kick to the head. She twirled gracefully, grabbing he gunman's weapon and firing at the other gunmen nearby. Not used to the modern weapon, Ali missed the first few shots. Flustered, Ali resorted to throwing the weapon instead which connected with another gunman's head with a satisfying impact.

"I've always preferred daggers anyway..." Ali said to no one in particular before getting in the truck.

 

[drmigit2]

A basement. Why was it always a basement? Nobody ever executed their rivals in a garden, or a strip club, it?s always a god damned basement. No amenities, no natural light, a dank smell and the constant little skittering noises made by insects. Why did it have to be a basement? Marco looked at the single lightbulb swinging back and forth. His hands were bound to a wooden chair, and the only way out was barred. This was just like the movies.

?You crazy assholes! I don?t even know who you are! Just let me go. Please!?

Despite his begging, Marco was met with silence. It was at least a good twenty minutes before he heard boots approach the door. When it opened, he saw Olé in his crimson getup walking down confidently. He was smoking a cuban cigar and had a suspicious grin on his face. He seemed unarmed, but Marco knew that was probably just a facade. Olé made his way over to Marco, and tapped off the ashes of his cigar on the man?s head.

?I know who you work for, compadre.? Was how Olé began his interrogation. ?I want you to tell me where you get your stuff, I want to know who is in charge, and I want to know how to get in. Do that, and I will let you leave.? Marco?s eyes were blank as he looked at the floor. He clearly was suffering from drug withdrawals and Olé crouched down, patting Marco?s cheeks. ?Hey, I need you to focus here. Where is your base, who is in charge, and how do we get in??

Marco was pretty sure that he was going to die one way or another. It was rare for cartels to ever let someone go, even if they gave up information. Marco spat at Olé and said ?I don?t know nothing, asshole.? Olé looked at the spittle on his shirt and sighed. ?You know, that shirt is worth more than you. I guess she was right, you are going to regret this.? Olé turned to the door and yelled. ?Hey, Nadi! He doesn?t want to talk!? Olé turned back to Marco and smiled ?good to meet you, she will take care of you from here on. Be sure to scream a lot, this is the closest we get to television in your country!?

Olé made his way up the stairs, spoke to a few people and closed the door. Marco was alone again and wondered exactly if he had made the correct decision. The man in red was clearly foreign, perhaps he would have let him go. No, it was a trick. These people were going to kill him, and take his information on the side. Well, Marco steeled his wits and decided they would have none of it. He would have the last laugh when they wandered aimlessly through Tijuana, and his brothers would avenge him. Nothing could break his determination now, he would make them all proud.

The sound of an electric drill echoed through the basement. It was coming from the top of the stairs, clearly someone was making sure it worked. Marco realized that it might end up being a murder weapon. He stared at the door and further cemented his nerves. If this was death, he would meet it with dignity, not fear. The door opened, and Naditabirus stepped out. She had a cardboard box in her arms and was whistling a tune Marco was unable to recognize. She placed the box down outside of view. Marco looked at the ground and said ?For everyone I know, you will discover nothing.?

There was a surprising lack of noise coming from the basement. Olé expected to hear screams by now, but everything was silent. Nobody wanted to see what Naditabirus was doing down there, even Vlad just stared at the door. A few minutes after going down, Naditabirus came back up the stairs humming Bethoven?s fifth. Olé looked at her like she was crazy and said ?Did you even do anything?? Naditabirus smirked, putting the box down and said ?I got the information we need. Let?s head out, I know where his compound is.?

Olé sent two guards down the stairs to set the man they had captured free, but by the time they had arrived, Marco was sprawled on the floor. There were fresh injections in his skin. He laughed a bit and then continued to stare at the lightbulb. One of the guards sat down and sighed. ?He traded a fix for his family, and she knew he would.? The two looked at each other and laughed. This was why they only sold, instead of consumed.

 

[TheIronRuler]

Tunisia, Sheikh's Palace, some hundreds of years ago

This was a mortal sin. They both knew it was, they both understood the risks, and they both dared the impossible. It was unreal, a fierce and brutal conflict between two souls so different and apart, yet in the end complete each other. The cynic and the zealot, the scientist and the warrior - one spat in the face of the divine, claiming immortality as his right, while the other embraced the divine, and thanked it for his immortality.

