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Infamy; (Camera, Black Tom)
Topic Started: Nov 12 2009, 04:02 PM (604 Views)
Saint
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
Time: 15:02
Date: November 4th
Reading, Philadelphia



Richard Morgan sat at his desk, while his make-up artist finished the final few touches of his look, pushing back the hair into its perfectly styled state, its chocolate brown colour regularly dyed to cover up the white hairs throughout it. Brushing away the hand of the short spiky haired girl as he looked over his talk shows itinerary. He had started off over thirty years ago with his late night talk show and had slowly but surely crawled his way up to create his own media empire. The second most watched talk show in the whole of America and often far more controversial than her, his show was syndicated out to twenty-eight different countries and watched by an estimated half a billion world wide, his was an internationally known name. Even his magazine, though recently downsized due to the recession, had a annual gross of nearly a million dollars due to its huge circulation. On the outside, he was the well meaning fatherly talk show host, his warm, friendly and charismatic approach to his guests making him extremely popular. Last year he had even announced the Oscars with Hugh Jackman and his blog averaged nearly a million hit’s a day. However Mr Morgan had one negative aspect that drew him criticism more than any other, even his publicised affair with his old co-host on the radio while she was still married to her husband of ten years. And that downside was: Mutants.

It was no small secret that the man had a hatred for those blessed to have an x-gene. A vocal opponent of any civil right movements for mutants, the host had lost many sponsors over his views but he had also gained much support and droves tuned into his show to see if the man would deliver a rant at the mutants. While he was a frequent donator to groups like the Friends of Humanity and Purity, he argued for the bill that had failed to pass that would of outlawed marriages between human and mutants. The peaceful and not so peaceful protests that had happened by mutant and their supporters had been met by fierce opposition making the news. And the Brotherhood had a very special mission for him, one of their many high-profile hits on that day. All timed for around the same time, five different assassinations would take place and Saint had been given the media mogul as a target. He would do it with pride, to help send out their message to the world.

It would be a special show, done live in his Philadelphia hometown and to be aired the next week, where his main guest would be a certain Ms Louisa Page, head of the Purity group, a collection of like minded people who had formed an anti-mutant political organisation, who had been suspected of many violent attacks on mutants but who on the face of it seemed like a well meaning christain family group who just wanted to protect their own. Ms Page however was an former beauty queen and anti-mutant commentator, often using her sporadic appearance on Richards show to talk about what a sin the mutants were on the world and how they were basically devils sent in disguise to corrupt their good nation and deliver them all to evil.

Of course, many just brushed her off as a conspiracy nut but her crazed ramblings brought in the ratings and of course her tragic life story that cemented her hatred could only help it. Everyone had heard of the story of how her child had died after her pyrokinetic powers had activated at the age of eight, burning herself to death in a pyre of self-immolation and how Louisa had burnt her arms trying to save her child, permanently marking the signs of her loss with the ugly scar tissue on her arms. As a result, the women had developed a loathing of mutants, blaming the entire race for her loss.

Walking across onto the stage waiting for the live line-up to start, the familiar up-beat tempo of the music and the clapping of the crowd packed in the seats, Richard smiled, his teeth bleached unnaturally white. On the stage sat four high ranking members of the Purity group, including Louisa, from all walks of life who were united in their hatred. Richard himself was close friends with a few from his own vists (secret of course) to their meetings and it was his substantial donations that had help the group climb from their loosely banded collection into the news-making group they were today. Every single one of them a symbol of hatred for almost all mutants, who of course were not in the crowd. Anyone even suspected of being a mutant were turned away from the tickets being sold weeks ago.

And in the very front row sat two competition winners, a young couple who looked at the man and the surrounding area with unusual scrutiny, the boy leaning over to whisper into the girl’s ear. Across from them there was a small park, its trees covered and a white van parked meters away from the window. Security had checked all the surrounding vehicles but it was surprising what a little mental manipulation on a security worker who had checked the cars, could do. Of course, it also helped them to bring a few smaller weapons into the studio and past the bag check, that would make the job a whole lot easier.




