Isle of Glass: To the Airport!
Feb. 28th, 2019 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsClint, Ev, and Namor drive to JFK to hopefully intercept a woman on behalf of Interpol... things don't exactly go as planned.
It was a picturesque day — the sky was blue, fluffy white clouds drifting across it, and the temperature perfect for sitting outside on a blanket trying to figure out what those clouds looked most like. Unfortunately, Clint and his friends weren't sitting outside enjoying the weather. Hitting his turn signal for the exit that'd take them to JFK International, Clint glanced toward Ev and Namor as he took the turn, saying, "If we get there and subdue this Lyton woman quietly, we can nab the artifact and shuffle it off into safe storage easy. Any questions?"
"Did your Interpol buddy say anything about what this artifact might be?" Ev asked from the back seat, relegated there so the king of the oceans could ride shotgun, as was his royal privilege. "What kind of magic we might have to concern ourselves with?"
"He just said 'item of power' and that it had something to do with ridiculously old English stuff being found in bogs. So I'm not even sure it's magic or if it's a relic or..." Shrugging, Clint finished, "No idea what the thing looks like. My guy gave me the pic so we know what Lyton looks like and said she's been involved in the other thefts by proxy, mostly stuff from the same time period. Doesn't care about whether it's in a public or private collection."
"Do not be ridiculous," the king of the oceans added, "Your England is not even that old. As I hear, most of it is a bog as well. We apparently suffer from a lack of intelligence." Namor squinted at the phone he held, and then glanced out the window at the airport. What had been endless exits and signs had matured into endless cars as they passed Howard Station. "Lyton will either be in stealth or heavily guarded. You may place your bets."
"Most likely both," Ev agreed. "Someone traveling alongside her and someone or someones else posing as a separate traveler right behind her. She's not going to take chances. We'll have a limited time to intercept her before she gets away or crowds come in."
"It's the crowds that worry me," Clint said, nodding slowly. "There're blind spots in some places near international arrivals, but mostly not — it's bunches and bunches of cameras. So let's maybe try to not use our powers too much. God only knows what the TSA and the airport cops would do to us."
"My power cannot be suppressed, as it is core to my charismatic royal nature. Like so many things in your life, Archer, you will once again be disappointed."
Casting a glance toward Ev in the rearview mirror, Clint widened his eyes a bit before he shook his head. "Namor, you're hilarious. And I'm really not disappointed with many things in my life. It's pretty awesome. Let's keep on track and see what we can do about Lyton. Just… try not to fly off and cause a scene or anything, we should be good. You can be all charismatic on the ground."
"Your advice is noted. It is not above my station to attempt to blend with the common people from time to time." Namor shifted, glancing at the turn they had just made into a sprawling lot ominously labelled 'parking.'
"Remember, we parked in the Itchy Lot," Ev helpfully reminded Clint after he pulled into a space, before they stepped out of the car and he shifted back to serious mode. "Lyton's probably heading straight for the AirTrain to get out of this terminal. We can head her off before she gets there."
"Then We decree the group should make a left," Namor intoned seriously as they headed toward an airport map, "Toward the AirTrain to subdue this Lyton creature." He paused at that, like it was a puzzle, before adding, "In my tenure at the Xavier military enclave, I have been tasked with defeating an android and specifically not decimating what you consider to be a hammer god. What level of martial violence is needed to against a Lyton?"
"As far as we know, she's a baseline human with no training in self defense. So probably not much," Clint answered, checking the map they'd come up against at Namor's direction. "Looks like the AirTrain's not too far away. To Terminal 4 and international arrivals we go!"
It took them no time to reach the monorail that circled the airport, and as they headed up the stairs to the terminal, Ev called for the other two men to stop. "Four mutants approaching," he said softly as he extended his aura to get a better "glimpse" at them. "Traveling together. Could be nothing. Could be trouble."
