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Slavery to a Pattern
Topic Started: Jul 3 2014, 07:13 PM (676 Views)
Narration
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May 31st
Immediately after Second Star to the Right


The slave ship Chǔnshì, manned by a skeletal crew, supplemented by the drugged and enslaved men who worked the dangerous jobs of stoking the boilers, and whatnot, sailed slowly towards its intended destination, a secluded dock in a country with a more traditional view of slave trade (i.e. they were for it). The Madripoori expatriots who piloted this ship would be glad when this was all over. Since the fall of the Majestor D'Ken, their business had been interrupted and troubled, but at least his successor, the mutant who called himself Vulcan, had not paid much attention to matters of his fleet. There had been rumors that he was trying to clean up Madripoor itself but that was far beyond a full time job.

Then Vulcan had fallen during the events that had rocked the world so badly last year, and Lilandra, sister to D'Ken had taken his place. At first the slavers had rejoiced. A Neramani again on the throne, such as it were. But all too quickly they realized that the Majestrix was not like those who had ruled before her. She demanded the stop of the slave trade, the sex trade, the drug trade, the weapons trade. She was... a forceful woman, and her word was quickly becoming concrete law.

How the traders on this ship hated her. How they wanted her dead.

But ultimately, they, like so many who made their living in a dark fashion, were cowards and not willing to fight an army to continue their ways. So, they had gone rogue, taking their slaves from ships ransacked on the open water, doing to them what had been done to them for years-- drugging them, abusing them, breaking them. Some of the slaves who were destined for sale to this unnamed buyer in this unnamed country had once been rich men, some had been poor...

... all were broken now though.

<"Captain,"> said one of the crew members, who paused at the door to the cabin, where the captain, a Madripoor Low City native named Mykla, frowned worriedly over the supply inventory. <"we're in clear water now, just passed Wayspot 33.">

<"Let me know when we come to 63,"> the Captain said, running her hands through her long hair <"and don't give me updates on thirty spots along the way, unless there's something that needs my attention.">

The sailor paused, <"Well... Ma'am...">

<"Dammit, Ge, what is it?"> Captain Mykla growled, <"I'm busy trying to figure out how we're going to stretch seven pounds of fish, and a bag of rotten potatoes far enough to get us there alive. I don't have time for your hesitancy.">

<"That's just it, Cap'n,"> Ge said, <"Lookout thinks he spotted a ship. It was there, but he's having troubles locating it now.">

<"We have no time for ghost ships,"> Mykla muttered, <"Tell him to continue on our course.">

Ge stepped just one step into the room, <"Normally, Ma'am, I would agree with you, but like you said our rations are low. That ship, out this far? It'll have food, water, maybe even alcohol, Sir.">

<"It'll also have more mouths to feed,"> Mykla said.

<"Not if we kill them and use them as fish bait,"> Ge replied, quietly.

Mykla looked up from her books, <"Tell the crew to head that way, no more than five miles. We don't see the ship by then, we resume course. Is that understood?">

Ge smiled a thin and hungry smile, <"I'll ready the crew.">




< All dialog translated from Madripoori>
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Jean
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Telepathy, Telekinesis
JP Jean and Scott




“Sorry about that,” Jean said as she funneled the conversation into the minds of the StarJammer crew; translated from Madripoorese, because was an interesting phenomena that of the language spoken, the language of the human mind was universal. “I know it was probably uncomfortable for some of you but I’m new to battles on the high seas and I didn’t want to hold back any details that might be important.”

Scott looked glumly out the front of the StarJammer, staring at the ship ahead of them. He heard Jean apologizing to the others, and he wondered if such things that were commonplace to him just shouldn't be. He restlessly juggled the fa bui in his hand, testing their weight, their heft, their size. He was already visualizing his tactics, how he was going to take down these men. It was easier to think of them as enemy combatants. It was easier when he remembered that he was going to fighting to free slaves like his father had been.

Piracy didn't suit Scott well, just as learning to be a thief with Jack hadn't. While he didn't think of himself as a particularly good man, especially in light of last year, he thought he was pretty law abiding, when the law made sense. Sometimes though...

He just never wanted to get too comfortable with his life. It lead to bad places.

