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

The entrance to Garrus's mind will look awfully familiar to anyone who has visited Shepard. It was the Normandy, rendered down to the last rivet and seam, every crew member at their station. Wrex is aboard, along with Grunt, and Liara, and Tali, and all the rest. It was a combination of people that had never been on board the Normandy all at once in reality, but in Garrus's mind, this was how he saw the place.

Wouldn't feel like home if the gang weren't all there.

The holographic lock floating in front of every door is green except for one. At the far end of a long hallway on the third deck - a hallway studded with empty cryo-pods - is the door to the main battery. The lock is glowing an angry red -- locked. But when someone draws close, the color changes to orange, and then green. It opens with a pneumatic hiss ...

Garrus is tired. His arms are heavy and stiff, and his shoulder had gone numb from the repeated kicking of his rifle. His aim is steady though, as he keeps his sights trained on the makeshift barricade that had been cobbled together on the other end of the bridge.

It was manned by a few poorly equipped freelancers, spraying ineffectual suppressing fire across the no man's land between the barricade and Garrus's safehouse. If he had a clean shot, he took it. If not, he'd snap off a warning shot and they'd scurry back into cover for a few long moments before they started again.

Every now and then, he'd see movement a little further back - a flash of gang colors that set a knot of anger twisting in his gut, and usually signaled another big push. They'd come close a few times, but the bottleneck provided by the bridge practically funneled them into his scope. The few he couldn't pick off on the mad dash towards the safehouse, he could finish off inside without much more trouble. They'd thrown a few curveballs at him - the gunship was a nasty surprise - but so far he'd managed.

'So far' were the key words there. They got a little closer each time. Every shot was starting to take just a little longer to line up, and there were a few easy shots that went wide. As long as they didn't run out of bodies or bullets, it was only a matter of time. He'd made his peace with that. He was just going to make them bleed for every inch of ground in the time he had left.

It was another few minutes before the next big pushed started. A tide of freelancers surge over the barricade, and Garrus's rifle sends high-velocity round slamming through their armor, one after another.

Then he hears the door behind him slide open.

He whirls around, snapping off a quick shot that drops the first Blood Pack grunt through the door. Unfortunately, he wasn't alone, and the other six don't hesitate to open fire. Garrus dives for cover, feeling the dulled thuds of bullets punching into his kinetic barriers. He hits the ground and rolls, but half-way through his leg buckles and he stumbles. He looks down to see blood oozing from a bullet hole in his leg.

Then, Garrus takes a shotgun blast to the chest and crumples to the floor.

THE MIND SLAYER

Garrus

Omega