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| Leave No Survivors; Wolf's Head Attack Team | |
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| Topic Started: Sep 17 2008, 10:38 PM (4,013 Views) | |
| Camera | Oct 11 2008, 05:50 AM Post #76 |
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JP BETWEEN CAMERA AND BUFORD Camera scratched the top of her head with her good hand. Wondering where the hell the Big Pig was. On one side of her a fire raged, no way she was going to go over and check that out. The other side was houses that were deadly quiet. The Brotherhood made good on their order of no Survivors. But for now she had to find out where the Javelina was with his big truck. Javelina, as it were, was rather busy. Despite his instincts, he didn't want to kill Toad by running him over, so he had to slow down to stop for a minute so the green-skinned mutant could hop on with the unconscious booty he had privateered. His Mötorhead had run its course, and now he was enjoying some stones. He counted down mentally who he had. Gambit, Black Tom, Primal, Gambit, Toad, and did he mention Gambit? He was feeling a bit woozy; perhaps he lost more blood than he thought. Who else was there? Right, the chick. After a few moments of trying to find the site of the truck she heard it, music. Camera looked around and at first couldn't see anything. The thick black smoke billowed in the air, and pretty much all around. She ran, towards the music. The blonde had all sorts of blood on her clothes from her victims. Not to mention sometime in her search she ripped a piece of her clothes to wrap her hand that had been injured (by the emo cutting mutant). She went into a clearing to see if she could get a better look. A little bit of the smoke followed her, running through it wasn't a good idea. The photographic mutant coughed a little. And stood in the middle of the clearing. I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes. I have to turn my head until my darkness goes Buford grinned as he saw the photogenic mutant. After all, what red-blooded American male would smile at blonde bombshell who happened to love bombs? He tapped his brakes, and the Big Pig rolled to a stop. "Hey, honey," Buford hollered as he rolled down the window, "Need a lift? We're kinda crowded up here, but I'm sure the fellas would make space for a little lady like you." He didn't actually have a shot with Camera, he didn't think. His days of bedding the 20-somethings were long behind him. That didn't mean he couldn't have some fun. Besides, if the rumors about her were true, well, why the hell not? She smiled widely as the Big Pig came to a stop next to her. After Buford spoke she said sweetly, "I do need a lift..." Camera saw his arm was bleeding. She could fix it up as much as she could until they got back to Murder World. It would be enough so he didn't crash them into a building or something. "But only if I get to sit in your lap to take care of my poor Javalina's arm." She winked at him and hopped on the step to get closer to the door. Hanging outside of the door to hear his answer putting her arms where the window went down. The blonde continued to smile sweetly. The last thing on her mind was anything sexual. She wanted to get out of Wolf's head as fast as they all could. It would be completely unfortunate if they left Cutter behind. Little bastard would have it coming anyway. Camera just wanted to bolt before SHIELD showed their faces. That started Buford's motor. "Listen, honey, y'all got the money, I got the time," Buford alluded to his childhood idol, Willie Nelson. He opened the door to let the blonde mutant in. "But, seriously, I got a gunshot wound, last thing I need is another thing distractin' me from drivin'. We don't want to risk gettin' anyone hurt, I reckon." Any irony was lost on the very-recently-chainsaw-wielding murderer. As far as he was concerned anything done here was done in the service of the greater good. "Lessee, Camera, Toad, Primal, Black Tom Cassidy, and Gambit? Plus, that brunette piece of X-tail that Toad got." Buford counted down on his fingers. "Who we missing, the Cutter boy, Saint and Juggernaut? Big guy could probably take care of himself. Saint's an Acolyte, he ain't gonna have no problems." He helped the photographic mutant into the truck, and put his foot onto the gas. "Let's make sure that the Cutter boy doesn't get too much troub-" He was cut off by his truck's security system ringing out. "Looks like S.H.I.E.L.D's gettin' here." He stomped down on the gas pedal, and peeled out, hoping to find the Cutter, Saint and Juggernaut on his way out. Such a gentleman to help the blonde killer in the truck. She hopped in his lap and the door closed behind her. “You just concentrate on the road and I’ll focus on the arm. They don’t call me ‘Camera’ for nothing, babe.” Buford mentioned getting Cutter, Saint, and Juggernaut. With a serious tone as she worked on his arm she asked, “Do we really need to get Cutter? Let him walk home.” After tonight he was not her favorite person. And it you were on the blonde’s bad side, it was wise to watch your back around her. Mutant or human, she had exceptions. She worked on his arm as he drove. |
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| Warren Worthington | Oct 11 2008, 09:29 PM Post #77 |
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[JP WARREN AND SCOTT] Conciseness returned slowly, his eyelids flickering, allowing a small chink of light in which seemed incredibly bright. Warren closed his eyes again, feeling the intense pain across his abdomen and throat, a hoarse groan escaping his blood stained lips. Vaguely aware of what was going on, he shifting slightly in the arms that were holding him. The wounds in his neck were deep but not enough to affect his larynx “...Scott.” His voice was barely above a whisper, words slightly slurred, the effect of the blood loss obvious as he tried to raise his head and think properly. Clearing his throat, he tried again for something else. “Did you find them?” He had a feeling that Scott would know who he was asking about, his team, Static, Alix. Somehow things had gone very wrong. Scott, bringing his teammate and friend to the nearest Quinjet, where he'd be able to call for a medic to take care of him, glanced down as Warren spoke. "I will," he said, tensely, not yet winded by his fast pace and the weight he bore, but getting there. Scott's mutation did not give him superhuman strength, and Warren was not a small man. "Relax, and concentrate on making your healing factor work." His voice was clipped and