Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25389303-20190702162021

Diaboli skidded to a halt as the roof above the passageway down which he was headed suddenly collapsed, showering him in concrete dust and plastic covering. Shaking his head irritably to get the specks out, he turned to answer Maris' question before quickly ducking back.

A moment later, a barrage of flaming shrapnel rained down as the spiralling aircraft was obliterated by Hazel's attack. Tragoedia stood impassively as the molten shards pinged off his armour, whilst Diaboli weathered the storm from within the safety of the robot's shadow. Once the danger had passed, he glanced around his bodyguard to observe their party's hero - just in time to see her conferring pleasantly with the 'hostage' she had claimed to have taken only moments before. Diaboli saw through the ruse for what it was, and from the wordless look he exchanged with his robotic companion, he knew he wasn't the only one unconvinced by the Stalker's deceptive ploy.

"Not any more," he eventually told Maris, as he tore his gaze away from the siblings and to the wreckage of the Bullhead smoldering nearby. Had the Stalker not outed herself as such a blatant liar, he might have felt the need to thank her for her timely intervention. As it was, however, Diaboli had no tolerance for traitors.

One thing did catch his eye, though. One of the larger remnants of the aircraft had collided with the wall behind them, creating a large web of cracks in the poorly-formed concrete. At the web's centre, a large rend in the wall had been created, causing light to spill out from the room beyond. As a plan formulated in Diaboli's mind, he began prising away sections of rock, until he was satisfied with what he found.

"Trago - give me a hand here," he ordered, stepping to the side and gesturing at the weakened wall. The robot appeared to study the wall for a moment, before moving back, and the then bolting at the wall at full-speed. At the last moment, Trago lowered his head and drove his shoulder into the weak-spot, and with the deafening crack of artificial rock the previously sturdy wall gave way before the titan's charge.

"Oh, look! A room!" Diaboli exclaimed in mock surprise, stepping gingerly over the scattered rubble into the large room beyond. Truthfully, he cared little for whether or not the others lived or died at this point. But if their survival helped ensure his own, then he was willing to tolerate their presence. So rather than ordering his minion to immediately reseal the impromptu doorway, he motioned for the others to follow.

---

The crime lord found himself stepping out onto the metal flooring of a large bay adjacent to the facility's main auction room. On the far side of the bay, the entire two-story wall was opened up, exposing the room to the the elements beyond. Ahead of him, the flooring gave way for two sizeable ramps leading down into the dark waters lapping violently against the sides of the building. Occasionally, a powerful wave would wash up the ramps towards their position, but not a single one managed to crest the incline entirely.

In stark contrast to the other rooms, the bay was lit brightly by powerful yellow lights swinging dangerously above their heads, allowing them to see the hidden chamber's treasure in all its glory. For perched readily above one of the metal channels was the key to their escape.

A boat.

To somebody not fighting for their very survival, it wouldn't have looked like much. Little more than a small yacht, converted for a smuggler's immoral purposes. It appeared to have room for nearly a dozen people to stand or sit in with relative comfort, and the two detachable LMGs on the bow and aft suggested that its previous owner had some knowledge of the threats such a lonely vessel could face out on the cold, dark waters. Unfortunately for said owner, the three bullet wounds decorating the man's slumped corpse indicated such precautions had done little to spare him of a grisly fate.

"I always wanted a boat..." Diaboli murmured, allowing a small smile to flicker across his face as he ran his hand across the ship's dark navy hull, and to the heavy iron chains securing it in position. Then, his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny in a nearby crate - one of several stacked besides the small vessel, presumably having been left abandoned by the crew of the other ship that had been stationed in the bay. Inside, he found a carefully-arranged collection of vicious-looking weaponry: the smuggler's valuable merchandise, no doubt. Realising there could be a fortune's worth of equipment stashed in the crates before him, Diaboli eyed each container hungrily.

"Don't mind if I do," he said to himself, pulling out and inspecting a chrome pistol from the assortment of armaments. Strapping the holstered weapon to his belt, he turned his attention back to the boat, and eventually to an opened panel on the side of the engine.

''Looks like some repairs are needed. Damn.''

Sighing, Diaboli let his whip retract back to his forearm. Gathering up some basic tools from a nearby workbench, he set about diagnosing the vessel's ailments, whilst Trago worked to repair the entranceway with jets of freezing ice, hoping to hold back the vermin-tide scrambling at their backs. Every so often, however, his gaze would momentarily shift to a pair of large doors across the way, from beyond which the most nightmarish of screams radiated. The cries were horrible and inhuman to the man's ears, and he felt his concentration falter with each ear-splitting screech.