Glancing down at his phone, Clint rechecked the picture of Lyton, then scanned the area around them. A good ways farther down the terminal, he caught sight of her. "Yeah," he murmured, sliding he phone into one of the pockets on his cargo shorts that had a zipper. "Yeah, if it's those people walking with that woman over there… we've got trouble. Probably. With our luck. Or mine. Definitely mine. So it looks like we might have to deal with… some level of martial violence, Namor."
"Done."
With just that, Namor was off — gaze set forward, shoulders set back, eyes set to murder. There was no hesitation in his gait, or any second guessing about an opponent that might be too hot to handle. Oddly enough, though, it wasn't a look too far off from other busy airport people. Yet possibly enough for a hyper-aware bodyguards to notice.
"Shit," Clint muttered. "He's got the murderwalk down." As he followed Namor, he glanced toward Ev and raised his eyebrows. "Kinda wish I could see it from the front, but I don't actually wanna fight him again."
"Let's just do this quickly and quietly," Ev advised, only half a step behind Clint. "I do not want to deal with the TSA."
Janet also wanted to avoid the TSA. She'd thought by hiring a private security company, she would be exempt to certain things but nope, everyone had to go through security. It was all she could do to keep awake, having been unable to sleep on the plane, and now with jet lag, the general fatigue of flying, the stress of the last few days… if Joel, her main bodyguard wasn't holding onto her elbow, she would have probably fallen asleep.
That's why it took her a few minutes to realize her bodyguards had all stopped. Looking at them, she saw they were exchanging glances, and then one stepped away from the group, leaving her with three. "What's happening?" she asked, eyes wide, a wave of alertness washing over her. Joel simply shook his head, and held her arm harder as they picked up their pace. Janet twisted around but she couldn't see anything… although, to be honest, she had no idea what to look for. Bad guys always looked terrifying on the telly, but everyone here looked normal.
"Aaaaaand we've been made. Somehow, I'm totally not surprised," Clint muttered, moving to flank Namor's left. "Ev, you got any deets on what these guys can do?"
"Gravity, some EM wonk, light bending, and meat shield," Ev answered, eyeing each one in turn. He spoke loudly enough that they could hear him identify their powers. He found that often threw other mutants off balance, trained professional or not. He was already reaching out towards the gravity manipulator, ready to synch when the combat inevitably started. "Nothing particularly sexy. Doctor Janet Lyton," he called, producing his SHIELD badge (expired, though she could not know) from his coat pocket. "Illegally bringing stolen goods from one country to another is a felony."
To their credit, none of bodyguards flinched. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they signed up for the job. With a swift nod, Joel said, "Steven, frontline," he said. With Steve's gravity manipulation, he was always their best defense. "Terrance dazzle 'em. I'll throw my weight around." Terry's light manipulation always threw people off, which meant they worked remarkably well together, since he could could take all the damage meant for both of them and leave Terry free to do whatever he wanted. As they got into position, Joel finished, "Philip, short the cameras, then get the client to the train."
Janet hadn't actually expected any of this to be necessary and her anxiety shot through the roof. Yes, she'd thought that having a bodyguard (or two or three or four) would be beneficial, but she really hadn't thought she'd need them.
"What's happening?" she cried out to Joel who had already dismissed her for the task at hand.
Philip took her elbow from Joel, the exchange seamless, and shook his head. "We need to go. We discussed this. You listen, do as you're told. Everything'll be fine." There was no more time for conversation as Janet was whisked away, her heels clicking quickly on the floor as the lights above them flickered briefly before all the cameras fizzle-sparked at once and began to smoke. She couldn't help it — she turned back and looked, hoping that the worst wouldn't happen.
Cursing the situation in his head, Ev let his aura flare as he fully synchronized with Steven. He could not hold back the shiver that ran down his spine or the bile rising in his throat when he took on these powers. Last time he mimicked a gravity manipulator had ended. . . "poorly" was a vast understatement. It was enough to say it had ended, period. "Get her, Namor," he ordered between gritted teeth, focusing his borrowed powers on their source to get him out of the fight quickly.
