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| A rough start; Acolytes and Brotherhood | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 5 2010, 08:25 PM (1,593 Views) | |
| Spitfire | Dec 8 2010, 02:03 AM Post #16 |
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Superspeed with Pyrotechnic Effects
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As the speedster stood swaying gently by the elbow of her fellow, things started to get…confusing and her head span. Pietro was in the process of fussing over her with a cloth, wiping away at her face as if he were a mother cat tending a kitten, when Primal came in, bellowing about cuffing…Remy? Jac started sharply, at a loss for what was happening. Why did Primal want to cuff Remy…? Before she could question as to just what was going on there, Quicksilver was pushing her into the hands of a nurse, who was then forcing her to sit down. Jac pushed back against them, but the woman was in no mood for games. “No, you’re sitting down. Acolyte’s orders, Spitfire.” “I want to know what’s going on!” she demanded, pushing back upwards, but the woman held the struggling girl down, motioning for another to come and assist. Together, the two managed to hold down the tired, struggling blonde and carefully removed her ruined jacket, tossing it aside and pulling the zip down on her suit. “Hey hey I could be naked under this!” Jac protested feebly, her head flopping to one side as the room continued to grow in chaos around her. All she could think of was one face, one name…But she wouldn’t be seeing him that day, there was no way it would be possible and her stomach tightened into a little ball. “Well you’re not,” one of the nurses said brusquely, twitching the strap of the girl’s camisole shirt back up as she tugged the arm of the suit down. “I need to clean this wound, even if you were naked, young lady. Now stop squirming or you’re going to use the last of your energy up.” Spitfire winced as they started to see to her injuries, more flesh wounds than anything, but still in need of attention. All the while, she was trying to work out what had happened, her ears hearing words that her mind wasn’t quite processing. The next thing she knew, her brother was stood over her, asking for a hug. Sniffing, she got unsteadily to her feet and reached out with her arms to wrap them around him, hummingbird quick. “I’m alright. S’nothing serious,” Jac nodded and put her hand to her forehead. Behind her, one of the nurses let out a noise of exacerbation and pulled her back down once more. “If you don’t sit down and stay, I’m going to sedate you! Make sure she doesn’t get back up, someone should be bringing some food for her in a moment; she’s severely low on energy right now,” the nurse added in a more patient tone to Brian and handed him a bowl and cloth, as his presence freed up the other nurse to go help elsewhere. As she left, Jac smiled guilty up at her brother, the sort of smile she might once have given him back in school when he would have been called to see to her after she had gotten hurt or in trouble in the playground. “Really glad you’re here, bruv,” she said and reached out, slipping her hand around his wrist and holding onto it tightly. As she clung, a flicker slowly came over her face and her blue eyes turned glassy. Her fingers slackened their hold on his arm and she pitched sideways off her seat, landing with a heavy thud as she succumbed to unconsciousness, blood and dirt stained blonde hair fanning out on the ground around her. |
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| Pyro | Dec 8 2010, 04:46 AM Post #17 |
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Pyrokinesis/Fiery Puns
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The dark void opened and in came a flood of fire, lashing out from the teleportation hole and bringing in the terror that had destroyed Murderworld. With it came the pyrokinetic, exhausted but somehow standing on adrenaline alone. His knees were jerky, breath haggard, and clothes aflame. He could repress only so much, but at this point, he hardly cared about his own clothes being ignited. His brows stitched together, his look somewhere between furious and dead, St. John looked over towards one of the nurses who was on standby that had recoiled by the burst of flame and gave her a tired order. "Pat these out for me and get my 'throwers off n' have someone take 'em to Razorback's shop, sheila." Smoke wafted on the air with his breath, purging the intake his lungs had suffered. He waited, stood there as she obeyed his command, gingerly patting the fires out on his person. Shameful, he thought, having someone else put the very fires he created out. He was lucky not to have strained himself so far that he had a seizure -- hell, he wouldn't be surprised if he did. He could barely feel his fingers on the ends of his hands and the only thing that was keeping him standing was the want -- no, obligation -- to report to Magneto. "Sir, you're burned," the woman said as she relinquished him of his flamethrowers, setting the instruments down on the ground. He looked down at himself, bright patches of red. Some had already begun to blister, boiled by the plasma-like fires that burst into the room around him. "And your hair is smoking." "Fuck it for crike's sake," he swore, lifting a hand to pat at his head. "Where is he?" "Who, sir? Come get these and take them to Razorback!" she called down the hall. "Magneto ya dumb shit! Take me to him!" St. John snarled. He could barely keep himself standing upright, let alone be able to