Sons of Mutancy - Log 3
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xp_logsThe Secret Empire gathers to ambush the Huns and their delivery of demonic weapons.
Highway 79 was one of the nicer routes through Southern California, passing through multiple forests and parks, crossing the highlands and winding down towards Mexico. The long stretches of road with virtually no towns or cities made it popular for driving enthusiasts and people who wanted to see any fellow drivers from a long way off. The Huns had been using the route for decades, with a smattering of hiding places and concealed hand off points established just off the main highway for passing off illegal cargo.
However, while the terrain made it hard for a police convoy to surprise a group on the move, it was simple to hide five bikes in the underbrush on the side of the road to wait for them to pass. Four bikes swept past in front, acting as the scouts for the group. Following them was a large cargo truck, with a big heavy bodied Ford pickup close behind it. In the rear, a pair of bikers brought up the slack, keeping the two trucks bracketed between the motorcycles.
The Harley sat squat and unfamiliar between Callisto's thighs. When she biked she preferred lightweight and sporty - in the city she'd even been known to favour a moped - small, easy to park - or to hide. But a job like this called for a hog and so a hog she rode.
This beast was not hers. Indeed, nobody was quite sure who it belonged to and Callisto wasn't telling. It was old, stinky, souped-up, and covered in decorations, which included but were not limited to a bumper sticker on the fuel tank bearing the legend 'I [heart] STRIPPERS' and a crude decal of a pair of stick figures, one labelled 'me' and the other 'your mom', engaged in... well.
She hooked her foot beneath the kickstand, which was (of course) in the shape of a skeletal arm doing a middle finger salute, and flipped it up, gunning the engine, which sent up a putrid cough of protestation. The rear guard were barely around the bend ahead before she was pulling out of cover in a cloud of dust and fumes. Once on the road and up to speed, she lifted one half-finger-gloved hand, flipping the bird to her audience.
Maya had been waiting for the signal from Callisto, and she grinned as it came, gunning the engine of her Harley before taking off in a swirl of dust.
She knew her duty in this case was to hang back and mop up for the older women. She’d be in the middle, not considered front or back door.
It was the ‘role’ she’d taken in the gang as well, her cut almost devoid of colors as befitted a new member but the 1% patch shiny in its newness. She’d sewn it on herself, trying to get into character.
Learning to ride a bike for this had been an on-the-job sort of thing, but Matt had taken to it surprisingly well. He loved the feel of the road under the bike and the wind in his hair. Adjusting how he used his senses took a moment, but now he was feeling his stride on his bike, taking up the rear. He fully intended to keep riding when this mission was over, not having a license just meant he needed to not get caught. He had full sleeves of temporary tattoos swirling down both arms and wished he knew what they looked like other than 'badass.' For this, he was sighted, or as close as he could pretend.
His motorcycle revved as he pushed the accelerator, keeping up with his crew.
Nica, for her part, felt ridiculous but kept up the pretence as well as she could. She'd gotten her hair put into cornrows so that it wouldn't catch every bug in the state and her leathers were appropriately distressed to match the image of a biker who spent her life on the road - Nica had written herself a backstory of having graduated from biker's moll to biker after being traded to Cal's crew, and while she had more patches than Maya, it wasn't by much. She nodded over to their final member, Wanda, who she had to admit sat the bike as if she was born there.
To Wanda, it didn't matter the kind of bike, as long as it was well made and the one she sat on could purr like a kitten - or more like a lion. Whoever they'd gotten their bike from must be missing it and it was a damned shame that she knew she couldn't keep it after this. Too hot after a job, no matter the outcome.
The black leather was hot in the sun but Wanda ignored it as she winked over at Nica before she slid her helmet on. She knew how to wear it to make it look both sexy and scary as hell, the only costume she needed for this undercover operation besides the knives she'd tucked away.
"Ride hard or stay home," she called out, the fake American accent as smooth as butter, as she peeled out.
Callisto has a rather unusual plan and Maya is all for it.
They'd chosen their drop-in point carefully, not only for cover but for the curve of the road, which made it very easy for them to tuck in fairly close behind the rear outriders without being spotted. Callisto and Maya hugged the curve as they began to emerge from the woods into lumpy scrubland and Callisto's Stupid Idea hove in sight.
"I have a really stupid idea," the Morlock said, pinch-zooming the map to hone in on a spot a little past their hiding-place. She tapped the screen with one chipped black nail. "You know what that is?"
The road had straightened out enough for the end of the convoy to be visible now, and Callisto saw the guy in the passenger seat of the pick-up lean out of the window, yelling something to the rider at his flank, but it was too late. Callisto and Maya had already pulled off onto the steep sideroad, the sign: "RUNAWAY TRUCK RAMP" whooshing past. A short incline, the brief bite of tire on scrub, and then air beneath them.
Time to find out what the suspension was like on this piece of junk.
Maya had a certain amount of time on motorbikes of various sizes, although her favorite was the Kawasaki Ninja 300. Harley’s sat differently, had a different grip on the road but for this, she was borrowing experience from everyone around her, including, now that she could see them, the riders below.
Her eyes glowed with an unearthly radiance as her bike slammed onto the top of the cargo truck and then speed up quickly to push herself onward and toward the four bikes driving at the front of the convoy. There were only a few moments of surprise on their side and she wanted to be in amongst them before they knew better.