Jean glanced over to Scott, felt the thoughts radiating from him, but didn’t go comfort him. He didn’t want comfort. Didn’t want her to help sort out his thoughts and fears. And that hurt, more than she’d let him know. He didn’t mean to hurt her, she knew… hoped, but no one seemed to really matter to him at the moment. He was too independent; she glanced at his hair, neat and orderly again, and looked away.

“What’s the plan?” Jean asked Corsair. “So that we land-lovers don’t trip over our own feet.”

Corsair looked at Scott and then at Jean and he saw that Scott's unhappiness was affecting his wife. He didn't know how to help him get through this and clearly Scott wasn't capable of asking for the help he needed. "The plan is simple," Corsair said, "We take the ship. Incapacitate, kill only if you have to..."

"No killing," Scott said, "please, no killing. Corsair, I'm going along with this for the people that have been taken, but I can't condone murder."

"And, that's why your city keeps getting blown up, Scott," Corsair said, sternly, "You're afraid to do what's necessary..."

"I'm not afraid," Scott snapped back, "I'm just not a murderer."

"People die in war," Corsair pointed out, gesturing out the front window of the craft as they approached the enemy vessel.

Scott narrowed his eyes behind his visor. "We are not at war."

"Aren't you, Scott," Corsair said, quietly. He turned to his crew, "Get the Majestrix on the radio. Tell her we'll have renegades for her to pick up."

Scott straightened his shoulders, and nodded, "Thank you, sir," Slipping the fa bui into his belt, Scott crossed to Jean and reached out to catch her hand. He passed his free hand over his hair and mussed it, just a little bit, "Yo ho ho," he said, quietly to her.

“And a bottle of rum… later,” she said quietly in return.
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Ch'Od
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NPC: Amphibian Characteristics
Telepathic communications. Crazy experience, that, one Ch'Od had not quite gotten used to yet. But he had to admit it had its advantages - thanks to Mrs. Summers, they practically had the other ship bugged, tapped, wired, without any surveillance equipment to speak of. Normally if they wanted to do that, they'd have to have Sikorsky work out a small flying drone and depend on his expertise to keep it unnoticed.

"If they weren't birdies, I'd almost feel sorry for them," Ch'Od said after the transmission ended, shaking his head slightly from the experience. But of course, they were Shi'Ar - "birdies", as he called them. Slavers. Murderers. Thieves. Life-robbers, either in the direct way or in terms of taking years of your life away for their own profit.

"You got it, Cap'n," Ch'Od said as he swiveled around in his pilot's chair to get back to the control panel. This, at least, he could still operate. It was just a strange thing to go from being Sulu to being Uhura, but such was the nature of their new vessel.

Open the secure channels, Decryption on. Tune the radio to Lilandra's people. Wouldn't do them any good to have their targets listening in on their transmission, and if he could help it, Ch'Od would minimize that chance.

"This is Starjammer One to the Eagle's Nest, found some stray dogs you might want to swing out and pick up - sending coordinates now. Will be subdued by the time you arrive. Acknowledge?"

There was a moment of static on the other side of the line, before someone, a middle-ranged male voice with a thick Shi-Air accent, picked up with a hurried click.
"Eagle's Nest to Jammer One, we read you. Coordinates received. Order is given to allow you time to work."

"Copy that, Eagle's Nest. Over and out," Ch'Od said as he hang up the receiver and turned back around to the rest of the assembled crew. "Think we're all clear to go, Cap'n. You want me to go disable their rotors, keep 'em dead in the water?"
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Corsair
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NPC: Baseline Human
[JP Corsair and Pietro, then Corsair and Scott]


"Copy that, Eagle's Nest. Over and out," Ch'Od said as he hang up the receiver and turned back around to the rest of the assembled crew. "Think we're all clear to go, Cap'n. You want me to go disable their rotors, keep 'em dead in the water?"

Corsair looked over at his crewmate, and the irritation he was feeling at the stubbornness of his son very clear on his face. "You don't need my permission, Ch'Od, you do what you need to do. I trust you'll make the right decisions." Glancing over at Pietro, Corsair had a sudden thought and he asked, "Maximoff, you swim as fast as you run?"

"Nothing I do is as fast as my running," Pietro admitted, "but I swim fast enough to suit whatever purpose you have in mind, Corsair."

