JLA Watchtower (Archive)

Ben just looked at the plastomorph with disgust. "That's all you can think about it? That she was pleasant to look at?" he said with disgust.

"Christ, I think the death row murderers were more decent than you." he hissed.

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"Crap in a hat, will you unclench, Tigger?" he snaps back as he oozes over the panel, trying to find a crack in it to push through.

"It's called tension-breaking humor for a reason, but I'm betting your sense of humor hasn't gotten past 'Full House' yet."

Another hand becomes a jackhammer trying to pound through the trap door.

"Keep an eye out for monsters or other traps, will ya?"

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Beneath the sounds of Plaz's pounding, clicks and whirs can be heard in the walls near them. Slowly, small holes, about the size of half dollar coins, slide open.

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One ear grows large as Plaz picks the whirring up.

Give him one thing, he's quick. Tendrils shoot out like a net, trying to plug every damn one of those holes he can see.

"Lasers or gas! I'd actually prefer gas, you?"

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"I'd prefer the lasers. Lasers can be dodged, but I still need to breathe." he said, doing his best to get out of any potential lines of fire.

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It's neither.

What shoots out of the holes are solid metal spikes that punch through Plaz's plugs.

They are about thigh high up the wall, designed to herd and discourage, not kill.

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Ben takes a grazing hit to his left leg but even so wounded manages to dodge the rest of the spikes.

All things considered, it could have been much worse. The graze bled profusely but it was a clean strike, just into the meat.

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Ben snorted but did as requested. "Maybe if you'd focus more on the mission and less on a nice pair of tits we'd still be a trio." he suggested, back turned to Plas.

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Plaz would've responded if the spikes hadn't gone off. Damn, these things are tough...

So he creates a better net, above the holes, and lifts Turner off the ground to protect him from any more spikes. Hoping the spikes aren't heat seekers.

"Let's let 'em run their course, and then I'll get that damn panel open..."

Then, the net stretches down the hall, keeping an eye in front for anything else crazy.

"You have super senses or anything that's helpful in the least?"

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"All I have going for me is an innate skill at causing pain." he said. "I'm pureblood, Plastic-Man."

His leg was bleeding fairly harshly but it was only pain. He'd deal with it once they'd rescued Zinda and/or found the source of this inane little dungeon of death.

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The spikes remain thrust out from the wall while similar holes slide open directly opposite, heralding the threat of even more of them.

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"Pureblood? Jawohl, Lord Helmet!"

More spikes, but gladly still at thigh level. Plaz creates more of a floor, which will force Tiger to walk hunched, or maybe crawl, but at least it's above the spikes.

"All right, until we figure out how to put the spikes back, we're gonna have to hope she can take care of herself, because we can't get to that damn panel anymore..."

So he pops up a seat for the injured tiger and rolls him along his own body. A lot of awkward stretching, but at least it's progress.

Down the hall, looking for a way out - or for whoever's responsible for this...

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Ben goes along for the ride and contemplates the effect of a quick boot to the back of Plas's head.

Probably wouldn't even feel it, the genejoke.

"She's a fighter. Don't know you if you happened to notice or not, given your tendency to think with your dick." he said. "I think she can take care of herself."

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Wow this guy sucks.

"What, you don't think being a total badass is a turn-on? Why do you think I keep trying to sneak a peek at Wonder Woman's jubblies? She's a Blackhawk, G-Man, and they never gave those jackets out lightly. If you weren't such an uptight prickolini, you wouldn't think that 'needing some help' automatically means whoever you're helping is incompetent. It's called teamwork, schmendrick."

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"No, being a total badass isn't a turn-on. Competence is a turn-on and I've seen precious little of that out of you since we started this little jaunt. So here's a suggestion - why don't you keep your big yap _shut_ and do your job. How's that one strike you, funnyman?"

"And yeah. She's a Blackhawk. Whoever they are. Can tell by the way she moves that she's a fighter." he said.

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The hallway turns to the right at the end.

As they pass, more holes slide open, spikes thrusting out behind them.

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Another Plaz head pops up right in front of Turner.

The yap drops open and doesn't close again. Just to taunt the prick.

This, of course, does not distract from his eyes at the front of his rapidly shifting form, taking point to look out in front of them while keeping the both of them above the spikes.

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Ben did his best to ignore the infantile Leaguer. Had to give him credit, though. He was doing a good job of keeping him out of harm's way.

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The turn reveals another hallway, much like the one they just left (minus spikes thrusted out from the walls). Doorways line either side, and the hall seems to just end at a blank wall about 20 yards down.

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Ben quickly climbed down off of Plastic Man's back and winced just a bit as his wounded leg supported his weight. It'd hold as long as he didn't get fancy with it. Time to switch to something far more punch-oriented.

"I don't like the look of this one bit." he muttered.

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Plaz gives a last look back down the hall, really not liking the inability to go after Zinda, but that's the Hero Gig.

"Me neither. Bind that leg of yours, gimpy, and I'll make sure the doors aren't set to zap."

Several hands snake out to test the doorknobs for traps and being locked.

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Ben caught the look and Plas's stock rose just a little in his eyes. He didn't like it any more than the plastomorph did, he just had a mask to hide his expressions better. A couple of strips of fabric off his uniform were pressed into service as a pressure bandage.

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Most of the doors are locked, but none of them are electrified. There are two that open easily.

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