Callisto's bike had survived. She had hit the ground rather than the truck - boring, but practical, as she was now roaring up the outside edge of the convoy. The first biker she reached was a scrawny sort of guy in full leathers, and she literally grabbed his scruff and hauled him bodily off his bike, depositing him roughly - though safely - by the side of the road. He rolled several times and scrambled shakily to his feet just in time to see his now-riderless bike go careening into the side of the truck, twisting and being sucked beneath like debris around a sinking ship. It crumpled beneath the back wheels of the truck.
One down.
Up ahead, though, a burly man with a glorious beard had noticed Maya and was yelling to his companions, waving one thick arm.
Maya’s body was already reacting to the notice, twitching slightly as her power mirrored those around her, and with it coming a certain degree of ‘awareness’ that telegraphed their intentions with enough notice for her to react.
She ducked down as a bullet whizzed by her head as one of the bikers got off a shot from a pistol but kept her seat as her bike launched itself from the front of the truck, hanging suspended in the air for a moment before dropping downwards onto the road below as the beat of the wind against her face made her remember that gravity was not her bitch, not by a long shot.
It was only through the borrowed skill of all those around her as her tires kissed the road that she managed to not become the newest road statistic, and it was that same skill she used to bring up her foot in a kick to the handlebars of one of the bikes now beside her.
The bike suddenly slewed to the left and spilled the man onto the asphalt.
Big Beard dropped back, and for a moment it looked like he might be going to pick up his fallen crewmate, but he barely bothered to avoid the guy. No, he was slowing to let Callisto catch him up, steering effortlessly with one hand while the other emerged from his shirt with a slim object. A flick of the wrist, and it extended by a good ten inches. A telescoping baton.
Callisto grinned, and revved, accelerating to meet him. The first blow, she took the full force to her shoulder without flinching, the guy's shock at the unexpected resistance made him veer off, dangerously close to the truck, and he was forced to drop the baton to right himself. That evened things up a little.
Maya for her part was currently engrossed in a rather intense game of 'try to take the gun' with the second biker who she was currently riding beside, having grabbed onto his bike handle as she used her thighs, balance, and inertia to stop her own from stacking spectacularly. She didn't have bulk on her side, but she did have the borrowed skill, and her punch to the man's jaw as she pushed her fingers into the tendons of the hand holding the gun were vicious in their intensity.
As the guy howled his bike veered into Callisto's path, and she was forced to take evasive action, momentarily separated from her now-weaponless mark. He was ready for her when she came close again, going in for a hefty backhander, but Callisto grabbed his arm and pulled, hard, before letting go. His ride lurched beneath him as his momentum stalled, and it was only Callisto's quick reflexes that saved him from ending up under her wheels.
Maya had taken the moment of Callisto's evasive maneuver to push her own combatant just that little bit further off balance, twisting his handlebars and pushing with one foot to separate herself from the now careening bike as the momentum pushed it over. She knew the man would have broken bones, but he'd been wearing leathers, so it wouldn't be a total massacre.
Callisto grinned at the general chaos - it was hard not to be just a tiny bit exhilarated creating carnage at high speed. She glanced back over her shoulder, checking for the first time that the other members of their 'crew' had joined the fray.
Wanda and Matt pair up to take control of the container truck carrying the weapons.
Riding a motorcycle hadn't stopped being exhilarating yet and made Matt feel like he was flying. His senses were nearly overloaded with a flood of new information coming as fast as he could accelerate and it was possibly the best feeling ever. The protective red leather jacket he wore made the wind glide over his body instead of cut like knives, the helmet keeping his head protected without muffling his hearing. He'd already made the decision that he was keeping his bike after this. Or getting his own. How could you tell a happy biker? By the bugs in his teeth! Overtaking the final truck and the biker with it Wanda just behind him, he spun to take the truck head on.
It had been far too long since Wanda had taken to riding her own motorcycle around, too busy being stuck behind a desk or out saving the world, but muscle memory hadn't failed her. She'd effortlessly gotten the hang of the borrowed one and, despite her unvoiced concerns about following a blind man on a motorcycle, had gotten back into the groove. And Matt wasn't doing so poorly for a novice ... or a man who couldn't see.
What even was her life.
When he spun to face the truck, the red of his jacket literally sparked an idea in her head. She activated the mike in their helmets. "On the count of three, I'm going to use my powers to do something very explosive around you to get their attention. Keep moving, don't stop."
"Roger," Matt replied, curious, but trusting that Wanda would knock it out. He could feel energy sparking around him, but what it meant, he had no idea. That was fine, he didn't need to know as he accelerated towards the cargo truck. Chicken wasn't perhaps the smartest, safest thing to do, but it was effective. And there was a reason he was known as Daredevil.
There was enough charged energy in the air around them to make this work, Wanda knew. Much like kindling waiting for a lit match to be dropped, all it needed was a nudge or a guiding hand.
Guiding the motorcycle with muscle memory, Wanda reached out and counted down to three, manipulating the strings around Matt and his bike, and the world, coaxing them to be in the right place at the right time. So that when his tire hit a piece of metal and threw up a spark, the world around him burst into flame.
The roar of the flames in his ears was more unexpected than the heat engulfing his body even as he didn't feel burned. Strange. Analyze that later. Now, focus. The sound of the fire made driving the bike much more difficult and all his concentration was on that, though 'go straight' to get the cargo truck wasn't all that complicated. With luck, the truck wouldn't leave the road or something else equally random. Of course, he was also paired with Scarlet Witch. She was pretty good with luck. Just like she was with making the flames not burn him.
