xp_logs | Fifth Column: Storming the Castle (Reply)

The X-Men and the Hungarian police launch a preemptive strike against the Preservers and Trask's 'Askani'. Things get messy.

The old factory looked like a fortress from the outside; on the inside, it was vast and echoing and seemed empty, even with the three dozen or so terrorists inside, getting ready to commit an act that Tanya Callery knew perfectly well she might have given her life to stop. It was just that no one had claimed the price, yet.

Expression carefully neutral, she helped one of Trask's misguided girls with her weapon, trying to ignore the way that Trask herself and a couple of the others were looking at her. They knew that she shouldn't be here. They were justifiably suspicious of how and why she'd just happened to show up to an operation right here in Budapest, of all places. But they didn't know that she'd given away their endgame, or she wouldn't still be standing here.

The not-knowing would change as soon as Peter, the X-Men, and whatever special-response teams had survived the afternoon arrived, Tanya knew, giving the girl a slight smile and a nod before she moved on. She just wished she'd been able to give them more details on what they would be facing. Not all the mutants gathered in this factory had powerful abilities, which clearly hadn't sat well with some of the hardcore Preservers. But Trask hadn't even bothered defending her people; she'd simply quelled the disapproving looks. Say what you wanted about the bitch, Tanya thought, she had a force of personality that was hard to resist.

Nor had she left the less-gifted of her people to make do with their own natural abilities. She'd armed them to the teeth.

They wouldn't pull it off, she told herself. There was no way that there wasn't a force on the way, ready to come down on this factory like the wrath of God. There would be no more columns of smoke rising in the air over Budapest tonight.

There wouldn't. And that was what was important.

Across the room, Trask conferred with Alverez, the dark-haired woman who rarely left her side unless at Trask's own request. The conversation cut off abruptly as Trask's companion brushed her temple lightly with her fingertips, then glanced up.

"We have incoming, Tara -- ground vehicles with air support. Grey and Dayspring are definitely along, trying to mask them."

There was a cold, deadly silence from Trask's direction. Callery put on an appropriate look of mild concern as Preservers and Trask's people alike started to react to the news. More anger than anxiety, she noticed; another thing you could say for them was that they were definitely ready to fight.

"One wonders how they know where to find us," Trask said, her gaze turning in Callery's direction.

Callery gave her a faint smile. "I think we've always underestimated Xavier, for one," she pointed out. "Or maybe they've grabbed Benedek. Even a telepath can be interrogated." Keep talking, she told herself; buy a little time.

"He was still walking around a free man as of thirty minutes ago." Trask's pale eyes were positively icy. "Free, and not sensing that he's being watched. Perfectly on-task. Unlike you, Tanya."

Most of the others were already moving to take up defensive positions at the doors and windows, and there seemed to be an argument going on between the two 'ranking' Preservers present over whether they should be trying to hold out here, or taking the fight out to them. Even amidst the sudden chaos, Callery only had eyes for the good professor. She shrugged slightly, wishing her skin wasn't crawling. But she could almost see the decision being made in Trask's cold eyes; the woman hadn't gotten this far by being sentimental, and it wasn't as if this was the first time she'd evoked suspicions.

"Something to be discussed later," she suggested. "Right now I think we have bigger concerns."

"She's right. We do have larger concerns." Alverez was suddenly between Callery and Trask, delivering a mental assault as precise and clean as a dagger sliding between ribs into the former's mind even as she blocked direct access to the latter. "Such as why one of the primary concerns of the local cops heading our way is that you be taken safely into custody on sight, Callery."

Callery managed to bite back the scream; she did not manage to stay on her feet. The impact of her knees on the floor barely registered against the screaming pain inside her skull. What Gideon had done to her mind made it unreadable. It most definitely did not make it invulnerable.

But it helped. Get up, she told herself, feeling blood trickling already from her nose. Get up, take Trask down... "Get out of my way, Alvarez," she rasped, hauling herself back to her feet via sheer force of will. "You're the only one... who didn't choose to be here. I don't want to hurt you."

"You traitor," hissed Trask from her questionable safety behind the telepath. "I would have given you everything you wanted, Callery-"

"I want... my city... safe and sound, you fucking bitch!" Callery snarled, jerking forward, fully prepared to go through Carly if need be.

The shorter woman seemed not in the least impressed by the bleeding, furious tank headed her way. She firmed her concentration, digging metaphorical fingers into the mental wound she'd created and ripping the lips of it wide and gaping. Callery's mind was an unlit maze, giving away nothing, but that still left lots of room for brute damage on the mental playing field. Callery was slowing, but not stopping. Five steps away. Four. Three...

Callery's physical invulnerability had its limits. Something fast enough, or hard enough, could penetrate her tough skin, and the organic steel blade the man standing behind her had transformed his hand into certainly qualified for the latter. She stopped, making a choked noise as she looked down at the blade jutting from her chest, trying to think past the white explosion of pain. The taste of blood filled her mouth, and she looked up at Trask and Alvarez, unable to summon up the words.

The blade was abruptly withdrawn and she was falling.

---

His mind racing ahead of the helicopter, Nathan sensed it happen, saw it through the eyes of the man who'd just stabbed Callery. For all that he'd known something like this was a possibility, the helpless anger that flooded him was almost overwhelming. This was not the way it was supposed to end. Not after everything she'd done, everything she'd helped avert, here and in Wakanda.

And now they were expecting the attack, too. He'd hoped they could get closer, hit the factory before the hostiles managed to take up defensive positions. Not happening now. Which meant they could come under fire any minute now, which meant...

