Blazing Breakout

The group was gathered around the parlor's large table, the godfather sitting at the head of it, standing out of his seat. "You all know I'm not one to use more than I need, and I need as many of you as I can."

They all exchange glances, some more nervous than others.

"A friend of mine was taken in a few years back, something about war crimes and cruel and unusual punishment when he was in his military years, don't know, don't care. Point is, he did me a lot of favors and it's time to settle that score. The feds recently transferred him to a secret bunker beneath the FBI offices around here, and that was their big mistake. You see, to actually convict someone of a crime, you have to have evidence. And they had mountains on this poor guy. Fortunately, I've been extracting bit by bit for awhile now, and they might have a few documents of testimonies of other criminals and his enemies, nothing worth more than a few cents to anyone in a court of law."

They all look back at each other, somewhat dreading his next words.

"We're going in there; we're taking him out. Simple as that."

A few members slam their head on the table, muttering prayers or wishes for their lives to be spared.

"As much as I'd like to do this under their noses, part of me wants to give them a big 'screw you', and the place is too hunkered down for it to go silent. I'm gonna need more or less all of you in order to level the place, find a way in, and get him out. Sass, Burf and Niall are getting the main security out of the way. We need to get inside and catch them off-guard, keep them off their toes and out of the way out any form of heavy equipment. They've been developing some big gear recently, and I don't want to deal with that. You three, go get a plan to get them out." He waves them out, as they step into a side room.

"Rattler, Shaf, you're on breach and clear. We're going in and the second we're seen, we're taking as much down with us as possible, and we're gonna be seen pretty quickly. No mercy. Get prepared, and pack a lot of ammo." The two smile, one more crazed than the other as they step into the Clubhouse's armory and ammo cache.

"Raf, Tibs, you're cleaning up. You know exactly what I want with the mess, and you're both damn good at it. Get ready to follow us in. And yes, you can have a bit of fun while we're out there, just remember the job at hand." The two pick up their respective knife and cleaver and walk into the kitchen.

“Soda, Sunny boy, you’re on targeting duty in case there’s a high-priority target out there. Otherwise, you’re doing the same thing as Rattler and Shaf.” Sun takes a hit from his pen and follows Soda back into the room with Shaf and Rattler.

“And that leaves just you, Pepper. You’re sticking with me in case there’s some kind of extra locking mechanism holding him back.” She looks up as he speaks, then looks back down to her book.

After about fifteen minutes, the whole Clubhouse comes back to the center table.

“Alright, ready to make some noise, gang?”

Before any can respond, he cuts them off. “Good, now let’s make the ground shake.” He steps towards the door and snaps at them to follow him into a large van with a man at the driver’s seat. “Load up in the back.” He opens the back doors and steps inside, the others following closely behind.

The van approaches, the first three stepping out and distracting the front door’s guards, pulling them away from their posts. “Bet you’ll never guess which of us graduated from med school!” The jokes on them, Burf’s license was given under special circumstances; he never showed up to graduation.

The godfather counts to three with his finger, the door and chunks of the wall around it blasting open, another few sticks from the bundle of dynamite flying in, launching both bodies and desks feet back. The lights begin to redden, alarms blaring as the five attackers begin clearing a path down to the basement.

The godfather slips down with Pepper, an unmarked door sticking out among the rest. He jams a screwdriver into the keyhole, then yanks the door open, showing little resistance after the lock being decimated. Behind the initial door is a small room, then a large metal door with a small numberpad to the side, a lock. “Looks like they’ve been doing their homework. Pepper, you know how to cheat this system?”

She nods. “Mm-hm.” She grabs the screwdriver from him and begins undoing the front, prodding at the inner portions of it. After a few minutes she places the cover back on. “Two nine four eight seven four three.” She punches in the number, and the door loosens. “Open says me.”

The godfather steps up to the door and pulls it open.

The figure inside covers his eyes at the brighter lights, nodding his head down. “Do I get my weekly rations now?” He mutters in a half-joking tone.

“Look at who it is before you’re asking for food.”

The figure looks up, wearing a well-embroidered black coat with intricate white designs along it. “Took ya long enough.”

“At least I actually came back for ya, Commander la Poofé.”

“Yeah, yeah. You owed me for a long time, though.”

“And I’ll consider this even.”

“I want a bit more.”

The godfather pulls out a briefcase and opens it, showing the contents towards the man.

“Perfect.” He grins and pulls it down to him, inside sitting an old World War 1-era gas mask, a box of matches, a desk fan, and a high-standing military captain’s hat.

“Nothing too fancy in the way of your tools, but it’ll suffice until we’re all the way out of here, I say.”

He quickly slips on the mask, places the hat on top and begins to laugh, slowly becoming a muffled combination of screams and laughter alike. Just as he stands up he muffles something through his gas mask, barely audible, “I am.. THE PYRO MAN!” He dashes out of the room, lighting a few of the matches and hold them in front of the fan, turning it on and shooting the matches’ flames out feet in front of him, lighting several of the agents on fire.

The godfather jumps out to the side of him, narrowly avoiding the flames himself. “Alright, work’s done, pack it up and let’s bail!” The members look over towards him and finish their magazines, tosses and stabs, then run back outside towards the van. They pile in and shut the doors, the tires squealing as the van drives away. Poofé opens the door just as the van begins to drive, tossing the lit matches out towards the building’s doors, quickly shutting them as he watches the building slowly catch a little bit of fire. He begins laughing and pulls his mask and hat off.

“Oh, they’re gonna miss me and then some!” He chuckles, madness in his eyes as he pulls the mask and hat back on. His voice once again muffles and is drowned out through the mask, “And then they’re gonna shoot at me and miss again!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll sort out something better for you later, because I’m sure even you can admit a fan and some matches is pushing it on functionality.”

“Yeah, yeah. As much as it might pain me though, let’s take a stop back at your new place for some drinks. Those guys do not like opening that door, so food and water is a bit scarce, and it’s been too long since I had anything that actually tasted like real food.”

“You heard him, getaway. Back to the clubhouse, step on it or I’ll step on you!”

The van speeds up further, the rest of the gang letting out their individual exhales of relief, Burf and Niall tending to any bullet scrapes that may have caught them. Their hardest job yet is done, and the rest will be that much easier.