2012-11-25 The Doomed Broadcast

Twilight hangs over the deceptively quaint burg of Doomstadt, casting the very last vestiges of warmth over wood and tile - though these people know a greater inner heat, nurtured in the apparent loving benevolence of their erstwhile dictator. Victor Von Doom's influence has not heretofore spread beyond the rolling hills and smoking stacks of Latveria, but a ripple has been set in motion that seeks to become an angry, crashing wave; like all of these things, so tiny at first, a murmur of dissent among a handful of men and women he would no doubt consider beneath him. Whom, indeed, he has already threatened. But the people of his home remain content and unaware, even as one of this disturbed number has found her way amongst them...
Psylocke has been in Doomstadt for the best part of two days, obtaining identity papers and masquerading in peasant blouse, skirt and headscarf as one of their faux-mediaeval number. The motions of deceit have carried her through the populace, and she has - along with a decent mental map of the city and its *visible* defences - formulated the semblance of a plan. Relaying her orders mentally, to a single, easily-missed figure beyond the outer fringe of Latveria, she has prepared the chess board for a most dangerous game indeed.
Insertion points have been designated; a sleepy side-street quarter of a mile down a cobbled road from the city's central 'Rathaus', where the council sits in residence. More importantly, where the huge barrels of anti-aircraft guns project into the air, pointing upward at the giant, lazily-gliding forms of dozens of heavily-armed blimps. Their spotlights are due to come on soon; which is why the team has to act *fast*, before the light falls against them.
Another point sits outside the city, the pleasant hump of a hill beside a wooded glade leading off into rolling forest depths. This also forms their safe point of extraction should something prevent the mauve-skinned mutant, Blink, from flexing her full teleportative muscle. From here they can retreat-- and it's barely two miles from the city proper. Running distance.
The Violet Butterfly is herself already in action, maintaining her telepathic shielding along with a five-way link ready to run between herself and her known allies. A bundle held at her back these past days has been removed and unwrapped, and as she creeps through the tunnels beneath the city - seeking the reactor whose location she prays she's properly discerned - she holds at her hip the long, shining blade of a katana. It's an oddly dissonant thing, European peasant garb and a distintly Oriental weapon. But this is no ordinary situation.
She's never done anything quite so reckless as this. Or quite so apparently Doomed to failure.
Airspace is something folks need to be aware of. But Carol is going one further. She's up... way up with a small tank of air because even she needs to breathe now and then. But she's up at the edge of the atmosphere and maintaining a link with the infiltrator mentally. She's trying her newest trick. She knows she absorbs energy, so she's actively doing so now. Her intent... though there's not much energy up here, and it's not going to fuel her powers... radar signals simply won't go back home, and she'll be effectively impossible to detect via -that- type of sensor. Others, not so much. 
So it is that she waits up there, enjoying the glance at the stars one gets when they're up where the air is so thin. She's waiting for powerdive attack mode on demand. . o o O O (In position. Just gimme the word and I guarantee all eyes will turn skyward.) she directs to Betsy.
BLINK!
It is such a strange noise. As though reality itself has been plucked gently, and then allowed to thrum back into place. The thing is, as the technicians around the power reactor deep beneath the city are about to learn, it doesn't just create a pleasing noise. That thrumming plink of strange vibrations is met by a portal, for just a split second, and then, there's Blink herself. The purple-skinned elf-girl brandishing a half dozen javelins, three in each hand.
And Domino. Who is probably brandishing something far more dangerous.
Blink herself is used to teleportation; and compared to most, her portals are far less nausea inducing than other methods of transportation, as she literally warps space to connet the points and cross over as though it is a step, rather than wrenching the individual and shoving them there. She, unlike Psylocke, has done this many, many times before. Or, if not this, exactly, things like it. Diving headlong against a superior force, overwhelming odds and a seeming impenetrable fortress?
Doom is good, but he is NOT Apocalypse.
"I'm going to offer you all one chance!" She shouts as she touches down to the ground, only now really starting to eye up the security, opposition, and civilians she is certain are waiting in the center of this vital piece of Doomstadt's infrastructure. "Drop any weapons, get out of here now, and nobody gets hurt."
The funny thing is... she sounds genuinely hopeful. She doesn't WANT to hurt anyone. But from everything she'd heard... she needs to do this, and she's pragmatic enough to know that the choice... isn't necessarily up to her at all.
Teleportation, in all of its many and mysterious forms, is still an unnerving experience. Where the universe around Domino goes 'BLINK!' her stomach goes 'HURK!' Then she's suddenly standing beside a pink skinned elf staring down a whole slew of people in a world that hadn't existed for either of them half a second ago. Good thing she's already got a needler pistol in either hand, both of them held out and ready to handle any problems they might come to face.
As if to emphasize that particular detail, there's two audible clicks as the sidearms are readied. "And that's one chance more than you'll get with me."
Dom could be grinning like a fiend right now. On any other job, she might be wearing such an expression. This time, things are a little different. She's actually sharing Blink's desire to not have to press the attack on anyone undeserving of it. Civilians, in any country, are still only civilians. There's no need to rack up the bodycount. They go in, they do their jobs, they leave. No part of that entitles acts of genocide.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again for flying Oceanic Airlines, flight 183 from Oslo to Moscow. We will be landing in Moscow in approximately one hour. Please remember that we will be activating the fasten seatbelt signs as we come upon final approach in thirty minutes."
The message is repeated again in Norwegian and Russian. As this happens, Kwabena Odame silently excuses himself from his seat, and makes his way toward the restroom at the back end of the plane. A pleasant smile lingers on his face, but his eyes have been carefully watching the passing of flight attendants, watching as they go to and from the service stations at the front, middle, and aft end of the aircraft.
Ducking into the restroom, he immediately begins to disrobe, revealing the special suit constructed of unstable molecules, which is designed to enable him to use his mutant powers without ending up otherwise naked. The clothes are left discarded, and there he waits, listening patiently over the din of jet engines until he hears the telltale 'click click click' of heels walking past and into the service station.
Silently he opens the door and glances forward. Luck seems to be on his side, for there are no eyes looking back at him, and nobody waiting to use the restroom. Thus, he slips through the curtain and into the service station, where a single flight attendant is sorting some refreshments. With a quick motion he wraps one arm around her neck, places the other against her mouth, and squeezes. Her eyes go wide, but her cries are muted against his gloved hand and the din of jet engines. After a few moments, her eyes roll back into her head, and she's lost consciousness.
Slowly laying her down on the floor, he crosses the way and quickly grabs hold of the emergency hatch in the floor, which leads into the cargo bay beneath the aircraft. With a strong pull, the hatch opens up, and he slips inside, closing it behind him. He dashes amongst the luggage gathered there until he finds his checked bag, which he rips open and retrieves from within a mask. Affixed to this is a tiny tank of air. He checks the pressure and fixes the mask over his costumed face, before moving along toward his next task.
Having studied the design of this model commercial airliner, he knows exactly where to go and what to do. He dashes from one end of the fuselage to the other, pulling off paneling to reveal hydraulic controls. Mustering up rage that he's bottled up in the reserves of his psyche, his fists harden into something stronger than flesh and bone, and with a simple punch, the hydraulics are severed.
This, of course, serves to force the cargo loading doors to open. A ferocious rush of air fills the cargo bay, which most likely causes a number of alarms to go off in the cockpit, if his severing of the hydraulics hasn't done so already. He braces himself against one of the supports until the air pressure has evened out, prying his jaw open again and again until his ears stop popping. Then, with reckless abandon, he runs forward and leaps right out of the aircraft and into the sky.
Without a parachute.
As the infiltrators begin their silent assault in the city, high up in Castle Doom, hidden behind countless walls, traps, and a bristling army of robotic defenders, sits a single man. He sprawls in his throne, clad entirely in armor from head to toe, as he watches the many servants, both living and synthetic bustle about the massive hall that is his throne room. A golden goblet, trimmed with gemstones rests lazily in his gauntlet as he mulls over recent events, a vibrant green cloak and hood hiding the majority of his form from view in a deep shadow. Not that anyone would dare to gaze upon him without good reason, for he is the true Monarch of Latveria. He is Doom. And this is his city.
