Breakdown - Logs 8-10
Jul. 27th, 2021 02:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_dominion posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsWhile Quentin fetches medical supplies for Jean, the Purifers turn up.
Pain was a part of life. Almost everyone had experienced it in one form of another: broken bones, a cut, a bruise. It was part of being human. And what most people could agree upon, with the exception of a few, was that being in pain really, really sucked.
Jean relied on the wall to keep herself sitting upright as she lay on the ground. She tried to tighten the rudimentary tourniquet that had been made out of a piece of cloth but her trembling, bloody hands fumbled. Furrowing her eyebrows, her skin was pallid and glistened with sweat as she struggled to telekinetically stop the bleeding.
"Can't...stay here..." she said between rapid breaths. "You...should...go."
"Trust me, for anyone else, I would," Quentin replied, taking her hands in his so he could help with the tourniquet, "But I'd never hear the end of it if I let you die. And besides, the way I hear it, you already did die once, and you don't have a whole plane of existence to save this time, so it would be a waste." He said this without his usual acidity, and he was unable to meet her eyes. His gaze was instead locked on his own hands, red and dirty from helping Jean tend to her wounds.
Jean let out a quiet breathy laugh that quickly turned into a hissed cry of pain when Quentin tied the tourniquet a little tighter. A noticeable shiver went through her body and she clenched her jaw, leaning her head against the wall, trying to quiet her own labored moaning by biting her lip so it wouldn't draw attention.
"There's...supplies...g-gauze...bandages....in a storage room. Need to stop the...the bleeding or..or..." she said, squeezing Quentin's hands. "Can you...?"
"Guide me." He maintained the telepathic bond himself as if she were not a psychic at all. It was a juggling act, keeping her conscious and mostly pain-free, while accessing her surface memories for a layout of the land and also keeping an astral eye out for the flatscans that put them in this situation, but he didn't call himself Omega for nothing.
It took him a few minutes, walking slowly so the sound of his boots on the linoleum did not alert anyone to his presence, but eventually he found his destination. The door was locked—of fucking course it was, nothing could be so easy—so he pressed a hand to the handle and extended a tendril of telekinesis around it. Psychokinetic lockpicking took some finesse, which was not his best feature, but this, at least, was a useful skill honed to precision. Both in service of X-Factor and his own personal pursuits. He had it open in thirty seconds, and his arms were laden with the spoils of war a minute later.
#Hang tight, I'm heading back.#
Jean didn't respond. He would likely be able to feel the ebb of consciousness, despite his best efforts. Compounding matters were the mental signature of two rather unpleasant people who appeared in the vicinity.
"It's her," one said.
"Who?" the other replied.
"The freak that put up the shield from before. Doesn't look so tough." The man used the muzzle of his gun to push back a strand of Jean's hair from her face.
"Course not. Could be a trap. Just shoot her in the head to be sure. Risman's almost ready."
With a nod the Purifier pointed the gun at Jean's temple, but as he did, Jean's eyes popped open, flickers of fire erupting from them. With a startled yelp, the man was telekinetically yanked backwards, slamming into a nearby wall.
Quentin felt the sudden psychic flare from Jean, but it was a presence he had never known before. But he knew it meant trouble. He surprised himself by dropping everything and rushing back to her, shaping his telepathic energies into a blast to take out whatever danger she faced. But when he turned the corner, the energy flowed out of him. She didn't seem to need any help. She blazed with a power unknown to him, having taken out one of the pair of terrorists, and the other looked ready to shit his pants.
He wouldn't let her have all the fun. He reconsolidated his telepathy into an offensive strike, and the second terrorist barely had time to turn and face Quentin before his brain simply stopped working for a second, and he crumpled to the ground. Quentin did not take any time to consider the long-term effects of the sudden stroke, and instead focused his attention on Jean and her thousand-yard stare.
"Hey, hey." He shook her by the shoulder, hesitating to try anything psychic lest she turn her own tremendous psionics on him.
