Olden Goldies
In the wake of the Warehouse not exploding, the disappearance of HG, and the death of Steve, artifacts keep popping up and life keeps going on. Pete and Myka have been sent to Kentucky, where men have been acting hypnotized, thieving, and hoarding riches like it's 1854.


"This is not Oregon Trail!"

Feet pound on the pavement. Four in front — Myka's and Pete's. A whole dozen pairs are rapidly catching up to their heels with all the anger of an angry mob of Kentuckians. Because that's exactly what they are.

"Left! Left!" Myka is being a backseat runner, just a pace behind Pete as they make the most mad dash of mad dashes through a veritable maze of massive metal shipping containers in every dull and rusted colour. Their goal location? Away from the angry mob. "I think the docks are that way!"

Myka doesn't dare double-check the placement of the sun in the sky let alone Google Maps for fear of missing a step and falling behind into the clutches of the group of men who outnumber them and are very, possibly mystically, infuriated that the two Warehouse agents are each holding an armful of gold bricks. Gold bricks stolen from said angry mob. Gold bricks that might be artifacts — at least one of them — compelling, again, said angry mob's mob mentality. Then again, who wouldn't be mad about having gold stolen from them — even if that gold was stolen by them in the first place?

This case has not exactly fallen into place yet.

"If we could just find somewhere to stop for five seconds to neutralize these things— !"

"The Docks?! Why is it always The Docks?!"

Pete is running and he's also taking a Left at this moment. As many Lefts are being said by the backseat runner. He's not exactly sure of what they're going to do when they get to The Docks, but he's pretty sure that Myka has a plan. She better have a plan. She's the one that's supposed to have the plans, he's got the vibes.

"Y'know, and I'm just spitballin' here, but what if only one of these bricks is the one causing this. You think Artie might let us keep a couple? Hazard Pay?" Maybe he shouldn't be asking questions right now. Maybe he should be thinking of a plan.

Or holding onto his gold bricks tighter.

Because one drops.


Myka trips over their hazard pay, stumbling into Pete without actually losing any momentum; she just runs into his feet, holding tightly onto the gold bricks that jab at his back. "We don't know which one it is! They all look the same!" It could be the one that Pete dropped! Rather than dwell over that fact, Myka is trying her best to be the one who has a plan; even on the move — slowed down, slightly, by not wanting to abandon the gold brick to the approaching mob — her eyes flit this way and that, mapping out the maze. They're at a crossroads of shipping containers.

"Okay, Pete, when I say go, run for that red container and get ready to use your football… skills!" The container — again to the left — is the only one in sight with an accessible ladder fashioned on the side, leading up to the top. Wasting no time: "Go!" Plan: toss the bricks up there and then climb up there as fast as humanly possible.

Trusting Pete to go with it, she turns tail and tries out a football move of her own — British version, giving the fallen gold brick a solid kick away from the oncoming dozen. The pain of kicking the rather freakin' heavy object and half-squelched shout it elicits is stronger than the kick itself — the brick doesn't tumble far across the ground, but it's enough to divert the mob's path. Is a plan based on Pete's mistake really set on solid ground— well, no time to wonder, only worry. But, instead of chasing them, for a brief interlude, the mob does aim for the single brick like a school of fish to fish food. Hurrying, Myka flings a hair-whipping look over her shoulder toward Pete and starts throwing her bricks in his general direction (hopefully without hitting him). She's still cradling some in one arm while her other is free enough to grab her Tesla and aim it at the front of the greedy crowd. Zzzapp! The electricity rampantly assaults the man in front and spreads its jolts into a few of his brethren, who fall into a few of the others, in turn.

It's just buying time. It's also enough time for the guy in the back with the beard to come to his senses and aim his handy rifle at Myka.

Pete is already on the move. When there's actually talk of him using his football skills, he's more than happy to relive the glory days. He's already making sure his own bricks have been tossed up onto the container with ease. He's got very good aim and that's all he needs to do to make sure that he's ready and in position when Myka starts hurling bricks in his direction. Gold Bricks.

"Not a bad arm there, Mykes!" But then again, he's just trying to make sure that this entire situation still has some kind of light to it. His attention and his eyes are focused and narrowed, though, in the next moment. Because he's looking off in the direction of the rifle aiming bearded man.

