legionworld | THE MIND SLAYER

Entry tags:

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

Looks like we got company~

Tucker would recognize that voice without having to see the broken corpse it was coming out of, as he turned towards their hiding place and Locus lurched forward, feet scraping against the floor. Everything around this place seemed to pulsate and throb, or glisten like the inside of some horribly, titanic beast, and the whirrrrrrrr click-click-click of his movement almost seemed in synch.

Well that fit, didn't it. He was becoming part of this monstrous scenario. He just had to spill enough blood, succumb to his wounds, and that was it. All of them were dead.

York pulled him and Tucker went, barely hearing him because he knew that voice. He knew it, and he knew--

No.

No way. Nu uh. No fucking way. He was fucking dead, Tucker had fucking killed him, had blown his psychotic, manipulative, traitorous ass off a fucking temple, an act that was wonderfully rewarding for everyone. It wasn't--it couldn't be--

His hand was shaking at his sides, the fingers twitching because seriously what the fuck. "Felix?" he whispered, and his grip was on his sword even if he kept the blade off; the light wouldn't help if they were trying to keep a cover.

But God, taking out Felix for a second time sounded damn good.

This was one of those rare times he wished he wasn't wearing a helmet just so he could start mouth as many curses as he could and York could understand them. Instead, he drew a question mark in the air and pointed back at them. What do we do now?!

"Zombie Felix." Even worse. When the dead can't or won't stay dead? Yeah. It's worse than Asshole McGee in normal mode because (in theory) that guy will die if shot. This one? Just gets back up again. Voice low he jerks a thumb deeper into the pulsing, bloodslick alcove they've sidled into. "We find the thing keeping this memory going before he bleeds out. Do not engage."

Been there, done that, it ends poorly. So fucking poorly.

Come out, come out...

Felix's sing-song voice carries as Locus's weight audibly shuffles closer. Click, click, click go the chains, whirr goes the gear as it cranks in his back, and his shadow falls over where the two are pinned, hiding.

One moment, two. Then, an impatient sound from Felix from his perch atop the monstrosity.

Ch'. Find them. They can't have gotten far.

With a guttural, pained noise, Locus turns, and the two of them seem to melt into the air, vanishing for the time being.

That dickslit's voice was like a bucket of dirty syringes scraped against a blackboard. He waited until they were gone, biting his tongue until the noise disappeared completely before snapping, "Night of the Living Dead: Fucking Felix Edition?! Are you shitting me?"

Because yeah, there was one thing worse than living Felix. Who knew?

Mission. Back to the mission. Tucker was more than happy to let York lead, something that a few years under Wash and a real war helped make possible with less attitude than normal. Plus-- "You know this place, don't you?" Which was more than what Tucker had going for him right now, as lost and confused as he was. Everything in him screamed to turn on his sword, and how he kept that feeling at bay, he wasn't sure.

"What the hell happened here?"

"SHHH!" Jesus christ what part of 'shh' is hard for this guy to understand? "Invisible doesn't mean not here!"

A beat.

"Right. Locus can turn invisible. He still can like this. Just. Listen for that clicking and chains rattling. That's how we know he's close. Okay? Keep your voice down and follow me and don't touch anything." Pulsing walls like to pull people in, Faceless like to talk their way into your brain- he remembers this place well enough to be incredibly wary. "Mission a few months back. Kinda fucked up. I'll give you details afterward. Horror movie level bullshit is the long and short of it. WE have to find that machine and destroy it before Locus bleeds out, or we're all fucked."

For now, the click-click-click seemed to be moving away, or was at least indistinct enough to not be close at hand. At times it stopped entirely as the two surveyed the gruesome landscape for sight of their quarry.

The closest device, meanwhile, appears to be tucked into one of the open ribcages holding a bleeding, beating heart, thudding away with a few yards of their hiding spot.

Clearly, the shhh part. "Oh, now you tell me!" he hissed between his teeth, voice low again. Kinda fucked up seemed like an understatement. Did he want to hear this story?

...yeah. Yeah, he did.

"Warning: I might need a few beers after." Deep breath. Of all the people whose memory he had to be tangled up in, why did it have to be Locus? The one person he didn't want to see? The one person he stupidly said that he didn't deserve to like cats? The genocidal--

Didn't matter. Didn't matter; this shit was fucked up and they were all victims here.

Tucker nodded at the directions all the same: head down, shut up. Wouldn't be the first time he'd be told that by a Freelancer. He made a face at the walls, wrinkling his nose. "Pretty sure you don't have to worry about me touch anything. Go, dude."

"You'll get them." He can promise that much if they make it out of here. When, not if, he has to think in terms of when. Otherwise he'll just get stuck down here with the rest of these faceless Phalanx. Been there, done that, would rather not do it again. The first time hadn't been fun at all. This time isn't amazing either but hey, at least he's not a fucking monster.