yell at some idiot nurse. She nodded and quickly skittered ahead, leading him to wherever it was that they were. Seemed to be the infirmary or some place. Mystique was just leaving the room, nurse and Cajun in tow. St. John placed his hand on the door frame for support, burnt and probably still smoking, shirt and flamethrower gadgets missing. He didn't know what the fuck was going on here. Someone was either dead or grievously injured, or someone did something completely wrong. Maybe Gambit, which was a good thing in his eyes. This wasn't the sort of scene he was expecting to come home to, but either way, he was the harbinger of good news. The Australian looked to Magneto, the only person he cared to deal with. "It's done," he said without remorse but weakly, having potentially killed hundreds. Even then, he didn't know if any of their own got caught in the blast. Honestly? He didn't care. He was more than happy to thin out the ranks of the weak. If they didn't have the mind to return, they deserved to fuckin' die. No one could've got out of that alive, not with all that fire there. Murderworld, the surrounding area, it was all gone. Just as planned... |
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| Primal | Dec 8 2010, 07:10 PM Post #18 |
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Unregistered
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He’d known. All this time, he’d known, and he had remained quiet, forced into reticence by a man now on the edge of madness. He had known. The smell—that metallic stench—he’d had to learn to live with despite the way it had made his hackles prickle and curl into hard knots. Gambit and his bullshit stink. First time, maybe it had been insult. Maybe if Mags hadn’t sent the dipstick to ambush him in the middle of the night, maybe he’d have misinterpreted those early signs and passed it off as territorial pissings. People talked around him and his eyelids drooped until he realised the exhaustion was catching up with him, and he blinked and forced them open, sweat tickling his upper lip. The pain was starting to swell, his breath cutting into ragged bursts despite his best efforts to control it. Every steadied out-breath would catch on the way in. His teeth were clenched. He needed to pass out. Quicksilver was speaking, most of it a jumbled collection of muffled sounds, punctuated with occasional words that hit his ears with a resounding clarity and echoed. The speedster stunk weird, sounded weird too, some subtle verbal inflection missing in his accented speech that was too obscure for the injured saurian to pay much attention, beyond a flicker of incomprehension. Primal glanced up and around the infirmary, counting heads, the crowded room bustling inanely fast around him. There were too many slack shapes sprawled idiotic along the epoxy. Too many dead—all reeking of piss and blood and—too much blood, enough to tug at his depleted lust, enough to make him- -snap back into reality, his head lolling a moment before he realised his faculties were phasing out and that his mind was drifting. Mystique had said something in a feline purr, smug, all-knowing, too damn self-satisfied. He stared at her, like he was trying to figure out her motives and what the hell she thought she was doing being so fucking cryptic when they needed simple, straight answers, to the motherfucking point. His tongue rode up in the corner of his mouth. He tasted salt and copper. Had he not been fighting to stay conscious, he might have sneered, said something critical. She was still talking. At some point the erstwhile ‘shifter deigned to reveal her recent whereabouts. Sneaky little bitch. It was some nice manoeuvring, and right now, he had no ability to appreciate it. Pity it had meant shit. When Magneto snapped, it was like something had broken in him. There was a diluted sense of it being totally unreal. Could’ve been the injuries affecting his perception, but Mags moved wrong, talked wrong, and as he dragged the Cajun’s immobile figure onto an operating table Primal didn’t recognise anything about him. When he ordered the saurian to get treated, told him he had a job for him, the smells pouring off him were almost feral, and Primal said absolutely nothing. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Primal teetered, reached out for a purchase, and grabbed the shoulder of one of the medics who had sidled up beside him, using it to steady himself. His vision doubled into watery clots. “…Wait…” He wanted to see this. This. Vindication. Every sickening moment relived in a few vicious seconds. The healer made an exasperated noise and clucked something that sounded like an apology, slipping a cool hand around the reptilian’s nape. He swung his head round, lethargic, sluggishly clocking on to what she was doing and trying to form a response, mouth moving enough to make the beginnings of a protestation. It drawled into a withered groan. His legs collapsed. Someone caught his weight and there was a quick exchange about hypovolemic shock and ten CCs of something unpronounceable. Through a yellow haze filled with moving smears, Primal watched what might have been Magneto’s outline as their leader pressed himself close to Gambit’s spluttering face and crooned at the thief in an unsettlingly placid semitone. Someone stuck a needle in his arm, cold metal rushing his veins. He saw the enraged visionary twist the Cajun’s arm until it gave way with a wet snap. At this point, it might have been his imagination. |
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| Quicksilver | Dec 8 2010, 08:27 PM Post #19 |