"We," Namor casually intoned as he sped up to move toward the fleeing duo, "Suggest you work on your groveling, Mister Thomas. Royalty," and there was a pause as Joel valiantly lunged as Namor. It was a very brave lunge, and there might have been a gun drawn, but soon the two were locked in fisticuffs. Where the mercenary's plan may have involved brute force, it was merely one brick wall against another. After a series of quick exchanges, a thrown garbage can, and one clothesline, Joel was on the floor holding onto one of Namor's legs as the man took flight. "Does not take orders."
Clint, meanwhile, went after Terrance when he tried to start up the light-show. "Let's not," he said, almost conversationally as he engaged the other man. He got a faceful of bright, fast-flickering light for his trouble, which didn't actually do much of anything to him. "See, man. I said 'let's not,' but you had to go and do that anyway." Which meant Terrance got a faceful of fist a moment later. Too bad it wasn't a KO — it did give Clint a chance to glance back and check on Ev, though.
Ev was Atlas, struggling to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders as Steven increased his gravitational pull. At first, Ev tried to counter that, pascal for pascal. It was the only thing keeping his bones from being crushed under the tremendous pressure. As it was, he was down on his hands and knees, and — was the tiled floor starting to crack? He needed a rapid change of tactics before he found himself embedded in the building's foundation.
He took a breath, braced himself, and redirected his attention at his target. Instead of pressing down, Ev flattened spacetime, and Steven lifted up off the ground like a rocket, his connection to the earth severed. Were it not for the ceiling, he might have become a man-shaped satellite. So the collision that halted his ascent was lucky.
Tuning back into his own fight after making sure Ev had his handled, Clint decided he sincerely appreciated this part of his mutation — day to day, he almost never used it. Today, though, in this fight with this light-burst guy, it was really, really coming in handy. Terrance went for a combo of dazzle and hand-to-hand, which Clint managed to keep up with. To his credit, the mercenary didn't seem terribly thrown by Clint's apparent immunity to his power. He just started hitting harder, using his ability less, and focusing purely on the physical side of the fight.
Luckily, Clint was definitely prepared for that, too. SHIELD training, for the win. Sixty seconds later, Clint had taken a knife off Terrance, broken the man's nose, and had him pinned to the ground. He looked over toward Namor, checking on the Atlantean's fight.
Everything was a blur. Her arm hurt where Philip gripped her, but Janet didn't resist. Allowing herself to be pulled through the airport in one direction, she barely managed to hold onto her purse and keep her shoes on her feet when they'd changed direction and now she was being shoved into the front seat of a waiting vehicle. "I'm not supposed to drive!" she protested, eyes wide.
Philip gave his head a shake. "I need to stay behind and help Joel. You can handle this." There was no warmth behind the reassurance, simply an order that Janet knew she had to follow. Nodding her head, she turned the car on and nervously looked behind her. She could do this. She'd come this far.
Then the front end of the car rose from the ground.
Clint's gaze was treated to the sight of Joel trying to pry Namor, who looked possibly bored, from the group's waiting vehicle.
Joel was frustrated. This was supposed to've been an easy in, easy out sorta deal. Yeah, they'd know the lady'd been up to no good — you didn't come by the kind of money it took to hire them for a simple escort mission without having some shady connections — but they hadn't been informed of this kind of pursuit. Rather, to this kind of roadblock. Who even was this guy? He'd so thoroughly impeded their ability to get to the train that he'd signaled for Philip to head for the backup car — which was really not ideal at JFK, for crying out loud.
While Janet and Philip had successfully gotten to a car, they possibly had not gauged what a super strong Atlantean might do when attached to their front bumper. Namor narrowed his gaze at Clint, mouthing, "Come on," as he kept one hand on the vehicle and used his other to fight back Joel.
Clint frowned down at Terry, then inwardly apologized and knocked him hard in the back of his skull with his elbow. Once assured the man was unconscious, he hopped up and headed toward Namor — only to have the taillights flare as he approached.
