20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?
MAN OKAY GREAT QUESTION ANON, ACTUALLY
So people that I'm close with that I've talked about this fic all notice the things that I wrote in there as I wrote them, which was beautiful and delightful, and I'm so glad they saw them. However I found there was a lot of like...interesting unrest in my comments of the fic about a couple things.
One of them being Oscar safe-ing out. Very specifically, people assumed that Oscar was using his safe signal because of something that he was feeling. The actual reality of that was that Oscar was safe-signalling out because Lando pushed the boundaries of what he was saying to Charles too far, and Oscar could tell that Charles was bothered by them. Very specifically, OSCAR SAFE SIGNALS BECAUSE HE IS DOING IT FOR CHARLES, and because he feels that Lando's gone too far. It's the same reason that Oscar offers Charles aftercare instead of letting Lando do it.
The other is assuming Max is being shitty/rude to Charles because of the way he approaches Lando's text message. People assumed that Max was being dismissive of Charles feelings. In actuality, sending Lando two emojis that essentially imply that he should fuck off is Max saying that Lando's not worth his time, not to have a conversation with, not to acknowledge what Lando said. It's Max essentially inferring that Charles is more important to him than his friendship with Lando ever was. Max got SO MUCH flak for this in the comments section of the fic and I was like ?!?!?!?!?!
ANYHOW thank you for this ask I've wanted to talk about this for forever.
It's a day that will live in infamy. The day began like any other. People got up and went to work, some went to school, others went about their daily routines. But then something happened.
MISSION OBJECTIVE: Under Sela Musa’s (@musas-muse) leadership, Isobel Cooper (@isobelcooper), Samson Clemens (@samson-clemens), Levi Crowe (@ascrowesfly), Riley Hunter (@rileyprobably), and Tenzin Tashi (@persuasivewhispers) must destroy the Essex House—once and for all. (Click here for the GDoc version!)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Fire, violence, blood, death
She holds up a fist to the team behind her, indicating for them to hold their current position. According to the intel the Brotherhood had managed to get, they’re closing in on their first obstacle: perimeter guards patrolling the outer rim of the property. She motions for Levi to take the other side of the stretch of fence they’d chosen for their infiltration, and follow her. Silently, she stalks up closer to the current patrol and takes cover behind the wide trunk of a tree. For a few moments, she only watches the slow pacing, uniformed faces. In the dim light, she flashes three fingers at Levi—three guards on her side.
Pressing his back into a similarly broad tree, Levi watches Sela closely, waiting for her count before nodding curtly to confirm. He turns his attention to the other stretch of fence, keeping his breaths carefully metered and watching for his own patrol. Two. Glancing at Sela, he tugs off one glove and stuffs it in his pocket, exposing his skin both to make the two pale fingers he holds up easier to see—and to ‘arm’ himself.
One guard is already close enough that he doesn’t waste any time, darting out from behind the tree and running in a crouch towards the uniformed woman. She doesn’t see him coming, and Levi doesn’t give her any chances, reaching to press his fingers to the back of the hand, holding her gun and sending her crumpling into the grass. A tranquilizer round from another guard glances off the fabric of his hood, and Levi curses into his mask as he ducks.
Sela nods as Levi confirms the number of guards she’d expected, and turns away to focus on her three as he darts out of cover. Unlike Levi, Sela doesn’t dart into action right away, choosing instead to watch her three as they walk. She removes her gloves and waits for a more opportune moment to strike.
It’s not long before that moment comes: two guards come close enough to where she stood poised to strike, with their backs facing her. The third is nearer the end of the fence, out of earshot. Seizing the moment, she takes swift steps up to them and manages to wrap bare hands around their mouths, their throats turning to stone before a sound can be made. In a blink, she’s surrounded by two statues, with one left to go.
Levi’s second guard immediately charges, which he’ll consider a mixed blessing: the man is big, but he’s stupid and reckless—too stupid and reckless to raise the alarm before rushing in. Another tranquilizer round deflects harmlessly from Levi’s leather jacket and the thick layers underneath, the mutant crouching, braced, hand out to the side, and a wild look in his eyes. The guard takes a broad swing with the butt of his pistol that Levi neatly weaves, bare hand striking lackadaisically up at the man’s chin to drop him to the grass.
Tugging the tranquilizer pistol from the guard’s limp hand, Levi examines what looks like a custom grip and pulls the trigger, scowling when a light flashes red, and the round doesn’t discharge. He tosses it onto the man’s chest and turns to half-jog back towards Sela, unsurprised to see she’s well in control of the situation.
Sela darts back into the shadows cast by the treeline, her sleek bodysuit helping her to blend into the darkness. She makes it about halfway to her target before he turns around and starts pacing back towards her—and his now stone colleagues. She decides to wait, allowing him to come to her rather than risk startling him into calling for help. He nears the tree she’s taken cover behind—and stops.
Her heart pounds in her chest, and a sinking feeling in her stomach warns her to prepare for plan B. As she slowly leans down to grab a largely fallen bit of branch, she hears a soft ‘what the hell…?’ that confirms her suspicions: he’s seen her handiwork on his colleagues. As he’s still too far ahead of her for her to quickly reach, she grips the branch tightly in her hands and turns out of the shadows and into the light—right in front of the guard, who has enough good sense to be startled.
First, she lifts the branch and brings it down hard onto the wrist holding the gun. There’s a clear snap, and the gun falls to the ground as the man lets out an anguished gasp. She lunges for him before he can be louder, but he sidesteps her. Sela tries the branch again, but he manages to grab hold of it with his good hand. He attempts to use the branch as a catalyst to swing her into the electric fence, but she lets go just in time to avoid a full collision; only a finger grazes the fence, sending a bolt of electricity up her arm. Sela bites down hard on her lip to keep from yelling in pain, turning a murderous glare toward the man instead. Feeling emboldened by his minor success, the man lunges at her—seemingly to send her crashing fully into the fence—but is met with an open palm slap to his cheek, which instantly turns to stone. The action sends another wave of pain through her hand, but she also pushes that down and grabs the key card off the man’s belt.
Sela meets up with Levi near her first two statues, still giving her hand a light shake. She gives him a quick once over to make sure he’s alright, then nods with approval.
“Well, alright, little bird. Make the call.”
Levi tugs his mask down partially so he can shoot Sela a look for the nickname, partially so he can raise his cupped hands to his lips. The call is quick, simple, to the point: the common loon, soft but unmistakable in the cool evening air. He counts to five, then calls again. “Their weapons aren’t any good to us. Custom shit,” Levi murmurs to his leader, pulling the mask up again as he keeps his gaze fixed on the compound beyond, looking for signs of alarm. “Fortunately, we weren’t counting on them anyway.” The six of them are arsenal enough on their own.
Isobel felt like she was going to throw up, and if she had a paper bag, she’d be hyperventilating in it. She wasn’t sure why she was chosen for this mission; she was a mess of a person. She watched Sela and Levi take down the guards, and she waited patiently for her to be of use. Her guilt knotted in her stomach seeing those guards turn to stone. She wondered if there was a way to reverse that. She wondered if those people had families, spouses at home, and kids waiting for them. Her thoughts were cut short when the two came back to give more direction. If she wasn’t careful, she’d give their position away, her entire body engulfed in flames like a beacon. Isobel twisted her fingers together. “How are we getting through that fence?” she practically squeaked.
Sela sent a pointed glance toward the newest member of her team. “That would be where you come in.” She motioned with her head for Isobel to walk with her up to the fence. “You’ll need to melt it down enough for us to slip through.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement. This is why Isobel was chosen for the mission. Sela offers no options to her.
Isobel gulped and nodded. Maybe if she pretended like she had the confidence, it would magically appear. Her hands balled up into fists as she walked beside Sela listening to her words. What would Elliott do? He was a firestarter; he was always so cool and collected. She wished she could be just like him. Isobel took a few breaths before flipping her sweaty palms over, and fire instantly appeared. The flames began to travel up her arms, and she let out a frustrated groan. Her emotions were out of control and now so was her fire. The flames traveled down her feet, covering her whole body until she was just a walking flame. At least she could use this to her advantage. Walking through the fence, she left a perfect human-formed hole in the links. Isobel walked back to make it slightly bigger. Okay, okay, okay, go away now, she whispered to herself, closing her eyes and shaking her arms.
Sela cocks an eyebrow at Isobel’s display of flames. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but she hadn’t been all that specific; besides—it worked. As the crackle of the interrupted electricity sparked and died, she kept her ears trained to the dull hum beyond the fence, and her eyes shifted along each side of the structure—her muscles grew tense with stored energy, waiting to spring into action at the first sign of an alarm.
When no such sign comes, Sela offers Isobel a muted smile. “A little unconventional,” She starts quietly as she advances up to the blobby, person-shaped hole. “but not bad.” There’s enough chill in the air that the metal cauterizes within seconds, and Sela doesn’t wait a moment longer to carefully (she’s in no great hurry to see if the electricity is still lingering) walk through the hole—her head barely skirting under the top. Only once she’s safely on the other side she turns back to her team, an expectant tone edging her voice. “C’mon then, let’s get this done. We don’t have all night.”
Samson lingers at the back of the group, lurking like the true predator he was born to be: silent, hungry, watching.
Sela and Levi kill with no mess; Isobel does her job of clearing a large section of the fence.
It’s time.
His nails more closely resemble claws, his pupils blown wide. Stalking forwards, he’s the last one through. Even for his bulk, he moves silently. A human shield and weapon all in one. His shoulders and head brush the fence, but he doesn’t feel it. He’s too far gone already.
A guard comes across them not much further in coming across the melted fence behind them. Samson is on him before he can even register what he’s seeing.
There’s no logic to it. He doesn’t take the gun out first. He goes for the throat because it looks appetizing; he can immediately pin him down and then keep hunting. Teeth sink in through the skin, through muscle, through cartilage. He pulls back and rips at him like a wolf stripping a lamb’s flesh. The guard wants to scream but can’t; only a bloody gurgle escapes.
Samson puts him out of his misery with a sharp swipe of his claws. He brings his foot down, hard. Crushing the dead man’s hand and his gun.
Isobel is fully on fire, and Levi is, quite frankly, impressed—but this isn’t the time or place for a light show. He knows she needs to calm down. “Take it easy, cocuyo; we don’t need a beacon,” Levi says more gently than his words might let on. He’s already got a soft spot for the trio of initiates that helped break him out of Riker’s, and contrary to what most people might think, he has a lot of patience for new recruits in general; people don’t always come to the Brotherhood out the gate swinging. Isobel’s hands shake, but she gets the job done.
Samson brushes past the lot of them, the tension in the line of his body obvious even in the dim light. Levi doesn’t watch the carnage that follows, only pauses to look back to Riley, a borderline feral flicker lighting up his own eyes as he reaches out with his ungloved hand. It’s a look Riley should be very much familiar with, a look Levi had given him back during the October riots: let’s cause some chaos, love.
Riley could not be more satisfied; after years of being behind the scenes, he is allowed to be a part of a mission, a really important one that may make a long-lasting impact. His job was the same as always, but he didn’t complain that he was good at it after all; he needed to make sure everyone got out of there alive, with minimum injuries. That is exactly was he was so observant (even if his eyes did linger longer on Levi than on the other members, he did not let that get in the way of his role, he also needed to prove himself); he watched Sela and Levi move in the shadows, prepared to strike at the right time—and they did beautifully so, except for Sela’s touch on the electric fence, something that he would soon take care of whenever they were free from danger. Isobel melts the fence, and Riley can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves his lips, knowing that at least that part was over and now they were ready to cause some chaos.
He takes Levi’s hand, the same kind of spark present in his eyes, his heart beating with excitement and love as he brings that hand up to kiss his knuckles softly, a silent I love you. After that, Riley brings his backpack to the front, quickly unzipping it and taking some latex gloves, which he quickly puts on before approaching Sela. “That was quite the sting, let me see your hand,” and just like that, that thin barrier is enough to keep Sela’s powers from affecting him, but not thin enough that his own powers can’t pass through and heal her. The pain is gone within just a few seconds, and everything affected by the shock is restored to its original state. “All good?” he asks before moving back to stand with Levi; they should keep moving unless more guards want to experience Samson’s wrath—unfortunately for them, Riley’s powers would not be useful after Samson was done with them.
She’s been watching with curiosity the whole time. Observing the powers her teammates possess being put to good use. She could’ve used her own ability to have all the guards turn on each other, but where would the fun be in that? Tenzin has always loved chaos, and she loves watching the carnage the team is causing even more. There isn’t much blood until Samson gets involved, and then things really heat up. Literally. Once Sela slips through the new girl’s person-shaped hole, Tenzin knows it’s her time to shine. She can see more guards coming toward them, and she darts to the front, following behind Sela. Her hands are clutching her favorite knives, not a single worry for her own safety entering her mind as she moves brazenly towards the men built like those pro wrestlers on television. Both arms stretch out to her sides, her fingertips gripping the sharp tips of the blades. Then quicker than anyone can blink, they’re flying through the air, not stopping until they hit the flesh of two guard’s throats. Her ability may have been a vocal one, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t train and take great pleasure in killing people the normal way. “Cover your ears,” she shouts over her shoulder to the others. Looking towards the other 3 guards, she smirks, then says, loudly and clearly, “a little birdie told me that you fight to the death.”
Isobel has to look away from the carnage. Suddenly she doesn’t want to be there anymore; she wants to go home and not to Xaviers. She was mad she was ever put in this position. She doesn’t want people to die. She wants to get rid of her power, crawl under some covers, and not leave. She’s not cut out for this, and she probably would never have been asked if it hadn’t been for her powers. All they did was cause her trouble. Slow breathing in and out like she had been taught helped make the flames disappear. Levi was right; they didn’t want a beacon. Isobel tried to keep up with the rest of the group, adrenaline running high. She wondered if she could disappear, leave, and if anyone would even care she disappeared or if they’d come after her, and it would be ten times worse. Covering her ears, Isobel flinched at the men now fighting each other to the death.
They’re three layers deep into Essex’s defenses. If Samson had his wits about him, he’d think it was too easy. But he doesn’t. There’s just enough of him left to cover his ears when Tenzin says so. That stops him from falling prey to her ability, but it also only serves to streak some of that guard’s face across the side of his face like morbid war paint. From now on: there’s no reasoning with Samson. He only won’t attack those on his side out of loyalty if they don’t pose a danger to him.
Three guards begin fighting to the death as Tenzin asks. It’s brutal. All fists and boots. One even draws out their gun. That commotion only sets off more guards. Or, as far as Samson is concerned, more prey. No longer lingering at the back, Samson charges forward. A deep guttural growl as he leaps onto the next guard coming at them, the guard shouting for the others, for those fighting, it doesn’t matter, it’s just noise to Samson. Noise he needs to stop.
This time he does go for the gun first. Twisting the guy’s arm till it snaps. More claws. More teeth. Overkill could nearly be an understatement with the amount of blood between his teeth.
Another round is fired: grazing Sam’s shoulder. It doesn’t hurt. Just a scratch that has Samson snapping to attention and moving on to the next guy without hesitation.
It all devolves so quickly, and Levi isn’t necessarily surprised—but he does wonder if he should be concerned. They’d known stealth would only get them so far, considering Essex security, and after that, it was up to brute force. Thankfully, they’ve got both the brute and the force.
Levi does his best to keep himself between Riley and the guards as much as possible, not because he doesn’t think he can handle himself but because he can’t help but be protective. He knows Riley’s just as excited to be on the front lines with the rest of them, so he won’t ruin all of his fun—but he will keep close. Tenzin’s warning is quickly heeded, and Levi claps his hands over his ears and pauses just long enough to watch the guards tear into each other. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, casting one more quick glance to Riley with an impressed look before he darts in.