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
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Gambit was to bear the full force of Magneto's rage, and the pale skinned, white haired acolyte who felt so very cold, so very empty, suddenly felt... well, it wasn't sympathy. It was empathy. When one disobeyed, one must be prepared for punishment. That was the way of the world. If you spill the milk, prepare to get the switch. This was not an accident. This was not some small bout of rebellion. It was outright treason against the leader you swore to obey.... but then, Gambit had not sworn, had he. Never really. All a trick, concocted between him and Havok. Summers had cursed Gambit's name with the rest of them, he had called him traitor... he had mourned his loss... Magneto claimed that X-Factor had been destroyed. Was that true? No, it couldn't have been. Quicksilver had heard the retreat ordered, he had heard Mystique confirm that they ran for safety. Yes, though his heart skipped one beat, Quicksilver felt confident that they had escaped... most of them at least, most of them. Was Lorna with them? Was Alex? Wanda... he had not heard her in battle, and her powers, her energy, he had not seen, or felt them. Wanda had not been there. She lived. She lived and she would understand why he was standing here in this place, watching as the man who was the one real hero in all of this hell was matryred. He did as he was ordered to. He stayed. He watched. His eyes were silver chips of ices, his pallor was hidden beneath cold flesh with dirt, and dried blood caked in his white hair. Quicksilver wanted to shower, wanted to sleep, wanted to lay down in his empty room in this empty utopia, and see no one, be no one for a long while. But he didn't ask to leave. He didn't turn away. He was told to stay, and so he did. It was easier right now to follow orders. He had no doubt, even in the fog in his brain, that if he questioned now, if he attempted to intervene, if he took one step that his father did not permit, he would be killed. Quicksilver would die for Wanda. He would die for Lorna. He would die for his father. He would not die for Gambit. He would not take this brave death away from the Cajun. It would lessen it's meaning. |
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| Brian F. | Dec 9 2010, 01:06 AM Post #20 |
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Bioelectric Manipulation
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The world was right in front of him… arguing with a nurse. The woman seemed impatient and annoyed with Jacqueline’s stubborn attitude. As Brian came closer he heard the woman was just trying to calm her and get his sister something to eat. The young Englishman shook his head and chuckled because of the foolishness of both of them. If she had sustained anymore serious injuries Brian would have argued with Jacqueline to listen to the nurse for her health. The small grin disappeared from the man’s face as he looked around the room. So many Brotherhood members were hurt and battered to near death. There were screams from all directions , and Magneto himself stood in the room. Brian looked back has Jacqueline spoke. “Really glad you’re here, bruv,” A soft smile graced Brian’s face as he looked at his sister. While she looked a little battered, her bruises did not even compare to some of the more serious victims. Jacqueline gripped his wrist, her hands felt cold against his arm and Brian’s face turned more serious. His younger sister’s grip began to diminish and a cold forewarning feeling ran through Brian. Her hand began to slip from his arm and he quickly grabbed her hand as he saw her sliding from her seat. Holding her hand with one and holding the back of her neck with the other hand he tried to prevent her from falling. However, he was only able to lessen the force from a fall as her midsection hit the floor. Brian’s breath was sucked out of his body and he went cold. He stared at his sister’s limp body for several seconds. The young man tried to move, tried to say something; unfortunately, his body locked under fear. There might have been injuries that neither him nor the nurses could see. Picking his sister up, Brian found the nearest open bed and laid her down gently. Brian immediately started scanning her body’s neural activity. A small amount of residue is left over if a nerve is triggered which may mean that there are internal injuries such as broken bones or punctured organs. However, besides the visual bruises nothing was evident. That did not mean that his diagnosis was completely accurate. Still looking over his sister while monitoring her neural activity, Brian muttered, “I need help.” If the young man had been paying attention he would know that his words were no louder than a mere talking voice. He was to fixated about the health of his sister and what would come next. Luckily, Jacqueline’s neural activity was similar to the pattern of sleeping. It was most likely that his sister was unconscious from a lack of energy like the nurse had mentioned earlier. Wondering where the staff was and becoming more and more impatient now that his sister did need attention Brian then yelled over the background noise, “I need help, Now!” |
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| Raven Darkholme | Dec 9 2010, 04:11 AM Post #21 |
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Unregistered
