7/10/2006 5th Avenue - South ------------------------------------------------------------------ The southern side of 5th Avenue is slightly narrower, a little less heavily traveled than it is elsewhere. The buildings here are still tall and mighty, but are less grand at heart; the front facades can be breathtaking, with concrete ornamentation and row upon row of windows, but the insides are just a touch shabby. The street is still in decent condition, occasionally swept, but it's been a while since its last repaving - the lines are faded, though still visible, and the pavement is old and gray. A handful of scraggly trees, thin- trunked and sparse of foliage, line the avenue, set between the sidewalks and the road. ------------------------------------------------------------------ There's a spot on Fifth Avenue's southern side, wedged between Jackson's Florist and the Lo Duck Chinese Restaurant, that's a kind of merchantile black cat; no shop has managed to stay in business at this location for more than a couple of years. The current hopeful is something called Tiber's Jewels and Pawn (Open 24 Hours! We cash checks!). It's been four months since it first opened its doors, but it's never been robbed. Until tonight. Octavius arrives incognito, with only bits of his orange and green costume visible beyond the slouchy brown coat, and with him slouch two hulking hoodlums like a pair of dumb, vicious dogs. Apart from the whitehaired shopkeeper, the pawn shop sports only a few customers -- a young, obviously poor, couple studying a small collection of pre-owned wedding rings, a middle-aged hippy pouring over a collection of LPs in a box at the back, and a college-aged kid in an army surplus mishmash digging through a pile of old militaria like a prospector panning for gold. None of them expect a thing as Ock's thugs move to secure the front and back entrances of the store, and even the shopkeep hardly looks up from his newspaper until Octavius sheds his coat in an explosive gesture, four metallic tentacles extending swiftly out in multiple directions! The tidy glass cases shatter under the impact of one arm's blow, and the young couple are showered in glass; the woman screams. The shopkeep starts up, eyes wide, as a set of claws snatches him around his scrawny neck; his eyes bulge, but one flailing hand manages to hit the alarm button. The military buff turns and starts forward but stops when confronted by another tentacle. Ock, without looking around, snarls, "These arms can move faster than you can think. Lie down, if you value your pathetic lives." The shopkeep gurgles breathlessly, withered fingers clawing ineffectually at the thing holding him, and everyone else immediately hits the floor. Centuries of dealing with crime -- from the pettiest cutpurse to the greatest super-villain machinations -- have made the NYPD very effecient at what it does. Literally seconds after the alarm button was pushed, a radio in a patrol car a few blocks north crackles to life: "Charlie Fourteen, we have an alarm at Tiber's Jewels and Pawn, two blocks south of your last ID." the dispatchers voice is calm and placid, much like the grim expression of the veteran sergeant behind the wheel. In the other seat, however, a newly-minted rookie looks like he might be sick. "This is Charlie-Fourteen. We are enroute." The sergeant put the radio down and gives the new guy a tight grin as he starts up the car. "Buckle-up, kid, and try to remember that criminals run from us, not the other way around." With that the patrol vehicle rumbles cautiously down the road... Meanwhile, back at the scene of the crime, the Doctor and his hired help are making quick work of looting the shop's collection of jewelry. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, the works. "Take whatever else you want," Octavius grates to them, as he lights up a cigar. "But make sure you take /every/ /single/ /piece/ of jewelry you find. From the others, too." This refers, obviously, to the cowering clientele, which don't look to have much, but what little they have is soon to be gone. And while his thugs do the grunt work, Ock focuses on the now red-faced shopkeeper. "The safe. And the till." He releases the man with a flex of metal sinew that sends the poor fellow staggering against a wall. "And be quick about it, you wretch!" Dr.Octopus ------------------------------------------------------------------ The infamous Doctor Otto Octavius is a heavyset man in his mid-forties. The reason for his nickname of "Dr. Octopus" is obvious; four long metallic tentacles emerge from snug openings in his costume, giving him eight limbs total. Each tentacle is as thick as a python and ends in a set of three pincer-like claws. The Doc himself is not an especially attractive man. His broad face is hard, set into lines of obsession and determination, and even the rare smile has a gritted, tooth-clenching quality that's not very pleasant. His brown eyes are obscured behind thick-framed glasses with smoky lenses, and his straight brown hair is cropped into an unflattering bowl cut. The Doc wears a vivid green costume with heavy orange boots and gloves. The belt around his thick waist is the same color, as is the high collar of the outfit. ------------------------------------------------------------------ The police car stops abruptly and the rookie -- who had forgotten to buckle-up -- hits the dashboard with a muted gasp. The sergeant doesn't even notice in his scramble