While the guards are distracted by bloodying each other, it’s easy for Levi to get a swift couple more kills.
The chaos begins, and Sela can’t help but smile. Her team each takes off to do what they do best—there’s a certain pride that wells deep in the cavity of her chest as she watches each of them carve their way through the throng of guards.
A tranquilizer bullet whizzed by her head, missing her by a few inches. She regains her focus and charges at the would-be assailant, drawing a large dagger from its sheath on her thigh. Another guard tries to ambush her off of her path, but she holds an ungloved hand up and pushes him away via his face. His transformation to stone completes as he falls to the ground, causing the stone to shatter. She makes it to the guard that shot at her, and as she comes to a stop before her, she doesn’t hesitate to lift her knife and slit the woman’s throat, sending a spray of blood over her dark suit.
Riley can’t help the spark that appears in his eyes at the destruction and chaos. This is more than just a wish for the whole world to burn; this is vengeance; this feels like the first step towards freedom as well as satisfaction from being part of a mission that, above all, is trying to help out fellow mutants. He only has the time to cover his ears before his eyes set on the now three fighting guards, a chuckle making its way out of his throat; before he looks around observing his surroundings, he notices a cut in Samson, but figures out it is not deep enough and not worth solving know (especially when Samson is doing such a great job at wiping out those guards), he watches Sela and the remains of what he assumes was once a human shattered on the floor, and he only has the time to give Levi one last look, before he is moving towards Isobel.
Maybe he is not the first choice when choosing more effective members in a fight; Riley is not going to back down. He can be useful in this mission and at least make sure that everyone is not about to lose their minds (besides, he owes it to all of the new recruits, they got Levi out of prison after all). However, before he can reach his destination, he feels someone trip him, and before he can do anything about it, he is on the floor, rolling out of the way of some guard’s gun and pulling him by the ankles. He might not know much about fighting, but he can play dirty too. That’s when he rises to his feet and takes a knife out from near his ankle.
Isobel hears the thud and turns to see Riley on the ground. While she doesn’t want to hurt anyone, the mission would be compromised if she didn’t take a few liberties here and there, or at least that was what she kept telling herself, so she didn’t freak out too much. “Wait!” Isobel shouted at the guard to throw him off, distracting him for only a second before she put out her hands’ flames like a flame thrower shooting out towards him. She had a flash of the burns her parents sustained from her flames before she shook her head, trying to focus on helping Riley. They were close to catching up with the others, and all she wanted was an easy mission. Once they got close, there were already so many bodies of guards on the floor—she knew they represented terrible people and ideologies, but she never wanted to kill anyone. It just wasn’t in her.
Levi doesn’t notice immediately as Riley goes down, but the flash of Isobel’s fire is impossible to ignore. He twists away from a guard’s widely swung baton and darts in their direction, barking out a “hey!” as another guard makes a move towards Riley, pistol at the ready. Levi’s clasped hands come down hard on the man’s wrists, forcing him to drop the gun.
Levi also doesn’t notice the change when his ability disappears. He just assumes he didn’t make any skin contact, so with an uttered curse, he reaches for the guard’s chin with his bare hand and grabs.
Nothing happens.
They stare at each other for a moment, stunned, but the Essex guard recovers first: he draws a tactical dagger, and Levi doesn’t have enough of a chance to pull away before the blade buries in his shoulder. He bites out a pained cry and puts just enough space between them to wind up and kick the man square in the stomach, driving him back and to the ground.
“What the fuck!” He calls out unhelpfully to anyone who’ll listen.
Nothing hurts like this. The shot that grazed his arm only served to heighten his rage. He continues his rampage, enjoys the coppery taste of blood between his teeth, and enjoys the shouts and cries. Mowing down guards like they’re nothing.
Samson hits the ground without warning. A wave passing through: heart racing, his teeth flattened, smooth and harmless, claws gone, and worst of all, the violent wave of pain as every nerve ending lights up. With the sharp shock of it all; his eyes roll back, and he falls. Thought returns—it was all too easy, the final obstacle hits him harder than the others. Faintly, he remembers a similar feeling when his mutation was ‘turned off by that other mutant. It’s the only reason he can even begin to comprehend what’s happening.
Until the first kick lands, Samson howls out in pain. Struggles to get up, his forearm pressed into the ground. Another hit lands. The butt of a weapon between his shoulder blades.
She’s watching the guards tear into each other, following her simple yet effective command. There’s blood splattering everywhere, and the sound of bones breaking as boots and fists connect with faces and ribs. Guns are firing, and honestly, it’s like music to her ears. Nothing is as beautiful as the cries of people in pain. Especially when she’s the reason for it. Her eyes follow Samson, who is literally like a rabid dog. It really is quite attractive, and she makes a mental note to visit the Veil in a couple of days.
Suddenly, everything changes. She feels different. The guards stop fighting each other. Levi is yelling, and Samson is on the floor, howling in pain. Something has gone wrong. “I didn’t say you could stop fighting!” Tenzin yells. Bad idea. Now there are eyes on her, guards running toward her. “Fight to the death!” she ordered, but nothing happened. They didn’t take their focus off her. A gun is being fired in her direction, then there’s a searing pain in her thigh, and she drops to the ground. She’s been stabbed before, but it didn’t feel half as intense as this. She can’t even comprehend what’s happening as she tries to crawl back towards the fence they came through, blood seeping through the material of her pants. “I can’t make them stop,” she says to anyone who happens to hear her.
Sela smiles as more stone chunks crumble at her feet. It’s a feeling she’ll never get over; the excitement—the thrill—of watching the light leave her victim’s eyes. That split second of realization as their bodies turns to stone. She’s about to move towards the guard she’s clocked as her next victim when a high-pitched whirring cuts through the chaos of battle and catches her attention. It’s a sound that shouldn’t be there, so she latches onto it, swiveling her head until she finds its source, moving closer to Tenzin for cover.
Close to the main structure, she thinks she finds what she’s looking for: a large piece of unmanned machinery facing their impromptu battlefield. She can’t see many details from where she currently stands—save for the Essex branding on the side. Still, she knows it’s charging up for something if the steady increase in the whirring’s volume meant anything. The machine reaches its crescendo before Sela has the time to warn her team before she has time to properly brace herself. She sees the machine recoil as it, she presumes, shoots—but nothing happens. Nothing tangible, anyway. There’s no spray of bullets, no laser beam of some kind. For a moment, Sela thinks the machine is a dud that’s failed its master—a sign that their mission is some kind of divine quest that can’t be stopped, no matter what Essex throws at them.
And then she hears Samson’s roars of pain.
She hears Levi’s confusion and watches as Tenzin’s orders go disobeyed.
Tenzin’s shot and Sela jumps to action, rushing the closest guard. With a swift and hard kick to their wrist, she knocks their gun down to the ground, then brings her ungloved hand up and whips it across their face with a loud—smack! The guard is left stunned, but still human. Sela’s eyes widen at them, then—smack!—as she slaps their other cheek. The guard gives her an angry but smug look and raises their fists. She nearly doesn’t duck in time, still fixated on the brief moment of warmth she’d felt on her hand.
Knife still in hand, she slashes at the guard’s legs, then jabs the dagger through their throat as they fall to the ground. She yanks the knife out as the whirring suddenly starts low and slow again. Recharging. Taking a chance, she brings her hand down hard onto the guard’s face again—within milliseconds, the blood stops pooling on the grass, and the guard finally turns to stone.
Sela stands, her face tight with a mix of anger and focus, and she yells to her team as loud as she can, “Now!” She jumps at another guard.
Riley is breathless, he should have been expecting this kind of welcome, yet this is the first mission he has ever been on, and stories of other members pale in comparison to the real thing. It doesn’t take away his excitement, but it also makes him more aware that something wrong might have happened, but fortunately, both Isobel and Levi come to the rescue just in time, and finally, he is able to get moving. “C’mon, we can’t stop,” he encourages Isobel; he can see the fear in her eyes as she takes in her surroundings. For a moment, he wishes he could comfort her, but unfortunately, there is no time for that, especially not when Riley hears the sound of Levi shouting in the middle of all the chaos; his head immediately turns to see him bleeding from his shoulder, not understanding how it happened until his eyes scan the whole perimeter.
Samson is on the ground, squirming, hurt, his mutation nowhere to be seen, which makes Riley frown, but it’s only when he hears Tenzin saying that she is unable to make them stop that he understands that something is actually incredibly wrong. He can only assume it is due to the machine they brought in. There is no time, however, for Riley to think too much about what is happening when he hears Sela’s “Now!” he spares one look at Isobel before he is on the move; he probably only has a few minutes until his mutation disappears again, he needs to help as many as he can. He is moving towards Levi but fails to notice the guard coming up at him, hitting him right in the ribs; the pain shoots through Riley’s body in a second, but he holds onto that guard, making an effort to twist the knife deep into his stomach, before letting go. He is in pain, but it doesn’t seem like anything is broken yet, so with whatever is left of his mutation, he uses it to heal Levi’s shoulder. “You need to help me with Samson; I don’t know if I’ll be able to help him.” Riley was even unsure that he would be able to help anyone else, including himself.
’Now!’ Levi hears Sela shout, but unlike the others, hasn’t been nearly so savvy as to figure out the source of their missing powers. He doesn’t even really understand the meaning of the ‘now’ until Riley appears beside him, the familiar warmth and relief of his healing spreading through Levi’s shoulder. He grabs Riley’s shirt like a lifeline, only briefly ignoring the chaos around them.
“Yeah,” he replies quickly and shakily, distracted, trying to see if Riley is okay at a glance. “Yeah, we—”
Before Levi can finish the thought, guards are descending on them again; at least now, they drop like they’re supposed to when Levi touches them. What the fuck? Blood drips from his sleeve even as the wound in his shoulder has healed, and Levi does his best to keep between Riley and harm’s way as he searches for Samson in the chaos.
He can’t find any rage with a mouthful of dirt, barely clinging onto consciousness. Only fear. More blows land, and for the first time, he feels each one. Sharp and bruising, maybe even breaking. Samson begins to push himself up. He is ready to retreat, ready for the inevitable collapse when he’s out of range of whatever is disabling his mutation.
Blindly, he throws out an arm. Knocks one guard by the knees and over. Finally standing, ready to run, the wave passes. His eyes roll back. The world goes dark. Heart pumping slow. Teeth are no longer smooth and harmless. Nails that are closer to claws. But still, he drops.
Even as the guards are both confused and shocked, a beast they had seen rip into their throats is knocked out cold, and they know better than to ignore good fortune. The beating continues. Covering round of fire aimed at the rest of the mutant attackers.
Samson, slowly coming too, is only conscious enough for the animal fear and panic to hit as hands grab him and begin to drag him in closer to the building.
Isobel wants to cover her ears and curl up in the fetal position right there on the ground amongst the chaos and the blood. She then realizes that she doesn’t want to go back to Xavier’s and doesn’t want to go back to the Brotherhood. She wants to go home. She wants to see her parents and Cy, and she doesn’t want to choose between the two sides. Isobel helps with the guards, but as she goes to throw flames, nothing comes out, and she’s surprised because when emotions are high, she’s usually a ball of flames, a walking human torch. “I can’t—” she started to say, but she doesn’t see a guard grab her, to her surprise. Isobel isn’t strong like the rest of them. She knows basic hand-to-hand combat, and a swift kick to the man’s groin does the trick of letting her go. She feels like they’re way in over their heads. Isobel runs, she wants to run the other way, but instead, she runs towards Samson. They have him, and even she knows the Essex group is against everything she stands for. She’s not sure what she can do, but she jumps on the back of one of the guards.
Samson and Isobel and the grouping of guards, leave a trail of statues in her wake. Once she’s close enough, she hurls the sharp chunk of a face at one of the others trying to steal Samson. It strikes its target, though not where she had wanted it to. The rock slices the man’s cheek open, causing him to let his bounty go and stagger back in pain.
The noise from the machine is louder and higher in pitch now—she knows she doesn’t have long before the next wave is released. Sela yells for Levi and Riley to help Isobel and get Samson back as they’re closer and turns to head back to Tenzin—only when she does, she’s face to face with a guard and a sharp, stinging pain bursts from her side. She looks down at the knife she’d stabbed her with, then angrily back up at the woman’s face. She lifts her hand and slaps her, leaving nothing behind but a red mark on her pale skin. The guard smirks, and Sela curses, annoyed at how little time she’d been given between waves. Bracing herself, she yanks the knife out with a pained grunt and, in one quick movement, jabs the knife into the neck of the guard, who falls with a yelp.
The chaos ensues once more, but there’s something different about the guards’ attacks. They know what to wait for—and now who to avoid before the next wave of… whatever it is that machine keeps pumping out that nullifies their powers. A small group of guards tried to keep just out of reach of Sela, but she was lighter on her feet. She jumps in the middle of a throuple, grabs a one-armed hand, and redirects it before the guard has time to aim and shoot. He shoots his tranq at his colleague, and they fall to the ground with a solid thud.
Meanwhile, she covers the guard’s bare hand with her own, and he turns into a statue made of obsidian—one of her new personal advancements. She brings her knee up hard, a move she knows she’ll regret once the bruise starts forming and the stone arm breaks free from the rest of the statue. The statue, now off balance, falls and shatters into sharp, shiny shards. The gun rendered useless, still stuck to the immobile arm, Sela turns the arm and thrusts the shiny, jagged end into the stomach of her last guard, who falls onto the ground clutching her makeshift weapon.
Sela takes this precious moment to look for her team to ensure they’re all alright after the blip in their abilities. What she finds isn’t very encouraging. Riley and Levi seem to be rallying, as they usually do when they’re in tough situations together. But Tenzin’s hurt, and so is Samson.
She freezes. He wasn’t where she’d last seen him, and she couldn’t hear him anymore. Almost frantically, she scans the battlefield until she finds him. And the guards try their damnedest to drag him to the main structure.
White-hot rage sets her jaw. She will not lose a member of her team to Essex. So, as Isobel jumps onto the back of one of the would-be—kidnapper’s backs, she scoops up a large, jagged chunk of the obsidian still at her feet—judging from the nose still attached to it, it’s a chunk of the guard’s fractured face—and takes off. She runs towards
She covers the gaping wound with a hand and pushes herself to get back to Tenzin. Freehand, still wielding the stolen knife, she helps deal with a couple of the guards attempting to swarm the lone member of her team. Once they’re dealt with, and after a quick evaluation of her own and Tenzin’s injuries, Sela hangs her head briefly, then turns up and lets out a frustrated and pained roar of her own towards the sky. Another wave of guards was rushing them, sent from inside the building. And with their power blips—Sela shook her head, angry and disappointed.
They couldn’t do it. Not without all of them dying—or worse. And it was her decision to make, consequences be damned.
She had to call it.
She brought her fingers to her mouth and blew three short high-pitched whistles, then one prolonged one. The call to fall back.
To retreat.
“Get ready,” she looked at Tenzin, the mixed anger clear on her face. “When our abilities come back, give us a distraction, and then get your ass back out the fence. Make sure it’s clear there too.” Her tone implied heavily that she would come with the rest of the team—or not at all.
The sounds of screams, gunshots, and bones being broken are so loud in her ears, but all she can focus on is the pain in her thigh. Her eyes are on Samson, though, trying to find a way to get him out of his situation. Then the new girl is on his back, and Sela is yelling for the others to help. Her eyes are watery, but she refuses to cry. She hasn’t done it since she was a child, and she’ll be damned if she’s giving in to the urge now. However, she thinks it would be out of frustration rather than the gunshot wound. She’s never been powerless before. She hates how weak it makes her feel. So vulnerable and small.