Nathan looked back at Jean, smiled tightly, and opened the side door of the helicopter. #Get on the ground ASAP. I think I can keep them busy,# he sent.

And jumped. Fifteen feet into his fall, once he was far enough away from the helicopter, he concentrated, and his firebird exoskeleton exploded into life in the night sky over Budapest. He thinned out his shields, as well, letting what he was planning to do stand there clearly in his mind, for Carly to pick up on if she chose.

Then, he folded his wings and dove, directly at the factory. He hit the building just under the edge of the roof, and didn't stop. The firebird plowed through the upper level of the old factory, tearing through the roof down the whole length of the building, sending debris raining down on the people below.

Most of whom were being sensible and diving for cover, just as he'd hoped.

---

The worst of the debris had missed her. Callery didn't know whether or not to be thankful for that. Wasn't sure what had taken out the roof; she'd fallen face-down, and had managed only to turn onto her side in the minutes since. The waves of pain made it hard to move, and she was getting so cold. Blood loss. Lots and lots of blood loss.

There was a lot of shouting going on, in Hungarian and other languages. Energy-projectors firing off their blasts, gunfire... I hope they get her, Callery thought fuzzily. After all this. I wish I could have done more... And she hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to Peter, or to the Prime Minister. That bothered her. Rather a lot. As the fighting raged around her, she started to cough, her mouth filling with blood again, and blackness creeping in at the edges of her consciousness as the pain swelled.

Even before Wakanda Nathan and Jean had been capable of remarkably close telepathic linking when need be but, after their adventures on the astral plane and their accidental creation of a gestalt psi-entity, it was now almost impossible for them to avoid linking closely. Sometimes too closely. But this time it worked to their advantage - he had seen through the eyes of Callery's attacker and now, even with the mess he'd made of the building, it was almost easy for Jean to find the right spot. Kneeling down she winced at the quantity of blood, quickly opening the field med-kit she'd grabbed from the helicopter. "Sharp things are bad, Callery. I thought I taught you that in Alaska."

"Get-" Her voice came out barely audible, but Callery persisted stubbornly. "Leave...me. Get her."

"I'm not really in the mood for leaving anybody," Jean said, and there was steel in her voice. "Have no fear, she will be dealt with, and it's going to hurt, but I'm not walking away to let you bleed out."

"Blew up... my city." It was something of a miracle that Callery could still talk, and even as she tried, she choked on more bloody. "My city..." Her voice grew more faint. "Where's Peter? Someone needs to tell..." What she might have said was swallowed up by the sudden roar of an energy blast, smashing into the debris only a few feet away from the two of them.

Ah. Well. The quick bandage she'd gotten on Callery would hold for the moment, much like her simple shield was holding against the brief rain of rubble, although they'd been lucky it wasn't a direct shot. With her attention distracted, Jean wasn't sure she'd have been able to stop the blast. Standing up, Jean turned to face the direction the energy had come from, catching sight of the man standing there, smirking at her. "You missed," she told him. "You're going to regret that. Briefly."

He said something in Hungarian. It sounded like a suggestion, and not a pleasant one. Still smirking, he raised his hands, a blue-white ball of fire taking shape between them.

There was a complete lack of amusement in Jean's own expression. "You were with the Preserver cell here in Hungary, weren't you? Trask doesn't hang out with that many men, and being an energy projector... well, it's pretty obvious," she said, her tone more or less conversational. "Just so you know, I'm not that fond of Preservers." And she didn't even blink as she telekinetically threw him into the wall.

His blast went wild as he was thrown backwards, but it only drew the attention of other terrorists, still struggling to regain their footing and their composure after Nathan's rather successful distraction. "Traitor!" screamed a young woman at the fallen Callery, who was well on her way to passing out and not in a position to respond. The woman came running at them, clawed hands outstretched.

Hand to hand was not Jean's specialty - she wasn't bad at it, couldn't be with all the training they did, but given her mutation, standing at the back and smacking people from a distance was more her thing. Right now, however, Jean was kind of in the mood to hit someone. Hard. The clawed mutant would do for the moment; Jean slipped into a ready stance and let the other woman race towards herself and Callery, only dodging to the side at the last moment and bringing her leg up for a savage kick straight into her ribs.

It was perfectly timed, and Jean's attacker went down with a wheezing gasp, in time to miss the hail of gunfire that came at her as a couple more of the terrorists got their acts together and started firing from cover.

The good news, Jean would decide after, was that she'd been the obvious (and dangerous) target, and they'd been aiming at her, rather than the prone Callery. At the moment, though, she was definitely not best pleased to be being shot at, particularly as she'd been focused on the target in front of her. A few shots made it through her shield before she could reinforce it, one tearing straight through her upper arm. Jean cried out briefly and then snarled, and suddenly that cry was echoed throughout the room as she telepathically blasted the pain right back at the terrorists.

#Jean!# came Nathan's very alarmed response, and the firebird that had been drawing as much fire as it could dove back down towards her -until something, or perhaps someone, slammed into it from the side, knocking it into one of the walls. And directly through. As usual, when telekinetic exoskeleton met wall, the wall lost.

On the plus side, the giant flaming bird falling through the wall meant that any of the shooters who were still capable of focusing after her telepathic blast were definitely not going to be taking any shots. On the minus side, the ceiling which was threatening to collapse on them was also threatening to collapse on her and Callery. #I'm ok. Or, well, been better. Please don't destroy any more walls; I don't think I can hold up the building and avoid getting shot again.#

Sheer... irritation, for lack of a better word, poured up the link. #Motherfucking sons of-# The debris pile over where Nathan had fallen gave a heave and he emerged, staggering a little as the remains of the exoskeleton faded around him. One of the terrorists charged him, and actually got in a punch or two before Nathan swatted him halfway across the factory with one fuming look.