Wanda's mind was a riot of ever changing lines as she pushed and pulled, manipulating the world around them. Her mind’s eye was guiding her every movement and thought, from the terrifying show of Matt on fire to her speeding along after the truck. She spared a moment to focus on the truck and noticed the brake lights flashing on and off - they must have just gotten a good look at the flaming spectacle racing after them.
Reaching the truck, Matt veered to the side while still accelerating, forcing the driver to move towards the shoulder. He likely looked more devil than anything right now, flames dancing over his body. It was glorious. Leaning into it, he continued to try to force the truck to a stop off the road. They didn't know he wouldn't set their truck alight right now, after all.
The truck driver was panicked - the back of the truck started to fishtail. Not good.
Wanda's head was starting to ache when she saw another biker peel out from an alleyway and she grunted. The guards for the truck were finally coming in now that they were seeing that the truck was responding to the attack. She couldn't keep up Matt's fiery presence and deal with the heavies.
Luckily, she could tweak one more thing as the truck hit a large puddle.
The fire enveloping him went out with a fizzle as the water hit him and for the briefest moment, he was disappointed. Fire that didn't burn him was so cool. But now things were gonna get real. He could hear reinforcements nearly on them. Well, that was fine.
Not needing to keep Matt from burning up as they forced the truck off the road was one less thing Wanda had to do. It had done the trick at least, though between the fishtailing and the reinforcements, they still had their work cut out for them.
"Change places!" she called over their comms. "I need to try to slow the truck down - you deal with our new friends."
Falling back, Matt went head on to the meet his new friends, driving the first off the road in a game of chicken as he threw his billy club to knock the other rider off his bike. Abandoning his own, he stalked towards the guy, determined to make sure they stayed down.
As Matt fell back, Wanda sped up, taking over his spot of harassing the truck. The fish tailing had gotten under control and she knew she didn't have long before the driver started to speed up. Any faster and stopping the truck could end in an accident - which was not the result they wanted, not with the cargo.
Taking her eyes off the road, she stared at the lines that crisscrossed the truck and reached for the tight red bundle in the middle.
Leaving Wanda to take care of the truck now that it had slowed down, Matt slipped his brass knuckles on as he approached, not giving the guy a chance. He had no interest in a long drawn out fight. As the man babbled not to hurt, Matt ignored him, laying in. This would be a message for the people above them.
Gritting her teeth, Wanda pulled and prayed that the motorcycle underneath of her wouldn't falter. The lines heeded her call, shimmering and twisting throughout the engine. Steam rose from the front of the truck as something overheated, blinding the driver, who slammed on his brakes. But there was no fish tailing this time, not with her manipulating the strings as fast as she could, coaxing the various parts of the truck to shut down as gently as it could.
It jackknifed slightly, the back end of it slowly rolling into a ditch as the driver frantically tried to stop the momentum. But Wanda was damaging the truck just enough to make it stop, bringing it to a gentle halt.
"Stay down," Matt advised the one guy moving, a hand going towards his gun as Matt threw his brass knuckles, hitting the man in the teeth. He could smell the blood as the man howled, "You didn't listen," he explained, retrieving both his knuckles and his billy club. Leaning in close, he added, "Next time, I light you on fire, comprende hombre?"
By the time the cab door was furiously kicked open and the driver was exiting with a pistol, Wanda was already off her motorcycle and scrambling up the side of the truck. Grabbing his wrist, she pulled hard, sending him tumbling from the truck and onto the ground. She followed, not allowing him any time to recover, and a quick, hard punch to the head saw to it that he was out cold.
Standing, Wanda called over the comms, "The target has been acquired and the driver has been dealt with."
Nica has been tasked to take out the pick-up truck and one of the rear bikers, with Callisto coming up to support her.
At the rear of the convoy, Nica had pulled up behind the pick-up. It would have been easier if she had been able to phase through the engine with her infra-red energy on full and overheat it that way, but they were supposed to do this subtly, without exposing their full range of powers. In this case, however, subtlety was going to be tricky - as she began to pull alongside the pick-up, the driver swerved at her, forcing her to drop back again to avoid being run off the road. She tried the other side and it happened again, and again. She wasn't going to be able to get close enough to the engine. And what was worse, the occupants of the vehicle were pulling out their guns.
"Uh guys?" she called through her hidden mic. "I could use some help?"
For a long few moments, she didn't think anybody had heard her. But then the convoy overtook a lagging biker on a massive, rather beaten-up looking hog, slight form a little hunched in a many-patched faded black cut. Callisto.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," Nica said, breaking out into a grin. "I need a distraction for these jerks in the truck before they start shooting at me. Any ideas?"
"Sure." Callisto was always soft spoken, even now, but the comm caught it, just about. "Take care of the hog, might need it again."
Before Nica could ask what on earth Callisto meant by this, she was revving and accelerating again: headed directly for the back of the truck. The moment she leapt from her bike, time seemed to slow: she launched upward, one foot bracing on the seat of the bike, another on its handlebar, kicking back to twist it off to the side and change the bike's trajectory, sending it off at an angle just as Callisto parted ways with it, springing forward, arm outstretched. She gripped the side of the open-backed pick-up and swung her way in, the back of the truck lurching as her considerable weight thudded down between the guys sitting in the back. With that, things were suddenly fast again: one swift kick sent one pistol flying off the side of the truck. The other guy got his shot off, but he'd tried to redirect his aim from Nica to Callisto, point-blank, and he wasn't quick enough: the shot hit glanced off Callisto's bare arm, taking out a small chunk. She didn't even react.