"Lattimer drops back." is muttered from Pete, as he takes a couple steps back and raises the gold brick up over his shoulder, just like a football. "And there it goes! " He launches the brick off in that direction, ready and willing to clock the rifleman with a heavy brick of monetary deliciousness!

In the midst of running to swipe the first escaped gold brick while the front-men are still Tesla'd, Myka's head shoots up, her eyes wide to catch sight of Pete's football star throw smack the rifleman quite solidly. "Pete! What if that one was the artifact?!" she shouts, allotting no time for a thank-you in the current madness. He crumples with a grunt, his rifle flying to the side. His brothers-in-gold-thievery drop on him like vultures, scrambling for the gold brick.

But they're not going to lose it — not if Myka can get in there fast enough. She tosses one brick and then a storm of the others toward Pete with a loud collapse as they tumble over one another to the ground, and readies her weapon, broadening her stance to properly aim at the particular swarm of Kentuckians scrambling for the second brick. Zzzzapp! Three are flung into an electrified nap, swept off of their bearded friend. It's a bit of a win one, lose one situation— as soon as she neutralizes one, there seem to be more rushing in. Myka rushes too, making a beeline for the mob with a Tesla charge into one man on the way.

So— close— to— "Aha!" Gotcha. She swipes the brick up and runs, stride by pounding stride, for Pete. More directions: "Up up up!"


Okay, while Myka is actually doing something useful, like Tesla-ing crazy Kentuckians and scooping up the Gold Brick Football that Pete has just used to score the most epic of points ever in the history of the Non-Football League, the former star player is doing the only thing he feels is worthy of this moment.

The Pete Lattimer Touchdown Dance.

(Which, for the record, involves Extensive Pelvic Gyrations, Mimed Ass Swatting and a General Sense of Saturday Night Fever.)

It is not until Myka's antics and pounding stride and her voice of MOVE PETE NOW comes falling onto his ears does he realize what is happening. "Right! Up!" And then he's grabbing onto the ladder and getting with the epic climbing with speed and ease, hopping up and onto the top of their Metal Safe Haven. And immediately, he's hanging over the side and offering a hand to Myka to help speed up her own climbnastics if she needs it.

"Y'know, if we die up here, I'm going to be forced to haunt these docks forever. Or at least until Scooby and the Gang make a special guest appearance." Which is code for: MYKA THIS PLAN (WHATEVER IT IS) BETTER WORK!

MOVE PETE NOW is a well-used and distinct tone of Myka's voice, special just for him — definitely as much as his MYKA THIS PLAN (WHATEVER IT IS) BETTER WORK! Myka collides into the ladder with a clang of metal as gold hits something much cheaper. She hands the brick hurriedly up to Pete and starts scaling the ladder as fast as she can, one safely purple-gloved hand in front of the other until her hurry propels her to grab for Pete's to clamber on top of the big container. A few of the conscious men are already making a dash for them, and boy, are they pissed.

"We're not going to die!"

A resounding blast hits the side of the container, sending uneasy vibrations up through their feet and leaving a hole in the side of the container. Rifleman wasn't the only one wielding firepower. This is Kentucky.

Myka drops down, but her look shoots up, wide-eyed but still set in her belief: ignore that, okay, we're still not going to die. "Cover me! If one of these is the artifact, all we have to do is neutralize and all of those guys should go back to being lawyers and farmers and whatever the hell they were before they turned into a cult of thieves trying to kill us!" She's already grabbing for every brick she can get her hands on, a frantic — but organized — crumple of foil marking her attempt to open the bag that's just barely big enough to fit a rectangle of gold and neutralize it's pesky artifact properties.

First brick, nothing. She casts it aside; gold is worth less than their lives.

Second brick, nada.

Third brick, not even a fizzle, either.

Fourth, fifth, sixth… "Peeeete…" Myka says, her voice going up at the same rate as her concern.

"Hey! You guys put those guns down right now! This is not Oregon Trail!"

Pete is standing at the edge of this particular metal safe haven (which isn't looking as safe as it was moments ago, considering the HOLES that are being shot into it by psychotic gold hoarders) and pointing the Mother's Finger down at them like it is the most powerful finger in the world.

