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| get that cold smile off of your face; [Empath, Spitfire] | |
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| Topic Started: Nov 14 2009, 08:20 PM (1,150 Views) | |
| Primal | Nov 14 2009, 08:20 PM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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Time of Day: 13:35 Place in Timeline: November 4th Primal kept time with his pulse. It was far too steady, he mused, offhanded distractions steering his mind from the task in hand. They crouched unseen on a small wooden jetty that jagged out like a spine into the cool dark waters of a private lake, set amongst sprawling woods and low hills that lurched unerringly into tended lawns and gardens that had had all the personality pruned out of them. Somewhere up in the fancy mansion beyond, Adam Smith, head of one of the biggest banking corporations in the world, a state senator and a professional douchebag, sat pretty and shovelled food off of fine dinnerware, ramming boiled spuds and roast pork down his throat, or whatever the hell richass fuckers liked to chow down on for lunch. Wild boar or pigeon wings or some crazy shit like quails’ eyeballs. Not that it really mattered. Mr Smith would be dead soon. Primal slipped into a hunting trance, breathing steadied, thermal sight flitting from the unnatural shapes that gouged blue and black bruises onto the landscape, tracing warmer blocks that pressed in a softer green against the sprawling expanse beyond. Brick edifices jutted in ugly ribs against the sky. It was a beautiful house, the kind most people could only dream of owning. Primal couldn’t tell. He heard Jesse’s voice murmur in the backwaters of his thoughts, something about being better than this. Exactly this. Thank fuck for the lack of telepaths. Manny might be able to pull some of his empathic voodoo shit and pick up on some distant confliction, but if he could see that whole intimate back and forth Primal and Jess had debated, then she’d be on her way to instant decapitation and he’d have some serious decisions to make. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he were forced into riding on a fence, made to pick a side, stick out his neck all because he’d gone and fallen for some nutjob Italian bitch with an epic attitude problem. So a couple of kids were about to watch their Daddy blow stomach chunks and puke blood all over the silverware. Big deal. This wasn’t optional, and the rugrats would live with seventy years of therapy or not at all. They’d come in from the lakeside. Left a rowboat with an outboard motor stuck on its ass by a cute little island thick with a useful copse of bristlecone that had completely blocked their approach. The thing about bankers, or just about anyone with so much money they couldn’t spend it, was that they were arrogant and complacent and didn’t consider the small things that might just cost them their lives, like placing any sort of security measures around their postcard-pretty ponds. Who wanted to see razorwire and cameras while lounging in their lake boats and growing fatter fishing for bass? Predatory dinosaurs sneaking up on private boathouses? Impossible. Not in a million years. Or eighty, if you wanted to get technical. Then they’d swam the rest of the way. Swimming for Primal was near easier than walking. A quick thrash of his tail and he’d hit at least fifteen miles per hour. Spitfire spat off ahead like some freak aquatic monster, a brilliant yellow blob in the icy black gloam. Empath was lost behind them both, but the Spaniard just had to suck it up and swim flat out, and they’d waited for him at the oversized boathouse. And here they were. Hunting. Primal came out of his reverie and turned to address his still dripping companions, water pooling in puddles at their feet. “Empath. Shut down any security, house staff: any emotions flittin’ around within your range, give ‘em a little push out the way. Get ‘em horny enough to run off for a wank or fuck their pal, whatever, I don’t care, just keep them out the way, and keep the family relaxed.” Primal refocused on the house, that oversized turd on the couture backdrop. From where they crouched it was about roughly hundred and fifty feet to the nearest wall, porch tacked onto the lakeside face like a massive glass eye. “Spitfire; the kids bolt, catch ‘em and take them out. This is an in and out job. You feel a clever line bubblin’ up, swallow it.” He cut his eyes over to the power lines that gently thrummed in the breeze, followed them to where they disappeared behind a stout iron outbox. Mags might like his face lit up in lights and plastered over billboards with a fat set of zeros stamped in red below his razor sharp cheekbones, but Primal wasn’t really comfortable with the thought of the entire planet’s populace all knowing precisely what he looked like. Tails and claws weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Mutants were public enemy number one; no point in actively trying to get stuck right on top of that about-to-be impossibly exacerbated hate list. “Go cut the CCTV hardwire. Keep the flames low.” |
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| Spitfire | Nov 15 2009, 07:08 PM Post #2 |