Any moron dumb enough to go running at someone who'd just crash landed a MASSIVE FLAMING BIRD into a building deserved the broken bones they got when they hit the wall, Jean decided. #You know, in retrospect, maybe we should have made 'drop the building on them' the actual plan. It clearly works well, and seeing as we were going to do it anyway...# For a brief moment, no one was shooting, kicking or even yelling at her, so Jean took the chance to kneel back down, tightening Callery's bandages before telekinetically picking her up.

#Police are pulling up,# Nathan sent tightly, turning his attention to another handful of terrorists trying to regroup. #Get her out to them, then get back in here and let's start piling up the unconscious terrorists like cordwood.#

#See? Sometimes we can make plans that won't leave our COs crying in the corner.# Jean turned to head out, wincing slightly as she jostled her arm. #Be right back.#

Two of the first batch of police officers into what remained of the building were quick to take Callery from her, heading back out at as fast a clip as they could manage without jostling her too much, one of them assuring Jean in rapid, heavily accented English that there would be an ambulance beyond the perimeter. No sooner had she turned back to head into the heart of the fighting again when the distinct feeling of a telekinetic shockwave came at her - not nearly as forceful as anything Nathan or Haller could have mustered, but respectable even by their standards.

Jean was tired and in pain, so managing to keep her feet as she was shoved back was actually pretty good. Her eyes narrowed and it was almost easy for her to switch over to seeing lines of force and trace the echoes back to the man who'd stepped out from behind a fairly respectable pile of rubble. "Jesus. How many of you people are there?"

#Enough,# came the telepathic reply, and then there was pressure being exerted against her mind as well. Again, it was perfectly obvious that the man wasn't up to her level in sheer strength, but the steady force of the attack spoke of experience and confidence in his own abilities. #This wasn't what we planned, but it will have to do...# There were images and emotions in the thoughts that were trying to force their way into hers; he seemed almost pleased, in a dark sort of way, at the idea of all of them, Preservers and Askani and X-Men and Hungarian police, fighting until no one was left standing. As if he appreciated the statement it would make.

#I've got to say, 'kill them all and let God sort them out' is not even in my top ten for life mottoes.# It was odd, he was definitely a well trained psi and he was hanging out with Trask... and yet there wasn't a trace of Askani shielding in his mind. She couldn't tell if Trask had kept the knowledge from him or if he'd simply disdained it, but for the moment she thought she could put the fact to use. It took less than a heartbeat to lay patterns throughout her mind before letting her shileds shiver as though he was getting the upper hand.

There was something half-vocalized in his mind about 'weak women' as he went triumphantly for the "kill". Images of Trask, edged with both derision and wariness, and wistful images of the great Parliament building on fire.

Jean's shields 'collapsed' and the thrust of his attack burst into her mind, only to be snared up in the tangles of patterns she'd laid down which flared brightly around him, holding his astral self in place. #You know, I don't buy your 'weak women' anymore than I buy Trask's obsession with female strength. Women are people and people are what they are. Not that you'd know, seeing as you're a pretty shitty excuse for a person.#

He struggled wildly, managing to slash through a few of the patterns holding him - but only a few. Fighting her only succeeded in laying his mind bare to her, and what was reflected in his mind was two years of painstakingly taking what was left of the European Preservers and rebuilding the organization. Two years, with all their work and effort directed at Hungary, always at Hungary. Waiting for the perfect target to present itself, to use as a springboard for another, bigger strike.

Jean's eyes widened and then narrowed as she made note of faces, locations, everything they would need to know. #Well, aren't you just a goldmine of information. Thank you for all of that...#

He gave a howl of rage, lashing out at her wildly with his telekinesis. Huge chunks of debris flew in all directions - only some of which constituted 'at her'. A piece of the roof landed directly on two of his own comrades, smashing them to the ground, while a hail of concrete and metal descended on some of the police officers who had just made their entrance into the factory.

#Well now. That's enough of that...# There was more information to be had, and a part of Jean wanted to go digging, find all of it so they could be done with the Preservers once and for all, but that would have to wait. Batting the few bits of rubble that had actually come her way aside, Jean shook her head. #Throwing temper tantrums like a little kid. Guess it must be naptime.# It took only a few seconds to plant the suggestion; longer than it ought to have taken, given she had control over his astral form, but then he was well trained. But in the end it didn't matter and he collapsed to the ground.

---

For a group of terrorists who'd been taken by surprise and then had the building they were in summarily half-demolished around them, some of them were definitely not dumb. Someone in a position of leadership had noticed, even amidst the chaos, just how easily Logan was mowing through everything in his path. The X-Man found himself being bodily tackled from three different directions, by mutants who seemed considerably larger than the norm. One appeared to have some sort of personal forcefield, while another had skin that looked like granite. The other, an arm around Logan's neck from behind, seemed to have nothing but enhanced strength and an excess of enthusiasm.

He wasn't too worried about the rock guy or Captain Enthusiastic, but the force-field could be a problem. First things first, though. He raised a claw and hacked at the arm around his throat - not to sever it, but to carve chunks of muscle away. Should loosen the grip and disable the guy quite nicely without giving him a dirt nap. It was tricky work - get it wrong, go too deep, and he could potentially wind up slitting his own throat. He'd probably survive - he hoped - but it'd be deeply embarrassing.