Nica stared at the scene, open-mouthed, before she was called back to reality by the wobbling of Callisto's abandoned bike into a crash trajectory. It wasn't easy, driving two hogs at a time, but Nica managed to snag the handlebars of the other bike and steer it to stability long enough to draw up beside the pick-up. With a grin, she hooked the handlebars over the side of the truck's bed, letting the vehicle provide support - everyone was already sort of occupied and no-one even noticed her.
There was still one other biker, looking at the fight in the pick-up with the same stunned amazement Nica had shown. That expression was quickly wiped off his face as the young X-Man dropped back and pulled up beside him, giving him an almost cheery smile. "Fucking amazing, isn't it?" she said, nodding at Callisto. "Our boss lady's like something out of Mad Max." She raised a red-glowing hand. "Still, she's not the only one with tricks." And with that, she aimed a bolt of super-hot energy at the front tire of the man's bike, exploding the rubber into fragments and pitching the bike and the biker onto the road in a tangle of limbs and metal.
Nica paused long enough to make sure he wasn't dead, and then sped up again to see what she could do to help the Morlock.
Callisto was still standing - just - being grappled by two guys at once, each trying to grab an arm while the third was once more taking aim with his pistol, though he was hampered both by his crewmates getting in the way and by the movement of the truck. Just as Nica approached, she saw the brunette lurch deliberately to one side, twisting an arm free and elbowing one guy in the stomach hard enough to throw him back against the back guard of the truck. She surged forward then, grabbing the hands of the guy trying to aim and forcing his pistol downwards. Three shots went off in quick succession, and the pickup lurched: at least one of those shots had hit home in the back wheel.
Nica saw her opportunity and moved in. This would be easier if she'd been able to fly, but she needed to make do - with a moment of precariously balancing the bike and stretching across the gap, she managed to flip the bolt on the tailgate closest to her open, while a bolt of energy broke the latch on the other side. The tailgate flew open then, spilling out the guy Callisto had elbowed and sending him tumbling down the road. Nica veered away again, coming up alongside the passenger side window. The driver was alone now, with his fellows having climbed into the tray to deal with Cal, which left much more space for Nica to aim another couple of energy bolts at the dash. She hadn't wanted to do it earlier, not wanting to dry their opposition. Immediately, a shower of sparks and billowing smoke erupted from the console, where Nica had flash-fried a good chunk of the wiring. Unable to see, the driver cursed and began swerving wildly, coughing and waving the smoke out of his face before finally opening his door and abandoning his vehicle. The pick-up continued, having built up a fair amount of speed, but noticeably slowed.
Callisto decided it was time to go. She aimed a swift headbutt at the guy currently grappling with her, easily shoving him from her grasp and launching herself back over the side of the truck and back onto her bike with the all the grace of a one-time high school gymnast who manifested superhuman strength and agility in a traumatic vehicular accident - not to be too specific. She gripped the bike between her thighs, grabbed the side of the truck, and with a single almighty heave she was once more on the road.
"Thanks for the bike rack, kid," Nica caught over the comm. "Looks like you got this."
The Secret Empire take a moment to gloat - unaware that the Huns’ President has the means to call in later back up.
“You fucking bitches have no idea who you’re fucking around with.” The man wearing The Huns Prez patch – their intel had identified him as Snakeface AKA Leonard Prescott, the leader of the chapter – practically spit the words out at them from where he was zip-tied next to his bike. The Huns were bruised, broken and battered, but none of them were in any immediate danger. Kane had stressed that killing any of the bikers was out of bounds, making their mission more difficult, but they’d been successful.
Snakeface was murderously angry but a secret part was alright gloating. They had missed his cellphone when they’d searched him, or so he thought, and he’d be able to let his boys and his employer know what happened. The Secret Empire, as their kuttes read, was in for a world of hurt.
Their apparent leader was standing over him now: a slight woman with an unruly mop of dark hair and a fucking eyepatch. She was passing her helmet idly from hand to hand like it was a basketball, lips pursed, single visible eye squinting down at him in the blistering midday glare.
"You've got a dirty mouth, Leonard," she said. She glanced at the ground between his feet. As he followed her gaze automatically, her foot scuffed out, neatly kicking a mouthful of dust right into his face, sending him into a fit of spluttering.
"You're a dead woman. Every single one of you. I hope you enjoy your last few hours of life." He hissed around trying to clear the dirt from his mouth.
"Big talk from the asshole on the ground." Nica snorted. "An asshole who just gave us a truckload of weapons."
"And who got his ass handed to him by a group if bitches," Matt added, really just adding fuel to the fire. He chewed a toothpick thoughtfully, "Thanks though. These will look so good with my new heels." As the only guy in The Secret Empire, he had no problem with whatever these mouth-breathers thought of him. Or his sexuality.
"Stupid fucking bitches. You think this is just some hijacking? A fucking world of hurt is coming down on you all soon and I'm going to enjoy watching you all die for fucking days."
Wanda shook her head as she finished making sure the weapons were secured. "As much as I'm enjoying the angry rant of the day," she said, dusting her hands off on her pants as she stood, "I think we're ready to head out. It was a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen."
