legionworld | THE MIND SLAYER

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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.]]

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"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.

"I'm gonna get you out of this. Okay?" Hand still on that ragged jawline, all that armor plated bone. It's not him. It is and isn't him and it's a mess and a problem but he'll. He'll fix it. Fix this. He can as long as he takes a half step back and doesn't let himself be prey. He doesn't run to the machine- can't break whatever lull he's managed to swing for them here and now. But he does step back slow, turning away to walk back to the alcove where the damaged machine hid. How long till one or the other finds him, well.

He doesn't know.

"Just- wait here, alright? I'll fix this."

Well, that’s not good.

“York, dude, Felix just bolted!”

Tucker slammed his hand onto the ground, pushing himself up as fast as he could and taking off, running. No, asshole, not this time. Not any fucking time if he had any say in it. Tucker killed him once, he’d kill him again and again, cut him the fuck apart for everyone on Chorus, for his friends.

No one threatened his kid, and no one sure as shit called him a mutant.

“On his ass,” he reported, and Tucker was fast, but so was Felix. He saw him in front of him, the headstart not mattering as much when Tucker was pushing as hard as he was now, when he wanted this more than anything else. And when he got close enough behind him, the Sim Trooper jumped at his back, glowing sword stabbing forward.

“Leaving so fucking soon?!”

How had he--

Felix wasn't sure how Tucker had managed to keep his inhuman pace, but he was on top of him now, that glowing sword flashing forward, and he had to yank to the side, one hand going to the floor to anchor him as he spun about, one legging whipping back and around in a circle to catch Tucker as he flung himself forward.

Don't get so clingy. Desperate never made anyone look good.

Locus, just a few yards ahead, shifted his gaze back over his shoulder towards Felix. Towards Tucker. He should--

What should he do?

His head shook with a massive shift of his shoulders as he turned back towards the continuing fight. He should help. No. Taylor was helping, he was supposed to wait. No. Kill. He was supposed to kill, to tear them all asunder and bring them to the Faceless, make them part of it, make them see.

He appeared to be waiting for a sign of which direction to move in, what side to take.

Into the alcove, hands on the machine, energy crackling under his skin as he pours the charge into the shell. This one will crack it- maybe damage something vital. If not a third go will have to do. But now that he doesn't have to worry about Locus tearing him apart or Felix stabbing him in the back? He's got time.

"You don't have to do anything, Locus. You don't have to fight, you don't have to struggle or worry or let him hurt you. Just sit tight till I get this thing blown up." That should end the scenario. In theory.

God, Tucker hated him.

The leg connected, driving the air from him, and it hurt like a bitch. Funny how memories that weren't even fucking his could be so painful, but here we are, huh? He crashed to the ground for a second time with a curse and a grunt, this time with the breath knocked out of his lungs for a second.

assholeassholeassholeasshole

Hands found the ground and started pushing himself up again, but he was pretty sure that Felix wasn't going to stick around waiting for that.

Surprise, surprise, Tucker. Have an armored boot to the back of your neck, as Felix turned his head to call out over the thudding, pulsing noise of organic sludge around them.

Locus! Get your traitorous ass over here!

And into his hand spun the knife, as he turned to look down at Tucker. Now. If you're gonna be that way, I'll just have to leave you another little something to remember me by...

Locus heard the call. He shifted, started to rumble in that direction, the chains clinking together and the gear whirring as he started to follow. But enough of him was awake inside to fight back, to try and dig his heels in. Then, with a rasping noise, he hurled himself towards Felix and Tucker.

Time to deal with this once and for all.

Three, two- York ducks out of the alcove in time to watch Locus charge in Tucker's direction- between the yelling, the thudding of that wrong heart and the pounding of his clawed feet on the ground? It's hard to shout a warning.

Not that Tucker needs it, he's pinned.

"FELIX, FREEZE!" whether or not it'll even work on the zombie is entirely in question, but if he can give Tucker a moment to twist free, Locus a moment to act on his own? He'll try to buy it while the machine crackles, fizzes, and explodes a second time behind him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Felix wasn’t supposed to win, and right now Tucker was stuck hoping for Yok, hoping that he ended this whole damn thing before he walked out with another gift. He grunted with that foot on his neck, panting hard, trying not to think of that mark on his stomach that the bastard already left, the way it burned, the anger he had every time he fucking saw it. The threat was real, and he didn’t doubt for one second that Felix would enjoy every single second of it.

That fucking knife--

He started to stick his hand out, keep it away from him in case the magnetic pull went wild or Felix just threw it; the last thing he wanted was it stabbing him in the back. But then, he heard the chains. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There was a hesitant glance towards the monst—towards Locus when he heard that noise, when he saw Locus coming this way.

He heard York’s yell as he shoved his hand out the rest of the way and tried to use that power pull on that knife again. If Locus was coming to help him, well, he sure as shit was going to disarm this sonofabitch first.

It all went wrong in a succession of ways. First, York's cry seemed to lock him in place for a moment, though Felix didn't quite seem to understand why. Then, a moment later, the knife went whipping out of his hand.

Then, that shadow fell over him, and for a moment he seemed to think the cavalry had arrived. About fucking ti--

All he got out before Locus roared, whipped his hand back, and swung. It wasn't quite with all of his strength, but the merc still went toppling to the ground and off of Tucker regardless.

This was almost over. The pain? Almost at an end.

Finish this.