"Good," the ship's captain said, "Go with Ch'Od and take the torpedo tube exits. Make sure those birdies aren't going anywhere."

Pietro, his arms folded across his chest, gave a nod, "Understood, sir." Glancing to Ch'Od, the speedster cocked his head, "Lead and for this moment, I follow."

As soon as they were gone, Corsair said, " Once we board, we'll split up. Hepzibah, Raza and I will take down the command crew. Scott, you, Jean and Joseph, head to the hold to free the slaves. I want you especially to see what we're fighting for."

"I've seen slavery, Corsair," Scott said, tightly, "I don't need to be schooled."

"I think you do," Corsair snapped, "and your wife agrees with me. You came out here to recover yourself, and if this is who you really are, you're a disappointment."

Scott's mouth dropped open and he took a step backwards. He felt he should step forward, he should confront the father he had never really had, argue that he didn't know him so how could he judge... but there was more truth than poetry to what Corsair was saying, and so he closed his mouth, and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Corsair reached out and put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "Summerses are never disappointments. You'll figure out how to remember that, Scott, I have faith."

Then, dropping his hand, Corsair unsheathed the sword he wore on his hip and said, "StarJammers, to arms, my friends. There's work to be done."
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Ch'Od
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NPC: Amphibian Characteristics
"You got it," Ch'Od said with a smirk and a casual salute before standing to his full height and looking over to Maximoff. Fast guy, but who knew for sure how he'd handle being underwater. The large amphibian mutant reached over to a small crate on a metal shelf above his station, and fished out a small device, tossing it over to Pietro.

"Short-term oxygen supply facemask. Won't last you very long, but you won't need it to. I trust you won't have any problems keeping up," Ch'Od said as he led the way to the torpedo bay. On land, he was quick enough. Not the speediest guy around, especially considering his considerable size and mass, but under the water, he was a sleek and efficient swimmer. Before the Atlanteans, he'd never met anyone who could match him for sheer swimming power.

"There'll be a maintenance bay entrance in the rear of the ship if it's standard Shi'Ar design. Allows 'em quick access to a busted rotor for underwater maintenance, but they know it's a weak spot so it'll be guarded," Ch'Od said as he got to the one empty torpedo tube, set aside for just such an occasion. Quick underwater deployment. Gotta love it. With a twist of the valve, he opened the door and glanced back to Pietro.

"You wait ten seconds, and then you follow. Knock on the hatch at the other end and I'll open it up for you," he nodded his head sharply, and then climbed in, pulling the hatch shut behind him. Wouldn't do to flood the ship, now.

It was a quick matter to get down the tube, a relatively short length, and lift up the hatch, causing a rush of water in that quickly expelled him out into the ocean. It was a good day for it. The water was not too turgid, clear and clean with good visibility. Perfect day for a hunt.

He pushed the hatch shut, and from there the automatic pump systems pushed the water that had rushed into the tube back out into the ocean, allowing Quicksilver free and clear access to the tube himself. Target was dead ahead - he could see it in the distance. And oh, was he ever ready to take them down a peg or two or three.

And once Quicksilver was out here, they surely would.
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Quicksilver
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Superspeed/ Superstrength
The very little boy that had grown up dazed by powers that he wouldn't be able to understand until he was much older would never have believed that this was where he would end up. On some strange submarine that was half alive, about to launch himself out of a torpedo tube on the orders of a mere human, partnered for the moment with a fishman with the intent on committing piracy. "If only my sister could see me," he said, as he took the breather from Ch'Od, "She would never believe it."

Pietro missed his sisters, missed his wife, missed his home... and oh, how strange it was to realize that there was a home for him to miss.

Listening to Ch'Od's instructions, Pietro nodded, "I understand and fear not, I can sure I will be able to keep pace."

Ch'Od slipped through the tube and Pietro counted to ten, forcing himself to take an agonizingly long second between each number, and then, he patted the side of the StarJammer, "Wait for us, trusty ship, we will return soon."

The StarJammer burbled, and Pietro launched himself from the torpedo tube. Ahead, he saw Ch'Od swimming with impressive speed. Narrowing his eyes in arrogant offront, he placed his feet against the hull of the ship and kicked off, the powerful muscles in his thighs shooting him forward like a missile and rocking the enormous craft just a tiny bit. An outside observer might think him a some sort of rocket, for no man should move through water so, but Pietro himself found it a very plodding process. He made a note to himself that he should practice swimming, so that he did not have to suffer the indignity of such slowness.