Highway 79 was one of the nicer routes through Southern California, passing through multiple forests and parks, crossing the highlands and winding down towards Mexico. The long stretches of road with virtually no towns or cities made it popular for driving enthusiasts and people who wanted to see any fellow drivers from a long way off. The Huns had been using the route for decades, with a smattering of hiding places and concealed hand off points established just off the main highway for passing off illegal cargo.
However, while the terrain made it hard for a police convoy to surprise a group on the move, it was simple to hide five bikes in the underbrush on the side of the road to wait for them to pass. Four bikes swept past in front, acting as the scouts for the group. Following them was a large cargo truck, with a big heavy bodied Ford pickup close behind it. In the rear, a pair of bikers brought up the slack, keeping the two trucks bracketed between the motorcycles.
The Harley sat squat and unfamiliar between Callisto's thighs. When she biked she preferred lightweight and sporty - in the city she'd even been known to favour a moped - small, easy to park - or to hide. But a job like this called for a hog and so a hog she rode.
This beast was not hers. Indeed, nobody was quite sure who it belonged to and Callisto wasn't telling. It was old, stinky, souped-up, and covered in decorations, which included but were not limited to a bumper sticker on the fuel tank bearing the legend 'I [heart] STRIPPERS' and a crude decal of a pair of stick figures, one labelled 'me' and the other 'your mom', engaged in... well.
She hooked her foot beneath the kickstand, which was (of course) in the shape of a skeletal arm doing a middle finger salute, and flipped it up, gunning the engine, which sent up a putrid cough of protestation. The rear guard were barely around the bend ahead before she was pulling out of cover in a cloud of dust and fumes. Once on the road and up to speed, she lifted one half-finger-gloved hand, flipping the bird to her audience.
Maya had been waiting for the signal from Callisto, and she grinned as it came, gunning the engine of her Harley before taking off in a swirl of dust.
She knew her duty in this case was to hang back and mop up for the older women. She’d be in the middle, not considered front or back door.
It was the ‘role’ she’d taken in the gang as well, her cut almost devoid of colors as befitted a new member but the 1% patch shiny in its newness. She’d sewn it on herself, trying to get into character.
Learning to ride a bike for this had been an on-the-job sort of thing, but Matt had taken to it surprisingly well. He loved the feel of the road under the bike and the wind in his hair. Adjusting how he used his senses took a moment, but now he was feeling his stride on his bike, taking up the rear. He fully intended to keep riding when this mission was over, not having a license just meant he needed to not get caught. He had full sleeves of temporary tattoos swirling down both arms and wished he knew what they looked like other than 'badass.' For this, he was sighted, or as close as he could pretend.
His motorcycle revved as he pushed the accelerator, keeping up with his crew.
Nica, for her part, felt ridiculous but kept up the pretence as well as she could. She'd gotten her hair put into cornrows so that it wouldn't catch every bug in the state and her leathers were appropriately distressed to match the image of a biker who spent her life on the road - Nica had written herself a backstory of having graduated from biker's moll to biker after being traded to Cal's crew, and while she had more patches than Maya, it wasn't by much. She nodded over to their final member, Wanda, who she had to admit sat the bike as if she was born there.
To Wanda, it didn't matter the kind of bike, as long as it was well made and the one she sat on could purr like a kitten - or more like a lion. Whoever they'd gotten their bike from must be missing it and it was a damned shame that she knew she couldn't keep it after this. Too hot after a job, no matter the outcome.
The black leather was hot in the sun but Wanda ignored it as she winked over at Nica before she slid her helmet on. She knew how to wear it to make it look both sexy and scary as hell, the only costume she needed for this undercover operation besides the knives she'd tucked away.
"Ride hard or stay home," she called out, the fake American accent as smooth as butter, as she peeled out.
Callisto has a rather unusual plan and Maya is all for it.
They'd chosen their drop-in point carefully, not only for cover but for the curve of the road, which made it very easy for them to tuck in fairly close behind the rear outriders without being spotted. Callisto and Maya hugged the curve as they began to emerge from the woods into lumpy scrubland and Callisto's Stupid Idea hove in sight.
"I have a really stupid idea," the Morlock said, pinch-zooming the map to hone in on a spot a little past their hiding-place. She tapped the screen with one chipped black nail. "You know what that is?"
The road had straightened out enough for the end of the convoy to be visible now, and Callisto saw the guy in the passenger seat of the pick-up lean out of the window, yelling something to the rider at his flank, but it was too late. Callisto and Maya had already pulled off onto the steep sideroad, the sign: "RUNAWAY TRUCK RAMP" whooshing past. A short incline, the brief bite of tire on scrub, and then air beneath them.
Time to find out what the suspension was like on this piece of junk.
Maya had a certain amount of time on motorbikes of various sizes, although her favorite was the Kawasaki Ninja 300. Harley’s sat differently, had a different grip on the road but for this, she was borrowing experience from everyone around her, including, now that she could see them, the riders below.
Her eyes glowed with an unearthly radiance as her bike slammed onto the top of the cargo truck and then speed up quickly to push herself onward and toward the four bikes driving at the front of the convoy. There were only a few moments of surprise on their side and she wanted to be in amongst them before they knew better.