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Standing close to the wall of the boat house, or rather boat mansion as it seemed, Jac breathed out clouds of dragon breath, dripping with cold, murky water as she waited for Primal to pull himself out of the lake, giving the saurian mutant a nod instead of some sort of Loch Ness Monster quip. That would just get her killed, so she stayed mute, water rolling off her uniform, her hair long hair, tied back and heavy with water, chilling her as it slipped down her collar, the November air not helping to dry her off any. Eventually, after what seemed a real age to the speedster, Empath pulled himself out of the water too, at a pace of slow motion to Jac’s perspective. She felt nervous, her hands planted on her hips to stop them from trembling too much. The thought of what they were going to do made her feel slightly sick. She had killed, those faceless SHEILD agents who would have returned the favour, and she had gone with Balam to contaminate the water supply at the city plant…That was different in many ways, it was less real, less damaging. This man had kids, a family. The other assassinations as well, this would draw some major attention to them, and no mercy would be given should it go wrong, not even for information, and god forbid anyone dared betray the Brotherhood during this. The revenge dealt out for that would be worse than what the humans would do. Primal gave the orders and Spitfire listened, a small flicker crossing her face as he told her not to say anything. She wasn’t planning to say anything, she wasn’t that stupid and if she was, then what the hell was she doing there on the bloody mission? Maybe she did talk too much and was too annoying sometimes, but it was one of the drawbacks of being a speedster; the majority of other people were several pegs down the chart, they couldn’t keep up or even sometimes understand why, and god knew she ate enough sweets to send her through the roof, to keep her energy levels up. Internal rant over, she looked up as Primal told her to go cut the CCTV wires. Taking a tool out of her belt pouch, she blitzed over towards the outbox, keeping her speed low enough to still get there in a blur, but not fast enough to kick up any flames. She wished people would stop giving her a hard time abut the flames though because really, she couldn’t bloody stop it. It would be like asking Exodus to be not all ooh, a little bit batty, or asking Rogue to please not absorb people when she had skin to skin contact with someone. Stopping by the box, she looked around quickly before she opened it up and scanned the wires, using the tool to snip through the correct wire quickly, cutting it dead. She had learnt her way around such systems for the mission with Jara, and had kept up on practising, learning to make herself a touch more useful. Returning to her fellow Brotherhood members, she slipped the tool back into her belt, before checking her gun a little nervously, the action making it a bit more real. “I can cut the phone wire when we’re closer, just before you go in,” she looked down at the small handgun she had been supplied with in case of the eventually of needing to use it. They were there to kill the banker, Smith, not massacre the household, but if it came to it, they might have to. |
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| Empath | Nov 17 2009, 02:58 AM Post #3 |
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Approaching Adam Smiths house by swimming was not Manuel's choice of transportation, especially given the fact that he was with a rage filled reptilian, and a speedster. The water was freezing, the air was cold and being the slowest one of the crowd was no fun. Perhaps this wasn't as good of an idea as the Spaniard initially thought. Getting out of the water, dripping wet, his clothes sticking to his skin Empath assumed the group would need a moment to rest, he was wrong. “Empath. Shut down any security, house staff: any emotions flittin’ around within your range, give ‘em a little push out the way. Get ‘em horny enough to run off for a wank or fuck their pal, whatever, I don’t care, just keep them out the way, and keep the family relaxed.” said Primal. As fun as it would be to just send everyone into the woods fucking and sucking, Manuel had a little different approach. What would be better than horny, would be happy. That was it, he would make the staff of the house as giddy and happy as giggling schoolgirls, running into the back yard and pissing their pants. As the Spaniard stood wet and trembling planing his emotional attack on the house Spitfire shot over to the CCTV hardwire, disabled it and returned quicker than a flash. He may have been wet and cold but he couldn't let that mess up the Brotherhood's plans, he would continue with Primals instruction and begin to rid the house of any extra flesh. Taking slow steps closer to the house, Empath was used to sneaking around quietly and unseen, waking up early in the morning in the bed of a stranger, ordering Champagne and leaving his date at a restaurant while sliding out the back door with her friend. If he didn't want to be noticed he wouldn't. As he approached the oversized white house, he knelt to the ground just below the window that looked upon the kitchen. Resting his head in his hands images of puppys filled his head, it may have been lame but dogs and puppies were what made him the most happy. The love of a pet was different than that of a human, it wasn't fleeting and it wasn't based on an image, it was pure and unconditional, a dog loved you just because you are his and he is yours. If you locked a girl in a car trunk for an hour, and locked your dog in another, which one would be happy to see you after? It was these images and these emotions that Manuel would use to push the kind of pure bliss and happiness he would need into the minds of the people in the house, with one exception of course; the family. They would stay slouched in the couches and beds of their rooms, they would feel no such happiness. The family of Adam Smith the high profile banker and ultimate ass wipe would feel nothing but the pain they deserve, the all consuming and unforgiving pain and emptiness they usually filled with over priced designer clothes and flashy cars would come rushing from the places they had worked so hard to keep locked away. These images, these feeling and this emptiness was no trouble for Manuel to channel, he didn't even have to look inside of himself, all of the ammunition he needed was already waiting for him inside that big beautiful American dream house. |
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| Primal | Nov 20 2009, 02:45 AM Post #4 |