for the radio; he'd slammed on the brakes as soon as he saw the glimmer of snake-like metal shove some old guy against a wall. "Jesus, I think it's...!" But then he finally gets the radio into position. "Dispatch, this is Charlie-Fourteen! We have a 10-39 in progress! Masked Felony!" He stares at the unfolding scene with a suddenly sweaty face, waiting for a better glimpse... there! A flash of green and orange. "Shit, I think it's Doc Ock!" He turns back to the radio. "We need some tights out here, ASAP!" The officer then whips around to the rookie, who's clutching a bloody nose. "Get that shotgun up, son! Now!!" The sergeant turns back, silently muttering a prayer that they don't get spotted. The old man, coughing violently, his hands shaking, picks himself up, but instead of going meekly to the till, the fellow -- a veteran of /real/ wars, unlike the young chap getting floor-dirt all over his old-fashioned camo pants -- makes a grab for the sawed-off shotgun hidden under the counter, only to be smashed away by a ruthless tentacle! "Worm," sneers Octavius, staring derisively at the man, now curled fetal and moaning, arms clutching his ribs. The limb that broke the poor man does the same to the firearm, crushing it into uselessness and tossing it negligently aside. Then he glances over toward the window, peering out through barred glass at the street, and his wide mouth twists into a grimace around the smoldering cigar. He's spotted the cop car. The sergeant snarls a curse as he sees the Doc's eyes fall upon them. It's the kind of swear given by someone who's compelled to do something even when they know it won't turn out good. The veteran snags the pump shotgun from the fumbling hands of the rookie and opens the door. "Back me up!" He shouts a bit too loudly and then he's gone, hustling across the street for a defensive position behind a light pole and some newspaper machines. His shout towards the store: "Police! No one move...!!" is given with no real enthusiasm; it's obvious the sergeant doesn't expect anyone to listen. Meanwhile, the rookie struggles out of his seatbelt (which he'd finally managed to put on) and struggles with the door handle. He's so focused he doesn't even hear the radio: "Charlie-Fourteen, be advised: a superhero is in the area and en-route. Repeat, Cap-" THUNK! The door closes, shutting out the voice as the rookie begins running across the street after his partner. "Cretins," grates Octavius, mostly to himself. Then, as his hired goons hesitate in their looting and start, obviously, itching to make a run for it, he turns and snarls, "Every piece, I said! Every gem, every ring, every trinket! Or you get /nothing/!" The pair move quickly to obey, intimidated and hurrying to get the job over with. The Doctor gives another hard look at the police, then snatches out a tentacle and grabs hold of the young woman who'd been looking over rings with her male companion. She screams in terror as the implacable metal limb swings her through the air toward the window -- and then stops. Weeping, she hangs there, eliminating any chance of a clear shot, while the Doctor ruthlessly and efficiently breaks open the cash register and then the shop's little safe, ridding both of it's paper money. Way out of his depth and completely out of his league, the police sergeant hesitates, making motions towards leaving his cover... but then drawing back. The terrified look on the poor girl's face begs for him to do /something/ -- but he has no idea what. Then he happens to glance to his right, and realizes with a vague surprise that the situation is even /worse/ than he thought. The rookie is standing completely in the open, his shaking gun pointing towards Dr. Octopus and his wide eyes looking like twin full moons. "D-Doctor Oct-t-puss..." His shout sounds like it could be coming from a teenager in the midst of puberty. "P-put her down, or I'll...uh, I'll..." The Sergeant finally decides he /has/ to act. He takes a step out -- when suddenly a firm hand is grasping his shoulder and carefully pulling him back out of sight. It takes a second for the cop to realize that his mouth has been covered by another hand. But before he has a chance to panic, a deep voice murmurs. "Don't worry. I'm going to take care of this." And Sergeant Walters somehow understands that one of the tights has arrived. Thank god. Now if he can just act quick enough to prevent the poor FNG from getting killed... The presence of the Cap remains, for the moment, a secret to the criminals within the store; even Ock misses the brief flash of red, white, and blue before the Cap takes cover -- he's busy looting the shop's wealth. Octavius does, however, look up at the rookie's shout, and the sheer gall of the young cop makes his broad face twist with anger. Teeth bared around the cigar, he stabs a free tentacle outwards, smashing through the door and arrowing swiftly toward the stupid-brave rookie, tripod claws spread. Having spent precious seconds coming up with a plan of action, Captain America leaps out over the row of newspaper machines in a blur of motion! He hooks an arm around the nearby light pole to adjust his trajectory so that he's heading towards the rookie. Two victims, one hero; this could be tricky. He has only a moment to take careful aim with his shield... and then flings it vertically away from him! He aims for a gap between the bars in the front store window and -- beyond that -- Doc Ock's right ankle. He may