She’s watching Sela come towards her and tries to warn her about the guard, but she’s too late. “Fuck,” she yells out, dragging herself up onto her feet. The movement makes her feel woozy, but she doesn’t have time to think about it. Not when there’s so much going on. A guard is on her, and she grabs their wrist, snapping it in a quick motion and taking their gun. Shots are fired wildly, but she hits her targets. Missing her mark isn’t her style. Three guards are dead now, meaning they have less to deal with. But… she’s out of bullets. Could this get any worse?
“Sela… Your side. We need—” Tenzin doesn’t need to finish her sentence. Their leader has already made the right choice. She nods, pulling a knife out of her shoulder. It didn’t hurt. In fact, she’s only just noticed it’s rammed in there. Her adrenaline must’ve been kicking in. “I’ve got this,” she promises, but she slightly doubts herself. What if her power won’t work? What if the machine broke her?
The beep sounds and Tenzin inhales sharply. Turns her head to make sure the team is ready to bolt. “Ears!” she yells, then looks forward, back straightening as she screams, “A LITTLE BIRD TOLD ME THAT EVERY GUARD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKING HELL HOLE SHOOTS THEMSELVES RIGHT… NOW!” She’s not giving the machine a chance to render her order useless halfway through this time. A silence falls, then all that can be heard is the sickening sound of ringing gunshots and bodies hitting the ground. Tenzin takes one last look before retreating through the fence, waiting on the other side until she’s sure Sela is out.
Levi barely even hears the order to help Samson because he’s already seeing what’s happening and he’s already seeing red. This is the only time he’ll let himself lose sight of Riley, a furious growl scraping up his throat, strengthening into a yell over the chaos as he starts clawing tooth and nail through the thick of guards between him and those around Samson. They continue to drop like dominoes, but not forever—Levi’s barely reached the group Isobel is already with when his hand connects with someone’s skin, and nothing happens.
It doesn’t stop him. Levi draws a butterfly knife from his boot and takes to doing things the old-fashioned way, slicing and stabbing at anything in a uniform and, unfortunately, getting almost as good as he gives in his rage. He shrugs off every cut and every punch, leaning into the adrenaline as some distant part of his brain hopes that every guard he bleeds on will drop as soon as the power dampening ends.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter.
Tenzin’s voice is the one ringing out over the cacophony now, furious and to the point; Levi throws his arms up around his head, cradling it between them, and half-crouches as a symphony of gunshots ring out. For a moment, he simply stands there, quietly stunned, then the sight of Samson’s unmoving, bloodied body and additional shouts and alarms coming from the compound spur him back into action.
“Come on!” Levi shouts desperately at Isobel and Riley, grasping for one of Samson’s arms to drag over his shoulders, ignoring the cuts and bruises screaming through his body.
There is not much left for Riley to do; only one goal is present on his mind: they all need to get together and prevent this from becoming worse than it already is, which, unfortunately, will be no easy task. It’s hard to see where they are going, they are ridiculously outnumbered, and it feels like no matter how many guards drop dead to the floor, there will always be more coming for them; however, he doesn’t allow himself to panic and simply runs towards Samson.
It seems like nothing is going according to plan. Three guards rush in, and while Riley is able to evade one of them, the other two grab him making it impossible for him to do anything but watch Levi and Isobel trying to get to Samson. The first punch to his face is nothing compared to the beating he is about to get, fear taking over his body as he realizes that he is once again not healing, not like he used to. He tries to squirm away, shout, do anything, but it’s useless, and against his own will, he falls to the floor, not even understanding which weapons they are using to beat him up. He can only feel how his ribs suddenly break due to its force. The air leaves his lungs at once, and when he already thinks that there is no fight left in him, a choir of shooting noises damages his ears, and suddenly all the guards drop to the floor.
He doesn’t get up immediately. He can’t, his body hurts, and Riley is not used to this kind of pain. Levi shouts, yet Riley can’t even seem to hear him. Only a faint ringing remains from all the noise he just heard, a streak of blood coming out from one of his ears as he curls into a ball, hands near his ribs as he takes faint little breaths.
It takes everything in him to be able to stand up, the pain blurring his vision slightly as he limps back towards the three of them, weakly dragging Samson’s other arm and putting it over his shoulders with a grunt. They need to get out of here and fast.
Isobel doesn’t have to be told twice to get the hell out of there. She helps with Samson putting his other arm around her tiny shoulders to help out as best she can. She can feel the bruise forming on her cheek, already burning from the elbow to the face she received, trying to free Samson. She ignores it and pushes as fast as her skinny legs will take her. Looking at the team, beaten and broken, Isobel realizes she’s standing in front of the driver’s side and would be in better shape than most of them to drive. She slides in, nervous hands gripping the steering wheel. They need to get out of here fast, and she doubts the others bother to put on their seatbelt, but it’s out of cautious habit that she checks her mirrors and puts on her seatbelt, hearing the click before she shifts into drive. She doesn’t drive fast. She doesn’t want to be suspicious; she drives the speed limit, carefully watching her mirrors to ensure they aren’t being followed. She’s sure everyone breathes a sigh of relief when they’re not. There’s too much chaos left in their wake. Isobel stays quiet because she doesn’t even know what to say.
AFTERMATH: Unbeknownst to the troupe, Eurynome and Nemesis (on behalf of the Xavier Institute) stood on a hill with a sightline of the Essex House, watching the tragic scene unfold as several Brotherhood members fail to breach the outer perimeter of the property.
MISSION OBJECTIVE: through ezra shaw’s (@smitebound) guidance, martha seong (@marthaseong) and finley walsh (@finlcyxwalsh) are sent to end the life of congressman christopher masten because he accepted funding from anti-mutant lobbyists, as well as took an anti-mutant stance. they must kill him before he reaches a luncheon where he will announce his idea for people identifying themselves as mutants or non-mutants when they enter establishments. (click here for the google doc version!)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, violence, car crash
the ride has been mostly quiet, the only sound finley walsh's able to process being the blood pumping in her ears. of all the people to get put with on this mission, martha is probably the least ideal, but at least she's not mark. she has yet to find a reason, or lack there of, to distrust her, and that counts for something. all she can do is hope that her tip landed, and christopher masten was well on his way out of the hotel. until then, all she could do was try and keep her head empty, and spin the little ring on her finger around to keep the anxiety at bay.
when she told daichi she preferred assassinations, it wasn’t a request to be put on a mission to carry one out. and with a neophyte, no less! this was exactly the kind of babysitting she declined to do. with a huff, and a foot pressing heavier on the gas pedal, she decides she was going to have some words with him, after all of this was done — after she kills poor masten and serves up his head on a platter. remembering her companion, martha seong turns her head to the side, eyes off the road and onto her new partner-in-crime. “this isn’t your first time, is it?” she asks, with a playful grin and her sing-song voice, referring to murder. oh, she hoped this one wouldn’t be trouble! she can’t handle someone screaming and crying and making too much of a mess.
it's martha's voice that breaks finley's trance. she almost prefers the silence, but what ground does he have to make requests? none, actually, she can answer that question for herself. she has to wonder if she can maintain her acting skills with stakes this high, but if there was ever a time to play the most convincing version of the evil side of her soul, today was the day. her first time at an assassination attempt? yes. and, hopefully the last. "technically, yes." she had watched ezra and sela torment at least one person in her few weeks in the brotherhood, but she had never bloodied her own hands. not that she would start today. "you?"
martha gives her a softer smile, pretending to feel sympathetic. well, fuck, she thinks. masten isn’t just some guy they’re accosting in an alley behind nyx. he’ll have people, security — an entourage of no less than ten. and they’re putting this mission on her and a girl who was never killed before? what were they expecting from martha? was this a test? a punishment? it’s not like she was gone for that long! three months — that’s barely a vacation. “no,” was her straight answer. she doesn’t care to elaborate. maybe they can have a sleepover and martha can list all the people she’s killed and felt die. maybe. “it’s terrifying, at first—” martha feels safe to assume finley wasn’t like ezra or mark, that she isn’t bloodhungry “—it’s worse when they beg. and they always do. even the worst of people cower in the face of death. it’s a bit funny, actually! you know, after you get over the whole killing a person thing. but, you can’t hesitate.” the car takes a sharp turn left, as the miles between them and masten diminish. “i mean, it’s fine, we don’t keep report cards,” she frowns, “i think. not betty, at least—mark is a bit obsessive. he likes to evaluate people. i wish he’d evaluate me,” she remarks, offhandedly, looking back at the road. “but, you believe in the mission and the cause, don’t you?” she asks, quirking a brow as she glances back at her.
she doesn’t know martha from adam. and, after mark, she’s learned not to trust the kindness any of them extend. she can make conversation, but she needs to hold her cards close to her chest. still, she won’t lie, and make herself out to be interested in playing out a live action version of the most dangerous game with non-mutants. she has no interest in killing, and she’s never done it. it was obvious enough to look at her and know that without hesitation. she didn’t need to try and convince anyone otherwise. “he’s picky, he’d probably have a few opinions,” finley mutters. she’s not his biggest fan, and he’s certainly not hers. thank god they’re not on this mission together. “of course,” finley responds without hesitation, “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.” if nothing else, lying was a skill she was going to pick up from all of this.
“so you’ve met.” the grin returns on her face, bubbling with genuine amusement at the thought. her answer was enough to satisfy martha — but then again, martha wasn’t one to really care. good, she thinks. when you had a rhyme and reason, it was easier not to walk away with guilt and regret. and the girl had some resolve. it’s apparent she was nervous, but her voice did not quake nor waver. martha takes that as a good sign! and an excuse not to tap into her mind and anticipate her actions. that would be too exhausting — she never knows what she gets subjected to. brotherhood members aren’t exactly known for having neutral, consumable thoughts. always, there was something crazy to behold. “hold on to that, and it’ll be easier.” she thinks. maybe. who knows! if it comes to it, martha will have to calm her down. another sharp turn and they find themselves in town. the hotel was already visible from where they are, peeking through the block of buildings they still had to drive through. “they will start with welcoming drinks in half an hour. do you want to stop by anywhere first?” she turns back to finley, inspecting her — making sure she looks the part of a political science intern interested in politics from a very young age. “or are you good to go?”
for all the money xavier has invested in the school, she figures some of it should have gone to a better communication system for this whole thing. she doesn't know what's landed, and she doesn't even know if someone knows where they are for a fact. but, with the offer to go off the beaten path that they're expected to follow, finley can't take the risk. "good advice," she says with a slow nod, acting like she's absorbing this for all that it's worth. and, as much as she wants to tell martha to stop somewhere so she can empty the contents of her stomach, cold blooded murders don't get their stomach in a twist before an assassination. "no, i'm good to go." she smooths out the blazer she's been put in as gently as she can behind the seatbelt across her chest. of course they use her to look prim and proper, at least she's of use in some regards for them.
martha waits for another beat, just in case finley changes her mind. she wouldn’t be patient with anyone else, not any of veterans, certainly, but — these are the kind of moments you don’t forget. it’ll carve itself in your mind forever. it’ll chase you — for days, weeks, months, or years — even in your sleep. martha would know, it did the same to her. it might be for the cause. masten might be an inglorious fucking bastard. but it was a weight on your conscience. a mark on your soul. if you had one left, that is. so, she waits. while she liked to fuck around, martha knows these people — the brotherhood — are here for a reason. and that reason wasn’t because they wanted to be. most of the time, it was because they had to. with seemingly no one else to protect them, it feels like the only choice. martha believes it was the only choice. “alright,” she finally says, “here we go! your first assassination. how fun! maybe we can get some ice cream after. as a reward.” the seconds passes in silence, as the hotel grows larger and larger before them. the mirth on her face is slowly replaced with practiced seriousness. a mask crafted for the benefit of the mission. she pulls the fake prescription glasses from the dashboard and places them on. turning to finley, she asks, “how do i look?” as the car enters the driveway, gradually pulling over the entrance.
finley didn’t really know what was coming when they crossed over the hill. maybe she should have said yes to stopping if only to give matsen more time to bail. but, too little too late now. truth be told, she wasn’t too thrilled on the idea of saving someone who thought so lowly of people, but what good would killing him do? all it did was lead to more chaos and more hatred. something dramatic would have to happen in order for the brotherhood to ever win just by picking people off one by one. of course, none of this could be said out loud, and one could only hope she wasn’t projecting these thoughts straight into martha’s brain. with a tense smile and nod, finley acknowledges her excitement of the accolade, the offer of ice cream making this whole thing feel so… benign. finley glances martha’s direction, newly adorned glasses perched on her nose. “very smart. science-y,” finley offered. she glances up at the entrance of the hotel in all its grandiose glory. “are we ready?” whether the question was for her or the both of them was anyones guess.
martha only answers with a smile. ready or not, they are here. the curtain has lifted, the spotlight has been cast. there’s no turning back. and she hopes finley understands that. “it’s showtime, baby.” the engine grunts to a halt, as she pulls the key from the ignition and opens the door. a valet helps her out, exchanging pleasantries with her before he takes the key. martha doesn’t look back or wait for finley to follow. she saunters inside the hotel lobby, poised and graceful, determined to do a job and to do it well.
but once she’s inside, she feels something off. a well-dressed man, and a gaggle of staffers, walks past her, heading out of the hotel. odd — that’s a consultant, a lobbyist. why is he leaving? she didn’t look back, instead continues on, as if she thinks nothing was out of order. her mind opens and a chorus of voices crescendos. she sifts through each thought, all the while continuing to walk towards the venue, taking answers instead of asking for them. cancelled… left… emergency… son.
masten is gone.
her jaw tightens. someone must have tipped him off. this was an important luncheon. potentially a million in donations to his campaign. he won’t have just left. his son would have to be on his last breath. martha wants to turn around, alert finley of the fact. but then…
finley. finley, finley, finley. it’s the anxiety that courses through her. martha would have dismissed it as normal — she was out here to kill someone for the first time. but her thoughts. god! are they loud. charles fucking xavier should have at least trained these idiots to mask better!
martha doesn't let it show on her face. that she knows. and everything she’s about to do to her. instead, she walks on, mind searching for a blindspot. “we need to check our exits,” she lies — in a way finley wouldn’t be able to doubt. she turns towards an empty hallway, walking with purpose, fists clenched. when they reach the end, martha turns, the mirthful grin returning to greet finley. “you fucking bitch,” she hisses, as her mind grapples finley’s. like vines stretched around her brain, effectively taking control. she makes her feel pain, like each nerve below her waist is being stretched and strained, until finley can no longer stand. “you tipped him off. you tipped masten off.” now they’re going to have to find him! a deviation in a perfectly good plan! sure, she likes spontaneity. but not with jobs she didn’t enjoy doing! “roll up your sleeves, darling. cause i’m about to put you to work.”
finley checks the clock on the dashboard before the engine is killed. masten should be leaving any second if the tip landed. now or never. she climbs out of the passenger seat, falling a few paces behind martha as they enter the hotel, bustling with people left and right. but, as quickly as they enter, a stream of people exit, and finley feels like a weight is lifted from her shoulders. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s masten’s team. black suits swiftly exiting the building before anyone can say a word on the matter. they’re in the clear. she just has to make it back to headquarters, deal with whatever consequence they’ll get for letting him slip by, and bail out of there before anyone can catch wind of who she is or what she’s done. maybe, just maybe, it would all be fine!
martha summons her to do an exit check— it feels odd seeing as they haven’t even done any sort of scan of the crowd yet, but finley knows it’s not her place to ask questions. especially as she tries to lean into her ignorance and nerves. just follow the leader, and make it out alive, she tells herself.
they tread down a long hallway, martha’s pace obnoxiously quick for someone who wants to check their get away route— whether they’ll need it or not. and, as finley opens her mouth to mention they had passed the stairwell already, martha whips around to face her with a look that makes finley’s blood run cold. and then there’s the pain. it coils around her, white hot heat shooting through her limbs. she can’t even scream from the intensity of the pain, collapsing onto the carpeted floor with a soft thud as she curls in on herself to no avail. the pain is rooted in whatever martha is doing to her, and it will not let up.
