Kreig's Story

"Orders received." Agent Black relays, watching the large red symbiote close in for the kill. The armored fighter however was no fool, he tucked and ran..the only smart move he had- Out numbered and out gunned he was lucky to have managed to wound Riot before Carnage got mixed into the mess. Kevlar had a guardian angel watching over him somewhere, or a lucky horse shoe nailed to his ass. Whatever that pause was that had effected Carnage had saved the man's life; Scorn's abilities mixed with Carnage would have turned that suit into a handy coffin.

Weapon ready he takes aim.

Phage was the real sniper of the group, could hit a target over a mile away- several times. There was no real comparison when you listed Phage against marksmen either in the military or in the civilian world, it just wasn't fair. To say that Agent Black was about half as good then was paying a large compliment then. The weapon proved to be a high tech model of positron rifle- it fired a complex burst of energy, harmless to most but keyed to trigger special devices inside the host bodies of Mercury Team. The first shot triggers Murphy and Axelson, as they were standing near each other. Instantly the two writhe in pain, electrical currents pulsing through their bodies. The symbiotes go into shock, retracting to hide from the energy at play, and letting the soldiers regain control of themselves.

Carnage whirls, catching sight of the two, and releasing a hiss. Something was going on, something had just taken away two of his soldiers. A split second later and Lasher goes down, clutching it's head as the currents send it's muscles into spasms. Simms is revealed, as the green suit sinks into his flesh. By now Murphy and Axelson had recovered enough to sit up and point twin weapons at Carnage, the silver pistol like devices emitting a high pitched whine as they charge.

"Sorry boss. Gotta contain the sucker." Murphy calls out, triggering his device as Axelson does the same.

A wave of sonic distortion sweeps out, slamming into Carnage like a train...and does nothing. The red monster had curled in on itself, expecting the worst, only to chuckle in surprise as the pulse of sonic force only passes onward. The mixture of Scorn and Carnage had somehow become immune to the effects of sonic vibrations- a common weakness in the symbiote race. It was known that only two things were good at dealing with the aliens, heat and sonics.

"Heh, well now. Look who's got a few new tricks. Who says you can't teach an old do-" the rest is cut off as Riot tries heat.

As soon as the connection between the others had been severed by the electrical charge Riot had regained control of itself and was once again working with it's host, Odgen. The two had limped about, gathering a few objects while everyone was busy, and was ready with a present- a simple weapon known as a Molotov cocktail. The glass bottle flips end over end, flaming rag hanging out it's opening, before smashing into a ball of fire at the feet of Carnage. The result of gasoline harvested from the nearby ambulance and the rag's flaming tip causes in immediate burst of flames. Carnage is not happy.

Weakened by the heat, and hurt from the fire Carnage leaps away, towards the wounded Riot- only to drop into a twitching and spasming heap as Agent Black lands a shot on the beast's device, activating the mini generator. In moments Tanis Nieves is once again herself, both the symbiotes retreated deep into her body and mind. This was not over yet, Carnage was still in her, and until she had it removed she was a danger to her team.

"Mission accomplished, calling for evac..have quarantine personnel on standby. Dr Nieves will need to be sterilized and Carnage removed." Black radios in, taking the rifle apart, Axelson and Murphy below gathering what bits of the generator remain, while Riot takes a much needed rest. Simms takes on the job of herding survivors towards the waiting ambulance- the responding evac team could grab who they wanted.


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He was tired of waiting, the hired help had been sent in to 'test the waters' they said, to gauge response. His time was coming, they said. In his honest opinion, they SAID a lot, and did little. Slipping on his uniform, and adjusting the collar to sit the way he liked, the black-clad man waits. His time was coming, and his would not be a wrath to take lightly. The ship was invisible, the light bent about it's massive frame by a series of complex mirrors and an unexplainable energy source. Hovering in place, simply denying any radar the ability to locate it. The grand vessel had carried those armored troops into battle, and worse yet it held still.