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Mystique glanced towards Primal as the order for him to be seen by the medical staff was given, before turning her attention back towards Magneto told both her and Quicksilver to stay put. She silently obeyed, standing there with no show of emotion as Magneto released some of his pinned up frustrations. She saw him in his rarest of forms, man handling Gambit around and toying with him, since Magneto was capable of ending his life at any instant. The man would not be so lucky. While Quicksilver thought to himself about how Gambit was the only hero present, Mystique thought only of the pain that the man would feel before he died. It was possible that Gambit still had weeks or months of life ahead of him... however, she was sure that if that were true, every day Gambit would only pray for his own death. With healers capable of mending nearly any wound, she was certain that Gambit would endure pains that would normally kill. He would have to be strong to survive, but every man has a threshold that could be broken. As Magneto finished punishing Remy, Mystique followed the Cajun's body flopping to the floor as he turned towards her and ordered her to take the traitor to a holding cell. She looked back up to him and nodded once. “Yes, Magneto,” Raven said, throwing a glance at Quicksilver and wondering what might be unfolding between the father and son after she exited. She did as she was told, leaving her thoughts to herself as any wise person would do, and walked over to Remy. Bending at the waist, Mystique grabbed the man by the filthy collar and began dragging him away with one hand as if he were no more than a heavy sack. The doctor followed her closely, looking between her and the man she dragged with concern on his face. Once they were clear of Magneto and the rest of the crowd, the doctor decided to voice his opinion. “We should get this man a gurney and wheel him down to the cells... honestly he should be in a hospital bed,” the doctor said, following Mystique onto an elevator that would take them down to the bowels of the building they were in. “Seriously,” he continued, squatting down and looking at Remy's arm, noticing the fresh blood on the sleeve. “We need to cut his jacket and shirt off to mend this arm.. it looks like it might be an open fracture. And Jesus, he could have a concussion or something from the way Magneto was punching him. Shit, he was pissed.” Perhaps the doctor was talking out of nervousness. Perhaps he had a big mouth. Mystique looked down to him and then to Remy, releasing the Cajun's collar and allowing the mutant to slump onto the ground again. She squatted down to the doctor's level and looked him in the eyes, causing the doctor to turn all of his attention on her as if he were suddenly mesmerized by her yellow eyes. “Fix him,” she said simply, looking down at Remy's face and reaching out in order to touch the man with the back of her hand. His skin was cool and clammy. Hypoperfusion, maybe. Mystique then gripped his chin, turning his head right and left, examining the man that cost her so much time and effort. It was not all a bust; at least they killed a large portion of SHIELD. But the loss of X-factor would have been equally as great. Examining him as the doctor worked quickly on the floor of the elevator, she wondered how Remy started the day. Did he think that it would end like this? Turning his head away roughly as she let it go, she stood just as the elevator doors opened and then she grabbed him again, dragging him further into his own personal hell. The doctor stood and gathered his things back into the medical bag, before running after them, struggling to keep up with Mystique's long legged pace. After a long walk, or a long drag in Gambit's case, Raven passed through a security check point untouched, moving on into an area with holding cells, interrogation rooms, and other rooms that were used for... well... information extraction. One guard hurried along in front of her, entering the access code to open the door. Mystique entered the cell, all the while pulling Gambit along behind her. Once inside, she let the man go and he once again flopped like a rag doll to the ground. “I want him awake as soon as possible,” Raven ordered the doctor, who followed behind her and dropped his medical bag on the ground beside Gambit. She stood over them both with her hands on her hips, waiting for the doctor to complete the task. |
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| Toxin | Dec 9 2010, 05:07 AM Post #22 |
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Unregistered
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It was difficult to sift through the noise, the scents. Everything was clashing and it was tempting to stop struggling and let himself slip into unconsciousness. Forget it all for a while, put some time between himself and everything that happened. His eyes were closed, almost against his will, and he felt the pinch of a needle in his arm before he caught it. A moment of panic. His eyes opened and he shifted to look, ignoring the pain, ignoring the displeased healers. Just had to make sure, before, that there was someone looking after him. There were people attending him, but it didn't look like it was going well. Dustin wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but Roger was covered in blood and something was causing him to panic and not let the healers near him. And they were liable to get themselves maimed if they tried to without care. Perhaps he could help - do something at least - before things got really out of hand. Not really thinking about the state he was in, he tried getting up, out of the bed he'd been placed upon. He'd managed several paces before those tending him could react, before he realized he wouldn't make it there. The pain made itself known forcefully, and he stumbled. His legs started to give out on him once again. Trying to catch his fall with an outstretched arm, he brought down a tray of metal instruments clattering along with him. The cold hard floor met his face, but he was no longer conscious. The meds had kicked in and he was no longer aware of the chaos of the infirmary, or of his own pain in the numb darkness. |