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Good job, kids. Primal felt a backwash of emotion shear across the rear of his mind, skin underneath his scales prickling colder in response. Damn psions. Couldn’t stand the lot of them. He put up with this one, didn’t really have a choice in the matter, and yeah it was useful having around a guy who could poke his fingers about in that murky psychological world, pull a fast one and make the vast majority dance on marionette strings, it was in fact necessary; but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He nodded his agreement to Spitfire’s suggestion, pointed with his chin at the building, then quick-footed it across the lawn until he came up to hard brick. Prowling closer to Empath, tawny scales blending with the background, autumn colours camouflaging with the tree-fall, he dropped back into that keenly aware spatial sense. He pressed himself against the wall, senses all heightened, pushed into overdrive by predatory adrenaline. Pheromones lingered in faint eddies, shapes and twists of bodies that had passed along regularly paced routes nearly visible in their scent-impressions. A trail of footprints led away from the house, glowing mild yellow. Most of them were old, barely indistinguishable from the cooler ground that closed in on them and ruined their edges, eating away at them so that they looked less like prints, more like the markings of some strange undulating serpent. Didn’t look like anyone had come this way recently, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, whether or not it meant that the house staff were due another round, and he hoped Manuel’s parlour tricks were enough to keep them all sat tight jacking off or drooling all over themselves until the terrorists had offed Mister Moneybags and gotten the fuck out of there. If not, this was going to be bloody and messy and noisy and Primal didn’t really relish the idea of coming off looking like a bunch of incompetent amateurs. Frankly, he imagined he could have done the job quieter and faster on his own, but y’know, teamwork and all that good stuff. The door he unlatched opened into a large kitchen, the stale smell of hour-old cooking clinging in greasy ropes to surfaces and unseen on expensive appliances. An oversized refrigerator hummed indolently in the corner, backed up next to a glass-faced cabinet packed full of fine china and exorbitant crystal. It was thankfully empty, no cooks or maids standing open-mouthed ready to raise the alarm or throw cutlery or butcher knives at them. Beyond the kitchen a long hallway stretched deep into the depths of the too-pretty house, all finery and feng shui, a tiny mahogany table positioned halfway along dressed up with a pointless pot of flowers and what the saurian assumed were a couple of photographs framed in diamond-cut silver. As he skulked past the polished decorations, to his right a dull click resounded like the cocking of a gun. Primal stiffened, whipping his head around. A door cleverly hidden amongst decorated wall panels swung open, stairs behind it rolling down and away into some brightly lit basement. It was a kid, an unsuspecting twelve-year-old. He stopped and froze, gripping the door handle tighter and tighter until his knuckles were corpse white. For a second, Primal hesitated, the kid standing there horrified, mouth working without making a noise. Any moment he’d start screeching and hollering and fuck the whole damn mission up, and here Primal was balking over something small and soft twigging in the back of his head. Primal moved first, pivoting deftly and snatching the boy before he could break from his startled squirrel routine and scream about dinosaur men, hand slapping over his mouth. The saurian felt teeth bear down on his palm, muffled howls vibrating through his fingers, but those small incisors did little more than glance against his scales. Fuck. He was suddenly overwhelmingly reminded of Wolf’s Head, that bloodbath. Somehow back then he’d felt unerringly detached, like he hadn’t really been there, and killing kids hadn’t seemed real at all. Like it had been some horrific first person shooter, played out in a holographic brutality. There everyone’s fear had rolled into one, and it had all stunk like death. This was the privacy of someone’s house, a family home, and all he could smell right now was this boy’s terror and the piss that drenched the kid’s pants. All he could hear was Jesse’s voice spitting sermons about morals he’d never had. Maybe he wanted to defy her. His little existential dilemma lasted all of five seconds, quickly giving out to logic and necessity and instinct. Screwing his eyes shut, he wrenched his captive’s head around until vertebrae gave way with a dull crack, one that shocked through his arms and set his nerves on edge, pupils dilating. He held onto the kid until all those nerve endings quit kicking, then gently set his body down, a string of curses spilling through his mind, half at himself, half aimed at Jesse. Then it was the telepath’s turn to gripe up through his memories, all those crooked pictures, and her psionic evisceration. Right now she was right about everything, and he hated her just a little more for it. Glancing back at his companions, Primal indicated that they keep moving with a curt jerk of his head. |
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| Spitfire | Nov 20 2009, 08:45 PM Post #5 |
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Primal nodded at her suggestion, then motioned towards the house. Going slow seriously frustrated her, but that was the pace they were going, and as much as she disliked checking her speed, she really did not want to do something to piss off Primal, so kept behind him to take his lead of things. As the neared the large, almost offensively grand house, Jac split off from the two men, following the wall down the side of the house, going for the phone line. She knelt down on the flagstones that spread about this part of the house, surrounded by neat gravel that looked like it had been handpicked, stone by stone and unnaturally green grass that was probably plastic and would melt if she ran over it anyway. Looking about carefully, she pulled out her tool again and after a small pause, she cut through the wire. She didn’t want to, not really. She was leaving them cut off. Okay, okay, grow up, there’d be mobile phones in the place and