xp_logs | GSIH: Ol' John Henry (Reply)

John and Jean-Paul attempt to stop efforts to derail the train.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" The whole train rocked as explosions blossomed on the horizon, and now a steady stream of curses came down the walkie-talkies they'd been issued. The Captain was increasingly under siege in his cab, attacked by mutants and now scanning the rail ahead for more danger. "We've got explosions on the tracks! Shit, I think they hit the line itself." His urgency was justified. They might have a shot at outrunning the opposition to the Pakistani border, but they couldn't do that if the rail was broken between them. More importantly, it also meant that the last link between the refugees and the hope of outside aide was cut.

Jean-Paul looked from the walkie-talkie to the young man beside him and felt a wash of cold acceptance settle over him. "You heard?" He asked, bracing himself as another explosion went off and the train jolted again. Using a set of rapid punches, he sent a man attempting to climb in through the door nearest them flying, looked out at the landscape beyond the train, the mutants attacking, and then back at John. "Can you fix the tracks, if I get you there? We do not have much time."

What the hell did he look like? Cain Marko? Fixing the damn tracks was not going to be an easy task. He frowned. "I'll give it a shot." What was the worse that could happen? Death by derailed train. Body not found. John reached out and grabbed a pair of workman's gloves off one of the first aid workers. "I'll get this back to you," he said, like he was really going to even. Unlikely.

He hurried up, gathering a spare lighter from his bag before joining Jean-Paul at the door. The train didn't seem to be picking up any speed but it wasn't slowing down either. "So where's a teleporter when you need one, huh?" he muttered. "Any way you can just pitch me forward and hope I'll land on my own two feet?" No offense to Jean-Paul's ability, of course. John just didn't like flying.

The look Jean-Paul cast John was flat, but he didn't bother answering directly as he stepped in behind the younger man. His arms went around John's waist and he locked his fingers around his own wrists. "Hold on to your things,' he said, then launched them both out of the door and into the air, accelerating quickly enough to outpace the train and give them a lead to the tracks, though he kept it to a reasonable speed so John wouldn't find up losing any clothing in the process.

Once down on the ground, John's attempt to direct a slew of verbal assaults at the man fell short as the ground shook beneath them and he fell forward, hitting the rough terrain on his knees. He might have lost his bearings for a moment but it wasn't an effect of the high speed travel. The area was under attack and it was only by sheer luck that their arrival at the tracks had gone unnoticed by the attacking enemy.

"Fuck this--" Without any regard to his own safety, John moved on ahead to where the two rail ends had split apart, a piece of it having been blasted off to fuck knows where. Shit.

Somewhere up ahead of them, another explosion caused an electricity pole to fall. "I can't fix this thing without the missing piece," he said, already scanning the area for the plate. "It's gotta be around here somewhere."

"Fuck this, fuck that," Jean-Paul muttered, already taking to the air again in an effort to find the pieces John needed. "Shit, shit, shat," he continued, though there was no way the younger man could hear him now. There were bits and pieces of metal scattered about, but nothing large enough to simply weld into place - nothing with the right proportions. The tracks themselves, it seemed had only suffered major damage to one side, the metal runner a twisted wreck, but if John could get it hot enough, maybe... maybe he could get the parts into place well enough to support the train.

It was full of people.

Settling on the ground near the younger man again, Jean-Paul shook his head, "Nothing large enough, I think." They should have taken a hammer, something from the train itself. Too little, too late.

Just then, he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and looked upward, eyes narrowing. Someone was flying toward them.

The first plasma bolt splashed down between them, forcing them back from the tracks. In the air, a man hovered in the midst of a fiery aura. The X-Men had a file on him, having run across him in Indonesia and forced him to retreat from his attack on the Blackbird. Now he was clearly targeting the tracks, and anyone attempting to stop his plan to derail the train.

"~I'd suggest surrender but--~" He shrugged as another burst of plasma sought them. "~it really won't help.~"

So death by plasma. John really hadn't thought of that. Avoiding the attack, and then igniting a spark from his lighter, John drew the flame out and directed the first blast toward the mutant and when that failed; Goddamn fire retardant bastards... he created a massive wall of fire around the damaged tracks, hoping that would make it and them less of an easy target. John's powers were useless against the enemy but it didn't stop him from trying to take control of the fiery aura surrounding the mutant. Pointless!

"Do you think you can distract him?" They still needed the missing piece and John thought he'd caught sight of it right before the arrival of Mr. Plasma Face.

Once again, Jean-Paul didn't bother actually answering John. Instead, he took to the air and shot straight for the other flier. Whatever the man was saying, it didn't really make a difference to him - it wasn't like he'd understood it. Options were limited - he would have given a great deal to have something other than speed and flight at his disposal, but he'd work with what he had.

Jean-Paul paused just long enough to raise his eyebrows at the other man, still several meters away. "Bonjour, mon ennemi," he said, then darted forward. If he could draw the other flier's attention from John and the tracks, the younger man might have a chance at repairing the damage done.

The plasma bolt was close enough to sear the stubble on JP's face, and Starbolt moved in a quick circle in the air, casting out a shockwave of heat energy to make sure there was some distance. Always some kind of Western superhero had to interfere with his mission. It was almost enough to give him a complex.