Jean hovered ever-so-slightly off the ground, arms outstretched as if floating in water. At Quentin's touch she turned to regard him, cocking her head to the side with an animalistic curiosity. But there was an absence of familiarity in her eyes, which continued to burn.
The sheer power emanating from her made him step back. And though he would never admit it, her distant expression, like she was a deity who had just stepped foot on Earth, frightened him. He had seen plenty of monstrously strong mutants in his short life, but no one as overwhelming as Jean right now.
"Whatever it is you're doing, Jean," he hazarded to speak out loud, "Either keep it up to get rid of all the flatscans hunting us down, or snap out of it before you turn on me. For once, I'm not the enemy here."
His words were like a lightswitch. Narrowing her eyes in confusion, the fire in her eyes went out. "What are you--?" she said, just as she dropped to the ground. It was an inopportune time for the sounds of footsteps to be headed their way, as the sight of a group of Purifiers rounded the corner.
"The fuck you doing here boy?" one said. He took a look at Jean, then two of his buddies on the floor and reached for his gun.
"Big mistake, you dumb fucks," Quentin blustered, his attention torn between Jean and the new batch of humans who clearly had a death wish. But his move was sloppy, a hastily conjured telekinetic backhand to slap the sidearm out of his grip. He was distracted, and did not notice how fast the terrorist's pal was, clearly better trained than the others. No questions or guips, he just graciously introduced a nightstick to the upside of Quentin's head. The young telepath crumpled, leaving the injured doctor defenseless.
With Nica’s warning, Garrison gathers a team to rescue Esme’s daughter.
It had taken three dozen calls, six favours, two threats to escalate to superiors and one promise of a swimsuit picture (the DMV is a dark and scary place, Kane grimly considered as he fulfilled the demand) before he was able to track down Maria Fernando. The Purifier cell that had targeted her were on the Bureau’s domestic terrorism list and he was able to get the ongoing surveillance. From there, it was the usual inter-departmental push to access cell phone and bank records, track GPS in devices, and finally put three of them in a tiny motel in a spectacularly shitty area of Queens.
Which is why six X-Men stood on a rooftop in the rain, looking down at a slum hotel two stories below on what had now become a hostage rescue situation.
“Based on their military files, our Purifier friends might not be too bright, but they’re pretty well trained. ATF has been seizing some advanced tech off them lately; energy prototypes and high end anti-mutant personnel tech. No idea where they are getting it from, but it's the real deal. So we can’t underestimate these clowns. They might be idiots, but they’re well trained, well equipped, utterly committed idiots who will kill the hostage without a moment’s hesitation.”
"Then we had better get between them and her before they see us coming", Kurt said coldly, staring down at the hotel. "It would seem most likely they have her in the bathroom, for easier containment?"
"Who the hell keeps supplying these idiots," Logan grumbled as he also scanned the hotel. Entirely too many access points because what made a good slum hotel was outside walkways where people could come and go as they pleased. The rain was keeping that down to a minimum at least. "Can't make it a quick pop in and out situation?"
Clarice shook her head, then pushed a wet lock of hair out of her face. "And we're X-Men, so we can't just like....make them into pieces," she pointed out. She didn't support killing, but it was sometimes easier. Quicker. Morally wrong. "So it's gonna be dirty."
"Maybe we can't just pop in there, but a chance to sneak in would at least be a start." Sooraya was scanning the roof from the building across from her. "There... Even if it's a slum hotel, they still need to have some kind of ventilation. And it just happens to have some kind of rooftop access. Do we know where they are supposed to be?”
Betsy stayed still for a moment with her head cocked to one side, as if listening. “They’re playing cards in the bedroom, with some friends we did not anticipate. And Maria…” Her eyes had a brief haunted look. "She’s in the bathtub, and the sooner we get her out the better.”
"Two teleporters, an infiltrator and a couple of meat shields. No offense, old man." Kane quipped to Logan. "I think shock and awe is our best approach. Get us in at the same time we're getting Maria out, give them something to pay attention to."