Okay.

Find the machine, fuck it up, move on to the next thing. Not trusting the lack of clacking and rattling of chains York palms one of the marbles he keeps, focuses on charging it enough to cause noise, and chucks it in the opposite direction of where he needs to go. The fizzle, crack, and spark ought to draw fire while he ducks and darts into the alcove with the machine. When in doubt? Charge the whole damn thing. "I'm gonna need a minute- You see the asshole? Try to cut his head off. Felix, not Locus."

Again, somewhere in the vicinity of the marble he'd thrown, there was a soft 'click, click' and rasping breathing, but nothing from Felix. No sign of the monster itself. Then, it began lumbering again, the movement starting and stopping at random intervals as they stalked, searching for their prey.

The marble had apparently not done enough to garner their interest.

"Thanks for the clarification," Tucker muttered. "I'll try not to miss, but I'm not making any promises here."

Reality was different, though; the bitter feelings against were Locus dying down in exchange for...this. All this. Who the hell had to live through this and make it out okay? This was fucking nightmare fuel to last a decade, maybe more; nothing that justified what happened, but it was a start. Who the fuck had to look at that zombie cockbite and just--

He took a deep breath and snuck out a little to have a look. The marble hadn't helped, and Tucker narrowed his eyes a little. "Hope you're good at working fast," he said, all confidence dripping from his words. "Because I might just finish before you do."

Fuck waiting for the thing; he was going out hunting as far away from York as he could possibly take it.

"Bow chicka." Offhand and under his breath, though he does spare a look over his shoulder back to Tucker- or at least where Tucker had been. They're good sorts, Tex had said. Worth the trouble. And he'd...well. He'd believed it well enough to help her out.

Letting him get his ass killed in here like this- as well as getting everyone else killed- isn't exactly on the agenda. Throwing a little luck his way can't hurt, even if it makes the odds on one boom with the machine a little slim. Two, maybe three ought to do it. Because banter makes things less pressing and more normal, he patches through to Tucker's comm. "Must be very disappointing for the women if you're that quick, slick."

For a time, it appeared Tucker was on his own, wherever he was charging off to. Blood lapped at his ankles as he went, the echo of thudding heartbeats bouncing off one another in the enclosed space.

It would take time for him to realize that there was a shadow, lingering over him where there shouldn't be. And then suddenly, a shadowed weighty mass, as the two materialized at his back.

Peek-a-boo, motherfucker.

And Felix had lunged forward off of Locus's back, a glint of sharp metal gleaming in the light as he did so. He looked battered, broken, visor helmet smashed open, all the signs of someone who'd taken a very long fall.

Someone holding a grudge, and a very sharp knife.

"Say it right," he chastised over the comms. "It's bow chicka bow fuck."

Not that last part, never that last part, but Felix was there, looked like what all his nightmares ever promised, and then knifeknifeknife. The sword came to life in his hand, casting a soft blue glow as he side-stepped to the left and back, trying to evade the damn thing as best he could. Maybe he would have better luck than previous encounters.

The hate, the fear reached a cold hand into his chest, squeezing and clawing at the inside of his ribs as he tried to laugh it off like this whole thing was nothing. Easy. That's what he had to keep telling himself, it was easy, Felix was easy. Feet dug into the ground as he attempt to push off as best he could, but fuck this blood, fuck this place, fuck all this for dragging them into this. For the moment, he was stuck defensive, hoping just to not get stabbed. Again.

"Really, cockcheese?" he growled. "Didn't we already do this, and I won? Do I really have to kill you again?"

Charged as well as it's gonna get and York's about to roll back to the alcove when bow wow becomes bow 'fuck' and that-

That's concerning. "Is he alone?"

Because that'll leave him with Locus and christ of the two he'd rather deal with the zombie. Humanoid and horrific is better than the beast shaped like someone that's become one of his best friends. Delta slowly comes around to actually participating the longer he yells in his head for a little more intel, that he needs someone on his blind side as he sloshes through the blood and viscera.

Not changing this time, not changing this time, t minus five till it's three and the sudden fizzle and thwoomp of that machine's outer shell exploding rolls through the hallway.

He is not, in fact, alone.

Felix darts after Tucker, broken bones and torn ligaments allowing for unnatural flexibility in his movement, darting after him with one swing of his blade after the other. He didn't even seem perturbed by the energy sword, laughing in a way that almost sounded like choking.

While Locus drove in from behind. If Tucker got too close, or looked poised to make a potential hit, one of those massive limbs swung after him, torn fingernails leaking black blood and grasping after him. But only for as long as it took for the explosion to rock the hall.