Lyton, in the driver's seat, had apparently thrown it in reverse and put the pedal to the metal, as it were. It was, therefore, less surprising than it could've been when the front bumper of the car straight up detached, abruptly allowing the car to back up at speed.
Namor still held his ground, bumper in one hand and a fussy meatshield gripped by the throat in the other, as he stared crossly at the now disabled vehicle. This hyper-focus was some accomplishment too, as the scene was soon a cacophony — a resonating THUWNK accompanied metal ripped from metal as the car hit pavement, wheels screeching, matched with distant, but nearing, sirens.
"Jesus Christ," Clint cursed, jumping out of the way and clearing a path for Lyton to hit a lamp-post. And there was number four, Philip who could mess with electromagnetic things.
All Namor did was stare after the car, however, as Joel writhed in one hand. It took a few seconds for him to process what had happened.
Taking the opportunity when it presented itself — despite the jarring experience of having just hit a pole of some sort, Janet gathered her wits and darted out of the car while the well-muscled man wrestled with Joel and Philip briefly blocked her from view. She rushed toward the only waiting train in the area, remembering that had been the original plan, and slipping in right before the doors closed.
Ev ran after the retreating woman, still holding onto his synch with the unconscious gravity manipulator in the hopes he could stop Lyton. But he felt his synch slipping as he pulled out of range, and stopped, swearing at himself as the last bit of power slipped away and his aura dimmed. "Those are some real dedicated bodyguards," he said.
Having tackled Philip to the ground before he could help Joel escape Namor, Clint found himself sitting on a second man's back that afternoon, the mercenary's arms held securely in place despite the fact that the man had ultimately stopped struggling.
"Sure, we're dedicated," Philip said, voice muffled and a bit strained as his lungs protested having the full weight of another body pressing into his back. "Dedicated to getting paid. We already have the money in our accounts. Client's off. We did our part. Won't give you any more trouble."
Clint's jaw dropped just a little and he cast his eyes back toward Ev, the question of 'what the hell do we do with them now' obvious.
"We need to know where she's going, but we've broken enough laws, and I'm not interested in adding abduction of these guys to the list of charges when security comes and calls the actual police." Ev sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily before turning to Clint's human chair. "Where's she heading? You don't have anything to lose by telling us. Just tell us and then you're free to bring your buddy to see a doctor. He needs it."
"Don't know," Philip answered, shifting beneath the archer as he tried to get a full breath into his lungs. "Job was to get her from England to JFK and make sure she got away from the airport safely. No details on where she'd be going or what she'd be doing after."
"He's telling the truth," someone piped up from behind them. "Need to know basis only. Clients prefer it that way, can't imagine why."
Seated inconspicuously on the uncomfortable plastic seats set up against a nearby wall was a familiar face to some. "Sorry I didn't help," Rachel made a face as she waggled her fingers at both Clint and Philip. "Seemed like it would've been a conflict of interest."
"Rachel?" Clint asked, just as Philip said, "You're late, Kinross."
"I got here in time to see your butt get whupped," Rachel replied cheerfully as she approached with a small carry-on suitcase in hand, stopping about three feet away from Clint. "Could you let them up please? I promise they'll be good. Airport security may or may not be on its way too."
"What're you doing here?" Clint frowned down at the man beneath him for a moment, then released him and pushed himself to his feet.
"We can do storytime later," the redhead assured him. She handed Philip an envelope containing their departure documents, glanced around and arched her brow at the sight of Namor dwarfing Joel on the ground. "Is he still breathing?"
There was a beat where Namor, his face a cross between annoyance at the stalemate and encroaching boredom at the unfolding exposition, looked slowly between Rachel's eyes and the man dangling from his grasp. Joel had stopped squirming sometime in the interim. To this, the King narrowed his gaze and shook the mercenary gently, like one might jostle a misbehaving electronic. Joel helpfully gasped a little.
Namor's attention shifted back to Rachel and he shrugged.