“i— i didn’t,” finley forces out voice tight as she tries her best to writhe in pain, but her body no longer feels like her own. she reaches for her powers somewhere in her mind, something to defend herself with and get martha off of her, but she just can’t. she can’t move, and it’s somehow more terrifying than any other aspect. being completely out of control of her own body.
“martha, please,” finley begs. whether it’s a last ditch effort to swear her false allegiance or to spare her from whatever comes next is beyond finley’s comprehension. she can only think about the searing pain keeping her pinned to the carpet floor of the hotel.
martha only laughs at her pleas. the sound of it was humorless — almost pained. a part of her, buried deep in her subconscious, doesn’t want to do this. but what else can she do? she can’t abandon the mission. and she can’t let a traitor — a xavier spy — off the hook. if you get red on your ledger, you pay for it. she looks down on finley, watching her writhe in pain. “please? okay. since you’re asking so nicely.” but when the pain stops, finley will find that all her sensations would, too. she’s only along for the ride, with martha on the wheel. “get up,” martha instructs. but finley can’t. “what’s wrong? get up.” and when finley still can’t move, martha sighs. “alright, alright. i’ll help you.” it’s only then that finley stands, completely out of her own volition. she doesn’t need a demonstration. by now, finley understands what was happening. but martha still wants to show her. she presses her own hands together and, like a mirror, finley does the same. “alright, time to show me what you can do, missy! let’s find masten. and, as a little prize for being a smart little cunt, you get to kill him.” martha’s grin is almost diabolical, eyes wide with what looked like glee. but only anger burns hot beneath the surface. she finds no joy in this. she wishes finley just stuck to the script.
it’s obvious to finley that her cover is blown at this point. she knows everything, and it’s all her own undoing. and now she’s stuck here, the fibers of the carpet rubbing unforgivingly through the fabric of her pants as she is completely at martha’s mercy. the pain begins to subside some, the dull ache of her body coming down from the shooting pain still there for a moment before everything goes blank. there is no white hot pain, there is no ache, and there is no feeling. it’s as if someone had turned of everything in her body other than the course of her own thoughts. she feels paralyzed. martha taunts her, telling her to get up, stand up and no matter how much finley wills her body to move she stays on the floor unmoving and out of control of her body. and then martha speaks and her body springs into action like some remote controlled robot, standing with ease, like nothing had happened. she does not have to control for the fear to shake her body, but she can feel the terror washing over her in waves as martha speaks. “no,” finley croaks, unable to shake her head, “no i don’t— i can’t.”
but whatever link martha had bonded them together with worked, at least at her will, both ways. all finley needs is a location. that’s all she’s ever needed to successfully get from point a to point b. and martha does not hesitate to provide her with that. it hasn’t been that long, they haven’t made it all that far from the hotel, and she wishes there was anything she could do to give them more time. but she can see masten in her mind, and under martha’s influence, the gap begins to close. before she knows it, they’re standing in the middle of some backroad, the darkened hallway replaced by afternoon sun streaming through tree leaves. and the rush of an oncoming car can be heard not too far up the road, a short line of black vehicles rounding the blind corner behind which martha and finley stand. martha doesn’t move, and so neither can finley. the ever familiar sound of squealing tires and crunching metal hit finley like a freight train. if she could collapse, she would have right then in there, as unwanted memories float through her mind. she can’t tell if it’s her or martha making those happen.
there’s a lack of movement from most of the vehicles. the impact must have been enough to, at best, knock a few members of the convoy out. at worst… well, the blood on finley’s hands wouldn’t just be masten’s. “haven’t we done enough? we’ve scared him, i’m sure. why do we— why do i have to kill him? don’t make me do this, i can’t do this.” she doesn’t care how pathetic the begging sounds, her voice straining through every word to reach some sort of pathos within martha. she knows it won’t work deep down, that it’s all just prolonging the inevitable if she’s lucky. but, she has to try anything to prevent this.
martha almost wavers — almost. finley’s memories, flashes of an accident martha wasn’t even there for, burns crisp and sharp inside her mind. she’s so intricately linked to finley that she sees everything finley sees, feels everything finley feels. as if it were her memories, her emotions. she almost wavers.
but martha’s own words echo inside her head. you can’t hesitate
you believe in the mission and the cause, don’t you?
hold on to that, and it’ll be easier.
stop them, she instructs, before any of masten’s security detail could weakly draw out their guns and point it at the pair. knock them unconscious — a job better done by her. but finley was fighting. she can’t risk losing her grip on finley’s mind, even by a small amount. walk. their steps sync together, left foot first and then the right. they walk side by side, passing the first car, and move on to the second. right where masten was.
four people. two in the front — unconscious. masten and his chief of staff in the back — barely conscious. she steps back and finley forward. open the door. pull him out.
once he was on the pavement, masten coughs and sputters. the deep gash on his head bleeds, the red trickling down his face. words — pleas to spare his life — leaves his mouth in unintelligible mumbles. martha doesn’t listen, although she understands everything running through his mind, clear as the sky above them. she sees every memory flashing inside his head, as the realization that he would be breathing his last breath slowly sinks in.
mercy. for a moment, she thinks she should spare him some. spare finley some, too. but, no. they need to learn a lesson.
“kill him. now.”
there is nothing more horrifying to her than being out control of her own body. every instinct in her is screaming to stop— this is wrong, they have families and children. they’re people for god’s sake. just like her. and here she is being forced to fling them aside, discarded without so much as a wave of her hand. it makes her stomach churn.
all finley needs is for someone to show up. any of the omegas. just someone to get her out of the mess she had gotten herself in to. but with every step they took, and every command that martha forced on her, finley’s hope dwindled.
against her own volition, she pulls masten from the car, still dazed from the accident. blood stains the side of his face seeping into the collar of his shirt as finley drops him onto the roadway despite herself. she knows what’s coming. martha has every intention to complete their mission whether finley’s a willing participant or not. and, she is not.
that doesn’t stop the begging even as her body betrays her and moves forward on martha’s command. some part of her body burns, the now familiar crackle of electricity at her fingertips, but it’s more violent than usual. as if her abilities are, too, rejecting the action she’s being forced to take.
it’s the agonized scream that truly makes finley’s mind shut down. it’s as if everything is underwater. she feels like she’s floating just as much as she is drowning, and then there’s organs, human organs, splayed across the pavement and the screaming has stopped but it doesn’t make anything better.
she’s seen a dead body before. this early on, they just seem to be asleep, but in a few minutes, he’ll get cold and pale, and it’ll be an agonizing way for his family to see him, chest torn, organs dislodged from their homes all because of finley
a part of her wants to scream, but she can’t even find air to breathe, let alone her voice. all she can do is stare and hyperventilate in hopes that maybe she’ll pass out, and be spared by any further torture that martha wishes to give her.
he had opted to be with masten, to have the other man by his side so that he could personally protect him. but the other didn't trust han-byul song, he just shook his head and said that his own personal guards will protect him, that han-byul should just focus on capturing the assassins. of course, how splendid.
he's in his own car, watching from afar, waiting for someone to come out, to at least see finley in one piece. and while he does see her, alongside the other brotherhood member, how they came to be and the situation itself all catches him off guard. his hands tighten around the wheel, the soda can in his car rattles in the cup holder before being completely crushed by his own ability. this isn't right, he thinks to himself, this doesn't feel right. something is wrong. and he's right, something is wrong, he just doesn't know that martha knows of finley as a spy and is currently controlling her. all he sees is martha standing beside finley who is getting ready to pull masten out of his car. at the same time, han-byul is getting out of his own car, not even worrying about closing the door on his way out.
he doesn't shout, he doesn't tell them to stop, he doesn't even call finley's name. he knows that he's supposed to, he's been trained to negotiate, but you cannot negotiate with murderers like the brotherhood. each step brings a trembling to the space around them, the top of trash cans getting dented, light posts that shook and bend inwards, buildings that rattle with the force. and with each step and movement from finley with masten causes the trembles to intensify.
but it's her next course of actions that sends han-byul punching the air. he doesn't expect finley of all people to do this, she's on their side, she gave charles xavier this information, and yet-- "stop!" he shouts, a bit late but it doesn't matter, he doesn't care, as the words are flying out of his mouth and his fist punches downwards. the trembling and rattling stops around him only focusing on the area around finley and martha. it's a crack in the air, the pressure, the gravity that forces them both down to their knees, invisible chains to keep them in place. it doesn't stop there as han-byul controls the gravity around himself, reducing the pull of gravity in order to sprint towards the duo, faster than ever and his fist pulled back and aimed towards martha. and as soon as he's done with her, he'll go after finley.
“fuck!” martha yelps, as her knees scrape against the concrete. her limbs feel heavy, pulled to the ground by an insurmountable force. she tries to reach for finley — the connection between them was severed, swiftly and suddenly — but she can’t move. when she attempts it, it feels like her skin is being torn apart.
she needs to refocus — not on finley. but on their unwanted guest. with her mind free, it stretches open once again. going further and further out until it found him — han-byul song. an omega.
of course. xavier was working with them. she saw him at the ball, saw the little dramatic play they executed towards the end. it was a warning — a warning the brotherhood only took as a challenge. martha should’ve known, should’ve anticipated this.
it comes in waves — the pain that travels from the tip of han-byul’s toes and shoots up his entire body. like every nerve is frayed; stretched and strained to its limit. she doesn’t know how strong han-byul is but martha doesn’t want to risk anything. she amplies the pain — a few times worse than what finley had felt. just to ensure he can’t meddle, as martha and finley make their escape.
once the force around them eases, martha quickly takes hold of finley’s mind. not waiting or wavering this time. they need to be gone, before the omega can do anything else. or, before the rest can appear.
take us back to the headquarters. she planted the image of their destination inside finley’s mind, and willed her to do the rest.
she never thought she would feel relieved to come back to the brotherhood’s headquarters. her breath hitched, her heartbeat quickened. all the adrenaline had worn out, replaced by a psychological hangover. for a moment she forgot finley, until she noticed the other in her periphery.
martha grabbed her by the shoulder and calmed her down. she manipulated finley’s emotions, until the distress fell to the back of her mind, until her breath evened out, until her eyes were empty. it made it easier for the next part — putting her to sleep. slowly, finley’s limbs gave out, as unconsciousness visited her. martha had to catch her, before her body could fall to the ground.
it's a moment of relief to hear someone else's voice, even if she looks extremely incriminated right now. her eyes are still trained downwards even as they approach. but, she knows it's probably one of the omegas. all her suspicions are confirmed when the world shakes, and they're dropped to their knees, the gravity in the air heavy. han-byul song— makes sense. but, she can't even bother to agonize over the weight of the world, because martha's out of her brain. her thoughts can be their own once again, and any consequence is worth it to keep it that way.
of course, that relief is gone within moments, martha stopping han-byul in his tracks, and as quickly as she was gone, she's dug her fingers back into finley, taking over her mind, and subsequently, her abilities once more. headquarters. she's as good as dead once they get back there, and she'll be offering herself up like a lamb to the slaughter. and, with how incriminating this looks, there's no promise anyone would be stupid enough to try and come to her rescue again.
she wants to make eye contact with han-byul, and plead with him, explain this wasn't her doing— she was no better than a puppet on a string at this point. but, she knows it's a matter of seconds before they're gone, and she's sealed to her fate.
the side street is gone, and in a flash, they're standing in the brotherhood headquarters. it's still relatively quiet as people filter in from their own missions, but she can still feel panic gripping her chest.
martha, still very much linked to her mind, must be able to tell as she drains any sort of fear and panic out of finley— certainly not out of kindness, but to keep her from thrashing, panicking, doing something stupid enough to break whatever connection she had created. and, once again, against her will, she's forced into a sleep. most likely the last peaceful one she'll ever have again.
ooc: so here we are! four people dead, and the brotherhood have uncovered a spy in their midst. the omegas and xavier will be in a flurry trying to withdraw april and isobel, but also find a way to get finley out of there. all the omegas and xavier students have now been made aware by professor xavier and han-byul about the three spies in the organization. the brotherhood will be searching for other traitors, while interrogating finley for all she knows and what she’s told. the only people who know where she is are magneto, betty, irena, and the top agents. her torture will be mainly handled by the top agent she was under, ezra.
even those outside of the groups can feel the tension bubbling under the surface. something’s coming—and no one will be spared when it finally boils over.
be on the lookout for another plot drop coming later this may!
featuring: @frances-c-g, @shadcwstealer, @viictorious, and @atticus-bellefield
with thanks to the wonderful cola for the second graphic in this, as it is made beautifully by her!
the blows dealt by the brotherhood in the latest series of attacks reverberate not only across the city, but across the country. the pentagon being attacked shakes d.c. a congressman being murdered in broad daylight disturbs every government official, no matter the level, especially by mutants. with the failure of the omegas in protecting them, the creators of the project begin to doubt in their abilities.
if a structure that’s meant to be as impenetrable as the white house can be broken into, what hope does every other government facility have? who will be next? they scramble over what the mutants who broke in learned, and how to find them, quickly. with everything on such fragile ground, no one was prepared for the murder of a government official to happen a few days later.
because of the circumstances, the governor assigns a new congressperson to finish the rest of congressman masten’s term in lieu of having a special election. congresswoman coldwell gives a speech broadcasted across every news channel giving her condolences to the masten family, and expressing her goals for the future that include finding his killers and punishing them to the highest extent the law allows.
in the world of celebrity, there’s been an outpouring of support for the now orphaned sunny hwang. the broadway show she was going to star in has, understandably, been postponed out of respect for her loss. victor has experienced the opposite end of that treatment, as people blame him for the death of two beloved stars. his injuries earn him no sympathy, and even fans of his music ask whether he’s a help or a hinderance to the omegas.
while matthew bellefield is the least well known of all the assassination targets, his death creates a rumble through the underground world. those who also had their toes dipped in the business of outing mutants for financial gain start to look over their shoulders. more seem to disappear every day that passes. but the police consider the number #1 suspect to be atticus bellefield, the victim’s brother who was found with the body next to an unconscious omega. when siren does awaken a few days later, she tries to assure them it isn’t him, but they seem doubtful, as does the news.
nathaniel essex decides to keep the failed attack on essex house out of the press. he doesn’t like to appear weak, even if they did overcome the intruders, they still were able to get in. for now, he’ll keep this information in his back pocket to use in the future, if needed.
the city is a wreck everywhere someone turns. no one is left untouched by the brotherhood’s victories and failures. charles must deal with the fact the brotherhood has uncovered one of his little spies. erik’s anger is reaching a tipping point. can you predict what happens next?
as shakespeare wrote in macbeth, “it will have blood: they say, blood will have blood.”
MISSION OBJECTIVE: Daichi Kato is to lead a team consisting of Ciaran O’Connell ( @combustiibles ), Lorelei Sivan ( @wooziims ), and April Honey ( @aprilhoneys ) as the four Brotherhood agents break into The Pentagon to steal any and all information regarding mutants that the Government has accumulated over the years.
TW: Death, Violence, Blood
To think that between the four top agents, Daichi Kato is sent on a mission like this. To steal any and all Government documents on mutants. If he's being honest, it feels more like something that Sela would be good at, or even Mari, not for a man who is about and for action, who advocates for violence. What's so important about a bunch of papers? Who gives a shit? Erik gives a shit and while Daichi is only here as a temporary top agent, he still listens to what the big boss has to say. Because he respects and fears Erik. With the snap of his fingers, tiny ice spears surround Daichi before launching into the cameras on the ceiling. "Cameras are out," he tells the three. "But I'm sure whatever guards they have will be down here soon. Take them down, kill them if you have to, but don't focus entirely on fighting. We need to find the room where the documents are being stored."