everything, they wouldn’t be totally cut off from everything, just the landline…Keeping low, she dashed across the side of the house quickly, rejoining her two teammates. Slipping into the kitchen behind the Acolyte, Jac’s stomach gave a growl as she thought about a snack. She had stuffed herself before she’d swum the lake, not a great idea but she needed to go through this without stuffing her face, as it was predominantly nervous habit anyway. Her energy levels were fine; she could go for at least two hours before she got anywhere near desperately needing something to eat. As they headed out of the kitchen, Spitfire heard a click and saw a door opening. Tensing, she stood, on the spot as a kid emerged out of seemingly nowhere; the door being one of those that looked like the wall it was set into. The speedster couldn’t tell who moved first, the kid or Primal but the pair ended up in a tussle, the boy uselessly trying to chomp on Raen’s arm. For what seemed like forever, the boy flailed and lashed until Primal snapped his neck. Jac felt her heart move up into her mouth as the boy’s body went limp and watched as he laid the still form down, almost gently. That was the thing about Primal. People thought he was just some badass, cruel psychopath who just didn’t really care. But Jac, through her own observance doubted this was really the truth; Raen probably didn’t want to kill anyone more than he had to. The banker was their target, killing this child served no purpose to their mission other than preventing them from getting caught. With a small, sympathetic twist on her lips, she noticed that the boy had wet himself. Wiping the expression off her face as Primal looked back at Empath and herself, Jac followed after, keeping a careful eye out for anyone who was going to come bolting out of any more hidden doors, or coming down the grand, sweeping staircase. Above, there was a sudden clatter of footsteps as a woman walked across the landing, heading from one room to another, wrapped up in a robe as if she had just been in the shower. She recognised her as Smith’s wife, from the work she had done to prepare for this. Taking in a breath, Jac tugged a silencer out of her belt, clipping it on to the gun. Her heart was about to explode, but this was a team, right? Primal had just killed that kid, he still had to kill Smith, and it was her job to make sure he could do that, no matter what she had to do. Nodding, she closed her eyes to steady herself and flitted up the stairs quickly. It smelt of perfume and there was a blast of warm air hitting her back, coming from what was likely some massive, luxurious bathroom. Jac didn’t fit into the surroundings up here. Her family had not been poor by any means and she had led a very comfortable, happy life, but now she didn’t belong to this world of human finery. Raising the gun a little, she gave a heartfelt thought of thanks towards Balam, for teaching her how to handle a gun properly and to use it effectively. As ever, Jac had been a good and quick student, so she hoped the feral shapeshifter had had no complaints and that she was good as she really thought she was. Music was coming from a room, the door ajar enough to be considered shut to a family member. Damp footprints on the carpet let Jac know that Mrs Smith was in there. The speedster nudged open the door, her hand trembling as she did so. The woman was stood, her back to Jac, head in a massive wardrobe that spanned the length of the room. It was probably her second outfit of the day, the speedster thought, trying to find something else to hate the woman over. Hating her would make it easier. Then, in an awful moment, the woman turned her head, a greeting as if to a child coming from her lips, that broke off, her eyes widening in terror as she saw the Brotherhood member stood in the doorway. In a flash, Jac was across the room, her free hand clamped over her mouth, much mirroring the encounter with the woman’s soon down in the hallway. She struggled, but Jac was too fast for the woman and her reflexes too good for her to escape the blonde’s grasp. “This is for our freedom.” Pulling the gun around, Jac span out from the woman, the gun pressed to her forehead, making it quick. The bottom fell out of her stomach as the bullet impacted and the body fell to the floor, almost silently, sinking into the soft carpet. God…God… Backing away, Jac’s eyes were dragged towards the mess of red and splatter, all over the wall, the wardrobe, the carpet…It was for the best, it was for the future, survival…If she had not done this, someone else would have killed the woman, and probably made her suffer more. Wiping an arm across her eyes roughly, Jac returned the gun to her holster and backed out of the room, shutting the door. There were smears of blood on her face, over her suit, but at the moment she was unaware of it. It had all taken less than a minute. Feeling bile burning in her throat, Spitfire ran across that level of the house, checking it before heading back down the stairs to join her fellows. |
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| Empath | Nov 24 2009, 06:25 AM Post #6 |
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Door open, Kid, Primal, Snap. It happened in an instant, the small boy opened the door, his eyes rested upon the three strangers in his home, and before he could make a sound he was dead at the hands of Primal. This didn't matter to Manuel very much though, the child's life meant nothing to him, the Spaniard was not the boy's friend, his brother or his maker. As Jac sprinted up and down the stairs, returning with blood on her face, Empath could pretty much gather what had happened up stairs in that room, the old bag was dead too and she probably deserved it. Taking slow and quiet steps down the hall, Manuel listened to the increasingly loud breathing he could hear coming from what he assumed was the back end balcony of the house. With his back to the wall and his mind sharply focused, he turned the corner to see Adam Smith sitting on a rocking chair of the high balcony that overlooked the pool. It was perfect, the pool was