Ev kept his expression neutral as he surveyed the scene. The telekinetic newcomer was right, they could talk later, once they were safely away. He nodded to Clint. "Come on, let's get out of here."
It was a picturesque day — the sky was blue, fluffy white clouds drifting across it, and the temperature perfect for sitting outside on a blanket trying to figure out what those clouds looked most like. Unfortunately, Clint and his friends weren't sitting outside enjoying the weather. Hitting his turn signal for the exit that'd take them to JFK International, Clint glanced toward Ev and Namor as he took the turn, saying, "If we get there and subdue this Lyton woman quietly, we can nab the artifact and shuffle it off into safe storage easy. Any questions?"
"Did your Interpol buddy say anything about what this artifact might be?" Ev asked from the back seat, relegated there so the king of the oceans could ride shotgun, as was his royal privilege. "What kind of magic we might have to concern ourselves with?"
"He just said 'item of power' and that it had something to do with ridiculously old English stuff being found in bogs. So I'm not even sure it's magic or if it's a relic or..." Shrugging, Clint finished, "No idea what the thing looks like. My guy gave me the pic so we know what Lyton looks like and said she's been involved in the other thefts by proxy, mostly stuff from the same time period. Doesn't care about whether it's in a public or private collection."
"Do not be ridiculous," the king of the oceans added, "Your England is not even that old. As I hear, most of it is a bog as well. We apparently suffer from a lack of intelligence." Namor squinted at the phone he held, and then glanced out the window at the airport. What had been endless exits and signs had matured into endless cars as they passed Howard Station. "Lyton will either be in stealth or heavily guarded. You may place your bets."
"Most likely both," Ev agreed. "Someone traveling alongside her and someone or someones else posing as a separate traveler right behind her. She's not going to take chances. We'll have a limited time to intercept her before she gets away or crowds come in."
"It's the crowds that worry me," Clint said, nodding slowly. "There're blind spots in some places near international arrivals, but mostly not — it's bunches and bunches of cameras. So let's maybe try to not use our powers too much. God only knows what the TSA and the airport cops would do to us."
"My power cannot be suppressed, as it is core to my charismatic royal nature. Like so many things in your life, Archer, you will once again be disappointed."
Casting a glance toward Ev in the rearview mirror, Clint widened his eyes a bit before he shook his head. "Namor, you're hilarious. And I'm really not disappointed with many things in my life. It's pretty awesome. Let's keep on track and see what we can do about Lyton. Just… try not to fly off and cause a scene or anything, we should be good. You can be all charismatic on the ground."
"Your advice is noted. It is not above my station to attempt to blend with the common people from time to time." Namor shifted, glancing at the turn they had just made into a sprawling lot ominously labelled 'parking.'
"Remember, we parked in the Itchy Lot," Ev helpfully reminded Clint after he pulled into a space, before they stepped out of the car and he shifted back to serious mode. "Lyton's probably heading straight for the AirTrain to get out of this terminal. We can head her off before she gets there."
"Then We decree the group should make a left," Namor intoned seriously as they headed toward an airport map, "Toward the AirTrain to subdue this Lyton creature." He paused at that, like it was a puzzle, before adding, "In my tenure at the Xavier military enclave, I have been tasked with defeating an android and specifically not decimating what you consider to be a hammer god. What level of martial violence is needed to against a Lyton?"
"As far as we know, she's a baseline human with no training in self defense. So probably not much," Clint answered, checking the map they'd come up against at Namor's direction. "Looks like the AirTrain's not too far away. To Terminal 4 and international arrivals we go!"
It took them no time to reach the monorail that circled the airport, and as they headed up the stairs to the terminal, Ev called for the other two men to stop. "Four mutants approaching," he said softly as he extended his aura to get a better "glimpse" at them. "Traveling together. Could be nothing. Could be trouble."
Glancing down at his phone, Clint rechecked the picture of Lyton, then scanned the area around them. A good ways farther down the terminal, he caught sight of her. "Yeah," he murmured, sliding he phone into one of the pockets on his cargo shorts that had a zipper. "Yeah, if it's those people walking with that woman over there… we've got trouble. Probably. With our luck. Or mine. Definitely mine. So it looks like we might have to deal with… some level of martial violence, Namor."
