legionworld | THE MIND SLAYER

THE MIND SLAYER

She's been setting this up for weeks now. It's almost too easy with how trusting these Legion fools can be. If they'd only taken her seriously, if they hadn't laughed at her then... Well, things would be different. Now they'd welcome her with open arms. After she killed a few of them, of course.

This has to be done up close. She'd taken a job as a waitress in the mess halls. The older Legion, the ones who'd been at her tryout, didn't even recognize her. They deserved this more than their replacements. She almost feels sorry for them. But, no, she had to move before Saturn Queen went to trial in a few days. Meta, Esper, she's Esper now, can't risk any more time. If it's to be done, it has to be done now. She'd rather be further away, but her mental range isn't as long as she'd like. Tucked away into a dark corner of Legion World, she stood across from her costume. Heroes wore costumes, and she couldn't call herself that while doing this, but she could still draw strength from it.

She watches it, imagining how she'll look in it, and shivers. Nerves, she tells herself, glancing at the trigger device in her hands. "I'm sorry," Esper whispers. "But I deserve this." With the press of a button, the nanofactories kick into high gear and, for over a dozen Legionnaires, the lights go out. Whatever they're doing, their physical bodies instantly collapse and slump over, as if they're in a coma. Anyone coming too close, entering her psychic range, joins them.

They awaken almost instantly, finding themselves in a hellish amalgam. Parts of their worlds slammed together to make some twisted patchwork reality. And, like Oz himself, Esper's head appears above them, smiling with forced confidence. "You deserve to know what's happening, Legionnaires. My name is Esper! And you're locked into your own mindscapes. I've seeded you with teletechnology designed to tear your minds apart! It will be painless, mostly, but the weakest among you will fall to your own memories as my machines convince your subconscious that you shouldn't be alive." She drifts back a little, examining the group. "And, linked like this, if one of you falls, all of you die. Don't resist and make it more painful for yourselves. Just surrender and make it painless and easy for your friends. And don't try anything stupid. I'll be watching."

With that, she slides out, making sure her mindfield keeps people away from this section of Legion World, and that those who are still awake haven't noticed the heroes dropping like flies.

But she'll be back. And her machines have already set to work.

[[If you wish to have your characters discuss matters, set up your comments in the mingle post! Otherwise, make new toplevels for every mental scenario you'll work with.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For the short amount of time that Tucker had been around, there had been a gratuitous amount of flirting and a reckless surface veneer, enough that it made the idea of his own memories a fearful path to tread. Funny enough, there was a distinct lack of females in them, no parties, no flirting. There was a boring base, something that looked old, abandoned and forgotten, aside from a few blue banners hanging off the walls. Somewhere in the heart there would be a flag on a short pole, but no one really knew why it was important.

The base, though, had a tall, free-standing doorway on the roof, with green light where the door should be. Teleporter. Tucker hated them because they made him nauseous and the black stuff on his armor was a pain, but hey, maybe someone else would have better luck.

There was just...

It's hot. It's so goddamn hot. Yesterday was hot, today was hot, tomorrow - if he lived that long - would be hot. The nights were cold as balls, but he was just glad he got to live through them, because by all accounts now he should have been dead. The excavation crew certainly was, long since gone and slaughtered, and Tucker was the last, a stupid ambassador that had a responsibility to aliens and to humans both.

You know, since he was in between.

Tucker sat just inside the door of the desert alien temple, helmet hanging from his fingers. It was cooler to keep it on, but he wanted the fresh air even if it was stale here. On the wall, small little lines - four vertical and one diagonal cutting through them - were clustered in dozens, beside a Tucker was here, motherfuckers crudely sketched into the rock. He had been here a long, long time, long after the ration bars ran out, but good thing the assholes outside had enough to "share" before he had to resort to space rats or some shit.

Whatever, that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the echoing silence, the way he had pleaded over the goddamn airwaves for hours, for days, for weeks and no one got back to him. The way he had laughed a little at the beginning, made jokes, and those dwindled away to fear, to desperation.The way not one gave a shit. The way no one followed up, not even Church, or the reality that Caboose hadn't stumbled over him yet with that stupid fucking luck of his.

There was no one. It was pretty sad when the only people talking to you either threatened to blow your head off or was just yourself. And loneliness could break down the strongest of support beams.

He hated being alone, he realized. He fucking hated it, that people hadn't fucking cared enough to help him, hadn't even fucking thought of him--

Sand got into the worst places, too.