not be Spiderman, but the Cap knows that the key to beating Ock is to stay away from the vicious tentacles and instead go for the man who operates them; an unbalanced Dr. Octopus will be unable to utilize his weapons effectively. All these thoughts pass in the instant the shield is thrown. After that, Captain America focuses on the rookie. He hopes to tumble the man out of the way, figuring a few bruised ribs beats a claw-shredded face any day. Another crash of breaking glass fills the air, and the woman in Ock's grasp screams! Ock's cigar tumbles to the floor as he twists away from the round missile, but just a midge too slowly. Octavius stumbles to one knee with a wordless cry of rage and pain, the tentacle zipping toward the rookie misses him by inches (thanks to the Cap), and then snaps backwards, zipping back into the confines of the shop. Behind the mad doctor, the two thugs have decided that they're not getting paid enough. "%$#& this!" cries one, and they make a break for the back door, both clutching their bags of ill-gotten loot. Seeing how his shield throw already saved the rookie, Captain America tries to make his landing on the terrified police officer as light as possible now that he doesn't need to kick him out of the way. Unfortunately you can only make a 240 pound leaping superhero so light. When the kid hits the asphault, the Captain glances down just long enough to make sure he's all right (won't be going into work tomorrow, but otherwise unhurt), before dashing at top speed for the doorway. "Drop the hostage!" he shouts. Hardly the witty rejoinder Spiderman would have used, but the Cap's tone is deadly earnest. A heartbeat later and he leaps towards the opening in a diving somersault intended to dodge any slashing tentacles. An Avenger in front of him and treachery behind him, and a busted ankle, too. Octavius is furious. "Cowards!" he roars at the fleeing henchmen, and the tentacle that nearly got the rookie cop on the sidewalk now lashes back to grab one of the two men he'd hired to help him with what /was/, what /should/ have been, a simple errand. The captured thug screeches, his voice not much lower than that of Ock's first hostage, while his buddy flees out the back of the store without a backward glance at his comrade and employer. Now the mad doctor has /two/ hostages instead of one. Teeth gritted, Octavius snatches up a bag dropped by his hired men -- barely a handful of the jewelry within it, the rest spilled out and scattered -- and stands upright, using his other two tentacles for support. He calls out to Captain America, his voice bold and strong, not hinting at the pain in his ankle. "Stand down, Captain! Stand down or I'll turn both these apes into so much pulp!" Captain_America rolls through the front door and springs quickly to his feet with the ease of an acrobat. He stares at Dr. Octopus for a moment, and his eyes hold the cold fury of a man who has seen far too many innocents come to harm. Without taking them off the demented super-villain, he slowly leans down and retrieves his shield from the floor. Then he moves one foot back to brace himself. "One." It couldn't be a more clear warning. Dr.Octopus retreats slowly, teeth bared in a hateful rictus, his cigar smoldering forgotton on the floor near Captain America's boots and his terrified hostages held in front of him, twin human shields. "Don't be a fool, Captain Rogers," he grates. The tentacle holding the woman gives her a savage jerk, and she lets out a screamy little sob. The thug only moans, babbling about how nothing is his fault, how he's gonna go straight, oh god, oh please god. "That's a lot of sirens, and noise." Mutters Lia as she perks her ears, trying to pick up maybe who might be involved. The girl then removes her backpack and puts her new books in it, before zipping the thing up and trying to get to where she can have a safe and unobstructed view of the goings on. "Wonder what's happening." she says to her self as the girl uses her claws to cling to the side of the building she is now climbing. She then leaps the distance from one building to another and grabs onto a ledge before pulling her self up and crouching, tail acting as a balance whilst she see's action. "Doc Oc. and.... Captain America? Something's wrong here." Captain_America matches the retreating villain step for step (his first neatly crushing the cigar under one heel). His face wears an expression that promises only pain -- until the girl sobs. Then the cold anger in his eyes turns blazing hot. He stops and readies the shield to throw; his body going taut with barely restrained power. "You wearing much armor, Doctor Octavius?" His voice is soft, which makes the look he's giving the Doctor more chilling by comparison. "I only ask because I've accidentally paralyzed a few villains who didn't know when to quit." He glances briefly at the girl, then back. "Two." A thin trickle of sweat seeps down from Ock's hairline, down the side of his face. His bared teeth give him the look of a beast at bay. Finally, with a choked snarl, he flings both hostages -- the girl toward the window full of broken glass and hard metal bars, the heavyset thug right at Captain America himself. And then he's in full, speedy retreat toward the back door, the four metallic limbs propelling him with far greater speed and strength than his own human ones ever could. Captain_America's moving almost before Doc Ock releases his grip. Again he goes over the