***
The cheap hotel had a couple of advantages; many cheap construction meant a lot of gaps in doorways, windows, vents and joinings. An easy place for sand to slip through in unnoticeable waves to settle into the peripheries. Inside the hotel room, five men were arrayed around the table. Three of them were playing a bastardized version of spades, replete with swearing with each hand. One man was just closing the bathroom door, his hand on his gun, finger resting against the trigger guard of the MP5.
"Spic's not looking to hot. I think you hit her too hard, Leon."
"Fuck her. She only needs to last another hour or two."
When the first man had spoken, the sand lying so innocently on the edges of the room started to shiver. But when the state of the girl became totally clear after the second goon had replied, the sand particles started moving more quickly and as one they rose from the ground. Five seconds later and the room was filled with a miniature sandstorm, thick enough to blind the men and lashing out at them with small stinging tendrils of sand.
Teleporting everyone into the sandstorm, Clarice had no problem making a nice exit at the same time in the form of removing part of an outside wall. The benefit of shitholes was shitty construction that hasn't been maintained. Holes for Dust, and she could take out more wall without too much exertion, letting age and gravity handle the rest for her.
While the men were struggling to keep the sand out of their eyes - not an easy feat when it was deliberately aiming itself for them, and returning whenever it was brushed away - Kurt made a dash for the bathroom and the girl in the tub. He wasted no time scooping her into his arms, and was gone.
She may have been getting better at maintaining a switchboard between the team, but Sooraya’s sandform was proving to be a completely new type of headache for Betsy. That, and the concern for the girl whose mind she had briefly touched, were giving her stabs at the blinded men an extra level of viciousness. Usually contact with her psychic dagger just led to unconsciousness but this time she was making sure it hurt.
Noticing that Kurt had vanished with the girl, Sooraya dove lower and wrapped herself around two of their ankles, locking them into place. She wasn't too gentle, not worrying that the sharp bits of sand dug into the cloth of their pants and the skin beneath it.
Logan made quick work of the goon in his direct line of sight with a quick punch, laying him out. The next one was too preoccupied with the sand to notice the elbow Logan threw into the back of his head. Both received a quick pat down for any intel and anything that might come in handy later.
One of the Purifiers had made a move to his vest; a chain linking five grenades. It was a kind of improved suicide vest that was popular with fanatics. His arm blurred as he beat the race to the hand and crushed it, smashing a dozen bones and putting him on the floor. There wasn't enough space to screw around with explosions.
"Check for explosives!" Kane called out to the X-Men around other fallen men, making sure they cleared everyone properly.
Betsy didn’t see the point in physical checks when a quick peek would tell her if they were carrying anything. Still, she gave a pat down to the unconscious Purifier lying face down on the floor. The rest seemed to either be in a similar state or restrained, a quick sweep of their surface thoughts revealing hate, pain and little else.
Back at the hospital, Nica and Maya manage to fight off the Purifers attacking Jean and Quentin and further plans are laid.
Gunfire and shouting echoed across the courtyard as a group of Purifiers converged on Jean and Quentin's location. But what they found was a telekinetic shield that Jean used to keep them away from herself and the newly unconscious Quentin. It was all she could focus on at the moment between that and keeping the blood in her body, teetering on the edge once more, her bloody, trembling hand outstretched as the bullets bounced off her shield.
"How hard is it to fucking shoot her? Just shoot her!" one of the Purifiers barked.
They'd hurried back from their task as fast as they could, but not fast enough, apparently. Taking in the scene in the courtyard, Nica swore and streaked across the intervening space in a blur of light, solidifying at the last moment to crash into the shooter and send him flying.
Maya gave Nica an incredulous look from where she'd been hurrying to keep up with her friend, and gave a short sigh as she pushed herself into a dead run in order to get closer to the bad guys before they decided she was the easier target, not being flashy and glowy. God, this superhero stuff was complete bullshit.