Callisto's bike had survived. She had hit the ground rather than the truck - boring, but practical, as she was now roaring up the outside edge of the convoy. The first biker she reached was a scrawny sort of guy in full leathers, and she literally grabbed his scruff and hauled him bodily off his bike, depositing him roughly - though safely - by the side of the road. He rolled several times and scrambled shakily to his feet just in time to see his now-riderless bike go careening into the side of the truck, twisting and being sucked beneath like debris around a sinking ship. It crumpled beneath the back wheels of the truck.
One down.
Up ahead, though, a burly man with a glorious beard had noticed Maya and was yelling to his companions, waving one thick arm.
Maya’s body was already reacting to the notice, twitching slightly as her power mirrored those around her, and with it coming a certain degree of ‘awareness’ that telegraphed their intentions with enough notice for her to react.
She ducked down as a bullet whizzed by her head as one of the bikers got off a shot from a pistol but kept her seat as her bike launched itself from the front of the truck, hanging suspended in the air for a moment before dropping downwards onto the road below as the beat of the wind against her face made her remember that gravity was not her bitch, not by a long shot.
It was only through the borrowed skill of all those around her as her tires kissed the road that she managed to not become the newest road statistic, and it was that same skill she used to bring up her foot in a kick to the handlebars of one of the bikes now beside her.
The bike suddenly slewed to the left and spilled the man onto the asphalt.
Big Beard dropped back, and for a moment it looked like he might be going to pick up his fallen crewmate, but he barely bothered to avoid the guy. No, he was slowing to let Callisto catch him up, steering effortlessly with one hand while the other emerged from his shirt with a slim object. A flick of the wrist, and it extended by a good ten inches. A telescoping baton.
Callisto grinned, and revved, accelerating to meet him. The first blow, she took the full force to her shoulder without flinching, the guy's shock at the unexpected resistance made him veer off, dangerously close to the truck, and he was forced to drop the baton to right himself. That evened things up a little.
Maya for her part was currently engrossed in a rather intense game of 'try to take the gun' with the second biker who she was currently riding beside, having grabbed onto his bike handle as she used her thighs, balance, and inertia to stop her own from stacking spectacularly. She didn't have bulk on her side, but she did have the borrowed skill, and her punch to the man's jaw as she pushed her fingers into the tendons of the hand holding the gun were vicious in their intensity.
As the guy howled his bike veered into Callisto's path, and she was forced to take evasive action, momentarily separated from her now-weaponless mark. He was ready for her when she came close again, going in for a hefty backhander, but Callisto grabbed his arm and pulled, hard, before letting go. His ride lurched beneath him as his momentum stalled, and it was only Callisto's quick reflexes that saved him from ending up under her wheels.
Maya had taken the moment of Callisto's evasive maneuver to push her own combatant just that little bit further off balance, twisting his handlebars and pushing with one foot to separate herself from the now careening bike as the momentum pushed it over. She knew the man would have broken bones, but he'd been wearing leathers, so it wouldn't be a total massacre.
Callisto grinned at the general chaos - it was hard not to be just a tiny bit exhilarated creating carnage at high speed. She glanced back over her shoulder, checking for the first time that the other members of their 'crew' had joined the fray.
Wanda and Matt pair up to take control of the container truck carrying the weapons.
Riding a motorcycle hadn't stopped being exhilarating yet and made Matt feel like he was flying. His senses were nearly overloaded with a flood of new information coming as fast as he could accelerate and it was possibly the best feeling ever. The protective red leather jacket he wore made the wind glide over his body instead of cut like knives, the helmet keeping his head protected without muffling his hearing. He'd already made the decision that he was keeping his bike after this. Or getting his own. How could you tell a happy biker? By the bugs in his teeth! Overtaking the final truck and the biker with it Wanda just behind him, he spun to take the truck head on.
It had been far too long since Wanda had taken to riding her own motorcycle around, too busy being stuck behind a desk or out saving the world, but muscle memory hadn't failed her. She'd effortlessly gotten the hang of the borrowed one and, despite her unvoiced concerns about following a blind man on a motorcycle, had gotten back into the groove. And Matt wasn't doing so poorly for a novice ... or a man who couldn't see.
What even was her life.
When he spun to face the truck, the red of his jacket literally sparked an idea in her head. She activated the mike in their helmets. "On the count of three, I'm going to use my powers to do something very explosive around you to get their attention. Keep moving, don't stop."
"Roger," Matt replied, curious, but trusting that Wanda would knock it out. He could feel energy sparking around him, but what it meant, he had no idea. That was fine, he didn't need to know as he accelerated towards the cargo truck. Chicken wasn't perhaps the smartest, safest thing to do, but it was effective. And there was a reason he was known as Daredevil.
There was enough charged energy in the air around them to make this work, Wanda knew. Much like kindling waiting for a lit match to be dropped, all it needed was a nudge or a guiding hand.
Guiding the motorcycle with muscle memory, Wanda reached out and counted down to three, manipulating the strings around Matt and his bike, and the world, coaxing them to be in the right place at the right time. So that when his tire hit a piece of metal and threw up a spark, the world around him burst into flame.
The roar of the flames in his ears was more unexpected than the heat engulfing his body even as he didn't feel burned. Strange. Analyze that later. Now, focus. The sound of the fire made driving the bike much more difficult and all his concentration was on that, though 'go straight' to get the cargo truck wasn't all that complicated. With luck, the truck wouldn't leave the road or something else equally random. Of course, he was also paired with Scarlet Witch. She was pretty good with luck. Just like she was with making the flames not burn him.