Currently, however, down in the tunnels under Latveria, things are not going quite as they would prefer. The reactor is found easily enough by Psylocke, of course. Her theory was correct, plus, the closer you get, the louder the humming becomes, and the brighter the light shines from each tunnel. The appearance of Blink and Domino, and their demands, fall on a mixed crowd. There are humans there, certainly, civilians working the reactor, but not quite as many as you might think would be involved in the operation of such a complex system. That's because, while the humans oversee the installation, synthetic workers do most of the heavy lifting. 
Suddenly a laugh breaks the silence, as all eyes turn to the newcomers, and a man steps forward, staring at them with hate. "You think we'd surrender our homes to you? Outsiders? This is Doom's land, and he will protect us!" With this, the man rushes at them, scooping up a wrench as he does, and right behind him comes the rest of the workforce, robotic and human alike, all armed similarly with makeshift weapons. Except for one. One man breaks from the group and starts to dash for what looks to be an emergency button.
There's a gross benefit to Betsy's concentration being absorbed in telepathic shielding; this same effort also blocks out the endless din of menial thoughts that assail her subconscious awareness, rattling at the edges of her mind to form adequate distraction from most any purpose. At least her efforts in slinking beneath the same radar that Ms. Danvers so aptly blocks from herself using her own superhuman gift provide that solace. It leaves her other senses more open, finely tuned to the sounds beneath the city. So yes, she finds her way...
And she hears the telltale noise of Blink and Domino's arrival before they announce themselves. A fair amount before, in a sense; the snap-to of the mauve mutant's teleportative workings are matched by a similar jolt as the telepathic link is formed and instantly maintained. It's an art Psylocke has been working on, lately. Gaining experience and fine control.
|"Don't open fire. Blink-- take out the generator. Cover her, Domino."|
The words come in a rush as the kunoichi speeds her own approach from the opposite tunnel, reaching a lunging headlong sprint with long, graceful strides. The headscarf she's been wearing until now falls away, revealing a flash of sleek purple hair to any who care to look her way; not enough by itself to cause an incident, though the blade chambered at her hip is far more alarming. She ignores any and all reactions, blocking out emotion and thought to use her formidable speed and agility to cover the distance to the one man breaking away.
'Ten... nine...'
Inwardly, she's counting down. Outwardly, she's simply acting. Instinctive. Deadly--
'Eight...'
If she allowed herself to be. As she springs into a horizontal leap, twisting in the air and bringing her katana sweeping about, she angles it just-so to dissect only the charged air surrounding the generator, the tip and the severing blade finding not her prey; but rather, it's the hilt that does, seeking to drive into the base of his spine, to stagger and paralyze for the time it takes to straighten out and slam him to the hard floor with a sprawling takedown. Her blade coming down held lengthwise across his back, keeping him pinned and ready to follow up if this act alone doesn't knock him unconscious. Either way, she's a distraction as well, buying Blink enough time to carry out her orders, then get Domino to that second location up above.
'One...'
|"Carol."| Her second telepathic suggestion is abrupt, harsh in her focus. She's rarely multitasked on this level before. She can feel her allies through the otherwise-shielded haze of thousands of minds, around the blank spot of the castle where mighty Von Doom awaits, but reaching out to them all in this manner, while trying to execute a foolhardy plan... Kwabena might not be the only one in free-fall right now. |"Dive."|
Blink hadn't been expecting such loyalty... but it doesn't change things an awful lot. What it does do is put her into defensive mode. The first six men to charge her meet javelins, which send them scattering about the room - random locations within it, with just enough of a stunning jolt scrambling their neurons to render them unconscious, but crucially, not dead. The trouble is that whilst Psylocke gives her the command, she can't... actually obey it.
The crowd of people are too great for her to concentrate on the machine, and she's damned if she's going to randomly try hitting it to see what happens. She doesn't know the first thing about technology like that, and she doesn't want to be at ground zero of an explosion. Placed on the back foot by the whirling melee, she instead has to concentrate on blocking and dodging the swinging weapons. Her portals open up time and again, transporting weapons, and slow individuals, and doing her best to create an opening for Domino; protecting her own back and that of her albino comrade in arms.
"No can do, Psylocke!" She grunts, barely managing to slide past a particularly enthusiastic man with a very heavy looking tool. "Domino, get, THAT one!" A jerk of her head towards the man running for the alarm. She can't do a darn thing to stop him herself right now, and she can't keep up her end of the plan, either! But, in her book, making sure herself and Domino don't wind up totally overwhelmed right away definitely takes priority number one!
The word is given, and so it shall be done. No longer absorbing radar waves, Carol turns into a power dive that leaves the ends of her crimson sash fluttering in the wind that builds and builds. It's fortunate for all that she's not coming down from high enough for re-entry friction to give her a fiery corona.... Her arms trail back like she was skydiving, but she's accelerating, and radiating energy now. Her eyes glow golden yellow as she pushes her flight. She's planning to break her air speed record here. She flashes past a falling Shift maybe a hundred feet to his right at a velocity that is already supersonic. By the time she reaches the highest airship, she's at mach 3.4... and no doubt every sensor looking skywards is pinging her and going berserk. 
She pulls out of her powerdive with a golden flare of power that sends a photonic blast out to impact with one of the military airships that are likely just now starting to react. She fires a second blast towards another one in a snap shot that has far less time to be aimed. She is however, making sure that she's not aiming straight down so that misses won't destroy homes, lives, etc. 
She rockets through the midst of many of the ships though, doing her level best to have all eyes on her as she lifts up and away, starting a bank for another attack run. Yes... she handles her body flying like it was a high performance jet.
The jumbo commercial airliner speeds away as Shift dives into the atmosphere, feeling the sudden rush of cold wind biting against him, even through the suit he wears over almost every inch of his body. Oxygen is pumped into his lungs as he takes deep, steadying breaths, a simple and monotonous effort to maintain the calm that he's been building in himself over the last thirty-six hours.
That little mask covering Shift's face isn't something you might pick up at the local army surplus store. One of the many devices granted to them by SHIELD, this one is special. Into its goggles are built a multitude of visual enhancement devices, not the least of which is heat-vision. With thick clouds covering the planet below, Shift might not be able to see Doomstadt castle yet, but that much technology and human bodies are likely to create one hell of a spot, so to speak. While freefalling through the stratosphere, Shift reaches over to activate the heat-vision, then splays his arms and legs out wide to slow his fall. Eyes scan about until he finds the large blob of red, which lies ahead and to the left of him. With so much space between himself and the ground, there should be ample time to align his body.
Just then, Carol Danvers goes whipping past at a fairly decent distance, but close enough for him to see. Momentarily surprised, he loses his composure and goes into a spin, flailing about out of control. He'd only managed to squeeze in two practice jumps with Domino, at one of those campy 'Learn To Skydive!' place outside of New York. Hey, tandem jumping isn't required, especially when Domino has all of the falsified papers to be an instructor, and there's no harm in cutting Shift loose, since he can't actually be killed by striking the ground at a lethal speed.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" he curses, until he's able to steady himself and flatten out his body. Taking a few deep breaths, he manages to keep himself from tossing his cookies, and looks around for the red blot in his heat-vision. There it is, -behind- him now. Rolling his eyes, he begins to gently shift is body weight to the right, and begins to turn about...
Needler pistols may not be a part of Domino's standard loadout, but they're guns, and guns are a language which she speaks well. A bunch of people, human and synthetic alike, armed with whatever they can lay their hands on in the immediate area, they aren't likely to be much of a threat. Whomever Blink doesn't evict via teleportation is going to find themselves taking their chances with Lady Luck. A leg, a shoulder, a foot, outright shooting weapons out of their hands, anything is possible with this albino.
"Cover her -without- opening fire," Dom scoffs as the near-silent pistols unleash their high velocity stingers. "The hell am I supposed to use," she rhetorically asks as she jumps over a collapsing body, "harsh language?" The guy going for the alarm is definitely a high priority target, if he reaches it then they're -all- going to be in serious trouble! She can't allow that to happen. He may well be the very first casualty of this war, the high-speed dart aimed to end the risk. Aimed to kill.
