Torn Arms and Brain Blasted

December 12, 2015:

More Reavers hit M-Town but a group of 'heroes' stop them before they get too far.

M-Town - New York

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…

Mutant Town is often the target of hate attacks… and the last few months things have been getting progressively worse. First Purifiers, than the SRD, and now Reavers. X-Red have been keeping watch on the situation and get early notice of a group of 6 Reavers - the biggest group seen yet - on the outskirts on the District.

Responding quickly, Brins sent out messages to her contacts in SHIELD and the TITANS. She's also sent a message to Audrey, who although not a member of X-Red any longer, still helps out when she can …

The Reavers are making a mess … spraying the street with laser weapon fire and shooting anyone who gets in their way.

Brin is currently down on street level, directing people away … using her glowing green and gold shield to provide some cover "This is Mana" she speaks into her comms unit "we're taking heavy fire down here. I've got approximately 25 people to get the safety."

Picking a child up as it stumbles, the brunette encourages the group she's with to move.


Jesana has a special interest in M-Town and a special rage for Reavers and Purifiers. The demigod had just barely managed to refrain from joining the fray the last time she'd seen these assholes. Controlling her more violent impulses issn't something she's very good at in this kind of situation.

The native american woman seems to have come prepared, at least in part. She's not wearing armor, just jeans and a man's flannel shirt tied around her midrif. She doesn't even have shoes on. What she does have is one of the Reaver's laser assault rifles. Jes had taken it from one of the ones she had killed. It's got to be more effective against these pricks than her little hand gun. As tempting as it is to just charge in shooting, Jes catches sight of Brin and the child and changes course. No one is killing children in front of her. She'll help cover these people while they flee.


For the most part, Roberto da Costa isn't putting himself in harm's way or the public eye lately. There's a lot to be lost on both fronts: he looks like an emaciated shadow of himself, and his powers are at a fraction of their current expected norm.

Still, civilian mutants coming under attack from cyborg assassins? It's hard to say no to such a setup.

So it is that mere minutes after the general alert went out, a pure black figure ringed with fire slams onto the pavement between Brinley's group and their pursuers. Sunspot hasn't been in real action in months, but he's not going to get a better motivation to break that trend than this. His armored form lifts up from a three-point landing, snorting out fire-laced breath, and grins inscrutably at the mercenary group. A stray laser blast catches him on the shoulder, easily absorbed into his solar corona as a tasty little photonic aperitif.

"Trazem," he says, beckoning with both hands without moving from his broad, stable stance.


Leonard Snart grips the collar of a local fence - a mutant named Ernie Weisfeldt - in the back-room of a pawn shop… right here in Mutant Town. Leaning over the little desk, Snart breathes through his nostrils, sending out little clouds of hot air as he stares down his contact.

"I don't like having to repeat myself," he tells Weisfeldt in quiet, deadly tones. "What happened to my money? Rogues don't cheat Rogues… and live."

Weisfeldt stammers. "I-I didn't do it, Boss - I swear! The couriers were in-intercepted b-by, by…"

"By what?" Cold asks in chilling tones.

Weisfeldt looks out the window at the havoc being caused by Reavers, and pales… "B-by them, Boss. They killed our guys - 'long with a bunch o' others."

Cold lets his fence go, and turns his head to look out the window. Seeing what is going on outside, he glowers and ice runs up his veins as he stalks to the back door.

"Did they now…"


Deathstroke does not care about Mutants. Just to make that clear before anything which may or may not occur in the near future were to leave some with misguided notions about Deathstroke's beliefs or motivations… he does not give a single fraction of a fuck about the plight of mutants. That said… a few of them tend to have the gift for quality craftsmanship and /that/ Deathstroke can respect. If you're going to do a job, you do it right. Period. Plus good help is stupid hard to find, trust him, he's been recruiting.