Two marbles, double charged with as much as he can put into them safely- two throws. One blind but with a push of angle, probability, and Delta calculating trajectory? He flings that back into the alcove into the cracked open shell of the machine. The other? Eye on the ball, snapped at the crumpled form of Felix. Between Locus and Tucker? That guy was fucked- but a little extra boom has never, ever hurt a fight.

"Fire in the hole!" Warning more for Tucker than Locus- it shouldn't hurt that big, meaty monster all that much but- if he recognizes what he's saying? He'll duck aside. If not? It'll singe him a bit but he'll be fine.

All the momentum behind from the explosion, from his sprint, he follows right on through with the throw in a combat roll meant to bring him up to Tucker's side to provide covering fire in case that asshole decides to get back up again.

It happened fast, so fast, and there was a secret part of Tucker that loved all of it. Badass, every part of this, from Felix getting smacked, from York's roll, from the explosion of the marble that made Tucker cover himself for a second. This was movie level stuff, something that Tarantino himself would have directed...

...just with more people wearing suits instead.

Tucker shoved himself up and threw the knife as hard as he could to the opposite end of the fight, away from Felix, away from Locus, away from everyone. The sword was back alight in his hand and he ran at the zombie fuckstick, aiming to slam his blade across his stomach. If he could cut the asshole in half, he would. Then in half again. Then again. Again again again again.

He was one of the reasons Church was gone, Doyle was gone, that Chorus was as messed up as it was. There was no forgetting that in this moment.

Boom!

Singed, snarling, Felix was struggling to pull himself upright again, livid in his anger, but before he could say anything at all, Tucker's blade lit the area in a brilliant blue. It carved through his form like nothing at all, like a hot blade through butter, and with a gargling noise Felix collapsed into two entirely separate pieces, both bleeding into the ground.

As Locus was bleeding. Still bleeding, even now, panting from the effort and bowing his head to stem off the urge to now turn on Tucker. No. Just...wait. Wait and they'll end this, Taylor had said so.

Then, that sightless skull lifted to rest its gaze on Tucker, watching him, that frothing black liquid dripping from between his teeth.

The machine ought to be a broken ruin- if that's the only one here? They should be fine. Key word being should but Locus is still- still a beast, still bleeding- "Come on, man."

York levers himself upright, staggering back into Locus' space, hands braced on his shoulders. "We're saved, remember? Everyone else gets their shit together and we get made human again. This thing? This isn't you. No bleeding out on us, cuz that didn't happen, and you're gonna be okay and I swear to god if you don't start remembering shit right soon I don't know what I'm gonna do but it'll be fucking obnoxious, I can promise that."

Shave off his eyebrows or- something. When there are eyebrows to shave. "Tucker-"

And, well. He needs a moment because that sure is a man sliced neatly in half by a glowing fuckoff sword. "You're a badass." Just getting that out of the way. "Do you see any more of those machines?"

Tucker, still panting, looked at Locus, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the inevitable attack that he assumed was always coming from a guy like that. The Sim Trooper was tense, shoulders tight and strong, his hand gripping the sword a little tighter, before he reached out and kicked Felix’s dumb stupid Felixy leg, never looking away from the monster.

“That’s for Church, asshole,” he said to the eviscerated corpse.

York caught his attention, and he slowly tore his gaze from Locus to the Freelancer. The praise made him smile; when was the last time one of them actually said something like that to him? Exactly. “Damn right I am,” he tossed back, as if that covered up the glowing gratitude from a comment like that. He could have said the returned it in kind, but what Freelancer didn’t already know they fucking awesome?

None. That’s how many.

“No, man. I’ve been a little too busy to look.” Fighting fighting fighting. He started to walk away, to scout, to see if he could find another one without touching too much of anything. Ew.

One last machine, tucked away somewhere. Probably somewhere horrible, somewhere they wouldn't think to look. Not out in the open, but inside something.

And then, as if on cue, Felix jerked, twitched back to life. While Locus's gaze followed Tucker as he trotted away, to York as he scoured the surroundings, one hand reached across the fleshy ground to pull himself back towards the lower half of his body. Sinew and tissue stretched to knit himself back together...

His shattered chest-piece fell away as he pulled himself upright, bones and joints snapping back into place, vertebrae reattaching. Without that plating of armor there? The thrumming glow of the machine was visible through the tears in the weave of the bodysuit.

Click-click-click went the chains threaded through Locus's limbs, as he started to shuffle after Tucker. Hovering just behind him, and every now and then his limbs quivering with the effort to not make a grab for him. But blood was now damn near soaking him from his various wounds, and it was clear that time was winding its way down.

His bulk, meanwhile, was enough to hide Felix as he made his approach one last time, pausing only to bend low and collect his knife along the way.

Not in the bushel of eyeballs, near any more ribcages cracked open like obscene flowers, among the tubes and veins of entrails and other assorted viscera. Nothing that looks like it belongs on a ship or not to this memory. No hard lines save those on their armor. York's quickly growing frustrated, there's no time, he's not gonna lose Locus to this place, he's not gonna let everyone die-

Click click click goes the chains and he turns, sighing. "Buddy you gotta stay put, you're gonna make it wor- FUCK"

He even said it himself. That bastard? Won't stay dead. He doesn't think, he doesn't have time to think, sprinting the distance between and diving for Felix's shambling, shuffling body. A shoulder charge worthy of Maine, aimed right at the oddly glittering tears in his fleshy undersuit. "Why won't you stay the fuck down?!"

THE MIND SLAYER

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