Then Locus's attention shifted, turning towards York as he came barreling through. The gear on his back hitched, whirred with a sound like it might tear itself off and fly away, before a bellowing roar left that bloody mouth, and he turned to start charging after the fleeing Freelancer.

"Son-of-a--shit!" There was a pause as he managed to duck Locus and slip out of the way of one of Felix's slashes almost simultaneously. "Doesitsoundlikeheisalone?!"

This little excursion - currently billed as "Worst Vacation Ever" in his head - was chalking up a list of Things To Do afterwards: beer with York was one, and high five to Wash (because who really said "thank you" anymore) was the other. Gone were the days of swish swish stab, a stubborn method of battle that would not have served him much of anything here. That training that Tucker wanted no part of for so long was probably one of the only thing saving his life at the moment, and while he couldn't exactly admit it lest the honorary Blue Team member get a big fucking ego, he sure as shit was getting him a beer, too.

You know, if he survived.

Tucker couldn't look behind him as Locus' reactions suddenly weren't directed at him. Shit. "Watch your ass, York, because I think I'm losing one here."

But that did free up his back, at least, even if it did leave Felix, a greater of two evils in the Sim Trooper's opinion. Tucker narrowed his eyes, trying to move backwards, trying to get some space between the two of them and hoping like hell he could lure him in the opposite direction as Locus. He needed to keep zombie off monster, and what kind of fucking sentence was that even really?

"Come on, asshole. I bet I can find a grenade lying around here somewhere. We can have a repeat of the Temple for old time's sake."

Come on, asshole. Let's do this shit.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Running for his life, again, from Locus!monster, again, through halls that twist and knot like a fucking maze. This is not how he wanted to spend his day and yet here he is, trying to double back without being caught up in any of the squiggly alcoves, Delta silently mapping their surroundings and offering the quickest route to the machine. It needs at least one more round of boom and he can't swing that with Locus on his back. "I can handle Locus-"

Kind of.

Sort of-

Okay not at all really but it's better to project competence and tell the truth later. Right now? Tucker's got his hands full and he NEEDS to be on top of his own shit. If the team's distracted by worrying? The team fails. Acting on a hunch (and juggling what he can do, gambling) he Stops in the hall long enough to yell back at the advancing monster with all the compulsion he can cram into one syllable- "STOP!"

Maybe it'll slow Locus down. Maybe he just got his ass killed. Who knows!

Oh Tucker. You still don't get it, do you?

Distracting Tucker? That part was easy. All he had to do was keep him on his toes, antagonize him enough to forget the mission, keep his focus. And oh, how this restless memory hungered for a little payback.

The knife flipped in his hand before jerking back, stabbing into his own chest, the handle jutting out visibly from between the plates. And all Felix did was cock his head, his grin audible.

You can stab me. Shoot me. Throw me off a fucking tower, and I'm just gonna get right back up again. I'm gonna come for you, your moron friends...and your little mutant, while I'm at it.

Meanwhile, Locus was closing the distance quickly between him and York, careening forward with all the force and weight of a runaway train. That is, before that word reaches his ears. Stop? Why would he...

And he slows. He doesn't quite stop, but he slows a considerable amount, finally coming to a halt just feet away from York, breathing heavily, his armor both organic and synthetic slick and dark with blood. Then, he snarls, his head lowering until the two were eye to eye.

What was he playing at?

"It's gonna be okay." Like if he says it enough, means it enough? That'll be true. "I know this isn't you, man. Maybe it was when this happened- but it's not anymore."

They've both come so goddamn far from this bloodslick mess and what the hell is he thinking, stepping in close enough to reach out and brace his hands against all that sinew, all that torn flesh and armored plating? Delta runs odds of attack and survival but all of it is tempered with his awareness that this is- under every agonized inch of him- Locus. Sam. Someone they've both come to trust.

Someone that has saved them.

"I'm gonna save you. Okay? D and I aren't caught up in it this time. We've got you." The back of his eye glows green and while this is uncomfortably familiar? They're together on this and separate enough to keep from losing their damn minds. "I've got you."

Leaning forward that last little bit to thud their foreheads together is- well. Another hunch, another confounding moment. "You don't have to listen to him anymore."

It wasn’t difficult to do when it was Felix; the sudden shock of seeing him had been enough to tangle up his attention, to shake the foundation of what he here to do. He was dead, he was here, he was…fucking stabbing himself in the chest.

Holy shit.

Tucker dragged his eyes from the knife to the battered helmet, listening to the promises of violence and death. Himself? Fine. His friends? That was enough to set him off. But his kid? His fucking kid? Calling his kid a mutant and then—

Dude, we’ve got a fucking mission and I can’t waste my time with this asshole. He’s not touching Junior, he can’t, he can’t-

“Shut the fuck up about my kid, asshole,” he growled, taking a step backwards, then another. The hand not holding the sword rose, and eyes narrowing, he channeled his magnetic pull to try to rip that knife from the dead man’s chest. It was the first time he had used this in battled and it was either make it or break it; what better asshole to try it out on?