For the last four decades he's taken his more delicate work to a single craftsman… or woman as the case may be. Milinka Bojivila, a Serbian refugee he saved as a child just shy of fifty years ago, and brougt to the states. People then thought it was because he was soft, it wasn't. He saw her sketch a firing mechanism in the burning dust of her home as a child of 4. Genius recognises genius. Milinka was a mutant, she was in Mutant Town before there was a Mutant Town, a place Slade set up for her before MT grew up around her, and she's been happy there. Husband, four kids, a little workshop, a generous salary from her benefactor, life is good. Was good.

Four seconds ago a focused beam of crimson light burned a hole through the window of her shop, two interior walls, a steel security cage, and her face, turning her head into a fine mixture of pink mist and burnt smoke. She had just handed Slade Wilson her newest alteration to one of his prized weapons, an adaptation she'd made to further compensate for his single eye'd vantage point.

Four seconds later six feet four inches of muscle bound Slade Wilson is stepping out into the street with a Vector to his shoulder, it's muzzle spitting fire at the nearest Reaver's face in a stream of almost impossibly controlled fire. He walks fearlessly towards them, armorless, maskless, his camelhair coat billowing behind him as the gun chatters away spitting brass into the street like rain drops while his grinding teeth are bared behind the newly adjusted custom sites. Slade doesn't have many people he'd call friends.


Mana. May. ETA twenty seconds. Which means the sound of a VERY rapidly approaching motorcycle must be May. She's beyond sick of these damned Reavers terrorizing completely innocent people, and with this most recent call-in, she actually swiped some poor agent's motorcycle from the parking garage to get here faster. She'll file the expense report to reimburse the agent.

Approaching from the direction that Brinley has everyone fleeing toward, she swerves the motorcycle (okay, she normally hates 'racing' bikes used as street commuters, but she can't begrudge this little Kawasaki's get up and go now that she needs it) around the panicky group, gooses the throttle so she zooms right past Jesana and Sunspot, then very intentionally turns the bike into a slide, aiming the vehicle's momentum at the Reavers. Yes, this is gonna hurt like hell, but if it takes even one of those bastards down, it'll be worth it.


One Reaver turns it laser fire on Sunspot, clearly accepting his invitation. As the Reaver draws near, a large serrated blade appears on one hand and tries to swipe at Warm Twin.

As Cold emerges from the backdoor, he attracts the attention of another… laser fire rips towards him and tears holes in the building around him. A second continues to stalk towards Jes.

Slade, lucky, good looking, man that he is, gains the attention of two of the Cyborgs. His fire making dents in the metal bodies, a few finding purchase in the rents and gaps that naturally occur.

Mays sideways skid, knocks one flying … it's down but not out, it will take a few minutes to get back up.

For now, with the others scene, Brin continues to usher the evacuees.


"Holy Fu-uh-enris!" Jes blurts as Sunspot lands by her and Brin. Looking at the Reavers, she hadn't seen him coming and automatically whirls and aims her rifle at him. Only then he's being shot at by a Reaver and it seems to have no effect. Jes blinks, turns back just as swiftly and aims a burst of laser fire at that particular Reaver's face. She really hates these assholes. Then a motorbike goes hurtling past and Jesana blinks again. Was that May? Jes squints. And some crazy guy walking straight towards the enemy. Ookay. Her nostrils flare but she can't even catch a specific scent in this mess. Hopefully he knows what he's doing. Her eyes flick towards Cold next. Again, he seems focused on Purifiers and Reavers too. "How's it going there Brin?" Jes doesn't risk a look over her shoulder.


Sunspot gladly accepts the oncoming laser fire into his field of solar absorption. With the attack concentrated on him, it's less of an aperitif, more of a liquid dinner. Drunk with solar power, he grabs the wrist attached to the bladed arm, holding it aside with superhuman strength long enough to place a palm against the Reaver's face and let loose with a focused radiation blast. Hope he doesn't have any sensitive tissue anywhere on the front of his head. Or inside his head.

The X-Man doesn't take much notice of anyone else who happens to take issue with the Reaver incursion. It's only to be expected that M-Town's powered residents will resist the attack, and frankly, the less he knows of his allies in this fight, the less he'll ever be expected to tell about them. He may be a fully public mutant, but that doesn't mean he doesn't understand the need for discretion where other people's identities are concerned.