Four years they lived together in the Palance of the Sultan while he grew older and his sons grew rebellious. They both spent each and every day to the fullest, never putting off what they could do right then. Every night was another adventure into the mists of sin and abomination, a journey they did not dare to take alone - but together, they might just pull through. The two who had all of the time in the world to be together acted as if every day would be their last - they knew their heaven would not last long, and they were right.

Poison undid their dreams, and put an end to the Sultan's life. Naturally, it was the Alchemist who was blamed for the murder, and the templar raced to his rescue. It was true love, the condemned realized at that moment when his protector cut down every man who dared approach him, It was a love to last through the ages.

Inside the Compound

It burned. He could feel his finger even though it wasn't there anymore, and it burned. He was stunned at the thought of enduring such pain for the rest of time. His breaths were quick and shallow, his heart was forcing its way out of his chest. He was sweating, he was shivering in fear - there were three more fingers before that dreadful day would end.

'Another one, then', the Butcher ordered Mahmod's captor. He raised the small finger, holding it between finger and thumb. The Butcher put two fingers in his mouth, and whistled loudly. An orchestra of squels came from behind the room. He walked away from the corner, going around the pig carcasses hanging from the top, towards the pig sty. The Butcher leered at the pigs, looking for his favorite. 'Mina, here, Mina', he motioned at a large pig, and it swaddled towards him. The Butcher bent down and smiled, 'Here, I have a gift for you, my love'.

[hr]2[/hr]

Gerome left the river of shit behind, his body covered in excrement, his hands clenched tight at his waist. There was no time to waste complaining, he had to find Mahmod and bust him out before the other immortals caught a whiff of them and found him. He cautiosly followed the sound of cheers, peeking behind a corner and watching Mahmod whither in pain, strapped to a table by a massive african, a crowd of locals watching anxiously. Gerome was outnumbered, outgunned and completely madly in love.

Mahmod heard a warcry from a different life - his spirt was lifted to high heaven, and he saw his knight in shining armor coming to his rescue.

Tijuana

Ben&Jerry

'You turn right here?', Jerry asked Emil who was sitting to his left. The teenager nodded in agreement, and Ben turned with the car. The Texan was looking out into the desert outside, the realization of what happened earlier finally sinking in.

'It was a disaster', the Texan moaned in agony.

'You fucked up', Ben spat out of his window, 'You fucked up big time'.

The Texan remained quiet. There was nothing else to add, the spy was right. His only chance of redemption was to do what he came in to do in the first place, and take down the drug lord, Papa Montezeno.

The Compoud appeared in the distance, and the American party was getting closer. It would have been perfect had they not been followed by a certain pesky Turkish Secret Serviceman in a truck.

The Immortals

The gas cleared up, and the true scale of the slaughter became apparent to everyone. The immortals stopped their murder and turned to face each other, exching curious glances. Who would had thought that a vacation in Mexico could end in a bloodbath?

The drug dealers dispersed, mostly killed or dying, and the remaining American officers were shot to pieces. Lilith came out of the woodwork, and the rest began to close in on each other.

'I forgot why we came here', Isaac admitted, his mind still clouded with anger.

Nadi obliged his request. It appeared she was busy doing some constructive work with the immortals murdered plain humans, and found out the whereabouts of Mahmod, the Alchemist, the Ceutan everybody were talking about. The Immortals had to regroup and head out to the Compound, find Mahmod and get him out. Maybe they could have some fun on the way out - it's not every day you get to raid a fortress stacked to the brim with Narcitics.

 

[Baddamobs]

Screecher, leaning on Shanna for support, nodded as Naditabirus gave pretty clear directions to the compound everyone was apparently rushing off to. The ex-owl would be a slight bit more suspicious of the how the Immortal had exactly come across this information, but,
a) Screecher had lost far too much blood to be thinking rationally, at least to the normal degree.
and b) this was Naditabirus they were talking about. A part of Screecher didn't WANT to know.

"Alright, sounds like we're already lagging at the back of the herd then." Screecher wheezed out, gesturing with a nod of her head to the road leading out of town. "A car went speeding off in that direction, with Shenshen not too far behind. Chances are, their already half way there by now."

Screecher let out a weary sigh. She would be able to summon more concern about this fact, but her one working eye lid felt heavy, and her limbs seemed to weigh like lead. All she wanted to do was get this horrible day out of the way, and rest for the next forty eight hours.