"Whatever we're doing, we need to do it fast!"
The man goes down under Psylocke's relentless hilt, collapsing under her into unconsciousness. The crowd of technicians and robotic laborers go down fairly easy under the onslaught of Domino and Blink, neither trained nor programmed for combat on any level. The sheer numbers, however, is enough to hold them up, and in a plan that is no doubt highly complex, any delay can be deadly. Luckily, the second man going for the other emergency button is taken out by Domino's stinger pistols.
However, all that becomes irrelevant as Ms. Marvel engages the Airships. They go down, certainly, but these were made for battle, and are piloted by people trained for combat. Several get off a few lucky shots towards the speeding dart of a woman, but for the most part, all they can do is keep their eyes on her, and try to avoid going down under her assault. Which is almost certainly the plan.
However...
Light shows like what is occuring in the skies of Doomstadt do not go unnoticed, and the light patter of running footsteps signals the arrival of a message. "My Lord! We are under attack! The airships are firing on a metahuman who has taken to the skies near the Castle." Doom's eyes slip to his servant, narrowing faintly before he stands from his throne and calmly walks down the steps that put him above the rest of the room. As he passes the man, he tosses him a small gem the size of a baby's fist, "Raise the alarm."
With her initial prey thoroughly introduced to the ground, Psylocke does not tarry any longer than necessary. As the form of the SHIELD super-agent literally explodes into supersonic action overhead, beneath the city the British telepath is ready to echo her efforts at a greatly lesser speed; though it certainly won't seem as such to those facing she and her companions. Domino's thudding twin blaze of needles fills the air along with the intermittent, almost ludicrous 'pop' of Blink's formidable power manifesting, but the kunoichi moves through it all as a fish through water-- smooth, easy motions hide the power therein as she singles out the synthetics by the spooky blind spot they leave in her telepathic senses. Her blade is brought forth to cut now, throwing sparks and forming a brutal lever on metal joints as she dances through the chaos.
At one point, her violet eyes meet Domino's with a cold flash.
|"Speed."| She counters the yelled objection. |"Strength."| A smile as she spins away. |"Wits."|
A high kick takes out one - human - man, by the throat, pitching him backwards into the metal wall with a pronounced gurgle, both hands reaching to massage at a windpipe at least upon the verge of collapse; any harder and he'd be dead for sure. It's a fierce lesson in just what her martial skill can accomplish independent of blade or psychic assault. Simple and direct. She doesn't tarry longer on such, however, weaving beneath a wild shot from a nearby synthetic before leaping into a twisting butterfly kick, one leg taking each of two opponents down. Then her eyes are finding Blink through the fray, her mental suggestion quick and powerful.
|"Get close to Domino. Take us all to the surface, then go on to the Rathaus. Leave me behind."|
There's an accompanying flash of the intended location, held in Betsy's mind from her investigations over the past two days. Her next motions carry her to close also with the patch-eyed mercenary, bringing the three of them together in a ring of startled men. They're too good for mere civilians, that much is clear; and there's no defences otherwise to stop them. She waits for the telltale 'BLINK!', starting to direct the totality of her telekinetic energies downward, the effort alone causing her to drop their telepathic link briefly-- and her shielding much less briefly, no longer 'beneath the radar'. The time has passed for that.
But the next move isn't hers.
Plasma blasts light up the skies above Latveria, and Carol swoops up out of the arc of some of the incoming fire. The Flak cannons are more of a concern for her at this point, but then she just grins a bit.... oh no, Carol has a sudden idea. She's starting to figure out where the plasma cannons and where the flak guns are mounted at on these ships, and she arcs around to make a charge towards one of the airships from the direction of fire of a battery of plasma cannons. She's charging right into the gunner's line of fire, and the cannon opens up, rapid fire with all barrels. A flash of light in the sky, and a bit of explosive backlash... the gunner may be about to do a fist pump when a hand reaches in and rips the cannon out of its mounting. Carol is glowing brightly from her very pores as she steps into the gunner's seat and only after making sure he's wearing a chute, does she toss him out into the air behind her. Then she's on her way to the cockpit. Of course, this ship is probably taking fire from how close she has gotten. One of Murphy's most important laws of war... Friendly fire... isn't. "Everybody out." she says as she enters the cockpit, both hands glowing with power. 
She is unaware that the Power Spheres have been unleashed from the cargo bay, and they are approaching her from behind.... at the moment...
Blink finally manages to thin the crowd enough that she can draw another javelin. The girl is honed by a harsh future; a world in which conflict and death sharpened her into a true weapon. There are few mutants who can keep up their abilities for a sustained amount of time, but Blink? Well, if she couldn't, then she'd be dead a hundred times over. She's not even sweating yet.
She doesn't know what this stuff /does/, but there's that bright crackling thing, and, well, her mind goes back to the Annihilation Cannon. That hadn't ended well. But what are the chances that Doom has a power station capable of blowing up reality itself when you destabilize it.
In an instant, she is next to the crackling heart of the station. And then...
BLINK!
Five hundred miles straight up is on the verge of true space. It is about as safe as it gets for dumping out the heart of the power station. It is only after that is done, that the girl is behind Domino, and grabbing her. "Time, to get out of here!"
BLINK!
Back to the surface, she just needs a few seconds to start gathering the others. Psylocke's abilities make this much easier, but whether or not she can get to everyone in time, well... that... remains to be seen! As does the result of a quite horrific amount of damage to a system she is barely able to comprehend. She can only hope that she'd successfully torn out the vital part; she doesn't want to be there if the /remains/ of the place are the next thing to blow up, after all.
Clouds whip past the African free-faller, but the condensation is whisked right away by the goggles lent to him by SHIELD. High-tech, indeed. He reaches with one hand to his mouth, waiting until the clouds peel back, and rips free the tube feeding oxygen into his mouth. Depressing a small button on the tube causes the tiny oxygen tank with it to go free, and he casts it into the air. That part of the device was meant to be disposable anyway, so he won't have to make any apologies.
Now, his eyes are granted an incredible lightshow of destruction as Ms. Marvel engages the airships. He quickly disengages the heat-vision, and instead, enables the automatic targetting system, which was already programmed to seek out those airships and track them. Tiny glowing boxes appear before his eyes, highlighting each airship against the visual maelstrom created by the sprawl of Doomstadt as it rushes toward him.
The diversion created by Ms. Marvel is impressive, indeed, but there are two airships which she seems to specifically -not- be targeting. Toward the closest one, Shift angles his body, waiting until he judges himself to be aligned with it, before tucking his arms and legs in. He immediately picks up speed, barreling toward his target in a well-concealed gunmetal gray and black skin against an imposingly dark sky.
As the deck of the airship screams closer and closer, he catches sight of Carol speeding about nearby. Remembering his promise to try and keep the SHIELD gear intact, he rips the mask and goggle combination free, and tosses it in her direction. If she doesn't catch it, it won't matter, for in a short while they would have been smashed against the deck of an airship.
With one final twisting of his body, Shift makes his very best effort to angle his suicidal fall toward what appears to be the bridge of his targeted airship. There is nothing to stop him as his body plummets right into the deck. However, where a normal human would turn into a pile of mangled bone and goo, he instead disappears into a roiling cloud of black smoke.
A few seconds later, that same cloud of black smoke has reformed into the shape of a man, still clad in the costume that conceals his identity. A grin forms on his face as he glances around beneath his mask, for he'd done well. All around him are the telltale signs of a control center, and the stares of an incredibly surprised crew.
Raising a hand, Shift waggles his fingers and says, "Hey guys!"
Then, he's bum rushing the nearest person, summoning his anger and rage as he prepares to unleash an assault that will only barely refrain from being lethal.
It's a weird thing when something as large as an entire generator just up and vanishes in a flash of light. "That's more like it!" One objective down, and Domino's sharing the company of two other companions, of varying degrees of trust. This seems to be going well, so far... But, she still hasn't made it to -her- objective.