Panic.

Chaos.

These are the things Cold had expected to see when he looked out the window. He was not disappointed. The arrival and intervention of law enforcement agencies - ever predictable in their duties, at least some of them - had also been expected. No, the surprise of the hour had come from a lone man walking out into the midst of battle - with seemingly a death wish on his mind as he now takes the fight back to the Reavers. As Cold steps out of the pawn-shop and heads to the corner, Weisfeldt sticks his head out the door and calls out:

"Boss, this is a bad idea. Boss!" The fence ducks back as laser-fire hits the walls around him, showering the area in rubble.

"Then stay there, if you like," Cold replies - and promptly freezes Weisfeldt's door closed. With Weisfeldt in it. "You'll be fine…"

Captain Cold makes his way out into the open, and takes a moment before committing to a course of action (being shot at is also a good reason to duck behind cover, also). These things cost him a lot of money today, and the lives of some of his people - granted they were just couriers, but a Rogue's a Rogue… As laser-fire strikes the building next to which he stands, the master of ice and snow (as he likes to think of himself), steps out:

Torrents of absolute-zero blast forth from his bare arms, striking the ground some feet away from a parked 4-wheel drive vehicle. As soon as the ice reaches beneath the car, it blasts upward - lifting the vehicle into the air, skewering it with myriad icicles, and propels it on a trajectory straight for the nearest Reaver…

Cold smiles.


Deathstroke's growl of rage doesn't abate just because his stream of fire seems to ping more then squelch when it strikes his targets, he merely adjusts his aim, pulling it upward and leaning into the weapon, zeroing in on the face of one of the two Reavers who's turned to face him. He almost hopes they have facial req software in their kit. He wants them to know what's coming for them.

The Kriss's tremble against his shoulder is straight up ignored as his grip on the weapon tightens and he almost effortlessly keeps the weapon's muzzle on target as he continues his quick but unhurried walk towards his targets.

The weapon clicks shut suddenly, the barrel glowing a visible pink color and smoke rolling off of it's muzzle. He drops the weapon with one hand while the other is already coming up with a pistol that looks heavy enough one could use it to bludgeon their way to the inside of an amored car. It barks in heavy woofs of sound, no slower then the Kriss was but with far greater volume. By the time the slide locks back on that weapon he's withing reach of the first Reaver and his hand closes around the cyborg's wrist, "You killed my friend." the words more snarl then language.


Melinda May uses the momentum of her sliding along with the motorcycle to roll to her feet and rush the Reaver that the motorcycle knocked over, pulling taser batons that are usually Morse's wheelhouse as she does so. As soon as she's within reach, she 'stabs' the Reaver with both batons and shocks him with the tasers on full zap. This had BETTER keep the bastard down.


Jes's laser fire takes the Reavers the head off, there's not much left of that really… The heads still being mostly organic, that was a good move on Coyotes part.

Sunspots burst of radiation does the trick, frying the Reavers brain … he's not dead perse, but he will never be coherent again and certainly won't be causing problems for the mutants again. Berto will have to restrain it for the authorities, it's still flailing.

Cold should smile … that vehicle flips as it's skewered with icicles … and lands on the Reaver, knocking it down. The thing pushes the vehicle from it, only to find it's skewered by the icicles as well. It starts to rise, very slowly - these things are hard to kill!

The Reaver that Deathstroke just shot in the face, drops. It's not going to be killing anymore of his friends. The second one, takes the shots aimed at it… hyrdaulic fluid starting to leak from the arm that Slade just grabbed - but it's the other hand he has to worry about - a whirring sound should reach his ears, as a saw blade appears swiping visciously toward him.

May batons stab into cracks in the armour, shorting out electrical systems. The Reaver takes a punch at the Agent and then shudders to a stop.