"We'd best commandeer something to drive, and make up for lost time." Screecher turned to gesture at one of the bullet filled trucks Ali had 'liberated' during the chaos only minutes ago. "These looked wrecked to hell, but one or two might still work. We use one of these, we'll all be able to pile into one vehicle. All I'm thinking is, we're already split up enough as it is, and any measures we take to avoid that would be for the better. We n-need..." Screecher felt the world darken, and become muted for a moment, before she shook herself.

Every minute they spent standing around, the gravity of the world seemed to increase, and grow steadily more difficult to bare. Those two injuries were taking their toll.
It's fine, it's fine! Screecher screamed in her own mind, and she shook her head like a dog. Come on, keep it together for at least a little while longer!

"All of you will know these damn things better then I would, whatever the case. I suggest we chose a ride, chose a driver, and get moving as fast as we can." The half-blind Immortal drooped her head following this. "Just...leave me in the back seat for a while."

 

[Frission]

Shenshen was busy humming a jaunty tune to keep himself distracted from the injuries he had sustained. He couldn't afford to pass out from the pain when the people he was following could lead him to Mahmod. He kept his eyes fixed on the cars ahead of him, alert to any signs that they had noticed him.

Hm hm Hmmm Hm hum.
He wondered about his plan of action when the Americans stopped. Shenshen preferred to just sneak in and spirit Mahmod away (his favorite use of this technique was during the inquisition). He could use the Americans as a distraction .
Hum hum
On the other hand he had the time to look at their work, and there was a good chance they just cause more chaos and make Shenshen's job to sneak in more difficult. In that case it would be safer for him to just knock them out.
Hummm hm hm hm
Shenshen wondered if the other immortals were okay. Most of his companions were good fighters(something which he sometimes experienced firsthand multiple times) so his concern may be unwarranted. It might be better for him to fear for the state of the locals.

Oh well. He should concentrate on two issues when he has two working lungs.
Hummm hu hummm hmmmm
He didn't remember where he first heard this tune, but there was something nostalgic about it. Wasn't it from his mother? Strange, he couldn't remember he face anymo-

The cars in front of him stopped. Shenshen stopped the truck. The Americans had arrived to the compound. A small burst of adrenaline made Shenshen forget about his injuries and he took out a sap he had hidden in the bag and quietly exited his truck. Now was the perfect moment to make the Americans take a little nap.

He was thirty meters behind them. None of the Americans seemed to have noticed him. He counted three, with a younger one near the car. He was now twenty meters behind them. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. He would take care of the fat one, then the crows. He was now ten meters behind them. Shenshen's whole body wanted to pounce, but his nerves didn't break. Five meters now. Shenshen would take them all down before they made a noise. They were close enough together and he had practice. Doubt didn't have a place here. Two meters now. Shenshen raised his arm and prepared to pounce.

As he was about to bring down the sap his instincts screamed at him that he should hide. He twisted mid course and crouched behind the cars. Something was happening.

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

"Just...leave me in the back seat for a while."

"Hang on just for a bit more, okay?" Ali said in a sing-song voice as she opened the door for Shanna to put Screecher in. Ali helped lower the wounded Immortal in before closing the door on the shot up truck. Ali had heard Nadi's plan and the directions on how to get there and Ali wasn't one for being the last person to be at a fun party. Quickly, she gathered all the guns that littered the ground and placed them in the bed of the truck.

"Shanna, we have to catch up with the others." Ali said. "We wouldn't want to be the last ones at the soiree, now would we?"

Ali got in the driver's seat and honked the horn, getting the attention of the other Immortals. "One round trip ride to the dangerous compound!" Ali yelled. "Got room for some more!"

 

[JoJo]

Managua, Nicaragua

Javier Borge sweated uncomfortably as his pass were checked by the presidential guards, the chief engineer had little idea what to expect. The President hadn't been seen in public for some time due to illness and instead letters had periodically be sent with new orders inside. Borge wasn't quite sure what to make of the most recent construction project but until he found a better job, he did what he could. Finally the call was given and he walked into the presidential office, gulping as a pair of suited heavies closed the doors menacingly behind them.

"So you're the engineer?" The question came from a small boy sitting in the President's chair, his feet perched jauntily on the desk whilst his hands rested behind his head.

"Who... are you?" Borge exclaimed, staring at the child. He stared back coldly.

"I'm the President's son."

"I didn't think he had any children,"

"Well, he does now. My name is Cadeyrn,"

"Cadeyrn," the engineer swallowed, it wasn't a familiar name to him, sounded vaguely northern European, "This is most... I need to speak with your father,"

"You speak to me,"

Borge was about to protest but he heard the click of a pistol behind him. He looked around to see one of the heavies pointing a gun between his eyes. He turned back to Cadeyrn, who was holding a bundle of paper in his arms.

"What does 'postponed' mean?" the boy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"W... well..." the engineer stuttered, "I'm afraid it's simply not possible with the resources we have to build a theme park to these specifications in less than a month, I mean, I've never even seen a rollercoaster with eleven loops and we have yet to find a reliable supplier of molten lava..."

Cadeyrn stepped forward and one of the guards shoved his pistol against Borge's neck, forcing him to his knees. The boy took a hold of the engineer's shirt and drew in close, his eyes shining malevolently.

"You'll build me my theme park, exactly as I drew it, in less than a month,"

"Even the shark tanks?" Borge gulped nervously.

"Especially the shark tanks!" Cadeyrn replied sternly, "And you will be their first meal if you fail me. Got it?"

"G... got it, sir," the engineer cried and as soon as he felt the pistol retract from his spine, beat a hasty from the room. He could almost swear he heard muffled laughing behind him as he left, which made him feel even more unnerved. He had no idea where the demonic child had come from or what he was doing giving orders for the President but he knew wouldn't be able to sleep another night until the crazy designs he had been given were transformed into reality.

 

[TheIronRuler]

They stopped in front of the Compound's massive double wooden doors, probably stolen from some Spaniard colonial castle down south. The Agents stared at it wide-eyed, jaw hanging in astonishment at the engineering marvel that was so out of place in that desolate part of the Mexican Desert.

Ben turned the engine off and sighed deeply. There was no way the two of them could just walk up to the compound, show their badges and ask nicely for the Ceutan, and taking down the head of the cartel was even a more remote possibility. They've done all the way down south for nothing, it seemed to them at that moment, and they've left quite the mess behind them. Their black get-out-of-jail free card might not cut it out for the both of them, and a shallow grave in Georgia was all they would expect going back home - this going double for them if they get back empty-handed.

The Texan didn't give a fuck. He was beyond help now, and the two of them knew it. He had destroyed his career single-handedly and created probably the biggest cluster-fuck the ATF had been into since its founding. Not only that, but he got the sodding CIA involved as well, the off-the-records kind of operation to boot. All he had to do was laugh at the end of the line, the ridiculous place where he had found himself ending his life. At least it had a pretty decent view.

'Fuck it', Ben hit the steering wheel with such force the car shook a little. 'We're done', he admitted sour defeat.

'At least we don't keep loose ends', Jerry whispered slowly, his hand reaching for his chest, a neat little colt 1911 sitting snugly at his shoulder. He threw Emil out of the car and watched him tumble to the floor. Jerry got out and stood on top of the boy. Ben and the Texan got out of the vehicle to stretch their aching limbs and catch a glimpse of the execution. It seemed like the Texan had enough, and he was walking away from the two towards the trunk of the car. He opened it and handed him a megaphone, for some reason, asking him to hold it for a moment. Ben gave him a sneer of disgust before succumbing to the broken man's feeble demand. He watched him in awe as he lugged a RPG-7 out of the truck of the car, already fully loaded, and aimed the bugger at the double gates.

'He's gonna open the gates of hell', Ben screamed at the top of his lungs. A shot was fired nearby, but it was eclipsed by the sound of the rocket going at full speed and turning the mountain of wood into flying splinters.

They were all deaf for that second, but it didn't deter Ben when he hooted and shouted, 'I told you they had motherfucking Rocket Launchers!'.

The Texan observed his work with pride, his sweating brow raised, a smile plastered on his face from ear to ear. It seemed like the best moment of that day, might have been of his life, had it not been his last. A powerful beam of heat assaulted the top of his torso, trapping his head as well, turning it into a pile of coals while his legs failed underneath.

'Shit'. Jerry stared at the abnormality in front of his eyes, unable to believe what he just saw. A short, copper-skinned man was sending fire at the Texan, burning him into a crisp. It was the lord of fire, a god in his days, the last of the immortals of his kind, and a native to the land. Fire leaped and danced in the pits of his eyes, and waves of passion enveloped him. Another came to his side, similar in nature, but much more sinister, an aura of light surrounding him.

