xp_logs | Great Rift: Trouble Magnets

A quiet night at the village is shattered by gunfire, and the Elpis group finds themselves fighting to protect the civilians who took them in - with help from an unexpected quarter. Unfortunately, the fight doesn't go well at all for one member of the group.

It started sometime after midnight. The village had been quiet, everyone long since asleep, guests and locals alike, in the thatched-roof huts. The silence was abruptly shattered by the revving of engines, the darkness by three sets of headlights. The headlights belonged to three Jeeps, which roared into the village, packed with gun-toting men who whooped and hollered gleefully as the Jeeps wove around the huts, tires squealing.

A few of them fired into the huts while they were still in the vehicles. Most of them waited, however, until the Jeeps stopped and they could get out. Until they could get up close and personal. Villagers started to flee their huts, many of them screaming in panic, and the Jeeps took off again with their remaining passengers, preparing to give chase should anyone try to escape into the questionable safety of the darkness beyond the village.

Fortunately, the gunmen hadn't known to take into account that there were guests in the village. Guests who were capable of reacting far more quickly and effectively to the sound of gunfire.

--

What the-- "--fuck." John reached for his lighter and stumbled out of the hut. It was a good thing he hadn't bothered getting too comfortable; he was fully dressed for the occassion even -- what was it, a riot in the village? He jumped at the sound of gunshots and narrowly avoided a head to shoulder bump with one of the escaping villagers. The damn place was under attack.

One of the Jeeps drove by, still carrying a couple of gun-toting passengers in addition to the driver. They whooped and hollered and fired, seemingly at random, at the fleeing villagers. The driver swerved the car, nearly running down one screaming woman, and the tires squealed as he circled around to make another pass through the center of the village.

A quick flick of the metallic device in his hand brought about a large flame and John directed it straight to the hood of the car. In rapid succession, he sent forth another ball of fire and the engine's explosion caused the vehicle to flip onto its side.

None of the men inside had been wearing seatbelts. They were flung out onto the ground as the Jeep flipped, somehow managing not to get trapped underneath the vehicle as it crashed back to the ground. One of them managed to get to his feet, leveling his gun at John.

Over the top of the hut behind him, in what was obviously a leap - and an unassisted one, from the looks of it, appeared the village's other guest, the sixth stranger at dinner. The gunman stared at T'Challa, stupefied recognition on his face for an instant before T'Challa shot across the distance between them and smashed him to the ground with one powerful blow.

Grateful for the save, John killed the flames from the Jeep and torched the remaining guns on the ground. So the guy was a fellow mutant, but just what the hell was he doing in the village? He kept himself at a distance from the men, not trusting himself to have the ability to fight without burning someone's flesh off.

T'Challa shot him a look back over his shoulder, that seemed to size up John inside and out, all in an instant. Noting everything, including the distance John was keeping. "Can you help protect the villagers?" he demanded, the rumbling shout audible even over the gunfire and screams.

John caught the look, feeling somewhat affronted, but he nodded then rushed off in search of the other gunmen. The village was in a state of chaos. Everywhere around him, people were screaming and yelling, the noise escalating with the rapid firing of the guns. He was going to have to target the ones in the Jeeps first and then figure out a way to defeat the ones on the ground.

--

The gunman hung back, gazing warily at the gray-skinned stranger who'd just disarmed him with... well, a flap of skin. All around them was chaos, and he seemed to be debating whether or not to turn and run, or try fighting. He, like his friends, hadn't expected anyone to fight back tonight, not really.

"Back the hell off", Angelo snarled at him. "An' I might let you walk out of here tonight instead of gettin' carried."

The words were lost on the gunman; the tone, obviously, wasn't. He spat something back at Angelo, contemptuously, and charged him. A big man, he was probably used to being able to pound opponents into the ground when things got up close and personal.

Right, then. If that was how he wanted it. Angelo's face set stone-hard and he lashed out with a strand of skin, aiming at the man's knees. He'd only been aiming to trip him, send him crashing to the ground with no care for whether his momentum broke bones, but his mood affected his mutation, somehow, and the result was rather different. He hadn't known he could make his skin strips that sharp, before.

The man fell, howling, clutching at his leg. He looked up at Angelo in pain and disbelief, and then started crawling desperately towards the spot his gun had fallen.

Angelo got there faster, bending to pick it up. He proceeded, methodically, to unload it and drop the bullets in the dirt before throwing it as far as he could. Ignoring the man on the ground at his feet, he looked around the village, sizing up the situation.

Chaos, really, was the only way to describe what was going on, as cliched as it might sound. There were too many people running and screaming, stray bullets flying everywhere - none of the gunmen seemed like particularly good shots, but they had a certain malicious persistence, and few of the villagers seemed to be finding escape routes.

Angelo surveyed the scene almost emotionlessly, though cold anger was clear in his eyes as he saw the whole of what was going on, once again. The only choice involved who to strike at next, who was in the most trouble, who was near enough to help. Not whether to help, not for a second.

--

This was not going the way the gunmen had planned. What should have been a simple raid was rapidly falling apart in the fact of organized resistance - super-powered resistance, no less. The wiser among them were opting for a less-than-orderly retreat. Unfortunately, they weren't the majority. Too many of the gunmen were still in the village, panicking, firing wildly at anything that moved.

A young woman was huddled against the front of a hut, shielding the baby in her arms with her own body, but unable to risk getting up and making a run for it, with bullets whistling over her head. Tears poured down her face as she looked back and forth, trying to find a path to safety. None presented itself, and she screamed suddenly, curling more tightly around her crying child as one of the gunmen, a young man who looked to be barely out of his teens, advanced on her. His eyes bulging with panic as he leveled his weapon at her, shouting shrilly.

The first shot struck the ground in front of her. But he was still moving towards her, and even with his hand shaking, he wouldn't miss at close range.

Rahne's ears pricked up and swiveled toward the sound of the scream, then flattened back against her head as she turned and ran full-out toward it. She was no Nathan to block bullets mid-flight, or any of the others with longer-ranged powers... but she had blood on her mouth and bone shards in her teeth, and several attackers were going to be lucky if they regained the full use of both hands. She did not feel guilty about this yet.

She was screaming inside because she was going to be too slow this time, he would fire before she could get to him, and she didn't want to see it.

Instinct and habit and self-preservation all told her: attack swiftly and silently, especially if you're in a hurry; they shouldn't know you're coming until your teeth break their skin.

She fought them all down and forced the snarl out into a warning bark as she leaped.

And the gun swung away from the woman and baby, up toward her.

The shot seemed louder than all the rest.

Several huts over, Nathan had just finished levitating and upturning one of the gunmen's Jeeps, dropping the driver and his three passengers on their heads as they tried to flee. He had maintained light mental contact with the members of his group, as soon as they'd all jumped out of bed at the sound of gunfire. It wasn't quite a switchboard, but it was enough to keep track of them in the chaos.

So he felt it, and for a moment thought that he'd been shot in the arm - the pain and the shock was that clear, that visceral. It was only an instant, however, until his head cleared and he realized that he was fine.

Then rational thought ceased, pretty much entirely.

#RAHNE!# The firebird that sprung into existence around him was pure blinding white, the fabric of it seemingly boiling as Nathan launched himself into the air.

The bullet had slammed into Rahne's right front leg in midair, twisting her to the side and shortening the leap. She landed hard on her left shoulder and the side of her head, with a dirty booted ankle just in front of her muzzle; half-stunned and in pain, she snapped at it. Something ripped, but her lips and tongue felt numb and she couldn't tell if she'd caught flesh. She wished her arm would be numb instead. It hurt and she wasn't sure she could get up, and lying on the ground was a good way to get trampled or your head kicked in--

Nathan was shouting in her head, and white fire filled the sky. That was all right, then....

He had locked onto Rahne's position, and came hurtling back downwards, almost too fast to cover such a relatively short distance. Fast enough to be in time, however, and that was all that counted. He saw the familiar furred shape lying on the ground, saw her snap weakly at the ankle of the man with the gun. The terrified gunman stumbled backwards, hobbling, and raised his weapon with both hands, as if to steady it.

And pointed it at Rahne's head.

His finger was already squeezing the trigger when the blazing white firebird made the tiniest shift in its trajectory and landed on him, glowing claws smashing him to the ground. Nathan was turning in the next instant, the exoskeleton collapsing around him as he ran for Rahne.

Rahne, perhaps fortunately, had completely missed everything except the descending firebird. She had never been shot before and suspected in a distant way that she was not coping with it very well; she still couldn't seem to get back onto her three functioning feet; her ears were ringing and the smell of her own blood had washed out most other scents. She felt hot and dizzy and was holding on to consciousness with most of her teeth.

