AGP- Poo Truck

Tink's attempts to get directions from his distracted teammates were interrupted by someone dialing his combead directly and screaming "STOP THIS TRUCK" in his ear. Tink looked around in confusion, eliciting more more yelling, before he finally spotted a tanker wallowing through traffic next to him with a small figure jumping up and down on top of it. Tink took in the size of the tank, the bright red FLAMMABLE markings on its side, and the detpacks in Twitch's hands. The techie then briefly tried to remember how many crates of explosives they'd packed in the bridge he was currently riding on, before giving up and weaving through traffic towards the tanker with a shout of: "Ohhhh shit Twitch, you're gonna get us all killed."

The surviving agents of Task Force Spectre, handpicked by the Inquisitor herself to act as her last line of defense, let out a ragged cheer as the mystery attackers suddenly began pulling back. Their cheers were cut short by a massive crunching sound above them, and they looked up nearly eight levels to the overpass above them and the truck cab hanging over its edge. All nine agents watched, too stunned to even notice a chunk of debris that flattening their commander, as the truck teetered on the lip for a second, before finally tipping and dropping directly towards them. The limo's occupant, unsure what was happening, peaked out the door for a second, before slamming it shut and pouring every ounce of her newfound powers into her shield.

The tanker was about ten meters off the ground when the detpacks on its side detonated it in a massive, oddly wet-sounding FWOOP.

The explosion was big, just not as big as we'd expected, which was honestly a good thing given how close to it some of us were. Instead of the massive fireball and concussive shock we'd expected, what we got a flaming spray like the world's largest incendiary grenade, covering the entire highway in burning... fuel. The smell was, well, familiar.

Up on the overpass, Tink turned to the man next to him, who was looking over the edge with the rapt expression of someone who'd always wanted to that. He read, then re-read the word's "No Shit Services: For All Your Septic Needs" on the man's coveralls, then looked at Twitch, who shrugged and muttered about it being the best he could find; Tink shook his head. Both guardsmen hooked their drop harnesses to the railing and rappelled down into the quite literal flaming shit-show below. The septic worker saluted them.