The two were last of their kind, and there was hell to pay. They waited for compound to crack like an egg and feast on the yoke, extinguishing their lives as payment for the sins of their fathers and their fathers before them.

Sheshen watched at the unfolding catastrophe in a curiosity mired with fear. He had never seen such immortals before, and never with such super-human power. It was unfathomable to him, the idea of immortals with the power of the gods, since they cannot be equal to them, and the gods themselves had abandoned them long ago...

'Long time no see'. Ameretat stared down the Sheshen crouching behind a wide cactus tree. He was the only one who knew her in the past, before she shut herself in and paid her penance. 'You're a long way from home', she added smugly.

Somewhere an eye twitched, and Memnon grew furious at his plan turning into ashes.

[hr]2[/hr]

Back on the road, the immortals were driving away from Tijuana, a ruined town left to soak in its own blood.

 

[Frission]

<youtube=jN_Sb1U2PjM>

Shenshen stared slack jawed at the spectacle in front of him. When the Americans had blown open the doors to the compound, Shenshen had not been too shocked. Capitalizing on impatient invaders was another long proven strategy used by Shenshen (He did love following behind steppe hordes). Shenshen was puzzled why his instincts had yelled at him to find refuge for just this and had started to get back up when the Texan policemen got burned to a crisp from a blast of some sort of magic. Shenshen ducked back down and stared in awe as Gods, actual Gods intervened.

In his long life Shenshen had seen many strange and wondrous things, but Gods, actual Gods, was new, rare and frightening. Were they the ones who had attacked Kanati? He had already tangentially felt the fury of one and wasn't eager to fully go against one. Shenshen wiped the stupid expression off his face and decided to hide and get away. He could investigate the sudden appearances of these forces of nature later when he was better prepared. He took out his bow, the only weapon he had at hand that had ever touched a god and started sneaking away from the scene of carnage when a familiar voice, feminine and clear as a bell yet undercut by menace, interrupted him.

"Long time no see; you're a long way from home."

It was Ameratat, goddess of immortality.

A curious twitch went through Shenshen's face as shock, rage, happiness, sadness, terror and awe battled for control of his face. Shenshen sat stunned, truly stunned for the first in centuries. Ameratat, he had thought her gone from this world, like many of the other gods, abondoning their disciples, abandoning him for their own world. The last time he met her was at a time when his soul and mind was still very young. A long time ago, before he was ever the Sheriff, Shenshen wandered the lands, only briefly stopping, but never calling anyplace a home. His home had been destroyed long ago by a God that had long since disappeared. That had changed however when he had visited Babylon, in the Achaemenid Empire and discovered Zoroastrianism.

He was at peace there, comforted by his faith. He had even felt close to the deity Ameratat due to the domain and was happy, for a time. There had been more... , but no Shenshen refused to think of it. Like all things the empire fell and one by one the Gods died or disappeared. Shenshen was used to it and had started traveling the lands once again, resigned to confining his old home and everything in it to his memories.

Then Ameratat had re-appeared, here and now of all places. Shenshen tried to make a smart reply along the lines "One desert is as good as another" or "You too" or anything as long as he was able to elegantly put on word in front of another. He failed and he could only blubber "You... how... but why, why now?!"

 

[TheIronRuler]

'F-f-f-Fire', Ben mumbled, his mind frozen in a state of shock. Jerry turned away from the charred corpse, jumped over the hood of the car and crashed into Ben, bringing the two of them to the ground right below a spurt of flame went over their heads. They sprawled on the floor, the fresh copse of Emil stared at them with blank eyes.

[hr]2[/hr]

'Enough', Ameretat commanded the two Aztec boys, playing with the lives of mortals as if it was a game. 'Come here', she motioned them to approach her. They reluctantly left their chew toys behind and looked down the lone dirt road leading away from the compound - a cloud of dust rose up in the distance. 'Here is what was promised', she turned towards Shenshen, 'He is mine'.

'Being what I am, you know what can be done', she approached the old immortal, a white grin staring right at him, 'So you keep quiet. Or else...'. He felt a sudden strike, a force gagging him, stopping his heart, taking his breath away. This power which had been dormant for so long finally found its way again to the world. The moment of utter terror, of complete helplessness, enveloped Shenshen. He was all alone in the void, surrounded by darkness, no sound, no feeling through his nerves. The Big Sleep. He was thrust outside violently, his own body rejecting the judgement, the crumbling first law turning him alive again.