"Rahne." #Rahne, it's all right,# Nathan's voice said soothingly in her mind as he knelt down beside her. A gunman aiming at the two of them from a short distance away, who had seen it all, was more fortunate than his comrade; his weapon merely exploded in his hands and he ran, screaming. Nathan ignored him and tried to get a better look at where she'd been shot. There was a lot of blood.

#Oh, is it? Good,# she thought at him, rather hazily.

Nathan ran his hands over her leg, trying to use his telekinesis to gauge the damage even as he used it to put pressure on the wound itself. #It's going to be,# he sent back. Get the bleeding under control, then worry about the pain, Dayspring... #Just stay still, all right?#

#Ow!# The complaint was more like a mental yelp; all that came out of her throat was a rather pathetic whimper. Neither was intended to suggest he ought to stop. Rahne wasn't thinking very clearly, but she did know first aid wasn't necessarily comfortable. Although she was slightly worried about something else. #Er, fight? Isn't there still a fight?#

Bullets bounced off a TK shield around a group of shrieking children, and two gunmen screamed as they went flying through the air and right out of the village. Nathan flung a telepathic suggestion at the children, who ran obediently into the hut so that he could encircle it with a shield. "Don't worry about that," he said grimly to Rahne, and started to tell her not to shift back to human form.

Well, he'd know. She ought to change, though. Shapeshifting helped with healing, a little. Forced things back where they belonged. And she'd rather heal in human form -- an image of one of those cone-collars to keep her from worrying her stitches made her laugh weakly, and she missed Nathan's intended admonition.

It was not her best idea ever. She threw herself into it, because she didn't think she could try twice and if she didn't make it past halfway she would be stuck as a wolf. The bleeding didn't increase much -- under the telekinetic pressure, her body's shape-memory was trying to drag the torn vessels into alignment -- but the shattered bone grated across itself as it morphed, and that piece felt all wrong, maybe it was the bullet, and she screamed just a little through gritted teeth as she collapsed back to human form.

And promptly passed out.

Nathan swore in Askani, softly but viciously. But unconsciousness wasn't such a bad thing. It would let him realign the bone, and he did just that, holding it in place with a telekinetic splint even as he kept pressure on the bullet wound itself. He rose, lifting Rahne easily in his arms, and cast his mind out to locate Ororo.

--

The madness had gone on long enough. Ororo was sickened by the sight of the villagers fleeing, in fear for their lives, and though Nathan and the others were doing a good job at subduing the gunmen, it was time for it to stop completely. A tug of anger passed through her as she tipped her head back and called the atmosphere together, dark, roiling stormclouds blocking out the stars and moon over the village. They stirred for a moment longer and then a bolt of lightning lanced out, hitting perilously close to one of the abandoned trucks and knocking one of the interlopers off his feet. Another bolt followed shortly after, again missing the thatched huts and innocent villagers completely and seemingly focusing only on the gunmen. Sparks flew as metal heated and grew overexcited, and a moment later the sizzle and hiss of rain falling could be heard. Clearly Mother Nature was saying they had worn out their welcome.

And they retreated. Too much resistance, too many in the way of terrifying and unnatural powers on display. What had been intended to be a simple raid had turned into something entirely unexpected, and it was simply too much. They fled - those who were wounded, those who were still intact, anyone capable of moving. One of the Jeeps was still intact, and it managed to pick up several of the survivors before its tires squealed and it headed for the hills at top speed.

"Ororo!" The shout came from T'Challa as he came running towards her, a child of perhaps six years of age in his arms. The little girl seemed unhurt, but was crying hysterically, clinging to her rescuer. "Are you hurt?" he demanded urgently, giving her a quick up and down look.

"No, I am fine," she said shortly, doing the same check of both him and the little girl almost reflexively. T'Challa looked unhurt as well, though it was not surprising, given that her earlier observation of the man had shown him using his own mutation - what looked to be prime physical enhancement - to his advantage against the attackers.

He murmured something to the girl in the local language. There was a sudden, hysterical cry from off to their left, and a woman ran at them, arms outstretched for her daughter. T'Challa handed her over, and for a moment, his expression seemed to soften.