factors in the sliver of time he has and realizes the thug's head is probably hard enough to take any falling damage -- especially when compared to the terrified girl and the pile of shattered glass underneath her (a pile he's responsible for). There's really only one decision to make. The Captain leaps out of the way of the flying thug -- who goes rolling into the street -- and just manages to grab the girl in mid-air...! They both hit the floor hard (glass digging into his back!) -- but the girl is safe. Thank God. Unfortunately, it's at the cost of giving Doc Ock an unassailable lead out the back. Like many of his ilk, the man displays a miraculous knack for survival. The thug goes flying, lands and rolls around in the street "Ow, that had to hurt.." SHe mutters, then blinks "Car." She looks from the car to the fellow and well, she goes into motion. The girl drops off her perch, grabbing an overhanging light post and using it to slow her fall. She lands and rolls to her feet before racing ahead. The car's not going to stop! At the last second she veers from the man, not really able to get to him before the car and throws her shoulder into the thing. There's a loud screech of tires, and the loud crunch of a something on metal as the girl collides with the vehicle and deflects it just enough to keep the man from becoming rode kill. She however ends up sprawled on the concete and only just manages to keep her head from being run over by the car's back wheels! Da'lia ------------------------------------------------------------------ Before you is an odd, yet large bipedal saurian. She stands just over 7 feet tall(actually when walking about 7' 4", her coloring crimson and ebony, her manner lithe and dangerous. Her long sleek muzzle looks delicate and well formed, her eye ridges tall yet elegantly feminine, her eyes gleaming a deep, hypnotic amber. However along the right side of her muzzle now is a slight change in her markings. As if something swirled the black and red there slightly. The lines of the two colors of scales are not quite as distinct perhaps, or maybe the colors are different? There's a streak running from about 4 inches in front of her eye and shaped much like a teardrop and even goes over the eye its self of black and red, kind of swirled along the edges, like someone who did an odd psychidelic tattoo'. If she speaks, one can catch glimpses of the rows of dagger-like, pearly white teeth within her muzzle. The long pair of horns behind her eye ridges curve upward and are back swept, glistening a pearly white like her teeth. Her coloration is rather interesting, the scales upon her mostly of an ebony black, yet upon her face a streak of crimson running from between her eyes and up to her head, hidden within that lush mane of burgundy hair. From each of her cheekbones, two more streaks of red disappear over her face and into her hair. The sweep of her elegant neck draws attention to the soft streaks of fiery red upon her small, diamond-shaped scales...the patterning leading down onto her ample chest and stops above her abdomen, which is hard and well-muscled, encased in a large belly scutes common to her kind.. Her hips sway slightly as she walks...or rather glides along the ground, her movements lithe...almost like those of a cat. A long, ebon tail grows from the small of her back and hangs down longer than her legs having to curve upward so as to avoid dragging the ground. At it's tip, instead of more tail is a large blade-like spike, about a foot long, this looks rather dangerous in and of it's self. A red pinstripe goes up along her spine, from the base of her tail and disappearing into her clothing. The stripe goes unseen along her spine where it appears over the back of her neck to only disappear into a brilliant mane of fiery red hair which hangs down to the small of her back. Such a contrast, fire against the void fiery crimson red that runs over her face in thin striations and streaks over her entire body and along her lower arms...as well as over her legs. Though of course that is not seen..nor is much else. Upon her is a red A-kon T-shirt hiding her chest and that delicate waist. Blue jeans hug her legs and hips, a hole in the back for her slender tail to fit through, a utility belt slung about her waist loosely, resting upon her hips. On her hands are fingerless gloves and on her feet a kind of odd sandal, mostly there for ankle support and to allow her into restaraunts who have this whole no shoes no shirt no service policy. Around her waist is a leather belt with a leatherman tool hanging from it. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Meanwhile, clutching the pitiful results of this evening's foiled errand, Dr. Octopus makes his escape, supported entirely now by the four artificial limbs. His broad, hard face contorted into a mask of rage, he lunges his way across traffic-choked streets and up the side of crumbling buildings. More than a few startled shouts go up in the wake of the mad doctor's passage. With the sudden sound of screeching tires and crumpling metal to worry about, Captain America has only the briefest moment to fume at the Doctor's escape. He then takes a few more precious seconds asertaining that everyone in the shop is okay -- or at least good enough to wait for the ambulances. Finally, with a worried look at the hurt proprieter and a reassuring smile to the former hostage, he trots out into the street to see what the car slammed into.