'Ta', she was already gone.

[hr]2[/hr]

Ben&Jerry crawled away from what was happening - it was all too crazy for them to handle - away from the car, away from the compound, away from the road. They were pretty successful at staying undetected, while the dust cleared at the Compound and revealed mounds mounted with heavy machine-guns and dozens of angry armed man. Not their problem, they were certain of it, and at the same time they marveled at their stupidity when they thought they could just swagger in the place like they owned it. The two though they were out of the woods, so to speak, until they stumbled on a quite catatonic woman dressed in strange clothing laying on the ground. Allanque was stunned, unable to speak, silently mourning her kin.

[hr]2[/hr]

Gerome was slowly recovering from his wounds, a deep gash in his left side, a broken right hand, a busted left leg. The audience had long since fled the scene, but no more reinforcements were coming to take him to hell. Instead what came was a massive blast which shook the whole compound and deafened everyone inside. The Guard was still at it, preparing to break Gerome in half, still unfazed by the punishment he received. He was perplexed as to how a man continued to fight even after sustaining such grave injuries, but he was familiar with the type already. Never give up, that was what he was told as a child, a lesson he carried with him for his whole life. A lesson not too unfamiliar with Gerome in combat, albeit one he did not take to heart in his life.

Mahmod was in shock for most of the battle, staring wide-eyed at his missing finger and listening to the pigs munching on his digit. His knight in shining armor came for him, but he came too late, for his finger and for their love. Anger soon replaced love, as it so often does, and niggling questions assaulted his mind. Why did he abandon me, he though to himself, Why didn't he protect me.

Why it took him so long?

He was down on the ground, getting beaten into a bloody pulp by the African guard. Despite all of his training, he wasn't stronger than that beast, and the small confined space, with nothing but his fists to fend for himself only gave the knight even less of a chance. Every blow exchanged was only delaying the inevitable, but Gerome refused to give up. The Butcher was probably dead, and Mahmod had no way of knowing who of the pigs was Mina - he desperately tried to look for his finger, but it was gone, and as soon as the realization sunk in he turned his attention to the Templar getting beaten to death. Mahmod held the knife used to carve him up a minute ago and charged at the african guard, just like in the good old days, when they were fighting dozens of them off at a time in Tunisia.

For Honor, the Templar charged, For Vengeance, the Alchemist charged, For Love.

[hr]2[/hr]

They were getting closer, the destruction in the compound already within view. Something was on the road up ahead - a car stranded in the middle, and Shenshen right next to it. Two other men were standing next to the road, slowly walking back to the compound. The convoy was being fired upon by the Cartel thugs in the Compound, and the battle soon began.

 

[PlastikThief]

Everything is happening rather quickly now Shanna thought as they eased Screecher into the back seat, thanking Ali silently for the quick resolution of actions. The gas had dispersed and people had picked up and left, leaving blood, bodies, and weaponry scattered like so many stains in the dirt. Shanna hadn't much room for keeping track of guns, but they took a pistol anyway, struggling for a second as they figured out the mechanisms.

"Shanna, we have to catch up with the others. We wouldn't want to be the last ones at the soiree, now would we?"

Shanna nodded, a grim smile on their face. Eventually the other Immortals got in and they were off. If there was any conversation, Shanna couldn't hear it. They were steeling their nerves for the upcoming conflict. It had been too long since they had seen combat of any sort, and the after effects of the gas was still inhibiting her sight and breathing.

They glanced at Screecher for a moment, and then back out at the undulating countryside. At least one known friendly casualty already, and they weren't even at the compound. What was waiting for them there?

Shanna soon discovered.

A truck in the middle of the road before the compound, Shenshen prone in the dust, bullets kicking up the dirt. Shanna felt the adrenaline rush their system, felt their blood burn with the old revolutionary anger that they felt 10, 30, 40, 50 years ago, rekindling images of blood on the snow and young men and women fighting for freedom. As the truck slowed, Shanna leapt, landed, and rolled, coming up beside the body of the Sheriff and obscuring it from the sight of the compound.

Shanna grabbed Shenshen's body and dragged it into cover of the truck he had arrived in, intending to at least minimize what damage had already been done.

 

[Baddamobs]

Sceecher was floating.

