Overwatch Down (Booster)

The Police Commissioner was giving some feel-good speech about hope, family, solidarity.  It was pretty generic and succeeded only at demonstrating his complete lack of originality and insight.

Whatever.  He wasn't being paid to critique the old man's speech.  He quickly slipped away from the enraptured crowd.  He had staked out a building some distance away, planting his gear for when he was ready to work.

He found the restroom, ripping the vent from the wall.  He slid a bulky case from the hole.  Within was a jacket of gray urban camouflage, matching his pants.  He threw it on over a black t-shirt.

Returning to the the case, he collecting his pistol, knife, axe.  He assembled his rifle from its many components and finally took up his Vector.  Guerrero abandoned the case.  It was devoid of fingerprints anyway.

Once he reached the roof, he found a SWAT sniper, keeping an eye on the street below.  Good.  The motorcade was passing this way.  Drawing his Bowie knife, Guerrero rushed the sniper.  He tried to scream as he felt the blade drive through his kevlar.  Again and again the knife entered his chest until all that remained of his organs was a crimson paste that oozed through the vest...

Now that he was out of the way, Guerrero unslung his Barrett, resting the bipod on the edge of the building.  Now the Commissioner turned the corner.  He was now headed towards 1PP, in his ceremonial motorcade.

Guerrero sighted through his scope, angling on the engine of the limo.  He steadied his breathing.  Waiting.  Then, with practiced ease, he squeezed the trigger.  Boom.  Recoil drove the barrel of the rifle inside the frame of the weapon.  At the same moment the hood exploded off of the limo as the heavy bullet detonated within the engine.

Vehicle crippled, Guerrero moved on to the other snipers.  One by one, he counted the fountains of gore spouting from helmets as he squeezed the trigger.  There high cal rifles would have been more problematic than the small arms on the ground.

Slinging his rifle, The Warrior retook his SMG, jumping from the roof.  He landed, concrete buckling under him.  Now the fun began...

"...ebuild our shattered community and rise from the ashes like the phoenix of old."  The speech ended to applause, and Derrick smirked softly as it did. Words were just words, without action they didn't amount to much, and especially when they were key words that the most people found a way to work into their speeches when they were trying to be verbose.  Derrick watched the man tromp off of the podium and adjusted the police scanner in his suit.  He had wanted to attend the ceremony, but had chosen to do so in costume and from the confines of an alleyway.

 Speeches, parades and other events with attending dignitaries had an unfortunate tendency to get targeted by criminals for one reason or another, and though he hadn't cared much for the words the commissioner had said, he had to admire the old man's grit to hold something like this in a war torn sector of the city.   Soon after, he made to depart, getting into his car as the procession made to start up again.

Then the hood of the limo containing him flew off with a fiery clang as the engine exploded.

In a matter of moments, Derrick had his staff extended and scanned the rooftops in the area; there should have been snipers covering the motorcade, but he found that he couldn't spot a single one.  Then a man slammed into the concrete, apparently having jumped off a roof and landing with no ill effects. Metahuman. Super Strength at least, if not invulnerability too. And intent on killing the chief of police. What for? Who had hired him? Derrick had questions, but they weren't the kind that he could just up and ask. A few bounds from the alleyway later he closed the distance between himself and the other man.

With a quick twisting motion, Derrick powered up both ends of his staff and swung it menacingly, dropping in to a fighting stance to the killer's side "Not the time or the place for a cop killer. Even a powered one." He didn't bother trying to give the man an out, it was clear that the person in front of him was a professional, and the only way to stop him from killing the commissioner was to, well, stop him. Hard.  Derrick made a beckoning motion with his free hand as if daring the killer to make the first move, and then feinted left and fordward, swinging fast with the intention of breaking the SMG the man was holding or at least knock it out of his hands, thereby putting the fight on more even ground.

Hopefully, the strike would do what he intended it to.

This staff wielding fool's arrogance did him little credit.  Guerrero held the Vector out, tageting the man's face.  However, the staff lashed quickly, connecting with the weapon.  The charge that passed into it ignited some of the bullets in the mag.  The ruined SMG was sent flying.