tight. Cyclops was not a happy mutant. Even in his dazed state, Warren was able to sense the anger in his friends tone and the fact that he was being carried also registered. “...I can walk.” He managed to get out, feeling a small amount of coherence returning, mainly brought on by the continuing pain, which was definitely getting worse. “You need to find them.” His gloved hand reached for Scott’s arm, tightening around it with the urgency of his request. The command, and it was definitely that, to relax and heal was heard but not adhered to in his wounded confusion, as Warren stiffened and tried to move. Scott stopped when Warren asked to walk and Scott shifted his position but didn't set him down. "Angel, if we both walk off a battlefield, we'll spoil our streak." And, it was sort of true that lately the two of them had seen far too much of each other's blood, but that had always been the way ever since they began this. They were already near the closest of the Quinjets, so Scott in a rare deference to his friend's dignity, set him on his feet, still keeping his arm around his waist, tucked under his wings, supporting most of Warren's weight. The illusion of letting him walk, without really letting him. "Fury's people are out there. As soon as you are in safe hands, I'm going to find the others." Scott set him down and Warren immediately regretted that, the blood loss hitting him instantly as his knees buckled, his head swimming, dark spots spreading across his vision. For a moment he thought he was going to black out again but Scott was gripping him, holding him up as he swayed. He clung tightly. "Have to stop doing this...." he muttered, finding that black humour which most of the X-Men gradually attained considering everything they saw and did on missions. He could feel a fresh flood of blood from the wounds on his throat as he moved. Taking a breath, the movement sending fresh pangs through his abdomen, Warren attempted to focus. "Skin, Logan, Banshee, Staic, Alix. That's who was with me." "I got their communicators on gps," Scott said, helping the injured man into the quinjet where the medic was waiting, "I didn't know about Alix. We'll find her." Turning to the medic, he said, "Stop him from losing blood, his healing factor will do the rest, but he needs not to bleed out in order for it to do so." "Sir... I'm not prepared for mutant hea--" the medic began. "Stop the bleeding," Cyclops said, in a sharp bark, "He'll take care of the rest." Looking back at Warren, Scott says, "Stay put. I'll be back for you when I find everyone else." He paused for only the tiniest of moments and then said, "Heal. That's an order. I need you around, Angel." It was more than was said... but Warren already knew it. Then Scott was out, back into the thick of things, searching for his men. The SHIELD medic took Warren over, supporting him until he could get a bad, but his eyes followed Scott as he left the Jet, desperately hoping that those who had been with him would be okay. The man moved nervously, trying to navigate around his wings and position him. “Just sit me down.” Warren told him exhaustedly, as he was guided towards a bed and sat down, suppressing a groan of pain, breathing heavily. He stayed grimly silent, one arm folded across his torso, slightly doubled over, as the medic snapped on pair of gloves and inspected the injuries to his throat. “I can stitch these up.. repair some of damage inside.” the SHIELD agent said “It will be easier if you lie back though. Can you...?” The man’s eyes flicked to his wings and then back again. Warren nodded and lay back, focusing on the slight discomfort in his wings to distract from everything else as the agent began working on him. |
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| Primal | Oct 12 2008, 03:55 PM Post #78 |
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JP PRIMAL AND GAMBIT “Do we really need to get Cutter? Let him walk home.” Gambit was about to respond to Cam's question when he spied an familiar form staggering, tail lashing about in an attempt to maintain a standing position. “Probably be a service if you hit the boy with your truck on de way outta here. We could scrape him off when we get home.” Gambit jerked his thumb out the open window, “Him though... think we need to pick this one up. Magneto likes him for some reason.” As the truck slowed down, Gambit popped open the door and reluctantly hopped out. Striding slowly toward the half dino boy, his mouth turned down slightly at the bitch that karma was being, making him come and help Primal to the truck. After all... the impossible situation Magneto had put him in with the younger mutant was still a sore spot with the Cajun. “Need a hand?” he asked as he came within feet of the boy. Reality swum like water swilling southwards through a plughole, unmercifully sucked away with every step, as if someone was flushing the chain on Primal’s existence. Teeth gritted, fresh spasms of pain washing through him with every step, the demi-dino swore he would rip the fucking eyeballs from whatever deity was chewing on popcorn and watching this filthy little play unfold if that being in question let him pass out. SHIELD helicarriers could be heard chopping their way towards the island, blades slicing through the night- dammit…he couldn’t deal with a truckload of government bitches in this state. He’d be taken down in seconds. Luckily, the hulking shape of the Big Pig soon loomed and slowed, in a timeframe that felt like hours. It seemed as though someone had jabbed a finger onto the hands of the universal clock and was turning them at semi-speed. Despite the miserable state he was in, Primal scowled as Gambit dropped from the cab and paced towards him, the sting of old rivalry rearing its ugly head. Fucking great. Help from this fuck was the last thing he wanted…pity that need and want weren’t mutually exclusive. “No,” the reptilian growled, ragged, wavering on his feet even as he said it. “Get out of my face, swamprat.” Red eyes scanned the body of the teen in front of him as Gambit shook his head slightly in disbelief at the sheer amount of pride the kid had. His gaze flitted from his arm, to his torso, and finally to Raen's face, covered in blood. It took a moment for the Cajun to realize that there were actually three clean cuts angled across the boy's face, almost impossible to make out in the darkness. Hesitating only a moment or two, Remy closed the distance between; his eyes focused on the limp arm, “Shut up kid. Dat needs seein to now,” he said, nodding to his arm. He could have just turned around and