Unfortunately the Purifiers were an equal opportunity extremist hate group. When one of them went down, the others (three in number) took it as a call to arms. They began to fire at anyone headed their way. It was easy to tell what the flash and glowy one could do. Who knew what the other one could do? Best to kill her.
So they started to fire at Maya.
"Great time to take a nap, Quire," Nica grumbled as she wheeled around and realised they were targeting Maya. She flickered - and then appeared in front of Maya, glowing red-hot with infra-red. The bullets struck her - kind of - and then slowed and warped, the intense heat melting the lead into harmless liquid. The threat over for now, Nica reappeared, looking winded. "I'm going to need a cheeseburger the size of a tractor tyre," she muttered, before taking a breath and launching into the air again, hoping to draw the fire. Esme had sensibly taken cover back by the door, she noted. One less person to worry about.
“Burger? Try all the codeine in the world.” Maya muttered as she moved in on the closest bad guy to her, disarming him with a quick grab of the muzzle to push it wide and then twisting to grab the gun herself. She threw the gun behind her and got ready for the real fight, trusting Nica to watch the others.
The Purifier blinked curiously at Maya, then narrowed his eyes. He moved to try to thrust his palm directly at her throat, while his other hand aimed to punch her in the kidneys. Meanwhile, the two remaining Purifiers indeed fired at Nica, but suddenly found themselves telekinetically yanked backward off their feet by Jean. One of them dropped their gun entirely, which slid across the ground. The other remained in the guy's hand but he hit his head so he was temporarily woozy. The guy who dropped his gun fumbled, reaching frantically for it,
A pair of sneakered feet dropped down between him and the gun, kicking it out of range. "No way. You've done enough damage with those," a glowing Nica told him. "Now, why don't you just stop all this stupid and leave these people alone? It's a fucking hospital, man. There are sick people."
Maya's palm slid down the outside of the Pacifier's forearm and hooked it down slightly before punching over the top to his nose and avoiding the kidney punch as her body rotated with her hit. She grinned at her opponent, now blinking through the pain of a broken nose. "Come on arsehole, that the best you got?"
"Not even close," her opponent growled back, a retort rendered less threatening by his wiping blood from his face.. "You genetic abnormalities have no idea." His two other cronies had tried to recover; the one who hadn't been given a minor concussion grabbed the gun of the other.
A crackle over their radios, one of which had been knocked loose in the altercation, drew their attention. "Well?" The gruff voice of Matthew Risman came through. "Did you take her? Or are we going with Plan B?"
There came silence at first before one of the Purifiers spoke. "Still looking, sir. The mutie keeps hiding. Need more time," he said. His face didn't quite match his voice, however, his eyes wide, frightened, and furious. He struggled to speak before his hand slipped off the radio.
Jean let out a breath, her body trembling as she pulled her hand away from her temple.
A swear came through on the other end. "Execute the mission," Risman said. "You have a task. Do it."
"Plan B?" Nica waited until the radio connection was cut before speaking. "What's this Plan B?"
"Blow you fucking muties sky high," one of the Purifiers said with a laugh before spitting blood at them. "That genetic freak show won't do it? We got our own."
“And where exactly is this bomb?”
It was lucky she’d been facing the man, or she would have missed his implication. She clenched her fists as she walked toward the Purifier, about to start a beat down if she didn’t like his answer.
“Use small words, unless you want me to beat it out of you.”
The Purifier snort laughed, wiping blood away from his nose. "Like I'd tell you? Go fuck yourself."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "We need to...get somewhere safe. Let's take him with us," she said.
Nica sighed. "That seems for the best. What about Quentin?"
"He comes too. But we put him somewhere safe that he can't be found," Jean said.
“Remind me to let him know later just how heroic it was for me to resist the urge to draw a dick on his face right now.”
Maya walked over to Quentin, trying to figure out how best to carry him. Unconscious people were a pain in the butt to lift since their limbs flopped everywhere.
“Fireman carry?”
