JLA Watchtower (Archive)

"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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A stern look back to the Tiger.

"You good enough to kick the living crap out of anything that comes through these two doors if I open 'em?"

One eye snakes out to try and look through a door crack - squeeze through it if need be...

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"Try me." he said with just the right amount of cocky self-assurance.

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They open a crack at first, and then Eel mutters.

"Oh my God..."

Then, he swings them both open. Revealing a bedroom that looks like twelve video gamers live there - clutter, porn and some horrible body odor.

"Look at all the junk food," he adds, taking a Bill Murray shift to his head. Food wrappers are everywhere.

The other room is apparently some kind of study. Cluttered and messy as well, but a different kind of B.O. plus office-supplies stench to it.

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"You take the bedroom, I'll take the study." he said, walking into that room like he owned it. It was quite a sight to see - almost as if Central Casting had been tasked to provide a stereotypical Mad Scientist study.

Fetuses in jars, dribbly candles, all sorts of other mess. It would take hours to rough-sort this room.

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Immediately, Plas is sifting through the porn magazines.

"'Juggs?' Wow, this guy is low-rent."

Several more sets of eyes pop out of his head to search a little faster, while one set is focused firmly on the boobs.

"I figured him for at LEAST a Penthouse guy, with this kind of mountain set-up..."

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Ben just ignored the salacious commentary and searched the room as thoroughly as he could while disturbing as little as possible. However, the small notebook was crying out to be opened and examined.

So he did.

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Eel manages to dig up something a bit sticky and gross... but cracking it open sets off a bulb.

"Huh. Something that could almost be a journal, but it's gibberishy..."

His head tilts.

"Or he's paranoid enough to even keep his private dream diary thoughts in code..."

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"Apparently whoever keeps this place is a real documentation nut. I found one too." he said. "We'll bring them along, have some of the NSA codebreakers see if they can break it." he said authoritatively.

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Ugh. Crusty hand towels...

"Yeah, I'm done in this room. Time to kick down some of these other doors. Your kickin' stick still kickin'?" he asks, reeling himself out of the bedroom.

"And damn, I hope we don't have to try and crack this code ourselves. I suck at the Jumble..."

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"I'll hold up my end." he said casually. His leg hurt like a bitch but it wasn't to the point of inhibiting his ability to fight.

Yet.

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