"Done."
With just that, Namor was off — gaze set forward, shoulders set back, eyes set to murder. There was no hesitation in his gait, or any second guessing about an opponent that might be too hot to handle. Oddly enough, though, it wasn't a look too far off from other busy airport people. Yet possibly enough for a hyper-aware bodyguards to notice.
"Shit," Clint muttered. "He's got the murderwalk down." As he followed Namor, he glanced toward Ev and raised his eyebrows. "Kinda wish I could see it from the front, but I don't actually wanna fight him again."
"Let's just do this quickly and quietly," Ev advised, only half a step behind Clint. "I do not want to deal with the TSA."
Janet also wanted to avoid the TSA. She'd thought by hiring a private security company, she would be exempt to certain things but nope, everyone had to go through security. It was all she could do to keep awake, having been unable to sleep on the plane, and now with jet lag, the general fatigue of flying, the stress of the last few days… if Joel, her main bodyguard wasn't holding onto her elbow, she would have probably fallen asleep.
That's why it took her a few minutes to realize her bodyguards had all stopped. Looking at them, she saw they were exchanging glances, and then one stepped away from the group, leaving her with three. "What's happening?" she asked, eyes wide, a wave of alertness washing over her. Joel simply shook his head, and held her arm harder as they picked up their pace. Janet twisted around but she couldn't see anything… although, to be honest, she had no idea what to look for. Bad guys always looked terrifying on the telly, but everyone here looked normal.
"Aaaaaand we've been made. Somehow, I'm totally not surprised," Clint muttered, moving to flank Namor's left. "Ev, you got any deets on what these guys can do?"
"Gravity, some EM wonk, light bending, and meat shield," Ev answered, eyeing each one in turn. He spoke loudly enough that they could hear him identify their powers. He found that often threw other mutants off balance, trained professional or not. He was already reaching out towards the gravity manipulator, ready to synch when the combat inevitably started. "Nothing particularly sexy. Doctor Janet Lyton," he called, producing his SHIELD badge (expired, though she could not know) from his coat pocket. "Illegally bringing stolen goods from one country to another is a felony."
To their credit, none of bodyguards flinched. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they signed up for the job. With a swift nod, Joel said, "Steven, frontline," he said. With Steve's gravity manipulation, he was always their best defense. "Terrance dazzle 'em. I'll throw my weight around." Terry's light manipulation always threw people off, which meant they worked remarkably well together, since he could could take all the damage meant for both of them and leave Terry free to do whatever he wanted. As they got into position, Joel finished, "Philip, short the cameras, then get the client to the train."
Janet hadn't actually expected any of this to be necessary and her anxiety shot through the roof. Yes, she'd thought that having a bodyguard (or two or three or four) would be beneficial, but she really hadn't thought she'd need them.
"What's happening?" she cried out to Joel who had already dismissed her for the task at hand.
Philip took her elbow from Joel, the exchange seamless, and shook his head. "We need to go. We discussed this. You listen, do as you're told. Everything'll be fine." There was no more time for conversation as Janet was whisked away, her heels clicking quickly on the floor as the lights above them flickered briefly before all the cameras fizzle-sparked at once and began to smoke. She couldn't help it — she turned back and looked, hoping that the worst wouldn't happen.
Cursing the situation in his head, Ev let his aura flare as he fully synchronized with Steven. He could not hold back the shiver that ran down his spine or the bile rising in his throat when he took on these powers. Last time he mimicked a gravity manipulator had ended. . . "poorly" was a vast understatement. It was enough to say it had ended, period. "Get her, Namor," he ordered between gritted teeth, focusing his borrowed powers on their source to get him out of the fight quickly.