Okay, maybe he wasn't THAT much a fool.  Guerrero was forced to step away, out of reach of the Blue clad man's weapon.  The bugzapper on a stick had some kick.

Reaching down, the contractor flipped his axe up from his side, gripping it in both hands.  Retaliating for his ruined weapon, Guerraro lashed out, sweeping the axe at the man's neck.  Twirling the axe, he changed direction, driving the axe down, angling for the man's skull.

The staff struck true, turning the gun into scrap metal for all the good it would do, but his opponent was faster than he had anticipated, getting out of the way before he could get tased and drawing something from off of his belt.  The other man had an ax, and the skill to use it, the wide swing would have busted his skull open if he hadn't rolled forward, collapsing the staff as he did so and passing under the weapon. But the roll wasn't fast enough, and the blade left a furrow carved along his back, deep enough to cut through the modifed kevlar, though not to his skin; he couldn't afford to take many hits like that or his outfit, and then himself would be in shreds.  

He felt the torn material with his free hand while keeping an eye on the killer. "I'd ask why you're trying to kill the commissioner, but something tells me you aren't the talkative type." And so, instead of waiting for an answer, Derrick whirled his staff around as he extended it, cranking the voltage up and aiming for the right leg of the other man, if it connected then perhaps he'd get to see  just how durable the other man was; if not, then the staff was just going to create sparks on the ground and he'd have no idea of the killer's power level.

Seeing the staff sweeping in toward his leg, Guerrero lowered his axe, swinging it to stop the incoming weapon.  The strike produced quite a bit of hand-shock as the rebounded.  The Warrior used it, sweeping the head up, leading with the spike on the axe's reverse side.

He followed through, bringing the long hafted weapon to rest on his shoulder.  "Honestly, it's just business.  It's not fiscally responsible to ask too many questions in my line of work."

Guerrero stepped into the next flurry as he levered his arm down.  The axe blade snapped forward, dropping like a guillotine.  He followed up with a jab, thrusting the blunt top of the axe head forward, aiming for the blue-clad man's nose.  He wound up again, bringing his arm across his chest, again attempting to hack at his enemy's neck.

All the while, he had kept his eyes on the electrified heads of the staff, trying to keep out of reach...Still, the man had a longer weapon than Guerrero's axe; the warrior knew he could not be stuck of the defensive if he wanted to collect...

The strike was blocked, though there was some reverberations that jarred Derrick's shoulder,  so he knew that his opponent had felt it too.  Surprisingly, the man chose to switch the weapon around and use the spiked edge, falling into a defensive stance and deigning to speak. While he didn't reveal his name, he did reveal his motive. Money. Which meant that he wasn't just some ax crazy supervillain, but a paid killer. A mercenary. Which begged the question, what organization or individual  benefited from taking the commissioner out of well, commission? This was potentially way more than he had initially bargained for.

Best to wrap it up quickly then, maybe get some answers out of the mercenary. Or failing that, leave him for more equipped hero. There was a fine line between being heroic in the face of potentially terrible odds  and being stupid. Derrick considered himself to be more on the pragmatic side of things.  And so he  twirled the the staff around, blocking the ax strike headed for his neck with one end and then using a flipping motion, attempting to strike the other man in the chest with the opposite end of the staff before he could recover, all without responding to the conversation.

One issue with long hafted weapons people don't always recognise: pressing near the head gives the defender a great deal of leverage. And only the weighty head can generate the force to drive through the defender's...defense.

As Guerrero's axe came in, the staff cought on the blade's ceramic haft. A twist drove the weapon down, away from the blue-clad man. The well executed parry quickly became a counter attack as the reverse end came in.

The warrior instinctively raised his off hand to block, a futile defense. As the charged staff made contact, he felt bolts of pain lance through him. The current passed through each and every one of his muscles, inciting them all to contact at once. Guerrero fell to his knees, stunned for a moment...

He cursed in spanish. Cursed at his opponent for beating him. Cursed himself for being beaten. Cursed his luck and fate. But most of all he cursed the pain.