This is why teleporters are awesome to have on your side.
On the surface, straight shot to the AA guns, and already there's chaos in the sky. There's not a moment to lose. "Watch yourselves, ladies!" Domino calls out before making a mad dash for the Rathaus. She's on the clock, things are happening quickly and she's got a lot of ground to cover before she can get in position. Of course, it never occurs to her that Blink could just zap her there and be done with it. They have their problems, she has hers!
It's that survival instinct that makes Blink such a valuable ally - the earlier demonstration of empathy and compassion that make her a worthy friend. Those two unite in her actions now, and when she first disappears it takes but the same palpable instant for Psylocke to understand her follow-up action isn't necessary; and that telekinetic surge is sucked inward, retained within as her telepathic web instead spreads once more. Their timing couldn't be better. Blink is back, and reassesing the situation just as the Violet Butterfly's heightened awareness touches her.
Violet eyes slam *wide* open, and the kunoichi draws in a breath as she sways around another clumsy synthetic assault. Suddenly she seizes that retreated blast of telekinesis, drawing it out as though one-handed - an equally ponderous fling designed only to push back the crowd about the trio. And then remain in place, containing them in one side of the room behind a faintly shimmering haze of purple electric fire. If there's any aftershock, it should keep them safe-- likewise, if the tunnel collapses, they'll have precious moments. It's all she can do.
And then they're on the surface. Domino is running. Psylocke's eyes turn heavenward.
|"Carol? Kwa-- Shift? Are you in place? We've got fire support incoming but we need to be quick."|
The heart of the generator indeed. Luckily, it was semi-obvious, as most of the structure was built around it, and when removed from it's housing, it simply goes inert, making the space jump impressive, but pointless. Clean energy, it seems, is one of Doom's hobbies.
With the summoned anger, the very cells making up Shift's skin, flesh, and bone grow more dense, until they represent something more like titanium than human hands. The effect ripples up his arms, across his chest, and down his legs as the mutation takes effect, summoned by his darker feelings. He doesn't need a lot of precision, all he has to do is connect his limbs with almost any part of his adversaries, save the head. They were trying to avoid killing people, after all, and with the matter in his body hardened as such, a blow to the head would splatter grey matter upon the deck.
He makes quick work of his foes, leaving a pile of bodies in his wake. There are broken bones, shattered ribs, and a great deal of pain, but in the end, all it takes is one well placed forearm to the chest of the pilot, and he's in control of the airship's bridge.
There isn't much time. Betsy's voice rings out in his mind, and he grabs what clearly appear to be the helm controls, and violently yanks them to starboard. The airship suddenly tilts toward Castle von Doom as his answer rings out in his mind.
|"I am. Get yourselves ready."|
Amidst the maelstrom in the skies, one lone airship is, indeed turning about and heading right for Castle von Doom.
The very moment the airship is lined up, Kwabena throws all power to the throttle. That's when his peripheral vision picks up the tiny specks of over three dozen Power Spheres, which appear from all about. "What the hell?" he spits. Not knowing what they are or what they can do, he leaves the controls and runs straight for the edge of the airship as fast as he can. The Power Spheres take up a pursuit, but there's no more time to waist. Reaching the edge, he leaps as hard as he can, diving overboard and into the sky once again, while the spheres give chase.
It sure is a good thing that there's so many things exploding up in the skies over the city. Loud noises, flashes of light, it all translates into panic amongst those on the ground. And in that roiling panic is one dark-clad albino, loaded down in firepower, charging through the crowd without needing to gun down much of anything since there's nothing left to stand in her way. As if some divine force is guiding her path, those left out on the streets are running like crazy all over the place except that narrow space directly in front of Domino. It's like having an express route to her destination, only having to dodge the occasional limb or duck around the random shoulder without losing her momentum.
The door to the Rathaus very nearly explodes inward as she collides with it like a mutant cannonball, dropping and rolling across the floor beyond before she's back on her feet, Needlers snipping the competition down where they stand. Barbs ping and dance across the room until they find their marks like miniature homing spikes, clearing the space beyond of potential hostiles.
In another instant Dom's holstered the pistols and unslung the plasma carbine from her back, slapping the controls to open up the ceiling and prep the AA guns for use.
"Hang on, kids! Ground support's going hot."
A wicked grin finally crosses Domino's black on white face as she swivels the guns around, targeting ..wait. That airship--Shift's already made his move! Her first target isn't the airships, it's where Shift's hijacked ride is going to collide. The castle, itself. She lines up the shot and unleashes unholy Hell, the guns erupting in a monstrous drone of thunder and light as she tries to soften the airship's crash landing.
-Then- she starts targeting the other airships.
Eviction proceedings can be long and drawn out, but when they are at gunpoint, that tends to minimize the complications. Carol evicts and/or kicks out (quite literally) the crew on the bridge of the airship. Then she settles into the control couch once she's sealed the door. Of course, there are vents and such still. She takes just a moment to familiarize herself with the ship's controls and then rolls her neck, "Alright... let's do this." She remarks before she redlines the engines and turns the ship towards the other airships. She has no control over the gunners of course, but fire is starting to actually -target- her ship and she just rams it down the throat of what she thinks of as one of the command vehicles. Holes and plasma baked damage are all over the ship by the time she gets where she wants to be, and her ship and the command ship meet, at a rather high closing velocity for them. Explosions roil through the both of them as they immoliate themselves, and Carol erupts out of that explosion, trailing smoke and glowing still. She hovers and studies the field before her... well the air. And then... hey, what are those? She narrows her eyes and sees tons of small softball sized items flying her way. Whatever they are, they can't be good. A tightly focused and aimed blast takes out one, two, and then a total of a half dozen before she is literally -swarmed- by hundreds of the things. A second or so later, they disperse and she's gone.... just... gone. Perhaps disintegrated? 
Deep in the bowels of the castle, Carol shakes her head and looks about her, "Huh? A cell? How in the..." And she narrows her eyes, picking a wall that she hopes has a way out and unleashing hell... basically, all that excess energy is directed at the door... which starts to glow. Anyone outside will see the metal of the door turn a little red, and then yellow, and then it starts to bulge, glowing white hot....
"Take me up."
Psylocke glances sidelong to the mauve-skinned mutant as she says that, directly in the wake of Kwabena's own message - delivered mentally and conveyed to all of them, it should be noted. Her telepathic web remains strong, draining a portion of the violet-eyed woman's focus but doing nothing to slow the burning thrum of adrenaline in her veins. That excitement gleams through as she exchanges a nod with the post-apocalyptic survivor, and there's no more hesitation from either of them. Teleportation may not be faster than thought... but it's close enough.
BLINK!
She lands upon the deck of Kwabena's vacated, listing airship with one palm splayed down between her thighs, calloused fingertips straining against the tilting wood and metal. Narrowing her eyes against the whipping winds, she takes stock for the moment it takes to raise her telepathic shielding once more, cloaking herself from the prying of all but purely visual senses. She emits no scent, no sound and leaves no mark of her passing-- a ghost in all but name. Breathing slow and cool, she thrusts herself upright and sprints to the control console, ignoring the synthetic crew's attempts to desperately restore order as she swiftly makes a few adjustments to the course of this very-doomed flight. And then she too dashes to the side, and vaults...
|"I was coming to *help you*. Next time stay put, hmm?"|
That one's just for Kwabena, as she spreadeagles in the air, the lurching monstrosity overhead screaming from failing engines struck by the outer spray of Domino's artillery fire as it comes in for a thunderous impact against the side of Castle Doom. Neither the shifter nor the telepath have a parachute; but neither of them needs one. A sidelong glance is spared through the chopping winds toward Carol, as she's overwhelmed by a horde of those eerie spheres. Gritting her teeth, Psylocke sends one more order to the girl below.
BLINKBLINK!
Just in time for impact.
That lone airship, most likely the first, and hopefully not the last attempt at breaching the force field that is widely believed to be hovering around Castle Doom. However, something strange happens... The ship keeps going. It never even slows. The field, supposedly, if it exists, isn't up, or perhaps it's designed to allow safe passage for the airships. Either way, the metal monstrosity begins to pick up speed as it hurtles towards the castle. Surely, a stroke of luck! Perhaps the castle will be left in ruins with the first blow! And what's this? Ground fire on the castle as well? Surely between the both it can topple even Doom's impressive shielding technology!