Then a bullet whizzes by his ear and Pete hits the deck. Just in time to see Myka tossing the gold around like it doesn't mean a thing. "Heeey. Be careful with our Severance Package, Mykes." This is all just to cover the drawing of his Tesla pistol, because he's back up and on his feet, taking shots at those bad dudes… the ones with the ranged weaponry first. Each shot from Pete's Tesla strikes these crazed mortals dead center in the chest, hurling them backwards and with a flailing body until they hit the ground again. Or land on top of some others. It really does look like fun. Which could be why Pete's got this smile on his face. "It's like Teslaing fish in a barrel!"

Sadly, though, it would seem that there are just TOO MANY and these Crazed Gold Lovers are starting to rush the structure with their many strong arms and strong legs. That's right, they are starting to push and and shove and perhaps even seem to be ready to try and rock this thing. Apparently, it will be much easier to get the Warehouse Agents down than to try and come up.

"Myyyykes…" HURRY UP!

By the last couple of gold bricks (were they really carrying all of these?!), Myka's fast-paced would-be neutralizing of each one is down to factory line precision, but she's looking harried as, brick-by-brick, there's not a zip or zap to be found. "None of these — none of these are artifacts!" The last brick slams down onto the metal roof with an unsatisfying thud, echoing into the empty, wobbling shipping container. "We missed something!"

She gets to her feet beside her partner, staring down at the horde — is it growing? — with her Tesla readied, her knees wavering as a particularly burly figure steps back and takes a run at the container, rocking the structure meant for hearty sea travel. He doesn't seem to care if it bruises right down to his bones. They're almost mindless in their quest to attack and seize the gold.

Grabbing Pete's arm before she's quite figured out where they're going, Myka looks every which way; down, clearly, is the worst choice, which leaves only…

She tries to catch his eye and stare off toward the docks, which can be seen in the distance as a haze of blue water and the silhouettes of ships and machinery. Leading the way is nothing but the tops of shipping containers with gaps in-between. "I think you can consider your severance pay severed," she says with a hurried tug to his arm as she starts to run toward the edge of this shipping container to another — yeah, that's what she's suggesting. When there's no up or down, the only option for the Warehouse agents is to go across.

"But… gold." Pete's Whiny Voice is quickly fading as the exposure to the fact that they could end up getting knocked down and killed by an onslaught of Evil Crowd. All of which is something that is making Pete very sad and very worried. The Tesla gets holstered, because he has to run now. And just in case he doesn't make jumps, he's going to need both hands. Because he's already taking off after Myka.

Of course, this is mere moments before shipping crate numero uno gets knocked down. Is this Artifact making them stronger? What the hell?

Pete's epic leaping has him ready to cramp up the moment his feet hit the other shipping crate and hands are already reaching out to make sure Myka is okay and stable. "Missed something? What could we have possibly missed?" Pete is just now catching up to the conversation that Myka was trying to have with him before they had to pull an Indiana Jones to try and survive. "If it's not the gold then what?"

Yes, Pete takes a moment to actually look back ovevr his shoulder at the gold that will no longer be theirs. Not that it was theirs in the first place but still.

On the plus side, they're leaving the horde in the dust, clambering up the side of the left-behind container, going for the gold. Adding to the downsides, however, once the group of hypno-hive-minded men have their paws on the gold, they seem to remember another motive: revenge. They're on the chase.

"Maybe Artie and Claudia found something," Myka suggests as she catches her balance. Though that may be the case, they don't exactly have a minute to spare to check back in at the Warehouse — Myka keeps speeding along, determined to leave the horde behind. Running along the metal roofs isn't a gargantuan task for the agent, but leaping from container to container like a videogame character is less than calming on the nerves — slam, slam, every time feet crash onto metal. The docks begin to clear up ahead, a few small shipping vessels, small boats and a schooner taking up the waters of Jefferson Riverport.

With several shipping containers between them and the Kentuckian rage, Myka comes to a faintly out-of-breath stop. "Are you okay?" she asks her partner, both concerned and skeptical.
She fishes out the Farnsworth.

"— still doesn't seem to be a correlation — Myka!" Artie's bespectacled face spins into the screen and out of distraction. A pattern that can only be a dress of Leena's, not Claudia's, lingers in the background. "How goes Louisville?"