Nica grinned. "Dude, we're in a hospital. Time to break out the wheelchairs."
Pain was a part of life. Almost everyone had experienced it in one form of another: broken bones, a cut, a bruise. It was part of being human. And what most people could agree upon, with the exception of a few, was that being in pain really, really sucked.
Jean relied on the wall to keep herself sitting upright as she lay on the ground. She tried to tighten the rudimentary tourniquet that had been made out of a piece of cloth but her trembling, bloody hands fumbled. Furrowing her eyebrows, her skin was pallid and glistened with sweat as she struggled to telekinetically stop the bleeding.
"Can't...stay here..." she said between rapid breaths. "You...should...go."
"Trust me, for anyone else, I would," Quentin replied, taking her hands in his so he could help with the tourniquet, "But I'd never hear the end of it if I let you die. And besides, the way I hear it, you already did die once, and you don't have a whole plane of existence to save this time, so it would be a waste." He said this without his usual acidity, and he was unable to meet her eyes. His gaze was instead locked on his own hands, red and dirty from helping Jean tend to her wounds.
Jean let out a quiet breathy laugh that quickly turned into a hissed cry of pain when Quentin tied the tourniquet a little tighter. A noticeable shiver went through her body and she clenched her jaw, leaning her head against the wall, trying to quiet her own labored moaning by biting her lip so it wouldn't draw attention.
"There's...supplies...g-gauze...bandages....in a storage room. Need to stop the...the bleeding or..or..." she said, squeezing Quentin's hands. "Can you...?"
"Guide me." He maintained the telepathic bond himself as if she were not a psychic at all. It was a juggling act, keeping her conscious and mostly pain-free, while accessing her surface memories for a layout of the land and also keeping an astral eye out for the flatscans that put them in this situation, but he didn't call himself Omega for nothing.
It took him a few minutes, walking slowly so the sound of his boots on the linoleum did not alert anyone to his presence, but eventually he found his destination. The door was locked—of fucking course it was, nothing could be so easy—so he pressed a hand to the handle and extended a tendril of telekinesis around it. Psychokinetic lockpicking took some finesse, which was not his best feature, but this, at least, was a useful skill honed to precision. Both in service of X-Factor and his own personal pursuits. He had it open in thirty seconds, and his arms were laden with the spoils of war a minute later.
#Hang tight, I'm heading back.#
Jean didn't respond. He would likely be able to feel the ebb of consciousness, despite his best efforts. Compounding matters were the mental signature of two rather unpleasant people who appeared in the vicinity.
"It's her," one said.
"Who?" the other replied.
"The freak that put up the shield from before. Doesn't look so tough." The man used the muzzle of his gun to push back a strand of Jean's hair from her face.
"Course not. Could be a trap. Just shoot her in the head to be sure. Risman's almost ready."
With a nod the Purifier pointed the gun at Jean's temple, but as he did, Jean's eyes popped open, flickers of fire erupting from them. With a startled yelp, the man was telekinetically yanked backwards, slamming into a nearby wall.
Quentin felt the sudden psychic flare from Jean, but it was a presence he had never known before. But he knew it meant trouble. He surprised himself by dropping everything and rushing back to her, shaping his telepathic energies into a blast to take out whatever danger she faced. But when he turned the corner, the energy flowed out of him. She didn't seem to need any help. She blazed with a power unknown to him, having taken out one of the pair of terrorists, and the other looked ready to shit his pants.
He wouldn't let her have all the fun. He reconsolidated his telepathy into an offensive strike, and the second terrorist barely had time to turn and face Quentin before his brain simply stopped working for a second, and he crumpled to the ground. Quentin did not take any time to consider the long-term effects of the sudden stroke, and instead focused his attention on Jean and her thousand-yard stare.
"Hey, hey." He shook her by the shoulder, hesitating to try anything psychic lest she turn her own tremendous psionics on him.