as overdone as the rest of the house, with cobblestone surrounding every inch of it and intricate rock sculptures, and mini waterfalls at either end. Standing at the corner of the door that led outside, Empath crouched to his knee, placed one hand in the other and looked deep into the emotions of the overweight banker. Pushing, pulling and upsetting his every feeling, the Spaniard brought every memory and feeling of anguish, hate, sadness and cruelty he could muster into himself. Holding the emotions until he could take it no more Empath flooded Mr. Smith's head and heart with everything he had. With a firm and unrelenting hold on the now fragile mind of the bastard, Manny stood upright and walked in his direction until only inches separated them, talking directly into the mans ear, Empath had a few things to say. "It's a high jump down from here, looks fun doesn't it Mr. Smith, you're not afraid are you. I mean; think of all the good you will be doing, how much better this world would be without you having to be a part of it. Besides, now that both your wife and son are dead what do you really have to live for anyway, and who's to say the police wouldn't think you were the one who killed them, after all, you are the only one here, and with all of the staff suddenly gone from the house who could prove your innocence. I don't think prison would be a fun place for a man with as many enemies as you" Every word from the mutants mouth rang through the stormed head of Adam Smith, it was no doubt a different and very upsetting feeling for him, a man with this many connections and this much power was most surely not used to feeling this way. Powerless, guilty and for once sorry, it was too late now now however, their was no tuning back for this man. As the fat douchebag stood trembling on the banister of his perfectly white balcony, the Spaniard turned his head to his friends behind him. "Primal, Spitfire. Anything you wanna say" |
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| Primal | Nov 25 2009, 11:38 PM Post #7 |
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Jac disappeared and returned seconds later smelling of blood and dismay. Primal cocked his head at her, wondering offhandedly who she’d taken out, if it had been her first. She smelled pretty shook up, adrenaline skyrocketing, emitting chemical fonts that hung around her like a pheromonal aura. Empath had shimmied off on his own; Primal realised this when from two rooms away the Spaniard’s attack on the banker’s psyche splashed out across the household. It came in a backwash; a dirty sluice of mental effluvium full of half digested emotional chunks, spewing thickly through psychic eddies. At first Primal reeled, pausing in the doorway, knocked back by the sudden intensification of disembodied fear. Then Empath’s words floated along the corridor, disjointed and grisly and pointless. Tch. He was playing mind games. Moreover, he was fucking with a dead man’s head. Primal scowled and sniffed, claws flexing. He killed because he had to, because he had nothing else, because he was what he was and only Jesse still fought it. There was nothing sordid or pleasurable about it… and whatever they had to do and say, it wasn’t in his mind an act of terrorism, it was survival. Survival didn’t involve mashing the last will and resolve of some socially glorified shitbag into a gooey paste. Ok, it didn’t involve being an ass either, but Primal didn’t fuck around when he had a job to do. Dead was dead, and didn’t need a song and dance to make that tiny little fact any more obvious. "Primal, Spitfire. Anything you wanna say?” As if this was being broadcast to the nation. The banker had frozen with fear, pathetic fuck, belly spilling over the belt he had unbuckled while languishing in post-dinner torpor, half dozing and too fat to keep that strip of leather from digging into his waistline. Now he was regretting the oversized portions, pallid and sweaty and staring at the large windows in front of him like he could ignore the inevitable. His face was slick with tears and snot and Primal could smell that dour salty odour even as he marched into the room. Roughly shouldering past Empath, Primal didn’t even bother sparing his teammate a glance, sidling past to the face of the chair and throttling Smith’s throat, tearing out his jugulars in one quick motion. Blood cascaded warm over his arm, coating his scales, erupting between his fingers in thick bouts. Adam Smith released a sickening gurgle-groan and flopped and rocked wildly in his rocking chair, its curved feet slamming loudly on the polished floorboard. Watching as Mr Smith twisted and rolled in grotesque contortions, grasping pathetically at his neck, arms flapping around uselessly like a decapitated bird’s, Primal stared unflinching as he died, daring himself to feel something like remorse. He reached around to his belt, deftly unclipping the bowie knife that hung there, paper twisted tight around the handle. It grew sticky and stained in his grasp, but he gripped it harder until the crumpled parchment threatened to tear. When Smith had all but stopped bucking, shoulders still jerking, Primal cut a hard, scornful sidelong glance at the Spaniard. “What goddamn audience d’you think you’re playin’ to? You wanna impress someone with a big badass speech?” Primal rammed the metal tip through Smith’s half-lidded eyeball, scrolled paper unfurling beneath it in a long thin tongue of blood-spattered white. Printed upon it was the date, and below that in large red font their declaration of war, a capitalised statement echoing Magneto’s sentiments. He couldn’t read it, but he knew what it said. [align=center]MUTANT RIGHTS. MUTANT JUSTICE.[/align] Primal snapped his attention back around to where Empath stood like a stooge all hyped up and ready for bloody action as if there was a television crew hovering tentatively behind them, boom mic teetering like bloated roadkill above their heads. “Do it in front of a mirror.” |
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| Spitfire | Nov 27 2009, 05:57 PM Post #8 |