Not floating in the sense of flying, per say. She just couldn't feel the gravity around her. Her eyes were open, and she could see the truck and other Immortals around her, but still she felt like she wasn't exit connected to it all. Like she was watching it through the eye of another.

Shit...guess I loss a few more pints then I thought... A voice that she vaguely recognized as her own said, or at least sounded like it had said in the blank expanse of her dwindling mind.
She knew this feeling well: she wasn't dead yet , but she had 'died' of blood loss enough times to know that she was pushing her limit. If they turned around right now, and headed for the nearest hospital, it would save her the trouble of...leaving, for lack of a better word.
Heh...why waste the time...no point saving something that can't really be saved...

She wasn't looking forward to meeting that...thing, that stood by the gates. It grew agitated at her mere presence, and every time warned her of it's original reason for turning her away.

'You're an anomaly. By all rights, you shouldn't exist.' Pfft...

Screecher was so tired.
She just needed a minute to rest, and would face tomorrow then.
Just...needed to close her eyes...

The truck jerked to a stop. The sound of gun fire. A shout from the compound.

"Oh...fu-" Screecher only just had the time to reach over and grab a random gun from the pile they had haphazardly stacked in the back of their vehicle, before joining the other Immortals in diving out (Screecher more fell flat on her face as she crawled through the open door), just in time for round of gun fire to impact where they had been moments before.

Screecher crawled on her stomach, flinching with every bullet that found purchase around them. She peeked under and around the front of the hood.

Whatever the hell happened here, judging from the fact the compound's doors were already blown wide open, it must have been one hell of 'a thing.' But the ex-avian was more concerned with the fact that apparently every able body with a gun in the drug baron's HQ was currently mounting the walls, and suppressing the living hell out the assaulting Immortals. She didn't dare try and account for everyone, but she could at least see Issac and Lilith currently ducking next to her, and Shanna and Shenshen in cover behind the truck the Immortal archer had used for transport.

"Oh, perfect..." Screecher muttered aloud, before leaning out slightly. She didn't have a whole of proficiency with fire arms, but she understood the principles, at the very least. The gun she retrieved appeared to be some shoddy, beaten up revolver of some sort, so she tried to make the two shots she unleashed at the walls count before she was forced to duck back as half the wall re-focused their fire on her.

"Any bright ideas!?" Screecher called out over the gunfire, looking at her companions with no little panic.

 

[JoJo]

Managua, Nicaragua

Cadeyrn pushed his way into a darkened room, switching on the lights. The President lay asleep in his bed, deathly pale and still. Had any other immortal been around Cadeyrn would have taken the credit for the dictator's illness but in reality he'd had nothing to do with, at-least directly. He wondered what his immortal peers were up, the Nicaraguan secret service had been redirected up north into Mexico to track down their whereabouts after the incident at the hotel but nothing had been heard from them yet.

"Cad, my boy," a gasp came from the bedside as the President struggled into consciousness. He put on an innocent smile as he sidled up, handing over a small pile of papers.

"Luis, I need you to sign these important papers," he said matter-of-factly.

"Did Marionio give you these?" he wheezed, reaching for a pen on his bedside cabinet and beginning to scribble on the papers without looking through their contents.

"Eh, sure," Cadeyrn lied as he hurriedly took back possession of an executive order to relax regulations on shark importation before the President realised what he'd signed.

"Thank you for doing this," he sighed, "Have the scientists done their tests?"

"A few," Cadeyrn shrugged, a blood sample had been taken and he'd ran on a treadmill with a lot of sensor attached to him, otherwise he'd avoided their attentions whenever possible. Nothing much of interest had come up, apparently his blood showed signs of gluten intolerance but with his regenerative powers it seemed unlikely he'd ever feel any ill effects.

"Good," Debayle sighed as he turned over, "They'll find something, I know it,"

Once he'd fallen back to sleep Cadeyrn crept out of the room and shut the door, everything had been set in motion now. All he had to do was wait.

 

[TheIronRuler]

A wall of flame rose to the air, twirling and twisting into a vague shape, then forming into another, moving quickly to the compound as a whip lashing at an unruly slave. It smashed against the front, raining fire down on front of the entrance. Huehueteotl was sprinting towards the flames, a glowing aura around him and a wicked smile etched on his face. It was a long time, a very long time ago, when he had let himself go loose like that. The fires of passion were pent up inside of him, and today he let it all go - out to the wilderness, out to roast a sacrifice in his honor. Bullets flew and wheezed past him, hitting him in the chest and slowing him down. He was happy, truly happy, and the fight was only getting started.