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| Magneto (old) | Dec 10 2010, 05:24 AM Post #23 |
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Magnokinesis / Flight
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JP Magneto and Quicksilver Primal had passed out, but was being seen to by two doctors; by the look of all the blood, it was a surprise he'd made it this long. Mystique had complied without so much as a request for clarification, the doctor he had ordered to accompany her in tow. Now all that was left among the sea of faces was father and son... “Come. We need to talk.” Fists clenched, Erik suddenly started forward, not even slowing down as he breezed by Quicksilver and made for the nearest exit. He didn't look back to see if his son was following him; his tone brooked no room for hesitation, let alone disobedience. Magneto shoved open the door and strode into a busy corridor, not halting or slowing down as he weaved his way around busy physicians and their patients. He reached out and grasped the knob of a nearby room, yanking it open and holding it, finally looking at Pietro for the first time... it wasn't an invitation. And, now was the time. Everyone had followed his father's orders, everyone had been taken care of as much as could be. The guards and Mystique were seeing to Gambit. The doctors and nurses to the injured. Now, there was only his father and him, and whatever answers, questions, accusations, excuses were to be revealed. Quicksilver, who it seemed would not be getting his shower and rest anytime soon, pushed his hair back from his eyes with a hand that had healed from its bruises seconds after they had bloomed, feeling with distaste the stiff dried blood and... other mess... crunch under his fingers. He was at the door before his father looked to him, standing beside him as their gaze met. Then he extended his hand in the standard gesture for, 'lead on.' After all, he himself was only the follower. Magneto grabbed Quicksilver by the arm as he moved into the room and dragged his son in behind him, slamming him against the wall as the door slowly closed, making the murmur of voices outside barely audible. Erik kept his hand pressed against his son's shoulder, keeping him pinned against the wall as he got within inches of Quicksilver's face. “You will be completely honest with me, son, or you will never leave this room on your own two feet.” Chips of ice gazed at the younger man, flickering from one eye to the other as Magneto studied his offspring, “Did you know about him?” Startled, but unsurprised by the rough treatment, Quicksilver stared at his father, their faces so close that it was hard to focus. But his eyes never changed from that slightly glazed emptiness, and they never dropped. Without inflection of affrontation or deception, Quicksilver said, "Gambit was a traitor to X-Factor, and that was all I knew. I told you, I didn't think Havok was intelligent or savvy enough to make so strategic a move. We all knew only that Gambit could not stay with us because of what had been done when Cyclops and Phoenix were darkened. He called us all morons for remaining steadfast against what was clearly a losing fight. They argued, violent and heated, and then he was gone. I never even spoke to him after that until I came here to stand with you." It was said as if by rote, no hint that he was begging him to believe him. It was said as if it just was. Erik could tell that something was wrong with Pietro, but there was more at stake than the life of one man... the security of thousands lay solely on his shoulders, and he had to make sure that there were no more missteps. He studied Pietro for the longest moment... taking in every line of his face... watching the glazed look in his son's eyes. “And how do I know you're not his replacement, Quicksilver? How can I be sure that you were simply Havok's second choice... using my only son against me to simply twist a knife the knife he intends for my back?” His eyes narrowed, “I have sworn... given my word that you are trustworthy and true to your claim, and the Brotherhood has believed that word. Have I given them false assurance? Are you my man, or Havok's?” Of course he'd seen what Pietro had done less than half an hour ago, but at that moment, he had to ask the question... he needed to hear it from his son's own lips. "I killed a man for you," Quicksilver said, "I wear his blood, his brain matter on my face, in my hair. You have your answer, Father, I will not bend on one knee before you and pledge as if to the Lord, but you have your answer." He didn't blink. He didn't waver. He simply stared as he spoke the words that spelled his eternal damnation, "I am Brotherhood." Magneto let go of Quicksilver, those last three words easing his conscience somewhat – if not completely. It had taken him so long to get over his suspicion of Gambit, and just when he was starting to really believe that the Cajun had really defected, he had been proven wrong. He could not let that happen again. “What we are doing here Quicksilver... it