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Standing at the base of the stairs, Jac glanced up to see Primal giving her a funny look, as if he were examining her. He remained silent though, not questioning her and not chastising her either, which she was glad of. If he didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to bring it up. Simple as that. It took both of the mutants a minute to realise that Empath had slunk off, as they were both hit by the backlash of the Spanish mutant’s attack. Clutching a hand to her head, rather fruitlessly, the speedster set off after the saurian man as they followed the words, and the pain, down the corridor, out on to a balcony. It was not a pretty scene; Manny was playing with the man like a toy at Christmas, relishing the torture he was inflicting. This wasn’t the way things should have happened. It was not about belittling the man; it was about making an example of him and by default, his family. Shaking her head, the blonde mutant glanced across at Primal in almost dismay, silently wanting him to shut up Empath. He would not be able to see her expression, but he himself had expressly ordered this to be an in and out job, and for her to swallow any clever lines. Obviously he had been on at the wrong person in this instance and could maybe have made it a more general statement. Maybe he had, but Jac, so used to being warned about her mouth, as was everyone else, had taken it for herself. "Primal, Spitfire. Anything you wanna say?” “Yeah…You’re a dickhead,” Jac shot at him scornfully, the blood still smearing her cheeks. She had not killed for enjoyment, or made Mrs Smith suffer, it was an unfortunate loose end; she could have come down into the hallway and seen her dead son, come into this scene on the balcony. Primal obviously wasn’t that impressed with the little epic speech either, as he strode past Empath without so much as a sideways glance and grabbed him by the throat, tearing into it. It was a messy, bloody way to go. The metallic smell of blood hit her even more than it had upstairs in the bedroom, but she kept her composure, and for the moment her silence. The blonde felt sick and heavy; despite her time in the Brotherhood she had never been a part of something so personal and direct. Eventually it was over, and the banker was dead. As the final touch, to mark this crime as theirs, he speared the knife bearing their message through the man’s eye. Spitfire winced a touch, then exhaled loudly, as if she had been holding her breath without even realising it. She gave Empath a rather baleful look, shaking her head as Primal said his opinion on what had just happened there. This was about mutantkind, asserting their place, showing the humans that they would not stand for persecution and intolerance. It wasn’t about getting a kick out of it or playing some sick mind game. It was serious business with serious repercussions if this all went wrong. “Really, what was the point of that…” she could have gone off on one, but the statement was more directed to herself. There was no point making herself look like an idiot for thinking the empathic mutant had been an idiot. She took a few cautious steps towards Primal and gave him a look. “Do you want me to check the rest of the house? There was another kid, wasn’t there?” she asked, a hint of nerves spilling through into her words, but there was still a job to do here, even if their main target was down. |
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| Empath | Nov 30 2009, 03:38 AM Post #9 |
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"Yeah, well fuck you both" the Spaniard said to his two companions. They had began to bitch at him for going on the way he did, and playing with the emotions of the man they were about to kill, but he wasn't doing it for fun, he actually enjoyed it. Mr. Smith was a bastard and no one knew it better than Empath, maybe if Primal and Spitfire had taken a second to get to know him they would have noticed that Manuel was doing it the way he saw best. "I'm gonna go see if anyone else here needs to be taken care of before we leave. Maybe if you two can get over yourselves, we can meet outside when we are done here." Manny said. Pulling the collar of his coat a little tighter around his neck, Empath noticed a sliver of light coming form the crack of an open door and walked into the dark room. Closing the door behind him he did not turn on the light, but stood still in the dark listening. As silence filled the room, the Spaniard clutched his gun and listened for any noise. As he cleared his head and opened his mind Manuel allowed any emotion to fill him from anywhere in the room, it didn't take long for the dull ache of fear to come flowing in and Manuel knew for sure he wasn't alone. After standing around in the dark for longer than he thought he should have to in order just to kill some idiot bankers family, he turned around and quietly turned the handle of the door. With a slight turn the handle and a foot out the door, and the sound of book falling onto the ground, Empath turned and shot three times. With a flick of the light switch on the wall he walked slowly walked, gun held high, to the front of the wall-to-wall bookcase. "Who the hell is this, well... dead now, I guess" he said as he looked at the bloody body on the floor. With that the tall Spanish mutant would go outside and wait for his brethren. |
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| Primal | Dec 3 2009, 02:31 PM Post #10 |