This isn’t the first time Ciarán O’Connell has been tasked with stealing documents, it is the first time he's been asked to break into a government building. If he’d been given an option, he would've been literally anywhere else. But he hadn't, so here he is. "I say we grab the first one- the other's might be less likely to attack if we have one of their own. Then we can knock them out?" He suggests, though admittedly he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
April Honey’s hands are literally shaking, and she feels like she’s about to throw up all over her teammates leading the way. Daichi is talking, but nothing is really sinking in. How could Charles trust her to go undercover? She’s literally the worst spy ever! Heck, she'd even fallen for one of the bad guys. Well, not fallen, exactly. More like she’s infatuated with how beautiful he and his motorcycle are. "Mhmm," she hums in agreement with what Ciaran said. "A hostage situation sounds like a good way to get through to the room with as much fuss as possible. I can paralyze them before we leave. They won't be able to call for help that way and it gives us time to get out of here and to a safe place."
Teamwork. An absolute joke, It is. Stealing documents from the some suits with a higher up Lorelei Sivan had hardly ever spoken to and two teammates she'd never even acknowledged , a joke. Hearing said teammates suggestions, has her scoffing. "Hostages? Paralyzing? What is this, rookie hour?" Wisps of red coil around her hands, readying to wrap around the necks of each guard. "We should be the only ones leaving this facility alive, why not just take out a lot of them?"
"Taking hostages isn't a bad idea, Io," he says, sparing a glance for a second before looking forward again. "And we can't waste our time killing everyone, we're just here to get these documents then leaving right away." He was specifically told to get the papers and leave by not only Elizabeth but Irena and Magneto too-- because the three of them knew him and what he would do. And if it was up to him... this place would be a blood bath. At the first door, Daichi calmly opens it and even though no one can see his face under his Kitsune mask, he smiles and bows gently. There's at least three people inside, two scientists and one guard, all surprised to see the four of them. "Hello!" Daichi says in Japanese, adding to the confusion. "It's so great seeing all of you, hope today has been great so far. Yes, yes, we're looking for something and need some help. Ah, but we only need one of you." Shooting his hands in the air, two large ice sickles shoot up from the ground and pierce one of the scientists and guards in the chest, only leaving the other scientist trembling in fear. "You'll be our tour guide. Jaime Pond--" What a ridiculous name. "-- Go ahead and get our lovely tour guide."
April stays silent when Lorelei shoots down the idea of hostages and using her secretion ability. Looking at the ground, she rolls her eyes in annoyance. The last thing she wants to do is end up fighting with a Brotherhood member, so she keeps her mouth shut, only focusing on what Daichi has to say now. He's their leader, only his decision matters on this mission. The temptation to extend her tongue and trip Lorelei up is strong, though. April adjusts her eye mask to make sure her identity isn't at stake, following after Daichi and watching him open the door. Quicker than she can blink, there's blood and ice. Not being able to bring herself to look at what he'd just done for fear of throwing up or having an anxiety attack, she keeps her attention only on their new tour guide. "Of course, Kuraokami." She hops forward to close the distance quickly, fingers wrapping around the hostage's wrist tightly, dragging him behind her as she hops to the exit. "You'll do whatever we say, otherwise you'll end up like your friends back there. You look like a guy who has a family, maybe you can go on a nice vacation after this... I hear Barcelona is rockin' this time of year." She should not be making small talk, but she feels anxious and awkward. April notices a rogue guard coming with her peripheral vision, so she acts quickly. Her tongue shoots out of her mouth, wrapping around his waist and pulling him towards them.
Truth be told, Ciarán isn’t entirely sure how to process what he witnessed as April's tongue lash out towards the guard. He is relieved that he's not the one on the receiving end, however, though it doesn't stop him from feeling somewhat useless in the moment. He's presented with an opportunity to act when April catches the other guard. "I'll keep an eye on him," he states, before stepping forward to grab the man's arm, his fingers digging into his skin as he yanks him closer.
“It's a hostage, frog face. Not a potential timeshare victim. You’re an entire headache, oh my God.” Doesn’t hide the sneer that decorates her face, watching April's tongue wrap around the guard. Even Ciarán, simply moves to hold said guard still, so boring! The next few guards that come rushing in aren’t met with the same simplicity, instead are flung into the wall, held in place by a wave of red energy. “How about some mind games, huh. Before the real tough guys come through.” A vapor-like mist floats itself into the heads of the two new guards, effects taking place instantaneously, in the form of nightmarish hallucinations. “How much time do we have, until the troublesome ones come running in?”
There’s a reason why Daichi wanted to take his own team on this mission, everyone already had a bond and knew how to work together. Unlike this makeshift team of misfits who couldn’t even pretend to like each other long enough to complete this mission. “You’re an even bigger headache than her,” he says to Lorelei, rolling his eyes. Maybe he should’ve done this on his own, at least then he wouldn’t have to deal with any bickering. “Few minutes if we’re lucky.” A minute if he’s being realistic but when has the Daichi Kato ever been realistic about anything?
“Io, I’m trusting you to watch the elevator. If anyone comes down here, kill them, I don’t give a shit. Just make sure no one gets past you.” There’s a twinkle in her eye, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. He gets it, he’s the same way ( the man just killed two people without any hesitation ). “You two, follow me. We need to find these documents and get out of here immediately.” Clapping his hands together and slowly pulling them apart, ice materializes in the wake, shaping into a knife. He’s quick, handling the knife with care before he’s almost slamming the ice blade into the scientist’s chest, only to stop just inches from it. “If you don’t want to die, Doc, I recommend that you help us.
“Take us to where all of your research on mutants is located. And I mean all of it.” He doesn’t miss the way the scientist’s eyes grow big, the fear that swims and crashes, it excites Daichi.
What he does miss is the fear in April’s eyes, the anxiety that courses through her veins, and the way her hands have yet to stop shaking. It’s a good thing that he does miss it because she’s sure that he would’ve found her out. That he’ll send that knife straight into her heart, or maybe even an ice arrow as if he’s Cupid himself. Wow, even during a time like this she’s still head over heels for his evil charms.
The scientist finally nods, words falling from his mouth in a rush. “O-Okay, I’ll help you! Please, don’t kill me. I have two kids waiting for me at home.” Daichi smiles, pulling the knife away and giving it to Ciaran.
“Good! Peres, take the lead and keep this with you. Just in case our lovely tour guide needs some motivation.”
Ciaran takes the knife, though he’s not happy about it. He’s fine with using his own ability to get the scientist to talk, he’s been using it this entire time. But he still takes and follows orders, walking around Daichi in order for the scientist to guide them to the room. Behind them, he can hear the elevator chime and the footsteps of more guards. Lorelei doesn’t seem like the type to ask for help but he knows that not one person can handle that many people on their own. So he presses the knife to the scientist’s throat, eyes hard as he says, “Be quick, we don’t have all day.”
“O-okay, it’s not far, I promise.”
So they follow him, heading down the hall and turning left, the scientist points to the door all the way down the hall. “That’s it right the–”
Before he can finish his sentence, a door is kicked open, the four of them stopping and turning to see. Rushing out from the staircase are six guards, Jordan Porter, and Louis Bhatt all stand across from the four. “Put your hands up, mutants!” Two of the guards point guns in their directions while the other four pull out batons, ready to run out and fight hand to hand if necessary. “And let go of the hostage, now!”
Daichi doesn’t care for the guards, no, his eyes are on Jordan Porter, or better yet Backlash. He’s very familiar with the Omegas, only because of a certain Omega he left behind for “a guy’s trip with my childhood friends”. Now this is where the fun begins! “Finally!” He shouts, clapping and cheering as if it's a sporting event. “I’ve been waiting for this. Was getting tired of these small fries.” He doesn’t give the guards a chance to react, Daichi making two finger guns, pointing in the direction of the guards with guns, fires ice bullets straight into their heads.
The two guards fall back with a yelp, thus sending the other four guards to rush the three Brotherhood members. Ciaran and Daichi are quick to action, taking on the guards with ease, as if they’ve been waiting for this moment. Which is true enough, they have been waiting for this, the rush of being able to fight another person, the rush of throwing a person into a wall, of a fist connecting with their jaw, or a kick to the shin.
It’s April who doesn’t move, she’s too nervous to do so, especially when she sees her old professor across the hall. She wants to hide, wants to dig a hole for herself, or to go into one of the rooms until the fight is over. So preoccupied with her own anxieties, she’s unaware of a guard who tries to attack her. His baton is held up high, ready to strike the young woman before a kick is sent to his temple, the guard’s head getting crushed between the assailant’s heel and the wall.
“All that training I put you through and you’re not using any of it?” His face is hidden from her but April can only imagine the smile on Daichi’s face. “We’re in a middle of a fight, you need to–”
But just like her, a guard tries to attack him. One that he knocked down but has gotten back up, ready to get his revenge. April is quick for once, her tongue springs out and attaches itself to the guard, paralyzing the man and causing him to fall limp on the ground. It surprises her that she does this, she just attacked a good guy! But then there’s Daichi patting her back, praising her for a job well done. She’s sick again and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s proud or disappointed in herself.
Just like them, Ciaran handles the two guards with ease. Knocking them out and using his ability, grabbing one’s arm and causing a mini explosion, the guard cries out in pain. Then to the other, he sends a punch straight for his nose and then places the palm of his hand on the man’s chest, another explosion that sends him falling as well.
With all six guards down, Jordan and Louis run in to fight. Jordan who goes straight for Ciaran and Louis who goes towards Daichi and April. Daichi wishes that it was him fighting the Omega but he’ll take this random guy. Or at least, he wants to but he remembers the real reason why they’re here. The mission isn’t to fight off guards and Omegas, it’s to get the needed information for the higher ups. And because he’s the leader of this mission, he’s expected to get said information immediately.
“I’m leaving these guys to you two,” he tells Ciaran and April, Daichi stepping backwards, eyes scanning and searching for the scientist from earlier. Ah! There he is, cowering on the floor, head tuck into his legs in order to make himself look smaller than usual. Daichi reaches for the back of the other’s lab coat, dragging him to his feet. “I won’t be long! Just keep them away from this room.”
Neither get the chance to disobey as they’re to fight off the two. Daichi does feel bad at that moment, maybe just a little. But he can’t waste anymore time, it’s not just Ciaran and April he has to watch over, but also Lorelei who has been left alone with guards. He’s on a time crunch and if he doesn’t want to head back to NYC with three corpses, he needs to hurry.
Finally at the door, Daichi shoves it open, throwing the scientist inside. He was expecting an office but instead it’s a file room, filled with nothing but gray drawer cabinets. “Which one of these has the documents?” There’s no time to be sweet with the guy as he wraps his hands around his neck, frost slowly spreading from where his hands rested. “Be quick!”
It’s not the grip that scares the scientist but the spreading cold. “I-It’s over there! The bottom drawer!” His hands scramble to get Daichi to let go of him. “I’m telling the truth, the entire drawer is dedicated to the Mutant Research Department.”
Mutant Research Department? He smiles, Daichi letting go of the scientist, letting the other fall to the ground as he heads for the specific drawer. He tries to open it but it doesn’t budge. Of course not, a key is needed. “Where’s the key?”
The scientist points upwards, at the key hook that holds several keys. Daichi gets all of them and uses every single one, the third key clicks, Daichi finding the correct key. With zero grace, he pulls open the drawer, his eyes falling on all of the neatly filed documents. There are manila folders, one red floor, one blue, and then sheets of paper that shit outside of folders. Daichi can tell that this specific drawer is important and deeply cared for, because nothing is just thrown inside carelessly. The organization of it all reminds him of his father’s study, it sends a wave of disgusting nostalgia throughout his entire body.
He picks up the manila folder first, flipping it open to get a quick glimpse of what’s inside. And for the first time, he finds his stomach churning. All of the documents are of mutants used as test subjects. One of a ten year old, another of a thirteen year old, a twenty year old, and one in their seventies. Each file had a picture attached, with information on their height, weight, abilities, where they’re from– but none of them had a name. Just numbers. Sickening.
He drops the folder to the floor, picking up the red one. This folder has what he was expecting to see, information on the Cuban Missile bullshit that happened between Magneto and Charles Xavier. Magneto told him to keep an eye out for that and to grab all the files on it. He drops that to the floor too. He then reaches for the blue folder, surprised at the information that he finds here.
Unlike the other two folders, this one has writing on the front of it. Well Known Mutants / Suspected Mutants. Flipping it open, he’s meant with the pictures and names of individuals back in NYC. Articles and employment forms of every single Omega, a photo of Charles Xavier from the NYE Gala, an old photo of a younger Magneto, and then a list of notes with pictures paperclipped to it of different individuals:
Monique Lanchester: Father - Miami’s Heat Co-Coach Jackson Lanchester, said to be a “beast”, says a former housekeeper
Maxine Brandt: CEO of B&G, under the suspicion that she’s a mutant
Mark Jenson: Televangelist, snake mutation, well known mutant
River Alexander Masten: Father - Christopher Masten, under the suspicion that he’s a mutant
Ciaran O’Connell: Parents - Callum and Maureen O’Connell, well known lawyers , neighbors said to have seen a contained “explosion” happen within the house
January St. James: Socialist, confirmed mutant, manipulates reality
He doesn’t get the chance to continue reading as he hears April screaming and Ciaran cursing loudly. His face hardens, he needs to leave quickly. “Get me a bag!” he shouts to the scientists, the other man scrambling to get what Daichi needs. As the scientists does that, Daichi combs through the cabinet once more, this time pulling out whatever looks important. If he could, he would take the entire drawer but that’s not plausible. So instead, he’s left with three folders and at least seven sheets of paper. The scientist, finally finds a left behind bookbag, brings it to Daichi.
Daichi shoves everything inside of the bookbag, zips it up, and tosses it over his shoulder. He’s about to sprint out before the scientist speaks up. “S-so does this mean that I’m free to go?”
His jaw tightens, his mind still on the mutants who are being treated as test subjects by the government. Once again creating a finger gun, he connects his pointer finger to the others forward before shooting an ice bullet straight through his head. “Someone as disgusting as you doesn’t deserve to live.”
Wasting not another minute, Daichi sprints out into the hallway, face to face with Ciaran who’s holding his head and April who’s holding her stomach in pain. No jokes, no laughs, no nothing, Daichi runs straight for Jordan, kicking the other in the stomach, sending him straight to the floor. Hands work quickly to create ice handcuffs, both around his wrist and ankles.
One left. Louis is already waiting for him, the other using his ability on Daichi to force him to his knees. And Daichi almost drops, head pounding with intense emotions, of thoughts and memories that almost make him throw up. But he’s not weak, he doesn’t fall to his knees for no one. Within seconds he’s able to create an ice knife and when he’s close enough, plunges it into the side of the other’s right leg. Louis cries out in pain, his ability stopping briefly but just in enough time for Daichi to connect his fist to his jaw, the other falling to the ground from the impact.
“Fucking bastard,” he says. During both of his fights, both April and Ciaran are finally standing, the two having grim looks on their faces. He doesn’t have the time to ask them if they’re okay. “We need to leave.” The two nod their heads as they break out into a run, heading back to Lorelei.
She’s still standing when they get to her but barely, the exhaustion clear on her face from having to fight alone. There’s still three guards standing, smirking as if they won. But with Daichi there, it’s clear who the winner is as he sends ice sickles straight through their chests. Taking the bookbag off, he shoves it into April’s chest as he grabs hold of Lorelei before she falls to the ground.
The wheels in his head are turning as he tries to figure out how they’re going to escape. They can’t use the elevator again and he’s sure that the stairs are blocked off. Think, Daichi, think, he tells himself. How the hell are you gonna get out of here?
Then the idea comes to him. It’s a silly one, a trick that he used years ago when he was a teenager helping a friend sneak out of his head. But it’s the best trick to use in this situation.