Wanda's mind was a riot of ever changing lines as she pushed and pulled, manipulating the world around them. Her mind’s eye was guiding her every movement and thought, from the terrifying show of Matt on fire to her speeding along after the truck. She spared a moment to focus on the truck and noticed the brake lights flashing on and off - they must have just gotten a good look at the flaming spectacle racing after them.
Reaching the truck, Matt veered to the side while still accelerating, forcing the driver to move towards the shoulder. He likely looked more devil than anything right now, flames dancing over his body. It was glorious. Leaning into it, he continued to try to force the truck to a stop off the road. They didn't know he wouldn't set their truck alight right now, after all.
The truck driver was panicked - the back of the truck started to fishtail. Not good.
Wanda's head was starting to ache when she saw another biker peel out from an alleyway and she grunted. The guards for the truck were finally coming in now that they were seeing that the truck was responding to the attack. She couldn't keep up Matt's fiery presence and deal with the heavies.
Luckily, she could tweak one more thing as the truck hit a large puddle.
The fire enveloping him went out with a fizzle as the water hit him and for the briefest moment, he was disappointed. Fire that didn't burn him was so cool. But now things were gonna get real. He could hear reinforcements nearly on them. Well, that was fine.
Not needing to keep Matt from burning up as they forced the truck off the road was one less thing Wanda had to do. It had done the trick at least, though between the fishtailing and the reinforcements, they still had their work cut out for them.
"Change places!" she called over their comms. "I need to try to slow the truck down - you deal with our new friends."
Falling back, Matt went head on to the meet his new friends, driving the first off the road in a game of chicken as he threw his billy club to knock the other rider off his bike. Abandoning his own, he stalked towards the guy, determined to make sure they stayed down.
As Matt fell back, Wanda sped up, taking over his spot of harassing the truck. The fish tailing had gotten under control and she knew she didn't have long before the driver started to speed up. Any faster and stopping the truck could end in an accident - which was not the result they wanted, not with the cargo.
Taking her eyes off the road, she stared at the lines that crisscrossed the truck and reached for the tight red bundle in the middle.
Leaving Wanda to take care of the truck now that it had slowed down, Matt slipped his brass knuckles on as he approached, not giving the guy a chance. He had no interest in a long drawn out fight. As the man babbled not to hurt, Matt ignored him, laying in. This would be a message for the people above them.
Gritting her teeth, Wanda pulled and prayed that the motorcycle underneath of her wouldn't falter. The lines heeded her call, shimmering and twisting throughout the engine. Steam rose from the front of the truck as something overheated, blinding the driver, who slammed on his brakes. But there was no fish tailing this time, not with her manipulating the strings as fast as she could, coaxing the various parts of the truck to shut down as gently as it could.
It jackknifed slightly, the back end of it slowly rolling into a ditch as the driver frantically tried to stop the momentum. But Wanda was damaging the truck just enough to make it stop, bringing it to a gentle halt.
"Stay down," Matt advised the one guy moving, a hand going towards his gun as Matt threw his brass knuckles, hitting the man in the teeth. He could smell the blood as the man howled, "You didn't listen," he explained, retrieving both his knuckles and his billy club. Leaning in close, he added, "Next time, I light you on fire, comprende hombre?"
By the time the cab door was furiously kicked open and the driver was exiting with a pistol, Wanda was already off her motorcycle and scrambling up the side of the truck. Grabbing his wrist, she pulled hard, sending him tumbling from the truck and onto the ground. She followed, not allowing him any time to recover, and a quick, hard punch to the head saw to it that he was out cold.
Standing, Wanda called over the comms, "The target has been acquired and the driver has been dealt with."
Nica has been tasked to take out the pick-up truck and one of the rear bikers, with Callisto coming up to support her.
At the rear of the convoy, Nica had pulled up behind the pick-up. It would have been easier if she had been able to phase through the engine with her infra-red energy on full and overheat it that way, but they were supposed to do this subtly, without exposing their full range of powers. In this case, however, subtlety was going to be tricky - as she began to pull alongside the pick-up, the driver swerved at her, forcing her to drop back again to avoid being run off the road. She tried the other side and it happened again, and again. She wasn't going to be able to get close enough to the engine. And what was worse, the occupants of the vehicle were pulling out their guns.
"Uh guys?" she called through her hidden mic. "I could use some help?"
For a long few moments, she didn't think anybody had heard her. But then the convoy overtook a lagging biker on a massive, rather beaten-up looking hog, slight form a little hunched in a many-patched faded black cut. Callisto.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," Nica said, breaking out into a grin. "I need a distraction for these jerks in the truck before they start shooting at me. Any ideas?"
"Sure." Callisto was always soft spoken, even now, but the comm caught it, just about. "Take care of the hog, might need it again."
Before Nica could ask what on earth Callisto meant by this, she was revving and accelerating again: headed directly for the back of the truck. The moment she leapt from her bike, time seemed to slow: she launched upward, one foot bracing on the seat of the bike, another on its handlebar, kicking back to twist it off to the side and change the bike's trajectory, sending it off at an angle just as Callisto parted ways with it, springing forward, arm outstretched. She gripped the side of the open-backed pick-up and swung her way in, the back of the truck lurching as her considerable weight thudded down between the guys sitting in the back. With that, things were suddenly fast again: one swift kick sent one pistol flying off the side of the truck. The other guy got his shot off, but he'd tried to redirect his aim from Nica to Callisto, point-blank, and he wasn't quick enough: the shot hit glanced off Callisto's bare arm, taking out a small chunk. She didn't even react.