God, he was so fucking over the goddamn desert. It was bullshit, utter goddamn bullshit, and no one was coming. No one was fucking coming, no one was ever coming because they had all abandoned him. Assholes. Goddamn assholes, the government, the aliens, his teammates. The sword lit up in his hand as he shook it out, the helmet back on.

He was going to die in here anyway. Might as well go out like a bad ass and take as many of those assholes with their fancy ass turrets and big machines as he could, right?

The temple shook as he heard a round hit the door. Deep breath.

Time to go to war.

It certainly was. The guys manning the perimeter outside the temple definitely looked ready for it. They seemed confident, too. Like they weren't expecting too much of a fight.

Which, in Garrus's mind, begged the question of why they brought so much ordinance to storm what looked like an abandoned temple in the middle of nowhere. Seemed a little excessive for breaching the door.

He's not complaining though. Sure, the gun emplacements made this risky, but everyone being so focused on the temple meant that no one had spotted the armored turian sneaking around their back lines. Whatever they were doing, they could keep it up. As far as he's concerned, all it does is give him an opportunity to find the mental generator and take it out.

At least, that's what he was thinking up until he saw a glint of familiar teal.

"Oh, hell ..." He mutters.

This was a little different, something brighter than the inside of a desert alien temple, patches of grass and outcrops of rock mixed in with the manmade bases, of tubes, and a temple behind that jutted into the air. Tucker felt good, felt better than good; the shit that was going to happen here was either going to kill them or fix one of the biggest problems this war had created: communication.

He just needed to get through this asshole in the orange and grey armor first. He might even be familiar to some of those around here.

Tucker tightened his hand on the sword, trying to ignore the questioning doubts that crawled up his spine - No, it's just... Feels like every choice I make is the worst. - and tried to settle into this. This was better. This was a plan. It was his plan. It was totally going to work.

...right?

He tightened his hold on his weapon, swung it - way too open, way too wide, he had to, he knew he did even with the feeling of fucking Epsilon there panicking silently - and Felix side stepped him. It was all about inflating that already dangerously sized ego, getting him cocky enough to talk, not that it would take much. Fuck, all he wanted to do was punch the dickslit in his stupid smug face.

You were supposed to be my friend, asshole! When everyone else was gone, when even Church and Wash were gone. The bitterness made him nauseous.

"Ow, you dick!" Tucker yelled, stumbling, and he felt Epsilon's worry climb up, but he was fine fine, seriously, chill out, while Felix did what Felix did best: be a cocky dick. He half-listened to him drone on -

"God, I really just want to savor this. You know, once the Feds and rebels kill each other, I don't know what I'm going to do. I mean, we've been playing these guys for years. How do you just walk away from something like that?"

Tucker watched him waving the knife, pointing it as emphasis. He was glad the visors were opaque enough that Felix couldn't see him rolling his eyes, then stopping as he saw the Reds and Blues in position higher overhead, ready for their part. Cool.

"What happened to retirement? Tucker snapped back, because they needed a few more minutes, come on--

"Oh, yeah," he said and fuck fuck fuck did Tucker want to beat in this asshole's face. These fucking inflections, how did he not know Felix was this big of a tool before? "Well, I'll be stinking rich but I'm still in my prime! There's so much more I can do."

Cool. They were almost in position and-- "Keep talking, asshole."

"Well, the thing about that is, ah...oh. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Tucker knew it. Felt it. Shit was going right and wrong and his friends were fucked and he had to hope like fucking hell that Felix didn't--

"You know I just realized I haven't seen your pals in awhile. I wonder if they're trying to get the jump on me."

He heard Simmons yell in that squeaky voice of his as Felix fired the sticky detonator. Tucker needed to go, needed to fucking gogogogo even when he could feel Epsilon wanting him to staystaystay. Felix was still armed, Felix was still fucking armed with that goddamn knife, but the guys needed him, all of the assholes. They all needed him and Shut up, Epsilon! I got this!

One step, two steps, a loud "No!" bursting from his lips, Felix's knife foolishly ignored.

He hadn't been here for this, but he'd heard about it at length after the fact. Felix always did like to play with his food.

As a mere shadow in this memory, there was nothing he could do to prevent Tucker from running forward, from pursuing this memory to its natural conclusion. But he knows that at any moment the trauma of that memory could trigger a collapse in Tucker's mind. And if it does? They all die as a result.

The trouble comes if someone comes forward and thinks to save him from the knife Felix wields, turning to plant the weapon deep in Tucker's gut. They cannot stop it. This is how it happened, and dividing this from whatever additional horror their would-be assassin has planned is an edge as thin as that blade.

THE MIND SLAYER

Tucker

The Desert

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A little blood on the knife

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