“Peres,” he says, nodding towards the wall. “I need you to make a whole and make it quick.”
Ciaran doesn’t ask any questions nor does he objects, rushing to the wall, he places both hands on it. It takes some time, just several seconds but honestly felt like hours to the other three, the wall explodes outwards, chunks of it falling outside. “Okay,” Daichi says. “Everyone stand close and be prepared to run when we have to.”
April and Ciaran stand close to him as Daichi heaves Lorelei onto his back. Breathing in and then out, ice shoots out from the palm of Daichi’s hands, the top agent creating an icy trail for them. “Okay, let’s go!” The others follow beside him, making sure not to slip and slide on the trail the best they could. Luckily none of them did, they stay close to him until they’re far from the Pentagon and in the safety of their van.
Mission accomplished.
. . .
Despite believing that he got everything of importance from the drawer, there was one folder that was left behind. Resting on the counter just three steps away from the opened drawer cabinet was a green folder. No title was left on the outside but the contents of it held many secrets and even information that the Brotherhood, Xavier Institute, and Omegas would find important in the coming months.
Held from these three conflicting groups was the name Linda McCall and the Seven Deadly Sins. Their identities left to be hidden until their first appearance.
OOC INFORMATION:
YAY MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, EVERYONE CLAP THEIR HANDS!!!
The information that Daichi’s team brought back to The Brotherhood all comes from the Governments new department, the Mutant Research Department ( MRD ).
MRD was created a year after the Cuban Missile incident in order to learn more about mutants and how the Government can protect themselves and the country from dangerous mutants like Erik and Charles.
MRD has been researching the origin story of mutants. This is still a project that is in progress and has various leads. This is the second biggest project that MRD is dealing with. Because of how big and important it, there are researchers who are working overseas in order to gather the necessary information for this project. Locations: Cairo, Egypt. Sedona, Arizona. M Triangle, Russia. London, England. Tokyo, Japan. Seoul, South Korea.
MRD also has information about celebrities and public figures who are mutants. Politicians, actors, musicians, etc, the government has acquired this information either because the individual is out or from rumors that turned into a thorough research process.
While Xavier and the Omegas were unable to stop Daichi’s team, after learning the contents of the bag, April Honey secretly sends Charles and Han-Byul a message about all of the stolen information.
So now everyone in the Brotherhood, Charles Xavier, and Han-Byul Song know about MRD. HOWEVER, no one else in Xavier Institute or the Omegas are aware of this information ( YET )!
Shoutout to Dub, Marcy, and Maeve for helping with this plot drop and for Spirit and May for letting me use two of their muses! You guys rock!
And as for that last bit of the plot drop,,,, take that as your crumbs for arc two and our skeletons <3
Stay tuned for our second plot drop, you guys are gonna LOVE it.
sometime in early january of 1998. the xavier institute.
The past few months have brought Charles to a conclusion he had avoided for a long time. In the decades since the president acknowledged the existence of mutants, society remained largely the same on the surface. Most non-mutants went about their daily lives, and didn’t spare a thought to the mutants who lived in fear. Charles did his best to give a home to those in desperate need, and slowly push for further tolerance of mutants. Of course, Erik and his plans lingered in the back of his mind, but he foolishly believed he had more time to prepare for what his grand plan would be.
Then, the mayor was shot and killed. The Brotherhood eagerly claimed responsibility, and encouraged a riot in the streets. Weeks later, Rebecca was killed and her head was gruesomely put on display for Halloween. That same night the crowd who watched in horror was stabbed at random. He knew that the Brotherhood had nothing to do with that, but the news pinning the blame on radical mutants all the same. Even after he disclosed the school’s true purpose and held a gala in hopes of bring mutants and non-mutants together, an attack occurred and raised the alarm all over again.
Each event had increased the city’s fear of mutants, which in turn worsened how mutants were treated in their daily lives. That validated Erik’s message of dominance as the only answer to their oppression.
In short, Erik had the upper hand.
That was what Han-Byul and Charles were speaking about today. It was a conversation filled more with contemplative silence than words. That was until Han-Byul voiced an idea he had been saving for a moment like this.
“Every plan of the Brotherhood’s is thought of down to the detail. By the time your teachers or the Omegas arrive, it’s too late,” Han-byul began, as Charles nodded in agreement. “That’s why we need to be there from the beginning.”
Charles found himself unable to respond for a moment. “You aren’t suggesting–”
“I am,” Han-Byul confirmed. “The only way to stop the Brotherhood is to know what they’ll do before they do it. If we have someone on the inside, we can shift our focus to prevention. We can save lives.”
It was true. Right now, the Brotherhood was three steps ahead of them, and held all the advantages because of it. With the few people Charles knew were under Erik and the man himself, he had to admit they were brilliant strategists.
“Which professors do you suggest we send?” Charles asked.
Han-Byul shook his head. “We can’t send people who are known to be close to you, or too attached to the school to leave it. It would register as suspicious immediately.” He took a sip of his tea. “Students and allies of the school are our best bet.”
Shock overtook Charles’ face. It was one thing to ask this of people who had years of training, and could handle themselves in tense situations. But, students? People who helped the school, yet weren’t a part of it and had no formal training? “We would be sending undertrained mutants into a battle that began long before most of them were born,” he argued.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing now in the danger room? What makes this idea any different?” Han-Byul questioned with a raised brow.
A tense silence settled into the room.
Then, Charles sighed. “You’re right.”
The only difference would be when the students would be put into the line of fire. As much as Charles wished things were different, he knew they didn’t have time to waste. “I’d like at least a month to prepare who we send, so they aren’t going in blind.”
“That’s what I was thinking. We’ll need to come up with a way they can relay what they learn without exposing themselves, and how they’ll get in contact if they are in danger,” Han-Byul explained. He would do everything he could to make sure this mission succeeded.
After another few hours of going over details and what they would do next, Han-Byul stood to leave. “Charles,” Han-Byul looked over his shoulder before opening the door to his office. “This plan cannot fail.”
With a humorless smile, Charles asked, “Do you have that much confidence in our plan?”
Han-Byul nodded, “I do.” He looked away before Charles’ smile dropped into a grave expression.
Both men knew that wasn’t what Han-Byul had meant. It was a warning.
If this mission failed, the entire city would feel the consequences of it.
mid-january to february 1998. the xavier institute.
The recruitment process would be quick and messy. There was no space for interviews or going down a list of potential candidates. Han-Byul had given his advice for what type of people to look out for: Adaptable, responsible, and powerful. At least each person should have one of those traits, he had told him.
He rolled through the halls of the institute with those words in mind as he nearly bumped into one of his students who was leaning against a wall. The moment a wheel touched her foot her camouflage wore off, and he could see her clearly–April. While he didn’t get much one-on-one time with all of his students, he still knew all of their names and powers. However, he had never seen April’s camouflage in action.
It was the epitome of adaptability.
Before she could give any explanations or apologize for what she was doing, Charles asked, “You’ve done nothing wrong. But would you come to my office with me, April? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
— — — — — — — —
With one person down and two more to go, Charles mentally went over the list of people he felt would be right for this mission. It was a difficult process–Han-Byul and Charles would be asking a lot of each person. They would act as if they had abandoned all their values, and cut off everyone close to them. No one could know but Charles, Han-Byul, and the three of them; it was for their safety. That didn’t make it any less of a burden.
His thoughts were broken by a small shriek by his secretary, and he quickly pushed himself to the door. Then, he felt the mind behind the door, before he heard his voice giving quick apologies. It was Evan, one of his former students and current recruiter for the school. Despite his frequent visits to the campus, his “entrances” could still give people quite the fright.
Charles considered Evan a large asset, as he was always able to pick up mutants he found and return them safely. He even had a way of calming down and connecting with the especially nervous ones. It occurred to the professor how reliable he was, and how his ability would lend itself well to undercover work.
He opened the door as Evan had his hand up ready to knock, and he smiled at the young man. “Do you have time to talk, Evan?”
— — — — — — — —
Finally, Charles and Han-Byul needed only one more person to round out their group of agents. It had to be soon, and they had to fit within the two people they already had. This decision would be Charles’ hardest one yet.
While doing paperwork at his desk one day, he received a sudden telepathic link from Professor Frost. “Duck,” was all she said, and he followed the instruction just as a plastic ball flew through the glass window next to him.
He looked over in bewilderment, and saw two figures off in the distance. It was Emma and a redhead–Finley, Emma helpfully supplied–who was the one who had accidentally sent the ball in his direction. A few minutes later Finley and Emma were in his office, and she was apologizing profusely.
“I told you he would understand, it’s okay, Finley,” Emma attempted to comfort the nervous woman.
“It really is fine. Worse things have happened,” Charles tried to joke, but Finley still seemed weighed down by guilt.
She was one of the new students at the school, who had joined with her friend. From what Charles knew, she could control the space around her. It was astonishing she could cause an object to fly that distance already. She seemed to have a large amount of power despite little practice with it.
“Emma, would you mind giving me a moment with Finley?” His fellow professor nodded, giving Finley one last shoulder touch before leaving.
“You’re not in any sort of trouble,” he explained to her, which seemed to perk her up somewhat. “Actually, it’s the very opposite, I have an opportunity for you.”
march 1st, 1998. the xavier institute.
Everything was ready. The time was near. Three mutants handpicked by Charles and trained by Han-Byul would take the first step in infiltrating the Brotherhood, and taking it down from the inside.
Charles had told the school a few days earlier the loss of April, Finley, and Evan as allies to the school. They would no longer be welcome at the school, and could even be considered dangerous. It was not the first time he had lied to students and staff alike, nor would it be the last.
Let this betrayal be worth it in the end. Let them all return home unharmed.
march 3rd, 1998. riker’s island.
April had always felt like she was hopping along throughout life at Xavier’s, remaining off the radar, never really gaining the attention of Professor Xavier or the other teachers. Oh, how wrong she’d been. At first, when she’d been asked to go undercover, her first instinct was to laugh in the bald man’s face and tell him he’d been watching too many James Bond movies. But the look on his face had told her that he was being completely serious. So, like any good student, she agreed to be a super-secret spy. Very cool, if she did say so herself.
“Oh, yeah, you’re so cool, April... dumbass,” she grumbled under her breath, waiting for her opportune moment to strike. She’d been laying on the ground for a while now, camouflaged with the carpet, tucked away in a corner. She was waiting for the room to empty a little so that she was left with only 4 or 5 guards to deal with. A few minutes later, the moment had come, and she grabbed the ankles of three of the guys walking past her, yanking them down to the ground. The look on their faces was hilarious, but she didn’t have time to enjoy it before the other guards came running to see what had happened.
Jumping up from her position on the ground, she hopped up onto the desk, sitting on all fours as she extended her tongue. She could tell that they were both disgusted and confused as it came speeding towards them, hitting one in the face and sending them flying backwards, then hitting another. “Uhh, hi, I’m here to check if you guys are able to fight off a mutant,” she said, then shrugged. “Turns out you aren’t. Boo you! Your bosses won’t be happy.” She wondered if she’d done enough for Finley to get in yet. To be honest, all of this was making her stomach do horrible flips.
As a couple of the guards got back up, April shook her head and leapt toward them, landing in front of them. Reaching out, she grabbed their wrists, excreting her paralyzing toxin from her skin. She always felt disgusted whenever she did this. But, needs must, and all that. As she held them, her tongue wrapped around the other men, crushing them tight enough to keep them quiet and unable to move, but not enough to leave them with permanent damage. Fuck, she hoped her toxin wouldn’t permanently paralyse anyone. “So sorry about this,” she whispered, not wanting Finley to overhear her. She didn’t want to seem weak and like she couldn’t handle things like this. For now, she had shit handled... But maybe this whole infiltrating the enemy thing wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought.
— — — — — — — —
Breaking someone out of prison had never been on Finley’s bucket list. Yet, here she was, hiding behind a corner in the prison, waiting for her window of opportunity. None of them had much experience with planning a prison break – surprisingly, it’s not how most people spend their afternoons – but, they’ve done their best to cultivate a plan. Besides, they succeed or end up in prison themselves. Finley liked to think the institute would bail them out, but she’s not blind to the fact that it would certainly give the plan away. And, if Xavier were to choose between three students, and putting a target on the back of the institute, he’d pick the school. Not that she blamed him for that. At least it put pressure on them not to fail.
April was impressively good at distractions. All eyes were on her, and that left Finley open to do her job. It seemed easy enough. All she had to do was get a keycard off one of the employees without them noticing. With her ability, it should be a piece of cake if she could just get eyes on one for long enough. But, as it turned out, a moving target wasn’t ideal for someone as novice as her. If one of these guards could stop moving for all of ten seconds so Finley can focus...
But, with each wild and unruly turn the bodies in the room take, it broke any concentration Finley had. And, subsequently, made her hope for success waver. The thought crossed her mind that she should not have been one of the people Xavier picked for this job. She might be powerful, but she’s inexperienced. April and Evan had been involved with the school so much longer than her and had been trained for years to have the tools to succeed – unlike her who had only been enrolled in the school for a few weeks. The only difference? Her power was unique, and useful. Damn the universe that cursed her with a complex ability. She wouldn’t have been asked to do this if she could do something simple like shapeshift.
The only option was to attempt to creep forward on the desk and hope someone was stupid enough to leave their keycard there. At least that wouldn’t be a moving target.
It’s a bold move, and the blood rushed into Finley’s ears, pulsing so hard that it dampened the sound of all the other chaos in the room. Her stance was low to the ground, red hair tucked into a hat to keep it from looking like a beacon in the sea of balding heads, and dark hair. Finley’s shot to the desk was clear and unoccupied thanks to April.
Frantic eyes dance across the desk. It’s an absolute mess. Files were strewn about the desk with complete disregard. Food wrappers, hangman games, and post-it notes with nonsense were some of the only things she could make out clearly. How much closer could she get to the desk without getting caught?
A few more steps. And then she spotted it. Amidst the chaos, piles of paper, she set her eyes upon the holy grail: A keycard.
Her hand opened up, and eyes squeeze shut for the briefest moment. All she had to do was picture the keycard in her hand and then – there it was. She opened her eyes again, glancing down at the white card now nestled in her palm.
And it all went off without a –
“Hey!”
Her eyes snapped up to meet another Guard’s. And, before she could even think about it, she bolted. All she had to do was meet Evan. If she could get Evan the key card to open the cells, then they’re one step closer.
But the hammering in her chest wouldn’t slow down, and she could hear footsteps behind her. She swiveled around a corner, shoes skidding against the linoleum floor. If she didn’t do something drastic, she knew this would end with her getting caught, and the plan falling apart before it even started.
All she needed to do was buy herself a few seconds of stillness, and maybe she could get herself to Evan without having to outrun a bunch of prison guards. She rounded another corner, eyes scanning for anywhere to hide. A file room, grabbing onto the door handle, Finley slid the keycard through the reader. Once. Twice. Click.
Finley barreled through the door, whipping around to close it in the nick of time. She could hear the sound of the booted footsteps rushing through the hall on the other side of the door. The paces slow to a halt, and she’s sure they’re scanning for her now. Closing her eyes, she did her best to picture the place that Evan was meant to wait for her arrival with the keycard.
The feeling of the door against her back disappeared without warning, and Finley stumbled back a few steps, bracing herself for it to be the guards that had been following her. It wasn’t like it was the most ingenious hiding spot. But, when she opened her eyes, she spotted Evan instead.
A quick glance of her surroundings confirmed that her power had worked. Regardless, the prison knew they were there now. Their window of opportunity was closing, and there was no time to waste. She stuck the keycard out to Evan.
“They know we’re here. I’ll try and give you some more time, but move fast,” Finley warned.