"Fine… just… fine…"

That would be Pete trying to catch his breath. He's not even close enough to Myka and the Farnsworth to really be on the screen or anything. He's closer to the Newly Crossed Edge of the Latest Shipping Crate, bent over and trying to make sure that he didn't lose something more than his breath. "Last time I go for burritos during an assignment." is muttered mostly to himself, whilst he's focused on making sure that he's got his breath back into his lungs and then some.

There's a glance back in the distance to make sure that those Crazy Kentucks are getting any closer any faster and then he's trudging along across the shipping crate to get himself in the general vicinity of Myka and her Farnsworth. Which results in his leaning up against her, invasion of personal space and then peering into the Farnsworth.

"Leena? Is that Leena? Hey Leena! Definitely going to need some Cookies or Pie when we get back!" Oh Pete. "Better make that both!"

"You don't need anymore sugar," Myka says, sparing a split second to hurriedly, harmlessly— almost harmlessly— elbow Pete in the gut before her gaze moves from its concerned, if skeptical, look to her partner before it settles on the Farnsworth in earnest, injecting more direness than his. "Artie, none of the gold we found was an artifact. These men aren't just stealing, they're after us. It's like they're hypnotized —they'll do anything to get the gold back and apparently to get us, and I mean, they just keep coming!"

The nearly idyllic backdrop set behind Pete and Myka of the port, complete with a few lazy, unconcerned gulls, doesn't exactly express the importance — however, the clambers and shouts of more than a dozen — seriously where are they coming from// — angry men drifts into audio.

"Oh, I see, well, are you certain? Gold is a very emotional metal. It's very malleable, you see, it absorbs events like a sponge— "

Myka's expressive stare and clamped jaw answer Artie fast enough.

"Alright— " He bustles around the desk for a moment, humming and muttering under his breath. His head pops up suddenly. "So the men who are after you, you could say that they're almost acting as— slaves?"

"Sure, slaves under the power of something that's making them go all angry hive-mind," says Myka.
"There was… or should I say, is, if this is what I think it is, which I think it is— aaaa… secret society founded in 1854 in Lexington, Kentucky, called the Knights of the Golden Circle. They were very— pro-slavery— "

"That's terrible," Myka interjects.

"Yes, yes, terrible human injustice et cetera, right now we need to focus on stop what's happening now. Uhh, they uh…" Artie gestures his hand; he's clearly trying to summarize for Pete and Myka's sake, but it takes some doing. "… there's a lot of lore involving treasure maps and gold surrounding these Knights, they— one night they were about to leave harbor with shipment of gold on their schooner when it was seized from them— "

The horde is approaching. The closer they get, the more obvious it becomes that not a one of them is looking at the man and woman atop the shipping container.

They're headed straight for the port with their gold in hand.

"Artie… what was the name of their schooner?" Myka asks.

"The J.M. Chapman."

Pete has been wandering back and forth from the Myka/Farnsworth/Artie Threesome to the edge of the shipping crate and so on, so forth for this entire conversation. He's only been somewhat half-listening because he's been keeping an eye on the horde of people that seem to be hell bent on… apparently not really trying to kill them any more? Weird.

Pete's kind of, almost hurt by this change of events. "Hey uh, Myka?" is said as he kind of pays attention to everything at once in this exact moment. In fact, he just kind of follows their new line of sight around the same time that Artie's voice is dropping that epic boat knowledge.

Eyes get narrowed and a hand goes up to help him see: J.M. Chapman. Yahtzee. With a backpedal of justice, that almost looks like some kind of victorious touchdown dance remix, he's grabbing onto Myka's shoulder and giving it a bit of a shake. "Whoomp. There it is." He claps his hands and finger guns in the direction of the Schooner in question. "I would also like the both of you to know that I am resisting the urge to make such a delicious pun right now. But I'm sure it will slip out schooner or later."

A smile quirks Myka's mouth at Pete's pun despite the situation at hand, paired with a quick roll of her eyes, before her brows quirk into a very different expression. "We can't neutralize a whole schooner." Pause. "Can we?" They certainly don't have the supplies for something of that magnitude with them, but at the rate the horde is rushing for the J.M. Chapman, they don't seem to have much of a choice but to get to it before they do. When Artie's face looks thoughtful for one second too long, Myka says, "Thanks, Artie!" and snaps the Farnsworth shut.

