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.]]

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Well, this is hell.

It's all Wash can do not to choke on despair and death, but he's lived through this war. It's hell, sure, but it's a familiar hell, and he can handle it. He'd never been to New Jerusalem, but this battle is easy enough to recognize from what he'd seen from Locus' Legionnaire Legacy. What's different - what's not supposed to be happening - are one very dead Felix and a hell of a lot of very live Covenant troops approaching Locus' position.

"If you think you can handle those," he says to the Legionnaires who followed him in, nodding towards the advancing Covenant line, "then get to it. If not, we need at least two people looking for Esper's machines. Try the Warthog-" Not everyone's familiar with the lingo- "-the jeep to start. I'll take care of Locus."

He doesn't wait for assent - his teammates are smart people; they'll figure themselves out - before he sprints to Locus and takes a knee next to him. "Holy shit, you're alive," he starts, like he's just come upon Locus' position. "Look, Command's ordered a full evac - the point's ten miles south of here. My team's orders are to harry the line and get any remaining soldiers the fuck out of Dodge, which means your orders are to fall back to the evac point and hold it until evac is complete. Got it?" It's a risky gambit - anything that involves getting Locus to listen to him is risky - but fits in with the narrative, and it's the best he's got right now short of bodily trying to haul an already traumatized Locus out of the line of fire.

It's a good tactic to take. Locus doesn't even appear to notice that it's Washington, that he doesn't belong in this memory and this isn't how it all happened. He's too numb, too overwhelmed to consider it, and the rifle lowers a fraction as he lets those words since in.

But he isn't looking at Wash. His eyes fall over the rest of his team. Felix, who by this point has stopped twitching and lies far too still. Guilt now supersedes all, something crushing around his lungs inside of his chest as he takes a shuddering breath and tries to push himself to his feet.

Why. Why them, why him, why had it happened this way. There had to be a reason...

Another wave of agony and guilt rolls over him, and God, it's so much worse when it's someone else's. Wash takes a breath, steadies himself, and gets to his feet, offering Locus a hand.

"Look, I get it. I've lost my whole squad more than once, and there was nothing I could do about it." It's not something he usually shares - that his life before Freelancer was peppered with loss, that he was the sole survivor of some platoons and one of very few survivors of others, that he was considered a goddamn bad luck charm before Freelancer pulled him for his survivability and marksmanship - but it's necessary here, and holy shit this memory is affecting him more than he knew if he's able to go that deep down his own personal rabbit hole in the middle of combat. "But that happens, and it happens without a reason, because war is hell. The best thing you can do now is survive and keep fighting. Now c'mon - you have your orders."

He has his orders.

There's always that. If he has nothing else, he has that to fall back on while everything else falls to this cacophony of chaos. There's the garbled shouts and war cries of the approaching aliens, and the sound of the Legionnaires holding the line and pushing back. They would have killed him. They still might, if they remained here.

Yet something still anchors him in place. This wasn't right, something about it was wrong, terribly wrong, and his gaze fell once more to the freshest corpse at their feet.

"There has to be a reason we survived," he rasps out, finally. "Tell me."

They don't have time for this. If Locus goes down, they all go down, and the longer he stays here, the likelier he is to die.

But Locus hasn't been one to question orders for a long time now, and Wash damn well plans on using that. He yanks on Locus' hand - enough to jostle, but not enough to exacerbate Locus' injuries - and leans in close, putting them nearly visor to visor. "Because the universe isn't fucking done with us yet," he snarls. "It sent me here to pull your ass out of the fire, and I'm sure it'll have plenty for you to do once you get. Moving." And for good measure: "That's an order, soldier!"

What about them?

He stares at the other Legionnaires before letting his gaze fall back to rest on Washington. It's an order. Soldiers follow orders. They can worry about whys and hows later, but first things first. Getting off the planet before the aliens can carry out their mission and glass the entire rock.

One hand falling to his side in a futile attempt to halt the bleeding, he nods. Shuffles on his feet and attempts to turn, to walk forward towards the ruins of the city. But his body feels heavy, and some of the aliens look very, very interested in pushing past the line of defense to get after him.

Edited 2017-06-10 00:59 (UTC)

Oh, hell. This isn't going to work out if Locus bleeds out before they can get this memory fixed. He searches his storage - c'mon, this is standard issue, there's no way he would have forgotten it, come on-

Yes! He palms the canister of biofoam and claps a hand on Locus' shoulder. "Hold still a second." It's the work of a few seconds to move Locus' hand, find the entry point for his side wound, and depress the entire canister of biofoam in there. It'll hurt like a bitch, but it's worth it to keep Locus alive.

In the meantime, the Covenant stragglers that have managed to break from the line have gotten way too close for comfort. Wash turns and guns down a Grunt, and that's one down, but there's still half a dozen more bearing down on them, including one Elite that looks a little too interested in their predicament. Shit. "Move! Move!"

Anything touching that wound was going to smart like a mother, but Locus barely registers the pain at this point. Shock, maybe? No, he's still responsive enough to move, to follow orders and drag himself along, but it's obvious making it out of here alone wouldn't have been an option.

Of course, when one of the Elites starts bearing down on Washington, it's almost reflex to flip his rifle up into position, aiming just over Wash's shoulder and blasting at the part between armor plating at the creature's throat.

Too many lost, too many dead, Gates is gone, they're all gone, and if his rescuers fall too he thinks he might actually crack.

That's one more thing they have in common - even under duress and in motion, they're both damn good shots. Turns out Wash appreciates it a lot more when it's not turned on him. He keeps one arm around Locus and aims his pistol with the other, picking off any Grunt that decides to get too close (thankfully, the Elite that Locus already took out has been the only one to break the line so far).

This might actually work. Isn't that a nice change.

"Keep it steady," he says. "I've got you."

"Yeah, I got it. Not my first hopeless stand," Shepard says dryly...to Wash's retreating back. Okay then.

She sprints over to a wrecked Mongoose and crouches in cover, pulling a gun off its mount on her back. It snaps out from a compact package into a sniper rifle, stock and barrel unfolding automatically, scope popping up where there was nothing before.

Then she starts picking off Elites. No one's briefed her on the Covenant, but she can tell a miniboss from a trash mob when she sees 'em.

THE MIND SLAYER

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