Huitzilopochtli couldn't stand watching his kin wallow in joy. He had to take part in the ceremony, for he was the sun, and the man of war, and for him they have sacrificed their victories. War was his passion, as was fire for his distanced brother, and he would not be deprived of it. Following shortly behind, he charged forward, narrowing the distance and getting past the lord of fire with ease. Blood would be spilled tonight, and he will hold again the still heating hearts of men.

Moving their attention towards the two seemingly unstoppable figures, the gunfire from the compound concentrated solely on them and spared the immortals further trouble. Taking the smart path was a reasonable idea - turn around and walk away, but they had a job to finish and a friend to save, so all they could do was charge forward and get inside before the other other abominations beat them to it.

[hr]2[/hr]

'You came'.

The ground shook and above the sounds of war were raging. The body of the african laid in the bloody mud, and Mahmod had dropped the knife from his hands. He was looking at his finger again, the realization he would be forced to live and eternity without his pinky was daunting. There was no way to save his digit, and they don't just grow back, not for the likes of him. Maybe if he made a deal, or spoken with the older immortals, or found another finger...

'They want you skinned'. The Templar cut right into the heart of the matter with the delicate touch of a butcher. 'If you stay here you will get lynched and branded in Marco's collection'. He approached the Alchemist, arms outstretched, his eyes fixed at his bloody hand. 'It will grow back', he muttered. 'It has to. I wasn't too late',

'You were too late anyway', Mahmod stared him back in the eyes, a fierceness in it full of love and hatred. 'You forgot me', he attacked him passionatly, 'Like I was nothing, you threw me aside'.

The Templar came closer, his hands holding the Alchemist's shoulders carefully. 'I was confused-', it was the still-intact right hand which slapped Gerome, sending his head to the side. 'So many years', he came at him again, delivering a backhand, 'and now you come to me?'.

'Where were you at the funeral? I was so alone, everybody left me, like you did. I had nothing to live for. I couldn't find myself, I was so lost - so I wandered, and found myself here, with people who need me, and care-', Mahmod gasped as Gerome twisted his forearm, pushing him down with his brute strength. 'They took your finger', he shouted at him, trying to knock some sense in his head, 'I didn't hurt you'.

'You broke my heart!'. Mahmod screamed back at his old lover, wincing at the pain in his arm.

 

[Frission]

Several thoughts went through Shenshen's mind as he was blasted by Ameratat. The first one was of surprise, quickly followed by self-admonishment, after all it was Ameratat he was speaking about. His penultimate thought was that he should have probably waited for the other immortals and as he felt the icy touch of death surrounding him, his last though was "Oh bother, not again."

Then he died, which made thinking pretty difficult.

_________________________________________

Shenshen was woken up by his head hitting a rock. He was being dragged somewhere, although Shenshen was okay with that. He was happy that he didn't have to get back up yet, since his whole body ached. He kept his eyes closed and let his other senses take inventory. There was alot of loud popping sounds like fireworks going off. There was even the smell of fire and something cooking. Was it chinese new year? Shenshen made a pale smile in his sleep: He loved festivals. Shenshen felt his mind drift off to remenber the various banquets, fairs and parties he had attended. He remenbered in vivid detail a small festival that was organized to commemorate the end of winter in northern europe. It had ended badly however, because...

Screaming and fire

"The vickings are attacking!" Shenshen groggily yelled at no one in particular. He looked confusedly aroubd him and noticed that Shanna was near him. "Oh hello Great Librarian, what is...", Shanna ducked and pushed Shenshen's head down as stray bullets hit the truck and shattered it's windshield, raining glass on them. "Oh, thank you very much for your timely help Sh..."

Any bright ideas!?

Shenshen heard Screecher's voice calling panicked over the sounds of chaos. Shenshen idly wondered about the amazing lung capacity she must have to still be heard when he turned around and saw a scene that chased such idle fancies out of his mind. Two Gods were fighting a horde of gunmen. The entities didn't flinch as bullets tore through them.

Shenshen ducked back down and took a heavy breath. This could be a blessing in disguise. He called out to the rest of immortals "The front entrance is out of the question, but we could circle the compound, find another entrance and do our job while the two up front distract all the dealers!"