From here, it’s up to Evan. The best Finley could do is hold back anyone who came to check the cellblock while he worked. She braced herself for another first.
— — — — — — — —
He could so very easily remember the day he sat down in Xavier’s office for that meeting. Up until he hit 16 Evan was sure the only goal in life was to drive as fast as he could, make underground history as some sort of prodigy with illegal street racing ... until he’d met Charles Xavier. The dream shifted to becoming an X-Man, fighting for the beliefs and rights of mutants everywhere, for their safety. He’d accepted that role with open palms and a smile so wide that his face hurt for days ... but he’d never expected being asked to do this. Of course, a promise had been made. And while he had his reservations, Evan saw it as a challenge. He never backed down from those.
Getting into the facility for someone like him was a breeze. Of course, it was easier if he knew the building layout, and pouring over stolen plans the night before meant he had dark circles under his eyes. Doing things for the Brotherhood, for Xavier, felt so backward that Evan felt like his head would spin off if he spent too much time lingering on it. So he simply didn’t... everything was broken down into tasks. Task one was being in a position to receive the keycard from Finley. Initiation. He could only be thankful that breaking someone out of prison was the only task they needed to achieve ( as opposed to so many worse options ).
“Hey.”
His voice felt hoarse, throat dry, when Finley appeared. Without seeing someone else he knew in this place he could convince himself it was just a bad dream, but the reality of it came with the feeling of the keycard at his palm, the extension of his arm to receive it. With Finley’s warning. And Evan wanted to suggest maybe she check on April, wanted to tell her to be safe and stay hidden, wanted to ask if she was alright in the middle of this all ... but all he could muster was a lame attempt at humor.
“Fast? I’ll make Speed Racer look like a chump.” And he was off.
Theoretically he could have teleported. If he had the willpower to ensure that he’d have enough energy through it, he could have saved them all a lot of trouble ( and he truly hoped both Finley and April would be safe ). But life didn’t work that way, and teleporting a passenger with him always left Evan feeling less of himself. At least he could thank himself for having boundless energy to run, and with a prayer he kept going.
It was just broken down into tasks. Step one was done: keycard in hand Evan paced through the first ward of the cellblock. Step two was hoping the keycard would work on the barred gates that split the second ward from the first. With a CLICK! he was in, and that was that. Step three was finding Levi - all based off of a photograph given to him by Ezra. And how fucking flippant that entire thing was ... Floor plans flashed in his head while he moved and by the time he came to the end of the corridor where Levi’s cell was estimated to be, the air felt like stinging cold when he inhaled.
“Greetings and salutations. I’m here to pull you out of the depths of hell and show you the light. You may call me your Flight Captain.” Keycard swiped, another loud CLICK! and when the door swung open Evan peered within to ensure the person matched the picture. Thankfully it did, and he reached a hand out to Levi within.
“The Brotherhood sent us. We’re getting you out of here. Hold on and close your eyes because this is going to be really uncomfortable.” He held out his hand, breathless, and readied every part of himself to make the jump. All it would take was contact, but he made sure his grip on Levi was tight ( lest something be lost in translation and how unfortunate that would be ) before he felt that familiar tingle. The swallow of movement, the neon-purple traces left behind.
With a snap they were out of the cellblock. Finley’s location wasn’t safe ( his original plan to pop himself and their mark to her location caput the moment she mentioned the guards knew they were there ) and April’s location was, by virtue of her role, not safe either. So he slipped them just outside of a lone fire escape on the west side of the cellblock, and prayed the prison schematics weren’t out of date. The slap of cold March air let him know they’d made it, and with a cursory glance at Levi he nodded. They could slip to the gate and he’d pop them across easy … or perhaps he’d teleport them into the world beyond the high fence surrounding. The world was his oyster.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Step three done. Step four was praying everyone made it out alright.
IC INFORMATION
Finley Walsh, Evan Stone, and April Honey are recruited as spies tasked to retrieve information on any future attacks by the Brotherhood.
They’ll be relaying information on a weekly basis, updating Professor Charles Xavier and Prism on the goings-on within the Brotherhood’s HQ.
To ensure discretion and the success of this mission, they’ll be asked to (pretend to) sever their ties with the Institute and go incognito in preparation for them going undercover. This means they’ll have to (temporarily) cut off contact with everyone in the Institute and keep the word of their mission a secret.
The three of them will perform a joint initiation task of breaking Levi Crowe out of prison.
Once the spies have broken them out of prison, their mission should commence immediately.
Finley Walsh is assigned to Ezra Shaw
Evan Stone is assigned to Sela Musa
April Honey is assigned to Daichi Kato
OOC INFORMATION
It’s the beginning of the end! Stay tuned for more plot drops and missions 😈
The admins will be giving the chosen Brotherhood members specific plans that the Xavier spies will have to try and extract from them so they can send the intel back to the Institute, which will be done through threads.
Once the spies have retrieved valuable information (i.e. future plans of attack), you can post about it through self-paras.
Whether all spies will be successful in their missions is up to the muns; however we advise that at least two spies will be able to successfully retrieve information.
Muns with Brotherhood members: Your character (for right now) will not have any suspicions or doubts about the spies.
Big thanks to Admin Izzy, Casey, Marcy, and Zed for being awesome writers and collaborating on the first plot drop of the end of arc one!
MISSION OBJECTIVE: through ezra shaw’s (@smitebound) guidance, mark jensen (@suremarkj) and jude harrier (@sawsins) are sent to end the life of a hacker making his money selling mutant information to anti mutants organizations and cults. (click here for the google doc version!)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, snakes, violence, gore, dismemberment, body horror
despite getting the worst of the three missions and being paired with one of the worst folks on the job (hell, if he were being honest, he half blamed getting this specific mission on the guy’s ability -- was he going to be pulling all the weight? in that case, the hell they didn’t just send him on his own for?), mark jenson was a professional. he had a naturala talent at saving scorn until missions -- or anything of the sort -- had been completed. goddamn, was this fucking annoying though. guy whose power didn’t really serve any helpful purpose? guy who would probably rather have a civil conversation with their target than get rid of him? guy who seemed like he should’ve been of xavier’s ilk? yeah. fucking annoying.
but they had a task to complete. find and dispose of matthew bellefield, some dumbass hacker who’d sold enough shit to become a perceived threat. and, sure enough, bellefield was where he frequented: outside of some popular local coffee shop. unspoken words -- they had to get him out of the crowd. with great frustration and his own light idea, mark rolled his head before turning to the other. give him a chance? if jude was going to shine, then now was his time! “you got any bright ideas?”
mark would not be a column on which he could rely, this he’d known long before embarking. he held no misgivings (yet) towards the other man, jude harrier simply knew where he stood in comparison; the pink, untried mouse will always be overpowered by the experienced, starved snake. he rested, patiently, alongside his partner in anticipation, carefully mulling over the options, shifting his shoulders every so often to recentre the weight of his backpack. “which one of us do you think…” a hesitant pause, “is faster?” he had his ideas, though he wasn’t sure if they’d be of any use in practice. slender index finger points to the thick, padded laptop case that rested in the chair adjacent to bellefield, “he’d probably follow anyone to get that back right?”
“ain’t a bad idea, but…” sizing up the crowd, he gave jude a once-over. “don’t think the name of the game’s gonna be who’s faster in a crowd like that. don’t matter if you’re the fastest man in the world – you got any notable features, game over.” he was overthinking it. he knew he was. the likelihood that anyone outside of the man who was going to take his last breath would actually give two shits? would actually bother to file some report? – thing was: if (when) it made the news, they couldn’t risk someone putting two-and-two together.
“you good to go in?” now, this was not necessarily meant to be a dig at jude. it was not necessarily said to imply that jude was more average than himself. but the fact of the matter was that mark was a bulky 6’5” man, whereas jude was a stringbean of average height. “can distract ‘im from back here -- give ‘im a little slithery friend -- so you can get in there with less of a chance of him seein’ you the second you swoop in.” they would need him to see jude’s back, they would need him to see that jude had the computer, but they didn’t need to risk him seeing his face.
jude forced himself to swallow the small rush of heat that ran to his face at being praised; conceitedness was a sin, but his desperation to know he was doing something right was also embarrassing. “i’m definitely less… conspicuous... than you,” not a particular challenge, given that the other was much larger; a veritable brick wall made human. considering that he was not useful from afar, jude knew that if he did not serve as an instigator in some way, he was sure to be left behind in mark’s wake. he had the quick hands and even quicker legs to be the live lure.
“right, yep–” his voice cracked, threw his hood up over his head before he doubled down, more firmly, “yeah, yes. i’m good.” eyes flicked over to his cohort, did his best to keep his gaze surface-level–lest he find too much–then moved to enter the crowd after a few awkward, distancing steps. a relaxed, unaffected gait as he weaved neatly between customers entering and leaving the cafe, finding a spot to pause as close as he could to the table without being in its occupant's line of sight. a deep breath, he braced himself for the chaos of snakes.
mark offered a subtle nod in response to the other’s confirmation – the other’s OK. if he couldn’t use his ability in any helpful way – speaking in combative terms – at least he was alright with being the lamb to the slaughter. – sure, mark wasn’t completely evil. the man annoyed the hell out of him, but he’d been around long enough that mark felt he could trust him with this and, furthermore, that mark knew he would make a point to step in if anything went awry. for the unspoken resentment he held, it was called ‘the brotherhood.’
when jude had made his way just far enough into the crowd for bellefield to miss his face, but catch the action, mark’s eyes flashed reptilian. in a split, a rattlesnake – controlled by mark to not do any real harm, but to cause more of a scare than a common garter – appeared at the man’s feet. after one rattle, bellefield pushed his chair back, a screech, in terror, leaving just enough time and room for jude to swipe the computer.
he waits for it without looking; the first gasp then screech, the grind of metal chair legs on concrete, then he lunged, looping his wrist through the strap on the top. the bag was heavier than jude anticipated, enough that he knocked the chair it was in over as he brought it to his chest, but once it was in his possession he fled. a fast, sporadic gait, but just slow enough that bellefield (and mark)would be able to catch sight of him before he veered into a sidestreet.
leaping to clear several bags of garbage that littered the path ahead, his mind began to race. would mark follow? how would they reconvene? he ducked leftwards into another alley, the backstreets of new york were a convenient maze of tightly packed buildings, and he could hear footsteps behind him. turning his head, he caught sight of bellefield’s flustered, angry face, but before he could register any further, his body clipped the side of a dumpster. jude found himself tumbling across wet pavement palms-first, grimacing as the case he’d held to his body crunched strangely. oh lord, we’re really in it now. one set of footsteps that shadowed him stopped nearby as he struggled to push himself up from the ground, and he could only hope the remaining echoes were mark as the tread of a shoe bit into his back.
mark didn’t take his eyes off of jude for so much as a second, brilling them over just to make sure he wouldn’t miss a thing – not even for a nanosecond. even in the midst of his commotion, his eyes only strayed to check that bellefield had begun following once the little rat man had swiped his laptop – and he had.
thus, in an attempt at remaining inconspicuous, he walked behind. they would not leave his eyesight. he would not let them leave his eyesight. and apparently a fucking good thing too, watching jude crash into the dumpster instead of just hearing it and wondering. before bellefield had any time to make his move, mark checked to see if anyone was around – if anyone could see them ( they couldn’t, thank god ) then held his hand out – simply for dramatic effect, it was completely unnecessary. in a matter of seconds, the man with all the information had turned into a harmless snake.
the man offered some cries that only mark could hear, terrified confusion, deep-seated anger, a knowledge that this was not going to end well. but mark put them all aside, lifting the tiny snake off the ground – lifting bellefield off the ground – and bringing him up to his face to see a shit-eating grin. “this ain’t gonna be enough for a fucker like him,” he remarked, eyes on bellefield’s new form, words directed at a fallen jude, “but it’s a damn good start.” looking around, he waved towards the further end of the alley, beginning to walk calmly down, and continued, “come on, can’t have anyone seein’ us – not yet.”
jude pushed himself upwards on skinned and weeping palms, a little dizzy and slightly pink with embarrassment. he was on his feet just in time to see mark’s retreating figure, and it took him several rushed strides to begin to close the distance until he remembered the computer case through his panic over being left behind, “oh, applesauce, wait.” turned squarely on his heels and went to retrieve it from its place on the ground; he slipped it, damp and dirty, into his own backpack, next to the sandwiches he’d made, then half-walked half-jogged to catch up again.
in mark’s hand the snake was… tiny. it felt wrong to look at the creature and know that it was actually a man; like adam looking at the serpent in eden after consuming the forbidden fruit and knowingit was lucifer. “what… are you going to do?” deal with it, of course, and so jude rewords his thoughts, surprising himself with how level his voice sounded, “wearen’t going to–” he makes a crude and somewhat macabre gesture at the animal, “–while he’s like that, are we?”
“you pick the laptop up?” he called back. - the remains of it, at least. but what could still exist on it? what could still be salvageable? the answer was, to mark’s knowledge: all too much. now paying as little mind to jude as possible, doing nothing more than making sure he could still feel the little rat man behind or beside him, he trudged forth and looked both ways when they got to the end of the alley. he nodded his head to the left, spotting a barn out in the distance. because this is nebraska may thinks (it would be where the guy lives, right? and since atticus is from nebraska…?), may looked up to make sure they have farms because that would be a great place for this… letting his pupils drift back for a moment, just to make sure jude was still following – jude and no one else – he regretted it instantly.
“we’re just gonna have some fun up there,” he replied, not looking back to jude as he nodded – again – towards the barn. but he stopped in his tracks completely and offered jude the most incredulous look at his follow-up question. “what?” …after standing stock-still for a moment, he continued his trek. “gonna turn ‘im human again when we got ‘im somewhere he can’t escape so easy. thrill ain’t that great if it’s simple as a duel with this little guy,” mark continued, holding the snake – bellefield – out to jude with perfect mishandling… because no actual snake was feeling it, just a human man who was actively putting mutants in danger! “too easy.”
he jumped–physically recoiled–when the snake was presented to him; it was bellefield, but jude cringed at the thought of inflicting damage on an animal. he stepped back, out of arms reach, if that was possible, “should you really be–” he looked away, clearly agitated, “what if you dropped him? be careful.” he scrutinized the ground, intent not to look at his partner nor the target being juggled around like a snake-shaped ragdoll.
he maintained the distance between them as they moved, out of taunting distance unless mark made the first move or threwthe creature at him. “might not be an emptybarn,” he added, swapping focus. he had a metal u-lock, a dossier of information he’d been able to dig up from police checks, a butter knife for the peanut butter and jelly, a serrated knife for… persuasionand wet wipes, because murder was messy and so were sandwiches. any interruptions could be prevented if they locked up the barn… “what do we do with him when he’s…” dead?
“take it easy, kid. i’m a pro at snake-handling – ‘sides, i drop him, it’s just a man that gets damaged.” indeed, jude’s concern for the man bemused mark beyond belief – perhaps it would be understandable if he, like jude, couldn’t tell it was a man that was being swung around like jake gyllenhaal swings ferrets a pendulum, but he could and he was going to have fun with it. starting to pretend to half - drop bellefield every other second, each one punctuated by a ‘woop!,’ he figured that if he didn’t get assigned a good mission with a good partner, he could at least make the best of a bad situation!
he rolled his eyes as jude spoke up again, voicing what he considered the obvious. “already thought about that. ain’t like we look like we’re just tryin’ to find a good place.” a good place for murder. obviously. “someone’s in there, we just look like two idiots carryin’ a snake. could probably overpower ‘em if we had to, though.” yes, he was not worried about whoever might be in the barn. there were plenty of things to consider, but that was not one of them!
nodding his head from side-to-side, mark replied, “didn’t get any instructions.” now, if it were up to him, they would do something very dramatic with the man’s dead body… but the brotherhood tended to play by other rules. motioning towards the backpack, he continued, “you got a knife in there right? – we just… confiscate what’s left.”
just a man, just a man, just a man, a mantra jude forced himself through to smother the discomfort he had with manhandling the snake. the snake was bellefield, and if he looked close enough he could still see the ripple, the contortions that accompanied all people with a guilty conscience, the same ones he’d had when he was a man. still, each teasing feint made him flinch, ready to catch the serpent if it fell.
mark had a point; no one knew. no one in this shrink-wrapped, post-card rural town knew their intentions, knew them. jude was still riddled with anxiety. god knew, and nothing was more terrible than that. “alright,” he acquiesced, offering no further objections on the topic of where they were to do what was required of them.
