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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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?!"

Oh, no, no one was dying, not Locus, not them, no one. Tucker wasn't giving up on finding the damn machine; he was looking around as best he could, but everything just seemed so weird to him that it was hard not to get distracted. Blood everywhere, and the chains almost sounded like a part of it now; it was easy to forget they were connected to Locus. You know, until Tucker smelled him.

He barely registered what York was saying until he tore off past him. Fuck was all he heard, was all he need to hear, already turning, already to look where he was running to. And then--

"Oh fuck."

And that was the shared sense of commonality every time they saw him, wasn't it?

But he should have known. He should have because Zombies always came back until you shot them in the head or something. Tucker started to run over, then stopped. There was something visible through the undersuit, something glowing, and--

"York! His chest!"

You think you've gotten the best of me? That you're better than me? Well, you're not! The zombie snapped, jerking away from the touch that left his chest glowing bright, bloodshot eye pinpointed with rage behind that broken visor. You don't go until I say you can go...

Panting, he cocked his head. Towards Tucker, then towards Locus. That thin, nasal laughter cracked free for a moment before he shifted, spun on his heel and hurled the blade forward.

Past Tucker. Towards the lumbering mass making his way after them, heedless of York's concerns.

"Of the two of us, I'm still alive!" So yeah, he's better than him. Stronger, too, by dint of having all his muscles properly attached and not being semi-rotten to the touch. Reaching inside to get that glimmer of metal feels fucking wrong and off in so many ways, but wrapping his hand around a metal strut and charging it? Easy as anything else he's ever done. Felix does not get to fuck Locus up again.

He's dead. He needs to stay that way.

"LOCUS!" Fucking- fuck. "I swear to god I'm finding the real you and charging your skull like a goddamn plate-"

Why couldn’t that asshole just do one thing easy for once and just stay dead? Why did he have to keep coming back to haunt them when Hell was a little more his fucking style?

The momentary surprise of Felix not throwing the knife at him was fleeting, gone in a second as he realized it wasn’t aimed at him, but where it was really going. Locus, and killing Locus would kill them all. Fuck. That. “Got it!” he yelled, and sticking his hand out, he glared as he tried to pull that blade away, yanking the trajectory off of Mr. CreepyBody. No letting the monster die, not until all three of them were out, were safe.

He glanced at York, saw him charging it, and cool. Cool. And what happens when two badasses get together? Epic shit, that’s what.

When he charged it, Tucker ground his teeth together as he used his now free hand to try to pull that damn machine out of that zombie corpse as fast as he could. And hey, if he could try to guide that knife back towards that about-to-blow machine, even better.

Locus's head lifted, staring blindly in the direction of the blade...before Tucker's power cast it harmlessly aside, still airborne but no longer aiming to put an end to the monster, and consequentially everyone else.

Of course, now that just left Felix, who was grasping at his own chest in an effort to prevent the machine from detonating within him. Or at all. But his fingers couldn't dig deep enough, and a second later it was bursting forth, dried bits of gore spilling out as the machine was tripped past his ribcage, glowing brighter as detonation began and then --

THE MIND SLAYER

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