The plan was simple, its execution would be swift and the escape to be clean. The aim was to massacre the people on stage, leaving none of them alive, deliver the message to the people in the audience and hightail their arses out of there. Richard Morgan was the main target, his outbursts on TV some of the most vocal anti-mutant that were heard yet he was still allowed to spread his poison week after week. It was sickening and that was why he had been chosen as a target. But finding out about the Purity members being there was an bloody icing on the cake. Of course there was a large amount of security, especially seeing as they were out of normal set, so to make sure that there were no disruptions, twenty burly men were situated at the doors and various points around the building doing regular patrols to make sure it went off without a hitch.

Using one of the cyberpaths that the Brotherhood had connections to, they had managed to secure two front row tickets for Saint himself and Camera, one of the loyalist to the Brotherhood. Black Tom, his form making it slightly more tricky to get into the studio, was situated outside in the van parked by the east wall. Only one wall separated the wall from them and Black Toms first job was to take care of that wall, make sure that no-one escaped through it and then help secure the perimeter for the few minutes that it took to get the job done. Then while he was doing that, Saint himself would use the opportunity to disable the guards while Cam would work to take out the targets on the stage in anyway she saw fit. After the job was done, they would escape through the hole, get into the van, drive it to the nearby safe spot, ditch it, switch to an ambulance they had managed to obtain and then watch the news reports roll in. Of course, several of the targets were a lot more high key but killing one of the most influential men in media, it would be worth it. So while the presenter sat down to interview the guests, Saint nudged Camera and whispered in her ear. The small transmitter that they both had positioned in their ears would relay back to Tom in the van, letting him know when to go.

“Its showtime” he said quietly, his hand curled underneath his suit jacket, a small collection of blades appearing, himself deliberately making the end of them extra sharp. There would be blood to make up for the mutant lives that these peoples words had ruined. Words were more powerful than anyone could imagine, a phrase here and there could plant a seed of anger and that seed could grow into a violent monster that destroyed the innocent over time. All those people on that stage, they were going to help even the score. When Black Tom made his move, then they would help make history.
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Black Tom
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Black Tom hated Richard Morgan. Sure the man was an anti-mutant bigot. He was a full supporter of Purity. Both Louisa Page and Alice Tremaine, both of those mutant hating bitches were supported by Morgan’s wealth. One of the things that Tom hated even more was that Richard Morgan was a semi-celebrity with a fake attitude and was raking in the money. There were millions of fat house wives that were in love and drooling over anything the man said and all he had to do was smile and smirk and talk with a gleam in his eye. Okay, perhaps Tom was a little jealous. The bigot was getting easy money. Tom didn’t think he would mind a job where he was paid millions just to smile into the camera and chat up fit actresses.

That job would be a little harder now that he was a walking tree. His new condition was the reason he was sitting in a cramped van at the rear of the studio. A tree walking around the city would have been rather conspicuous and counterproductive. The Irishman crouched in the back, his larger form barely contained within the vehicle. Beside him was a clock. The attacks were to be simultaneous, synchronize your watches and all that business. The clock hit the mark and Tom pushed the rear doors of the van open.

The van doors swung open wide allowing him to exit the van. His orders from Saint were to open the wall for a dramatic entrance to start the show. Thomas tromped from the van to the wall. “You want a door, I’ll give you a bloody door, lad,” Tom boomed.

He curled his wooden hands into fists and raised them above his head. Using all his might he slammed them down against the brick wall as he released a blast of energy. The charge shot through the brick and mortar, sending the debris flying inward. There were probably injuries among the studio audience as they were showered with brick chips. The dust circled in the air, dancing around in a large cloud that extended out into thinner tendrils. Tom stomped into the studio and backhanded one of the panelists that had interviewed with Mr. Morgan through the air and into the crowd as well. The Irishman took a deep breath and then roared, deep and rumbling at the panel.

He took a position at the hole in the wall. His primary job was to keep them all penned in. They were not to escape. Morgan and his guests were not going to get out alive.
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Camera
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The blonde played the role of the excited fan, even striking up a conversation with a fellow audience member about how cool it was to go and see the infamous Richard Morgan. Saint did absolutely fucking beautifully 'convincing' security that they were clean of weapons. Pistols at her sides, nothing extravagant just two simple .45 calibers. Her weapon of choice. Of course she had a few blades on her, none as impressive as Saint's but still pretty gnarley. The upbeat tune started, and Saint whispered in her ear. A small smirk that Camera had kept throughout the whole day widened to a smile. Tom boy had the back, Saint had the guards, but the muscle mimic had the joyful opportunity to kill the guest and that loathsome Richard Morgan.