"We," Namor casually intoned as he sped up to move toward the fleeing duo, "Suggest you work on your groveling, Mister Thomas. Royalty," and there was a pause as Joel valiantly lunged as Namor. It was a very brave lunge, and there might have been a gun drawn, but soon the two were locked in fisticuffs. Where the mercenary's plan may have involved brute force, it was merely one brick wall against another. After a series of quick exchanges, a thrown garbage can, and one clothesline, Joel was on the floor holding onto one of Namor's legs as the man took flight. "Does not take orders."
Clint, meanwhile, went after Terrance when he tried to start up the light-show. "Let's not," he said, almost conversationally as he engaged the other man. He got a faceful of bright, fast-flickering light for his trouble, which didn't actually do much of anything to him. "See, man. I said 'let's not,' but you had to go and do that anyway." Which meant Terrance got a faceful of fist a moment later. Too bad it wasn't a KO — it did give Clint a chance to glance back and check on Ev, though.
Ev was Atlas, struggling to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders as Steven increased his gravitational pull. At first, Ev tried to counter that, pascal for pascal. It was the only thing keeping his bones from being crushed under the tremendous pressure. As it was, he was down on his hands and knees, and — was the tiled floor starting to crack? He needed a rapid change of tactics before he found himself embedded in the building's foundation.
He took a breath, braced himself, and redirected his attention at his target. Instead of pressing down, Ev flattened spacetime, and Steven lifted up off the ground like a rocket, his connection to the earth severed. Were it not for the ceiling, he might have become a man-shaped satellite. So the collision that halted his ascent was lucky.
Tuning back into his own fight after making sure Ev had his handled, Clint decided he sincerely appreciated this part of his mutation — day to day, he almost never used it. Today, though, in this fight with this light-burst guy, it was really, really coming in handy. Terrance went for a combo of dazzle and hand-to-hand, which Clint managed to keep up with. To his credit, the mercenary didn't seem terribly thrown by Clint's apparent immunity to his power. He just started hitting harder, using his ability less, and focusing purely on the physical side of the fight.
Luckily, Clint was definitely prepared for that, too. SHIELD training, for the win. Sixty seconds later, Clint had taken a knife off Terrance, broken the man's nose, and had him pinned to the ground. He looked over toward Namor, checking on the Atlantean's fight.
Everything was a blur. Her arm hurt where Philip gripped her, but Janet didn't resist. Allowing herself to be pulled through the airport in one direction, she barely managed to hold onto her purse and keep her shoes on her feet when they'd changed direction and now she was being shoved into the front seat of a waiting vehicle. "I'm not supposed to drive!" she protested, eyes wide.
Philip gave his head a shake. "I need to stay behind and help Joel. You can handle this." There was no warmth behind the reassurance, simply an order that Janet knew she had to follow. Nodding her head, she turned the car on and nervously looked behind her. She could do this. She'd come this far.
Then the front end of the car rose from the ground.
Clint's gaze was treated to the sight of Joel trying to pry Namor, who looked possibly bored, from the group's waiting vehicle.
Joel was frustrated. This was supposed to've been an easy in, easy out sorta deal. Yeah, they'd know the lady'd been up to no good — you didn't come by the kind of money it took to hire them for a simple escort mission without having some shady connections — but they hadn't been informed of this kind of pursuit. Rather, to this kind of roadblock. Who even was this guy? He'd so thoroughly impeded their ability to get to the train that he'd signaled for Philip to head for the backup car — which was really not ideal at JFK, for crying out loud.
While Janet and Philip had successfully gotten to a car, they possibly had not gauged what a super strong Atlantean might do when attached to their front bumper. Namor narrowed his gaze at Clint, mouthing, "Come on," as he kept one hand on the vehicle and used his other to fight back Joel.
Clint frowned down at Terry, then inwardly apologized and knocked him hard in the back of his skull with his elbow. Once assured the man was unconscious, he hopped up and headed toward Namor — only to have the taillights flare as he approached.
Lyton, in the driver's seat, had apparently thrown it in reverse and put the pedal to the metal, as it were. It was, therefore, less surprising than it could've been when the front bumper of the car straight up detached, abruptly allowing the car to back up at speed.