Not entirely catching up with Ch'Od but certainly close enough, Quicksilver reached the maintenance hatch, seconds after him. He tapped his fingers on it lightly, and then, with a show of strength he rarely displayed, he forced it open, sending water shooting up into the bay. As it began to fill, and bilge pumps on the side automatically began to regulate the water levels, he waited for Ch'Od to enter, before forcing the hatch closed and hammering it back into airtightness with movements fast enough to be a blur. An alarm was blaring, once there was no ocean to stifle it, and Pietro's eyes were quick enough to see that the main entry was opening.

He was a whirlwind of motion then, as he jerked open the door, sending a pair of Shi'Ar renegades spilling into the room. Grabbing the nearest, Pietro propelled him towards Ch'Od and called out, "Happy Christmas, playmate, do not let it be said that Pietro has not learned to share."

Then, in short order, he dispatched of his foe, relieving him of his consciousness, but not of his life, as he had promised Cyclops. "Hurry, Ch'Od," he urged, "They will know we are here and will try to run. We must find the engine room and make sure that does not happen. I defer to you, Sir, for surely you know the layout of this craft better than I. Lead and Pietro shall follow."
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Ch'Od
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NPC: Amphibian Characteristics
Ch'Od couldn't help but grin a toothy grin that wasn't entirely unlike a mouth full of shark teeth, all angled and bladed as he and Quicksilver burst into the under levels of the ship. Immediately, they were set upon, with scraggly Shi'Ar renegades defending the hatch as was expected. With his feet on something solid, Quicksilver more than lived up to his namesake, and as he flung one of his opponents in Ch'Od's direction, the large, scaled mutant made sure that his fist stood firm in the path of his descent, the hard unyielding hand colliding with the Shi'Ar head with a solid and resounding "clunk".

He glanced down at the quickly felled foes for but a moment. They almost looked... sad. Pitiful. Malnourished, weak, pathetic. Sure, this couldn't be all that was left of the old ways of the Shi'Ar empire.

"Looks to follow standard layout. Engine room is gonna be this way. Might be an attendant or two, but I'm thinking this ship is understaffed considering the sad shape of this lot here," he said with almost a sorrowful shake of his head before moving along, at a quick pace. Ship was filthy. Dirtier than they usually are.

Finally, they made it to the steel door concealing the engine room. It hummed and thrummed, gears turning, steam hissing, as the mechanisms inside churned the ship onward in its journey. And too bad for them, that journey was about to get cut short. Very short.

"Time to make a dramatic entrance, friend," Ch'Od said with a smirk as he reached out and grabbed the wheel that released the bolt that held the door in place and yanked hard, tearing the door open.

"This part's easy," he said as he stepped into the engine room, a few shouting voice and harried footsteps greeting his entry. Sounded like three, maybe four people. Weapons clacking into position. "If it moves, it's probably important. Tear it apart, and the ship stops moving."

He charged forward with a bellow in his throat, a few bullets pinging off his incredibly tough hide as he swung a massive fist into the midsection of a Shi'Ar with a handgun, sending him flying across the room with a yelp. In the same fluid motion, he brought his left elbow down onto a computerized control panel, smashing it to bits in a bright shower of sparks and plastic shrapnel.
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Joseph
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Magnetism
Joseph held the weapon that he had been given a little awkwardly - he was not used to having to fight for his survival, not yet anyway. Surely it would come to him soon enough, but he had never needed to protect himself yet, there had always been others to do it for him. Nor had he ever been in such a position where he was in place to play the hero. This whole journey was a new experience for the young clone, and perhaps it would be the gateway to a life that was divergent to the one that his biological template had lived. Their early lives had been parallel so far, both born into worlds of pain and suffering, both being held captive, but that was where the similarities ended. Joseph did not want to grow into the evil and spiteful man that had become one of the most wanted mutant terrorists the world had ever seen, no he wanted to be opposite of that, a hero, not unlike Cyclops, Pietro, Jac or the other members of the group that the teenager come toddler had learnt to call family.

Breaking his gaze away from the weapon, when Corsair gave them their ordered, Joseph was to be with Scott and Jean rescuing the slaves while the others dealt with the command of the ship. Was this the safer of the two tasks? Were they keeping him shielded from the worst of what might happen today? Did he need to be protected from such things? Joseph knew there were people younger than him that had seen far worse things at the school, but then unlike Joseph they had all been trained, or had been aware of their powers for longer than he had, and on top of that they had lived full lives. Joseph had lived half a life, if it could be called even that. In truth he was just three years old, and he had yet to experience much of what those children and teenagers had experienced, and maybe he never would, but this trip was the start of him being able to grow as an individual.

The young clone stood close to Jean as Scott was reprimanded by his father, or was it schooled? Joseph did not claim to be able to understand the nuances of the familial interaction, he was only just now beginning to get used to the idea that he had brothers, sisters and nephews of his own in the world, learning how to interact with them would come in time, but now he was still the unlearned pupil leeching information off of others as he witnessed how they interacted with the world.

There were questions that Joseph had, but the young clone felt somewhat intimidated by the captain after witnessing how he had dealt with his own son, so instead he moved that little bit closer to Jean and lent across. "What will we do with the slavers once we have captured the ship? Or the slaves? They can't come on the ship with us. Do we just leave them to their own devices?"
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Corsair
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NPC: Baseline Human
"Lilandra has been notified," Corsair said, in answer to Joseph's question. "She is the Majestrix of Madripoor, queen basically. She's a Shi'Ar, but not like the rest of them. She's... different."

He didn't look at his son, or his daughter-in-law, he didn't look at his crew, his wife. Corsair looked out at the water, out at the sea and the shadowy shape of the bottom of the enemy boat, remembering what he had been turned into in a boat like that. How he had been so quickly broken, and rebuilt into something weak and unworthy. How he had languished in first moral degradation, and then morale degradation. No longer seeking help. No longer capable of being anything but a slave.

Until Hepzibah had needed him. Until he saw this woman about to be raped, and abused, and something in him woke up. He remembered then that once upon a time he had been a soldier, he had been a husband, a father, he remembered then that once he had been a man.

He would not, could not allow these slavers to take that from anyone else.

Reaching out, he caught Hepzibah's hand. They were silent together for a moment and then an alarm began to blare. Chris dropped Hepzi's hand and checked.

"Your friend is as quick as he claims," Corsair smiled, "He and Ch'Od have disabled the Shi'Ar ship. StarJammers, time for plunder. Prepare to board ship."
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Narration
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<"We are under attack, Captain,"> came the panicked cries of the men down below. <"StarJammers! The Amphibian... and another... fast as the wind... Captain! Help us!">

Captain Mykla turned off the intercom with a flick of her finger, and as the alarms began to blare and the ship began to stutter to a drifting stop, she sat back in his chair, and stared out at the long expanse of open ocean. Her first mate grabbed at her arm, <"Captain, should I call for help?">

<"No, Ge"> said the Captain, <"This is why we are here. Let them come.">

Ge stared at the woman, <"Why we are here? I thought we were delivering human cargo to our buyer.">

<"We are, just not the cargo in our hold,"> the Captain said, shaking off the hand on her arm that had grown tight and painful. <"This is beyond Madripoor, it is beyond anything you have ever known, and when it's done, those of us who survive will be wealthier than the Majestrix herself.">

The younger Shi'ar's tattooed eyes widened to the size of saucers, <"Wealthier... Captain, what are you saying? What exactly are we carrying?">

Mykla smiled, coldly, and said, <"It is not what we have on board... it is who is about to board us now.">

<"Corsair's people?">Ge frowned, <"There's a bounty? Who dares to try and contain the StarJammers? Not even D'Ken himself was able to...">

<"ENOUGH QUESTIONS!"> the Captain snapped as she sprang to her feet and caught Ge by the throat, <"We will be paid and we will be paid well! That is all you need to know. Our employer... our employer..."> She shuddered at the memory of those red eyes and that sinister grin, <"He is not one to think too much about."> She released T'Mor and said, <"Lock the wheelhouse, arm yourself if you must, but none of the StarJammers die today... except perhaps Corsair himself. He is not required by our employer.">

Ge nodded, coughing and rubbing at his throat. He quickly moved to bolt the door of the wheelhouse...