Clenching his fist, making the ballistic material creak softly, Kreig begins his daily training.

The lower deck of the ship had been designed with something known as the 'Danger Room' in mind, though Kreig had no idea what that meant- to him all the lower deck meant was holographic based training. The cyborgs meant he didn't have to hold back. For the moment he chose not to wear his coat, seeing it's weight as a hindrance, rather than as the armored protection the thick material provided. If need be he had other protection.

Entering the room he pressed a section of wall, activating the system.

"Voice recognition, activate program. Set level for acht. Volle leistung." he wanted it set for level eight, and at full power. Instantly the computer complies, and activates the simulation. Kreig sets about, obliteration training bots and defending against the weapons. He was ready for these Americans, he would shatter them and laugh for the Vaterland, his Fatherland. The severity of his training soon causes alarms to sound, and the simulation to be interrupted, lest the man rupture the hull. He was ready alright.

Kevlar was pleased.

Well, for the most part. He hated flying. No cover, precious little control between you and spiraling, splatty death...and your entire day could be fecked by taking a pigeon to the face. But at least he was the one in control of the suit, rather then a passenger. Speaking of passengers, he had one by the back of the jacket now, who was mercifully very still. Kevlar had snagged his target running from the epicenter of the chaos; a living example just as requested. Fortunately, after a breif struggle, Kevlar had only had to remind his captive that getting free from his grasp meant a one-way ticket several stories straight down. Things were quiet after that. Under his other mechanically advantaged arm, he carried several large and small chunks of exploded technology as he approached the hidden fortress of the LVA, keeping low to avoid detection before making a final approach when all was clear and the massive thing was aware that he was a friendly.

The deck is organized chaos, of course. Other ironman suits hadnt faired as lucky in open combat during the incident. The dead and injured were already carted away, but there was still the heavy smell of metal and blood. Several technicians in clean white coats and Hazmat hoods are waiting for him and his cargo, carefully handling and packing the twisted - and potentially still radioactive - debris. Kevlar was a smart man, but his intelligence was firmly rooted in what might be called 'practical applications', so the theoretical techno-babble of the scientists just makes him go slightly cross-eyed as they chatter amongst themselves before disappearing entirely with their new toys. Another set, with guards, relieves him of his breathing cargo, and finally Kevlar is able to get out of the tin monkey suit.

"How did she do, moi droog?" My friend. Another tech appears at his elbow as a high-tech bracket uses its series of rotating arms to remove the suit, thick Russian accent screwing with the broken English. Most of the LVA was eastern bloc. He was probably one of very few exceptions.

Kevlar gives himself a shake, like a dog dispersing water, when he is free. Damn coffin, is what that thing was. Couldnt feel the air, couldnt smell, couldnt hear but what was filtered in... The cold altitude air of the hangar prickling through his armored tactical uniform was a goddamn blessing, and he relished in being able to see with his own eyes again. He was a covert operative, not a damn tank.

"It moves pretty good, for a refridgerator." He replies in Russian, easing the communications barrier and suprising the mechanic, "Four of those symbiote things at once, only took one solid hit. Got one, got out of town. Not my primary to kill the whole pack."

Looking over the metal, the mechanic shakes his head, "She has a powerful flamethrower, yes? Why rely on the microwave burst? The shorter range-"

"Why'd you have the liver and onions at lunch?" Kevlar interrupts and frowns at the man. The expression is confined to his green eyes - he was still wearing his belacava - but it's still a chilling stare, "I didnt ask how you work, dont ask me why I do what I do."

The mechanic ducks his head and suddenly seems very involved in the readout of a screen in front of him. Kevlar snorts and collects the gear he'd been unable to wear inside the suit before walking away, pulling off the shroud around his head. Off with the gloves, next, so he can run a clean(er) hand through the shock of blood-red hair on his head, beginning to relax from the completion of the mission.

"Chow." he suddenly decides to himself, back in English again, turning towards the bowels of the ship where one might find a galley.