“yes, i do.” he confirmed, flatly, and then, taken by something he couldn’t quite identify, he addressed his partner by name for what was likely the first time the entire mission, “i want to look him in the eyes, mark.”
“alright.” concrete ending and turning into a mixture of dirt and grass, mark had to say that it almost reminded him of home. almost. see, the difference was when he, as leviathan, killed so many folks in his hometown that first time? there was no true rhyme or rhythm behind it, just an instinct forced by a creature who possessed him — a mind that would not match his own for another many years. now? this fucker, so harmless in his hands, was not only getting sentenced to murder in the first degree, but a murder mark knew he deserved.
“you just see people as they see ‘emselves though, right? might gotta go advanced…” trailing off, he flicked reptilian eyes to give jude an understanding. to confiscate with just a knife, they would need more than a regular man’s strength, even if said man possessed more strength than most. to confiscate with just a knife, they may even have to abandon the weapon — the closest thing they would have to a saw — altogether.
mark raised his eyebrows upon hearing jude’s request, stalling to allow time for the other to get beside him. when he did, mark clapped him on the back (perhaps a bit too hard), proud of the little angelic rat. “don’t worry ‘bout that, kid. once we got a place he can’t escape, you can look ‘im in the eyes as… it drains outta him.”
see people as they see themselves…** no, that wasn’t right. did he see down into the heart? the soul? no… jude saw thetruest* parts of a person flayed out, a rendering of all the grease that made mankind mortal, proof of the inheritance of the original sin. when he looked on purpose, when he chewed through the sinew and cut tendons on purpose, he knew the sensation was uncomfortable; knew it made people scream and tear their skin open just to get him out. he knew what it could do to those unrepentant, “yeah,” he nodded, “something like that, at least. sorry, it’s not… useful.”
the clap was enough to stagger him, but through some miracle, he didn’t fall. a foolish question began to form in his mouth, too curious to be stopped, “the snakes… the ones you make. where do they… come from?” inside him somewhere? were they there now, coiled deep within his chest? if he looked would he see scales or just venom; oceans of murky poison. “sorry, i don’t know why i asked, you don’t have to answer that.”
they drew closer to the barn, the doors slightly askew but the inside too shaded for jude’s eyes to make out anything other than darkness, “you probably know better than i do but… i didn’t see any animals in the fields,” just a sea of golden wheat on one side, and open grass on the other. god provided, perhaps the barn was just as barren of life.
it was the answer he’d expected – a let-down in the long run, but if he hadn’t already known it (to some degree, at least), he wouldn’t have asked something so specific. mutations were not just meant for combative situations – hell, there were plenty of mutations that did nothing but change the outer appearance. none of them went unappreciated, all were deserving of the same respect. but in this type of situation? one that was, indeed, combative? was jude even able to make people see themselves as he saw them? could he even employ psychological warfare? – but instead of asking any of the questions he had, mark simply hummed. “least you got the knife. probably wouldn’t’ve even thought to bring it if you had something with a little more… pizazz.” …he didn’t like the guy, but he didn’t wanna make him feel down because of his mutation!
he shrugged at the man’s question, bellefield’s tiny body lifting with his shoulders. “ain’t sure. just an intuitive thing now – i think ‘em, they come.” then, lifting bellefield in a way that exhibited his serpent form’s entire body, he scanned it with his eyes. “they always got a mind of their own – that’s the funny thing. i can control ‘em if i want, but they come outta nowhere and still have their own… thoughts.” – after waxing poetic in response to jude’s simple question (was loving talking about yourself such a big problem… was it…?), he dropped one end of bellefield and allowed him to start swinging like jake gyllenhaal holding a ferret a pendulum again.
“didn’t hear anything, neither,” he responded, gently cocking his head to the side. pushing open the barn door a bit more, he tuned in for any animal sounds that may have been gracing the inside. “don’t think anyone’s in there, but let me go first.” if there were animals? he could reason with them! if there was a farmer? well, he was bigger if they were going to be met with trouble, but also had the ability to simply leave if said farmer posed no threat.
his expression didn’t sour, he simply took mark’s… critiquein stride. “i brought sandwiches,” he’d make one for bellefield, even a vitiated cowarddeserved a last meal, but the ones he’d made especially to be eaten by allies were neatly cut into triangles and wrapped in tinfoil in a lunchbox. “if nothing else i can stand watch,” though probably not as well as mark already could.
an intent listener, he processed each little glimpse into his accomplices’ mutation he was afforded. jude found it difficult to discuss his own; he was born unclean, he had to atone for what he could see in others, but mark’s abilities were… charming? impressive? daunting? perhaps all of the above. idly, he wondered what it would be like to be powerful. he shouldn’t–couldn’t–want for more than he deserved, and what he deserved was just so.
“wait–” he held out his hand, “don’t take * the sn… bellefield.* you might need both hands,” did he need his hands to summon snakes? or did jude simply wish to stop seeing snellefieldbe toyed with like a yo-yo?
mark nodded at the offered words, trying desperately not to laugh. not just for the sake of remaining stealth, but also for the sake of trying to make jude feel… a little bit more useful. jude wasn’t new to the team, mark had no reason to distance himself completely from the other while on a mission (a boring mission, at that). “guess we won’t be winding up peckish.” …don’t mission on an empty stomach? - that was definitely never a phrase he’d heard before, but… maybe it could become one for anyone who had to team up with jude. “nah, backpack was a smart move. you did good.”
jude’s mutation was a curiosity to mark. hell, jude in general was a curiosity to mark. how a man could see the deepest evils, the rot that surrounded everyone, the horrors people may have seen themselves as, all based upon the seven deadly sins and remain a strict christian? he couldn’t fathom it. of course, it had taken himself over a decade to completely – as he would phrase it – ‘deprogram’ from his pentecostal upbringing. but his ability was only related when it came to what folks wanted to see (...save for the resurrection part, that was straight out of jesus’s handbook). if he had directly seen sin, would he have lost faith sooner? he believed so, but if jude was any kind of a case study…
“you really wanna hold this fucker?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he swung bellefield around. “only need my hands if i’m gonna fight someone with my fists. just use ‘em as second nature sometimes.” - that was a total lie. he just used them to look even cooler sometimes. not using them was actually far more second nature.
he bit his cheek lightly to stop the upward quirk of his expression. it truly was embarrassing how easily he felt himself sway when afforded the slightest bit of approval. he focused instead on dropping one of the straps of the bag off a shoulder and keeping his palm outstretched to receive their target.
his offered hand, jude realised much too late, was visibly trembling. perhaps the rush of all the preceding events had finally made it into his body as excess energy, or the pressure of taking a life soon. he forced himself to steady it. “i’ll hold him, just in case,” he’d never touched nor held a serpent, but he assumed it would be much like holding a piece of rope with attitude.
“it’s better if don’t have to pay mind to him while you’re looking around, right?” he probably overestimated the amount of thought mark put having bellefield in his grasp, but jude still wanted him to be able to exert the full breadth of his strength should he have to, fists or magic.
about to (reluctantly) hand jude bellefield's little snake body, he paused for a beat when he noticed the other man's hand trembling. how very cute. -- god knew jude had a lot more to tremble over than just a garter snake that didn't even know how to work its body, much less its mind. "don't matter any which way." nonetheless, he handed him over to jude. "don't worry 'bout him wiggling away or anything -- fucker doesn't know how to work his body. he's just spasmin'." and, with that note, he pushed the barn door open far enough to slide in.
entering the barn, he let brille coat his eyes and scanned the area for any signs of body heat. no animals were talking, so to speak. all he was on the lookout for was man. thus, he continued feeling his way around the barn, studying for any signs that man had been here recently in general. it was rundown, rusted gates, decaying wood...
walking back to the door, he slid it all the way open for jude. holding his hand out for bellefield, he nodded towards jude's backpack and asked, "don't s'pose you got a flashlight in there, huh?" if he didn't? he had felt a few notches that very well could have been light switches (alas, his vision marginally worsened when he coated his eyes, really only good for seeing heat and intimidation tactics, really hadn't been able to make anything out in the relative darkness!) -- it would not be the end of the world if jude didn't think to pack a flashlight... but it sure would make life easier!
“i don’t know why…” a long pause, the surface of snakeskin was cool to the touch, with keeled scales that felt like dappled leather, or the vinyl seats in his old car, “i assumed… a person would just know how to function, even as a snake.” the complete loss of control that being transformed now implied made jude’s stomach clench, and he was glad for mark’s retreat into the dark so he could swallow down the reinvigorated pity he felt towards bellefield.
with the moment of solitude, he lifted the serpent to eye level. there wasn’t much left to identify man, and what was left was a byproduct of jude’s own mutation, the smoking tendrils of guilt–and sin!–that blurred the edges of bellefield’s form. the magic inflicted made it harder to see anything of substance, but he felt affirmed now, and any remorse he felt for mark’s mistreatment faded fast.
“two,” he answered when mark reappeared, “but… i thought snakes could see in the dark,” a juvenile assumption, perhaps, and he passed bellefield over so he could rifle through his bag to find the requested items. one was slightly battered, had occupied in the kitchen drawer of his apartment for longer than he’d even lived there, and it took several abrupt smacks to the palm of his hand to get the bulb to flicker to life, but the other was new, with fresh batteries and a sleek metal chassis. he handed his partner the pristine one, and side-stepped into the barn, illuminating a rusted tractor on the far wall of the building as well as the equally dilapidated ladder to the hayloft, “i should’ve gotten my tetanus shot…”
“nope.” pointing to his head, mark continued, “we don’t think the same way a snake does, brain doesn’t just turn into a snake. if i wanted to, i could tell you everything bellefield is thinkin’. don’t really feel like tuning into that fucker right now, though.” in all likelihood, if he or jude were to drop snellefield (snake bellefield), he wouldn’t move at all. he would just sit, limp, a literal snake in the grass, until they picked him up again. it was even an adjustment period for mark! and he could turn full snake, if he so pleased!
(a little lacuna for you all, because mark’s adventures in the barn have already been described well enough.) taking snellefield back, mark offered a single nod. “good.” it couldn’t hurt for the both of them to have a flashlight, after all. but, as jude shared his assumption, he nodded his head back and forth. “not exactly.” once jude was inside the barn, mark shut the door so that they were in near perfect darkness. to dramatically demonstrate, he took the better flashlight and flicked it on. turning to jude, he brilled his eyes over. pointing the flashlight at himself, as if he were about to tell some campfire story, he said, “see, now my vision’s worse, but i can see heat. handy way to look for life in a place like this.”
returning his eyes to normal, eyes adjusting to the slightly lit darkness, he continued, “doesn’t matter anyway. once we can get ‘im somewhere good in here, he’s gonna be human when he dies.” looking jude head-on, forcing eye contact, he punctuated, “and you’re going to look into his eyes as he takes his last breath. i’m not about to deprive you of that.”
“see heat…” a foreign concept to jude, he tried to downplay his keen fascination in fear that it might come off uncomfortably–like surveying an animal from behind acrylic windows at a zoo. his interest was amicable, well-meaning, he’d never had a frank discussion with anyone about what they could do, the beauty of their mutation, and mark’s openness served to tug at the tight knot of self-disgust in his chest, “the tongue, too? you can smell… with your tongue?”
jude doesn’t offer a reply beyond a nod, the admiration swiftly turning cold. he flicked his flashlight across the back surface of the barn, across several empty stalls laden with rope crossties and closed by heavy-looking sliding doors, “they must’ve kept horses,” jude stepped over wood debris and dense rectangular hay bales to try one of the doors, putting all his weight into it only for it to creak and for rust to flake from the grille into his hands. he yanked it again, just to see if it would give a little, and it did, though not in the way he expected–the metal bar he pulls popped cleanly from its spot, weld and surrounding wood having decayed enough that it could not bear even jude’s meagre strength.
“uh, mark?” he gestured with his newly acquired piece of metal, “we could… probably do it in one of these.”
“mhm. even when i’m not playing snake, got a better sense of smell using my tongue. don’t exactly look normal for a grown man to be flicking his tongue out in the air, though.” not that he even preferred to qualify as ‘normal’ – mutant and proud! – but that was a degree of strange that even he thought was taking it too far. not to mention, he didn’t exactly need to use his sense of smell in his everyday life – it wasn’t something imperative.
mark meandered over to jude, flicking his flashlight around to get a better sense of the barn than he’d been able to with heat. to the outsider, he likely looked like he was in an episode of scooby-doo! hay bales, a few stalls… reaching the rat man, he shook his head. “we’d be prying off the hinges. guy’s not gonna be able to do anything for long, but better to not risk it.” thus, with all the confidence in the world, mark switched form and began tugging on the stall himself, trying to break through the rust without breaking the hinges themselves.
when the door opened, courtesy of an ability combined with more strength than jude… he lifted! – mark tossed snellefield in the stall and shut it behind. “get ready!” and, with such little warning, he turned bellefield back into a human being, ignoring the sounds of protest, and turned his arms and legs into garter snakes that toppled the man-thing over. “not going anywhere any time soon now.”
a screech of metal and rust as the door was dealt with, he doesn’t look, as if seeing the altered form of his partner was akin to seeing him nude, stripped bare–jude afforded him the same dignity, only returning at mark’s warning.
the form bellefield became upon reaching the clayen form was grotesque–jude could no longer tell if it was him or mark’s doing, a mangled carcass dripping with sand and writhing with snakes. he blinked, frantically, and the form changed, a man with colubrid limbs. he dropped the loose bar he’d pulled free from the door, inching as close as the wood allowed. “that’s really… fucked,” he let slip, immediately covering his mouth with his free hand, “sorry,”
slowly, jude slipped a hand into his bag, feeling for the smooth leather of the sheathed hunting knife and withdrawing it once found. did he hand it to mark? that felt like an insult, the man could simply turn bellefields heart into a snake, killing him then and there. he held it, awkwardly, “should i get in there with him or would that be…” a mistake? what could ol’ snakelegs mcgee do to him?
leaning against the stall, mark left his flashlight directly on the monstrosity he had turned bellefield into. a body that couldn’t stand up, limbs non-existent and crawling in different directions. splitting the mind as it tried to split the body. all hatred bellefield was almost brave enough to spew, all pleas he was almost desperate enough to cry out, were dampened by the yowls caused by a sensation even worse than becoming a snake.
“he ain’t gonna do anything to you,” mark replied with a very proud chuckle. “you wanna go do something, go right on. he ain’t in a good place to fight.” or, to fight well, at least. catching a glimpse of the knife, a flitting shine in the darkness, he held out an arm to stop jude before he want in any further. “don’t kill ‘im yet, though. just killing him would be too easy, too nice.”
…
siren would later find them in the middle of killing matthew. despite her best efforts to stop the pair, she was overwhelmed and seemingly left for dead. at least, mark believed she was dead, after jude checked and confirmed it. that was a lie. he’d shown mercy when he found she was wearing a cross necklace. atticus bellefield, the hacker’s brother, stumbled upon the scene as he was tracking down his lost sibling. he tried to heal him, but it was too late and he’d expended too much energy, passing out alongside the superhero.