... and he made sure his pistol was cocked.


< All dialog translated from Madripoori>
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Jean
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Telepathy, Telekinesis
“You don’t know that half of it,” Jean replied to Corsair’s comment about Pietro’s speed. “Water isn’t his best element.”

Not far away they watched as the pirate vessel breached the surface and water streamed down the hull. The pseudo-living ship, Starjammer, latched onto the other ship like a metal octopus, binding them together and extended the gangplank.

Jean readied her gun, though that was mostly for show, and rushed across the ramp. The ship’s hatch was still locked down tight. After becoming host to the Phoenix force, Jean hadn’t trained with that extra power; in truth, she was afraid of it. Afraid of what would happen if she used it. Afraid of what would happen if she didn’t use it. Afraid that she had a ticking bomb inside her and no one with the right answers. She glanced back over her shoulder at Scott; poor Scott, still too shaky from his own experiences – his death and the memories of the monster he’d been turned into. When they’d gone through Hell before, they either went through the same thing and knew the pain the other was feeling because they were feeling it too, or they were whole and undamaged and could be there, heart and soul for the other.

Jean turned back to the hatch and focused her will on it. In seconds the seal popped and spewed out air and a spray of water, reminding Jean of a soda pop can. “Ugh, foul,” she made a face as fetid air rushed out of the ship. “Slaves,” she said and her eyes took on a slightly glazed look as she tried to locate the drugged minds she’d felt before.

Below her, one of the pirates was surprised by the hatch opening, but the surprise didn’t last long and took aim at Jean.
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Cyclops
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Punches from the Punch Dimension
During the strange and confusing nightmare of his living death, Scott Summers had no awareness of anything that would indicate that he was not truly dead, that it was all a twisted delusion facilitated by a biomechanical virus that kept him alive but mimicked death. He remained groomed, so he must have bathed. He had lost weight but months of slavery had not left him skeletal, so surely he had eaten. He hadn't collapsed from exhaustion, so there had to have been a time when he slept.

And, yet, in his mind he had done not of those things, and the nights when the rest of his team, who had not had to die to comply with the wishes of the Fathers, slept, had been filled with silent training. He had moved differently under the influence of the Hand, he had fought differently. His powers were odd, his mindset not his own, and he had been a fearless, weightless, creeping shadow. The throwing clubs he now held, here in the sunlight and open air of an entirely opposite world, had been what he trained with, part of him fearing that his powers would grow beyond his control. He must learn to fight without them, in this new way that was what he assumed would be forever, unable under the Dark Beast's sway to hope for rescue.

How could he have ever known that just under a year later, those strange weapons would be arching through the opened hatch, to careen in what looked like wild abandon past Jean's head. But the ricochet was perfectly angled and aimed, and with a whirl and slamming dents into the metal walls of the enemy ship to crack the skull of the pirate who dared pull his weapon on Scott's wife.

The spinning cudgels boomeranged back past Jean's face, not even brushing her red hair, and her husband plucked them out of the air, having moved only enough to throw the weapons.

Lowering his hand, having saved his wife, Scott turned his head to look at his father and said, "We're going for the slaves."

Corsair smiled, impressed by his son's expert, albeit reluctant display. "Down the ladder and into the bowels."

Scott nodded, "Joseph, stay close. If we run into trouble, retreat to safety and we'll come and get you." Looking to Jean, he said, "Lead on."

He wasn't leading this mission. He wasn't a leader anymore.

It was hard to remember that though.
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Joseph
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Magnetism
That wasn't an answer to Joseph, not an answer to his question anyway. He did not know Lilandra from the next Tom, Dick or Harry, nor did he know how she was different from other Shi'Ar. Did that mean that the pirates would be dealt with without having to see an execution squad? Did it mean that the slaves would be given their freedom upon return to Madripoor? They were the questions that Joseph had wanted answered, but he was not about to argue the point with Corsair. Firstly it was his ship and therefore his rules, even if someone did not agree with them, and secondly they did not have time to argue the point.