"Doing alright, Jes." The evacuees are handed off, the child handed over to an EMT, and the brunette X-Red member turns to survey the scene …


She's met Bobby, briefly and that isn't him. Jes stares for a second at Cold and nearly gets hit with a blast of Reaver fire. She's fast though and manages to skid aside..mostly. "Sonofabitch!" She hisses. Burns suck and there is a rather wicked one across her right side now. It's gonna be fun explaining that wound to Dusty later. Right now she needs to focus though, push the pain aside but not too far. She needs to remain in control. There's no one here with the words to stop her if she goes psycho-coyote woman.

Snarling, she is pissed after all.. Jes stops paying attention to the others and starts taking serious aim at not just the Reavers but the Purifiers too, at least the ones still standing. Actually she even shoots the ones that are already down. She isn't one of the law enforcement officials. She'll cheerfully kill every damn one of the bastards if she can and then dance on their damn corpses singing a song of victory. These bastards are trying to kill children. Children! And her daughter is a mutant. They must be stopped. They deserve a lot more than a quick death but right now it will have to do.


"Ugh…I blasted its brains out," Roberto complains in a distinct Brazilian accent as he grapples with the Reaver's autonomously struggling body. "It's like a cockroach. It should stop wriggling once you smash it." By sheer physical force, he manages to restrain the bladed limbs, getting a few cuts himself as he does so. (There's only so much care you can take to grab a flailing cyborg arm by something fleshy rather than metal and edged.)

Once he is holding the limbs in place, the servos struggling against his superior mutant strength should blow themselves out. "This is really disgusting," he comments, shoving the now-immobile body aside. "You'd think human supremacists could at least be regular humans."


Snart almost turns away from the Reaver he just hit with the car. Almost. As the cyborg slowly claws its way out from under the skewered vehicle, Snart's smile hardens. "The tougher they are…" he murmurs aloud, glancing sidelong at Wilson and then at the SHIELD agents and other heroes fighting back. Kinda/sorta on the same side. Ish.

Rather, against the same side - that would be more accurate to say.

"The deeper the chill," he mutters and darts out into the open street. "If I get caught I'll never hear the end of it…" But Cold does not quite run at the downed Reaver. Instead he runs to a streetlight, laying an icy hand upon it. At the same time, he stamps his foot against the ground and watches as thick tendrils of ice shoot along the sidewalk and across the street —

— to another two streetlights.

Icicles form on all three of the high poles and the ground around them. The globes at each end build up with frost until three spears lance down all at once, striking the Reaver in its head, chest and leg through the car on top of it.

It looks rather like a three-fingered hand reached up out of the ground and impaled the cyborg on its fingernails.

And there's a convicted criminal standing out there in the middle of the street.


Slade Wilson's forearm bunches and his fingers tighten on the wrist he holds, so tightly that he can feel the bones crack, break, then shatter. The whirring noise is more then enough to give Slade warning and he moves his head back by a fraction of an inch, watching the weapon flash by in front of him. He catches the wrist as it slips past, his fingers digging into the joint, "You killed my friend!" he snarls again, stepping forward and planting his foot in the center of the cyborg's chest. Then his back arches, his shoulders bunch, and he pulls back on the limbs in each hand while stepping outward with his foot. Hard. Harder then any human should ever be able to do.

He stares the Reaver down as he does this, the cold rage in his blue eye uncompromising.


May does indeed manage to down the Reaver she'd targeted, but not before the thing gets a swing in at her, bashing her a good one and knocking her against a nearby car. That, on top of her rather ostentatious entrance, means she's down for at least a few seconds longer than she cares for. Damnit. Ow.


The street is a mess. Facades burnt away by laser fire, the bitumen torn up… in the middle of it all lay six Reavers … some still alive, some dead and dismembered.

"This is Mana, the street is secure." There's still clean up to be done, but with the Reavers out of the way, the EMT's and Police can do their thing.

Seeing May thrown against the vehicle, the quiet brunette walks over to her, just holding a hand out "You socked it to him good, Agent May. Thank you for your speedy response." Her next attention is for 'Berto and she casts Warm Twin a small grin. "Back in the saddle, Sunspot. How does it feel?" of course, she's checking how his emotions 'feel'.