left... the kid obviously didn't want help from him, but with the X-Men around – not to mention Wolverine likely close by – and SHIELD on their tails, they couldn't afford to dick around. His gaze flickered toward the reptilian as he stepped beside him. “You gonna let me put this back in place? You bite me and I'll leave your ass here to be picked up by SHIELD.” He didn't like the kid much, but he was just a kid – angry, messed up... probably came from a really rough background. Gambit couldn't blame him for being an ass because of it, and living with a group of terrorists wouldn't help improve his social skills. Primal’s eyes flitted briefly to his useless arm, irritation plain within those amethyst depths; there were no ifs and buts, he needed the damn thing shoved back into place. And that was going to hurt like a motherfucker. And goddammit, the Cajun was his only option…well hell. If this wasn’t the most spitefully amusing little scenario he’d ever been in. Slashed to ribbons by the idiot feral, and now having to get help from Louisiana trash…yep, whoever was watching, was laughing right about now. With a brief glance at the heavens, full of silent things such as empty death threats and disgruntled warnings…as if the sky could hear his thoughts, Primal glared at Gambit. He wouldn’t say it…wouldn’t say, yeah, I need you to…nothing so ugly as the word need, but that much was obvious. Don’t bite him? “No promises,” he muttered, grudgingly. No promises... That was probably as close as the thief would get to an agreement from the volatile lizard; it'd have to do anyway. As Gambit grasped his arm, he hoped that Primal didn't think he was bluffing... he would have no problem leaving him for SHIELD to collect, and without Saint around to say otherwise, he might even be able to get away with it. With a small smile of satisfaction at how much pain he was about to inflict on the reptilian – for a good cause, of course – Gambit grasped the shoulder firmly in his other hand, “So... I see you met Wolverine.” Without even warning the kid that it was coming, the Cajun shoved against the arm, feeling it slide back into place under his palm as he guided it home with his hand on the shoulder. “You boys friends now?” The inquiry about Wolverine came and went, and Primal shot the Cajun an annoyed look, pissed off at everything, everything…him and the feral and the fucking shoulder and this whole freaking isla- Gambit moved without warning. White hot pain exploded in a volcanic surge. The teenager’s knees buckled and an agonised scream tore itself unbidden from his throat, automatically grabbing hold of his teammate’s arm. God…he hadn’t expected it to hurt that much…at least the relief was almost instantaneous, although thanks to the other injuries and the blood loss on top of it, blackness tingled at the edges of a thermal landscape. Don’t pass out. Don’t dare pass out you little bitch. “Yeah. Best fucking buddies. I’ll visit his grave to piss on it,” Primal gasped hoarsely, straightening, shrugging Gambit’s arm aside as if only just realising he had hold of it. Gambit dropped his arms to his side, taking the hint that the reptilian no longer thought he needed his help. His mouth still twitched in amusement at the pain and dizziness the dino was suffering. “Can understand that... looks like you'll be thinkin 'bout him every time you look in a mirror. Girls'll probably have a hard time makin love to ya... you know... cause you gettin 'em so much as it is.” He jerked his head toward the truck as the engine revved, letting the two of them know that its driver was impatient to get underway. “Think you can make it back to the truck, or you gonna pass out like a little girl and make me carry your heavy ass?” If there was one thing Primal wanted more than anything in the world right now, it was to not be on the brink of unconsciousness so that he could pound that smug bastard’s face into the dirt again and again. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” he muttered, hanging on by a claw. Being unable to properly retort to the cutdown ate Primal up like a piece of stale cheese festering in his gut, but anything more than that…yeah, he was not collapsing in front of this guy. No. Fucking. Way. “Think you can make it back to the truck, or you gonna pass out like a little girl and make me carry your heavy ass?” A short sharp laugh, which sounded far weaker than it should have, barked from Primal’s mouth alongside a sneer and a staggered step in the trucks direction. “Yeah, you wish you were gonna carry me over the threshold like a newlywed, Swampy…” …Irony was a bitch, and she was dressed in latex, brandished a riding crop, wielded handcuffs and wore stilettos, but was the ugliest leatherfaced whore you could ever have had the misfortune to meet. Primal’s legs gave way, and he almost ate dirt- would have, if it wasn’t for some inherent stubborn pride somehow keeping him awake enough to not pass out entirely. On his hands and knees, he glared at the swirling path, snarled an expletive and refused to even look at the Cajun. The kid had a mouth... no one could deny it if they wanted to. They couldn't get a word in edgewise because he always felt the need to go off on those horrible rants and prove how much of a wiseass he really was. Bleeding out on enemy territory didn't seem to change that much as he started into it once again, but whatever retort the boy had planned was lost as he slowly sank onto hands and knees, the obvious pain and loss of fluids getting to be too much for his most prized ability – talking smack. Gambit stood there and watched Primal collapse on all fours and snarl something that he couldn't quite make out – probably for the best, but he didn't wait around to see if the reptilian could pick himself back up. With the Acolyte in this state, Razorback with a bad arm, and an unconscious kidnapped telepath... the last thing they needed was SHIELD or the remaining X-Men to catch up to them. Grabbing Raen by the arm, Gambit bent over and slung the limb over his neck and slowly stood back up in an effort to get Primal on his feet. “Fraid the weddin night's gonna have to wait, beautiful. Didn't think to bring any rubbers,” he muttered to himself as he began helping the reptilian to the truck as quickly as he could. Time was nearly out... they needed to get the hell out of there. |
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| Juggernaut | Oct 12 2008, 06:54 PM Post #79 |
