OOC to Everyone: Sorry for the hold up again. It was a helluva week at school. I'll aim at getting the combat rolling later today or tomorrow afternoon, depending on how much chores, grading, family, et cetera interfere with important matters. 
Jemal said:
"Well John, they was big, green, nasty, alien-lookin worms with wings. They blew up into water when I hit them, but not before they knocked over them towers on yer roof... ya tellin me the one time I'm in a bout where I gots a camera T'back me up and It don't even see them? hmmph, just my luck." Rumble frowned as he kept pace with the guards "There was three o them, I followed'em across the city cuz I figured they probly weren't up t'no good, flying around in this weather. When I got closer, I saw what they looked like, den when I tried t'talk to'em, they attacked me an the building. One'a them even got a bolt a lightning close enough ta singe my back hairs. OH, and uh, I may've been a bit misleadin' earlier, my name aint bulletproof, that's just one'a my gifts. I'm Rumble."
"Roger that, Rumble," John says as the elevator doors open. The trip was so quick and smooth Rumble barely noticed the movement. "Right this way, please. Doctor Lasky'll want to speak with you."
The trio move purposefully down the short, brightly white hall. Everything has an antiseptic look and smell. The walls are featureless, without decor of any kind.
"Doctor Lasky's our head honco at nights. She's one of the project managers for the antenna array destroyed up top."
The hall ends in a shiny door that appears to be made of high-gloss plastic. John presses his thumb to an off-white square of clouded glass where the door's knob should be. There is a
beep and the door hisses open. Rumble can't avoid the conclusion that John isn't just a rent-a-cop.
On the other side of the door is a circular room with a domed ceiling. The room is about 40 feet in diameter. The apex of the dome is probably close to 20 feet overhead. The farther half of the room's curved wall is covered with computer banks right out of a science fiction movie. Screens flicker, lights blink. In the center of the room are four desks shoved head to head to form a rectangle.
A short, dumpy woman in wire-frame glasses strides up to Rumble. She has some sort of hands-free cell phone shoved into her left ear. Her spotless white lab coat looks freshly starched. Rumble puts her age at about 50, but her distractingly long, luxurious are so incongruous with the rest of her appearance that he can't be sure.
"Thank you for cooperating, Rumble," she says. Her voice is thick and rough, as if she smokes heavily. "That'll be all John. Please maintain current threat level."
"Yes, ma'am."
John and his younger partner exit the room; John uses a thumb-pad to open the door from the inside as well.
"I monitored your conversation with John on the way down," Lasky says. "What would you say was the objective of these creatures you fought?"