Jean hovered ever-so-slightly off the ground, arms outstretched as if floating in water. At Quentin's touch she turned to regard him, cocking her head to the side with an animalistic curiosity. But there was an absence of familiarity in her eyes, which continued to burn.
The sheer power emanating from her made him step back. And though he would never admit it, her distant expression, like she was a deity who had just stepped foot on Earth, frightened him. He had seen plenty of monstrously strong mutants in his short life, but no one as overwhelming as Jean right now.
"Whatever it is you're doing, Jean," he hazarded to speak out loud, "Either keep it up to get rid of all the flatscans hunting us down, or snap out of it before you turn on me. For once, I'm not the enemy here."
His words were like a lightswitch. Narrowing her eyes in confusion, the fire in her eyes went out. "What are you--?" she said, just as she dropped to the ground. It was an inopportune time for the sounds of footsteps to be headed their way, as the sight of a group of Purifiers rounded the corner.
"The fuck you doing here boy?" one said. He took a look at Jean, then two of his buddies on the floor and reached for his gun.
"Big mistake, you dumb fucks," Quentin blustered, his attention torn between Jean and the new batch of humans who clearly had a death wish. But his move was sloppy, a hastily conjured telekinetic backhand to slap the sidearm out of his grip. He was distracted, and did not notice how fast the terrorist's pal was, clearly better trained than the others. No questions or guips, he just graciously introduced a nightstick to the upside of Quentin's head. The young telepath crumpled, leaving the injured doctor defenseless.
With Nica’s warning, Garrison gathers a team to rescue Esme’s daughter.
It had taken three dozen calls, six favours, two threats to escalate to superiors and one promise of a swimsuit picture (the DMV is a dark and scary place, Kane grimly considered as he fulfilled the demand) before he was able to track down Maria Fernando. The Purifier cell that had targeted her were on the Bureau’s domestic terrorism list and he was able to get the ongoing surveillance. From there, it was the usual inter-departmental push to access cell phone and bank records, track GPS in devices, and finally put three of them in a tiny motel in a spectacularly shitty area of Queens.
Which is why six X-Men stood on a rooftop in the rain, looking down at a slum hotel two stories below on what had now become a hostage rescue situation.
“Based on their military files, our Purifier friends might not be too bright, but they’re pretty well trained. ATF has been seizing some advanced tech off them lately; energy prototypes and high end anti-mutant personnel tech. No idea where they are getting it from, but it's the real deal. So we can’t underestimate these clowns. They might be idiots, but they’re well trained, well equipped, utterly committed idiots who will kill the hostage without a moment’s hesitation.”
"Then we had better get between them and her before they see us coming", Kurt said coldly, staring down at the hotel. "It would seem most likely they have her in the bathroom, for easier containment?"
"Who the hell keeps supplying these idiots," Logan grumbled as he also scanned the hotel. Entirely too many access points because what made a good slum hotel was outside walkways where people could come and go as they pleased. The rain was keeping that down to a minimum at least. "Can't make it a quick pop in and out situation?"
Clarice shook her head, then pushed a wet lock of hair out of her face. "And we're X-Men, so we can't just like....make them into pieces," she pointed out. She didn't support killing, but it was sometimes easier. Quicker. Morally wrong. "So it's gonna be dirty."
"Maybe we can't just pop in there, but a chance to sneak in would at least be a start." Sooraya was scanning the roof from the building across from her. "There... Even if it's a slum hotel, they still need to have some kind of ventilation. And it just happens to have some kind of rooftop access. Do we know where they are supposed to be?”
Betsy stayed still for a moment with her head cocked to one side, as if listening. “They’re playing cards in the bedroom, with some friends we did not anticipate. And Maria…” Her eyes had a brief haunted look. "She’s in the bathtub, and the sooner we get her out the better.”
"Two teleporters, an infiltrator and a couple of meat shields. No offense, old man." Kane quipped to Logan. "I think shock and awe is our best approach. Get us in at the same time we're getting Maria out, give them something to pay attention to."
***
The cheap hotel had a couple of advantages; many cheap construction meant a lot of gaps in doorways, windows, vents and joinings. An easy place for sand to slip through in unnoticeable waves to settle into the peripheries. Inside the hotel room, five men were arrayed around the table. Three of them were playing a bastardized version of spades, replete with swearing with each hand. One man was just closing the bathroom door, his hand on his gun, finger resting against the trigger guard of the MP5.
"Spic's not looking to hot. I think you hit her too hard, Leon."
"Fuck her. She only needs to last another hour or two."
When the first man had spoken, the sand lying so innocently on the edges of the room started to shiver. But when the state of the girl became totally clear after the second goon had replied, the sand particles started moving more quickly and as one they rose from the ground. Five seconds later and the room was filled with a miniature sandstorm, thick enough to blind the men and lashing out at them with small stinging tendrils of sand.
Teleporting everyone into the sandstorm, Clarice had no problem making a nice exit at the same time in the form of removing part of an outside wall. The benefit of shitholes was shitty construction that hasn't been maintained. Holes for Dust, and she could take out more wall without too much exertion, letting age and gravity handle the rest for her.
While the men were struggling to keep the sand out of their eyes - not an easy feat when it was deliberately aiming itself for them, and returning whenever it was brushed away - Kurt made a dash for the bathroom and the girl in the tub. He wasted no time scooping her into his arms, and was gone.
She may have been getting better at maintaining a switchboard between the team, but Sooraya’s sandform was proving to be a completely new type of headache for Betsy. That, and the concern for the girl whose mind she had briefly touched, were giving her stabs at the blinded men an extra level of viciousness. Usually contact with her psychic dagger just led to unconsciousness but this time she was making sure it hurt.
Noticing that Kurt had vanished with the girl, Sooraya dove lower and wrapped herself around two of their ankles, locking them into place. She wasn't too gentle, not worrying that the sharp bits of sand dug into the cloth of their pants and the skin beneath it.
Logan made quick work of the goon in his direct line of sight with a quick punch, laying him out. The next one was too preoccupied with the sand to notice the elbow Logan threw into the back of his head. Both received a quick pat down for any intel and anything that might come in handy later.
One of the Purifiers had made a move to his vest; a chain linking five grenades. It was a kind of improved suicide vest that was popular with fanatics. His arm blurred as he beat the race to the hand and crushed it, smashing a dozen bones and putting him on the floor. There wasn't enough space to screw around with explosions.
"Check for explosives!" Kane called out to the X-Men around other fallen men, making sure they cleared everyone properly.
Betsy didn’t see the point in physical checks when a quick peek would tell her if they were carrying anything. Still, she gave a pat down to the unconscious Purifier lying face down on the floor. The rest seemed to either be in a similar state or restrained, a quick sweep of their surface thoughts revealing hate, pain and little else.
Back at the hospital, Nica and Maya manage to fight off the Purifers attacking Jean and Quentin and further plans are laid.
Gunfire and shouting echoed across the courtyard as a group of Purifiers converged on Jean and Quentin's location. But what they found was a telekinetic shield that Jean used to keep them away from herself and the newly unconscious Quentin. It was all she could focus on at the moment between that and keeping the blood in her body, teetering on the edge once more, her bloody, trembling hand outstretched as the bullets bounced off her shield.
"How hard is it to fucking shoot her? Just shoot her!" one of the Purifiers barked.
They'd hurried back from their task as fast as they could, but not fast enough, apparently. Taking in the scene in the courtyard, Nica swore and streaked across the intervening space in a blur of light, solidifying at the last moment to crash into the shooter and send him flying.
Maya gave Nica an incredulous look from where she'd been hurrying to keep up with her friend, and gave a short sigh as she pushed herself into a dead run in order to get closer to the bad guys before they decided she was the easier target, not being flashy and glowy. God, this superhero stuff was complete bullshit.
Unfortunately the Purifiers were an equal opportunity extremist hate group. When one of them went down, the others (three in number) took it as a call to arms. They began to fire at anyone headed their way. It was easy to tell what the flash and glowy one could do. Who knew what the other one could do? Best to kill her.
So they started to fire at Maya.
"Great time to take a nap, Quire," Nica grumbled as she wheeled around and realised they were targeting Maya. She flickered - and then appeared in front of Maya, glowing red-hot with infra-red. The bullets struck her - kind of - and then slowed and warped, the intense heat melting the lead into harmless liquid. The threat over for now, Nica reappeared, looking winded. "I'm going to need a cheeseburger the size of a tractor tyre," she muttered, before taking a breath and launching into the air again, hoping to draw the fire. Esme had sensibly taken cover back by the door, she noted. One less person to worry about.
“Burger? Try all the codeine in the world.” Maya muttered as she moved in on the closest bad guy to her, disarming him with a quick grab of the muzzle to push it wide and then twisting to grab the gun herself. She threw the gun behind her and got ready for the real fight, trusting Nica to watch the others.
The Purifier blinked curiously at Maya, then narrowed his eyes. He moved to try to thrust his palm directly at her throat, while his other hand aimed to punch her in the kidneys. Meanwhile, the two remaining Purifiers indeed fired at Nica, but suddenly found themselves telekinetically yanked backward off their feet by Jean. One of them dropped their gun entirely, which slid across the ground. The other remained in the guy's hand but he hit his head so he was temporarily woozy. The guy who dropped his gun fumbled, reaching frantically for it,
A pair of sneakered feet dropped down between him and the gun, kicking it out of range. "No way. You've done enough damage with those," a glowing Nica told him. "Now, why don't you just stop all this stupid and leave these people alone? It's a fucking hospital, man. There are sick people."
Maya's palm slid down the outside of the Pacifier's forearm and hooked it down slightly before punching over the top to his nose and avoiding the kidney punch as her body rotated with her hit. She grinned at her opponent, now blinking through the pain of a broken nose. "Come on arsehole, that the best you got?"
"Not even close," her opponent growled back, a retort rendered less threatening by his wiping blood from his face.. "You genetic abnormalities have no idea." His two other cronies had tried to recover; the one who hadn't been given a minor concussion grabbed the gun of the other.
A crackle over their radios, one of which had been knocked loose in the altercation, drew their attention. "Well?" The gruff voice of Matthew Risman came through. "Did you take her? Or are we going with Plan B?"
There came silence at first before one of the Purifiers spoke. "Still looking, sir. The mutie keeps hiding. Need more time," he said. His face didn't quite match his voice, however, his eyes wide, frightened, and furious. He struggled to speak before his hand slipped off the radio.
Jean let out a breath, her body trembling as she pulled her hand away from her temple.
A swear came through on the other end. "Execute the mission," Risman said. "You have a task. Do it."
"Plan B?" Nica waited until the radio connection was cut before speaking. "What's this Plan B?"
"Blow you fucking muties sky high," one of the Purifiers said with a laugh before spitting blood at them. "That genetic freak show won't do it? We got our own."
“And where exactly is this bomb?”
It was lucky she’d been facing the man, or she would have missed his implication. She clenched her fists as she walked toward the Purifier, about to start a beat down if she didn’t like his answer.
“Use small words, unless you want me to beat it out of you.”
The Purifier snort laughed, wiping blood away from his nose. "Like I'd tell you? Go fuck yourself."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "We need to...get somewhere safe. Let's take him with us," she said.
Nica sighed. "That seems for the best. What about Quentin?"
"He comes too. But we put him somewhere safe that he can't be found," Jean said.
“Remind me to let him know later just how heroic it was for me to resist the urge to draw a dick on his face right now.”
Maya walked over to Quentin, trying to figure out how best to carry him. Unconscious people were a pain in the butt to lift since their limbs flopped everywhere.
“Fireman carry?”
Nica grinned. "Dude, we're in a hospital. Time to break out the wheelchairs."