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Cain lumbered along. There was little to stand in his way as he made his way along the main strip of Wolf's Head. The people that were in his way moved as the thunderous symphony of his heels made the ground tremble with every step. He recognized a few of them -- other members of the Brotherhood engaged in battle with mutants of opposite alignment (he didn't really know who they were, only that they were automatically considered the enemy). His charging came to a stop, his breath hardly heavy even with all the trolling he had been doing through the buildings and houses of Wolf's Town. However, his chest rose and fell as his musculature heaved, his lungs filling with fresh air, feeding the intensity that was his entire body. Through the portholes of his helm he could see the calamity growing to its final climax. The engines of the Big Pig roared as it bellowed through the town. Cain smiled as he saw the headlights of the terrible machine light up the lanes, shadows beyond leaping into the trailor on the back of the mighty auto. The only problem was, it was not the only machine on the battlefield. Sounds of a greater beast loomed overhead, sounds of humans shouting, spotlights flaring up. Slipping into the shadows as only he could, Cain moved without incident, somehow obtaining a level of stealth even he was not accustomed to getting to. His boots still pounded the ground as he moved, but the chaos of the resonating battle drowned it out. Breaking through the fallen debris he created from charging through buildings, Cain's portholes settled on a shadow around the corner. He shifted against the pile of debris, his fingers curling. He held his breath as the shadow came closer, growing larger. From around the corner he could hear the static sound of radio chatter. The man made the mistake of rounding the corner itself, without his finger on the trigger of his gun. When he saw Cain's great shadow, he stopped, his hand shooting for the radio. Before the man could even press the button, Cain's hand raised into the air. With a colossal stroke, his fist and wrist came down upon the man's shoulder, his brutal strength causing his head to be knocked to the side to unconsciousness, bones to rend from their joints, splinter and shatter. Essentially, before the man crashed into the ground, his entire side was broken. Cain leaned over, looking down at the man. "My bad. I broke the toy," he sneered visciously before stepping over the man, passing further into the alley. With almost perfect timing, the Big Pig rolled around, Razorback's ride coasting along. Perpendicular to the machine, Cain charged, peddling along the ground with his colossal weight. Without caring for the consequences, Cain went airborn, leaping from the ground to the semi's trailor. His mutation drove him further, crashing through the side of the Big Pig, rending the side in a Juggernaut-sized hole. By sheer luck no one was in the space he crashed through. His boots thudding upon the inside of the trailer, he turned his torso, looking around as he unbolted his domed helm. "Still missin' a few. Need me to go get 'em?" |
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| Static | Oct 12 2008, 07:42 PM Post #80 |
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((I wanted to wait for Toad, but I probably won't be able to post later today or at all tomorrow. Sooo, here's what I think this is my last contribution to this thread. :) )) The ringing started to die down, but there was something behind it. As the ringing faded out, Cal began to hear a strange, unnatural roar that kept getting louder. She'd really overdone it, apparently. . . But it didn't stop getting louder. The roar just kept growing and growing as Callan tried to focus on balancing with her eyes closed tightly. Opening her eyes again, she turned in the direction of the ominous sound that seemed to be coming from something other than her electrified ears. It wasn't until then that she realized how serious that roaring was. There was nothing to be done when she finally found the source of the increasingly loud noise. When she turned to see it, she barely realized what was coming her way before it came a bit too close for comfort. The sound of crackling lightning filled the air once more as her muscles tensed in anticipation, her arms rising again as if they could shield her from the approaching vehicle. Shit. An even louder crack was heard as the truck trailer collided with the electrokinetic, sending her flying backwards onto the street a good distance from where she had been standing. Where the sound had originated from was impossible to determine, but it seemed most likely that it was a combination of electricity, metal, and bones. Cal'd had close encounters with the pavement a few times during this night, but this time she wouldn't just escape with a couple of stinging scratches. She was hit so hard that nothing was going to ease the blow. When she landed, it was on her back, her head crashing into the street with uncontrollable force as another surge of electric currents left her body. Then she was still. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "I've found someone. Blonde, early twenties. She's out cold." Cal was brought back into consciousness by the touch of an agent. His words didn't quite register with her, but as she opened her eyes she started to realize what had happened. It was over. She had failed. . . but what exactly was going on? Immediately pain began to surge through her body, most noticably in her head which was throbbing. She couldn't concentrate or see clearly. The features of the man hovering over her were blurred, and his speech wasn't being comprehended at all as he addressed her. Panicking, she tried to get up but a strong hand held her down, pressing on her shoulder. When she tried to pick up her own hand and push the foreign restraint aside, all she got for a response was a sharp pain unlike anything she had ever experienced. A soft cry escaped from her lips and tears began to leak out of the corners of her eyes as she frantically tried to make sense of what was happening around her. Slowly, she asked in a choked whisper, "Where is Alix?" The thought that the mystery man might not know who Alix was didn't even cross her mind. "I don't know," the agent answered as he turned his attention away from her. "Do you know where you are?" Callan closed her eyes tightly as if it would help clear her head, but the tension only brought on more pain. Where I am? Where am I? Her response to the question came out more like the pathetic meow of a cat than anything else. She couldn't formulate an answer, and she certainly didn't know the correct