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legionworld2017-06-08 11:25 pm
legionnpcs) wrote in legionworld2017-06-08 11:25 pm
THE MIND SLAYER
Who| Plot Participants
What| Psychic Assassins!
Where| On Legion World
When|
Warnings/Notes| N/A
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.]]
What| Psychic Assassins!
Where| On Legion World
When|
Warnings/Notes| N/A
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.]]
Chorus, The Final Battle
There's gunfire, and screaming, and soldiers in all different colors of armor running in all directions. Those not quick enough to find cover are gunned down mercilessly or caught in rocket explosions, the source of which can be traced back to a twenty foot tall fully armed and armored bipedal automaton. Several of them, in fact. Anyone with an aerial view will be able to pick out nearly a dozen, with more dropping from the spaceship hovering in close proximity. Their orders are search and destroy, and while the soldiers on the ground have had some successes - as several wrecked and smoking automatons prove - they're not doing well.
This isn't the first time Wash has been in a fight that's heavily stacked against him, and he's holding his own - his last grenade, well-aimed, lodges in the chassis of one of the robots, and it goes down in a fiery explosion. He doesn't wait, darting for different cover and grabbing a (young, inexperienced, terrified) soldier with him on the way. "Stay here. Aim for the leg joints or the guns. We can do this."
In real life, this is when the Reds and Blues, aboard that hovering spaceship, accessed the Mantis' controls and shut them all down remotely, securing a victory for Chorus and the end of the war. In real life, this is a scarce few minutes before the Time Trapper pulls Wash into the world of the Legion.
In this memory, a Mantis that simply hadn't been there a minute ago stomps up behind their cover, towering over them. Years of honed combat reflexes get Wash out of the way; the young soldier he'd grabbed isn't quite fast enough and doesn't survive the ensuing hail of bullets. He sprints for cover, barely throwing himself out of the way of an incoming missile, and nearly yells into his comms. "Tucker? I need a sit-rep!"
Silence. Silence for far too long.
"Tucker!"
In this memory, the shutdown signal simply isn't coming, the odds are overwhelming already, and the ship is still dropping active Mantis units onto the ground. Unless something changes quickly, everyone is going to be killed.
no subject
Well, not exactly home, but something he sort of adopted after being stuck there as long as he had, after he shed blood for it. As far as he was concerned, the moon he retired on was just an extension, like a state was across the country rather than out in space, but whatever. Chorus. He knew this, knew when it was happening because of all the Mantises, a sea of Freckles who didn't shoot out confetti.
He heard his name, knew what was happening on the ship, knew he was heading towards that stupid trophy room, knew he was getting ready to fight, getting ready for that final fight, getting ready to put on that suit and to lose Church. He placed himself in that timeline and cemented himself in it, hoping it would give him some idea of how long he had. But down here, down here, Wash and Carolina were stuck in their own separate hell.
Tucker winced, knowing that poor kid who was killed beside Wash; Tucker had snuck him beer once under ta water tower because if you're old enough to die for this damn place, you're old enough to get stupid drunk. His chest tightened, listening to the screams, to the explosions, to the firefights, to people dying, to hearing Wash yell his name again. The sword flashed out in his hand and he hid behind some cover; machines, he needed to find the machines.
Why...why weren't the fucking Mantises stopping, though? They had shut them down; it was their last stupid victory before everything went to hell. So what the shit?
No wonder he's pissed about me not telling him. He winced as a grenade went off close, too close, and nope. He needed to go searching for this bullshit and making sure Wash didn't die.
Only, you know, swapped. Priority was always going to be to keep Wash from dying.
no subject
Locus couldn't show himself. He knew what this was, recognized the chaos and the surroundings, and knew precisely which moment this was that Wash was continuing to suffer through. He also knew if he showed himself to the Freelancer? He damn well might end up shot for his trouble, given that at this point in time Washington still very much considered him an enemy.
So. Camouflage it is, moving through the back ranks and avoiding fire, trying to locate the means of putting an end to this battle. For good.
no subject
But he can't be seen otherwise- he's dead. He's dead and Wash can't break while he's here, while they're all linked together like this- so. Fuck.
Fuckity fuck.
Shotgun in hand he swings down to the nearest patch of cover, looking for a joint, for anything to use against the Machines mowing down the infantry- and then his cover moves. Right. Fuck. Ducked in by a fucking Mantis, great idea, great job- Panic has him flinging a hand out, pressing against the metal shell and charging-
It lights up like a goddamn firework and he's got till the count of three to roll clear and it doesn't work like that, his power doesn't charge shit that much-
The deep, metallic twhoomp that rattles through the field when the Mantis combusts? Proves otherwise.
no subject
He's at the outer edges of the battlefield, behind cover, trying to regroup enough to push his way back in and support the kids - because for the most part, soldiers on Chorus are still just kids - still fighting the Mantises. There are still a dozen active Mantises on the battlefield, though the tower remains mostly unguarded at the other edge of the battle. It's just a matter of getting through - or around - Mantis hell.