Perhaps it could have been, were it not for the arrival of Doom himself. A small balcony rests halfway up the tallest tower, and on to it Doom steps, turning his gaze towards the chaos in the skies above his beloved country. With the airship's course obvious, Doom lifts his gauntleted hand and with a single word uttered in a language long forgotten, the craft halts in midair. Jet boots light up as he rises from his balcony. SHIELD is good, but hardly the innovators they would like everyone to think. His mask has already picked up on the faint trail of energy Marvel puts out when using her powers, tracing her route until a notice appears letting him know of her recent incarceration.
"There is a new prisoner in one of the power sphere cells. Watch them." The cannon fire is regarded passively as it explodes harmlessly against the now visible force field, before he murmurs, "And shut down the cannons of the Rathaus. It seems this is a many pronged, and well-thought out attack." His eyes swivel again, picking up on distortions on the lone airship, and he frowns, unable to discern yet what they are. Regardless, he watches a pair of warm bodies fall, then disappear in another distortion. "Teleportation," he grimaces, one of the most annoying powers to counter due to its varied implementation from meta to meta. There location now unknown, he has but one course of attack. He raises a gauntlet, pointing it towards his Rathaus as his hud cycles through his available zoom levels until he can clearly pick out the cannon that has swiveled toward his castle. As he fires the slug of super-heated plasma, his suit's computer auto-aims his arm and he grins as the bolt of energy hurtles towards its destination.
Inside, Carol will find the door to her cell easy enough to melt down, but the second it does, the entire room seals within a much weaker, but far more airtight material, and within the blink of an eye, her prison becomes a vaccuum.
KABOOM! Yes! The door is open *THUD* Huh? Carol shakes her head as the air is sucked out of the room. She can last quite a while without air. But not indefinitely. So.. she prepares. Well, if this is how he wants to play it. She's game. Carol presses against the back of the cell, summons whatever energy she has available to her hands and surges forward to exert all of her strength, her energy, and her potnetial speed into the thinner ward keeping her in that vacuum. Her hope? To erupt out of that cell and pull the 'bull in the china shop' routine out in the hallway. 
Once out, she'll seek out targets and engage them as closely as possible. Doombots are fun for someone who can cut loose the way she can. She's not going to be -supercharged- anymore. So much for that excess power, but at least that means she won't be nuking anyone today. 
And of course, Carol sends to Psylocke. . o o O O (Interesting. Somehow those baubles teleported me into prison cell. Gimme a moment I'll be... oops, blew off door and room sealed and became airless. Okay... old school time...)
It's all fun and games until someone ends Domino's shooting rampage. The sky is a target-rich environment, she's got lots of things to focus on, and not a -single one of them- involves Doom, himself. Or the single plasma charge that's searing the air in her direction.
One thing that remains consistant with this albino: She tends to go out with a bang.
All it takes is that one flicker of motion from the corner of her gaze, one sliver of a second for her pale eyes to trace back to the incoming bolt of energy. Too fast to move, too much to dodge. In a flash, it's all over. The AA guns explode, violently. The Rathaus gets ripped to pieces by the concussive force and fragmentation of so much material and stored ordnance. It's an absolute, violent mess. Yet, somewhere within that cloud of smoke and fire, lying in a crumpled heap within the center of a fresh crater blasted right out of Doom's own country, is the enigmatic mutant known as Domino. Her armor's in sad shape. The body within it even more so.
Odds of surviving a direct blast centered on that gun battery: 1 in 913,467.
Moments pass before a stifled gasp can be lost to the ringing within Domino's ears, exposed and bloodied fingertips clawing at the raw earth as she fights to pull herself back to her feet. Turns out that it is possible for a person to be too damned lucky to die.
Teleportation is something that is already uncomfortable for Shift. He's only experienced it one time before, and it was at least somewhat disorienting. However, with the first snag in their plan presented, their teleportation efforts backfire. It's much akin to being bounced off an invisible shield within the bendable space-time continuum, and they end up bouncing back out of the portal and onto the edge of the drawbridge that leads into Castle von Doom.
The moment Shift and Psylocke reappear, Shift ends up staggering backwards, caught for a moment by the spinning of his world and the turning of his stomach. His words come with audible discomfort. "Sorry. Those -things- were coming after me!" He blinks hard to clear his eyes, and takes a few deep breaths to steady his stomach and nerves. "Ugh! Where are we?" He turns about to try and reorient himself, and that's when his eyes catch sight of the Rathaus being turned into slag. His lips part, and a deep sense of worry sneaks into his soul. He reaches out with a steadying hand, trying to find Psylocke's arm or shoulder. "Bets..." he whispers.
If the ordinary sensation of Blink's teleportation is... odd, but not entirely uncomfortable, the effect of it *failing* is quite something else. Psylocke tastes her own stomach in that moment, all bitter acid and bile frothing at the back of her mouth as it - and every other organ - in her body seems to implode in and out of being in an instant. As she comes to beneath the lofty tower bearing the forbidding figure of Victor Von Doom, her olivine skin is much-paled and cheeks inflated with the rising need to vomit. She forces herself to take a sucking breath instead, vision blossoming with lights as she takes a knee between her two allies.
But her vision remains aloft, taking in the skyline and the Rathaus at the fringe, and Doom above. Kwabena's reaching hand does find her shoulder, and finds it trembling. Very little scares Psylocke-- but during the past week she's found reason to be afraid in her own uncertainty, in her own lingering self-doubt that she's fit for this duty she has found. To lead? To battle against war itself? The one thing she's most afraid of, beyond even the terror of drowning in the deep nothing of the ocean... is failing. Death is not to be feared, but embraced for the opportunity it brings. A needless, pointless death? To fail utterly?
"No." Her jaw setting, the Violet Butterfly shakes her head violently, thrusts herself to her feet hard enough to throw the Ghanaian's arm away. Smoke curls on the horizon, and in the air she feels a horrible, torturous blind spot where another, dear friend once flew wild and free. "It doesn't end like this." Her voice shakes like her shoulder-- it's too frail for the confidence she wants to exhibit, and as her violet gaze shifts to meet Kwabena's own stare, she can't hide from him that for the first time since they met...
Psylocke is afraid. For Carol. For Domino. For him.
Worse still, what he doesn't know-- can't know, is the truth that she does. The telepath has been cloaked in her own secrets for many years, perhaps - in one way or another - her entire life. In some way it defines her humanity, gives her reason to feel self-loathing and self-doubt even in her greatest strength. Gives her reason to hide. To be feared and hated. Everything has led to this moment, as everything always will; when she has a choice to make. To speak plainly, or withhold the knowledge she holds within her breast. She makes a decision, tears pricking in her eyes before they're pushed, violently, insistently back. And then she's moving forward, half-stepping and half-leaning her shivering frame toward Kwabena.
His own lips part, but hers press together, before pressing to his. It's a swift, insistent little gesture whose meaning is lost in the harsh fragility of the moment, in this pivotal instant where their plans unfold and their friends begin to fall around them.
As she pulls rapidly away, stumbling back in her haste, she speaks a single word.
"Change."
And then the totality of her psychic awareness turns inward, winding her fears and her doubts into a tiny ball, wadding it up and *spitting* it against the very mind of this man whose life she has touched-- changed, through her actions. He's here because of her, and that preys on her more than ever now, as it preys also on him. But he has no time to prepare, assaulted in a second by the overpowering strength of emotions she has had years to adjust to. In a telling display of her own duality, inwardly she's also finding a core of control. Guiding him as she once guided him back into reformation, back to a lost physicality...
But now she has another aim. To push him toward another destination. To throw him into the fire.
Doom's hud cycles through the various levels of zoom once again until he picks out the hand in the rubble. He doesn't even smile. There's no point when there was no challenge. He utters a few commands and a horde of power spheres hurtle to Domino's location to bring her back to a cell. Meanwhile, his hud alerts him to more distortions, first near his shielding, then on the drawbridge, and this time, he affords himself a slight smirk as his wards hold against the teleporting interlopers. Instantly, he angles his descent towards them, mask already locked on and zoomed toward their location. As he goes, though, he's alerted to yet another situation within the castle. The first one escaped and is causing havoc. Live footage is broadcast directly to him, and he watches with a frown as Carol first melts the cell, then bursts through the vaccuum. He watches as she pummels his Doombot guards, and his formidable mind works at devising a counter to the destruction. He cycles his cameras through several different views, until he picks up, once again, on the faint energy trail left behind by Carol's powers. Energy. Doom specializes in energy. He voices a few quick commands, and instantly every Doombot in his castle now has orders to use their energy siphons upon her. With luck, they will pull off enough of her energy to end the rampage before he has to intervene himself.
With that, he turns his eyes to the two on the bridge again, just before he sets down behind them. He eyes them in silence for a few seconds, allowing them their kiss before speaking, "You two... I should have known." An alert pings on his hud, before he murmurs, "Your teleporting friend has just been dealt with. It was good, I will give you that, but not nearly good enough. Two accomplices dead, another imprisoned, where as I am now forced to launch my reserve fleet of airships and fix a rather inexpensive gun installation. You should be proud." A gesture, and a few more words forgotten by time, and a ring of slowly circling runes is called into existance around the pair. "I would not advice trying to leave that circle. I am told the pain of having your heart turned to stone and your blood turned to acid is excruciating, but I would not know."
Siphons. Carol has felt that effect before. Now there's half a dozen doomboots coordinating their fire and weakening her. Well, Carol can deal with that, or so she thinks. She charges the doombots, her costume torn in strategic locations, and she enters their midst, making targeting her more difficult. She punches right into the chest of one of them and wraps a hand about the power core... sucking some of the power right back out of the bot. It's going to be one of -those- fights it seems, but to make a long story short, she manages to defeat these six bots, but -is- weakened about thirty percent... and she's starting to get tired. Using her powers is starting to hurt, not that she'll stop for anything right now. As a door slides open and more doombots step out, she seems a lot like a cop dealing with a group of predators after killing one, "Okay... who's next?" she asks as she flares power from her hands and prepares to fight this next group. Or rather, prepares to go down fighting because.. she isn't exactly the quitting type.
With her face practically in the dirt, Domino never sees the spherical drones closing in on her. Where would she go? Wherever they took her. What would she do? Sit in a cell. It's probably better than being turned inside out by the explosion, though just by how much? That she can't rightfully answer.
In a flash she's once again somewhere else. At first she thinks it's the work of a certain elven ally of theirs coming to take her somewhere safe. It doesn't take long for such a delusion to fade out of existence, slowly eyeing the walls of her tiny new home.
There, despite herself, she starts to chuckle. Did Lady Luck truly save her, or did she damn the albino to a fate much worse than death?
Finding Psylocke's shoulder trembling, Kwabena begins to understand a new level of fear as well. Of all of his friends, he considered her to be the strongest, his source of hope and strength in many ways. The subtleties of this discovery is altogether unnerving, and it begins to pull his sense of bravery apart.
With his arm thrown away, Kwabena turns back toward her, chest heaving as he continues to catch his breath. He's caught completely unaware by her motions and stares wide-eyed when their lips touch, too surprised and scared to even close them and do anything in response. As far as terrible first kisses go, this one might take the cake. She might only feel the slightest of motions as he makes to accept it before she pulls away, stumbles away, and speaks a confusing word to him.
Everything happens so fast. His mind is assaulted by an indiscernible collection of fears, wrapped up in a core of control that he can't quite comprehend, but one that he can feel. His eyes go wide with shock, and his lips part again, but before anything can be done, the Ghanaian's body melts away, skin, suit and all, into a man-shaped cloud of black smoke that lingers just an inch or so off the bridge's surface.
The assault wraps around his own deeply held fears, surmounted in years of running, hiding, living a lie; years of crushing his pain with the hot end of a needle, only to become slave to a life-destroying narcotic; years of smashing fear into others' lives at the end of a cold pistol, only to scrape by a pathetic living as a street thug with no hope, no future, and a blackened heart. These fears actually serve to keep his body in such a heat-less, gaseous state - the epitome of his mutagene ability - but where he has never held control over it, he begins to find that control with the guidance of one he has come to trust the most.
Awareness comes over the one called Shift, as if he can feel and sense the world around him though his eyes have all but disintegrated. Doom's presence is realized, his words somehow -heard-. He can't explain it, perhaps no one can, but it's enough to keep the cloud called Shift in place. One single thought echoes through the telepathic void between his body-cloud and Psylocke's trembling form, coming with a plaintive and almost hopeless query.
|"Where?"|
Guilt upon guilt. It's one thing to shoulder the burdens of life, to carry them about straight-backed and proud, but to inflict them upon another is a cruelty that can *only* be human. Psylocke has shared a portion of her being, of her identity and her colourful past, with Kwabena already; they exchanged that much, drawing themselves closer and finding unusual kindred upon the astral plane. But it was a kind thing, open and honest and mutual. This time she's speaking rather than listening-- yelling even, her fears and doubts a soulscream designed to inflict greater miseries upon another. It breaks her heart too late to hold back.
But this is the life they've chosen, and as the Ghanaian melts to billowing smoke before her violet eyes, Betsy can't turn away - she doesn't even look at Doom as he speaks. Her outer shell, the body of Kwannon, seems to grow harder and fiercer in a single shattered heartbeat. She's beyond his jibes, beyond anything but doing what she believes is necessary-- and this, this is the price she pays for making that choice. Not just herself. Not her body or her soul.
She pays through the agonies of those she fails.
"Stone would be a mercy," she speaks low but clear, her words resonant with chambered pain as she feels the wash of Kwabena's helpless desperation, his inability to act as she wills-- incapable of doing more than pleading. She keeps the shudder from her frame, because tears don't help. "Acid burns no more than knowing what I am. What I'm willing to do. What would you take from me, Victor Von Doom, that I couldn't take from myself? This..." She thinks of Domino, and clenches her teeth, a grimace becoming something bordering painfully, tragically on a grin. "This is my operation," she manages to announce through it, "My doing. I'm the one you want."
A hand twitches at her side, tightening about the retained hilt of her katana. It's a pointless gesture, but she lifts it, twisting the hundredfold steel about until the tip moves to rove to the circle's deadly periphery, uselessly threatening, probing for blood it cannot draw. Her eyes flash along its shining length, finding the mask of Doom in the twilight. Her expression eases.
"Give me your best shot, and let the others go."
As the Ghanian shifts into a cloud of dark smoke, Doom watches on with faint amusement. "I assume, that somehow, this was supposed to go differently." An alert pings onto his hud, and Doom watches, his amusement quickly draining, as Carol flat out refuses to go down, which is a shame, since amusement is the only reason these two still live.
Doom's startling blue eyes turn upon on the pair in front of him, the ragged, scarred flesh surrounding them just visible through his mask. It's amazing how easily one can convey anger through a simple thing like the eyes. "How noble... No, you lead them here, to assault my people, my home, and me. You will now die, knowing that you also lead them pointlessly to death." With that, he raises his gauntlet, and within the span of a millisecond, energy builds on his palm, racing outwards to his fingertips, before it reflects back and builds into a single, high-powered beam of pure destructive force. Another millisecond passes before it races outwards in the blink of an eye, aimed for Psylocke's heart. This time, there is no mercy. There is no holding back. This is a power that has been designed to destroy far more resiliant targets then her. This time... she dies.
A thought was already forming inside Kwabena's phased consciousness. The idea that Doom would not be so gracious as to let any of them go freely, whether Psylocke sacrificed herself or not. This thought is only confirmed in one very specific passage of dialogue.
'...knowing that you also lead -them- pointlessly to death.'
He'd foiled Doom once, and been warned not to try and foil him again. However, this time, Shift will call the villain's bluff. If they are all going to die anyway, why not try it again? Perhaps he'll live, perhaps he'll die, but history may one day show that by admitting his plans to kill them all, Doom's own words brought about the most ironic of backfires.
Sacrifice becomes easy when one is convinced of impending death. Kwabena's gaseous form suddenly and violently rolls into a spinning ball of black, and throws itself through the air to intercept that stream of destructive energy. When the two meet, there is a blinding flash of light, and black smoke flies out in every direction, as if exploding. However, those molecules instinctively pull -away- from the deadly runes surrounding them, and miraculously reform into the solid state of Kwabena Odame again.
What's important to note is that such destructive energy never touched Psylocke. Instead, it was somehow deflected, exploding in a sphere of somehow dissipated lethality.
He's not dead, but perhaps one might consider him worse than gone. Crumpled on the stone surface of the bridge, his lips seem curled into an expression of horrible pain, teeth gnashing together with such ferocity that the enamel cracks. Tufts of white smoke rise from all over his suit-covered body, as if the unstable molecules of his costume are literally cooking his body from the outside in. However, he doesn't cry out in anguish. Rather, his mind cries out in anguish, a thought meant to be registered by the woman he just saved and her alone.
|"Because he won't let -any- of us go, Bets."|
Death. She's seen it before. Felt it. Lived it through the mind of another. There's a reason the prospect alone holds no fear for Psylocke - and that's precisely it. Man's fear of death is a fear of the unknown, and she knows it more intimately than she has known any friend, or any lover. That impending darkness at the end of all life is as familiar to her as the lines in her own palm, as the freshly realized doubt she holds within her breast. As the violet eyes staring out from Kwannon's body. Doom's violent expulsion of pure, searing force is met by no movement of the raised katana, even as the steel buckles and bends before it, rupturing into cracks against the hundredfold grain of the blade. She's prepared for this, her mind ready with the perfect, most poetic contingency... she knows what to do, as she knows her own name. But then...
There's simply no way of quantifying what happens in that single, burning freezeframe.
The roiling, thick smoke of the Ghanaian - a man she trusts and loves more than her own paltry life - is suddenly leaping into the realms of her vision, disrupting what little of Doom's hateful countenance she can still see past the encroaching blaze. Violet butterfly wings already spread about her own face in preparation of what's to come, but it's suddenly for naught-- a counterstrike chambered, ready for the ultimate retort to the ultimate foe, as she feels once again the agony of death through another. She's not fully retracted her own consciousness from his, but it's hazier than the last time. Almost ineffable. But only almost.
Before he even reforms, the gasp caught in her throat and the stumbling half-step she takes toward the outer rim of the broken circle tell the story before she has a chance to properly react or phrase her emotions. He's not dead-- somehow, horribly, it's worse yet. If stone would have been a mercy before, now it would be salvation. She wishes she could freeze everything, destroy everything in the eternal beauty of petrification. But she can't. She can only marshal what strength she has, find the bitterness and the hate and the anger and the sadness...
The anguish. She feels it from him. She feels it herself in exact kind. Crippling.
"Hraaaaaagh!!!"
It's a pitiful thing, as passionate and primal as it is, the shout of a woman at the end of wit, her tether snapping against the chain binding her to this earth. Unlike so many others, she has a way out, she could retreat, but as she wraps every portion of her might into a tight ball much like that she flung toward Kwabena, but brighter and more fiery-- with a heat to match that Doom flung her way. That consumed Kwabena, now writhing upon the ground... as she does that, she does nothing more physical than reach, simply, for a palm-sized device at her hip, concealed within the folds of her crimson sash. A finger flexes inward with so much sense of purpose that it might be the greatest of punches, a world-ending strike from Thor's mighty hammer.
The device, reverse-engineered and reworked from Doom's own, very similar one, emits no sound. But it begins to work its magic nonetheless, blocking all but a single potent frequency as the tiny camera mounted in the guard of her extended katana begins to film through a wide-angle lens. Taking in Doom, before, and Kwabena, below. She shifts her grip once more, as though tightening upon the weapon to mount an attack with the bent, ruined blade. but all she really does, is provide a better view of the man's pain. Of the towering dictator who caused it.
"He doesn't *need* to let us go." Her voice is a dangerous, empassioned hiss, as unruly as the corona that seems to still surround violet eyes, psychic fire burning bright. But contained. Her fury kept in cool, calculating check. "Let the world see what he is. Who he is."
Doom watches as the sword is angled at him, and Psylocke speaks, and each word hits him.
Rage, is something for lesser men.
Doom steps forward slowly, boots thudding as he approaches Psylocke, more then confident that she poses no threat. He slowly lowers himself unto a knee as he locks eyes with her, and the fury that bubbles beneath his gaze is frighteningly real. For only a second he holds her gaze, before he looks to the hilt of her katana, and reaches for it. The second he does, electricity, just enough to freeze her in place courses through the remnants of the weapon and he pries it free, letting her go as he does. He looks at the camera, hidden there and murmurs, "You have a fine grasp of the situation. Indeed, I do not -need- to let those who trek from another country to attack me in my home, live. It is in my right to execute you... as I shall." His eyes shift from the camera back to Psylocke, "Let the world know who I am. Let them know that I am the absolute monarch of Latveria. I wield a mind unfathomable by any others who walk this Earth, and the forces at my fingertips are enough to tear the world apart. My borders, and my people are sacred to me, and those who will cause the destruction that this group has, will meet the same fate. Let them know that they look now into the face of Doom." At which point, he simply crushes the camera, and looks to Psylocke again. "I assume the others were equally equipped in case it was they who faced their final judgement at my hands, and not you? No matter. Only one remains, and soon she will die. Now... Silence." With his last word, a mystical gag wraps itself around her mouth and throat, halting all verbal communication as he conjurs up an image in front of her.
In the image, is Carol, fighting off wave after wave of unrelenting Doombots, while at the same time, another image appears in front of her, this one of Psylocke and Kwabena. When he speaks, Doom's voice travels through the image, directly to Carol; "Cease your ravings. One lies mortally wounded, and the other is ready to be killed. The rest of your band is already dead. If you wish to preserve at least one life today, you will surrender yourself to my guards. If you do not, I will kill them both and end your rampage myself. Choose. Now."
The moment that image pops up, Carol looks to it and drops the arm of the doombot she'd been using as a bludgeon to bash the others with. She inclines her head and takes a deep breath. She looks at the Doombots strewn about the hallway. She's made maybe two hundred yards of hallway into a tech scavenger's paradise, but then she looks back towards the image and reaches into the top of her left boot to activate -her- jammer. She has no idea that the jammers and cameras were used outside. But then again, the jammer does its job and opens a signal. She reaches up and taps her mask before peeling it off, "Well, hello to you Mister Phelps." she remarks. "You are Doom, the Dictator in total of this land. You are also a man of your word. If you give me your word that the wounded will receive the best medical attention that you can provide, then I will not force your hand. I will surrender. You -must- give me your word that you will do all in your power to save the lives of those who are not yet deceased." she stands tall and proud there then, totally vulnerable for any doombots who decide to attack right now but... hey, pride is important, right?
-Ka-CHAK!-
"This probably coulda gone better."
-Ka-CHAK!-
Another live bullet gets ejected out of one of Domino's pistols, only to get plucked from the air with the swipe of a hand. "And she wondered why I wanted to tie off a few loose ends before we came out this way."
-Ka-CHAK!-
Catch. -Thunk.-
A line of live hollowpoints starts to form beside the mercenary as she sits on the floor, blood lightly coating brass, nickel and steel. More of it trails down her limbs and body, seeping out onto the floor.
-Ka-CHAK!-
Catch. "Guy's an asshole, but we knew that coming in."
-Thunk.-
-Ka-CLIK!-
"And now I'm out of bullets."
Though Kwabena has been left to his own devices, he eventually musters the will to place a smoking, gloved hand onto the surface of the bridge, finding some shred of strength left in his body. Even though the unstable molecules in his costume continue to burn and scald his skin, he keeps grinding his teeth and summoning every ounce of determination left in him, for he wont surrender on the ground.
With a few grunts of pain, he manages to get to his knees. There he pauses, unable at first to go any further, until the words of Carol are transmitted through that magical image. Hearing them, he finds the wavering strength to stand. Chest heaving, arms splayed out awkwardly at his side, and with one leg bent, he lifts his masked face and staggers to take Psylocke's side, turning to face their adversary in defeat.
Together.
Numb. Not just her heart now, not just the weight of her emotions having reached that curious breaking point where all but hard, stony anger seems impalpable-- dead, even. But the electric burst that jolts up the olivine skin and toned muscle of her arm, looping about the swollen breadth of her shoulder in search of her pulse, and her nervous core... it numbs everything. All she has left is her mind, but as she seeks to probe into the astral she finds even that lies beyond her; the brain thrives on electricity, thoughts are made from it. It's as though Psylocke has been short-circuited. As though she were a mere synthetic.
Lips pulling to a scowl, she begins to speak defiance, only to find her breath inhibited, her words dying before they even fully form. It's hard enough envisioning them-- as though she's had a stroke, as though she were feeling her dying thoughts fade. There's nothing good about this. And yet she cannot be afraid, violet eyes watching with some great, implacable distance at the unfolding scene before her. It's funny, how at the end of all hope, when one needs must resign to the encroaching end, there's always one last flicker of triumph. A candle flame in the dark.
Sometimes, there are even two. Carol's words bring the first, and then she's joined by the man who tried to sacrifice everything for her - even when she'd betrayed him, turned her every pore against him with the best of intentions, but the worst of actions...
Violet eyes strain against their own outer limits, seeking alongside and down.
Together it is. In their refusal to die, in their continued urge to fight. In their defeat.
Doom responds almost instantly, "I'll take that as your answer then." His gauntlet raises, in full view of Carol as he directs it towards... Kwabena? When Kwabena rises, Doom frowns, "You are all far too stubborn for your own good." His aim was going to be for Psy, but it's easy enough to change targets. "Because the situation has changed, you will receive a new offer. Surrender, and I will allow this one to die in the natural amount of time he has left. Continue to fight, and I will kill him now, in front of the one he shows a stupid amount of attachment for. Then kill her too. If you attempt to bargain with me again, I will take that as a refusal of the terms." The only reason he's not simply destroying them now... Is because of their stupid powerplay. His mind has already settled on the next several courses of action, but they must be alive. Plus... Research subjects are so hard to come by these days.
"Well, if you will not preserve their lives, then you give me no reason to quit. If you plan to kill them anyway, then... I tell you what. Let me give you -my- word." Carol steps closer to the image, peering into it as if looking into the camera. "If you kill either of them. Then... I -promise- you that I will bring your castle down, and that I will survive just long enough to feel your throat crushed beneath my fingers. Now, I am not -negotiating- with you Doom. I am giving you the word of a soldier. You know what a warrior's word is worth. Is it worth the trouble? Or will you accept -honorable- surrender by simply agreeing to the terms I set forth earlier?" She is already looking around, trying to figure out where the nearest power outlet or generator might be. She already has a plan in mind herself... and should this go from bad to worse, she plans to see if she can ramp up to binary mode, just one last time.
Silence from Betsy, both verbal and telepathic, is as sure a sign that this is all over. Kwabena, also, has nothing left. The unstable molecules in his suit are finally calming down, no longer cooking his skin, the tufts of white smoke slowly ceasing to rise from his encased body. However, beneath that costume, his skin has turned an ugly, darker red, visible just so in the way it seems to crack and darken near the edges of the hole in his mask where chin, jawline, and thinly drawn lips are visible.
Carol's words are registered, but they do little to instill further hope or strength in him. Now, all he has left is defiance. With two haggard, staggering steps, he draws himself closer, reaching out with a gloved hand to capture Psylocke's stagnant one, hoping that tactile contact might be what she needs to keep herself viable enough to stand against their foe with honor.
"We either live together," he murmurs, mostly for her benefit, in part to spite the man who threatens to crush them like the ant upon a boot's heel. "Or we die alone."
He doesn't know if it's all a lie; if Domino and Blink have been snuffed from existence, left to die alone. But if not, if by some stroke of fate or the ill intentions of a twisted tyrant they are all left to live, he would see to it that they all do so together. Separated by prison walls, or whatever machinations of man or magus that Doom might see fit to use, they will still stand together in stalward refusal to simply -give up-.
At least they won't die alone.
It goes to worse. As Carol steps up to the image, the Doombots descend, grasping her and siphoning off what energy she has while simultaneously bludgeoning her with their own arms, no longer content to be bludgeoned with the arms of their comrades. Doom watches with faint derision until they haul her up, keeping her steady as two guards hold each of her arms, five behind her siphon off energy continuously, and two in front do the same. Doom holds the silence for a few fateful seconds, just to let them each know that they have failed to keep the others alive.
And then the bombshell.
"I'll take that as a refusal of my terms. You will all die, and you will learn it was futile." He scoops up the hilt, and holds it in front of Psylocke. "Your mistake. You should not have brought this back. Something of my own creation will never work on me, nor will anything created from my blueprints, for you see, I know them intimately. Your broadcast, unfortunately, never left Doomstadt. It was too late to halt it completely, so I redirected it. You instead broadcasted to my own citizens, my pledge to dutifully defend them no matter the cost. Thank you." He stands, and fires a shot of concussive force at Kwabena, then Psylocke, enough to knock them both out, while still looking like death blows. He looks to the image, and stares at Carol for a moment, before stating, "Welcome to Latveria." And then his guards pummel her and don't stop until she slips into unconsciousness.
For her part, Carol goes through at least another dozen or so Doombots, fighting to find some way to fulfill her end of things. "Remember Doom! Remember this is what -you- brought about with -your- failure to accept proper terms!" She cries out as she rips two other Doombots apart. Energy siphons work but slowly. She's weakening and searching for weaponry with power cells, robots with power cells. Some way to keep her promise. She ends up trashing four more rooms before she is indeed, weakened enough that the Doombots are able to actually bludgeon her into submission. Even there, she's fighting, and kicks the leg off of one of the bots even when she's laid out on her back. She reaches up and rips the head off of another before she is just -swarmed- under.
Contact. It's not something that should make a difference; it's never really been a big issue for Betsy, the need for physical proximity. To feel others in that most tangible sense. But then, for those so well-adjusted to it, to those most comfortable with their bodies and those of their fellow man and woman both, to be forcibly deprived of it can - even on a deeply subconscious level - be perhaps the most jarring thing. It's true of Psylocke, especially in her newfound form. Being apart from others, through anything but her own choice, it... feels wrong.
When touch comes again, her hand quivers. It's an instinctive thing, the body acting alone, but it sets off a chain reaction. That brief, heated contact with Kwabena earlier only adds to the echo of sensation, spinning it into a dizzying maelstrom. Her psychic awareness reaches out for this curious sensate spark, snatching it in a child's exploratory grip, hauling it inward until it reaches the numbness of her shocked brain. Like jumpstarting a planet, her consciousness suddenly expands, with a blissful bittersweetness that almost overwhelms her all over again...
Almost.
|"I'm sorry."|
Her message reaches Kwabena as they watch Carol's fate upon the screen, the hopelessness of it all threatening an awareness that can't be threatened any more. Sorry for what? She hasn't got time or the ability to explain-- for everything, and yet for nothing. Conviction guided her every step, but it's an apology she feels she owes - and not just to him. He's just the only one she can reach right now, and therefore the most important. With feverish, desperate compulsion she tightens her fingers around his, and then the worst begins to unfold. The end comes. A thousand thoughts and emotions flash through her mind; a million. It's all she can do to summon one last burst of willpower, to ease the Ghanaian in the instant before he's struck.
|"She's alive."|
And then she retreats into the astral at the last possible instant, abandoning the agony of what she assumes will be a dying body; her last act, without the contingency on which she'd planned. There's not enough energy left to mount it. She tries, instinctively, but wracked by Doom's magicks and the pain of loss she can't strike back. With the others dead, or dying...
What would be the point?
Category:Logs
Category:RPLogs