JLA Watchtower (Archive)

Eel isn't thrilled with the development, either.

"I could probably ooze my way through a crack, but it'd take longer than we'd likely have if we get hurried by another Bumble or something."

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She moves off again, though she doesn't holster her weapon this time. "I don't hear anything, and I don't see any scat."

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Plaz grimaces.

"Please tell me you mean you're looking for Louis Armstrong."

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"If it lives and breathes, it's gotta go," she grins past the fleece of her aviator jacket.

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Icky.

"Surely, Bumbles are potty-trained. I don't want to know what else of theirs might bounce..."

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Ben was liking this run less and less. This place had already carved their team up into penny pickets - the better to pick them off at their leisure, he supposed.

"Let's go, then. Plastic Man, you're on point." he said, sliding too-naturally into the ladership role he'd been playing for years with the Squad.

Absurdly, he almost wished for the explosive collars.

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Eel's hair suddenly shits into a Looney Tunes 'pointer' dog, poinging straight ahead.

But he does take point, because he can stretch quickly enough to stop anything coming at them from hitting the two normals behind him.

"Word up."

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Ben decided to ignore that - either he thought he was being funny or he was trying to be a racist. Either way, it failed miserably.

He fell back to walk drag, keeping their other companion between the two of them. He had full faith and confidence in his own abilities and Plastic-Man, despite having a brain made of Silly Putty, was rather effective at what he did.

So best to keep their unknown protected.

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"Keep your eyes peeled for tripwires, boys," she murmurs, moving cautiously; one of her Colt .45's at the ready, peering down its sights as she looks around. This labyrinth seems too old-school to not have something of the sort around here.

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The eyes of a painting hanging on the wall follow the blonde approach, keyed into that which makes her genderly her. When she's even with the painting, a panel in the floor opens beneath her feet, dropping her into the level below.

The panel closes just as quickly and seals shut with a hiss and a puff of noxious smoke.

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Ben barely had time to even start forward, let alone catch the woman, before she disappeared.

"Great." he said with real disgust. "It's like a bad Scooby-Doo cartoon."

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"Oh HELL no!" Plaz barks as he pretzel twists to catch the panel shutting.

Immediately bringing a dense pair of hammer hands down on the trap door.

"YOU DO NOT STEAL MY HOTTIES!"

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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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She'd just managed to emit a surprised yelp as the floor vanished beneath her, giving her little time to even attempt to find some purchase. The fall isn't too far, but she lands hard, the air forced from her lungs in a sharp and painful grunt. Times like this I wish I had gadgets, she thinks. She managed to keep hold of her weapon, though, which she'll take as a small victory.

Drawing her legs under her slowly in case she's bruised her tailbone in the fall, she reaches for her hat and looks upward, trying to adjust her eyes to the lack of light. Then she reaches for her communicator. "Hey! Can y'all hear me?" It may be futile, but it's worth a try.

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She finds herself in a hallway much like the one above her, only the painting across from her is smirking instead of scowling.

The end of the hallway T's in either direction in front of her, behind her is a blank wall. From around the right corner at the end of the hall, a slovering nose pokes around, sniffing the air. The head of a horribly mutated doberman pinscher follows the nose, its lips curled into a snaggle toothed snarl as it begins to growl.

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"I'll take that as a no," she mutters, stilling as she catches sight of the dog -- or whatever it used to be. Muscles tense, the adrenalin kicking in. Fight or flight? Like hell she'll fly. She lifts her weapon, the safety's click echoing oddly around the stone walls, and matches its snarl with the cold glare of steel. "Come get it, Fido."

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Two more snarling faces join their littermate and all three dogs, the size of baby elephants, block the end of the hall, hackles raised and growling loudly.

It's quiet for a heartbeat, then with echoing barks they attack.

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She only has one chance to make it count. Good thing she's used to it. The second Colt finds its way to her left hand. Shots ring out, each bullet destined for a spot right between the eyes, their casings rattle across the floor.

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The center dog takes the hit as aim letting out a loud yelp before stumbling to the floor.

The dog to the left tries to leap, and it moves like lightning. The bullet takes it in the shoulder, and it's wince makes it pause.

The third dog lept to the right, clawing along the wall for a few feet still barking and growling like mad.

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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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It can bark and growl all it wants. Without pause, she lets loose another barrage of gunfire, muzzle flashes flaring.

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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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It's quick and has learned from what happened to its littermates. It leaps off of the wall, away from the bullets, only taking a couple with loud grunts, but still closing the distance.

The one hit in the head, stumbles to its feet with a shake that sends blood droplets everywhere.

The one of the left has lost the use of the shot leg and is preparing to jump with more growling from all of them.

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