one. Something brushed her hair away from her face then, and a bright light flooded her vision as she opened her eyes to see what that thing was. The light made her already teary eyes sting and more water started to pour down the sides of her face. A soft sound was received by her ears, but she didn't know what the radio voice was saying. " Not sure how bad. Definitely a concussion. There's a decent amount of blood, but I don't know if her skull's damaged. Pupil's are dialated normally. . . maybe a broken arm. I think I can get her moving. If I need any help, I'll call. We're close," the agent replied to the man on the other side of the radio before returning his attention to Callan, "Let's try to get you up." He kept talking to her as he helped her off the ground slowly, but Cal didn't really hear a word. The movement made her dizzy, but the agent held her upright as she tried to stand on her feet without swaying. Just when she thought she was going to be able to manage her skewed vision and the intense pain that refused to die down, a wave of nausea came over her that almost overwhelmed her. Her abs contracted as she leaned over, sending another surge of pain through her body. Something wasn't right in there, but instead of vomitting all over the agent she sort of yelped and clawed at his arm. The guy was patient with her at least. He wasn't about to let her fall, and he certainly didn't try to bombard her with questions in her confused state. Instead he continued to support her as she did her best to walk forward in the direction of her way off of this damned island. It wasn't too far, but the rate of travel was a slow one and in Cal's eyes it seemed like miles. "Where is Alix?" |
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| Saint | Oct 12 2008, 10:43 PM Post #81 |
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As soon as Warren hit the floor, Saint was on the move. He was bleeding heavily from the arm and his head felt so very dizzy. Blood loss wasn't something that Kyle enjoyed on a regular basis, so he just wanted to get to somewhere that had painkillers and maybe someone who could do stitchs. That wasn't even taking into account the nose, which he suspected to be broken. But a feeling of pride was filling his body, driving Saint on. The Brotherhood had achieved their aim, a village laid to waste and they had taken out several X-Men along the way to prove that they were no longer the wasters that they had been before Saint had joined. No, Mastermind and now Magneto had whipped them into shape, a machine, all parts (ok, well not all parts) effective and working. But Saint would be damned if they fell into the hands of the agents that had started swarming like rodents over the town. He needed to move out of there fast. Where was the truck, he had sworn that it had been closer than this. A sudden roar of an engine alerted him to the Big Pigs location, and by the sound of it, Razorbacks prize motor was getting closer. A large bang was heard as Juggs burst into it, literally. How it managed to stay upright was a miracle in his eyes, but it was getting closer. Saint stumbled to an more upright position and as it came closer, he jumped. An instant off being a perfect entry and Saint was rewarded with a fresh piece of that agony cake as his wounded arm, the cut almost reaching the bone, the slashes on his side and back burning as if hot oil was being poured on him, hit the metal side of his team-mates entry hole. He crashed inside to the floor, blood freely running through his now clasped fingers on his larger wound. Someone had better get a damn medic for him. Flickering other, the only person that seemed worse off then him was Primal. Still, the last Saint saw, the hot-head had tried taking on a canadian human weapon called Wolverine. If what the rumours said were true about him, then Primal was either am amazing fighter or the luckiest son of a bitch to come out mostly in one piece. Most of the others were there, Gambit, B.P, Juggernaught, Camera, what looked like to be a hostage and he had been pretty sure that Black Tom was on the back from what he had glimpsed when he had jumped. Now they were only missing one.... could they count it as an acceptable loss? After all with his lack of respect, Cutter hadn't gained himself many friends, he hadn't always been the smartest page in the book. Kyle didn't even want to remember what he had attacked Magneto with, that was just stupidity. Drugs really did kill the brain cells off. Using his good arm to momentarily take his the pressure off the wound, Saint reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, hitting a speed dial number. The call would connect to a lackey in The Brotherhood who would pass the message on hastily. Only two words were said by the British mutant before he sat back and smiled at the rest of the group in triumph at their feats that day. "Job done" |
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| Skin | Oct 13 2008, 05:49 PM Post #82 |
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Weird. Weird. Weird. Weird. Why was this kid throwing up? Was it the dizziness or was it because he was ugly as sin?.....it was him wasn't it. Either way, it was quite strange to see the kid just throw up out of nowhere. After he released the boy he rose his hand to his eye sing a brief stinging occurred. He was glad that his skin had covered his eye in time since he would've gotten it worse than just a bruised eye though he did kind of wanted to wear an eye patch. It would be kind of cool he guessed. Now back to the action. This kid seemed like he was going to give it his all on him which was kind of admirable but not really in situations like this. He seemed changed as well like he had suddenly consumed some type of enhancement. Fury and rage was on Cutter's mind as he ran towards Skin. He had to bring out the big guns now. He really wouldn't have thought it but this kid was wearing him out. Did the Brotherhood feed these kids steroids or something? The extra concentration on a single eye was starting to get to him as his vision began to get randomly blurry so he knew he had to take Cutter out quick. Stretching a strand of skin to a nearby lamp post, the grey skinned man lifted himself up as he recalled his skin while still gripping part of the lamp post. Raising his other arm, he shifted a lot of his skin over his hand as he formed a fist, and it then became a really big fist. Skin concentrated on condensing the skin together to become hard and then he looked upon the raging boy below. Having one eye closed and the other forcing itself to see wasn't the least bit good but he had to do this. He wasn't going to let the Brotherhood kill another innocent person. Angelo lunged down with the skin tendril still grabbing onto the lamp. The momentum and angle of descent caused Angelo to retract back and do a little around the world thing with the lamp post but he began to pick up speed as he continued to spin. When it was time Skin released himself and was sent launching towards Cutter as if he was fired by a slingshot. The large fist would come crashing into Cutter who was probably blinded by his strange rageful state and it would most likely knock the wind out of him and send him flying back or smash his face open. Unfortunately for Skin, his position was a bit exposed as Cutter would have an open shot at him when he would swing. Things though went a little out of plan. His fist did make contact with Cutter but so did the rest of his body which broke his momentum and directional path. Skin was violently jerked to the side and suddenly slammed into edge of the brick wall and finally came tumbling down onto the concrete. Ow. That one hurt. While his skin allowed him to get extra protection and durability, his inner organs and bones could still be harmed if hit correctly. Angelo briefly blacked out but suddenly came to since he had to defeat this kid. Man did his body hurt right now though. It seemed that Skin got a bit careless and did not bother to use his skin better to angle his path of travel. Noise suddenly surrounded him and for a few seconds he didn't know what was happening. Suddenly he was met with what looked to be soldiers and his vision was still a bit blurry but he could sort of make out the SHIELD logo on their uniform. "Here's one of them. Mutant obviously. Grey skin. Skin on hands seems to be flat and extended out. Wearing one of their suits. Yes X-Man confirmed." the agent stated "All right lets lift him up and get out of here" Angelo then began to mumble out incoherently but then his speech got a bit better. "No man. I still gotta stop da Brotherhood from killin' yur people" "Hate to tell you Mr. Grey X-Man but mission failed" "Que?! No man, don' tell me that. Nah, we still got time. I can walk by myself let me go" "That's a negative. You don't seem like in any condition to walk. We're taking you back like this" Angelo kept quiet for a few minutes as they took him to "safety" before he finally said, "Caramba" |
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| Logan | Oct 15 2008, 09:38 AM Post #83 |
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Logan took a big breath, as big as he could and the building came crashing down around him. Main goal: stay conscious. Although his skull was adamantium, he could still get knocked out and that was not a good idea now. Logan wasn't sure if he could be asphyxiated or not, and he didn't feel like finding out today. He dove to the ground, turning so he was on his back. He couldn't dig out lying on his gut. Good thing too, because a thick slab of concrete saw fit to land itself on top of him. A normal man would be crushed. Logan was having trouble breathing. Claws dug in, cutting through the concrete effortlessly. He cut himself, but didnt' worry about it. After trying for a while there was a crack and it released him. There wasn't a lot of air, but Logan let his chest heal than took in as big a breath as he could. His nose told him where to go. Air was coming from his right, and in his crouched position he slashed at the concrete and rebar, trying to make an opening. Claws are not meant for digging, they're meant for killing. The going was slow, but there was some air along the way, thankfully. Logan wasn't sure how long it took, maybe an hour or more. He finally made it through, eyes soaking in the beautiful sight of "not concrete and rebar". He took a deep breath and his muscles were already healing themselves from the strain, soreness leaving him and breath returning. It took a lot to get Logan tired, and not a lot of time for him to regain his strength. Shield was all over the place. Agents approached him cautiously before seeing the X on his uniform. Logan was unsurprised. He wasn't exactly a well known guy over there when he had worked there, not with his clearance. The less said about Shield Agent Wolverine, the better. "Excuse me sir, are you..." "I'm fine," he growled. Logan's senses were already checking. He listened for heartbeats, for baby's crying, for anything, smelled for anything but death and decay. Nothing. Not a goddamn... wait. It was faint, but Wolverine could swear he heard it. He did! He ran like a man possessed, finally digging through the house to reach the cry he heard. If he had been himself, hadn't been so desperate for one measly good thing to come of all this he would have caught it. The repetition, the metallic tone. Logan uncovered a doll. Life sized, one of those 'have a crying machine for a week and learn about having safe sex' kids. "Fuck!" he screamed, kicking the damn thing for it's deception. He wanted to kill someone so bad right then. Fuck Magneto if he thought he could stop him. Nothing could stop him. He was Wolverine. He was the best at what he did. He could hunt him down, kill him in his sleep, spread hid entrails over the walls of the hide out and paint "Enjoy hell, you fucking child killer." "Sir, we're still looking. There might still be..." "Look around you soldier," Logan spat, "There's no one left. Not a damn soul got out. They blocked the water, they blocked the bridge. This wasn't a battle, this was an execution." Something stirred in him, a flash. Bodies, he saw bodies. Mass graves. People being lined up like cows, shot, then lined up again. Just a second, maybe two total. Nothing specific, couldn't even tell if they were men or women. Logan would like to say that it narrow the memory, the nightmare down, but history taught him otherwise. Guns were invented in the last eighty years or so. A lot of places he could have been, a lot of things he could have seen. Could have even been the holocaust. That's irony. Mags walks around with those numbers on his arm, and everything he does makes Logan think of Hitler. "Someone's gonna pay for this," he muttered to himself, not sure at all that he was right. |
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| Banshee | Oct 15 2008, 10:19 PM Post #84 |
