Subterranean Sugarbeast Safari

The dullard saccharine zombies fall like chaff before the group, posing as little threat to a group of prepared and well organized individuals as dawn of the deadly's textbook brainless mook. It's at least interesting to take a look at the sugar uniforms and hazard a guess as to what the sugary fallen used to be, but even that is somewhat lacking on the stimulation front. Esha is quite clearly bored, even as her focus and efficiency shines, dancing from one gummy adversary to the next in a ballet of caramel and gusher juices. As the ground starts to look like a Jackson Pollock painting in hues of neon and candy, Esha clearly wastes no time in garnishing more than her fair share of candy core snacks. It's a scene that would make a grindhouse movie proud, with no less than 5 of the sugar shamblers falling in varying states of dis...candyment? Either way, it's a brutal show of the mercenary's ability to focus on a task.

Luckily enough, the environment is more than target rich, with a few more toylike soldiers oozing out of the labwork here and there to join the fray. If there used to be a semblance of intelligence in the group, it had long since dissipated due to madness or atrophy, and the vaguely tactical maneuvers of the enemies appear to be mostly parroting the original practices of the strike team without really knowing how to apply them. A good head count means that each of the combatants probably has 4 or 5 sugar beasts to contend with, though that number is probably dwindling rapidly. Of course, noise does not often go unnoticed, and a watchful eye might notice some of the labware rattling, and soft ripples moving through the pools of liquid. The less watchful, however, would probably notice the deep rumbling roar that sounds almost as if it came from an excellent set of movie theater speakers with the way it seems to peal through the halls and resonate with one's ribcage.

At the sound of the roar, Esha switches gears from fun times, to serious mode. As one blue ear flicks, the girl does a backflip over a lab table, whipping out the rifle and slapping it into a braced shooting position, vision trained on the fair wall. "We've got company, ETA 30 seconds, ten o' clock. Show's starting for real now." Of course, the remaining gooey soldiers don't just go away because of a roar, but with so few remaining at that point, they may as well be crossfire fodder.