Nica stared at the scene, open-mouthed, before she was called back to reality by the wobbling of Callisto's abandoned bike into a crash trajectory. It wasn't easy, driving two hogs at a time, but Nica managed to snag the handlebars of the other bike and steer it to stability long enough to draw up beside the pick-up. With a grin, she hooked the handlebars over the side of the truck's bed, letting the vehicle provide support - everyone was already sort of occupied and no-one even noticed her.
There was still one other biker, looking at the fight in the pick-up with the same stunned amazement Nica had shown. That expression was quickly wiped off his face as the young X-Man dropped back and pulled up beside him, giving him an almost cheery smile. "Fucking amazing, isn't it?" she said, nodding at Callisto. "Our boss lady's like something out of Mad Max." She raised a red-glowing hand. "Still, she's not the only one with tricks." And with that, she aimed a bolt of super-hot energy at the front tire of the man's bike, exploding the rubber into fragments and pitching the bike and the biker onto the road in a tangle of limbs and metal.
Nica paused long enough to make sure he wasn't dead, and then sped up again to see what she could do to help the Morlock.
Callisto was still standing - just - being grappled by two guys at once, each trying to grab an arm while the third was once more taking aim with his pistol, though he was hampered both by his crewmates getting in the way and by the movement of the truck. Just as Nica approached, she saw the brunette lurch deliberately to one side, twisting an arm free and elbowing one guy in the stomach hard enough to throw him back against the back guard of the truck. She surged forward then, grabbing the hands of the guy trying to aim and forcing his pistol downwards. Three shots went off in quick succession, and the pickup lurched: at least one of those shots had hit home in the back wheel.
Nica saw her opportunity and moved in. This would be easier if she'd been able to fly, but she needed to make do - with a moment of precariously balancing the bike and stretching across the gap, she managed to flip the bolt on the tailgate closest to her open, while a bolt of energy broke the latch on the other side. The tailgate flew open then, spilling out the guy Callisto had elbowed and sending him tumbling down the road. Nica veered away again, coming up alongside the passenger side window. The driver was alone now, with his fellows having climbed into the tray to deal with Cal, which left much more space for Nica to aim another couple of energy bolts at the dash. She hadn't wanted to do it earlier, not wanting to dry their opposition. Immediately, a shower of sparks and billowing smoke erupted from the console, where Nica had flash-fried a good chunk of the wiring. Unable to see, the driver cursed and began swerving wildly, coughing and waving the smoke out of his face before finally opening his door and abandoning his vehicle. The pick-up continued, having built up a fair amount of speed, but noticeably slowed.
Callisto decided it was time to go. She aimed a swift headbutt at the guy currently grappling with her, easily shoving him from her grasp and launching herself back over the side of the truck and back onto her bike with the all the grace of a one-time high school gymnast who manifested superhuman strength and agility in a traumatic vehicular accident - not to be too specific. She gripped the bike between her thighs, grabbed the side of the truck, and with a single almighty heave she was once more on the road.
"Thanks for the bike rack, kid," Nica caught over the comm. "Looks like you got this."
The Secret Empire take a moment to gloat - unaware that the Huns’ President has the means to call in later back up.
“You fucking bitches have no idea who you’re fucking around with.” The man wearing The Huns Prez patch – their intel had identified him as Snakeface AKA Leonard Prescott, the leader of the chapter – practically spit the words out at them from where he was zip-tied next to his bike. The Huns were bruised, broken and battered, but none of them were in any immediate danger. Kane had stressed that killing any of the bikers was out of bounds, making their mission more difficult, but they’d been successful.
Snakeface was murderously angry but a secret part was alright gloating. They had missed his cellphone when they’d searched him, or so he thought, and he’d be able to let his boys and his employer know what happened. The Secret Empire, as their kuttes read, was in for a world of hurt.
Their apparent leader was standing over him now: a slight woman with an unruly mop of dark hair and a fucking eyepatch. She was passing her helmet idly from hand to hand like it was a basketball, lips pursed, single visible eye squinting down at him in the blistering midday glare.
"You've got a dirty mouth, Leonard," she said. She glanced at the ground between his feet. As he followed her gaze automatically, her foot scuffed out, neatly kicking a mouthful of dust right into his face, sending him into a fit of spluttering.
"You're a dead woman. Every single one of you. I hope you enjoy your last few hours of life." He hissed around trying to clear the dirt from his mouth.
"Big talk from the asshole on the ground." Nica snorted. "An asshole who just gave us a truckload of weapons."
"And who got his ass handed to him by a group if bitches," Matt added, really just adding fuel to the fire. He chewed a toothpick thoughtfully, "Thanks though. These will look so good with my new heels." As the only guy in The Secret Empire, he had no problem with whatever these mouth-breathers thought of him. Or his sexuality.
"Stupid fucking bitches. You think this is just some hijacking? A fucking world of hurt is coming down on you all soon and I'm going to enjoy watching you all die for fucking days."
Wanda shook her head as she finished making sure the weapons were secured. "As much as I'm enjoying the angry rant of the day," she said, dusting her hands off on her pants as she stood, "I think we're ready to head out. It was a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen."