“Right on, baby.” She said out loud to him just as Morgan was beginning. Camera quickly stood up and said, “Sorry I have a question!” The blonde, with a haste, whipped out the pistols and quickly shot three of four guests in the head. Leaving the newly panicked Louisa and Richard Morgan. The audience members started to scream as she moved to the stage. With almost a bounce to her step the muscle mimic made her way, pistols still in hand, and sat on Louisa's lap. “Do you two want to die in agony or slow but in a fuck load of pain?” Giving a small giggle she nuzzled against Louisa, who was obviously frightened half to death. Morgan was in a speechless shock.

“Saint, I think this is the very first time the host with the mouth against mutants has nothing to say.” She paused to let Saint reply to her statement if he wanted to. After a moment or two she continued on. “Ya know, I've watched this show a few times. And I didn't learn a thing from this prick.” Bringing Louisa's head closer to herself, holding her due to the fact she was visually upset and in tears, Camera kept on talking, “Or this dumb bitch here.” Stroking Louisa's hair with the pistol still in hand she continued on, “Aww, it's okay sweetie, after today your suffering ends.” Camera kept trying to soothe her from crying by shushing her, it was more of a distraction. Her free hand moved slowly as she brought the .45 closer to Louisa's torso.

A bang from the gun was heard. Smoke rose up from the barrel, Camera has a hard look on her face as Louisa struggled to keep on breathing and uttered, “P-please... heelp...me...” “Here honey let me help you.” The blonde moved her hands quickly and set the pistols down as she covered her mouth and pinched her nostrils closed. To weak to even think about fighting back Louisa slowly passed on and stopped breathing. Her smile returned when Louisa stopped struggling. “That's a girl.” Strapping the pistols back on her sides the blonde stood up to push Louisa off. Blood had stained the back of the chair.

The muscle mimic sat in the seat that the recently deceased Louisa had sat in and leaned forward and turned her gaze on Morgan, who was even in more shock as he stared at Louisa's dead body. “Hey. Rich. Focus here.” Snapping her fingers and pointing to herself letting him know that she was what he needed to focus on. Reluctantly he turned his head to Camera and she returned a sadistic sweet smile to him. “Let me interview you. Do you know why the Brotherhood choose to come on your show?” He gave a small shake of his head, almost unable to speak the blonde, unconvinced by his little shake, continued, “Really? Ya don't know? Ladies and gentlemen your beloved host is a fucking moron.”

She stood up and moved closer to the host. “We choose him, because of his outright blatant disregard for own kind, Mutants. Your crusade against the entire mutant race is met at the end of a gun or the edge of a knife. Last question Richie... how do you want to die?” Moving behind him Camera trailed her fingers on his shoulder leaning inward to his ear she spoke softly, “Your last moments and you can't even must up a words? Talk show host with nothing to say. Hmm, ironic.” From behind the host, the muscle mimic reached to grab a blade and quickly swept the blade across his throat like a credit card being swiped at a store. As his throat splatter out blood as he tried to gurgle out last words.

Camera stared at him until he slumped forward on the talk shows table, exhaling his last breathe. Taking in a deep breathe and sighing happily she looked at Saint as the blonde wiped the blade on the ex-talk show host. With almost a singsong tone in her voice she spoke, “I'm done Saint. That was fun.” Her smile widened, even more happy that she made sure to record the show before leaving.

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Saint
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
Camera had played her part much better than Saint had anticipated. Of course, she wasn’t going to win an Oscar for it but she was very convincing in her role. When the wall exploded, the crowd almost seemed to freeze, terror and fear keeping most of them stuck to the spot. And when Camera stood up, her guns raised to take out the panellist, the bullets firing, they screamed and cowered, the one panellist who had been sent flying on the small steps of the audience section, his neck bent at an impossible angle, a trail of blood and glazed over eyes showing that he was no longer with them. If Saint had a slightly more leisurely pace, he would of done something to the corpse, maybe behead it or desecrate the body but alas, that moment of indulgence would have to wait. Getting out of his seat as soon as Cam did, Saint hopped onto his chair and shot handfuls of blades towards the various guards that came running.

For a few moments while Camera brutally dispatched the guests onstage, Kyle aimed and delivered some razor sharp blades, skewering the guards that ran to protect their employees. The first dozen fell like boulders, their mass collapsing onto the floor and blood seeping out from underneath them. Kyle eyed the rest of the alleys from his high vantage point, glancing to see if anymore would be coming. He knew there was more, but for now he couldn’t glimpse the men. Maybe they had turned traitor and abandoned their bosses and the studio audience to their own fate. Or maybe they were waiting, trying to regroup or calling for help. Whatever they were doing Saint did not care, as long as they did not disrupt them. If they valued their lives, they would leave them to finish in peace.

“I don’t think he has ever had anything decent to say in the first place, so it’s a definite improvement there love” Saint replied, pushing the body of one of the bodyguards over with his foot as he looked down the corridors, keeping one arm raised, blades pointing at the audience. If he saw even one of them trying to make a break for it, it would be the last thing that they would ever do. Even after that, Saint walked back over to his chair, picking up a small package that he had left next to his coat. A small camera was positioned inside it, a small souvenir of the trip. Even when they pulled the broadcast of it, this clip would be online and global in hours, the whole world seeing Richard Morgan’s final moments, his shit-spewing mouth failing him in death. Black Tom was working well, his large build and mutant appearance keeping the audience scared stiff and they were right on schedule. The whole event had lasted less than a few minutes for them to deal with the panel and according to Saint’s plans, they had a few minutes left to make their escape. By the time that the emergency services would have arrived, it was an estimated seven minutes. So far they had only used up four. Manifesting a bolt from his hand, Kyle made his way to the stage.

“We, the Brotherhood, will destroy those who spout hatred for Mutant kind. You have witnessed first hand what happens to those who oppose us. But we are fair, if you continue to protest your hatred we will be forced to put an end to you. Remember all of you, you were spared today to spread the news. The Brotherhood did this today, an act amongst many to silence Richard Morgan and his lies. Don’t befall the same fate. Camera, BT, time to move out!” he shouted out to the crowd and his team-mates. In the distance, he could hear sirens approaching. Looks like it was time for them to get moving.
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Black Tom
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Tom watched the chaos explode around him. Saint and Camera went to work as the Irishman tied to keep the crowd intimidated and in control. Saint was leaping around and then taking his ground. His blades flashed out striking those in their paths. Guards and security ran up and they were mowed down by the glowing blades. These men were paid to protect the lives of the host and his guests. The security had been pumped up with the heavy anti-mutant message of the day’s taping. It was proving to be ineffective. Maybe the studio wasn’t really expecting anything to happen.

Camera set about her mission. She leaped onto the stage and dispatched the majority of the panel. The muscle mimic left only Morgan and Paige alive. She taunted and teased them. It was a game of cat and mouse. It was to torture them in their last minutes. Camera was giving them nothing more than they deserved. She then ended their lives as they begged for mercy. Mission accomplished. Saint delivered a message to the world to make sure they knew that the Brotherhood was responsible. They didn’t want anyone taking the credit. This was their Rubicon. There was no turning back and there would be no forgiveness. The mutant plight would not be ignored any longer. “Camera, BT, time to move out!”

Their message was delivered and it was time to go. Tom rumbled again and stampeded toward the crowd. They were no longer frozen in shock they scattered like roaches in the light. Tom ripped up chairs and tossed them about. He tried to grab and throw any audience members that stood in his way. He was going for maximum carnage. After his short stomping spree he turned and hurried back to the hole in the studio wall. “Right behind you, lad,” Tom called out to Saint. The Brit was in charge for this mission and Tom was going to follow his orders.

Black Tom hunched over and squeezed into the rear of the van. “Let’s get this show on the road kiddies,” Tom said as he tried to adjust himself in the cargo area. Their next step was to switch vehicles so that the could blend in and escape without incident. They hoped that their luck held up.
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