The man's flesh resisted his claws - for about two seconds longer than an ordinary human being's would have. Which did not, after all, make much difference in the end. He howled, stumbling backwards and letting go of Logan, clutching the injured limb. The rock-skinned mutant howled something in Hungarian that sounded deeply profane, hurling himself at Logan.

"Fuck you too, sweetheart." he said as he met the charge with the pointy end of one fist's worth of claws. He wasn't going to get out of the way of the charge, but that was OK. He could use the momentum to go up and out, put him that much closer to his goal. The rock-guy connected with a granite fist which, Logan reflected, really hurt like a sonofabitch. But he grabbed for the guy as he went backwards, pulling him along and stabbing him with three claws into the man's side while he was at it.

The rock-skinned mutant went down and stayed down. An energy blast of an interdeterminate sort whizzed over Logan's head, close enough to singe his hair. More police had reached the factory at this point, and the energy-projector directed his fire at them, lighting one officer up like a torch even as the others scrambled for cover. Meanwhile, the forcefield-wearing mutant advanced on Logan, looking determined.

Logan ignored the force-fielder and charged the energy projector. Torching his backup was bad form plus they were way outclassed and overwhelmed. They'd get cut to pieces if he stopped to dance with the force-field guy. "All right, bub. Now I'm pissed." he muttered under his breath as he ran.

Another one of the police officers caught the edge of the next blast and fell, his body armor burning. One of his comrades pounced on him instantly, trying desperately to smother the flames. The energy-projector advanced on them both, one hand outstretched even as he tossed off more blasts with the others to drive the other officers back. He didn't appear to see Logan coming.

Which suited Logan just fine. Undoubted it would come as a very great shock when Logan's claws punctured one of the energy projector's lungs. Not both, but just one. You could live with one lung for a while. If his luck held he'd get in range any moment now...

The energy-projector turned, but not in time, and went down, his concern suddenly for breathing, rather than incinerating police officers. The police took the opportunity to make their way further into the factory, one shouting something grateful-sounding in Hungarian to Logan.

Before he could find another opponent, however, there was a familiar presence in his mind. #Two hostiles, west wall, working on some sort of explosive device,# Nathan sent tightly, the fierce golden presence jangling with what seemed like pain. Even so, he managed to flash Logan the image to go along with his words. #You're closest.#

Logan growled in his head - at the best of times he really didn't like telepathic contact - but he got the message all right. He turned and ran without so much as a word or a gesture for the cop and headed for the hostiles at a dead run. He wasn't thinking about what a well-placed bomb could do to the building they were all in. He was savoring putting some hurt on the world-be sappers.

The two were shielded by a large pile of debris - as effective a distraction as Nathan's divebombing of the roof had been, it had provided rather a lot of cover on the floor of the factory, which benefited both the police and the terrorists, unfortunately. One of them, a young woman, looked up and spotted Logan coming over the pile of debris. She managed to get one shot off from her sidearm, and a surprisingly good one given how little time she had to react. Nearly center-mass.

Center mass just meant that the bullet his his sternum and ricocheted. Hurt, yes, but he had enough forward momentum to eat the shot and keep moving forward. First attack went to the gun - to cut it in half, make it useless. Second went to the woman's partner, to hook him with claws of by hand to throw him away from the bomb. Quicker they went down, sooner he could work on defusing the bomb or just getting rid of it.

It became obvious, once they were safely down and out of the way, that they'd had plenty of time to work on their explosive device. There was no blinking red timer, as if this were some Hollywood movie, but it looked suspiciously active.

#What do we have?# Nathan still sounded distracted, if urgent.

#It's a bomb.# he thought back, annoyance soaking his mental words. #You know anything about bombs?# he asked. #Or am I just gonna cover it?#

#Hold still,# came the irritated reply. #I'm looking. Must be what they were going to use at the Parliament building... C4, and the detonator is-# Nathan's presence in his mind cut out suddenly in a wash of white pain, and didn't come back.

#Great.# Logan thought to himself as Cable flaked out. Probably got another coatrack or a gnat breathed on his ribs or maybe his many-times-great-uncle showed up from the future to teach him to dance the two-step. #Asshole.# Now, if he was a detonator for a block of C4, what would he look like? Then it hit him - he didn't have to know. Local cops undoubtedly had a bomb squad, let them figure it out. He took out a claw and drove it into the wall, then with difficulty cut out the section of wall the bomb was plastered to. Once free, he looked around for any of the local law enforcement officer. Make them deal with it. Just to be sure he held the bomb very steady and in the same orientation it had when it was on the wall in the first place.

Two officers spotted him with the piece of wall and headed over at a run, dodging energy fire. One of them blurted out what had to be a curse in Hungarian, while the other stared for a single, shocked moment before helping Logan prop it up against a still-intact portion of the nearest wall.

"Hey! You! Adolf! Franz! Whatever the hell your name is! Go get the bomb squad before this thing goes boom." he said in a friendly tone, lighting a match against the bomb casing and using it to get a cigar going. Ahhhh. Just the thing. "You speak English? Ah, fuck it, doesn't matter." he said with a friendly wave before heading back into the firefight. Might as well see if he could go find Cable and His Amazing Faberge Brain.

---

The young man running at Lil was screaming in Hungarian, and not paying much attention to anything else going on around him. It was a carelessness he could apparently afford; the few bullets that came his way incinerated upon impact with the nimbus of blue flame surrounding him, and seeing that, the police officers trying to stop him had the good sense to get out of the way. He had clearly identified her as a priority target, however. Maybe he'd seen her taking down a couple of his comrades a moment before. As he got closer, he extended his hands, clearly going for her throat, and the fire around him paled to white-hot.

Hearing the infuriated howls, Lil's head jerked up in the direction of the man hollering words she could not translate but could quite easily understand. Long legs stepped over the two terrorists she'd just knocked unconscious and with fists at the ready, met the charge with a swift sweep of her longer arm to knock his aside followed by a hard punch aimed at her attacker's face. "Quit making so much fucking noise and maybe you'll manage something," the blonde growled under her breath as he collapsed to his knees. A quick breath and the giantess brought her knee up, catching him under his chin, sending him to sleep with his comrades.

The fighting had been fierce but Lil found some comfort in the fact she'd yet to come across a psi strong enough to affect her actions -or at least, any she'd given time to. She blew a tuff of hair from her eyes and readied herself for the next attacking, knowing it could and probably would come in any form.

Vila had slipped in the room quietly, padding softly on the floor and staying low and unnoticed. He was not a fighter per se, he wasn't trained, but his natural instinct was a predator. Shifting quickly, he lay low to the ground behind a body, watching the woman. When her back was to him he pounced. In his human form he was no match for her, she outmassed him, was taller, and more muscled. In his panther form however, he possibly stood a chance. Lil fell forward with a grunt, catching herself on hands and knees when the weight of panther hit her back. Hissing, she spat another curse then threw her weight to one side in attempt to throw him off.

Attempting to hold on to her with his claws without hurting her wasn't working so he dug claws in and hoped she didn't succeed. Panthers were unfortunately, the smallest of the big cats and he went flying off her, hissing and growling. She needed to go away! He leapt at her once more, going for her throat. Hopefully, she would scare and go away, but somehow he doubted it.

Once more the giantess went sprawling after impact, pain radiating from the contact point though her bio-aura kept gashes and broken bones non-existant. Muscling the cat's big paws away from her throat, Lil gave a sharp jerk of her head upwards, driving her impenetrable skull at its jaw.

When her skull connected it hurt and Vila's head jerked backwards painfully. Growling, he swiped at her, claws connected to her cheek. If she gave up it would make his life so much easier. He was a scientist, not some common thug!

If he was expecting blood, Lil wasn't sorry to disappoint. With her powers protecting her, no blood swelled on her face; no scratches appeared on her cheeks but the blonde woman felt the force and the pain that blossomed with it. The blonde woman gave another grunt of her own, just as animalistic as she aimed her diamond-hard nails for the big cat's eyes. "You wanna turn this into a chick fight, be my guest," she growled under her breath.

Vila's English wasn't the best, but he did understand 'chick fight' and what it meant. Hissing, he did his best to avoid her nails, an eye gouged out would be the same in cat form as human, and he didn't have a healing factor. Backing off he slunk down low, watching her warily.

Rolling to her feet, Lil assumed a defensive position against the panther. "Uh uhn. You're not gonna fool me that easily," she told him. Green eyes flicked from the spot where the other mutant lay in wait to the doors and back, making sure he wasn't simply waiting for others to ambush her.

If only it was that easy. Life would be a lot simpler. Rolling onto his back and showing his belly was a classic animal move of submission so that was what Vila did. He wasn't an animal though, despite the form. No, he was a human. And he was going to try to use this to his advantage.

Both brows lifted as Lil observed the giant cat acting more like a playful puppy dog. "Talk about rolling over and playing dead," she muttered to herself, confused. Thoughts drifted to the Catseye end of the mutant spectrum when the girl in feline form was more animal than human, it seemed. Maybe this attacker was the same. Or maybe, he was just trying to throw her off. Keeping her fists up, Lil held her position for a few minutes longer, waiting to see what he would do before she'd try to move further into the complex.

Sigh. The harmless kitty routine wasn't working. Trying to look pitiful for a few more moments, Vila rolled over onto his feet again and simply walked over to the giant woman. Then he jumped almost straight up at her face without warning. No growls or pouncing or anything. It didn't give him the force and momentum to knock her down, but he just wanted his claws in her, do some damage.

Poised to react as soon as her oppontent started moving, Lil wasn't surprised when he launched another attack. When he jumped, the giantess called up training honed from many, many grappling and sparring sessions with Logan, Puck and various other teachers. With a little duck, she waited until she felt the weight of the cat's chest on her back and shoulders before straightening and sending the rest of his body flipping over her head.

With a howl of indignation, Vila went flying into the wall, hitting it soundly and then sliding to the ground, automatically shifting back to his human shape as he did so. He was young, early twenties at best and naked as he lay there, unconscious. He had never claimed to be a fighter, powers or not.

The blonde woman heaved a sigh before cautiously moving to the young man's side. A quick check of his pulse proved him to be knocked uot but not dead, just the like the rest of the men she'd already faced. "Sweet dreams, Pussycat," Lil muttered then continued deeper into the complex, toward her rendevous point.

---

A handful of the terrorists had managed to take up defensive positions behind a pile of debris; most seemed to be armed with guns, but there was at least one energy-projector among them. They'd positioned themselves well, forcing the police advancing on them to take cover as well, and the situation looked to be developing into a stalemate.

Stupid Hungarians. Teleporting across the room at random, Clarice did her best to get the lay of the land so to speak, or more importantly, the bad guys. Finally she teleported herself one, wrapping her arms around his neck and just holding on with her feet around his waist. She bet he wouldn't like that.

Yelping, he lurched back to his feet, trying to shake her off and only suceeding in running more or less in circles. Under any other circumstances, it could have been a moment of high comedy. One of his compatriots swore and pointed his gun at Clarice, trying to get a clear shot.

Guns weren't nice, especially since she was not bullet proof. Perhaps if she was it would be a different story. Her uniform was body armor too, but there was no denying that if she was shot, it would hurt. A LOT. And she did not like that. Not at all. However, she didn't see the gun. The guy she was hanging on to was boring and she slipped off him and disappeared into a blink disc before reappearing in front of another guy, grabbing his ankles and teleporting them both up in to the air, then dropping him. High ceilings were useful, though it wasn't high enough to do a lot of damage. Was she playing? Hell yes. And it was fun.

The man she dropped managed to fall directly on two of the other terrorists. Rather like a human bowling ball. The others were firing wildly, obviously hoping to hit her wherever she happened to reappear.

Clarice had reappeared and disappeared within almost the same disc. She was not a fan of gunfire. Not at all. She reappeared just outside the door, listening to see if the fire had stopped. Maybe they had shot themselves? Unlikely. Stupid goons. Popping back in, she teleported the structural beam of the room away. It didn't collapse like if it had been a movie unfortunately. Damn.

One of the terrorists shouted, and they all concentrated their fire in her direction. Ironically, however, their distraction allowed the police the space they needed to move forward, and soon there was rather less firing at Clarice happening, and more hand-to-hand combat between police officer and Preserver. Unfortunately, some of the latter appeared to have been carrying guns only to give themselves the ability to strike at a distance. Up close, physical enhancements began to make themselves known.

Despite her unusual colouring, Clarice didn't have any physical enhancements. Just the teleportation. A lot of people she had met over the years seemed to think that all mutants were super strong or fast or could fly or whatever and were surprised to find that they couldn't do it all. Clarice was a far cry from Superman. And in hand to hand combat, she was weak; her power allowed her to strike quickly and from a distance, not up close. Except the cops were getting their collective asses handed to them with better training and more physical power.

Working quickly, Clarice tried to separate the Preservers from the cops, teleporting them into the Caspian Sea one at a time. It was slow going to do so however without injuring the cops...and accidentally teleporting pieces of them too.

---

Things seemed to be at least beginning to come under control in favor of the good guys, at least judging by the fact that there was somewhat less fire of any sort crisscrossing the shattered factory. A significant number of the terrorists had been taken down, and taken down hard, and the majority of those still on their feet were clearly reacting defensively at this point, instead of trying to take the fight to the X-Men or the Hungarian police with them. Still, there were exceptions; one particularly insistent plasma-thrower seemed bound and determined to incinerate every police officer he came into contact with. As Haller caught sight of the problem, a plasma blast caught one officer a glancing blow, sending him sprawling, his body armor smoking and melting.

Two focused hammerblows of telekinesis struck the plasma-thrower on either shoulder, simultaneously dislocating both arms. Screaming, the man spun and fell, a final sputter of plasma skittering across the floor. Jack narrowed his eyes on the writhing form before turning to scan for his next target. The telekinetic distortions caused by Nathan and Jean and the sheer number of people in the warehouse had rendered his kinetic sensitivity useless. All he had now were his eyes and an increasing desire to see the terrorists' evening ended in equal parts speed and pain.

An incongruous note, amidst the chaos; Tara Trask walked rapidly but smoothly through the fighting, everyone around her, terrorists and police alike, suddenly turning increasing fury on each other rather than noticing her passage. Her pale features were set in an expression of concentration, and she didn't so much as glance Haller's way.

Even if he hadn't seen photos, Trask's carriage would have identified her. Brisk and self-assured, as if she were somehow above the carnage even as she exacerbated it. The X-Man hesitated for a split-second, then ducked behind a pile of debris. Hard still, to trigger a switch in the middle of a melee -- every punch thrown and bullet fired tugged at Jack's attention -- but Jack also recognized there were more ways to satisfy anger that brute force. With only a minimal struggle, Jim shifted to the fore -- and into Trask's mind.

Her shields were Askani, but basic. Though exceptional for a normal mind, they lacked the depth and complexity that could only come from a true understanding of telepathy. Jim ran his mind against the skein of her defenses and did what one would do when confronted with any knot: find an end.

There was resistence. The pattern was designed to prevent intrusion, and Jim was tracing it in a way similar to driving a car the wrong way down a one-way street. Yet unnatural as the flow of Jim's mind was, there was no disruption in the fabric of the pattern to alert her. Jim lacked skill at breaking defenses, but there was no need for it. Not when you could use the shield itself as your path.

Trask stopped in mid-step, frozen, as if every muscle in her body had suddenly locked into place. Only her eyes moved, shifting in Haller's direction and narrowing.

#Hello, Dr. Trask.#

They were not where they had been. But the landscape that surrounded them was even more desolate than the abandoned, shattered factory. They were in the midst of what had once been a city, a city whose architecture bore no resemblance to anything of this time.

Trask stood amid the ashes, gazing at him calmly. "Bold of you," she said. "Even Nathan hasn't dared this."

"Usually I'd be a little politer. But even excluding the stretch of time you set up an illegal sublet in Nathan's brain, you've been treating my teammates' minds like there's been an unapproved installation of revolving doors, so I've decided to waive that policy for the night." A tall figure trailing three faint shadows stepped from behind a shattered wall. It took a moment to take in the mindscape, then looked at Trask with one eyebrow raised. "You use other people to fight your battles in the name of somebody else's philosophy. I guess it's no surprise you borrowed for your mindscape, too."

"I have every right to this." Her expression was perfectly, utterly tranquil. "I saw it too. I see... rather a lot, really. And what I see when I look at you is very interesting. A broken man in a broken city. It fits." Her eyes glowed softly in the post-apocalyptic dimness. "As for your teammates... such petty things, in their subconscious minds. Easy enough to blow on the sparks. You, however, would be more challenging. Every twisted reflection has its own weaknesses."

"You wouldn't be showing me anything new. Sorry. Usually I'm a little more presentable, but I save that face for social visits." From nowhere a lit cigarette appeared, cupped in a hand where half the fingers were misaligned. The figure took a drag. "We're all petty, deep down -- even you. Looking for purpose, you found it in grasping for . . . whatever the opposite of antiquity is. It makes sense. Human or mutant, past or future, we all look for connection."

"Are you here to psychoanalyze me, David?" Trask asked mildly. The sky over the ruined city split with lightning briefly, and the rumble of thunder went on and on, unending. Or maybe it wasn't thunder, but the distant movement of great machines, somewhere just beyond the horizon. "Really, isn't this an inappropriate time?"

Bi-colored eyes studied the unmoving woman. "It is my job. I actually am curious, though. Where are you under all this, Dr. Trask? I heard you live by 'what is, is,' but I don't see anything of what is here -- only what you've seen through others' eyes. Adopted and layered on, over what came before. It's interesting. I can feel your faith, but I can't feel your self."

She shrugged slightly. "I am what I am. I make myself what I choose to be."

A nod. "I guess we can respect that, if only on principle."

The figure took a final drag, then tossed the cigarette away. It was ground out by a booted foot significantly larger than its twin.

"I'm going to hold you here," the telepath said, "until we've cleaned up the mess you started. Then we'll figure out what to do with you. Maybe I don't do offensive, but I promise you that at no point during that decision are you going to have access to your powers. Until then. . ." An arm extended again, and this time it gripped a shovel. The figure rested the handle against the earth as the sky flashed with another bolt of lightning. The metal of the blade shone. A mismatched gaze lingered on it for a moment, then slowly returned to Trask. "For all the minds you've invaded, it would serve you right if I dug until I hit bedrock."

Another presence entered Trask's mind, one who did not have to contend with shields and who would not have left so much as a ripple on the surrounding mindscape, even without the distraction of the ominous rumbling all around. Before the blade of Haller's shovel could so much as scape the earth they stood on, a hammerblow to the base of his mind rattled his hold on Trask.

Carly stood behind him, an Amazonian presence against the lightning-torn sky, all muscle, sinew, and cold fury as she pressed her attack.

Even as the X-Man stumbled forward two of his shadows flared to solidity: Jack, ascendent and enraged, and Cyndi, standing defensively over the fallen figure. One of the gifts of Haller's mental illness --when one went down, another stepped up. Alvarez traded two blows with Jack. The first he blocked with his forearms. The second he did not --and that blow punched through every personality Haller had.

The two alters folded up, and in an eyeblink the X-Man was gone.

Back in the real world, Trask swayed for a moment before fixing her gaze on Carly. A faint, almost secretive smile tugged at her lips as she looked down at the prone X-Man sprawled behind the pile of debris. Around her, the fighting intensified, at the slightest subconscious push.

"Kill him," she said, just loudly enough for Carly to hear her. "What better way to distract Nathan and Grey?" She started to turn away, pale eyes flickering back to David for a moment. "It's time they paid the price, too. Perhaps they'll even learn something. I'll see you back at the rally point."

And she was gone, in a half-dozen steps, vanishing into the crowd. It parted before her, then hid her passing.

---

They'd been cleared to come in through this exit, the fact that it was all clear radioed to the team Lakatos was with by one of the officers already inside the building. Coming under fire was something of a surprise, as a result, and he hadn't even had any useful visions to help, just a confused jumble that looked... rather like what he was seeing, actually. As the officer in front of him took a bullet to the leg and went down, Lakatos gritted his teeth and dragged the other man to cover.

The sound of gunfire halted Lil in her tracks. "Fuck," she spat as she turned on her heel and ran back the way she'd just come from; the sound of boots striking the floor and echoing through the factory, adding to the din.

Lakatos tried to fire around the pile of debris where he'd pulled the wounded officer; at least one of the people firing back at them went down, but a blast of concussive force came at them next. Swearing, Lakatos covered the wounded man's body with his own, trying to shield both their heads. The explosion still sent them both flying away like rag dolls, and Lakatos hit the ground hard, seeing stars.

Lil shielded her eyes from the light of the blast, having learned her lessen from twice being blinded in situations, and dropped her arm only when she felt pain blossom in her thigh. Bullet. They'd seen her. Of course, between her leathers and impenetrable skin, the giantess suffered no real damage but it did plenty to stoke the flames of anger - moreso when she saw Peter laying yards away, unmoving.

Green eyes narrowed as she charged the nearest terrorist, screaming as fury engulfed her. Death she'd seen many times over but murder, violent endings were still new to the young Canadian and the image of the Hungarian sprawled on the factory's floor was one that would stay with her.

Bullets continued to sail in her direction; finding their marks in her legs, arms and torso but so angered, so infuriated, Lil hardly felt them as they bounced off her and were scattered. It wasn't until a blinding pain, white and searing that howled as loud as she had in her forehead caused her head to snap back and the giantess to drop to her knees, dizzied and disoriented.

There was a yell of triumph from the terrorist with the very big gun who'd gotten in the lucky shout. He shouted to his comrades in Hungarian, urging them to get in there and finish her off, if the way a few of them charged Lil was any indication.