When he turned back to Ororo, he was all business again. "I counted at least eight wounded beyond the capability of these people to tend," he said, almost crisply. "Taking them south to Arusha would take too long. Your group has a large vehicle. Mine is small, but will still hold at least a few. We can take them north, to my home. There is better medical aid to be had there."

Ororo hesitated briefly - she wasn't officially 'in charge' here - but the logic and good sense of his words was undeniable. "Very well," she said with a nod, hoping that the injured were well enough to move. "We will organize the transportation if you will provide us the guidance to reach your home."

"This is..." T'Challa bit off whatever he'd been about to say, something close to anguish in his eyes as he looked around at the village. He shook his head, however, and the expressionless mask returned. "There is a medical clinic just across the border. Fully equipped."

Before Ororo could ask him what border he was talking about, someone was shouting her name, and Nathan rushed forward, an unconscious Rahne cradled in his arms and a look few people had seen in his eyes. "Bullet in the arm," he said harshly. "I'm keeping a telekinetic pressure bandage on it." T'Challa gave a start at the comment; Nathan didn't seem to notice. "The boys are all right. What are we doing, Ororo?"

The silver-haired woman frowned, both at Rahne's condition and the expression Nathan was wearing. She didn't allow it to affect her composure, though. "T'Challa has offered his assistance; he will take us and the injured villagers to a medical clinic that he knows of. You stay with Rahne - she needs you. Angelo and John and I will get the villagers into the car for transport."

Nathan gave the other man a sharp look; T'Challa returned it steadily, and Nathan's arms tightened around Rahne, a flare of unreadable emotion crossing his face. "Once you get them into the car," he said curtly, "I can multitask, if we've got any severe bleeding. They just need to be close."

T'Challa nodded without a word and headed back into the village at a run. Nathan glanced at him, then back at Ororo. "When we get everyone to medical help, we need to have a talk. About him. There's more to this situation than just more random violence in Africa."

"Then we will discuss it. Later. For now we have more pressing issues to deal with." With a decisive nod, Ororo placed a light hand on Nathan's shoulder. "She will be all right. But let us not waste any time. It will not be long until dawn."

--

"You're gonna need stitches, lady," John muttered. His bed manners were less than stellar but hell, he wasn't a doctor. He covered the wound on her leg with sterile gauze and adhesive tape then applied more pressure to the area by wrapping a cloth around her calf in order to stop the bleeding.

Angelo glanced over from the patient he was patching up, commenting dryly, "Not sure how many of them speak English, John."

He snorted. "I sure as hell hope not." He muttered a curse as he applied a Band-Aid over one of the many cuts on the woman's knee. The hot and humid weather was starting to get to him, alright. "But hey, you do know that the official language is Kiswahili and English, right?" He glanced over at Angelo. "You know that fucker over there's got a bullet lodged in his shoulder and I don't see transportation coming round just yet?"

"Official language don't mean shit outside the cities", Angelo said with a shrug. "Some of them will, but I wouldn't count on... does he." His voice had switched to grim on the last two words, and he finished tying off the bandage in his hands and straightened up. "An' here's us with no kind of anaesthetic that'd do much good. This one might need two." The man was big.

"Guess we could use some morphine around here." He tore a clean shirt into two. "And definitely some more gauze as I'm officially out, a couple of doctors, maybe a shaman..." John looked up with a smirk.

"We'll get them to what we need as soon as the transport's ready", Angelo said flatly. "As for now..." He started towards the big man. "You gonna help me?"

John raised his eyebrows slightly. "Yeah. Sure." He picked his gear up and headed over.

"First thing's to get the bullet out", Angelo said mostly to himself, then continued more loudly, "I'm guessin' I'm the one of us that's done it before, so you get to hold him down. An' maybe be ready to cauterise, if it starts the bleedin' up again."

"What, I can't just punch his lights out and spare him the pain?" He was kidding -- obviously. "You sure you know what you're doing, grey?"

"First time I did this, I was thirteen with a pair of needlenose pliers", Angelo said matter-of-factly, digging around the medical kit in search of small tongs or large tweezers. "I've got more skilled since then an' there's better tools. Yeah, I know what I'm doin'."

"Alright." He leaned forward, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and then another on his knee. "Let's do this."

Angelo just nodded, finding what he was looking for, and straightened up with the tongs in hand. He shot the man a quick apologetic look as he approached, then started his work. The quicker this was over, the better.