is bigger than any single person. That is why I am trying so hard to protect the secrets of this place. This is the beginning of the rise of mutantkind, my son. It carries our survival... our future. I had to do this in order to send a clear message for the humans that we have as much right to live and thrive as they do. It had to be done. I'm afraid mutants needed to hear that message as well. Unfortunately we paid dearly in our own blood to see that message delivered.” He backed away from his son, “You did well, Quicksilver. Go have yourself checked out and then get cleaned and rest. You deserve it.” "I came here, Father, not because I believe in terror," Quicksilver said, at last dropping his eyes as Magneto stepped away from him. "I came here because I knew you could save the world if you were allowed to. Sanctuary is everything I hoped you were capable of, everything I believed in." A single tear cut through the filth on his face, and he said, "I protected my people to my very death." Past tense. His father was talking to a ghost. Only to a ghost. Several moments passed as Magneto watched his son, an impassive expression carved on stony features; finally he reached out and placed a hand on Pietro's shoulder, “And you did a great service for your people. In time you will see that this is the only way. It is regretful, and I will be the first to say that I am against the violence that this has come to, but I will do what it takes to see our people not only life in peace, but thrive. You proved today that you are capable of the same. You will see it... I promise.” He did not wish to help soften the blow of the kill that was so obviously bothering him. Erik couldn't even really understand why it had cut him so deeply, but it was obvious it had. Quicksilver had to be strong... hard... if he were to carry out the duties that he would inherit from his father. He needed to learn how to deal with hard decisions such as these. “After you have rested, I want you to go into the streets and look at the faces of the children you protected today. Find the hope you have given them in their faces. You'll see it.” Quicksilver wondered why his father was touching him in some disconnected part of his mind. It was a gesture that was supposed to mean something, but he was incapable of figuring it out right now, "I believe you," he said to the promise. Raising his head, he was entirely unaware of the tear that had tried to shame him. He was given an order, and so he would obey it, because it made it easier than trying to figure out what to do with himself. "Yes, Father," he said, "Yes, Magneto." The door clicked shut behind Quicksilver, leaving Erik to his own thoughts; alone at last, he turned and slumped against the wall, letting a long breath of air escape his lips as he closed his eyes. Images of dead humans did not haunt his mind... nor the contorted faces of the injured mutants just a few doors down. He saw smiling faces and a future in a paradise of mutant creation. His heart broke with longing for this war to end and the golden age of mutants to begin. But first it must be purchased with the blood of the guilty and innocent. Tonight, it had been the guilty who had paid the price; Erik knew that in the near future, the innocent would pay one much higher. |
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| Manslaughter | Dec 10 2010, 11:28 PM Post #24 |
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Unregistered
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It was a horrible, alien noise, to hear the assassin scream in fear, from a needle no less, the steely grey eyes the same as those that did not flinch when he skewered organs of the living on the ends of his katanas. He would not allow the growing group of healers to get any closer, as they were just that, their minds as fragile and squishy and no more telepathically protected than a human's. It wasn't as though they had any choice but to try, as his noise was starting to upset some of the others who were still lingering on the edge of consciousness. He was bleeding out on the floor, and it appeared as though they would not be able to placate him until Toxin rose in a staggered heap from his stretcher. The clatter caught the assassin's attention, his student's attempt to stand resulting in bring down a tower of medical instruments. The healers went in immediately, but despite their proximity Roger struggled still, the resulting scuffle all disorganized chaos. "Gahfuck!" one of the younger members staggered backwards, a bo-kri jutting out from the point of his shoulder. "He.. the bastard stabbed me!" he accused, ripping the weapon out of the wound as his skin started to close up. "Dammit, Wes, he's just frightened!" another healer snarled, pinning Roger's arms down to keep him from reaching his weapons. "He stabbed me!" A horrified shriek announced the moment was over, a nurse somehow managing to worm into the fray and thrusting the end of a needle into the redhead's arm, injecting him with a strong sedative. Roger's limbs went slack and slow, curling into himself like a leathery wood louse. Shivering, his breath coming in short, hyperventilating gasps, he turned on his side, blinking erratically. Some would assume his shock was from blood loss, yet his reaction was mostly psychological. The healers drew back, their expressions a mix between worry and relief. The eldest healer pulled the back of his arm across his forehead, soaking up the lines of perspiration, barring the nurse back with his arm as she moved to approach again. "Just.. give him a