He just didn’t want him with the weapon, especially with a goddamn knife.

“All this is doing that I get to keep having fun kicking your ass just like I did when I blew your ass up,” he tossed out, trying to hide the thudding of his heart under this veneer of nothing; Felix would like that. “It’s like a fucking toy that never breaks.”

No explosions. JFC, he hoped that York was okay, because if he wasn’t then this was all for nothing.

Edited 2017-06-21 13:41 (UTC)

Felix's body jerked as the knife flew free, sailing towards Tucker's grasp. The merc's head cocked, in the meanwhile. "Huh. Well that's new."

About all the consideration given to this newfound power of his before he darted forward, sliding low to sweep Tucker's legs out from under him. The real Felix might have taken the time to expound on what he felt about this new scenario, but this version? Only a nightmare. Locus's memory of him, reflecting everything he'd been in life.

Vicious. Petty. Relentless. And he didn't need the knife to be a danger.

Meanwhile, York's unexpected take on dealing with the monster was enough to give him pause. In there, somewhere, Locus was there, staring outwards from the grasp of this unending agony and hopelessness. To have York stop, dead in the middle of all of this, and reach out to him?

It didn't fit with the memory. It didn't fit...was this not how it had been? Was this real? You don't have to listen to him anymore.

The monster takes a ragged inhale, before snarling low and rasping, that jaw opening wide and exposing jagged teeth. If York moved like prey, he could justify moving on with this but if he didn't...

If he didn't, then what was really going on here? York was here to save him. From what?

"Easy- easy. This isn't what's happening anymore. We got through this, remember? Shook that monkey off your back?" He feels like maybe, just maybe, he's getting through to Locus. That this is just so goddamn unexpected that it's startling him into stillness, if not silence. Of course then the snarl and the bared teeth kick in and Delta offers a helpful list of possible unlikely scenarios.

Shit that might stall Locus long enough for him to book it to the machine and blow it up again.

One of them is the most goddamn looney toons inane bullshit he has ever seen and part of him wants to blame Theta for his taste in media when he knows it's the sheer impossibility of the physics that has him even vaguely interested- but Delta picking up on it? Jesus christ.

Still. No other better options- he peels off his helmet and hooks it into the maglock at his hip, staring up into Locus' bestial face, unafraid. (Actually terrified but sure, unafraid sounds better). He takes that ragged armor plated jaw in his hands, leans up and-

Presses his lips to that bloodslick forehead.

Please don't let him tear my throat out, please don't let him tear my throat out-

God it's gross and slick and the smell- he has to fight down the urge to gag or scream or cry and just. Rocks back on his heels. "I got this. Let me."

There was no monologue, no purely arrogant speech, just the comment and then Felix was there, looking worse the closer he was, all the breaks and horrors laid out where he could see them, smell them. Tucker tried to move back but he didn’t have time and Felix’s leg sweep brought him down, loudly, quickly. He crashed to the ground, the blood splashing around him, and fuck it hurt even with the armor taking most of the blow.

The sword cut through the air on front of him on the way down, a wild swing as afuck burst through his lips. The knife he had just gotten possession of slipped free, lost to the ground somewhere. He needed to stop fucking around with Felix, needed to get the fuck back to York.

Not good. Not good not goodnotgoodnotgood.

Tucker’s leg lashed out hard and fast and from the right, and the quick thought of If he bites me, am I a zombie then? passed through his head. He didn’t have time for this, dammit.

Felix, meanwhile, had nothing but time. He could wait him out, until Locus eventually succumbed to his wounds, and damn if Washington and Carolina weren't here. 'We don't need to beat you, we just need to waste your time', indeed.

But something suddenly clicks, deeper than instinct, and as he bounds back from that quick swipe of the Sim Soldier's foot, his head cranked back towards the direction Locus had gone. Oh no he fucking doesn't...

With a snarl, he turned, bending low to swipe for his fallen blade before retreating after his partner, leaving Tucker behind in the blood and gore.

Because something curious was happening where Locus and York were. Something about this was so starkly, vastly different from what his mind expected this to go, it seemed to jar him off track for a moment. It was as if the fog cleared, long enough for him to wonder what was happening here.

He couldn't speak, but the noise that came out of his throat was a question, horrifying as it might have been. A second later and he sank back away from York, still monstrous in shape but clearly no longer intending to rip him apart. One massive, bleeding hand lifted to press against his skull, the chains woven through his limbs clinking as he did so, and a disoriented rumble echoed from his chest.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject