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xp_logsThe trap is finally sprung, but who caught who?
Kevin wasn’t sure it would work, but the second Mary turned her back, occupied with dropping three of his teammates, he hit her in the back of the neck with the taser. The blast stopped a lethal follow-up against a prone Natasha, spasming her and forcing her to her knees as the shock rippled through her.
“I’m sorry, Mary. I can’t let you hurt them.” Kevin said, quickly kicking her weapons away from her grasp as he finally came into view. He held the taser ready for a second blow, if needed, looking directly at her. “But we’re here to help. I promise.”
"Help?" The words were bitter and angry. "Like you helped yourself into my bed? You only care for yourself, Sydney. I learned that soon enough. And I'm not the helpless girl you screwed over, not anymore." She began to push herself up off her knees, ignoring the spasming of various muscles protesting against the taser hit.
Emma’s telepathic strike was a knife; not the scalpel she’d use on someone she’d studied well, nor a broad-ranging punch, but something in between. There was something telepathically off about Mary and it meant Emma went for something less than subtle, but her powers sliced outwards, trying to open Mary’s mind up, enough to let Emma knock her out of the fight, if not out altogether.
The woman's mind crumpled under Emma's strike like paper. An operative like Mary should've possessed at least some degree of resilience, but the defenses Emma found were even less than a child's. There was barely enough time for Emma to catch a pulse of terror before telepath was not just through, but in.
It was like putting her fist through a wasp's nest.
The word “fuck” ripped out of Emma’s throat without volition as she fell into a mind that wasn’t right, wasn’t made right, was born in the wrong way, all pieces and stitches and pain, everything had been born in blood and pain and screaming and Emma wasn’t. Ready. For. It.
If she’d known, if what she’d felt before she went in, was the mind she’d opened up, Emma would have been able to manage the pain that coursed through her mind, became all of her mind. But as soon as she’d struck, consciousness had shifted, become new and remade, took the ground out from Emma’s telepathic feet.
“Fuck,” Emma said again, half-stuttering as her hands clutched at her temples, and then she sank down to her knees as the pain hummed onwards, over her nerves like fire.
"Stop! You don't need to hurt them!" Kevin cried as her fist locked on his throat.
Mary wasn't even looking at him. She was rolling her neck and shoulders like a woman luxuriating in a warm shower, fingers still tight around his neck. Her free hand drifted to caress the elbow of the arm that still held his taser, then slid down his forearm. When she finally opened her eyes again she looked at him and smiled.
"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced," said Mary, and snapped his wrist.
Using the shattered arm as a fulcrum, she flung them both through the window.
They both went through the glass in a huddle, but mid-air, Mary pivoted, rotating so that Kevin took the bulk of the impact as they both hit the ground. The shock knocked him silly, colours exploding behind his eyes as his body absorbed the blow. With a yank, she pulled him to his feet, pulling him along.
"Hey!"
The voice came from the curb. A man in his 30s was already halfway out of his white utility van, not even bothering to kill the engine.
"Holy shit, what happened?" asked the maintenance worker, coming to a stop beside the stumbling pair. His eyes flicked to Kevin's dazed expression and disfigured arm. "Hold on, you shouldn't be moving around. I'll call an amb-"
Mary shot him.
Three bullets struck the main: the first and second in the knees, the third in the gut.
Kevin's body spasmed as the impact of the bullets on the man were mirrored in his own body. He had been knocked senseless, unable to flood his system with the normal cocktail of dopamine and adrenaline he used to deal with injury. Now, black spots swirled behind his vision as the pain washed over him, destroying any ability to focus.
Shallow gulps were coming from the victim,his screams immediately sucked back into his lungs. Mary holstered her gun and spared a moment to kneel beside the man, gazing into his terrified eyes. His pain sleeted against her nerve endings. She gave him a pat on the cheek.
"We don't need an ambulance, but we will take that ride," she said. After so long in the numbing grey his agony burned in her mind, bright and real. She stood, ignoring what was probably some sort of plea; Mary was already done with him.
Sadly it seemed her target was done as well. Sydney lay where she'd left him in a semi-conscious heap, which was a little disappointing; somehow she'd expected him to be more resilient. Oh well. They had somewhere to be.
With easy strength Mary lifted Kevin over her shoulder and tossed him in the back of the abandoned van. Compared to the bonfire of the maintenance man his injuries were like the heat radiating from blacktop: inferior, but still comfortable. Her own bicep sang where a card-sized shard of glass had managed to penetrate her skin. It was wonderful.
Calmly, Mary buckled her seatbelt, adjusted her mirrors, and pulled out. There was already some commotion behind her. The woman with the diamond-sharp mind had likely regained consciousness and Sydney's comrades wouldn't let her leave without a fight. She signaled a lane change and weighed her options.
On a nearby street corner stood a cafe patio. Daily specials advertised in quirky colored font, green awnings peppering outdoor tables. Generous spacing between the tables for strollers and water bowls set out to entice the dog-owners. It was popular. Busy.
Mary jerked the wheel to the right and hit the accelerator.
Metal tables screamed against the concrete. Flesh and blood people screamed against her vehicle. Referred pain battered her as she fishtailed the van back and forth, unable to suppress the smile on her face. She put the vehicle in reverse, backed up, and something soft thudded beneath the wheels. Screams were everywhere. People were running, crying, bleeding. A split-second later the chaos began as even those outside the area of impact began to feel the effects: onlookers and those rushing to give aid alike crumpled in sudden agony.
It was Mary's parting gift. Every victim's pain became her own, and her pain was everyone's.
With reluctance Mary pulled her gaze from the scene and shifted back to drive. "I guess we should get going, hm?" she said aloud. It didn't matter that Kevin couldn't hear her. For as long as she could remember it had just been her and herself.
She sped off, leaving only a haze of blood in her wake.
Kevin wasn’t sure it would work, but the second Mary turned her back, occupied with dropping three of his teammates, he hit her in the back of the neck with the taser. The blast stopped a lethal follow-up against a prone Natasha, spasming her and forcing her to her knees as the shock rippled through her.
“I’m sorry, Mary. I can’t let you hurt them.” Kevin said, quickly kicking her weapons away from her grasp as he finally came into view. He held the taser ready for a second blow, if needed, looking directly at her. “But we’re here to help. I promise.”
"Help?" The words were bitter and angry. "Like you helped yourself into my bed? You only care for yourself, Sydney. I learned that soon enough. And I'm not the helpless girl you screwed over, not anymore." She began to push herself up off her knees, ignoring the spasming of various muscles protesting against the taser hit.
Emma’s telepathic strike was a knife; not the scalpel she’d use on someone she’d studied well, nor a broad-ranging punch, but something in between. There was something telepathically off about Mary and it meant Emma went for something less than subtle, but her powers sliced outwards, trying to open Mary’s mind up, enough to let Emma knock her out of the fight, if not out altogether.
The woman's mind crumpled under Emma's strike like paper. An operative like Mary should've possessed at least some degree of resilience, but the defenses Emma found were even less than a child's. There was barely enough time for Emma to catch a pulse of terror before telepath was not just through, but in.
It was like putting her fist through a wasp's nest.
The word “fuck” ripped out of Emma’s throat without volition as she fell into a mind that wasn’t right, wasn’t made right, was born in the wrong way, all pieces and stitches and pain, everything had been born in blood and pain and screaming and Emma wasn’t. Ready. For. It.
If she’d known, if what she’d felt before she went in, was the mind she’d opened up, Emma would have been able to manage the pain that coursed through her mind, became all of her mind. But as soon as she’d struck, consciousness had shifted, become new and remade, took the ground out from Emma’s telepathic feet.
“Fuck,” Emma said again, half-stuttering as her hands clutched at her temples, and then she sank down to her knees as the pain hummed onwards, over her nerves like fire.
"Stop! You don't need to hurt them!" Kevin cried as her fist locked on his throat.
Mary wasn't even looking at him. She was rolling her neck and shoulders like a woman luxuriating in a warm shower, fingers still tight around his neck. Her free hand drifted to caress the elbow of the arm that still held his taser, then slid down his forearm. When she finally opened her eyes again she looked at him and smiled.
"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced," said Mary, and snapped his wrist.
Using the shattered arm as a fulcrum, she flung them both through the window.
They both went through the glass in a huddle, but mid-air, Mary pivoted, rotating so that Kevin took the bulk of the impact as they both hit the ground. The shock knocked him silly, colours exploding behind his eyes as his body absorbed the blow. With a yank, she pulled him to his feet, pulling him along.
"Hey!"
The voice came from the curb. A man in his 30s was already halfway out of his white utility van, not even bothering to kill the engine.
"Holy shit, what happened?" asked the maintenance worker, coming to a stop beside the stumbling pair. His eyes flicked to Kevin's dazed expression and disfigured arm. "Hold on, you shouldn't be moving around. I'll call an amb-"
Mary shot him.
Three bullets struck the main: the first and second in the knees, the third in the gut.
Kevin's body spasmed as the impact of the bullets on the man were mirrored in his own body. He had been knocked senseless, unable to flood his system with the normal cocktail of dopamine and adrenaline he used to deal with injury. Now, black spots swirled behind his vision as the pain washed over him, destroying any ability to focus.
Shallow gulps were coming from the victim,his screams immediately sucked back into his lungs. Mary holstered her gun and spared a moment to kneel beside the man, gazing into his terrified eyes. His pain sleeted against her nerve endings. She gave him a pat on the cheek.
"We don't need an ambulance, but we will take that ride," she said. After so long in the numbing grey his agony burned in her mind, bright and real. She stood, ignoring what was probably some sort of plea; Mary was already done with him.
Sadly it seemed her target was done as well. Sydney lay where she'd left him in a semi-conscious heap, which was a little disappointing; somehow she'd expected him to be more resilient. Oh well. They had somewhere to be.
With easy strength Mary lifted Kevin over her shoulder and tossed him in the back of the abandoned van. Compared to the bonfire of the maintenance man his injuries were like the heat radiating from blacktop: inferior, but still comfortable. Her own bicep sang where a card-sized shard of glass had managed to penetrate her skin. It was wonderful.
Calmly, Mary buckled her seatbelt, adjusted her mirrors, and pulled out. There was already some commotion behind her. The woman with the diamond-sharp mind had likely regained consciousness and Sydney's comrades wouldn't let her leave without a fight. She signaled a lane change and weighed her options.
On a nearby street corner stood a cafe patio. Daily specials advertised in quirky colored font, green awnings peppering outdoor tables. Generous spacing between the tables for strollers and water bowls set out to entice the dog-owners. It was popular. Busy.
Mary jerked the wheel to the right and hit the accelerator.
Metal tables screamed against the concrete. Flesh and blood people screamed against her vehicle. Referred pain battered her as she fishtailed the van back and forth, unable to suppress the smile on her face. She put the vehicle in reverse, backed up, and something soft thudded beneath the wheels. Screams were everywhere. People were running, crying, bleeding. A split-second later the chaos began as even those outside the area of impact began to feel the effects: onlookers and those rushing to give aid alike crumpled in sudden agony.
It was Mary's parting gift. Every victim's pain became her own, and her pain was everyone's.
With reluctance Mary pulled her gaze from the scene and shifted back to drive. "I guess we should get going, hm?" she said aloud. It didn't matter that Kevin couldn't hear her. For as long as she could remember it had just been her and herself.
She sped off, leaving only a haze of blood in her wake.