Still, he'd opted to attack the tracks out of cowardice. Not of facing the opposition, but the fact that attacking a train full of injured refugees wasn't something he could stomach. He'd made his career facing the best of the best with a jet fighter strapped to his back on equal terms. Now, his missions were increasingly that of sheer murder, but even the honourable Daciot couldn't refuse their commander in chief, even if privately they questioned his sanity.

Shaking away the thoughts, Starbolt forced John away from the tracks again, melting the sand around the young man to glass with his blasts.

Jesus fucking Christ. Good thing he'd taken Angelo's advice and invested in a pair of decent boots for the damn trip. "That the best you can do, asshole?" The flames circled around him and John concentrated on shaping it into several large demonic looking beasts, focusing hard on making it look as solid as possible and taking the opportunity to increase its size whenever another plasma blast was thrown towards them. There was the possibility that he could cheat the other mutant into thinking that the plasma blasts were simply feeding his own powers and that the creatures were real enough to cause some actual physical damage. But if Starbolt was going to keep aiming those blasts at him, he didn't think he was going to be able to avoid it for much longer. Sooner or later, he was going to end up making the wrong move.

Starbolt growled, unable to get a clear shot thanks to John's pyrokinetic antics. He'd have to get closer, focus on the young man and blast him off the tracks for good. Starbolt dove in the air, and shot down with a flaming plume, angling out over the ground to strafe John, ready to pepper him with plasma bolts and end the conflict.

Such theatrics, Jean-Paul thought, were entirely unnecessary. A plume of flame, indeed.

Which did not, in the least, help John. Scanning the ground quickly, he found a twisted bit of metal just long enough to possibly be the section of track the younger man needed. It was the only thing in the area that might serve the purpose he required and so he dove for it, accelerating until he was close enough to skim it up, off the ground. It was heavy, but he managed - he'd pay for it later, of course, but sore muscles hardly seemed too high a price given the circumstances.

The metal interfered with his aerodynamics, but he concentrated and put on another burst of speed as he flew for a direct intercept. The heat, as he approached, would normally have been far in excess of what he could deal with, but he moved so quickly that he didn't notice as he pulled back the piece of track and then used his own momentum to carry it forward, into the other flier's middle.

At the very least, he might have distracted Starbolt from John. Dropping the metal seemed like a good idea, particularly if the younger man was going to manage to actually get it somewhere near soldered back into place before the fast-approaching train reached them. So the metal hit the ground outside John's circle of flame, breaking discoloured glass as it did.

With Starbolt out of the way, the missing piece was forced into place and the rail ends were welded together. It was the work of mere moments to accomplish but there were a number of factors that could affect the holding force of the track: the lack of proper equipments, human error and temperature, and one could only hope that it would stay in place for long enough.

Jean-Paul wasn't entirely sure that Starbolt was down and out for the count, so he watched the other flier in his earthward tumble while John got the track put to rights, making sure to put himself between the younger man and the threat.

Starbolt rubbed the impact point on his armor. At least a couple of cracked ribs, maybe worse. Between the two mutants, he was out-numbered and now compromised with his ability to fly. The reports from his team on the train were equally negative, and with a sigh, he gave the withdrawal order. Still, he wasn't about to leave the field without one last parting shot. Between his hands, a sphere of plasma energy began to grow, and he pushed it out, forward. The flaming globe continued to grow, and as it got closer to the mutants, he shot a bolt into the centre of it, causing the sphere to lose cohesion and vent directly out in a torrent of fire, cresting right at both of them.

Not waiting to see the result, Starbolt twisted in the air, and headed south, away from the train and the botched mission.

It stood to reason that whatever the other flier was doing would be most unpleasant for both himself and John, so Jean-Paul turned to warn the younger man of an impending attack. He nearly made it, but the explosion of the globe caught his side and sent him end over end while he attempted to control his flight. The fact that he was on fire only registered after he'd stabilized himself and checked to see what was happening on the ground.

Jean-Paul had a brief moment to be annoyed by the fact that his suit, which should have been more heat resistant than it apparently was, hadn't simply stifled the flames somehow. But then he realised that bits of plasma were stuck to it and, anyway, heat caused by friction was a different breed entirely from pure flame.

Landing, he looked toward John, then tried to decide what to do about the fact that he was burning. Or that his suit was, at least. Stopping, dropping, and rolling seemed like a poor plan. Especially with all the broken glass on the ground.

John had managed to avoid the blast by what could have only been a stroke of luck in his attempt to save his own ass as he tripped and landed in a ditch by the side of the rail tracks. As he climbed back up, he caught sight of Jean-Paul and his eyes widened slightly. Making quick use of his powers, John extinguished the flames and worked on reducing the heat from the bits of plasma that remained stuck on the man's suit.

Behind them, the train approached at a steady pace and John gave one final look at the rail lines.

Jean-Paul walked over to a section of ground that wasn't melted into glass, footsteps cracking and crunching as he went, and contemplated sitting down. The problem, of course, would wind up being that he might not be able to get himself back up again.

He was light-headed, but Jean-Paul was attempting to ignore that while he mentally processed the pain along his right side. Collapsing now would be a bad plan, but he might be able to get them to the train before going into shock.