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Jac asked if she needed to check for the remaining kid while still quaking from her previous hit, blood splattered on her boots. Primal glanced at her, wiping his claws on his vest. She’d impressed him. Stuck to orders, did the job even if she didn’t quite know how to handle it, handled it anyway and didn’t complain, and didn’t shoot her mouth off. She was a mouthy cow, like him, but like him, she knew when to shut the hell up. He shook his head. There wasn’t any need to go rooting around for some terrified teenager who was probably pressed up against the floorboards underneath her bed, slewing her sobs into a snotty pillow. Let her grow into a lonely embittered prude intent on avenging the death of her family. Either way it didn’t matter. Regardless, Empath went off and did his own thing, again. Primal set his jaw. He hadn’t spent the past year busting his ass just to get spoken down to by some snotty-nosed douchebag who needed a few inches shaved off his imaginary cock. Moreover, he wasn’t in the mood. This past month had been the worst since Apocalypse had pissed all over the planet, thoughts of Jesse driving him insane, guilt tripping him up when he least expected it. Pietro ever present, like a herpes wart. This at least could have gone smoothly without having his authority questioned by some fucktard whose ego was so fucking huge it actually had its own miniature egos. From the pool room to the porch to the fifty foot lawn and across to the lakeside, there was enough time to let that little collection of agitations simmer. So by the time they reached the boathouse it had blossomed into a boiling knot of anger, and he was about ready to peel Manuel’s skin off inch by motherfucking inch. Without warning Primal slammed his hands into Empath’s shoulders, shoving him against the wooden outhouse before roughly flipping him around. “Fuck me? Get over myself? You retarded, or just fucking deaf? Maybe you need a few more English lessons. Here’s the first one,” Primal backhanded Empath hard across the cheek, then grabbed his face with the same hand, fingers squeezing indents along his jaw. He towered over the little Spaniard without even trying. “You got a bit of a problem understanding the hierarchy around here? You’re the new guy, so maybe you’re havin’ some trouble grasping the whole concept. I give an order, you fucking follow it, you don’t run around flapping yer li’l stubby arms like you got a dead rat in yer cunt. ‘In and out’. Not showboat, torture, fucking mindrape. Did those words ever leave my mouth?” He chewed his words off, spitting them with all the extra bile that had built up in the time he’d had to pace himself. They didn’t need a commotion in the house. Out here they were secure. “I answer directly to Magneto. You answer to me. Or did that little fact escape you while you were busy jacking off over Mr Smith and his dead fucking ass. You into necro? Is that it? I mean I can personally arrange delivery of some freshly frozen pussy for you to shove your dick in if you enjoy fucking corpses that freaking much, but keep that shit to yourself. I ain’t having you undermine my goddamn orders. D’you understand, or am I gonna have to tattoo it in Spanish across your fucking forehead?” As he spoke Primal suddenly released Manuel, ramming his thumb against the Spaniard’s brow. Then he ducked his head so that he was roughly eyelevel with the pompous Latino, voice dropping to a low growl. “You tell me to fuck off or get over myself again and I’ll tear your goddamn balls off. Fucking try me.” Primal indicated the water with an angry jerk of his head. |
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| Spitfire | Dec 5 2009, 11:23 PM Post #11 |
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The speedster rolled her eyes as Empath went on his little rant. Obviously something had crawled up his arse and died there or something, because he was sure as hell being one pissy little bastard. Shaking her head, she lifted her hand to her forehead, but bit down on her lip, refraining from making any vocal comment, she knew she didn’t really have to as Primal was probably thinking it already, so no need to start running her mouth off now, after everything. Her ears pricked as there was the distant sound of gunfire and she guessed what had happened elsewhere in the house. They weren’t there to enjoy the killings, or slaughter everyone in there…It wasn’t like that. It made them no better than the humans. Really, if anyone needed to get over themselves it was Empath. Bloody moron…She was all about ready to wrap a cricket bat around his face. Sidestepping around Primal she gave him a bit of a nervous grin. “I’ll see you in a tick…” Shooting outside, Spitfire dodged around the side of the house to the sprawling garage. It was one of those pristine showroom types, not your average family garage that actually stored useful things beyond vehicles, but there had to be a can of something flammable in there…Rooting through the neat little set of shelves beyond the Porsche and the big brutish SUV that the mother had probably used to ferry the kids around, Jac pushed aside bottles of wax and paint, before kneeling down and looking under the counter, coming up with a spare can of petrol. Lugging it outside, it took but seconds for her to mark out on the lawn with the liquid, keeping her gloves on as she sealed the can and tossed it back into the garage before pushing her speed to the maximum as she ran over the line of petrol at her top speed, the flammable liquid igniting behind her as she ran. It was a showy bit of flair, but at the same time it was their mark; a giant M to let the humans know for certain who had been there. Jumping off the letter, Jac looked back over her shoulder at the flaming grass, wondering how long it would burn; there would be an impressive scorch mark left behind, either way. Well...It was done. Turning, Jac made her way back around the house, catching up as the two men came out of the doors, falling into line behind Primal. The walk back across the garden was absolutely filled with tension to an almost unbearable level. What Emapth had said before going off on his little strop would not go down well at all with the Acolyte, the speedster thought to herself, waiting for some sort of outburst to occur. And…It did not go down well at all. As soon as they were by the boathouse, Primal had Empth pinned up against the wall before giving him a bit of a beating. A bit in consideration for the fact that Primal could have taken the Spaniard apart, piece by piece if he’d really wanted to, he was very much in control here. Hopping from foot to foot, she glanced at the water that was to be their route back out of this, then back to the two men as Primal pretty much gave the order to get going anyway. “We should go, eh?” she turned it into a statement, more for clarification that anything else. She just wanted to go and not dwell on this too much, for as smoothly as it could have gone, it really hadn’t. |