minute. You've got other patients to attend to." |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Dec 13 2010, 01:50 AM Post #25 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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JP Gambit and Mystique ...accomplished nothing... they are dead... not today... Remy's eyes shot open, as he took a ragged drink of air, his lungs burning... a wet rattling deep in his throat. The breath turned into a gargled cough as blood and phlegm launched from deep within, copious amounts spewing from his mouth and dribbling down his chin and cheeks. “He has blood in his lungs,” Remy heard someone say... his vision was almost useless... he could barely make out a shape – someone was leaning over him. Where was he? Magneto? Magneto had said something to him. They were dead. Who was dead? Where was he? God he hurt. He squinted and turned his head slightly... his vision clearing a little – enough to see someone else standing straight as if watching him. Primal? No... Where was he? He tried to take in another breath of air, and once more sputtered, flecks of blood flying everywhere as he doubled over in pain. He squinted through tears, looking up at the blurry pair. Mystique stood over the doctor, who was squatting down beside Remy. She shook her head as he announced that Gambit had blood in his lungs, which could lead to major medical problems if it went untreated. Luckily, or unluckily for Remy, she knew that Magneto would give medical treatment to him if only to raise him up to strike him down again. “Well, you're going to have to...” Raven began, pausing as Remy sputtered up some blood again. She walked to the other side of Gambit from the doctor and took some absorbent clothes from the medical bag, wiping the blood from his chin and around his face. She then reached down and grabbed Remy by the back of the neck, sitting him up, and then using her knee to let him lean back on. She was not a nurse by any means, but she knew that laying down was the worst position for someone with fluid in her lungs. Sitting up would ease it slightly. “Remy,” Mystique said, still holding him by the back of the neck with one hand while bringing the other to his face to turn it towards her. Gambit coughed again, expelling more liquid from his lungs... much more. It slopped all over the doctor's shirt, causing him to jump back slightly. He continued wiping the Cajun's chin, keeping his other hand on the patient's chest; the man glanced back up at Mystique, concern in his eyes. Remy blinked a couple of times, his head lolling back against Mystique's hand still clamped on his neck. His crimson eyes faltered a couple of times before settling lazily on her. It was as if it took several moment for him to process who it was he was looking at. Mystique... where had she been? Where the hell was he? A weak smile split the bloody mask that was Gambit's and he began a small laugh before it was cut off with a wince and a yelp of pain. His chest was still on fire. Still... he managed the smile after a moment, meeting her eyes once more, “Probably look like a pile of shit and you still couldn't wait to get me between your legs, huh chere?” Mystique actually returned the smile, reaching up with the cloth to wipe his face again. He looked terrible, he must have felt terrible and the fact that he still tried to have a sense of humor about things proved how strong of a person he was. Even though he was the source of the Brotherhood's partial failure, she could respect his strength. Being undercover was something that she did quite often... it took a special person to live as another person. She did it easier than most, so she could only imagine the point of view that the Cajun had during his time with the Brotherhood. “It is good that you still cling to your humor. It shows how strong you are,” Raven said quietly, as if Magneto could walk in at any moment. She set the blood soaked cloth on his lap and reached up to his forehead, brushing back the man's long hair to further reveal his eyes, which still held strength after the beating he had endured thus far. “You will need it. You stupid... stupid boy,” she finished, shaking her head, genuinely saddened by the fact that Gambit would die soon. He was a truly gifted mutant. A God, just like the rest of them. Remy wanted to laugh again, but he knew better. He could feel the warmth of the doctor's hand on his chest... and it was obviously having a positive affect on him, but his entire body was still on fire. Black spots still swam across his vision. His head lolled to the side as he momentarily looked away from Mystique. Crimson eyes wandered over the walls of what appeared to be a small room. Was it gray? He couldn't even really interpret colors right now. His head slowly slumped the other way before it rolled back to look at Mystique once more, “So why not go ahead and kill me, girly? Been nothin but trouble for you an' yours from day one. Most everybody saw it, includin you, I bet. Go ahead and squish me like a bug.” His brows lowered as he looked at her questioningly, “Where you been anyway?” Mystique shook her head once negatively to his question of killing him. “That would be too easy, Remy,” she replied, looking down to the man's chest where the doctor was working his magic. Her yellow eyes met up again with the Cajun's red ones. “You were like a brother to us all. But you made a choice that can not be undone by simply killing you. No, baby,” Mystique said, raising her free hand up to caress his cheek with her smooth fingers. Her other hand still had him firmly