How to get closer to the vessel but— more container-jumping. Slam, slam— they run out of leaps. It's the last shipping container before the port, leaving them with a swathe of dock before the river, filled with a raging group of men and a CAT contraption with a metal chain hanging down from its crane, meant for lifting cargo from ships. Myka looks off to the antequated schooner, docked serenely, its large sails majestic and all too far away at the moment. "Now is a time we could really use a grappler," she comments; a faint wave seems to come over her as the words leave her, a haze of dizziness she blinks away, going distant and snapping back.

"Sooooo, how are we going to neutralize an entire boat again?" Pete is out of ideas. Or he's trying to come up with an idea. Or both. Or neither. "Because I'm not sure I want to know what's going to happen if they reach it." In his experience, this kind of thing usually ends badly for everyone that is involved or in the immediate vicinity of an Artifact Peaking. At least, that's what he likes to call it in his mind.

The Artifact Climax.

Twisted and Sick thoughts aside, Pete is hurling his eyes over towards the horde and then the CAT and the crane. "I really shouldn't do what I'm about to do. But I'm going to anyway." Pete grabs his Tesla and holds it up James Bond style. "Get ready to jump."

Pete is saying nothing more before he turns and climbs over the side of the crate and speed-slides down the ladder and hits the ground. "FOR NARNIAAAAAAA!" is exclaimed with fearless (fearfilled) might as he takes off running towards the horde, taking Tesla shots are chunks of the horde and sending them left and right, as he clearly seems to be intent on Tesla'ing a path through them and to the CAT.

One gets too close and catches a boot to the chest. "Back off man! I'm a scientist!" With some quick hopping and stepping to climb up and into the machinery. "Well, okay, not exactly. But the moment was just too good to pass up."

At this point, there is still some of the HORDE that may be trying to get to Pete, thanks to his sudden and inevitable actions of heroism that will probably get him GoldZombie'd to death but it should all be worth it, right? Riiiight?

"Keys. Keys. Please have key- Yes!" Ignition and the crane of justice is started up. Pete starts futzing around with the controls, pushing and pulling on levers to have the thing swinging (somewhat slowly) in the general direction of Myka… while extending it out even further to cut some of this slow movement time in half.

Goldies (Gold+Zombies?) start climbing and reaching for Pete, as he works on lining up the the crane's chain in Myka's direct leaping path…

It doesn't take long for Myka to determine Pete's course of action; it takes longer for her to decide if she likes it or not. She takes a steadying inhale as the chain approaches, her head nodding once or twice in a subconscious effort to reassure herself. "This is just like the zip-line at the Warehouse…" she says in her best convincing voice under her breath, "…or in Indiana Jones… or Tarzan…" She takes a few steps back on the slippery surface, blesses her practical flat shoes, attempts to eagle-eye her aim on the chain, and makes a running leap of faith.

She flies — the chain flies at her — she grabs it, attaching herself to the thing for dear life, her hands and every limb holding tight to the cold, unwieldy metal links as her collision sways it. As much as Myka would have preferred swinging majestically from the chain to the J.M. Chapman like an action hero, smooth as can be, the chain, and distance, is such that she just kind of hangs there in the hands of Pete's repurposed machinery.

"Hang on, Myka— ow! Did you just bite me?!"

Pete is trying to swing Myka over to the damn schooner but he just got his ankle bit by one of the Goldies. "Myka! This dude just bit me! What the hell!" Pete kicks the Ankle Biter right in the face and proceeds to get focused back on trying to make sure that the aim is true and the movement of this Heavy Machinery is as non-inept as possible.

"I have no idea how I even know what I'm doing. Just keeping doing it, Pete." Personal pep talks aside, Pete shoves the crate swinger into high gear and… the handle breaks. Pete's eyes go wide.
"Mykes! Don't be scared! But you're about to go from like six to sixty in like six seconds!" Pete stands fully up and peeks out of the cockpit of this vile machine, holding up the crane control lever's broke end.

The Goldies are still tugging and pulling at the now struggling Pete, even as the crane starts to swing Myka towards the schooner but with a lot more speed than it should have, since something is obviously wrong with the damn thing. Oh and yeah, it's going to just go in this huge circle and destroy whatever is in its path so here's to hoping Myka will know when to let go!
Swiiiiiing— !