Namor still held his ground, bumper in one hand and a fussy meatshield gripped by the throat in the other, as he stared crossly at the now disabled vehicle. This hyper-focus was some accomplishment too, as the scene was soon a cacophony — a resonating THUWNK accompanied metal ripped from metal as the car hit pavement, wheels screeching, matched with distant, but nearing, sirens.
"Jesus Christ," Clint cursed, jumping out of the way and clearing a path for Lyton to hit a lamp-post. And there was number four, Philip who could mess with electromagnetic things.
All Namor did was stare after the car, however, as Joel writhed in one hand. It took a few seconds for him to process what had happened.
Taking the opportunity when it presented itself — despite the jarring experience of having just hit a pole of some sort, Janet gathered her wits and darted out of the car while the well-muscled man wrestled with Joel and Philip briefly blocked her from view. She rushed toward the only waiting train in the area, remembering that had been the original plan, and slipping in right before the doors closed.
Ev ran after the retreating woman, still holding onto his synch with the unconscious gravity manipulator in the hopes he could stop Lyton. But he felt his synch slipping as he pulled out of range, and stopped, swearing at himself as the last bit of power slipped away and his aura dimmed. "Those are some real dedicated bodyguards," he said.
Having tackled Philip to the ground before he could help Joel escape Namor, Clint found himself sitting on a second man's back that afternoon, the mercenary's arms held securely in place despite the fact that the man had ultimately stopped struggling.
"Sure, we're dedicated," Philip said, voice muffled and a bit strained as his lungs protested having the full weight of another body pressing into his back. "Dedicated to getting paid. We already have the money in our accounts. Client's off. We did our part. Won't give you any more trouble."
Clint's jaw dropped just a little and he cast his eyes back toward Ev, the question of 'what the hell do we do with them now' obvious.
"We need to know where she's going, but we've broken enough laws, and I'm not interested in adding abduction of these guys to the list of charges when security comes and calls the actual police." Ev sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily before turning to Clint's human chair. "Where's she heading? You don't have anything to lose by telling us. Just tell us and then you're free to bring your buddy to see a doctor. He needs it."
"Don't know," Philip answered, shifting beneath the archer as he tried to get a full breath into his lungs. "Job was to get her from England to JFK and make sure she got away from the airport safely. No details on where she'd be going or what she'd be doing after."
"He's telling the truth," someone piped up from behind them. "Need to know basis only. Clients prefer it that way, can't imagine why."
Seated inconspicuously on the uncomfortable plastic seats set up against a nearby wall was a familiar face to some. "Sorry I didn't help," Rachel made a face as she waggled her fingers at both Clint and Philip. "Seemed like it would've been a conflict of interest."
"Rachel?" Clint asked, just as Philip said, "You're late, Kinross."
"I got here in time to see your butt get whupped," Rachel replied cheerfully as she approached with a small carry-on suitcase in hand, stopping about three feet away from Clint. "Could you let them up please? I promise they'll be good. Airport security may or may not be on its way too."
"What're you doing here?" Clint frowned down at the man beneath him for a moment, then released him and pushed himself to his feet.
"We can do storytime later," the redhead assured him. She handed Philip an envelope containing their departure documents, glanced around and arched her brow at the sight of Namor dwarfing Joel on the ground. "Is he still breathing?"
There was a beat where Namor, his face a cross between annoyance at the stalemate and encroaching boredom at the unfolding exposition, looked slowly between Rachel's eyes and the man dangling from his grasp. Joel had stopped squirming sometime in the interim. To this, the King narrowed his gaze and shook the mercenary gently, like one might jostle a misbehaving electronic. Joel helpfully gasped a little.
Namor's attention shifted back to Rachel and he shrugged.
Ev kept his expression neutral as he surveyed the scene. The telekinetic newcomer was right, they could talk later, once they were safely away. He nodded to Clint. "Come on, let's get out of here."