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From his early advantage, Sean quickly lost his fight. He had once been the stronger, the faster, the winner. Now time, an easier lifestyle and not keeping up the training like he should have left him the loser in the winner takes all fight. The blows came in fast and painful, before long Sean Cassidy felt the strong lock of the other Cassidy brother around his neck choking him. It was ironic, the source of his mutation, his weapon was in such an easily attackable place. Thank god he didn't have a knife or Black Tom would of probably cut his throat as he was there bleeding. Animals like him always were monsters when it came to the brutal end. Unfortuantly it looked like Sean would meet the brutal end as he started to black out as the pressure applied to his neck grew tighter and stronger. His arms scappled at the arms holding him, trying to loosen their grip and failing. Black dots started to swim before his eyes as his futile effort did nothing. Eventually the dots overwhelmed him. Terry, Moira, I'm sorry...... When Sean awoke, his head was pounding, pain throbbing through it like a steam train, sounds and sight rushing back to his head. He was face down in the dirt, apparently alive, but not looking good for it at all. His neck throbbed with pain, lungs gaspng as he tried to breath all the air that he had lost back into his lungs. Trying to roll over, he saw a dark figure stood above him, talking to another agent who appeared to be communicating with a superior. "Sir, we found another survivor. This appears to be an X-Man, age estimated late 30s, caucasian, blonde. He's alive but he looks like he was strangled half to death. Requesting a medic once the more critical cases are cleared" the tall figure, a asian female with long coal black coloured hair. She pushed him over the rest of the way till he was on his back, staring up into the night sky. He tried to say words, but his throat burned, little more than a whisper coming out, a rough one at that. The damage to his throat hopefully wasn't permemnant, but Sean could still hear the truck that the killers were in driving away. He tried to say it, but they couldn't understand what his sounds were supposed to say. They had failed, all of them and now the Brotherhood were going to get away scot-free for their crimes. The Cassidy male hated letting them go, but he couldn't do anything but hear them as they fled, the sounds getting quieter and quiter till he could hear them no more. |
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| Jason Matthews | Oct 15 2008, 10:46 PM Post #85 |
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Jason watched carefully as the grey Xman spun around the lamp post. His next move was obvious and Jason set his feet, prepared to take the attack head on. He could tell by the quieting of the screaming that this mission was almost complete and it would soon be time to get out, but he would take this parting shot. Somewhere, buried underneath the drug-induced anger, Jason wondered how much pain he'd be in tomorrow. The thoughts never reached the surface, though. Jason simply adjusted his stance and waited for the giant fist. Once the mutant let go and shot toward him, Jason could see that it was going to be an awkward exchange. Bringing up an arm to shield his head, Jason thrust his other arm forward. The man's power was in his skin and even though it wouldn't tear or cut, it didn't make him invulnerable. Regardless of elasticity, Jason stabbed, even as the older mutant knocked him off his feet and the loud crack of fractured bone and a strange popping sound echoed in his ear. The arm used to block the fist was fractured in his forearm and dislocated at the shoulder. He couldn't feel the pain, but he could tell by the way his arm moved wierdly now. New shouting snapped Jason out of the fight and back into the greater world. These voices didn't seem afraid. Apparently the Xmen had brought reinforcements with them. It was definitely time to go. Disentangling himself from the Xman, Cutter didn't bother speaking as he took off. What was he looking for again? A truck with an odd name. He couldn't remember the name at the moment, but if he managed to see it, he would recognize it. Scratch that. The Big Pig's engine roared, and Jason ran, not feeling the pain of his several bruised ribs or fractured arm. His breathing was easy, but he knew that in a few hours, the pain would hit him, and it would be worse than if he'd just taken the hits. As he got closer, Jason heaved himself onto the back of the truck and took a single deep breath. Finally... He'd faithfully served his purpose, and even though he wouldn't refuse, he hoped he would never have to do something like this again. |
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| Cyclops | Oct 16 2008, 02:13 AM Post #86 |
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Cyclops had synched his communicator's GPS with the SHIELD systems, so as he moved through the carnage and the debris, he was able to direct agents through the scene to the locations where his team were scattered. One by one, his people were reported in alive, battered, some of them severely, but alive at this point which was something at least. But as he searched the rubble, using his communicator's tracking systems to try and find the codes for the X-Factor frequency that he had worked out with his brother and his people some time ago, he found no sign of Alix. This was not surprising because, frankly, X-Factor was less vigilant at using their radio systems than the X-Men tended to be, the organization not as by-the-book, Alex not having been... not being... the strict disciplinarian Scott tended to be. Alix had not gone out with the X-Men, according to what Scott had been told. She had just been here... just happened to be here... An agent came up to Scott, the young man in his blue uniform with it's white accents and accessories looking more like a child playing dress up as he looked a little nervously at the grim faced mutant. "Sir, we've recovered all of your men who have their communications on. Code Name Static was brought in and Code Name Skin. They are being tended to. Code Name Banshee's on his way to the Quinjet, but Code Name Wolverine... Our agents aren't really certain what to do with him..." Cyclops brought his radio to his lips, "Wolverine, Cyclops. You're scaring the Agents. Report to the Quinjet in the town square. We're leaving as soon as I get confirmation that you're all aboard. Don't dally please, not all the team has as handy a healing factor as you." He signed off before Wolverine could protest and turned back to the agent. "Thank you for your help. We'll be out of your hair shortly." The Agent hesitated as if he was uncertain to salute or what and then ultimately