Diamond nails scratched at the floor and Lil swallowed her pain, fighting back the wave of nausea that threatened. Instead of the pounding in her skull, she focused on the pounding of feet, the sounds of the terrorists surrounding her, the readying of their guns. Two sets of strong hands took her under the shoulders and lifted, a third grabbing her ponytail to yank her head back hard. There was an audible gasp, a mummer she didn't understand, spurred, no doubt, by the lack of blood or bruising.

Lil took advantage of their surprise to spring her defense. Using their hold, the giantess lashed out with both legs, catching one of the men in the chest with a powerful kick that sent him sprawling. The two keeping her up quickly released her, intending to send her to the floor again while reaching for their weapons but the Valkyrie was too fast. Tumbling backwards as soon as her rear hit, Lil's legs shot out again, catching their guns and sending them flying as the forth man's shots went wide.

Lakatos managed to push himself up to his hands and knees, shaking his head in a dogged attempt to clear it. He looked to his left, hearing shouting, and his eyes widened slightly as he saw Lil making short work of the men around her. But farther away, there was a hostile with a much larger weapon, taking aim at her back, and Lakatos dove for his own weapon.

Grunts of effort sounded under gun fire and the giantess used every weapon afforded her to fight back against the three men still standing. Fists. Legs. Even the long ponytail of diamond-aura protected hair served as a whip, catching one of her attackers in the face to send him sprawling. Blows here traded and a hard shot to a terrorist's nose left her jacket bloodied. Lil couldn't remember anything this intense; bar brawls or training, nothing could touch actually being in a situation like the one she was facing.

Grabbing the bleeding man by the back of his head, yanked hard while bringing her knee up to connect with his head, putting him out but before she could turn, strong arms encircled her from behind and began squeezing.

Lakatos shot the man with the gun, then lurched back to his feet, staggering in Lil's direction to do something to help her. Partway there, something slammed hard into his shoulder, knocking him down again - a blast or a bullet, he wasn't sure what. But he was flat on his back on the ground again.

"Peter!" Lil shouted, kicking her attacker in the shins hard enough to get him to stagger and loosen his hold enough for her to reach back and flip him over her shoulder then stomp on his chest before running after the fourth and final man going for Peter's fallen gun. Hauling him back by the collar, she managed to overtake him, throwing him back a few good feet before sliding like one of the baseball players she'd been watching, flipping onto her back after grabbing the weapon and double kneecapping the terrorist.

With the final man down, Lil rolled again and crawled the rest of the way to the fallen Hungarian's side. "P-Peter," she repeated softly, already ripping the bottom of her shirt for material to stop the flow of blood. "Can you hear me?"

"... such a badass," came the weak response, but he managed to grab her other arm, hauling himself upward. "It's not bad," he said as she looked at his shoulder. "Cover first. First aid later."

She chuckled dryly, surprised at the tightness in her throat that slowly began to release. "Such an asshole. Making me worry," Lil fired back, tending to the wound the best she could before stealing a quick kiss. "Can't having you bleeding all over my sexy leather while I drag your ass outta here."

---

Carly glared down at at the insensate man, her dark eyes narrowing. An attack on Tara had been one thing. The threatened violation was quite another. She pulled her handgun from her belt and aimed at Haller's forehead, reaching out with her mind in the same instant to grind down on the X-Man's pain centers. She couldn't draw this out, but he deserved worse than a simple bullet in the skull for what he'd tried, even if it was just a moment of inescapable agony.

The telekinetic hammer-blow knocked the Glock out of her hand, sending it flying, and the next smashed her aside almost contemptuously, throwing her into a pile of debris a good six feet away from where Haller lay. Nathan appeared out of the melee surrounding them, the psimitar in his hand burning incandescent gold and a look of cold fury on his face.

#Stand down.# His voice in her mind was deeper and more resonant than it should have been, given that she was the more powerful telepath. But for all the Askani knowledge she'd acquired, she didn't have an Askani weapon in her hand, magnifying and augmenting her abilities. #Stand down or I put you down.#

Carly rose to her feet. Cracked ribs, maybe broken, but she pushed the pain aside. "Dayspring..." Even with his psimitar, she had an edge. She could still put him down and get out. She would have to be precise and vicious, but that was in no way an issue. Carly lashed out with a narrow, focused psionic attack, looking to penetrate fast and painfully.

The attack connected and Nathan staggered backwards for a moment, blood running from his nose. But even as the cracks spread through his shields, he was refocusing on Carly, and the psimitar was too bright to look at. His presence on the astral plane exploded like a supernova in miniature.

He didn't strike back. He projected instead, the second verse of a very old song, key words compressed into a single, searing thought.

The Trojan Horse hit Carly's mind like an earthquake. Her shields didn't so much crack as disintegrate, as the careful, elaborate layers of conditioning built into her mind so many years ago exploded, clear white light blasting away any trace that they had ever existed.

"... never sound in slavery," Nathan mumbled, his eyes unfocusing and the flow of blood from his nose increasing as he went to his knees.

Carly staggered, eyes wide and showing white all around.

"...oh no..."

Overwhelmed, she stumbled back and sank to the ground, unconscious.

Nathan stared at her prone body for a long moment, breathing heavily. Then, leaning heavily on his psimitar, he pulled himself back to his feet, reaching out and physically grabbing the nearest cop. "Inhibitor collar," he rasped at the man, reinforcing it telepathically just in case the cop's English wasn't good. "Put it on her, get her out of here. Go!"

He paused for only long enough to make sure that it was being done, and then turned and headed back into the fighting. Still targets to put down, teammates - whether permanent or temporary - to protect. But despite the fatigue and the events of the day, he moved with increasing purpose, as if he'd just discovered a new reserve of energy.

From smaller victories came the larger.