Jes, Slade and Cold all get a nod. If they want to stick around, they can. But she's well aware that not all heroed (sorry Cold) like the attention that comes from the Authorities.


Coyotes are territorial. The Tri-Cities and the areas in between are all far greater a distance than a lone coyote, even a demigod such as her could ever hope to hold. They also belong to Fenris. So instead of land, Jesana has come to count the people she cares about as her territory. She doesn't tell them this and honestly wouldn't care what they thought if she did. It's part of what she is. May is her friend and Fenris's friend and so Hers. And that asshole Reaver just hurt her. Jes stalks over and makes sure the Reaver May knocked down dies. She desperately wants to kill the rest but.. May.. she isn't that far gone yet. May is hurt. Jes can't quiet the rumbly growl coming from deep in her chest but she stays right by May's side after setting her laser rifle down on the hood of the car.


As far as Roberto can tell, that's it for Reaver targets in the immediate area. Giving the other fighters a quick nod of acknowledgement and appreciation, he brushes a bit of soot off of his burnished metal chest plate.

"I don't think I was too bad," he tells Brinley when she asks him about his reentry into heroing. The false modesty is hard to miss. "This guy might disagree. Eventually. With some reconstructive surgery." The humor is a bit gallows for Roberto's usual irrepressible optimism, but it's not inaccurate.

The X-man speaks in rapid Portuguese into an earpiece, and then vanishes into a stepping disc. He's going to focus his efforts elsewhere for the time being, striking wherever the M-Town attackers have advantage (which, here, they don't) and wherever there's an opportunity to take it from them (which, here, they already have).


Slade Wilson's lips peel back farther from his teeth as he feels the bones twist and pop, feels the wires, sinews, and bolted steel of the cyborg's body begin to tear free of it's fleshy housings. There's a final growl and he gives one final jerk, blood and machine fluids suddenly spraying around as he finishes tearing the arms from the screaming cyborg man. He stands in front of the man, both of the limbs dropping from his fingers with a mix of wet and metalic sounds, plops and plinks, as he stares at the Reaver. The shrieking is annoying. "Shut up." he says are he reaches out impulsively and with an expert twist of his hands turns the screaming creature's head a full 180 degrees with a muffled crack and cranking noise. The screaming dies away instantly. He turns his back on it then, apparently done with his work, passes his gaze once over the scene behind him, and then walks calmly over to pick up the two weapons he dropped on his approach.

He ignores the nods from random people, the looks of fear from others, bothering only to give Agent May a small smirk of recognition as he walks past her, "May." he says almost conversationally, blood and hydraulic fluid splattered across his cheek. He doesn't slow though, and merely walks on, back towards the building he stepped out of only moments before. He has work to do.

Five days later Slade stands in front of brownstone, three story, a bit squashed verticlly, but in a nice neighborhood. He holds the keys out to the man standing beside him, a red eyed man of about sixty who stares at the house with the blasted expression of a man who's still struggling to come to grips with something. "It's yours." Slade says simply as the keys are taken by a numb limp hand, "Free and clear." he eyes the man for one more moment and his expression hardens, "It's been a week Fredrick," he says in a rumbling baritone, "it is time to cease your grieving. Your family needs you, Anastasia will need you most of all. Time for self pity has passed." the words are harsh, but the tone is… well not soft. More like neutral. The man blinks twice, then clenches his jaw and his shoulders straighten, "Da." he admits. Slade claps him on the shoulder once, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to make the man stumble, "I will visit again when she is ready to take up her mothers work." the man shoots Slade a worried look, "Da." he says again, resigned, but strong. "Zbogom." Slade finishes, turning to go. Under his breath where no one else can hear he adds softly, "My friend."


Melinda May nods to Brin slightly when she stops next to her, but doesn't get up immediately. She is going to be one giant bruise tomorrow. And… ow. That's very likely a dislocated shoulder there. She does, though, call in to HQ over her commlink to let them know that support teams would very much be appreciated. "… possibly civilian casualities." For anyone that doesn't know her well, she sounds … Vulcan. As if completely unaffected by all of the goings on.

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