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You're an idiot and a pin cushion.
Kory / Star
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Post by Mia Dearden on May 8, 2021 5:17:34 GMT -5
Connor led the way forward, moving stealthily toward the tunnel’s end. There, he stopped and crouched, peeking around the wall’s edge, sharp eyes narrowed behind his green mask. In the cavernous space beyond, dim lights flickered and the echoed voices they’d heard previously sounded only louder. While Hawke assessed the situation, Mia waited at his side, keeping her watchful gaze affixed on the path already trodden. If the Arrows knew about the entrance to the abandoned subway platform, it stood to reason the thugs they’d tracked did too. It would be just their luck that another group would appear just as they engaged, and she had no desire to fight on two fronts.
She returned her attention to the Green Arrow only when he made his report, citing the presence of around twenty thugs, and from what he could tell, there no kidnapped children in the immediate vicinity, some having already been shipped to whereabouts unknown. Mia frowned beneath her mask and her teeth gritted little as her jaw clenched. She nodded her approval of Connor’s plan; a quick, unspoken agreement between vigilantes – and followed his lead. As he rounded the corner, loosing an arrow, so too did she.
For a moment, the criminals looked dumbfounded, startled by the sudden shouts of pain from two of their number, before they scrambled for weapons, seeking anything that could help against the sudden arrival of outside interference. Mia had fired off three more arrows before any gunfire was returned, dashing along the subterranean building site’s furthest wall, shooting almost well on the move as she did stood still. A barbed arrow left her weapon first, impaling itself in a large, bald man’s shoulder. The second and third were blunted – best aimed at foreheads and legs for a quick, painful but rather less deadly method of dispatching foes.
When the thugs finally opened fire, Mia dived behind a nearby concrete slab, the side furthest from her exploding under the salvo. Luckily, it held for long enough for Connor to draw their attention from across the station with a few well-placed shots of his own. She used the momentary respite to pick a choicer projectile from her quiver- one that exploded with thick, quick-setting resin upon impact: perfect for locking an individual in place.
Nocking the arrow, she poked her head up from behind the cover she’d hastily adopted, drew a bead on one of the larger men who stood toward the back of the group, and fired. It hit him square in the chest, before, with a ‘ppfffffffffpf’, he was engulfed in rapidly drying gloop.
Connor Hawke
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