by the back of the neck. “You will be begging us to kill you before this is all through.” “I... on the other hand... have been spending my time standing right beside the ones that you loved. Alex Summers... the poor bastard. He didn't even know that I was the last person that he spoke to,” she said, continuing Magneto's trick on his mind. “Jet Black. Lorna Dane... all of your precious X-factor perished in the explosion as I stood by them as a friend. Only because I was able to teleport away, did I survive. So you see, while you tried to lead them away from the trap... I only drew them closer.” Still, Mystique spoke calmly and quietly as if she were still talking to a friend... even though she spoke of the death of his friends. X-Factor... they are dead. The weight behind Magneto's words finally sunk in. Mystique and Magneto both claimed that they had also fallen for the Murderworld trap... the former basically stating that she had witnessed it happen. Gambit let his gaze drop from the shapeshifter to the doctor, watching the other man's impassive face as he continued to do what he could for the Cajun. He didn't bother looking back at Mystique, attempting a shrug, “Don' care.” He wasn't sure whether he believed them or not, but he sure wasn't as hell going to give them any sort of satisfaction. Especially if they planned on keeping him around for a while to torture. “I got paid to do a job, chere. I get paid no matter dey get outta there alive or not.” He finally glanced back up at Mystique, a deadly look glinting behind all that physical pain, “Best kill me now though. Otherwise I'll break outta here. Just gonna be bidin my time. Only question is, will I get a turn at findin out how good you are between de sheets when you ain't cuttin on me.” “You got paid?” Mystique replied, the smile coming back to her face. She drew her face closer to his as he finished speaking, asking if he would get a chance to see how good she was between the sheets. The black irises of her eyes began to dance and cloud as she stared into his, fading away until her eyes were a solid yellow. The humor began to fade from her face and her brow slowly narrowed. “You are as bad at bluffing as you are as a spy. The only payment that will be given to you is pain. The only gratification you will receive from any of this is death. Whatever we ask of you, you will tell us, whether you know the answer or not. Either way... the answer will not matter,” Raven said, moving the hand from his face and down to his neck. The doctor moved the hand off of Gambit's chest, and as if knowing that he should back away, stood and moved back several steps. He was a fast learner. Now holding Remy by the neck with both hands, she stood, lifting him by the neck. “Your life is over, Remy,” Mystique then choke slammed him onto the floor, making sure that he landed flat on his back. She then put a bare foot on his face, forcing it to turn to one side. “And truthfully... that really is a shame.” Raven then stomped the man once in the face with the intention of breaking his jaw. She then turned to the doctor and pointed down to the Cajun. “You might want to look at that, as well.” Remy lay there, a long, loud wordless moan escaping his fiery throat and throbbing jaw... tears of pain leaking from his eyes. He couldn't move either arm and could see bone sticking out of one of them. He felt dizzy from blood loss... his mind spinning with pain and exhaustion. The pain... His stomach suddenly heaved – whatever contents that had been within pouring from his slackjawed mouth as another wordless cry of pain followed it. He just laid there, unable to talk... barely able to breath... he needed to cough, but couldn't. The doctor was back over him... what was he doing? It hurt like hell... He wanted to die. The doctor suddenly stood up, “I've managed to close up your wounds enough to stop the blood... I can do nothing about bones though. I need a colleague and some equipment. I'll be back shortly.” He moved to the door, pausing momentarily to stand in the doorway. Remy couldn't see him anymore... he just stared vacantly at the wall. “Don't worry. I haven't lost a patient yet.” That wasn't comforting news for the Cajun. And then he was alone... Several moments passed in silence, every shallow breath was accompanied by a pained groan. Were they really dead? Had all those months of hard work been for nothing? Havok? Ric? Lorna? Jet? Had hell come before death for Remy Lebeau? His eyes grew heavy... black spots began swimming across his vision once more. Was he all alone? “Finally,” a voice called out. It sounded tinny... as if it were coming from an empty can. “Someone to talk to.” Remy's eyelids shot open, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Was he not alone in this room? Why hadn't he seen anyone before? He tried to say something and immediately regretted it as fire raked across his entire face... another wordless groan of pain the only result. It was all he could manage as those dark splotches fought to dominate his sight and his mind... he'd lost so much blood. His eyes drooped once more. “I guess you're in no position to talk. Not a problem. I have all the time in the world. Till they kill me.” Remy's eyes slid shut, consciousness seeping from his mind as the blackness threatened to overtake him. Sleep... it was his only haven. “...Real bitch...” The voice again... “...not sure... months... track...” “But... Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan...” And then there was darkness. |
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2:11 PM Jul 11