There's only one now, surrounded by a whole lot of never. Myka lets go when the chain seems to swing close enough to the schooner to send her on a trajectory onto it — another leap of faith, considering there's nowhere on the vessel that's going to be a comfy landing. The Warehouse agent sails through the air a second time, smoothly off the spinning chain and onto the old deck of the J.M. Chapman, landing on her feet for an instant before the momentum rolls her onto her side.

And breathe. She spends a moment flat on her back staring up at the sky before her wits come rushing back and she raises a gloved thumbs-up toward the cockpit. The challenge becomes figuring out what to do now that she's onboard— the answer becomes alarmingly obvious when the shaking, scraping metallic thuds of footsteps approach her from the starboard side — a man looming toward her in an honest-to-god suit of armor. Or is it a suit of armor walking like a man? "Seriously?!" Myka hops to her feet, and with a wave of fast-thinking and frustration, grabs the wooden boom of the sails and sends it careening into the less-than-valiant knight.

Goldies! Goldies Everywhere!

"Hang on, Mykes! I'm comin'!" says Pete, though it doesn't really look like he is. He's getting yanked completely out of the CAT and gets shoved between random crazed people that… seem to be focused on getting to the Schooner again. Which is fine, because that's where Pete wants to go in the first place. He just doesn't want to go mosh pit style.

"I swear, I thought crowd surfing would be so much more fun than this!" is muttered as he's pretty much taken off his feet and seems to be something more akin to a prisoner than a rock star. The way they keep bouncing him around as they carry/toss him on their way to the schooner's port… is what is keeping him from actually getting a good shot off with the Tesla. He can't stabilize his arm.

Myka isn't awash in the victory of toppling the knight for long; her Pete alarm is going off. She goes for her Tesla since Pete can't get to his, but the close-knit crowd bouncing her partner around is also the same thing that stops her — she can't see a clear shot out of this situation, not without running the risk of electrifying him, too. Granted, he'd recover — … she raises and drops it in a manner of seconds.

The mob starts to narrow as they begin to board the schooner view the frail-looking wooden gangplank that leads from dry land to the vessel on the river. The closer they get to the J.M. Chapman, the shinier the gold they hold dear appears — it glints as if in full sun. This worries Myka more than intrigues her — her brow scrunches down as she backs up, Tesla steadying again as the clomps of boots near with Pete in tow.

Something gleams out of the corner of her eye.

Something gold. Something not in the clutches of the goldies.

"Pete!" she shouts, rushing for the bow of the schooner, where a small gold fleur-de-lis is inlaid in the wood, gleaming. "Pete, I might have something!" Or it could simply be more useless gold. They're seconds from carrying him right onboard as Myka drops down, gritting her teeth, and tries to pry the piece from its indent as fast as she can, which isn't fast enough, considering the encroaching horde and her fingers' inability to function as crowbars.

"Yeah, well I've got something too! And it's got everything to do with my underwear!"

Pete is getting a little too tired of having to deal with being carried by these Goldies and it's just starting to work his nerves. "Ha ha. Okay, fellas. Joke's over. You can let me down. I'm not exactly into this whole Master and Slave thing. Not with you guys, anyway." Pete is rolling his own body against the hands that are carrying him, forcing himself to slip between their hands and kind of falls. He lands on one of those Goldies and just Tesla's the nearest one before making a jog for it. He doesn't have to run. Myka's not that far. And they seem to be more worried about getting on the boat than they are worried about mosh pitting him or something like that. It just doesn't matter any more. Pete doesn't matter any more.

"Hey. What's—" That's Pete stopping the moment he gets over to where Myka is and he's looking at the Indented Gold. "Okay, Myka. Unless you've recently acquired super strength, I think you better let me take point on this one. Because, I think I may have an idea."

Pete looks over at Myka, holding up his Tesla.

"We're gonna' have to cross the streams."

Myka, standing tall now that the schooner has been boarded, looks incredulously at Pete. It's hard to say if it's for his wording — ew — or his idea. The truth is, it's a heavy helping of both. "If this backfires, and this whole thing explodes, I'm," her chin juts out, but the only threat that escapes is, "I'm going to tell Artie it was your fault!" A worse fate than drowning in Kentucky. She raises her Tesla, but she's wary over turning her back to the crowd of men — who have literally begun to hoisting the sails higher. Not to mention dismantle the gangplank and prepare to leave — with the agents on-board.