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| Empath | Dec 8 2009, 09:49 PM Post #12 |
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Manuel's head slammed hard against the wooden wall of the boathouse. He had felt the heat of Primal's anger radiating from yards away, so he shouldn't have been surprised by the man's actions, but they threw him a bit. Primal flipped him around, leaving the Spaniard face to face with his attacker. The anger that Empath had felt spilling from the man before had evolved into a sort of base rage that Manuel had never felt the likes of. It burned within the reptilian, surpassing things like logic and reason. It pulsated with an animalistic tint that gave his codename new and terrifying relevance. Manuel's body began to burn and shake as he was unable to shield himself from the man's emotions. Anyone, he surmised, who experienced these kind of encompassing and devouring emotions would be a dangerous individual. Coupling that with Primal's savage personality and destructive abilities gave Manny pause that he would ever see the other side of the morning. He struggled, jerking as Primal spewed out a rant of his own. The words seemed to key the murderer up even more, something Empath had thought and hoped was impossible. He wretched and gagged as the pangs of rage buried into him like white hot pokers piercing his skin. This man would kill him. There was no other plausible outlet for such intense feelings, and for what ? Manuel had blood on his hands. As the man continued his berating, the emotions that the night's victims had felt instants before their respective demises began to flood Empath's now weak and opened mind. The fear, loathing, and disgust that replayed through his head were in some ways worse than Primal's rage. They mixed into a sickening and painful cocktail that threatened to steal the man's life long before the reptilian had a chance to. The emotions were doing a number on him physically, but they also were playing their part to break him down mentally. What purpose did these murders serve, besides satisfying the blood lust of lunatics, Manuel included ? The thoughts ripped through him, leaving him, for the first time in a long time, unsure of himself. What feelings were even his anymore ? How much of his actions had been dictated by the sponged emotions of others ? "Look," he finally choked out, feeling that if he didn't do something the intensity alone would kill him. "I'm sorry. I was wrong." He gathered himself as best he could and sent calming feelings into the pair around him. "Just calm down," he said soothingly. "Everything will be okay. I should've kept my fucking mouth shut. I got big balls for a second, it wont happen again." He coughed and tried to catch his breath. He threw feelings of pity and sadness into the pair, hoping it would do the trick. Looking at the two and still reeling from both the onslaught of emotion and his own personal revelation, he made a decision. "You both know the truth about me. I'm not cut out for this. I'm not like you two. I'm not stealth or effective. I'm not any good. The only thing I am is loosely hinged and dangerous. I'm of no use to anyone." The Spaniard wasn't sure how much of his little speech he meant and how much was an attempt to save his own ass, but at this moment, he really didn't care. "Just let me go . Tell them I died, that I didn't make it out. I'll leave, you'll never see me again. It'll be better for everyone." Manuel continued to broadcast emotions into their heads, attempting to sway them to his way of thinking. |
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| Primal | Jan 7 2010, 11:12 PM Post #13 |
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Something like pity swam through Primal’s psyche, a thick and sticky emotional effluvium, too sweet and treacle-like to be consistent with genuine, heartfelt sympathy. His head clogged. It didn’t occur to the reptilian that Manuel was twisting a finger around inside his brain, but either way it wasn’t the aww, poor poor you type of pity… it was cold and scornful: a sickly disgust. Gone was the sneering arrogance, the insipid contempt that had overflowed back in the room when the Spaniard was staring down at the gun in his hand like he was holding his dick and verbally jacking off to it. Now Empath was practically grovelling. He simpered and apologised and whined about not being cut out for this type of work. It was a violent contrast. Primal stared at the snivelling man as he tried to state his case for immediate defection, features blank and unreadable. As if he could just drop everything whenever he felt like it, pick it up and poke at it while deciding what destiny had in store for him. This wasn’t a summer camp; it was a military operation. You couldn’t just come and go as you pleased, and somehow, despite their efforts, their murders and mission and acts of terrorism, their militant mindset and their incessant training, the Brotherhood remained in some people’s minds a joke factory full of fat lazy retards with nothing better to do than squabble and scoff junk food. Lay in bed all day. Toss empty wrappers around and leave dirty dishes stacked in messy piles. It wasn’t like they were trying to change the world. One pace forward, and the saurian smashed his fist so fast into Manny’s temple there wasn’t any time in between his punch connecting and the soldier’s body folding like a deflated balloon, crumpling to wilt onto the wooden boardwalk. Primal glared at the unconscious pile, and spat at his feet. “Sir. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’” He picked up Manuel by his scruff and dragged his prone body towards the water. Magneto could deal with his sorry backside. [align=center] The fucking End.[/align] |
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7:26 PM Jul 11