just chose to scurry off. Scott put his hand to his forehead, as if merely rubbing away the tension there, and reached across the telepathic rapport that connected him to his other half, ::Jean, have you been informed about this situation on Wolf's Head?:: There was no preamble or small talk. She wouldn't be expecting any, not since she could feel his mood through their link. Jean instantly answered the call from Scott. She’d stayed behind to protect the school and watched as the others left to see what could be done. Reports had stopped when the team arrived on scene. Seated in the War Room, she’d eavesdropped on the SHIELD communication link. It was hard to keep her seat when reports of the damage, to the town and her team, started pouring in. :: Yes, Cyclops. I know. What do you need? :: His lips twitched as she addressed him by his code name. She knew him so well. ::First off, everyone is still with us. Shield medics are taking care of them. I need you to disengage from all team members and do a concentrated search for Alix. She was here, apparently, but her X-Factor communicator either isn't on, or isn't broadcasting.:: Jean’s eyes unfocused and closed. Cut-off from visual stimuli, she could see the thin multi-colored links between herself and the rest of the team. She released the thin connections, keeping the thicker permanent connection with Scott. Using him as the anchoring point, she searched for minds. The mindscape was a vast darkness; she didn’t see dead bodies or debris, no walls or tons of earth could block a mind from her. The minds of SHIELD and their team were like flickering diamonds, and like any good jeweler, she could tell at a glance if it was the one she wanted. Working methodically out from Scott, she touched all the minds, discarding each one immediately. :: I don’t her in the area, :: Jean got to her feet and headed down the hall. :: I’ll try Cerebro. The Brotherhood may have gotten a new telepath and I’m being blocked. :: Scott had never entirely understood how the telepathic mind worked. That was an design that even his knowledge of engineering couldn't decipher. What mattered was that it did indeed work, and he was never more in awe of the woman he married than when she used her powers with such skill. Feeling the residual echoes of her exercising her power and scanning the island, he waited in what passed for as patience for him, and didn't interrupt until she told him she was moving to Cerebro. ::The Brotherhood have vacated the island. I just want confirmation that she's not half dead in this carnage. You are one hundred percent certain that she is not on this island?:: The shield that she used to distance herself from the feelings of those around her in a crisis situation, weakened and lower a little for Scott. :: No, :: she thought, a touch of sorrow carrying through the rapport. :: I don’t detect her. :: She answered simply. He wouldn't allow himself to drop his focus and his stern demeanor, but as Jean's sorrow filtered through to him, he reached out to her with his strength. ::They left everyone else behind, Honey, living or dead. If she's not here, then they have her, not a good situation, but one that we can change. People have come back alive from the Brotherhood. We'll make sure Alix is one of them. Keep searching, I'm bringing everyone else home for medical treatment. Thanks, honey, I love you and I'll see you at home soon.:: She took a deep mental breath and squared her shoulders. Alix didn’t need her sympathy, she needed help. :: I understand. We’ll be waiting for all of you. I love you, darling. :: Scott did not smile at Jean's parting words, but he didn't have to. She knew that even in this miserable situation what she did for him by those words. He was already on the move to the quinjet where his team was assembling, or at least being assembled. "Director Fury, meet me at the Quinjet, please." he called. "Already there, Cyclops, your men need debriefing," Fury said, his tall form coming into view as Scott reached the vehicle. "After they are cleared by our doctor," Scott said, climbing into the aircraft and turning to the Medical Officer that had come with the Shield deployment. "Are my men capable of travel?" Scott said, his eyes flicking over the X-Men in their various battered and bandaged states. "I'm assuming so," the Doctor replied, "Our medical scanners aren't really optimized for mutant physicalities." "Of course not," Scott muttered, gruffly, "I'll get them to our medical facilities, and we'll take over from here." The Medical Officer looked at Fury who had followed Scott in and was dismissed with a jerk of the Director's head. He glanced down at Static, who he had been attending to and said, "Don't sleep until you are cleared by your doctor." Then, he disembarked. With only the X-Men in the jet now, Fury folded his arms and looked at the young mutant leader, "Summers, we're not finished here." "Yes, Director Fury," Scott said, as he slipped behind the controls of the quinjet, "We are. I'll have reports for you as soon as my men are capable." "Summers." "One of my team has apparently been taken by the Brotherhood, Fury, and the rest of my men need medical attention. Get off the jet so I can get them home and cared for or be prepared to take a field trip, because I am lifting off the second my preflight is over," Scott said, his voice still that tight clipped tone that his team would definitely recognize as the sign that he was about to lose his temper, a rare thing but understandable in this situation. Fury's jaw tightened, but he had not become one of the most powerful baseline humans in the world by being an inflexible blockhead of a man. "Take care of your men. I expect reports by tomorrow afternoon." "You'll have them," Scott promised. The older man nodded, and said, "We'll continue our talk then." He turned and stalked off the quinjet. He took a safe distance and watched the aircraft take off, carrying the injured mutants. "Director Fury," said one of the agents, "You're going to let those mutants flit away like that? After all this?" Fury looked at the woman and said, "Those aren't just mutants, Agent. They're secretive, unpleasant and dangerous, but they're on our side, such as it is." "So your orders?" "Lock this island down, and start damage control." Fury said, "I want to know why it was hit, and I want to know five minutes ago." The flurry of activity began again, securing the island, putting out the fires... ... and gathering the dead. [align=center]Thread Closed[/align] |
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8:15 AM Jul 11