As the hatch opened, Scott was quick to use his weapons to prevent the first of the pirates brave enough to show themselves from being able to harm Jean. Joseph was given his orders. "Will do." Joseph didn't like the idea of running and hiding, fleeing and hiding was not in his DNA. They had been told no powers and Joseph would follow that rule as best he could, but even now he began to alter the magnetic current around himself to reverse the polarity. It wasn't a strong force, both his genetic donor, and his sister would be able to produce forcefields far stronger, but it might be enough to discourage a stray bullet from being able to hit him. He did not trust the weapon in his hand, and this would at least keep help him survive that bit longer should things go wrong for him here.

Waiting until Scott and Jean had entered the hatch, Joseph began to follow on behind them, as his inexperienced eyes began to scour this new ship for anything that might be out of the ordinary while they went in search of the slaves.
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Ch'Od
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NPC: Amphibian Characteristics
"Ah, yes, here comes the cavalry," Ch'Od said with a slightly toothy grin, glancing up as the sounds of boots pounding on metal ship flooring rang through the room. Granted, according to plan, this meant that the Starjammer cavalry was coming too, so in his mind's eye, this was good time to clean up. Easy in, easy out.

He readied himself, knees flexed, fists tensed. Time for a good, old-fashioned birdie smackdown, and man was he ever ready for that. He glanced to Quicksilver, and gave the man a sharp nod of the head. The speedster was good. Damn good, even. Reliable in a brawl and potent to boot. Between the two of them, he was confident that anything these Shi'Ar vultures tossed at them would be woefully insufficient.

Doors flew open above them, with a relatively small band of Shi'Ar soldiers, sailors, crewmen streaming through on the walkways above to fire down on the two invaders. Ch'Od lifted an arm to shield his face as a run of gunfire came down upon him. The bullets stung, but did little else as his scaly hide was built for sterner stuff, built to withstand massive oceanic pressure - short-range gunfire wasn't going to do the trick.

"Agh - you birdies know I hate getting shot at..." he grunted. The bullets weren't penetrating his hide, but they did sting, and they held him back for now. But a quick movement, a sweeping grab with his one free arm for a piece of debris from the smashed engine and he was suitably armed.

"... It really gets on my nerves, ya know?" he said, finishing his remark as he swung the chunk of debris around, flinging it into the group of soldiers, bowling some over, scattering others, and interrupting the stream of gunfire anyway.
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Quicksilver
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They shot, these little men with the marks around their eyes, and the evils in their hearts, and Quicksilver very easily dodged their bullets, plucking them from the air, or simply brushing them aside. The guns were wrenched from hands, or smacked away, and the swift movements of the speedster left hands broken and fingers dislocated.

But his speed allowed something else, and in those moments when he was the only thing in the world that was moving at a reasonable pace, everything else, in his perception almost stagnant and still, he was able to see that many of these men who attacked did not wear the Shi'Ar tattooing. Their eyes blank and glassy, their skin pale and covered in sweat and filth, their clothes tattered and ill-fitting. These were the slaves that had been conscripted into service. Pietro tried, in the quickness of his mind's eye no slower than his body, to picture Christopher Summers as one of these men, and found it difficult to reconcile their captain with these broken men. Yet, was there not that same bit of haunted despair in there, a rage barely hidden? Yes, Corsair had been a slave, and Pietro, who had enslaved himself in his own sort of captivity more than once, would help him free these men.

Ch'Od was tearing his way through the ranks of slavers, and doing so admirably, that Pietro slipped down the hall to clear the pathway. As he went, he moved at a speed that was, for him, slow, but was, for all others, still a blur. The engines of this ship had been halted by their destruction, and he heard men running to come and fix it. Stepping aside, Quicksilver waited for the men to approach, and immediately, as he saw the first glimpse of them, he swooped into his full speed, and charged into the lot, tossing them aside, slamming them into walls.

Until there was only one man left.

A slave who cowered at the back of the now scattered and mostly unconscious pack.

"I am sorry, I am sorry," the man moaned, as he stared up at Pietro.

"You are a slave," Pietro said, "What have you to apologize for? We are here to save you, not condemn you."

The slave grabbed Pietro's arm, the speedster not dodging because he expected some gesture of pleading or submission, but instead the man jabbed him with a device. "I am sorry for this," he said, "They will kill me if I do not..."

But Pietro did not hear the rest of his frantic apology, because the device did its job...

And Pietro Maximoff vanished into thin air.

The slave fell to his knees and wept in guilt and fear.
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