Event Den of Rats

It felt like the operation, and the house, was falling apart around them. From the sound of it, via Molt over comms, one of the bombs had gotten away, and from the sound of explosions, it seemed like the rest of them were going off inside. Rowan was still moving towards the staircase, hoping to hit their target just as the gas was kicking in, a scowl permanently etched on her face. Why had they sent Miasma with them? She wasn't ready for this yet, she still needed time, and clearly it had thrown Hannah off her game, otherwise the bomb would still be-

She froze, as the man demanded. She hadn't heard him, hadn't seen him- between the explosions, the lack of power, the shaking of the building, it was understandable, but she was supposed to be better than this. She didn't even have time to raise her gun, stuck with it held out in front of her, staring down the barrel of a rifle. She couldn't get Gaz to help, he was currently stuck in the vents. Miasma and Hannah were too far away. Rowan pulled in a breath, preparing to speak, but he warded that off, too, as his finger twitched dangerously on the trigger.

Her heartbeat was thumping in her ears, louder by the moment. She felt a shiver run down her spine, and couldn't do anything but anticipate the gunshot. Just as she felt it was coming, she gathered her resolve, and decided to go down fighting. As her handgun came up, her heartbeat came through the wall, grabbing the militiaman by the throat, sending him into the ceiling, leaving him a broken mess on the ground. Rowan, understandably, was frozen, in shock and relief, for a moment as Cannonade fully revealed himself, stepping through the wall as if it were a curtain.

"F-fuck... thank you," she said to the suit of armor, finally letting the held breath free. She readjusted her mask, and began towards the stairs once more, adrenaline still surging. Songbird cleared her throat as she made it to the base of the stairwell, then reported in for herself. "Gas is progressing. Moving up to secure the target."

 
Yeah I’m not — I’m good. The napalm just —” Miasma shut her mouth at the sound of the bike approaching. Miasma gave a nod as Molt slid onto the back of the bike, swallowing a question about Molt’s arm as the woman directed her to meet up with the others. Right, she could do that.

Right, got it.” Miasma said. “Good luck” she added with a wince she managed to hold off until after she had turned away. She slid back into the smoke of the vehicle bay, half hunched and moving at a jog as she gave her gas mask a check to ensure it was still attached properly. It was a quick sprint to the building, and the warming prickle of the fire that peeled the paint from the walls as it sank into the material beneath. Miasma would have winced at that too if she weren’t keeping an eye on the windows above for the movement of a rifleman with more hate than sense.

Wisps of flame flickered in the air around her as vapor ignited and Miasma brought her hand back to her earpiece. “Miasma, entering through the west side.” She said, coming to a stop at a door well on its way to being consumed by the flames. Ayla lifted her leg and kicked hard just under the door’s handle, hoping the weakened wood would give way.
 
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