She whips around, steadies her Tesla alongside Pete's, tilts it ever so slightly, and— "One, two," she squints as much as she can without blurring her sharp aim, wincing every muscle of her face, " — three!"

The combined electro-power of the Teslas, their blue bolts mingling and zapping like one roiling, angry entity. Electricity cracks into the wood of the historical ship, rending it into burning splinters on either side of the inlaid gold.

The goldies take immediate, vicious offense to the attack on their vessel— shouts erupt and, suddenly, the horde remembers once again that they hate Pete and Myka. They leap down and abandon every task to rush the agents.

"Artie said that gold is an emotional metal, it holds on— to events, I figure this only makes sense— !" Myka all but jumps down toward the scorched wood. It'll either make sense, or they'll have to jump overboard. Some pesky fastenings cling to the bow's interior, but after a few solid tugs— and a gunshot from behind— "please be it, please be it!" she falls squarely on her butt upon the deck with her legs askew. The gold fleur-de-lis firmly in hand. "The bag!"

Pete is focused on Teslaing the dude that just took a shot at them, before he realizes that he needs to turn around and help Myka get ride of this thing. Super fast.

"Right here!" Pete reaches into his jacket and comes out with… his empty hand.

Pete blinks and immediately looks worried. "Uh. I think… uh… I think I might've um… lost the bag."

Pete's face is already in complete and utter apologetic mode as he breaks the news to Myka and immediately braces for what has to be another Myka Rant.

There's no time for a rant, so she punches Pete in the arm instead. "What happened to Always Be Prepared!" Minor rant. The Teslas are getting a workout today, their charges pushed to the limits (and still working, probably thanks to Claudia's improving upon Nikola's design) — Myka grabs hers with both hands and the fleur-de-lis and fends off a trio of armed men.

"Ow! Hey! This partner on partner violence has got to stop!"

Pete then tosses on his goofiest smile and produces THE BAG from inside his pocket. "You really should have more fun on these assignments, Mykes. Especially when we're about to win! Hay hay!"

Pete is all smiles as he pops the bag open and holds it out so that Myka can do the honors.

The widening of her eyes and distinct tightening of her mouth warns Pete of impending partner-on-partner violence — but they are about to win! She drops the gold object into the bag and hopes for the best, tossing her head to the side and well away from the snap and CRACKLE the powerful little artifact erupts with in a flurry of sparks. Zip. Closed. Done!

The impromptu crew of the J.M. Chapman stop what they're doing, stumbling mid-step and looking bleary-eyed and disoriented, as if they've awoken from a disoriented slumber. Not as disoriented as the Tesla'd guys will be when they wake up.

"Ah!" Myka exclaims, a burst of triumphant energy running through her that makes her bounce on her feet. "We did it!" Through team-work, despite a few— mishaps. Her bright smile completely overrules any annoyance she may have suffered at the behest of her partner. "Close call!" They've had closer — much closer — and recently. But being out in the field bagging and tagging— when they're not imminently about to be set upon by a crowd— it almost feels like everything is back to normal. Almost. She raises her hand high to Pete. High five!

"Also," she adds, "I'm going to make you walk the plank."

High Five!

There's no way Pete could leave Myka hanging on that one. To be honest, it was actually kind of fun. But then he remembers that he got bit in the ankle and it starts to hurt again. Which means that it is totally just a mental thing, doesn't it?

"As long as I'm diving into a giant ocean of cookies, might I just say: Arrrrrr!" And then Pete is stepping right into a more limpy mode and moving to lean right on Myka.

He's likely still tired from running after her and such. More Exercise Needed (MEN).

"Home now?" Pete asks, every so hopefully. So they don't have to stay and explain everything that just didn't happen to a bunch of no-longer crazed reverse-zombies.

Myka, holstering her weapon, duty done, wraps her arm around Pete, pats him on the back, and lets him lean on her all the way to the gangplank. It's halfway-risen, but she kicks the walkway back to the dock to give them a precarious bridge. Quieter, as they start to disembark, she comments, disturbed, "This ship is starting to make me think too much about krakens…" She dismisses the J.M. Chapman behind then with a wiggle of her shoulders. "Yeah. Home." Assured, a warmth in her voice; for South Dakota, of all places.

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