It was with a gratifying, fleshy thump that Coop's targeted foe's momentum broke all at once with a great flailing of limbs, and he (or it?) fell dazed. He could have bowled the other two over in the process had they not split in opposite directions and made a high-speed attempt to flank the big bird.

They were blurry-fast, and if either actually landed a hit with their wild, erratic motions, it wasn't going to be a soft one. Though they had absolutely no apparent technique other than "hurl self at target from varying and unpredictable angles" and their movements were peculiar-looking at best, but they were coordinated, and there was an immense amount of CE flowing through and out of them.



Back on the platform some twenty stories above, Seven was faced wish a dilemma. Rock and Jam were scaling the tower, and fast; he was prepared for Archer and Tracer, but didn't have a contingency plan for outside interference.

"Move out," he said after some deliberation, and leapt off the platform in the opposite direction the second the two primates cleared the top.

"Damnit," cursed Rock as he sprinted toward the edge of the platform after them, producing the emerald sensor along the way. Something else caught his eye: not only was there one party running, but one party fighting. He skidded to a halt when he realized exactly who.

The simian evaluated the situation quickly, but found himself no less confused. The eagle was fighting the others, who were in uniform, but didn't look like soldiers. The rest of the group was making a break for it. Were they friendly?

Jam was the faster between them (as Rock had just learned the hard way, like it or not). Despite the possible need for diplomatics, he decided she was the one for the chase.

"Jam, emerald's running," he said hurriedly, pointing at the kid's fleeing back below. "I'm gonna take the big guy down."

Coop turned, but not fast enough, and one of the blows punched into his back, making his chest cavity reverberate like a bass drum. He grunted and stumbled away.

"HnggAAAhhh," he groaned, and twisted around to swat at the two of them. The butt of the gun whipped out in a wild erratic swing that—with any luck, would cause the things to back away for a moment as he regained his equilibrium.

Equilibrium hopefully regained, (such as it was), he took another swing out at one of them, coming in at stomach-level, where it seemed the things were least armoured.

While Coop's swipe may have been more of a warning, warding blow, like a tamer backing a lion off with a chair, the troops' apparent lack of self preservation instinct led them to run directly into it and flop violently all over the place. They didn't stay down for even a second, though; they just kept getting up and coming at him from different angles. Their technique lacked, but their speed, tenacity, and utter lack of concern for getting beaten senseless made them formidable.

More outright dangerous was the white figure that landed heavily some distance in front of Coop, though. He approached with slow strides, not for effect, but because he couldn't find it in himself to interrupt good work being done.

Jam meanwhile had a lively pursuit on her hands. Either unable to hear her over the rush of the wind, or just plain not wanting to listen, Seven darted speedily across the uneven terrain of metal catwalks, pipes, tanks, and bulks of machinery, swerving along the paths of least resistance—which still involved great leaps across pink-chemical-filled gaps, sprints straight up high walls, and the occasional wall-to-wall leaping and climbing. He was hard to keep up with, but unable to make use of his full, speedy potential just because of all the obstacles he had to navigate.

His three partners had no trouble keeping up with him, either. Gangly and flexible, they hurled themselves in strange and unconventional ways, and romped loosely around the environment like they were either wild animals dressed up like people, or little men made of rubber. None were yet hostile toward Jam, whatever the case, instead focused entirely on getting away.

Coop stopped for a second, furious incredulity rising behind his eyes as he recognized the approaching monkey.

"Wh—y—" he managed, before having to hop away from the rapidly re-energizing soldier things as they leapt at him again.

After a few flails with the butt of his grenade launcher, he made a snatch at one of the soldiers, pulling one in by the arm like a rag-doll. He switched his grip, palming the face of the helmet with his hand, and obscuring the lenses on the front of the metal sphere.

He slammed the thing down to the ground, head-first.

The boy stopped, looking uncharacteristically wary and psyched out by the sparking, electrified monkey. Of course, "uncharacteristic" was a judgment that relied on one knowing him, which he knew well that she didn't. He played it up.

"It doesn't matter how many of you guys that fat eagle sends—I'm not letting these emeralds get used to blow anybody or anything else up!" Seven declared passionately and heroically, with a twinge of fearful uncertainty befitting his apparent age and appearance.


***

*Crunch*

... was the sound the catwalk under Coop's victim made. The helmet was incredibly durable, but it did look... lumpier, and more horizontally oblong than it had before. The soldier wearing it was also also sufficiently stunned to not retaliate for the moment, writhing about weakly and ineffectually.

All was going well and good for Rock as he watched Coop get beat on (and return some beating, too) until one of the foes spontaneously flew from the fray at him too, using the same head-on tactic as had been applied to the eagle.

This was improvident as a solo maneuver. Though not expecting it, Rock nonetheless reacted with speed enough to stop the incoming headbutt and wild, flailing assault with a strong forward step and thrust of his palm, which utterly broke the troop's momentum in mid-leap. By the time it could get its bearings, Rock slapped both sides of its helmet in a mighty, thunderous sounding clap that reverberated through the headgear, staggering the soldier, then promptly crotched it with his boot's metal-bound shinguard hard enough to pop it several inches off its feet. When it buckled forward in response to the blow, Rock grabbed it around the rim of its helmet and unceremoniously discarded the individual into the chemicals beyond the edge of the catwalk.

Splash.

Elapsed time: Three seconds.

Rock continued forward.

"Don't lie to me," Seven quickly blurted, apparently set on edge. "These were stolen from the military in Central City—and you don't look like any GUN agent I've ever seen."

Seven's hand relaxed, and the SMG in his grip slid down a little. After a second or two's deliberation, he handed the gun to the troop next to him, and in exchange took the satchel with the emeralds.

"... Why didn't you just say who you are?" he he asked, sounding irritated but relieved. "I mean, it makes sense now, you bein' a monkey and all, but if I'd known for sure you were on Rock Lochert's team from the start... sheez."

He produced the dark blue Chaos Emerald from the bag and held it out as he stepped forward.

It happened so fast.

The emerald slipped from Seven's palm just as Jam's fingers touched, and he grasped her hand in his as if in a handshake. His free hand snatched at the lightning-gem-adorned gold bangle around her wrist, yanked briskly with a snap, and just like that, he cocked sideways and fired a foot out at the girl's midsection.

"I'm so certain you would've," he said glibly, with all the charm of a snake.

Seven deftly scooped the emerald from the ground and motioned forward. Two of his cohorts immediately closed passage in front of him, getting straight in Jam's path with energized fists a-flying in unison. The boy meanwhile took off like a shot with his emeralds and his new prize.

It spat sparks meekly. He tried to put it on and use it as he ran, but for whatever reason, it only flickered at him and made his hair stand on end without really doing anything impressive.

"Have to figure this out later," he mumbled to himself as he raced along and resumed leaping, dodging, maneuvering, and generally weaving his way through the dangerous and crowded complex like it was nothing. Jam might as well have ceased to exist to him.