Warned by Steel, Al rolled aside just in time to avoid the flaming form crashing to where he had just been lying. Scooting back a couple of meters on his ass, he gave a thumbs up to the troll above. He took a few seconds to enjoy the screeching, flailing spectacle of the burning man-bug, but the thing was tough, and when it became apparent that his agonized screams were going to continue for a while, Al turned to other tasks.
He spoke into his commlink, mouth close to the pick-up to be heard over the wails of the burner. <<Yeah, Cap'n, acknowledged is right. :Cept we's already done our own, uh, tactical insertation of the, um, subfloor stratums. So looks like y'all's gon' be watchin' our six. Do a good job, alrighty?>>
And then the big elf was in the room. "Reckon ya got ol' Al mixed up with someone else, kemo sabe," Al replied as he dragged himself painfully to his feet. Slipping on his brass knuckles, he took a good look around. The way their light source was writhing around made the shadows flicker and shift erratically, but it was clear the room they were in was no ordinary club cellar. The periphery of the chamber was lined with what could only be metahuman-sized coccoons. Most were open and empty, but corpses of half-emerged bad-merges with impossible anatomies were half-hanging from the walls here and there. He could see three passages - more like burrowed tunnels, really, but big enough to walk through - leading who-knew-where.
He called up to the troll: "Looks like the party's down here, giant amigo. You an' Ice Cream Man comin' down?"